Gospel Story Finder

I’m 16 years old and have been getting the New Era for over a year now. I never really read it until my mom read it one day and fell in love with it and told me there were neat stories in it. My mom is the president of the Young Women and encouraged all of us girls to read it.
I would like to thank Cyndi Erickson from Utah. Her letter was printed in the February 1988 Feedback section under the title “Don’t give up!” I’ve been going through some hard times, and when Mother read that letter in our Young Women meeting I got tears in my eyes. When I came home I read it again. Cyndi, I want you to know that you’ve touched someone’s heart. You’ve helped me put my life together, and I’m sure you’ve touched others too. I’m a new person now, and I love it. I love the Church, the gospel, Heavenly Father, my family, and the New Era!
Shelli BiglerWalnut, California

When I was 28, I was meeting with the manager of the trade department of a large corporation and coffee was served. I politely declined, explaining that I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and that I do not partake of alcoholic beverages, coffee, tea, or tobacco. The trade manager quickly accepted this and even praised me for my faith.

My mother, Stella Oaks, died before any of our grandchildren were born. So Sister Oaks and I had a “Stella party” to help them learn about her. I also wrote a book about her and about my father. You can learn more about your ancestors too. This will give you strength and direction for your life.

President and Sister Oaks had a “Stella party” to help their grandchildren get to know their great-grandmother Stella Oaks. Here are some things they did.
They decorated with Great-Grandmother Stella’s favorite color—yellow!
Everyone wore a hat, like she always did.
They looked at pictures and heard stories about her.

Forty-one years ago I climbed into the driver’s seat of an 18-wheel semitruck with my beautiful wife, Jan, and our infant son, Scotty. We were taking a heavy load of construction materials across several states.
In those days there were no seat-belt restrictions or infant car seats. My wife held our precious son in her arms. Her comment “We sure are high off the ground” should have given me a clue about her feelings of apprehension.
As we made our descent over historic Donner Pass, a steep section of highway, the cab of the semi suddenly and unexpectedly filled with thick smoke. It was difficult to see, and we could hardly breathe.
With a heavy rig, brakes alone are not enough to rapidly decrease speed. Using the engine brakes and gearing down, I frantically attempted to stop.
Just as I was pulling to the side of the road, but before we had come to a full stop, my wife opened the door of the cab and jumped out with our baby in her arms. I watched helplessly as they tumbled in the dirt.
As soon as I had the semi stopped, I bolted from the smoking cab. With adrenaline pumping, I ran through the rocks and weeds and held them in my arms. Jan’s forearms and elbows were battered and bleeding, but thankfully she and our son were both breathing. I just held them close as the dust settled there on the side of the highway.
As my heartbeat normalized and I caught my breath, I blurted out, “What in the world were you thinking? Do you know how dangerous that was? You could have been killed!”
She looked back at me, with tears running down her smoke-smudged cheeks, and said something that pierced my heart and still rings in my ears: “I was just trying to save our son.”
I realized in that moment she thought the engine was on fire, fearing the truck would explode and we would die. I, however, knew it was an electrical failure—hazardous but not fatal. I looked at my precious wife, softly rubbing the head of our infant son, and wondered what kind of woman would do something so courageous.
This situation could have been as emotionally hazardous as our literal engine failure. Gratefully, after enduring the silent treatment for a reasonable amount of time, each of us believing the other person was at fault, we finally expressed the emotions that were churning beneath our heated outbursts. Shared feelings of love and fear for the other’s safety kept the hazardous incident from proving fatal to our cherished marriage.
When our truck cab filled with smoke, my wife acted in the bravest manner she could imagine to protect our son. I too acted as a protector when I questioned her choice. Shockingly, it did not matter who was more right. What mattered was listening to each other and understanding the other’s perspective.

Switch channels with me to a scene on a Saturday night in a ranch home kitchen, where a boy who has just answered the telephone nervously approaches his mother with a question: “Mom,” he says, “Bob is on the phone. He and his dad and Tom and his dad are going snowmobiling and shooting tomorrow morning, and they want to know if I can go with them.” The mother seems startled at the question and uncertain as she answers. (Later, she explains that she was strongly tempted to respond sharply to her boy, reminding him that he had duties on Sunday morning, that in their family they went to church together, and that when Dad returned later that night he would not consider such a thing.) But instead, she says to her son, “Richard, you are twelve years old. You hold the priesthood. You are president of the deacons quorum. I am sure Dad would want you to make up your own mind and answer Bob yourself.”
The boy goes back to the telephone, and the mother goes to her room and prays that their son will give the right answer. Nothing more is said about the matter, and on Sunday morning the lad and his parents go into town to church, park in the lot across the street, and are crossing, arm-in-arm, when a pickup truck passes. Two men and two boys are in the seat, snowmobiles in the truck bed, guns slung in the rear window. The boys wave to Richard as they pass. He pauses a moment and says, “Gee, I wish …” The mother catches her breath a bit, and then Richard finishes: “Gee, I wish I had been able to talk Bob and Tom into coming to priesthood meeting this morning.”
The mother, telling the story, thanks the Lord for this choice lad and his personal decision to do the right thing. And then she weeps freely as she explains how important that was to all of them. You see, their son was killed in a farm accident that week.

