Gospel Story Finder

His mother tells about the time the family car broke down several miles from town, near an old store ready for demolition. While dad, Royal, went to call someone to help with the car, Ron and his mother explored the old building. “Ron examined the ruined building carefully,” said his mother. “He even had me help take down the exact measurements of the rooms, the windows, the staircase, and we imagined what type of things were sold.” From the measurements and his memory, Ron constructed a miniature version of the country store. The rooms were to scale, and he even put the same type of window sashes and woodwork as in the original. He made it so the roof could be removed and recreated what he imagined the original might have looked like inside. Even though the building has since been torn down, Ron has preserved it in miniature.

I should like to repeat a beautiful experience, which is very touching to me. I hope Bishop Featherstone won’t mind my mentioning him as the one about whom I am going to speak. This happened just after they moved here from their lovely home, where they had many friends and were very popular. He had come home after work and had gotten into his lounging clothes, and his young son, Joe, said, “Dad, I wish you would give me a special blessing so that I can adjust and feel at home and be happy here.”

His father went upstairs and changed his clothes. As he was coming down, his wife said, “Surely you are not going out tonight.” He said, “I am going to give someone a blessing.” And then he said, “Joe has asked for a special blessing, and I wanted to be dressed and ready to honor the priesthood and to show Joe the interest I have in him, and to make it possible for him to enjoy the blessings through the faith he has in me and the priesthood.”

Brethren, that is the spirit to have. And, of course, as he told his wife, you can naturally imagine what happened. She shed tears as she realized she had a husband, the father of her son, who would be an example and be so interested in him that he would be prepared to represent the Lord in the priesthood that he holds.

When I was 12 years old, my mother died, leaving my father with six children. There were few educational opportunities in our area, and many people were satisfied with a fourth-grade education. But I wasn’t. I held on to a dream of finishing my studies.
My opportunity came when I moved to the city of Santarém, Brazil, at age 17. My father arranged for me to live with some people he knew, and I began taking a few classes. My work barely paid for the school materials I needed.
During my first year there, the people I lived with asked me to affiliate with their church. I repeatedly refused their request. The third year came, and I still hadn’t joined their church. Then one day they asked me to find another place to live. I was devastated.
The next day I didn’t go to work or to school. I remembered my stepmother’s friend who lived close by and resolved to talk to her.
When I arrived, Maria Jose welcomed me. After I explained my situation, she asked that I go and get my things and come stay at her home. There seemed to be something extraordinary about her kindness.
After a few days, as she was preparing food, she told me that missionaries from her church were coming to eat lunch. Her goodness made me curious about her beliefs.
I spoke with Elder Riggs and Elder Marcio during lunch and set up a time to hear a discussion. By the appointment the next day, I had read the Book of Mormon and prayed about it but hadn’t felt anything unusual. But before the missionaries began, they promised me that if I would open my heart I would know that the things they would teach were true.
They didn’t need to say anything more, because while they spoke I knew by a strong feeling that this was the Church of Jesus Christ. Three weeks later I became a member.
I later served full time in the Brazil Curitiba Mission. I love this gospel and the opportunity I had to do for others the same work those missionaries did for me.
I couldn’t join one church—even when my decision left me homeless. But in finding a home and a Christlike friend, I found the true Church of Jesus Christ.

I will give you one example from my life. I am an entomologist by training. I study insects. I love this and biology in general. I love to teach biology. However, currently I am serving as the Department Chair for Teacher Education. I have had no specific training to be a department chair, and I have also not had any specific training in teacher education. I never expected to be a department chair and I really never expected that opportunity to come in teacher education but the opportunity did come. It has been an amazing learning experience. I have grown in ways that would not have been possible in any other way. At this point in my life the Lord has invited me to move out of my comfort zone and onto a different path for a time. We may not know why the Lord directs us in certain ways or why we are given certain opportunities. The reasons may not be made clear until after this life but if we will trust in the Lord, He will lead us.

