Gospel Story Finder

When one couple used a wide-angle lens, they started to see their trial of cancer as a marital intimacy gift. The wife explained, "When my husband was diagnosed with colon cancer, we were both devastated and in anguish. However, cancer gave us permission to talk about things that we had never spoken of before. Travel to and from his treatments gave us uninterrupted time together-something we had not taken for years. Over time, cancer, this life-threatening illness, actually brought life to our relationship! Truthfully, I was a bit sad when my husband's treatments were over, because we slowly shifted back into living our parallel lives, where although we both felt love for each other, we didn't take time to express it in the very special ways we had during those intensive cancer days"

In 1897, David O. McKay was called to serve a mission in Scotland. He was thrilled to return to his “motherland” and had very high expectations of bringing the restored gospel to his kin. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much enthusiasm for a message about God, Jesus Christ, and a restored church brought about by a boy-prophet. Even when he was able to share his message, he was ridiculed for his “American” accent. To make matters worse, there were some asserting that missionaries didn’t come to Scotland to share a message, but to steal their “bonny lasses” away for plural marriage. Some of you returned-missionaries know all too well what I am talking about. Feeling a bit sorry for himself, he and his companion went on a diversion for the day (or what we now call a “P-day”) and they went sight-seeing. Well, it appears that this one “diversion day” turned into several days of diversion and touring. And on one of these diversion days, David O. McKay found himself standing at the wall of Stirling Castle taking in the historic sites before him. They left touring the Castle around five o’clock to return to their newly acquired lodgings. As the two missionaries walked along Back O’ Hill Road, they approached a construction site for new apartments that would be known as the Albany Crescent buildings. From the sidewalk, David O. McKay noticed something unusual about the building. “Over the front door was a stone...something unusual in a residence, and what was still more unusual, I could see from the sidewalk that there was an inscription chiseled in that arch…” McKay recalled: “I was half way up the graveled walk, when there came to my eyesight a striking motto carved in stone-- “What e’er Thou Art, Act Well thy Part...’”

This motto had an immediate and profound impact upon McKay. Of this experience, David Lawrence McKay, David O. McKay’s son, said that “this message struck Father forcefully.” Although McKay only talked about the impact that this phrase had upon him, the lower section of the stone should not be overlooked or dismissed. In fact, it appears that John Allan included the lower portion of the stone to emphasize the meaning and application of the motto in a dramatic and peculiar fashion.

It is possible that this relationship was understood by David O. McKay as is evident from his musings and thoughts after seeing the stone. His experience with the stone’s message seemed to simmer in his mind and in his heart. As McKay and Johnston walked back to their apartment, McKay expressed personal lessons and applications that were forming within him. He thought about his days of playing football at the University of Utah and told his companion of a custodian and how this humble man helped with the football gear and even assisted the players with their homework. “He was unassuming, unostentatious” McKay said of the custodian, “But he did his duty well.” Upon reflection, McKay concluded, “I realized then that I had just as great a respect for that man as I had for any professor in whose class I had sat. He acted well his part.” It is important to point out that McKay was not only seeing the importance of a man who did his duty honorably but that he may well have been seeing the relationship between the custodian’s part, the professor’s part, the football team’s part, and how each was connected one to the other and all were connected with the greater whole—the university. You see, it doesn’t really matter what number you are, it matters how well you act your part.

McKay then reflected upon his “own part.” He thought of his activities prior to seeing the stone. He and his companion were sightseeing and even though he was impressed with the landscape, history and the courage of his Scottish heritage, he decided that his activity “was not missionary work.” He concluded: “Well, I am here as a missionary so I will act the part and be a good missionary!” Once again, however, it appears that McKay may have understood the greater context of the message. He said that as he was walking with Johnston he silently thought, “I thought about this motto, ‘What e’er Thou Art, Act Well thy Part,’ and took it as a direct message to me, and I said to myself, or the Spirit said to me, ‘You are a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints; more than that—you are here in the Mission Field as a representative of the Church, and you are to act well your part as a missionary, and you get into the work with all your heart.” Obviously McKay could see the importance of being a good missionary, but he was also seeing how that related with a greater context—being a member of the Church. “I accepted the message given to me on that stone,” McKay reported, “and from that moment we tried to do our part as missionaries in Scotland.” Of this pledge, McKay’s son, David Lawrence McKay, said that his father’s rededication was done “completely and wholeheartedly.”

