Gospel Story Finder

When missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints started teaching his family, Isaac Kojo Botwe made it clear from the beginning that he was not interested.
“I would abandon them in the sitting room, go into the boys’ room, and smoke my dirty pipe,” he says, laughing as he recalls what followed. Soon he decided that he really ought to listen to what the missionaries were saying. Not long afterward, he decided that he needed to give up that “dirty pipe” and live the Word of Wisdom.
Elder Mark Owusu, one of the missionaries who taught him, remembers that Isaac Botwe had his children gather his pipes, his tobacco, and his coffee—and then he set fire to the lot of it!
Isaac, his wife, Frances, and their children of baptismal age came into the Church together in 1987. Today, Isaac is bishop of the Takoradi Ward, Cape Coast Ghana Stake. His family has an extensive history of service to the Church. So, too, does Mark Owusu, who has served in a variety of teaching and leadership positions since his mission.

I was called as a member of the Seventy in 1977. Since then I have had the privilege of visiting hundreds of stakes. After one priesthood leadership meeting in Taylorsville, Utah, a large man approached me and whispered that his brother had been killed during World War II and that he hated Japanese people. Following the stake conference, however, this same man approached me with tears in his eyes. Crying for joy, he gave me a hug because I had shared my conversion story and my love for Americans and it had touched him.

In 1974, when I was just 17 years old I was called as the seminary teacher in the Maipú Branch in Santiago, Chile. In the beginning, I had 16 students.
The branch boundaries covered a lot of territory in those days, and some of the students had to travel long distances to come to seminary. I had to walk 25 blocks to get to the old, unheated house where we met. But I was very excited about my calling, and that old house seemed to me the most beautiful place in the world. As we started our course in Church history, everything seemed to be going smoothly and enthusiasm was high.
Then autumn came. As the temperature dropped, participation dropped, too. A reactivation campaign was set up to motivate the students to keep coming. The effort succeeded for a time. But as winter followed fall and it became increasingly colder and more difficult for the students to attend, fewer and fewer attended regularly.
After a time, there were only three. It was a disappointment. I did lack teaching experience, but I had faith and a testimony, and I continued to prepare for each lesson with zeal and dedication. As I walked to class each day, I prayed almost every step of the way, feeling very close to my Father in Heaven. By the time I arrived at the classroom, I was filled with the Spirit and felt as happy as if many students were there.
At other times, I lacked confidence and wondered if I should go on. One such occasion was during a district meeting when a roll call of seminary students was taken for each branch. When the name of the Maipú Branch was called, only two of us reported present: one student and myself. Everyone laughed! It felt like a slap in the face, and I wanted to ask our leaders to let us stop holding the class. However, the sweet influence of the Spirit soon came over me and urged me to continue. I determined to endure to the end.
When seminary graduation ceremonies were held, three participants from the Maipú Branch were awarded certificates of achievement. Only one of them, Pedro Baillón, was in attendance to receive his certificate. But it didn’t matter. By then I understood that there was a deeper purpose in my service, and I knew that the year held great meaning for me, as it did for Pedro.
I have never forgotten Pedro Baillón. Nor have I ever forgotten one of the most spiritual periods of my life.

I had a feeling. I asked my father to say a prayer that a tornado would not hit our house. He said, “Don’t worry—tornados never come to this area.”
I kept asking him, and finally, with my mother, we prayed and asked Heavenly Father to make sure that a tornado would not hit our house.
Two days later, while we were at church, a tornado touched down very close to our house. After church, we drove by my school and saw trees had been torn down. Heavenly Father heard our prayer. I am grateful for prayer.
Caitlin Kingi, age 5Berkeley Heights, New Jersey

