Gospel Story Finder

As with Alma the Younger, remembering the Savior helps us repent. Let me share a personal story. For the past few years our department has sponsored a Tobacco Control Intervention in Eastern Europe—a place in dire need of assistance with this issue. Petty crime, especially pickpocketing, is a problem there, as it is in many places of the world. I followed all of the crime prevention advice we gave to our students. I bought a cheap substitute wallet, took out all of my credit cards, and kept a minimal amount of cash with me. I also put my wallet in my front rather than back pocket. One day while I was on the subway, some very skilled “Artful Dodger” picked me clean.

It was the first time in my life that I had been directly victimized by a crime. It bothered me. It bothered me a lot. I started brooding over this incident and devoted an extreme amount of mental energy and time thinking about it. I confess I had some very unchristian thoughts of what I would do to the thief if I ever caught him or what should be done with him. In the Doctrine and Covenants it says that when you are sinned against and you refuse to forgive the sinner, you have the greater problem.29 I was exhibit A of that principle.

Even after four days I was still thinking about this “terrible injustice” in the middle of the night to the extent that I lost hours of sleep. I slept through my alarm and missed sacrament service. I nevertheless went to priesthood and Sunday School and decided to stay for the next branch’s sacrament meeting. I came into the chapel early. They have a very small hymnal in Ukraine, and the organist was playing some Christmas songs, in June, for the prelude. I started to contemplate the beautiful words of these Christmas hymns and thought of my Savior. I began to have a change of heart.

Two Aaronic Priesthood members came to prepare the sacrament. I have been a teacher and a teachers quorum advisor. You give me a couple of teachers and a good water faucet and the sacrament can be prepared in just a few minutes. It does not take a lot of attention.

That was not the case with these young Aaronic Priesthood holders. The first thing they did was say a prayer before they started to prepare the sacrament. I assume they were praying to put themselves in the frame of mind for this holy ordinance. I had never seen this kind of devotion before.

Then they carefully laid the first linen on the sacrament table. They stood back to make sure all the corners were perfectly correct. They carefully pressed out a few wrinkles. They placed cups in the water trays and with bottled water carefully and uniformly filled each cup. They placed the bread on the table, then reverently and with great solemnity covered the sacrament table as if they were covering the dead body of the crucified Christ. I do not think Joseph of Arimathea and the earlier disciples showed any more reverence when they took care of the body of our Lord.

Watching these Aaronic Priesthood brethren touched me deeply and caused me to think about the teachings of the Savior. No angels came down from heaven to smite me, but the Spirit whispered the following message to my soul: “Brother Lindsay, you big baby! You lost 12 bucks and a cheap wallet, pal. Get over it! You claim to be a disciple of Christ; now act like it. That’s not how the Master would do it.” I was chastened.

The meeting started and rapidly progressed to the sacrament. I did not speak the language, but as the priests offered the sacrament prayers with heartfelt expression, I felt the meaning of the words, which sank deep into my heart. I remembered my Savior, and I cried unto Him, saying, “I am so sorry for my unchristian thoughts and actions. I have been so narrow, so petty. I can do better, and, with Thy help, I will do better. I want to be Thy disciple. Please forgive me.”

As my mind caught hold upon this thought, from the top of my head to the soles of my feet the most beautiful spirit erased all the enmity and feelings of revenge that had infected my soul. All those negative feelings were completely gone. Brothers and sisters, I testify that when we remember the Savior, good things happen.

I recently participated in a religious service in a state prison. As the inmates shared their testimonies, I was moved by their remorse for the behavior that necessitated their incarceration. But more impressive were their expressions of love for the Savior and hope for His mercy and forgiveness as they prayed that their repentance would be acceptable to Him.
May I share these words from one in that meeting. In reading the Book of Mormon, he has discovered the healing balm and the compassion of a loving Savior.
I quote:
“Over the past month the Lord has given me so many blessings. He’s changed my heart. He’s taken away the anger, hatred, and fear. He’s replaced these with love and hope. He’s also taken away my foul mouth and my desire for tobacco. He’s helping me to overcome many fleshly weaknesses.
“I always believed I had a relationship with the Lord. I see now how self-serving that relationship was. When I read about Korihor it really hit me hard. I used a lot of the same justifications and rationalizations to create a ‘malleable god’ that I could shape to meet my wicked needs.
“I truly want to be baptized … a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I believe it is His Church and know my lifelong search is over.”

