Gospel Story Finder

Throughout the U.S. and Canada there are 2,775 Lamanite students representing 75 tribes on the Church’s placement program. The four Sioux Indians from South Dakota living in Burley, Idaho, have made a particular impression by sharing their culture and abilities with members of the Burley Idaho Eighth Ward. The four are Gertie Eagle from Bullhead, Charles White Eagle of Thunder Butte, and brothers Raymond and Donald Pine of McLaughlin.
Gertie is sharing her ceremonial dancing ability with the Perkins family where she lives during the school year. In exchange, her “sister” Jean is giving her lessons on the organ.
Gertie is a convert to the Church and was encouraged by her mother to join the program. “At home I am the only member of the Church in my family. Here we go to Church as a family and have family home evenings and family prayers.”
Charles, 12, is active in football, edging out his older “brother” Todd for a spot on the team. “That didn’t mean I was better, just a little bigger,” he said modestly.
Raymond, 15, has been demonstrating his carpentering skills for one of the area families. In addition to nine-year-old brother Donald, also staying in the Eighth Ward, Raymond has three other brothers and sisters on the program.
Ward members report that the program has been a two-way street for members of both cultures, and each has learned much about the other.

Our son returned to his home recently to find his son was sitting at the kitchen table with elbows on the table and his chin in his hands. Another son exhibited a sad countenance as he sat in the living room staring out the window. Their mom was not visible. Our son asked the boys where she might be. They pointed to the bathroom. He quietly knocked on the door and asked, “Honey, are you in there?” She replied, “I’ve put myself in time-out.” Adults need an occasional time-out.

Here’s a little math equation for you: What’s 270 x 2? If you answered 540, you’d be right. But if you answered 5,000 you’d be even more right—just maybe not on your next math test.
This rather incredible math refers to what happened after strangers around the globe decided to show a bit of kindness. Thanks to the Giving Machines in the Light the World campaign, 90 women from a small village received 270 baby chicks. In only 2 years (there’s that 270 x 2 math!) these women turned those chicks into 5,000 chickens—and counting. In fact, those same women are now supplying baby chicks through the same Giving Machine program.

This morning, you decide, is an omelet morning. You hop out of bed and chop the veggies. You heat the frying pan. You crack the egg … and your little brother cackles with laughter.
“You did it again!” you groan. Yes, he boiled some eggs in their shells and then snuck them back in with the fresh eggs. It’s his favorite trick. If only there were a way to tell the difference between fresh eggs and hard-boiled ones. Why, that’d be almost as useful as being able to discern between “real” and “fake” information.

If they did, they would always want to appear as President Tanner has said of Bishop Featherstone. They would always want to appear at their best when they are exercising their priesthood. Their hair would be properly groomed; their clothing and appearance would reflect the sanctity they should feel in the performance of their priesthood duties. I have had that same feeling. I have never performed an ordinance, such as administering to the sick, without first excusing myself, if I were out in the garden or somewhere, until I was properly clothed, to make the best appearance I could, because I felt in so doing I was drawing close to the Lord himself, and I want to appear at my best in his presence.

Not often do students remember for 24 hours very many words taught by their teachers. Yet 50 years later some former students recall with lasting appreciation the words one teacher had her class repeat at the beginning of each day. Every school morning this rather unpretentious, plain, wise lady implanted the meaning of honesty into our minds by having us recite “A lie is any communication given to another with the intent to deceive.”
When I compare this definition with that found in the dictionary, which states, “A lie is an untrue statement made with the intent of deceiving,” I greatly appreciate her definition. A lie can be effectively communicated without words ever being spoken. Sometimes a nod of the head or silence can deceive. Recommending a questionable business investment, making a false entry in a ledger, devious use of flattery, or failure to divulge all pertinent facts are a few other ways to communicate the lie.
After having us go through this daily ritual, this wonderful lady, who never married but who had such a motherly influence over many of us, would teach with few words the importance of communicating truth under all circumstances. Often she simply said, “Don’t tell lies. Don’t share lies. Don’t participate in lies.”

