Gospel Story Finder

Then Malia held up the last picture. “Can I tell this part?” she asked.
“Of course,” Mom said.
The last picture showed a tiny baby girl wrapped in a fuzzy pink blanket. The baby’s eyes were closed, and she wore a tiny hat.
“We have wanted to welcome another child into our family for a long time,” Malia said. “Today we got a special phone call from the social worker. I’m going to have a sister!”
“That’s right, and we’ll see her tomorrow!” Mom said.
“It’s more exciting than Christmas Eve,” Malia said again, and she snuggled into her pillow.
“I know just how you feel,” Dad said.
Malia watched Dad put the pictures back in the box. Someday soon she would make a treasure box for her new sister too.

“We have faith, we live by faith; we came to these mountains by faith.” President Brigham Young spoke these words after entering the Salt Lake Valley in July 1847. The valley was barren, but President Young believed the desert could blossom as a rose.
President Young said: “We had not the least encouragement—from natural reasoning and all that we could learn of this country. … We had faith that we could raise grain; was there any harm in this? Not at all. If we had not had faith, what would have become of us? We would have gone down in unbelief.”
But the Saints did have faith. They were greatly blessed in that barren land. “There never has been a land, from the days of Adam until now, that has been blessed more than this land has been blessed by our Father in Heaven; and it will still be blessed more and more, if we are faithful and humble, and thankful to God” (see Teachings of Presidents of the Church: Brigham Young [1997], 104–6).

I’ve had other experiences where God has helped me. I always say a prayer when I have a ballet performance, because I get very nervous. It always makes me calmer to think of Heavenly Father.

Maya and Cade raced to the chicken coop.
“Is anything there?” Maya asked.
“Not yet,” Cade said.
Maya and Cade took care of the chickens every day. They gave them food and water. And they checked for eggs. But there were no eggs yet.
“My chicken will lay the first egg,” Cade said.
“No,” Maya said. “Mine will.”
A few days later Cade ran into the house. “I found an egg!” The egg was white with brown speckles.
“That’s from Cade’s chicken,” Mom said. “My chicken’s eggs will be brown. Maya, your chicken’s eggs will be blue.”
Cade pumped his fist. “My chicken laid the first egg!” he said.
Maya thought about the blue egg. She could wait for that.
But waiting was hard! The next egg didn’t come for days. And it was brown. “Your blue egg will come,” Mom said. “Sometimes we have to wait for good things.” So Maya kept waiting.
Every day Cade and Maya filled the water. Every day, they scattered seeds for the chickens to eat. And they kept checking for eggs. Sometimes there was a speckled egg. Sometimes there was a brown egg. But never a blue one. So Maya kept waiting.
One day Maya checked for eggs again. This time she found two. One was speckled. One was brown. Then something caught her eye. Another egg, hidden under the straw. A blue egg!
Maya picked it up. It was beautiful. Waiting was worth it.

One of the highlights of our vacation last summer was a stop at the old cemetery in Ephraim, Utah, where many of the Peterson family are buried. The younger family members had never met any of these relatives, although they had heard stories about them and had seen some of their pictures. When we read on the gravestones the birthplaces of these Peterson kin—Sweden, Norway, and New York—we imagined those days long ago when they heard the missionaries, joined the Church, and then traveled to Zion. We all feel a greater appreciation for our heritage since that day and have an increased interest in genealogy.

On another occasion we were returning from area conferences in Europe, and we had a rather extended layover in New York City. Although tired and weary from his rigorous schedule, President Kimball eagerly visited with six missionaries who were en route to the Germany Munich Mission. He inquired about their families, their personal feelings about serving on missions, and then he charged them to be the best missionaries in their mission. He encouraged them to be diligent and faithful and promised that success would accompany such efforts. The missionaries left feeling uplifted in spirit and determined to serve valiantly. President Kimball edifies and inspires others.

