Gospel Story Finder

A sister shared: “My daily experiences with Come, Follow Me are rarely noteworthy, but over time I can see how I am being changed by such a constant, focused study of the scriptures. That kind of study humbles me, teaches me, and changes me a little at a time.”

One of my friends was named Laura, and her mother became a friend of my mother. Whenever our mothers got together, sooner or later they would talk about the Mormons. Mom was interested but she didn’t want to leave her own church. She knew it would hurt my grandmother if she did.
After Mom had been with Laura’s mother one day, she said, “I’m not going to visit with her anymore. Every time we get together we end up talking about her church, and I’m getting tired of it.”
But I noticed that in a few days she was restless and finally she went back to Laura’s house to visit. She said later that she just couldn’t stay away. This was the very day that she agreed to let the missionaries come to our home.

Every man and woman in this church knows something of the price paid by our forebears for their faith. I am reminded of this when I read the narrative of my wife’s grandmother. She tells of her childhood in Brighton, that delightful city on the south coast of England, where the soft, green hills of Sussex roll down to the sea. It was there that her family was baptized. Their conversion came naturally because the Spirit whispered in their hearts that it was true. But there were critical relatives and neighbors and even mobs to ridicule and arise anger in others against them. It took courage, that rare quality described as moral courage, to state their beliefs and to defend their beliefs, to be baptized and recognized as Mormons.

The family traveled to Liverpool, where with some nine hundred others they boarded the sailing vessel Horizon. As the wind caught the sails, they sang “Farewell, My Native Land, Farewell.”

After six weeks at sea—to cover the distance covered today by a jet plane in six hours—they landed at Boston, Massachusetts, and then traveled by steam train to Iowa City to get the equipment they needed. There they purchased two pairs of oxen, two cows, a wagon, and a tent. They were assigned to travel with and assist one of the handcart companies. At Iowa City, their youngest child, less than two years of age, suffering from exposure, died and was buried in a grave never again visited by a member of the family.

Now let me give you the actual words of this thirteen-year-old girl as I read a few lines from her story:
“We traveled from 24 to 40 kilometers a day … till we got to the Platte River. … We caught up with the handcart companies that day. We watched them cross the river. There were great lumps of ice floating down the river. It was bitter cold. The next morning there were fourteen dead. … We went back to camp and had our prayers, [and] … sang ‘Come, Come Ye Saints, No Toil Nor Labor Fear.’ I wondered what made my mother cry [that night]. … The next morning my little sister was born. It was the 23rd of September. We named her Edith. She lived six weeks and died. … [She was buried at the last crossing of the Sweetwater.]
“[We ran into heavy snow. I became lost in the snow.] My feet and legs were frozen. … The men rubbed me with snow. They put my feet in a bucket of water. The pain was terrible. …
“When we arrived at Devils Gate it was bitter cold. We left many of our things there. … My brother James … was as well as he ever was when he went to bed [that night]. In the morning he was dead. …
“My feet were frozen; also my [brother’s and my sister’s]. … It was nothing but snow [snow everywhere and the bitter Wyoming wind]. We could not drive the pegs in our tents. … We did not what would become of us. [Then] one night a man came to our camp and told us … Brigham Young had sent men and teams to help us. … We sang songs, some danced and some cried. … My mother had never got well. … She died between the Little and Big Mountains. … She 43 years of age. …
“We arrived in Salt lake City nine o’clock at night the 11th of December 1856. Three out of the four that were living were frozen. My mother was dead in the wagon. … Early next morning Brigham Young came. … When he saw our condition, our feet frozen and our mother dead, tears rolled down his cheeks. …
“The doctor amputated my toes … [while] the sisters were dressing mother for her grave. … When my feet were fixed they [carried] … us in to see our mother for the last time. Oh, how did we stand it? That afternoon she was buried. …
“I have thought often of my mother’s words before we left England. ‘Polly, I want to go to Zion while my children are small, so they can be raised in the Gospel of Christ, for I know this is the true church’” (Life of Mary Ann Goble Pay).

Kinga Badylak, 16, Perth. Kinga’s family traveled a long road to freedom when they escaped from what was then Communist Czechoslovakia. In Australia they found even more freedom than expected when a friend introduced them to the gospel. When the missionaries first came to the Badylak home in Perth, they recognized it immediately. A number of times in the past they had received strong impressions about that home, even though it was empty. The Badylaks just hadn’t moved in yet.

