Gospel Story Finder

Lemon Bread
It was almost an hour’s drive through a maze of snow-feathered trees to get to the Cornings’ home. Sister Corning was my first baptism as a missionary. I taught my first discussion in that small, backwoods house near Rollingdam, New Brunswick, Canada. After a lesson Brother Corning would get his old out-of-tune guitar, and we would all sit around the oil-burning stove singing folk songs. The air would soon be filled with the tangy, sweet smell of lemon bread baking. Sister Corning taught my companion and me how to make that special treat.
You will need:
1/2 cup shortening or margarine
1 cup sugar
2 eggs
1/2 cup milk
1 1/2 cups flour
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking powder
Rind of 1 lemon, grated
Juice of 1 lemon
1/2 cup sugar
Mix the ingredients, except for the juice and the 1/2 cup sugar, in the order given, then pour into a loaf pan. Put this into an oven preheated to 300° F and bake until done. (Stick a toothpick in the center of the loaf; if it is done, the toothpick will come out clean.) Mix the juice of 1 lemon with 1/2 cup sugar and pour over the bread while it is still hot.

Dear brothers and sisters, although he passed away 20 years ago, there are times I miss my father. Easter promises I will see him again.
When I was in graduate school in England, my father came to visit. His father’s heart knew I missed home.
My father loved adventure except in food. Even in France, noted for its cuisine, he would say, “Let’s eat Chinese food.” A long-serving patriarch in the Church, my father was spiritual and compassionate. One night, as emergency vehicles with loud sirens raced through Paris, he said, “Gerrit, those cries are the wounds of a city.”
On that trip, I felt other cries and wounds. A young woman was selling ice cream from a small pushcart. Her wafer cones were just the size for a single scoop of ice cream. For some reason, a large man confronted the young woman. Yelling and pushing, he tipped over her cart, spilling her ice-cream cones. There was nothing I could do as he crushed the cones with his boots. I can still see the young woman on her knees in the street, trying to save broken wafer pieces, tears of anguish streaming down her face. Her image haunts me, a reminder of the unkindness, uncaring, misunderstanding we too often inflict on each other.

My husband and I have three children—Thomas (6), Tucker (4), and Madison (1). Thomas and Tucker are learning in Primary about baptism and sharing the gospel.
One day, the children and I were at the doctor’s office. A woman with a very small baby came in. The boys love their younger sister, and they were interested in the woman’s baby. I told the boys to sing the baby a song instead of trying to touch it. They looked at each other, then started to sing “I Am a Child of God.”
Upon finishing the song, Thomas looked straight into the mother’s eyes and said, “You know, we are all children of God. Me, my brother, you, your baby, my mom, my sister. Do you go to church? We should all go to church.”
The mother sat there smiling. It was a very touching moment that ended when the nurse called us in to see the doctor.
We don’t know if we’ll ever see the mother and her baby again. What I know is that Thomas and Tucker are practicing the lessons they are learning in Primary and at home about sharing the gospel. And that I should feel comfortable sharing the gospel whenever possible. I pray that they will continue to share the gospel as they grow and that they will always love Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ as they do now.

One day in my fourth-grade religion class in Jamaica, my teacher asked all the students to tell about their religious beliefs. Since I was the only Mormon in my prep school, I was chosen as the Mormon representative.
By the time it was my turn, my heart was beating a hundred miles a minute. I was never much of a public speaker anyway, and I didn’t have a loud voice. When I stood up, I just stared at the sea of eyes before me and tried to speak about some of our beliefs. I first spoke about the Word of Wisdom, then talked about the sacrament, about how we used bread and water to represent the Saviour’s body and blood when he died for us.
Before I could say another word, everyone started laughing at me. Tears stung my eyes as I wondered what I had said to make them laugh. I quickly wiped my eyes and went to my seat amidst the chants of “Bread and water, bread and water.” By the end of the day I was still being teased, so when it was time to go home I was overjoyed. I still don’t know why they decided to make fun of what I was saying.
When I got home, I took my mother’s huge Bible off the shelf and began looking at some of the pictures. As I was flipping a page, I glimpsed a scripture and quickly turned back to it. It was Matthew 10:32: “Whosoever therefore shall confess me before men, him will I confess also before my Father which is in heaven.” [Matt. 10:32] As I read the words over and over, a feeling of peace washed over me as I realised it didn’t matter who laughed at me as long as I was doing what was right.

