Gospel Story Finder

I remember one time Elder Charles A. Callis in a Council of the Twelve meeting. There was a rather spirited discussion on some questions. One of the Brethren said, “You had better listen to Brother George Albert Smith, the President of the Twelve, because he may be the next President of the Church.”
Brother Callis smiled and said, “Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure. Three times in my life I have chosen the next President of the Church, and all three of them died before they came to the presidency.” The Lord only knows, and for us to speculate or to presume is not pleasing in the sight of the Lord.

Little brothers can be such a bother, Erin thought as she knelt to pick up her scattered postcard collection. She knew how much her little brother, Evan, loved to look at all the beautiful postcards. She didn’t mind showing them to him, but she didn’t like it one bit when he went into her room and helped himself.

“What do I need a little brother for, anyway?” she said aloud as she gathered the postcards. If only she could lock him out of her room forever!

Her scowl softened as she caught sight of her most treasured postcard. She picked it up and looked at the picture of the Seattle Temple, remembering the day she got to go inside.

As she finished gathering her postcards, she suddenly realized that she didn’t feel angry anymore. Just then her mother called her into the kitchen. “I need you to do me a big favor,” her mother said. “I made these hot muffins, and I thought that it would be nice to take some to Sister Taber. She’s home from the hospital after having knee surgery, and I know that she’d enjoy them. Would you like to take Evan for a walk over to her house?”

“Sure!” Sister Taber had been her favorite Primary teacher. She wished she could go alone, because her little brother always slowed her down, but she knew how much he loved to go for walks.

“Please try to hurry, dear,” Mom said. “Dad will be home soon, and dinner is almost ready. Do you want me to draw a map for you?”

“No thanks,” Erin replied with confidence. “I’m sure I can find it just fine.” She took the basket of warm muffins in one hand and her brother’s hand in the other. As soon as they reached the sidewalk, Evan wanted to stop and look at some leaves, but Erin gently tugged on his arm to urge him forward. “This is going to take forever with him along,” she mumbled to herself.

They reached the first corner and carefully crossed the street. Then Evan saw some bright yellow dandelions growing in the corner of a yard. “Look at the pretty yellow flowers!” he said, heading toward them.

“I’m sorry,” Erin said, “but we don’t have time to stop and pick dandelions. Mom told us to hurry, remember?” She grabbed Evan’s hand again, and kept walking. When they reached the next corner, they turned right. Erin was sure she’d recognize Sister Taber’s house when she saw it.

As they passed the next house, Erin felt Evan stop. He jumped up and down, yelling, “That’s just like ours!”

Erin looked where he was pointing and saw a red, white, and blue basketball backboard identical to the one Dad had put on their own garage. She and Mom loved to watch Evan and Dad play basketball. Evan always made everyone laugh.

But this wasn’t the time to be distracted. “Come on now, Evan,” Erin said impatiently, taking his hand and starting back down the sidewalk.

They crossed the street and headed for the cul-de-sac where Sister Taber lived. They were almost there when Evan began tugging at Erin’s arm and shouting, “Quack, quack, quack, quack!”

She turned around and saw him standing next to a mailbox with a painted duck on it. “Evan Michael, please come with me!” Erin scolded. “We can’t stop and look at everything!” I wish I hadn’t had to bring him along, she thought.

As they entered the cul-de-sac, Erin felt a little unsure about which house belonged to Sister Taber. She looked at each one carefully, then recognized the flower bed in front of one of the houses. This is it, she thought. This is where we had our last Primary achievement activity. She and Evan went up to the door and she let him ring the doorbell.

Sister Taber’s daughter answered the door. She thanked Erin and Evan for the muffins and told her that her mother would really appreciate them.

Erin felt good inside. Then, as she and Evan headed home, she realized that she wasn’t sure how to get there. They stood at the corner leading out of the cul-de-sac while Erin looked left and right, trying to decide which way to go. She began to feel a little panicky until she remembered something her mother had told her many times: “If you ever feel lonely or afraid, tell Heavenly Father your troubles. He always hears your prayers and will help you.”

Erin quickly and quietly asked Heavenly Father to help them find their way home again. Once more she looked up and down the street. Suddenly she spotted the duck mailbox that Evan had stopped to see. Holding her brother’s hand tightly, she left the cul-de-sac. After they crossed the street, she saw the red, white, and blue basketball backboard. We turn left at the next corner, she said to herself.

When they turned the corner, Erin saw the dandelions that Evan had wanted to pick. She realized that rather than feeling angry with him, she was grateful that he had noticed all the things that were helping them find their way back.

