Gospel Story Finder

For years William R. Wagstaff, who served in the North Central States Mission from 1928 to 1930, felt disappointed he had not baptized more people. In the summer of 1929 he and his companion visited a farm family about 180 miles west of Winnipeg.
“Brother Wagstaff remembered giving a copy of the Book of Mormon to the mother and discussing the gospel with her during numerous visits through that and the following summer.
“He recalled that during each visit ‘she’d take off her apron and we’d sit down and discuss the gospel. She’d read and have lots of questions.’
“But at the close of his mission, she still had not been baptized, and he lost touch with her.”
Brother Wagstaff went home, married, and raised a family. Then in October 1969 he and his wife attended his missionary reunion. “A lady approached him and asked, ‘Aren’t you Elder Wagstaff?’
“… She introduced herself as the woman he had taught on the farm outside Winnipeg. In her hand was a worn copy of the Book of Mormon—the one he had given her 40 years earlier.
“‘She showed me the book,’ he related. ‘I turned over the front and there was my name and address.’
“She then told Brother Wagstaff about 60 members of her family were members of the Church, including a branch president.”

One Sunday morning when I was only five years old, I was playing with a neighbor’s cat. Eventually the cat got tired of playing with me and ran into a nearby cornfield. I wasn’t tired of playing with the cat, however, so I followed him into the field.
The corn was very high, and when I couldn’t find the animal, I decided to go home. It didn’t take long to discover I didn’t know where I was, and I had no idea where home was. I was lost in the large cornfield.
As I wandered around, the corn seemed to get taller and taller until it reached the sky. I was disoriented and felt more and more frightened. I began to run, yelling for help, but the wind drowned out my cries. I got very hot and sweaty, and the corn plants scratched my skin. I didn’t know what to do.
As I was rushing through the cornfield, I remembered a lesson my Primary teacher had taught only a few weeks earlier. “If you’re ever frightened,” she had said, “or if you’re ever lost, get down on your knees and pray.”
Then I remembered my parents telling me the same thing as we knelt in daily family prayer. “Heavenly Father cares about you,” my mother and father had taught me. “He will always hear your prayers. He will take care of you.”
As soon as I remembered the words my parents and my Primary teacher had spoken, I dropped down on my knees. I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I know I shared my thoughts and fears with the Lord.
After my prayer, I felt very peaceful. My parents and my Primary teacher had told me Heavenly Father would hear my prayers, so I knew help was on the way. I was tired from running around so much, so I decided to rest until someone came. I promptly lay down and fell asleep.
It wasn’t long before my mother realized I was no longer in our yard. She had seen me playing with the cat, so she guessed I had followed it somewhere. She began searching for me. A block from our home, she saw the cat near a large irrigation canal and feared the worst. She thought I had fallen in and drowned.
She ran home and sent my older sister to the nearby Church building, where my father and other priesthood holders were gathered for a meeting. Mother then fell to her knees and immediately began praying to Heavenly Father, asking Him to protect me. She promised that if I was found safe, she would do all she could to make sure I was raised in righteousness.
After pouring her heart out to the Lord, Mother stood up. As she did, she thought of the neighboring cornfield. She ran outside to begin searching there. Some of the men from the meetinghouse met her, and she told them she thought I might be lost somewhere inside the field of corn.
Some men searched along the irrigation canal while others began searching through the tall stalks of corn. One of them, Bud Phillips, found me quietly sleeping. He picked me up and carried me to Mother, who was weeping. I remember wondering why everyone was making such a fuss. After all, I had prayed and I knew everything would be fine.
My prayers and my mother’s were answered, and she always did all she could to see that I was raised in righteousness.

One young woman had an experience soon after President Hinckley’s fireside when she began to question her friendship with some people.
“As I approached this group of people that I called my friends and that I had spent half my life with, their aura seemed different, confusing, and unappealing. They were taking turns telling bad jokes and the spirit that I encountered there was one I did not want to be a part of. I hesitated to leave my friends and stayed for half a joke and then made up my mind to not be a part of this demeaning situation.”
She went on to explain that although it was difficult leaving her group of friends, it was well worth it.
“As I look back on that minute in time, that thought of walking away was probably the hardest thing I have ever had to do. Now I find it to have been the single most important event in my life. I am now in a different crowd of people.
I think differently, and most importantly I act differently because of my change of friends.”

