Gospel Story Finder

This was not your typical Sunday morning. On this particular February Sunday, members were encouraged to gather after sacrament meeting, and some leaders even ended services early, sending volunteers to help their neighbors.
Over 150 youth and adults from the La Crescenta California Stake gathered with shovels, wheelbarrows, and their bright yellow Mormon Helping Hands vests to help move mud. Torrential rains, combined with mountains of earth exposed because of burned-off vegetation, had sent rivers of mud down residential neighborhoods in their area. Homes had three to four feet of mud surrounding them and several feet of mud inside as well.
Volunteers cleared pathways though the mud so that homeowners could get to their belongings and salvage what had not been destroyed. Katie Callister, a Mia Maid in the La Canada Second Ward, said, “I really wanted to help shovel the mud out of the damaged homes, but when I got there I saw the terrible destruction. Seeing the residents’ faces turn from devastation to gratitude was such an amazing experience. It made me feel so happy to know that I was helping someone so much and at the same time serving the Lord.”
Tons of mud, rock, debris, and people’s belongings were moved that day by the youth and adults wearing those yellow vests. Many residents commented that they were touched that teenagers would give up their Sunday afternoon to help strangers.

It was a cloudy Sunday morning as I stood at the kitchen sink finishing the breakfast dishes. My two youngest children were watching a scripture video in the family room by the kitchen. I was lost in thought, and my cheeks were wet from tears. I couldn’t get my mind off the cancer that had invaded our home. My husband had been fighting it for several years, but now it had spread. My faith seemed to be wavering. My mind was crowded with “what if?” thoughts.
Suddenly the scripture video interrupted my thoughts with words from a calming voice: “Peace, be still. …
“Why are ye so fearful? how is it that ye have no faith?” (Mark 4:39–40).
I dropped the dishrag and turned to look at the TV. The video was about the Savior calming the storm. It was as if the words had been spoken to me by the Savior Himself. A feeling of warmth and peace flooded over me. It was a reminder to stick to the faith I had learned so much about through the years of cancer. It was a faith buttressed by words in my patriarchal blessing.
I learned to let the Savior carry us, I learned that I must keep my faith constant, and I learned to combat mounting fears with faith. The video that morning reminded me to rely on the Lord.

The last time I saw President Heber J. Grant was in the Church Administration Building when he was quite aged. President Grant had been driven to the Church Administration Building where the driver called for another brother to help him assist President Grant, one on each arm, to his office.
I was just entering the building as President Grant was coming toward the door. He said to the two brethren assisting him, “Isn’t that Brother Benson coming?”
They replied, “Yes.”
He said, “Come here. Come here, Brother Benson.”
I walked over to him, and President Grant said, “Did I ever tell you about the mean trick Brigham Young played on your great-grandfather?”
I said, “No, President. I didn’t know Brigham Young ever played a mean trick on anyone.”
He responded, “Oh, yes, he did. I’ll tell you about it.”
I could see that the two brethren were practically supporting all of President Grant’s weight, so I said, “I’ll come and visit you some time. I’d like to hear the story.”
He replied, “No, I’ll tell you right here. These brethren can hold me steady while I tell you.”
He said, “You know where Zion’s Bank is, on the corner of Main Street and South Temple Street?”
I said, “Yes.”
He continued, “Your great-grandfather built the finest home in Salt Lake City on that corner, with the exception of Brigham Young’s home (which, of course, was the Lion House which still stands). He had it all finished. It was a beautiful home—two stories with a porch at both levels on both sides of the house. It had a white picket fence around it with fruit trees and ornamental trees and with a little stream running through the yard. He was all ready to move his families in from their log cabins when President Young called him into the office one day. ‘Brother Benson,’ he said, ‘we would like you to go to Cache Valley in northern Utah and pioneer that area and preside over the Saints. We suggest you sell your home to Daniel H. Wells.’
“Now,” President Grant said, “Daniel H. Wells was Brigham Young’s counselor. Wasn’t that a mean trick? Come on, brethren, let’s go.”
In all the years that I had attended the Benson Family reunions I had never heard that story. So I had it verified by the Church Historical Department, and they assured me that the facts were as President Grant related them. They told me they had an old photograph of the old home.
Since that time, I have been most grateful for the so-called “mean trick” of President Young, because were it not for that, the Bensons would not have their roots in Cache Valley.

