Gospel Story Finder

Once our family spent a night at the home of some out-of-town friends. The next day, our friends’ sons went to school, and we were packing up to leave. My sister and I thought it would be funny to sneak into the boys’ room and put silly notes on their bed. We also got a bottle of glue and squirted glue on their beds. Afterward, I didn’t feel good inside. It didn’t seem funny anymore. I decided to tell my mom what we had done. I knew that we also needed to clean up the glue and confess to our friends. I know that the Holy Ghost helped me to understand that what we did was wrong and that I should tell my mom about it. I learned that I should respect other people’s property.

Mackenzie and Zachary B., ages 9 and 7, Alberta, Canada, went to the open house for the Calgary Alberta Temple, and then they built their own temple out of building blocks. They felt the Spirit at the open house. The temple helps them feel closer to Heavenly Father.

After seeing the fine article in the November issue on exploring tips, we wanted other explorers to know that we just returned from a trip into Baja California. Four years ago, when Dr. C. R. Brown was called to be our post adviser from the high council, he asked us what we wanted to do. Everyone replied, “What difference does it make?” He said, “Try me.” We did. In the next four years we decided we wanted to go to Alaska, Guatemala, down the Baja trail, and to Europe. Well—after much work and planning, two years ago we went up the AI-Can Highway to Alaska and then down to the international Scout-Explorer Conference in Idaho. Last year we went to Guatemala, explored many ruins, and met some wonderful people. This year Brother Brown was released as our adviser, and in consultation with our new adviser, Frank Nelson, we decided to go down the Baja. Dune buggies and jeeps did the job. We cooked on the hot engines as we drove—venison steaks and fish fillets—by wrapping the meat in tinfoil and laying it on the engine for a couple of hours. As for going to Europe later this year, the request was made partly in jest, but our committee is considering it, and if sufficient funds can be raised, you can be sure that we’ll do it. We hope that other Explorer troops can take inspiration from what can be done if everyone starts to get excited.
Explorers of Post 440Covina (California) Second Ward

… As a young man, President David O. McKay prayed for a witness of the truthfulness of the gospel. Many years later, while he was serving his mission in Scotland, that witness finally came. Later he wrote, “It was an assurance to me that sincere prayer is answered ‘sometime, somewhere’” (Teachings of Presidents of the Church: David O. McKay [2003], xviii).

I messed up in the last race.
I feel really bad.
I’ve practiced and practiced
to make up for that mistake.
I think I’m ready to ask for
another chance.
The best thing is
that my Coach will give me
all the chances I want.
He’s not concerned with winning
every time.
Only my eventual mastery of
the Race.

“We’re glad you could stay with us tonight. This is the coldest night I can remember in Illinois,” Sarah Ann said, taking a seat at the table across from Mr. James. “Our family moved here from New York after Father died. He and Mother left Norway to escape those who wanted to punish them for being Quakers. When they arrived in America, Father worked hard to build a house.”
As Sarah Ann told the story, she could almost smell the fresh-cut maple wood again.
“One day, our home caught fire, and everything was destroyed. When Father returned from work and saw us standing in the street, he asked Mother if we were safe. She answered yes, and Father knelt down right there in the middle of the street and thanked God for protecting us.”
“Your father must have had a lot of faith in God,” Mr. James said.
Sarah Ann nodded, wishing her father were still with them.

