Gospel Story Finder

May I share today a story about a person who lived in such a way, in an eternal, loving companionship in Hawaii.

In 1850, Brigham Young sent ten missionaries to the Hawaiian Islands. Without understanding the language and culture, the missionaries found the work extremely difficult. Eventually they became discouraged, including the mission president. They became so discouraged that five of the ten left to go home. The youngest of the remaining missionaries, Elder George Q. Cannon, was determined to stay. He went to the Lord in prayer. The Lord inspired him to go to Lahaina on Maui. He did so.

As he approached this town, two ladies went screaming into a nearby house and brought out a local gentleman. The previous night, this man had had a dream that a messenger of God was coming to his town and that he must feed him. Elder Cannon was invited to stay and preach in the home of this man, Jonathon H. Napela, who was a very well-educated man and the magistrate of that district (see Alma 10:4).

Subsequently, Elder Cannon and Jonathon Napela became very close friends, like Alma and Amulek in the Book of Mormon (see Alma 10–15). Because of the guiding hand of God and Brother Napela’s great help, along with the hospitality and kindness of the Hawaiian Saints, the missionary work began to excel in Hawaii, and the foundation was laid.

Quorum members still talk about the time they touched down in a remote pasture to change crew members and found themselves right next to two campers who were slumbering peacefully in sleeping bags. The crew quietly made the transfer and, without a word, were off again. Awakened finally by the roar of the burners as the balloon lifted, the sleepers rolled over in time to see a huge balloon hanging in the sky above them. They may still be talking about the fantastic “dream” they both had.

About a month ago, my family went to the local fair. My mum and I went up to a stall that was all about being healthy. The lady said that if I could answer a question I would win a prize. She asked, “What can you do instead of smoking?” I quickly said, “Pray.” She seemed surprised but very happy with my answer. She gave me my prize, and Mum said that I was a good boy for being a good example and “shining my light.”Zachary Ainge, age 5, with help from his mum, Burpengary, Queensland, Australia

Elder Perry: I feel I have always believed. I had a noble father, who was my bishop for the first 18 years of my life. He believed in the Lord, trusted in the Lord, and followed the Lord in his priesthood calling. I had a mother, who always had a strong belief and relied on that testimony within her. The belief of my parents created in me a desire to believe, which was important in gaining my own testimony.

For a group of young men in Nevada, a journey of 195 miles started with service. It ended with goals accomplished, lessons learned, and bonds formed.
The idea for running the 195-mile relay race came when the young men, as a Scout troop, volunteered to set up and man some stations at the race the previous year.
“We thought it was pretty cool that people were running just for fun,” says Carter M., 17. “Our group thought we wouldn’t mind doing something like that.”
A few months later, their Young Men president, Jon Wayne Nielsen, got serious about the idea and asked the boys if they really wanted to run the race. “He thought that would be something fun for us to do and something that would be a good experience,” Andrew B., 18, says. The young men agreed and decided to participate in the race.
Many of the young men had never run long distances before, so they began training a couple of months before the race. They would train most days of the week.
“Starting out we would do 25 minutes, 30 minutes, or an hour,” says Michael W., 13. “Then we started running 3 to 8 miles. Two weeks before the race, we did a qualifying run that was 10 miles, which we had to complete in order to run the race.”
Some of the Scouts did the training on their own, and others ran together. “Having other people helped a lot,” says Carson M., 15. “A lot of us thought that when we were running by ourselves, we were doing this all on our own, and it didn’t really matter. Having your team running with you is more of a motivation, because you know you’re going to be running with them in the race.”
Finally, the day of the race came, and Carter started off their two-day run at 7:30 a.m. on a Friday morning. Their team of 12 included 10 members of their Scout troop and 2 of their leaders. Each runner completed three legs of the race, ranging between 3 and 12 miles. They all ran in their Scout uniforms. They traveled in two vans when they weren’t running.
After 34 hours of running day and night, the Scouts finished the race on Saturday afternoon. The young men say the race was hard, but they enjoyed it. They were especially impressed by all the support they got from the other teams in the race.
“We were the youngest group to ever do one of these races,” Andrew says. “So it was cool to see all these people who are good runners and do this all the time come up to us and say, ‘It’s cool that you guys are doing this.’ It felt really good.”
The other thing that felt good was the sense of accomplishment the young men had from training for and completing this race.
“I think the race helped me learn that I can set a goal and actually do it,” Michael says. “It really helped me learn that I can do hard things instead of sitting around playing video games.”
The race also helped the young men get closer to the other members of their troop and their priesthood quorums.
“It’s just cool to have fun with people who are members of the Church,” Andrew says. “We all got a lot closer as a quorum, as a priesthood body. That was a bonding experience for us. We all hold the same priesthood, and we all felt our struggles together.”
Along with getting to know one another better, the young men also learned to help and support each other. “We were always there supporting each other,” Carson says. “Everything we did there, we worked as a team. We cheered on everybody as a team.”
“The most important thing I learned from that race would be to care for others around you,” Carter says. “If others need help, you help them out, because you’re going to run into people who want to hear the Lord’s gospel, and how you care for them and others will affect them.”
It may have seemed like just a long race, but these young men learned valuable lessons and skills that will help them in a more important race—the race of life.

