Gospel Story Finder

Many of you are aware that a short time after October conference, my dear wife, Frances, suffered a fall, which left her with a broken hip and a broken shoulder. After two successful surgeries and several weeks of hospitalization, she was able to return home. She is doing well and continues to make progress toward a full recovery. She was able to attend the general Young Women meeting last Saturday and plans to attend a session or two this weekend. In fact, at the last minute she said, “I’m going today!” And she’s here! She joins me in expressing our deep gratitude to our Heavenly Father and to all of you for your prayers and your well wishes in her behalf.

Study true principles. Both of us began marriage with a very low sense of self-worth, and we both tended to be loners. One night my wife invited in two elders from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints because there was a blizzard outside and she felt sorry for them. I gained a testimony that the Church was true—despite my reluctance at first—and we eventually joined. As members, we learned that each of us is a child of God and that it is possible to improve ourselves. We accepted the fact that we were given weaknesses to learn humility and that our weaknesses could become our strengths (see Ether 12:27). This fact gave us the courage to continue on together and to study correct principles that have helped us make needed changes.
When, much later, I was called to serve as a bishop, I shared with many people some of the resources my wife and I had studied: principles from the scriptures, articles from the Church magazines, books I had read, and stories I had heard that showed how gospel principles can improve marriages. Every story was beneficial because each was based upon a gospel truth. These practical helps, experiences, and accumulated stories—added to scriptural insights—have enabled not only my wife and I but also many others to keep improving our marriage relationships and to enjoy being together. So much in the gospel is designed to improve our relationship with our spouse.—Robert N. Allen

I recall a President of the Church, now deceased, who visited his daughter in the hospital following a miscarriage.

She was the mother of eight children and was in her early forties. She asked, “Father, may I stop having children now?” His response was, “Don’t ask me. That decision is between you, your husband, and your Father in Heaven. If you two can face him with a good conscience and can say you have done the best you could, that you have really tried, then you may stop. But, that is between you and Him. I have enough problems of my own to talk over with Him when we meet!” So it is clear to me that the decisions regarding our children, when to have them, their number, and all related matters and questions can only be made after real discussion between the marriage partners and after prayer.

On Easter Sunday some years ago, my four-year-old son Ben came down the hallway of our meetinghouse after Primary, happily waving the paper he had colored. He called out with pure excitement, “Mom, Mom, have you heard about the Resurrection?” He wanted to make sure I had heard the good news. Something his Primary teacher had said really touched Ben’s heart so that he joyfully began to understand the Resurrection. How nice it would be for all of us to feel that same joy every Easter!

Training horses has taught me a lot about living the principles of the gospel. Rehabilitating horses takes a lot of time and hard work. One horse took six months to train until he was comfortable being ridden on. That took a lot of patience.

Even as the Saints began to leave, however, work on the temple continued. Finally, on April 30, 1846, a special nighttime dedicatory service was held for the finished building. The following day a public service was held in which Orson Hyde, one of the Apostles, dedicated the building to the Lord. By the end of the year, however, most of the Saints were gone and the building stood unused.

As members of the Church enter the London Temple, immediately ahead of them is a reception desk. To the right of this desk, a painting shows a row of buildings in the distance with a bridge in the foreground. The stone bridge crosses the river Monnow and is the way into the little castle town of Skenfrith near Abergavenny.
The river is quite deep in places, and the right-hand side looking from the Bell Inn has steps leading down to the river.
This is the place where the first recorded convert baptism in South Wales, of James W. Palmer, took place on 13 April 1840. The baptism was performed by Wilford Woodruff, one of the Quorum of the Twelve, then serving as a missionary in the British Isles.
James W. Palmer kept a journal while serving as a missionary after his baptism. It includes the following entry in November 1840: “I preached at Skenfrith.” A later journal entry reads, “We now visited Skenfrith again… On Monday I baptised John Preece and William Williams in the river Monnow”.
Thus the story comes full circle, as the first convert to be baptised into the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Skenfrith is subsequently instrumental in the conversion and baptism of further converts, there in the river Monnow.

