Gospel Story Finder

A young boy and his parents are on the Brooklyn with other Latter-day Saints going to California in 1846. A storm so terrible that the captain of the ship told them to prepare to die was followed by being stuck under a blazing sun in the Doldrums. Finally a wind came up and blew the Brooklyn around Cape Horn—but it wouldn’t let them land in Chile! So they sailed 360 miles away from South America to an island where they got—for free—all the supplies needed to finish their voyage. Papa said that it was one of the times that God worked in a mysterious way to bless them.

Julischka doesn’t just show her testimony—she talks about it. If friends don’t know which church she belongs to, they soon find out! “She isn’t afraid to talk about the gospel,” her dad says. “One day she came home sad because she’d had a discussion with a boy at school. He didn’t believe in Jesus.” Julischka bore her testimony to him and encouraged him to believe in Jesus Christ as the Son of God.

From the time of his youth, Joseph understood that a great key to cultivating humility is to seek our Heavenly Father through sincere, heartfelt prayer. Daniel Tyler, an early Church member, recalled a time in Kirtland when many had turned against the Prophet. Brother Tyler, present in a meeting where the Prophet prayed with the congregation for the Lord’s help, described the experience in these words:
“I had heard men and women pray … , but never until then had I heard a man address his Maker as though He was present listening as a kind father would listen to the sorrows of a dutiful child. Joseph was at that time unlearned, but that prayer, which was to a considerable extent in behalf of those who accused him of having gone astray … , partook of the learning and eloquence of heaven. … It appeared to me as though, in case the vail were taken away, I could see the Lord standing facing His humblest of all servants I had ever seen.”9

The day progressed better than I thought it would. Snow fell throughout the morning, giving way to an afternoon of windy sunshine. I heaved a relieved sigh when my geometry test was postponed a day. I hurried home after school to tell Topie good-bye.
Mom met me at the door. She held a dish towel in her hands. Her cheeks were wet. Why had she been crying?
“Honey,” she said, “I tried to get them to wait until you came home from school, but they left with Topie an hour ago. I know how much you wanted to say good-bye. I’m sorry, Honey. I’m so sorry.”
I felt numb and strange and sort of broken. “I’ll be okay,” I said. “I’m going to go up to my room for a while.”
I sat on my bed for a long time. I stared out the window at the ring I used to ride in and the homemade jumps Dad built for me. I stared at distant hoof prints in the mud and the bit of snow that hadn’t quite melted. There wouldn’t be any snow in California. I stared at the green and yellow wallpaper Mom had found on sale and we had hung together. I stared at everything that I would be leaving behind.
Suddenly the door cracked open and, before I could say anything, Rob was next to me on the bed.
“Why aren’t you at baseball practice?” I asked.
“I thought you might want to do something,” he said. His little boy eyes looked soft.
That’s when it hit. I didn’t just cry. I sobbed. Tears for my beautiful horse, my ugly hair, and all of the changes that jerked me so fast and hard. Rob’s hand on my shoulder moved up and down with my gulps. When I quieted, Rob turned to me.
“I’m thinking of someone,” he said.
He was playing the guessing game, a silly game we played on long car trips. By asking yes and no questions a player had to guess who the other player was thinking about. The person in mind could be rich and famous, alive or dead, or the kid next door. The only rule was that all of the players had to have heard of that person. You got a point for each question you asked and the lowest score won.
We played for a long time, our voices trailing the air. In the back of my mind I realized that my little ten-year-old brother was missing his Little League practice in order to be with me, in order to keep my mind moving and to give my soul something to grip other than loneliness. Rob beat me by one point.
“Hey, this isn’t fair,” I forced a smile. “When you were a little kid I used to let you win whenever we raced. You could at least let me win one today.”
“That’s too much to ask!” Rob laughed. “But I will let you have the mashed potatoes first tonight!” I managed a real smile. We raced down to dinner and tied.

