Gospel Story Finder

One of my most memorable missionary experiences took place in a cold, damp basement apartment of a nonmember in Edmonton, Canada. My companion and I were trying to help a man who had smoked many cigarettes every day all his life to live the Word of Wisdom, and he had called us to his humble residence one night to admit defeat. He said, “I have made every effort humanly possible, and I just can’t quit smoking. I know the gospel is true and I want to be baptized, but I’ll never be able to overcome this habit.”

Our reply to this defeated man was, “Don’t give up. You can quit smoking because there is superhuman power that can give you the strength and courage you need.”

We asked him to read these comforting and reassuring words from Paul: “There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.” (1 Cor. 10:13.)

Then we knelt with him and asked the Lord to give him the courage and the determination necessary to place his life in order so that he and his family could be baptized. What a testimony-building experience it was for a nineteen-year-old boy to witness the changes in this man’s life as the Spirit of the Lord magnified his strength, helping him resist temptation and live God’s commandments!

In the March 1983 New Era there was a marvelous article about Brother Peter Vidmar. I was delighted and moved by this beautiful, inspiring story of devotion and success. Last summer I watched avidly the progress of countless men and women who expanded their talents to the very limits of their abilities in the Olympics. I was impressed a thousand times but never so much as when watching Brother Vidmar’s contributions. Through his success and humility he has brought a lot of joy and happiness to my family at a time when we are suffering a lot of heartache and worry.

These encouraging statistics suggest how important it is not to stand by and wring our hands but to do something! The reason, frankly, brethren, that so little is happening is that so little is being tried. An experienced woodcarver was asked how one begins to be a woodcarver. He said bluntly, “Start making some chips.” Brethren, let’s start making some chips!

Janna says, “When the temple was finished and I went to the open house, I said it was the most beautiful building in Finland. I began to understand how very blessed we are to have our own temple.”

Howard moved to California. At a Church dance he met Clara May Jeffs, a former fashion model who was working as a personnel manager of a large Los Angeles department store. Soon after meeting Clara May, Howard realized that his days as a musician were numbered. A musician’s hours were not conducive to the type of family life he wanted. So, before he took Clara to Salt Lake City to be married in the temple, he packed away his instruments for good.
Howard and Clara were married in the Salt Lake Temple on June 10, 1931. The newlyweds returned to California where Howard went to work in a bank.

With that in mind, I would like you to consider this story written by a young man I work with. He does not have the use of his arms and legs and has speech challenges. He was assigned to write a paper for his high school English class on the topic “My Wish.”
If I could have one wish, I would wish for my parents to be active in the Church. This would bring our family together, and my dad would be able to have the priesthood. We would have family prayer, read scriptures, and have family home evenings. We would go to church together as a family. We would have a better knowledge of the Church because we would read scriptures together and go to Church activities. My parents would get along better. They would pray and talk things over more.
The wish would have some advantages for me. I would be able to go to church with my parents and not another family. I could learn more about the gospel at home, and I would have a better feeling about myself.
If this wish were to happen, I would probably start crying because I would be so excited. Then I would sit down and talk with my parents and tell them how happy I would be and all the feelings I’ve had. I would have a feeling of rejoicing in my heart. I would pray to Heavenly Father and say thanks to him for helping this wish to happen.
I would love to have this wish come true. It has been my goal for many years. It would be hard to have my parents become active in the Church because they would have to change many things in their lives.
You might be surprised with this young man’s wish. He could have wished for legs and arms that readily obeyed his command or for the ability to communicate easily. Instead, his desire comes from his love for his family and the absence of selfish desires, just the things that Jesus Christ taught. This young man reminds me of one who might have been along the path where Jesus walked and would surely have recognized the Savior as the Son of God.

Last September, Gus left Delaware to attend BYU. He saw Sister Miller at Christmas when he went home, and he still stays in touch, even though she’s living at one end of the country and he’s 3,000 miles away. She misses his visits, but is happy Gus is going to college. In Gus’s place as Jack German’s home-teaching companion is Lance, Gus’s 12-year-old brother.
As for Gus, some things never change. No sooner had he settled in his new ward in Provo than he was called to be a home teacher.

