Gospel Story Finder

Jeffrey opened one eye first, then the other. He looked at his new clock and pushed off the bedcovers. He sat on the edge of his bed, squinting at the clock’s two hands. One pointed up. One pointed down. He didn’t know what they said.
Jeffrey let his head hang upside down over the side of the bed. He made his fingers into tubes like binoculars. The clock hands still looked the same. One up. One down. He pulled the pillow over his eyes and sighed. He thought about his grandmother.
“Here’s a new clock for your birthday,” Grandmother had said. “You’ll be going to school soon, and you’ll need to know how to tell time.”
Jeffrey sighed again. The clock was a problem. He went into the kitchen to find his mother.
“I’ll fix you a nice breakfast,” his mother said. “Are you excited about tomorrow?”
“I’m not going to school tomorrow,” said Jeffrey. “I can’t read clocks, and I won’t know when to come home!”
“The teacher and I will help you at first,” said Mother. “And you’ll soon be able to tell the time by yourself.”
After breakfast Jeffrey went back to his room and made his bed. He smoothed the plaid bedspread carefully and tucked in the corners. He combed his hair, put on his shoes, and tied the laces. He stared at the clock. The hands were different now, but he still didn’t know what they said.
Then Jeffrey had an idea. “I know! Maybe Timothy can read a clock. I’ll ask him!”
Just then Timothy knocked at the back door. Jeffrey ran to open it. Timothy had a paper bag in his arms. “Hi, Jeffrey!” said his friend. “Dad took me shopping last night!”
“Oh!” said Jeffrey. “What’s in the paper bag?”
“New tennis shoes,” said Timothy, “for school tomorrow.”
“Could I see them?” asked Jeffrey.
“Sure,” said Timothy. “But I’m not going to school tomorrow.”
“You aren’t?” said Jeffrey.
“No,” said Timothy. “I can’t tie my shoes. The other children will laugh at me because I don’t know how the laces go!”
“I’m not going to school tomorrow either.”
“You aren’t?” replied Timothy, surprised.
“No,” said Jeffrey. “My grandmother gave me a clock for my birthday, but I can’t read the hands. The other children will laugh at me because I can’t tell time.”
“I have an idea!” Timothy exclaimed. “I can read clocks but I can’t tie shoes. I’ll show you how to read the hands on your new clock—”
“And I’ll teach you how to tie the laces on your new shoes! Let’s go to my room right now,” said Jeffrey. “We’ll teach each other.”
At noon Mother knocked on Jeffrey’s door. “It’s lunchtime, boys,” she said, “and I have a sandwich and some juice for each of you.”
“Thank you,” said Jeffrey. “I know it’s lunchtime. I can read my clock’s hands! They say it’s twelve o’clock!”
“Thanks. I’m real hungry,” said Timothy. “I’ve been practicing hard tying my shoelaces. And now I can do it!”
“It sounds as though you two are ready for the first day of school,” Mother said with a big smile.
“Yeah. I’ll meet Tim out in front of his house at eight o’clock tomorrow morning,” said Jeffrey.
“And I’ll be wearing my new shoes!” said Timothy.

This letter is in response to Brother Robert Marcum’s article “Preparation for Power” in the May 1983 New Era. I feel sure the article was about my baby girl, as Brother Marcum was the one who joined with Brother Wayne Rickey to administer to her when she had been run over at the age of eight months, and all but the baby’s gender was correct—except that when I gathered my baby up I don’t remember yelling anything.
I feel that Brother Marcum would like to know just how much of a miracle he, Brother Rickey, and my husband participated in that day almost 15 years ago. The accident happened late on a Thursday afternoon, and when we reached the hospital with Bethany, her doctor tried to get one of Salt Lake’s leading thoracic surgeons as a consultant because he saw that her chest or lungs had been damaged, but the surgeon could not seem to be reached. As the doctor turned to get another number, the desired surgeon walked in the hospital door to visit a relative!
Upon examining our daughter, he felt there was a small rupture of her diaphragm, which was being partially plugged by her liver, so he postponed the necessary surgery to allow her lungs to heal a bit from any bruising they may have received.
On Saturday morning we received an emergency call from the hospital informing us that Bethany had worsened and that immediate surgery was necessary. When the surgeon finally entered our daughter’s chest, he was surprised to discover that her diaphragm was almost completely torn loose around the circumference and had a large tear from front to back. Essentially, she had been breathing with almost no diaphragm for 36 hours, buying a bit of time to allow the surgeons to do their work well.
She made a full recovery, and is now a lovely 14-year-old young lady with only a scar to remind us of the power of the priesthood in the hands of prepared men. Every day of my life I thank my Heavenly Father for the life of my daughter and for men nearby who were actively ready to use their priesthood.
Thank you, Brother Rickey and Brother Marcum, and thank you, New Era, for printing the story.
Helen ArringtonTwin Falls, Idaho

A Sunbeam teacher wrapped each of her class members one by one in a blanket to teach them how the Spirit feels like the comfort and security of that covering. A visiting mother also heard the lesson.

