Gospel Story Finder

My mother loved general conference. She always tuned in the radio and TV and turned the volume loud enough that it was difficult to find a place in the house where conference couldn’t be heard. She wanted her children to listen to the talks and would ask us from time to time what we remembered. Once in a while I went outside with one of my brothers to play ball during a Saturday conference session. We would take a radio with us because we knew our mother might quiz us later. We would play ball and occasionally take a break to listen carefully so we could report to Mom. I doubt my mother was fooled when we both happened to remember the same thing from an entire session.

If you can’t talk, can you still have a friend? Hayden Rushton has autism, which is a brain development disorder. It is very hard for him to understand and talk with others. But he has dozens of friends. They are the children in his Primary.
When Hayden first went to Primary, he cried and didn’t talk at all. He lives with his grandparents, and his grandmother had to stay with him to help him in Primary. Then his Primary leaders had an idea about how to help Hayden. And every child in Primary would get to help too.
Now Hayden goes to a class with his own teacher. The Primary children take turns going to Hayden’s class. Two older children go during senior sharing time, and two younger children go during junior sharing time. They look at books with Hayden and help him learn to do new things. They also help him learn how to get along with friends.
One of the older boys drew a picture of Hayden’s favorite animated character. Hayden loved it! One five-year-old friend has been very patient as he shows Hayden how to use things. All of the children try to be kind and helpful.
Thanks to the Primary children, Hayden has learned a lot. And thanks to them, Hayden doesn’t have just one friend—he has a whole Primary full of them!

My parents moved from Aberdeen to Colchester when my Father took up a position in London with the Bank of Scotland. My Father commuted every day on the train.
They were far from home, had just become new parents and were setting up a new home when the missionaries first knocked on their door to introduce them to the home evening programme.
Elder Doug Himstreet from Utah and Elder Mulheron knocked at the door and taught my parents over several months. My parents were members of the Church of Scotland and had a good knowledge of the Bible. When the missionaries taught a new principle, my Father would ask them to show where it said that in the Bible. Elder Himstreet was very patient and always said he would find out and come back to them, which he always did. My Father was impressed with his dedication and they became friends.
After several months of teaching and reading the Book of Mormon my Mother was ready to join the Church and Elder Himstreet challenged my Father to prayer about the Book of Mormon. When he accepted that challenge, he received a spiritual witness that it was the word of God. My parents were baptised in 1972 and attended Colchester Ward which was part of the then East Anglia Stake.

Early in Joseph’s marriage, he learned that his success in doing the work of the Lord was directly linked to the harmony that prevailed in his home. While he was working on the translation of the Book of Mormon, Joseph and Emma had “some words,” as every young married couple occasionally does. Joseph went upstairs in the Whitmer home to continue the translation of the Book of Mormon, but he discovered that he could not, for “all was dark.” It wasn’t until Joseph had retired to the woods to pray for forgiveness and then returned to obtain Emma’s forgiveness that the Spirit of the Lord returned so that the translation could continue. (See B. H. Roberts, A Comprehensive History of the Church, 1:130–131.)

Sarah Louisa Chamberlain held her skirts high as she waded into the swollen river, clutching the cup of yeast she had borrowed from a neighbor. She was a spunky little girl with dark eyes and a dogged fortitude, but momentary panic seized her as the chilly flood waters nearly swept her down. It had been raining for weeks, and the Virgin River was awash with muddy water. Across from her, but downstream, she saw part of the embankment break away, then melt quickly into the rushing waters. Grimly wading on, she clamored up the river bank to the small home she and her father had built when the new settlement was being founded. The flood and rain waters had already begun to dissolve the adobe foundation. She knew then that they must quickly move to higher ground.
Solomon Chamberlain lay ill, crippled by rheumatism. He was an old man, tired and worn from his struggle in the torrid desert. And now the endless rain! His strength was gone.
Stuffing a few possessions into a small trunk, Sarah pled with her father to get up and ready himself to leave. He begged to be left alone.Resolutely she pushed him out into the storm, dragging with her the little trunk and some loose bedding. A nearby tree seemed their only refuge. Rising waters and her reluctant father convinced her of this. By boosting and pushing she urged the ailing man up into the tree. She followed, clutching their few belongings.
Shivering with fear and cold, the young girl and her father clung to the tree’s sturdy limbs, and so sat out that January night in 1862, the year of the great storm in southern Utah.
Rescue came early the following morning, but my great-great-great-grandfather Solomon Chamberlain died a few days later. My great-great-grandmother Sarah Louisa took her meager belongings and went to work for settlers’ families. She later became the second wife of Lemuel Hardison Redd, and they had 14 children.

