Gospel Story Finder

I used to look at the Old Testament in sort of the same way I looked at fairy tales—neat stories that didn’t really mean much to me. Separated by thousands of years of history, they seemed out of my grasp. However, my seminary teacher loved the Old Testament, and his enthusiasm and humble testimony began to instill in me a greater reverence for these scriptures.
One night as I was reading, I came across this scripture: “And the Lord spake unto Moses face to face, as a man speaketh unto his friend” (Ex. 33:11).
I read these words and thought little of it. The Lord spoke to Moses. Of course he did. It was only natural that the Lord would appear personally to one of the greatest prophets that ever lived.
Then I prayed, and I started to think about that scripture. I knew Heavenly Father wouldn’t appear to me that night, but maybe I should try to speak to him “as a man speaketh to his friend.” It was then that I felt his love envelop me. As I prayed, I restated what I had read in the scriptures.
“Moses spoke to thee face to face, just like a friend.” I stopped. I said it again and then again. Then it hit me. The realization was so profound, yet so simple. Moses saw God face to face. Suddenly, the days of the Old Testament weren’t so distant, and I realized that Moses was a mortal, just like me. The scriptures came to life in my mind; I simply knew that Moses had actually lived and breathed, that he, too, had experienced challenges and struggled with lack of confidence. Yet he talked to the Messiah, the Jehovah of Israel, his Lord and Redeemer, my Lord and Redeemer, in the same manner that I spoke to my own earthly father.
“Heavenly Father,” I prayed again, “I want this more than anything else. I want to return to thee!” I closed my prayer and crawled into bed, feeling His love more tangibly than I ever had before in my life.

Several years ago while attending a priesthood leadership session of the Zurich-Munich Region, I witnessed the application of the very counsel Elder Groberg was directing to his children in the letter he sent to them. Regional representative, now temple president, Johann Wondra arose and spoke to the audience. He invited Brother Kuno Müeller, who was seated near the front of the building, to stand. Brother Wondra then told the congregation: “Here is the missionary who brought the gospel and all that it means to my wife and me. Without him, where would I be?” He then turned to Brother Müeller as though he were the only one present, and said: “Brother Müeller, I love you. My family and I think of you every day.” Both Brother Wondra and Brother Müeller were weeping. In fact, we all had moist eyes that reflected touched hearts and tender souls.

Although I wasn’t baptized until I was 16, my family pioneer heritage stretches back to my great grandparents, Abraham and Minerva Fernandez, who joined the church in 1895 in Honolulu. Two years prior, Abraham was ousted from his position as Privy Counselor to Queen Liliuokalani in the coup of 1893. During this tumultuous time, one of his daughters, Adelaide, became seriously ill. Shortly after Peter Kealaka‘i Honua gave Adelaide a priesthood blessing, her health was restored and my family became interested in learning more about the church and joined shortly after that. In 1895, the queen was woefully forced into house arrest in an upper room in the ‘Iolani Palace. Few were allowed to visit her. My grandmother, Abraham’s wife, Minerva, was one of them. During these visits, she talked about her newfound faith.

Her life changed forever when she awoke in the Prince Charles Hospital in Brisbane with two artificial heart valves. As a patient, surprised to be alive and able to serve, Jane wandered around the hospital visiting other patients.
Jane says, “I feel a deep and abiding gratitude, what a gift all these extra days and years have been. I’ve gained significant insights to pain and patience and have become compassionate in ways that I doubt I could have grasped from any other experience.”

The following year I left Barranquilla, Colombia, to go to Bogotá for a month with my mother because she needed chemotherapy. During that time I prayed constantly and felt close to the Lord. I decided to change my university major, and through inspiration, I learned that the Lord wanted me to devote my life to teaching children. When I returned to school, I began working on a degree in special education.
I knew that Heavenly Father had given me my calling in Primary to prepare me. As I served, I discovered my true vocation, and as I lived the gospel and lost myself in service, I felt that I was in the Lord’s arms.

