Gospel Story Finder

Today is the day that the lawn must be mowed
’Cause Grandpa and Grandma are coming.
We snap on the grass bag,
Then yank on the cord,
And the neat old machine starts a-humming.
At first Daddy tells me to just sit and watch,
While he does the hard work of mowing.
But soon he winks at me,
And he calls me to help,
’Cause, he says, he can see I’ve been growing.

Gray shadows of disappointment nagged at Karl as he walked home in the dark between the two elders who had just baptized and then confirmed him a member of the Church. He had prayed that he might know whether the Church had been dreamed up by man or whether it had truly been established by the Lord, and he had fully expected the horizon to lighten when he came up out of the Elbe River. But the night was still dark and the sky was still black. No sign had been given.
As the three returned home through the dark together, their discussion centered on the authority of the priesthood. One of the elders spoke German and interpreted for Karl, who spoke only German, and then interpreted for the other elder, who spoke only English.
Suddenly there was no need for an interpreter! For a brief time both elders understood Karl’s questions and comments, and Karl understood their answers whether spoken in German or English! Karl’s prayer at the time of his baptism had been answered.
The elders felt this strange experience was a special blessing for all of them, but they did not know then that Karl’s baptism would prove to be a great blessing to all of the Church. Karl, who became well known throughout the Church as Dr. Karl G. Maeser, was twenty-seven at the time of his baptism, and he held the position of der Oberlehrer (head teacher) at the Budig Academy in Dresden, Germany. A brilliant student and teacher, Karl had first learned of the Mormon Church through a popular pamphlet written to ridicule its teachings. He wondered what could cause anyone to have such hatred for a church, and he decided to learn more about it.
There were no Mormons in the country around Dresden at that time, but Karl accidentally discovered there were missionaries in Denmark. So he wrote to the mission president there for information and was sent pamphlets and books. Carefully studying the material, he became interested in the teachings of the Church and asked that a missionary be sent to Dresden to explain things to him. Two months later, in October 1855, Karl became the first member of the Church in that area of Germany.
In the spring of 1876 Dr. Maeser, who had emigrated to the United States, was called by President Brigham Young to establish the Brigham Young Academy in Provo, Utah.

In exhilaration I raise my face
to the heavens,
To feel the wind
gushing against my cheeks.
I spread my arms and close my eyes,
Willing the wind to carry me off.
It whips my hair across my face,
mocking my restrained life
While it is boisterous and free.
Running in circles, I play its game,
Allowing it to laugh at me.
But I laugh back,
A carefree laugh
I haven’t heard for a while.
The wind has given me
a fraction of its magic,
To give me a taste
of true freedom.
It is enough.

I saw it in my youth when our tiny branch met in my childhood home. My brother and I were the only Aaronic Priesthood holders, my father the only Melchizedek Priesthood holder. The branch Relief Society president was a convert whose husband was unhappy with her Church service. The members were all older sisters without a priesthood holder in their homes. I watched my mother and those sisters love, lift, and care for each other unfailingly. I realize now that I was given an early glimpse of Zion.

When I was young and preparing for a mission, my mom invited me to go to a continuing education night at the church. The topic was Joseph Smith. Of course, I had a lot going on, and I didn’t really want to go.
But she talked me into it, and I’m glad she did.
I can remember sitting in the back row of the chapel as the instructor began teaching about the Prophet Joseph Smith. I’ll never forget it. It was a riveting moment of clarity. I was completely tuned in to the story. As it culminated and the teacher bore testimony, I knew that I knew it was true. I just knew it. But more importantly, I realized that I’d always known it was true; this was just the first time I’d realized it.

