Gospel Story Finder

I had made the commitment to serve a mission, but there is also mandatory military service in South Korea. After high school, many young men entered the military, fulfilled their mandatory service, and immediately pursued an education and found jobs. It was difficult to give another two years to missionary service. There were only a few Korean elders then.
When I turned 19, I kept my commitment and prepared and sent in my mission papers. I was called to serve in the Korea Busan Mission. One year later, I was drafted into the military. I was so sad that I had to stop my mission.
When I completed my military service three years later, I felt that I had not yet completed my mission. Everyone told me, “You already served a mission. The Lord understands your situation, so serving for only one year is OK.”
I asked my good friend from seminary what I should do. She said that she knew I would serve another year of my mission. Her trust gave me confidence and confirmation to serve more. I served the second year of my mission in the Korea Seoul Mission. By the time I finished, I was 25 years old. I later married that same friend and we were sealed in the Laie Hawaii Temple.
This experience taught me that you will be all right even when things do not happen the way you had designed. When your plans and vision fit with the Lord’s will for you, He will help you in your life decisions.

The headquarters of the Church are in this city, which recently hosted the 19th Winter Olympics. We made a deliberate decision that we would not use this as a time or place to proselytize, but we were confident that out of this significant event would come a wonderful thing for the Church. The great buildings which we have here—the temple, the Tabernacle, this magnificent Conference Center, the Joseph Smith Memorial Building, the family history facilities, the Church Administration Building, the Church Office Building, our welfare facilities, together with scores of chapels in this valley—could not be overlooked by those who walked the streets of this and neighboring cities. As Mike Wallace once remarked to me, “These structures all denote something solid.”

And beyond this, we had total confidence in our people, many thousands of them, who would serve as volunteers in this great undertaking. They would be dependable; they would be pleasant; they would be knowledgeable; they would be accommodating. The unique and distinctive capacity of our people in speaking the languages of the world would prove to be a tremendous asset beyond anything to be found elsewhere.

Well, it all worked out. The visitors came by the hundreds of thousands. Some came with suspicion and hesitancy, old and false images persisting in their minds. They came feeling they might get trapped in some unwanted situation by religious zealots. But they found something they never expected. They discovered not only the scenic wonder of this area, with its magnificent mountains and valleys, they found not only the wonderful spirit of the international games at their best, but they found beauty in this city. They found hosts who were gracious and accommodating and anxious to assist them. I do not wish to infer that such hospitality was limited to our people. The entire community joined together in a great expression of hospitality. But out of all of this came something wonderful for this Church. Representatives of the media, so often a tough and calloused group, with very few exceptions spoke and wrote in language both complimentary and accurately descriptive of a unique culture they found here, of the people they met and dealt with, of the spirit of hospitality which they felt.

Television carried the picture to billions of people across the earth. Newspapers and magazines ran story after story.

Thousands upon tens of thousands walked through Temple Square, admired the majestic house of the Lord, sat in the Tabernacle and listened to the matchless music of the choir. More thousands filled this great Conference Center to watch a wonderful production dealing with the Church and its worldwide mission. Other thousands visited the Family History Center. The media were hosted in the Joseph Smith Memorial Building. We were interviewed for television, radio, and the press by correspondents from many parts of this nation and from across the world. I am told that nearly 4,000 stories about the Church appeared in the German press alone.

Georgie Anne Geyer, prominent syndicated writer whose column appears in many newspapers, wrote as follows: “How on Earth could a largely Mormon state do something so daring as hosting an international celebrity meeting? Would the world come gladly to a state whose dominant religion asks members to abstain from alcohol, tobacco and even caffeine, three staples of international conferences?”

And then she went on to quote Raymond T. Grant, artistic director of the Olympic Arts Festival. He talked of the opening ceremony and said: “‘You know, 98 percent of the entire cast were volunteers, and that’s huge. In fact, most were not paid at all. This is an extraordinary story, and I’d link it directly to Mormon culture. As a Catholic boy from New York, I found it interesting that Brigham Young, the founder of the Utah settlement of the Mormons, built a theater before anything else.’

