Gospel Story Finder

We all have heroes, particularly when we are young. I was born and grew up in Princeton, New Jersey, in the United States. The most famous sports teams near where we lived were headquartered in New York City. It was the home of three professional baseball teams in those faraway days: the Brooklyn Dodgers, the New York Giants, and the New York Yankees. Philadelphia was even closer to our home and was the home of the Athletics and the Phillies baseball teams. There were many potential baseball heroes for me on those teams.
Joe DiMaggio, who played for the New York Yankees, became my baseball hero. When my brothers and my friends played baseball on the school grounds next to our house, I tried to swing the bat the way I thought Joe DiMaggio did it. That was before the days of television (this is ancient history), so I only had pictures from newspapers to use to copy his swing.
When I was growing up, my father drove me to Yankee Stadium. That was the only time I saw Joe DiMaggio play. As if I am still there, in my mind I can see him swing the bat and see the white baseball fly straight into the stands at center field.
Now, my baseball skills never came close to those of my childhood hero. But the few times I hit a baseball well, I copied the level of his powerful swing as closely as I could.
When we choose heroes, we begin to copy, consciously or unconsciously, what we admire most in them.

The children of Eulogia and Delio remember this of their father’s service as branch president: He was always first at the meetinghouse on Sunday morning and last to leave later in the day, after he had made sure everything was in order. He continued that same dedication as the first president of the Paraguay District, back when it was part of the Uruguay-Paraguay Mission.

In American Samoa, one part of our culture is the expectation that children will help support their parents when they get older. Since I’m the oldest child, I wanted to serve my parents as much as I could.
So when I felt prompted to serve a mission, I immediately thought it wasn’t a possibility.
How could I serve the Lord when I wanted to respect my culture and support my family financially?
I could feel the Spirit guiding me to serve a mission, but nothing added up in my mind. I prayed to ask Heavenly Father how He expected me to serve when it would require me to leave my family and withdraw my financial support.
But I wasn’t getting any direction and felt so frustrated.
Then I remembered a teaching from Elder Robert D. Hales (1932–2017) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. He said: “If you have not heard [the Spirit’s] voice speaking to you lately, return with new eyes and new ears to the scriptures. They are our spiritual lifeline.”
I realized that I had been studying my scriptures and saying my prayers with doubt, fear, and uncertainty in my mind. If I wanted an answer, I needed to pray and study with faith in Heavenly Father.
With this new perspective of faith instead of fear, I opened to Doctrine and Covenants 31, which contains the revelation Thomas B. Marsh received when he was called on a mission. The Lord comforts him, reassuring him that his family will be OK while he’s gone (see Doctrine and Covenants 31:5).
I was stunned at how similar his situation was to mine. And I felt comfort when I read the Lord’s loving promises to Thomas:
“I will bless you and your family” (verse 2).
“It shall be given you by the Comforter what you shall do and whither you shall go” (verse 11).
“Be faithful unto the end, and lo, I am with you. These words are not of man nor of men, but of me, even Jesus Christ, your Redeemer, by the will of the Father” (verse 13).
I felt like the Lord was speaking directly to me.
I knew that if I trusted Him, my family and I would be blessed too. So, with support from my family, I submitted my mission papers and was called to serve a mission in California, USA.
It’s so easy to be afraid in this world filled with so many challenges. I’m guilty of letting my fears eat away at my faith and letting my worries over worldly things consume me. But after this experience, I know that we can always trust in Heavenly Father’s promises.
My family has been thriving since I started serving, and I’m so grateful for that. The blessings I’ve received outweigh my worries.

Lunch period was the worst. Polly and I ate at different times, so we had to eat alone. It was also embarrassing to have to bring a sack lunch. Every day I sat by myself, reading a book so I didn’t have to look up.

One day a girl from one of the tough groups sauntered over on a dare from her friends. Her heavily made-up eyes jeered at me.

“Whatcha readin’?” she said.

I could hear the laughter of her friends. My heart pounded. Maybe if I kept reading she would just leave.

“Is it good?” she tried again, turning to look at her friends. Loud laughter. I kept reading.

“Man, are you dumb,” she said as she walked away.