President J. Reuben Clark, Jr., was a man of like integrity. As a young man he presided for a short time over the Southern Branch of the State Normal College in Cedar City, Utah. He developed a great interest in that institution.
“Two years later … his help was solicited to give encouragement to members of the legislature to provide the funds which had been requested by the institution.”
Responding by letter he “explained in utter frankness and candor that he could not support the … request” for $100,000.
“‘… Frankly and freely,’ he said, ‘I believe you are asking too much. …
“‘… I have thought the matter over very carefully, and have not been able to see my way clear to honestly recommend to your representatives the appropriation … you ask. …
“‘If you would say that you will drop the $100,000 and work for the $54,000 you may count on my active cooperation to the very limit of my poor ability; but if you still reach after the larger amount, you will at once see it will be better if I keep quiet; and I promise you that I shall do that.’
“The frankness in this letter was to become a distinguishing characteristic of [President] Clark’s correspondence and dealings with men throughout his long career. Although his recommendations many times did not contain what others had hoped to receive, nonetheless his candor and complete honesty contributed greatly to men’s confidence in him for they knew they could depend upon him to say what he really thought.” (David H. Yarn, Jr., Young Reuben, Brigham Young University Press, Provo, Utah, pp. 113–14.)

But computers lack inspiration, and so the Lord has prepared many individual translators for the work. For example, in 1980, a Division supervisor had the assignment of getting Church materials translated into Bengali, a language of India and Bangladesh. Unable at the time to find Church members who knew the language, he turned for help to two non-member teachers. When their translation was completed, the supervisor then hoped to find a member to review the translation for doctrinal and grammatical accuracy.
As if in answer to his need, he read an article about Towhid-ul Alam, a recent convert from Bangladesh who was studying at Brigham Young University—Hawaii. Thanks to the help of Brother Alam, the Bengali Selections from the Book of Mormon was printed in New Delhi, India, in 1985.

This was the same canal in which I was later baptized into the Church, and this is the same canal from which I hauled water to the trees and plant life about our home. I was the smallest of the boys, so I was given this work. We called the transportation a “lizard.” Did any of you ever see a “lizard”? We made it with a Y-shaped tree limb. In the center we fastened a barrel and hitched one horse to the “lizard.” I drove it to the canal, where I dipped up barrels full of canal water, then drove the horse one block to the home where I dipped out the water for the plants and flowers.
My father made a great effort to surround the new home with every kind of flower and save them in those late summer days when water was so scarce. It was also my job to drive the horses and cows to the canal for their drinking water.

As many of you know, our family experienced a tender separation three months ago when our daughter Wendy departed from this mortal life. In the final days of her battle with cancer, I was blessed with the opportunity to have our farewell daddy-daughter conversation.
I held her hands and told her how much I loved her and how grateful I was to be her father. I said: “You married in the temple and faithfully honored your covenants. You and your husband welcomed seven children into your home and raised them to be devout disciples of Jesus Christ, valiant Church members, and contributing citizens. And they have chosen spouses of that same caliber. Your daddy is very, very proud of you. You have brought me much joy!”
She quietly responded, “Thank you, Daddy.”
It was a tender, tearful moment for us. During her 67 years, we worked together, sang together, and often skied together. But that evening, we talked of things that matter most, such as covenants, ordinances, obedience, faith, family, fidelity, love, and eternal life.
We miss our daughter greatly. However, because of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, we do not worry about her. As we continue to honor our covenants with God, we live in anticipation of our being with her again. Meanwhile, we’re serving the Lord here and she is serving Him there—in paradise.

My journey through life has included medical studies, during which a connection between faith and medicine became evident to me. One time while training in cardiac surgery, I assisted in a heart operation. A patient was to receive a coronary artery bypass. Preparatory steps included connecting a heart-lung machine to ensure that vital blood and oxygen supply would be in the body’s circulatory system.
Using a special liquid solution, the surgeon temporarily stopped the heart so he could perform the procedure without the heart moving. I carefully watched the surgeon’s hands and saw him slightly lift the heart in front of him in the chest. At that moment he turned to me with a subtle movement of his head. He asked me to carefully grasp the heart with my right hand so that it could be stabilized for the bypass procedure.
When I held the patient’s heart in my hand, I immediately felt an enormous responsibility, as well as a deep sense of awe. The following words from Doctrine and Covenants 101:16 came to my mind: “Be still and know that I am God” (see also Psalm 46:10).
I associate this image of a calm heart with the spiritual realization that Jesus Christ, as our Savior, takes our heart in His hands and heals it.

Shortly after Sister Cook and I arrived in Mongolia, we were asked to accompany two young elders to a city called Muren. At the conclusion of our trip, our return was delayed by bad weather. Each day we went to the airport to see if our plane was going to arrive so we could fly out. We waited with other passengers until we received word whether we would depart that day or would be forced to return to the city for the evening.

Trying to take the same flight out was a group of foreign tourists. They told us they had been by horseback to some of the most remote, little-explored areas of Mongolia.