“He went on to tally up: The state has six dance companies; more pianos and harps are sold in Utah than anywhere in the United States; the Mormon Tabernacle Choir has [360] members; and the oldest Steinway dealership in Utah … was started as early as 1862. In Utah, their per capita spending on students is one of the lowest—yet they boast high test scores. ‘It has been fascinating for me, having to tap into this culture.’”

Miss Geyer concluded her story by writing: “It is simply the mix of a serious and upright religion, of families who foster and insist upon providing the highest levels of culture right along with the highest modern technology, and of generally sensible organizing and governing. In short, it is a modern mix of the old America” (“Salt Lake City and State of Utah Reveal Themselves to the World,” Salt Lake Tribune, 15 Feb. 2002, A15).

If there were time, I could give you many quotations from the seasoned journalists of the world, who wrote in a most laudatory fashion.

Was there anything negative? Of course. But it was minimal. We had private interviews with presidents of nations, with ambassadors, with leaders in business and other fields.

The thought of going from England to the United States was exciting, and performing in a Church-themed musical would be fantastic! I quickly signed up for the trip, not thinking about the cost.
I started saving my money, but I knew it was going to be difficult. I was at a new job, which had been amazing for work experience but didn’t pay well, and I was really struggling for money.
One afternoon I was looking at my bills. As I calculated everything I owed, I thought back to the previous Sunday. We’d had a lesson about paying tithing and the blessings that would come. During the lesson I’d been thinking about how I hadn’t yet paid my tithing that month. I realized that if I paid my tithing, my bank account would be emptied.
I wouldn’t have time to earn enough money to go on the trip or have any spending money while there. But I knew I had to pay my tithing.
The next Sunday, I filled out the tithing slip and gave it to my bishop. I wondered what I was going to do about the money I’d need for this trip, but I told myself that if I showed my faithfulness, everything would work out for the best. I hoped that meant I could find a way to go on the trip.
Not 10 minutes after I gave my tithing envelope to the bishop, a woman in my ward came up to me and handed me another envelope. “Just something to wish you luck on your trip. Have a good time!” she said. I’d been in the ward for only six months and didn’t know her very well, but I did know that she had 10 children and led a very busy life.
When I got home, I opened the envelope to find U.S. money. I immediately called her up and told her I couldn’t accept the money she had given me. She stopped me short. “Beth, this is something I felt really prompted to do. I really want to do this and help you out with your trip. I really want you to be able to have a good time.”
I sat at the desk in my room, absolutely stunned. I couldn’t believe what had just happened. As I stared at the money, I started wondering about the currency conversion. I had paid my tithing in British pounds, and she had given me U.S. dollars. I quickly looked on the Internet to see the conversion rates. As I typed in the amount of dollars I had just been given, I stared in shock at the screen. It was the exact amount that I had paid in tithing, plus 10 pence. I couldn’t believe my eyes!
Now I was back to my starting balance. I was so grateful to the Lord. With that, I would have just enough money to go on my trip, although I wouldn’t be able to go on any outings or buy anything, including food.
The next morning, a friend of mine called me out of the blue and told me about a job. It would last for one week and the hours were terrible, but it paid really well—enough to provide money for food and other activities while on my trip.
Even though it wasn’t easy for me to give up the last of my money for tithing, I knew that the money wasn’t mine—it was the Lord’s. I know that tithing can really bless lives when it is paid faithfully, and I saw this in my own life.

I sat in my living room crying. It had been only a few days since I had had a miscarriage, and I couldn’t stop thinking about the loss of our baby. So many things reminded me of the tragedy, especially my closet full of maternity clothes.
Every time I went into my room, the clothes seemed to stare at me from their hangers. Most of them were brand new and never worn, reminding me that I was no longer pregnant. I was still too weak to stand up for more than a few seconds to put them away.
Suddenly someone knocked on my door. When I opened it, I saw my visiting teacher standing on the doorstep. It was the same visiting teacher who had been watching my children when my doctor confirmed to my husband and me that I had miscarried.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “I need your help putting away my maternity clothes.”
I led her into the bedroom, emptied drawers, and stripped hangers. Then I lay in bed while she folded my clothes and gently laid them in boxes. After she had taped the boxes and carried them downstairs so I wouldn’t have to look at them, I felt my spirits lift.
Afterward she went into the kitchen, loaded the dishwasher, wiped the counters, and tidied up—things I still wasn’t able to do. When she left, my house was clean, my clothes were out of sight, and my heart wasn’t quite so heavy anymore.
The Apostle John taught, “There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear” (1 John 4:18). When we reach out to share the Savior’s love, we are strengthened by His courage. Because my visiting teacher was filled with the love of Christ, she came immediately when the Spirit prompted her to come.
We received many expressions of love during that terrible time, including flowers, cards, cupcakes, and childcare, all of which we appreciated. But the expression that helped the most was when my visiting teacher, not knowing how badly I needed her, knocked on my door, and asked, “Is there anything I can do for you?”