A few weeks ago at a fast and testimony meeting at our ward, I watched a little boy on the back row mustering up courage to bear his testimony. He made three or four false starts and then sat down. Finally it was his turn. He squared his little shoulders, walked bravely up the aisle to the stand, took the two steps up to the level of the pulpit, stepped over and put his hands on the pulpit, gazed into the congregation, smiled—and then turned around, went back off those two steps and down the same aisle to his mother and father. I looked at you tonight in this vast Conference Center and thought of those listening in and could appreciate more fully the actions of that little boy.

It took us 14 days to cross the Atlantic. Some of the way it was awful rough, and I was seasick all the way. But we landed in New York safe and sound. There we boarded the train for Utah. In about four days we arrived in Salt Lake City, July 17, 1872, late in the evening. Before coming to the station the president of our company, Anthon H. Lund, told us that when we arrived at the station, a good many of us would meet relatives and friends, and some of them would take us home with them. But he said, “Do not let any of them take you home with them just then, for you will all be taken to a banquet. Instead, take them with you to the banquet.”

It was then about ten o’clock in the evening. The name of the house I did not know, but it was large enough for all of us to sit down at the tables at once. As far as I can remember, there were about 300 of us. They had all gone in but myself, for I did not think I belonged. I knew I was not a Mormon, though all the rest of them were. As I have told before, I was rather bitter. But Brother Lund came out and saw me a ways off. He came over to me and asked me where my parents were. I said they had gone in but I didn’t belong. He then took me by the arm over to the door and said in Danish, “Please go in. You are welcome.” So, of course, I went in. I tell you it was the best supper I had ever seen, all kinds of good things. When we got through with the meal, it was about midnight, but the tables were still spread and plenty of all kinds of good things on the tables. We were to go and help ourselves. It was all for us.

There was no one who called for us, so we stayed around in that hall till morning. I don’t know just what the rest of them did, but I lay down on a bench by the table and fell asleep. When I awakened, the sun was up and the rest were up and around. I didn’t wait for breakfast, for there was still plenty of food on the tables, and we were told that we were welcome to all and to help ourselves. I did so, and I surely had a good breakfast that morning as well as supper the night before.

Older children also have a great influence upon younger children. A few weeks ago as I was interviewing a prospective missionary, I asked him, “Why do you want to go on a mission?” He replied, “I know this church is the Church of Jesus Christ, and I want to tell others about it. And, besides,” he said, “I’m the oldest child in the family, and I want to set a pattern for my brothers to follow.” What a wonderful spirit.

Ben’s interest in photographing animals began when he was 14. Whilst being driven to school, he noticed some deer in a field and wished he could have taken a picture. He had caught the bug. He would go out in the early hours of the morning or late afternoons looking for animal and bird subjects he could photograph. His family have encouraged and supported his passion, even arranging trips to the Isle of Skye so he could photograph sea otters.

They didn’t set out to be heroes
As they cheerfully said goodbye.
They were singing and marching in unison
In stout hearts their spirits were high.
Leaving family, home and all that was familiar.
Determined to fight for their King and country.
No price was too high. They were willing to pay.
Those left behind deserved to be free.
Troop ships landed on foreign shores
No brass bands playing the national anthem.
Just a gun, a tin hat and a small kit bag
And premonition of being held to ransom.
Those trenches were hell with mud and rain
Oozing through khaki uniforms, no respite from cold.
Commands passed along midst the noisy confusion
And Tommy tried hard to be brave and bold.
Shoulder to shoulder men stood resolute and firm.
As one soldier dropped another took his place.
In his heart Tommy wept fearing he would be next
But that fear never showed on his face.
Now his body lies in an unmarked grave
Tommy never returned to the land of his birth.
He willingly gave all, King and country to save.
Now lest we forget, scarlet tears warm the earth.

