Gospel Story Finder

After the meal, Melanie and Jackie’s younger brother, Romney, 13, joins his sisters and Petra as they catch a bus to Mutual. They arrive early and take time to talk with their friends—in English. Everyone meets in the chapel for opening exercises and to rehearse a musical number; then they separate for classes.
In the combined Laurel and Mia Maid class, the young women join in a lesson about supporting the priesthood through proper dating standards. Lots of girls have questions, and all of them realize the pressure they face, or will face, as they start going out. The discussion deals with relevant problems and leads to some firm commitments in the heart of each class member. It is yet another kind of learning—learning the laws of the kingdom of God, the same learning that continues in other Church meetings and callings.

A young woman named Ann is familiar with fearful feelings. “I deal with severe anxiety and mild ADHD,” she says. “Sometimes this leaves me feeling misunderstood by others, and it is hard to keep an eternal perspective. Recently I read in Genesis about Sarah, who had to wait decades before having a child. I realized that I might have to wait a long time to heal as well. I know that Christ won’t abandon me when I’m experiencing anxiety. He is there to help me through it.”

When Oscar is plowing a field, for example, he selects a reference point such as a tree or a rock in the distance that will help him plow a straight row. “It doesn’t matter if there are obstructions in his way,” Liliana says. “He can’t deviate from his course because he wants the rows to be straight.”
Oscar adds, “If I look behind me to see how my row is coming, I get off course. So I concentrate on my reference point and move forward.”
As in the chacra, he says, so in the Church. “To stay on course in our lives, we must look to the Lord, read the scriptures, and keep the commandments. If we allow ourselves to be distracted, we lose our reference points and our paths become crooked.”

Aaron’s experience at Sinai reminds me of a similar experience I had as the leader of a small group of men in my army platoon at Fort Ord, California.

Our platoon was preparing for a special inspection; after cleaning the barracks, the men went outside to clean their gear. The platoon sergeant called the four squad leaders into the barracks where he noted a few tasks that still needed to be completed. He told me to call some of my men in to do these jobs. So I opened a window and called out to three men in my squad, “Sergeant Carrington wants you to come in and do some more work!”

As I turned around, Sergeant Carrington asked, “What did you tell your men?”

“I told them you wanted them to come in and do some more work.”

“No,” he said, “I told you to call your men in to do the work. You know what to do.” In Sergeant Carrington’s language, “You know what to do” was an order to do one hundred pushups, right then.

I was frustrated and embarrassed at the time; but after a few hours, I began to appreciate what he was teaching me. I was the men’s squad leader, and I had the authority to order them into the barracks to do their jobs. Instead I had used Sergeant Carrington’s name and authority to try and impress the men to do their work.

It has taken me eight years to get around to writing and telling you how much I appreciate your fantastic magazine, but I’m finally repenting of my procrastination. I come from Perth, Western Australia, and eight years ago my family came to the New Zealand Temple. Just before we left home I grabbed several New Eras because I thought it would be good to have something a bit spiritual to read while we were traveling to the temple. Before that time I had rarely bothered to read much more than the Mormonisms. (I still love those!)
In the week and a half it took me to drive to Sydney before flying to New Zealand, I read each of those magazines from cover to cover. Many articles I read two or three times. By the time we got back home again I was totally hooked, and I have been ever since. Mom often used to complain that she’d never see the New Era, because as soon as it arrived it would disappear to my room to be read in the next day or two and then be added to a pile under my bed to be reviewed whenever I had spare time. Now I am back in New Zealand serving in the New Zealand Auckland Mission. In the years I was preparing for my mission, and also during my past 19 months in the mission field, the New Era has always been a great source of strength, encouragement, and inspiration to me.
There’s one thing I’d like to ask, though. Could you publish a book of favorite poems, stories, articles, and music from the New Era so that those who have missed out or lost earlier copies of the New Era don’t have to miss out on the great things they contained? Keep up the great work. You’ve got a bonger (Aussie for great) magazine.
Elder Grant O’NeilNew Zealand Auckland Mission