Since 1964, when missionaries first arrived in Bolivia, the Church has been helping Bolivian people make the transition from old ways to new. Carmen and Luis Molina were among the first to join the Church in Bolivia. “Two missionaries stopped at my door and invited me to Relief Society, which was held in a home,” explains Sister Molina. “I felt happy at the meeting. I went home and told my husband about it.” Luis was cautious at first, but the family joined the Church in 1965, and he became the first man to be ordained an elder in Bolivia.

“One of my earliest memories is of our family preparing for church,” recalls their son Rolando Molina, who today serves as president of the El Alto Bolivia Satélite Stake. “I loved Saturdays. We ironed; we prepared. And on Sunday we went to church. We walked slowly so all the children could keep up. It took an hour each way. I have fond memories of those walks together.”

Like Solomon, many others rallied around Joseph and joyfully accepted the truth. They joined the Church in New York, but left their homes to follow him when the Lord directed him to go to Ohio. (See D&C 37:1.) Among those who were prepared to receive the gospel in Ohio were Newel and Elizabeth Whitney. One evening at about midnight, the Whitneys were praying, asking God how they could obtain the gift of the Holy Ghost. Elizabeth recorded their experience:
“The spirit rested upon us and a cloud overshadowed the house. It was as though we were out of doors. The house passed away from our vision. … A solemn awe pervaded us. We saw the cloud and we felt the spirit of the Lord.
“Then we heard a voice out of the cloud saying:
“‘Prepare to receive the word of the Lord, for it is coming!’
“At this we marveled greatly; but from that moment we knew that the word of the Lord was coming to Kirtland.”11

Joseph Sr. preceded Lucy and the children to Palmyra. By the time the family was reunited, their ready money had been reduced to a few cents. But that arrival showed two important traits of the family. First was their unconcealed joy at being reunited. Lucy wrote that she felt joy “in throwing myself and my children upon the care and affection of a tender husband and father” and witnessing the children “surround their father, clinging to his neck and covering his face with tears and kisses that were heartily reciprocated by him.” And second was a united approach to solving their problems. Lucy said, “We all now sat down and maturely counseled together as to what course it was best to take [and] how we should proceed to business.” Joseph Sr., Alvin, and Hyrum worked to pay for land. To maintain home and to replenish provisions, Lucy, aided by Sophronia and the younger children, took care of household chores and sold Lucy’s oilcloth art. They also made baked goods and root beer, which young Joseph sold in the village from a homemade handcart.
The family’s united effort greatly improved their material circumstances. Two years after arriving in Palmyra as “strangers, destitute of friends, home, or employment,” Lucy wrote, “we were able to settle ourselves upon our own land [in] a snug, comfortable, though humble habitation, built and neatly furnished by our own industry.”

Meghan flopped down in the big chair and put her scriptures on the table in front of her. Five-year-old Tommy came and stood next to Meghan’s chair. Then he picked up her scriptures.
“Meg, tell me a story,” he begged.
“I will later, Tommy,” she said.
“I want to hear about Abinadi.”
“OK, Tommy, I will tell you the story about Abinadi after dinner.”
Tommy looked disappointed about having to wait. The doorbell rang, and Dad went to answer it.
“It’s for you, Meghan,” Dad said.
She loved how Dad always called her Meghan, never Meg. It made her feel grown up. She stood up and walked to the door. Her best friend, Sara, was there, smiling.
“Hi, Sara. Come in,” Meghan said.
“I can’t, Meg. My dad has free tickets to the amusement park! Can you come?” Sara was bursting with excitement.
“I don’t know,” Meghan said. “It’s Sunday.”
“So what? These are free tickets. Come on, you have to go,” Sara begged. “You’re my best friend!”
“Well, I have to ask my parents.”
“Hurry up and ask, then change your clothes. You can’t go in a skirt,” Sara said impatiently. “My dad wants to leave in 15 minutes. I’ll wait for you in the car.”
Meghan nearly ran into the kitchen. Dad was setting the table for dinner.
“Sara’s dad has free tickets to the amusement park, and she asked me to go with her!” she said.
“That sounds like fun,” Dad said. “When is the big day?”
Meghan hesitated. “Well, the tickets are for today.”
“Meghan, you know what Mom and I think about those kinds of activities on Sunday,” Dad said. “But I think you are old enough to make your own decisions. After all, you are 10 now.”
Meghan looked at her father. He looked serious.
“You mean it, Dad?” she asked.
“Sure, I mean it. What do you think you should do, Meghan?” he said.
“Well, I know we should keep the Sabbath day holy and all that, but these are free tickets and you know how much it costs to go to the amusement park. I will be saving a lot of allowance money if I go with Sara.”
“That is true,” Dad said. “You would save money.”
“Is it OK if I go?”
“You can make your own decision, Meghan,” Dad said.
“Yahoo!” Meghan yelled. She ran to her bedroom and began to pull out clothes to wear. Then she looked up and saw Tommy standing in the doorway. He was holding her scriptures.
“Are you going with Sara?” Tommy asked.
Suddenly Meghan got a funny feeling inside. She knew what she needed to do. She smiled at Tommy and then she dropped the shirt back into her drawer.
“No, Tommy, it’s Sunday. I have to go tell Sara I can’t go with her today. Then I will be back to read you that story.”
Tommy grinned. “The one about Abinadi?” he asked.
“Yes, the story about Abinadi.” Meghan smiled at her younger brother and hurried outside to tell Sara.

