Gospel Story Finder

Wolverhampton Ward, Birmingham Stake, was full of the festive spirit throughout December as ward members worked together to brighten the Christmas Day of patients at the Queen Elizabeth Hospital Birmingham.
Sister Angela Elliot worked with the Relief Society after being told by her daughter Charlie, a nurse on the men’s ward, that some patients may not receive gifts on Christmas Day.
The sisters in Relief Society collected enough gifts throughout December to fill 25 packages of presents, containing items such as socks, chocolate, and puzzle books. They were then joined by the Young Women to organise the parcels and to make Christmas cards.
Then with voices ready, sisters and brethren entertained patients and nurses with carols and Christmas classics, sharing Christmas cheer with each area of the ward.
“It was a perfect start to the Christmas week, and we just loved seeing the patients and lovely nurses joining in.” said the Quesne family.
Susie Piper remarked, “It was a wonderful opportunity for us to serve with friends and to spread Christmas cheer.”
Sharing the light of Christ, and lifting those who are alone and suffering, really brought the Wolverhampton Ward the true joy of Christmas this year.

The day after Mother’s Day, Eric and his mom went to the local pharmacy to fill a prescription. Eric walked around the pharmacy while his mother purchased the medication. When they got back in the car, Eric asked if he could talk to his mom for a minute.
“Sure, Son,” Mom said, reaching for the ignition.
Eric grabbed her hand and said, “Don’t go. Can we talk right here?” Mom turned off the ignition and shifted in her seat to listen.
Eric then told her about a boy in his school class named Josh.* His mother had died of cancer during the previous Christmas holidays. He said that ever since then, Josh was often very sad at school. Sometimes his dad even had to come and take him home from school because he couldn’t stop crying.
Mother’s Day had been very hard for Josh. He had brought a stuffed bear to school that next day and had hugged it for comfort all the time. During recess, he had taken the bear out onto the playground. Some of the bigger kids took Josh’s bear away from him. While they teased him by throwing it back and forth, the bear had ripped apart. Eric felt bad because he knew that Josh’s family didn’t have a lot of money and that they might not be able to buy him another bear. While in the pharmacy, Eric had seen a bear just like Josh’s. He wanted permission to spend his allowance money to buy it for him.
Eric and his mom went back into the pharmacy and bought the bear. Eric took it to school in his backpack the next day. Mom told Eric not to give the bear to Josh until she’d made sure it was OK with their teacher. The teacher said that she would be glad to arrange for Eric to give the bear to Josh.
That evening, Mom asked Eric how it went. He said that their teacher had asked the two of them to stay in for a few minutes while the rest of the class went to recess. She’d asked Josh what had happened to his bear the day before. Josh’s first words were “Eric didn’t do it.”
She said that wasn’t the reason she’d had them stay in and then explained that Eric wanted to give him another bear. The bear went from backpack to backpack for safe keeping. Eric said that Josh almost cried when he gave it to him. Eric said that the best feeling of all was to see Josh smile, and, as he left for the day, Josh gave him a big high-five.

May I share with you some of the defining moments of my life to introduce my subject today? A question that students often ask us is: Where did you meet your wife? Well, I met my dear wife Kay in Mrs. Munk’s first grade class, Plymouth Elementary, in Taylorsville, Utah, over 60 years ago. I was making a sand castle in the back of the room during recess when she and her friend Sheri came up and knock it over. I got mad and I threw sand in their eyes and their face and their hair. And I got to meet her - and I got to meet her mother, and I got to meet the principal, and I got to stand in the corner while she went home and cleaned up. But when she came back and saw me still standing there (awfully embarrassed I might add), she went up and asked Mrs. Munk if I could please sit down, that she was all right now. And so I got to return to my seat. Whew, I knew she was the girl for me. She’s been keeping me out of trouble ever since.

