Gospel Story Finder

I grew up in foster homes most of my life and did not learn a lot of things that most people would consider pretty basic. I want to thank you for the guidance you provide, especially the articles on self-discipline, communication, friends, dating, parents, and self-esteem. Growing up I would often miss out on learning these things. Sometimes I worry about being able to raise a good family when my own upbringing, even though I’m very thankful for it, was so irregular. However, as I read the New Era, I find hope in the Church’s teachings and the good examples of the youth. I sure love the New Era and encourage anyone who needs a good example to look to it.
Elder Tom R. PerryMissouri Independence Mission

Kent Bates, 15, has accomplished what few others have done. He has earned all 119 merit badges offered in the Scouting program. Kent is in the Heber City Fifth Ward, Heber City Utah Stake.
It all started when Kent and his friend, Loy Young, decided to see who could earn all the merit badges first. After much hard work and study, Kent completed his goal with Loy not far behind. Kent earned his first merit badge in swimming and his last in masonry. He built a brick fireplace in his backyard.
Some of the most difficult merit badges for Kent were in signaling and oceanography. He enjoyed learning about oceanography so much that he is joining a Sea Explorers unit. The merit badges he enjoyed the most were in bugling, theater, waterskiing, and small boat sailing.
Kent says that Scouting has played an important role in his life. “I plan to finish high school and then serve a mission. When I return, I want to get back into Scouting and help other boys just as my merit badge counselors did me.”