I didn’t know much about the Presiding Bishopric before writing a series for the Church News about the Church’s temporal affairs. Not only did I learn about the Presiding Bishopric’s role and purpose in the Church, but I discovered how their work can help us in our own lives and callings (see page 12).
One principle I learned is that the Church is about people—from Vanuatu to Belgium and everywhere in between. It’s about helping all of God’s children choose to return home to Him and receive the blessings of the Savior’s Atonement. As Elder D. Todd Christofferson teaches in this issue, “Enduring joy comes by enduring in the gospel of Jesus Christ and helping others do the same” (page 4).

Earthquake in the Third Grade John had two “earthquakes” to worry about. One was when he knocked his ant farm over—that was a real earthquake to them, he was sure. The other earthquake happened at school. And though it wasn’t really an earthquake, it certainly threatened to turn his life upside down.Laurie Myers7–9 years

Then there are the Laurels in the Bountiful 24th Ward, Bountiful Utah Heights Stake. Not only do they dress like clowns, but they have put together an ingenious washboard band and magic show. They too started performing for the children at a local homeless shelter and have branched out to include other hospitals and medical centers.

Second experience. Another friend researched diligently his family history. He wanted to identify his great-grandfather.

Early one morning, my friend said he felt the spiritual presence of a man in his room. The man wanted to be found and known in his family. The man felt remorse for a mistake for which he had now repented. The man helped my friend realize that my friend had no DNA connection with the person my friend thought was his great-grandfather. “In other words,” my friend said, “I had discovered my great-grandfather and learned he was not the person our family records said was our great-grandfather.”

His family relationships clarified, my friend said, “I feel free, at peace. It makes all the difference to know who my family are.” My friend muses, “A bent branch does not mean a bad tree. How we come into this world is less important than who we are when we leave it.”

In November 1965, I was visited in a dream by a tall person carrying a walking stick in his right hand. He asked whether I had read about Christian and Christiana from A Pilgrim’s Progress by John Bunyan. I told him that I had forgotten it and he told me to read it again. After a few months the same personage appeared to me again and took me to a most beautiful building and showed me everything in it. That personage appeared to me three times.
During the Nigerian civil war, when we were confined to the house, I picked up an old copy of the Reader’s Digest for September 1958. I opened it at page 34 and saw a picture of the same beautiful building I had been shown around in my dream, and I immediately recognized it. The heading was “The March of the Mormons.” I had never before heard the word Mormons. I started to read the story because of the picture of the building I had seen in my dream. I discovered that it was all about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
From the time I finished reading the story, I had no rest of mind any longer. My whole attention was focused on my new discovery. I rushed out immediately to tell my brothers, who were all amazed and astonished to hear the story.

The path to this significant day in Russian Church history traces back to the early days of the Restoration. In 1843 the Prophet Joseph Smith called Elder Orson Hyde of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and George J. Adams on a mission to Russia “to introduce the fullness of the Gospel to the people of that vast empire, and [to this] is attached some of the most important things concerning the advancement and building up of the kingdom of God in the last days, which cannot be explained at this time.”1 However, the Prophet’s Martyrdom in 1844 interrupted plans to complete the mission, and the Prophet’s plans regarding the gospel destiny of “that vast empire” remained unfulfilled.2

“I had the desire to one day become a missionary like them,” Bishop says. “Unfortunately, I was already too old to serve a full-time mission. So, I decided to use my gift as a communicator to spread the knowledge I acquired following my conversion.”
Bishop says he invited all his friends and acquaintances to meet with missionaries and come to church with him.
“Bishop is completely friendly and engaging,” Sister London Litchfield, former mission leader in the Côte d’Ivoire Abidjan West Mission, shared. “He doesn’t see any boundaries between friendships, which I think is part of what makes him such a great missionary. Quite frankly, he is an inspiration to us.”
Bishop hasn’t kept count of how many friends and acquaintances he has introduced to the gospel. But several years ago, he set a goal: to help bring three people into the Church every year. And he has done just that—every year, without fail.
Last year, he helped teach five people in January alone, so he increased his yearly goal to 10. But it appears he could have aimed higher. By June, he had helped 13 people join the Church.
He has spoken to many of his family and friends about the gospel already, but Abidjan is a densely populated city, and his friendly, outgoing nature allows him to strike up a conversation with anyone and everyone: banana vendors, families walking along the streets, or other drivers stuck in traffic with him.
“I first build a friendship with people I meet in my neighborhood, then as our relationship grows, I introduce them to the gospel,” he explains.
“We often think that they’re very difficult conversations to have,” said Wade Litchfield, former president of the Côte d’Ivoire Abidjan West Mission. “But they’re not at all scary to him. They’re natural to him.”
And Bishop’s advice to young missionaries or anyone for sharing the gospel? “Don’t be afraid. Show a good example. Be patient and let your love for God and your fellow men be above everything else.”
Bishop’s conversations about religion with friends and with strangers—the “friends he may someday meet”—stem from a place of caring. That genuine care for others is just part of his nature. And he may have perfected the most powerful, loving approach to missionary work in putting love, compassion, and a “mark of attention” above all else.

