Gospel Story Finder

For many years, President Spencer W. Kimball had been praying to Heavenly Father to know if the time had come when all faithful men could receive the priesthood. The answer was revealed to him on June 1, 1978, in the Salt Lake Temple. Called Official Declaration—2 [OD 2], it is recorded in the Doctrine and Covenants. In part, it says: “[Heavenly Father] has heard our prayers, and by revelation has confirmed that the long-promised day has come when every faithful, worthy man in the Church may receive the holy priesthood, with power to exercise its divine authority, and enjoy with his loved ones every blessing that flows therefrom, including the blessings of the temple. Accordingly, all worthy male members of the Church may be ordained to the priesthood without regard for race or color.”

The second example of lives filled with service, with which I shall conclude, is the missionary experience of Juliusz and Dorothy Fussek, who were called to fill an 18-month mission in Poland. Brother Fussek was born in Poland. He spoke the language. He loved the people. Sister Fussek was born in England and knew little of Poland and nothing of its people.

Trusting in the Lord, they embarked on their assignment. The living conditions were primitive, the work lonely, their task immense. A mission had not at that time been fully established in Poland. The assignment given the Fusseks was to prepare the way so that the mission could be expanded and gain permanence, that other missionaries be called to serve, people taught, converts baptized, branches established, and chapels erected.

Did Elder and Sister Fussek despair because of the enormity of their assignment? Not for a moment. They knew their calling was from God, they prayed for His divine help, and they devoted themselves wholeheartedly to their work. They remained in Poland not 18 months, but rather served for five years. All of the foregoing objectives were realized. Such came about following an earlier meeting where Elders Russell M. Nelson, Hans B. Ringger, and I, accompanied by Elder Fussek, met with Minister Adam Wopatka of the Polish government, and we heard him say, “Your church is welcome here. You may build your buildings, you may send your missionaries. You are welcome in Poland. This man,” pointing to Juliusz Fussek, “has served your church well, as has his wife. You can be grateful for their example and their work.”

I am acquainted with another young man who struggled to achieve this balance. He had received tremendous recognition as an athlete. He started swimming competitively at age thirteen and would practice upwards of thirty hours every week. He became a national champion and winner of a bronze medal at the 1968 Olympic Games. He was an All-American in college for three years. After graduation he went on to medical school and did very well.
During all this time, he had excluded himself from any spiritual association and had little warmth toward people less fortunate or less talented than he. He was struggling for a real feeling of self-worth. In his own words: “I would tell myself, ‘You are an Olympian. You have a good mind, you will become a doctor and have the good life.’ I would tell myself this as I was contemplating suicide. I was full of false and vain pride.”
Fortunately, during his senior year at medical school, he went to live with a country doctor who understood the struggles he was having. With the encouragement of his older mentor, he began to read the scriptures. At first he did so with arrogance, confident that intellectually he could understand all he read, which he found he could not do. Again in his own words: “I was halfway through Genesis and was learning very little when I said to myself, ‘There must be chapters that are written in a way that will be easier to understand.’ I turned to Numbers and found that I understood even less.”
Finally, he pursued his studies in the right spirit, wanting to learn and to feel. Slowly, as he prayed and studied and prayed some more, he began to realize that he was a child of a loving Father in Heaven and as such had tremendous potential as an individual. He accepted the Savior’s counsel to build our lives upon a foundation of rock:
“Therefore whosoever heareth these sayings of mine, and doeth them I will liken him unto a wise man, which built his house upon a rock:
“And the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell not: for it was founded upon a rock.
“And every one that heareth these sayings of mine, and doeth them not, shall be likened unto a foolish man, which built his house upon the sand:
“And the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell: and great was the fall of it.” (Matt. 7:24–27.)

My call to the Eastern States Mission was another golden nugget. My family had little money, and I was never quite part of the “in-crowd” at school. But in the mission field, I realized that it didn’t matter what side of town I came from or what my father’s income was. We were all servants of the Lord and equal. I learned that through the principles of hard work, prayer, and seeking to follow the Spirit of the Lord, everyone could succeed.

