Gospel Story Finder

Doug shared his parents’ dismay as they left their car and looked around at the littered highway rest area. What should have been a cool, green oasis for weary travelers looked as though it were part of a garbage dump! There were plenty of trash containers, but most of them were practically empty. Around them were scattered cans, paper plates, and plastic cups and utensils. Napkins and old newspapers blew along the sidewalk ahead of them.
“I don’t know how we can possibly eat our picnic lunch in this dirty place,” Doug’s mother sighed. “And just look at that! Vandals have chopped out the center board of the only picnic table left.”
“It’s disgraceful,” Father said angrily. “It costs the government a lot of money to provide these little mini-parks for the public. The trees and lawns are beautiful and well trimmed. Why can’t people appreciate such facilities and care for them?”
“Because they have no pride,” Mother murmured sadly as she fanned flies away from the baby.
“I’ve read that people in some countries don’t tolerate such abuse of parks and other public facilities,” Mother continued. “Bystanders shame any offender into picking up discarded objects. And if that doesn’t work, one of them picks up the rubbish even though he didn’t drop it. Can you imagine what a terrible impression this mess would make on visitors from other countries?”
“Well, we certainly can’t eat here,” Father said. “We’ll use the rest rooms and then try to find a cleaner spot farther down the highway.”
“Why don’t we clean up this one instead?” Doug suggested. “All the others will probably be just as dirty. We need to stretch our legs after the long ride anyway. The exercise will be good for us.”
His parents looked startled but pleased as their dark-haired son began picking up and depositing handfuls of litter into one of the trash cans. They smiled when they saw two other children from a nearby table join him. Soon other boys and girls scrambled after the litter and suddenly everyone made a game of cleaning up.
A station wagon pulled up and parked. The occupants climbed out and headed for the outdoor drinking fountain. A teenage girl watched the children and then returned to the station wagon and took out an overflowing litter bag. She was careful to see that every scrap was emptied inside the trash can. She stooped to catch a blowing paper and deposited it in the container too.
Doug’s mother smiled. “Neatness seems as contagious as littering. I’ll bet I can clean up this pile of litter before you can gather up that stuff over there by the fountain!” she challenged Father.
A few at a time, the people who had eaten at nearby tables began to pick up around them, some a little self-consciously. Even travelers who seemed in a hurry took time to pick up a few cups or bottles before leaving. Children giggled and raced after the few remaining plates and napkins that tumbled about in the wind.
An elderly couple smiled as they watched. In a very short time the rest area was spotless, and the many travelers from different places had taken time to get acquainted with each other. The people in each car honked and waved as they left to resume their journey.
Doug was very hungry by the time the family had all washed up and spread their lunch on a shaded redwood picnic table. A cool breeze rustled leaves overhead, but there were no pieces of litter blowing about. Everyone had a feeling of pride as they ate their lunch and enjoyed the now-beautiful spot.
A young couple parked their van and got out. “What a lovely place, and it’s so much cleaner than the others we’ve seen,” the blond girl said, stopping in the shade. The man tossed his paper cup at a trash can. It hit the rim and bounced off, scattering ice. The girl dropped a pink tissue and shrugged as it tumbled across the lawn. They looked startled and embarrassed as Doug picked up their litter and deposited it in a trash barrel. “This place was filthy, too,” he explained, “but my family and a bunch of other travelers took time to clean it up.”
A big semitrailer truck pulled into the circular drive and parked. Two weary-looking men got out and started up the walk toward the rest rooms. One man dropped a candy bar wrapper. The young couple was leaving now but the blond girl stooped to retrieve the wrapper and place it in the trash barrel. The truck driver glanced down at the tattered road map he had started to toss, then took a few extra steps to drop it into the barrel. “I’ve never seen one of these places so clean. It’s a nice change,” he said. His driving companion nodded in agreement.
“In a way I hate to leave,” Doug murmured, as his mother folded the tablecloth and packed the picnic basket. “We won’t find another place as nice as this.”
“Then we’ll just take the time to make it as nice,” his mother countered. “Look what happened when you started picking up litter. It started a cleanup campaign like a chain reaction. Maybe all those travelers who worked together here today will keep fighting thoughtless pollution wherever they go. Pride in our country has to start somewhere. Who knows, maybe you started it here today!”
They were back in the car, preparing to leave, when a woman put a leash on her dog and started strolling up the grassy slope where the two truck drivers had spread blankets for a nap.
One man raised up on his elbow and called, “What’s the matter, lady? Didn’t you read that sign? There’s a roped-off area over there for walking dogs. How do you expect to keep rest areas clean unless you keep the rules?”
The flustered lady hurried back down the slope and headed toward the area set aside for pets.
“I guess I did start a chain reaction, didn’t I?” Doug remarked with a grin.

