Gospel Story Finder

To return good for evil not only overcomes fear but also overcomes enmity. I remember when we had an unfriendly neighbor some years ago. He would play the radio very loudly and generally try to be objectionable so much as to generate fear. I am glad I was prompted to retain a positive, cheerful demeanor which overcame fear and eventually broke down the barrier, for “perfect love casteth out fear” (1 Jn. 4:18).

At first glance, Jo Lynn Potter comes across as a pert, sun-bronzed, 16-year-old LDS girl, full of the wonders and woes common to her age. She is. But she’s something more too, Jo Lynn’s a rodeo rider, and last August at the National High School Rodeo Jo Lynn was named the All-Around Cowgirl, a title she’s working to defend in this year’s competition.
The rodeo was a time of achievement in her life. Besides winning the “all-around” title with a total of 960 points (almost double the score of the runner-up), Jo Lynn saw her Arizona team capture the team trophy with 1,900 points. During the course of the Ogden, Utah, competition she also clocked 16.86 seconds in barrel racing (her favorite event) to win the event’s championship for the United States and Canada. The awards day was a big one for Jo Lynn and her family. It came as the climax to a lot of hard work and overcoming some hard luck several weeks before.
Jo Lynn’s parents are both professional athletes. Her mother is a barrel racer and her father is a calf and team roper. For Jo Lynn’s 15th birthday several weeks before the Ogden finals, they presented her with a horse, Auto Dial, that had won over $40,000 in his career.
On the way from their home in Tucson to the Ogden finals, the Potters made a side trip to several professional rodeos in Idaho. One night Auto Dial “got down in his pen” and somehow completely severed the ligaments and arteries in his leg. After nearly six hours of work, a veterinarian recommended that Jo Lynn’s horse be put to sleep. Her hope of winning in the finals was badly shaken.
But there was still a chance. The Potters had brought along a young, newly trained horse called Moon. He was a fairly inexperienced five-year-old, but Jo Lynn had faith in him, and for good cause. Together, Jo Lynn and Moon went on to the championship.
Jo Lynn has been involved in rodeo activities since about the age of ten. “I’m looking forward to college rodeo in a few years,” she says, “but beyond that, it’s too soon to tell about professional rodeo.”
Would it be hard for her as a woman to get anywhere in the professional rodeo world?
“Anyone can do well as long as they’ve got a good horse and know what they’re doing,” says Jo Lynn emphatically. “A good horse is very important.”
The Potters enjoy their role as Church members in the rodeo world. They often discuss the Church with the people they meet on the circuits and have been responsible for the conversion of at least one family.
The family attends Church meetings no matter where they may be in the country, and believe they have “probably attended more different wards than any other LDS family, except the General Authorities.”
For Jo Lynn the rodeo has been a chance for growth.

I was watching Papa put the last touches on top of the windmill when he called down to me, “Dora, go into the house and get your mama.”
When we came out, Papa was hanging by his knees on the highest crosspiece. “Look, hon,” he called to her. “It’s all finished.” Mama looked up and gasped.
“Alfred B. Cookson, you come down here right this minute before you’re finished. You’ll have every last one of these kids up there hanging upside down, and before we know it someone will fall and break his neck.”
Papa swung easily to his feet, climbed down, and ran over to silence her with a kiss. “You worry too much,” he said.
“No wonder, with such a crazy husband,” she scolded. “You scared me to death.”
I think Papa knew she was right, though, because he used the leftover pipe and lumber to make us an acting pole where we could learn to hang upside down and do other tricks at a safe distance from the ground.

I remember a woman in my ward some years ago when I was a bishop. She and her husband were having marital problems. As they spoke with me, she began to tear down her husband in all the key areas that a man needs praise in order to respect himself. She talked of his inadequacy as a father, his inadequacies in marital relations, his inadequacy as a provider, and his inadequacies socially.

I asked her, “Why do you do this to a man you should love and sustain?”

She replied, “It’s much better to argue with someone you love because you know where you can hurt him the most.”

And she meant it.

