Gospel Story Finder

No longer single, Gaylamarie and I waited, certain that children would come. One year. Two. A third. Waiting. We did our best to wait patiently. Our pleading became more intense, but still no child.

In another place a young, single daughter of our Heavenly Father experienced her own journey through Bountiful’s mists. Forgetting for a time who she was, she conceived a child. Her prayers began a long process of remembering. She determined that for her, the fullest expression of her love for the child would be not only the gift of life but a life with a father and a mother, united in grace and the sealing power. Like Christ, she made a sacrifice. An intimate restoration was set in motion by Providence that transformed her heartache into the answer to our prayers. This circle of grace made two rotations, bringing both our daughters into our home. Karen Marie and Eliza tutor me about atoning transformations. The Atonement is the only force I know that can make straight what is spiritually crooked. Of course Christ does not want us to err, and when we do, we suffer consequences—consequences I have found to be in proportion to the seriousness of the mistake. But the Atonement assures us of two things: that those consequences need not be eternal, and that Christ’s gentle alchemy can turn our transgression into something that works both to our good and to his name’s glory. Six months after each daughter’s birth, we knelt together at an altar. There the priesthood performed another restoration: through its power we and they were changed; we were declared to be bound together, sealed, “as if” Karen Marie and Eliza had been born to us. I have spent many hours reflecting on that “as if” and find in that simple conjunction the power that potentially binds us forever to the Lord.

“For unto us a child is born” (Isaiah 9:6). Isaiah’s phrase predicts and celebrates the birth of the Savior: the key event of universal restoration. Gaylamarie and I repeat the same phrase, intimately. These births that resulted in our rebirth are part of the same story, conceived by the same author. When our girls look at us, we see in their countenance the outline of grace; and when we feel their arms around us, we understand Amulek’s description of the Atonement, which “encircles [us] in the arms of safety” (Alma 34:16). Often as I leave for work, three-year-old Karen Marie reminds me, “Be obedient today, Daddy.” My daughters find physical safety in my arms; I find spiritual safety in theirs.

Two years before, when Jeanette and I were at girls’ camp, a testimony meeting was planned for the last night. When we were leaving our cabin for the bonfire, I told Jeanette, “When this night is over, I think I’ll know for sure the Church is true.” But even after testimony meeting I didn’t, not for sure. Not for sure—that was the problem.

That night after the meeting we told ghost stories. One of the older girls told about a story this German guy wrote. It was all about Christ coming back at the end of the world, but instead of saving everybody and taking them to heaven, he tells everyone the resurrection is called off—just a fake. Then everything starts falling apart and flying every which way. The whole universe comes apart at the seams. I had nightmares about that story. It still makes me shudder.

Similarly, I remember the concerns President Harold B. Lee expressed to me when I was president of BYU. Shortly before the Provo Temple was dedicated, he told me of his concern that the accessibility of the temple would cause some BYU students to attend the temple so often that they would neglect their studies. He urged me to work with the BYU stake presidents to make sure that the students understood that even something as sacred and important as temple service needed to be done in wisdom and order so that the students would not neglect the studies that should be the major focus of their time during their student years.

One of the finest things that came out of the decade of the sixties was the trend toward and the emphasis upon individuality. This was reflected in the catchphrase “Do your own thing” and in Paul Anka’s lyrics, “I did it my way.” But that generation did not originate this idea. It is as old as the human race, even much older. At other times, it was expressed in other, perhaps more eloquent language.

It was precisely this idea that worked such a change in the attitudes and accomplishments of President David O. McKay. You will remember that at one point during his mission in the British Isles as a young man, he reached a point of discouragement when he felt inept and unproductive. In the midst of this despondency, he saw, one day, inscribed on a stone over the entryway of a building, the phrase, “What e’er thou art, act well thy part.” This short statement brought home to him a great truth he had not previously understood: It matters little where we serve or in what capacity. What does matter is how we serve.

