Gospel Story Finder

Last night our home teachers came for a visit. They shook hands with all my family, even me.
After everyone sat down, Brother Sorensen blew up a red balloon and handed it to me.
He counted, “One, two, three,” and said, “let go!” The air rushed out of the balloon, and it flipped and flopped all over the room.
I laughed when it landed on my brother’s head.
“Some of us are like the red balloon,” Brother Sorensen said. “We get excited about something and just flip and flop around, not knowing where we will end up.”
Then he handed one end of a piece of string to my sister. He pulled the string tight and threaded his end through a straw.
Next he told Brother Brown to blow up his blue balloon. Then Brother Sorensen carefully put a piece of tape over the straw and fastened it to the balloon.
Brother Brown let go of the blue balloon. Swoosh! It went straight down the string to my sister’s hand.
“When we prepare and know where we want to go, we can be like the blue balloon and go straight to our goal,” Brother Sorensen said. Then he asked, “Do you have any goals?”
My brother said, “I want to go on a mission.” My sister said, “I want to earn my Gospel in Action award.” And I said, “I want to be baptized when I’m eight years old.” We all said that we would rather be like the blue balloon and prepare for our goals now.

To Helen Eckman of the Wasilla Ward, Anchorage Alaska North Stake, obstacles are just stepping stones to a happy life. Blind from birth, Helen has excelled in drama, music, and speech—and she’s a champ at scripture chases! (She walked away from a regional scripture chase competition with perfect scores, a feat no one else could match.) She has been chorister and pianist for Primary, and competed in the Miss Alaska National Teenager Pageant, where she won the Community Service Award. Helen will also be singing on TV for the third time for the annual Christmas variety benefit show for the National Federation of the Blind. Though legally blind, she has acquired a little sight since her birth. “Being blind is only a frame of mind—usually other people’s minds,” said Helen.

I also learned on my mission, during the hot summer of 1981, the importance of charity. Jesus Christ taught: “A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another. By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another” (John 13:34–35).
The area I served in that summer included a part of the city that had many apartment buildings with security guards. It was very difficult to get permission from the guards to tract in those buildings. We often tried but usually failed.
One afternoon both my companion and I felt we should go to that part of the city. During the bus trip there, we saw an older woman pushing a wooden cart. She seemed heavy laden, so we determined to get off the bus to help her. But the driver refused to stop since the road was so steep. When the bus did stop, my companion and I immediately ran back to the hillside. Her load was very heavy; it took us 15 minutes to get it to the top.
Some of the security guards saw what we were doing. That day when we walked into their buildings, they simply let us pass. That afternoon we had much success—we found three new investigators, one of whom was later baptized.

Recently our grandson Abe was afraid to ride one of the carousel animals that move up and down. He preferred one that didn’t move. His grandmother finally persuaded him that it would be safe, so, trusting her, he got aboard. He then said with a big smile, “I don’t feel safe, but I am safe.” Perhaps that is how the Jaredites felt. Trusting God may not always feel safe at first, but joy follows.

“‘Il faute se battre! We must fight!’ gurgled the hoarse voice of a man who had lain stiff in the devouring mud ever since our awakening; ‘we’ve got to!’ His body turned heavily over. ‘We’ve got to give all we have, our strength and our skins and our hearts, all our life and what pleasures are left us. The life of prisoners as we are, we’ve got to take it in both hands. You’ve got to endure everything, even injustice—and that’s the king that’s reigning now—and the shameful and disgusting sights we see, so as to come out on top, and win. But if we’ve got to make such a sacrifice,’ adds the shapeless man, turning over again, ‘it’s because we’re fighting for progress, not for a country; against error, not against a country.’” (Henri Barbusse, Under Fire: The Story of a Squad (Le Feu), trans. Fitzwater Wray, New York: E. T. Dutton and Co., 1917, p. 345.)

After the bishopric member invited families to sit together during ward conference, someone tapped me on my shoulder.

