Gospel Story Finder

They were strangers in a strange land, upon their own resources, separated from home aid and home news by a month’s travel, with no precedent to follow, no headquarters in Britain to communicate with, no human source of advice or direction. The work was before them. The task loomed mountain-high—everything to do, no trails broken, no paths beaten (Richard L. Evans, A Century of “Mormonism” in Great Britain, Deseret News Press, 1937, p. 22).
It was summer of 1837 when Heber C. Kimball and his associates stepped for the first time onto English soil. They were penniless and, as they walked the streets of Liverpool, were becoming increasingly worried about the difficulty of spreading the gospel in England. They were pioneering a work, marking a trail, beating a path that literally thousands would follow by accepting the message of the restored gospel.

Although as disciples of Christ we may know we are right, there are times when insisting or demanding that others recognize our correctness would simply cause unneeded offense. And even worse, it could become a stumbling block in someone else’s spiritual progression.

A wonderful example of this meekness and unwillingness to become a stumbling block is found in this experience of President James E. Faust (1920–2007), a former counselor in the First Presidency. “His son, Marcus, talked … about going with him to the Washington, D.C., temple to participate in a temple [endowment] session. When President Faust presented his recommend for admission—a special one used by general authorities—the temple worker didn’t recognize him or the recommend and denied him access. ‘Rather than embarrassing the man by telling him who he was, Dad politely excused himself and we all left.’”7

Tommy stood at the window looking out at the drifted snow. He sighed a long, loud sigh. The snow hadn’t melted a bit since yesterday. He was tired of winter.
“That was a mighty big sigh for a small boy,” Grandpa said.
Tommy looked at Grandpa who had just come into the room. Then he looked back out the window at the snow and said, “I don’t like winter. I can’t go outside and play. The snow just stays in heaps and mounds all over the yard.”
“It does stay snowy and cold,” Grandpa agreed.
“I can’t even fly my kite, it’s so cold and wet outside,” Tommy complained.
Grandpa laughed.
But Tommy was still cross. “I wish I could push winter so far away that it would never come again.”
“Never have winter!” Grandpa was astonished.
“I don’t know what good it is,” Tommy said. “So I wish it would never come again. Then I wouldn’t have to keep waiting through winter.”
Grandpa put his hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “Why don’t you get your coat and cap? The sun is out for awhile and we can go for a walk and see about the winter you don’t like.”
Tommy bundled up and met Grandpa, who smiled at him as they went outside together.
They had gone only as far as the front walk when Grandpa stopped. He pulled a branch of the maple tree down close to Tommy’s face.
“See those shiny brown bumps?” he asked.
Tommy looked closely at the branch and nodded his head.
“Those are leaf buds,” Grandpa said. “The tree is just waiting for the bright sunshine to melt the snow so that the water will go down to its deep roots. Without water, the tree can’t make its leaves open for spring. It would stay bare and brown forever.”
After they had walked a little farther, Grandpa stopped again. This time he bent close to the ground and pushed away the snow. Tommy could see some bright green shoots poking right up out of the ground.
“These are spring crocuses and hyacinths,” Grandpa said. “The snow has already melted deep enough into the soil to wake them up. They’re only waiting for the sunshine to tell them it’s time to grow taller.”
Grandpa pushed the snow back over the shoots and stood up. “Let’s go this way,” he said, pointing up the street.
They had gone only as far as the corner when Grandpa stopped. Beside the wall of a house he showed Tommy a spot of brown earth where the snow had melted.
Grandpa poked at the brown earth. Tommy poked at it too.
“See how soft and damp the soil is already,” Grandpa asked. “It’s just waiting for the sunshine to warm the seeds so they can burst into life.”
Tommy walked beside Grandpa. And Grandpa said, “Soon the snow will melt and make ponds where wild ducks and geese can live. It will fill streams where fish live. And, most important of all, it will melt into water for all of us to drink.”
Tommy nodded his head up and down. He looked at the snow that still lay in heaps and mounds all over the lawn and laughed right out loud.
“Now that I understand how important winter is,” Tommy said, “I won’t mind having to wait through it after all.”

