Gospel Story Finder

My wife and I are at a very exciting point in our lives, with two teenage girls in our home who have so many questions, and I am always amazed at my beloved wife, Busi’s, answers. She just never gets tired or impatient with them. A little while ago she explained the importance of reading the scriptures daily and used an analogy that has stuck with me.
She started by asking them how often they brush their teeth. They looked at her as if to say, “What kind of question is that?” Almost instantly they answered her question with, “Mom, that’s easy—we do it at least once a day!” She then proceeded by asking them, “Why don’t you just brush them once every week or once a month?”
I wondered where this conversation was going until she explained to them how brushing our teeth can be compared to reading the scriptures, especially the Book of Mormon. We don’t read once a week or once a month. In the same way, we don’t wake up one day and read the Book of Mormon from cover to cover. Instead, we must strive to follow the counsel from living prophets and apostles by making time as families and individuals to read daily from its sacred pages.

Brother Nakamura was one of the foremost heart surgeons in Japan until he retired to serve a mission at the Tokyo Temple. “I had ten years left before I needed to retire,” he says. “But my wife and I wanted to serve in the temple.”

The decision to retire was not an easy one. Brother Nakamura had always wanted to be a heart surgeon. However, he believes the Lord was guiding him to the Church for a purpose.

The Nakamuras decided to accept a mission call to temple service. They knew it would mean a complete change in their lives, but to them, it was worth it.

Before their mission call, says Brother Nakamura, he was very busy in his profession and in the Church. He was enjoying his activities as the head of the hospital where he worked, and as the principal of a school of nursing where he was also an instructor. During this time he also served both as a counselor in the mission presidency and as a district president. He received many telephone calls—day and night—from patients who needed his help, which he freely gave.

“In the temple there are no midnight telephone calls,” he says. “The most wonderful thing is that the temple is the house of the Lord. It is peaceful everywhere. Now everything in my daily life is spiritually based. All of the ordinance work in the temple is to serve God.”

“When I was working in the hospital and involved in my Church duties, I was gone so many days and nights that my wife got lonely,” says Brother Nakamura. “Now we are working together all the time in a holy place. We are very happy.”

A boy went ice fishing with his father and his uncle. Altogether they caught nine fish. The father caught one third of the total. The uncle caught twice as many fish as the father did. How many fish did the boy catch?

In the summer of 1830, the Prophet Joseph Smith began, under divine direction, an inspired revision of the text of the King James Bible. The end result, which we call the Inspired Version or the Joseph Smith Translation, was a tremendous amount of new revelation that adds significantly to our understanding of the biblical past. Among the foremost of the many inspired changes that the Prophet made in the Bible text was the addition of several pages of entirely new material that deals with the period between the fall of Adam and the ministry of Abraham. This material was included in the first edition of the Pearl of Great Price (1851) and was accepted as scripture in 1880. It is now found in Moses 5–8.

Another little miracle occurred two months earlier, when Evonne received a strong impression that they needed to insure their property. This troubled David, as none of the 15 providers he had contacted would insure them. He prayed, “Heavenly Father, if we are meant to insure the house, please help me find an insurer.” The very next company he called agreed to insure the property for a portion of its value.

Thank you for the article “Eating Disorders: A Deadly State of Mind” (February 1993). I went on my first diet when I was 11 and suffered from bulimia for six years. I pray for the others out there who are headed on the same track. Please get off now before you lose more than just pounds. An eating disorder becomes a way of life, and it leaves little time for others or yourself because your energy and attention is always focused on food. I look back and see how much I missed and the people I distanced because of this self-absorbing cycle. I am now 24, and I’m learning to eat and look at food in a whole new way. Make no mistake about it, eating disorders are just as dangerous as an alcohol or drug addition.
Kristen AbtsEugene, Oregon

Think of where you live—isn’t it wonderful how your country and community remember and honor ancestors, family, others who served and sacrificed? For example, at the autumn harvest remembrance in South Molton, Devonshire, England, Sister Gong and I loved finding the little church and community where generations of our Bawden family lived. We honor our ancestors by opening the heavens through temple and family history work and by becoming a welding link in the chain of our generations.