Skye MacMillan leaned over the top rail of the bucking chute and watched the feisty 300-pound young steer rear up and try to climb over the steel gate. Her right knee quivered, and her mouth was dry. She was on chute number three, and the announcer was calling out the names of the riders. His voice echoed inside the hard helmet that fit snugly over her ears. The nose guard and chin strap felt alien and uncomfortable on her head. Her two brown pigtails were cupped against the back of her neck by the helmet. She dry swallowed.
This was the third and toughest event she had entered today. While she waited for the bareback steer-riding to start, she had time to think about the other two events she had won.
The first event, barrel racing, she hadn’t won easily. Her trusty pony, Apache, was quick and fast, but she had hit one of the barrels with her knee. Fortunately, it hadn’t tipped over—all the hours of practice in the south corral at home had paid off. Then Apache had bellied flat-out over the finish line, and they had won by six-tenths of a second over the nearest competitor.
The second event, goat-tying, had been even harder. Again, Apache had given her the edge. He wasn’t spooked by goats, and they had practiced and practiced until she could dismount as close to the goat as possible. Apache had learned to slow down at the last minute so that Skye could leap off over his shoulder and maintain her run toward the goat without falling. In fact, Apache was so savvy that he would pace himself right beside her. Skye could keep her right hand on his shoulder, and he helped her maintain her balance as her feet hit the ground. At the last second he would veer off and let her finish her run to catch the goat.
Skye’s dad had let her practice at home on some of the smaller calves. She was good at kneeing them over on their sides and fast-tying three legs together with tight, fast wraps and slipknots. The goat had been tougher. Its legs were skinny in comparison, and Skye had been afraid it would kick free after she made her last wrap and slipknot. As she had leaped up and thrown her hands in the air to indicate that she was finished, she had held her breath. The goat had kicked and wriggled to get free of the ropes, but the ropes had held, and her time of 15.09 seconds had beaten the nearest competitor easily.
This was her second year competing in the PeeWee Rodeo Association county meet. Last year she had done well, but she had won no firsts. This year she already had two firsts. If she could win the bareback steer-riding event, she would have three firsts and a trophy as all-around cowgirl to take home. She would also qualify to go to state finals.
Skye’s thoughts jerked back to the ornery critter rearing and jumping in the chute. Her dad and one of the chute helpers were attaching the cowbell and getting the belly strap cinched up on the young steer. Her dad looked at her and gave her a thumbs-up sign.
She grinned back at him nervously. She slapped her leather-gloved hands against her thighs. Then she rubbed the palms of her gloves together to work in the resin so that she wouldn’t lose her grip on the ropes.
The announcer called for the first chute to open, and Skye watched as Billy Marten, who was in her 4-H horse handlers’ group, rode out on the back of a Hereford steer. His steer jumped out of the shute sideways and ran in a straight line for about ten paces. Billy tried to get the animal to buck, but it wouldn’t. Then the steer came to a complete stop. When Billy kicked it in the shoulders, the steer made a quick half-turn and pitched him off.
Billy sat up and yanked off his helmet. He spit dust disgustedly as he got up and walked away. A rodeo clown ran over and lured the steer away as it headed back toward Billy.
Ginny Helms was waiting her turn in chute number two. But when her gate opened, she fared no better than Billy had.
The announcer called Skye’s name, and she climbed over the rail to get onto the back of the pawing, snorting black steer. Her dad was beside her, helping her to get astride the steer and to wrap the rope around her left hand. He looked her square in the eye and said, "You don’t have to ride this year, honey. You have plenty of years ahead of you."
Skye shook her head, "No. I’m going to do it!"
Her dad gave her a quick hug and said, "Now, remember, if you start to fall, let go of the ropes—first right hand, then left hand, and you’ll be free and not get dragged."
She nodded at him and then at the chute helpers, who were shouting all kinds of instructions at her:
"Lean way back."
"Keep jabbing his shoulders."
"Jump wide when you hear the time whistle."
"Stay flat after you fall."
"Let the clown lead the steer away from you."
"Hang tight."
Skye’s head was buzzing with all the directions when the gate flew open.
The steer jumped sideways out into the arena. It jumped straight up. When it hit the ground on all four feet, Skye landed on its back with a teeth-rattling jolt. She recovered instantly, though, and leaned far back and kicked the steer’s shoulders with her heels. It spun to the left. It spun to the right. Skye’s only thoughts were to hang on and to pray that the time whistle would blow so she could let go and jump off. The steer kicked out with its hind legs, then tucked its head between its front legs. Then it stood on its hind legs and whirled around with its front legs pawing the air.
When the whistle blew, Skye instantly let go and flew over the steer’s right shoulder. She hit the dirt flat on her back, and the wind gushed out of her lungs.
Her dad came to help Skye. He loosened her belt and unbuckled her helmet as she struggled to breathe again. He kept asking her if she was hurt. All she could do was shake her head, because she hadn’t caught her breath yet. When Skye finally managed to gulp down enough fresh, clean air, she grinned broadly. Her dad helped her up, and as they walked out of the arena together, he lovingly put his arm around her shoulders.
Later, as they watched the remaining contestants try their skills, Skye looked at her dad and asked, "Dad, would you have been awfully disappointed with me if I’d chickened out?"
"Of course not. As a matter of fact, I’ve been wondering if you really want to go on with this rodeo business. I’m not sure I like seeing you get tossed around like that!"
Skye hugged him tightly and said, "Yeah, I’m going to go on with this rodeo business. After all, they say the first time out of the bucking chute is the worst. Besides, that trophy’s going to look awfully good on the mantel over the fireplace."
Skye leaned against her dad, put her head back and let out a long "Whoooopeeee!"

A young woman named Brooke writes: “This past summer I had the opportunity of attending a leadership conference. It only took a couple of hours to find out that the LDS kids were in the minority there. I ended up [rooming] with two girls who were very nice but definitely didn’t have the same standards. At night when I read my scriptures they stared at me like I was some kind of weirdo. While they were talking about their drinking parties, I was talking about [parties] with punch and cookies. They laughed but were always curious.
“Although I was scared sometimes, I never failed to stand up for what I believe in. At the end of the conference, one of my roommates [said], ‘I guess Mormons can be cool,’ and that she would think about our religion and maybe even learn about it. I [learned] that I could make a difference by simply standing up for what I believe.”

Arianna also follows the counsel on Sabbath day observance. She is a runner and had to race on many Sundays. Finally, she knew she had to make a decision. “I prayed, and even though it was hard for me to decide, I decided to go to church instead,” she says.

In preparation for my first trip to the temple, my mother and experienced Relief Society sisters helped me select the items I would need, including beautiful ceremonial clothing. But the most important preparation came even before knowing what to wear. After interviewing me to determine if I was worthy, my bishop explained the covenants I would make. His careful explanation gave me the chance to think about and be prepared to make those covenants.
When the day came, I participated with a feeling of gratitude and peace. Even though I did not understand the full significance of the covenants I made, I did know that I was bound to God through those covenants and was promised blessings I could scarcely comprehend if I kept them. Since that first experience, I have been continually assured that keeping the covenants we make with God allows us to draw upon the Savior’s power, which strengthens us in our inevitable trials, provides protection from the adversary’s influence, and prepares us for eternal glory.