I will give you another little illustration of what I mean. When I was doing missionary work back in Massachusetts some years ago, and it was near Easter time, I had a conversation in the home of a retired minister. I asked him if he would explain to me his concept of the Deity. He told of the universal feeling and the teachings of the churches, that he believed that the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost were one God, but a spiritual God—not a physical God—that there was an influence that permeated the earth, the life of the flowers and the trees and so forth.
Then I said: “Well, what are they celebrating Easter for?”
And he said: “The resurrection of Christ.”
And I said: “And just what do you mean by that? Did His spirit come back and take possession of His body when the stone was rolled away, and He arose, and when the women came to the sepulchre, there sat an angel, one at the foot and one at the head, and they said: ‘Why seek ye the living among the dead? He is not here, but is risen’ (Luke 24:5–6)? Then you remember how many times He appeared to the Twelve and then He had them feel the prints in His hands and the wound in His side, and said: ‘Handle me, and see; for a spirit hath not flesh and bones, as ye see me have.’ (Luke 24:39.) Then He took fish and honeycomb and ate with them. After spending forty days with His disciples, then He ascended to heaven and as He went up, two men in white apparel stood and said: ‘Ye men of Galilee, why stand ye gazing up into heaven? this same Jesus, which is taken up from you into heaven, shall so come in like manner as ye have seen him go into heaven.’” (Acts 1:11.)
Then I said to this minister: “Now how in the world can you believe in a spirit rather than that personal Christ that went into heaven? Did you feel that He died again, that He should be just an essence in the world rather than to have that very body that He took up and became the first fruits of the resurrection, which is a reality, and not just a spiritual resurrection?”
The minister thought a minute and then he said: “I have never thought of it like that before.”

When we had moved to Iowa eight years earlier, my parents were determined to follow the counsel of President Spencer W. Kimball to store food and grow a garden.
One of the first things we did was to build three food-storage can racks. Once they were finished, it was obvious something was needed to fill them. I felt like the prime minister in “The Emperor’s New Clothes” when I would pass the shelves in the kitchen on my way downstairs to my bedroom. “This,” I would apologetically say to my friends, “is our food storage.” I could see them thinking that they weren’t going to dine with us if there was a disaster. Dead flies and spider webs inside a bunch of empty jars didn’t look very appetizing.
My parents thought the problem would be solved when our neighbor came over with his tractor and plowed our side yard. After hauling away the sod, we planted a garden. There was a magnificent crop of weeds the first year. Some of them grew to be over eight feet tall. About the only plants tenacious enough to survive in the clay were pumpkins and zucchini. This did not discourage my parents in their never-ending quest to find things for us to do, however. We got to haul, shovel, and rake mountains of manure, compost, and sawdust. The ground finally softened so that it could be worked, and vegetable seeds began to stay long enough to sprout.
Since then we have expanded every year and now grow a large garden and own a 40-tree orchard of apples, peaches, plums, and pears plus several hazelnut bushes, an ever-expanding raspberry patch, and grapes. All need to be weeded. In drought years, they also need to be watered. Luckily we have a pond and an irrigation pump, but it still requires a lot of work to move the pipes and lug buckets full of water to the faraway trees.

The Place We Love
Each morning with my sleepy eyes,
I look around and see
The people that I love the most
All looking back at me.
We all hurry to the table,
And we fold our arms to pray.
Next our mom starts reading scriptures—
That is how we start our day.
Dad runs off to work with a smile
While the baby makes a fuss.
Then morning chores are finished
Just in time to catch the bus!
Mommy waits at home for us
While through our day we roam.
And finally we all return—
Love begins and ends at home!
Samaria R., age 10, Arizona, USA

Another insight on building a marital relationship on the rock of Jesus Christ is found in Ephesians 4:26: “Let not the sun go down upon your wrath.” This particular verse has likely been the source of the advice often given to newlyweds, “Never go to bed angry.” My wife, Susan, and I were given this advice by a well-meaning relative when we were married. I joke that there was one time during our first year of marriage when we went nearly three days without sleep! Many married couples may realize, as we did early in our marriage, that late at night when they are tired is not always the best time to resolve conflicts. But undoubtedly the spirit of Paul’s counsel to the Ephesians would motivate us to resolve conflicts quickly so they do not persist and grow more intense over time. The Savior also admonished His disciples to resolve conflicts with dispatch so they could approach their God with pure hearts (see Matt. 5:23–24).

