Gospel Story Finder

A few weeks ago I took my six-year-old granddaughter for a walk over at the new Timpanogos Hospital while we were waiting for her new little brother to be born. In the hospital entry there was a crisp, bright new American flag. She touched some of the gold tassels hanging from it and asked me, “Which is more important, freedom or family?” I really didn’t have an answer, but I thought about her question for a while. Family is central to the great plan of redemption. So is freedom, emancipation from bondage—the great theme of Passover.

Her question didn’t exactly startle me, but it was unexpected. While waiting for others to join us to perform temple sealings, we spoke of this and that—about the snow, the chandelier—and then, after a moment, the young woman turned to me and asked, “How long have you been a sealing officiator?”
“I’m beginning my 19th year,” I said.
“And what have you learned?” she asked.
I had no reply at first. I’d never thought that question through.
I searched my mind for possible answers. I thought of saying, “I’ve learned how perfect people can seem here in the temple.”
I thought of answering, “I have learned to appreciate the ordinances themselves—their simplicity, their antiquity, their profundity.”
But I knew she was asking for the essence of my experience. And suddenly I found the words to express what I knew.
“I’ve learned that the basis of eternity is the family,” I said. “The essential purpose of the Church and all that we do is to make it possible for families to be together forever.”
She sat motionless, her eyes meeting mine.
“The ordinances performed in the temple empower people,” I said. “They make eternal family relationships possible. In the temple, I find that family and love are synonymous. That’s what I’ve learned.”
Sensing a need, I turned the question back to her. “What have you learned?” I asked.
Her lip trembled for a moment. “I’ve learned that what you are saying is true,” she said finally. “Family is what the Church—and the temple—are all about. That’s why I’m here—for my family.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“My father was good to me, but my mother died when I was tiny,” she said. “They were never married. When I was 13, my father died. And then I found the gospel—or it found me.”
Her face brightened. “A few months ago I got back from my mission and began the temple work for my father and mother. I was sealed to them for eternity. For the first time, I am whole. Knowing I am sealed to my family gives me a place to be. The day I was sealed to my parents was, for me, the beginning of eternity. I feel so happy when I am here in the temple.”
I looked into her smiling face. Through my tears, I could see hers. Now each time I go to the temple, I think of that sister’s face and of the eternal blessing it is to be sealed to our families forever.

Inspired by a New Era article, “An Author Card for Cindie” (May ’81), Bradley Jenkins of Monte Sereno, California, chose to document the tombstone inscriptions of the Madronia Cemetery as his Eagle project.
Bradley organized the efforts of 33 other people to help in carrying out his project. He organized groups to record the epitaphs on each stone. He then enlisted the help of a computer to organize the names alphabetically. Upon completing his project, Bradley donated copies of his book-length report to local libraries and historical societies as well as to the cemetery and to the Genealogical Library in Salt Lake City.

I just want to say how thankful I am for the article “Locket in the Sand” in the February 2003 issue. I am 15 years old and am the only child still living at home, so I get a bit lonely sometimes. One night I was home alone and was feeling very lonely. I picked up the New Era, and it opened to that article. As I was reading, I felt such an overwhelming feeling of peace come over me. It reminded me that I can pray anywhere, at any time, and for any reason. At the time, I needed to be comforted. Now I know that I just have to pray and my Heavenly Father listens to me and lets me know that I am loved.Joanna Milne, Burpengary Ward, Brisbane Australia North Stake

Other contemporaries of the Prophet Joseph Smith were prepared for the coming forth of the Book of Mormon. In 1816, in response to a prayer much like Joseph’s, an angelic visitor informed Solomon Chamberlain that “faith was gone from the earth, excepting a few and that all Churches were corrupt.” The angel told Solomon that the Lord “would soon raise up a Church, that would be after the Apostolic Order, that there would be in it the same powers, and gifts that were in the days of Christ, and that [he] should live to see the day, and that there would [be] a book come forth, like unto the Bible and the people would be guided by it, as well as the Bible.” In 1829, while traveling on the Erie Canal, he felt prompted by the Spirit to stop in Palmyra. He walked three miles south of the community, then lodged at a farmhouse for the night. In the morning the house’s occupants asked if he had ever heard of the “Gold Bible.” Solomon later recalled that, at the mere mention of it, “There was a power like electricity [that] went from the top of my head to the end of my toes.”9
He made his way to the Smith’s home, where he told the family of his vision. They, in turn, told him of the Book of Mormon. They spent two days teaching him the doctrines of the book, and he then took some of the newly printed pages of the book with him to Canada, where, he recalled, “I preached all I knew concerning Mormonism.”10

