Gospel Story Finder

Dark clouds covered the Iowa sky. Loud claps of thunder echoed over the Des Moines River valley. Lightning flashed. Rain began to fall in torrents, slashing against the Shelley cottage.
That evening the five Shelley children clung to their mother as the storm continued. The wind bent the trees, pulled fence posts out of the ground, and tore gates from their hinges. From their cottage window, the family saw the waters of Honey Creek overflow and flood the barnyard.
“Mamma, I’m going to set the animals free,” said Kate. “They’ll drown if I don’t.” Throwing a shawl over her head, she waded through the farmyard to the barn and freed the horses, cows, and pigs. When Kate returned to the cottage, she was drenched.
Despite the raging storm, one by one the children fell asleep. Only Kate and her mother remained awake. Kate’s father had been a section foreman on the railroad before he died three years ago and so Kate knew the schedules, the locomotives, and the crewmen of the railway using the tracks that passed only a few feet from their house.
As the night wore on, the wind and rain continued to thrash against the cottage. Kate thought of the overflowing Honey Creek nearby and of the swollen Des Moines River that ran only a short distance from their cottage.
“Mamma, do you think the water will take down the bridge over Honey Creek?” Kate asked.
“I’m afraid it will, Kate,” her mother replied, her face etched with worry.
“Then it will wash away the railroad trestle too,” Kate said. She thought of the weak old wooden trestle over the Des Moines River as she strained to hear the sound of a locomotive slowly battling its way against the storm.
“Mamma, listen! It’s the pusher,” Kate whispered. “They’re checking to see if the tracks are safe.”
As Kate and her mother listened, they heard the bridge collapse, dropping the locomotive and the crew into the swiftly flowing swollen waters.
“The crew will drown,” Kate cried. Her face showed the horror of what could happen if the Midnight Express with all its passengers were to come later. “I’ve got to warn the Express,” she said.
Pulling on a coat and hat and grabbing an old lantern, Kate ran out into the storm. The water was deep and every step was a struggle.
When Kate reached Honey Creek, she saw two of the crewmen of the locomotive hanging onto a fallen tree while the river swirled around them. “Hold on,” she called. “I’m going for help.” But her words were lost in the sound of rushing waters.
Kate made her way along the tracks until she reached the trestle. The lightning flashes outlined the catwalk beside the tracks, revealing that the planks had been torn away and the bridge was left swaying in the raging wind.
Kate began to cross the catwalk. The wind blew out her lantern, leaving her in total darkness. She thought of the crewmen clinging to the tree in Honey Creek and the people on the Midnight Express. Falling to her knees, she began to creep from tie to tie across the 500-foot bridge. As the bridge swayed beneath her, she prayed for strength and guidance.
Lightning flashed, and a tremendous tree was uprooted by the wind and water, and came hurling through the air, headed for the exact section of bridge where Kate knelt. She waited for the crash to sweep her into the river. But it did not come. The tree swerved in the air and hit two piers.
Kate continued crawling from tie to tie until she reached the other side of the bridge. She ran the rest of the way to the railway station. Her clothing was torn and dripping with water. Gasping for breath, the words choking in her throat, she called out, “Stop the Express. The bridge is down!” Then she fell to the floor.
The agent grabbed a lantern and ran. He reached the tracks just in time to flag down the Midnight Express. A rescue train was quickly sent to help the men who still hung onto the fallen tree in Honey Creek.
The strain and terror of the night caused Kate to become ill. When she recovered, she found that stories and poems had been written about her. And when the new iron railroad bridge was built over the Des Moines River, it was named in honor of her.
When Kate Shelley grew up, she became the station agent at Moingona—the same station she rushed into that night in July 1881 to stop the Midnight Express.

