Gospel Story Finder

Recently I had a visit from a young Catholic priest. He came with a stake missionary from Colorado. I asked him why he had come, and he replied, “I came to see you.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Well,” he said, “I have been searching for certain concepts that I have not been able to find. But I think I am finding them now in the Mormon community.”
That led to a half-hour conversation. I told him, “Father, when your heart begins to tell you things that your mind does not, then you are getting the Spirit of the Lord.”
He smiled and said, “I think that’s happening to me already.”
“Then don’t wait too long,” I said to him.
A few weeks later I received a telephone call from him. He said, “Next Saturday I am going to be baptized a member of the Church, because my heart has told me things my mind did not know.”
He was converted. He saw what he should have seen. He heard what he should have heard. He understood what he should have understood, and he was doing something about it. He had a testimony.

Once upon a time there was a little Slobovian boy named Gorb who lived in a little boardinghouse with 10,000 Slobovians. Every morning all 10,001 of them were served the most nutritious breakfast cereal available anywhere—Captain Steadfast’s Forthright Whole Wheat Crunchies. Now federal agencies and senate hearings had proven not only that Captain Steadfast’s was the best breakfast food known to man but also that it was, spoonful for spoonful, the most economical cereal on the market. And it tasted great.
One morning just at breakfast time a stranger walked into the boardinghouse and casually tossed a new cereal onto the table that, he said, was groovy, outasight, and everyone was eating. It was called Gurgle, Twaddle, and Sop. Some of the guys said they had heard it was pretty bad, but 10,000 hands nevertheless reached for the box and heaped their bowls high because, after all, it obviously was the thing to do. However, when the box came to Gorb he kindly said, “No, thank you,” and he poured himself a bowl of Forthright Whole Wheat Crunchies.
“Comment!”* roared a chorus of 10,000 Slobovian voices.
“Well, it isn’t any great mystery,” replied Gorb. “I just read on the box here that Gurgle, Twaddle, and Sop has no vitamins, no proteins, none of the good stuff Captain Steadfast’s has, and it even admits to having some real junk in it. The price looks pretty expensive, and I’ve heard it can really taste gross. Besides—I like these Crunchies.”
At that point 10,000 fists hit Gorb on the jaw. “What gall,” mused Gorb as he shrugged his shoulders and went on eating his Captain Steadfast’s.
But even as Gorb was taking his lonely stand, some strange things began to happen around the table. Many of the 10,000 said they were sick; some said they were seeing strange things; a few said they couldn’t see anything at all. Several fell face first into their Gurgle, Twaddle, and Sop, and at least one just cried and cried. But those who were still able kept forcing down the G, T, & S because, after all, somebody had said it was groovy and outasight and everybody was eating it.
It wasn’t long before just one person remained sitting at the table; 10,000 others were screaming around the room or sobbing at their benches or just retching on the floor. The place was a bad scene that didn’t look either groovy or outasight, but at least everybody was doing it—except Gorb. He just quietly finished his Whole Wheat Crunchies and wondered why new always meant better to so many people.
Moral: 10,000 Slobovians can be wrong.

Sammy looked sad as he watched the pictures on TV. Floodwaters were flowing through streets and towns on the other side of Australia. Sammy thought about the boys and girls whose homes would be filled with mud. He thought about how their toys would be ruined.
Sammy went to the cupboard. He took out a shopping bag and filled it with toys he didn’t play with anymore. Sammy took the bag to Mum.
“These are for the boys and girls in the floods,” he said.
“That is very kind, Sammy,” Mum said. “The people in the floods will also need many other things.”
Sammy and his older brother Benjamin had been saving their money for a new toy. Sammy kept his money in a jar. Sammy grabbed the jar and took out all his money.
“I want to give this to the people in the floods too,” he said.
As he put the money in an envelope, Benjamin walked into the kitchen.
“What are you doing?” Benjamin asked.
“I’m sharing money with the people in the floods,” Sammy said.
“That’s a good idea,” Benjamin said. “I’ll share my money too.”
Mum drove Sammy and Benjamin to a mall where they could donate their money to the people in the flood.
“You are a good example, Sammy,” Benjamin said as they walked together holding their envelopes.
Sammy smiled. He felt good all over. He was the little brother, but he had been a big example.

