Gospel Story Finder

Lester was always filled with surprises. One day, I was helping him cut grass around runway lights. We’d finished half of them and were lying on our backs watching clouds appear and disappear. All of a sudden, he said, "Ya know something? I believe in God."
I looked over at him, not sure I’d heard right.
"Yep," he added in an uncharacteristically quiet voice. "Yep, there has to be someone up there somewhere to have made such a beautiful place as this. …"

Robbie wiped the sweat from his face. The sun beat down on him as he played ball with other fourth-grade boys.
Seth threw the ball to Robbie. A boy on the other team lunged for it, but missed. Robbie dove for the ball and caught it before it hit the ground. The other boy called Robbie a mean name.
“Don’t let him get away with saying that, Robbie,” Seth said.
Robbie ignored the mean name and took his position. Some of the boys snickered.
Robbie couldn’t get the word out of his mind. When his team won the game, he didn’t feel like celebrating with his teammates.
That evening, Robbie told Dad what happened. “Why did he call me that word?” Robbie asked.
“Not everyone believes what we do,” Dad said. “Some people think using words like that makes them seem cool. Words have a lot of power. They can build people up or tear them down.”
“Seth told me not to let the boy get away with saying what he did,” Robbie said.
“What did you do?” Dad asked.
Robbie looked down. “I ignored him and kept playing,” Robbie said.
Dad hugged Robbie. “You did the right thing. I’m proud of you.”
Robbie was happy to hear Dad say that. “I guess you’re right,” Robbie said, smiling. “Words do have a lot of power.”

“Another ward member who affected my life was Brother Frederick J. Pack, a professor of geology at the university and a prominent scientist. When I was about eight, I was asked to give the benediction in Sunday School. I was frightened and nervous, and I’m sure that my prayer was not very well said. But Brother Pack gave me a warm hug, saying, ‘That was an inspired prayer.’ I have never forgotten that gesture of kindness from a man whom I looked up to as a great Latter-day Saint.”

Anita Harlow, a 16-year-old in Redcliffe, Queensland, Australia, is a year-11 student at a private college (equivalent to American high school), and one of only six LDS students. Every year, students take a class titled “Christian Knowledge” in which they study basic Christian theology as well as other religions.
The Christian Knowledge coordinator at the school, Ian Hauser, asked Anita and her parents to review the material the school had on the LDS church. To the Harlows’ dismay, much of the material was anti-Mormon and contained a great deal of misinformation. Because Mr. Hauser respected Anita and her beliefs, he asked Anita and her parents to advise him about the best way to be fair in representing the facts.
“We proposed the idea that we would get people from the Church to come in and talk about us, instead of using the books they had. Mr. Hauser was absolutely wonderful. He and school officials agreed to our proposal,” says Anita.
Anita credits much of her success in the subject of Christian Knowledge to the material she learns in seminary. Anita is on the school Spiritual Development Committee, which plans school devotional activities, and has been instrumental in teaching her fellow students about the restored gospel.

The room was cluttered. There were papers on the floor and the chairs were tipped over. When Kevin entered, he switched on the light and noticed some chalk marks on the chalkboard, but he didn’t read them.
“I wonder what there is I can do that will be of any help?” he thought. He sat down in the corner of the meetinghouse classroom and stared at the chalkboard again. “Your Quorum—Your Responsibility.” Wow! Was that ever pertinent to his new calling. Kevin chuckled to himself. “Somebody must have known I would come in here after I talked to the bishop.” Being called as the teachers quorum president in the Third Ward was no pat, easy assignment, especially since the bishop said to him as he left the office, “You were called by the Lord, Kevin. Now go and strengthen your quorum so that there is no weak link.”
Kevin stood up and crossed to the windows where he got a clear view of the church parking lot. “There’s Steve’s house on the other side of the parking lot … he’s inactive. That reminds me of Jim and Mark who come to priesthood meeting only when their dad is home from work. And Lee who lives right across the street from me thinks activity night means basketball and won’t come if we suggest anything else.
“They’re a great quorum, though. There’s Bill. If he’s ever given anything to do, he’ll do it twice and ask for more. And George—he’s the best example of organization I’ve ever met. My head feels just like that parking lot on conference Sunday—packed with jam-ups. How can I do anything about anything? How can I strengthen that quorum?”
These feelings of a newly called teachers quorum president tumbled out of his mind as he thought of his new calling. His feelings are probably duplicated over and over throughout the Church even if the situation is different in every case.

