Gospel Story Finder

Sandy Parker shortened his hold on Gretchen’s lead rope and waited tensely. There were over twenty purebred Hereford heifers in the class that he had entered in this year’s 4-H competition at the state fair. The judges were looking carefully at each animal. Would they see faults that Sandy had overlooked because of his pride in the calf?
Sandy remembered when he and his father had gone to check the cattle after a bad storm and found Bess lying dead, her newborn calf still standing beside her.
Sandy and his father caught the calf, put her into the back of their pickup, and took her back to the barn.
“Bess was one of our best cows,” his father had said as they drove back to the barn. “Her calf was sired by Mr. McCormick’s champion bull, Emperor, so she should make a good 4-H project calf, if you want her, Sandy.”
“If I want her, Dad? Of course, I want her!”
After they had unloaded the calf and secured her in a stall, Sandy went to the house for some milk. When he returned, the calf was standing in the far corner of the stall. She lifted her head to look at him. He took the bucket over and set it on the straw at her feet. Sandy placed his left arm around her neck and put the fingers of his right hand into her mouth. She began to suck immediately. With the palm of his hand over her nose, he slowly began to lower her head into the bucket. The calf continued to suck his fingers until her nose was in the milk. At the first taste of the warm liquid, she began to suck harder. Sandy kept his fingers in her mouth a little longer while she drank. Slowly he removed them. She drank for a moment, then raised her head. Sandy repeated the process twice more before the calf’s hunger was satisfied. Then she lay down and was soon asleep.
As Sandy and his father walked to the house that evening, Dad asked, “Have you thought of a name for the calf, Sandy?”
“Yes, Dad. I thought I’d call her Gretchen.”
That night Sandy’s sleep was filled with dreams of all the awards Gretchen would win at the county and state fairs. He thought that she was the finest calf that he had ever seen.
When Sandy woke up early the next morning, the first thing he thought about was Gretchen. He dressed hurriedly and raced down to the barn, where his father was already milking the cows. Sandy went into Gretchen’s stall and saw her lying on the straw. The calf didn’t even lift her head to look at him.
“Dad!” Sandy called. “Something’s wrong with Gretchen.”
His father hurried over and knelt beside the animal. A worried frown spread over his face. “It looks like pneumonia, Sandy.”
“Will she die, Dad?”
“I don’t know, Sandy. Get some milk, and see if she’ll take any. I’ll call Dr. Taylor to see if he can come over and examine her.”
Dr. Taylor made the Parkers his first stop that day. “Hear you lost Bess in that storm the other night,” he said as he got out of his truck.
“Yes, but it’s her calf that we’re worried about now,” Mr. Parker told the veterinarian. “Sandy is trying to raise her for a 4-H project, but it looks like she has pneumonia.”
“Well, let’s have a look at her.” Dr. Taylor followed Mr. Parker into the barn.
Sandy was waiting outside Gretchen’s stall for them. “She wouldn’t take any milk this morning,” he told Dr. Taylor.
The doctor took her temperature. “It’s a hundred six—that’s pretty high.” The veterinarian put his stethoscope to the calf’s chest and listened to her lungs.
“Do you think she has a chance?” Sandy asked.
“There’s always hope, Sandy. We’ll do our best. You’ll have to drench-feed her if she won’t eat on her own. I want you to feed her every four hours. I’ll give her a shot and hope that that will bring her out of it. I’ll stop back in a couple of days and see how she is.”
After Dr. Taylor left, Sandy prepared the milk to drench-feed the calf. He filled one of his father’s drenching syringes with warm milk, then got the wobbly calf to her feet. Sandy pushed the end of the syringe far back into Gretchen’s mouth, then gently pushed on the plunger and released a small amount of milk. Gretchen swallowed the milk with difficulty. Sandy repeated the process until the syringe was empty. It was slow work.
Four times that day Sandy drench-fed Gretchen, but she didn’t seem to get any better. When he took the calf’s temperature that night, it was 106.4° F. It was going up, not down! “I don’t know what else to do for you, girl,” Sandy murmured as he gently stroked the calf’s forehead.
The next morning Sandy anxiously counted the endless seconds as he took Gretchen’s temperature, then held the thermometer up to the light and read it. “Dad! Dad! It’s down. Her temperature is only a hundred and three!”
“Good,” replied his father. “Now let’s see if she’ll eat for you.”
Sandy was jolted back to the present by the announcer’s voice. The winner of the state 4-H class for heifers this year is Beck’s Hi-Wind Folly, owned by Miss Patty Beck.”
Sandy’s heart sank. He had paid careful attention to all the details that go into making a fine show animal. He had trimmed and polished Gretchen’s hooves, brushed her, bathed her, and brushed her again until she shone like the sun. She had taken top honors in all the local competitions. He’d worked so hard, come so far …
“Second place this year is Parker’s Gretchen.” Sandy’s head jerked up. He had almost missed his call. “We did it, Gretchen!” he whispered excitedly. “Second place in the whole state, in a class of over twenty top heifers!” Sandy seemed to walk on air as he led Gretchen to receive their award.
Sandy’s parents were waiting for him when he led Gretchen back to the stabling area. “We’re very proud of you and Gretchen, Sandy,” Dad said.
And Sandy could see the pride in their eyes. “Thanks, Dad,” he replied. “At first I was disappointed that we didn’t get the blue ribbon. But Gretchen is young yet. Maybe next year. …”

