Gospel Story Finder

I’m grateful for the example of a father who, as a busy executive of a great supermarket chain, still found the time to demonstrate by his concern that groceries were less important than his boy.

Like many young men, I once had a paper route; and I had to get up early in the morning to deliver them. One morning I woke up and looked outdoors to see one of those torrential Arkansas downpours. I thought we were in for another flood! As I prepared to go out in that rain, my father came into the room dressed in his business suit. “Get in the car, Paul,” he said. “I’ll drive you around your route this morning.” This meant that he would have to go without his own breakfast.

On that morning, in addition to the heavy rain, the papers came late. By the time we had them delivered, it was considerably past the hour that my father had to be to work. And on this particular morning he had scheduled a very important board meeting.

He arrived at the meeting late, walked into the board room, and announced, “I’m sorry I’m late, gentlemen, but I had to deliver my papers this morning.”

Do you think that there was ever any doubt in my mind as to my father’s greatest concern? Interestingly, I don’t recall too many lessons my parents verbally taught, but their example is still a part of me till this day.

“At one tournament I met a soccer player from Oregon who wanted to know why I wouldn’t play on Sunday,” Jodi related. “That opened the door for me to tell him about the gospel. We ended up writing letters. I sent him a Book of Mormon. That was scary. But he read it and wanted to know more. So I sent him some pamphlets, and well, after a while he decided to be baptized.

I worked tables last night.
Streams of customers
came in waves
through the door.
Cook turned ogre,
Dropped french fries
on the floor
And snapped at me when
she burned her fingers.
She also burned table 5’s
steak and shrimp.
Mr. Table 5 looked at me
accusingly
And sent it back.
The ladies at table 2 said
they’d like to know
Where their soups and
salads were.
I said, “So would I.”
They didn’t laugh
Three boisterous boys
snickered when I passed
Till my legs became stilts
clumping by.
Then my dad dropped in.
His stomach just fit
between table and chair.
He winked, called me Miss,
And ordered caviar, though
we don’t sell that here.
“That’s okay,” he said. “Just
give me a smile.”
Then he ordered a number 2.
My feet began to rock and
roll around the room
Just like in the movies.
When Dad was done he
sat back with a toothpick
in his mouth
And motioned to me over
faceless heads.
He let me eat his pie,
Kissed me good-bye,
And left me
A twenty dollar tip.

I’m getting hot and thirsty!
We’ll get a drink at that oasis over there.
Hey! Is that an Arabian oryx? I want to stop and take a picture!
Let’s keep moving. Oryxes can go without water for weeks, but we can’t!
Mmm. Water is so delicious.
And so wet!

About this time, according to Darryl’s father, “Darryl told me that he, too, would like to be a missionary and help spread the teachings of our Heavenly Father. I told Darryl that since we have four children of our own and five adopted children, we could never afford to send him on a mission. He simply said, ‘Paint me a Mormon picture and have it reproduced and I will sell the prints for my mission fund.’”
Darryl’s father, a talented artist, worked for two years to complete a painting entitled “A Family Is Forever.” The Quesada family decided to give the original to President Kimball and are selling prints of it to build the mission fund that will send not only Darryl but other members of his family on missions.
Darryl has a strong testimony of the gospel, and he is inspired by the stories of valiant missionaries in the Book of Mormon. He writes, “I know the Church is true and that it is the only true church on this planet; also that the Book of Mormon is the record of the Lamanites. I know the Church is true because we have a prophet who talks with God. That is why I want to go on a mission—to teach the gospel to the many, many people I meet. The reason I wanted President Kimball to have the original painting is because he is the closest man to God on the earth today.”
President Kimball thinks Darryl is pretty special too! He said that in his mind Darryl and other boys like him “exemplify a new generation of Lamanites emerging in the Church who are prepared for missionary service.”

Leif Sirman sprinted out from second base on a good hit from a teammate, but he wouldn’t ever make it to third. “When I tried to run I kept on falling down,” the nine-year-old explained. “Then I didn’t want to run to third when I saw the wall behind it falling down.”