I overheard a conversation between golfing great Arnold Palmer and a young caddie he was using for the first time. The young caddie, while handing Mr. Palmer his club, told him the distance to the flag was 165 yards, there was an unseen stream on the left, and a long and treacherous rough on the right. In a very kind but firm way, Mr. Palmer reminded the young man that the only information he required was the distance to the hole. He further suggested he didn’t want to lose focus by worrying about what was on the right or left.

I just read an old issue of the New Era dated April 1985. It was sent to me by my younger sister who is on a mission. I love to read all the Church books and publications but can’t afford to buy or subscribe to any of them. The only chance I get to read them is when the owner’s done with them and lends them to me or gives them to me after a couple of months. Anyway, I know that the messages never grow old. To me, it’s always new and equally uplifting. I really appreciate all the articles which help build my testimony and appreciation for life.
The article that I appreciate the most in the April 1985 issue was the one authored and photographed by Anselm Spring, “The Meadow.”
I am a lover of nature myself, but an eye defect makes it impossible to see small details. Still, I thought I had appreciated the beautiful creations of God—until I saw Anselm Spring’s photographs in “The Meadow.” I agree with him when he says that the eye of a carnal man is limited. The most exquisite things are too small for my eyes to see. How I thrilled to see all those dew drops, the glittering spider web, and those capes of diamonds as he described them.
I’d like to thank you, Brother Spring, for helping me see these things. I hope you won’t mind if I look at the beauty of the earth through your eyes. What I’ve seen through you I know I would never be able to see in my whole lifetime. Please keep sharing God’s wonderful creations.
Mary Hazel LibreaDipolog City, Philippines

When I walked into the house, the first thing I saw was the letter, propped on the narrow table in the front hall, my name typed on the white envelope and the Brigham Young University symbol in the corner. With trembling fingers I tore it open. I was accepted! And the scholarship my counselor at the University of Wisconsin had recommended I apply for had been granted! I read the words again and again, unable to believe that the dream was really coming true.

I looked up and my mother was standing in the doorway watching me. “You don’t have to tell me what’s inside the letter,” she said. “I can see it in your face.”

“Mother—” I began, but her eyes were blazing and she interrupted me angrily.

“You really think you’re something special, don’t you? You are cocky and smug and sure of yourself. Just like my sister, Beth. That’s how she was, you know. And she walked out on us, just like you’re going to do.”

“Mother,” I cried desperately, “I’m not walking out on you. I’m just going away to college. Nine months at the university. That’s all.”

“That’s what you think, Michelle. But what if you never come back? Beth never came back.”

“But that was different! She had done something disgraceful. Grandpa Hunter sent her away; he wouldn’t let her come back!”

She stood staring at me, with the strangest look in her eye. “The minute you joined the Mormon church, you turned your back on us and all we stand for. You’re not one of us any more, Michelle. When you go out to Utah, that will break the last tie.”

“Mother, no! Please don’t say such things.” I stepped toward her, but she moved away.

“How could you do this to me?” she cried. “How could you be so selfish and cruel? Beth was my big sister and she turned her back on me. She left me when I needed her the most. You’re just like her, Michelle; you’re just like her!”

I ran past her and through the kitchen, out the back door, and into the quiet yard. I was trembling all over and cold, though the summer night was mild. I had never dreamed that my mother compared me to her lost sister, Beth. I’d always known the old story about the mysterious sister who was disowned by her stern father and who disappeared to live her life in shame and seclusion somewhere. As a child I had thought it a romantic story, sweet and sad. But I had never dreamed of myself as becoming the main character in such a story. How could my own mother think of me that way? Was she ashamed of me? Did she want to disown me, as her father had once disowned the sister she loved?

Later that night when I was alone in my room, my younger brother, Paul, came in. “I just want to tell you what a creep you are,” he said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You know what I mean. You upset mother, and she screams and takes it out on all of us, then ends up crying half the night. All you do anymore is cause trouble, Michelle.”

