Gospel Story Finder

Even the boys I dated had to uphold the same standards and values that I had. That is how I became friends with Jeremy, who introduced me to the Church and gave me a Book of Mormon. I took it home, and my parents quickly replaced it with several “anti-Mormon” books. I was deeply intrigued and read them all. I kept waiting for the moment to prove that my church was right. Eventually Jeremy left for a mission, and I lost interest, deciding that my parents were right even though I had not proved it to myself.

I appreciate the sacrifices made by the pioneers in our behalf. My great-grandfather, James Jack, converted to the Church while he lived in Scotland. He sailed to the United States and made the trek across the plains to the Salt Lake Valley, where he became the personal secretary to Brigham Young. After President Young’s death, James Jack served as secretary to other prophets as well. I have a great deal of respect for my great-grandfather. He left a comfortable life in Scotland to travel all the way to Utah, and he lived in difficult times. Iappreciate his courage, his faith, and especially his willingness to do whatever he was asked to do in service to the Lord.

Lucy was happy whenever Daddy was home. But she was sad when he had to go on business trips. When he came home, though, he always had a surprise for Lucy in his suitcase.
Once the surprise was a doll from Mexico with a red ruffled dress and a tiny red rose in its hair.
Once the surprise was a white fan with a pretty design from Japan. It folded and unfolded with a click.
Another time the surprise was a paper lei from Hawaii. Daddy said, “A lei means ‘hello’ and ‘good-bye’ and ‘I love you.’”
On his next trip, Daddy brought Lucy a shell from the ocean. It was chalky white and pink on the outside. The inside flashed bright green and purple when she turned it. “Put it next to your ear,” Daddy said, “and it will sound like the ocean.”
One day Daddy came home from a trip with two surprises. The first one was a tiny blue box to put things in. But the other surprise was even nicer: “I’m not going on any more trips,” Daddy said. “I’ll be here every night from now on.”
Lucy clapped her hands. “Hurray!” she shouted. “That’s the best surprise of all!”

That was the year my father transplanted our family of nine from our home in Hawaii to the foreign land of Michigan. While he was enjoying a sabbatical leave at the University of Michigan, I was wearing transparent rubber galoshes, cat glasses, and a second-hand grandma coat to school, and enduring the snubs of my classmates.
I was naive and ignorant about midwest fashion. How was I to know it wasn’t kosher to wear white socks in the winter? In Hawaii we didn’t wear socks. In fact, most of the time we didn’t even wear shoes. Even if I had deciphered the fashion code, I couldn’t have done anything to remedy the problem because my father was earning half salary that year. Without money, fashion was out.
I admit I enjoyed many happy times with my family in Michigan, but nonetheless was greatly relieved when the sabbatical ended and we returned to Hawaii where fashion was largely ignored and I had many friends.

A girl was crying on the first day of school because she missed her mom. I held her hand, and she stopped crying.
Brynlee W., age 5, Colorado, USA

Like many of you, I am frequently before those who are not of our faith, and the challenge is great and wonderful. Not long ago I was given a little honor before a great group of non-Latter-day Saint athletes. In the proceedings of the convention, one of my great idols, a Hall of Famer, was to take the rostrum and speak to us. Being the great athlete that he was, respected by many, I was shocked to hear his language as he repeatedly took the name of the Lord in vain. As I sat there, I wondered, “What do you do as a Latter-day Saint in these kinds of social situations?” And then I remembered—again, a great influence in my life—the counsel from a prophet and an experience that he had had one time coming out of surgery. An orderly who was wheeling the prophet back to his hospital room on a little metal cart caught his hand between the door and the cart in the elevator and, not thinking, let go with a few adjectives, taking the name of the Lord in vain in the process. And a prophet, sick as he was physically but very well spiritually, lifted his head and said, “Please don’t talk that way—that’s my best friend.”

When we arrived in Ethiopia, we found one member of the Church, Brother Harry Hadlock from Seattle, Washington. He was overjoyed to meet two brethren of the priesthood. On Sunday morning, the three of us held a testimony meeting and then, with our priesthood, blessed and passed the sacrament. The Spirit of the Lord was present. Because we had a deep yearning to help our Father’s children who were suffering, we offered a special prayer that rain might come to that drought-stricken area. We felt a deep sense of the importance of our mission. I knew that if we called upon the Lord to bless the land, the elements would be tempered. We prayed, brethren, for rain. During the balance of the time we were in Ethiopia it rained every day wherever we traveled. We were grateful to our Heavenly Father because the rain was a special witness to us that he was aware that his sons, bearing his holy priesthood, were about his business in that part of the world.

Mother laughed. “Grandma thought so, too. In fact, she hated her freckles until she met Grandpa. But he said that he couldn’t forget the girl with the cute freckles, and they got married.”

Another sister expressed her difficulty to forgive, but since visiting the temple I’ve seen a difference in her interactions with others. She no longer feels the need to hold on to past issues with people and can now forgive.

