Gospel Story Finder

It was hard to tell if Guillermo had dark brown or medium brown or tan skin, for he was covered from head to toes with dirt. His black hair, which hung in matted clumps over his ears, had been hacked off with a knife in uneven handfuls just above what used to be the collar of his shirt. There was little else left of the shirt except for a few buttons holding rags across his skinny chest. The rag shirt was stuffed into the waist of a pair of torn pants, two or three sizes too large, and all of it was held together by a piece of rope. No shoes. No coat. His black eyes darted back and forth suspiciously as he looked at us, yet he remained in the corner and listened as we talked.
Guillermo. That’s “William” in Spanish. He had chosen the name himself because, as far as he knew, no one else had ever named him. Guillermo was a gamin, a French term used to describe a street orphan. Sometime in his tender childhood, his parents had abandoned him to the street, probably because they were too poor to feed him. So, at age three or four, Guillermo found himself alone, huddling in cold doorways for shelter at night, covering himself with cardboard to keep out the cold night mist. During the day he raided garbage cans or stole apples from street vendors in order to eat. Probably the worst part of all was that he had plenty of competition for these meager luxuries, for many, many gamines roam the city streets. How they survive is a mystery, yet they do—or most of them do—living testaments to the human instinct for survival.
Guillermo ended up being one of the luckier ones, for at age twelve (his own estimate), he came under the protection of a kind store owner. The man let Guillermo sleep in his back room and even paid him a little each week, plus a meal a day, to clean up around the store. Guillermo was a nice boy who never used crude words and never betrayed the trust of the kind old man by stealing from him. He became the favorite of a number of the housewives around the neighborhood. Occasionally he would find an old pair of pants—worn, but not yet ragged—or an old shirt left for him on the back porch of the store. He was never really hungry, and not cold anymore.
Still, he was not like other children who had families and who found time to play. And, of course, he never went to school. The old man was kind to him, but their relationship was always that of employer and employee. So even though he was better off than most gamines, Guillermo was lonely, terribly lonely.
When we knocked on the back door of the little store and introduced ourselves to the old man as missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Guillermo stood by. And when we sat with the store owner to teach him the gospel, Guillermo was permitted to crouch in the far corner and listen. He never asked any questions or made any comments. He just listened.
The old man liked our message and invited us back again and again until we had given all of the discussions. Then he told us he was too old to change and would not be baptized.
We were disappointed that cool evening as we walked down the dusty road away from the store. Suddenly, we heard the soft padding of bare feet come running up behind us. Startled by the sound, we turned to see a very agitated and excited Guillermo.
“Please, Senoritas, I would like to be baptized.” We were stunned and didn’t know what to say. How much did he really understand? Why did he want to be baptized? We told him we would meet with him the next day and would bring along two young men who would ask him some questions to determine if he was ready for baptism.
The next day, the four of us missionaries sat around the dirty street boy, amazed to hear him answer correctly every question put to him. He knew about Joseph Smith; he understood about the plan of salvation, baptism, the Word of Wisdom, the other commandments. We were further surprised, and thrilled, to find that he had borrowed the old man’s copy of the Book of Mormon and had taken it to a neighbor lady, who had read most of it to him in less than two weeks. He said he knew it was all true and wanted to be baptized.
The elders tested him further by insisting he go to church regularly for a month—which he did, coming every Sunday and every Tuesday night for Mutual. And again he surprised us all by coming bathed, with clean hair, and with the best, cleanest old clothes he owned. By the time a month was over, he was begging for baptism.
So one Saturday the elders baptized him in the cold water font of the branch. When he came up out of the water, a gigantic smile broke across his face. He ran to me and threw his dripping arms around my waist, and burst into great sobs.
I asked him why he was crying, and when he finally controlled himself, he looked at me with those black eyes and said, “Now that I have joined His Church, I am a true son of God, am I not?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“Don’t you see,” he earnestly pled with me to understand, “I finally know that I have a Father!”
All those years of loneliness and not belonging to anyone had been washed away that day. The gospel of Jesus Christ had brought to a lonely gamin the knowledge of who he was.
We dried our tears and left Guillermo in the church with other members who welcomed him. Then we went down the street to talk to the lady who had read him the Book of Mormon.

