Gospel Story Finder

I wasn’t a bad kid in high school. I played end on the football team and managed to get B grades and still have fun. But I was just as daring as the next. Which brings me to this incident.
A few of us kids were smoking by the garbage can in back of the high school. I don’t know who supplied the cigarettes, but that doesn’t matter.
As we puffed away, feeling good and mannish, a neighbor who lived close by called my mother and told her what her son was doing. I don’t know how mom got there so fast. But before I was ready to throw away the butt of the cigarette, there she was, and I was caught in the act. She talked to me good and proper.
When I arrived home after school, I went to my room and I was scared stiff. Dad would be home from work soon, and when mom told him of my sinful act, I knew I would be in for it but good.
Now dad, even for a churchgoer, was a good guy. We went hunting and fishing together and shared a good companionship. We camped in an old wall tent equipped with a woodburning stove. It was my responsibility to see there was a good supply of wood provided for the stove. Dad was the cook.
I heard the back door close and dad’s greeting to mom. Then for a few minutes there was a subdued conversation. I knew my sin was being discussed.
Then dad came to my room, and he sat down on the edge of the bed. He knew I was scared, and he let me wallow in my fear for a few moments before he spoke.
“Son, I want you to know that mom and I can’t make decisions for you. You know how we feel about smoking: it’s a dirty habit and injurious to your health. But if you decide to take up the habit, the decision is yours to make.”
He got up, walked to the door, then stopped and turned around.
“One more thing, son. You and I hunt and fish together and sleep in the old tent. If you become a smoker, you will have to sleep outside, for I can’t stand tobacco smoke. Now come on to supper.”
“Okay, dad, okay,” I said to myself. “Why didn’t you box my ears or slap me a couple of good ones on my posterior. Instead of that you hit me where it hurt the most, in the thing I love to do the best.” I did not take up the smoking habit, and things went pretty well at school and at home.

Not only should you be eager to learn your priesthood lessons in this life, but you should be optimistic about what is possible. A few of us may limit in our minds our possibilities to learn what the Lord sets before us in His service.

One young man left his little Welsh village in the early 1840s, heard the Apostles of God, and came into the kingdom of God on earth. He sailed with the Saints to America and drove a wagon west across the plains. He was in the next company after Brigham Young coming into this valley. His priesthood service included clearing and breaking ground for a farm.

He sold the farm for pennies on the dollar to go on a mission for the Lord in the deserts of what is now Nevada to take care of sheep. He was called from that to another mission across the ocean in the very village he had left in his poverty to follow the Lord.

Through it all, he found a way to learn with his priesthood brethren. Bold missionary that he was, he walked down the lane in Wales to the summer estate of a man who was four times the prime minister of England to offer him the gospel of Jesus Christ.

The great man let him into his mansion. He was a graduate of Eton College and of Oxford University. The missionary talked with him about the origins of man, the central role of Jesus Christ in the history of the world, and even the fate of nations.

At the end of their discussion, the host declined the offer to accept baptism. But as they parted, that leader of one of the great empires of the world asked the humble missionary, “Where did you get your education?” His answer: “In the priesthood of God.”

Sister Kasimbe shares her experience: “I grew in the gospel due to studying the scriptures. I remember before my mission I was given a calling to serve as Relief Society secretary. I love getting a calling but later realized that it was not an easy task for a 19-year-old who had just joined the Church. Surrounded by my own afflictions, I was supposed to minister—this was not easy for me. I remember being assigned to a Relief Society sister who had just lost her sister due to brain cancer. She was grieving and in pain. As I was with her, I felt her sorrow immediately. In my mind I felt the love of God towards her as I shared with her from the scriptures about life after death and that death is temporary. We were able to share from the scriptures and find joy.”

I learned this principle when I served as a young missionary. My companion and I were serving in a very small and faraway branch of the Church. We tried to speak with every person in the city. They received us very well, but they liked to debate the scriptures and asked us for concrete evidence regarding the truthfulness of what we were teaching.

