Gospel Story Finder

It may seem natural to react to a situation by giving back what is given to us. But it doesn’t have to be that way. Reflecting on his horrendous wartime experiences, Viktor Frankl recalled: “We who lived in concentration camps can remember the men who walked through the huts comforting others, giving away their last piece of bread. They may have been few in number, but they offer sufficient proof that everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way” (Man’s Search for Meaning, rev. ed. [1984], 86; emphasis added).

I just had to sit down and write a thank-you for one of the greatest magazines I’ve ever read. I received a subscription from my friend last summer, and since then I’ve been having many great moments with the New Era, moments filled with both laughter and tears. I have really enjoyed articles like “The Last of the Big-Time Spenders” and “The Award” (both by Brother Weyland), and “The Stern but Sweet Seventh Commandment” by Elder Neal A. Maxwell. I think the New Era is just what we need in the world today, something that tells us that it is really worthwhile to be different.
Well, I should have warned you that there are no roses without a few thorns! Somebody has said that you can never wait too long for anything good. But still, receiving the December New Era in the middle of February isn’t so nice. Is it possible to get the New Era by airmail? I’m willing to pay extra for it. If no, dear New Era, while I learn patience, please could you hurry just a little?
Tarja MannonenHelsinki, Finland

At this time of life, I’ve needed Heavenly Father more than ever to guide me and to help me strengthen my faith. And I’ve been frustrated sometimes when I’m doing everything to invite the Spirit and I’m still not getting any answers from heaven. Thankfully, I learned from Sister Sheri Dew, former Second Counselor in the Relief Society General Presidency, that to open the lines of communication with Heavenly Father, ask yourself these questions:
Are your questions asked with the assumption that there are answers?
Are you willing to trust the Lord and give Him the benefit of the doubt?
And then ask Heavenly Father:
To teach you how He speaks to you individually.
How He feels about you.
“Then watch how He tutors you,” she says. “including the scriptures you’re drawn to, the emphases in general conference messages you may have missed the first time around, and so on. … Over time, He will tell you, and as He does, you’ll learn more about discerning revelation through the Spirit.”5
These two vital questions have made a big difference in my ability to recognize and receive revelation.

Both Katya’s and Ivana’s families joined the Church shortly after the Kyiv Ukraine Mission was organized in 1992. But both families drifted into inactivity before either girl was old enough to be baptized.
At age 15 Katya was returning from a trip with a community youth group. She was surprised when her father told her that he had invited the missionaries to teach her. He made it clear that while she was welcome to listen, he was not interested.
Katya set a time to meet with the missionaries. “As I listened, I felt that this is the right way to go. I remembered those feelings I’d had going to church as a child. And after a while, I decided to be baptized,” she says.

In her book My Grandfather’s Blessings, Dr. Rachel Remen tells of becoming good friends with a couple and their young son, Kenny. When she visited, she would sit on the floor with Kenny and play with his two Hot Wheels cars. Sometimes she would have the one without a fender and he had the one with a door missing and sometimes vice versa. He loved those cars!
When a gas station chain offered a Hot Wheels car with every fill-up, she recruited the staff at her clinic to go to that particular station and collect the cars. As soon as she had all of the models, she wrapped them in a big box to take to Kenny. She hoped she wouldn’t offend his parents, who lived quite meagerly. Kenny excitedly opened the big box and took out the cars one by one. They filled the windowsills and even extended to the floor. What a collection! Later, while visiting the family, Rachel noticed Kenny just staring out the window. When she asked Kenny, “What’s the matter? Don’t you like your new cars?” he looked down very sheepishly. “I’m sorry, Rachel. I guess I just don’t know how to love so many Hot Wheels.” (See “Owning” [2000], 60–61.)

The Young Women in the Hemet Third Ward, Hemet California Stake, used their artistic talents to provide a quiet activity for children waiting to be sealed to their parents in the temple. The girls painted wooden dolls and puzzles for the children to play with.
After their project was completed, the girls were told they could see their toys in use when they went on their next trip to do baptisms for the dead. Now they have other reasons to look forward to going to the temple!