Books and papers fell to the floor when Becky bumped into Sister Chapman. “Oh my,” Sister Chapman said as she picked up her books. Lauren quickly helped Becky gather the papers. “Thanks,” Sister Chapman said with a smile. The girls smiled back. Lauren liked her new Valiant teacher.
When they got to class, Meagan was there. “I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Sister Chapman told her.
“Lauren, since Meagan missed last week’s lesson, can you retell the story of the Good Samaritan?” Lauren noticed that everyone was waiting for her to answer.
“Let me tell the story,” Becky begged. “We’ll be here all day if we wait for Lauren.”
Lauren looked down as Sister Chapman said, “Becky, I think you owe Lauren an apology.”
“Sorry,” Becky muttered.
Lauren let out a sigh of relief when Sister Chapman started to tell the story. Her voice soothed Lauren, and the story brought tears to her eyes. Some of her tears were for the poor man lying in the road; the rest were for herself. Why can’t I remember the scripture stories?
“Today in opening exercises, we sang ‘Search, Ponder, and Pray.’ Did you notice that we were singing about having a testimony of the scriptures? Think to yourselves: Do I have a testimony? Do I know the scriptures are true?”
Caught in the moment, Lauren nodded her head.
“Lauren, how could you have a testimony?” Becky scoffed. “You can’t even remember last week’s lesson! You have to know the scriptures to have a testimony.”
“Our testimonies are very personal, Becky,” Sister Chapman gently corrected her. “We can’t say someone else does or doesn’t have a testimony. But we each can know if we have one personally.”
At the end of class, Sister Chapman handed out the scripture reading assignment and asked, “Any class business?”
Meagan raised her hand. “I want to thank my Valiant Secret Pal—the cookies were great!”
“You, too?” asked Sister Chapman. “When I was sick this week, someone left cookies and a get-well card on my doorstep. It was signed ‘Your Valiant Secret Pal.’ I wonder who it is …” Sister Chapman looked around the room. “Well,” she added, “whoever it is understood last week’s lesson. Jesus Christ taught us to help the sick. Someone was really listening and put into action what she had learned. I’d say we have a Good Samaritan right here in our Valiant class.”
That night for scripture study, Lauren’s dad read from the New Testament. Excitedly Lauren exclaimed, “We talked about this story in class!”
“Super!” Dad said. “Why don’t you share it with us?”
Lauren felt the same uneasiness she’d felt that morning. She thought hard and then shook her head, “I can’t.” Her parents looked at each other, and then Dad continued to read about the Good Samaritan.
When Mom sat on the edge of Lauren’s bed to kiss her good night, she found Lauren crying. “What’s wrong?” Mom asked.
“Why can’t I remember that story? Sometimes I feel so dumb.” Lauren told her mom what had happened in her Primary class. “Becky’s right,” Lauren said, “I don’t know the scriptures.”
Lauren’s mom hugged her. “Lauren, you are not dumb. You’re a bright young girl. You understand what the stories are about, but you learn them a bit differently than most children, and remembering the details takes you a little longer—that’s all.”
The teachers in Lauren’s special class at school always told her the same thing. She had heard it over and over, but it still didn’t help.
The next Sunday, Sister Chapman didn’t call on Lauren to answer any questions, and Lauren didn’t raise her hand. Becky answered almost every question—correctly. If only I could be like Becky, Lauren thought.
As class was dismissed, all the girls left in a hurry except Lauren, who stayed to help Sister Chapman erase the chalkboard and put away chairs. “Thank you, Lauren,” her teacher said. “I can always count on you to help.”
“I liked the lesson,” Lauren replied. “You are a good teacher.” Lauren noticed a bright smile on Sister Chapman’s face.
Later that week, Lauren opened the front door and found a letter and a small package sitting on the porch. They were from Sister Chapman. Lauren quickly opened the letter and read it:
“Dear Lauren,
“I want to tell you how much I enjoy having you in class. I’ve noticed that you feel uncomfortable answering questions, so I didn’t call on you last Sunday. Lauren, you do know the scripture stories. I’ve seen you live them.
“I have a feeling you were Meagan’s—and my—Secret Valiant Pal. You helped the sick. Do you remember helping Becky pick up my papers? You helped someone in need. Every time you thank me for a nice lesson, you help me become a better teacher.
“Lauren, you understand more about the Good Samaritan than you think. For some people it’s easy to remember the scriptures word for word, and that is a wonderful gift. But the hardest part is to live the principles the scriptures teach.
“Thanks for being a Good Samaritan in our class. Enjoy the gift. It reminds me of you.
“With love,“Sister Chapman”
Lauren unfolded the tissue paper and found a bookmark that read “The Good Samaritan.” Lauren read the words over and over—they sounded good to her. Walking back inside the house, she sang, “‘I know the scriptures are true.’”*

Earlier this year, President Nelson asked the youth of the Church to spend time studying scriptures about what Jesus said and did. He said he learned more about Jesus when he read and underlined every verse about Jesus Christ listed in the Topical Guide. When he finished, he was excited and told his wife, “I am a different man!”