Nearly a year after this experience, McKay received a letter of encouragement from his sweetheart, Emma Ray Riggs, who counseled him to do his work well. Emma Ray’s phraseology apparently triggered a memory. In McKay’s response dated April 25, 1899, he reminisced on the experience he had in Stirling with the Allan stone. “As I again read your letter now before me, a warm feeling of appreciation of your encouraging words come over me; and your advice— ‘Do your work well’—will ever be remembered…It reminds me of a beautiful inscription carved over the door of one of the cottages in the east part of Stirling: ‘What e’er thou art, act well thy part.’ If one only chooses the good part and does his work well, success and happiness will certainly be his.”

The impact of the stone for McKay extended beyond his missionary service in Scotland. In later sermons, McKay spoke of the connection between the “parts” of our lives whether missionary, friend, family, neighbor, country, human race, and every creature. He often attributed his experience with the John Allan Albany Crescent stone, as the genesis—of sorts—to this understanding. “Remember this as a guideline in whatever position you are called to serve,” President McKay once taught in General Conference, ‘What e’er thou art, act well thy part.”

Brigham Young was also identified for leadership early in life. As a young convert to the Church, thirty-one years of age, he came to visit the Prophet Joseph Smith in Kirtland, Ohio. Brigham met Joseph initially in the woods near Kirtland, when Joseph was chopping and hauling wood. That evening a special meeting of these famous men of history took place. Brigham Young later recounted:
“In the evening a few of the brethren came in, and we conversed together upon the things of the kingdom. He (the Prophet) called upon me to pray; in my prayer I spoke in tongues. As soon as we arose from our knees the brethren flocked around him, and asked his opinion concerning the gift of tongues that was upon me. He told them it was the pure Adamic language. Some said to him they expected he would condemn the gift Brother Brigham had, but he said, ‘No, it is of God, and the time will come when brother Brigham Young will preside over this Church.’ The latter part of this conversation was in my absence.”
Thus the Lord had shown his hand twelve years before the event, and his eyes were already upon Brigham, watching and guiding him in his life. But Brigham Young had many lessons to learn, and the following twelve years were filled with trials and difficult decisions, all of which led to a purposeful end.

In March 1881 a convention was held at a Maori village near Masterton in the Waiarapa District, north of Wellington. Among the subjects that were discussed between the Maori chiefs, who belonged to the Catholic, Methodist, Presbyterian and Anglican churches is if all Christianity was of Christ, why were not all Christians affiliated with but one church? The same question the boy Prophet Joseph Smith asked, "Which is the Church? Which one should the Maori join?" After much discussion and debate the question was directed to one chief, Paora Potangaroa. His answer was "Taihoa" which means "wait" or "wait a while." The chief left the assembly, and retired to his own residence. There for three days he was occupied in prayer, fasting and meditation. After the three days Potangaroa returned to the convention. Freely translated these were his words, "My friends, the church for the Maori people has not yet come among us. You will recognize it when it comes. Its missionaries will travel in pairs. They will come from the land of the rising sun. They will learn the language and teach us the gospel in our own tongue. When they pray they will raise their right hands."