In the spring of 1836, Charles Rich was a missionary preaching the restored gospel in southern Ohio. He had to have been disappointed that he arrived in Kirtland, Ohio, on April 12—about two weeks after the dedication of the Kirtland Temple.
He had traveled by steamship along the Ohio River and then walked nearly 100 miles (160 km). He saw the house of Lord on top of a natural rise in the landscape with its blue walls and red roof. But he was late. He had missed the dedication, the solemn assembly, and, he thought, the promised endowment of power from on high.
Although Charles Rich had missed the Kirtland Temple dedication, he learned that he and several other missionaries who had arrived late to Kirtland were going to experience the endowment. After the pattern of the ancient Israelite priests (see Exodus 29; 40), he was washed and anointed. He gathered with the others, fasting, praying, and feasting on the Lord’s Supper.
“We prophesied all night,” Charles wrote. “It was prophesied that salvation was written on every limb and joint” of his body. “I was filled with the spirit of prophecy, and I was endowed with power from on high.”
He spent the rest of his life—47 years—laboring as a disciple of Jesus Christ, building up the kingdom of God.

I always told myself that I would never drink or smoke because that was what I was taught. Then I started doing things with people that did drink and smoke. The more I was around them, the more curious I became. One night I drank; then a couple of days later I tried smoking. Smoking made me sick, so I know for a fact that I will never do that again. But it took me almost a year to realize that drinking is wrong and that I don’t want to drink any more. Most people do want to find these things out for themselves rather than take other’s advice, but please remember this. It’s easier to say no if you have never tried it even once.
Name Withheld

“When I became an assistant to the mission president, it was difficult initially,” recalls Houston. “I had to train missionaries, including some who had more education than I had. I felt inadequate until I prayed and received a testimony that ‘whom the Lord calls, the Lord qualifies’ (Thomas S. Monson quoting Harold B. Lee, “Who Honors God, God Honors,” Ensign, November 1995, 50). This knowledge helped me proceed.”

I have addressed a serious topic. I want to end with a very happy story.
Kathy Williams has been my valentine for 43 years. Next month we will celebrate our 42nd wedding anniversary. President Gilbert said we have 4 children, 16 grandchildren. At your age, we became grounded, rooted, and settled. Whatever came, we would face it together. Our life has not been without challenges that sometimes seemed as big as mountains. But through these many years, we have loved our Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, and we have loved one another. She has been a perfect angel. I have been far less.
The thought of having Kathy by my side forever stirs and illuminates my soul. I love her more than words can say. "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways." There are too many to count. She is my valentine today, tomorrow, and always.

Once I visited some Primary children in Jamaica. I asked them to draw a picture of something they could do that week to show Heavenly Father that they love Him. Two girls were sitting near each other.

The younger girl had just a teeny, little pencil with no eraser. She was struggling to draw her picture. The older girl noticed the younger girl needed help. She handed her own pencil to her. The younger girl smiled, took the pencil, and started drawing.

I watched the older girl wait patiently while the younger girl finished her drawing. Then the younger girl handed the pencil back. They took turns using the pencil without saying any words. The older girl was willing to help, and the younger girl was just so grateful and accepting of that help. They knew they could depend on each other.

When everyone finished their drawings, I told the older girl that I saw her share her pencil. I asked, “Why did you do that?”

She said, “I just saw she needed help.”

Then I asked the younger girl, “How did you feel when she helped you?”

She said, “I was so grateful!” It was very sweet.

Two Brisbane youth recently completed a unique double. As members of the 11th Regional Army Cadet Unit, Michelle Park and Rebecca Hollis received awards as cadets of the year at their annual ceremonial parade. Michelle and Rebecca are the only Church members in the cadet unit, which covers the 16 high schools in the Logan City area.
“I’ve been told the other cadets really respect us for the standards we keep,” Rebecca says. “They know we don’t smoke or drink or swear.”
“Just the same,” Michelle says, “it’s nice to have Rebecca around to help me maintain my standards.”

But with all of her achievements and associations, none has meant as much to her as meeting two missionaries in October 1981.

One day Julia was asked to help lead a project to repair a library destroyed in one of the Soweto riots. Her first reaction was to refuse. What? she asked herself. Do they think I’m Cinderella? If we rebuild that building, they’ll just burn it down again. But as she thought about the request, her heart softened. She went down to the site to see what she could do to help. There, she was shocked to see two young white men working in the dust and heat. Seeing white men in Soweto was rare, but seeing them do manual labor for blacks was sheer fantasy. Curious, Julia approached them. They identified themselves as missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and invited her to hear their message.

