Gospel Story Finder

On Christmas Eve 37 years ago, in the light of a full moon, I climbed a small hill in the isolated village of Quiriza, Bolivia. Four young elders and I had spent the day crossing over a mountain pass on a treacherous road. Then we struggled up a riverbed to see if the teachings of the Savior would help a destitute people. What we saw that day was discouraging—undernourished children, adults subsisting on meager crops, some with eyes glazed from seeking refuge in alcohol and drugs. I looked at the tiny, barren village below—a cluster of adobe, thatched-roof houses beaten by the harsh environment. The only evidence of life was barking dogs searching for food. There was no electricity, telephone, running water, roads, proper sanitation, nor doctors there. It seemed so hopeless. Yet a solemn prayer confirmed that we should be there. We found a humble people who embraced the restored gospel with determination to live it. They did that under harsh conditions where severe poverty, alcohol, drugs, witchcraft, and immorality were in plentiful supply.

Under the guidance of exceptional missionaries, the people learned to work hard to cultivate the fields. They produced a harvest of nutritious vegetables and raised rabbits for better protein. But the best lessons came from beloved missionaries who taught them of a God who loved them, of a Savior who gave His life that they might succeed. Their physical appearance began to change. The light of truth radiated from their happy faces. As devoted, loving emissaries of the Lord, missionaries patiently taught truth to a willing people. Wives and husbands learned how to live in harmony, teach truth to their children, pray, and sense the guidance of the Spirit.

I watched a six-year-old boy who had carefully observed our first baptismal service act out with his younger sister what he had seen. He carefully arranged her hands, raised his tiny arm to the square, mumbled words, gently lowered her into a depression in the sun-baked earth, led her to a rock where he confirmed her, then shook her hand. The youth learned most quickly. They became obedient to the light of truth taught by the missionaries and in time by their own parents. Through their faith and obedience, I have seen how in one generation, youth baptized in that village have overcome a seemingly hopeless future. Some have been missionaries, graduated from universities, and been sealed in the temple. Through their diligence and obedience, they have found purpose and success in life despite an early harsh physical and evil-saturated environment. If it can be done in Quiriza, Bolivia, it can be done anywhere.

To illustrate, I'd like to share an experience I had with a Foundations English 101 class and their research paper.

Because we were working on a long assignment, I'd broken the essay into several smaller (and hopefully easier) sections. The introduction was no problem for the students, and they felt comfortable with the summary that followed.

But then we got to the hard part: the synthesis section. This wasn't something they had done before, and I knew that many students would struggle with this part of the assignment.

But I wasn't too worried, because I had planned for this. First, we studied the concepts of synthesis. Then we looked at and analyzed writing samples, studying how others had completed this assignment. But eventually it was time for the students to try it themselves.

That day's homework was to come to class with a draft of the synthesis section so we could workshop their essays and identify where they were still struggling.

However, the morning this draft was due, a massive outbreak struck campus. At least, that was my thought as I walked into a room with about half of my students missing. It wasn't a flu epidemic that had kept students out of class that day, but an epidemic of a different type.

Throughout the day I received emails from absent students who explained that they'd tried to write this section, couldn't figure it out, quit trying, and, because their homework wasn't done, decided to skip class.

Now, the students who did come to class hadn't completed the assignment perfectly, but they came, having done what they could on their own. And because they did, they had a foundation to work from as we looked at their questions and addressed their confusion.

As they walked out of class, these students were laughing and joking with each other, very different emotions from the frustration they'd expressed at the beginning of class. Many sighed with relief and expressed appreciation: "Thanks. Today's class answered so many of my questions."

The students who skipped class that day because "the assignment was just so hard" were now even more behind. They still didn't have a draft, and now they didn't have the additional information and feedback to help them work through this difficult section.

In May 2020, Lyn participated in the 21 Day Family Connections Experiment, a family history project that invites individuals to spend at least a few minutes every day connecting with their family, past and present, for 21 consecutive days. Recently she shared her experience with the project in Church News.
Lyn enjoyed the project so much she joined the social media/invitation team and is assisting people to see the benefits of the experiment in Australia and around the world.

While in Nauvoo, John worked as a carpenter on the temple. Called on a proselytizing mission to Canada, he and his missionary companion, James Park, started preaching in the small frontier community of Brooke, Kent County, Ontario. The gospel message was received enthusiastically, and in time 250 people were baptized.
The missionaries encouraged the new members to migrate to Nauvoo. Thus, in the spring of 1845, the new Saints prepared wagons and teams for the migration. The path leading out of their small town was little more than a sled trail, so the Saints started cutting trees and clearing a road. The enthusiasm of the new members to go to Nauvoo was so compelling that the improved trail became known as the Nauvoo Road, a name that persists even to this day.