I know a young woman who ruefully saw her brother associating with the wrong group of friends. After praying fervently for him one night, she followed an impression to pick him up from the party he was attending. She drove around with him for some time just talking to him about who he was as a member of their family and who he was as a member of Heavenly Father’s family and of his responsibility to honor those identities. He was able to turn things around in his life, partially because of the love of his sister.

I’m eternally thankful for those who ministered and shared the restored gospel in a natural way to my wife when she was fourteen years of age. She accepted the invitation to follow Christ and was baptized in Málaga, Spain.
Having been ministered by her friends, who helped in her youth to draw closer to Christ, she learnt that ministering to others is part of our own process of repentance. It is how we turn our hearts to God and his Children. Some years after her baptism she travelled all alone to the Switzerland Temple to minister those on the other side of the veil. We then met each other in Zollikofen and this is also where we got sealed for time and eternity.

Not too long ago, I received an impression that followed a similar pattern. While reading the scriptures, I came across the word preserve, and it struck me in a way that I hadn’t recognized previously. A small seed was planted in my mind. Subsequently, I felt like I was encountering this word everywhere. For instance, I saw it in other things I read and heard it in casual conversations. I even found it at the grocery store. While walking down an aisle looking for jam, a certain label on a jar caught my eye. I picked it up, and there I stood deciding between buying jam or preserves!

Each encounter helped the small seed to grow, and my attention was now focused. I recognized a pattern that continued to persuade me to ponder this word. Of course I knew that people weren’t suddenly and involuntarily using the word preserve around me more often. But with my new heightened sensitivity to the word, I sought to understand what I should learn from this “frequency impression.”

I felt the Spirit invite me to contemplate three questions:
Question 1 led me, predictably, to the dictionary to look up preserve. I love the language that I found there. It helped me visualize the purpose of preservation. I learned, for example, that to preserve means:
As I pondered these definitions, it became easy to answer question 2: What am I trying to preserve, protect, keep alive, and defend? I’m sure if you were to consider that question for yourself, we might find that we share some answers in common—relationships with loved ones, family history and traditions, heirlooms, and things in the physical world such as the environment, to name a few.

The steps we take to preserve things are observable in our everyday lives—for example, the foods we eat, the exercises we perform, the medicines we take to preserve our physical and mental health, and the technology we use to preserve information so it can be accessed well into the future.
Ultimately, this exercise clearly highlighted a few things for me:
With this understanding, I was able to discern what the Spirit of the Lord was trying to tell me. He wanted me to assess, before all else, how I can preserve my faith in Heavenly Father and His Son Jesus Christ and my relationship with Them.

This singular question called on me to apply all that I was learning about preservation to my relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and the covenants that I’ve made with Them. It led me to determine whether I had placed Them in the prevailing position on my personal list of values, allowing everything else in my life to flow from that most important relationship.

