Gospel Story Finder

Elder Neil L. Andersen and his wife, Kathy, visited the Democratic Republic of the Congo in Africa. They had a Church meeting outside under tents. Around the tents was a big fence. Elder Andersen could see children watching them from the other side of the fence. Sister Andersen asked him, “Do you think you might want to invite the children to come in?” Elder Andersen walked up to the man at the microphone. He asked the man to invite the children to come in and join them.
The children came running! They were all smiling and excited to be a part of the meeting.

Years ago as a stake presidency, we felt impressed to call a good man as stake clerk. At the time he was temporarily struggling with regular Church attendance. We knew, however, that if he accepted the calling, he would do a marvelous job.

We extended the call, but he replied, “No, I don’t think I can do it.”

Then an impression came. I said, “Well, I guess the Glendale stake won’t have a stake clerk then.”

Shocked, he responded, “What are you talking about? You have to have a stake clerk.”

I replied, “Do you want us now to call someone else to serve as stake clerk when the Lord impressed us to call you?”

“OK,” he said, “I’ll do it.”

And do it he did. There are not only many men but also many boys who will respond to a call when they know the Lord is calling them and that the Lord needs them.

I was sitting on Mom and Dad’s bed, missing them an awful lot, when the phone rang.
“Hey, Levi. Guess what?” Dad said. “Your sister Nora was born this afternoon!”
I could tell Dad was happy, but his voice also sounded weird—like he was worried.
“How big is she?” I asked, wondering if I really wanted to know the answer.
Dad was silent for a moment. “A little more than two pounds [0.9 kg],” he said. Now he definitely sounded worried. Nora was supposed to be born during Christmastime, but it was still September. “She’s tiny, all right,” Dad continued. “Remember to pray for her, Levi. And pray for us too so we can trust that Heavenly Father knows what’s best for our family.”
After I hung up the phone, I went into the kitchen and picked up a bag of beans that Mom was planning on making into soup. The package said it weighed almost as much as Nora did right now. I held it in my hands, trying to imagine what a baby that size would look like.
“Her spirit was just with Heavenly Father,” I thought, remembering what I had learned about the pre-earth life and the plan of salvation. I knew that even if Nora died, we would get to see her again because we were all sealed together as a family. But I also hoped she would stay with us here on earth.
Over the next few months, Mom and Dad were at the hospital a lot. Grandma and Grandpa came to our house to help take care of me and my younger brothers and sisters. The ward fasted and prayed for our family, and nice ladies from the Relief Society brought dinners for us sometimes. Everyone wanted to know how Nora was doing.
One evening, Mom and Dad called all of us into the living room. They told us that Dad was going with the bishop to give Nora a blessing. After Dad left in his suit and tie, Mom gathered all of us around the couch to say a prayer.
“Please bless Dad as he gives Nora a priesthood blessing,” Mom prayed. Her voice grew soft. “And please, if it is Thy will, allow her to come home and be healthy.”
As we prayed, I could feel the Holy Ghost fill the room with peace and love. It was like Heavenly Father was telling me that, no matter what happened with Nora, it was all part of His plan.
Later that night, Dad came home and told us that something wonderful had happened at the hospital. Usually Nora’s room was loud and noisy. There were lots of machines and monitors with alarms and flashing lights, and nurses and doctors were always hurrying around to help the tiny babies there. But when Dad and the bishop arrived, things were different. All of the machines were quiet. The nurses were sitting by the babies, reading or watching over them. Dad and the bishop were able to give Nora a blessing without any interruptions.
I don’t know whether Nora will grow up here on earth or return to live with Heavenly Father soon. But I do know that Heavenly Father hears and answers our prayers, and I feel peace when I remember that He has a plan for every member of my family.

When you begin dating … avoid pairing off exclusively with one partner,” youth are counseled in For the Strength of Youth. Young women in the Murray (Utah) Little Cottonwood 12th Ward came up with an awesome way to encourage this standard.
The Laurels invited the entire priests quorum of their ward to a girl-ask-guy dance. Rather than spending the entire dance with just one guy, the girls decided it would be a lot more fun to get to know all of the young men. So they “switched” dates for the dinner and dancing portion of the evening (based on names drawn out of a hat); then for photos each girl had her picture taken with all of the guys at the same time! To top the night off, the boys gave each of the girls roses.

