Gospel Story Finder

My mama works the day shift at the Welcome Restaurant, and that’s where I meet her on weekdays after school. Sometimes if Mama’s busy, I sit behind the counter or I even help collect the dishes from the booths.
It’s called the Welcome Restaurant, Mama says, because the owner wants folks to feel at home. He put a gigantic welcome mat in front of the entrance. And the name Welcome Restaurant flashes in bright lights on the roof.
Mama says that people come to the restaurant because the food is good, but I think people come here to decide. Just the other day I heard a girl there deciding to get married, and yesterday I heard someone there decide to move.
I like to watch the people while they sit and talk or think, and I always wonder where they’re from or where they’re going. I like to watch Mama, too, when she writes down all the orders. Sometimes we play a game about what each person wants to eat. As she passes me, Mama whispers what she thinks they’ll order, like “Scrambled eggs and toast,” or “Oh, he’s ‘fried chicken.’” And if she’s right, she’ll wink at me and cluck just like a hen, while I laugh so hard that I nearly slide off the stool!
What I like best is when Mama’s shift is over and we walk home together. Mama tells me stories about who she met that day, or she tells me a funny joke that she heard.
When we get home, Mama puts her feet up and empties her apron pockets. I help count the tips she received from work. I like to put the quarters, dimes, and nickels in tall silver stacks.
At bedtime, Mama tucks me in. Sometimes she’ll sing a song to me or read a storybook. When she says good night to me, I always have the feeling that she’s happy, even though she’s tired.
When I’m grown, I want to have a restaurant where people feel at home and where they’ll sit and talk or decide things. And I think I’ll call it Mama’s, because I know that she’ll be there, asking people where they’re from or where they’re going and making them feel welcome and happy.

But one of the best adaptations of all came when Claudia and Sandra announced, out of the blue, that they wanted to be baptized. The Bisgaards had not been pushing their religion on the new family members. After all, they had enough to adjust to at first. But they were always included when they wanted to be. The Spanish-speaking sister missionaries came by now and then, but they were there to translate more than proselyte.
“One day the missionaries told us they were going to a baptism, so we asked them about it,” explained Claudia. “When they told us that in this church they baptize children when they’re eight so they understand everything, we decided that we needed to be baptized now too. We wanted to be members of the Church.”
Their new parents made certain that they understood what they were doing before they were baptized. The girls took the missionary discussions and attended many Church meetings prior to their baptismal date. Brother and Sister Bisgaard wanted to assure that their new daughters didn’t feel pressured into their decision and had sincere testimonies of the truthfulness of the gospel.

When I talked to my wife, Clirime, about the Church, she would not listen at first. Her grandfather belonged to a different religion, and she wondered why The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints had even come to Albania. I knew that the only way I could bring her into the gospel was through my example. Through our actions, people can see who we really are.
Clirime noticed changes in me as I gave up alcohol and started coming home early from work. Because of the changes I was making, she started to feel the Spirt of God as I told her about the Church. I cannot describe the happy feeling I had when she told me that one day she would also get baptized. Soon she began taking the missionary lessons, which I helped the missionaries teach. I was especially happy when she set a date for her baptism, six months after I was baptized.

President Grant loved his 10 daughters and was very close to them, but the fact that his only 2 sons died while still children was a deep and lasting sorrow to him.
Through many years of traveling to carry out his Church responsibilities, President Grant felt lonely whenever he was away from his family. His return home was marked with great joy. His daughters remember how on these occasions he would tell them of his experiences, walking around the house with a child on each foot and delighting in their company.12

“Where’s Dad’s red shirt? It just isn’t Christmas if Dad doesn’t wear his red shirt.”
I don’t remember when this tradition started in our family, but Dad always had to wear his red flannel shirt on Christmas Day. Most likely he just happened to put it on one Christmas, and we thought it was just the right thing to wear. After that we had great fun with Dad hiding the shirt and the rest of us trying to find it before the big day. That red flannel shirt became a tradition. It was a simple thing that still brings back wonderful memories of brothers and sisters, of mother and father, caring about each other and showing it during Christmas.

