Gospel Story Finder

The journal contains entries such as the following:
“March 11, 1953—President McKay discussed with me the April conference program for mission presidents.
“Thursday, March 19—Joseph Fielding Smith asked that I get one of the Brethren to illustrate handling of Saturday night missionary conferences. … I believe that Spencer W. Kimball or Mark E. Petersen should take care of it.
“Thursday, March 26—President McKay told an interesting story. He said, ‘A farmer had a large tract of land. When he grew old it became too much for him. He had a family of boys. He called the boys around him and told them they would have to carry the load. The father rested. But one day he walked out into the field. The boys told him to go back, they did not need his help. He said, “My shadow on this farm is worth more than the labor of all of you.”’ President McKay said that the father in the story represented President Stephen L Richards, who was ill, but whose contribution and friendship President McKay valued so highly.
“Friday, April 3, 1953—Attended temple meeting with General Authorities and mission presidents from 9 a.m. to 3:30 p.m. More than 30 mission presidents spoke. All want more missionaries. All making good progress.
“Tuesday, April 14—President Richards at office, had a pleasant visit with him. He appears tired and weak. I feel he has been preserved by the Lord for a great purpose.
“Monday, April 20, 1953—Had an interesting visit with Henry D. Moyle of the Council of the Twelve Apostles.
“July 15, 1953—Albert E. Bowen, member of the Council of the Twelve, died after more than a year of serious illness. Another of my friends has gone. … I got to know him well. He was a wise and steady man. Could never be rushed, and was never in a rush. Extremely deliberate—a man of uncommon wisdom, a man of great and simple faith. The old, wise heads are passing on. They were my friends. In my brief time I have seen many of the great men of the Church come and go. Most of them I have worked with and known intimately. Time has a way of erasing their memory. Another five years and such names as Merrill, Widtsoe, Bowen—all powerful figures—will be forgotten by all but a few. A man must get his satisfaction from his work each day, must recognize that his family may remember him, that he may count with the Lord, but beyond that, small will be his monument among the coming generations.”

On the Saturday before Valentine’s Day, Samuel’s ward Primary visited a nursing home. “We’ll each adopt a grandma or grandpa,” Sister Myers, the Primary president, said as the children gathered inside the building.
Five-year-old Samuel stayed close by his mother who was a Primary teacher. He looked around and was a little afraid. Some of the people were in wheelchairs. Others used walkers or crutches. One lady had tubes coming out of her nose.
“I’m scared,” he whispered to his mother.
“I know this can be a little scary,” his mother said. “Try to remember that all of these people are children of Heavenly Father, just like you. The only difference is that the people who live here are older.”
“A lot older,” Samuel said.
He felt better when the children started singing “I Am a Child of God.” That was his favorite song. The Primary chorister then led them in singing “When Grandpa Comes,” “A Happy Family,” and “Mother Dear.”
The grandmas and grandpas all clapped.
“We’re going to make valentines now,” Sister Myers said. She assigned each child a “grandma” or a “grandpa.”
Samuel discovered that his adopted grandfather was in a wheelchair. Samuel stuck out his hand and said, “I’m Samuel.”
“My name is Jackson Gaither,” the man said as he shook Samuel’s hand.
Mr. Gaither tried to cut the valentine from the red paper, but he couldn’t make the scissors open and close. “My hands don’t work so good any more,” he said.
“That’s all right,” Samuel whispered. Then he helped Mr. Gaither finish cutting out the heart. They wrote their names by each other and glued glitter all around their names.
Samuel held up his hands and looked at them. They were covered with glitter.
Mr. Gaither’s hands were also covered with glitter. He looked at Samuel and smiled. “Looks like we’re wearing as much glitter as that valentine.”
“I like glitter,” Samuel said.
“Me too,” Mr. Gaither said. He looked at the wrinkles in the heart from where he’d tried to cut it out. “It has a few wrinkles,” he said and winked at Samuel. “I guess that’s all right since I have some wrinkles too.”
Samuel winked back. Then he gave his adopted grandpa a big hug before he left.
“I wasn’t afraid of Mr. Gaither,” Samuel told his mother. “I remembered what you told me. He’s just a child of God with wrinkles.”