“If every kid did something like this, just think how it could change the world.” This comment was overheard at a neighborhood swimming pool last summer in Craig, Colorado, a small community of 8,000 people. It was 13-year-old Evan Pressley they were talking about—and still are.
Evan, a deacon in the Craig First Ward, Meeker Colorado Stake, went door-to-door in his hometown last June asking for money, not for himself, but for orphans in China. He managed to raise $2,418. “And 45 cents,” he adds. He turned what he raised over to a Chinese nonprofit, tax-exempt service organization headquartered near Denver, Colorado.
Evan’s inspiration to help orphans living thousands of miles away in China began with his visit to that country in December of 1996. Evan accompanied his parents, Dave and Mary Pressley, when they adopted his little sister, Marianne Kai Yue. “After I got home, I just wanted to help some babies who are not as fortunate as my little sister, who has found a family.” Marianne and Evan have two older brothers, Ben, 19, and Dan, 18.
In the spring of 1997, Evan sent a handwritten letter to Lily Nie and Joshua Zhong, directors of the agency the Pressleys went through to adopt Marianne, informing them of his project. His goal was to raise $2,175. He exceeded that goal and came up with a total of $2,418 (and 45 cents). He made a list of specific things he wanted done with that money: repair a child’s cleft palate and lip; buy a heavy-duty washer and dryer; provide enough formula for eight babies for one month; buy a crib and some toys; set up a small children’s health clinic. All this for $2,418! “Money goes a long way in China,” Evan explains.
Several articles were published in the newspapers about the Evan Project. Later, Joshua Zhong sent a letter to one newspaper thanking the people of Craig, Colorado, for their support. He also sent a letter to Evan expressing his feelings. “I want to thank and salute you for an incredibly moving and successful fund-raising effort. I am deeply touched by your love for the Chinese children. … You are an amazing kid with a very BIG heart!”
What does this “amazing kid” have in mind for the future? You guessed it. He’s not through helping orphans in China. He’s given it a lot of thought, and he’s getting close to earning his Eagle Scout Award. For his project he’s going to do something like gathering baby formula—lots of it—to send to Chinese orphanages. After all, when you have a BIG heart, it can strrreettch a whole lot to make room for one more Chinese baby … or 50 … or 150.

At the beach one day a group of youth had driven their car too far out in the sand, and it was imbedded deeply. All their combined strength seemed insufficient to dislodge it. I offered to assist, but the vile language they were using repelled me. Teenagers were using the holy names of their Creator as though he were their creation. I shrank from the blasphemy and left them.

During the banquet and program, I sat next to a well-known personality, Flip Harmon, and his wife, Lois. Flip has been involved with the direction of the Days of ’47 celebration for forty-three years, this being an annual July 24th activity in Salt Lake City. Since Flip was up and around the room fulfilling his official duties, I had the privilege of talking with Lois. She mentioned that she and family members were in attendance at every presentation of the famous rodeo which is one of the highlights of the Days of ’47 celebration. Now, a rodeo is nice once in a while—but every night? I asked Lois how she endured the schedule. Her response was from the heart. “This is Flip’s life, and I want to be part of it. He counts on me.” The night I had attended the rodeo with Sister Monson, my Aunt Blanche (age ninety-five), and our grandchildren, Lois was surrounded by children and precious grandchildren. She was the epitome of happiness. Now, during our luncheon conversation, Lois volunteered to me a few details about her husband. She said Flip had an angel mother who prayed fervently for her sons as they served their country during wartime. When Flip returned home, he and Lois were married. A busy life and welcome children followed. Each year as their wedding anniversary approached, Flip would say to Lois, “What gift do you want for our anniversary?” Each year the answer was the same, “A temple sealing.” The gift was not given.

Then one year, as the perennial question was asked, “What do you want, Lois, for our anniversary?” and the usual response was given, “To go to the temple of God together,” Flip’s reply was unexpected: “Fine. I’ll prepare for such an event.” They were sealed for time and eternity in the holy house of God on their twenty-ninth anniversary. Later, Flip served as a bishop. Each remains faithful to the other and loyal to the Lord.