President Wong’s comments remind me of a more recent student in business from Fiji who took my Introduction to Literature class. He fretted and stewed an assignment to write a love poem. Athletic and very macho, he had never written a love poem before, much less in English. He pleaded for another kind of assignment, but I wouldn’t let him off the hook. With this particular assignment, the students gathered at our home for dinner, at a session of reciting their original poetic works. Nervous and fidgety, Semisi was there with his wife. When he stood and began to recite his poem, entitled, “My La’ie Morning,” I felt a slight sensation run through the whole group, not unlike what we local people call “chicken skin.” Without mentioning his wife’s name, Semisi recited his poem. We all knew that she was his “La’ie Morning.” And all of beauties of this garden of Eden we call La’ie — the sun, the air, the trees, the ocean, the birds, the healing breeze—all were ascribed to his La’ie Morning. After the applause, Semisi’s wife said with a smile and a twinkle in her moist eyes, “Well, President Shumway, I don’t know what grade my husband will get on this poem, but it has certainly saved our marriage.” I do not think the marriage needed saving, but I do know that no matter what success Semisi achieves from his business degree or his employment, his ability to write an occasional love poem to his wife will provide a dimension of romance and humanity, even godliness in his life that his major course may not have offered him.

Daniel Baker of the Republic Branch, Colville Washington Stake, was awarded a medal and certificate from the Boy Scouts of America for his action in saving his younger brother’s life.

Dan’s two-year-old brother was choking on a piece of carrot and was unable to breathe. Dan, an Eagle Scout, used the Heimlich maneuver that he had learned in Scouts to help his brother.

In high school, Dan served as the student body vice-president, junior class president, and as president of his seminary class. He also received awards for being the outstanding history student and choir member of his school.

In his branch, Dan served as president of his priests quorum. In his spare time he enjoys hunting and fishing.

Such a project is ongoing on the Pacific Island nation of Kiribati.
Tamana Natanaera, the local self-reliance manager for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, was tasked with finding members with gardening experience and a passion for growing things.
Working with local leaders, Tamana helped to identify seven qualified members whom he refers to as “champions.”
Each champion was given the equipment to set up a nursery tailored to fit in his or her available space.
A simple greenhouse was supplied to hold and protect seedling trays, as well as to offer shade as needed. Seeds were provided for growing nutritious produce such as cucumber, eggplant, capsicum, cabbage, tomato, watermelon, papaya and rock melon.
A watering system is a particular necessity in Kiribati. Although the 33 islands that comprise Kiribati stretch across 3.5 million square kilometres of ocean water, fresh water is very scarce.
The champions were thus each provided with a watering system composed of a small solar pump to draw water from a well, a water tank with a stand, and a piping system.
Tamana Natanaera noted that the water system given to the champions is a big help as it greatly improves their ability to produce more.
With these necessary tools, the champion gardeners are able to do their part. For two years now, they have been planting the seeds in the small trays and nurturing them.
When the seedlings are ready to be transplanted into a garden, the champions begin sharing them with neighbours and friends. They may ask their church leaders to announce to their congregation that seedlings are available. They may also give the seedlings to coworkers or to neighbours in their communities who are interested in growing their own produce.
When the champion has seedlings left over, they can transplant them into their own garden for their personal use or they may sell their excess produce to neighbours.
The Church will provide seeds to the champions for one more year and at the end of that period, the gardeners should be capable of producing their own seeds to maintain growing and sharing the seedlings. The program will continue to bless many people in Kiribati communities.
This project is not just an example of growing seedlings, but also of growing self-reliance, community spirit and neighbourly friendships. Underpinning all of this is a growing faith—among many participants—in He who created all things, and who cares for His children, one by one.

The other letter came to me from an FBI agent in New York. He said, “I am here involved in a very, very important case. The days are long and the nights are longer because I am away from my family. I have had a little bit of time to think. As I have been thinking, I am impressed to write you a letter.”

In the letter he didn’t say, “I am thankful you are a member of the Council of Twelve Apostles.” He said, “I want to thank you for what you did for me when I was a deacon, teaching me to be true to myself, my family, and my Church. I will never forget your interest in me. You taught me to try and be a one hundred percenter. Thank you.”