I’m not sure just why my mom decided to show me the note that afternoon. I was a junior in high school living with my family in the lush green countryside of Michigan. The oldest of six children, I couldn’t wait to graduate and move out on my own. I was tired of having to be the example and baby-sit my siblings whenever my parents wanted to go out.
Perhaps my mother knew, somehow, that sharing the note from Michael was the best thing she could have done for me that day. I arrived home from school earlier than my three brothers and two sisters. I confess I rolled my eyes when the first thing my mom said to me was, “Come here, Camielle. I want to show you something.”
I followed her into my brother’s room, where she picked up a note from his pillow. In his 11-year-old scrawl, Michael had written, “I’m not coming home today. I’m not part of this family.”
I could feel the burning of tears from somewhere deep in my heart spill over onto my 17-year-old cheeks. Mom said, “Let’s go pick him up from school today.”
I was too choked up to say anything. My life had changed in a matter of seconds. I nodded to my mother and thought to myself, No one in our family will ever feel this way again.
We got to the elementary school just as the classes were being dismissed. Michael came out of his class and was a little surprised to see us, but happy we were there. He never said a word about his note. He never wrote another one.
I left home after graduating from high school, but Michael and I became the best of friends despite the sometimes thousands of miles between us. The day I saw the note from Michael was the day my spirituality and humanity came together. None other is more cherished than those we call “family.”

This wasn’t the first time William faced such a choice. Just a few years earlier, when he was 18, William’s music career was just taking off. Then came the choice to set it aside for two years to serve a mission. For William, standing up for the right plays an even bigger role in his life than music—and that’s saying something.
Trained as a classical pianist, William displayed incredible talent as a performer and composer early on. He didn’t come from a musical home, but his parents recognized his interest in piano at the age of four, and from then on music became his refuge, creative outlet, and almost constant companion.
He began performing publicly at age 12 and was well known for his talent in his hometown of Phoenix, Arizona, by the time he was 18. That’s when William faced his first major choice between right and wrong.
“I was very into music in high school, and I always just thought a mission was not for me,” William says.
Then he was asked to play the piano in sacrament meeting at his cousin’s ward. He says at the time he wasn’t feeling the Spirit strongly in his life and was only going to Church out of respect for his parents. He says, “I showed up, and I remember seeing a couple there, and they were just glowing. I couldn’t stop looking at them, they were so happy.”
William overheard the couple discussing how they had just been sealed in the temple the day before. He says, “I was just awestruck by how happy they seemed and how righteous they looked. I thought to myself, ‘I want that; I want to marry a righteous girl in the temple.’”
But given the current strength of his testimony, William had doubts about the possibility of his goal. “I thought, ‘How will I ever do that? Someone like that would only want a returned missionary.’ And right when I thought that, it hit me. It was overwhelming. All of a sudden, music didn’t matter; my career didn’t matter; nothing mattered. And I knew for sure that’s what I had to do. I needed to go on a mission, and I’d be blessed if I did.”
William says he recognized the change that had taken place in him by the music he was drawn to. “After that meeting, after that incredible, spiritual experience, I got in my car, and I had this rock music blasting. That music felt so disruptive, so loud and just ugly and wrong. That was the experience that changed my life.”

Vivian Alvarez, also 17, says, “I was doing horribly in my math classes. I wanted to improve myself.” And she did. She studied harder and participated in the mentoring program to get a good score on her standardized tests, and now she’s preparing to attend college in the fall. She encourages all youth to continue their training after high school, whether at a college, technical school, or other institution.
Eventually, Vivian wants to be the one giving the grades. At stake youth conference she attended a class that taught her what it’s like to be a teacher. She and the other youth attended other career orientation classes, including accounting, military, culinary, medicine, graphic design, law enforcement, and others. Professionals in these fields taught these classes and told the youth about their lines of work.

