Gospel Story Finder

In Finland a woman, lost and lonely following the death of her husband, was found by missionaries who answered some of her questions. She said:
“I was amazed at their answers. They talked about a reunion with my husband. We had had a wonderful marriage, and I just couldn’t think that it would end just like that. My minister had given me no answers, but those young missionaries told me a beautiful concept of eternal life. I listened in tears and wanted to hear more.”
She studied and read the Book of Mormon, received a testimony, and was baptized.

I smile a little bit when I hear that now, because there is a fellow about my age that works up at the Church office near me, and he is trying to keep himself physically as well as spiritually fit. So every day he slips over to the Deseret Gym and the other day while he was working out by playing handball—and he is a very vigorous competitor—he reached for a ball that bounced out of the court, trying so hard to recover it that he snapped a hamstring muscle in his right leg. You know that that smarts a little bit.

Grabbing his leg, he hobbled back to the dressing room, showered, and then limped back to Church headquarters in excruciating pain. An elevator arrived, and who but President Kimball should get off? Seeing my friend nursing his limpy leg, he asked, “What’s the matter?”
My friend is kind of quick on the draw, and he replied, “President, I just snapped my hamstring muscle trying to lengthen my stride.” There is a lot to that.

In December 1991, Terry Anderson, an American journalist, was released after 2,455 days—nearly seven years—as a hostage in Lebanon. During a televised news conference, he was asked how he intended to help capture and punish his captors. Mr. Anderson replied that he had no intention of being involved in a pursuit of his kidnappers. “I’m a Christian … ,” Mr. Anderson said. “It’s required of me that I forgive, no matter how hard it may be. … I have a whole new life. It’s going to be happy.”1
Terry Anderson’s reply, perhaps disappointing to reporters seeking a sensational comment, reminds us that in a world often filled with anger and revenge, there are courageous people committed to the principle of forgiveness. Indeed, the sorrows of the entire world would be immeasurably lightened if more people would cultivate a forgiving heart.