I have a dear friend who served as a very successful bishop. During his tenure, the stake president asked a boy and a girl from each ward to visit with him about their relationship with their bishop. During the conversation, the stake president asked, “If you had a serious problem in your life, would you take it to your bishop?” Most responded that they wouldn’t. And when he asked why, their response surprised him. They said, “Our bishop seems too righteous.” To the credit of my friend, his youth replied: “Not our bishop.”

When Lorenzo Snow was the prophet, there were only four temples, and all of them were in Utah. He knew that one day temples would dot the earth. In 1899, he prophesied, “The time will come when there will be Temples established over every portion of the land.”* There are now temples in 32 countries of the world.

I’m eternally thankful for those who ministered and shared the restored gospel in a natural way to my wife when she was fourteen years of age. She accepted the invitation to follow Christ and was baptized in Málaga, Spain.
Having been ministered by her friends, who helped in her youth to draw closer to Christ, she learnt that ministering to others is part of our own process of repentance. It is how we turn our hearts to God and his Children. Some years after her baptism she travelled all alone to the Switzerland Temple to minister those on the other side of the veil. We then met each other in Zollikofen and this is also where we got sealed for time and eternity.

Books and papers fell to the floor when Becky bumped into Sister Chapman. “Oh my,” Sister Chapman said as she picked up her books. Lauren quickly helped Becky gather the papers. “Thanks,” Sister Chapman said with a smile. The girls smiled back. Lauren liked her new Valiant teacher.
When they got to class, Meagan was there. “I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Sister Chapman told her.
“Lauren, since Meagan missed last week’s lesson, can you retell the story of the Good Samaritan?” Lauren noticed that everyone was waiting for her to answer.
“Let me tell the story,” Becky begged. “We’ll be here all day if we wait for Lauren.”
Lauren looked down as Sister Chapman said, “Becky, I think you owe Lauren an apology.”
“Sorry,” Becky muttered.
Lauren let out a sigh of relief when Sister Chapman started to tell the story. Her voice soothed Lauren, and the story brought tears to her eyes. Some of her tears were for the poor man lying in the road; the rest were for herself. Why can’t I remember the scripture stories?
“Today in opening exercises, we sang ‘Search, Ponder, and Pray.’ Did you notice that we were singing about having a testimony of the scriptures? Think to yourselves: Do I have a testimony? Do I know the scriptures are true?”
Caught in the moment, Lauren nodded her head.
“Lauren, how could you have a testimony?” Becky scoffed. “You can’t even remember last week’s lesson! You have to know the scriptures to have a testimony.”
“Our testimonies are very personal, Becky,” Sister Chapman gently corrected her. “We can’t say someone else does or doesn’t have a testimony. But we each can know if we have one personally.”
At the end of class, Sister Chapman handed out the scripture reading assignment and asked, “Any class business?”
Meagan raised her hand. “I want to thank my Valiant Secret Pal—the cookies were great!”
“You, too?” asked Sister Chapman. “When I was sick this week, someone left cookies and a get-well card on my doorstep. It was signed ‘Your Valiant Secret Pal.’ I wonder who it is …” Sister Chapman looked around the room. “Well,” she added, “whoever it is understood last week’s lesson. Jesus Christ taught us to help the sick. Someone was really listening and put into action what she had learned. I’d say we have a Good Samaritan right here in our Valiant class.”
That night for scripture study, Lauren’s dad read from the New Testament. Excitedly Lauren exclaimed, “We talked about this story in class!”
“Super!” Dad said. “Why don’t you share it with us?”
Lauren felt the same uneasiness she’d felt that morning. She thought hard and then shook her head, “I can’t.” Her parents looked at each other, and then Dad continued to read about the Good Samaritan.
When Mom sat on the edge of Lauren’s bed to kiss her good night, she found Lauren crying. “What’s wrong?” Mom asked.
“Why can’t I remember that story? Sometimes I feel so dumb.” Lauren told her mom what had happened in her Primary class. “Becky’s right,” Lauren said, “I don’t know the scriptures.”
Lauren’s mom hugged her. “Lauren, you are not dumb. You’re a bright young girl. You understand what the stories are about, but you learn them a bit differently than most children, and remembering the details takes you a little longer—that’s all.”
The teachers in Lauren’s special class at school always told her the same thing. She had heard it over and over, but it still didn’t help.
The next Sunday, Sister Chapman didn’t call on Lauren to answer any questions, and Lauren didn’t raise her hand. Becky answered almost every question—correctly. If only I could be like Becky, Lauren thought.
As class was dismissed, all the girls left in a hurry except Lauren, who stayed to help Sister Chapman erase the chalkboard and put away chairs. “Thank you, Lauren,” her teacher said. “I can always count on you to help.”
“I liked the lesson,” Lauren replied. “You are a good teacher.” Lauren noticed a bright smile on Sister Chapman’s face.
Later that week, Lauren opened the front door and found a letter and a small package sitting on the porch. They were from Sister Chapman. Lauren quickly opened the letter and read it:
“Dear Lauren,
“I want to tell you how much I enjoy having you in class. I’ve noticed that you feel uncomfortable answering questions, so I didn’t call on you last Sunday. Lauren, you do know the scripture stories. I’ve seen you live them.
“I have a feeling you were Meagan’s—and my—Secret Valiant Pal. You helped the sick. Do you remember helping Becky pick up my papers? You helped someone in need. Every time you thank me for a nice lesson, you help me become a better teacher.
“Lauren, you understand more about the Good Samaritan than you think. For some people it’s easy to remember the scriptures word for word, and that is a wonderful gift. But the hardest part is to live the principles the scriptures teach.
“Thanks for being a Good Samaritan in our class. Enjoy the gift. It reminds me of you.
“With love,“Sister Chapman”
Lauren unfolded the tissue paper and found a bookmark that read “The Good Samaritan.” Lauren read the words over and over—they sounded good to her. Walking back inside the house, she sang, “‘I know the scriptures are true.’”*

