Gospel Story Finder

Whatever Ricardo does, he does with enthusiasm. This eight-year-old from Santo Domingo in the Dominican Republic plays baseball with the energy of a professional. He joins his friend and his brother to race toy trucks or stage an imaginary battle between dinosaurs. He gets excited when his mother invites him into the kitchen to cook tostones (fried plantains).
It takes time to make his favorite treat, tostones, but Ricardo thinks it is worth every minute. He and his mother carefully peel and slice the plantains, which look like bananas but are not sweet. They fry them in hot oil, let them cool, and carefully pat them dry. Then comes Ricardo’s favorite part. He places each slice in a wooden press and smashes it flat. Then each slice is fried again. He particularly likes to eat tostones with sausage.

During a visit to a juvenile detention home some months ago, my attention was drawn to three young girls who were visiting with each other just prior to our religious service. They appeared to be ten to twelve years of age. I found later they were being detained for a few days to see if some problems could be resolved. As I was waiting to participate with them and others in the services, they seemed to be involved in serious conversation. “What could they be talking about?” I wondered to myself. My curiosity prompted me to step closer to them for a chance to catch a few of their words. I was moved when I heard one of the girls raise this question to her friends: “I wonder if someone will come today who will want to take me home. It would be fun to live with someone who wants me.”
Here was a ten-year-old who wasn’t wanted. Her parents had given the impression to those in charge that they were pleased when she was confined, because they were then free from putting up with her. What a pleasure it was later to learn she had been placed by licensed social services agents of the Church in a new home, adopted, loved, and was receiving parental direction. Loving foster parents are now helping her find her way in the warmth of family unity and oneness.

I am very much aware that you and some of your peers are living that way now. For instance, a fifteen-year-old Korean boy took his weekly allowance and bought newspapers with it. Then he and some friends sold these on the streets of Seoul, Korea, to raise money to help a fellow student who did not have sufficient funds to stay in school. This young man also gave part of his lunch to this boy each day so that he would not go hungry. Why did he do these things? Because he had been studying the story of the Good Samaritan and didn’t just want to learn about the Good Samaritan but wanted to know what it felt like to be one by doing what a Good Samaritan would do. (See Luke 10:25–37.) He related these things to his father only after careful questioning by his father about his activities. He had done them without any thought of recognition.

I doubt very much that the bishop of this young man would have to worry about how he looked when he came to participate at the sacrament table or whether his heart and hands were clean and pure. I don’t think his father would have to worry about whether or not he was honest in his relationships with others, or whether or not he cheated at school.

May I share with you an account of an opportunity of service which came to me unexpectedly and in an unusual manner. I received a telephone call from a granddaughter of an old friend. She asked, “Do you remember Francis Brems, who was your Sunday School teacher?” I told her that I did. She continued, “He is now 105 years of age. He lives in a small care center but meets with the entire family each Sunday, where he delivers a Sunday School lesson. Last Sunday Grandpa announced to us, ‘My dears, I am going to die this week. Will you please call Tommy Monson and tell him this. He’ll know what to do.’ ”
I visited Brother Brems the very next evening. I could not speak to him, for he was deaf. I could not write a message for him to read, for he was blind. What was I to do? I was told that his family communicated with him by taking the finger of his right hand and then tracing on the palm of his left hand the name of the person visiting and then any message. I followed the procedure and took his finger and spelled on the palm of his hand T-O-M-M-Y M-O-N-S-O-N. Brother Brems became excited and, taking my hands, placed them on his head. I knew his desire was to receive a priesthood blessing. The driver who had taken me to the care center joined me as we placed our hands on the head of Brother Brems and provided the desired blessing. Afterward tears streamed from his sightless eyes. He grasped our hands, and we read the movement of his lips. The message: “Thank you so much.”
Within that very week, just as Brother Brems had predicted, he passed away. I received the telephone call and then met with the family as funeral arrangements were made. How thankful I am that a response to render service was not delayed.