I recall that each time my companion and I set out to try to prove something to people, the Spirit of God left us and we felt totally lost and confused. We felt that we should more strongly align our testimonies with the truths of the gospel we were teaching. From that time on, I remember that when we bore a testimony with all our hearts, a silent confirming power coming from the Holy Ghost filled the room, and there was no space for confusion or discussion. I learned that no evil forces exist that are capable of confusing, deceiving, or subverting the power of a sincere testimony of a true disciple of Jesus Christ.

“Please tell me a story,” Jeff said to his granny.
Granny began, “Once upon a time there was a boy.”
“He was a little boy,” Jeff said.
Granny began again. “Once upon a time there was a bad little boy.”
“No, Granny. That isn’t the way the story goes,” Jeff said. “He was a good little boy.”
Once more Granny started the story. “Once upon a time there was a good little boy.”
Jeff nodded his head up and down. “That’s the right story.”
“This good little boy was going to town.”
Jeff shook his head. “No, no, Granny. Don’t you remember? That very good little boy was going to his granny’s house.”
Granny smiled at Jeff. “That’s the same old story. Wouldn’t you like to hear a new one?”
“I like the old story,” Jeff insisted.
So Granny told it. “Once upon a time there was a very good little boy. His daddy took him in the car to see his granny. When they got to Granny’s house. Daddy stopped the car in the driveway. He smoothed Jeff’s hair and tucked Jeff’s shirttail in. ‘Be a good boy,’ Daddy said.
“Jeff climbed out of the car and waved good-bye to Daddy. Then Jeff rang Granny’s doorbell.
“When Granny opened the door, she pretended that she didn’t know him. ‘Good morning,’ Granny said. ‘Are you selling something? I don’t think I need anything today.’
“Jeff began to giggle. ‘Don’t you need a good little boy?’
“Granny made her face look surprised. ‘How did you know? That’s the only thing that I need.’
“Jeff laughed out loud. ‘I’m just what you need!’ he said.”
Granny stopped telling the story and hugged Jeff. “It’s the same old story,” she said.
“That’s why I like it,” Jeff told her. “Could we have a glass of milk and a cookie for that very good little boy? That comes next in that same old story.”

Her main message is one for potential champions: don’t give up, no matter what happens. “When I was a young gymnast I met a girl, an athlete named Nancy Thies. Nancy was a member of the U.S. Olympic team and one of the finest gymnasts in the country. I have never forgotten some very important things that Nancy taught me. I remember the first thing she said was, ‘Don’t be afraid to lose. She said, ‘If you fall down and you stay down, you’re a quitter and a loser and you will never win. But if you get back up and you try one more time, it will be your turn to be the champion, so just don’t give up.’” Diane says she made a promise to herself that she would remember that advice and never give up, no matter how many times she fell.

Shortly after Joseph F. Smith’s birth, a group of men broke into the Smith home. His mother Mary was ill at the time and his father Hyrum was in jail. Ransacking the house, the men entered the room where the baby slept and, without realizing it, threw sheets and blankets on top of him. They would have been surprised if they had known a baby was hidden by their actions.
Everyone was relieved when the men finally left the home. After a few minutes Mary remembered Joseph, and she and her sister Mercy ran to check on him. When they saw what had happened they were fearful the baby had smothered. Fortunately, their frantic efforts to revive him were successful.

A young college student found herself almost overwhelmed by personal and family difficulties. “It was a time of grief and loneliness,” she recalls. “Then, Lila, a young woman who served with me in a ward calling, began stopping by my apartment to visit with me. Again and again her visits came at the very moments when I felt nearest despair. Her friendship gave me the courage to go on—not only because it lifted me—but because it showed me that my Heavenly Father knew my need.”