The Ramabulana family from South Africa each took a turn to share how they #ConnectwithChrist:
“When I pray and be kind to others.” —Unam, oldest sister

We’ve been told not to procrastinate:
our senses will disintegrate;
our joints we will not lubricate
doing only what we like.
But as I sit and meditate,
my muscles won’t cooperate;
working conditions they clearly hate.
I think they’ve gone on strike!

I did want to be baptized, but when I got home my parents thought I was brainwashed and they did everything in their power to dissuade me. The awful thing about it was that I let them. I lost contact with all my LDS friends, and I let my testimony die. At one point in my life, I had wanted nothing to do with the Mormons, and I no longer believed in the doctrine.
But that still, small voice in me kept telling me to write in my journal. On one occasion I wrote:
I feel empty, I don’t feel complete, there is something missing. Why do I feel like I’m searching for something to grab on to? I’m lost; I desperately need direction. My testimony has been shattered. I feel I should hold on to my Catholic beliefs, but I don’t know what to do.
Well, even though it wasn’t a complete prayer, the Lord heard my plea. My friend from Quebec phoned to see how things were going. I tried to mask my feelings, but she saw through me. She pleaded with me to go to church. I finally told her I no longer believed and wanted nothing to do with the Mormons. She saw through that also. She told me she knew I had a testimony; it just needed to be revitalized. She told me that she loved me so much and wanted so badly for me to do the things that were right. We talked a little longer, and the last thing she told me was to go back to my journal and read what I had written. Well, that night I turned to my journal and read what I had written. Something came over me. I felt such a strong urge to pray. As I prayed and read, I felt that sweet, reassuring comfort of the Spirit. The Lord knew that I so very badly wanted to believe but that there were many obstacles in my way.
The next day I went to church contrary to my parents liking. I was so very scared, but right away some girls in the ward recognized that I was new and welcomed me. After many sleepless nights and long discussions, I was finally baptized. What really helped me when I needed it most was my journal. I said to myself, “I must have felt these things or I wouldn’t have written them.” Even at the time when I didn’t believe, I knew the Lord prompted me to write the things which I felt at the time. My journal saved me. It was a way the Lord was communicating with me, and it was something I knew I had to trust because it was coming from within.

In June, my dad encouraged everyone to not watch TV or be on the computer as much, so the family would hang out more. I really liked it, but it was hard sometimes. But I love hanging out with my family so much more than watching a TV show or movie!
—Alyssa M.

It was one of those rare Sunday mornings when, for a very special reason, I happened to be at home in my own ward. We sat on the last row, and our only son, a tall, fine young man, walked, at the invitation of the bishop, up the aisle and stood by the pulpit. The bishop spoke about my son and presented him to the congregation for their sustaining vote to his advancement in the Aaronic Priesthood. We all voted, and later I had the great privilege, at the invitation of the bishop, to ordain my son. Later, at lunch, he was telling his sisters about the events of that morning. He said it was kind of scary walking up that aisle and standing up before the congregation all alone with the bishop. But he said, “When they voted, I looked down and saw Dad’s hand higher than all the rest, and I felt all right.” And he was right. I had hoisted my hand just as high as I could get it. He is my son, you see—and that is how I feel about him. The relationship between fathers and sons is a very special one.

We left early the next morning, frightened and hurried. On our way to the bus stop, we saw soldiers supported by tanks firing ri?es at those protesting the revolution.

Fuel was beginning to run scarce, and instead of three bus departures a day as usual, only one was being announced. The seats had sold out days in advance. I found the manager and said the words I had used with everyone else: “Sir, we are Mormons, and we are going to the temple to get married. And you can help us.” He asked, “Where do you need to go?” “Cochabamba, sir.” He opened a drawer and pulled out two tickets. I could see there were no more. “Hurry up,” he said, “the bus is about to leave.” Our suitcases seemed weightless, and our feet barely touched the ground—in our hands we held that day’s blessing.

