Gospel Story Finder

Scott was not the best athlete in his high school. He had not carried the ball or tackled anyone in football, won any races in track and field, or scored any points in basketball. Yet that year his school’s athletes, coaches, and parents gathered to present him with their most prestigious award, the award for best athlete of the year. In the past, young men and women who received the award were on championship teams or won individual honors. Several had gone on to college with scholarships attesting to their abilities. Why they now gave the highest award to someone who had not been a member of any team is a story of sensitivity and gratitude for a boy honored for a different type of achievement.
I know this story because I am Scott’s priesthood adviser. I knew that Scott was given the award because he had, as manager of the football team, contributed his enthusiasm, warmth, and work to the team members. After one ugly incident when Scott was abused by a member of the team, the coach and other team members became very protective of him. Because of their love they voted to give him the award.

Some years ago, as our youngest son, Clark, was approaching his 12th birthday, he and I were leaving the Church Administration Building when President Harold B. Lee greeted us. I mentioned to President Lee that Clark would soon be 12, whereupon President Lee asked him, “What happens to you, Clark, when you turn 12?” This was one of those times when a father prays that a son will be inspired to give a proper response. Without hesitation Clark said to President Lee, “I will be ordained a deacon.”

The answer was the one President Lee had sought. He then counseled our son, “Remember, it is a great blessing to hold the priesthood.”

Some years ago my father, an attorney, was trying a lawsuit. For his authority, he cited only one case—a California Supreme Court case issued many years before. His opponent cited a number of lower-court decisions of more recent vintage.
The judge said to my father, “Mr. Callister, don’t you have a more recent case than this?”
My father looked at the judge and replied, “Your Honor, may I remind you that when the supreme court speaks on a matter, it only needs to speak once.” The judge nodded with approval. He was reminded that the supreme court trumps all lower-court decisions, however numerous or recent they may be.

Some time ago I received a letter from Brother Rafael Pérez Cisneros of Galicia, Spain, telling me about his conversion. Part of his letter said the following:
“I had no concept of the purpose of life or what the family really is. When I finally allowed the missionaries to come into my home, I told them, ‘Give me your message, but I warn you that nothing is going to make me change religions.’ On this first occasion my children and my wife were listening attentively. I felt separated from the group. I felt afraid, and without thinking I went to my bedroom. I closed the door and began to pray from the depths of my soul like I had never prayed before. ‘Father, if it is true that these young men are Your disciples and have come to help us, please make it known to me.’ It was in that very moment that I began to cry like a small child. My tears were abundant, and I felt happiness like I had never before experienced. I was absorbed in a sphere full of joy and happiness that penetrated my soul. I understood that God was answering my prayer.
“All of my family was baptized, and we had the blessing of being sealed in the Swiss Temple, making me the happiest man in the world.”

When I was young, our little family lived in a one-bedroom apartment on the second floor. I slept on the couch in the living room. More than anything else in the world, I wanted to be an athlete. I did everything I was told might help me. While some of the advice I received was questionable, I tried it anyway, just in case it might help. I was advised not to eat chocolate, so I didn’t eat chocolate. I remember being told not to drink soda pop because it would “cut your wind.” I never drank soda pop. I was also told to sleep with the windows wide open to get plenty of fresh air, so all year long I slept with the windows open.
My dad, a steelworker, left home very early for work each day. Every morning he would quietly close the windows I had opened in the living room; then he would tuck the covers around me and stop for a minute. I would be half-dreaming when I could sense my dad standing beside the couch, looking at me. As I slowly awoke, I became embarrassed to have him there. I tried to pretend I was still asleep, but his gaze made me squirm. I became aware that as he stood beside my bed he was praying with all his attention, energy, and focus—for me.
Each morning my dad prayed for me. He prayed that I would have a good day, that I would be safe, that I would learn and prepare for the future. And since he could not be with me until evening, he prayed for the teachers and my friends that I would be with that day.
At first, I didn’t really understand what my dad was doing those mornings when he prayed for me. But as I got older, I came to sense his love and interest in me and everything I was doing. It is one of my favorite memories. It wasn’t until years later, after I was married, had children of my own, and would go into their rooms while they were asleep and pray for them that I understood completely how my father felt about me.