One message of this parable is that God expects us to magnify the abilities we have been given, but He does not want us to compare our abilities to those of others. Consider this insight provided by the 18th-century Hasidic scholar Zusya of Anipol. Zusya was a renowned teacher who began to fear as he approached death. His disciples asked, “Master, why do you tremble? You’ve lived a good life; surely God will grant you a great reward.”

Zusya said: “If God says to me, ‘Zusya, why were you not another Moses?’ I will say, ‘Because you didn’t give me the greatness of soul that you gave Moses.’ And if I stand before God and He says, ‘Zusya, why were you not another Solomon?’ I will say, ‘Because you didn’t give me the wisdom of Solomon.’ But, alas, what will I say if I stand before my Maker and He says, ‘Zusya, why were you not Zusya? Why were you not the man I gave you the capacity to be?’ Ah, that is why I tremble.”

In 1841, Dan Jones, a Welsh immigrant, was the captain of one of the smallest registered boats carrying people and freight on the upper Mississippi River. It seems more than coincidence to me that his boat was named the Ripple. Among his passengers were members of an obscure “new” church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
During his journeys Dan Jones began to hear criticisms of these “Mormons.” Because he had ferried many of them, he had talked with them and observed their behavior. He found them to be good people—kind, honest, and hardworking. The negative comments and writings about these people did not match up with what he had experienced in his dealings with them.
“Through a careful investigation of the accusations,” he later wrote, “I perceived clearly that it was impossible for them to be true, either because … they overstated the case or … contradicted themselves” (quoted in Ronald D. Dennis, “Dan Jones, Welshman,” Ensign, Apr. 1987, 50).
One significant event in particular propelled Dan Jones from a careful observer to an active investigator of the Church. He wrote this: “Purely by accident, there fell into my hands … a letter which [Emma Smith] had written. … I shall never forget the feelings which that … letter caused me to have. I perceived clearly that not only did [she] believe the New Testament, the same as I—professing the apostolic faith, and rejoicing in the midst of her tribulations at being worthy to suffer all … for a testimony of Jesus and the gospel—but also it contained better counsel, more wisdom, and showed a more … godly spirit than anything I had ever read!” (Ensign, Apr. 1987, 50, 52).
Inspired by Emma’s words and example, Dan Jones sought to learn more about this church. In 1843 he was baptized in the Mississippi River and became one of the most influential missionaries in the history of the Church, bringing hundreds of people to the gospel in his native Wales. In a very literal way, Emma Smith’s influence continues to ripple through generations. Who can say how many hundreds, even thousands of the descendants of those Dan Jones introduced to the gospel may be listening to this meeting at this very hour?

