Gospel Story Finder

An unforgettable and frightening experience I once had with President Lee was when he invited me to come to his home to participate in giving a blessing to a very sick mutual friend. As we gathered with a few family members, President Lee asked me if I would anoint the brother’s head with consecrated oil. This I did humbly and in a spirit of inadequacy. I had never before had the opportunity of having this rich spiritual experience of having a prophet of God seal an anointing that I would pronounce. I recall with vividness even today President Lee’s sealing of this ordinance. It seemed to me he was struggling for words, direction, and guidance to give encouragement to this good brother. I had the feeling he wanted to promise him complete recovery and health, but the words didn’t come as he pronounced the sealing. It was evident as the seconds passed that he was not only troubled, but was groping for direction that would be positive and rewarding—not only to the recipient, but also to others in the room who had grave concern over the individual’s health. President Lee never did promise health, strength, and recovery to this individual. He gave words of encouragement and touched on the basics of the total gospel plan, but the promise of healing was not forthcoming.

Immediately following this experience, President Lee took me aside in another room and said softly and in perfect mildness, “Marvin, he’s not going to get better, is he?” I responded to President Lee, “No. I could tell you wanted to promise this type of blessing, but it was apparently not to be.” I recall that his final comment as we walked away from the hearing of family members was, “The Lord has other plans, and he determines not only what we promise but what will happen.”

Rebecca Swanston, a 12-year-old member of the Mt. Zion Baptist Church, had a speaking part in this year’s program. She participated with two LDS boys, Jean Gonzalez and Jason Godwin. Rebecca’s lines were about the lives of prominent African Americans and their contributions to society. Rebecca will remember those important facts, but she will also remember her new friends.

“I probably wouldn’t know Jason and Jean if we hadn’t done this program,” she says. “We’ve had a great time. I can’t wait for next year’s Black history program.”

After his wife suffered a heartbreaking miscarriage during their first pregnancy, Solofo Ravelojaona felt that their prayers were answered a year later with their second pregnancy. He and his wife, Hary Martine, consider the birth of their daughter to be one of their greatest blessings. Solofo explains, “Because we asked God and He gave her to us, we gave her a name that, in Malagasy, means ‘God’s answer.’”

Recently I returned home from a mission presidents’ interim seminar. We held meetings all day, and then I caught a plane home. By the time I arrived home I had been up about 17 hours. I changed into my sleep wear and climbed in bed beside my wife. We talked for a few moments; then the phone rang.
A boyhood friend, one I had known since first grade, was on the other end. “Brother Vaughn,” he said in a trembling voice, “my daughter is back in the hospital. She has had several major seizures. She has stopped breathing twice. She is on oxygen but seems to be failing fast.”
I asked if she had been administered to.
“No, we were hoping you could come and bless her.”
The physical body was tired. I felt I had earned the rest. I also felt my wife needed me, and the flesh wavered. However, the spirit knew precisely what was to be done. I said, “Joe, I will be there in about 30 minutes.” We live about a half an hour from the University of Utah Hospital.
I turned to my wife and asked her if she would like to go. This noble woman said yes. We both got up, dressed, and drove to the hospital.
I embraced this sweet friend that I had known for over 46 years. We found a little room, and along with family members we joined in a prayer of great faith.
Then Joe and I went to the intensive care room and gave his daughter a blessing. We pleaded with the Lord and had a sweet, peaceful assurance come over us that she was in his care. At the time, I wondered whether or not she would live through the blessing.
My sweet wife waited in the car. We drove home, and we were not tired or exhausted any more. We were deeply grateful to be worthy enough to be called upon. At the time of the writing of this article, Joe’s daughter is alive. She is a miracle.

I had an experience like yours. I wanted so much to be able to tell the bishop, but I thought he would have little respect for me as a member of his ward. I prayed about it for a long time. I was finally comforted enough by the Spirit to be able to tell the bishop about my problem. After I told him what I had done, he let me know that what I had done was wrong but that he still loved me and so does my Heavenly Father. He let me know that there is a way back and that is by repentance. Repentance is such a wonderful process. I beg you to give it a try. The Lord is waiting for you!

