Gospel Story Finder

The ongoing family remembrance of our little Patrick began at the time I dedicated his grave on a lovely August afternoon in 1972.
Patrick was born in Abington, Pennsylvania, and because of a complication at birth he lived only six days. We lived near a lovely little cemetery, but decided that he should be buried instead in a location near where we would want our eventual home to be—or at least in an area we could easily visit, since corporate assignments might require us to move frequently for many years.
We therefore held the funeral and buried him in Utah, where we grew up and where our parents lived. Since then we have moved to two different European countries on assignment, and then back to Utah. We are grateful for having made that decision.
In the prayer of dedication at the gravesite, I asked fervently that our family might live to be worthy to join Patrick someday in that perfect place where he now is. Six years later, we still pray often for that same blessing and find that it is a significant family encouragement and challenge to work toward that goal.
We not only pray that we might someday meet and again associate with this special son and brother, but we also feel it is appropriate to pray for his current success and welfare. Nevertheless, we know that all is well with him because of the promise of the Lord that little children who die in infancy are perfect and worthy of his kingdom.
Inasmuch as we are now fortunate to live close to the cemetery where Patrick is buried, we go there from time to time to have family prayer. Sometimes one of our children will say, “Can we please stop at Patrick’s grave to have prayer?” Whenever we do, it provides us with a special teaching moment to talk with the children about things important, sacred, and eternal.
Since Patrick is, we feel, as much a part of our family as any living earthly child, we believe there is value to be gained from remembering his birthday and even in sharing a birthday cake baked in his honor. To have the children thus see our total faith as parents that Patrick is real, that his little body will be resurrected, and that we may be joined again eternally as a family is an advantage that we as parents would not want to lose.
Because four of our children have been born since Patrick died, we are grateful for the white leather book of remembrance we compiled to remember him by. In it we have his certificates, photos from the hospital and of the funeral and burial, related correspondence, and other small treasures. As we show the children this book of remembrance, Patrick remains real to those who knew him and becomes real to the children who did not meet him here.
My wife, Sandy, and I are most thankful for the fact that the Lord allowed the birth and death of this little boy to be one of the most beautiful and spiritual family experiences we have been privileged to have since our marriage. The Lord made Patrick’s presence and even his death sweet to us, and we cherish not only the memory of Patrick himself, but also the memory of those few special and sacred days we spent together. At that time we studied as thoroughly as possible the doctrines and writings of the Church regarding little children who die. As parents and as a family we cannot express how grateful we are for those promises and the future they hold. I want to say that we do not as a family constantly think and talk about Patrick, but we make a conscious effort not to forget him, nor to forget the special family challenge and promise he has given us.

One day as I was riding home on a bus from a sporting event, someone on the bus started a game of truth or dare. Bored, some of the other kids and I joined in. When it came to my turn, I was dared to do something that I knew wasn’t right. This could’ve been a hard decision for me to make, but the words of my Young Women leader came to my head, and the choice was easy. I quickly declined. I had already made up my mind on what I would do in that situation.

One of the greatest challenges in my life was the loss of my son, Michael, who died in an accident when he was two-and-a-half years old. It was a difficult experience for my family, and we still deal with the pain of our separation from him. But the Lord has taught, helped, and strengthened me in immeasurable ways. My testimony of eternal families is strong, and I look forward to being reunited with Michael. While it has been a difficult life experience, over the years, it has shown me in countless ways how much my Heavenly Father loves me. I would not be the disciple I am today, nor would I be here at BYU-Idaho, without that experience, and I am grateful for God’s tender mercies toward me.

In the article "Tommy and the Gumball Machine," Jean Ashby tells the story of her son, Tommy. Her little boy was following her into a store and was allowed a penny to get a gumball out of a machine. His mother continued into the store to get a cart, and the automatic door closed behind her. When Tommy struggled to turn the handle on the gumball machine, he became distressed. His mother noticed, but couldn't get back through the automatic doors. She indicated that he should take a step towards her, so the doors would open, but he clung to the gumball machine, afraid he wouldn't get his treasured gumball if he stepped away from it.[2]
It seems like some of us are like Tommy by the gumball machine. We feel that God has deprived us of something we really want, when he might actually ask us to step away from it for a time so that he can reward us with it at a later time.
When I was at Ricks College, I worked part-time and lived at home so that I could save money to go on a study abroad at the Jerusalem Center in Israel. I worked for years to save up enough money to go on this trip, depriving myself of a lot of things and opportunities that I would otherwise have enjoyed. Finally, the time came...I was accepted to the program and ready to go. Unfortunately, the first Gulf War began on the day we were to have left, in January 1991. I was devastated. I had looked forward to this for years, and now it felt like all of my hard work was for nothing. But things took an interesting turn. Although going to Israel was my main goal, I also had dreams of traveling through Europe and seeing many of the famous cultural sights of the world. As weeks passed by, they said that I could attend Fall semester in Israel, which was less expensive and left me with enough money to also go to Europe on a tour with the Humanities department at Ricks College. Like Tommy by the gumball machine, it had seemed like I was being deprived of something I really wanted, when later I got that plus so much more.

