Gospel Story Finder

Old Lady Kroll—we called her that because she was so mean.
“Maybe there’s a reason for the way she acts that we don’t know about, Mimi,” Mother said as we walked home from the grocery store, balancing our bags of groceries. We—Mother, my six-year-old sister, Carrie, and I—lived in an apartment at the back of Old Lady Kroll’s house. The only nice thing about the house was the yard full of oak trees. I enjoyed the green leaves in the spring and summer when the sun shone through the leaves. And in the fall, they were all red and gold and sort of pink, and they made the dark old house look almost pretty.
“She might have a real good reason for being so mean—like maybe she’s a witch or something!” Carrie said, her big eyes looking out under straight, blond bangs. Carrie could be pretty silly sometimes, and I hoped she’d have a little more sense in a couple of years, when she was my age.
“Carrie,” Mother said, “of course Mrs. Kroll’s not a witch. But she might be very unhappy living alone in that big house.”
Mom always found an excuse for everybody.
It was no wonder Old Lady Kroll lived alone—she hated everybody. Especially us. If we sat on her front steps, watching the squirrels, she’d open her creaky front door and yell, “Go on, now! You don’t belong there!” And she’d slam the door with a big whoosh. Even the squirrels were scared to death of her.
Carrie and I usually met Mom at the bus stop when she came home from work. We wished she didn’t have to go to work every day. But she said that she was lucky to have a job at all. Lots of people were out of work because of the Depression. Some people had lost everything when the banks ran out of money. We were pretty lucky, I guess, because we didn’t have any money to lose.
Our apartment had only one bedroom. We all slept together in one big bed. We were never afraid, Carrie and I, even when there was a storm. Mother told us stories about the squirrel mothers and their babies, all cozy and warm inside their nests in the hollows of the trees. And except for Old Lady Kroll yelling at us, we had a pretty nice life. Just like the squirrels.
After we put our groceries away that day, I put our paper dolls in the window seat under the bay window, and then Carrie and I set the table. The sky had turned dark purple, and the wind was plastering rain against the windowpanes. I hoped Mom would tell us our favorite story about the mice that lived in the hayloft of an old barn.
That night there was a terrible storm. Carrie and I tried not to think about it as we listened to the story about the mice. But lightning must have struck something, because there was an awful crash that sounded as if the whole world had split right down the middle.
The next morning on the way to school, Carrie and I saw what had happened. A huge limb had broken off one of the giant old oaks and was lying across Old Lady Kroll’s front porch steps.
“Carrie!” I yelled as she ran on ahead of me. “Get back here and help me move this limb!”
“Why?” she yelled back. Carrie wouldn’t do anything without first asking why.
“So somebody won’t break a leg or something, that’s why!”
Carrie dropped her books on the sidewalk and came back. “You mean somebody like Old Lady Kroll?”
“Carrie, for once don’t talk. Just take that end of the limb and lift, OK?”
When we met Mother at the bus stop that afternoon, she wasn’t smiling like she always did, and it seemed as if she wasn’t listening to us. Later, while she was making scrambled eggs for supper, she told us that she wasn’t going to have to go to work every day for a while. She was smiling, but she didn’t look happy. “I’ll only be going to work three days a week for a while. But it’ll be nice for us all to be home together, won’t it?”
Carrie and I nodded. We couldn’t say yes because our mouths were full of warm eggs.
We had oatmeal for supper the next couple of nights. We all liked oatmeal, but it seemed strange to have it for dinner twice in a row.
One night Mother said, “Tonight we’re going to play a game. Let’s pretend that we’re like the mice in the hayloft—that we’re very poor and don’t have anything to eat. Won’t that be fun?”
I wasn’t too sure, but I looked at Carrie, and she was smiling and nodding. So I did too.
The next morning we toasted the last three pieces of bread. By suppertime we didn’t want to play the game again, but we didn’t tell Mother. She didn’t look like she wanted to play it, either.
After it got dark, Mother just sat and stared out the window. Carrie and I played paper dolls on the floor. Once in a while we heard Mother sigh. Just as we started to get ready for bed, there was a loud knock at the door. We all jumped.
It was Old Lady Kroll. Carrie and I looked at each other. We were both thinking the same thing: What had we done to make her mad this time?
“Here,” she said, thrusting a big tan bowl at Mother. It was covered with a checkered napkin, and little swirls of steam puffed out around the edges. “I thought that you and the children might like this,” she said gruffly. “I had it left over from my supper. I guess I made too much. I didn’t want to throw it out—I don’t believe in waste!” And she turned and walked down the hallway, leaving Mother holding the steaming bowl and crying.
I never thought I’d like sauerkraut and spareribs, but it tasted better than anything else I’d ever eaten. And the mashed potatoes it nested in had butter running down the sides in warm little yellow rivers.
Later Mother told us that all the money and food were gone. Payday wasn’t until the next day, and she had been praying that we’d have something to eat before we went to bed. We all agreed that Heavenly Father picked a pretty good dinner. But what Carrie and I couldn’t figure out was why He picked Old Lady—I mean Mrs. Kroll—to bring it to us.
After that, we waved to her when we passed. One morning on our way to school, we saw her sweeping her front steps. Carrie and I yelled, “Good morning, Mrs. Kroll!”
She didn’t answer, and she didn’t smile. But she nodded to us.
And then she waved.