President Monson recalls an act of priesthood service that changed his life.
I recall the time when I was ordained a deacon. Our bishopric stressed the sacred responsibility which was ours to pass the sacrament. Emphasized were proper dress, a dignified bearing, and the importance of being clean inside and out. As we were taught the procedure in passing the sacrament, we were told how we should assist Louis McDonald, a brother in our ward who was afflicted with a palsied condition, that he might have the opportunity to partake of the sacred emblems.
How I remember being assigned to pass the sacrament to the row where Brother McDonald sat. I was fearful and hesitant as I approached this wonderful brother, and then I saw his smile and the eager expression of gratitude that showed his desire to partake. Holding the tray in my left hand, I took a small piece of bread and pressed it to his lips. The water was later served in the same way. I felt I was on holy ground. And indeed I was. The privilege to pass the sacrament to Brother McDonald made better deacons of us all.

Over a year after his first meeting with the missionaries, with his parents in attendance to support him, Tyreece entered the waters of baptism and became a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He is currently preparing to serve a mission, but more importantly, Tyreece can confidently declare: “Even though I started this journey for someone else, my testimony of the gospel is now my own.”
Tyreece’s progress in the Church has not gone unnoticed. At the end of 2022, he was asked to speak at the Auckland Papatoetoe Stake conference, where he bore his testimony:
“I know this Church is true. I know that when your faith in Heavenly Father is strong, He will bless you and your family for all eternity. I know that when you follow Heavenly Father’s commandments, He will guide you and your family to the right path . . . I have seen it with my own eyes and through experience. Now I want to help guide families towards Heavenly Father, so they can be together forever for all eternity.”

Or take Manny. To those around him, Manny looks like a guy with a really easy life. He’s on the football team, he gets good grades, and he has many friends.
But Manny never invites his friends over to his house. He doesn’t want them to know that his father is an alcoholic. At age 15, Manny has to be both “big brother” and “dad” to his brothers and sisters. He has to be both oldest son and home repairman for his mother. Manny’s the one who puts the tricycles and toys together on Christmas Eve.

Growing up in Brazil, my father always told me stories about my grandfather—how he immigrated from Germany to Brazil at a very early age and did not have the opportunity to study. My grandfather worked as a painter in the local community. He took a lot of pride in his work and would always do his best to exceed his customers’ expectations. As a result, he always had a lot of work available to him. Through his work, he was able to provide a good living for his wife and their five children. They were not rich. Life was still challenging, but they had their own house and covered the basic needs of life. They were happy.

Before my first mission, when I was attending the university, I invited a lovely young lady to attend the university’s junior prom dinner dance. I had dated this fine girl a few times before. Every time we came home from a date, her father would be in his big leather chair, fully dressed, waiting for us.

As I went to pick her up the evening of the dance at the university, her father said, “What time will you be home?” I responded, “Sir, as you know, this is a special dinner-dance at the university; the dinner is scheduled to be served after the dance, so we would like to stay out later than usual.” I added, “You may not wish to wait up for us that late.” He simply said, “I will be waiting for you.” The dance was special, but the dinner service was terribly slow. I soon developed indigestion. The longer it went, the worse I felt. When we got back to her home, I found the father had kept his promise. There in his big leather chair was this wonderful, concerned family patriarch waiting for one of his fine daughters to be safely back under his own roof. He said something like this, “What keeps you out so late, James?”

Victor and Susana Mendoza of the Ramona (Spanish) Branch, Hemet California Stake, have found that rotating the opportunity to teach is an excellent way to come up with innovative lessons. “Our family home evenings are truly exciting,” writes Sister Mendoza. “Our children each take a turn and invent ways to make family home evening different and interesting. For example, Victor Daniel makes invitations and gives them to us in advance so we can be on time. When Jasmin finishes her lesson, she gives us a certificate of achievement for paying attention. Melissa tells us interesting stories she has learned in seminary.
“It wasn’t easy at first, but we put our faith in the Lord, and He has helped us. I testify that holding family home evenings has strengthened our marriage as well as our family. Our bonds of love grow stronger each week. We’re grateful to Jesus Christ for showing us the way and for giving us His Spirit in our home and in our hearts.”

