Gospel Story Finder

I'll never forget one meeting I had with one of my professors when I was an undergraduate student at a different campus. As we met I told him that I wanted to become a professor some day. His response was, "I don't think that's for you, it requires a lot of hard work and lots of brains." Perhaps because I was a young surfer from Hawai‘i, who still mostly spoke da kine pidgin, that he thought, "Oh, I don't think he can accomplish this task." However, through personal inspiration, I knew that the Lord was encouraging me to become a college professor. So, I left that meeting with a stronger determination to accomplish this goal. Fortunately, after transferring back to BYUH, I found a couple of professors who did believe in me. Eight years later, in 2005, I finished my Ph. D from the University of California, got hired as a tenure-track professor, and published much of my research on Hawaiian history and Hawaiian surfers. I accomplished these things only because I believed in the Lord and then he taught me to believe in myself. As students, you should also feel empowered and able to accomplish great things while here at BYU-Hawai‘i. So take your education serious, and prove your critics wrong.

Other young people who participated in the experiment didn’t fight with their brothers and sisters but felt their relationships weren’t as strong as they could be. Curtis Morley missed the close relationship he and his younger brother had as young boys. He decided to get up early with his brother and join him in his bike ride to volleyball practice during the summer.
“At first we just talked of common things, but as the days progressed he spoke more from the heart. I anticipated a noticeable change in him. It didn’t happen. Instead the change came over me. I had regained a friend, someone who would always be there when I needed him—and an awesome volleyball partner.”

The desire to help another, the quest for the lost sheep, may not always yield success at once. On occasion, progress is slow—even indiscernible. Such was the experience of my longtime friend Gill Warner. He was a newly called bishop when Douglas, a member of his ward serving in the mission field, transgressed and was deprived of his Church membership. Father was saddened; Mother was totally devastated. Douglas soon thereafter moved from the state. The years hurried by, but Bishop Warner, now a member of a high council, never ceased to wonder what had become of Douglas.
In 1975 I attended the stake conference of Brother Warner’s stake and held a priesthood leadership meeting early on Sunday morning. I spoke of the Church discipline system and the need to labor earnestly and lovingly to rescue any who had strayed. Gill Warner raised his hand and outlined the story of Douglas. He concluded by posing a question to me: “Do I have any responsibility to work with Douglas to help bring him back to Church membership?”
Gill reminded me later that my response to his question was direct and given without hesitation. I said, “As his former bishop and one who knew and loved him, I would think you would wish to do all you could to bring him back.”
Unbeknownst to Gill Warner, Douglas’s mother had, the previous week, fasted and prayed that a man would be raised up to help save her son. Gill discovered this when, following the meeting, he felt prompted to call her to report his determination to be of help.
Gill began his odyssey of redemption. Douglas was contacted by him. Old times, happy times, were remembered. Testimony was expressed, love was conveyed, and confidence instilled. The pace was excruciatingly slow. Discouragement frequently entered the scene; but step-by-step Douglas made headway. At long last prayers were answered, efforts rewarded, and victory attained. Douglas was approved for baptism.
The baptismal date was set, family members gathered, and former bishop Gill Warner flew to the city where Douglas lived and performed the ordinance.
Bishop Warner, through the love of his heart and with a sense of responsibility to a former priest in the Aaronic Priesthood—even the quorum over which he presided—went to the rescue, that not one would be lost.

