Gospel Story Finder

Twenty-four years ago, our tiny newborn son struggled for his life in the intensive care unit of a hospital. His lungs were not fully developed because of his premature birth, and he desperately fought for each breath of air. He was so small but with so much will to live. As young and inexperienced parents, my courageous and ever faithful wife, Jan, and I prayed that the Lord’s hand would reach out and somehow help our baby boy continue to breathe. As I put my trembling hand through the small opening into the isolette, I felt so inadequate and powerless. I took hold of the tiny but perfect hand of our newborn son, and there was a powerful spiritual connection never to be forgotten. Two fingers from each of my hands covered his tiny head as I administered to him.

Our desire for him was pure, but we knew that his earthly experience rested in the Lord’s hands and not in ours or in the medical team who cared for him. I then humbly realized that my quivering hands held power and authority well beyond my own. My fingers on his head symbolized the placing of God’s hands and power upon our son. Following that blessing, in a moment of emotional peace, my eternal companion and I looked at each other across the isolette, feeling the spirit of renewed hope and comfort born of faith in the Lord Jesus Christ and in the personal effect of His Atonement. It was a powerful witness of His love for an infant son who had just left His presence. We were then better prepared to accept His will for our son. We truly felt we had placed our hands in the hands of the Savior. It was as if the Savior’s own hands provided the critical respiratory aid, allowing our son to breathe and gain sustenance. With each breath and with each incremental bit of progress, we expressed prayerful thanks. Today our healthy son and his indebted parents continue to be so grateful for the Savior’s willing hands.

I would like to read a little statement here that I published in the book I wrote. It is taken from a pamphlet entitled The Strength of the ‘Mormon’ Position (Orson F. Whitney, Independence, Mo.: Zion’s Printing and Publishing Co., 1917). The late Elder Orson F. Whitney of the Council of the Twelve Apostles related the following incident under the heading, “A Catholic Utterance”:
“Many years ago a learned man, a member of the Roman Catholic Church, came to Utah and spoke from the stand of the Salt Lake Tabernacle. I became well acquainted with him, and we conversed freely and frankly. A great scholar, with perhaps a dozen languages at his tongue’s end, he seemed to know all about theology, law, literature, science and philosophy. One day he said to me: ‘You Mormons are all ignoramuses. You don’t even know the strength of your own position. It is so strong that there is only one other tenable in the whole Christian world, and that is the position of the Catholic Church. The issue is between Catholicism and Mormonism. If we are right, you are wrong; if you are right, we are wrong; and that’s all there is to it. The Protestants haven’t a leg to stand on. For if we are wrong, they are wrong with us, since they were a part of us and went out from us; while if we are right, they are apostates whom we cut off long ago. If we have the apostolic succession from St. Peter, as we claim, there is no need of Joseph Smith and Mormonism; but if we have not that succession, then such a man as Joseph Smith was necessary, and Mormonism’s attitude is the only consistent one. It is either the perpetuation of the gospel from ancient times, or the restoration of the gospel in latter days.’” (A Marvelous Work and a Wonder, LeGrand Richards, Deseret Book Co., 1958, pp. 3–4.)

Three weeks ago I was in New York City awaiting a flight to Europe. An employee of the airline left her place at the desk and came to where I was sitting.
“Two of my nephews have joined your Church,” she told me. “I can hardly believe the change that it’s made in their lives.” In our brief conversation I asked how her sister felt about her sons joining the Church.
“She couldn’t be happier,” she said, and explained how the family had had real reason to be worried about the young men. They were two of the wanderers that President Tanner has spoken about. “You wouldn’t believe how they’ve changed,” she said. “They’ve cut their hair and the whole bit,” as she put it.
Later, as I left to board the plane, she thanked me again and said, “I don’t know how you do it.”

Peter’s faith reminds me of an experience that I heard from Elder José L. Alonso. Shortly after Elder Alonso’s son passed away, leaving a family with young children, Elder Alonso overheard the children talking.
“What are we going to do?” they asked.
A nine-year-old daughter answered, “Daddy is OK. He is preaching the gospel of Jesus Christ.”
Like Peter, this little girl saw beyond her challenges and trusted in Jesus Christ and His Atonement. Faith in the Savior brings peace and the strength to move forward.