As child, I learned that God gives us gifts that allow us to bless others (see Moroni 10:8–18). I prayed, “Heavenly Father, what gift can I develop that will bless Thy children?”
At age 16, I began to study singing at the encouragement of the director of the local conservatory. “You have a beautiful voice,” she told me.
When the audience applauded after my first vocal performance, a phrase came clearly to my mind: “This is your gift.” I wept because my prayer had been answered. In my country, however, it can be difficult to make a living as a musician. But I knew that the Lord prepares a way. So, I continued to study singing, seeking to become the best I could be.
When I was 19, I was given a scholarship to study abroad. That opportunity and similar chances, however, failed to materialize. In hindsight, I can see that the Lord wanted me to stay in Ecuador.
People told me I had no future in music because I had no prestigious foreign education, wealth, or name recognition. But I knew that God had a plan for me, so I put my talent toward serving in the Church, where I formed choirs, directed music, and tried to inspire others to develop their gifts and talents.
Later, when I was offered work at a television station, I worried about temptations associated with the entertainment industry. But the answer to my prayers was, “Accept the job and show you can be an artist without compromising your standards.”
I have worked as a television artistic production assistant, as an assistant choral director for the Symphonic Choir of Guayaquil, and on the board of the Ecuadoran House of Culture for the province of Guayas.
I testify that it is possible to fulfill our dreams without sacrificing our principles. Today my name is recognized in my country and in my profession—thanks to my commitment to live the gospel and develop the gifts Heavenly Father has given me.
When we obey our Father’s will, the impossible becomes possible (see Matthew 19:26). I know He loves us and wants to help us develop our gifts to bless others.

One day when my companion and I went to visit a recent convert in Colombo, Brazil, the house was full of family members. It was crowded, but they still invited us to share a message. We were about to start when the convert’s brother came in. He was not a member of our Church and was not happy about our visit. He seemed to find any way he could to contradict us.
He had a notebook of all the members of his congregation and their sicknesses. He asked us if we believed in the gift of healing. “Of course we do,” we replied. “Well then,” he continued, “I’ve healed all the people in this notebook. How many people have you healed?”
We tried to explain the priesthood, faith, and how things happen according to God’s will, but after a few moments, we felt like we had been cornered and attacked.
Then “in the very moment” (D&C 100:6) we needed it, the Spirit whispered what to say. I explained that while we do believe in healing, our work as missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was to bring spiritual healing to those we taught, which healing is available only through accepting the Atonement of Jesus Christ through faith, repentance, baptism by immersion, receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost, and enduring to the end.
So while we believe in physical healing, we explained, the most important healing is spiritual healing. And that kind of healing was the kind we saw every day. It really didn’t matter if people were healed physically if they didn’t repent and change their lives to follow Christ.
As the Spirit guided us to respond in a calm manner, the tension in the room dispersed, the brother stopped trying to fight, and we were able to share our message.

Brother and Sister Rozsa soon realized their three identical sons presented them with some special opportunities. One family home evening the parents and daughters decided they would read the entire New Testament by the end of the year.
“We figured out how many pages a day we would have to read to finish and talked it over, never dreaming that the boys, who were only eight years old, would be able to read the New Testament,” recalls Sister Rozsa. “But they didn’t realize they weren’t really a part of the conversation, so they started reading along with us. By the end of the year, each one had finished the New Testament along with the rest of the family.”
Brother Rozsa, now serving as a member of the Los Angeles Temple presidency, says he feels this incident taught his sons a lot about success. “They learned very early that if they stuck with a task they could be successful at it. We believe in our family that you can do anything if you set priorities and then follow them.”

