Gospel Story Finder

“I remember going to the mountains to get our Christmas tree. We decorated it with little candles that fastened to the tree in little tin holders. A fire committee was appointed in the family to make sure the tree didn’t catch fire. We children each had a stocking and received one present for Christmas. Of course, there was the special Christmas dinner and the singing while my sister played the piano and I played the violin.

It begins as a big, fleecy bundle. Ruth Kandler, 14, and her sisters, Helga, 17, and Petra, 11, are often waiting at the door when their father brings the wool home. He has traveled high into the Austrian Alps to purchase it from the shepherds, who have already sheared it from the backs of their flocks, washed it, and carded it to remove burrs and align fibers. Straightening the fibers allows the wool to be spun into yarn.
This time, there is a surprise. Along with the usual white and gray wool from the milk sheep, Brother Kandler has brought back a smaller bale of dark brown wool, the wool of the mountain sheep. The young ladies are excited, because even though the short black fibers are more difficult to spin, they add variety and color when the homespun yarn is knitted into clothing for school and work.
One of the most prized possessions in the Kandler household is an antique spinning wheel more than 100 years old. There are several other spinning wheels of varying ages to accompany it, enough so that everyone in the family can spin at the same time and still invite one friend to join in.
The spinning itself, once learned well, is not a difficult art. “I learned to do it in three days,” Petra says. Brother Kandler, watching his wife teach his daughters, learned the technique in just one day and seems to enjoy spinning as much as the rest of the family.
“It’s relaxing just to sit and spin,” Ruth says. “You can talk or just think and still be making something at the same time.” It’s also obvious the daughters enjoy spending a little time occasionally practicing the craft with their parents. They smile, laugh, and tell jokes. When Petra’s yarn doesn’t seem to wind quite right, her older sisters help her remedy the problem as Sister Kandler nods her head approvingly.
Electricity is expensive in the small town of Eugendorf where the Kandlers live, so the work is done by the sunlight that filters through the windows and reflects from the walls, setting the room aglow. Helga strums her guitar as the others pump foot pedals up and down and carefully twist the wool through their fingers, guiding it onto spools. Her chord patterns and clear voice seem infinitely more appropriate than a blaring radio or a chatty television set. “We share the real experience of doing things together,” Brother Kandler says, “We don’t have a T.V.” Sometimes friends, like 11-year-old Michele Make who lives nearby, come over to join in the fun.
Today, because it’s a special occasion (a photographer has come to take their picture), the entire family has put on costumes typical of their region. Like most Austrians, they wear the traditional clothing from time to time during the year as part of their regular wardrobe. But it is fairly rare to find all of them in costume on the same day. Helga says that having the costumes is practical, “It’s handy, because they never go out of fashion,” she adds. “Teenagers, children, parents—everyone wears them. But we wear other things, too, like dresses and jeans.”
The wool is for making sweaters, gloves, mittens, and stockings. Helga says it’s enjoyable to be able to wear homemade clothing to school, “Most of the other children are enchanted by it,” she says. “They go home and try to make theirs in the same way.” Sister Kandler, who began spinning just a few years ago (she learned how from friends), says hand-knit clothing is popular throughout Austria, but buying it in the stores is much too expensive. (It costs about 2,000 shillings, or $150, to buy a handmade sweater in a store. Brother Kandler buys an entire kilo of wool in the mountains for 500 shillings.) The Kandler’s make their yarn from pure, natural wool (it’s not dyed, so the lanolin, which waterproofs the fiber and makes it a good insulator, is preserved). Add to that the fact that the clothing they make serves as a constant reminder of hearth and home, and it becomes nearly priceless.
Helga says the Kandlers have found that their talent has helped them make friends and fellowship Church members in the Salzburg (Austria) Ward, Germany Munich Stake, where they attend church, and elsewhere. During the winter, which is the season when most of the spinning is done, a group of Church families from Germany and Austria (Eugendorf, near Salzburg, is about 30 kilometers from the German border) gathers for instruction and for the pleasure of working together. “Many people return home with a new skill and with a more valuable way to spend their spare time,” Helga says. Sister Kandler also features spinning instruction as part of her Relief Society homemaking lessons, and her daughters help her demonstrate.

