Gospel Story Finder

A few months ago our two youngest granddaughters visited us—one each week. I was at home and answered the door. My wife, Mary, was in another room. In both cases, after a hug, they said almost the same thing. They looked around and then said, “I love to be in Grandma’s house. Where is Grandma?” I didn’t say it to them, but I was thinking, “Isn’t this Grandpa’s house too?” But I realized that when I was a boy, our family went to Grandma’s house. The words of a familiar song came into my mind: “Over the river and through the woods to Grandmother’s house we go.” Now, let me say unequivocally that I am thrilled with the educational and other opportunities that are available to women. I treasure the fact that the backbreaking work and domestic drudgery required of women has been reduced in much of the world because of modern conveniences and that women are making such magnificent contributions in every field of endeavor. But if we allow our culture to reduce the special relationship that children have with mothers and grandmothers and others who nurture them, we will come to regret it.

A few years ago, I had the opportunity to meet with Brother and Sister Erickson. I felt of their soft hearts and gentle spirits. I saw the love they shared for each other and felt the love and respect they have for their children. They assured me that it was not easy; the early years were extraordinarily stressful. When Mark, the sixth child and only son, developed the disease at seven months of age, the mother, assisted by the father and healthy siblings, spent 18 hours per day caring for three severely handicapped children who were totally dependent on them for everything. Feelings of entrapment, frustration, and discouragement had to be overcome; the antidotes were service, prayer, forgiveness, obedience, and love.

At one point, the Ericksons were prompted to fast and pray over a period of weeks that little Heather would be healed through a priesthood blessing. Instead of promising the little girl that she would be made well, the father’s blessing promised the family that Heather would bring love and peace and joy into their home. Heather’s body was not healed, but over a long period of time, family members experienced a more important healing—the healing from within. As I listened to Bruce and Joyce Erickson share their feelings, I felt in them a deep love, increased faith, joy, peace, patience, long-suffering, and the meekness of broken hearts and contrite spirits.

The Landróns, Héctor and Daisy, who are also in the Ponce First Branch, have found that obedience to the principle of tithing has blessed their lives, too. Twelve years ago Brother Landrón fell from a ladder and broke his leg in two places. Because he has diabetes, his leg has failed to heal properly. “I still have trouble with my leg,” he says, “and that has meant that our financial situation has remained a challenge. But we pay our tithing and always have what we need, much like in the parable of the loaves and fishes.”

I know that Heavenly Father answers prayers. When my family lived in Germany, we went on a Volksmarch in our village. Volksmarch is where friends and neighbors enjoy time with each other by going on a nature walk together. My parents said that I could walk ahead of the group with one of my friends, and we started out on the long trail.
After a few minutes I could not see anyone in my family. I told my friend that I was going to stay on the trail and wait for them. Soon I could no longer see my friend or her family, and my parents still hadn’t come. I was all alone in the forest, and I felt scared. I decided to say a prayer that someone would find me.
In another part of the forest, my dad felt the Holy Ghost telling him, “Go look for your son.” He felt how much I needed him, so he turned right around and told my mom that he was going to look for me. A few minutes later my dad came running up the trail where I was waiting and found me. I was so glad to see my dad! When he told me about having a strong feeling that I needed help, I knew that Heavenly Father had answered my prayer.
I am so glad to know that wherever I am, I can talk to Heavenly Father. He will help me find my way.

