Gospel Story Finder

One thing I like about our family is that we have always done things together. Remember the summer we went to the East Coast? Mom, you told stories about when you were a little girl and Grandpa took you back there. That summer was also the year after you hurt your back. In a way I was glad because I got the chance to pay you back in a way for everything you’ve done for me.

“My father used to rub my legs at night when they hurt. He’d rub and rub and never complain.”

Marion Romney indeed knew what it meant to sacrifice—and to work hard. In Mexico he helped his father produce all the family’s food. In California he stayed out of school for a year to learn carpentry and earn money for the family. When they moved to a farm in Idaho, Marion began every school year late and finished early so he could help with the harvesting and planting. When the family moved to Salt Lake City so his father could finish his degree at the University of Utah, Marion again stayed out of school a year and worked to help support the family. He worked full time throughout his college and law school years. And he always paid a full tithing, even during the winter of 1917, when the combined incomes of the families of Marion’s father and his brother Gaskell totalled less than $80.00 a month. It was young Marion’s job—a chilly task because he had no warm clothes—to take the $8 tithing to the bishop.

After serving a mission to Sweden, I moved to Provo to attend BYU. I worked part time at the MTC. One day I passed a young woman in the hall who looked familiar. I glanced at her nametag and saw that her name was Sister Gurr. I was surprised to see Lisa, the former cheerleader from my high school! I stopped her and told her who I was, and she was equally surprised. I then thanked her for living true to her standards and keeping her covenants at that party so long ago. She was truly a wonderful example and affected my life for good by staying true to who she was and what she believed.

I thought you might like to know what happened as a result of my letter, “Living Examples,” which you published in the “Comment” page of the April 1991 issue.
Having my letter published aroused in me the desire to share my testimony of, and appreciation for, the wonderful A Liahona (Portuguese) magazine.
I showed my letter to my friends, and one of them wanted to know more about the magazine and its contents. As he thumbed through the pages, his interest increased. He wanted to know more about the publication and immediately accepted my offer of a year’s subscription.
His reaction convinced me that the magazine is more than just a simple periodical—it is a valuable missionary tool. The magazine’s contents show the gospel of Jesus Christ exemplified in the lives of Latter-day Saints around the world. It contains inspired messages from our beloved General Authorities, always pointing the way to righteousness. As we read the inspiring stories published in A Liahona, we feel touched by the beautiful examples of courage, work, testimony, and faith of our brothers and sisters in the gospel. Their experiences affect our lives for good. The magazine is a precious treasure.
When we offer the Church magazines as a gift to our nonmember friends, we help introduce the restored gospel into their homes. We are going missionary work in an easy and pleasant way.
Elson Carlos FerreiraPonta Grossa Second Ward, Ponta Grossa Paraná Brazil Stake

In celebration of July 24th this year, we joined the Saints of the Riverton Wyoming Stake. Under the direction of President Robert Lorimer and his counselors, the youth and youth leaders of that stake reenacted part of the handcart trek which took place in 1856. We started early in a four-wheel-drive van and went first to Independence Rock, where we picked up the Mormon Trail. We saw Devil’s Gate a few miles up the road. Our souls were subdued when we arrived at the hallowed ground of Martin’s Cove, the site where the Martin Handcart Company, freezing and starving, waited for the rescue wagons to come from Salt Lake City. About fifty-six members of the Martin Handcart Company perished there from hunger and cold.

It was an emotional experience to see the Sweetwater River crossing where most of the five hundred members of the company were carried across the icy river by three brave young men. Later, all three of the boys died from the effects of the terrible strain and great exposure of that crossing. When President Brigham Young heard of this heroic act, he wept like a child and later declared publicly: “That act alone will ensure C. Allen Huntington, George W. Grant and David P. Kimball an everlasting salvation in the Celestial Kingdom of God, worlds without end” (quoted in Solomon F. Kimball, “Belated Emigrants of 1856,” Improvement Era, Feb. 1914, p. 288).

We went farther along the trail to the site where the members of the Willie Handcart Company were rescued. We felt that we were standing on holy ground. At that site twenty-one members of that party died from starvation and cold. We continued to travel up over Rocky Ridge, seven thousand three hundred feet high. This is the highest spot on the Mormon Trail. The two-mile ascension to Rocky Ridge gains over seven hundred feet in altitude. It was very difficult for all of the pioneers to travel over Rocky Ridge. It was particularly agonizing for the members of the Willie Handcart Company, who struggled over that ridge in the fall of 1856 in a blizzard. Many had worn shoes, and the sharp rocks caused their feet to bleed, leaving a trail of blood in the snow.

