Gospel Story Finder

“Yeah, she sure is,” Jason agreed quietly. He got up, adding, “And tomorrow’s the wedding. This is my last chance to really tell her what I think of her.”

Jason marched straight to Christine’s bedroom, took a deep breath, and knocked.

“Come on in,” Christine called. She was setting her hair, stretching and pulling strands of it over prickly tubes. “Hi, Jase!” she said cheerfully. “What’s up?”

The room was filled with clouds of Christine’s perfume. Jason almost forgot what he wanted to say as he stared at the billowing, white gown that hung on her closet door.

Christine looked at him in the mirror. “Is something wrong?” she asked, putting down her brush and turning to her little brother.

“I—I—” he stammered, blushing. “I just wanted to tell you something,” Jason managed to say very quickly. Standing as tall as possible, he took a deep breath and let it out: “Christine, I love you, and I’m gonna miss you!”

In the early days of his mission in Great Britain, a young Elder Gordon B. Hinckley felt considerable discouragement. President Hinckley’s biographer, Sheri Dew, has written:
“After he had taken as much as he felt he could, Elder Hinckley wrote his father that he wasn’t getting anywhere with missionary work, and that he couldn’t see the point in wasting his time and his father’s money. Responding as both father and stake president, Bryant Hinckley sent a reply that was brief and to the point: ‘Dear Gordon, I have your recent letter. I have only one suggestion: forget yourself and go to work.’
“Earlier that day [Elder Hinckley] and his companion had studied the promise recorded in the Gospels: ‘For whosoever will save his life shall lose it; but whosoever shall lose his life for my sake and the gospel’s, the same shall save it’ (Mark 8:35).
“That scripture, combined with his father’s counsel, seared his soul. With the letter in hand, he went into his upstairs bedroom at 15 Wadham Road and got on his knees. As he poured out his heart to the Lord, he promised that he would try to forget himself and lose himself in the Lord’s service. Many years later [President Hinckley] indicated the significance of that series of events: ‘That July day in 1933 was my day of decision. A new light came into my life and a new joy into my heart. The fog of England seemed to lift, and I saw the sunlight. Everything good that has happened to me since then I can trace back to the decision I made that day in Preston’” (Go Forward with Faith, 64).
Elder Gordon B. Hinckley, had “decided to decide.”

My father seldom went to church, even though his family had been members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for seven generations. He and my grandfather worked together to build roads in the Mojave Desert, so my father was away from home much of the time. When I was eight months old, my mother died, and I went to live with my mother’s parents, Grandpa and Grandma Baird.
Then my father remarried, and when I was seven, we moved from California to Manti, Utah. There we lived on a big dairy farm. Most important, my Grandma and Grandpa Giles (my new mother’s parents) and several aunts and uncles and their families lived there, too. They were active in the Church, and for the first time in my life, I saw people praying and studying the scriptures in their homes.

Sister Emilia Cristina Chaimane Paulino, a member of the Macuti Branch in the Beira Stake, says she felt “overwhelmed with happiness,” when she heard the news. “The moment I heard, I started crying with gratitude for this blessing. I don’t even know how to express what I felt.”
Her husband, Ernesto Paulino, was out of town for work and feeling ill the night the announcement was made. Sister Paulino woke him from a deep slumber by phoning him with the exciting news.
“Truly speaking, I suddenly recovered from my illness!” says Brother Paulino. “When I heard the news, I thought, ‘I’m feeling better now!’
“I felt that amazing grace of the Lord,” he says. “This is a day of celebration for us. It is something very special.”

The more I read on a regular basis, the more I found myself turning to the scriptures in times of need or distress. On one occasion, I became extremely angry with someone who had broken an important promise to me. For days I was resentful and considered retaliation. I was miserable. I knew that it was wrong not to forgive, but I did not know how to overcome my feelings. Finally, in anguish, I picked up the Book of Mormon. Without any real intention of reading, I let the pages fall open. The words of the Lord from Mormon 3:15 seemed to jump out at me: “Vengeance is mine.”
In an instant, everything was brought into eternal perspective. I was chastened and humbled, realizing that my attitude was wrong. At the same time, this scripture brought great relief. The Lord was aware of my feelings! He cared. How much easier it was, then, to pray and to forget my bad feelings.