I’m not alone—my mom can get discouraged with her to-do lists, too. But one time she shared with me a little secret: some days she doesn’t write out a to-do list. Instead, she’ll wait until she finishes something, and then she’ll write it down and cross it off. At the end of the day, instead of looking at a list of all the things she still has to do, she has a different kind of list—a “done list.” And then she feels so much better.

Growing up without a father, I was fortunate to have wonderful Church and Scouting leaders as role models. One of these was my father’s cousin, Israel Bennion. He was the stake patriarch, and when I was seven, he paid us a visit that helped me look forward with courage and hope during those hard years.
Each of us children, scrubbed clean and dressed in our Sunday best, waited in turn for this dignified man to place his hands on our heads and give us our patriarchal blessings. Mine was only 263 words long, but it has been a guide to me my whole life. It helped me begin to realize that I was literally a son of God and that He knew who I was and what I was doing. If I lived the right way, He would help me. It sustained me when I was in the Navy in World War II. It inspired me on my mission. Throughout my life it helped me chart a course that included honesty and high moral standards.

“One cool summer evening when I was a freshman in college, I had a date with someone I really liked. I didn’t know him well, but I looked up to him a lot.
“When he came to pick me up for the movie, we walked to the theater, since he didn’t have a car. We had a great time getting to know each other better.
“Then the movie started. It was okay for the first ten minutes, but even though it had a PG rating, it started making me uncomfortable. The dialogue became more and more suggestive, and I started to sink lower and lower in my seat.
“And do you know what he did? Even though we’d only been there a short time, he turned to me and said, ‘I really don’t like this movie. Do you mind if we leave?’ He didn’t make a big deal over it, he just suggested we leave. I’ll always remember that date because of his integrity. That’s the kind of man I want to marry.”

I remember my first winter living here in Utah—snow everywhere. Coming from the Sonoran Desert, the first days I was enjoying it, but after a few days I realized that I had to get up earlier to remove the snow from the driveway.
One morning, in the middle of a snowstorm, I was sweating, shoveling snow, and I saw my neighbor opening his garage across the street. He’s older than I am, so I thought if I finished soon, I could help him. So raising my voice, I asked him, “Brother, do you need help?”
He smiled and said, “Thank you, Elder Montoya.” Then he pulled a snowblower out of his garage, started the engine, and in a few minutes he removed all the snow in front of his house. He then crossed the street with his machine and asked me, “Elder, do you need help?”
With a smile I said, “Yes, thank you.”