Forty-five Scouts and eight leaders from the La Verne California Stake hiked a 15-mile segment of the Mormon Battalion Trail.
At the first night’s campfire, the history of the battalion was retold. The following morning, the Scouts began their hike up a canyon. Unlike the scenery the battalion members found, these modern Scouts had to make their way across freeways and train tracks. Dan Brown, 12, whose great-great-grandfather was a member of the Mormon Battalion, said, “I learned how miserable the march must have been. I only hiked 15 miles. They traveled over 2,000.”
The La Verne Stake Scouts hiked another segment of the trail near San Diego last year. They hope to hike additional sections of the trail in coming years.

United in their resolve to be true to their call from the prophet, the company headed into the desert toward 50-Mile Spring. Since there was no road, the pioneers cut their own through what one man described as “the roughest country I ever saw a wagon go over.” Mostly rock and nearly void of foliage, the land was a combination of gulches and straight-walled chasms more than 100 meters deep.
At 50-Mile Spring, President Smith divided the company into three work groups: one to work at the crevice, one to build a road from the crevice to the river 1.2 kilometers away, and one to build a ferry. For the next six weeks, all three groups worked simultaneously. “I don’t think I ever [saw] … men go to work with more of a will to do something than that crowd did,” wrote Cornelius I. Decker of the group who worked to widen the narrow crevice. “We were all young men; … we did make dirt and rock fly.” Two blacksmith forges were established at “the Hole” so that blacksmiths could keep tools sharp as men cut solid rock. Several men were lowered by rope in half-barrels over the 14-meter cliff. While dangling in midair, they drilled holes in the cliff and filled them with blasting powder. Work continued in snow storms as well as in sunshine.
The second group constructed a road over virtually impassable land. The steep upper third of the road was a serious challenge; among the problems the workers had to solve was how to create a section of road along the face of a 15-meter rock wall. First they blasted a ledge along the wall, then extended the ledge outward. This was done by hammering staves into holes drilled parallel to the ledge. Logs, rocks, and gravel were piled into the resulting area to build up a shelf just wide enough to accommodate a wagon.
The third group built a ferry wide enough to carry two wagons at a time across the Colorado River. Part of this group also began work on a road eastward.

When Janice found herself feeling guilty and frustrated at her inability to meet the expectations she had placed on herself and those she felt others placed on her, she sought Heavenly Father’s help. “Gradually as I drew closer to him,” she said, “I realized how superficial many of my expectations had been, and that I simply did not need to be perfect in every talent and every area that others excelled in. Drawing closer to him led me to an uncluttered perception of what was expected of me and an awareness of my intrinsic worth and potential as his daughter. My frustrations dissipated into a feeling of peace and harmony.”

I have a longtime friend who owned a very successful business. Occasionally, to find relief from the stress of his responsibilities, he would partake of substances forbidden by the Word of Wisdom. As the stress in his life increased, so did his consumption of alcohol. Indeed, he was becoming a prisoner to alcohol.
One afternoon he felt the enticings of the Spirit prompting him to overcome this addiction, which had begun to impair his moral agency. He left his office for several hours and drove to a very secluded spot far removed from the city. There he knelt in humble prayer and pled with the Lord with all the energy of his heart for added strength to overcome this addiction, which robbed his spirituality and threatened to destroy his very soul. He remained on his knees for a very long time, and eventually a sweet, purifying spirit began to distill upon his soul, cleansing him from any desire to drink and fortifying him with a firm resolve to keep the commandments.
A spiritually sensitive bishop noticed a change in my friend and extended a call for him to work with the young Aaronic Priesthood brethren of the ward. He was a natural, enthusiastic leader of youth, and about a year later he was called to be the new bishop, dearly loved by all for his ability to counsel those who were prisoners of sin.