One wintry day when I was eleven, Dad took me into the foothills between Blackfoot and Idaho Falls, Idaho, to buy a riding horse. We chose a coal-black yearling that fought and reared and was really wild. I was told that when he was roped by the cowboys, it was the first time he had ever been touched by human hands. We named him Champ.
I learned that Champ had royal blood running in his veins. His grandfather was the incomparable Man o’ War, the most famous thoroughbred racehorse of all time. Dad and I trained him patiently, and Champ and I became the best of friends and partners. He was the greatest animal I had ever seen. He was swift and strong, and no local horse ever came close to winning a race with him. As I saw the qualities he had inherited from his famous grandfather, it really made me think about my own potential as a child of God.
In 1948 we moved from Idaho to Moses Lake, Washington. The wide open spaces of the Columbia basin were perfect horse country. There was nothing beyond our farm for several miles in some directions. Range cattle ruled over the territory they had grazed on for generations. Now we were putting up fences around part of their range and growing lush and tempting alfalfa, potatoes, and corn. Our fences were good but not always good enough to keep out the white-faced red Herefords. That job fell to Champ and this eager twelve-year-old who had seen western movies about cattle drives by rugged cowboys.
Champ and I had memorable drives of our own, chasing away the cattle that invaded our fields or even grazed suspiciously close, Together we learned some tricks of the cowboy’s trade, such as singling out one animal and cutting it from the herd. We developed an extraordinary oneness. Sometimes I would ride without saddle or bridle. It was just Champ and me in perfect unison, racing at breakneck speed. Even at those speeds, without artificial harnessing of any kind, we were in complete control. Just a touch on his neck would turn him. A shift in my posture would slow him down or speed him up. He was totally obedient, completely responsive.
Champ was a good-looking horse with classic markings. He won first place at the county fair, and many people offered to buy him. But he wasn’t for sale.
One Sunday after sacrament meeting, I went out to feed Champ and he was gone. Searching for a black horse at night was not easy, and morning brought no comfort. There was no hungry, thirsty Champ at the corral gate. We searched all over the farm and far beyond with no success. It appeared that Champ had been stolen!
Heartsick and unwilling to accept the obvious, I asked my cousin Kay Lybbert to lend me a horse and go with me into the wastelands beyond our farm in search of Champ. I had caught glimpses of wild horses in this country, scattered bands of mares and colts, led by dominant stallions.
We rode for hours into rocky and treacherous lands. We were tired, hungry, and discouraged and were talking of turning back, when we thought we saw a shape on the horizon. We pushed on and eventually rode over a ridge and saw a herd of about fifteen wild horses. They were startled. Their nostrils were wide, pumping cool air into deep lungs. Heads high, tails flying, muscles tensed, they burst away in wild flight. To our amazement and joy, the magnificent Champ was before them all, leading the herd, as wild and elusive as the first day I saw him as an unschooled yearling.
I have often thought about that most vivid picture. Champ was rightfully mine. We had been the best of companions. We had had great times together. He had been a disciplined and precious soul. But now he was undisciplined, out of control, and determined to stay that way. Though he was their visible leader, he was really under the control of the group of wild horses with whom he had accepted company.
We were off on a race, not on the manicured track where his grandfather had won fame, but across wild and rugged lands where a tired horse burdened with a rider could stumble and fall. At stake was the future of my beloved Champ.
I doubted our ability to stick with the wild horses, because we had been traveling half a day and they were fresh. But somehow we turned them eastward and stayed close. In time we slid over a steep hill down into Mae Valley within sight of our own fences. The herd soon thundered past our place, the steam from their bodies rising above them in a cloud. With the help of neighbors, we were finally able to channel Champ into our corral, safely behind secure barriers.
Dad was the first to get to Champ. He called him by name and approached gently, moving without disturbing gestures or sounds, easing up to him, and putting his arms around the horse’s quivering neck. I watched him give Champ an embrace that only a horse lover would understand. We were all relieved that this prized animal was back where he belonged once again, and where he was loved, protected, and cared for.
Children, honor your father and mother. Follow the Savior, your Master. Listen to them. Learn from them, and stay faithful. They have given you a noble heritage, just as Champ’s parents gave him one.

As a special witness of Jesus Christ, Elder Ashton always keeps in mind his mission to lift and teach others. Once one of his friends who was inactive in the Church was about to send his son on a mission. When Elder Ashton heard of this, he made an appointment with his friend, just to put his arm around him and say, “Wouldn’t it be nice if he were going into the mission field as your son for time and all eternity?” The inactive brother soon prepared himself and his family for the blessings of the temple.

Several years ago I heard Elder Gerald N. Lund of the Quorum of the Seventy describe a magazine article about a school that taught people how to rock climb. The article discussed the concept of belaying—the fail-safe system that protects climbers. One climber gets into a safe position, fastens the rope securely in a fixed position, then calls to his companion, “You’re on belay”—meaning, “I’ve got you.” The director of the school, Alan Czenkusch, described his experience with belaying to the author of the article:

Belaying has brought Czenkusch his best and worst moments in climbing. Czenkusch once fell from a high precipice, yanking out three mechanical supports and pulling his belayer off a ledge. He was stopped, upside down, 10 feet from the ground when his spread-eagled belayer arrested the fall with the strength of his outstretched arms.

“Don saved my life,” says Czenkusch. “How do you respond to a guy like that? Give him a used climbing rope for a Christmas present? No, you remember him. You always remember him.” [In Eric G. Anderson, “The Vertical Wilderness,” Private Practice, November 1979, 21]

Some months ago I was driving somewhere with my son Cameron. Cameron is 11 years old, and he likes to talk. In spite of wonderful Mormon ads on parental listening, unfortunately I am often more aware that Cameron is talking than I actually understand what he is saying. As I tried to refocus on what he was saying, he mentioned a name. I asked, "Who is that?" He replied with considerable emphasis and surprise, "He is my Primary teacher." I felt that I was thankful for this man’s help in teaching my son, yet I hadn’t revealed it by my behavior. How easy it would have been to have previously asked my son about his Primary class and learned his teacher’s name. I clearly failed the implicit quiz given to me by my son.

