Gospel Story Finder

I was baptized when I was 10 years old, in the city of Oaxaca, Mexico. I remember that a few months after my baptism, some families in our branch went on a trip to the Mesa Arizona Temple, after having managed to save, at great sacrifice, for their travel expenses.
Upon their return, some young people shared their experiences, and the adults also gave their testimonies of this wonderful experience.
I thought that I would never travel to the temple with my family, first of all, because of the spiritual needs we had, that is, my parents were separated; and also, for our temporal needs. We were a large family and in our economic situation, even with all her efforts, my mother could not satisfy our basic needs.

It’s been just a few years since I graduated from university. But already much of what I learned there has become a faint memory. When I am pressured to recall a fact, the best I can respond is: “I’m sure I studied that in college once.”
But a handful of concepts have remained bright and distinct through constant use. One of these came from an unlikely source. As our class was struggling one day to master the finer points of research techniques, our instructor gave us a simple rule. And it has become fundamental to my way of looking at the world. “Remember,” he cautioned, “there can be as much variation within categories as between categories.” Put another way, members of two different groups may have as much in common as two members of any one group.
As I have become a member of a category approximately defined as, “Woman, over twenty-five, single,” this concept has helped me see how I fit into the world, into the Church, and into the Lord’s plan. It has persuaded me that, in terms of my basic hopes and goals, I share many more similarities than differences with my married friends.

Elder Robert L. Backman, when he was general president of the Young Men of the Church, liked to tell the story of a deacons quorum presidency who took it upon themselves to visit every member of their quorum. They made appointments, got together at an appointed time, and went to the homes of their young brethren. One such visit was particularly memorable, when they visited a young man who was just about to become a deacon.
The presidency arrived at their prospective quorum member’s home at the appointed hour and knocked on the door. They were invited into the living room, and the prospective deacon joined them. He was a little nervous and didn’t know exactly what to expect. His parents left them alone to visit. The presidency took the time to explain to him what his duties would be, where and when they met as a quorum, how he would participate in meetings and activities, and then welcomed him into the group.
When the presidency left, the young man’s father asked how the visit had gone, to which he responded, “They were awesome, Dad.”

“You definitely learn to rely on the Spirit through prayer,” adds Chris Berrett, 17, from Utah. “One night before working on stage, I felt I should have a kneeling prayer before I worked with the special effects. My headset through which I hear all my cues went out during the performance. I was blessed to come in on time, even though I couldn’t hear any of the instructions.”

Our stake president was the final speaker. He talked of the importance of showing love in families and told the story of the last time he saw his father alive. His parents were at the bus stop to bid him farewell as he left for his mission. In parting he shook his father’s hand, hugged and kissed his mother, and turned to board the waiting bus. As he stepped aboard the bus, the Spirit prompted him to return to his father and say good-bye again. We listened raptly as he told us that he stepped off the bus and went to his father to embrace and kiss him one final time. His father did not live to see him again.
In concluding he bore testimony of the importance of showing love to one another in our families. We were all deeply touched and inspired by his message.

These siblings glowed with common faith and excitement as they entered the MTC. Elder Pepe Dore and his mother joined the Church in the Ivory Coast before moving to Guinea after the death of Elder Dore’s father in 2004. “We waited for 10 years before we found other members of the Church to pray together in their home,” said Elder Dore. He shared the gospel with his other siblings, who became interested, such that his younger brother (Elder Emile Dore) was baptized in 2006. “I never doubted when the Church was introduced to me. I knew it was true, I did not hesitate to accept the gospel and be baptized,” Elder Emile Dore testified.