In 1999 I was looking to change my career. I was working for a company and was in a management position. I managed several groups under a working contract that required negotiations of their work environment. Sometimes the process of negotiating was very uncomfortable for me. The tension was very high between the groups, and I felt as if we were at war, with a battle line drawn. With threats sometimes being made, it made for some very challenging times in my job.

One day, after one of those intense meetings, I was traveling home from work to have lunch with my wife. All of a sudden, my car window got shot out. Not knowing where it had come from, or from whom, I was pretty rattled. I decided right then I was going to make a change in my life with regards to my employment and career. I began to search for other opportunities and thought, "You know, Ricks College would be a great environment and a great place to work."

Let me share just one brief account of an unintended and unfortunate example that had a significantly negative impact. Just a few years before President Wheelwright became president of the England London Mission, I had some responsibility for all of the missions in that part of the world. A serious concern was raised with me and I had to investigate the situation.

In a neighborhood in the central part of the city there was a little shop near one of the main train stations. Every day people would stop to make small purchases of various sorts and among the somewhat regular customers was a companionship of our missionaries who lived nearby and often bought a candy bar or other treat as they went back and forth in their missionary activities.

A young woman in her late teens who worked in the shop had been befriended by an exemplary older woman who was an active Latter-day Saint. Apparently this good sister let the young woman know that she was LDS, but did not try to push her with respect to our teachings. Nevertheless, the young clerk was impressed and became determined to find out something more about the Church and perhaps why this older woman had been so kind to her. One day while the missionaries were in the shop, this young woman realized that they were from the same church. Not wanting to ask what might be embarrassing questions in a store loaded with customers, she arranged to take a break from her duties and followed the elders out on to the street where she might speak with them in some privacy.

As the elders left the shop, she quickly took off her working smock and then ran from the store to catch up with the missionaries. They, of course, were oblivious to what was happening and made their way along the street. This is where the story becomes both more interesting and, frankly, disheartening.

Immediately in front of the missionaries was another young woman who was walking in the same direction as they were and was very provocatively and immodestly dressed. Of course the missionaries had no responsibility for that or control over their immediate environment, but they did have complete agency with respect to their response. As the young lady from the shop almost caught up with them to ask her questions about the Church, she overheard the elders commenting on the inappropriate woman in front of them in the most uncomplimentary and even vulgar terms with laughs of derision and conduct certainly inconsistent with servants of the Lord.

The young woman from the store immediately backed away in great disappointment and returned to her work without asking her questions. This experience was very troubling to her and when her older, LDS friend was again in the shop, she related the experience. This good sister then shared her concerns with her priesthood leaders and you now understand how it was that I got involved.

The details following this event are not germane to my point except to emphasize that these missionaries had no idea that they were being watched and were dismayed that they had been such an effective example of negative missionary work. I mention this account to you because, whether we like it or not, virtually all members of this campus community are well-known as representatives of Brigham Young University-Hawaii and its sponsoring Church all across this island and beyond. All of us need to understand that we are always "on stage," not just when we are trying to create a good impression.

The Three Princes In this beautifully illustrated tale from the Middle East, a wise and lovely princess told her three suitors that she would marry the one who brought her the thing of greatest wonder. One uses his gift, a crystal ball, to learn that she is dying. The second uses his gift, a flying carpet, to take the suitors to her in time for the third to use his gift, an orange with special powers, to heal her. The gifts were of equal value in saving her life, but she could only marry one of the suitors. … Eric A. Kimmel8–12 years

My conversion to the gospel and my baptism into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints began some thirty-seven years ago. I was in my first year of university studies when Elder Henry Eddington of Shoshone, Idaho, and Elder Eleazer Asay of Orem, Utah, began to teach me of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.

I was intrigued with the discussions. I found that my intellect was stimulated by the new vistas of knowledge presented by these two mature representatives of the Church who had been called later in life to serve missions.

Elder Eddington was leading the discussion that last evening together before I was to return to the university. He had been reviewing why there was a need for a restoration, and then he paused and bore solemn testimony of the truthfulness of their message. Then he reached over, touching my knee with the only hand that he had, and said, “And now you will know it is true.” The Spirit of God came into my body as a fire. It felt as if it would consume me. It left me physically exhausted but totally assured that the Church was true. Now I knew for myself.

