Gospel Story Finder

From 1846 until 1869, when the railroad came to Utah, many members of the Church traveled across the plains to the Salt Lake Valley. They came by wagons and on foot. From 1856 to 1860, many pushed or pulled small handcarts with their worldly possessions packed inside. The trip was hard and long, and the Saints who made it to the valley arrived tired, sick, and hungry. Some turned back, and, unfortunately, many died along the way.
In the general conference of October 1856, word came to Salt Lake City of the plight of the Willie and Martin handcart companies. They had started out late and had been struck by an early winter storm in the plains of Wyoming. President Brigham Young adjourned the conference and called able-bodied men to quickly gather supplies and organize a rescue party. Among the many valiant men who rode out of Salt Lake City to help the stranded Saints were young men by the names of C. Allen Huntington, George W. Grant, David P. Kimball, and Stephen W. Taylor. When they left, they could not have known what would be required of them or what contribution they would make to the building of the kingdom.
Arriving at the banks of the ice-filled Sweetwater River, the rescuers found the handcart companies bogged down in snow 46 centimeters deep. Men, women, and children among the group were too weak to cross the river. Their energy was spent; their strength was gone; and no doubt they felt the effects of frostbite, hypothermia, and extreme fatigue.
It was then that these strong young men made a sacrifice that few are ever called upon to make. They waded into the stream time and time again, carrying members of the company across the icy stream. Back and forth they crossed until every member was safe on the other side and on their way to shelter and finally into the Salt Lake Valley. These young men, by then cold, wet, and suffering themselves, joined the ranks of the heroes that day. They were not perfect—they were probably regular young men with faults and shortcomings, with their own problems, fears, and weaknesses. But they answered the call of the prophet—they were where the Lord could find them when they were needed to bless the lives of others.

Just last year we completed our fundraising drive for the great Jordan River Temple. Do you know that the wonderful Saints of Utah Valley and a few other areas in Wyoming and the Midwest were able to donate eighteen million dollars, so that a new temple might be built? And did you know that a ward right in the middle of the Salt Lake Valley, composed almost totally of widows, was the first to meet its quota? In fact, it did not only meet the quote but nearly doubled it. This one ward of widows reported to the stake president, just weeks after the campaign had started, with one hundred thousand dollars for the new temple—this from one ward primarily made up of widows.

I hold in sacred memory two priesthood bearers who had qualified for the Spirit of God to go with them on the errand to which the Lord called them. They had found the restored gospel themselves in America. They were the Lord’s servants who first spoke of that gospel to two of my European ancestors.

One of those ancestors was a young girl living on a small farm in Switzerland. Another was a young man, an orphan and an immigrant to the United States from Germany, living in St. Louis, Missouri.

Both of them heard a priesthood holder testify of the restored gospel—for the girl by the fireplace of her little home in Switzerland, and for the boy it was sitting in the balcony of a rented hall in America. Both of them knew by the Spirit that the message those elders brought to them was true.

The boy and the girl chose to be baptized. The two of them met for the first time on the dusty trail years later, walking hundreds of miles to the mountains of western America. They talked as they walked. What they talked about was the miraculous blessing that in all the world, the servants of God had found them and even more miraculous, that they knew their message was true.

They fell in love and were married. And because of a testimony of the Spirit, which began as they heard the words of priesthood holders under the influence of the Holy Ghost, they were sealed for eternity by priesthood power. I am among the tens of thousands of descendants of that boy and that girl who bless the names of two priesthood holders who brought the ministrations of the Spirit of God with them as they climbed the hill in Switzerland and rose to speak in that meeting in St. Louis.

For me, this first occurred through an experience I had as a young boy when my Mum asked me to go and pick up a loaf of bread from the dairy. Now a dairy in NZ is a small convenience store; think 7-Eleven but smaller. The store was just under half a mile from our house, and my Mum gave me 50 cents to go get bread and milk. This felt like a lot of money to entrust to a five to six-year-old boy. A pint of milk was only 8 cents at the time and a loaf of bread, about 20 cents. I’m not sure why, but I can only imagine it was because I was young, and I could, I ran - up the hill over the road and down the street to the Dairy as fast as I could. When I was in sight of the dairy I tripped and tumbled to the ground. As I gathered myself, I realized in a panic that the 50-cent coin which I had been holding tightly and safely in my hand was no longer there. I immediately began searching the ground where I had fallen, patting the grass and dirt in the hope of finding the coin. It was not to be found. Frantic and worried about returning home without bread or money, I knelt in the grass at the edge of the road, closed my eyes, and asked Heavenly Father to help me find the money so I wouldn’t get in trouble. I opened my eyes and immediately in my view was the coin which I proceeded to gather, and I finished my errand as fast as my legs would let me.