The Three Witnesses: Oliver Cowdery, David Whitmer, and Martin Harris. The angel Moroni showed them the plates, testified of them, and commanded the three men to bear witness of them.1

Thank you for the beautiful songs you print in the In Tune section of the New Era. They always bring a special spirit into our home whenever I sit at the piano and sing them. I would especially like to thank you for printing “Come unto Him” in the April 1995 issue. The warmth and comfort I felt were what I really needed.
Rebecca EltonMeridian, Idaho

Another day I witnessed the need for the Spirit to help guide the service that was being performed by well-meaning neighbors. A widow lady said to me, “I don’t need more food. My freezer is literally full of the neighbors’ cakes and pies and goodies. But I need someone to invite me to go to Temple Square with them and their children to see the Christmas lights. You don’t really see the lights without the children.”
Sometimes it’s cake, but sometimes it isn’t. The Spirit will help us customize our service.

“Who’s your hero, Jason?” Jason Shaw looked away from his third grade teacher. “I don’t know.”
“Do you know anyone you’d like to be like?”
Jason shrugged.
“Well, you still have a little time to think about it.”
Jason listened as his classmates named their heroes. None of them interested him. He didn’t want to be a policeman, a lawyer, or even the president of the United States.
After school, as he walked home, the wind blew his cap off. He raced after it, thinking, I wonder if I would like to be an Olympic athlete?
He pictured himself running around a track, pushing his legs harder and harder until he crossed the finish line ahead of his competitors.
“Jason! Jason!” the crowd cheered.
Someone grabbed his arm.
“Jason, didn’t you hear me?”
“Uh, no, Tony. What’s up?”
“Nothing. I just thought I’d see if you’d like to walk home with me.”
“Sure. Come on. Who are you going to write your paper on?”
Tony grinned. “My great-grandpa. He won a medal in World War II. He saved a lot of lives. How about you? Think of anyone yet?”
“No. A war hero, huh?”
“Yep. He was a pilot in the air force.”
Jason looked up and imagined himself flying through the clouds. Maybe he would like to be in the air force and save lives. Or … or he could be a doctor. He imagined himself in an operating room.
“How’s his heart rate, nurse?”
“Good, doctor.”
“And his blood pressure?”
“Perfect! You’ve done it again. You’ve saved his life.”
Jason felt warm inside. It would be nice to save lives.
When he got home, he went to his room, pulled out a clean piece of paper, sharpened his pencil, and wrote: “My hero is someone who saves lives. He is a doctor.”
Looking down at his words, Jason didn’t feel as good about them as he had before. He didn’t really want to be a doctor. He didn’t know what he wanted to be. He pushed his paper aside and worked on his spelling lesson.
“How was school today?” Mom asked as she peeked into the room.
“Fine.”
“I see you’re busy with your homework. Is there anything I can help you with before I start supper?”
“No thanks.”
“OK. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me. Oh—I talked to your Primary teacher today. She said that you’re always reverent and that you’re a good example to your classmates. She really appreciates you.”
Jason felt happy. He loved his teacher. She made Primary fun, and he learned a lot about Jesus in her class. And she—a teacher—appreciated him! He took out his paper and started again: “My hero is a teacher. A teacher helps people learn and shows them how to be happy.”
He smiled. A teacher was perfect. Now, what else could he say? After thinking about it for a few minutes, he couldn’t think of anything, so he put his paper away again.
After dinner, everyone gathered in the living room for family home evening.
“What song would you like to sing, Jason?” Mom asked.
“‘Jesus Once Was a Little Child.’” It was his favorite song.
“Karen, would you say the prayer, please?” Dad asked.
Jason’s little sister folded her arms, and Dad helped her pray.
“Thank you, Karen. Your mother and I have planned a special lesson for tonight,” Dad said. “We are going to play a game called ‘I Can Try to Be Like Jesus.’”
Jason listened closely. He liked games.
“We have some pictures about Jesus Christ and His life on earth,” Mom said. “We’ll talk about each picture and think of things we can do to be like Him.”
As he listened to Mom and Dad and talked with them about the Savior and how they could try to be like Him, a warm, strong feeling grew in Jason’s heart. He wanted family home evening to last forever.
When family night was over, Jason ran to his room and took out a fresh piece of paper.
“My hero is someone who saves lives. He is a healer, a teacher, and a friend, and I love Him very much. I want to be just like Him. My hero is Jesus Christ.”