My knees shook a little and my stomach fluttered as I stood with Mom in the office of my new school. I straightened my shirt and tried to see my reflection in the glass door. My family had just moved from another state, and now here I was on my first day of fourth grade. Would I make friends here? I wondered. Would they like me? Was anyone going to sit by me at lunch?
A lady walked out from behind the counter and gave me a big smile. “Hi, Christina, I’m Mrs. Collins. I’ll take you to your class.”
I nodded. Mom bent down and gave me a hug. “You’ll be fine,” she whispered in my ear. “I’ll see you after school, OK?”
I nodded again, afraid that if I said anything, I would start to cry. Mom left the office and walked down the front steps of the school. I felt like running after her, but Mrs. Collins put her hand on my shoulder and led me down a long hallway. I glanced into classrooms and saw a few kids looking out the door at us as we walked by. Would any of them be my friends? We finally came to my classroom, and Mrs. Collins introduced me to the teacher. Mrs. Murphy smiled. “We’re glad to have you in our class, Christina,” she said. “You can sit next to Melissa.”
She pointed out a girl and I made my way to the empty desk next to her. I slid into my seat and smiled a little at Melissa. “Hi,” I said softly.
She smiled a little too. “Hi.”
I took a deep breath and tried to slow down my racing heart. Some of the kids turned around to look at me. I heard whispering and a few giggles, and I felt my face turning red. Did they not like me already?
A little while later, the class visited the school library. I tried to stay close to Melissa, but she went with a different reading group. Most of the girls quickly sat down at the round tables with their friends and favorite books. There wasn’t anywhere for me to sit, so I pretended to look at different books as I walked up and down through the rows of shelves. When I came to the end of one row, I was right in front of a table of girls. I recognized one of them from my new Primary class. I swallowed hard and smiled. Maybe they could be my friends.
Suddenly, the girl closest to me leaned back in her chair, as if she were trying to get away from me. “Why is your skin dark?” she asked.
“Um. …” I didn’t know what to say.
“Why do you look different?” another girl asked.
“What are you?”
I tried to smile at their questions, but the girls weren’t smiling at me. They looked like they were smelling rotten food. Just then Mrs. Murphy walked in. “OK, class, it’s time to go back to the room.”
I didn’t look at anyone as we walked back to the classroom. For the rest of the day, I peeked at kids around me and tried to see why those girls thought I was different. None of my old friends thought I was different. No one at my old school had ever asked me what I was, and I didn’t know how to answer. I was me, that’s what I was.
I looked at my arm, and then at Melissa’s arm resting on her desk. My arm was a lot browner than hers. I scooted close to my desk and hid my arms underneath it.
“How was your day?” Mom asked when I got home from school.
“Mom, why is my skin dark?”
“Why do you ask?”
“A girl in my class asked me why. These girls wanted to know why I look … different.” I started to cry.
Mom pulled me into her arms and wiped the tears off my cheeks. “Oh, honey, everybody’s different. It’s not a bad thing.”
“Those girls aren’t different,” I said. “They all look the same. They all have blonde hair and blue eyes.”
“All of them?”
I thought about the girls in my class. “Well, no. But why is my skin darker than theirs? I didn’t think I was different. Those girls think there’s something wrong with me.”
“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you,” Mom said, hugging me tight. “Do you remember the stories about my ancestors?” she asked.
I sniffed and shrugged.
“Grandma and Grandpa Ruiz are from Texas, but their parents’ families came from Mexico. They had beautiful skin like yours. When we put my ancestors and Dad’s ancestors together, you come from all over! Mexico, Scotland, Spain, England, and probably other places we haven’t found in our family history yet. You are the best combination you could be!”
“I don’t want to be different than kids here,” I said.
“Why not?”
“Because I want to have friends.”
Mom frowned. “Do you want to have friends who hurt your feelings like those girls did?”
I thought about it, and then shook my head. “I’ll try to find friends who like me for me.”
The next morning at school, Melissa looked up at me as I put my backpack next to my desk. I looked at her, afraid of what she might say. Was she going to ask me why I looked different?
“Hi, Christina,” she said. “Do you want to play with me and Sarah at recess?”
I grinned and nodded. Melissa’s blue eyes shined as she tucked her blonde hair behind her ears, but I noticed her wide smile the most.

