Gospel Story Finder

I shall never forget one night almost three decades ago. My bride, Patricia, and I had been married for two years. We lived in a small duplex on Oahu’s north shore. I was an army infantry officer, a platoon leader, assigned to a unit at Schofield Barracks, Hawaii. Our brigade had been ordered to war in Vietnam. My plane was scheduled for departure after midnight, and a good Latter-day Saint friend had agreed to take me to the airfield at 11:00 p.m.
All through that long evening, Pat and I sat on the sofa in our tiny living room with our fingers intertwined, watching the hands of the clock approach the fateful hour and listening to the soft lapping of the surf against the shore. The ticking of the clock seemed a metronome of mortality in painful contrast to the muffled rushing of the eternal sea. At last the hour of parting arrived. Inside the doorway to our little home, I clutched my bride to my bosom and kissed her one last time, and then I was gone. As I closed the door, I wondered if I had seen my sweetheart for the last time in mortality. It was truly night.
My friend and I drove silently in the darkness through the sugarcane and pineapple fields of Oahu. My heart felt as though it would break. Then as we passed Schofield, an unseen infantry unit on night maneuvers fired a flare. Its brilliance momentarily lit the inky darkness and seemed to ignite a spiritual flame in the blackness that invested my soul. My thoughts were drawn away from this saddest of days to the very happiest: back to that beautiful December day when Pat and I had entered the holy temple and there were sealed to each other, not just for this life only but for all eternity. I thought of the eternal covenants we had made. Like the sunrise, it dawned on me that no matter what happened in the uncertain future just ahead, Pat would always be mine. When I reached the air base, I telephoned her. In the spirit of a renewed hope and peace born of faith and understanding, we talked and laughed softly before once more bidding each other good-bye. It was only midnight, but for me the sun was already rising.

