Gospel Story Finder

In my growing-up years in Germany, I attended church in many different locations and circumstances—in humble back rooms, in impressive villas, and in very functional modern chapels. All of these buildings had one important factor in common: the Spirit of God was present; the love of the Savior could be felt as we assembled as a branch or ward family.
The Zwickau chapel had an old air-driven organ. Every Sunday a young man was assigned to push up and down the sturdy lever operating the bellows to make the organ work. Even before I was an Aaronic Priesthood bearer, I sometimes had the great privilege to assist in this important task.
While the congregation sang our beloved hymns of the Restoration, I pumped with all my strength so the organ would not run out of wind. The eyes of the organist unmistakably indicated whether I was doing fine or needed to increase my efforts quickly. I always felt honored by the importance of this duty and the trust that the organist had placed in me. It was a wonderful feeling of accomplishment to have a responsibility and to be part of this great work.
There was an additional benefit that came from this assignment: the bellows operator sat in a seat that offered a great view of a stained-glass window that beautified the front part of the chapel. The stained glass portrayed the First Vision, with Joseph Smith kneeling in the Sacred Grove, looking up toward heaven and into a pillar of light.
During the hymns of the congregation and even during talks and testimonies given by our members, I often looked at this depiction of a most sacred moment in world history. In my mind’s eye I saw Joseph receiving knowledge, witness, and divine instructions as he became a blessed instrument in the hand of our Heavenly Father.
I felt a special spirit while looking at the beautiful scene in this window picture of a believing young boy in a sacred grove who made a courageous decision to earnestly pray to our Heavenly Father, who listened and responded lovingly to him.
Here I was, a young boy in post–World War II Germany, living in a city in ruins, thousands of miles away from Palmyra in North America and more than a hundred years after the event actually took place. By the universal power of the Holy Ghost, I felt in my heart and in my mind that it was true, that Joseph Smith saw God and Jesus Christ and heard Their voices. The Spirit of God comforted my soul at this young age with an assurance of the reality of this sacred moment that resulted in the beginning of a worldwide movement destined to “roll forth, until it has filled the whole earth” (D&C 65:2). I believed Joseph Smith’s testimony of that glorious experience in the Sacred Grove then, and I know it now. God has spoken to mankind again!

6 Evil men continued to cause trouble in Kirtland. Among other things, much to Joseph’s despair, they desecrated the temple so that it wasn’t a sacred place anymore.

He gets excited when his mother invites him into the kitchen to cook tostones (fried plantains).
It takes time to make his favorite treat, tostones, but Ricardo thinks it is worth every minute. He and his mother carefully peel and slice the plantains, which look like bananas but are not sweet. They fry them in hot oil, let them cool, and carefully pat them dry. Then comes Ricardo’s favorite part. He places each slice in a wooden press and smashes it flat. Then each slice is fried again. He particularly likes to eat tostones with sausage.

It was a week following a conference, when I was preparing a radio talk on the life of the Savior and read again the story of His life, crucifixion, and resurrection, that there came to me a testimony, a reality of Him. It was more than just what was on the written page, for in truth, I found myself viewing the scenes with as much certainty as though I had been there in person. I know that these things come by the revelations of the living God.

But then my husband died, and my world changed. In my grief, I began to hope that maybe we would not be separated forever, that somehow we would meet again in our heavenly life.

Although my husband had not believed in God, he was well educated and intelligent. He had read the Bible and knew it very well. He was a good person and gave what he had to others. I had sometimes caught myself thinking that he was better than I.

Several months passed after my husband’s death, and I still could not find comfort. I was advised to go to church to lessen the heaviness in my heart. At a local church, I met a young minister. After telling him a little about myself, I asked him to pray for my husband. But he told me that because my husband had not believed in God and had not been baptized, he could not pray for him. I would not see my husband again, he said. I did not want to believe that, but I could not completely disbelieve it either. The minister took from me my last hope. Instead of getting better, I felt worse.

It was at the age of 19 when Sister Cordón met a young Valeri Cordon that she had three choices placed before her: move to USA with her mother, serve a mission, or marry Valeri. She chose to marry and the Cordón family was born. While raising their children, she continued her educational endeavors, interior design, and human resources. The BYU Pathway program opened other doors for learning, so currently Sister Cordon is focused on business studies and improving her English language skills.