I’d like you to meet Nebo, a box turtle. He’s different from other box turtles because he was injured somehow. He has only one front foot. A family found him, and they take care of him. He has a shell on top of his body and a smaller one underneath. His head, legs, and tail stick out of openings between the two shells. If Nebo becomes cold, sleepy, or frightened, he pulls his head, legs, and tail inside his shell.
We don’t know exactly how old Nebo is, but we can get some idea by counting the growth rings on his shell. Often though, after about fifteen years of age, the rings blend or are worn off. We do know that turtles have a longer life than most animals. Nebo could easily live to be more than fifty years old.
All spring and summer Nebo lives in his “summer camp” behind the house. He has plenty of water to drink, but he doesn’t need a pond to swim in because he is a land turtle. His adopted family feeds him his favorite foods—earthworms, strawberries, lettuce, ham, cheese, mushrooms, and hamburger. Nebo has no teeth, but his jaws have sharp edges.
When it starts to get cold in the fall, Nebo is ready to go to sleep for the winter. Because of the turtle’s injury, the family worries that he might not be able to dig a hole to hibernate in. So they take him to school!
In the first grade classroom he has a cozy home all ready for the winter. The children prepared it for Nebo. The whole class took a walk behind the school and gathered dried grass, leaves, and a couple of rocks to put in the glass tank where Nebo will live.
In the middle of winter, Nebo gets very sleepy, and although he doesn’t hibernate completely, he spends most of each day dozing. He doesn’t eat very much, and he burrows under the grass and leaves to make a little nest.
When spring comes and the ground is warm and the nights are no longer frosty, Nebo goes back to his family and his outdoor life. He’s really hungry and eats everything given to him. He sits on a rock and soaks up the warm sunshine, and he walks around in his water dish to cool off when it gets very hot. When the children walk by, he sticks up his long neck and looks at them with his bright red eyes.

Because they will receive a celestial inheritance, they will come forth in the first resurrection. President Joseph F. Smith said: “Joseph Smith taught the doctrine that the infant child that was laid away in death would come up in the resurrection as a child; and, pointing to the mother of a lifeless child, he said to her: ‘You will have the joy, the pleasure, and satisfaction of nurturing this child, after its resurrection, until it reaches the full stature of its spirit.’ There is restitution, there is growth, there is development, after the resurrection from death. I love this truth. It speaks volumes of happiness, of joy and gratitude to my soul. Thank the Lord he has revealed these principles to us.” (Gospel Doctrine, pp. 455–56.)

My youngest daughter’s life experience has included emotional health challenges from the time she was a little girl. There have been many times throughout her life when she felt like she couldn’t go on. We will be forever grateful to the earthly angels who have been there during those times: sitting with her, listening to her, crying with her, as well as sharing together unique gifts, spiritual understandings, and a mutual relationship of love. In such loving circumstances, burdens have often been lifted on both sides.

Recently Elder Howard W. Hunter effectively taught the Regional Representatives on this subject: “The story is told of how in ancient Greece, Alexander the Great went to the brilliant Diogenes who was busy doing some research. Alexander hovered about Diogenes anxiously and asked: ‘How can I help you?’ Diogenes replied simply: ‘Please stand out of my light!’”

I used to attend all of the school dances just to hang around with my friends. I didn’t really like the music either. I knew that the Savior wouldn’t like me to be listening to it. I decided that I would participate only in things that the Savior would like me to do. There are other things you can do to have a good time.Brittney Dawes, 15, Taylorsville 20th Ward, Taylorsville Utah North Central Stake

Sitting in the front room of his parents’ home, Shawn doesn’t seem extraordinarily tall while slouching in a comfortable chair. But as soon as he stands up, the room’s normal eight-foot ceilings shrink. The doorways cause problems when Shawn forgets to duck. He and Justin sometimes get roughhousing together as brothers will do, “When I get chasing him around, once in a while I’ll forget,” says Shawn. “Then, wham! I’m flat on the floor. It knocks me silly.”

Jean B. Bingham
(6) After canoeing against the wind, Jean B. Bingham and a group of young women create sails when the wind changes direction.

I waited until I was 16 thinking that all the guys would ask me out. After a while of waiting, I started working on developing my gifts and talents and being a friend to others. When I stopped feeling depressed about the life I didn’t have, that was when I began to get asked out on dates. The people worth dating are the ones that look for personalities and abilities, not looks and popularity.
Krissy Coltrin, 16Idaho Falls, Idaho

Doni also made a big step during her high school years when she, along with her mother and little brother, joined the Church. Before accepting the challenge to be baptized, Doni attended five different churches to find out where she felt comfortable. “I never felt anything at the other churches,” said Doni, “But when I walked in the door of the Pine Ridge Ward, I felt a funny feeling. I didn’t know what it was, but it gave me the chills. I looked at my mom and she looked at me. She had felt it too. And then everyone was glad to see us. They didn’t know who we were, but there was just that feeling there.”