Several years ago I became acquainted with a family who made some wonderful changes in their lives, and it all came about because of the faith of their eleven-year-old daughter.
The father of this family was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. However, some of his habits kept him from being active, and the mother was not a member of any church. Neither parent cared which church, if any, their daughter attended.
By the time she was eleven years old, she had been to a number of different churches in the community. Then one day she went to a Latter-day Saint Sunday School, and her life changed.
Every week after that this girl was in her Sunday School class where she learned all she could about the gospel. It was there that she began to understand the importance of asking a blessing on food and also why members of the Church fast one Sunday a month.
Soon her family was blessing the food before each meal and the parents knew that their daughter felt it was important not to eat breakfast on Fast Sunday.
One morning, however, the girl forgot it was Fast Sunday and ate the delicious breakfast her mother had prepared for the rest of the family. When she came home from meeting that day, she cried, “Oh, Mother, why didn’t you tell me that today was Fast Sunday?”
The mother didn’t understand much about fasting but she was so touched by her daughter’s deep concern and by her tears that she wanted to know more about the purpose for fasting.
The girl was able to explain the importance of the principle of fasting to her. She also told her mother many things about other principles of the gospel and how much the Church meant in her life.
All of this was amazing to the mother who asked her daughter’s forgiveness for not realizing how important it was to observe the fast. Then she prayed to the Lord that He, too, might forgive her.
The more the mother thought about what her daughter had told her, the more impressed she felt to learn more about the gospel. She began attending Sunday School and sacrament meeting with her daughter and young son.
The missionaries were soon invited to come into their home to teach the family. Before long the mother and her daughter were ready for baptism and the father had become active and worthy to perform this sacred ordinance. Later, when their son turned eight, the father baptized him.
In time the father was set apart as a counselor in the branch presidency. On the parents’ fifteenth wedding anniversary, the family was able to go to the Los Angeles Temple where they were married for time and all eternity and their children were sealed to them. It was a glorious day for this family.
How true are the words of the prophet Isaiah, “… and a little child shall lead them.”

The Beehives of the Iowa City First Ward were too young to participate in the youth handcart trek, but they were determined to be involved in the commemoration of the handcart pioneers. On a recommendation from one of their leaders, these young women volunteered to be storytellers at the Handcart Festival.
The girls decided to use this experience as a Personal Progress project. Each girl sewed her own bonnet as part of the authentic pioneer costume for the festival. They practiced for hours to memorize the story they had chosen—the story of Fanny Fry, who traveled with the George Rowley handcart company in 1859.
On the morning of the festival, Summer and Allison, along with their fellow Beehives, Miranda Decker, Kendra Dawson, Lyssa Abel, and Jenna Abel, exhibited those qualities they admire in Fanny Fry. The day was windy, rainy, and cold. But they braved the chill with willing hearts and cheerful smiles. Every girl was at her post, dressed in full pioneer costume, ready to tell Fanny’s story to any and all who wanted to hear.

In Dennis’s ward the young men study Preach My Gospel each week. They have become like a team, working closely with the full-time missionaries and bringing friends to Sunday meetings and other activities, including basketball and soccer games during the week. The priests have baptized friends and others they helped teach with the missionaries. Over several years, this team of young men has strengthened the whole ward, and four of them, including Dennis, received calls to the Kenya Nairobi Mission.
They have followed the counsel of Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles to “become missionaries long before you submit your mission papers.”3 They did so by working together as a quorum, a team better than any other.

Thomas (that is not his real name) was one who had lost his way. We became acquainted at a special fireside attended by members one doesn’t normally see on Sunday. He was then 35 years old and had not been active in the Church for some 20 years. The day before, Thomas’s father had invited him to attend the fireside. Thomas said, “I’ll think about it.” I quote now from a letter written by his father:
“Thirty minutes before the fireside, [Thomas] called and asked me to pick him up. I can’t explain the anticipation I felt as we walked into the room [to join] you and about 40 others. There was a special feeling and spirit there that touched [Tom’s] heart and he went home determined to read again the passages in the Book of Mormon that you had outlined.
“This led to a reading of the whole book and the beginning of his payment of tithing. He began to see his life in a different light. … He stopped using drugs and caffeine. He continued to read, not only the Book of Mormon, but also the Doctrine and Covenants. He started to attend sacrament meetings and … literally began to be a different person. In fact, we jokingly asked him, ‘What have you done with our son?’
“The great blessing to us was when he was interviewed by the bishop … to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood. This has truly been an answer to prayers which have been offered in his behalf for almost 20 years” (personal letter, 1 Aug. 1997).
This account recalls to our minds the words of another parent: “For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found” (Luke 15:24).

