Gospel Story Finder

Most of the people who live in Iceland belong to the evangelical Lutheran Church, and Binni, Unnar, and Matthías are the only Latter-day Saints in their school. When the time came for his baptism, Binni decided to do some missionary work. He told his parents he wanted to invite someone special—his school teacher! His mother and father encouraged him to ask her but cautioned him that she might choose to not come. On the day of his baptism, however, she was there at the church! “She even stayed afterward, had some refreshments with us, and asked some things about the Church,” he said, very happy that she had accepted his invitation and that his first efforts as a missionary had been successful.

Early members like Sarah Rich were blessed to recognize and understand the supernal blessings available in the Lord’s holy house. She described her experiences in Iowa in 1846:

But many were the blessings we had received in the House of the Lord which has caused us joy and comfort in the midst of all our sorrows and enabled us to have faith in God knowing he would guide us and sustain us in the unknown journey that lay before us, for if it had not been for the faith and knowledge that was bestowed upon us in that temple by the influence and help of the Spirit of the Lord our journey would have been like one taking a leap in the dark. To start out on such a journey in the winter as it were, and in our state of poverty it would seem like walking into the jaws of death but we had faith in our heavenly father and we put our trust in him feeling that we were his chosen people and had embraced his gospel and instead of sorrow we felt to rejoice that the day of our deliverance had come.8

“When Dad suggested that everyone in the family take a turn at giving the family night lesson, I thought that it would be funny to say, ‘Yeah, let John give the lesson next week.’ John is three years old. So Dad assigned John the lesson, and with Mom’s help, John gave one of the best family night lessons that we have ever had, and the joy on that little guy’s face was worth more than we will ever be able to give him in return.”

In 1872, a new semimonthly periodical called the Woman’s Exponent started in Salt Lake City “for Latter-day Saint women to help them learn about their work, their lives, and their history.”6 Emmeline submitted articles. Eliza R. Snow, a member of the Exponent committee, noticed her talent and asked her to write an editorial. Emmeline wrote in her diary, “I love this kind of work.”7 She began helping in the Woman’s Exponent office and in 1875 was named associate editor. In 1876, President Brigham Young asked Emmeline to lead the women’s grain storage program as well. In August 1877, Emmeline became the editor of the Woman’s Exponent.

Odds are there were probably a few of you who didn’t smile at all, and it makes me wonder why. Ask yourself, “Am I really a happy person?” If you are not and if it is difficult for you to smile, then analyze yourself. Know there is help available. Some of it can come from recognizing that difficulties are part of life. There are ups and there are downs. That fact reminds me of this little account shared by Elder Marion D. Hanks:
“A father [is] aboard an airplane on a short business trip. He has with him his five-year-old son and is almost wishing his son were not there because it is a very rough trip. There are downdrafts and updrafts and head winds alternating with tailwinds, and some passengers are feeling a bit queasy. Apprehensively, the father glances at his son and finds him grinning from ear to ear. ‘Dad,’ he says, ‘do they do this just to make it fun for the kids?’” (“Changing Channels,” Ensign, November 1990, 38).

“I met a couple in Rennes, France, who had been members for several years. The story of how both of them gained testimonies by reading the Book of Mormon showed me the importance of the scriptures in the conversion process.

“Missionaries stopped by the Segaud home one day while tracting and left a Book of Mormon with Sister Segaud, the only one home. She put the book away with some other books and forgot about it.

“Brother Segaud had a growing interest in the Bible at that time, and spent many hours discussing it with one of his neighbors, who belonged to a Protestant church. Brother Segaud didn’t belong to any church because he believed all the churches differed greatly from the Bible.

“Several years passed, and once again missionaries knocked on the door of the Segaud home. This time Brother Segaud was there, and they talked with him and his wife about the holy scriptures and a book called the Book of Mormon. Sister Segaud said she thought she had that book somewhere around the house and disappeared in search of it. She returned a few minutes later with the book.

“The missionaries asked how they got the book. Brother Segaud said he had never seen it before. Sister Segaud explained that two young men had given it to her a few years ago, but she hadn’t even looked at it.

“The missionaries explained the book and its origins and asked the couple to read it. Brother Segaud said he’d like to read a book like that, but Sister Segaud wasn’t interested.

