Gospel Story Finder

The 49 Montgomery Alabama Stake youths piled out of their vehicles. Rakes, shovels, and axes were unloaded from auto trunks as they began to tackle the weeds, leaves, and debris around the old Magnolia chapel. They were continuing a tradition of service for the Church that stretches back nearly 80 years to the night of Saturday, May 8, 1897, when Henry McCoy and Grover Surginer passed a group of riders hurrying through the dark, wooded lane. The men’s faces were covered, which caused the pair to wonder.
“I recognized one of the horses, though. It belongs to John Garrett,” one of them commented as they continued to the bowery erected for the conference sessions being held in Magnolia.
When the men got to the crossroads where the bowery was located, they discovered that the seats, made of planks and sawed blocks, had been heaped together and ignited. The two men quickly put out the blaze.
The next day the members met again in conference despite the blackened ends of the seats. For them, persecution was nothing new. The missionaries had been tarred and feathered before and had eggs thrown at them. Converts reaped the ire of relatives and neighbors alike, but they didn’t quit. Service to the Church has continued into modern times.
Some of the youths were directed to begin digging around a stubborn four-foot stump. It wasn’t long before thick roots had to be chopped through with the axes as the young people laboriously dug deeper in their attempt to remove the old stump. It had been a stately tree when the Church took hold in that part of the state.
The tree had been young when Olivia Tucker McCoy joined the Church. In her diary she wrote: “We were baptized Oct. 3, 1897. My husband’s father had given him the place he settled on with the understanding that he would help him work and pay for that place and the one his father bought, but as it was his father’s he never got the deed. So, after we joined the Mormons his father told him he would have to move.”
Their little daughter had been burned in a fire in December, and they asked for time before moving the child but were ordered out. On January 3, 1898, “We put her in the wagon on a bed, moved to what they called the Coates place, and rented the same from Jim Smyly.
“The Christmas of 1898 I spent with my sister, a Mrs. Guinn, the one I lived with when I was married. But the folks didn’t seem just the same. You see, I had joined the Mormons and I was reminded of it.”
Nor did the early Saints forget it either. In 1913, with the aid of Elder Sellers from Vernal, Utah, and Elder Joseph E. Ward from Parowan, Utah, the Magnolia chapel was built. It stands now as the oldest LDS chapel in Alabama.
Before construction began, a mob gathered to drive the elders out. Mrs. Willie Autrey, a nonmember, stepped out with her gun and turned the mob away. So the Magnolia chapel was built and has stood through the years as a monument to the dedication of area Saints, early and modern.
The youths raked the weeds and leaves from the Church’s cemetery. The area around the building began to look neater, although the stump was not yet removed. The diggers were making progress when they stopped briefly for lunch.
Despite the persecution in the early days, a number of families joined the Church. Later many moved west—the Martins, Sealeys, Cranfords, Torberts, and others—leaving only a few to use the chapel and the adjoining cemetery.
Today, the old LDS chapel in Magnolia is used for socials only. A newer, larger building stands next door and is used by the 50 members of the Magnolia Branch.
The young people returned to work. The ancient, worn-out fence was pulled down, the rotted wood piled for a bonfire. That afternoon they held a testimony meeting, followed by a hot dog and marshmallow roast, which concluded at 7:00 P.M.
Perhaps as they worked or relaxed, they recalled some of the stories told about the chapel, including the time it caught fire during a conference in 1937. The blaze was caused by a defective flue to the pot-bellied stove. A bucket brigade was formed, and water drawn from the well was passed up to Heber B. Martin, who doused the burning wood.
The chapel has been the scene of a number of talks by various Church authorities, including mission president Charles A. Callis, who presided over the Southern States Mission for about a quarter of a century and later became a General Authority.
Sometimes as many as 30 missionaries would be in attendance at the conferences in Magnolia. Today, conference is held in the Montgomery stake center 100 miles east of Magnolia, but the small chapel, while no longer in official use, still stands as a reminder of the heritage of the Alabama Saints.

