Gospel Story Finder

I was a young bishop when I began to see clearly why the Lord wants us to strengthen children when they are young and rescue them quickly. I will tell you one story of a young person who represents many whom I have tried to help over the years.
She sat across from me at my bishop’s desk. She spoke to me of her life. She had been baptized and confirmed as a member of the Church when she was eight. There were no tears in her eyes as she recounted the more than 20 years that followed, but there was sadness in her voice. She said that the downward spiral began with choices to associate with what she thought were exciting people. She began to violate what at first seemed to be less important commandments.
She felt at first a little sadness and a twinge of guilt. But the associations with her friends provided a new feeling of being liked, and so her occasional resolutions to repent seemed less and less important. As the gravity of the commandments she was breaking increased, the dream of a happy eternal home seemed to fade.
She sat across from me in what she called misery. She wanted me to rescue her from the trap of sin in which she found herself bound. But the only way out was for her to exercise faith in Jesus Christ, to have a broken heart, to repent, and so be cleansed, changed, and strengthened through the Lord’s Atonement. I bore my testimony to her that it was still possible. And it was, but so much harder than it would have been to exercise faith early in her life on the journey home to God and when she first began to wander.

I’ve been going to church my whole life. I’ve been challenged to read the Book of Mormon and pray to know if it’s true what seems like a thousand times. But I’ve never actually done it before. I had this mind-set where I thought I had to set aside a perfect night, and nothing else could be going on in my life to distract me. I was also scared that I wouldn’t get an answer. But after going to youth conference and hearing all about “Ask of God” so many times, I decided to just try it.
It was a random school night, and I asked God to help me know if the Book of Mormon was true, and then I started reading where I’d left off a few weeks ago. I started to get this feeling of calmness, and a sort of feeling that I already knew it was true. But then I started doubting, wondering whether my brain was making it up because I wanted an answer so badly. I felt really frustrated, but then I looked down at the next verse, which was 2 Nephi 29:10, and it said, “Wherefore, because that ye have a Bible ye need not suppose that it contains all my words; neither need ye suppose that I have not caused more to be written.”
The Spirit hit me so strongly, and it felt like Heavenly Father was speaking directly to me through that verse. I know that the Book of Mormon is true, and that God will answer our prayers. We don’t have to set aside a “perfect night” to ask Him.
Rebekah C., 16, Shanghai, China

When I was a stake president, there was a women’s conference by satellite broadcast. As it started, we had the video, but all we could hear was Korean.

And so, as a stake president, I pondered what we should do. As I thought about it, I noticed that under the Korean voice, there was a quiet English voice in the background. So I went to the pulpit and said, “Until we solve the problem, if you will listen carefully for the quiet English voice, you will be able to understand the conference talks. If you get distracted even for a minute, you will lose the message.” For 10 or 15 minutes, until we solved the technical problem, we were able to enjoy that message by listening to the quiet voice.

It was Thursday night, Mom and Dad’s regular night to work at the Cardston temple. I was in my teens, like you young women. My grandmother, who was living with us, was away, so I would be home alone. As they left, Dad hugged me and said, “Now, Sharon, be in good company.”
I thought, “What is he thinking? Doesn’t he know I’ll be here by myself?” And then I realized—that is exactly what he was thinking.
Standing in holy places is all about being in good company, whether you are alone or with others. It’s being where the Holy Ghost is our companion—alone or in a crowd. When we determine within ourselves that we will control our thoughts and our actions and be the best we can possibly be, the best of life will come to us.

To illustrate my feelings, I can’t resist sharing an experience I had in grade school.

In 1950 I attended Maeser Elementary School here in Provo. Under the banner of “progressive” education, an experiment was conducted where the fifth and sixth grades were combined. I was a fifth grader. In front of me sat a sixth grader. In addition to the fact that she was a year older than I, she had a superior intellect. I can remember how she always finished tests before I did and with more accuracy.

