Gospel Story Finder

“All seven of my cousins are going to be at my grandmother’s house for Mother’s Day,” Sarah said as she watered Mrs. Martin’s seedlings. “We always have a picnic lunch in the backyard.”
“That sounds like a lot of fun,” Mrs. Martin replied, pulling a tiny weed from a pot.
Every spring Sarah and Mrs. Martin, who lived next door, planted pumpkin, watermelon, and squash seeds in clay pots on Mrs. Martin’s sun porch. Later they would move the little sprouts to the garden in the backyard.
“What are you doing for Mother’s Day?” Sarah asked.
“I’m not sure. When is it, anyway?”
Sarah couldn’t believe that a grown-up didn’t know the date of Mother’s Day. At lunch she told Mom what Mrs. Martin had said.
“Well, Sarah, Mrs. Martin no longer has a mother or grandmother who’s alive,” Mom explained. “And since she has no children or grandchildren, it’s not surprising that she wouldn’t think about Mother’s Day.”
Sarah chewed her tomato sandwich thoughtfully. She understood what her mother had said, but something still seemed wrong.
She looked out the window and saw Mrs. Martin feeding dog biscuits to Mr. Anderson’s cocker spaniels. Mrs. Martin didn’t even have a dog, but she always kept a jar of dog treats for any neighborhood dogs who might stop by. And for the dog owners, Mrs. Martin always had a big basket filled with apples or pears.
“It just isn’t right,” Sarah said. “Somebody that nice should celebrate Mother’s Day.”
“I think you’re right,” Mom agreed.
Sarah went up to her room. Her desk was covered with art supplies for the cards she was making for her mom and grandma. She had already sprinkled green and pink glitter on the edges of two cards. She picked up a fresh sheet of paper and started writing.
Mothers and grandmothers are nice.
They give us help when we need help.
They talk to us about important things.
They find fun things for us to do.
They make good things for us to eat.
They give us hugs.
You do all these things, so I am saying Happy Mother’s Day to you!
Love, Sarah
Sarah worked on the card most of the afternoon, drawing vegetables all around its edges. Mrs. Martin always said that she would rather grow vegetables than flowers. She thought pumpkins and watermelons were “gorgeous.”
Then Sarah decorated an envelope to match and carefully printed “To Mrs. Martin” on the outside.
“It’s almost ready,” she said to Scooter, the tabby cat who had been watching from his perch on the windowsill.
“Mom,” Sarah called downstairs. “I need to call Grandma.”
“OK.”
After Sarah made her call, she turned over the card for Mrs. Martin and wrote on the back. Then she put it in the envelope and bounced down the stairs and out the back door.
Mrs. Martin was putting seeds into the bird feeder. “Hello, Sarah,” she called.
“Hi,” Sarah said. “This is for you.” She handed the card to Mrs. Martin.
“Should I open it now?”
“Yes. It’s a Mother’s Day card.”
“For me?” Mrs. Martin asked with surprise. “But today isn’t Mother’s Day!”
“No, but this card has to be opened early.”
Mrs. Martin opened the card and read it slowly. Then she turned it over to read what Sarah had carefully written on the back:
You are invited to be
an Honorary Mother
at a picnic at Grandma’s house
on Mother’s Day—
which is next Sunday.
Please come.
Mrs. Martin smiled. “Thank you, Sarah. Now we both know what I’ll be doing for Mother’s Day!”

