Gospel Story Finder

My heart burned warmly within me when the First Presidency approved the allocation of a substantial sum from your special fast-offering contributions to join with those funds from Rotary International, that polio vaccine might be provided and the children living in Kenya immunized against this vicious crippler and killer of children.

“When the Savior admonished the people of ancient America to ‘behold [their] little ones’ (3 Nephi 17:23), He was inviting them not simply to see them but to see them deeply. Look into their eyes and see their divine worth, capacity, and potential. The same invitation regarding our precious little ones has been extended to us today. Our children have been invited by a prophet of God to help gather Israel. I testify that they have the capacity to do so. I was so inspired by the children I met during my recent visit to the Philippines as they shared what they can do to help build the kingdom of God.
“How have you seen children live the gospel of Jesus Christ, care for those in need, invite all to receive the gospel, and unite families for eternity within your realm of influence?”
Sister Amy A. Wright, Facebook, Jan. 18, 2023, facebook.com/Primary1stCounselor.

This is a story about the importance of following the prophet. It took place on the Spear Ranch in the Gila Valley of Arizona. My good friend, Jim Bryce, was foreman of the ranch. Along with his father, Ross Bryce, who was a counselor in the Pima, Arizona, stake presidency, and four Mexican vaqueros (cowboys)—Pula, José, Chino, and Javier—we began the fall roundup.
Early in the morning before sunup, at the ranch headquarters we loaded the horses into trailers and hauled them out to Nuttall Canyon. After unloading and saddling the horses, we began riding up the canyon. We spotted the first cattle as the sun lit up the east side of Stowe Knoll.
Carefully, we made our way up the rugged slope above the cattle and moved them down toward the canyon floor, letting them make their way by themselves. We went higher up the canyon until we reached a fence at the edge of a forest. Spreading out, we searched the gullies, draws, and bottom brush and began to herd the cattle down and out of the canyon. Our goal was to drive them to a corral on the other side of Left Hand Canyon, where we would earmark, brand, and vaccinate the new calves.
My friend Jim took the lead and was riding on higher ground than the rest of us so he could watch the herd of about 120 cows and calves we had gathered. Two vaqueros rode on each side, keeping the herd together, and President Bryce and I were bringing up the rear, keeping any stragglers from drifting away from the herd.
As we approached Left Hand Canyon, Jim rode up onto a knoll where he could look over the area and see what lay ahead. Since this was the first time these vaqueros had been in this part of the ranch, they did not know where the trail crossed the canyon. Jim kept motioning to move the herd of cattle towards him. The vaqueros didn’t notice his motioning, so Jim began to wave his hat and yell to move the herd towards the knoll where he was. These gestures also went unnoticed or ignored by those of us with the herd.
We soon found ourselves in a thicket of mesquite and catclaw trees amid the boulders along the edge of the canyon. The cattle were spreading out in all directions; it was impossible to keep them together. We had to get off our horses, tie them up, and crawl on our hands and knees through the brush, trees, and rocks in order to get the cattle out. At the edge of the canyon was a cliff that dropped off 15 to 20 feet to boulders below.
After losing some of the cattle in the thick brush and getting the rest of the herd out of the thicket and back together, we again heard Jim calling from on top of the knoll. He motioned to us to drive the herd towards him where we would find the trail that went down the canyon and up the other side to the corral.
Once the herd got to the trail, they followed it easily as it wound down the side of the canyon, across the creek, and up the other side, right into the corral. How easy it was to follow the trail and cross the treacherous canyon to the safety of the corral. Had we paid attention to Jim, we would not have lost any cattle and would have saved a lot of time and avoided having to crawl through the mesquite thickets and around rocks and catclaw trees to get the cattle out. It would have been easier to follow his directions and stay on the trail.