David recalls his father’s willingness to sacrifice for his children. Once Jeffrey Holland took several days out of his BYU schedule for a one-on-one trip to southern Utah with his younger son. Later, when the family prepared to move after Elder Holland was called as a General Authority, he drove an hour out of his way each day for nearly two months to take David to football practices at his new high school.

As part of their Young Women celebration, the girls of the New York Manhattan Stake participated in a family history open house. The people of the metropolitan area were invited to learn more about family history and the resources of the Church. The Young Women participated by putting up displays about their own projects. During refreshment breaks, those attending the open house were able to talk with the girls about some of the treasured items of their families as well as photos and written histories.
For the display, Alaira Fleming, 13, brought a figurine that was precious to her mother and grandmother. The porcelain figurine was one that Alaira’s mother had given as a Mother’s Day gift to her mother. After her grandmother’s death, Alaira was given the figurine to cherish as a representation of the love between mothers and daughters in their family.
Alaira was also taught and encouraged by her mother to keep a journal. “It makes me feel good that someday my children can read it and know what my life was like and the troubles I went through and the happiness that I’ve enjoyed.”

The most important building in our town was our ward meetinghouse. The chapel had an imposing, two-tiered, elevated stand. The stand was quite large, and the first raised portion had a table for the ward clerk at one end and a piano at the other end, and right in the center of this elevated area was the sacrament table.
Sacrament meetings were very special occasions. Everyone was expected to sing the sacrament hymn. Everyone did sing it. Children were trained not only to be reverent but to know some of the words of the most familiar sacrament songs.
I can still see Sister Ella Jack, who led the music, standing in full view between the sacrament table and the piano, as she would pause and look over the congregation to be sure that everyone had a hymnbook and was ready to sing. She gave special attention to see that the Aaronic Priesthood boys had songbooks.
We all sang. We were learning in our youth that to feel of the Spirit, we must experience a change in our hearts, and to be in harmony on the sacred occasion required our singing the sacrament hymns. As we personally sang the words, our souls were better prepared to understand the sacred ordinance.
At the Last Supper, the early Apostles joined the Savior in singing: “And when they had sung an hymn, they went out into the mount of Olives” (Matt. 26:30). And as we sang each sacrament hymn, the words would be impressed upon our hearts because we had actually sung them. Heavenly thoughts come to your soul when you sing the heavenly music of the Church.

Now Elder Bednar recognizes that he was being prepared and equipped to help build the kingdom of God. When he became the head of what was then Ricks College, he humbly said he didn’t know how to be a president of a college, but he did know how to teach—he had been a professor for 21 years. At the first devotional of the year he turned an auditorium filled with students into a huge classroom, asking the students to open their scriptures and to take notes.

We six Brazilian missionaries had just landed in Argentina and were awaiting flights to our missions. As soon as we entered the waiting area for our departing flights, we wanted to take photographs of the airport runway with the city in the distance. While the other five went to take pictures, I stayed nearby watching our luggage.
After they returned, I looked around and saw a place from which I wished to take a picture. “I’ll be right back,” I told the others.
After I had taken the picture, I heard someone call, “Elder.” I quickly looked around but did not see anyone. Then the call came a second time: “Elder.”
When I looked around again, I saw an old man seated on a nearby bench. When I approached him, he said, “Elder, I would like to receive a priesthood blessing for the sick.”
His request startled me. A man I had never met had asked me for a blessing on my first day in a country where I could hardly speak the language.
In fumbling Spanish, I asked him several questions: “Do you have faith? Do you believe in the power of the priesthood? Do you know The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints?”
Somewhat confused by my questions, he responded, “I am a member of the Church, Elder. I am from Salta, in the north. I am alone, I am ill, and I need a blessing.”
I went to get the other missionaries. We introduced ourselves and visited with the man for a minute. Then my companion and I took him to the restroom, where we gave him a blessing.
On that occasion, I had no time to think much about what the man had said to me other than that he needed a blessing. But later, his words “I am alone” deeply touched my heart. He felt alone, but he had a Heavenly Father who knew where he was and that he was ill. Rather than forsake him, Heavenly Father sent missionaries to comfort him, give him a blessing, and remind him that he was not alone.
That experience strengthened my testimony that we have a Heavenly Father who knows us and will never forsake us.