“I don’t know if I can do this new calling,” Lily whispered to Mom. They were waiting outside the bishop’s office after church.
Lily had just been called as president for her Young Women class. She was excited. But also really scared. She had just turned 11 in December and was the youngest girl in her class. How could she be the president?
Lily looked down at her lap and noticed she had torn up the paper she was holding. She always did that when she was nervous. Little pieces of paper were all over her dress.
“I’ve only been in Young Women for a few months!” Lily said, biting her lip. “I don’t know how to be a leader.”
“It’s OK to be nervous,” Mom said. “But you’ll do great!” She grabbed Lily’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Remember when you took cookies to Amanda?”
Lily nodded. A few months ago, Lily’s friend Amanda was sick with the flu. Lily baked cookies for Amanda and made a big word search for her to do so she wouldn’t be bored.
“Yes,” Lily said. “But what does that have to do with being a good class president?”
Mom helped Lily clean up the torn pieces of paper.
“Because,” she said, “you had a good idea, and you followed through. You care about people. That’s a big part of being a good leader!”
“Really?” Lily asked.
“Really,” Mom said, smiling. “Jesus was the perfect leader because He cared about people and helped them. You can try to do that too.”
Lily grinned. She hadn’t thought of that. She took a deep breath. “Thanks, Mom.”
Bishop Roston stepped out of his office. “Are you ready, Lily?”
She nodded. Together, she and Mom went into the bishop’s office.
Lily sat in a chair while Bishop Roston and his counselor put their hands on her head. They set her apart for her new calling and gave her a blessing. Lily listened carefully to the words.
During the blessing, Bishop Roston told her to always listen to the Spirit and to her heart. He also told her that if she was faithful and prayed to Heavenly Father, He would help her know what to do.
Lily felt peaceful as she heard those words. She knew that feeling was from the Holy Ghost.
After the blessing, Lily shook hands with the bishop and his counselor.
“Lily, you are kind, and you’re capable. You will be able to bless the girls in your class,” Bishop Roston said, smiling.
“Thank you,” Lily said. “I’ll do my best!”
As she turned to leave, Lily noticed a picture of Jesus on Bishop Roston’s desk. I can help people too! she thought.
On the way home, Lily thought of ways she could help the girls in her class. She thought about Suzanne, who had broken her arm on her trampoline last week.
I bet Suzanne could use some love right now, she thought.
“Can I visit Suzanne tonight?” Lily asked Mom. “I have an idea about something I can do for her!”
After all, Lily thought with a smile, that’s what Jesus would do. President Lily was ready to serve!

Ryan: When I was about 12 years old I went to a friend’s house and found him and a bunch of neighborhood boys gathered around the computer. I joked, “Hey, are you guys looking at pornography?”
They said, “How did you guess? Come check this out.”
That was the beginning of a problem in my life. I soon began using our family computer to find more and more images.

I felt relief when I stopped pretending. Sharing the burden with my bishop and my family meant I no longer had to deal with this addiction alone. Now I hold on to this support system.
A problem that dominated my youth could not be overcome overnight. This road has been long and hard—and it continues. It isn’t enough anymore to look happy. I want to be happy. I am coming to know Christ and the Atonement with much deeper and more personal meaning. The Atonement gives me the strength I need so my self-confidence and self-respect grow step by step each day.
I was honest with my bishop. And when my dad talked to me about the Internet sites I was visiting, I was honest with him too. We worked on the problem together. We decided not to have the Internet in our home for a while. That was a big help.
I’m turning 16 soon, and I’m glad I decided not to let pornography control my life. I feel better about myself, and I think about young women differently than I did before. With my bishop’s help, I’m preparing now for the temple, a mission, and a great marriage one day.

