Gospel Story Finder

David looks down and sees Sister Logan smiling up at him from where she’s sitting with her husband and two children. She wants to take David in as a foster child. “You’re only 14,” she told him the other day when he dropped in after school for some snickerdoodles and a glass of milk. David has stayed with Sister Logan and her family off and on for days at a time, when his mother has had to go to the hospital for treatment for her depression. Even when he’s not crashing on the Logans’ sofa, David likes to drop in every now and again.

But the other day, while he was munching his snickerdoodle and sipping his milk, Sister Logan had stood over him, her face a tight mask of concern. She had jiggled her baby on her hip and she said, “That neighborhood of yours …”

She had let her voice trail off, but David knew what she was thinking. She was scared David would never have a chance.

What Sister Logan doesn’t know is how very much David would like to be her foster son. He can picture himself tromping home from school in the afternoon and pushing open the slick glass doors of her building’s lobby. He’d stop and visit with the doorman for a while, then zip up to the 12th floor, where he’d sit at the spotless Formica table in Brother and Sister Logan’s white kitchen. He’d work on his math problems until it was time to help with dinner.

But this, David knows, is only a dream. It is like the dream he used to have about his father coming back to live with him and his mom. It is like the dream that one morning he will wake up and his mother will have stopped drinking. She will be standing in the kitchen, whipping up a batch of blueberry waffles and telling him it’s time to get ready for school. It is only a dream.

David returns Sister Logan’s smile.

One of the more interesting aspects of his term as prophet of the Lord was the sending of carloads of supplies to members of the Church suffering from the devastation of World War II. Then, when the Church membership had received aid, he sent tons of wheat to nonmembers of the Church in Greece who were suffering from starvation. He had known poverty in his own youth and did all in his power to help those suffering from its effects. He could not rest while he knew of suffering; he could never be the victim of apathy.

Although most people might consider winning the A. A. U. meet her most incredible feat, for Babe, it was simply her key to the door of the Olympics. She must have been disappointed at being allowed to compete in only three Olympic Games events. And she must have been even more disappointed to win only two gold medals—in the javelin throw and the eighty-meter hurdles, setting world records in both events.
In the third event, the high jump, her last jump was disqualified. The judges said that it was illegal because her head had preceded her feet over the bar. That’s not against the rules anymore, and Babe believed that a photograph taken at the Olympic Games proved that her feet had actually gone over the bar first. But in those days the officials had only their own eyes to judge with, so Babe had to settle for the silver medal.

Dulcinea was the lady of a knight-errant but wasn’t sure she could be a lady. She had been the barmaid Aldonza all of her life until she met the knight Don Quixote, who gave her a new name and said she was a lady. “Take the clouds from your eyes and see me as I really am!” she yells at one point in the musical Man of La Mancha. “A lady? I’m not any kind of a lady. I am Aldonza!” Finally, at Quixote’s deathbed, Aldonza realizes that because of Quixote’s devotion, she has become the lady Dulcinea.

by Kim R. Burningham
When the teenagers of the Bountiful 29th Ward speak of their grandparents, the listener could get confused. True, they might be referring to their mother’s parents or their father’s parents, but they might also be talking about their “adopted” grandparents.
The bishopric youth committee of the ward decided to embark on what has turned out to be an exciting service project. Near the ward are two care centers where a large number of aging patients reside. Some of the patients have no family, or if they do, the family lives some distance away from the care center and is unable to visit often. It was decided that if every young person in the ward were to adopt one of the patients as a “grandparent,” the young people could provide some much-needed companionship for the lonely patients.
Youth in the ward try to visit their “grandparents” at least once a week. Sometimes they play chess with them or read to them. Often they just talk. The grandparents love to reminisce, and they are happy for the new friends. When Kim Bailey and Julie Bradford were visiting with Billy, a semiretarded patient at the care center, he looked up at them and said simply, “Do you mind if I like you?” Julie and Kim found that it was easy to be friends.
Members of the Beehive class and several of the other girls have quilted lap blankets for their grandparents. Shelley Moss took the quilt to her grandmother for a Christmas present. “When she received it we all cried, and it made the whole adopt-a-grandparent program worthwhile. Now every time I go to Della, my quilt is folded nicely on the edge of the bed.”
Kathleen Kirkham, president of the Mia Maid class, explained that “many of our class members are at the point where they don’t have to go to visit their grandparents, but they want to go.”
Tuevo Jones, a priest, said that “although it may seem a bit of a bother, I always walk out of the care center with a better feeling than when I went in.”

