Gospel Story Finder

The Prophet Joseph Smith had received some instruction regarding the organization of the Church, which we have by way of revelation as set forth in section 20 of the Doctrine and Covenants. Imagine—on April the 6th, 1830, in Fayette, New York, in the Peter Whitmer farmhouse—a meeting in that little log cabin, maybe 20 by 30 feet, where the Church was organized. Just imagine in that little setting, where he blessed Oliver and Oliver blessed him, as they followed the direction that they had received and the Church organization was presented to that little assembly.
Joseph and Oliver and Hyrum and Samuel Smith and the two Whitmers had been baptized and acted in order to be “agreeable to the laws” of New York (D&C 20:1). But just imagine as you run through your mind the spiritual setting in that assembly and the feeling that they must have had as the proposition was presented to them to sustain—what we have done here today—to sustain the Prophet and Oliver as the first elders, to set the Church in motion. Some of the diaries and the accounts of that occasion indicate they had the feeling of heavenly beings in that meeting.
Some were rebaptized. Some were baptized on that occasion for the first time, including the Prophet’s father and mother—just imagine! The sacrament was served for the first time in this dispensation in an official meeting of the Church, now organized. Imagine the feeling of the passing of the bread and the water, emblems of the torn flesh and the spilt blood of the Savior.

Sing? Dance? At the same time! Me? I don’t think so.
That was Marshall Vance’s first reaction when hearing that his stake, the Thousand Oaks California Stake, was planning on putting on a big variety show to be performed at the new Thousand Oaks Civic Arts Plaza. But Marshall, 17, agreed to try. He committed to come to the practices. He was assigned to the ’20s dance number doing the Charleston. Every dress rehearsal and performance was a little bit of a surprise for Marshall.
Now back to Marshall. Did he ever learn to sing and dance? His choreographer, Kathi Orme, says, “His part was not easy. He worked very hard, and he got it.”
But Marshall is harder on himself. “I wish I could say that I’m a better singer and dancer now, but I am still terrible at both.” But there he was, up on stage, trying to smile and concentrate on his feet at the same time. He did great.

President Romney taught of the testimony-strengthening power of scriptures with this personal example:
“I urge you to get acquainted with [the Book of Mormon]. Read it to your children; they are not too young to understand it. I remember reading it with one of my lads when he was very young. … I lay in the lower bunk and he in the upper bunk. We were each reading aloud alternate paragraphs of those last three marvelous chapters of Second Nephi. I heard his voice breaking and thought he had a cold. … As we finished he said … , ‘Daddy, do you ever cry when you read the Book of Mormon?’
“‘Yes, Son, … Sometimes the Spirit of the Lord so witnesses to my soul that the Book of Mormon is true that I do cry.’
“‘Well,’ he said, ‘that is what happened to me tonight.’”

Illustrations by Katie Kath
“Want to ride bikes?” Alex asks.
“Thanks, but on Sundays I do things with my family,” says Tomás.
“Wait! Want to come read with us?” asks Tomás.
“We’re reading a Bible story about a guy named Daniel and a bunch of lions!”
“Lions? Cool!” says Alex.
“We’re glad you’re here, Alex.”
Tomás is happy he can share the Sabbath day with his friend.
Tomás draws pictures for his grandma on Sundays. Today Alex is going to help him. Can you help them find the things they need?
Two pencils
Two crayons
Two pieces of paper
One envelope
One stamp
Try drawing a picture this Sunday for someone you love!

Carthage Jail, an angry mob with painted faces, and certain death faced the Prophet Joseph Smith. But from the wellsprings of his abundant faith he calmly met the Goliath of death. “I am going like a lamb to the slaughter,” he had said over a month earlier, “but I am calm as a summer’s morning. I have a conscience void of offense toward God and toward all men” (History of the Church, 6:555).
And what is the significance of these accounts? Had there been no ocean, there would have been no Columbus. No jail, no Joseph. No mob, no martyr. No cross, no Christ!

Our stake president gave our stake a challenge to find family names to take to the temple. It was called a 40-day challenge because we had 40 days to find the names. During the challenge I went to FamilySearch.org.
As I was looking at my ancestors, I got this feeling that I never had before. I felt that some of my ancestors did not have their temple work done. The next thing I did was look for them on my family tree. After a while I found one ancestor who needed temple work. After that I found more ancestors needing temple work.
After a little bit I found five families needing temple work. After I found all the names, I got a warm feeling in my heart. Now my parents have family names to take to the temple. I fulfilled the stake president’s challenge to find one or more ancestors that need their temple work done.
Even though I am seven years old, I am still a good example. I still have that feeling, and I am still looking for ancestors that need temple work done. This is the best experience I have ever had, and I will never forget how I felt.

