Gospel Story Finder

For many years, I owned a handsome pocket watch that once belonged to my grandfather Andrew C. Nelson, whom I never met. He died when my father was only 16 years old.
My father inherited Grandfather Nelson’s watch. When I got older, he gave the watch to me. I treasured that watch as a tangible link to one of my faithful ancestors.
Grandfather Nelson’s parents, like all of my great-grandparents, joined the Church in their native Europe. I will be forever grateful for these pioneer predecessors. Because of their faith and sacrifice to gather with the Saints, my posterity and I have enjoyed the blessings of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.
Grandfather Nelson’s watch reminded me of our solemn obligation as Latter-day Saints to gather our Father’s children on both sides of the veil. His watch also reminded me that our ancestors watch and wait for us to identify them and see that their temple ordinances are performed so that they have the opportunity to be gathered eternally into the Father’s fold.
What happened to Grandfather Nelson’s pocket watch? A few years ago, I passed it on to my son. As it did for me, that watch now links him to his progenitors and reminds him of his duty to his posterity.
And so it goes. Each covenant generation carries on the work of the Lord, doing its part in preparing the world for the Second Coming of Jesus Christ.

Tonight I asked Mom to teach me how to cook from scratch, like she used to before Dad died and she had to go to work. I’m tired of watching her worry about bills, and I know that cooking from scratch would save money and be healthier.
“It would take a lot of your time,” she said. I said I figured it was time for me to pull my share of the load. Mom hugged me tight. “OK,” she laughed. “Lesson one …”

The first is illustrated by an experience of several months ago. A stake president and I took the opportunity to visit a young woman in her home near Atlanta, Georgia. She was twenty-nine years old; her husband had been killed in a car accident; she was living in a modest apartment with her two young children. I suppose we expected to find her upset and discouraged at having received a “bump” not of her own making. On the contrary, she was cheerful; she was calm; she was very gracious. She thanked us for coming and then said, as nearly as I can recall: “Brethren, I want you to know I believe in the plan of redemption. I am grateful to my Savior for the promise of a glorious resurrection with my husband. I am grateful for His redeeming sacrifice.” Then, putting her arms around her two children, she said, “Our faith in Jesus Christ will see us through.”

We came expecting to comfort and strengthen, and we left humbled, buoyed, and blessed by her wonderful expression of faith.

It bothered me so much that someone could be so cruel and not even apologize.
For a long time I struggled with forgiveness. Through my own negative experiences, I had often been given counsel that made me feel as though I was being villainized if I didn’t forgive. I often heard phrases like, “If you don’t forgive, then you’re a hypocrite.”
And as someone who has been hurt by others many times, it really hurt me spiritually to hear messages like that—that I would be just as terrible of a person if I was genuinely struggling to forgive. Sometimes I even felt that people excused or dismissed my perpetrators because they may have been facing challenges that caused them to act cruelly.
This mindset made me feel confused and alone. Was it OK for people to be unkind?
When I asked my dad why he didn’t seem so angry about the whole situation, he told me, “He already stole so much from me, so why would I let him steal my happiness too?”
After this conversation, it was as if a light had come on. I saw forgiveness differently.

Jackeline Martinez Roman of the Colon Ward, Quito Ecuador Colon Stake, was recently selected as second runner-up in the Miss Quito contest, part of the annual celebration of Ecuador’s capital. She was nominated by her employers. Jackeline, along with the girls selected as Miss Quito and first runner-up, will spend time during the year raising funds for the elderly and underprivileged and attending activities sponsored by the city.
Jackeline hopes her new position will offer some good opportunities for missionary work. In fact, Miss Quito and the first runner-up have already asked about the Church and its beliefs, and Jackeline was happy to explain.
Although born in Ecuador, Jackeline lived for nine years in Maryland in the United States, where she attended school. She has served as seminary president and as a teacher in the Primary and Sunday School, and she is presently serving as Primary secretary.

I was making a poster for my homework and I got frustrated that I couldn’t draw what I was trying to draw, so I threw my pencil. My Mom suggested that I could read to calm down. I was going to read my favorite book, but then I felt like I should read the Friend instead. I read Matt and Mandy. It helped me feel better because Matt was having a bad day, but he tried to remember he was a child of God. I read it eight times, and I got a warm feeling. I know that Heavenly Father knows me and all my problems. If I will listen to the still, small voice, He will comfort and help me. I know I am a child of God.