Jotham also gave a report on his dissertation for his MSc degree in Occupational Psychology, in which he spoke to adults with DLD and assessed reasonable adjustments that could be made in the workplace to enable adults with DLD to succeed and thrive. Professor Courtenay Norbury from UCL, who attended the conference, is supporting Jotham in having his research paper published.

Kelly’s mother told me that every morning at 5:00 A.M. they can see the light come on in Kelly’s room as she does her home-study seminary. And when Kelly was given the job of Church organist there were many mornings, before the first light, even when there was fresh snow and the temperature was well below zero, that she would walk a mile down to the church to practice the music for the coming Sunday.

Once there was a man who enjoyed taking evening walks around his neighborhood. He particularly looked forward to walking past his neighbor’s house. This neighbor kept his lawn perfectly manicured, flowers always in bloom, the trees healthy and shady. It was obvious that the neighbor made every effort to have a beautiful lawn.
But one day as the man was walking past his neighbor’s house, he noticed in the middle of this beautiful lawn a single, enormous, yellow dandelion weed.
It looked so out of place that it surprised him. Why didn’t his neighbor pull it out? Couldn’t he see it? Didn’t he know that the dandelion could cast seeds that could give root to dozens of additional weeds?
This solitary dandelion bothered him beyond description, and he wanted to do something about it. Should he just pluck it out? Or spray it with weed killer? Perhaps if he went under cover of night, he could remove it secretly.
These thoughts totally occupied his mind as he walked toward his own home. He entered his house without even glancing at his own front yard—which was blanketed with hundreds of yellow dandelions.

Just for the fun of it, the youth of the Knox Ward in Melbourne decided to show their appreciation for their parents by treating them to dinner. They organized a special evening they called, “The Fabulous Fifties and the Surging Sixties.”
A youth committee selected a menu that would fit the theme; then a large group prepared and served a three-course meal. They played music from the appropriate decades, and parents and kids alike were encouraged to dance. For the adults, it brought back fond memories. For the kids, it made new ones.

Elder Tuttle then left us these lines from Robert Browning Hamilton titled “Along the Road,” which teach a lesson on pleasure and a lesson on sorrow:
I walked a mile with Pleasure.
She chattered all the way,
But left me none the wiser
For all she had to say.
I walked a mile with Sorrow,
And ne’er a word said she;
But oh, the things I learned from her
When Sorrow walked with me!

Another water bird, the jacana, which walks on floating vegetation, incubates its eggs by holding them on a shelf-like bone under each wing. Some jacanas even carry their chicks under their wings. Making a churring noise, the mother bird crouches low. The chicks hear the signal and run under her wings. She presses her wings firmly against her sides and stands up. With the chicks’ feet dangling below her wings, she walks away with them, looking like a human mother who has just whisked up her two youngsters under her arms to take them inside from play.