It is not always immediately apparent to us or to others what is in our hearts. There can be insensitivities even when our hearts are in the right place, not to mention those that are truly born of ingratitude. Neither are particularly pretty. As I reflected on which of these was correct regarding Cameron’s teacher, my mind was drawn to an experience that looms large in my early married life. When I was in graduate school, my wife, Sue, was in a fairly serious car accident. A young man stole his aunt’s car and drove it through a red light, hitting my wife and our two small daughters in our Volkswagen bug. My wife can verify that I was a little too anxious, after hearing that they were all well, to move on to inquire about the condition of the car, which was only a few years old. As it turned out, it was totaled.

Those who know me well are probably amused or even a little concerned at hearing this story, because I have always been a bit too captivated by machinery. Perhaps this is a legacy of my rural heritage. However, this experience gave me a vivid insight: one can build relationships by expressing love and gratitude or one can diminish them by silence or by expressing ingratitude.

One of the most miraculous stories is the heart surgery of President Spencer W. Kimball. At age 77 President Kimball who was the acting president of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles was dying of congestive heart failure. This was the diagnosis of his cardiologist, Dr. Wilkinson. And Dr. Russell M. Nelson, the heart surgeon, also determined that the surgery that was needed to save his heart was too complicated and too high a risk for someone of his age, terrible health, and heart condition. Besides all of these factors, Dr. Nelson had never performed this particular operation, which worried him immensely. However, in a meeting with these two doctors and the First Presidency, the first counselor, Harold B. Lee, pronounced that the Lord wanted Spencer W. Kimball to continue to live and to serve the Church. He stated that the surgery must be tried. President Nelson was extremely nervous. The night before the operation, President Harold B. Lee and President N. Eldon Tanner gave Dr. Nelson a blessing. In it, they promised that everything would go perfectly, that he would know what to do. In answer to that prayer, the day-long surgery did go absolutely right in every way. As President Kimball was slowly recuperating President Joseph Fielding Smith died, and 18 months later, the young and vigorous prophet President Harold B. Lee also died, leaving President Spencer W. Kimball at the helm. Many in the Church and in the world worried about his health. But Dr. Nelson wrote a letter that stated he had a healthy body and a healthier heart than he had had for many years. Miraculously, President Kimball led the Church for the next twelve years.

Let me describe for you a recent situation involving good choices. I have been an advisor for several years for an extracurricular project involving mostly undergraduate students from BYU, the University of Utah, and Utah State University. They have been designing, building, and testing large hybrid rockets.

The latest rocket was scheduled to be launched September 13 of last year. Years of effort, including designing, building, and testing the various components of the rocket, had preceded this scheduled test. The events of September 11 postponed the test but gave additional time to refine details of the design and operation of the rocket.

In mid-April of this year we assembled the rocket out in the middle of the test area located in the west Utah desert area of the air force’s Utah Test and Training Range. The years of planning and building, of component testing and refinement, and of repeated safety and operational evaluations to meet the air force’s requirements for operation on their property had culminated in a completed rocket, detailed test and launch plans, and our being at the launch site. Every contingency had been considered and included in the launch plans. All of the procedures for preparing the rocket and launching and recovering it were in place. We assembled in the blockhouse a hundred yards from the launch site and began the countdown. The air force had three remote cameras and a tracking radar focused on the rocket, prepared to track it in its flight to the planned altitude of 10,000 feet above ground. Later, after we had demonstrated our ability to control the rocket, we hoped to launch this same rocket to an altitude of more than 100,000 feet.

The countdown proceeded: five, four, three, two, one, zero. The motor fired at zero. A cloud of dust enveloped the launch site, and we waited to see the rocket emerge and accelerate for the seven seconds the engine was supposed to burn. Seven seconds later, data was still coming from the rocket and black smoke was appearing on the video screens showing the launch site. The rocket was still sitting in place on the launch rail. Forty seconds later the engine stopped. Fire engulfed the end of the launch rail and the trailer it was sitting on.