I have learned the importance of the Savior’s yoke through my battles with cancer. I wasn’t particularly thrilled with the plan to go through chemotherapy and radiation, and I still wish I had hired President Worthen to read through the small print on my contract for mortality. Nevertheless, cancer has brought me to my knees on many occasions. I learned quickly that Satan would wait until my strength was gone to cause me to doubt if God was really there for me. I had moments when I would question my testimony and wonder if I was worth saving or question if I had accomplished anything worthwhile in my life.
It was during one of these low moments that I was reading the Savior’s invitation in Luke: “And he said to them all, If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me” (Luke 9:23).
This scripture didn’t tell me to follow Him as long as I didn’t have cancer, and it didn’t tell me to follow Him only if I was married or had righteous children, and it didn’t tell me to follow Him only when I was having a good day. I learned that no matter what my circumstances were, I needed to deny myself and follow Christ daily. In other words, no matter what my struggle was, peace came as I continued to be all the way in the gospel.

To a child of seven, the phrase “a judge in Israel” seemed much too profound a term to understand. In my teenage years, however, I learned that this was a phrase used to describe a bishop. I couldn’t imagine myself being a bishop, but I knew that if I was going to be one, I’d better live worthily. I charted a course that included honesty, high standards, and living a moral life. (And eventually, I was called to be a bishop, by men who did not know of that patriarchal promise.)

Beginning earlier this summer, my wife underwent a series of three separate surgeries in an attempt to repair the long-term injuries that she sustained as a result of a fatal car accident that occurred nearly 14 years ago. Within a week after being released from the hospital following her first surgery, I was out in our yard on a Saturday afternoon when I noticed an unfamiliar car turn into our driveway. As I approached the car I quickly recognized the two young ladies sitting inside as being social work majors from one of my classes here on campus. Surprised and delighted by their unexpected visit, I quickly invited them to come inside and meet my wife. As they got out of their car I observed them carrying several containers, which I would quickly learn was a delicious full-course meal consisting of mashed potatoes, chicken, and homemade rolls.

The following evening a knock came at our door and we were once again pleasantly surprised to see yet another student of mine, a handsome, energetic young man who greeted us with a huge smile on his face, and you guessed it--containers of food in his hands. "Hello Brother Wray, my roommates and I just finished our Sunday dinner and realized we had some extra steaks, potatoes, and corn left over, and I was wondering if you would like to have them?" I accepted the food, thanked him for his kindness and told him how much we appreciated his thoughtfulness. As he drove away my wife and I simultaneously had the distinct and overwhelming feeling of gratitude come over us. We were witnessing the blessings from a loving Father in Heaven being carried out by a few selfless students who were willing to drive over 40 miles round trip to deliver not just a meal, but a powerful message of kindness that would lift our hearts and spirits.

The story doesn't end there. Over the course of the next week, Sister Wray and I would be taught several lessons on what it means to be Christ-like. Our love for you wonderful students who attend this, the Lord's dedicated university, was renewed as cards filled with hope, along with visits from more "leftover food bearing students" continued to show up on our doorstep, bringing with them tasty meals of frozen lasagna, tacos, and an enchilada casserole dish made from a special recipe. These delicious meals not only provided nutrition and physical strength to our bodies; these simple Christ-like acts of kindness and charity also brought spiritual nourishment to the heart and soul of Sister Wray and me.

Oh, sisters, we love you. While visiting Mexico recently, I had a glimpse of the sisterhood we are all feeling tonight. Imagine this scene: We had just finished Primary on Sunday morning, and the children, teachers, and I were spilling out into the crowded hallway. Just then the door to the Young Women class opened, and I saw the young women and their leaders. We all reached out for a hug. With the children holding onto my skirt and the women close around me, I wanted to express the feelings I felt at that very moment.
I do not speak Spanish, so only English words came into my mind. I looked into all of their faces and said, “We are daughters of our Heavenly Father, who loves us, and we love Him.” Everyone immediately joined in, in Spanish. There we were in a crowded hallway, reciting together the Young Women theme as we said, “We will stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places.”