The July morning was already hot when Jennie walked to the barn to feed Skipper. When she opened the barn door, he whinnied noisily and stamped his hooves impatiently. Jennie put his grain into a pail and took it into his stall, then filled his manger with sweet-smelling hay. She took his water bucket outside to clean and fill it and noticed that the warm summer air was very still. There wasn’t even a hint of a cooling breeze.
It’s going to be too hot again to go riding, she thought. The past several weeks had been much warmer than usual, and not a drop of rain had fallen. The fields were so dry that they made crunching sounds underfoot.
After giving Skipper his fresh water, Jennie walked up through the meadow and the old apple orchard to the edge of the woods where Grumpy, the fat woodchuck, had made his burrow. Sometimes he would come out and nibble at the clover while she watched, and occasionally he came close enough to snatch a carrot from her hand. If she moved too quickly, he would sit up and chatter as though he were scolding her for interrupting his meal. But this morning he was nowhere in sight. Except for a squeaking chipmunk dashing along the old stone wall, everything was quiet. Not even the birds were twittering in the woods. It almost seemed that all the wild creatures that usually scurried around the farm had gone away.
Jennie walked back to the barn and opened the door to Skipper’s stall. He nudged her with his soft nose, then cantered out of the barn with a clatter of hooves and headed for the far end of the field, where he could graze in the shade of the old apple trees.
Seeing her mother headed for the vegetable garden, Jennie ran to join her. The peas and beans were ready for picking, and some of the tomatoes were turning red.
“Are you going to ride over to Marie’s today?” Mother asked.
“No, it’s still too hot. I let Skipper out in the meadow, it’s cooler for him there.”
For half an hour they worked at filling a basket with plump green peas. Now and then Jennie would open a pod and eat the sweet sun-warmed peas. When the basket was brimming, they started back to the house. Suddenly her mother said, “What’s the matter with Skipper?”
At the far end of the meadow, Skipper was galloping back and forth, sometimes pausing to gaze into the woods. He gave a loud, shrill whinny, then raced toward the barn. When he saw Jennie and her mother approaching the fence, he ran to them, snorted, then dashed frantically back across the meadow, stopping at the stone wall to paw the ground.
“He acts as though something is frightening him,” Jennie’s mother said. “Do you suppose there’s a bobcat up there?”
As she spoke, Skipper galloped back to where they stood at the fence. He nickered and nudged Jennie’s shoulder in the direction of the woods. He seemed to be asking her to go with him. Then he was gone again to the end of the field, where he pranced and reared near the edge of the woods. Normally Skipper was quiet and gentle, but now he was acting like a wild horse.
Jennie’s big brother, Tim, joined them at the fence. “Something sure is upsetting Skipper,” he said. “Better stay here, Jen, until I find out what’s the matter.” As Tim climbed over the fence and headed into the field, he thought that he detected a wisp of smoke.
Skipper saw Tim and raced toward him, whinnying loudly. He skidded to a stop, nudged Tim, then galloped back to the edge of the woods where he stood shaking his head and tossing his mane. Jennie and her mother waited and watched.
Tim reached the horse, climbed over the stone wall, and disappeared into the woods. A moment later he came pelting back, shouting, “Call the fire department! There’s a big brushfire just beyond the edge of the woods, and it’s burning this way! It could destroy everything! That’s what Skipper has been trying to tell us.”
Soon two fire trucks came roaring up the road, their sirens wailing. Close behind them were two forest-service trucks with large water tanks.
All the long day Jennie stayed close to the house, wondering what was happening in the woods. Twice the forest-service trucks returned to fill their big tanks at the water hole near the house.
In the late afternoon Tim returned to the house—dirty, hot, and covered with soot.
“Is the fire out?” asked Jennie as she handed him a sandwich and a glass of cold milk.
“Not quite,” replied Tim, “but they have it under control, and they’re digging trenches so that it won’t spread anymore.”
It was nearly dark when the fire trucks rolled out of the woods and turned into the driveway. Jennie and her mother carried platters of sandwiches and jugs of cold water and milk to the tired, soot-begrimed men. The fire chief came over to Jennie and smiled as he said, “Your brother told us that it was your horse that discovered the fire. If it hadn’t been for him, the whole woods might have gone up in flames.”
The next day when Jennie went to pick up the mail, on top of the mailbox was a big bag of carrots with a note that read: “To Skipper, our honorary fireman, from everyone in the fire department.”

I joined the Church two years ago, and I am the only member in my immediate family. Since joining the Church I have received the New Era. I wait at the mailbox for it. I rip off the plastic wrap and dive into it. I don’t put it down until I have read it cover to cover. The New Era has helped me to know that the trials I face are also the same trials youth all over the Church face as we strive to choose the right. Every month the articles are timely and pertinent to my life. Thanks to the New Era, my testimony has grown, and I have been better prepared for a mission.Cole J. Machado, Eureka Second Ward, Eureka California Stake

