Gospel Story Finder

Shari Johnson (at left with another runner) says she was surprised to be chosen to carry the torch through her hometown of Holyoke, Colorado, even though she is something of a hero there. Shari is a lifeguard at the city pool and happened to be there one day when she was off duty. A young girl was pulled from the bottom of the pool, and Shari immediately started rescue breathing. Shari saved her life.
Both Barry and Shari light the way for others to follow, not only by carrying the Olympic torch, but by being good examples.

Let us cite only a few of the numerous cases that have come to my personal attention recently. A few months ago a mother of five children came to my office. She wept bitterly as she told me that her husband had spent most of his time during the past year with another man’s wife. She explained that on a number of occasions she followed him in her car to the other woman’s place. Naturally, the sinful husband was miserable, the wife was very sorrowful, and the children were brokenhearted. “… wickedness never was happiness.” (Alma 41:10.)

Around this time of trial, my ward, Zimmerman, was split and I received a call to become the bishop of one of the two newly created wards. This was a very challenging moment for me, but I knew that God would provide a way to accomplish this immense task. I could juggle between my new calling, taking care of the three children at home—all of whom were still young—making regular visits to the hospital, and give honest labor to my employer.
From my past interactions with other bishops, it was evident that the calling of being a bishop was considered one of the most challenging callings in the church—feared and loved in equal measure. However, I confidently knew that whom the Lord calls He qualifies and that He would provide a way for me to be a successful bishop as well as fulfill all other responsibilities placed on my shoulders. As Nephi states: “And it came to pass that I, Nephi, said unto my father: I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save He shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which He hath commandeth them” (1 Nephi 3:7).
Things went on well and our baby, David, was born weighing 1.5 kg (approximately 3.3 pounds). The doctors said he looked good for his age and that he was not in any extreme danger. He was placed in the neonatal intensive care unit and he responded very well to the care given by the doctors and nurses. Like many other times in the past, I saw the hand of the Lord and His choicest blessing in my wife’s and son’s lives. This experience helped me appreciate our great medical technology and the selfless acts of the hospital personnel. David is healthy and thriving now and has been a great addition to our family. He is a source of joy to us all. His siblings Payson, Precious, and Natasha love him dearly. He is a constant reminder of the greatness of God.
Joshua M. Njoroge currently serves as second counselor in the Nairobi Kenya East Stake.

Matías and Elías were so impressed with the things they were learning that they wanted to share their newfound understanding. They began talking with some neighborhood friends, the Anríquez brothers. Juan Carlos was age 12, Esteban, age 11. Juan Carlos seemed particularly interested, and he soon began to listen to the missionary discussions and attend Church meetings. Several months later he was baptized, and shortly afterward he was ordained a deacon.

This was around the time our adult children were starting to come home for Sunday dinners with their spouses. During the week, I found myself making lists in my mind of things I could remind them of on Sunday, like “Maybe try and help out more with the kids when you’re home” or “Don’t forget to be a good listener.”

When I read Brother Maxwell’s comment, I threw away the lists and silenced that critical voice, so when I saw my grown children for that brief time each week, I focused on the many positive things they were already doing. When our oldest son, Ryan, passed away a few years later, I remember being grateful our time together was happier and more positive.

A former student shared that upon returning to BYU after serving a mission, he became discouraged with his attempts at dating. He said:
I went on dates. I met a lot of girls. I even had a steady girlfriend for a short period. But I was not happy. In fact, I was overwhelmingly frustrated. I found that I was annoyed with the pretension. The “where are you from” and “what’s your major” conversations [we have all had them] became painful to endure. I went through the motions because that is what I thought I was supposed to do.
After more than a year of floundering . . . , I began to pray in earnest that the Lord would help me find a friend—more specifically, that He would help me find that friend, the one I had so painfully longed for.
One afternoon as I was reading the Doctrine and Covenants, I came across the following verses in section 98:
“Verily I say unto you my friends, fear not, let your hearts be comforted; yea, rejoice evermore, and in everything give thanks;
“Waiting patiently on the Lord, for your prayers have entered into the ears of the Lord of Sabaoth, and are recorded with this seal and testament—the Lord hath sworn and decreed that they shall be granted” (Doctrine and Covenants 98:1–2).
[This young man continued,] I remember so clearly the feeling that I experienced as I read those verses. It was as though God were speaking to me Himself: “Everything is going to be fine. I’ve heard your prayers, and I will answer them.” I don’t recall a time when the scriptures have spoken to me as they did on that day.