Let me illustrate this point with a story. A family made plans to go on a fun trip together. They were excited to visit a new place and have some great adventures.

About halfway through their trip, their car broke down. They were sad and discouraged. They felt that all their efforts had been wasted, so they decided to go back home and start their trip all over again.

Now, you may say to yourself, that is ridiculous—why would they completely start over? But don’t we do the same thing sometimes? Sometimes we feel discouraged or falsely believe that one little mistake erases all the progress we have made. But mistakes don’t erase the progress we make as we strive to become more like Jesus Christ. As Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles explained: “Jesus Christ, the Son of God, died so that our mistakes might not condemn us and forever halt our progress. Because of Him, we can repent, and our mistakes can become stepping-stones to greater glory.”3 We need to be patient with ourselves and stay hopeful.

She’s made a pretty good start in her corner of Norway. When she was a little girl, she taught Primary songs to her nonmember friends. They would all swing on the playground equipment and sing songs at the top of their lungs about being sunbeams and families being forever.

I recall that when I was called to be the president of the Northwestern States Mission, it came at a very difficult time for me to leave my business. Many of my friends, members and nonmembers, said to me, “The Church is asking you to make a great sacrifice.” I replied to each, “I feel it is a real opportunity.”

As President McKay set me apart, he promised me that it would be the happiest period of my life. It wasn’t the easiest experience of my life, but it was the happiest—another experience in my life where sacrifice brought forth the blessings of heaven to me and my wife.

Learning, not only about the game but about people, is perhaps the best thing about playing on a team, believes Mechelle. “It helps you to get to know other people and to work with them, even though you might be shy. I was a delegate to Girls’ State last year, and I didn’t know a soul. I found my experience in team sports helped me to get involved.”

The youth of this Church are incredible. In a difficult world, they take upon themselves the name of Christ. In Heber City, Utah, a public meeting was held to discuss the details of a temple planned for construction. Three hundred youth filled the adjoining park to show their support for the proposed temple. One young man, speaking to government leaders in an open forum, courageously explained, “I am hoping to be married in this temple. [The temple will help] me to keep myself clean and pure.” Another described the temple as a symbol of light and hope. Young men and women of the Church throughout the world are embracing the name of Jesus Christ.

Service is the gospel of Jesus Christ in action, and it’s evident in a story I love about Brigham Young. Upon learning that hundreds of handcart pioneers were stranded on the plains in unbearable conditions, he taught with power in this simple sermon at the October 1856 general conference: “I will now give this people the subject and the text for the Elders who may speak, … it is this, … many of our brethren and sisters are on the plains with hand-carts, and probably many are now 700 miles from this place, and they must be brought here, we must send assistance to them. The text will be, ‘to get them here.’ …

“That is my religion; that is the dictation of the Holy Ghost that I possess, it is to save the people. …

“I shall call upon the Bishops this day, I shall not wait until to-morrow, nor until next day, for 60 good mule teams and 12 or 15 wagons. I do not want to send oxen, I want good horses and mules. They are in this Territory, and we must have them; also 12 tons of flour and 40 good teamsters, besides those that drive the teams. …

“I will tell you all that your faith, religion, and profession of religion, will never save one soul of you in the celestial kingdom of our God, unless you carry out just such principles as I am now teaching you. Go and bring in those people now on the plains.”2
“Save the people”—that is the command.

From an 11-year-old boy: “I went to a lady’s house and asked her questions and sang her a song. It felt good to visit her. She was happy because she never gets visitors.” Reading this particular note reminded me of words penned long ago by Elder Richard L. Evans of the Quorum of the Twelve. Said he: “It is difficult for those who are young to understand the loneliness that comes when life changes from a time of preparation and performance to a time of putting things away. … To be so long the center of a home, so much sought after, and then, almost suddenly to be on the sidelines watching the procession pass by—this is living into loneliness. … We have to live a long time to learn how empty a room can be that is filled only with furniture. It takes someone … beyond mere hired service, beyond institutional care or professional duty, to thaw out the memories of the past and keep them warmly living in the present. … We cannot bring them back the morning hours of youth. But we can help them live in the warm glow of a sunset made more beautiful by our thoughtfulness … and unfeigned love.”11

Seven: “After attending New Beginnings with my mom, she kissed me on the cheek and told me she loved me. This was the first time I could remember her doing this.”

