Gospel Story Finder

My father-in-law, Blaine Twitchell, one of the best men I have ever known, taught me a great lesson. Sister Rasband and I went to visit him when he was nearing the end of his mortal journey. As we entered his room, his bishop was just leaving. As we greeted the bishop, I thought, “What a nice bishop. He’s here doing his ministering to a faithful member of his ward.”
I mentioned to Blaine, “Wasn’t that nice of the bishop to come visit.”
Blaine looked at me and responded, “It was far more than that. I asked for the bishop to come because I wanted my temple recommend interview. I want to go recommended to the Lord.” And he did!
That phrase, “recommended to the Lord,” has stayed with me. It has put a whole new perspective on being interviewed regularly by our Church leaders. So important is a temple recommend that in the early Church, until 1891, each temple recommend was endorsed by the President of the Church.

I would like to say a few words about President Thomas S. Monson. Some years ago, President Monson came to a regional conference in Hamburg, Germany, and it was my honor to accompany him. President Monson has a remarkable memory, and we talked about many of the Saints in Germany—I was amazed that he remembered so many so well.
President Monson asked me about Brother Michael Panitsch, a former stake president and then a patriarch, who had been one of the stalwart pioneers of the Church in Germany. I told him that Brother Panitsch was seriously ill, that he was bedridden and unable to attend our meetings.
President Monson asked if we could pay him a visit.
I knew that shortly before his trip to Hamburg, President Monson had undergone foot surgery and that he could not walk without pain. I explained that Brother Panitsch lived on the fifth floor of a building with no elevators. We would have to climb the stairs to see him.
But President Monson insisted. And so we went.
I remember how difficult it was for President Monson to climb those stairs. He could take only a few at a time before needing to stop and rest. He never uttered a word of complaint, and he would not turn back. Because the building had high ceilings, the stairs seemed to go on forever, but President Monson cheerfully persevered until we arrived at the apartment of Brother Panitsch on the fifth floor.
Once there, we had a wonderful visit. President Monson thanked him for his life of dedicated service and cheered him with a smile. Before we left, he gave him a wonderful priesthood blessing.
No one but Brother Panitsch, the immediate family, and myself ever saw that act of courage and compassion.
President Monson could have chosen to rest between our long and frequent meetings. He could have asked to see some of the beautiful sights of Hamburg. I have often thought of how remarkable it was that of all the sights in that city, the one he wanted to see more than any other was a feeble and ailing member of the Church who had faithfully and humbly served the Lord.
President Monson came to Hamburg to teach and bless the people of a country, and that is what he did. But at the same time, he focused on the one, name by name. His vision is so broad and far-reaching to grasp the complexities of a worldwide Church, yet he is also so compassionate to focus on the one.