Each individual shares views in an honest but non-attacking manner. Sometimes thoughtful reflection resolves the problem as it becomes clear the disagreement was merely a misunderstanding. For example, a wife who thinks her husband is selfishly insisting that she attend a high school basketball game with him instead of going out to dinner for a date, might come to understand that he is less interested in basketball than in showing attention to a player who has stopped attending his Sunday School class.
Couples explore concerns at a deeper level. The focus is on understanding and accepting one another’s concerns. Continuing the basketball example, the wife, while understanding her husband’s concern for the student, might believe that he is developing a pattern of always putting the needs of others before those of the marriage. In this case, a more thoughtful discussion must be held in which each expresses feelings in a sensitive manner and opposition gives way to cooperation.
Couples brainstorm and decide on mutually satisfying solutions. The focus is on what each individual can do to address the concerns rather than on what their spouse can do. Such negotiation can test maturity and patience but, over time, lead to a belief that there is safety in expressing feelings and confidence that each person’s desires will be addressed. Our couple may agree to spend one Friday night together at a basketball game, one Friday night in which the husband attends the game alone, and two Friday nights doing couple activities. It is not as important how the couple chooses to spend Friday night as it is that the quality of the decision-making process is satisfying to both.

The great oak tree reached its arms to the sky—higher, higher, higher. Lissa lay on a quilt at its foot and gazed through spring-green leaves to the gray sky beyond. It made her feel dizzy. She closed her eyes.
“Lissa, will you help me get up the tree?”
Her eyes opened. It took her a moment to focus on her little brother, Spencer, looming above her. “Uh-uh,” she said. “The wind’s too wild. You’d be scared.”
“I wouldn’t be scared.”
“Then I would be.” Even as she spoke, thunder rumbled in the distance. The wind became a mad thing, suddenly swirling and tearing in all directions. The giant pines in their yard swayed and bent as if they would snap in two. The oak was a churning green sea, its leafy whisper changed to a roar.
Spencer drew in a frightened breath. Lissa laughed and leapt to her feet. She caught his hands and whirled him around and around until he was laughing, too. “Will the wind blow us away?” he asked.
“No,” Lissa said. But it felt like it might.
“Come inside now,” Dad called from the house.
Lissa and Spencer hesitated and whirled around again.
“Now!” Dad yelled. “Before the storm hits.”
Even as Lissa snatched up her quilt and dashed for the door, fat raindrops struck her skin. By the time they were inside, the rain was pouring down in silver sheets.
While Dad made them hot chocolate, Lissa and Spencer dried themselves off. They slipped beneath blankets on the couch and sipped their drinks. How cozy and safe it felt in the house, although the walls seemed to tremble and the windows rattled.
Dad huddled with them. “When I call you,” he said, “you need to come right away. Don’t stop to think about it. Just come. There’s always a good reason.”
Lissa and Spencer nodded.
The room grew dim. Dad switched on the lamp. He brought a book of stories to read aloud and drew them close.
It was hard to listen.
Boom! shouted the thunder.
Spencer jumped. Lissa shivered. White lightning flashed. Then B-O-O-M! It was explosive!
Dad sprang to his feet and ran to the window. Lissa and Spencer followed. “What was that?” Lissa asked, her heart thudding in her chest.
Dad peered through the gloom. “Looks like the oak tree’s down. Good thing it missed the house.”
“Oh, no!” Lissa cried. “I love that tree.”
The storm passed on.
A few days later, Dad took his chain saw out to the fallen tree. “We can use it for firewood,” he told Lissa and Spencer.
Lissa said nothing. She still wanted to cry when she saw the oak stretched out in their yard. Its branches were tangled, and its great clump of dirt-choked roots lay exposed. She watched from the porch step, her chin in her hands, as Dad worked.
Spencer scrambled over the trunk like a squirrel. He ignored scratched knees and sap-sticky hands. After a while he disappeared. “I’m down in this big hole where the roots were,” he called. “There are all kinds of bugs and worms poking their heads out.”
“Don’t get too dirty,” Dad called back.
Lissa could hardly hear them over the chain saw’s buzz. Dad was making good progress. He had the branches off and was starting to cut the trunk into sections. Lissa sucked in a breath of the fresh-cut wood smell.
Dad put the saw down for a moment. He reached his arms above his head to stretch his back. He flashed a smile at Lissa. Her return smile fled when his expression changed to a look of horror. “No!” he yelled.
It happened too fast to even think. Without the weight of its limbs to hold it down, the trunk of the tree had risen from the ground and its heavy ball of dirt and roots smashed back into the hole with a thud that shook the earth. The trunk quivered for a moment. No movement or sound came from the hole.
“Spencer!” Dad and Lissa screamed at the same time. They raced for the hole. Tears streamed down Lissa’s cheeks as she and Dad shoved at the trunk. It didn’t budge. They kept trying.
“What’s the matter?” Spencer’s voice came from behind them. “How’d the tree stand up again?”
Lissa and Dad whirled around. Spencer watched them calmly from beside a clump of azaleas.
Dad’s face collapsed with emotion as he grabbed Spencer to him.
“Where were you?” Lissa asked. Her voice sounded strange.
“Behind the bushes,” Spencer said into Dad’s shirt.
“We thought—we thought you were down in the hole!” Lissa put her arms around both Dad and her brother.
“You thought I got squished?” Spencer asked, pulling away from them.
They nodded.
“I was down there,” Spencer said, “but Dad told me to get out.”
Dad looked at him. “I didn’t.”
“Yes you did,” Spencer insisted. “You said, ‘Get out of the hole right now.’”
Dad shook his head. “It wasn’t me. Was it you, Lissa?”
“No.”
Spencer’s eyes grew wide.
“I’m glad you listened,” Lissa whispered.
“And obeyed,” Dad added.
Spencer gave a shaky grin. “I guess I always will from now on.”
“Me, too,” Lissa said. And she meant it with all her heart.

