Gospel Story Finder

You see, when the Latter-day Saint missionaries first came to England in 1837, they began their labors in Preston. At that time the city was in the midst of a grand celebration of Queen Victoria’s reign. As the missionaries alighted from their coach, they saw a banner overhead proclaiming in bold gilt letters “Truth Will Prevail.”
It became a widely-used phrase in the Church and appeared in various publications. One elder, reporting on his mission to Indiana, wrote in a letter published in Nauvoo’s Times and Seasons in 1841: “Although the Lord has chosen the weak things of this world to preach his gospel, truth will prevail, and will prosper.”1
Trusting the Lord, I turned in my mission papers. On my 21st birthday, along with my birthday post, came my call to serve in the England London South Mission. Due to my years of inactivity, I still felt weak and inadequate. Only later would I understand what that early missionary understood: the Lord may choose the weak things of this world to preach His gospel, but truth will prevail and will prosper.
I went in faith to the temple to be endowed. When I came out of the temple, I met two missionaries who had served in my home ward. As we talked, I described my experience out on the moors. One of the elders smiled broadly and explained that on a particular preparation day, he and his companion had hiked up on the moors and at a certain point felt impressed to place some rocks across the hillside spelling out the familiar phrase “Truth Will Prevail.”
Tears streamed down our faces as we realized what had happened. Those familiar with the area know there are miles and miles of trails amongst the moors. Yet I happened to choose the very spot where the missionaries had placed those rocks. I knew there and then that the Lord had answered my prayer in the hills that day.

Years ago I recall President John Kelly, who was then presiding over the Fort Worth Texas Stake, called Brother Felix Velasquez to be the president of the Spanish branch. This good man worked, as I recall, as a car inspector on the railroad. When President Kelly called him to this service, he responded, “President, I cannot be the president of the Spanish branch. I cannot read.” President Kelly then promised him that if he would accept the calling and labor diligently to magnify it, he would be sustained and blessed. With the help of the Lord, this humble man, through his diligent efforts, became able to read. He served well as branch president and for many years subsequent and now is serving in the high council of that stake. The Lord blesses his servants in many ways.

The idea for what turned out to be a two-year mission began on a spring day in 1997 when Ryan and his dad, Todd, were returning home after mowing church lawns around Parowan, Utah, his hometown. When their truck broke down, Ryan suggested they ride a lawn mower back to town. During the ride Ryan said, “Dad, why don’t we ride this lawn mower all the way to Salt Lake and mow the state capitol lawn?”
His dad replied, “Why don’t you ride it all the way to Washington, D.C., and mow the White House lawn!” Ryan began dreaming about his name appearing in the Guiness Book of World Records for the longest lawn mower ride in history.
But something was missing. Ryan and his family felt they needed a greater purpose for such an undertaking.
Shortly after, while Ryan’s father was getting his truck repaired, his mechanic, a neighbor, confided that their three-month-old daughter, Whitnie, had a rare disease requiring a liver transplant. The cost would be enormous, and the Penders had limited insurance and funds.
Ryan’s heart went out to the Penders. He wanted to help, but what could he do? Perhaps his goal to mow the White House lawn could work together with a fundraising project for Whitnie! Why not hand out cards to the people he met along the way asking for donations to be sent to a special fund? People could pledge money for each mile he drove.
The Tripp family members all wanted to help, and wheels were set in motion. They charted a course from Parowan to Washington, D.C.; they obtained local police permission for Ryan to drive the lawn mower along state and city roadways, and a large lawn mower manufacturer generously donated a machine. Ryan’s mom, Diane, his two sisters, Tiffany and Chantel, and his brother, Robbie, agreed to temporarily take over the lawn-mowing business.
On August 15, 1997, Ryan began his 3,116-mile cross-country lawn mower drive, with Grandpa and Grandma Meidlinger leading the procession by car and his dad following Ryan in their truck.
Sound like fun? Picture yourself driving a lawn mower at 10 mph, 10 to 12 hours a day, for 42 days through blistering heat, rain, and wind. For the first few weeks, Ryan had lots of fun. He signaled his dad on their walkie-talkies, waved to passing cars, listened to music on his CD player, looked at the scenery, and made all kinds of noises as he drove along.
Then he ran into a problem. One day he was particularly tired from their early morning starts and dozed off listening to his music. He awoke to the blasting horn of his father’s truck behind him, just as his lawn mower was careening off the side of the road. His CD days were over.
After that, the hours became long, and it seemed the cornfield-lined roads would never end. “Sometimes I got a little antsy and wanted to get off my lawn mower and go do things a normal boy would, especially when it rained. It got kind of hard to just sit there and drive along the road,” he recalls. The trek became a challenge to Ryan.
However, each challenge brings its own reward, and Ryan’s was time for serious thinking. He thought about his plans for the future; he thought about the importance of never giving up, of keeping promises and commitments; and he thought about how nice it was to have his dad so close. Reaching his father on his walkie-talkie at any time reminded him of talking to another Father: “It was kind of a lesson to me about how close my Heavenly Father is and how I can reach Him through prayer whenever I need something,” Ryan says.
Thinking about his own supportive family, Ryan’s thoughts often turned to little Whitnie. He understood her family’s love for her and knew he must do whatever was needed to help.
Ryan began to see a much greater purpose in this trip. Breaking records took a distant second to helping Whitnie. And as he thought about her, and others he learned about along the way, Ryan’s prayers took on new meaning. “My dad and I would pray every morning before we started and again when we got back to the hotel,” he says. They prayed for safety, for Whitnie, and for all the people needing transplants.
Finally, Ryan’s quest ended at the U.S. Capitol. Senator Orrin Hatch of Utah, other government officials, press members, and TV viewers watched as he mowed the Capitol Hill lawn. The trip was successful—Ryan broke the record and, more importantly, raised $15,000 for little Whitnie, who received her transplant that same year.