While living in the Mongolia countryside, I was fascinated with the vastness of the rolling hills with no fences or barrier of any kind to keep their animals from wandering away. My wife and I both grew up on the farm with a love for animals. In my youth I spent much of my time trying to keep our animals fenced in. My father always had a band of sheep so I was especially interested how the Mongolian people kept track of their herds. I learned quickly that there is a difference between being a shepard and being a sheep herder. We were sheep herders, keeping our animals contained in fences and corrals. Our sheep had little agency as we herded them from fenced area to fenced area with force and a few sheep dogs. If ever our sheep escaped, they ran wildly through town. I remember one spring day while in Junior High we suited up in my PE class and headed out to the soccer field. I remember clearly trotting out with all of my friends only to stop, frozen in terror, as I recognized the women in a house dress and apron running across the playing field, with a broom, chasing four sheep. Yes, it was my mother trying to catch a few of our escaping critters. I didn’t know whether to help or hide. I followed along as the entire class joined in to help Mom get our sheep back home.

His sister, Dorothy Hunter Rasmussen, recently deceased, remembered this tender incident when they were children together. “Howard always wanted to do good and to be good. A wonderful brother, he looked out for me. He was kind to our mother and father. Howard loved animals and regularly brought home strays.” There was an irrigation ditch by their house, and one day several boys in the neighborhood, not members of the Church, were throwing a kitten in the ditch. It would get out, then they would throw it in again. They did this over and over until they got tired of their game. “Howard came by and picked [the kitten] up; it was lying there almost dead, and he brought it home. Mother was afraid it was dead, but they wrapped it in a blanket and put it near the warm oven and nursed it.” It lived, and they had the cat for years. “He was also so kind,” Dorothy said. “I have never known my brother to do a wrong thing in my life.”

A few years ago, when President Kimball was a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, he and Sister Kimball were touring missions overseas.

A change in the airline schedule found them, along with a mission president and his wife, in a cold and drafty airport, late at night, with no place to go but wait for an early morning flight.

Sister Kimball had her coat, but the mission president’s wife did not. President Kimball tried to give her his coat, but she would not take it. As they began to fall asleep on those hard benches, President Kimball got up and gently put his coat over the sleeping wife of the mission president. This kind of selfless concern for others is how President Kimball has lived his life. This is the same leader we sustain today as prophet, seer, and revelator. This is the man whom God has called to lead nearly six million Latter-day Saints.

He has literally spent his life in taking off his coat, so to speak, and putting it around the shoulders of those he judged to be in greater need: people of all colors and creeds; men, women, and children. It has never made any difference to him. All are his brothers. All are his sisters.

Atticus P., 12, Utah, USA
I love playing soccer and making stop-motion videos. Last summer, I turned 11 and was so excited that I could be ordained to the priesthood in a year.
I decided to prepare myself for these ordinances. I became more sensitive to the Spirit and repented of my sins. Soon after, President Nelson announced new changes in the Church that meant I could get ordained before I turned 12! I was grateful I had prepared to receive the priesthood so that I could be worthily ordained at the beginning of this year.

The ice glowed with a cold bluish hue around the edges of the rink, but in the middle, it was white where the cutting edges of skates had scarred the smooth surface. Huddled to one side of the rink was a group of toddlers, rocking unsteadily on the narrow blades as they clung to their mothers. It was the first time most of them had ever seen a skating rink, and it would be their first experience with ice skating.
One little girl with straight blonde hair was anxious to get started. Her mother helped her onto the ice. She tried a few running steps, but the skates slid out from under her. She went down hard, falling back and hitting her head with a resounding crack on the ice. The cry was one of sincere pain. Holly Cook, the toddler, wanted to end her skating career then and there.
“On my fourth birthday, Mom took me down to the ice rink which had just opened and signed me up for a group lesson. When I hit my head, I didn’t want to go back on the ice after that.”
But she did. Holly’s mother wiped away the tears, comforted her, then helped her again stand on the ice.
As a four-year-old, Holly Cook did try again, and since that time trying again has become a part of her daily life. She has spent hours and hours perfecting the intricate moves that make figure skating look deceptively simple when she’s on the ice. For 11 years she has honed her talent, skill, and grace, until now at age 15 she is one of the best—one of the 10 best women figure skaters in the United States and in the world. Competing in her first senior Nationals, Holly came in tenth. In her first international competition in Yugoslavia, she placed eighth. Just a few months ago in an international skating competition known as the Coupes des Alpes, she took first.

