Gospel Story Finder

It may seem natural to react to a situation by giving back what is given to us. But it doesn’t have to be that way. Reflecting on his horrendous wartime experiences, Viktor Frankl recalled: “We who lived in concentration camps can remember the men who walked through the huts comforting others, giving away their last piece of bread. They may have been few in number, but they offer sufficient proof that everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way” (Man’s Search for Meaning [1985], 86; emphasis added).

Others who are first in the hearts of Church members include May Anderson, who served for fourteen years as the second general president of the Primary Association, and who for thirty-eight years was the editor of the Children’s Friend. Prior to becoming the Primary president, May was a counselor to Louie B. Felt, the very first general Primary president. One day while May and Sister Felt were walking along the street, they saw a badly crippled boy and were inspired to establish a hospital to help boys and girls who need care. This was the beginning of the Primary Children’s Hospital, which has made it possible for children all over the world to “give that sick children might live.”

I am 16 years old, and reading the November New Era made me realize how much I have to be thankful for and how unthankful I really have been. While reading “Receive All Things with Thankfulness” I felt the Spirit reading right along with me, and I had to read it all over again because it made me feel so good. I have so much to be thankful for, including two wonderful elders who brought the gospel to my friend and me eight months ago. Thank you for a fabulous magazine.
Lynn de YagherShalalth, British Columbia, Canada

Our house is to be a house of glory. For our house to be such, we need to be square with God, fair with others, and honest with ourselves. One cannot be one person and pretend to be another. Samuel Clemens, better known as Mark Twain, had Huckleberry Finn teach us this vital lesson. Huckleberry Finn is talking:
“It made me shiver. And I about made up my mind to pray, and see if I couldn’t try to quit being the kind of a boy I was and be better. So I kneeled down. But the words wouldn’t come. Why wouldn’t they? It warn’t no use to try and hide it from Him. … I knowed very well why they wouldn’t come. … It was because I was playing double. I was letting on to give up sin, but away inside of me I was holding on to the biggest one of all. I was trying to make my mouth say I would do the right thing and the clean thing, … but deep down in me I knowed it was a lie, and He knowed it. You can’t pray a lie—I found that out.” (The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, New York: Washington Square Press, Pocket Books, 1973, pp. 271–72; italics added.)

When I was four years old, my mother and my grandmother worked at the Beehive House, Brigham Young’s old house in Salt Lake City, Utah. They taught me all about Brigham Young and that he had many wives. About 10 years later, I learned that Joseph Smith had many wives. I didn’t learn about seer stones, which Joseph used to help translate the Book of Mormon, until I was an adult. The Church did not hide information from me, but the historical information was not as emphasized when I was young.

One night a few weeks ago in the South Pacific, my wife and I were riding in the back of a very old minibus whose driver was cautiously guiding it through the flooded streets of Papeete on the island of Tahiti. Water was leaking into the bus as the heavens poured out great sheets of rain that were too much for the old roof and the cracked windows and the ancient windshield wipers. Fumes were seeping from cracked exhaust pipes up through the floor of the bus, and none of us were very comfortable. Some of the passengers became a little sick to their stomachs and worried about getting back to the hotel. We passed many stalled cars in streets that looked more like rivers than roads.
Everyone riding in the bus was attending a conference of South Sea mission presidents. There were leaders from Fiji, Samoa, Tonga, Hawaii, and Tahiti, plus some local priesthood leaders and visitors from Utah. Instead of just sitting there worrying, someone began to sing, and everyone quickly joined in. We sang well-known hymns and old familiar songs for a while. I began to sing a song I learned in Primary as a little boy: “Oh, we are the boy trail builders, out west where the sunsets glow …”
To my great surprise almost everyone in the bus knew the song. Many of them had grown up in the islands and had lived there all their lives, but when we started to sing Primary songs, everyone knew them and joined in.
Then we finished our songs by singing tenderly and lovingly “I Am a Child of God.” There weren’t many people on the streets that rainy night, but those who were, and the bus driver, were at first curious about us and then respectful as they heard us singing through the storm.