Name withheld

A private code would keep their secrets safe! She wanted something the other sixth graders wouldn’t be able to figure out, so 11-year-old Michelle Hansen decided to learn sign language. After memorizing the alphabet, she taught it to her friends, and for the rest of the year they had fun quietly communicating their thoughts, dreams, and plans.
When Michelle and her family later moved to Puyallup, Washington, the old gang was broken up, but Michelle retained her skill in sign language, never suspecting that this talent would someday help unite a class of nine-year-old Targeteers.
Michelle’s mother was called to teach the Targeteer A class in Primary, which included a deaf child named Kim Hunt. Sister Hansen was talking to her family about the situation, wondering what she could do to help Kim feel more a part of the group. Michelle, then 16, told her mother she knew some sign language and volunteered to accompany her to Primary and translate the lesson for Kim.
Beginning the second week, Michelle took five minutes each class period to teach the rest of the girls to say hello and to tell Kim their names. She gave them each a copy of the alphabet and continues to teach them as much as possible. Her younger sister, Hope, is also in the class and helps Michelle teach the signs.
Michelle has since taken two classes in sign language and has volunteered in the Seattle Washington Stake to interpret conferences and other meetings for the deaf. Because of her willingness and desire to share her talent to help others, Michelle has seen a little girl who was once only a silent observer at Primary become an eager, happy listener.

My grandmother died the following summer. My brother Jeff gave one of the eulogies. In his talk he read a note my grandmother had written in her husband’s funeral book. The entry was dated August 3, 1941.
“Dear Husband, I thank my Father in Heaven for showing his love to me when we met. I have loved you ever since. I hope we will soon be united again. Each passing day is a day closer to you. It has been heavenly to be the mother of your children. They are the most wonderful gift of all our earthly journey together. May we go on and on forever. Your wife.”
There is always sadness at a funeral. We feel a sense of loss. But mostly what I felt at my grandmother’s funeral was something else. I knew that what she was—the heart, the love, the wisdom, the gentleness, the spirit—would never die. It couldn’t be conquered by death or old age. She would always live. And because of that, I felt a strong connection to an eternal family.

A new convert to the Church recently shared this story. “I was in and out of enforced confinement most of my teen years. It wasn’t so bad being there because the food was pretty good, and we were treated all right. But it did get boring, so when anyone had any reading material, funny books, magazines, or anything, we would trade our food for a chance to borrow those items. One day I saw a fellow with a nice, thick book. I knew it would take a long time to read, so I offered him my pork chops, my potatoes, and all my main course food items for a week. He accepted my offer and loaned me the book. As I read it, I knew I was reading something very special and very true. The book for which I had sacrificed my food was titled the Book of Mormon. When I had a chance, I found the missionaries, changed my habits, and am now finding a new way of life. I love that book for which I traded my food.”
Here was an unusual but worthwhile sacrifice with rewarding results. This convert indicated that the more time he spends with this book, the greater his love becomes for the truths he is finding between its covers.

“From infancy I had enjoyed the simplified and pictured Bible stories, but the original Bible seemed so interminable in length, so difficult of understanding that I had avoided it until a challenge came to me [as a teenager attending stake conference. The speaker] gave a discourse on the value of reading the Bible. In conclusion she asked for a showing of hands of all who had read it through. The hands that were raised out of the large congregation were so few and so timid! … I was shocked into an unalterable determination to read the great book.
“As soon as I reached home after the meeting I began with the first verse of Genesis and continued faithfully every day with the reading.
“What a satisfaction it was to me [a year later] to realize I had read the Bible through from beginning to end! And what exultation of spirit! …
“I commend it to you” (“What I Read as a Boy,” Children’s Friend, November 1943, 508).

When I was 12, my dad lost his job. Money was tight, and I was embarrassed that my family was poor, and I was jealous of my friends’ clothes and toys.
I was really stressed out and even depressed at times because I let jealousy get the best of me. Our family fasted and prayed so my dad could find another job. Our family began to change, especially my dad. He wasn’t stressed. He was happy and spent more time with us, and he read his scriptures more. It changed the whole mood in our home, and my dad became more in tune with the Spirit.
Sometimes it takes a trial for someone to become a better person. If you take trials the right way, you will be greatly blessed. It took about a year for my dad to find a new job, but we were so grateful Heavenly Father answered our prayers.

