Gospel Story Finder

President Hinckley’s love of learning is catalyzed by curiosity. He grasps every opportunity to learn from others. On one occasion, I heard him quiz a local security officer for nearly an hour regarding crime control in a major city. I have heard him converse with building contractors, reporters, and those who specialize in the arts, architecture, business, government, law, medicine, and other disciplines. He knows their vocabularies, their challenges, and their strengths.

Ivor, my third son, was still living in the village. He was destined not to be with me long. He had been born two months early and was so tiny that his mother carried him on a pillow. He grew to manhood but suffered from a heart disease. He was the poet in the family, and even though his health was poor he was always happy. I can hear him yet as he sang to the trees in the woods that bordered our home. I remember that day only a few days before his heart failed him that we walked together up into the meadow and we looked across the valley. He took my hand in his and spoke softly. “Listen Tad” (that’s Welsh for Father), and across the valley came the plaintive call of the cuckoo. “Isn’t it lovely? The cuckoo tells of the coming spring, and soon the meadow will be white with daisies, and the thrush will sing a joyful tune. Aye, my Tad, it’s a grand world that God has given us.”
He died in his sleep and was buried beside his mother in the little cemetery on the hill.
The funeral was quite an event in our village. It was the first LDS funeral ever conducted there. Many people came out of curiosity, but most came because Ivor was loved and respected. Jones, the undertaker, in his black suit and top hat drove the hearse with a pair of black horses.
It was less than a mile to the cemetery, and the mourners walked behind the hearse. Soon the villagers started to sing. At first their voices were quiet like the summer breeze on Rhysog Mountain. Then as the words came, “Feed me till I want no more,” their voices raised in a great crescendo like waves breaking on a rocky shore. Oh, my people from whom I came, your songs of mourning are still in my heart, and I know that my son and my Bess heard.

The bell rang. Molly put her books in her bag. School was over, and she couldn’t wait for the weekend!
“Remember to be ready for your history reports on Monday,” said Mr. Miller. “Have a good weekend, class.”
Molly looked over at Anisha. Her head was down, and she looked worried.
“Hey, Anisha,” said Molly. “Are you OK?”
Anisha sighed. “I’m scared to give my report on Monday. I’ve worked hard on my English since we moved here. But the words in our history book are hard for me to say.”
Molly thought about that. It would be so hard to move to a different country and learn a new language.
“Would it help if we practiced together?” asked Molly.
Anisha nodded. “I would like that. Maybe we can study our vocabulary words too.”
“Sure,” said Molly. “That would help both of us!”
On Monday morning, Mr. Miller stood in front of the class. “We will start class today with our reports.”
Molly turned and gave Anisha a smile. Anisha smiled back, but Molly could see worry in her eyes.
A few other people gave their reports. Then it was Anisha’s turn. People giggled as she walked to the front of the class. Some of them pointed at her and whispered.
Anisha took a big breath. The paper she was holding shook a little.
Molly said a silent prayer. Heavenly Father, please help Anisha do well on her report. And please help me know how I can help her.
The teacher asked the students to listen quietly. But Molly still heard whispering. When Anisha tried to say the hard words, a few people laughed. Molly wished she could make the kids stop giggling and whispering. She made sure to smile whenever Anisha looked at her.
When Anisha finished, she walked back to her desk. Molly saw tears in Anisha’s eyes. Anisha put her head down on her desk.
Then it was Molly’s turn. She walked to the front of the room. “Before I start, I want to say that Anisha did a great job on her report.”
Anisha looked up.
“She has only lived here for a few months, and she’s already so good at English. She works hard and doesn’t give up. I hope I can be brave like she is.”
After class Molly grabbed her books. She wanted to talk to Anisha. But lots of other students were already gathered around Anisha. They were saying nice things to her.
“Good job on your report, Anisha!” one boy said.
“Some of the names of people and places were very hard to say!” said another girl.
Molly smiled and said another silent prayer. She thanked Heavenly Father for helping her be brave like Anisha.

Looking around at the girls, the stake camp director was able to point out some real success stories. One junior counselor had been reactivated into the Church because of camp. She had been so shy that she wouldn’t participate in most Church activities. But as she learned the camping and leadership skills taught in the Campcrafter program, she gained the confidence and know-how to be a junior counselor in charge of teaching skills classes and conducting camp activities. She started attending her other Church meetings as well.

“When Dale Murphy of the Atlanta Braves came through, we all wanted to put the booties on him,” said Scott Hammond, 14. “When he came to me, I joked with him that his feet were too big and to move on down the line. He put them on himself. Then we got his autograph for our ward Primary.”