I speak of Margaret’s bravery.
Eleven times she placed
Her life upon the block
And offered it that
Children might be born.
No sterile chamber
Where the doctor waits,
The anesthetic cone
And nurse in readiness,
Could be her lot.
The cabin walls absorbed
The agonizing cries,
With Death close by.
He did not claim her life.
Instead he took each child—
Each little one to heaven—
All eleven.
Then came the twelfth.
For her the light burned
Dim, then flickered low,
And out—
But she had filled her life, and
Given all that she could give.
Her mission was performed;
A son was born.
The only child to live.
He was named his father’s name—Samuel Lee.

She loved to play tennis and had a lightning serve. I tried to play tennis with her, but I finally quit after coming to the realization that I couldn’t hit what I couldn’t see.

“A gift Jeanene has is to take things that I don’t do well, and because she has great capacity in them, she makes me think I’m good at them,” says Elder Scott. “Take dancing, for example. I can’t dance worth anything, but she dances beautifully. And she makes it look like I know what I’m doing. One time at a large stake activity we won a waltz contest! Highly improbable, since it was the first waltz we had ever done together!”

As a mother, I remember a rare morning when I was up long enough before the children to have time to sit in our sun-filled living room and peacefully read the scriptures. Soon a small son in pajamas stumbled from the bedroom. Rubbing his sleepy eyes, he snuggled up on my lap. “What are you reading, Mama?” he asked.
At such times, I pass the Old Testament’s gift of stories to my children. First, I tell them favorites, such as the stories of Noah’s ark (see Gen. 6–8), Joseph’s coat of many colors (see Gen. 37:3–36), and King Solomon’s almost causing a baby to be divided by a sword and given to two professed mothers (see 1 Kgs. 3:16–28).
Next I tell them of lesser-known heroes, such as the three mighties who served King David. During a battle with the Philistines, they broke through enemy lines, at peril to their lives, to fetch a drink of water for their thirsty king. (See 1 Chr. 11:10–19.)
There are many similar stories that a child’s mind can savor.

However, even during the Soviet period, Latter-day Saints continued the preparation to introduce the restored gospel in Russia. One such individual was Andre Anastasion, an emigrant from Odessa, Ukraine, who began translating the Book of Mormon into Russian after his baptism in 1918. After visiting Moscow in 1970, Andre wrote, “Twice in the night I stood on Red Square and implored the Lord to open the way for the Gospel to be taken to the Russian people, whom I saw everywhere moving in masses, poorly clad, sombre, with heads down.”7 The first edition of the Russian Book of Mormon, based largely on Andre’s work, was published in 1981. In time, many Russians would accept the message of the Book of Mormon, becoming pioneers in their own land to help fulfill the hopes and prayers of others on their behalf.

The family’s move to Lancing, when Anna was twenty-five, enabled the family to keep a pony and carriage. Each day Anna drove her father to Shoreham to catch the Brighton train, and then in the evening she picked him up. During these drives Anna was unaware that she was laying up much information that she could use later in writing Black Beauty.

Let me share with you a personal experience that may be of some help to those who feel insignificant, forgotten, or alone.
Many years ago I attended pilot training in the United States Air Force. I was far away from my home, a young West German soldier, born in Czechoslovakia, who had grown up in East Germany and spoke English only with great difficulty. I clearly remember my journey to our training base in Texas. I was on a plane, sitting next to a passenger who spoke with a heavy Southern accent. I could scarcely understand a word he said. I actually wondered if I had been taught the wrong language all along. I was terrified by the thought that I had to compete for the coveted top spots in pilot training against students who were native English speakers.
When I arrived on the air base in the small town of Big Spring, Texas, I looked for and found the Latter-day Saint branch, which consisted of a handful of wonderful members who were meeting in rented rooms on the air base itself. The members were in the process of building a small meetinghouse that would serve as a permanent place for the Church. Back in those days members provided much of the labor on new buildings.
Day after day I attended my pilot training and studied as hard as I could and then spent most of my spare time working on the new meetinghouse. There I learned that a two-by-four is not a dance step but a piece of wood. I also learned the important survival skill of missing my thumb when pounding a nail.
I spent so much time working on the meetinghouse that the branch president—who also happened to be one of our flight instructors—expressed concern that I perhaps should spend more time studying.
My friends and fellow student pilots engaged themselves in free-time activities as well, although I think it’s safe to say that some of those activities would not have been in alignment with today’s For the Strength of Youth pamphlet. For my part, I enjoyed being an active part of this tiny west Texas branch, practicing my newly acquired carpentry skills, and improving my English as I fulfilled my callings to teach in the elders quorum and in Sunday School.
At the time, Big Spring, despite its name, was a small, insignificant, and unknown place. And I often felt exactly the same way about myself—insignificant, unknown, and quite alone. Even so, I never once wondered if the Lord had forgotten me or if He would ever be able to find me there. I knew that it didn’t matter to Heavenly Father where I was, where I ranked with others in my pilot training class, or what my calling in the Church was. What mattered to Him was that I was doing the best I could, that my heart was inclined toward Him, and that I was willing to help those around me. I knew if I did the best I could, all would be well.
And all was well.