One Friday, he and Sister Benson followed their usual practice of attending a session at the Jordan River Temple. While there, President Benson was approached by a young man who greeted him with joy in his heart and announced that he had been called to fill a full-time mission. President Benson took the newly called missionary by the hand and, with a smile on his lips, declared, “Take me with you! Take me with you!” That missionary testified that, in a way, he took President Benson with him on his mission, since this greeting demonstrated President Benson’s abiding love, his devotion to missionary work, and his desire to ever be found in the service of the Lord.

It is a good thing I did, for a similar event occurred in my life with our youngest son, Clark.
Clark has always liked animals, birds, reptiles—anything that is alive. Sometimes that resulted in a little chaos in our home. One day in his boyhood he came home from Provo Canyon with a water snake, which he named Herman.
Right off the bat Herman got lost. Sister Monson found him in the silverware drawer. Water snakes have a way of being where you least expect them. Well, Clark moved Herman to the bathtub, put a plug in the drain, put a little water in, and had a sign taped to the back of the tub which read, “Don’t use this tub. It belongs to Herman.” So we had to use the other bathroom while Herman occupied that sequestered place.
But then one day, to our amazement, Herman disappeared. His name should have been Houdini. He was gone! So the next day Sister Monson cleaned up the tub and prepared it for normal use. Several days went by.
One evening I decided it was time to take a leisurely bath, so I filled the tub with a lot of warm water, and then I peacefully lay down in the tub for a few moments of relaxation. I was lying there just pondering, when the soapy water reached the level of the overflow drain and began to flow through it. Can you imagine my surprise when, with my eyes focused on that drain, Herman came swimming out, right for my face? I yelled out to my wife, “Frances! Here comes Herman!”
Well, Herman was captured again, put in a foolproof box, and we made a little excursion to Vivian Park in Provo Canyon and there released Herman into the beautiful waters of the South Fork Creek. Herman was never again to be seen by us.

May I introduce you to a successful young executive who writes: “Our family had it made. My wife and I were close, the three children were well adjusted, and then it happened. Jeff and Angela started to attend Primary with the neighbor’s children. From then on each Primary day our dinner hour became an instant replay of Primary. As parents, we couldn’t believe the great thoughts and attitudes—yes, and ‘a little child shall lead them.’ [Isa. 11:6.] Well, that was the beginning, [he writes], and now after two years as members of the Lord’s true church, we really do have it made. Our family didn’t really know what family unity and true happiness were all about until Mormonism came into our family circle.”

One Sunday evening the family’s home teachers visited. The family was struggling through unemployment at the time, and that night she had only a half cup of rice, a little bit of oil to cook it in, and two small tomatoes. But appreciative of these faithful home teachers, she asked them if they would like to stay for dinner.
“My daughter asked how I could do that,” Sister Daggi recalls. She told her daughter to set the table. Then she went into the kitchen and prayed, “Lord, Thou fed 5,000. I’m asking only for seven.”
“That rice fed seven people,” she testifies.

A few years ago a nationally broadcast program talked about imprisoned criminals who were taming wild horses. As the prisoners formed friendships with the horses, they learned about patience, controlling tempers, respect for others, and the value of working within a system. As they watched the horses learn to obey their commands, they realized how they could have avoided the terrible mistakes that had put them in prison.

