Gospel Story Finder

A wonderful part of the heritage of Relief Society is evident in the way the priesthood has always shown respect to and received it from the Relief Society in turn. I have seen it as you have. My family’s bishop said to me years ago, with a smile, “Why is it that when I go to someone in the ward in need, your wife always seems to have been there ahead of me?” Every bishop and branch president with any experience at all has felt the gentle prod of inspired example from the sisters of the Relief Society. They help us remember that for all, both women and men, there will be no salvation without compassionate service.

My dad coaches a high school baseball team. I am the batboy. I travel with the team on their baseball trips. Sometimes when our team players struck out or didn’t play well, they would swear. This made me feel bad inside. I told them not to swear. They stopped swearing. Even though I am young, I was able to be an example to others who are big. I know this makes my Savior happy.
Toby S., age 8, Utah, USA

“I loved school. There were only thirteen pupils in my little school. They didn’t teach all eight grades each year, but alternated certain grades. They double-promoted me twice, so I missed the second grade and the fifth grade completely. I went from that little school to a big junior high school with three hundred sixty students. I found that there were many things I didn’t know, and I really had to study hard. By the time I got to college, studying wasn’t at all difficult for me.”

Living in Cape Town, so far from the “heart” of the Church, I consider it a joy to receive the New Era every month. It has such a great influence on my life and, I am sure, on the lives of all those who read it. Thank you for the effort and prayer that go into making this magazine such a tower of strength, spirituality, and encouragement. I think that “A Celestial Missionary” in the June 1980 issue was the best article I have ever read. I will remember Elder Tolman’s dedication during my forthcoming mission.

When I first entered Young Women, I felt alone because I had left my friends in the Valiant class. However, I tried to support the young women, and they also supported me, and I was able to make new friends and interact with them. I no longer felt alone, and that made me happy. Now I am the president of the Beehives, and if I see a new sister who feels uncomfortable being with us, I talk with her, explain what we do in class, and make her feel that she is part of us.
Gredy G., age 14, Lima, Peru

A boy in my class at school lost his home in a fire. His family was left with nothing and had to live in a hotel room. I felt terrible when I heard about it, so I gathered some of my books and dolls to give to the boy’s four-year-old sister. My mom bought crayons, paper, stickers, and other things for the children. When they saw the gifts, they were very happy, and I never felt happier myself than I did right then. I am so glad to be able to help others as Jesus did, because making others happy makes me even happier.

I remember an occasion when I was hospitalized for an illness, and it was difficult for me to sleep. When I turned off the lights and the room became dark, I saw a reflective sign on the ceiling in front of me that said, “Call, don’t fall.” To my surprise, the next day I observed the same message repeated in several parts of the room.

Why was that message so important? When I asked the nurse about it, she said, “It is to prevent a blow that might increase the pain you already have.”

A ministering plea from his children helps a father forgive and return to the Church, bringing blessings to his family.

The Prophet Joseph Smith knew his life was in danger. Angry mobs had followed him everywhere, threatening his life and the lives of his family. Then in the fall of 1838, he had been arrested again in Far West, Missouri.
As he was tied and pushed into a canvas-covered wagon, he asked for the privilege of saying good-bye to his mother, Lucy Mack Smith, who tearfully watched him being taken away. The officers refused to let the Prophet out of the wagon, so he called out to his mother to come closer. Searching frantically, Joseph found a rip in the canvas and reached out to touch his mother’s hand for one last good-bye. Just touching her hand seemed to be important to him as the wagon quickly pulled away and Joseph Smith was taken to the Liberty Jail. There he was confined to a dark, crowded dungeon for six months.

(President of the Church from 1951 to 1970)
The McKay family loved music. Each Christmas, President David O. McKay attached jingle bells to his horses and took his grandchildren on a sleigh ride around town. After sledding through the snow, they would sing carols around the family’s piano. Once, while President McKay was working at the Church Administration Building, he was surprised by a different group of carolers—165 Primary children who had come to sing Christmas songs for him! President McKay appreciated their musical gift, especially when he learned they had given up their annual Christmas party to make the trip.