It happened every Sunday in church. No matter how hard Jeremy tried, he always got the wiggle-waggles. He tried very hard to sit still during Primary. He kept his arms folded as long as he could and sang all the Primary songs. Jeremy listened to the lesson in his class and tried to answer questions. But sometimes, even when he tried his very hardest to sit still, they still came—those bothersome wiggle-waggles!
It usually happened toward the end of Primary and carried on through sacrament meeting. Jeremy would start to fidget, then he’d play with his tie. He’d rattle his papers from Primary, then twist around in his seat. He tried talking to his best friend, Thomas, but Thomas would put a finger to his lips to tell Jeremy to be quiet. Thomas never seemed to get the wiggle-waggles.
Sometimes Jeremy would untie his shoes. When the wiggle-waggles were really bad, he would slip off his shoes and kick his stocking feet back and forth.
“Sit still, Jeremy,” his Primary teacher whispered to him.
“Shhh, Jeremy, I want to listen to Sister Bernard,” Thomas said quietly when Jeremy tried to tell him about his new toy dump truck.
“Put your feet down,” his mother cautioned in sacrament meeting.
“Leave your shoes on, son,” his dad told him.
Jeremy tried to sit reverently and quietly. He really did! But he still had those wiggle-waggles every Sunday.
One night at family home evening, Jeremy’s mother brought up the wiggle-waggle problem.
“I try to sit still, Mom. I really do!” Jeremy exclaimed.
“It seems to me that we need to figure out a way to stop those wiggle-waggles from bothering Jeremy,” Dad said thoughtfully. “Let’s all think about it, and maybe we’ll come up with a solution.”
On Sunday morning, just before the family left for church, Jeremy’s mother gave him a piece of paper and a pencil. Then she said, “Jeremy, I want you to write down a sentence about your lesson in Primary, and a sentence about the talks that you hear in sacrament meeting. Do you think you could do that?”
Jeremy nodded enthusiastically.
“We’ll talk about what you wrote on your paper for family home evening,” his mother added.
All through Primary, Jeremy sat very still. He listened carefully to the talks and scripture and wrote down the scripture reference. Jeremy sang with his best voice during singing time, and even wrote down a verse to one of the Primary songs. Then he wrote a sentence about sharing time. Jeremy didn’t talk to Thomas once. During the walk to their class, Thomas commented on how reverent Jeremy was. During his Primary class, Jeremy quietly wrote down a sentence about the lesson. Before he knew it, Primary was over.
“I didn’t get the wiggle-waggles once!” Jeremy proudly reported to his parents as they sat down for sacrament meeting.
During the next hour, Jeremy tried very hard to sit quietly. But after a while, he started to feel the wiggle-waggles creeping up on him. He glanced down at his paper and read the words of the Primary song he had written down: “It shouldn’t be hard to sit very still and think about Jesus, his cross on the hill, and all that he suffered and did for me; it shouldn’t be hard to sit quietly.”*
Jeremy thought about the song. That was the secret! He should think about Jesus. Jeremy knew that Jesus would want him to sit quietly and listen.
Jeremy listened as Elder Vasquez, one of the missionaries serving in his ward, related an experience about a 10-year-old girl who had recently been baptized. He listened when Elder Brown, the other missionary, told the congregation that he was from England and had been on his mission for only three months. As Jeremy listened to the missionaries, he decided that he would like to be a missionary, too.
Jeremy was surprised when the closing hymn was announced. He looked down at his paper and noticed that he hadn’t written anything about the missionaries. He had been too busy listening to them! And the wiggle-waggles hadn’t bothered him once!
As they were leaving the church after sacrament meeting, Jeremy’s parents told him how happy they were that he’d been so reverent. Jeremy told them how the Primary song had taught him to think about Jesus and what He wanted him to do.
Just then, Sister Harper came up to Jeremy’s parents and said, “Jeremy is so quiet! I wish my Kerry would learn how to be quiet and reverent like Jeremy. She gets so wiggly!”
Jeremy’s mother winked at him.
“It looks like the wiggle-waggles found someone else to bother,” she said.
“Yes.” Jeremy smiled and held up his piece of paper. “And I know just what she can do to fix it!”

Violet Wilson, 18, from Kellogg, Idaho, had also been involved in Church activities for several years before she joined. She said that an important influence in her joining was the members making her feel like she was one of them.

Nearly 2,000 young men and women from north Texas, USA, gathered for a three-day conference and Texas-sized jubilee themed “Standing Together as One for Truth and Righteousness.” After spending six months rehearsing the music and dance pageant in smaller groups, the youth were awestruck during dress rehearsal at the Garland Special Events Arena as they converged onto the convention center floor from every aisle, filling every inch of the performance space. This was a time for them to feel the power and influence of being among 1,800 Latter-day Saint youth rather than being just one of a dozen or so who attend their high schools.
Derik S. commented in his testimony, “Almost 2,000 kids in the jubilee was like the 2,000 stripling warriors. It gave us strength to be where we are supposed to be.”
Morgan E., a Laurel who also took part in the jubilee says, “I will never forget this moment in my life when my testimony was strengthened astronomically.”
Along with participating in the pageant, youth took part in other activities including service projects; conference workshops with topics chosen by youth including scripture study, personal worth, modesty, faith, and service; a dance and party; and testimony meetings.

