Gospel Story Finder

The Pink Refrigerator, by Tim Egan. Dodsworth lives a dull life until he finds an old refrigerator in the junkyard with a magnet that just won’t come off. The magnet advises Dodsworth to “make pictures,” “read more,” and “make music.” Find out what other magic the refrigerator holds.

The Beehives of the Centerville 20th Ward in Utah had a great time making hats for the children at a local oncology camp. Because the children are being treated for cancer, many of them lose their hair. They love the hats with fun decorations like buttons, beads, bows, flowers, toy cars, and trains—even plastic bugs that the Beehives used. What a way to cap off a service project!

There’s also plenty of work to do around the camp. Often Church members from other wards or stakes will come and help work on the property. One group came and built two large longhouses, all in one day! Other small miracles have helped the Katz family develop this land into a fun, safe place for people to come.

In the early days of the Church, stakes in Utah actually operated their own schools. However, in the 20th century, the schools became public, and religious education seemed to be pushed aside. Seeing the need to teach young people about the scriptures, the stake presidency of the Granite Stake organized the first official seminary in Salt Lake City.
In 1912 the Granite Stake set aside money to build a small building across from Granite High School. Seventy students enrolled and were allowed to leave school during their study hour to attend seminary.
At first, the seminary class had only the scriptures as textbooks, supplemented by a Bible dictionary. The first full-time teacher, Guy C. Wilson, was such an interesting speaker and made the discussions so intriguing that some non-LDS students asked permission to attend.
The idea of allowing students to attend seminary as part of their school day spread quickly, and other small seminary buildings were built near public schools in Utah, Idaho, and Arizona. This became known as released-time seminary because students were given permission to attend class during the day.
Where there was a smaller LDS population, early-morning seminary was suggested. And although some wondered about the early hour, it proved to be successful. In 1950, early-morning seminary began and spread rapidly. In addition, home-study seminary was added. Now, as the century draws to a close, seminary classes are held in 144 countries and territories around the world with nearly 380,000 students enrolled.

Such a call of duty—a much less dramatic call but one which nonetheless helped to save a soul—came to me in 1950 when I was a newly called bishop. My responsibilities as a bishop were many and varied, and I tried to the best of my ability to do all that was required of me. The United States was engaged in a different war by then. Because many of our members were serving in the armed services, an assignment came from Church headquarters for all bishops to provide each serviceman a subscription to the Church News and the Improvement Era, the Church’s magazine at that time. In addition, each bishop was asked to write a personal, monthly letter to each serviceman from his ward. Our ward had 23 men in uniform. The priesthood quorums, with effort, supplied the funds for the subscriptions to the publications. I undertook the task, even the duty, to write 23 personal letters each month. After all these years I still have copies of many of my letters and the responses received. Tears come easily when these letters are reread. It is a joy to learn again of a soldier’s pledge to live the gospel, a sailor’s decision to keep faith with his family.

One evening I handed to a sister in the ward the stack of 23 letters for the current month. Her assignment was to handle the mailing and to maintain the constantly changing address list. She glanced at one envelope and, with a smile, asked, “Bishop, don’t you ever get discouraged? Here is another letter to Brother Bryson. This is the 17th letter you have sent to him without a reply.”

I responded, “Well, maybe this will be the month.” As it turned out, that was the month. For the first time, he responded to my letter. His reply is a keepsake, a treasure. He was serving far away on a distant shore, isolated, homesick, alone. He wrote, “Dear Bishop, I ain’t much at writin’ letters.” (I could have told him that several months earlier.) His letter continued, “Thank you for the Church News and magazines, but most of all thank you for the personal letters. I have turned over a new leaf. I have been ordained a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood. My heart is full. I am a happy man.”

Brother Bryson was no happier than was his bishop. I had learned the practical application of the adage “Do [your] duty; that is best; leave unto [the] Lord the rest.”

Years later, while attending the Salt Lake Cottonwood Stake when James E. Faust served as its president, I related that account in an effort to encourage attention to our servicemen. After the meeting, a fine-looking young man came forward. He took my hand in his and asked, “Bishop Monson, do you remember me?”

I suddenly realized who he was. “Brother Bryson!” I exclaimed. “How are you? What are you doing in the Church?”