I was far from home on my mission in San Francisco, California, and I thought everything was great. Every day that I got a letter became a great day, until I received one I did not want. I had lived in four states already, and the thought of my family moving to another was almost more than I could bear. Nonetheless, I knew that my parents would soon move our family again.
“I applied for a new job,” my father wrote. They would be moving to Virginia.
When the day came that I would leave my mission, I felt awkward going to a “home” I had never been to. When the airplane pilot announced five minutes until arrival, I felt like I was at the circus on opening night. I stepped off the plane, and for the first time in two years I saw my family.
“Justin!” came a shout down the hallway.
Stories were shared. We rambled nonstop as we drove down the strange streets and unfamiliar country. I felt at ease knowing my family was there.
I realized it was not the location that made my home but where my heart would return. And my heart was with my family. Like a flash of lightning, many questions were answered. My family was close because our home was with each other. It was not a house or location that made it home; it was the love of our family.

On Sacrifices to Keep the Sabbath
Sometimes we worked until midnight on Saturday to keep from breaking the Sabbath. We went to church the next day, often without much sleep. Once we came home from church, and a cow had gotten caught in the pasture fence and died. There were times when we had millions of yen worth of damage to our cut hay because it had lain in the rain on the Sabbath. We knew accidents didn’t happen because it was Sunday. If you worry about that kind of thing, you would never be able to keep the Sabbath. Accidents can happen anytime.

Years passed, and I was attending a radar technician school in the U.S. Air Force at Biloxi, Mississippi. During a general discussion one day, one of my instructors, Norman M. Hale, mentioned that he was a Mormon. That night, as I lay in bed, I couldn’t get the day’s conversation out of my mind. Finally, I got out of bed, dressed, and walked to where the instructors were housed. By then it was past midnight. I knocked on Norman Hale’s door and got him out of bed with the greeting: “Hi, I’d like you to tell me about the Mormon Church.”
Hale and his roommate had been companions in the mission field. They spent the remainder of the night giving me the discussions. When they mentioned temples, genealogy work, and vicarious work for the dead, a voice rang in my ears, Grandpa’s voice, and I heard again the solemn charge that he had given me. A warmth filled my bosom and I knew that what I was being taught was true. I started attending the Latter-day Saint church the following week, and was baptized in October 1954.

One night a family watched a terrible storm from their home near a beach. Huge waves crashed against the shore, breaking apart the family’s wooden boat dock. The next morning the family found pieces of the dock along the shoreline. But their boat was floating unharmed in the water. It was held in place by a strong anchor. The anchor had kept the boat from crashing into the shore and being destroyed.

Many years ago, after returning from an activity in our ward, when we were about to go to sleep, my daughter asked if we would pray together, the two of us that night, to which I replied, sure, honey. Then she looked at me with a serious, worried face and said: yes, we need to pray because I have a problem. (I am so thankful that she was six and not sixteen when she told me that!) So, I asked what happened. Then she explained that when we were at the activity in the church that day, she lost her pink rubber CTR (Choose the Right) bracelet. Well, in my mind, this was not a big deal because I could easily buy another one, and the cost was probably just a few dollars. But then the invitation to make sure that I was awake came from her when she said: Let's pray so we can find the bracelet. I was the old guy, the leader in the church, the one who knew the scriptures. Still, at that moment, I realized that I needed to make sure that I was awake, that I truly understood the situation, and how much Heavenly Father is in the details of our lives, including a matter that may seem insignificant from a world perspective. After praying with her, I went to my room and prayed a lot more, asking for the guidance necessary to understand the situation and provide the answer my daughter was looking for.

The next day was Sunday, and I needed to attend my early morning meetings. Although I planned to participate in a sacrament meeting in a different building and park my car on the street, I decided to park my car inside the church property. I don’t know if you are aware of this, but in South America, big, tall fences surround some church properties, probably 13 feet tall, so you need to open the gate to enter the property. Still, that day, I decided to park inside, and even though there were no parked cars and the closest spots to the door were available, I chose to park in the middle of the parking lot, like “this is my parking lot.” Then, when I turned the car and started facing the building wall, I noticed a little pink thing on the ground next to the wall. My heart started beating fast, and it was not because of the monetary value of the pink rubber CTR bracelet. Instead, it was for the opportunity to awaken to the principles that we teach and try to live daily in our lifelong journey as disciples of Jesus Christ.

