Gospel Story Finder

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

I was a student at Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah just finishing my first year of graduate work when our first child, a son, was born. We were very poor, though not as poor as Joseph and Mary. My wife and I were both going to school, both working and in addition we worked as head residents in an off-campus apartment complex to help pay our rent. We drove a little Volkswagen which had a half-dead battery because we couldn’t afford a new one (Volkswagen or battery!).

Nevertheless, when I realized that our own special night was coming, I believe I would have done any honorable thing in this world, and mortgaged my future, to make sure my wife had the clean sheets, the sterile utensils, the attentive nurses, and the skilled doctors who brought forth our firstborn son. If she or that child had needed special care at the finest private medical center I believe I would have ransomed my very life to get it.

Astronomers have been aware of the rings of Saturn for a long time. In fact, Saturn’s rings were discovered 177 years before Uranus itself was detected in the heavens. Galileo was the first person we know of to see the rings. Using a telescope that did not give him a very clear view, however, he incorrectly identified them as two moons! It was not until 45 years later, in 1655, that a brilliant Dutch observer named Christian Huygens determined their true nature.

The teachers who prepare and the deacons who pass the emblems of the sacrament also perform a very sacred act. I love President Thomas S. Monson’s account of how, as a 12-year-old deacon, he was asked by the bishop to take the sacrament to a bedfast brother who longed for this blessing. “His gratitude overwhelmed me,” President Monson said. “The Spirit of the Lord came over me. I stood on sacred ground” (Inspiring Experiences That Build Faith [1994], 188). All who officiate in this sacred ordinance stand on sacred ground.

“Is Franklin cents a type of money?” Rose asked as Grandma handed her a stack of napkins.
Grandma chuckled. “No, frankincense is a very expensive perfume.”
Rose picked up the basket of forks and followed Grandma to the family room. “Then why did the Wise Men give it to baby Jesus?” Rose asked.
“Because it was a very precious gift,” Grandma said.
Rose helped Grandma set the table for the Christmas party. “So, Grandma, what gift would you give Jesus?”
“I don’t know,” Grandma said with a smile. “But I do know we have a house full of hungry people.” Grandma hurried off to finish getting dinner ready.
At Grandma’s Christmas party every year, Rose had fun playing with her cousins and listening to everyone tell stories. Rose ate dinner next to her cousin Beth and her new baby. Beth told Rose how Grandma used to help with the new babies in the hospital’s nursery.
Later, Rose heard Aunt Julie ask her cousin Tim what quilt Grandma had given him when he got married. They told Rose how Grandma spent hours making beautiful quilts for her grandchildren’s wedding presents.
While Rose watched her dad play dominoes, she listened to stories about when Grandma was Relief Society president in her ward. Grandma often took dinner to people who were sick.
Rose sat next to Grandpa while she ate her apple pie. He told her that he and Grandma had gone to the temple every Tuesday for 25 years. They had done temple work for so many people that Grandpa had lost count of them all.
Rose jumped up from the table and ran to find Grandma. Rose patted her hand and said, “I know what gift you give to Jesus.”
“Oh? What is that?” Grandma asked.
Rose threw her arms around Grandma’s neck. “You give the gift of love!”

I stood tall by defending a teacher when some friends were talking bad about this teacher.
Klint B., age 9, Utah, USA

There came to my desk recently a bulletin issued by the Utah Boys Ranch. It included the story of a boy named Mike. A judge of the juvenile court wrote concerning him:
“Mike, at the age of 9 years, was sleeping in cars, associating with gangs and involving himself with dangerous weapons. No state agency could help this young boy turn his life around. The Utah Boys Ranch stepped forward and offered their help. The Boys Ranch saved his life. They gave him a place to live and taught him values and standards. His environment and world changed and now he is out of the Juvenile Justice system.”
Included also was a letter from Mike himself, which reads:
“Hi. This is Mike. I had a bad childhood where I grew up. I was in a gang that was bad. I came to this place. I’m glad that I came to this place ’cause if I didn’t come here I would still be in gangs and getting in trouble. I was so glad that I came here ’cause I met some good people like Chris and Delpha. But now I have a family and I am doing good” (Utah Boys Ranch, New Beginnings Round-up, fall 1996, 1).