In the Locality File, Rebecca found that Rebecca Burdick Winters had an article written about her in the July 19, 1958, Deseret News. It was on a microfilm and was titled Lonely Grave of a Pioneer Mother. Reading it, she learned that in August 1852, Rebecca Winters and her family were traveling by wagon train to Salt Lake City. When deadly cholera invaded the wagon train outside Scotts Bluff, Nebraska, Rebecca helped care for the sick, and she watched her friends die until she herself was stricken with it and died.
As the family prepared to bury Rebecca’s body, a band of starving Indians rode into the camp, demanding food. When told that there was no food to spare, they became desperate and threatened to kill the pioneers.
Hiram Winters explained to the Indians that there was a terrible sickness among the wagon train. When the Indians failed to believe him, he removed the blanket from Rebecca’s body. The Indians quickly fled, leaving the pioneers to bury their dead in peace.
Rebecca’s lonely grave was marked only by an old metal wagon tire inscribed Rebecca Burdick Winters, Age 50.
Years later a survey party for a railroad discovered the wagon tire that marked the grave. The railroad track was to have gone over it, but the officials decided to reroute it around the grave of the brave pioneer mother.
The article went on to tell about Gideon and his family. Then Rebecca found a paragraph about Rebecca Burdick Winters. It said that in 1902 her descendants, in loving memory, erected a monument made of Salt Lake granite beside Rebecca’s grave. In 1964 a national patriotic organization erected another monument by the grave, naming Rebecca Burdick Winters “The Pioneer Mother of America.”

It was a simple step, but from that day forward, her whole family started saying those words to each other, and they’ve been saying it ever since. Of course, it doesn’t always happen exactly like that; another young woman tried it several years ago, and it took her family a couple of years to start saying “I love you” back to her (and then to each other). But she kept saying it, and she could tell it made a difference. And those changes come not just through words but also through actions!

Susan was eight years old. She had just been baptized. She was playing out in the yard with her sisters and some friends, and she went into the house to get a drink of water. Her mother said, “Susan, dinner’s ready. Will you please call your sisters to eat?” So she went to the door and called to them.
They really didn’t want to go in, so they argued and said, “Oh, no, it isn’t time for dinner. You are just teasing us.” And they accused her of not telling the truth.
Well, she gathered herself up in all of her eight-year-old dignity, put her hands on her hips, and said, “It is dinnertime. I’m telling you the truth, and you can believe me because I have been baptized.”
She knew that her baptism required of her a certain standard of behavior. Her choice was that she would tell the truth, and she was willing to commit to that.

The bugle blared, and Elizabeth knew it was time for morning prayers. The night had seemed so short, and her weary little body shook in the chilly autumn air. She quickly pulled her long ragged dress over her head and tugged her worn boots over her tired feet. Mother met her with little John, and together they walked to the center of the handcart circle where her father, John, stood with his bugle.
Father was the bugler for the company. Each morning he called the company to prayer. Afterward, his bugle call started the carts on the trail. At night he called them to a halt. It was also his job to ration out the flour.
How sad he looks today, Elizabeth thought as she longed for the time when things would be nice again. Her body was always tired now, and her stomach was never full.
Everyone had been happy that day in August when Edward Martin had led this band of 576 handcart-pulling Saints on the first leg of their overland journey to Zion. They were so confident the Lord would protect them that they ignored President Brigham Young’s advice to start their journey early in the warm season with carts made of well-seasoned wood.
Because of a misunderstanding between English and American agents, the handcarts for the last two companies, headed by Captains Martin and Willie, had not been ready when the immigrants arrived in Iowa City from England. Ignoring warnings from experienced frontiersmen, the enthusiastic Saints stocked their small boxlike carts with flour, bedding, cooking utensils, and clothing for the long journey. Only seventeen pounds of personal belongings were allowed for each person; even that would be difficult to push and pull up steep hills and through cold rivers.
The green wood the carts were made from soon dried out on the long, hot journey and fell apart. When supplies were shifted to other carts, badly needed clothing and bedding were discarded.
The sound of sobs and sighs brought Elizabeth’s thoughts back to the present. Elizabeth could see tears running down her father’s face, too, as he reported to the company that he had just rationed out the last of the flour. Elizabeth knew that the Lord had always taken care of them before, and she prayed that somehow they would be taken care of now.
Gathering their strength, the pioneers pushed forward, and the faint strains of a familiar hymn could be heard above the creaking wheels of the carts. The snow that had begun to fall as they crossed the partially frozen North Platte River had turned into a blizzard. Father took Elizabeth and John into his arms and explained to them that the exhausted Saints could no longer go on. They would rest here until the Lord found a way to take care of them.
Father and Mother took out their battered tin plates and dug away at the deep snow to make a clearing for their tent. With great effort Father pounded the tent pegs into the frozen ground. Here the family waited with uncertainty.
As the days dragged on, a number of the Saints died from hunger, cold, and exhaustion. The food supply was now completely gone. Elizabeth and the other children had begun to scavenge the area for anything they could find to eat.
One day the children wandered among the willows, eating the bark from young trees to take the edge off their hunger. Suddenly a group of horsemen appeared at the top of a nearby hill. Indians! was Elizabeth’s first thought, but the frightened children were too weak to scamper off. As the horsemen approached, Elizabeth saw that the riders were members of a rescue party. The children were happy to see them and happier still to taste the crackers they had brought. The crackers weren’t a feast, but they were enough to keep the emigrant company alive until wagons loaded with more nourishing provisions arrived four days later.
Finally Elizabeth’s tired and ragged family, together with the rest of their company, straggled into Salt Lake Valley. Word of their arrival preceded them, and Brigham Young had sent the local members home from worship meeting early. After announcing that the afternoon meeting would be omitted, President Young said, “I wish the sisters to go home and prepare to give those who have just arrived a mouthful of something to eat, and to wash them and nurse them up. You know that I would give more for a dish of pudding and milk or a baked potato and salt, were I in the situation of those persons who have just come in, than I would for all your prayers, though you were to stay here all afternoon and pray. Prayer is good, but when baked potatoes and milk are needed, prayer will not supply their place.” (Deseret News, December 10, 1856, p. 320.)
That night as Elizabeth snuggled down in a cozy warm bed at the home of one of the kind sisters, she dreamed of the delicious dinner she had just eaten. Her stomach was full for the first time in months. The aroma of warm food still clung to the air, and her eyes began to close. Elizabeth knew that prayer had seen her family safely across the long frozen plains. She thanked the Lord now for baked potatoes and milk!

