Gospel Story Finder

Such preparation came partly through raising nine children. “When our children were young, we would tell them fairy tales at bedtime,” Sister Lant says. The children would ask, “Is that story true?” It didn’t take long for the Lants to decide, “Let’s use this time to teach our children the truth” and share scripture stories instead.
“When you tell a scripture story at bedtime, the next day when a child is stretching his wings a little and not wanting to follow your counsel, you can say, ‘Do you want to be like Nephi or Laman and Lemuel?’ Children relate.”

At the beginning of my service, I hesitated to share my ideas in ward council meetings. I felt like I shouldn’t be trusted with stewardship over the Relief Society.
With more time and experience, I learned that I wasn’t just a placeholder in this calling—God called me so I could learn to serve and love my ward members. I possessed unique talents that could benefit others.
As I became more confident in my capacity to receive revelation, I found it easier to help the sisters in my ward. And eventually, I realized that my insights were valuable to ward council meetings. This realization filled my heart with joy and belonging.

Despite these actions, the event that precipitated the Saints’ eviction from Missouri occurred four years later on election day, 6 August 1838, in Gallatin, county seat of Daviess County. A scuffle arose when the Saints were not allowed to vote. No one was killed, and although Joseph had not been present at the scene of trouble, rumors accusing him of having killed seven men at the polls soon spread.
A few days later, Joseph was at his parents’ home when a company of armed men stopped at the house. Eight officers entered and, while speaking with Joseph’s mother, assured her that they would kill “Joe Smith and all the Mormons.” She denied that Joseph was in the county when the men were allegedly killed. “Furthermore,” she said, “if you should see him, you would not want to kill him.”
“‘Gentlemen,’” her narrative continues, “‘suffer me to make you acquainted with Joseph Smith, the Prophet.’ They stared at him as if he were a spectre. He smiled, and stepping towards them, gave each of them his hand, in a manner which convinced them that he was neither a guilty criminal nor yet a hypocrite.
“Joseph then sat down and explained to them the views … of the Church, and what their course had been; besides the treatment which they had received from their enemies since the first. He also argued, that if any of the brethren had broken the law, they ought to be tried by the law, before anyone else was molested. After talking with them some time in this way, he said, ‘Mother, I believe I will go home now—Emma will be expecting me.’ At this two of the men sprang to their feet, and declared that he should not go alone, as it would be unsafe—that they would go with him, in order to protect him. Accordingly the three left together, and during their absence, I overheard the following conversation among the officers, who remained at the door:
“lst Officer. ‘Did you not feel strangely when Smith took you by the hand? I never felt so in my life.’
“2nd Officer. ‘I could not move. I would not harm a hair of that man’s head for the whole world.’
“3rd Officer. ‘This is the last time you will catch me coming to kill Joe Smith, or the “Mormons” either.’
“lst Officer. ‘I guess this is about my last expedition against this place. I never saw a more harmless, innocent appearing man than the “Mormon” Prophet.’
“2nd Officer. ‘That story about his killing them men is all a … lie—there is no doubt of it; and we have had all this trouble for nothing; but they will never fool me in this way again; I’ll warrant them.’
“The men who went home with my son promised to disband the militia under them and go home, which they accordingly did.”5

One person who would have loved to watch this young woman develop her skill on the ice is Holly’s grandfather. He knew the lure of speed and grace on the slippery surface. He himself was a speed skater, and he taught his little girl, Holly’s mother, to skate. But he did not live to see his granddaughter follow in his blade marks.
Still Holly is influenced by him and the stories of him her mother has told her. “I hope that he has seen me skate. I think of him even though I didn’t know him. I think of how he used to skate, then my mom skated, and now I skate. And I wonder if my children and grandchildren will skate too. Sometimes I skate remembering my grandfather, and that encourages me.”

When I was young, I was overly dependent on my older sister. For example, I was a fussy eater, and when we went to visit our grandparents, I was constantly faced with being offered food I didn’t like. When the plate was passed to me, I would turn to my sister and ask, “Collene, do I like this?”
If it was familiar and she knew that I didn’t like it, she would say, “No, you don’t like that.”
If it was something we hadn’t eaten before, she would say, “Just a minute,” and taste it, and then tell me if I liked it or not. If she said that I didn’t like it, no amount of coaxing could get me to eat it.
Just as I needed to rely on my own taste buds and stop denying myself good food just because my sister told me that I didn’t like it, we must all feast on the fruit of our own testimony and not the testimony of another person. We also need to increase our ability to receive personal revelation.