Not only should you be eager to learn your priesthood lessons in this life, but you should be optimistic about what is possible. A few of us may limit in our minds our possibilities to learn what the Lord sets before us in His service.

One young man left his little Welsh village in the early 1840s, heard the Apostles of God, and came into the kingdom of God on earth. He sailed with the Saints to America and drove a wagon west across the plains. He was in the next company after Brigham Young coming into this valley. His priesthood service included clearing and breaking ground for a farm.

He sold the farm for pennies on the dollar to go on a mission for the Lord in the deserts of what is now Nevada to take care of sheep. He was called from that to another mission across the ocean in the very village he had left in his poverty to follow the Lord.

Through it all, he found a way to learn with his priesthood brethren. Bold missionary that he was, he walked down the lane in Wales to the summer estate of a man who was four times the prime minister of England to offer him the gospel of Jesus Christ.

The great man let him into his mansion. He was a graduate of Eton College and of Oxford University. The missionary talked with him about the origins of man, the central role of Jesus Christ in the history of the world, and even the fate of nations.

At the end of their discussion, the host declined the offer to accept baptism. But as they parted, that leader of one of the great empires of the world asked the humble missionary, “Where did you get your education?” His answer: “In the priesthood of God.”

At our wedding shower, she gave me the strings she had cut from her kitchen apron, symbolizing that she would let him go. And she did. She didn’t bring pots of hot soup regularly to our house to make sure that he had a good, nutritious meal. She didn’t arrange his dental appointments for him.
She didn’t always remember my birthday, but she did better than that: She remembered me kindly and gave me the most precious gift of all—her confidence that I could handle my life with her son and her grandchildren.

Sammy liked to do many things. He participated in karate and school sports. He enjoyed reading and kept up with his favorite book series. He attended his Webelos meetings and worked hard to earn the badges. But one thing Sammy didn’t like was dogs—big, small, or anywhere in between. He wanted nothing to do with them. The sight of a dog terrified him, and he would move as quickly as he could in the opposite direction.
One morning, Sammy’s neighbor Megan went skipping down the road, heading for the school bus stop. Suddenly she stopped. There in front of her was the biggest dog she had ever seen. It was tan and even taller than she was. She froze in her tracks and began to scream. The dog started walking toward her.
At that moment, Sammy left his house and started down the street toward the bus stop. He heard Megan screaming and saw her and the dog. He started shaking, but he continued to walk closer. Then he bent down, put his hands on his knees, and called, “Come here, dog. Come.” The dog looked back and forth from Sammy to Megan, and then trotted over to Sammy. Sammy held onto the dog’s collar until the owner came to take the dog home. Sammy was awfully glad to see the dog go.
Sammy still doesn’t like dogs. But he was glad he had the courage to help a friend in need.

The Ebola outbreak also brought widespread unemployment. "I was almost without hope," said Sister Sai Kamaia of the Allentown Branch, a mother of three children who makes her living trading small goods. "All of my money was gone in September, even before the lockdown. People were afraid to trade. I did not know what I was going to do." Like others, she shed tears of joy when she received Church supplies.

Let me illustrate with a brief story how this great faith can be applied. A couple weeks ago, Brother Brad Wilcox and I visited Sister Wendy Thompson in her ward in North Ogden, Utah. Her husband had recently been killed in a tragic accident. After Sunday services, we met with her and her extended family. Their stake president invited us to share thoughts with them. Following Brother Wilcox’s inspired and inspiring remarks, I briefly shared some of these same principles of faith. Sister Thompson became emotional. She later asked me if I would write her what I shared. She said, “I was just feeling so much peace and joy knowing that my Heavenly Father and my Savior and my sweet eternal companion have prepared every needful thing for me and my boys here and in the eternities. I remembered my covenants made and also the covenants Heavenly Father made. He never breaks His promises. I love thinking that I already have those blessings . . . and [I love] what I felt.”