I had been eagerly waiting for the New Era contest issue for many months. Finally it arrived. My main motive was to criticize the winners and examine their entries to find out what my entries lacked. You see, I had participated in the contest but hadn’t won anything. But as I read the magazine, a beautiful spirit touched me and I forgot my critical attitude. I no longer had the desire to tear apart the winners’ ideas. I felt like reading more and feeling the beautiful spirit that was illustrated so many times. I wish to say a big CONGRATULATIONS to all the winners of the 1980 contest. I read every New Era from cover to cover, and I thoroughly enjoy all the stories and information. All the articles are touching and really help strengthen my testimony. It is neat to read the views and feelings that other Mormons have. New Era, you’re a winner!
Shelley ScottPayette, Idaho

We have all seen a toddler learn to walk. He takes a small step and totters. He falls. Do we scold such an attempt? Of course not. What father would punish a toddler for stumbling? We encourage, we applaud, and we praise because with every small step, the child is becoming more like his parents.

First, from my own family, I mention a touching experience that has always been an inspiration to me.
My maternal great-grandparents Gibson and Cecelia Sharp Condie lived in Clackmannan, Scotland. Their families were engaged in coal mining. They were at peace with the world, surrounded by relatives and friends, and were housed in fairly comfortable quarters in a land they loved. Then they listened to the message of the missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and, to the depths of their very souls, were converted. They heard the call to gather to Zion and knew they must answer that call.
Sometime around 1848, they sold their possessions and prepared for the hazardous voyage across the mighty Atlantic Ocean. With five small children, they boarded a sailing vessel, all their worldly possessions in one tiny trunk. They traveled 3,000 miles (4,800 km) across the waters—eight long, weary weeks on a treacherous sea, watching and waiting, with poor food, poor water, and no help beyond the length and breadth of that small ship.
In the midst of this soul-trying situation, one of their young sons became ill. There were no doctors, no stores at which they might purchase medicine to ease his suffering. They watched, they prayed, they waited, and they wept as day by day his condition deteriorated. When his eyes were at last closed in death, their hearts were torn asunder. To add to their grief, the laws of the sea must be obeyed. Wrapped in a canvas weighed down with iron, the little body was consigned to a watery grave. As they sailed away, only those parents knew the crushing blow dealt to wounded hearts. However, with a faith born of their deep conviction of the truth and their love of the Lord, Gibson and Cecelia held on. They were comforted by the words of the Lord: “In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.”
How grateful I am for ancestors who had the faith to leave hearth and home and to journey to Zion, who made sacrifices I can scarcely imagine. I thank my Heavenly Father for the example of faith, of courage, and of determination Gibson and Cecelia Sharp Condie provide for me and for all their posterity.