Nearly one year ago, our daughter Alisa died. She had struggled with cancer for almost eight years, with several surgeries, many different treatments, exciting miracles, and deep disappointments. We watched her physical condition deteriorate as she came to the close of her mortal life. It was excruciating to see that happen to our precious daughter—that bright-eyed little baby who had grown up to be a talented, wonderful woman, wife, and mother. I thought my heart would break.
Last year at Easter time, a little over a month before she passed away, Alisa wrote: “Easter is a reminder of all that I hope for myself. That someday I will be healed and someday I will be whole. Someday I won’t have any metal or plastic inside of me. Someday my heart will be free of fear and my mind free of anxieties. I am not praying that this happens soon, but I am so glad I truly believe in a beautiful afterlife.”
Each of us has physical, mental, and emotional limitations and weaknesses. These challenges, some of which seem so intractable now, will eventually be resolved. None of these problems will plague us after we are resurrected. Alisa researched survival rates for persons with the type of cancer she had, and the numbers were not encouraging. She wrote: “But there is a cure, so I’m not scared. Jesus has already cured my cancer, and yours. … I will be better. I’m glad I know this.”
I long to see my mother again and feel her gentle touch and look into her loving eyes. I want to see my father’s smile and hear his laugh and see him as a resurrected, perfect being. With an eye of faith, I picture Alisa completely beyond the reach of any earthly troubles or any sting of death—a resurrected, perfected Alisa, victorious and with a fulness of joy.
A few Easters ago, she wrote simply: “Life through His name. So much hope. Always. Through everything. I love Easter to remind me.”

The audience cheered and clapped for Daniel King as he climbed the stairs to the stage in the high school auditorium. The friendly, outgoing teen turned and gave them a big smile. He had carefully outfitted himself in the handsome tuxedo loaned to him for the occasion. And he walked with confidence to the podium to give the speech he had practiced over and over again.
Daniel was the campaign manager for David Barlow, who was running for student-body president of Viewmont High School in Bountiful, Utah. However, there was something noticeably different about this blond, curly-haired boy. He wasn’t like the other campaign managers at the election convention that spring. Daniel is a mentally handicapped youth involved in the special education program at Viewmont High School.
When Daniel reached the podium, fear struck him. He had practiced his speech everywhere—at home, at school, to anyone who would listen—but he had not practiced in front of a microphone. Twice he pushed the microphone away and twice it was placed in front of him. The third time, he swung around and started to leave the stand. David stood up and took hold of him. He said, “Everybody came to hear you, Bud.”
“But I’m shaking,” Daniel said.
David walked with Daniel to the podium. The crowd clapped and chanted, “Come-on-Dan-iel, Come-on-Dan-iel!” Another big smile from Daniel. The microphone was turned away, and with David looking over Daniel’s right shoulder and gently but firmly holding him, Daniel finally gave his speech:
“Hi, my name is Daniel King, and I am David Barlow’s campaign manager. I think that David will be a good president because he is my Bud [a nickname they have for each other]. Besides that, he is also my friend. He does fun activities. He has a funny sense of humor. He is a really funny guy. I’m so glad he picked me to be his campaign manager. David really cares about the students. I would like to thank him for everything he taught me and for giving me a chance to come and speak today, because this is a big opportunity. I know I am going to vote for David and I think you should too.”
The crowd cheered and gave Daniel a standing ovation. He and David exchanged their special handshake and then gave each other a big hug. David comments about that tender moment, “The love was so real, I couldn’t help it. I just started crying.” Daniel sat down while David began his speech. But David could hardly talk. After giving 35–40 speeches in the past few days—tight, businesslike speeches—David said to the crowd in the auditorium, “This is real this time. Just seeing that right there made it worth it. Daniel, I want to thank you for everything you’ve taught me.” But he couldn’t go on.
After a few seconds, Daniel stood up from his chair and walked over to David, put his arm around him and, patting David’s left arm, softly said, “I just thought I should come up here. Come on, Bud, you can do it.” And then Daniel took his turn standing by David while David finished his speech.
With great emotion, David said, “I wish every one of you could know him like I know him.” David continued, “I’m not running for office to wear the student-body president’s sweater, and I’m not doing it to see what I can get out of it. I’m doing it to see what I can offer you. Most of all I want to thank Daniel.” Again the audience cheered and clapped.
A few days later David Barlow was elected student-body president of Viewmont High School for the 1989–90 term. Daniel comments, “And you won, huh?” David responds, “Yeah, because I had such a good campaign manager.” And with a big grin Daniel says, “Yep!”
Daniel’s panic on the stage at the election convention did not come from shyness. It stems from a fear of microphones and cameras developed when he was interviewed over and over again by television reporters featuring him on TV as an adoptable child.

