Gospel Story Finder

A few weeks ago my husband and I attended a temple session. As we entered, we were greeted by a temple worker, a dear friend from our ward. That greeting began a remarkable experience for us. We were met and served, more than any time I remember, by many people we knew: friends from previous wards, friends from the community, men and women we had served with in various callings. The last person I encountered was a young woman I didn’t recognize. She was lovely, and when she began to speak, I immediately remembered: Robin, one of the young women in my Laurel class when I was first a Young Women president. As we visited and exchanged memories and life updates, she told me how much that time had meant to her. I felt the same way.
I left the temple feeling moved by so much kindness, aware how important friends have been to me throughout my life. The Lord has touched my spirit time and again, and more often than not, His touch has reached me through the hand of a friend.

What do you know about “A mi me importa?” Would you like to know more?
Chances are you’re familiar with the Church’s family home evening program, but the missionaries in the Colombia Mission have found thousands of people who aren’t and who want to know about it.
When you say “A mi me importa: ¿y a Ud?” to one who speaks Spanish, you’re telling him “I care. Do you?” The slogan makes people curious, and with the missionaries’ assistance people are helped to understand that it means “I care … about the family.”
“A mi me importa: ¿y a Ud?” slogans, buttons, stamps, and even bumper stickers can be seen throughout much of South America. The posters and buttons are so novel that everyone wants to know what they mean. Exhibitions and street displays in various areas have been held, and nonmembers have been brought into the Church as a result.
Medellin, Colombia, was one of the first cities “hit” by the campaign. Fourteen missionaries along with several members split up into small groups equipped with tape and posters. They rode the city bus lines to the end, taping the posters in the buses as fast as they could. In four hours over 500 red, blue, and yellow posters had been placed in all the buses in the town. Groups again met to put up 500 more posters in windows of all the downtown shops. In addition to being a colorful city, Medellin appeared quite patriotic since yellow, blue, and red are the national colors as well.
Family home evening posters were ordered for the exhibition from Salt Lake City, and captions were printed in Spanish by a local printer. Radio stations announced the exhibition, and flyers were delivered all over the city.
At the exhibition, Medellin members and missionaries worked together to explain activities of family home evenings, and interested persons were invited to see the film, Man’s Search for Happiness.
One local radio commentator was so impressed that he asked to interview two of the zone leaders. On a nationally broadcast program the elders talked for 30 minutes on Joseph Smith, the First Vision, and their own testimonies of the gospel.

I am very grateful for the New Era. lt has really helped me a great deal in my life. I especially appreciated Elder Neal A. Maxwell’s message “I Am But a Lad” in the February 2002 issue. It reminded me of what l think of myself. But l have gained a lot from that message—like coming on a mission, which is a great blessing to me. Keep up the good work. There are people who feel they have lost their personal possibilities.
Sister Shelly T. KollahNigeria Port Harcourt Mission (via e-mail)

I grew up in a dry country. It seemed to me that hardly ever was there enough rain to spread over the crop-growing period to carry us through the season—not enough water to distribute between the many hungry canals and the tens of thousands of thirsty acres, not enough to irrigate all the crops.

We learned to pray for rain—we always prayed for rain.

When I was still very small, I knew that plants could not survive in dry country more than about two or three weeks without water. I knew how to harness up the old mare to a lizard (a forked log on which a barrel was placed) and I drove the animal to the “big ditch,” the Union Canal, which was a block below our home. With a bucket I scooped up water from the small stream or the puddles and filled the barrel, and the horse dragged it back so I could pour bucketsful of precious liquid on the roses, the violets, and other flowers, and the small shrubs and hedges and new trees. Water was like liquid gold, so reservoirs became the warp and woof of the fabric of my life.