Some months ago, I rode in a car with two courageous senior sister missionaries. They were determined to find a ward member’s apartment in the heart of an inner-city neighborhood in the eastern United States. As I sat in the backseat holding my breath, the car’s guidance system regularly blared, “Wrong turn, wrong turn!” Undaunted, the missionary reading the map just kept suggesting way after way through the maze of city streets until finally we found the home of the sister whom they had promised to teach how to read and write.
In their actions and attitudes, these remarkable sisters embodied something that is much more than a reflection of their mortal years. They demonstrated true spiritual maturity.
Helaman, the great Book of Mormon prophet, named his sons Nephi and Lehi after their forebears, and “they began to grow up unto the Lord.” Young or older, all of us must do the same.
This idea of growing up unto the Lord is a compelling one. Unlike the process of growing up physically, we will not mature spiritually until we choose, as the Apostle Paul phrased it, to “put away childish things.”
Daily prayer and scripture study, adherence to commandments and to covenants made at baptism and in the temple are at the core of growing up unto the Lord. We learn to walk in His ways as we do what draws us closer to Heavenly Father and as we teach our children and others to do the same. We “put away childish things” as we choose to become Christlike and serve others as He would have us do.
When the Church was organized in this dispensation, the Lord explained that those who “shall be received by baptism into his church” would be, in part, those “willing to take upon them the name of Jesus Christ, having a determination to serve him to the end.” That means remaining “steadfast and immovable, always abounding in good works” each day of our lives. Today, as the Church grows in 170 nations throughout the earth, determined service to others, even in difficult circumstances, is required of those who truly desire “to grow up unto the Lord.” This expansion of the Church means many of us will have opportunities to serve those who are new converts.
I participated in a memorable example of such determined service to those who are new to the gospel when I accompanied those dedicated sister missionaries—one a widow close to 80 years and the other a single parent in her 60s—who would not be deterred by wrong turns. I also witnessed another example of it in that same ward.
This ward is composed of members of many ages, from a variety of countries, all with varying economic circumstances and Church experience. A number of those with the most Church experience are busy graduate-student couples with demanding schedules and young families.
What I saw was a young mother serving as a visiting teaching mentor to newer converts in the ward. While her husband cared for their baby, she enthusiastically modeled loving watchcare to two African sisters. This watchcare involved teaching these sisters not only how to function in a new country but also how to adapt to their new religion.
Through her example she taught these African sisters how the Lord would have us serve each other. The words of the Apostle Paul tenderly describe what I saw in this visiting teaching mentor’s actions toward these new converts: “We were gentle among you, … being affectionately desirous of you, … willing to have imparted unto you, not the gospel of God only, but also our own souls, because ye were dear unto us.” With each visit, the young mentor brought good cheer, a gentle helping hand, and the visiting teaching message.
In time, together the sisters prepared the visiting teaching message to share in other sisters’ homes. Assessing needs, giving on-the-spot service as they went, they became true Relief Society sisters committed to lifting, comforting, and encouraging one another. I doubt I will ever hear the phrase “hearts knit together in unity and in love” that I won’t think of those three happy, loving women demonstrating through their determined service to others what it means “to grow up unto the Lord.”

One way to recognize our self-worth is to recognize the self-worth of those around us. Focusing on others helps us feel good about ourselves because we are building others up. It’s a win-win! When I struggled with self-confidence, I decided I would serve someone around me who needed help. Every day for a month I gave a compliment to a friend who was struggling. Focusing on others helped me feel worthy and needed. When we strive to love others for who they are, it becomes easier to see how much God loves us. Helping others feel worthy of love will help us feel worthy of love ourselves.
Jayme W., age 15, Minnesota, USA

I worked for a manager who I felt was rude and who hated me also. I, too, wanted to be Christian and have love for everyone, but there are some people that no matter what you do, they will still try to knock you down. In my case, I tried and tried to be as nice as possible. I did everything my manager asked and more, but she never was any nicer to me. Finally, I realized that it was impossible to make her happy, so I quit. Now that I am away from her, I am able to forgive her and genuinely feel sorry for her.
James Yoder, 20Belleville, Illinois