I’m 16 years old and have been getting the New Era for over a year now. I never really read it until my mom read it one day and fell in love with it and told me there were neat stories in it. My mom is the president of the Young Women and encouraged all of us girls to read it.
I would like to thank Cyndi Erickson from Utah. Her letter was printed in the February 1988 Feedback section under the title “Don’t give up!” I’ve been going through some hard times, and when Mother read that letter in our Young Women meeting I got tears in my eyes. When I came home I read it again. Cyndi, I want you to know that you’ve touched someone’s heart. You’ve helped me put my life together, and I’m sure you’ve touched others too. I’m a new person now, and I love it. I love the Church, the gospel, Heavenly Father, my family, and the New Era!
Shelli BiglerWalnut, California

Bye, Molly! We love you!
Be a good helper for Grandma!
I miss Mom and Dad. When will they get home from the hospital?
After your sister is born. Then you’ll get to meet her!
I don’t know if I really want a sister.
Hey, I need your help with a special surprise.
Let’s make a treat for your parents. What should we make?
Brownies are Mom’s favorite!
Wow, you are a good assistant chef! You know something else your family needs help with?
Eating brownies?
Probably! But you can also help by being a kind big sister.
Really?
Yes! I can tell you know how to help your family.
I have an idea for another surprise.
I can’t wait until Mom and Dad AND the baby come home!

“Wow, what an army!” Jamie’s eyes were big as he excitedly knelt next to the small trenches and plastic men Brady was playing with.
“Yeah,” Brady said, grinning proudly. “I’ve been digging these trenches for an hour, wondering where you were.”
“You should’ve called. I was helping Mom sort some books for her bookstore. She got an order in yesterday.”
“You always have your nose in a book, you bookworm!” Brady knew that Jamie didn’t mind his teasing. Jamie was the best reader in the third grade and proud of it.
Jamie started plowing in the warm dirt with his hands, and soon he was busy building trenches too. Books were forgotten as the boys worked in silence for several minutes. The only sound was Mr. Morris’s lawn mower next door and Brady’s loud sneeze when he stirred up too much dust.
“What’s your general’s name?” Jamie asked, pushing a lock of hair back with a grimy hand. “I think that I’ll call mine General Lee.”
“Mine’s General Moroni,” Brady said without looking up. He moved a plastic man in uniform into position at the front of the battle line.
“Moroni? What kind of name is that? Lee was a famous general. I’ve read a lot of history books, and I know a bunch of real cool names. There’s Alexander the Great and MacArthur and—”
“I like Moroni.” Brady looked up then. His green eyes quickly skimmed Jamie and his trench progress, then moved back to his own work. “Moroni was the best.”
“You mean there was really a general named Moroni? I’ve never heard of him.”
“Yeah, there was. He once fought the Lamanites, or Indians, but only when he had to. He liked to live in peace.”
“He fought against Indians? Was he a cowboy?” Jamie had read a lot of cowboy stories too.
“No, he was a Nephite.” Brady smiled and proudly held up the plastic man. “He was strong and brave, and he made his own flag and everything.”
“Who told you about him?” Jamie was curious now. He didn’t know anything about Nephites or a general named Moroni.
“My Primary teacher. Dad and Mom told me a lot more about him too.” Brady had asked Jamie to come to Primary when his friend first moved in several months ago, but Jamie had said no. He liked to read on Sunday.
“They tell you stories like that in Primary? I thought it was just prayers and Bible stuff.”
“Oh, sure, we have those things. But we also have the Book of Mormon, and it has a lot of neat stories in it.” Brady could see that Jamie was interested. He had put down his men, and his hands were still. “Do you want to come to Primary with me next Sunday?”
“Nope.” Jamie bent his head and started digging extra fast. He wasn’t going to let Brady trick him into going to church. Nobody mentioned Moroni again while they played.
On Saturday Brady and Jamie went exploring at the old ballpark. They kicked a soccer ball around for a while, played “hut” in the overgrown bushes, and climbed up on the old rock wall that bordered the east corner of the park.
“Hey, look!” Brady hollered. He spread his arms wide and lowered his voice dramatically: “Behold, I am Samuel the Lamanite. …”
Jamie asked, “Who are you talking about now?”
“Samuel the Lamanite. He once preached from a high wall that surrounded the city because the Nephites had chased him out of the city.”
“Why did they chase him away? I thought that Moroni was a Nephite and that Nephites were the good guys.” Jamie scratched his head and lay back on his elbows. He squinted his eyes half-shut and watched Brady gesturing from the wall.
“Yeah, Moroni was a Nephite when the Nephites were righteous. But Samuel was preaching to a bunch of Nephites who were wicked. He told them to repent and quit doing wrong. So they chased him from their city. That’s when he climbed up on the wall and preached from there. The Nephites shot arrows and stuff at him, but they couldn’t hit him. Neat, huh?”
Jamie didn’t answer for a minute. He palmed the soccer ball and passed it from one hand to another. “Another Primary story, right?”
“Yeah. I think that Samuel was great, and he didn’t give up easily.”
Brady didn’t ask Jamie again to go to Primary with him. They played soccer until the sun got too hot, then rode their bikes back to Brady’s for lemonade. Mom even let them make a tepee in the backyard.
Three weeks later was Jamie’s birthday. He got a new fishing pole from his dad, a mitt from his older brother, and a book about trains from his mom. Brady gave him some building blocks that snapped together just like the huge set that Brady had received last Christmas. Brady knew that Jamie would like them. The next day they played for hours with the blocks, making trucks and buildings and even a huge tower.
When Jamie had made his tower secure, he ran to his closet for a plastic man. He put him on top of the tower and grinned mysteriously at Brady. “Do you know who that is?”
“Who?” asked Brady. He wasn’t paying much attention to Jamie, because he was busy linking his ship together with some yellow blocks.
“King Benjamin.” Jamie paused to give it emphasis. “I built a tower for King Benjamin.”
Brady looked at the tower. It was sturdy, tall, and magnificent. “Wow!” Brady whistled through his teeth. “Nice job!” Then a puzzled expression replaced Brady’s smile. “But how did you know about King Benjamin?”
Jamie smiled a smile that covered his whole face, the kind he wore when he hit a home run. “Mom got me a copy of your Book of Mormon. We’ve been reading it together. I really like the story of King Benjamin.”
Brady left his ship and went over to study the tower. “Wow! A tower for King Benjamin.”
“You know,” Jamie said, “I like Moroni too. The missionaries told us about him. I can see why you used him to lead your army. I can’t wait till we get to that part in our reading. He was the best.”
Brady agreed. He didn’t have to ask Jamie if he wanted to come to Primary on Sunday. He knew that he would.