4. If the event is newsworthy, invite newspapers and television.
When the television and newspapers were informed about the project they each said they would send a reporter out for a few minutes. Although reluctant at first, the reporters were so impressed with the work being done they stayed for up to three hours. Favorable reports appeared in newspapers and on local television news.

Following a weekend of cultural celebration and two Sunday sessions of rededication by President Thomas S. Monson, the Atlanta Georgia Temple opened its doors on May 3, 2011, for formal temple work to resume. In addition to President Monson, Elder M. Russell Ballard of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and Elders Walter F. González and William R. Walker, both of the Seventy, attended the rededication.
The temple, originally dedicated in 1983, closed on June 1, 2009, for extensive renovations.

Thank you so much for printing the article “Is It True?” (Feb. 1999). I, too, have often wondered if the Book of Mormon is true, and I’m also a good member of the Church. This article touched me with my own knowledge of not asking for what I already know. Testimonies are important, but if we just look instead of continually asking, I think we will find that we know. Again, thank you for the inspired magazine you publish.
Jane BitnerGrantsville, Utah

My wife and I have twelve children. When our daughter Sarah was two years old, I was a mission president, and missionaries ate with us at every meal. Sarah always found something to fuss about, and she would cry and kick and scream. Usually we would take her away from the table and discipline her. One time my wife took her to the bedroom and said, “Now, Sarah, you don’t feel good. You’re angry.” And when you’re angry, you aren’t happy, and others aren’t happy. Let’s ask Heavenly Father if He can help you feel happy instead of angry. So they prayed, and she felt happier. The next day, she fussed at the table again, and they prayed again, and she felt happy again. After a while, this two-year-old learned that to feel better, she prayed. Today Sarah is a young woman, and people love to be around her because of her sweet personality.

