Gospel Story Finder

Allow me to share a very personal experience which taught me this important truth.

Shortly after being called as a stake president, I felt a strong spiritual prompting to make some changes to the stake high council. I received a very strong impression that I should call a convert brother, a highly successful businessman, who had never before served on a high council. However, this brother had recently been diagnosed with a terminal brain tumor, and doctors said his life expectancy was less than a year. I felt confused wondering why I would receive such a prompting, because I could see with my eyes his condition and hear with my ears his prognosis. It made no sense to call someone whose capacity to serve was diminishing day-by-day and would likely not be with us for very long. I initially resisted the prompting, trying to rationalize in my mind that I felt bad for this good brother and was just trying to provide what help I could. We discussed it as a presidency and we each felt the same prompting, but our mortal minds kept telling us this made no sense.

Over the course of a few weeks, each time we met as a presidency, the Spirit became more intense. We finally agreed that we should issue the call. Needless to say, I was anxious. We scheduled the good brother and his wife to come to my office. When they arrived, we visited for a moment and I expressed to them that I felt a little uneasy but indicated the Lord had revealed to me personally and to us as a stake presidency that we were to call this good brother to the stake high council. Immediately after issuing the call, his wife burst into tears. My heart sank and my mind said I had really made a mistake this time. After she regained her composure and wiped back the tears, she shared with us that she was shedding tears of joy because the call was an answer to prayer and a fulfillment of his patriarchal blessing. Later, she shared with me a portion of his blessing, which reads that if he was found worthy he would be called to sit on the high councils of the Church. She explained that while he was going through treatments and various trials that she would read his blessing, often wondering how this line would be fulfilled since he was fighting so hard just to survive. On later reflection, she said, “It was a very amazing time in our lives to see how many people were touched by what our family was going through and what David had to endure. We had miracle after miracle, and I know it was because we were trying to fulfill our promises to the Lord with what we knew before we ever got to this earth.” David left us 13 years ago. I learned last night. Today is his birthday. He would have been 61.

“Trust in the Lord . . . and lean not unto thine own understanding.” [27]

I was twelve years old when my grandfather died. To me he was the epitome of a saint—kindly, gentle, purely good.
His death was difficult for me to believe, and it made me very sad. I had not only lost a friend but I was also convinced that somehow heaven had allowed him to die too early. In my childish (though enthusiastic) understanding of the gospel, I had been sure that he was destined to be a great leader in the Church before he left this world. He was a man of great charity, who had literally given his shoes to a beggar knocking at the door, his coat to another man who was colder than he. I was sure that his death came too early. He had too much more service to give.
As I look back now, I see that I equated service with high callings. So many of the Saints have a basic goodness, a charity that qualifies them to be disciples. But serving is not synonymous with position. Whether serving in a visible calling or in secluded corners, disciples follow the example of the Christ. A calling may formalize our work for him, but serving is a blessing available to all of us, whether officially called through the Church organization or in our daily association with others.
My grandfather tried to copy the Savior’s life. My grandfather’s life was not wasted. I was deeply affected by his life, and I’m sure many other people were also influenced by him. I will tell my own children about the patterns of goodness that emerged in his life in simple yet powerful ways. Any one of us can become a disciple by following examples of goodness as he did.

I read the account of a young man who had experienced some severe personal trials. In the course of a few months his brother died, then he lost his job, and finally his girlfriend broke up with him. Although he was feeling misunderstood by his boss and somewhat betrayed by his girlfriend, he didn’t lose his faith. In fact, he prayed to the Lord for counsel because he really wanted to be happy.

After praying, he opened the scriptures, determined to act on whatever verse he found. The book fell open to section 88 of the Doctrine and Covenants. Almost immediately he recognized a call to action contained in these words of scripture:

Cease to be idle; cease to be unclean; cease to find fault one with another; cease to sleep longer than is needful; retire to thy bed early, that ye may not be weary; arise early, that your bodies and your minds may be invigorated.
And above all things, clothe yourselves with the bond of charity. [D&C 88:124–25]

As the young man pondered this counsel and applied it to his own situation, he realized that he could no longer sit around moping. He needed to be anxiously engaged in a good cause, like finding another job—and another girlfriend. There was a lot about his life that he decided to change, including his sleeping habits. He also decided to begin to pray for the gift of charity. This timely advice helped him put the past behind him and look forward to the future.