They aren’t great basketball players, but they are determined, I thought as I watched the opposing team run up and down the court.
They were younger, less experienced, and shorter than our basketball team. But they kept on trying, even when it was clear that they didn’t have a chance of winning.
Randy, a boy with sandy-blond hair, played like he didn’t know what the score was. Although he rarely had possession of the ball, he chased it up and down the court as if the whole game depended on him.
When his teammates did pass him the ball, he would carry it four steps, stop, bounce it, and pass it to another player. But the referees didn’t call a penalty, and no one complained. Randy, who is mentally handicapped, was doing his best.
With seconds left on the clock, he got the ball and his teammates yelled for him to shoot. Concentrating so hard that his tongue hung out of his mouth, he shot—and missed. One of our players rebounded the ball, hesitated, and then tossed the ball to Randy.
“Shoot the ball!” our player yelled, and members of both teams joined in the cheer.
The ball went up, hit the rim, and bounced off. Again, Randy was given the ball, and again he missed. Time had run out, but the buzzer didn’t sound, and the referees stayed at half court. Everyone yelled for him to try again. This time the ball arched and swished the net, and the last two points of the game belonged to Randy.
The crowd went wild, and the members of both teams surrounded Randy to congratulate him. He jumped up and down as though he had won the game. And I realized that he had.
And so had every player in that game. They had been true sportsmen: fair and generous. That night no one went home feeling angry or disappointed. There was no bragging or teasing. There were no losers, only winners.

Claw Foot was pushed into the wigwam of Chief Broken Wing. His two captors held him rigidly as the great chief glared at him.
“This brave hunts our buffalo,” one of the captors said. “His name is Claw Foot.”
Claw Foot winced. He disliked having his name spoken before strangers.
“The herds in this valley are ours,” the chief said.
“But my people are near starvation,” Claw Foot pleaded. “Our herds are gone. We have journeyed many moons in search of new hunting grounds. We must have fertile land on which to grow our crops.”
“This land is ours. You go!” Broken Wing commanded.
Then the chief’s intelligent eyes lingered for several moments on Claw Foot’s left foot, the clawlike shape that even the brave’s carefully made deerskin moccasin could not disguise. As Broken Wing stared at the moccasin, his left hand went instinctively to his own right arm, which Claw Foot saw was twisted like a gnarled branch.
Broken Wing spoke, “You too have a lame body.”
“I was born with a foot like a claw,” Claw Foot explained.
“My arm was not always this way,” Broken Wing said sadly. “When I was a small boy, I fell from my horse.” He paused and then spoke, “You may have one buffalo, Claw Foot.”
“Only one buffalo!” protested Claw Foot, hastening to speak before Broken Wing had a chance to draw the blanket of silence about himself. “One buffalo will supply food for my people for only a few days.”
“One buffalo!” repeated Broken Wing impatiently.
Claw Foot felt the darkness of defeat as he turned to leave. Then out of the darkness came the light of an idea.
He turned to face Broken Wing once more. “And may we have the land that this one buffalo hide will cover?” he asked.
The chief laughed. “Even if you take the largest buffalo, its hide would not cover enough ground for a single wigwam.”
“Perhaps I can stretch the hide,” suggested Claw Foot.
Broken Wing looked at Claw Foot’s left moccasin again. “You may have the land one hide will cover,” he agreed.
At sunup Claw Foot mounted his pinto and rode into the valley. With the help of his scouts, he separated the biggest and finest cow from the herd of buffalo. With strong, sure aim, his arrow hit the heart of the beast and felled it.
There was great happiness and feasting that night among his people, but Claw Foot did not partake of the food. He was too concerned with tanning the hide. All through the next day he was busy cutting the hide into little pieces and conferring with his scouts, who afterward were sent out in different directions.
When they returned, Claw Foot sought admittance to the wigwam of Chief Broken Wing. “I am here for my land,” he told the chief. “Come, I will show you.”
Broken Wing mounted his buckskin while Claw Foot took the lead on his pinto. As they rode through the valley and over the ridges, Claw Foot pointed out the small pieces of buffalo hide his scouts had scattered over the land.
“The one buffalo hide covers enough ground for many wigwams, much hunting, and fine crops,” Claw Foot explained.
Broken Wing’s eyes looked like darting black clouds. He did not reply, but instead he slapped his horse and galloped away.
Claw Foot urged his pinto to follow, and his mind raced as rapidly as his horse’s hoofs.
Back at Broken Wing’s wigwam, Claw Foot stood once more before the chief, who sat cross-legged before the fire.
Broken Wing seemed thoughtful. Looking up at Claw Foot, he finally said, “Only your body is lame, not your thoughts. You have outwitted me fairly. You may have the land.”
Claw Foot made the sign of gratitude.
Then Broken Wing continued speaking. “From this day on you will not be known as Claw Foot. Your name is He Who Thinks.
And so it was.