The background for this declaration was as follows:
“Through a period of more than six years prior to [April 6th, 1830, when the Church was organized] Joseph Smith, the Prophet, had received at intervals Divine revelations and commandments. …
“As early as the summer of 1830, the Prophet, acting under Divine commandment, was engaged in copying and arranging the revelations received up to that time, evidently with a view to their publication in book form. On November 1, 1831, at a conference of the Elders of the Church held at Hiram, Ohio, definite action relating to the publication of the revelations [which the Prophet had received and compiled] was taken, and the compilation was called the Book of Commandments. The Lord’s acceptance of the undertaking was made manifest by the giving of the revelation … appearing as Section 1 [of our Doctrine and Covenants] … known as the Preface.” (D&C, Explanatory Introduction, iii; see also History of the Church, 1:222 and the introductory note to D&C 1.)

I received my subscription to the New Era last year as a surprise Christmas present from a very dear ex-bishop, and I can never thank him enough. So many articles touch my heart so deeply. I just finished reading the June issue, and the question and answer section was so beautiful that I cried the whole way through. A temple marriage is very important to me, and I have a sincere testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel. I plan on following my ex-bishop’s example and enriching my friends and relatives’ lives by sending them a subscription to the New Era.
Sharon GlinesOgden, Utah

Within 24 hours after three tornadoes killed more than 20 people in central Florida, USA, 500 members of the Church arrived to help begin relief efforts. The tornadoes destroyed or significantly damaged more than 1,500 homes in February 2007, including the homes of 14 member families.
Despite the damage to the member homes, all members and missionaries in the affected areas were safe. Priesthood leaders helped relocate the 14 families who lost homes.
About 400 member volunteers gathered at an Orlando Church building to receive instructions on where they would spend the day cleaning and removing debris. In another part of the city, 100 more volunteers gathered to help clean up the Deland area.
In addition to manpower, the Church provided tarps, generators, chain saws, gloves, hammers, nails, and cleaning kits.
Brady Nixon, a member of the Church from the Oviedo area who helped in the cleanup efforts, said, “The destruction was so comprehensive. The people were very grateful that at least they were alive and that we were there and helping.”
The Church already had needed items, including food and water, in Church storehouses in Florida.

