Gospel Story Finder

Why are the youth of the Denton Texas Fourth Ward smiling?
Maybe it’s because they’re on an excursion to the Dallas Temple, a place they all enjoy visiting. Or maybe it’s because some of them are doing baptisms for their own ancestors. But, more than likely, it’s because they met their bishop’s challenge to gather 100 names for baptism—and then some.
A few weeks before the temple trip, the bishop issued the challenge, and the whole ward went to work. By the time the youth arrived at the temple, they had enough names to baptize the equivalent of their entire ward.
Elder L. Lionel Kendrick of the Seventy, who was then the president of the Dallas Temple, said the youth had done something unique in the history of the Dallas Temple. He gave the youth a special blessing.
“It was pretty powerful,” says Merrin McWilliams, 14. “The people who work in the temple have a great privilege. It’s the Lord’s house.”
Many of the youth say they had special feelings and witnesses of the spirit while doing baptisms, especially for members of their own families.
Fifteen-year-old John Searcy was baptized for his great-grandfather.
“I know he was special to my dad since he named me after him,” says John. “I’m glad we did it.”

The three witnesses to the Book of Mormon were actually shown the plates by an angel of God, and they heard the voice of God commanding them to bear record of what they had seen and heard. Yet even after these testimony-building experiences each one became offended and disaffected and apostatized from the Church. Two later came back. Of the original twelve members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, seven apostatized and were excommunicated. Three came back into the Church through the waters of baptism and resumed activity in the Church. Four did not.

Still later, when I was in my last year at Auckland University Law School, I had one exam left to finish my degree. I was married with two children, working, and second counselor in a bishopric at the same time. So life was fairly busy, and I was looking forward to being done with college so some of the pressure would be gone.
At 9:30 in the morning, I went to the law library to get “warmed up” for the exam at 2:30 that afternoon. As I was sitting there studying, I looked around. I couldn’t see anybody from my class there, and I thought that was a bit unusual. The Spirit said to me, “Your exam is about to start.”
I thought, “That can’t be right, because my exam is at 2:30.”
I ignored what I had heard and carried on studying. Fortunately for me, about five minutes later the Spirit said, “Your exam has just started.” I didn’t wait for a third prompting.
I ran down to the basement of a building where a board displayed all the exam times. There it was: “Company Law, B-28, 9:30.” I met the two examiners coming off the lift—the elevator. I said, “I know I’m late; I have made a mistake. Can I still get in?” They let me in even though I was 40 minutes late for the three-hour exam. I sat down, my heart pumping. I looked at the questions and thought, “I can’t do any of this!”
So I said a silent prayer: “Heavenly Father, I’m grateful for Thy promptings. Forgive me for ignoring the first prompting, but please bless me now so that I can finish.”
Peace descended upon me. I looked again at the exam and thought, “Ah, I know that one,” and I started writing. I stopped writing when the examiner said, “Time to finish.” Later, when I found out I had passed the exam, all I could feel was gratitude.

Lawrence Bodily, a friend, age 79
“When I was just six or seven, I saw Ezra T. and Serge Ballif, both about 14 or 15, get into a water fight with Henry Mockli, a neighbor who was in his 30s. They just about drowned him. They were working out in a field, and they started water fighting out of the ditch. I’ll never forget that. When he’d chase one, the other would get a bucketful of water and go after him. It was good, clean fun. Ezra T. never did anything that I know of, nor any of the other boys either, that wasn’t good, clean fun. A better town never existed than this little town of Whitney when we were kids.”

When Ketsana hit Metro Manila, the Alaminos Philippines District president, Porferio Balute Jr., said he was impressed to ask the members in his district to help their neighbors to the south. However, many members in the Alaminos district were still recovering from Typhoon Emong, which hit four months earlier in May 2009. It was the costliest typhoon to ever hit that western Philippines city. Many of the members made their living fishing or farming, and their livelihoods had been destroyed by the ensuing floods.
Though he was afraid to ask too much of those who were still struggling to get back on their feet, President Balute asked anyway.
That afternoon the members arrived at the meetinghouse with 21 sacks of clothing, a bag of food, and Philippines $1,500.
When Parma struck a week later, this time to the north, the members from the Alaminos district responded again and gathered more clothing, food, and money. Some of them even volunteered their time to go and distribute the goods directly.
“We just wanted to help,” said President Balute. “We never realized that we would gain so much. Our faith increased, our love for our fellowmen increased, our testimonies were strengthened, and our understanding of the Savior’s love and His Atonement was deepened.”