Gary and I met at the corner of Walnut and Grove. There was nothing to do, so we just nodded at each other and kept walking along Walnut. At Ace’s Bike Shop a really neat racing bike was parked out front. I swung my leg over the seat and wiggled the handle bars back and forth a couple times.
Mr. Smith came outside. “Nice bike, Skip—it’s on sale this month too.”
I hopped off. “We’re just looking.”
Gary and I started walking away.
“Stop back any time,” Mr. Smith called. “Ask for me.”
I waved. “OK.”
At Wallace’s Used Books, we rummaged through the racks for a while, then went back outside.
“Which way?” Gary asked.
I nodded toward the alley. “Let’s go that way. It should take us to the park.”
Gary shrugged, and we walked along Reed Alley and watched the little kids playing. When we got to Nelson Street, I realized we’d taken the wrong alley to get to the park, so we sat on the low concrete wall that surrounds the fire station parking lot and watched firefighters wash their truck.
“Some summer this is going to be!” Gary said with a sigh. “This is boring, Skip! Plus, it’s hot!”
I frowned. “At least we’re not sitting in a classroom, so quit complaining!” I swung my legs back and forth, but inside I had to admit that Gary was right. It was boring. Then I saw an elderly woman across the street a half a block away from where we sat. Her front yard was tiny, but she must have had a hundred rose bushes. In front of her yard was a low stone wall that separated her yard from the sidewalk. The yard was so small and tight that she could barely turn around—at least with a lawn mower, and that’s what she was trying to do. Her lawn mower had to be one of the first ones ever made, and she looked like a good breeze would blow her away. She needed help!
“Let’s go give her a hand,” I suggested.
Gary frowned. “Who?” Then he saw her. “She’ll just tell us to mind our own business,” he muttered.
I shook my head and stood. “Naw. We’ll just tell her we want to help.” I started toward her. She struggled on. First she’d push the lawn mower six inches ahead, then drag it back and push again.
“What if we scare her and she has a heart attack?” Gary asked. “A lot of old people don’t like to be bothered. What if she thinks we want to rob her?”
I chuckled. “Get serious! Do we look like the criminal type?”
As we neared, she must have thought we did, because she eyed us suspiciously. When I stopped at her front steps, she looked really scared. I gave her my friendliest smile. “Want some help?” I offered.
She stared at me as if I had just dropped in from another planet. “I can manage,” she replied in a timid voice.
“Honestly,” I said as I touched the handle of the mower. “My buddy and I don’t have anything to do, and we need the exercise.”
She looked at me doubtfully but stepped aside. I mowed forward toward a rose trellis, then wriggled the mower to one side and took a long swipe at the yard. After I’d made about ten passes around the bushes and stopped just short of the stone wall, Gary pushed me aside.
“Here,” he grumbled, “I’ll cut some too.”
I wiped my sleeve across my face and stepped back. The old woman was still watching, still suspicious.
“Are you from around here?” she asked.
“I live on Duff Road,” I replied. “I’m Skip Geer. My buddy’s name is Gary Staley. He lives on Colfax.”
“Do you know the Markhams?” she asked hopefully. “They live on Duff.”
I shook my head. “No, but the Barnharts are my neighbors.” I blew upward at my face. “This is hot work,” I added.
“My nephew usually cuts it,” she said. “But he’s away this month, and I can’t afford to pay anyone to do it.”
I shrugged. “We don’t expect to be paid.”
“Can I give you some lemonade?”
I nodded. “Thanks. That’d be good.”
When she came back outside with a tray, Gary was still cutting, but she motioned to him to come and join me for lemonade. While we drank it, she stood near her front door, like she was still on guard.
“I don’t own much,” she said. “And I’m not in good health. My nephew wants me to get an operation the doctor says I should have, but I won’t do it. Once you get to be my age and they put you into a hospital, you end up in a nursing home or something! They won’t get me to give up my home,” she insisted. “Edmond, my husband, and I came here seventy-two years ago. He’s gone now, but as long as I can, I’m holding on to my home!”
Boy! I thought, She must be ninety, atleast! I finished my lemonade. Gary was still huffing, so I went back to the mower. By the time we pulled all the weeds from around the bushes, the woman was sitting on her front steps. She seemed more relaxed.
“I’ll get a trash bag,” she called as she struggled to her feet.
“Let’s pull the tall grass away from the front of her wall, too,” I suggested.
Gary frowned, but gave me a hand. When we were finally done, the woman acted like she wanted to keep talking, so we drank some more lemonade.
“All these houses weren’t here then,” she said, almost to herself. “Our yard went clear out to the middle of the road. Then they came along and paved the street. That’s when we had the wall and sidewalk put in.”
Gary and I listened. Sometimes we smiled or nodded. Finally she slowed down, and I could see her eyes beginning to droop in the heat, so I stood. “Where does the lawn mower go?” I asked.
“It goes in a little shed in back,” she replied. “But I’ll take care of that.”
“That’s OK,” I said. “I don’t mind.”
Finally Gary and I stood on the sidewalk, ready to leave.
“Here, boys,” she said as she dug a pair of scissors out of the pocket of her dress. “You’ve helped to make my day, and I want to give you each a rose.”
Gary and I walked away holding our roses. I knew Mom would like mine for the middle of the table. At the corner we looked back and waved.
“I’m glad we came up the wrong alley,” Gary said. “But I told you she’d think we were going to rob her. Did you see those scissors? She was ready to fight us off.”
I chuckled. “Maybe. It’s gotta be hard to get old. But she isn’t giving up! She’s going to hang on to her house. Good for her! Besides, I think we did come up the right alley, after all—she said we made her day.”
“But cutting her grass won’t help her keep her house,” Gary argued.
“I know, but like she said, it helped her get through today. And who knows, maybe that’s all the help any of us needs.”

“Are you girls excited to see the temple?” Mom asked as she, Natalie, and Stephanie drove to the Detroit Michigan Temple site.
“Yes!” the sisters said.
“Is it true they’re putting the marble on the walls right now?” Natalie asked.
“I think so,” Mom said.
“I can’t wait until it’s done,” Stephanie said. “It’s going to be so pretty.”
The girls were going to a special activity day. They were visiting the new temple while it was still under construction.
When they got to the temple site they met their group of girls and their leader, Sister Jones.
Walking around the construction site, Sister Jones told stories of the Kirtland and Nauvoo Temples and the early Latter-day Saints.
“They built temples and then were run out of their towns. They had to leave behind the beautiful buildings they had spent so long making,” Sister Jones said. “We are blessed to have the temples that we do today, and to now have a temple so close to us.”
Natalie looked at the temple and imagined what it would be like to have to leave it after working so hard to build it. It made her sad.
“Do any of you know what blessings the temple gives us?” Sister Jones asked.
Kelsy raised her hand. “My family was sealed in the temple.”
“That’s right! People are married and sealed together in the temple so their families can be together forever. What other blessings are there?”
“Baptisms for the dead,” Natalie said. “That’s when people are baptized for people who aren’t alive anymore so they can choose to be members of the Church if they want.”
“Very good,” Sister Jones said. “Those are just some of the blessings we can receive in the temple.”
Natalie was excited to do baptisms for the dead when she turned 12. On her own baptism day she had felt clean and peaceful, and she wanted to share that feeling with others. Natalie felt important knowing she could do something to help people who had passed away.
“I have a gift for each of you,” Sister Jones said. She opened a bag and pulled out a piece of white stone.
“This is a piece of the same marble they are using to make the temple. I got special permission to give each of you one piece.” Sister Jones handed out the pieces of marble. “I want you to keep your marble in a special place to remind you of the temple and the blessings that the temple gives us. Can you do that?”
“Yes!” the girls said.
“I also want to challenge you to make goals to be worthy to enter the temple to do baptisms when you are 12, and to be married in the temple when you are older. The temple is a special place, and I want each of you to be a part of it,” Sister Jones said.
Natalie held her piece of marble tightly. It was white and beautiful and reminded her of being clean. She knew she wanted to be worthy to go inside the temple someday.
“I promise to remember the temple. I will go inside someday,” she said to herself. As she held the marble close to her heart, it felt like she was holding a piece of the temple there as well.