What went wrong? Obviously, despite all of our good planning, design, and testing, there was something more that we should have done. We were not totally successful, despite all of the good work that had been done on the rocket. The air force people were very sympathetic, telling us that million-dollar programs often do the same thing.

Yes, and even the rocket launch attempt wasn’t really a failure because of all the good things we learned from it. How we will strive even more to get it to work!

James got the job he wanted working at a grocery store in Deer Park, Washington. He first talked to the manager, and then he followed up by submitting an application. The manager noted that James would not work on Sunday and so he did not hire him. Yet James kept in touch with the store, and after a few days he was asked to work for two days on a trial basis. The owner of the store interviewed James and asked him why he would not work on Sunday. James told him it was part of the teachings of his church and he had made a personal commitment to try to keep the Sabbath holy. The owner was impressed, and James was hired—to work every day but Sunday.

Steven J. Lund
After I taught sixth grade for three years, I learned that if I taught for four more years, the school district would pay part of my tuition to receive my master’s degree. It seemed like a good plan—until the Spirit prompted me to quit my job and go back and get my degree right then. My wife had a similar prompting, so we moved forward. It meant we would have to pay for school ourselves. But because we did, I was hired to teach at BYU—Provo. That window of opportunity never would have been open had we waited four more years. We did not know how things would work out, but the Lord directed our paths just as He promised.

I remember when I first told my previous boss at BYU Broadcasting that I was interested in applying for a job opening I had seen. There was just one little catch. The position wasn’t at BYU Broadcasting. Oh, and by the way, could you also write me a glowing letter recommendation so I can get this new job?

Now if that’s not a potentially uncomfortable conversation, I don’t know what is. I was in a senior management position and was the first and only female to be appointed to the BYU Broadcasting Director’s Council. But, I had also been very honest with my managing director and he knew that as much as I loved the exciting work that we were doing, I just didn’t see myself staying in that same position for the next 20 years.

So I applied for that job opening I had seen. With his glowing letter of recommendation, I might add. And I waited. And then I interviewed. And then I had a second interview. And finally, the phone call came letting me know…that I did not get the position.

It turns out that Heavenly Father had something else in store for me. But I’m proud to say that at least I took the shot. And the next time I applied for a job—which was for the position I now have here at BYU–Hawaii—I made it. And I’m so glad I did.

Abigail sat quietly during sacrament meeting. Today she felt sad. She was thinking about how she hadn’t been nice to a girl at school. Abigail felt even worse because she had been baptized a few weeks earlier. She remembered how good she felt on her baptism day.
“I wish I could get baptized again,” Abigail thought. “Then I could feel good again.”
She thought about one of her favorite Primary songs: “I know when I am baptized my wrongs are washed away, and I can be forgiven and improve myself each day.”*
Abigail remembered that by fixing her wrong actions and taking the sacrament, she could be clean again—as clean as she was after her baptism! Abigail planned to apologize to her classmate. She smiled and prepared to take the sacrament.

