Gospel Story Finder

Matt Bezzant learned about repentance during a service project at a nursery school. He would let the children clean the walls of the nursery as well as they could with the tools he gave them, and then he would come along afterwards to help them make the wall clean all the way. Cleaning the walls was like repentance, he said. “You do all you can to clean the wall, and God gives you the tools for that; then He does the rest.”

The youth in Hawaii are getting involved in family history research. Young women in the Honolulu West Stake have worked to reorganize copies of obituaries from the past 40 years in the files of the Honolulu West Stake Family History Center. The young women put eight drawers of obituary cards in order, and now the cards are being copied and sent to libraries all over Hawaii.

The second winter (1848–49) lashed out at the Mormon settlers with severity. Both the Saints and their livestock suffered greatly. Firewood was difficult to obtain and food supplies dwindled. Some families boiled rawhide for nourishment. Those who had surplus food shared generously with others less fortunate and the colony survived.

George Müller buried his head in his hands. He had just learned that the large heater in one of his orphanages was broken.
What is to be done? George asked himself. I must find warm rooms for 300 children until it is repaired.
George didn’t know what to do. But he did know who to ask for help. His Heavenly Father! When George was a young man, he didn’t really believe in God. He lied and stole money from his friends and family and only read the scriptures because he had to for school. Then one day George met some people who loved God and tried to follow Him. George began to pray every day. He learned that God was real and would answer the prayers of His children.
As George looked at the broken heater, he knew this time would be no different. George had faith that God would help. He called workmen to come and fix the heater, but before they could come, a freezing north wind began to blow. George was worried. How would the children stay warm until the heater was fixed?
Then George remembered a story from the Bible where the walls of Jerusalem were built quickly because the builders had a “mind to work” (Nehemiah 4:6). George got on his knees and began to pray. “Lord,” said George, “would you be pleased to change the north wind to a south wind? And would you give the workmen a mind to work?”
When George woke on the morning of the repairs, the weather had changed! Even though it was December, a warm south wind was blowing. The children would be warm and wouldn’t need a fire while the heater was being fixed. The repairs could begin!
The workmen spent all day trying to fix the heater. But there was too much work to finish in one day. At the end of the day, George went down to the cellar of the orphanage. The man in charge of the workers told George, “The men will work late this evening and come very early again tomorrow.”
George nodded. He hoped the weather would stay good until then.
Then one of the workers spoke up. “We would rather, sir, work all night,” he said.
George smiled. He remembered how he had prayed that the men would have a mind to work hard and finish the repairs as quickly as possible. By morning, the heater was fixed and the orphanage was warm and snug before the winter winds returned. George knew that God had answered his prayer.

One March night, the phone jangled into my dreams until Dad yanked me out of a deep sleep.
“Beth,” he hissed into my dark room as a sharp shard of hallway light spilled onto my pillow.
“Mmmmph,” I growled into my down comforter.
“Beth, Annemarie is on the phone for you. It sounds like something is wrong.” Immediately I leaped out of bed, glaring at the glowing green digital clock—4:13 A.M. Something was certainly wrong. I had only gone to bed three hours earlier after returning from junior prom. I thought Annemarie and her date left around the same time.
“Hello. What’s wrong?” I said as I picked up the receiver.
There was a sniffle on the other end of the line. “Nothing,” she said finally. “I’m okay. I’m stranded though. Can you come pick me up?”
At 4:30 A.M., I pulled into the empty parking lot of Sanders Market, a small grocery store at the edge of town. Annemarie stepped out from beside the pay phone and hobbled in her dainty high heels over to my car.
“What happened?” I demanded. Annemarie wiped the mascara streaks from her cheeks.
“We went to a party after the prom. It was all right for a while, but now everyone is drunk. I won’t tell you what Kevin tried, but it definitely wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t been drinking.” Annemarie sniffled again. “Beth, I used to like parties, but you and I have so much fun without them. I wish you weren’t practically the only person in our high school who understands that you don’t need beer to have fun.”
“Congratulations,” I said quietly. “It probably wasn’t easy to walk away.”
She shrugged, her voice gathering strength as she spoke. “Not really. I knew I could count on you.”