In 1919, Abigail Kailimai was four years old. She lived with her mother and father and all her older brothers and sisters in the town of Hilo on the big island of Hawaii. From her house, she could see the beautiful ocean where seals, turtles, whales, and many colorful fish swam.
Towering over her town was the large mountain called Mauna Kea. Thick rain forests and green pastures grew between her house and the mountain. Abigail could sometimes see puffs of smoke in the sky from volcanoes on the other side of the mountain.
Her father often told her wonderful stories. Her favorite story was about the temple then being built almost two hundred miles away on the island of Oahu. Father told her how, long ago, Joseph F. Smith had come to Hawaii as a missionary. The year Abigail was born, he had returned as President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and had dedicated a sugarcane field where the Church would build a temple. Father told her the ground there was now holy because the prophet had blessed it.
Father told Abigail how much the Hawaiian people loved President Smith. They called him Iosepa, the Hawaiian name for Joseph. Father’s eyes sparkled when he told Abigail what a wonderful place the temple would be. He promised to take her and her family to the temple when it was built so that they could be sealed together forever.
On Sundays, Abigail’s family went to church. Some people walked to church, and some rode horses. Father had an automobile. The whole family climbed inside it and rode to church. She loved learning about Jesus there. Her teacher often talked about the holy temple that was being built.
One day, Abigail’s mother told her the temple was almost finished! Their family needed to get ready to make the long journey there. Mother sewed new white dresses for Abigail and her sisters. They had been saving their money for a long time so that they could sail to Oahu.
Father told them that they needed to get ready to go to the holy temple in other ways, too. They needed to try to act as Jesus would, so that they would be worthy to go inside His house. Mother wrote down the names of her grandparents and great-grandparents and other relatives who had died so that they could be sealed to the family, too.
Finally the day came for them to leave. Abigail wore her prettiest dress and carried a small bag with her new white dress in it. Their friends came to give them flower leis to wear around their necks and to wish them a good journey. Abigail and her family climbed into the boat and were soon far out on the ocean.
Father showed Abigail how smoke and steam came out of the boat’s smokestack. The steam made the boat go. Abigail liked to watch the boat slice through the waves and to see the dolphins swimming alongside. After a very long day, they finally arrived in Oahu.
Abigail and her family went to the town of Laie, where the new temple had been built. One of the families living there invited them to stay in their home. Abigail shared a room where all the girls slept. In the morning, the children went outside and played in the sand dunes near the beach.
The next day, November 27, 1919, President Heber J. Grant came to dedicate the temple. Abigail could feel that the temple was a wonderful, holy place. After the dedication, the Saints held a luau, or big feast, to celebrate. They ate pork, chicken, fish, bananas, rice, and coconuts. They sang beautiful songs.
One week after the temple was dedicated, Abigail and her family went inside it to be sealed together. She wore her new white dress. Father told her that now their family could be together even after they went to heaven. Abigail felt so happy!

At the top of a hill, the highway traffic on I-65 rushes right by a grove of trees. Few people even notice the cluster of 30 to 40 headstones nestled in the triangle between the main road and an off-ramp leading toward Vinemont and some other small towns. But the young men of the Cullman Ward, Huntsville Alabama Stake, pay attention to the spot whenever they go by. It’s the site of the Wilhite Cemetery, and without their efforts, including four Eagle Scout projects over the years, the graves of these settlers from the 1820s, and of others in additional cemeteries nearby, could quietly disappear.
Back in Cullman, the young men talk about the value of building a tradition. “We’ve cleaned a lot of the cemeteries up in the hills here,” says Amel Drake, 13. “It started with one Eagle project, and that led to another and another and another.” For example, five miles away in Falkville, members of this same Troop/Team 335 earlier cleaned up a cemetery of about 150 graves, including the resting places of both slaves and prominent citizens. These Scouts have learned to safely operate weed whackers, to properly glue broken headstones together, and to keep a journal of names and locations for people who wish to visit graves or do family history research.
“We don’t just do cemeteries; we do other Eagle projects too,” says Enoch Jones, 15. “And we do lots of community service, to benefit others and ourselves.” He pauses, then adds, “Traditions are a part of our heritage. Building a tradition of service helps us to remember who we are and where we come from. Keeping up the cemeteries is just a part of that.”

Rex: As long as we can pray, there will be miracles in our lives. Personally, I have been the beneficiary of these miracles on several occasions. Let me tell you about two of them, involving two separate people. A few of you have heard me talk about each of them. Fewer of you have heard both, and none has heard the connection between the two of them that occurred to me in a very powerful way as we were preparing this talk.

As some of you know, in late June of 1987, we made a sudden and emotionally devastating discovery that I had a very fast-acting form of lymphoma that was in its final stage at the time we discovered it. The day before I left to take my treatments at the National Cancer Institute in Bethesda, Maryland, I asked for a blessing from my home teacher, Rodger Galland, and my next-door neighbor and stake president, our new BYU president, Merrill Bateman. A couple of sentences that President Bateman pronounced during the course of his sealing the anointing will remain with me through this life and the next. His words were unequivocal. He said, “This disease will not take your life at this time. The Lord yet has other things for you to do in this life in the Church and in government, and you will recover and do them.” It must have affected him as profoundly as it did me, because at a stake conference, while I was still at NIH and things were looking somewhat bleak, he told our entire stake how convinced he was that that blessing had come from the Lord and that I would live.