The story is told of a ship that was in distress during a severe storm off the coast of Holland:
“A rowboat went out to rescue the crew of the fishing boat. The waves were enormous, and each of the men at the oars had to give all his strength and energy to reach the unfortunate sailors in the grim darkness of the night and the heavy rainstorm.
“The trip to the wrecked ship was successful, but the rowboat was too small to take the whole crew in one rescue operation. One man had to stay behind on board because there simply was no room for him; the risk that the rescue boat would capsize was too great. When the rescuers made it back to the beach, hundreds of people were waiting for them with torches to guide them in the dreary night. But the same crew could not make the second trip because they were exhausted from their fight with the stormwinds, the waves, and the sweeping rains.
“So the local captain of the coast guard asked for volunteers to make a second trip. Among those who stepped forward without hesitation was a nineteen-year-old youth by the name of Hans. With his mother he had come to the beach in his oilskin clothes to watch the rescue operation.
“When Hans stepped forward his mother panicked and said, ‘Hans, please don’t go. Your father died at sea when you were four years old and your older brother Pete has been reported missing at sea for more than three months now. You are the only son left to me!’
“But Hans said, ‘Mom, I feel I have to do it. It is my duty.’ And the mother wept and restlessly started pacing the beach when Hans boarded the rowing boat, took the oars, and disappeared into the night.
“After a struggle with the high-going seas that lasted for more than an hour (and to Hans’s mother it seemed an eternity), the rowboat came into sight again. When the rescuers had approached the beach close enough so that the captain of the coast guard could reach them by shouting, he cupped his hands around his mouth and called vigorously against the storm, ‘Did you save him?’
“And then the people lighting the sea with their torches saw Hans rise from his rowing bench, and he shouted with all his might, ‘Yes! And tell Mother it is my brother Pete!’”

A few years ago, our stake president and his wife had a wonderful son taken in his youthful prime because of an automobile accident. We are consoled by the knowledge that the very laws that could not allow his broken body to survive here are the same eternal laws which the Lord will employ at the time of the Resurrection, when that body “shall be restored to [its] proper and perfect frame” (Alma 40:23; see also Alma 11:42–45).

I really enjoyed the story “Wipeout” in the January 1991 issue. I also have three younger sisters and tend to be hard on them. That story was written just for me, so I could learn to appreciate how unique and important each of my sisters is. I want them to know I love them with all my heart.
Mandi FastPhelan, California

Kids from Cairns, Townsville, Charters Towers, and Mackay in Australia flocked to the famous Harbour as part of a big youth conference held recently.
Debra Croucher reports they played volleyball and softball and barbecued burgers on the beach. Then the groups gathered around a fire for a sing-along under the stars. Next day they bussed to Eungella National Park and had workshop discussion groups, a dance, and competitive sports events. Sunday’s testimony meeting put a memorable touch on a great gathering.

Nick tried to listen to his teacher as she wrote numbers on the whiteboard. But the two boys whispering in front of him kept distracting him.
“Did you see Nick?” a boy whispered. “He’s got big bald spots all over his head!”
“Yeah,” another said. “He looks like my grandpa.”
The boys laughed quietly.
Nick touched his head and rubbed one of his many bald spots. His face got hot from embarrassment. He sank lower in his seat, trying to hide. He wanted to disappear. He hated when classmates talked about his bald spots.
Nick was losing his hair because he had alopecia. That’s a condition that makes people’s hair fall out.
Most days Nick liked school. But on days like today, he couldn’t help feeling sad and embarrassed. After class, he put on his baseball cap and quietly walked through the hallway.
He wished he could call Mom to take him home. But first he’d have to go see the school nurse and tell her he couldn’t stay at school. And telling her that his feelings had been hurt probably wasn’t a good enough reason. Even if she did say he could go home, he knew his mom wouldn’t let him. Alopecia made his hair fall out, but it didn’t make him sick, and it wasn’t contagious.
It did make him sad, though. After dinner that night, Nick felt tears stinging his eyes when he told Mom and Dad what the kids in math class had said.
“I know I shouldn’t listen when they make fun of me,” he said. “But sometimes it really hurts.”
Mom put her arm around his shoulder. “I hope you know we love you no matter what. And so do your Heavenly Parents. Why don’t we say a prayer and ask Heavenly Father what to do?”
“And we can fast about it on Sunday,” Dad added.
The next day, Nick met up with his friend Seth when he got to school. Seth was frowning.
“I heard what those guys said about you yesterday,” Seth told him. “Don’t listen to them. I think you’re cool, with or without hair!”
Nick grinned. “Thanks!”
Seth was Nick’s best friend. They went to church together too. When Nick first found out he had alopecia, he had told Seth. And Seth didn’t treat him any differently.
“My family is going to fast on Sunday to figure out what I should do about my hair,” Nick said. “You can too if you want.”
Seth nodded. “Sure!”
On Sunday, Nick and his family fasted about what Nick should do. After they said a prayer together, Nick got a warm, peaceful feeling.
He had his answer.
“My hair is falling out more than ever,” Nick told his parents. “And I’m tired of trying to hide it with my baseball cap.” He took a deep breath. ”I want to shave my head.”
Mom and Dad smiled at him.
“I think that’s a great idea,” Dad said.
With Dad’s help, Nick shaved his head the next morning. When he saw his bald head in the mirror, his eyes widened. He looked so different! He ran his fingers over his bald head and laughed at how funny it felt.
When he got to school, a few kids gave him funny looks, but most of them liked his new look.
Seth thought it looked awesome. “Your head’s so shiny!”
From that day on, Nick focused on doing his best in school, playing football, and serving as a deacon. Sometimes he still heard some kids talk about his bald head, but he didn’t let it bother him. It didn’t matter what other people said about him. He knew that Heavenly Father, his family, and his friends loved him, bald head and all. And that’s all that truly mattered.