As Lois continued, I noticed tears brimming in her eyes. She said, “You know Flip always wears cowboy boots. At the end of each day he would sit in the chair before the fireplace, where he would take off his boots and then read the paper. He would never put away the boots, no matter how many times I mentioned the subject. Years ago that would bother me. But not anymore. Today I just love those boots. Tender are my feelings and full is my heart as I willingly and lovingly pick them up and put them away each evening.”

Now tears were brimming in my eyes. Unexpectedly, Lois Harmon was asked to come to the podium, where she was given signal honor for her silent service. A beautiful bouquet of red roses was presented to her. Flip was asked to respond. His expression was from his heart. It was as though the two of them were alone in the large hotel dining area. “Lois is the light of my life. She’s my eternal partner.” (The word partner seemed to fit with the cowboy boots.) “We’ll be together forever.” Patience was rewarded. Love was expressed. Heaven was near.

I received a special gift last Christmas that brought with it many memories. My niece gave it to me. It had been among the things I had left in our old family home when I moved out after I was married. The gift was this little brown book I hold in my hand. It is a book that was given to LDS servicemen who entered the armed forces during World War II. I personally viewed the book as a gift from President Heber J. Grant and his counselors, J. Reuben Clark Jr. and David O. McKay.
In the front of the book, these three prophets of God wrote: “The incidents of the armed service do not permit our keeping in constant personal touch with you, either directly or by personal representation. Our next best course is to put in your hands such portions of modern revelation and of explanations of the principles of the Gospel as shall bring to you, wherever you may be, renewed hope and faith, as likewise comfort, consolation, and peace of spirit.”1
In the little brown book, immediately after the letter from the First Presidency, there is a “Prefatory Note to Men in the Service,” titled “Obedience to Law Is Liberty.” The note draws a parallel between military law, which is “for the good of all who are in the service,” and divine law.
It states, “In the universe, too, where God is in command, there is law—universal, eternal … law—with certain blessings and immutable penalties.”
The final words of the note focus on obedience to God’s law: “If you wish to return to your loved ones with head erect, … if you would be a man and live abundantly—then observe God’s law. In so doing you can add to those priceless freedoms which you are struggling to preserve, another on which the others may well depend, freedom from sin; for truly ‘obedience to law is liberty.’”2
In many respects, this world has always been at war. I believe when the First Presidency sent me my little brown book, they were more concerned about a greater war than World War II. I also believe they hoped the book would be a shield of faith against Satan and his armies in this greater war—the war against sin—and serve as a reminder to me to live the commandments of God.

A priests quorum decided one winter to gather food for the needy as a service project. This event soon developed into a competitive activity with the Laurels to see who could gather the most food.
Jim, one of the members of the quorum, became very excited about participating in this activity. He planned to use a cart he had built for a parade and was determined that he was going to collect more food than anyone else.
The night came, and the priests and Laurels met at the chapel. They went out at the same time and returned at the specified time later in the evening. Much to everyone’s surprise, Jim’s cart was empty. He was rather sober and didn’t seem to want to talk to anyone. Some of the boys made fun of him and asked, “Where’s your food, Jim? We thought you were going to beat us all.”
Seeing the situation Jim was in and knowing that he had an interest in automobiles, the adviser grabbed him and said, “Come outside, Jim, I want you to look at my car. It’s giving me some trouble.”
When they got outside, the adviser said, “What’s wrong, Jim?” Jim began to cry and said, “I don’t know if I want to talk about it.”
“Are you upset?”
“No, not really. But when I went out to collect the food, I really got a lot. My cart was full. As I was returning to the chapel, I stopped at the home of a nonmember woman who is divorced and lives within our ward boundaries. I knocked on the door and explained what we were doing, and she invited me in. She began to look for something to give me. She opened the refrigerator, and I could see there was hardly anything in it. The cupboards were bare. Finally, she found a small can of peaches.
“I could hardly believe it. There were all these little kids running around that needed to be fed, and she handed me this can of peaches. I took it and put it in my cart and went on up the street. I got about halfway up the block when I just felt warm all over and knew I needed to go back to that house. I gave her all the food.”
The adviser said, “Jim, don’t you ever forget the way you feel tonight, because that’s what it is all about.”
Because of the priesthood Jim held, he had received the ministering of angels and through the Holy Ghost had been guided to do something that was far more important than winning the contest.