“She can’t see! The fever has left Sister Stratton completely blind!” The news swept rapidly through the little pioneer town of Virgin, Utah. Sister Emily Amanda Gardner Stratton, beloved Primary president in the Virgin Ward, had lost her sight following a sudden illness. She had lovingly and faithfully served the children in the southern Utah town for fifteen years, and she had helped many of the ward members in times of trouble. Now it was she who needed help. But how could they help her?
The local doctor had done everything he could for her and had advised her family to take her to the nearest hospital, which was in St. George, Utah. It was her only hope if she was to see again.
For weeks, the doctors in St. George tried every treatment that they knew, but nothing seemed to work. When their last treatment failed, Sister Stratton sent word that she wanted to come home.
The children and Primary workers in Virgin had prayed diligently for her recovery. When they heard that the doctors had given up, they were even more determined to do whatever they could to help their dedicated Primary president.
Someone suggested that they hold a special fast for her. They knew that if they had faith and fasted and prayed, Heavenly Father would help her in ways they could not.
It was difficult to go without food all day, but even the youngest Primary children fasted and prayed for their beloved leader.
That evening, they all met at the tiny meetinghouse to close their fast with prayer. Afterward, they felt great peace and joy and knew that Heavenly Father had heard their prayers. The sunset was glorious, casting rays of red and gold throughout the western sky as they went to their homes.
A few days later, Sister Stratton’s wagon creaked as it rolled along the dusty road toward Virgin. The children and Primary leaders hurried to greet her and tell her of their special fast.
“What time was your fast meeting, children?” Sister Stratton asked.
“It was at sunset!” one child exclaimed.
Sister Stratton sat back. Her eyes filled with tears as she spoke. “At sunset on that day, I was sitting in a chair by the west window of my hospital room. As I looked up, I saw the sunset for the first time since the fever stole my sight. Yes, children, I can see!”
The loving prayers and faith-filled fasting of the Virgin Ward Primary had been answered with a miracle. For the rest of Sister Stratton’s life, she was blessed with perfect eyesight.

When Newel Knight informed his wife, Lydia, that the Saints would have to leave Nauvoo and move yet again, she responded with tenacious faith, saying, “Our place is with the kingdom of God. Let us at once set about making preparations to leave.”1 Brother Knight had moved his family several times already as many of the Saints had moved from New York to Ohio to Missouri and to Illinois. Lydia Knight’s devoted submission to what she knew was God’s will typifies powerfully the faith of those heroic early Saints.

Aaron M., 15, Utah, USA
I helped in the special needs seminary class this year, and I was paired up with a buddy for the whole semester. I could see how much my friendship meant to him. He always smiled and was so excited when I picked him up to go to seminary. He loved going because lots of people at school made fun of special needs students, but in seminary no one did. This taught me that it is important to be kind to everyone, no matter what.

“In reviewing my own life,” says Geneva Smith of Tacoma, Washington, “I find that the spiritual experiences are not planned. They come unexpectedly while I am serving family, Church, and community.” When she was assigned to visit teach a sister who had cancer, Sister Smith sat with her in the hospital every other day for six weeks. “I thought I knew and loved this sister already, but I soon realized I had only begun to really know her,” Sister Smith remembers. “As I massaged her legs, combed her hair, and bathed her pain-wracked body, I began to really love this sister. As I gave of myself, my cup was filled to overflowing.”

Some time ago I received a letter written by a man who had strayed from the Church. It typifies too many of our members. After describing how he had become inactive, he wrote:

“I had so much and now have so little. I am unhappy and feel as though I am failing in everything. The gospel has never left my heart, even though it has left my life. I ask for your prayers.
“Please don’t forget those of us who are out here—the lost Latter-day Saints. I know where the Church is, but sometimes I think I need someone else to show me the way, encourage me, take away my fear, and bear testimony to me.”

While I was reading this letter, my thoughts turned to a visit I made to one of the great art galleries of the world—the famed Victoria and Albert Museum in London, England. There, exquisitely framed, is a masterpiece painted in 1831 by Joseph Mallord William Turner. The painting features heavy-laden black clouds and the fury of a turbulent sea portending danger and death. A light from a stranded vessel gleams far off. In the foreground, tossed high by incoming waves of foaming water, is a large lifeboat. The men pull mightily on the oars as the lifeboat plunges into the tempest. On the shore stand a wife and two children, wet with rain and whipped by wind. They gaze anxiously seaward. In my mind I abbreviated the name of the painting. To me it became To the Rescue.1

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.