As a young man, Brigham Young struggled for two years to know if the gospel was true. His search was finally resolved by the simple testimony of a missionary—a “man without eloquence … who could only say, ‘I know, by the power of the Holy Ghost, that the Book of Mormon is true, that Joseph Smith is a Prophet of the Lord.’” President Young later said, “The Holy Ghost proceeding from that individual illuminated my understanding, and light, glory, and immortality were before me” (Teachings of Presidents of the Church: Brigham Young [1997], 315). When the Holy Ghost assures heart and mind of truth, darkness and doubt flee.

Growing up in Australia, our closest temple was Hamilton New Zealand. As a new missionary in January 1976, I received my endowment there. I still remember experiencing tranquility and peace in a house of the Lord. I also remember the distinct feeling that I needed a choice eternal companion to receive the full blessings the temple has to offer.
In January 1979 when I returned with Maxine Thatcher, a most beautiful and righteous girl from my home ward, we were sealed for time and eternity. We marveled and rejoiced in the covenants we made to each other and the Lord.

Martha Isgett of Chapel Hill, North Carolina, volunteered to help in the classroom of each of her eight children. As she helped with classroom projects, she noticed that some of the children had difficulty finishing their work. Others were not used to cleaning up their projects. Martha could see that she could help these children by teaching them to work.
“I had done this at home with my six boys and two girls,” Martha said. “They all had required chores and knew we would have a schedule of work for them. When they finished they had rewards, but they weren’t allowed to play until their duties were complete. Now my children are older and are having more expected of them in school, in jobs, and on missions, because they have learned to be responsible at home.”
Martha served in the parent-teacher organizations in her school, in her county, and in the state. She has been able to share her ideas about how parents can help children succeed. Now, she works as a substitute teacher, where she continues to help children form good habits. “I want the children to come to school prepared and to take pride in their work. I know that parents at home can help by taking interest in their children’s assignments and encouraging home and school projects to be completed.”

When President Richard Winder of the Czechoslovakia Prague Mission handed me a letter addressed simply to the “Mormon Mission,” I noticed that it was postmarked in Ceská Trebová, a small Czech railroad town where I had served as a young missionary in 1948. Now, 45 years later, I was again serving in Czechoslovakia, this time in Bohemia with my wife.
Sister Lukasova has probably passed away by now, I thought as I opened the envelope. Then I read the following letter:
“My aunt has been a member of your church since 1930. She is now 87 and is not in good health. She has had no contact with your church since two missionaries were here in 1948, an Elder Glauser and an Elder Hill. May I please ask that you send someone to see her? She would appreciate it so much.”
When I finished reading, President Winder met my gaze and said, “I thought this letter would mean something to you.”
Two young elders accompanied us to Ceská Trebová. Wearing a bright pinafore, Sister Lukasova sat with quiet dignity on an old, overstuffed chair in her modest home. Her eyebrows still showed traces of raven, and her black eyes shone with mirth, kindness, and deep understanding. In her beauty and serenity, we sensed strength that belied her age.
We exchanged hugs and then discussed ideas and memories for a long time. Sister Lukasova still had photos of me from 45 years ago. At a certain point, she asked her niece to go get something. The niece returned with a small booklet, which Sister Lukasova handed to me, saying, “Here. Take this. It belongs to the Lord.”
I saw that the book was a savings passbook. “It is my tithe,” Sister Lukasova said.
Flipping through it, I marvelled at the columns of monthly deposits going back to 1948. This savings account represented nearly five decades of faithful obedience through illness, loneliness, and uncertainty. With nothing to sustain her but her own testimony and the Spirit, Sister Lukasova had kept her baptismal covenant to pay tithing.
We held a sacrament service for her and listened to her fervent testimony, then made plans to return soon. Recently, Sister Lukasova received her endowment at the Freiberg Germany Temple. She continues to lay up treasures that will bless her life forever.

On November 7, 1843, Joseph recorded that: “Mr. [Joseph M.] Cole moved the tables back into the hall, when [Willard] Richards and [William W.] Phelps called to report that the noise in the school disturbed them in the progress of writing the History. I gave orders that Cole must look out for another place, as the history must continue, and not be disturbed, as there were but few subjects that I have felt a greater anxiety about than my history, which has been a very difficult task, on account of the death of my best clerks, and the apostasy of others” (History of the Church, 6:66).