“That’s not true, Paul!” I defended myself. There was a hard knot growing in the middle of my stomach, and I felt humiliated having to apologize for myself every time I turned around. “I never mean to cause trouble.”

“Well, you do. I hope it’s worth it to you, making your whole family miserable just so you can do what you want!”

He stomped out of the room without giving me time to reply. Hot tears began to gather behind my eyes. His words were unkind and unfair. But how could I make him understand what was really happening, what I really felt?

Later, when my little sister, Katy, came in to kiss me goodnight, she looked up with wide, innocent eyes and asked, “Why do you want to go away and leave us, Michelle? Mommy says you don’t really love us anymore or you wouldn’t go away.”

I pulled her into my arms and hugged her fiercely. “That’s not true, princess! I love you dearly! And it will be fun for you when I go away because I’ll write you a letter every week and send surprise packages in the mail.”

She brightened a little, and I hugged and kissed her half a dozen times before I let her go. Finally I went to bed, but I couldn’t sleep. What was my mother trying to do? Why did she have to punish me for being different from what she thought I ought to be?

After that the days seemed to drag, gray and dull, one after another. Part of the time I felt defensive and angry at my mother, wanting to hurt her back. But at other times I felt small and frightened, like a girl, longing for her to hold and comfort me and dissolve my fears. She had taken the excitement and anticipation out of the whole thing, and sometimes I weakened and felt that maybe I shouldn’t go after all. But too many of my prayers had been answered, too many signposts pointed that this should be the direction my life ought to take. I kept telling myself that things would work out. Perhaps it would be easier for my family if I went away. If I weren’t so close, such a source of conflict and friction, it might be easier for them to understand, to get a broader, kinder perspective. Perhaps they might even miss me and appreciate me a little.

But I was afraid. And there was no one to understand. Lori could only see that I had the world at my feet, that I was going to Zion, Mecca, where everything would be sunshine and happiness and dreams-come-true. But I had never been to Utah before. I didn’t even know what a mountain looked like in reality. I didn’t know a single person in all of Utah, much less at BYU. What were other Mormons like? Would they laugh at me if I was different, if I did things wrong? Our little branch was so casual, so experimental. What would it be like in a congregation of hundreds of Latter-day Saints? What if they all knew ten times more about the gospel than I knew?

Finally, suddenly, the long days were past, and it was time for me to leave. The day before the bus came that would take me to the airport in Madison, I prayed and fasted all day. I couldn’t bear to leave my mother like this, with her hating me and thinking that I was deserting her, rejecting her as, somehow, her older sister once had done.

That night I had a dream. In the dream I was a little girl again, with long pigtails and a dirty face. Some mean little boys were chasing me down the sidewalk and I fell and scraped my knee. I stumbled back up and ran across the lawn, sobbing for my mother, screaming for her to come. Suddenly she was there, sweeping me into her strong, soft arms. She smoothed back my hair and kissed my cheek, and cleaned my scraped knee, painting it with iodine, then sticking a big, beautiful adhesive bandage on top. I woke suddenly, feeling still her gentle hand against my skin, seeing the smile of love on her face.

I sat up in bed and it came to me that my mother didn’t know how much I needed her! How long had it been since I’d asked her advice or her help? In her eyes I seemed efficient, self-contained, and sure of myself. Mormonism had excluded her from my life, and I had done nothing to compensate for that—to let her know I still loved and needed and valued her! And all these months I had been thinking it was all her fault, that I, alone, was the wounded party!

The next morning I called her into my room and asked if she would help me pack. She’s very neat and efficient, and I knew she could organize and fit in all my last-minute things in a way I never could. I told her so. I talked with her and I praised her, and soon the look of guarded puzzlement left her face and we both began to enjoy being together. It didn’t work miracles; there wasn’t enough time for that. I still couldn’t tell her how frightened I was, how much I really loved her and would miss her. But the look of cold anger had gone out of her eyes, and she came to the bus station, and when I pushed the note I had written into her hands and reached out to hug her, she reached out, too, and held me close a minute and kissed my cheek. It was all I could do to hold back the tears. I looked through the glass and waved to my family, wishing they knew how very much I loved them.

(23) M. Joseph Brough’s father hears wise guidance from his mother.