On one particular Friday morning it was “show and tell” time and the assignment fell on myself and my nemesis sitting in front of me. I worked feverishly on my project and came to school all excited, carrying my treasure in a brown paper sack. As I arrived, there was a pickup truck backed up to the entrance of the school, and there was the sixth grader and her mother carrying in item after item of collections from the Far East or some exotic place they had visited the previous summer. At the conclusion of her excellent presentation our teacher, Mr. Bowen, said, “We will now be honored to hear from Glenn.”

Apprehensively I reached under my desk, picked up my sack, walked to the head of the class, and pulled out a bottle of frog eggs. I was crazy about those frog eggs that day and feel positive about what I have prepared for you today—but then, everything is relative.

I did not serve a regular mission until we were called to preside in New England. When I was of missionary age, when I was your age, young men could not be called to the mission field. It was World War II, and I spent four years in the military. But I did do missionary work; we did share the gospel. It was my privilege to baptize one of the first two Japanese to join the Church after the mission had been closed twenty-two years earlier. Brother Elliot Richards baptized Tatsui Sato. I baptized his wife, Chio. And the work in Japan was reopened. We baptized them in a swimming pool amid the rubble of a university that had been destroyed by bombs.
Shortly thereafter I boarded a train in Osaka for Yokohama and a ship that would take me home. Brother and Sister Sato came to the station to say good-bye. Many tears were shed as we bade one another farewell.

This story took place in Guatemala.
Alejandra sighed in relief. She had just finished singing her solo in the music room for her teacher. All her weeks of practice had been worth it! She didn’t even struggle with the tricky part.
“What a beautiful voice!” Ms. Pérez, the school music teacher, stood and clapped. “You can move on to the next round in the talent contest.”
Alejandra was thrilled! In this contest, students from several schools would sing, dance, or play an instrument to compete and win prizes. Ms. Pérez was the judge who chose who got to stay in the contest. And now Alejandra had passed to the next round!
“You need to pass two more rounds of auditions,” Ms. Pérez said. “If you do, you can enter the final contest. It’s on a Sunday later this month.”
Alejandra’s joy disappeared as quickly as it came. She felt like there was a heavy weight in her stomach.
She knew Sunday was a day to go to church and learn about Jesus Christ. It was a day to take the sacrament. It was a day to rest and be with family.
“Sunday?” she asked. “I don’t know if I can.”
“If you can’t be there for the last day, then you can’t be in the contest. I know you would do well if you entered, but it’s your choice. Think about it over the weekend and let me know on Monday.”
The next day, Alejandra kept thinking about what to do. She always went to church with her family on Sunday. But did she really have to be there every week? It wasn’t that bad if she missed church just once, was it?
At bedtime she talked to Papá about what she should do. “Should I sing in the contest or go to church?” she asked.
“The Sabbath is a day we give to God.” Papá pulled her blanket up to her chin and sat next to her on the bed. “We have six days for ourselves. God asks for only one day. But I can’t make this choice for you.”
The next day at church, Alejandra and all her Primary friends got to sing “A Child’s Prayer” in front of the whole ward. They had been working on this song for a long time!
Alejandra sang with her whole heart. The music made her forget about the hard decision she had to make tomorrow. When they finished the song, she proudly walked back to sit with her family.
Mamá gave her a hug. “You sang beautifully!”
“We’re so proud of you,” Papá said. “Sharing your talent showed your testimony and faith in God.”
Alejandra was happy to use her talents to sing Primary songs. She knew it made her family happy too.
Then Alejandra thought of something. If today had been the contest, she would have missed the chance to sing about Heavenly Father. What would she miss if she didn’t come to church on the contest day? She wouldn’t be able to sing her testimony in Primary with her friends. And she would miss the sacrament.
On Monday, Alejandra knew what she had to do. She went to the music room to talk to her teacher.
“Thank you for the opportunity,” she said. “But I don’t want to be in the talent contest if I have to do it on Sunday.”
Ms. Pérez put down the sheet music she was looking at and frowned. “Are you sure you want to miss out on the contest?”
“Yes, I’m sure.” Alejandra was proud of her decision. It was hard to make, but she knew it was the right choice. “I’ll miss something even more important if I go.”
Illustration by Janelle Anderson

It takes time and patience to find solutions. When I reflect on my time as a caseworker with resettled refugees, the stories I remember most are those that were not neatly resolved. I worked with a brilliant mother who failed to qualify for a liver transplant. Before her death, she focused on finding support for her sons. In another case, a family moved into a great new apartment, only to be forced to move out two days later due to unclear requirements.