When schoolteachers in Kaiserslautern, Germany, wonder if holding classes, grading papers, and putting up with noisy students are worth it, the youth of the Landstuhl Military Ward, Kaiserslautern Germany Military Stake, like to remind them of their value. Each year for the past six years, the youth have expressed appreciation for their teachers’ service and caring with a teacher appreciation night.
The youth chose “For the Strength of Youth” as this year’s theme. They made a memory and quote book for their teachers, thanking them for their guidance, knowledge, and service. The youth also treated the teachers to dinner in the Church cultural hall, which they decorated for the occasion, and they put on a show to entertain them. On each table they left copies of For the Strength of Youth for the teachers to take home. Their teachers certainly appreciate being appreciated!

One day while I was ministering to a sister in our ward, she told me she read the Book of Mormon every year. She also testified of the great blessings that this undertaking had brought her. I am grateful to that sister for her example.
Before that visit, I had read the Book of Mormon cover to cover only once, though I always studied it when preparing for teaching assignments. After my visit, I decided to follow this sister’s example. I began again with 1 Nephi and read to the end. She was right! I was blessed in many ways I recognized and, I’m sure, in other ways I did not recognize.

When my son was called on a mission to Brazil, we took a father-son trip to the Sacred Grove in Palmyra, New York. We spent three days doing nothing but walking and talking there. On the final day we sat on a bench and bore our testimonies to each other. I shared my own conversion story once again with my son, and we cried. I hope his children and his grandchildren carry on this legacy of love and faith for years to come.

When I was almost 16 years old, my inspired bishop asked me to teach our youth Sunday School class about gaining a testimony of the gospel through prayer. As I grew up, I had taken the time to study the Book of Mormon and always felt that the Church was true. I had always believed in the Savior Jesus Christ, but I had never taken to heart Moroni’s promise, found in Moroni 10:4–5, and prayed about the truthfulness of the gospel. I remember feeling that if I was going to teach about how to gain a testimony through prayer, I should pray for a testimony myself. My soul hungered—perhaps in a different way from Enos, but I still felt a spiritual need.
As I prepared the lesson, I knelt and prayed with all my heart. When I asked the Lord if the gospel is true, there came to my heart a very sweet feeling—that still, small voice confirming to me that it was true and that I should continue doing what I was doing.
The feeling was so strong that I could never disregard that answer and say I didn’t know. I felt so happy! The following Sunday, I stood in front of my classmates and testified that Heavenly Father would answer their prayers if they had faith.
Elder Soares as a young man
This testimony has stayed with me. It has helped me make decisions, especially in challenging moments. It has allowed me to testify to people, with conviction, that they can get answers from Heavenly Father if they pray in faith. This has been true for me as a teacher in that youth Sunday School class, as a missionary, and even today as an Apostle.

It was while we were finishing a serving of the thin mashed potatoes the French call purée that Elder Granville told Sister Dupont a story.
“Did you ever hear about the missionary who was eating dinner and asked his companion to pass the butter? The butter was right in front of him, but he couldn’t see it because it was so close.”
“What?”
“Simple. It’s like you and the gospel. All these years your husband has had it right here in front of you, but you couldn’t see it because it was so close. You keep asking where the butter is when it’s right in front of your plate.”
It may not have been the strongest analogy, but Elder Granville was trying. When we got home that night, he brought me a copy of the Book of Mormon.
“Why don’t you sign this with me?” he said, turning to a dedication on the flyleaf. “It’s for Sister Dupont.”
I looked at what he’d written.
“Voici le beurre,” it said. “Here is the butter.”