A perfect example of this giving of talent to others is Ida Jackson of the Provo Grandview Stake in Utah. Sister Jackson was taught to tat by her Beehive teacher. On that teacher’s 80th birthday, Sister Jackson presented her with a handkerchief edged with tatting. The teacher, with tears in her eyes, was touched that a skill she had taught so many years ago to a little 13-year-old would have been remembered, cherished, and used. Now in her 80s herself, Sister Jackson is passing the art on to a new generation. She is teaching the girls of her stake the art of using thread and a shuttle to create delicate tatted lace. During the first demonstration of tatting, the girls were a little hesitant. “We can’t learn that. It’s too hard.” But with patience and by using heavyweight thread, the girls began to catch on to the exacting under-and-over movements of the shuttle and the deft twists of the fingers to make the knots that form tatted lace.
Soon the girls were practicing their tatting at odd moments at home and in public. They came to enjoy the questions. People were always asking, “What is that? I’ve never seen that before.” For some girls, learning to tat became a connecting thread to their mothers and grandmothers as treasured samples of the art that had been passed down as family heirlooms were pulled out of trunks and closets.
“It has been a lovely thing for our stake,” says Elaine Strunk, Young Women president of the Grandview Stake. “It’s been a way for the girls to learn more about their mothers’ and grandmothers’ talents.” The gift of a rich heritage was added to the basket.

“Two years ago our whole family went to Hawaii, where we rented an old limousine that had eight doors. We drove around the island—twelve of us (Emily wasn’t born yet)—and we’ll never forget that trip. We called the old car our BOT, which stood for Big Old Thing.”

In 1991 while I was boarding up the loft of our home, I felt a sharp pain in my left eye. The pain, which felt like a splinter, soon spread throughout my head. I continued working until the discomfort forced me to my bedroom for rest.
As soon as I lay down, however, the still, small voice prompted me. “Get up,” the Spirit said. “Don’t go to sleep.”
As I pondered the warning and thought about what I should do, I decided to get one of the tablets my mother took for migraine headaches. I walked to my parents’ room and found the tablets, but as I began to open the bottle, the voice came again: “Don’t take one of those.”
A short while later, the voice came a third time: “You need to phone for an ambulance—now!”
I had never phoned emergency services before, but I immediately called. An ambulance soon arrived, and two paramedics put me on a stretcher. The last thing I remember was that they asked me my name. Then the lights went out.
Later I woke up in the intensive care unit at the hospital. I was still weak and under the influence of anesthesia, but I remember feeling hands on my head as my father and my bishop gave me a blessing. I heard the words “You will be restored to health, as if nothing had happened.”
After three days in intensive care and four additional days in a hospital ward, I was finally able to return home. Only then did I learn that I had suffered a brain hemorrhage. The surgeon who operated on me later told me that I was “just a click away from dying” and that I would have died had I taken a migraine tablet.
Today I am fit and healthy, thankful that the Lord guided my thoughts that day. I have been sealed in the temple to my loving wife, and we have five wonderful children.
I thank my Heavenly Father and my Savior, Jesus Christ, for the miracle of life. I strive every day to make the most of the time They have given me, and I gratefully remember the protecting influence of the voice of the Spirit.

A vivid example of the position of members of the Church in relation to the world was portrayed to us one evening in our sacrament meeting, now many years ago, when a man named Brother Smith came to speak. He told us of his experience in working to rehabilitate men in the state penitentiary. A mother had asked him to reach out to her boy who was in prison.

In approaching the young man, Brother Smith was rudely rebuffed: “Leave me alone,” was the tone. However, Brother Smith noticed a rather crude painting in the prison one day and on inquiry learned that this young man had drawn it. This inspired a new approach:

“Did you paint that picture?”

“Yes, I did it.”

“I was impressed with it. I wonder if you would paint something for me.”

“I don’t know. What picture do you want?”

“I have never seen it,” said Brother Smith. “I have only read about it.”

“Where is it?” inquired the young man.

“It is here in this book,” responded Brother Smith. “The Book of Mormon, 1 Nephi, chapter 8. Will you read it and see if you can see the picture?”

Later Brother Smith inquired if the young man had read it.

“Yes, I read it,” he said.

“Did you see the picture?”

“Yes, I saw it.”

“Will you paint it for me?”

“I don’t know if I will or not.”

Brother Smith then obtained the necessary materials for painting a picture and presented them to the young man, who for the first time responded with warmth and appreciation to be able to use good equipment, and he painted the picture. Brother Smith brought it with him to our sacrament meeting, and so I have seen it. It is, of course, the picture of Lehi’s dream.

Now, will you try to see the picture in your own imagination? All you who have read 1 Nephi, chapter 8, will recall the scene. If you have not read it, I wish you would do so and get the feeling and the vision of this picture.

