Gospel Story Finder

In July 1939 the Gestapo arrested four missionaries; they lived on bread and water for 40 days until President Toronto was able to negotiate their release. On 24 August, Church headquarters directed the few remaining missionaries to evacuate. President Toronto sent his family first, then stayed behind a few days to arrange the departure of the missionaries and conclude other mission affairs. He set apart 21-year-old Josef Roubícek to preside in his absence. In Denmark Elder Joseph Fielding Smith, then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, assured Sister Toronto that the war would not start until her husband and the missionaries were all safely evacuated. President Toronto found passage on the last train to leave before war engulfed Europe.

If you had been in the small town of Wales, Utah, one Friday afternoon last June, you would have seen a miracle—bone-tired teenagers running uphill to go do some more hard work.
About 200 youth and leaders from the Orem Utah South Central Stake had already put in two days of hard labor. Sweating alongside the residents of Wales, they had cleaned weeds and brush from the town cemetery and cemented fence posts around it, painted the town hall and the pavilion in the town park, repaired roads and removed trash and debris, roofed and painted the water treatment chlorinator house, demolished old sheds and chicken coops, and repaired and painted barns and fences. They had installed a handsome new “Welcome to Wales” sign at the town park.
Now, as quitting time neared, most of the projects were completed. But the chain link fence around the cemetery was only about a third finished, and the workers there were exhausted. So a call went out for volunteers from among the tired youth who had finished their own projects.
Almost instantly, truckloads of young men and women came pouring into the cemetery. And those who couldn’t find a place in a truck came running up the hill. Within 40 minutes the fence was completed. There were high fives and handshakes, and a smile on every sweaty, sunburned face.
The project had begun with stake leaders searching for an activity that would not merely entertain the youth, but stretch their souls through service. The result was a “call” to the “Coalbed Mission” for every youth in the stake between the ages of 14 and 18.
The 12 youth from Wales were also called to the mission. The contingent from Orem nearly doubled the population of Wales. All were housed with local residents, and friendships quickly formed.
Since the project, young men and women from Orem have gone back to Wales every chance they get. Letters go back and forth. Long distance calls appear on phone bills. There are photographs of Orem youth on walls in Wales, and photographs of folks from Wales tacked on walls in Orem.
“The event had a big positive effect on Wales,” said the bishop there, Dennis Roberts. “All the memories come back every time we ride by the park or look at the post office or the new fence.”