Over the years, Gus and his father regularly visited Sister Joyce Miller, at the time a less-active member of the Church who was battling cancer.
“The thing I remember most about Gus as a young boy was that whenever I asked him to say a prayer, he would stand up and do it,” Sister Miller says. “A lot of young boys and girls roll their eyes when you ask them to do something like praying. Not Gus.”
Now the young man who stopped by was a deacon with a priesthood responsibility. “I wasn’t active when they first started visiting me,” Sister Miller continues, “but their visits meant everything. I wanted to come back to church, but I was smoking and didn’t want to go because I was afraid people would smell the smoke on me.”
“All I knew is we always went to Sister Miller’s house and had fun when we home-taught her. I didn’t think any different of her when I found out she smoked because we were already really good friends,” says Gus. “I was pretty impressed and proud of her when she did stop smoking because I have heard how tough it is to quit.”
When she did stop smoking, Sister Miller began going to church again. “I was so glad because I liked seeing her. I would be able to see a smile on her face and be able to tell she really liked being at church,” Gus adds.

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

At work on 30 December 1999, I was thinking about the members of the Jardim Paineiras Ward, where I serve as elders quorum president. I wondered how I could help the brethren in my quorum grow in the kingdom of the Lord. Then the idea flowed into my mind to ask the brethren to feed the Lord’s sheep.
On 31 December 1999, I found at my door the January 2000 issue of the Liahona (Portuguese). One of the first talks in this general conference issue was “Feed My Sheep” by Elder Ben B. Banks of the Presidency of the Seventy. I immediately realized how blessed we are to have the Holy Ghost to guide us. I was able to read parts of the talk to the brethren in elders quorum meeting. I asked them to read it carefully at home and to think about this subject. I am very grateful for the blessings I receive when I seek the help of the Lord.
Fernando J. Calderari,Jardim Paineiras Ward, Juiz de Fora Brazil Stake

I also remember a joint effort of my family with another friendly family. We provided care, comfort and food, for a relatively long period, to a single brother who had no family, and of whom it was being said was afflicted with a contagious disease. We found reasons to render a service to him instead of finding excuses to not come close to him. This act of love and service changed the life of this faithful member of the Church who now has raised a family.

When he looked for a milk jar, there wasn’t one, so he looked in the refrigerator. All three jars were there with milk in them. What do I do now? he wondered. He leaned on the edge of the open refrigerator door and thought awhile. Finally he straightened, told himself out loud, “You think for yourself,” and took out the oldest jar.
He found a cream jar and the skimming ladle, carefully skimmed the cream off the milk, and set the jar of yellow cream in the refrigerator. Then he poured the milk into an old bucket to take to the pigs and chickens and washed the milk jar.
He set the strainer in the milk jar, picked up the milk pail and bucket of skimmed milk, and headed out into the clear evening air.
It looks like I’m going to be doing a lot of thinking for myself the rest of the summer, he reflected. After irrigating, it will be time to cut hay. Then there’ll be more irrigating. Sometime we’re—correction, I’m—probably going to have to move the other cows again.
Right now I mustn’t forget to gather the eggs and close the chicken coop door. And I should look at Ginger’s legs again while the horses are eating.
Boy! Will I have a story to tell when the teacher asks for essays on “What I Did This Summer.” I’ll call mine “The Summer I Grew Up.”
And I thought that all the challenges ended with the pioneers’ trek across the plains!

The young women of the Stevensville Montana Stake wanted to do more than just camp at their last girls’ camp; they also wanted to do some good. Reaching out to needy children around the world, the young women put together 72 hygiene kits and gathered around 250 toys and stuffed animals to be distributed by LDS Humanitarian Services.
This project helped the girls realize how blessed they are to have what they have. Many talked of wanting to do more and said they were grateful that the Church has the ability to send these items to people who are truly in need.