Jenny's Experience
All of you who are students need to decide daily if you are going to be a finisher as it relates to your studies. I'd like to share with you an experience of one of my former students. I'll call this student Jenny (not her real name). I share this experience with her permission.
Jenny had a hard year with family and school. She was a convert to the Church of a few years and the only member in her family. She didn't feel much support from home. Also, she struggled with roommates and began to question if she should even be at BYU-Idaho. Life was hard.
One particular week, Jenny was struggling from lack of sleep due to many hours of studying. As a result, she fell asleep early Friday evening and then woke up briefly, only to fall asleep again until later Saturday morning. At this point, she realized that she missed submitting her homework for my class.
Jenny soon e-mailed me the following: "Hi, Brother Morrin. I woke up this morning and realized that I completely forgot to do the two assignments due last night. I was wondering if there is any way that I can make these up. I'm sorry about forgetting about them!"
I replied, "Jenny, I was sorry to see your e-mail. Once an assignment is past due, you are not able to submit it." I then gave her some advice on future assignments and then wrote, "Please let me know if you have any other questions."
Our communication continued on Monday, as Jenny wrote: "Hi, Brother Morrin. I was looking into my grade, and I have noticed that from missing these assignments my grade has dropped 17 percent. I am debating whether or not I should stay in the course. Thanks for your help."
Jenny felt she was in a bad place spiritually and was insecure about herself and her future.
Jenny and I soon met, and I could tell she was distraught. I told her that even though she wouldn't be able to fully recover her grade, she could still do well in the class and learn what she was supposed to learn. I strongly encouraged her to stick it out. Jenny did stay in the course and did learn what she was supposed to learn. She was a very diligent student. She even ended up earning a decent grade considering her original dilemma.
Later, after the semester, I spoke with Jenny more about her experience. She said: "I knew deep down I wasn't going to drop [the class] and get a 'W.' [I knew] if I just put everything into the course, it would be OK." She also gave me her philosophy on finishing. She said, "I never want someone to think [that I] gave up." No matter what happens, you are better off if you apply yourself and trust in the Lord and do the best you can.

It was such a blessing to attend the temple daily. As I did, I felt many changes in my spiritual thoughts, like I was receiving more knowledge and greater wisdom. I could hear the Holy Sprit’s voice both when I was awake and in my dreams. One night I could not sleep. I closed my eyes and saw my stake president talking with me about what I would do after attending the temple, that my children would serve missions and that we would work hard to accomplish good things.
My mind was filled with so many ideas as I listened to the Spirit. For example, while staying in the patron house, I felt very helpless because my children and I were hungry. I didn’t know where to buy food. It was a different country, with different people and a different language. I prayed to Heavenly Father for a friend to help me. I heard to a voice say “Go to the temple Kajal” so I went to the temple to attend a second session. After the session, I was changing my clothes when suddenly a senior missionary named Sister Edward asked, “Sister Mahana, how are you? What are you doing about food?” I cried because I was so hungry and I said, “Please help me. Just give me bread because we have no flour and no rice. There are six children with us and all the food is finished.” She gave me a warm hug and said, “Don’t worry. I will go to the market with you after the temple. You are my children so if you have any problem, you talk with me.” I was so happy and suddenly I felt like this country was my country. I thought, “I am not alone here.” Even though all the people there were Chinese, they were also my family. I really enjoyed the last two or three days in the temple and patron housing.
I am grateful for the opportunity I had to attend the temple and be sealed with my family. I learned many things both while preparing to go and while we were there. This experience taught me more patience, more wisdom and more spiritual things. I love my Father.

During the Great Depression, Sister Louise Kelly, who lived on a farm in the United States, grew strawberry plants. Her family’s income depended on the sale of their crops. During one season, the $40 earned from strawberry sales was the only cash they had seen for a long time. Their $4 in tithing seemed a small sum to offer, and with a family of four children the money was desperately needed. But Louise was determined to pay her tithing. She was not aware of any immediate blessings other than the satisfaction of having obeyed. However, the following year when a strawberry-leaf blight struck the area, only her family’s plants remained healthy. Asked what special care they had given their plants, they simply explained they had tithed their income the previous year. Louise reflected that “at a time when the economy was at low ebb, our blessing of a good crop was to us an irrefutable example of the blessings that come from paying tithing” (“Divine Law of the Tithe,” Ensign, June 1981, 69).

