Gospel Story Finder

Before becoming a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints at the age of 25, I had stopped attending my former church on Sundays. I had spent my teenage years visiting various churches in the towns where I grew up, where I was invited to play the guitar and sing. I accepted invitations from different churches each week, and I promised myself that when I found the “right” church—where they knew who God is and where I felt at home—I would stay. Depending on how many churches were in a town, I simply repeated the cycle after a few months.
Then one cold winter’s day, two missionaries knocked on my door. By then, I was married with two young children and living in a very small town. I seemed to be their only prospect, and the Elders came around to teach me on a daily basis. On the Friday, they invited me to attend church with them that Sunday. PANIC! In our discussions, they had mentioned the importance of the Sabbath: that members refrained from shopping and time-wasting frivolities and spent the day attending church (THREE hours?!?) and engaging in various activities that would build the family and bring them nearer to God. They had also discussed reverence and showing respect through our clothing choices—the expression ‘Sunday best’ was mentioned. Why the PANIC? I didn’t own a dress or a skirt!
There was only one dress shop in the town and I didn’t rate my chances of finding anything suitable too high. Sadly, I was right. The only option was a cream-coloured pleated skirt that my grandmother would have loved! I shuddered . . . and to add insult to injury, the price was exorbitant! But, I couldn’t walk away from the church that not only knew that Jesus Christ is the Son of the Father and a separate personage, but also showed reverence by dressing and behaving in an appropriate way. So I bought the hideous cream-coloured skirt—thinking I would at least blend in. The reality was that there were only three members in the branch and 12 missionaries—so I stood out anyway!
Decades later, I still remember the feeling that choice inspired: the opportunity to show my love and reverence for my Heavenly Father and His Beloved Son, Jesus Christ, by choosing my ‘best’ clothes and going to learn more of Them. Of course it’s not actually about the clothes—Heavenly Father loves us every day, barefoot and wearing jeans. It’s about honouring Them and showing respect.

I recently attended a YSA stake conference. I was late, as usual, and felt like all eyes were on me as I slid into an empty seat near the back. I folded my arms and sat quietly, trying to focus on the Spirit and the songs, but it all turned into garbled noise.
This sort of thing—a group of faithful peers singing and worshipping together—should be uplifting and spiritual, right? So why couldn’t I feel it? Why wouldn’t my mind stop racing? And why did this keep happening?
Eventually the meeting ended, and I left in tears.

After much pondering and prayer, President Woodruff received a revelation that the Latter-day Saints should cease the practice of plural marriage. In 1890 he wrote the Manifesto, testifying that the Church had ceased teaching the practice of plural marriage. In addition to being the Lord’s mouthpiece for that revelation, President Woodruff also left a legacy that emphasized missionary and temple work.

For example, let me give you a brief incident from a family history in Hawaii. It involves sacrifice and temple blessings and true eternal perspective.

In the early 1900s, a young father and his family joined the Church in Hawaii. He was enthused about his new-found religion, and after two years of membership both he and his eldest son held the priesthood. They prospered and enjoyed the fellowship of the little branch. They anxiously looked forward to being sealed as a family for eternity in the temple soon to be completed in Laie.

Then, as so often happens, a test crossed their path. One of their daughters became ill with an unknown disease and was taken away to a strange hospital. People in Hawaii were understandably wary of unknown diseases, as such diseases had wrought so much havoc there.

The concerned family went to church the next Sunday, looking forward to the strength and understanding they would receive from their fellow members. It was a small branch. This young father and his son very often took the responsibility for blessing and passing the sacrament. This was one such Sunday. They reverently broke the bread while the congregation sang the sacrament hymn. When the hymn was finished, the young father began to kneel to offer the sacrament prayer. Suddenly the branch president, realizing who was at the sacred table, sprang to his feet. He pointed his finger and cried, “Stop. You can’t touch the sacrament. Your daughter has an unknown disease. Leave immediately while someone else fixes new sacrament bread. We can’t have you here. Go.”

How would you react? What would you do?