My mother makes the best homemade bread in the whole world. One afternoon our neighbor sat in our kitchen and declared that she would pay ten dollars just for a slice of Mom’s yummy bread. Mom just laughed, but I could tell that she was flattered. That night, while we were doing the dishes, she seemed really concerned about something. Since Dad had been in the hospital, I’d noticed that she’d been worried not just about Dad but about “making ends meet,” as she put it.
Finally I asked, “Mom, what are you thinking about?”
She smiled, hesitated, then said, “Jenney, I couldn’t help thinking about what Mrs. Clark said. Do you think my bread is that good?”
“Sure, Mom, all the kids in the neighborhood love your bread and rolls—especially your cinnamon rolls.”
Well, that’s how I got the job of delivering bread and rolls for my mom. She got a permit from the city and began a bakery in our kitchen to earn some money. Every day after school I delivered her bread and rolls all over town. I got paid for doing it, and that was great, but sometimes I got tired of it and wished I hadn’t praised her bread so much. After a few weeks, I started playing or watching TV and leaving a little later each day. That was until after one day last week.
“Jenney, honey, please hurry. This order is for Brother and Sister Dean, and they live kind of far away. Turn off the TV and get your coat and mittens on.”
“OK, Mom,” I said reluctantly and got ready to go.
At the door, Mom stood looking at the sky. “Hurry, Jenney. Please don’t dawdle. It looks like another storm is brewing.”
“Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll be all right.” I waved good-bye and started down the street. The air was very still and quiet. It wasn’t very cold, either. I walked along for a while, and then snowflakes started dancing around me. Suddenly it got very dark. At first I loved it. The snowflakes got bigger and bigger. They were beautiful as they came straight down, as though they were in a hurry to get to the ground. Like I should be about getting this bread delivered, I thought.
The Deans lived on a dairy farm. I decided to leave the road and take a shortcut through the fields to their house. The snowflakes started swirling around. They were huge by now and seemed to move up and away from me and then back toward me again. I laughed and started to dance with them—around and around, curtsy left, swing right.
When I stopped to catch my breath, I noticed that my feet felt really cold. I looked around me. All I could see was the black night and white swirling snow. The wind picked up, and the snow was no longer gentle and friendly. It started whipping at my hat and coat. My face and nose were numb and cold. I decided to walk fast—only I didn’t know which way to walk! I strained my eyes looking into the night. I couldn’t decide which way to go. Suddenly I felt panicky. I stood very still in that spot and cried for a while, then wandered around till I seemed to hear a gentle voice say, “Pray, Jenney. Stop here and pray.”
I stopped walking and knelt in the snow. I sobbed as I prayed to Heavenly Father for help. After a few moments I felt a sweet calm come over me, and someone seemed to say, “Jenney, look up.”
I looked up, and through the darkness I saw a light flicker on. I couldn’t tell whose light it was, but there it was, shining through the dark, snowy night. I got up quickly and headed for the light. In just a few minutes I could dimly make out Brother Dean’s farm buildings. I stumbled gratefully to the barn door and called, “Brother Dean, are you there?”
Out he came, swinging his lantern. “Why, Jenney, child, what are you doing out here on a night like this?”
I held out the bread and started to sob. He didn’t say a word but put his arm around me and steered me toward the house. While he called my mom, Sister Dean had me put on some dry clothes, then brought me some hot chocolate and warm cookies. Sitting by their nice fire, I told them about how I had been lost and scared. I told them about how I had prayed and then seen the barn light. Mr. Dean smiled and slowly nodded his head, as though he already knew my story.
“Jenney,” he said, “I had finished my chores and had my dinner. I had even put on my slippers and curled up by the fire with my newspaper. I’d no sooner started reading than I had the thought to go to the barn. I brushed it off. I’d come in from the barn not a half hour before, and my cows were OK. Well, I tried to start reading again, but the thought just wouldn’t go away. So I got my tired bones up, lighted my lantern, and went to the barn. It was the strangest thing, because everything seemed to be just fine. So I said to myself, Dean, you’re getting old. Maybe you ought to sell this place and just sit in your rocking chair. Just as I was fixing to come back in, there you were, at the door, as scared as a treed cat and dripping wet. Yep, I’m sure glad I listened to that voice.” He smiled at me, adding, “Jenney, do you know whose voice it was that told me to come to the barn?”
“Yes, Brother Dean.”
I couldn’t explain where the voice came from, but I knew whose it was. My parents and my Primary teachers had taught me about the Holy Ghost. And tonight I knew that Heavenly Father had turned that light on just for me.