Accepting their invitation was not easy. Her home was in disarray—but more important, it would be very dangerous to have white people in her home. It could mean trouble for them as well as for the family hosting them. “But something bent in me,” Julia says, “and I couldn’t turn them away. I asked them to give me three days to clean up my cobwebs.”

At their first meeting, she was polite but not impressed. On their second visit, however, they saw a picture of Julia’s wedding and asked about her husband. When she told them he was dead, they explained that baptism could be performed for him. At that moment, “Something opened in my mind,” Julia recalls. “‘Take baptism for him?’ I asked. ‘In what way?’” They explained how.

“I said to them, ‘Look here, elders. You have shocked me. I am a black, and we are not allowed to speak about the dead in other churches. Now you come and tell me about my dead. You’ve got a different message. Come again.’ Their words had touched a very delicate place in my heart.

“So they returned, and I listened to them. I said to myself that there could be no better, truer church, for I had always had much love for my parents. I could never understand why I was taught to forget about them and not mention them. I guess there was a fear that people would go back to ancestor worship.

“I was also deeply impressed by the First Vision of the Prophet Joseph Smith—how he talked directly with God. Reading the Book of Mormon changed my whole life. That was what really brought me to my knees. I started to realize that we are but one family.”

Julia was baptized on 28 November 1981, less than two months after meeting the missionaries. Of her baptism, she says: “When the door opened and I walked into the waters of baptism, I could really feel the cleansing power. I felt real joy.”

When I met Gina, who became my wife, she was a faithful member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She wanted me to learn about the Church so we could marry in the temple. But I didn’t want that. I was not religious.
Eventually we got married civilly. After we had a child, I still wasn’t interested in the Church, but Gina kept attending.
Finally, I decided I would prove that her church was wrong by going to other churches. This went on for several years, but no matter where I went, I wasn’t comfortable.
Then, one Sunday as Gina was getting our daughter ready to go to church, I started getting dressed for church too. She looked at me and asked, “What are you doing?” I responded, “I’m going to go to church with you.” She looked at our daughter and said, “Get ready quick! We don’t want him to change his mind!”
So, off we went. Because I felt the Holy Ghost through the people at church, they were essential to my conversion. After that, the missionaries came to our home. They were awesome, the teachings they shared were beautiful to me, and the Spirit filled my heart (see Moroni 10:4–5).
I joined the Church, and soon Gina and I were sealed in the temple. Our daughter was sealed to us, and we now have three more children who were born in the covenant.

The power and influence one person can have is enormous. It was one Sarah Ann Meeks who paid what seemed to be her ultimate sacrifice as she stood alone on the doorstep of her home in far-off England nearly a century and a half ago. Her father met her there with a small bundle containing a few of her belongings and with these words, “You join that church and you must never set foot in my home again.” Unfortunately that was the last she saw of her family. Alone? Very much alone! She could have bowed to that impossible, heart-wrenching rejection. But no—she loved the Lord. She had been touched by the Spirit and knew that the gospel of Jesus Christ had been restored to the earth in its fulness. She knew that she must stand as a witness to the truthfulness of this message. She knew that she could make a difference.
From that one stalwart woman has sprung a progeny of faithful Latter-day Saints difficult to number. Literally hundreds of her descendants have stood as witnesses all around the world testifying to the reality of the Restoration of the gospel—the same message she embraced as she stood alone. One of those descendants now stands here as an especial witness of the Savior Jesus Christ, bearing solemn testimony to all the world that God the Eternal Father lives, that Jesus is the Christ, the Savior of the world, and that leading The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints today is a living and loving prophet of God, serving with all the meaning that sacred title implies.

Our children need to understand the principle of agency and the significance of the choices they make. I remember a time when I was in high school and wanted to drop out of a type class because it was too hard for me. I hated that class. I begged my parents to sign the form giving their permission for me to drop the class from my schedule. My father explained over and over all the reasons why he thought I should stay in the class. He said, “It’s important to stay with something once you begin it, especially when it’s hard. You need to work and try to do your best.” Finally in desperation he said, “I’ve told you how I feel, and now, Ruth, the decision is up to you. I’ll sign the paper if you want me to.” After spending a sleepless night fighting off my desire to do what I wanted, I finally chose to stay in the class. Although I struggled with typing for the rest of the year, I’m glad I stayed, and I’m especially glad for the counsel of my father. He helped me to understand my options. He was clear on how he felt about the matter, but he didn’t force me.