When I was young, I once told my dad after church, “I don’t know if what I’ve been taught is true.” I expected him to be disappointed—but instead he smiled and said, “Good. I don’t want you to believe because someone told you to. I want you to find out for yourself.” That moment taught me something important: Questioning isn’t the end of faith—it’s often the beginning of a real relationship with God.

In 1976, as the quarterback of this powerful team, I began to receive national recognition and honors. In 1977 we started the season red-hot. We won the first three games impressively and were nationally ranked, leading the country in many categories for offense as we headed to Corvallis to play Oregon State. During the fourth quarter of the contest, I was hit hard in the left knee, and I heard a pop. I didn’t want to leave the field. How ironic that a few plays later the same knee was hit again, and I knew that something was seriously wrong.

Caught up in the emotion of the moment, I persevered to finish the drive, but we failed to score a touchdown when we needed it most. As I hobbled to the sidelines, my knee felt unstable, and I knew I was finished for the day. I was replaced, and, to make matters worse, we lost the game.

During the flight back to Utah, worries consumed me. I felt anxious and fearful as I wondered what my future might hold. One doubt I had was about the success of our team. We had worked hard together to build a nationally respected program. Would I be letting everyone down?

At the Salt Lake airport, I was met by my wife, Wendy, who was worried but extremely supportive. We made our way to BYU’s Smith Fieldhouse, where we met Coach Edwards, athletic ­director Glen Tuckett, trainer Marv Roberson, and Dr. Robert Metcalf, who examined my knee. The look on the doctor’s face said it all. My college football career was over. I needed immediate ­surgery to repair a detached ligament.

How quickly our lives can change. I was devastated.

Where do you turn when life gets hard? In my state of mild shock, I needed additional strength, and it was right in front of me. I asked for a priesthood blessing. Without hesitation, these four remarkable “loyal, strong, and true” leaders were ready and worthy to act in the name of the Savior. A feeling of peace came over me as my fear turned to faith.

The operation was a success! To this day, and even through six years of playing in the National Football League, I have never had another problem with my knee.

The priesthood is not to be taken casually or lightly. It is “the power and authority that God gives to man to act in all things necessary for the salvation of God’s children.”5

I was grateful for honorable men who were ready at a moment’s notice to bless me. When I woke up the next morning after surgery, I tackled my “new normal.” I opened my scriptures and reviewed a list of priorities I had written before the season began.

1. The Savior and our eternal family.
2. The Church and building the kingdom.
3. My education at this great university.
4. My football team and athletic goals.

As I looked at life from an eternal perspective, I realized that in reality, very little had changed.

In the weeks that followed, my good friend and fellow quarterback Marc Wilson led the team to one victory after another—breaking passing records and gaining even greater national attention. So much for the concern that my team couldn’t be successful without me. What a powerful lesson that was! Because of my respect and love for my team, it became a privilege to offer support from the sidelines—although I have to admit that it was difficult standing there using crutches and not being on the field.

I have related before my experience with a friend who took me to his ranch. He unlocked the door of a large new automobile, slid behind the wheel, and said proudly, “How do you like my new car?” We rode in luxurious comfort into the rural areas to a beautiful new landscaped home, and he said with no little pride, “This is my home.”

He drove to a grassy knoll. The sun was setting behind the distant hills. He surveyed his vast domain. Pointing to the north, he asked, “Do you see that clump of trees yonder?” I could plainly discern them in the fading day.

He pointed to the east. “Do you see the lake shimmering in the sunset?” It too was visible.

“Now, the bluff that’s on the south.” We turned about to scan the distance. He identified barns, silos, the ranch house to the west. With a wide sweeping gesture, he boasted, “From the clump of trees to the lake, to the bluff, and to the ranch buildings and all between—all this is mine. And the dark specks in the meadow—those cattle are also mine.”

And then I asked from whom he obtained it. The chain of title of his abstract went back to land grants from governments. His attorney had assured him he had an unencumbered title.

“From whom did the government get it?” I asked. “What was paid for it?” There came into my mind the declaration of the Psalmist, boldly restated by Paul: “The earth is the Lord’s and the fulness thereof” (1 Cor. 10:26).