The friendship with Quitovac didn’t end with just two visits. As this story was being prepared for publication, we learned that the youth from the Rincon Stake had been to the Alberque School again.
They brought quilts they had made, one for each child at the school. An LDS dentist came along to check the children’s teeth. And they also brought a foot-powered sewing machine, with the promise that a Relief Society sister would soon be along to teach villagers how to sew.
“When we arrived, the children lined up on the left and right of the road, clapped their hands, and saluted us,” Brother Rehm said. “We played the same games, had the same fun, left with the same feelings.”
And, he noticed, the school was cleaner. The students all had shoes and proper clothing. And even though there were still some broken windows in need of repair, it seemed like there was a brighter, happier feeling in this place in the sun.

I want to read a letter from a missionary that illustrates the feelings we see everywhere we go in the Church:
Dear Brothers of the Perpetual Education Fund:
This donation has been long time in the waiting. I promised myself on my mission that I would donate this amount to the Perpetual Education Fund on returning. However, for the past two months, temptation has kept me from it. Here is my meager donation made with a heart filled gratitude for all the Lord as done for me. If you don't mind I would like to share the story behind this letter.
When I was about a year into my mission I was in an area where we could not watch General Conference. Although we listened to a small portion via Internet we missed the session when President Hinckley announced the Perpetual Education Fund. About two or three weeks later I had the pleasure of training a new missionary from the MTC. With the new assignment of trainer come many responsibilities but also news from home. One day while waiting for lunch we began discussing General Conference. Out of the blue my companion began telling me of this new program the church had announced that would make possible for the poorer returned missionaries to go to school and receive an education. As soon as he described the fund to me, I broke down and cried. I mean I really cried. I felt an incredible sensation burning within my chest and I knew in an instant that it was from God. I knew in that instant that Gordon B. Hinckley was a prophet of God, and it came by way of revelation directly from our Heavenly Father. There was no doubt. I began to understand the love God has for all his children and his desire to help them in their struggles. I am not a rich man. I come from a good family that has what it needs. My parents through their hard work have set aside money to pay for my school. I decided that I could work to pay for a semester or two and donate a small portion to help my brothers from Latin and South America that I have grown to love with all my heart. The Lord has blessed me so much. I love Him with all my heart. May the Lord continue to bless you all as you continue to serve Him.
This letter was accompanied by a check for $5,000.