In 1985 Sister Sitati and I met a man named Roger Howard in Nairobi, Kenya. He and his wife, Eileen, were serving as a senior missionary couple. They invited us to join a small congregation that met in their home. It was the first time we had attended a meeting of members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We felt the Spirit at that first meeting, and since then we have attended church every Sunday.
A few months later, Roger baptized us, together with our nine-year-old son. Soon afterward, Roger and Eileen returned home at the end of their mission. We continued to hear from them every few years.
Early in 2010, Sister Sitati and I finally saw Roger again. He was now approaching 90 years old. Worn with old age and poor health, he leaned heavily on his walker. As we stood facing each other for the first time in so many years, we felt a mutual joy beyond description. Tears rolled freely as we tenderly embraced. We felt a deep gratitude for each other and for the marvelous gift of the gospel. We were united in faith as fellow citizens in the kingdom of God.
As I savored that moment, a scripture came to mind: “Remember the worth of souls is great in the sight of God; …
“And if it so be that you should labor all your days in crying repentance unto this people, and bring, save it be one soul unto me, how great shall be your joy with him in the kingdom of my Father!” (D&C 18:10, 15).
Roger passed on later that year. I had the distinct feeling that he was a man at peace with God. He had profoundly touched our lives by sharing the gospel. His example of consecrated service to his fellow men, along with that of the great army of young and senior missionaries serving in the Church, demonstrates one way we honor God.

In addition to my parents and teachers, I can think of many Church leaders who are or have been Good Samaritans. A former bishop of mine, Les Goates, and a stake mission president I served with, Franklin D. Richards, are two such leaders who exemplified the traits of the Good Samaritan. Bishop Goates impressed me with his outstanding leadership ability. His example was one of unconditional love for the people he worked with and served. He knew that unselfish giving was the way to reach people and touch their hearts.
A number of years ago I was called to be a counselor to Elder Richards in a stake mission presidency in the Salt Lake East Mill Creek Stake. During that time Elder Richards was particularly instrumental in helping me to better learn the gospel and to see the importance of scripture study. He also helped me to realize what a great opportunity it is to serve.

One day a ward member’s house was in danger of being flooded, so they helped move all the furniture and other things. It took until midnight, but they got everything out of the house before the water flooded it.

From the Australia Brisbane Mission, Sister Jessica Morgante says, “I’ve been blessed to have . . . assignments in this area, including being our service mission secretary, volunteer at Vinnies OP Shop, and providing ESL support.

“These assignments have helped me to grow temporally and spiritually and have strengthened my testimony of the love of our Heavenly Father. They have taught me to better understand and rely on Christ’s Atonement in all aspects of my life.”

Every night I pray and ask Heavenly Father to help me be kind to my brothers and sisters. I try to be good to them, but then there are times when I lose my temper. But after I get angry I feel sorry and tell them that I am sorry. I am really trying to be kind to my family.

15 Jonathan Browning Home
Jonathan Browning was a talented gunsmith who invented several repeating rifles. About three years after Jonathan and his wife Elizabeth were converted to the Church, they moved from Quincy, Illinois, to Nauvoo. They purchased a half-lot and lived in a two-room log cabin until their brick home and shop could be built.

The Hull England Stake collected for a winter jacket appeal for help for refugees, to keep the refugees and asylum seekers warm over winter. One ward donated hampers to the charity Changing Lives on Your Doorstep. These were given to families in need. Another ward built and packed two hundred ‘happiness boxes’ to go to a charity whose focus is to provide nutritious food for children in poverty. Aberdeen Ward participated in cooking and serving meals to 100 people in the city, working alongside those of other faiths.