The stunned father slowly stood up. He searchingly looked at the branch president, then at the congregation. Then, sensing the depth of anxiety and embarrassment from all, he motioned to his family and they quietly filed out of the chapel.

Not a word was said as, with faces to the ground, they moved along the dusty trail to their small home. The young son noticed the firmness in his father’s clenched fists and the tenseness of his set jaw. When they entered their home they all sat in a circle, and the father said, “We will be silent until I am ready to speak.” All sorts of thoughts went through the mind of this young boy. He envisioned his father coming up with many novel ways of getting revenge. Would they kill the branch president’s pigs, or burn his house, or join another church? He could hardly wait to see what would happen.

Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes—not a sound. He glanced at his father. His eyes were closed, his mouth was set, his fingers clenched, but no sound. Twenty minutes, twenty-five minutes—still nothing. Then he noticed a slight relaxing of his father’s hands, a small tremor on his father’s lips, then a barely perceptible sob. He looked at his father—tears were trickling down his cheeks from closed eyes. Soon he noticed his mother was crying also, then one child, then another, and soon the whole family.

Finally, the father opened his eyes, cleared his throat, and announced, “I am now ready to speak. Listen carefully.” He slowly turned to his wife and said, meaningfully, “I love you.” Then turning to each child, he told them individually, “I love you. I love all of you and I want us to be together, forever, as a family. And the only way that can be is for all of us to be good members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and be sealed by his holy priesthood in the temple. This is not the branch president’s church. It is the Church of Jesus Christ. We will not let any man or any amount of hurt or embarrassment or pride keep us from being together forever. Next Sunday we will go back to church. We will stay by ourselves until our daughter’s sickness is known, but we will go back.”

This great man had proper eternal perspective.

The daughter’s health problem was resolved; the family did go to the temple when it was completed. The children did remain faithful and were likewise sealed to their own families in the temple as time went on. Today over 100 souls in this family are active members of the Church and call their father, grandfather, and great-grandfather blessed because he kept his eyes on eternity, because he used his priesthood to bless his family, and because he recorded his feelings. How the heart of this father turned to his children, and how his children’s hearts turned to him.

My mother works every evening from 3:00 p.m. until 11:00 p.m. Even though she couldn’t be home on Monday nights, my older brother and I decided to hold family home evening by ourselves—just the two of us. My brother was inactive for eight years, but he had been attending institute recently and decided to give the message one Monday night. He shared a spiritual thought from the Book of Mormon that I had never considered, even though I had taken four years of seminary and had worked on my Personal Progress. The spirit I felt was just as I had hoped it would be when the time came that I would have a worthy priesthood holder in my home.
I’m grateful Heavenly Father gives me the opportunity to strengthen my family every week through family home evening. I love the gospel of Jesus Christ, and I’m glad that I had this humbling family home evening experience with my brother.

A few months ago I went to Edmonton for work. The weather conditions were bad, and I struggled to get there. I didn’t know the city and got lost. I needed to find a gas station that sold diesel.
I started to worry. I was on a time budget and needed to get home quickly. I started to call friends who were familiar with the area. I talked to a close friend who was able to direct me. I then called my mom who comforted me and helped me feel safe again. I ended my conversation so I could continue driving.
I drove for a while and started to think I had somehow missed my exit. Worry again came to my mind. I began to scan my surroundings to find any clue about where I was or if I was on the right track. As I rounded a corner, the Edmonton Alberta Temple came into view. It was beautiful and white, with a spire that soared into the air. I could see the golden statue of the angel Moroni. The Spirit flooded my heart, and all fear was swept away. The Spirit seemed to confirm to me that I was going in the right direction.

Learning to set priorities helps us have time for everything we need to do, mainly for the things of the Lord. One of my main priorities was to attend seminary every day. If I attended seminary in the morning and then went to school, the day seemed to have more than 24 hours. Schoolwork was easier, and reading the scriptures personally and as a family became a delight. Remembering to put the Lord first in our lives helps us see everything else with a new perspective and helps us set priorities and reach our goals.
Bianca S., 19, Paysandú, Uruguay

From a priest: “I was out working on my car yesterday. All of a sudden something seemed to say to me, ‘Get out from under this car!’ I did, and instantly it dropped down off the supports I had it resting on. I know I would have been crushed to death. I’m so grateful to my Heavenly Father for watching over me.”