Not long ago, Sister Floripes Luzia Damasio arrived at the São Paulo Temple with other members of the João Monlevade Branch, Belo Horizonte Brazil Stake. During this temple excursion on 3–7 June 1997, she went through at least three sessions each day, and on one day she attended four sessions. During this trip she was also sealed to her deceased husband and to other family members—including her daughter, Maria Raimundo, who received her own endowment. This 500-kilometer trip was the third time Sister Floripes has attended the temple since her baptism in 1993.
None of these facts is entirely unusual—unless one knows a little about Sister Floripes and her circumstances.
Sister Floripes was born on 13 December 1889, just over one year after the May 1888 declaration freeing the slaves in Brazil. Her parents were former slaves and worked for owners of sugar plantations.
Sister Floripes, however, was born into freedom. She learned from her parents to place a high value on life, on freedom, and also on work. And from the time she was very small, she has worked to build a better life. As a young woman she married Cassemiro Jovino da Silva, and they had 12 children. He died at age 60.
It wasn’t until 11 July 1993—at age 103—that Sister Floripes was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. On 2 December 1994—at almost age 105—she traveled to the São Paulo Temple for her own endowment. During her latest trip to the temple, she was 107 years old!
While serving in the temple, Sister Floripes did not want to rest. She was a little tired but explained that she was very happy being in the temple.
On the last day of the trip, she wanted to see a little of the city of São Paulo. As she became acquainted with the streets, the stores, and the surroundings, she expressed her joy at each new thing she encountered. She was impressed by the many cars, airplanes, and people, explaining that she grew up accustomed to oxcarts and buggies.
Now age 109, Sister Floripes has outlived five of her children. She still plants and harvests her own food, cooks her own meals, and takes care of a daughter, who is also a widow, when she is ill. And she always arrives at the meetinghouse early on Sunday—in spite of having to walk a distance and then catch a bus.
Sister Floripes does not give in easily to the annoyances and challenges of life. Her spine may have been curved by the passage of time, but she shows much determination and perseverance and is an example of finding happiness in righteous living. She prays for the branch members and always encourages them to keep the Spirit in their lives. When her visiting teachers stop by, she asks them to read the Book of Mormon to her.
Sister Floripes is, as James wrote, “an example of suffering affliction, and of patience.” As James continued, “We count them happy which endure” (James 5:10–11).

They all agreed. Then Travis announced that he already had an idea for that day. “Remember Jeff, the boy who was burned in that house fire last week? We heard about it in sacrament meeting and in Primary. We could each write him a letter and send a get-well card.”
After lunch the children wrote notes to Jeff. Johnny cut out pretty pictures from a magazine to help fill his page, and Natalie included a poem she liked. Travis found a card with a happy verse in the family greeting-card box.
The children rode their bicycles to the post office and mailed the large envelope. “That was fun, wasn’t it!” Johnny whooped as they pedaled home.
After supper, the Sunshine Club met hastily on the back porch. They decided to announce their activity at ten each morning and to try to complete it during the afternoon.

I recently spent Saturday night in a hotel. Sunday morning I was awakened by rowdy talking. The language was profane, filthy, and disgusting. I was shocked to learn that the speakers were mere children. Into my mind came the proverb:
“Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it.” (Prov. 22:6.)
Then came the words of the revelation: “Little children … cannot sin, for power is not given unto Satan to tempt little children … that great things may be required at the hand of their fathers.” (D&C 29:46–48.)
I was saddened as I thought about the suffering which these children and their fathers will have to endure because of the neglect of the training “required at the hand of their fathers.”

Recently I heard of a father who foolishly called his beautiful, intelligent wife “stupid” and “dumb” in a most degrading manner for some small mistake that she had innocently made. The children listened, embarrassed and frightened for their mother. She was belittled in front of those that she loved most. Although an apology and forgiveness were expressed, there still remained the hurt and shame of a senseless moment.