On one occasion, I was with President Marion G. Romney. He spoke to a large gathering of young people. Afterwards, a returned missionary came up to shake his hand. As he did he said,
“Brother Romney, when I was a missionary I had a question that no one knew the answer to. Let me take advantage of your time for a moment and ask you.”
He then asked a rather complicated question, the answer to which could have been found in the scriptures.
President Romney listened attentively for a few moments and then replied, “That is a very good question. When you find the answer, let me know, will you please?”
As we left the hall he commented to me, obviously referring to the young man and his question,
“As a boy my father always taught me that when I wanted a drink I should go to where the spring flowed out of the ground and not downstream where the cattle had been muddying the water. He’ll be better off if he finds the answer for himself.”

In a neighboring village Aunt Toini was living in comfortable surroundings, but she was not comfortable at all. Her past haunted her. Though she had always been well off and had plenty of everything, her sister had not.
Her sister had had a family—a husband and three-year-old twin daughters. Her sister’s husband had been severely injured in an accident at work. After a short while she had become sick with tuberculosis and in desperation went to Aunt Toini asking for the small sum of 20 marks and bread for her girls. But in selfishness Aunt Toini had refused to give help in any way. A short time later Aunt Toini’s sister died of tuberculosis, and her husband died as a result of his injuries. Strangers adopted their three-year-old girls.
“It was my fault that my sister died and those little girls had to be adopted,” Aunt Toini confided to me that day I first met her. Tears blurred my vision as I listened to her sad story, and I sensed she was seeking forgiveness.
“My sister lived in this very house,” she told me. She looked me in the eye and handed me 20 marks. “Here you are. Pray that God will forgive me.” After a little while she pulled herself together, stood up, and said, “Well, let’s get to work. I’ll bring some wood so we can make supper.”

Mom wasn’t surprised at all, and she told me a story: “When you were a tiny baby and round all over, your daddy brought you this blanket. He held you and the blanket in one arm and said, ‘Blanket, blanket,’ lots of times. You said, ‘Ginky.’ Dad smiled and said, ‘Blanket.’ Both of you were talking about the same thing.”
“Pretty soon,” Mom went on, “we all got used to calling your blanket Ginky, the way you did. ‘Here’s Ginky,’ your daddy or I would say, or ‘Won’t you let us wash Ginky just once, real quick?’ But you never wanted Ginky to be washed.”

Harry de Leyer was late to the auction on that snowy day in 1956, and all of the good horses had already been sold. The few that remained were old and spent and had been bought by a company that would salvage them.
Harry, the riding master at a girls’ school in New York, was about to leave when one of these horses—an uncared-for gray gelding with ugly-looking wounds on its legs—caught his eye. The animal still bore the marks that had been made by a heavy work harness, evidence to the hard life he had led. But something about him captured Harry’s attention, so he offered $80 for him.
It was snowing when Harry’s children saw the horse for the first time, and because of the coat of snow on the horse’s back, the children named him “Snowman.”
Harry took good care of the horse, which turned out to be a gentle and reliable friend—a horse the girls liked to ride because he was steady and didn’t startle like some of the others. In fact, Snowman made such rapid improvement that a neighbor purchased him for twice what Harry had originally paid.
But Snowman kept disappearing from the neighbor’s pasture—sometimes ending up in adjoining potato fields, other times back at Harry’s. It appeared that the horse must have jumped over the fences between the properties, but that seemed impossible—Harry had never seen Snowman jump over anything much higher than a fallen log.
But eventually, the neighbor’s patience came to an end, and he insisted Harry take back the horse.
For years, Harry’s great dream had been to produce a champion jumping horse. He’d had moderate success in the past, but in order to compete at the highest levels, he knew he would have to buy a pedigreed horse that had been specifically bred to jump. And that kind of pedigree would cost far more than he could afford.
Snowman was already getting old—he was eight when Harry had purchased him—and he had been badly treated. But, apparently, Snowman wanted to jump, so Harry decided to see what the horse could do.
What Harry saw made him think that maybe his horse had a chance to compete.
In 1958, Harry entered Snowman in his first competition. Snowman stood among the beautifully bred champion horses, looking very much out of place. Other horse breeders called Snowman a “flea-bitten gray.”
But a wonderful, unbelievable thing happened that day.
Snowman won!
Harry continued to enter Snowman in other competitions, and Snowman continued to win.
Audiences cheered every time Snowman won an event. He became a symbol of how extraordinary an ordinary horse could be. He appeared on television. Stories and books were written about him.
As Snowman continued to win, one buyer offered $100,000 for the old plow horse, but Harry would not sell. In 1958 and 1959, Snowman was named “Horse of the Year.” Eventually, the gray gelding—who had once been marked for sale to a low bidder—was inducted into the show jumping Hall of Fame.
For many, Snowman was much more than a horse. He became an example of the hidden, untapped potential that lies within each of us.