A recently returned missionary, Meg, was walking toward the doors of the Kona Hawaii Temple when she noticed a young woman sitting alone on a bench outside. Meg felt that she should speak to the young woman, but she wasn’t sure what to say. So she asked about the meaning of a tattoo on the young woman’s ankle. That began a conversation that allowed the young woman, Lani, to share her story.
Lani told Meg about her struggle to return to full participation in the Church, the nice members who were helping her, and her hope to someday be sealed to her baby daughter.
Meg invited Lani to come sit in the temple waiting room with her. They would not be able to go further into the temple yet, but they would be able to cross the threshold. Lani agreed, and they went together through the main doors. A temple worker showed them to a bench beneath a painting of the Savior.
As they sat together, Lani whispered, “I really wanted to come into the temple today, but I was nervous.” Because Meg followed the Spirit, she helped answer Lani’s silent prayer.

Other girls had normal little brothers who were cute, happy, and all-around great. I had Mark.
Somehow Mark seemed to be the most obnoxious little brother in the world. Whenever I cleaned a room in the house, he would mess it up in no time. At the times when I was in a terrible mood, he would bother me until I sent him crying to Mother. Soon afterwards I’d get in trouble.
“Why can’t he leave me alone?” I would often pout in the solitude of my room. “Why can’t he be normal?”
One day I stomped into my room after a trying day at school. Nothing had gone right at all. Somebody knocked at the door. From the corner of my eye I saw Mark’s small frame.
“I have something to show you,” he said in a nervous voice.
I ignored him, hoping that I wouldn’t have to contend with him right then.
“I have something to show you,” he repeated. He shifted uneasily from side to side and awaited my answer.
“Okay,” I grumbled with my back to him. He stepped into the room and began talking to me. He was very uncomfortable as he stammered through a short remark.
“In my homeroom class we were assigned to write an essay on somebody in our family, and …” He paused. Then with renewed determination, he blurted, “Read this.” He dropped a piece of folded paper on the floor next to me, then hurried out of the room.
Curiously, I unfolded the paper and prepared myself to proofread it for him. “My sister Kristi is my favorite sister. I like her because she is nice.” A wave of guilt swept over me. I read on. “She drove me to piano lessons. After we had our lesson, she would drive us to 7-11. We took turns treating each other to Slurpees.” I had no idea he enjoyed that so much. What a cute little brother!
I read about some of my accomplishments that he had admired. The essay finished with, “I’m glad Kristi is my sister. She is about the best there can be. Well, I think so.”
I thought of the many times that I had turned him away when he tried to cheer me up. I was so selfish. I read John 13:34: “A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another.” I now had a new attitude towards Mark. He was the cutest little brother in the world. I realized how much he meant to me and how much I loved him.
I pulled out a piece of paper and picked up my pen. “Dear Mark, Thank you for letting me read the essay that you wrote. I really love you a lot. I know that I can be mean at times. Please forgive me. …” I continued to tell him how much I appreciated him. I folded the paper and delivered it to him. He looked embarrassed as he took the paper from my hand.
Since then, I have enjoyed my little brother’s company. Whenever I talk about my brother to my friends, I always begin with, “I have the cutest little brother in the world!”

I am grateful to the Lord that my temple memories extend back—even to young boyhood. I remember so well, as a little boy, coming in from the field and approaching the family farm house in Whitney, Idaho. I could hear my mother singing “Have I Done Any Good in the World Today?” (Hymns, no. 58.)
I can still see her in my mind’s eye, beads of perspiration on her forehead, bending over the ironing board with clean paper covering the floor where she worked, ironing long strips of white cloth. When I asked her what she was doing, she said, “These are temple robes, my son. Your father and I are going to the temple at Logan.”
Then she put the old flatiron on the stove, drew a chair close to mine, and told me about temple work—how important it is to be able to go to the temple and participate in the sacred ordinances performed there. She also expressed her fervent hope that some day her children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren would have the opportunity to enjoy these priceless blessings.
These sweet memories about the spirit of temple work were a blessing in our farm home, our little rural ward of three hundred, and the old Oneida Stake. These memories have returned as I have performed the marriage of each of our children and grandchildren, my mother’s grandchildren and great-grandchildren, under the influence of the Spirit in the House of the Lord.

