Gospel Story Finder

Now to more serious matters. When I was a young boy, 13 years old, I was about to enter junior high school in Grand Junction, Colorado. I am the oldest of five boys and thus felt some pressure to accomplish great things and be a good example for my four younger brothers. I expected that junior high would be difficult. I wouldn’t know all the kids, since in junior high we came from several different elementary schools. The thought of going from classroom to classroom made me wonder if I would get lost and look like a fool. I wondered: What if some of the teachers are mean? And I was most worried about how skinny I was at the time and about my new crop of pimples. (When you think about it, how does anyone survive junior high school?)
Most of all I worried that I would not compete well academically with the other students, as being a scholar was my goal. So I was a bundle of nerves that summer of 1962.
Fortunately I was blessed with a great mom who always seemed to be able to calm me down. Let me show you a photo of me making homemade fudge with my mother in 1953. The Salt Lake Tribune took the picture and published my mom’s great no-cook fudge recipe. This is where I got my sweet tooth! As I was worrying about starting junior high, my mom calmed me down with one of the wisest, most caring, and rational statements a mom could make to her worrywart son.
She said, “Jeff, we don’t care what your grades are. All we expect is that you do your best. If you do your best, we will be proud of you regardless of your grades.”
With that statement my anxiety was cut in half, and I started looking forward to junior high. After all, I could not control my final GPA, but I could control how hard I tried. I couldn’t control my intelligence, which was average—okay, maybe a little above average—how mean the teachers would be, how smart the other students would be, or even my final grade in any particular class. But control my levels of dedication and effort? I could do that!
Mom taught me the value of setting realistic expectations in life that day. She taught me that process or effort is more important and manageable than the final outcome. So for over a half century of living I have used her wise counsel in my life to accomplish much, get over my failures, keep perspective in all I do, and not beat myself up when I don’t succeed the first time.

In one of his weekly messages on “The Spoken Word,” Lloyd Newell relates the following true story.

It wasn’t the numbing cold that defeated the former Olympic champion, Florence Chadwick, on that day in 1952. Nor was it the dulling fatigue, which had accumulated during 15 hours worth of swimming in the currents off Catalina, nor the lack of endurance. There was still sufficient stamina to complete the last few hundred yards of the, 26 mile journey. But Florence was helped out of the water less than 2 mile from the shore, a short distance from being the first women in history to complete the difficult swim from Catalina to the California Coast. It wasn’t cold, fatigue, or weakness, which turned success to failure, but Lack of Vision. Florence couldn’t see the shore because of the fog. Had she known how close she was she would have kept going.

Many of us are like this in life. We have the ability to go on but we lose sight of our goal. We must see with our mind=s eye the vision we are seeking. Then when we have weaknesses that would turn our success to failure, we will be able to go on.

Later Florence was able to try to reach her goal again. This time when the fog settled around her and she couldn’t see the way, she swam on. All was the same, except Florence. This time she had a vision. When all seemed lost she swam on seeing her goal with her mind=s eye. She was able to complete her goal, being the first woman to complete this feat.

There’s a great story told to me by the father of the young woman who was involved in it. I promised I’d share it with women across the Church when it was appropriate.
A three-year-old had wandered off on an adventure, shedding his clothing as he went. When he realized he was lost as well as cold, he knocked at the home of this young woman. She saw a little boy standing on the step; he was wearing only soiled underwear and was crying his heart out. She took him in, and while they waited for the police to find his mother, she wrapped him in a blanket and held him on her lap and sang songs to him. She made him clown faces on home-dipped ice cream cones and drew pictures with him so he could surprise his mother. She made him feel marvelous.
When at last the boy’s mother arrived, he started for the front door. Then suddenly he stopped, maybe remembering what a special time he had had with the young woman.
“Hey!” he asked, “Are you Heavenly Father’s wife?”
The young woman was startled—and sobered. At last she replied, “No, but I am his daughter.”