As I was growing up, it was a regular event for my family to drive between Northern California and Utah, USA. It wasn’t the journey through the desert we enjoyed; it was the arrival at the destination and the joy of visits with family members there.
The summer before I left for my full-time mission, I traveled once again to visit relatives in Utah. But this time my younger brother David and I traveled alone. We were 16 and 18 at the time. We had made the 10-hour journey often enough with our family that we had high confidence in our ability to travel well.
We visited our Uncle Kay, Aunt Dianne, and cousin Michelle. Then, while David extended his visit, I had to return to California on my own for a dental appointment.
Nightfall was approaching when I left Spanish Fork, Utah, to begin an overnight drive. Everything went well in the beginning. I soon left the highway that goes south and north and took the one that goes east and west. I turned on my headlights and hurried across western Utah. As the miles passed and the desert night became darker and darker, I noticed that I was having more and more difficulty seeing the road. Finally, I realized my headlights were becoming increasingly dim. They finally went out, the engine stalled, and the car rolled to a halt on the side of the interstate.
The battery was dead. The car could not go any farther. Although I had been careful to make sure I had plenty of fuel and had even noted where I would stop for gas, I was not prepared for the complete loss of electrical power.
I was raised by a father who prided himself in personally maintaining our family automobiles. He taught us about auto mechanics, so I knew that a good battery would not die while the car was running unless there was a problem with the alternator. An alternator is an electrical generator that converts mechanical energy into electrical energy. It uses the kinetic energy of the running engine to produce magnetic energy that is transformed into electric current that continually recharges the battery. This allows the headlights, radio, air conditioning, and other electrical devices to operate without interruption. It also keeps the engine running.
Now something was wrong with my car’s alternator. It needed to be repaired or replaced before my journey could continue.
In an age before cell phones, my only choice was to begin walking. Eventually, a man picked me up and drove me to the next town. At a pay phone I called for a tow truck. I sat in the cab with the driver during the one-hour trip back to the car. Then I sat with him again as we drove back to the small town with my car in tow. Finally, four hours after first leaving my car, I was back inside it, sleeping in front of a service station until it opened.
When the manager arrived, he laughed at the idea that his small town would have the part I needed. He could place an order, but it wouldn’t arrive for two or three days. Then he took pity on me. He told me he could put my battery on a charger for about three hours. That might give me enough power to drive the car to the next town. Perhaps they would have the part I needed.
With the battery charged, I set off without turning on anything that would waste precious electricity. I made it to the next town, but they didn’t have the part I needed either. This cycle continued—a three-hour charge for a two-hour drive from one town to the next. After finding kind people in towns all along the way, I finally pulled in my parents’ driveway, exhausted after a 30-hour journey but safely home.

Whenever I do things for Mom,
Dad says I “fill his shoes.”
How can that be? They’re much too large!
I’ll check each pair for clues:
My daddy’s work boots lace up high;
They’re leather, and they’re strong.
You couldn’t choose a better pair
To work in all day long.
For Sundays and dress-up affairs,
His shoes are shiny bright.
Dad looks just grand from head to toe—
He’s such a handsome sight!
He has some large black winter boots;
He wears them when it snows.
They buckle snugly ’round his feet;
They don’t have ties or bows.
Before bedtime, or after baths,
Dad’s slippers are his choice.
The shoes he wears for basketball
Sure have a squeaky voice!
My daddy’s shoes are still too large
(I’ve tried them all again),
But Dad says that I fill them
‘Cause I help like grown-up men.

This month marks the thirtieth anniversary of the organization of the Gaborone Botswana District, the first in the country. The district was established on Sunday, 1 March 1992, and included the renamed Gaborone Broadhurst and West branches. Later that year, the Lobatse Branch was organized and became part of the district as well.
The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints had been officially recognized by the Botswanan government the previous year, in June 1991. Five months after the district was formed, Elder Richard G. Scott (1928-2015) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles dedicated the country for the preaching of the gospel.
The Gaborone Botswana District was dissolved in 1995 and the three existing branches were incorporated into the Roodepoort South Africa Stake. The Church continued to flourish, however, and the Gaborone Botswana Stake was organized in 2012.

Years ago, President Boyd K. Packer told of a herd of deer that, because of heavy snowfall, was trapped outside its natural habitat and faced possible starvation. Some well-meaning people, in an effort to save the deer, dumped truckloads of hay around the area—it wasn’t what deer would normally eat, but they hoped it would at least get the deer through the winter. Sadly, most of the deer were later found dead. They had eaten the hay, but it did not nourish them, and they starved to death with their stomachs full.

It would be an understatement to say that my husband and I were surprised to learn that, at age 40, I was expecting a baby. Complications in the pregnancy soon prompted the doctors to order complete bed rest for me. My husband gave me a priesthood blessing in which I was promised that if I would do as I was instructed by the doctors, all would be well.
But bed rest proved to be a difficult challenge as I tried to meet the needs of our two young children and keep myself occupied.
When the ward members realized I would be “confined for the duration,” dinners began arriving with regularity. My three-year-old son was often picked up to spend the day with friends. And when my six-year-old son got home from school, someone always seemed to drop in to check on him. Sisters came frequently to clean the house and do the laundry, often ending up sitting on my bed to visit.

