Gospel Story Finder

Illustrations by Katie McDee
I’m so happy that we’re going to be sealed together as a family!
Me too.
Did you hear that, Lucas? We’re going to be an eternal family!
And it’s our first time ever going inside the temple!
Yes, it’s a special day. Can you feel the peaceful feeling here?
Yes!
That’s because this is the Lord’s house.

“I started coming to church when I was 16,” he explained. “I met the missionaries on the street. I thought they were lawyers or executives by the way they were dressed. Then I realized they were foreigners. I was curious about them, so I started hanging around them, asking questions.
“In my first discussion, they told me about the Book of Mormon and about Joseph Smith, and I thought, What a great experience to have. I believed it all.”
“Mom didn’t like that and didn’t want me to come to church at first, but she finally said it was all right. Still, when I asked her if I could get baptized, she said no way. So I continued going to church for about seven months, not being a member.”
“What finally changed her mind?” I asked.
“Well, I fasted and prayed, of course, and my birthday was coming up, so I told her that the best gift she could give me would be permission to be baptized. I guess I bugged her so much about it, she finally said to go ahead. You know the rest of the story.”

Can you grasp the meaning of the tremendous work of this Church? Let me paint you a scenario. A pair of missionaries knock on the door of a little home somewhere in Peru. A woman answers. She does not quite understand what the missionaries want. But she invites them in. They arrange to come when her husband and other members of the family are there.
The missionaries teach them. Touched by the power of the Spirit, they respond to the message of eternal truth. They are baptized.
The family is active in the Church. They pay an honest but very meager tithing. They have a son or daughter in that family who is in his or her late teens. At the right time, the son or the daughter is called to serve a mission. The family does all it can to support him or her, and the remainder is made up from the missionary fund, which comes of the contributions of the Saints.
The son or daughter works with a companion from the United States or Canada. He or she learns English, while the companion’s Spanish is greatly improved. They work together with love and appreciation and respect, one for another, representatives of two great divergent cultures.
Upon completion of their missions, the North American returns home and goes back to school. The Peruvian returns home and is hopeful only of finding work of a menial nature. The pay is ever so small. The future is dismal. He or she does not have the needed skills to rise above such employment. And then comes this bright ray of hope. Well, brethren, you know the picture. I need not labor it further. The way before us is clear, the need is tremendous, and the Lord has pointed the way.

Sometimes service requires long periods of time and much patience and faith. Sister Craet of the St. Niklaas Branch, Antwerp Belgium Stake, suffered a brain hemorrhage and fell into a coma. Sister Poula Buyse, the Relief Society president, immediately arranged for people to take turns staying with Sister Craet. As the weeks went by, some visitors became discouraged, thinking Sister Craet would never recover. So Sister Buyse began to stay longer and longer with Sister Craet, talking to her, reading to her, and singing hymns.
Sister Craet did eventually regain consciousness—but she was partially paralyzed and could not speak clearly. Her road to recovery was slow and painful. Sister Buyse cared for her when nursing personnel were absent, giving her company, love, and hope. Sister Buyse did more than talk about charity in Relief Society; she lived it.

My classmates and I were stationed near Hannover. Every month or so our unit of about 300 people would get together. Usually there was a unit party, and everyone would be drinking and smoking—except me. I didn’t know it at first, but our commander-in-chief watched me during these parties.

One day he called me in and asked me why I didn’t smoke or drink. I was a little shy, and I told him that I just didn’t believe in it. I think I was the only one who didn’t smoke or drink in the whole outfit, and I was the only Latter-day Saint.

“There must be a specific reason why you don’t do that,” he continued questioning me. I told him it was better for the body to abstain from those things, and I tried to evade the question a little bit. When you’re 15, it’s not so easy when people laugh at you and say you’re not a man if you don’t smoke and drink. My fellow soldiers had made fun of me quite often, and my commander had heard that.

“You’re a Mormon, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that?” he asked.

“I’m a little shy,” I explained. “You’ve seen what kind of reaction the others have.”
“Well, that might change if you just tell them,” he replied.

One night we were all sitting at a big table at a party, and everyone was drinking, except me. I think I had a pop that I had bought downtown. My commanding officer was watching me again.
He stood and said, “Rahde, get up.” Then he said to the whole group, “I would like to inform you that Rahde is a Mormon. He doesn’t drink, and he doesn’t smoke. And I would like you to respect that. If I see anybody making fun of him because of that, I will put you in jail.”
I was shocked. I turned red because everyone was looking at me. Then he said, “From now on, Rahde, it is your job to take care of these men and see that when they go downtown and have too much to drink they find their way home.”