Meanwhile Gary focused his attention on football. His wrist, sprained during a preseason scrimmage, kept him from starting the first game of his junior year. Then someone else earned the starting quarterback position, and for the first time in his life, Gary, fit and ready, sat on the bench. That was a discouraging time for him, but he quietly worked, watched, and waited for his chance to play. Nearly halfway through the season, the chance came.
“We were behind by seven, with one minute and three seconds left to play, 70 yards to go, and a 40-mile-an-hour wind in our faces,” Gary recalls. “But things clicked, and we almost won that game. We were on the three-yard line when time ran out.”
The game had ended, but the Sheide era at BYU had begun. In less than two seasons Gary broke records that it had taken other WAC athletes three years to set. During his brief career Gary threw 595 times and completed 358 passes for 60.3 percent, 4,524 yards, and 45 touchdown passes. He set a conference record for completed passes (32) and touchdown passes (6) in one game. He also set a WAC record for completion percentage. United Press International twice named him National Back of the Week, and the Associated Press named him National Player of the Week. He was on the All-WAC first team, was the United Press Most Valuable Player in the WAC, and was eighth in the Heisman Trophy voting. He was second in the nation in passing for two years running. He led BYU to a Western Athletic Conference championship and the right to play in the nationally televised Fiesta Bowl.

My friend struggled because he worried about what others think of him, and he lost his self-respect. What helped him the most was remembering that God, his friends, and his family were all there to love and support him.
Matthew V., age 16, Missouri, USA

Jetta Pearl Stewart pulled off her bonnet and plopped down on the porch next to Father. “What’s a pearl?” she asked him.
Eight-year-old Jetta knew what a pearl was, but she loved hearing Father’s answer. Like always, Father explained how pearls grow in oysters, layer upon layer, until they become bright and beautiful.
“Pearls shine like you, my little Jetta Pearl,” he said, smiling. Jetta smiled back. She liked being his Pearl.
At dinner that night, Father told Jetta he had an important question for her.
“Ever since you were little, you have had a special way with music,” Father said. “Would you like to learn the piano?”
Jetta’s eyes widened. “Oh, yes!”
“It would mean traveling far away and staying with your teacher for a while,” Mother said. “No one here in Milburn can teach you.”
Jetta’s smile faded. She had never been away from her family for more than a day. And to be far away …
“But it’s important for us to develop our talents, even when it’s difficult,” Father said.
Mother nodded. “You would have to work very hard.”
Jetta loved music. And she had always wanted to play the piano. Slowly, a smile crept onto her face. “I’m going to play the piano!”
But the next morning, as Jetta watched Father hitch the horses to the wagon, she didn’t feel excited at all. Today she was just scared. She hadn’t expected to be leaving home so soon.
Jetta slowly climbed up into the wagon next to Father.
“You ready, Jetta Pearl?” he said.
She didn’t feel ready, but Jetta nodded. The wagon lurched forward.
After a while, Father glanced over at her. “Do you know how proud your mother and I are of you?”
Jetta nodded. “But what if you need my help at home?”
Father smiled. “We’ll sure miss you, but this is a way only you can help. You’ll be serving Heavenly Father by developing a gift He gave you.”
She hadn’t thought about it like that. Could her musical talent really be a gift from Heavenly Father?
Father continued. “It will take time, but little by little you’ll get better at playing piano. And then you’ll be able to serve lots of people.”
Jetta felt her fear start to fade. She was going to learn the piano and serve Heavenly Father. It would be scary, but she knew that He would help her.
Father winked. “Layer by layer, my little Pearl is getting bright and shiny.”
Just like Father had said, little by little Jetta learned to play the piano. She even learned how to play the organ.
After a few months, Jetta returned home. That Sunday she became Milburn’s very first organist! Her heart raced as she sat at the huge organ the community had worked to buy for her to play. It was so beautiful that Jetta was almost afraid to touch it. She had to sit on a book to reach the keys.
She took a deep breath and started to play. The notes soared across the room, full and beautiful.
Jetta sneaked a peek at the congregation. People were smiling as they sang. Jetta smiled too. Her playing was far from perfect, but she was using her talents to serve.
She remembered Father’s words: “Pearls shine like you, Jetta Pearl.”
Little by little, layer by layer, Heavenly Father was making her into a true pearl.