I always tell my granddaughter that tithing is the best money I ever spend.
It was nearly 60 years ago when I got into the tithing habit. I had gone to Chicago to find a job after graduating from college. I had in my pocket the money I’d earned from a summer job. It wasn’t much, but since I would be staying with friends and since the cost of living in 1941 was low, I thought I would have enough money to support myself until I could earn more.
The first Sunday I attended church in the Chicago area, one of the speakers talked convincingly about the importance of paying tithing and bore his testimony about the blessings of keeping that commandment. Although I had been raised in the Church, I had never paid or even thought of paying tithing. But that changed during that sacrament meeting. When it was over, I calculated how much money I had made during the summer and figured the tithing I owed on it. With almost all the cash I had, I paid my tithing debt. I had barely enough left for bus and train fare, and I didn’t have a job yet.
When I had left my family in another state, I had been sure I could make it on my own without financial help from my parents. Now I wasn’t so confident.
Finally, with only a few coins left, I stopped in a department store and used some free stationery to write my parents a letter asking for help. The letter would probably take three days to be delivered. Could I hold out that long? I wondered.
The next day I received a call from a company that needed some temporary help. (It later turned into a full-time job.) Gleefully I called my dad to tell him, “Never mind! I don’t need any money.”
Since that time I have always had what I need when I pay my tithing. And that is why I say to my granddaughter, “Paying tithing is the best money I ever spend. It buys me peace of mind.”

Elder Sheffield has been under the knife eleven times in major surgery and many more times in surgery lasting less than an hour. The greatest desire of his life was that the surgery would make him acceptable for a mission. A year before he entered the mission field, he had his final operation. Since he has been on his mission, he has averaged seventy to eighty hours a week in proselyting. He is greatly loved by all.
He has been a great blessing to missionaries who thought they had problems. In one interview his companion told me that Elder Sheffield’s shoulder separates and falls out of place quite often. When this happens he is in severe pain. It happens most often during the night. When I interviewed Elder Sheffield, I suggested that we put him in a local hospital here and have the doctors do what needed to be done to correct this problem. He looked me in the eye, and with a sternness seldom seen he said, “President, I have spent most of my life in hospitals, and when I complete my mission I am returning to several more major surgical operations. I promised the Lord that if he would let me serve a mission, I would not spend one day in the hospital during the two years no matter how sick I was or how much I suffered.”

Kara Laszczyk of Utah, USA, had long seen discipleship as a desire to emulate and become more like Jesus Christ and as a willingness to sacrifice and serve in sharing His gospel. But she felt somewhat hampered by her introverted personality.
“I have a tendency to think only within my sphere because it is uncomfortable for me to put myself out there for others,” she explains. “I worry too much about what other people think of me rather than what I think of myself and what my Savior thinks of me.”
But Sister Laszczyk says her weeklong experiment of studying Luke 7, which discusses the Savior ministering to several people, caused her to reconsider her motives. She asked herself: “Are my actions driven from a genuine desire to become like the Savior and care for others, or am I just checking items off my list so that I can feel good knowing that I have completed an assignment? Am I more concerned about the well-being of others or about what others will think about my actions?”
She says she came to realize that part of following the Savior—doing what He would do in a given situation—meant loving and serving when she was needed, not just when it was convenient.
“Discipleship is not passive,” she says. “It is not always easy. The time, energy, and means that we sacrifice in genuine loving service toward others will help us to come closer to the Savior.” And, she adds, she takes heart in knowing that the Lord asks us neither to run faster than we are able (see Mosiah 4:27) nor to do things we could not do without His help.
Knowing those principles helped Sister Laszczyk participate in a fast for family members, even though fasting has been a weak area for her in the past. That knowledge has also motivated her to change at a more general level.
“I want to be more proactive about giving service instead of just waiting until a sign-up sheet is passed around,” she says. “I want to be a better visiting teacher. I want to look for some way that I can serve outside of the Church in my community. I want my first thought to be ‘What can I do for them?’ or ‘What do they need?’ not ‘Do I have time?’ or ‘How will this affect me?’
“We need our Savior,” she concludes, “but our Savior also needs us. He needs us to help and lift each other.”