My father was like that. He was a scientist. He lectured to audiences in countries around the world. Once I read a talk he had given to a large scientific convention. In it he referred to creation and a Creator as he talked about his science. I knew that few, if any, in that audience would have shared his faith. So I said to him with wonder and admiration, “Dad, you bore your testimony.” He looked at me with surprise on his face and said, “Did I?”
He had not even known that he was being brave. He simply said what he knew was true. When he bore testimony, even those who rejected it knew it came not by design but because it was part of him. He was what he was, wherever he was.

I have been persuaded to tell a story that involves my experience. Perhaps the lesson I learned from it might be of some help to you.
In the fateful war year of 1942, I was inducted into the United States Army Air Corps with the rank of private. One cold night at Chanute Field, Illinois, I was given all-night guard duty. As I walked around my post, shivering and at the same time trying to stay awake, I meditated and pondered the whole miserable, long night through. By morning I had come to some firm conclusions.
I was engaged to be married and knew that I could not support a wife on a private’s pay. I felt I needed to become an officer. In a day or two following my all-night vigil, I filed my application for Officer’s Candidate School. Shortly thereafter, on the appointed day, I was summoned, along with some others, before the board of inquiry, whose job it was to look into my qualifications and aptitude. My qualifications were few, but I had had two years of college and had served a mission for the Church in South America. I was twenty-two years of age and in good physical health. Possessing only these few qualifications, I was grateful to be able to put on my application that I had been a missionary for the Church.
The questions asked of me at the officers’ board of inquiry took a very surprising turn. Practically all of the questions centered on my missionary service and my beliefs. “Do you smoke?” “Do you drink?” “What do you think of others who smoke and drink?” I had no trouble answering these questions.
“Do you pray?” “Do you believe that an officer should pray?” The officer asking these last questions was a hardened career soldier. He did not look like he had prayed very often. I pondered, Would I give him offense if I answered as I truly believed? Should I give a noncontroversial answer and simply say that prayer is a personal matter? I wanted to be an officer very much so that I would not have to do all-night guard duty and kitchen duty, but mostly so my sweetheart and I could afford to be married.
I decided not to equivocate and responded that I did pray and that I felt officers might seek divine guidance, as some truly great generals had done. I added that officers at appropriate times should be prepared to lead their men in all appropriate activities, including prayer, if the occasion requires.
More interesting questions came from my examiners. “In times of war should not the moral code be relaxed?” one high-ranking officer asked. “Does not the stress of battle justify men in doing things that they would not do when at home in normal situations?”
Here was a chance to equivocate, to make a good impression by being really broad-minded. I knew perfectly well that the men who were asking me this question did not live by the standards that I had been taught, had tried to live by, and had taught to others. I thought to myself, Here go my chances to become an officer. The thought flashed through my mind that perhaps I could still be faithful to my beliefs and respond by saying that I had my own beliefs on the subject of morality but did not wish to impose my views on others. But there seemed to flash before my mind the faces of the many people to whom I had taught the law of chastity as a missionary. I knew perfectly well what the scriptures say about fornication and adultery.
I could not delay my answer any longer and responded to the question simply by saying, “I do not believe there is a double standard of morality.”
There were a few more questions testing, I think, whether or not I was trying to live and behave as we of our faith represent to the world. I left the hearing resigned to the fact that the officers who had asked these questions concerning our beliefs would not like the answers I had given and would surely score me very low. A few days later when the scores were posted, to my complete astonishment the score opposite my name read “95 percent.” I was amazed. I was in the first group taken for Officer’s Candidate School and was promoted to the rank of corporal to get into the school. I graduated, became a second lieutenant, married my sweetheart, and we “lived happily ever after.”

During his third year of law school, his wife was pregnant with their second child and he was an associate editor of the law review when the call came to serve as elders quorum president. “At this challenging time I accepted the call and prayed to Heavenly Father to make up the difference,” he said. “I needed help to fulfill my calling, successfully complete my education, find employment, and care for my young family. The blessings we received were far beyond what we deserved. That experience gave me great faith in the goodness of the Lord and His blessings upon those who earnestly strive to serve Him.”