Fifteen-year-old George Ventura had a special reason for standing in front of the congregation at Sunday School two years ago. He was the president. A member of the Barcelona Branch, Spain Barcelona Mission, George was called as president of the Sunday School two months before his 16th birthday. He has now filled this position for nearly two years, often having as his counselors men three times his age. As in other fast-growing areas of the Church, these two years have often included the challenge of training recent converts to be teachers and counselors in the Sunday School organization.
Although George was the only member of the Church at the Barcelona International High School, he was chosen senior class president and valedictorian. Besides Spanish, English, and French, George is also fluent in Catalan, the native language of his area of Spain.

I think of another. I knew him well. He joined the Church when long ago I was a missionary in the British Isles. He had a smoking habit. He prayed for strength in that springtime of his Church membership, and the Lord answered his prayer and gave him power to overcome his habit. He looked to God and lived with a joy he never had previously known. But something happened. Family and social pressures were brought against him. He lowered his vision and gave way to his appetite. The smell of burning tobacco seduced him. I saw him some years later. We talked together of the old and better days he had known. He wept bitterly. He blamed this and he blamed that, and as he did so, I was inclined to repeat the words of Cassius—
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings.
(William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar, act 1, scene 2, lines 140–41.)

In any event, the charge came to my mind recently as I listened to the report of a returned missionary.
He told us that the wife in the family in whose home he and his companion were living was interested in the gospel; her husband was not interested, however. But finally he warmed up a little and said that when the missionaries had nothing else to do he would listen to them. Sometime thereafter when a wet and windy storm drove them in from tracting, finding him alone, they gave him the first missionary lesson. He didn’t exhibit much interest at first, but when they had concluded, he stood up and said, in effect:
“Do you know what you have just told me?”
They thought they did.
“Do you believe it?” he asked.
“Yes,” they replied, “we believe it.”
“Well then,” he declared, “you don’t understand what you’re saying. If you really believed that God and His resurrected Son, Jesus Christ, actually came to this earth in 1820 and personally appeared to a boy and gave him the message you say they gave him, no storm could drive you in from doing your work. With a message like that you would have to stay out there knocking on doors and delivering your message.”

The group scattered among the old buildings doing things some of them had never tried before. Several girls were enthusiastically sloshing white paint on themselves and on the outhouse behind the old chapel. After lunch the same group, with the paint thoroughly dried on their clothes, was dusting all the old framed photographs lining the back wall of the chapel.
Heather Nelson was fascinated by the faces she saw in the black-and-white photos of the people who once attended church here. “This is more fun than painting, and I had a blast painting.”