One summer, I participated in an internship on an island in Bicol, Philippines. The view of the ocean was wonderful, and I looked forward to each morning.

I dreaded the evenings, however. That’s when the people in the camp would start drinking and having parties. Invitations to such parties were frequent, and my fellow interns and I had to attend, since not attending would be disrespectful.

The first party was a welcoming party for new interns. I was afraid to attend, because I was pretty sure that they would offer us drinks and I wasn’t sure how to decline. I called a friend in my home ward, and he gave me some wonderful advice that boosted my confidence.

When the party began, they offered us drinks but, fortunately, did not compel us to drink. Since my fellow interns accepted my stand of not drinking, refusing the next offers to drink was now easy for me—until one night. During one of the parties, the president of the company came. He was carrying a bottle of lambanog (a local wine made from coconut). Soon after his arrival, I saw him pouring some of the wine. He then said, “You must learn how to drink” and gave the glass to one of the interns. She quickly drank it.

My heart began to pound heavily. It would soon be my turn. I was whispering silently to myself, “I will not drink it. I will not drink it.” Then I saw the president extending the glass of wine to me. I didn’t know what to do. My fellow interns were looking at me, waiting to see what I would do. I smiled at the president and humbly said, “Sorry, sir, but I do not drink.”

I knew he was disappointed. He asked why I didn’t drink. I said, “I am a Mormon.”

He said, “I haven’t heard of that religion. It sounds like a type of food.” Everyone laughed.

I smiled too, not because of his joke but because I knew I had done the right thing.

No one ever offered me a drink again. But still the ridicule did not cease, even from my own friends. One even said that I was lying and that it’s unimaginable that members of the Church do not drink. During this time I felt the pressures that come to members of the Church.

My stay on that island taught me a lot of lessons, not just academically but spiritually. I learned that mockery may never cease, but the Spirit of the Lord will always guide you to do what is right.

I guess that we had the most fun one day when Mom went visiting teaching. She left Daddy to take care of us. He was busy in his study, so we looked for something fun to do until Mom got home. Hans opened a cupboard and took out a big can of flour. He took off the lid and showed it to me. It looked like something fun to play with, so we took it into the living room, where he poured it all onto the carpet. Then we rubbed it in big circles. If felt soft and nice. Hans rubbed a white circle around one of his eyes. He looked so funny! Mom came home right after that, and she couldn’t get mad when she saw how funny he looked. She just got her camera and took a picture of us.

How was this book brought forth?
On the 22nd day of September 1823, near Palmyra, New York, an angel of God revealed its resting place to an eighteen-year-old boy named Joseph Smith, at this time as yet an unlearned, uneducated farm laborer, but now called of God to be His modern prophet.
The book was of metal having the appearance of gold. It consisted of metallic pages as thin as common tin. Each page measured about seven by eight inches, and all were bound together at the back with metal rings which allowed the pages to be turned over easily. The book was about six inches thick. Each page was covered on both sides with ancient writing in small but beautifully engraved characters. The book lay in a stone box which had protected it from the elements for centuries.

Around this time, my grandma lent me my great-great grandmother Thea’s handwritten autobiography. Within days I felt deeply connected with Thea Martina Waagen (1883–1967). Thea’s father tragically died just a few months before her birth, so she was raised by her widowed Norwegian immigrant mother. Growing up was difficult, but she found joy in picking wild strawberries and playing the organ at her local Lutheran church. Thea’s mother remarried, and with her stepfather’s help, she attended college. Later in life, Thea and her family converted to the Church and moved to Utah, USA. Things weren’t easy for Thea. She and her husband divorced. She experienced great heartache and severe depression, yet she remained true to her testimony.

When I was about eleven, something wonderful happened to my family. My parents decided to start going to church. A few years later, my family traveled to Salt Lake City to be sealed in the temple. It was a very cold day in January, snowy and foggy. The temple was strikingly beautiful. For some reason, I remember its engraved doorknobs. I also remember walking into the beautiful sealing room and seeing my family, aunts, uncles, and family friends. It was so wonderful to have everyone there!