Since recently returning from a three-year Church assignment in Africa and becoming reacquainted with our twenty-three grandchildren, Sister Lindsay and I have often been requested on such visits to tell these grandchildren a bedtime story that is, first, true; second, exciting; and third, one they have never heard before. All you grandpas here tonight can understand the challenge which such a request represents. One such true story did come to my mind, however, as we visited recently in the home of a son and his wife who live in a midwestern city with their five children, including three bearers of the Aaronic Priesthood—a priest, a teacher, and a deacon. This story concerned their own father when he was a six-year-old boy.
I grew up in rural Salt Lake County when it was an economic necessity to care for a variety of barnyard animals. My favorite animals were sheep—prompted perhaps by the fact that sheep do not require being milked twice a day, seven days a week.
I wanted our own sons to have the blessing of being shepherds to such farm animals. Our older sons were each provided with a ewe to teach them the responsibility of caring for these sheep and the lambs that would hopefully follow.
Our second son, newly turned six years of age, called me excitedly at my office one cold March morning on the phone and said, “Daddy, guess what? Esther [Esther was his mother ewe]—Esther has just had two baby lambs. Please come home and help me take care of them.” I instructed Gordon to watch the lambs carefully and make sure they received the mother’s milk and they would be fine.
I was interrupted by a second phone call later in the morning with the same little voice on the other end saying, “Daddy, these lambs aren’t doing very well. They haven’t been able to get milk from the mother, and they are very cold. Please come home.” My response likely reflected some of the distress I felt by being distracted from my busy work schedule. I responded, “Gordon, the lambs will be all right. You just watch them, and when Daddy comes home we will make sure they get mother’s milk and everything will be fine.”
Again, later in the afternoon I received a third, more urgent call. Now the voice on the other end was pleading. “Daddy, you’ve got to come home now. Those lambs are lying down, and one of them looks very cold.” Despite work pressures, I now felt some real concern and tried to reassure the six-year-old owner of the mother sheep by saying, “Gordon, bring the lambs into the house. Rub them with a gunnysack to make them warm. When Daddy comes home in a little while, we will milk the mother, feed the lambs, and they will be fine.”
Two hours later I drove into the driveway of our home and was met by a boy with tear-stained eyes, carrying a dead lamb in his arms. His grief was overwhelming. Now I tried to make amends by quickly milking the mother sheep and trying to force the milk from a bottle down the throat of the now weak, surviving lamb. At this point, Gordon walked out of the room and came back with a hopeful look in his eyes. He said, “Daddy, I’ve prayed that we will be able to save this lamb, and I feel it will be all right.”
The sad note to this story, brethren, is that within a few minutes the second lamb was dead. Then with a look that I will remember forever, this little six-year-old boy who had lost both of his lambs looked up into his father’s face and with tears running down his cheeks said, “Daddy, if you had come home when I first called you, we could have saved them both.”

Our own little grandchildren are also learning at this point in their lives to love the scriptures. We are so delighted in their responses. For instance, three-year-old Joshua, who loves heroes in all stories, used to blurt out at the climax of each scripture story: “And then, who saves the day? Jesus saves the day!” Joshua was learning an important lesson: that Jesus really is our Savior. Even His name means “save.” Now in his prayers he prays about the characters that he has met on a daily basis. Once he prayed that Peter would not sink again, and then he prayed that the swine would not drown when they ran into the sea. Another time he prayed that Laman and Lemuel would be nice to Nephi. And we’ve even heard him pray for Jesus’ daddy, who is Heavenly Father. Joshua recently received his own real copy of the Book of Mormon from his nursery leader in Primary. He no longer wants his mommy to read from the Book of Mormon reader. He told her he likes the real words the best.

When I was a freshman at BYU, I had very little money and it was hard to think of a present for my bed-ridden grandmother. She had always been so good to us grandchildren.
I decided my gift would be a promise. I would write her a letter every week during the coming year. I kept my promise and, although she was unable to answer all my letters, she wrote when she could and our relationship grew even stronger.
She told me often how she enjoyed her Christmas present. It also was a great joy to give.
—Carol LowryMagrath, Alberta, Canada

Last year, I experienced an increase in anxiety and depression. Although I’ve always struggled with mental health, this time was much worse. I eventually sought medical help, but an essential part of my healing also centered on reaching out to my Savior.
As I prayed for relief, I was prompted to look for light in the world around me. I tried my best. There were times when it felt like the light I found was a flicker that quickly burned out. Many times, I imagined I stood in darkness waiting for the next sunrise, knowing it would only fade again at night. Light felt fleeting and temporary.
After months of this, I experienced a profound thought: “There is light inside me.” Doctrine and Covenants 88:13 teaches that the light of Christ is “in all things” (see also verse 7). I don’t have to chase down vanishing rays of light each day. I can carry light with me all the time.
I began to see myself as sharing a part of the divine light of my Heavenly Father and of Jesus Christ, and I realized that I had access to a light that never burned out. As I reached out to my Savior, I discovered for myself that “because the universe is filled with the Light of Christ, we can spiritually learn, progress, and grow.”1

In September 2004, lots of hurricanes hit Florida, where I live with my mom, dad, and sisters Morgie and Maddie. Our family had never been in a hurricane. We prepared to be inside for a few days and to maybe go without power for a few days. We also prayed that we would be kept safe during the storm. On September 5, church was cancelled because of Hurricane Frances. That Sunday was stormy and ugly outside, but inside we were safe. My mom and dad got permission from the bishop for us to have sacrament meeting at home. Mom and Morgie played the piano, and we sang. Dad blessed and passed the sacrament. Then everyone gave a talk. Morgie, Maddie, and I all gave our talks from the Friend. The storm was still blowing outside, but I felt peaceful inside.