With all her extra-curricular activities and despite having missed so much school, she kept up with her classes and graduated with a 3.94 gpa. When she missed a month of school for further training with leg braces, Arlene came bouncing back to get the highest grade in her algebra class. She took a physics class and couldn’t help but note, “The ratio was great—5 1/2 boys to each girl.”

A while back I became so focused on what others thought of me, I began to do things I knew I shouldn’t to show that I could be cool. I even considered leaving the Church—not because I had stopped believing in the gospel of Jesus Christ, but because I had such a guilty conscience. Fortunately, I realized I would be giving away my eternal, spiritual joy for a shorter, make-believe joy.
Because of support and lots of love from my friends in the Church, I got my thoughts in order and began a hard and painful period of repentance. I am so grateful my friends never left my side. This experience helped me realize Heavenly Father loves me and will help me.

Feeling the urge to get up and dance, friends Reagan N. and Lauren A. of Pennsylvania, USA, came up with the idea to organize a dance for all their friends. They also thought this would be a fun opportunity to fulfill a 10-hour Personal Progress value project for Choice and Accountability. They planned and organized everything needed, from invitations and decorations to refreshments and a disc jockey. But what made this dance stand apart from others is that this was a dance for charity.
Everyone attending the dance brought a nonperishable food item to act as an admission ticket. There was even a prize for the person who brought the most cans. The dance was a big success. Reagan and Lauren collected over 180 cans of food, which they donated to a local homeless shelter. They also completed a 10-hour project that helped the community and provided a fun evening for everyone who attended the dance.

He sent me off to combat with that lesson.
In the spring of 1945 I was able to test that lesson Leon had taught me those months before.
The war in the Pacific ended before we reached the Philippines, and we were ordered to Japan.
One day we flew out of Atsugi airfield near Yokohama in a B-17 bomber bound for Guam to pick up a beacon light.
After nine hours in the air, we let down through the clouds to find ourselves hopelessly lost. Our radio was out. We were, as it turned out, in a typhoon.
Flying just above the ocean, we began a search pattern. In that desperate situation, I remembered the words of my brother. I learned that you can pray and even sing without making a sound.
After some time we pulled up over a line of rocks jutting out of the water. Could they be part of the chain of the Mariana Islands? We followed them. Soon Tinian Island loomed ahead, and we landed with literally seconds of fuel in the tank. As we headed down the runway, the engines one by one stopped.
I learned that both prayer and music can be very silent and very personal.