When my grandpa became sick, I travelled to Antsirabe to be with him. The missionaries visited his home several times. Grandpa and I were not members of the Church, but he liked visiting with the missionaries. One night, they gave grandpa a blessing, and after a family home evening, they handed us the Book of Mormon.
“Please read this book and ask God if it is true,” they said.
When I returned to Sarodroa, I didn’t want to read the Book of Mormon because I thought it was not true. Then, one day I became so sick that I was stuck in my house for several days. As I looked for something to do, I found the Book of Mormon and started to read.
Later, I returned to Antsirabe and met the missionaries. They taught me more about the Book of Mormon and about the Prophet Joseph Smith. I told them that we didn’t need prophets and that there was no prophet today. The missionaries asked me to pray to God and ask if there is a prophet now. They promised that God would answer me. I prayed and felt that what the missionaries said was true.

Beep! Beep! Beep! Trevan woke up and turned off his alarm clock. Eight days until my baptism, he thought. That meant his interview with the bishop would be soon. But what if I’m not ready?
That night the missionaries came over for dinner. Taco night was Trevan’s favorite, but it was always more fun with the missionaries. They could even play a game of scripture charades after dinner—as long as Trevan and his sister listened to the lesson first.
“Tonight we have a message about baptism,” Sister Carlisle said.
Trevan jumped in his seat. “I’m getting baptized next week!”
“That’s great!” Sister Carlisle gave him a high five. “Are you excited?”
“I guess so, but I’m kind of worried about talking to the bishop,” Trevan said. “What if I don’t know the answers?”
“It’s OK to be nervous,” Sister Kemp said. “But I bet you know more than you think. Why do you think it’s important to be baptized?”
Trevan wasn’t sure. “To be obedient?”
“Right!” said Sister Kemp. She held up a picture of Jesus. “Baptism is so important that Jesus was baptized, even though He never sinned. When we’re baptized, we make covenants, or promises, with Heavenly Father.”
“Do you know what promises you’ll be making?” asked Sister Carlisle.
“I think so!” said Trevan. “We learned this at home evening last week, right Mom?”
Mom nodded. “We can remember our covenants by remembering the word ‘take.’ Can you remember what the letters stand for?”
Trevan looked at his sister Cassidy for help. “T stands for taking His name upon us,” she said. “A, always remembering Him.”
“I know the next one!” said Trevan. “K is for keeping the commandments.”
“You got it,” said Mom. “And E is for enduring to the end.”
“That means following Jesus my whole life. And repenting when I make mistakes,” Trevan said.
“Awesome!” said Sister Carlisle. “And when we keep those promises, do you know what Heavenly Father promises to give us in return?”
“Uh, blessings?” Trevan asked.
“That’s right,” Dad said. “Heavenly Father promises to forgive us when we repent. He also promises that the Holy Ghost will guide us.”
Trevan nodded. It was starting to make more sense.
Sister Carlisle pulled out a notebook. “If you’re nervous about the questions the bishop will ask you, we can go over them together.” She turned a few pages and read the first question. “Do you have faith in and a testimony of the Savior Jesus Christ?”
“Yeah,” said Trevan. He relaxed as Sister Carlisle read the other questions. “Those are easy,” he said when she finished.
“They are,” Sister Carlisle said. “But it’s still important for the bishop to ask them. He wants to make sure you feel ready to make covenants with Heavenly Father.”
At the end of the lesson, Sister Kemp shared her testimony. “I know Heavenly Father loves us because He hears and answers our prayers.”
“I know that too!” said Trevan. “This morning I prayed that Heavenly Father would help me know if I’m ready to be baptized.”
“And how do you feel now?” Sister Kemp asked.
“I don’t feel so worried anymore,” Trevan said. “I feel ready!”