I knew of two soldiers on a fierce battlefront, when during a temporary armistice in the war, one young man crossed the battle line and asked his antagonist, “Is there a Mormon elder in your lines?”

The other answered, “Yes, I am a Mormon.”

He then asked, “Would you come behind our trench lines and help me administer to and bless a wounded buddy?” Across the “no-man’s land” they walked together, these two men, former enemies. One anointed and the other sealed the anointing, and the wounded chap was blessed. A great peace entered their souls. The other man returned to his front lines to his duty, and he also had a new feeling of peace.

This was well illustrated in my father’s patriarchal blessing. He was told in his blessing that he would be blessed with “many beautiful daughters.” He and my mother became the parents of five sons. There were no daughters born to them, but of course they treated the wives of their sons as daughters. This last summer when we had a family reunion, I saw my father’s granddaughters moving about tending to the food and ministering to the young children and the elderly, and the realization came to me that Father’s blessing had been literally fulfilled; he has, indeed, many beautiful daughters. The patriarch who gave my father his blessing had spiritual vision to see beyond this life. There was a disappearance of the dividing line between time and eternity.

President Hinckley described what happens to the heart of every missionary who commits his or her life and work to the Lord when he talked about his own missionary experiences. It was early in his mission, and he was discouraged. The work was hard, and the people were not receptive. However, there came a time when discouragement turned to commitment. For him, the beginning was a letter from his father in which he read: “Dear Gordon, I have your letter. … I have only one suggestion: Forget yourself and go to work.” In describing what happened next, he said: “I got on my knees in that little bedroom … and made a pledge that I would try to give myself unto the Lord.

“The whole world changed. The fog lifted. The sun began to shine in my life. I had a new interest. I saw the beauty of this land. I saw the greatness of the people. … Everything that has happened to me since that’s been good I can trace to that decision made in that little house” (in Mike Cannon, “Missionary Theme Was Pervasive during Visit of President Hinckley,” Church News, Sept. 9, 1995, 4).
President Hinckley continued by saying: “You want to be happy? Forget yourself and get lost in this great cause, and bend your efforts to helping people” (in Church News, Sept. 9, 1995, 4).

During her freshman year of high school, Crystal sat next to Samantha in English class. She disliked Samantha because she felt overly annoyed by little things Samantha did.
What should Crystal do?
STOP IT!
Try This Here’s what happened: Crystal started talking to the young woman and got to know her. “She’s just the sweetest young woman and so nice,” Crystal says. “Now we’re really good friends. For two months I just didn’t like her, and then I realized how sweet she was. And I missed out on two months of knowing this amazing person!”

Han Sang Ick of the Shin Dang Ward in Seoul knows that he has been richly blessed as a result of his obedience. Although his life has not taken the path he had originally planned, Brother Han says, “I am happier today than I ever imagined.”
A university drama student with aspirations to perform and teach, Brother Han was selected as student body president of the Latter-day Saint institute in Seoul. “All the prior presidents had served a mission,” he explains. “I found myself doing some serious thinking about whether I should serve a mission or not.”
Brother Han, baptized at age seventeen and the only member of the Church in his family, struggled with his family responsibilities. His father had died, and as the eldest son, he was responsible for his mother. “She really expected me to graduate, marry, and take care of her. That is the pattern established through the years.”
Instead, Brother Han graduated, arranged for his mother to be taken care of, and, at age twenty-six, became a full-time missionary. “And of course, that was the right decision,” he concludes. “My mother was blessed, and I established a pattern of righteous decisions.”

Another “father” who was placed in my life was a member of my stake presidency. President Merrill was always at our stake dances, Young Women camps, and youth conferences.
As I was preparing to leave for college, President Merrill felt I needed some fatherly advice before heading into the world. His voice was gentle and soothing. I could feel his concern. I knew he loved me. He told me he would go as far as the Salt Lake Temple to attend my wedding.
A few years later, I called my father to announce my engagement. He was cold and indifferent. Nothing had changed. I tried not to cry. I turned to my Heavenly Father in prayer, and the Spirit reminded me of President Merrill’s promise. I wondered if he would remember what he had told me several years before. Did he really mean it? I picked up the phone and dialed his number. President Merrill answered. I stumbled through telling him of my engagement and asked if he remembered his promise to me. “What temple are you getting married in?” he asked.
“The Salt Lake Temple,” I answered.
“Then I will be there,” he said. He drove 13 hours in the snow to be there for me. When I walked into the sealing room with my future husband, he was the first person I saw. He was my father that day!