A few months ago, my mama read a story to me from the Friend. It was about a little boy who wanted to know if Heavenly Father was real (“Micah’s Miracle,” October 2002, 4–6). One night he had a terrible nightmare. When he woke up, he prayed for help to feel safe. At the same moment, his dad woke up and decided that he should check on his son. When his dad came, the little boy knew that his prayer had been answered and that Heavenly Father really was there and loved him.

Priscila’s family joined the Church in 1991 but became less active shortly after their baptisms. In early 1998 Priscila’s friend began investigating the Church and asked Priscila to come with her to seminary.
“I had gone to another church, but I could never understand what they were teaching. In seminary everything made sense, and I could understand the gospel. Eventually, the Spirit testified to me that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. When I learned he was a prophet it was so good and so sweet that I cried,” Priscila says.
Priscila’s mother enjoyed welcoming the ward’s young women into their home. She encouraged Priscila’s attendance at Church activities, and she soon began attending regularly herself. Francilene is now serving as her ward’s Relief Society president.

The door burst open. Cold winter air rushed into the hall with Billy. Mike, his older brother, crowded in behind, followed by Mom and Dad.
“Grandma! We’re here for dinner!” Billy shouted. He hurried into the kitchen, smelling spicy pumpkin pie, roasted turkey, and sage dressing.
Grandma smiled. “It’ll take a while to get dinner on the table, boys,” she said. “You’ll find crayons and paper on the hall table. How about a picture?”
At the table, Mike began coloring, but Billy peered into the living room. It was full of porcelain figurines, an old sugar bowl, and other treasures. Grandma called them heirlooms. Each had its own pioneer story.
Billy’s gaze fastened on a small mirror on a shelf. Billy loved the mirror most because its story was his favorite.
Billy turned away from the living room and was reaching for a red crayon when the big oval mirror at the end of the hall caught his eye. He forgot about the crayon, walked to the mirror, and stretched as tall as he could.
“What are you doing?” Mike asked.
“Trying to see a child of God.”
“Too short, huh?” Mike said. Under the mirror, a low shelf held Grandma’s prized Boston fern. “I’ll give you a boost up to the shelf.”
With Mike’s arms around him, Billy kicked his feet in search of the shelf. He found the shelf, but knocked the fern to the floor. Black dirt spilled all over the carpet. The fern was smashed and broken, its bare roots sticking into the air.
Suddenly the shelf gave way. Billy bumped heads with Mike as he fell, then landed facedown in the dirt.
“What will we do?” Billy whispered, pushing himself up.
“Sometimes the cat gets on the shelf,” Mike said. “Maybe Grandma will think the cat did it.”
“But it wouldn’t be the truth,” Billy said. “We did it, so we should tell.”
“OK, but let’s wait until after dinner.”
“Wash up and come to dinner, boys,” Mom called.
When the two boys sat down at the table, Grandpa said the blessing. Everybody started to eat, but the food tasted like rubber in Billy’s mouth.
“Is something wrong?” Dad asked.
“I don’t like peas very much,” Billy mumbled.
Dad frowned. “How did you get the bump on your forehead?”
“Excuse me,” Billy mumbled, and fled to the bathroom.
Mom and Dad followed him. “Are you sick?” Mom asked.
Billy shook his head. “I stood on Grandma’s shelf. It broke. When I fell, Mike and I bumped heads. I just wanted to see a child of God in the big mirror.” Billy’s chest heaved. “Grandma’s fern is ruined. I feel awful—not at all like a child of God.”
“I helped him get on the shelf,” Mike said in a soft voice from behind Mom and Dad. “We didn’t know it would break. I don’t feel like a child of God either.”
“We thought maybe you’d think the cat did it,” Billy said. “We decided to tell the truth after dinner.”
“Well, now,” Grandma said, joining them. “No matter what you do, you are always a child of God. But I’m glad that you chose to tell the truth.”
Grandpa looked at the bent brackets that had held the shelf to the wall. “I reckon this can be fixed,” he said. “Grandma’s fern can be repotted. It looks pretty bedraggled, but it’ll likely grow out again.”
Grandma put the broken fern into the pot. “Even if it doesn’t grow, I can get a new plant,” she said. “But I could never replace these two children of God.”
“Look,” Dad said, holding Billy up to the mirror. “See the child who was tempted to blame the cat, but didn’t? How about giving him a smile?”
Billy managed a weak smile.
Back at the table, Billy noticed that everything—even the peas—now tasted delicious.
After dinner, Billy held the little mirror as Grandma told the story of how it had comforted the girl who was his long-ago grandma.
When the story was finished, all of them took a turn telling something each was thankful for. Billy looked into the little mirror and said, “I’m thankful to be a child of God.”