I remember our visit to Kime Kinikini at the Holy Cross Hospital in Salt Lake City. He was in the last throes of cancer and was suffering terribly. Our appearance in the room was a surprise. Kime's wife, Fale'aka, leaped from her chair, embraced us and led us to the bedside of her dying husband. It was profoundly moving to see this radiant and loving man in such visible distress. Kime was too sick to even smile, but was able to make a sign that he wanted a blessing which I was honored to give.

We reminisced about our association over the years and about Kime's father and mother, TĂŤvita Muli and Le'o. As an older man, Muli had been my missionary companion for several months in Tonga in 1961. After saying our last goodbyes, we left the room knowing we would not see Kime again in this life. Fale'aka followed us all the way out to the car, weeping and expressing gratitude for our visit. As we were about to get into the car, she pressed into my hand what I thought was a piece of paper. "If you don't need this," she said, "I believe you know someone who does. Kime wants me to give it to you." She turned to go back into the hospital while I stared at a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill in my hand. Suffering his death-agony, when all things of this life seem to be blurred into insignificance, Kime and Fale'aka still wanted to give his friends a token of their undying friendship.

How could we take this money from a poor woman about to become a widow? The more burning question was how could we not receive with humble gratitude this emblem of consecrated friendship. In this case we felt it was better to receive. To resist or make a fuss over the gift would have violated the purity of the consecration. We knew the gift was not about money, but about friendship. It was not for us, but for someone we knew who like Fale'aka, might be in distress.

Let me share a personal experience related to that. A few weeks ago, Mônica and I were in Logan for an assignment, and we decided to go on a date. A friend from that area recommended the Bluebird. Maybe some of you here today are familiar with that restaurant. It is a nice place. Founded in 1914, the restaurant opened in its present location in 1923.

As we were there in the restaurant, our server came to us and asked, “Are you Elder Godoy?”

I said, “Yes.”

Then he started to talk to us in Spanish. He had served as a missionary in Peru, where we had served also.

While chatting here and there, I sensed that he was not comfortable with the subject of mission service. Since I knew his former mission president very well, as we were eating I sent him a message asking about that elder. His mission president replied that he had been a good missionary but that he didn’t finish his mission. And then I could understand why he was a little uncomfortable with the subject. I didn’t want him to feel bad about himself.

And why not? Because missions—although they are so important to all of us and to the Church—are not a saving ordinance. I wanted to tell him that, but that was not the right environment. I wanted to hug him. I wanted to say, “Don’t feel bad about yourself. Just keep going.”

I want to tell those here today who for some reason have not served a mission or didn’t finish it, don’t punish yourself for the rest of your life. Just stand up and aim at the next ordinance. Ordinances are the keys for our salvation and exaltation. And the next ordinance after your mission is sealing. This should be your main concern, to be worthy to get there with the right person at the right time. Stand up, aim toward the temple, and keep going. There are so many things still to be done in this life, and the Lord still expects a lot from you.

In July 1987, Brother Fujitake closed his business, and he and Junko entered the Japan Tokyo South Mission, becoming the only native-Japanese couple serving in Japan.
Using a rather unusual approach, the Fujitakes were instrumental in twenty baptisms and the reactivation of twenty less-active members. They gained entrance to people’s homes by offering to sharpen the family’s kitchen knives for free. Once he sharpened their knives and made friends with them, Brother Fujitake would return to re-sharpen knives or make toys for the children, and Sister Fujitake would knit sweaters for members of the family. As the Fujitakes worked in the homes, they would introduce the gospel to the families.
With this combination of friendship and service, many people have been touched by the Spirit and have learned about the Church. Wherever they would be transferred, Brother Fujitake would repair or improve their apartment, mending broken doors or windows or installing shelves, counters, or clothes hangers. At the same time, Sister Fujitake would provide some kind of service, such as making caramel candies and packaging them cleverly.
Buddhism is the dominant religion in Japan, and because Yukio and Junko knew it well, they were able to understand the people they taught. The Fujitakes also shared their insights and their teaching skills with missionaries in their mission. They were so successful that leaders of all the stakes in the mission desired that the Fujitakes labor in their areas.
Now home from their full-time mission, Brother Fujitake serves as president of the Okayama Yamaguchi District mission, and Sister Fujitake is the district Relief Society president.