It was dusk as Micah knelt beside his bed with his younger brother, Noah, to say their prayers. He was still thinking about their neighbor, an older man named Sam. Just then Mom appeared in the doorway.
“I’m glad you two are going to say your prayers,” she said, smiling at the two brothers.
“I’m going to include Sam in my prayers tonight,” Micah said. “I’m going to ask him to come to church with us on Sunday, and I want Heavenly Father’s help when I ask him.”
“Do you think he will come to church with us?” Noah asked. “Our Primary teacher told us that Heavenly Father will be pleased when we invite our neighbors to go to church.”
“I know that Heavenly Father will help you ask Sam,” Mom said.
The next morning Micah and Noah awoke early. They were excited to talk with Sam. Sam had lived next door to Micah and Noah’s family long before Micah and Noah were born. Micah knew Sam had been very lonely since his wife died.
The boys made their beds without being reminded and quickly ate their breakfast before heading out the door.
“Are you scared?” Noah asked Micah.
“No. I think Sam is going to say yes,” Micah replied. “Well, maybe I’m a little scared,” he added.
The two ran toward Sam’s house. Micah was sure that Noah was as nervous as he was. What if Sam said no? What if Sam wouldn’t want to be their friend anymore and stopped taking them and Dad fishing?
They walked in silence up to Sam’s front door. Just as they knocked at the door, someone walked around the side of the house. “Hello, boys!” he said, walking toward them. “What are you two up to today?” Even though a large straw hat hid his face, the boys knew from the voice that it was Sam. And they knew that he was smiling.
“We came to visit you,” Micah said.
“Yeah,” Noah said. He quickly added, “Micah has something to ask you.”
Micah’s heart pounded in his chest. He took a deep breath and blurted out, “Will you come to church with us tomorrow? You can ride with us—we have plenty of room—and you can sit with us at church.”
“Well, I see your family leaving for church every Sunday, and I haven’t been to a church in a long time,” Sam said. “I think that would be OK for me to go to church with you this Sunday.”
“Yea!” both boys exclaimed at the same time.
Noah said, “We leave at 9:30. We’ll pick you up then!”
As the boys ran home, Micah turned and called to Sam, who was still smiling. “See you tomorrow morning at 9:30!”
As they entered their house, Mom and Dad were waiting for them.
“What did Sam say?” Dad asked. “Is he going to church with us?”
Micah grinned. “Yes. We said we’d pick him up at 9:30.”
That night when they said their prayers, Noah and Micah remembered to thank Heavenly Father for helping them ask Sam to go to church with them.
“I feel really happy,” Micah said.
“I do too,” Noah said.
The two boys climbed into their beds, and Micah remembered something their bishop had said in sacrament meeting the week before: “Every member a missionary!”

When I arrived on Sunday morning, I was well received by the members. I was impressed with the organization of the Church. I felt peace and joy in my heart during the meetings, and I asked the missionaries to come to my house to teach me. I returned home and told my mother that I had found the right religion.
The missionaries taught me about the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ. I already knew the story of Joseph Smith, so when they invited me to pray to learn the truth, I told them I had already received an answer and told them about my experience. They were impressed with my testimony and suggested a date, May 15, 2004, for my baptism. In the meantime, my friend Julyette was also baptized. My baptism was the greatest joy of my life, and my friend and I are very happy we found the true Church of Jesus Christ.