Pat: In the summer of 1973, Brother David K. Skidmore received military orders to report for duty in Thailand. Leaving a wife and two small children behind, David hoped to make the year pass as quickly as possible.
On the evening of his arrival, he was invited to join in a social gathering with his new squadron. He turned down an alcoholic drink for a soda pop and tried to obscure himself in quiet conversation amid the pounding of the music and the layered haze of smoke.
As he was introduced around, Brother Skidmore eventually ended up standing at the bar with the squadron commander, a colonel. With the officer’s arm around David’s neck he was a captive, listening to tales of airplanes, daring, and past comrades.
Soon a signal was given and the men gathered around the bar. The music was turned off and it became very quiet. Everyone was served a small drink of very strong alcohol. When the drinks came to Brother Skidmore, he said quietly, trying to be casual, “No, thank you, I prefer this soft drink.”
The room went silent. “But this is a squadron tradition,” the man said.
Thoughts raced through David’s mind: “Why me? Why in front of the whole squadron? Why the very first night?” Trying to sound confident, David explained that he did not drink alcohol but would participate with soda pop.
With that, the silence deepened, and the commander’s arm tightened around his neck and he said, “Lieutenant, I’m ordering you to have this drink. You’ll drink it if I have to pour it down you myself.”
David thought of how far he could get if he tried to fight. He envisioned the results, and an unpleasant visit to the wing commander to change squadrons. Again he asked himself, “Why me?” But he gathered his courage amidst the waiting silence and said, “I’m sorry, sir, I will not drink alcohol.”
An electricity filled the air, and David prayed silently with all his heart.
The colonel leaned back and measured him with his eyes, then replied, “You are going to drink this . . .”
David kept praying.
Then the colonel added, “. . . unless you are a Mormon.”
What relief filled a soldier’s soul! Of course he was a Mormon! He’d always been a Mormon. Why hadn’t he said so earlier? “Yes, sir, I’m a Mormon,” he answered.
The commander quizzed David again to make sure he wasn’t simply taking an easy out. Then he said, “A soft drink for this man, please” (David K. Skidmore, “Yes, I Am a Mormon,” Ensign, September 1985, pp. 55–56).

After I completed my master’s degree at BYU, I accepted employment as a staff engineer at the University of Utah. The work was exciting and fast paced. Amber and I were enjoying life. Our finances were suddenly much improved. We were working on starting our family, and we were serving in the Church in new and more responsible ways. Everything was going great for us.

Leading up to this time, I had thought a lot about pursuing a doctoral degree. Over time, however, because I was enjoying work and life was going so well, my commitment to pursue additional education had begun to fade. I had not made a decision one way or the other and had simply let other things take precedence. By not making a conscious effort to prayerfully consider my future, I was in essence letting life’s circumstances decide for me. In a sense, I was not acting but rather was being acted upon.

One afternoon, after I had been working for almost a year, I received a phone call in my office from Professor Joseph C. Free. Joe, whom I called Dr. Free back then, was a professor in the BYU Mechanical Engineering Department. He had taken an interest in me as an undergraduate student and had later served as my graduate advisor. He was a trusted mentor and friend with whom I had talked quite a lot about graduate school.

We caught up a bit on what had been going on in our lives, and after some conversation he asked me how my PhD plans were shaping up. I shared with him how well things were going for me at work and in life generally. I told him that Amber was expecting our first child and that I thought I would stay put where I was.

In response, he expressed his happiness that things were going so well for me, and then he said something that I will never forget. He said, “I am disappointed that you aren’t going forward with your plans for a PhD.”

Not a lot more was said, and we wrapped up our call together. I was not surprised by Joe’s comment, and initially I did not think too much about it. But his words stuck in my mind for weeks, and I eventually concluded that I needed to prayerfully consider my future and seek the guidance of the Spirit.

Amber and I did pray, and together we decided that more school was the right thing for us and that sooner was better than later. About nine months later, on a hot summer evening, we drove west out of Salt Lake City into the setting sun with our twin baby girls strapped in their car seats to begin six of the most challenging, fulfilling, and fun years of our lives.

This story has a nice ending. About seven years after Joe’s phone call to me, I accepted employment as a professor here at BYU. I was hired into Joe’s position and began to teach the classes he had once taught. Interestingly, the phone number that he had once called me from became, and is to this day, my phone number.

