Gospel Story Finder

Sometimes we try to tell ourselves that wrong is right. We do this to try to feel better about doing wrong things. On a television show recently, a girl was caught breaking a serious family rule. She said, “I wasn’t being disobedient. I was just learning independence.” Well, no matter what she said or how she tried to justify what she had done, the truth was she had disobeyed a rule that was made to protect her. When she disobeyed, the protection was gone. That’s important to remember, so I want to say it one more time. When she disobeyed, the protection was gone.

Twenty-three year old Tom Monson, a relatively new bishop, before leaving home that night, had received a telephone call informing him that an older member of his ward was ill and had been admitted to the hospital for care. Could the bishop, the caller wondered, find a moment to go by the hospital sometime and give a blessing? The busy young leader explained that he was just on his way to a stake meeting but that he certainly would be pleased to go by the hospital as soon as the meeting was concluded.

Now the prompting was stronger than ever: “Leave the meeting and proceed to the hospital at once.” But the stake president himself was speaking at the pulpit! It would be most discourteous to stand in the middle of the presiding officer’s message, make one’s way over an entire row of brethren, and then exit the building altogether. Painfully he waited out the final moments of the stake president’s message, then bolted for the door even before the benediction had been pronounced.

Running the full length of the corridor on the fourth floor of the hospital, the young bishop saw a flurry of activity outside the designated room. A nurse stopped him and said, “Are you Bishop Monson?”

“Yes,” was the anxious reply.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “The patient was calling your name just before he passed away.”

He vowed then and there that he would never again fail to act upon a prompting from the Lord. He would acknowledge the impressions of the Spirit when they came, and he would follow wherever they led him, ever to be “on the Lord’s errand.”

Jenny knew something special was going to happen that Christmas of 1938. She had just been baptized. Her baptism had been so special that she knew Christmas would be special too. But she didn’t know how it would be special.
On Christmas morning Jenny woke up early. She heard Dad and her brother Marcus go out to milk the cows, and she knew she had to stay in bed until they came back. That was the rule on Christmas.
“Mayda,” she whispered to her older sister. “Mayda, are you awake?” Jenny wanted to talk about the special day, but Mayda was still asleep. So was Herbie, who slept in a crib across the room. He was only two years old, but she would have been happy to talk even to him.
Jenny sighed and thought about the day ahead. Maybe the special thing would be something under the Christmas tree.
“A Shirley Temple doll!” she whispered. That’s what she hoped it would be—a Shirley Temple doll with curly yellow ringlets, eyes that opened and shut, and frilly clothes with dainty little shoes! Jenny already had a doll, but it was a rubber baby doll with hair and eyes just painted on. When Jenny put the doll to bed, its eyes stayed wide open, staring up at her. A Shirley Temple doll that was under the Christmas tree would make it a really special Christmas!
Finally Jenny heard Dad and Marcus come back from milking the cows. Mama came into the bedroom to get Herbie. “Everybody up,” she said cheerily. “It’s Christmas.”
The large room that was both kitchen and living room was warm and cozy when Jenny got there. Dad and Marcus were warming their hands over the big black stove.
“It’s a cold one today,” Dad said. “I think it’s going to snow.”
As soon as Mama and Herbie and Mayda came, they all went over to the tree. Jenny and Mayda had decorated it the day before with rings of colored paper and strings of popcorn. Mama had said that maybe next year they could afford a string of lights. But it was pretty, even without lights.
Jenny didn’t let herself look underneath the tree until after they had all held hands and sung “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” She liked that part of Christmas morning.
Finally it was time to look under the Christmas tree. She spotted her gift right away. It was a doll, all right, but not a Shirley Temple doll. It was just another rubber baby doll, although this one did have eyes that opened and shut. Mama had made the doll a set of tiny clothes and a little pillow and quilt. It was a nice doll. But it couldn’t be the special thing.
Mama said she liked the paper-plate comb holder Jenny had made for her in school. Dad was patting his new shaving lotion onto his face. Mayda flipped through the pages of her new autograph book, saying it was just what she wanted. Marcus grinned as he examined his new jackknife, and Herbie galloped around the kitchen on his new stick horse that had a carved head and a rope tail. Maybe the something special will be something that happens, Jenny thought.
The family ate breakfast, finishing up with an orange for each person, which was almost special, but not quite.
Since it was Sunday, Jenny wondered if what she was waiting for would happen at church during the Christmas program.
Dad went out to hitch the horses to the sleigh. They had an old truck, but it always froze up in cold weather. Jenny liked the horses better anyway.
Mama filled the sleigh with quilts, and they all got in. Just as they were starting out, the Sorensens, who lived farther up the road, came along. The sleigh bells on their horses jingled, making it really sound like Christmas. They all waved, except Raymond, who stuck his tongue out at Jenny. That meant he really liked her! It made Jenny happy—but still, that couldn’t be her special thing.
The Christmas program was nice. Aunt Jessie Fugal sang “O Holy Night,” and didn’t miss even the highest notes. Teeny DeMars played a piano solo, and Red Sorensen played a violin solo. Then Bishop Johnson gave a talk about the birth of Jesus. To close the meeting, some of the Junior Sunday School children presented a tableau of the manger scene while everyone sang “Silent Night.”
It was time to go home, and still the special thing hadn’t happened. Jenny felt disappointed.
Snow was falling. Mama put a blanket over Herbie’s head and ran for the sleigh, followed by Mayda, Marcus, and Jenny. Dad helped them crawl in under the quilts. Then he shouted to the horses. “Giddap!”
The snowflakes were as big as popcorn as they wafted down, and were so thick that it was hard to see the Sorensen sleigh only a few yards away.
“Jenny,” Mama said, “this is the way it was snowing on the day you were born.”
The day I was born, Jenny mused. The day I came to live with Dad and Mama and Mayda and Marcus. Of course Herbie hadn’t been born yet.
Jenny looked around at them, at their heads poking out from under the quilts. They all smiled at her.
The day I was born, she thought again. If I had been born to some other family, I probably wouldn’t know any of them!
Suddenly Jenny knew that this was the special something she had waited for all day. It wasn’t a special gift or a special happening. It was a special knowing. It was knowing that she was where she wanted to be, with the people she wanted to be with. It was knowing she was right where she belonged.
Jenny snuggled down under the quilts, knowing. It truly was a special Christmas.

