Gospel Story Finder

The mindless and reckless speeding of a youth-filled car down a winding and hazardous canyon road can bring a sudden loss of control, the careening of the car with its precious cargo over the precipice, and the downward plunge that ofttimes brings permanent incapacity, perhaps premature death, and grieving hearts of loved ones. The glee-filled moment can turn in an instant to a lifetime of regret.
Oh, precious youth, please give life a chance. Apply the virtue of patience.

Undoubtedly one of the more lasting effects of the day of service will be the strengthening of ties between Latter-day Saints and community leaders. For many of the projects, local governments furnished materials and supervision while Church members and others offered their labor. Projects were planned in cooperation with local government leaders. In one municipality of San Salvador, for example, a member who has quietly worked with local government over a period of years arranged, at the mayor’s request, for a group of volunteers to clean up and paint in and around a community theater. In Santa Ana, El Salvador, the stake Relief Society president is employed at an elder care center operated by an order of Catholic nuns. At the request of the nuns, she arranged for volunteers not only to perform physical labor outside, but also to offer personal grooming and care to the residents of the home.

Her dear Andrew died 17 June 1954. Aunt Fia lived alone in her home until she suffered a stroke a few months before her death. She was taken into the home of her devoted daughter, Mia, and cared for until she died suddenly of a heart attack on 8 May 1961, shortly before her eighty-second birthday.

To express his testimony musically and in his native tongue is a dream come true for Adrian, who hails from the Bicol Region. A returned missionary, Brother Pramoso was part of Ligao National High School Voice Chorale, three-time recipient of the Ani ng Dangal Awards of the National Commission for Culture and the Arts (NCCA) for their international grand prix championships in Indonesia, South Korea, and Spain.

Through all these experiences in the Church, our family has grown closer, and we are striving to become an eternal family. Seven years after our baptism, both my stepfather and my little brother made the decision to join the Church and were baptized together on January 20, 2007.

Ivhan Luis Carpio Bautista, age 24, of the Richmond Hill Third Branch, Richmond Hill New York District, was working at a restaurant on the 107th floor of One World Trade Center when the attacks occurred. He had planned to take 11 September off because it was his birthday but agreed to cover a coworker’s shift instead.

A recent magazine article contains the story of a 12-year-old girl who got hooked on the Internet. In a chat room she met an admirer. One thing led to another until the discussion became sexually explicit. As she conversed with him, she thought he was a boy of about her own age.

When she met him, she found “a tall, overweight gray-haired man.” He was a vicious predator, a scheming pedophile. Her mother, with the help of the FBI, saved her from what might have been a tragedy of the worst kind (see Stephanie Mansfield, “The Avengers Online,” Reader’s Digest, Jan. 2000, 100–104).

I have seen the same miracle in the service of President Monson as he received the call to preside as the prophet and President of the Church and to exercise all the keys of the priesthood in the earth. Revelation and inspiration have come to him in my presence, which confirms to me that God is honoring those keys. I am an eyewitness. They are keys of a priesthood which is “without beginning or end.”

These early seeds of faith sprouted still further when, as a young Aaronic Priesthood boy, I received a firsthand confirmation of the remarkable testimony of the Three Witnesses concerning the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon. My stake president was President Henry D. Moyle, and his father was James H. Moyle. In the summertime Brother James H. Moyle would visit his family, and he would worship with us in our little ward in the southeast of the Salt Lake Valley.

One Sunday, Brother James H. Moyle shared with us a singular experience. As a young man he went to the University of Michigan to study law. As he was finishing his studies, his father told him that David Whitmer, one of the witnesses of the Book of Mormon, was still alive. The father suggested to his son that he stop on his way back to Salt Lake City to visit with David Whitmer face-to-face. Brother Moyle’s purpose was to ask him about his testimony concerning the golden plates and the Book of Mormon.

During that visit, Brother Moyle said to David Whitmer: “Sir, you are an old man, and I’m a young man. I have been studying about witnesses and testimonies. Please tell me the truth concerning your testimony as one of the witnesses of the Book of Mormon.” David Whitmer then told this young man: “Yes, I held the golden plates in my hands, and they were shown to us by an angel. My testimony concerning the Book of Mormon is true.” David Whitmer was out of the Church, but he never denied his testimony of the angel’s visitation, of handling the golden plates, or of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon. Hearing with my own ears this remarkable experience directly from Brother Moyle’s lips had a powerful, confirming effect upon my growing testimony. Having heard it, I felt it was binding upon me.

