Gospel Story Finder

Shortly after assuming the mantle of the prophet, President Smith sent Elder Ezra Taft Benson to Europe to oversee a massive relief effort provided by the Church.
In the October 1947 general conference, President Smith recalled going to Washington, D.C., to meet with U.S. President Harry S. Truman.
“When I called on him, he received me very graciously … and I said: ‘I have just come to ascertain from you, Mr. President, what your attitude will be if the Latter-day Saints are prepared to ship food, clothing, and bedding to Europe.’
“He smiled and looked at me, and said: ‘Well, what do you want to ship it over there for? Their money isn’t any good.’
“I said: ‘We don’t want their money.’
“He looked at me and asked: ‘You don’t mean you are going to give it to them?’
“I said: ‘Of course, we would give it to them. They are our brothers and sisters and are in distress. God has blessed us with a surplus, and we will be glad to send it if we can have the co-operation of the government.’”
That cooperation was quickly forthcoming in the form of railroad cars and shipping space. When the Church membership had received aid, President Smith directed tons of wheat be sent to nonmembers in Greece who were suffering from starvation. He had known poverty in his own youth and did all in his power to help those suffering from its effects. He could not rest while he knew of suffering; he could never be the victim of apathy.

On April 5, 2014, Elder Martinez was called to the Second Quorum of the Seventy, becoming the first General Authority from the Caribbean. He is understandably “overwhelmed” by his new assignment.
“But then a sweet sense of peace comes over me and lets me know that the Lord is in charge,” he says.

When I was a youth, I attended the wonderful temple in Switzerland, the first temple built in Europe. Along with many others like me, I loved it and dreamed of the day we would all enjoy the great blessings of a temple in our beloved country.
The day has now come! The dedication of the Rome Italy Temple is a milestone in the history of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It is also the realization of the great faith, obedience, and perseverance of generations before you who prayed, worked, dreamed, and desired to see this day.

Arthur Patton died quickly. Others linger. Not long ago I held the thin hand of a youth as he approached the brink of eternity. “I know I am dying,” he said touchingly. “What follows death?” I turned to the scriptures and read to him: “Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was: and the spirit shall return unto God who gave it” (Eccl. 12:7). “There is a time appointed unto men that they shall rise from the dead; and there is a space between the time of death and the resurrection. … Now, concerning the state of the soul between death and the resurrection—Behold … the spirits of all men, as soon as they are departed from this mortal body, … are taken home to that God who gave them life” (Alma 40:9, 11).
To me, the lad said, “Thank you.” To my Heavenly Father I said silently, “Thank thee, O God, for truth.”

Collecting for Service
The kids in our club like to collect things! We collected bottle caps to earn money for a place that researches cures for childhood cancer. And we collected pull-tabs from soda-pop cans to make money for a charity organization.

Amaru Anderson, 16, often reads the scriptures with her 8-year-old brother, Sebastian. She also takes time to answer his questions, and prays with him regularly.

“We’ve been reading Joseph Smith—History once or twice a week,” she says. “It’s mind-blowing how many questions he has at eight years old, and I love answering them. I feel like I know him so much better.”

For example, one time Sebastian asked Amaru: “How do you think Joseph Smith kept going if all these people were doing all these bad things to him and to his family? All those things were going wrong, and if he was so good, why were so many bad things happening to him?”

“It really touched me,” she says. “I know that adversity strengthens you, but here’s a little boy asking me this hard question. We always read before he goes to bed, and I stay up a little later to get ready for the next day. I thought about our conversation and realized that I understood more about adversity from answering his questions.”

Many years ago, a humble and faithful patriarch, Brother Percy K. Fetzer, was called to give patriarchal blessings to Church members living behind the Iron Curtain.

Brother Fetzer went into the land of Poland in those dark days. The borders were sealed, and no citizens were permitted to leave. Brother Fetzer met with German Saints who had been trapped there when the borders were redefined following World War II and the land where they were living became part of Poland.

Our leader among all of those German Saints was Brother Eric P. Konietz, who lived there with his wife and children. Brother Fetzer gave Brother and Sister Konietz and the older children patriarchal blessings.

When Brother Fetzer returned to the United States, he called and asked if he could come visit with me. As he sat in my office, he began to weep. He said, “Brother Monson, as I laid my hands upon the heads of the members of the Konietz family, I made promises which cannot be fulfilled. I promised Brother and Sister Konietz that they would be able to return to their native Germany, that they would not be held captive by the arbitrary decisions of conquering countries and that they would be sealed together as a family in the house of the Lord. I promised their son that he would fill a mission, and I promised their daughter that she would be married in the holy temple of God. You and I know that because of the closed borders, they will not be able to receive the fulfillment of those blessings. What have I done?”