Many months later the mother thanked the teacher. She told how she had been less active when she accompanied her young daughter to Primary. Several weeks after the lesson, the mother suffered a miscarriage. She was overcome with grief when suddenly she felt a great warmth and peace. It felt like someone had covered her with a warm blanket. She recognized the reassurance of the Spirit and knew that Heavenly Father was aware of her and that He loved her.

A short time ago I stood in a family circle while the husband of one of our granddaughters blessed their new little son, Mark. As he blessed little Mark, he prayed that Mark would someday go on a mission and, when he returned, find a sweet, young companion and be sealed in the temple. As he pronounced these blessings upon little Mark, I had the desire that he might know what I know and feel what I feel about some of the spiritual blessings that have entered into my life. I desired that his life would also be filled with spiritual experiences similar to one I had 26 years ago today when I was called to be an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. On that same day, Elder Boyd K. Packer was called to the Quorum of the Twelve.
I remember the details well. I was called to the First Presidency’s office to meet with President Joseph Fielding Smith. His name would be presented the next day for sustaining as the new President and prophet of the Church, just as we have done today with President Hinckley. Harold B. Lee was to be sustained as the First Counselor and N. Eldon Tanner as the Second Counselor. They spent a few moments with me, extending the call, and then reminded me that the next morning my name would be read in the conference.
After that call was extended to me, I walked down the granite steps of the Administration Building. I felt amazement and wonder. How could this happen? How could this come to me? As I walked around the block, I thought and wondered about the changes that would come into my life now. How would I ever measure up to the responsibility that would now rest upon me? How could I go out and represent this great and glorious organization out in the world?
I was so overcome with my feelings as I walked around the block that I didn’t want to meet anyone I knew. I just wanted to find my wife, Ruby, and tell her what had happened. I went up to the ninth floor of the Hotel Utah, where Ruby was visiting with some family. I remember knocking on the door and opening it just a couple of inches so I could motion for her to come out. Of course, she wondered what was happening and came out into the hall.
I took her by the hand, and as we walked along the hallway, all I could do was squeeze her hand. I was so overcome with what had happened that I had trouble even getting the words out to tell her about it. Finally she stopped me and said, “Well, say something.” Then I looked at her, put my hands on her shoulders, and told her what had happened. She started to cry. The two of us stood there with our arms around one another and people walking by wondering who those silly boobs were crying in the hallway. But we didn’t pay any attention to the traffic because something momentous was happening to us. Our lives had been changed.
On the next day, a day like this, my name was read to be sustained and I was asked to come up and take one of these red chairs. I did so in all amazement. And then the Tabernacle Choir sang “O Divine Redeemer.” I thought my heart would break in the pleading of those words: “Remember not, remember not, O Lord, my sins.”
I would hope someday that our great-grandson Mark and others of our posterity would have similar spiritual experiences and that they would feel the spiritual power and influence of this gospel. I hope that Mark and others will have opportunities such as I had when I was in the temple when President Spencer W. Kimball received the revelation regarding the priesthood. I was the junior member of the Quorum of the Twelve. I was there. I was there with the outpouring of the Spirit in that room so strong that none of us could speak afterwards. We just left quietly to go back to the office. No one could say anything because of the powerful outpouring of the heavenly spiritual experience.
But just a few hours after the announcement was made to the press, I was assigned to attend a stake conference in Detroit, Michigan. When my plane landed in Chicago, I noticed an edition of the Chicago Tribune on the newsstand. The headline in the paper said, “Mormons Give Blacks Priesthood.” And the subheading said, “President Kimball Claims to Have Received a Revelation.” I bought a copy of the newspaper. I stared at one word in that subheading—claims. It stood out to me just like it was in red neon. As I walked along the hallway to make my plane connection, I thought, Here I am now in Chicago walking through this busy airport, yet I was a witness to this revelation. I was there. I witnessed it. I felt that heavenly influence. I was part of it. Little did the editor of that newspaper realize the truth of that revelation when he wrote, “… Claims to Have Received a Revelation.” Little did he know, or the printer, or the man who put the ink on the press, or the one who delivered the newspaper—little did any of them know that it was truly a revelation from God. Little did they know what I knew because I was a witness to it.
God lives. He is our Father. We are His children. He loves us. Jesus is the Christ, the Only Begotten of the Father in the flesh. He is our Savior, our Redeemer. He is our advocate with the Father. He is the one who died and suffered great agony, great humiliation, and great pain for us. The Restoration of the gospel is true. Someday we’ll know of the greatness of the Prophet Joseph Smith. All this work is true. I leave you my love and my witness, and I pray that you will live and raise your own families in such a way that you will be part of the great army needed to carry the message of hope and salvation to all the world. I leave my love and witness with you in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

