Gospel Story Finder

“We need to spend more time fellowshipping with other sisters,” says Ruth Roberts of Atlanta, Georgia. “Several weeks ago I was feeling overwhelmed, so I called a friend and asked if I could come over. We ended up talking, laughing, and crying for more than three hours. What a spiritual uplift! If you talk with other sisters, you realize you’re not alone in your feelings and problems.”

Born in California, USA, on March 1, 1952, to Whitney Clayton Jr. and Elizabeth Touchstone Clayton, Elder Clayton gained a strong testimony in his youth of home teaching. Because of the efforts of a home teacher, he, at age 12, and his family accepted sacred gospel covenants and were sealed in the Salt Lake Temple in 1964 by then-Elder Harold B. Lee of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.

I remember going to President McKay years ago to plead the cause of a missionary who had become involved in serious sin. I said to President McKay, “He did it on an impulse.” The President said to me, “His mind was dwelling on these things before he transgressed. The thought was father to the deed. There would not have been that impulse if he had previously controlled his thoughts.”

President Joseph F. Smith made this statement about the priesthood in the home: “In the home the presiding authority is always vested in the father, and in all home affairs and family matters there is no other authority paramount. To illustrate this principle, a single incident will perhaps suffice. It sometimes happens that the elders are called in to administer to the members of a family. Among these elders there may be presidents of stakes, apostles, or even members of the first presidency of the Church. It is not proper under these circumstances for the father to stand back and expect the elders to direct the administration of this important ordinance. The father is there. It is his right and it is his duty to preside. He should select the one who is to administer the oil, and the one who is to be mouth in prayer, and he should not feel that because there are present presiding authorities in the Church that he is therefore divested of his rights to direct the administration of that blessing of the gospel in his home. (If the father be absent, the mother should request the presiding authority present to take charge.) The father presides at the table, at prayer, and gives general directions relating to his family life whoever may be present.”25

Elder D. Todd Christofferson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles shared a childhood experience that impressed upon him the importance of a loving family. When he and his brothers were boys, their mother had radical cancer surgery that made it very painful for her to use her right arm. With a family of boys, there was a lot of ironing, but as his mother ironed, she often stopped and went into the bedroom to cry until the pain subsided.
When Elder Christofferson’s father realized what was happening, he secretly went without lunches for almost a year to save enough money to buy a machine that made ironing easier. Out of his love for his wife, he set an example of nurturing within families for his boys. Of this tender interaction, Elder Christofferson said, “I was not aware of my father’s sacrifice and act of love for my mother at the time, but now that I know, I say to myself, ‘There is a man.’”4

My husband, Ryan, and I, along with our five other sons, have all grown spiritually from our experiences with Nolan. At times we get discouraged and worry about his future, but then we count our blessings, recognize the love and concern our Father in Heaven and His Son have for each of us, and remember a prayer that was answered when Nolan was six.

One evening when we were unsure how to handle Nolan’s challenges, my husband and I knelt to pray about his welfare. As we petitioned the Lord, we expressed particular concern about Nolan’s behavior as related to his perception of his self-worth. We sincerely asked for Nolan to feel the love of our Savior and know of his great worth as a child of God.

The next morning Nolan came directly into the kitchen, where I was cooking breakfast. Before breakfast he would usually play with his brothers or plop on the couch. But he seemed intent as he climbed a stool at the breakfast bar, looked up at me, and said, “I had a dream last night.”

I sensed his seriousness, and my interest was immediately piqued.

“Really?” I asked. “What happened in your dream?”

“Jesus was there,” Nolan replied simply, “and He held me.”

Jamie ran outside, the screen door banging shut behind her. “Can I go for a bike ride?” she asked Mom, who was pulling weeds in the flower bed.
“Sure. Don’t go too far,” Mom replied.
“I won’t.” Jamie wheeled her brand-new bike out of the garage. She loved how the silver spokes gleamed in the sunshine. And she loved how fast it went—much faster than her old bike.
Jamie buckled her helmet and looked up and down the country road in front of her house to make sure no cars were coming. Then she jumped on her bike and started pedaling up the hill. She loved to go all the way to the top and then coast back down. With the wind in her face, it felt like she was flying.
Jamie’s legs ached as she pedaled. When she was halfway to the top of the hill, she saw something square and tan-colored in the middle of the road. It looked like one of the worn-out foam chair cushions she had taken to the trash last week when Mom had reupholstered the kitchen chairs. One of the cushions must have fallen out of the garbage truck and been left in the road.
Then Jamie got a great idea. “What if I run over the cushion on my way down?” she thought. She imagined how it would feel to run over the squishy cushion with her bike’s tires.
Jamie finally reached the top of the hill and turned her bike around with a grin. Now the ride down seemed even more exciting. She wanted to hit the cushion exactly in the middle.
She gripped the handlebars and pushed off. She pedaled hard a few times and then started coasting. The wind whipped through her hair, and the road was going by in a blur. The cushion was straight ahead, and Jamie pedaled a few extra times to get even more speed.
Then, when she had almost reached the cushion, Jamie heard a voice say very clearly, “NO.”
Immediately, Jamie turned the handlebars. Her bike tire whizzed by the cushion, just missing it. She braked hard and skidded to a stop at the side of the road.
Jamie’s legs were shaking as she got off her bike and walked over to the cushion. When she got closer, she saw it wasn’t a cushion at all. It was a big, flat, heavy rock.
Jamie didn’t feel like riding anymore. She pushed her bike the rest of the way home and told Mom what had happened.
“Do you know what would have happened if you had hit that rock?” Mom asked.
“I would have been hurt,” Jamie said.
“The rock would have stopped your bike, and you would have been thrown off. You could have been hurt very badly,” Mom said.
Jamie’s eyes got big. “It was the Holy Ghost that said ‘no,’ wasn’t it?”
Mom nodded. “You were blessed because you listened and obeyed right away.”
Jamie gave Mom a hug. “I’m glad the Holy Ghost was there to protect me!”
“So am I.” Mom hugged Jamie extra hard. “Why don’t we say a prayer of thanks right now and then go move the rock so no one gets hurt?”
Jamie nodded. Her heart felt happy and light. She knew this was also the Holy Ghost telling her that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ love her.