I said, “Brother Fetzer, I know you well enough to know that you have done just what our Heavenly Father wanted you to do.” The two of us knelt down beside my desk and poured out our hearts to our Heavenly Father, indicating that promises had been given to a devoted family pertaining to the temple of God and other blessings now denied to them. Only He could bring forth the miracle we needed.

The miracle occurred. A pact was signed between the leaders of the Polish government and the leaders of the Federal Republic of Germany, permitting German nationals who had been trapped in that area to move to West Germany. Brother and Sister Konietz and their children moved to West Germany, and Brother Konietz became the bishop of the ward in which they resided.

The entire Konietz family went to the holy temple in Switzerland. And who was the temple president who greeted them in a white suit with open arms? None other than Percy Fetzer—the patriarch who gave them the promise. Now, in his capacity as president of the Bern Switzerland Temple, he welcomed them to the house of the Lord, to the fulfillment of that promise, and sealed the husband and wife together and the children to their parents.

The young daughter eventually married in the house of the Lord. The young son received his call and fulfilled a full-time mission.

The reason why I do a lot of work with timber is because I started splitting wood in kindergarten as a three-year-old boy. I really liked this and over the years have developed a great interest in this work and find great joy in this kind of activity.

A few years later in Nauvoo, Illinois, USA, the Church had grown. Thousands of new converts who had not experienced the “endowment of power” in Kirtland streamed in from the Church’s missions in England and throughout the United States.

As the Saints gathered to Nauvoo, the Lord inspired Joseph Smith to use dramatic reenactment in the endowment to present a grand vision of the Lord’s plan. This reenactment of the Creation, the Fall, and our eventual return to the presence of God through the saving mission of Jesus Christ was at the heart of a repeatable endowment ceremony performed in temples. It allowed the Saints to participate for themselves and for their ancestors. While different from the visionary experiences recounted by Abraham and Moses, the content at the heart of the ordinance was the same.

The endowment situated participants in a cosmic narrative. Instead of simply reading about a prophetic vision, the Saints were taught about the eternities through sights and sounds. They became actors in the story as they made covenants that would help them return to God’s presence. It was as if they were Nephi on the mountain or Joseph Smith in Kirtland. And the same Spirit that taught the prophets could instruct them as they participated in the endowment ceremony.

Tami PerkinsAlamo, Nevada
My friends trust me a lot and tell me a great deal. They also expect it to stay between the two of us. One day in casual conversation, I let a secret slip out. My friend found out and was very hurt. When we hurt people on a pretty consistent basis, even unintentionally, an adjustment is needed. I couldn’t accept that it was just the way I was, so I changed. I found I was an impulsive talker. I said whatever entered my mind. One extra second was all it took to remember my friends and their trust in me, to remember I loved them and owed them the respect and courtesy to keep their secrets.

Some years ago I read an article entitled “Bind on Thy Sandals.” It told of a quarterback on the football team of a small, rural high school. This young man managed to make the team, but it was clear that he was not going to be all-state or all-American. In fact, he was the fourth of four quarterbacks.
By the last game of the season, he had never been called into a game, and he had given up all hope of playing. During the final game of the year he decided to relax and enjoy himself, so he pulled off his shoes, wrapped himself in a blanket, and settled down on the bench to watch his buddies play.
Midway through the game he heard the coach shout his name. He was startled and wondered if he had been mistaken. Then the coach called again, “Hey, you! Get in there and move the ball!”
What should he do? He wanted to say, “Wait, coach, while I put on my shoes.” But instead, he made straight for the huddle, his white-stockinged feet conspicuous to the players, the spectators, and the coach.
He was obviously confused as he called his first play, and by the time he took the snap from center, he had forgotten which play he had called. While his teammates moved to the right, he went left, where he was swallowed up in the snarl of onrushing linemen.
He said later, “No one expected me to make a touchdown. Even running the wrong way was understandable. But there was no excuse for a quarterback without shoes.” (See Improvement Era, September 1969, page 44.)

For some reason as Peter Nordhoff walked through the room, the words he heard from the television made him stop. General conference was being broadcast, and his wife, who had been recently reactivated through the fellowship of a friend, was watching.
Peter and Adrina had been raised in the Church and married in the temple, but for nearly ten years they had not been involved much with the Church. At first, his work kept him busy on Sundays. When that changed, they used Sundays to relax together.
But that conference Sunday changed their lives. “The words of a prophet of God affected me,” Peter says. “The Spirit spoke to me through God’s mouthpiece. It was like a second birth for me. Listening to the prophet helped me realize that I must start doing the things I was supposed to be doing if I wanted my wife and daughter near me in eternity.” Later that day, Peter and Adrina went to their bishop.
“We went from less-active to overactive very quickly,” recalls Adrina, smiling.