Juanita is also grateful for prayer: “When I was ill, I prayed and prayed, and the Lord comforted me. I know that he is the true God, and I pray that I will be faithful.”

When I read the May 1998 First Presidency Message by President James E. Faust, entitled “The Blessings of Adversity,” I began to sense how much our Father in Heaven loves us and how great the knowledge our leaders share with us is. I love my leaders—the local ones as well as the General Authorities—because they help me to be better.
This article made me remember how much I suffered when I lost my father, but it also helped me understand how wonderful it will be to live with him forever.
Each experience we have can help us progress. Tribulations can teach us how beautiful our blessings are. Now, as a full-time missionary, I teach these truths to others.
Elder Marcelo Leiva,Chile Osorno Mission

Erline Hall is a great girl with a heart quick to sense an ache in another’s. She has winning ways with children, too, who clamor to “sit by teacher” as she assists them in reading as part of Safford, Arizona’s Head Start program. Her speciality is the five-year-old Mexican-American students, who are eager to learn.

I have a dear friend who served as a very successful bishop. During his tenure, the stake president asked a boy and a girl from each ward to visit with him about their relationship with their bishop. During the conversation, the stake president asked, “If you had a serious problem in your life, would you take it to your bishop?” Most responded that they wouldn’t. And when he asked why, their response surprised him. They said, “Our bishop seems too righteous.” To the credit of my friend, his youth replied: “Not our bishop.”

After ten wonderful days in Honolulu, we set sail on the last leg of our long voyage. It was spent preparing for war. A former soldier trained the men for battle.
While we sailed, fifty to sixty men drilled for combat. They marched around the deck and practiced loading and aiming their guns. My friends and I had make-believe battles with my lead soldiers. The women kept busy stitching bolts of blue denim into uniforms for the troops.
On Friday, July 31, 1846, one month after leaving the Sandwich Islands—and nearly six months after leaving New York—we finally approached the California coast. Men, women, and children crowded the deck, eager to see where we would land at last. I tried to get a glimpse of land myself, but dense fog hung like a heavy, dark curtain in front of all of us.
The rocky shores of the Golden Gate strait were almost invisible when Captain Richardson carefully guided the Brooklyn through the narrow passage that opens into San Francisco Bay.
As eager as we were to land, we were even more anxious as to what awaited us. Would we find enemy ships in the harbor? Or Mexican soldiers on the shore? Did hidden spies watch as the Brooklyn moved slowly ahead?
Now and then the fog lifted over the bay and we could see the shore. There were no trees at all; the ground was the color of dry grass. Pelicans glided just above the surface of the water. They looked too heavy to fly any higher. Other birds, some dark, some white, soared and swooped over the waves. Occasionally we spotted bumps that looked like islands.
A shadowy shape gradually appeared in the distance. Was it a ship? Friend or foe? A wisp of something fluttered. Was it just a ribbon of fog streaking in the breeze, or was it a Mexican flag? I held my breath as we drew closer and saw a ship anchored in the harbor. The banner flapping in the wind was covered with stars and stripes! The American flag! Yerba Buena had already been captured for the United States. I couldn’t wait to go ashore, to have room to run and romp, to have a private place to think—and to eat a family meal cooked by Mama.
I studied the landing place. After the breathtaking beauty of the Juan Fernández and the Sandwich islands, Yerba Buena was downright ugly! There was nothing green at all. Skeletons of slaughtered cattle covered the sandy beach.
Droghers (clumsy barges) waited in the bay to carry their cargo of tallow and hides to the east coast. A few tired donkeys, loaded with bundles of wood, trudged along with their heads down. Some lazy loungers sprawled on the shore.
I also saw a few scrubby, gray oaks. Beyond them, a series of sand hills rose one behind the other. Several old shanties all leaned in the same direction.
While I stood on the deck, cannons from the battery boomed a salute, and the greeting was returned by the Brooklyn. A rowboat with uniformed officers from the Portsmouth, a United States military ship, approached us, and the men came aboard. One of them announced, “Ladies and gentleman, I have the honor to inform you that you are in the United States of America.”
The passengers aboard the Brooklyn gave three hearty cheers. Our long voyage was over at last.