Brittany Winberg, from Idaho Falls, Idaho, followed President Hinckley’s counsel soon after the fireside. She found that living with a spirit of gratitude does in fact yield wonderful results.
“My mother had prepared a special Sunday dinner after the fireside, and I went into the kitchen to help her with the dishes afterward. While in the kitchen I felt a stinging prompting, remembered the prophet’s words about gratitude, and humbly said, ‘Mom, thank you so much for everything; you are the greatest.’ She looked at me and tears welled up in her eyes and she grabbed me in a tight embrace. She then told me how horrible her day was and that I had done exactly what she had been praying for.”
Just as Brittany had found, saying “thank you” is a wonderful way to express gratitude to those around us.

I urge you to do what a missionary companion of mine did. He had run away from home as a teenager, and someone had placed a Book of Mormon in a box he carried with him in his search for more happiness.
Years passed. He moved from place to place across the world. He was alone and unhappy one day when he saw the box. The box was filled with things he had carried with him. At the bottom of the box, he found the Book of Mormon. He read the promise in it and tested it. He knew it was true. That witness changed his life. He found happiness beyond his fondest dreams.

Last year just before Christmas, I attended a dinner given in honor of a high-ranking French official who is not a member of the Church. The dinner was held in the Joseph Smith Memorial Building in Salt Lake City, Utah.
Before sitting down to our meal, we took our guest to the observation window on the 10th floor, which offers visitors a beautiful view of Temple Square. The scene was almost magical, with the Salt Lake Temple standing tall amid myriad glittering lights. We stood there for several minutes, almost speechless.
Upon our return to the banquet room, the official asked us an unexpected question: “Do you believe in the end of the world?” This led to an inspiring discussion about the Lord’s Second Coming and the importance for all of us to be prepared to receive Him on the day of His return.
As I was thinking about the temple we had just admired, a wonderful thought came to my mind: “Upon His return, Jesus will at last have a beautiful place in which to dwell!”

Angelo kicked Lonnie in the chest and earned the point he needed to win.
“Match!” Mr. Haight, the coach, pointed to Angelo. Lonnie and Angelo sat down on the gym floor to watch two other green belts spar.
“Lucky kick.” Lonnie smiled at Angelo.
“I had to even things up.” Angelo grinned. “You beat me in the races at school today.” Lonnie was Angelo’s best friend, and they did everything together.
On the other side of the gym, the red belts were working on the demonstration they would give for the black belt ceremony.
“Soon we’ll be blue belts,” Lonnie said, but he was watching the red belts across the room.
“Yeah. We have the hours, the moves, and the test down for the blue belt,” Angelo said, “but I can’t wait till we’re red belts.”
“Oh, that’ll be easy,” Lonnie laughed. “We only have to earn the blue belt and purple belt first!”
Mr. Haight raised his hands in the air. “OK, enough sparring for tonight.” He waved everyone toward him and held up a piece of paper. “The tournament is two weeks away. This paper gives all the information you will need to have a successful tournament. Make sure your parents read it and sign it. Bring it back here next week.”
Angelo grabbed the paper and headed for the door. The tournament was the last thing he had to complete before becoming a blue belt! As he rode his bike home, he only wished his grandma could see him compete. Abuela Ana was serving a mission in faraway Romania.
Mom was stirring a big pot of chicken mole when Angelo sailed in and handed her the paper. “This is important. It’s about the tournament.”
“How was karate?” Mom smiled and took the paper.
“It was great! I lost one sparring match and won two.”
“Wow!”
“Yep. Now all Lonnie and I have to do is the tournament and we’ll get our blue belts.” Angelo opened the refrigerator.
“Did you know the tournament is on a Sunday, Angelo?” Mom said.
Angelo closed the fridge. “Sunday?” He frowned. His baptism wasn’t too long ago, and he had determined to keep the Sabbath holy.
“I know how much this means to you, Angelo, but Sunday … ?” Mom trailed off.
“I know, I know.” Angelo stomped off to his bedroom. Why did the tournament have to be on a Sunday? None of the other tournaments were. And if he didn’t go, Lonnie would be a blue belt and he would still be green.
Dad peeked into the bedroom. “Hey, Angelo. I heard about the tournament. Have you called Mr. Haight?”
Angelo brightened. “No. I’ll call right away.” He ran for the phone. Surely Mr. Haight would see his problem—maybe he’d even give him the belt without the tournament.
A few minutes later, Angelo shuffled back to his room.
“What did he say?” Dad asked.
“He said to get the belt, I have to meet all the requirements. I even told him Sunday was a holy day, but he just said the gym was booked on Saturday.”
Dad ruffled Angelo’s hair. “There will be other tournaments.”
Angelo looked up at Dad. “I know. But it might be months away. Lonnie will be a blue belt way before me. I might as well quit!”
“It’s your decision, Angelo.” Dad left, and Angelo lay down on his bed. He knew Mom and Dad didn’t want him to go to the Sunday tournament, but maybe he would go just this one time.
Angelo looked at the Dallas Texas Temple picture on his wall. Abuela Ana had given it to him on his birthday last September. Tucked into the corner of the picture was a photograph of his tiny abuela with a huge Romanian castle in the background. Angelo wouldn’t see her again until his next birthday.
He reached for the photograph and read the words she had written on the back.
“The work is hard here. We give lots of discussions, but no baptisms yet. Last week we went to the orphanages and arranged for children to have needed medical care. They were so grateful. I knew that whatever sacrifice I had made to come here was nothing. I’m following the Savior, so everything will be all right! Te amo, Angelo. I love you.”
Angelo turned the picture over and looked into his abuela’s smiling face. He knew he would not be going to the Sunday tournament. He smiled. “I am following my Savior too, Abuela Ana.”