So it is, one spring afternoon in November, when a city bus pulls up to its last stop at one of Arica’s beaches and lets out a group of happy, good-looking young men and women who run through the soft sand down to the beach. High above them looms El Morro, the massive gray cliff whose profile dominates Arica’s southern skyline. In a moment’s time a magic carpet of colorful towels has appeared on the beach, and a game of dodge ball is proposed. But there is no ball, so one of the towels disappears from under a young man. After it is tied in a number of knots and wound with some shoelaces which are tied securely, it is a towel no longer. It has become a ball, and the dodge ball game begins—the boys against the girls. The boys are stronger and throw straighter, but the girls are trickier, and the outcome of the battle remains dubious. They churn the sand as they play, leaping and twisting until the hot yellow sun seems to leap and twist in the sky above them. After a while the game somehow evolves into a contest to see which team can keep the ball away from the other team and somewhere along the line a real ball has appeared.

Later, some of the young people relax and tell the youth magazine writer about life in Arica.

“Now let’s get started,” I said, a little bit nervous as a new district leader at the thought of performing my first baptismal interview. Nevertheless, I was doing my best to maintain an air of confidence that would put everyone at ease.
“Okay, teacher,” said the middle-aged Cambodian woman seated across from me. The elders in my district had been running a successful school to teach English to the Southeast Asian refugees who had settled in California’s San Joaquin Valley. Because of this school they were able to make a great many contacts, all of whom continued to address them and all other missionaries as “teacher.”
For the last several days I had been studying , and rehearsing the questions, and I was confident that there would be no problem at all with the interview. The elders who had been teaching her assured me that she was fluent enough in English that she would not require a translator. I offered the prayer and began with the questions.
“Have you prayed about the gospel of Jesus Christ, and have your prayers been answered?” The smile on her face widened and she began to laugh. Her head shook back and forth and she said, “I don’t know, teacher.”
Remembering that English could be a complicated language, I restated the question in simpler terms: “Do you know that the Church is true?”
Once again, she looked at me as if she did not understand a thing I had said, began to laugh, and said “I … I don’t know.”
I was stumped. As far as I knew, she had expressed the desire to be baptized, and she was attending the branch in the area that held services in Cambodian. What could I do? There was no way that I could allow her to be baptized without an interview, but she wasn’t understanding any of the questions, no matter how simple I tried to make them.
Not knowing what else to do, I reached for a flip-chart that the elders had given me in case I ran into difficulty. I flipped through the gospel principles that were written out in four or five of the languages used by the transplanted Asian people of the valley. Somewhere near what appeared to be the first discussion I came across a picture of the Savior. In desperation, I showed her the picture and asked, “Do you know Jesus Christ?”
All of a sudden her face lit up and she began to nod her head frantically. “Yes, teacher, yes, yes. I love Jesus Christ,” she cried in obvious recognition of the picture in front of her.
Finally we had struck common ground. Not knowing the ins and outs of the English language, she had summed up all of the words and emotions that convey a positive message into one word—love. Through the same process I was able to determine that she loved Joseph Smith, President Benson, the Ten Commandments, and the law of tithing.
In asking her about the Word of Wisdom, I was able to locate in the flip-chart a picture of some beer cans, cigarette packages, and coffee cups. When I showed her this conglomeration of substances that violated the laws of Jesus Christ, she reacted violently, shaking her head and declaring, “No, no teacher, no.”
When the interview was over, she had satisfactorily answered all of the questions, usually by doing no more than indicating her love for a particular person or concept. That afternoon I received a witness of the Spirit stronger than I have ever had that told me that she was prepared in every way for baptism. I congratulated her and told her that she could be baptized, and her face lit up again as she said, “Thank you, teacher, I love you.”
When she said this, I thought of the answer that Jesus Christ gave when he was asked which was the greatest of all the laws: “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.
“This is the first and great commandment.
“And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself” (Matt. 22:37–39).
Although this woman humbly addressed me as “teacher,” her responses during the interview had taught me a great lesson. She had learned the essence of the gospel: she loved Jesus Christ unconditionally, and she loved everyone around her. Nobody had to convince her to keep the commandments of the Savior; this was a natural reaction for her. She loved Jesus Christ and wouldn’t think of knowingly breaking any of his laws.
Since that interview I have heard many powerful testimonies of the gospel. I have listened to people relate fantastic spiritual experiences and the Spirit has borne witness to each one. I have never, however, been affected by a testimony in quite the same way that I was during that interview in a humble apartment when a simple, refugee housewife said to me, “Yes, teacher, I love Jesus Christ.”