Subject: Lisa (Elizabeth)
Age: 16 years
Event: A ride home with Larry Hill, local football hero
“Did you see Friday night’s game?” Larry asked as he helped her into the car.
“Oh, sure. You were wonderful!”
“Thanks.’”
“I bet you have to practice hard to get so strong and fast. Just watching you run around the other team is so exciting.”
“Things have always come easy for me. ‘Natural talent’ is the way the paper describes it.”
“But you must train hard.” “No,” he answered, “training is for people who don’t have natural talent.”
“Are you going to play in the pros?” she asked.
“Oh, sure,” he answered confidently. “I’m going to be a legend in my own time. Someday you’ll see me on TV and you’ll tell people that you knew the great Larry Hill and that he gave you a ride home from a school pep assembly practice.”
“Okay,” she smiled, “I’ll do my part if you do yours.”
“It might be a nicer memory if you’d sit a little closer,” he suggested. Turning on his four-track stereo to mood music, he casually put his arm over her shoulder. “You know, Lisa, I was watching you tonight. I think I could really fall for you.”
She sat forward, leaving his arm dangling in the air. “Larry, do you know where I live? It’s on Fairmont.”
“Sure, I know.”
“Then where are you driving?” “I thought we could go up on the hill overlooking town and look at the moon … and talk.”
“You can see the moon really well from my house,” she suggested.
He looked at her suddenly with a puzzled expression. “You’re joking? You don’t want to go up there with me?”
“I’ve got to go home. My parents will be worrying.”
He angrily flipped off the music, made a U-turn in the middle of the block, and sped back toward her house. “I’ll tell you one thing, “he finally said, “there are not many girls in our school who’d turn down attention from me.”
“Really? Maybe I’ll be a legend in my own time, too.”
“You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?”
“Larry, you’ve got the whole world telling you how great you are. Isn’t that enough?”
“Why won’t you go up there with me and talk?”
“I’ll talk with you in our kitchen over popcorn. Why do you want to go there?”
“I might want to kiss you.”
“And parking up there has worked with other girls?”
“Look, who else ever pays any attention to you? I’m doing you a favor.”
“You sound so sorry for me,” she said. “Is a kiss from you such a prize?”
“Other girls think so,” he answered crisply.
“Suppose I just let them have my share.”__________
“But my cousin says that you are a good athlete,” Elizabeth said to Dan.
“I play racquetball. I’ve been state champion three times. Since I wasn’t cut out to be a football player, I substituted racquetball.”
As he opened the car door for her outside the restaurant, she gave him a broad smile.
__________
“Elizabeth, you have the most beautiful smile.”

I remember another time, while living in California, I was in my office at work and the office manager, very attractive at 30, came into my office, shut the door, sat in front of me, and with tears began to complain to me about her husband. As she cried and complained, I grabbed the phone book and searched for the phone number to the mission office in L.A. I then shared my testimony and put her in touch with the missionaries.

On the day of my baptism I was nervous – not about the decision that I had made to become a member of the church, nor about my belief in our Saviour Jesus Christ and the Book of Mormon – but because I was worried about being fully immersed in water. However, I should not have worried. I cannot adequately describe the feeling I felt as I was immersed and raised out of the font feeling clean, fresh, pure and rebuilt. As I was confirmed I could feel the Holy Spirit at work. I had a tingling sensation down my spine, I felt calm, strong, and galvanised. I still feel the Holy Spirit with me, especially when I study the scriptures and pray to Heavenly Father. When the Holy Spirit is near I feel goosebumps on my arms and legs, and this sensation gives me comfort, and I know that I will never be alone.

When Darron Moller and his family moved to a new ward in New Zealand, Darron was assigned a young man named Scott, a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood, as his home teaching companion.
“I didn’t know who Scott was, and when I asked, I was told, ‘Just look for someone taller than you.’ I soon found him,” Darron remembers.
Scott, 15, is a counselor in his teachers quorum presidency, and like Nephi, one of his heroes in the Book of Mormon, Scott is large in stature. He also has Nephi’s determination to follow the Lord’s commandments.
“At school I listen to people in my class congratulating each other about doing crazy things, and I just think, ‘I’m so glad I don’t do that,’” Scott says. “Ever since I was small it’s been in my mind that those things are wrong, and knowing the consequences makes it easier not to do wrong things.”
As a member of the teachers quorum, which has the responsibility to prepare the sacrament, Scott was faced with an unfortunate situation one Sunday: there weren’t enough sacrament cups for his large ward.
“I felt bad—feeling that we hadn’t fulfilled our duty,” Scott says. “We decided that the teachers had to be more organized, and now our quorum presidency meets the hour before sacrament meeting for our presidency meeting to make sure everything is in order for the sacrament and to prepare for the next few weeks. I like the order in the Church. When there is order, you don’t have to worry.”
As his home teaching companion, Darron has found that Scott adds a new dimension to his calling. “I resolved to be 100 percent in visiting our families, and Scott definitely makes that possible. He calls me to make sure I’ve made the appointments. And when he taught the lesson the first time, he asked me to go early so I could hear what he’d prepared. Even the little children we taught listened to him.”
And how does Scott feel about being a home teacher? “I like going home teaching with Brother Moller. If it were two teachers going together, we just wouldn’t know as much. But by having someone older than me, I get to hear different viewpoints from different age groups. Sometimes it’s scary giving a lesson to just a few people—you don’t know how you’re going to be received. But it feels good when they listen.”