One month later, Nese urged me to come to Brigham Young University. I jumped at the chance and rushed to Provo for a whirlwind visit. She described her school as if it were part of her. As we walked around campus, all we talked about was religion. My mind was overflowing with questions again, as it had been in the high school library. I still didn’t see how everything fit together.
The thing that held me back was the principle of eternal progression. “It just can’t be right.” I said, “How can man, who was created by God, ever hope to be a god?”
We were standing in front of the Joseph Smith Building. Nese paused for a moment.
“Dave,” she said, “before we were ever created physically, we were created spiritually as God’s sons and daughters. A part of us, our spirit, comes directly from him as our Father.”
I finally understood! It all fell into place. My grin spread to a smile and erupted as a laugh. I couldn’t stop grinning. My mind jumped from doctrine to doctrine. “Yes, yes, it all fits!” I wanted to dance or sing or run.
There, on the steps of the Joseph Smith Building, the Spirit bore witness to me of the gospel plan. I knew in my heart I would join the Church.
I still had to read the Book of Mormon, learn to pray, and take the missionary discussions. But my life was changed from that moment on. I had found truth, purpose, and a life to fulfill. Five weeks later I was baptized.

But Brother Ng’s search for truth had started years earlier. His grandmother, a Buddhist, had begun attending Christian churches shortly before her death, and Brother Ng often accompanied her. “I was looking for a god who was different than the one I’d been taught about while growing up,” he remembers. “But the pastors and preachers at those meetings were difficult to approach, and they were more concerned with donations than with answering my questions.”
Brother Ng’s questions went unanswered until he met the missionaries. “From the beginning, I learned about our Father in Heaven and his son, Jesus Christ. The missionaries taught of our relationship to these beings. And they continually talked of being children of God,” he remembers.

The people who come to BYU for our annual conference are often deeply moved by what they experience here. One of my favorite statements comes from another friend who is currently the head of religious affairs in Albania. He had the opportunity last fall, the day before our academic conference started, to attend the Sunday morning session of general conference in the new Conference Center. Some of you who stood in lines to get into conference this past weekend can appreciate what he saw. This is what he said about the experience:

I have been in [my position as head of religious affairs] for a year, and I have seen a lot. But now I am totally convinced that religion should be an essential part of people’s lives. In my country, people line up for bread; today I saw thousands of your people standing in line . . . to worship.

This kind of impression changes perspectives on the importance of religious freedom. I returned a month ago from a conference that same man had organized in Albania aimed at pointing the way toward a good law on religious associations that can bless the lives of people in that poor and struggling country for years to come. These stories indicate only a few of the many approaches that can help promote religious freedom.

… The Jones family haven’t committed to baptism yet, but they want us to keep teaching them.
By the way, we showed the Jones family the Church filmstrip, “The First Vision.” Missionaries show filmstrips when they’ve run out of discussions. I think I saw Sister Jones wipe a tear away. Maybe their hearts are softening.
By the way, when we went to the Joneses’ house tonight, their minister was there waiting. He wanted to Bible bash, but we didn’t want to have the spirit of contention, so we left. I don’t think he was very fond of LDS missionaries.
I can hardly believe it!
When we went to the Joneses’ house tonight, Brother Jones explained that after we left their home last night he felt a terrible spirit.
He actually asked the minister to leave!
We challenged them to be baptized right then and there. And they accepted! Sister Jones was crying and everything. It was great!
The zone leaders will go with us to the Joneses’ place tomorrow morning to hold the baptismal interview. They’ve just got to be worthy or I’ll be sick.
The Joneses passed! They’re gold! The date has been set. They’ll be baptized June 5th.
I think I’ll sleep well tonight!
Tonight we held the baptismal service for the Jones family. They looked so beautiful dressed in white.
My companion baptized Brother and Sister Jones. I baptized the children, Mark, Lisa, and Tommy. The two ward seventies confirmed them.
My heart is overflowing with joy.