Merrell: Besides Indian and Three Warriors we have done Take Down and most recently Harry’s War. Would you like to hear the story connected with my doing Take Down?
Merrell: Kieth told me they probably wouldn’t use me on Take Down because the investors wanted someone with a big Hollywood name to help sell the film. My opportunity to do it began, strangely enough, when the BYU basketball team lost to the University of Utah. That night as I was trying to sleep, an arrangement of the “Cougar Fight Song” that I hadn’t heard before kept running through my mind. I finally got up, took a tape recorder, and dictated what I was hearing. A week later I orchestrated it, went to London, and at the end of the regular recording session, recorded the National Philharmonic playing my new “Cougar Fight Song.” It had a combination Star Wars-Rocky-disco sound and I loved it! I wanted it to be perfect because I planned to give it to Coach Arnold to help inspire his team to win.
Well, the day I returned to Utah I was in the studio listening to it and received a call from Kieth. He said, “Merrell, I’m totally frustrated; I’ve gone through composer after composer and no one strikes a bell. Do you have anything with a sports theme that sounds like Rocky and Star Wars combined?” I couldn’t believe it! I told him what I had and then sent him down a rough mix. After listening to it, he called in the investors and had them listen to it, and within three minutes they decided they wanted me to do the music for Take Down.
Later when Kieth talked to me, he said, “I don’t care what you do in the rest of the picture, but I want the end titles to sound like your Cougar song without the Cougar melody.” And that’s how close I came to getting the exact music he wanted before he had even asked me to submit a song. To me that was really a faith-promoting experience because I had been inspired several months earlier to be almost overwhelmed by a certain sound, write it down in the specific style Kieth wanted, record it, and have it ready the very day Kieth called.

A few years ago, Rachel and Melissa were both at home on a Saturday afternoon. The doorbell rang, and Rachel greeted two nicely dressed young men at the door. She thought they were salesmen. Their dad, Gerry, agreed to chat with the young men, who were actually full-time missionaries. Life in the Clancy home changed forever when the girls and their father were baptized.

The Clancy girls soon discovered that living their new religion meant having most of their friendships with people of other faiths, a role that both missionary-minded girls embrace. But where does their strength come from? Some comes from a handful of LDS friends and leaders, but most of what makes these girls strong is what happens within the walls of their home.

This family knows how to work together. Rachel handles laundry, including ironing, while Melissa helps with some of the outside chores, like mowing the lawn. They both look after their younger brother and sister, Matt and Stefany, while their dad is at work or handling Church responsibilities.

The Clancys know how to play, too. In fact, both girls say that most of their best gospel learning experiences come from conversations during fun times with the family jumping on the trampoline, hiking, or swimming.

“This year Dad and Matt and I spent several days hiking at a place called Ayers Rock,” says Rachel. “I like hiking but I’m afraid of heights and this was a really steep hike. We stopped and said a prayer and I felt better. When we got to the top there was a beautiful view. My dad and I talked about how it was a lesson about enduring to the end. It’s my favorite memory from that hiking trip.”

Several years ago the Ensign featured a story about a woman who was serving in a very time-consuming leadership position in her ward. She was also the mother of a large and busy family. She felt a lot of pressure to do well both at home and in her church calling and began to feel overwhelmed and resentful of all of her heavy responsibilities. One Sunday morning during ward council, the Bishop suggested that the leaders of the ward were not doing as much as they possibly could and asked them to re-dedicate themselves to their callings and to put more effort into doing the very best they could do. This sister left the meeting very angry with the Bishop for implying that she wasn’t doing her best in her church job. She prayed for help in dealing with her anger and as she prayed her heart was softened to realize that perhaps she wasn’t doing things to the best of her ability. For the next several days she continued praying, this time not asking the Lord to forgive the Bishop, but to help her understand what she could do better. She was filled with inspiration for ways she could improve not only as a leader in the ward, but also as a leader in her home. She learned how she could manage her time more efficiently, delegate to counselors and family members, and become more organized so that she could work smarter, not harder. She felt a renewed enthusiasm for all of her responsibilities and felt more dedicated in her service to the Lord.