I listened to President Harold Wright, recently released as president of the Mesa Temple in Arizona. He served over the years as stake president and Regional Representative, and has had many contacts with nonmembers and their religious associations in his city. He said that for years he would go to general conference and notice those people outside Temple Square passing out anti-Mormon literature. What do you do when you see that literature? Do you shut your eyes and wave them by and make sure they know you are not going to take it? Or do you accept it? President Wright noticed one man in particular who seemed to be there every time. He began to visit with him and found that he was a minister from Los Angeles. They began to be friends and President Wright talked to him every time he came to conference. One day he said to this man, “Have you ever attended a session of general conference here?”

The man said, “No, I haven’t.”

President Wright asked, “Would you like to go in?”

The man answered, “I would very much like to go in.”

So he took the minister in and they sat through the session. President Wright said his friend felt an influence that he had never felt before in his life, and he commented on it repeatedly. As far as I know, he didn’t join the Church, but what a beautiful approach to talk to someone with a difference of opinion.

Rodrigo Fontt of Osorno, Chile, has experienced the fulfillment of prophecy. His life has been changed just the way President Gordon B. Hinckley said lives would be changed when he announced the Perpetual Education Fund (PEF) to the Church three years ago.
While serving in the Chile Santiago West Mission, Brother Fontt worked in the mission office, where he learned what it was like to work in an administrative position. He enjoyed it, but in 2000, a year before the announcement of the Perpetual Education Fund, Brother Fontt returned home where he faced limited prospects for the future. Many returned missionaries around the world find themselves in similar situations. They have the desire but not the skills needed to rise above the poverty they and their progenitors have experienced.
Applicants to the program take a course called “Planning for Success.” In the course, many of them discover that they can achieve their goals without needing a loan. After hearing about the program and taking the course, Brother Fontt qualified and applied for a PEF loan and began working toward a degree in finance and administration. Though he now has a wife and young child and is working full-time to support them, he is currently in the third year of his educational program. He has become a leader in the Church, serving as bishop of the Antillanca Ward, Osorno Chile Stake.
Bishop Fontt is just one of many working hard to improve their lives. With his education, he and his wife feel that they are progressing not only temporally but also spiritually. They are achieving goals they would not have otherwise been able to reach.

Amber Martin and Kortney Kline are closer to earning their Young Women Personal Progress Award after organizing all the youth in the Valley Forge Pennsylvania Stake to donate their reading books to an inner-city school in Philadelphia. A stake youth dance was held and the “admission fee” was to bring some books. Amber and Kortney managed to collect over 500 books. These two young women said it was an awesome experience to give youth in their stake an opportunity to donate books to students in need.

Walking into my Young Women class on Sunday, I felt alone. My family had just moved across the country to a small town. We knew no one in our new area; all our relatives lived thousands of kilometers away.
Looking for a place to sit, I saw a chair on the second row by the wall. As I sat down, I noticed everyone except me had someone to sit by. I kept telling myself things would change after I had some time to make friends. But no matter how many times I tried to convince myself, I still felt very alone.
Halfway through the lesson, I noticed a painting of Jesus Christ on the wall next to me. At that moment I realized I wasn’t alone. It was as if the Savior had been sitting next to me the whole time.
It took a while to get used to living in our new town and to find new friends. At times I did feel alone, but I always remembered that Sunday when I noticed the painting of the Savior and realized I was never alone. Jesus Christ will always be my friend.