Illustration by Glenn Harmon
Max and Blake sat on Blake’s front porch eating ice-cream treats. It was a hot day, and the cold, sweet ice cream tasted just right. They both concentrated on eating every bit of their ice cream before it dripped onto the concrete. Blake finished his and sucked on the wooden stick.
“Hey, do you wanna play in the sprinklers in my backyard?” he said.
“That sounds great!”
“Race you!” said Blake, and he hopped up and ran around to the backyard gate.
Max finished the last bite of his ice cream as Blake disappeared around the corner of the house.
“Hey, wait for me!” Max shouted as he hurried after Blake. When he reached the gate, he flung it open, remembering too late to watch out for Blake’s dog, Chief. Chief ran out through the gate, his large furry body pushing Max out of the way.
“Chief, come!” Max shouted.
Chief stopped in Blake’s front yard. He cocked his head and grinned at Max, his tail wagging.
Max spoke calmly as he inched toward the dog. “C’mon Chief. Come back.” Max was almost close enough to grab Chief, so he kept speaking gently and stretched out his hand.
Chief lurched away and raced down the street at full speed, still wagging his tail. He was fast. Max ran after Chief and tried not to lose sight of him.
Max followed Chief until he felt like he just couldn’t run anymore. His muscles ached, and his throat burned from breathing hard. All the while, Chief ran ahead of him, getting farther and farther away from home. Max was really worried now. He couldn’t go back for help without losing sight of Chief, but he just didn’t know how much longer he could keep up. And if he couldn’t catch him, Chief would be lost. The thought of losing his best friend’s dog gave Max a sick feeling in his stomach.
Max stopped running, his heart still pounding hard in his chest. He closed his eyes and said an urgent prayer that he would be able to bring Chief home safely. Max looked up from his prayer and saw Chief dash through an open gate into a neighbor’s backyard. He followed and quickly closed the gate. His shoulders sagged with relief. Max knew this was an answer to his prayer. Chief was trapped in the yard.
Max knocked on the front door of the house and explained the situation. The kind neighbor helped Max hold Chief’s collar and walk him back home. Max was tired from his run, but he felt really grateful to Heavenly Father. He was so glad he’d remembered to pray for help.
“Hey Max, where’d you go?” said Blake as Max led Chief into the backyard. “I was getting the sprinkler set up and didn’t see you leave.”
“Aw, me and Chief went for a run. Let me tell you about it.” Max smiled as he set Chief free to play in the sprinklers. Then he double-checked to make sure the gate was closed tight.