Like many of you, I have a smartphone that, on occasion and without any prompt, pulls together a reel of photos showing what I was doing on a certain day. It is always surprising to see how much things have changed for me and my family in just a few years.

Picture the photos your phone will serve up 10 years from now! You may see yourself graduating from high school or college, receiving your endowment, going on a mission, getting married, and having your first child. For you personally, this will be a decade never to be forgotten. But it will be doubly so if you actively strive to become a light unto the world of how the glad tidings of the gospel of Jesus Christ can enrich and enhance not only your lives but also those of your family, friends, and social media followers.

Brother Garner coaches the Alta High soccer team, but a leg injury sidelined Dene for his entire freshman soccer season. As soon as the leg was healed, the two of them were back practicing field goals, kicking late into the night until the goal posts were nothing but silhouettes against the lingering brightness of the summer sky, or even ghostly white prongs in the darkness. All summer long they worked, kicking and kicking and kicking the five old balls the coach had loaned to them.

Arthur Patton died quickly. Others linger. Not long ago I held the thin hand of a youth as he approached the brink of eternity. “I know I am dying,” he said touchingly. “What follows death?” I turned to the scriptures and read to him: “Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was: and the spirit shall return unto God who gave it” (Eccl. 12:7). “There is a time appointed unto men that they shall rise from the dead; and there is a space between the time of death and the resurrection. … Now, concerning the state of the soul between death and the resurrection—Behold … the spirits of all men, as soon as they are departed from this mortal body, … are taken home to that God who gave them life” (Alma 40:9, 11).
To me, the lad said, “Thank you.” To my Heavenly Father I said silently, “Thank thee, O God, for truth.”

To learn things like the names of countries, Benjamin writes down the name of every country that he can think of. His teacher had a list of 161 countries, and Benjamin knew the location of all but two.

President Dieter F. Uchtdorf visited Texas, USA, and witnessed teams of Latter-day Saints in Houston working alongside their neighbors following Hurricane Harvey, saying that the “help-however-I-can” attitude is common to Latter-day Saints all over the world.

It was World War II, and in a crowded ship in the Pacific Ocean 3,000 soldiers sat listening to the chaplain. Tomorrow they would attack an enemy-held island, and the chances of many of them surviving the battle were slim. “One-half of you will be standing before your Maker tomorrow morning at 8:00,” the minister said seriously. “Are you ready?”
The next day the first six groups to approach the island were completely blown out of the water. Paul H. Dunn, in the seventh group, miraculously reached safety. He recounts his feelings: “I crawled ashore … dug a small foxhole … knelt down with my head bared … and asked my Heavenly Father very simply, ‘Do you live? Are you real? Is Jesus Christ really my Savior? Was Joseph Smith a prophet of the Church like I’ve heard all my life and can’t quite understand?’ And then it came, that sweet inner commitment and verification, spirit touching spirit, saying in a silent voice, ‘It is so.’” (P. 135.)
In You and Your World, Elder Dunn, member of the Presidency of the First Quorum of the Seventy, relates this story and many others, as he counsels Church members in five areas: Building Commitment, Strengthening the Home, Gathering Souls, Refining a Testimony, and Mastering Self. A selection of 24 addresses given by Elder Dunn, the book is a compilation of scripture, poetry, stories, and spiritual experiences that discusses gospel principles in an uplifting and inspiring manner.