But you may have done more than you know. Your deacons quorum president next week may ask you to invite to come with you to a Sunday meeting a boy who has never attended, nor has anyone in his family. You may trudge up to his house, get him to come with you a few times, and then see him move away. You may think you haven’t done much that mattered. But the grandfather of such a boy came up to me during a stake conference, described in detail how a deacon had done just that for his grandson—more than ten years before and almost a continent away—and with tears in his eyes asked me if I could thank that deacon for him, now grown older, unaware that the Savior had reached out through a twelve-year-old servant assigned by a thirteen-year-old quorum president.

Some of you brethren know the feelings of that grandfather. The mother of his grandson was raising him alone with no contact with the Church. The grandfather had tried every way he knew to reach out to touch their lives. He loved them. He felt responsible for her and for his grandson. And he knew what you know: He knew that someday, when they saw things as they really are, they would wish with all their hearts that they had made the choices that would qualify them for eternal life, choices which won’t and can’t be made without faith in Jesus Christ sufficient to salvation.

It is like being in a forest and having a tree in front of us. Unless we step back a little, we will not be able to appreciate what a forest really is. I once visited the Amazon jungle in Leticia, Colombia, near the borders of Brazil and Peru. I was not able to appreciate its magnitude until I flew over it and gained perspective.

As a new temple is completed, or an older temple is renovated, it is our custom to hold an open house a few days prior to the dedication and invite all who would attend to walk through and view the beautiful interior.
I remember one such open house at which nearly a quarter of a million people visited. On the first day of the opening, ministers of other religions were invited as special guests, and hundreds responded. It was my privilege to speak to them and to answer their questions at the conclusion of their tours. I told them that we would be pleased to answer any questions they might have. Many were asked. Among these was one which came from a Protestant minister.
He said: “I’ve been all through this building, this temple which has the name of Jesus Christ over the front door, but nowhere have I seen any representation of the cross, the symbol of Christianity. Why is this?”
I responded: “I do not wish to give offense to any of my Christian brethren, but for us, the cross is the symbol of the dying Christ, while our message is a declaration of the living Christ.”
He then asked: “If you do not use the cross, what is the symbol of your religion?”
I replied that the lives of our people must become the only meaningful expression of our faith and, in fact, therefore, the symbol of our worship.

“One more house, Brother Henderson?” That was Jan Andrews’s question.
Gregory Henderson looked at his group. He had come into the city with a dozen of the kids from his Sunday School class to visit some of the older members of the ward and sing Christmas carols. They had seen all of the families on their list with the exception of the Billings, and it was getting late and the kids were getting cold.
“Face it, Henderson,” he thought, “you’d like to go home too. You have a family to be with on Christmas Eve and a wife who would like some help in decorating the Christmas tree.” Another part of him spoke up quickly, though, and put things into perspective.
“Yes, we’re going to see the Billings. They live on Clayton Avenue. It shouldn’t take too long to get there. I think we’ll sing three songs, like we’ve been doing, and then head for home.”
As the kids piled into his car and Dave Maxfield’s van, he could see on their faces that one last visit would be about enough. He hoped that the project had touched some of them. They needed to start learning a little about service.
His car moved on through the dark Baltimore streets in silence. Inside were the most active kids in the ward, the doers and movers. Jan Andrews, Tony Morgan, Bob Smith, Carol Miller—his wife called them the angels. They had been the biggest helps to him so far.
After several minutes’ ride, Greg saw the turn-off for Clayton Avenue. He swung the big Dodge into the narrow street and continued down the two blocks to the Billings’ house. The young people piled out again, ready to conclude the project, thinking thoughts of home and the next morning.
Jan called the group together outside the house: “Let’s start off with ‘I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day,’ then go to ‘Joy to the World,’ and close with ‘Silent Night.’ The Billings are both pretty sick and haven’t been able to get out to church for a long time. They’ll appreciate this a lot.”
In the back of his mind, Greg Henderson wondered if the old man standing across the street was enjoying the singing. The thought faded just as rapidly as it had come, and Greg turned his mind back to the music.
Somewhere out in the suburbs, Greg Henderson rolled over in bed. He had just finished assembling the last toys, and he was tired and wanted to rest before the children would patter in asking mommy and daddy if they knew that it was Christmas Day.
Just before the last trace of consciousness fled, Greg thought about the old man who had listened to them sing on Clayton Avenue. Greg wondered if the man had liked the kids’ singing. Then sleep came and chased the thought from his mind.