Young friends, it is the will of God that you pray unceasingly. Many times I was tried and tested as a young boy on the Navajo reservation. I was often on my knees in our small, humble hogan. In those moments I asked my Heavenly Father for faith, strength, and courage to withstand temptations. Many times as I was on my knees, my own brothers made fun of me, laughing and sneering and shouting through the cracks of the hogan. But I was not bothered by them.
The young people who kneel down and ask God for faith and courage to resist temptation very early in life will find that temptation loses much of its luster. You cannot suddenly receive a full-grown testimony that God lives and that the Church is true any more than you can come into the world fully grown. You start small but grow with consistency.
Your faith needs nourishment through prayers. Exercise the muscle of faith until it is of such strength that it will sustain you. Beloved youth, get on your knees. The Lord has a testimony just for you, one that fits your size and needs. But you have to ask for it.

Let me give you an example at the opposite end of the spectrum. It involves a boyhood hero of mine, Ted Williams, one of the greatest baseball players of all time. A. Thomas Young, president and chief operating officer of Martin Marietta Corporation, who observed that “ethics will continue to be the issue of the 90s,” reports Williams’ experience as follows:
More than 30 years ago, Ted Williams was closing out his career with the Boston Red Sox. He was suffering from a pinched nerve in his neck that season.
“The thing was so bad,” he later explained, “that I could hardly turn my head to look at the pitcher. “
For the first time in his career he batted under .300, hitting just .254 with 10 home runs. He was the highest salaried player in sports, making $125,000. The next year, the Red Sox sent him the same contract.
When he got the contract, Williams sent it back with a note saying that he would not sign it until they gave him the full pay cut allowed.
“I was always treated fairly by the Red Sox when it came to contracts,” Williams said. “Now they were offering me a contract I didn’t deserve. And I only wanted what I deserved.”
Williams cut his own salary by 25 percent, raised his batting average by 62 points and closed out a brilliant career by hitting a home run in his final at bat.

The news reached me on a telephone that seldom rang. My two sons and I were working in the yard of a mountain home we built as a place of retreat from my heavy responsibilities as president of Brigham Young University. The caller was Elder Boyd K. Packer. He told me about the revelation on the priesthood, which was just being announced. We exchanged expressions of joy, and I walked back to my work. I sat down on the pile of dirt we had been moving and beckoned to my sons. As I told them that all worthy male members of the Church could now be ordained to the priesthood, I wept for joy.

By Ana Rodriguez Ramirez, Spain

One day on my mission, my companion and I were prompted to visit a sister in the ward. We cut out paper hearts and wrote loving messages on them to remind her of her worth.

We arrived at her house, thinking she wouldn’t be home. As we were setting up the paper hearts, her car pulled right up to the house. My companion and I tried to hide to keep up the friendly surprise, but to no avail. She saw us.

The sister got out of her car with tears on her face. She hugged us and said, “You two are my angels. You’re always there when I need you most. Thank you.”

She invited us in and told us of the long day she had dealing with a serious family situation. We just listened to her. We shared how much God loves her and that He didn’t forget about what she was going through. We read scriptures with her, and her home was filled with the Holy Ghost when we left.

Disciples of Jesus Christ are “willing to … comfort those that stand in need of comfort” (Mosiah 18:9). He trusts us to be part of His great work—higher and holier ministering. When we take the time to get to know people and listen to them, we are more equipped to be God’s earthly angels.

The importance of what a good reputation means was emphasized to me when I entered into business many years ago with a great business leader. Our plans were to start a new wholesale business. He was to furnish the capital, and I was to furnish the management. After we reached an understanding he wrote me a check for a very large amount of money, and then he said, “If the business is a success, you will get all the credit; and if the business fails, you will likewise get all the credit.” He then went on to say, “Should the business fail, you will lose more than I will. I’ll only lose money, and I have more of that; but you will lose your reputation, which is much more valuable than money.”