While I was still a student, my grandmother fell down a flight of stairs, injuring herself so severely that her heart stopped three times and had to be restarted. She also suffered broken ribs, a broken hip, and a broken jaw. Worst of all, she lost almost all of her vision.
A few weeks later, my grandfather suddenly died of a heart attack. Why had she survived her accident only to face this? she wondered. She missed my grandfather and longed to be reunited with him. Fortunately, she had a good home teacher who helped her to feel secure and looked-after.
As time went on, Grandma began to feel that perhaps she had survived her fall for a reason, and she determined to find out what it was. She began to realize that once a person is gone, there isn’t much left on earth to remember him or her by. Many of her grandchildren and great-grandchildren—including myself—hadn’t known her and Grandpa well. And she wanted us to know our heritage. Neither she nor Grandpa had ever kept a journal, so she decided to write about her fifty years of marriage and of her service in the Church.
With this new goal, Grandma became excited about life again. Her only problem was how she would be able to do it. She was nearly blind, and she didn’t know how to type. She tried tape-recording her recollections, but her memory was failing just enough to make accuracy impossible.
About this time, Grandma phoned me and asked for help with her history. I had never had a very close relationship with my grandparents, and the last thing I wanted to do was to help with this project. Besides, I didn’t have the means to get to where she lived to help her.
But the Lord must have wanted me to help, because when I graduated from college, I found a job and an apartment near where my grandmother lived. Though I still didn’t really want to help write her history, I felt a family obligation to give her some of my time.
One day, I visited her and evaluated what needed to be done. She had a box full of photographs, tapes, letters, newspaper clippings, and certificates. To organize this would take months, maybe years!
But the Lord was listening to her prayers. The first week at my new job, I hurt my back and couldn’t work for some time. I decided to spend the time recovering from my injury to helping Grandma with her history.
I soon found that the fastest way to compile the material was to tape-record Grandma telling her story as she responded to questions I asked her. Though the history was soon progressing well, my injured back wasn’t, and after a while I was almost out of money. I decided that I would have to return to work; the history would have to wait.
About this time, my grandmother’s home teacher, John Minor, told me about a night when my grandmother had almost died. She had been very sick and had called him—not to ask him for a blessing, but to ask him to pray for her, which he did.
That night John had dreamed that he saw my grandfather, who said that he was going to call for Grandma. John had pleaded, “You can’t. She hasn’t finished her book yet!” The next day, John had checked on Grandma, and she was all right.
As John told me of his dream, I felt the Spirit soften my heart. I sensed the urgency of finishing my grandmother’s history. It would not be easy, but I determined to spend as much time as I could with her—as long as my limited funds lasted.
Now my concern was shared by other family members. They all helped to support me with food and with rent money while I wrote. In a pocket of some clothing I had my family send from home, I found some money that I had forgotten about. The Lord was blessing me and Grandma as we worked on the project together.
As I wrote, I began to better understand my grandparents. I learned about the persecution they had endured when they had joined the Church. I learned that soon after their marriage they had found out that they could not have children until Grandma underwent an operation to allow them that blessing. I felt the Spirit of Elijah turn my heart to my fathers, and I loved and appreciated my grandparents more than I ever had before.
After a few months of steady work, I gave the first chapters of the history to Grandma. She loved them!
A few weeks later, Grandma died.
After Grandma’s death, I finished her history and made it available to our family. I am grateful that through it, other descendants can come to love and understand my grandparents’ as I have.

House Build B:
Estefania and her two children, Camila (5) and Diego (2), had been living in an extremely small, one-room home with five other members of her extended family.
As she was handed the keys to her first home, Estefania was brought to tears. She thanked the youth for this act of love and service. To her and her family, it represented the love of her community and the hope of a brighter future.