Mary Ann Stearns, step-daughter of Elder Parley P. Pratt, in her unpublished autobiography, relates an experience that her family had with the Prophet Joseph that also illustrates his great capacity for kindness. Returning from his mission to England with his family and a group of immigrants by way of St. Louis, Missouri the group was detained four weeks because of cold weather and the great chunks of ice that floated on the a!most frozen Mississippi River. When they finally did arrive in Nauvoo the anxiety of the Britons to see the Prophet Joseph was only exceeded by the anxiety of the Saints in Nauvoo concerning the safety of the immigrants. Thus Joseph and Hyrum and a large company of people were at the landing to greet the newcomers. Elder Pratt introduced the company to the two illustrious leaders and when all except the Pratts had disembarked and had gone to their homes, the Prophet came into the cabin of the boat where the Pratts were.
“After a cordial greeting, he took a seat and taking the little boys, Parley and Nathan, upon his knees, seemed much affected, Brother Pratt remarking, ‘We took away three children and have brought back five.’ Then Brother Joseph said, “Well, well, Brother Parley, you have returned bringing your sheaves with you,” the tears streaming down his face. Brother Pratt, seeing the general emotion this caused, said, ‘If you feel so bad about our coming home, I guess we will have to go back again,’ tears of joy filling his own eyes.”
Elder Pratt’s remark seemed to break the spell, smiles returned and joy continued to fill all their hearts. Then Joseph, arising, said, “Come, Brother Parley, bring your folks right up to my house; it is only a little way, and you can be more comfortable after your long journey.” Sister Pratt, very ill, was placed in a large comfortable chair and carried by Brother Hodge and others of Joseph’s bodyguards to the Prophet’s home where a really special evening was enjoyed by the entire family.

When I was 12 years old, my family moved from subtropical Hong Kong to a place with cold, unfamiliar winters. Soon, I was invited on my first winter hike with the young men in my ward.
On the day of our hike, I dressed as warmly as I knew how. As we ascended the winding mountain trail, I was excited to see falling snow cover the ground. I was inadequately dressed for the terrain and weather, however, and had difficulty keeping up with my group. I told them to go ahead and I would join those who I believed were following us.
As I continued at my own pace, my shoes and clothing became soaked and my hands, feet, and face became numb. It then began to snow so intensely that I could no longer see the trail. After wandering for some time, I realized that I was lost, alone, and unsure if anyone knew I was missing.
Elder Tai in the Sierra Nevada range of California around 1988. The story he shares took place on Mount Baden Powell in the San Gabriel Mountains of California in 1984.
Photograph courtesy of the author
Lost, cold, and alone on that snowy mountain those many years ago, I became desperate. Not knowing what else to do, I knelt in the newly fallen snow and prayed to my Heavenly Father for help. I shared my predicament and fears with Him and pleaded to be found and rescued.
When I arose from my prayer, the snow descended all around me, and a beautiful, calm silence filled the trees. This serenity was disrupted when I heard rustling in the bushes nearby. Two older boys emerged. They had already reached the summit, and instead of following the trail, they decided to slide down the mountain. Of all places, they slid right to where I was!
When they asked me what I was doing there, I told them I was lost. They invited me to join them, and together we slid safely down to the trailhead at the base of the mountain. Eventually we were reunited with the rest of our group.

I have a plot of earth
and have planted there
a handful of good seeds
that I hope will bear,
but I must labor
and till the soil,
feed the plants.
And with my toil,
if I rise early
to work each day
and thrust away
the strangling weeds
and infertile land,
then comes the progress
by my steady hand.
It’s the day-to-day
productive hours
that purchase growth
and produce flowers.
Likewise, my life.
If I take care,
I will mature
and strengthen where
I once was weak,
had lacked in heart
or wanted for courage,
so, for my part,
I have endeavored.
Life’s like the earth
and requires effort
for yielding worth.
It’s the day-to-day
productive row
that reaps the good
from seeds you sow.

