Gospel Story Finder

For you to feel that urgency, I first share the story of Noelle Pikus-Pace, one of those Latter-day Saint athletes. In Noelle’s event, the skeleton, athletes build momentum as they sprint and then plunge headfirst on a small sled. With their faces inches above the ground, they race down a winding, icy track at speeds that top 90 miles (145 km) an hour.
Remarkably, years of preparation would be considered either a success or a disappointment based on what happened in the space of four intense 60-second runs.
Noelle’s previous 2006 Olympic dreams were dashed when a terrible accident left her with a broken leg. In the 2010 Olympics her dreams fell short again when just over one-tenth of a second kept her from the medal stand.
Can you imagine the anxiety she felt as she waited to begin her first run in the 2014 Olympics? Years of preparation would culminate in only a sliver of time. Four minutes total. She spent years preparing for those four minutes and would spend a lifetime afterward reflecting on them.
Noelle’s final runs were virtually flawless! We will never forget her leap into the stands to embrace her family after crossing the finish line, exclaiming, “We did it!” Years of preparation had paid off. We saw her Young Women medallion around her neck as the silver medal was placed there beside it.
It may seem unfair that Noelle’s entire Olympic dreams hinged on what she did during just four brief minutes. But she knew it, and that is why she prepared so diligently. She sensed the magnitude, the urgency of her four minutes, and what they would mean for the rest of her life.

Some years ago Albert Peters told of the experience he and his companion had of a man being born again. One day they went to the hut of Atiati in the village of Sasina in Samoa. There they found an unshaven, unkempt, misshapen man lying on a bed. He asked them to come in and introduce themselves. He was pleased to know they were missionaries and wanted to hear their message. They presented the first discussion, bore witness to him, and then left. As they walked away, they discussed Atiati’s condition. He had had polio 22 years before that had left him without the use of his arms or legs, so how could he ever be baptized, being so completely disabled?
When they visited their new friend the next day, they were unprepared for the change in Atiati. He was bright and clean-shaven; even his bedding had been changed. “Today,” he said, “I begin to live again, because yesterday my prayers were answered and you [came] to me. … I have waited for more than twenty years for someone to come and tell me that they have the true gospel of Christ.”
For several weeks the two missionaries taught this sincere, intelligent man the principles of the gospel, and he received a strong witness of the truth and the need for baptism. He asked them to fast with him so that he would have the strength to go down into the water and be baptized. The nearest baptismal font was eight miles away. So they carried him to their car, drove him to the chapel, and set him on a bench. Their district leader opened the service by bearing a strong testimony about the sacred ordinance of baptism. Then Elder Peters and his companion picked up Atiati and carried him to the font. As they did so, Atiati said, “Please, put me down.” They hesitated, and he said again, “Put me down.”
As they stood in some confusion, Atiati smiled and exclaimed: “This is the most important event in my life. I know without a doubt in my mind that this is the only way to eternal salvation. I will not be carried to my salvation!” So they lowered Atiati to the ground. After a huge effort, he managed to pull himself up. The man who had lain 20 years without moving was now standing. Slowly, one shaky step at a time, Atiati went down the steps and into the water, where the astonished missionary took him by the hand and baptized him. He then asked to be carried from the font to the chapel, where he was confirmed a member of the Church.
Atiati continued to progress so that he gained the ability to walk only by a cane. He told Elder Peters that he knew that he would be able to walk on the morning of his baptism. He said, “Since faith can move a stubborn mountain, I had no doubt in my mind that it would mend these limbs of mine.” I believe we can say that Atiati was truly born again!