Jacob latched the gate on the new fence. “Stay, Annie,” he said. “You get this whole big yard. Have fun!”
Jacob had only been in the house long enough to take three bites out of his sandwich when he heard Annie scratching at the door and barking to get into the house. “How did she get out?” he wondered.
He grabbed Annie by her collar and led her back through the open gate. Maybe he hadn’t latched it right before. He pulled the gate shut and carefully pulled the latch into place. “Stay, Annie,” he said again.
“Woof,” Annie said, watching him. Jacob turned to go back into the house, but he looked over his shoulder just in time to see Annie pushing the latch up with her nose and marching through the gate.
“Annie!” Jacob was partly impressed and partly annoyed. “You have to stay in the back.” He took Annie back through the gate. Maybe the dog didn’t remember all the things Jacob’s family had done to make her happy out here. “See, here is your doghouse,” he said. “And here are some of your favorite toys.” Annie picked up her bone and lay down to chew it. “Your water dish and everything you need are right here. I’ll come play with you after I finish my lunch.” But he hadn’t even gotten to the kitchen before he heard Annie barking at the door again.
That night at dinner, Jacob told the story to his family. “So after I put a big bolt through the hole to keep the latch from lifting, I thought for sure that Annie would stay. But she figured out how to pull the bolt out with her teeth. Then she opened the latch and out she came.”
“That dog is too smart for her own good,” Dad remarked.
“So what did you do?” Jacob’s brother Tim asked.
“I put a nut on the bolt,” Jacob said smugly. “Now she can’t pull it out. She’s smart but not as smart as I am.”
The doorbell rang. Jacob jumped up to answer it. He was expecting his friend Ryan to come over, but it wasn’t Ryan at the door. It was a man in uniform with Annie.
“Is this your dog?” the animal-control officer asked. Annie wriggled past Jacob into the house.
Jacob nodded.
Jacob’s mom came up behind him. “Uh-oh,” she said. “We thought Annie was locked in the backyard.”
“She was at large,” the officer said.
“At large?” Jacob asked, puzzled.
“That means loose and uncontrolled,” the officer explained. “We’ve talked to your parents about this before. Your dog has to be secured. That’s the law.”
Jacob remembered that his parents had built the fence because Annie had been in trouble before. She had dashed out of the house when the door had opened and run off down the street.
“She doesn’t mean to be bad,” Jacob said.
“No, but she depends on us who know the rules,” the officer said. “She’s not safe when she’s loose, and neither are the children in the neighborhood. You’ll have to pay the fine.” He handed a ticket to Mom. She wasn’t smiling.
“We’ll figure out how she got out and fix it,” Mom said.
As the officer was leaving, Ryan rode up on his bike. “What’s up?” he asked. “Who got arrested?”
“Ha, ha,” Jacob said. “Actually, Annie did.”
The boys went around to the backyard. Mom and Dad were already there. Dad pointed to an Annie-sized hole under the fence. A pile of dirt on the other side told the story.
Everybody pitched in. Dad and Tim buried big rocks in the most obvious digging spots. Then Jacob and Ryan took logs from the woodpile and laid them along the bottom of the fence where Annie might try to dig. By the time they were finished, it was getting dark.
For two days Annie stayed in the backyard. Jacob was sure the problem was solved. But on Friday, their neighbor Mr. Kopiak called to say that Annie had climbed the woodpile and leaped into his yard over the fence. “She’s OK,” he said, “but I’m surprised she didn’t break a leg.”
“You need to trust me on this,” Jacob said to Annie as he walked her home. “You just don’t realize what’s out there. You could get hurt! You have to stay, Annie.”
That afternoon, Ryan called to invite Jacob to go swimming. “We can bike over to Pizza Village on the way back,” Ryan said.
It was a fun idea, but Jacob knew it would be hard to get permission. The pool was out of his biking territory. Still, Ryan had never invited him to go for pizza before. Jacob felt it was important to their friendship that he say yes. Surely Mom would understand.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Son,” Mom said when he asked her.
“It’s not that far!” Jacob said. He felt angry and frustrated. “Ryan rides his bike all over the place and he’s OK. What could happen?” Jacob was trying not to lose his cool, but he heard his voice getting louder with every syllable. “These rules are stupid!”
Mom looked him right in the eye. “Jacob, you’ll have to trust me. You don’t know what’s out there.”
Jacob felt tingles across the back of his neck. That was the same thing he had said to Annie that very day!
Jacob went to his room to think. He thought about what the animal-control officer had said. He remembered what his dad had said about Annie being so smart. He thought about how much he loved Annie and all the work the family had done to make her safe. He thought about rules, and how much his parents loved him and wanted him to be safe. He thought about the Holy Ghost helping Mom know what to say—the same words he’d told Annie.
After a while, Jacob called Ryan. “I can’t go,” he said. “But if you come over, we can make brownies. Mom says she’ll order pizza to be delivered.”
Ryan happily agreed.