At the rooster’s first call, Juan Carlos opened his eyes and peeked through the cracks in the wooden wall just above his head. The darkness was fading. Today was his first day to help Sister Fuentes make tortillas. Time to get ready, he thought. He slipped from his hammock to the dirt floor below and went outside to wash himself in the cool water from the pump.
Stake conference would be in two months, and last week President Garcia, his branch president, had announced that a General Authority would be coming. That was fantastic, except for one thing—the city boys would all be wearing either fine Panama shirts or white shirts and ties. Even Juan’s father had a Sunday shirt. One of the North American missionaries who’d completed his mission and gone home had given it to him.
Juan Carlos had only one shirt. His mother had stitched it from a flour sack. He wore it every day of the week, even to church on Sundays. It embarrassed Juan to wear a flour-sack shirt to church, even though they met in a one-room home, and he’d told his father so. His father had just said, “Remember, son, the Lord looks on the inside of a person, not the outside.” But last conference, Juan had felt so uncomfortable about his shirt that afterward he hadn’t waited in line to shake anyone’s hand and he couldn’t even remember what the speakers had said. This conference would be different, however—thanks to the tortillas.
Juan loved Sister Fuentes, the Primary teacher—their little branch had only four families and six children. She was also the village tortilla maker. It was hard work to soak and grind the corn, haul buckets of water, and search for firewood in the forest up the hill. Tortillas had to be made early, for before breakfast nearly every family in the village would send a child to her with a small coin to buy some of the steaming, thick, pale, perfectly even circles of dough that she had patted out. Before they left to work in the fields, the men wanted hot tortillas. And later, for lunch, they would eat them cold, folded over some beans.
Saturday Sister Fuentes had come to his home. “Juan Carlos,” she said, “I am looking for someone to help me. So many want tortillas in the mornings! I have tried, but I just can’t make enough for everyone by myself. I was wondering if you would help me. It is very hard work, but I will pay you two lempiras every week.”
Two lempiras! That was a lot of money—why, he could earn enough before conference came to buy a white shirt, if he saved carefully!
Sister Fuentes was already working when Juan Carlos arrived on Monday. The morning passed quickly. He built the fire, hauled water, and ground corn between two stones. He was amazed to see how fast her hands could fly as she worked with the masa (tortilla dough). After the tortillas were sold, there were pots to scrub and wood to gather for the next day.
Day after day he spent his mornings working. Sometimes it was hard to leave his hammock while others in his family still slept, but he just imagined wearing a new white shirt to conference and shaking a General Authority’s hand, and it became easy. Every Saturday he tied two more little silver coins into his handkerchief and hid them under a rock in the corner of his home.
Nearly every week President Garcia traveled by bus to the big city on business. On his last trip to town before conference, after his usual errands, he had a special purchase to make, for in his pocket was Juan’s money, still tied in the handkerchief.
The shirt was beautiful! It was sparkling white, with four pleats down the front and shiny buttons. Juan had never seen such a beautiful shirt. Carefully he folded it and put it back in its crinkly sack. In just a few more days, he, Juan Carlos, would wear it to conference. He certainly wouldn’t be embarrassed then.
The next morning, Juan, anxious to tell Sister Fuentes about the shirt, ran all the way to her home. He was surprised to find her still lying on her cot. That wasn’t like her at all. Then his eyes shifted to her ankle, and a cold chill ran down his spine. It was swollen to twice its usual size, and the purple and black colors told him the injury was serious.
“The clinic nurse thinks that it is broken,” Sister Fuentes said. “She has no way to treat broken bones, so I must go to the city to the hospital if I want it fixed. Otherwise, I must stay in bed for a very long time.”
Traveling to the city and then to the hospital by taxi would be very expensive. Juan knew that few people from the country could afford it. Several villagers limped from poorly healed bones, and Juan remembered how his grandmother’s hand had hurt her for many years after she broke it. As he began making the morning tortillas alone, he promised in his heart to help Sister Fuentes get to the hospital—no matter what! A plan had already formed in his mind when he hurried home that day. …
A soft breeze blew the scent of flowers through the louvered windows and over to the church bench where Juan Carlos sat. How very warm he felt inside. His sister, Lizeta, was on his lap as usual. Sister Fuentes was on one side, her ankle and foot covered with thick white plaster. His father and mother sat on his other side. He listened carefully to the speakers and was sure that this was the best stake conference ever. The closing prayer was said, and a few minutes later—it was a million times better than he had imagined—he was shaking hands with the General Authority.
“Juan Carlos,” the General Authority said, “I would like you to know that the Lord loves you and is proud of you.”
Juan Carlos’s heart was flooded with joy. His father was right—the Lord did look on the inside, not the outside. No one had even noticed his flour-sack shirt. Not even Juan Carlos.

When I turned 12, my bishop invited me in for an interview. In that interview he explained to me what the Aaronic Priesthood is. He explained to me my responsibilities in holding the priesthood. I was set apart as deacons quorum president, but I was the only member of that quorum who was active. At that time my great bishop taught me an important lesson on Church service.
One Sunday we were in the chapel for priesthood meeting, and he turned to me and asked, “Where are the other boys? Where are the deacons in your quorum?”
I said, “I’m it. I’m the only one I know of.”
“What are you doing to get to know the members of your quorum?” he said.
I said, “I don’t know what to do.”
And then he sweetly said, “I’ll tell you what to do.”
He then took me with him right after the meeting, and we walked around the neighborhood, visiting each of the young men on the quorum list and inviting them to come back. And several of them did come back after a few visits. Some went on to serve missions, have great families, and become bishops and stake presidents. And it all started with that simple visit from my bishop and me. He paid attention to that special need in our little ward, and I’m really grateful because I learned a lesson that has remained with me.
Through my life I have learned that people are ready to be invited to come back. You have to go and invite them. Even a boy like me, without experience in the priesthood, can do much to help the kingdom grow.
That experience as a deacons quorum president helped me. That bishop was very wise. He had the vision of the future. He entrusted me with that assignment because he knew I was a young man who needed a coach. And he decided to be that coach, so he spent the time to help me and support me by going with me. He helped me understand how good it is to serve in the Church, to do something with your testimony. It was wonderful. I will be eternally grateful for him.