Please remember that this Apostle suffered many afflictions while preaching the gospel in Rome, but he never gave up. He developed the Christlike attribute of patience. He died as a martyr, a loyal disciple of Jesus Christ. Joseph Smith, the Prophet of the Restoration, suffered many afflictions as well. It is known that Joseph, while in this mortal life, developed Christlike attributes, especially the attribute of patience. He suffered imprisonments, mobbing, and anguish of betrayal by disloyal, unfaithful associates, but he always helped everyone with love and patience, even those that betrayed him. He was a good example of a disciple of Jesus Christ.

Each summer members of the Toelupes’ ward spend a week together at nearby Kakela Beach at a private campground owned by the Church. Individual tents are erected by each family, and food is shared among the families. Ward activities are held in a circus-size tent, and at the end of the week an elaborate luau is held, with pigs and turkeys cooked underground on hot rocks. Salads, special dishes, and desserts are contributed by individual families to make the evening a memorable occasion.

In the strength of the Lord, we “can do all things.”18 We continually seek His guidance in prayer, in the scriptures, and in the whisperings of the Holy Ghost. One sister, faced with an overwhelming assignment, wrote, “Sometimes I wonder if the sisters in the early history of the Church didn’t, like us, put their heads on their pillows at night and pray, ‘Whatever tomorrow brings, will Thou help me through it?’” Then she wrote, “One of the blessings is [that] we have each other and we are in this together!”19 Whatever our circumstances, wherever we are along the path toward salvation, we unite as one in our commitment to the Savior. We sustain one another in His service.

“Run, Jimmy, run!” Margi called as the boy started through the meadow after the bright yellow ball. Seven-year-old Jimmy turned his head to admire his big sister.
“No, Jimm …” But it was too late. Jimmy’s awkward feet hit each other and he tumbled to the ground. Margi ran to see the hurt.
“Jimmy fall,” he said proudly.
“Yes, Jimmy did.” Margi sat down in the grass beside her brother and ran her fingers through his blond hair as if he were a puppy. “Jimmy’s a big boy. He didn’t cry.”
His unique, innocent smile grew bigger, revealing two missing teeth, and his blue eyes twinkled with pride. “Jimmy big boy,” he said.
Margi didn’t answer. She whisked again at his blonde hair and pulled him onto her lap. Jimmy cuddled contentedly into her arms, and they sat silently breathing in the crisp autumn air seasoned with the smell of freshly cut hay. Margi loved the meadow with its clean smells and the feel of grass on her ankles and the rainbow of meadow flowers.
A lonely autumn leaf floated across the grass, landing right in Jimmy’s lap. He grabbed at it, but Margi pushed his hands away.
“Careful, it will tear. It’s a leaf. Pretty leaf.”
She twirled the leaf in her fingers as Jimmy stared. “Pretty leaf,” he repeated.
“Yes,” Margi said, “pretty leaf. Here.” She placed the leaf carefully between his thumb and index finger and moved his fingers back and forth.
“See, you can twirl the leaf, too. Now do it alone.”
Jimmy’s thumb skidded off his finger, and the leaf floated to the ground. Sadly he turned and searched Margi’s face for a reaction.
Margi smiled and gave him a reassuring hug. “It’s all right.”
Quickly the smile spread back over Jimmy’s face. “Now go get the ball!” She laughed as she stood Jimmy up on his feet.
Awkwardly he stumbled toward the ball. Margi watched, wishing so hard that she could help, but she couldn’t. No one could. He had to walk alone no matter how clumsy he was or how often he fell. She lay down in the grass and stared at the hazy blue sky.
“Maybe Sue is right,” she thought. “Maybe I am stupid to waste so much time trying to help Jimmy.” Her face flushed as she thought of Friday when she took Jimmy to the football game at school. She’d never thought of the possibility, but when she went to sit with her friends, they asked her not to.
“It’s not that we don’t like you, but, well, he does such stupid things,” Sue had said. “I know he can’t help it, but, well, you know; it’s embarrassing.”
Margi could feel the awful sting in her stomach all over again.
“But Sue didn’t mean to be cruel; she just didn’t understand,” Margi thought as she remembered the excited look on Jimmy’s face when she told him they were going to a football game.
“That’s it,” she thought. “Sue just doesn’t understand. She’s never been around Jimmy to see how he loves life and how in his own way he’s so special. It doesn’t matter that he’s not as capable as other kids his age. People understand.” Then she remembered Sue’s words again and once more the hollow dejected sting settled deep in her stomach. “Or do they? Is it really worth it? I’ve got my own life. Jimmy has teachers and friends at the school and Mom and Dad. There are lots of people to help him, but what about me? Am I really helping him anyway? What can I do that his specially trained teachers can’t? Maybe I am just wasting my own life. Maybe Sue understands more than I do.”
Suddenly Jimmy was next to her. He held the ball high then let it fall on her stomach. Then he threw his head back and laughed. But the action made him lose his balance, and he tumbled onto her.
“Oh, Jimmy!” Margi started to scold then swallowed the words as she looked into his face. Love, that’s all that was there. Love wanting to be loved back. Love longing to love. So instead she smiled.
“Come on,” she said, “I’ll roll the ball to you.”
But Jimmy didn’t hear. A bright yellow butterfly had caught his eye. His chubby little hand reached out to touch it. Quickly the butterfly was up and away.
Margi took Jimmy’s hand. “Shh,” she said, putting her other hand to her lips. Quietly they lay on their stomachs and waited as the butterfly slowly found its way back to the dandelion in front of them.
“Pretty yellow butterfly,” Margi said.
“Pretty yellow butterfly,” Jimmy repeated slowly. Margi watched Jimmy stare. He seemed to see more than she did. His innocence—maybe that is what it was—made him seem part of their surroundings.
She looked again at the butterfly. “What more can he see? It is just a butterfly, a plain yellow butterfly.” She looked back at Jimmy and she knew he did see more. “Maybe someday I’ll see it, too. Jimmy is teaching me!” She laughed out loud at the thought, and the startled butterfly escaped into the sky.
“Butterfly gone.” Jimmy sighed sadly, and Margi was sorry she’d laughed.
“Look at the yellow flowers,” she said, wanting somehow to make it up to him.
“Pretty flowers,” Margi said, picking the dandelion and holding it close to her nose. “Pretty yellow flower.”
“Yellow flower?”
Margi looked at Jimmy to see if it really were a question. “Yes, yellow. Yellow flower, green grass, yellow flower.”
“Yellow flower,” Jimmy repeated proudly.
Margi sat up and grabbed the beach ball. “Yellow ball, yellow flower, yellow ball.” She held the two side by side.
“Yellow ball,” Jimmy repeated. “Yellow grass.”
“No, Jimmy, green grass, yellow ball.” Margi sighed as she remembered all the times they’d been through similar scenes, and still Jimmy didn’t learn. She smiled and ran her hand through his hair. “That’s all right, tiger. What does it matter if you don’t know the colors. You love it, don’t you? And maybe that’s what more you see in it, love.”
Jimmy looked at her face searching to understand.
Margi laughed. “Pretty yellow flower.”
“Yellow flower.” He smiled.
Suddenly the butterfly was back. “Look!” Margi pointed. “Pretty butterfly.”
Suddenly Jimmy’s eyes grew wide and he stared excitedly. “Pretty yellow butterfly.”
Margi looked hopefully into Jimmy’s face. Did he know?
“Yes, Jimmy, yellow ball, yellow flower, yellow butterfly.”
“Yellow, pretty yellow.” Jimmy pointed.
“Yes, yellow ball.”
“Yellow ball,” he repeated.
“Yellow flower.”
“Yellow flower.”
“Yellow grass?” she tested, holding her breath.
Jimmy stared at the grass she pointed to. Seconds passed as his face drew into a worried grimace. “No, Margi, yellow flower.” Margi grabbed Jimmy and hugged him to her, half crying, half laughing.
“Yes, Jimmy, yes.” she cried. And her heart cried too. No words; just love. Jimmy knew and she knew. It was her life and she was living it, really living it. And she couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for Sue.