Each day at sunset, I sat on a rock looking out over the Pacific Ocean. I often imagined that on the other side of the water was our Heavenly Father’s temple, near which many of my brothers and sisters were living in happiness. I couldn’t help but weep, remembering the wonderful times I had had with my fellow Saints in the Saigon chapel.
From that day forth, our small branch awakened as if from a deep sleep. A presiding elder was chosen to lead us. We were able to communicate sometimes with the Church and other members through VASAA (Veterans Assisting Saints Abroad Association). I was finally given permission to leave Viet Nam. VASAA had helped to arrange with the Canadian and Vietnamese governments for my exit visa. My oldest son living in Toronto, Ontario, sponsored me.
Less than a year later, in March and April 1988, I was finally able to visit Salt Lake City for ten days and attend general conference. I met many friends, missionaries, and General Authorities. The first time I saw Temple Square I could not help but weep for my blessings. In the Tiger’s Den, it had been my greatest wish to see the temple. At last, I was able to receive my endowment in the Lord’s House.

I started receiving the New Era in August of 1994 because my older sister gave it to me as a birthday present. I love it. I always read the magazines when I feel emptiness inside, because they help me out through tough times. Whenever I go to the temple to do baptisms for the dead, I take a few copies of the magazine along for company. The New Era has and always will make a difference in my life.
Sharline AlonzoUnion City, New Jersey

I have always been taught to be nice to my schoolmates, friends, and family. My mother always says, “Aarón, never use violence. Jesus doesn’t like it!”
When I was going to a preschool near my house, there was a boy in a higher grade who sometimes tried to hit me at recess. He seemed big and strong. One day he had a rock. And when he saw me, he hit me in the head with the rock. I knew I could try to hit him back, but I remembered my mother’s words: “Jesus doesn’t like violence.” I left and I ran to get my teacher.
A year has gone by since this happened, and now I’m in another school. I’m grateful to Heavenly Father and Jesus because I don’t feel afraid. I know that I always need to try to do what is right and not use violence, even though sometimes it’s hard for me.

The nightmare began with a phone call. A tender voice on the line informed me that our 15-year-old son was involved with drugs and alcohol—and had been for quite some time. Shock gripped me.
We took our son to the county health department and had him tested for drug use. His drug levels broke their record for that substance. By the end of the week, we had admitted him to a local rehabilitation program. Six weeks later he was discharged, and I thought the nightmare was over. But it was only just beginning. Two months later he was arrested at school for sale and possession of marijuana. Months became years, and a pattern of drug abuses and arrests developed. In one year alone he was arrested 10 times. Finally he was sentenced to six months in jail.
After visiting our son in jail each Sunday, we would drive to the temple being built in our city at the time and sit there and weep. How could this have happened?

This morning a brown bird flew in our window at school. It almost got tangled in Rosalie’s long black hair. Rosalie screamed, and then all of us screamed. I guess our screaming scared the poor bird, because it started flying around really fast, not looking where it was going. It bumped into the ceiling light, then banged against the chalkboard.
All of us felt sorry for it, and we were afraid it would get hurt if it kept flying around that way. Then I had an idea. I didn’t know if it was a good idea or not, and I almost didn’t suggest it. But no one else had any idea at all, so I said, “Let’s go out into the hall and leave the bird alone.”
Our teacher, Mrs. Rubin, said, “Good idea, Anna.”
We all got up and tiptoed into the hall. Mrs. Rubin closed the door gently. We sat cross-legged on the floor and waited without making a sound.
At first we heard the bird fluttering and flying and crashing into things. Then it got quiet in the room. Our teacher motioned to me to look through the door glass to see what was happening. I stood on tiptoe and peeked.
The bird was sitting on the back of a chair. I could see how fast its heart was beating through the thin part of its feathers. It looked around, saw the open window, and flew toward it and sat on the sill for a minute. Finally, with a swoop, it was gone. I think it needed time to be alone so that it could decide what to do. Sometimes my mom leaves me alone when I get upset about things. I guess that’s why I knew how to help the bird.
Anyway, when we went back inside and sat down to do our morning board work, it was nice to think about the bird at home in the sky.