With warmth and obvious pride, he responded, “I’m fine. I serve in the presidency of my elders quorum. Thank you again for your concern for me and the personal letters which you sent and which I treasure.”

Years ago I supervised the Indian seminaries. When I visited a school at Albuquerque, the principal told me of an incident that happened in a first-grade class.
During a lesson, a kitten wandered into the room and distracted the youngsters. It was brought to the front of the room so all could see it.
One youngster asked, “Is it a boy kitty or a girl kitty?”
The teacher, unprepared for that discussion, said, “It doesn’t matter; it’s just a kitten.”
But the children persisted, and one little boy said, “I know how we can tell if it is a boy kitty or a girl kitty.”
The teacher, cornered, said, “All right, you tell us how we can tell if it is a boy kitty or a girl kitty.”
The boy answered, “We can vote on it!”

Several years ago, while serving as president of the Germany Munich Mission, I had an unusual experience that confirmed my faith. I was meeting, as I did on a regular basis, with my two assistants, Elder Betteridge and Elder Gregory Smith. Trying to emphasize a certain point, I referred to an experience I had some twenty years before as a young missionary in Trenton, New Jersey. At the mention of that city, Elder Smith, somewhat surprised, stated that his birthplace was Trenton, New Jersey, and asked when I had serve my mission there. I replied, “1954.” His excitement grew—that was the year of his birth. I then asked about his family background, suddenly realizing that I had played an important part in this young man’s life. Quickly the details came back to me.
There weren’t many members of the Church in Trenton when my companion and I were called to go help organize a branch there. The Lord blessed us, though, and we taught and baptized several families. The branch started to grow.
One day Sister Smith, a member of the branch whose husband was not then active, came to us and asked for a special blessing. She was pregnant, and the doctors feared that there would be complications with the development and the birth of the child. Following the Lord’s counsel in the scriptures, with great faith in the Lord and his priesthood, Sister Smith was asking for help.
I recorded the event in my missionary journal and even now recall the calm feeling I had as I sealed the annointing. Under the influence of the Holy Ghost, I promised Sister Smith that there would he no complications and that the child would be born healthy and strong and that it would serve the Lord.
Soon after that I was transferred, but I shall never forget meeting Sister Smith a few months later at a district conference. She placed a beautiful, healthy baby boy in may arms. To this day I remember the warmth, the gratitude, the humble pride, and the priesthood power that surged through my soul. In my journal I wrote that, though I did not yet know how it felt to be a father, it must be something like what I felt for the little Smith boy that day.
After my mission I lost contact with the Smiths and their son. However, as I sat in the mission home in Germany with Elders Smith and Betteridge, these sweet and beautiful events came back into my mind. Could this be the same boy I had held in my arms twenty-one years before? I asked Elder Smith if his mother had ever related any unusual circumstances regarding his birth. His answer confirmed my expectations, but I asked him to write his mother for the details. Two weeks later the answer came. She stated that an Elder Kelling, a missionary from Germany, had indeed given her a blessing and that consequently her son’s birth was normal.
It is difficult to find words for what I felt then. The Lord was returning to a humble servant a blessing he had given away many years ago. “Cast thy bread upon the waters: for thou shalt find it after many days” (Eccl. 11:1). There in Germany, serving with me at that time in the Lord’s vineyard and assisting me in my sacred calling, was that young man whom I had assisted twenty-one years earlier. Through the Lord’s priesthood power, Elder Smith had been granted life and he had been given—health, energy, and great faith—all of which he was using to serve the Lord.
Joy and wonder and gratitude for the ways of the Lord then filled my soul. I did not know that Elder Smith was born in Trenton when I called him to be my assistant. In my stewardship were 200 missionaries, and I did not know where each was born. I know that Elder Smith was called through inspiration to be my assistant. It was not by chance that he was sent to the Germany Munich Mission. It was not by chance that I mentioned Trenton, New Jersey, in our meeting and that Elder Smith responded.
And what were the results of these things? Elder Smith’s testimony of the gospel and his calling were strengthened. My own testimony of the power of the priesthood was confirmed. I felt deeply our Heavenly Father’s kindness to us—he had mercifully and gently given powerful encouragement and assurance to a servant to help him carry out a most challenging assignment.