Once I was baptized, the Church was my world. What I loved best was to be at church with the other members. I remember many times being there on Saturdays with the deacons, cleaning the chapel and preparing it for Sunday. I also participated in the branch’s Mutual activities. From seeing the missionaries in Primary and at home, I decided early in my life to go on a mission. When I served my mission, I was very happy. I served two years in the west of Mexico.

One day I was working around our yard with my electric hedge clippers and long extension cord. I had done this often, each time reminding myself to be careful and avoid cutting things that I shouldn’t.
Suddenly the blades became jammed. Because I had not seen the power cord in the thicket where I was trimming, I had cut into the source of the electrical power that made the hedge clippers work.
Isn’t that one of life’s great lessons? I thought. Power, if misused, can cut into the very source of that power.

It was like that for me on my first date with my husband. All evening we were surrounded by myriads of people, but I felt like it was just the two of us. First we went to a banquet and then to a gala Fine Arts Ball at BYU. I remember at the beginning we politely went around the dinner table and introduced everyone. Then just John and I talked to each other, non-stop, the rest of the evening.

I’ve heard it said that “Love is a long conversation.” I believe it. In fact I often joke with our children that if I ever run out of things to say to Dad, then the marriage will be over. I’m pretty safe at saying that, because we love to talk to one another about everything.

“The toughest part about learning the bagpipes was sticking it out,” says Austin, who has been playing for four years. Tyler Abeyta, a former Nauvoo band member currently serving a mission in Sacramento, California, agrees. “I was 13, and after a month of trying to learn the bagpipes, I quit. My good friend was also taking lessons, and he encouraged me to start again. I knew with all my heart if I were to even come close to learning the pipes, I would need the help of my Heavenly Father. So I kneeled down one night. I asked Him for His help and His blessing to be upon me as I continued to learn. When I started again, I definitely knew that the Spirit was with me and helped me along the way.”

A few years ago I conducted a mission tour. Some of the missionaries were struggling with obedience. That evening the mission president and I conducted interviews with some of the missionaries. The next morning the mission president commenced our zone conference by giving a masterful talk on integrity. I felt impressed to further speak on that subject. We observed that in a few moments we would be conducting additional interviews. We requested that the missionaries not play the game in which someone only discloses the truth if he is asked the perfect, pointed question. If they were men of integrity, they might say, “President, I don’t need any questions—I’ve made some mistakes, and I want to voluntarily disclose them. I want to be 100 percent honest.”

Well, you know what happened. The Spirit was there, and four missionaries from the night before privately stepped forward and said, “We have something else to disclose.”

One of them said, “I want to be an honest man.” That day he changed his foundation of sand for a granite foundation of integrity.

Marcelino Tossen believed in God, read the Bible, and enjoyed talking about religion, so when the full-time missionaries knocked on his apartment door one warm January day in 1992, he invited them in. That decision changed his life.
“Elder Zanni and Elder Halls worked under the impressions of the Spirit,” recalls Marcelino. Before that first discussion had even ended, the elders told him that he would be baptized into the Church, even telling him the exact day he would be baptized.
“I’m not going to get baptized,” Marcelino countered. “I want only to talk to you.”
The missionaries gave him a Book of Mormon and asked him to read several verses and pray that night about their message. He did so but felt nothing.
During a subsequent discussion, however, Elder Zanni asked him, “Would it be all right if we prayed so you can ask Heavenly Father if what we have been teaching you is true?”
As he prayed, Marcelino says, “my heart began to burn fervently within me. Nothing like that had ever happened to me before. I couldn’t even finish my prayer, and I arose from my knees.”
Elder Zanni asked Marcelino if he had felt anything during his prayer. When Marcelino told him no, the missionary said, “I felt the Spirit very strong. It’s strange that you didn’t feel anything.”
When he admitted what he had felt, Marcelino says, “the elders read from the Doctrine and Covenants, telling me that when the Lord wants us to know if something is right, He will send His peace or make our heart burn within us [see D&C 6:23; 9:8]. That day was a turning point for me.”
From then on, the Spirit labored with him and testified of the truth through numerous spiritual experiences. “I’d feel the burning again while I was alone in my apartment,” Marcelino says. “When I would open the window, I’d see the elders nearby on a corner teaching people about the Church. I could feel when they were close, and I began to take seriously what they were teaching me.”
Marcelino received a warm welcome when he began attending church. He was baptized a short while later on April 22—the exact day the missionaries had named three months earlier. Today, after serving nine years as president of the Ushuaia district, he serves as the second counselor in the presidency of the Buenos Aires north mission.
“When we read that the Lord will ‘send forth [His] word unto the ends of the earth’ [D&C 112:4], that’s Ushuaia,” says President Tossen. “Ushuaia is the end of the earth. But for those like me who found the gospel here, it’s the beginning of everything. Here you’ll find the lighthouse at the end of the world. But here is where I found faith and the lighthouse of the Lord.”