Now another. A young man in Mexico City was approved to receive a loan of approximately $1,000 to make it possible for him to attend school to become a diesel mechanic. He has said: “My promise is to give my best in order to feel satisfied with my efforts. I know this program is valuable and important. Because of this, I am trying to take maximum advantage of this for the future. I will be able to serve and help the poor and help counsel my family members. I thank my Father in Heaven for this beautiful and inspired program.”

Ashley pulled her stuffed-animal elephant to her chest and closed her eyes. She pictured the notes of her song, “The Elephant and the Flea,” just as they were on her music. She took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and smiled. Her turn was next, and she was sure she would remember the music she had so carefully memorized.
This was her first piano recital, and Ashley was nervous. The small room was packed with people, and she hardly knew any of them. But her mom was there, and her piano teacher, Miss Stewart, sat smiling at the front of the room near the piano. The students had been asked to dress to represent their songs, so Ashley carried a stuffed-animal elephant with a flea on its nose.
A little boy finished his song and stood up. He bowed while everyone clapped loudly. He did well. He didn’t forget any notes in his song.
Ashley swallowed. What if she messed up? Would they still clap for her? What would her mom and her piano teacher think?
Mom reached over and put her hand on Ashley’s back. “It’s your turn,” she whispered. Then she saw the nervous look on Ashley’s face and added, “You’ll do fine.”
Ashley stood up and started to picture the notes in her head one last time. Then she walked slowly to the front of the room.
After announcing her name and the title of her song, she placed the elephant on the edge of the bench, sat down next to it, and stared at the piano keys. She knew she could remember the notes. She had practiced so hard; she had to remember. She started playing. Her fingers danced across the keys as she made it through the first part of the song perfectly. Then she got to the second part. This part had always been tricky. Ashley tried to play the right notes, but her fingers and her brain forgot what came next.
Everyone watched her sit silently at the piano. How could this be happening? Miss Stewart searched through a pile of music and pulled out Ashley’s piece. She stood up and began walking toward Ashley. How embarrassing if she had to use the actual written music when she was supposed to have it memorized! Just before Miss Stewart could put the music on the piano, Ashley started playing again. Instead of starting where she had stopped, she skipped the middle part and began to play the short ending, which she remembered.
Embarrassed, Ashley finished the song and hurried back to her seat. She didn’t bow, and she didn’t look at anyone. The audience clapped, but Ashley was sure it wasn’t as loud or as long as it had been for the little boy before her.
“It’s OK,” her mom said. She put her arm around Ashley and kissed the top of her head. “You did so well.”
But Ashley knew she hadn’t done well at all.
When the recital was over, Ashley walked quickly toward the door. She couldn’t stand the embarrassment. A lady stepped in front of the door, stopping her from escaping.
“You did so well up there. I just love that you can play the piano at such a young age,” she said.
A man joined in. “I really liked your song,” he said.
More people walked by and smiled or patted Ashley on the back. Then Miss Stewart put her arm around Ashley’s shoulder. “You did a wonderful job,” she said. She smiled, then moved on to talk to some other piano students.
Ashley felt much better on the ride home. She had messed up, but that didn’t matter so much anymore. Everyone seemed to understand. Ashley had tried her best, and that was enough.

As the two sisters reminisce about experiences they are having as missionaries, it is obvious that they are being richly blessed by the Lord in their efforts. “When I went to my first city as a new missionary,” says Sister Pálinkás, “my companion and I looked in our planners and there was nothing scheduled. But we went out and worked hard. I learned that when there’s an empty day in our planners we can say, ‘No problem; we’re going to teach three or four discussions.’ I’ve learned that if we ask with real faith and real intent, the Lord will help us with it, as long as it’s according to his will.”