I want you to know that I had that same conviction. During my darkest hours at that hospital, when it seemed that nothing was going right, I would fall back on the words of that blessing and the surety with which my friend, my brother, and my ecclesiastical leader had pronounced them.

When I turned in my missionary papers, my bishop challenged me to not listen to any music at all until my call came. After about a week, the music was gone, but the bad lyrics were still there. Needless to say, my taste in music has changed. I was also able to feel the Spirit more often without the music blaring all the time. Don’t fool yourself into thinking that you are immune to the traps of Satan.
Nicholas Uerkvitz, 19Hereford, Arizona

“My mission did not help my football,” Bart says. “Some guys go out and expect that since they’re making a sacrifice for the Lord, the Lord is going to bless them by improving their football skills. That’s not the case.” Toward the end of his mission Bart did rise at 4:30 A.M. for conditioning workouts. (“All my companions wanted to be transferred. I know that,” he laughs.) But he wasn’t a superman when he returned. He had to scramble to regain his skills and reflexes.
“I wasn’t better than I was before my mission,” he confides. “I wasn’t even as good. But it didn’t take me long to get back into shape.” Bart also notes that by the time he returned to BYU, the starting center ahead of him had graduated, and the position was open to Bart for the next three years, whereas he would have been second string two of those three years had he chosen to stay and play.

Along with setting goals, it’s important to Taylor to keep his priorities straight. He tells about one of his teachers at school who brought a glass jar to class one day. Taylor explains: “She filled it up with pretty good-sized rocks and held it up and asked, ‘Is this jar full?’ And we all said, ‘Yeah, it’s filled right to the top.’”

The teacher then filled the jar with smaller pebbles, shook it a bit to let them settle, then poured in more pebbles until they filled the jar. Again she asked the class, “Is the jar full?”

They said yes.

She then poured sand into the jar. Letting the sand sift to the bottom, she finally filled the jar to the top. Now it was full.

Her point was that the large rocks are the important things in life; you must put them in first, or they won’t fit. The smaller rocks and the sand—the less important things—can fit around them.

“To me, those important things in life are my family, the gospel, and my friends,” says Taylor. “The smaller ones are still important, like your schooling, your house. If we put the important things into our life first, and that’s our priority, then everything else will fall into place. If we put the other things in first, we won’t have room for the important things in life. And for me right now, the first one is serving a mission and living worthy to serve.”

One of my favorite parts of being a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is making new friends. I love the opportunity to meet new people of my faith. I love going to seminary, but when I first started, I felt left out. I was the youngest student, and everyone else knew each other. They didn’t speak to me very often. I was secretly battling low self-esteem, but I prayed, and I really felt God’s love for me. I made a goal to get to know the other students better, and I actually came to know how much they cared about me. I know that God wants us to grow and have meaningful relationships. He has provided ways for us to do that through the programs of the Church.

I remember another occasion when I was in Australia on a mission. I went up to visit the Jenolan Caves—very wonderful, spectacular caves. And as we walked through them, the guide said, “If some of you will get out and stand on that rock over there and sing a song, it will demonstrate the capacity of this cave.”
Well, the Spirit said to me, “Go over there and sing ‘O, My Father.’ I hesitated, and the crowd walked on. I lost the opportunity. I never felt good about that. The only thing that ever made me feel the Lord had forgiven me was when I heard President McKay say, “I was inspired one time to do a certain thing when I was in the mission field, and I didn’t do it.” He said, “I have always been sorry since.” He said, “Never fail to respond to the whisperings of the Spirit. Live so you can receive it, and then have the courage to do as it instructs.”