The summer sun beat hot against my back, and beads of sweat ran down my forehead. I wedged a pole among the roots of the tree stump and was going to push on the end, when my mother called.
“Todd? Your father’s home!”
I dropped the pole and ran across the soft brown field toward the house. Ducking beneath a line of flapping sheets, I rounded the house and stopped short of crashing into our wagon.
“Here, son,” my father said with a smile. “Take this sack of flour and give it to your mother.”
As soon as we unloaded the wagon, I put the horse in the pasture and returned to the house. Father was giving Mother a bundle.
“Twenty yards of unbleached muslin,” he said as he handed her the paper-wrapped package.
She smiled. “Thank you, James!” she said happily. Then she undid the string and removed the paper. “You can add the string to the ball,” she said, handing it to me. “Then you can have the paper for your schoolwork.”
I wound on the piece of string, then sat and watched as the rest of the provisions were put away. At the very last, Father reached into his pocket and pulled out a stick of cinnamon candy. He rumpled my hair then handed it to me. My mouth watered and I was about to break off a piece when Mother reminded me she had cold meat and apple dumplings for lunch. At the table we bowed our heads while Father offered the blessing. As we ate, I listened to them talk.
“Ed Beesley was in town, Ellen,” Father said. “He offered me fourteen dollars an acre for our land.”
Surprised, I looked from Father, who sat eating contentedly, to Mother, who looked like she was about to explode.
“And what was your answer?” she asked in an uneven tone.
“Well,” Father replied as he slowly took another piece of meat, “that would be a total of seven thousand dollars.”
Mother’s eyes began to widen as she waited to hear the rest of the story. My father, however, took his time in the telling. “You could have almost anything you’d want … with plenty left over,” Father added.
“James Putnam!” my mother scolded. “Will you please get to the point?”
Father looked up and his eyes danced with mischief. “I told him no,” he replied simply.
Mother’s face turned into a bright smile as she went to his side. She kissed him, and they both laughed. “James Putnam, sometimes I just don’t know what you’re thinking.”
I smiled and poured milk over my dumplings.
Father carried the ax as we returned to the tree stump. “So you got all the digging done,” he said, smiling. “Good! But tell me, son, did you practice your writing today?”
“Yes, sir,” I nodded. “But I do hate it, Father.”
“You hate it!” he laughed. “You like printing. Why do you hate writing?”
I kicked at a clump of sod and shrugged. “My eye knows how it should look, but my hand does it all wrong.”
Father laughed again and lowered the ax to the ground. He took off his shirt and looked at the stump. “You mean your hand isn’t disciplined yet. Keep at it, Todd. Practice is good discipline.” He knelt beside the stump and felt around the roots. “You did do a lot of digging, but there are still some big roots down there. I’ll chop them loose then we’ll be able to get this stump out of here.”
He reached for the ax and I knelt beside him, watching. When the roots were chopped, he knelt beside me, resting.
“It’s a lot of work, isn’t it, son?” he puffed with a smile.
“Do you think you’d ever sell, Father?” I asked. “I mean, you wouldn’t have to work so hard.”
He was quiet for a minute, then he smiled. “Money comes and goes, but the land is forever. No, Todd, I’d never sell it. It will be our legacy to you.”
“What’s a legacy?”
“A legacy is something precious that you leave to someone you love. What you decide to do with it will be up to you. But people see things differently. Ed Beesley sees land as something you parcel off and sell. But land’s a funny thing, Todd, even when you have a deed, it’s not really yours. You’ve just paid for the right to use it.” He picked up a handful of soil. “Smell that promise of all green and growing things, Todd. It’s a lasting responsibility, and long after we’re gone, the land will still be right here for others to use. While I use it, I mean to treat it kindly, and with discipline, just as God intended.”
“What do you think God intended?” I asked quietly.
“I think He wants us to dig out dead stumps … and grow things. You see, when we treat the land with discipline, it treats us kindly. We leave a stand of forest for the deer and rabbits that live in our meadow. If we had no meadow, Mother wouldn’t be able to make rabbit stew. If we grew no crops, we’d have little or nothing to eat. If we didn’t clear stumps and rocks or didn’t plant seeds, no crops would come up and we’d have no one to blame but ourselves. So we discipline ourselves to hard work, Todd, just as you can discipline your hand to write properly. Then as time goes by, you will see the benefits of your effort.” Father got up. “We’ve rested long enough,” he said, “now let’s see if we can move that old stump and make way for growing things.”
He put his back to the pole while I gripped mine with both hands. Slowly we pried, then eased up. Then we pried again and pushed with all our might. With a groan the stump inched upward as the ground yielded its hold. My father laughed as streams of sweat ran down his face. And soon the stump lay upside down on the ground. He clamped a hand on my shoulder and shouted, “We did it, son! We did it!”
“Hello!” Mother called as she came across the field. “I’ve brought a cool drink of water.”
She ladled a cup for me, then she and Father went off to sit beneath the shade of a tree. I stayed to break clumps of dirt from the bottom of the stump. Then I dug my fingers into the damp brown earth and let it trickle through my fingers. It formed a soft mound of earth that I smoothed flat with my hand. Carefully I wrote my name with a stick. The lines were scraggly and uneven. But with practice … yes, I knew I could write better.
I scratched out my name and looked out over the fields. Long green lines marked our rows where parsnips and corn and carrots and beets were reaching up through the ground. Here and there a tree stump or a rock poked through the soil. It will take years to clear them, I thought. Then I smiled to myself. It’ll be a big job, but the land will be mine. And I’ll be proud to continue my parents’ work.