The prophets’ lives encourage us to draw close to our families at Christmastime. President Joseph F. Smith remembered one Christmas as a young father when he had no money—not even a penny—to buy gifts for his children. Just before Christmas he left his home and walked down the street, looking at all the wonderful things in the shop windows but knowing that he could buy none of them. Near despair he found a private place and “wept like a child” to relieve his aching heart. But, drying his eyes, he went home and played with his children all day, “grateful and happy only for them.”4 Despite his inability to provide a material Christmas for his children, he had nevertheless given them the greatest gifts any father could—his love and his time.

Lester and his mother were in their backyard, raking leaves. Actually, Lester’s mother was raking leaves. Lester was leaning on his rake.
“Lester,” Mother said as she continued to add leaves to her large leaf pile, “when I was a little girl—”
“I know, I know—don’t tell me, Mother.” Lester loved to tease his mother. “When you were a little girl, you didn’t have three maple trees in your backyard—you had three thousand, so there were zillions of leaves all over the place. But you never stopped raking. Not even for a minute. Not even if it started to rain. Nope, you didn’t stop until every single leaf was in your pile.”
Lester’s mother smiled. “Three thousand maple trees! Goodness, Lester, I didn’t grow up in the woods! No, what I was going to tell you was that when I was a little girl, I used to love jumping into leaf piles.”
“What? Didn’t that mess the leaf piles up?”
“Well, I suppose it did,” Mother said. “But it was sure a lot of fun!”
“Fun?” Was this the same mother who ordered him to stay away from mud puddles and who wouldn’t let him bring worms into the house? Was she teasing him?
“Yes, fun. Why don’t you give it a try?”
“All right.” Lester shrugged, trotted over to his mother’s leaf pile, and took a half-hearted leap.
Scrunch! Crackle! Crunch! The leaf pile had become a king-size, autumn-scented pillow!
Lester giggled. His mother was right. Jumping into leaf piles was a lot of fun. In fact, it was so much fun that Lester kept jumping, and jumping, and jumping, until Mother, who’d jumped in a couple of times herself, stopped and said, “Say, Lester, when I was a little girl—”
“I know, I know—don’t tell me, Mother. When you were a little girl, the instant your mother told you to stop jumping into the leaf pile, you picked up your rake and started raking all over again. And you never stopped. Not even for a second. Not even when a hurricane blew through and you had to chase your leaves all over town. Nope, you didn’t stop until you were absolutely sure that every single one of those leaves was in your pile.”
Lester’s mother smiled. “A hurricane! Goodness, Lester, I didn’t grow up on the coast! No, what I was going to tell you was that when I was a little girl, I used to love making leaf houses.”
“What?” Lester scratched his head. “Didn’t that mess the leaf piles up?”
Lester’s mother laughed. “Well, I suppose it did,” she said. “But it was sure a lot of fun!”
“Fun?” Where in the world was the mother who scolded him for playing with his food, the one who nearly hit the ceiling the last time he tried out one of his original cake recipes? Why, she hadn’t even let him put his mustard-marshmallow delight into the oven! She must be teasing him!
“Yes, fun. Watch.”
Then, as Lester looked on in amazement, Mother began to rearrange her leaf pile. Before he knew it, the leaf pile had completely vanished, and his mother was standing in the center of four leaf-walls. Oh, the walls were no more than a foot high and a foot wide, but Mother seemed satisfied. “Well, Lester,” she asked, “what do you think of the house?”
“Hmmmm,” Lester said. “I’ve never seen a leaf house before, so I suppose it’s OK. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
“Why, how thoughtless of me!” Mother quickly raked an opening in the wall closest to Lester. “I thought someone was at the front door,” she declared, smiling. “Won’t you come in?”
“Thank you.” Lester entered the leaf house.
“Could I offer you something to drink?”
“Oh, yes,” Lester said. “I’d love a chocolate milk shake. But where are you going to make it? I don’t see a kitchen.”
“A kitchen!” Mother said. “Why, Lester, you’re absolutely right. I don’t have a kitchen. Would you like to help me make one?”
Lester raced out the front door of the leaf house and grabbed his rake. Then he and Mother began to add on to the leaf house. They raked a kitchen, a dining room, a living room, two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a front porch, and a back door.
The leaf house sprawled across the entire backyard. Lester had never raked so hard or so long in his life. “This is really some kind of place!” he said as he drank his imaginary milk shake. “Don’t you think so, Mother?”
“Lester, Lester,” replied his mother, who was leaning on her rake, “did I ever tell you that when I was a little girl—”
“I know, I know—don’t tell me, Mother. When you were a little girl, right after you finished building your leaf house, you started tearing it down. You had to, because in your heart you knew that those leaves didn’t belong all over your yard. They belonged in a nice, neat pile. So once again you began to rake. And you raked, and you raked, and you raked. You never stopped. Not even when it was after midnight and the worst blizzard of all time howled into your town, and two hundred polar bears wandered into your backyard and started fooling around with your leaves and you had to tell them to cut it out, because there was no way you were going to let perfect strangers mess things up, and the polar bears started blubbering, but you didn’t give a hoot, you just told them to scram and kept right on raking until every single leaf was in your pile.”
Lester was out of breath.
Mother smiled. “Two hundred polar bears! Goodness, Lester, I didn’t grow up that close to the North Pole! No, what I was going to tell you was that when I was a little girl and it started to get dark and I started to get hungry, I’d rake shut the front door of my leaf house and head for the backdoor of my brick house.”
“You’d just leave your leaf house?” Lester said, his eyes as big as full moons.
“Yes—I always liked to play in my leaf house the next day.”
“Wow!”
“Well, of course,” Mother said, “there was that one year when the strongest winds ever to blow across the face of the earth carried off one of my leaf houses while I was sound asleep. I couldn’t find a trace of it the next morning, even though I looked everywhere. But,” she chuckled, “other than that time, I always enjoyed playing in my leaf house the following day.”
Lester grinned. “You know, Mother, I think that I might have liked playing with you when you were little.”
“Why, thank you, Lester.”
Lester and Mother shut the front door of their leaf house, put their rakes away, and walked in the back door of their other house, where their dinner just happened to be in the oven.