As we walked over Rocky Ridge, two square nails and an old-style button were picked up. No doubt these objects were shaken loose going over the sharp rocks. My soul was sobered to be in that historic spot. Several of my ancestors crossed that ridge, though none were in the handcart companies. Not all of my forebears who started in the great exodus to the West made it even to the Rocky Ridge. Two of them died at Winter Quarters.

As I walked over Rocky Ridge, I wondered if I have sacrificed enough. In my generation, I have not seen so much sacrifice by so many. I wonder what more I should have done, and should be doing, to further this work.

A few miles farther, at Radium Springs, we caught up with 185 young people and their leaders from the Riverton stake, who had been pulling handcarts in reenactment of the handcart treks. We bore testimony of the faith and heroism of those who struggled in agony over that trail 136 years ago.

Several years ago just before Christmas, my niece, Shelly, took hold of her mother’s hand and asked seriously, “Is it okay if I believe just one more year?”

Since that memorable happening several years ago, our family has established a family tradition. Each year on Christmas Eve, we gather together around the tree. With the lights low and the fire burning in the fireplace, we ask the question once again, the most important question of the year, “Is it okay if we believe one more year?”—not only believe in the traditions of childhood with Santa Claus, but more importantly in the message of the birth of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, whose birthday we are celebrating. Do we believe in his mission, his atonement, his resurrection? Do we believe in his invitation to come and follow him?

Of course we are not really committing ourselves for only a year. We are pledged to follow the Savior forever. But we live life a day, a week, a month, a year at a time, and Christmas is a season to focus on the year ahead and reconfirm our discipleship.

Following the discussion and the commitment, someone reads aloud The Polar Express by Chris Von Allsburg, a story that tells how those who have faith can always hear the clear sound of a silver bell.

Following the story, we each receive a small new bell on a red satin ribbon to wear around our necks during the holidays. We listen for its clear sound as a testimony and commitment that we truly believe and will strive to live as we believe one more year. While the fire burns low, we then read from the Bible the glorious account of the Christmas story recorded by Luke telling of the birth of the Savior as announced by an angel, “For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord” (Luke 2:11), and we believe.

Another time, I was sent to speak to leaders of churches in the United States and ministers of those churches who had met in Minneapolis to deal with the problem of competition among churches.
When I arrived, I found that I was assigned to be a speaker. My subject was to be: Why there was a need for a restoration of the true Church through Joseph Smith. I was a last-minute substitute for Elder Neal A. Maxwell.
When I arrived in the city the night before the meetings and looked at the program, I called President Hinckley. I told him that the meetings were to last three days, that many talks were to be given at the same time, that the crowd could choose which one to attend. I told him that I thought if I told the truth, I feared that no one would come to my second session and that I might be coming home very quickly. I asked him what he thought I should do. He said, “Use your best judgment.”
I prayed through the night. Somewhere near dawn, I was sure I was to say about the Restoration not, “This is what we believe happened to Joseph Smith and why we believe it happened,” but, “This is what happened to Joseph Smith, and this is why the Lord did it.” In the nighttime I was given no assurance of the outcome, just a clear direction—go forward.
To my amazement, after my talk the ministers lined up to speak to me. Every one of them, one after another coming to me, told essentially the same story. Each of them had met a member of the Church somewhere in their lives that they admired. Many of them said that they lived in a community where the stake president had come to the aid of not just his members but of the community in a disaster. They asked if I could take back their greeting and their thanks to people I not only didn’t know but had no hope of ever meeting.
By the end of the three days of meetings, larger and larger crowds were coming to hear the message of the Restoration of the gospel and the true Church of Jesus Christ not because they believed the message but because they had seen goodness in people’s lives—the fruits of that restoration.

This morning, Brian gets out of bed and runs downstairs to look at the calendar. “Hurray—it’s June 10!” he shouts. “Today is my one-on-one day with Daddy.”

Brian likes being with his dad. He likes the way he feels when Dad takes his hand or hugs him or tells him that he loves him. Most of all, he likes it when Dad tells him what an important part of their family he is.