“Brother Segaud read the Book of Mormon and received the missionary discussions. He accepted the challenge to be baptized, but he wanted to wait for his wife. She was not so willing to accept the message the missionaries brought. She avoided the meetings with them and often hid the book from her husband. Still he never stopped hoping.

“He left the Book of Mormon in places where she could easily see it. He left it open to passages she might be interested in. But she never touched it. He continued to study the Book of Mormon, and he shared with her his thoughts and feelings about what he learned.

“Slowly, as the months passed by, her curiosity grew. She began to read a few sentences. Then she’d shut the book and put it away—away out of her thoughts. But her desire to know what the book said continued to grow.

“She began to read it secretly, and soon she was discussing it with her husband. Finally she wanted the missionaries to come and teach her the gospel.

“One year after Brother Segaud had accepted the challenge to be baptized, he and his wife entered the waters of baptism and became members of the Church. Now years later, they still bear powerful testimony of how the Book of Mormon changed their lives.”

“I don’t know how to make someone’s attitude toward the gospel change, but I had an experience that you might be able to relate to the situation that you are presently in.

“During the time I lived in Ohio, I was one of only four Latter-day Saints in my school. I had a nonmember friend who sat next to me in study hall. I mentioned one day that I had moved to Ohio from Utah. From then on I just expressed my love and enthusiasm for the gospel. I offered him a Book of Mormon, which he read and found to be true. He took the missionary discussions and soon was baptized. Now he is looking forward to a mission.”
Laurie JenkinsManti, Utah

The summer after Mother came home was wonderful. Primary was grand! We had Primary on weekday mornings. One week we made little dolls out of stockings. Then we made them little leather dresses. We cut fringe into the bottom of the dresses and added beading. Then we braided hair. We also embroidered faces for them. We made them little beds out of cardboard and yarn.
Primary was the beginning of my testimony. I learned the gospel there and felt the Spirit through good music. I remember the leaders who taught us the songs with so much energy. Singing was fun! I don’t remember anybody telling me what I was feeling, but it was the Spirit. That’s the kind of power that good music has.

Recently I read Lytton Strachey’s Life of Florence Nightingale. I had read it once before, but my rereading brought a new sense of admiration and respect for this great young woman of England.
She was born to the upper class, to party and to dance, to go to the races and look pretty in society. But she would have none of it. Her great desire was to [relieve] pain and suffering, to hasten healing, to make less dreadful the hospitals of the day. She devoted herself to nursing and became expert according to the training then available.
Britain became embroiled in the Crimean War, and she was appointed head of the hospital in Scutari, where thousands of the victims of the war were brought.
The picture that greeted her here was one of absolute despair. An old warehouse served as a hospital. Wounded men were crowded in great rooms that reeked of foul odors and were filled with the cries of the suffering.
This frail young woman, with those she had recruited, set to work. I quote from Mr. Strachey: “Wherever, in those vast wards suffering was at its worst and the need for help was greatest, there, as if by magic, was Miss Nightingale.”
The beds that held the suffering men stretched over four miles, with barely space between each bed to walk. But somehow, within a period of six months, “the confusion and the pressure in the wards had come to an end; order reigned in them, and cleanliness. … The rate of [death] among the cases treated had fallen from 42 per [hundred] to 22 per thousand (Life of Florence Nightingale [1934], 1186).
She had brought to pass an absolute miracle. Lives by the thousands were saved. Suffering was [reduced]. Cheer and warmth and light came into the lives of men who otherwise would have died in that dark and dreadful place.
Perhaps no other woman in the history of the world has done so much to reduce human misery as this lady with the lamp.

Our gratitude is sometimes tested when we suffer pain or difficulty. This too must be seen through the perspective of "confessing the Lord's hand in all things."President John Taylor said:

"We have learned many things through suffering. We call it suffering. I call it a school of experience. I have never looked at these things in any other light than trials for the purpose of purifying the Saints of God that they may be, as the scriptures say, as gold that has been seven times purified by the fire."

Many times we come to understand gratitude better when we meet someone who has been given unusual difficulties or special challenges and yet see gratitude so developed in his or her spirit. I met such a person just a few weeks ago. Her name is Lora McPherson and I met her in the hospital. I felt of the mature spiritual gift of gratitude that she possesses.