I learned the power of simple faith in prayer and in the Holy Ghost when our children were small. Our oldest son was not yet baptized. His parents, Primary teachers, and priesthood servants had tried to help him feel and recognize the Spirit and know how to receive His help.
One afternoon my wife had taken him to the home of a woman who was teaching him to read. Our plan was that I was to pick him up on my way home from work.
His lesson ended earlier than we had expected. He felt confident that he knew the way home. So he started to walk. He said afterward that he had complete confidence and liked the idea of being alone on the trip. After he had gone about half a mile (0.8 km), it started to grow dark. He began to sense that he was still very far from home.
He can still remember that the lights of the cars as they streamed past him were blurred by his tears. He felt like a little child, not the confident boy who had begun to walk home alone. He realized that he needed help. Then something came to his memory. He knew he was supposed to pray. And so he left the road and headed toward some trees he could barely see in the darkness. He found a place to kneel down.
Through the bushes he could hear voices coming toward him. Two young people had heard him crying. As they approached, they said, “Can we help you?” Through his tears he told them he was lost and that he wanted to go home. They asked if he knew his home phone number or address. He didn’t. They asked if he knew his name. He did know that. They led him to the nearby place where they lived. They found our family name in a phone book.
When I got the phone call, I rushed to the rescue, grateful that kind people had been placed along his way home. And I have been ever grateful he was taught to pray with faith that help would come when he was lost. That faith has led him to safety and brought him more rescuers more times than he can count.

While still living at home, Beatrix began sending illustrated letters to Noel, the son of a former governess. He read the letters with such delight that Beatrix decided to make a book. She lengthened the Peter Rabbit story and submitted it to Frederick Warne & Co., a London publisher. Although it was rejected, Miss Potter had faith in her rabbit story. She felt so strongly that children would like it that she had it published privately. The book sold quickly for one shilling and twopence a copy. During the next eighty years, over twenty million copies were sold!
The Tale of Peter Rabbit has been translated into thirteen languages. Sightless children can also enjoy the book in Braille.

“The ward that plays together, stays together” might be the motto of the Potomac Ward Mutual in the Washington D.C. Stake. Last year, the Beehive basketball team was undefeated as it won the stake championship; the Mia Maid-Laurel team won the stake and region championships and then placed second and received the sportsmanship trophy in the Atlantic North Central Area. (The region and area competitions were held by special permission and are not recommended in most areas.) The Young Men’s team won stake, region, and area championships, as well as the stake sportsmanship trophy. This is the third straight area championship won by the young men’s team.
But more important than the teams’ winning records is the spiritual impact the basketball programs have had on the ward youth. Bishop Ralph Hardy said that “in addition to obtaining an enthusiastic participation from the youth and keeping ward members physically fit, the programs have been of great help in reactivating members and fellowshipping nonmembers.”
Because of the large geographical region covered by the ward, young members come from five different high schools, and there are virtually no inactive members in the Mutual. Fifty-six individuals, including nine nonmembers, played on the various teams during the past year.
The Young Men’s team included every priest in the ward, except two who were ineligible because of involvement in varsity sports at their high schools. Brent Wells, captain of his high school varsity basketball team, also served as assistant coach of the ward team. He was baptized into the Church about a year and a half ago by another team member. Three nonmembers played on the team last year, two of whom regularly attended all Church meetings, including early morning seminary. In addition, every Church member who has played on one of Brother Daniels’s teams who is of missionary age is either already serving or is in the process of being called on a mission.