I will never forget the value this highly successful businessman placed on reputation. Fortunately for both of us, the business was successful.

Question: What was Alma’s greatest challenge?
Answer: To help a son who had lost the way. My husband and I looked at each other, remembering the times we had prayed over our children as they struggled to make their testimonies secure. How well I remember the tears that came to one son’s eyes as he looked at his brothers and sisters, then said quietly, “That’s what dad and mom did for me.” He bore his testimony to the family, and at that moment our hearts were full.

I used to think my best friend, Chase, would do anything. When I dared him to jump off the top step of my porch, not only did he do it, but he even took a running start!
When I dared him to ride the upside-down roller coaster, he didn’t just ride it, but he actually sat in the front seat!
And when I told him there was no way he would say hi to Julia—the prettiest girl in the whole school—not only did he say hi, but he sat and talked to her for five minutes!
I thought Chase would do anything. Until today, that is.
Chase comes over to my house almost every day. We live super close to each other. There is only one house in between ours. But Chase doesn’t come over on Sunday or Monday. On Sundays he goes to church. On Mondays he has some kind of a family night. He invited me a couple of times. We ate brownies and played games. It was pretty fun.
Chase usually comes to my house to play after school. It’s nice to have him around because my mom and dad are still at work. Playing with Chase is fun. We love to make up jokes. Chase is friends with everybody. I never hear him talk bad about other people—even if everybody else does.
Today Chase and I played basketball. It was pretty hot, so I asked Chase if he wanted a drink.
“Sure,” Chase said, as he rolled the ball into the grass and ran to my front porch.
We walked inside and went to the kitchen. As I opened the fridge, the rush of the cool air made the hairs on our arms stand on end. When I first peeked into the fridge, I just saw juice and milk. Then, an open can in the corner caught my eye.
My dad had left a can of beer open. He would never know if we took a couple of sips. I pulled the can out.
“Want to try?” I asked.
“What is it?” Chase asked.
“It’s beer,” I said. “My dad drinks it all the time. He won’t know if we just take a sip.”
Chase looked at me. He raised his eyebrow and put his hands on his hips. Then he said something I never thought I’d hear him say.
“No way!” Chase said.
“Did you just say no?” I asked.
“Beer’s not good for you,” he said. “We shouldn’t drink it. It makes you do dumb things.”
“Not if you just take one little sip,” I said. “Watch, I’ll show you.”
I raised the can to my mouth, took a small sip, and smiled. It tasted gross, but I didn’t want to look uncool.
“See? Do I look any dumber to you?” I asked.
“I think I’m going to go home,” Chase said. “Don’t drink any more of that stuff. It’s not a good idea.”
As I watched Chase walk out the door and run down the sidewalk back to his house, I couldn’t help but wonder why he would do almost anything but not take even a small sip of beer.
I took another small sip after Chase left. “Blech! This stuff really is gross,” I thought as I put the can back in the corner of the fridge.
Maybe Chase was on to something after all.

Recently I attended the blessing of our newest granddaughter. It was a holy sight to me as my husband and our sons, along with many other loved ones, encircled this little infant. She was so elegant all dressed in white—and it didn’t hurt a bit that she was named after her two grandmothers! But the thing that touched me most was the blessing given by her father, our son Zach. He blessed little Annabel Elaine that she would understand her identity as a daughter of God, that she would follow the examples of her mother, grandmothers, and sister, and that she would find great joy as she lived a virtuous life and prepared to make and keep sacred temple covenants. In that sacred moment, I prayed that every young woman might be encircled, strengthened, and protected by righteous priesthood power, not only at the time of birth and blessing but throughout life.