A teenage girl sitting under the chairs. The rest of the story: When I was a teenager, one of the girls my age always sat under her chair in class. This young sister had grown up in many foster-care homes and only felt safe in an enclosed area. Since then, I have recognized that we cannot expect students to learn when they are in ?ght, ?ight, or freeze mode. Students must feel safe if they are to learn and, most importantly, feel the love of the Savior.

A whistle sounded down the track as the early-morning, Vienna-bound train came into view. “Right on time!” Josef cried. He looked up at his sister with excited, sparkling eyes. “I can hardly believe it, Berta! At last I’m going to see the white stallions—the Lippizaners!”
“Ja (yes),” Berta said, but there was a worried look on her face. “You are young, Josef, to go to the city alone. And you are so often careless with your money.”
Josef grinned. This was one time he could not afford to be careless! Before he could speak again, the train shuddered to a stop.
“Auf Wiedersehen (good-bye), Berta!” Josef swung aboard and found a compartment; it was empty except for a small girl in a bright red coat. He opened the window and waved to his sister, who waved her white handkerchief in farewell as long as the train was in sight.
Josef closed the window and turned to the girl. “My sister thinks I’m too young to travel alone,” he said in German, smiling. “She’s afraid I will lose my money or give it away.” His smile faded when the girl gave a little choked sob. “Is— is something wrong?” he asked, anxiously.
As Josef spoke, a tall, uniformed conductor entered the compartment. “She does not understand German, so she does not know what you are saying,” he explained.
“She is American.”
“Is she traveling alone?” Josef asked in surprise. “Ja, to Vienna. Her grandfather will meet her there,” the conductor replied. After the conductor left, Josef stole a glance at the girl. How young she is, he thought, and how frightened! “My name is Josef,” he said in careful English. “What is your name?”
At the sound of the familiar words, the girl’s face brightened. “Margaret Taylor,” she said eagerly, then started speaking so rapidly that Josef threw up his hands.
“Slowly, please!” he pleaded. “I have studied English only a short time.”
Margaret started over and Josef understood. The girl went to a private school in Switzerland and was on her way to meet her grandfather, who was in Vienna on business. Mademoiselle Dumont, a teacher who had planned to travel with Margaret, had learned the night before that her mother was ill. “I told Mademoiselle I was not afraid to go alone,” Margaret continued, her voice catching in a sob, “but I am afraid. Maybe I won’t be able to find my grandfather. What will I do then?”
Josef’s kind heart melted. “Do not be afraid, Liebchen (little one),” he said to comfort her. “I will help you find your grandfather.”
Margaret turned to Josef, her eyes bright. “Oh, thank you!” she cried. “I will not be afraid with you for a friend.” After a moment she asked, “Do you live in Vienna, Josef?”
“No,” he replied. “I am going there to see the Lippizan horses.”
“The white horses that dance!” Margaret cried. “I have heard about them.”
“Ja!” Josef’s eyes sparkled. He slid his hand into his pocket to make certain his purse was safe. In it were the Austrian schillings he had earned working in Herr Meyer’s grocery store every day after school. “It has taken me a long time to save enough money,” he said.
“I will ask Grandfather to take me to see the Lippizaners, too,” Margaret said.
“It is not expensive,” Josef explained, “not if you buy standing room in the second gallery, as I will do.”
A whistle sounded, and the train pulled to a stop at a small station. A boy holding a tray of bottled drinks and crusty bun sandwiches tapped on the window. Margaret eyed the sandwiches longingly.
“Are you hungry?” Josef asked.
Margaret’s eyes clouded. “Mademoiselle forgot to leave me any money,” she said in a small voice.