Cristina watched President Thomas S. Monson on the screen in her stake center during general conference. He was talking about being kind to others. Cristina had a warm feeling as she listened. She knew President Monson was a prophet of God. She thought about Leah, a girl at school who was unkind to her. She decided she would be nice to Leah and try to be her friend. Cristina wanted to follow the prophet’s teachings.

The rescuers, trying to outrace disaster, organized a survival push from Devil’s Gate to Utah. Carefully they loaded the very ill into Utah wagons and then recruited older girls, including Elizabeth, to ride along as nurses. Reluctantly she left her mother and family, and lonesomeness plagued her for weeks. Mostly she rode, but when the wagons ascended mountains she had to walk. At the foot of Big Mountain, a day away from Salt Lake City, snows stood so deep she had to put on men’s boots. Taller people walked in each other’s tracks, but Elizabeth was too short: “I had to make my own road up, frequently falling down as the snow was so deep and drifted.” When they reached the summit and could see Salt Lake Valley below, Elizabeth said, “the men took off their hats and we waved our handkerchiefs.” She reached the city safely on November 30, two weeks ahead of her family, and stayed with friends.

After boot camp and medical training, I was assigned to an air force base in Colorado, USA. One day, I received a letter from my oldest brother stationed in the Philippines. He had joined the air force about a year before I did. He told me that he had become a member of the Church, and he wanted me to meet with the missionaries. I immediately recalled the experience in boot camp with the brave airman. My wife and I met with the missionaries, and we were soon baptized.
A few months later, I had the missionaries visit my younger brother. He and his wife were also baptized. My brothers and I now have large families with grandchildren. We all love the Lord and His Church.

Jeanne serves as a Young Women adviser. Several months ago she learned about an upcoming activity for the youth in the ward: hiking to a place called Malan’s Peak. She was excited because she had recently set a goal to make that climb.
When she arrived at the trailhead, her good friend Ashley approached her. Linking arms with Jeanne, she offered to hike with her, saying, “I’ll go with you.” Ashley, who was 16 years old at the time, had some physical challenges that made it difficult for her to climb very fast. So she and Jeanne walked slowly, noticing Heavenly Father’s creations: the rocks on the mountain peak above them and the flowers all around them. Jeanne later said, “It really didn’t take me long to forget about my goal of hiking to the peak, for it soon became an adventure of another kind—an adventure to point out the beauties along the path, many of which I would have missed had I just hiked to reach the goal of Malan’s Peak.”
As Jeanne and Ashley continued hiking, far behind the rest of the group, they were joined by Emma, another young woman in the ward, who had decided to wait and walk with them. Emma added to their enjoyment. She taught them a song and provided extra support and encouragement. Jeanne recalled: “We sat and rested, we sang, we talked, and we laughed. I was able to get to know Ashley and Emma in a way I wouldn’t have been able to do otherwise. It wasn’t about the mountain that night—it was about much, much more. It was about helping each other along the path, one step at a time.”
As Jeanne, Ashley, and Emma hiked and sang and rested and laughed together, they probably weren’t thinking, “Hey, we are keeping our covenants right now.” But they were keeping their covenants. They were serving each other with love, compassion, and commitment. They were strengthening each other’s faith as they encouraged and ministered to one another.