It all started when her husband needed a new swimsuit. Back then, swimsuits soaked up water and became heavy when they were wet. But Rose Marie had an idea. She cut up fabric from an old jacket and used it to make her husband’s new swim trunks.
Her husband liked his swimsuit so much that he showed it to a local store. The store asked Rose Marie to make 200 suits to sell. And just like that, Rose Marie was in business!

It seems to me it is dangerous to negatively label any person. Such labels often become indelible and nearly impossible to remove. I often think of the eleven-year-old boy I taught in Primary many years ago. He had been labeled “troublemaker, incorrigible,” but, as I came to know him, I found the labels were wrong. They should have been “bright, quick, ahead of everyone.” He had been bored because he knew all the answers. He had only to be challenged. Do we allow a brother or sister to change, to repent, or do we keep the label firmly in place—after it has become meaningless?

Elder John B. Dickson, former President of the South America South Area, tells of an area-wide youth service activity that was held several years ago: “The youth of the Comodoro Rivadavia Argentina Stake, in the extreme southern part of Argentina, prepared to paint a 1.25-kilometer beach wall fence. One hundred and fifty youth and their leaders with white paint, buckets, and brushes must have created quite a sight, because when the local radio station heard about the event, they came to investigate. ‘Who are these young people?’ they asked. ‘They are youth from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.’ ‘Why are they doing this?’ ‘Well, they just love their community and want to give some voluntary service.’ This information went out to all the radio stations and newspapers in the community.

“These kids knew they were doing something for someone else—taking their minds off themselves as they served others,” says Elder Dickson. “If you multiply that kind of example time and time again—in about 160 stakes throughout the area—all giving service to their communities on the same day, the effect is staggering!”

When I was at my friend’s house, she asked me if I wanted some coffee. I wanted some because some of my other friends said that it was good. I thought for a minute and asked myself if Jesus would do it. Suddenly I felt the Holy Ghost comforting me. I told my friend, “No, thank you.” She said, “Are you sure? It’s really good.” Again, I said, “No, thank you.” I was grateful that the Holy Ghost was there to comfort me. I was also grateful that I could tell my friend no.

A few weeks ago, I flew to New York City to meet a new granddaughter. As my daughter and her husband met me at the door with their little three-day-old infant, there was an obvious radiance in that apartment. As they placed Hannah, who will be named after my mother, in my arms, she looked like a curled-up little doll with lots of dark hair. Within a few days, Hannah was stretching out her long legs and her long, thin feet, and I started to think of all of the things she will experience as she starts growing up. Perhaps she’ll have some of the same fears that I had—like being afraid to be alone in the dark at age six or seven. At age thirteen or fourteen, she may be sure, as I was, that there will never be boys as tall as she is. That concern was increased for me the following year when I became convinced that a person with feet as large as mine would surely never marry.
In infancy, little Hannah responds to food when hungry. She responds to gentle voices and dry diapers. It will be some time before she realizes that her mother is reading the scriptures to her while she feeds her. It will be many, many months before she knows why heads are bowed and prayers are spoken at the dinner table. Yet her faith will begin to take root in this trusting environment. A little child can learn to respond to good feelings, but you are learning to take responsibility for your faith.

One day after school I was playing with my friends near a pond by our house. The boys started putting garbage in the pond. I knew that it was against the rules to play in the pond. I also knew that putting anything in the pond was against the rules. It is not good for the fish, and garbage doesn’t make the pond look nice. I reminded my friends of the rule. They didn’t care and kept putting garbage in the water. I knew it wasn’t right so I went home. Even though I wanted to play with my friends, I wanted to choose the right more. When I got home my mom said she was proud of me for following the rules and choosing the right.