When Kazue Horikami moved from her native Japan to Hawaii as a young adult, she had little need to learn English. She spoke Japanese at home, did her shopping in areas where there was a high concentration of Japanese speakers, and later worked as a guide for Japanese tourists. The only place she sometimes encountered a language barrier was at church—a scenario common to many Latter-day Saints. But even at church she got along by building friendships with the three or four other sisters who spoke her native tongue.
Then, after more than 25 years of living in Hawaii, Sister Horikami was called to be the Relief Society president in her ward, a prospect that overwhelmed her. “Most of the sisters spoke only English, and others spoke only Samoan or Tagalog,” she remembers. “By that point I could understand other languages fairly well, but I was not confident in speaking them. Even though I comprehended most of what my sisters said, I wondered how I could possibly serve them when I couldn’t even talk to them.”
Sister Horikami knew taking language classes wasn’t an option—she simply didn’t have the time. She expressed her concerns to her stake president during a temple-recommend interview. “I told him that I was afraid—not only of the responsibility but also of creating misunderstandings,” she says. The stake president paused thoughtfully and then told Sister Horikami not to worry about the language, at least not right away. “Just do your work the best you can,” he said. She promised she would.
Days later, when Sister Horikami was in the temple, the story of Peter walking on water came into her mind (see Matthew 14:22–33). “I realized that as long as I clung to my fear, I would sink,” she says. “But if I put my faith in the Savior, He would help me do the impossible.”
“The impossible” began with simple, though powerful, efforts. Sister Horikami recalls spending long periods of time looking over the Relief Society roll. “As I studied the name of an individual sister, I would recognize thoughts coming into my mind about that sister, and I would feel promptings about ways I could serve her. As I followed those promptings, I was amazed to discover how specific and personal they were.
“That’s how I started,” she continues. “Over several months those small acts turned into relationships of care and concern, not only of my caring for them but of their caring for me.”
Sister Horikami did eventually learn English, but she’s quick to assert that it was the Spirit—not proficiency in any language—that helped her serve. “I learned that the Spirit isn’t limited by language,” Sister Horikami notes. “He speaks to all of us in ways we can understand.”

When I was a stake president, a young woman I will call Helen, came to me for counsel. She was professionally successful, well-read, and involved in many excellent projects, but she was not finding a special friendship leading to marriage in our stake and community. She told me that well-meaning friends advised her that many men might be intimidated by her intellect and the strength of her personality. They suggested that she try to be less aggressive in her activities, and present an image that would be seen as less threatening to men so that she would have a better opportunity to be married. She explained that she had been offered an excellent new executive position in the eastern United States that would increase her strong image. She wanted my opinion on her friends’ suggestion.
I told Helen that I felt she should continue to be her usual dynamic and active self so that she would fit in well with the person she would eventually marry. I told her that the decision was hers to make, but that my spiritual inclinations were favorable about her new opportunity. I advised her to fulfill her full potential.
Helen accepted the new position and moved east. There she met a man and married him in the temple. They are both continuing to make a tremendous contribution to the Church and to their community.

Benson, where are you? It’s time for bed.
I don’t want to go to bed.
Why not?
Because there is a ghost in my room.
There is not a ghost in your room.
Are you sure?
I promise.
Dad, what is the Holy Ghost?
That’s a good question.
The Holy Ghost is a member of the Godhead. His job is to help us feel what Heavenly Father wants us to know and do.
Do we see Him?
No, but we feel Him near. He helps us feel happy.
All right, now close your eyes. It’s time to go to sleep. I love you.
I love you too. And I think I feel the Holy Ghost.

As I sat restlessly in sacrament meeting one Sunday afternoon listening to a returned missionary speak, I entertained myself by watching two children play peek-a-boo across the back of the bench. Sunday meetings seemed a meaningless ritual. None of my friends went to church or observed the Sabbath, and I sat there grumpy, determined to be miserable.
Then I casually looked over my right shoulder and saw my parents with tears in their eyes. I looked around the room and noticed that many others had tear-stained cheeks. As I turned my attention back to the recently returned elder, I heard him say, “… and I know that my Father lives.”
That was a statement I had heard many times, especially in sacrament meetings. I had always asked myself, How could they possibly know that there is a God? The thought occurred again, and as the closing prayer was said, I felt a little guilty for my thoughts.
Later that evening my family sat down together for family scripture study. We were in the 30th chapter of Alma, and my older brother Jim was reading about the anti-Christ Korihor telling Alma there was no God. In verses 43–44, he read, “And now Korihor said unto Alma: If thou wilt show me a sign, that I may be convinced that there is a God, yea, show unto me that he hath power, and then will I be convinced of the truth of thy words.
“But Alma said unto him: … The scriptures are laid before thee, yea, and all things denote there is a God; yea, even the earth, and all things that are upon the face of it.” [Alma 30:43–44]
That night I lay very still and pondered the words of Alma. I thought about all the creations on the earth, about the flowers and the trees and the animals—and about me. How magnificent the creation of the human body is! I lay there thinking a very long time until the words of a song I had learned in Primary entered my head: “Whenever I touch a velvet rose or walk by our lilac tree, I’m glad that I live in this beautiful world Heavenly Father created for me.”
Tears fell down my face, and I said a prayer to Father in Heaven asking his forgiveness and thanking him for the beautiful world he created for me. I know now that my Father lives.