Rain poured as a cold wind blew. I saw trees that had been uprooted and lost all their leaves. The power was off in some areas due to damaged electrical lines. The scene before me was now like a haunted place. Everything had been blown away. People were starving for food and longing for shelter.
My heart was filled with the desire to serve. My family and other members of the Church had traveled to a poor community where a typhoon had devastated thousands of homes and taken thousands of lives. We were there to give relief goods to the victims.
When we first arrived, I had seen the mourning in people’s faces. I realized then how blessed we were that our homes hadn’t been destroyed.
It was still raining when we started handing out relief packs at a muddy, roofless gym, but that didn’t matter to us. The relief packs—sets of plastic trays, kettles, plates, spoons, forks, glasses, and flasks—we nicknamed “home-return kits.” As my family and I handed relief packs to the people, they gave us warm smiles and thank-yous.
The priceless gratitude of the people uplifted me, and I felt the influence of the Spirit. Their smiles manifested that there is hope and that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ will never leave us and will always bring light to our dark days.

The Prophet Joseph faithfully kept this first journal every day for nine days, then stopped for almost 10 months. He resumed in October 1833, when he left home on a proselytizing mission to Upper Canada. The entries during this mission are a rich source of insight into his sincerity and the spiritual and emotional dimensions of his personality. For example, Joseph recorded for October 12: “I feel very well in my mind. The Lord is with us, but [I] have much anxiety about my family.” Later that day he received a revelation assuring Sidney Rigdon and him of their families’ well-being (see D&C 100:1). On his return to Kirtland, Ohio, on November 4, 1833, Joseph dictated a journal entry to Oliver Cowdery, the second elder of the Church: “Found my family all well according to the promise of the Lord, for which blessings I feel to thank his holy name.”

“The Way to a Missionary’s Mailbox” in the December New Era was an excellent article. I hope that the many girls who are writing to missionaries will read it and apply the wonderful and appropriate suggestions given therein. I have a strong personal testimony of what the right kind of letters can do for a missionary because I received many such letters during my recently completed mission to France and Switzerland. I cannot remember a single instance in which my friend wrote a letter that was in any way selfish or distracting. There was, of course, news from home, but the majority of the space was used to write thoughts, feelings, insights, and testimony that could only encourage and uplift me. Instead of feeling homesick or full of self-pity after reading her letters, I felt grateful and desirous to work all the more diligently for the Savior. The article spoke of building self-esteem in elders. The friend who wrote to me understood this well and often expressed her respect, her confidence, and her belief in me as a servant of the Lord. This can work miracles and was especially important to me during a very difficult period of my mission. I know that her support played a large part in helping me overcome the difficulties I faced during those months. My friend even earned, at one point, the “Most Edifying Letters to a Missionary Award” presented by the special awards committee of the Switzerland Geneva Mission. I was the committee. I will never cease to be grateful to the Lord for the blessing this sister was to me during my mission.
Walter LenelPhiladelphia, Pennsylvania

“Trail of Faith helped me realize that we weren’t just going on a 17-mile hike or having another youth conference,” says Alexander Petrie, 16. “This was something a little bit different.”
One of the things that made it different for Alexander was memorizing several hymns, including “Press Forward, Saints” (Hymns, no. 81). “Later, when I was on trek and it was getting a little bit tough, the words of that hymn kept going over and over in my mind,” he says. “I really felt strength from its words. I’ve realized that hymns are a good thing to memorize and to have in our mind anytime we encounter something difficult. I’m so grateful that the Trail of Faith Award helped me prepare.”

Sixteen-year-old Jason Hunter works for McDonalds in Ayre, another small town up the road. Some employees bring a healthy appetite to this workplace; Jason tries to bring a healthy attitude.
“I decided to learn everything I could about my job—how to make the food, how to work the cash register, everything. And I set a standard of honesty for myself. I’ve seen others look around and then take food. I get hungry, but because I set that standard I wait until after work and buy the food.”

Years later, he and his brother and two sisters packed a wagon full of vegetables, bottled fruit, flour, pots and pans, and clothing and moved to Salt Lake City to attend the University of Utah.
Mother: Good luck! We’re so proud of you all.
David: Thank you, Mother. We’ll write often.
David made time for both studying and having fun. He joined the university’s first football team.
Coach: Nice play, McKay!
He ran for class president.
Student: Congratulations, David! You won the election.
And when he graduated, he was the valedictorian—an award given to the person with the highest grades.
School president: Congratulations, David. You’ve worked hard.
David: Thank you.

We started providing nutritional packs for COVID patients in tents, to boost their immune system. Our friends and family on Facebook—both members and nonmembers—helped us put together food packs and fruit to help patients get healthy.