Tony Wong’s parents fled from Communist China into Hong Kong before he was born. His father was unable to find work in the British colony, so his parents “switched roles,” Brother Wong recalls. “My father fed us the bottles and changed the diapers while my mother worked.”
She worked for a few dollars a day—just barely enough to put food on the table and pay for the tiny makeshift hut the family lived in. “We didn’t even have enough money for an electric fan,” observes Brother Wong. And in a land where summer temperatures reach 90 degrees with nearly 100 percent humidity, a fan is almost a necessity.
All that changed when the missionaries came to visit. The family listened to the gospel, and eight-year-old Tony and his parents were baptized in 1960. (A younger sister followed on her eighth birthday.) Although money was tight, the family paid tithing. “And within two months my mother found an extra job, and we had enough money to buy a fan,” Brother Wong says. “The Lord has continued to bless us through the years.”

Moses Mahlangu, yet another Elias, was a preacher from Soweto, South Africa. He found a copy of the Book of Mormon, but because the bottom of the title page was torn off, he did not know what church had published it.

As he read the book, he was filled with light and understanding. He said, “I had had desires to find God and to receive revelation, but I was never satisfied until I got the Book of Mormon.” He told his fellow pastors:

We fight every day over what the Bible says about baptism. We fight about the name of the church. The Book of Mormon is very clear on these points. . . . People will have no need to fight if they read both the Bible and the Book of Mormon. [In LeBaron, “All Are Alike,” p. 191]

Fluent in nine languages, Moses taught from the Book of Mormon and gathered many followers before he ever learned the name of the Church and made contact with it. Then, for more than 14 years he waited, preparing himself and others for baptism. During this time he frequently came to the mission office in Johannesburg to obtain copies of the Book of Mormon and other literature, and I was therefore privileged to know him.

Soon after the revelation was announced, I sought out Moses. As we embraced I asked him if he had heard about the revelation. He said, “Yes. Does this mean that I can now be baptized?”

I asked, “Moses, would you like to be baptized?”

His eyes welled up with tears as he said softly, “I have waited for 14 years.”

I conducted a baptismal interview that I shall never forget. To every question I received the same answer: “I have been keeping that commandment for 14 years.” I was deeply humbled in the presence of this great pioneer. His son, who as a boy accompanied Moses in his ministry, is now serving as Moses’ bishop in the Soweto Ward, near Johannesburg.

I was feeding my baby one night at the beginning of autumn’s half-term holiday, and when scrolling through my Facebook newsfeed, I saw a post from a childhood friend who had started a community pantry box outside her house, full of kitchen cupboard basic foods from which anyone suffering from the loss of school meals during half-term could take what they needed to feed their families.
I often feel I can’t do much for others. I want to give. It’s not easy to find ways to volunteer in the community when you have young children to care for, but that Facebook post got my brain working. I could manage this small thing, couldn’t I? All it needed was a small box. I could manage that.
I searched my cupboard for the largest ‘small’ plastic box that I could find, and then I went through my small store cupboard, filling the box with tinned fruit, vegetables, rice, beans, pasta, sauces, and noodles.
When I ventured out the next morning for a day with my children, I posted a picture of the box on the village Facebook page, hoping it might be useful to someone. Nothing could have prepared me for what I found on my return.
My small box was joined by larger boxes and bags full to bursting with food. I was overwhelmed. Like the widow’s mite (See Mark 12:41-44), my small effort was joined tenfold, by the contributions of others, who have made this endeavour a real success.
It was only meant to last for half term but, at the end of the holiday, I saw a request on Facebook from another mother, saying only the word ‘pantry’, our discreet code word that told me that they had been using, and needed, the box. I knew then that it couldn’t stop now, not with another lockdown on the horizon.
Now, more than ever, we need to support each other. We now have two boxes and are starting a store of warm clothes and blankets. The children in the village school have even drawn posters for the pantry, calling everyone in sight to do a little something for their community by donating!
The donations haven’t stopped, and people have been regularly using the boxes both to give and to take. It’s warmed my heart to see our small village pull together with such love and support. The year 2020 has dealt a rough hand, but without all the hardships of this year, we wouldn’t have had the opportunity to pull together in glorious efforts of kindness and generosity, as I have witnessed with our humble village pantry. What I’ve learned, beyond all doubt, is that if anyone can help someone, then everyone will be ok.

When I was 18 I was the first in my family to find the restored gospel. After my baptism I began to really understand how the gospel could help my family.
As a result of these feelings I started to do family history, and my love for my ancestors grew as I worked and exercised my faith to find them. My desire to find them was so strong that on several occasions I traveled to my ancestors’ places of origin. Each trip brought new experiences, and my heart was turned to my ancestors (see Mal. 4:5–6).