Many times the most beautiful examples of obedience and service are given by ordinary people who live close to us. Sister Ana Rita de Jesus, an elderly widow, lived in Anápolis, Brazil. She could not read or write. The missionaries would go to her home every week to read the scriptures to her. She was loving and kind. Every Sunday she would ask the missionaries to help her fill out a tithing slip. Sometimes her tithing and offerings were not more than a few cents, but she knew the law and wanted to obey it. After paying her tithing, she would walk into the room where the sacrament meeting was held in the rented house used as a chapel and would place a flower on the pulpit. In doing so, she served her brothers and sisters, bringing beauty to the place where we worshiped the Lord. That sister, in a very simple way, taught us obedience and service through her faith. She knew that obeying the commandments is the best preparation to serve. President Monson advised us in the last April general conference to “obey the commandments” and “serve with love” (“In Harm’s Way,” Ensign, May 1998, 47). Sister Ana Rita did so throughout her life.

Michael Morgan, 14, and his mom, Cheri, also played the bagpipes at Nauvoo. They both learned how to play four years ago as a tribute to Michael’s grandfather, who was diagnosed with terminal cancer. “He really liked the bagpipes,” explains Michael. “So my mom thought, why not let him listen to them before he dies and not just have them played at his funeral.” After hearing the bagpiper play at his grandfather’s bedside, Michael and his mom decided to take lessons together. Now they are part of a bagpipe band that tours the country. “Developing a talent together as a family is great,” says Sister Morgan. “When you spend so much time together, you can’t help but communicate; you are close because you are together.” Michael agrees and adds, “It’s fun to be unique.”

A number of years ago, as a counselor in a bishopric, I was assigned to home teach some of the less active members of our ward. One of my families was a lone man who lived in a rented room. He was very hard to find at home. And try as I might to be Christian about it all, I was often glad when he was out and I missed him. He was an alcoholic.
One evening I found him home and very sober. He was sick with a liver disease which threatened his very life. His illness had scared him away from his passion for drink for a short while. As he sobered up, the painful memories of his life crowded him, and he sought relief. Usually his relief came through drink. This time I was there.
He opened up to me and told of his happy first marriage. His successes early in his life, his lovely wife, his children—his face beamed as he talked about this marvelous time of his life. And then his face clouded as he spoke of how the pressure to get ahead at work became hard for him to deal with, and he began to drink. And he drank, and he drank, and one by one his successes turned to failures. He lost his job, his wife, and his family.
Then again his face cleared and he told of a short interlude in his dissolute life during which he married again. He also destroyed that marriage through his drinking. The tears came. He sobbed that he was dying alone, dejected, unproductive, unhappy—the personification of one brand of human failure.
I did not visit him again before he died. It was only a short time after our conversation that his death came. I was saddened by it. Then came the shock. His first wife called and asked if I would speak at his funeral. I was to be the only speaker! What could I say? Oh, what could I say that would comfort his former wives and family?
I worried about that funeral sermon about as much as I have worried about today’s blessing.
A song, a prayer, my sermon, a song, a prayer, the trip to the cemetery, the brief ceremony there, and the dedication of the grave: It was all a blur to me. But at the end of it all one of his children came and thanked me. The words were something like, “As I listened to your sermon, a flood of memories came back—most of them bad. Yet some of them were sweet. My dad failed. He was weak. But he loved me. He was kind to me. Even when he was drunk, he wasn’t mean to me. It was so sad. I hope that from him I can learn to avoid his mistakes while emulating his good characteristics.”

