Gospel Story Finder

Some Saints began arriving in the city weeks before April 1893 general conference. Lucy Flake and her husband started their trip from Arizona to Utah on 8 March 1893. “We went by team,” she noted in her journal, “as we hadn’t the money to go on train.” The group “consisted of William, myself, Sister Lanning, Joel and John, Henry and Emma Tanner and two of their children,” she wrote. The journey by wagon was “a cold hard trip, through snow and mud.” At Beaver, Utah, the Flake family finally boarded a train. “William and I took our first train ride together,” Lucy recalled. “We went with a large company of our friends and relatives from Beaver City to Salt Lake. We were joined at every station by others who were going to the Dedication.”

I took the opportunity to hike two amazing hikes with my daughter this year. One of those hikes was Table Rock.

I had always heard of this place, but this was my first attempt at this hike. I never hurt so badly at a physical event in my life. My muscles started cramping about four miles in, with three miles left to go. I found out I don't like straight-off edges and slippery, rocky slopes. I found myself at times clinging to rocks, not able to move from the fear that was setting in. I thought to myself, "This is beautiful right here. I bet the top isn't that much grander." I asked a couple of people coming back down how it was, and their comment was they wanted to quit. But they were so glad they didn't, because it was amazing.

Then something inside starting saying, "What if this is symbolic of your journey to the celestial kingdom?" Am I willing to settle for something less? I kept praying for divine help to work through the pain and the crippling fear I was experiencing, and then came this life lesson. I had made the decision to do this hike. I did not want to fail. If I did not look ahead or behind and I only focused on what was in front of me at that very moment, keeping a prayer in my heart, I was able to move forward one step at a time until I pulled myself over the top of that rock.

The view was breathtaking, literally, and I could not hold back the tears of accomplishment. I could do hard things and was all the better for it.

Homemaking.
The word usually conjures up images of sewing, cooking, and home beautification techniques. But three future homemakers in the small town of Orderville, Utah, are using their homemaking and art skills in a rather unusual way.
Aurelia, Ellen, and Deborah Johnson, three sisters who are also members of their local chapter of Future Homemakers of America, painted over a graffiti-covered wall with a mural carrying the slogan: “PRIDE: A drug-free alternative.”
With the help of several classmates and friends, and the luck of two sunshine-filled weeks in the middle of winter, the sisters were able to send their message of hope.

Ho Jik wanted to learn about many things, so in 1950 he went to Cornell University in New York State to study nutrition. There he met Oliver Wayman, a fellow student and a Church member. Ho Jik was impressed by Brother Wayman’s clean lifestyle—he didn’t smoke, drink, or do other bad things.
When Oliver gave him a copy of The Articles of Faith by James E. Talmage, Ho Jik read it within a week and eagerly asked for more information. Soon he had finished the Book of Mormon, too, and believed it to be the word of God. He started attending Church meetings with Oliver; he also continued to attend Presbyterian services.
On the day Oliver left the university, he stopped his Korean friend in a hallway. “I then bore my testimony of the gospel and told him that it was my opinion that the Lord had moved upon him to come to America … that he might receive the gospel and take it back to his people.” He also told Ho Jik that “if he refused to do the work the Lord had for him to do, another would be raised up in his place.”
Those words had a powerful effect upon Kim Ho Jik. He read the Book of Mormon again, and the Spirit again told him it was true. In July of 1951 he was baptized in the quiet waters of the Susquehanna River, near the place where Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery had been baptized. As he came up out of the water, a voice said to him, “Feed My sheep. Feed My sheep.”

Back when Barbara Hong of Singapore got her patriarchal blessing, she was surprised to be promised that her family would be sealed together in the temple. After all, she and her brother Phillip were the only members of the Church in her family. Their parents were active in another religion.
Last Mother’s Day, however, a step was taken in fulfilling that promise. Their mother accepted a copy of the Book of Mormon. She studied it, and after long discussions with the missionaries, was baptized.
That was an exciting day for the Hongs, and for their entire branch. Both Barbara and Phillip were serving as full-time missionaries in the Singapore mission.
They’re confident that the rest of their family will soon follow their mother’s example.