Sweat beads up on Bret Rasmussen’s forehead and drips down his face. He pauses in the brilliant sunshine and wipes his face on his sleeve, then hoists a stack of six folded wooden chairs. A few rows away, Brian Herr and his dad carry tables two at a time and set them up. They move steadily in the afternoon heat, staying just a little ahead of the group cutting white plastic and taping it to the tables as covers.
Bret and Brian are Boy Scouts, and they are part of a ward effort to benefit the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra. Twice a week, all summer, the youth of the Noblesville Indiana Ward labor in the hot sun. They carry dozens of tables and chairs to the base of a long grassy hill in preparation for a symphony concert. Sweat, Scouts, and symphony—an unlikely trio? What brings them together?
They are not alone. Scout leaders, families, and friends all lend a hand. “It’s a time to see friends and get to know new people,” says Emily Runyan, whose brother Chris is a Scout. “Those of us who aren’t in the troop can still be an example of service to others.”
The LDS youth finish and settle down on the hill with cool drinks and snacks. With their service comes a bonus—they can stay and hear the symphony concert for free. As the sun lingers near the edge of the concert shell, thousands of concertgoers arrive. Sometimes 10,000 people throng the grounds on a symphony night. After the sun goes down, the scattered lights of hundreds of tiny citronella candles flicker like caged fireflies.
The concert is finished. A few fireworks light the sky over the orchestra shell, and the LDS youth scramble up from their places. Swarming down the hill, they start folding chairs, clearing tables, and carrying them back to storage. Now that it is cooler, demonstrations of strength take place. Austin Armstrong carries eight chairs at once. Brennan staggers under 13. Jamie Ketring and Jennifer tote one table between them, but Jon Foote hoists one above his head and carries it alone.
The final tarpaulin is tugged up and over a mountain of chairs. It is time to go home.
The thoughts of all the youth are echoed by Emily Runyan. “My main memory of summers is our work at Conner Prairie.”

Sometimes Joby forgot things like the time he forgot not to laugh when his brother fell down the stairs. Another time he forgot to walk straight home after school.
But what Joby didn’t forget was something he did every night before he went to bed. Something besides saying his prayers. It was something he had heard the prophet, President Spencer W. Kimball, talk about many times during general conferences. That something was keeping a daily journal.
One particular family home evening I asked Joby if he would share some of his thoughts and feelings with children all over the world.
Here are a few entries from Joby’s daily journal:

Young Matthew Kelsay stared gloomily out the window at the drifts of deepening snow, and listened to the icy wind moan like an ill-bearing minstrel. “Can’t go out and play,” he grumbled to himself. “Maybe I should have gone with Mom and Dad to the genealogy library like they wanted me to.” But he thought there wouldn’t have been anything to do at the library except thumb through a bunch of old dusty books, trying to find the name of someone who was born one year and died another. Uuchhh! How boring, he thought with disgust.
Turning away from the misted glass, Matthew stared bleakly across the room at the stairway. “Nothing to do inside, either,” he murmured. Then his eyes suddenly brightened. Jumping off the sofa, he sprinted up the steep stairs.
The boy hadn’t explored the attic for a long time. The last time he had been up there, he had played an innocent prank on Methuselah, their old tomcat, who sometimes slept there on a dusty featherbed. Now to a very bored eleven-year-old who had nothing better to do, it seemed like a good place to escape a humdrum afternoon.
Matthew squeezed inside, waded through the piles of clutter, and posed clownishly before a cracked mirror with one of his father’s old hats piled on his head. Then he saw something reflected in the mirror that distracted him—an old chest caught in a shaft of wintry light that slivered through a tattered curtain covering the single attic window.
Plopping himself down beside the big box, Matthew creaked open the lid. A warm, musty-sweet smell floated out like a trapped ghost set free. He reached in and pulled out a pair of old boots—boots Matthew was sure must have walked a thousand miles! Next he discovered a faded photograph of a white-haired man with a Moses-like beard and a dusty smile. On the lower corner was written—Josiah Kelsay 1905.
“It’s Great-Grandpa,” whispered the boy. Tucked next to the photograph was a little worn red book. Matthew picked it up and opened it carefully so as not to tear the pages, and the scent that emanated from it tingled him. “Must be Great Grandpa’s diary,” breathed Matthew with awe and reverence. He turned to the inside cover and read: “The diary of ten-year-old Josiah Kelsay, recorded as he crossed the plains with a party of wagons on their way to the Great Salt Lake Valley in the spring of eighteen hundred and forty-nine.” Matthew looked up, his eyes big and round. “Wow! Methuselah, 1849!”
Matthew gingerly fingered a few pages into the little book, stopped, and began to read aloud: “March 18. Our Conestoga left without Ma’s piano. There just wasn’t any room, and the oxen were put upon enough as it was. Baby Jess nearly took a joyful fit when a butterfly lit on her cradle in the back of the wagon.”
The boy turned a few more pages. “March 29. Saw some Indians not too far from our camp today. Brother Ezekiel said they were Crows. They didn’t look as though they meant us any harm, but Ma took on fearful and then became prayerful. Pa tried to comfort Ma and told her not to worry because God would see to it that all of us got to the valley in one piece.”
Digging into the diary a little deeper, Matthew read: “April 3. It rained some today. Old Sister Weber died this morning. Found me a real arrowhead in the skull of a dead coyote. Brother Beacon’s boy said he’d give me his gold watch for it but I’d rather keep the arrowhead. Baby Jess has taken to coughing something fierce.”
More pages were turned. “April 19. We only made about a mile today. Pa took time out to bury Baby Jess. Didn’t see Pa cry but he put his arms round Ma in the holdingest kind of way. Then he walked off somewhere by himself for the rest of the day. Once I thought I heard someone crying off aways. Maybe it was just the wind coming down off the butte.”
“April 20. Brother Ezekiel shot a wild pig that came into a place where Sister Gunnerson was digging some Indian Soapweed. The pig was acting crazy and bubbling at the jaws like he had a devil in him. And before it was killed it horned a place across Ma’s leg—just a scratch but there’s some folks looking unusually mournful. Pa and Nephi Cole administered to Ma. Flora Clanton found some berries and said she’s going to work up something special for the one that sings the loudest tonight at the camp sing.”
Matthew fingered ahead. “May 2. They had to tie Ma down in the wagon today.”
“May 3. Ma died this morning. Just before the end she told us good-bye. I think I heard her tell me to be strong and to praise God.”
On another page Matthew read: “May 4. Cold all day—colder than ever before. We found some little wild flowers to put on Ma’s grave.”
Matthew rubbed his arms, looked up at the snow falling against the little attic window, then he flipped the page. “May 6. We’ve been trying to catch up with the rest of the wagons. Pa told me to try to stop looking so stretchy-faced over Ma being gone. He says we’ll all get to the valley, only we’ll have to take Ma and Baby Jess with us in our hearts. He said they’ll live forever because things eternal never die. And maybe it’s so.”
Matthew turned one more page. “May 7. The wind is most howly and wild today, guess that’s why Pa’s been holding me tighter than I can ever remember.”
Matthew closed the book respectfully, wiped a tear from his cheek, and stared at the diary a long, proud moment. Looking at old books isn’t so boring after all, he decided. And it certainly isn’t dumb.
“You know what, Methuselah?” he said to his sleeping cat. “The next time Mom and Dad ask me to go to the genealogy library, maybe I’ll go with them to see if there are some other diaries that will be as interesting as Great-Grandpa’s.” The old tom’s paws twitched in undisturbed sleep. Matthew laughed. He was thinking that if Methusalah ever tried to find out about his ancestors, he would have to rely on dreams!