I don’t remember exactly what comment in seminary made me start crying. Maybe it was “You know, less-active members just didn’t search hard enough for answers,” or the consensus that they’d all been deceived. Maybe it was the comparison of former members to people in the mists of darkness (see 1 Nephi 8:23–24) or the implication that there was no hope for them unless they speedily returned to church.
One of these comments was the breaking point, and I burst into tears. I didn’t leave class; I just sat at my desk and cried.
I was 15 years old. My dad had left the Church 13 years before.

Recently a prominent eastern visitor asked me the question “Why are you, the Mormon people, such happy folks?” And my answer was, “It is because we have everything—the gospel of Jesus Christ, the light, the priesthood, the power, the promises, the covenants, the temples, our families, the truth.”

Shinnah strives to follow the Savior. “Before I joined the Church, I didn’t know who I was,” she says. “I was invited by friends to go to parties, and they were bad situations to be in. But now I choose not to go.”

A poet set to verse the sorrow of opportunities forever lost. I quote a portion:
Around the corner I have a friend,
In this great city that has no end;
Yet days go by, and weeks rush on,
And before I know it, a year is gone.
And I never see my old friend’s face,
For Life is a swift and terrible race. …
But tomorrow comes—and tomorrow goes,
And the distance between us grows and grows.
Around the corner!—yet miles away. …
“Here’s a telegram, sir. …”
“Jim died today.”
And that’s what we get, and deserve in the end:
Around the corner, a vanished friend.