When we marry, we immediately begin to learn things we had never known about ourselves. I have to laugh now when I look back at myself as a young returned missionary. At that time, I saw myself as unimaginably spiritual and Christlike. I thought I was patient, longsuffering, and kind.
Then I got married! It didn’t take long for me to realize how much I still needed to learn. Our first child showed me how little patience I really had. And in my relationship with my wife, Kathy, I discovered that I had subconsciously believed the world’s teachings: “Defend yourself,” “You don’t have to put up with that,” and “Backing down is a sign of weakness.” Kathy’s example of turning the other cheek and of truly living Christlike qualities showed me that I knew much less about being a disciple of Christ than I had thought.

Brett and Brandt Crowther were giving up high school in the United States to come to Ireland with their parents while their father served as a mission president. Brett would miss only his senior year, but Brandt would miss three years of high school. Then, by the time his dad’s mission was over, Brandt would be old enough to serve his own mission full-time. “Some of my friends did tease me about going on a five-year mission.”
Brandt remembers the time right before early-morning seminary started just a few months after he arrived in Ireland. “I prayed almost every night of my life, but one night about eight months ago, I prayed with sincerity and asked the Lord what He wanted me to do here. I needed to know in my heart that the Church was true. And I found out that God does live and He loves me. I gained an understanding of what He wanted me to do. And since then, I’ve been happy being here. I’ve loved it. I’m closer to the Savior now.”
Brandt explains some of the things the Lord told him he needed to do. “I needed to read the scriptures every day and to pray every night and keep the commandments. And be enthusiastic. I needed to get in gear. That night the Spirit was with me. I didn’t want to go to bed. I stayed up feeling that feeling. The best way I can explain it was like I wasn’t alone and I knew it.”

I’d have to say that it all started with a bad attitude. When I was about ten years old, I formed the opinion that most people around me weren’t as “good” as they thought they were. This feeling of disillusionment grew as I grew.
While there were other youth in the ward, even others my age, who enjoyed church and got something out of it, my friends and I became the group that caused so many problems for their Sunday School teachers that the teachers would quit. And we were proud of making them quit.
The members of the ward really didn’t approve of our attitude toward them and toward life, and some of them just gave up trying to help us. Some did not. We had a very patient bishop and some great leaders. Most of them, however, we considered to be hypocrites, and we used what we saw as their weaknesses as an excuse for our own behavior.

Hold on. I thought I told you that you couldn’t leave until you took care of your room.
I did take care of it! I registered it as a project on JustServe.org. Volunteers should be here soon.

I drew rainbows of hope for my neighbors during COVID-19. I was happy I helped, like Jesus would!
Willow K., age 5, Cheshire, England

I wanted to tell of the golden crown
On the mountain above the pasture,
The way it turned everything to glinting light,
Made rocks yellow diamonds
And trees shining filigree,
But before I could speak,
It slipped off the mountain
And dropped from sight.

What this means to one dying with a malignant malady or to a mother bereft of a child may be illustrated by the expressions of a young mother whom I visited in the hospital some years ago. She said to me, “I have thought all this through. It doesn’t make any difference whether I go now or whether I live to 70, 80, or 90. The sooner I can get to a place where I can be active and doing things that will bring me eternal joy the better for all concerned.” She was comforted by the thought that she had lived such a life as to be worthy to enter into the presence of God, which is to enjoy eternal life.