In December 2021 there was a huge fire near my home. The winds were fanning the fire, and it got out of control. It ripped through neighborhoods and stores.
When our family first heard about the fire, we were in the temple visitors’ center. We prayed and prayed that our friends and family would be safe.
We desperately had to trust in the Lord. It gave me peace and comfort to know that if we trusted Him, we could be OK, no matter what happened. That night, the wind calmed down and firefighters were able to control the fire.
Our house was safe, though nearby towns were wiped out. I know that all those wonderful people who lost their homes will be OK. The Lord will help them.
I could feel the Lord’s love for me and all of His children. Trusting in the Lord’s love is something incredible. Put yourself in His hands, and many blessings will come to you.
Corgan W., Colorado, USA

On May 18, 2020, my beloved dad, my hero, died from COVID-19. His death came so suddenly that we were not prepared. He was only 61 years old. I learned that just as God respects agency, we must respect God’s timing. That’s why I am grateful for His promise, taught by the prophet Alma, “that the spirits of all men, as soon as they are departed from this mortal body, yea, the spirits of all men, whether they be good or evil, are taken home to that God who gave them life” (Alma 40:11). All men and women!

Just a few weeks ago I received a call from the Area President in the Europe Central Area. He said the members and missionaries in Albania and Moldova were so cold, and he wondered if the Relief Society might have any quilts to send their way. Imagine the joy I felt as I visited with Humanitarian Service and discovered that we could donate 1,000 quilts. Within days they were packaged and sent. The mission president wrote, “Members here were touched that other members would be thinking of them.” Thank you for your selfless service.

I learned recently of loving service given to a mother when her children were very young. Frequently she would be up in the middle of the night tending to the needs of her little ones, as mothers do. Often her friend and neighbor across the street would come over the next day and say, “I saw your lights on in the middle of the night and know you were up with the children. I’m going to take them to my house for a couple of hours while you take a nap.”

Said this grateful mother: “I was so thankful for her welcome offer, it wasn’t until this had happened many times that I realized if she had seen my lights on in the middle of the night, she was up with one of her children as well and needed a nap just as much as I did. She taught me a great lesson, and I’ve since tried to be as observant as she was in looking for opportunities to serve others.”

Now, fast forward to several years ago and consider three young men who also answered a call from the prophet at approximately the same age of 19 years and came to the Missionary Training Center as missionaries. For some reason they couldn’t quite grasp why they were there and immediately started having problems. As their branch president, I received reports that they were causing problems in their classes and doing other inappropriate things. Although they were companions, I met with each of them individually, discussed these problems, and challenged them to remember who they were and who they represented and, if nothing else, to simply look at the Savior’s name on their badges on a regular basis as a reminder. A week later I received a report that things had not improved. So on a Sunday I met with them again and went over what was and wasn’t appropriate. That same day they went back to their room and played what turned out to be a very inappropriate prank on another missionary, which led to more serious consequences. At this point, the decision from Church headquarters in Salt Lake City was that they apparently were not ready to be representatives of the Church and needed to go home.

In both cases, three young men had answered a call, but each set chose to take different routes. What was the difference? Two of the words that come to mind are agency and perspective.

Let me give you an example of such a memory from my experience.
When I was in graduate school, I had an experience that taught me and changed me. It was near Christmas, and my wife and I had planned a series of special Family Home Evenings to try to tell the Christmas story to our then-young children in a way that would help them understand that Christmas is more than presents. I needed to do some preparation for this lesson. I had been working long hours, and this was a time to spend with my family. But, I was also looking for a job and had an opportunity that day to practice the presentation I would make at an upcoming job interview. The seminar where I could present met on Sunday evenings, and I needed to get ready. The events I’m describing took place over 35 years ago, but I still remember the frustration I felt over feeling so divided. I knew I should spend the time with my family, yet the job seemed so important. I probably gave a substandard FHE presentation, but what I really remember was an awful presentation to the job seminar. The Lord clearly left me to my own abilities, and on that evening, they were insufficient. Afterwards, I knew that I had made a significant mistake and that the feeling of being divided was really because I was distracted from what mattered most.

The feeling of being divided, of being separated, is important. I was separated from my family, but even more importantly, I was separated from God. Thirty-five years later, I realize that feeling of separation is both a symptom and a warning. A symptom because it showed my condition before God. The Lord wants all of our attention. He has made it clear that our spouse and our families are our first priority. A warning because God didn’t want me to remain in this separated state. The warning is a call to action, a call to become one with God, a call to become one again with our families. The memory of that experience is precious to me. I certainly haven’t always avoided feelings of separation, but I know that such feelings signal an opportunity for change and improvement. Remembrance is necessary for repentance.