It’s something like the experience of a young girl who was walking with her grandmother. The song of the birds was glorious to the little girl, and she pointed out every sound to her grandmother.

“Do you hear that?” the little girl asked again and again. But her grandmother was hard of hearing and could not make out the sounds.

Finally, the grandmother knelt down and said, “I’m sorry, dear. Grandma doesn’t hear so well.”

Exasperated, the little girl took her grandmother’s face in her hands, looked intently into her eyes, and said, “Grandma, listen harder!”

There are lessons in this story for both the nonbeliever and the believer. Just because we can’t hear something doesn’t mean there is nothing to hear. Two people can listen to the same message or read the same scripture, and one might feel the witness of the Spirit while the other doesn’t.

On the other hand, in our efforts to help our loved ones experience the voice of the Spirit and the vast, eternal, and profound beauty of the gospel of Jesus Christ, telling them to “listen harder” may not be the most helpful way.

Perhaps better advice—for anyone who wants to increase faith—is to listen differently.

My mother was born in Poprad, Czechoslovakia (now Slovakia). Her father served in the Czech army during World War II, and his was one of many military families that fled into nearby woods for safety from German occupiers. For five days, my grandparents huddled under a blanket with my mother and her sister, ages one and five, eating a ration of sugar cubes.
My grandparents were not members of the Church at this time, nor did they pray often. However, during this ordeal, their hearts were softened. My grandmother wrote in her journal, “This very night I felt a longing for kneeling down to ask for help from someone who had a higher authority. So I went a little ways into the forest, knelt down, and prayed with a broken heart and a contrite spirit. I pleaded for help.”
Her prayer was answered. Some families in the woods were killed upon discovery, but my grandparents and their two daughters were miraculously protected. Through this exhausting and trying experience, the Lord planted a seed of faith and trust in my grandparents’ hearts.

While visiting a sacrament meeting on Okinawa, I was so impressed with the manner in which the Aaronic Priesthood prepared and passed the sacrament that, when my turn came to speak, I invited two of the deacons to join me at the pulpit. Of one I asked, “What are your goals in life?” His prompt reply: “To become like my Savior!” Of the other I asked, “What does it mean to you to know that you hold the Aaronic priesthood?” He drew himself to his full height and looked out over that pulpit, and proudly said, “It is the greatest honor in my life!”

During World War II, the Latter-day Saints in Princeton met for church in our house. I learned then that the Church is not a building; the Church isn’t even a lot of people. I felt close to Heavenly Father and knew that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is His Church; it didn’t matter that our little branch met in our dining room. It was fun because when I came downstairs on Sunday, I was in church.
The branch members were my father, the branch president; my mother, who played the piano; my two brothers and me, the only youth in the branch; a few graduate students or servicemen; and a few older women who were converts to the Church and whose husbands were not members. Rarely would there be more than 10 or 15 people attending.
The sacrament was prepared on the dining room table, which also served as the pulpit. During fast and testimony meeting, I always wondered why the older women cried. I later realized that they cried because they were so happy and grateful to be with the Latter-day Saints in that little branch.

The girls both participate in research studies at Duke Medical Center in Durham, North Carolina. These studies are helping doctors find ways to help other people with their food allergies. When Hannah was five she chose to be a part of an egg allergy study. She told her mom, “I want to do this study to help others with food allergies even if it does not help me!” Ellen Joy started participating a month later in a milk allergy study.
The girls’ family has made sure that they all know how to use emergency medications for when an allergic reaction might occur. Even their younger sister, Mia, knows how!
Mia knows a lot about their allergies and is very careful to help her sisters. When Ellen Joy offers to get her little sister a drink, Mia will say, “Please don’t touch that, Ellen Joy! I have been eating cheese crackers, and cheese is on my cup.”
Their parents make sure they provide meals that are free of allergens. “For sacrament my mom brings rice cake, which I have instead of bread,” Hannah says.
Hannah and Ellen Joy trust that the Holy Ghost can guide them. Hannah said, “The Holy Ghost can help me anywhere! I have to wash my hands a lot and be careful and listen to the Holy Ghost to help me.”
When Ellen Joy was five, she wanted to eat her friend’s chicken nuggets. But she got a feeling that she shouldn’t, so she ate her own lunch. She found out later the chicken nuggets had milk in them and could have made her sick.
Ellen Joy and Hannah feel it is important to teach their friends how to be aware of allergies. Ellen Joy is currently working on a presentation to teach the girls at activity days more about food allergies. When Hannah’s friends want to hold her hands when playing, she first asks them if they have washed their hands. If they haven’t, they hurry to wash them before touching her.
When people ask Hannah and Ellen Joy for a list of things they can’t eat, the girls usually give them a list of things they can and do eat. Their list is long, healthy, and yummy!