In my youth, I experienced the joy of coming closer to the Savior—and of His coming closer to me—through simple acts of obedience to the commandments. When I was young, the sacrament was offered during an evening meeting. I can still remember one specific night, more than 75 years ago, when it was dark and cold outside. I remember a feeling of light and warmth as I realized that I had kept the commandment to gather with the Saints to partake of the sacrament, covenanting with our Heavenly Father to always remember His Son and keep His commandments.
At the end of the meeting that night, we sang the hymn “Abide with Me; ’Tis Eventide,” with the memorable words “O Savior, stay this night with me.”
These words brought an overwhelming sense of the Spirit to me, even as a young boy. I felt the Savior’s love and closeness that evening through the comfort of the Holy Ghost.

Even in an emergency it pays to be careful. One time several of my friends and I decided to take a short vacation in the Tetons. We had not realized that with several people and all their luggage in the car, we would not get the gas mileage we had expected. Consequently, we ran out of gasoline in a mountainous area some distance from any town. Our only hope of getting gas before nightfall was to get help from a passing motorist. So we set about to flag down a car. Two men finally stopped for us, local boys who seemed harmless enough. Nevertheless, several of us went along to find a service station, because we felt there was safety in numbers. Well, the men were harmless enough, but the bottle of liquor they brought out soon after we were on our way was not. They drank during the whole 20 miles or so that we traveled to find gasoline, and by the time we arrived, they were quite drunk. We could have been in a terrible accident. Going back we waited and watched at the station until a family came by that was known to the station proprietor, and he asked them if they would give us a ride back to our car. Those few extra precautions made our return trip much more pleasant.

Eleven-year-old George Monk attended the temple dedication with his mother and grandmother. He saw “a man appear at the south-east circular window of the assembly hall of the Temple.” When he told his mother, he was surprised to hear her say she could not see him. As the meeting continued, he saw “two other [angelic personages moving] … across the upper part of the hall from south to north … and five others [who] had entered the large compartment and were ranged upon the wide ledge which runs along the wall under the row of circular windows.” He described them as “the prettiest men” he had ever seen. Just prior to the benediction, he said, “Mamma, look at that one under the clock, he is the prettiest of them all. See! he is holding up both his hands like this.” Then George held up his own hands to show his mother. In all, he saw eight angelic personages and described them as “dressed in loose flowing white robes” and “most, if not all, had long and somewhat wavy hair.”

I know of a man raised in India and educated in England as an attorney. He loved his native land and longed for the time that she would be free from the domination of Great Britain. Most of his life he lived in a mud hut that had no electric lights, no running water, no telephone. He didn’t own an automobile, and he never sought or held a public office. By some he was thought to be the most Christ-like person who had ever lived, and yet he was not even a Christian. To India he was the “Mahatma” or “The Great Soul.” He described himself as a “self-remade man.”

When Britain was struggling for survival against the Axis powers during World War II, and some prominent Indian leaders wanted to revolt and throw off her authority, he said, “We will not steal even our independence.” In his efforts to stop the continual fighting between India and Pakistan he often subjected himself to prolonged fasts. During one of those lengthy ordeals a medical doctor tried to get him to take a small portion of beef broth, to which he commented, “Even for life itself we may not do certain things. There is only one course open to me—to die, but never to break my pledge.” And as they begged him to eat or drink, fearing for his life, for his kidneys had begun to fail, he simply said, “Life is more than science and God more than chemistry” (see Sterling W. Sill, The Glory of the Sun [Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1961], pp. 309–10).

Someone has said, “When Cicero speaks, the people say, ‘How eloquent!’ When Demosthenes speaks, the people say, ‘Come, let us march!’” When this humble Indian went out from his house to walk, multitudes followed him. Thousands were willing to submit to death rather than take up arms against their enemies because he did not believe in violence, but rather in the principles of peace and love.

On 30 July 1948, as he hurried to the village prayer ground, blessing the people as he went, a religious fanatic shot and killed him. The Mahatma was gone. His name was Mohandas K. Gandhi. Only one man! Yet through his efforts, India was granted her freedom. The name Gandhi will live on forever—in the annals of time.