My grandmother, Isabelle Bawden Bangerter, was known to be a woman of great faith. She acquired her faith as a child and worked to increase it all her life. She taught Relief Society for many years, and among Relief Society sisters she was known as a theologian, a woman who knew the gospel well and could teach it from the scriptures. She was still studying the scriptures when she died at the age of 97. Grandma Bangerter was a woman who was confident in her eternal roles and responsibilities. When I was a young mother, I asked her if it was possible to rear a righteous posterity in a world filled with wickedness. She raised herself up, and pointing at me, she emphatically said, “Yes! You must! That is why you are here!” Her teaching inspired me to become more intentional about my responsibilities and to approach life with greater faith. It is possible to have that kind of direct and inspired teaching every week in Relief Society.

We also met a faithful sister who came to New York from Haiti to be treated for cancer. During her stays, the ward council did everything it could to help her and make sure she had what she needed, including transportation to and from her treatments. We were blessed to serve and visit her during this time. We hoped for a better ending, but she passed away.
Those two experiences represent what the ward did for people—help them and lift them. We are grateful for these and other remarkable experiences.

This four-storey building is currently a private dwelling, but in the 1890s, it was the headquarters of the London Conference of the Church. It was also used as missionary accommodation and was home to the North London branch. The Church took over the property in 1893, and the building was used for Sunday and week-day meetings.
Clara Holbrook from Filmore, Utah, served as a missionary in London from 1899 to 1901. Letters written home while serving there shed light on the use of Number 36:
“At 8 o’clock every Thursday night we hold meetings in the hall at 36. On Sunday morning we meet in some Park and Sunday afternoon at 2.30 and 6.30 at Clerkenwell [Town] Hall.”
She also paints an interesting picture of street meetings held at the time:
“At my first street meeting I wanted to laugh. It seemed so funny for two or three of us to stop right in the middle of a little side street; to sing, pray and speak to the few open-mouthed passers by who stood listening a few minutes then passed on only to be replaced by others. Some listen intently from the beginning to the close of the meeting which lasts about an hour. At both meetings we had a fair audience, respectful and good listeners. The noise of the street is so great at times, the speaker can scarcely be heard.”
Then in one letter home, she writes:
“Sometimes I feel very far away from those I love …but then comes the consoling thought that I am called of God to carry the glorious light of the gospel to souls that are in comparative darkness. My heart is full of gratitude for the testimony I have to the truthfulness of the gospel. I could sing with all my heart ‘I’ll praise the Lord while I am young, and in my early days Devote the music of my tongue to my Redeemer’s praise.’”
Her experiences in London had revealed to her the extent of her blessings and of her testimony. Number 36 was clearly not just a home to the London Conference, but also a training ground for the young missionaries who served there in the 1890s.