When it’s time for his one-on-one with Dad to begin, Brian kisses Mom and says good-bye to his brothers and sister. Then Dad takes his hand and they are off.

Today they go to a museum that has big dinosaurs and dinosaur bones. They share with each other all they know about dinosaurs. It’s funny, Brian thinks, how even Daddy looks very small standing next to those dinosaur bones.

Afterward, they have an ice-cream cone and talk about their day. Daddy tells Brian about the haircut he had that morning. “And when the barber was finished, he brushed the hair off my shirt with a soft brush.”

“I fell down and skinned my knee this morning,” Brian says as he points to his sore knee. I asked David to take the training wheels off my bike. Now it’s too hard to ride.”

“I’ll help you learn to ride your bike after dinner tonight,” Daddy says.

“That’s super, Dad!”

After Dad parks the car in the garage, he gives Brian a ride on his shoulders into the house. Then Brian hurries to the kitchen to look on the wall, next to the fridge, above the toaster, and under the clock. He flips the calendar up one page to make sure that his name is written on one of the days in July. “There it is—July 14!” he declares joyfully.

Korea is a special place to me because it was in Korea, Land of the Morning Calm, I turned eight and was baptized in a Korean meetinghouse. Although this was three years ago, it still seems like yesterday.

The friendships began, as many good things do, at Christmas. And even though right now the sun was beating down, the five young people and two leaders headed to Quitovac today were quick to tell their Christmas story.
“Brother Rehm got things going, I guess,” said Brian Simmons, 18, referring to Norbert Rehm, a high councilor in the Tucson Stake who previously served as branch president on the Indian reservation. Through that association, Brother Rehm became aware of the Alberque School in Quitovac, a school in need of help.
“It’s a boarding school where parents who can’t afford to raise their children send them to live,” Brian explained. “The government built the school for the Indians, but it’s funded only by donations.”
Conditions are tough. The dormitory is a barracks-like structure with concrete floors and broken windows. There is no running water. Showers from a bucket are allowed once a week. Two small bathrooms serve all 70 children. Toilets don’t flush unless tanks are filled with water carried from half a mile away. Electricity is available only when a generator is working—twice a year. Sometimes food runs out.
“To keep warm, the kids sleep two to a bed” (four to a bunk bed), said Danyel Colvin, 15, also of the Tanque Verde Ward. “In the winter, the cold wind blows right in.”
The LDS youth wanted to help. With Brother Rehm acting as go-between with the school and the Mexican government (there are strict limitations about who and what—like glass for windows—can cross the border), a campaign was launched to gather supplies the school could use. Youth in the Tucson 17th Ward gathered and prepared clothing and toys. Canned food, some basic medical supplies, and vitamins were also collected. When the ward was divided to form the Tanque Verde and Bear Canyon Wards, both units kept the project going.
The day after Thanksgiving, about 30 young Latter-day Saints and their leaders (one dressed as Santa Claus) headed to Quitovac. “We got our first look at the village,” Danyel said. “Many houses were built only of sticks. There were no trees or bushes, no roads. Just dirt and some buildings.” The school yard—an administration building, a study building with two classrooms, a covered pavilion for outdoor assemblies, and the dormitory—was also set in a barren landscape.
“Then we met the children,” Danyel continued. “There were lots of kids with no shoes. It was cold and windy, but they were wearing shorts and T-shirts.”
“We started by handing out some candy,” said Michael Walston, 14, of the Tanque Verde Ward. Then, with help from school officials, shoes and clothing were distributed. And toys.
“I helped one boy put together a toy,” Michael’s sister Susanne, 17, remembered. “He kept talking and talking. He knew I didn’t understand Spanish, and he didn’t understand English. But it was like I was his best friend. We didn’t have to speak the same language. We could communicate without saying anything.”
That was typical of the magic that happened. Teenagers and young children paired up like they’d known each other forever. There was a Christmas program, there were lots of hugs, and there was a lot of joy in Quitovac that day. But the thing Susanne remembers most is how eager the children seemed just to have someone take an interest in them.
“Sure, they were glad we brought some things,” she said. “But more than that, they wanted to share with us, even if all they could share was a smile.” That was what made the memory pleasant. That was what made a return to Quitovac worthwhile.