Ana walked past the fishing nets drying along the shore. She was on her way to Maria’s home to ask her friend for help. When she arrived, Maria was sitting under a tree, embroidering a shawl. Ana sat down next to her. After admiring the embroidery, she asked, “Maria, ¿qu‚ es un brownie? (Maria, what is a brownie?) A friend of mine slipped on the street and broke her leg, and I want to give her something to make her feel better. She told me once that brownies were her favorite food. Mama said that if I found out how, I could make some for her, but I don’t even know what a brownie is.”
“Who is this friend who likes brownies?” Maria asked.
“Her name is Hermana (Sister) Anderson. She’s a missionary from the United States. She and her esposo (husband) came to Peru to teach people about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She taught our family the gospel, and we were baptized last month.”
“Why did you join a foreign church?” Maria asked.
“It’s not a foreign church. People all over the world are members. There are thousands of members here in Peru. Senor Garcia is one.”
“¡Senor Garcia!” Maria’s eyes widened in surprise. “But he lives right here in our town and owns the best boat!” (Maria’s and Ana’s fathers worked on a boat that caught pescados [fish]. Senor Garcia was well liked in their town because he was fair and honest with his workers.)
“We didn’t know that he belonged to the Church till Hermana Anderson took us there one Sunday. He greeted us at the door and helped us feel comfortable. After that he had the missionaries teach us in his home on the hill.”
“Wow! Are there others in our town that belong to your church?”
“Yes. You know, we are so happy now that we’re members that I want to do something special for the missionaries that helped us. How do I find out about brownies?”
“We could ask my mother,” Maria suggested. They went inside to ask her, but she just shook her head. She had never heard of brownies either. “Why don’t you ask Senorita Consuelo?” she suggested. “A teacher knows about many things.”
The girls ran down the path past the nets to Senorita Consuelo’s home. When she came to the door, they asked together, “¿Qu‚ es un brownie?”
She smiled her twinkly smile at them and invited them in. After they were seated, she told them, “I’ve never heard of brownies, but I do have a good English dictionary. Let’s look it up.”
Together they searched the dictionary pages for the meaning of brownie. One definition read: “a small, flat, chocolate cake, often made with nuts.”
“A flat, chocolate cake,” Ana repeated happily. “We have some chocolate at home, but the dictionary doesn’t say what kind of nuts! Would any nuts do?”
Senorita Consuelo thought for a moment. “I think so. But why do you want to make a brownie?”
The girls explained that Hermana Anderson had broken her leg and was in bed.
“It’s sad to be sick so far from home,” Senorita Consuelo said. “I’ll help you make a brownie and take it to her.”
They walked to Ana’s house, and Mama helped them find a recipe for chocolate cake and alter it so that the cake would be flatter than a regular cake. Then they added nuts to the batter. When the cake came out of the oven, it looked very strange. The girls started to giggle when they saw the lumpy, lopsided cake.
“I can’t see why anyone would want to eat a brownie!” Maria said.
“A real brownie probably isn’t like this,” Ana said, laughing harder and harder, till the tears rolled down her cheeks. Senorita Consuelo and Mama started laughing too. When Ana finally stopped laughing, she said, “Maybe we should make arroz con leche (rice pudding) for her, instead. It’s easy to make that.”
“If she’s as nice as you say, she will appreciate your efforts to make her happier,” Senorita Consuelo counseled. “Let’s take her the brownie.”
When Hermano (Brother) Anderson opened the door of their casa (house), he greeted them warmly and immediately invited them in to visit Hermana Anderson. Ana gave the flat cake to her and explained, “It’s supposed to be a brownie. You said that brownies were your favorite food.”
“How thoughtful of you!” Hermana Anderson beamed at the small group. “I haven’t had one since we left Chicago. Hermano Anderson,” she directed, “please bring some plates and forks so that we can eat my brownie!”
She cut the cake and served a portion to everyone. Ana and Maria and Senorita Consuelo held their breath while Hermana Anderson took her first bite.
“That’s the best brownie I’ve ever eaten!” Sister Anderson told them. Ana and her friends took a bite too. It tasted good, even if it did look funny! Soon everyone was relaxed and enjoying themselves. It was fun to get to know each other over a Peruvian brownie.