The day the Laurels went camping along the Colorado River, I had an important announcement to make. I had decided to begin meeting with the missionaries. As my new friends exclaimed in delight, I interrupted, cautioning them not to expect too much. “I’m not getting baptized or anything like that. I just need a more organized way to learn about your beliefs.” My friends smiled at each other knowingly.
As the weekend progressed, I found that just being in an LDS environment was educational. The first thing I noticed was that Mormons prayed more than any other church people I had met; and in my search for religion, I had met many of nearly every faith. Their prayers were different. They had no book of prayers, like the one my grandmother had owned. They just talked to God. They lived what they learned in church, too. This was no Sunday religion. It was all day, every day, and I liked that.
In the evening, we spread out our sleeping bags and admired the billions of stars in the sky. Some of the girls began asking me questions. How had I been introduced to the Church? Where had I gone to church before? How did I feel about what I was learning?
I didn’t know how to answer that last question. How could I describe my confusion without hurting their feelings? No other church had affected me this way. I had spent hours sorting through LDS doctrines, trying to guess which ones were true. I had always hated guessing. I wanted to know the truth. But there was no research method to prove the Church one way or another. I sighed. “It’s hard,” I admitted. “Everything you teach is so different, and it’s going to take a while to know what’s true.”
“I know what’s true,” one girl said quietly. Then she bore her testimony, confidently, without embarrassment.
I felt that feeling again—the feeling I had felt when I was ten and heard the story of the First Vision while visiting the Los Angeles Temple. It was also the feeling I felt when I heard an especially moving lesson. I didn’t know what the feeling meant, but I suspected it was important. Suddenly, more than anything, I wanted to know, to really know and not just to guess.
“You said you know these things. How do you know?” I asked.
“I’ve prayed about them. You’ve learned about Joseph Smith, haven’t you? About how he was searching for truth and went into the grove to pray?”
I nodded. “Yes, and I’ve tried to pray, but God isn’t going to come down and tell me the answers.”
“Well, probably not, but he doesn’t have to come down in person in order to talk to us. He talks to us all the time. All we have to do is learn how to listen.”
I sat up, interested. “I’ve prayed before, and other churches have told me God answers prayers, but no one ever told me how. You mean I can ask him if your church is true, and he’ll tell me?”
“Of course. That’s how I did it.”
I was amazed. “If it’s that easy, you would think everyone would join your church.”
My friends laughed. Then they began teaching me how to get a testimony. A few months later, I had my answers. And just after my 17th birthday, I was baptized. They were right. All I had to do was listen.

The Salt Lake Temple, dedicated in 1893, was the first temple topped with an angel formally identified as Moroni. When Church President Wilford Woodruff (1807–98) asked non-LDS artist Cyrus Dallin to create a statue, Dallin declined. Knowing that Dallin’s parents had once been active Latter-day Saints, President Woodruff encouraged him to consult with his mother.

Dallin’s mother felt he should accept the commission. When he said he did not believe in angels, his mother asked, “Why do you say that? … You call me your ‘angel mother.’”3 She encouraged him to study Latter-day Saint scriptures for inspiration, which he did. His design was a dignified, neoclassical angel in robe and cap, standing upright with a trumpet in hand. The original one-meter plaster model was completed by 4 October 1891, and a full-size model was sent to Salem, Ohio, where the statue was hammered out of copper and covered with 22-karat gold leaf. The 3.8 meter statue stands on a stone ball on the 64-meter central spire on the east side.

Cyrus Dallin was born in Springville, Utah, on 22 November 1861. His family had joined the Church in England and immigrated to Utah in 1851. Once there, however, Dallin’s parents joined the Presbyterian Church. As a child, Cyrus loved sketching and modeling with clay. Eventually he studied art in Boston, Massachusetts. “I considered that my ‘Angel Moroni’ brought me nearer to God than anything I ever did,” he said. “It seemed to me that I came to know what it means to commune with angels from heaven.”4

His father was not a member of the Church when Howard was a boy. His mother was, however. She taught him the gospel, and when Howard turned eight, he desired to be baptized. His father felt Howard should wait until he was older to make that decision. Howard followed his father’s wish, but eventually the longing for Church membership became too much to bear.
“When I was 12, I joined the LDS Boy Scout troop,” said President Hunter. “I sat in sacrament meetings with the other boys. When it was time for them to pass the sacrament, I would slump down in my seat. I felt so left out. I wanted to pass the sacrament, but couldn’t because I had not been baptized. I finally prevailed upon my father to allow me to be baptized” (Church News, May 19, 1985, p. 4).
Howard and his younger sister, Dorothy, were baptized in the public swimming pool.

Not long ago a young mother wrote to me: “Sometimes I wonder if I make a difference in my children’s lives. Especially as a single mother working two jobs to make ends meet, I sometimes come home to confusion, but I never give up hope.