The challenges that face us and our families as disciples of Christ are somewhat different than those of Joshua’s Israelites. Let me illustrate with an experience. Our family lived for many years in the state of Florida. Because Florida has a high concentration of sand, lawns there are planted with a large broadleaf grass we call Saint Augustine. A formidable enemy of a Florida lawn is a small, brown insect called a mole cricket.
One evening as my neighbor and I stood on the front steps, he noticed a little bug crossing my sidewalk. “You better spray your lawn,” he warned. “There goes a mole cricket.” I had sprayed the lawn with insecticide not too many weeks previously, and I hardly felt that I had the time or money to do it again so soon.
In the light of the next morning, I examined my lawn closely. It was lush and beautifully green. I looked down into the grass to see if I could see any of the little bugs. I could see none. I remember thinking, “Well, maybe that little mole cricket was just passing through my yard on the way to my neighbor’s yard.”
I watched my lawn for more than a week, looking for signs of invaders, but none was evident. I congratulated myself that I had not overreacted to my neighbor’s warning.
The story, however, has a sad ending. I came out the front door one morning, about 10 days after the conversation with my neighbor. Shockingly, as if it had happened overnight, brown spots covered my lawn. I ran to the garden store, bought the insecticide, and sprayed immediately, but it was too late. The lawn was ruined, and to return it to its former state required a new crop of sod, long hours of work, and large expense.
My neighbor’s warning was central to my lawn’s welfare. He saw things I could not see. He knew something I did not know. He knew that mole crickets live underground and are active only at night, making my daytime examinations ineffective. He knew that mole crickets did not eat the leaves of the grass but rather found nourishment in the roots. He knew that these little inch-long creatures could eat a lot of roots before I would ever see the effect above the ground. I paid a dear price for my smug independence.

Permit me to read a letter which came the other day in response to a call to a young man to serve a mission. It reads:
“Dear Brethren:
“Gregory was killed in an accident two days before his call arrived. We feel Greg’s talents, abilities, and testimony are now being used on life’s other side.
“He died Saturday, June 19.
“We are enclosing a check representing his mission savings and are donating it to the International Missionary Fund with a request it be used in the Dominican Republic, if possible. We feel we would like to see it used by those Saints less fortunate and unable to normally serve a mission. We leave it to your discretion.
“Greg saved all this money himself. From the time he earned his first money he saved 50 percent for his mission, 10 percent for tithing, and the rest was … to supply his needs. This money [the mission portion] was dedicated to the Lord’s work, so we are sure he wants it to be used for this purpose.
“We love you and know the work is true—we know without a shadow of a doubt that Greg is about his Father’s business. We are grateful for our blessings.
“May the Lord’s work continue to spread in the world.
“Signed,
“Greg’s mother”
With the letter was a check for nearly nine thousand dollars.

A big brown box is, oh, such fun
To play with in the backyard sun!
Step inside, and there you are—
Zooming to a far-off star!
Turn it down and crawl inside—
A perfect spot in which to hide
From robbers who might just be near.
Stop! Be still so they won’t hear.
Fill it up! Let it down.
Chug-a-chug—ride off to town!
Turn it up—pretend to float.
Come on, mates, let’s sail our boat!
Mother calls while we are here,
“How do those children disappear?”
A big brown box is, oh, such fun
To play with in the backyard sun!

One Sunday morning in a nursing home in the valley, I witnessed the presentation of a beautiful gift as a young girl shared her musical talent with those lonely and elderly men and women who yearned not for food or for clothing but for someone who cared, someone who shared, and someone who provided a “hyacinth” for the soul.
A hush fell over the wheelchair-confined audience as the girl took bow in hand and played on her violin a beautiful melody. At the conclusion, one patient audibly declared, “My dear, that was lovely.” Then she began to clap her hands to express approval. A second patient joined in clapping, then a third, a fourth, and soon everyone applauded.
Together the young girl and I walked out of the nursing home. She said to me, “I have never played better. I have never felt better.” She had been guided by God and led by the Lord. Aches, pains, despair, and sadness had been conquered. Compassion had gained the victory.