“Christian Villadsen! Are you one of us or one of them?” demanded Hans. His clenched fists hit against his pockets, bulging with stones. The other boys crouched beside Hans, glaring at Christian.
A cold shiver ran up Christian’s back. What’s happening? he wondered. What has become of our peaceful and friendly village? Now there seems to be only hatred and fear!
He hadn’t listened like Grandmother, but that didn’t make it right to hide like this, waiting to throw stones at two men whose only crime was preaching a new religion.
“Well?” His friends waited for an answer.
They were his only friends since Peter Sorensen had joined the Mormon church. Now, no one dared to be Peter’s friend.
Hans shoved a stone into Christian’s hand. “Stay and help drive away the devils or crawl home. But decide now.”
Christian dropped the stone as if it were fresh from the hearth fire. “I have chores to do,” he said, pushing through the bushes they were hiding behind.
“Beware, Christian, or you may suffer Peter Sorensen’s fate,” Hans called after him.
Christian hurried down the road so fast that he didn’t even stop to warn the two men he passed about the danger ahead. But he couldn’t hurry fast enough to shut out the sound of thudding stones or pained cries. And he couldn’t outrun his feelings of fear and shame.
As he passed the Sorensen farm, Christian turned his head so he couldn’t see the house’s broken windows, the burned barn, or the blackened fields that had been nearly ready for harvest. If the villagers discovered that Grandmother was listening to the Mormon preachers, this could happen to them also.
“Christian!” Peter Sorensen called.
Christian’s stomach churned with fear. What if someone sees me talking to Peter? he worried.
Peter’s face was swollen and dark with bruises, a warning from the villagers to anyone else who thought of listening to the Mormon preachers.
“I wanted you to know that we leave for America tomorrow,” Peter said, and his smile was warm and friendly as ever.
Christian was embarrassed. He couldn’t think of anything to say to Peter, who had always been his best friend.
“May you also find the happiness we have found, Christian.”
“Happiness?” Christian gasped in surprise. “Is it happiness to have your farm destroyed, to be mobbed by your neighbors, and to be driven from your homeland?”
Peter smiled. “It’s happiness to have found the true church of God. That’s worth giving up everything for.”
Christian shook his head. “Nothing is worth that,” he disagreed.
“You say that only because the truth hasn’t touched your heart yet. When it does, you’ll know what to do and you won’t be afraid. May the Lord bless you, Christian. I’ll always be your friend. Perhaps we’ll meet again soon.” Then Peter turned and limped slowly into the house.
If Grandmother doesn’t stop going to those Mormon meetings, the villagers will drive us away, too, thought Christian. Fear twisted his stomach again. “Certainly nothing is worth that!” he declared. And what if the missionaries are speaking lies, like hr. Dam, the priest, keeps saying? Christian wondered. And how can he be so sure?
As Christian approached his house, he was nearly knocked to the ground by hr. Dam, who came charging through the door like an angry bull. “Take care, fru Villadsen! Such talk is dangerous,” he shouted over his shoulder.
When he saw Christian, hr. Dam wagged a finger in his face. “If your grandmother doesn’t stop listening to those devil preachers, you, too, may awake to find your farm burning.”
“If you’ll tell me what lies these missionaries speak, perhaps I can convince Grandmother. Lies aren’t worth being persecuted for.”
“Smart boy,” said hr. Dam, nodding. “But do you really think I’d listen to their lies myself?”
“You’ve never heard them speak?”
“Of course not!”
“Then how do you know,” pursued Christian, “whether they speak lies or the truth?”
Hr. Dam’s face turned red with anger. “What a fool you are!” he shouted at Christian.
“Hr. Dam will tell the mob, and we’ll lose everything,” Christian told his grandmother later. “Certainly nothing is worth that.”
Grandmother smiled. “Finding the true church is worth that and much more. Tonight, at the fjord, I am going to be baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” she said.
“No! If the mob finds you …”
“We will pray,” Grandmother said calmly, “that they don’t.”
She wouldn’t listen to Christian’s pleadings to stay away from the Mormon meeting. In the end, he went with her, to help her escape if necessary. In the meantime, he decided, it won’t hurt me to listen to the missionaries, just enough to see if the words they speak are worth all the persecutions.
The night was clear, and a crisp breeze rippled the waters of the fjord as Christian and his grandmother crept quietly through the darkness to the meeting place. There, everyone lovingly greeted each other. Christian listened carefully to the missionaries, trying to find the lies that caused such hatred in the village. He could find none. When the baptisms began, Christian pushed forward for a better view.
Grandmother stepped into the waters to be baptized, and Christian felt a hand on his arm. Peter Sorensen was standing at his side. “I hoped we would meet again soon,” he said simply.
Then Grandmother was standing with others, while the fjord waters dripped from their clothing to form puddles on the ground. Her face was radiant with joy. “It is worth everything,” she said. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
Christian felt so choked with emotion that he almost didn’t hear the angry voices and tramping feet moving up the road toward them. The beautiful, joyous feeling in his heart was shattered suddenly by fear. “Hurry, into the fields!” came the warning.
The group on the bank disappeared as quickly as it had gathered. Christian and Peter grabbed Grandmother and plunged into the fields, crouching to stay out of sight. Behind them, the enraged mob began its search. Closer and closer they came to where Christian, Grandmother, and Peter hid.
The mob was now so close that Christian could see their angry faces. The friends and neighbors they had known all their lives were now trying to destroy them. “Burn the fields,” cried hr. Dam, his face twisted with hatred. “That will drive them out.”
“We should have brought the dogs to hunt them down.” That was Hans speaking—their friend Hans—and his face was distorted with rage.
Christian looked at his grandmother and Peter beside him. They were afraid. He knew that. But their faces were beautifully peaceful and calm. There was no twisting, darkening hatred here, even though there was reason enough. Instead, the words of the missionaries had given them something that left no room for such feelings, something that even fear could not drive out.
And in his heart, though Christian was not quite ready to fully accept all that the missionaries said, he knew that he, too, had found something priceless. The truth is worth persecution, he decided.