The day I played tennis for the first time was also the day I vowed never to set foot on a tennis court again.
My friend had offered to teach me how to play, and I thought it sounded like fun. I’d seen him and some other friends play before, and it didn’t look that hard.
I was right: tennis wasn’t hard—it was impossible. From the get-go, my hold on the racket felt awkward, I didn’t know how to stand, and I kept hitting the ball either too hard or too soft—that is, on the rare occasions when I actually hit the ball.
My friend tried teaching me some techniques, but no matter what I did, I wasn’t improving. On top of that, the sun was scorching hot, and I was sweating in my poor outfit choice of a gray shirt and thick black pants. An hour into it, I couldn’t handle it anymore.
“I can’t do this.” I told my friend as I sunk down onto the court. “I am the least athletic person in the world!”
He came and sat by me. “It’s OK,” he said. “We don’t have to keep going. But you can hardly beat yourself up because you aren’t Serena Williams your first day on the court. You’re just learning.”
We went home, but I thought about that day a lot after that. My friend was right—I was just learning. He had been patient with me, so why couldn’t I be patient with myself? Eventually, I broke my vow and decided to try tennis again. Guess what? I even hit a few balls over the net! So I kept at it. Now it’s one of my favorite hobbies!
We aren’t perfect. We sometimes feel scared, embarrassed, or unsure. Conditions around us can make things harder, like the hot sun did when I tried to learn tennis. In fact, with everything going on in life, it can sometimes seem impossible to just get along with ourselves.

TJ shivered. Even with the warm air blasting through his bedroom vent, he was still cold! He missed Hawaii more than ever.
TJ missed surfing in the ocean and hiking in the mountains. He missed his friends. Ohio was OK, and it was fun to see snow again, but he still felt pretty lonely.
And cold.
TJ heard a soft knock on his door, and Dad stuck his head into the room. “Hey, buddy,” Dad said.
TJ smiled. “Hey, Dad.” Right before they moved, Dad had come home from military deployment in Afghanistan. Moving was hard, but having Dad home was awesome!
Dad sat next to TJ on the bed.
“I just had an idea,” Dad said. “Let’s run a half-marathon together. We’ll make our own training plan. We can even start running tomorrow. What do you think?”
TJ looked out the window. It would take a lot of work to get ready for a 13-mile (21-km) race. “How can we run in the snow?”
“Why not? We can do anything together. It’ll be an adventure!”
It was still dark the next morning when they left the house, TJ with a pocket full of jellybeans and Dad with a bottle of water strapped to his belt. They both wore long-sleeved shirts, sweatpants, hats, and gloves, but every muscle in TJ’s body still clenched against the freezing wind.
I can’t believe I let Dad talk me into this, he thought.
It was hard at first, but as he and Dad ran and talked together, TJ almost forgot to notice the cold. Dad told TJ about his adventures as a kid and how serving a mission had changed his life. They talked about their favorite movies and cars and how Dad met Mom in Texas. TJ tried to convince Dad that ham and pineapple pizza was way better than pepperoni.
Before TJ knew it, they were back home.
We did it! he thought. He gave Dad a high five. Then they went inside for hot chocolate.
Together Dad and TJ mapped out a four-month training plan. They would train inside on a treadmill during the week, and every Saturday morning they would go for a long run outside. On Friday and Sunday they would rest.
One Saturday, TJ skipped and stayed in bed, but as soon as he heard the front door shut, he wished he’d gone with Dad. When TJ asked Dad how the run was, Dad said, “It was OK, but I missed you. It wasn’t the same without my running partner.”
After that TJ never missed a run. Soon he was looking forward to their Saturday runs all week! While they ran, TJ told Dad about his new school and Dad talked about military training and some of his adventures around the world. TJ’s favorite stories were from Dad’s mission. He hoped he could go on a mission someday, just like Dad.
By the time the snow melted, TJ decided he kind of liked Ohio. He still missed his friends in Hawaii, and he still didn’t like the cold, but he noticed his loneliness fading away. He was glad he’d done something challenging and stuck to their plan. He was part of an awesome two-man running team, and together they could do anything. He couldn’t wait to run their race!