Sister Leonora de Contreras, a Relief Society president, said she knew the gospel was true. She expressed thanks for her husband, who holds the priesthood and is a pillar of strength. The catastrophe destroyed the fruits of their lifetime of labor in less than thirty minutes. She recalled the words of their son who is serving in the Peru Trujillo Mission. As he left home, he said to her, “Mami, whatever happens, if you need help, ask the Lord, and stay close to the Brethren.” She expressed appreciation to stake leaders for their assistance.

Marilee Caldwell, a member of the troupe, tells another use: “I have a very close friend who is deaf. With mime, I am able to better convey my thoughts and to understand his. Your body can’t lie, and since mime is a form of body language, it can be used when spoken language is a barrier.”

My family and I had the amazing opportunity to visit Peru. Our tour guide organized a service project to help children in a local elementary school. I decided to provide sweaters for the children because they didn’t have warm clothes for the winter. I started a sweater drive at my elementary school. We collected more than 400 sweaters! I know the children in the school will be warm this winter. I felt a lot of joy because I was able to serve them.
Kale L., age 11, New Mexico, USA

Rachel’s friend Fiona Greenman, also from the Bath Ward, has carefully considered her commitment to the Church. “I started thinking about it,” said Fiona. “For a time I stopped praying and everything. Then I was at school one day and some friends were talking and swearing away, and it suddenly hit me that I didn’t like their way of life. I chose the Church.”

For example, when the Apostle Paul wrote to the Saints in Rome, Corinth, and Thessalonica, he invited them to “salute one another with an holy kiss” (Romans 16:16; see also 1 Corinthians 16:20; 2 Corinthians 13:12; 1 Thessalonians 5:26). This instruction made perfect sense in the ancient Mediterranean culture where men greeted each other with a kiss.

Greeting someone in all cultures—ancient as well as modern—has always been a sign of affection, friendship, recognition, and reverence. The precise form of those greetings, however, often depends on what is appropriate or expected for the specific occasion and the culture; in some times and places, this may take the form of bowing, handshaking, hugging, kissing on the lips or cheek, or rubbing noses.

Paul’s injunction for the Saints to greet one another “with an holy kiss” would have felt like a comfortable and familiar sign of fellowship in his ancient Mediterranean context. But in the Western cultural context of America in the 1800s, the Lord inspired Joseph Smith to adapt this New Testament command to “salute one another with an holy salutation,”1 perhaps as a way to apply this concept to His people living in a different time and place in which kissing was not viewed as a comfortable form of greeting within a church community.

As I rounded the last corner on my way to see the missionaries, I felt a strong force trying to keep me from going. It was like walking against a 70-mile-per-hour wind, which I had done before, only it was stronger. But this was spiritual. I was just about to give up and turn around. I knew this force wanted me to doubt everything, but I finally said, “No, no. I know there’s a God.” I felt that truth deep in the roots of my soul. I knew He would battle this force for me.
I reached the chapel door, just a normal chapel door, but I had to pull with all my might to force it open. When I entered I saw some members and felt their spirit, and the opposing force was gone, broken. I felt the sweet peace in my heart again, and felt it even more strongly several days later as I was baptized and confirmed. I still feel it to this day.

