Gospel Story Finder

Sometimes while they gardened, Mom told Vanessa stories about what it was like to grow up on a farm. One day she said, “My mother used to tell me: ‘You reap what you sow. If you plant cucumber seeds, you get cucumber vines and cucumber blossoms, and, eventually, cucumbers. You’ll never get cauliflower from cucumber seeds. If we sow acts of kindness, we reap friendship and happiness.’”
“But if we sow evil and unkindness, then we reap the consequences—unhappiness and sadness,” Vanessa added. They were silent for a few minutes before Vanessa asked, “It can take a long time to see the results of what you’ve sown, can’t it, Mom?” She was thinking of a girl who had started at their school before Christmas and was extremely shy. Vanessa had been nice to her, but it had taken until February to get the girl to respond. But Vanessa’s persistence paid off; the girls were now good friends.

I once heard President Hugh B. Brown relate this inspiring story: Some time ago a great actor in the city of New York gave a wonderful performance in a large theater, at the close of which there were rounds of applause. He was called back again and again. Finally someone called to him, “Would you do for us the Twenty-third Psalm?”
“Why yes. I know the Twenty-third Psalm.”
He recited it as an actor would, perfectly, with nothing left to be desired as far as a performance was concerned. When he was finished, again there was thunderous applause. Then the actor came to the front of the stage and said: “Ladies and gentlemen, there is an old man sitting here on the front row whom I happen to know. I am going to ask him without any notice if he will come and repeat the Twenty-third Psalm.”
The elderly gentleman, of course, was frightened. Trembling, he came to the stage. Fearfully he looked out over the vast audience. Then, as though he were at home only with one, he closed his eyes against the audience, bowed his head, and talked to God, and said:
“The Lord is my shepherd: I shall not want. …”
When the old man finished, there was no applause, but there was not a dry eye in that house. The actor came to the front of the stage and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, I know the words of the Twenty-third Psalm, but this man knows the Shepherd” (adapted from Hugh B. Brown, The Quest, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1961, pp. 335–36).

Twice in my life I have had the privilege of serving as a bishop in the church — once in my home ward and once here on campus. During those years I performed several marriages for members of my respective wards. Each time the couple did its best to plan as nice a wedding as possible under those circumstances. I performed weddings in our ward Relief Society room; in the member's home, in my home, in a member's back yard, and once on the banks of the Snake River by a motel across from the Idaho Falls Temple. In each case, there was music and refreshments, best wishes and pictures, a best man and a maid or matron of honor. In some of these weddings rice was thrown and a couple of times tin cans were tied to the back of the couple's car. Each time the Wedding March was played and in some cases, it was as good as the weddings we see portrayed in Hollywood. Truthfully, I have to say that in most instances the guests were not "over dressed" for the occasion and, a few of the times, neither were the bride or groom. But, in all cases, the wedding was performed according to the laws of the land, by one having authority — me — and in each case the wedding carried with it the maximum duration allowed — even "until death do they part."
But, my dear young brothers and sisters, I cannot say — nor even remotely so — that these were the "finest" things I ever did. In fact, in every case, it wasn't what I wished could have happened for these young couples. I ached for them and, in some instances, for their parents because I knew it was not what the they had wanted for their son or their daughter either.

Many years ago, Sister Bednar and I were busy trying to meet the countless competing demands of a young and energetic family—and of Church, career, and community responsibilities. One evening after the children were asleep, we talked at length about how effectively we were attending to all of our important priorities. We realized that we would not receive the promised blessings in eternity if we did not honor more fully the covenant we had made in mortality. We resolved together to do and to be better as a husband and a wife. That lesson learned so many years ago has made a tremendous difference in our marriage.