In the October general conference of 1969, President Kimball related the following:
“When I was a youngster, a stirring challenge came to me that moved me not a little. I cannot remember who issued the challenge nor under what circumstances it came. I remember only that it struck me like a ‘bolt out of the blue heavens.’ The unknown voice postulated:
“‘The “Mormon Church” has stood its ground for the first two generations—but wait till the third and fourth and succeeding generations come along! The first generation fired with a new religion developed a great enthusiasm for it. Surrounded with bitterness, calumny of a hostile world, persecuted “from pillar to post,” they were forced to huddle together for survival. There was good reason to expect they would live and die faithful to their espoused cause.
“‘The second generation came along born to enthusiasts, zealots, devotees. They were born to men and women who had developed great faith, were inured to hardships and sacrifices for their faith. They inherited from their parents and soaked up from religious homes the stuff of which the faithful are made. They had full reservoirs of strength and faith upon which to draw.
“‘But wait till the third and fourth generations come along,’ said the cynical voice. ‘The fire will have gone out—the devotion will have been diluted—the sacrifice will have been nullified—the world will have hovered over them and surrounded them and eroded them—the faith will have been expended and the religious fervor leaked out.’
“That day I realized that I was a member of the third generation. That day I clenched my growing fists. I gritted my teeth and made a firm commitment to myself that here was one ‘third generation’ who would not fulfill that dire prediction.” (Improvement Era, November 1943, p. 678.)
The records show that President Kimball did clench his growing fists and dig in to become a faithful Church member whose destiny and divine purpose may well have been greater than he could have known.

It’s one thing to hear on the news about problems of third-world countries. It’s another to experience those problems firsthand. But that’s exactly what Kylie Hargreaves, 17, of Devonport Ward in Tasmania did last year when she was chosen to represent Tasmania on a two-week study tour of Zimbabwe in Africa.
“I learned that many places face enormous challenges just to have food for everyone, just to have good living conditions, just to have the opportunity for people to work,” Kylie says. “But I also made some wonderful friends, and learned that people can be happy without a lot of material possessions. I also learned that, wherever you go, we’re all sons and daughters of God.”

Recently at a stake conference, Elder Charles “Tiny” Grant, one of our fine regional representatives, shared an experience with us. He said that some years ago while he was the football coach at Ricks College, he met a man named Hal Barton, who was famous for his love of fishing. He was warned, however, that “although Hal knows where to find the big fish, he often goes into strong waters to find them.”

Their first opportunity to go fishing together was in February as the ice was breaking up. As they walked together up the river, Hal pointed to an island about 50 yards away and said, “Coach, that is where we will find the big ones.” The day was cold, and now they had to cross a dangerous part of the river. The coach soon discovered that the rocks were round and slick, and the water was only inches from the top of his waders. Since he is six feet five inches tall, that meant it was deep. He was about to tell Hal that he was afraid he couldn’t cross the water, but realized that the football coach could not admit that he was afraid.

Just then Hal said, “Coach, this is how we are going to cross the water. You take a step and get a firm footing while I hold your hand and arm steady. Then I will take a step while you stand firmly and furnish the support. We will work our way through this roiling, swift water over these slippery rocks.” With this mutual support, they crossed the river safely and caught the big ones.