“I will buy us each a sandwich,” Josef said, and he opened the window. Margaret selected two ham sandwiches and two cherry-flavored drinks.
Josef gulped when he heard the price. He took out his purse and carefully counted out the schillings. “Ach!” he exclaimed, shaking his head. “Food is expensive when one travels by train.”
“My grandfather will pay you back,” Margaret said confidently, smiling at him.
“I did not mean that!” Josef said, blushing. “I still have enough.” He placed his purse on the seat beside him in order to take the sandwich Margaret handed him.
Margaret chattered away happily, and in no time at all—or so it seemed to Josef—the train stopped at the next station. A man selling china figurines came to the window. Margaret gave a cry of delight, opened the window, and picked up one of the figurines, a white Lippizan horse with a crimson-coated rider. “I want it, Josef. Please!” she pleaded.
“It costs too much!” Josef protested when he heard the price.
“Oh, please, Josef, Grandfather will pay you back,” Margaret insisted.
Josef reluctantly paid for the figurine. Then he counted the coins he had left: fifty groschen—only half a schilling. “It is a good thing the next stop is Vienna,” he groaned.
“Don’t worry,” said Margaret. “I told you Grandfather will pay you back.” She slipped the figurine into her pocket, snuggled down in her seat, and was soon fast asleep.
When the train pulled into the Vienna station, Margaret’s eyes flew open. “Are we there?” she asked.
Josef nodded. “Where is your luggage?”
“Mademoiselle sent it ahead,” Margaret explained. She clung tightly to Josef’s hand as they stepped from the train onto the busy platform. Then she gave a sudden squeal of joy, broke away, and ran toward a tall gray-haired man who hugged her warmly. As Josef started toward them, a troop of uniformed schoolboys marched in front of him. When the boys had passed, Margaret and her grandfather had disappeared.
They’ll be waiting for me inside, Josef decided. But they weren’t there. He searched the station and the platforms and then ran outside to where a line of taxis waited, but there was no sign of Margaret or her grandfather.
Josef’s heart sank. How foolish he had been! How Berta would tease when she learned that he had spent his money on a little American girl who forgot all about him when she saw her grandfather. Josef smiled wryly. At least he had his return train ticket and enough money for trolley fare to the palace where the horses performed. I might get a glimpse of them in their stables, he thought.
Josef got off the trolley and was walking toward the hippodrome (arena for horse shows) at the palace when a taxi screeched to a halt at the curb. The door flew open, and a streak of crimson dashed toward him.
“Josef! Josef!” Margaret cried happily. After giving Josef a hug, she gave him a handful of schillings. “Here is the money I owe you.” Then she turned to face the tall man who had come to stand beside them. “I told you we would find him here.”
“I’m Samuel Taylor, Margaret’s grandfather,” the man said, smiling. “I hope you will forgive my granddaughter. She was so happy to see me that for a while she forgot how kind you had been to her—”
“We went back to the station, but you were gone,” Margaret interrupted. “Grandfather was very angry when I told him I had spent your money.”
“I still am,” Mr. Taylor said, but his lips quirked a little.
Margaret tugged at her grandfather’s sleeve. “Tell him, Grandfather!” she urged.
“We would like you to be our guest at the performance of the Lippizaners today, Josef. I have seats for us in the royal box at the end of the great hall.”
“Thank you, sir!” Josef cried, his eyes sparkling. Instead of standing in the second gallery, he would watch the Lippizaners from the box where the kings and queens of Europe sat.
Margaret slipped her hand into Josef’s. “We’ll have just as much fun there as in the gallery!” she cried.
“Indeed, we will!” Josef agreed and laughed aloud.