My Young Women president challenged all of the young women in my ward to read Jesus the Christ in just five months. As I sat down to read it, I was disappointed at first. I had expected the heavens to open and light to pour down, instantly filling me with the Spirit. However, that did not happen. Instead, I struggled to get through even the first chapter without my mind wandering off. I put the book down, frustrated at the seeming lack of divine inspiration.
I decided I needed to change my approach to reading. The next evening I knelt by my bed and asked Heavenly Father to allow me to have the Holy Spirit accompany me, that I might better understand and be able to read this book about His Son and my Savior. After that prayer, I felt a subtle wave of peace come into my room as I settled down to read. I understood the book better and enjoyed it more.
Every night after that, I made sure I started and ended my reading sessions with a prayer, in which I thanked my Heavenly Father and invited the Spirit to guide me as I learned more of the Savior.
I struggled at times and became discouraged that I couldn’t just zip through this 800-page book. But I continued on with my reading and even felt sad as I turned to the last page, knowing the book was ending. The Spirit that was present as I read Jesus the Christ was so indescribably sweet and comforting, and I came to know my Savior on a deeper level. My testimony of the Savior and of the Atonement grew so much from the simple act of reading a book for a few minutes every night.

A few months later, I received a letter from my family telling me they were waiting for my return. I never lost faith and hope that my whole family would become members of the Church, be sealed in the temple for all eternity, and be with our Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, someday.
After returning from my mission, I began to see that dream come true. I was able to baptize my mother, who is now preparing to go to the temple. I see my family often, and we are closer than ever before.

As a study abroad student in Jerusalem, I participated in this commemorative event. Standing with a palm reed in my hand, I was inspired by how many other Christians had traveled to the Holy City because they loved and wanted to celebrate Jesus Christ.
People sang, cheered, praised, and danced. Just like in Jesus’s time, they waved their leaves from the top of the Mount of Olives, down to the Kidron Valley, past the Garden of Gethsemane, and into the Old City. Throughout the procession, I heard continuous shouts of “Hosanna!”
It was an experience I’ll never forget.

Valued companionships begin with a personal commitment to be an exemplary companion. I was taught the importance of such caring attention and loving personal influence many years ago on Temple Square. When I was a young man, I was on my way to a session of general conference when someone took my elbow. It was President David O. McKay. “Come with me, Joseph,” President McKay said. “I’ll help you find a good seat.”

For those few moments as we walked toward the Tabernacle, President McKay seemed to focus his entire attention on me. He spoke reverently of his love for the Lord and his love for the members of the Church. He looked me straight in the eye as he firmly shared his testimony with me.

“I want you to know, Joseph,” he said, “that the President of the Lord’s Church does receive inspiration and revelation from the Lord Jesus Christ.” At that moment, the Spirit whispered to my heart that President David O. McKay was telling me the truth. I knew then that he was truly a prophet of God. That testimony has remained with me throughout my life, filling me with reverence and respect for the office our prophet holds.

I felt his love and was enriched by his humble act of kindness during those few minutes together. I don’t think that I was ever quite the same after that. I then resolved that I would try to be as good a companion to others as he had been to me.

As Paul jogged across the horse pasture toward the barn, he made a mental list of things that he’d need to free the frantic horse: I need some oats. Grandpa said that oats are a great tamer, and if there is anything I need right now, it’s a tamer horse to work on! I need some wire cutters and a halter and lead rope, too—and maybe a flashlight, in case I run out of daylight.
He found everything he needed except the flashlight. The only one he knew about was under the pickup seat, and it was at the hospital. He dropped the wire cutters into the bucket of oats, looped the halter and rope over his shoulder, and jogged back across the pasture.
Wary of getting knocked down again, he carefully offered Ginger a bite of oats. She chewed and reached for more, but he set the bucket out of reach while he put the halter on her and buckled it. Then he offered her another bite before he started cutting wires. Ginger, who must have finally realized that help was at hand, quieted down considerably. Every time she got restless, he gave her another bite of oats. The tangle of wires around her feet was such that he really couldn’t tell which wire to cut, so he had to cut several unnecessarily before he got the strand holding the mass of wire to a half-buried tree stump.
When Ginger felt the tension on her legs ease, she jumped to her feet, shook, and snorted. Then she reared up when she found that she was still tangled. Careful to not get hit by a flying hoof, Paul caught the lead rope and pulled her down. He petted her briefly, gave her a couple bites of oats, and went back to cutting wires. It was so dark by then that he had to work mostly by feel, and he had trouble finding the right places to cut.
Finally the last wire fell away, and Paul pulled the scratchy mass away from her feet. He rubbed a hand down each leg to be sure, left the now-empty bucket to be picked up later, and led Ginger out of the willows and across the dark pasture. She did fine, but he stumbled often in the darkness.
He turned on the barn light and led her under it so that he could examine her injuries. She had some bad cuts, but, he decided, nothing life threatening. Quoting what his father always told him when Paul complained of an injury, he petted the horse softly and consoled her, “It’s a long way from your heart.”
He tied Ginger to a post and went to the house to get some warm water and a rag. While there he read the labels on the containers in the veterinary cabinet until he found one that said it was for “wire cuts and to keep flies off.” Just what he needed!
Ginger let him wash the cuts all right, but pulled free when he tried to spray the medicine on them. With a quick jump, he beat her to the open barn door, closed it, tied her shorter this time, and tried again. She danced around the post, but he finally got all the deeper cuts and scratches covered.
Because the pasture seemed cleaner than the barn, he turned her out when he finished. It was nearly eleven o’clock when he returned to the kitchen, wearily put the bucket and rag into the sink, and dragged himself out to close the chicken coop door.
Too tired to make a sandwich, he drank two glasses of milk and cut a thick piece off the roast to eat. He set the alarm for 6:00 A.M., then fell wearily into bed.