Once there was an old, wise, and prudent king who had three sons. As the king grew older, he decided it was time to confer his kingdom upon one of them. So he called his sons to him and said, “Soon I will go the way of all the earth. Before I die, I will crown one of you the next king. I know that all of you are good men, so I am going to give you a test: Here are three small coins for each of you to take to the marketplace and buy something that is useful and that will fill my whole house.” Then he told them to come back the next day with what they had bought.
The three sons left their father’s house and went to the marketplace, which was very big. It was full of all kinds of things that were interesting and beautiful, simple and useful. Wonderful smells were floating in the air. Here you could find anything you needed or wanted.
The oldest son scurried around the marketplace, wondering what he could buy with his three small coins. Although he was a very busy husband and father, and had a business to take care of, he would honor his father’s unusual request. If only he could find something quickly!
Glancing at the rugs, he thought they were very beautiful. The rugs were useful, too, and could fill his father’s house—but they were far too expensive. Then he saw something else that was quite useful, and he could buy enough of it to fill his father’s house. He made his purchase and hurried home with it, thinking, That was easy!
The second son slowly wandered in and out of the stalls and shops. He was becoming very discouraged because he simply could not see a thing that he could buy with only three small coins. He thought that his father’s request was really impossible to fulfill. He was hungry and ready to go home, when something caught his attention. The son bought several with his coins and went home. At least he wouldn’t go back to his father empty-handed.
The youngest son was also very puzzled over his father’s strange test. He walked around the marketplace all day, looking and looking. Once he stopped to help a lost little girl find her mother. Another time he helped an old woman load her donkey with bundles of firewood. He talked with the men and laughed with the children playing games. But his search for something useful that could fill his father’s house seemed in vain. He had just about given up finding anything, because it was getting dark and the market was closing.
I’ll try once more, he decided. And as he passed a small shop for the last time, he saw exactly what he needed! “Why didn’t I think of it before?” he said out loud. He spent his three small coins and carried his treasure home.
The next day, the three brothers again found themselves before their father, the king. Each was ready to show what he had bought with his coins.
The oldest son carried in a large, bulky bundle of straw. He scattered the straw across the floors in all the rooms of the king’s house. It smelled sweet and made a crunchy, swishy sound as all in the household went about their chores. But soon the children were playing in it, and it stuck to their hair and got in their clothes. Then the chickens came into the house to scratch in the straw and to make their nests. And the women in the king’s house complained that they could not keep the house clean and that they couldn’t find small things that were dropped.
The king frowned. He decided that the straw was too troublesome to really be useful.
The second son filled small bowls with burning sticks of incense. Carefully, he placed a bowl of the incense in various places in the house. Its sweet smell started drifting through the rooms, and the people stopped their work, trying to catch a whiff of it. But the delicate scent was soon gone with the gentle breeze that came through the open windows.
The king shook his head and decided that the incense did not fill his whole house long enough and that when they smelled it, people didn’t seem to want to do their work.
Finally the youngest son came in. In each room of the house he set out a candle and lit it. A soft, warm glow filled the corners and hallways. Everyone began chatting amiably as they busied themselves around the house, for the light had chased away the shadows. The children giggled and played, or practiced their lessons. Women sang while they did their housework and took care of the babies. And the men were able to do their work faster, and more safely too.
The old king sighed a happy sigh, and smiled with contentment. The new king would be his youngest son, who filled the castle with light and helped his people enjoy their labors.

For many years Relief Society was part of the National Council of Women in the United States. Shortly after Sister Belle Spafford was called as the Relief Society general president, she said to President George Albert Smith (1870–1951) that going to the meetings in New York was costly and of little benefit. “President Smith gently chastised [Sister Spafford], ‘Do you always think in terms of what you get? Don’t you think it’s well to think in terms of what you have to give?’”

We heard youth who had never before considered missionary service express an earnest wish to prepare and serve and even one young man who just after returning home from FSY have already filed his missionary application.

Ken Morgan, custodian at Ukiah High School, gave five books to teachers and personnel at the high school. The librarian asked for two copies, one for herself and one to put in the school library. Ken’s wife works at an elementary school, where she gave ten books to teachers and parents.

Jo’s Story If you like Little Women, you’ll like the series, Portraits of Little Women, about each girl when she is ten years old. This one is of Jo trying to sacrifice herself for her sisters. A craft, a recipe, and a sample chapter from the other books in the series are included.Susan Beth Pfeffer8–12 years

This is especially true for parents. When my wife and I were expecting our first child, I called my uncle for advice. He is the one who introduced me to the Church, and I love him dearly.

“What can I do?” I asked. “How can I teach my children to help them grow and be strong?”

I was struck by what my uncle said.