In L’viv, a city in western Ukraine, Yuri Voynarovich and his family started searching for truth when he was just 10 years old. For years they visited different churches. Then his uncle invited them to attend a branch of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and Yuri’s parents were soon baptized and confirmed.
“I didn’t go at first,” Yuri says. “I kept searching on my own.”
But his parents, who knew the Church was true, didn’t give up on their son. They invited Yuri to English lessons and youth activities as well as Sunday meetings. Finally, the missionaries themselves invited him to English classes.
“I couldn’t say no to them,” Yuri says. So he went. Then he went to church. Eventually he too was baptized.
“Since that day I’ve had many more experiences that have built and molded my testimony and character into who I am today,” he says.
“I often see people who suffer from bad choices they’ve made,” he says. “I understand sometimes it’s hard because of temptations and peer pressure, but we shouldn’t give up. Later we can see the blessings that come from obedience.”
Yuri, now 17, serves as the branch mission leader and branch clerk in L’viv.
“I am so thankful for the Church and all it has done for me,” Yuri says. “I love this Church. I encourage everyone to hold to the iron rod and never let go.”

When I was a young university student, one of my classmates urgently pleaded with a group of us—his Latter-day Saint friends—to donate blood for his mother, who was bleeding profusely. We went directly to the hospital to have our blood typed and tested. I’ll never forget our shock when told that one of the prospective donors was unfit because of a positive blood test for a venereal disease. That infected blood was my classmate’s own!
Fortunately, his mother survived, but I’ll never forget his lingering sorrow. He bore the burden of knowing that his personal immorality had disqualified him from giving needed aid to his mother, and he had added to her grief.
I learned a great lesson: if one dishonors the commandments of God, one dishonors mother, and if one dishonors mother, one dishonors the commandments of God.1

“One of his favorite subjects is that of being a good neighbor and friend to people. When he was younger he was particularly kind to a girl who was especially sad. Later the girl told him she had anticipated taking her own life; but since Dad had been so kind to her, she had decided life seemed worthwhile after all. He likes people and likes to help them.” His wife added that he is always pleasant and willing to help even if someone calls him in the middle of the night.

Young Women in the San Jose California South Stake are wondering why everyone tells such horror stories about boot camp. As far as they’re concerned, it’s about the greatest thing to do with their free summer days.
Of course, their “boots” were a little different than those worn in the military, and it was a training camp for living a Christlike life, rather than serving as a soldier. BOOT (which stands for “building our own testimonies”) camp had a lot of the same activities that all girls’ camps have. But the highlight of camp was having poems written by the girls set to music by their stake president. The songs were then sung by a guest soloist at a special camp fireside, and tape-recorded for the girls to keep.
“It made my poem sound so good,” says April Gustavson. “I couldn’t believe it was something that I wrote.”

In May 1833, my fourth-great-grandfather Asahel Perry and some friends traveled from northern New York to Kirtland, Ohio. They weren’t members of the newly restored Church, but they wanted to meet the Prophet Joseph Smith. They arrived just in time to attend the first council held to discuss the building of the Kirtland Temple.
After beginning the council, the Prophet presented the business of building the temple. Then he called upon those present to express their feelings related to such a large undertaking. Most responded that the Church was too poor to tackle such a task. They proposed construction of a smaller, less-expensive building.
During the ensuing discussion, Grandpa Perry and his friends huddled, took out their money, and added it up. Did they have enough to pay for their return trip and contribute to the temple’s construction? A few minutes later, my grandfather approached Joseph Smith, pulled out a five-dollar gold coin, and presented it to the Prophet. (Such a coin today would be worth hundreds of dollars!)
Joseph stood before the council and held up the coin. Then, speaking energetically, he said that “the work had commenced and the House [of the Lord] would be built according to the pattern presented” by the Lord Jesus Christ.
The Perry family soon joined the Church in Kirtland, received their temple blessings a few years later in the Nauvoo Temple, and later crossed the plains to Utah.