Even though Rachael Eucker, 15, is a city girl, she and her friends and Young Women leaders from the Lindsay Ward, Val Vista Arizona Stake, had just planted an acre and a half of corn by hand. It was part of their Experiment upon the Word project for the Young Women. At the beginning of the year, Rachael and the Young Women in her ward agreed to take on a challenge. They would read the Book of Mormon and devote two Saturdays a month to a Gardening for Humanity garden. These gardens use empty lots in city areas to raise food for homeless shelters and food banks. Rachael committed to read the Book of Mormon. Then she went the extra mile and committed to help in the garden every single time her ward went.
The day after planting corn, Rachael was stiff and sore, but she knew that the good feelings she got from service would last longer than the pain. She was also able to compare her repeated days in the garden to the scriptures. “We had talked about the lasting effects of service and how you feel the effects of what you do for a long time after. That made sense to me. I was thinking that it was like when you read the scriptures and feel the Spirit. Eventually that feeling goes away, so the only way you can keep having that feeling is by going back and reading more and more.”
Then the corn didn’t grow. It had been bad seed. Again the girls were able to draw a conclusion when they heard that all their hard work was wasted. Lynn Allred, the Young Women president, told the girls, “Even though we did all we need to do—we watered it, nourished it—it didn’t grow because it was bad seed.” Now Alma 32:32 will always be vivid to them.
After spending a Saturday morning thinning carrots, Elizabeth Lassetter, 16, said, “I think the gardening we are doing is completely connected to what we are doing with the scriptures. Everything is related to how the Lord teaches through nature.”
The corn was replanted, and the melons were starting to form in another plot. The girls were busy helping to keep the weeds under control, watering daily, waiting for the day they could harvest. Again the lessons in the garden compare to the scriptures. Becky Payne, 15, said, “When we do the work, we can harvest. With the scriptures, you have to work hard to get results. You have to be consistent and put constant effort into it.”
The day for the harvest would come, and the girls would pick the fruits of their work and donate to those who are hungry. As for themselves, with their reading, the harvest is one of faith. They will “pluck the fruit, … which is sweet above all that is sweet, … and ye shall feast upon this fruit even until ye are filled, that ye hunger not” (Alma 32:42).