In his career practicing international law, Elder Edward B. Rowe and his family lived at times in areas of the world where they were likely the only members of the Church. They held authorized church services as a family in their home years before the introduction of the Come, Follow Me curriculum. Their worship was home-centered—complete with Sunday dress and talk assignments.
Elder Rowe recalled realizing that “the only teachings our children would receive about the gospel of Jesus Christ would be from us.”
These experiences united their family and made the gospel of Jesus Christ simple as they helped their children gain a relationship with the Savior. “Those were sacred, special times,” he said.

Dad, we’re back from the library.
How’s the plumbing job going?
Maybe I’ll have this fixed by the time you’ve read all those books.
Better hurry then. Matt’s worked hard on his reading this year.
I’ll bet I can read faster than Mandy.
Yeah? I read so fast the book starts to get hot and I’m afraid it will catch fire.
That’s nothing. I read so fast the wind from my eyeballs blows the letters right off the page.
Well, I read so fast I get to the end of the book before the writer does.
I’ve got some good practice for you, Matt. How about reading this recipe to me while I fix dinner? Maybe the food will cook faster.
Mandy, how about reading me the instructions for this new faucet? Then maybe I can finish in time for you two to wash the dishes.
OK.

When President Lee called me to be a stake president about sixteen years ago, I remember on the way home he said, “President Stone, I want you to prepare now for the day when you will be released.” And I assured him that I was ready any time the Brethren wanted to release me. But you know this time when he called me the other day, he didn’t say a word about that. Later he told me the appointment was for life.

Illustration by Shauna Mooney Kawasaki
I worked days, and my wife, Elen, worked nights. We hardly saw each other. We weren’t holding home evening or family prayer. We went to sacrament meeting, but we lacked commitment to the gospel.
We began to feel emptiness that came from focusing on the things of the world instead of the things of the Lord. We felt that Heavenly Father wanted more from us.
So we went to the Santiago Chile Temple for guidance on how we could improve. We both received the prompting that we needed to move with our little daughters from Santiago to the northern coastal area of Coquimbo.
We had never been there before, and we knew nothing about the area. But we quit our jobs, sold everything, and said goodbye to family, friends, and my university studies.
In Coquimbo, we didn’t know anyone, and we didn’t have any money. I found a job, but it barely paid the rent. We asked, “Why are we here?”
Elen wondered if there was something she could do to help pay the bills. One day she sewed a new cover for one of our old chairs. “I’m going to put it up for sale and see if someone buys it,” she said. Someone did buy it. Encouraged, Elen learned more about reupholstering furniture. She started advertising and began receiving work.
In 2016, I was called as bishop of our new ward. With my job, my resumed university studies, and my calling, once again I hardly saw my family.
“This isn’t working,” Elen said. “Why don’t you work with me? I’ll teach you how. You’ll be home, and you’ll also have more flexibility for your calling.”
I worried about quitting my job, but Elen suggested that we pray to Heavenly Father and say: “Here’s our business. We’re going to do it together. Please illuminate for us how we can make it work while Gregorio serves as bishop.”
Heavenly Father answered. Now, after years of hardly seeing each other, we’re adjusting to always being together. Sometimes Elen jokingly says, “Don’t you have some bishopric interviews to do? Come back in four hours!”
Here in Coquimbo, we have learned to have faith and live the gospel as a family, and we have been blessed. We moved to a city we did not know to serve people we had not met, and we have seen miracles we did not expect.

Consider the example of this young deacon in the Aaronic Priesthood as shared in his talk in the Benin Ikpopan Stake conference, where I recently presided. The young deacon, Nelson Wonodi, had always admired how young men dressed and served at the sacrament table every Sunday. I share his first day experience with approval from his parents in his words:
“Ever since I was a little boy, I watched the young men in my ward pass the sacrament, and I longed for the day when I could do the same. I would sit in my seat, staring at them thinking, ‘One day, that’s going to be me.’ I even practiced at home, carefully pretending to pass an imaginary tray to my family members, just to make sure I got it right! Then, finally, my day came. I had received the Aaronic Priesthood and was asked to pass the sacrament for the first time. I was so excited … but then something strange happened. As I stood there, holding the tray, looking out at the congregation, my legs started shaking, and my hands felt sweaty. I thought to myself, ‘Wow, is this me? Or am I dreaming?’ It felt surreal. Here I was, finally doing what I had dreamed of for years, but suddenly, I realized just how sacred this responsibility was. This wasn’t just a routine or something I had seen others do. It was real, it was sacred, and it was my privilege to help others remember the Savior”.
Fortunately, a caring congregant, noticing the predicament of the anxious young man, stretched forth her hand, took the tray, and passed it on, thus emboldening young Nelson to continue and successfully accomplish that assignment. Nelson testified that his life of service is preparing him to serve a mission at a later day.