Illustration by Allen Garns
With my husband temporarily out of work, making ends meet for a family with five growing children was challenging. A day before the broadcast of the October 2013 general conference, we checked our food supplies and decided we would prepare a simple lunch of fried chicken and rice during the break between conference sessions.
Sunday came, and we were all set. The rest of our extended family, composed of my parents and my sisters and their families, met at the stake center half an hour before the broadcast started.
What a joy and a blessing it was to hear prophets, seers, and revelators share messages specifically for our generation. As I listened to the counsel and basked in the wonderful spirit of peace and love I felt from my Heavenly Father, I received the assurance that everything would be all right, that my family’s spiritual and temporal needs would be addressed, and that if I continued to exercise faith and let my Savior take the reins, we would be released from the grips of poverty and other hardships.
Enjoying the beautiful spirit of that Sabbath day, I had forgotten about lunch. Only when the break between sessions arrived did I realize there would be 17 of us. Nine adults and eight children would be sharing our meager meal of eight small pieces of chicken and a platter of rice, along with a bowl of pasta one of my sisters had brought.
Eight-year-old Henry offered a prayer of thanksgiving and blessing on our food, asking that all who partook would be filled. Then I broke each piece of chicken into smaller portions and handed these to the children as my sister placed pasta and rice on their plates. I could not keep tears from falling as I realized we had enough for one small serving for everyone and one extra serving after all the pieces were broken and the pasta and rice were divided among us. All of us then ate—and were filled.
I told my parents and husband that I knew of a surety that the Savior had indeed divided five loaves of bread and two fish and fed a multitude of “five thousand men, beside women and children” (see Matthew 14:14–21). Some critics and nonbelievers claim that the miracle was metaphorical, exaggerated, or impossible. But to my family and me, the account is true as written.
Heavenly Father had heard the prayer of a faithful child who gave thanks and requested the blessing that all who would partake would be filled and receive nourishment.
As we returned to the hall for general conference, I was feasting in my heart. I felt as though I were there with the multitude Jesus had fed, yearning to stay and learn from Him who promises that if we heed and hearken, we will never hunger or thirst (see John 6:35).
With our children we quietly took our seats inside the chapel and prepared to listen to Heavenly Father’s chosen servants. It was an occasion we will always remember.

Our baseball team had seven boys and two girls, and we called ourselves the Sonoma Lions. During the summer months, we practiced and played three or four times a week in a big vacant lot after our chores were done. It was just for fun—at first.
Then one day my brother Ramie told me there was another team called the Crows a few streets away from ours. I rode my bike to their team captain’s house and asked him if the Crows would like to play with us at the end of summer.
Two days later, he rode his bike to my house and said his team would like to play against ours—and that the Crows would beat us.
“Oh yeah?” I said. “We’ll see about that!”
We practiced hard, determined to beat the Crows. The end of summer was getting closer, and we were getting excited. And then along came Forrester.
Forrester was 10, and he had some mental challenges. His family had just moved into the neighborhood.
Forrester showed up one day while our team was practicing. He was skinny and just kind of stood there, too shy to ask if he could be on our team. Nobody wanted him to ask, especially me. We didn’t need him to help us beat the Crows, and we were afraid he would make us lose.
I guess he could tell we didn’t want him to be a part of our group. He lowered his head and stood there looking at the ground, kicking at a little rock. Then he slowly turned and started walking away.
A thought came into my mind: “What would Jesus do?”
I realized the Holy Ghost had told me this because the words had come from somewhere deep inside me.
When I looked at Ramie and the other team members, I could tell they felt like I did—awful. So I hurried and caught up with Forrester and asked him to come back and play with us.
I saw a smile come into his eyes, and he looked surprised and happy at the same time.
At the big game between our team and the Crows we all played hard, including Forrester.
We lost the game, 12 to 10. But that was OK. Forrester was a good player and a good sport. He even scored one of our runs. When he ran across home plate, I was cheering and jumping up and down.
Mom and Dad said Heavenly Father cheers for us when we make good choices. And I know that inviting Forrester to join the Sonoma Lions was a good choice because it made me feel warm all over, just like the quilt Mom made me does on cold winter nights.