I have just been ordained as a teacher and go to early-morning seminary. A few of us from our youth program attend the same high school. Every day we meet up after seminary and bike to school together. We encourage each other every day to make good choices. When school is over, we all bike home together. I enjoy being around other youth who share my beliefs and hope to one day serve a mission. I know that if I continue to spend time with others who share my beliefs and standards, I will realize this goal. I have a testimony that if you choose your friends wisely, they will encourage you to choose the right.
Darhys S., New Zealand

When I was a student in dental school, the financial outlook of our local economy was not very encouraging. Inflation dramatically decreased the value of currency from one day to the next.
I remember the year when I was to enroll in surgery practices; I needed to have all the necessary surgical equipment before enrolling that semester. My parents saved the needed funds. But one night something dramatic happened. We went to buy the equipment, only to discover that the amount of money we had to buy all the equipment now was sufficient to buy only a pair of surgical tweezers—and nothing else. We returned home with empty hands and with heavy hearts at the thought of my losing a semester of college. Suddenly, however, my mother said, “Taylor, come with me; let’s go out.”
We went downtown where there were many places that buy and sell jewelry. When we arrived at one store, my mother took out of her purse a small blue velvet bag containing a beautiful gold bracelet with an inscription that read, “To my dear daughter from your father.” It was a bracelet that my grandfather had given her on one of her birthdays. Then, before my eyes, she sold it.
When she received the money, she told me, “If there is one thing I am sure of, it is that you are going to be a dentist. Go and buy all the equipment you need.” Now, can you imagine what kind of student I became from that moment on? I wanted to be the best and finish my studies soon because I knew the high cost of the sacrifice she was making.
I learned that the sacrifices our loved ones make for us refresh us like cool water in the middle of the desert. Such sacrifice brings hope and motivation.

President George Albert Smith toured our mission in New Zealand when I was serving there as a young man. Soon after his return home, a personal letter came addressed to me from President George Albert Smith. He was asking my forgiveness as he had failed to extend a special greeting to me from my cousin who worked in the Church Office Building. His letter was so kind, so thoughtful, so gracious, and so typical of the seven modern-day prophets that I have had the privilege of meeting and being with. Each has demonstrated that great common denominator of Christ-like love, courtesy, and consideration for all.

Another time when I learned the importance of prayer was when I was preparing for my first piano recital. I was about seven years old, and I was very nervous. I was afraid I would forget the piece, and I was also worried that my hands would shake so badly that I couldn’t play.
My mother knew I was scared, and she suggested that before I go on stage to play, I bow my head and ask Heavenly Father to help me feel calm and remember what I had practiced. I followed Mother’s advice, taking a moment to pray right before I performed.
He answered my prayers, and I learned that Heavenly Father could help me at all times in my life, even during piano recitals! I started to realize that He could help me in school. I prayed and asked Him to help me study and learn and take tests.
A few years later, when I was ten, my family visited the Hill Cumorah and the Sacred Grove. I remember standing on the Hill Cumorah and listening to Daddy explaining exactly what happened there. Then we went to the Sacred Grove, and Daddy told us about Joseph Smith praying to Heavenly Father for the truth. Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ appeared to young Joseph, blessing him with the answer to his prayer. I knew that if Joseph could get answers, so could I.
Throughout my life, I have talked to Heavenly Father regularly through prayer. I am very grateful to my parents for teaching me that Heavenly Father lives and that He always listens to us. He listens to me, and He listens to you. I know that He will always be there for you.

When I was growing up in Japan, I was given a Bible at school. It had English and Japanese words next to each other. Our principal told us to use it to study English.
As I read it, I learned about Jesus. Who is this person who is so full of love? I wondered. The words He said made me happy. I wanted to know more about Him.
A little while later, I met the missionaries. They gave me a Book of Mormon and asked me to read it and pray about it. I loved reading about Jesus in the Book of Mormon too. I prayed and felt it was true.
No one in my family wanted to learn about the Church. Jesus taught that we should honor our parents, but my parents didn’t want me to join the Church. That was hard.
I told my parents how I felt. I told them about my prayers. They didn’t understand. They wondered why I wanted to leave our religion behind.
I kept trying. Eventually my parents said I could be baptized. Many years later, my mother was also baptized.
I know that I was blessed for wanting to follow Jesus. I love learning about Him, and I know following Him brings blessings.