Deborah Black of Idaho Falls, Idaho, enjoys music, and she enjoys sharing her talent. She was selected to play the piano with the Idaho Falls Civic Symphony. She received an outstanding critical review and an enthusiastic audience response.
When asked if she gets bored working so hard on her performance pieces, she said, “No, you explore and find different ways to play it. There’s always something to work on.”
In addition to her piano, Debbie served as president of the school’s a cappella choir. She also participated in French and German clubs. She attends the Idaho Falls 31st Ward, Idaho Falls Idaho Central Stake, where she was secretary in her Laurel class.

With permission from the Bureau of Land Management, Troop 190 of the Bonneville Ward, Salt Lake City, sawed dead piñon pine trees into fireplace lengths and sold the wood for a handsome profit. They made an overnight trip into the western Uintah Basin to gather the wood and combined work with pleasure.

I also had such an experience. I prayed to our Heavenly Father. I read the scriptures and pondered upon them and tried to strengthen my testimony. And then when I was faced with such a situation, I said, “I am sorry, but I don’t drink. I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” I tried to help others understand my standards. At first I was nervous, but now I have become accustomed to doing it, and I continue to keep the Lord’s commandments. I overcame the trial with the Lord’s help, and I was also blessed with confidence, faith, good health, and high standards. Please tell your friends no with confidence and courage. When you do not compromise your standards, you can shine as a bright light.
Lee, M., 17, Seoul, Korea

Ruby Quigley of the Poole Ward said, “I was grateful to have been a part of this service project, especially to do it on Christmas Day. It was nice to meet other people less fortunate than myself and see how grateful they were for a gently used warm coat or a hot meal.”

“It is a spiritual feast to … hear [Nabota and Telii] pray.”
They were some of the first Church members from the island of Tubuai in French Polynesia.
They learned the gospel from Elder Addison Pratt.
They gave him a place to stay, taught him to speak Tahitian, and traveled with him.
They taught others on the island about the Church and helped them live the gospel.
Addison Pratt in the Millennial Star, August 1, 1845, 59.