Some years ago when I was serving as a bishop, a family in our ward experienced a crisis when the father lost his job. I was concerned about their well-being, and I visited their home to counsel with them and to offer Church assistance. Interestingly, they were reluctant to respond to my offer of temporary assistance, and so I took the matter to the ward council. In a spirit of loving confidentiality, I shared with them my concern for this wonderful family and asked for their ideas as to how we could bless them.
Our Relief Society president volunteered to visit with the mother to ascertain their temporal needs and to work with them in obtaining any commodities they needed—which, of course, was her responsibility according to the program of the Church. Within a couple of days, she had accomplished what I had been unable to accomplish, and the family humbly and gratefully accepted commodity assistance. The elders quorum president counseled with the father of the family—which, of course, was his right and duty—and worked with him on ways to find a job. Our Young Men president noticed that the family’s house was in desperate need of painting, and he arranged for his priests to work with the high priests group to paint the house.
During the course of my conversation with the parents, I discovered that they were heavily in debt and were in arrears on their mortgage. Following approved welfare guidelines, I inquired about the ability of their extended family to help but received little information. Our Relief Society president, however, was able to learn that the mother had a brother who was wealthy.
“There’s no reason to contact him,” the mother said. “We haven’t even spoken in years.”
I understood her dilemma, and yet I felt it was important to follow the order of the Church. And so I counseled with her and eventually received her permission to contact her brother, who lived in a distant city. I called him and explained the difficult circumstances in which his younger sister was living. Within three days he arrived in Salt Lake City and helped get his sister’s financial affairs in order. Meanwhile, our elders quorum president helped her husband find a steady job with a good income.
More important, however, was that they were closer and more united as a family. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that tender moment of reunion between the mother and her brother after years of estrangement. Although her brother had become alienated from the Church, there was an immediate spirit-to-spirit bonding. As a result, the brother eventually returned to full activity in the Church and renewed his relationship with his family.
All of this happened because of the inspired work of a faithful ward council functioning according to the program that God has outlined for His children through His servants.

I had just gone through some dating heartache and was spending a lot of time at my sister’s. Inevitably we ended up eating junk food, watching TV, and taking naps. Waking from one of these naps, I remarked, “I don’t think we’re very good for each other.” We laughed, but that night I thanked Heavenly Father for the realization that I was using my sister as a security blanket and prayed for greater understanding of what I might do to move forward with my life. Over the next few months, that prayer was answered as I gained understanding one concept at a time.
The next day, while attending a Relief Society meeting, I noticed a particular scripture: “Others will he pacify, and lull them away into carnal security, that they will say: All is well in Zion; yea, Zion prospereth, all is well. … Therefore, wo be unto him that is at ease in Zion!” (2 Nephi 28:21, 24). I had always read these verses as describing the proud who went through the motions of worship. I had not considered myself as being at ease in Zion by spending so much time with my sister. But I began to realize that instead of seeking healing, I’d sought comfort. I resolved then to try harder to get out of my comfort zone.
The resolution helped, but stepping out of my comfort zone made me more aware of my inadequacies, which led me to feel more critical of myself. When I mentioned these feelings to a friend, he commented, “Isn’t forgiving ourselves great?” His comment helped me desire to better forgive myself of my shortcomings—without becoming complacent like those who are “at ease in Zion.”
One day I was struck by Mormon 2:13–14: “Their sorrowing was not unto repentance, because of the goodness of God; but it was rather the sorrowing of the damned, because the Lord would not always suffer them to take happiness in sin. And they did not come unto Jesus with broken hearts and contrite spirits.” I came to understand that my feelings of failure were stunting my personal growth, and I began to ponder what appropriate sorrow would entail. It was in Sunday School that I found my answer.
Our teacher drew a line on the chalkboard, labeling one end, “Being too hard on ourselves” and the other end, “Eat, drink, and be merry.” We talked about avoiding either extreme. I wondered what words would be in the center of the line, and the Spirit guided my thoughts to the phrase “a broken heart and a contrite spirit.” It seemed to me that the solution to a tendency to be too hard on oneself might be described as a contrite spirit—one that is repentant, accepting of the Lord’s help, and grateful for His mercy. The remedy for being at ease in Zion might be called a broken heart—one that is justly motivated to change and to heal.
The Savior taught, “Ye shall offer for a sacrifice unto me a broken heart and a contrite spirit” (3 Nephi 9:20). I am grateful to know that as I seek the Lord’s help to avoid being at ease in Zion and to avoid harshly judging myself, I am offering an acceptable sacrifice to Him—a sacrifice that helps me move forward with my life.