Media—whether good or bad—can be habit-forming. But it is a habit that can be broken. One woman who was “addicted” to watching daytime soap operas decided to rearrange her priorities and to stop what she felt was a time- and mind-wasting practice. She succeeded and later wrote: “Sometimes our whole family watches shows together, and it’s fun. But now I’m the master. When I want to invite newsmen, actors, or entertainers into my home, I do so. But it’s because they have informative and/or morally, spiritually, and emotionally uplifting programs to offer—not just because they’re there” (LeRee Farrar, “How I Kicked the TV Habit,” Ensign, March 1977, 19).

On many occasions our children have had dinners on a tennis court. It was interesting to watch them plan who would attend, where the food would come from, and what type of date would want to spread a checkered cloth on a piece of cement and have a picnic on a tennis court. On another occasion this same group had dinner inside a playhouse and acted like they were on the roof garden of an elegant hotel. It was interesting to watch them plan and grow and develop as they made assignments and had a truly wonderful time without it costing very much.

Porter is grateful that his parents weren’t easy on him. “They wouldn’t always just help me when I felt like I couldn’t do something,” he says. “I eventually had to do it myself. That’s better than anything.”
His parents didn’t let him off the hook with chores, either. And when your family runs a sheep farm, that means lots of hard work, including moving large sprinkler pipes in the alfalfa fields, feeding the sheep, and helping out during lambing season.
“The first time I moved pipe,” he says, “I got so tired I thought I was going to faint. I got halfway through and just set the pipe down and laid down in the middle of the field. My back was sore for a week, but I was OK from then on.”

Some years ago there went to his eternal reward one of the kindest and most loved men to grace the earth. I speak of Louis C. Jacobsen. He ministered to those in need, he assisted the immigrant to find employment, and he delivered more sermons at more funeral services than any other I have known.

One day while in a reflective mood, Louis Jacobsen told me of his boyhood. He was the son of a poor Danish widow. He was small in stature, not comely in appearance—easily the object of his classmates’ thoughtless jokes. In Sunday School one Sabbath morning, the children made light of his patched trousers and his worn shirt. Too proud to cry, tiny Louis fled from the chapel, stopping at last, out of breath, to sit and rest on the curb which ran along Second West in Salt Lake City. Clear water flowed along the gutter next to the curb where Louis sat. From his pocket he took a piece of paper which contained the outlined Sunday School lesson and skillfully shaped a paper boat, which he launched on the flowing water. From his hurt boyish heart came the determined words, “I’ll never go back.”

Suddenly, through his tears Louis saw reflected in the water the image of a large and well-dressed man. Louis turned his face upward and recognized George Burbidge, the Sunday School superintendent.

“May I sit down with you?” asked the kind leader.

Louis nodded affirmatively. There on the gutter’s curb sat a good Samaritan ministering to one who surely was in need. Several boats were formed and launched while the conversation continued. At last the leader stood and, with a boy’s hand tightly clutching his, they returned to Sunday School.

Later Louis himself presided over that same Sunday School. Throughout his long life of service, he never failed to acknowledge the traveler who rescued him along a Jericho Road.

When students come to me overwhelmed with life or studies, I often ask the question “When was the last time you took 20 minutes out of your day to do something that brings you joy?” And by joy I don’t mean excessive social media or streaming binges! Often, they respond with reasons why they are too busy. At that point, I invite them to go for a walk, a run, choose something that they enjoy doing for 30 minutes, and to return.

Students generally return relaxed. One student actually began making rice bags and giving them to people. He liked to sew and found that sewing combined with the service helped him relax and feel joy. Interestingly, when people participate in service or other “happiness enhancing strategies,” life satisfaction increases. [23]

A number of years ago I did marital therapy with a couple who had been married about 10 years. Over the years she had built up resentment in the relationship because of hurts and perceived injustices that she had experienced in their marriage. She was fed up with the relationship and was seriously considering getting a divorce. The husband still loved his wife and wanted the relationship to work, but her level of resentment toward him had risen to the point that she didn’t feel any love for him.