Marcy hated her eye patch. She’d had to wear it every day for two weeks while her eye healed from surgery, and it made her feel like a scary, one-eyed pirate.
It wasn’t so bad wearing the patch at the hospital or at home because nobody but Marcy’s family saw it. But today was different. Marcy had to face other people for the first time since her surgery. “Mom, please don’t make me go to Primary,” she begged. “The kids will make fun of me.”
“No, they won’t,” Mom said as she braided Marcy’s hair.
“They will,” Marcy insisted. “Nine-year-olds don’t think eye patches are neat, Mom.”
“Sweetie, you might be surprised. I bet they’ll be interested in your surgery. You may be the star of the class.”
Marcy shot her mom a look of disbelief. “Cammy will make fun of me. She always wears the prettiest clothes—she wouldn’t be caught dead in an eye patch. And Dean will probably call me names.” Mom listened while she twisted shiny lavender ribbons around Marcy’s smooth braid.
“Your teacher won’t make fun of you,” Mom said, tying the ribbons into Marcy’s hair.
“Mom,” Marcy sighed, “teachers aren’t allowed to tease.”
“You’re beautiful,” Mom said. “Don’t worry about the patch.”
Marcy frowned. “I don’t look beautiful.”
“Marcy,” Mom said, “to me you look beautiful, and to Heavenly Father you do, too. It says in the scriptures that Heavenly Father doesn’t look on outward appearances, but on the heart. He doesn’t care about fashionable clothes or stylish hair. Or, for that matter, crutches or wheelchairs—or eye patches.”
Marcy sighed again. “Tell that to Cammy and Dean.”
Soon it was time for church, and Marcy’s family drove away in their red van. They slipped into the chapel and sat on the last row. Marcy kept her head down, hoping nobody would notice her.
After sacrament meeting, Marcy trudged down the hall toward her classroom, keeping her head toward the wall to hide the patch. As she got closer to her classroom, tears began welling up in her eyes. Her face flushed hot, and her heart felt like it would pound out of her chest.
She stood outside the classroom door, hoping everyone would notice her lovely hair and pale purple ribbons instead of the ugly black patch. She took a deep breath, but couldn’t go in. The sound of squeaky chairs and gentle laughter inside the room sounded so normal. She didn’t feel like she fit in with those happy sounds.
She glanced around and noticed the hallways were strangely empty. It seemed everybody but her was already in class. She gripped the doorknob. It felt cold on her clammy hands. Turning the knob, she vowed not to cry, no matter how badly the children teased her. She slid through the door and into the nearest seat, keeping her uncovered eye focused on her feet.
Then she heard it. A giggle. She thought it was Dean, but she couldn’t be sure. Then there was another snicker, and another. Then her teacher’s deep voice. “Welcome back, Marcy.”
Marcy looked up at him, knowing he wouldn’t tease her. She gasped when she saw his face. He was wearing an eye patch! A black eye patch, exactly like Marcy’s.
Marcy giggled. Then she looked at the other children in the class. They were all wearing eye patches! Even Cammy. She had painted a yellow tulip on hers, to match the yellow tulips on her blouse. Dean had scrawled his initials on his patch in bright blue puff paint. The rest of the class wore variously decorated patches, with gold stars, smiling suns, or plain black. “Basic black,” her teacher said. “It goes with everything.”
Marcy laughed again to see the variety of eye patches. And suddenly, she didn’t dislike her eye patch quite so much. For the first time all day, she knew that Heavenly Father really did look on her heart. And she knew He could see that hers was full of gratitude and happiness.

Another major decision Elder Whiting made was when he accepted a call, extended by Elder M. Russell Ballard of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, to serve as a bishop. Elder Ballard asked him if he would see his responsibilities through. He gave the Apostle his word, and though more lucrative job opportunities arose that would have required a move, Elder Whiting honored his promise.
His service helped him develop a passion for “going into the homes of less-active members and helping them renew or make covenants with God.”

Anne Luthy, Annette’s mother, knows Finnish well, and she helped translate Annette’s testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel onto the inside cover of several copies of the Book of Mormon. Annette took the books to school, where she is one of only three members of the Church, and gave them to five of her teachers and several of her classmates. She also found occasion to tell her friends the Joseph Smith story.

As a missionary here in Mexico I am faced with rather special situations, one of which is the frequent need to ride alone in buses from city to city. The mission rules state that we must never be without a “companion,” so I always take along the New Era to keep me company on the long, lonely rides through the night. Gracias, amigos.
Elder Sterling Robin SmithMexico North Mission

Lara M., 8, England, was baptized on her birthday by her bishop. Her mother and two older brothers were excited to see her baptized.

Many years ago this conference heard of a young man who found the restored gospel while he was studying in the United States. As this man was about to return to his native land, President Gordon B. Hinckley asked him what would happen to him when he returned home as a Christian. “My family will be disappointed,” the young man answered. “They may cast me out and regard me as dead. As for my future and my career, all opportunity may be foreclosed against me.”

“Are you willing to pay so great a price for the gospel?” President Hinckley asked.

Tearfully the young man answered, “It’s true, isn’t it?” When that was affirmed, he replied, “Then what else matters?”8 That is the spirit of sacrifice among many of our new members.