A number of years ago, I attended my 20-year high school reunion. I hadn’t seen many of my former classmates since graduation day, and I was excited for the opportunity to see them again. Some of these classmates surprised me; a few who were formerly well-behaved youth had since gotten into trouble or seemed to have otherwise changed for the worse. A few others who used to have lower standards were now active Church members, and I could see that the power of the Atonement had been at work in their lives.
However, I noted with interest that the majority of my former classmates were on the same path they had been following in high school. The decisions they had made so many years ago had largely determined where they were today. Many who had been good, righteous teenagers were now righteous adults. And many who had started down the wrong path so long ago were still on that course.

One night I was sending instant messages on the Internet to Amber, a friend of mine. I can’t recall how we got started, but we were discussing God and my religious beliefs.
“I’m telling you, Ben, I’ve tried to pray before, and it doesn’t work. I just feel like I’m talking to the wall,” Amber wrote.
Relying on everything I had been taught since Primary, I responded, reassuring her that God does hear and answer His children who humbly approach Him. As I was reassuring her, I started to feel less sure myself. I began to feel guilty since I had never actually gotten down on my knees and prayed about all these things. The conversation progressed, and I became increasingly distressed at my lack of a personal testimony. My spiritual progression had been on the back burner for too long.
As a lifelong member of the Church, I sometimes took the gospel for granted. Don’t get me wrong, I knew that being in the Church was good, and I made sure I went to church every Sunday. However, I always depended on the testimonies of others to confirm that the Church was true. I always tried to be faithful, but I did not actively seek to apply Moroni’s promise to myself. Life was too complicated, and I thought there would be plenty of time for me to gain a personal testimony of the Church at some later point.
As I talked with Amber, I realized even more clearly what I was doing. I was neglecting the more spiritual things in my life in favor of trying to keep up with my hectic schedule. When was the last time I had read the scriptures? When was the last time I had a meaningful personal prayer? When was the last time I seriously thought about going on a mission?
Preoccupation with trying to calm my life’s storm by myself had taken away from my focus on building a testimony and having faith in the Lord. Ironically, a solid testimony would have served to make everything else in my life fall into place.
“Amber, don’t give up on praying. He will answer you,” I wrote, while thinking that I should follow my counsel.
Before I went to bed that night, I got on my knees and prayed. I asked to know if the gospel is true and if Heavenly Father was hearing my prayer. I wanted to know Him and feel His presence in my life. I realized then that I simply couldn’t wait any longer to gain a testimony of Him, especially during my turbulent teenage years. I prayed for a long time and knelt in silence for even longer, listening and feeling for the Spirit.
Nothing happened right away, but after I had sufficiently loosened my heart and made a concentrated effort to listen amidst the quiet darkness, I felt a sensation of peace throughout my upper body. As I held on to this defining moment of joy, I knew His Spirit had touched me. Finally, I had a personal testimony of Him that I could share with others. Even though I knew my life would still be hard and full of uncertainties, knowing that He was there for me made all the difference.

A moment in time from my own family history exemplifies a commitment to care for those in need. Many have heard of the Willie and Martin handcart companies and how these faithful pioneers suffered and died as they endured winter cold and debilitating conditions during their trek west. Robert Taylor Burton, one of my great-great-grandfathers, was one of those whom Brigham Young asked to ride out and rescue those dear, desperate Saints.
Of this time Grandfather wrote in his journal: “Snow deep [and] very cold. … So cold that [we] could not move. … Thermometer 11 degrees below zero [-24°C] … ; so cold the people could not travel.”
Life-saving supplies were distributed to the stranded Saints, but “in spite of all [the rescuers] could do many were laid to rest by the wayside.”
As the rescued Saints were traversing a portion of the trail through Echo Canyon, several wagons pulled off to assist in the arrival of a baby girl. Robert noticed the young mother did not have enough clothing to keep her newborn infant warm. In spite of the freezing temperatures, he “took off his own homespun shirt and gave it to the mother to [wrap] the baby.” The child was given the name Echo—Echo Squires—as a remembrance of the place and circumstances of her birth.
In later years Robert was called to the Presiding Bishopric of the Church, where he served for more than three decades. At age 86 Robert Taylor Burton fell ill. He gathered his family to his bedside to give them his final blessing. Among his last words was this simple but very profound counsel: “Be kind to the poor.”