Some years ago, while on a family vacation, my wife, Pat, and I enjoyed a picnic lunch with our four small children in a city park somewhere in the middle of Kansas. When it was almost time to be on our way, a man approached Pat’s side of the car and asked if he might have something to eat. We nervously glanced at each other and then said no. The man thanked us and sat down at the table we had just left.
Suddenly, I felt heartless. I realized that I might have misjudged someone who may have truly been in need. Now I did want to help him.
When I expressed these feelings to Pat, she seemed relieved. “We do have plenty of food,” she replied. “I’ll prepare a plate, and you can take it to him.” She fixed a heaping portion.
The man was pleasant and friendly and seemed unconcerned when I apologized for our earlier response. He thanked me for the food and said he was returning from the wheat harvest in the Dakotas and hadn’t had anything to eat for a long while.
It was a simple thing, so simple that it makes me ashamed to think I yielded to my first impulse to say no.
From experiences such as these, each of us can begin to perceive the difference in the way we feel after we have been selfish or generous. Certainly, we all want to feel the latter more often—and we can do so as we give of ourselves to others.

Sister Whang’s work in the camps led her to change her career from nursing to teaching. But after six years, in November 1958, she decided that if she wanted to fulfill her goal to help the poor, she needed more education. Her minister encouraged her to apply for an exchange program at the University of California at Berkeley. She was accepted. Taking the money she had saved from teaching and the promise of a paid sabbatical from her school, she enrolled.
Soon after she arrived in the U.S., Whang Keun-Ok met two Korean students from Brigham Young University who were working at Berkeley for the summer. They encouraged her to go to Provo, Utah. When she visited the BYU campus in the fall of 1959, she fell in love with the mountains and was impressed by the Latter-day Saints’ faith. She spent the next three years there, studying social work. Shortly after she returned to Korea in June 1962, she located the missionaries and was baptized.

Thank you so much for your article in Questions and Answers (Jan. ’02). It talked about what to do if you sometimes feel sad and unhappy, and it also gave some great advice on what to do if you feel “overwhelmingly sad all the time.” It said to tell a trusted adult who will be able to get you some professional help. My 16-year-old son sadly ended his life last year. Our son was a nice, shy, worthy priesthood holder who was active in the Church. He didn’t tell anyone how sad he was feeling, and we didn’t recognize the subtle signs we now know were caused by depression. Instead, we brushed them off as him just going through the teenage years. We later learned that untreated depression is the number-one cause of suicide. The organs of our bodies, like our hearts, lungs, or kidneys, can become ill. We sometimes don’t realize that another organ, the brain, can also become ill. Depression is a chemical imbalance of the brain that can usually be successfully treated with medication and therapy. Maybe if our son would have read your article he would have received the courage he needed to ask for help. I hope there is someone out there who reads this article and then asks an adult for help.
Stacy HonePayson, Utah (via e-mail)

President David O. McKay loved horses. One of his favorite horses was named Sonny Boy. Even when he was President of the Church, he kept horses on his farm in Huntsville, Utah, so he could ride them whenever he visited.
Once, someone stole a hand-carved saddle from President McKay’s saddle house on the farm. President McKay valued the saddle greatly and felt very sad when it was stolen. After that, he was very careful to keep his saddle house locked.
One hot summer day, several members of President McKay’s family were visiting the farm. Two of his sisters were driving past the saddle house when they saw that a window had been left open. Fearing that another theft would happen, they stopped and closed the window.
Later that day, they told President McKay what they had done, hoping he would be as relieved as they were. But the prophet’s forehead creased with worry as they explained what they had done.
“I left that window open on purpose,” President McKay told his sisters. “There is a birds’ nest inside, and that is the only entrance the parent birds have to carry food to their babies. I think I shall just have time to run over.”
“We can easily run over and open the window again. It’s no trouble,” one of his sisters offered. She knew that President McKay needed to leave soon to get back to Salt Lake City.
“It’s all right,” he said. “I must pick up a rope that needs repairing anyway.”
President McKay reached for his sister’s hand, gave it a squeeze, and left to rescue the bird family. Before long he had gone there and come back home again.
“Was everything all right?” his sister asked when he returned.
“It was just as I expected,” President McKay said. “One bird was outside trying to get in, and another was inside attempting to get out.” He patted her arm gently. “But, all’s well now.”
President McKay was a very kind person. He knew that Heavenly Father was mindful of all of His creations, and he had a special love for Heavenly Father’s creations too.