While I was in graduate school, I received two offers from firms that I felt provided similar opportunities. After studying, counseling, and prayer, my wife and I could not discern which offer would be better for our family. The time came when I had to give an answer to the firms, so I picked one and planned to move forward. During the earlier recruiting process, the recruiter from the other firm coaxed me into promising that I would call her first regardless of what I decided. I wanted to keep my word, so I did call her first. Fortunately, she did not answer, and I was relieved that I could fulfill my promise with a voicemail. In the voicemail, I explained that I had chosen the other firm and then told her all the things that I liked about her firm. The more I talked, the more I felt sick to my stomach about the decision. By the time I hung up, I knew I needed to revisit the decision. I called my wife and asked her to come to campus and pray with me. We prayed and it was clear to both of us that we needed to change our decision. I felt good about it . . . except I had already left her a voicemail declining their offer. I called back, hoping she had not listened to the voicemail yet. She had, but graciously allowed me to change my mind.

One may ask, “How could that happen?” It could have been that I was still learning the language of the Spirit. Even now, I am still learning. Additionally, in some instances, we may find that the original answer is one of several steppingstones to a final destination.

We also learned a beautiful lesson about consecration from one of the assistants to the president in our mission. A decision had been made that one of our missionaries needed to be sent home early from his mission. He had been disobedient on several occasions despite counseling, contracts, and repeated warnings. The airplane ticket had been purchased, and the appropriate approvals were obtained from the South America South Area Presidency and the Missionary Department to send this missionary home.

When the assistants brought the missionary in for his final interview, he protested loudly and tearfully that he did not want to go home. He promised to improve and said he would sign yet another contract. In desperation, President Oveson called the two assistants and Sister Oveson into his office and asked the elder to wait outside while the possible courses of action were discussed. Sister Oveson, somewhat out of patience with the situation, believed that sending him home was the only reasonable thing to do. “If he is allowed to stay,” she maintained, “the other missionaries might think that obedience is not important.”

One of the assistants said, “I have to agree with Hermana Oveson. I don’t think we really have a choice.”

When President Oveson asked the other assistant for his opinion, the assistant said, “I see much good in this elder. President, if you will let me go back out into the field, I will take him for my companion for the rest of my mission. I will take responsibility for him and help him to become a loving and obedient missionary.”

We all had tears in our eyes by the time this elder finished his remarks. We could not believe that anyone could be so loving and caring, especially a 20-year-old missionary. The decision was made to do as he requested. He found it exceedingly difficult at first, but slowly his junior companion learned a great deal from him and became a trustworthy missionary. When the senior companion went home, his companion stayed to finish his mission, becoming in time a senior companion and a trainer before he was honorably released. The follow-up to this true experience is that this once-wayward elder has since married and been sealed in the temple. He and his wife now have a son. They are active in the Church and are helping to build the kingdom. What a difference a consecrated, Christlike person made in the life of this missionary and his future family!

After Joseph Smith had completed translating the Book of Mormon, he still had to find a publisher. This was not easy. The complexity of this lengthy manuscript and the cost of printing and binding thousands of copies were intimidating. Joseph first approached E. B. Grandin, a Palmyra printer, who refused. He then sought another printer in Palmyra, who also turned him down. He traveled to Rochester, 25 miles (40 km) away, and approached the most prominent publisher in western New York, who also turned him down. Another Rochester publisher was willing, but circumstances made this alternative unacceptable.

Weeks had passed, and Joseph must have been bewildered at the opposition to accomplishing his divine mandate. The Lord did not make it easy, but He did make it possible. Joseph’s fifth attempt, a second approach to the Palmyra publisher Grandin, was successful.