Tessa sat on her bed and wiggled her tooth as hard as she could. It just wouldn’t come out! She pushed. She pulled. But the tooth was still there, and it hurt!
She slid onto the floor with a thump! She tried to think of what else she could do. In Primary she learned how you could ask Heavenly Father for help when you have a problem. Tessa got an idea. Maybe she could pray and ask Heavenly Father to help her tooth fall out!
She knelt by her bed and started to pray.
“Heavenly Father, I need help. My tooth hurts, and I want it to come out. I will wiggle it right after this prayer. I know that You can make it fall out.” She finished her prayer and began wiggling her tooth. Nothing happened. Her tooth stayed in.
OK, she thought. Maybe I just need to try something different.
She remembered that her friend Amy lost a tooth once by biting an apple.
Tessa went to the kitchen. She smelled the chocolate-chip cookies Mom was baking. She could hardly wait to try one. But first she reached for a bright green apple.
Tessa sat down at the table and said another prayer. This time she asked, “Heavenly Father, please make my tooth come out when I bite the apple.”
One bite later, the tooth still hadn’t budged! Tessa sighed and put the apple down. Didn’t Heavenly Father hear her prayer? Didn’t He want to help her?
Beep! The timer for the cookies went off. Mom opened the oven and checked the cookies.
“It looks like they need to stay in for a little longer,” Mom said.
“Why can’t we take them out now?” Tessa asked.
“We could,” Mom said, “but they wouldn’t be crispy the way you like them.”
Tessa thought for a moment. Maybe just like she needed to be patient for the cookies, she needed to be patient for her tooth to come out on its own!
She felt peaceful. She knew Heavenly Father loved her and had heard her prayer.
Tessa ran upstairs to her room and knelt down. “Heavenly Father,” she said, “thank you for hearing my prayers. I understand. Sometimes the answer is to wait.”

When Kevin Brown was 12 years old, a sister missionary challenged him to read the Book of Mormon. So, every morning he would pray, read, and pray again. With each prayer, he asked Heavenly Father if the Book of Mormon was true.
He recalls that one morning while praying, he “didn’t even have to ask the question. The Lord’s answer came in such a profound way.” He felt the Lord tell him: “I know you, and I love you. You are my son.”
Immediately, the Holy Ghost confirmed to him: “This is God’s truth. The Book of Mormon is true. Joseph Smith is a prophet.” This experience changed his life.

Growing up, Matthew attended church in small branches. He and his wife, a convert from Ukraine, grew accustomed to multiple callings and full engagement with international LDS communities but then moved to the United States. Large wards and different cultural expectations made them feel “unneeded and adrift,” he recalls. “We seemed unable to fit in. We felt ignored, with a lack of uplift and connection on Sundays.”
Their frustration reached a breaking point when, after moving to a different city, Matthew and his wife looked forward to a visit from a local priesthood leader whose purpose in visiting ended up being to ask them to keep their lively toddler under control during sacrament meeting. Deeply hurt, Matthew contemplated never returning to the local meetinghouse. “What stopped me,” he explains, “was my testimony that this is the Lord’s Church and that the Savior wants me there. Participating in the gospel has consequences beyond any hurt or personal encounter I’ll have in this life.”
Matthew found this reliance on the divine crucial to staying active in the Church. “The only thing that’s kept me going sometimes is my testimony of Christ,” he explains. “The gospel is bigger than any of us. Christ sees what we cannot see, knows what we can become, and has room for all.”