Children, you are a force for good in this world. You have a great impact on your parents and all the adults around you. Your expressions of love and your approach to life often make us think of the Savior’s teaching that we need to become as little children. When our five children were young, it was often a struggle to get all seven of us together for family home evening. Then one day, our ten-year-old daughter said, “Dad, rather than giving the lesson first, why don’t we play a game first?” And she was right! That change was what our family needed to eagerly gather together.

A superb stake president told me of a stake council meeting in which they were wrestling with a difficult challenge. At one point, he realized that the stake Primary president had not spoken, so he asked if she had any impressions. “Well, actually I have,” she said and then proceeded to share a thought that changed the entire direction of the meeting. The stake president continued, “As she spoke, the Spirit testified to me that she had given voice to the revelation we had been seeking as a council.”

When I entered the Buenos Aires Argentina Temple with the youth of my ward to do baptisms for the dead, we waited a few minutes in a reception room. Then the temple workers asked us to go down a hall where there were several chairs and to wait again.
Because it was a Saturday, many people had come to the temple from all over Argentina. We waited there for two and a half hours, just sitting quietly. Some not very pleasant thoughts began to run through my mind: “How can they make us wait all this time? I’m tired, and apparently it would have been better if I hadn’t come, because this is a waste of time.”
I got up and started walking down the hall. Soon one of the workers came out and said: “Young people, please don’t be impatient. I understand that you have been waiting for a long time, but do you know something? In the spirit world millions of people have been waiting for this moment for centuries, and I can assure you that they are very anxious for their turn to come. The brethren are baptizing and confirming, and they cannot do more than they are doing.”
When he said these words, I felt embarrassed. I realized that I was being selfish because I didn’t want to give hours for those people who had waited such long years and who did not have the opportunity I had to hear about the true Church and be baptized on earth.
The worker came out again, and he began to call names from our ward. A sister gave us white clothing that more or less fit. After we got dressed, she pulled back our hair and tied it with a white tie.
Then, barefoot, we walked to the benches in the baptistry. The carpets were so soft and high it was as if we weren’t even walking on the ground.
When it was my turn, I was as nervous as if it were the day of my own baptism. But the workers were so nice and they had such patience with each of us that it felt incredible.
When I came out of the font, a sister was waiting for me with a big white towel and a huge smile. I changed my clothes and went into a room where I was confirmed. The same sister who had given me the towel went with me and thanked me for being willing to do the Lord’s work.
When I left the temple, I realized it had been one of the best experiences of my life. The temple is a holy place and the Lord’s Spirit is there, directing His great work. It is worth any wait.

Just before Don was released from military duty, he wrote to my wife and me.

“As you know,” he said, “I am the only member of the Church in my family. I had been saving part of my paycheck so that when I get out I would be able to pay cash for a new car. But now I’ve decided to use the money for something better—to support myself on a mission.”

Ken also decided to serve a mission. After their missions, both Ken and Don were married in the temple, and both have served faithfully in many Church callings.

When I turned 15 years old, I received a learner’s permit, which allowed me to drive a car if one of my parents was with me. When my father asked if I would like to go for a drive, I was thrilled.
He drove a few miles to the outskirts of town to a long, straight, two-lane road that few people used—I should note, likely the only place he would have felt safe. He pulled over on the shoulder of the road, and we switched seats. He gave me some coaching and then told me, “Ease out onto the road and just drive until I tell you to stop.”
I followed his orders exactly. But after about 60 seconds, he said, “Son, pull the car over. You’re making me nauseous. You are swerving all over the road.” He asked, “What are you looking at?”
With some exasperation, I said, “I’m looking at the road.”
Then he said this: “I’m watching your eyes, and you are looking only at what is right in front of the hood of the car. If you look only at what is directly in front of you, you will never drive straight.” Then he emphasized, “Look down the road. That will help you drive straight.”
As a 15-year-old, I thought that was a good driving lesson. I have since realized that that was a great life lesson as well. Focusing on the things that are most important—especially those things “down the road,” those eternal things—is a key to maneuvering through this life.

When I was in college, I went on a study abroad to the United Kingdom. At the time, I was really struggling to feel close to Heavenly Father. I went to sacrament meetings and church on Sundays, and I went to Catholic mass and a beautiful, quiet Quaker meeting. I went often to Evensong, a lovely Anglican choral service. I was looking for any place I could feel peace. I read prayer books in cathedrals and spoke the Apostles’ Creed with people whose beliefs were, in many ways, so close to mine. And I found God again.
I felt so much love and truth in those spaces. The message I got was that if God loved all His children enough to give them so much truth and beauty, then He also loved and knew me.