“What a great point! I want to write that down.”
“Stephen, this isn’t the time for phone games. Lexi is sharing something important.”
“Hey, I was only taking notes!”
“I can’t believe Brother Henderson embarrassed me like that in front of the whole class! And all I was doing was writing down what Lexi said!”
“This situation reminds me of when Captain Moroni wrote some very unkind things to Pahoran, even though we learn that Pahoran hadn’t done anything wrong.”
“Huh. You’re right. I love that story.”
“Please help me forgive Brother Henderson, like Pahoran forgave Moroni.”
See Alma 60–61.

“Callie, wake up!” Mama called.
Callie opened her eyes a little and looked out the window by her bed. She could barely see the outline of the windmill against the morning sky.
A smile lighted Callie’s face. “It’s quilting day!” Callie cried. She hopped out of bed and dressed quickly.
Callie always liked quilting day. Ladies from miles around came to her home. Callie’s friend, Mary Porter, would come with her mother too. Living on the Texas plains prevented Callie from seeing her friends very often after school let out for the summer. And today would be the most special quilting day of all!
Callie rushed to the kitchen. Mama and Papa and her brothers, Joseph and Tom, were already at the table, eating steaming bowls of mush.
“You’re looking mighty cheerful today, Callie,” said Papa.
“It’s quilting day. They’re going to do my quilt today!” exclaimed Callie.
Papa put down his spoon. “I plumb forgot! Was I supposed to put up the quilting frame in the front room, Eliza?” he said to Callie’s mother.
Callie’s heart felt like it skipped a beat. “You didn’t put up the frame?”
Mama smiled. “Now, Henry, don’t tease the child.”
Papa laughed, and so did Joseph and Tom.
“Don’t worry, Callie. The quilting frame is up and ready to go,” said Papa with a big grin.
Callie relaxed. Papa was always teasing.
After breakfast Papa and the boys went to work in the fields, and Callie helped her mother in the kitchen. When she was through, Callie went into the front room. Her Flower Garden quilt was stretched tightly on the frame, waiting to be quilted. Months ago Callie had helped Mama pick the many colored pieces from her scrap bag to go onto the pale yellow background. Mama had brought her scrap bag all the way from Missouri before Callie was born.
Callie ran her hands lightly over the beautiful flowers Mama had carefully pieced together. The Texas plains were too drab. Except for the blue sky, all Callie could see outside were continuous tans and browns. A colorful quilt would brighten the days.
Soon the ladies began arriving in their horse-drawn wagons. Mrs. Porter and Mary were the last to arrive. At first Callie felt shy. It had been so long since she had seen Mary that it was almost like meeting a stranger. Then Mary smiled, and it was as though they had seen each other only yesterday.
Mary had brought her beautiful china doll, Josephine, and a little basket full of doll clothes. “Mama made new clothes for Josephine,” she said.
The girls went outside and sat in the shade of the house. Callie marveled at the array of Josephine’s beautiful clothes. Callie brought out her own doll, love-worn old Sally, and the girls played dolls all morning. By afternoon it was warm even in the shade.
“Let’s go into the dugout,” said Callie. “It’s cool there.”
“Ugh! I hate dugouts. You’ve never had to live in one.”
“Yes, I have,” Callie told her. “In fact, I was born in this one.” She raised the wooden door to the underground room.
“We lived here until our house was built.”
“We lived in one, too,” said Mary. “And I remember how dull and dreary it was.”
“My mama felt that way, too,” Callie said. “But the most important thing at that time was to get the well dug and the windmill built. Everyone around here had to live in dugouts for a while.”
“Well, I’d rather stay up here and be hot than go down there and be cool,” said Mary.
Callie smiled. “OK. Let’s go inside. I want to see my quilt.”
In the front room the ladies were laughing and talking as their nimble fingers stitched the quilt layers together.
Callie and Mary went back outside and played until the ladies began to leave. Mrs. Porter and Mary climbed into their wagon. “You come and see us real soon!” called Mrs. Porter.
Callie and her mother went back inside. Mama laid the finished quilt in Callie’s arms.
“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen!” Callie cried, hugging the quilt close to her. She raced to her room and spread the Flower Garden quilt on her bed. The plain room instantly became bright and cheery. That night Callie slept soundly under the new quilt.
The next day things were back to normal around the ranch. That afternoon while Mama and Callie were working in the garden, they heard hooves. Callie stood up and shaded her eyes against the sun. “It’s Mr. Walker.”
Mr. Walker rode up to them. He tipped his hat. “Afternoon, Mrs. Logan. I’m riding around to tell everyone that the Porters’ house caught on fire last night. The family got out all right, but the house burned to the ground. They lost everything. We’ll be taking up a collection at the schoolhouse.”
“Mercy!” cried Mama. “I’ll gather up some things for them. You’re sure everyone is all right?”
“Yes, ma’am. But they’ll be back in their dugout for a while until they can raise another house.”
After Mr. Walker left, Mama gathered things to send to the Porters. “Your papa can take these to the schoolhouse tomorrow,” she said.
All Callie could think of was Mary and Josephine and Josephine’s new clothes. Oh, Mary had been so proud of those clothes, and she’d loved Josephine so much!
Callie had a hard time eating dinner that night. When she went to bed, she lay under her quilt and looked out the window at the stars and the windmill. The sound of the windmill usually soothed her to sleep, but it didn’t tonight. She thought about Mary living in the hated dugout where there were no stars and no windmills to see.
The next morning Callie woke up very early. She got out of bed, folded the precious flowered quilt, and took it into the kitchen. Papa was carrying things out to the wagon. Callie handed him the quilt. “This is for Mary.”
Papa put his big hand on her shoulder. “I’ll tell her,” he said softly.
Callie stood in the doorway and watched him drive away. Her stomach felt funny, and she had a lump in her throat. But she felt good too.
Mama put her arms around Callie’s shoulders. “Callie, I have a new quilt pattern called Texas Windmill. It’s the prettiest, swirliest, most colorful quilt I ever saw. How would you like to help me pick out the colors, and I’ll get started on it right away. I think it would look real pretty on your bed.”
Callie smiled. “I’d like that.”