“Mom,” Nancy asked, as she carefully put her toothbrush back into the holder and started for her bedroom, “who can I invite to my baptism Saturday?”
“Well, your dad and I will be there and the rest of your Primary class, so just about anybody else, I suppose.”
“But my teacher said that I should invite a ‘special friend,’ and all my special friends are already going to be there.”
“Why don’t we ask Heavenly Father for some help?” her mother suggested, and they knelt beside the bed.
The next day was Friday, and it was a busy one for Nancy. She came in from school and immediately started her weekend homework. She would be too busy to do it Saturday, and tonight Sister Johnson, her Primary teacher, had invited her to dinner. Nancy had never been to Sister Johnson’s home before, so she was quite excited about the evening, and it was hard to keep her mind on her homework.
At last she was through, and it was time to go. “Have you thought of a special friend to ask to your baptism tomorrow?” Nancy’s mother asked as they drove to her teacher’s house.
“No, I haven’t,” Nancy slowly replied, “but I know that Heavenly Father will help me think of someone before it’s too late.”
The Johnsons lived in a small home with a pretty yard. Their children were grown, but the house had the warmth and friendliness that people who love children bring to any place they live.
When Sister Johnson introduced her husband to Nancy, Nancy asked, “Are you coming to my baptism tomorrow?”
“No.”
Mr. Johnson’s reply was short but not angry, so Nancy then asked, “Why don’t you come to church with your wife?”
Mr. Johnson looked a bit uncomfortable as he explained to his young guest that since he wasn’t a member, he didn’t go to church.
Nancy thought for a minute. Then she asked, “Mr. Johnson, do you believe that Jesus is Heavenly Father’s Son?”
He looked startled as he answered, “Certainly.”
“Well, do you have something that you have to repent of—” Suddenly realizing that what she’d asked was none of her business, Nancy turned very red and started to apologize.
But Mr. Johnson was really nice about it. “Nancy,” he said thoughtfully, “I suppose everybody has some sin or wrongdoing that they should get squared away on, but I doubt that I have anything terrible to repent of.”
“Then why don’t you get baptized too?”
Mr. Johnson smiled patiently at her. “It’s just not that simple, young lady,” he said. “Your church asks you to believe a lot more than the fact that Jesus is the Son of God.”
“Oh,” Nancy said. “But the things that we learn in Primary are all things that Jesus wants us to know, aren’t they?”
“From what I know about what my wife teaches in Primary, they are,” Mr. Johnson acknowledged cautiously.
“Then all you have to do is pray about it, and the Holy Ghost will tell you that it’s right. Then you can be baptized!”
“Nancy, I’ve had the missionary discussions, and I simply don’t know for sure.”
The call to supper came just then, and the subject was dropped. Sister Johnson had fixed Nancy’s favorite foods, and Mr. Johnson told many interesting stories about his childhood while they ate.
Soon it was time for the Johnsons to drive Nancy home. As they pulled into her driveway, Nancy remembered her prayer. She turned to Mr. Johnson and said, “Your wife said that I should invite a special friend to my baptism tomorrow. Will you be my special friend and come?”
As Nancy waited anxiously for his answer, he was quiet for a moment. Then he smiled at her and said, “I’d be honored to.”
That evening as she prepared for bed, Nancy knelt and thanked Heavenly Father for helping her find a special friend to invite to her baptism.
Saturday afternoon Nancy and her family went to the meetinghouse. She and her father sat in their white clothes in the front row by the baptismal font, ready for the big event. As Nancy looked for the Johnsons, she saw the bishop come in and, to her surprise, he was dressed in white also. As he shook her hand, she asked, “Bishop, why are you dressed that way? Isn’t Dad going to baptize me?”
“Oh yes,” smiled Bishop Guthridge. “I’m going to baptize someone else.”
“Who?” Nancy asked. “I thought that I was the only one getting baptized today.”
“A special friend,” responded the bishop, with a twinkle in his eye. He nodded toward the doorway, where the Johnsons were coming in. Mr. Johnson was wearing white pants and a white shirt!
As they sat down next to Nancy, the bishop went to the front of the room to start the services. “We’d like to welcome you to our baptisms today,” he said. “You all know that this is Nancy’s big day, but you probably didn’t know that I got a call early this morning from Brother Johnson. It seems that he is a ‘special friend’ to someone who taught him last night how to know that the gospel is true, and he wants to be baptized too. So today will be extra special for two people, their families, and for all of us.”