I recently went through this with one of my best friends. I know how you feel; it is hard to watch someone you care for make mistakes, but I gained a great testimony from it.
I prayed to Heavenly Father to help me know how to help her. The next day when I saw her at school, I realized that by being her friend and being an example to her, I was helping her. I was there when she needed me, and after she stopped dating, she told me that she was grateful for my example and how it had helped her see what mistakes she was making in her own life. Be someone she can turn to and talk to about anything. Don’t judge her—love her like Christ loves you.
Myrisa G., 17, Montana, USA

Brian Furuya was another who used this introduction to study a little more about the Church. He admits that he started out his study of the gospel with an idea that he would prove it wrong. But that didn’t work out. Instead he found a witness of the Spirit that spoke to his soul. “I didn’t know I was racking up a debt. God told me that much. There is a debt; there is a tab, and someday there would be an accounting. Then I would find my pockets empty. After joining the Church, what made my life easier was knowing that I had a loan [through the atonement of Jesus Christ].”

After Brian joined the Church, he said, “Don’t expect me to go to seminary. I value sleep way too much.” But, as he now admits with a shrug of his shoulders, “The next day I found myself in seminary, and every day since, I’ve found myself in seminary. There has to be something good happening, or I wouldn’t be doing it.”

Even their camping trips have a way of turning into adventures. One winter they decided to camp on top of Storm Mountain, a peak that can be reached only after a long hike. They left Christmas afternoon, camped on the lower slopes the first night, and pushed on up the mountain the next morning. At first they mushed through the deep powder on snowshoes, but soon it became too steep for the snowshoes, and they floundered on up the slopes on foot, their legs knotted into painful cramps. When they finally made it to the top of the mountain late that afternoon, they pitched their tent hurriedly because their transistor radio warned of a heavy storm.

They hadn’t been inside the tent long when the storm hit with winds up to 70 miles per hour and an impenetrable wall of icy snow. The tent, which was anchored firmly to some trees, was blown up like a balloon, and ice whipped through it.

“My feet were so cold that there was ice from my left sock stuck to my big toe,” Bennett remembers. “I had to peel the sock off and got frostbite.” Kevin traded his drier pants and socks for Bennett’s frozen ones to prevent further frostbite.

Later that night the radio announcer predicted three days of heavy snow, with travelers advisories out even in the valleys. They knew it would be much worse on top of the mountain, so they decided to leave the first thing in the morning while they still had a chance. It was a long night.

“I could hardly sleep that night because my feet were throbbing, thawing out,” Bennett says, and Kevin adds, “There must have been a wind chill factor of 50 below. I’d stick my hand out the door to check the thermometer, and when I’d pull it back in, I couldn’t move it for a long time.” They were also running low on fuel for their stove, which they had to keep burning all night because of the cold. As soon as they were sure it was morning, they threw their tent in a backpack, dug their snowshoes out of the snow, and started down the mountain. “You couldn’t even see your arm in front of you,” Kevin recalls. “It’s a good thing we knew the mountain so well.”

It was hard going, and before long they were utterly exhausted. “I can remember many times falling through the snow up to my neck and thinking, ‘I’m just going to die here,’” Bennett says. “Finally we were crawling more than walking.” To make matters worse, the snowfall was so heavy that as they got lower down the mountain the snow seemed to get deeper rather than shallower. “It’s a strange feeling,” Bennett says, “to be alone up there and know that everyone else is safe down below in his warm house.” Fortunately their way was mainly downhill, and finally, utterly spent, they arrived at their car and were able to get home. They gained a little more caution from the experience but lost little enthusiasm. It wasn’t long before they were spending the night in some snowcaves they dug on a mountainside.

Later that year, Josh read in his ward newsletter that Church leaders were looking for more local family history missionaries.
“That caught my attention, and I thought it would be fun,” he says. Josh then prayed about what to do, finding his answer that night while reading his scriptures.
“Right then I knew it was my answer, so I went to see my bishop,” he says. Bishop Kendell Nielsen of the Rexburg 15th Ward says he was a bit surprised, but encouraged the boy to pursue his desire. Josh soon was asked to work at the family history center located at the Rexburg North Stake Center. He has now switched to the family history center at the college, where he serves as an assistant for about seven hours each week.

