Gospel Story Finder

When I was a high councilor, I had what became a very cherished experience with private prayer. In our first meeting with our newly sustained stake president, he was stern and demanding—quite a contrast with the loving and gentle manner of his predecessor. Several of us struggled with our negative reactions to his style. During that meeting, he assigned me to speak in an upcoming priesthood session of a ward conference. As he did so, an idea for a theme flashed through my mind, and I jotted myself a note. But later, when I prepared the talk, I forgot the note and the prompting.
As I gave the talk, a depressing feeling of failure troubled me. Afterward, when I was alone, I knelt down and asked the Lord why I had failed after trying so hard. An impression came to me that I had given the wrong talk. Then I remembered the earlier impression and realized that I hadn’t followed it. I told the Lord I was sorry and, feeling downcast, went off to the sacrament meeting session of ward conference.
During the opening hymn, I felt an urge to pray again. I asked the Lord to give me another chance and told him that I would give the right talk this time. I was mystified about why I was so bold, because I knew the agenda for the conference was full and that there was no chance for me to speak. But during the intermediate hymn, I noticed the stake president lean over and whisper something to the bishop. After the hymn, the bishop announced, “The stake president would like to have Brother Bachman briefly bear his testimony.”
With considerable emotion, I explained what had just transpired and testified of the inspiration of our new stake president. The eyes of several of the other high councilors sitting in the congregation glistened with tears, as did mine. Then I related my little talk as I had promised the Lord I would and sat down, almost in shock at the events of the past two hours.
During the closing hymn, I was still basking in the spirit of it all. Suddenly, a phrase of the hymn swept out of the air above the congregation and pierced my consciousness: “God hears my secret prayer” (Hymns, 1985, number 144). My tears again flowed freely.
That was the beginning of one of the most wonderful priesthood relationships I have ever experienced in the Church. For four years, I enjoyed sitting at the feet of this great man and learning about inspiration, leadership, and Church government.

As our hearts and minds turn at Eastertime to thoughts of our Savior’s suffering at Gethsemane, his crucifixion, and his resurrection, I recall an experience at an open house in the Arizona Temple following a complete renovation of the building. Nearly a quarter of a million people saw the temple’s beautiful interior. On the first day of the open house, clergymen of other religions were invited as special guests, and hundreds responded. It was my privilege to speak to them and to answer their questions at the conclusion of their tours. I told them that we would be pleased to answer any queries they might have. Many were asked. Among these was one which came from a Protestant minister.
Said he: “I’ve been all through this building, this temple which carries on its face the name of Jesus Christ, but nowhere have I seen any representation of the cross, the symbol of Christianity. I have noted your buildings elsewhere and likewise find an absence of the cross. Why is this when you say you believe in Jesus Christ?”
I responded: “I do not wish to give offense to any of my Christian brethren who use the cross on the steeples of their cathedrals and at the altars of their chapels, who wear it on their vestments and imprint it on their books and other literature. But for us, the cross is the symbol of the dying Jesus, while our message is a declaration of the living Christ.”
He then asked: “If you do not use the cross, what is the symbol of your religion?”
I replied that the lives of our people must become the only meaningful expression of our faith. I hope he did not feel that I was smug or self-righteous in my response. He was correct in his observation that we do not use the cross, except as our military chaplains use it on their uniforms for identification.

A young woman named Brooke writes: “This past summer I had the opportunity of attending a leadership conference. It only took a couple of hours to find out that the LDS kids were in the minority there. I ended up [rooming] with two girls who were very nice but definitely didn’t have the same standards. At night when I read my scriptures they stared at me like I was some kind of weirdo. While they were talking about their drinking parties, I was talking about [parties] with punch and cookies. They laughed but were always curious.

“Although I was scared sometimes, I never failed to stand up for what I believe in. At the end of the conference, one of my roommates [said], ‘I guess Mormons can be cool,’ and that she would think about our religion and maybe even learn about it. I [learned] that I could make a difference by simply standing up for what I believe.”