Before I was baptized, I felt embarrassed about myself because of my wheelchair. After I was baptized, however, I began coming to the ward every Sunday and participating in young single adult activities. I even went to stake dances, dancing in my wheelchair to every song. I also joined a network for Samoans with spinal injuries.
I realized I had healed from feeling that I needed to hide. Through the Church, I gained the confidence to go among people again.
Before he was baptized, Posenai felt embarrassed to be in a wheelchair. But after his baptism, he says, “I gained the confidence to go among people again.”

My second example also comes from pioneer times. When the Saints needed a large quantity of rags to process in their paper mill, the First Presidency asked bishops to sponsor rag drives in their local wards and settlements. In 1861, President Brigham Young called George Goddard, a loyal Church member, on a “rag mission” to promote this effort.

Brother Goddard recalled: “[This calling] was a severe blow to my native pride. … After being known in the community for years, as a merchant and auctioneer, and then to be seen on the streets going from door to door with a basket on one arm and an empty sack on the other, enquiring for rags at every house. Oh, what a change in the aspect of affairs. … When President Young first made the proposition, the humiliating prospect almost stunned me, but a few moments’ reflection reminded me that I came to these valleys of the mountains from my native country, England, for the purpose of doing the will of my Heavenly Father, my time and means must be at His disposal. I therefore answered President Young in the affirmative” (quoted in Leonard J. Arrington, Great Basin Kingdom [1958], 115).

For more than three years, George Goddard traveled from Franklin, Idaho, in the north to Sanpete County, Utah, in the south, visiting hundreds of houses. On Sundays he preached what were called “rag sermons.” By the end of this three-year mission, he had collected more than 45,000 kilograms of rags for the paper project. It was humble work, but it was essential for the progress of his community, and it was assigned by priesthood authority.

But another day with my father shaped my life forever. He took me from New Jersey to the home of an ordained patriarch in Salt Lake City. I had never seen the man before. My father left me at the doorstep. The patriarch led me to a chair, placed his hands on my head, and pronounced a blessing as a gift from God that included a declaration of the great desire of my heart.
He said that I was one of those of whom it had been said, “Blessed are the peacemakers.” [Matthew 5:9.] I was so surprised that a perfect stranger could know my heart that I opened my eyes to see the room where such a miracle was happening. That blessing of my possibilities has shaped my life, my marriage, and my priesthood service.

I remember vividly the day I was baptized—December 15, 2007. As I stood in the cold water with Elder Kelsey and he raised his hand to the square, the Spirit just filled me up; it seemed to take over my whole frame. I could say that I was also grinning from ear to ear, but that description doesn’t even come close to describing what I felt.
After my baptism I continued to feel the Spirit. I felt sanctified. I knew that my sins had been remitted. I felt the approval of Heavenly Father that this was, indeed, the path I was supposed to take.

The first time I renewed my temple recommend the member of the stake presidency who interviewed me was Val R. Christensen, now president of the Rexburg Temple. In the interview he asked me: "What have you done during the past year that makes you more qualified today than you were a year ago for a temple recommend?" Startled by this unexpected question I quickly reviewed the past year to determine if I had improved my life during the previous twelve months.
That interview became a defining moment for me; every time I have renewed my recommend since I pause to reflect on my life and am prepared to answer President Christensen's question (even though no priesthood leader has ever asked me again) because I know the Lord wants to know if I am living the kind of life that will qualify me to follow the bridal party. And I truly desire to make my life a journey toward discipleship, my lamp trimmed and burning brightly when the Lord returns.

Perhaps I was influenced too—as have been countless thousands of others—by the words of Charles Dickens as he wrote that immortal classic, A Christmas Carol. We recall the habitual response of “Bah! Humbug!” that Ebenezer Scrooge gave to any Christmas greeting. On one such occasion his cheerful nephew replied: “I have always thought of Christmastime … as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time … and I say, God bless it!”
Then you will remember Scrooge’s dream when the Ghost of Christmas Past appeared and said to him: “I wear the chain I forged in life. I made it link by link … and of my own free will I wore it.”
Thus Scrooge was reminded of his own neglect of his fellowmen and his heart began to soften. By the time of the appearance of the Ghost of Christmas Present, he was able to say, “Tonight, if you have aught to teach me, let me profit by it.”
Then when the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come appeared, Scrooge said: “I am prepared for what you have to say to me … with a thankful heart.”
As he was shown the sad fates of some he had failed to help and foresaw his own lonely death, he pleaded, “Assure me that I yet may change … [and] I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year.”
He was overjoyed when he awakened and found that he was still alive and had time to make amends, which he promptly set about to do.