Last year Chantal auditioned for a prestigious “gala” concert where the press attends and reports on the best new talent in Montreal. Chantal passed the audition and was scheduled to perform. But when she found out that it was to be held on a Sunday, she withdrew from the concert.
“I fasted about it,” recalls Chantal. “Even though I really wanted to sing at the gala, if the Spirit says don’t go, you don’t go. So I didn’t. The important thing is to always follow what Heavenly Father wants us to do. But I know because I listened to the Spirit, other opportunities have come my way.”
One of these opportunities was to sing for a seminary film produced by the Church last year. Both sisters were asked to help with French translations for the film. Chantal told the producer she liked to sing, and was asked to record several songs for the project. She went to the studio, put on the earphones, and surprised everybody by doing an outstanding job in record time. A technician told her she had professional talent, which was encouraging.
“If I sing professionally, my commitment to God will always take first priority,” she says. “I look at my singing as missionary work.”

Because his father believed that boys should learn to work, he bought a farm. The family lived there in the summer and went there on Saturdays in the spring and fall. They pruned trees in winter and early spring, then picked the fruit in late summer and early fall. Young Gordon learned to work hard. He also learned the beauty of nature that God has given us “and the bad things that happen when nature is abused.”†

I had never understood this scripture. Jesus had healed the blind man so that the works of God could be manifest. But what about all those who are not healed? What about my sister with disabilities, who had died when I was a child? What about Cameron, our home teacher’s son who had cerebral palsy and was in a wheelchair?
As I thought of Cameron, scenes flooded my mind.
We are sitting on our back porch with our home teachers. Cameron is in his wheelchair. He is bearing his testimony, slowly, painstakingly—fighting the obstinate, uncooperative muscles in his face.
“I know God loves me,” he says. “I love God.” It takes much effort, much time before he is finished. My husband, Van, leans forward.
“Cameron,” he says earnestly, “you are improving so much on your speaking. I can understand every word!”
Cameron beams with pride. I see my husband’s tender, compassionate face, and I wonder: Are not the works of God made manifest?
At twelve, Cameron is old enough to pass the sacrament. One of the brethren in our ward has designed and fitted his wheelchair with a special tray. The bread and water are placed on his tray by members of his Aaronic Priesthood quorum.
He wheels to the end of the pew, where a member lifts the tray to partake of the sacrament. Are not the works of God made manifest in that sacred act?
I see Cameron, my sister, and others I have known who have disabilities in mind or body. Others carry them; others are their arms, their legs, their minds. I see these same individuals with disabilities giving others gifts of love and hope.
I see the works of God made manifest for them and by them.

Four years ago, he was preparing to submit his mission papers. Then one day while he was lifting weights, his world collapsed. A blood clot in his brain caused him to have a major stroke. His doctors doubted that he would live. The part of his brain that controlled his muscles was severely damaged. He could not move. He could not speak or even breathe on his own.

His ward fasted and prayed for him, and Fernando lived. Eventually he came home from the hospital, but he was still unable to move or speak. His parents, Vilmar and Noeli Gaertner, and his therapists worked tirelessly with him. Fernando grew closer to Heavenly Father as he depended on Him to get through each day. Life was now very serious for Fernando, and he took nothing for granted, especially the gospel. While Fernando worked hard at recovering physically, he also studied the gospel. He learned patience and faith as each new ability took months to develop. After much effort, he was able to sit in a wheelchair. The first time he was able to attend church, tears filled Fernando’s and the ward members’ eyes.