A great example in my life of unselfish service is Sister Victoria Antonietti. Victoria was one of the Primary teachers in my branch while I was growing up in Argentina. Each Tuesday afternoon, when we gathered for Primary, she brought us a chocolate cake. Everyone loved the cake—well, everyone except me. I hated chocolate cake! And even though she would try to share the cake with me, I always turned down her offer.
One day after she had shared the chocolate cake with the rest of the children, I asked her, “Why don’t you bring a different flavor—like orange or vanilla?”
After laughing a little, she asked me, “Why don’t you try a little piece? This cake is made with a special ingredient, and I promise that if you try it, you will like it!”
I looked around, and to my surprise, everyone seemed to be enjoying the cake. I agreed to give it a try. Can you guess what happened? I liked it! That was the very first time I had enjoyed a chocolate cake.
It wasn’t until many years later that I found out what the secret ingredient was in Sister Antonietti’s chocolate cake. My children and I visited my mother each week. On one of these visits, Mom and I were enjoying a slice of chocolate cake, and I related to her how I came to like the cake for the very first time. Then she enlightened me with the rest of the story.
“You see, Cris,” my mom said, “Victoria and her family didn’t have a lot of resources, and each week she had to choose between paying for the bus to take her and her four children to Primary or buying the ingredients to make the chocolate cake for her Primary class. She always chose the chocolate cake over the bus, and she and her children walked more than two miles [3 km], each way, regardless of the weather.”
That day I had a better appreciation for her chocolate cake. More important, I learned that the secret ingredient in Victoria’s cake was the love she had for those she served and her unselfish sacrifice in our behalf.

I was in Arizona a few years ago, and the president of the stake told me about one of his boys having been called to go on a mission. The boy went to the patriarch before he left, and the patriarch gave him a blessing. He told the boy that he should be satisfied with the assignment he would receive. And he said, “You shall see floods to the right of you and floods to the left of you, and your life will be protected and preserved.” He was assigned to the East Central States Mission, and while he was serving there, there was a major flood. The missionary was marooned in Louisville, Kentucky, in a house from which he had to be rescued in a boat, and he lived to see floods to the right of him and floods to the left of him. I ask you, how could the patriarch have known that when he gave that blessing, except by the inspiration of the Almighty?

During my first assignment in Boise, I was called to serve as the priests quorum adviser. There were 23 priests in the old Boise Ninth Ward. Two were serving in the military. Nineteen of the 21 received individual awards. The bishop of the ward was Floyd Fletcher. What a bishop. What a boy’s man. What a Scouter. Every year the ward provided welfare to the storehouse through the beans we raised, picked, and canned. When the beans would be ready for harvest, the whole ward had to be mobilized. The men and boys of the priesthood would pick the beans, the sisters would cut and clean them, and then we would take them to the cannery to can.

We would pick the beans early in the morning before going to work. The bean patch buzzed with brethren and sisters working up and down the rows. Working alongside my priests was a joy I shall never forget. I got close to them. Even though it was an early hour in the morning and fairly cool, we would soon work up a sweat. We would talk about swimming in the cold mountain rivers where we had our annual Aaronic Priesthood outings. We shared personal stories, laughed and joked, and had a great time. It was fun. No one resented being asked to work. In fact, I think people would have felt left out if they hadn’t been involved.

I remember one morning, about 7:30, when we were finishing up so we could get back home to get ready to go to work. One of the priests challenged all the others and myself to take a swim in the canal. In only a moment, a priests quorum adviser and all the priests were swimming in the canal. At that early hour it took our breath away. I can still feel the love, camaraderie, and fellowship with a quorum of priests who had gotten up about 4:30 or 5:00 A.M., worked for a couple of hours on the Lord’s farm, and then went swimming in the canal together.

When I heard about his passing, though, I couldn’t help but be sad and frustrated that my grandfather hadn’t been baptized in this life. So when my sister suggested a year later that we go to the temple and do ordinances for my grandfather, I had mixed feelings. Why would it matter now if he hadn’t accepted it when it was right here for him?
But I prayed about doing my grandfather’s work in the temple, and my heart softened. I knew I needed to do it. When I went to the temple and was baptized for him, something happened to me in that font: I felt the Spirit come into my heart along with a sense of forgiveness and love that I didn’t know I had for my grandfather. My heart was truly turned to him. I felt the truth of the promise that “he shall plant in the hearts of the children the promises made to the fathers, and the hearts of the children shall turn to their fathers” (Doctrine and Covenants 2:2). It was real.

Later in my youth, my brother and I slept in an unheated bedroom in the winter. People thought that was good for you. Before falling into a warm bed, we knelt to say our prayers. There were expressions of simple gratitude. They concluded in the name of Jesus.
I recall jumping into my bed after I had said amen, pulling the covers up around my neck, and thinking of what I had just done in speaking to my Father in Heaven in the name of His Son. I did not have great knowledge of the gospel.
But there was some kind of lingering peace and security in communing with the heavens in and through the Lord Jesus.