Inspired by a story in the June 1987 issue of the New Era, the youth of the Richmond Branch, Lexington Kentucky Stake, decided to build a garage as a service project and fund raiser.
In spite of sunburns, splinters, and smashed thumbs, over 20 teenagers spent two days in hot July weather framing and sheathing walls, raising trusses, and subroofing the structure. They not only raised the shell of the garage, but they earned a substantial amount of money for future activities. Because of their hard work the youth received a lot of coverage from the local newspaper and were featured on a Lexington television station.
The best reward from the project, however, was the sense of unity it gave the youth in this branch. Several less active youth and teenagers who had just moved into the area were involved, and one participant said the best thing about the project was that “it brought us closer together.”

My father died in an industrial accident when I was just two years old. Even though she had seven children to raise—I was the youngest—and very little money, my mother served as Relief Society president, helping others with their difficulties. She taught us the value of service, of always being willing to do things for other people, of giving of oneself and one’s time and talents to other people.
I have always adored my mother. She taught me the principles of the gospel. I have always prayed, I have always been active in the Church, and I have always had a testimony, thanks to my good mother.

In our own family, we have had such an experience with wonderful, watchful priesthood leaders. When I was first called to the Seventy some years ago, we were assigned to move to Solihull, England, to serve in the Area Presidency. Sister Rasband and I took our two youngest children with us on this assignment. Our daughter was a young single adult and our son a 17-year-old who liked American-style football and played it very well. We were very concerned about them. No friends, no extended family, and no American football! I wondered, “Would this exciting new experience prove to be a serious trial for our family?”
The answer came in an early assignment I received. I had been asked to speak to the missionaries at the Missionary Training Center in Preston, England. I called President White of the center and was pleased to hear that he knew of my family situation. He suggested we include our children on our visit to Preston. Once we were there, he even invited our daughter and son to speak to the missionaries! What a thrill for them to be and feel included and share their testimonies of the Lord’s work!
When finished and after tender good-byes to those missionaries, we visited the beautiful Preston England Temple, which was close to the Missionary Training Center. As we walked near the front door, there stood President and Sister Swanney, the temple president and matron. They greeted us and welcomed us into the temple with, “Elder Rasband, how would you and your family like to perform baptisms for the dead?” What a wonderful idea! We looked at each other and gratefully accepted. After performing the ordinances and while my son and I were still in the font with tears of joy in our eyes, he put his hand on my shoulder and asked, “Dad, why haven’t we ever done this before?”
I thought of all the football games, all the movies we had attended together, all of the good times we had shared—certainly happy memories and traditions that are so important to build.
However, I realized we had an opportunity to add more meaningful spiritual experiences with our children like what we had experienced in Preston that day. Thanks to those caring and observant priesthood leaders, I knew then that our family was going to do fine in Europe. How grateful we are for the many priesthood and Young Women leaders who have always been watchful and loving to our children and yours.

He said:
“These are shoes of a young convert to the Church whose family situation was strained, yet he was determined to serve a successful mission and did so in Guatemala. Upon his return I met with him to extend an honorable release and saw his shoes were worn out. This young man had given his all to the Lord without much, if any, family support.
“He noticed I was staring at his shoes and asked me, ‘President, is anything wrong?’
“I responded, ‘No, Elder, everything is right! Can I have those shoes?’”
The stake president continued: “My respect and love for this returning missionary was overwhelming! I wanted to memorialize the experience, so I had his shoes bronzed. It is a reminder to me when I walk into this office of the effort we all must give regardless of our circumstances. The verse was from Isaiah: ‘How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings, that publisheth peace; that bringeth good tidings of good, that publisheth salvation; that saith unto Zion, Thy God reigneth!’ (Isaiah 52:7).”