by Ruth M. Challis
Ten minutes to the east of Cedar City, Utah, is Coal Creek Canyon, hillsides covered with pines, sprinkled with yellow-green aspens in the spring, and enjoyed by everyone in the area. Cleaning the canyon has recently become one of the “in” things to do for the 90 young men and women of the Cedar City Seventh Ward. The young people eagerly looked forward to organizing a service project for picking up litter along the sides of the road and began preparing for this event early in the year.
Committees were organized, planning meetings held, and arrangements made for the project. Trucks had to be found to pick up the litter, plastic bags bought to put it in, men scheduled to drive the trucks, cars assigned to carry the volunteers to the mouth of the canyon, and people appointed to supervise the groups. Charts were drawn of the canyon, and plans made for assigning so many volunteers per mile.
On the appointed June day, cars carrying the young people headed for the mouth of the canyon. The volunteers were divided into groups and let out of the cars every mile with large plastic garbage bags. People scrambled along the sides of the road picking up cans, paper, garbage, even a dead lamb. Ten truck loads of litter were hauled out to Woods Ranch, eleven miles up the canyon. At the end of the cleanup, the food committee was ready with chicken, dutch oven potatoes, salads, rolls, root beer, and cake for dessert for the weary volunteers.
In addition to cleaning up, the young people talked with tourists driving through the canyon and explained that they were members of the Church. One group of girls talked with some bicyclists who asked many questions about the gospel.
The project was a huge success, and plans are underway again for project cleanup!

It was almost the end of the month, and I had visited every sister on my new visiting teaching list except one. I’d never met Joan (name has been changed). She did not attend church, and in the recent past, she had not wanted to have contact with the Church.

I had made many phone calls to her home throughout the month, but they were always greeted by her answering machine, no matter what time I called. I left several voice messages, introducing myself as her new visiting teacher, telling her I was looking forward to meeting her, and asking her to return my call. But Joan never called back.

With only a few days left in the month, I decided to drop by Joan’s home unannounced with a plate of muffins. But as I drove up and down the busy highway near her street, I realized that none of the numbers on the houses matched the address I had been given for her. I became increasingly frustrated, thinking, “Why am I doing this? She probably won’t even be home, and if I leave the muffins on her porch, some dog will most likely eat them.” Finally I checked my ward directory and discovered that Joan’s address on my visiting teaching list was incorrect. With the correct address, I found the home within minutes.

Armed with my muffins, I walked toward Joan’s house. I hesitated when I saw a big No Trespassing sign but cautiously continued toward her porch. I rang the doorbell two times. No answer. Thinking, “Well, at least I tried,” I left the muffins and my note near Joan’s front door.

That evening at dinner, I mentioned to my family my apparently wasted hour attempting to reach this faceless, voiceless, impossible-to-contact sister. During the meal the phone rang. Contrary to our mealtime practice, I answered it. The woman on the phone identified herself as Joan. Suddenly feeling as though I had been reunited with a friend, rather than the stranger she was, I whooped, “Joan! I’ve wanted to hear your voice for so long! I’m so excited you’ve called!”

Joan explained that she hadn’t returned my calls because of recent turmoil in her life. She continued, “Today I was at the courthouse, feeling defeated and humiliated as I stood in front of the judge and my estranged husband. When I drove home, I prayed, ‘God, I feel so worthless and unloved.’ Sobbing, I asked, ‘If You love me, please show me.’

“When I reached home, there before my eyes, as though a miracle from God, was a plate of muffins and a note saying, ‘I’m thinking of you. Love, your visiting teacher.’ It was as if God were saying to me that He loved me. I just wanted you to know that I know God used you to answer my prayer today.”

Since that day Joan has become my friend. We have read the scriptures and prayed together, and she has joined me at church. She has been a gift to me, teaching me never to give up when serving the Lord.

One summer many, many years ago, my mother decided it would be a great project for her children to refinish the dining room chairs. The chairs were painted a dark cherry color, and my mother had discovered that underneath that paint was good, hard maple wood.
I will never forget that experience. We began by applying a nasty solvent called toluene to all the painted surfaces, and then we scraped the paint off.
Once the paint was removed, we had to sand the wood with several grades of sandpaper in order to remove the very last bits of paint and to prepare the wood for a new finish.
When the sanding was finally done, we applied a finish to highlight the grain and enhance the wood's natural color. In the final step we sealed the new hardwood finish with two coats of varnish. Those chairs were transformed!