“When I prayed about serving a mission, I wrote down promptings I received from talks, music, or friends. When I felt discouraged while preparing for my mission, I would go back and read the things the Spirit had told me. I turned in my papers and trusted in the Lord. When you move forward with faith, you don’t know how it’s going to work out, but you will notice God’s hand in your decision making!”
Bryanna M., 19, Oregon, USA

Greg stared out his bedroom window at the snowflakes fluttering down past the Christmas lights shining from the neighbor’s house. He could hear Christmas carols coming from the radio, and he could smell cookies baking. In four more days it would be Christmas, and he was sad.
He knew that Christmas was supposed to be a happy time. And he did have happy memories. As long as he could remember, his family had spent Christmas at Grandma and Grandpa’s house. Grandpa told funny stories. They sang carols and popped popcorn. And they read about the birth of Jesus from the Bible.
But this year Greg would not be seeing his grandparents at Christmas, because they were serving a mission. Why did they have to go away? What’s so important about a mission? he wondered.
The next morning Greg stayed in the house. When he heard the lid drop on the mailbox, he ran out to get the mail. His grandparents had promised to send him a Christmas card. Maybe it had come today.
Greg carried in all of the letters. Most of them were Christmas cards addressed to his parents. But when he sorted through the envelopes again, sure enough, there was one addressed to him in Grandpa’s big handwriting!
Greg also found a blue airmail letter with thin up-and-down writing, addressed to “Mr. Greg Peters,” Who could have sent it? he wondered. It had the same postmark as his grandparents’ card.
Greg hurried to his room and sat on his bed to open the envelopes. On a pretty Christmas card, his grandparents had written, “Merry Christmas! Only four more months until we see you again! We miss you, and Christmas will seem strange without you. But we’re grateful that we can celebrate Jesus’ birthday by teaching others about the gospel. It’s our gift to Him this year. Love, Grandma and Grandpa.”
Four months until his grandparents came home! That still seemed like a long time to Greg.
The second envelope had a letter in it that read:
“Dear Greg,
“I want to thank you for the best Christmas present my family has ever received—we are being baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We’re all being baptized—me, my wife, my children, and my parents. Then when we are ready, we will all go to the temple together.
“Your grandparents taught us the gospel. They say that you miss them very much and that they miss you too. They hope that you understand that they are on a mission so that they can teach families like mine how to be together forever.
“My family and I thank you for sharing your grandparents with us. Now my children can have their grandparents forever just like you can.
Sincerely,Gerald Hobbs”
Greg put the letter down and picked up his grandparents’ Christmas card. How about that! A whole family were being baptized because of Grandma and Grandpa.
Greg still missed Grandma and Grandpa, but maybe four months wouldn’t be so long after all. And maybe it wasn’t so bad to share them for one Christmas, especially for such a good reason.

Another time, while serving a mission in Kentucky, Lorenzo was warming himself by a fire one evening at the end of a church meeting. An unfriendly man standing beside him (who was part of a gang waiting to attack him) accidentally bumped against Lorenzo and felt his scriptures in the pocket of his jacket. The scriptures were a gift from Joseph Smith, Sr., father of the Prophet Joseph Smith. However, thinking the object in Lorenzo’s jacket was a gun, the man immediately left without causing a fight. Lorenzo said a prayer of thanksgiving to the Lord for taking care of him while he preached the gospel.

The Samoan way is much more than shared chores. It’s about lifting each other to a higher place whenever possible. And for a lot of families, that includes siblings helping siblings with the cost of their education.
“I work in the city to help provide money for my family, including paying for my younger brother’s schooling,” Sefa explains.
This sacrifice means a lot to Don. “This makes me feel closer to my brother,” he says. “I love him and appreciate what he’s doing for me.”
Sefa also knows that Don will ultimately be able to pay it forward. He likes to imagine the man his younger brother will grow to be. “I know that someday Don will do great things for his own family,” Sefa says. He wants his brother to have every shot at success.
Once again, it’s the Samoan way. They help build each other’s future.

