Gospel Story Finder

One day when President Hinckley was about five years old, he was sitting on his front porch with some friends. A family of another race walked down the street. Young Gordon and his friends made some unkind remarks. His mother talked with them and told them that all people are sons and daughters of God. That day he learned we must respect and help one another, regardless of race, religion, wealth, or anything else.

A few weeks later …
CRACK!
You’re always ruining my stuff!
I’m sorry! I just wanted to look. But I dropped it.
Don’t ever come into my room again!
We can repent and try again.
I’m sorry I yelled. I know you didn’t mean to break it.
I’m so happy I can always try again!

I read about Shannon in the New Era. Her high school speech teacher assigned a group project to the students. They were to select a scene from a play to perform for the class. One group chose a questionable scene dealing with morality issues. The teacher allowed them to keep their selection “for the sake of art.” But knowing that it might be offensive, the teacher gave permission for those who felt uncomfortable to leave the room.
As the students’ scene began, Shannon felt a little bit nervous. Several of her classmates blushed and giggled uneasily, but no one left. She looked at a few of her Latter-day Saint friends, watching for one of them to give the signal for them all to walk out together. But none of them did. Shannon remained at her desk with her head down so no one could see her crimson cheeks. She felt very uncomfortable, but she was also afraid to leave. After all, it was art, right? Shannon states:
“At [that] moment, the Young Women theme came into my mind: ‘We will “stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places.”’ (Mosiah 18:9). Immediately, I knew what [I was going to] do. ‘All places’ meant everywhere, even in a classroom with my friends.
“Quietly, I got up and left the room. That was it. No one got up and followed me. No one applauded my valiant act. No one was converted by my example. But inside I knew I had done the right thing” (Shannon D. Jensen, “Stand as a Witness,” New Era, Nov. 1998, 10; see Liahona, Aug. 1999, 8).

My best friend Brad had just found out that his parents were getting a divorce, and we had spent the last several hours talking about the problems he was facing.
Then I looked at my watch. It was past 1:00 A.M. “Oh no,” I said, “I was supposed to be home long ago. My dad’s going to be angry with me.” I wished Brad luck in the coming days, said good-bye, and ran home.
The front porch light was still on—a bad sign. It meant Dad was waiting for me.
I opened the front door cautiously and stepped inside.
“Do you know what time it is?” he shouted. “It’s after one o’clock. Didn’t I tell you to be home earlier than this?”
“Yes, but …”
“There are no ‘buts’ about it. I’ve told you before about coming home late.” He shook with anger. “You won’t be going out visiting your friends again for a long time, young man.”
I felt like I was being convicted without a trial. I didn’t like it. “That’s not fair. At least give me a chance to explain.”
“There’s nothing to explain,” he said. “You’re late. That’s all there is to it. Now get to bed.”
“Dad,” I argued, “that’s not fair.”
Our conversation got worse from there as Dad and I argued and made accusations against each other. He never listened, I said. I had no respect, he said.
By the time I finally did go to bed, I was too upset to sleep. I was worried about Brad, and I was frustrated that I couldn’t talk to my dad about Brad’s problems. I wished things were different, that I could have come home and told him about Brad’s parents. But instead of talking, we only argued about my coming home late—for the hundredth time it seemed.
I really wanted to be able to communicate with my dad, and sometimes I sensed that he felt the same way, but for some reason, we were never able to get together.
I wish now that I had handled that incident with my dad regarding my being out late a little differently. He was so angry at the time that it would have been useless for me to argue with him that night. But I could have approached him later, when we were both feeling less emotional, and tried to explain my feelings to him.

For me, that night came years later in Gallup, New Mexico, on the way home from a meeting in Tucson. I’d pushed fuel limits a little too far and suddenly found myself with no reserve to reach an alternative field. A mean little thundersquall was sitting on the airport’s north fence sending wind gusts up to 60 miles an hour across the runway. My wife and kids were with me.
Lester was right.

A Scout troop in Piedmont, California, discovered they could make money by painting house numbers on curbs.

One day I was reading the March 2010 issue of the Friend and I came to the story “Vitamin L.” After I read the story, I told my family about it, and I made my own Vitamin L jar. I know having the jar has made a difference in my family. I am so happy when the Friend comes to my home, and I love to read it. Thank you for the Friend.

Elders Upshaw and Jean Louis introduced the gospel to my family in 2007 when I was only 6. Challenges in our life continued but the special feelings of truth and eternal happiness for our family kept us faithful. My mom’s desire for me to serve a mission held a lot of power even when the worldly interests called me in a different direction, I felt the strength to finally hear the Spirit and follow the Savior. This mission has been a growing experience, and I am thankful for all those that got me here.