Several years ago a group of men, leaders of Scouts, assembled in the mountains near Sacramento for Wood Badge training. This experience, where men camp out and live as do the Scouts they teach, is a most interesting one. They cook and then eat—burned eggs! They hike the rugged trails which age invariably makes more steep. They sleep on rocky ground. They gaze again at heaven’s galaxies.
This group provided its own reward. After days of being deprived, they feasted on a delicious meal prepared by a professional chef who joined them at the end of their endurance trail. Tired, hungry, a bit bruised after their renewal experience, one asked the chef why he was always smiling and why each year he returned at his own expense to cook the traditional meal for Scouting’s leaders in that area. He placed aside the skillet, wiped his hands on the white apron which graced his rotund figure, and told the men this experience. Dimitrious began:
“I was born and grew to boyhood in a small village in Greece. My life was a happy one until World War II. Then came the invasion and occupation of my country by the Nazis. The freedom-loving men of the village resented the invaders and engaged in acts of sabotage to show their resentment.
“One night, after the men had destroyed a hydroelectric dam, the villagers celebrated the achievement and then retired to their homes.”
Dimitrious continued: “Very early in the morning, as I lay upon my bed, I was awakened by the noise of many trucks entering the village. I heard the sound of soldiers’ boots, the rap at the door, and the command for every boy and man to assemble at once on the village square. I had time only to slip into my trousers, buckle my belt, and join the others. There, under the glaring lights of a dozen trucks, and before the muzzles of a hundred guns, we stood. The Nazis vented their wrath, told of the destruction of the dam, and announced a drastic penalty: every fifth man or boy was to be summarily shot. A sergeant made the fateful count, and the first group was designated and executed.”
Dimitrious spoke more deliberately to the Scouters as he said: “Then came the row in which I was standing. To my horror, I could see that I would be the final person designated for execution. The soldier stood before me, the angry headlights dimming my vision. He gazed intently at the buckle of my belt. It carried on it the Scout insignia. I had earned the belt buckle as a Boy Scout for knowing the Oath and the Law of Scouting. The tall soldier pointed at the belt buckle, then raised his right hand in the Scout sign. I shall never forget the words he spoke to me: ‘Run, boy, run!’ I ran. I lived. Today I serve Scouting, that boys may still dream dreams and live to fulfill them.” (As told by Peter W. Hummel.)
Dimitrious reached into his pocket and produced that same belt buckle. The emblem of Scouting still shone brightly. Not a word was spoken. Every man wept. A commitment to Scouting was renewed.

Sadness does not come from nothing, nor does it come suddenly or by chance. A short while ago, I felt sad and could not find a reason. When I prayed, I realized the Holy Ghost was trying to warn me that I was not choosing the right. I decided to change my spiritual state. I began to set goals, pray more, and study the Book of Mormon.
Juliana Lazzarotti dos Neves Oliveira, 17,Santa Clara Branch, Coimbra Portugal District

Several weeks ago I returned to my old high school for the first time in years. I was visiting a stake conference that was being held in the school’s auditorium. As I walked down the halls, a flood of memories began to pour into my mind. I remembered exactly how I felt when I attended high school as a young woman—insecure, unsure of myself, self-conscious, and so, so desirous to fit in. I went into the auditorium. Again a flood of memories came to mind. I was familiar with every detail of that auditorium. Only one thing had changed—me.
That day I had the opportunity to stand on the stage as I had done in high school many times as a student officer. I even saw some of my former classmates in the audience—some I had dated! But this time, instead of conducting an assembly, I had the privilege—there in my high school auditorium—to “stand as a witness” and bear my testimony of our Savior, Jesus Christ.

“Wow! Imagine living like that!” I’ve thought many times as I’ve traveled and lived abroad. I was 12 years old the first time I lived overseas. I went to Germany as a foreign exchange student, and there I learned that individuals and families in other places lived differently than I did.
Life-styles were different, food was different, transportation was different, languages were different. I was a stranger in a strange place, and I wondered how to respond. A big part of me wanted to surround myself with familiar things which would make the differences feel farther away. But there was also a part of me that wanted to completely submerge myself in the new culture and absorb it. I suppose I found a happy medium, leaning sometimes more towards one culture, and sometimes more towards the other.