I was an adult before I learned the truth about my family. It wasn't until my grandmother's death that I learned that my mother had taken her own life. This knowledge filled me with anger. How could she have done that to me? I sensed in a heart-wrenching way that I wasn't loved. My anger filled my heart and blocked the blessings of the Lord. It consumed my soul and prevented me from serving and helping others. One day, as I sat rocking one of our boys, the Holy Ghost whispered to my heart, "Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him and he shall direct thy paths."[7] The Lord truly had directed my path. He had placed angels along the way to bring me to this moment. I sat rocking a beautiful baby born under the covenant into a home blessed with the priesthood of God. I was His daughter and He had blessed me with an abundance of blessings and had filled my life with joy. Now I was, of my own choice, blocking those blessings because of my lack of understanding. I needed to repent of my anger, I needed to trust in the Lord to make all things right.

My anger and hurt were further enlarged with my father's death a few years later. My oldest sister called one day to let me know that our father had died. As I held the phone and listened, I felt nothing. It was as if she were telling me that someone I didn't know had died. I had had no contact with him for over thirty years. He had never made the effort to be a part of my life. He knew nothing of me or my marriage or my children. He had deprived my sons of knowing a grandfather. My heart was hard and that hardness caused me pain and sorrow. It took prayer and time to realize that the Savior's Atonement had already paid the price for what I was feeling and also for all that my mother and father had felt and experienced.

The Atonement is an infinite atonement. My Savior paid the price that I might feel whole again if I too would forgive and come unto Him. The Lord can heal our hearts when we take our burden to Him. He can help us forgive. He can help us to heal our families. He can help us to know that we are loved and cherished. The blessings of the temple can unite us again as earthy families with celestial goals. The temple work for my mother and father has been done. I pray now for their acceptance of gospel covenants and blessings. I pray to understand and to accept.

A week and a half ago, I had an experience that reminded me of that. I was walking out of the Kimball Building and passed someone I don’t know well and simply wished him a good weekend. At the time, I had a few things weighing heavily on me, but he could not have known that by the way I greeted him.

Later that day, he sent me a kindhearted email. He shared some nice things that his colleagues had said and expressed gratitude for some things he generously gave me credit for. It was only a two-paragraph email.

To be honest, I was surprised by the impact that such a short message had on me. Somehow, those things that had been weighing on me felt a little lighter. I felt more peace and even a small, but needed, boost of confidence. It was a simple, small act of kindness, but it made a difference.

It made me wonder: what if we acted on those impressions more often? What if, when we thought or heard something kind about someone, we simply told them?

What I experienced that day is part of something the scriptures describe as edification. When we edify, we lift and strengthen each other. Paul connected edifying directly to peacemaking when he taught, “Let us therefore follow after the things which make for peace, and things wherewith one may edify another.”[12] On several other occasions, Paul encouraged the saints to edify one another.

Hard work and faithful, diligent service has always been a part of Elder and Sister Mutombo’s life together. Heartache and adversity have been as well. Four of the Mutombo’s first six children died while infants. The youngest died at one week old, the oldest died of sudden infant death, at 9 months old. In the face of the heartbreak of losing four children, Thierry and Nathalie’s faith in God and love for each other was undeterred. Today, they have six living children, Jason, Blessing, Ariel, Marvel, Harvest, and Ruby. Ruby, their tenth child and third daughter, was born while the Mutombos led the Maryland Baltimore mission. Despite the challenges they have faced, they are happy, cheerful, faithful people.

One of my teachers in middle school encouraged me to take an advanced-level class, even though I found it intimidating. She helped me to have higher expectations for myself and to be willing and excited to try new things. This prepared me to take harder classes in the future and to participate in internship programs. Looking back, I feel that what I learned from the experience helped me to become who I am today and to make important decisions. While the academic material I learned was important, I consider the principles I learned to have greatly impacted my life. This continues to bless me in my education, employment, Church callings, and extracurricular activities.
Katherine C., Washington D.C., USA