Years ago when I served as a stake president, a man came to confess a transgression. His confession surprised me. He had been an active member of the Church for years. I wondered how a person with his experience could have committed the sin that he did. After some pondering, it came to me that this brother had never become truly converted. Despite his Church activity, the gospel had not penetrated his heart. It was only an external influence in his life. When he was in wholesome environments, he kept the commandments, but in a different environment, other influences might control his actions.

Then, the summer right before I turned 12, I went to girls’ camp with my ward’s Young Women.
We had time each night for scripture study in our tents, and I decided I was going to read the scriptures every night I was there. I began with the first words of the first verse that almost everyone has memorized: “I, Nephi, having been born of goodly parents …” (1 Ne. 1:1).
It was so incredible. I don’t know how, but the scriptures started making more sense. I felt how hard it would be if Heavenly Father commanded my family to leave our home and go somewhere so far away. I had always known the story of how the Lord commanded Nephi to go get the brass plates, but those three nights at camp I could actually see a young man going to an evil man’s home, needing the plates.
I have read the scriptures every night since girls’ camp. I haven’t forgotten, and if I accidentally turn off the light before I read my scriptures, I am not able to sleep. After I finish reading the Book of Mormon, I plan on reading the Bible.

Ellie loved hugs. Hugs from Dad. Hugs from Grandma and Grandpa. Hugs from Mom. Hugs made her feel warm. And safe. And happy.
That’s why Ellie hugged Mom during church. She loved sitting on Mom’s lap. Mom always held her close.
Then sacrament meeting ended. It was time for Primary. Ellie loved Primary. She was a big girl now. Three years old! She even had her own scriptures!
But today Ellie just wanted to keep hugging Mom forever.
Mom carried Ellie down the hall. In the Primary room, Mom sat Ellie down on a chair.
“Can I go with you?” Ellie said.
“No,” Mom said. Her voice was kind. “You need to be in your class,” she said. “And I need to be in my class.”
Mom kissed Ellie’s cheek. Then she walked out the door.
Ellie felt tears rolling down her cheeks.
She thought about Mom holding her. Mom always held her when they read the Book of Mormon. They usually read with the family. But sometimes Ellie and Mom read by themselves.
Ellie picked up her Book of Mormon. Inside was a picture of Jesus.
Ellie closed the book and hugged it. She felt like she was hugging Jesus. She felt warm. And safe. And happy. It was the best hug ever!

Many say that steps four and five, which focus on personal inventory and confession, are the most challenging. But it depends on the individual. Paula, who struggled with compulsive eating and overdependence in her relationships, worked hardest on step eight—forgiving and restoring relationships—as she tried to forgive her abusive father. She says now, “I can’t tell you how grateful I am for this miracle in my life: to love and forgive.”

Ken Mochizuki relates the story of Chiune Sugihara, a Japanese diplomat in Lithuania during World War II who, against the orders of his government, granted emergency visas to thousands of Jewish refugees fleeing from Poland (see Ken Mochizuki, Passage to Freedom: The Sugihara Story [New York: Lee and Low Books, 1997]). Shortly after the Nazis invaded Poland, hundreds of Jewish refugees gathered outside the embassy in Lithuania, entreating Mr. Sugihara for visas to give them safe passage out of Eastern Europe. Three times Mr. Sugihara petitioned the Japanese government for permission to grant the visas. Three times his government answered no. After the third time Mr. Sugihara told his wife, “I have to do something. I may have to disobey my government, but if I don’t, I will be disobeying God” (Mochizuki, Passage, 14). Over the course of a month Mr. Sugihara wrote out thousands of visas in his own hand so that no other person would be held responsible. Later, Mr. Sugihara and his family were imprisoned for 18 months in a Soviet internment camp. After he returned to Japan he was forced to resign from diplomatic service.

This man sought not his own safety or his own reward but sacrificed on behalf of people he did not even know. These people had little in common with him culturally, religiously, or racially. But they were people to whom he felt bound by a higher impulse, an impulse grounded in moral understanding and unselfish love.

One day I bought a song I’d heard on the radio. After it downloaded, I realized it was an explicit version. I was so disappointed because I’d wanted to listen to the radio’s clean version. I deleted the song from my library, sad that I’d wasted my money on a bad song.
I decided to email the people at the music store, saying that I was unable to listen to the song I bought because it was against my standards. Surprisingly, the next day I got an email with an apology and a free song credit.
I didn’t end up buying that song at all, because I realized I didn’t even feel good about the clean version. It helped me realize that I need to focus on the music I listen to and that I can correct my mistakes, even something as simple as buying the wrong song. I also realized how much the prophet’s guidance really does help.