This is Sister Clara Elisa Ruano de Villareal from Tulcán, Ecuador. She embraced the restored gospel at age 34 and was a beloved leader. Her family said goodbye singing her favorite hymn, “I Know That My Redeemer Lives.”

I wasn’t part of the popular crowd at my high school, so my circle of friends was smaller than most. I was so shy that I kept to myself most of the time. I was, as the saying goes, “painfully shy.” Indeed, I was so shy it hurt.
One day as I sat down at my desk in history class, another shy girl sat down behind me. We had spoken to each other prior to this, I’m sure, but I didn’t really know her.
As she set her books on top of her desk, her notebook crashed to the floor beside me. I turned to pick it up and noticed the words Seminary—The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on the cover. I reached down and retrieved the binder. As I handed it to her, I timidly said, “Oh, you go to church on Saturday?”
Her face displayed confusion at the question. “No, why?”
I pointed to the notebook cover. “It says, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Doesn’t that mean you go to church on the last day of the week?”
She smiled and giggled slightly. Then she took a deep breath and asked, “What do you know about the Mormon Church?”
I answered quite honestly, “Not very much.”
She inhaled deeply again and asked, “Would you like to know more?”
“Yes, I would,” I replied without hesitation.
At that instant her lower jaw must have hit the floor. Her eyes sparkled, and she looked visibly relieved. I found out her name was Yvonne Anderson, and we became friends. Before long we had set a date for me to meet with the missionaries and receive the first discussion. And when I was baptized, Yvonne was there.
I know that notebook did not fall on the floor by accident. And silly as my first question must have sounded, it was golden: it opened up a way for one shy girl to say to another, “Would you like to know more?”
That day in history class, an instant bond was formed. Because of two golden questions, two shy girls became eternal friends.

My third example highlights the importance of recognizing and accepting the will of God in our lives. Several years ago there was a young father who had been active in the Church as a boy but had chosen a different path during his teenage years. After serving in the military, he married a lovely girl, and soon children blessed their home.

One day without warning their little four-year-old daughter became critically ill and was hospitalized. In desperation and for the first time in many years, the father was found on his knees in prayer, asking that the life of his daughter be spared. Yet her condition worsened. Gradually, this father sensed that his little girl would not live, and slowly his prayers changed; he no longer prayed for healing but rather for understanding. “Let Thy will be done” was now the manner of his pleadings.