Sister Diana Lacey, a leader in Farmington, New Mexico, was struggling to help young women view the Personal Progress program as something exciting and positive. She was finding no direction—until during general conference she heard President Hinckley tell the story of Caleb and Joshua, who, with 10 others, were sent to Canaan to report on its resources and people. Upon their return, the 10 reported all the negative things they saw, but Caleb and Joshua saw past those and spoke of the positive. Unfortunately, like today, the people chose to believe the doubters, and so only Caleb and Joshua were preserved to enter the promised land. President Hinckley added:
“We see some around us who are indifferent concerning the future of this work, who are apathetic, who speak of limitations, who express fears. … They have no vision concerning its future.
“Well was it said of old, ‘Where there is no vision, the people perish’ (Prov. 29:18)” (Ensign, Nov. 1995, 71).
Sister Lacey was moved by this prophetic message and realized that Personal Progress is all about vision. She said: “I made a change and the results have astonished me. … By changing my attitude and the way I was approaching Personal Progress, it had an effect on the girls’ attitude. … The spirit of President Hinckley’s talk has been a blessing in my life.”

I had a good friend who was not a member of the Church; hence he had received little education against the poisonous weed that is smoked so universally throughout the world. It took hold of him, this habit. It engulfed him. After years of chain-smoking, one cigarette after another, a cough developed—a hacking cough. There followed great distress. There was a hospital bed for several weeks, and then a new grave with flowers on it. He was a good man, honorable, honest, full of integrity. I think he had never cheated a fellowman; but oh, how he cheated himself! From Seneca to Shakespeare to the present time these words have echoed down to us: “What fools these mortals be!”

Elder Quentin L. Cook
(32) A Hindu woman feels peace during the open house of the Suva Fiji Temple.

I thought back to my own childhood, when my mum’s big set of scriptures always sat open somewhere in the living room. Those same scriptures would be passed around as we studied them together, even when I was so small that I could barely read. I wanted my daughter to experience that—to always have a set of scriptures open and close by, ready to leaf through. Now, there is nothing more precious to me than those little moments where I spy my little girl toddle over to the scriptures and flip through. I can only hope that as she becomes familiar with those pages, that she will also grow to cherish the message inside.

“A Wonderful Program”
At the Gathering Place in the Kumasi Ghana University Stake, Sister Agatha Owusu teaches others to make soap, detergent, washing powder, and other cleansing agents. Blessed with a bishop who recognized her talent, Agatha received mentoring from him that helped her develop a talent she gratefully shares with others.
“I recognized that this is my talent from my Heavenly Father,” she says. “If I don’t share my gift with others, it would be like putting my lit candle under a bushel” (see Matthew 5:16).
Her reward, she says, is the satisfaction she receives from helping others gain a skill, make a living, and become self-reliant.
Speaking for many who teach and share their talents at a Gathering Place, she says, “I invite everyone to the Kumasi Gathering Place—whether a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints or not—to come to be part of this wonderful program.”

Elder Sipos and Elder Damiano were among the missionaries who loaded their cars with books and took them to the other cities. One of the last stops on their trip was Debrecen, a city in eastern Hungary, where they stayed for Church meetings on Sunday, 22 December. “I’ll never forget the reaction in the Debrecen Branch,” says Elder Sipos.
Elder István Berente—a Hungarian who had escaped from the country during the Communist regime, had been baptized, and had returned to his homeland as a missionary—made the announcement. Sister Carina Ragozzine, a missionary in Debrecen at the time, remembers that he started giving a talk about the importance of prophets, especially President Ezra Taft Benson. He emphasized President Benson’s message to read the Book of Mormon and said, “To help you do this, we have a little something for you.” Then the missionaries started handing out copies of the Hungarian Book of Mormon.
“The reaction was amazing,” says Elder Sipos. “Some people were crying, some people started laughing, others started clapping.”
Sister Ragozzine remembers everyone being quiet and making comments about how beautiful the book was. “So many people had joined the Church without seeing it. Finally seeing it made it an even more beautiful book to look at,” she says.
For the next couple of hours the members of the Debrecen Branch wouldn’t leave the room. They were pouring over stories they had heard about from missionaries but had never been able to read for themselves. And they were signing their names and testimonies in other people’s copies of the new Hungarian Book of Mormon.
“It is inexpressible the happiness that fills this day,” wrote Sister Králik Ida2 in Sister Ragozzine’s copy. “I’ve waited a long time for this moment.”
In Elder Sipos’ copy, Sister Fegyverneki Ágnes wrote, “I am so happy. … This was the greatest Christmas present I’ve received. Please don’t ever forget what this Christmas means for us.”
“It was definitely the best Christmas present of the season,” says Sister Ragozzine.