I spent almost a year in Nigeria doing the research for my doctoral dissertation. The northern Nigerian city of Kano is a unique blend of Africa and the Middle East. When I was about to leave Kano, a good friend Dauda Sule took me to the market to look for souvenirs. I found what I wanted: a blanket dyed in the ancient indigo vats of Kano. Dauda did the negotiations because I did not speak Hausa. Dauda and the owner of the blanket business went into a deep discussion that I didn't understand. The conversation went back and forth for several minutes. Then there was silence. At last the owner said something and the transaction was complete. Dauda then explained to me what had transpired. He had told the man that I was not a rich tourist, but a poor nursing student who had come to Nigeria to try to be helpful to people. He told the owner of the shop that I would pay whatever price he named because I trusted him. However, Dauda also said to him, "because she will pay whatever you say, if you cheat her, God will know it." The owner of the shop meditated long and hard on Dauda's words and finally said, "I love money but I honor God more. This is the fair price."

Sometimes we need strength because life is hard for us. Christy wanted to memorize the Articles of Faith and earn her Gospel in Action award. It was extra hard for her because she has a disease called cerebral palsy. But Christy had faith the Lord would help her. She listened to the tapes of the Articles of Faith songs over and over. She practiced hard, learned to sing all the songs, and earned her award. Her family and friends were blessed by her good example.

Whenever he was in New England, Brigham was anxious to visit and teach his many relatives there. In October, after he had returned to Kirtland, his cousin Willard Richards, who had read the Book of Mormon, visited him:
“I invited him to make his home at my house, which he did, and investigated thoroughly the principles and doctrines set forth by the Prophet and Elders of the Church. Dec. 31st, he requested baptism at my hands, which ordinance I administered to him in the presence of Elder Heber C. Kimball and others, who had spent the afternoon in cutting the ice to prepare for the ceremony.”16

On June 10, 1953, my wife and I had the privilege of being married in the Salt Lake Temple. After President Harold B. Lee, then an apostle, concluded the beautiful ceremony, he had us stand in the center of the sealing room. Looking to the left into the mirrors that reflect off one another to show hundreds of images, he said, “On the left are the eternities you came from, and on the right the eternities to which you are going.” We looked and could see our images. Then he brought our thoughts back to the sealing room where we were and said, “This is like the world. It is but one step to all the eternities.” We were lovingly advised to stay true to the commitments of chastity, to obey the law of sacrifice and the law of consecration whereby we give all of our time, talents, and everything with which we are blessed to the service of the Lord. Then he said, “Make sure you understand that an argument never solves problems. As you stand here today, commit yourselves to having and expressing love and appreciation for each other.” It was a great teaching moment in our lives that we have never forgotten.

In another place in the world, with a small group of youth, I tried this same demonstration. As I explained to the young men and women in the circle that nothing would happen to them, I noticed that one of the girls, whom I had intended to hold the bare wire, carefully moved her fingers down the cable until it reached the insulation. She did not trust me. I was greatly disappointed. Yet this is an example of how some in the world today meet challenges. They want to have it both ways. They want to appear to be doing the right things, but they also want to earn the friendship of those who are not.

As a member of the Church, you can expect that the full-time or the ward or branch missionaries will ask for the opportunity to help you make a list of people with whom you could share the gospel. The missionaries may suggest you think of relatives, neighbors, and acquaintances. They may ask you to set a date by which you will try to have the person or family prepared to be taught by the missionaries. I’ve had that experience. Because we in our family accepted that invitation from the missionaries, I was blessed to perform the baptism of a widow in her 80s, taught by sister missionaries.

When I placed my hands on her head to confirm her a member of the Church, I felt impressed to say that her choice to be baptized would bless generations of her family, after and before her. Even after she passed away, I was able to be in the temple with her son as he was sealed to her.