Joseph V.’s great-grandmother has Alzheimer’s disease. That means that she can’t remember things and sometimes doesn’t recognize people. Joseph started keeping a journal about his experiences with his great-grandmother’s illness, and then he wrote a book. Because of his book, My Grandma Has Alzheimer’s Too, Joseph has been in the newspaper, on the radio, and on TV. Now his book is going to be published.
Joseph says, “When the media ask me how my book started, I tell them first I kept a journal for two years then started to write my book. Then they say, ‘How did an 11-year-old boy learn to keep a journal?’ I tell them, ‘My church.’ ”
Joseph is happy that he can bring people’s attention to the disease and to the Church. He also wants to encourage young people to keep records and journals.

Shari Johnson (at left with another runner) says she was surprised to be chosen to carry the torch through her hometown of Holyoke, Colorado, even though she is something of a hero there. Shari is a lifeguard at the city pool and happened to be there one day when she was off duty. A young girl was pulled from the bottom of the pool, and Shari immediately started rescue breathing. Shari saved her life.
Both Barry and Shari light the way for others to follow, not only by carrying the Olympic torch, but by being good examples.

Illustration by Craig Stapley
I have a lot of good friends. Some go to church, and some don’t. One day a group of us, including one other LDS young woman, was eating lunch when a few of my friends began to use the Lord’s name in vain. No one else seemed bothered by it, and soon other students at the table started saying the Lord’s name in vain too. At first I thought, “Just let it slide; they don’t know any better.” But then it started to really bother me. They kept saying it, and I felt a pit in my stomach. So I stood up. I said firmly, “It really bothers me when you talk like that. Please stop.”
They laughed and kept going.
I stood up again, but this time my LDS friend stood up with me. We grabbed our lunches and moved somewhere else. It felt good to leave the table when they were doing that. As I walked away, I felt the Spirit.
I’m glad my friend left with me. It reminded me of the song “We’ll Bring the World His Truth” (Children’s Songbook, 172–73) and how “we must do as the Lord commands.” While I may not have had an “army of Helaman,” my friend showed me that I am not the only person trying “to bring the world [H]is truth.”