My brother Andrew and I heard about an opportunity to serve in a local home for the elderly, so we signed up and started visiting Keith. He was suffering from cancer, but he was the most optimistic and happy person I’d ever met. He smiled and his words shone brightly as he spoke of Heavenly Father’s love for all His children.
Even though he knew he’d never recover from his illness, Keith spent all his time listening, sharing, and expressing love for others, even as he was dying. Keith made Andrew and me feel like we could achieve our potential because of what Jesus Christ did for us. We realized that Keith showed his love for the gospel by expressing his love for others.
One day when we went to visit Keith at the home, we were told he had passed away that morning. As we held back tears, we reflected on this man who always looked forward to meeting new people and sharing his testimony of the Savior. We realized that we weren’t the ones serving him but that Keith was serving us by showing us how to live a Christlike life, even as he was dying.
Chris D., California, USA

Father Winter
Sheds the chilly wetness of his cloak
Full force
Upon cowering January,
His harsh temperament
Cursing bleak February in ebbing strength;
Then, with cold rage at death’s nearness,
He shakes out the last clumps of ice
Upon shivering March
To trudge grimly up the mountains
In snowy retreat.
Baby Spring
Lifts in surprise his green head
To cry at daddy’s departure;
He ducks beneath limb and tree intermittently
With each lessening storm;
And then, creeping forth on shy feet,
Spring grasps the remains of Winter’s fallen cloak,
Wrings it out upon grateful April,
And with fresh shoots of confidence
Lifts the scepter of his rightful throne.

“We were so scared. We didn’t know if you’d like us,” said an anglo leader.
“I’ve never known a lot of Lamanites before, and I am proud to be one,” said a Lamanite participant.
The thoughts were being voiced at a testimony meeting concluding a five-day girls camp for Lamanite girls from the Southwest Indian Mission. Also participating were Anglo girls and leaders.
“Sometimes brownskins and whiteskins in our area don’t have the nicest of feelings toward each other,” said a participant, “so we looked forward to this camp so that we could make sure bad feelings didn’t happen in the Church, where we have a real commitment to respect and love each other.”
Besides spirits’ being lifted—many Lamanite girls thrilled at being among the tall fir trees, mountain peaks, and cold streams outside of Farmington, New Mexico—some conversions occurred, and friendships flowered all over the place. It was a worthy goal—elimination of prejudice—and in this instance, a superb way to accomplish it.

Several years ago just before Christmas, my niece, Shelly, took hold of her mother’s hand and asked seriously, “Is it okay if I believe just one more year?”

Since that memorable happening several years ago, our family has established a family tradition. Each year on Christmas Eve, we gather together around the tree. With the lights low and the fire burning in the fireplace, we ask the question once again, the most important question of the year, “Is it okay if we believe one more year?”—not only believe in the traditions of childhood with Santa Claus, but more importantly in the message of the birth of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, whose birthday we are celebrating. Do we believe in his mission, his atonement, his resurrection? Do we believe in his invitation to come and follow him?

Of course we are not really committing ourselves for only a year. We are pledged to follow the Savior forever. But we live life a day, a week, a month, a year at a time, and Christmas is a season to focus on the year ahead and reconfirm our discipleship.

Following the discussion and the commitment, someone reads aloud The Polar Express by Chris Von Allsburg, a story that tells how those who have faith can always hear the clear sound of a silver bell.

Following the story, we each receive a small new bell on a red satin ribbon to wear around our necks during the holidays. We listen for its clear sound as a testimony and commitment that we truly believe and will strive to live as we believe one more year. While the fire burns low, we then read from the Bible the glorious account of the Christmas story recorded by Luke telling of the birth of the Savior as announced by an angel, “For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord” (Luke 2:11), and we believe.

My school donated blankets to children during the holidays. We decided to make our blanket for a family home evening. It was fun!
Lincoln R., age 5, Iowa, USA

Let me give a simple example to illustrate this contrast. Suppose your neighbor has a beautiful car parked outside his house. You take no action, but you look at that car longingly, and covet it. Even though you have done nothing, you have broken one of the Ten Commandments. (See Ex. 20:17.) Spiritual consequences will follow.

Up to this point you have not broken any of the laws of man. However, if you drive away in the car, you will have committed a wrong that could be punished under the laws of man. To assign a punishment, the law would try to find out your intent in taking the car. If you simply intended to borrow the car in the mistaken belief that your neighbor would consent, you might not be guilty of a crime. However, you would surely be liable for any damage to the car. If you intended to use the car against the wishes of the owner and yet return it in a short time, you would have committed a minor crime. If you intended to take the car permanently, you would have committed a major crime. To choose among these various alternatives, a judge or jury would attempt to determine your state of mind.

During February and a few days of March we toured the South Pacific countries and islands of the sea. A large party of representatives from the Church, including some of those in highest authority, went to the Southern Hemisphere and spent a little time with the ever-growing and fast-enlarging communities of the South Pacific.
Because a large proportion of the people, the more than 100,000 people in the South Seas, would not ever be able to come to Salt Lake City to the general conference, we determined to take an area conference to them. So, in New Zealand, three large cities of Australia, and Samoa, Tonga, Fiji, and Tahiti, we held conferences for the Saints wherein they would meet the General Authorities, have an opportunity to vote upon their leaders, and hear sermons from leading authorities of the Church.
We were well received, well treated, and returned with a great affection for the good people of that southland.