Young: Exercise not only helped me out for after my mission, but while I was there it would get me going for the day. I couldn’t go running for miles, because you have to stay with your companion. So I’d have him sit out on the front step while I ran about 20 times up and down the street. Some companions would join in. One was a baseball player. He enjoyed it. It was a chance to do something with your companion after you’d been out teaching all day.

As her fellow Saints planned to gather to Missouri in 1838, Cyrena felt determined to join them. This caused further tension with her family and was a “severe blow” for her father. He had been sympathetic toward the Church but could not bear the thought of her leaving. She recounted that “when he found that I was determined to go, he requested me to leave home immediately, that he might become reconciled to the separation before I left entirely.” However, she felt that “his real motive was a hope that I might become so homesick that I would give up the idea of going with the Saints and return home again to stay.” Unable to remain in her family home, she relied on the kindness of a neighbor and fellow Latter-day Saint, Alexander Stanley, who took her in and “was like a father” to her.4

Before the Saints left Ohio, Cyrena returned to her parents’ home to say goodbye. Her parents tearfully begged her to stay. When that failed to change her mind, her father threatened to have her “arrested and brought back by a process of law.”5 Despite her family’s pleas, Cyrena remained determined to go and bore her testimony of the truth of the gospel before leaving.

Although Cyrena feared setting off on her own, she trusted in the Lord and His promises. She soon found that her new religious community, her fellow Saints, cared for her as if she were part of their families. Because she lived in Alexander Stanley’s home for a short time, she was able to set out with his company for Far West, Missouri.

On another occasion, a son was thrown off a wagon. The iron rim of one of the wheels grazed his head, cutting off his ear. Catherine put the ear back on his head and held it in place by pulling a stocking over his head. It healed perfectly; and by the time he was grown, no one could tell which ear had been injured.

I have always been greatly impressed by the experience that Elder Orson F. Whitney had. He was a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, and he related this in one of our conferences. I would like to read it to you. He said:
“Many years ago a learned man, a member of the Roman Catholic Church, came to Utah and spoke from the stand of the Salt Lake Tabernacle. I became well-acquainted with him, and we conversed freely and frankly. A great scholar, with perhaps a dozen languages at his tongue’s end, he seemed to know all about theology, law, literature, science and philosophy. One day he said to me: ‘You Mormons are all ignoramuses. You don’t even know the strength of your own position. It is so strong that there is only one other tenable in the whole Christian world, and that is the position of the Catholic Church. The issue is between Catholicism and Mormonism. If we are right, you are wrong; if you are right, we are wrong; and that’s all there is to it. The Protestants haven’t a leg to stand on. For, if we are wrong, they are wrong with us, since they were a part of us and went out from us; while if we are right, they are apostates whom we cut off long ago. If we have the apostolic succession from St. Peter, as we claim, there is no need of Joseph Smith and Mormonism; but if we have not that succession, then such a man as Joseph Smith was necessary, and Mormonism’s attitude is the only consistent one. It is either the perpetuation of the gospel from ancient times, or the restoration of the gospel in latter days.’” (LeGrand Richards, A Marvelous Work and a Wonder [Deseret Book Co., 1950], pp. 3–4.)

One student spoke of a more sensitive conscience: “It seemed to have a residual effect on my conscience of not letting me rationalize so easily . … Especially since I had become engaged, I had noticed that I was trying to rationalize a few things, play it close to the line between black and white. I don’t say reading the scriptures was the only influence, but I am glad for their influence.”