“Ashley, would you please read Helaman 5:6–7?” [Hel. 5:6–7] Sister Robins asked. Ashley quickly opened her Book of Mormon, found the passage, and read: “‘Behold, my sons, … I have given unto you the names of our first parents who came out of the land of Jerusalem; and this I have done that when you remember your names ye may remember them; and when ye remember them ye may remember their works; and when ye remember their works ye may know how that it is said, and also written, that they were good.
“‘Therefore, my sons, I would that ye should do that which is good, that it may be said of you, and also written, even as it has been said and written of them.’”
“Thank you, Ashley,” Sister Robins said. “In this scripture, this prophet Nephi—he lived just a few years before Christ was born—is telling his sons, Nephi and Lehi, why he gave them their names. Can anyone tell me why?”
“Because Nephi wanted his children to remember what good things the first Nephi and Lehi had done,” Emily answered.
Ashley thought about the things she had read in 1 Nephi: Lehi listened to the Lord and left Jerusalem. Nephi obeyed his father and returned for the brass plates, and he built a ship, and preached to his brothers, and—
“And then they would do good things, too, and be righteous, too,” Samuel’s comment broke into her thoughts.
“That’s right,” Sister Robins said. “Names can sometimes help us choose the right. My first name is Camilla. My parents named me after the wife of one of our prophets, President Spencer W. Kimball. She was a wonderful woman who spent her entire life serving other people and building up the kingdom of God. I always remember her because of my name. It makes me want to obey the Lord and serve other people as she did. Are any of you named for a special person?”
“I was named for Daniel in the lions’ den,” Danny said.
“I was named for my great-great-grandmother who crossed the plains,” said Emily.
Ashley shut her Book of Mormon and sat back in her chair. What about my name? Where does it come from? It isn’t in the Bible or the Book of Mormon. She couldn’t think of anyone in her family with her name.
She asked about it on the way home from church. “Mom, why did you and Dad name me Ashley?”
“We just thought it was a beautiful name, and you were such a beautiful baby girl that the name fit.”
“My name’s not in the scriptures, is it?”
“No, it isn’t, dear.”
“Is there anyone in our family, like a great-great-grandmother, whose name was Ashley?”
“No, I don’t think so. It’s just a pretty name,” Mom answered.
Dad asked, “Don’t you like your name, honey?”
Ashley mumbled an “Oh, yes. It is pretty.” But she thought, Pretty is not enough—there’s nothing special about it to remind me to be good. She thought about her sister’s and brother’s names. Rachel’s name is in the Bible. And Brian’s named after Dad. Her eyes filled with tears. Why was I left out?
That night as she was lying in bed, Ashley thought about it again. It isn’t fair! I want a name that means something special. I know—I’ll change my name! She grabbed her writing tablet and a pencil. She said them aloud as she listed possibilities: “Elizabeth, Mary, Rebecca, Sarah. And Grandma’s name is Emma Jane.”
A knock came at the open door, and Mom asked to come in. She glanced at the tablet in her daughter’s lap. “What’s this, Ashley? Are you really upset about your name? Why, honey?”
“In Primary, we read about the Nephi and Lehi who were named after the first Nephi and Lehi, who were great prophets. Danny was named for a famous prophet too. Emily was named for her great-great-grandmother, who was a pioneer. Rachel was named for the woman Jacob worked seven years to get to marry. And Brian was named after Dad. Why didn’t I get a good name?”
Mom reached over and smoothed Ashley’s ruffled bangs. “You did get a good name. Don’t you know that?” She paused and looked at Ashley’s list. “Were you thinking of changing your name to one of these?”
“Yes. They were all great women.”
“Well, what do you think made them great?” Ashley thought for a minute.
“They were great because they were righteous people and served others.”
“Do you think their names made them great—or did they make their names great? Look at King Noah in the Book of Mormon. Although he had the same name as one of the greatest Old Testament prophets, he was a very wicked man. The people we admire made their names great by the kind of people they were.”
Mom pointed at the list. “These names were all probably held by other people before the ones who made them notable. And in Helaman, after Nephi told his sons that he gave them their names so that they would remember the first Lehi and Nephi and the good that they did, what did he say next?”
“He said that he wanted his sons to do good, too, so that when other people talked about them, it would be about the good they—his sons—did.”
Mom smiled. “Well, what do you want people to think when they hear your name?”
“I want them to think that I’m a nice person and that I try to do what’s right.”
“I want them to think that too. It’s nice sometimes when we are named for great people, but it’s more important that we make the name we have great. Just think—you have a brand new name to make great!”
“And maybe when people hear my name, they’ll remember that I’m a good person.”
“One more thing, Ashley. All of us who have been baptized have a special name. We say that we take this name upon us, which means that we choose to be named after and try to be like this person. Do you know what name I’m talking about?”
“Yes—it’s Jesus Christ.”
“So, if you want a name that will remind you to be good, just remember his name. Will that help?”
“Yes—I feel much better. Thanks, Mom.”
As her mom leaned over to turn off the lamp, Ashley crumpled the list of names and dropped it into the wastebasket.