From that minute on, I had a lot of groups that wanted me to go with them. They took me to their beer joints, and said, “No drinks for Heinz. He doesn’t drink, and he has to take us home.

I didn’t have to mention anything anymore. I had more friends that way than I would have had any other way. Nothing could have done more good for me than this frankness, as my wise commanding officer had sensed. It was a testimony to me that the others trusted me so much that whenever something came up, they always asked me to go with them, and they protected me.

It is comforting to know that we have a living prophet, President Ezra Taft Benson, who directs our attention to areas of our lives that need improvement.

I have always sustained the living prophets, partly because I have received a personal witness that each is called of God. That personal witness regarding President Benson came Saturday morning, 5 April 1986, as I sat watching the first session of general conference on television with my family. As President Benson concluded his comments, I thought, “Surely the Lord has spoken to the Latter-day Saints. Now the responsibility is ours to listen and obey—to cleanse the inner vessel!”

When Nuria and I were being taught by full-time missionaries in 1982, we were invited to visit the local ward meetinghouse and to attend the Church meetings there. As we arrived on a beautiful Sunday morning, the first two members that we met at Church were two sisters from our Caribbean island of Puerto Rico. That was a pleasant surprise! We then entered the sacrament hall and beheld families talking reverently to each other, as the sacrament meeting was about to begin. There was great love and friendship in evidence among them.
The missionaries then pointed out the bishop in the stand talking with one of his counselors. I knew the bishop, though not as the local leader of the Church, but as a faculty professor of mine, whom I respected as a great physician and individual. Nuria and I loved the service. From that very first day, except for illness, we have always attended Sunday meetings. I had received a spiritual confirmation in my heart that this Church was true and that the will of our Lord Jesus Christ was for us to remain. Shortly thereafter, we were baptized together and began attending sacrament meetings as members of the Lord’s restored Church.

In those early years of artificial kidney development, the expense and lack of facilities meant that treatment was restricted to a few fortunate people. Kidney center personnel were responsible to determine who would receive treatment and who would not. As I approached the artificial kidney center, my application seemed a bit lacking. I was, after all, single with no dependents, no real income, and no resources. But I did have something that encouraged me—a super family. And the doctors knew it. They reasoned that because I had such close and supportive family, I would always have people around to help take care of me. This made me a good candidate for a new experimental kidney machine which can be used at home—and perhaps someday, even for a kidney transplant.

I learned a great deal during those three years I was on the kidney machine. My faith in the Lord grew as I watched his hand guiding my life. I was close to my family, and in spite of the kidney machine I loved life more than ever before. I had never been so free, nor as happy. Yet, I yearned to be rid of my mechanical companion.

This goal, like so many others, became a family project. We often spent family home evenings and family interviews discussing alternatives to being on the kidney machine and the justifications for a kidney transplant.

Everything changes when I know who I really am. When I doubt my abilities, I often repeat to myself in my mind or out loud, “I am a daughter of God, I am a daughter of God,” as many times as I need until I again feel confident to keep going.

I have a friend who served as a priests quorum adviser. The boys and the adviser planned a kayak activity at Flaming Gorge, Utah. After some initial planning, one of the quorum members quietly approached the adviser and said: “We better not plan a kayak trip. Mike won’t be able to go because he can’t paddle.” Mike was partially paralyzed on his right side. When he learned that the quorum was not going on the activity because of him, he told the boys, “I want to go. I can paddle.” The quorum adviser placed his hand on Mike’s shoulder and said, “OK, Mike. You’re my paddle partner.”

So from January to August, the boys built their kayaks. They departed to the reservoir in the first week in August.

Rhythm, togetherness, and teamwork are essential to keep a kayak in a straight line. Mike and his partner had more trouble than the others getting their rhythm and strokes coordinated. Mike had almost no stroke of consequence on his right side. His adviser had to compensate by paddling easy on the left and hard on the right.

After several hours of learning to work together, Mike said to his adviser, “You wouldn’t happen to have a Band-Aid, would you?” The adviser pulled his wallet out and gave Mike a Band-Aid. He placed it over a big water blister that had just popped in the crook of his hand between his thumb and his first finger. The hand and arm that was little used now had to help hold the paddle.