“I guess you’re in my family for the next hour,” a kind sister said, inviting me to sit with her husband and children. I am grateful for people like her who show they care about me and want me to feel welcome. Another such person was a bishop who regularly invited me to weekly home evening with his family.

In February each year children everywhere contribute their pennies, pesos, and francs for the Primary Children’s Hospital. Two little four-year-old girls whom I know made and sold cupcakes and earned $1.25 to give to the children at the hospital. Efforts similar to this unite children around the world in a good cause.

Once I was playing soccer with my friends. The goalie on the other team was upset because he missed blocking the last shot and his team lost. The players on his team were angry with him. I felt bad because he is a really good goalie and my friend. I told him that he was a great player and reminded him that he had stopped many goals before. He thanked me for being a good friend.

The young men and women of the South Jordan First Ward stood on the side of a highway in Wyoming as the bus that had been transporting them to Martin’s Cove turned into a blazing inferno.
The fire started with an overheated rear wheel and spread, getting so hot that it melted part of the freeway asphalt. Everyone made it off the bus safely, but there was not time to retrieve their backpacks or other belongings. Within 12 minutes the bus had burned down to its metal frame, along with many of the belongings the group had packed for their pioneer trek.
The youth were in shock and sure they would have to forego the trip. This wasn’t quite what they had in mind when they’d fasted for a special pioneer trek experience a few weeks before. Most personal items the youth had packed were burned in the fire, including scriptures and journals. A few youth even lost their shoes.
But tents, food, sleeping bags, and other supplies were safely stowed in a trailer separate from the bus. Bishop Brad Wardle confirmed that they had enough supplies to continue the trek, though it would be a challenge. The youth and their leaders had prepared carefully and wanted to continue. They wouldn’t let any hardship keep them from having an uplifting trek. The group rallied, and they chose to have a good attitude.
“Pray and smile,” said Walter Evans, a priest from the South Jordan First Ward. “That’s pretty much what I did through the whole thing—just pray and smile.”
While the fire burned their personal supplies, the outpouring of love that followed warmed their hearts. When they speak of the trek, most of the group remember first the kindness and generosity they received from others who heard of their hardships and wanted to help. To the South Jordan First Ward, these helpers were rescuing angels.
On the first night of the trek, the couple missionaries at the Mormon Handcart Visitors’ Center scoured their cabins to find any supplies they could loan or give to the group, including blankets, pillows, and sleeping bags.
“It just felt like we had a trek experience all our own, and we felt so blessed for our hardships, like the Willie and Martin handcart companies did,” said Caleb Clarke. “And while we weren’t in dire trouble, we had to be helped by others and rescued by them.”
Other rescuers included the American Fork 13th and Heber 11th Wards. They were in the area for their own treks and donated their unused supplies and clothing to the South Jordan First Ward, including socks, shoes, jackets, sunscreen, bug spray, and medical supplies. The spirit of charity and giving stayed with both the rescued and the rescuers.
Like the pioneers, this group of trekkers had to make do with less. One instance of improvisation was their treatment of blisters: “Everyone had duct tape all over their feet, and we thought it was pretty funny,” said Grace Loertscher. “But when we thought about it, the pioneers didn’t even have duct tape.”
For Michael Broadway, the experience gave him a sense of the spiritual legacy modern Saints have inherited from the pioneers. “When we were pulling carts, going up the mountain and having fun, I began to feel the Spirit,” he said. “Even though my family are [first generation] members, I realized I still have a pioneer heritage.”
These experiences were a testament of the gospel and the pioneers’ faith. “It just made me think. There is no way this Church isn’t true,” Kailie Fennell said.
“You never know what life is going to throw in front of you, but you can always know that He’ll help you through it,” said Geoff Kroll. “Though our stuff was gone, we still were blessed by people who gave us so much. When you have adversity, know that you’ll come out of it—and when you do, you’ll be better and have a better relationship with Heavenly Father and your Savior.”
The youth of the South Jordan First Ward saw, as the pioneers did, that “sacrifice brings forth the blessings of heaven” (“Praise to the Man,” Hymns, no. 27). Trekkers came away feeling uplifted and strengthened, despite how their trip began. The lesson learned, for many, was that when they had faith, they could face their adversities without fear. As they turned to the Lord, He provided. Like the pioneers, when the trekkers sang “all is well,” they knew it was true (“Come, Come Ye Saints,” Hymns, no. 30).