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.”6 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.

Following the meeting on this beautiful morning, Elder Barry Bennett, Area mission medical advisor, and his wife, Christine, traveled with the mission president and his wife about 90 minutes on rough dirt roads out to the villages surrounding the city of Lae. It rains every day of the year here, and the area is spectacularly beautiful and green. The humble homes are often built on stilts so when the floods come, they don’t get washed away.
With the country’s growing population, there is one physician for every 20,000 people. Local medical challenges include tuberculosis, dengue, and malaria. The purpose of Elder Bennett’s trip to this country was to assess available medical care in Lae. He was pleasantly surprised with the capability of the three hospitals he visited.
During their visit, the Bennetts also met with missionaries and spoke to them about these medical issues and how to stay healthy.

Tom put the final block on his tower. “That does it!” he said. He sat back and smiled as he looked over his creation. Suddenly his bedroom door swung open. His little sister Addison ran into the room.
“Can I play?” she asked.
“No,” Tom said quickly. “Go away.” He just felt like being alone. He had been with friends all day at school. Besides, sometimes Addison broke his buildings.
Addison frowned and started to cry. She turned around and walked away.
Tom sighed. He reached over to grab his mini army figure, who began a heroic ascent up the tower. Tom felt a little bad for talking to his sister like that. But it was his room, after all. She could find something else to do. The figure jumped off the building ledge and somersaulted down to the ground.
Someone knocked on Tom’s door. “Come in,” he said.
Mom stepped into the room. “Did something happen with Addison?” she asked.
“She wanted to play in here,” Tom said. “But I don’t want her to break my tower.”
“You worked hard on that, huh?” Mom asked.
Tom nodded.
“I think your sister is feeling a little sad, though,” Mom said. “She looks up to you a lot, and she doesn’t get to see you much while you’re at school. Is there anything you could do together for a little while?”
Tom thought for a moment. Part of him still wanted to be alone. But he also wanted to be a good older brother. “I guess,” he said.
“Thanks, Tom,” Mom said as she walked out.
A few minutes later, Addison hesitantly stepped back into the room. “Hi,” she said.
“Hey, come here,” said Tom. “I want to show you something.”
Addison sat down on the bed next to her big brother and looked up at him. Tom pulled out his collection of animal cards.
“All right,” said Tom. He held up two pictures. “Would you rather be this snow leopard or this tarantula?”
Addison giggled and pointed to the leopard, her favorite animal. Tom smiled and handed her the card. They took turns picking their favorite animals until Dad called them to dinner. Tom looked at the clock. He couldn’t believe how fast the time had gone!
When they got downstairs, Tom told Mom and Dad about the game. “It was fun!” he said as he sat by Addison at dinner. “Want me to read to you tonight?”
“Yes!” Addison said. “Can you read the snow leopard book?”
“Sure.” He knew she’d pick that one. He might not have time to read what he wanted before bed, but he realized it was worth it to see his sister smile.
“Anytime,” he said.