Several hours later, Mike turned again to his adviser, who was in the rear cockpit, and said, “Do you have any more bandages?” The adviser pulled out several and handed them to Mike. By now the crook between Mike’s right thumb and his first finger was becoming raw. Mike applied the Band-Aids and resumed paddling.

The next day the crew set out again. The adviser encouraged Mike to rest from paddling and let his hand have a respite. The words fell on deaf ears. Instantly, Mike was paddling as he had the day before.

This day found a usual midday and afternoon wind blowing directly at the flotilla of kayak paddlers. It required stronger strokes and took much energy and time. Wincing from the hurt, Mike continued to paddle. Each suggestion that he rest intensified his will to carry his load.

Throughout the week, Mike persisted in holding his own. Though his hand was as raw as hamburger and awful to look at, he would not give up.

During the week’s trip, the conversation with his senior companion often centered around his desire to go on a mission. Repeatedly Mike asked, “I hope they will let me go on a mission. Do you think my problem will prevent me from going?” Mike walks with a noticeable limp of his right leg. He has a firm handshake with the left hand, but his right hand doesn’t open up all of the way.

How many who have no visible blemish have a heart like Mike’s? How many young men with not a single cell out of place fail to soften their hearts and desire to serve the Lord? How many who have so much forfeit their blessings because of selfish desires or inability to set lofty priorities?

My adviser friend said, “Mike taught eleven others that though one may appear to be a little less physically capable, the heart makes the difference in those who choose to overcome many odds and set a standard for others to follow.”

Mike fulfilled an honorable mission to California and is now working in his hometown.

When I was young, I always wanted everyone to feel included. If children on the playground were being picked on, I wanted to be their friend. I remember befriending one girl other children were mean to. Years later, after I was married, she was my neighbor. When I saw her, we happily greeted one another. I thought, “Look at her now. She’s a wonderful mother who serves well and works hard to teach her children.” I am so glad that when I was little I was nice to her. Then when I saw her again, I didn’t have any regrets. We were still friends.

I would like to tell you a story of an excellent athlete—a young man with superb character. He never went to the Olympics, but he stands as tall as any Olympian because he was honest with himself and with his God.
The account is told by a coach in a junior high school. He states:
“Today was test day in climbing the rope. We climb from a standing start to a point 15 feet high. [My job is] to train and teach the boys to negotiate this distance in as few seconds as possible.
“The school record for the event is 2.1 seconds. It has stood for three years. Today this record was broken. …
“For three years Bobby Polacio, a 14 1/2-year-old ninth-grade … boy, [trained and worked, consumed by his dream] of breaking this record.
“In his first of three attempts, Bobby climbed the rope in 2.1 seconds, tying the record. On the second try the watch stopped at 2.0 seconds flat, a record! But as he descended the rope and the entire class gathered around to check the watch, I knew I must ask Bobby a question. There was a slight doubt in my mind whether or not the board at the 15-foot height had been touched. If he missed, it was so very, very close—not more than a fraction of an inch—and only Bobby knew this answer.
“As he walked toward me, expressionless, I said, ‘Bobby, did you touch?’ If he had said, ‘Yes,’ the record he had dreamed of since he was a skinny seventh-grader and had worked for almost daily would be his, and he knew I would trust his word.
“With the class already cheering him for his performance, the slim, brown-skinned boy shook his head negatively. And in this simple gesture, I witnessed a moment of greatness. …
“… And it was with effort through a tight throat that I told the class: ‘This boy has not set a record in the rope climb. No, he has set a much finer record for you and everyone to strive for. He has told the … truth.’
“I turned to Bobby and said, ‘Bobby, I’m proud of you. You’ve just set a record many athletes never attain. Now, in your last try I want you to jump a few inches higher on the takeoff.’ …
“After the other boys had finished their next turns, and Bobby came up … for his try, a strange stillness came over the gymnasium. Fifty boys and one coach [watched] breathlessly [as] Bobby Polacio … climbed the rope in 1.9 seconds! A school record, a city record, and perhaps close to a national record for a junior high school boy.
“When the bell rang and I walked away, … I was thinking: ‘Bobby, … at 14 you are a better man than I. Thank you for climbing so very, very high today.’”

Accepting President Nelson’s invitation also strengthened Isaac’s testimony. “We circled the words God, Lord, Redeemer, Savior, and Christ every time we found them,” he says. “On the day we finished, I flipped through the Book of Mormon and saw all the words I had circled. I thought, ‘Man, that’s a lot!’ I had never noticed how many there were. I felt much more spiritual reading the Book of Mormon. I’m glad we did it.”