The Lord taught another great priesthood duty during this period of Church history. In section 104 the Lord set forth the order of the Church concerning the poor: “Therefore, if any man shall take of the abundance which I have made, and impart not his portion, according to the law of my gospel, unto the poor and the needy, he shall, with the wicked, lift up his eyes in hell, being in torment.” With this precedent, in January 1839, during the exodus from Missouri, many of the brethren covenanted to “stand by and assist one another … till there shall not be one left who desires to remove from the state.”
In the bitter cold of February 1839, Daniel Stillwell Thomas reflected, “Before we crossed [the Mississippi River,] we unloaded our wagon and sent it back to assist in removing the poor and thus to save their lives, the mob still threatening them.” Daniel Thomas had five children and only one pair of shoes between them, yet he still sent the wagon back to save the destitute Saints.

During the depression years in the 1930’s, we lived on a poor farm in New Jersey, with unproductive soil yielding meager crops. Strawberries were the only plants that responded adequately to our efforts, but the strawberry season is relatively short and our yearly income was so small it was hardly worth mentioning.
I sold our strawberries in liter-size baskets in front of our house, which was on a county road. The returns for the strawberry season came to $40, the only cash we had seen for a long time. The $4 seemed a pathetically small sum to offer as tithing, and with a family of four young children, the money was desperately needed in many ways. But I was determined to pay our tithing, and did so.
We were not aware of any immediate blessings, other than having the satisfaction of doing what is right. However, the following year the strawberry-leaf blight struck the area. All the plants in the fields literally died—all but ours. Our plants remained healthy and yielded a crop of big, juicy strawberries.
People came from several kilometers in every direction to buy our strawberries. Our customers supposed we had a hardier species of strawberry plants and wanted to buy some of our plants for their gardens. When we told them ours were the same type they already had in their fields, they believed we must have given our strawberry patch some special attention and were skeptical when told the plants received only ordinary care. We did tell them that we had tithed our income of the previous year, but there were few Latter-day Saints in our area and most people looked doubtfully at us when we mentioned tithing.
Blessings may not always be so strikingly apparent. Latter-day Saints may enjoy a continuity of business success or employment and good health and they may be inclined to accept their blessings without thinking much about it, but at a time when the economy was at low ebb, our blessing of a good crop was to us an irrefutable example of the blessings that come from paying tithing.

Relief Society sisters in Billingham Stake came together to sort items for the Somewhere Else charity in Stockton. Assisted by missionaries, Elder Bevan and Elder Landers, the sisters enthusiastically transported bags of pasta, washing-up liquid, flour, stock cubes, and other items to fill care packages. A group of members and missionaries went to the Somewhere Else premises to complete and finish off the care packages ready for distribution. Carole Le Darcy, a member of Billingham Ward, founder and CEO of the charity Somewhere Else, recalls: “I was delighted with the offer of help to purchase much-needed items for our beneficiaries and overwhelmed with the response from church members who came together to sort and package in preparation for distribution. ...It was wonderful to have the missionaries and church members come to our building, and with a little help from some of our beneficiaries, the project was complete. We are so grateful for all the church has done to support our charity, I only wish that you could see the joy and gratitude in the faces of the recipients.”

The woodland was under a heavy shroud of cloud cover that weekend. Rain filtered through the air, and the cameramen waited patiently to expose their film. It rained, and they prayed. And it rained some more. If the filmmakers were unable to complete filming in that one week during the spring of 1975, the project would have to wait a year until the surroundings were right again. The season would soon change, and to add to the problems, the lead actor had to leave the following Friday. On Monday morning the crew awoke before dawn and and began to set up all their equipment, thinking somehow they could compensate for the weather. But suddenly it stopped raining. When the sun came up, they beheld the loveliest mist they had ever seen. The tall, wet grasses sparkled, and the birds burst forth in song, and they knew they had been blessed with a beauty they could never have produced themselves.
That morning the Brigham Young University Department of Film Production began filming scenes for the First Vision. Stewart Petersen, who played the Prophet Joseph, walked through those tall grasses with thoughts of that other “beautiful, clear day, early in the spring of eighteen hundred and twenty” (JS—H 1:14) when Joseph Smith humbly prayed for an answer to his question, “Which of all the churches should I join?”