“He doesn’t remember me,” Jeremy sobbed, burying his face in a pillow. “How could Grandpa forget me?”
Mom sat down beside him. “Remember the doctor told us that because of Grandpa’s illness his memories will come and go. Later, he may not remember much at all.”
Jeremy sniffed. “I just didn’t think he’d forget me.”
“He hasn’t forgotten you in his heart,” Mom said. “This life is a short time. Our family will be together for eternity, and then Grandpa will remember everything.”
Jeremy went to his room and tried to read a book, but he couldn’t concentrate. All he could think about was how to help Grandpa. Suddenly, a picture on his desk caught his eye—a picture of him and Grandpa on a fishing trip. “That was the most exciting thing we ever did together,” he thought. Then it hit him. “Pictures,” he murmured. “Of course!”
Grabbing the picture, he raced downstairs, skidded around the corner, and headed to Grandpa’s room. He knocked quietly just in case Grandpa was sleeping.
“Yes?” Grandpa called out.
“It’s me, Jeremy. May I come in?”
“Sure.”
With the photo in his hand, Jeremy stepped through the door. “Remember this, Grandpa?”
Grandpa adjusted his glasses. “You bet I do! That’s my favorite fishing spot. I’ve been going there since I was a boy.”
Jeremy fought back the tears. Grandpa remembered the fishing spot, but not him.
“You took me fishing there,” Jeremy said. “We fished all day. I got my nose sunburned and you fell in the stream trying to net my fish! Then we made a fire and cooked the fish for dinner. Remember, Grandpa?”
“Well, I can’t recall,” Grandpa admitted. “Let’s have another look. Hmm, is that my old truck? I bought that when my son was about your age. The boy in this picture looks a lot like my son.”
“The boy in the picture is me, Jeremy—your grandson. Your son is my dad, and we look a lot alike.”
“Oh, now I remember,” Grandpa said, looking hard at Jeremy. “We went there for your birthday, didn’t we? We had a great time, as I recall. Say,” Grandpa said slowly, “didn’t we lie on the ground at night and count stars?”
“Yes!” Jeremy squealed. “We counted as far as I could. You said that no matter how old I got, I’d never be able to number all the stars that Jesus scattered in the heavens. You said stars were to help boys like me learn how to count.”
“Maybe so. That was a great fishing trip. We should do it again sometime.” Grandpa’s head began nodding and Jeremy knew he needed a nap, so he patted him on the hand and quietly slipped through the door.
“Mom!” Jeremy yelled as he burst into the kitchen. “He remembered!”
“Who?” Mom questioned.
“Grandpa. He remembered me and the fishing trip we took. He actually remembered counting stars! I even forgot that. And now I know how to help him remember lots of things.”
Running back to his room, he pulled a shoebox from the closet and dumped the contents on his bed. All afternoon Jeremy worked. He cut. He pasted. He wrote. Finally he was finished. He took his project to Grandpa’s room.
“I made a book for us, Grandpa. I want us to remember all the great things our family has done together, so I got all my photos and I put them in this notebook. It’s like our own family picture book!”
“Family picture book?” Grandpa asked, opening to the first page. “Well, well!” he murmured. “This is my son, James, and his wife. James is my oldest son, you know.” Squinting his eyes and holding the book close, Grandpa murmured, “The writing under the picture says ‘James, Carolyn, and Jeremy.’”
“I know, Grandpa. They are my parents. See the baby James is holding? That’s me, Jeremy. This picture was taken the day I was born. And look at this one, Grandpa,” Jeremy said, turning the page. “That’s you holding me. I was eating the cake Mom made for my first birthday.”
“My, my,” Grandpa said. “It’s all over both of us!”
“See this one, Grandpa? That’s all of us at the lake one summer. We camped for a whole week.”
Page after page of pictures told the story of the family’s life together. Grandpa remembered some, and Jeremy described the others. When Jeremy got up to leave, Grandpa took his arm.
“Come back soon, Jeremy. I’d love to see that book again.”
Jeremy looked down at Grandpa and saw tears in his eyes. “I’ll be back later, Grandpa. I’ll show you some more. I love you and I’m so glad you’re my grandpa.” He bent down and gave Grandpa a hug.
“I love you too, Jeremy. You’re the best grandson in the whole family!” he said with the old twinkle in his eyes.
“Grandpa! I’m the only grandson in the whole family!”
“Yup. And you’re the only one I ever counted stars with!”