Some say that attending church meetings is not helping them. Some say, “I didn’t learn anything today” or “No one was friendly to me” or “I was offended.” Personal disappointments should never keep us from the doctrine of Christ, who taught us to serve, not to be served. With this in mind, another member described the focus of his Church attendance:
“Years ago, I changed my attitude about going to church. No longer do I go to church for my sake, but to think of others. I make a point of saying hello to people who sit alone, to welcome visitors, … to volunteer for an assignment. …
“In short, I go to church each week with the intent of being active, not passive, and making a positive difference in people’s lives.”

“A Wonderful Program”
At the Gathering Place in the Kumasi Ghana University Stake, Sister Agatha Owusu teaches others to make soap, detergent, washing powder, and other cleansing agents. Blessed with a bishop who recognized her talent, Agatha received mentoring from him that helped her develop a talent she gratefully shares with others.
“I recognized that this is my talent from my Heavenly Father,” she says. “If I don’t share my gift with others, it would be like putting my lit candle under a bushel” (see Matthew 5:16).
Her reward, she says, is the satisfaction she receives from helping others gain a skill, make a living, and become self-reliant.
Speaking for many who teach and share their talents at a Gathering Place, she says, “I invite everyone to the Kumasi Gathering Place—whether a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints or not—to come to be part of this wonderful program.”

I love going to the library to check out books. I especially like to check out books about my favorite superheroes. One time I brought a book home that I was really excited to read, but when I opened it, one of the drawings was a girl who wasn’t dressed very modestly. I brought the book to my mom, and she asked what I thought we should do about it. I said I thought we should take it back to the library and not look at it. I felt happy inside after I made the right choice.
Caleb O., age 4, Utah, USA

Recently I had the opportunity to attend meetings at Jackson Lake in the majestic Teton Mountains of Wyoming in the western part of the United States. The rugged mountain peaks and the breathtakingly beautiful scenery and the cool, crisp autumn air combined to lift and restore the spirits of almost every visitor. I must admit that the work I’d been sent there to do seemed a lot less like work than what most of us experience every day. The peaceful mountain setting had a restorative effect on me and others in attendance. The world’s problems seemed less insurmountable. The challenges I faced seemed much less threatening. I came away with a heightened outlook and a spirit brightened by new hope and enthusiasm.

In October 1997, Sister Bednar and I hosted Elder and Sister Maxwell at Brigham Young University–Idaho (then Ricks College). Elder Maxwell was to speak to the students, staff, and faculty in a devotional assembly.

Earlier in that same year, Elder Maxwell underwent 46 days and nights of debilitating chemotherapy for leukemia. His rehabilitation and continued therapy progressed positively through the spring and summer months, but Elder Maxwell’s physical strength and stamina were nonetheless limited when he traveled to Rexburg. After greeting Elder and Sister Maxwell at the airport, Susan and I drove them to our home for rest and a light lunch before the devotional.

I asked Elder Maxwell what lessons he had learned through his illness. I will remember always the precise and penetrating answer he gave. “Dave,” he said, “I have learned that not shrinking is more important than surviving.”

His response to my inquiry was a principle with which he had gained extensive personal experience during his chemotherapy. In January 1997, on the day he was scheduled to begin his first round of treatment, Elder Maxwell looked at his wife, reached for her hand, breathed a deep sigh, and said, “I just don’t want to shrink.”

In his October 1997 general conference message, Elder Maxwell taught with great authenticity: “As we confront our own … trials and tribulations, we too can plead with the Father, just as Jesus did, that we ‘might not … shrink’—meaning to retreat or to recoil (D&C 19:18). Not shrinking is much more important than surviving! Moreover, partaking of a bitter cup without becoming bitter is likewise part of the emulation of Jesus.”1

Elder Maxwell also did not shrink. This mighty Apostle pressed forward steadfastly and was blessed with additional time in mortality to love, to serve, to teach, and to testify. Those concluding years of his life were an emphatic exclamation point to his example of devoted discipleship—through both his words and his deeds.

“Of course some of the questions they routinely ask are more humorous than challenging,” Lynn said. “Many people here still have strange ideas about us. some of my friends asked if we believe in bikes, because the missionaries always ride them. I couldn’t convince them otherwise, even though Dad has a car.”