A woman I know was struggling with anger toward someone who had hurt her and her family. Though she told her children not to become embittered and resentful, she fought those feelings herself. After weeks of entreating her Father in Heaven, she finally felt a change. She related: “One day, in the midst of my nearly constant prayers, the healing came. I felt a physical sensation spread through my body. After, I felt a sense of security and peace. I knew that regardless of what happened, my family and I would be all right. The anger left me and so did my desire for retaliation.”

The living water is the gospel of Jesus Christ; its communicator is the Holy Ghost. My friend knew what was right. She had said the appropriate words to her family. But only when she humbled herself enough to drink of the water—to feel the Holy Spirit—could she begin to heal.

When I was a schoolgirl in Russia, I read a scary story about two boys who encountered a bear in a forest. Years later, after I had become a teacher, some friends asked me to join them on a trip to collect mushrooms. The forest still scared me, but I agreed to go with them.
Entering the forest, I grabbed a wooden stick so I could defend myself in case I ran into a bear. My friends soon found the brown mushrooms they were looking for. I, on the other hand, was looking for mushrooms with bright red tops, so I started off in a different direction. Before I knew it, I was alone.
While I was searching, I slipped and fell. My mushroom basket flew into the air, but I held tight to my stick. When I tried to get up, I noticed that the ground was muddy and sticky. To my horror, I realized that I had wandered into a swamp! My rubber boots quickly filled with water, and I began to sink. I tried to move my legs, but instead of freeing myself, I was pulled deeper. When the mud reached my waist, deep fear engulfed me.
I cried out to my friends, but the only answer I heard came from buzzing dragonflies and croaking frogs. As I began to weep, I suddenly remembered my mother. Whenever she was in a bad situation, she prayed. She often invited me to pray, but I always refused, answering, “There is no God.”
But in my watery soon-to-be grave, there was nothing else I could do but pray and call upon God for help. “If You live, please help me!” I cried.
Almost immediately I heard a kind voice tell me, “Believe and be not afraid. Grab the strong tree root.”
As I looked around, I saw a big tree root behind me. Using my stick, I was able to latch onto it. Something then gave me the power to pull myself out of the swamp.
Covered with mud, I fell to the ground and thanked God for answering my prayer. I now believed that He lived. I had felt His presence and heard His voice, and He had given me power to pull myself free.
A short time later, when the full-time missionaries taught me that the Prophet Joseph Smith had received an answer to his prayer in the Sacred Grove, I believed them. After all, God had answered my prayer in a forest. I latched onto the strong roots of the gospel, was baptized soon thereafter, and serve today in the Gyumri Branch in Armenia.
I know Heavenly Father loves all of His children, and I’m grateful to be a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I’m also grateful for the many other blessings I have received from Heavenly Father, especially for His answer to an atheist’s prayer in the forest many years ago.

My life was brought to a zenith recently when I took out my own endowments in the temple after having been ordained an elder on my twenty-first birthday. The gospel means more to me now than it ever has, and I know that, like a well of living water, it will keep growing and springing up, as was promised, unto eternal life, if I will but live the commandments God has set forth to guide us.

Wiggling his ears? During general conference? Yep. President Monson once did it to stump a young boy who was copying his every movement during a stake conference—and then he demonstrated his ear-wiggling skills again during general conference! Even though President Monson didn’t realize it at first, he was being an example, just in the way he was sitting and moving.2