The girls have seen a number of friends come into the Church, and many others have come to appreciate and respect their standards. On one occasion Sheila was surprised when a young man she knew from school approached her about the gospel.
“I’m going to tell you some things I’ve heard about your church,” he said, “and I want you to tell me if they’re true.”
“He asked me a lot of questions,” Sheila recalled, “many of them based on misinformation. I explained the best I could and then asked him if he was interested in learning more. He said, ‘Yes, but not from the missionaries. I want to hear it from you.’ That really motivated me to study and find out more for myself.”
Still, they have been exposed to much opposition. Each family member has had soul-searching experiences that have forged individual testimony.
As Stacy said, “Once you know what the truth is, it doesn’t matter anymore how many people tell you you’re wrong.”
Hollywood is a challenging place to grow up in—the cultural standards are very high; the life-styles and philosophies are incredibly varied. But to the Phelps Family Musicians, the gospel is the harmonizing element. It is what helps them to keep a balanced perspective in meeting the everyday challenges of life in Hollywood.
Editor’s note: Since the time this story was written, Brother Phelps has passed away.

My husband learned wisdom in his youth and was always willing to go where the Lord wanted him to go and to do what the Lord wanted him to do. He had a calm demeanor because he had an eternal perspective on life and trusted the Lord 100%. But he still had to be refined and was sorely tested several times in his life. During the latter part of his working career, he was a controller for a very prestigious company in downtown Honolulu. He was asked to make inaccurate accountings on reports which he refused to do. He was told that if he would not do the reports as they asked, he would lose his job and they would make it so he could not get another job. Knowing this, he still refused to be dishonest so he lost his job.

He could not find fulltime employment for a whole year. This was a very difficult trial as he was not asking the Lord for a new car or a swimming pool, but to find decent employment to support his family, a basic righteous desire. Instead of being impatient or frustrated he kept living the gospel, paying tithing and continued to serve in his callings. He did not take his frustrations out on his family but instead kept saying that what he was going through was not near to what Job had experienced in losing possessions, his health, his friends and finally his family.

He kept his eternal vision and was willing to be even more humble and allow the Lord to mold him and refine him. It was a grueling year. But almost a year to the day, his trial was over as he found full time employment once again.

I am grateful for people on the earth who love and appreciate little children. Last year I found myself late at night on an airplane bulging with passengers going north from Mexico City to Culiacan. The seats in the plane were close together, and every seat was taken, mostly by the gracious people of Mexico. Everywhere inside the plane there were packages and carry-on luggage of all sizes.
A young woman came down the aisle with four small children, the oldest of which appeared to be about four and the youngest a newborn. She was also trying to manage a diaper bag and a stroller and some bags. The children were tired, crying, and fussing. As she found her seat in the airplane, the passengers around her, both men and women, literally sprang to her aid. Soon the children were being lovingly and tenderly comforted and cared for by the passengers. They were passed from one passenger to another all over the airplane.
The result was an airplane full of baby-sitters. The children settled down in the caring arms of those who cradled them and, before long, went to sleep. Most remarkable was that a few men who were obviously fathers and grandfathers tenderly cradled and caressed the newborn child without any false, macho pride. The mother was freed from the care of her children most of the flight.
The only thing that I felt bad about was that no one passed the baby to me! I relearned that appreciation for and thoughtfulness and kindness to little children are an expression of the Savior’s love for them.

There are many ways bishops and quorum members can help to relieve the suffering and anxiety of the unemployed. Phil’s Auto of Centerville, Utah, is a testament of what priesthood leadership and a quorum can accomplish. Phil was a member of an elders quorum and worked as a mechanic at a local automobile repair shop. Unfortunately, the repair shop where Phil worked experienced economic trouble and had to let Phil go from his job. He was devastated by this turn of events.