I share this as I have often reflected on the impact of this one event in my life. I had been taught that God existed, taught to pray, and taught God answers prayers; praying at that time was a completely natural response to my problem, and God providing the answer hoped for, was an expected outcome for a young boy.

Education: Whether formal or informal, it is important that we educate our minds and our hands. I know a wonderful sister who served in a stake Relief Society presidency a few years ago. She put her children through schooling, and in her more mature years, she decided to go back to complete high school. This now serves as a great example to her grandchildren on the importance of getting an education.

Q. Tell us about your conversion and baptism.
A. I went to a dance one night with my miss. As we were dancing, I saw this girl. Later I danced with her and asked where she came from. She told me she was a Mormon from Salt Lake City, and I thought, “Oh, crumb, what have I got here?”
We talked on a while and she made a profound impression on me—it was just the way she talked. She didn’t talk about religion or she didn’t stuff it down my throat, but I could just tell by her words that she had very high standards, and I liked her. She was a student and was only passing through Belfast. She hadn’t even intended to come to Belfast, but for some reason she did and we met.
She went on to tour Europe, and we corresponded. On the way back she stopped in England, and I went over and saw her there for a week. She had a tremendous effect on me, and I started thinking about the Church. After I came back from England, about a month later, the missionaries called. It had nothing to do with her—it just happened that the missionaries called. At the time it seemed so fantastic, but looking back on it, I’m sure it was all meant to be—you know, the way it happened.
The missionaries must have called six times to find me at home. They kept coming back because my mother told them I might be interested in the Church. One missionary had a profound influence on me, too. He was a tremendous character and I really got to like him. Without the girl I wouldn’t have been interested, and if another missionary had contacted me, he might not have reached me. I joined the Church on December 4, 1969, and I was lucky that my missionaries stuck by me. Some get moved on and sort of lose contact with their investigators, and the people fall by. The missionaries stayed with me until I got my feet on the ground, and then I was lucky to make friends in the Church quite quickly and easily.

Grandma was 75 years old when she initiated a “12 days of Christmas” secret Santa project with her Sunday School class of 14-year-olds. “How would you like to do something nice for someone?” she asked. Each person in the class, including Grandma, would secretly take treats to Brother Johnson, who had recently lost his wife. “Sometimes,” Grandma had said, “people may feel alone and need service even if they are not poor.”
Brother Johnson’s house was set far back from the road, and there was a wrought iron fence surrounding the property. On the night of her first turn, Grandma parked down the street and stealthily crept up to the door. She placed the package, rang the bell, and suddenly realized she couldn’t run fast enough to get away. She quickly crouched behind the car and held her breath. Brother Johnson came to the door, picked up the package, and looked around.
He stepped out into the night to get a better look and came up to the car. Grandma slumped down behind the bumper, scarcely breathing. Brother Johnson gave up the search and went back into the house. Grandma was safe this time.
On the night of her second turn, she found the gates locked. Somewhat relieved that she wouldn’t need to crouch behind the car again, she hung the gift on the gate and returned home.
On the night of her third visit, we received a call. “Please,” she said, “would you come and help me deliver my secret Santa gift?” We accepted and started toward the house with the gift. We started to laugh when we saw how challenging this house was to approach.
In church that Sunday, Brother Johnson expressed his gratitude that the gifts had made him feel the love of the ward on his first Christmas alone. Grandma will always be our example of compassion and charity and has taught us that you’re never too old to serve.