The storehouse began in early 1932, when then-stake president (later 11th President of the Church) Harold B. Lee (1899–1973) and his counselors met with bishops in the Pioneer Stake. “It was decided after a good discussion that they better do something and do it quickly,” Elder Rudd said. “It was decided that they would build a storehouse and learn how to fill it.”
Stake leaders obtained the free use of a building on Pierpont Avenue and volunteers got the facility ready. Members of the Pioneer Stake fasted on the day of the official opening and brought their contributions to the storehouse.
“It was an interesting thing that by the time it was finished, there was enough food and other items contributed to fill the storehouse,” wrote Elder Rudd in a report about the storehouse. “Also, there was a spirit throughout the stake like there had never been before—just plain brotherly love.”

Not long after my call to serve as one of the Twelve Apostles, I was summoned to the office of the President of our Quorum, President Ezra Taft Benson. He expressed deep concern that members of the Church did not fully appreciate the value of the Book of Mormon. With emotion in his voice, he read to me from the 84th section of the Doctrine and Covenants:
“Your minds in times past have been darkened because of unbelief, and because you have treated lightly the things you have received—
“Which vanity and unbelief have brought the whole church under condemnation” (D&C 84:54–55).
By that time, President Benson had completely captured my attention. He then concluded his admonition:
“And they shall remain under this condemnation until they repent and remember the new covenant, even the Book of Mormon” (D&C 84:57).
I shall never forget that lesson. Since then, President Howard W. Hunter, President Gordon B. Hinckley, and many other leaders of the Church have continued to extol the Book of Mormon to people throughout the world.

I could barely believe it. I was 30 feet under water with an air tank on my back, a regulator in my mouth, a mask and flippers on, and a sudden fear of fainting.
I had been taking practice dives with my scuba diving class for the past four weeks, and everything had gone without a hitch. Of course, those dives had been in a shallow, clear pool.
As I followed my scuba instructor down into our first real dive site—a deep, water-filled crater—I quickly found that the water was much murkier than I had imagined. In a matter of seconds I couldn’t see past my feet. After a minute or two of slowly sinking, I saw a structure of ropes and floating PVC pipes loom out of the dark water, marking the depth at 30 feet.
Our instructor motioned for us to hold on to the pipes and wait while he went around the group, testing our ability to read our water depth and air supply.
I clung to the pipe and stared at my white knuckles. They looked blue-gray in the cold, underwater light. The pressure was pushing uncomfortably on my ears, and all I could hear was the strange, empty whooshing of water around me. I had never felt more trapped. I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t hear, I could barely see. And what was worse, as I stared at my hands, I realized that they were tingling. So were my cheeks. It was that strange sensation I always got from breathing too shallowly. I thought I must be hyperventilating.
A panicked question flitted through my mind: what would happen if I fainted? Frightened, I looked to the side at my classmates. But I had no way to tell them what was happening. I looked up, but the surface was just a dim glimmer of light. I didn’t have the courage to try swimming to it. Fear kept me clinging to the pipe. Then, instinctively, I began to pray.
I pled in my heart that I would calm down, that the tingling would subside and I would be able to safely complete the dive. As I finished, it struck me that my Heavenly Father really can hear me, no matter where I am. There at 30 feet under water I could do no more than think the prayer in my mind and feel it in my heart, but that was enough. He heard me and answered.
My body relaxed, and the feelings and fear of fainting slowly dissolved. I completed the dive and swam with my class to the surface.