As the school bus bumped along the rough road, Barbara bounced with excitement.
“You should see my Father’s Day gift,” she told Francine.
“Mr. Hansen, the art teacher, stayed after school for a few days to help me. It’s a hand-painted tie with all the soft colors my dad likes.”
“Do you have it with you?”
“It’s home on my desk, ready to be wrapped.”
“What if your dad goes into your room and sees it?” Francine said.
“He won’t. Dad left for work early this morning and won’t be home until after I’m home from school.”
The bus slowed for Barbara’s stop. Her spirits soared as she raced into her home and up the stairs. It was time to wrap her gift. But as soon as she reached the second floor, she knew something was wrong. Her bedroom door was wide open.
She raced into her bedroom and found her four-year-old brother sitting on the carpet, holding what was left of the treasured tie. Soft-colored scraps surrounded the shiny scissors on the floor. Ronnie’s pudgy fingers worked to knot the ragged tie about his neck, and he glanced up, an expectant smile creasing his round face.
“See? Now I look like Daddy.”
“How could you, Ronnie? You’ve ruined it!” Barbara dragged herself downstairs, collapsed onto a kitchen chair, and started sobbing.
Her mother was speaking on the phone, jotting notes on a pad. She eyed Barbara. “Let me call you back. Something’s come up.”
In one smooth movement, Mom was in a nearby chair. The story of the tie spilled out, and Mom nodded, her face serious.
“Now what am I going to do? I have no gift for Dad. And I worked so hard on that tie.”
“I’m sorry,” Mom said, “It must be a terrible disappointment. And now you have even more hard work ahead of you.”
“You mean making another tie?”
“No, I mean forgiving Ronnie.”
“After what he did?”
“As I said, it’s hard work. Forgiveness isn’t just words. Forgiveness includes honest feelings.”
Stunned, Barbara left the kitchen. Forgive her brother for wrecking Dad’s gift? How could she? Why should she?
She sat on the steps, trying to deal with her feelings. As she sat there, she argued silently with herself, “I shouldn’t have left it on my desk.” “Ronnie shouldn’t have gone into my room, either—that was my private space.” “But four-year-olds don’t understand privacy.”
With a wince, she recalled the pride and innocent pleasure on Ronnie’s face as he showed her that he just wanted to be like Dad. He wasn’t trying to hurt me, and he must have been hurt by what I said.
What I said—words. Mom had said that forgiveness was not just words, but honest feelings. With growing joy, Barbara realized she had feelings of love not only for Dad and Mom but for Ronnie too. Sincere feelings.
She hurried back to her room. Kneeling, she hugged Ronnie tightly. “I wanted to give Dad a super gift,” she explained. “That’s why I was upset by what you did. But you’re special to me too. Next time I’ll include you in my plans. Then the gift will be from both of us.”
“I think you just gave me a special gift,” Dad said from the doorway.
Barbara got to her feet, holding out the tie. “Sorry, Dad.”
“Sorry that you’re a feeling person who puts people ahead of material things? Don’t ever be sorry for that. I’m proud that you’re my daughter.”
Barbara flew into his arms. The wonderful sense of joy that she had felt on the stairs returned stronger than ever. Her family was more important than a piece of cloth.

While living and working in Alaska a number of years ago, I had occasion to go on a fishing trip with a group of young men that included one of my sons. The other adult leaders and I knew that the area we would be camping in was bear country, so prior to the trip, we gathered the boys together to discuss certain safety measures.
We talked about four basic rules to remember when fishing in bear country: First, don’t do things that would invite a bear into the camp. For example, don’t store food out in the open that would attract the bears. Second, keep the camp clean. Take care of all garbage. If you catch and clean fish, get rid of the entrails and slime. Third, if a bear does come, know how to defend yourself. Drop down, be still, and play dead. Fourth, if someone gets hurt or is attacked by a bear, know how to get help. Signal to others that you are in trouble, and keep a good orientation of your surroundings so that you know the fastest way to go for assistance.
I am confident that all would have gone well on that trip had we kept all those rules. But we didn’t! On our last day we cleaned fish in the center of the camp and didn’t properly dispose of the remains. That night a Kodiak bear wandered into camp. We had just settled inside our tents, when we heard its panting. We literally froze in fear. We couldn’t talk.
Luckily for us, the bear got what it was after and nothing more. It found and ate some of the fish we had cleaned, and it ran off with two buckets, which were filled with the day’s catch. But it left us alone and didn’t do more harm.

One year as I was driving myself and my niece Shelly, who was then seven years old, back from a trip to Vernon, British Columbia, I had an experience that has helped me as I try to improve my ability to prune wisely and to load or unload my wagon, as the case may be.

During the trip when we were not playing the tape “Winnie the Pooh” for the hundredth time, Shelly would be asleep in the backseat of the car, and I had many hours and many miles to weigh, compare, and wonder. I had gone to Canada to take care of my sister’s family of nine children while she was in the hospital with her tenth baby. After a week of doing laundry, matching socks, tending to paper routes, meals, lessons, car pooling, bedtime stories, lunch money, settling disputes over time spent in the bathroom, finding shoes, and planning for family home evening, I felt overwhelmed to say the least. At the appointed time my sister returned with a babe in arms. I stood in awe and reverence as I watched her step back into that routine with the ease and harmony of a conductor leading a well-trained orchestra with each player coming in on cue. It was a miracle to me.