She had a whole list of grievances. I thought the first one that she gave was especially interesting. When she was having their oldest child, she was in the final stage of labor. It had been a long, difficult labor, and she was physically and emotionally exhausted. While she was putting every ounce of strength that she had left toward giving birth, her husband said, “Will you please hurry up and have the baby? The football game is on TV today, and it is going to start in a few minutes.” Shortly thereafter the baby was born (hopefully before the game started!). In all of the excitement of holding their new baby and becoming new parents, his unkind words were seemingly forgotten. Nothing was said, and they moved on with life. But she remembered what he had said, and his words festered in her for nearly 10 years. She grew more and more resentful over his incredibly insensitive and selfish statement, and it was the cornerstone of the emotional wall that she had built between herself and her husband.

The interesting thing, though, was that he had no idea that what had happened during the birth of their first child many years earlier was a problem. He was surprised when she presented it at the top of her list of grievances; he could barely even remember that it happened. When she brought it up during our therapy session—and it was obvious that she was deeply hurt by what he had said—he quickly apologized. He was a little more mature now, and he realized that he had said a very insensitive, selfish thing to his wife. His apology was sincere; it even had complete sentences. But it was too late. Her wall of resentment had reached the point where she didn’t want to try anymore in their relationship. After another therapy session or two, she made the final decision to get a divorce.

I have often wondered what might have happened in their marriage if the wife had overtly dealt with the incident soon after the baby was born and given her husband the opportunity to apologize and make it right.

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.

As a young man, Heber attended a meeting and heard an appeal for donations. After the meeting he handed his bishop $50. The bishop returned $45 to him and said that $5 was his fair share. Heber J. Grant gave the bishop the entire $50 and said, “‘Bishop Woolley, didn’t you preach here today that the Lord would reward fourfold? My mother is a widow and she needs two hundred dollars.’ He said: ‘My boy, do you believe that if I take this other forty-five dollars you will get your two hundred dollars quicker?’ I said: ‘Certainly.’ Well, he took it.” As Heber walked from the meeting, he got an idea. He wired a man he didn’t know and completed a business transaction. Heber J. Grant’s profit was $218.50. The next day he went to his bishop and said: “Bishop, I have made two hundred eighteen dollars and fifty cents, after paying that fifty dollars donation the other day, and so I owe twenty-one dollars and eighty-five cents in tithing. I will have to dig up the difference between twenty-one dollars eighty-five cents and eighteen dollars fifty cents. The Lord did not quite give me the tithing in addition to his ‘four to one’ income.”

President N. Eldon Tanner served in the First Presidency for 18 years. He was a counselor to four Presidents of the Church, President David O. McKay, Joseph Fielding Smith, Harold B. Lee and Spencer W. Kimball.

When he was yet a boy, growing up on a farm in Canada, his father served as bishop of their ward. On one occasion, his father had to conduct a funeral in town, and asked the young Eldon to do a number of things in his absence. He became involved in other things, and totally forgot about his assignments until his father arrived home.

When his father pulled up, he looked at his son and said: "My boy, I thought I could depend on you." This was a defining, watershed moment in young Nathan Eldon Tanner's life. He then and there resolved, that he would never again disappoint someone who had trusted in him. It was a creed he lived by.[4]

The first time we were in a shoot,” Abe says, “it was like, ‘You guys ready to start? Okay, let’s pray. All the cameramen, the sound guys, us, the directors, and the producers all came in and we prayed. We know what we’re there for, and we ask the Lord to help us.

Ivey tells about going to St. George, Utah, and Valley of Fire, Nevada, to film on location. “We shot real film rather than video, so we could get the beautiful scenery. But real film is more expensive. The cameramen bought special equipment so they could film in the sun. There was a huge storm. But it had to be sunny. That day was the last time we could film.
“We prayed and the weather cleared up in time for us to do our shots. We finished our last take and then the clouds came in and it was totally cloudy and snowing. Our director said to remember to thank Heavenly Father for the break in the weather, because it had cleared just long enough for us to do what we had to do.”

For gymnast Kim McCauley, a 14-year-old from the Rockwall Ward, “someday” began when she was a toddler. She was walking at six months, running at eight months, and by the time she hit three, her parents decided they’d better find a way to channel her energy, or they’d be exhausted in the chase. They enrolled her in gymnastics classes, and today, she not only is a top competitor on her high school team, but she also uses her talent in her spare time to teach gymnastics classes for small children.