Among the new members in Canada were many with relatives and friends in England. They wrote letters explaining their conversion and became anxious to bear their testimonies personally to their friends. The groundwork was already being laid for the spread of the gospel. Several months before Joseph Smith had fled from Kirtland, he had called Heber C. Kimball, Orson Hyde, Willard Richards, and four Canadian converts to open the British mission. They arrived at the port of Liverpool, England on July 20, 1837.
These missionaries contacted friends and relatives and then began to work generally among the people of England. After nine months of preaching—in churches whenever they could, in rented halls, or door to door—they counted nearly two thousand converts. Most of the elders returned home that spring,. leaving Canadian Joseph Fielding to preside over the mission, with Willard Richards (not yet an apostle) and William Clayton, a British convert, as counselors.

1 Young Spencer Kimball spent many hours helping his father on the family farm. He tramped hay, planted seeds, weeded the garden, and painted the barn and house.
2 And every day Spencer milked the cows. There were no milking machines in those days, and it took the young boy quite a while to finish this chore.
3 Spencer liked to learn. He decided to use his “milking time” to learn new things, so he copied the words from Church hymns onto small pieces of paper and sang to the cows while he milked them.
4 He memorized many of his favorite scriptures the same way. Neighbors often joked about those cows being the most spiritual cows in the area!
5 From the barn doorway, Spencer’s father would watch him sitting on a three-legged stool, milking a cow and learning hymns and scriptures.
6 Spencer W. Kimball learned at a young age to be dedicated to the gospel and to seek after righteousness. He was well prepared to become the twelfth President of the Church.

Shortly after this accident, LeGrand was thrown out of a wagon by the horses’ unexpected motion backward; as he hit the ground, the wagon wheel passed over his head. Before he could be pulled away, a quick forward movement of the team caused the wheel to pass over his head a second time. His frightened father gathered the crying boy up into his arms and blessed him. Again he recovered.

But long unheralded were President Taylor’s understanding and love of people. Once, while president of the Council of the Twelve, after the Saints had reached Utah, two old and faithful brethren approached him about a strong and bitter quarrel between them. They had resolved to abide by whatever decision Brother Taylor might render. So they called on him, explained that they had seriously quarreled, and asked if he would listen to their story.
He said, “Brethren, before I hear your case, I would like very much to sing one of the songs of Zion for you.” A very talented and moving singer, President Taylor then sang a hymn to the men. Seeing its effect, he remarked that he never heard one of the songs of Zion but that he wanted to listen to one more. So the two brethren consented to hearing a second hymn. After the second song, President Taylor remarked that he had heard there was luck in odd numbers, so with their consent he would sing still another song. Afterwards he said, “Now, brethren, I do not want to wear you out, but if you will forgive me and listen to one more hymn, I promise to stop singing and will hear your case.” By the time he had finished with his fourth selection, the two brethren were melted to tears; they got up, shook hands, and asked President Taylor to excuse them for having called upon him. His singing had reconciled their feelings toward each other.

A man passing the sacrament while listening to music on his headphones. This would be wildly inappropriate in most cases. But let me share “the rest of the story.” I knew a man who has a strong testimony and has served a mission and accepted a variety of callings. In recent years, however, he was diagnosed with a schizoaffective disorder. Wearing headphones lets him listen to soft, peaceful music and helps block out the ever-present voices in his mind. He is able to feel the Spirit and reverently serve others with the help of his headphones.