The young men, 16 and older, in the Duchesne Utah Stake have had a tantalizing taste of what it feels like to be a missionary. They held a stake missionary conference, planned by their leaders and two youth cochairs, that attempted to include some aspects of a two-year mission experience into two days. Of course, the young men only got a sampling of what it will really be like to be on a mission, but the experience is one they won’t soon forget.
Nearly 50 would-be missionaries arrived on a Friday afternoon at the Duchesne missionary training center—a.k.a. the Duchesne stake center—in their suits, toting their luggage, with their parents in tow. After a short devotional the young men went through one door into the cultural hall and their parents exited another to head back home (a la MTC fashion).
In the cultural hall, the young men were greeted with dinner, missionary packets, and an assigned companion. Outfitted with name tags that read “Brother_______,” the companionships headed to their first training classes. The classes covered a whole range of topics from learning the first missionary discussion and mission rules, to how to sort laundry and pack a suitcase.
Their Saturday classes were not only preparing the young men for their missions but also for their teaching appointments later in the day. The companionships were assigned to teach the first discussion to families in their stake, some of which were part-member and less-active families.
Besides teaching the first discussion, the young men also did what every missionary spends a good deal of time doing: service. They spent all morning landscaping around a chapel, cleaning a section of highway, and beautifying the Duchesne River boardwalk. It was so hot many of the young men were tempted to jump into the river, but a quick check of their missionary handbooks told them swimming was against the rules.
They chose to obey mission rules, just as they are choosing to prepare themselves to go on full-time missions when they turn 19. They are working on their faith and obedience to the gospel. As future missionaries, they know that’s a top priority. Delaney Mecham of the First ward says, “We should all go on missions to bring people to the gospel and to help ourselves. When we’re on our missions our testimonies will grow even more than they have at this conference.”

While serving as an Area Seventy in Mexico, Elder Adrián Ochoa spent a couple of days in the city of Chihuahua in counsel with the stake president and others, then boarded a plane destined for home. But after taking his seat, he received a forceful spiritual prompting that his work in Chihuahua was not finished.
The flight crew was making final preparations for take-off. “But,” said Elder Ochoa, “I knew I had to get off that plane.” So he disembarked. A series of subsequent interviews yielded important information that resolved a difficult issue and permitted the spiritual progress of a family.

By December 1827 there had been several attempts to steal the plates, so Joseph decided to move with Emma to the home of her parents in Harmony Township, Pennsylvania.

When Joseph and Emma arrived, Joseph allowed Isaac Hale, Emma’s father, to heft the plates in a box. Isaac later stated, “I was allowed to feel the weight of the box, and they gave me to understand, that the book of plates was then in the box.” Yet he was unconvinced and dissatisfied with the situation. He told Joseph to either show him the plates or remove them from his house. Joseph hid the plates in the nearby woods until he and Emma moved into their own home on the Hale property.

“I’m scared!” Adam blurted out as he and Mom drove to the church.
“There’s no need to be scared, Son.”
“But what will he ask me? What if I don’t know the answers? Will I still get to be baptized?”
“You don’t need to worry. It will be very much like the father interviews you have each month,” Mom replied, parking the car.
“But why do we have to do it in the bishop’s office?” Adam asked as he shut the car door.
“Because that’s where he interviews all the boys and girls before they’re baptized. I think it helps them understand how important baptism is.”
Adam and Mom sat down outside the bishop’s door. Soon it opened. “Hello, you two,” he greeted them warmly. “Adam, come in. I’ve been looking forward to our visit all day.”
Mom gave Adam a smile of encouragement as the door closed behind him.
After a few questions about school, the bishop asked, “Adam, do you love Jesus?”
Adam nodded.
“Would you tell me what you’re doing to show Him that you love Him.”
“Well, I want to be baptized like He was. And I try to be a good example to my friends so they’ll want to know about the Church.”
“Very good. Anything else?”
“I pay my tithing, go to church, and say my prayers. And I’m preparing to serve a mission.”
“Excellent! I want you to know that I appreciate how kind and helpful you are to others, too,” the bishop added. “That’s another important way you show love for the Savior. Let’s read a scripture in Mosiah 18:10 about baptism.”
Adam took the book from the bishop and carefully read: “‘Now I say unto you, if this be the desire of your hearts, what have you against being baptized in the name of the Lord, as a witness before him that ye have entered into a covenant with him, that ye will serve him and keep his commandments, that he may pour out his Spirit more abundantly upon you?’”
“Adam, are you willing to serve the Lord and keep His commandments?” the bishop asked.
“Yes!”
“Well then, you’re ready to be baptized.”
The two stood up. The bishop shook Adam’s hand. Then he gave Adam a big hug. “Congratulations! I’m very, very proud of you.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Adam said with a grin.