11. In 1956, after returning home from several years in Washington, D.C., and having declined several attractive offers there, I received an offer to work at the University of Utah. My wife said I should take it. She said presciently, “I feel if you go there, maybe you will have some influence on students.” I replied impatiently, “I’ll be typing news releases, not working with students.” The subsequent opportunities included being a bishop of a student ward, dean of students, and teaching hundreds of fine students in political science. It wasn’t status that mattered, of course, but being stretched and being given opportunities to serve.
Our wives are often inspired but sometimes in counterintuitive ways—a reality, young men, which your fathers may be brave enough to explain to you sometime.

When Elder Wirthlin was young, he loved to go fishing with his father, Joseph L. Wirthlin, who would later become the Presiding Bishop of the Church.
“When I was a boy, I spent a lot of time with my father and loved to be with him. One time we went on a fishing trip on the upper part of the Provo River, southeast of Heber City, Utah. We were walking through a meadow, and I was some distance behind him. Father disappeared over a rise in the meadow, and he fell into a deep pond of water!
“When I came over the rise, there was his hat floating on the surface of the water. He finally came up gasping for air, and I reached down and helped him get out of the pond so that he didn’t drown.
“Even though I was young and very small, I learned in a dramatic way that there are many things that we can do to help our parents on a daily basis, or even in a lifesaving situation. We should always be willing to reach out to help our loved ones, regardless of the situation.”

In 1959 he left the University of Utah and went into private practice. There he was, thirty-five years old and with a family of six children, in training all those years after medical school, going deeper and deeper into debt in order to properly prepare himself for his chosen profession.
Nevertheless, he was called to the demanding work of a stake president. Prior to his setting apart, Brother Nelson had mentioned that one of the serious challenges facing him as a surgeon was the difficulty of aortic valve replacement. In the blessing, Elder Spencer W. Kimball, then of the Quorum of the Twelve, promised him that the quality of his work as a surgeon would increase so that he would have the time to serve as stake president without jeopardizing his patients. Elder Kimball himself was to benefit later from this blessing, for in 1972 the open-heart operation that Dr. Nelson performed on Spencer W. Kimball included aortic valve replacement.
The operation was performed on President Kimball the following year on April 12. It was flawless—thousands of intricate manipulations performed without error, according to a blessing he had received under the hands of President Harold B. Lee and President N. Eldon Tanner. Even more special to Dr. Nelson was an overpowering feeling that came upon him at the conclusion of the operation: “The Spirit told me that I had just operated on a man who would become president of the Church,” he said.

Some years ago my husband and I arose early in the morning wanting to arrive on the grounds of the Jordan River Temple well before the crowd that would gather for the occasion of laying the cornerstone for the magnificent edifice. Our plan was ill timed. The crowd was already there when we arrived. Due to the contour of the land, I was not only stretching to see over the heads of those in front of me, but we were on the low side of the slope in front of the temple and I couldn’t see what was going on. Heber, being considerably taller, tried to ease my disappointment by reporting to me the observations from his vantage point. “The choir is assembling,” he reported. “The General Authorities are taking their places. The TV cameras are in place.” This only added to my frustration as I faced the backs of those in front who were seeing this historic event that I was missing.

After reaching and stretching without success to catch even a glimpse of the drama, I decided to settle down, hoping to just feel the spirit of the occasion. It was when I relaxed that I changed my perspective and was attracted by an activity at the far northeast side of the temple just beyond the corner. This became the focal point of my interest. There I observed two men dressed in dark pants, white shirts and ties. They each had a shovel. They were busily engaged around a wheelbarrow. I saw them empty sacks of concrete, pour in water, and mix the contents in the wheelbarrow. In time, after hearing the choir and the impressive messages given by the presiding authorities, Heber reported to me that the cameras were now moving from center stage to the location for the placement of the cornerstone.

I watched. At that moment the men who mixed the mortar pushed the wheelbarrow to the front of the building and then quickly disappeared behind the scenes. The cornerstone was carefully anchored in place with the mortar prepared for this important event. On the news that evening I saw what the cameras saw. But they did not see what I had seen.