“How did I get stuck with such a duck!” San Fai muttered in frustration.
As usual, the duck was upside down in the rice pond. Wiggling above the water’s surface was the duck’s red-feathered rump. Underneath the water, his long neck and beak searched eagerly for a better minnow to swallow than the last one.
San Fai’s seventeen plain brown ducks had swum obediently to the edge of the rice paddies the moment he’d held up his pole topped with a few bits of colored cloth. Each afternoon hundreds of brown ducks had waddled out of the rice fields as farmers waved homemade flagpoles. Every duck knew its own flag.
Now the sun was sinking low over the green rice fields, and there was only one duck left in the middle of the paddies—the duck with the red rump was still bottom up in the muddy water! San Fai lowered his head in embarrassment as farmers carrying their poles filed down the dirt lane. Their ducks marched like little armies behind them. The boy looked at his own seventeen quacking ducks. San Fai’s family was poor; his “army” was small, indeed.
“It looks like Red Wiggle is still out there, as usual,” guffawed one farmer as he passed by. “I’ve never seen such a duck. You’d think he’d drown, with his head underwater all the time.”
“I guess I’d better go round him up,” mumbled San Fai.
“If I were you, I’d just leave him there,” the farmer twitted the boy. “He isn’t worth the bother. That bird doesn’t have a bit of sense.”
“I wouldn’t leave Red Wiggle even if I had as many ducks as he does,” San Fai murmured to himself as the farmer strode on, followed by nearly a hundred ducks.
San Fai shrunk down as another farmer, Chan Sou, marched toward him with a legion of ducks. Chan Sou was the richest of all the rice farmers. He was also a bully, and all the other farmers avoided him. As he came near, Chan Sou poked San Fai and chortled, “Why don’t you give up rice farming. All you do is chase that funny duck of yours. He doesn’t know which way is up and which way is down.” Chan Sou cackled with laughter, and he and his ducks strutted on down the lane.
San Fai sloshed down the muddy row of rice toward Red Wiggle. Sometimes he was tempted to let the duck stay in the rice field. Yet whenever he left his other, obedient, brown ducks in the lane to go after his unruly duck, San Fai felt like the shepherd in Jesus’ parable that his mother read to him from the book of Luke.* If that shepherd could leave ninety-nine sheep to search for one sheep, San Fai could not abandon one duck in the rice paddy.
The next day was the hottest in many weeks. Sweat poured down San Fai’s face as he leaned on a stick and weeded expertly between the rice stocks with his limber toes. Even the mud and water crawling up his legs didn’t alleviate the heat. And the ducks, which usually paddled tirelessly through the rice paddies, seemed listless today. Some farmers had umbrellas to shield themselves from the hot sun, but San Fai always let his mother use their family’s only umbrella.
San Fai was relieved when the sun began setting over the vast fields of rice. He waded to the edge of the rice paddy and pulled his homemade flag out of the ground to signal his ducks. Soon he was surrounded by quacking ducks. He counted them routinely under his breath. “… seventeen, eighteen—they’re all here!” Then he looked again. There was no red duck among all the brown ones. There were eighteen ducks, but Red Wiggle was not one of them. He wondered where the extra duck had come from.
As the boy squinted across the rice paddies into the orange sun, trying to spot his duck, he heard a gruff voice behind him. It was Chan Sou. “There’s no use looking for your red bird. You’re not going to find him. While I was plowing in the far field today, your duck was tail up, as usual, and my water buffalo kicked him. Now you’re rid of him for good.”
San Fai’s eyes bulged with anger. He gritted his teeth and wanted to hit Chan Sou. He tried to tell himself that it was just an accident, but he knew that Chan Sou could have done something to avoid it. He knew, too, that Chan Sou didn’t care if Red Wiggle was dead.
All the way home, with his flock of ducks parading behind him, San Fai wished that he could still see Red Wiggle upside down in the rice paddies. He would never complain again if only he could wade out to get the unruly duck each evening. …
When San Fai reached his family’s dusty yard, the mud-washed pig grunted in disgust as the noisy ducks waddled past him. One duck paused in confusion. San Fai looked down at it. He winced as he recognized whom this stray duck belonged to. Now he remembered counting eighteen all-brown ducks.
San Fai fiddled with the bowl of rice his mother set before him at dinner. She said, “I know that you’re sad about Red Wiggle, but you need your rice to keep healthy.”
San Fai gulped down a few mouthfuls of rice, then stood up. “I have to go to Chan Sou’s tonight. One of his ducks strayed home with ours, and I must take it back.” He hoped that his mother would say that he shouldn’t bother, that Chan Sou would never miss one duck. But his mother didn’t say a word.
When San Fai knocked on Chan Sou’s door, he nervously removed the wiggling duck from a bag. Chan Sou opened the door a few inches and peered out. “What do you want?” He growled.
San Fai stammered, “One—one of your ducks strayed home with mine. I brought it back.”
“Umpf,” grunted Chan Sou. “I thought that I didn’t have all my ducks when I came home tonight. Are you sure that you didn’t lure this duck home with you to replace that worthless duck of yours?”
“No, sir!” San Fai replied indignantly.
“Well, set him down. He’ll wander back in with the rest of my ducks. Just don’t let it happen again!” Chan Sou slammed the door.
San Fai walked dejectedly home in the moonlight. His mother was waiting at the door for him. San Fai cast his eyes down and neither said anything for a few minutes. They listened to the pig grunting and the chickens clucking in their sleep.
San Fai shuffled uneasily. “You know, Mother, as I was walking over there, I was secretly hoping that he would say that I might keep the duck, that he had more ducks than he knew what to do with. I thought that since I was doing the right thing, Heavenly Father would bless me for it that way.”
His mother smiled and put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m glad that you did the right thing and took the duck back. Eventually we are always blessed for everything that we do right. But we should never look for a reward. Think about Jesus’ parable of the lost sheep. Sometimes they don’t come back. But at least we know that we’ve done our best and that we’ve done what is right.”
She took his arm and pushed him toward the little pond by the shed. “Now, I want to show you something. You know that duck, Lily, that we’ve been wishing would lay eggs for so long. Well, she’s finally done it. Maybe some of them will hatch. And who knows,” she said with a wink,” maybe one of the ducklings will have red tail feathers.”