As members of the Church today, some of us may find it easy to take these glorious eternal truths for granted. They have become second nature to us. Sometimes it is helpful when we see them through the eyes of those who learn about them for the very first time. This became evident to me through a recent experience.

Last year, just prior to the rededication of the Tokyo Japan Temple, many guests not of our faith toured that temple. One such tour included a thoughtful leader from another religion. We taught our guest about Heavenly Father’s plan of happiness, Jesus Christ’s redeeming role in that plan, and the doctrine that families can be united eternally through the sealing ordinance.

At the conclusion of the tour, I invited our friend to share his feelings. In reference to the uniting of families—past, present, and future—this good man asked in all sincerity, “Do the members of your faith truly understand just how profound this doctrine is?” He added, “This may well be one of the only teachings that can unite this world that is so divided.”

One day at school, I was in a hurry to get to my math class, and my locker wouldn’t open. I hadn’t had any trouble opening my locker all year, so I was surprised I couldn’t open it. Right then the hall monitor walked by and opened my locker. I got my books and realized that if I walked into my math class, I would be tardy, so I went to find the hall monitor. She gave me a back-to-class pass. Just as I turned the corner, there was a girl in the hall sobbing because some girls had pulled a mean prank. I didn’t know her very well, but I gave her a hug, and she hugged back. I was amazed that the only time my locker jammed was that one day when a girl could use a hug. I think it is amazing that the Lord puts you in certain situations to help others.

The place was solemn and forgotten as only an old graveyard can be. It was a grotesque, weedy pause between railroad tracks and decaying buildings, a shabby plot where crumbling cherubs tilted above sagging gray monuments. Grass grew high there, and the chiseled epitaphs had disappeared under a slow tide of moss. It was a good place to ignore.
That’s why it didn’t make much sense one morning when a squad of bright-faced young men and women showed up at the rusting gates with hoes and shovels and clippers and mowers, and went to work. Heads appeared in the windows of the surrounding buildings, and the questions flew. Who are they? What are they doing here? What’s in it for them? And the answers didn’t make much sense either. The young people sweating among the tombstones weren’t even from the neighborhood; no one had asked them to come, and they weren’t getting anything out of it. For all anyone knew, they might have been so many ghosts come back to spruce up their own exclusive little subdivision.
And when they left, with the weeds out, the grass mowed, and the monuments standing straight, everyone knew that the neighborhood had become a nicer place to live, but no one knew who the mysterious band of “ghosts” were, and it’s not likely they ever will.
And that suits the young men and women of the Richardson Ward in Dallas, Texas, just fine. They’ve discovered that being doers of the word instead of just hearers isn’t merely a scripture—it’s a beautiful, happy principle of life. It means doing the yard work of widows in the area, helping to maintain the chapel, working on community projects, and even cleaning up an abandoned graveyard—just because they need doing.
Whether cleaning up a graveyard, staging a dance festival, or spreading the truth, they have discovered where happiness is at. It’s at home—wherever you are—if you’re living the gospel.

A pair of sister missionaries trudged the streets of a city in northern Spain. On that gray, rainy day, no one showed an interest in their message. As the two neared the city park, Sister Silvia Golithon noticed that most of the people in front of them were women. She felt the whisperings of the Spirit tell her, “These are your sisters.” She later wrote of the event, “A feeling of light entered my mind.” She recorded that the Spirit helped her more clearly understand the worldwide sisterhood found in the gospel of Jesus Christ.

I've stood at the bedside with many great teachers of medicine. I was commended by a few and corrected by many. I was deeply influenced during a family medicine rotation many years ago. He was quite possibly the smartest physician I have met. He loved to teach in those few moments between and during patient visits. When we would walk to lunch, during our brief break, he would say something like, "Mike, what should I teach you about today? I think I'll tell you about acid-base balance." He proceeded to explain more about the physiology of acid-base regulation in the body than I had learned--or at least understood--the previous year. And this was all on our walk to the lunch counter. Years later I have forgotten the information but not the impression of his concern for me or his bright teaching.

Our love can expand from a close circle of family to encompass not only our friends but ultimately our neighbors—and even enemies. One Church member serving in the American military in post–World War II Japan told of his struggle with bitterness toward the Japanese people. After being welcomed into a shrine of worship by Japanese townspeople, however, he found that “their spirits touched mine, and I felt an amazing change in my feelings toward them. My bitterness melted. … I thought about what had happened in that shrine and the amazing transformation I felt toward the people there.”11