Just a few weeks ago, Sister Johanson was getting ready to go to the temple and for one reason or another was missing her mother who passed away right before she turned 15. As she served in the temple, she took note of the name of the person for whom she was serving as proxy. The name was Ellen, which is the name of the wonderful woman her father married after her mother passed away and who has filled the role of “mother” and “grandmother” in a marvelous way. Then she took note of the nametag of the worker who was helping her in the temple that day. Her name was Peggy, her mother’s name. Sister Johanson was reminded in that moment how much the Lord loves her and how involved and interested her mother is in her life and happiness. How grateful she was for that dear sister Being There in the temple right when and where she was needed.

I remember when, as a young deacon, I would cover a portion of the ward on fast Sunday morning, giving the small envelope to each family, waiting while a contribution was placed in the envelope and then returning it to the bishop. On one such occasion, an elderly member, Brother Wright, who lived alone, welcomed me at the door and, with aged hands, fumbled at the tie of the envelope and placed within it a small sum. His eyes fairly glistened as he made his contribution. He invited me to sit down and then told me of a time many years before when his cupboard had been empty of food. In his hunger, he had prayed to Heavenly Father for food to eat. Not long thereafter, he gazed out his front window and beheld someone approaching his door, pulling behind her a red-colored wagon. It was Sister Balmforth, the Relief Society president, who had pulled that wagon almost half a mile over the railroad tracks and to his door. The wagon overflowed with food collected from the sisters of the ward Relief Society, with which Sister Balmforth filled the empty shelves in Brother Wright’s kitchen. He described her to me as “an angel sent from heaven.”

After saving all our extra income and preparing ourselves spiritually, Mark and I traveled with our branch to the temple in May 2009. As we prepared for the trip, we saw firsthand the destructive hand of the adversary as well as the strengthening and uplifting love of our Heavenly Father. I got extremely sick the day before we were scheduled to leave for the temple. Some members had unexpected immigration problems, while others had trouble obtaining passports. Our friends who introduced my family to the gospel, the Espinosas, lost their jobs the week we were scheduled to attend the temple. Even worse, a member of our branch presidency who was scheduled to attend the temple for the first time lost his father to a sudden illness three days before our trip. But in the end the Lord strengthened each of us and made it possible for 42 members of the branch to attend the temple. Sixteen of us attended for the first time.

More Important Than a Grade
In the Philippines, I met Karen, who shared an experience she had as a Laurel while studying for a bachelor’s degree in hotel and restaurant management. A teacher required that every student learn to make and taste the variety of drinks that would be served in their restaurants. Some of the drinks contained alcohol, and Karen knew it was against the Lord’s commandments for her to taste them. In the face of serious consequences, Karen found courage to arise and shine forth, and she did not partake of the drinks.
Karen explained: “My teacher approached me and asked me why I was not drinking. He said, ‘Miss Karen, how will you know the flavor and pass this important subject if you do not at least taste the drinks?’ I told him that I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and as members, we do not drink things that are harmful to us. Whatever he expected of me, even if it meant receiving a failing grade, I would understand, but I would not fail to live my personal standards.”
Weeks passed, and nothing more was said about that day. At the end of the semester, Karen knew her final grade would reflect her refusal to taste the drinks. She hesitated to look at her grade, but when she did, she discovered that she had received the highest grade in the class.
She said: “I learned through this experience that God … will surely bless us when we follow Him. I also know that even if I had received a failing grade, I would not regret what I had done. I know that I will never fail in the Lord’s sight when I choose to do what I know to be the right thing.”
Ann M. Dibb, second counselor in the Young Women general presidency

One evening my mom and stepdad were really tired, so I decided to tuck them into bed. First I put toothpaste on their toothbrushes so they could brush their teeth. Next I pulled down the comforter and the sheets so they could climb into bed. When they were in bed I read them a story from the Friend. They really liked it. Then I sang them two songs—“I Am a Child of God” and “You Are My Sunshine.” Then I went to bed.
A few minutes later my mom came in and told me how special I am and that she really appreciated what I had done for them. She explained to me that this was charity—to do nice things for people. I felt really good inside.