When my father was in the last stages of stomach cancer, his body wasting away—then less than 100 pounds—his spirit growing in strength every single day, he shared with me his new insights from that perspective.

“It is a fact,” he bore witness, “that the body and spirit are separate. When this process of separation is witnessed firsthand,” he said with conviction and even enthusiasm, “the meaning of eternal life and the resurrection takes on a new dimension of understanding. It is like discovering a precious gift you’ve held in your possession all this time but never unwrapped; and then the time comes when you open it, and you’re more ready to fully appreciate the divine nature of the gift because you are prepared to use it for the purpose for which it was intended.”

Chol-soo lay still, quietly staring into the darkness. Finally, he heard gentle snoring coming from the next room. Kang, yu, his grandfather, was asleep. Chol-soo rose and took a wallet from under the mattress. He had hidden it when he and old Kang returned from Seoul that afternoon. The wallet was made of fine leather and was full of money. Chol-soo’s eyes glistened, for his dream had come true! He could have a hwangap for Kang, yu!
Hwangap is an ancient custom in Korea to celebrate a person’s sixtieth birthday. Kang, yu would reach that honorable age in three days.
Chol-soo took the bills from the wallet and counted them. There was enough to buy new clothing and fine food. Everyone in the village would come, and after the feasting Kang, yu and the elderly men would perform stately old Korean folk dances.
Chol-soo frowned. What will I say when Old Kang asks me where I got the money? he wondered.
I found it at the market in Seoul, would be his answer, Chol-soo decided. A strange heaviness closed about his heart, for Chol-soo knew that the wallet belonged to Kim, min-soo, a fat, jolly shopowner who often visited his grandfather and bargained for his fine wooden carvings. Today Kim, min-soo left his wallet on the mat where he had been sitting. Chol-soo grabbed it up, thinking to run after him and return it, but instead, on a quick impulse, Chol-soo slipped the wallet into his pocket.
Now, staring at the wallet in his hands, Chol-soo’s mouth hardened. “It is not for myself!” he whispered, trying to convince himself. “Grandfather deserves a hwangap, and he will have it.”
Shoving the wallet back beneath his mattress, Chol-soo lay down, but sleep would not come. Many thoughts of his grandfather crowded his mind.
Chol-soo was an orphan. His grandfather often told of the day he found Chol-soo on the side of the road. The woman caring for Chol-soo could no longer feed him. “You smiled and held out your arms to me and tottered over to me. That was the day I found a grandson. It was the luckiest day of my life!” Kang always ended the story.
Lucky for me, too, Chol-soo thought. Old Kang was a fine craftsman and always managed to make enough for food, warm clothing, and rent for their small house. Kang was never too busy, however, to mend a toy, and he could always be counted on to help the villagers in times of trouble. Indeed, Kang gave of himself so freely that many times he worked late into the night to complete his carvings.
Chol-soo kept thinking more than anything in the world, he wanted to bring honor to his grandfather. Suddenly, he sat straight up in bed and his face burned. Paying for a hwangap with stolen money would not honor the old one. It would only bring shame.
His mind raced. What could he do? Even as he was asking the question, Chol-soo knew. The wallet must be returned!
Chol-soo lay sleepless through the long hours of the night. At the first sign of daylight, he took the wallet from its hiding place. He tiptoed through Kang, yu’s room and was almost at the door when the old man spoke.
“Where are you going so early, Grandson?”
“I—I—” Chol-soo started. Then, though he tried to hold back the words, the whole story came pouring out. “Instead of a hwangap, I have brought dishonor to you. I am no longer worthy of being your grandson.”
Old Kang smiled gently. “You will always be my grandson, my beloved grandson. Come, I will go with you to return the wallet.”
“Thank you,” Chol-soo whispered, swallowing the knot in his throat.
“Stop worrying. My hwangap is the knowledge that my grandson is willing to take the responsibility of a wrong action.” His dark eyes twinkled. “I have the feeling that there will be no more actions of this kind.”
“I can promise that, Grandfather!” Chol-soo declared fervently. Suddenly he was smiling and the heaviness in his heart was gone.