Let me provide an example. When I first visited Czechoslovakia, accompanied by Hans B. Ringger, long before the freedom bell sounded, I was met by Jiri Snederfler, our leader through this dark period, and Sister Olga Snederfler, his wife. I went to their home in Prague where the branch met. Displayed on the walls of the room in which we assembled were picture after picture of the Salt Lake Temple. I said to Sister Snederfler, “Your husband must truly love the temple.”
She responded, “I, too; I, too.”
We sat down for some soup Sister Snederfler had prepared, after which she brought out a treasure trove: an album containing individual pictures of the missionaries who were serving there in 1950 when the government edict came for the mission to be closed. As she slowly leafed through the pictures of different missionaries, she would say, “Wonderful boy, wonderful boy.”
Brother Snederfler has been a courageous Church leader in Czechoslovakia and has been willing to put everything on the line for the gospel. When the opportunity came that we would seek recognition for the Church in that country, the government leaders, then Communist, said: “Don’t send an American. Don’t send a German. Don’t send a Swiss. Send a citizen of Czechoslovakia.”
There were ominous implications in that particular statement because to have admitted that you were a church leader during this period of the prohibition of religion was tantamount to possible imprisonment. And yet, this call came to Brother Snederfler to be the designated person to go before the government and to forthrightly state that he was the leader of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for all of Czechoslovakia and that he was seeking recognition for his church. He later told me that he had been somewhat frightened and had asked for the prayers of his brothers and sisters in the Prague Branch. He went to his sweet wife, Olga, and said to her: “I love you. I don’t know when, or if, I’ll be back, but I love the gospel, and I must follow my Savior.”
With that spirit of faith and devotion, Brother Snederfler went before the government officials and acknowledged that he was the leader of the Church and that he was there to seek a restoration of the recognition the Church had enjoyed long years before. In the meantime Elder Russell M. Nelson had been working tirelessly to bring about the desired decision. Later, Brother Snederfler heard the good news: “Your church is again recognized in Czechoslovakia.” How eager Brother Snederfler was to tell his dear wife and the other stalwart members of the Church the wonderful news that once again missionaries could come to Czechoslovakia and the Church could provide a haven for freedom of worship in that nation. It was a happy day for Czechoslovakia.
Where are Jiri and Olga Snederfler today? Just last month they responded to their calls to serve as temple president and matron of the Freiberg Germany Temple, where faithful members of the Church in Germany, Czechoslovakia, and surrounding nations attend. These two saintly souls find themselves each day in the Lord’s house they so dearly love.
And what of Richard Winder, one of the former missionaries of whom Olga Snederfler exclaimed, “Wonderful boy, wonderful boy”? He is now the president of the Czechoslovakia Prague Mission, responding to the call to him and his wife, Barbara, to reopen the work in that country.

When I was young and new to the Church, I was assigned to minister to an elderly man who lived by himself. He lived on the edge of town in an old motel room that had become an extended-stay residence for those who couldn’t afford apartments. He didn’t appear to have many possessions or family in the area and lived a lonely life. During one visit, he told me about the child who was stillborn to him and his wife. I marveled that he was brought to tears by the recollection of something that must have happened at least 50 years before. It would only be a brief time before I better understood his feelings.
Two years later my wife and I drove past the scene of a car accident. I realized that no police or ambulance had arrived yet. I had just completed an emergency medical technician course, so I stopped to see if I could help. When I made my way through the crowd, I saw an overturned vehicle with a small child lying nearby on the ground. There was no one giving her any care. I kneeled beside her and began to assess her condition, which was serious.
As I did, I heard someone call my name. I looked up into the face of a man in our ward who was less active. I realized this was his young daughter, who had attended our Primary. A nurse arrived, and we began CPR. When the ambulance crew took over, I returned to my friend’s side. I learned later that his child had ended up partially under the vehicle and others had pulled her out before my arrival. Her injuries were internal, and she did not survive.
Less than a year later, we were expecting our fourth daughter, and my wife carried her the full nine months. My wife woke me early one morning, saying her water had broken. We went to the hospital. After I parked the car, I went to her room and was told that the baby had died. I didn’t immediately understand, since we had only just arrived. When the doctor did his initial check, he couldn’t find a heartbeat. We never knew why. Instead of enjoying a newborn, we found ourselves planning for her funeral and taking down the nursery items.
Less than a year after that, a two-year-old boy in our ward was run over and killed by a service truck in the parking lot where he lived. I visited the family and spoke at his funeral. The mother mentioned he had been unusually cuddly that morning, almost as if he were saying goodbye.
Our ward had experienced the deaths of three young children in just over one year.