While the men worked on a shallop (small open boat) from the ship, hauling it up onto the beach for repairs, the women went ashore to wash clothes. After the shallop was repaired, Miles Standish, the military captain of the colony, with Captain Jones and a group of men, most of them Pilgrims, set out to explore. Daily they prayed for guidance.
On December 21, the travelers stepped ashore at the site of a deserted Indian village. Old and weathered cornstalks rattled in the breeze where land had been cleared. A brook sparkled and babbled down a hillside. Nearby was an excellent harbor. In one field was a great hill that commanded a view of the sea and land roundabout. Why the place had been deserted was a mystery.
“We’ll build our new Plymouth here,” Captain Standish announced.
When they returned to the Mayflower, William White looked anxiously about the deck for his wife, Susanna. Then he saw her coming toward him. Placing a tiny bundle in his arms, she said, “My husband, our little son was born while you were gone.”
Tenderly, William uncovered the tiny pink face. “So our little traveler has arrived,” he said, beaming.
Standing by, Governor Carver exclaimed, “Aye, William, your little son is the first white child we know of to be born in New England. He should be called Peregrine (traveler).”
“Peregrine White,” William mused. “That is what he shall be called.” Then noticing Ellen’s eager upturned face, he asked, “Do you want to hold the baby?”
“Oh, yes!” she exclaimed. Gently he laid the bundle in her arms, and Ellen smiled with pleasure.

You have had such experiences. It may have been when you chose to attend a sacrament meeting. It was for me on a Sabbath when I was very young. In those days we received the sacrament during an evening meeting. The memory of one day more than 65 years ago, when I kept the commandment to gather with my family and with the Saints, still draws me closer to the Savior.
It was dark and cold outside. I remember feeling light and warmth in the chapel that evening with my parents. We partook of the sacrament, administered by Aaronic Priesthood holders, covenanting with our Heavenly Father to always remember His Son and keep His commandments.
At the end of the meeting we sang the hymn “Abide with Me; ’Tis Eventide,” with the words in it “O Savior, stay this night with me.”3
I felt the Savior’s love and closeness that evening. And I felt the comfort of the Holy Ghost.

Several Church leaders from Tahiti who recently visited Taenga were impressed by the strong feeling of security on the island and the overwhelming spirituality that exists among the entire population. “This is what paradise is all about,” commented Georges Bonnet, the Church’s regional manager for temporal affairs.
One morning Brother Bonnet was awakened by an unusual sound. When he got up and looked out, he discovered the sisters of the Relief Society sweeping away the leaves that had fallen onto the village road during the night. “I’ve never seen such cleanliness,” he observed. “The entire village is spotless, and it is obvious that the people take great pride in their island.”

Tino and Quim both found treasures of spiritual strength in the mission field. Quim recalls trying to teach one widow whose husband had spent much of his life as a missionary for another church. The woman had agreed to listen to the missionary discussions because her daughter was a Latter-day Saint. As one of the discussions progressed, however, she found it too difficult to accept the idea that the teachings of her church were not correct. “Elder Moreira,” she said, “I don’t want to hear any more of this doctrine. I am going to labor to finish the missionary work my husband started!”
Quickly, Quim offered a silent prayer, asking what to say. He was inspired to assure the woman that her husband had already accepted the gospel in the spirit world.
Later, the woman’s daughter told Quim that after saying her own personal prayers that evening, she lay meditating on how she could help her mother accept the gospel. Suddenly, “I saw my father in my room. He said, ‘That missionary spoke the truth, and I want your mother to be baptized.’”
Because of her daughter’s experience, the mother agreed to listen to the missionaries again. This time, there was a different spirit about her; she was baptized a week later.

Michael: “When I started going to school, I had a hard time with it because my parents told me about God, but everybody around me—students and teachers—tried to tell me there was no God at all.”