Lora's family first learned of her genetic disorder, Neurofibromatosis, when she was three years old. This genetic mutation can result in the growth of nerve tumors anywhere in the body. Most people with this disorder live fairly normal lives, but some have very difficult complications. Lora is one of those. At age 7 she had tumors on her spinal cord which resulted in two surgeries six months apart. At age 12, she developed a brain tumor and at age 17 by a brain stem tumor that would not allow surgery, but required immense radiation. At age 21 a tumor grew on her forearm. At age 25, which was just last year, she had abdominal tumor surgery, removing tumors from her stomach. And finally, just recently, a tumor on her spinal cord requiring more surgery and radiation. Her very life is being challenged, and has been challenged throughout her 26 years. Yet she remains remarkably grateful for the goodness of God. She wrote to me recently:

"I trust that the Lord knows what is best for me. I can pray for cures, but I know that if I am not cured, He can still give blessings of strength and healing. I am thankful for my understanding of the bigger picture; that there is life after this life, when our trials will be put into proper perspective and we will comprehend the wisdom and love of God. I have developed gratitude for the small and simple things of life. I have more empathy for and less judgment of others who are going through trials. I have learned how to ask for help and receive it gratefully. I have a testimony that God still loves me and blesses me even when the trials are not taken away.

"When I was dealing with a great deal of pain this past spring, I was praying to Heavenly Father for understanding and help. I went to the scriptures in hopes that He would speak to me through them. The first scripture that touched my heart was Mosiah 3:19, (listen for the family of gratitude and the foe of pride) 'for the natural man is an enemy to God and, will be...unless he yields to the enticings of the Holy Spirit...and becometh a saint through the atonement of Christ the Lord, and becometh as a child, submissive, meek, humble, patient, full of love, willing to submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon him':

"Whether God's healing comes in this life or the next, I don't know; but I know He's watching over me and is giving me and those around me experiences that will help us best fill our purpose on earth and be able to prepare ourselves to come back to him."

In response to the article entitled “How to Say No and Keep Your Friends” in the February 1988 issue, I would like to say that sometimes it’s harder to say no to people who are LDS. I appreciate the experiences told in this article about people saying no to their nonmember friends. I commend them! However, sometimes it is overlooked that people who have LDS friends have to say no too.
I was at a party on Halloween night with some friends, most of them from my Sunday School class, all of them good LDS people. We started watching a movie that was not exactly up to our standards. I suggested we turn it off and watch something else, and to my surprise I received answers like “It’s not that bad!” “It isn’t even rated R.” Quite truthfully, I was shocked. Leaving my friend’s house that night was probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I was disappointed to find that I stood alone, all alone. It hurt more to see my LDS friends compromise their standards than it would have to see nonmember friends watch that movie.
Sometimes people outside of Utah think that we have it easy here, and in some ways we do, but there are challenges here just like anywhere else, and sometimes it’s harder because people expect more. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying that I have it harder than anyone else. In fact, in some ways I have it easier. Let me conclude by saying this: Saying no is hard in any situation, especially one where you know your friends should stand behind you. But blessings will come if you believe in Christ and do as he would have you do.
Name withheld

When I was a young mother of several small children, at the end of days filled with diapering, dish washing, and disciplining, no one sang more emphatically the Primary song “I’m so glad when daddy comes home.”15 I’m sad to admit, however, I was not always cheerful when Craig seemed to bounce through the door after a hard day of work. He always greeted each of us with a hug and kiss and turned many difficult and sometimes disastrous days into delightful daddy times. I wish I had been a little less preoccupied with the endless list of to-dos still to be done and had more wisely focused, like he did, on things that mattered most. I would have stopped more often and enjoyed sacred family time and would have thanked him more often for blessing our lives!

Our son is a new hematology-oncology doctor. He has had the blessing of obtaining all his medical school education and training through a scholarship from the United States Army Medical Department (AMEDD). It has provided 100 percent of his tuition, housing costs, and expenses and even a small monthly stipend during medical school. When he was working hard to qualify for that scholarship and fearing the possibility of having to take out six-figure loans if he did not, I remember a conversation we had. I will never forget what he shared. My son told me that he knew it would all work out somehow because he was committed to paying tithes and fast offerings while he was in medical school.
He wanted to know he was doing everything he could to qualify for the Lord’s help with the large task he was setting out to accomplish. His work ethic has since been tested to its limit, but he is a good example to me of never being weary in well doing (see Doctrine and Covenants 64:33). Even with his busy hospital schedule, he has happily accepted heavy Church assignments, and he and his wife and little family have been blessed.