I recall a conversation I had with a young Northwestern University dental student while I was serving as president of the Chicago Stake. I was interviewing him to hold an office in an elders quorum presidency and learned that he was not a full tithe payer. He assured me that he kept all the other commandments required to hold office but that his income was too small to cover the expenses of going to school and supporting a wife. After counseling him at some length and explaining that if he lacked the faith to pay an honest tithing he lacked the necessary faith to hold the priesthood office or to enter the Lord’s house and receive the Lord’s blessings, our conference ended. A few days later he called and inquired as to whether the office was still open and reported that he was a full tithe payer. He was soon set apart as a quorum officer. Some time thereafter he and his lovely wife came to my home for a temple recommend. It was a joy to sign those recommends. As they left our home I counseled them to drive their car carefully and observe the traffic laws of the various states through which they must travel, for we needed them in our stake and wanted them to go and return in safety. They assured me they would, and then the young man added with a smile, “I don’t think you have to worry about our having an accident in a car we mortgaged to pay our tithing.” I love our youth for their faith and devotion.

Tuesday, June 8, 1982, dawned bright and clear in London, England. It was destined to be an historic day. A spirit of excitement permeated the very air and filled expectant hearts with keen anticipation. The President of the United States of America had arrived in Great Britain and soon would be addressing Parliament. Crowds gathered for the occasion, filled the streets and overflowed the nearby park. Uniformed policemen maintained order while famous Big Ben chimed its proud and clarion call which marked the appointed hour.
My wife, Frances, and I stood midst the milling crowd. Then, suddenly, Parliament’s doors swung open, the Prime Minister and the President greeted the throng, entered their limousines, and the motorcade drove slowly away. The crowd gave a mighty cheer, then began to disperse. Frances and I walked from the sunbathed street into the semi-dark, yet welcome, refuge of Westminster Abbey.
A reverence filled this world-famous edifice, as it should. For here, kings are crowned, royalty wedded, and rulers, whose mission of mortality has ended, are honored then buried. We walked along the aisleways, thoughtfully reading the inscriptions which marked the tombs of the famous. We remembered their achievements, recalled their deeds of valor, and marked their well-earned places in the world’s history. Then we paused before the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, one of many who fell in France during the Great War. From an unmarked grave, the body of this fallen youth had been brought to London to forever lie in honor. I read aloud the inscriptions: “They buried him among the kings because he had done good toward God and toward His house.” “In Christ shall all be made alive.”
Toward the doorway we walked. Still visible in the park beyond were the remnants of the crowd. The immortal words of Rudyard Kipling coursed through my mind and spoke to my soul:
The tumult and the shouting dies,
The captains and the kings depart;
Still stands thine ancient sacrifice:
An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget, lest we forget.
(“Recessional”; see also Hymns, no. 77.)
One final marker to see, one more inscription to read. As a Scouter, I had come from America to view the plaque of honor dedicated to the memory of Scouting’s founder, Lord Baden-Powell. We stood before the magnificent marble memorial and noted the words:
Robert Baden-Powell, 1857–1941
Founder of the Boy Scouts
Friend of all the World
On that day during this year which commemorates the 75th anniversary of Scouting and the 125th anniversary of its founder, I pondered the thought, “How many boys have had their lives blessed—even saved—by the Scout movement begun by Baden-Powell?” Unlike others memorialized within the walls of Westminster Abbey, Baden-Powell had neither sailed the stormy seas of glory, conquered in conflict the armies of men, nor founded empires of worldly wealth. Rather, he was a builder of boys, one who taught them well how to run and win the race of life.

Driving one of the 40 wagons in the Joseph W. Young wagon train, Zeb rolled out of Salt Lake City around April 23, 1861. Three other trains left too, making 200 wagons total heading east that week.
The Utah trains did not travel empty. “In my wagon,” Zeb wrote, “I had a couple of ladies to take East; they are going to Boston.” But his delight in escorting the ladies was short-lived. A westbound company brought news from “the States” that civil war had broken out, so the ladies decided to return to Utah with that company.