I felt scared to try a new food, so I said a prayer. I know Heavenly Father helped me be brave to try it.
Olivia C., age 4, Tennessee, USA

You’re asked on a date, but you won’t turn 16 for another few months. When you explain why you’re not going, your friend says:
Are you crazy? You have to go! This is the biggest dance of the year!
Okay, but you’ll regret not going. Can’t you make an exception this time?
All right, if that’s what you really want to do. It’s nice that you stick by what you believe.

I recently moved, and it was hard to leave my home and friends. Before I left, I did baptisms in the temple. I felt a lot of peace. The Spirit filled the room with joy. I will never forget those feelings. I am excited to go to the temple again. I am glad the Church is the same no matter where we live. It brings me peace even when things are hard.
Daniel K., age 12, Utah, USA

Britta Rasmussen, baptized with her husband in 1975, says she gained her testimony of the gospel by living it. When she first began attending Relief Society, she thought, “These ladies are doing what they believe.” She has always tried to follow that example.
For 45 years, she has been socializing with a group of friends she first met as a schoolgirl. She invited them to attend the open house at the temple while she and her husband were serving as guides, and she had the opportunity to bear her testimony to them. “All those people felt something,” Sister Rasmussen recalls, expressing the hope that what she said may someday touch their lives.

When Sally was about eight years old, she lived in Salt Lake City. President David O. McKay (1873–1970) was the prophet. Sally had heard many stories of people having the chance to see him. After general conference, he always came out a back door of the Tabernacle and climbed into a big car. A huge group of people waited outside the Tabernacle to see him, hoping to shake his hand, say hello—even just see him in person instead of on television. Sally thought it must be wonderful to actually meet the prophet.
She decided she would ask her parents if they would take her to Temple Square during general conference. But she did not tell them that she wanted to wait with all the other people and maybe have the chance to talk to President McKay. This was her special secret.
It was a beautiful day—not too hot, not too cold—when Sally’s family went to Temple Square during an afternoon session and listened to conference on the Tabernacle grounds. Large speakers carried the meeting to everyone outside, because the Tabernacle—every bench, every seat—was filled with people.
As Sally walked by the open doors, she caught a glimpse of the Tabernacle Choir and the General Authorities. Her heart leaped with excitement as she thought, “Today’s the day! Today’s the day! I’m going to meet President McKay!”
She could see people starting to gather at the back of the Tabernacle. After receiving permission from her parents, she joined the group and struggled toward the front. She wasn’t very tall, so if she didn’t stand right in front, how would she meet the prophet?
At last, with a wriggle here and jostle there, she reached the front of the crowd, where ropes blocked off a pathway between the Tabernacle and the road. There, just as she had heard, waited the big shiny car.
“Not much longer to wait,” she thought. She could hear the closing hymn being sung. “Sing faster! Sing faster!” she silently urged. After the closing prayer, the organist began to play the powerful Tabernacle organ once more. It was really time!
The crowd around her pressed forward, pushing against the ropes a bit. People were pouring out of the building, many of them joining the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of the prophet, too.
The big car started and pulled forward a little. A large door at the back of the building opened.
But much to Sally’s dismay, now that the car had moved, she couldn’t see a thing but the car! She could also see the heads of a few men. But President McKay was not well, so although he was a tall man, he now sat in a wheelchair. Sally couldn’t see him at all—not even to catch a glimpse of his wheelchair’s rubber wheels. How was she supposed to see the prophet, let alone meet the prophet, if she couldn’t see anything?
She wanted to dash under the rope and run to the car. She wanted to climb in the car and shake his hand, say hello—something.
But all too quickly, the door slammed shut and the big car pulled slowly onto the road. It was over. He was gone.
Sally stood stunned. Her dreams! Her plans!
The crowd scattered, leaving her standing alone, staring at the ropes that had been dropped to the ground after President McKay left.
Then, a quiet whispering thought entered her mind: “Why do you want to meet him, anyway?”
“To see him and to know for myself that he is a prophet,” she almost said aloud, feeling the sting of tears.
Suddenly, she sensed a warm feeling in her heart. It was sweet and loving and slightly reproving. The thought came: “You do not need to see him to know. All you need to do is ask.”
Ask?
It was so easy, so simple! Before she could even begin to say a quick prayer in her heart, an incredible warmth filled her from the top of her head down to her toes. She knew. The man in that car, the one who had sat so quietly all through conference, the one who seemed so frail—who, to her, seemed like he must have lived forever—was without a doubt a prophet of the Lord. She didn’t need to meet him. And she didn’t need to shake his hand. He didn’t need to pat her on the head or speak to her. She just knew.
And now she understood that for the rest of her life, she could always find out that the man who became the prophet and President of the Church was called of God. All she had to do was ask.