Raymond Sixth Ward
The Raymond Sixth Ward Primary, Raymond Alberta Stake, had a service project where they filled shoe boxes with small gifts for children in developing countries. Some of the gifts included soap, toothbrushes, toy cars, jump ropes, and pencils. Each child stuffed one box for a girl and one box for a boy. They also wrote the children notes and drew them pictures. Everyone enjoyed the activity and gained a stronger testimony of the joy that can be found in giving service to others.

My soccer teammates were teasing my friend, so I stood up for him. I’m trying to be like Jesus and be a good friend.
Micah A., age 10, Pennsylvania, USA

Elder Uchtdorf was baptized 75 years ago! His testimony began as a boy in Germany. He can still remember the sacred feelings he had looking at a stained-glass window of Jesus Christ in their chapel. The Spirit bore witness to his mind and heart that Jesus Christ is the Savior of the world.

Gwen lived in sunny South Africa with her parents and four younger sisters. Each week she and her family traveled a long distance to attend their meetings. They rode part of the way on a double-decker bus until they reached the Mowbray station. Then they walked several blocks up Grove Road to the chapel.
Gwen especially enjoyed the beautiful scenery on Sunday mornings as the family walked along together under the shade of the huge gum trees. Towering above the road like a big giant lifting his head to the blue sky was Devil’s Peak. In September when it was spring, the hills were alive with thousands of colorful proteas, daisies, crassulas, and other wild flowers.
Gwen was grateful for the beautiful world in which she lived. And because she was always happy, everyone enjoyed her special smile.
One day Gwen did not feel like smiling. That day she could not help but cry because she had severe pains in her head, her back continually ached, and she had a high fever. Her parents immediately called their family doctor.
After his examination, the doctor reported that all of Gwen’s symptoms—especially the rigid condition developing in her back—indicated she had meningitis. He suggested that a specialist be called in to consult with him.
Her parents agreed to have the specialist come, but as soon as the family doctor left, they called “Cumorah,” the mission home, and asked LeRoy H. Duncan, who was mission president at the time, to come with another elder and administer to Gwen.
When these brethren arrived, Gwen was so ill that she could not smile. President Duncan and his companion placed their hands on the girl’s feverish forehead and gave her a blessing, praying that she would be made well if it were according to Heavenly Father’s will.
Even before the elders left, Gwen began to feel better. By the time their family doctor returned with the specialist, she seemed almost well. After another examination, the specialist turned to the family doctor and said, “Sir, you must have been unduly alarmed. This child has no symptom whatever of meningitis. All she needs is a few days of rest.”
Although neither doctor could understand the great change in Gwen, she and her family knew they had all been blessed through the power of the priesthood. And once again Gwen’s face was radiant with the happy smile that everyone loved!

Nights like that had made it easier to believe the missionaries, Bruce realized, when they had come knocking on his parents’ door. Nights like that had helped his new faith to seem almost reasonable. If space was endless, then life was endless, and endless life demanded a God. And if there was a God, Bruce just couldn’t imagine any other church being truer than the one that the missionaries had taught to him. He’d felt it as sure as he felt the warmth of the sun. And so he’d done it. He’d slipped gently into the bright waters of baptism, knees bending, his white clothes clinging to him as he felt his body going down and then up, lifted from the wetness by some power much greater than skinny old Elder Larsen. He had felt himself rising from the waters, a new person.

Get out the scrapbooks with the clippings and photographs of Holly’s skating career, and the picture of her after the first competition will tell you all you need to know about why she has been successful. There she is at six-and-a-half, standing in third place holding her little ribbon, with her eyes glued on the trophy in the first-place winner’s hands. The look in her eye is everything. It is a look of pure resolve, a look that says next time the trophy will be hers.
Holly’s mother, Marge, noticed the look also. “That’s when I realized her determination. The girl who placed above her had an axel in her routine. Holly didn’t do that yet. She came home and went right to work learning it. I realized then that she had something special. She would fall and fall but keep on trying.”