Peter: “In citizenship classes in school we were taught atheism as official policy. They made fun of religion in class and said if you belonged to a religious organization, you were working against the government. The government was more or less worshipped.”

Parents taught one thing; society often taught the opposite. Like LDS teens everywhere, the Lehmann brothers had to find out for themselves. “We had a really good home,” Peter recalls. “I kind of recognized the importance of doing what my parents wanted me to do. Still, with all of the experiences I had in school—people and teachers gave us a hard time and wanted me to get up and deny God—I said to myself, ‘We’re doing all this stuff. Why? There’s got to be something.’ I got on my knees and said, ‘I want to know for myself. I want to have the feeling in my heart.’

“I prayed and studied the Book of Mormon, and I got a testimony at that time, a little testimony that grew.”

“When I first learnt about the Church, I had no idea of a temple. At church, they always talked about it but there were no regular temple visits, because the closest temple was in South Africa, about a four-hour drive away. Two years later, a missionary couple from Utah took the initiative of taking members to the temple every fortnight. I was the first one to attend, along with the Relief Society president.
“After my first temple visit, I was a little confused but at the same time I wanted to learn more. From that time the branch started to make regular visits to the temple, and I always made sure I went along with the group.
“As a single widowed mother, I learned that I could be sealed to my deceased spouse for time and eternity. That gave me peace and comfort and reminded me of what the missionaries had taught me—that families can be together forever.
“Being sealed to my deceased family members was one of the most memorable, comforting, and peaceful experiences I have ever had.
“Visiting the temple regularly has also helped motivate me to do family history work for my deceased family members. These things have strengthened my faith and given me a stronger testimony about our Heavenly Father and His compassionate love.

Sister Allred was smiling wistfully when I looked at her again.
“What are you thinking about, Sister Allred?” I asked.
“Oh, I was just thinking about my son, Todd. When we had our farm, he was the best milker of all. I always told him that he’d grow up to be a great missionary.”
“What’s milking got to do with missionary work?” I asked.
“Milking a cow is pretty impossible unless she’s ready to let down her milk. Usually a cow will let down her milk when she’s contented and calm—maybe after a little grain feeding or someone washing her udder or when there’s a little soft music in the barn. Todd was gentle and patient not only with the cows but with everybody. I knew that he would be such a gentle, loving missionary that people would naturally let down their barriers against believing the gospel. Todd was gaining a strong testimony of the gospel too.”
“So where did Todd go on his mission?” I asked.
Sister Allred replied quietly. “One day when Todd was just about your age, he and his dad were delivering a load of cattle to a farmer. On a steep grade, the cattle suddenly shifted to one side, and the truck veered on the icy road and rolled into a ravine. Todd and my husband both died.”
“Oh!” we said together. Then we were silent, listening to the soft sounds of the last of Betsy’s milk filling the bucket.
“When I started teaching you,” Sister Allred continued, “I thought that maybe I’d be helping prepare some missionaries, after all.”
No one said a word until I asked, “Sister Allred, why did you say today was a special day for you?”
She smiled. “Today is Todd’s birthday. He would have been nineteen.”

