Gospel Story Finder

These athletes as well as other missionaries soon learn that some of the fruits of their labors are harvested later by others. Alan Astle, a BYU guard, had one such experience. While tracting in England, he and his companion kept a record of every door they knocked on. “I remember one lady we tried several times was always too busy to talk to us, but I thought she was a good prospect. Right next to her name in our book I wrote ‘good.’ About four months later I got a letter from this lady, thanking me in countless ways for putting that comment next to her name. The new missionaries in the area saw that, went back, and she was baptized. She’s brought about five or six others into the Church so far. I just got a Christmas card from her, and she’s still thanking me for writing ‘good’ next to her name.”

The blazing sun scorched the covered wagon as it slowly rolled forward across the barren desert. In the distance, missionaries riding in a wagon and on horseback saw an old Native American man lying against a sandstone rock, with nothing to shade him. Only a few scattered cactus plants stood nearby.
“Water,” cried the abandoned man as the missionaries approached him. Jacob reached for his canteen and loosened the cap.
“Jacob,” said one of the missionaries, “as is custom among his people, he has been left here alone to die. He has lived a long and noble life, and—”
“And he still has much to live for,” Jacob sternly interrupted.
“We may not have enough water for ourselves,” the missionary added.
“I can’t watch a dying man beg for water,” Jacob insisted. “I’ll give him a drink from my canteen.” He leaped off his horse and knelt beside the old man.
The other men shook their heads and began to move on. After the man had sipped from the canteen, Jacob climbed back onto his horse.
“Don’t leave me here alone to die!” the man cried.
Jacob pulled the reins and called to the others, “Stop!”
“How can you even think of taking on this extra burden?” another man cautioned. “As it is, our water cannot last until we reach the next water hole.”
The Native American man sat there, listening.
“I promise you that he will drink from my own canteen and ride my horse,” Jacob answered. “After he rides a while, the water will make a new man of him. I will enjoy a short walk. If we have faith, the Lord will provide for our needs.”
The old man didn’t want to take the saddle, but Jacob said, “The ride will do you good.” The man smiled weakly as the caravan moved on in the hot desert.
Jacob knew it was the right decision to share his water, even though his companions were also right about needing water for their own survival. Their supply was running dangerously low.
Jacob walked next to the man mounted on his horse in silence for hours and watched the sun sink lower in the sky. The evening temperature was still very hot. When they stopped for a drink and to let the horses rest, Jacob poured water from his canteen into a tin cup and gave it to the man. He nodded gratefully.
“Sorry for what I said earlier.” One of Jacob’s companions patted him on the back. “I believe you’re right. The Lord will provide for our needs if we first look after the needs of our brothers.”
By the next afternoon, the canteens and the water barrel in the wagon were empty. The horses could go no farther. Jacob glanced at the man, but still not a word was spoken.
The Native American man walked aside a few yards to a mound of rock and sand, climbed on top, and looked in all directions. “I know where water is—it’s a tribal secret,” he said.
The rest of the party slowly followed the man to a small plateau. Even the tired, thirsty horses seemed to know that their last chance to survive was just a short distance away. Looking under a bush, the man lifted a flat rock and said, “Look. Damp ground.” He dug down a few feet, and within a few minutes, water gurgled up from the dirt.
The little company was saved! They continued on their journey and the old man returned to his people—all thanks to Jacob Hamblin, who shared his water and his faith.

Elder Sipos and Elder Damiano were among the missionaries who loaded their cars with books and took them to the other cities. One of the last stops on their trip was Debrecen, a city in eastern Hungary, where they stayed for Church meetings on Sunday, 22 December. “I’ll never forget the reaction in the Debrecen Branch,” says Elder Sipos.
Elder István Berente—a Hungarian who had escaped from the country during the Communist regime, had been baptized, and had returned to his homeland as a missionary—made the announcement. Sister Carina Ragozzine, a missionary in Debrecen at the time, remembers that he started giving a talk about the importance of prophets, especially President Ezra Taft Benson. He emphasized President Benson’s message to read the Book of Mormon and said, “To help you do this, we have a little something for you.” Then the missionaries started handing out copies of the Hungarian Book of Mormon.
“The reaction was amazing,” says Elder Sipos. “Some people were crying, some people started laughing, others started clapping.”
Sister Ragozzine remembers everyone being quiet and making comments about how beautiful the book was. “So many people had joined the Church without seeing it. Finally seeing it made it an even more beautiful book to look at,” she says.
For the next couple of hours the members of the Debrecen Branch wouldn’t leave the room. They were pouring over stories they had heard about from missionaries but had never been able to read for themselves. And they were signing their names and testimonies in other people’s copies of the new Hungarian Book of Mormon.
“It is inexpressible the happiness that fills this day,” wrote Sister Králik Ida2 in Sister Ragozzine’s copy. “I’ve waited a long time for this moment.”
In Elder Sipos’ copy, Sister Fegyverneki Ágnes wrote, “I am so happy. … This was the greatest Christmas present I’ve received. Please don’t ever forget what this Christmas means for us.”
“It was definitely the best Christmas present of the season,” says Sister Ragozzine.