A few months later, Joseph and his family moved to Hiram, Ohio, so he and Sidney Rigdon could have a quiet place to work on the inspired revision of the Bible.
Joseph and his family lived in Hiram for one year. When Joseph returned to Kirtland, the Lord commanded the Saints to build a temple there. Joseph saw in a vision how the temple should look.
I have a plan of the house of the Lord, given by Himself.
The Saints worked hard and made many sacrifices to build the temple.
Finally, the Saints finished the beautiful temple. Joseph dedicated it on March 27, 1836.
We have done this work through great tribulation; and out of our poverty we have given of our substance to build a house to the Lord’s name.

A few minutes later, Tyler heard his father come home and ran out to tell him about the name tag.
“You know,” his father said, “not all missionaries wear name tags. When I was a missionary, we didn’t have name tags.”
Tyler was surprised. “How did people know you believed in Jesus Christ?”
“We told them,” Dad said. “And we tried to show them by the way we acted.”
That evening Tyler and his parents went to the stake center because one of his friends was getting baptized. During the meeting, a speaker talked about Jesus Christ. “If we try to live as He did,” the man said, “then people will know that we believe in Him.”
Tyler thought about that as they went home. Remembering what Dad had said, too, he suddenly knew what he could do.
“Mom! Dad!” he said excitedly. “There is a name tag I can wear that won’t get ruined or lost—an invisible one! If I try my hardest to live like Jesus Christ did, it’s like telling people I believe in Him. It’s like wearing an invisible name tag!”
Dad smiled. “You’re right, son.”
Mom hugged Tyler. “I’ve already seen your invisible name tag.”
“You have?” Tyler asked, looking down at his shirt.
“Yes, it’s been there,” replied his mother. “Each time you’ve been helpful and kind—like when you washed the dishes for your sister, and when you helped little Jimmy—your name tag was there.”
Tyler looked down again. He didn’t see the invisible name tag, but his mother had seen it. He hoped other people would see it, too, because he wanted everyone to know that he believed in Jesus Christ.

Many years ago when I served as a bishop, I presided over a large ward with over 1,000 members, including 87 widows. On one occasion, I was visiting, along with one of my counselors, a widow and her mature handicapped daughter. As we left their apartment, a lady from the apartment across the hall was standing outside her door and stopped us. She spoke with a foreign accent and asked if I were a bishop; I replied that I was. She told me that she noticed I often visited with others. Then she said, “No one visits me or my bedfast husband. Do you have time to come in and visit with us, even though we are not members of your church?”
As we entered her apartment, we noticed that she and her husband were listening to the Tabernacle Choir on the radio. We talked with the couple for a while, then provided a blessing to the husband.
Following that initial visit, I stopped by as often as I could. The couple eventually met with the missionaries, and the wife, Angela Anastor, was baptized. Sometime later, her husband passed away, and I had the privilege of conducting and speaking at his funeral services. Sister Anastor, with her knowledge of the Greek language, later was to translate the widely used pamphlet Joseph Smith Tells His Own Story into the Greek language.

Sharon Goodall recites a common story: “My schoolmates always want to know if I’m Catholic or Protestant. I tell them I’m neither; I’m Mormon. ‘Fine,’ they say. ‘Are you a Catholic Mormon or a Protestant Mormon?’” It almost sounds like a joke, until you have to live it. You try to get along with everybody, but there’s constant pressure to pick a side.”

I also knew the Lord would not forsake me. So when Sunday came, I gathered my courage and went to church with the children. When we returned home, we found the house locked and all our belongings outside. I was worried for the children’s sake, but I also felt we were being protected. I checked all the windows and found one that wasn’t locked. My son Luciano crawled in and opened the front door, and we took our belongings back in. From that day on, my husband and I had many arguments about the Church. In spite of this difficulty, my children and I continued to be fully active.

One of the first things Jenna learned about was a modern-day prophet. She says, “When [the missionaries] started talking about Joseph Smith, I was not very sure about that at first.” But she prayed to gain a testimony of the Prophet Joseph Smith and was blessed to receive one.

During member visits with stake presidents, I feel their deep love for members in every circumstance. As we drove past member homes in his stake, one stake president noted that whether we live in a home with a swimming pool or a home with a dirt floor, Church service is a privilege that often includes sacrifice. Yet, he wisely noticed, when we serve and sacrifice in the gospel together, we find fewer faults and greater peace. When we let Him, Jesus Christ helps us speak His love here.