I grew up in a large family, and I always believed that motherhood would be my greatest contribution to building the Lord’s kingdom. However, my husband and I recently learned that our chances of adding children to our family in this life are small. Our infertility journey has been excruciatingly painful, but the uncertainty of treatments and the emotional load of making difficult decisions have been especially soul crushing. At times I have wondered, What will my influence and role be if I can’t be a mother in the way I had planned?
During this journey, I’ve been grateful for other faithful women in my life whose experiences have also turned out differently than they had planned. And through their examples, Heavenly Father’s message to me has been this: “Don’t wait. Don’t second-guess if you could or should have done more or chosen differently. Be where you are now. Take opportunities to love and serve those around you.”

Back home in Mendon, Brigham and his brother Joseph left in late November or early December, to walk through mud and snow and cold and wind, to preach the gospel. They found many people receptive to their message.
As soon as spring came, Brigham went alone preaching to and converting people. He went to Loughborough, Canada, where he and his brother had taught earlier. Brigham joined a group of converts and guided them some 960 kilometers to Kirtland. Then he walked back to Mendon.

A dear friend told of the passing away of his atheistic father. As he bid good-bye to his family who had gathered around, he expressed no hope of any future, saying, “No, this is the end.”

Then, as the last moment came, he suddenly opened his eyes and said distinctly, “Mother, how good to see you! Sister, you look lovely. How beautiful it all is!” Then he died. What a surprise it must have been for him! I hope he was happy about it.

International students from Weber State College in Ogden, Utah, spent an evening with the Young Men and Young Women of the North Ogden Third Ward fixing dishes from their native countries using everything from dried mushrooms to seaweed.
The students came from Japan, Kuwait, Lebanon, Mexico, and Nigeria. It was an opportunity for the ward’s youth to get a firsthand look into some of the world’s cultures. And the international students, in turn, had the opportunity to rub shoulders with some typically American kids.
The language barrier caused some amusing moments at first, but by the end of the evening friendship overcame any language inadequacy. The fact that there was very little food left over was proof of the success of the event, and both groups left feeling like they knew the other a little better.

I have experienced many opportunities. One occurred 21 years ago, prior to the time when the German Democratic Republic—or East Germany, as it was more commonly known—was freed from Communist rule. I was visiting with the East German state secretary, Minister Gysi. At that time our temple at Freiberg, in East Germany, was under construction, along with two or three meetinghouses. Minister Gysi and I visited on a number of subjects, including our worldwide building program. He then asked, “Why is your church so wealthy that you can afford to build buildings in our country and throughout the world? How do you get your money?”
I answered that the Church is not wealthy but that we follow the ancient biblical principle of tithing, which principle is reemphasized in our modern scripture. I explained also that our Church has no paid ministry and indicated that these were two reasons why we were able to build the buildings then under way, including the beautiful temple at Freiberg.
Minister Gysi was most impressed with the information I presented, and I was very grateful I was able to answer his questions.
The opportunity to declare a truth may come when we least expect it. Let us be prepared.

Choosing my friends wisely, following Church standards, and going to Church activities help motivate me to do things I should do, like reading my scriptures and working on Personal Progress. During my first year at Young Women camp, my leaders announced that a second-year girl in a different ward had completed her Personal Progress. Her example motivated me to work on mine more often, and soon we became great friends. The next year, she had moved into my ward and went to camp with us. On the first day, I asked if we could go play tetherball together, but she said she had to read her scriptures first. I was so impressed, I decided I would read with her. She was such a great example to me! Because of our friendship, I’ve almost finished my Personal Progress and the Book of Mormon. Choosing to follow good examples can start a chain reaction to doing great things and developing your testimony.
Cadence J., 14, Texas, USA