My grandfather Elder Melvin J. Ballard (1873–1939), a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, was in the hospital suffering end-stage leukemia in 1939. My father, who was sitting at Grandfather’s bedside, told me that Grandfather pushed himself up in bed, looked around his hospital room as though he were addressing a congregation, and said clearly, “And above all else, brethren, let us think straight.”

I recount a simple parable, as told through an interpreter by a Sunday School president in Hong Kong:
“An enterprising turkey gathered the flock together and, following instructions and demonstrations, taught them how to fly. All afternoon they enjoyed soaring and flying and the thrill of seeing new vistas. After the meeting, all of the turkeys walked home.”

Illustrations by Sal Velluto and Eugenio Mattozzi
It was a stormy winter night. At the airport in Chicago, Illinois, many people were stranded due to delayed or canceled flights. A young pregnant woman stood in the long check-in line, nudging her two-year-old daughter forward with her foot.
Many people made disapproving comments, but no one offered to help.
Man: Why doesn’t she pick up that screaming child?
Woman: What a terrible mother.
With a kind smile, Elder Kimball walked up to the woman.
Elder Kimball: Can I help you?
Mother: Thank you.I’ve had four previous miscarriages. My doctor told me I can’t lift anything—not even my own child.
Elder Kimball picked up the crying child, rubbed her back, and gave her a piece of candy. When the girl was comforted, he informed the other passengers and the airport workers of the woman’s condition.
Airport worker: We’ll have you on the next available flight.
Supervisor: Come and sit and rest until your departure.
The woman’s stress was lessened. Later, she saw a picture of Elder Spencer W. Kimball of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
Mother: That’s him! That’s the man who helped me.
A few months after that, she gave birth to a healthy baby boy.
Twenty-one years later, President Kimball received a letter. It was from the son of that young mother.
Student: I served a faithful mission and am now a student at Brigham Young University. Thank you for helping my mother that terrible night!
President Kimball was happy that his small act of service had resulted in so much good.

“Another thing that I enjoyed as I was growing up was playing the piano. I studied it and played it in Church. In fact, my first calling was ward organist. I earned a music merit badge from Alvin A. Beesley, who ran a music store. He was the son of Ebeneezer Beesley, an early Church composer. Alvin Beesley was absolutely the most enthusiastic man that I have ever known. Before he signed my music merit badge, he said, ‘All right, George, I will pass you on the condition that you come and play in the Sunday School orchestra.’ I said that I would. Playing in that orchestra was a horrible experience because I didn’t know how to follow an orchestra leader. But Brother Beesley was so encouraging and so enthusiastic and so understanding with us that I suffered through it happily.”

One time I woke up from a bad dream. I felt very afraid, so I decided to pray. I said: “Heavenly Father, please help me to fall back to sleep. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.” Afterward, I felt comforted and safe. I was able to go back to sleep.

As much as these young men like sports, they may only play basketball a couple of times a year for a Mutual activity. Instead, they do a variety of other things that help fulfill requirements for their Duty to God award, including service activities.
Do they enjoy clearing the limbs and debris from a drainage ditch so that water won’t flood over a low-lying road? Is this a trick question? No, but they will sweat to do it in the heat of a San Antonio summer morning because their service is needed.

And that brings me to my wife, Elisa. I remember the first time I met her. As a favor to a friend, I had gone to her home to pick up her sister, Frances. Elisa opened the door, and at least for me, it was love at first sight.
I think she must have felt something too, for the first words I ever remember her saying were, “I knew who you was.”
Elisa was an English major.
To this day I still cherish those five words as some of the most beautiful in human language.
She loved to play tennis and had a lightning serve. I tried to play tennis with her, but I finally quit after coming to the realization that I couldn’t hit what I couldn’t see.
She was my strength and my joy. Because of her, I am a better man, husband, and father. We married, had eight children, and walked together through 65 years of life.
I owe more to my wife than I can possibly express. I don’t know if there ever was a perfect marriage, but, from my perspective, I think ours was.