Few are aware of the pure Christian service being administered at refugee camps in Thailand and in the Philippines by our missionary sisters. Basically, these sisters are restricted to teaching the English language and Western culture, but there is a deeper teaching that takes place through their pure love and sweet attitude toward these displaced people.
The story is told of a young camp refugee from Cambodia who was relocated in California. He found his way into one of our Church meetinghouses because the name of the Church on the sign out front corresponded with the one he used to look at each day on the name tag of the wonderful missionary sister who taught him at the camp. People don’t soon forget acts of simple kindness. Pure love can transcend all differences.

I am confident you have heard this story of President Spencer W. Kimball, but I take the liberty of repeating it. He had undergone surgery in the hospital. A young male nurse had placed him on a gurney and was transporting him. When getting on the elevator, the nurse bumped the gurney and let out an oath using the name of the Lord.

President Kimball, only half conscious, said, “Please, Please! That is my Lord whose name you revile.”

There was a deathly silence; then the young man whispered with a subdued voice, “I am sorry.” (See The Teachings of Spencer W. Kimball, ed. Edward L. Kimball [1982], 198.)

About the time I was baptized into the Church, Elder Melvin J. Ballard visited our stake conference. He told the story of his recent visit to South America where he, in company with Rulon S. Wells and Rey L. Pratt, had begun missionary work. I didn’t know then that thirteen years later I would sit in Elder Ballard’s office and that he, as an apostle of the Lord, would set me apart to be a missionary in South America. Much less did I then realize that many years of my life would be spent in that great land and that I would see the Church there grow from just a few hundred members to hundreds of thousands of members.
Elder Melvin J. Ballard

President Harold B. Lee used to tell about a man who had heard a rumor of a mysterious person appearing to temple workers, warning them, “You had better hurry and store food for a year, or two, or three, because there will come a season when there won’t be any production.”
The man asked President Lee what he thought about it. President Lee said: “Were you at April conference?”
“No, I couldn’t be there.”
“You surely read the report of what was said by the Brethren at that conference, didn’t you?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Well,” President Lee said, “at that conference the Lord gave a revelation about food storage. How in the world is the Lord going to get over to you what he wants you to do if you are not there when he says it, and you do not take the time to read it after it has been said?” (Harold B. Lee, “The Place of the Living Prophet, Seer, and Revelator,” Address to Seminary and Institute of Religion Personnel, BYU, 8 July 1964).

I have a brother who was associated with a large university. He told of a student athlete who was an outstanding hurdler. The young man was blind. Rex asked him, “Don’t you ever fall?” “I have to be exact,” the athlete responded. “I measure each time before I jump. One time I didn’t, and I nearly killed myself.” The young man then spoke of the countless hours his father had devoted over the years teaching, helping, and showing him how to hurdle, until he became one of the best.
How could this young man fail with a team like that—a father and a son.

I spoke with a young man recently who was a freshman at a large university, (actually it was BYU-Provo.) Having come from a very small high school of less than 200, he was overwhelmed by the number of students. Everywhere he looked there were people, faces with no names. He was one of them. One Saturday night, however, he got up the courage to go to a dance. He was separated from his roommate and the others he had gotten to know and for 45 minutes he walked around by himself. No one stopped, no one looked, no one noticed this young man. I think there were probably hundreds, maybe thousands there that night facing the same plight. Desperately alone, he closed his eyes and prayed to one he knew was there, his Father in Heaven. He prayed for help. . " Help me not be alone." And then he turned to walk back toward the celebration. But he felt prompted to take another sidewalk. The Lord was at work prompting others onto that same sidewalk and sure enough, the young man ran into a group of students and one called out his name, someone from his home ward who had moved several years before. Someone who knew his name, drew him in. That's what we must do for one another.