He stood about three yards onto the rickety bridge with my two-year-old brother on his back. “Come on, Sian. Hold my hand and we’ll cross together.” His voice was reassuring, but my knees were shaking. I was scared. From where I stood I could see the swaying rope bridge stretch under the weight of the walkers. I could hear the rope creak above the roar of torrential waters in the gully far below. My knowledge of engineering skills was very limited at that young age, but I was convinced that the bridge was unsafe. I quivered with fear and took a step back.
“Sian,” my father’s voice was gentle but insistent, “look at me.” I looked up into his strong, caring face. “Trust me. You’ll be okay.” He held out his hand. I looked into his eyes and stepped onto the quaking bridge. It groaned and I let out a small sob. My father clasped my hand tightly and started forward. I held on and suddenly knew that we would be all right.

La Verne California Stake
As the 100th birthday of the El Buen Pastor Church in Pomona, California, approached, the congregation had concerns about the state of its building and premises. Looking for a chance to help a neighbor, the youth of the La Verne California Stake decided to pitch in and spruce up the church for its celebration. El Buen supplied the paint and the LDS youth came with a willing attitude, painting the church’s exterior in only four hours. The youth tore out old carpet, sanded and repainted the pews, and landscaped the grounds. Many members of the El Buen Pastor Church were touched by the service, and one parishioner, a member of the Pastor Church for more than 60 years, said she was so grateful to the LDS youth who restored their church to its former beauty.

After lunch on Saturday, Sara asked, “What should I do now?”
“What would you like to do?” Father was at the desk, opening his stamp album.
“I don’t know,” Sara replied. “Everyone else has a hobby to work on.”
“You could start a recipe collection.” Mother liked to cook new things. She was scanning the newspaper for recipes to clip.
“Quilting is a nice hobby.” Grandmother was cutting small squares from scraps of material for quilt blocks.
“Go leaf hunting.” Sara’s sister, Grace, held a leaf in one hand and a book about trees in the other.
“Rocks are more interesting than trees,” Sara’s brother, Glen, argued. He was sorting small stones in old egg cartons.
Sara didn’t know what to say. Dad’s stamps were colorful. Mother’s meals were delicious. Grandmother’s quilts were beautiful. Grace’s leaf collection was pretty, and Glen’s rocks were interesting. But Sara didn’t want to do what anyone else was doing. She wanted a hobby of her own.
“Thank you for the ideas,” Sara said sadly. She sat on the sofa and looked out the window. Jake was in the backyard burying a bone. Even he had something to collect! Sara sighed. She thought about how her family had tried to help. Suddenly she had an idea. “I know what I’ll collect!”
“What?” Father asked.
Sara smiled. “It’s a surprise,” she said. “I’ll show you next Saturday.”
There was a field trip at school on Monday. Sara’s class visited a limestone quarry and watched the big machines load rocks from it onto trucks. Sara picked up one of the small stones scattered on the ground and put it into her pocket. When she got home, she put the stone into an empty shoe box.
After school on Tuesday, Mother told Sara “A letter came for you.” She handed Sara an envelope.
“I’ve been hoping for this!” Sara tore open the envelope. Inside was a letter from her Swedish pen pal. Sara read the letter three times.
Then Sara looked at the envelope again. With a pair of scissors she carefully cut off the corner of the envelope that held the stamp. She had seen Father do this many times. My collection is growing, she thought as she dropped the stamp into the shoe box.
After dinner Wednesday night, Sara came downstairs carrying a worn-out dress. “May I have this for my collection, Mother?”
“Yes,” Mother replied, looking at Sara curiously.
Sara spent the rest of the evening cutting the dress into small squares. By bedtime she had a large stack of squares to put into the shoe box.
Thursday, during recess, Sara looked closely at all the trees in the school yard. Some of the leaves were golden. One tree had leaves shaped like mittens. Sara pulled a leaf from that tree and put it between two pieces of paper and slipped it into her math book. Later she laid it gently in the shoe box.
Mother shopped for groceries every Friday night. Glen, Grace, and Sara took turns going with her to help. Sara was glad that it was her turn. Before leaving for the store, she took some coins from her piggy bank.
At the meat counter, Sara found a beef bone wrapped in plastic. She put the bone into their cart and handed Mother the coins. “I would like to buy this for my collection.”
“Are you sure?”
Sara just smiled and nodded.
On Saturday Sara had lunch with her friend Hana Clark. Mrs. Clark made a pie, but it was not a dessert pie. It was filled with cheese and tomatoes. It was the main course.
“This pie is unusual, but it is very good,” Sara said. “May I have the recipe?”
“Of course,” answered Mrs. Clark.
After lunch, Hana read the recipe to Sara, who printed it on a piece of paper. When she got home, she put the recipe into the shoe box.
Saturday evening Sara took the bone from the refrigerator and put it into the shoe box.
“Are you going to show us your collection?” Glen asked when Sara brought her shoe box to the dinner table.
Sara nodded. She set the shoe box on the table and took off the lid. Father, Mother, Grandmother, Grace, and Glen peered inside. They all looked puzzled.
“What a strange collection,” Glen said.
“It is different,” Grace agreed.
“Sara, what is your hobby?” Father asked.
Sara didn’t say anything. She just handed the recipe to Mother, the stamp to Father, the fabric squares to Grandmother, the leaf to Grace, and the stone to Glen. “The bone is for Jake,” she explained. She unwrapped it and set it outside the back door.
When she came back to the table, she saw smiles on everyone’s face. “I’m collecting smiles,” she said. “Now I have five smiles for my collection. If you count Jake’s wagging his tail, I have six.”
“Yours is the best hobby of all,” Grandmother said. Then she kissed Sara on the nose.