Shiloh W., 18, Chihuahua, Mexico
My mother died when I was only 12 years old. At that time I was not a member of the Church. When she was sick, I prayed a lot that my mother would be well. I had much faith, and I trusted in God in the hope that her health would return. Sadly she did not recover. I questioned why she had to die at such a young age and leave me while I was still a teenager. I was angry and came to the point where I doubted that God existed. Now that I am a member of the Church, I understand the plan of salvation. I know that she is waiting for me and that our family will be reunited.

This story took place in Canada.
Dieter wanted to listen to general conference. He tried to sit still. He tried to listen to the talks. But having autism made it hard for him to focus. He wiggled on the couch. He played with his toys. He ran around.
Then he looked over at Dad. Dad was sitting quietly and listening to the speakers. Dieter wanted to be like him. So he got out his art supplies. Maybe coloring a picture would help him sit quietly.
While he colored, Dieter listened to Elder Jeffrey R. Holland speak. Elder Holland told a story about Jesus. Jesus asked a rich young man to give all his money to the poor.*
Dieter wanted to help people who didn’t have enough money too. And he had an idea.
“Mom, I want to paint an owl,” Dieter said. “Can you draw one for me?”
“Sure,” Mom said. She drew an owl.
Dieter dipped his paintbrush into some paint. He painted the owl’s wings first. He made some feathers brown and some feathers orange. As he painted, he listened to the other talks. Even when all the talks were over, Dieter kept working. He wanted the owl to be perfect.
At last Dieter was done. He showed the owl to Mom.
“It looks great!” Mom said. “Should we hang it up?”
Dieter shook his head no. “I want to sell it and give the money to help people who don’t have enough money. Like they talked about in conference.”
Mom smiled. “Let’s see what we can do.”
She posted a picture of Dieter’s painting to sell online. Mom wrote that said Dieter would give the money to a shelter for people without homes.
The next day, Dieter and Mom checked the post. Dieter couldn’t believe it! Lots of people wanted to buy his picture. He was glad so many people wanted to help.
A restaurant in Dieter’s city asked to buy the painting. They said they would pay 10 times more than Dieter and Mom had asked for! Other stores asked him for paintings too. Dieter had more work to do!
Mom traced more animals, and Dieter got out his paints. He painted a wolf, a lion, and an orca. He liked the orca the best. He named it “Otis the Orca.” A grocery store near his house bought it. The next time Dieter went to the store, he saw it hanging on the wall!
“Look, Mom!” Dieter pointed to the painting.
“Wow!” Mom said. “Now whenever we come here, we can remember how your talents helped people.”
Dieter was proud that people liked his paintings. But he was even happier that he could help others. He was glad he had listened during general conference.
Dieter made paintings to sell because he wanted to help people. How could you help others?
Illustrations by Natalie Campbell

Like my mother and my grandmothers, my wife, Delores, is a woman of faith. She has never complained about our Church assignments. In 1978 our six little daughters were all under age 12. We accepted a call to preside over a mission in Mexico, leaving behind our home and the year’s supply of food she’d worked hard to store. A few weeks after we accepted the mission call, she told me, “I think our seventh child is on the way.” Delores had no idea what medical care might be available in Mexico, or what having a baby in Mexico might be like. Many years after this experience, she told me that as we were leaving for Mexico on the airplane, she looked at our six beautiful daughters. Silently, she prayed that when we returned home in a few years, each of those six seats would be filled. We came home with eight children—each a blessing from the Lord. Delores likes to say that when we put the Lord’s work first, He blesses all our other work too.