I remember when I found information about my great-great-grandmother. While pregnant, she came to Argentina on a ship. During the voyage, she buried her son at sea. She was just a story until I found her name in a record. I became even closer to my grandparents, and I came to know my ancestors as if I had lived with them. I found information about my ancestors, shared the glad tidings of eternal sealing, and helped bless many generations.

I remember a news article from Sicily, Italy, which read, “Five young brothers blind since birth got their first dim glimpse of the world Tuesday. They cried with delight.” The Rotolo brothers were operated on to remove cataracts they had been born with. As the surgeon, Luigi Picardo, in a darkened room removed their bandages, he must have hoped and prayed that his work was successful.
The first to speak was four-year-old Calogero, the youngest of the brothers. “The necktie,” he cried, tugging at the surgeon’s tie. “I can see, I can see.” The removal of the bandages from the others’ eyes was accompanied by shouts of joy. The boys’ father could hardly believe it when he held thirteen-year-old Carmelo’s face in his hands and asked tenderly, “Can you see, my son? Can you really see?”
The boys’ mother, the doctors, and everyone there wept for joy. Dr. Picardo replaced the bandages and walked slowly out of the room. Then he sat down on a bench and wept. “Never,” he said, “have I felt such extraordinary serenity, such happiness.” Thus a skilled surgeon actually brought the gift of sight to five little boys who had been blind.

“There’s a Turkish family that I always see at the interfaith dinners, and they run up to me and say, ‘We’re so happy to see you again!’” Romy says. “In a world where there’s so much persecution of religion and faith, it’s nice that we can all come together and just talk to each other.” During one of the service projects, “the ladies at another church were so sweet,” she says. “They didn’t care about anyone’s religion. They were just there to offer their help. It was refreshing.”

Peter, James, and John restored the office of Apostle with the higher priesthood. With it came authority to confer the supernally precious gift of the Holy Ghost.

He felt a similar inadequacy as a 19-year-old entering the Provo Missionary Training Center in preparation for a full-time mission to Seoul, South Korea. “How am I going to do this?” he wondered.
In both cases, the answer was the same: “Stay at it. Joy comes.” Or, in the words of his mother, “The Lord’s fresh out of perfect people. Just go to work.”

The growth of the gospel message in South Africa was forecast more than 130 years ago by the first mission president assigned there, Jesse Haven. With his companions, William Holmes Walker and Leonard I. Smith, he organized the Church in the Cape of Good Hope and dedicated the land to missionary work. Standing on the slopes of Lion’s Head, a hill overlooking Capetown, 23rd day of May, 1853, he said, “Many of the honest in heart will rejoice in the everlasting gospel.”
His words have held true during the ensuing years although harsh conditions and opposition resulted in slow progress in the early days. Emigration of converts to larger Church-oriented communities kept the Latter-day Saint population of southern Africa small for most of a century. But the faithful upheld gospel teachings even in difficult times, as when the missionaries were withdrawn during the Frontier and South African Wars (1856–61, 1865–1904), and both World Wars.
With the new temple in their midst as tangible witness of the Lord’s love for them, South African Saints may look to the future with quiet hearts, remembering Jesse Haven’s assessment of his mission in December 1855 as he left South Africa: “I feel that the Lord has blessed us. The foundation of a good work has been laid in this land and a seed has been sown.” It is a seed well-rooted now, matured, and bearing precious fruit.

A faithful single sister recently testified that through the Atonement, she found strength to use her helping hands and willing heart to raise the four children her sister had left behind when she died of cancer. That reminded me of something Elder Neal A. Maxwell said: “All the easy things that the Church has had to do have been done. From now on, it’s high adventure, and followership is going to be tested in some interesting ways.” You have been sent to earth in this dispensation of time because of who you are and what you have been prepared to do! Regardless of what Satan would try to persuade us to think about who we are, our true identity is that of a disciple of Jesus Christ!