In my own life there have been times when I have had to exercise great faith in my Heavenly Father and wait for peace and reassurance to come to me.

While serving in the Philippines in 1996, my wife and I received a phone call advising us that our daughter-in-law Tamara had been taken to the hospital in very serious condition. It was not known if she would survive. This happened just as we were preparing to come for general conference. Upon learning of her illness, we returned a few days early.

We learned that one evening Tamara felt like she was coming down with the flu. The next morning she didn’t feel any better, so our son suggested she stay in bed and he would get the children off to school and would check back with her later.

Fortunately, later that morning our daughter, Nanette, went to Tamara and Ben’s home to borrow their van. When she arrived she asked their five-year-old son if his mother was there. He said she was in bed but that she would not talk to him. Nanette called the paramedics, who came to the home and rushed her to the hospital.

The doctor said, “We don’t know what she has, but if it is what we think it is, we need to treat it now or she won’t be alive tomorrow.” The diagnosis was correct. Tamara had a serious brain infection, a type of meningitis. The disease spread very quickly. She was put on a ventilator and our sons administered to her. She developed a fever, had gall bladder problems, and her lungs collapsed. She was given medication to keep the blood around the vital organs so they would not fail.

Consequently her fingers and her toes went black and amputation became a possibility. They were able to save her fingers, one half of one foot, and two-thirds of the other. The doctor said, “I have no idea why your wife is still alive. I am a scientist, and, by all the books, she should be dead. All I can say is that it wasn’t her time.”

Tamara was in a coma for six weeks, in special care for two weeks, and in a rehabilitation hospital for three weeks, after which she had to go through years of rehabilitation. Following conference, my wife remained in Salt Lake to help with our family.

While touring the Micronesia Guam Mission on the island of Majuro, I received a message that my wife needed to talk to me as soon as possible. My first thought was that something had happened to Tamara. When I called my wife, she reported that Tamara was holding her own but that our son, Brad, was in the hospital undergoing surgery.

Brad was in the process of taking down a large garage door at work. He had pushed down the old door with a forklift and knew he had to make sure that the old springs that operated the door were unwound. I now quote Brad:

Upon inspecting the springs, I could see that they were still fully loaded. I proceeded to the springs and hit them both with the sledgehammer, and the springs appeared to unwind. All appeared safe now to dismantle the door.
With gloved hands I reached down to pull the torsion bar assembly away from the rubble heap. The instant I pulled on the torsion bar I must have released some unseen pressure as the rod twisted around, grabbing my glove and pulling my hand and arm into the springs. The next thing I knew I was twisted around the torsion bar three times up to my elbow, with my glove partially pulled off my hand. There was a trickle of blood dripping from my glove.
I couldn’t see what was damaged, as I was having a hard time keeping my balance as the pressure from the springs was twisting me off my feet in an attempt to wrap me further around the torsion bar. I was grateful my teenage son, Josh, was there. He got some additional help, and they were able to release enough pressure so I could start to untangle myself and get out of the grasp of the twisting torsion bar.
As I freed my blood-soaked glove, it fell to the ground, and I then noticed my hand was missing the thumb, which had been torn off. I told Josh to get some clean towels to wrap my hand in. As I attempted to retrieve my thumb from inside the glove, I got the bleeding stopped and held my thumb in the palm of my hand and asked Josh to drive me to the hospital.
Shortly after we arrived, I found myself in the operating room. Four surgeons and five hours later, they had reattached my thumb to my hand.
Following the surgery I received a blessing from my father-in-law and brother-in-law. The next day each of the doctors looked at my hand. They appeared surprised the surgery appeared to be so successful. By the end of the week they all put their doubts aside and said it looked like a keeper and told me I could finally go home. How appreciative I am for the blessing I received, for the words of healing and restoration in my behalf, and even more for a loving Father in Heaven, who knows what is best for me.