I got sick on a trip and received a blessing. I had faith I would be healed and was able to enjoy the rest of the trip with my family.
Ellie G., age 10, Guayas, Ecuador

One of my favorite things is soccer. I participated in a soccer challenge. We demonstrated our skills, and then winners were chosen. I qualified to go to the state competition. I was so excited and really wanted to go, but it was on a Sunday. My mom and I talked about it one morning before school. We had a prayer, and she asked me to think about it. After school, my mom met me at the bus stop. I told her I was going to go to church instead of the state competition. I know I made the right decision. Every time I look at my trophy from the local competition, I will remember that it means more than winning at soccer.

Cathy’s mother worked in rest homes when Cathy was little and sometimes had to work on holidays like Thanksgiving and Christmas. “I wanted her to understand why I couldn’t be at home, so I’d bring her to the rest homes with me on those holidays,” said Sister Gurley.
“She’d leave me and go talk to the people. Cathy has never been afraid of a retarded or elderly or handicapped person, maybe because she was brought up around them.”

The jaded, blank-faced crowd congesting the Las Vegas strip paid little attention to the boy behind the wheel of the shiny Corvette. “Just another kid out cruising in his father’s car,” thought anyone who happened to glance his way.

But that was all right with 18-year-old Jack Farley, because he didn’t care much for the crowd, either. He had other things on his mind. He’d started working at age 14, and four years later he’d become sort of a bubble gum baron, controlling his own vending business. He’d paid for the Corvette himself and he’d driven it from the California coast to the desert resort town for an exciting weekend.

Yet something was bothering him. Something wasn’t quite right. His mind kept reverting back to what those Mormons were teaching him in the Sunday School class he’d started attending—things like service to others and eternal families. He’d be missing that church Sunday. Or maybe he wouldn’t—what was he doing here anyway? If he turned around now, he could easily make it back by morning.

The decision to drive back to his home in Mission Viejo, California, was one of the most important choices Jack ever made. Although he’d fought and won many battles in his life, the choice to go home for church led to what he considers the ultimate victory of his life so far. “I’m real thankful for the Church,” he says, “real thankful. I can’t even dream of where I’d be without it. Outside the Church, it’s like you fall into a river and it carries you wherever it goes. In the Church, you have control.”

“But I didn’t join right off,” Jack said. “I kind of sat back and doubted for a while, but I wish I hadn’t.” His Las Vegas excursion helped him appreciate the truths they were teaching him. “I looked around at the people there and thought ‘Lots of these people have money, but they’re still looking for something to make them happy,’” Jack said. Maybe he really could find what he was looking for in the Church.

The same Spirit that helped Jack choose to head home from Las Vegas is still helping him now. And it will continue to help him as he teaches the Japanese.

Jesus taught us to “mourn with those that mourn.” I didn’t know what that meant until my Primary teacher’s husband died. I felt so sad inside for her, and I wanted to help her feel better. I wrote her a letter and painted her a picture of a Christmas tree with presents. When I went to the funeral I hugged her and cried. I now know what Jesus meant when He said to comfort others.

I have a younger brother, Stan. He is a university graduate in engineering who can fix and build anything.
When I took some aptitude tests in college to get vocation suggestions, the person giving the test said, “One area you should not go into is engineering.” He was right. I have none of that ability. When I try to fix our plumbing I have to call a plumber to correct all the mistakes I have made.
I appreciate and love my brother, but I am not envious of him. I am grateful for his many talents, and he is very generous in sharing his talents around our house. Someone once said, “A bee may not be an eagle, but it can sure make honey.”

I was in my fifth year of studying humanities when I received a lesson about the worth of an example. Every time our teacher entered the classroom, he found a picture of himself—drawn by some of my classmates—on the blackboard. And every time, the professor would ask us to wipe away the drawing. However, he never said anything else about it.
I was very impressed with our professor’s wise and humble way of being, and I became curious about which church he belonged to. I found out that he was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
I decided to receive the missionary discussions, and I was baptized on September 10, 2000. The man who had shown me an example through his way of living turned out to be my branch president.