When she was four years old, Rowena Bright sat by her mother, Marian, in the small town of Cooma, Australia, as they watched the 1984 Summer Olympics taking place in Los Angeles, California. “I have a vivid picture of that time,” says Rowena. “I remember my mother in tears when gymnast Peter Vidmar won gold and the announcer said that he and his wife were devout Mormons.” The Brights had joined the Church just a couple of years before, and Marian was thrilled that a Church member was getting such worldwide recognition.
Rowena turned to her mother and said, “I’m going to do that.” Her mother answered, knowing what it takes to get to the Olympics, “Oh, are you?”
It turns out that Rowena was right. She is going to do that, as an alpine skier in slalom, giant slalom, and the combined (downhill and slalom) when the Winter Olympics take place in Salt Lake City, Utah.

As a boy, I lived next door to the bishop of our ward, Bishop Philip T. Sonntag. His son Mark was one of my best friends. One afternoon when I was quite small, Mark and I were playing outside his home and having a wonderful time. Mark was in a distant part of the yard, when his father came outside and said to me, “Drew, do you know where Mark is?” I knew that if I told him the truth, he would say that it was time for Mark to come inside, so I shook my head. “No, I don’t know where he is.”
Bishop Sonntag went back into the house, and I joined Mark again.
“Who was that?” Mark asked me.
“It was your dad,” I answered.
“What did he want?”
“He wanted you to go inside.”
“Then I’d better go in,” Mark said.
He left, and I stayed outside. A few minutes later, Bishop Sonntag came outside again. He told me that what I had done was not right and that he was disappointed that I hadn’t told the truth.
I felt terrible as I walked home and went into my bedroom. I remember crying, kneeling by my bed, and asking Heavenly Father to forgive me. Then I got up and went back to the Sonntag home. Bishop Sonntag answered my knock. I looked up at him and said, “I just want you to know that I’m sorry about what I did.” He put his arms around me, picked me up, and carried me into the house. We sat on the couch and shared a nice moment together.
That experience taught me at least two valuable lessons: One, it’s important to tell the truth. Two, if we repent after making a mistake, we will feel better. I’ll always remember the outpouring of love I felt from my bishop as I visited him, trying to correct my mistake.

Mariah (as she preferred to be called) is one of the reasons my family is even in the Church. She was baptized in 1840 in England, was endowed in Nauvoo, Illinois, was sealed to her husband in Winter Quarters, Nebraska, and died in Utah. My thoughts about her while I was in the temple were not about her need to have ordinances performed but about how those ordinances bound her and me together across time and space.

When others see the only known photograph of my grandmother Mariah, they often comment on how grim or unpleasant she appears to them. I immediately defend her because I know her. I know the person that walked along the River Severn as a young girl and as a mother with small children. I know the person who sailed across an ocean, giving birth to her fourth child during the journey. I know the person who sent a husband to war and lost an infant child during his absence. I know the person who walked 1,000 miles (1,609 km) to a new home in the western American desert. I know the person who worked and covenanted and farmed and loved. And in knowing her, I get a taste of our heavenly parents’ love for her and for each of their children.

In the June 2004 New Era, I saw a picture of a young man who has no legs. His name is Kacey McCallister. He knows that he is a child of God. My sister also can’t walk. Thank you for writing that story (“Standing on Faith”). It helps me.Ho Youn Ellision, Rivanna Ward, Waynesboro Virginia Stake