My theory comes from thinking about many gifts and many holidays. But one day and one gift can illustrate it. The day was not Christmas. It was a summer day. My mother died in the early afternoon. My father, my brother, and I had gone from the hospital to our family home, just the three of us. Friends and family came to the house, and went. In a lull, we fixed ourselves a snack. And then we visited with more callers. It grew late, dusk fell, and I remember we had still not turned on the lights.
Dad answered the door bell. It was Aunt Catherine and Uncle Bill. When they’d walked just a few feet past the vestibule, Uncle Bill extended his hand and I could see that he was holding a bottle of cherries. I can still see the deep red, almost purple, cherries and the shining gold cap on the mason jar. He said, “You might enjoy these. You probably haven’t had dessert.”
We hadn’t. The three of us sat around the kitchen table and put some cherries in bowls and ate them as Uncle Bill and Aunt Catherine cleared some dishes. Uncle Bill asked, “Are there people you haven’t had time to call? Just give me some names and I’ll do it.” We mentioned a few relatives who would want to know of mother’s death. And then Aunt Catherine and Uncle Bill were gone. They could not have been with us more than 20 minutes.
Now, you can understand my theory best if you focus on one gift: the bottle of cherries. As nearly as I can tell, the giving and receiving of a great gift always has three parts. Here they are, illustrated by that gift on a summer evening.
First, I knew that Uncle Bill and Aunt Catherine had felt what I was feeling and had been touched. They must have felt we’d be too tired to fix much food. They must have felt that a bowl of cherries, home-canned cherries, would make us, for a moment, feel like a family again. Just knowing that someone had understood meant far more than the cherries themselves. I can’t remember the taste of the cherries, but I remember that someone knew my heart and cared.
Second, I felt the gift was free. I knew Uncle Bill and Aunt Catherine had chosen freely to bring a gift. And I knew they weren’t doing it to compel a response from me. The gift seemed to provide them joy in the giving.
And third, there was sacrifice. I knew that from the cherries being home bottled. That meant Aunt Catherine had made them for her family. They must have liked cherries. But she took that possible pleasure for them and gave it to me. That’s sacrifice. But I realized since then this marvelous fact: it must have seemed to Uncle Bill and Aunt Catherine that they’d have more pleasure if I had the cherries than if they did. There was sacrifice, but it was made for a greater return to them—my happiness. Anyone can feel deprived as they sacrifice, and then let the person who gets a gift know it. But only the expert can let you sense that his sacrifice brings him joy because it blesses you.

President Harold B. Lee told of a great educator, Horace Mann, who “was the speaker at the dedication of a … boys’ school. … In his talk he said, ‘This school has cost hundreds of thousands of dollars; but if this school is able to save one boy, it is worth all that it cost.’ One of his friends came up to [Mr. Mann] at the close of the meeting and said, ‘You let your enthusiasm get away with you, didn’t you? You … said that if this school, costing hundreds of thousands of dollars, were to save just one boy, it was worth all that it cost? You surely don’t mean that.’
“Horace Mann looked at him and said, ‘Yes, my friend. It would be worth it if that one boy were my son; it would be worth it’” (in Conference Report, Apr. 1971, 64–65; or Ensign, June 1971, 61).