I hadn’t been home from my mission for very long when my parents told me that my 19-year-old brother didn’t want to go to church anymore. I was shocked—I had never imagined my brother would leave the Church.
I remember emailing him about gospel topics while I was on my mission and asking him if he wanted to serve a mission. He was never sure, and looking back on these emails, I realized there had been signs that he wasn’t certain about the gospel.
I started thinking about what I could have done differently. And I questioned why this was happening right now. I was upset because I really wanted him to have a testimony for his own sake, but I also realized I maybe wanted it for me. I wanted him to attend church with me, as well as go on a mission, so we could talk about our experiences together. So it was challenging for me when he didn’t want any of those things.
I had just spent two years on my mission talking about religion and beliefs with people, so I didn’t understand why it was so much harder to talk to my own brother about these things, but it was. It challenged my faith in a new way. On my mission, the challenge was to work hard, to enjoy every day, and to have faith that everything was going to turn out well. But with my brother, it felt completely different.
My mission had taught me to ask inspired questions and ask for understanding. But I didn’t know the people I had taught on my mission beforehand. My only relationship with them was one of teaching and helping them come closer to Christ. I had known my brother for his whole life, and I had never had a relationship of trying to help bring him closer to Christ.
I remember a conversation we had one day when I asked him about the Church. He said he didn’t have a testimony about some of the teachings. If this had been someone I met on my mission, my response would have been one of respect and acceptance that he or she simply wasn’t ready at the time, and maybe some other missionaries would teach them later. But because of my love for my brother, it was harder to show that same level of understanding. I just wanted him to know what I knew, and I wanted him to feel the same Spirit and love from God as I had felt. It was hard for me to accept that he didn’t choose the gospel.
It took some time for me to get used to the situation, but now, almost two years after I’ve returned from my mission, my relationship with my brother is still good. We don’t talk about the gospel much, but we talk about other things. I still wish that we could have the gospel in common, but we do have a lot of other things in common. We still hang out and do things together, and I love him for who he is, because he’s a really good guy.

Each year we have a family vacation at Bear Lake. It is an exciting week of getting acquainted with grandchildren. For the past few years I have listened to their opportunities and challenges. They have let me know of the increased pressures of being in the world but not of the world. Movies, television, Internet, designer clothes, extreme fashions, Sabbath-breaking activities, et cetera, escalate the magnitude of their temptations. Moreover, peer pressures force difficult decisions about whether to follow the crowd or stand up for the principles taught by converted and committed parents and the Church.
This year I decided to be a little more aggressive in counseling my grandchildren. I wanted to provide them with a framework to resist temptations and thrive in today’s complex world. Our vacation at the lake extends for four days, so I decided to purchase a loose-leaf binder for each of them and include a topic for discussion for each day. Each insert included some scripture references and quotes that were intended to start fruitful discussions between the generations.
On the first day, there was not much interest in discussions, but the momentum seemed to increase each day. The experiment had enough success that I would like to play grandfather to each of you young people listening today to see if we can stimulate some thoughtful discussions in your homes with your parents.

As the memory slowly faded from her mind, Kari returned to the reality of the swing and the broad oak tree that spread overhead. For some reason she thought of the first time she had sat there. Her brother Thomas had hung the swing for her before he left on his mission. Thomas called her his “shadow,” and they shared many secrets as they were growing up. He left her one last secret the day they said good-bye.
He was dressed up in his new brown suit, ready to leave for the MTC. He leaned over her as she sat on the swing. The smell of his cologne mixed pleasantly with the aroma of the freshly cut hay that lined the fence across the lane.
“Kari,” Thomas said, looking intently at her, “There is nothing like swinging to put life into perspective.”
He spoke with the new authority his voice seemed to hold since the mission call.
“Tom, there you go again, talking way over my head. My ‘Dear Abby’ is going on his mission and leaving me with only a swing to talk to.”
Thomas held his tears of good-bye back as he stopped the swing and took Kari’s hands in his. Kari was surprised that his hands had grown as large as Father’s. He pulled her off the swing and gave her a hug. Kari could feel the newness of the brown suit.
“Just remember, little Sis—the higher you swing, the farther you see. Things look different when you can get above them.”