One night, I was at the grocery store with my mom. We saw a man in a wheelchair. He was shopping alone and had a full cart. My mom asked me if I wanted to help him unload his groceries. I said yes and went over and put all of his groceries on the checkout stand. After I finished, he offered to buy me a pack of gum. I said, “No thank you.” I felt very good inside. That was one of my best experiences ever.

I experienced such spiritual gifts when I served as a missionary in Italy. After a few weeks of language practice in the missionary training center, I worried that I did not have the gift of tongues, but I learned to bear my testimony in Italian and understand what others were saying, and most importantly, I learned to love. At other times, I have experienced the gift of tongues through spiritual promptings to open my mouth and say things that I wasn’t necessarily planning to say. I have also been blessed and uplifted by the inspired words of other women.

The Hundred Dresses by Eleanor Estes tells about Wanda, who wore the same faded dress to school each day. Much to the dismay of her classmates, she always claimed, “I have a hundred dresses at home—all lined up in my closet.” How the children come to understand Wanda and her dresses is a tender and touching story. (Harcourt, Brace and World, also in paperback)

There are lots of stray cats and dogs where I live. They don’t have a home, so my mom and I decided to do something about it. Now we work with the animal shelter. We often take care of kittens at our house until they are ready to be adopted. We live in the country, so there’s plenty of room.

Karen Nielson was born in Aalborg, Denmark, in 1844. She was the daughter of a farm family. In her early years she was taught the skills of successful dairy farming at the knee of her father.
In 1861, Karen was baptized and was never able to return to her home because of her father’s opposition to her conversion. She left Denmark and immigrated to Utah with a group of Scandinavian Saints in 1862. She lived for a few years in Utah County where she married Benjamin Franklin Barney, and then they were called to settle the Sevier Valley.
Karen bore ten children and then was left a widow with several of her children still at home. She had no close family to return to, so she drew on the knowledge she had gained on the Danish farm. She improved the dairy herd using the breeding skills she’d learned from her father. Her herd was soon recognized as one of the finest in the area, and she was able to support her family and care for their needs. Until Karen was well into her eighties, she milked her cows night and morning and cared for her farm with the help of her sons and grandsons. Her legacy was one of hard work and the knowledge that our lives are only as good as we make them. She never turned away from hardships—they seemed only to strengthen her.

That night, as I was climbing the stairs to go to bed, I peeked over the wooden railing to find my mother sitting on the couch. Right then I wanted to tell her that I loved her. It was so hard to even think about saying it. After searching my mind for the words to express myself to her, I just blurted it out, “Mom, I love you!”
It was silent, as quiet as it would be after someone had screamed. I couldn’t tell what she was feeling by the expression on her face. Her big brown eyes filled with tears, the first time I had ever seen my mother’s emotions. With her arms outstretched, she said, “I love you, too.”
Seeing her cry made me want to cry. I ran to her, throwing my arms around her. I never wanted to let go. I couldn’t squeeze hard enough. My heart was full to overflowing as my eyes filled with tears of gratitude. As the tears quietly rolled down my cheeks, I thought of the privilege that was mine to have her as my mother.
I will never forget that. I still remember that night in detail. We talked for two solid hours. It felt so good to let all of my feelings out.