I had an experience from which I learned a very important lesson that I should have learned earlier. I relived this experience last week when we were in Japan and concluded that I would talk about it in conference.
During World War II, I was a pilot in the Air Force. After service in the Pacific Islands, I spent a year in Japan with the occupational forces. It was, of course, advisable to learn a few words of Japanese. We needed at least to be able to ask directions, ask for something to eat. I learned the common greetings and a few of the numbers and the salutations, and like many other members of the Church, I spent all my off-duty hours in missionary work among the Japanese people; and I learned from them those few words of what I thought was a very difficult language.
In July of 1946, the first baptisms took place in Osaka. Brother and Sister Tatsui Sato were baptized. And while they had been taught for the most part by others, I was privileged to baptize Sister Sato.
Though we were not unhappy in Japan, there was really only one thing on our minds, and that was home! I had been away for nearly four years. The war was over, and I wanted to go home.
When that day finally arrived, I supposed never to return to Japan, and I just closed that chapter.
The next years saw me busy getting an education, raising a family. I was not around Japanese people and had no occasion to use those few words that I had learned. They were left in the dim and very distant past, erased by 26 years of forgetting—gone, as I thought, forever. Then came an assignment to Japan.
The morning after my arrival in Tokyo, I was leaving the mission home with President Abo when a Japanese elder spoke to him in Japanese. President Abo said that the matter was urgent and apologized for the delay.
He went through some papers with the elder, discussing them in Japanese. Then he held up one of the letters and, pointing to a sentence, he said, “Korewa …”
And before he could complete the sentence, I had completed it in my mind. Korewa nan desuka. I knew what he was saying. I knew what he was asking the elder. Korewa nan desuka means “What is this?” After 26 years, having been back in Japan only overnight, a sentence had come back into my mind—Korewa nan desuka, “What is this?”
I had not used those words in 26 years. I had thought that I should never use them again. But they were not lost. I spent ten days in Japan and concluded my tour in Fukuoka. The morning I was to leave, we drove to the airport with Brother and Sister Watanabe. I was in the backseat with their children practicing my long-lost words of Japanese on them. They, in delight, were teaching me some new ones.
And then I recalled a little song that I had learned those 26 years before, and I sang it to those children:
Momotaro-san, Momotaro-san
Okoshi ni tsuketa kibi dango
Hitotsu watashi ni kudasan na
I think the way I sang that may make Jerold Ottley, conductor of the Tabernacle Choir, sitting nearby, restless, but … Sister Watanabe said, “I know that song.” And so we sang it together to the little children and then she told me the meaning of it, and as she did so, I remembered that also.
It is the story of a Japanese couple who were childless, and they had prayed for a son. One day, in the stone of a large peach, they found a little boy and they named him Momotaro. The song recounts his heroism in saving his people from a terrible enemy.
I had known that song for 26 years, but I didn’t know that I knew it. I had never sung the song to my own children. I had never told them the story of it. It had been smothered under 26 years of attention to other things.
I have thought that a most important experience and realized finally that nothing good is ever lost. Once I got back among the people who spoke the language, all that I possessed came back and it came back very quickly. And I found it easier then to add a few more words to my vocabulary.

Riding horses is one of Denverr’s favorite things to do. He has learned how to bridle his horse, Little Jinx, and pull himself up into the saddle without any help. Denverr likes to go riding with his dad. Sometimes he gets to help out during the roundups. Once when Denverr and his dad were looking for cows, they came upon a newborn colt. The herd of horses had been moved, and the baby colt was too small to keep up with its mother. Denverr asked his dad to let him keep the colt and raise it. His dad agreed and helped Denverr take it back to the ranch. It was a palomino, so Denverr called it Banana.

Before I was baptized, I had led a youth group in many Sunday afternoon recreational activities, ranging from touch football to kite flying. I saw nothing wrong with it, even after I joined the Church. I felt it contributed to the solidarity of the group and increased camaraderie between the members. But one Sunday afternoon in particular caused me to think about what I was doing.
The group wanted to play ice hockey, but we were short of players. I had a great idea. Why not call the Harrisons—the branch president’s family? Four of their seven children were old enough to play. That would double our number, and it would be a good way to acquaint the youth with some Church members. I called Les, who was the oldest, and he eagerly agreed.
But as I stepped into the house while I was waiting for them to gather skates and extra jeans, I could sense something was wrong. President Harrison looked displeased, and Les looked bewildered, so I knew I had interrupted a serious discussion between the two of them. Finally the silence was broken when the president looked at me and said kindly that his children had their agency, but he didn’t approve, and did I know it was Sunday? Three of the four went with me, but I left the house feeling pretty guilty.