The twins served missions at the same time, supported by their mother. (Rosa’s daughter Melida also served a mission.) How did a lone widow manage to support them? “I don’t know. I really don’t know. The only thing that made it possible was the help of the Lord,” she answers.
“I worked at what I found.” That included cooking for the custodian of the ward building, washing missionaries’ clothes, and even making and selling tamales. She toiled “until my hands ached from so much work.”

Anne had lived in Japan only about a year. Today she was excited about going to her first Tanabata (Star Festival) party at the home of Masanari.
It was a rainy afternoon and Anne held up her umbrella as she walked along through the puddles on the narrow lane. The tiny trinket shop was selling gilded paper comets and streamers for Tanabata. Down the passageways between houses were bamboo branches decorated for the Star Festival.
Masanari’s mother slid open the door of their house when Anne arrived.
“Irasshaimase, Anne-chan (Welcome, little Anne),” she said.
Anne sat down on a step in the entryway and pulled off her boots before entering the house.
Then she put on some tiny, pink slippers and hurried down the hall. Her friends from school were all there. Keiko, Jiro, and Masanari sat on the woven tatami (straw) mat floor in the middle of a rainbow of colored papers making origami (paper folding) decorations for Tanabata. Some of the other mothers, who had been invited, were busy making decorations too.
“Come, we’ll show you how, Anne-chan,” said Jiro’s mother as she finished folding a tiny red crab. First, she showed them how to make two familiar animals. (See last page of this story.)
1. Take a square of paper and fold the corners together.
2. Fold one corner down.
3. Fold the other corner down.
4. Fold the bottom and the top back.
5. Draw a few pencil lines for the face.
1. Take a square of paper and fold the corners together.
2. Fold tips down.
3. Fold one corner up.
4. Fold the other corner up.
5. Turn the paper over and draw a face.
The children folded red dogs and purple cats and blue dogs and orange cats. They drew happy faces on some and fierce faces on others.
“Have you sometimes heard insects singing in the trees?” asked Jiro’s mother. “Those are cicadas. We can make origami cicadas too.”
1. Take a square piece of paper and fold the corners together.
2. Fold up the top flap first.
3. Then fold up the bottom flap.
4. Now it looks like this.
5. Turn it over and fold back the two sides.
“Watch me fold an elephant,” said Jiro.
1. Fold two corners of a square of paper so that they meet in the center to form a kite shape.
2. Fold the kite shape in half down the center.
3. Fold the longest tip forward.
4. Then fold it back to the left.
5. Open out the inside corner of the top flap and spread it back.
6. Fold the top half down behind the figure.
7. Open out the tip of the elephant’s trunk and tuck it down inside itself.
8. Cut out the legs and tail and draw on tusks and eyes.
“Look at my lantern,” said Keiko.
1. Fold two sides of an oblong piece of paper in until they meet at the center.
2. Fold each corner forward to the center.
3. Fold the tips back.
4. Fold each corner forward again and then turn the paper over.
5. Gently push the top tip up and the bottom tip down and open them out.
“The most famous of all is the sacred crane,” said Jiro’s mother as she took a square of metallic gold paper. “The crane is a beautiful white bird with red-tipped head and black-edged wings. It comes every summer to our islands. To the Japanese it means long life and happiness.”
Her skillful fingers moved so quickly that Anne could not see how she made the tiny, complicated folds. A delicate creature with graceful spreading wings was soon completed.
She set the lovely bird on the palm of her hand and held it out to Anne. “This is the orizuru or folded crane,” she said. Keiko, too, worked very fast and knew how to make many folds. Soon she had a great pile of origami figures spilling over her lap.
“Here, Anne-chan, take some of mine,” she said.
Origami cranes and turtles and canoes and frogs and lanterns covered the floor. Masanari’s mother entered with bamboo branches and helped the children tie their bright origami creations to the boughs.
“They are truly beautiful!” she exclaimed. “Isn’t it fun to have Tanabata to celebrate every year?” Then, Masanari’s mother told them a legend of the stars.
“Up in the sky there are two sad stars who love each other very much, but they are separated by the heavenly river, the Milky Way. Only on this one night of all the year can they cross the Milky Way and meet.
“However, if it rains, then the Milky Way will be flooded, and the poor, lonely stars will not be able to meet after all,” she said as she bowed her head sadly.
Anne listened quietly to the story. She remembered the puddles in the lane and her wet umbrella drying in the entryway.
“I think it’s raining,” she said somberly.
“But we can hope it will stop, can’t we?” said Jiro’s mother as she ushered everyone in to dinner.
They sat on cushions on the tatami-covered floor around a low-legged lacquer table. For the mothers there were hashi (chopsticks) to eat with. For the children there were hashi and spoons.
They were served bowls filled with haddock and rice, fish soup, tofu (soy bean curd), sashimi (raw tuna), and little pickled salads. Gelatin from the sea and crushed pineapple and handsful of rice candy were served for dessert.
It was dark now, and as the children ran out of the house, Masanari shouted, “It’s stopped raining! It’s stopped raining!”
“Now the stars can meet after all!” cried Keiko.
There were green and blue and white sparklers for everyone. With the mothers’ help, the children lit the sparklers and swung them in the darkness, making circles and spirals while they laughed and talked.
When the sparklers were gone they picked up their Tanabata branches. Holding them above their heads, they waved them slowly against the night sky as they sang a farewell song.
“The party is over. Our Star Festival is ended,” said Masanari’s mother.
Masanari could not let the evening end just yet. “Let’s walk with everyone on their way home, Mama-san,” he begged.
When they reached Anne’s apartment, everyone bowed and said, “Oyasuminasai” (Good night. Please rest).
Note: Although origami figures are ideally folded of special origami paper that is colored on one side and plain on the other, they can also be made of any lightweight paper. Follow the illustrations carefully; the dotted lines show where the folds should be made.