Four-year-old Melanie stared at the white wall next to her hospital bed, trying to hold back the tears. Two big ones squeezed out onto her cheeks, anyway. She was trying hard to be brave, but hearing Susan laughing with her grandmother from the bed on the other side of the curtain was just too much. Melanie knew that no one would be coming to visit her today.
Yesterday Mommy had talked with her about the special temple session that she and Daddy had been asked to attend. “If I drive with Daddy to the temple tomorrow, I won’t be able to come and see you. The temple is just too far away. If you want, I’ll come to visit you by myself, and Daddy can drive to the temple with Brother and Sister Howard.”
Melanie knew how much Mommy loved to go to the temple. She and Daddy went to the temple every month, and Mommy always came home so calm and happy.
Besides, this was the third time Melanie had been in the hospital for surgery on her arm. She wasn’t afraid of the doctors and nurses as she had been at first. Most of the nurses had become her friends when Melanie was here before. She knew where the playroom was, and the daily routine was familiar. Best of all, soon she would be going home and would not need to have any more operations on her arm!
“I’ll be OK,” Melanie had told Mommy. “You can go to the temple with Daddy tomorrow.”
But that had been yesterday. Now it was after breakfast and past the time when Mommy and Daddy usually came to see her. Of course, Daddy always had to go to work, but Mommy usually stayed all day.
Melanie had watched her favorite show on the television this morning, but now it was over, and, oh, she was lonesome! A little sob slipped out of her mouth as two more tears slid down her cheeks.
Then Melanie remembered. She wasn’t really alone. She could pray to Heavenly Father!
As she remembered Mommy’s words, the lump in Melanie’s throat seemed to melt away. She bowed her head and closed her eyes.
“Heavenly Father,” she prayed, “I thank Thee for Mommy and Daddy. I thank Thee for Jesus and for the temple. Please help me to not be sad. Please bless Mommy and Daddy today. Help them to have a good day at the temple. Please help me to feel happy. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Melanie kept her eyes closed for a few minutes while a warm, peaceful feeling spread from the top of her head clear down to her toes. It was as if Mommy was there, giving her a hug.
Susan’s laughter rang out again. Melanie was glad that Susan’s grandmother was visiting her today. Susan was usually alone all day until her mommy came after work.
Melanie glanced over at her nightstand and saw the new coloring book and crayons that her grandmother had sent her. Soon she was so busy coloring that she didn’t notice the volunteer, Mrs. O’Driscoll, until she spoke. “Would you like a cold treat today, dear?”
“Oh yes, please. Do you have a red one? Red is my favorite.”
As she licked the sweet, cool treat, Melanie knew that Heavenly Father had answered her prayer.

The day was not even close to Christmas. It was a summer day. My mother died in the early afternoon. My father, my brother, and I had gone from the hospital to our family home, just the three of us. We fixed ourselves a snack; then we talked with visitors. It grew late, dusk fell, and I remember we still had not turned on the lights.

Dad answered the doorbell. It was Aunt Catherine and Uncle Bill. I could see that Uncle Bill was holding a bottle of cherries. I can still see the deep red, almost purple, cherries and the shiny gold cap on the jar. He said, “You might enjoy these. You probably haven’t had dessert.”

We hadn’t. The three of us sat around the kitchen table, put some cherries in bowls, and ate them as Uncle Bill and Aunt Catherine cleared some dishes. Uncle Bill asked, “Are there people you haven’t had time to call? Just give me some names and I’ll do it.” We mentioned a few relatives who would want to know of mother’s death. And then Aunt Catherine and Uncle Bill were gone. They could not have been with us more than 20 minutes.

Now, we can understand my theory best if we focus on one gift: the bottle of cherries. And let’s explain the theory from the point of view of the person who received the gift: me. That’s crucial, because what matters in what the giver does is what the receiver feels.

As nearly as I can tell, the giving and receiving of a great gift always has three parts. Here they are, illustrated by that gift on a summer evening.

First, I knew that Uncle Bill and Aunt Catherine had felt what I was feeling and had been touched. I’m not over the thrill of that yet. They must have felt we’d be too tired to fix much food. They must have felt that a bowl of home-canned cherries would make us feel, for a moment, like a family again. Just knowing that someone had understood what I felt meant far more to me than the cherries themselves. I can’t remember the taste of the cherries, but I remember that someone knew my heart and cared.

Second, I felt that the gift was free. I knew Uncle Bill and Aunt Catherine had chosen freely to bring a gift. They weren’t doing it to compel a response from me; the gift seemed to provide them joy in the giving.

And third, there was an element of sacrifice. Someone might say, “But how could they give for the joy of it and yet make a sacrifice?” Well, I could see the sacrifice. I knew that Aunt Catherine had canned those cherries for her family. They must have liked cherries. But she took that possible pleasure from them and gave it to me. That’s sacrifice. But I have realized since then this marvelous fact: It must have seemed to Uncle Bill and Aunt Catherine that they would have more pleasure if I had the cherries than if they did. There was sacrifice, but it was made for a greater return to them—my happiness. Anyone can let the person who gets a gift know of the giver’s sacrifice. But only an expert can let you sense that sacrifice brings joy to the giver because it blesses the receiver.