Illustration by Paul Mann
For a while I was a student assistant in the library at my high school. At a certain hour I would usually see the special education class come in. One of the girls in that class, Stephanie, often went to a certain area to read books. She seemed very sweet and friendly.
One day some other students were in the lounge area of the library, and Stephanie tried to talk to them. These students started making fun of her, calling her names and making rude comments to her face about her disability.
As I watched from the library desk, I thought, “Oh, dear. That’s just wrong.” Not seeing an adult around at the moment, I walked over to them and said, “Hey, cut it out.” Then they turned their ridicule to me, so I took Stephanie to the other side of the library, where we sat and talked together for a while.
After that, I didn’t have another chance to talk to Stephanie again. The end of the school year came, and life moved on.
A year later, the sister missionaries invited me to go with them to an appointment. When the day came, I went to the address at the scheduled time, but the sister missionaries weren’t there yet. I called them to make sure I was at the right place, and they told me they were running late from their last appointment but would be there in a few minutes, so I might as well just go to the house and introduce myself. I stepped up to the door and rang the doorbell. A woman answered. She was very nice and courteous.
Then I saw a young woman come around the corner. When she saw me, she ran up to me and hugged me. At first I thought, “She looks so familiar.” She asked, “How are you doing?!” As she went on saying kind and friendly things to me, I just looked at her, trying to figure out who she was. And then it clicked—she was the girl from a year ago in the library. It was Stephanie.
At that moment I thought, “What if I hadn’t helped her that day and then showed up here at her door to try to teach her the gospel? If I had looked on while they were making fun of her, if I hadn’t stepped in and been kind to her, why would she listen to me trying to teach her the gospel?”
Her sweet reaction meant a lot to me. I thanked Heavenly Father for giving me the strength to do the right thing.
When the sister missionaries came, the lesson went very well. We visited Stephanie twice a week after that. She loved learning about the gospel and was baptized within a short time. She really enjoys being active in the Church. I often pick her up to take her to church and to firesides or other activities. Though her mother isn’t interested in the Church, she’s very supportive of Stephanie’s activity.
Through this experience I realized that it’s so important to know that people are always watching. You never know when you’ll have a chance to make an impression on someone and plant a seed. It’s so important to stick up for what you know to be true at all times, even when it may not necessarily seem like the easiest thing to do.

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.

My family moved to a little desert town in the United States during one of the hottest months of the year. But among the Latter-day Saint kids, my reception was cold.
I was 15, and my family had already moved 10 times, so it wasn’t as if I didn’t know how to make friends. I tried everything I knew to break the ice, but after five months I still didn’t have a single friend who was a member of the Church.
Luckily, I had lots of good nonmember friends at school. But that didn’t make it any easier at early-morning seminary and church. I actually sat through five months of seminary without anyone saying hello to me, except my seminary teacher. And in my Sunday School class there was always one empty seat between me and everyone else.
Tom Jeppson* was the ringleader of the LDS kids. He had never really said anything to me. In fact, I wasn’t even sure he had noticed me until one morning when he met me at the seminary doors.
“Go home. We don’t want you here,” he said.
I started to laugh. He had to be joking, right? But when I looked at his face, I knew he wasn’t kidding. I looked at the others standing close behind him. They didn’t say anything, which I figured meant they agreed.
As I turned away, I heard the doors slam behind me and muffled laughter.
I’m never going to seminary again, I swore to myself as I walked the short distance to the high school. It is all their fault.
That day seemed like it would never end. After school I rode the bus to my street, but I didn’t go home. I went to my seminary teacher’s house. He lived a few doors down from me, and I really liked him. In fact, I liked his whole family.
He usually gave me a ride to seminary each morning, so I wanted to tell him not to worry about picking me up anymore. Actually, what I really wanted was some sympathy.
Sister Murray answered the door. Brother Murray wasn’t home yet, but she invited me in for a drink of lemonade. It wasn’t long before I was telling her the whole story. She was sympathetic until I said I wasn’t going to seminary anymore and that I might not go to church ever again.
“If this is really the true Church, people wouldn’t act like that,” I said.
I expected her to plead with me to come back. I wanted her to tell me she would talk to all the kids’ parents and get them in a lot of trouble. I thought she would be ready to do almost anything to keep me active. Instead she said, “Well, fine. You’re not hurting any of those kids by not going. You’re hurting only yourself.”
I was too shocked to say anything. I quickly finished my lemonade and told her I had to go.
I stayed away from seminary and church for three weeks. My seminary teacher called a few times to check on me. I missed seminary, but I was too proud to admit it. I kept telling myself everyone was probably feeling pretty guilty they had made me become inactive. I told myself they would be in trouble on judgment day.
Still, I couldn’t forget what Sister Murray had said about me hurting only myself. And then, one day when I was reading the Book of Mormon, a scripture caught my eye: “See that ye do all things in worthiness, and do it in the name of Jesus Christ, the Son of the living God; and if ye do this, and endure to the end, ye will in nowise be cast out” (Morm. 9:29).
As I read the words, the Spirit filled my heart and I realized Sister Murray was right. Sure, the kids had been real jerks. But they couldn’t keep me away from the Church if I was determined to be there. And best of all, they couldn’t cast me out in the end, when it really mattered—not if I endured.
I got out of bed and set my alarm for 5:00 A.M., so I wouldn’t miss seminary the next day.
We lived in that hot, windy desert town for five more months and nothing really changed—except my heart. For the first time, I understood that no one was responsible for my salvation but me. I didn’t miss another day of seminary or church. And although the LDS kids were still cold, it didn’t matter. I was filled with the warmth of the gospel.