May I relate to you my first journey along a personal Jericho Road. In about my tenth year, as Christmas approached, I yearned for an electric train. My desire was not to receive the economical and everywhere-to-be-found windup model train, but rather one that operated through the miracle of electricity.
The times were those of economic depression, yet Mother and Dad, through some sacrifice, presented to me on Christmas morning a beautiful electric train. For hours I operated the transformer, watching the engine first pull its cars forward, then push them backward around the track.
Mother entered the living room and said to me that she had purchased a windup train for Widow Hansen’s boy, Mark, who lived down the lane. I asked if I could see the train. The engine was short and blocky—not long and sleek like the expensive model I had received.
However, I did take notice of an oil tanker car which was part of his inexpensive set. My train had no such car, and pangs of envy began to be felt. I put up such a fuss that Mother succumbed to my pleadings and handed me the oil tanker car. She said, “If you need it more than Mark, you take it.” I put it with my train set and felt pleased with the result.
Mother and I took the remaining cars and the engine down to Mark Hansen. The young boy was a year or two older than I. He had never anticipated such a gift and was thrilled beyond words. He wound the key in his engine, it not being electric like mine, and was overjoyed as the engine and two cars, plus a caboose, went around the track.
Mother wisely asked, “What do you think of Mark’s train, Tommy?”
I felt a keen sense of guilt and became very much aware of my selfishness. I said to Mother, “Wait just a moment—I’ll be right back.”
As swiftly as my legs could carry me, I ran to our home, picked up the oil tanker car plus an additional car of my own, ran back down the lane to the Hansen home, and said joyfully to Mark, “We forgot to bring two cars that belong to your train.”
Mark coupled the two extra cars to his set. I watched the engine make its labored way around the track and felt a supreme joy difficult to describe and impossible to forget.
Mother and I left the Hansen home and slowly walked up the street. She took me by the hand, and together we returned homeward by way of our private Jericho Road.

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.

Saríah Moya, 15, became friends with a young woman who said she and her family were atheists. But she admired Saríah’s standards and her willingness to be true to them amid criticism. They talked about the gospel many times, Saríah gave her a copy of the Book of Mormon, they prayed together, and Saríah’s friend went to church with her. “Yesterday she came to a Young Women activity, and we sang a hymn,” Saríah says. “Afterward she told me, ‘I do believe in God.’ I realized that my example had helped someone find Heavenly Father.”

As a young man of 27, Wilford Woodruff was ordained a priest on November 5, 1834. Eight days later he began a two-year mission in the southern states. One night he and his companion found lodging with a family who provided them with a bare floor for a bed, which he described as “pretty hard after walking sixty miles without anything to eat.”
The next day they walked 12 miles through the rain until they came to the house of a man who happened to be a member of the Missouri mob. Brother Woodruff said: “The family were about to sit down to breakfast as we came in. In those days it was the custom of the Missourians to ask you to eat even though they were hostile to you; so he asked us to take breakfast, and we were very glad of the invitation. He knew we were Mormons; and as soon as we began to eat, he began to swear about the Mormons. He had a large platter of bacon and eggs, and plenty of bread on the table, and his swearing did not hinder our eating, for the harder he swore the harder we ate, until we got our stomachs full; then we arose from the table, took our hats, and thanked him for our breakfast. The last we heard of him he was still swearing. I trust the Lord will reward him for our breakfast.”

When I was about 18, I took a sewing class. One day three girls a few feet away from me started using offensive language. I didn’t know if I should ignore them to avoid a conflict or if I should stand up for my standards and ask them to stop. Eventually, I said as nicely as possible, “Excuse me, but could you please watch your language?”
The biggest of the girls glared at me and said, “We’ll talk however we want.”
I said, “But do you really have to swear? It really offends me.”
She said, “Then just don’t listen.”
I was starting to get upset and said, “It’s hard not to listen when you’re talking so loudly.”
She said, “Get over it.”
I gave up. I was frustrated with the girls, but even more frustrated with myself. I couldn’t believe I’d let my tone get confrontational. The girls were still swearing, and now we were all angry.
After I’d calmed down, I saw that the girls were having trouble with their sewing machine. I knew what was wrong because I’d had the same problem earlier. So I showed them how to fix it. I saw the expression change on the biggest girl’s face. “Hey,” she said, “we’re sorry.” I couldn’t believe it—she was apologizing. “I’m sorry too,” I told her. “I shouldn’t have gotten angry like that.”
I went back to my sewing machine and didn’t hear another swear word. That experience taught me that our words might not change others’ attitudes, but kindness and service often can.
Katie Pike, Utah, USA