by Mike Kawasaki
The Young Men and Young Women presidencies with the Activities Committee of the Oak Hills 4th Ward, Provo Utah Oak Hills Stake, had planned a formal dinner-dance for the Mutual-age youth.
The dinner-dance was to prepare the youth to learn spiritual responsibilities and etiquette without the peer pressures of dating.
In preparation for the activity, we had a fireside with the speaker stressing that the youth develop a style of their own. A second fireside was held to learn manners, with volunteers offering to demonstrate their knowledge of table manners. The leader gently corrected or complimented as individuals demonstrated their knowledge of correct table etiquette. Details from avoiding chewing gum to how to butter bread were reviewed.
The evening of the dinner-dance arrived. The cultural hall was arranged with round tables, each set with fine crystal and china. As the different courses were served, leaders acting as waiters and waitresses were eavesdropping on dinner conversations ranging in subject from braces to seminary classes.
Following dinner, the dance began with partners having been arranged for each dance. One of the young men had programmed his computer to match up dance partners. Each participant was given a computer printout, rolled and tied with a ribbon.
The evening was a tremendous success. “We looked forward to this activity for so long, and it was so much fun. We learned a lot about how to eat at a formal table, and we learned about how to act on dates,” said my daughter Kara when reflecting about the evening.
After thanking their hosts, the young people asked, “Can we do this again next year?” The resounding answer was yes.

When I was called to be a mission president, I was fearful that at a most critical time in the lives of my eight children I might not have sufficient time to be a good father. I had determined that being a father was as important a call from the Lord as being a mission president. That meant that even though I would dedicate myself to the mission, I would have to double my dedication as a father.
With that in mind, one of my first important tasks was to tie a big rope to a high limb on the huge ash tree that grew in our front yard and make a swing. With the swing came instant neighborhood friends for our younger children.
A few months after our arrival, we attended a mission presidents’ seminar. Each president was asked what he felt was the best idea he had put into practice so far in his mission. When my turn came, I said, “The best thing I’ve done so far is to build a swing.” Everyone laughed. I described the swing and explained that my major goal was to be a good father and that the swing was my symbol of this priority. The leader sustained my action.