Last year a dear family friend passed away. Lucile was 89 years old and had been a widow for more than 20 years. She was not a rich woman, she was not famous, and most of the world knew nothing of her passing. But her family knew. Her neighbors knew. The members of her ward knew. For all who had experienced her love, her death had left the world a diminished place. During her years as a widow, Lucile had endured difficult challenges, including the death of a beloved grandson and infirmities brought on by age. But Lucile continued to nourish everyone she knew with her spirit; with her baked goods, her quilts and afghans; with her humor and goodwill. And she loved to work in the temple. One spring day in 1981, she wrote in her journal: “This morning at 3:30 A.M., as I was walking up the path to the temple, I watched the flag gently blowing in the breeze and looked at the beautiful sky and thought how happy I was to be there. I felt sad for all the people who [were] sleeping and missing the awakening of a beautiful day.”
Most of us don’t think the world is “awakening” at 3:30 in the morning, and we’re perfectly happy to roll over in bed about then and allow Lucile to feel sorry for us. But what an attitude! Only a flow of goodness from within could explain it. Did she possess this purity of spirit at 15, at 25, or even 55? I don’t know. In most cases, it probably takes a lifetime of listening to the Holy Ghost before we know God’s voice so well and before we trust in the living waters enough to taste them throughout the entire day—especially a day that begins at 3:30 A.M. But I believe the living waters sustained Lucile during those long years when she might have given way to self-pity, and her life, her spirit, became nourishment to everyone she knew.

—“My dad runs a welding shop,” said Blaine Hill, 19, who hails from Burley, Idaho. “He was always building swing sets and monkey bars for the family, doing repairs and making things for people. I grew up with welding.”
But he had no idea that it was the sort of thing he could get a degree in.
“I imagined that when you went to college you’d have to major in something big, like being a doctor or a lawyer or something to make money. I thought welding was something you did in your spare time.”
Then in high school, he heard about a welding contest sponsored by Ricks. He entered it, and it changed his life.
“I won a scholarship, so I came here just to get a feel of what it would be like.”
Not only did he discover that “welding is what I’d like to do for the rest of my life,” he also found out that it’s a topic of study and research at a number of major universities.
Blaine is currently serving in the Oregon Portland Mission. When he returns, he’ll “probably go on to Arizona State University for a master’s degree in welding engineering and technology.” That program, like the associate degree program at Ricks, has a job placement approaching 100 percent.

I mention one more example of the incorrect way to accomplish home teaching. President Marion G. Romney, who was a counselor in the First Presidency some years ago, used to tell about his home teacher who once went to the Romney home on a cold winter night. He kept his hat in his hand and shifted nervously when invited to sit down and give his message. As he remained standing, he said, “Well, I’ll tell you, Brother Romney, it’s cold outside, and I left my car engine running so it wouldn’t stop. I just came by so I could tell the bishop I had made my visits.”6
President Ezra Taft Benson, after relating President Romney’s experience in a meeting of priesthood holders, then said, “We can do better than that, brethren—much better!”7 I agree.

During their tour they spotted some LDS missionaries. “We saw two of them in the city as we rode through on our bus,” recalls Ferron, “and it wasn’t hard to identify them. They wore white shirts and ties and were carrying their zipper-cased scriptures.” Later in the day the USS Manitowoc was opened for public visits, and several of the elders laboring in Guayaquil visited the ship.
“They surely were surprised when we asked them what part of Utah they were from,” says Michael Kovalenko. “We told them how many of us were LDS and where we’re from. They gave us some copies of the Book of Mormon to give to any crew members who might be interested. It was great seeing the elders; it makes you glad you’re a Mormon!”