In February 1958, at age 17, I entered the United States Navy. I was assigned to an aircraft carrier, where I met Raymond Covington from Provo, Utah.
I thought Raymond was a bit strange—no smoking, no drinking, no cursing, no nothing. I asked him what he did for enjoyment. He said he did a lot of things, but mostly what he enjoyed was either starting or ending his day with one or two big milk shakes. So Raymond was given the nickname “Milkshake.”
At night, Raymond would tell me about his church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I was really quite interested, until he told me that if I joined his church, I could not hold the priesthood. That did not go over well with me. Seeing my agitation, Raymond expressed his feeling that perhaps one day the priesthood would be available to me.
As time went by I began to favor Raymond above all my friends because of the way he lived. After a while I found I had ceased to live the kind of life I had been living, and I wanted to do the right thing. He made me realize I didn’t have to curse or drink alcohol. I could make the choice to live a righteous life.
Raymond was discharged in June 1961, and I was discharged later that year. I often wondered what had happened to my old friend.

The Prophet’s kindness it seems, extended to all of God’s children. A great illustration of his respect for all men is an incident related by Jane E. Manning, an early black convert to the Church, which she wrote in 1893. In 1842, Sister Manning joined the Church in Connecticut, and at great personal cost and even greater risk, she with several other black Church members made their way to Nauvoo. Walking until their shoes were worn out and their feet were so sore that they cracked open and bled until they could see the “whole print of their feet with blood on the ground,” this courageous group arrived in Peoria, Illinois, only to be threatened by the authorities with a jail sentence if their papers were not in order. Producing the proper papers they were freed, and continued their journey crossing rivers so deep that the water ran up to their necks. Arriving finally in Nauvoo they were directed to the Prophet Joseph Smith’s home and, in the words of Aunt Jane:
“Sister Emma was standing in the door, and she kindly said, come in, come in! Brother Joseph said to some of the white sisters that were present, Sisters, I want you to occupy this room this evening with some brothers and sisters that have just arrived. Brother Joseph placed the chairs around the room and then he went and brought Sister Emma and Dr. Bernhisel and introduced them to us, Brother Joseph took a chair and sat down by me and said, you have been the head of this little band haven’t you? I answered yes sir! he then said God bless you! Now I would like you to relate your experience in your travels, I related to them all that I have above stated and a great deal more minutely, since many incidents have passed from my memory since then. Brother Joseph slapped Dr. Bernhisel on the knee and said, ‘what do you think of that Dr., isn’t that faith?’ The Dr. said, well, I rather think it is, if it had been me I fear I should have quit and returned to my home.”
The entire group stayed in the Prophet’s home for an entire week, until proper housing was secured for them. The Prophet came into their room each morning to find out how they were and one day gave Jane, who had lost her clothes on the way, some new ones. Another morning, finding her crying because all the others had found homes, he left the room, talked with Emma a few moments and then asked Jane Manning if she would live with his family. Giving her consent, she ironed, washed, and cooked for them and never forgot the kindness of Joseph and Emma Smith. She died faithful to the Church in April, 1908, always grateful for the time she had spent in the Prophet’s home.

Then in 1517, the Spirit moved Martin Luther, a German priest who was disturbed at how far the church had strayed from the gospel as taught by Christ. His work led to a reformation, a movement that was taken up by such other visionaries as John Calvin, Huldrych Zwingli, John Wesley, and John Smith.
I believe these reformers were inspired to create a religious climate in which God could restore lost truths and priesthood authority. Similarly, God inspired the earlier explorers and colonizers of America and the framers of the Constitution of the United States to develop a land and governing principles to which the gospel could be restored.
By 1820 the world was ready for the “restitution of all things” spoken of by Peter and “all [God’s] holy prophets since the world began” (Acts 3:21).