My first experience with the Lord’s protecting care came when I was only three years old. My aunt and uncle had a farm north of Idaho Falls, and my grandfather and our family usually visited them there every summer. Their mailbox was located on the main highway about a half mile from the farm home. On a beautiful summer morning, Grandpa, Mother, and I went for a walk to get the mail. Along the side of the highway was an irrigation ditch full of water. I wanted to throw rocks into the water to see it splash, but as I bent over to pick one up, I lost my balance and fell into the water. My mother screamed, and, just as I was about to disappear into the culvert going under the road, my grandfather was able to grab me by the suspenders of my coveralls and pull me to safety. Once into the culvert, I surely would have drowned before coming out the other side. Yes, mother had prayed that morning for the Lord’s kind and protecting care to be with us, and her prayers were answered.

Would you permit me to relate just one personal experience. When I was fourteen years old, our troop went to Big Cottonwood Canyon on a Scout outing. After setting up camp, our leader said to me, “Monson, you like to fish. I’m giving you two fishing flies—a black gnat and a white miller. Now you catch enough fish to feed this troop for the next three days, and I’ll pick all of you up on Saturday.” He departed. I never questioned his charge. I knew if I did my part I’d catch the fish and feed the troop. And I did. I was a man before I realized it just isn’t proper for the Scoutmaster to bail out on the boys. But what a learning experience it was for us.

I had a best friend, Chris. We did everything together. But whenever a group of us would gather to do something “crazy,” like throw snowballs at cars or toilet paper a house, Chris would always back out. He said his parents would be mad if they found out.
Then one day I talked Chris into stealing tennis balls from the people on the local courts. He followed me, even helped me gather a handful of balls, then took off with me through a hole in the fence. When we arrived at my house I noticed Chris’s face was white.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“We’ve got to take those balls back,” he blurted out.
“No way, they’re ours now,” I replied, but Chris grabbed them and started to run. I’ve always been faster than Chris, but I couldn’t catch him that day. He ran right to the tennis players and gave every ball back. He said he was sorry and then did something I’d never seen before. He asked them for forgiveness. I just knew we were going to be turned into the police, but the men let him go.
When we got home I had a few questions for my best friend.
“I’m a Mormon,” he said.
“I know. You told me.”
“But I didn’t tell you how important my church is to me.” He went on to explain the standards of honesty he had been taught and how he could not feel right about stealing.
Six weeks later I found myself in a font, full of water, ready to be baptized a Latter-day Saint.

While I was on a Navy ship headed toward Japan, I attended Church meetings. Only a few Church members were on that tour of duty, but they could always answer my questions. When you are raised in the Church and hear the gospel, the Holy Ghost will help you remember what you’ve been taught so that you can teach other people.
I decided I wanted to be baptized. Back then a person usually investigated the Church for a year. Although I had only been investigating it for five months, the members on the ship felt that I was ready to be baptized. So on February 25, 1952, I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Because it was February, it was extremely cold outside where I was baptized. In fact, there was a layer of ice on top of the baptismal font!

In June of the year I was 12 years old, I was injured in a horse accident while delivering newspapers in my old hometown of Randolph, Utah. I was placed in a wheelchair for six months, until I first walked on Christmas Day. I remember the members of my deacons quorum presidency coming to my home to visit me—Dale Rex, Doug McKinnon, and others who were 13-year-old leaders in the deacons quorum presidency. They seemed to understand their responsibility to me as a member of their quorum.