The Sunday before Christmas I woke up to the sounds of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. That’s how Mom gets us up on Sundays. From then on, the day went downhill. To begin with, my hairbrush was missing. I suspected my three-year-old brother, Jeffy, had taken it, and sure enough, I found it in his toy box. “Mom,” I complained, “I’m getting sick and tired of this little shrimp getting into my things!”
Mom was busy giving the baby a bath, and she acted as if she hadn’t even heard me. “Amy,” she said, “we’re going to need to change our plans for tonight’s family Christmas program. Daddy just called from church, and that new family, the Hansens, are still living in a motel. He’d like to invite them for dinner and to spend the evening with us. There’s nothing less like the Sabbath than the Silver Moon Motel.”
“But Mom, you can’t do that!” I wailed. “You know I’ve planned this for two months, and it’s just for our family. All the parts are taken.
“Besides,” I went on, getting louder and louder, “they have a bunch of little shrimps who’d probably tear the whole house apart.” Then I started to cry.
Mother wrapped the baby in a towel and turned to face me. “Amy, I had no idea that it meant this much to you. Please don’t be so upset. I’ll just tell Dad when we get to church, and he can tell the Hansens that it won’t work out.”
All during sacrament meeting I watched the three Hansen kids—two-, three-, and four-year-old boys—climbing all over the benches and squirming across their parents’ laps. Brother and Sister Hansen looked pretty tired by the time they’d taken each boy out about five times. It’s just as well, I thought to myself, I can’t even imagine what four little boys would do to my bedroom!
I felt relieved all the way to Primary. On the way down the hall, I noticed that it had started snowing outside. It was going to be a perfect family night.
When I got to class, Sister Martin, my Merrie Miss teacher, wanted to know what we thought it might have been like to be strangers in a strange town, like Mary and Joseph were when they went to Bethlehem. All of us had an answer to that question. Even Mandi Perkins, who hardly ever says anything, said, “I bet they felt lonely.”
Then Sister Martin asked us why we thought the innkeeper hadn’t let this poor, lonely couple stay at his house. We really had to think about that for a while. The innkeeper had always been one of the side characters in the Christmas story. But I’d never thought about him having feelings.
“Well,” I suggested, “he probably felt busy with all his other company.”
Jenny Peterson thought the innkeeper might have been thinking that this couple, who were soon going to have a baby, would be too much trouble. That’s when I started to feel a little uncomfortable.
“He probably had things planned the way he wanted them, and here came some people to mess up his plans,” my best friend, Rachel, added. Suddenly this wasn’t a Christmas story that happened two thousand years ago. This was something that was happening today.
Mandi Perkins added the final blow—“The innkeeper missed the whole thing, didn’t he? The two most important guests in the world came to his place, and he wouldn’t let them in.”
“Do you suppose, girls,” said Sister Martin, “that we ever act like the innkeeper? That maybe we become a little selfish and miss helping someone? Look with me in your Bibles at Matthew 25:40 [Matt. 25:40]: ‘And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.’”
By that time my eyes were so filled with tears that the words seemed to be swimming across the page. Here were the Hansens without a place to live, and I was acting like the innkeeper, not wanting them to bother me. I knew how I would act if the Hansens were Mary and Joseph and the Baby Jesus, and I knew that Heavenly Father would want me to treat them the same way.
Luckily Sister Martin didn’t ask me to give the prayer, because I was having a hard time swallowing. Afterward I hurried out of the room as quickly as I could and headed down the hall to where I saw my parents. I heard my dad saying to the Hansens, “We’re awfully sorry, but our daughter—”
I didn’t even think. I rushed up and blurted out, “There’s room at the inn!” and then I blushed deep red.
Dad saw my red eyes and must have guessed what had happened, because he just continued: “As I was saying,”—he put his arm around me—“our daughter has planned a very special Christmas program for tonight, and I think she wants to warn you that you’ll be having a part in it!”

Recently I participated in a pioneer trek with young men and young women in our ward. Each morning I asked myself, “What is my sacrifice? How do I come after them?”
On the second day of the trek we had pulled our handcarts eight miles (13 km) when we came to a place on the trail called “the women’s pull.” Men and women were separated, and the men were sent ahead up a hill. As we started to pull our handcarts, I looked up to see our priesthood brethren, young and old, lining both sides of the trail, hats off in respect for the women.
The path was easy at first, but soon we were in deep sand, and the hill grew steep. I had my head down and was pushing with all my might when I felt a tug on the cart and looked up to see Lexi, one of our young women and my neighbor. She had pulled her handcart to the top and, seeing our need for help, ran back. When we reached the top, I wanted so much to run back to help those following me, but I was breathing heavily and my heart was pounding so hard, the words heart attack entered my mind more than once! I watched with gratitude as other young women dropped their handcarts and ran to help.
When everyone reached the top, we took some time to record feelings in our journals. I wrote: “I didn’t prepare well enough physically so didn’t have the strength to help those following me. I may never need to pull a handcart again, but I never want to let my sisters down spiritually, never!”
It was a sacred experience that awakened me spiritually to my duties to my family and others. Throughout our journey I reflected on what I had learned.