Spring was on its way. Flowers pushed their way through the thin layer of snow on the ground. Lyndsey’s mom hung a yellow berry wreath on the front door.
One day, Lyndsey came into the kitchen where Mom was cleaning. “Mom, what are those scratching sounds?” Lyndsey asked.
“I don’t hear anything,” Mom said. “Where do you hear them?”
“They’re coming from the front door,” Lyndsey said.
“It’s probably just the wind blowing our wreath against the door,” Mom said.
Over the next few days, mysterious noises kept coming from the front door. Lyndsey’s sister, Sarah, noticed a couple of robins flying back and forth from the front porch carrying twigs and bits of paper. Lyndsey’s brother, Westley, noticed the birds chirping loudly at him whenever he played basketball in the driveway.
A couple of weeks later, the weather outside grew warmer. Daffodils nodded their golden heads. The strange noises stopped. Everyone forgot about the mystery.
Mom wanted to replace the berry wreath on the front door with an Easter decoration. She lifted the wreath off the door and carried it inside. Lyndsey was coloring at the table. Mom started to lay the wreath on the table when she suddenly stopped moving.
“What’s the matter?” Lyndsey asked.
Mom gently put the wreath on the floor and leaned it against the wall. “Lyndsey, there is a bird nest on top of the wreath,” she said.
Lyndsey hopped out of her chair to look. As she stepped toward the wreath, she saw something at her feet. On the floor lay three tiny blue eggs. But there was still one egg that hadn’t fallen out of the nest. Mom put on her cleaning gloves. She carefully picked up the three eggs and put them back into the nest with the fourth. Then she hung the wreath back on the front door.
Over the next few days, Lyndsey, Sarah, and Westley peeked into the nest. They noticed that there were only three eggs. When they asked what had happened to the fourth egg, Mom said she would explain during family home evening that night.
After dinner, the family gathered in the living room. They were going to have a lesson about Easter. Dad explained that Jesus Christ died so we might live again with Him and Heavenly Father someday. Heavenly Father loves all of us, including all of the creatures on the earth. He even notices when a little bird falls from its nest.
Dad asked Sarah to read Matthew 10:29–31: “Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows.”
Mom explained that when the eggs fell out of the nest, one of them had broken and the bird was not able to survive. But the other three eggs were fine.
“If Heavenly Father loves that little bird that died, imagine how much He must have loved us to send His Only Begotten Son, Jesus Christ,” Mom said. “He sacrificed His perfect Son so we could live with Him again someday.”
Lyndsey, Sarah, and Westley watched the birds hatch and grow strong. The mother and father robins helped their babies learn to fly. Finally, they left the nest. But the little robin family stayed in their yard all summer, singing happily to Lyndsey’s family.

When I turned 18, I wanted to serve a full-time mission and help in the Lord’s work. I eagerly told my parents about my plan and how I wanted to invite people to come unto Jesus Christ by helping them receive and live the principles and ordinances of the gospel. Their response surprised me. They said it broke their hearts to think of me leaving on a mission, and I had to choose: my family or my mission.
I was shocked when I heard those words. Immediately I went to the Church building near our home and entered one of its rooms to kneel and ask Heavenly Father, “What will I do? What will I choose: my family or my mission? Both are important to me.”
While on my knees, the words of the missionaries came to mind: “Whatever God commands, do it.”
I love my family and want to be with them forever. I respect their feelings. Yet the scripture says, “To obey is better than sacrifice” (1 Samuel 15:22). The Spirit of the Lord filled me, and I was strengthened. I decided to serve because I knew Heavenly Father would help my family understand.
I went home only to be sent away by my father’s angry words and told to never return. Not knowing where to go, I packed my things. I was not a bit scared, because I knew the Lord was with me, that He has a plan for every family, and that someday my family would understand this beautiful plan.
I was only a few steps away from home when my mother caught me. She embraced me and said how much she loved me. As I left, I could see her crying with all the love and pain of a mother seeing her child go.

A thing that has happened has been to keep a Book of Mormon diary—not a summary of what happened in each chapter, but notes about how I could apply the words into my life today. I’ve found a thousand ways to apply the scriptures to my life. I’ve really found myself searching my soul.

A ministering brother develops a closeness and trust with a brother whose wife attempted suicide.

As missionaries, my brothers and I received assistance from our mission presidents and companions as well as Church members and the Lord. We worked hard, and with the help of the Spirit, we were able to baptize and confirm many people. Among those converted, one is now serving as a stake president, some are high councilors, and some are bishops. Those families have been sealed in the temple, and their children are now serving as missionaries. Through the service we were able to give, gospel seeds have been planted all around Japan and are starting to bloom. Mother’s dream to have her children be missionaries came true.

Missionary work was the theme of the annual Pioneer Day parade on July 24, 1880 celebrating the entry of the pioneers into the Salt Lake Valley. On suggestion of President Taylor, “a man and a woman, dressed in native costume, represented each country; the colors and the name of the nation represented where the missionaries of the Church had labored.”
After the parade these nationalities, numbering 25, sat on a platform in front of the pulpit in the Tabernacle for the holiday program.

I didn’t say
I love you
today,
But I smiled at an old man
who looked lonely.
He took my hand
in his unraveled mitten
And asked that God might bless me.
I knew he was giving me
a far greater gift
than the tinsel-wrapped boxes
under the tree.
He had nothing else to give.
I thanked him for his kindness
and wished him a Merry Christmas.
He walked away
taller and straighter than before.
I didn’t say
I love you
today,
But an old man knows
I do.