We had just moved to a small rural town where not many members of the Church lived. Our little branch was a friendly, close-knit group, and we enjoyed each Sabbath day and the opportunity to attend church. Our only concern was for our children, who had few playmates their ages in our branch. My husband and I decided to look for ways to make friends outside of the Church so our children could have new friends and get to know people from different faiths.
My hopes were soon dashed, however, when a local children’s group told me that because we were “Mormons,” we were not welcome in their group. I had belonged to similar groups in other areas where there weren’t many Latter-day Saints, and religion had never been an issue before. I assured the leaders of the group that I would not try to proselytize or force my religion on anyone; my family and I just wanted to make friends and meet new people. But they remained firm in their decision and did not allow us to join.
I decided that I would be kind, Christlike, and friendly to the people of this town so they would see that members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints are good people. We started inviting other children over to play, inviting neighbor families to dinner, and visiting with others in an effort to get to know people. I read conference talks, Church magazine articles, and scriptures about fellowship, kindness, and serving others. Then I worked to put these principles into practice in my life. I knew if I could show the people of this town how kind and loving Latter-day Saint families can be, this group would be sure to accept us in time.
Time passed, however, and although we were able to befriend the leaders of this social group, they remained firm in their “no Mormons allowed” position.
I decided then to continue being neighborly and kind to the people in my town, but I also decided to search out a similar social group in a neighboring town. But even there I was told that Latter-day Saints were not allowed to join their group. By then I was so frustrated I wanted to cry. What was wrong with the people in these two towns? Couldn’t they see that we were a kind, fun family?
I prayed for the Spirit to guide me and help me be as friendly and Christlike as possible. I prayed that those who knew me would feel in their hearts that we were good people. I prayed they would experience a change of heart that would lead them to accept us. Still, I felt as if my prayers weren’t being answered. No matter how hard I tried, I was unable to soften their hearts.
Then one evening I received a phone call that shattered my hopes altogether. The leaders of the group called and told me once again that my family was not welcome in their group. They were concerned that we might be expecting to join in the future because we had made so many friends in the community. They said some very hurtful things, and I cried with a broken heart. All of the dinners, service projects, cookies, and sidewalk chats had meant nothing to these people. Where had I gone wrong?
That night I prayed a heartfelt and sincere request for help in dealing with those who had such strong feelings against the Church. I felt as if I were now entitled to their favor because of my efforts, and I explained this to my Father in Heaven.
The answer was stronger than any impression I had received for quite some time: “Follow Christ.”
It confused me at first. “Yes,” I thought, “but I already do.” The cookies, the friendship, the reaching out—I was being as Christlike as I could. Still, the only impression I received was “Follow Christ.”
I then realized that when my energies are focused on following Christ, I am not affected as much by the opinions of others. I serve them because it is right and not because it will help my image as a Latter-day Saint. I am friendly and neighborly because I feel friendly and neighborly, not because I have some self-centered reason for being friendly.
“Follow Christ” has become my motto whenever I am troubled by those who dislike us because of our faith. I now find joy in serving others regardless of their reaction to my kindness, and I am blessed for it. I did not come to earth to win the approval of others. I came here to prepare to return to my Father in Heaven, and the only way to get there is to follow the Savior.

“Mom, I have a problem,” Addison said. She took Mom’s hand and led her to the bathroom mirror. She pointed at her frowning reflection. “See?”
Mom bent closer, squinting at the mirror. “I only see my beautiful daughter. She could use a smile, though. Is that the problem?”
“It’s the freckles!” Addison said. She leaned over the bathroom counter. Her nose almost touched the mirror. “Whenever I look in the mirror, all I can see are freckles.” She pointed at all the soft brown dots on her cheeks and her nose. “Bailey’s freckles look cute. But mine just look funny.”
Mom put her hands on Addison’s shoulders. “I think your freckles are beautiful.”
Addison nodded, but it didn’t change the way she felt. “You’re my mom. You’re supposed to think that.” She sighed.
“Let me show you something I learned once,” Mom said. She led Addison outside to the garden. Mom picked up a small pebble and gave it to Addison. “Hold this up close to your eye. What do you see?”
Addison studied the pebble in her hand. She turned it over to see if she was missing something. “Nothing. All I can see is a rock.”
Mom smiled. “Now put it down.”
Addison tossed the rock back into the garden.
“Now what do you see?” Mom asked.
Addison looked around. “Lots of things. I see the little rock, but I also see the ground, the flowers, and the grass.”
“Exactly,” Mom said. “It’s all in how you look at it. Just like with the pebble, try not to focus only on your freckles—otherwise you miss seeing all the other great things about you, like how smart you are and how patient you are with your brothers and sisters.”
Mom picked up the pebble and pressed it into Addison’s hand. “Think of yourself as a whole garden, not just one pebble. Then you’ll be able to see yourself the way the Savior sees you, as a precious daughter of God.”
Audrey went back to the mirror. The first thing she saw was the same old freckles. She felt the pebble in her hand and took a step back. Now she could see more of her reflection. She saw a girl named Addison who liked reading, singing songs in Primary, and playing with her family. I like me, Addison thought—and that meant liking her freckles too because they were a part of her.
She felt happier as she thought of herself as a precious daughter of God. That made her smile, and when she did, she saw something by her mouth she’d never noticed before. Dimples!