I sat in an unfamiliar chapel on Sunday while visiting another ward with my dad. What wasn’t unfamiliar, however, was my grumpy 9:00 A.M. attitude. Sacrament meeting began, and the organist played the introduction to the opening hymn. I leafed through the hymnbook pages and found the right hymn about halfway through the first verse.
Rather than using the little energy I had on singing, I began listening to others around me. Right in front of me was a woman that I noticed because her rusty, scratchy, off-tune voice could be heard over the clear voices of the congregation. Not only did she sound terrible, but she sang as loudly as she possibly could. Embarrassed for her, I looked around me to see if anyone else had noticed. No one else seemed to be bothered by her, and so I turned my attention back to my hymnbook and tried to ignore the unpleasant sound.
I found it was impossible to ignore her, however, and I became more and more irritated. “Somebody should just tell her to stop singing,” I thought to myself. “How is the Spirit supposed to be here with that kind of racket going on.” I again tried to focus on the words that were on the page in front of me and began singing, hoping I could drown her out.
“Then sings my soul, my Savior God, to thee, How great thou art! …” The power and depth of these words suddenly struck me, and I began to feel incredibly guilty as I realized that this woman had more right than I did to be singing this song. I’m sure she could tell that her voice didn’t blend with the congregation. Yet instead of letting that stop her, she was determined to sing her praises to Heavenly Father. The meaning of the words were more important to her than what she sounded like. Rather than keeping the Spirit away, she was actually bringing a spirit into the meeting for those who had the right attitude and could recognize it.
Hymns have a completely different meaning for me now. Whenever I hear unpleasant sounds from a singer somewhere in the congregation, I pay special attention to the words and realize that I shouldn’t be singing hymns just because it’s what I’m expected to do, but that I should be trying to show my Heavenly Father my respect and gratitude towards him.

To illustrate this further, I share the true account of a family with five sons who moved from Los Angeles, California, USA, to a small community some years ago. The two oldest sons began playing high school sports and associating with friends, leaders, and coaches—many of whom were faithful members of the Church. These relationships helped lead to the baptism of Fernando, the oldest, and his next younger brother.
Fernando later moved away from home, where he continued his education and played college football. He married his high school sweetheart, Bayley, in the temple. As Fernando and Bayley finished their schooling, they eagerly anticipated the birth of their first child—a baby girl. But during the process of their families helping to move Fernando and Bayley back home, Bayley and her sister were driving on the freeway and were in a tragic accident involving many vehicles. Bayley and her unborn daughter lost their lives.
Yet as deep as was Fernando’s pain, as well as that of Bayley’s parents and siblings, so too was the depth of contrasting peace and comfort that distilled upon them almost immediately. The Holy Ghost in His role as Comforter truly sustained Fernando through this incomprehensible affliction. The Spirit communicated an abiding peace that led Fernando to an attitude of forgiveness and love toward everyone involved in the tragic crash.
Bayley’s parents called her brother who was serving as a missionary at the time of the accident. He described in a letter his feelings upon hearing the difficult news of his beloved sister: “It was amazing to hear your voices so calm in the midst of a tempest. I did not know what to say. … All I could think of is my sister may not be there when I come home. … I was comforted by your infallible testimonies of the Savior and His plan. The same sweet spirit that brings me to the verge of tears as I study and teach filled my heart. I was then comforted and reminded of the things that I know.”8
The Holy Ghost will help you by comforting you, as He did Fernando and Bayley’s family.

First, our love for God and accepting our role as the family leader in keeping His commandments. Some years ago, following a stake conference, I felt impressed to pay a visit to a priesthood brother who had fallen away from the Church. We found him working in his garden. I approached him and said, “Dear brother, the Lord Jesus Christ has sent me to see you. I am Elder Hammond, one of His servants.”
We exchanged a Latin abrazo and entered into his lovely little home. He called for his wife and three children to join us. Two handsome young men and a beautiful girl sat beside their father and mother. I asked the children what they would like, more than anything else in the world, right now. The oldest son spoke: “If only all of us could go back to church as a family, we would be so happy—so grateful.” We told them how much they were needed by the Savior and how He loved them. We bore our testimonies to them and then knelt in prayer. The father prayed. The mother wept. They are now back in full fellowship. The children are proud of their father, and they are happy.