In a Mother’s Day tribute, a lovely Latter-day Saint mother, Beverly Graham, expressed appreciation for her home training. She said:
“Mother’s love included strict discipline, definite rules, and regulations that were firmly enforced. We used these rules as the starch for our backbone.
“Mother loved being a mother and a lady and enjoyed the arts of homemaking. She has passed this on to my sister and me. It was with great patience that she taught us to sew, cook, clean house, iron, etc. Can reironing one of Daddy’s white shirts until it was perfect be a blessing? Or getting up to do the washing and ironing before school—a blessing? Or peeling beets, shelling peas by the hour, husking bushels and bushels of corn for canning, picking berries at the crack of dawn before the sun got too hot—blessings? You couldn’t convince me then, but you can now. They taught me great lessons in the value of thrift, work, and responsibility.”

After meeting with sisters in Ivory Coast, Sister Cordon said, “Their trust and understanding about God and who He is and what He can do with their lives, is amazing to me.” She said that when she talked about having a temple in Abidjan, one sister wept tears of joy. “We’re going away with African eyes,” Sister Cordon said. “We’re going away with new hearts.”

President Benson, in his opening address yesterday, called on us to repent. Fortunately, there are among those who walk in sin at least a few who have come to know that there is something better, and who now long for forgiveness and an opportunity. I extract a few lines from the letter of one who was excommunicated from the Church because of aggravated immoral behavior. He now writes:
“After I was cut off from the Church, the pain and torment were hell. I did not believe anyone could suffer such pain and still live.”
He then pleads for help to come back, and expresses appreciation for those who now are putting their arms around him to give him strength.

For thirty years and more, Sister Louise Lake, who has now passed away, lived alone trapped in a wheelchair. A parade of problems plagued her constantly. But she made it, beautifully prepared to meet our Heavenly Father. And this is how she did it. Each morning over the years she practiced an “exercise in joy”—a kind of fervent blessing-counting session upon awakening. Imagine! An exercise in joy under those circumstances. She didn’t curse God and die. (See Job 2:9.) She gave thanks and lived—anyway—touching many of us in remarkable ways because of what she had learned about trouble.

In my grade, there are many pranks and mean things that people do to other students. I always get kind of mad when these things happened to my friends or me. Then I found out that some of these people who were doing the mean things have lost loved ones or their parents are divorced. Thank you for putting the story “Prayer for a Thief” (April 2002) in the New Era. That story helped me realize some things about others. I think it’s great you put in articles and stories that help people.
Emily JacksonAddis Ababa, Ethiopia

‘Tis the morning of Christmas.
The house is quite still.
Because all the Coopers—
Except Matt—are ill.
Perhaps it was all
That plum pudding they ate,
But they just want to sleep—
The presents can wait.
The real joy of Christmas,
Matt Cooper has found,
Is having your loved ones
All gathered around.
The best gifts aren’t things,
But the people we love.
They don’t come from a store—
They’re gifts from above.
And now, dearest readers,
Our story must end.
Merry Christmas to all
From the Coopers and Friend.

One day when Tommy was about eight years old, he and his grandfather were sitting on the front-porch swing. An elderly man from England lived on the same street. His name was Robert Dicks, but most of the neighbors just called him “Old Bob.” He was widowed and poor.

Old Bob came over and sat down on the porch swing with Tommy and his grandfather. He said that the small adobe house where he lived was going to be torn down. He had no family, no money, and nowhere to go.

Tommy wondered how his grandfather would respond to the sad story. His grandfather reached into his pocket and pulled out a small leather change purse. He took out a key and put it in Old Bob’s hand. “Mr. Dicks,” he said tenderly, “you can move your things into that empty house of mine next door. It won’t cost you a cent, and you can stay there as long as you like. And remember, nobody is ever going to put you out again.” Tears filled Old Bob’s eyes.

Usually our fears are only imagined. When I was a little boy growing up in Oakley, Idaho, we had a long line of poplar trees growing along the road leading to our home. When it was dark, I used to run as fast as I could past those poplar trees. I always imagined that there was something behind one of those trees waiting to jump out at me. Of course in the daylight, I knew it was all in my mind. That is how it is with our fears—99 percent of the things we worry about are not real.