Recently our family visited with a dear friend, Sister Louise Lake, who has lived her gracious, sharing life in a wheelchair for more than a quarter of a century.
Perhaps because our 12-year-old son was with us, Sister Lake told us of another 12-year-old with whom she became acquainted in a rehabilitation center in New York where she was working. The boy had been blind and for most of his 12 years had lived a sad existence, thought to be uneducable, incapable of learning. Then he was given a chance, thank the Lord, and a marvelous spirit and fine mind were discovered. He told his friend that he had thought all his life that being blind was the worst thing that could happen to one—until he met Campy. Campy was Roy Campanella, great athlete, who at the height of his career was rendered physically helpless in an automobile accident. The blind boy said he had decided after meeting Campy that his condition was worse than not being able to see. “But there is something even worse than that,” he said. He talked of feeling his way down the hall at the hospital, hearing the scuff of feet as people passed him by. “There is something worse than being blind or crippled, and that is to have people not understand you,” he said. “I guess they think that because I am blind I can’t hear or speak either.”

The last time I saw President Heber J. Grant was in the Church Administration Building when he was quite aged. President Grant had been driven to the Church Administration Building where the driver called for another brother to help him assist President Grant, one on each arm, to his office.
I was just entering the building as President Grant was coming toward the door. He said to the two brethren assisting him, “Isn’t that Brother Benson coming?”
They replied, “Yes.”
He said, “Come here. Come here, Brother Benson.”
I walked over to him, and President Grant said, “Did I ever tell you about the mean trick Brigham Young played on your great-grandfather?”
I said, “No, President. I didn’t know Brigham Young ever played a mean trick on anyone.”
He responded, “Oh, yes, he did. I’ll tell you about it.”
I could see that the two brethren were practically supporting all of President Grant’s weight, so I said, “I’ll come and visit you some time. I’d like to hear the story.”
He replied, “No, I’ll tell you right here. These brethren can hold me steady while I tell you.”
He said, “You know where Zion’s Bank is, on the corner of Main Street and South Temple Street?”
I said, “Yes.”
He continued, “Your great-grandfather built the finest home in Salt Lake City on that corner, with the exception of Brigham Young’s home (which, of course, was the Lion House which still stands). He had it all finished. It was a beautiful home—two stories with a porch at both levels on both sides of the house. It had a white picket fence around it with fruit trees and ornamental trees and with a little stream running through the yard. He was all ready to move his families in from their log cabins when President Young called him into the office one day. ‘Brother Benson,’ he said, ‘we would like you to go to Cache Valley in northern Utah and pioneer that area and preside over the Saints. We suggest you sell your home to Daniel H. Wells.’
“Now,” President Grant said, “Daniel H. Wells was Brigham Young’s counselor. Wasn’t that a mean trick? Come on, brethren, let’s go.”
In all the years that I had attended the Benson Family reunions I had never heard that story. So I had it verified by the Church Historical Department, and they assured me that the facts were as President Grant related them. They told me they had an old photograph of the old home.
Since that time, I have been most grateful for the so-called “mean trick” of President Young, because were it not for that, the Bensons would not have their roots in Cache Valley.