For our family, Christmas begins in October. Each year my mother puts up our artificial tree and strings the lights around it the weekend before Halloween. This is her way of reminding herself the holiday season is near and she needs to prepare for it.
My family is rather small, consisting of my mother, my younger brother, and myself. Being divorced, my mother has had to work very hard for the little we have. Christmas had never been a festive occasion in our home. We never had very much. Sometimes my brother and I would feel embarrassed as we compared our few presents to the many our friends received. Everyone else always seemed to have so much more than we did.
A few years ago, after my mother put up the Christmas tree, she turned to where my brother and I were silently watching and delivered her annual speech, which always contained the same ideas.
“Well, kids,” she would say, “this year is going to be a really hard Christmas. I’m sorry I can’t give you very much.” Once again we accepted the fact that Christmas that year would be another poor one.
Within a week of her talk with us, there was a knock at our door. It was two missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They taught our family, we were eventually converted, and in early December we were baptized.
Christmas that year could have been the worst. My mother was working 16 hours a day, and I was baby-sitting whenever I could to try to help. Even so, we just barely had enough money for our family to survive. We were really feeling down, and our mood affected everything we did. My brother and my mother started to argue more than they usually did. I was ill, so I was not in a good mood either. I didn’t want Christmas to come that year. There seemed to be no Christmas cheer in our house.
This soon changed. On the night of December 23, someone knocked on our door. When my mother answered it, nobody was there, but on our doorstep were two large boxes. They were filled with food, treats, and even presents! Who did this? Our home was filled with excitement as we wondered who our mystery friends were.
The next morning Howard, an elderly man who lived across the street from us, came to our door. We were surprised to see him because the only time he had ever come over before was to complain about our barking dog. He asked my mother if he could come inside. When my mother let him into the house, he started crying. When we tried to find what was wrong, he shouted through his tears, “It’s Christmas and people are dying!” After he calmed down we learned of his wife’s death several years before at Christmastime. Then he told us his grandson had been killed in a recent plane crash. We invited him to spend Christmas Eve with us. He came back later with a cake to share.
I will always remember that Christmas Eve. Howard came over and some of the ward members also came to visit, bringing their Christmas cheer. Our last visitors of the evening were the missionaries who had baptized our family two weeks before. They gave me a gift. It was a copy of the Doctrine and Covenants and the Pearl of Great Price. I read, amazed by some of the revelations Joseph Smith had received. As I read, I knew immediately it was true. It was that Christmas Eve that I gained my testimony of the truthfulness of these volumes of scripture. I felt the Spirit very strongly that night. I went to bed feeling I was the happiest person on earth.
I awoke the next morning, knowing there would be no presents from Santa. I wondered why this was my favorite Christmas. Why had it been so good when our family had almost nothing?
Tears filled my eyes as I realized how foolish I had been. I didn’t have less than my friends; I had more. I had a knowledge of the meaning of Christmas. I knew I had a Heavenly Father and Savior who loved me.
That Christmas, at age 15, I realized what Christmas was really about. It is not how many presents you receive or how much you have that makes a good Christmas. It is loving others, having the knowledge that you are loved, and having a testimony of Jesus Christ. It is a holiday to celebrate His birth and life.
Our family tree still goes up in October. It is a reminder that the holiday season is near. However, instead of reminding me of all the money we have to save or the presents we need to buy, it reminds me of that special Christmas, the Christmas I received the greatest gift of all.

While in the hospital, Peter had a lot of time to think about what to do. He still had a long, painful road back to the point where he could be released. It was during this time that several good friends helped him learn about setting goals and controlling attitude. One man from his ward, Brother Lawrence Oborn, was particularly influential. He came to see Peter often and was always encouraging him to set a goal. At first, Peter didn’t want to try. Brother Oborn insisted by saying, “It is what’s on the inside that counts, not the outside.”
I remember how angry I got. I said very flippantly to Brother Oborn, “Okay, why don’t you get burned and you come here.” I could hear him crying, although it was muffled by the bandages around my head. As soon as I said it, I wished I hadn’t because he had done so much for me. He said, “Peter, if I could, I would.” This was when I realized that this man truly loved me, like his own son. That was when I committed to do everything he asked.
They decided on a goal. Peter would count the stitches he had during each surgery and enter it in the Guinness Book of Records. The doctors and nurses asked to be allowed to quit keeping track just short of 2,000 stitches.
Peter set another goal to count every needle that would enter his body. After seven weeks he got so bored he quit counting at 1,252. Together they set a third goal to be the most enthusiastic patient in the hospital. Even though he was often angry at the world, Peter tried to keep his goal. When he left the hospital, the staff presented him with a plaque naming him the most enthusiastic patient in their care.