I still remember one particular afternoon as if it were yesterday. I sat down next to a smiling lady during our Sunday meetings, which at that time were held both in the morning and the afternoon. I took her hand to make sure she would stay with me. But I was only six years old, and I was quite tired. My eyelids began to close, and though I struggled hard to keep hold of that warm hand, I fell asleep. When I woke up, the hand was no longer there. Tears ran down my small face, and my heart was sad.
Her name was Sister Avon Compton. She and her husband, Merlin, were always smiling, and their faces reflected love. When I close my eyes today, I can still see them clearly. I often tell my Primary class about them. Their story is the best way I know to teach my CTR class about love.
They had come to Perú from their own country to be with us for a while. She did not speak our language very well, but her husband spoke it better than some of us. We admired him and knew he loved our language and culture.
I do not remember exactly when I began to love Sister Compton, but I think it must have been that first Sunday in Primary. She taught us the song “When I Go to Church” (Children’s Songbook, 157). She had brought pictures, and as she taught us the words of the song, she taught us about singing. She told us that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ liked to hear our voices raised in praise.
On another occasion, we again sat together during sacrament meeting. We could not say much to each other because of the language difference, but we could communicate. During the meeting, she got out a piece of paper and some crayons. I thought she was going to write something, but she whispered, “Let’s draw Mama.” She drew a small circle. Then she pointed to her eyes and gave me the piece of paper and a crayon. I understood that she wanted me to draw the eyes, and I did. I gave the crayon back to her, and she drew hair. Then I drew the dress, and she drew the arms. Eventually, the two of us had drawn a picture of my mother. I felt so happy! I showed it to Mama, and I gave Sister Compton a big hug.
She always had something to share with us. Often it was a children’s story she had written herself. One day she talked to me about Jesus Christ. Then we colored some pictures she had drawn of Jesus.
The day came when Brother and Sister Compton had to leave. I asked why. Mama told me they had a family who missed and needed them. I thought of Mama and how I could not be away from her for very long. That’s when I knew I had to let Sister Compton go.
Many years have passed since then. The letters between us have never stopped, and our friendship has become stronger. When I think of Sister Compton, I think of the words our Lord Jesus Christ left with His disciples: “This is my commandment, That ye love one another, as I have loved you” (John 15:12).

After the bombing of Pearl Harbor by the Japanese on December 7, 1941, the United States entered World War II. Shortly thereafter, President Franklin D. Roosevelt signed Executive Order 9066, authorizing the removal of anyone of Japanese ancestry from regions on the United States West Coast to internment camps located farther inland. Both of my parents’ families were relocated because of this order; all but two of them were U.S.-born citizens.
My mother, June Kazuko Takiuchi, was nine years old at the time she and her parents were ordered to gather their belongings (only what they could carry) and report to an assembly center in San Jose, California. They and other Japanese families were then transported to Tanforan racetrack, where they lived in horse stalls for several weeks until the construction of the relocation camps was completed.
Their final destination was a camp called the Topaz War Relocation Center, located in a desolate region of west-central Utah, just north of the town of Delta.
June, at age 10, with her father, Tadao Ernie Takiuchi, and mother, Tsugiyo Bessie Takiuchi

Whether by coincidence or planning, the September New Era with its article by President Joseph Fielding Smith arrived on the day of our MIA theme presentation. I was trying to prepare something to make the theme go over. I decided to read President Smith’s remarks. They were very well received. They made the first evening of MIA very meaningful.
Claudia WanbergConrad, Montana

Aaronic Priesthood bearers from five stakes left a priceless gift to future generations of Washington State residents. They donated over 6,000 hours of labor to help build a 220-acre park in the quiet valley of the Snoqualmie and Tolt Rivers near Carnation, Washington. The more than 1,500 young Latter-day Saints and their leaders were among 20,000 Scouts from the area who worked with the United States Army, the Canadian Army, and Washington State officials in the largest youth Bicentennial project in the United States, the John MacDonald Memorial Park.
The young men from Bremerton, Renton, Seattle, Seattle East, and Seattle North stakes pitched tents among the dense fir trees and lived almost like pioneers for five consecutive weekends. They carried logs for shelters, cleared and raked meeting areas, built picnic tables, and nailed ramp separators for the suspension bridge that connects the two areas of the park. When they were finished, there were 40 hike-in campsites, hundreds of picnic tables, many log shelters, several rest room facilities, and five miles of trails through the park. “They were just ecstatic for the chance to do something permanent,” explained one leader. “They were busy every minute.”
They were tired, but happy Scouts who proudly carried their flag in the parade that marked the opening of the park several weeks later. All the town of Carnation and visitors from throughout the country gathered to watch as the Renton Second Ward Cub Scout pack led the parade through the small town and into the park.
“This park … is an honored tribute to our past. Scouts of today and tomorrow will use this beautiful land to learn … of yesterday’s greatness and tomorrow’s promises. The park will reinforce our customary spirit of using the heart, mind, and hands to live sensibly with nature’s rivers, forests, meadows, and mountains,” reads a plaque on display at the Memorial. These are the words of the man who was the inspiration behind the park, John M. MacDonald, a longtime volunteer leader with the Chief Seattle Council.
The proud smiles of the young men as they marched in the parade showed the plaque’s words coming true.