Guiding the sisters back to the temple was the goal of the Merthyr Tydfil Wales Stake Relief Society presidency when they set out to plan a temple focus week.
Aware that many sisters had not returned to the temple since COVID-19 restrictions had been lifted, the presidency decided to encourage not only temple attendance, but also an invitation to focus on the temple all week.
Kicking off the focus week with a Sunday evening devotional, sisters in the stake were introduced to a calendar of activities which would help them to turn their hearts to the temple, their covenants and their family each day.
Much thought went into the ideas for the daily activities and it was hoped that the sisters would connect with their living relatives, as well as complete research for their deceased ancestors. Suggested activities for the week centered on family history projects, conference talks, service opportunities, scriptures and ideas to make connections with living relatives.
During the devotional, sisters also heard talks from President and Sister Jensen, who were just about to be released from the London England Temple presidency. They shared beautiful testimonies of how their time in the temple had taught them about the importance of covenants, and how the temple experience is personal and individual.
Merthyr Tydfil Stake president, Simon Hayes, spoke to the sisters and left his blessing upon their efforts in the coming week.
The week culminated with over 40 sisters attending the London England Temple together. The sisters were joined in the temple on the day by young adult brethren from the stake, who assisted in all aspects of a special baptistry session.
One sister commented, “I enjoyed the company and conversation with the sisters on the drive to the temple, and was blessed that more work was accomplished than I had anticipated.”
With distances to the temple being so far for many families in the stake, the actual temple visit on the Saturday was an act of faith on the part of the presidency. Stake Relief Society president, Theresa Williams commented. “Our faith was rewarded as the temple filled with the happy faces of so many of our sisters. It was a real glimpse of heaven for us to all be there together. Participating in the activities of the week brought a sense of unity even though we were taking part separately. We knew that somewhere in the stake our sisters were joined with us in the work of salvation. ‘Fulfil ye my joy, that ye be likeminded, having the same love, being one accord, of one mind’ (Philippians 2:2).”

Our uncle passed away a couple of years ago. On his birthday right before he died, he asked us to help the homeless instead of giving him a present. So now every year on his birthday, we do things for the homeless. This year we made kits to give them. We can show Jesus love by helping others.
Ben and Paisley C., ages 8 and 3, Utah, USA

Wow! What an answer to prayer! Letters from home are always a bright part of the week for missionaries, but when a letter from a precious little sister indicated she needed some close sisterly advice, I felt more than a little helpless since I am so far away. What could I write to help her without being preachy? In practically the same mailing we received some copies of past New Eras. I started thumbing through the issue I had managed to talk the elders out of (August 1973) and read “The Winner” by Judy Kay Welch. There it was! The very illustration I needed for her. Nobody can tell me there wasn’t a guiding hand in my receiving that particular New Era and that special letter at the same time.
If I had written every time the New Era has helped me you would have received a mountain of letters from me by now. I thank the Lord for parents who have always recognized the importance of the Church magazines in our home.
Sister Evelyn SmithBolivia Mission