Ever since the passing of their father, Elizabeth and her brother, Enaw, of Cameroon, Africa, have relied on their mother. “She has been a source of aid to us ever since our father died. God has blessed us and protected us in everything we do,” Elizabeth says.
Elizabeth’s family (above) rallied together after the passing of her father. Then, after they joined the Church in 2010, Elizabeth and Enaw learned the eternal significance of the family.
“One of the important things we have learned [from the gospel] is about the importance of the family,” Elizabeth says. “The family has been of great importance to me because through my family, I have been able to become what I am today.”

A year after his baptism, he met his wife, Zulma, at a regional youth conference. They were married on 28 February 1975 in Uruguay and sealed in the Washington D.C. Temple in 1979. They have three sons and a daughter.

Life was already challenging for many Venezuelans before the COVID-19 pandemic hit in 2020, but then even just basic survival became tough. For 11-year-old Sebastian and his family, strength from Jesus Christ was needed to stay upbeat and happy during sad times. “I feel bad when we can’t buy essential products like food, clothing, and medicine,” Sebastian says. “But I have faith the Lord will continue to bless us. I feel blessed that I was able to receive my patriarchal blessing. It tells me of things I was promised before I came to earth.”

Focusing on Jesus Christ as part of last year’s youth theme (“I can do all things through Christ” [Philippians 4:13]) proved to be a big help. “Because of the difficulties facing my country, the youth theme from last year reminded me that Christ will help me overcome and do all things through Him,” Sebastian says.

It’s been a long journey, but Sebastian and his family have seen blessings and hope along the way. “The Lord lightens my burdens,” he says. “When I get sad, I pray, study the scriptures, and read my patriarchal blessing. Thanks to Him, our family stationery business that we started three years ago has had more success this year. I would like to tell other young people that they should always be ready to rely upon Jesus Christ. When I do that, I am able to overcome my challenges.”

Years ago when our youngest son, Clark, was attending a religion class at Brigham Young University, the instructor, during a lecture, asked him, “Clark, what is an example of life with your father that you best remember?”
The instructor later wrote to me and told me of the reply which Clark had given to the class. Said Clark: “When I was a deacon in the Aaronic Priesthood, my father and I went pheasant hunting near Malad, Idaho. The day was Monday—the last day of the pheasant hunting season. We walked through numerous fields in search of pheasants but saw only a few, and those we missed. Dad then said to me, ‘Clark,’ he looked at his watch, ‘let’s unload our guns, and we’ll place them in this ditch. Then we’ll kneel down to pray.’ I thought Dad would pray for more pheasants, but I was wrong. He explained to me that Elder Richard L. Evans of the Quorum of the Twelve was gravely ill and that at 12:00 noon on that particular Monday the members of the Quorum of the Twelve—wherever they may be—were to kneel and, in a way, together unite in a fervent prayer of faith for Elder Evans. Removing our caps, we knelt, we prayed.”
I well remember the occasion, but I never dreamed a son was watching, was learning, was building his own testimony.

With a will to serve, Sister Marilyn Jones of Sydney, Australia, accomplished a task that at first seemed impossible. Her son had physical handicaps, and Sister Jones knew that he and others with disabilities would benefit from a neighborhood recreation center. There were zoning restrictions to change. She solicited support and filled out innumerable papers for government grants. It took hours of talking to convince others to lend their efforts.

After eight years, Marilyn and her neighbors saw the results of their charitable labors. The community program they operate blesses hundreds of children who have physical limitations.

Jean A. Stevens
Members of the Gatrell family hold fast to the gospel after Brother Gatrell is diagnosed with an aggressive cancer.

When one of my daughters was eight or nine years old she came back from Sunday School one day. She had been serving as the president of her class. As we sat down to Sunday dinner, she heaved a huge sigh of relief and said, “I was released from being Sunday School class president this morning. Now I know what President McKay must feel like running the Church.”