Ever since he was a little boy, David Burnell dreamed of serving his country in the military. So shortly after he returned from serving the Lord in the Canada Halifax Mission, David joined the U.S. Air Force. Now he’s not only a staff sergeant, he’s also a communications and computer specialist at Ellsworth Air Force Base in South Dakota.
The military has become an alternate route to education for many people. There are opportunities to receive training and college credit in several fields, including the ones David chose.
“I had a hard time visualizing success in going to school and being married and working all at the same time,” David said. “It scared me, so I came in the service, hoping at the same time to serve my country and maybe obtain a little bit of education. It turned out that I’ve obtained a lot.” With the help of his military training, he is close to a bachelor’s degree in the management of computer information systems at Park College in Missouri.
In high school, David was an avid pole vaulter, wrestler, and football player with a 3.3 grade point average. He took a few college prep classes and even registered twice at a junior college, but never attended. He lost his motivation when he had trouble getting the classes he wanted.
Thanks to a patriotic father, the military had always been in David’s mind. He did a summer reserve program with the Marines when he was 17 and liked it, so after his mission he decided to try the service full-time.
But life in the service can also bring unexpected challenges, like learning to deal with a new way of life and being away from your family.
“Sometimes the life-style can make you hard or callous,” David says. “It could desensitize you if you don’t study your scriptures and pray frequently and do all those things that we’re commanded to do.”
Interested? Shop around until you find the program or military school you want, and don’t sign anything until you know what you’re getting. You may have to wait a while to get into the right program, but it will be worth it. Also, know how useful it will be after you leave the service. Some training will help you get a job in the civilian world and some won’t.
“I would recommend people grabbing as much education as they can prior to coming in the military,” David says. “They would have a wider span of knowledge where they could make a better decision. Sometimes when you come in right out of school or right off a mission and you haven’t gone to school, you don’t really have the opportunity to see a whole lot of different options.”

Like so many young people do, when I was young I occasionally dreamed of being rich and famous. I am now grateful that that dream was not realized. My understanding of what success really is has changed over the years of my life. It began to change on my first mission to Brazil over 45 years ago.
One day, my companion and I went out to visit a poor sister who was widowed. In those days there were no stakes or wards in Brazil, only mission districts and branches. Sometimes missionaries looked after the members.
Finally, we arrived at a humble home in a very isolated area. This home had a dirt floor and open windows without any glass. The wind and the flies could come right through. Never before in my life had I been in a home where people live with open windows and a dirt floor. Despite this, the house was clean and neat, curtains were hung, and the boards on the inside of the house were whitewashed. Despite being primitive, the home had a cozy feeling about it. We asked after this poor widow’s health and well-being. She seemed quite happy and contented. We then began to have something of a gospel lesson. She participated freely. We thought that we were the teachers, but it soon became apparent that she knew more than we did. Her faith was deep, and her knowledge of the great eternal truths of where we came from, who we are, and where we are going was very profound.
I had my eyes opened. It was astonishing to hear this sister in these humble circumstances explain the great purposes of God in the grand scheme of the earth and its creation. I was reminded about what James said in his great epistle: “Hath not God chosen the poor of this world rich in faith, and heirs of the kingdom which he hath promised to them that love him?” (James 2:5).
In contrast to this experience, I have seen many who were wealthy who have wasted their talents and energy to a point where their spiritual understanding was dulled. Some were so preoccupied with money and things that they missed the grand purpose of life. I am sure that while poor people did not choose to be poor, often it is within their grasp to know, understand, and enjoy the really important things. So if one does not have all the things of this world one would wish, one can still have and enjoy the rich, satisfying gifts of life and the blessings of God, such as faith, family, and friends.
This poor widow on the outskirts of São Paulo made the most of her straitened circumstances—circumstances that could not easily be changed. She realized that she should not make her life miserable by wishing it were otherwise. We ought always to try to improve on the things that can be improved, but there are some circumstances that cannot be changed. This impoverished woman enjoyed her independence, and she owed no one any money. She was industrious and thrifty. She crocheted beautiful cloths which were sold in the city to satisfy her simple wants, but she was not poor in spirit. She was rich in the things that really matter.
From that experience many years ago, I learned much. I am persuaded that this humble widow who lived in a house with a dirt floor and no panes in the window is an heir to the exaltation of God.