When I noticed a paper snowman at school, I thought that no one wanted it. I picked it up, tore it into small pieces, and made a paper trail out of it. I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, but I did. The snowman belonged to a second-grader named Phyllis. When she came back to get it and saw what had happened to it, she began to cry.
My heart ached to make Phyllis feel better, but I didn’t know how. I was afraid to tell anyone what I had done, but my little sister had seen what happened and told my mom. I think that this is the only time I’ve been grateful that she loves to tattle on me.
My parents and I talked about the steps of repentance: first, tell the person and Heavenly Father that you’re sorry; second, do your best to fix the wrong; third, promise to never do it again.
I realized that I couldn’t fix Phyllis’s paper snowman, but the next day I apologized to her and found out what her favorite candy bar was. Then I vacuumed, washed dishes, and did other chores at home to earn money to buy Phyllis her favorite candy. Usually I don’t like to do chores, but that day it made me feel extra good inside. Mom said that the good feeling was the Holy Ghost telling me that I was doing the right thing.
The next morning, Mom and I went to Phyllis’s classroom, and Mom explained to the teacher why I was giving Phyllis the candy bar. I was embarrassed, thinking that the teacher would think that I was mean. But she said that I was wonderful and that the world would be a much better place if more people were like me! It felt nice to have her think highly of me, but not as nice as the smile Phyllis gave me when I handed her the candy bar. It was a big, beautiful smile that told me, “I forgive you.”
As we left the classroom, I felt warm and happy inside. Mom said that it was the Holy Ghost telling me that Heavenly Father was pleased with me. I hope to feel the Holy Ghost in my life many more times as I take advantage of the gift of repentance.

This quality, Brigham’s growing confidence in the power of the Lord available to him, associated closely with the humble recognition of his own roughness and his need for polishing, is revealed again in his entry on crossing Lake Erie:
“The lake was so rough that no boat came into port until the 26th, when we went on board the steamboat Columbus. … The wind rose about one o’clock in the morning. I went up on deck and felt impressed in spirit to pray to the Father, in the name of Jesus, for a forgiveness of my sins, and then I felt to command the winds to cease, and let us go safe on our journey. The winds abated, and I felt to give the glory and honor and praise to that God who rules all things.”26

(President of the Church from 1995 to 2008)
President Gordon B. Hinckley learned at a young age that good gifts don’t have to cost a lot of money. He watched his parents visit widows during the holidays and take them bread and treats. As he grew up, Gordon tried to make thoughtful gifts for others. He and his brother, Sherman, decided to work together to build Christmas presents for their sisters. Some of their gifts over the years included a small cupboard, a yellow treasure chest, and a fancy desk and chair.

Eliza R. Snow, second General President of the Relief Society, offered a riveting answer. Because of Missouri’s infamous extermination order, issued at the onset of the grueling winter of 1838, she and other Saints were forced to flee the state that very winter. One evening, Eliza’s family spent the night in a small log cabin used by refugee Saints. Much of the chinking between the logs had been extracted and burned for firewood by those who preceded them, so there were holes between the logs large enough for a cat to crawl through. It was bitter cold, and their food was frozen solid.

That night some 80 people huddled inside that small cabin, only 20 feet square (6.1 meters square). Most sat or stood all night trying to keep warm. Outside, a group of men spent the night gathered around a roaring fire, with some singing hymns and others roasting frozen potatoes. Eliza recorded: “Not a complaint was heard—all were cheerful, and judging from appearances, strangers would have taken us to be pleasure excursionists rather than a band of gubernatorial exiles.”

Eliza’s report of that exhausting, bone-chilling evening was strikingly optimistic. She declared: “That was a very merry night. None but saints can be happy under every circumstance.”

The family will also talk about how Julee’s brother, Kenny, 13 at the time, worked a paper route until he’d earned enough money to buy his then 9-year-old sister her first competition bike. “He worked hard for a long time, and then he gave everything he’d earned to buy a bike for his sister,” Julee’s mother explained.

Tsentralny Branch meets in the House of Trade Unions Building near a large fountain in the center of the city. One Sunday in August 1992, three members of the Church from the United States visited the branch. Usually ten to fifteen children attend Primary. On this particular day, though, only five were present: Kirill, Tanya, Denise (10), Slyic (5), and Yaraslav (4).
During Primary singing time, the children learned the words and actions to “Book of Mormon Stories.” Sister Norton, a missionary from California, taught the lesson. She explained the importance of asking for a blessing on the food before eating a meal. She asked the children about their favorite foods. Tanya and Slyic like soup. Denise likes pineapple but only gets it occasionally because it is very expensive. Yaraslav enjoys bananas and watermelon. Kirill likes bananas and borscht (beet soup). Bananas cost so much that his mother must save money to buy one.