A true story from the USA.
Rowan watched as Miss Brody invited a new student to stand at the front of the classroom.
“This is Ernest,” Miss Brody said. “He just arrived in Hawaii from a country called Ukraine. He doesn’t speak any English. Will you all be kind and make friends with him?”
Rowan and his classmates nodded.
Ernest was looking down and frowning. He was the only person wearing long pants and a long-sleeved shirt.
Rowan wondered what it would be like to move to a new country and not speak the language. It sounded scary!
At recess, Rowan saw Ernest walk to a spot by himself while the other kids ran off to play together. He was still frowning.
Rowan wanted to be friends with him, but he didn’t know what to say. How could they be friends if they didn’t speak the same language?
After school, Rowan went home and asked Dad for help. “Can you help me look up how to say things in Ukrainian?” Rowan asked. “There’s a new boy in our class who doesn’t speak English.”
Dad nodded. “Of course.”
First, they looked up how to say, “It’s lunchtime.” Rowan listened to the answer. “Nastav obidniy chas.” Rowan tried saying it a few times. It was hard! So he looked up how to say “hello.”
“Pryvit,” the voice on the computer told him. That was easier. Rowan replayed the word over and over and practiced saying it.
The next day during recess, Rowan found Ernest sitting alone on the grass again. Rowan stood next to him and smiled. “Pryvit!” he said in a loud voice. He hoped he said it right.
Ernest smiled and handed Rowan a gummy bear.
Rowan sat next to Ernest and said pryvit again. Then he said, “Hello.”
“Hello,” Ernest said slowly. He gave Rowan another gummy bear. It smelled like oranges, and it was delicious and chewy.
Rowan drew four lines in the dirt next to them to make a tic-tac-toe grid. He taught Ernest how to play. It was hard to explain since they didn’t speak the same language. Sometimes Ernest drew X’s when it wasn’t his turn. But Rowan didn’t mind. He just wanted to make a new friend.
Every day that week, Rowan played with Ernest at recess. They shared gummy bears and played games together.
One day at home, Dad asked, “How’s the new boy in your class? Did you practice the words you learned?”
“Yes! His name is Ernest,” Rowan said. “We play games at recess, and he gives me gummy bears.”
Dad smiled. “That’s awesome.” He sat next to Rowan on the couch. “Ernest and his family are refugees. They come from a country far away. Elder Kearon said that Jesus Christ was a refugee as a boy and asked us to be friends when we meet people from other countries. What do you think it takes to be a good friend?”
Rowan thought for a second. “It takes some love and finding a game to play together,” he said. “Then, others can join in and play the game too and get to know each other.”
Dad pulled Rowan in for a hug. “You are following Jesus and doing what the prophets ask us to do,” he said. “And now you have a new friend.”
“The Savior knows how it feels to be a refugee—He was one. … He repeatedly taught us to love one another, to love as He loves, to love our neighbor as ourselves.”
Elder Patrick Kearon, “Refuge from the Storm,” Liahona, May 2016, 111–12.
Illustrations by Josh Talbot

Illustration by Patricia Geis
Ava squirmed in her seat. She bounced. She wiggled. She heard her Primary teacher talking. But Ava could not pay attention. All she could think about was the box under Sister Obi’s chair.
It was wrapped in shiny blue paper. It had a gold bow on top. What could it be? Ava leaned her head way down. She stared at the box. She wished she could see through the shiny paper. She could hardly wait to find out what was inside.
Finally Sister Obi pulled out the box. She set it on her lap. Ava leaned forward. But Sister Obi didn’t open it.
Sister Obi held out the box. “Inside this box is one of Heavenly Father’s greatest creations. Look inside. Then pass it on without saying anything.” She passed the box to Noah.
Noah slowly lifted the lid. He stared inside the box. He smiled. Then he passed the box to June.
Ava stood on her tiptoes to try to see. But it wasn’t her turn yet. What could be so important to Heavenly Father? And how could something so special fit in such a little box?
She watched everyone take a turn. One by one, each of her friends opened the box. They looked inside. They smiled.
Finally it was Ava’s turn! She lifted the shiny lid and looked inside. It was a mirror! Ava looked at the mirror in the box. She saw her own face looking back.
Ava saw her eyes get big. Was she one of Heavenly Father’s greatest creations? Did Heavenly Father love her that much?
Ava smiled. She felt warm and happy inside. It was like a big hug. A big hug from Heavenly Father. He did love her! She was one of His greatest creations.