While we were waiting at the airport, one of these tourists approached one of our elders and said: “I know who you are! What are you doing here? These people don’t need you. They are an unspoiled people with a rich heritage. Why don’t you just go home and leave them alone?”

The elder came to me and was very upset, and we talked about the several responses he could have given. It wasn’t until about two weeks later, however, that I read a statement by President Benson that explained what would have been the perfect response. President Benson said:

“Some may ask why we as a people and church quietly and consistently seek to change individuals while there are such large problems about us. … But decaying cities are simply a delayed reflection of decaying individuals. … The commandments of God give emphasis to improvement of the individual as the only real way to bring about the real improvement [of] society” (A Plea for America [1975], 18).

“The Lord works from the inside out. The world works from the outside in. The world would take people out of the slums. Christ takes the slums out of the people, and then they take themselves out of the slums. … Christ changes men, who then change their environment. The world would shape human behavior, but Christ can change human nature” (“Born of God,” Ensign, Nov. 1985, 6).

William Albiston, son of Joseph and Mary Ann, was born in 1857. Will, as he was known, his wife, Elizabeth, and daughter, Eda, were baptised in Oldham in 1897. The Albistons were members of the Oldham Branch that was meeting, during this time, in a rented hall at the House & Mill Company offices, 127 Union Street.3
According to Will’s descendants, he was converted to the gospel by an Elder Abraham Wilde, who mentioned the Albiston family a few times in his missionary journal:
“20 January 1897. […] We spent the [evening] at Mr Albiston’s who was to [be] baptised the next evening.
“21st January 1897. The weather is still cold therefore we did not get out; in the evening Bro Broadbent baptised twelve persons, [...] Mr Albiston and wife and daughter [...]. They were baptised in the font of the Baptist Chapel in Oldham.” 4
Like so many other members of the Oldham Branch, Will and his family left England for Utah, but Will wanted to be in the British Empire, so the family moved to Alberta, Canada, settling on a homestead in Cardston County. Will farmed there until his death.

Realeboha Lesia, a young single adult from Bloemfontein, South Africa, has recently implemented this principle in her own life. While working a full-­time job to support herself, she also started her own business or “side hustle” as she refers to it, in which she hopes to one day replace her income by following her creative interests and passions.

“Coming back home after work, I would be so tired, having worked all day in my job and then working after hours to get my business going,” she says. It meant pushing through fatigue and fighting the desire just to take one night off. It also meant sacrificing some things she enjoyed: “It often meant not going out and doing fun things,” says Rea. “I was staying at home, doing research and meeting people to find out how they started their business and how they made things work.”

For Rea, part of perseverance has meant being flexible and realising that plans and reality often don’t coincide. It’s “seeing that with time, plans change,” she says. But contrary to what we might expect, this change is often for the better. And with every effort, she finds that the process itself helps her progress. “You learn things, you make contacts, you meet mentors, and learn better ways of doing things,” Rea explains.

Rea has found that positive self-talk is extremely important too. “How you speak to yourself is vital,” she says. “You must be careful what you say to yourself, because you are always listening. Tell yourself if you’re positive, it will happen.”

In order to stay motivated and keep going, Rea has identified unofficial mentors. “I chose people who are in the creative sector, I told them this is what I want to do and asked them for their insights.” On a tough day or when things don’t go as planned, she calls a friend and shares her frustrations. Afterwards she finds renewed energy and focus. She also relies on the example of others, such as someone who also started his own business and battled through a tough period before experiencing success.

“When things were going badly, I saw him keeping on going, he didn’t give up and say let me quit and start on a 9 to 5 job or start another project,” says Rea. “I have these people that can advise me and listen to me.”

But most importantly, she’s seeking direction and support from God. “Besides talking to these mentors, I’m also talking to my Heavenly Father,” she says. “Always remembering that I’m not alone, and it would be far better to let Heavenly Father be my partner in my goals.”

Our family knew a young lady who passed away from skin cancer. But even while on her death bed, unable to care for herself, she chose to exercise positive power by expressing love and gratitude to all those that attended her and visited with her. She was a perfect example of grace and Christlike love. She didn’t complain or bemoan her lot in life. She trusted our Heavenly Father and accepted His will. Though in great pain, she was truly an angel, and her positive power has had a lasting impact on the many lives she touched before she passed away. Many people in her situation would be bitter. She was young, vibrant, and newly married to a loving husband, with all the promise of a wonderful life ahead of her. She had every reason to complain, but she was one who had learned the power of choosing to be positive and speaking words that would inspire and uplift. This young woman chose the light of God’s positive power.