I recently was standing at the luggage retrieval at the Salt Lake City International Airport when a woman came to me and asked my name. I recognized her as a former South Rich High School classmate from years ago. She had changed since I had last seen her. You all know how you feel at the old dreaded high school reunion. She had added some gray hair and a few wrinkles. (Of course, I hadn’t changed.) It was obvious that she was meeting her missionary child, who was returning from a mission. It surprised me. While she was yet in school, her family, who were not members of the Church, had moved into our small community. Her name was Alice Gomez. She was about the same age as me and my friends. I remembered that she was friendly and always polite but that she never did attend any of our Church meetings.
I said to her, “Alice, tell me your story. You are obviously now an active member of the Church, but you never joined while we were going to school.”
Her answer was condemning: “No one ever asked me!” Wow! Our quorum really dropped the ball on that one.
Recently reported to me was the story of a priests quorum in Jamaica that decided to help the missionaries with their work. So this quorum of young men went knocking on doors, trying to find appointments for the missionaries. They soon found more referrals than the missionaries could handle.
Members of a priests quorum in Kaysville, Utah, decided they would not lose one member of their quorum. The whole quorum would go to a less-active member’s home and have their Sunday lesson sitting around the less-active boy’s bed. Soon that young man joined his quorum in taking the Sunday lesson to another home.
As of the year 2003, there are more than 26,000 wards and branches in the Church, with approximately 78,000 deacons, teachers, and priests quorums. Talk about an army!
The contribution the quorums of the Aaronic Priesthood could make to the work of converting, retaining, and activating other members of their quorums is enormous.
If 16-year-old Mormon could be the commanding officer of a large military army, and if Jeremiah as a child could have words put in his mouth by the Almighty God, and if Timothy could be wise as he was, then each young man within the sound of my voice can rise to the challenge of his quorum responsibilities.
The responsibilities of the Aaronic Priesthood quorums are no less important than the responsibilities of elders quorums or high priests groups. Remember, they hold “the keys of the ministering of angels.” We need young men to stand up in their calling, knowing of their ordained right to act in the office to which they are appointed.
I testify that these Aaronic Priesthood quorums hold the holy priesthood of God. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I understand now why I had those feelings. It is not because we worship the prophet. We don’t. It is because he is the mouthpiece of the Lord. The prophet is a channel, and through him the Savior’s love is projected to the whole world. That channel is open today. After I was called to be a General Authority, I came early to one of the special meetings in the upper room of the temple. President Ezra Taft Benson was sitting in his place, and as I walked into the room, I looked at him and he looked at me. I wanted to take him in my arms and tell him how much I loved him, because I could feel his love. It was the same kind of love I had felt from President Smith as a twelve-year-old boy. That is why the Saints in South America embrace me and tell me to please give their love to the prophet. They can feel his love even far away. It transcends, or goes beyond, mere miles.

On July 24, 2002, my son Steven Jackson and his nephew Taylor Miller were playing in the Pacific Ocean when they were sucked out by a riptide. Both were nine years old. Neither boy could swim, but Steven had strong legs and could dog-paddle. Taylor was having trouble staying above water, so Steven pulled him up and paddled for both of them. They were constantly being pulled under the water, but Steven kept encouraging Taylor not to give up, because help was coming.
In October 2003, the National Court of Honor of the Boy Scouts of America honored Steven for unusual heroism for saving Taylor’s life at considerable risk to himself.

He was always tall. “By the time I was 13, I was already 182 cm (six feet). But my real growth spurt didn’t begin until my sophomore year in high school.” He reached his full height by his senior year, and, as with most tall kids, it was assumed he would play basketball. That was not to be.
““I never really liked basketball,” he noted. “The other kids and the coaches always kind of made fun of me, telling me I couldn’t jump.”
His mother urged him, instead, to try a local recreation league volleyball team. “I had never had so much fun in any sport before,” Chambers says. “I was hooked! Even though I wasn’t very good, I went home and told Mom that volleyball was the sport for me!”
Great club coaching helped him find his footing in the game, and because of his prodigious height, they made him a middle blocker. Finally, the burden of being tall began to pay-off. After a season of club volleyball, he was anxious to join his high school team and test his new skills. But disaster struck in his very first scrimmage.
““I jumped and extended myself to try and block a ball, and when I came down, I landed on the foot of the guy on the other side of the net and broke my ankle,” Chambers recounted. “I had to wear a boot everywhere after that and I didn’t get to play at all my freshman season.”
““It was frustrating to have made progress in this new sport I really liked, then lose that whole season.”
But from the ashes of that setback rose the phoenix of an all-star career. Over the next three years, Chambers became a feared opponent on the court, drawing the attention of college volleyball teams throughout the US. He turned down scholarships offered by top schools—Stanford and UCLA among them—in favour of what he truly wanted: to play for the nationally-ranked Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah (USA).
Chambers’ youth career culminated in the summer of 2022, with the victory of his Orange Coast Volleyball Club at the under-18 national club volleyball championship. Chambers was named first-team all-American by the American Volleyball Coaches Association. The kid who couldn’t jump had proven all of those early naysayers wrong.