And then I asked, “Did title come from God, Creator of the earth and the owner thereof? Did he get paid? Was it sold or leased or given to you? If a gift, from whom? If a sale, with what exchange or currency? If a lease, do you make proper accounting?”

And then I asked, “What was the price? With what treasures did you buy this farm?”

“Money!”

“Where did you get the money?”

“From my toil, my sweat, my labor, and my strength.”

And then I asked, “Where did you get your strength to toil, your power to labor, your glands to sweat?”

He spoke of food.

“Where did the food originate?”

“From sun and atmosphere and soil and water.”

“And who brought those elements here?”

I quoted the Psalmist: “Thou, O God, didst send a plentiful rain, whereby thou didst confirm thine inheritance, when it was weary” (Ps. 68:9).

“If the land is not yours, then what accounting do you make to your landlord for his bounties? The scripture says: ‘Render unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s and to God that which is God’s.’ What percentage of your increase do you pay Caesar? And what percent to God?

“Do you believe the Bible? Do you accept the command of the Lord through the prophet Malachi? Do you believe Moses’ words to Pharaoh that ‘the earth is the Lord’s’?” (Ex. 9:29).

I said again: “I seem to find no place in holy writ where God has said, ‘I give you title to this land unconditionally.’

“I cannot find such scripture, but I do find this from Psalms: ‘Those that wait upon the Lord, … shall inherit the earth’ (Ps. 37:9).

“And I remember that our Creator covenanted in the council in heaven with us all: ‘[And] we will go down, for there is space there, and we will take of these materials, and we will make an earth whereon these may dwell’ (Abr. 3:24).

“It seems more of a lease on which a rental is exacted than of a simple title.

“This does not seem to convey the earth but only the use and contents which are given to men on condition that they live all of the commandments of God.”

But my friend continued to mumble, “Mine—mine,” as if to convince himself against the surer knowledge that he was at best a recreant renter.

That was long years ago. I later saw him lying in his death among luxurious furnishings in a palatial home. His had been a vast estate. And I folded his arms upon his breast, and drew down the little curtains over his eyes. I spoke at his funeral, and I followed the cortege from the good piece of earth he had claimed to his grave, a tiny, oblong area the length of a tall man, the width of a heavy one.

Later I saw that same estate, yellow in grain, green in lucerne, white in cotton, seemingly unmindful of him who had claimed it.

Clarissa Smith had two best friends. Both of them were daughters of Brigham Young. One day when the girls were together, shortly after Salt Lake Valley was settled in 1847, Josephine and Maimie Young were called from their play and told to meet their father. Clarissa was given permission to go with them. This was an exciting experience for Clarissa, because the meeting place was ZCMI, the biggest store in the little pioneer city. She could hardly wait to look at the beautiful piece goods she had heard about. She had often dreamed of a new dress or coat she might someday be able to have.
Brigham Young warmly greeted his two daughters and their friend. He ushered them through the store until they reached the counter where fabrics were sold.
“Let me see that brown velvet, please,” he asked the storekeeper. The bolt of cloth was lifted down from the shelf and the material was spread out on the counter.
“Please measure off a piece long enough to make cloaks for Maimie and Josephine,” their father directed the storekeeper. Then he looked down at the other little girl, whose eyes reflected her longing to at least touch the beautiful cloth.
“And cut off another length for Clarissa,” he said. Brigham Young smiled down at the girl, whose face shone with surprise and delight. “And please make it a very generous one,” he added.

On Sunday, 27 March 1836, hundreds of Latter-day Saints came to Kirtland for the dedication. The doors opened at 8:00 A.M., and 1,000 people entered. Hundreds more who had also worked and sacrificed for the building of the temple were left outside. Seeing their disappointment, Joseph Smith decided to repeat the dedication on Thursday.
The choir opened the meeting; then President Sidney Rigdon spoke for two and a half hours. After a brief intermission, the officers of the Church were sustained. Then the Prophet offered the dedicatory prayer, given to him by revelation. This prayer is now section 109 of the Doctrine and Covenants [D&C 109]. After the prayer, the choir sang “The Spirit of God,” which had been written specifically for the dedication.
The congregation ended the seven-hour service by standing and giving the sacred Hosanna Shout. Sister Eliza R. Snow said that it was given “with such power as seemed almost sufficient to raise the roof from the building.”