In the words of a well-known song, I wish you could “come fly with me” to eastern Germany, where I visited many times. Not long ago, as I traveled along the autobahns, I reflected on a time almost 35 years before when I saw on the same autobahns just trucks carrying armed soldiers and policemen. Barking dogs everywhere strained on their leashes, and informers walked the streets. Back then, the flame of freedom had flickered and burned low. A wall of shame sprang up, and a curtain of iron came down. Hope was all but snuffed out. Life, precious life, continued on in faith, nothing wavering. Patient waiting was required. An abiding trust in God marked the life of each Latter-day Saint.
When I made my initial visit beyond the wall, it was a time of fear on the part of our members as they struggled in the performance of their duties. I found the dullness of despair on the faces of many passersby but a bright and beautiful expression of love emanating from our members. In Görlitz the building in which we met was shell-pocked from the war, but the interior reflected the tender care of our leaders in bringing brightness and cleanliness to an otherwise shabby and grimy structure. The Church had survived both a world war and the cold war which followed. The singing of the Saints brightened every soul. They sang the old Sunday School favorite:
If the way be full of trial; Weary not!
If it’s one of sore denial, Weary not!
If it now be one of weeping,
There will come a joyous greeting,
When the harvest we are reaping—Weary not!
Do not weary by the way,
Whatever be thy lot;
There awaits a brighter day
To all, to all who weary not!
I was touched by their sincerity. I was humbled by their poverty. They had so little. My heart filled with sorrow because they had no patriarch. They had no wards or stakes—just branches. They could not receive temple blessings—neither endowment nor sealing. No official visitor had come from Church headquarters in a long time. The members were forbidden to leave the country. Yet they trusted in the Lord with all their hearts, and they leaned not to their own understanding. In all their ways they acknowledged Him, and He directed their paths. I stood at the pulpit, and with tear-filled eyes and a voice choked with emotion, I made a promise to the people: “If you will remain true and faithful to the commandments of God, every blessing any member of the Church enjoys in any other country will be yours.”
That night as I realized what I had promised, I dropped to my knees and prayed: “Heavenly Father, I’m on Thy errand; this is Thy Church. I have spoken words that came not from me, but from Thee and Thy Son. Wilt Thou, therefore, fulfill the promise in the lives of this noble people.” There coursed through my mind the words from the psalm, “Be still, and know that I am God.” The heavenly virtue of patience was required.
Little by little the promise was fulfilled. First, patriarchs were ordained, then lesson manuals produced. Wards were formed and stakes created. Chapels and stake centers were begun, completed, and dedicated. Then, miracle of miracles, a holy temple of God was permitted, designed, constructed, and dedicated. Finally, after an absence of 50 years, approval was granted for full-time missionaries to enter the nation and for local youth to serve elsewhere in the world. Then, like the wall of Jericho, the Berlin Wall crumbled, and freedom, with its attendant responsibilities, returned.
All of the parts of the precious promise of almost 35 years earlier were fulfilled, save one. Tiny Görlitz, where the promise had been given, still had no chapel of its own. Now, even that dream became a reality. The building was approved and completed. Dedication day dawned. Sister Monson and I, along with Elder and Sister Dieter Uchtdorf, held a meeting of dedication in Görlitz. The same songs were sung as were rendered all those years earlier. The members knew the significance of the occasion, marking the total fulfillment of the promise. They wept as they sang. The song of the righteous was indeed a prayer unto the Lord and had been answered with a blessing upon their heads.
At the conclusion of the meeting we were reluctant to leave. As we did so, seen were the waving hands of all, heard were the words, “Auf Wiedersehen, auf Wiedersehen; God be with you till we meet again.”

As we face the vicissitudes of life, many events occur over which we have little or no control. Health challenges and accidents obviously can fit into this category. The recent COVID-19 pandemic has severely impacted people who did everything right. For the most important choices, we do have control. Going back to my missionary days, Elder Marion D. Hanks, our mission president, had all of us memorize part of a poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox:
There is no chance, no destiny, no fate,
Can circumvent or hinder or control
The firm resolve of a determined soul.
On matters of principle, conduct, religious observance, and righteous living, we are in control. Our faith in and worship of God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, is a choice that we make.

I’m so grateful for the March 2007 Liahona, which talks about how to prepare to serve a full-time mission. Through its message I made a firm decision to serve a mission. A few months later I got my call. The articles in the Liahona helped me realize that now is the time the Lord has called me to assist Him in His work. The Liahona directs us to make the right decisions.
Sister Juvy Sevilla, Philippines

Some volunteers even helped in the kitchen preparing those meals. As the professionals worked tirelessly cooking endless amounts of pasta, sausages, sauces, vegetables and so much more, the volunteers got it all packed in individual takeaway tubs; one meal for each child for each day of the half-term week.

Two faithful sisters of the Burnley Ward, Debbie Patton and Andrea Pickles, were heroes in the kitchen. They walked in bright and early on Monday morning to serve. I knew they had no idea what they’d signed up for, but they were there and ready to serve alongside me and my husband, Jordan.

Debbie said, “I felt great to be at least doing something in the middle of a global pandemic.”

Andrea added, “When I was asked to help in this venture, I was grateful for an opportunity to serve these kiddies. I was amazed and touched by the kindness of all the volunteers of all age groups, who cheerfully set about making and packing the meals. They worked for long hours, over several days. Other volunteers delivered the food to the families. I came home tired but very happy to have been able to help to a small degree. It made me realise we have wonderful people in our community, and when we all pull together, we can achieve amazing things.”