The third is to be different. Let me tell you a story that happened this July on Panama City Beach in Florida.5 Late in the afternoon, Roberta Ursrey saw her two young sons screaming for help from 100 yards (90 m) out into the ocean. They had become caught in a strong current and were being carried out to sea. A nearby couple tried to rescue the boys, but they also got caught in the current. So members of the Ursrey family dove in to rescue the struggling swimmers, and quickly nine people were caught in the rip current.
There were no ropes. There was no lifeguard. The police sent for a rescue boat, but the people had been out in the ocean struggling for 20 minutes, and they were exhausted and their heads were slipping under the water. Among the onlookers on the beach was Jessica Mae Simmons. Her husband had the idea to form a human chain. They shouted at people on the beach to help them, and dozens of people linked arms and marched into the ocean. Jessica wrote, “To see people from different races and genders come into action to help TOTAL strangers [was] absolutely amazing to see!!”6 An 80-person chain stretched toward the swimmers. Look at this picture of that incredible moment.
Everyone on the beach could think only of traditional solutions, and they were paralyzed. But one couple, in a split second, thought of a different solution. Innovation and creation are spiritual gifts. When we keep our covenants, it may make us different from others in our culture and society, but it gives us access to inspiration so we can think of different solutions, different approaches, different applications. We aren’t always going to fit in with the world, but being different in positive ways can be a lifeline to others who are struggling.
The fourth is to be distinct. Distinct means to be recognizably well defined. Let me go back to the story about Jessica Mae Simmons on the beach. Once that human chain was stretching toward the swimmers, she knew she could help. Jessica Mae said, “I can hold my breath … and go around an Olympic pool with ease! [I knew how to get out of a rip current.] I knew I could get [each swimmer] to the human chain.”7 She and her husband grabbed boogie boards and swam down the chain until they and another rescuer reached the swimmers, and then they ferried them one by one back to the chain, who passed them to the safety of the beach. Jessica had a distinct skill: she knew how to swim against a rip current.

Later, as the Saints struggled through cold, mud, and hunger on the way to the Salt Lake Valley, President Brigham Young raised their spirits.
President Young: Let us hear the brass band and the fiddle. We’ll have a dance!
Boyhood trials had taught President Young to endure.
Man: Great idea, Brother Brigham!

The three days of camp were filled with activities and spiritual experiences. The girls made fast friends while they swam and toured ancient ruins. They also provided service for a school for disabled children by bringing needed supplies to the Hope Institute. Margaret Tueller says, “We had warm feelings. It was as good to give as it was to receive.”

Image © Hemera/Thinkstock, iStock/Thinkstock
During my college days, I was one of a class of students appointed to fieldwork as a part of our prescribed courses in geology. …
A certain assignment had kept us in the field many days. … As the time allotted to the investigation drew near its close, we were overtaken by a violent windstorm, followed by a heavy snow—unseasonable and unexpected, but which, nevertheless, increased in intensity so that we were in danger of being snowbound in the hills. The storm reached its height while we were descending a long and steep mountainside several miles from the little railway station at which we had hoped to take [a] train that night for home. With great effort we reached the station late at night while the storm was yet raging. …
… The train for which we so expectantly and hopefully waited was the Owl Express—a fast night train connecting large cities. …
Long after midnight the train arrived in a terrific whirl of wind and snow. I lingered behind my companions as they hurriedly clambered aboard, for I was attracted by the engineer, who during the brief stop, while his assistant was attending to the water replenishment, bustled about the engine, oiling some parts, adjusting others, and generally overhauling the panting locomotive. I ventured to speak to him, busy though he was. I asked how he felt on such a night—wild, weird, and furious, when the powers of destruction seemed to be let loose, abroad and uncontrolled, when the storm was howling and when danger threatened from every side. …
His answer was a lesson not yet forgotten. In effect he said, though in jerky and disjointed sentences: “Look at the engine headlight. Doesn’t that light up the track for a hundred yards [90 m] or more? Well, all I try to do is to cover that hundred yards of lighted track. That I can see, and for that distance I know the roadbed is open and safe. … The light of the engine is always ahead of me!”
As he climbed to his place in the cab, I hastened to board the first passenger coach; and as I sank into the cushioned seat, in blissful enjoyment of the warmth and general comfort, offering strong contrast to the wildness of the night without, I thought deeply of the words of the grimy, oil-stained engineer. They were full of faith—the faith that accomplishes great things, the faith that gives courage and determination. …
We may not know what lies ahead of us in the future years, nor even in the days or hours immediately beyond. But for a few yards, or possibly only a few feet, the track is clear, our duty is plain, our course is illumined. For that short distance, for the next step, lighted by the inspiration of God, go on!