A few weeks after my 18th birthday, my parents called my sister and me downstairs to talk. They told us that my dad’s sister, Charlotte, was in the hospital and was probably going to pass away.
Unfortunately, being in the hospital was a fairly common occurrence for her, but we could all feel this really was the last time. She was on life support after an accident. A few days later, my dad was on a plane from Georgia, USA, to California to say goodbye to her. And just days after that, my mom, my sister, and I were flying to California for her funeral. She was only 38.
Despite this major tragedy in my life, I was uncomfortably emotionless at the news of her death. I had hardly known my Aunt Charlotte—I had met her only once in person, so we had simply been social media friends. She had struggled with anorexia and other mental health issues throughout her life that had caused her to feel she needed to distance herself from our family. I didn’t have any contact with her until I was about 16, and when she did come into my life, it was awkward for me as a teenager.
What I did know about my aunt was that she loved yoga and wanted to become a yoga teacher. I knew that she wanted nothing more than to be a mom. And I had always heard about how she had a personality so big that it couldn’t be contained.
I couldn’t help but feel that the whole situation seemed so unfair. She was finally managing the chronic pain she had developed during her struggles with anorexia. She had moved to California and become a yoga teacher. It seemed like just when Charlotte was finally getting her life back on track and I finally had the opportunity to get to know her, she died.
It didn’t make any sense to me.
In the April 2021 general conference, Elder Dale G. Renlund of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles spoke about this infuriating unfairness. He said: “Some unfairness cannot be explained; inexplicable unfairness is infuriating. Unfairness comes from living with bodies that are imperfect, injured, or diseased. Mortal life is inherently unfair.” 1
I felt this very deeply with Charlotte. She had spent most of her life at war with her brain and her body and it had nearly taken her several times, but she was finally starting to get better. All I could think was, “How could God take her back when she seemed to be getting out of the woods? Why, after surviving all her near-death experiences, was it a freak accident that took her life?”
Elder Renlund’s later words struck a deeper chord with me. He said: “Do not let unfairness harden you or corrode your faith in God. Instead, ask God for help. Increase your appreciation for and reliance on the Savior.” 2
My faith had been tested only a few times up until this point in my life, but I struggled with being able to understand this unfairness for years—from when Charlotte died in 2018 until the April 2021 general conference. Although I had always believed in Heavenly Father’s plan for us, this experience had shaken me.
But thanks to that general conference message—given on Easter weekend, appropriately—now I know, like Elder Renlund, that “all that is unfair about life can be made right through the Atonement of Jesus Christ and that by His authority families can be joined together forever.” 3
During this Easter season, the fifth since Charlotte died, I’m grateful for the knowledge that her death isn’t the end. Because of the events of Easter weekend, because of the Resurrection, hope is not lost. I feel confident Charlotte is continuing on the path she started just before her earthly life ended. I know that when other members of my family join her one day, she will be waiting there to welcome them home.
For me, Charlotte is a tangible reminder of the Atonement and Resurrection of our Savior, Jesus Christ. I may never know why she was taken from this earth so young. But what I do know is that because He lives, one day she will too. When that day comes, I will finally get to build a relationship with the person she was becoming before her death.

This is the only known written description of this baptismal site. Between February and May 1840 the first eighty convert baptisms were performed here and it was continuously used up to at least 1847. I knew the burn, but Paisley has grown a great deal over the years and it seemed as if the burn was now underground.
Recently I started a more detailed search for the baptismal site. When researching to identify places I use the resources of the National Library of Scotland. They have a very detailed online collection of maps dating back to the earliest days of Scotland. The older maps can also be overlaid onto the more modern maps. I also used Google Earth and could see that the burn wasn’t underground at all. However, on a particular section no matter where we were standing we didn’t have a direct view of the burn due to tree foliage.
I asked my son, John, to try and get a photograph using a telephoto lens. He did all the legwork as I don’t climb fences anymore. As it turned out, the telescopic lens, though a canny idea, wouldn’t have worked. Mainly because it was behind a garden wall and a good deal lower than ground level, out of sight and too far around the corner. A week later John emailed me this photograph:
There was the “two feet of a waterfall” with “trees all around, a gently rising hill just above”. . . “the place where we immerse in the water. . .only large enough to admit the administrator and the candidate”. Just as Andrew Sprowl had described it.
It turned out to be in the garden of a private residence belonging to a very lovely and accommodating woman by the name of Carol. She was flabbergasted and delighted to hear about the 1840s baptisms, having always wondered about the waterfall’s origins. She told us that the bottom of her large garden, the waterfall part, was gifted to the Royal Burgh of Renfrewshire a long time ago by a previous landowner and as a result, she’s not allowed to alter or landscape in any way.
The waterfall is completely out of sight. It’s probably never been altered, having always been on private land. For members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Carol and her family have been the custodians of this sacred place, hidden and protected from the world.