When he returned from Asia, he moved to southern California, where he began working and attending college. At a Church dance, he met Clara (Claire) May Jeffs. After dating for three years, they were married in the Salt Lake Temple on June 10, 1931. Howard decided to give up his band, for he felt that working as a professional musician would interfere with what was more important—his family and the Church.

A story is told of an encounter between the Prophet Joseph Smith and Brigham Young. In the presence of a rather large group of brethren, the Prophet severely chastised Brother Brigham for some failing in his duty. Everyone, I suppose somewhat stunned, waited to see what Brigham’s response would be. After all, Brigham, who later became known as the Lion of the Lord, was no shrinking violet by any means. Brigham slowly rose to his feet, and in words that truly reflected his character and his humility, he simply bowed his head and said, “Joseph, what do you want me to do?” The story goes that sobbing, Joseph ran from the podium, threw his arms around Brigham, and said in effect, “You passed, Brother Brigham, you passed” (see Truman G. Madsen, “Hugh B. Brown—Youthful Veteran,” New Era, Apr. 1976, 16).

In July 2011, the Atiwa District in Ghana experienced an unusual amount of rain. After a day or two, and without warning, the local rivers overflowed their banks and flooded the countryside. This deluge of water turned the village of Abomosu into an island, as well as the adjacent villages of Asunafo and Sankubenase. The flood not only isolated these villages, but also flooded their farms and swept away most of their crops.
For the small branches of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, these were perilous times. Their main supply of food was gone, many homes were flooded, and some were cut off from their families and loved ones.
Seth Oppong, President of the Abomosu District, was in Abomosu when the river flooded, cutting him off from his village of Asunafo and his small family. As the extent of the danger began to dawn on him and other priesthood leaders in the town, they quickly gathered at the local branch building to counsel together and ask the Lord to help them.
Elder James Dalton, who along with his wife Pam, had just arrived in Abomosu six weeks earlier as MLS missionaries, were among the eight priesthood leaders who met in the local branch building to discuss the situation.
After pleading with the Lord to protect the people and to guide them in responding to the danger, they quickly developed their plan: first, they needed to account for all the members of the branch; second, they needed to take inventory of the food sources that were available to them; and third, they needed to distribute the food according to the needs of each family. As they discussed feeding the local members, they quickly realized they could not ignore their nonmember neighbors and friends, so they were added to the distribution list as well.
Their plan was quickly passed on by cell phone to the other branch presidents in surrounding villages. The goal was to locate every member and identify food sources and report back in two hours.
Within two hours, the priesthood leaders reported back. In Abomosu, all but three members of the branch had been accounted for (they were later found and rescued). The report was that there was not much food available. Some members had food storage and were willing to share.
Stephen Abu, the former district president and current stake patriarch, had a field of corn near Abomosu that was located high enough to avoid the flood waters. He told the district president that the corn was not ready for harvest, but they were welcome to take whatever they needed. Two young missionaries and several members were given the keys to Elder Dalton’s truck and told to fill the truck with corn. When the missionaries returned, the back of the truck and the back seat of the truck were completely filled with corn. They spent the rest of the day, driving through the village, handing out corn to members of the Church and their neighbors.
That night the priesthood leaders met again. They had enough corn to feed the village for a couple of days, but how would they be able to feed them after that? They knelt and prayed that the Lord would help them find a way to keep the people from starving.
The next morning, another member of the Church came forward and said that they had some corn that they were drying to be ground into meal. It was not completely dry, but they could have it to help feed the people. Those who had food storage continued to help those in need. Several days later, the two young missionaries and several local members went back to the small corn field of Stephen Abu to see if they could find any more corn that could be picked. Because the flood waters were so high, they needed rafts to get to the farm and bring the corn back. No one expected much, but when the missionaries returned, they had another load of corn. This little miracle continued four or five times until they were able to find additional sources of food, some of which came from friends and relatives and the Church in Accra.
In talking about the flood and the efforts made to take care of the people in Abomosu, Brother Abu said, “Isn’t the Lord wonderful! The more you give, the more he gives back.” Both Brother Abu and President Oppong referenced the Savior in feeding the 5,000 as they reflected on how the Lord had preserved them.
Elder Dalton reflected on the words of the Prophet Elijah to the widow of Zarephath, “make me thereof a little cake first, and bring it unto me, and after make for thee and for thy son.
“For thus saith the Lord God of Israel, The barrel of meal shall not waste, neither shall the cruse of oil fail . . .
“And she went and did according to the saying of Elijah: and she, and he, and her house, did eat many days.” (1 Kings 17:13–15)