I LOVE family history research! When I was baptized, I learned that the first person baptized in my dad’s family was my grandma. She was baptized exactly 40 years before me on the very same day!

Sam John could hardly wait until class was over so he could talk with President Murphy. He had a very important question to ask—one that he didn’t want anyone else to hear.
At first Sam had gone to Brother Murphy’s classes because he liked being with the older boys and girls who attended. Then he kept going because of the lovely music. Finally he realized that what he enjoyed more than anything else was the feeling he had when he listened to Brother Murphy’s teachings.
Now he had to know if these things were really true. So Sam John waited patiently until almost everyone had left the class. Then he went up to the white-haired man to ask if he could talk with him alone.
A bench under a spreading tree made a perfect place for Sam to ask his teacher the important question. “Brother Murphy,” he began, “are these things you have told us about Jesus and Joseph Smith really true?”
The man looked down, surprised that a boy only eight years old could be so serious and sincere. Then he took the boy’s hand, looked into his eyes, and asked a question in return. “Sam,” he said, “do you think Sister Murphy and I and all the other missionaries who have been to these classes would spend money to come to Hawaii and take our precious time to tell you these things if we did not know they are true?”
Without hesitation, Sam answered, “I believe these things, too, and I want to be baptized into your church.”
“And what about your father?” Brother Murphy asked. Sam had to admit that he didn’t think his father would be very happy with his son’s interest in the Church, but he promised to talk to him.
A few days later Sam John’s father, a Chinese-Hawaiian, went to the mission home. “What is this you have been teaching my son?” he demanded. “He even wants to become a member of your church.”
“Mr. John,” President Murphy answered. “I’m glad you’ve come to talk with me. There is nothing we’ve taught Sam that you should not also know, especially since your boy wants to be baptized.”
The next night Sam’s father returned to the mission home to be taught, and the next, and the next.
Sam could hardly believe it when a few weeks later his father suggested that Sam wait a short time to be baptized so that he and Sam’s older brother could be baptized too. His mother had become a member of the Church when she was a little girl but she had never been active in it.
Now we are united as a family, Sam thought after he and his father and brother were baptized. And it seemed as if his heart would burst with happiness.

Hannah Medina, 9, loves reading. If you went to her house after school, you’d find her sitting on her bunk bed surrounded by stuffed monkeys and reading her favorite books and scripture stories. Hannah has a huge collection of books—the five shelves in her room are packed full. Her favorite time to read is at night with her lamp on. Sometimes the light keeps her older sister Emma up.
“But I don’t mind,” Emma says. “When her light is on, it reminds me that I need to read my scriptures, too.”

Robert-Emmanuel Duchesne, 13, lives in the little town of St. Monique, about 45 minutes from Alma on Lac St.-Jean. “Even though we go to a small branch, we do the same things others do in the Church. We have youth activities. We go to our meetings every Sunday. Sometimes when there’s something they want to do together, my friends will say something, but they know my Sundays are taken for church.” He made a promise to keep the Sabbath holy, and he remembers the promise.
He also remembers a commitment that he would magnify his calling. “There are only two Aaronic Priesthood holders in the branch of Alma, and that’s not a lot. But we do our best to serve, and I remind myself all the time that there are many young children in our branch, who will grow up in the Church and who will make the branch grow. The younger kids need us to prepare the way, to work hard and be good examples.”

