Gospel Story Finder

Pat met Jeffrey Holland between her junior and senior year at high school. With a twinkle in her eye, she expressed much more of that sweet relationship than was spoken. “And that continues to be the best thing that has ever happened to me,” she said enthusiastically. “He continually amazes me, and it’s a wonderful privilege and blessing to be his wife.” Feeling the joy and happiness that she was expressing made it difficult to realize that she had ever had youthful feelings of discouragement or fear.
Speaking of their early friendship, she recalled that when he left for his mission, they so wanted to have a “forever kind of love.” Together they decided that they would do three things that would unite them even in his absence: (1) Read the scriptures every day. (2) Fast once a week. (3) Pray really often. “These have become habits that we have continued to this day,” she said humbly and gratefully, thinking of the far-reaching rewards of that early decision that kept them close while they were far away.

For children, having real experiences helps them to learn, understand, and apply information. We can do this by setting up an environment to connect the scriptures with their surroundings and their lives. For instance, when our four sons were little, we were studying the Book of Mormon together. One home evening occurred in our tent, where we talked about Lehi and his family journeying through the wilderness. We talked about what it was like for Lehi’s family to travel and live in a tent for so long. The story came alive to them.

“Did you notice the Jacksons are driving another new car?” Jim asked his wife. “That’s their second new car in less than three years. I don’t know how that man does it, but he sure knows how to make money. He makes me feel like a failure. We haven’t had a new car for eight years.”

“Yes, but you spend much more time in church service,” Jim’s wife says “You just don’t have time to concentrate on making money.”

When I turned 17, I started thinking seriously about my future, and I prayed to Heavenly Father about what I could do to prepare to go on a mission and receive the Melchizedek Priesthood. I felt that I ought to go to the temple more often because it is the house of the Lord and would be the place where I could feel closest to my Heavenly Father.
So I set a goal to do 1,000 baptisms in a year. I truly felt the need to set this goal; I fasted to know if this was what I ought to do. Our Heavenly Father answered me, and I began to go to the Tampico Mexico Temple every Saturday.
After I had done 500 baptisms, I set a goal to do family history research on my ancestors, and I liked doing the research so much that I could not sleep because I was looking for names. I found 50 names and eight generations of my family history; I helped do the temple work for all of them.
I ended up doing over 1,300 baptisms, and I graduated from seminary, received the Melchizedek Priesthood, and am now serving as a full-time missionary, which was one of my biggest goals in life.

I’d like you to think of another scene now. Think of the soldiers at Valley Forge, living under almost unbearable conditions with General Washington while he tried to get a ragtag army in condition to meet one of the greatest armies in the world. It is a tribute to the genius of the leaders that that army didn’t just dissolve into the woods and go home. Imagine yourself one of the soldiers at Valley Forge. Your feet are wrapped in burlap (the quartermaster doesn’t have any boots to issue you). You don’t have a gun (the quartermaster doesn’t have any guns to issue you). The tents are inadequate. There isn’t enough food. Dysentery is rampant. Imagine yourself in the cold, miserable wet of one of those tents, trying to cook a little decent food over a campfire (if you were lucky enough to catch a rabbit in the woods). Why did those people stay? I suggest that their eyes had seen the glory of freedom. Those men at Valley Forge had glimpsed the possibility of a glorious future, and that was what kept them there.

John Nolan remembers, “At the time I remember lacking some motivation and wanted to avoid the subject with our adviser, but I recognise now how those progress sessions really helped push me to do more than I would have done on my own, and I felt really good doing my Duty to God, knowing that I had achieved something worthwhile.”

Adriana wears a long skirt that has been altered by the insertion of a panel in the side seam to close up what would have been a high slit. Her mother, Lydia (Enrique’s wife), and her aunt Mercedes point out that it is often difficult for Paraguayan women to find modest clothing in stores, so the Sanchez descendants have done what others are often forced to do—make their own alterations or sew their own clothing. Lina, Mercedes’ mother and Lydia’s mother-in-law, has served as family seamstress, but now the younger women are also learning sewing skills.