The last thing my mom asked me before I left for St. George, Utah, was, “Do you have your shoes?”
As facetiously as she had asked the question, I answered, “Yes.” Who would forget to take running shoes to a race?
Now it was 5:00 A.M., just before the start of the St. George Marathon, and I realized I hadn’t told my mom the truth.
Humility came quickly. I found myself begging. As the other runners were loading on the buses that would take them to the starting line of the 26-mile race, I was approaching strangers.
“Do you have any extra shoes?”
I got a few laughs, some sympathy, no shoes.
I started to feel nervous. I had trained for months and didn’t want to lose the opportunity to race just because I had forgotten my running shoes. But it didn’t take long to see that my chances of finding shoes were slim.
Anywhere around size nine and a half to eleven and a half, I thought, knowing I couldn’t be too picky.
One man heard my plea just as he was boarding the bus. He stepped out of line, walked several blocks to his parked car, and retrieved an extra pair of shoes.
“They’re good shoes, but I don’t use them anymore,” he said as he handed them to me. “You can keep them.”
My gratitude for this man didn’t take the pain out of my feet, protected during the race by shoes that were a half size too small. And, even though I don’t remember his name or where he was from, I will always remember the gift of his extra shoes that stretched my understanding of what service can be. He taught me that service isn’t always something we organize as an activity. Service is helping people who need assistance, whether it’s planned or not.
Although I didn’t have use for them after the race, it was years before I finally got rid of the snug-fitting shoes. To me they stood as a monument to a random act of service. The man didn’t have to give me his shoes. He could have boarded the bus to the starting line and never thought about me again. But he took the time to walk to his car and bring me his extra shoes. It was as though he had made the decision years ago to take advantage of every opportunity to serve.
I’ve been told not to judge a man until I’ve walked a mile in his shoes. After 26 miles of running that Saturday morning, I suppose I can judge the size 10 man who gave me his extra pair. He was willing to go out of his way to help me, without expecting anything in return. He didn’t want money. He didn’t even want his shoes back. He just didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to serve.

The Brethren gathered in that meeting listened with anticipation, for a number of vacancies among the General Authorities were to be filled at the approaching conference. The First Presidency called a new member of the Quorum of the Twelve, Elder Boyd K. Packer, and then Joseph heard, to his amazement, his own name. The Lord had called him to serve as an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve. He looked up with surprise and wondered if he had heard correctly. All the Brethren were looking at him—the men whom he had felt it an honor to serve—and realized that he was now to be numbered with them. “Nothing was further from my mind,” he said later.

However, because my family has been staunch Anglicans, I hid my new identity of being a member of the Church until I read a scripture in Romans 1:16, which says that “I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ”. This scripture gave me a sense of direction, and I said to myself that I need not to be ashamed of the gospel if I have joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I started changing everything on my social media accounts to say that I am a member of the Church. Even though people contacted me about what they were seeing on the accounts, I proudly replied to each one that I have joined the Lord’s church and that I love it and I know that it is true.