Two young women in this seminary class, both 16, are named Brigitta. “From my classmate Seres Brigitta I heard about the Church for the first time,” says Bozó Brigitta. “I began attending sacrament meeting and made a lot of friends here. So when youth conference came, I naturally thought I needed to go. At the conference, I felt for the first time that I needed to belong to this church. I was baptized a week later.”

Two months after Brigitta’s own baptism, her mother and her 15-year-old brother, László, were baptized. (Her father had died six years earlier.) “Now the three of us—our whole family—are members of the Church. It’s wonderful!”

“At first I thought just my friend would be baptized,” says her classmate Seres Brigitta. “I was amazed that her family also joined the Church.”

My family went to Salt Lake City for a family reunion. Before we left home, we watched the “A Year on Temple Square” videos on children.lds.org, so we knew the best places to visit!
First we went to the Church Office Building to see the observation deck. After that we went to the Lion House to eat rolls. It was Brigham Young’s old house! Later we went to the Church History Museum. The artifacts were so cool! I decided I want sunglasses like Brigham Young’s. At the kid area, I saw some blocks and made two models of Temple Square. One was smaller and had the temple, Tabernacle, office building, and Conference Center. The other had more detailed buildings.
We also went to the family history center to solve a family history mystery (which we did)! Then we came back later to tour the Conference Center (which is a lot more impressive in real life!) and saw lots of the originals of my favorite paintings. We also went to see the Christus in the visitors’ center and took our picture there. And when we came back for a Mormon Tabernacle Choir Pioneer Day concert that night, the temple was all lit up and looked so beautiful!
I really felt the Spirit the entire time because it was almost Pioneer Day, and we were in the land Heavenly Father gave the pioneers. It made me think about how the desert “blossom[ed] as the rose” (Isaiah 35:1) and how the Lord blessed the pioneers tremendously through their hard work so they could live happily. Now I can cross Temple Square off my sightseeing list!

The power and influence one person can have is enormous. It was one Sarah Ann Meeks who paid what seemed to be her ultimate sacrifice as she stood alone on the doorstep of her home in far-off England nearly a century and a half ago. Her father met her there with a small bundle containing a few of her belongings and with these words, “You join that church and you must never set foot in my home again.” Unfortunately that was the last she saw of her family.

Alone? Very much alone! She could have bowed to that impossible, heart-wrenching rejection. But no—she loved the Lord. She had been touched by the Spirit and knew that the gospel of Jesus Christ had been restored to the earth in its fulness. She knew that she must stand as a witness to the truthfulness of this message. She knew that she could make a difference.

From that one stalwart woman has sprung a progeny of faithful Latter-day Saints difficult to number. Literally hundreds of her descendants have stood as witnesses all around the world testifying to the reality of the Restoration of the gospel—the same message she embraced as she stood alone. As one of those descendants I bear solemn testimony to all the world that God the Eternal Father lives, that Jesus is the Christ, the Savior of the world, and that leading The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints today is a living and loving prophet of God, serving with all the meaning that sacred title implies.

When our daughter was five years old, she had a battery-powered model car and loved to drive it around the house. One evening, she came to me and said, “Daddy, my car no longer drives. Could we get some gas from your car to put in it so it can drive again? Perhaps it needs gas like your car to drive.” I later observed that the battery power was down, so I said we would get it to drive in about an hour. With so much excitement, she said, “Yes! We will take it to the gas station.” I simply connected the battery to an electric source to charge, and after an hour she was able to drive the car, powered by the charged battery. She thereafter learned that it is important to always recharge the battery by connecting it to an electric source.

Some years ago I listened intently as a man well beyond middle age told me of an experience in his family history. The widowed mother who had given birth to him and his brothers and sisters had gone to her eternal and well-earned reward. The family assembled at the home and surrounded the large dining room table. The small metal box in which Mother had kept her earthly treasures was opened reverently. One by one each keepsake was brought forth. There was the wedding certificate from the Salt Lake Temple. “Oh, now Mother could be with Dad.” Then there was the deed to the humble home where each child had in turn entered upon the stage of life. The appraised value of the house had little resemblance to the worth Mother had attached to it.

Then there was discovered a yellowed envelope which bore the marks of time. Carefully the flap was opened and from inside was taken a homemade valentine. Its simple message, in the handwriting of a child, read, “I love you, Mother.” Though she was gone, by what she held sacred, Mother taught yet another lesson. A silence permeated the room, and every member of the family made a pledge not only to remember, but also to honor mother.

Early in their marriage the Scotts lost two children. A daughter died just before birth, and six weeks later their two-year-old boy died in heart surgery. Hard as it was, “it was a real testimony-strengthening time for us,” says Sister Scott. “We knew it was the will of the Lord. As I look back on it now, I wonder how we were so strong about it. But there are many blessings that come from these sadnesses.”

As a returned missionary, busy with a young family and my own company, I was called to be the president of a good-sized branch with many faithful and mature members. Did I feel prepared, trained, and educated to start serving? No! I had good counselors with whom I could discuss issues. But was their help enough? No!
Thinking back on that calling and on other callings, I realize that in addition to the Holy Ghost and the scriptures, what really helped me were the Church handbooks! They were a treasure of information—as a guide to my initial learning and as a valuable reference along the way.