“My children and I were watching a television broadcast of general conference, and you were speaking about prayer. My son made the statement, ‘Mother, you’ve already taught us that.’ I said, ‘What do you mean?’ And he replied: ‘Well, you’ve taught us to pray and showed us how, but the other night I came to your room to ask something and found you on your knees praying to Heavenly Father. If He’s important to you, He’ll be important to me.’” The letter concluded, “I guess you never know what kind of influence you’ll be until a child observes you doing yourself what you have tried to teach him to do.” What a magnificent lesson a child learned from his mother.

Ninety-nine-year-old Louise Allred has spent most of her life serving others, and recently she learned a new way to serve from her daughter, Mary Helen.
Three years ago, Mary Helen was not looking for anything specific when she signed on to JustServe.org. Browsing around, she saw a need for a nonprofit group of volunteers who turn donated wedding gowns into bereavement clothing for newborns who never leave the hospital.
Photograph courtesy of the author
With a conviction in her heart that she had found something she wanted to do, Mary Helen and her local Relief Society contacted the organization director. An activity was planned for the sisters of the ward, and 10–12 wedding gowns were taken apart at the service project. Mary Helen took the pieces home and created baby gowns from them.
As Mary Helen made each gown, she prayed for each parent and family who would use the gown she was making. It felt deeply satisfying to her spiritually, drawing her closer to the Savior by following His admonition to love one another (see John 13:34–35; see also 1 John 4:11). Very quickly, Mary Helen realized a one-time activity was not going to be enough for her. She found that JustServe.org would be a partner for many projects for her.
Photograph courtesy of the author
Mary Helen’s mother, Louise, also began helping. She takes apart the wedding gowns stitch by stitch. Everything is then washed, cut, pieced, and sewn to create the baby gowns, and then embellishments are sewn on by hand. Each baby gown takes about two hours to create.
Together, this mother and daughter produce over 100 gowns for deceased babies each year. Hospitals all over Alabama, USA, welcome these donations.
Mary Helen says she and her mother enjoy this time they spend together serving Heavenly Father’s little ones and their families as time permits. As President Russell M. Nelson taught: “Our greatest joy comes as we help our brothers and sisters, no matter where we live in this wonderful world. Giving help to others—making a conscientious effort to care about others as much as or more than we care about ourselves—is our joy. Especially, I might add, when it is not convenient and when it takes us out of our comfort zone. Living that second great commandment is the key to becoming a true disciple of Jesus Christ.”2
In addition to the joy this service brings, Louise loves the challenge and the feeling of accomplishment she experiences. Mary Helen says this bond between her and her mother has also become a most cherished shared experience.
“Anyone can serve,” Mary Helen says—you just have to find what works for you!

Let us walk these clearly defined paths. To help us do so we can follow the shortest sermon in the world. It can be found on a common traffic sign. It reads, “Keep Right.”

This advice was found and followed by Joe, who had been asked to get up at six in the morning and drive a crippled child 50 miles to a hospital. He didn’t want to do it, but he didn’t know how to say no. A woman carried the child out to the car and set him next to the driver’s seat, mumbling thanks through her tears. Joe said everything would be all right and drove off quickly.

After a mile or so, the child inquired shyly, “You’re God, aren’t you?”

“I’m afraid not, little fellow,” replied Joe.

“I thought you must be God,” said the child. “I heard Mother praying next to my bed and asking God to help me get to the hospital, so I could get well and play with the other boys. Do you work for God?”

“Sometimes, I guess,” said Joe, “but not regularly. I think I’m going to work for Him a lot more from now on.”

Are there any toads where you live? We have lots of them around our house. My dad works at a laboratory where they try to learn how to help farmers grow food better. Sometimes he takes my brothers and me on Saturday mornings out to see the fields he studies. There are long ditches that bring water to irrigate the crops, and sometimes they are full of tadpoles. We usually catch a few of them and bring them home with us. The first time we did this, we put them in an aquarium in our family room. They really liked it there—except for one thing. Our fighting fish bit off their tails and then ate them up!

In 1992, just three years after Naume and I were married, we were struggling with the basic necessities of life. A friend?—Jerry D. Hymas from San Diego, California, USA?—taught me a self-reliance principle that has made a difference in our lives, even in times of Zimbabwe’s economic meltdown, which we experienced from 2000 to 2008. Jerry said to me, “Eddie, here is a formula for financial success that has worked for me over the years and has enabled me to retire early. When you receive your paycheck, you (1) pay tithing, ten percent; (2) pay ten percent to yourself; and (3) save ten percent for emergency purposes.” Then he looked at me and said, “Never spend money you do not have.”
Naume and I have always paid our tithing and enjoyed the promised blessings, but we did not know about the other 20 percent he shared with me. Since then, Naume and I tried to the best of our ability to follow this model, and it has blessed us tremendously.