On 27 June 1854, Rosa Clara had her first baby, a little girl, named Annie Augusta after President Farnham. When little Annie Augusta was fourteen months old, the family sailed from Sydney with a company of Saints on the Julia Ann, bound for California. Disaster struck four weeks later.
On the evening of 3 October 1855, Rosa Clara put her baby to bed while some of the pioneering Church members sang hymns on the deck. Suddenly the vessel struck a coral reef. For a little while, confusion reigned. Then, one of the ship’s crew swam to the reef and managed to fasten a rope. With a sling, the captain prepared to ferry the women and children one at a time to the reef.
No one knew what lay ahead in the pitch-black night. The women were afraid. Finally Rosa Clara, not yet eighteen, volunteered to be the first. Hurriedly, she helped tie baby Ann securely to Charles’s back in a brown woolen shawl and readied herself to be taken to the reef. But then, before Rosa Clara’s horrified eyes, her husband and baby were swept overboard by the huge seas. One of the sailors rescued them unharmed.
With enormous courage, then, in leaving her family on the wreck, Rosa Clara climbed onto the captain’s lap and was pulled, hand over hand, to the reef. Here the captain left her standing barefoot on the sharp coral, chest-deep in the sea, with the surf breaking on the reef. She stayed alone and in darkness while he returned for the other women. Gradually, most of the company, including Charles and baby Ann, arrived safely. But not all were so fortunate. Two little girls were washed off the deck and were lost; two women and a small baby drowned in their cabin.
When daylight arrived, the crew made a raft from timber and nails salvaged from the wreck. They managed to get the passengers from the reef to a small island, which became their home for the next eight weeks.
A barrel of hard biscuits and a chest of tea retrieved from the ship, as well as coconuts, fish, turtle meat, and eggs sustained everyone. They formed coconut shells into drinking vessels. With a large silk skirt also salvaged from the wreck, Charles Loge fashioned a tent for Rosa Clara, who was ill, and baby Ann crawled around playing happily in the sand. After repairing the ship’s boat, some of the crew rowed more than 300 kilometers to the Society islands (Tahiti) for help.
The Loge family and others were taken off the island two months after the wreck, finally arriving in San Francisco. There, Elder George Q. Cannon presented Rosa Clara with a small pewter teapot in recognition of her bravery in being the first to go to the reef. The teapot is a treasured family heirloom today, together with a carved coconut-shell drinking vessel and a handmade nail from the Julia Ann.

I looked around the bare apartment. This would soon house six girls, four of whom I had never met. I listened to the silence that prevailed throughout the dorm. After quietly dressing, I knelt down to ask for courage on my first day of college.
I had come a day early to attend an honors orientation. The oldest of four children, I felt naive and too young to be going to college.
The day before, my father had given me a blessing and his love. After I asked for a father’s blessing, my father placed his arms on my shoulders and with a tearful voice told me about his own college experiences.
As I left, my dad’s last words gave me strength and encouragement. “You have always been our pioneer, and you have been a wonderful example to your younger brothers and sisters. You are prepared and are ready to go to college, Carrie.”
I clung to his words of love and support as I said a painful good-bye to my family. I felt alone and scared in those uncharted waters. Before I left the apartment that morning, I knelt down to ask for help. Desperately I pleaded with my Heavenly Father for strength to be able to face the college world all alone. I had left my family and friends and everything familiar the day before, and I knew I needed His help.
My prayers were answered as I reflected on the tender experience with my father the day before. A wave of comfort fell over me as I realized that I had not come to college with the blessing of just my earthly father. I suddenly felt that one day, not so long ago, my Heavenly Father had held me close in His arms. Perhaps He gave me words of advice and encouragement and told me that He believed in me, just as my earthly father had. And at that moment, I knew that I am never without the perfect love and endless support of my Father in Heaven.
With this new assurance, I slowly stood to my feet and, as a daughter of God, confidently walked out of the apartment to enjoy my day.

A single woman I know values the weekly ordinance of the sacrament and its sacred promise “that [she] may always have his Spirit to be with [her].”6 That constant companionship is a promise that softens the waves of her loneliness. It gives her strength to immerse herself in developing her talents and a desire to serve the Lord. She has discovered great joy in adoring all the children in her life, and when she seeks serene peace, you will find her in the temple.

In March of 2003, one of my good friends, Bret, invited me to help with his Eagle Scout project. After school the next day we drove in his truck with another friend of ours, Camden, to where the project would be. Inspired by the Spirit, Bret directed Camden to a Book of Mormon situated in a holder in the passenger-side door. He told him to open to a verse he had recently read in the Book of Alma. My interest was sparked, and for the first time, I saw the book I wanted so very badly. However, I was too scared to say anything right then. Upon returning that evening, I worked up the confidence to ask Bret for the book. He happily gave it to me and told me to read it. That night I read nine chapters. From the moment I picked up the book, I fell in love with its message.