Alison touched her hair. Still wet, she thought, smiling. She gazed out the window of the car as it left the church parking lot. The Saturday afternoon looked brighter than usual. The trees seemed greener, the sky a deeper blue. I’ve done it! she told herself. I’ve been baptized.
She closed her eyes and relived the baptismal service in her mind. Dressed in white, she and her father sat on the front row of the chapel as the bishop spoke. “You will come out of the water cleansed from all your sins,” he said. “Then you can be confirmed a member of the Church and receive the gift of the Holy Ghost. If you keep the commandments, the Holy Ghost will be your constant companion and help you choose the right.”
Later, Dad stood waiting in the baptismal font. He took her small hand in his large one and guided her down the steps. The water was warm and clear. She looked up and saw her family and friends watching reverently. Mom smiled. Alison grasped Dad’s wrist with her left hand while he held her right wrist and raised his right arm to the square. She listened carefully as he said the baptismal prayer. Then she held her nose and her breath as he placed his right hand in the middle of her back and immersed her gently but completely under the water.
Warmth and peace surrounded her a moment before she was brought up out of the water by her father. Streaming water dazzled her eyes like diamonds. Through the glistening drops, she saw blurry faces smiling at her, and she smiled back. She felt so good, so clean—like a new person. She looked up at Dad. He smiled and hugged her close. She wanted to feel like this always.
After Alison changed into dry clothes, the family met in a classroom with the bishop. He and Dad put their hands on her head, confirmed her a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and gave her the gift of the Holy Ghost. Now Alison felt not only new and clean but strong, too, as if she could always do what was right, no matter what.
“So how do you feel?” Dad asked, breaking into Alison’s daydream.
She opened her eyes and grinned. “I feel good. I’ve never felt this good in my whole life. I’m never going to do anything wrong again. I’m clean now, and I want to stay this way.”
“That’s a wonderful goal,” Dad said, “but I’m afraid that we all make mistakes.”
I won’t, Alison thought, settling back into her seat. I don’t ever want to lose this feeling.
A couple of weeks later, Alison sat on the couch, studying the baptismal certificate the bishop had given her.
Tyler climbed up beside her. “Let me see it!” he demanded, grabbing the paper.
Alison held him off with an elbow. “This isn’t a toy. This is important.”
Tyler laughed and grabbed the paper as Alison jerked it away. With an ugly ripping sound, the certificate tore in half.
Alison stared a long moment in disbelief. Then a furious anger gathered around her like a storm. How could he destroy this precious thing! Tyler’s eyes were wide with fear and dismay, and Alison had a strong feeling that she should walk away before she did something bad. But she didn’t want to walk away. She wanted to get even. She let the anger rush in, filling her to overflowing, and she gave Tyler a push.
He tumbled off the couch. Before he could even catch his breath to let out his first angry howl, she jumped up and gathered him into her arms. The anger was gone, replaced by remorse and a sick guilt. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry.” Tears ran down her cheeks.
Mom and Dad came running in to see what was wrong. “I pushed Tyler on purpose,” Alison said. “I’ve only been baptized a couple of weeks, and I’ve spoiled it already.” She ran to her room, where she fell on her knees by her bed and prayed and cried a long time.
Finally the door opened and Tyler came in. “Don’t be sad, Alison,” he said. “I’m all right.”
Alison held him tightly. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I’ll try to do better. I’ll try to be a good sister. Will you forgive me?”
Tyler gave her a huge, wet kiss on the cheek and a big hug. “I forgive you this much.”
Mom and Dad came in and sat down on either side of her.
“Alison,” Mom said, “your certificate can be replaced. That is important, of course, but that isn’t what is upsetting you, is it?”
“No—it’s that this time I messed up big time.”
Dad nodded. “We all do. The important thing is that we repent.”
Alison brushed away a tear. “How do I know for sure that I’ve repented?”
“Heavenly Father made it pretty simple,” Dad said. “First we need to recognize that we’ve done wrong and feel sorry for it. I think you’ve already done that. Then we need to ask forgiveness from the person we’ve sinned against and from Heavenly Father.”
Alison sighed. “I’ve been doing that.”
“Then we must try to make up for the wrong we’ve done.”
“I’m going to do something nice for Tyler every day,” Alison said. “I don’t want him to ever be afraid of his own sister. Is that all?”
“There’s one more thing,” Dad said. “We must try as hard as we can not to do the wrong thing again.”
Alison put her head on Dad’s shoulder. “I think the Holy Ghost tried to tell me not to push Tyler, but I wouldn’t listen. If He ever talks to me again, I’m going to listen.”
“He’ll talk to you,” Dad assured her.
“And I’m going to write down some ways of controlling my temper better, and work on them every day.”
Dad hugged her. “Good for you. If you do all those things, the Lord will forgive you and the Holy Ghost will be your Companion. Heavenly Father has promised it.”
“But I’m not clean anymore, and I wanted to stay clean forever. Can I get baptized again?”
“Well, no, but you don’t need to. The Savior knew that we’d make mistakes even after baptism, so He provided a way for us to be clean again. It always starts with sincere repentance, followed by something we do each Sunday in the chapel. Do you know what it is?”
Alison thought for a moment. “The sacrament?”
Dad nodded. “Right. When we’re baptized, we make covenants, or mutual promises, with God. One promise is that we’ll keep His commandments. Each Sunday when we take the sacrament, we renew those covenants. If we’ve repented of our sins, we become clean again.”
“Just as clean as when we were baptized?”
“Just as clean.”
The next day, Alison eagerly waited for the sacrament. She had followed the steps of repentance faithfully. When the sacrament came, Alison quietly put a piece of bread in her mouth. When the water came, she drank it reverently. A sweet peace filled her heart. Dad was right. She felt good again. Clean again.
Smiling, Alison reached up and touched her hair. This time it wasn’t even damp. But that didn’t matter—she was clean.