When they reached home, she took him inside and told her mother what had happened. Then she bent down, gave her little brother a big hug, and whispered in his ear, “Would you like to come and look at my postcard collection?”

Harold B. Lee grew up on a farm. One day, he followed his father out into the fields.
While he waited for his father to finish working, Harold played in the dirt and made toys out of pebbles and sticks.
After a while, he grew bored. He looked across the barbed-wire fence into the neighbor’s yard and saw some broken down buildings and sheds.
Harold: I should go exploring! Those buildings can be a castle.
Harold jumped up and ran toward the fence. Then he heard a voice.
“Harold, don’t go over there.”
Harold: What, Papa?
He spun around, but his father wasn’t there. He looked in every direction, but he was alone.
He wondered why he shouldn’t go into the old buildings. He didn’t know why, but he knew that the Spirit had warned him. He ran back from the fence.
When his father came, he found Harold right where he had left him.
Father: Ready to go home, Harold?
Harold: Yes, Papa. Let’s go.
Harold never knew what danger lurked inside the old buildings. Perhaps the rotting timbers would have caved in on him. Maybe there were wild animals inside. No matter what the danger was, he was happy that he had followed the prompting of the Holy Ghost to stay out of harm’s way.
(See Ensign, November 1971, page 17.)

The next year, Iris was born. Lyle said, “I thought of a lot of things, but other people had tried them and they didn’t work. I was in over my head. But I’m always in over my head. I found out that there is another way to have a robot ‘see’ other than using big, huge, complex computers. It was to simplify things. All the robot needs to recognize is one object—the floor. Anything that’s not the floor must be an obstacle.”

This time, Lyle knew what he needed to do to succeed. He kept meticulous records. He perfected his presentation. And he made sure Iris was working at her best. He knew his information backward and forward.

While at the international competition in Louisville, Kentucky, disaster struck. Iris’s eye—the digital camera—was damaged in shipping. An hour before his presentation, Lyle had the camera apart, working on it. “As soon as something goes wrong, especially at the science fair, there is no time for sitting back and wondering. You have to do something and do it now. No sense getting angry. It’s a waste of time. When the eye broke, I started diagnosing it. How am I going to fix it? How am I going to change my display? That’s one thing my dad teaches. You can’t be a victim. It’s up to you to make sure things are going right for you. Is your teacher a jerk? It doesn’t matter. It’s up to you to get a grade. You can’t leave it up to somebody else or put the blame on somebody else.”

This time Lyle and Iris took some honors. He won the prestigious U.S. Army Gold Medal for Science and Engineering. And he took second prize in the fair’s engineering division.

Tracy Nelson of Idaho Falls, Idaho, excels in welding techniques. In high school he took first place in state competition and went on to place second in a national welding competition.
Tracy chose to attend Ricks College because of its outstanding Welding Engineering Technology program. He competed and took top honors in a college welding competition.
He said of his experiences in school, “At Ricks I have trained under instructors who have given me new ideas and trained me in new techniques. It is great to be a part of Ricks College. Here I find myself growing mentally, physically, and spiritually. It is helping me prepare for my mission.”
Tracy is now serving a mission.

I read this wonderful story about an experience President Howard W. Hunter (1907–1995) had in a small store in California. He paid the clerk 10 pennies for 10 pieces of liquorice. Upon counting the pieces later on, he realised that he had ended up with 11 pieces instead of the 10 that he paid for. While he could have overlooked the error—after all, it was just a penny, and who would know the difference—he didn’t think twice and went back to the store. He explained the problem to the clerk, apologised and paid for the extra piece of liquorice, much to the surprise of the clerk3.