They had lunch in the cultural hall after the morning meeting. As he sat down at a table, Scott’s companion called over to him, “Hello, oh hairless one!”

The elders within hearing range smirked.

“My companion is the only one in the mission who takes 30 minutes to wash his face. It’s because it goes clear to the back of his neck.”

More laughter.

Scott ate quickly and left. He found the chapel open and vacant, so he sat down and began reading the scriptures.

“Looks like you’re busy as usual.” Scott looked up to see the wife of his mission president. “Are you all right?” she asked with kindness.

“Do you know any way to make hair grow back?” he asked her.

“The elders can be cruel, can’t they?”

He felt the pent up frustration pouring forth as he talked to her about his problems.

She listened to him attentively, and just talking about it made him feel better.

Missionaries began to file into the chapel for the meeting. Before she left to go up on the stand, she showed him a book she was reading. “It’s by Brother Stephen Covey. Look at his picture on the inside cover. You can see he’s bald, but do you see any fear or shame on his face?”

“No,” Scott said, looking at the picture.

“He’s a very positive man and, I think, handsome too. You know, Elder, you really have a nicely shaped head.”

“I do?” Scott said.

“Sure you do. It’d be a shame to hide that with hair.”

The next morning Scott cut his hair very short.

“What have you done?” his companion gasped as he came out of the bathroom.

“I’ve decided to quit hiding my good looking head.”

While working on the pioneer film 17 Miracles, my team and I created several scenes to convey this threat of wolves. We brought in a wolf trainer, and one day he left his wolves in a trailer while we looked for some good places to shoot scenes in the heavily wooded outdoor studio. Even though they are “trained” wolves, they are still wolves and can be very aggressive. They have natural instincts to attack and kill.

We returned a couple of hours later and were amazed to see a deer standing less than 15 feet from the trailer. Her ears were out, her eyes alert, and she was staring at the trailer. She seemed mesmerized.

Normally when you see a deer in that wooded area, the deer sees you, bounds off, and disappears within seconds. This time, not so. The deer was so focused on that wolf-harboring trailer that she didn’t even notice us until we were about 15 feet away. She finally noticed our presence and then seemed to come out of her trance and ran off. I asked the trainer if he’d ever seen anything like that before. He hadn’t, and he couldn’t explain it.

The next morning when the trainer approached his trailer to begin the day’s work, to his astonishment he saw close to 15 deer standing in a circle, all the way around the trailer. Like the first deer, they too were transfixed and stared intently at the trailer. Their circle grew smaller and smaller as they each continued to move closer to the trailer. The trainer could hear the wolves inside, pawing and clawing away as they seemed to be saying in wolf language, “Let me at ’em!”

Again the trainer moved very close to the deer before they became aware of him and ran into the nearby woods.

One of the most trying experiences in Spencer W. Kimball’s life was losing his mother, who died when he was 11 years old. He recalled that the news “came as a thunderbolt. I ran from the house out in the backyard to be alone in my deluge of tears. Out of sight and sound, away from everybody, I sobbed and sobbed. … My eleven-year-old heart seemed to burst.”

Even at this young age, however, Spencer knew of the comfort and peace that prayer could bring. During this time of sorrow, a family friend wrote, “My children wept with [my wife and me] as we heard of the prayers of little Spencer and how the loss of his mother weighed so heavily upon his little heart and yet how bravely he battled with his grief and sought comfort from the only source.”4