My mother also taught us to finish what we started. I took piano lessons as a child and gave my first public performance at a school recital when I was eight years old. I fell down as I was walking up the steps to the stage. I went ahead and performed my number, even though I was crying all the way through it. I had learned that you don’t give up, even when you’re discouraged. You see the job through.

In the throng on the day of dedication was a seven-year-old boy from Tooele who would carry a clear memory of that event and a clear memory of President Wilford Woodruff for another ninety years. LeGrand Richards would one day serve in the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles as his father before him had done.

When he was twelve, LeGrand heard President Woodruff give his last public address. Even after he was ninety years old, Elder Richards bore clear testimony to us of those sacred events.

The House on Maple Street When they helped their father dig a garden, Chrissy and Jenny found a treasure. This book tells who might have left it there and what the garden plot might have looked like even before the Indians.Bonnie Pryor5–8 years

John Griffin, Philip Wunderlich, and Derk Symons, all of the Sacramento California East Stake, swept the regional seminary scripture bowl competition for the four years the young men were in seminary. The fourth member of their team was David Fisher until he graduated. Then Eric Christofferson took his place.
The seminary scripture bowl matches 75 seminary teams in a competition to determine which team has best mastered the 40 scriptures studied that year in seminary. The four boys would get together prior to the year’s competition and study the designated scriptures and drill each other for the big event. Their victories set a high standard for other seminary students.
John, Philip, and Derk have been close friends since Primary days. They earned the rank of Eagle within a few months of each other. They have all expressed gratitude for starting each day with a positive attitude and for friends at early-morning seminary.

Last year I reported to my doctor. We had a full surgery scheduled for my right hip, which would mean a body cast for several months, perhaps even endangering my ability to attend my senior year of high school. We’d known about this for a year, since the last checkup when he told me my right hip was in bad shape.
When my dad and I got in the examination room, my doctor held the X-rays to the light. After looking at them, examining me, and looking back at the X-rays again, he announced, rather astonished, that there seemed to be nothing at all wrong with my hip. He could see no reason to perform the extensive surgery he had planned. He said that, except for some work that needed to be done on my feet, I was in fantastic health and would need no more surgeries.
That was surprising news to someone who had already had eight major surgeries and several minor ones.
It is more than important to note that our family and others had offered many prayers prior to my examination, and many dear friends were praying and fasting.
Sure enough, my hip was healed. I know only Heavenly Father could have accomplished what I experienced. I know I have been healed by a miracle, but a miracle is not always required. Sometimes the greater miracle lies in how we deal with not having a burden eased.

My neighbour next door is an older lady and a widow. Sometimes I drop in to say hello, and she lets me play on her swing. She doesn’t have any family close by.
In the fall, she had a lot of maple leaves covering her yard. My mom and I went over and raked up many of them. Sometimes I take her homemade goodies, and at Eastertime, I painted and designed an Easter basket filled with goodies for her. I try to do little things for her to help her out. It’s a great feeling to help others.

After we were baptized in 1992, my family did everything together, including attending Sunday meetings, Church conferences, and other activities. But time passed, things changed, and I eventually found myself alone at church—the rest of my family having become less active. Thereafter, whenever I heard someone in church teach about eternal families, my heart ached and a profound sadness overcame me.
In 1995 I decided to receive my patriarchal blessing to learn more of what the Lord expected of me and to receive strength. My blessing contained the following promise: through fasting, prayer, and family home evening, I would have my family “in the gospel.” I constantly prayed and fasted for my family, but I didn’t follow the counsel to hold family home evening.
“If this can happen to families in my mission,” I wondered, “why not to my own family?”
After my mission I was determined to hold family home evening with my family. At first, all participated grudgingly, and I had trouble finishing my lessons as planned. But I knew the Lord wouldn’t counsel me to do something that wouldn’t be a blessing, so I didn’t give up. Eventually, the promise in my patriarchal blessing was fulfilled.
If I didn’t hold family home evening, I heard about it. Family members all participated with opinions, ideas, and counsel, and they listened attentively to the message. Even though we were older then, when game time came, we had a party!
As a result, members of my family once again began obeying commandments they had ignored, and they became more active in the Church.
I can truly say that my home was transformed into a little bit of heaven, thanks to an inspired program that should be a tradition in every home: family home evening.