“Okay, Melody, let’s try the stuffed animal trick again,” Lisa said. “The magic show is in half an hour.”
Lisa looked at her five-year-old sister. Melody’s costume was awesome. She had on a top hat and a sparkly cape from the costume box. The cape was big on Melody, but that made it easier to hide tricks inside.
Melody looked at the cardboard box with the two stuffed animals hidden inside. “That trick is hard,” she said. “I don’t know if I can do it!”
Lisa smiled. “But you’re getting better all the time. Remember, the owl has shorter fur than the dog. You have to feel the difference inside the box without looking. OK, try to pull out the dog.”
Melody reached in the box. She felt around for a bit and pulled out the stuffed dog. “Yes!” Melody said.
Lisa gave her a high five. “Great job! Now keep practicing. It’s almost time.”
The girls had put up posters all around the house inviting the family to “Magnificent Melody’s Magical Magic Show.” The whole family was excited. Lisa wondered if she should have put her own name on the poster too.
Usually she invented magic tricks and showed them to the family herself. Mom and Dad always liked them. So did her sisters. But earlier that day Melody had asked Lisa to teach her some tricks. When Melody learned them so quickly, Lisa thought it would be a good idea to let Melody have her own magic show.
She paused as she set up chairs in the playroom. Would this magic show still be as much fun? Lisa loved performing her own tricks for the family. It might be weird to only be an assistant.
Then she watched Melody practice the flower trick again. She was having so much fun getting ready.
Twenty minutes later Lisa called out, “Come one! Come all! It’s time for Magnificent Melody’s Magical Magic Show!”
Mom, Dad, Michelle, and Lily hurried to the basement. Lisa waited at the side of the playroom while Melody stood in the center of the pretend stage.
Melody was about as excited as Lisa had ever seen her. Lisa suddenly didn’t mind that she wasn’t the star tonight.
“For my first trick,” Melody said, “I’m going to turn this one flower into … a bunch of other flowers.”
That was Lisa’s cue, even if Melody had forgotten the word bouquet. Lisa had to wave the magic wand for this trick. Melody’s hands were busy in the folds of her magic cape.
Lisa hurried across the room and waved the wand before returning to the side. Seconds later, Melody pulled out a bouquet of flowers. Everybody clapped.
The ball out of the hat trick went perfectly too. So did the other tricks they had practiced.
Then came the grand finale. Melody held up the owl. “I am going to change this stuffed animal, by magic!”
Lisa noticed that Melody looked a little nervous for the first time during the show. Lisa gave her an encouraging smile.
Melody put the owl into the magic box. She waved her wand, said the magic words, and pulled out … the dog! She did it!
A huge grin spread across Melody’s face as she finished her toughest trick. The whole family clapped and cheered.
Lisa clapped hardest of all. This was much better than being the star of the show. She had helped her little sister feel magnificent. That was real magic.

Can you imagine being bishop of the whole Church? That was Elder Gary E. Stevenson’s calling before he became an Apostle. Elder Stevenson was born in Ogden, Utah, on August 6, 1955. When Gary was young, his father was a bishop. Gary often went with his father to visit widows in their ward. By watching his father, Gary learned to care for others like Christ would.

After I returned from my mission, I stayed with my family for three weeks before I had to leave to enter Brigham Young University. Before school started, my father visited me, meeting my friends and seeing Salt Lake City. When I took him to the airport, he embraced me and told me, “Out of all 46 years of my life, never ever have I felt more love or the Spirit of God in my home than when you were home the last few weeks. I know that we owe it to the service that you gave in Spain for two years.”

Liisa comes by her love for animals naturally. As a child she lived on a farm and had a pet horse. “I remember wondering when I was young if the Lord could love my horse as much as I did. I decided that he must, and that I must love all his creatures, too. They are, after all, part of this world he created for me and for you.”

The Church first got involved helping York City Council when York experienced devastating floods in 2015. Rowntree Park had been severely affected. A group of over 300 volunteers made up of members of the York Stake and residents worked together on this JustServe project to help clean up the park and lay tons of fresh mulch.

Emma Smith, the first president of this organization, said to the sisters, “We are going to do something extraordinary” (Minutes of the Female Relief Society, 17 Mar. 1842, 7, Historical Department Archives, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints). Our celebration was indeed “something extraordinary.” What began in 1842 with 20 women in Nauvoo, Illinois, now involves nearly four million women on every continent and in almost every country in the world. But what is significant is that it began with one woman, Margaret Cook, who offered to sew shirts for the men working on the Nauvoo Temple. She needed cloth and could not afford to buy it. Sarah Kimball offered the cloth, and within weeks the Relief Society was organized by the Prophet Joseph Smith under the inspiration of the Lord. It began with a small offering—at the front gate—and it has grown to a major force for good around the world, one stone at a time.

Elder Montoya also finds strength in his family’s legacy of faith. His great-grandfather Rafael Monroy is a pivotal figure in the history of the Church in Mexico. In 1915 Brother Monroy and a fellow member, Vicente Morales, were arrested by a group of revolutionaries during the Mexican Revolution. Both men were told they would be released if, among other demands, they renounced their religion.
The two refused and were shot to death by firing squad.
Elder Montoya said his great-grandfather’s example remains a powerful influence in his life. “I’ve learned that feelings of fear can be overcome by feelings of faith and testimony when you know you are doing the right things.”