It is too easy to take parents for granted and to fail to realize just how much they mean to you and you to them. An illustration of this occurred in a classroom. One of the questions, after a study of magnets at Olympus Junior High, was, “What begins with M and picks things up?” More than a third of the students answered, “Mother.”

He and his first wife, June, have six children. June died of cancer, and two years later, he married Kristen McMain.

Some time later, I was dealing with a socially clumsy guy who excelled at making a nuisance of himself. Steve had been wearing on my patience already, and when he made some comment that was obviously out of bounds, I turned and snapped at him. My snide remark brought laughter from the group around us, and I felt satisfied that I had made my point.
That night, I was reading in the Book of Mormon when I came across two scriptures that had profound meaning.
“And again I say unto you, is there one among you that doth make a mock of his brother, or that heapeth upon him persecutions?
“Wo unto such an one, for he is not prepared, and the time is at hand that he must repent or he cannot be saved!” (Alma 5:30–31).
I pondered Alma’s question. I remembered my comment to Steve, and I thought back to Sarah and the mountainside. Even though Steve was hard to deal with, he didn’t know any better. His awkwardness deserved love, not a confirmation of his insecurities. I realized that no matter how annoyed I was—or even how thoughtless—I will be held directly responsible for how I treat each of Heavenly Father’s children. Christ has promised that our interactions with each other are important. He said, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matt. 25:40).
I know now I would rather have Heavenly Father refer to the service I rendered than to the injuries I compounded.

“When I was in my first year of college at Logan, Utah, I bought an old car for a hundred dollars. I was eighteen and thought that I knew all about driving. It was Christmastime, and my parents were living on a ranch in Wyoming. I picked up my two grandmothers and took them to my parents’ home for Christmas. We had a grand time there. When it was time to return to school, the weather had changed and the roads were treacherous. That morning as we were ready to leave, we held a family prayer in the living room. My father prayed that we would have a safe journey. After we had loaded my car with suitcases, blankets, tuna fish sandwiches, and a thermos bottle full of Postum, Dad walked out to the car and said, ‘I want to talk to you.’ We went over and stood by the fence. ‘You have a very valuable cargo,’ he said, nodding at my grandmothers. ‘I want you to promise me that if the roads are bad and it’s snowing when you get down to Lander, you won’t go over South Pass. I want you to take the long way.’

“I promised him that I would. My parents kissed us good-bye, and we were on our way. We had nice weather until we got to Riverton; then it started to snow. By the time we got to Lander, it was snowing pretty hard. I remembered my promise, so when we came to the intersection where you turn to go up the mountain, I made a conscious turn to go the long way. I remember thinking then that it was going to take us five hours longer to get to Utah. I knew the road, and I was absolutely certain that I had made the right turn. As we drove along, we were joking and laughing, although the snow was getting thicker. Then I saw a sign that read, ‘Historic Old South Pass City,’ and I realized that I had somehow become confused in the snowstorm and had taken the wrong road! I thought, Dad will be angry with me! I don’t know how this happened—it wasn’t intentional. I had only two choices: I could keep on going, or I could turn around and go back. By this time, we were at the summit, so I decided that we might as well keep going and that I would apologize to Dad later. As we came down the mountain, the snow stopped and the roads were clear. We drove to Logan and then to Malad without any problems.

“On my way to school the next day I happened to see the front-page headline of a newspaper: WORST BLIZZARD OF THE YEAR STRANDS HUNDREDS IN CENTRAL WYOMING. I bought a paper, and it was full of stories about people who had been stranded, lost, or killed on the road that I had promised to take. I realized that the prayer our family had offered had been answered. I knew that the Lord had gotten us on the right road, and I realized how He had protected us. I was never the same after that.”

Chandler also lives what she believes. Not long ago her family was fostering a dog they called Puppy. Puppy had been mistreated the first nine months of his life, then was taken away from the people who mistreated him. But he was now skittish and frightened of people. Before he could be adopted, he had to learn to trust people and to get along with children. Teaching him that was what the Altieri family volunteered to do.
One day, he got loose and ran away. “We looked and looked for him,” Sister Altieri said, “but we couldn’t find him. Some of us got in the car to go looking for him. As I was driving, Chandler said a prayer, asking Heavenly Father to help us find Puppy. We had driven miles, and I thought that we’d never see the dog again. We turned down a road that ran along railroad tracks. Beside the tracks were thick woods. And by the railroad track, we could just see this head sticking up—it was Puppy! I’ll never forget it.”
Mom said how amazed she was that they found Puppy. “But we said a prayer, Mom,” was Chandler’s simple reply. She knows that Heavenly Father answers her prayers. Eventually Puppy learned to trust people and to play with children, and he was adopted by a good family.