Kelly and the other fifth-graders had just come in from lunch when Mr. Aragon announced, “Our class is going to begin a special project tomorrow that I think you’ll find exciting. Are you all familiar with Victoria Benson School?”
Kelly nodded along with the rest of the students, but instead of feeling excited, she felt uneasy. Victoria Benson School was right next to their own school, Easton Elementary. The students at the two schools were approximately the same ages, but there was one big difference. Victoria Benson students all had mental disabilities.
“We’ll be visiting the school once a week,” Mr. Aragon continued. “You’ll be acting as tutors, helping the students one-on-one with the work they do in class.” As he explained some of the details of the special project, the students became more and more interested, until it seemed to Kelly that she was the only one who was still uneasy about the project.
She and her friends had sometimes watched the Victoria Benson students through the fence at recess. Some of their faces looked different around the eyes, and their speech was slow and slurred. They seemed awkward when they ran or threw a ball. As she knelt by her bed for prayer that night, she remembered the words to a Primary song her class had learned last year:
If you don’t walk as most people do,
Some people walk away from you,
But I won’t! I won’t!
If you don’t talk as most people do,
Some people talk and laugh at you,
But I won’t! I won’t!
I’ll walk with you. I’ll talk with you.
That’s how I’ll show my love for you.*
I know that Jesus loves the Victoria Benson students, Kelly thought as she turned out the light. Maybe I will, too.
When her class entered Victoria Benson School the next day, Kelly had the worst case of butterflies in her stomach she’d ever had. But the Primary song kept running through her mind: “I’ll walk with you. I’ll talk with you. That’s how I’ll show my love for you.”
Mr. Aragon led them into a sunny, brightly decorated classroom and introduced the class to Miss Donnelley, one of the teachers.
“We’re really glad to have you here,” Miss Donnelley said. “The students have been so excited this morning! They’re eager to meet you, so I’m going to assign you to areas and get you started right away.”
A few students were sent to the cafeteria to help four boys setting the tables for lunch. Several were sent to the math area of the classroom to help with counting objects, writing numbers, and matching shapes. Others were assigned to a writing table, where a few students were learning to print their names.
Maybe they’ll run out of assignments, Kelly thought, and I’ll be able to just watch today. But Miss Donnelley led her to what she called the dressing area and introduced her to Sandra, a girl with long dark hair. She gave Kelly a big smile.
“Sandra is learning to zip her jacket,” Miss Donnelley told Kelly. “I’d like you to help her.” Then the teacher left to give out another assignment.
By myself? Kelly thought. How do I do that?
Sandra was still smiling at her as Kelly took a deep breath, stuck her hands into her own jacket pockets, and introduced herself. “Hi.” She tried to put friendliness into her voice to hide her nervousness. “I’m supposed to help you zip your jacket.”
“Hi, Kewwy. I’m glad you’re helping me.”
Kelly smiled back. “Well, I guess we’d better get started. First you stick that straight metal part into the slot in the other part,” she began.
Sandra’s face took on a look of concentration. She held the two parts of the zipper in her hands and fumbled with them. Kelly waited a minute, then said, “Hold it at the top of the slot and then push it down.” Sandra tried again, but still couldn’t do it.
Kelly pulled her hands out of her pockets. “Look, Sandra—watch me. Do it like this.”
Sandra watched as Kelly zipped and unzipped her own jacket twice.
“Now you try again,” Kelly urged.
Sandra’s face looked even more determined as she tried again, but she just couldn’t fit the parts together. Now Kelly was the one frowning in concentration. What am I doing wrong? She wondered. Suddenly Kelly had an idea. Surprising them both, she reached out and grasped Sandra’s hands. “I’ll walk with—I mean, I’ll help you!”
With Kelly’s hands guiding hers, Sandra soon fit the parts together. As Sandra began breathing more quickly and nodding her head, Kelly let go and let her try it by herself. Kelly held her breath as Sandra fumbled a few times but finally fit the parts together. Kelly’s smile was as big as Sandra’s as Sandra slowly pulled the zipper all the way up.
“I did it! I did it!” Sandra grabbed Kelly in a big hug. Kelly was surprised, but she hugged right back. Then Sandra ran off to show Miss Donnelley, waving her hands in the air and still shouting, “I did it!”
As Kelly watched her go, she smiled and thought, I guess I did it, too!

My Uncle Jim was my favorite uncle. He was everyone’s friend. He hid pennies around his apartment for me to find. Every Sunday I would call him on the phone. He always had time to listen. I told him all about what I had learned in Primary, at school—just about anything. He sent me hand-knitted doll clothes his neighbor had made. I wanted to send him back something special. It took me a long time to figure out what, but then I knew exactly what to send—an invitation to my baptism with my CTR ring.
A few days before my baptism, my Uncle Jim died. I cried all night. I didn’t want to be baptized without Uncle Jim, but my mother told me he would want me to be baptized. She said that it would be the greatest gift I could ever give him. I was baptized the day before his funeral. At his funeral I wore my white baptism dress and decorated his grave with white roses. I cried a lot, but my mother reminded me that Jesus also cried. It says so in the scriptures. I guess if Jesus cries, too, He must really understand it when I cry.
The next day my mother went to Uncle Jim’s apartment to clear things out. Tacked to his wall was a picture of me with my CTR ring taped beside it.Kelly Hoag, age 9Portola, California