Many years ago, on an assignment to the beautiful islands of Tonga, I was privileged to visit our Church school, the Liahona High School, where our youth are taught by teachers with a common bond of faith—providing training for the mind and preparation for life. On that occasion, entering one classroom, I noticed the rapt attention the children gave their native instructor. His textbook and theirs lay closed upon the desks. In his hand he held a strange-appearing fishing lure fashioned from a round stone and large seashells. This, I learned, was a maka-feke, an octopus lure. In Tonga, octopus meat is a delicacy.
The teacher explained that Tongan fishermen glide over a reef, paddling their outrigger canoes with one hand and dangling the maka-feke over the side with the other. An octopus dashes out from its rocky lair and seizes the lure, mistaking it for a much-desired meal. So tenacious is the grasp of the octopus and so firm is its instinct not to relinquish the precious prize that fishermen can flip it right into the canoe.
It was an easy transition for the teacher to point out to the eager and wide-eyed youth that the evil one—even Satan—has fashioned so-called maka-fekes with which to ensnare unsuspecting persons and take possession of their destinies.

Several years ago I wrote a story about my sister and submitted it to you. It was published in the April 1984 issue under the title “Lifeline.” It told of my little sister’s trials during the time she lived with my father (a Baptist minister) in southern Georgia. The story described the heartache she felt at being cut off from the Church she loves and the help she received when her home teachers listened to the promptings of the Spirit and came to visit her.
My sister (Jean Swilley) remained true to the gospel and passed through the refiner’s fire. She moved to Chicago in July of 1984 to live with my mother. Jean became active in her ward, and before long her bubbly spirit was charming the members in Illinois just as it once had in Mississippi. My Mom could not help but be influenced by the strength of Jean’s testimony, and she began her journey back into the fold of the Church. Both she and her new husband are now strong, active members of their ward. They are very happy even though they miss my sister very much.
Jean left Chicago last week to enter the MTC. Though she always insisted she had no desire to go on a mission, she obeyed her Father’s call and is now a very excited sister earnestly studying her discussions in Swedish. Though I am sure Jean will face many a refiner’s fire in Sweden, I know that she will come through them clinging to the lifeline her Father tossed to her many years ago. We thought you might like to know. Thanks again for printing Jean’s story.
Elizabeth (Swilley) SheridanIrmo, South Carolina