Allan sat on a bench outside his house. The sun was setting. Palm trees stood against the pink and orange sky.
He turned the page of the book he was reading. It didn’t have any pictures. But Allan didn’t mind. He loved reading this book!
His eyes skimmed across Papa’s neat writing. He remembered this part! It always made him laugh.
Just then, Papa came outside. “What’s so funny?”
“I’m reading one of your books.” Allan grinned. “I like the part about the coconut.”
“Oh, you mean my journals.” Papa sat beside Allan. “They tell the story of my life. But they are not just about me. You are in them too. And so is Mama, and your brothers and sister.”
“Like Nephi!” Allan said. “He wrote stories about his life, and he wrote about his family too.”
“Right!” Papa said.
“I like the parts about you best,” Allan said. “Like when you were a missionary here in Tahiti.”
“I like the stories about you best,” Papa said. “Did you know that we named you after Elder Bednar’s middle name?”
“You never told me that! I can’t wait to read that part.”
Papa smiled. “There are lots of stories in my journals. I’ve been writing in journals since I was eight.”
“Since you were eight?” Allan asked. “That’s a really, really long time.”
Papa laughed. “I’m not that old.”
Allan thought for a bit. “I’m turning eight soon,” he said. “Could I get a journal for my birthday?”
“Of course!” Papa said.
“Then I can write my stories so that someday my kids can read them.”
“That sounds like a great family tradition!” Papa said.

Parting can be hard, particularly when the parent and the child know that they may not see each other for a long time. I had that experience with my father. We parted on a street corner in New York City. He had come there for his work. I was there on my way to another place. We both knew that I probably would never return to live with my parents under the same roof again.
It was a sunny day, around noontime, the streets crowded with cars and pedestrians. On that particular corner there was a traffic light which stopped the cars and the people in all directions for a few minutes. The light changed to red; the cars stopped. The crowd of pedestrians hurried off the curbs, moving every way, including diagonally, across the intersection.
The time had come for parting, and I started across the street. I stopped almost in the center, with people rushing by me. I turned to look back. Instead of moving off in the crowd, my father was still standing on the corner looking at me. To me he seemed lonely and perhaps a little sad. I wanted to go back to him, but I realized the light would change and so I turned and hurried on.
Years later I talked to him about that moment. He told me that I had misread his face. He said he was not sad; he was concerned. He had seen me look back, as if I were a little boy, uncertain and looking for assurance. He told me in those later years that the thought in his mind had been: Will he be all right? Have I taught him enough? Is he prepared for whatever may lie ahead?
There were more than thoughts in his mind. I knew from having watched him that he had feelings in his heart. He yearned for me to be protected, to be safe. I had heard and felt that yearning in his prayers, and even more in the prayers of my mother, for all the years I had lived with them. I had learned from that, and I remembered.

