Gospel Story Finder

Remember the verse:
He stood at the crossroads all alone,
The sunlight in his face.
He had no thought for the world unknown—
He was set for a manly race.
But the roads stretched east, and the roads stretched west,
And the lad knew not which road was best;
So he chose the road that led him down,
And he lost the race and victor’s crown.
He was caught at last in an angry snare
Because no one stood at the crossroads there
To show him the better road.
Another day, at the self-same place,
A boy with high hopes stood.
He, too, was set for a manly race;
He, too, was seeking the things that were good;
But one was there who the roads did know,
And that one showed him which way to go.
So he turned from the road that would lead him down,
And he won the race and the victor’s crown.
He walks today the highway fair
Because one stood at the crossroads there
To show him the better way.

Darla’s mom, Alma Puga, and her dad, Blake Miles, were both single parents when they met, fell in love, and married. Blake was the father of Jordan, and Alma was the mother of Pedro, Daniela, and Gabriela.
Later, when Darla was born, she became another strong bond binding two families into one.

When Lexie’s grandmother visited the Humanitarian Center in Salt Lake City, Utah, last year, she learned about the poor conditions for newborn babies in many parts of the world. “Grandma told me that babies were being brought home wrapped in newspapers, and I just thought, ‘What can I do?’” Lexie explains.
She set a goal to make them baby quilts. First, her grandma taught her how to use the sewing machine. Then they purchased batting and flannel decorated with pastel flowers, checked patterns, and bright smiley faces for babies to snuggle up in.
Lexie made her first quilt for her mom. She also gave one to her seven-year-old sister, Lillyn. Lillyn helped Lexie by tying the quilts—using a needle to sew yarn in neat rows across the whole blanket. Then she snipped between the stitches and tied knots so little puffs of yarn would stick up from the fabric. Lillyn had one problem with her task. “Sometimes when I poke a needle through the blanket, I poke myself!” she exclaims.
Lillyn helped in other ways, too. She went with Lexie, their grandma, and a cousin to deliver the blankets to the Humanitarian Center. There Lexie dropped the quilts into a big gray bin filled with blankets and quilts donated by other people. The Humanitarian Center sends these donated items to people in more than 100 countries.
Was reaching her goal worth so much time and work? “Yes,” Lexie insists, nodding quickly. “I know that I’m helping someone, and I feel very good about that.”

Next door, in Gospel Doctrine class, the teacher asks, “What is the most important principle of the gospel?”
A sister timidly raises her hand. “Faith?” she asks.
“That’s a great response,” the teacher replies, “but not quite what I’m looking for. Anyone else?”
Silence.

One of these members was Raj Kumar, who found the Church when he attended a performance of the BYU Young Ambassadors in 1982. When we met him, he had recently returned from his mission to Fresno, California, USA. He still wore his missionary name tag and continued to teach anyone in Delhi who would listen. Raj was one of approximately 600 members in India at the time, but to me he seemed like a lone Latter-day Saint in a sea of hundreds of millions of people.

In 1986, I met Raj Kumar after his mission. Still wearing his missionary name tag, he shared the gospel with anyone who would listen.

I was inspired by Raj Kumar’s example as I chose to serve a mission. Raj also blazed a trail of faith for some of the first native Indian missionaries to serve in the country. Suvarna Katuka and his fellow missionaries had received some missionary training in Chennai. Their mission president, stationed in Singapore, assigned Raj to give them additional training in Delhi.

Suvarna Katuka remembers how their missionary work changed because of Raj Kumar’s example and training. They were able to replace feelings of fear with greater faith and courage. Suvarna explained, “That’s when I think my real conversion started. I felt the Holy Ghost, and that is when I decided to help build the kingdom here in India.”3

President Lorenzo Snow’s granddaughter was in the temple with him on one occasion when President Snow said to her, “‘Allie[,] I want to tell you something. … It was right here that the Lord Jesus Christ appeared to me.’ [Grandfather] put his right hand on [my] head and said, ‘Now granddaughter, I want you to remember that this is the testimony of your grandfather, that he told you with his own lips that he actually saw the Savior, here in the temple, and talked with him face to face.’”