My family went on a trip to Boston, Massachusetts. We visited the Bunker Hill Monument and climbed the tall tower. Afterward we went through the gift shop. I found a five-dollar bill lying on the floor. I picked it up and gave it to the park ranger. He said, “You can keep it.” I told him that it wasn’t mine and that someone might be looking for it. The ranger looked surprised and finally said that if nobody asked for the money by the end of the day, he would put it in the donation box. He asked me where I lived, and I said, “Utah!” I felt happy that I was honest and chose the right.

During Sister LaVaun Asay’s orientation interview with her mission president, Elder M. Russell Ballard, now of the First Quorum of the Seventy, she confided to him that she didn’t know how to be a missionary and was nervous and frightened to try. So he kindly went through a practice session with her asking the golden questions.
Later, on her first missionary day in Kirtland Lake, Ontario, while her husband, Verl, was paying for their groceries, she found the courage to ask the lady at the grocery check counter the golden question. The lady responded positively.
After the Asays’ first discussion with this woman and her husband, Robert and Betti W. Guild, Robert invited his brother, Don, and his wife, Sheila, to join them. After a short time all four were baptized. Their influence among friends and other family members has led to at least twelve more baptisms so far—all because Sister Asay discovered courage she didn’t think she had.

I am one out of eight members that attend a high school of 900 students. Everyone knows I’m LDS. I used to make many mistakes until I realized someone was watching my every move and asked me questions about the Church. I couldn’t answer some. I got my priorities in order and started reading the scriptures more. I still make mistakes, but I’ve set a much better example for my friends.
Esther Sorter, 15Wichita Falls, Texas

I learned a great lesson early in my business career. I was called into my boss’s office one day. He wanted to impress upon me, his financial manager, a good lesson in the use of money. He asked me to give him a definition of interest. Of course, I pulled one out of a textbook I had used in business training. He said, “Oh, no, no, no. This is the one I want you to remember. ‘Them’s that understands it, receives it; them’s that don’t, pays it.’ “

This was one of the great lessons of my life. I have tried to stay out of debt as much as humanly possible. It is a lot more fun to earn interest than to pay it.

Now a little international story that I had forgotten about until I read President McKay’s words. Over twenty years ago, John and I visited Austria, as part of his assignment at BYU over International Education. It was during the time of the Bosnian War. There was an international stake in Vienna where they held a Young Women camp. In that camp, girls from all the factions of the war were included. There were girls from Bosnia, Yugoslavia, Serbia, and Croatia. However, during that camp, they were not there to represent the politics of their nations, but rather, they remembered that they are daughters of a Heavenly Father, who loves them and they love him. They had promised to stand as witnesses of God at all times, in all things and in all places. As they remembered their covenant to follow the Lord. They had a week of complete joy, love, and peace. Like President McKay had stated, “It was the testimony of God and obedience to the gospel plan that are the keys to peace.”

I pay tribute to beloved ladies in my life who have taught sanctifying lessons to me.

For a short time during the first year of our marriage, Sister Nelson maintained two jobs while I was in medical school. Before her paychecks had arrived, we found ourselves owing more than our funds could defray. So we took advantage of an option then available to sell blood at $25 a pint. In an interval between her daytime job as a schoolteacher and her evening work as a clerk in a music store, we went to the hospital and each sold a pint of blood. As the needle was withdrawn from her arm, she said to me, “Don’t forget to pay tithing on my blood money.” (When her mother learned I was bleeding her daughter between two jobs, I sensed at that time she may not have been too pleased with her new son-in-law.) Such obedience was a tremendous lesson to me. Sister Nelson’s commitment to tithe became my commitment, too.