The apartment room was cluttered with memories—autographed photos of famous musicians, Russian paintings, programs from concerts whose music had long ago evaporated into the air. By the window a slender young woman stood playing the violin, tossing off difficult runs like so many spring flowers. Her teacher, an older gentleman, was hammering out the accompaniment on a grand piano, listening intently to her every note, calling out instructions in a heavy Russian accent. The music seemed to burst from the room into a thousand fragrant blossoms.
Her teacher stopped abruptly. “No! No! Go a little deeper into your soul!” he pleaded. “That’s the German style you’re playing. In Russia and America we do it this way.” He picked up his violin from the piano and demonstrated. “Put more of nature’s tranquility into your playing. And don’t slide to the note.”
She started playing again, bow moving effortlessly across the strings, eyes carefully measuring the page of notes and lines before her that she somehow magically translated into music. Too soon the piece was finished, and she turned to her teacher.
“Generally speaking,” he said, “I would say that was excellent. You have a cool head and a warm heart, which make you a fine violinist. You have talent.”
On that sweet note, Lois Watkins finished her lesson with Raphael Bronstein, one of Russia’s finest violinists who now teaches talented young musicians at the Manhattan School of Music in New York City. So she packed up her violin, said thank you and good-bye, and started threading the busy west side streets of Manhattan leading back to her apartment.

Many years back as a young husband and father, I worked for a grocery chain. My shift was from about 5:30 A.M. to 2:00 P.M., without a lunch hour. I preferred it that way. One time during the week I had a day off. The stake president had announced a need for brethren to go out to Cedar Fort, where our stake farm was located, to get the bales of hay out of the fields before it rained.

I volunteered to go out on my day off. A member of the stake presidency, Francis Bromley, took me out to the farm. Much of the hay had been baled the preceding Saturday. I suggested to President Bromley that he drive the tractor. I would load the hay on the skids, transfer it to the flatbed truck, then haul it to a location where it was to be stacked. It was a hot summer day. There seemed to be no breeze at all, and no shade or cloud cover. I was accustomed to hard work but not in the sun. For hours we worked together retrieving the baled hay from the fields.

I can recall to this day how tired I was. Hay dust and dirt filled my nostrils and was caked on my arms and face. Sweat poured off me. My hands grew numb and my arms and legs were fatigued, but we worked on until the work was done. I remember the feelings I had at the end of the day. President Bromley somehow knew that I had worked with all my energy to save him as much work as possible. He was not a young man, and the work was heavy. He was very kind in his appraisal of the work we had done.

The greater reward came to me on the way home. I realized that I had worked for the Lord about as hard as I knew how to work. My sinuses burned from the dust and dirt, my eyes were filled with hay dust, and perspiration and alfalfa clung to my skin and clothes. I was exhausted and I think dehydrated. My head throbbed and my muscles ached, but way down deep inside of me there was a feeling of pride. For a few moments at the end of that day I drank from the living waters of Christ. I felt the cooling breeze of service, and I felt the shade of contentment to my soul.

I have never forgotten how I felt about President Bromley. Serving him and trying to do an extra measure of work to protect him filled my soul with a deep love for him. I knew that he could see into my heart and that he knew what I was trying to do for him. I think he loved me also. I believe, however, the greater love will come to those who serve someone else. If you want to love someone, serve that person. Service is work. It takes effort.

For the past ten years a spring tradition of snowshoe hiking from Alta to Brighton ski resorts (Utah) has meant cold feet, frozen fingers, and lots of fun for members of the Valley View Eighth Ward, Salt Lake Valley View Stake. This year was no exception.
One hundred and twenty-two persons gathered up snowshoes and backpacks and rode the Alta ski lift to its top. From there the group hiked over the mountain through Kathryn Pass. After the four-hour hike the summit was reached and members of the group rolled, jumped, and wrestled off the overhangs on the saddle of the pass, dropping down almost vertical sides.
Snowshoes don’t have the maneuverability of skis, so the group sat back on the snowshoes and just bombed down the chute end at Brighton—where everyone started planning next year’s hike.

Another example: We once had a major decision to make. When our prayers left us uncertain, I went to see Elder Harold B. Lee. He counseled us to proceed. Sensing that I was still very unsettled, he said, “The problem with you is you want to see the end from the beginning.” Then he quoted this verse from the Book of Mormon, “Dispute not because ye see not, for ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith” (Ether 12:6).
He added, “You must learn to walk a few steps ahead into the darkness, and then the light will turn on and go before you.” That was a life-changing experience from one verse in the Book of Mormon.