George had been too young to remember the first time he and Aurelia met the Prophet. Aurelia remembered it clearly. She had met a real, living prophet! He had come to their home to visit, and he limped very slightly when he walked, just like Papa! Papa told her later it was caused by the same illness that had caused his limp—typhus fever, which had settled in his leg.
Lucy was born there, and when Joseph saw her, he exclaimed, “Oh, what a little black head!” Even as a baby, Lucy’s hair was thick and dark. Joseph had laid his hand on Lucy’s head and blessed her. Aurelia had loved the Prophet from that moment. He was God’s own prophet and the most important man in Nauvoo, yet he loved little children and liked to be with them.

When I was in graduate school, to help make ends meet, I took a job flying with the Naval Reserve. Occasionally we were asked to furnish services for exercises with the North American Air Defense Command. We would fly off to some place like Tonopah, Nevada, then turn around and try to make a simulated bombing run on San Francisco before the defense command could get F-106s from a nearby Air Force base up for a simulated rocket run on us. Our job was to see if we could penetrate the air defenses. We did everything we could do to foul up their system.
One time when we were heading for San Francisco, we switched our radios over to what we knew would be the operating frequency of the F-106s. Soon an eager young voice came over on the radio channel and said, “Torchy, Torchy! This is Lover Boy Two. Airborne, standing by.” At that time Torchy was the code name for the radar site on the north side of Mount Tamalpais. Lover Boy Two was the code name for the first F-106 that was airborne, and he wanted instructions.
We came up on the air and told him, “Lover Boy Two, this is Torchy. Angels, Three zero zero”—which means climb to 30,000 feet headed straight west. In just a few more minutes a third voice (the legitimate voice from the radar station) came on the frequency and cried out, “Lover Boy Two! Lover Boy Two! This is Torchy! Reverse course! Reverse course!”
Well, that pilot wasn’t going to be fooled. He was going to stick with that nice friendly voice that had been talking to him from the ground up. So he ignored the second voice and pressed on, heading straight west. Keeping in communication with the pilot, we ran several simulated rocket attacks out over the Pacific, but he never did see them, because they (we) were really 500 miles the other direction.
When we landed and filled out reports, we added, “Ha, ha! Look how we fooled you!” The point was that Lover Boy Two was getting all the advice he could ask for, from a voice that sounded friendly. The problem was, the advice didn’t come from somebody who had his best interests at heart. So we all have to decide whom we are going to listen to in life, because sometimes bad advice will come from friends or someone who sounds like a friend.

Born to Andrew H. and Lola Heaton Gibbons on July 30, 1942, in Logan, Utah, USA, Elder Gibbons has had myriad opportunities to develop that philosophy. He served a mission in the Netherlands, one of the greatest periods of growth in his life. While he was away, his father died, and he had to choose between a local university near home to help his mother and the away-from-home challenges of Stanford University. At his family’s urging, he returned to Stanford, where he studied history. He chose to be a physician, earning his medical degree from the University of Utah and a master of public health degree from Harvard University.

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.

Years ago when our youngest son, Clark, was attending a religion class at Brigham Young University, the instructor, during a lecture, asked Clark, “What is an example of life with your father that you best remember?”
The instructor later wrote to me and told me of the reply which Clark had given to the class. Said Clark: “When I was a deacon in the Aaronic Priesthood, my dad and I went pheasant hunting near Malad, Idaho. The day was Monday—the last day of the season. We walked through countless fields in search of pheasants but only saw a few, and these we missed. Dad then said to me, ‘Clark, let’s unload our guns, and we’ll place them in this ditch. Then we’ll kneel down to pray.’ I thought Dad would pray for more pheasants, but I was wrong. He explained to me that Elder Richard L. Evans was gravely ill and that at 12 noon on that particular Monday the members of the Quorum of the Twelve—wherever they may be at the time—were to kneel and, in a way, together unite in a fervent prayer of faith for Elder Evans. Removing our caps, we knelt, we prayed.”
I well remember the occasion, but I never dreamed a son was watching, was learning, was building his own testimony.

Selene’s brothers and sisters look out for each other and try to follow the promptings of the Holy Ghost. One time when Selene was little, she went into the kitchen and found some chemicals. Her older sister had a feeling to go look for her. She went and found Selene and stopped her before she drank the chemicals.