Many, many years ago, woodcutters went deep into the jungle of Chiapas, Mexico, in search of precious wood. Because of the difficult terrain, they could not take their families with them. When they finally reached their work site, the men raised temporary rustic huts of thick branches, roofed with palm leaves.
Night after night, after long days of woodcutting, the men would sit around the fire and talk or sing. The songs they had learned from their ancestors floated away on the night wind. But the men were lonely, and there was sadness and even bitterness in their voices. There was a great need for some cheerful music to accompany the sad choruses that penetrated the jungle.
Among the woodcutters was a handsome young boy named Quetzal Feather. This boy loved the murmur of the jungle more than anything or anyone in the whole world.
One evening as the sun was about to set, Quetzal Feather went deep into the jungle. He was guided by the music of the wind in the foliage. Suddenly he stopped. He thought he heard the sound of voices high in the branches. He went forward cautiously until he was almost at the foot of a tasseled palm. The palm was speaking sadly to a majestic-looking silk-cotton tree.
Quetzal Feather hardly breathed as he listened to what the trees were saying.
“My friend,” said the palm, “because of my great height, I can see the place from where those heartrending songs come. Just before nightfall, I saw the woodcutters with their eyes fixed upon the jungle. How sadly they sang!”
The robust silk-cotton tree shook its branches in protest. “Man should not live sunken in sadness!” it declared.
“We should do something,” responded the palm tree.
Quetzal Feather, hidden in the underbrush, listened in wonderment to the conversation. Then, he heard another voice, shy and nervous. It sent a shiver through him as he strained to catch every word.
“Friends and companions,” said the voice humbly, “the sad songs of the woodcutters have moved me to my very roots. But—perhaps I can do something to help.”
Quetzal Feather poked his head out of the underbrush and saw the tree that had just spoken. It was an hormiguillo tree that stood not far from the stately palm.
The great silk-cotton tree answered first, a little doubtfully. “If you can help, please do so!” it begged.
“Yes,” agreed the palm, “but what can you do? How can you lift the sadness from the woodcutters’ hearts?”
“For a long time now,” began the hormiguillo tree with more self-assurance, “I have been storing under my bark the torrent of nature’s harmony. For a long time I have held the songs of the birds and the cricket, the murmur of wind and rain, and the sound of water cascading over rocks. I have treasured up in me the soft sound of doves in flight and the roar of the tempest.”
Suddenly, before Quetzal Feather had time to realize what the tree had said, beautiful chords began to come from the hormiguillo tree.
“What music is this?” Quetzal Feather asked himself in amazement. “Even the jungle trembles in delight!”
The branches of the palm and the silk-cotton tree swayed in surprised and happy approval.
Trembling with excitement, Quetzal Feather fled from the underbrush. He wished to tell the woodcutters all that he had heard.
But the woodcutters did not believe him, judging him to be a strange and imaginative boy. Wearily they entered their huts for a night’s rest. And Quetzal Feather was left by the dying fire, alone and confused. Then just before sunrise he arose and ran straight as an arrow to the place where he had hidden in the underbrush the night before. The hormiguillo tree was silent now, yet in spite of its silence, some strange love kept Quetzal Feather beside the tree.
Days and nights passed, but the youth, hugging the hormiguillo tree, heard not a single happy note of the heavenly music he had heard before.
The woodcutters were very fond of Quetzal Feather, in spite of what they thought were the boy’s strange imaginings, and they tried to persuade him to leave the tree. But it was of no use. “The tree has bewitched him,” the Old Ones said sadly.
At last, Quetzal Feather became so weak and tired that he fell asleep at the foot of the tree.
“Now,” said the oldest woodcutter, “we can help him. While he sleeps deeply, we will cut the tree down and free him from his bewitchment.”
With their sharpened axes, the woodcutters began to chop at the hormiguillo tree. But to their great surprise and fear, beautiful musical sounds came from the tree at each stroke of their axes.
Quetzal Feather, hearing the music, awoke and clung to the wounded tree that seemed to be moaning with pain.
“Finish cutting me down at once!” begged the hormiguillo tree. “Take my wood. It is full of harmony!”
The next day when Quetzal Feather gathered up the pieces of the fallen tree, he discovered to his great delight that the sticks of wood when tapped by other sticks sent out beautiful happy chords.
Day and night he worked without rest until he had arranged the small pieces of the hormiguillo tree into a rustic instrument.
Thus the noble forest of Chiapas had furnished a lively and happy accompaniment to the tired and sad voices of the woodcutters. The marimba was born, and to this day men search the jungles of Chiapas and Guatemala for the musical wood of the hormiguillo tree.