Mark Ray of Tempe, Arizona, says many of his friends aren’t LDS, but he doesn’t see that as a problem.
“I think it’s all right to have nonmember friends, but we must not be overly influenced by them. I do lots of things with nonmembers, but I don’t compromise my standards.
“Once I was on a school biology trip to California with some kids I knew. That night, when we got to the hotel room, they broke out some beer. I said, ‘No thanks,’ and just sat around. I felt kind of dumb at first, but they didn’t push it.
“Most of my friends know I’m a Mormon, so that saves me from saying no very often. They already know my standards.”

Amy hated riding in the car. It bumped along the road, turning corners and making her feel dizzy. She was too little to see much out the windows. “Are we there yet?” she asked Mommy a lot.
Today they were on their way to Grandma’s. Amy was eager to play with her cousins in Grandma’s big backyard. She hoped that they would pick yellow flowers out of the grass and make a pretend house under the trees. But first she had to get there—and that meant more time in the car than Amy thought she could stand.
“Mommy, my tummy hurts,” she grumbled.
Her baby brother whimpered. “I think Baby Jacob’s tummy hurts, too,” she said.
Amy wanted to cry. “At least Jacob can see out the window,” she whined. “Why can’t we go any faster?”
“Well,” Mommy said, taking a deep breath, “there are a lot of cars on the highway, and nobody is going fast.”
“Oh.” Amy scrunched her eyebrows. “So how much longer?”
“I’m not sure, sweetheart.” Then Mommy smiled, and in the mirror at the front of the car, Amy saw her eyes grow wide. “Amy,” she said, “if you look out your window, way up high, I think pretty soon you will see the top of the temple.”
“The temple? Where you and Daddy were married?”
“We were married in the temple,” Mom said, “but not this temple. This is the Seattle Washington Temple, where Grandma and Grandpa go to help with baptisms.”
Amy craned her neck to look through the window at the sky. “Mommy, I don’t see it!”
“Sit up as tall as you can, Amy. Look for the Angel Moroni on top.”
Amy said a quick prayer in her head. Heavenly Father, please help me to see the temple. Then, in the middle of dark green trees, she spotted a spire. “Mommy, Mommy! I see it! There’s the Angel Moroni!”
Amy looked to see if Baby Jacob was watching, but he was busy looking at his fingers. “That’s the temple, Jacob,” she said, pointing out the window.
“‘I love to see the temple,’”* Mommy sang, beginning Amy’s favorite Primary song.
“‘I’m going there someday,’” Amy joined in. Even when the temple disappeared behind the trees, she kept singing. “‘To feel the Holy Spirit, To listen and to pray.’”
When they finished the song, Amy asked if they could sing it again. Soon they were pulling into Grandma’s driveway.
“How’s your tummy?” Mom whispered, turning off the car. Baby Jacob was sound asleep.
“All better,” Amy said. She unbuckled her seat belt and jumped out in the sunshine. “I’m going to tell Grandma we saw the temple!”

As a bishop, I worried about members who were less active, not attending, not serving. Such was my thought as I drove down the street where Ben and Emily lived. They were older, in the twilight period of life. Aches and pains of advancing years had caused them to withdraw from activity to the shelter of their home—isolated, detached, shut out from the mainstream of daily life and association.
I felt the unmistakable prompting to park my car and visit Ben and Emily, even though I was on the way to a meeting. It was a sunny weekday afternoon. I approached the door to their home and knocked. Emily answered. When she recognized me, her bishop, she exclaimed, “All day long I have waited for my phone to ring. It has been silent. I hoped that the postman would deliver a letter. He brought only bills. Bishop, how did you know today was my birthday?”
I answered, “God knows, Emily, for He loves you.”
In the quiet of the living room, I said to Ben and Emily, “I don’t know why I was directed here today, but our Heavenly Father knows. Let’s kneel in prayer and ask Him why.” This we did, and the answer came. Emily was asked to sing in the choir, even to provide a solo for the forthcoming ward conference. Ben was asked to speak to the Aaronic Priesthood young men and recount a special experience in his life when his safety was assured by responding to the promptings of the Spirit. She sang. He spoke. Hearts were gladdened by the return to activity of Ben and Emily. They rarely missed a sacrament meeting from that day to the time each was called home. The language of the Spirit had been spoken. It had been heard. It had been understood. Hearts were touched and lives saved.