One night during my freshman year of college in 1989–90, a good friend of mine and I stayed up late studying for exams.
Suddenly, Matt asked me a question that would become one of the defining moments of my life. “What does your church think God is like? I mean, what do you think He looks like?”
I didn’t have an answer for him. Being sensitive to my circumstance, he gently let the matter drop. But I couldn’t forget it. I was in an extraordinary position: I was a Protestant attending Brigham Young University, and though I had doubts about my own faith and religion in general, I had no intention of changing religions. Instead, for the entire year I had carefully barricaded myself spiritually by deflecting religious conversation. With this simple question, my friend had at last succeeded in opening a tiny breach into my heart.
Over the next several months, I asked myself repeatedly, “What do I believe? More important, do I believe? Is there really a God, and, if so, what is He like? Could I come to know Him? Would He answer my prayers? Could I have faith like my Latter-day Saint friends do?”

Rose Hicks, 18, Melbourne. Maybe Rose Hicks typifies the variety of Australia as much as anybody. Born in New Zealand, she considers herself Samoan, but has German, Fijian, Russian, Chinese, and Tongan blood running in her veins, too.
There’s a fierce determination about Rose. At the stake athletic games one day, she garnered five ribbons—four first-place and one second-place. “I hate coming in second!” she grimaced, stuffing the ribbons in a pocket. “I love competition.”
With that kind of drive, Rose will probably reach her goal of becoming a civil engineer and an architect. “I want to take part in building the New Jerusalem,” she says.

When my parents converted to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, my father had no stable income. Back then, as today, there was much poverty in the Philippines. Work was hard to find.

So he prayed and told God that he had a testimony of the law of tithing but needed to find employment so he could live it. He promised Heavenly Father that he would pay an honest tithe all his life.

Well, my father did get a job. He found work as a cleaner in the local Coca-Cola manufacturing plant. As he began to pay tithing, his life began to change.

We used to have to walk to church since we did not have enough money to pay for public transportation. That began to change. My dad worked hard in his humble job and began to slowly rise through the ranks, ultimately becoming a sales manager. We could afford transportation in addition to food. One true miracle is that all six of my parents’ children were able to go and finish college.

Regarding that particular miracle, even my father’s coworkers seemed surprised. “How can you send all your children to college?” they would ask. “You make the same amount of money as we do. It doesn’t make sense!”

My father would always smile and say, “I have been blessed because of living the gospel. I have been blessed because I pay tithing.”

When Olive Fugal was released after 75 years as organist for the Woodbridge Ward, New Haven Connecticut Stake, her grandson, Tim Sancher, was ready to take over. Fifteen-year-old Tim, who had learned to play the organ from his grandmother, became the ward’s second youngest organist ever. The youngest? Grandma Olive, who became the ward organist at age 14.

Brad introduced Jenna to the gospel when they were 17. He baptized her just a week after she turned 18. “My parents were present when I took the discussions and were not shy about asking questions,” Jenna says. “But they always thought that this was a fleeting thing with me.”

Brad and Jenna wrote to each other during Brad’s mission. When Brad returned from his mission and asked Jenna to marry him, “my parents realized that this was not a fleeting thing,” Jenna says. “For two years my parents knew they would not be able to see me be married, but it wasn’t until Brad and I began to plan and prepare that their hurt began to show. They felt left out. They felt as if they were being told that they weren’t good people because they weren’t members and didn’t have temple recommends. Brad and I had even considered having a civil marriage and then waiting a year to be sealed. However, I knew in my heart that I needed to stand up for what I believe in. We needed to be an example to my parents, our friends, and family.”

While Brad and Jenna were being sealed, one of the temple workers talked to Jenna’s parents about the temple. Jenna had planned one more thing: “I gave my parents each a card telling them how much I loved them and that I knew someday they would understand why I had made this decision.”

The day after their sealing, Brad and Jenna continued their wedding celebration. Back home in Wisconsin, they publicly exchanged rings and held a reception at the church. “My mom and father-in-law both gave talks,” Jenna says. “We tried to make my family feel as involved as possible.”

As Jenna looks back on her wedding, she remembers the tender feelings she shared with her parents. “I know more than anything that they were able to feel the Spirit in the temple waiting room and that Heavenly Father helped them to feel at peace and to know that the decision I was making was right.”