My mission tour continued. A few days later, while on the island of Palau, I received another phone call from my wife. Tamara was still holding her own, and Brad’s hand was okay. What is it this time? She then advised me that she had been diagnosed by the doctor as having cancer on her nose and that it was deep enough they felt she should have a plastic surgeon perform the surgery, which would take place in the next couple of days.

Fortunately the surgery was successful, and today she is just as beautiful as ever.

As I now reflect on that time of family crisis, I recall the peace and hope that the gospel of Jesus Christ brought into my life and the quiet calm that came to me through the Holy Ghost. We had received promises in His holy house that our family could be eternal, and that knowledge brought me great peace and comfort. I did not know at that time how it was going to turn out, but I did know that whatever happened, my family and I were loved by our Savior.

I want to share with you a few comments made about one of our graduates who, through a life of service, has helped to burnish the Brigham Young University name. This was written by one of her seven children—six sons and one daughter—who nominated their mother for the Service to Family Award:

[Alice Schindler Cannon] graduated from BYU in 1958 and went to law school at Duke University. Because of a long-distance courtship with our father, she moved to Illinois and graduated from the University of Illinois as a lawyer. During this time they married, and upon graduating our mother decided not to begin a law practice because she was expecting her first child. Her priority was family.

The letters of recommendation noted that tragedy struck this family in 1993 when an accident took their father. It was then that the award nominee assumed the role as head of the household and monitored the family construction business as secretary/treasurer. Her family further notes that she has served in virtually every Church organization and calling, including Relief Society president twice, both stake and ward Young Women president, and Primary president.

At her daughter’s report to the high council after her mission, the stake president asked this outstanding mother and BYU graduate where she had sent her children on their missions. After she replied, with tears in his eyes the stake president noted, “Sister, you have sent your children to all parts of the world to teach the gospel, and the men and women of this world honor your name.”

On Thursday, we visited the Washington, D.C., Visitors’ Center and then met with the Washington Temple presidency and set apart several sealers. The next morning, Friday, March 13, in company with Elder Gordon B. Hinckley, we visited with President Ronald Reagan in the Oval Office of the White House. We presented to him his genealogy on his mother’s side. We then met with Mrs. Reagan. Both were very warm and gracious and very appreciative of the genealogical record.

After graduation, Christine and I moved to Palo Alto, California, where I started graduate studies at Stanford University. It would have been easy for us to get lost in the wave of move-ins as part of our new ward’s annual intake of graduate students coming out of BYU. But the Lord sent two men into our lives who changed us forever. Hank Taylor and Peter Giles had graduated from BYU years earlier. With Silicon Valley’s ascendance, these men were always representing their alma mater and the Church with distinction. They raised their families in the gospel and helped establish the Church in the Bay Area. Brother Taylor had served in the stake presidency and Brother Giles was one of the former bishops of our ward.

By the time we arrived in Palo Alto, some might have thought these two brethren were past their prime in Church service. But no one had told them that. Both Hank and Peter looked at all these new graduate students and decided part of their service would be to teach us what it means to serve in this Church. I was called as just another Young Men advisor—one of many. But these leaders then taught me how to minister to those in need, how to welcome others into the ward, and how to embed myself in the lives of the youth. Here is a picture of the three of us years later on a return visit to our Palo Alto ward. [A picture was shown.]

I’m not sure the young men in that ward really benefited much from my role as just one extra Young Men advisor. But a few years later, I found myself across the country with a call to serve the youth in inner-city Boston. This time there was no Hank Taylor or Peter Giles to mentor me. My youth were of Haitian, Dominican, and West African descent. I loved those boys. I gave everything I had to them, ministering in their homes and helping them build their testimonies in Christ. Those young men have since served missions, graduated from BYU and BYU–Idaho, and married in the temple. They are now building their own families and building the Church. I doubt any of those young men will ever know Hank Taylor or Peter Giles, but their lives were blessed forever because of what I learned from those early mentors about what it means to serve in this Church.