One day after school, I didn’t see Mom waiting to pick me up. I decided to walk home. I had walked a block when I thought that I should ask Heavenly Father to help keep me safe. While I was praying, I had a feeling to go back to school. I took a couple more steps, and I felt sick to my stomach. I turned around and began walking back toward school. With every step I took, I felt better. Just as I got back to school, I saw Mom getting out of our car to look for me. I told her what happened, and she agreed with me that Heavenly Father had answered my prayer and that it was the Holy Ghost who told me to go back to school. I am thankful that Heavenly Father loves me and answers my prayers.
Todd Judd, age 7Bountiful, Utah

I used to like being tall. Then I got to junior high school. I became very self-conscious about my height and consequently my weight. I always felt fat and out of shape in gym because I was more awkward than everyone else. I wasn’t skinny growing up, but I wasn’t fat either. I was just big. Polite people would tell me I had large bones.
My senior year in high school I became obsessed with my weight because the senior choir I was in had a show-choir program at the end of the year where we sang and danced to Broadway tunes. We learned dances for all of our songs, and I was taller than every boy in choir. Because I was taller, I felt bigger too. I felt I couldn’t eat in front of anyone because they’d think I was too big already. Somehow I survived that experience. But my weight issues weren’t over.
During my third year of college I got sick. Not just the flu-for-a-couple-of-weeks sick. I couldn’t get better.
I was finally diagnosed with a chronic illness. The doctor gave me medications that were supposed to help, but this was a really bleak and depressing time for me.
It was then I noticed my clothes getting tighter, but I figured that was because I was sleeping all the time. I hardly ever walked to class. I knew as soon as I started to feel better, I’d be up and about on campus again.
After several months, I started feeling better and walked to campus regularly. But the weight kept coming. I even popped the zipper on my pants one day at work.
My doctor discovered that one of the medications had made my body hold onto the fat. I stopped taking it, but the damage was already done.
I hated looking in a mirror. I hated buying clothes. I hated running into people I knew before I got sick. I hated myself. I was stuck in a downward spiral of self-loathing. I was also struggling to accept the fact I couldn’t do everything I used to do. I simply didn’t have the health to do everything anymore. I hated this body I had that hurt all the time and kept getting sick. I felt I was stuck with a fat, ugly, sick body.
We hear all the time in Young Women that our bodies are temples. And one day I had a flash of understanding. It didn’t matter if my body was fat or skinny, it was a temple. I’ve never heard anyone make fun of the way the temples look, so why do we do that to our personal temples—our bodies? I realized that every time I felt bad about my body, I was being ungrateful for and disrespectful to a temple. I remembered that one-third of the hosts of heaven didn’t even get mortal bodies.
I thought of the scripture in the New Testament, when devils begged the Savior to let them enter the bodies of swine, just to have a body (see Mark 5:1–13). I was blessed with a physical body to house my spirit while I’m on this earth, a body patterned after my Heavenly Father’s.
Since that realization, I haven’t miraculously felt like my body is perfect. It’s hard to change old habits and perceptions. Instead of wishing I had someone else’s body, I try to remember that my body is a temple.
Recently I was able to go to the temple and receive my endowment. In the celestial room with my family and friends. I noticed mirrors opposite each other that reflect forever, representing eternity. One of the things I will always remember and cherish is in that room I felt beautiful. It wasn’t a turn-someone’s-head pretty. I just felt beautiful. I knew the Lord didn’t care what size dress I wore. He cared that I was clean and worthy. I had kept my own temple pure. In those mirrors I could appreciate what a beautiful gift my body was.
I am not stuck with my body; I am blessed with it.

I think of a story about President David O. McKay, ninth president of the Church, when he was a young lad. He was taught by his father to pray when confronted with a problem. When he was eight years of age, he received a new pocketknife on his birthday, and he recounts the experience of that day by telling how he got on his horse and rode out into the valley, made a fire, ate his lunch, and then got ready to return home.
As he began riding home, he remembered he had forgotten his new pocketknife, and so he quickly turned around and raced back to the same spot and searched in vain for his knife. He then remembered his father’s teaching, and because of the counsel of his father and his faith in him, he got on his knees and began to talk simply and earnestly to the Lord. In the midst of his prayer, he saw a vision come into his mind—a picture as clear as any TV picture—and there, as a picture in his mind, he saw his knife under a clump of weeds. He got up on his feet, looked around, walked directly to the scene he had just witnessed in his mind, and found his knife exactly as it had been revealed.
What a powerful lesson on faith in one’s father and faith in the Lord this young president-to-be learned that day. This kind of faith leads to spiritual and other accomplishments.