In the early 17th century, Sweden’s king, Gustav II Adolf, commissioned a warship that would be christened the Vasa. The ship represented a substantial outlay of resources, particularly the oak from which the vessel would be built. Gustav Adolf closely oversaw the construction process, attempting to ensure that the Vasa would fully realize his expectations.
After construction began, Gustav Adolf ordered the Vasa to be made longer. Because the width supports had already been built from precious oak, the king directed the builders to increase the ship’s length without increasing its width. Although the shipwrights knew that doing so would compromise the Vasa’s seaworthiness, they were hesitant to tell the king something they knew he did not want to hear. They complied. Gustav Adolf also insisted that this ship have not simply the customary single deck of guns but cannons on three decks, with the heaviest cannons on the upper deck. Again, against their better judgment, the shipwrights complied.
On August 10, 1628, the Vasa began its maiden voyage. After the Vasa left the harbor, a strong wind entered its sails, and the ship began to tip. Before long, “she heeled right over and water gushed in through the gun ports until she slowly went to the bottom under sail, pennants and all.”1 The Vasa’s maiden voyage was about 4,200 feet (1,280 m).
Gustav Adolf’s desire for an extravagant status symbol ruined the design of what would have been a magnificent sailing vessel, the mightiest warship of its time. The shipbuilders’ reluctance to speak up—their fear of the king’s displeasure—deprived the king of their knowledge and insight. All involved lost sight of the goals of the enterprise: to protect Sweden and to promote its interests abroad. A ship that attempts to defy the laws of physics is simply a boat that won’t float.

“Relax, boys. I’ve seen that kind of sign before.”
“Maybe so,” they shouted, “but that sign isn’t fooling!”
I glanced again at the Beware of Dog sign attached to a tall wire fence. Just beyond the fence were two large black and white dogs. I thought to myself, “An English setter and an English pointer; both breeds are considered fairly even tempered. In fact, they are usually very good family pets.” I was considering those thoughts when my eyes began to focus on the steam coming from those snarling jaws.
I was the replacement driver of a school bus route and was on my first run. It was late in the fall, and I had been thinking about the many things I had to do. Every half mile or so my thoughts, along with the bus route, changed course. I was enrolled in graduate school, as a teacher I had my school lessons to prepare, I had Church meetings to conduct, it was hunting season, my oldest son needed assistance with his Scouting requirements, there was firewood to be cut, and I was trying to finish extra rooms in our basement for our seven children. In light of that schedule, I suppose a reasonably sane person would definitely not be interested in driving a school bus, but we could certainly put the extra wages to good use.
At each stop the students would cheerfully give information about the sites along the route. I guess this job won’t be too bad after all, I thought. That is when the barking dogs snapped me back into reality. Big deal, I thought reassuringly, what are they going to do—eat the bus?
“Hey, Mister,” the kids yelled in unison, “you better get going before they jump that fence and eat this bus!”
“Very funny, very funny.”
However, I noticed that as I shifted gears and pulled away, I kept my eyes on the dogs.
When I returned home that afternoon I related the incident to my family. My three older boys were a bit mystified.
“Come on, Dad, you didn’t really believe those dogs could hurt you in that big bus, did you?”
“I guess I was just concerned about the students, but those dogs certainly looked like they wanted to get over that fence pretty bad.”
The winter months soon had our valley home in Idaho firmly tucked in under a blanket of deep snow. That year winter seemed determined to show off some muscle. It seemed that snow was falling continuously in record amounts, making driving hazardous and causing frequent cancellation of school. After a particularly severe storm I was proceeding along my bus route, being extremely cautious about the driving conditions. I was concentrating so intently that it wasn’t until all the students at my favorite stop had been seated before I even looked around at the surrounding scenery.
Ah yes, the dogs were barking viciously at the bus. As I reached toward the gear shift I found myself doing a quick doubletake. Both dogs were there, ears back, tails low, warning us in no uncertain terms that they were the meanest critters around. There was no doubt that they wanted to get at me, the students, or the bus itself, if only they had the chance. But that was the amazing part of the scene. At the sight of the bus, both dogs had raced the length of the yard and stopped abruptly where the fence was—I mean used to be! The deep snow had drifted completely over the fence giving it the appearance of a small ski ramp.
I couldn’t believe how ridiculous those dogs looked. The obstacle that had always prevented them from enjoying their meal of orange metal and rubber tires had been eliminated, yet they were stopped from pursuing us by some invisible force. Invisible, but apparently very effective.
While driving away, I noticed in my mirror that the dogs were still barking furiously but refused to give chase. As I pondered this scene, I considered how often people find themselves in situations very similar to the one in which the unfriendly canines were. How unfortunate that we place unnecessary limits on what we think we can achieve. Of course there must be a certain degree of realism in our goals, but if we are to attain great things we must set our standards high.
“High?”
Of course, the high jump! Rhett had talked himself out of a goal simply because he had failed and no longer believed he could surpass that invisible inch. I had to convince him that he was wrong. I couldn’t wait to get home and recall the story of the dogs to Rhett.