The incident made news headlines around the world. A Latter-day Saint missionary had fallen off a 230-foot (70-m) cliff in Australia—and lived! That’s like falling from the top of a 23-story building.
Sometimes a miracle can be told in a single sentence. But for Elder Matthew Weirich—the missionary who fell—every detail of his story testifies to him that the Lord has a plan for his life that he has not yet completed.
Elder Weirich, from Fredricksburg, Texas, had just three months left of his missionary service in the Australia Sydney South Mission. On a preparation day in June 2004, Elder Weirich and three other missionaries got permission to visit a local park to see some of the animals unique to Australia. On the way back from the park they saw a sign pointing to the Grand Canyon lookout. It was close by, so they decided to stop and see what the Grand Canyon looked like in Australia. It is at this point that Elder Weirich’s memory of the day ends. Days later, in the hospital, he had to ask his companions what happened next.
The group had walked to the lookout and then followed marked paths below the lookout to some caves. The path had some crude rock steps back up to the lookout, and one of the missionaries lost a shoe that had been loosely tied. The shoe rolled partway down an incline. From his position Elder Weirich could see that the shoe was caught in a bush just a few steps from the path. It seemed easy to retrieve, and he offered to get it. His companions said that Elder Weirich called out that he had the shoe. Then they heard the noise of sliding rocks. Since they couldn’t see Elder Weirich, they didn’t know what had happened. But when he no longer answered their calls, they were afraid he had fallen.
The three missionaries looked as far over the cliff edges as they dared, then prayed and went looking for a cell phone to call the police. They heard a car door slam in the parking lot and ran to ask the man who had just arrived if he had a phone they could borrow. He did, and they called 000, the emergency number.
An hour later a rescue squad arrived just as darkness was falling. It was turning cold, and the heat-seeking helicopter flying overhead could find no sign of Elder Weirich. Everyone was afraid there was no longer a survivor to rescue.
But they were wrong.
At dawn the next day searchers made their way to the bottom of the cliff. They found Elder Weirich, alive but semiconscious. They carefully loaded him into a stretcher and flew him out by helicopter. He was taken to the hospital, where the medical staff expected to work on someone with many broken bones and other serious injuries. It turned out Elder Weirich had some swelling in his brain, but the only broken bones were his nose and two small fractures above his eye, all of which were left alone to heal.
Looking back, Matt lists the miracles that helped him survive.
Before his mission, Matt had been a pole-vaulter. In fact, he was a national champion in high school and was planning on going to college on a track scholarship. Perhaps—although Matt can’t remember exactly what he did while falling—his training took over and helped him adjust as he fell so he landed in a way that reduced his injuries.
At the top part of the cliff he hit several ledges that slowed him down, evidenced by the scrapes and cuts on his arms, before he took the final 90-foot (27-m) free fall.
The weather had been below freezing every night. But on the night he spent at the bottom of the cliff, the temperature was 10 degrees warmer than usual and did not dip below freezing.
He crawled a few feet after he landed, his head ending up downhill, which may have helped maintain good circulation to his injuries.
He was rescued by experts and given excellent medical care.
His survival story created great interest throughout Australia. Suddenly people everywhere wanted to talk to missionaries. Doors were opened. Many people wondered why this apparent miracle had happened and were asking searching questions about God and the Church this missionary represented.
Matt found other blessings from this experience. He says, “This whole event has brought me closer to my family and has helped me understand the value of life. It is more than just living day to day or thinking that you’ll be able to make up for mistakes later.
“I have stopped asking why. I’m now asking, ‘What can I learn from this?’ All I know is that I was an instrument in the Lord’s hands. I have seen some of the effects on other people. I’ve come to the conclusion that the Lord has things for me to accomplish. When temptations come my way, I realize that I wasn’t saved to fall into sin. I have to remember that the Lord has a plan for us all.”
Matt Weirich has returned from his mission. He has recovered and is a pole-vaulter on the track team at Brigham Young University, where he continues his studies.

Last year when nine-year-old Joy Tippetts’ stake president called her to work in the Church’s name extraction program, she was delighted. For even before she was six years old, Joy had been helping her mother by sorting index cards and doing other simple tasks at the extraction center.
Joy has been trained to read Old German script, and according to Wilma Taylor, a Germanic language trainer, “Joy is unusually accurate and does fine work. She is fantastic for a ten-year-old!”
Microfilms of religious and civil records in Old German script that contain information about persons who have died are examined on a microfilm reader. (Information is extracted from microfilmed records from other countries besides Germany.) Joy then copies, or extracts, the deceased persons’ names, birthplaces, and the names of their parents and grandparents from the microfilm record, as well as their birth, christening, and death dates. This information is then written on index cards and sent with many other cards to a Latter-day Saint temple where the necessary ordinance work can be completed for those persons. The majority of names for which temple work for the dead is completed are supplied by the name extraction centers.
Joy and her mother, Roxanna, are best friends, and they look forward each week to the three hours that they spend together at the extraction center. Joy says that she “loves to read the records and figure out who the people are.”