In my first year of high school, an eating disorder took over my life. I told everyone I was OK so they wouldn’t ask questions, but I was cold, weak, and tired all the time from a lack of food. I lost interest in the things I used to love. I even stopped praying to Heavenly Father. I felt guilty for not being the person I thought I should be.
At first, I refused to believe I had a problem. But eventually I got a strong feeling I should tell my close friend about my struggles. I had no idea that opening up to someone I trusted would save my life.
My friend told my parents what was going on, out of concern for me. When I finally told them the truth myself, I felt Heavenly Father’s love more strongly than I ever had before. It radiated through the love that my parents and the rest of my friends and family showed me. Their Christlike support helped me accept that I did have an eating disorder—and that, with the help of Heavenly Father, I was going to get through it.
Starting my recovery was the most difficult journey I’d ever been on. I was in the hospital after school every day for counseling and treatment. When the road started to feel hopeless, I found comfort through prayer and reading my scriptures.
I still struggle with my eating disorder, but it no longer controls my life. My Heavenly Father understands my trials, my heartache, and my guilt, and I know now that I didn’t go through it all on my own. When I see myself through Heavenly Father’s eyes, I sense my eternal destiny. I can feel His love for me—a love that can help me overcome anything.
The author lives in Alabama, USA.

As children we were raised in a home where it was clearly understood that the priesthood was as essential to life as was the water we drank to satisfy our thirst. My mother had experienced in her own family the joy of her large family coming into full Church activity and then as a family going to the Salt Lake Temple. At the age of 47 years, my Grandfather Shoell had been brought into the priesthood with all of its attendant blessings. Upon the completion of a full-time mission, Mother sought a special priesthood blessing, asking that she might be directed to a worthy priesthood bearer who would not only be her husband but would also be a worthy priesthood father to her children. After that priesthood blessing, all of those righteous desires came into being for her and for us as a family in southern Nevada. From the start we were a family grounded in the priesthood and ordinances of the restored gospel, especially the sacred temple ordinances. This gave us as children a sense of being whole and complete, not only for our immediate family but also with our mother’s and father’s extended families.

Let me take you to Huddlesfield, England, for a personal testimony of a sweet sister named Mina Kreslins. She was born in Amsterdam, Holland, into the Jewish faith. She had lost her parents and brothers and sisters during the wartime occupation of that country.
She tells in the testimony of her conversion, “I was bitter, and although I prayed, I just could not forgive.”
Then in early October 1983, her daughter Karla came into contact with the missionaries. Karla became interested in the gospel and was converted. She invited her mother, Mina Kreslins, to attend her baptism.
“It was at Karla’s baptism I felt the Spirit. It was so strong. I had never felt anything so beautiful in my whole life. I felt so elated and so wonderful, and I wanted to become part of it.”
The missionaries began teaching Sister Kreslins, and the Spirit bore witness to her of what they said. “When they told me about Joseph Smith and the Restoration, the Spirit was so strong, from my head to my feet. I knew then, with all my heart, that the Church was true and that I had to be part of it.”
“My baptism was beautiful. No words can describe the feeling I had as I came out of the water. I felt so clean—almost holy. When I received the Holy Ghost, I felt wonderful. I wanted to shout for joy. Finally, there was rest and relief from the horrors and the hating of those war-torn years.
“Now, since I have become a member of this beautiful Church, I have forgiven and I have no bitterness in my heart.”
Where would Mina Kreslins be today without the gospel?

Such a project is ongoing on the Pacific Island nation of Kiribati.
Tamana Natanaera, the local self-reliance manager for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, was tasked with finding members with gardening experience and a passion for growing things.
Working with local leaders, Tamana helped to identify seven qualified members whom he refers to as “champions.”
Each champion was given the equipment to set up a nursery tailored to fit in his or her available space.
A simple greenhouse was supplied to hold and protect seedling trays, as well as to offer shade as needed. Seeds were provided for growing nutritious produce such as cucumber, eggplant, capsicum, cabbage, tomato, watermelon, papaya and rock melon.
A watering system is a particular necessity in Kiribati. Although the 33 islands that comprise Kiribati stretch across 3.5 million square kilometres of ocean water, fresh water is very scarce.
The champions were thus each provided with a watering system composed of a small solar pump to draw water from a well, a water tank with a stand, and a piping system.
Tamana Natanaera noted that the water system given to the champions is a big help as it greatly improves their ability to produce more.
With these necessary tools, the champion gardeners are able to do their part. For two years now, they have been planting the seeds in the small trays and nurturing them.
When the seedlings are ready to be transplanted into a garden, the champions begin sharing them with neighbours and friends. They may ask their church leaders to announce to their congregation that seedlings are available. They may also give the seedlings to coworkers or to neighbours in their communities who are interested in growing their own produce.
The Church will provide seeds to the champions for one more year and at the end of that period, the gardeners should be capable of producing their own seeds to maintain growing and sharing the seedlings. The program will continue to bless many people in Kiribati communities.
This project is not just an example of growing seedlings, but also of growing self-reliance, community spirit and neighbourly friendships. Underpinning all of this is a growing faith—among many participants—in He who created all things, and who cares for His children, one by one.