Will you pardon me if I tell you about my father? When he was about the age that I am now, he was fully retired. But he was active. He lived in a rather simple but comfortable home in a rural area. He had an orchard around him and enjoyed giving away the fruit. The yard of his home included lawns and shrubs and trees. It had a rock wall about two feet high separating one level from another. Whenever the weather was good he would sit on the wall, an old hat on his head to shade his eyes from the summer sun. When we went to visit him I would sit beside him. With a little prompting he would talk of his life—of the time when as a boy he lived in Cove Fort. He would smile as he told of the time that his brother found a loaded pistol in the telegrapher’s office. The boys began fooling around, the pistol fired, and his brother shot my father in the leg.

His father sent to Beaver for the doctor. The doctor arrived hours later and tried to remove the ball with a darning needle. He only made the pain worse. Father, sitting on his wall, would lift his pant leg, feel the flesh of his leg, and say that the ball was still there.

The family moved from Cove Fort to Fillmore, and when Father was in his late teens he came here to Provo and enrolled in the Brigham Young Academy. He was a student of Karl G. Maeser, whom he came to know well. From here he went East to school. He then came back and taught here until the First Presidency of the Church asked him to move to Salt Lake City and preside over the business college, for which the Church had great plans.

He was an educator. He was a successful businessman. He presided over the largest stake in the Church, with more than 15,000 members. He served as a mission president and in many other capacities. And now he was retired, and he sat on his wall. He was a great reader with a wonderful library. He was an excellent speaker and writer. Almost to the time he died, just short of the age of 94, he read and wrote and contemplated the knowledge that had come to him.

I discovered that when he sat on the wall, hours at a time on a warm day, he would reflect on the things he had read from his library.

I think he grew old gracefully and wonderfully. He had his books with the precious treasures they contained of the thoughts of great men and women of all the ages of time. He never ceased to learn. As he sat on the wall he thought deeply of what he had read the night before. He acquired the habit as a student here under Dr. Maeser. It was part of his BYU experience.

At times I almost envy him: time to read and time to ponder. What a blessing. He reminded me of leaves on the trees. When autumn comes with killing frost, the leaves change their color, and they give off a new beauty until they eventually drop to form a carpet on the ground.

Now, you are young, and why am I telling you of an old man and the wall on which he sat? I am telling you because I think it has a lesson for each of us. We must never cease to learn. We believe in eternal progression and that this life is a part of eternity to be profitably lived until the very end.

Clop-clop, clop-clop.
Joseph watched horses tug their wagons down the main street of Provo, Utah.
People walked quickly past the brick buildings that lined the street, eager to get home at the end of the day. Joseph had only one more newspaper to sell, and then he could go home too.
“Get your paper!” He waved it over his head.
Some newsboys thought this job was boring, but not Joseph. It reminded him of the busy marketplaces in Syria, where his family used to live.
“You are the oldest son, and your siblings look up to you,” his father had told Joseph one day as they walked through the market. “You must set a good example.”
Joseph’s memories were interrupted by a man walking toward him.
“Would you like to buy a paper?” Joseph asked him.
“Yes. Thank you, lad.” The man handed a few coins to Joseph. He couldn’t wait to add them to his savings at home!
A few minutes later, Joseph stepped onto his front porch. He took a deep breath. The air smelled delicious. “Lahmajoon,” Joseph said with a happy sigh. He loved the taste of the pizza-like meat pies from his home country. He hoped it was time to eat.
But when he opened the door, instead of seeing dinner already on the table, he saw his mother struggling to take the meat pies out of the oven. His little sister, Leah, cried loudly and tugged at Mother’s skirt.
“Let me help you with that,” Joseph said.
“Thank you.” Mother strained to lift Leah.
“She’s getting too big to carry,” Joseph said.
“My children are never too big for me to comfort,” Mother answered.
A few days later, Joseph
walked down the street, thinking of all Mother did for their family. And that’s when he saw it! A baby buggy in the furniture store window. Suddenly he knew what he needed to do.
He ran inside.
“What can I do for you?” a gentleman asked.
“I want to buy a baby buggy for my mother.”
“That is thoughtful, but do you have enough money?”
“I have two dollars now. If you will keep the buggy here, I’ll come in every week and give you more until I’ve paid for it.”
The man nodded. “Let’s go and pick one out.”
Joseph chose a brown leather buggy. It cost five dollars. He thought about how long it would take to earn the money.
Helping Mother will be worth it, he thought.
Weeks later, Joseph opened the kitchen door.
“You’re home early,” Mother said. She was facing away from Joseph, and he quietly pushed the buggy inside behind her back.
“Mother,” he said, “I got you something!”
Mother turned around and saw the buggy. Her brown eyes grew round with surprise, and tears started flowing down her cheeks. “Oh, thank you, son,” she said, hugging him tightly.
Later that night, when Joseph’s father came home, Mother showed him the buggy. Father put his hand on Joseph’s shoulder.
“I am proud of you. Very, very proud. You are a good example to the family.”
Joseph couldn’t stop smiling. It was amazing what hard work, stacks of newspaper, and a baby buggy could do.