Part of honoring parenthood is honoring children. There is a great temptation to believe erroneously that our children are our possessions. They are not. They are sons and daughters of our Heavenly Father. Their spirits are eternal as are ours. This was brought forcibly to my attention many years ago when our youngest was about four years of age. I came home from work one night to find my sweetheart very weary from a full day with nine children underfoot. My day had been heavy also, but I offered to get the children ready for bed. I began to give the orders to our little four-year-old daughter: take your clothes off, hang them up, brush your teeth, get your pajamas on, say your prayers, etc.—commanding in a manner befitting a tough sergeant in the army. She then cocked her little head to one side, looked at me with her wistful eyes, and said, “Daddy, do you own me?”
Then I realized that I was using coercive methods on this sweet spirit and that to rule children by command or force is the technique of Satan, not of the Savior. She taught me this important lesson: We don’t own our children; we have them for a brief season. As parents, it is our privilege to love them, to lead them, and then to let them go.

At one such time, I sought Heavenly Father’s counsel through constant and heartfelt prayer for more than a year to find the solution to a difficult situation. I knew logically that Heavenly Father answers all sincere prayers. Yet I reached such desperation one day that I attended the temple with one question: “Heavenly Father, do You really care?”
I was sitting near the back of the Logan Utah Temple waiting room when, to my surprise, entering the room that day was the temple president, Vaughn J. Featherstone, a close family friend. He stood at the front of the congregation and welcomed all of us. When he noticed me among the temple patrons, he stopped speaking, looked me in the eyes, and then said, “Brother Brough, it is good to see you in the temple today.”
I will never forget the feeling of that simple moment. It was as if—in that greeting—Heavenly Father was stretching forth His hand and saying, “Here am I.”
Heavenly Father really does care and listen to and answer every child’s prayer.15 As one of His children, I know the answer to my prayers came in the Lord’s time. And through that experience, I understood more than ever that we are children of God and that He has sent us here so that we can feel His presence now and return to live with Him someday.

Coach Ken Jenks has some good news and some bad news for the boys on his soccer team. As members of a recreation-league soccer team, they’ve had incredible success. The LDS boys, who have teamed up with nonmember friends, are some of the best soccer players in the area.
The coach starts with the good news. “Well, boys, we’ve got a great team, and the Southern California Soccer League championship is in the bag,” he says. Then his face clouds a bit, and he delivers the bad news. “But we’ll be playing three games, and one of them is on a Sunday. How do you feel about that?”
Five hands reluctantly but firmly go up. Eric Miller, 14, Jeff Jenks, 14, Justin Bonsey, 14, and twins Trent and Travis Weaver, 15, stand up and tell the group, “We can’t play on Sunday.” The boys, who are members of the Cypress First Ward, Cypress California Stake, aren’t happy about the idea of missing out on the biggest game of the season, but they are sure about their decision.
Although the controversy of the games on Sunday still continues in Orange County sports leagues, the boys’ stand is beginning to make a difference. Many local sports organizations are holding Sunday games less often.
So, as expected, the soccer team plays well on Saturday and wins easily. Then the Mormon boys wish their team the best and go to church on Sunday. The non-LDS members of the team play the championship game and lose. The team takes third place.
Eric shrugs his shoulders, “This game is a temporary thing. I really would have liked to play that championship game if it hadn’t been on Sunday, but I know that keeping the Sabbath will help me return to my Father in Heaven.”
Justin echoes Eric, “It was an individual decision for me, too. I know that it is right and so it didn’t bother me either. The next day some of the kids at school were a little upset, but I think they respected me for staying with my standards.”
And respect from peers, parents, coaches, and other players is a valuable by-product of the sacrifice these boys have made. But perhaps even more important than that is the fact that their example does not go unnoticed by the younger boys waiting for their turn to play the game—but not on Sunday.
Editor’s note: Because of the stand these and other LDS boys have made, regular-season soccer games are no longer held on Sunday in Orange County, California.