A few months ago word reached some of our missionaries in a remote South Pacific island that I would soon be visiting there for two or three days. When I arrived, the missionaries were waiting anxiously to share with me some anti-Mormon literature that was being circulated in their area. They were disturbed by the accusations and were eager to plan retaliation.
The elders sat on the edge of their chairs as I read the slander and false declarations issued by a minister who apparently felt threatened by their presence and successes. As I read the pamphlet containing the malicious and ridiculous statements, I actually smiled, much to the surprise of my young associates. When I finished, they asked, “What do we do now? How can we best counteract such lies?”
I answered, “To the author of these words, we do nothing. We have no time for contention. We only have time to be about our Father’s business. Contend with no man. Conduct yourselves as gentlemen with calmness and conviction and I promise you success.”

I distinctly remember my mother telling me in those early years that everything I said or thought or did was in some almost magical way recorded—that someday I would have to be judged according to what I had said, thought, and done. This did not frighten me, but it gave me a growing sense of responsibility for my actions.

Sister Groberg remembers with deep appreciation the closeness among the youth of her age in their ward. She gives thanks, in part, to the quiet, powerful influence of a humble, dedicated Sunday School teacher whose life and example made a lasting impression. She explained: “Brother Richard Maxwell was our teacher. He was self-educated,” she recalled. “He never knew his real name, his parents, or any of his ancestors: He had been raised in an orphanage. Someway in his wandering through life, he found the true church. He had such a beautiful testimony that the gospel was what life was all about, and he had a wonderful, understanding way with young people. He loved us,” she declared, then continued with warmth in her voice: “He was able to teach and reach us in his own humble way.”
When Brother Maxwell died of a heart attack, Jean, along with the other youth in the North Hollywood Ward still in their teens, felt so grateful for his life and his love and influence in their lives that they felt they had lost a dear friend. Sister Groberg remembered that her sister, Marilyn, was invited to speak at his funeral. “She went around to all his students to get their feelings for this humble, great man who had become such a friend to each of us. Our feeling for Brother Maxwell,” Sister Groberg said, “was a very special thing.”
These grateful students felt a strong desire to somehow express their appreciation for their friend and teacher. “It took some time after he died to collect the money,” she recalled. “Several months, I believe. We sponsored many projects. We took a little box to all our firesides and finally collected the money we needed. We wanted to buy a redwood tree. We all agreed that a redwood tree, when it grew up, would appropriately symbolize Brother Maxwell’s great strength and stature.” The youth were united in this special project. Someone was responsible for having a plaque made to place at the base of the tree, and others arranged for a fitting program. On the appointed date the members of Brother Maxwell’s Sunday School class gathered together for this special memorial service. Together they planted the tree, which they knew would become in time a mighty redwood. This living tribute stands today tall and stately by the side of the chapel and a beautiful bronze plaque at its base reads, “In memory of Richard Maxwell, our beloved teacher whose example was like the redwood, tall and masterly.”

Thank you for putting out that poem “I Remember” (Feb. 1999). It made me cry. My dad passed away when I was training in Texas, and I still can’t accept the fact that he’s gone. I miss him very much. At the end of the poem it said, “I will see him soon someday and he will be the way he was.” I’m so grateful for our Savior. Because of Him, I will see my dad again, the way he was.
Kate Gaco-EscaleraTravis Air Force Base, California (via e-mail)

Song Lee and the Hamster Hunt Song Lee’s hamster is lost, and no one in the class can find him. This story shows how what all the children do helps Yi to be found, safe and sound, a week later.Suzy Kline7–10 years