Micah’s very first word was “Why?” From that day on, he asked questions. He asked about clouds, rainbows, rivers, and trees. He asked about books, trains, kings, and skyscrapers.
He liked to think about new things. His mom and dad couldn’t keep up with all the answers he needed. They even bought encyclopedias so that they could look up answers they weren’t sure about. And then one day, when Micah was seven, he asked a very important question: “Mom, how do I know for sure that Heavenly Father is real?”
Mom put down the jar of baby food she’d just taken from the fridge and turned to smile at him. “I’m glad you’re thinking about that, Micah. It’s only a few months until you’ll be old enough to be baptized, and it’s important to know about the promises you’ll be making. Knowing about Heavenly Father is the first step.”
“Oh, I know about Him, Mom. I’ve had lots of Primary lessons, and we’ve read about Him in the scriptures. But how do I find out if it’s really true?”
Mom sat down at the kitchen table and looked Micah right in the eye. “If you want a testimony of your own, you’ll have to do some hard work. You’ve seen lots of people stand up on fast Sunday and bear their testimonies. They tell what they believe.”
“Oh, yeah, like how Sister Thomas always talks about how she loves the temple, and Brother Matsom always cries when he gets to the part about Jesus.”
“Right. And have you noticed how you feel when people are bearing their testimonies?”
“Sometimes I feel warm and happy inside.”
“That’s the Holy Ghost telling you that you are hearing something true. If you want to find your own testimony, you’ll have to pray and ask for help, you’ll have to remember to study your scriptures, and you’ll have to try very hard to keep the commandments so that Heavenly Father will know that you are serious about wanting an answer.”
“I can do that.”
For the next two weeks, Micah’s mom and dad were amazed at how hard Micah worked. He played happily with his brother, Sam, and didn’t get angry. He watched his baby sister while Mom talked with her visiting teachers. He even picked up his toys the first time he was asked. When Dad sat down in the evening before bed to read the Book of Mormon with him, Micah tried very hard to listen and even sounded out a lot of the words himself. But one night Micah didn’t seem happy.
“Is something bothering you, Son?”
“Dad, I’ve been trying for two weeks now. I’ve been really, really good. I’ve read. I’ve prayed. And I’ve been nice! But I still don’t know if Heavenly Father is real or not.”
Dad nodded. “I can understand why you’re frustrated. Sometimes Heavenly Father makes us wait a little while for our answers so that when they do come, they mean more to us.”
“Why would He make me wait? I want to know if He’s real. If I don’t get an answer, then He must not be real.”
Dad put his arm around Micah. “Why don’t we see if there’s an answer in the scriptures?” He opened the Book of Mormon to Ether 12:6 and read, “‘faith is things which are hoped for and not seen; wherefore, dispute not because ye see not, for ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith.’”
“What’s a trial?” Micah asked. “Mom got a squishy little packet of shampoo in the mail last week that said ‘trial’ on it, but I don’t see how washing my hair is going to help.”
“Well,” Dad said, “That little packet is so a person like your mom can try out a new shampoo and see if she likes it before she buys a big bottle. Mom gives the shampoo a trial so that she can see if it does what she wants it to. When Heavenly Father gives us a trial, it’s kind of like that. He wants to see if we do what He wants us to, even if it’s hard.”
“So Heavenly Father is waiting to see if I’m going to give up or not?”
“A testimony is one of the most important things He can give you. If you were going to give someone a very special present, wouldn’t you want to make sure that person really wanted it and would take care of it?”
“Yes, I guess so.”
“There are all kinds of miracles, Micah. Some of them are big and flashy, like Moses parting the Red Sea, but most of them are quiet, and the quietest of all is when the Holy Ghost talks to us about Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. Be patient, Son, and listen carefully.”
That night, long after everyone had gone to bed, Micah had a nightmare. It was terrible, and Micah woke up afraid to move. He was too scared to go into Mom and Dad’s room, too scared even to cry out for them to come to him. As he huddled under his blanket, he wondered what he could do to feel better. Last Sunday, his Primary teacher had told his class that when you are very afraid, you should pray for comfort.
“Dear Heavenly Father,” he whispered, “I really need help. I’ve tried very hard to find out if You’re there, and I know I’m supposed to be patient, but I can’t wait any longer. I’m scared.”
As soon as Micah finished his prayer, he heard a noise in the hall. Suddenly the bathroom light switched on, and Dad peeked around the edge of Micah’s bedroom door.
“Are you all right?” Dad said softly. “All of a sudden I woke up, and I’m sure I heard a voice say, ‘Micah needs you.’ What happened?”
“I had a really bad dream, Dad.”
“Oh? Why the big smile then?”
“When I was scared, Heavenly Father heard my prayer and woke you up. He has to be real because He helped me when I asked. You know, it doesn’t matter if it’s not a big, flashy miracle as long as it’s just what you need.”
Dad sat on the edge of Micah’s bed and hugged him tightly. “That’s right, Micah,” he said. “That’s right.”

Once I was teasing my brother about his ears. Then my mom told me we don’t get to choose the body we’re born with, so we shouldn’t make fun of somebody else’s.