Ephraim Hanks is a remarkable example of a young man’s obedience to spiritual promptings. In the fall of 1856, after he had gone to bed, he heard a voice say to him, “The handcart people are in trouble and you are wanted; will you go and help them?” Without any hesitation he answered, “Yes, I will go if I am called.”
He rode quickly from Draper to Salt Lake City. As he arrived he heard the call for volunteers to help the last handcart companies come into the valley. Eph jumped up and said, “I am ready now!” He was as good as his word, leaving at once and alone.
A terrific storm broke as he took his wagon eastward over the mountains. It lasted three days, and the snow was so deep that it was impossible to move the wagons through it. So Eph decided he would go on horseback. He took two horses, one to ride and one to pack, and picked his way carefully through the snow to the mountains. Dusk came as he made his lonely camp at South Pass. As he was about to lie down he thought about the hungry Saints and instinctively asked the Lord to send him a buffalo. As he opened his eyes at the end of his prayer, he was startled at the sight of a buffalo standing barely 50 yards away. He took aim, and one shot sent the animal rolling down into the hollow where he was encamped.
Early next morning, he took the two horses and the buffalo meat and reached Ice Springs Bench. There he shot another buffalo, even though it was rare to find buffalo in this area this late in the season. After he had cut the meat into long strips, he loaded up his horses and resumed his journey. And now I quote from Eph’s own narrative:
“I think the sun was about an hour high in the west when I spied something in the distance that looked like a black streak in the snow. As I got near to it, I perceived it moved; then I was satisfied that this was the long looked for handcart company, led by Captain Edward Martin. … When they saw me coming, they hailed me with joy inexpressible, and when they further beheld the supply of fresh meat I brought into camp, their gratitude knew no bounds. Flocking around me, one would say, ‘Oh, please, give me a small piece of meat;’ another would exclaim, ‘My poor children are starving, do give me a little;’ and children with tears in their eyes would call out, ‘Give me some, give me some.’ … Five minutes later both my horses had been released of their extra burden—the meat was all gone, and the next few hours found the people in camp busily engaged in cooking and eating it, with thankful hearts.”
Certainly Ephraim Hanks’s obedience to spiritual promptings led him to become a vanguard hero as he forged ahead alone through that devastating winter weather to preserve many pioneer lives. Because he listened to the whisperings of the Spirit and obeyed the counsel of the Brethren, Eph became a notable liberating force in the lives of those desperate, struggling pioneers.

“Bedtime!” Mommy called from upstairs.
Grace’s blonde curls bounced as she hopped up the stairs and into her room. She grabbed her fluffy stuffed bunny and jumped into bed. Then she jumped right back out again.
“Mommy, I can’t go to bed yet. I forgot something very important.”
Mommy smiled. “I think you’re right.”
Grace ran to her dresser and pulled out her favorite fuzzy pajamas. She put them on and slid back under the covers.
Suddenly she sat up . “I still forgot something very important.”
“I think you’re right,” Mommy answered patiently.
“I need a glass of milk. I always have milk before I go to bed.”
Mommy left and came back with a glass of cold milk. Grace drank every drop, then licked off her milk mustache.
“Now I’m ready for bed,” Grace said, snuggling deep into the warmth of her covers.
Only a second later, she popped out again. “Mommy, I still forgot something very important.
Mommy nodded. “I think you’re right.”
Grace hurried to the bathroom sink and brushed her teeth until they were shiny white. Then she washed her face and hands.
“Now I’m ready for bed.” Grace scampered back to her room and dove into her empty bed.
Before there was even time to say good night, she tumbled out again. “I still forgot something very important.”
“I think you’re right,” Mommy chuckled.
“I could never go to sleep without a hug and a kiss from my favorite people in the whole world.” She ran down the hall and bumped down the stairs to the living room. She pulled the newspaper out of Daddy’s hands and gave him a big bear hug and a kiss. Then she ran back up to her room, squeezed Mommy tight, and kissed her good night. “Now I’m ready for bed,” Grace said, crawling under her quilted covers and pulling them up to her eyes.
She pulled them right back down. “I still forgot something very important.”
“I think you’re right,” Mommy replied.
“I need a bedtime story. It will give me sweet dreams all night long.”
Mommy read Grace’s favorite fairy tale.
“Now I’m ready for bed,” Grace sighed. “I’m dressed in my warm pajamas. I had a yummy glass of milk. I brushed my teeth and washed my face. I kissed Mommy and Daddy good night, and I heard my favorite bedtime story.”
Then Grace gasped and her eyes got big. “Mommy, I forgot the most important thing of all!”
“I know you did,” Mommy agreed.
Grace slipped out of bed onto her knees. She folded her arms, bowed her head, and closed her eyes. Her mother joined her. Then Grace said a prayer to Heavenly Father. She thanked Him for all that she had, and asked Him to bless her. Grace was glad to talk to Heavenly Father. She knew that He listened to her prayers. When she finished in the name of Jesus Christ, she felt warm inside. Happily she climbed back into bed. Mother tucked the covers under her chin and turned off the light.
Now I really am ready for bed, Grace thought as she drifted peacefully off to sleep.