• Friedrichsdorf and Frankfurt, Germany, Monday, June 10: If anxious members of the Tabernacle Choir seek a confirmation of things to come, they receive it on this first concert day here on the lawn of the Frankfurt Germany Temple in the suburb of Friedrichsdorf. A twenty-minute outdoor “concert” scheduled to begin at 12:30 P.M. has been delayed some minutes due to heavy drizzle, but with five hundred townspeople looking on, those in charge move ahead with the public greetings between Friedrichsdorf Mayor Gerd Schmidt and Elder Russell M. Nelson. Drizzle continues. Then the choir begins to sing “Alleluia,” a song whose lyrics consist of one reverent word—alleluia, meaning “praise to God,” repeated sixty-five consecutive times. Within a minute, the rain stops. In a few more minutes, wind breaks up the clouds, blue skies appear, and sunlight beams down. A Frankfurt newspaper headed their story “Alleluia Stops the Rain.” Tonight’s opening concert in Frankfurt’s palatial Alte Oper before an audience of 2,250 is a striking, four-encore success.

I too was afraid to let my friends down. But I thought to myself that if I did give in, whom else would I let down? What worked best for me was to make the decision long before the situation came up. I made the commitment to myself that I would say no to drugs and alcohol. After I said no a couple of times, I was more respected for the decision I made. After a while, when someone would ask me again if I wanted a drink, one of my friends would say, “No, Calder doesn’t drink.” It made it easier for me once my friends realized that I wasn’t going to drink.
Elder Calder, 20, Idaho Pocatello Mission

It was a cold wintry Sunday morning, December 9, 1849. As thirty boys and girls stamped in from outdoors, they brushed the snow from their coats and hats and slapped their mittened hands together for warmth.
The children had been invited to come to the home of Richard Ballantyne to begin the first Sunday School ever held in the Salt Lake Valley. As he was building the adobe home, with its stone foundation and dirt roof, he had dreamed of the day when he could gather the neighborhood children around him and tell them the stories of Jesus.
The warmth from the stone fireplace was no brighter than the glow of welcome on the face and in the voice of Richard as he welcomed the children and asked them to take their places on the simple wooden benches he had made for them. When all were quietly seated, the tall bearded man conducted a song and then dedicated the room for the teaching of children.
Years later one of Richard’s daughters told of a dream he had had while still a young man. “He saw a large unfinished building,” she reported. “He saw a number of young boys playing in and around it. Then he saw an officer of the law after them, trying to catch them. One of the boys ran to my father. With a pitiful pleading look on his face, he cried, ‘Oh, teach me! Teach me!’ This dream made such a strong impression that it seemed to point out my father’s special work in life.”
Richard Ballantyne was born in Whitridgebog, Scotland, on August 26, 1817. His father died when Richard was only eleven years old. He was apprenticed to a baker to learn a trade to help support the family.
Richard was twenty-five and teaching a Sunday School class in the Presbyterian Church when he first heard the Mormon missionaries in a small town near Edinburgh. He was soon baptized. The next year he immigrated to America, where he met his wife. Together they traveled west to the Salt Lake Valley with the early pioneers.
For a year Sunday School was held every Sabbath morning in the Ballantyne home. From that simple beginning, Sunday Schools were organized in other areas and finally became a part of the general organization of the Church.
As he grew older, Richard often said, “I was early called to this work by the voice of the Spirit, and I have felt many times that I had been ordained to this work before I was born, for even before I joined the Church I was moved upon to work for the young.”

When I was a boy growing up in a home with a widowed mother, I heard a story that touched me and that has had a lot more meaning since I have had the blessing of having a son of my own.
A youngster was assigned by his father to see to the moving of a large rock. He tugged and pushed, and he lifted and struggled without avail. Some friends were enlisted, but together they could not move it. Reluctantly he reported to his father that he could not budge the rock.
“Have you done all you could?” asked the father.
“Yes,” said the little boy.
“Have you tried everything?” persisted the father.
“Yes,” said the boy. “I’ve tried everything.”
“No, son, you haven’t,” said his dad. “You haven’t asked me.”