In the late 1970s the Mauclairs moved back to metropolitan France, first to Auch (pronounced Osh) near Toulouse. In 1978, they moved to the Versailles ward, where the Mauclair and Giraud-Carrier families became good friends, and a young Christophe met an even younger Isabelle. That childhood friendship grew into dating, courtship, engagement, and marriage. After some time in the same ward and stake, the families moved apart, but Christophe’s and Isabelle’s developing romance continued to grow as they courted by regular letters, occasional phone calls and quarterly in-person connections.

Just weeks after Christophe returned from the Canada Montreal Mission, the two, who had met as children 10 years before, became husband and wife on July 16, 1988 in Cholet, France. Three days later, at the Bern Switzerland Temple, they became a forever union. Christophe was 22 and Isabelle was 21.

Seven-year-old Craig Parker of Spanish Fork, Utah, gained a testimony of the role of prayer in the repentance process. One day while he was playing, he said a word that he knew was wrong. He felt very bad afterward. “In our home and at church I have learned about Jesus, and I know that He would not want me to say that word.”
Craig decided to kneel and pray for forgiveness. “I folded my arms and told Heavenly Father I was sorry for saying that word. I felt better after praying. I knew that Heavenly Father forgave me, and I have never said that word again.”

Life was good for 15-year-old Sarah Jane Marler—about as good as it could get in Port Gibson, Mississippi, in 1850. As the oldest daughter of a wealthy land owner, Sarah Jane enjoyed many of the comforts of the Old South: a beautiful and spacious home, many servants, and a bustling social life.
Along with her parents and seven brothers and sisters, she joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in 1845. Now she had the blessing of the restored gospel, too.
Yes, life was good for Sarah Jane, almost perfect. Then her parents, Allen and Harriet Heath Marler, made a decision to leave, to sell their land and most of their possessions, and join with other pioneer Saints in the Salt Lake Valley. In early March of 1850, along with Sarah Jane’s uncle Samuel Heath, his wife and two little boys, her family left tender ties and a warm climate to make the long, arduous journey to a new life in Utah territory.
How did Sarah Jane feel? Did she pout? Did she cry? She probably felt like any modern-day teenager does when facing a forced move. Sad to leave her friends, maybe a teensy angry with Mom and Dad, and most certainly knots-in-the-stomach scared! After all, she would never see her Mississippi home again.
During the first part of their journey the two families traveled by riverboat up the Mississippi and Missouri Rivers headed for St. Joseph, Missouri. However, before they reached their destination, the dread disease cholera broke out in the family. One of the children was seriously ill. The riverboat captain, fearing his boat would be quarantined if a sick person was found aboard, insisted that they leave the boat at once. It was night, and the small band went by foot in cold and drenching rain to find refuge in St. Joseph. The child died in his mother’s arms. And within hours all members of the family, except Sarah Jane, were violently ill.
Can you imagine Sarah Jane’s desperation? Her loneliness and isolation must have been overwhelming as she ran through the streets of St. Joseph begging for help. The people of that community were sympathetic but so fearful of catching the disease themselves they dared not come near her family. She must have thought, I’m the only one! I’m the only one who can help! The fear in her heart must have been unbearable. For days, she was doctor and nurse to her family.
Sarah Jane’s father, three of her sisters, and her two boy cousins died. She served as midwife for her mother, who bore a premature baby girl who died, too. She then had to be mortician for her family. After begging again, help came, and she was finally able to bury her loved ones.
In a few weeks those remaining were well again. After much prayer, Sarah Jane’s mother and uncle decided to continue west. A row of graves, large and small, left behind a story of tragedy and sacrifice. But they moved on, arriving in the Salt Lake Valley on October 2, 1850.
Sarah Jane Marler was my great-great aunt. Her courage and faith, borne of a powerful testimony of the gospel for one so young, has been an inspiration in our family for generations.
I often wonder, could I have done what she did?