Then one day his old tutor Rodriguez appeared. Disapproving of the way Simón was living, he persuaded the young man to go with him on a walking tour of Italy. They carried their own packs, slept in haystacks, and talked as they roamed the country in the fresh air and sunshine.
They stopped to rest one afternoon on a beautiful green hillside overlooking Rome. Fired by Rodriquez’ ideas and remembering the humiliating experience of being mistreated by the police in Madrid, Simón suddenly arose, stretched out his arms, and solemnly declared, “On my life and honor I promise most faithfully not to rest until I have freed America of her tyrants!” The rest of Simón Bolívar’s life was dedicated to keeping this promise.

Last year, I was a freshman in high school and was having a really stressful year. I was involved in many extracurricular activities that took up much of my time and energy. One of these activities was being on the speech team. In speech competitions, you can choose to compete in several categories. I was competing in two categories that year.
Toward the middle of season, however, I realized that I was not being as successful as I wanted to be because of the stress I felt trying to prepare for both events. I wanted to quit the category I enjoyed least to pursue the one I enjoyed the most, but I was unsure if that would make my coaches think I wasn’t committed enough. I talked to my dad, and he encouraged me to ask the Lord for advice.
I felt that talking with Heavenly Father about this would be silly because it was such a small issue, but I heeded my dad’s counsel anyway. I prayed very hard, asking God to help me know what to do. I told Him how stressed I was, and I let Him know that I needed comfort and guidance. As I finished my prayer, I could feel warmth spreading over me. I thought of the scripture that says, “Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee withersoever thou goest” (Joshua 1:9).
This scripture comforted me more than any scripture had before. I learned that no problem is ever too small for Heavenly Father and that I can turn to Him at any time. I decided to continue on with both categories. And at the end of the season, I was most successful in the category I had thought of quitting.

My best friend shoved his elbow into my side to keep me from laughing. We were in sacrament meeting, after all, and we were singing the sacrament hymn.
But it was hard not to laugh, and Pat wasn’t doing much better than I at keeping his mouth shut.
We were 15, and we knew everything. We knew that everyone in our ward was supposed to be perfect—but wasn’t. We knew that sacrament meeting talks were supposed to be inspiring—but mostly were boring. And we knew that the worst singer in the world sat among us, mangling hymns that were supposed to send our thoughts heavenward—but usually sent them the other direction.
We could only cover our ears and wince. The occasional laugh seemed to help.
We weren’t sure whether Sister Mabel (her first name, and the only one I remember anyone using for her) knew she was painful to listen to and didn’t care or if she was totally oblivious to the effect her singing had on the rest of us. It’s quite possible no one had ever broached the topic with her. Though elderly, she was a formidable woman. Not in size, but in energy. Everything she did was energetic and loud. Especially her singing.
Her passion for singing found expression not only in our congregational singing but in our ward choir as well. Her enthusiasm there was unrestrained. Though I don’t remember her singing ever being restrained in the congregation, in the choir it had free reign, rising to heights and depths I doubt any diva in the world has ever reached. Or wanted to.
Well, that was a long time ago. In the intervening years, Sister Mabel has passed away. Pat and I have gone our separate ways. And I, at least, have discovered I didn’t know as much at 15 as I thought I did. I believe I’ve learned a few things about life—and singing—over the past 50 years.
I’ve learned that life needs be lived with passion and energy. Each minute is a treasure, and once it passes, it’s gone forever, reflected only weakly in memory. I’ve learned that if you’re going to serve others or worship the Lord, you’re happiest and most effective when you do it with all the joy and energy you have.
I’ve learned that no one this side of the veil is perfect. All that the Lord asks of us is our hearts, might, minds, and strength—to the degree that we can offer them. He accepts our unrestrained offerings, as poor as they may be, as the full measure of our devotion.
It’s ironic, I suppose, that I’ve also discovered I’m no better a singer than Sister Mabel was. I hope my fellow ward members have more charity for me than I had for her. If she were still here, I’d invite her to sing for me. I miss her angelic voice.