In 1918 Brother George Goates was a farmer who raised sugar beets in Lehi, Utah. Winter came early that year and froze much of his beet crop in the ground. For George and his young son Francis, the harvest was slow and difficult. Meanwhile, an influenza epidemic was raging. The dreaded disease claimed the lives of George’s son Charles and three of Charles’s small children—two little girls and a boy. In the course of only six days, a grieving George Goates made three separate trips to Ogden, Utah, to bring the bodies home for burial. At the end of this terrible interlude, George and Francis hitched up their wagon and headed back to the beet field.
“[On the way] they passed wagon after wagon-load of beets being hauled to the factory and driven by neighborhood farmers. As they passed by, each driver would wave a greeting: ‘Hi ya, Uncle George,’ ‘Sure sorry, George,’ ‘Tough break, George,’ ‘You’ve got a lot of friends, George.’
“On the last wagon was … freckled-faced Jasper Rolfe. He waved a cheery greeting and called out: ‘That’s all of ’em, Uncle George.’
“[Brother Goates] turned to Francis and said: ‘I wish it was all of ours.’
“When they arrived at the farm gate, Francis jumped down off the big red beet wagon and opened the gate as [his father] drove onto the field. [George] pulled up, stopped the team, … and scanned the field. … There wasn’t a sugar beet on the whole field. Then it dawned upon him what Jasper Rolfe meant when he called out: ‘That’s all of ’em, Uncle George!’
“[George] got down off the wagon, picked up a handful of the rich, brown soil he loved so much, and then … a beet top, and he looked for a moment at these symbols of his labor, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.
“Then [he] sat down on a pile of beet tops—this man who brought four of his loved ones home for burial in the course of only six days; made caskets, dug graves, and even helped with the burial clothing—this amazing man who never faltered, nor flinched, nor wavered throughout this agonizing ordeal—sat down on a pile of beet tops and sobbed like a little child.
“Then he arose, wiped his eyes, … looked up at the sky, and said: ‘Thanks, Father, for the elders of our ward.’”

You could look for someone who needs help and then go over and help them. They might ask your name. Pretty soon you might be playing as friends.
Avery R., age 7, Saudi Arabia

When the bell rang at the end of class, Brian turned around in his desk. “Hey, Chris, have you seen the ads for the latest video game?”
Chris grinned. “Yes, it looks awesome!”
“Do you have it?” Brian asked.
Chris shook his head. “It’ll take me forever to save enough money. But I wish I could play it right now!”
Chris really wanted the new video game. His mom had seen the game and said it was OK for him to get, but he had to buy it himself. But he knew it would be months before he could afford it.
“Guess what?” Brian said. “I got it yesterday!”
Chris’s jaw dropped. “No way!”
Brian nodded. “Do you want to come over tomorrow and play it?”
Chris nearly jumped out of his chair. “Sure I do! That’d be great!”
As soon as Chris got to Brian’s house the next day, they settled in front of the TV. Chris couldn’t stop smiling as he earned points and advanced level after level.
But after a while, Brian put down his controls. “Let’s go outside,” he said.
Chris reluctantly put down his own controls and followed Brian out the back door. They played tag and then hide-and-seek. Chris was hiding behind some bushes when he realized that Brian was taking a long time to find him.
“Where is he?” Chris thought.
Chris left his hiding place. After a minute, he smelled smoke. Was something burning? He followed the smell around the corner of the house and stopped in his tracks. Brian stood in front of him, smoking a cigarette.
Brian smiled and held out a cigarette toward Chris. “Here. It’s fun,” Brian said.
Chris stared at the cigarette. “No,” he said.
Brian puffed on his cigarette. “Tell you what,” he said. “If you smoke with me, we’ll go back in and play the game some more.”
Chris felt like time had slowed down. He thought about how much he wanted to play the game and then he thought about the long months it would take him to save his money for his own copy.
But then Chris thought about the cigarette and what it would mean to smoke it. He thought about the promise he had made to the Lord to never smoke.
Chris stood up straight. “No. I won’t do it for anything.”
Brian looked stunned. But Chris turned away and walked home. When he got there, he sat down on the sidewalk in front of his house. He felt a little sad, but he was proud that he had the strength to make the right choice.

Henry B. Eyring’s great-grandparents fall in love while crossing the plains.