On the afternoon of Dec. 11, 2022, three buses pulled in at Konka, the facility rented for FSY—a five-day youth conference held for young people in the Gauteng, South Africa area. The following morning, 530 young men and young women would descend on the facility, but these first three buses carried the 70 faithful young single adult men and women who had accepted the call to be coordinators, assistant coordinators and counselors for FSY; dutifully arriving the night before to set up for the exciting week to come.
Little did these young leaders know what the night would bring.
That evening, the rain arrived. Rain was forecast for each day, but the intensity of the storm took all by surprise. The night sky was almost constantly lit up by lightning. Roars of thunder and a tumultuous downpour went through the night and continued, heavy and strong, as dawn arrived.
Konka is located about two hours north of Johannesburg. To reach the venue, the buses had to travel some distance on dirt roads and cross a river using a low-water bridge before entering the facility.
The morning that the youth were due to arrive, we looked at the river and saw it had swelled to the point that nothing could cross the bridge. The roar of the water flowing over the low water bridge sounded like Victoria Falls. We began praying that the rains would subside soon or there would be no accessing the facility when the youth were to begin arriving at 11 am. Yet the rains continued. That is when the calls of concern began to come in from leaders and parents. “Are you cancelling FSY? You should cancel FSY.” “Should we send the buses in this weather or are you putting things on hold?” “Perhaps you should delay the start of FSY until the water levels drop.”
As we prayed to know what to do, the words of President Russell M. Nelson kept coming to mind. “Seek and expect miracles.”1 Yet as we prayed it seemed the rain was simply becoming more intense. We still had four hours until they were to arrive. Perhaps it would slow down enough by the time they got here that the water level would drop sufficiently, though it was appearing unlikely. “We are not cancelling. Just come. It will work out,” we responded. As we spoke those words in faith, we knew it would take a miracle.
We inspected the bridge to see if it would be possible for the youth to cross it by foot. We observed that most of the bridge was out of the river, but if we were to use it, the youth would still have to cross a portion of the river in at least knee-deep water that was running swiftly for the last 30 meters. We asked the Konka staff to begin setting up ropes across the bridge, emphasizing that we would not take any risks with the youth, many of whom do not swim at all. If it was clear we could cross the river safely, we would go forward with this plan.
The young single adults leapt to their feet volunteering in excitement to be a rescuer for the 2022 FSY and carry our youth across the river. They ran to their dorm rooms and changed into suitable clothing, knowing they were about to get very wet and dirty in the river and mud.
At 10:45 am we walked down to the water. The youth had already begun to arrive. The Konka staff had fixed the ropes to hold while crossing the water and were ready for the assistance of the young single adults. Several leaders grabbed onto the ropes and walked across the river and foot bridge to greet the youth and their parents and leaders as they arrived, to give them confidence and assurance that everything was safe, and we were moving forward.
There was shock on the faces of the youth and leaders as we explained the situation and instructed the youth to remove their shoes and socks and pull up their pant legs as far as they could. An umbrella to protect them from the rain was all most had planned on. Now they were about to cross a river on foot. As they walked down to the footbridge, several slipped, a few even falling in the deep and slippery mud. “Hang on to the rope!” was the yell that echoed for the next three hours as group after group arrived.
The young adult leaders took every suitcase and all the bedding and carried it across the footbridge. Over 500 youth made it across the river, either on the backs of the young single adults or picking their own cautious paths across the river whilst holding onto the safety ropes. A few hours later, the rain began to lessen. We had made it, and the FSY experience could go forward.
Uniformly, the youth expressed thanks that FSY had not been cancelled and we had found a way forward. Several analogies to our river crossing followed during the week, all relating back to the theme trust in the Lord. The young single adults acting as counselors not only carried and guided the youth across a literal river, but then spent the week teaching and strengthening the youth in a way that has had a deep and meaningful impact—teaching them and sharing tools for navigating an increasingly difficult world. Lives have been forever changed.

The day that I had been waiting for finally arrived. I was the last in my family to be baptized because I am the youngest. My father baptized me because he holds the priesthood; he is also the bishop. Now I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ.
Jonathan L., age 8, Ecuador

Some choices present good opportunities no matter which road we take—for example, when deciding which career path to follow or which school to attend. I know one bright and able young man who wanted to become a doctor, but the opportunity did not open up for him; so he chose to follow the law. He has become a very successful lawyer, but I am satisfied he would have been equally successful as a doctor.

“I work with a person named Moose,” said Brad Day.” Although that doesn’t seem like an intellectual name, he’s shown interest in the Church, and I’ve been able to share my testimony with him.”

Once at a baseball game for handicapped and retarded youth, the clowns adopted a team that was losing by an impossible margin. The team members had given up—until they found themselves with a real clown cheerleading squad. “We’d find out the name of the boy up to bat and then we’d start calling, ‘Come on, Charlie, you can do it. Come on, Fred!’ In that one part of the game they more than doubled their score. They still lost, because it was the last part of the game, but when they left they were so excited that someone had cheered for them.”