For my February Cultural Refinement lesson in Relief Society, I used the Mormonad from the March issue. How great it would have been if it had been poster size.

Last year, just before school started, the priests of the Ketchikan Ward were having a lesson on fasting. They started discussing how much easier it was for them to fast with a purpose instead of feeling like they were just starving. Russell Youngberg said, “We realized that school was about to start and a fast Sunday was coming up, so we sort of put the two together. The entire ward youth would fast for each other to be able to resist temptations and have a good school year.”

Forrest Allred remembers how they came up with the idea. “We were talking about how to make the youth stronger and more righteous. We were confident that fasting would work.”

The bishop also thought it was a great idea. He invited the Young Women to join in. Amanda Youngberg said, “The bishopric came into the Young Women classes and asked if we wanted to participate in the fast. We all did it together.”

They planned for the first weekend of September. They started their fast individually on Saturday afternoon. For some, having a distinct reason helped. Kaitlyn Skinner said, “Our parents could join us in our fast, but since the youth were fasting together, it was easier for me.”

The next day, fast Sunday, all the youth met after fast and testimony meeting in the seminary room. Adam Fitzgerald, one of the priests who talked about the original idea, described what happened. “I remember feeling the Spirit really strong. We all knelt, which was hard to do because the room was very full. The bishop gave the prayer for us. I remember him talking about us having a good year and that we would become bonded to one another and resist temptations throughout the year and continue our growth and development. Personally, as he was saying those things, I knew that it was going to be that way.”

Ryan Gray was on the student council at Ketchikan High School and noticed that the LDS students were more connected after their fast. “In this school, we’re small in number. We all have our own friends, but we’re all friends at the ward. We’ve got strength. Fasting for each other was a good way to start the year.”

This unity, these friendships, these positive choices are the very things the teens were fasting for.

Russell says, “I think our fast made a difference, at least it has to me. It seems whenever any member sees another member at school, we stop and talk on the way to class. It feels like there is a stronger bond in the youth group. As for the fast, my stomach did the same stuff as always when I fast, but we all had a purpose for fasting, and that made it a lot different.”

Four months later, Raymond was transferred to Lagos where he became a senior companion. “After three months in Lagos without a baptism, I felt inadequate as a leader,” he says. “We had to put forth extra effort. It came time to report to the mission president. He advised me to pray for our investigators.

“Seven of our 14 investigators decided to be baptized,” Raymond remembers. “Two weeks before the baptism, I received a note from the assistants to the president informing me to prepare for a transfer.” This time it was Raymond who was unable to be at the baptisms. “Within a month, all 14 were baptized. I felt bad that I missed those baptisms. However, I accepted the Lord’s will—some will plant, others will water, and yet others will harvest, but all are working for the Lord of the vineyard.”