I was attending Brigham Young University in 1994 when President Howard W. Hunter (1907–95) counseled members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints to become “a temple-attending and a temple-loving people.” He said, “Let us hasten to the temple as frequently as time and means and personal circumstances allow.”1
At the time, I was living in an apartment that was only a 15-minute walk from the Provo Utah Temple. I didn’t have a car, but I knew that I had no excuse for not attending the temple regularly. I decided to make it a priority.
I arranged my class schedule so that I would have Fridays open. Then I committed to make that my temple day. Every Friday that semester, rain or shine, I walked to the temple at 7:30 a.m. to be baptized for the dead. If a big paper or project was due, I went to the temple first and then dedicated the rest of my day to schoolwork.
In the years since then, my time, means, and circumstances, as well as my proximity to a temple, have changed several times. But with each change, I have arranged my schedule so that I can continue to make temple attendance a priority in my life.
As I have done this, the blessings of the temple have come into my life, just as President Hunter promised.

The New Era has given my family many uplifting moments. Thank you for choosing quality stories, poems, and songs. A special thanks for printing the song “Walk Tall, You’re a Daughter of God” in the April 1979 New Era. I would like to express a special thanks to Jamie Glenn and Raya Jones, who wrote the words and music. Their song affected one young woman deeply, and through her love for the Savior and this song, many lives have been touched.
My daughter, Shannon Clark, died one year ago today at the age of 16 from a rare type of bone cancer. But in her short time on earth she taught me how to live and how to die. I am so proud of her and shout for joy because she is eternally ours.
After the New Era printed “Walk Tall, You’re a Daughter of God,” our stake gathered together a special group of young women and taught them the song. My daughter and I heard them sing it at a stake Mutual event. This song touched Shannon deeply. She heard it again at girls’ camp that year. At the close of that camp an event took place which I shall remember as long as forever. We closed camp testimony meeting singing this wonderful song. As we sang “Walk Tall, You’re a Daughter of God,” Shannon and I embraced each other, crying and singing all at once. Thank you for that memory! I had less than a year left of holding my daughter. At the last she was in too much pain to be touched, and finally she was paralyzed so she couldn’t hug me anymore either.
We have a small organ at home, and as soon as Shannon could she had the New Era opened on the music rack trying to play “Walk Tall.” It was contagious. I had to have a go at it too. We never got good at it, but we enjoyed singing along as we struggled with the notes.
When the time came to plan my daughter’s funeral, I knew one song that had to be on the program. You guessed it. “Walk Tall, You’re a Daughter of God” was sung beautifully by the stake Young Women’s choir. Shannon’s funeral was held in her high school gymnasium to accommodate the large crowd. We attend a small LDS branch, so only a small percentage of those attending were members.
The special part of this story is how “our” song touched the lives of all those who attended that day.
Many nonmembers asked for copies, and I provided them. The Lake Chelan Christian Church Choir sang it at a special meeting with hundreds of people attending. A nonmember friend who attended later told me that many of her faith had been touched by the song. The keynote speaker at that meeting changed his topic to include references to the song.
Last June I couldn’t bring myself to attend girls’ camp, but the reports I have received are beautiful. Shannon’s group of fourth-year girls performed “Walk Tall, You’re a Daughter of God” at the first night fireside and dedicated it to my daughter. Every night thereafter they used “our song” as the closing song at the campfire meeting. The new Beehives did not know Shannon, but they could feel the Spirit as the tears flowed and the notes were sung.
I am lonely some days because not only did I give back to Heavenly Father my only daughter but also one of the best friends a woman could have. When I feel down I remember my favorite song and the words, “He’s closer than you know—reach up, He’ll take your hand.”
I hope this letter isn’t sad, because I’m not sad. I have two nice-looking sons and a loving husband. Life is good to me. And most important to me—I have an eternal family, if I but live worthy.
Thank you, Jamie and Raya, for using your God-given talents. If Shannon has any say in heavenly matters she has joined one of the heavenly youth choirs and they are singing “Walk Tall, You’re a Daughter of God.” I know your song will live eternally and will give strength to many more. You touched one 16-year-old, and that was just the tip of the iceberg. God bless you.
Roberta Clark
Manson, Washington