Several years ago, while preparing for a business trip, I began to experience chest pain. Out of concern, my wife decided to accompany me. On the first leg of our flight, the pain intensified to the point that it was difficult for me to breathe. When we landed, we left the airport and went to the local hospital, where, after multiple tests, the attending physician declared us safe to continue our travel.
We returned to the airport and boarded a flight to our final destination. As we were descending, the pilot came on the intercom and asked me to identify myself. The flight attendant approached, said they had just received an emergency call, and told me there was an ambulance waiting at the airport to take me to the hospital.
We boarded the ambulance and were rushed to the local emergency room. There we were met by two anxious doctors who explained that I had been misdiagnosed and actually had a serious pulmonary embolism, or blood clot, in my lung, which required immediate medical attention. The doctors informed us that many patients do not survive this condition. Knowing we were far from home and not sure if we were prepared for such life-altering events, the doctors said that if there was anything in our lives that we needed to consider, now was the time.
I remember well how almost instantaneously in that anxious moment, my entire perspective changed. What seemed so important just moments earlier was now of little interest. My mind raced away from the comfort and cares of this life to an eternal perspective—thoughts of family, children, my wife, and ultimately an assessment of my own life.
How were we doing as a family and individually? Were we living our lives consistent with the covenants we had made and the Lord’s expectations, or had we perhaps unintentionally allowed the cares of the world to distract us from those things which matter most?

After I earned my black belt in tae kwan do, I went to a special ceremony for all the new black belts. Before it started, my instructor told us what we would do during the ceremony, which included drinking tea. I knew Heavenly Father said not to drink tea. I explained to my instructor why I could not drink tea. He let me drink water instead. My mother said she was proud of me for honoring my baptismal covenants and sharing my beliefs. I know following Heavenly Father’s commandments will always make me happy.
Joseph R., age 10, Texas, USA

Years later, when a good friend of mine took her own life, I decided to do some fundraising for a suicide bereavement group. One day I got a phone call from one of the group coordinators. She said there was another volunteer opportunity and my name just wouldn’t leave her mind.

She asked if I would be interested in volunteering as a support worker for a rape crisis center. As a support worker, I would meet with victims, talk them through what was going to happen, and tell them about the importance of counseling. I would also just be a support to them and their families. I told the woman that I felt the reason my name kept coming to her mind was because of what I had been through. I received the training and worked as a volunteer support worker for a couple of years.

This experience was so rewarding for me. Each time I would get the call to go to the crisis center, I always said a prayer. I would say, “Heavenly Father, You know this person, You know what she has been through, and You know what she needs to hear. Please let me be an instrument in Your hands to help them hear what they need to hear.”

As I helped victims work toward recovery, I would tell them that they had a choice. I would say, “Are you going to stay a victim or be a survivor? Some days you’ll feel that power is taken from you, but you can take the power and control back by not letting the memory of the event destroy who you are. That is how you become a survivor.”

Sometimes victims are not ready to go to counseling for a long time, but I would always encourage them and tell them that it is so important to go when they are ready. I always tried to make sure that a person who walked in as a victim would walk out as a survivor. On my way back home, I always thanked Heavenly Father for allowing me to be of some small help to others. This gave me the strength to move forward in my own life.