A year after my baptism my wife and I were sealed in the São Paulo Brazil Temple. We also performed baptismal ordinances for my maternal grandparents, and in the temple I sensed their approval.

Rebecca Scanlan, a Laurel, and her older sister, Ruth-Ann, have always enjoyed Christmases that are something close to the ideal. The only thing missing from their picture-perfect holidays might have been a light dusting of snow, since they rarely see any at their Woodstock, Georgia, home.
“I remember that at Christmas we’d listen to my dad tell the Christmas story. We’d eat dinner by candlelight and talk about our blessings. At Christmas I remember that I always felt loved,” says Rebecca.
But since Ruth-Ann and Rebecca’s dad, Fred, is on the board of advisers for a volunteer group that works with abused and battered children, they knew all too well that for many kids, Christmas holds no happy memories, no exciting anticipation. They had heard their dad tell stories of children who had never received a gift or a happy greeting at Christmas, children whose only Christmas wish was for harmony at home. It was a wish that hardly ever came true.
So the girls and their family put their heads together to think of ways to give these children the kind of Christmas they had never known. They decided a Christmas party would not only be a lot of fun but also a great Laurel project. The first time the family hosted the party, Ruth-Ann was in charge. The most important aspect of the party would be a spiritual message about the birth of the Savior. The party would also include food, games, and presents.
It was a tall order, but Ruth-Ann felt confident she could do it. Soon she had help from the missionaries, who had permission to tell the Christmas story and re-enact the Nativity with the children. Her dad dusted off his Santa outfit, ward members baked cookies and provided other goodies, and the youth in her ward dressed up as elves and reindeer to run games and other fun activities.
Presents, however, were another matter. With such a large group of children—many of whom had never had a real Christmas present—Ruth-Ann wanted to get nice gifts for everyone. So she contacted community groups, local businesses, neighbors, and friends to tell them what she had in mind.
What happened next surprised everyone. Gifts and money to buy gifts started to pour into the Scanlan home. When all was said and done, each child got exactly what he or she wanted from Santa Claus.
The community and ward had such a great time helping with Ruth-Ann’s project, she decided to do it again the next year. Now, younger sister Rebecca is a Laurel, and she spends the holiday season coordinating elves and reindeer, cookie bakers and present wrappers. It’s an overwhelming job at what is already a very busy time of year.
“I feel like I have been so blessed. I just want to give these children a little taste of what we have in our home,” says Rebecca.

When I was a boy, we had a horse named Junie. She was one of the most intelligent animals I ever saw. She seemed almost human in her ability. I couldn’t keep her locked in the barn because she would continually undo the strap on the door of her stall. I used to put the strap connected to the half-door of the stall over the top of the post, but she would simply lift it off with her nose and teeth. Then she would go out in the yard.
There was a water tap in the yard used for filling the water trough for our animals. Junie would turn this on with her teeth and then leave the water running. My father would get after me because I couldn’t keep that horse in the barn. She never ran away; she just turned on the water and then walked around the yard or over the lawn or through the garden. In the middle of the night, I would hear the water running and then I would have to get up and shut if off and lock Junie up again.
My father suggested that the horse seemed smarter than I was. One day he decided that he would lock her in so that she couldn’t get out. He took the strap that usually looped over the top of the post and buckled it around the post and under a crossbar, and then he said, “Young lady, let’s see you get out of there now!” My father and I left the barn and started to walk back to the house; and before we reached it, Junie was at our side. She then went over and turned the water on again.
I suggested that now, perhaps, she was about as smart as either one of us. We just couldn’t keep Junie from getting out of her stall. But that doesn’t mean she was bad, because she wasn’t. Father wasn’t about to sell or trade her, because she had so many other good qualities that made up for this one little fault.
The horse was as reliable and dependable at pulling our buggy as she was adept at getting out of the stall. And this was important, because Mother was a licensed midwife. When she would get called to a confinement somewhere in the valley, usually in the middle of the night, I would have to get up, take a lantern out to the barn, and hitch Junie up to the buggy.
I was only about ten or eleven years old at the time; and that horse had to be gentle and yet strong enough to take me and Mother all over the valley, in all kinds of weather. One thing I never could understand, however, was why most of the babies had to be born at night and so many of them in winter.
Often I would wait in the buggy for Mother, and then it was nice to have the company of gentle old Junie. This experience with this horse was very good for me, because early in life I had to learn to love and appreciate her for herself. She was a wonderful horse with only a couple of bad habits. People are a lot the same way. None of us is perfect; yet each of us is trying to become perfect, even as our Father in heaven. We need to appreciate and love people for themselves.
Maybe you need to remember this when you evaluate your parents or teachers or ward and stake leaders or friends—or brothers and sisters. This lesson has always stayed with me—to see the good in people even though we are trying to help them overcome one or two bad habits.