“I’m bored!” sighed Angie. “Why can’t we play a video game?”
Once again Mother patiently explained. “You know that Dad and I talked about it and decided that you were spending too much time playing those things. You need to get outside and use your imagination.”
Angelina had heard all this before, but what was she supposed to do outside? She was reminded of camping last summer. There was no TV, no computer, no video games. It seemed that her parents expected her to play with pinecones or something.
The doorbell rang, and Robin, one of Angie’s third-grade classmates, bounced in. “Angie, they have a new video game at the arcade. I’m dying to try it! Would your mom take us there?”
“I don’t know, Robin. She’s kind of down on video games right now. But maybe if I ask her while you’re here, she’ll say yes.”
The girls found Mom in the backyard. “Mom,” Angie began tentatively, “would you take Robin and me to the video arcade?”
“No, but I’ll take you to the park on Willow Street on my way to the store.”
“No!” yelled Angie. Then she turned in astonishment as she heard Robin yell, “OK!” at the same time. Angie looked at her friend. “You mean you want to go to the park? What would we do? It’s boring!”
“We can be anything we want there,” Robin explained. “Those orange trees have neat rooms underneath their branches. They could be our fort. Or we could be rich ladies in a fancy apartment, or famous veterinarians looking for rare birds to cure. Use your imagination.”
That word again! Angie didn’t think imagination sounded all that great, but the park would be better than being bored at home.
She thought that the park “fort” could have used a TV, but it was kind of fun imagining you were a famous movie star living in a mansion. Now, how did they walk and talk? Angie wasn’t very good at it, so Robin coached her. She was amazed to discover that three hours passed swiftly, and she and Robin laughed all the way home.
The next Saturday, Mother again refused to take them to the video arcade.
“Then let’s go to the park again,” Angie suggested, remembering the fun they’d had the week before.
“We can’t,” Robin told her. “It’s closed for repairs.”
“Oh, fudgits,” Angie whined, flopping down on her bed. “Another boring day.”
“Come on, Angie. Let’s go collect pop cans. Maybe we can make enough money to buy something fun.”
Several hours later the girls returned with their treasures. They hadn’t made enough money to buy the exotic colored birds they’d looked at in the pet store window, but they’d each purchased a goldfish. Now they were hunting for a large glass container to put them in.
“Let’s name them Tweedledum and Tweedledee,” Robin suggested.
“Or Punch and Judy.”
They finally settled on Hansel and Gretel and vowed that their fish would be best friends forever, just as they were.
The following Saturday, Robin went to visit her grandmother. Angie was dreading the day. Mother was still being unreasonable about video-game playing, and the park wouldn’t be any fun alone. Angie shuffled to their new refrigerator. Same old food, she noticed. Then, turning away, she saw something that made her exclaim aloud, “Wow!”
The refrigerator box was still outside by the trash. She could make a playhouse in the backyard, and when Robin returned, they could play lots of games there! They might even decorate it like a real house and put their fish in it. Hey—this imagination stuff isn’t so hard, after all!
Mother gladly helped Angie find a little table, two chairs, and some curtains for the window they cut out. Angie could hardly wait for Robin to come over. They’d have such fun!
Monday was a holiday, and it was bright and sunny. After rushing through breakfast and chores, the girls met to inspect the new playhouse.
“Angie, this is great!” Robin exclaimed, jumping up and down. “I wish I had a doll so we could play house.”
Angie thought for a second. Her dolls were all china and were locked in a glass case. She never played with them. Then she remembered—there was an old doll in the bottom of the toy chest. But she hadn’t played with it in months, and its hair was a mess, and it had no clothes.
“Robin,” Angie began, “I know a poor, starving orphan with no clothes that we can adopt and take care of.” She ran to find the doll.
“What a great idea, Angie!” Robin said. “You’re beginning to have a terrific imagination.”
“Just wait until you hear what this baby will be when she grows up,” Angie went on. “I have it all figured out.”
At that moment Angie’s older brother, Marco, poked his head in the playhouse window. “Hey, Angie, Mom says that she’ll take us to the video arcade. Come on!”
Angie and Robin looked at each other for a moment, then laughed. “No, thanks, Marco.” Angie told him. “We’d rather stay here and sew clothes for the lost princess of Matagambi.”

But along came another roadblock. This time it was in the form of a stress fracture in his foot— diagnosed three weeks before the state finals. The same thing happened in his senior year.
At that point, the obstacle he faced was called discouragement. “It seemed like every time I was doing really well, I would come down with an injury. I began to think that if I was going to be injured every six months and wear a cast around, I didn’t know if it was really worth it.”
But the “glimpses that I might do well,” were what got him over that roadblock. “I wasn’t ready to trash my spikes yet,” he said. “I had run well in my senior year and I had an offer to come to BYU anyway, so I thought I’d go down to Provo to see how I’d do.”