Only a few weeks before the earthquake, another group of young adults was giving similar service across the Atlantic. The floods that swept through western Europe in July were the most severe in decades.
When the waters finally receded, one shopkeeper in the riverside district of Ahrweiler, Germany, surveyed the damage and was utterly overwhelmed. This humble man, a devout Catholic, whispered a prayer that God might send someone to help him. The very next morning, President Dan Hammon of the Germany Frankfurt Mission arrived on the street with a small band of missionaries wearing yellow Helping Hands vests. The water had reached up to 10 feet (3 m) on the shopkeeper’s walls, leaving behind a deep layer of mud. The volunteers shoveled out the mud, removed the carpet and drywall, and piled everything in the street for removal. The overjoyed shopkeeper worked alongside them for hours, amazed that the Lord had sent a group of His servants to answer his prayer—and within 24 hours!

I was raised with the old adage ringing in my ears: “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.“ There is no disgrace in failure, and in any case, we have never failed until we give up. The four-minute mile eluded athletes for many years, but after trying again and again, Dr. Roger Bannister finally achieved it. Since then, athletes from many lands have broken this seeming barrier.

Please remember that this Apostle suffered many afflictions while preaching the gospel in Rome, but he never gave up. He developed the Christlike attribute of patience. He died as a martyr, a loyal disciple of Jesus Christ. Joseph Smith, the Prophet of the Restoration, suffered many afflictions as well. It is known that Joseph, while in this mortal life, developed Christlike attributes, especially the attribute of patience. He suffered imprisonments, mobbing, and anguish of betrayal by disloyal, unfaithful associates, but he always helped everyone with love and patience, even those that betrayed him. He was a good example of a disciple of Jesus Christ.

We felt such joy knowing that we had started our children on the gospel path. The Spirit was present in our lives and home, and Ezequiel, then four, offered a prayer that we will never forget. He said, “Dear Heavenly Father, we thank Thee for this beautiful little boy that I am, amen.” We all said amen and hugged amid smiles. That little boy was our joy.

Elder Nelson joked about the fact that the first 9 of his 10 children were all girls. “It was like a girls’ dormitory until our one and only son came along. Poor boy—he didn’t know who his real mother was for his first two years.”

Some years ago, I went with a stake president in the southeastern United States to visit several families before a stake conference. As we arrived at one home, a man dressed in shabby clothes walked up to us.
“What do you want?” he shouted. “I don’t want people coming to my house!”
I was concerned when the man’s demeanor became threatening. I wanted to grab the stake president and run back to the car! But the stake president was calm. “We are sorry,” he said. “We thought your bishop had told you we were coming.”
As they spoke, I felt the Spirit so strongly. I gathered my courage, approached the man, and said, “Dear brother, President Thomas S. Monson [he was the prophet at the time] has given me the assignment to come here. We are here to see you. I bring the love of the prophet to you.”
I looked into the man’s eyes and noticed they were tearing up. He began to share his challenges with us. His wife suffered from depression. He had just lost his job. He did not have food to feed his children. The stake president assured the man that the Church would help him and his family. We had a nice visit.
Several weeks later, I asked the stake president for an update. He told me that this brother’s bishop and the ward council were assisting him and that he and his wife, who was not a member of the Church, began meeting with the missionaries.