I had to write to tell you of my feelings toward one of your articles in the June 1998 issue. “Sunday Drive” caused me to think of beginning junior high last year. That first day I saw a lot of things, especially people I thought were some of the most spiritual I knew doing things they shouldn’t. When this article stated “Friends are important. When you pick your friends, you choose the direction of your life,” I almost started crying. When I saw these people fall, I realized that could have been me if I didn’t follow the Lord. Thank you for the wonderful articles you write every month about friends. I love this magazine, and I truly love the Lord.
Name WithheldLayton, Utah

Across the desk from me sits a delightful young couple. They have come to ask me to perform the marriage ceremony for them tomorrow in the temple of the Lord. The young man has penetrating eyes, curly hair, and a captivating smile. The young woman is alert and lovely, her dark hair adding glory to her shining face, which she frequently lifts up to her companion in adoration. Here is the love of youth at its best and sweetest. And when they are comfortably seated near one another so that their hands are sometimes touching, I say to them:
Now, tomorrow is the glorious and eventful day. I’ll meet you at the temple in the beautiful room decorated in white, typifying purity. The walls of the temple will shut out the sounds of the world below. Here in sweet composure the ceremony will be performed to unite you two for all eternity. Your immediate family and closest friends will be there and with you will rise to spiritual heights in this heaven upon earth.
And when the ceremony is completed, you two will go forth from those sacred precincts, your thoughts on a high spiritual plane a “little lower than the angels.” Hand in hand, with your eyes to the light, you will go forth to conquer and build and love and exalt yourselves and your family.
Goodbye until tomorrow, John and Mary, and God bless you always.

My wife and I were baptized on March 26, 1997. Three months after our baptism, our bishop called me to be Sunday School president. I resisted, saying that I could not fulfill this calling because I wasn’t prepared for it. The bishop, however, persuaded me to accept this challenge and gave me the Sunday School manual to study.
Two months later the Gospel Doctrine teacher called me during the week to tell me she could not be at church on Sunday to give her lesson on section 98 of the Doctrine and Covenants. She named three other people who could substitute for her. I contacted them, but they all had previous engagements. As I hung up the phone after the last conversation, I felt that Heavenly Father wanted me to teach this class.
I was not familiar with the Doctrine and Covenants, but with the help of the bishop’s first counselor, the ward library, and the lesson manual, I was able to prepare the lesson.
I was nervous to teach ward members who knew more about the gospel than I did. But during my short time in the Church, I had learned that if we pray to Heavenly Father, He will help us. On Sunday before the class began, I asked for peace and strength. As I entered the classroom, the brothers and sisters were smiling and receptive, and they helped me. All participated attentively, and I felt that the Spirit of the Lord had blessed me to impart that important lesson.
Afterward I had the assurance that Heavenly Father only gives us tasks that we are able to fulfill—with His assistance and help from other members.

As a small boy, I remember being intrigued [interested] by my grandmother’s magnifying glass which she used in her old age to read and do needlework. When the glass was in focus, everything I looked at was greatly magnified [made larger]. But I was most intrigued by what happened when the lens concentrated the sunlight on an object. When it passed through the magnifying glass, the sunlight’s power was absolutely amazing.
Like the images in my grandmother’s magnifying glass, [through priesthood blessings] we can become stronger, our talents and ability can be magnified and multiplied, our understanding can be greatly enlarged, and our spirituality can flower.

My baseball team was playing a very important game. My team was behind by one run in the last inning. There were two outs, and the bases were loaded. I was waiting for my turn to bat. Unfortunately, the batter ahead of me struck out, and we lost the game. Many of the other players on my team got angry. Some even threw their gear in the dugout. I felt sorry for the player who struck out. I knew he must have felt terrible. I put my arm around his shoulder and said, “It’s OK. You did the best you could.” He felt much better, and so did I.

President Russell M. Nelson issued a similar type of invitation in the April 2015 general conference, when he taught us that “the Sabbath is a delight.” He said, “How do we hallow the Sabbath day? In my much younger years, I studied the work of others who had compiled lists of things to do and things not to do on the Sabbath. It wasn’t until later that I learned from the scriptures that my conduct and my attitude on the Sabbath constituted a sign between me and my Heavenly Father [see Exodus 31:13; Ezekiel 20:12, 20]. With that understanding, I no longer needed lists of dos and don’ts. When I had to make a decision whether or not an activity was appropriate for the Sabbath, I simply asked myself, ‘What sign do I want to give to God?’ That question made my choices about the Sabbath day crystal clear.”

I grew up in Coronel, Chile. When I was seven years old, I memorized a poem of fourteen verses and recited it before an audience of twelve hundred people. After that experience, I developed an increased desire to read more. I read about four little books a week. At that time my mother gave me a Bible. When I was twelve, I read the Bible in about ten months. I was impressed with the history of the Old Testament, and with the Atonement of the Savior in the New Testament. All my life I tried to find another book of scripture that would teach me more about these things.