We made the paper lanterns from the December 2014 Friend for part of our Christmas decorations. They turned out pretty!

How long is it until my birthday?” Jonathan asked Mother one wet, rainy day when he couldn’t go outside to play.
“Four months,” Mother answered. “Why?”
“Oh, I just wondered. How long is it until Susan’s birthday?”
“Don’t you remember? Susan’s birthday was just last month,” Mother said. “It will be 11 months before she has another one.”
“Oh,” Jonathan said. “It’s not time for Christmas, either, is it?” He sighed as he walked down the hall. More than anything, he liked times like Christmas and birthdays.
“I like getting presents,” Jonathan told his dog, Wags, when he got to his room. “I like giving presents, too. I wish today was Christmas or a birthday so we could have presents.”
Suddenly Jonathan realized that he hadn’t asked Mother about her birthday or Dad’s. He ran back to the kitchen.
“No,” said Mother, looking up from the big pot of soup she was stirring. “Neither Dad nor I have one today. Why do you keep asking about birthdays?”
“Oh, I just like them.” Jonathan trudged back to his room. He opened the bottom drawer of his dresser, where he kept his special treasures. “If it was Mother’s birthday,” he told Wags, “I could make her a crayon print with these leaves I saved. Mother really liked the crayon print I made her at kindergarten. She liked it a lot.”
“If it was Dad’s birthday,” he told Wags, “I could give him this nice block of wood I found in the park last week. Dad’s always looking for wood that he can carve into animals.”
“If it was Susan’s birthday,” he told Wags, “I could give her five of my best marbles. They would look very pretty at the bottom of her fish tank.”
Jonathan gave a deep, big sigh. “Oh, Wags,” he said, “I do wish it was someone’s birthday, or Christmas, or any day at all when I could give a present!”
Then he smiled, “Maybe, just maybe, today is a day when I can give presents.” He grinned. “Yes, it is!” he told Wags. Then he went to work.
First, he put his pretty leaves under a sheet of paper. Carefully he rubbed across the paper with red and yellow and orange crayons.
Next, he took out the block of wood and wiped it with tissue paper so that it would be nice and clean for Dad to carve.
Finally, he counted out five of his prettiest marbles.
“It’s time for dinner,” Mother called.
Jonathan carried his presents to the dinner table and placed them beside the right bowls.
“Presents for everyone!” he exclaimed when Dad, Mother, and Susan sat down.
“But it isn’t our birthdays,” Mother reminded him.
“And it isn’t Christmas,” Susan and Dad said at the same time.
“No, it isn’t a birthday or Christmas,” Jonathan said. “It’s another special day I thought of—it’s today! And I decided that today was the best day for giving ‘just because I like you’ presents!”
“What a lovely idea,” Mother said. “As soon as we’ve eaten, I’ll hang up this picture where we can all enjoy it.”
Dad said, “This block of wood is just the kind I like for carving.”
“The marbles are really pretty,” Susan said. “Thank you, Jonathan.”
Jonathan was smiling from ear to ear. He had more treasures in his bottom drawer and lots of friends he could give presents to on another “just because I like you” day.

The divine genius of the organization of this work and of calls to leadership is evident. The General Authorities are all individuals, each with his own personality. Each brings to his responsibilities a wide variety of experience and background. When matters come up for discussion in the leading councils of the Church, each is free to express his views. As one observes that interesting process at work, it is fascinating to witness the power of the Holy Spirit influence these men. Initial differences never sharp but nonetheless perceptible soften and meld into an expression of unity. “My house is a house of order,” said the Lord (see D&C 132:8). In witnessing this process at work, I experience a constant renewal of faith. …

For years, Aarika’s grandparents Raymond and Marilyn Perez supported Aarika and her brother, Aaron, as they went to church. But becoming members themselves wasn’t in the Perez’s plans. “I’m not going to become a Mormon,” Marilyn would tell her granddaughter. And the granddaughter would just smile because she had other ideas.
When Aaron left as a missionary to the Chile Santiago South Mission, Aarika began inviting her grandparents to church, and the Perezes accepted the invitations. Meanwhile Aaron wrote them letters from the mission field.
“And when Aaron got home from his mission, things got more and more serious about the Church,” Aarika recalls. Not long after that, what they said wouldn’t happen did. Raymond and Marilyn were baptized in December 1999.