As we strive to live the commandments of God, we become more confident that he will sustain us in our righteous endeavors. One sister, asked to help lead a hiking activity for the youth in her stake, felt anxious about the assignment. She had little experience with outdoor activities and was exhausted when she hiked the route in preparation for the activity. She prayed fervently for help, then began the hike. “The hike was not a hardship at all,” she said. “I had no doubt that I was blessed.”

Sister Mahindi was concerned about her daughter’s illness but she trusted that she could take her mind off of that. She felt that by busily working at the shamba, things would get better—and they did. She gained comfort and peace as her daughter recovered.

When I was a new ninth-grade high school student, my English teacher announced that we were going to watch a movie as part of our study of Shakespeare and his works. She told us the movie was R-rated and asked if anyone had any objections. I built up the courage to raise my hand and told my teacher that I did not watch R-rated movies. My face felt like it was about to burst and my whole body felt like it was sweating, but inside I knew I had done the right thing. My objection seemed to silence the class, and I felt everyone’s eyes on me.
Later, my teacher questioned me further on the subject, and I told her that I would not watch the movie. My teacher left it up to me to choose between watching the movie she selected or accepting a lower grade for the assignment.
On the day before the movie was scheduled to be shown, I thought I was going to have to walk out of class and take the grade penalty. When my teacher announced that she had decided to show a different version of the movie, I felt relieved. There was plenty of moaning and whining from many of the students because of the change in plans. I thought everyone would be mad at me.
Instead, the students quickly quieted down, and my friends called me over to sit with them. Their support made me feel great. After class, I thanked my teacher for her decision to show an appropriate version of the movie.
I’m thankful for the standards of the Church. I know that when we keep high standards, we can make a difference in the world in our own small ways.

During my undergraduate days at BYU, other than my wife, Kathy, whose eternal influence is impossible to measure, two roommates—one before my mission and one after—greatly shaped my spiritual foundation. One was Reid Robison, now a professor at BYU in organizational behavior. I met him on my mission, and we were roommates afterward. Reid’s exactness in following the commandments, his love for the prophet, and his unwavering testimony of the Savior strengthened me and all those around him. And he has continued to be an example to me for the past 45 years.

The other roommate I mention is Terrel Bird, who now lives in St. George, Utah, USA. I met Terrel as we attended high school together in Pocatello, Idaho, USA. Although we played basketball together, our friendship came as I observed his spiritual maturity. He would openly share spiritual insights he was having and principles of life he was reading about and learning. I was surprised to hear these things from a 17-year-old. We decided to room together at BYU.

In those days, we didn’t have computers; we had typewriters. Terrel would take scriptures that were meaningful to him and quotations that instilled character, type them, and then store them in a small box so he could draw from them frequently. It was not uncommon for him to have more than a thousand scriptures and quotations, many of which he would memorize. Although I was working—cleaning the library every morning from 4:00 to 7:00—and carrying a full load of classes, in watching Terrel, I began to build my own file box.

Here is one of the quotes I still remember from almost 50 years ago:
Mind is the Master power that moulds and makes,
And Man is Mind, and evermore he takes
The tool of Thought, and, shaping what he wills,
Brings forth a thousand joys, a thousand ills:—
He thinks in secret, and it comes to pass:
Environment is but his looking-glass.11

I also remember, of course, powerful scriptures like this one:
“I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live:
“And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die” (John 11:25–26).