When the First Presidency and Council of the Twelve determined that the Church should publish a magazine especially for its youth and young adults, the question as to who should be assigned the great challenge and overwhelming responsibility of being its managing editor received prime consideration. Recommendations were sought and received from many sources, and numerous capable and devoted individuals were considered.
Elder Jay M. Todd had been on the staff of the Improvement Era since January 1966 and had served as its assistant managing editor since 1969. During these years he proved himself to be a young man of unusual ability and devotion. An eight-hour day or a forty-hour week had no meaning to him. Although he is a devoted husband (he married Janet Cutrer in 1964), the father of two children (Deborah, 2, and Randall, 1), and a member of a bishopric (Capitol Hill Ward, Salt Lake City), many nights, Saturdays, and holidays found him in the Era offices planning, writing, and editing. Much of what the Era has been over the past several years can be attributed to him.
As plans for the new publications developed, those on the inside knew that Brother Todd would be asked to serve in a key position—the only question was with which magazine. The decision finally came. He would be asked to be the managing editor of the New Era. He accepted the assignment and immediately went to work organizing committees, meeting with youth and leaders of youth, dreaming, planning, appointing, training, and directing the activities of staff members; working with writers, photographers, artists, and printers; writing, rewriting, editing; approving layouts, type size and style, photographs and art; and attending to the hundreds of details that the managing editor of a magazine, especially a new magazine, is responsible for. It is a never-ending, tedious, laborious, painstaking, demanding job that Brother Todd has been asked to perform for the Church. This first issue is the greatest testimony that the right man was chosen for the position.
Doyle L. GreenEditor

Joseph Smith’s responsibility was to “lay the foundation” for this great work. Important details were to be revealed later. At April conference 1894, President Wilford Woodruff announced this revelation: “We want the Latter-day Saints from this time to trace their genealogies as far as they can, and to be sealed to their fathers and mothers. Have children sealed to their parents, and run this chain through as far as you can get it. … This is the will of the Lord to his people.”