A student in my Book of Mormon class shared with us his unique placing by the hand of the Lord in coming to Rexburg, Idaho. He was accepted to attend Berkeley, near his home, accompanied with a generous scholarship. This was a great opportunity to go to this prestigious university, with great reputation in his field of study. His Bishop, however, counseled him to apply to the Church schools, and so he confusingly complied. Although he received his dream acceptance accompanied by scholarship, he decided to journey to Provo and to see if the Lord would have him be there. He sensed the discrepancy of feeling between campuses, but the Lord did not confirm that Provo was to be the place. In his words, “I was also accepted to BYU-Idaho, and I said in my mind, no Lord, not Rexburg.” The confirmation came, and he is having many experiences of changing, learning discipleship, and knows why he is here. So should be the discovery of each of us, but again, these are only seeds planted, and true fruit will be gathered when you as disciples, firm, steadfast, and immovable are planted throughout the Lord’s vineyard.

It was our first Christmas away from home. Elders Heemeyer, Bright, Kehoe, Schulze, Westover, and I had all gathered in one apartment to share Christmas Eve. We hoped that spending the evening together as a missionary district might make it easier to be away from home.
It was about 5:30 in the afternoon, and we were all a little discouraged. Setting up appointments with investigators and finding new people to teach had been difficult recently. “Come back after Christmas,” everyone said.
After talking for a few minutes, Elder Schulze suggested we go caroling to the homes of our investigators and some of the members. We all thought it was a great idea, and we planned a short program. We would start with two hymns and a spiritual thought. Then we would conclude with another hymn and a prayer. The whole program would be only 20 minutes long, but we all felt pleased with it.
Before we left, we knelt to pray. Then we set out into the cold night on the south side of Chicago, Illinois, in the United States.
Our first stop was the apartment of a member whose daughter and two grandchildren were investigating the Church. We certainly weren’t the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, but for six elders we sounded pretty good. After we shared our program, the family told us our “gift” was the best they had ever received.
Soon we were at a different apartment presenting our program to another family. At every stop, our enthusiasm and joy grew. We kept hearing the same response: “This is the best gift ever. You really brought the Christmas spirit.”
That night I came to better understand the true meaning of Christmas—that sharing and serving others are what Jesus Christ’s ministry is all about. And while we were busy in the service of others and of the Savior, home didn’t really seem so far away.

We have all sorts of Christmas parties and functions where we load up on goodies and give each other ridiculous white elephant gifts. We participate in family traditions that we never do any other time of the year. For example, in our home, we have a crazy tradition we call “Elfville.”
We put on our elf hats and go to work building an entire elf village out of empty appliance boxes, duct tape, and Christmas lights. We then eat and sleep in our newly built elf homes. In case you were wondering, I am the little guy sitting down in the photo. And truth be told, I have actually been asked more than once in public, by children, if I was an elf (and that is without even wearing an elf hat). It is truly amazing how many ways Christmas changes our thoughts and behavior. There is a magic in the air, and hopefully we are all beginning to feel and enjoy it.

Elder Melvin J. Ballard stirs us with this example:
I remember a good sister out in the Northwest whose husband was stricken with paralysis until he was unable to move, and lay day after day in the hospital. She said, “He can’t die. He must not die or my faith will be broken.” God knows how much we can stand and He recognizes this. I said to that woman, “God will not take your husband until you ask Him to: She said, “I will never ask Him.”

The man became so weak he could only speak in the slightest whisper. One day, months having passed, the woman came to the mission office and said, “I never thought I would live to reach the place I am today. You told me he would never be taken until the Lord was asked to take him. I come now seeking his death. Please come and ask the Lord to take him. I surrender him and give him up. I can’t endure his suffering longer.” We went to the hospital and asked the Lord for that blessing, and in one hour he was gone.[26]

Years ago, while working on a cattle ranch doing some work with a tractor, I happened to see what appeared to be a muskrat trap lying on the ground. I stopped the tractor and picked it up. The trap held firmly in its jaws the foot and leg of a great blue heron, held steadfastly by only one toe.