After seeing the fine article in the November issue on exploring tips, we wanted other explorers to know that we just returned from a trip into Baja California. Four years ago, when Dr. C. R. Brown was called to be our post adviser from the high council, he asked us what we wanted to do. Everyone replied, “What difference does it make?” He said, “Try me.” We did. In the next four years we decided we wanted to go to Alaska, Guatemala, down the Baja trail, and to Europe. Well—after much work and planning, two years ago we went up the AI-Can Highway to Alaska and then down to the international Scout-Explorer Conference in Idaho. Last year we went to Guatemala, explored many ruins, and met some wonderful people. This year Brother Brown was released as our adviser, and in consultation with our new adviser, Frank Nelson, we decided to go down the Baja. Dune buggies and jeeps did the job. We cooked on the hot engines as we drove—venison steaks and fish fillets—by wrapping the meat in tinfoil and laying it on the engine for a couple of hours. As for going to Europe later this year, the request was made partly in jest, but our committee is considering it, and if sufficient funds can be raised, you can be sure that we’ll do it. We hope that other Explorer troops can take inspiration from what can be done if everyone starts to get excited.
Explorers of Post 440Covina (California) Second Ward

Suppose you read the following advertisement in a respected magazine: “Radium is restoring health to thousands. Just a light, small, comfortable radioactive pad, worn on the back by day and over the stomach at night. … Thousands have written us that it healed them of … heart, liver, and kidney trouble.”
You would not believe it, would you? Now suppose you heard a nationally known psychologist say on TV that since the old standards of chastity, virtue, and marriage don’t fit the way many people now live, we ought to lower the standards.
Both claims have actually been made. The magazine advertisement appeared in 1930. The TV statement was made just a few years ago. No sane person today would believe the radiation claims. The laws and effects of radiation have been scientifically studied, and even we nonscientists understand radiation is not something to fool with.
Unfortunately, the claim made by the psychologist—and many others—is a different matter. Millions of people are buying the rationale that chastity is outdated. At least the advertisement for the radium “cure” openly told people they could try it now and pay later. However, in any promotion for promiscuity, “pay later” is hidden in the fine print, if it is owned up to at all.

Becoming a member of the Church was a very happy day for Gabbi. She remembers eagerly looking forward to her baptism and confirmation. “I felt fresh and clean after my baptism. I decided I would try to be nicer to my brother and sister. I’m trying to be very patient with my brother while I help him learn to read.”

A recent letter from some concerned parents is typical. It illustrates some of the problems facing LDS women:
Dear President Smith,
Sometime ago we received a phone call from our daughter. She is in the army. She was crying over the phone; in fact, she was almost hysterical. She felt she had not one friend on earth. Those she thought were her friends had deserted her and were, in fact, persecuting her unmercifully, for one reason because she is a “Mormon.” To say we were in despair is an understatement. …
A second letter was enclosed with this letter. It read in part:
I am your daughter’s Relief Society visiting teacher. My companion and I were at first unable to locate her. When we did make contact, we found a depressed and mixed-up young lady. I’m not connected with the military, and I soon had my eyes opened to the unfortunate circumstances in which girls in the military may find themselves. How very difficult it would be to keep gospel standards in mind when one is continually subject to the rowdy, cigarette-filled barracks, and the regimentation of a job for which one is neither suited nor trained.
Since that initial visit, and on following visits as she became aware of the Church here, a distinct change has come over her. As far as her work permits, she attends ward functions, and everyone is aware of her friendly presence. One could almost measure the light that came back into her lovely eyes. She began to smile as she realized that people cared. You’re going to be welcoming home a very special daughter. I shall miss her because she is my friend. I shall always be grateful to her for showing me the change that can come into a life when you firmly grasp the iron rod.