In 1976, Leonie moved her family to Adelaide to be near her oldest (married) daughter, where Lisa said, “we were supported by a wonderful ward, a loving bishop and great home teachers.” Leonie accepted a calling there as the Relief Society president, which initially intimidated her. But “she exercised her faith and did a wonderful job,” recalled Lisa. Leonie’s testimony of the gospel was continually strengthened as she served many other callings in the ward before she was called as a temple worker at the Adelaide Australia Temple. Through the faith she had, Leonie was able to remember all she needed to remember for that sacred role. “She loved her years of working at the temple,” says Lisa, and her mum especially enjoyed when family members attended while she was serving.

Through family outings we’ve learned the importance of closeness and working together. One incident particularly comes to mind. Our family was out on the lake sailing one gloomy day. It was windy, and the waters were rough and cold. In the process of tacking the boat, which is changing the sails and direction, we caught a wind that blew the boat strongly over to one side. We all moved to the other side, and one of my brothers slipped and slid off the boat. We all worked together and pulled him aboard while trying not to capsize. It was then that we realized how much it would affect our family if one member were lost or taken from us.

First, my brothers and sisters, my gratitude to the prophet and his counselors for this call. To them, to Elder Richards and the members of the First Quorum of the Seventy I pledge that my little footnote on the page of the quorum’s history will read clearly that I wore out my life in helping to spread Jesus’ gospel and helping to regulate his church. To worthy predecessor presidents, my admiration. Thirty years ago President Dilworth Young ordained me a seventy, but only after extracting a promise that I would preach the gospel the rest of my life. His stern demeanor was such that I felt I’d been asked to jump off a tall building. I went over the side saluting. Now I salute that same selfless, sweet seventy, President Young, once again.

When Cyclone Pam struck the small Pacific island nation of Vanuatu, Latter-day Saints in Auckland, New Zealand—with aid from Church Humanitarian Services—rallied to help those devastated by the storm. They packed 2,000 boxes of food to help as many of the affected population as possible. Each container was filled with flour, rice, canned fruit, beans, corned beef, fish, crackers, raisins, noodles, chocolate milk powder, and a can opener. The containers can also be used for other purposes, such as carrying water.

It was Saturday, and there was work to do at my law office. But as stake president, I had committed to attend a service project with our stake Relief Society sisters. The sisters would be visiting sick children and expectant mothers in the Sergio Bernales de Collique-Comas Hospital in Lima, Peru. They would lend spiritual support, as well as deliver quilts and toys they had made during the year.
As I left behind everything else I had to do and headed for the hospital, the words of the first of many scriptures I thought of that day came to me: “When saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee? And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matt. 25:39–40).
A warm, peaceful feeling flooded my heart, and I knew this would be a special experience. The Spirit also whispered to me that the Lord had called me as stake president to love and help others—especially the sick and afflicted. Throughout the day, thoughts of our Savior and His compassionate ministrations were never far from my mind. In our small way, we labored to be like Him.
When I arrived at the hospital, I was greeted by the 60 warmest hearts and the 60 warmest smiles I had ever seen. And as the Relief Society sisters entered the hospital, I watched this sad and gloomy place begin to be filled with light and joy.
“It came to pass that Jesus blessed them … , and the light of his countenance did shine upon them” (3 Ne. 19:25).
When our visit was over, I felt that each of those who had visited the hospital that day was a new person. As I saw the beautiful smiles on the sisters’ faces, I realized that when we give care and service to our fellow beings, we feel the true joy that comes from serving God.
“If ye know these things, happy are ye if ye do them” (John 13:17).

On one occasion I took to the Genealogical Society eight large volumes, manuscript family history work, consisting of 6,000 family group records of very professional family history work, all on the Packer family. All of it was compiled by Warren Packer, originally from Ohio, a schoolteacher, a Lutheran. He has spent 30 years doing this work, not really knowing why. There are two more volumes now added to the others. He senses now why he has been involved in this work over the years and very much has the spirit of the work.