When my parents got married, they bought the refrigerator secondhand. My mother took it upon herself to paint it a strange yellow color I have never seen on any other refrigerator. (She also ended up painting the floor, some of the other furniture, and a new dress.) But we actually saw the strange yellow color only when the refrigerator broke down, had to have a new part, and Mama took everything off of it.
Its color was hidden because my mother covered it with all sorts of things: a good cartoon from the newspaper, a well-known saying, my dad’s picture, scriptures to be memorized, the ticket from the cleaners, an ad for some product, a letter to be answered, a recipe, the shopping list, the ward telephone directory, and even our report cards. As we got older, she put up lists of weekly assignments, schedules, and messages for the family. We didn’t have a chalkboard or a bulletin board, so our parents also posted gospel pictures on the refrigerator.

Our daughter Leah taught me a valuable lesson when she was just three years old. As a family, we’ve prayed together morning and evening, and we’ve encouraged our four children to take turns giving the prayer.
One morning I was running late and needed to leave quickly, but the family pleaded with me to have prayer before I left. As we knelt in a circle, I thought I would offer the prayer so I could make it quick. But Leah spoke up and said, “I want to say the prayer.”
I was a little surprised, because it would be her first time saying the prayer for the family.
I thought Leah’s prayer would be short and simple, so I asked her to begin. Her prayer started to get longer and longer. Realizing that I needed to go, my wife waited until Leah took a breath and then gently encouraged, “In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Undeterred, Leah said, “No, I haven’t finished yet,” and she continued praying to Heavenly Father as if she were visiting with a friend. I was reminded of Abraham talking “with the Lord, face to face, as one man talketh with another” (Abraham 3:11) and how he was called a “Friend of God” (James 2:23). Somehow, Leah already knew that praying to God could be like talking to a loved one in the same room. I felt humbled by the reminder.
I learned a good lesson that day, and so did all our family. Leah taught us that family prayer can be a time for our family to draw closer to God in our daily lives and that it’s always worth our time to speak with Heavenly Father as one person speaks with another.

I first met Luan in February 2001 at a Young Men camp in Recife, Brazil. In Brazil, it was the time of carnival—a holiday that has become four days of unruly partying. During carnival, stakes often hold youth conferences and camps to give Latter-day Saint youth a fun and wholesome alternative. In my assignment as president of the Brazil North Area, I was visiting one such Young Men camp in the Recife Brazil Boa Viagem Stake.
When I first saw Luan, I noticed he was quite thin and did not have even a single hair on his head. I also noticed that he had many friends. And I learned that he had just turned 12 and was going to be ordained a deacon during the camp.
I also learned Luan had bone cancer in his left leg. In fact, just before camp, he had learned the cancer was progressing so rapidly that his leg needed to be amputated immediately. But because Luan wanted so badly to receive the Aaronic Priesthood at camp and to play soccer with his friends one last time, his doctor had agreed to postpone the surgery for a week.
Now, surrounded by his brothers in the Church, Luan beamed with happiness. After his priesthood ordination on Sunday, Luan bore a beautiful testimony about his faith in the gospel and his gratitude for the Savior’s love.