Praying for Missy
One day after a big storm, my friend’s cat, Missy, was missing. We looked all over, but we couldn’t find her. I said that we could pray. My friends weren’t sure how, so I showed them. We all knelt down and each said our own prayer. Then we got up and started looking again. A girl ran over to us and said she found Missy! I was happy that I shared part of the gospel with my friends.

A story written by Karen Nolen, which appeared in the New Era in 1974, tells of a Benjamin Landart who, in 1888, was 15 years old and an accomplished violinist. Living on a farm in northern Utah with his mother and seven brothers and sisters was sometimes a challenge to Benjamin, as he had less time than he would have liked to play his violin. Occasionally his mother would lock up the violin until he had his farm chores done, so great was the temptation for Benjamin to play it.
In late 1892 Benjamin was asked to travel to Salt Lake to audition for a place with the territorial orchestra. For him, this was a dream come true. After several weeks of practicing and prayers, he went to Salt Lake in March of 1893 for the much anticipated audition. When he heard Benjamin play, the conductor, a Mr. Dean, told Benjamin he was the most accomplished violinist he had heard west of Denver. He was told to report to Denver for rehearsals in the fall and learned that he would be earning enough to keep himself, with some left over to send home.
A week after Benjamin received the good news, however, his bishop called him into his office and asked if he couldn’t put off playing with the orchestra for a couple of years. He told Benjamin that before he started earning money there was something he owed the Lord. He then asked Benjamin to accept a mission call.
Benjamin felt that giving up his chance to play in the territorial orchestra would be almost more than he could bear, but he also knew what his decision should be. He promised the bishop that if there were any way to raise the money for him to serve, he would accept the call.
When Benjamin told his mother about the call, she was overjoyed. She told him that his father had always wanted to serve a mission but had been killed before that opportunity had come to him. However, when they discussed the financing of the mission, her face clouded over. Benjamin told her he would not allow her to sell any more of their land. She studied his face for a moment and then said, “Ben, there is a way we can raise the money. This family [has] one thing that is of great enough value to send you on your mission. You will have to sell your violin.”
Ten days later, on March 23, 1893, Benjamin wrote in his journal: “I awoke this morning and took my violin from its case. All day long I played the music I love. In the evening when the light grew dim and I could see to play no longer, I placed the instrument in its case. It will be enough. Tomorrow I leave [for my mission].”
Forty-five years later, on June 23, 1938, Benjamin wrote in his journal: “The greatest decision I ever made in my life was to give up something I dearly loved to the God I loved even more. He has never forgotten me for it.”

And girls, don’t underestimate your influence on your brothers and your sweethearts. As you live worthy of their love and respect, you can help greatly to determine that they will be clean and virtuous, successful and happy. Always remember that you can go much further on respect than on popularity. I was reading the other day of a report of a conversation between two young prisoners of war in Vietnam. One said, “I am sick of war, bombers, destruction, prison camps, and everything and everybody.”

“I feel much like that myself,” said the other. “But there is a girl back home who is praying that I will come back. She cares, and it really helps me endure all these atrocities.”

In a mountain valley, a small community is the home of a monastery with a declining number of aging monks. A stake Relief Society president, with many other compassionate service responsibilities, regularly checks on the well-being of the monks. She is the first to deliver goodies on days when they are permissible. She cares about their welfare just as she does about the members of her stake.

Not long after, the two friends decided to enter the Miss Hurricane pageant. This was not new to Sheena. She had tried out the previous year and had won the talent award but bombed the interview. So, in her typical style, she practiced with anyone who would interview her and tried out again. “I was so excited when I got first attendant, with talent and interview awards. And I was so happy for Leisel to be chosen queen. We’ve had a lot of fun together.”

It was on Beacon Hill that Elders Brigham Young, Wilford Woodruff, and Willard Richards prayerfully decided to authorize the printing of copies of the Book of Mormon and hymn books in Great Britain. These brethren did not have access to a temple, so they often retreated to the Malvern Hills to discuss with the Lord various weighty decisions. These hills, and particularly Beacon Hill, are sacred places.