I ran for the office of historian on my fifth-grade student council. When my opponent, Kylie, won I felt sad. Later Kylie slipped me a note that said nice things about me. I will always remember Kylie’s example of kindness.Sara G., age 10, Nevada

When I was young, we had two separate meetings on Sunday: Sunday School in the morning and sacrament meeting in the evening. We had to travel to a nearby town for church. When I was about nine years old, the Church members in our town got permission to have a branch Sunday School of our own. We had a little portable organ, and my father, who had helped get the branch Sunday School started, asked me if I would play the music every Sunday. I hadn’t known how to play the organ for very long, and it was hard.
Later, when I was about ten, I was asked to play the music for Primary. My piano teacher, who was also a Primary leader in my ward, encouraged me. I remember being very nervous as I played the Primary songs. But I did it, and I’m glad I did. My parents often expected me to do things that seemed hard at the time, but I think that those things helped me grow up and become more confident.

Recently while visiting a nursing care facility, I spoke with a woman about her family. She told me that she had three sons, two of whom visit her regularly.
“What about your third son?” I asked.
“I don’t know where he is,” she replied tearfully. “I haven’t heard from him for years. I don’t even know how many grandchildren I have.”
If such a mother yearns to hear from her sons, it is easy to see why a loving Father in Heaven wants to hear from His children. Through prayer, we can show our love for God. And He has made it so easy. We may pray to Him any time. No special equipment is needed. We don’t even need to charge batteries or pay a monthly service fee.

Mom took the first picture and held it as she began the story.
“Your dad and I had been married for several years. We were very happy, but we wanted to have children. The doctors said that would not be possible,” Mom said.
“But that wasn’t true!” Malia said.
Mom smiled. “No, it wasn’t. One day, the phone rang. It was the call we had been waiting for. A young woman had chosen our family to adopt her baby because she wasn’t able to care for her.”
Mom held up the first picture. A young woman with long, dark hair and blue eyes smiled at the camera. She was Malia’s birth mother, and she had chosen Malia’s parents to adopt her baby.
“When your birth mother handed you to me, it was the most special moment of my life. I could see her love for you in her eyes, and I immediately loved you too,” Mom said.
“When I held you for the first time I knew you belonged in our family,” Dad said.

Many times when we are involved in conflicts in the home we think others should change or adjust. I think of the tribal council where they were trying to solve the problem of rocky ground that hurt their feet. There were many suggestions, such as planting grass, smoothing out the ground, etc.; but finally the most sensible suggestion among the tribe was, “Why not pad our own feet?” The individuals made the proper adjustments.

Some years ago the entire United States was shocked with the report that a group of cadets at the U.S. Military Academy had been discharged because of cheating on their examinations in violation of the honor code and the solemn promise they gave at the time they entered the service. The reaction among the people of the United States was, to some extent, disappointing. Instead of feeling indignant, many seemed to justify cheating, stating that the honor standards were too high and that some cheating should be expected. One of the cadets who had withheld information said, “You don’t ‘fink’ on your buddies.”