Carlitos wiped the tears from his eyes. His mamá had been sick for many months. At last Papá had convinced her to go to the city, many kilometers from their small village in Chile, and see a doctor. After many tests, the doctor said that Carlitos’s mamá had cancer.
Mamá refused to feel sorry for herself. “I still have much to do,” she said.
One day, two young norteamericanos (North Americans) appeared at the door of their small home. “We are from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” one said in halting Spanish.
Mamá listened intently and occasionally asked questions. She accepted the young men’s message immediately. “It is the truth,” she said.
Despite the disease that caused her much pain, Mamá was determined to be baptized and confirmed.
On Saturday morning the family traveled to the small meetinghouse where Elder Metzer baptized her. She shivered as she stepped from the baptismal font.
“Mamá, you are cold,” Carlitos said and wrapped his arms around her waist. “You must go home and get warm.”
Mamá shook her head. “It is not enough. I will stay until I am confirmed. How can I be cold when the gospel warms me?” She was confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Mamá was not content with just that. She was determined that Papá and Carlitos learn of the restored gospel as she had. “If you will pray, you will know the truth of which the missionaries speak,” she told them.
The elders taught them the gospel of Jesus Christ. Papá would have to give up his cigarettes. Carlitos listened to the elders’ teachings and felt peace wrap around his heart. He began to understand the warmth that Mamá had described.
Within a month Papá had stopped smoking. Shortly afterward both Papá and Carlitos were baptized and confirmed. A few weeks later Papá received the Aaronic Priesthood. Carlitos would have to wait three more years before he could receive the priesthood.
Mamá was very weak, but she always managed to go to church and visit those in the village who were sick.
“We are members of God’s Church, but it is not enough,” Mamá told Papá and Carlitos one night.
“What must we do now?” Carlitos asked. He loved learning about the gospel and wanted to live it in every way.
“We must be sealed in the temple,” Mamá said.
The temple in Santiago was the closest one to their home. But they did not have enough money to travel there. Any extra money Papá earned went to buy medicine for Mamá.
So Mamá started a temple jar. She placed it by the door. The coins she collected grew until the family had enough money to make the trip. In the temple their family was sealed for time and all eternity.
Mamá glowed with happiness. “It is enough,” she said.

Van Johnson from Leoma, Tennessee, tells of a personal experience he had in high school:

Mr. Garner Ezell, my high school football coach, insisted on commitment from his players. “I’m committed to you,” he said in a booming voice, his bushy eyebrows raised as he paced the locker room. “If you need me, I’m here.” I proved myself on the field, winning the best blocker award in sophomore year. Just before junior year, I made a tackle that left me paralyzed from the shoulders down. What can Coach do for me now? I wondered in the hospital.

Coach became a regular visitor. He stood by my bedside with my teammates, recreating games they had played. “See you in a few days,” he said as the team filed out.

Sure enough, Coach came back. And before leaving, he always said, “See you in a few days.” Coach Ezell made me feel cared about and important. But I wondered how long his concern would last.

Recently, after a good visit, I listened to Mr. Ezell say from my doorway, “See you in a few days.” Now he has done that for more than twenty-four years, a coach with a heart like unto God’s.