Very early in my childhood, I became aware of the importance of prayer and the awesome power of the holy priesthood. During the fall of 1942, the United States was involved in a war. My father was trying to finish building our house. He couldn’t get a furnace because all building materials were needed for the war. As the weather became colder, my little sister, Patricia, and I became very ill. She had bronchitis, and I had double pneumonia. The doctor offered little hope that I would live through the night.
Speaking of that “awful night of nights,” my mother said she became desperate as she felt for my pulse and could find none. She said I looked like a little statue lying there on my bed. She fervently prayed to the Lord, promising if I should live, she would give me back to the Lord for His service. During the night, my father gave me a priesthood blessing. As he laid his hands upon my head, I opened my eyes, and from that time on, I began to feel better. I know that through the prayers of my parents and the power of the priesthood, my life was spared.

Matthew has a strong sense of justice and often reminds his parents of family rules. Brother Thomson once wrote in his journal: “Tonight my son taught me a lesson. After I got really frazzled with the kids and yelled at them, Matthew came up to me and said, ‘Dad, why don’t you keep a rule that Mommy’s keeping? She’s made a rule not to raise her voice.’ I felt like I should just be quiet and listen.

“My wife and I are amazed at his ability to grasp doctrinal concepts,” Brother Thomson adds. “When we talk to him about gospel principles, he soaks it in like a sponge. He just loves listening and learning. He likes to discuss things and reason things through.”

Brother Thomson has told his children that a mission is like a university education in the school of life, and Matthew plans to enroll. His family helps him prepare for that experience as they helped him prepare for his baptism. For many weeks before he turned eight, the family home evenings were modified missionary discussions, preparing Matthew as any convert to the Church would prepare. When his baptism day came, he was thoroughly grounded in the covenants he was making and in the eternal meaning of this earthly ordinance.

Already looking ahead toward Rebecca’s, Deborah’s, and Hannah’s baptisms, the family has calculated that when Hannah is eight years old, Matthew will be a priest and able to baptize her. This has led to discussions about the priesthood.

One more illustration. A number of years ago, while presiding over the Texas North Mission, I had occasion to fly from Dallas to Lubbock, and as I boarded the plane I looked for someone interesting to sit by. Upon entering the plane I saw a young lady seated by herself reading the Bible. At first I thought she was a lady missionary en route home from her mission; however, as I looked more closely I could see that her Bible was not the King James version. So I asked if she minded if I sat by her. She invited me to do so. Once into the air, I commented that it appeared as if she loved the scriptures. In response she held up the book and shook it in my face and said, “Mister, that book saved my life. It means everything to me.”

Then she proceeded to tell me her story. Among other things she had been a dropout from her family, school, and church. In fact, she confessed that her life had become so sordid and confused that she had even entertained the idea of committing suicide. When life seemed darkest someone introduced her to the Bible, and it was the word of the Lord that turned her around. I was touched by her testimony.

In the middle of our conversation the pilot announced that Lubbock was overcast with heavy clouds and that our destination had been changed. This announcement disappointed everyone. Quietly and privately I prayed that the clouds would lift and that we would be able to land in Lubbock. I had a very special meeting that I needed to attend. A few minutes later, the pilot again interrupted the conversation by announcing that the storm had moved on and that we would land in Lubbock as scheduled. Everyone cheered. I turned to my traveling companion and said, “Now, there’s a quick answer to a prayer.”

“Oh,” she replied, “were you praying, too?” For the rest of my life I will wonder whose prayer was heard, whose faith worked the miracle.

When I was about 15 years old I was sailing with my brother and grandfather. We had a typical route that would take us across the Puget Sound towards Whidbey Island, then around Hat Island and then sail back to the Marina. This particular day my grandfather wasn't feeling well and he told me the course to take and he was going to take a short nap. As I was sailing I caught a good wind and was making good time. In the distance I saw a large container ship. I knew I should stick to the course outlined for me, but I thought I could sail in front of this container ship and then I could catch the big waves as I crossed over the back of it as it powered by us. About halfway across the path of this large container ship my wind died. I panicked. I did not know what to do. Death was imminent. I could wake my grandfather and confess my stupidity or I could stay there in complete fear and be killed. Both options were equal in my 15-year-old brain. I eventually woke my grandfather. He came up, saw our peril, started the engine, and got us out of harm's way. I can tell you this; he never went to sleep again when I was captain. What can we learn from this? Just like in life, things can be going along well for us, we can be moving along just great, steering our life wherever we choose, collecting wind in our sails from our employment, friends, church callings, then something happens. There is no wind in our sails, it was there one minute, now it is gone. Often times, if not most times, we need someone to help us, to start the engine to our boat as my grandfather did, and to put wind in our sails.