This story took place in France.
Jared dribbled the ball across the court. Players ran around him, their shoes squeaking on the floor.
“I’m open!” Gabriel called.
Jared passed the ball to Gabriel and kept running. Then Gabriel passed the ball back. Jared threw the ball at the hoop.
SWOOSH!
It went in!
“Nice work, Jared,” his coach said after the game. “You know, tryouts for the regional team are in two weeks.”
Jared grinned. Only a few players were invited to try out for that team.
“The tryouts will be on Sunday,” the coach said. “Do you think you can make it?”
Jared’s excitement was gone as quickly as it came.
“On Sunday?” Jared asked.
“Yes. Is that a problem?”
Jared thought about it. This was his chance to play on a really good team! But Sundays were when he went to church and focused on the Savior.
“Sundays are a special day for me,” Jared said. “But I’ll talk to my parents about it.”
That night, Jared sat on his bed with his parents. He tossed his basketball in the air while he thought. “I really want to try out for the team,” he told Mom and Dad. “But I don’t want to do it on a Sunday. I know God is more important than basketball.”
“What can we do to help?” Mom asked.
Jared turned the ball in his hands. “Can we say a prayer together?”
He put his basketball away and knelt down with Mom and Dad. “Dear Heavenly Father,” he said, “I really, really want to try out for this basketball team. But the tryouts are on a Sunday! I know Sunday is the day I give to Thee. What can I do?”
After the prayer, Jared felt a comforting feeling.
“How do you feel?” Mom asked.
“I’m not going if the tryouts are on a Sunday,” he said. “But I have a feeling it will all be OK.”
Two days later, Jared’s mom got an email. It said the tryouts would be on Saturday now instead!
Jared could try out and keep the sabbath day holy! He knew Heavenly Father had heard his prayer.
For the next two weeks, Jared practiced basketball as much as he could. When the big day came, Jared did his best. He ran quickly between plays, made most of his shots, and cheered for his teammates.
“The following players will continue with tryouts for the team,” the coach said after the first round. “Please listen for your name.”
Jared’s heart thumped loudly. The coach called one name. Then another. And another. Jared felt his hope of making the team start to fade.
Soon the coach finished the list. He hadn’t called Jared’s name. Jared would not be moving on to the next round of tryouts.
Jared sat on the bench outside the gym and stared at his shoes. He had worked so hard. But it felt like all his work was for nothing.
When Mom picked him up, Jared shook his head. “I didn’t make the team.”
Mom wrapped him in a tight hug. “I’m sorry it didn’t turn out how we wanted,” she said.
Jared took a deep breath. Then, a comforting thought came to him.
“Things won’t always work out how I want,” he said. “But Jesus Christ knows exactly how I feel. He’s on my side.”
Mom smiled. “You’re right! He does know how you feel.”
Jared smiled back. He was still sad, but he felt better knowing the Savior understood how he felt. Jared knew Jesus would always love and support him.
Illustrations by Britain Morris

Let me tell you of how He did it for one boy who now holds the office of priest in the Aaronic Priesthood. He is 16 years old. He lives in a country where the missionaries first arrived just a year ago. They were assigned to two cities but not to the city where the boy lives.

When he was very young, his parents brought him to Utah for safety. The family was taught and baptized by the missionaries. He was not baptized into the Church because he was not yet eight years of age.

His parents were killed in an accident. So his grandmother had him return to his home, across the ocean, back to the city where he had been born.

He was walking on the street in March just a year ago when he felt that he should speak to a woman he did not know. He spoke with her in the English he still remembered. She was a nurse sent by the mission president to his city to look for housing and medical care for the missionaries who would be assigned there soon. He and she became friends as they talked. When she got back to the mission headquarters, she told the missionaries about him.

The first two elders arrived in September of 2012. The orphan boy was their first baptism into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. By March of this year he had been a member for four months. He had been ordained a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood and so could baptize the second convert to the Church. He was the first priesthood pioneer to gather other children of Heavenly Father with him to establish the Church in a city of approximately 130,000 people.

On Easter Sunday, March 31, 2013, the Church membership there had grown to the huge number of six members in that city. He was the only local member who attended the meeting that Sunday. His knee had been injured the day before, but he was determined to be there. He had prayed that he would be able to walk to church. And so he was there. He shared the sacrament with four young elders and a missionary couple—the total congregation.

Fu Bi Hsia (Foo Bee Shaw) sprinted the last block to her home in a small Taiwanese village. The August sun poured out of the blue-glass sky, and the humid air covered her body like a hot, heavy blanket. To escape the oppressive heat, she ran through the warm grass and along the edge of the benjo (open sewer) where an old woman was beating her clothes clean against a large rock.

Reaching her home, Bi Hsia paused in the front yard to look for her goose, Goldie. A few of her mother’s pigs snorted and rolled in the dirt, her father’s water buffalo lay partway in the benjo, and a stray dog nipped at her heels. But Goldie was not in sight.

Goldie and all the goose’s brothers and sisters had been purchased at the market on Bi Hsia’s ninth birthday. Over a period of many months, they had all been used for food—all except Goldie. Bi Hsia kept Goldie for a friend. They went on long walks together, clucking their way past rice fields and through ditches, walking barefoot in cold puddles, and chasing yippy little dogs down narrow alleys. She even gave her goose an American name, because America was so big and far away and because she believed that everyone who came from there was rich and important. Goldie was important too.

Bi Hsia bounded through the gate and up the stairs to her home. “Mother!” she called.