On Saturday mornings Mama and I get up early, put on our clothes, and eat a quick breakfast. Then Mama half-fills a tall glass with water, and we walk real fast to Tony’s flower stand.
“Hello, Mrs. Nelson. Hi, Emily,” he says and sells us a dozen of his brightest daisies.
Mama puts the daisies into the glass, and we walk even faster to catch the bus. Mama lets me sit by the window. It’s a very long ride.
When we get off the bus, we’re in a small town instead of the big city. As Mama and I walk along, we see people working in their yards and boys and girls riding their bikes. One time we saw three silly chickens running in circles and squawking.
Finally we reach Grandma and Grandpa’s house. Grandma kisses us and hugs us as though we haven’t seen each other for a year. Next she exclaims, “Daisies! They’re Papa’s favorites! You go upstairs and see him while I put them in a vase.”
We climb the high, wide stairs, make a half turn on the landing, and open the door at the top. Grandpa is the same as he was last week. He lies on his back. Sometimes his eyes are open; sometimes they are shut. Sometimes he breathes normally; other times he makes poof noises. He never moves.
Mama kisses him and says, “Hello, Papa.”
I say, “Hi, Grandpa,” and kiss him too.
It used to be that when we came to visit Grandpa he would be all over the house and the yard. He’d untie Grandma’s apron, then chuckle when she pretended to scold him. Sometimes he’d lift me onto his shoulders and prance through the house, and he always remembered to duck when we went through the doorways. He’d give me rides in the wheelbarrow, or he’d push me in the rope swing as high as the leaves in the old tree. Then we’d sit on the steps while he told me stories about long, long ago when he visited his grandpa. Sometimes we’d go downtown for ice cream or some other treat for Grandma.
That was how it used to be. Now Grandpa’s hands don’t move, and his feet don’t move.
Today Mama sits on the chair by his bed and picks up the thick history book from Grandpa’s table. Finding the right place, she begins to read aloud. Grandpa loves history.
Mama turns the page and smiles at me, and I know that it’s all right to go play, so I do. Downstairs, I talk to Grandma while she makes cookies. Then I go outside and around the house to the gravel walkway. There, hanging from the biggest old tree, is the rope swing that Grandpa put up before Mama was born. I swing and wonder what the world was like before Mama. I can’t imagine it. And once there was a world without Grandpa! That’s even harder to imagine.
Later Grandma calls me inside. “I’ve made oatmeal scones,” Grandma says, “and I have hot soup ready. Where shall we eat, Emily?”
“Out here,” I answer.
She puts food on the picnic table, and I carry out bowls and things. Then she calls upstairs to Mama.
Mama stops reading, and she comes down. As we eat, she and Grandma talk about something that Grandpa did when Mama was as young as I am now. It helps me remember when Grandpa still acted like everybody else.
One time, early in the morning after Mama and I had spent the night with him and Grandma, Grandpa and I went to buy a morning newspaper because the funnies are the best thing to read before breakfast. On the way, he found a big broken branch that made a good walking stick. He pretended to hobble with it, then did a silly hop, skip, and jump. We had more fun than anything!
When we got home, Grandma took one look at Grandpa’s stick and said, “You get that dirty old thing out of the house!” Grandpa just laughed. He lifted her off the floor and swung her around.
“Put me down!” she screeched, but she was laughing too.
Grandpa kissed her before we went into the living room to read the funnies to each other.
That’s the way it used to be.
After we finish the soup and scones, we all go upstairs again. The daisies sit beside Grandpa’s book. Grandma pats his foot. “I’ll bring your lunch up,” she says.
Mama kisses him goodbye. “I’ll come next Saturday,” she promises.
“I’ll be back, too,” I tell him.
And then the greatest thing happens: Grandpa blinks!
All three of us see both his eyes slowly close and open. We look at each other and laugh. Then we pat Grandpa’s shoulder.
Downstairs, everybody kisses and hugs. Even Mama and I kiss and hug each other as if one of us is going and one is staying behind. When we leave, Grandma stands on the front steps to wave. As we turn the corner a block away, we see her still lifting her arm high.
We catch the bus. Mama puts our glass for daisies into her purse and her arm over the back of my seat. We look out the window. It’s getting late. We see lights here and there. At last we are in the city. Lights and noise and people and cars are everywhere.

Thinking back to his mission experience, Peter can now see his Heavenly Father’s guidance and love. “I didn’t want to go at first,” explains Peter. “I had passed all my catering exams with distinctions, had an excellent job with good prospects, and was worried because the modern employment situation indicated I’d have nothing on return.

“But I had this niggling feeling that something special was expected of me. I took the problem to my Heavenly Father in prayer. It was two weeks before any answer came. Then one day in the kitchens I had the distinct mental message that I should go on a mission. I questioned this feeling three times. On the third occasion I actually heard a voice telling me if I did my part as a missionary, then I had a promise that a job would be mine when I came back. I would not lose out.”

That is exactly what happened. Peter says, “The very day I arrived home I received a call from Michelle’s, the top French restaurant in Birmingham. They wanted me to be Second Chef.”