On hearing about Phil’s job loss, his bishop, Leon Olson, and his elders quorum presidency prayerfully considered ways they could help Phil get back on his feet. After all, he was a fellow quorum member, a brother, and he needed help. They concluded that Phil had the skills to run his own business. One of the quorum members offered that he had an old barn that perhaps could be used as a repair shop. Other quorum members could help gather needed tools and supplies to equip the new shop. Almost everyone in the quorum could at least help clean the old barn.

They shared their ideas with Phil; then they shared their plan with the members of their quorum. The barn was cleaned and renovated, the tools gathered, and all was put in order. Phil’s Auto was a success and eventually moved to better and more permanent quarters—all because his quorum brothers offered help in a time of crisis. Priesthood quorums can and must make a difference.

Clayne Robison, a professor of music at BYU, took a roundabout way to discover his genius. In college he had a difficult time deciding what career to pursue. He went to law school at Harvard and worked for a year in a major law firm. But he found out he did not enjoy the work. He left the firm to work at BYU for a year. He next worked for a large consulting firm for a year. He said, “I could feel what I wanted to be like at age 60, and those jobs weren’t moving me toward that goal.” He then returned to BYU to study social psychology, also accepting an assistantship in music because he was singing in some productions at the university. By midsemester he had decided to pursue a career in music. The minute he started studying music, he found it was great fun. He enjoyed everything about his doctoral work. When you hear Clayne sing or watch him teach music, you know that he has discovered his genius.

Clayne’s experience illustrates the sixth myth about careers: The career decision is so important that it would be disastrous to make a mistake.

Ishmael Stagner also had to be touched by the Spirit before he came to the college. The Kamehameha School graduate had considered a scholarship to Cornell University when he was approached by Pres. Law at a Stake conference. Although Stagner was anxious "to get off the rock to study on the Mainland, he yielded to the spirit to come to the infant school known as the Church College of Hawaii where he had more opportunities for academic or spiritual growth then if he had gone to larger school. He not only won two terms as student body president but was among the original group of CCH singers and dancer who laid the foundation for the Polynesian Cultural Center.

Allie peered over the ship’s bow out across the endless blue ocean.
“Are we there yet?” her brother, Morris, asked. He was only five, and he seemed to think their three-week journey would never end.
“Not quite!” Allie said. She was seven, and she thought this was a great adventure. “Father told me it’s over 3,000 miles from Utah to the Sandwich Islands.” The Sandwich Islands was another name for Hawaii, the island kingdom that would soon be Allie’s new home.
Morris went back to sit with their mother, who was watching them from the deck. Allie looked back at the sea. Only a few weeks ago, she and her family had been living in Utah, just waiting for winter to end. But everything had changed when Father was called to serve a mission.
Allie turned from the sea and sat with Mother and Morris. “Tell me a story,” she said.
“Hmm, a story,” Mother said. “Once upon a time, there was a young girl named Alice Armeda Snow Young, but her family called her Allie.”
Allie grinned. She loved hearing stories about herself and her family!
“Her grandfather on her father’s side was Brigham Young. He helped lead the Saints to the West after the Prophet Joseph Smith was killed.” Allie nodded. Grandpa Young was a brave man with a powerful testimony.
“Her grandfather on her mother’s side was Lorenzo Snow, an Apostle. After Grandpa Snow joined the Church, he served several missions in the United States before crossing the ocean to preach the gospel in England.”
“Where he even gave a Book of Mormon to Queen Victoria!” Allie added. She loved hearing Grandpa Snow’s stories.
Allie leaned her head against Mother. Both of her grandfathers were special to her.
“And now you get to carry on their legacy of faith,” Mother said. “Many families have to stay behind while husbands and fathers go on missions—”
“But we get to go with Father on his mission to Hawaii!” Allie said.
Father had served a mission in Hawaii as a young man. Allie loved hearing his stories about the faraway land ruled by a king. Now they would all live near the mission house on the island of Oahu while Father traveled the islands to preach and strengthen the Saints.
As the ship moved through the dark sea, Allie kept her eyes fixed on the horizon. She imagined her new home with its white beaches, emerald trees, and crystal skies. She couldn’t wait to see what adventures this mission would hold!
To be continued …

In the United States, on the morning of the Fourth of July 1952, as all the three major networks at the time were present with cameras rolling at the eastern edge of Catalina Island off the coast of California, 34-year-old Florence Chadwick waded into the water. She was a celebrated endurance swimmer, who now planned to swim 21 open-water miles to the southern California coast. Twenty-one miles! She had already conquered the English Channel. Now she was determined to be the first woman to swim the California Catalina Channel. She began the solo swim.