“Don’t worry about them,” he said. “It’s about you. They will be with you and see you all the time. Try your best to obey the commandments. Be honest and worthy in all you do, and they will follow your example.”

While recovering from four gunshot wounds he received in Carthage Jail and no doubt filled with awe concerning his beloved martyred Prophet, President John Taylor (1808–87) wrote these inspiring words: “Joseph Smith, the Prophet and Seer of the Lord, has done more, save Jesus only, for the salvation of men in this world, than any other man that ever lived in it” (D&C 135:3).

“After the Saints left Nauvoo, my parents doubled their exertions to get an outfit to go to the Rocky Mountains. In the meantime Father had one or two quite sick spells which put him back considerably. How well I remember what a hard time he had breaking in the animals to draw the wagon. There were six cows and two oxen. The oxen were well broken and quite sedate but the cows were wild and unruly. He would get help to yoke them up, and then would start to drive them. All at once they would run off in an opposite direction to where he wanted them to go, or would run around to the back of the wagon and get all tangled up.
“Well, this went on for days and days, and while Father was breaking the cattle, Mother was praying. She told me afterwards that many nights when we were in bed asleep she would go out into the orchard at the back of our house and there pour out her soul in prayer, asking the Lord to open the way for us to go with the Saints. She was willing to share in their privations for the sake of being with them.
“Another source of anxiety to her was that I was in my teens, at the romantic age of seventeen, and Mother knowing the susceptibility of the human heart, was afraid that some young man might persuade me to think more of him than I did of her, and induce me to remain there. She could not live away from the Church and she could not leave a child behind. So my parents said we must not stay any longer.
“Well, after weeks of hard work, Father had the cows broken so that he could drive them and on the ninth day of May, 1849, my brother Riley’s sixteenth birthday, we said good-bye to our friends and relatives, got into our wagons, and started on our long, eventful journey. Oh, how Mother’s countenance beamed with joy! What did she care for hardships, if she could only reach the goal?”

One of the persons who signed agreements (guarantees) for me when I began in the insurance business, was Brother Horace S. Eldredge, and as each bond required two signatures, he suggested that I ask Captain William H. Hooper to sign with him. I explained that I knew the Captain only slightly, and feared he would not care to become one of the persons liable in case of my failure. Brother Eldredge thought otherwise, so I solicited the Captain’s signature, but he promptly declined. I walked direct to my office and had been there but one or two minutes when a messenger from the Deseret National Bank, where I had just left the Captain, called and said that Mr. Hooper desired to see me. My answer was that I had just seen the Captain and our conversation had been of such a character that I had no particular desire for another interview. The messenger insisted that he had seen the Captain since I had, and I finally concluded: therefore, to go see him again.

On reaching the bank, the Captain said: “Young man, give me those bonds.” He signed them, and then said, “When you were here a few moments ago, I did not know you. I have met you on the street now and then for a number of years, and have spoken to you, but really did not know you. After you went out, I asked who you were, and when I learned that you were a son of Jedediah M. Grant I sent for you at once. It gives me pleasure to sign your bonds. I would almost be willing to sign a bond for a son of Brother Jedediah if I knew I would have to pay it. In this case, however, I have no fears of having to do that.”

He related a number of incidents about my father, which showed the Captain’s love for, and confidence in, him. What the Captain told me, filled my heart with gratitude to God for having given to me such a father, and Captain Hooper’s remarks have never been forgotten. They impressed me with a strong desire to so live and labor that my children would be benefited, even after I have passed away from this life, by the record which I shall have made.

The action of Captain Hooper profoundly impressed me with the benefits derived from having a good father. Although my father died when I was a babe nine days old, twenty years after his death I was reaping the benefits of his honesty and faithful labors. The incident referred to above happened twenty-three years ago. Many, many blessings have since come to me because of the honesty and integrity of my father.

“How much do you suggest?” Don asked.

“All right,” Don replied. “I will come and get you at seven so that we can get to our meeting on time.” He was smiling but the worry that had come into his eyes at the suggestion of a fifty-pound donation was still there.

Don was the next to give his report.

“That Monday morning following our fund-raising meeting, I went to an early morning sales meeting. Afterwards, I overheard our store manager complain about the lack of honest, competent help to take inventory. I stepped forward and volunteered four people—my wife, my two oldest daughters, and myself. We’ve already received our first check, the fifty pounds that we agreed to work for. In six months we’ll take inventory again—just in time to meet the next needs. Oh, and one more thing: our work has brought me favorably to the attention of my superiors. I have already received a pay raise and I was told that I’m next in line for promotion.”