I will always remember the sight of the temple the day I arrived to receive my endowment. I was filled with deep respect and reverence. I was humbled by the thought that I would go inside and make sacred covenants with my Father in Heaven.
I had arrived dressed in my Sunday best, knowing that my outward appearance reflected my inward respect for the house of the Lord.
“Welcome to the temple,” I was greeted as I showed my recommend and walked inside. Everything about the temple was beautiful. It felt like a piece of heaven on earth, and the friendly temple workers seemed like angels.
I remained in awe at the Spirit I felt. While I didn’t immediately understand everything that was taking place, I did realize the importance of the covenants I was making. It was clear to me why my bishop had spoken of the temple the way he had. The endowment I was receiving would extend not only far beyond the two years of my mission but even into the eternities. More meaningful to me than any of the advice I had received from various people was a scripture I had read as part of my preparation, “And that all people who shall enter upon the threshold of the Lord’s house may feel thy power, and feel constrained to acknowledge that thou hast sanctified it, and that it is thy house, a place of thy holiness” (D&C 109:13). I knew that the temple was the Lord’s house, sanctified and holy. I went expecting to feel God’s love, and I did.

In September 1845 the anti-Mormons began burning Mormon homes in the small, scattered farm communities surrounding Nauvoo. Unprotected families were forced from their log farm homes as the vigilantes set fire to their homes. The mobs destroyed more than two hundred homes and farm buildings, plus several mills and dozens of grain stacks. The friendly Sheriff Jacob Backenstos vainly attempted to preserve order. President Young advised the Saints to evacuate the rural areas and move to Nauvoo. He cautioned against retaliation, hoping that sympathetic citizens would see the flagrant denial of property rights and rally support for the Saints.

In October of 1998 Hurricane Mitch devastated many parts of Central America. President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) was very concerned for the victims of this disaster, many of whom lost everything—food, clothing, and household goods. He visited the Saints in the cities of San Pedro Sula and Tegucigalpa, Honduras; and Managua, Nicaragua. And like the words of the loving prophet Elijah to a starving widow, this modern prophet’s message in each city was similar—to sacrifice and be obedient to the law of tithing.
But how can you ask someone so destitute to sacrifice? President Hinckley knew that the food and clothing shipments they received would help them survive the crisis, but his concern and love for them went far beyond that. As important as humanitarian aid is, he knew that the most important assistance comes from God, not from man. The prophet wanted to help them unlock the windows of heaven as promised by the Lord in the book of Malachi (see Malachi 3:10; Mosiah 2:24).
President Hinckley taught them that if they would pay their tithing, they would always have food on their tables, they would always have clothing on their backs, and they would always have a roof over their heads.

On Thursday, we visited the Washington, D.C., Visitors’ Center and then met with the Washington Temple presidency and set apart several sealers. The next morning, Friday, March 13, in company with Elder Gordon B. Hinckley, we visited with President Ronald Reagan in the Oval Office of the White House. We presented to him his genealogy on his mother’s side. We then met with Mrs. Reagan. Both were very warm and gracious and very appreciative of the genealogical record.

With the approach of cooler weather, John helps carry firewood to the house for the stove that heats their home during the winter. He also watches his young brothers while his dad and mother, Kathy Douglas, attend leadership meetings at the Detroit Lakes Branch, thirty miles away. Watching Nathan gives John the opportunity to help his little brother learn how to walk on a pair of crutches that his dad adapted to fit him. Nathan was born with spina bifida.