I was shopping at the mall with my mom. I saw a little boy trying to get candy from a special kind of vending machine, one where you grab pieces of candy with a “claw.” He could not get any candy because he did not know how to move the claw over to the candy. His sister tried, but she could not make it work either. So they walked away with big frowns and no candy.
I walked over to the machine, moved the claw, and picked up two pieces of candy. The little boy was watching me from behind a toy machine. At first I thought about keeping the candy, but I knew it was really the boy’s candy because he had paid for it. So I walked over to him, knelt down, and offered him the candy. He took it and went away with a big smile.
I was glad that I could help him, and I felt really good because I knew that I had done the right thing.

“When I was growing up, I had a great bishop, Bishop William F. Perschon of the Fourth Ward, one of the oldest wards in Salt Lake City. My twelfth birthday fell on a Sunday, and Bishop Perschon called me to the stand during sacrament meeting and told the congregation that I had been interviewed and was worthy to be ordained a deacon. After I was sustained, he announced, ‘We’d like to ordain him right now.’ He got a chair, and the stake president, who was there, ordained me a deacon in front of the whole ward!”

Elder Dean L. Larsen formerly one of the Seven Presidents of the Seventy and my mission president from many years ago taught this in General Conference, "Not long ago I interviewed a young man who desired to fill a mission, but he had been guilty of some very serious transgressions during his teen years. He was a member of an active Latter-day Saint family, and he himself had been an actively participating member of the Church, even during the time of his transgressions. Ultimately he had gone to his bishop and confessed his wrongdoings. Now, for more than a year, his life had been free of the earlier difficulties, and he was anxious to serve a mission.

"As we talked about his situation and the decisions he had made earlier in his life that led to his questionable standing in the Church, he said, Oh, I knew that what I was doing was wrong, and I was sure that one day I would put things back in order and go on a mission.

"While I was pleased with this young man's desire to reorder his life and serve the Lord as a missionary, I was troubled by the apparent premeditated, calculated way in which he had allowed himself to move off the proper course to engage in some destructive, immoral behavior, and then, almost as if he were following a timetable set by himself, he had begun to reconstruct his resolve to be obedient.

"If my experience with this young man had been an isolated one, it would not be worthy of note here; unfortunately, however, it is not unique. There appears to be an increasing tendency and temptation for young people to sample the forbidden things of the world, not with the intent to embrace them permanently, but with the knowing decision to indulge in them momentarily as though they held a value of some kind too important or exciting to pass by. It is one of the great tests of our time.

"While many recover from these excursions into forbidden territory, an increasing number of tragedies are occurring that reach out to bring a blight and a despair to many lives and that have long-lasting consequences. There is no such thing as private sin. Although its commission can be calculated, its effects cannot be regulated by the person guilty of the misbehavior. To believe otherwise is to become gullible to one of the most insidious lies ever perpetrated by the father of lies."

The chain reaction continued as Ana Carolina reached out to a new investigator. Tatiane Pimenta, age 16, began attending church when she and her family were introduced to the Church by Sister Pimentel. “I felt very timid because I didn’t know anyone,” Tatiane says. “I quietly stayed in the corner.”
But soon things began to change for Tatiane. “I started feeling good because I made a friend.” In one class, Sister Pimentel introduced a game in which all the girls put their shoes in the middle of the floor, put on someone else’s, then got to know the owner of the shoes they had picked. “That’s how I started talking to Ana Carolina,” remembers Tatiane. “She became my first friend, a friend who encouraged me a lot. Because of her, I felt able to join the Church.”

Those who knew President Grant personally agree that two characteristics stood out among the many good qualities he possessed: his persistence and his sense of humor. President Grant often referred to the story of an ant that made 69 attempts to carry off a grain of corn before it was successful. “This wonderful lesson of perseverance by an insect has been an inspiration to me all the days of my life,” he said.13

An example of his persistence is demonstrated in the way he learned to sing. When President Grant was 43 years old, he decided he wanted to sing, despite the fact that he had never been able to carry a tune. As he explained:
“I had a private secretary with a beautiful baritone voice. I told him I would give anything in the world if I could only carry a tune. He laughed and said, ‘Anybody who has a voice and perseverance can sing.’ I immediately appointed him as my singing teacher.
“My singing lessons started that night. At the end of two hours’ practice I still couldn’t sing one line from the song we had been practicing. After practicing that one song for more than five thousand times, I made a mess of it when I tried to sing it in public. I practiced it for another six months. Now I can learn a song in a few hours.”14
President Grant’s sense of humor was evident in the stories he shared of his efforts in learning to sing. He told of a time when he was practicing his singing next to a dentist’s office. He heard someone in the hall remark that it sounded like somebody was having teeth pulled.15