While growing up, Isaac Nii Ayi Kwei Martey was introduced to the Hindu religion by his father. He came in contact with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints while he was staying with his uncle in Cape Coast. He met LDS missionaries as they were rescheduling an appointment with a neighbor. He approached them and consented to listen to the restored gospel. Isaac had in mind to thwart the message of the restored gospel. When the missionaries visited with him, they gave him the Book of Mormon and he loved the teachings he found there. He genuinely wanted to learn more.
He decided to take the challenge of praying about the Book of Mormon. He persistently prayed to know if it was true and he got his confirmation three weeks later. After the witness of the Holy Ghost, he was faced with a new challenge.

A few years ago my husband and I were in France. While we were there, we visited many castles. I particularly remember one—it was in a beautiful setting, up on a hill for protection. From the castle walls you could see all around the green and beautiful countryside.
We crossed a moat and went into a large stone-walled waiting room where there were portraits of very solemn-faced people dressed in velvet and lace. The floors were uncovered and made of stone. All the rooms had fireplaces and heavy tapestries on the walls, tapestries which would absorb the cold and the moisture. They also had huge chandeliers with wax candles.
On the top floor was an outside walkway with long, thin slits in the stonework through which the guardsmen would shoot arrows and yet be protected from those shooting at them. I thought, “This is just like a fairy tale. It’s romantic and it’s mysterious. This is the way royalty lived. This was the very best they had in that country.”
And then I thought, “How many of us, common citizens in our own countries, have better living conditions than the royalty of past centuries.” Not only are our living conditions so much better, but so are our opportunities.
As members of the Church today, we have the restored gospel. Kings and queens had court wizards or wisemen to explain the happenings of the world to them. We have prophets to guide us, to tell us what will come and how we can prepare ourselves. Royalty in castles had none of those things.

I conclude with an example in my own life. Once I had a treasured friend who seemed to experience more of life’s troubles and frustrations than he could bear. Finally he lay in the hospital, terminally ill. I knew not that he was there.
Sister Monson and I had gone to that same hospital to visit another person who was very ill. As we exited the hospital and proceeded to where our car was parked, I felt the distinct impression to return and make inquiry concerning whether Hyrum Adams might be a patient there. Long years before, I had learned never, never, to postpone a prompting from the Lord. It was late, but a check with the desk clerk confirmed that indeed Hyrum was a patient.
We proceeded to his room, knocked on the door, and opened it. We were not prepared for the sight that awaited us. Balloon bouquets were everywhere. Prominently displayed on the wall was a poster with the words “Happy Birthday” written on it. Hyrum was sitting up in his hospital bed, his family members by his side. When he saw us, he said, “Why, Brother Monson, how in the world did you know that this is my birthday?” I smiled but I left the question unanswered.
Those in the room who held the Melchizedek Priesthood surrounded this, their father and my friend, and a priesthood blessing was given.
After tears were shed, smiles of gratitude exchanged, and tender hugs received and given, I leaned over to Hyrum and spoke softly to him: “Hyrum, remember the words of the Lord, for they will sustain you. He promised, ‘I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you.’”

Perhaps that can be explained by example. I hold a set of keys to an automobile. In your mind, let them represent keys to something of value in your life—a tractor, an implement, or a powerful instrument. If I give keys to you, I have certain obligations, and you have certain obligations.

For me as the giver, I have a duty toward your success. Should you fail, in a measure I have failed. So I must teach and train adequately to ensure your personal safety and, at the same time, safeguard precious property you are to use.

For you as the receiver, obligations accompany the keys. You must know applicable laws and obey them. Loyalty is expected. And you should understand the power of your instrument. Obedience, loyalty, and understanding are implicit with your acceptance of those keys.

I first taught seminary in 1949 in Brigham City. I had been a student in that seminary in my high school days.
There were three courses originally taught in seminary: Old Testament, New Testament, and Church History. It was my privilege to add an early-morning class on the Book of Mormon. I had returned from the war with a testimony of the Book of Mormon and an understanding of how the gift of the Holy Ghost operates.

Ronald A. Rasband’s visit to Pakistan is a “golden day” for him and the Saints there.