On another occasion he helped a man who had lost part of his leg when he jumped from a 30-foot bridge while under the influence of drugs. “I talked to him and told him how it could be if he wanted it,” Brad recalls. “He listened to me and took it up.” And these are only a few of the many people whose lives Brad has touched.

Illustrations by Shauna Mooney Kawasaki
I think Ben would like to fly a kite too, but he doesn’t have one.
Why not let him fly yours?
Why mine? Why not yours?
Yours!
Ours!
Thanks! You guys are nice!
Sometimes.
Eventually.

During the spring of our 20th year together, my husband lost his job. Even though he had a new job by Christmas, our finances were grim. We didn’t expect to have much of a Christmas for our own family, so we wondered how we would carry out our secret tradition.
During home evening we talked as a family about what our Christmas would be like that year. We recognized with gratitude that even if gifts would be scarce, at least we still had warmth, food, and each other. We thought of all the people who had essentially nothing: no home, no family, no warmth. Then we thought about how for years short little legs had run inside our Christmas coat and bright eyes had peered out from its furry hood. How would we put the coat to use this year?
One Sunday morning we loaded everyone into the car and drove downtown with our Christmas coat. We drove to an area where homeless people often spent the night, and we watched for someone who didn’t have anything warm to wear. When we spotted a man walking alone, my husband and son walked over to him. The rest of us watched as the man accepted the coat and smiled. Tears filled my eyes as I saw him put on our Christmas coat, the only gift we had to give that year.
Other Christmases have since passed, and we have been able to continue our tradition. None of us has forgotten about the Christmas coat, however. When I consider all the years the coat disguised us while we delivered gifts, the memory of the year we gave it away warms my heart the most.

I was diagnosed with an eye disease when I was eight years old, and over the years my vision has been reduced to less than 10 percent. But I have had many blessings through the sport of running and competing in the Paralympics. A few years ago, an injury resulted in surgery, and I wasn’t sure I would be able to compete again. But I was blessed by Heavenly Father to heal well and be able to continue competing.

I know that Heavenly Father loves me and wants what is best for me, and that gives me comfort and reassurance that what happens is what’s best for me.

When my father was an old man, we talked about the possibility of his death. He did not have fear; he felt peace. When he spoke about death, he knew that he would be with his family again. Because of the Atonement and Resurrection, both of us had great inner security. We were always very grateful to the Lord because of the miracle of the Resurrection.

Reading the New Era for the first time in 12 years and seeing the Extra Smile helped me laugh and smile a bit. Being disabled and alone gets kind of hard sometimes. It also showed me that young adults can teach the gospel and that we can be a good influence on others.
Brenton F., Oklahoma

I learned from my friends’ experiences. When I was 17, I decided to gain a rock-solid testimony because I knew I’d need it if I wanted to survive spiritually. Gaining a strong testimony and coming to know that Heavenly Father has a plan for me are what saved me.

Not long after being called as a stake patriarch, one of us gave a 93-year-old sister her patriarchal blessing. The words pronounced in that blessing were a heaven-sent message of approval for a life well lived in valiant service to the Lord. More than reassurance, she was given additional counsel and direction for her life both here and hereafter. She was also told that the long-awaited reunion with her beloved eternal companion who had passed away years ago was not far off. Both she and the immediate family members present wept and embraced and celebrated her willingness to seek this revelation from the Lord.

Shortly thereafter, this stalwart sister passed through the veil.

I treasure the memory of that day when I began more fully to understand the power of a patriarchal blessing in whatever season of life it might be received.

Dayton Rohner’s mom thought it would be a good idea for her family to volunteer for the pageant. At 17, Dayton wasn’t so sure. But now he’s grateful to his mom. “Being in the pageant helped me feel what others might have felt when the Savior healed the sick and taught through example what we should do in our lives. Through this experience I now have a better understanding of our Lord and His sacrifice.”

President Monson was not well enough to come to conference, so he watched it from home. Many speakers told how they love President Monson and are blessed by following him. What can you do to follow the prophet today?