While I was serving my first mission to Mexico and Central America, my companion and I received a very interesting final assignment from our mission president. He asked us to leave the mission home and go down to a town in Southern Mexico, where some months before missionaries had been withdrawn due to religious and political persecution. Their lives had been threatened by mobs. A few converts had been baptized, but a real organization of the Church had not been established. As a result, these new members had been left alone, and for months the mission president heard little about how things were going.

We were given a list of names and asked by the mission president to go there, find the people, see how they were doing, and, if possible, locate a place where we could quietly conduct a sacrament meeting. For all those months, they had not had the privilege we take so much for granted of partaking of the sacrament each week.

We arrived early in the morning and immediately searched for the address of the first name on the list. We located her address and passed through a door in a high adobe wall that surrounded a crowded cluster of tiny huts around a central area.

It seemed that everyone there was watching us. Back in the corner was a little grass-thatched hut. The sister we were looking for came to the door, saw us, and easily recognized by our dress that we were missionaries. With tears in her eyes, she rushed to us and greeted us with a hug. We identified ourselves and told her why we were there.

After this brief greeting, she went back into her hut and brought out a clay jar into which she put her hand and withdrew some money she had been saving for months. Even though she had been alone without any Church organization, she had been saving her tithing with faith and hope that someday her tithing would be taken to the appropriate place.

She obviously had many unmet needs; yet, she was handing us money. My first impression was not to accept it and to encourage her to spend it wherever she might need it. Then I realized that it was not my right to do so because she was obeying a commandment. She had gained a testimony that tithing is a divine commandment and was willing to live that principle—even when she was alone.

After my family’s Easter dinner, we take a photograph of all the family members and other dear friends who shared dinner with us. We have a special Easter scrapbook that now chronicles more than 30 years of happy family memories.

Members of the choir rejoice that they are singing in “the Lord’s choir.” Duffie Hurtado, who has been singing in the choir for the past ten years, remembers, “After the choir sang at the dedication of the Washington D.C. Temple visitors’ center, we had the opportunity to be greeted by President Spencer W. Kimball, who shook our hands and thanked us for singing. At that point in my life, I was making some really serious decisions, and because of personal problems I was having, I felt it might be best if I left the choir. When I reached President Kimball, he took my hand and said, ‘This is the Lord’s choir, and this is where he wants you to be.’ I hadn’t told him I had a problem, or asked for his counsel. He just knew. With the other choir members around me in the line he just shook hands and said hello or thank you or God bless you. But when I stopped that’s what he said, and I will never forget it. I know that that man was a prophet of God, and I am so touched that the Lord would answer my prayers in such a special way.”

President Joseph F. Smith described his experience with this mighty change: “The feeling that came upon me was that of pure peace, of love and of light. I felt in my soul that if I had sinned … it had been forgiven me; that I was indeed cleansed from sin; my heart was touched and I felt that I would not injure the smallest insect beneath my feet. I felt as though I wanted to do good everywhere to everybody and to everything. I felt a newness of life, a newness of desire to do that which was right. There was not one particle of desire for evil left in my soul. I was but a little boy, it is true, … but this was the influence that came upon me, and I know that it was from God, and was and ever has been a living witness to me of my acceptance of the Lord.”

Feeling the Christmas Spirit after a Hurricane
Photograph by Raul Sandoval
After Hurricane Maria, there was no light, no water, no phone service, and no Wi-Fi across much of Puerto Rico. Many power lines had been knocked down, and parts of the island were flooded. Recovery was slow and took months. Two brothers, Diego, 14, and Isaac, 12, share how they kept the Christmas spirit while living through the aftereffects of the hurricane.
Isaac says, “I felt the Spirit by praying that the light would come back on, that water and phone service would come back—everything.”
Diego adds, “We also sang to feel the Spirit. We sang Church hymns and Christmas songs. And we prayed that everything would turn out OK.”
At Diego and Isaac’s house, floodwaters skirted the family’s windows, but water didn’t go inside. That was a blessing. But a tree had fallen and blocked the only road to and from their home. This meant the family couldn’t drive to get supplies. They had to either walk to the tree and find someone to give them a ride or rely on others to bring them supplies. Fortunately, the family was prepared with food storage, including water. The tree was moved a few weeks later, but there was still a lot of work to do and there were still a lot of people in need.
As Elder Martinez pointed out, Hurricane Maria brought out the best in many people. Diego and Isaac’s family spread the Christmas spirit by helping others. Isaac says, “We passed out food that was donated to people who really needed it. We also passed out clothes, games, and school supplies.”
“Christmas was different,” Diego says. “Before Hurricane Maria there was more money to buy presents, but after there was little money to buy essential items like water, food, and gasoline.”
Even though Diego and Isaac couldn’t celebrate Christmas the way they were used to, they noticed something positive: “We spent more time together as a family. We were more united than before. This is a blessing we appreciate because we love our family.”
Diego says, “We didn’t feel upset that there weren’t as many gifts or that we couldn’t celebrate Christmas like we normally do. We knew that gifts aren’t Christmas. Christmas is the birth of Christ. That’s what’s important.”