Amaru Anderson, 16, often reads the scriptures with her 8-year-old brother, Sebastian. She also takes time to answer his questions, and prays with him regularly.
“We’ve been reading Joseph Smith—History once or twice a week,” she says. “It’s mind-blowing how many questions he has at eight years old, and I love answering them. I feel like I know him so much better.”
For example, one time Sebastian asked Amaru: “How do you think Joseph Smith kept going if all these people were doing all these bad things to him and to his family? All those things were going wrong, and if he was so good, why were so many bad things happening to him?”
“It really touched me,” she says. “I know that adversity strengthens you, but here’s a little boy asking me this hard question. We always read before he goes to bed, and I stay up a little later to get ready for the next day. I thought about our conversation and realized that I understood more about adversity from answering his questions.”
Even though her parents are supportive of her Church activities, they do not attend meetings with them. So she often goes to church at the Champlain Ward, Ottawa Ontario Stake, on her own or with her brother and grandparents. She also looks to other family and ward members for additional support, especially those she meets at youth conferences and dances.
“I can feel their goodness when I talk to them,” she says, “I love getting together with these friends, even though I only see them at girls’ camp, or youth conferences, or dances when everyone comes.”
During her second year in Young Women, Amaru asked a lot of questions. Her testimony grew line upon line. She says, “I realized that I know the Book of Mormon is true. Then everything else started making more sense.” That year, when she went to young women camp, it solidified what she had been learning. She found that getting away from the routine of daily life, learning the gospel, and being with others who shared the same values helped her focus on her testimony.
“When you’re at young women camp, you know the other girls have the same values, the same needs, and the same dreams that you do,” Amaru says. “You get to know them very well, and when it’s time to leave, you don’t want to let them down because they know you and are helping you to be strong. You know they’re backing you up.”
Her friends at the art school she attends know that Amaru will always turn them down if they ask her to do something she knows is wrong. At first she wondered if they would understand her standards, but then she learned that others respect her for doing what she knows is right.
“If you honestly keep gospel standards, others will notice, and say, ‘I really respect you for that,’” she says. “It will solidify everything you know and make you that much stronger. The more adversity you face with the guidance of the Spirit, the more it makes you a better person and a stronger disciple of Christ.”
Sebastian has a great example to follow.

Last summer the youth in our ward were challenged to read the entire Book of Mormon. Eventually the summer came to an end, and I finished the Book of Mormon. As I kneeled to pray and asked if the book was true, I remember thinking that this was it—I would finally have the experience that everyone seems to talk about where they are overcome by the Spirit.
The truth is, when I prayed, I didn’t feel that way. At first I was a little upset. Why hadn’t I received such a witness? Was I not worthy? But I soon realized that though many people might feel the Spirit confirming truth to them very strongly when they pray about the Book of Mormon, there are many others who don’t have that same experience. Just because you may not receive an extremely strong confirmation does not mean the Book of Mormon isn’t true or that your testimony is not as strong as someone else’s. It simply means that the Spirit can speak to people in different ways and at different times.
For me, this experience taught me that we don’t always receive answers in the way we expect. I thought I would feel an overpowering spiritual impression after I prayed about the Book of Mormon—but I didn’t. Honestly, I believe I already knew it was true.
Though I may not have felt the Spirit very strongly at that time, I knew I had felt it while reading about Alma’s conversion and about Ammon and his brothers bringing thousands of Lamanites to the gospel, and about Christ teaching the Nephites after His Resurrection. I realized that feeling the Spirit while reading different parts of the Book of Mormon also confirmed to me that the entire book was true.

Looking back, I can think of many Good Samaritans who have influenced my life and the lives of others by going out of their ways to serve and teach. One of these Samaritans was a great-great-uncle of mine, who was in one of the first groups of pioneers to settle in Utah.
One severe winter he was dispatched to Carbon County to help other pioneers who were moving to that area but had been stranded by terrible snowstorms. Without hesitation my uncle responded to the call for help. He put the needs of others above his own and risked his life to bring many to safety. That story has been a source of inspiration to me. It has helped me to be more appreciative of my pioneer heritage and the people who willingly made sacrifices, facing troubles head-on.