Birds were singing in the forest, and the dew-covered flowers sparkled as the early morning sun shone through the leaves of trees. Alena was excited as she and her mother headed into the forest near their home in Ukraine. This was a very special day—she was going to help Mom pick mushrooms. Sometimes Dad would come too, but today he was busy at work.
Alena was only six years old, but her mother had carefully taught her about mushrooms and how to find the ones that were safe and good to eat. Alena had already found several mushrooms and put them in her basket.
There should be mushrooms under that big white birch! she thought as she ran to the tree. At first she didn’t see anything, but when she lifted a small branch and brushed away the old leaves, she saw the little grey-brown caps. “Mom, come here,” she yelled. “I found more mushrooms!” Alena’s mother knelt down beside her.
There were lots of mushrooms—big and small. Some were no bigger than a penny. Alena took a small, sharp knife and cut them as her mother had taught her—being careful not to damage the roots so the mushrooms would grow again the next year. “If we leave the tiny ones to grow, someone else can pick them later,” Mom suggested.
With her basket almost full, Alena stood up. She turned and saw a squirrel watching her. His brown striped back was hard to see against the tree trunk he was sitting on, but he seemed very interested in what they were doing. Alena laughed at his large cheeks bulging with food. Looking around, he took something out of his mouth and held it with his front paws. As he started to chew, nutshells fell at the foot of the tree. Then he cautiously turned his head and slipped into a small hollow in the tree trunk.
“His home is probably in that hollow,” Alena said.
“Yes,” Mom nodded. “And he is storing food for winter.”
They walked on through the forest—wondering at the beauties of nature. Suddenly Alena stopped. In the clearing right in front of her was a huge, brown mushroom! She had never seen such a big and bright mushroom before. Alena carefully moved closer, but while she was still several steps away, she stopped in surprise. It wasn’t a mushroom at all! It had brown fur with little white spots. Alena moved back quickly.
Her mother put her finger to her lips. “Be quiet,” she whispered. Alena was frightened, but when she saw that Mom was smiling, she understood that the animal was not dangerous.
Alena looked again at the “mushroom.” “What is it?” she asked quietly.
“It’s a fawn—a baby deer,” Mom whispered in her ear.
How tiny! thought Alena.
They tried to be quiet, but the fawn had heard them move. He jumped to his feet, and Alena saw how thin his legs were. His eyes were big and beautiful. He was moving his ears and looking around.
“Mommy, he is so small and so lonely here,” whispered Alena. “Let’s take him home with us. Please!”
Mom shook her head no.
“Why, Mommy?” Alena couldn’t understand. Why would her kind mother—who had brought an abandoned kitten and a dove with a broken wing to their home—not want to help a poor fawn?
Alena and her mother moved away from the clearing and back into the bushes.
“I don’t think it would be good for him at our house,” Mom said quietly as she got down on her knees.
Alena looked at the fawn. He lay down on the grass again. Once more, he looked like a big, brown mushroom.
“See, we don’t need to hurry. We have time to think,” Mom said.
“And to pray?” guessed Alena.
Alena’s parents had recently been baptized, and Alena liked having family prayer every morning and evening. Also, her father had taught Alena to pray when she didn’t know what to do. He had told her, “Ask Heavenly Father, and you will receive an answer.”
At first, Alena didn’t understand what that meant. She thought that after she prayed, someone would come and tell her what to do. But now she remembered how to know when Heavenly Father was answering her prayers. She thought about the calm, peaceful feeling she had received when she had prayed about a hard decision once before.
Alena got on her knees and closed her eyes. She was sure Heavenly Father would tell her to take the poor fawn home. She was sure that it was a good thing to do.
Alena quietly told Heavenly Father the whole story and asked what she should do. She finished her prayer and opened her eyes.
There was a beautiful doe standing by the fawn. The fawn nudged its mother’s tummy. He was probably hungry. But as the doe looked around, her ears trembled nervously. Then she jumped into the forest and looked at the fawn from there. He ran after her and, with small jumps, followed her into the trees.
For some time, Alena and her mother stood looking in the direction they had gone.
“Imagine what we could have done!” exclaimed Alena. “I thought he was alone.”
“People sometimes don’t understand,” Mom said. “They don’t know that help can be near. But you made a good choice on how to find the answer.”
Alena nodded. “We prayed, and Heavenly Father helped us when we asked.”