Within days of arriving in Europe, Sister Taylor and I, still living out of suitcases in a small hotel room in Germany, were scheduled to attend a mission presidents’ seminar in Amsterdam, Holland. As we drove to and from the seminar, as arranged by the Regional Representative, we set out to meet our leaders in western Europe. We drove an hour each way into a small village to bless a leader and his family. We went to their homes. In each home we met a lovely wife and handsome children. We ate at their tables, slept as invited, and in each case knelt in prayer and blessed their homes, their families, their callings, and the area for successful missionary service. I now know our leaders there. I felt a genuine love for them, and I felt the same response from them.
You have those feelings of approaching in some small degree the indescribable joy of the celestial glory. He that loses his life shall save it. (See Luke 17:33.) My well of spirituality has indeed been deepened.

I spend my time paddleboarding, ice fishing, and raising show hogs and turkeys. Recently I was crowned the Utah High School Rodeo Queen and first attendant at the National High School Rodeo Finals. Before my competition I asked my father for a priesthood blessing. It gave me the peace and comfort I needed to relax and be myself. My Young Women medallion is as important to me as any of my favorite buckles and crowns. Earning my medallion taught me to set goals and work hard to achieve them.
McKardy K., 15, Utah, USA

With that kind of community spirit, it was no surprise when the Roberts Idaho Stake youth decided to forego their annual Church-sponsored harvest ball and organize a quilting bee with quilts going to war-ravaged Kosovo. But this was no ordinary stake youth project. The 350 quilters filling the adjacent school and church parking lots on September 14, 1999, included youth and adults from the Terreton Baptist Community Youth Group, the Catholic Church, the Lady Lions Club, and everyone else who wanted to come.
In addition to making 51 beautiful quilts, the participants were introduced to the Church humanitarian program with a film. “I wanted to tell the families in the film to come to my house,” said 15-year-old Kayla Smuin.
Kali Albertson, 15, agreed. “I was so happy to be able to help. It made me realize how lucky I am.”
The spirit of unity felt by everyone that evening will long be remembered. As one participant from the small town put it, “I wish we could do more things like this for the community.”

I don’t think it was coincidence that missionaries hocked on my door at 9:25 that night during a storm when missionaries are supposed to be in at 9:30. It was their last house, and with the storm they could have easily rationalized going home five minutes early. Those missionaries never knew that the 11-year-old girl listening in the background joined the Church and became a missionary herself.
That thought made me a better missionary. I would say to myself, “One more door. I was the last door, so one more door.”

The first of this group in England were Elders John Taylor and Wilford Woodruff, who docked at Liverpool January 11, 1840. Immediately they began their work, and Elder Woodruff became one of the most productive missionaries in the Church’s history. He preached first in the Staffordshire Potteries, working with members among their friends. One member especially helpful to Elder Woodruff was William Benbow, who undoubtedly told the apostle of his brother, John Benbow, a prosperous farmer at Herefordshire, who had joined the United Brethren in his search for the ancient gospel. In early March Elder Woodruff noted in his diary that “the Lord warned me to go to the South.” Immediately he and his host journeyed to the John Benbow home, where the gospel was preached to that family and then to hundreds of willing listeners. In that area alone, Elder Woodruff baptized 158 converts within a month.