When Elder Gerrit W. Gong was a young man, he really wanted to play school basketball. “I practiced and practiced,” he said. “One day the coach pointed to our 6-foot-4-inch (1.93 m) all-state center and our 6-foot-2-inch (1.88 m) all-star forward and said to me, ‘I can put you on the team, but you’ll likely never play.’ I remember how kindly he then encouraged, ‘Why not try out for soccer? You’d be good.’ My family cheered when I scored my first goal.”1
Elder Gong learned that remembering the assistance of others helps us acknowledge the Savior’s hand in our lives and helps us remember that we are never alone.

In the early days of the Church, other disciples in addition to Joseph Smith and Hyrum Smith also laid down their lives for the gospel of Jesus Christ. The faithfulness of Edward Partridge, the first bishop of the Church, is noted in the Doctrine and Covenants. On July 20, 1833, Edward was sitting at home with his frail wife, who had just given birth. Three mobsters burst in and dragged him into the bedlam of the street and then into the square, where they had already taken Charles Allen. A mob of about 300 demanded through their spokesman that Edward and Charles either renounce their faith in the Book of Mormon or leave the county. Edward Partridge responded: “If I must suffer for my religion, it is no more than others have done before me. I am not conscious of having injured anyone in the county and therefore will not consent to leave. I have done nothing to offend anyone. If you abuse me, you are injuring an innocent man.” The mob then daubed Edward and Charles from head to foot with hot tar containing pearl ash, a flesh-eating acid, and then they threw feathers that stuck to the burning tar.

The Prophet Joseph Smith characterized Edward’s death a few years later at age 46 in these words: “He lost his life in consequence of the Missouri persecutions, and he is one of that number whose blood will be required at their hands.” Edward Partridge left a legacy that lives on in a large and righteous posterity.

In 1850, Elder Lorenzo Snow of the Council of the Twelve Apostles of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints ascended a very high mountain near LaTour to visit the Vaudois of the Piedmont. He and his two companions stood on a bold projecting rock, where he proclaimed that Joseph Smith had seen the Father and the Son and had restored the gospel in its fulness and completeness. He testified that the keys of the holy apostleship had been restored. He further testified that there were indeed living Apostles and prophets upon the earth. Many believed his startling message and joined the Church. Moved by his experience with the Vaudois living in the Alpine mountain valleys, President Snow cited the stirring words:
For the strength of the hills we bless thee,
Our God, our fathers’ God;
Thou hast made thy children mighty
By the touch of the mountain sod.
John Daniel Malan was the first of the Vaudois to be baptized on October 27, 1850, followed by the families of the Cardons, Stalles, Beuses, Pons, Malans, Gaudins, Chatelains, and many others. Some were in the first handcart companies to come to the Salt Lake Valley in the early 1850s. These families intermarried into other well-known families in the western United States, including the Larsons, Maughans, Crocketts, Miners, Budges, Thatchers, Steeds, and Parkinsons. Drawing from their roots in the Vaudois mountain sod, many of their descendants tended the vineyards of the newly restored Church and today are making singular contributions to the worldwide Church, believing, as did their forebears, that Apostles hold the keys that never rust.

Then one day his old tutor Rodriguez appeared. Disapproving of the way Simón was living, he persuaded the young man to go with him on a walking tour of Italy. They carried their own packs, slept in haystacks, and talked as they roamed the country in the fresh air and sunshine.
They stopped to rest one afternoon on a beautiful green hillside overlooking Rome. Fired by Rodriquez’ ideas and remembering the humiliating experience of being mistreated by the police in Madrid, Simón suddenly arose, stretched out his arms, and solemnly declared, “On my life and honor I promise most faithfully not to rest until I have freed America of her tyrants!” The rest of Simón Bolívar’s life was dedicated to keeping this promise.