At Jenny’s birth, when her father saw only hands at shoulder level, his thoughts were, “Oh, how we shall miss hugs from this lovely daughter.”
Now, he says, “I have never been more wrong. Jenny’s hugs were whole body hugs. She couldn’t have been a more loving child.”

I had my own warning labels pasted on all cigarette advertising in the magazines in my medical office waiting room. They said, “Many of the ads in this magazine are misleading and deceptive and are a rip-off. For example, smoking does not make one glamorous, macho, or athletic. It does make one sick, poor, and dead.”

Summer Saturdays are special times for my brothers and me. After eating an early lunch, we usually take a large jug of water and drive with our dad to the Gila Indian Reservation a few miles south of our home in Tempe, Arizona, to look for dust devils. There, on dry fields that don’t have any crops growing on them, giant swirling columns of dust regularly form and march across the landscape. We like to run into them and release colored balloons or smoke bombs, while our dad takes pictures of them. These pictures help him understand how whirlwinds are created and how they grow and finally disappear.

When Madilin Neibert received her school’s citizenship award at the end of her seventh grade year, it took her by surprise. As one of only seven LDS youth in her school, she’d spent a lot of time that year standing up for her beliefs. Some didn’t understand or agree with her, but Madilin learned that she didn’t need to go along with the crowd to earn her friends’ respect.
What was it like to be recognized as a good citizen in your school? I’m really grateful that I got that award. It meant a lot to me because I know I’m doing my part to be a citizen and to be kind to others and to my teachers.

“Deciding to go on a mission wasn’t easy. Having a strong passion for the game of baseball made it hard.”

Numerous acceptance letters speak of sacrifice. The young man quoted above was well on his way to fulfilling a life-long dream to play baseball in college, and then perhaps enjoy a career in professional baseball. After ponderous and prayerful thought, however, the answer was certain: he was to serve the Lord. Once the decision was made, his priorities in life became clear.

“It helps to see the kindness of others at Christmastime. How many times have you gone to leave a gift on a doorstep, hoping not to be noticed, only to find more than one unmarked gift already there? Have you felt, as I have, the impression to help someone only to find that what you were inspired to give was exactly what someone needed at that very moment? That is a wonderful assurance that God knows all of our needs and counts on us to fill the needs of others around us.”*

Another visiting teacher, Sister Priscilla Samson-Davis of Ghana, travels across town by bus to visit one sister. “The woman I visit can’t read,” explains Sister Samson-Davis. “When I go, I read the scriptures to her.”

Finally, may I share how the Lord will touch our personal lives through our own faith and prayers. A beautiful baby girl came to our son’s home only to stay with them here on earth for less than five months. The love and care given to her by her parents was deeply touching. The struggle of this infant granddaughter for life was almost more than we could bear. The night before her passing, we went to the hospital, giving what support we could to our children.
Later that evening in my son’s home, his mother and I knelt with him and prayed for guidance. When we returned to the hospital and I took my tiny little grandchild’s hand and looked at her, I felt the Savior’s touch. Into my mind came the words, as though spoken by her to me, “Don’t worry, Grandpa; I’ll be all right.” Peace came into my heart. The Master’s touch fell upon all of us. Soon thereafter she was released to go home again to her heavenly parents.

Twelve years later, after constant growth, the Korean Saints were blessed with a long-awaited temple. On December 14, 1985, President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008), then the First Counselor in the First Presidency, dedicated the Seoul Korea Temple. This temple was especially meaningful for President Hinckley, who had a special bond with the Korean Saints. He said, “The Korean people have suffered from a war of aggression, but they love peace and they are a kind people. I shed tears in Korea more than any other place in the world.”9 President Hinckley offered the dedicatory prayer, and many who attended were in tears. It was a cold winter day, but the warm Spirit of the Lord dwelt in the temple that day and touched everyone’s hearts.