Recently I took my three-year-old granddaughter to a sacrament meeting where a young man was speaking prior to leaving for a mission. I had brought the usual books and things to encourage her to be reverent, but she’s a bright and energetic little girl, so at one point I stood her beside me on the bench so she could see the missionary who was speaking. Then I whispered in her ear, “This young man is going on a mission, and that means he is going to live far away from home and go around telling people all about Jesus.” She looked all around the chapel filled with people and said, “Well, where is Jesus anyway?” She had seen His picture in Primary, but she could not find Him in the audience.
I cannot tell you how glad I was that I could tell her where Jesus is. As she can understand, I will tell her who He is, what He has done for her and for me, and what He can mean in her life. I was reminded on that occasion what a great opportunity we as women have to influence the lives of those around us. I love my children and my grandchildren, and I desire to keep them safe. Sometimes this world is a frightening place to be. I believe, however, that women have unique opportunities and special gifts and talents to protect, nurture, and influence others. We can create places of security where marriages, children, and families can thrive and avoid the evil of the world.

I was told once of a young man who for many years was more or less the brunt of every joke in his school. He had some disadvantages, and it was easy for his peers to tease him. Later in his life he moved away. He eventually joined the army and had some successful experiences there in getting an education and generally stepping away from his past. Above all, as many in the military do, he discovered the beauty and majesty of the Church and became active and happy in it.

Then, after several years, he returned to the town of his youth. Most of his generation had moved on but not all. Apparently, when he returned quite successful and quite reborn, the same old mind-set that had existed before was still there, waiting for his return. To the people in his hometown, he was still just old “so-and-so”?—you remember the guy who had the problem, the idiosyncrasy, the quirky nature, and did such and such. And wasn’t it all just hilarious?

Little by little this man’s Pauline effort to leave that which was behind and grasp the prize that God had laid before him was gradually diminished until he died about the way he had lived in his youth. He came full circle: again inactive and unhappy and the brunt of a new generation of jokes. Yet he had had that one bright, beautiful midlife moment when he had been able to rise above his past and truly see who he was and what he could become. Too bad, too sad that he was again to be surrounded by a whole batch of Lot’s wives, those who thought his past was more interesting than his future. They managed to rip out of his grasp that for which Christ had grasped him. And he died sad, though through little fault of his own.

Church members in Liberia quote scripture and sing “How Firm a Foundation” with uncommon conviction.

In the role of high sheriff, Brother Gibson had the opportunity to appoint his own chaplain to give support at shrieval church services and other formal events. After much consideration, he chose Sister Kate McColgan, the chair of the Inter Faith Council of Wales. Sister McColgan, also a member of the Church, brings a wealth of experience to the role with her interfaith work and 30 years of experience as a family lawyer.

I remember the story of one of our LDS chaplains, a man of great faith, devotion, and courage. For a year or more he had been in the central highlands of South Vietnam during the war there. …
He was not always a member of this Church. As a boy in the southern U.S. he grew up in a religious home where the Bible was read and where the family attended the little church of the community. He desired the gift of the Holy Ghost of which he had read in the scriptures but was told that it was not available. The desire never left him. He grew to manhood. He served in the U.S. Army. He searched but never found the thing he most wanted. Between military enlistments, he became a prison guard. While sitting in the gun tower of a California prison, he meditated on his own deficiencies and prayed to the Lord that he might receive the Holy Ghost and satisfy the hunger which he felt in his soul. That hunger had not been fully satisfied with sermons to which he had listened.
One day two young men knocked at his door. His wife invited them to return when her husband would be at home. These two young men taught that family by the Holy Spirit and they were baptized. I have heard this man testify to the effect that as he was taught by the power of the Holy Spirit, he was edified and rejoiced with those who taught him. Out of that marvelous beginning, with the gift of the Holy Ghost, came a shedding forth of light and truth that gave peace to the dying, comfort to the bereaved, blessings to the wounded, courage to the timid, and faith to those who had scoffed.1