That revelation in April led to the organization of the Genealogical Society of Utah the following November 13, 1894. Its objectives were “to establish and maintain a Genealogical Library … ; to teach members how to compile acceptable family records and to trace their pedigrees; and to foster temple ordinances.” Events of that historic year established family history research and temple service as one work in the Church.

The winter of 1848 was difficult and challenging for the pioneer settlers in the Salt Lake Valley. During the summer of 1847 Brigham Young had declared that the Saints had finally reached their destination. “This is the right place,”1 said Brigham Young, who had been shown in a vision where the Saints were to be established. The early members of the Church had endured tremendous adversity as the Restoration of the gospel unfurled. They had been driven from their homes, persecuted, and hounded. They had suffered untold hardships as they crossed the plains. But now they were at last in “the right place.”
And yet the winter of 1848 had been extremely harsh. The winter had been so cold that some people’s feet had been badly frozen. A spirit of uneasiness began to descend upon the Saints. Some Church members declared that they would not build their homes in the valley. They wanted to remain in their wagons, for they were sure that Church leadership would herald them on to some better location. They had brought seeds and fruit plants, but they dared not waste them by planting in the barren desert wasteland. Jim Bridger, a well-known explorer of the time, told Brigham Young he would give a thousand dollars for the first bushel of corn raised in the Salt Lake Valley because, he said, it could not be done.2
To complicate matters, gold had just been discovered in California. Some Church members envisioned that life would be simpler and more abundant if they were to move on to California in search of riches and a better climate.
Under this cloud of discontent, Brigham Young addressed the members of the Church. He declared:
“[This valley] is the place God has appointed for His people.
“We have been kicked out of the frying-pan into the fire, out of the fire into the middle of the floor, and here we are and here we will stay. God has shown me that this is the spot to locate His people, and here is where they will prosper; He will temper the elements for the good of His Saints; He will rebuke the frost and the sterility of the soil, and the land shall become fruitful. Brethren, go, now, and plant … your … seeds.”
In addition to promising these blessings, President Young declared that the Salt Lake Valley would become known as a highway to the nations. Kings and emperors would visit the land. Best of all, a temple to the Lord would be erected.3
These were remarkable promises. Many Church members had faith in Brigham Young’s prophecies, while others remained skeptical and left for what they assumed would be a better life. Yet history has shown that every prophecy Brigham Young declared has come to pass. The valley did blossom and produce. The Saints prospered. The winter of 1848 was a great catalyst for the Lord to teach His people a valuable lesson. They learned—as we all must learn—that the only sure and secure road to protection in this life comes through trusting in and obeying the counsel from the prophets of God.

One day, I was facing a hard trial at home. It seemed like everything was going wrong. My brother had been going in and out of juvenile detention centers, and we were struggling financially. I felt useless because I couldn’t help. That day in seminary we read Alma 37:36: “Yea, and cry unto God for all thy support; yea, let all thy doings be unto the Lord, and whithersoever thou goest let it be in the Lord; yea, let all thy thoughts be directed unto the Lord; yea, let the affections of thy heart be placed upon the Lord forever.”
As we discussed that scripture in class, I was filled with comfort and peace, because I knew that the Lord would always be there and that Christ would be willing to take upon Himself my burdens and support me in all my righteous doings.

Jeremy (name changed) is a boy at school who doesn’t have very many friends. Nobody ever wants to sit by him at lunch. One day I had a feeling that I should sit with him. I looked at Jeremy all alone at the table and thought for a minute. Then I took a deep breath, walked to the table, and sat down next to Jeremy. He had a big smile on his face. I felt good inside, and I knew that I had done the right thing.

It gives me a good feeling to work on family history. I’m learning the names of lots of my ancestors and learning to upload their photos too. Someday when I meet them in heaven, I’ll already know them.
Aidan A., age 10, Utah, USA