Brianna is 13 and loves doing family history and temple work. She has accepted Elder Neil L. Andersen’s temple challenge. She has prepared hundreds of names for temple work and, along with herself, has included her family and friends in performing the baptisms. In this sacred work, Brianna’s heart is turning not only to her earthly fathers but to her Heavenly Father as well.

“This is one of the most important days of my life, and in the history of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. After traveling six miles through a deep ravine [Emigration Canyon] we came in full view of the valley of the Great Salt Lake. …
“It was the grandest scene that we have ever beheld to this moment. …
“After gazing a while upon this scenery we moved four miles across the tableland into the valley to the encampment of our brethren, who had arrived two days before us. They had pitched upon the bank of two small streams of pure water and had commenced plowing … they had already broken five acres of land and had begun planting potatoes. …”
It was Saturday, July 24, 1847, as Wilford Woodruff penned those first impressions of this new home for the Saints of God.

I spent hours playing computer games every day for years. I found friends, and I felt important. But after playing, I would feel empty, like something was missing. I wasn’t fully happy.

I wanted to focus on things that would actually make me happy and help me improve. I started praying often. When I expressed what was in my heart to Heavenly Father, I felt a strong feeling of love.

I wanted to do things that would keep me coming closer to Christ, so I focused on simple things like daily scripture study and prayer, spending time with people who had the Spirit, and trying not to get distracted by things that would make the Holy Ghost leave. My life changed. It’s more joyful for me.

When I come closer to Christ, I know that there are more important things than computer games if I want to be truly happy. There are things that are eternal.
Alina U., 18, Lithuania

Erin remembers when she was baptized and became a member of the Church. She says that it felt good because she was doing the right thing. She knows that it is important to always do the right thing, to help her family, and to be a good friend to others.

Julie B. Beck, Relief Society general president, explains that “providing for ourselves and others is evidence that we are disciples of the Lord Jesus Christ. … When [my mother-in-law] passed away suddenly last year, she left evidence of her self-reliant life. She had a current temple recommend and well-used scriptures and gospel study manuals. We lovingly divided up the pots, pans, and dishes with which she had prepared thousands of meals. She left us quilts she had made from old clothing. She believed in the old adage ‘Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without.’ We saw the supply of food she had grown, preserved, and stored. Particularly touching were her little account books in which she faithfully recorded her expenditures over many years. Because she lived providently, she left some money she had saved for emergencies, and she left no debts! Most importantly, she had taught and inspired many others with the skills she had acquired during her faithful life.”2

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.

Some years ago President David O. McKay (1873–1970) told of the experience of some of those in the Martin handcart company. Many of these early converts had emigrated from Europe and were too poor to buy oxen or horses and a wagon. They were forced by their poverty to pull handcarts containing all of their belongings across the plains by their own brute strength. President McKay related an occurrence which took place some years after the heroic exodus:
“A teacher, conducting a class, said it was unwise ever to attempt, even to permit them [the Martin handcart company] to come across the plains under such conditions.”
Then President McKay quoted an observer who was present in that class: “Some sharp criticism of the Church and its leaders was being indulged in for permitting any company of converts to venture across the plains with no more supplies or protection than a handcart caravan afforded.
“An old man in the corner … sat silent and listened as long as he could stand it, then he arose and said things that no person who heard him will ever forget. His face was white with emotion, yet he spoke calmly, deliberately, but with great earnestness and sincerity.
“In substance [he] said, ‘I ask you to stop this criticism. You are discussing a matter you know nothing about. Cold historic facts mean nothing here, for they give no proper interpretation of the questions involved. Mistake to send the Handcart Company out so late in the season? Yes. But I was in that company and my wife was in it and Sister Nellie Unthank whom you have cited was there, too. We suffered beyond anything you can imagine and many died of exposure and starvation, but did you ever hear a survivor of that company utter a word of criticism? …
“‘I have pulled my handcart when I was so weak and weary from illness and lack of food that I could hardly put one foot ahead of the other. I have looked ahead and seen a patch of sand or a hill slope and I have said, I can go only that far and there I must give up, for I cannot pull the load through it.’”
He continues: “‘I have gone on to that sand and when I reached it, the cart began pushing me. I have looked back many times to see who was pushing my cart, but my eyes saw no one. I knew then that the angels of God were there.
“‘Was I sorry that I chose to come by handcart? No. Neither then nor any minute of my life since. The price we paid to become acquainted with God was a privilege to pay, and I am thankful that I was privileged to come in the Martin Handcart Company.’”