Entering the United States Navy in the closing months of World War II was a challenging experience for me. I learned of brave deeds and examples of courage. One best remembered was the quiet courage of an eighteen-year-old seaman—not of our faith—who was not too proud to pray. Of 250 men in the company, he was the only one who each night knelt down by the side of his bunk, at times amidst the jeers of the curious and the jests of unbelievers, and, with bowed head, prayed to God. He never wavered. He never faltered. He had courage.

“You got a dog?” he finally asked Steve.
“No.”
“Well, let me tell you something. You get yourself a dog before your wife gets too set in her ways.”
“You like dogs?” he asked Cathy.
“They’re okay.”
“They’re a lot better than okay,” the man said. “A dog’ll never let you down, never complains when you don’t get home on time.” Fumbling for his wallet, he pulled out a picture and handed it to Steve. “Ain’t she something? She’s real pretty, huh?”
“Yes,” Steve answered.
“She’s part German shepherd and part wolf. But you know what?” the man continued. “My wife hates that dog. It’s her own fault, too.”
He bent the empty can in two and tossed it into the already full wastepaper basket. He wiped his mouth and continued his story. “My wife’s got false teeth. When the dog was just a pup, my wife left the teeth on the kitchen table overnight. Well, you know how pups are when they’re young. When we got up next morning, there were pieces of false teeth all over the place. That pup chewed up my wife’s teeth! Ain’t that something?” He reared back in his chair, laughing crazily.
The laughing brought Oscar from the garage; he added some other details about how long it took to get another set of false teeth and how his friend’s wife wouldn’t go out in public until they came. That started them both laughing again.

In contrast is the couple who think they picked the “perfect” person and then assume that all the heavy lifting is over. If they quit courting each other, stop communicating one-on-one, and slide into egotism and a self-centered life, this couple is on a path that leads to sorrow and regret.

David recalls his father’s willingness to sacrifice for his children. Once Jeffrey Holland took several days out of his BYU schedule for a one-on-one trip to southern Utah with his younger son. Later, when the family prepared to move after Elder Holland was called as a General Authority, he drove an hour out of his way each day for nearly two months to take David to football practices at his new high school.

Recently I was called by a close friend who told me his father had passed away. I expressed my sympathy and asked when the funeral would be. When he told me I looked at my calendar and said, “I would love to be at the funeral to honor your great father and to express my love and sympathy to your mom. I am getting ready to leave town, and I am swamped that day.” He said, “Well, we talked about that and figured that your schedule would be too busy to ask you to speak, but Dad had suggested if you were available you might do it.” It is interesting how suddenly everything on my calendar could be adjusted. I said, “You tell your mom I will be there.” After the funeral I received a letter. I will only share a paragraph.
“The last few months my husband knew his time was short here on this earth. One day when we were talking about funeral arrangements, I asked him who he would like to have speak at his service. He said, ‘I surely would like to have Brother Featherstone, but I know that as busy as he is that isn’t possible.’ Then he went on to mention some other good men. When I learned of your coming to speak, I shed many tears of joy. I just couldn’t believe with all your many duties and responsibilities that you would come.”
Then I realized what this service on my part meant to her. She closed with, “I wonder how the Lord can be so good to me.”
Now you and I both understand it was not having Vaughn Featherstone speak but rather a dying husband’s wish granted that filled her with this great love for the Lord.

During a special Church conference held on April 6, 1881, branch president Silviano Arteaga, several local leaders, and Apostle Moses Thatcher (1842–1909) climbed the slope of the volcano Mt. Popocatépetl. Elder Thatcher then dedicated the land for the preaching of the gospel.

At the conference President Arteaga prayed, and Elder Thatcher related: “Tears flowed down his wrinkled cheeks, for the deliverance of his race and people. … I never heard any man pray more earnestly, and though praying in a language which I do not comprehend, yet I seemed to understand by the Spirit, all that he was pleading for.”2