I had been tidying my house, but I couldn’t even vacuum the floors and dust my furniture, because I had so much clutter laying around. God’s house is a house of order (D&C 132:8), and I needed to make mine that way too. A wonderful thing happened to me in the process of tidying my house – I found some “hidden” treasures. Most of us are familiar with the story in the New Testament about looking for a lost coin (Luke 15:8-10). Today, I was looking for my original birth certificate that I needed for applying for a free bus pass.
In the process of looking I found lots of other surprises, but unfortunately, I couldn’t find my birth certificate. I knew that I had originally put it into the top drawer of my filing cabinet in a light brown money belt; but I couldn’t find it anywhere. Then I looked through all the other file cabinet drawers, to no avail. The other drawers were filled with old bank statements, car repair bills, pay-cheques, house and car insurance documents, etc., but there was no birth certificate to be found anywhere.
Finally, after spending an hour searching, I prayed for help from Heavenly Father to find the lost document. I felt (through the Holy Ghost) that my birth certificate was indeed in the top drawer of my filing cabinet. So, I went back to the drawer and looked through all the piles of papers again. Imagine my surprise when I got down to the very bottom of the drawer and found my birth certificate in a blue pouch. That was when I remembered that I had changed where I stored my birth certificate about two years ago. I’m so glad that the Holy Ghost remembered where my birth certificate was.
But the story doesn’t end there. While delving into the bottom of my filing cabinet drawers, I also found 3 crisp, new, £20 notes, which were sitting among a pile of credit card receipts. Once I found the money, I remembered that I had put them there for safekeeping about a year ago. It was a lovely surprise to find them today. Yesterday I also found some money unexpectedly, as I was cleaning out my handbag. I found a small wallet that I hadn’t used for about two years and when I opened it, I found two £10 notes inside!
I also looked in my filing cabinet for my cheque book, because I wanted to attend tithing settlement on Sunday. I needed to write out a cheque for some extra tithing that I owed. I couldn’t remember the last time that I wrote a cheque for anything, so I had no idea where my cheque book was. When I eventually found it, I looked at the cheque stubs and saw that the last cheque that I had written was four years ago. It’s no wonder that the banks want to “phase” cheques out, because very few people use them anymore. The only thing that I used a cheque for in the past was to pay my tithing every month. Now that I pay my tithing using a standing order from my bank, I have no need to use cheques anymore. Once I had found my cheque book, I wrote out a cheque for the outstanding tithing that I owed this year and put it into my handbag.
On the way home from submitting my bus pass application, I thought to myself: “I should stop and say hello to Jan and Steve.” I hadn’t seen these friends for about two years because they had moved to a new house. Once I found the house, I knocked on the door and Jan opened it. She was in the middle of vacuuming and cleaning when I arrived unannounced and she was standing beside an ottoman in the kitchen. As we talked she said, “We have been in a big mess for a year, but we are finally getting things the way we want them now. I’m getting rid of this ottoman, would you like it?”
"Yes please," I replied.
What Jan didn’t know, was that I had been looking for an ottoman like this for about six months. I had even gone into three charity shops that day, looking for such an item, but I couldn’t find one. But the Holy Ghost knew exactly where a used ottoman was, and he prompted me to go to Jan’s new house, because that was the day that she was throwing one away.
Isn’t Heavenly Father kind to us? On the day that I wrote out a cheque for extra tithing, I found money and was given furniture equal to the exact amount that I had written out my tithing cheque for. I had read about these types of stories in the Ensign before, but it had never happened to me, until that day.

Other Activities. Wendy Bybee and her son James, of West Valley City, Utah, both blind from birth, have found that a helpful Church leader can make a great difference. “James used to have trouble in Scouting, but his current Blazer Scout leader is exceptional! She has spent extra time helping him learn to tie knots; she also prints up materials in larger print for him and always makes sure the announcements she sends home are in dark enough print for me to read. She has helped me find ways to help James earn merit badges so that it’s fair to him but doesn’t make the other boys think he’s getting off easy.”

Such a man was Paul Tingey. Just a month ago I attended his funeral services here in Salt Lake City. Paul grew up in a fine Latter-day Saint home and served an honorable mission for the Lord in Germany. A companion of his in the mission field was Elder Bruce D. Porter of the First Quorum of the Seventy. Elder Porter described Elder Tingey as one of the most dedicated and successful missionaries he ever knew.

At the conclusion of his mission, Elder Tingey returned home, completed his studies at the university, married his sweetheart, and together with her reared their family. He served as a bishop and was successful in his vocation.

Then, without much warning, the symptoms of a dreaded disease struck his nervous system—even multiple sclerosis. Held captive by this malady, Paul Tingey struggled valiantly but then was confined to a care facility for the remainder of his life. There he cheered up the sad and made everyone feel glad. Whenever I attended Church meetings there, Paul lifted my spirits, as he did all others.

When the World Olympics came to Salt Lake City in 2002, Paul was selected to carry the Olympic torch for a specified distance. When this was announced at the care facility, a cheer erupted from those patients assembled and a hearty round of applause echoed through the halls. As I congratulated Paul, he said with his limited diction, “I hope I don’t drop the torch!”

Brethren, Paul Tingey didn’t drop the Olympic torch. What’s more, he carried bravely the torch he was handed in life and did so to the day of his passing.

Spirituality, faith, determination, courage—Paul Tingey had them all.