The two-room house was made of concrete, like most of the structures in the neighborhood. The main room (the living-sleeping area) was bare except for a few chairs, a television, and some rice-straw mats. These were rolled out at night and used for mattresses.

Bi Hsia found her mother in the kitchen, stirring a pot of chicken-egg soup. She stuck her nose over the rim of the pot and sniffed. “Smells good.”

Her mother’s elbow nudged her aside. “Get out of there. Your father has invited guests for supper.”

“Guests? Who are they?” She stuck her finger quickly into the broth as her mother’s eyes searched the cupboard for more eggs.

“They’re Mormon elders. One is from Taipei, and the other has come all the way from America. He will be staying in Taiwan for two years to teach people about his church.”

Bi Hsia’s finger was in her mouth. She sucked the soup juice off with a loud slurp. “How did Daddy meet them?”

“At the market, quite by accident. And don’t you dare stick your finger in there again, unless you want me to use a bamboo switch on your backside!”

Bi Hsia jerked her hand back. “When will they come?”

“Soon,” replied her mother. “Go get changed into your best dress. And get Sun Ming washed. He’s been trying to eat rocks again and is all covered with dirt.”

The missionaries arrived in a taxi. It had a dented fender and a motor that chugged louder and louder as the car drew near. The elder from Taipei stepped out first. “I’m Elder Lin, Lin De Fu,” he said, in the custom of saying his surname before his given name. (Fu is Fu Bi Hsia’s surname.) “This is my companion, Elder Wheeler.”

“Ni hau ma (How do you do)?” Elder Wheeler stepped forward and offered his hand to Bi Hsia’s father. The American’s words sounded strange and stilted, and his thin face appeared hard and expressionless. His hair was like yellow rice straw, and his pale eyes were cold and as far away as the country he came from. Bi Hsia felt her throat tighten with apprehension.

Her father spoke up boldly. “Ni tsung nali lai (Where are you from)?”

“Utah.”

It was a strange name. Bi Hsia said it quietly to herself, over and over, “Yu ta. Yu ta.”

Her mother smiled, saying in Chinese, “It’s a long way for anyone to come.”

The elder’s brow wrinkled as he studied her face. “Pardon me. I do not understand.”

Elder Lin put his hand on Elder Wheeler’s shoulder and said something to him in English too rapidly for Bi Hsia to understand. Elder Wheeler listened intently, then laughed at himself. “Yes. A long way.”

The adults moved into the kitchen. Bi Hsia sat on the back step to wait for them to eat their meal. It was not considered polite for children to be served with the guests. She held Sun Ming in her arms, listened to the murmur of their voices, and thought about the faraway places she had never been. She wondered if this elder would ever understand her country’s customs and accept her people as they were. She didn’t think so. After all, he’d come from America, where no one ever had to go without; people there always had lots of things of their very own. Bi Hsia sat and reflected, and in the distance a light evening breeze tossed a weightless white feather in the air. A feather! She got up, paused for a moment, then placed Sun Ming on the grass at her feet. “Now don’t go anywhere,” she said firmly. “I won’t be long.”

All of Goldie’s feathers were there in a little pile by the garden. She knew that they were eating her goose for supper. It was not her place to object. Her family was very poor, and her mother needed meat to serve to the guests. Chinese custom was very strict about children honoring and obeying their parents. And Chinese pride was firm on the point of offering the best that one could.

Bi Hsia did not cry. She walked heavily, as if her limbs were lead weights. She sat on the porch for what seemed like forever and watched the sun die in the sky above Taiwan.

When the elders were ready to leave, Bi Hsia followed them out to the front of the house. The elder from America offered her his hand, and she wanted to hold hers back. He took it and squeezed, and she pulled quickly away. He reached down and lifted her chin. “I hope we can become friends,” he said haltingly.

Bi Hsia kept her eyes averted from his face, and she looked past him to where the lights from the houses on their street shone smaller and smaller as they receded into the distance. Her mouth remained silent, but her heart thumped loudly inside her ribs. Never! Oh, never, never, she thought, knowing that if it weren’t for him and his companion, she would still have Goldie. She watched the elders get into a taxi, and she was glad when it drove away.

Bi Hsia awoke early the next morning. The sun was just peeping through the sugar cane, and her parents and brother were still asleep on their mats. She rose quietly and tiptoed to the door. Outside there was a small scrape, the sound of quick footsteps on the porch, a whisper, and a wild, hissing sound. She opened the door.