My companion handed me an envelope and said, “Sister Jones, I think this is for you.” I looked at the return address and was pleased to see my cousin’s name printed neatly in the corner. I had just been transferred to a new city from the other side of southern France and didn’t think anyone back home in the United States was aware of my new address. I opened the envelope and read a short note in which my cousin said that she had recently received an e-mail from her French pen pal after eight years of no contact.
My cousin explained that although she and Céline had received each other’s address in their high school French and English classes, respectively, they had never actually written to each other. My cousin was therefore very surprised to receive Céline’s e-mail. She didn’t know if Céline lived in southern France where I was serving, but she included her name and address, asking me to contact her if possible.
Because I was new to the area, I handed the note to my companion and asked her if my cousin’s pen pal lived in the mission. “Not only does she live within mission boundaries,” she responded, “she lives in our district!” Excitedly, we called Céline to introduce ourselves, and she agreed to meet with us. We took the short train ride to Montauban.
As we stepped off the train, we were greeted warmly by Céline and her parents. They invited us to their home and asked us to share our message. As we taught them about the Book of Mormon and the Prophet Joseph Smith, the Spirit bore witness of the truthfulness of the restored gospel. The family expressed their appreciation for the values taught by the Church, and after a lengthy discussion we left them with a copy of the Book of Mormon, a prayer, and a promise to return.
That was the first of several visits with Céline and her family. My mission ended while they were still in the process of learning about the Church, but before I said good-bye to Céline, I asked her why she had decided to contact my cousin after eight years. Her response surprised me: “When I was cleaning out a drawer, I came across her address on a small piece of paper I thought I’d lost. I felt strongly that I needed to write to her.”
On the way home to our apartment I gazed out the train window and marveled at how a loving Father allowed a lost address to be found and an old connection to be made at the very time I was unexpectedly transferred to a new city for the last six weeks of my mission. He is mindful of all and will make miracles happen, even with such a small and simple thing as a pen pal’s address.

In our early married years we moved to LA to enroll at USC for full-time doctoral studies. I also had a demanding full-time job and was recovering from being hospitalized several times, including for some tough surgery. We were still in our twenties and far from family while we struggled through a fifth very difficult pregnancy, and then the death of a child. While still wondering how we could possibly carry on I was called to serve as bishop.
This calling could not have come at a more difficult time. Of course, we accepted. My doctoral chairman, the dean who was the national president of my profession, was very upset. He said I would never finish my studies and he wrote me off. We grew much in those years and Karen and I witnessed many miracles with our service and studies. I earned the education and credentials on schedule, plus got praise and support from my former critic.

Henry Eyring, a leading scientist and a great teacher who recently passed away, would have contests with his students. Even in his mid-sixties he could standing broad jump to the top of his desk. He challenged university students to a thirty- or forty-yard foot race.
One day just a few short years before he died, he was in the Church Administration Building. His brother-in-law, President Spencer W. Kimball, came out of his office and saw Henry Eyring standing there with a cane. He said, “Henry, what is the cane for?”
And Henry Eyring said, “Style, President, style.”
No wonder he had such an influence on the minds of young men all over the Church. He had “style.”