Arietana’s home is near the equator, so the weather is hot every day of the year and the ocean is very warm. The children spend much of their time swimming, fishing, or just playing in the water. Arietana likes fishing and digging in the sand for clams. “One day I caught enough fish for my family’s dinner,” he said. “My father was very surprised that I caught so many. When I want to go fishing, I find a small hermit crab for bait; then I drop my line from the bridge and wait for the fish to bite.”

“Hope you do well with Robby,” the secretary said as she handed me the list of names of the children in my new Primary Targeteers class. Someone else heard her and began to offer me her sympathies. Another sister nodded, and Robby’s former teacher was about to give me his awful past history when I excused myself.
I was surprised. I knew that sometimes school children were given “good” or “bad” labels by their teachers, but surely not Primary children!
That evening as I prayed, I thanked Father in Heaven for the opportunity to teach some of his children and asked for special help with Robby. I pleaded for guidance and vowed to do everything I could to understand Robby and help rid other people of their negative attitude toward him.
The next Sunday, Robby’s mother took me aside to warn me about her son’s hyperactivity and to offer me her support. She said she would be willing to discipline him at home if I told her when he misbehaved. I thanked her, but I didn’t tell her that this year I wanted things to be different.
The first week or two of Primary, things went smoothly. I wondered why anyone else had had problems with Robby. His sparkling blue eyes were full of mischief, but he was not disruptive. He just knew all the answers. The other boys had a hard time keeping up with him. They often relied on him to give the answers. And Robby took pleasure in the attention he got and sometimes showed off deliberately.
I soon realized that Robby wasn’t the only one who needed understanding; all seven of my students had special problems and needs. So each week as I taught them about important gospel principles, I also tried to meet those needs.
I found that Robby’s needs were not the hardest to meet—Steven’s were. Steven had a learning disability. He always arrived five or ten minutes after class had started and sat alone in the back corner. The other boys teased and made fun of him. And because he needed to feel accepted and have friends, he bore it all quietly—week after week.
One week when Steven arrived, he brightened up to see that the only empty seat was right in the middle of the rest of the boys. But they quickly grabbed the chair and placed it in the back corner, and Steven sat alone again.
I couldn’t say anything—not because I didn’t know what to say or do, but because the Spirit was telling me to let it happen. I wanted to scold the children but felt restrained. I could hardly believe it! But I continued with the lesson as though nothing was wrong.
All the next week I felt discouraged about my class. I didn’t know what to do to help Steven. Robby was becoming hard to control, and the rest of the boys still had needs I didn’t know how to meet. I prayed and received no definite solution—only the assurance that everything would be all right.
Robby was especially hard to keep quiet during opening exercises the next week. I dreaded taking six unruly boys into a tiny classroom. I dreaded watching Steven come through the door and seeing the hurt look in his eyes again.
I reached the classroom before my students did. As I opened the door, I felt a calm reassurance that today would be the beginning of the end of our problems.
The boys rushed in, rearranged the carefully placed chairs, and sat down. I stood up to give them a few instructions. But I wasn’t sure what I was going to say, and was a bit surprised at what I did say.
I told the boys that from now on we would have a sharing time in class. We would talk about the school day or whatever they wanted until Steven arrived. Then I explained Steven’s need to be accepted and to have friends. I told them that they needed Steven, too.
Steven opened the door, his head hanging lower than it ever had before. Robby jumped up, grabbed him by the arm, and pulled him into the room. The boys insisted that he sit in the middle of them. They welcomed him without hesitation. Steven smiled happily!
Robby finished his worksheet first—as usual. Then I quietly asked him to help Steven.
The rest of that year Robby helped Steven without being asked. One Sunday he worked hard with him for nearly ten minutes to write the word “prophet.” Another time he was so enthusiastic that he forgot to do his own worksheet. He cheered and praised Steven for each effort he made. And Robby’s good influence affected the other boys; when Robby wasn’t there, they eagerly took his place in helping Steven.
When Robby’s mother asked me how things were going, I told her about the work he was doing with Steven. I told her how much I loved him and that she should be proud of him. Delighted, she told me confidentially that she really had known all along that her son wasn’t a problem.
And when Steven’s mother asked me how Steven got along in the class, I was able to tell her honestly that everyone in the class loved him. He had often been rejected by others, but because of the inspiration of the Spirit in our Primary class, the other boys had accepted him and he had discovered his own self-worth.
How thankful I am for a loving Father who answers prayers, and who gave me the opportunity and the inspiration to help these young people grow!