The description is as follows: First, Lehi wandering through a dreary waste, then coming to a spacious field; the tree with the most desirable fruit to be happy, the love of God; Lehi’s desire to share the fruit with his family; the rebellion of two of his sons; the pressing forward of many people to receive the fruit; the mists of darkness, which arose to obscure the path; the river of water along the path, which could mean destruction; the rod of iron, which represented security in staying on the path; the huge building across the river filled with scoffing people; the susceptibility of those who had followed the path to succumb to the scorn and pride of those of the world; and the wandering away of those who had partaken of the fruit of the tree of life into forbidden paths of destruction.

I know of no more graphic description of the condition of those who call themselves Latter-day Saints in relation to the influences of the world than this great vision. This story is reality. It is a great prophesy. It is a vivid warning.

Let me complete the story of the young man in prison. Brother Smith pointed to an angel the young man had painted hovering over the chasm of filthy water and asked him: “Where did you get that angel? I don’t remember any angel when I read about the picture.”

The young man replied: “I know. I put it there. It is my angel. As I painted the picture, I began to realize that God had placed an influence in my way which could bring me to safety and redeem me from the course I have been pursuing.”

This experience, of course, was the beginning of his recovery.

Jacob Hamblin was a brave pioneer who showed his courage by always telling the truth. The Indians knew that he was fair and honest, that they could trust his word. On one occasion Jacob was confronted by twenty-four Indian warriors who believed that the Saints were responsible for the deaths of three Indians. They wanted to take Jacob’s life, but he told them that his people had not betrayed them. After eleven hours of debate, the Indians decided to settle the matter peacefully because they knew that Jacob Hamblin had never lied to them. (See Valiant B Manual, page 140.)

Romaine has friends he met when he attended grammar school in nearby Hamilton who do not believe as he believes, but they still get along. “I’ve stuck with them,” says Romaine, “even if they’ve taken a different path. I can tell them not to do things, and they sort of listen. When I was younger, I could be influenced, but now I don’t feel any pressure from them. I don’t care if they don’t like me for telling them what to do or telling them to do the right thing.” Romaine leads instead of being led. And he has still kept his nonmember friends.

Even some of our prophets have developed their testimonies slowly instead of all at once. President Joseph F. Smith (1838–1918), as a boy, would pray all the time asking to see a miracle so that he could have a testimony. “But,” he explains, “the Lord withheld marvels from me, and showed me the truth, line upon line … until He made me to know the truth from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet. … By the whisperings of the still small voice of the spirit of the living God, He gave to me the testimony I possess.”3

There are those of us who have laid away our little ones in the grave, and we had that responsibility. A little daughter was born to us over in Holland while I was president of the mission there, and we kept her until she was three and a half years old. My wife has said time and time again that she knew the angels brought that spirit to her because she felt their presence, and yet we laid her away in the grave. If we had to feel that that was the end, we would have given anything in this world to have her back again. And then we come to this great knowledge that we have in the restoration of the gospel, that she will be ours in the eternal world and we will have the joy of seeing her grow up without sin, unto salvation. Sometimes I have thought that probably some of these choice spirits did not need the experience here in mortality like other children, and that is why the Lord has seen fit to call them home.

I grew up in the little town of Mantua, Utah. My mother, Laurine Nielsen Jeppsen, was a very courageous woman. She had an illness called Bright’s Disease, which was incurable. She knew that she was terminally ill, and she had been advised not to have any more children before I came along. My coming into the world hurried her exit from it, I’m sure, but I’m grateful that she decided to have me, anyway.

A few years ago, I went to the FamilySearch® system and retrieved my wife’s entire recorded family pedigree. That was a serious mistake. The computer revealed that my wife is a descendant of European royalty. It has been hard to live with her ever since. She wants me to refer to her as “Your Majesty.” Maybe now, through this knowledge of her family history, I am more inclined to treat her as our family queen. Of course, even my children share in this royal ancestry, which, sadly, makes me the only “commoner” in my family.

One summer they climbed the Grand Teton, got lost going up, and finally ended up using about three different routes and wandering all over the mountain. They were accustomed to such a fast pace that in spite of the comedy of errors, they arrived at the top well ahead of the official guide who had started slightly ahead of them.