Scritchy-scratchy, scritchy, scritchy-scratchy.
Jimmy awoke with a start. “What is that noise?” he asked out loud.
“It must be Kitty,” he cried, jumping out of bed. He ran through the hall and out the front door to find Kitty.
Jimmy ran around the house, and there he saw Kitty lapping milk from a saucer on the back porch.
Kitty licked the milk off her whiskers and stared at Jimmy a moment. Then she quietly returned to her milk. Lap, lap, lap.
Jimmy shook his head. If it’s not Kitty, it must be Spotty, he decided. And away Jimmy ran to find his dog.
Spotty was burying a bone near the shrubs. “Woof,” he barked. His paws made a soft poosh, poosh sound as he dug into the wet ground.
“It’s not Kitty and it’s not Spotty. Maybe it’s Baby Brother,” Jimmy said to himself as he ran into the house.
Mother and Baby Brother were in the kitchen. Baby Brother was sitting in his high chair. Bang! Bang! went the spoon as Baby Brother hit the tray. He waved his arms and wiggled.
Ker-sploosh! Down went his cereal bowl. Clatter! Bang! Plop!
“You make a lot of noise,” Jimmy said, “but it’s not a scritchy-scratchy sound.”
Mother picked up the cereal bowl. “Jimmy, why are you running around in your pajamas and bare feet?”
“I’m trying to find what woke me,” Jimmy answered.
“Maybe it was the sun shining in your window,” Mother suggested.
Jimmy shook his head. “The sun doesn’t make any noise.”
“What kind of noise did you hear?” Mother asked.
“It was sort of like Kitty scratching on something, but Kitty is lapping her milk,” Jimmy replied. “And it was a little like Spotty when he is scratching, but Spotty is burying a bone in the soft ground.”
Mother smiled. “Let’s go back in your room. Maybe I can help you find it.”
So Mother lifted Baby Brother out of the high chair, and they all went to Jimmy’s bedroom.
“Sh-h-h,” said Mother.
“Sh-h-h,” said Jimmy.
They listened quietly. Soon they heard the noise.
Scritchy-scratchy, scritchy, scritchy-scratchy.
“That’s it,” whispered Jimmy.
Mother smiled. “Come look out the window.”
Jimmy tiptoed to the window.
“Look up under the eaves of the roof,” Mother whispered.
Jimmy looked and he saw a little bird building a nest.
Jimmy and Mother and Baby Brother watched the bird fly away. Soon it returned, carrying dry grass and a twig in its beak. The scritchy-scratchy sounds began again as the bird worked at building the nest.
Jimmy smiled happily. “Will there be eggs in the nest?” he asked.
Mother nodded. “Tiny speckled eggs.”
“And will there be baby birds?” Jimmy questioned.
“With their mouths wide open, waiting to be fed,” Mother told him.
“I can hardly wait!” Jimmy exclaimed. “That will be great! I have Kitty and Spotty and Baby Brother, and now I’ll even have baby birds to watch. I have just about everything!”

I close with another example of a family relationship. At a stake conference in the Midwest about 10 years ago, I met a sister who told me that her nonmember husband had been accompanying her to church for 12 years but had never joined the Church. What should she do? she asked. I counseled her to keep doing all the right things and to be patient and kind with her husband.

About a month later she wrote me as follows: “Well, I thought that the 12 years was a good show of patience, but I didn’t know if I was being very kind about it. So, I practiced real hard for over a month, and he got baptized.”

Kindness is powerful, especially in a family setting. Her letter continued, “I am even trying to be kinder now because we are working on a temple sealing this year!”

Six years later she wrote me another letter: “My husband was [just] called and set apart as the bishop [of our ward].”