Jim had just turned 18. He was sitting across from a General Authority of the Church, obviously nervous, filled with frustration, and showing a lot of animosity. His request was forthright, simple, and came out like he couldn’t wait to say it.
“I want to be excommunicated from the Church—today!”
“How long have you been a member?”
“About three years,” came the answer.
“Why do you make such a request?”
“Because I have lost my free agency. I like to smoke, and the Church is depriving me of my free agency to live the way I want to live.”
Jim failed to recognize that his most important exercise of free agency occurred when he decided to be baptized and to live in accordance with gospel standards.
Jim had obviously acquired associations with peers outside the Church who had gradually dulled the spiritual sensitivity and uplift that he had felt at the time of his baptismal commitment.
He was no longer a free young man. He had fallen prey to one of the adversary’s many ploys and deceptions which deceives the very elect at times and entices people away from the truth. Jim complained that the Church was depriving him of his freedom. But in actuality, it is the truth of the gospel that makes us free (see John 8:32). We all have a great need to be free.

“Remember when the Johnsons had a fire and we invited them to stay with us? You shared your room,” Dad said.
“And you played with the baby so we could help them rebuild their house,” Mom added. “That was a big help. Now the Johnsons are back in their home.”
Josiah smiled. He liked helping the Johnsons. Was that Heavenly Father helping through him?

I’ve always made an impressive grilled cheese sandwich. Between that delectable dish and a handful of other recipes, I kept myself alive and functioning throughout my mission and well into adulthood. But then I got married and had kids, all of whom have different tastes. I needed to expand my menu!

However, on nights when it was my turn to cook, attempting new meals proved to be a challenge. For starters, my evening time was usually limited. Even though I wanted to cook a variety of meals, I kept hitting snags. I couldn’t find ingredients fast enough, or we’d be missing some. More often than not, I’d scrap my planned dinner and instead go for quick and easy. And yet I kept wanting to improve in this area. So I decided to do something I had never done. I prayed for a spiritual gift by name.

Specifically, I prayed for the gift of organization. Yes, organization! We already had a spice cupboard. We also had cooking utensils drawers. Yet even with those in place, I seemed to spend more time looking for supplies than cooking.

As I consistently prayed for this gift, I began receiving specific ideas. A wall-mounted spice rack would organize spices and keep them handy. A magnetic kitchen bar (also wall-mounted) could store knives and other metal cooking utensils. These and other ideas, once put in motion, made a big difference in my cooking efforts. Need some thyme? Garlic salt? Garlic powder? I’m your guy!

But then a funny thing happened. Little ideas continued popping into my mind for small ways to better organize other areas of my life. For example, my three-level homemade laundry tower won’t carry my family to the promised land, but even Nephi would’ve appreciated the way in which I built it—by following promptings that came to me one piece at a time.

The spiritual gift of organization has improved my life and the lives of my family more than I would’ve ever guessed.

And it all came because I asked for it.

When President Spencer W. Kimball was nine years old, his job on the family farm was milking from two to nine cows every day. Milking cows can become boring, so he thought of things to do while he milked that were interesting and good and fun. He practiced squirting a stream of milk into the mouths of the cats that gathered around at milking time. He memorized every word of the Articles of Faith and the Ten Commandments to the beat of milk squirts hitting the pail. He copied most of the songs in the hymnbook on sheets of paper and memorized them. On a one-legged stool, with his head pressed against the cow’s side, he sang them to the cows.

President Kimball made his spirit clean and pure and free by filling his mind with worthwhile things while he worked. How can you do the same thing?

From Church history we read: “Certain residents of Hiram, Ohio, vented their personal feelings with mob action directed against the Prophet and Sidney Rigdon. Stimulated by whiskey and hidden behind blackened faces, a gang of more than two dozen men dragged Joseph from his bed during the night of March 24, 1832. Choking him into submission, they stripped him naked, scratched his skin with their fingernails, tore his hair, then smeared his body with tar and feathers. A vial of nitric acid forced against his teeth splashed on his face; a front tooth was broken. Meanwhile other members of the mob dragged Rigdon by the heels from his home, bumping his head on the frozen ground, which left him delirious for days. The Prophet’s friends spent the night removing the tar to help him keep a Sunday morning [preaching] appointment. He addressed a congregation that included Simonds Ryder, organizer of the mob” (James B. Allen and Glen M. Leonard, The Story of the Latter-day Saints [1976], 71).
Ryder was a convert who turned away because the Prophet Joseph had misspelled his name, apparently concluding that a prophet was one who had to be a perfect speller.