My wife and I became members of the Church on June 17, 1976. I am a hemiplegic. My home teachers brought me a photocopy of “Making Tracks While the Sun Shines” from the September New Era. They felt that because we have some things in common, I would be interested in Arlene Carter’s testimony. He was so right. I am more than impressed with Arlene’s pluck, courage, drive, and inspiration from our Heavenly Father.
Donald B. PeckBloomfield, Connecticut

I didn’t want Valjean to die.

Not Jean Valjean, the character from Les Misérables, my favorite novel. I knew his fate. Rather, Valjean my potted plant. He was the lone survivor in a long line of indoor plants who had curled up their roots and done a swan dive into the dumpster.

And though he had long outlasted his predecessors, Valjean looked as if his days too were now numbered. The long, slender leaves were turning brown. The plant drooped as if under a heavy burden. Extra water and fertilizer only seemed to make things worse.

I know it sounds silly, but Valjean’s condition truly upset me. Only a month earlier, my father-in-law had passed away. Two weeks later, my own father passed away. In the midst of all that loss, my failing plant affected me more than it should have.

While staring glumly at Valjean, I had the thought that I should pray. I have to admit, the notion struck me as odd. Pray over a plant? After all, I could simply get another. I always had before. Yet the feeling persisted, and so I uttered a short prayer for my faltering vegetation. Immediately afterward, I had the distinct impression that a little bit of knowledge would go a long way. So I did some research.

My life has been a lot greener ever since. Along the way, I’ve learned plenty of spiritual parallels to plant care that help me in other areas of my life.

There’s another concern that’s less obvious. Many plants don’t respond well to chemicals often found in tap water (particularly chlorine). This is what was killing off Valjean one poisonous sip at a time. I learned in my research to allow tap water to sit for 24 hours before using it. This allows the chlorine to escape the water. That one trick—along with cutting back on the amount of water—turned Valjean’s health around.

When I prayed for help in saving Valjean the plant, I never guessed I would learn as much as I have about caring for plants. Since then, I’ve been able to keep a thriving variety of plants alive and healthy, as well as grow new plants from clippings to give to friends and family just for fun. It’s become a rewarding hobby.

And Valjean is still growing strong!

This experience helped me to learn even more deeply that God is involved in the details of our lives. For me, one main lesson I take away is this: I should always follow a prompting to pray, even if it seems too small a matter. You never know what might grow from it.

Victor was born three months premature. As a result, he has several disabilities and was unable to walk until he was seven years old.
I was born three months premature Doctors were saying that I probably could not do anything, but my mother was always trying to find different sources to help me. For years, I received different treatments, but I still couldn’t walk.
Finally, my mother found a treatment that could possibly help me start walking. She decided before doing that to ask the missionaries to give me a blessing. After I received the blessing, we went to the doctor. The treatment was just different physical exercises. Eventually, after doing those exercises, I started walking.

Karoly Takacs, a Hungarian, was recognized as the best pistol shot in the world. More than anything he wanted to win in the Olympics. But one day driving home, Takacs was in a crash, and doctors had to amputate his right arm—his shooting arm.
Takacs’s recovery was slow. It wasn’t a physical challenge, but an emotional one. He had hit bottom. People wanted to help but there was little they could do. Takacs began to avoid his friends; even his family didn’t know where he spent his time. But Karoly Takacs was preparing. In solitude he had trained his left arm and his aiming eye, a training that’s far more of an intellectual mastery than most people realize. By the next Olympics, Takacs was ready.
When the pistol event was over, this one-armed Hungarian stood, the cheers rising about him, on the topmost step of the winner’s platform with a gold medal around his neck.
Takacs showed us something more than his ability to shoot. He proved that human beings have a largely untapped comeback capacity. He discovered for himself the exciting fact that hitting bottom does not mean defeat, but that it just signals the end of downward movement. As one friend told me, “The bottom can be something to bounce on.”

I helped take care of Grandma Pinegar a few Sundays ago. Grandma is 99 and very frail. She is blind and quite deaf, and recently it has become difficult for her to talk in more than a whisper. Her little body is so bent over that there is not much room in her lungs for air.
I leaned close to her and asked, “Grandma, tell me how the gospel has blessed your life.” She whispered softly and shared her gratitude for the promptings and guidance she had received from the Holy Ghost.
When her second child, James, was 18 months old, he and his older brother were playing outside and she was watching them from the window. Suddenly, she couldn’t see him and ran from the house calling and searching frantically. There was water in the irrigation ditch that shouldn’t have been there, and she searched along the edge of the ditch and could see nothing. She ran for the hired hands to come and help and ran back to where the ditch went through a long culvert. Running to the other end of the culvert, she saw two little shoes, and pulled on them. When she had her son in her arms, she was prompted to clasp her hands together and place them under his stomach and carry him in front of her in this way, using her knee to hold some of his weight. She ran toward the road crying for help. The promptings she received to carry him in such an unnatural manner saved his life.