A true story from Australia.
Jared walked into Sunday School and sat down with his classmates. He noticed a boy he didn’t recognize come in and sit down a couple chairs away.
Jared’s teacher, Brother Trudgen, smiled at the class. “This is Emmanuel,” he said. “He and his family just moved to Australia. This is their first Sunday in our ward!”
Jared thought it might be hard to go to a new ward. He would try to be Emmanuel’s friend.
Brother Trudgen got out his scriptures. “Let’s all turn to 3 Nephi,” he said.
Jared opened his scriptures and looked over at Emmanuel. He didn’t have any scriptures.
Jared gave him a big smile and leaned over. “Hi, I’m Jared,” he said. “Would you like to share scriptures with me?”
Emmanuel smiled back. “Um, I don’t know much English,” he said. “Sorry.”
“What language do you speak?”
“Swahili.”
Jared didn’t know any Swahili. He and Emmanuel didn’t say much for the rest of the class.
That evening at dinner, Jared told his family about Emmanuel.
“He seems really nice,” Jared said. “But we can’t understand each other very well.”
Mum nodded. “Emmanuel and his family are going through a lot right now,” she said. “They had to leave their country very suddenly because bad things were happening there. They left everything behind.”
Jared frowned. What would it be like to have to leave home tomorrow and move to a whole new country? That would be so hard!
I wish there was something I could do to help Emmanuel, he thought. But what?
Jared couldn’t stop thinking about Emmanuel as he got ready for bed. He sat down at his desk with his Book of Mormon and read a few verses. Reading the scriptures always made him feel better. Tonight, they also reminded him that Emmanuel hadn’t had any scriptures to read. Jared shut his scriptures and stared at the cover. Then he jumped up from his chair and hurried out into the hallway.
“Mum!” he called. “I think I know how to help Emmanuel!”
The next Sunday, Jared couldn’t wait to see Emmanuel. He sat with the other deacons at the front of the chapel and waited with a new Book of Mormon in his lap. The missionaries had helped him get this special copy just for Emmanuel.
When Emmanuel entered the chapel with his family, Jared smiled and waved him over. Emmanuel looked confused as he sat down next to Jared. But his eyes widened when Jared handed him the Book of Mormon.
“For me?” Emmanuel asked.
Jared nodded.
Emmanuel’s eyes lit up. He flipped through the pages of his new Book of Mormon. “Swahili!” he said. He smiled at Jared and hugged the book to his chest. “Thank you!”
Jared’s heart felt warm as he smiled back. He knew he couldn’t make everything better for Emmanuel, and they still couldn’t talk to each other very well yet. But that was OK. They didn’t have to speak the same language to be friends!

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