Soon his daughter was in a coma, and the father knew her hours on earth were few. Fortified with understanding, trust, and power beyond their own, the young parents prayed again, asking for the opportunity to hold her close once more while she was awake. The daughter’s eyes opened, and her frail arms reached out to her parents for one final embrace. And then she was gone. This father knew their prayers had been answered—a kind, compassionate Father in Heaven had comforted their hearts. God’s will had been done, and they had gained understanding. (Adapted from H. Burke Peterson, “Adversity and Prayer,” Ensign, Jan. 1974, 18.)

My best friend Emily and I were two of the six members of the Church at my high school in Indiana. At an activity, we were invited to think of someone in our lives we could share the gospel with. To our surprise, we both immediately thought of the same person—our English teacher. We were nervous to share it with an authority figure, but we decided to act on the prompting and give him a Book of Mormon. It was summer, so we sent it to him in the mail with our testimonies written on the inside cover.
When the school year started a few weeks later, we walked into his class apprehensively. But he didn’t say anything that first day. Or the second day. Or the day after that. We wondered if he was just going to act like nothing happened or if he even got our package at all, but we were too afraid to ask. Finally, about a week and a half later, he handed us a card. When we opened it, we read that he was respectful with his thank you, but we were disappointed to realize that he wasn’t interested in learning more. Though I’m still not sure why we both felt that prompting, I know that it was the right decision to act on it and send him the Book of Mormon.
Carli C., Utah, USA

Speaking of the COVID-19 pandemic, Elder D. Todd Christofferson, of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, said it was a time that required having “a constant consciousness of the well-being of those around you.”1 Most of us experienced fear and worry due to the uncertainty caused by COVID-19. The confinement forced us to stay home to prevent all physical contact with others. In addition, this gave great opportunities to our family to express our love, to serve, and to minister. And we are grateful that we have sometimes made a resolution, as a family, to forget about ourselves for the benefit of other people. We ministered through technology, calling people we considered most affected by the crisis in order to comfort them and to hear about their needs. At times, it was just a few texts or social media messaging.
To prepare for the quarantine, like many people, we stocked up on basic items, and even some cash. But we learned that our desire to serve enabled us to reach out to others either on our own initiative or through their solicitation. Although we did not know how long the confinement would last, we didn’t hesitate to donate food and at times money from our small reserves, to a few families and people who were in need (of course, while taking necessary health precautions). The Savior’s instruction given to His new disciples whom He had chosen and called among the Nephites comforted us: “For, behold, ye are they whom I have chosen to minister unto this people . . . Take no thought for your life, what you will eat, or what you shall drink” (3 Nephi 13:25).
No words can express the reward we received. Just as for the widow of Zarephath whose flour was not lacking, and oil did not decrease (see 1 Kings 17:16); our little supplies at home did not dry up. We felt a sense of comfort and tranquillity during this difficult time and a sense of confidence that all would be well for our family. A brother wrote to us a little later: “I’ve been thinking about you today since the morning. I am realizing how your little acts of care and love strengthen our lives and give us the energy to continue with a happy heart. That counts. Thank you for these small means that your life abounds of during your services. You are listening. Please know that your little actions make a difference. Thank you.”

I first heard about the Church when my mother joined Brother Joseph W. B. Johnson’s group in 1968.1 I was about 10 years old. My father’s business had declined because of the 1966 coup d’état, and the family was going through a hard time. So my mother thought it wise to seek spiritual help.

Just recently a friend of mine joined the Church. She attended Mutual with me and was very impressed with the kind of young people she found there. After reading the Book of Mormon and having the missionary discussions, she felt she had found heaven on earth. Her parents gave their permission to her baptism after they saw what a wonderful change the Church was making in her life. Now that my friend has started to attend meetings regularly, she is noticing how some members of my ward talk and criticize behind people’s backs. They carry grudges sometimes and seem to let the gospel affect their private lives very little. The first few weeks of a new member’s activity in the Church are very important. How can I counteract or explain what she is seeing without becoming critical of others myself and doing more harm than good?

Elder Eyring said that when he was in college, physics and math were hard for him. He felt overwhelmed and wanted to quit. When he prayed, he felt comforted and encouraged. He learned that he could do all things through Christ, who strengthens us all (see Philippians 4:13). When we face hard times, Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ will be with us.

On Christmas Eve I made cards for the widows and widowers in my ward. When my dad and I delivered the cards, the people seemed very happy and grateful. On our way home I told my dad that I felt really good. He said the feeling was the Holy Ghost telling me I had done something nice. I look forward to making cards again next year.