As a young man preparing for my mission call, I understood that I would serve wherever I was called. Still, although I had not studied foreign languages in high school, I hoped that I would be called to Sweden where my Samuelson roots derive or to another country where I might learn a language. When I finally received my letter of call from President David O. McKay, who was the prophet of my youth and also in many ways the prophet of BYU-Hawaii, I was called to the North British Mission. Candidly, I was initially a little disappointed that I was going to serve in an English-speaking mission. At that time, I did not understand that "Utah English" is not the same as "Scottish English." Quickly, however, I realized that Scotland was part of that mission and was the homeland of my maternal grandfather. I also remembered that the then-young David O. McKay and my Grandfather Mitchell had served in Scotland together!

In the days before entering the Mission Home, as we called the MTC in those ancient times, I had the opportunity to read my grandfather's missionary journal and first became familiar with towns and cities where I myself served in the following two years. I also learned a great deal about my grandfather whom I had not really known since he died before my third birthday. As I read, he seemed to me to be a very remarkable man then and I'm even more impressed now that I am much older.

Did it take me very long to get over any disappointment? No! Was my assignment a mistake? Not at all! I didn't believe in coincidences then and I don't now. I also had the unique experience of seeing President McKay personally three times during my mission.

The first was while still in the Mission Home in Salt Lake City. I was able to introduce myself to the Prophet and tell him that I was Joseph Mitchell's grandson. He wrapped his arms around me and told me that my grandfather had taught him how to be a missionary. My grandfather was in his late 30s with an expectant wife and little boy when he was called on his mission and Elder McKay was closer to the usual missionary age. Nevertheless, they were not only missionary companions but became lifelong friends.

The second experience happened when I had been in Scotland for only a few weeks. Our group of missionaries was fairly small and President McKay spent an hour or two teaching us about missionary work. That was a day I'll never forget.

The third experience was when President McKay returned to Scotland in August of 1962 to organize the Glasgow Scotland Stake. I had been on my mission for 19 months but this was the first stake conference for me as a missionary because this was the first stake created in that country. Many interesting and spiritual things happened at that conference. One was an electric moment for me. While President McKay was speaking, he began to talk about his first mission of 65 years before. He then said something to the effect that all of his companions had now passed to the other side of the veil but he felt that some were in attendance at conference that day and of the three names he mentioned, Brother Mitchell, my grandfather, was one of them! (An account of this speech given 26 August 1962 can be found in the Church News a week or two later.)

Can you imagine the thrill I felt? Do you think that I would ever have wanted to serve in any other mission? Ever since, I have felt a close and special relationship with this grandfather who died when I was just a toddler. I have felt his influence and frequently reflect on his example, his goodness and my desire never to embarrass him. I have felt my heart turned to him and feel that I now understand better that his heart has also always been turned to me.

Through all of these experiences and some others, I also developed and have retained special feelings for President David O. McKay, the prophet of my youth just as President Gordon B. Hinckley is the prophet of your young adult years. You might now understand better my counsel that you gain all you can from the experience you recently had with him here on campus and that you learn all you can when you see him and listen to him. Through the miracles of technology, as well as when he personally visits, you can have special relationships with the Lord's prophet and he is speaking directly to you.

Working Together on Duty to God
Twelve-year-old John C. and his father often work on projects together. For example, they sewed patches on blankets they will use when they go camping. The patches are from various camps and activities they have attended in British Columbia, Canada, where they live.
“Dad’s a great help,” John says. “I can’t imagine doing Church projects without him.”
When John turned 12, they reviewed the Duty to God booklet together. Soon they came to the “Understand Doctrine” items in the Deacon section. “Dad explained to me about priesthood keys and authority,” John says. And that helped John fulfill one of the requirements.
“When you’re doing Duty to God,” John says, “get your father involved. My dad has already helped me a lot.”