Like Carolina, 16-year-old Katarina Echaniz quickly made friends after being introduced to the Church by a ward member. Through the missionary discussions and her friends’ example, she also quickly gained a testimony. Shortly after her baptism, she was called to the Mia Maid presidency. “I felt responsible because there were girls depending on me to do my calling,” she says. “I wanted to do everything well.” Katarina says the assignment has kept her going strong.

When I was 15 years old, I realized the significance of a testimony of the Book of Mormon, Joseph Smith, and the Savior and how it affects our choices.

My brother, Joe, was 20 years old. It was during the Korean conflict, and only one young man in each ward could go on a mission. The others had to be available to be drafted into the military. A young man in our ward had gone on a mission early in the year; my brother’s birthday was in September, so he didn’t think he would get the opportunity to serve a mission.

Our stake president called my brother in and told him that one of the wards had not used its allotment and he might be able to go. Missionaries were called at 20 years of age in those days, and my brother had just filled out his application to medical school. He was a good student. My father, who was not active in the Church, had made financial preparations to help him with medical school and was disappointed when he learned of the conversation with the stake president. My father counseled Joe not to go and suggested that he could do more good by going to medical school.

This was a big issue in our family. That night my brother and I talked about the choice. He was five years older, so it was mainly his thinking. As we reasoned it out, we concluded: If Jesus Christ was a great man but not divine, if Joseph Smith was a wonderful teacher but not a prophet, or if the Book of Mormon had wonderful counsel but was not the word of God, then Dad was right—it would be better to go to medical school. But if Jesus Christ is divine, if Joseph Smith is a prophet, and if the Book of Mormon is the word of God, then it would be more important to accept the call and proclaim the gospel.

That night, more than ever before, I wanted to know the answers to these questions. I had always believed in the divinity of Jesus Christ. I believed in Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon, but I wanted confirmation from the Lord. That night, as I prayed, the Spirit bore witness to my soul of the Savior and the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon and that Joseph Smith was a prophet. My brother received the same witness and made the choice to serve a mission. Incidentally, when my brother returned from his mission, he went to medical school. When I reached my 20th birthday, my father was happy to see me serve a mission.