Lush green shrubs and pine forests surround the ancient Mayan ruins of Iximché. Eleven-year-old Jairo Eli Xocop of Comalapa, Guatemala, likes to visit the ruins and talk with his family about their family history and ancestors. Long ago, skilled Cakchiquel stonemasons built these vast fortified cities. Today Jairo is working just as hard to build a foundation of faith and good works in the gospel as he prepares to be ordained a deacon.
A member of the Comalapa Branch in the Chimaltenango Guatemala Stake, Jairo lives in a small town in the mountains where the Cakchiquel language is spoken.
Map by Thomas S. Child
Jairo often has his mind on the calendar. He will be 12 soon and is eager to receive the priesthood and become a member of the deacons quorum. Jairo’s good friend and cousin, César Samuel, 16, goes with him and his family to church every Sunday. Jairo is eager to learn from the full-time missionaries who teach the Aaronic Priesthood class in his branch.
An active and fun-loving boy, Jairo likes to participate with the 30 other children in his branch in Primary. Jairo’s favorite part of Primary is sharing time, but he also likes to sing hymns and listen to his teachers talk about the prophets’ lives.
A sixth-grader, Jairo loves sports, especially the long jump, which he has been practicing for three years. At a school competition, he won second place in both speed-walking and the long jump. He also likes to play soccer.
Jairo is preparing to serve a mission by reading the Book of Mormon and other Church books. He attends all his Church meetings and is saving money in a savings account for his mission.
“Jairo is a smart boy, and he tries very hard to be obedient. If he continues, he will become a faithful man and a strong missionary,” says Jairo’s mom.
Jairo’s sister, Melissa, 20, says she admires the way he gets up every Sunday morning and gets ready quickly so he can walk to church with his cousin César. They arrive on time and sit in one of the front rows.
Jairo is growing day by day. His experiences are laying a foundation for a lifetime of working hard in the service of others.

The summer after my junior year in high school, my friend Barbara found out that the Methodist church around the corner from my house was a Japanese congregation and that they held Saturday classes in Japanese culture for the elementary school children. Barbara, my sister Carol, and I thought it would be fun to learn to write those beautiful Japanese characters and to make a kimono, so we asked if we could enroll. We had fun using the brush and ink to make the strokes for ka, ki, ku, ke, ko, ga, gi, gu, ge, go. We learned to recognize and write our names and to sing the famous song “Sakura.”
We were just about finished with our kimonos when we learned that the church was having a bazaar, so we decided to go see the children perform their songs and display their calligraphy. While we sat waiting for the performance to start, we studied the program and found that we could recognize one or two Japanese words: the name of one of the songs, “Sakura,” and next to it our names—Barbara, Jean, and Carol. We looked at each other in dismay. How dare they put us on the program. We weren’t little children. We were not going to get up, three grown-up girls, and sing a silly little song in front of all those strangers.
We continued to fuss about it indignantly. I turned to the seven-year-old girl behind me just to verify that those were the symbols for our names. “Yes,” she smiled, and then she patted my arm and said, “Do it with grace.”
I turned in my seat much abashed to have been put in my place by a little child. I saw then that to get up and simply sing the song would be much less conspicuous than to sit and fuss and protest about our dignity and rights. And I understand now that to simply have done it would not have been enough. The child said, “Do it with grace.” I see that it is more than doing it and more than doing it well: it is something about attitude, willingness. It means being gracious, like a princess, like a queen.
Who did I think I was that I would disrupt and spoil their program? Who did I think they were, the little children and the old pastor and his bent little wife?

Kirkland Ward, Seattle East Stake youth were inspired to “learn more” about the gospel when two full-time missionaries substituted in teaching Sunday School. A series of missionary firesides were started with the young people bringing their nonmember friends to hear the missionary lessons. The crowds grew, testimonies were strengthened, and the Church has gained many new converts. “I was taught by the youth and converted by the spirit,” said Mary Trimble, a new member, “and it’s great that this ward is this enthusiastic about their religion.” Sunny Schubert said, “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if every ward would spread the truth this way also? We youth loved it”

Six priests from Long Beach Seventh Ward, California, representing over 80 percent of their quorum, received their Duty to God awards and became licensed scuba divers during last year. Scott Taylor, Steve Burt, Lee Johnson, Jim Daniels, Jeff Burt, and Daril Johnson received training and experience through their Explorer post that enabled them to pass the requirements for scuba divers’ licenses. As a result they have been bringing home lobsters, crab, and other delicacies from the southern California coast.

Britta and Peter go to the Hyde Park Ward in Chicago. The building where they meet is very crowded because many people have been joining the Church. The ward is trying to raise money to help pay for a new building. At a yard sale for the building fund, Britta sold a pot holder that she made. “Every penny counts!” Britta says. Peter is always proud to pay his tithing on the money that he earns doing special projects, such as folding clothes for his family.