Many issues in people’s lives and on a larger, global scale will not be resolved quickly or in the way we want. Giving service does not guarantee we will fix things or reach a particular outcome. Service also won’t necessarily provide a sense of worth. Seeking personal value in service is a recipe for taking on too much and becoming angry when people don’t appreciate you. Your value is independent of any service you can give. Service is ultimately about sharing the fruits of God’s love that we have so generously received. God will amplify our limited efforts and inspire trans­formation. Our great opportunity is to choose to share and to become a conduit through which love and grace can come.

When our eldest daughter was to be married to a fine Latter-day Saint boy the two mothers were in the corner of the room talking to each other, and the mother of our oldest daughter said, “You know, from the time my little girl was born, I have been praying all my life that somewhere a mother would be preparing a son worthy to marry my daughter.” And this other mother smiled and said, “Isn’t that strange? This is my only son who is being married to your daughter, and ever since he was born, I, too, have been praying that somewhere there would be a mother preparing a daughter worthy to meet and to marry my son.”
It is that kind of home attention—mothers preparing daughters, fathers and mothers, sons—that will make us and our homes stronger today.
President Harold B. LeeConference Report, October 1964, p. 86.

From a young age, Elder Alan T. Phillips felt that the Church was true, but he hoped for a more personal witness of the Savior before embarking on full-time missionary service.
“I fasted, prayed, went to the woods,” he said. “I was looking for the big answer.”
Then, one week when his family was away on assignment, he attended sacrament meeting by himself.
“I wasn’t seeking. I was just there—preparing for the sacrament and singing with the congregation,” he said. “For the first time, the words and the idea of ‘his hands pierced and bleeding to pay the debt’1 for me just jumped out and entered my heart. I felt the reality of Him in relation to me, no longer a concept, no longer abstract. He was, in that moment, my Savior.”
Elder Phillips later prayed, thanking Heavenly Father and telling Him that he would be true the rest of his life to this newfound knowledge God had given him.
That was the moment the reality of the Savior was confirmed to him. He said everything else in his testimony builds from that “sure foundation” (Helaman 5:12).

It is instructive to note that the word edify and the word edifice come from the same root. Building an edifice that will pass the test of time requires the right plan and the right materials. Similarly, to be edified and to have heavenly confirmation of your spiritual growth, a foundation has to be in place, and it has to be right. The need for a right foundation is made more relevant from a lesson learned during the building of the Salt Lake Temple.

In February 1853 President Brigham Young presided over the groundbreaking services. Work proceeded on the excavations and foundation stones for the temple until Johnston’s army arrived in 1857. To protect the work, Brigham Young instructed the Saints to fill in the temple trenches with dirt, resulting in a vacant lot that looked like a plowed field when the soldiers walked past it. Following their departure the dirt was removed and the work continued. A few years later, President Young, along with others, made an inspection of the foundation and discovered faulty foundation stones. The faulty stones were replaced with the large granite stones you know today.

Brigham Young declared:
I want to see the Temple built in a manner that it will endure through the Millennium. . . .
. . . We want to build that temple as it should be built. [JD 10:254]

His relevant words “as it should be built” serve my purpose to emphasize foundational principles that must be right so “that all may be edified.”