I was praying to my Heavenly Father, and I know many other people were praying for me also. Through all of my trials, I prayed that I would be healed, that my joints would recover, and that I wouldn’t have to go through the rest of chemotherapy. I felt that my prayers weren’t being answered because I still had to go to Primary Children’s Medical Center in Salt Lake City every week for more chemotherapy. I still hurt. And I was still stuck in a wheelchair. At one point, I started to think that my parents were crazy for believing in a God who wouldn’t even listen to a poor little sick girl.
Remembering this lesson, I changed my prayers from “Please heal me” to “Heavenly Father, I would really like to be done with these trials, but I will accept Thy will.” As soon as I changed my prayers, I found that I was able to handle the chemotherapy more easily, and I had a better attitude. That was just the beginning of the blessings and the answers to my prayers and questions.

Going to seminary often means you’ll have to give up something else you enjoy doing in order to find the time to attend. But it’s a sacrifice that’s worth making. Elijah Bugayong of the Philippines chose to make that decision during her last year of high school. Throughout high school, she had always been second in her class. She was determined to place first her senior year and had even considered foregoing seminary, which she had attended in the years before, in order to meet her goal.

Then one day her thoughts changed. “I [looked at] my study table,” she says. “I saw a pile of books near it, my quadruple combination together with my seminary notebook and manual. Deep inside I asked myself, ‘Which matters most?’”

Elijah found her answer in Matthew 6:33: “But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.” She decided to faithfully attend seminary and find other ways to balance her time in order to work on her academics. At the end of the year, she was named valedictorian and even won a university scholarship.

Dear Little Carrie,
I thought about you a lot on Christmas Day. I imagined you and your mom and dad around the Christmas tree, opening presents and later eating turkey and pumpkin pie. Our Christmas in Paraguay was very different, and I thought you might like to hear about it.
We had decided to visit the Ugarte family for Christmas. They live 80 kilometers through the jungle, in a little village called Itakyry. There is a small wooden chapel there, where we could spend the night. In the Ugarte family are a grandmother, a mother and father, and 11 children. Their house has only two rooms and two beds, so we couldn’t stay with them. We packed some small gifts in the back of the car and left early in the morning of the day before Christmas. Two young elders went with us.
In Itakyry, Sister Ugarte was very sad. It was the day before Christmas, and she had no presents to give her children. It took all their money and time just to provide the essential things that such a large family needed. Nothing was left for gifts or even a special treat for Christmas dinner.
All that morning she worked. She washed clothes in the stream and spread them on the bushes to dry. She tended the garden and cooked black beans and rice for their mid-meal. After they ate, she rocked the baby and mended clothes. As she worked, she prayed. “Heavenly Father, please send our good friends, the missionaries, here for Christmas. I know it is a long way for them to come, but it would make this day special. Please, Heavenly Father.”
We didn’t know that she wanted us to come. The Spirit just told us that it would be good if we did. A bridge was washed away, so we had to walk the last few miles through the jungle. My goodness, how happy the Ugarte family was when they saw us coming through the trees!
That night we had a very special family home evening in the little wooden chapel. The beautiful story of the birth of Christ was told, and testimonies were shared. Then for a long time we sat, watching the silent stars and singing the sacred hymns of Christmas.
The Ugarte children didn’t understand when Grandpa tried to act like Santa Claus the next morning. They did enjoy the simple gifts we passed out, though. There was a small doll for each little girl, sweet-smelling soap for the older girls, and windup toys for the boys.
We missed our own dear grandchildren, but this Christmas in Paraguay was a very special one for us. The best gifts that we can give or receive at Christmastime are love and service.
I’m looking forward to hearing about your Christmas, Carrie. I hope that it was also filled with that special Christmas feeling and that you didn’t miss us too much.
Love,
Grandma and Grandpa