My friend and I were the only Mormons working in our area. We were always kidded about our so-called “strange beliefs,” and every time we’d mention religion, the others would jump down our throats. But they couldn’t stop us from singing. It reached the point that if we’d stop, they’d ask us to begin again. I think we sang every hymn in the hymnbook and every song we’d ever learned in Primary or Sunday School. It was very special singing about the Savior in the land he loved. Songs like “I Am a Child of God” and “Come, Come, Ye Saints” began to touch the hearts of the people we were working with, and they began asking questions.
I remember how excited one young woman was when she found out I was a Mormon. She had visited a world’s fair and had been very impressed by all the young people who were eager to explain our church to her. She wanted to know what it is in our church that gets our young people so excited. She said, “I thought religion was something for the old, when you don’t have anything better to do. What is it that makes you all look so happy?”
Some of us didn’t realize how much we were being watched. I happened to overhear the conversation of two young women. One of them was speaking very harshly and using profanity. Finally the other woman spoke up and said, “I don’t have to listen to you and this kind of language! I’m going to get me a good Mormon friend!”
One Jewish boy I met had heard something about archaeology and the Church. He said, “I understand that one of you Mormons made an important archaeological find in the states. I think it was New York, wasn’t it? It was supposed to be some kind of record starting with my people here in Jerusalem. Would you tell me about it?”
When you are placed out in the middle of nowhere and denied most of the conveniences you are accustomed to, you become grateful for things you never realized you were blessed with before. It amazes me that I could be completely covered with dirt, have blisters on both hands, sore muscles, flies flying around my head, and an upset stomach, and yet feel so completely blessed for experiences in which physical discomfort teaches patience and gratitude. I started thinking past the physical and material things because I was living on so little and was amazed at how little I need materially and how much my whole life depends on my Father in heaven.
Having participated in this travel-work-study program, I find the whole existence of man has taken on a new meaning for me. Everything seems to take its place in an orderly plan, and I realize that man, throughout all the ages, has not changed a great deal. I understand more fully that I am a part of the Lord’s plan. In the same way we tried to reconstruct broken pieces of pottery into the original vase or jar, I see the small lessons I am learning fitting into an organized, divine piece of art.

When I returned home I felt much different inside. I was beginning to feel hope and was learning to pray for guidance and forgiveness. True repentance didn’t take place overnight; it took many months before I felt I had been forgiven. I made a decision to start attending church again, the most difficult part of which was finding the courage to actually walk to the doors and go in.
I become overwhelmed as I think of the meaning of the Savior’s Atonement: “Oh, it is wonderful that he should care for me enough to die for me!” (“I Stand All Amazed,” Hymns, number 193). It is also wonderful that two sister missionaries came into my life when they did and shared with me their love and example. I was filled with joy to have one of them be my escort when I finally attended the temple to receive my endowment.
Following years of wandering, I had come home at last.