“Love your enemies,” challenged my Sunday School teacher one morning. “Do good to those that hate you. Then just watch what happens.”
At the time I received this challenge, my testimony was not yet firm, and I was skeptical about the practicality of this biblical teaching. It couldn’t possibly apply to my life. But I halfheartedly thought I might try it—that is, if I could think of an enemy.
After some thought, I concluded that I had no real enemies, so that took care of that. Then, suddenly, I remembered an incident. When we had moved into the end apartment of a row of four company-owned apartments, our outdoor water faucet wasn’t working. I asked the woman in the next apartment if I could hook my hose to her faucet to water my lawn. (There was no charge for the water.) She informed me that I certainly could not use her faucet and that, if mine was broken, I had better get it fixed and not bother her again!
Well! I would have no more to do with her! I was relieved some time later when she moved to the far end of our row of apartments. It would be just as well not to be next door to her anymore.
Now here was the challenge to love my enemies. She was the nearest person I could think of who would fit that description. Everyone else I knew was a friend. “I could try!” I thought.
Each day I hung out my laundry on the clotheslines at the end of the building, next to this woman’s apartment. She was always sitting on the porch alone. I had usually ignored her, but now I decided to prove whether or not loving my enemies would indeed work.
The next morning when I went to hang out the laundry, the woman was sitting on her porch as usual, drinking coffee and smoking a cigarette. I gave her a smile and said with a gay lilt, “Hi, there!” She glared at me and deliberately turned her head.
“That couldn’t hurt me,” I thought. “I’m just proving a point.” When I finished hanging out my clothes she had gone inside.
Each day after that, I merrily called out, “Hi!” as I passed her and never once got a smile or an answer. One morning, after about two weeks, much to my surprise, she walked over to where I was hanging wet clothes and exchanged a few remarks about the weather.
After that, each day when I came to hang out clothes, she came over and we said a few words—never anything personal. Sometimes we talked about the company both of our husbands worked for, sometimes the weather or a sale at a local store. I certainly never felt that we were friends in any sense of the word. She always seemed cold and reserved in her attitude.
Then one day my husband and I received word that we were to be transferred to a different locality. When I went out the next morning to hang my washing, the woman came to the clothesline as usual to talk. I told her that we were moving away. We passed a few comments about it, and I went back to my apartment.
About an hour after I had gone home, the woman appeared at my door. I was very surprised to see her. Neither of us had ever been in the other’s apartment. She had an odd, strained expression on her face. I invited her to sit down and we tried to talk a little. But there really seemed to be nothing to talk about.
Then, to my astonishment, she burst into tears, sobbing as if her heart would break. She said she couldn’t stand to have me move away. “You are the only friend I have in the whole world,” she said.
Me! Why, I didn’t even know her first name!
I couldn’t think of anything to say to my friend. I only knew that we weren’t enemies any more.
“Oh, Father,” I thought. “Forgive me for doubting your word. I didn’t really do anything for her. I only said hello and visited with her a little. What a flood of proof you’ve given me!”
I have found for myself—not only then, but many times since—that living the principles of the gospel in even the smallest way always proves them to be true.

About a month after the accident, my back suddenly gave out on me from lifting Emma. A feeling of not only physical but also spiritual powerlessness came over me. How could I continue to take care of her?
One night the guilt of being so powerless became too much to bear. I left the house and found a park bench, where I prayed to Heavenly Father for about an hour. For the first time in my life, I felt the miraculous power of the Savior’s Atonement overcome me. All the pain and sorrow I had been carrying was taken from me; all my burdens were lifted off my shoulders after that prayer. Emma was still in a wheelchair, and I was getting regular back treatments, but I was strengthened to carry on.

“I was baptized at five o’clock in the morning in a river. The water was very cold, but I felt warm. It was a good feeling.”
Recalling his conversion to the gospel of Jesus Christ some twenty-two years ago, Kriangkrai Pitakpong, president of the Khon Kaen District echoes experiences similar to those enjoyed by the almost 4,000 converts to the Church in the beautiful country of Thailand.
Because proselyting is not permitted in Thailand, most investigators come from member referrals. Other investigators, like Kriangkrai Pitakpong, become curious when they see the missionaries. “I used to see the missionaries riding their bicycles, and I wondered who they were and what they did. When I finally made contact with them, I accepted their invitation to attend the English language classes they were conducting. Then I began studying the gospel and reading the Book of Mormon. I was baptized in October 1970, when I was nineteen years old.”