I remember my first winter living here in Utah—snow everywhere. Coming from the Sonoran Desert, the first days I was enjoying it, but after a few days I realized that I had to get up earlier to remove the snow from the driveway.
One morning, in the middle of a snowstorm, I was sweating, shoveling snow, and I saw my neighbor opening his garage across the street. He’s older than I am, so I thought if I finished soon, I could help him. So raising my voice, I asked him, “Brother, do you need help?”
He smiled and said, “Thank you, Elder Montoya.” Then he pulled a snowblower out of his garage, started the engine, and in a few minutes he removed all the snow in front of his house. He then crossed the street with his machine and asked me, “Elder, do you need help?”
With a smile I said, “Yes, thank you.”
We are willing to help each other because we love each other, and my brother’s needs become my needs, and mine become his. No matter what language my brother speaks or what country he comes from, we love each other because we are brothers, children of the same Father.

The accident occurred as we were leaving town. We had signed the legal papers for our new home and had stopped awhile to visit my wife’s grandmother. Our three-year-old daughter, G.J., was asleep in the back seat of our car, and we were anxious to return to our other three children. My wife, Gaydra, had begun to knit. Neither of us had reminded the other to fasten our seat belts. It was nearly five o’clock in the afternoon.
We were in heavy traffic moving at 55 miles an hour. As we approached an intersection, I suddenly saw a car that was coming from the opposite direction try to make a quick left turn in front of us. There was no way he could make it. And with cars on all sides of us, I couldn’t turn. I slammed on the brakes but couldn’t stop quickly enough.
The head-on collision threw me against the steering wheel and into the windshield. I began to gasp for air and tried to call Gaydra’s name. I could see her on the floor, but she didn’t answer me. Then blood began to run into my eyes. I could hear G. J. crying as I frantically kicked the collapsed steering wheel out of my lap. I was afraid the car might explode from spilled gasoline and felt I had to get my wife and daughter to safety.
At last the door was open and I stood up. The world began to turn white. I saw a trickle of water from the smashed radiator running between my shoes and I thought, as my knees gave way under me, “I’m going to land right in that.” I regained consciousness as some men carried me to the grass at the side of the road. I asked about my wife and child and was told they were going to be all right. I could still hear G. J. crying.
When the ambulance arrived, Gaydra and I and the other injured driver all rode on stretchers in the back. G. J. sat with a paramedic in the front of the ambulance. Several times Gaydra tried to sit up and ask for G.J., but she kept falling back into unconsciousness.
When we arrived at the hospital, G. J. had stopped crying. A doctor came into the emergency room and examined me. He gave the nurse instructions and left. She was pleasant but efficient: “Mr. McCallister, your wife has a depression fracture of the skull. It is causing severe pressure on her brain, and we are going to send her by emergency helicopter to the University Medical Center for surgery. We can feel the loose bone. You are well enough that you can probably fly in the helicopter with her.”
The nurse then left me alone. It was 5:20 [P.M.] by the clock on the wall, and the room was very quiet.
“Oh, Heavenly Father!” I cried. “Please help Gaydra. She can’t die! She mustn’t die!” The tears stung the cuts around my eyelids, and I could feel glass in my eyebrows and forehead. Those moments were the most agonizing of my life as I contemplated losing my eternal sweetheart.
Suddenly I became aware that someone was there at my side. Two men in street clothes, not white hospital uniforms, said hello. They were elders from the Church.
“Would you like a blessing?” one of them asked.
“Oh, yes. And my wife is in the X-ray department. Please administer to her.”
“We already have,” they replied.
“My daughter …” I began.
“We’ve blessed her as well,” the other man said.
They anointed my head with oil, gave me a blessing, and then left. It was 5:30.
I was puzzled. Who were those elders? How did they get there so fast? Later I found out.
Gaydra was never flown to the medical center. They couldn’t find the skull fracture in X-ray. G. J. and I were released that night, and two weeks later we took Gaydra home without surgery. Except for an inability to recall the accident and the several days following, she has totally recovered. We had survived a head-on collision at 55 miles an hour.