When Elder Dale G. Renlund was 12, his family lived in Sweden. One Sunday, Dale’s friend Steffan brought a large firecracker and some matches into the Church building. Dale was excited. Dale took the firecracker and lit the fuse. He was going to snuff out the fuse, but he burned his fingers and dropped the firecracker! Dale and Steffan watched in horror as the fuse kept burning.
The firecracker exploded! An awful smell filled the chapel. Dale and Steffan quickly picked up the pieces of firecracker and opened the windows to let the smell out. They hoped no one would notice.
As people came to sacrament meeting, they did notice. The smell was so strong that people couldn’t focus on the meeting. Dale felt very embarrassed and ashamed. He knew that what he had done had disappointed Heavenly Father.
After church, President Lindberg, the branch president, asked Dale to come to his office because he could tell that something was wrong. Dale told President Lindberg how sorry he was about the firecracker.
President Lindberg was kind. He opened the scriptures and asked Dale to read some underlined verses. Dale read, “Behold, he who has repented of his sins, the same is forgiven, and I, the Lord, remember them no more. By this ye may know if a man repenteth of his sins—behold, he will confess them and forsake them” (D&C 58:42–43).
When Dale finished reading, he saw President Lindberg smile. He felt he had been forgiven. As Dale left the office, he felt happy.
Elder Renlund learned that he could be forgiven when he did something wrong. He could feel happy when he repented and kept Heavenly Father’s commandments.

One morning as my companion and I were leaving our flat for the day, I wasn’t very happy. I wanted to take the car that day, but we have a rule in the mission that we have to “car fast” (walk, not drive) for two days each week—and this was one of those days. I was not happy about having to walk, and as we left I said a prayer asking that I might be able to see the reason why we had to “car fast.”
We walked down the road and talked to a few people. As we turned onto another long road, I noticed a man with two children. I had the distinct impression to talk to him. However, to my shame, I initially thought, “He’s so far away.”
Again the impression came, and again I ignored it. Suddenly the man noticed I was looking at him, and he yelled, “G’day, boys.” I crossed the street and said hello. We chatted for a minute, and I found out his name is Daniel and his grandmother is a member of the Church. He told us we could come to his house and teach him and his boys, and the boys seemed keen.
Three months later I had the wonderful experience of witnessing the baptisms of Daniel and one of his sons. Daniel had grown closer to the Lord in numerous ways. He had changed his life and sincerely repented of past sins, and through great effort and total commitment, he was worthy to be baptized and confirmed.
We recently visited Daniel and his family. He told us his wife is now interested in learning more about the Church. She said that it seems she, too, will be baptized.
It has been a humbling and spiritual experience to see the family progress. It causes me to reflect on the mercy and goodness of God, who would reach down and answer my simple prayer. I know that everything the Lord commands has a purpose. I know that He is preparing people to hear the gospel and that I have to be obedient for them to come to me and for me to be led to them.

My father, not a member of the Church, was actively involved in local business and community affairs. His motto was “If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right.” As my siblings and I discovered the gospel and lived it to the best of our abilities, he noticed the changes for good in our lives. In 2000, President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) stayed in my father’s home on his return from the dedication of the Suva Fiji Temple. During that visit, the Spirit touched my father’s heart, and I was privileged to baptize him when he was 82 years old. He found great joy in the gospel and was unashamed and bold in sharing it with others during the last days of his life.

When our mom was sick and needed to nap, we decided to read the Friend. Reading it helped us from getting into mischief.
Micah and Levi S., ages 6 and 8, Nevada, USA

Four-thirty in the morning seems awfully early to some people, but not to Alisa Jan Blackburn, a Laurel in the Bowie Ward, Suitland Maryland Stake. She got up at that hour every school day, without fail, for the past four years, achieving 100 percent attendance at her 5:30 A.M. seminary class.
Alisa says that setting goals and sticking with a plan is what helped her achieve four years of perfect attendance. It also helped her earn her Young Women Recognition award. It didn’t hurt in her position of co-chair of the stake youth committee, either. Alisa is currently attending Ricks College.