“She is the type of child any parent would want to have,” Uncle Isaac says. “She likes being honest. If she does something wrong, she tells the truth about it.” He shares other examples of her honesty. When a schoolteacher gave her too high a mark by mistake, she took the paper back to the teacher and corrected the error. Another time, she came home from buying yams and realized that she still had all the money. She immediately returned to the yam vendor and paid for her purchase. The lady was so pleased that she gave Adjoa a free piece of meat.

One night as I lay sleepless, feeling discouraged and very much alone, I remembered a scripture in John where the Savior had promised his disciples that he would not leave them comfortless. I turned on the light, reached for my Bible, and opened it to chapter 14. At the end of verse 26 I paused, then reread that verse [John 14:26]: “But the Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost, whom the Father will send in my name, he shall teach you all things.”
Those words provided the first ray of hope I had felt in months. My husband, Glenn, was suffering from a condition called Alzheimer’s disease, for which there is no known cure. Alzheimer’s disease affects the central nervous system which, over a period of months or years, decreases one’s mental and physical abilities.
Glenn was a fine and righteous man before he became ill. We had looked forward to many happy years of church service together and the opportunity of serving a mission. But as his condition worsened, Glenn was forced to quit all activities that required him to think. He gave up his church callings, he quit reading, quit doing the things he liked to do, and even quit watching television. Eventually he even began to get lost when he was out walking and could no longer go anywhere alone.
Unable to keep himself busy, Glenn became restless and continually depended on me to do something with him or take him somewhere. I spent all my time with him.
The problems of caring for my husband increased steadily. Alzheimer patients often become difficult to take care of. Glenn began to refuse my help. It became impossible to reason with him, because by then he had lost the ability to talk and understand language. Our days became long struggles of getting through washing, dressing, shaving. My feelings were divided between impatience—even anger—and deep compassion for my helpless husband. In spite of all the problems, I wanted to care for him myself. But I needed to learn how to care for him, and I knew I needed more help that I could get from any other earthly source. I did not know how to help him until I read that passage of scripture in John.
I had never thought of the Holy Ghost as a teacher. I had prayed continually for the strength to care for Glenn, but up until then I had relied on my own wisdom. Now a scripture showed me the way to go beyond my finite capabilities. My heart went out to others in similar circumstances who must provide constant care for the sick or the elderly. I hoped that they could come to know of the divine help available to them if they would just reach out.
Since that sleepless night when I was guided to read the Savior’s loving words, I have turned to the Lord for help, and the Holy Ghost has been like a living presence by my side, comforting and teaching me how to care for my husband. Although Glenn behaves mentally and physically like an infant now, I am at peace. My heart is not troubled by the present, nor am I afraid of the future. I know the Holy Ghost will comfort and guide me. My life has meaning. I am serving the Lord by caring for one of his helpless children.

By 1889, just 10 years after the restored gospel arrived in central Mexico, Church leaders had felt prompted to shift the Church’s limited resources to establishing colonies in northern Mexico. The members near Mexico City, about 1,000 miles (1,600 km) from the colonies, felt like sheep without a shepherd as missionaries left for the north. Though still surrounded by her family, Desideria knew that they would have to practice the gospel in isolation. This meant she would never have the benefit of joining the Relief Society or of receiving temple blessings while alive.
But she recognized that the Lord knew her. Through His servants, the Lord had manifested His desire to minister one by one to His flock. Because of her dream, the priesthood blessing, and the Book of Mormon, Desideria could testify of her absolute assurance that God cared for her spiritual and temporal needs. Though this knowledge did not prevent trials and challenges from occurring in her life, it did give her the confidence that the Lord would always ease her burdens.
In 1903, missionaries returned to southern Mexico for the first time since 1886. They met with José, who summed up Desideria’s endurance to the end and legacy of faith by saying that both his wife and his mother “died in full faith of Mormonism” and that he had “hope of dying in Mormonism.”7

I had a real problem with procrastination. One day, I went to a quiet place alone and reflected on how I felt about myself and how God felt about me. I thought about all the things I hadn’t done, and I felt totally discouraged.