Now 150 years later, the date is June 9, 2006. One more handcart company is leaving Iowa City.
This time the company is made up of about 70 young men and young women from the Iowa City Iowa Stake. Dressed in pioneer clothing, with their handcarts full of supplies, these youth are gathered at the Mormon Handcart Park just outside of Iowa City—the same place from which the first handcart company left exactly 150 years earlier on June 9, 1856. Looking west, they can’t help but think of the original pioneers who stood here so long ago.
After a long day of trekking through the hills of Iowa, the youth now have a moment to reflect on their experience. Emma Pauley rereads Ether 12, a chapter on faith that she remembers learning about in seminary.
“I don’t know if I could have walked the whole way to Utah,” says Emma, “but the pioneers were able to do it, and I know that it was because of their faith. All great things are done by faith.”
The faith of the handcart pioneers enabled them to respond to President Young’s call to gather to the Salt Lake Valley. Their example makes it easier for the Iowa City youth to follow the counsel of the prophet today.
One way young men like Kameron Hansen can follow the prophet is by completing the Duty to God program. As he explains, “When I think of the pioneers and their sacrifice, it makes me want to finish my requirements so I can follow the prophet too.”
Following the prophet is important to these youth, and they look forward to seeing him the following Sunday at a commemorative fireside. The chance to hear the voice of a prophet will be the highlight of the celebration.
The early pioneers must have felt this same excitement as they walked to the Salt Lake Valley, knowing that with every step they were closer to their leader and hearing his voice.
“It is like a treasure waiting for me at the end,” says Skylar Hansen of the Iowa City First Ward.
After walking all day Friday and giving service on Saturday, the youth are happy it is Sunday—time to listen to the prophet in person. Now seated with their families at the commemorative fireside, the young men and young women feel grateful for their new understanding of the handcart experience. The words of President Gordon B. Hinckley inspire them to continue the legacy of faith left by the handcart pioneers. He tells them, “We must ever look back to those who paid so terrible a price in laying the foundations of this great latter-day work.”

During those two summers, I came to appreciate all the work it takes to plant and irrigate and then, after all of that is done, how hard it is to harvest. The first summer I spent at the ranch was during a very dry year, and the fields were swarming with crickets. The farmers didn’t give up, however, and they didn’t blame God that things were not going well. They just prepared to plant again the next year.
Even if conditions are perfect for farmers, there still is an incredible amount of work to do. They know that you don’t get something for nothing. My experience in Skull Valley helped me understand the law of the harvest, as described in Galatians 6:7: “For whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.” [Gal. 6:7] We reach most of our important goals only after a great deal of effort and hard work.

I was a boy during the Great Depression. I remember children wearing galoshes because they had no shoes and going hungry because they had no food. These were difficult times.
A bright light of hope shining amidst the gloom was Primary. I was 10 years old. I had a marvelous teacher. I look back upon that year as my finest in Primary, and I must say it was because of my wonderful teacher. It wasn’t because the boys in the class were particularly enlightened or unusually well behaved; on the contrary.
The laughter of the boys and the chatter of the girls at times must have been most disconcerting to our Primary leaders.
One day as we left the chapel for our classrooms, I noted that our Primary president remained behind. I paused and observed her. She sat all alone on the front row of the benches, took out her handkerchief, and began to weep. I walked up to her and said, “Sister Georgell, don’t cry.”
She said, “I’m sad.”
I responded, “What’s the matter?”
She said, “I can’t control the Trail Builders.* Will you help me?”
Of course I answered, “Yes.”
She said, “Oh, that would be wonderful, Tommy, if you would.”
What I didn’t know then is that I was one of those responsible for her tears. She had effectively enlisted me to aid in achieving reverence in our Primary. And we did.