Receiving my mission call to the Philippines Cebu Mission was a momentous occasion in my life. I had been preparing for quite some time, and I was ready to serve. Entering the missionary training center was a great experience. It struck me that the first thing that they do there is give you a name tag. But this is no ordinary name tag—it has two names. One is the missionary’s name and the other is the name of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Putting on that name tag was the start of a new understanding for me of what it really meant to be a representative of Jesus Christ.

Zoe took a bite of her cookie. “Yummm.”
“These are just like Grandma’s famous cookies,” Zoe’s older brother Zach said. “She made the best cookies ever!”
Dad’s parents had died before Zoe was born. Her older brothers and sisters and cousins talked about Grandma and Grandpa all the time.
“Your grandma was a great cook,” Dad said as he picked up another cookie. “I miss those dinners she and Grandpa had every Sunday. They always invited the whole family.”
What would it have been like to know Grandma and Grandpa? Zoe wondered.
Zoe listened to her family tell more stories about her grandparents. She loved hearing about them, but she felt a little left out too. She didn’t have any memories to share.
A few days later she was at her older cousin Lily’s house. On Lily’s bed was a cloth doll.
“She’s so pretty!” Zoe said. She softly touched the doll’s dress.
“Grandma gave her to me,” Lily said. “She always did nice things like that. I really miss her.”
“I miss her too,” Zoe said. Then she frowned. How could she miss someone she’d never met?
Over the next week Zoe kept thinking about her grandparents. Every time someone talked about them, she felt an empty place in her heart.
“I never even met Grandma and Grandpa,” Zoe told Dad one night. “Why am I so sad that they’re gone?”
Dad smiled. He let out a soft sigh. “Your grandparents loved their family more than anything.” His voice got kind of scratchy. “I know that didn’t change after they died. They love you very much. And they’re cheering for you as you grow up.”
Dad snapped his fingers. “Hey, I have an idea. Maybe we should have a special family lesson to help you get to know your grandparents better.”
“That sounds nice,” Zoe said.
Dad smiled again. “You can learn all sorts of fun things, like how Grandma used to write silly songs for her grandchildren.”
Zoe wished she had a song written by her grandma.
The next night, the family gathered to share more favorite stories about Grandma and Grandpa. They even shared some of the silly songs Grandma wrote!
At the end of the lesson, Mom turned to Zoe. “I know you’ve been thinking a lot about your grandparents,” she said. “Someday you’ll get to meet them. Until then, Dad and I thought this might help you feel closer to them.” Dad handed Zoe a picture of Grandma and Grandpa.
Zoe felt happy as she looked at the picture of her grandparents. Someday she would finally get to meet them!

Some years ago an assignment took me to one of the islands of the South Seas to dedicate a newly completed chapel. That evening, as I approached the building with some of the local leaders, we were surprised to notice that the building was completely dark.
As we entered the building and saw all the members sitting in the chapel, we inquired about the absence of lighting. The bishop informed us that earlier in the afternoon the building supervisor had inspected the building to make sure all was in readiness for the dedication. But now, as the time approached to begin the services, for some reason there were no lights, even though lights were aglow in nearby homes. All possibilities for correcting the problem were checked without success, and so the local leaders and I decided to proceed with the dedicatory services.
As the program proceeded, illuminated only by a kerosene lantern in front of the chapel, I felt sure that this would be the first dedication performed in darkness in the history of the Church!
I’m sure all those good brothers and sisters in the congregation joined me with a silent prayer in their hearts to ask the Lord to bless us with light so that the chapel could be dedicated.
One by one the speakers spoke—in the dark. The choir sang beautiful anthems—in the dark. As the concluding speaker, I, too, gave my talk in the dark. Then, as I asked the congregation to unite with me for the dedicatory prayer, the lights in the chapel suddenly flickered on. How grateful we were to the Lord for this special blessing! I was overcome with emotion and felt meek and humble that we had been so blessed, but the illumination of the chapel could not compare with the light of love in our hearts for this great blessing in answer to our prayers.
Yes, the Lord blessed us, even as our faith was tested and as we prayed with hope.