At her feet lay a huge white goose, the biggest that she had ever seen. It was bound so that it could hardly move, but its head was free, and it was hissing and trying to flap its wings. As she bent to free it, out of the corner of her eye she saw something move down by the benjo.

It was Elder Wheeler! He was sprinting across the grass toward Elder Lin, who waited on the road with two bikes. As Bi Hsia watched, Elder Wheeler reached his bike, paused for a breath of air, and glanced back. Their eyes met across the distance and held. Then a smile spread slowly across his somber face. It was a sad, happy smile, a smile filled with understanding. That’s when Fu Bi Hsia knew for certain that she and the American, Elder Wheeler, would be friends.

More than six hundred priesthood holders took part in the Ricks College First Stake’s Third Annual Moroni Marathon on Ricks campus in Rexburg recently. The events included a gold plate relay in which fifty-pound plates were carried, a tug of war, log sawing, a wheelbarrow race, a sack relay, a shuttle relay, and a log carry.
Dr. Chester Hill, a member of the stake presidency, explained the purpose of the Marathon: “We hope to bring the priesthood members into fellowship and brotherhood. This is a wonderful way to get a closely knit priesthood organization.” Most participants agreed with Lowell Biddulph, committee member: “This year’s games were the best we’ve ever held. The brotherhood was marvelous.”

At the same time that Jeff determined that he was going to go for better grades, he decided that he would try to make his school’s basketball team. He didn’t, but says he’ll try again. And he’ll go out for the track team in the spring. You get the impression that he’ll keep trying, too.

A girlhood experience helped me to understand how struggle can strengthen us. My family raised partridges. My brothers and sisters and I spent hours gazing at the eggs in the incubator, waiting to see the little birds break out of their shells. The first time we watched the eggs hatch, we felt sorry for the little birds. It seemed to take so long and be so hard. (We didn’t know then that partridge chicks take from forty-eight to seventy-two hours just to break out of their shells.) We were afraid that the baby birds’ strength would not be equal to the task.
So we helped them a bit. As the birds began to hatch, we carefully and gently chipped away bits of the shells—a piece here and a piece there—to make it a little easier for them. We were thrilled when the first young birds emerged from their shells! But to our horror, we saw that every one of the birds had deformed feet. Over the next few days, they died, unable to stand or walk properly to their food or water.
We were grief- and guilt-stricken when we learned that our kindhearted assistance had caused the problem. The time and energy the chicks spend breaking through their eggshells strengthen and develop their legs, feet, and neck, so that they are ready to run around and maintain their balance when they finally emerge. Our attempts to make it easier for the birds destroyed them.

My eldest son was always a healthy, obedient, and focused child in the ways of the Lord. When the time came to serve a mission, he was prepared. I remember him saying that he had always planned to be a missionary and we, as his parents, were happy and grateful. He was always a loving child and had a wonderful sense of humor that charmed everyone who knew him.
A year and a half after serving an honorable mission, he was attending college with defined goals for his life, preparing for a profession, meeting an eternal companion, and starting a family. I was the happiest and most peaceful mother to have such a focused, loved, and cherished son.
On May 2, 2022, while I was working from home, I received news that would forever change my life and that of my family. My eldest son had drowned at a beach. It couldn’t be true! Did I hear wrong? Was it a joke? No, it was real. For a moment, I felt like I was falling into an endless abyss. Then the thought came to me that my son was already on the other side of the veil.
I went to my room and knelt and prayed to Heavenly Father like never before. I didn’t ask why. I didn’t complain. I simply asked for strength. I did it with so much faith and certainty that from that moment, everything passed in slow motion.
I cried for my beloved son, but at the same time, I felt that everything would be okay. I felt calm. I thought of the temple, the covenants I made there with my husband, and the promises given to my family.
From that moment, I had the strength to comfort my younger son, be a loving companion to my devastated husband, and I fully, and without any doubt, believe that families can be eternal. I understood that my son had moved to the other side of the veil, but he continued to be and still is my beloved son. I felt and recognized that his time on earth had ended, but that one day I could embrace him again and we would be together forever.

Little chipmunk, do you know
The cold is near? Soon it will snow.
It’s time to gather nuts and seeds
And store them well for winter’s needs.
Stock your tunnels, pile them tight
To keep you warm each frosty night.
Fill your pouches, scamper your feet,
Get ready to nap—and eat and eat!