It’s part of the Soviet Union now, the village in Karelia where I spent my childhood. The Russians annexed it, along with the rest of the Karelian region, after the two countries fought a war in 1939–40. But when I was young, the land of lakes, marshes, streams, cold weather, and hills was part of Finland. And that meant it was a land of skiing and of ski races.
Each February, when the worst of the winter chill was over, the townsfolk would break free from hibernation and gather at a large sand pit on the outskirts of the village. The sand pit was the site for the finish line of the cross-country competition, and for good reasons. For one thing, the hole torn from the side of the hill by summertime construction workers was large enough not only for the finish line, but for a food stand as well. On race day, the air was rich with the aroma of gooey, steaming meat pies and sausages. For another thing, the snow-covered sides of the sand pit formed a natural amphitheater. Standing around its sides and rim, spectators could clearly view the final stretch of the course, and the entire town knew who the victor was the moment he crossed the line.
There were many preparations for the contest. Race officials tied blue paper armbands on some of the older children, authorizing them to monitor crowds and keep competition lanes uncluttered. Trails were marked for the different events—courses of short duration for younger children, longer ones for older children; separate trails for male and female teenagers and for men and women; and even a grandpa trail for the older folks, who always did themselves proud in their own special race. Each group followed its own path, clearly marked by colored paper streamers. But the biggest event of all was the men’s 30-kilometer race. The winner was the star of the village for a year, the man who had proved what he was made of. Many a quiet farmer, shoemaker, or storekeeper imagined himself gliding past his neighbors and on to victory.
As children, though, we had a hero of our own. We called him Tappi-Eiska. He was the smallest and shortest possible full-grown man without being a midget. He was also the nicest, funnest person we knew outside our family circles. Maybe his shortness helped us relate to him, because we could look at him eye-to-eye. Maybe we understood the straggles he’d been through because of his size. “Eiska” is probably a shortened form of Einari, which could have been his true first name. But “Tappi,” in Finnish, means “stump” or “shortie,” and it might well be that originally the nickname was intended as an insult. It didn’t matter to us children. He was our candidate for skier of the year.
The problem was, Tappi-Eiska wasn’t much of a skier. The first year he raced in the men’s division was a fiasco. The men had to go around a ten-kilometer course three times, and when the winner came in, Tappi-Eiska was just finishing his first lap. By the time Tappi did finish, the other skiers were all in the sauna or on the way home. Only a few disappointed children waited for their tired friend at the finish line.
The rest of that winter and all of the next one, Tappi-Eiska spent every spare minute skiing on that trail. In the summer he swam and rowed a big army boat around in the Vuoksi River. He didn’t grow taller, but he did grow muscular. We children were excited, certain that all those muscles and all that practice would make him a winner at last. We thought a man should win just because he was nice. It always happened that way in the movies.
But Tappi-Eiska didn’t win that year, either. This time, he crossed the line with the last group of skiers. At least he wasn’t hours behind, and some other people besides us saw him complete the race. We figured his legs were just too short to compete with the big guys. Maybe he’d even give up now.
But during the next year, Tappi-Eiska showed us what the Finnish word sisu means. In English, it translates as determination or spunk. And that’s what this man had. He went on training and training and training. By the time of the next ski contest, we knew Tappi would win. Of course, we had felt that way every year, but this time it seemed possible all over again.
The striding skiers kicked up snow as they raced into the forest. Through one lap, through two, and back into the forest again. When we knew they would be coming into sight, some of us, on skis ourselves, moved out from the sand hole to meet the winner, sure that it would be our hero.
We waited in the cold. The trees were white with frost. Smoke from the few visible chimneys stretched straight up in gray ribbons. Our cheeks were red. But then, suddenly, we were warm all over! Emerging from the edge of the forest was the shortest man in town, now the biggest man in town—Tappi-Eiska! He was ahead of everyone else—everyone! Even the adults rose to their feet to cheer him on.
He came to the hill. We could see his short legs pumping so fast we could hardly focus on them. Then behind him came another man, a huge, lumbering giant! I’m sure many of us wished inside that somehow this long-legged pest would trip or break a ski, anything to keep him from passing. But as the two neared the top of the sand hole, the larger skier slipped past and crossed the line first.
How often in the years since then have I felt sorry for the man who came in first. Few of us cheered the victor. But when Tappi-Eiska crossed that line, bedlam broke loose. We followed him on our skis down into the pit, and no older children with blue armbands could have stopped us. We mobbed around Tappi-Eiska, then threw him into the air, skis and all. Many townspeople, who knew of Tappi’s struggles, joined us. Some were weeping openly. We completely forgot that he had come in second, not first. This stubbornly determined little man had shown us the value of not giving up and had become the hero of my childhood.
That was 1938. The war came the next year and took many things away. There were no ski contests. I never got my chance to be one of the older children wearing a blue armband and monitoring the crowd. And Tappi-Eiska never got another chance to prove he could cross the finish line first. But for me, and for the others, he would never have to. He had already proved he was a true winner in every sense of the word.

If it’s a special time of year, take something to make or a story to tell that fits into that special time and remember to gauge your planned activities to the age of the children. For example, if you tend a four-year-old and a six-year-old on Valentines Day, take some colored paper and crayons so the children can make special Valentines for their parents, and let the children put the Valentines they make on the parents’ dresser or bed so they will see them when they come home. Or if it is Easter time, collect stories to tell the children while they decorate egg cartons to put colored Easter eggs into.

Many years ago, soon after I was baptized, I heard a sister testify in sacrament meeting of the feelings she had while doing family history work. Suddenly I began to cry like a child. At the time I didn’t know what was happening to me. I later learned that the Lord was testifying to me through the Spirit that what the sister was saying was true and that I needed to do family history and temple work for my own ancestors.

Some weeks the ratio of members to nonmembers who visit the pavilion is very high, and some weeks there are very few members in the lines of interested fair-goers. On July 24, Pioneer Festival Day, the elder waiting in front of the pavilion asked the crowd, “How many of you are Mormons? Raise your hands.” Many hands went up.
One of the members from North Dakota who was waiting at the front of the line said, “Elder, you should be asking who the non-Mormons are.”
“Okay,” said the agreeable young missionary. “How many of you are not Mormons?”
Again many hands were seen waving in the air.
“Go to it, elder,” encouraged the man who had made the suggestion.
And that’s exactly what the elders do.

Traveling a long distance wasn’t the only sacrifice Íngrid and her family made to get to the temple. Although her dad gave his employer plenty of notice when requesting time off from work, he lost his job because he left on the temple trip. However, after returning home he was able to get a better job.