A week passed and he had been able to keep his secret. But now he was in the Lutheran church, last on a bench, seated with others his age. His mother and father were also there, sitting on the front row in the middle of the church, a place of honor reserved for parents on confirmation day. At 14, members of the Lutheran Church are considered ready for full membership. On confirmation day they appear before a congregation and answer questions on the Lutheran catechism asked by the pastor.
The new tunic Christian was wearing, as bright and clean as new snow, felt rough on his skin. His mother had given it to him that morning. There was tightness in his stomach; his heart was pulsing hard and strong, and his tongue was dry and rough in his mouth. Christian knew he couldn’t lie about his beliefs; he had to tell the truth.
At last it was his turn. He stood up from the bench and walked toward the pastor. His father was smiling with pride. Christian’s legs felt weak and his mind clouded with confusion. The church was full, and he felt everyone’s eyes upon him.
The pastor’s voice, high and loud, echoed in the church.
“Do you believe in God?” it chanted.
“Yes,” Christian’s voice was small. He whispered a prayer.
“Can you describe God?” The voice asked.
There was a vast silence in the great building. Christian felt as if the world were watching and listening. Then, a clearness and strength came into him from some unseen deep well. His voice was strong and clear.
“God is not a being without body, parts, or passions; and he does not sit on the top of a topless throne. God is a good, kind, Heavenly Father, who hears and answers prayers, and man is made in the image of God.”
For the first time in the service the pastor looked up, his eyes wide and questioning. Christian turned and looked at his father. He saw a face that was stone hard.
The pastor continued the questioning, and Christian answered according to his new beliefs.
The pastor finished the chanted catechism questions, looked solemnly at Christian, and in a hiss of voice said, “You answer as if you were a Mormon.”
“And if I do, I’m proud of it,” Christian replied.
Christian’s father, Hans Monson, stood, his face red and his eyes fierce under heavy brows. He glared angrily at Christian, slammed the tip of his oak cane heavily against the wood floor, turned, and walked from the building, his cane cracking loudly with each step.
That night Christian received the beating from his father that he had expected for days. After that, with the help of his mother, he was able to avoid his father for several days. Then one evening while he was bringing wood into the house and stacking it near the fireplace, his father came into the room.
Christian felt his heart race and blood flush his cheeks. There was a moment of terrible silence. Hans Monson, a thick-chested man, a woodcutter by trade, suddenly struck at the boy with his cane. Christian avoided most of the blows that followed, but whenever the cane reached him, it caused a painful welt on his flesh.
Out of breath Hans Monson stopped, his muscles tense and his blonde hair wet with perspiration. Christian, feeling faint, stood. His face was pale.
“Father, I know it’s wrong for me to disobey you. I’m sorry for that, but I’m not sorry for what I did. I know it was right, and I’m not afraid to be beaten for the gospel, for truth.”
Breathing heavily Hans grabbed a large piece of wood from the fireplace stack and threw it. He threw wood at Christian until the stack was gone; then he opened the door and told Christian to get out.
“There’s no room here for a Mormon devil,” he shouted as Christian left. The door slammed. That was the last Christian would see of his father.
The night air was biting cold. Christian felt weak, overpowered by pain, confusion, and a terrible sense of loss. He still felt love and respect for his father. He staggered to the barn and fell on a pile of oat straw.
Later in the night Christian felt a soft hand touch his shoulder. His mother sat next to him on the straw.
“Why? Why did you have to do it, Christian?” she asked. Her voice was full of tears.
“I studied it, and I prayed about it. I know it’s true,” he answered, feeling strength in his own words. “I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen. I cannot deny what I know to be true. It would be like denying Christ, our Savior. I could never do that, no matter how much it hurt.”
In the cold, musty darkness of the barn, they talked until the pearl-gray light of dawn came. Christian felt the warmth of a bond between him and his mother tighten stronger than it had ever been; it grew into something he would remember all of his life, a memory that would warm him and give him strength. In the gray, sullen light he saw a bright tear roll down her face. She held him tight and warm knowing she would never see her son again, at least not in this life.

Of the 400 participants, SION was among the 200 who advanced to the second round, but their performance was scheduled for the same day as a multi-stake youth conference, which involved half of the 35 choir members. The choir decided to go to the second round, so they hired a bus and, following their performance, traveled eight hours to the youth conference.

It was the end of the assembly on Joseph Smith at our seminary, and our teachers had left the last 15 minutes for testimonies. I knew I had felt something during the program, and I realized I had to go up and bear my testimony even though I wasn’t sure if I had one.
I had recently turned 15, and I was questioning everything. I had prayed and read my scriptures, but the answer hadn’t yet come. I began to think Heavenly Father had abandoned me. I didn’t know if it was right to bear a testimony I wasn’t sure I had.
But as soon as I got up there, peace came over me, and I realized that I did know. I knew Christ was my Savior, I knew that Joseph Smith was a prophet, and I knew Heavenly Father was there, listening. I began crying for joy. Heavenly Father hadn’t abandoned me, and He had answered my prayer through my own testimony.
I know that if I live the gospel and do my best, then I will never lose that glorious feeling of knowing what I’m doing is right.

One day I was admiring a beautiful hand-finished quilt made by a skilled seamstress. As we visited together, I learned that she had made many quilts over the years and was well known for her excellent handiwork. To my query, “Do you ever make one of these quilts without a pattern?” she said, “How would I know how it might turn out if I didn’t have a pattern to follow?”