I am an avid reader of the New Era. I have learned many things from it that have helped me on my mission. One of the articles that I have treasured the most is “Assorted Assyrians” by Betty Curry in the January 1988 issue. The story really touched me, and I even shed tears. As a missionary in the Philippines Davao Mission, I have experienced lots of difficulties, and that article made me realize that I am here for a purpose. I realized I had to trust in God and obey his will. Thank you for an awesome magazine!
Sister CabigundaPhilippines Davao Mission

The nun Mother Teresa, caretaker of the poor and the dying, was the winner of the Nobel Peace Prize in 1979. She dared to fight against the immeasurable suffering and misery in Calcutta, India. She exemplifies the second quality, courage. In the beginning people only smiled at her activities. They said, “Such a sacrifice, such an effort makes no difference in a city where every day hundreds of people have to starve and die anyway.” They said her efforts were like drops of water on hot stones—they amount to nothing and do not change anything. Also mentioned was the blame the poor shared in their own misery. We all recognize such rationalizations which we use to smooth over our guilty consciences when something requires courage, willingness to sacrifice, and time.
Mother Teresa was not bothered by these arguments. Most important to her was the individual person. She believed that a world in which one less person suffers is a better world. This is exactly what we learn from King Benjamin about how to be a true Christian: “And also, ye yourselves will succor those that stand in need of your succor; ye will administer of your substance unto him that standeth in need; and ye will not suffer that the beggar putteth up his petition to you in vain, and turn him out to perish. Perhaps thou shalt say: The man has brought upon himself his misery; therefore I will stay my hand, and will not give unto him of my food, nor impart unto him of my substance that he may not suffer, for his punishments are just—But I say unto you, O man, whosoever doeth this the same hath great cause to repent; and except he repenteth of that which he has done he perisheth forever, and hath no interest in the kingdom of God” (Mosiah 4:16–18). Mother Teresa once suggested that we expand our prayers from “Give us this day our daily bread,” to “Give us this day our daily bread, and give our poor fellowmen theirs through our hands.”

My love for the standard works increases greatly in every year of seminary. This love helped me feel a greater desire to fulfill what Heavenly Father wants us to do. He helped me to feel a sincere love for my neighbor. I had the opportunity to share the gospel with each person around me. Through seminary, a program inspired by God, I was able to get out of the difficulties presented to me by the world. Heavenly Father helped me know what kind of daughter He wants me to be, what things I should focus on, and how I should act.
Mirian C., age 18, Guatemala, Guatemala

The second key to increased learning is to have love for each other that comes from great faith. I am not sure which comes first, but both always seem to be there whenever there is great and rapid learning in the priesthood. Joseph Smith taught that to us by example.