Have you ever stood on a high cliff with your toes on its edge and your back to the abyss below? In rappelling, even though you are securely connected to a system of strong ropes and equipment that can deliver you to safety, standing on the edge is still heart-racing. Stepping backward off the cliff and swinging into thin air requires trust in an anchor secured to an immovable object. It demands trust in the person who will apply tension to the rope as you descend. And although the equipment provides you with some ability to control your descent, you must have confidence that your partner will not allow you to fall.
I vividly remember rappelling with a group of young women. I was first in the group to go. As I stepped backwards off the cliff, I began to fall without control. Gratefully, the rope jerked and my too-rapid descent was stopped. As I dangled halfway down the jagged rock face, I prayed fervently for whomever or whatever was keeping me from dropping onto the rocks.
Later, I learned that the anchor bolt had not been securely set, and as I stepped off the edge, the person belaying me was jerked on his back and pulled towards the edge of the cliff. Somehow, he wedged his feet against some rocks. Stabilized in that position, he was able to laboriously lower me, hand over hand, with the rope. Although I couldn’t see him, I knew he was working with all his strength to save me. Another friend was at the bottom of the cliff, prepared to catch me if the rope ceased to hold. As I came within reach, he caught my harness and lowered me to the ground.

It all started with a roommate in college who began to get “holy” (I thought). She only played Bach on Sunday. Well, I enjoyed Bach, but please, let’s have a little more contemporary music too! Let’s not be translated yet (or so I thought). Soon the spirit of that day came to me through music, just listening music, beautiful symphonies, a fitting background for thinking and meditation. Gradually I weaned myself from the music of the world on Sunday, and the light of the gospel shone in me in this single precept.

Merry Christmas, Grandma and Grandpa, my two favorite missionaries!
Love,
Abby
Eight-year-old Abby was underlining the word love when her brother, Zac, marched into the living room. “What are you doing?” he asked, peering over her shoulder.
“Finishing my Christmas card for Grandma and Grandpa. Are you done with yours?” Abby looked up at six-year-old Zac as he dropped a fistful of crayons onto the table.
Zac shook his head. “I don’t really want to make a card for them.”
“Why not?” Abby asked, surprised.
Zac shrugged. “I don’t know. It was strange not having them here for Thanksgiving. I missed Grandpa’s great stories about the turkey hunts he used to go on with his dad. And it didn’t seem the same without Grandma serving her secret-recipe pumpkin pie.”
Abby nodded. “It’s been three months since Grandpa and Grandma left on their mission. We’ve never gone that long without seeing them. I miss them too.”
“I always thought that if people loved you, they wouldn’t want to leave you.”
Abby glanced around the living room at the four red knit stockings hung on the mantelpiece, the garland strung around the kitchen doorway, and the colored lights blinking brightly on the Christmas tree. Suddenly her gaze became fixed on the nativity scene placed on a small wooden table in the corner of the room.
“Come with me,” Abby said, gently tugging Zac’s sleeve. She led him over to the small table. “Isn’t this beautiful?”
“Sure,” Zac said with a puzzled look on his face.
Abby carefully picked up two shepherd figures and three small white sheep from the manger scene. She set them on the floor beside her. “Zac, what if an angel hadn’t appeared to the shepherds, telling them Jesus was born?”
“Abby,” Zac said, upset, “the manger doesn’t look right without the shepherds and the sheep.”
“I know,” Abby said softly. “Help me put these back in place.”
She pressed the two shepherds into his hands. “The shepherds knew about Jesus because someone told them. But, Zac,” she added as he placed the shepherds close to the manger, “there are a lot of people who don’t know about Jesus.”
Zac ran his fingers over the top of the stable. “And Grandma and Grandpa are going to find some and teach them about Him.”
“That’s right. Think what a special Christmas this will be for the families Grandma and Grandpa are teaching the gospel to.”
“I still miss them,” Zac said, almost in a whisper.
“Me too,” Abby agreed.
Zac scooped up his crayons. “See you later,” he said.
“Where are you going?” Abby asked.
“I want to make my Christmas card for Grandma and Grandpa.”
“Show it to me when you’re finished, OK?” Abby called as her brother disappeared around the corner. Her gaze returned to the nativity scene. She smiled and gently touched the small star above the manger. “Merry Christmas, Grandma and Grandpa.”

I remember another example my father set for the community as the local stake president. He always tried to keep our home and yard clean and neat. It just had to be that way. Once an old cowpuncher who lived in Safford—when I was called to Salt Lake to be an Apostle—came in to see me and said, “Well, Spencer, you know, I always used to pass your place as we went to meetings, and if it was clean, then I knew conference was on. If it wasn’t clean, it was something else.”