Minute after minute, hour after hour ticked by as Chadwick resolutely swam on, despite bone-chilling cold, unpredictable currents and terribly dense fog. Several times, sharks had to be driven away by rifle shots from the support boats. Ultimately, fatigued and chilled to the bone, an exhausted Florence Chadwick stopped. She lifted her goggles and looked in all directions but could not to see the shore through the fog bank. Disoriented, she lost her perspective and, temporarily, she lost her will.

From one of the support boats, her mother and her trainer pleaded with her not to give up. But from Chadwick’s compromised viewpoint in the water, all she could see was fog. So, after 15 hours and 55 minutes of constant swimming and over 58,000 strokes, she was pulled out of the water into the boat. She was utterly exhausted and was attended to medically. But Florence was even more devastated when she discovered she had tragically miscalculated her effort and distance. Where she had swum to was less than half a mile from the coast!

"I'm not excusing myself," she later told a reporter, "but if I could have seen land, I know I could have made it. I was licked by the fog." The resilient Florence Chadwick had been through tough times before. She immediately and resolutely began training, planning, and preparing again.

Two months later, renewed and indomitable, she once again entered the water off Catalina Island, determined to succeed in what no woman had done before. The networks were missing now but not Chadwick’s resolve.

Again, the same factors were equally present, along with their timing. The thick fog bank again descended and obscured her view at the same critical moment in this daunting endeavor.

But this time, Florence resolutely swam on, knowing that somewhere beyond this fog and ocean was land. I can imagine her repeating over and over, “Just keep swimming; don’t give up.”

This time, she swam directly through the fog bank and emerged on the sunlit, California seacoast. Not only was Florence Chadwick the first woman to swim the Catalina Channel but she beat the standing men's record by two hours!

There is another way we can let our lights shine. Elder Henry B. Eyring’s friends call him “Hal.” He told a story in general conference about a friend he once worked with. His friend was a good person who loved his family. Elder Eyring never told his friend about the gospel and how families can be together forever. One day, he heard that his friend had died. Elder Eyring said that he sometimes wonders if he will meet his friend in heaven and his friend will say, “Hal, you knew—why didn’t you tell me?” Now Elder Eyring shares his testimony with people all over the world. When we share what we know about the gospel with others, we are letting our lights shine.

Last semester in my University 101 class, on day three or four we had a student who didn’t show up for class. I got the attention of our peer mentor and mentioned that we were missing a student. I learned that six students had already reached out to text this student to simply say, “Hey, we miss you.” When we build a community in which we love God and we love all those around us, we are becoming a truly Christ-centered campus where belonging naturally follows.

I remember a day when I was serving as Young Women President when sharing some loaves of bread carried me through some struggles. After first getting on my knees and praying fervently for answers and strength to deal with my problems, I felt impressed to rise to my feet and make a dozen little loaves of whole wheat bread to take with me to the office. Each time I gave one away, the recipient opened his or her heart and shared some tender feelings. A secretary said, “How did you know it was my birthday; no one else has remembered me.” A much admired general authority lamented, “Some days I wish I had at least one thing like making bread, that I could do well.” The parents of an open-heart surgery patient confided, “Let us share with you the priesthood miracles involved with this surgery for our daughter.” An executive director said, “I will give this to my wife who is sitting each day in the hospital with our daughter who has leukemia.” Another leader reminisced, “This brings my mother back to me, because she too made bread.” These little experiences leavened my day with the spirit and carried me through that day. My burdens had been lifted. I felt happy.