A few years ago, right before Christmas, I had a stake conference assignment in California. On the flight back to Utah, I decided to take a short nap. My seat was C, near the aisle. Just before the cabin door closed, a beautiful lady in her mid-70s stood beside me and said, “May I have my seat?” I said, “Yes, ma’am.” That was the end of my nap. She loved to talk.
She said, “I don’t know why I should have to fly to a cold place like Utah at Christmastime to visit my grandchildren. I hate to leave sunny California.”
She went on to say, “Besides, there are strange and weird people in Utah. They call themselves ‘Mormons.’ My daughter married one of them.”
I said, “I am sorry, but before you go any further, I should tell you that I am one of them.”
Then she said, “I am sorry—I didn’t mean that.”
I said, “Oh, you really meant that, didn’t you?”
Our conversation went on until we were above Provo. We knew we would soon be landing in Salt Lake.
“Patti”—that’s her name—“you have been talking for most of the flight. I feel like I have known you from the pre-earth life. Before we land in Salt Lake City, I’d like to ask you a few questions if I may.”
I asked her sincerely, “Patti, your deceased husband—do you know you can see him again?”
She said, “Oh, is that possible?”
“Do you know your deceased son, Matt, who died as a baby—you will see him also in the future?”
Her eyes became moist, and her voice was shaking. The Spirit of the Lord touched her. I sensed she had missed them so much.
Then I prayerfully asked her, “Patti, do you know you have a loving and kind Heavenly Father, who loves you so dearly?”
She said, “Do I?”
“Patti, do you know your Heavenly Father has a special plan for you and that your family can be forever?”
“Can we?” she replied.
“Have you ever heard the plan before?”
She said, “No.”
Very sincerely I asked her, “Would you like to know about it?”
“Yes, I would,” she responded.
The Spirit of the Lord touched her deeply. And the Lord promises us, “For mine elect hear my voice and harden not their hearts.” He also said: “I am the good shepherd, and know my sheep. … My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me.”
Before we came to this earth, our Heavenly Father gently and peacefully placed in our bosoms “the love of God.” In Heavenly Father’s eyes, you are a very special child. My friend Patti has the spark of divinity in her soul. When Patti heard the word of Heavenly Father, she was touched deeply and she responded to His voice.
We were total strangers, but the Lord placed one of His precious daughters quietly next to me. I was praying earnestly that the Spirit of the Lord would touch her and speak to her.
The missionaries taught Patti. Three weeks later, while she was staying in Utah, Patti called me: “Brother Kikuchi, this is Patti. I am going to be baptized. Would you come to my baptism services?”
My wife and I went to her baptism. Many members were kindly fellowshipping her. Oh, I shall never forget her joyful countenance as she came out of the water!
I shall never forget her sweet tears at the sacred altar in the Salt Lake Temple a year later. I remember her peaceful and celestial glow when she was sealed to her deceased husband and son and living daughter who had become a member of the Church. She now knows her family is forever in the Lord. My friend Patti Louise Donaldson found the Lord Jesus Christ. Now she lives in Utah.

Margaret McNeil Ballard recalled: “I walked every step of the way across the plains and drove a cow, and a large part of the way I carried my brother, James, on my back” (in I Walked to Zion, 126). Many of you also shoulder responsibilities for your siblings with love and strength.

As a single mother of five children, I felt the heavy responsibility of providing for my family. I am a domestic worker, but my job does not provide enough for my family. I joined a self-reliance group so I could learn how to improve my situation.
I was inspired by the “Starting and Growing My Business” group and decided that I could sew and sell insulated bags for slow cookers. I would sew the bags late into the night after returning home from my day job.
I was working late one night on a large order that was due the next morning when my sewing machine stopped working. It was midnight, so no mechanics would be available to help. The machine came with a small tool kit, but I had never fixed a sewing machine before. I had no idea where to start.
Then the lesson in the My Foundation manual titled “Exercise Faith in Jesus Christ” came to my mind. At that time, I knew that I needed to put my trust in the Lord. I sank to my knees and pleaded: “Heavenly Father, please help me fix this machine so I can make the order for my customer to collect in the morning. Heavenly Father, help me!”
Then I had the distinct impression to take the screwdriver from the tool kit and use it to push on a particular part of the sewing machine. I did so, relying completely on my faith. I held my breath as I switched the machine back on. It worked!
I was able to meet the deadline for the order. I discovered what it’s like to have Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ as business partners. I know I will continue to be blessed as I seek for opportunities to apply what I’ve learned in the self-reliance group.

From journal entry #222, dated August 1, 1978, addressed to "Whomever," Elder Lively wrote, “I must be the most happiest missionary in the mission. Tonight, the Romo family accepted baptism for August 12th. Yahooo! Every time we challenge a family, I get a tingling feeling all over my body, just like I used to before the beginning of a basketball game. Boy, I know that my Heavenly Father is looking after us because he has blessed us with such great families. I love my mission so much not only now because things are going so good but also when the times were rough and hard.” We talked to the Romo family about fasting to find out if the message being taught is true, and they said—sure, no problem, we will do it. Everyone is very excited about the whole thing.” Until tomorrow!
The missionaries dared to extend the invitation to fast and pray because they were not afraid that they would lose a golden family if the family didn’t accept it; instead, they were fearful that the family wouldn’t receive the blessings and power that God had in store for them. Elder Lively added journal entry #238, “To whomever, August 26, 1978, Saturday, the Romo’s baptism was just great. Everything went smoothly, just like it was supposed to.”