Katie danced into the kitchen, where her brother, Jack sat at the table. “What are you doing?” she asked as she twirled on her toes.
“I’m writing a thank-you note to Uncle Ed,” Jack told her. “He gave me his old stamp collection.”
“I want to write a thank-you note too.”
“That would be nice, but since tomorrow is Valentine’s Day, why don’t you make valentines, instead?” her brother suggested.
Katie twirled again while she thought about that. Then she started smiling. “I have another idea,” she told Jack. Then she hurried off to her bedroom.
Katie found her colored paper and markers. She got her scissors and glue. She took some white paper and cut out five wide heart-shaped ruffles. Then she glued each one on a piece of red paper. On the first one, she drew trees on one side of the ruffle and a letter carrier waving on the other side. In the middle, she printed “Thank You, from Katie.” Next, she made one with striped balls around the ruffle, and one with a piano on each side of the ruffle. The last one she made had checkerboard squares around the ruffle. All the heart centers said, “Thank You, from Katie.”
Katie put the valentine with the striped balls into her dad’s shoe. He always played catch with her.
She put the one with the pianos into her mom’s coat pocket. Mom played the piano with Katie, and they sang songs.
She slipped the checkerboard ruffle valentine inside Jack’s desk. He was teaching her how to play checkers.
She put the last ruffled heart into their mailbox. The letter carrier always waved to her as he walked by.
Early the next morning, Katie’s dad started to get ready for work. He felt sleepy and a little cranky. When he grabbed his shoes, Katie’s thank-you valentine tumbled out. Dad looked at the striped ball and smiled because he liked to play catch with Katie. He read the thank-you in the middle and smiled again. He started whistling.
In the afternoon, Mom had to go grocery shopping. She snatched her shopping list and hurried out the door. She was in such a rush that she didn’t even wave to their neighbor, Mrs. James. But when Mom put the shopping list into her pocket, she found Katie’s thank-you valentine. She looked at the pianos on the ruffle and smiled. She read the message and smiled again. Then she stopped to show Mrs. James the special thank-you valentine and asked if she needed anything from the store.
An icy wind nipped at the letter carrier’s cheeks as he walked down Katie’s street. When he put some letters into Katie’s mailbox, her thank-you valentine blew out. He caught it and looked at the pictures. He read the message and smiled. Then he waved to Katie and smiled all the way down the street.
After school, Jack sighed as he went to his room to work on his math homework. Numbers mixed him up, and he wanted to eat supper. Jack opened his desk to get a pencil, and Katie’s thank-you valentine popped out. Jack looked at the checkerboard ruffle and smiled. He read the thank-you in the center and smiled again as he began figuring out his math problems.
Later, Jack found Katie feeding her goldfish. “I like my thank-you valentine,” he told her.
“Really?”
“Of course! Everyone likes it when someone remembers to say thank you. Now, how about a game of checkers?”
“Sure!” Katie danced off to get the game.

From the day I went to the temple and received my endowment two years after my baptism, I have loved the sacredness of the temple and the work there. When my father died four years later, I was devastated. He was my hero. Thanks to the gospel of Jesus Christ, I know that he still lives.
When I entered the celestial room after doing my father’s vicarious work, I felt his embrace. At that moment, I knew that my father had accepted the gospel and the love the Lord has for His children.

I remember handing in a paper to Dean Bruce B. Clark who was at the time the teacher of an English literature class I was taking. I loved the class and knew from the first day of instruction that three short papers would be due on clearly stated dates during the term. Yet I left those papers—in every case, I think—until the night before they were due. I remember Dean Clark handing one of them back to me, saying something like “You had the makings of a good paper here. It’s too bad you didn’t spend more time on it.” I was devastated. Here was the chairman of my major department, teaching only one class a semester that year, the very symbol of my academic hopes and dreams for the B.A., saying “You didn’t work very hard.” Oh, I had worked hard all right—from 9:00 the night before until 3:00 that morning—without stopping, without breathing.

Now, my young brothers and sisters, I deserved to be devastated. I should have been devastated. And it could have been a good paper. Perhaps that discouraged me more than anything. You see, I discouraged me. I discouraged myself. Remember, dear Brutus, “The fault . . . is not in our stars, but in ourselves” (William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar). And that’s the worst kind of despair, the kind of self-despising that eats at our image and crushes our hopes. It isn’t the class or the teacher or the paper. It never is. I simply should have done better. I should have been at work much sooner. I should have written a draft or two and then left it alone for a time. I should have gone back to it in freshness and strength. I might even have asked for some suggestions. I should have reworked it and shaped it and fine-tuned it over several rewritings. At the end I should have been working with a scalpel; as it was I delivered one butchered idea, the meat axe still dripping as I walked into class. And furthermore, you don’t type very well at 3:00 in the morning.