Our parents work hard to take care of us. One day we woke up early to make them breakfast in bed with eggs, toast, and strawberries.

For a weekly activity, our ward Young Women leaders arranged a visit to a local nursing home. We would sing Christmas carols, share smiles, and return to the church for hot cocoa and cookies.
I really didn’t want to enter the discomfort of those hospital-like rooms, with their antiseptic smells, sparse decor, and feeling of sadness. I confess I was more interested in the cocoa and camaraderie of my friends than singing to the elderly.
We arrived and walked past a small strand of Christmas lights to the rooms. As we sang several beloved carols, some residents had tears in their eyes, some tried to sing along, and some seemed indifferent. All thanked us as we left their rooms, but I didn’t feel the joy that often accompanies service. I felt sad, wondering how many people visited the nursing home only at Christmastime.
“We’re going to Brother Tingey’s room now,” one of our leaders said. “He has Alzheimer’s disease, so he doesn’t remember much. You know that Sister Tingey passed away a while ago.”
A pang of remorse pricked my heart. I had forgotten all about the Tingeys. Brother Tingey and his sweet wife had been the white-haired angels of our congregation. I remembered their smiling faces, Sister Tingey’s gentle touch, and Brother Tingey’s friendly greetings. I hadn’t noticed when they stopped attending church. I hadn’t even remembered that Sister Tingey had passed away.
We entered Brother Tingey’s room and gathered in a semicircle around his wheelchair. Our singing filled the room, but he sat still, his head drooping. After two songs, one of our leaders suggested that we sing “I Am a Child of God.”1
As we began, Brother Tingey suddenly lifted his head, opened his eyes, and looked at us. He smiled and in a feeble voice said, “I know that song.”
Tears began to run from his eyes onto his cheeks. By the time we finished singing, we were all weeping. Then we hugged Brother Tingey and said goodbye.
Through the simplicity of a song and the imperfect voices of a group of teenage girls, Brother Tingey was reminded that he was still a child of God and that God had not forgotten him. Since that visit, neither have I.

When Lexie learned about the Faith in God program, she immediately started working on it. She completed some of the goals for the program that day! One of those goals was to make a list of the 10 things she likes best about her mom. “Number one is that she’s honest,” Lexie says. “I think that honesty is one of the most important things in life.”