Hugo follows Jesus by praying when he needs help. He once had nightmares. He prayed to receive comfort. “Jesus helped me,” he says.

My mom came to pick me up from my mission, and it happened to be October general conference weekend. She watched three of the conference sessions with me and enjoyed them so much that she asked for them on DVD for Christmas. To me, this was a miracle to let me know that I need not lose hope.

In addition to questions about his goals and strengths, I asked Elder Handsome about his social life.
“Tell me about your girlfriends.”
He virtually leaped out of his chair.
“Girlfriend, not friends. There is a one and only. She’s the greatest. I can’t live without her.”
“What will it do to your mission when she marries someone else?”
“If I hear of her even dating anybody else, I am gone, I am history, I am out of here. I’ll go straight home.”
For months Elder Handsome struggled to become involved in his mission. He was continually figuring out clever things to write to his “one and only.” He spent much of his time thinking about her instead of the work.
When the “Dear John” came, Elder Handsome struggled even more. But he did not go home. He eventually became an outstanding missionary and a dedicated district and zone leader. He learned to love his mission, his area, the prospective members, and the local members.

Mari frowned. Grandma was telling the same story. Again.
Grandma came to live with Mari’s family several months ago. Mari loved her, but being around Grandma was sometimes tiring. She told the sames stories over and over again. Sometimes she’d start over before she even finished telling the story.
Mari sighed. “Grandma,” she said, “you already told me that story.”
Grandma looked down. “I did?”
“Yes,” Mari said. “You told it to me just a few minutes ago.”
“I don’t remember,” Grandma said. She looked sad and confused. Then she stood up and wandered back to her room.
Mari felt sorry that she had upset Grandma. Ever since Grandpa died, Grandma had gotten more and more forgetful. Once she even left the stove on, and it started a fire in her kitchen. That’s when Mom and Dad brought Grandma to live with them.
Mari found Dad in the kitchen. “I really love Grandma, but I get tired of hearing the same stories. Why doesn’t she remember that she already told me that story about fifty million times?”
Dad smiled. “I bet it’s not fifty million times. But I know it’s hard. Your grandma has a sickness in her brain that makes her forget things. Her stories are her way of trying to remember who she is.”
Mari hung her head. Why hadn’t she been more patient with Grandma? Grandma had always treated her with love. She called her “my Mari.” Mari thought about when she used to help Grandma plant flowers and weed the garden.
Mari knocked on Grandma’s door.
“Come in,” Grandma said.
Mari opened the door. Grandma was sitting in a chair with the scriptures open on her lap.
“Grandma, would you please tell me how you and Grandpa joined the Church?” Mari asked.
Grandma looked up. “You want to hear about Grandpa and me?” she asked in a hopeful voice.
Mari sat down next to Grandma. “I do. I want to hear everything.” Mari took her grandma’s hand. “You’re very special to me, Grandma. You always will be.”
Grandma smiled, sat back in her chair, and started to tell the story.
Mari had heard the story many times, but this time, she didn’t feel annoyed or impatient. Instead, she felt love and amazement. She knew Grandma and Grandpa had sacrificed a lot when they joined the Church in Germany. Her grandparents had moved far from their home so they could live near other Church members.
Grandma finished the story and smiled. “You are a good girl, my Mari.”
Mari hugged her grandma. “Thank you, Grandma. I love you.”
This story took place in the USA.

Those words, “a style of our own,” were the title of an address given on this campus on February 13, 1951—the year I was a freshman here—by Elder Spencer W. Kimball, now Acting President of the Council of the Twelve. In that address Elder Kimball referred to immodesty as a contributing factor in the breakdown of moral values.
“I know I’m not going to be popular when I say this [he told us], but I am sure that the immodest dresses that are worn by our young women, and their mothers, contribute in some degree to the immorality of this age … I wonder if our young sisters realize the temptation they are flaunting before young men when they leave their bodies partly uncovered.”
I can vividly recall the furor that followed his criticism of strapless evening gowns on this campus. But I note that low-cut necklines and strapless evening gowns are still forbidden by our standards. And all that Elder Kimball said in criticism of excessive exposure and in support of modesty applies with equal force to short skirts. Young women, the principle of modesty—the commandment that you should avoid a tempting manner or appearance—is fixed and eternal and will not deviate. Don’t assume that anyone will be impressed with your experience, or your preferences, or your wisdom on this subject.