Several years ago, as this Conference Center was being built and nearing completion, I entered this sacred building on the balcony level in a hard hat and safety glasses, ready to vacuum the carpet that my husband was helping to install. Where the rostrum now stands was a front-end loader moving dirt, and the dust in this building was thick. When it settled, it did so on the new carpet. My part was to vacuum. And so I vacuumed and vacuumed and vacuumed. After three days my little vacuum burned up!

The afternoon before the first general conference in this beautiful building, my husband called me. He was about to install the last piece of carpet—under this historic pulpit.

He asked, “What scripture should I write on the back of this carpet?”

And I said, “Mosiah 18:9: ‘Stand as [a witness] of God at all times and in all things, and in all places.’”

Years ago when I was vacuuming this carpet—trying to act well my small part—I didn’t realize that I would one day stand with my feet on the carpet under this pulpit.

Leslie Williams, Jr. of Tallahassee, Florida, received the Disabled Citizens’ Community Service Award and was honored at their annual banquet.
In completing his Eagle project, Leslie surveyed Tallahassee restaurants to determine how accessible they were to wheelchair patrons and nonsighted or partially sighted customers. Leslie wrote letters and sent questionnaires to the restaurant managers and organized teams to visit restaurants. The completed report of his survey is on file with several government agencies and has been printed and distributed in chart form to the city’s handicapped citizens.
As a result of his efforts, the local food editor now reports on restaurant accessibility in the newspaper’s weekly restaurant review.
Leslie is a member of the Tallahassee Second Ward.

I learned at a young age that inspiration can come to any of us. When I was in junior high school I was taking a difficult class where most of what was being taught went over my head. One day the teacher asked me a question. I didn’t understand the question, let alone the answer. Out of nowhere a response came into my mind, which I repeated to the teacher. It was the right answer, but I knew it had not come from me.

So how can we recognize inspiration when it comes? Enos stated, “While I was thus struggling in the spirit, behold, the voice of the Lord came into my mind.” The voice of the spirit of revelation is not necessarily audible, but it gives us divine confirmation through our thoughts and feelings. As we are told in the Doctrine and Covenants, “I will tell you in your mind and in your heart, by the Holy Ghost, which shall come upon you and which shall dwell in your heart.” We must cultivate our sensitivity to that divine voice.

In the village of Pencader, Carmarthenshire, South Wales, a tenth child, Evan, was born to David and Jane Stephens. The family immigrated to Utah in 1866 and settled in Willard. Evan’s first contact with music came when, as a boy of twelve, he was asked to join the choir. With borrowed books, he taught himself how to write, read, and play music. Music became the motivating force in his life.
When Evan Stephens was sixteen, his brother bought a four-octave cabinet organ and Evan spent that long winter learning to play. In 1890 he was asked by the First Presidency to direct the Tabernacle Choir, which traveled three years later to the World’s Fair in Chicago where it won second prize of $1000. Its conductor was given a gold medal. President Wilford Woodruff said, “A shepherd boy came down from the mountains and is here today to contest in this great competition.”

He was among the first of the occupation troops to enter Japan after the explosion of the atomic bomb.
Although schooled as a tough Marine, his heart went out to the Japanese people when he witnessed the devastation of their country. And he decided to do what he could to help. In their spare time, he and some of his fellow Marines built a small chapel on the island of Saipan. Later in Nagasaki, he again rounded up a group of servicemen to help rebuild a Protestant chapel. When his unit was later transferred, nearly two hundred members of the congregation, along with their minister, lined the railroad tracks to touch hands with them as the train went by—a memorable expression of mutual love and appreciation.

This is the best hiding spot!
What’s that?
I don’t know. Let’s open it!
Wow!
It’s like a hidden treasure!
Free candy!
But I think it belongs to someone.
We should return it.
Yeah. I bet it’s from the snack stand.
We found this under the bleachers. Is it yours?
Yes! A few days ago, someone broke in and stole all our candy.
Thanks for being honest and bringing it back!
Do you think this is how superheroes feel?
I don’t know. But I want to feel like this all the time.
Yeah. It’s even better than candy.