In January 1951 we lived in Fairbanks, Alaska, just 100 miles (160 km) south of the Arctic Circle. I was a United States Air Force pilot and had been ordered to Nome, Alaska, for two weeks to ferry freight to various sites.
During the Alaskan winters the daylight hours are very short, so operations requiring daylight had to be conducted in a narrow window when the sun was above the horizon. In January there was just less than one hour of daylight at midday. I was delivering cargo to a small outpost at Gambell, a native village on St. Lawrence Island, just a few miles off the Chukchi Peninsula of Siberia and about 200 miles (320 km) across the Bering Sea from Nome.
St. Lawrence Island had no airfield at that time, so we used a frozen lake near the coast. With 19 inches (48 cm) of ice on the lake it was safe to land a loaded C47 transport. But there was no lighting available, so we had to plan our arrival for sunrise, about 11:30 a.m., and our departure before sunset at 12:30 p.m., one hour later.
The weather reporter had assured me the weather would be fine all day, so I elected to take less than a full load of fuel in order to carry another 1,000 pounds (450 kg) of cargo to the men at Gambell. Our fuel was sufficient to take us to Gambell and back to Nome with enough to fly 30 extra minutes.
We took off at 10:00 a.m. A few stars were visible through the scattered clouds. We arrived at Gambell on schedule—just as the Arctic sun was peeping over the horizon—landed, and started unloading cargo to the delight of the troops.
By the time we were ready to take off again, it was getting dark. And just after takeoff we received an urgent call from the weather station at Gambell telling us we should check the weather at Nome. As we flew we radioed Nome and learned that an Arctic blizzard was moving in. They were expecting clouds at ground level with visibility of less than one mile (1.6 km) within an hour. The Nome airport had no radar instrument landing system. Under those conditions the airport was closed for landing. With only a half hour of extra fuel, we would be unable to reach an alternate airport. And with a massive storm bearing down, there would be no airports in northern Alaska where we could land anyway.
Needless to say, our situation was precarious. Because the outside temperature was -40° F (-40° C) with wind gusting to 35 mph (55 km/h), any attempt to bail out with parachutes would have meant nearly instant death.
I had been taught to pray as a child and had always said my daily prayers, but never had I needed the Lord’s help more than on that day. I asked Heavenly Father to tell me what to do. I had a wife and three children back in Fairbanks, and my copilot and crew chief also had families. We knew we would never see our families again unless Heavenly Father helped us. After praying and flying for nearly an hour, I had the feeling that I must land somewhere in the vicinity of the Nome airport so that maybe someone could find us if we survived a crash landing.
Nome radio had notified the Alaskan Air Command of our predicament and received an urgent inquiry about my intentions. When I advised Nome that I would land there, they quickly responded that it would be impossible with the existing weather conditions. But they offered no alternative.
As we neared Nome, I told the radio operator we would attempt as many low approaches as fuel would allow to see if we could find an opening in the clouds. We made three such approaches and saw nothing but blinding snow. On our fourth approach I saw a red light for a fraction of a second. Then as we reached our minimum altitude I saw a white light in front of me for a fraction of a second, just long enough for me to line up where I had seen it. I was pretty sure I was over the airfield but had no idea exactly where.
I knew it was now or never. I was expecting a crash and possibly an explosion. Instead, the airplane landed in the middle of the runway and came to a stop without any problem.
The odds against such a landing were astronomical. There was no way I could have put that airplane down like that without the Lord’s help. How did He help me? First, He told me where to attempt to land despite all protests from the ground. Second, by some process unknown to me, He guided me onto that runway.
I have a testimony of the power of prayer. Nothing is impossible for the Lord. I know He will help us if we earnestly seek Him and strive to be obedient to His teachings.

One Sunday a few years ago, when I was serving as an Area Seventy, the local mission president and I traveled together to conduct meetings with several different groups. As we approached the final meeting, we were both tired. We had already driven more than 300 miles (480 km) and had spoken several times. We began the meeting and started down the same list we had covered in the other meetings.

But as we spoke, something wonderful happened. The Spirit intensified, and the teaching and learning moved to a new level that continued through the entire meeting. We later remarked to each other, “That was wonderful. That was the best meeting of the day!”

What made the difference? It wasn’t anything we did. We hadn’t suddenly become more brilliant or eloquent or spiritual. In fact, if anything, we were somewhat worn by the activities of the day. The topics we covered were the same topics covered in the other meetings.

As we talked about it, we came to realize that the people who attended that last meeting were more humble and spiritually prepared. As a result, they were more open and hungry for the word, and the Lord was able to use us more effectively as a conduit to bless their lives. The success of that meeting was much more about them than about us.