Avery pressed her yellow crayon onto the paper. It was art time in class, and Avery was drawing a picture of herself with little flowers on her shirt. She drew six petals on each flower because six was her favorite number.
Avery put down her crayon and smiled at her drawing. It was perfect! Then she noticed that Jeremy, the boy who sat next to her, was frowning. He was hunched over in his seat. Avery smiled at him, but he didn’t look at her.
“What did you draw?” she asked. “Can I see?”
Jeremy didn’t say anything. He covered up his paper with his red-and-white striped sleeve.
Later Avery and her class went to lunch. Avery sat down with a group of friends. She saw Jeremy sitting alone at another table. His eyes were big, looking around at everyone. He looked sad. Avery thought about how Jeremy usually played alone at recess. What could she do to help him feel better?
That night Avery prayed and told Heavenly Father about Jeremy. She asked Heavenly Father to help her know what to do. She stayed still even after she said “amen,” just thinking.
Then she had an idea! Avery grabbed some crayons and paper. She drew a picture of herself and Jeremy playing with a basketball. They had big smiles on their faces! Avery carefully colored four red stripes on Jeremy’s shirt. Then she wrote Jeremy’s name at the top of the picture.
When she was done, she ran to the kitchen. “Look, Mom!” She held up the picture so Mom could see.
“That’s a happy picture,” Mom said.
Avery smiled. “It’s for Jeremy. He’s in my class. I hope he likes it.”
Avery looked at her drawing again. “Can I have a piece of candy?” she asked. “I want to tape it to the picture.”
Mom smiled and pulled out a box from the cupboard. It was filled with little candies of all colors. Avery picked a red-and-white peppermint and taped it to the corner of the picture.
When Avery got to school the next day, she gave the picture to Jeremy.
“This is for you,” she said. “I hope we can be friends.”
Jeremy took the picture and looked at it. Then he grinned.
“Thank you,” he said. “I’ve never gotten a present from a friend before.”
Avery’s heart felt happy. “Do you want to play with me at recess?” she asked.
Jeremy held up the picture. His smile was as big as the one in the drawing. “We can play basketball!”

Kim Cloward, too, has a special family story. Her great-great-grandmother was a seamstress to the Queen of England, and she married one of the king’s horsemen. After joining the Church, the couple immigrated to America. Her abilities with a needle were well known in northern Utah where she tailored men’s suits and made moccasins and gloves. She taught her daughter to sew. The daughter, in turn, taught her daughter. “And now,” Kim commented, “my mother has taught me to sew, and I’ll sew for my family and ‘sew’ on and ‘sew’ on.” Her eyes twinkled as she waited for her seminary friends to catch the pun. Kim has won several national sewing contests and now better understands where her abilities and pride in tailoring come from.

Recently I broke my leg in a football game, and reading the New Era has brightened my outlook and made life more enjoyable during these tough weeks. The magazines, along with the scriptures and prayer, have brought me closer to the Lord, and help me become more like Him. Thanks for a great magazine for teens like me all around the world.
Brandyn Y., Arkansas

Writing skits, acting, and directing are familiar responsibilities to Lisa Linford, a Laurel in the North Logan Fourth Ward, North Logan Utah Stake. Lisa wrote a skit for the regional Young Women conference and was later invited to present it at post-regional conferences by other local stakes. She also wrote, directed, and acted in the skit for the special homemaking area of focus nights that were held in her ward and stake. In addition, she wrote, directed, and acted in a skit for stake leadership meeting designed to introduce the leaders to the sports and camp program. “Lisa has the unusual gift of being able to combine the spiritually uplifting ideas and goals of the Young Women program with very real, easy-to-relate-to teenage humor,” said Margaret Elwood, Young Women president in the Fourth Ward. “She has great insight into the thinking and feeling of teenagers.”