My daughter Norma says the following about the way Relief Society has been a blessing in her life: “When Darren and I were newly married and expecting our first baby, we were living in a small college town. We were both full-time students with very little income. Our nearest ward was in a town about 30 miles [48 km] away, and our only means of transportation was an old car that didn’t work most of the time. When the sisters in the ward discovered our circumstances, they immediately joined together to arrange for one of them to always give us a ride to and from church on Sundays and for other Church activities. Some of the sisters lived in other towns and drove 20 or 30 miles [32 to 48 km] out of their way just to pick us up. Additionally, many of the sisters would invite us to their homes for nice family dinners after church. No one ever made us feel like a burden to them. I will never forget the true love and charity that the Relief Society sisters extended to us during that short but challenging time in our lives.”

In 1936, an obscure rowing team from the University of Washington traveled to Germany to participate in the Olympic Games. It was the depths of the Great Depression. These were working-class boys whose small mining and lumber towns donated bits of money so they could travel to Berlin. Every aspect of the competition seemed stacked against them, but something happened in the race. In the rowing world, they call it “swing.” Listen to this description based on the book The Boys in the Boat:
There is a thing that sometimes happens that is hard to achieve and hard to define. It’s called “swing.” It happens only when all are rowing in such perfect unison that not a single action is out of sync.
Rowers must rein in their fierce independence and at the same time hold true to their individual capabilities. Races are not won by clones. Good crews are good blends—someone to lead the charge, someone to hold something in reserve, someone to fight the fight, someone to make peace. No rower is more valuable than another, all are assets to the boat, but if they are to row well together, each must adjust to the needs and capabilities of the others—the shorter-armed person reaching a little farther, the longer-armed person pulling in just a bit.
Differences can be turned to advantage instead of disadvantage. Only then will it feel as if the boat is moving on its own. Only then does pain entirely give way to exultation. Good “swing” feels like poetry.
Against towering obstacles, this team found perfect swing and won. The Olympic gold was exhilarating, but the unity each rower experienced that day was a holy moment that stayed with them all their lives.

Anthon stepped from his doorway onto the cobbled street, hesitated, and turned back to his wife—“the best in the land” he called her.
“Are you coming, Ibine?”
His wife stepped out of the doorway. She was wrapped in woolen scarves and a heavy coat. The February night was icy cold. Their destination was the seashore, a few blocks from their home. The children followed Ibine out the door. Thorvald and Astra were too young to be baptized but not too young to be excited for their parents. Only Anthon didn’t feel excited. He was quiet and pensive while walking along the clean-swept streets of Aalborg, Denmark.
He and his family were nearing the place where they would be baptized. A sick feeling of loneliness hit him in his stomach. “My homeland, my forefathers, all that has been good to me—am I giving up their trust in me for a far-fetched religion sprouted in a distant; new country?”
Every member of the Mormon church who lived in Aalborg was there on the seashore, some holding lanterns. It was a small but cheery group. They sang hymns and smiled. But Anthon was still quiet. He looked into the faces of his beautiful children and wondered if he was doing what was right for them. He knew he would have to find a private school for them because the prejudice in the public schools against the few Mormon children was too much for such young children to bear.
The singing was over. A prayer was given to open the meeting. The missionaries asked a blessing on Brother and Sister Jensen that as they were baptized they would not fall ill from the freezing temperatures. A hole was chopped in the ice. The sacred ordinance was performed for both Anthon and his wife, Ibine. The two new members were welcomed with hugs and handshakes and sent quickly home to their warm fireplace. It was then that Anthon noticed something special—something unexpected. On their way home he found himself walking, almost skipping, with lightened step—his wife and children smiling at him all the way. The heavy burdens of worry had been lifted. He knew he had done the right thing, and above all he knew now that there was something important for him to do in life.