After that, missionaries and Church leaders frequently traveled to visit the Torales family. The family also shared the gospel with neighbors, some of whom were baptized. Finally, because of the great distances and sacrifices involved, a branch was created at the Torales home in 1986, with Brother Torales as branch president.
Every Sunday, the porch between the two rooms of their small home becomes a chapel as folding chairs and a pulpit are set up. The sacrament is blessed and passed to the members. Classes are held under a tree or over by the flower garden. “We are happy having our meetings here,” says Sister Torales. “We don’t need anything more.”
“We feel the Spirit of the Lord here with us,” President Torales says.
A couple of nights each week, family members visit neighbors and teach them the gospel. “We walk far to reach them,” says 22-year-old Zulma. “Many people receive us. They all know us.” Baptisms take place in the nearby river.

Several years ago I visited a large automobile dealership and looked at many new automobiles. One in particular caught my eye—a convertible sports model with all of the fancy equipment you could imagine. It had push-button everything and more horsepower than a division of cavalry. How I would have enjoyed a car like that when I was in high school! It occurred to me that you of high school age may be interested in owning such a car.
Will you imagine something with me? Imagine that I have decided to present to a typical teenager a car such as this, and you are the one who has been chosen. On the evening of the presentation, I see that you are not quite financially able to run such a car, so I generously include free gas, oil, maintenance, tires, anything your car will use. I’ll give you all of this, and the bills will come to me.
How you will enjoy that car! Think of driving it to school tomorrow. Think of all the new friends you will suddenly acquire.
Your parents may be hesitant to let you use this car freely, so I will visit with them. I am sure they will be reluctant, but because of my position as one of the leaders of the Church, they will consent.
Let us imagine, then, that you have your car, everything to run it, and freedom to use it.
Suppose that one evening you are invited to attend a Church social. “There are just enough of you to ride in my station wagon,” your teacher says. “You may leave your car home.” When they come to take you to the party, you suddenly remember your new convertible, with the top down, parked at the curb. You run back in the house and give the car keys to your father, asking that he put it in the garage, for it looks as if it may rain. Your father, of course, obediently agrees.
Later you come home and notice your car is not at the curb. “Dear old Dad,” you muse, “always willing to help out.” But as the station wagon pulls into the driveway and the lights flash into the garage, you see it stands empty.
You rush into the house, find Father, and ask where your car is.
“Oh, I loaned it to someone,” he responds.
Then imagine a conversation such as this.
“Well, who was it?” you ask.
“Oh, that boy who comes by here regularly,” Dad says.
“What boy?”
“Oh, that … well, I have seen him pass here several times on his bicycle.”
“What is his name?”
“Well, I’m afraid I didn’t find out.”
“Where did he take the car?”
“That really wasn’t made clear.”
“When will he bring it back?”
“Well, there really wasn’t any agreement on that.”
Then suppose that your father should say to you, with some impatience, “Now you calm down. He rushed in here. He needed a car. You weren’t using it. He seemed to be in a frantic hurry over something, and he looked like an honest boy, so I gave him the keys. Now relax. Go to bed. Calm down.”
I suppose under the circumstances you would look at your father with a puzzled expression and wonder if some important connection had slipped loose in his thinking mechanism.
It would take a foolish father to lend such an expensive piece of equipment on an arrangement such as that—particularly a car that belonged to you.

As another example, I remember my beloved grandmother Mary Caroline Roper Finlinson making homemade soap on the farm. Her recipe for homemade soap included rendered animal fat, a small portion of lye as a cleansing agent, and wood ashes as an abrasive. The soap had a very pungent aroma and was almost as hard as a brick. There was no money to buy soft, sweet-smelling soap. On the farm, there were many dusty, sweat-laden clothes to be washed and many bodies that needed desperately a Saturday night bath. If you had to bathe with that homemade soap, you could become wonderfully clean, but you smelled worse after bathing than before. Since I use soap more now than I did as a child, I have developed a daily appreciation for mild, sweet-scented soap.