An important aspect of the path to developing potential through service and servant leadership is often times other people, such as the Lesuma’s, Litchfield’s, Budge’s, and Nainoa Thompson, see things in you before you are able to see them in yourself. I can count on two hands the number of hours Captain Nainoa slept in the 16 days and 2,500 miles before we arrived in Rangiroa in the Tuamotu Archipelago, and then two days on to Tahiti. He actually spotted land about 30 minutes before the apprentice navigators did. But my teacher didn’t need to find land; it was his fifth trip back to Tahiti. Instead, he allowed us to find the coconut trees, which were the highest points on Rangiroa so that we can likewise teach the rising generation (this is a photo of that moment). Servant leadership is exhausting, and at the same time nourishing, visionary, and self-replenishing. By following the Lord’s invitations through service and servant leadership, we honor those who have gone before us and strive to do His will by raising the next generation.

But overcoming their own problems with deafness was only the beginning. Virl and Tom realized the extensiveness of the deafness problem while serving missions for the Church in Canada. It was then that they became aware of the small amount of medical research being done, including research in the areas of psychological adjustment, speech therapy, and education.
“Tom and I decided that from that time forward we would do whatever we could to help others in the ‘silent world’ of the deaf,” said Virl.
They were instrumental in starting a program for the deaf in western Canada. This later led to a deaf mission in California.

The third is to be different. Let me tell you a story that happened this July on Panama City Beach in Florida. Late in the afternoon, Roberta Ursrey saw her two young sons screaming for help from 100 yards (90 m) out into the ocean. They had become caught in a strong current and were being carried out to sea. A nearby couple tried to rescue the boys, but they also got caught in the current. So members of the Ursrey family dove in to rescue the struggling swimmers, and quickly nine people were caught in the rip current.
There were no ropes. There was no lifeguard. The police sent for a rescue boat, but the people had been out in the ocean struggling for 20 minutes, and they were exhausted and their heads were slipping under the water. Among the onlookers on the beach was Jessica Mae Simmons. Her husband had the idea to form a human chain. They shouted at people on the beach to help them, and dozens of people linked arms and marched into the ocean. Jessica wrote, “To see people from different races and genders come into action to help TOTAL strangers [was] absolutely amazing to see!!” An 80-person chain stretched toward the swimmers. Look at this picture of that incredible moment.
Everyone on the beach could think only of traditional solutions, and they were paralyzed. But one couple, in a split second, thought of a different solution. Innovation and creation are spiritual gifts. When we keep our covenants, it may make us different from others in our culture and society, but it gives us access to inspiration so we can think of different solutions, different approaches, different applications. We aren’t always going to fit in with the world, but being different in positive ways can be a lifeline to others who are struggling.
The fourth is to be distinct. Distinct means to be recognizably well defined. Let me go back to the story about Jessica Mae Simmons on the beach. Once that human chain was stretching toward the swimmers, she knew she could help. Jessica Mae said, “I can hold my breath … and go around an Olympic pool with ease! [I knew how to get out of a rip current.] I knew I could get [each swimmer] to the human chain.” She and her husband grabbed boogie boards and swam down the chain until they and another rescuer reached the swimmers, and then they ferried them one by one back to the chain, who passed them to the safety of the beach. Jessica had a distinct skill: she knew how to swim against a rip current.