Our widowed mother wisely saw that Church activities would provide her sons with experiences she could not provide because we had no male role model in the home. I remember her urging me to watch and try to be like the good men in our ward. She pushed me to participate in Scouting and other Church activities that would provide this opportunity.

On Tuesday I went to the temple my first time and performed baptisms for the dead. Because of the Restoration, I was able to help those who have died without the gospel to have eternal blessings.

An early leader said: “I look at our President—I always did watch the captain of the ship with peculiar interest, when on the ocean surrounded by icebergs or when in the midst of great storms. … I watched his eye and his demeanor, and I fancied … that I could form a good idea of our peril by watching him. I have been in storms when everybody on board excepting the Elders expected to go down. …” (Gospel Truth, p. 271.)

Phillis stood on her tiptoes and took a book from the shelf. She sat down in a chair by the window. The pages were very thin, so she turned them carefully.
“Phillis, what are you doing?” asked Miss Mary Wheatley from the doorway.
The little black girl looked up. She hadn’t asked to use the book. Is my mistress angry? she wondered.
But Mary was smiling. “You like books, don’t you, Phillis?” she asked kindly.
The little girl nodded.
Her mistress came over and looked at what Phillis had on her lap. “That’s a book of poems.”
“What are poems?” asked Phillis.
“Words that are put together in a lovely way,” the girl told her.
Just then Nat, Mary’s twin brother, came into the library through another door. “Well, what have we here?” He smiled at the little black girl.
Phillis didn’t say anything. Nathaniel Wheatley wasn’t home very often, and she didn’t know him well.
“We were just talking about books,” his sister told him. “Phillis likes to look at them.”
“Really?” he asked. “Well, Mary, why don’t you teach her to read?”
Mary had hoped her brother would suggest that. He had taught her to read. Not many girls in the 1770s could boast that! She turned to her young servant and asked, “Would you like to learn to read, Phillis?”
The little girl nodded as hard as she could. She looked like a tiny excited bird.
Nat laughed. “You certainly have an eager pupil.” Then he kissed his sister good-bye and set off for downtown Boston to see his father.
“Phillis,” asked her mistress, “would you like to begin today?” Mary was excited too.
“Yes,” answered the little girl in her soft musical voice. “I can hardly wait.”
“Fine,” said Mary. “Some of Mother’s friends are coming to visit in the early afternoon. When they leave, we’ll have our first lesson.”
Phillis closed the book and put it back on the shelf. She knew that it was her job to serve refreshments to the guests.
Soon three ladies were seated in the parlor with Mrs. Wheatley and Mary. Phillis carried a tray into the room. She walked slowly and carefully and didn’t spill anything. She offered the plate of cakes to each woman. Then she poured lemonade into dainty cups. When she left the room, she sat down on a chair outside the door so that she could hear her mistress if she called.
“That girl always seems so cheerful,” she heard one of the ladies say. “My Bertha isn’t like that at all. She never wants to do any work. And when I make her, she grumbles.”
“Phillis is special,” Mrs. Wheatley told the woman. “She’s smart too. A few months ago she had never been away from her African village. And now she speaks good English!”
Phillis felt important when she heard people talk about her that way.
“Today she looks even happier than usual,” another lady said.
Mary smiled. “That’s because we start our lessons this afternoon. I’m going to teach her to read.”
One of the women gasped. “Teach a slave to read? That’s ridiculous! Servants don’t need to read.”
That made Phillis angry. She knew that Mary would tell the woman how wrong she was.
“Well,” said Phillis’s young mistress. “I suppose you’re right.”
The little girl couldn’t believe her ears. She ran up the stairs to her room in the attic, crawled under a dilapidated chair, and hid.
Soon the guests were gone.
“Phillis!” Mary called. “Phillis, you can clear away the dishes now.”
There was no answer. Phillis always came when she was called. Mary began to look for the little girl.
Up in the attic, Phillis heard her mistress. She knew that she might be punished for hiding, but she was so sad that she didn’t care what happened to her.
Finally Mary opened the door to the attic and stepped inside. She saw the edge of Phillis’s dress sticking out from under the chair. Mary pretended not to see her.
“Where could Phillis be?” she said out loud. “I hope she isn’t lost. I’d miss her if she were gone.”
Phillis felt guilty. “Here I am,” she said, crawling out.
“Aha!” cried her mistress. “You aren’t lost after all. You certainly fooled me.” She saw that Phillis wasn’t smiling back at her. “What’s the matter?”
“You told me you’d teach me to read,” she said. “Then that lady said that I didn’t need to learn. And you told her she was right.”
“Goodness!” Mary stooped down and put her hands on Phillis’s shoulders. “I said that she was right that you don’t need to read. But you must have run away before I finished. I told her that a person who wants to read should be able to, even if he doesn’t need to. After all, a lot of people say that girls don’t need to study. But I learn, right along with my brother.”
Phillis opened her eyes wide. “Does that mean you’ll still teach me? You’ll even teach me to read poems?”
“Of course. We’ll start as soon as the dishes are cleared away,” she told the little black girl. “And when you know a few words, I’ll teach you to write them too. Maybe someday you’ll write your very own poems.”
“My very own poems,” said Phillis slowly. She ran out of the attic to finish her work.
Mary smiled as she watched her go. She’s special, she thought. She may be a great woman one day, even if she did come to this country on a slave ship.
Mary Wheatley was right. In the next few years, Phillis learned to read and write English very well. She also studied Latin, ancient history, and mythology. When she was about thirteen, she wrote some poems that were published a few years later. Phillis Wheatley became the first famous black woman writer in America.