It was an uncommonly warm spring evening in Port Alberni, the small mill town on Vancouver Island where I lived. I was looking forward to attending Mutual and spending some time with Latter-day Saint kids. I was friendly by nature but was nevertheless struggling socially both at school and at church. It was nights like this that I welcomed the interaction with them.
As was our habit, we were standing in the foyer of our new chapel chatting with each other. I spent little time on center stage in these conversations, and from my outside vantage point I spotted two sister missionaries coming in the front doors with a boy beside them. I recognized him from my neighborhood.
While her companion stood off to the side speaking to the boy, Sister Eaton, the senior of the two missionaries, approached us and said, “Look, you guys. We’re really excited about this. We’ve been working with him and his family for months, and this is the first time he’s agreed to come. Would you make him feel welcome?”
We nodded half-heartedly, said our hellos, and made a small opening for him to stand with us. He stood there looking awkward and uncomfortable, mostly staring at the floor. In comparison to most of us, he was poorly dressed and unkempt. We continued conversing for a few more minutes until the adult traffic became too cumbersome. We then slipped away to the rest room for more privacy.
All of us, that is, except this new boy. We were so caught up in our discussions that we didn’t notice him turn and walk out the door alone. Nor did we miss him in the rest room.
A few minutes later the bell rang for the start of opening exercises. We filed out of the bathroom, joking among ourselves. Just outside the door, however, Sister Eaton was waiting for us, tears pouring down her face.
“What’s the matter with you?” she cried out, more in disbelief than anger. “All you had to do was be friendly to him, to include him. Was that too much to ask?”
“Where’d he go?” I stupidly asked.
“What do you care?” she snapped back. “You won’t have to worry about him again. He won’t be back.” With that, she turned, gathered her companion, and left the building to look for the boy. It was a three-mile walk back to our neighborhood.
Stung by her chastisement, we filed quietly and sheepishly into the chapel. Even when the others began to revive their spirits, my conscience burned. I was deeply disturbed by what we had done. Later that evening after I returned home, I talked to my older brother about it. Having recently returned from college, he was soon to go on his mission. I respected his advice on spiritual matters.
“What do you think you should do about it?” Laurence asked me after I had blurted out to him the whole story.
“I don’t know,” I answered glumly. “What can I do now? Sister Eaton says it’s too late.”
By now Laurence sensed how upset I was.
“Maybe not,” he said with a tinge of hope in his voice. “The sisters should be home by now. I’ll call over there.”
Within five minutes Laurence had the boy’s address, and we began walking there together. Although it wasn’t far, it was getting dark as we crossed Third Avenue into the poorly lit part of town where the boy lived. I was glad my brother was with me. I didn’t know what kind of reception awaited us, and I was nervous.
We approached an old house that needed a coat of paint. Laurence checked the number under a street light and pointed toward it.
“That’s it,” he announced. Taking a deep breath, I headed toward the front door with Laurence at my side. I knocked quickly before my courage failed. My heart was pounding. A few moments later, a lady I assumed to be his mother answered the door. She looked older than I had expected and seemed tired.
“Hi, is your son here?” I asked.
“What do you want with him?” she asked suspiciously.
“He came to our church tonight and we kind of ignored him,” I stammered. “I wanted to apologize and to invite him back.”
She folded her arms and looked directly at us. I saw in her eyes the look of disgust with the way we had just treated her son.
Ignoring me, she looked over at Laurence and said, “Thank you for coming by, but I don’t think he’ll want to come back.”
As she began to close the door, Laurence made a last attempt to reassure her of our repentance. “The boys made a mistake, and I know they’re sorry. I know them. It won’t happen again.”
But the door had closed before he could finish. For the second time that night, I felt stung by my actions.
“Do you think he’ll ever come back?” I asked apprehensively.
“I doubt it,” Laurence replied bluntly.
We said very little the rest of the way home. I had done wrong and I knew it. I had felt deep remorse, and I even tried to make restitution. But I had failed. I wondered why, after I had followed all the steps I had been taught, the Lord hadn’t recognized my repentance and lifted the burden of guilt from me. I felt awful.
The answer finally came from my heart. Inside I knew I hadn’t done enough. But I was too afraid to go back and try again. So I never did.
For me, this was a complete failure, one that I’m still deeply ashamed of. Yet in a curious way I learned an important lesson from it—one that still humbles me and reminds me of what it takes to be a true disciple of Jesus Christ.
“I am the good shepherd: the good shepherd giveth his life for the sheep. But he that is an hireling, and not the shepherd, whose own the sheep are not, seeth the wolf coming, and leaveth the sheep, and fleeth: and the wolf catcheth them, and scattereth the sheep. The hireling fleeth, because he is an hireling, and careth not for the sheep” (John 10:11–13).
Whether I cared to admit it or not, I was no shepherd. I had fled like the hireling. I didn’t seek after what was lost until I found it. After only one try, I left the boy in the wilderness to the wolves. In my heart I wasn’t willing to pay the price of being a true shepherd.
Since that incident, I still see that boy in my mind’s eye and I wonder what happened to him. I still feel the responsibility for what I did and what I didn’t do.
I need to be a shepherd and not a hireling and to find joy in serving and including my brothers and sisters, whoever they may be.

The temple here in Philadelphia has changed the face of this city. I was at the temple almost every day during the open house. People would stop and stare and just gawk at the temple. I was working security one night, and this lady stopped and asked me, “What is this building?”
I said to her, “This is a building where faithful members of the Latter-day Saint Church can go and make covenants with the Lord.”
She looked down and said, “I have goosebumps.”
At that moment it struck me. This lady was a regular Philadelphian. She had no idea what was going on, but she could feel the Spirit just as strongly because the gospel is true.

After my wife, Anne, and I received a call to serve as full-time mission leaders, our family determined to learn each missionary’s name before arriving in the field. We obtained photos, created flash cards, and began studying faces and memorizing names.
Once we arrived, we held introductory conferences with the missionaries. As we mingled, I overheard our nine-year-old son:
“Nice to meet you, Sam!”
“Rachel, where are you from?”
“Wow, David, you’re tall!”
Alarmed, I went to our son and whispered, “Hey, let’s remember to refer to the missionaries as Elder or Sister.”
He gave me a puzzled look and said, “Dad, I thought we were supposed to memorize their names.” Our son did what he thought was right based on his understanding.