One night, my friends and I piled into my minivan to go out to eat. All of us had a wonderful time hanging out. After a few hours, it was time to head home. When I put the key in the ignition, a thought popped into my head: “Let John drive.”
I thought that was weird, because I never let anyone else drive my van, so I ignored it. I started the van. The thought came again. “Let John drive.” I decided to listen. I stopped the van and gave the keys to my friend John.
A few minutes later, we hit a huge patch of water. Water shot up the sides of the van. I grabbed my seat. The van started to hydroplane. I was terrified. My friends shouted, “Hit the brakes, John! Hit the brakes!”
If I’d been driving, I would’ve listened to them. But John knew what to do. Instead of slamming on the brakes and making us spin out of control, John coasted through the water until we hit dry ground again. I’m so grateful that I listened to the quiet prompting of the Holy Ghost. Because I did, we all made it home safely.
Chantele S., Utah, USA

Thursday was one of those rainy English days when there is nothing you can do but play games or read in your tents. Hot meals and an opportunity to catch up on sleep were the only relief from the downpour. But during the afternoon, the two counselors in the stake presidency, Alex Stewart and Geoff Mawlam, arrived with some of their family members to join us overnight. It was President Stewart who persuaded some of the braver souls to go canoeing in the rain. It didn’t matter to him about the rain, since he capsized every time he went down the rapids anyway.

The first thing we wanted to do Friday was to dry out. The rain had stopped, but some of the sleeping bags and clothes were wet. We hung things out to dry. Then we built an obstacle course. The course consisted of various tasks—pushing the canoe trailer around some tyres (that’s the English spelling for tires); running the rapids on inner tubes; crossing over the river by rope and then wading back; climbing a rope; and monkey climbs (climbing over and through logs fashioned together like a jungle gym). Not surprisingly, most of us finished wet and dirty. Prizes were awarded for the fastest group time and the fastest individual time according to age.
Like any camp, we also had our cleanup time. The tents were dismantled, the dams broken down, the turf replaced where the fire had been. For our last meal, Brother John Dale, our chef de cuisine treated us to fish and chips from Barnard Castle.
We picked up our tents and equipment and climbed the hill for the last time. Looking back, the field seemed bare, except for yellowed patches of grass where the tents had been. All that we have now are the memories.

One night after contemplating the upcoming change, I dreamed about my great-great-grandfather Joseph Skeen. I knew from his journal that when he and his wife, Maria, moved to Nauvoo, he desired to serve, so he sought out the Prophet Joseph Smith and asked how he could help. The Prophet sent him to work on the prairie and told him to do the best he could, so he did. He worked on the Smiths’ farm.8
Fulfilling callings requires faith. Shortly after Joseph began working on the farm, he and Maria became very sick. They had no money and were among strangers. It was a difficult time for them. In his journal, Joseph wrote, “We worked along [and] hung on to the Church with what little faith we had, though the devil tried to destroy us and turn us back.”10
I, along with hundreds of other descendants, will be eternally grateful that Joseph and Maria did not turn back. Blessings come as we persevere in our callings and responsibilities and hang on with all the faith we have.

More than 50 years ago during World War II, I had an experience. Our bomber crew had been trained at Langley Field, Virginia, to use the latest invention—radar. We were ordered to the West Coast and then on to the Pacific.

We were transported on a freight train with boxcars fitted with narrow bedsprings that could be pulled down from the wall at night. There were no dining cars. Instead, camp kitchens were set up in boxcars with dirt floors.