As they were laying out camp and putting up their tents, the boys noticed their wild animal hosts, who quickly established themselves as wonderful combinations of curiosity and nuisance. The emus, wallabies, and kangaroos were everywhere.
Emu watching became one of the full-time chores because they were big and hungry and were not very fussy about what they ate. They quickly earned the moniker, “walking vacuum cleaners.” And then the reason for all of the extra gear became clear: if it wasn’t sealed in a box, tin, billy, or barrel it would be eaten by an emu.
Cries like “There’s an emu in your drum (barrel) eating all your tucker,” “Hey boys, an emu has his head in your grub box,” or “An emu has someone’s bread,” (a whole loaf), or “Watch that wallaby” were a constant part of camp life, especially at mealtime.

My name is Bea and I am five. It is hard being five years old. Today was Fast Sunday, and I’m not old enough to fast two meals. I tried to pour my own milk. It went all over the table.
“Oh, Bea,” my mother said, “you should have asked for help. It is hard for five-year-olds to pour milk.”
After I ate, I started dressing. My favorite dress has a lot of buttons. My big sister said, “Bea, you need help with all those buttons.” I let her help button my dress.
I put my shoes on by myself. I even tied them! Then my big brother said, “Bea, one of your laces is too long. You don’t want to trip over it.” He retied my shoe.
Joey, my baby brother, started to cry. I tried to carry him to Dad, but we fell. Dad said, “Joey’s too heavy for a five-year-old to carry.”
When it was my turn to read from the Book of Mormon before church this morning, Dad helped me a lot because I didn’t know most of the words.
It’s really hard being five.
During fast and testimony meeting, I whispered to Dad, “I want to bear my testimony. Will you go up with me?”
He looked at me. I was afraid that he’d say, “Bea, you are only five. You are too little to bear your testimony.” But he didn’t say that. He took me by the hand and led me to the pulpit. I bore my testimony! It was scary, but I did it all by myself. I said, “I know Jesus died and was resurrected. I love President Hinckley and Joseph Smith. I am grateful to be able to come to church. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
My dad held my hand, but he didn’t sit down. He stood by me and bore his testimony. He said, “Bea is a great teacher in our family. When she bore her testimony, I was reminded of the time when Christ came to the Nephites. He taught the children many marvelous things, and then they taught their parents. Bea has reminded me of the Savior’s mission. I am so grateful for Bea’s example. A five-year-old child can do great things.”
I was wonderfully happy. I had done something important. I was an example for my Savior by bearing my testimony. Although it is hard, I’m glad that I am five.

Born at the outbreak of the First World War, he received only the very basic formal education. That finished when aged fourteen. He understood it would greatly reduce his chances of earning a good living. Frugality however, was bred in him; everything had a use, even when its original purpose was no longer possible. Volunteering for the RAF in World War II, he made full use of discarded parachutes. Silk from the canopies was given to my mother to make baby dresses, while my father wove the cords into table mats. He repaired our shoes and built cupboards and shelves from wood salvaged from demolition sites. He grew our needed fruit and vegetables in a garden, which the local Anglican church allowed him to use in return for growing flowers to decorate their magnificent medieval minster.

Thirteen-year-old Jason Seawright of the Winder Fifth Ward, Salt Lake Winder Stake, has always been interested in the people in the Russian area. That’s why he took on odd jobs during the summer to earn enough money to buy 45 Russian copies of the Book of Mormon. He also had his testimony translated and put it in the books.
He then asked everyone he knew who would be traveling to the area to take the books with them and give them away. A 16-year-old boy from St. Petersburg wrote to Jason to thank him for sharing the gospel.

President Thomas S. Monson told a story about a man from the eastern United States who was traveling by bus to California. In Salt Lake City a Primary girl got on the bus and sat next to the man. They started talking, and he asked if she was a Mormon. She answered yes. He asked her what Mormons believe. It was a big question for such a young girl. What would you have said? Imagine the look on the man’s face as she recited and explained the Articles of Faith. He couldn’t believe it!

After she got off the bus, the man thought about her courage and knowledge. As soon as he arrived in California, he called the local mission president and asked questions about the Church. The missionaries came to see him, and later the man’s entire family was baptized—all because a Primary girl knew the Articles of Faith and had the courage to share them (see Ensign, April 1994, pages 67–68).