Carry on with me then to Philadelphia to the year 1787. Gathered to frame a constitution in cramped and overheated quarters, delegates from most of the thirteen sovereign states struggle through the summer months to produce a document upon which a free nation might be built. Fortunately (and it has been said by those not of our Faith), they achieved a Constitution and a Bill of Rights which far exceeded the best that could come from these men. But it did. More than that, it was and is a living document, capable of defending its basic principles but flexible enough to adapt to the needs of this changing and growing United States.

You and I are made aware, of course, that there is a better explanation of what really occurred. The scriptures tell us. The Lord “established the Constitution of this land, by the hands of wise men whom I raised up unto this very purpose, and redeemed the land by the shedding of blood.” (D&C 101:80.)

The land was “redeemed” indeed by thousands killed and wounded along the way at Germantown, at Bemis Heights and Charleston, and so many other places in the American Revolution.

President Brigham Young spoke for himself and for every living prophet who has addressed the question since when he said, “The signers of the Declaration of Independence and the framers of the Constitution were inspired from on high to do that work.” (Journal of Discourses, 7:14.)

An objective study of the delegates involved—their fears, their limitations, vested interests, and the like—makes it clear that they were not the sort of men we usually think of as prophets. Nonetheless they were inspired, and the Constitution they provided can be designated accurately as a divine document.

But even a divine constitution requires something further; it demands a kind of people who will, by their very natures, receive and respect such a constitution and function well within the conditions it establishes.

Another couple recently served in a small village south of Santiago, Chile. They had no Spanish skills and were apprehensive about being in a different country so far from the comforts of home. But they plunged in with total dedication, loving and serving the people. Before long, the small branch grew from 12 to 75 members. When it came time for them to leave, the entire branch rented a bus so they could go to the airport, four hours away, and say good-bye to their special friends.

Illustration by Brian Call
When my wife was pregnant with our third child, she was diagnosed with a condition that made it difficult for her to walk. This and other complications put her on bed rest for most of her pregnancy.
The birth was challenging, and she spent eight days in the hospital. Even after she returned home, her condition persisted. Doctors soon discovered more problems. Our family had to adjust and find our new normal.
Consequently, I took most of the night-shift hours with our newborn. I was working full time, and it was a challenge to be awakened continually during the night. To keep from getting frustrated, I started reading the histories of my pioneer ancestors while I was awake. I had some familiarity with them, but as I read stories of my great-grandparents and those before them, I was surprised how relatable their lives became.
As I discovered more about my family, I found their faith to be inspiring. The joy I felt was almost instant. Staying up no longer felt like a burden. In fact, I had to force myself to get my sleep when our daughter had settled.
I developed a deep appreciation for those who came before me. My heart had truly turned to my fathers (see Doctrine and Covenants 110:14–15; Malachi 4:6). I could see God’s guiding hand in their lives, and I could feel their love for Him.
My perspective on life evolved as I saw a bigger picture than I had before. As I read about the difficult circumstances my ancestors endured, their perseverance comforted me in my own situation.
Many times since then I have felt the influence of those who came before me in personal ways that have inspired me. Experiencing such a profound impact, I have found ways to find, compile, and share more history with my family so they could experience the same blessings.
My desire to go to the temple has increased. I feel a need to honor my ancestors’ faithful legacy. I want to give them the opportunity to make covenants with our Savior. As I have taken the names of these kindred dead to the temple, my covenant relationship with the Savior has been strengthened, and I have felt His refining influence in my life.

My girls see Amy in other situations, too. Always their eyes light up and their faces beam as they point to their Amy in church, where she helps her mother tend her younger brother and sisters, or at a ward party where she is playing the piano. At night she waves as she rides by delivering newspapers, and the girls come running into the house shouting, “Mommy, Amy waved to me.” “Me, too,” echoes another. “Amy wave me,” and my two-year-old beams. Such a little thing, and yet it means so much.

I thought back to my own childhood, when my mum’s big set of scriptures always sat open somewhere in the living room. Those same scriptures would be passed around as we studied them together, even when I was so small that I could barely read. I wanted my daughter to experience that—to always have a set of scriptures open and close by, ready to leaf through. Now, there is nothing more precious to me than those little moments where I spy my little girl toddle over to the scriptures and flip through. I can only hope that as she becomes familiar with those pages, that she will also grow to cherish the message inside.