I picked up the trap with its attached leg and couple of the feathers and placed them on the fence. It appeared as if someone, intending to trap a muskrat for its fur, or some other reason, had carefully set the trap under the grass and reeds in an irrigation canal. Innocently, the great blue heron had landed in the same location to obtain his daily ration of fish or frogs. While prodding through the grass and lilies, it found itself as a victim, caught by one toe with no possibility of escape.

It was apparent that this poor creature had struggled for some time, finally pulling the trap loose from its tethered stake. It then had flown over several fences until the weight of the attached trap and fatigue brought it to the ground. It looked as though it had then been attacked, killed, and eaten by other animals. The only evidence of this struggle that remains is what you see in my hands and on the screen. It had no power to escape the natural consequences of mortal life and death.

In relating this event to our own lives, we realize that all mortal creatures are subject to death and the dissolution of the body. In considering captivity and death from a doctrinal perspective, please retain the image of the remains of this majestic bird in your mind to determine whether you will qualify for the blessings of salvation provided by our Savior Jesus Christ, through his merciful atonement.

Amy Adams of Washington, USA, was trying to decide which activities would be best for her three young children when a conversation with her mother changed her mind. “What if you gave your children something better than training in sports or dance?” Amy’s mother asked. “What if by staying home, they could learn to feel the Spirit more?” Then her mother reminded her of what President Dieter F. Uchtdorf, Second Counselor in the First Presidency, has taught about the power of focusing on life’s basic relationships (see, for example, “Of Things That Matter Most,” Liahona and Ensign, Nov. 2010, 19–22).
Amy and her husband, Brett, prayed about and pondered this counsel and felt it would be a good idea for their family to spend more time together at home. For one year, they chose to forgo dance and sports; instead they prepared meals, learned Primary songs, visited museums, and played outdoors. “Our children were able to feel the Spirit … because we took the time to stop and listen,” Amy says. Their children may not be the top sports and dance stars, she says, “but they have a testimony of the Savior.”
Amy and Brett prayed to know how they should personally follow the counsel of modern prophets, and doing so allowed them to receive inspiration for their family. Amy says this inspiration led to her “proudest moments as a mother.”

When she first moved into Relief Society at home, Macie thought it was a challenge to fit in with the older women. Mallory’s home ward tried to ease the transition by periodically inviting the Laurels to Relief Society lessons and activities, so she had a taste of what it was like, but in the back of her mind she still had a fear that they were going to spend a lot of time sewing. However, both Mallory and Macie now understand the reasons for programs like home, family, and personal enrichment and are able to gear them toward the women their age.
“I have a greater appreciation for Relief Society now,” Macie says. “I don’t think it’s just an old ladies society anymore.”
And just as both girls turned to their mothers for words of advice and comfort in their new callings, Mallory says that with the right attitude, the younger women can learn from the older women. Then, that sisterhood she and Macie have come to embrace can be extended across the generations.

When I was in my final year of elementary school, all of the students went camping in Negros Occidental, Philippines, before our graduation. We pitched our tents at the campsite and had a good time exploring among the guava and mango trees. When night came, my parents came to check on me. They told me to be very careful, and then they left.
One of my classmates invited my friends and me to take a ride with him and his older cousin. His cousin drove us around, and we had fun until—to my surprise—my classmates brought out beer and cigarettes. We parked the car near the campsite, and they began to drink the beers and smoke in the car. They invited me to join them, but I refused.
I said I wouldn’t join in because smoking would shorten my lifespan. I also said that it is against my beliefs, because I have been taught the Word of Wisdom. I told them that the Word of Wisdom is a law that teaches that we should keep our bodies clean, because they are temples of God. I told them we must avoid smoking; drinking alcohol, tea, and coffee; and taking drugs. My best friend and I left the group and slept in our tent.
When I went home, I was happy to tell my dad that I had not joined my classmates but instead had taught them about the Word of Wisdom. I was happy the Holy Ghost was there to guide me and give me the courage to speak to my friends.
From this experience I learned that our obedience will be tested when we are on our own, without parents or others to support us. I feel grateful for the Word of Wisdom and am committed to obey it. When I am old enough, I will go on a mission and teach many people the importance of the Word of Wisdom.