In late January of 2011, I went into an early labor. I was rushed to the Rexburg hospital where I was then life-flighted to the University of Utah. I was promptly put on several different medications to stop my labor. My son was 28 weeks old, but he had a hernia in his diaphragm. The doctors and nurses wanted him to have as much time as possible to grow inside of me, so he would have a better chance of survival when he was born. However, a few days later, my son decided to be born anyway. After only a few short hours, he passed away. We had a funeral for him on Friday, February 4.

Three weeks later, my husband, Jeff, and I received a call from my husband’s brother Greg. He said that we needed to get to the Twin Falls hospital right away. Jeff’s parents had been in a terrible accident that morning. They were on their way to a grandson’s wrestling tournament, hit a patch of black ice on the freeway, and rolled their truck six times. Greg did not know if they would survive and encouraged us to come quickly. They did end up surviving, but their recovery was slow, painful, and would take many months. My husband ended up dropping out of school and moving to Pocatello for a while to help take care of them during this difficult time.

The rest of 2011 continued on much in the same manner as it had begun. We didn’t know if I would still have a job since I was on a one-year appointment, and Jeff was not quite done with school yet nor on a fixed income. I had to have oral gum surgery, and we were robbed twice, which led to us move out of that particular neighborhood. Then, early one morning, my three-year-old daughter woke up and told her dad that her head hurt. My husband took her to the hospital where she was tested for meningitis. She gave us quite a scare for a few days, then recovered—thank goodness.

Finally, on Monday, December 5, we received another phone call asking us to come to Pocatello. Jeff’s brother and best friend, Greg, was in a coma and doctors were not seeing any brain activity. In a daze and with heavy hearts, we once again set off to a hospital. Greg died shortly thereafter of meningitis. He left a wife, three children under the age of four, and another one on the way.

At this point in the story, there really is no more order to the story. My expectations had met up with the realities of life, and it was ugly. For the last ten years, I have been trying to make sense of 2011 and several events that happened since that time. Some would call this non-matchup of expectation and reality a life crisis, a faith crisis, or cognitive dissonance. I call it an education for the soul. I have had to face my views of the world and decide what I really believe and who I want to become. It has been uncomfortable and extremely unpleasant in many ways, but worthwhile.

Mike was the youngest and the littlest in his family.
He was too young to go to school with his brother and sister. He was too little to play basketball with them.
Mike couldn’t eat as fast as the rest of his family, so sometimes the dessert would be all gone by the time he was ready for seconds.
He still couldn’t tie his shoelaces so that they stayed tied.
Sometimes he couldn’t reach the toy he wanted in the toy cabinet. And the cookie jar was completely out of his reach.
Mike couldn’t ride a bike yet—he was still riding his tricycle. And he wasn’t allowed to cross the street alone.
He was too small to climb the tree that grew behind the house—he couldn’t reach even the lowest branch.
Mike couldn’t stay up as late as his brother or his sister, either—they were allowed to stay up a whole hour longer!
Sometimes it was very hard to be the youngest and the littlest.
But there were times when being the youngest and the littlest could be nice.
When Grandma came to visit, Mike was the only one little enough to sit on her lap.
Sometimes when his brother and sister were in school, Mike and his mother went shopping together. The lady in the bakery would often give him a big cookie. And after lunch his mother would have time to read a story to him. They would laugh together at the pictures in the storybook. That was fun!
Some days his sister would give Mike a ride in his red wagon. He was the only one little enough to fit into it.
Mike was small enough that he could turn cartwheels right in the family room. His brother and sister were not allowed to do that.
When Mike and Daddy went for walks, Daddy would give him a piggyback ride home. Pretty soon he would be too big for that, Daddy said, but now he was just the right size.
One day something happened that made Mike very happy that he was little.
The whole family had been shopping together. When they got home, no one had a house key.
“How can we get in?” they asked each other.
“I know,” said Mother. “That small window is open. If we boost Mike up to the window, he can climb through it and open the door from the inside.”
Daddy boosted Mike up to the small window. He wriggled through it, then ran to open the front door. His mother, father, brother, and sister came in.
“You’re our hero, Mike,” they all said. “You rescued us!”
Mike grinned. Sometimes being the youngest and the littlest was a very good thing.