I made a new friend who was not a member of the Church, and he sometimes invited me to go to parties. These parties were the same day as Mutual, so I told him, “I’m sorry. I would like to go, but I have other plans.”
He asked what I was doing. I told him, “I’m going to Mutual.”
“What’s Mutual?” he asked.
I explained that we had a lot of fun activities at Mutual and that I was serving as a counselor in the presidency. After I turned down three invitations to his parties, he said, “Invite me to Mutual.”
So he came with me, the missionaries taught him, and he was eventually baptized.

From the time Reid Newey of Roy, Utah, was six years old he had dreamed of playing basketball. He played in city leagues, in high school, in the ward. He watched games on television and attended games with his dad. Basketball was what he wanted to do with his life.
During his first year at Utah State University, Reid made the NCAA all-freshman team. He was making a real contribution. The following year he would have been a starter. But something else was affecting his life. “My freshman year was the first time I’d read the Book of Mormon all the way through,” said Reid. “And I really gained a great testimony of it then. I loved it. I’d rush home from practice just to read it because I loved it so much. From then on I had a different feeling. I went through a lot of prayer and fasting, and it was a personal revelation for me that I should go on a mission.”
Reid had a tremendous experience in the mission field that made everything worth it. “We met this man who was a retired colonel from the army. He was just a great man. He was baptized a week before I left. He drove me to the airport to go home, and we had the opportunity to walk around the Dallas Temple. As we stood there, he looked at me and said, ‘Thanks for coming, Elder Newey.’ I didn’t know exactly what he was talking about. But then he kind of grabbed me and said, ‘No, thanks for coming on your mission.’ That was the greatest experience of my life. It really touched me, and I can’t bear to think what it would be like if I hadn’t experienced that.”
Reid had one more piece of advice. “I’m a basketball player, but everybody has their own obstacles to going on a mission. Everybody has something to keep them from going. But I know there isn’t anything worth staying home for. My advice would be to get your life in order and go, no matter what it takes.”

When he was eight years old, he wanted to be baptized. His nonmember father felt that Howard should be older before he chose to join any church. Even though he knew Heavenly Father wanted him to be a member of the Church, young Howard also knew it was important to do what his father wanted him to do. He honored his father by waiting for his permission. Five months after his twelfth birthday, Howard was baptized.

It is 1869, and President Brigham Young is concerned about the young women in the Church. He is worried that some of them, including his own daughters, are too caught up in the fashions and trends of the world.
On 18 November 1869, he holds a meeting with his daughters. He asks them to set an example by spending more time learning about the gospel and gaining important life skills rather than chasing after trends.
“I desire [you] to retrench from [your] extravagance in dress, in eating, and even in speech,” President Young tells his daughters. “I should like you to get up your own fashions, and set the style for the rest of the world who desire sensible and comely fashions to follow. … There is a need for the young daughters of Israel to get a living testimony of the truth” (A Century of Sisterhood, 8).
At first this is difficult for his daughters. These girls are some of the most popular girls in the territory, and they enjoy stylish things. Now they can’t spend hours looking at clothing catalogs from back East. Instead they must sew their own simple and modest dresses, without any ruffles, that go all the way to the ground. They must spend less time socializing and more time studying the scriptures and learning the gospel.
But these girls know their father is a prophet, and they choose to follow him. They create the Young Ladies Department of the Cooperative Retrenchment Association and begin meeting often to support each other in their efforts.
It has been almost 50 years since Brigham Young first met with his daughters, and now girls throughout the world are following his counsel.

I started working for my Gospel in Action Award when I was nine years old, including learning the Articles of Faith. I earned the Award just after my tenth birthday.
My Primary leader tested me, and my dad, who is the bishop of our ward, tested me, too, to make sure that I knew the Articles of Faith well. I received my certificate and my pendant in sacrament meeting, and I wear it every Sunday.
The Primary presidency has given me a special assignment—to help teach the younger children in Primary the Articles of Faith. I am grateful for the opportunity to help others achieve their awards. I look forward to helping them each week.