I was having a hard time breathing through my nose, and I always had a cold. Mommy took me to a doctor. He said that I needed to have my adenoids and tonsils taken out. I was excited because I would get to eat lots of Popsicles. I was scared, too. I asked Daddy to give me a blessing. On the morning of my operation, I sat on Daddy’s bed, and he gave me a priesthood blessing. He blessed me to be calm and blessed the doctor so that everything would go well in my operation.
After the operation, the doctor told Mommy that everything went very well. When I woke up, I didn’t cry, even though my tummy and throat hurt. Some other children came into the same room after their operations and screamed pretty loud.
I asked Daddy for another blessing later in the week because my throat hurt and I couldn’t stop crying. The blessing helped me calm down. Now my throat doesn’t hurt at all, and I can breathe through my nose. I’m thankful Daddy has the priesthood. I know that Heavenly Father loves me and helped me get better.
Christian Moody, age 3Bristow, Virginia

Illustration by Melissa Manwill
Iren was having fun visiting Taiwan. His grandfather, his Yéyé, took him and his little sister, Ila, to the zoo and on a ferry ride to a small island. They went to beautiful gardens filled with mango trees and orchids. And they visited a mountain where monkeys tried to steal their food! The monkeys made Ila nervous, but Iren thought they were awesome.
Yéyé was teaching Iren and Ila all about where their family came from. He took them to meet all of their relatives and to restaurants to try new foods. Iren had been practicing with chopsticks. He was getting really good.
One day Yéyé took Iren, Ila, and their parents to a special place. It was a big building with large, open doors and shiny wooden floors. Before they went in, Iren and his family took off their shoes. “This is a place where you have to be reverent,” Mom said. “Just like at our church.”
“Is this a church?” Iren asked. It sure didn’t look like any church he’d ever seen. The building’s colorful roof had curled-up edges. People in dark blue robes walked quietly through the doors.
“Sort of,” said Mom. “It’s a Buddhist temple. But people don’t get married or sealed here, like in our temples. It’s a church building for Yéyé’s religion. He comes here to learn the teachings of Buddha and to help people.”
Dad added, “Do you remember the earthquake in Taiwan we saw on the news a month ago? Yéyé and the other volunteers at this temple all helped after the earthquake was over.”
“What did they do?” asked Ila.
“I think they brought water to people and cleaned up rubble,” said Dad. “They also helped people who lost their homes find a place to stay.”
“Whoa,” said Iren. He looked at Yéyé. “That sounds like a lot of work!” Yéyé smiled and nodded.
When they went in the temple, Iren noticed how quiet and peaceful it was. He looked around and saw a large wooden statue. Ila and Iren stopped and stared.
“Is that Buddha?” Iren asked.
Mom nodded.
Yéyé said something to Dad in Chinese, pressed his hands together, and bowed in front of the statue of Buddha three times.
“Yéyé is teaching us how he shows respect for Buddha,” Dad said, his voice just above a whisper.
Iren scrunched his eyebrows together. “Isn’t that … ?” He tried to remember something he’d heard before. “Isn’t that worshipping idols?”
“Buddhists don’t actually worship Buddha,” Dad said. “Buddha was a great teacher, and they visit his statue to remember what he taught.”
“When people bow here, they’re showing respect—sort of like shaking hands,” Mom whispered. “Yéyé bows to show respect for Buddha and what he taught.”
Mom put her arms around Iren and Ila. “And do you know what?”
“What?” Ila asked.
“These are all God’s children. He loves them. He loves what they’re doing to help each other.”
Go to “Family Night Fun” for an activity to go with this story!
Iren looked over at Yéyé and all the other people sitting quietly. He felt warm and good inside and knew what Mom said was true. Iren said a little prayer to Heavenly Father: Thank you for helping me meet more of your children.