Much later, when I was a husband, father, and businessman, I was invited to attend a lunch with the president of the Republic of Guatemala. I found myself in a room with many other guests. When the president entered, waiters poured liquor so that everyone could join in a toast. But I covered my glass with my hand. The president said, “Mr. Pérez, won’t you join me in a toast?”
I replied, “Mr. President, if you’re asking me if I will wish you success in your government, I will. But if you’re asking me if I will drink liquor, I will not. I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. If that is a problem, I can leave right now.”
He said, “No, no.” They drank their liquor, and we sat down. A little later the president said, “Tell me something of your church,” and I did.

At a recent extended family home evening, our grandchildren were having a wonderful time. A six-year-old grandson became very upset when his father said it was time to go home. So what did this dear boy do? He came to me and said, “Grandfather, may I have your permission to disobey my father?”
I said, “No, sweetheart. One of life’s great lessons is to learn that happiness comes through obedience. Go home with your family, and you will be happy.” Though disappointed, he dutifully obeyed.

We have in the United States a newspaper columnist named Abigail Van Buren. Her writings are published in papers across the world, including our own Deseret News. She is one of those who gives advice to the troubled. You know the kind. A young lady wrote her and said that her boyfriend wanted her to prove her love, and this was Abby’s response. It is plainspoken, but I think it is good.
Said Abby, “Girls need to prove their love through illicit sexual relations like a moose needs a hatrack. Why not prove your love by sticking your head in the oven and turning on the gas, or by playing leapfrog in the traffic? It’s about as safe.
“Clear the cobwebs out of your head. Any fellow who asks you to prove your love is trying to take you for the biggest, most gullible fool who ever walked. That proving bit is one of the oldest and rottenest lines ever invented.
“Does he love you? It doesn’t sound like it. Someone who loves you wants whatever is best for you. But now figure it out. He wants you to commit an immoral act, surrender your virtue, throw away your self-respect, risk the loss of your precious reputation, and risk getting into trouble. Does that sound as though he wants what is best for you? This is the laugh of the century. He wants what he thinks is best for him; he wants a thrill he can brag about at your expense. Love? Who’s kidding whom? A guy who loves a girl would sooner cut off his right arm than hurt her. In my opinion, this self-serving so-and-so has proved that he doesn’t love you.
“The predictable aftermath of proof of this kind always finds Don Juan tiring of his sport. That’s when he drops you, picks up his line, and goes casting elsewhere for bigger and equally silly fish.
“If he loves you, let him prove his love by marching you to the altar.”
I think that’s pretty good for Abby. …

Blessed with perfect pitch, Howard learned to play the piano, violin, saxophone, clarinet, trumpet, drums, and marimba. In high school, he formed a band, Hunter’s Croonaders, which played at many dances in Boise. One winter his band played on a cruise ship, the SS President Jackson, and traveled to Japan, China, and the Philippines. He was thrilled to learn that his father was baptized while he was on this trip.

The following is taken from a Los Angeles newspaper account attesting to the strength of people who have risen above the sordid revenge and ugly bitterness which so often prevail in such circumstances:

“Three men were apprehended for the kidnap-murder of Marvin W. Merrill of Los Angeles. I knew Marvin personally—this young man grew up in my community—from his childhood. … Angelo B. Rollins, a black postal employee, was selected by the mail-carriers at Wagner Station to represent them by reading a eulogy at the funeral services. Elder Merrill had served the postal department for more than 20 years. Scattered throughout the chapel and overflow room were scores of postmen who came directly from their postal routes, still in their uniforms. … Rollins said: ‘No man can condone the actions of the perpetrators who ended his life. These vicious and vile acts that make us bow our heads in shame, point an accusing finger at innocent millions as a nation of offenders. In my sinful weakness, I would have rent them limb from limb,’” said this man, “‘but the still small voice of the Master said, “Vengeance is Mine.” … This Mormon Elder, Marvin Merrill, firm in the strength of his faith, and steeped in the teachings of Christ, would probably have said of them, as did our Savior at Calvary, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”’” (Cited in The Miracle of Forgiveness, p. 295.)

A missionary now
One blessing that wasn’t expected by the East Shores youth was the opportunity the temple would present for sharing the gospel. But when a granite building with a gold angel appears on one of the main streets in town, people ask questions.
Erin took two of her friends through the temple during the open house.
“Even though they weren’t extremely interested in learning more,” Erin says, “it just felt nice to share with them what I believe in.”

Another Tabernacle organist was Alexander Schreiner. He became famous all over the world for his organ playing. He played his first recital on the Tabernacle organ when he was a teenager, and he wrote music for many Primary songs, including “Jesus Is Our Loving Friend” (Children’s Songbook, page 58).