On the afternoon of Wednesday, September 30, 1998, a Little League football team in Inkom, Idaho, was on the field for its midweek practice. The team had completed its warm-ups and was starting to run a few plays from scrimmage. Dark clouds were gathering, as they sometimes do in the fall, and it began to rain lightly, but that was of no concern to a group of boys who loved playing football.
Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, a deafening crack of thunder split the air, inseparable from the flash of lightning that illuminated, literally electrified, the entire scene.
At that very moment a young friend of mine, A. J. Edwards, then a deacon in the Portneuf Ward of the McCammon Idaho Stake, was ready for the ball on a handoff that was sure to be a touchdown in this little intersquad bit of horseplay. But the lightning that had illuminated earth and sky struck A. J. Edwards from the crown of his football helmet to the soles of his shoes.
The impact of the strike stunned all the players, knocking a few to the ground, leaving one player temporarily without his sight and virtually all the rest of the players dazed and shaken. Instinctively they started running for the concrete pavilion adjacent to the park. Some of the boys began to cry. Many of them fell to their knees and began to pray. Through it all, A. J. Edwards lay motionless on the field.
Brother David Johnson of the Rapid Creek Ward, McCammon Idaho Stake, rushed to the player’s side. He shouted to coach and fellow ward member Rex Shaffer, “I can’t get a pulse. He’s in cardiac arrest.” These two men, rather miraculously both trained emergency medical technicians, started a life-against-death effort in CPR.
Cradling A. J.’s head as the men worked was the young defensive coach of the team, 18-year-old Bryce Reynolds, a member of the Mountain View Ward, McCammon Idaho Stake. As he watched Brother Johnson and Brother Shaffer urgently applying CPR, he had an impression. I am confident it was a revelation from heaven in every sense of the word. He remembered vividly a priesthood blessing that the bishop had once given his grandfather following an equally tragic and equally life-threatening accident years earlier. Now, as he held this young deacon in his arms, he realized that for the first time in his life he needed to use his newly conferred Melchizedek Priesthood in a similar way. In anticipation of his 19th birthday and forthcoming call to serve a mission, young Bryce Reynolds had been ordained an elder just 39 days earlier.
Whether he audibly spoke the words or only uttered them under his breath, Elder Reynolds said: “A. J. Edwards, in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the power and authority of the Melchizedek Priesthood which I hold, I bless you that you will be okay. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.” As Bryce Reynolds closed that brief but fervent blessing offered in the language of an 18-year-old, A. J. Edwards drew his first renewed breath.
The ongoing prayers, miracles, and additional priesthood blessings of that entire experience—including a high-speed ambulance drive to Pocatello and a near-hopeless LifeFlight to the burn center at the University of Utah—brings to us today a very healthy and robust A. J. Edwards. I also talked on the telephone with Elder Bryce Reynolds, who was serving faithfully in the Texas Dallas Mission. I love these two wonderful young men.

The winding ways Sister Secuya and her family traverse reflect her journey in bringing her family to walk the covenant path together. At first, Sister Secuya was the only Church member in the family, but she had become less active.
Then, one day, she saw the full- time missionaries. “I’m a member of the Church, come please,” Mitzi excitedly called them out. The missionaries set an appointment with the family, and invited them to hear about the gospel of Jesus Christ.
At first, Richard Secuya wasn’t that receptive to the missionaries, but as he thought of his wife and children, he became more responsive to the promptings of the Spirit. The entire family became members of the Church, and were sealed for time and all eternity in the temple.
“I know the Lord will not forsake us if we come to Him,” Brother Secuya testifies, “and it is truly wonderful that we are now members of the Church. He really is mindful of us.”

There was an old man in our ward who was visually impaired and couldn’t come to church. He is good friends with my dad, and I felt prompted to help him.
One of my friends and I got permission from my bishop to take the sacrament to him every Sunday. While I was doing that, I realized that sometimes he needed someone to iron his clothes. Then I realized he wasn’t able to do Come, Follow Me or read the Book of Mormon, so I read aloud to him.
The more I tried to be aware of ways to serve, the more I found things I could do to make a difference. This man has now moved away to be with his daughters, but I felt peace when I served him.
When Christ came to earth, He came to serve. I know that by serving this man, I was getting closer to my Savior.