A convert to the Church, I grew up in Norwich, England, which is about 110 miles from London. During the Second World War, my father served in the British army and was stationed in Italy. In fact, I didn’t meet my father until I was five.
When I was about four years old, Mother would take my brother and me into the city every Saturday morning. At 10:30 we would be walking by a large clock that chimed. Mother would say, “Oh, it’s 10:30.” She would buy us a little something, not anything very significant, but something to try to brighten us up because Dad was away.
One particular Saturday morning when we were about to leave home, Mother said, “I don’t think we’ll go shopping today. I’m going to take you to the woods.”
After we arrived at the woods, we played in the grass and trees and enjoyed ourselves. Suddenly we heard an air raid siren. Planes were coming in overhead, so we hurried home. The next day, we discovered that at 10:30 A.M. bombs had been dropped, demolishing the whole area around the clock in the city.
That incident really had an impact on me. Mother often commented on the feelings she’d had that day. She wasn’t a member of the Church, but, not knowing why, she had had an impression, a prompting, to do something different. That was a great example in my life of parents being guided by the Lord to take care of their children beyond their normal understanding.

Imagine graduating from Young Women and a few months later being called as Relief Society president. Impossible, you say? Mallory Higginson and Macie Murphy could tell you otherwise.
Both 18-year-old freshmen at BYU–Idaho, Macie and Mallory are serving as presidents of the Relief Society groups in their student wards. They had hardly even attended Relief Society before they were each called to serve as president.
They smile confidently as they talk about their callings, but each admits being surprised and overwhelmed after her first meeting with the bishop. Neither of them had been attending Relief Society for very long before arriving at school. Now all of a sudden they were in charge. Despite their initial doubts and fears, Macie and Mallory have quickly come to see that they are not on their own. Their mothers, who have both served as Relief Society presidents, are only a phone call away with comfort and advice. Their bishop is also there to support them, and, of course, so is the Lord.
Although from very different parts of the country—Macie is from Columbus, Georgia, and Mallory is from Mesa, Arizona—they are both learning together that Relief Society is about women being united in the gospel.

Ravine, by Janet Hickman. Jeremy enjoys staging battles with his collection of ancient warriors and is proud of his beautiful but willful collie, Duchess. Ulf also loves the dog, but calls her Magic, since it seems that something unexplainable brings her to him. The ravine behind Jeremy’s house is where the two boys meet, brought together through a time slip found by Duchess—a slip through which two boys and two completely different worlds collide.

Newport Beach California Temple
The Newport Beach California Temple was dedicated on August 28, 2005, becoming the Church’s 122nd operating temple. Before the dedication more than 150,000 people attended the temple open house. Newport Beach stake president Weatherford Clayton said many visitors commented on the beauty of the temple. “I believe they can appreciate why it is an incredibly sacred building for us,” said President Clayton.
With more than 770,000 Church members California has the largest population of Latter-day Saints in one of the United States—except for Utah. The Newport Beach California Temple is the seventh operating temple in California, serving 50,000 members.

“You won’t understand everything the first time, but always go back to the temple and keep learning more throughout your life.”
My bishop gave me this advice right before I received my endowment, and he was right! I’ll never forget the Spirit and the love I felt in the temple, but afterward, I quickly forgot a lot of it, and I wasn’t sure how to apply everything I had learned.
Which just made me want to keep going back to learn more.

I received my patriarchal blessing when I was 16 years old. My interest in receiving it started during a lesson about patriarchal blessings. Later that interest grew into a desire. Then our stake patriarch spoke at a fireside, and I realized I was ready.
As we pray, fast, and study the scriptures, the Holy Ghost can tell us when we’re ready. My parents also helped me make this decision.

As a boy, I well remember Sunday School on Mother’s Day. We would hand to each mother present a small potted plant and sit in silent reverie as Melvin Watson, a blind member, would stand by the piano and sing, “That Wonderful Mother of Mine.” This was the first time I saw a blind man cry. Even today, in memory, I can see the moist tears move from those sightless eyes, then form tiny rivulets and course down his cheeks, falling finally upon the lapel of the suit he had never seen. In boyhood puzzlement I wondered why all of the grown men were silent, why so many handkerchiefs came forth. Now I know. You see, mother was remembered. Each boy, every girl, all fathers and husbands seemed to make a silent pledge: “I will remember that wonderful mother of mine.”