Many of you young women have written and shared with us your family experiences and some of the things you are learning as you have turned your hearts to your families. Twelve-year-old Katie Quinn wrote:
“My mother was expecting a baby. … She was bedridden much of the time … and all of a sudden there was a ton of responsibility on my shoulders because I am the oldest. I was also just starting middle school and had loads of homework.
“I knew I needed to help a lot, and I even prayed to know what I should do. I felt an answer came when my grandmother, who was staying with us for a few weeks, told me a story about one of my ancestors who at age 11 had driven a covered wagon by himself across the plains to the Salt Lake Valley. His parents had died along the way, and he was left to care for four younger sisters, including a baby, and take them to Zion. This story made me realize that I could be like my great-great-great-grandfather and push forward.
“I decided it would help my family if I made sack lunches for my sisters or do other duties like folding clothing and ironing and other extra chores.
“I gathered my younger sisters and brother every morning before school and carried on our family scripture reading, even though my father had left earlier for work and my mother was too sick to lead us.
“My family … grew closer together because [we] had to help each other. The greatest blessing happened on May 1, 1997, when Hannah Ada Quinn was born” (personal letter in author’s possession).
Thank you for the letter, Katie.

On a later visit to Cimezile, Richard and I found Brother Nqunqa very ill. We blessed and passed the sacrament—but not until after he had risen and dressed himself, insisting that he had to have his jacket and tie on to show proper reverence for the sacrament. He wept as he told us that he knew Richard and I would come that Sunday and that the Spirit had witnessed to him all would be well. Before we left, Richard and I blessed Brother Nqunqa through the power of the priesthood.
The next day, I went to Brother Nqunqa’s home to see how he was feeling. His wife, Judith, assured me he had been completely healed—he was down in the fields, attending to his plowing.

Clarette watched impatiently at the window for her father’s car. The delicious smell of roast lamb floating in from the kitchen assured her that dinnertime was near and that Papa would soon be home.
Clarette wasn’t thinking of food, though, but of the very important question she must ask her father. She had just returned from the home of her friend, Briget, where Sister Macy and Sister Wright, the LDS missionaries from America, were teaching the gospel of Jesus Christ. Clarette’s parents were content with their religious beliefs and weren’t interested in learning more, but they allowed Clarette to hear the Mormon missionaries. They felt that she should learn for herself about Heavenly Father.
As the sister missionaries explained each gospel idea, Clarette listened carefully. Never had Heavenly Father and Jesus seemed so real to her. Things she had read in the Bible became clearer to her, and she was anxious to learn more.
Finally the headlights of Papa’s car announced his arrival. Clarette ran to open the door for him. After a hug and a kiss, Clarette began, “Papa, I want to be baptized.”
“Why, my dear, you were baptized when you were a baby,” her father replied as he hung up his overcoat.
“But, Papa. I want to be baptized the way Jesus was. I want to be a Mormon.”
Her father looked at her searchingly, then said, “Twelve is much too young to make such a big decision. You may go to the Mormon church if you like, but you may not join any church until you are older. Now let’s have dinner.”
Clarette knew further pleading wouldn’t help. Her mama and papa were reasonable parents, but when they believed something firmly, it was almost impossible to change their minds.
For the next few weeks Clarette continued to hear the missionary discussions at Briget’s home. Her parents drove her to the LDS chapel on Sundays and picked her up after meetings, but the subject of baptism was closed.
As Christmas neared, Clarette felt closer to Heavenly Father and Jesus than she ever had before. She knew that the gospel of Jesus Christ was true, and every day she prayed that her father would change his mind.
One evening Clarette’s father asked her what she would like for Christmas. Mustering all the courage she could, Clarette looked into her father’s eyes and said, “Papa, the only thing I want for Christmas is to be baptized. I don’t want anything else.”
She was afraid that her father would be angry with her for bringing up the forbidden subject, but instead he looked back into her eyes. “Clarette, my dear, if it is that important to you, I will give my permission.”
Three days later, on Christmas Eve, Clarette was baptized and confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.