A few years ago, I spoke to a friend who had attended a church meeting earlier that day and enquired how it was. The response was negative; apparently the talks were poor and the meeting not at all edifying. Later that day I spoke to another friend who had attended the same meeting and I made the same enquiry. ‘It was wonderful’ was the response.
I have often pondered about the experience of these two friends. Both attended the same meeting and heard the same talks, yet one had left spiritually hungry, and the other completely nourished. It’s possible that the subject of the talks simply resonated more with my second friend. However, I imagine it was much more than that. My second friend had gone spiritually prepared to listen with an open heart and with a desire to act on that which they heard.

Everyone looks forward to turning 16, and Evan Wilson was no different. He especially looked forward to the honor and duties that go with being a priest in the Medicine Lake Ward of the Minneapolis Minnesota Stake.
Evan, however, is not your average quorum member. Yes, he plays football, wrestles, and runs track for the junior varsity teams at the local high school. He sings in choir, is an Eagle Scout, and goes to the stake dances. Evan also has Down syndrome. He served faithfully as a deacon in the Aaronic Priesthood, always taking the same position when passing the sacrament because a routine brought comfort and success. He was solemn and respectful while passing the sacrament. Evan was equally successful in the responsibilities of a teacher.
For months before his 16th birthday, Evan practiced reading the sacrament prayers aloud with his family. Evan is not a strong reader or a particularly articulate speaker, and he needed the practice. He turned 16 and became a member of the priests quorum, attended quorum meetings, hung out with the priests, and assisted with the sacrament by distributing and collecting the sacrament trays. But offering the sacrament prayers seemed beyond his grasp. He had the prayers memorized, but he rushed, resulting in slurred pronunciation. He was not yet ready to pray before the congregation.
One day Jeff Clark, the priests quorum first assistant, shared an inspired idea with the bishop: help Evan say the prayers more slowly and clearly by using a simple flip-chart. He suggested breaking down the sacrament prayers to one word per page. Evan’s basic skills allowed him to read one word at a time, and through practice and pacing (which the flip-chart controlled), the words became more distinguishable. With practice, more reading aloud, more patience, and more prayer, Evan was ready.
Finally, the eagerly awaited Sunday arrived when Evan would bless the water for the first time. A loving, patient bishop came down from the stand and knelt next to him. While the bishop flipped the cards, Evan painstakingly pronounced the prayer word-by-word, page-by-page, with the bishop’s support and approval.
Many were moved while this special young priest uttered his first sacrament prayer. A quorum presidency had demonstrated the reality of modern revelation and what can happen when they acted upon that inspiration. They were given what President Thomas S. Monson called the “privilege to lift” those whom they were called to serve (see “Our Sacred Priesthood Trust,” Ensign, May 2006, 57).

“Come here, over by the light.” Kitty joined him by the window. “Do you remember this?”
He held out to her a piece of white cloth. When she took it in her hand, she saw it was a dress, a tiny frothy dress, all white, with many tucks and flounces; and across the yoke in front were red and blue marching figures. It was beautiful, and somehow, she knew it had been hers.
“You looked like an angel,” her father said softly. “Your hair was blonde then, and you were all dolled up in this dress and little white shoes and white socks with—I’m almost certain—red and blue stripes matching the whatsit on the dress. It was a Primary thing, Easter, I think, and you stood right in the front row and sang every song without missing a word—three years old and you didn’t miss a word—and me sitting on the back row blubbering when you sang that one about ‘I Am a Child of God.’ I was embarrassed like the dickens until I noticed that both of the men beside me were sniffing and honking too. Oh, your mother was so proud of you, and that dress! I guess she took a whole roll of film of you in that dress. Still has ’em someplace.”

Then in late June he parked his wagon in the Joseph W. Young train’s campground about two miles northwest of Florence, Nebraska. For the next two weeks Zeb was a taxi driver, taking his wagon into Florence, picking up passengers for the Young train, and shuttling them to the campground. July 5 was a typical taxi day for him: “I left camp and went to Florence, after a load of Saints. The day was very warm, and I was very tired after my day’s work.” Missouri River steamers unloaded company after company of Saints at the giant LDS campground in Florence, congesting it; “emigrants stowed away in every nook and corner,” is how Zeb described it.
On July 11 Zeb and his train pulled out and started the “back” part of the trip, 1,000 miles to Utah.