Now, years later, I never drive by the Jordan River Temple, especially after dark with the bright lights shining like beacons of refuge to a darkening world, without thinking of the men who mixed the mortar—those whose quiet, unsung labors played a major role in the placement of the cornerstone for the house of the Lord in a building that will stand against all of the storms of life.

As an example, may I read a paragraph from a letter I received only last week from a young woman who is engaged in this kind of activity as president of the Relief Society.

Yesterday [she writes] I spent the better part of the day picking up welfare groceries and delivering them. One of the two cases I called on was tragic. She is a woman who, years ago, was in a fire and her head was badly injured. For years she has undergone constructive surgery and has a number of pins holding her scalp together. She is divorced, and in order to support herself and her four-year-old girl, she works at anything and everything she can find, doing a job here and a job there, until she is through surgery and can return to school to complete her training as a dietician. She has no car and relies solely on her bicycle for transportation in this great and busy city. She has ridden that bike all winter, with her little girl on the back, sometimes going as many as thirty miles in a day in order to get to and from a small job.

A week ago she hit a patch of ice while riding, fell, struck her head, and suffered a concussion. She refused to go to the hospital because she had no money to pay, so she remained in her apartment, suffering from pain until her sister found her and got medical help. Her mother was able to assist her just a little. Her home teacher happened to call and discovered her plight. When I, as the Relief Society president, called her, I discovered she had no food in the house, no medication for her diabetes, and not a cent of money. So yesterday I went to deliver the groceries and take her some medication. What an opportunity to serve one of those so desperately in need!

When I was about seven years old, my Primary president wanted to help the children be more reverent in our Primary. She made a large bulletin board shaped like a lamb. Whenever a child was reverent, she put a lamb-shaped sticker on the bulletin board next to his or her name. I really wanted one of those lamb stickers.
So one day in Primary, I sat quietly with my arms folded and stared at the Primary president so she would notice me being reverent. A taller boy sat in front of me, so I slid down the bench so she could see me.
Then, as I sat there quietly, the pianist started playing a sweet, quiet Primary song. As I listened, a peaceful feeling came over me, and tears started to come down my cheeks. I didn’t know why I felt so happy and peaceful inside.
After Primary I told my mom about what I had felt, and she told me that it was the Spirit. That day, I learned what the Spirit feels like. Whenever I need to make important decisions and need guidance from the Spirit, I remember how peaceful I felt that day, and I can recognize how the Spirit speaks to me.

Tonight I want to tell you about a girl who was a pianist of some promise. When she was quite small, her mother sat with her on the piano bench each day, taught her the notes, and encouraged her to practice while she learned those first pieces.
Soon this wise mother decided she had taught her as much as she knew and that her daughter should begin taking lessons from a professional teacher. The young woman was encouraged constantly, and while in high school she had the opportunity to play part of a piano concerto with a symphony orchestra.
As she entered the hall the night of the concert, there was excitement in her heart. She felt confident and ready because her preparation had been thorough. She took her place at the piano bench. The conductor lifted his baton, and she raised her eyes to watch for his signal.
Suddenly her eye caught the face of someone she knew. It shifted her attention so that, when the conductor gave the cue, she could not respond. Her mind went blank; her memory failed; her fingers froze; she could not think of the beginning notes. The conductor cued her once more; still no response. Finally, after an agonizing pause, someone passed her the music so she could begin.
When the number was over, she rushed from the stage, thoroughly devastated by what had happened. She wanted the earth to open up and swallow her. Anything would do, so long as she didn’t have to face her parents, her friends, the orchestra members, or any of the audience. Suddenly, in one brief moment, her whole life stopped, so she thought. But of course it didn’t. She had to stand up and walk out of that concert hall.
She didn’t die; the world didn’t stop. In fact, there is no record that it even skipped a beat on that momentous day. I know because I was there—I was that girl. I lived to play other pieces and to perform before other audiences because my teacher said I could. And my parents reminded me that I must go on. The humiliation still races through me when I think about it. But I have come to realize that my life did not end that night because, though I had been preparing for a piano performance, I had also been preparing in other ways. Perhaps more significantly, others had been teaching me and preparing me to pick myself up and try again.
My time of preparation had been carefully guided by people who loved me to include experiences with gospel principles. Those teachings were well cultivated inside me so that, when the time of hurt and embarrassment came, I knew I was not alone. I knew there was more to the valued experience of life than playing the piano.