Eleven-year-old Hansen P. of the Bangalore Second Branch, Bangalore India District, was excited. After church the older boys in the branch would be teaching him how to prepare, bless, and pass the sacrament.
First, the boys who are teachers in the Aaronic Priesthood showed Hansen how they prepare the trays of bread and fill the cups with water.
Next, the priests read through the sacrament prayers and explained how they fold the tablecloths.
Finally, the deacons showed where they stand, how they pass the sacrament to the congregation, and how they help everyone be reverent.
“The Aaronic Priesthood is important,” Hansen says. “There is much I must do to prepare to receive it.”

In my last conference message, I related my devastating experience many years ago when, as a heart surgeon, I was not able to save the lives of two little sisters. With permission of their father, I would like to say more about that family.
Congenital heart disease afflicted three children born to Ruth and Jimmy Hatfield. Their first son, Jimmy Jr., died without a definitive diagnosis. I entered the picture when the parents sought help for their two daughters, Laural Ann and her younger sister, Gay Lynn. I was heartbroken when both girls died following their operations. Understandably, Ruth and Jimmy were spiritually shattered.
Over time, I learned that they harbored lingering resentment toward me and the Church. For almost six decades, I have been haunted by this situation and have grieved for the Hatfields. I tried several times to establish contact with them, without success.
Then one night last May, I was awakened by those two little girls from the other side of the veil. Though I did not see or hear them with my physical senses, I felt their presence. Spiritually, I heard their pleadings. Their message was brief and clear: “Brother Nelson, we are not sealed to anyone! Can you help us?” Soon thereafter, I learned that their mother had passed away, but their father and younger brother were still alive.
Emboldened by the pleadings of Laural Ann and Gay Lynn, I tried again to contact their father, who I learned was living with his son Shawn. This time they were willing to meet with me.
In June, I literally knelt in front of Jimmy, now 88 years old, and had a heart-to-heart talk with him. I spoke of his daughters’ pleadings and told him I would be honored to perform sealing ordinances for his family. I also explained that it would take time and much effort on his and Shawn’s part to be ready and worthy to enter the temple, as neither of them had ever been endowed.
The Spirit of the Lord was palpable throughout that meeting. And when Jimmy and Shawn each accepted my offer, I was overjoyed! They worked diligently with their stake president, bishop, home teachers, and ward mission leader, as well as with young missionaries and a senior missionary couple. And then, not long ago, in the Payson Utah Temple, I had the profound privilege of sealing Ruth to Jimmy and their four children to them. Wendy and I wept as we participated in that sublime experience. Many hearts were healed that day!
On reflection, I have marveled at Jimmy and Shawn and what they were willing to do. They have become heroes to me. If I could have the wish of my heart, it would be that each man and young man in this Church would demonstrate the courage, strength, and humility of this father and son. They were willing to forgive and let go of old hurts and habits. They were willing to submit to guidance from their priesthood leaders so that the Atonement of Jesus Christ could purify and magnify them. Each was willing to become a man who worthily bears the priesthood “after the holiest order of God.”
Are we willing to pray, fast, study, seek, worship, and serve as men of God so we can have that kind of priesthood power? Because two little girls were so eager to be sealed to their family, their father and brother were willing to pay the price to bear the holy Melchizedek Priesthood.

My father was a man who suggested to his sons that they work early in life. He had a very convincing way of doing that; he would indicate that starting on such-and-such a date, we would begin buying our own clothes and shoes and other personal needs. In this way we were somewhat “pressed into service” to find some kind of a job.
At age 11, I attempted to obtain my first job working as a newspaper boy. I had just turned 11 and was an entire year away from the minimum age of 12 required for being a newspaper boy. It was difficult at first trying to convince the man that someone so young could really be an effective worker, but with the help of my dad, I talked him into giving me a try.
The Lord really blessed me as a young man because I was able to effectively carry out that important job. It was an important job to me for I learned as a young man how to collect and be accountable for money, how to deal with the public, and how to sell newspaper subscriptions. I remember the many contests and prizes that I won as a result of much effort in learning how to persuade people to take subscriptions to the afternoon newspaper I worked for. A tenth of my income was always paid willingly to the Lord as tithing.