In February 1837, Noah Rogers and his wife, Eda Hollister, joined the Church in New York. Noah gave up his practice as a physician, and with his wife and eight children, he set out to become part of the gathering Saints in Missouri. A ninth child was born to them the following year.

Noah and his family endured many hardships on their journey to Missouri, even being threatened by hostile mobs who demanded that they turn back or be killed. Undaunted in their desire to participate more fully in the blessings of the restored gospel, Noah and Eda continued onward until they were able to join a body of Saints in Commerce, Illinois, which later became know as Nauvoo the Beautiful.

While working in his field one day, Noah was kidnapped by a party of mobsters and taken across the state line into Missouri. In the hands of the mobsters he was dragged into the woods, bound, brutally beaten, and then confined in chains in a small shed for several months simply because he was a “Mormon.” Noah eventually regained his strength and was able to escape back to his family.

In April conference of 1843, Noah Rogers was called on a mission to Vermont. Soon after this, a new mission call was extended to preach the gospel among the people of the islands of French Polynesia in the region known as the Society Islands. He was to be accompanied by Addison Pratt, Benjamin F. Grouard, and Knowlton Hanks. The small group of missionaries quickly prepared for their journey and bid farewell to their families, trusting that they would be taken care of amidst the ever-increasing storm of hatred and bigotry aimed at the early Saints. Their missionary journals and letters home describe the many trials and hardships they endured as they made their way to the islands over the next nine months.

Their missionary companion Elder Hanks had been sick before leaving Nauvoo and progressively got worse. He refused to turn back. He was fearful that he would not be able to fulfill his mission and kept hoping that the long sea voyage and priesthood administrations would restore his health. He insisted that if he must die, at least it would be as near his mission field as possible. Elder Hanks’ condition continued to worsen until he died on November 3, 1843. It was a sad and mournful event as his companions watched his body be wrapped in “a bit of old sail” and dropped into the sea.

The remaining three missionaries continued their journey, finally arriving in Tahiti to begin the work of preaching the restored gospel throughout the surrounding Polynesian islands. Not all their efforts were met with great success. Noah encountered major opposition from the established churches on the islands he visited. After many months and many miles traveling from island to island, he was given a release to return home.

His journey back to Nauvoo again proved to be extremely difficult. He returned via the Orient, becoming the first missionary to circumnavigate the globe. Letters and communication from his wife and family were essentially nonexistent for his entire absence of two and a half years. He had heard rumors of the Martyrdom of the Prophet Joseph Smith, but, beyond that, news was only hearsay, and he feared greatly for the safety of his loved ones.

Noah arrived back in Nauvoo on December 29, 1845, finding his family, along with the majority of the Saints, driven out of the city and living on the outskirts. Nevertheless, it was a joyful reunion, and shortly thereafter he and Eda were able to receive their endowments in the newly completed temple. They were among the last Saints to receive this sacred ordinance before being forced to flee across the frozen Mississippi River and eventually set up camp on the windswept prairie at Mount Pisgah, Iowa. There Noah became ill and passed away within a matter of days. A couple of his sons fashioned a coffin out of a wagon box and buried him in a small cemetery that was to become the resting place for hundreds of other Saints who likewise perished along the trail.

Eda Rogers had lost her beloved husband. Other family members soon followed him in death. Eda and her sister Amanda recorded:

Our afflictions seemingly were greater than we could bear, yet we trust in God and feel that He will support and comfort the widow and the fatherless.
. . . We feel not to complain nor murmur but to go ahead in the things of the Lord.

Many critics could say that Noah Rogers’ life ended without his having accomplished much—that his sacrifice to answer the call to serve a mission resulted in little success and robbed him of precious time with his family. Of what worth were his struggles? His death and burial were unheralded events and were marked by a simple journal entry and a wooden grave marker. His grieving widow was left to move on with her children to the Salt Lake Valley. Yet who among us can question the designs of our Heavenly Father?

Noah and Eda Rogers’ example of quietly submitting themselves to the will of the Lord set a sure foundation for their posterity. I am honored to be numbered in that lineage.