From her bedroom window, Sandra spied a robin tugging at a worm. She ran to the kitchen and told her mother, “There’s a robin in the yard, and I’m going to catch it!”
Sandra scurried out the door and bounded toward the robin. The bird flew away. Sandra thought, I didn’t go fast enough. So when the robin landed in the yard again, Sandra raced as fast as her legs would go. But the robin was in the air before Sandra got halfway to it.
Sandra pushed her hands into her pockets. If I could fly, I could catch that robin, she thought.
Seeing it perched in the tree, she called, “Here, birdie. Here, robin.”
But the robin just flew to a higher branch, where Sandra couldn’t see it at all. Sandra was disappointed. She sat under the tree and squeezed her eyes shut and said, “Heavenly Father, please help me. I just want to see the pretty robin up close. I won’t hurt it, I promise.
Opening her eyes again, Sandra thought, Maybe if I had a worm, that robin would come to get it.
Sandra used her sandbox shovel to dig in the dirt near the porch steps. She turned the dirt over, as she’d seen Daddy do, and found a small, wriggly worm. Sandra picked it up and held it in the palm of her hand. Then she went over to the tree and held out her hand and called, “Here’s a worm, robin! Come and get it.”
But the robin didn’t come.
Sandra sat down on the porch step. She tossed the worm to the ground. A tear ran down her cheek.
Just then the robin landed in the yard. Sandra just sat there. She knew that if she moved, it would fly away again.
The robin hopped closer. Sandra held her breath as it hopped very close to her, snatched the worm, and flew away.
Sandra clapped her hands and laughed out loud. Heavenly Father had answered her prayer. She couldn’t catch a bird, but she could watch it up close if she sat very still and was very quiet. She laughed again and went inside to tell her mother.

(President of the Church from 1918 to 1945)
President Heber J. Grant taught his family to look for ways to be unselfish during Christmas. One year President Grant’s children decided to donate money to help build the Salt Lake Temple instead of getting Christmas presents. Another year President Grant noticed that a woman he worked with was very poor. His family decided to take the money they would have spent on gifts for each other and give it to her instead. The woman was overjoyed on Christmas morning when President Grant handed her a turkey and a check to help pay for her house!

In Japan, I witnessed a 21-year-old man accept the gospel. After baptism, he was the only member of the Church in his family. He completed the family history work for his deceased grandfather so he could perform ordinance work vicariously for him, literally doing something for his grandfather that his grandfather could no longer do for himself. As this young man came up out of the baptismal font, he had tears in his eyes. He said, “Now I know and feel, I have a witness, that I am not the only member of this Church in my family.” These ordinances strengthened his relationship with his family and brought a new closeness into his life.

On one occasion, I spent a few minutes with a young man who had left high school and entered the military. Now he was trying to decide what to do with his life. I encouraged him to return to finish high school.

I did not provide him with money; the Church had no school for him, not even a scholarship. In those few minutes, I simply taught him that self-reliance which is such a part of our way of life. Even though over age, he returned to finish high school, and now he provides for his family and encourages his children in their search for truth.

When he has the chance, Michael likes to get together with other LDS youth. Like when he sang in the choir for the dedication of Church history sites in historic Kirtland. He talks warmly about the three- to four-hour drives to Kirtland for practices. But he remembers most the wonderful experience of the dedication and the fireside the night before where he saw President Gordon B. Hinckley and other General Authorities speak.

“We see these people in general conference. But this was live. And at the end of the dedication everyone got up and spontaneously sang ‘We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet,’” Michael remembers (Hymns, no. 19). “It was surreal almost. It was an amazing feeling throughout the whole dedication. It was neat.”