Earlier this year I attended the funeral of an extraordinary ordinary man—my husband’s uncle Don. One of Uncle Don’s sons shared an experience he had as a small child, shortly after his parents had purchased their first home. Because there were five small children to feed and clothe, there was not enough money to fence the yard. Taking seriously one of his divine roles as the protector of his family, Uncle Don drove a few small wooden stakes into the ground, took some string, and tied the string from stake to stake all around the yard. He then called his children to him. He showed them the stakes and string and explained to them that if they would stay on the inside of that makeshift fence, they would be safe.

One day the visiting teachers watched in disbelief as they approached the house and saw five little children standing obediently at the edge of the string, looking longingly at a ball that had bounced beyond their boundaries and out into the street. One little child ran to get their daddy, who, in response, ran and retrieved the ball.

Later in the funeral, the oldest son tearfully expressed that all he had ever hoped in this life was to be like his beloved father.

In similar ways, the key to gaining the spiritual strength we need lies in what President Thomas S. Monson once described as entering a “sacred grove” of our own. He was teaching bishops, but the counsel applies to all members of the Church: “Every bishop needs a sacred grove to which he can retire to meditate and to pray for guidance. Mine was our old ward chapel. I could not begin to count the occasions when on a dark night at a late hour I would make my way to the stand of this building where I was blessed, confirmed, ordained, taught, and eventually called to preside. The chapel was dimly lighted by the streetlight in front; not a sound would be heard, no intruder to disturb. With my hand on the pulpit I would kneel and share with Him above my thoughts, my concerns, my problems.”2

I grew up on a farm in Utah as the youngest of five kids. We worked on our farm almost every day because there was always something to be done. The summer I was 17 I had an experience I will never forget.
My older siblings had moved out of the house either to go to college, to go on missions, or because they were married. I was the only child living at home, and that left me with big responsibilities. Doing a lot of the farm work was up to me since my dad was still working full-time and our funds from our farm that year were not sufficient to allow us to hire out help for the summer.
One evening, after working on the farm for a good part of the day, I had dinner with my parents. Then my dad told me I needed to help him move the irrigation pipes off the hill behind our house. This was the task I dreaded most because the hill was big, we had two long lines of irrigation pipes, and it took a lot of work to move them. It took even more work to get them completely off the field.
I went to the field with my dad just as the sun was starting to set. We started to get the pipes off the field as the sun was going down and the field was getting darker and darker. It was a long task that was taking even longer than usual because it was getting dark. I thought to myself, “How will we ever get these irrigation pipes off the field before it gets completely dark? There’s no way we’ll be able to move them in time.”
Just as I was thinking this, I saw a truck pull into our field and drive toward us. My dad and I stopped what we were doing and watched the truck coming closer. Soon the truck parked by where we were and the stake president stepped out. He looked around the field and at us. He turned to my dad with a look of concern and said, “Where’s all your help tonight?”
My dad pointed to me and said, “You’re looking at it.”
The stake president watched me, a 17-year-old girl working fast to get the pipes off the field but not strong enough to be fast enough; he looked at the several pipes we still had to move; then he looked at the setting sun and at the darkness closing in around us. He said, “Well … let’s get these pipes off the field.” He picked up two pipes, one in each hand and started taking them off the field.
My dad and I, both a little caught off guard, gladly resumed our task. Between my dad, the stake president, and me, we got all the pipes off the field in less than 10 minutes. We finished before dark. I was so happy to be done with our task and to be done working for the day. My dad thanked the stake president, they shook hands, and then we all went home.
As soon as we were home, my dad told my mom what happened. She was quite impressed that the stake president would take time out of his busy schedule to help us on our farm. Such a small act of service made a big difference to us that night.
My dad then got his scriptures and told me he wanted to talk to me. We sat down on the couch and he turned to Matthew 23:11, “But he that is greatest among you shall be your servant.” My dad told me that the stake president was the busiest man in the stake. Not only did he have a very busy Church calling, but he also ran a dairy farm and a part-time store and had a large family to take care of. However, he took time to help us get the pipes off our field and made our burden easier. He was known as the greatest among us because he was a good example to everyone and was in a leadership position in our stake. But he served us on this night.
My dad then went on to say that this was like the Savior, always serving people even though He was the greatest, busiest, and most important person among them.
I don’t think the stake president realized how much our family appreciated his help that night or how much his act of service helped us and strengthened us. But it taught me a valuable lesson I will never forget: he that is greatest among you shall be your servant.