When I think of this principle, I remember a brief encounter with a charitable influence in my own life. One December I found myself facing some unexpected surgery. As I slowly began to awaken in the recovery room, I distinctly felt someone’s hands taking my vital signs and ministering to my needs. The hands felt competent and caring, and they conveyed such a sense of peace and comfort to me that I immediately knew all was well.
Despite my semiconscious state, the experience made a vivid imprint on my spirit, so much so that upon fully awakening, I recalled the touch of those hands. During the week I lay in the hospital, many nurses cared for me, but I never found the one I was looking for.
The morning of my release, a nurse came in to do a last-minute check. I immediately recognized her touch. “I’ve never seen you, but you’ve taken care of me before, haven’t you?” I said.
“Yes,” she said, surprised, “but only once. I cared for you in the recovery room five days ago.” Though that experience was many years ago, I can still recall the kindness and charity conveyed in the touch of her hands.

A few months later, I made a decision that raised eyebrows all around me. I decided to serve a full-time mission too. My decision to serve came as a blow to a greater part of my family and my closest friends. Most of them, if not 100 percent of them, counselled me not to, but my desire to serve the Lord and humanity was not thwarted because I knew what foundation I was built upon and my parent’s trust and support kept me going.
Amid the impending situation, I felt so different from everyone else and I remembered the talk by President Monson in which he quotes an old Primary song: “Dare to be a Mormon; Dare to stand alone. Dare to have a purpose firm; Dare to make it known”.1
This ultimately drove me to obtain my patriarchal blessing, and in it I realized the Lord has a greater work for me and that it can be accomplished successfully only if I exercise unyielding faith in Him. That helped me press on to pursue His course.

That care and love I have been fortunate to observe as the blessings of ministering were poured upon my family.
While I was travelling for work some time ago, my wife fell very ill and I could not immediately be with her and the children. Her situation became so dire that she was almost admitted to hospital. All I could do was to phone her and try to comfort her.
As soon as my wife missed this one Sunday when she was ill, I got a reassuring message from one of her Relief Society sisters: that they would immediately set in motion a chain of actions to help a sister in need.
I still get emotional as I re-read a series of WhatsApp messages of that very tough day. As soon as word spread that all was not well in my household, one of her ministering sisters asked on WhatsApp two simple but poignant questions: “Are the kids sick, too? Would you like a meal or two?”
Unsurprisingly, my wife felt helpless. All she could say was, “Yes.”
This “Yes” I now know was an affirmation of her belief that, with ministering, help is never far away. In the end I realized that not only was my wife ill that weekend, but our three children as well because everyone had contracted a very bad strain of flu.
The help was generous, and my wife assured me that it was sufficient enough that I would not have to cut my business trip short to rush home.
I knew these women who were her ministering sisters. Their diligence often inspired me to do my own ministering service as they never missed an appointment with my wife.

Elder Russell M. Nelson illustrated this point. He said: “I was serving as a consultant to the United States government at its National Center for Disease Control in Atlanta, Georgia. Once while awaiting a taxi to take me to the airport after our meetings were over, I stretched out on the lawn to soak in a few welcome rays of sunshine before returning to the winter weather of Utah. … Later I received a photograph in the mail taken by a photographer with a telephoto lens, capturing my moment of relaxation on the lawn. Under it was a caption, ‘Governmental consultant at the National Center.’ The picture was true, the caption was true, but the truth was used to promote a false impression.” We do not discard something we know to be true because of something we do not yet understand.

On one occasion, I sat with a group of seminary teachers, presented this formula, and asked them to put their minds to work on the subject of teaching repentance. It was interesting how in an hour of discussion we produced a dozen or more life situations that might be used.

I remember one teacher arguing that repentance really isn’t like soap. For that matter, the kingdom of heaven really isn’t like a net, nor are the Pharisees like unto the whited sepulchre. Some creative imagination is necessary. If you don’t try to develop that, then you will be a very dull teacher, not an interesting one. If you are determined to be literal, no apperceptive reference is quite good enough. (Chapter 6 “Is Like Unto. …” pp. 28–31.)

After high school, Doug was not deluged with scholarship offers. By college standards, he was still a very average runner. He did finally receive an offer from a junior college near his home, however. At the end of the first year there he surprised everyone, including himself, by running a 4:10.7 and winning the mile at the Northern California Championships. At this point, Doug decided to go to BYU. He didn’t have a scholarship or even an invitation, but he went anyway. When you’ve spent a whole year in the fifth quarter, you’re game for about anything. That fall he went out for cross-country and finished as the eighth man on the team.