We stopped by the man’s house the next day. His name was Favio. A month before, he told us, his friend had loaned him a copy of the Book of Mormon.
“I have always been interested in Jesus Christ, but I had never heard of another testament of His life,” Favio said. “I knew only about the Bible and Christ’s ministry in the East. No one ever told me that Christ came to America! I was excited to learn more.”
A few weeks later Favio had to return the book. “I didn’t know where I would get another copy,” he said. “I wanted more than anything to know if the book was true. I got down on my knees and asked for Heavenly Father’s help. I said, ‘Father, if the Book of Mormon is true, please let another copy fall into my hands so I can continue to study it.’ ”
One day Favio was at a train station. Out of the corner of his eye he saw what looked like a blue book lying on the sidewalk. As he approached it he recognized the golden letters. It was Heavenly Father’s answer.

At a marriage in the temple one day, the power of covenants, coupled with the Atonement, was reflected in the temple mirrors. He imagined the generations of his family stretching across eternity, from his earliest known relative, First Dragon Gong, born AD 837, through 36 generations to his own grandchildren and then on and on in both directions.

“I began to understand my wife and myself as children of our parents and parents to our children, as grandchildren of our grandparents and grandparents to our grandchildren,” he said. “Mortality’s great lessons distill upon our souls as we learn and teach in eternal roles, including child and parent, parent and child.”

When fall came, Nese left to attend Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah. I returned to Berkeley, California. Loneliness encompassed me again. Nese’s letters arrived regularly, two or three times weekly. I asked her why she was Mormon. The next letter bulged the envelope. It was a detailed explanation of her struggle to remain active and maintain a firm testimony while living with her inactive family.
I decided I had to go to church. That was a difficult decision because no one pushed me to attend. I had been allowed to come to the conclusion by myself.
I nearly changed my mind when I opened the door. I entered the chapel by myself, spotted an empty seat on the back row, and quickly sat down. Was I going to be all alone here, too? I wondered inside.
Then suddenly Karen, who had appeared from nowhere, was shaking my hand. “Good morning, David,” she said, grinning. I wasn’t alone anymore. She introduced me to people, showed me which class to go to, and sat beside me the entire time.
I was impressed to find a class I could bring my questions to and get answers. Furthermore, the teacher, Sister Booras, took time afterwards to thank me for coming. “You added a great deal to our class,” she said. I had never felt so at home before.
But I still didn’t have that spiritual testimony of the Church; I could believe in many of its teachings, but I didn’t know it was true. I kept attending the meetings anyway.