Unfortunately, avoiding hunger was not the only concern. Some Latter-day Saints contracted the disease. Simon Kamara of the Teko Road Branch, who had been a member of the Church for only a year, saw his wife and son pass away from Ebola. Then he too became infected.

"My life is in the Lord’s hands," he said while in a treatment center. "Like any father, I want the best for my children. But now that I have found the gospel and understand the plan of salvation, I have great hope for myself and my family no matter what happens." Despite initial signs of recovery, Brother Kamara passed away. His surviving children miss their parents very much, although they are now being cared for by members and friends and are doing fine.

Four years ago I attended a memorial service for my brother Gary. One of the speakers paid a great tribute to my brother. I have been thinking about it ever since. He said, “Gary was a priesthood man. … He understood the priesthood, honored the priesthood, and fully embraced the priesthood and its principles.”
When my brother died, he was a high priest in the Melchizedek Priesthood, and he had enjoyed 50 years of priesthood service. Gary was a loving husband and father who had served an honorable full-time mission, married in the temple, magnified his priesthood callings, and served diligently as a home teacher.

Elder Jeffrey R. Holland told of a young man who was the brunt of his peers’ teasing during his school years. Some years later he moved away, joined the military, received an education, and became active in the Church. This period of his life was marked with wonderfully successful experiences.
After several years he returned to his hometown. However, the people refused to acknowledge his growth and improvement. To them, he was still just old “so-and-so,” and they treated him that way. Eventually, this good man faded away to a shadow of his former successful self without being able to use his marvelously developed talents to bless those who derided and rejected him once again. What a loss, both for him and the community!

Pick a role model for yourself. “Joseph Smith is my hero,” says Anh Nguyen, 14, of the Atlanta Georgia Stake. “He was looking for Christ. He worried about finding the true church.”
And Anh can relate. It wasn’t too long ago her family came from Vietnam to the United States, and the missionaries found them. Then she, too, had to find out for herself what the truth was. She says she prayed just like Joseph did, and she received an answer.
“Joseph makes me want to stand up for what I believe like he did,” Anh says. “His example gives me strength.”

Some friends of mine were starting clubs at school. One girl in my class came up to my desk during class and whispered, “Lacey, if you want to be in my club, come and meet me at recess.” When the bell rang for recess, I ran out to find her. I was excited to be in her club.
After waiting for some more girls to get there, she said, “OK, now, to be in my club, you have to write on your hands and arms with these markers.” Then she passed out markers to everyone. I got a feeling inside that this was wrong. In Primary I had learned that our bodies are temples of our spirits and that we should respect them. Drawing on them didn’t seem very respectful. I looked at my friend and said, “I’m sorry, but if I have to draw on myself, I don’t want to be in your club.”
I’m glad that the Holy Ghost helped me to make the right choice for me.

My awakening to these unique verses played an important role in my first assignment as an Area Seventy. I was a bit nervous being the companion of an Apostle, Elder Quentin L. Cook, at a stake conference. As I walked into the stake president’s office for the initial meeting that weekend, I noticed a pair of tattered-looking, bronzed shoes on the credenza behind his desk, accompanied by a scripture ending in an exclamation point. As I read it, I felt the Lord was aware of my study, had answered my prayers, and that He knew exactly what I needed to soothe my anxious heart.
I asked the stake president to tell me the story of the shoes.
He said:
“These are shoes of a young convert to the Church whose family situation was strained, yet he was determined to serve a successful mission and did so in Guatemala. Upon his return I met with him to extend an honorable release and saw his shoes were worn out. This young man had given his all to the Lord without much, if any, family support.
“He noticed I was staring at his shoes and asked me, ‘President, is anything wrong?’
“I responded, ‘No, Elder, everything is right! Can I have those shoes?’”
The stake president continued: “My respect and love for this returning missionary was overwhelming! I wanted to memorialize the experience, so I had his shoes bronzed. It is a reminder to me when I walk into this office of the effort we all must give regardless of our circumstances. The verse was from Isaiah: ‘How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings, that publisheth peace; that bringeth good tidings of good, that publisheth salvation; that saith unto Zion, Thy God reigneth!’ (Isaiah 52:7).”