When we entered into the holy temple, we were excited and felt that this is the place where God dwells. The Holy Spirit guided us through the temple sessions and the temple workers helped us select the white temple clothing. My pants were too long and when I was busy tying my white tie somebody was folding my pants. When I looked down, I was surprised to see that it was the temple president. That was indeed a great act of humility.

One girl I know interviews her parents about once a week. “I don’t really ‘interview’ them,” she says, “not in an obvious, formal way. But I do catch them when they’re not busy and ask them questions about their childhood, their high school days, that kind of stuff. Once they start answering, I just sit back and listen. It’s amazing what I’ve learned about my mom and dad that way.”

The Poppy Seeds Carrying water from the muddy river was hard work, but Pablo did it each day. When Lolita lost her special cup in the river, Pablo got it for her. Then he got very sick when he tried to be kind to Old Antonio. His kindness was repaid, though—to the entire village! Easy to read.Clyde Robert Bulla7–10 years

What these young men from Rialto, California, are doing may look far from heavenly, but during their three-day youth conference, they learned about all kinds of service that can be performed at the temple, service which brings everyone a step closer to heaven.

While some did yard work on the Los Angeles Temple grounds, others worked inside the temple performing baptisms for the dead. Still others teamed up with the local missionaries to help them in their efforts.

“Highway to Heaven” was the theme of the conference, and many of the young people agree that they learned things that will definitely keep them on the right road.

As the Maid of Iowa docked in Nauvoo to unload its passengers—more than three hundred British converts—Captain Dan Jones, also a new convert, anxiously searched the crowd of greeters for the Prophet Joseph Smith.
Captain Jones had never seen Joseph Smith, so he was startled when a “large, comely man” approached him and shook his hand, saying “God bless you, brother.” When the man returned a little later, Dan Jones realized that this was the very person for whom he was looking.

Clusters of small orange berries decorate mountain ash trees in autumn. Birds perch on the branches and gobble up the tasty seeds. The seeds will not sprout until they have passed through a bird’s stomach. By the time the bird drops the seeds, it may have flown many miles.

This past summer my wife and I had two of our young grandsons staying with us while their parents participated in a pioneer trek activity in their stake. Our daughter wanted to be sure that the boys practiced the piano while away from home. She knew that a few days with the grandparents makes it a little easier to forget about practicing. One afternoon I decided to sit with my 13-year-old grandson, Andrew, and listen to him play.
This boy is full of energy and loves the outdoors. He could easily spend all of his time hunting and fishing. While he was practicing the piano, I could tell that he would rather be fishing on a nearby river. I listened as he pounded out each chord of a familiar song. Every note he played had the same emphasis and meter, making it difficult to clearly identify the melody. I sat beside him on the bench and explained the importance of applying just a little more pressure on the melody keys and a little less on those notes that accompany the melody. We talked about the piano being more than just a mechanical miracle. It can be an extension of his own voice and feelings and become a wonderful instrument of communication. Just as a person talks and moves smoothly from one word to another, so should the melody flow as we move from one note to another.
We laughed together as he tried again and again. His dimpled-cheek smile increased as the familiar melody began to emerge from what was previously a wild set of sounds. The message became clear: “I am a child of God, and he has sent me here.”1 I asked Andrew if he could feel the difference in the message. He responded, “Yes, Grandpa, I can feel it!”

During a spelling test at school my teacher said the word we were to spell. I did not understand what he said and asked him to repeat it. After he did, I still did not know what the word was. I took a quick peek at my neighbor’s paper and wrote the same word on my paper. I received 100 percent on my test. That night I felt really bad about what I had done. I told my mom what I had done and that I was scared to tell my teacher. We decided to write my teacher a letter and tell him the truth. I also asked if I could retake the test. I went to school and handed my teacher the letter. He read it and said that I could not retake the test, but that he would mark the one word wrong. I felt so much better inside. I did not get 100 percent on my test, but it was worth it.

The Lord answered Joseph Smith’s prayer. He answers the prayers of the youth. I can feel Him answer my prayers too. One day something bad happened between my friend and me. Later, while reading the Liahona, I read a verse that said, “Love your enemies” (Matt. 5:44). It helped me get past what happened, and we became friends again. I feel that was an answer to my prayers.