Last summer I had met Caitlyn at the park. She was sitting on one of the benches all by herself. At first, I didn’t pay any attention to her, and she seemed to ignore me, too. Even when I walked right in front of her, she didn’t look my way or say anything. She just was staring and smiling. Caitlyn almost always smiles.
My little sister, Tricia, and I were tossing a Frisbee back and forth, laughing and joking. I accidentally tossed the Frisbee over Tricia’s head, and it landed in front of Caitlyn’s bench.
“Do you mind tossing that to me?” Tricia called to her.
Caitlyn stood up cautiously. “Tell me where it is,” she said, smiling.
“Right in front of you,” Tricia giggled.
“How many steps in front of me?” Caitlyn continued to stare straight ahead.
“Look down,” Tricia coached. “Look down and you’ll see it.”
“But I can’t see,” Caitlyn came back. She said it as though it were the most ordinary thing in the whole world.
That day in the park, we told each other our names. A few days later, I saw Caitlyn there again. As soon as I said hello, she gave me a huge smile and a cheery, “Hi, Melissa. I hoped we’d meet again.”
“How did you know it was me?”
“I hardly ever forget a voice, especially a friendly one. I told Mrs. Wallace—she looks after me during the day—that I wanted to come back here in case you came again.” She reached out. “May I touch your face?” She explained, “I have to ‘see’ with my fingers.”
We sat and talked most of the afternoon. I learned that her father was a heart surgeon and her mother was an attorney. Caitlyn was their only child. She lived in a huge house east of the park. Mrs. Wallace was her special helper and friend. I might have been just a little jealous if it wasn’t for Caitlyn’s blindness.
“Have you always been …” I couldn’t bring myself to say it.
Caitlyn was quiet for a moment; then she answered gently, “Not always. I could see until I was four. Then I was in an accident. I still remember little pictures of the world before everything was dark.” She hesitated. “But most things I don’t remember. Or I never saw them in the first place.”
Caitlyn and I were so different. I came from a pretty ordinary family. We certainly weren’t rich. I lived in a small house with my two brothers and three sisters. I loved to play ball and run and jump. School wasn’t exactly hard for me—it just didn’t interest me much.
Caitlyn loved school. She went to a special school hundreds of miles away, where she learned to read books with pages covered with tiny bumps. She ran her fingers over those tiny bumps and read stories. She could play the piano, and she had a special computer that helped her write and explore the world.
Even though we were different, we became wonderful friends.
Because her school was far away, she was home only part of the time, but during those times we spent hours together, either at her house or at mine. Often when she was at school, she called and we talked for hours. As our friendship grew, I sometimes forgot that she was blind.

Once, for example, the Korea Broadcasting System invited him to lecture on a topic in biology during a nationwide broadcast. “During the entire ten minutes he was on, he talked only about the Church,” says Pak Jae Am, a supervisor in the Presiding Bishopric’s regional office in Seoul. “It was just like he was talking in his Sunday School class.”

From his home high on a mountain, Grandfather recognizes a sign of danger when he notices a change in the sea. He has no time to warn the villagers below and no time to stand and think. So the old man quickly sets fire to his precious ricefields and saves four hundred Japanese villagers from a violent tidal wave.

“I remember going to the mountains to get our Christmas tree. We decorated it with little candles that fastened to the tree in little tin holders. A fire committee was appointed in the family to make sure the tree didn’t catch fire. We children each had a Christmas gift stocking and received one present. Of course, there was the special Christmas dinner and the singing while my sister played the piano and I played the violin.