“Five years ago, my pre-MTC teacher shared with me something that someone had told him: ‘If your scripture study doesn’t make you want to change, you don’t study hard enough.’
“For me, it is about what I do after I have read in the scriptures. I try to remember what I read, throughout the day and my life. As I apply the principles taught in the scriptures, my views and desires change, and my understanding of who Christ is and what He has done grows.”
Maureen Dätwyler, Solothurn, Switzerland

Mr. Plum’s Paradise Can just one person do any real good? Mr. Plum did when he created his wonderful garden.Elisa Trimbyall ages

In the spring of 2001, I was assigned to labor in the Switzerland Geneva Mission. While I was saying my goodbyes to family and friends, my father approached me to give me one last hug before I boarded my flight. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a white handkerchief. He handed it to me, telling me that this had belonged to my great-grandpa Tyler. My great-grandfather hadn’t been able to serve a mission, and it was my dad’s hope that by sending this handkerchief with me, I could serve my mission in memory of Grandpa Tyler.
I slid the hanky into the breast pocket of my suit coat, where it was quickly forgotten in the excitement of the adventure ahead of me.
Serving in the Switzerland Geneva Mission.
Eighteen months later, I found myself in a small chapel in Annemasse, France, on the border of Switzerland. We were in our Sunday Church meetings, and I was sitting in the chapel next to an older gentleman who began to sob uncontrollably during a sacrament meeting talk. I wanted to give him a tissue and started digging through my pockets. I found the long-lost handkerchief and handed it to the man. He graciously took it, and after the meeting was over, he approached me and promised to return it to me clean.
The following Tuesday was transfer day, and I was transferred to Clermont-Ferrand, France. I left on the four-hour train ride having forgotten to get the handkerchief back. Four months later, I received a transfer to Meyrin, Switzerland, on the opposite side of Geneva from Annemasse. But because of the horseshoe shape of the zone, I was back in the same zone I had left four months earlier.
Shortly after I arrived in Switzerland, my zone leaders gave me a call and told me of a situation that had arisen. They needed my help conducting a baptismal interview because every other missionary currently in the zone had taught this particular man, and according to mission rules, an elder who had not taught the missionary lessons to this man needed to do the interview. I was delighted because up until this point in my mission I had never conducted a baptismal interview.
A few days later, after exchanging companions, one of the zone leaders and I set out for the interview. A member drove us the hour and a half through a blizzard to Chamonix, where this man lived. Chamonix was part of the Annemasse Branch, where I had previously served.
When we arrived, the snow was so deep it towered over us. We worked our way through the maze of snow to the front door and knocked.
Upon answering the door, the lady of the house gasped and shut the door in our faces. I felt so bad. My thoughts quickly raced through my time in the Annemasse Branch. Had I offended this woman?
Then she opened the door again and handed me an envelope containing a hanky. “Is this yours?” she asked. My mind raced, and in one swoop it all came back to me: the Sunday branch meeting, the sobbing elderly gentleman, and the handkerchief. I said, “Yes, it is!”
The woman broke down in tears, threw her arms around me, and said, “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” She began by telling us how she had longed for her husband to join the Church over the years. She was so happy that after all this time she had held on to her faith, and now her husband wanted to be baptized.
Visiting the convert’s family on the day of his baptismal interview.
She related to me the following: “It all began that day in church when you gave my husband your handkerchief. My husband, being a man of his word, had promised to return your handkerchief. So the following week when he returned to give you the clean hanky and you weren’t there, he decided he would go to church with me the following week. He continued to come with me every week, and every week you weren’t there. He started listening to the talks and lessons and liked what he was hearing. He continued to attend, and as time went on, he accepted the missionary lessons and now wants to be baptized.”
I was here to do his baptismal interview! My heart was touched deeply, and I thanked my Heavenly Father for allowing me to be a part of something so special. I went into the kitchen with her husband, and we stood facing each other across the kitchen island. We spoke of the commitment and responsibilities required of a new member.
He cried as he spoke of the grief he felt he had caused his wife all these years and wanted to know if God would truly forgive “an old man” for his ignorance. His respect and humility were that of one truly converted to the gospel of Jesus Christ.
He was ready to be baptized and confirmed, and a short time later he became a new member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints at the Annemasse chapel.
My great-grandfather Dorus Harvey Tyler never served a full-time mission during his lifetime, but through his white handkerchief, he was able to help bring a soul unto Christ.