Splash!
I dived through the water and swam around behind the boat, trying to catch the breath the cold water pushed out of my lungs. Actually, it felt good. The air above the river was hot and heavy, and I needed that sudden jolt to wake me up and prepare me for my first ski run of the day.
My first ski run, and possibly my last. Not only of the day, but of the year—two years, in fact. I would be leaving for my mission in about two weeks, and I had been spending the entire summer cramming in a lot of activities that would be prohibited once I entered the mission field.
I figured that if I spent enough time skiing, swimming, dating, dancing, and doing a thousand other things I wouldn’t be able to do as a missionary, I’d get it all out of my system and be ready to settle down once I reached the MTC. I hardly even looked at the scriptures. They weren’t going to change any in the month before I left, and I would have plenty of time to study them over the next two years. I would soon be devoting 24 hours a day to the service of others, so I had decided to devote the preceding month to the service of me.
I signaled to Kent, who was driving the boat, that my ski was adjusted and ready. He smiled, nodded, and began to accelerate. Getting up on the river, where the current was particularly strong, was not easy, but I managed, and I was soon gliding across the water’s surface. The wind pressed on my face. I closed my eyes and smiled up toward the sun. What a wonderful feeling.
But suddenly my ski struck something hard, and I crashed face down in the water. For some reason, I was being dragged rapidly toward shore. It took me a second to realize that I’d run into a jumble of logs and branches that were floating downstream, and my ski was hopelessly entangled. The current was pulling me toward the shore at the bend in the river, where a mass of sharp rocks and branches had piled up. “If the current drags me into that mess, I’m through,” I thought as I frantically tried to free myself from the entangled ski.
My cousins in the boat quickly realized the danger I was in, and circled back around to try to fish me out. Unfortunately though, the boat got caught in the current too, and I found myself sandwiched between the boat and the rapidly approaching pile of debris. Sharp branches and jagged rocks were only a few feet, a few inches, from my eyes, my throat, my chest. If only I could dive under the boat and put it between me and the ragged shore. I tried, but the buoyancy of my ski vest made that impossible.
I began praying desperately. It was the only alternative left. Immediately some force, like a huge hand, thrust me down into the water and under the boat. I was glad the boat had a jet engine, so I didn’t need to deal with a propeller. My ski had finally been wrenched from my foot, and with the new mobility that gave me, I was able to push out from under the boat and emerge on the other side, just in time to see it crash into the debris.
I could hear my cousins shouting and crying, sure that I had been skewered by a branch and was caught under the water. I shakily called out to them, and with great relief, they pulled me back into the boat.
I huddled in my towel and mulled over what had just happened as we headed back to the sandy beach where we had started. My mission had almost been finished before it began. How important the work must be! I felt the Lord had truly sent angels to be round about me, to bear me up, as it says in Doctrine and Covenants 84:88. I was grateful to have been spared to do his work.
It was then that I understood that my preparation tactics had been all wrong. If the work was that important, I shouldn’t be out grabbing at all the excitement I could before I left. I should be trying to embrace all the scripture study, all the prayer, all the service I could. Of course it wouldn’t hurt to get a little fun in, but I should have begun long ago to practice what I was going to preach.
I would definitely have to change my schedule for the next two weeks, and I’d have to work harder in a different way, than I’d ever dreamed. That realization was a cold, hard one, but actually, it felt good. I needed the sudden jolt to prepare me for the next two years of my life.

A melancholy mouse sat outside his house
And nibbled his paw nails, and said,
“Valentine’s Day is not far away
And I haven’t a paper that’s red.
I haven’t a crayon, or a paint brush, or paint,
So how can I possibly say
That I’m fond of Mouse Milly, or greet her at all
With a token for Valentine’s Day?”
He sat and he thought. He nibbled and frowned,
And then a bright light lit his eye;
“I might have a notion—yes, maybe I have—
The least I can do is to try.”
So the mouse took a stick and he drew in the dirt
A heart shape with letters and birds.
Then he brought pebbles all small, white, and smooth,
And outlined the heart and the words.
He found some fresh posies to put here and there,
And then said, as he looked all around,
“I hope no one saw me—it’s a silly old thing—
A valentine made on the ground.”
When Milly came tripping, she stopped in surprise,
And she blinked and then smiled a glad smile,
And she called to the mouse who was peeking at her,
“What a wonderful, wonderful style
Of making a valentine! Oh, my dear friend,
I’m honored you worked in this way;
You have made me happy—I’m pleased as can be
With this drawing for Valentine’s Day!”
Then the two little mice danced around and around
The heart shape, and laughed in glee,
And their footprints made ruffles of tip-toe lace
In valentine filigree.

During the following year, Ramona enjoyed a temple trip to the Dominican Republic for a young single adult conference. “It was a special experience for me, even though I was sad because my grandmother had just passed away.” Reflecting on her experience, she added, “Later, during FSY (For the Strength of Youth) 2019, I was able to go and complete my grandmother’s temple work in the Dominican Republic. It was very emotional for me,” Ramona said.

Thank you for the article “That Is Christian Courage” in the July 2009 issue. I’ve been having some trouble with a girl who doesn’t like me. “That Is Christian Courage” has helped me to forgive her and see past her mistakes. I love receiving the New Era every month and reading it cover-to-cover.
Isabelle H., Utah