It was a beautiful Sunday morning, and Chris Tollstrup was glad to be going to church with his family—Dad, Mom, Annie, Ryan, and Nicholas. They all just fit on one of the side benches in the chapel. During sacrament meeting, and especially when the bread and water were being passed by the deacons, Chris tried to think about the Savior, as his parents had taught him.
Afterward he went to his Primary class and was greeted by his teacher and friends. The teacher began the lesson by holding up several drawings and asking the class what they thought Jesus Christ would do if he saw each of the situations pictured.
One was a picture of a little girl who had fallen down and skinned her knee. There were also pictures of a boy finding a wallet with a lot of money in it, a beach covered with garbage, a girl eating all alone in the lunchroom at school, a child lost in a shopping mall, and a mother feeling overwhelmed by all the housework she had to do. It wasn’t too hard to decide that in each case Christ would be helpful, loving, honest, and kind.
In Chris’s neighborhood, the garbage is collected on Monday. The truck that comes to pick up and empty the garbage cans always seems to drop some trash along the side of the road as it goes from house to house. On the Monday after the lesson about following the Savior’s example, Chris’s Primary teacher was driving home after work. She noticed Chris halfway up the street, lugging a garbage bag that was almost full and nearly as big as he was. She slowed down and watched for a minute. He was picking up the paper and other trash the truck had dropped that day and was putting it in the bag. She rolled down the window of her car and asked, “Chris, what are you doing?”
“Do you remember the picture of the beach we looked at in Primary class yesterday?” he asked. “Well, I’m trying to do what Jesus Christ might do if he saw our street today.”

In 1895, the queen was woefully forced into house arrest in an upper room in the ‘Iolani Palace. Few were allowed to visit her. My grandmother, Abraham’s wife, Minerva, was one of them. During these visits, she talked about her newfound faith. After years of missionary work with her, Abraham baptized Queen Liliuokalani in the Hamohamo River near her home in Waikiki in 1906. They were leaders of the church in Hawaii from that point. While Abraham was the first counselor to President Samuel E. Wooley, my grandmother was the relief society president over the island for many years.

In about March 1991 in La Ceiba, on the north central coast of Honduras, missionaries were teaching a family, but the family lost interest after two lessons. Then in July, two lady missionaries found a record of the family and went back to visit. When they arrived, the mother in the family was weeping, and they asked her what the problem was. She told them about a dream in which she saw her twenty-year-old son, who had heard the first two lessons with the family but had died a month before the sisters’ visit. In the dream, her son had told her, “You and Dad must get baptized so I can get baptized.” And she asked them, “How can a dead person be baptized?” There was joy in that household when the family heard the rest of the missionary lessons. Four of them were baptized in August 1991.

Perhaps a simple story from the Compton family will help illustrate this point. When our most amazing, wonderful, and talented daughter, Marissa (I was required to use these adjective in order to tell this story) was 11 or 12, she came to me one evening and asked if she could have her ears pierced. The thought occurred to me that it would be unwise to answer her. Marissa was entering a period of adolescence, and it was important for her to grow more thoughtful about the influence that her peers and culture had on her. Having already traveled down that path some years previously, her mother and I knew the kind of growth and development that would be beneficial in Marissa's life at this time. As her anxious parent/teacher, I could have leapt forward with a detailed answer. Instead, I invited Marissa to try and answer her own question by giving it some additional thought. I challenged her to compose a thesis and prepare to defend it. A week or two later she retuned with her this that concluded that it was okay to have her ears pierced because of the human need for artistic expression and cultural experimentation. I remember commenting that her perspective positioned the body as a an artist's canvas and piercing ears was a way to paint. We had a lively discussion that extended to the appropriate number of ear piercings, tattooing, and other subjects. This process formed an invitation for Marissa to think through her question more thoroughly instead of relying on her father for answers to questions that she had not yet fully formed in her mind and heart. Think of what Marissa would have lost if I had simply answered her question and told her what to do. We would have missed the opportunity to have a rich conversation that was instrumental to our relationship and to her growth and development.

I am so grateful that when the Lord established this Church, He gave us the law of tithing. I talked at one time with an officer of another church which, I understand, relies on the playing of bingo for a substantial part of its income. I said to this man, “Have you ever considered tithing to finance your church?” He replied, “Yes, and oh, how I wish that we might follow this practice instead of playing bingo. But I do not expect this change in my lifetime.”