Supported by one elbow, tired and weak,
Signs of sickness written on his face;
Gazing on the valley, he tried to speak,
And with much effort said, “This is the right place.”
With unbelieving eyes the Saints looked down
And thought of far-off, beautiful Nauvoo.
The picture of their pleasant, thriving town
Was far beyond compare with this sad view.
Surely Zion cannot be built here!
They looked once more, their eyes filled with despair.
“His words are born in fever,” said one near.
“He sees a land that is not really there.”
He spoke more close to truth than they could see;
For Brigham had a vision he held dear
Of a land not there but soon to be;
Yes, for a season Zion would dwell here.

We received this photo of four-year-old Blake, who, early on a Saturday morning, grabbed a Church book and exclaimed, “I need to feed my spirit!”
Blake, we are thrilled with you and others who are choosing to feed their spirits by feasting on the truths of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. And we delight in knowing that many are receiving the power of God in their lives as they worship and serve in the temple.

By the time the sun began to sparkle on the Bear River and warm the cattle on the Wyoming ranch, Minerva Teichert had been up for some time. There was breakfast to cook for her husband Herman, the five children, and a few ranch workers. Every morning there were milk bottles for the dairy that would take several hours to clean and sterilize. In addition, there were chickens to feed, clothes to wash and mend, a garden to weed. By the time the household began to quiet down for the evening, she had cooked two more meals and finished a variety of other chores that life on a ranch in the 1930s demanded.
But still Minerva’s day was not complete. It never was until she had picked up her brush and her “palette”—a long piece of wood dabbed with oil paints—and spent a few precious moments at her canvas.

Have we studied his counsel and identified the things we need to avoid or to do differently? I know a 17-year-old who, just prior to the prophet’s talk, had pierced her ears a second time. She came home from the fireside, took off the second set of earrings, and simply said to her parents, “If President Hinckley says we should only wear one set of earrings, that’s good enough for me.”

Wearing two pairs of earrings may or may not have eternal consequences for this young woman, but her willingness to obey the prophet will. And if she will obey him now, on something relatively simple, how much easier it will be to follow him when greater issues are at stake.

Mike Strong, who was 14 at the time, received a plaque from the Veterans of Foreign Wars for saving the life of his infant sister, Danielle. The eight-month-old girl stopped breathing as her mother held her in her arms. The little girl had a soaring fever.
“It really scared me because I thought she was dead,” Mike said. “But the first thing that came to my mind was, ‘Do as you were taught in school.’” He took Danielle from his frightened mother’s grasp and gave her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Paramedics later said Danielle’s body temperature had reached 106 degrees Fahrenheit as a result of viral bronchitis, and that although she might have started breathing again on her own without help, Mike’s quick action had likely prevented brain damage.
Mike is a member of the El Cajon 5th Ward, El Cajon California Stake.

I got on a plane one day in Tonga. It was Saturday morning, the Sabbath of the Seventh-day Adventists. The head of the Seventh-day Adventists’ mission in the Pacific got on the plane with me. Down at the airport were his Sunday School children, giving him a send-off, singing hymns and so on. Well, we got on that plane Saturday morning, and we went to Samoa. When we arrived at Samoa, it was Friday, the day before we left Tonga. I just wondered how he was going to straighten out that “seventh day” business. He’d already had one Saturday, one Sabbath, and here he was again in Samoa on a Friday, the day before he’d had the Sabbath. The next day he had another. Now I tried to find him to ask him from which Saturday he was going to start counting the seven days. Well, these things happen. This is going on all over the world.

Thursday, February 14 [1839].—The persecution was so bitter against Elder Brigham Young … and his life was so diligently sought for, that he was compelled to flee … [to] Illinois. …
Friday, February 15.—My family arrived at the Mississippi, opposite Quincy, [Illinois], after a journey of almost insupportable hardships. …