“Dad was my hero when I was growing up and my best friend when I became an adult. He was the ward clerk and the deacons quorum adviser. He taught us that we don’t need to receive credit from other people for what we do. To provide examples to us children, Dad would often talk about how businessmen were handling their affairs. He and Mother both taught us to be honest. And they both supported us by attending any athletic contest or event at school that we were in.

“My favorite babysitter was my grandaunt Bertha Irvine, my grandmother’s older sister. She was a personal secretary to Wilford Woodruff, Lorenzo Snow, Joseph F. Smith, Heber J. Grant, and George Albert Smith. Sometimes I went to her office in the Church Administration Building and sat at her feet while she worked. Or I would play outside and climb on the building and around its big pillars. We’ve had twelve prophets, and I’ve known and shaken hands with six of them. I never even dreamed that I would ever have an office in that very building, but I serve today with a number of men who knew Aunt Bertha well: President Kimball, President Benson, and President Hinckley. She worked with Elder Joseph Anderson for years in the office of our wonderful prophets.

“My experiences with Sunday School and Primary teachers were important to me as I was growing up. I remember the little red chairs we used to sit in and how church was always an exciting and pleasant place to go. I looked forward to summer Primary, when we would make things out of wood and out of paper. I loved that. As I think back and remember Sister Condie and Sister Anderson and Sister Barnes and some of the other lovely teachers I had, I can remember them more clearly than I can my school teachers. I won a copy of Huckleberry Finn because I had the best attendance record. I still have that book. I appreciate the teacher who gave it to me.

“I had a great experience when I graduated from Primary. Back in those days we each had a green bandalo. I had lost mine. I looked everywhere, including under my bed and through everything in the closet. Finally my mother said, ‘Why don’t you pray about it. Ask Heavenly Father to help you find it.’ So I went to my room and prayed. Even as I was praying, a voice seemed to say, ‘In the dresser, caught underneath the drawer.’ The dresser was in the hall because there wasn’t enough room in my tiny bedroom. When I pulled out the drawer and reached up inside, there it was, caught on a silver! That was the first direct answer to prayer that I can remember receiving. I was proud that I could wear my bandalo when I stood next to Bishop Rulon Sperry as he nominated me to graduate from Primary and to be ordained to the office of a deacon.

“Many summers my family went to Cedar City and stayed on my uncle’s farm. There was no electricity or water in the house, so we carried buckets of water into the house from outside. I experienced farm life as it really was in those days. Now my assignment is with the people in that very same area. It is special to go there—it’s like going home. Some of the people there remember my uncle and aunt and other families I knew.

“A special message that I give to all the children in the world is this: First, love Jesus. He especially loves children, and if children can learn to love Him, then when they are older, they will continue to love Him and understand Him. I think that little children sometimes understand Jesus better than older people do because children forgive so quickly and love so easily.

“Second, live the commandments. The people I know who are truly happy are those who live the commandments. Whatever Heavenly Father wants us to do—such as paying our tithing and going to church and being nice to our brothers and sisters and mothers and fathers—that’s what we should do.

“Third, obey Church leaders. When I was a Primary boy, my parents would always talk about our wonderful bishop, Bishop Sperry. When I was a deacon, my bishop was Rex C. Reeve, Sr., a man with whom I serve today. I have always loved those men. When I don’t have a Church assignment on Sunday, which isn’t very often, I attend my own ward. My bishop there is Ole Johnson, and I love him today just as I loved Bishop Sperry and Bishop Reeve when I was young. If we love our Church leaders and obey what they tell us to do, then we’ll never make serious mistakes.”