As I thought of her life and mine, I began measuring what I was not doing in comparison to what she was doing. We do that, you know. I began wondering and feeling discouraged, despondent, even depressed.

At that moment, somewhere between the Canadian border and Spokane, my father’s voice came into my mind. He had passed away two years before, but his voice was as clear as though he were sitting by my side. “My dear,” he said, “don’t worry about the little things. The big things you agreed to before you came.” And for the rest of the journey, between moments of listening to “Winnie the Pooh,” I asked myself over and over again, “What are the big things in life? What is essential? What is the purpose of life?” I share this experience with you, my brothers and sisters, because I believe there are times when these same questions weigh heavily on your mind.

The years have passed since that experience, and Shelly has traded Winnie the Pooh for the more important things. She has just recently received her mission call to New Zealand. She is now willing to leave important things behind, including ballroom dancing, which for Shelly borders on being essential, to go forth and teach the real essentials, the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Sabrina T., São Paulo, Brazil
When I was little, my family and I passed through many financial trials that lasted until I was about 10 years old. My dad couldn’t find other work, so he worked as a street vendor and earned very little. My mother stayed home to care for me and my younger brother.
But even passing through so many tribulations, we had a testimony of paying tithing and giving other offerings. We faithfully paid our tithing every month and never lacked anything. We know with certainty that we were continually blessed because of the Lord’s infinite kindness and because He keeps His promises when we are obedient to His commandments.
Our days of financial trial finally ended. The blessings that the Lord has given us in these last few years have been amazing.
I know that for those who faithfully pay tithing and pay their offerings in love with the goal of blessing the lives of others, nothing will lack and something even better can happen, as with me and my family. The blessings will increase. I know this. I lived this.

When our youngest son, Jeff, was a toddler, I had to cry in mighty prayer as Enos did (Enos 1:4), but for a different reason. Jeff had swallowed harmful paint thinner and could not breathe. With him in my arms, I rushed frantically in the car to the nearest hospital emergency room, pleading out loud with the Lord to help him to breathe. After what seemed like an eternity, the air passage opened and he did breathe, but his body had already become blue from lack of oxygen. My prayers were answered, and I cried in gratitude.

President George Albert Smith’s mother knew the Lord’s will; he told this touching incident of being taught to pray: “I was trained at the knee of a Latter-day Saint mother. One of the first things I remember was when she took me by the hand and led me upstairs to the bedroom. In the room there were two beds, the bed in which my parents slept, and a little trundle bed over on the other side. I can remember it as if it were yesterday. When we got upstairs she sat down by my little trundle bed. She had me kneel in front of her. She folded my hands and took them in hers and taught me my first prayers. I shall never forget it. I do not want to forget it. It is one of the loveliest memories that I have in life: an angelic mother sitting down by my bedside and teaching me to pray … That prayer opened for me the window of heaven. That prayer extended to me the hand of my Father in Heaven, for she had explained to me what it all meant, as far as a little child could understand …” (Sharing the Gospel with Others (Deseret Book Co., 1950) pp. 147–48.)

One of those little contributions was made by a student here on our campus. Parker Kuhn was a member of our family ward in Idaho Falls, and he is now a student living in Rexburg. When our son was a freshman, he was completing his Eagle Scout project. As part of the project, the young men of the ward were going to help Harrison by passing out flyers for a shoe drive. Harrison had planned out what he needed to do and bring to the activity but ended up forgetting the tape for the flyers. When I realized he left the tape behind, I drove around the neighborhood to all of the groups of boys who were handing out flyers to give them a roll of tape. I caught up to Parker and his friend and handed them the tape and thanked them for their willingness to help Harrison. Parker's two-word response to my gratitude has been forever seared in my brain. When I thanked Parker, he responded with, "My pleasure." How do we respond when we are given the opportunity to assist another? At that time, Parker was a senior in high school, and I'm sure he had a hundred other things he could have been doing, but he took one hour out of his day to help our son earn his Eagle.