One day a man came to the office and said that he was a painter. My father agreed to pay the man to paint our barn. Father called and told the owner of the paint store to give the man some paint, and Father would pay for it.

The man painted the barn and left town. Later the paint store owner called and told Father that the man had taken too much paint for one barn. I guess he intended to sell the extra paint to someone else and make more money. Father didn’t become angry or upset. He said, “Well, we have our painted barn, and somewhere that man knows that there is someone who was willing to believe in him.” My father could always sleep at night because his conscience was clear.

Members and missionaries in Iloilo, on Panay Island, traveled as much as five hours by boat and bus to attend meetings where Elder Bednar gave instruction on strengthening their faith in Jesus Christ and assisting others to come unto Christ.
“We are here to teach the gospel of Jesus Christ, but we should always remember that the true teacher is the Holy Ghost,” summarized Sister Manguil, a full-time missionary serving in the Philippines Iloilo Mission.

Years ago I served on a stake high council with Emery Wight. For 10 years Emery had served as bishop of rural Harper Ward. His wife, Lucille, became our stake Relief Society president.
Lucille told me that one spring morning a neighbor called at her door and asked for Emery. She told him that he was out plowing. The neighbor then spoke with great concern. Earlier that morning he had passed the field and noticed Emery’s team of horses standing in a half-finished furrow with the reins draped over the plow. Emery was nowhere in sight. The neighbor thought nothing of it until much later when he passed the field again, and the team had not moved. He climbed the fence and crossed the field to the horses. Emery was nowhere to be found. He hurried to the house to check with Lucille.
Lucille calmly replied, “Oh, don’t be alarmed. No doubt someone is in trouble and came to get the bishop.”
The image of that team of horses standing for hours in the field symbolizes the dedication of the bishops in the Church and of the counselors who stand by their side. Every bishop and every counselor, figuratively speaking, leaves his team standing in an unfinished furrow when someone needs help.
I have passed that field many times over the years. It is a reminder of the sacrifice and the service of those called to serve in bishoprics of wards and of their wives and families, without whose help they could not serve.

For example, we met a lady who was very sad because she had lost a child. I had the opportunity to bear to her my testimony of eternal families and to speak about the temple. I told her how happy I am to have a temple in France so that I can have the blessing of being united for always with my family and my ancestors.

I visited my grandpa and grandma who are not members of the LDS Church. On Sunday we went to the church where my grandpa preaches. A girl invited me to go to Sunday School with her. The teacher was teaching about “Mormonism.” I knew that what she was teaching was not the truth, and I felt angry. I excused myself from class. Once I was alone I said a prayer to ask Heavenly Father for courage to bear my testimony. When I got back to class, I raised my hand and said, “I am a Mormon.” Suddenly I felt the Spirit really strong and my fear went away completely.
The teacher asked me if I could tell the class why we are called Mormons. I said, “We are called Mormons because we believe in the Book of Mormon.” A girl said that she had started to read the Book of the Mormon but she laughed at it. She asked me how I could believe such a story. Her question hurt my feelings, but I said what was in my heart: “I know it is true because I prayed to Heavenly Father and He told me it was so.” Before this happened I did not think I could share my testimony with so many people who didn’t believe in our Church, but now I know that the Spirit will always give me courage.

Catfish Stew
Hush puppies, black-eyed peas, and catfish are as much a part of the South as a southern accent. Elder Alden Breinholt from Bountiful, Utah, learned to make Catfish Stew from a family living in the back hills of North Carolina.

In that regard, Leo Tolstoy wrote once of a priest who was criticized by one of his congregants for not living as resolutely as he should, the critic concluding that the principles the erring preacher taught must therefore also be erroneous.
In response to that criticism, the priest says: “Look at my life now and compare it to my former life. You will see that I am trying to live out the truth I proclaim.” Unable to live up to the high ideals he taught, the priest admits he has failed. But he cries:
“Attack me, [if you wish,] I do this myself, but [don’t] attack … the path I follow. … If I know the way home [but] am walking along it drunkenly, is it any less the right way simply because I am staggering from side to side?
“… Do not gleefully shout, ‘Look at him! … There he is crawling into a bog!’ No, do not gloat, but give … your help [to anyone trying to walk the road back to God.]”13

The King James Version of the Bible was produced by 50 English scholars who accomplished their work in seven years, translating at the rate of one page per day. Expert translators today do well if they can also translate scripture at the rate of one page per day.
In contrast, Joseph Smith translated the Book of Mormon at the rate of about 10 pages per day, completing the task in about 85 days! (Many of us feel good if we can read the book in that time.)