My three children and I were on our way home after shopping when we passed the man with the newspapers for the first time. I let Emmily, 2, hand him some money to buy a paper. Lisa, 6, asked, “What is that man doing? Why is he selling newspapers on the street instead of in the store?”
I explained that he was selling a special newspaper and that the people who sell the special newspaper don’t have much money. They often don’t have a home or a family to help them. But they can earn a little money by selling newspapers, and we can help them by buying one.
Many weeks later—on a rainy day—we were on our way to the children’s gymnastics lesson. Because we had to stop at the store, we didn’t take the direct route. After we had made our purchases, I wondered out loud which route we should take to the lesson. We could take a shorter route through a side street or a longer one taking us past the corner with the street vendor. I looked at Lisa and waited for her to choose.
“Let’s take the long way, Mom, and buy a newspaper,” she said. “Jesus would have done that.” We went the second mile that rainy day and bought one of many more newspapers.

Yesterday,
while bent over furrows
laden with warm, brown seeds.
I marveled at the miracle
of potential peas nestled
within tiny seed walls,
swelling upward to reach their source of light.
And now,
as I am bowed beneath
the weight of trials.
I marvel, too, at the miracle
of a potential deity
tucked within my soul,
struggling homeward to its source of Light.

“Are you ready to obey the commandment to pay tithing?” Mom asked.
A true story from the USA.
When Logan was five, he thought tithing was a terrible idea!
During home evening, Mom put 10 dollars on the table. “Let’s pretend you earn 10 dollars.”
Logan smiled. “OK!”
“Tithing is 10 percent. So you would give one dollar to the Lord’s Church.” Mom slid one dollar away from the pile.
Logan frowned. “Give away a dollar? But I want to keep all my money!”
“Maybe you’ll feel differently when you’re older,” Mom said. “Heavenly Father blesses us with everything. Paying tithing is one way we show God we love Him and are grateful for His blessings.”
When Logan was six, his Primary teachers taught him that tithing is used to build temples. Logan loved temples. So maybe paying tithing was a good idea for some people. But not for him.
When Logan was seven, he noticed that people smiled when they handed their tithing envelopes to the bishop. Could giving away your money really make you happy?
When he was eight, Mom asked him, “Logan, why did you choose to get baptized?”
That was an easy question! “To keep the commandments and follow Jesus Christ,” Logan said.
“So are you ready to obey the commandment to pay tithing?” Mom asked. “It’s up to you.”
Logan’s heart sank. That was not an easy question. He still didn’t want to give away his money. But he did want to keep the commandments. Logan thought of temples and the smiling people who paid tithing. Then he took a deep breath and said, “Yes.”
“That would be a good choice!” Mom said.
Logan felt a lot better. “I know keeping the commandments is more important than keeping all my money.”
On Sunday, when he handed his first tithing envelope to the bishop, Logan realized he was smiling. He felt happy! He still didn’t understand everything about tithing. But he loved God, and he knew God would bless him for obeying the commandments.

My mother must have understood that principle of revelation. As a young man, I would close the back door very quietly when I came home late in the evening. I had to pass my mother’s bedroom on the way to mine. However quietly I tiptoed, just as I got to her half-opened door, I would hear my name, ever so quietly, “Hal, come in for a moment.”

I would go in and sit on the edge of her bed. The room would be dark. If you had listened, you would have thought it was only friendly talk about life. But to this day, what she said comes back to my mind with the same power I feel when I read the transcript of my patriarchal blessing.

I don’t know what she was asking for in prayer as she waited for me those nights. I suppose it would have been in part for my safety. But I am sure that she prayed as a patriarch does before he gives a blessing. He prays that his words will come to the recipient as the words of God, not his. My mother’s prayers for that blessing were answered on my head. She is in the spirit world and has been for more than 40 years. I am sure she has been exceedingly glad that I was blessed, as she asked, to hear in her counsel the commands of God. And I have tried to go and do as she hoped I would.