May I impose upon you for a moment to express appreciation for something that happened to me some time ago, years ago. I was suffering from an ulcer condition that was becoming worse and worse. We had been touring a mission; my wife, Joan, and I were impressed the next morning that we should get home as quickly as possible, although we had planned to stay for some other meetings.

On the way across the country, we were sitting in the forward section of the airplane. Some of our Church members were in the next section. As we approached a certain point en route, someone laid his hand upon my head. I looked up; I could see no one. That happened again before we arrived home, again with the same experience. Who it was, by what means or what medium, I may never know, except I knew that I was receiving a blessing that I came a few hours later to know I needed most desperately.

As soon as we arrived home, my wife very anxiously called the doctor. It was now about 11 o’clock at night. He called me to come to the telephone, and he asked me how I was; and I said, “Well, I am very tired. I think I will be all right.” But shortly thereafter, there came massive hemorrhages which, had they occurred while we were in flight, I wouldn’t be here today talking about it.

I know that there are powers divine that reach out when all other help is not available. We see that manifest down in the countries we speak of as the underprivileged countries where there is little medical aid and perhaps no hospitals. If you want to hear of great miracles among these humble people with simple faith, you will see it among them when they are left to themselves. Yes, I know that there are such powers.

“I’m bored,” Danny said as Mom put a batch of cinnamon rolls into the oven. “What are we going to do now?”
Before Mom could answer, Elizabeth asked, “Mom, when will Christmas be here? I want to open my presents.”
Mom sighed as she shut the oven door and set the timer. “There’s a lot we can do, Danny. And Elizabeth, there’s much, much more to Christmas than opening presents.” Mom sat down. “Let’s see—how about a game?”
The children nodded their heads enthusiastically.
“Elizabeth, please bring the Baby Jesus from the Nativity set in the family room.”
Elizabeth ran into the family room and quickly returned with the Baby Jesus.
“Now, Danny, close your eyes while Elizabeth hides the Baby Jesus. She’ll tell you when you can open them. Then you will look for Him. If you’re far away, she’ll say you’re cold or colder. But if you’re getting closer to the hiding place, she’ll say you’re warm or warmer. Do you understand?”
When Danny nodded, Mom said, “All right, close your eyes.”
Danny covered his eyes with his hands. Elizabeth quickly put the Baby Jesus on the piano. She looked at Mom and silently mouthed, “Is that OK?”
Mom smiled and nodded.
Elizabeth moved next to Mom. “You can open your eyes now, Danny.”
Danny uncovered his eyes and took several steps toward the couch.
“You’re cold,” Elizabeth said.
“Colder,” Danny heard as he looked under the table. “Colder. Oh, Danny, you’re as cold as you can get over there by the fireplace!” declared Elizabeth.
Danny slumped his shoulders in frustration and said, “I don’t like this game.”
“Don’t give up,” urged Mom. “Now that you know where the Baby Jesus isn’t, you should have a better idea about where He is.”
Danny thought for a minute, then turned around.
Elizabeth cried out, “Hooray! You’re getting warmer.”
Then, instead of looking down, Danny looked up at the piano. He smiled and stood tall as he walked toward the piano.
“Warm, warmer, warmest!” cheered Elizabeth as Danny reached out his hand and picked up the Baby Jesus.
“Danny wins the game!” Mom announced.
Danny had a great big grin on his face, and so did Elizabeth. Mom gathered them both in her arms and explained, “You see, the real purpose of Christmas is like our little game. It’s to try to get closer to Jesus. When we do, we feel warm. If you get that good, warm feeling, the Spirit is telling you you’re doing the kinds of things that make Jesus happy.”
Bzzzz!
“The cinnamon rolls are done,” shouted Elizabeth and Danny.
“Why don’t you two put on your coats while I frost the rolls? Then you can deliver some to Mrs. Simms while they’re still hot,” Mom said.
After delivering the rolls, Elizabeth and Danny rushed into the house. “Mom! Mom! Mrs. Simms was so happy to get the rolls she had tears in her eyes!” reported Danny.
“I think Jesus liked us giving her the rolls, because I feel warm inside,” said Elizabeth. “And if you’re warm, you’re getting closer.”