In South America we saw once an example of broken communication lines.
We were riding far out in the northwest of Argentina. It was cattle country. The road was straight and narrow for numerous miles, and on either side was a four-wire barbed fence. Parallel to the fence line was a series of poles on which were strung the wires for telephone communication to the world. Upon each telephone pole was a crossbar, and strung from crossbar to crossbar were the communication lines.
As we traveled along where the grass had been heavy but now was burned, we found where some of the telephone poles, being in the wake of the fire, were burned off near the ground. Someone had carelessly thrown a lighted cigarette from a car window. It had ignited the grass, the telephone communications were ended or limited, and communication was down.
Nearly all the poles for a distance were scorched or burned. Some had been burned off the first few feet from the ground and were hanging by the top part in the air from the wires they were intended to support. Dangling in the air, these sagging wires had let the poles touch the ground as they were swinging in the wind, each time creating static on the line.
The poles had been set to hold up the lines, but here they were sagging.
Many a time during the three years that I was in charge of the work in South America, I tried to get long-distance calls through to these distant places. When the connection was made, almost invariably there would be static, and the words were cut in two and grating sounds were heard. In my mind’s eye I could see the telephone line on the Salta Road swaying in the breeze, hitting the ground and occasionally breaking connection.
I thought that telephone lines and telephone poles are a little like people. They are built for one purpose and sometimes serve another. They are designed to be firm and stout and to give support; but in many cases they are leaning and swaying and sagging until communications are greatly impaired, if not actually cut off.

After World War II, my mother and father settled for a time in South Africa. My father was a seaman and the shipping company he worked for was based in South Africa and sailed the world. My parents had two very young children at the time and while my father was a world away from home on one trip, their younger child, Gillian, fell ill. She was less than a year old and sadly passed away during emergency surgery.
My mother was devastated. She was not only without the support of her husband, but also, because they were still not well established in South Africa, she had no extended family or even close friends to turn to. Fortunately, around the same time, missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints had recently knocked on her door and had been teaching her the gospel of Jesus Christ. I am so grateful for those missionaries.
They taught my mother that “little children are alive in Christ, even from the foundation of the world” (Moroni 8:12).
Something we never knew until we read about it in her diary decades later, is that in the days after the loss of her child, the mission president sent his car with a driver to take my mother to all the places she needed to go and to attend to all the matters that arose, including arrangements for a funeral. I am so grateful for that mission president.
His act of kindness to someone whom the missionaries were merely teaching has had long lasting effects unknown to him.

When I am discouraged, I meditate on the words found at the end of the Young Women theme: “We believe as we come to accept and act upon these values, we will be prepared to strengthen home and family, make and keep sacred covenants, receive the ordinances of the temple, and enjoy the blessings of exaltation.” I can find comfort in these words, and I know they will be fulfilled in my life and in the lives of all virtuous young women. Without a doubt, I have hope in the sacred temple ordinances. The blessings of a righteous life are endless, and as I remember these things, my heart fills with joy, hope, love, and courage.
Nathalia M., age 18, Mérida, Venezuela

When President Soares asked Luan what he would like to do when he left the hospital, Luan said he would like to perform vicarious baptisms in the Recife Brazil Temple. After Luan left the hospital, President Soares and Bishop Farias helped him fulfill this desire. Luan performed as many baptisms as his strength would allow. At the end of his day at the temple, even though he was in great pain, he was happy he could do something for others.

I had the same problem of trying to get away from friends who smoked and used foul language. I soon realized that if I didn’t stop hanging around them, they might influence me to be like them. I got into youth groups, did service projects, and talked to other people. By doing this, people realized how friendly I was and wanted to become friends with me. My old friends seemed mad at me and called me a traitor. I told them what my beliefs were and why I didn’t want to be with them. Surprisingly, they understood and respected me for it. I think you need to understand who you are, and if you stay around these people who do things you don’t like, the only one you’re offending is yourself.
Sarah Sansom, 15Hilbert, Wisconsin

It was my first day of first grade, and I saw a new girl at another desk. When it was time for recess, I went over and asked her to be my friend. She said, “Yes!” I asked her what her name is. She answered, “Stella!” I told her my name was Samantha. We were best friends for the whole year!
Samantha W., age 8, Wisconsin, USA

“I remember that our Sunday dinners were always special. Mother didn’t ‘feed the children,’ we dined. There were linen napkins and the food was always good. After dinner the conversation sometimes turned to gospel questions and Father would end up telling us missionary stories. These were special times.”

We please Heavenly Father when we look for ways to serve others. When I was Young Men president in a ward in San Antonio, Texas, the bishop suggested that the priests quorum help a woman whose husband was on military deployment. She lived in a trailer home with her small children. The steps to her trailer were rotted and damaged. She needed help replacing them.
We met at her home and got to work. Shortly after we started, it began to rain. The priests decided to work through the rain. Soon new steps were in place. They were high quality when we were done! Some years later I had an occasion to talk to one of those priests. I asked him what he remembered from our time in the priests quorum. He remembered that service project. He said he was sure that what the service did for him was much more important than what it did for this dear sister and her family.

The Evans family was finally moving out of the house on our homestead farm in New Mexico.
“I wish they’d hurry and leave so we can move in,” Ed said as we watched from the barn roof. No one but Papa had seen the inside of the house.
“I wonder if they’ll leave anything,” Caroline said.
“Probably not.”
“The Caldwells found all sorts of good things left in their house,” I put in.
“Like what?”
“A table and some fruit jars.”
“And a pretty good harness in the barn.”
“Don’t forget the stove. They left a good stove,” I added.
“The oven has to be propped up,” Caroline reminded us.
“It’s still good.”
By the time the Evanses had finished loading their belongings onto the wagon and started out the gate, it didn’t seem likely that anything could be left. We slid down the smooth board and ran to look inside. The house was completely empty except for one thing.
“A high chair!” Caroline exclaimed. “Look at that. Georgie can have a high chair.”
“But we don’t even have a table,” I complained.
“Papa will make us one,” she said. “Let’s go ask him.”