Later this month we shall dedicate a beautiful new building on the Brigham Young University campus to the memory of a woman, Caroline Hemenway Harman. You probably have never heard of her. I would like to tell you briefly her story.
At the age of twenty-two Caroline married George Harman. They had seven children, one of whom died in infancy. Then, at the age of thirty-nine, her husband passed away and she was left a widow.
Her sister, Grace, had married her husband’s brother, David. In 1919, during the terrible influenza epidemic, David was seriously stricken, and then his wife, Grace, became ill. Caroline cared for them and their children as well as her own. In the midst of these afflictions, Grace gave birth to a son, and then she died within a few hours. Caroline took the tiny infant to her own home and there nurtured it and saved the child’s life. Three weeks later her own daughter, Annie, passed away.
By now Caroline had lost two of her own children, her husband, and her sister. The strain was too much. She collapsed. She came out of that collapse with a serious case of diabetes. But she did not slow down. She continued to care for her sister’s baby; and her brother-in-law, the child’s father, came each day to see the little boy. David Harman and Caroline were later married, and there were now thirteen children in their home.
Then five years later David suffered a catastrophe that tried to the very depths those who agonized with him. On one occasion he used a strong disinfectant in preparing seed for planting. This got on his body, and the effects were disastrous. The skin and flesh sloughed off his bones. His tongue and teeth dropped out. The caustic solution literally ate him alive.
Caroline nursed him in this terrible illness, and when he died she was left with five of her own and eight of her sister’s children, and a farm of 280 acres where she and the children plowed, sowed, irrigated, and harvested to bring in enough to provide for their needs. At this time she also was Relief Society president, a position she held for eighteen years.
While caring for her large family and in extending the hand of charity to others, she would bake eight loaves of bread a day and wash forty loads of clothes a week. She canned fruits and vegetables by the ton, and cared for a thousand laying hens to provide a little cash. Self-reliance was her standard. Idleness she regarded as sin. She cared for her own and reached out to others in a spirit of kindness that would permit no one of whom she was aware to go hungry, unclothed, or cold.
She later married Eugene Robison, who, not long afterward, suffered a stroke. For five years until his death she nursed him and cared for him in all his needs.
Finally, exhausted, her body racked by the effects of diabetes, she passed away at the age of sixty-seven. The habits of industry and hard work which she instilled in her children rewarded their efforts through the years. Her sister’s tiny baby, whom she nurtured from the hour of his birth, together with his brothers and sisters, all acting out of a sense of love and gratitude, have given to the university a substantial bequest to make possible the beautiful building which will carry her name.

I have read some of the histories of the disaster which we commemorate this day. Of particular note is the account of the near spontaneous collection of flowers throughout Salt Lake City by young and old to be sent to Scofield to somehow alleviate the terrible suffering and grief. I was moved to tears as I read from the account.
“In Salt Lake words cannot describe the scenes that took place. Every one was anxious to do their part, and the school children, … hastened from house to house gathering flowers from all the gardens in the city until almost three carloads were furnished” (History of the Scofield Mine Disaster, 57).
The flowers were placed in the baggage compartment of a special train bound for Scofield. I quote now from the account.
The flowers “were spread out on the seats two and three feet high throughout the rest of the car. …
“Everything seemed to be there that might help to cheer those who have lived out in the hills, far away from the flowers and who are now experiencing the most dreadful calamity that has ever occurred in the western country. …
“The … car, with the lilacs and cut flowers, was switched into a sidetrack near the cemetery early in the morning. The car was next to the roadway over which the long train of wagons passed as they bore the bodies to their last resting place. The doors of the car were thrown open, and as each wagon came by, it halted while Captain Barrett and his aids, … buried the coffins under lilacs and handed each driver a bunch of cut flowers for the widows and children who accompanied the coffins. At the forward end of the car, the boys in charge were almost overwhelmed by requests for flowers. Work as fast as they could, the mournful little groups of women and children, in significant black, were still there awaiting their turn for the blossoms. If the donors of the flowers and the people who helped collect them could have seen the gratitude and appreciation of Scofield they would have been repaid an hundred fold for their work. …
“Just before noon came a plea from the Finns. Their spokesman came aboard the car and said they had sixty-one dead, none of whom had a friend in the country, aside from the people of their nationality. He asked as a favor that flowers be reserved for them until their train came down the canyon. There was an abundance for all, and the man’s face lighted with evident pleasure when he was assured that all the coffins would be decorated and the graves covered with flowers. The distribution alone took nearly all the time from nine o’clock in the morning until the heavy rain late in the afternoon stopped the melancholy procession” (57–61). To these flowers were added additional bouquets from towns along the route of the train.