When I was a student at Brigham Young University, I lived in a house with several young men. My roommate, Bruce, was the most optimistic person I have ever known. We never once heard him say anything negative about any person or any circumstance, and it was impossible not to feel buoyed up in his presence. His good cheer flowed from an abiding trust in the Savior and in His gospel.
One cold, wintry day, another friend of mine, Tom, was walking across the university campus. It was only 7:00 in the morning, and the campus was deserted and dark. Heavy snow was falling, with a brisk wind. “What miserable weather,” Tom thought. He walked farther, and out in the darkness and snow, he heard someone singing.
Sure enough, through the driving snow came our ever-optimistic friend, Bruce. With his arms outstretched to the sky, he was singing a number from the Broadway musical Oklahoma: “Oh, what a beautiful morning! Oh, what a beautiful day! I’ve got a beautiful feeling, everything’s going my way” (see Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II, “Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin’” [1943]).
In the intervening years, that bright voice in a dark storm has become for me a symbol of what faith and hope are all about. Even in a darkening world, we as Latter-day Saints may sing with joy, knowing that the powers of heaven are with God’s Church and people. We may rejoice in the knowledge that a beautiful morning lies ahead—the dawn of the millennial day, when the Son of God shall rise in the East and reign again on the earth.

“Looking back, I can see the hand of the Lord in my life, moving me from one place to the next and from one calling to the other in order to serve Him better,” says Elder Gavarret.
While serving as a bishop in Paraguay, he joined a pharmaceutical company that moved him to Bolivia to start a new branch. There he was called as president of a new stake, then as a regional representative. When the company moved the family to Peru to open another new branch, he was called as an Area Authority. The company moved them again, this time to Brazil, where he served as an Area Seventy. He later served as mission president.

One of the most important times I had a prayer answered was with my whole family. A few months after my cousin Christian finished his mission, he was driving late at night on a mountain canyon road. He and another car crashed into each other. The other driver was fine, but my cousin was taken to the hospital by helicopter.
Christian had serious injuries all over his whole body. He went into a coma, and the doctors didn’t think he would wake up. Our family decided to fast and pray. My parents, sisters, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and all my cousins took turns fasting for Christian. I fasted on a school day. I had to explain to my teacher and classmates why I wasn’t eating lunch that day. I really didn’t mind going without food for a day because I was fasting for my cousin.
Heavenly Father answered our prayers, and Christian eventually woke up from his coma. He still doesn’t have his full abilities back, but he has made some progress. I know Christian has a long recovery ahead of him. We still pray for him. Anything is possible with Heavenly Father’s help.