Terrel helped me put into my mind as a freshman at BYU words of scripture and words of wisdom that have influenced me all of my life. I thank Reid Robison and Terrel Bird for caring about me spiritually at a time when it made a difference.

Last spring, while I was visiting a class of young women, the teacher asked the class to write our 10 priorities. I quickly began to write. I have to admit, my first thought began with “Number 1: clean the pencil drawer in the kitchen.” When our lists were complete, the Young Women leader asked us to share what we had written. Abby, who had recently turned 12, was sitting next to me. This was Abby’s list:
Go to college.
Become an interior designer.
Go on a mission to India.
Get married in the temple to a returned missionary.
Have five kids and a home.
Send my kids on missions and to college.
Become a “cookie-giving” grandma.
Spoil the grandchildren.
Learn more about the gospel and enjoy life.
Return to live with Father in Heaven.
I say, “Thank you, Abby. You have taught me about having a vision of the plan Heavenly Father has for all of us. When you know you are walking a path, in spite of whatever detours may occur, you will be OK. When your path is focused on the ultimate goal—that of exaltation and returning to Heavenly Father, you will get there.”
Where did Abby get this sense of eternal purpose? It begins in our homes. It begins in our families. I asked her, “What do you do in your family to create such priorities?”
This was her answer: “Besides reading the scriptures, we are studying Preach My Gospel.” Then she added, “We talk a lot—at family home evening, at dinner together, and in the car while we drive.”

I knew I needed to go to the temple. I lived only a short car ride away from the nearest temple, yet I hadn’t been in months.
One night, I was reading Elder Neil L. Andersen’s talk from the October 2022 general conference. A sentence stood out to me: “As we enter the temple, we are freed for a time from the worldly influences crowding against us as we learn of our purpose in life and the eternal gifts offered us through our Savior, Jesus Christ.”1
I wanted to feel free from the world. Struck with a burst of determination, I scheduled an appointment to do proxy initiatories.
On the day of the appointment, I came home from work feeling tired and grumpy for no reason. I wasn’t in the mood to go to the temple.
But I remembered my past desire, even if I didn’t feel it in the moment. I went back out to my car and started driving.
Twenty minutes later, the temple came into view.
Tears sprang to my eyes. In that moment, my desire returned. The temple was the place I needed to be that night. I had to hold back more tears so I wouldn’t lose sight of the road.
Here are just a few of the blessings I noticed from attending the temple that day:
When I attended the temple that day, my bad mood was lifted. It was replaced by “the peace of God, which passeth all understanding” (Philippians 4:7).
Beyond feeling peace, I also remembered the covenants I had previously made. As I acted as proxy in the initiatory, I focused on the words of the ordinance. Those words reminded me that God would give me strength and would help me persevere through my trials.
The names of the people I helped were provided to me by the temple. I didn’t know any of the women I stood as proxy for that day. But I felt the sacred power given to them through the initiatory ordinance.

In 1851, Elder Parley P. Pratt (1807–1857) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles arrived in Valparaíso with the intention of establishing the Church. However, he and his companions did not speak Spanish, they had very few financial resources, and the country lacked religious freedom, so they were unable to establish the Church.
Elder Pratt recommended to President Brigham Young (1801–77): “The Book of Mormon and some cheap publications should be translated into Spanish and printed, and then the key be turned to these nations while a living Priesthood is accompanied by something for them to read—even those writings which have the promises of God, the prayers and faith of the ancients, and the power and Spirit of God to work with them in restoring the house of Israel.”2

Near the summit of Santa Cruz, an island in the Galápagos, lie Los Gemelos, “the Twins.” Each of these two vast sinkholes is large enough to hold several football fields. From the rim, they look much like ancient man-made quarries that supplied stone for bygone temples.
Despite the natural beauty of the area, not all is as it seems. Thick vegetation covers the tropical terrain except where the paths run through. The paths have been well chosen for their firm footing. The ground to either side of the paths, though covered in bushes, plants, and even trees, may not be so firm.
If you were to leave the paths that circle Los Gemelos to explore the rain forest, at any moment you might step on a section of crust that is not strong enough to support your weight. How far would you fall? You wouldn’t know until you hit the bottom. Some of the sinkholes in Santa Cruz are more than 100 feet (30 m) deep. According to local stories, one hole is so deep that the bottom has never been found.
The paths follow a specific route—one you might not think you want to follow. But there is safety in the paths and an assurance of where they lead.