We were dressed in light-colored summer uniforms. The baggage car got sidetracked, so we had no change of clothing during the six-day trip. It was very hot crossing Texas and Arizona. Smoke and cinders from the engine made it very uncomfortable. There was no way to bathe or wash our uniforms. We rolled into Los Angeles one morning—a grubby-looking outfit—and were told to return to the train that evening.

We thought first of food. The 10 of us in our crew pooled our money and headed for the best restaurant we could find.

It was crowded, and so we joined a long line waiting to be seated. I was first, just behind some well-dressed women. Even without turning around, the stately woman in front of me soon became aware that we were there.

She turned and looked at us. Then she turned and looked me over from head to toe. There I stood in that sweaty, dirty, sooty, wrinkled uniform. She said in a tone of disgust, "My, what untidy men!" All eyes turned to us.

No doubt she wished we were not there; I shared her wish. I felt as dirty as I was, uncomfortable, and ashamed.

Later, when I began a serious study of the scriptures, I noticed references to being spiritually clean. One verse says, "Ye would be more miserable to dwell with a holy and just God, under a consciousness of your filthiness before him, than ye would to dwell with the damned souls in hell" (Morm. 9:4).

I could understand that. I remembered how I felt that day in Los Angeles. I reasoned that to be spiritually unclean would bring shame and humiliation immeasurably more intense than I felt then. I found references—there are at least eight of them—which say that no unclean thing can enter the presence of God (see 1 Ne. 10:21; 1 Ne. 15:34; Alma 7:21; Alma 11:37; Alma 40:26; 3 Ne. 27:19; D&C 94:9; Moses 6:57). While I realized those references had little to do with dirty clothes or soiled hands, I decided I wanted to stay spiritually clean.

Incidentally, that day we went canoeing in Griffith Park. We were horsing around and, of course, tipped over. We got to shore all right, and in due time the sun dried us out. By the time we returned to the train, we were really quite presentable.

I learned that when I didn’t live as I ought to, getting myself spiritually clean was not as easy as taking a shower or putting on clean clothing or falling out of a canoe.

Just as a little child starts to develop a sense of identity as he or she repeatedly hears a name, I believe our names are important to our identity always. As a young mother I returned to take a class from the university I had previously attended and found naturally that things were very much changed from the time when I had begun my studies. I didn’t know anyone. One day one of my past professors came into the room, noticed me, and said, “Janette Callister, how nice to see you.” She turned to my current professor and said she remembered me as a good student. I still remember the good feeling I had that somebody really knew me and remembered me for good.

For the youth of the Utah South Jordan West Stake, youth conference will never be the same again. Neither will the Book of Mormon.
For years, the stake had spent their youth conferences at local water parks or college campuses or going river rafting. Then the leaders planned a Book of Mormon conference.
At first the youth worried that it would be boring. But it didn’t take long to see they were wrong.
“It’s been kind of like living in a really intense movie for three days. I wouldn’t mind doing this every year,” says Ian Jack, 15.
He doesn’t have time to say more. The call to battle sounds. He picks up his foam rubber sword and runs out to join the army, which is acting out the Nephites’ and Lamanites’ last battle. All the youth agree that the battles are a blast.
But battles are just part of the fun. The youth have acted out scenes from the Book of Mormon, built their own wooden tower, and lived through the three days of darkness and destruction preceding Christ’s visit to the Americas.
They saw Abinadi burned at the stake, witnessed an angel appear to Alma the Younger and the sons of Mosiah, and went to battle as the 2,000 stripling warriors.
After each activity the youth gather in discussion groups to talk about what they are learning and feeling about the Book of Mormon.
On the last morning of the conference the youth are given “golden plates” and asked to record their feelings. Most of the youth make commitments to continue their study of the Book of Mormon.
But this time it will be different. They won’t just be reading. They’ll be understanding, feeling—and remembering—the Book of Mormon. Perhaps for the first time.
The plates are buried in a box made of bricks, to be “discovered” at a later time. But the youth have already made the most important discovery. They’ve lived the Book of Mormon, and it was anything but boring.