When Liisa, 20, first heard about the job at the Delfinaario (dolphin aquarium), she was excited. She had good qualifications. In the Finnish equivalent of high school, she had studied biology, but also mathematics, science, physics, and chemistry.
“All those things are part of the job,” she explains. “And I’ve always been interested in animals.” And the job would help her earn money to pay for college in Sweden. Her enthusiasm and background paid off. She was hired.

Lots of young men prepare financially to serve a mission. In Africa part of that preparation is earning enough money for a passport. Sedrick Tshiambine earned what he needed in an enterprising way: by selling bananas from the back of a bicycle.
Sedrick lives in Luputa, Democratic Republic of Congo. He’s one of 45 young men in the Luputa district who is working to save money for a passport to go on a mission. In DR Congo a passport costs $250, which is about two-thirds the cost of building a house.
But Sedrick was undaunted. He earned his mission money by cycling 15–30 kilometers (9–19 miles) from Luputa to small villages, where he purchased bananas, then cycling back across the hot African savanna, his bike heavily laden with fruit to sell in the city. Each week he traveled about 180 kilometers (112 miles) along the sandy roads, and only once did an unbalanced load cause a tumble.
For his efforts Sedrick earned about $1.25 a week, or $65.00 a year. It took him four years to save enough to purchase his passport, but now he knows his future will include a full-time mission because he is financially ready to answer the call to serve.

Later that week, Tim had to do another hard thing. He was learning how to ride a bike. He had to practice and practice. He even fell off the bike.
“Do you want to keep trying?” Dad asked.
Tim thought about the hike. That was hard too. But he did it.
“Yes!” said Tim. “I can do hard things!”
Tim got back on his bike. He wanted to try again!

A favorite with our children is a trunk full of old, outdated clothing at Grandma and Grandpa’s house. They spend hours dressing up in old suit coats, filmy gowns, high heels, jewelry, gloves, and hats. Ask older people for unwanted, old clothing, or pick up a few items, including shoes and handbags, at your local Deseret Industries or other thrift store. These can be easily assembled for a cherished “dress-up box” that can be given to a family, younger brothers and sisters, or grandparents who often have young visitors.