In the early days of the Church in this dispensation, he received a command from God to build strength in the priesthood. He was directed to create schools for priesthood holders. The Lord set the requirement that there be love for each other among those who were to teach and to be taught. Here are the words of the Lord about creating a place of priesthood learning and what it was like for those who were to learn in it:

“Organize yourselves; … establish a house … of learning, … a house of order. …

“Appoint among yourselves a teacher, and let not all be spokesmen at once; but let one speak at a time and let all listen unto his sayings, that when all have spoken that all may be edified of all, and that every man may have an equal privilege.”2

In section 88 of the Doctrine and Covenants, in verses 123 and 124, the Lord stressed love for each other and not finding fault with each other. Each gained entry into the priesthood school established by the Lord’s prophet by making a covenant with uplifted hands to be a “friend and brother … in the bonds of love.”3

Whoa, your painting is really cool!
Thanks! It’s a golden lion tamarin. It’s a kind of monkey that lives in the Atlantic Forest. It has orange fur, and—
Sorry. I always talk too much. I’m not good at making friends.
Yes, you are! You just made one. Her name is Margo. That’s me.
You’re new here, right? What’s your name?
I’m Julia.
Tell me more about your monkey! I love animals. I want to be a veterinarian someday.
Really? Me too!
Then you should meet my parrot, Kiwi! And my brother Paolo. He’s a good artist, like you.
That would be fun!
Illustrations by Katie McDee

“Mommy,” Marla called, frowning, “I’m hungry!”
“Lunch isn’t ready yet, but while you wait, you can play a game,” said Mother.
Marla’s frown vanished. “OK!”
Mother picked up a ball of string, opened the back door, and said, “Follow me.”
Marla skipped along beside her mother. The sun danced on Mother’s hair as they made a big circle with the string in the yard.
“Inside the circle,” Mother explained, “are many wonders of God’s world. While I’m fixing lunch, I want you to count them.”
Marla’s smile faded. “All I see is grass.”
“Look carefully. Not all of God’s wonders are big,” Mother explained.
Marla sat inside the circle. She saw a purple violet blooming.
Next, she discovered an acorn missed by the squirrels. The brown shell had cracked open, and a sprout was curling out of it. Marla gazed at the tall, leafy branches above her. Will this little sprout grow that big? she wondered.
Nearby, an earthworm poked its way through the earth, seeming to wave hello.
Her eyes now saw tiny ants working their way through their grass jungle.
When Mother returned, Marla proudly shared her discoveries with her.
“What a good detective you are,” Mother praised her. “But I see one of God’s wonders that you missed—a very large one, compared to all these others.”
“Where? Where?” Marla asked, looking around.
“Why, you, of course!” Mother told her. “To me, you’re the most special of God’s wonders in that circle.”

But the war was not over. It was renewed and redirected. There was contempt. There was persecution. There were drivings from one place to another. There was the murder of the young prophet of God and of his beloved brother, 163 years ago this month.
The Latter-day Saints fled their comfortable homes, their farms, their fields, their shops, their beautiful temple built at such tremendous sacrifice. They came to mountain valleys, thousands of them dying along the way. They came to the kind of place that President Joseph Smith had instructed the Twelve to find, “where the devil cannot dig us out.”

I’m reminded of a war long ago in which three young men were hit by an enemy attack. One was slightly injured, one was critically injured, and the other was killed. For many years, the least injured of the three agonized over why he was spared. He argued with himself about it until he had convinced himself he had sinned somehow by surviving. His feelings of guilt nearly consumed him.
Not until 40 years later, when his own son came home from another war seriously wounded, did the father accept and feel gratitude for having survived the earlier war. Because he was a survivor, he had experienced the same trauma his son was going through. Now he could empathize with and help his son.
Serving his son in this unique way, he finally found peace. He said, “My only regret is that I have been looking backward all these years, instead of looking ahead to the future.” He had blamed himself for something he could not control. And that constant self-blame had prevented him from enjoying life as much as he might have. Now the past was a blessing to him and a great help to his son.

During lunchtime at school, I was talking to my friend, and he told me that he had never been to church or read the scriptures. I told him that I could give him the scriptures. So I went home and asked my mom if I could use the Book of Mormon that the missionaries had left us to give away. I wrote my testimony in the front and took it to school the next day. I gave it to my friend, and he said thank you. I felt good because I was being a missionary.
Brendan J., age 7, Nevada, USA