Five years ago, my little brother was diagnosed with aggressive brain cancer. I poured all my energy into hoping that he would make a miraculous recovery, but I was terrified of the worst-case scenario. Despite my hope, my sweet, remarkable, 10-year-old brother died.

After his death, my testimony was shaken, and I had to rebuild my faith and discover a new hope rooted in Christ and His promises. After years of pondering, I have realized that we can either live with Christ-centered joy or we can live with fear when our faith is dependent on a particular outcome.

When I was 19, I made one last visit to my grandparents before leaving on a three-month humanitarian trip to Ecuador. My grandfather had moved to an assisted-living center because his health was declining. He suffered from dementia along with other physical ailments incident to old age.
As my family and I entered the assisted-living facility, I was sullen, knowing that this visit with my grandfather would most likely be my last. I knew he would pass away while I was gone, and I felt guilty leaving.
Just before we entered his room, a staff member had transferred my grandfather to a wheelchair. We wheeled him into the facility’s common area. My mother was talking to one of the staff members while my 16-year-old sister and I talked to our grandfather.
He was not himself. The decline in his mental state was evident, and he seemed confused. When we asked him how many grandchildren he had, he answered incorrectly. Then we lovingly teased him as we made a big deal about how many he actually had.
My heart ached for him. But then, amid his confusion and in the middle of answering our questions inaccurately, my grandfather suddenly said, “A forever family.”
I was shocked. A nearby staff member didn’t understand what he had said, but my sister and I looked at each other. We had both heard him clearly. He then repeated a second time, “A forever family.” This time our mother also heard him.
I don’t recall anything else about our visit that day. All I know is that as we walked out of the care center, I sobbed with sorrow and joy—sorrow for the man we were leaving behind and whom I would not see again in this life and joy for the tender mercy of those simple words and the peace they left in my heart.
I know that despite my grandfather’s state of mind, he was able to share one last time his strong conviction and knowledge that families are forever.
I soon left on my humanitarian trip. When news came of my grandfather’s passing a week before my return, I was at peace. I knew, and I still know, that one day I will see him again. Thanks to temple ordinances, families are forever.

At times, when you are being led to the rescue, it may seem accidental.

Once, I simply asked someone I met on a trip, “Would you tell me a little about your family?” The conversation led me to ask to see a picture of her adult daughter, who she said was struggling. I was struck with the goodness in the face of that girl in the picture. I felt impressed to ask if I could have her email address. The daughter was at that moment lost and wondering if God had any message for her. He did. It was this: “The Lord loves you. He always has. The Lord wants you to come back. Your promised blessings are still in place.”

It is so rewarding to be married. One night our little boy with a heart problem awoke. The two of us heard it. Normally my wife always got up to take care of a crying baby, but this time I said, “I’ll take care of him.”

Because of his problem, when he began to cry, his little heart would pound very rapidly. He would lose any food that he had eaten and soil the bed clothing. I knew that had happened, so I held him very close to try to calm his racing heart and stop his crying as I changed his clothes and put on new bedsheets. I held him until he went to sleep. I didn’t know then that just a few months later he would pass away. I will always remember holding him in my arms.

I wish you could meet the marvelous young man who came to us from Bolivia, arriving with no matching clothing and shoes three sizes too large for him. He was a little older because he was the sole breadwinner in his home and it had taken some time to earn money for his mission. He raised chickens and sold the eggs door-to-door. Then, just as his call finally came, his widowed mother faced an emergency appendectomy. Our young friend gave every cent of the money he had earned for his mission to pay for his mother’s surgery and postoperative care, then quietly rounded up what used clothing he could from friends and arrived at the MTC in Santiago on schedule. I can assure you that his clothes now match, his shoes now fit, and both he and his mother are safe and sound, temporally as well as spiritually.