Another said, “Even after wrecking two cars and submitting my family to extreme financial burdens because of my drinking, I wouldn’t admit that I was drinking too much and refused to go for help.”

A little later, I was granted an interview for a job. I competed for the position against a dozen others who were more qualified with degrees and certifications. But I had been on a mission, and I had faith and confidence the Lord would bless me. I said a prayer and then walked before a review panel.
At the end of my interview, I blurted out, “When do I start?” Two weeks later, I was one of two who were hired. I soon distinguished myself as a top salesman, which opened doors to advancement, including a call from a chief executive officer to join his large company. Today, I have the blessing of being a husband and a father and of serving as the bishop of the Langata Ward.
“Today, I have the blessing of being a husband and a father and of serving as a bishop.”

One reader wrote about the difficulty—and necessity—of getting involved in more of the process: “One cold December night, I came to realize that until I believed the Lord and received his counsel through priesthood blessings and the scriptures, I could not progress. My emotional and spiritual health, as well as my eternal progression, hinged on this. I had to trust my Heavenly Father!

“How does a person learn to believe spiritual things that are so different from earthly experiences? After many hours of prayer and tears, I found the answer in Alma 32:27: ‘If ye will awake and arouse your faculties, even to an experiment upon my words, and exercise a particle of faith, yea, even if ye can no more than desire to believe, let this desire work in you, even until ye believe in a manner that ye can give place for a portion of my words.’

“When I read those words, I burst into tears. I did have a desire, and as I let it work in me, as the scripture promised, I found a place for a portion of his words. On my knees, I felt the Lord ‘take [my] stony heart’ and give me a ‘heart of flesh’ (Ezek. 11:19). In the months that followed, I could feel a change in me.”

Sometimes we feel that we don’t have any particularly important gifts. One day, a discouraged sister pleaded, “Lord, what is my personal ministry?” He answered, “Notice others.” It was a spiritual gift! Since then, she has found joy in noticing those who are regularly forgotten, and God has worked through her to bless many. While some spiritual gifts may not be prominent by the world’s standards, they are essential to God and His work.7

When Stephen and Richard were born in 1985, twins were exciting, triplets happened occasionally, and quadruplets were rare. That septuplets were even possible was a relatively new idea.
Being in the first set of septuplets born in the United States brought a lot of attention to their family. Sadly, only Stephen, Richard, and their sister, Patti, survived the first few weeks, and the brothers were left battling cerebral palsy. Soon all the attention diminished, and the brothers would learn that being different isn’t easy.
“They’ve had to deal with a lot of teasing growing up because they couldn’t do some of the things other kids were doing,” says their father, Sam.

I will use a personal experience to illustrate my message.
At the end of the 1980s, our young family was made up of my wife, Mônica, two of our four children, and me. We lived in São Paulo, Brazil, I worked for a good company, I had finished my university studies, and I had recently been released as bishop of the ward where we had lived. Life was good, and everything seemed to be as it should be—until one day an old friend came to visit us.
At the conclusion of his visit, he made a comment and asked a question that unsettled my convictions. He said, “Carlos, everything seems to be going well for you, your family, your career, and your service in the Church, but—” and then came the question, “if you continue to live as you are living, will the blessings promised in your patriarchal blessing be fulfilled?”
I had never thought about my patriarchal blessing in this way. I read it from time to time but never with the intent of looking toward the blessings promised in the future and evaluating how I was living in the present.
After his visit, I turned my attention to my patriarchal blessing, wondering, “If we continue to live as we are living, will the promised blessings be fulfilled?” After some pondering, I had the feeling that some changes were necessary, particularly in relation to my education and profession.
Returning to the experience with my patriarchal blessing, I came to the conclusion at that time that I should seek additional education and apply for a scholarship from an American university. If I were selected, I would have to leave my job, sell everything we had, and come to live in the United States as a scholarship student for two years.
Tests such as the TOEFL and GMAT became the first challenges to be overcome. It took three long years of preparation, many “nos,” and some “maybes” before I was accepted at a university. I still remember the telephone call I received at the end of the third year from the person responsible for scholarships.
He said, “Carlos, I have some good news and some bad news for you. The good news is that you are among the three finalists this year.” There was only one opening at that time. “The bad news is that one of the other candidates is the son of someone important, the other is the son of someone else important, and then there is you.”
I quickly responded, “And I … I am a son of God.”
Happily, earthly parentage was not a deciding factor, and I was accepted that year, in 1992.
In the personal experience I have used as an illustration, I undoubtedly needed the support of my wife. The children were still young and did not have much of a say, but my wife’s support was essential. I remember that, at first, Mônica and I needed to carefully discuss the change in plans until she felt comfortable and also became committed. This shared vision caused her not only to support the change but also to become an essential part in its success.