But it was his commitment to love every person that thrilled Church members. One day a Sunday School class of youth came several miles to see him, by appointment, but he had just rushed off to the hospital where his brother, Thomas E. McKay, lay near death. The following Sunday, miles away from his office, there was a knock on the door of the Sunday School classroom. When the teacher opened the door, there stood President McKay. He had come to meet the class and apologize for being gone the day they had come to see him.
After explaining why he was not in his office that day, he shook hands with the teacher and with each of the children. “I want you to know,” he said, “that the president of the Church keeps his appointments if at all possible.”

One day on the school bus, Rachel Chase and Lauren Smith, both in the Acworth Ward seminary, were talking about what a good seminary lesson they had that day. Curtis Clinch repeated something his pastor had told him about the Latter-day Saints being one of the fastest growing religions.
Rachel agreed and said, “It kind of makes you think, doesn’t it, Curtis?”
He answered, “Yeah, it kind of does.”
Rachel asked, “Do you want to come to seminary with us?” Instead of Curtis answering, Heidi Hetzer, another friend who had been listening to their conversation, surprised them by saying, “Oh, I do.” Rachel arranged to pick up both Curtis and Heidi, and they have been going ever since—especially after their baptisms a couple of months later.

Heidi said, “I’ve known Rachel and her brother, Stephen, since they moved to Georgia. I’ve seen how close their family is. And I’ve known other members. They all seem happier than the rest of us. I’ve been interested in the Church for a while, but I didn’t have the opportunity to learn more. So when Rachel was talking to Curtis and invited him to seminary, I just said I wanted to come. After that first day in seminary, I went to school with a newfound happiness. Since then, it’s been lasting.”

In fact, on her baptism day, Rachel’s dad noticed her happy attitude. And her friends asked if she was wearing different makeup or something because she had a glow about her.

Heidi said, “Rachel invited me over to talk to the missionaries, and I went to a fireside that same night. I dove right into the Church.”

Sometimes we have so many ideas and thoughts to share that we give in to the temptation to tell a lot of stories that have nothing in common. While they may all be effective if given at the proper time, their value is lost when given with many other unrelated stories. This results in the following situation:
A farmer stepped into the town hall to hear the visiting speaker. The talk went on so long, however, that he sauntered outside for a bit of fresh air. A neighbor passing by asked, “Jim, what is he talking about?”
“I don’t know,” came the reply. “He hasn’t said.”

by Hazel Loyd
One hundred and fifty young men and women from the Friendswood Texas Stake made one last annual trip to the Mesa Temple. The stake had been assigned to that temple district. In the future, they will make the trip to the Dallas Temple.
All who participated returned buoyed up by their experiences in the temple. They were able to perform over 8,000 baptisms. During a testimony meeting in the temple chapel, many were moved to bear their testimonies for the first time before their friends. As a result, some of the planned recreational activities were canceled in favor of spending more time in the temple.

In 1982, six years after receiving my patriarchal blessing, our son Christian was born. He was premature and delivered through cesarean section. He weighed only 800 grammes, and the doctors gave us very little hope. To their astonishment, Christian made great progress after receiving a priesthood blessing by my husband.
On the third day after his birth, I was to visit him. How I longed to see my son! I woke up at 2:30 A.M. With tears streaming down my cheeks, I pleaded with the Lord, “Heavenly Father, please don’t let him die! I want to keep him so much,” adding, “But if that is not according to Thy will, Father, I accept that.”
Later that same morning, my husband came and told me that our son had died at 2:45 A.M. It was a grievous loss, and we wept and prayed together. In answer to our prayers, we felt surrounded by a warmth and peace.

There was a time when I didn’t want to be around a girl in my Young Women class. Some of her behaviors didn’t seem very appropriate to me. I asked myself, “Why is she like that?”

Then in a conference, someone talked about how we shouldn’t see people as they are but for who they can become. That hit me hard. I decided to try and see the good things about this young woman. She participated in class. She was willing to come to church even though she and her sister were the only active members in their family. She was willing to come to activities, even when her sister wasn’t as willing.

When I started looking for good things about this young woman, I felt like I was no longer seeing her with my earthly eyes. I felt like I was seeing her through the eyes of God, the way He would see her.