Ice cream as we know it today was probably put on the table for the first time at a banquet given by England’s King Charles I. According to one account, the king’s French chef made a frozen dessert of cream ice that was eaten with delight by the many guests at the banquet. The king was so pleased with the new dessert that he sent a servant to bring the chef to him.
“You have created a masterpiece,” the king told the chef. “It is my wish that the recipe be held a secret forever.”
King Charles meant what he said. He wanted to make sure that the delicacy would never be served anywhere else. He even gave the chef a pension of five hundred pounds a year as an added inducement to keep the secret.
The secret was somehow discovered, though, because ice cream was brought to America in 1700 by the English colonists. Even though it was a homemade item, it was considered a luxury food, and not everyone could afford to make it. By 1777, however, ice cream as a commercial product was advertised by some New York retailers.

I went into a hospital one day in New Zealand to bless a woman who didn’t belong to the Church. She was dying. We all knew she was dying. The doctor even said so. She was having her farewell party. Ah, that’s one thing I like about the natives. When you go they give you a farewell party. They all gather around. They send messages over to the other side. “When you get over there tell my mother I’m trying to do my best; I’m not so good, but I’m trying.” “Tell her to have a good room fixed for me when I get over there and plenty of fish, good meals.” My, it’s wonderful how they send you off. There they were, all gathered around this poor sister. She was about to be confined, and the doctor told her it would kill her. She was tubercular from head to foot.

I had with me an old native, almost ninety. She was his niece. He stood up at the head of the bed and he said, “Vera, you’re dead. You’re dead because the doctor says you’re dead. You’re on your way out. I’ve been to you, your home and your people—my relatives. I’m the only one that joined the Church. None of you has ever listened to me. You’re dead now; you’re going to live.” He turned to me and said, “Is it all right if we kneel down and pray?” I said, “Yes.” So we knelt down. Everybody around there knelt down, and after the prayer we blessed her. The last time I was in New Zealand she was physically well from head to foot and had had her fifth child. She has not joined the Church yet. That’s the next miracle I’m waiting for.

When seminary began in Greece a few years ago, there were only five students. They meet three mornings a week, with some joining via online video conferencing. They also meet on Wednesday afternoons for seminary, followed by an activity. They have drawn close to each other and become a light to their friends, who notice their example. When their friends ask questions, the youth bring them to seminary and Mutual activities.

President Boyd K. Packer, President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, once attended an ox pulling contest, where he drew out an analogy. He said of the experience: “A wooden sledge was weighted with cement blocks: ten thousand pounds [4,535 kg]—five tons. … The object was for the oxen to move the sledge three feet [91 cm]. … I noticed a well-matched pair of very large, brindled, blue-gray animals … [the] big blue oxen of seasons past.”
In speaking about the result of the contest, he said: “Teams were eliminated one by one. … The big blue oxen didn’t even place! A small, nondescript pair of animals, not very well matched for size, moved the sledge all three times.”
He was then given an explanation to the surprising outcome: “The big blues were larger and stronger and better matched for size than the other team. But the little oxen had better teamwork and coordination. They hit the yoke together. Both animals jerked forward at exactly the same time and the force moved the load” (“Equally Yoked Together,” address delivered at regional representatives’ seminar, Apr. 3, 1975; in Teaching Seminary: Preservice Readings [2004], 30).

Will you join me as we look in on a typical Latter-day Saint family offering prayers unto God. Father, mother, and each of the children kneel, bow their heads, and close their eyes. A sweet spirit of love, unity, and peace fills the home. As father hears his tiny son pray that his dad will do the right things, do you think that such a father would find it difficult to honor the prayer of his precious son? As a teenage daughter hears her sweet mother plead that her daughter will be inspired in the choice of her companions, that she will prepare herself for a temple marriage, don’t you believe that such a daughter will seek to honor this humble, pleading petition of her mother, whom she so dearly loves? When father, mother, and each of the children earnestly pray that the fine sons in the family will live worthy that they may in due time receive a call to serve as ambassadors of the Lord in the mission fields of the Church, don’t we begin to see how such sons grow to young manhood with an overwhelming desire to serve as missionaries?