Illustration by Julie Rogers
My heart feels warm tonight. Broken, bruised, torn, certainly. But beautifully warm. I feel intense gratitude—gratitude so deep and encompassing that it seems a new hole has opened in my soul to make room, gratitude so filling and so personal that it won’t stop coursing down my cheeks in silent tears. My husband is breathing. I can hear it, deep and soft.
Just a couple of hours ago, I climbed into his hospital bed, ignoring the gentle kicks from our soon-to-arrive baby, and found a spot among all the wires hooked to his chest where I could rest my head. Listening to his heartbeat in my ear was an experience that will be burned into my memory forever.
His heart beats still. Not as well as it did before the heart attack. But it beats still.
The warm lights from the Christmas strands strung across the room make me feel cozy tonight in more than one way. Their soft glow creates a comforting atmosphere, but the real coziness comes from knowing that true friends were willing to drop their own Christmas Eve plans to come decorate when Brian moved from the intensive care unit. The three-foot (1 m) Christmas tree stands in the window as a symbol of their love.
How can I thank our friends? Will they ever know how much I needed them and how grateful I am? While my thoughts were turned to nothing but my husband, they were loving my children, scrubbing my house, restocking my fridge, doing my laundry, wrapping our Christmas presents, and bringing love to me through hugs, dinners, gift cards, cash, phone calls, texts, emails, messages, bags of cinnamon-scented pine cones, and a suitcase full of decorations. They cried with me and prayed and fasted. And in doing all of this, they gave me the most precious gift they could have given: their time. How I love them all!
I think I will sleep well tonight, for I am wrapped in a seemingly endless field of gratitude for all of them.
But mostly I feel gratitude to the Lord for my husband’s life—his deep breathing, his heart pumping blood, his living body and soul. His life is my Christmas miracle.

The Antelope Island District of the Greater Salt Lake Council of the Boy Scouts of America escaped from the frozen, snow-covered hills of a frigid north country last winter. To do so they had to successfully treat cases of frostbite, hypothermia, and snow-blindness; rescue avalanche victims; and build fires in garbage can lids without benefit of firestarters or prepared tinder. In addition, they applied basic first aid for bleeding, splinting, and shock; constructed emergency shelters for the protection of injured patrol members; and cooked bacon and eggs in tin cans over their garbage can fires. To attract the attention of the Air-Rescue Squad, they had to make proper rescue signals using nothing but colored plastic. Not bad for a day’s work!
All the above activities were part of the district’s winter activity and took place on a snow-packed, hilly golf course in Bountiful, Utah. The opening event, “Race for Freedom,” required six patrols to race each other in Klondike sledges they had built themselves. They had to be six feet long and 24 inches wide, but the rest of the details were left up to the boys’ imaginations. This was the first in the ten areas of competition and was introduced in the instruction booklet in the following way: “Your patrol has been kept in a freezing prison in the far north for months. During this time you have been planning your escape and have built a sledge to carry your supplies. You know that the weather and trek across the snowy wasteland will be your greatest threat. You think you are ready. Now comes the test.” Each troop received achievement ribbons and patches, and the winning units received patrol equipment. Although the sky was cloudy and the snow deep, the sun shone big and bright—a reflection of the enthusiasm with which the boys put their Scout skills to work. A real winter escape couldn’t have been better handled!

Upon arriving in Kirtland, many heckled Brigham Young for going west with the camp. “Who has it benefited?” he remembered their asking. “If the Lord did command it to be done, what object had he in view in doing so?” But Brigham knew of the valuable experiences he had learned. “I told those brethren that I was well paid—paid with heavy interest—yea that my cup was filled to overflowing with the knowledge that I had received by traveling with the Prophet.” (Journal of Discourses 10:20.)

Your Church leaders are ever ready to help you in your preparation, as are your parents. One young man’s parents encouraged him to choose carefully the music he listened to. He and his family listened to a talk by Elder Boyd K. Packer on choosing good music. He went to his room, sorted through his records, took a pile to the trash can and broke and discarded them. Following the principle of obedience helped prepare this young man to serve an honorable mission.