Then I knelt and prayed to Heavenly Father, and I asked him to forgive me and give me the strength to do better. Little by little I have felt a change for good in my life. I have come to allow myself spiritual time to meditate on my responsibilities. Such time helps me to keep focused on what is important in my life and not worry about other things. I have developed faith in myself as I have come to know that I am a daughter of God and that he cares for me.

Maria Veronica V. Basilio, 16Tagig Ward, Pasig StakeManila, Philippines

Silhouetted with their boats against the evening sky, they looked like a party of mountain men or trappers. Just like the early explorers of the great Northwest, they had portaged their canoes over rugged terrain, retraced their tracks, and then carried food and equipment to the site of their camp.
They had been pushing hard. Muscles and spirits were tired. They were probably as sore and stiff as any group of travelers ever could be. But now the tents were pitched, supplies were stashed (safe from bears) high in the trees, dinner was steaming in the pot, and the campfire beckoned anyone near to mellow in its warm, yellow glow.
It was time to recover from the strains of the day, to let nature calm and soothe with a serenity unique to the out-of-doors. Snowcapped peaks stood like an honor guard in white dress uniform. The sun, small on the horizon, dipped through strands of gray, leaving an orange tinge in the sky.
“This day has not been a piece of cake,” said Eric Peterson. “But now is when you know you’ve earned it. The view is marvelous, worth every blister.”
Eric was one of the younger members of our group, but after a few days on the Bowron Lakes, he, like the other boys and fathers of Troop 266 from Tacoma, Washington, already felt like a seasoned veteran. Paddling and portaging all day, sleeping out in the woods with your father and your friends and leaders, getting up early and working hard—it makes you feel responsible for yourself.
Our decision to head north into the Canadian wilderness between Kamloops and Prince George, British Columbia, had initiated months of work, preparation, and planning. Fall and winter months had been filled with passing merit badges, repairing the troop’s canoes, fundraising, and the gathering of food and clothing, all under the direction of Scout and priesthood leaders in the Tacoma Sixth Ward. Then came the high excitement as spring gave way to early summer, school let out in June, and we were on our way. It was the second trip to the area for some of the older boys. As much as possible, fathers accompanied their sons and were assigned to the same canoe with them.
And what memories we made! Fighting stiff head winds that could have pushed us across the water easily, if only we’d been traveling in the opposite direction. Sudden storms that pelted us with rain and ice. The sweet “sleep of a labouring man” (see Eccl. 5:12). The one bear that did wander near camp climbed a tree and tried to get into our food. The aches, the pains, the blisters—and going on in spite of them. The wind that did, once, mercifully fill our makeshift sails as we raced across Spectacle Lake in record time.
It all served to bring us closer together, as young men and leaders, as brothers in the priesthood, as fathers and sons. How can you not talk to someone while paddling across the 26-miles of choppy waves on Lanezi Lake? Especially when he has struggled with you, side-by-side, to carry a canoe through rocks and underbrush on the banks of the Caribou River; and shivered with you when “deadheads and sweepers” (submerged logs in the language of Canadian rangers) tipped your canoe into the bone-chilling waters.
None of us will forget the 18 hours we spent drying out around an old potbellied wood stove heated to a red hot glow. Or the ranger who entertained us with tales of his Montana cowboy days. Or the impromptu testimony meeting when Lynn Wilbur read to us from the Book of Mormon.
Sure, we returned home eager for pizza, bathtubs, and nice clean sheets. But we returned home richer and stronger—and ready to head north of the border again just as soon as we are able.