As a young teen growing up in Santiago, Chile, Andrea González never had much except for a dream—a university degree that would allow her to support her family if necessary.
To get there, she hoped to graduate from seminary, get good grades at school, and score high enough on her college placement exam (PSU) to go to a university where she could study engineering.
But by the time she had started her final year of high school in preparation for the PSU, she started to wonder if any of that was possible. “All my goals seemed impossible to achieve,” she recalls.
Andrea was trying to break into a competitive and male-dominated field of study. Because of the competition, the top universities were looking for extremely high scores on the math portion of the PSU, scores usually earned by those who could afford to attend private schools.
To try and overcome these obstacles, Andrea kept a daunting schedule her final year. She was up early and studying after school until late, eating when she had a free moment and squeezing in seminary four nights a week.
“It was discouraging sometimes,” she says. “I had to sacrifice a lot. I don’t know how many times my friends heard me say, ‘No, I’ve got to study’ or how often I’ve been teased for being smart.”
But she knew she couldn’t give up if she wanted to secure her future.
Her sacrifices paid off. On the math section of the PSU, Andrea was one of 200 students in the country to earn a perfect score of 850 and one of only two girls from public schools to do so.
She also graduated from seminary, got the good grades she studied so hard for, and was named by her classmates as the year’s “Best Friend” because of all of the time she spent helping others with their own studying.
But Andrea believes her success has less to do with how much she knows than it does with what she knows she must do. In other words, blessings come from following the Lord’s counsel, not our own (see 2 Nephi 9:28–29). “It’s not worth anything to be smart if we ignore God,” she says. “You always have to put God first.”
Learning that principle as she studied for her college entrance exam was critical to the other test Andrea was taking—the test of life that everyone must take.
The Lord Himself explains this test in the scriptures: “We will prove them herewith, to see if they will do all things whatsoever the Lord their God shall command them” (Abraham 3:25).
“Heavenly Father tests us to see what we will do,” Andrea says, thinking back on the difficult schedule she had to keep and the teasing she sometimes had to endure. “To pass life’s test, we have to be obedient,” Andrea says.
And not just when things are going well but during the hard times too.
“The great test of life,” said President Henry B. Eyring, First Counselor in the First Presidency, “is to see whether we will hearken to and obey God’s commands in the midst of the storms of life.”
Often her two tests collided. That’s when Andrea learned that putting God first was the secret to passing both tests.
Many times she had to choose between Church activities and school activities, between studying the gospel and studying for her test. She says she learned early on that she felt better if she chose Church first. It strengthened her testimony that Heavenly Father would help her with her concerns if her first concern was Him.
These experiences also taught Andrea another important lesson. “He is capable of helping me with the tests He has given me,” she says.
Or as one of her heroes, Nephi, said, “I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them” (1 Nephi 3:7).
Andrea knows that even though she has passed her first test, there is a lot she must learn before she’ll feel ready to pass the next.
But she knows if she puts God first, He’ll help her pass that test too.

Practices went on for months in the individual stakes, with leaders traveling from one group to the other to make sure that all of them were doing the dances the same way. Months and months of man-hours were involved. And it all came together on Tuesday morning, July 23.
The 2,000 young people met with Johnny Whitaker, the D’s, the Grandland Singers, and the leaders, and they took a million pieces of puzzle and created a beautiful, finished product. They rehearsed all day.
“And it worked,” said Bruce Nelson of the Spokane Stake. “One of the greatest experiences happened when we performed for the first time on Tuesday evening. Everything came off like it was planned. It was really fantastic! The theme of the whole thing was ‘Catch a Happy Feeling!’ And we caught it!” And so did those who came to observe. Favorable comments were heard on every side, and the young performers’ enthusiasm grew as the 24th and their second performance approached.

Although she came from a family with few resources, Sister Patience Ngalula, from Kananga, DRC, had a passion to be a journalist. She finished her secondary studies and then volunteered to work without pay at a radio/television station. She learned many things, and after one year she was hired at a radio station. She then had funds to help her family and to complete her professional studies. “I now have a very good job at a radio station in Kinshasa whose content is especially dedicated to children. I remain positive, ready to serve and have great concern for the well-being of others.”

“This day,” one of the greatest missionaries of the Book of Mormon is President Russell M. Nelson. When he was a newly called Apostle, he gave a lecture in Accra, Ghana. In attendance were dignitaries, including an African tribal king, with whom he spoke through an interpreter. The king was a serious student of the Bible and loved the Lord. Following President Nelson’s remarks, he was approached by that king, who asked in perfect English, “Just who are you?” President Nelson explained that he was an ordained Apostle of Jesus Christ. The king’s next question was “What can you teach me about Jesus Christ?”
President Nelson reached for the Book of Mormon and opened it to 3 Nephi 11. Together President Nelson and the king read the Savior’s sermon to the Nephites: “Behold, I am Jesus Christ, whom the prophets testified shall come into the world. … I am the light and the life of the world.”
President Nelson presented the king with that copy of the Book of Mormon, and the king responded, “You could have given me diamonds or rubies, but nothing is more precious to me than this additional knowledge about the Lord Jesus Christ.”