It was too late to stop. As I crashed into the car in front of me, the splinter of glass and crumple of metal dimly registered, an echo of my own shattered breathing.
I started to cry, and my brother Rob said, “It’ll be okay, Alanna. Everything will be all right.” But everything was not all right. I had caused a four-car accident.
Minutes later, a policeman told me no one was seriously hurt. Fortunately, everyone involved was wearing seatbelts. A paramedic treated me for minor cuts, and after I complained of a sharp pain in my neck, I was put on a stretcher.
On the ride to the hospital, a paramedic said, “Alanna, you’re a very lucky girl.”
Lucky? I was strapped in a stretcher with my neck immobilized in a brace. I had totaled my dad’s car, and was responsible for the damage to three other cars. How could he say I was lucky?
“The only reason you’re still alive is because you were wearing your seatbelt,” he added.
For as long as I can remember, my parents stressed the importance of wearing seatbelts. Because of my parents’ example, I wore my seatbelt without fail. This one small act may have literally saved my life.

The third question: “I am about to marry. My husband-to-be and I want nothing more than continuing happiness throughout our marriage. We know that unforeseen challenges and even disappointments may come. If tragedy strikes our marriage, what shall we do then?”

Last month Sister Zina Card Brown, wife of Elder Hugh B. Brown of the Council of the Twelve, passed away. At the time, they had been married sixty-six years. Let me share Elder Brown’s thoughts expressed just a few weeks before her passing:

Eight years ago my sweetheart, Zina, suffered a massive stroke that took her speech and left her paralyzed. The doctors said she probably would not survive the week. As our children surrounded her bed, I pled with the Lord to spare her life. Then I spoke to her, though she was unconscious. I reminded her that through the years of our married courtship we had planned and hoped to take the final trip together. I told her I wanted what was best for her and our Father’s will, but life would seem so empty without her presence. I think the Lord in his mercy permitted Zina her choice—she could travel on into immortality and rest, or remain to bless us with her exhibition of quiet faith, patience, and fortitude. Characteristically, she chose to do what she knew would give me greatest comfort, unmindful of her own tribulation. Hers is truly a Christ-like love. Our entire family has been blessed and benefited by her unselfish sacrifice in our behalf. Noble characters do not alone bear trouble; they use it.

“One day in my religious instruction class at school (in South Africa, where I live, students study the Bible daily) we were allowed to study the scriptures on our own. I decided to do a home-study seminary assignment. As I was doing it, my teacher came past my desk and asked me what I was doing. I explained to her what it was, and then told her about the seminary program. I told her that my seminary classmates and I met with our teacher once a week and then studied the rest of the days on our own.
“She returned to her desk, but a few minutes later she called me over to her desk. She asked me if I would be willing to give one of the lessons in the seminary book to my class. I said I would be happy to do it.
“Now I have the opportunity to not only teach my teacher but my classmates as well. I have a very strong testimony of seminary and the things it teaches me. I hope and pray that for the next two years that I have left in seminary, I will become even stronger in the gospel and have more opportunities to teach others about it.”—Lucille Kruger, Carletonville, South Africa

I am remembering a wonderful latter-day Saint woman who came seeking the Lord's counsel through a priesthood blessing. She explained that she was happily expecting her third or fourth child but had been told by three different doctors that because of unsafe conditions that were developing in her pregnancy, she must abort her baby. She was told that failure to do so right away would most certainly result in the death of her unborn child and most likely would take her life as well. After explaining why she had come, and prior to receiving the priesthood blessing, she made the following statement: "God himself would have to tell me to destroy this baby before I would do it." Several months later, I was seated on the stand in a ward Fast and Testimony meeting. I watched, and wept, as this mother placed her baby in the arms of her priesthood husband, who then gave that precious infant child a name and a father's blessing. Do you suppose she will ever regret having trusted God and followed His foundation-building counsel?