“At Summer Quarters we read the scriptures every night,” explains counselor Dan Kolilis. “Just last night we went out to the tents where the boys stay and had pop and chips with them. Then we read in the Book of Mormon about Jesus Christ blessing the little children. All of this year’s male counselors are returned missionaries, so we talked about our missions. Then we read the verse that says: ‘Therefore, go ye unto your homes, and ponder upon the things which I have said, and ask of the Father, in my name, that ye may understand’ (3 Ne. 17:3). It was the last night of the camp. We wanted them to go home, as we will go home, to think about how, with the gospel in their lives, the Lord will help them and guide them.”

As I headed back to Provo that Sunday night, I thought about Kelly, the young man that Elder Neal A. Maxwell had talked about that morning in stake conference. I had gone home from BYU for the weekend to attend the conference with my family. I needed a spiritual boost, and the conference was no disappointment. Elder Maxwell had talked about facing and overcoming challenges, and he had told us about a young man named Kelly.
Kelly had fought through many physical difficulties. He had been born without a jaw, chin or ear on the left side, and was operated on 11 times before graduating from high school. A jaw bone was made with bone from his hip, and an ear was also made for him.
For Kelly to serve a mission he had to have special permission to wear his hair over his ears. They were uneven because of the effect of gravity on his left ear, so they needed to be covered. He received permission to wear his hair longer, and he served a mission. He was now attending BYU. I hoped that I would get the chance to meet him. I was so impressed by his story that I wondered over and over if I had passed him on campus.
For weeks I thought about him and hoped I would meet him, but with 26,000 students and the semester nearing the end, it didn’t seem likely. I had mostly forgotten about it until one afternoon in my history class.
I was late that day. I hated being late, especially for my history class. Uncle Joe, as everyone called the professor, was the kind of teacher who could make just about anything interesting.
Every person in the class had to do an oral report on one of the presidents of the United States. Each class period we discussed the life of one of the presidents, and the student who had chosen to study that president started off the class discussion with his report.
As I slipped into the classroom and into a chair, I noticed who was up at the front of the class. It was that boy with the long hair. He had already given his oral report, so I couldn’t imagine what he was doing up in front of the class again. He didn’t look like the type that would have done another report for extra credit. “It doesn’t even matter that I’m late,” I thought as I arranged my books, “if it’s just him up there talking.”
I got settled and sat back to listen. “Why does he wear his hair so long?” I self-righteously wondered. “Doesn’t he know about the dress and grooming standards here?”
He was telling us his own story. “I was born without a jaw and had to have extensive surgery to have one made from bone from my hip. I had 11 major operations before …”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. An uncomfortable feeling was growing inside of me. It couldn’t be him!
I listened to much of the story that I had heard Elder Maxwell tell in stake conference. He spoke of gratitude and appreciation for health and the sweet, simple things of life. When he finished and sat down, Uncle Joe stood up and said, “Thank you, Kelly, for sharing your story with us.”
I don’t remember anything else we talked about that day. I sat there thinking about how much I had wanted to meet Kelly, and all semester long he’d been in my class. But from the first moment I saw him, I had counted him out as anyone I’d like to get to know because he looked a little bit different.
As I nervously waited after class to finally get to meet Kelly, the words came into my mind: “for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart” (1 Sam. 16:7). I realized I had almost missed meeting Kelly because I was looking in the wrong places.

I like to dance, make crafts, and play with my little sister Lilly. When I was two, I was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes. Every year on the anniversary of my diagnosis, I do service. Last year, my family and I donated stuffed animals and gave a letter of encouragement to the children at the hospital where I was diagnosed. I felt so happy to do something nice for someone experiencing a sad time. I am thankful for the example of Jesus Christ to love and serve others.
Sariah B., 13, Minnesota, USA

Living in Cape Town, so far from the “heart” of the Church, I consider it a joy to receive the New Era every month. It has such a great influence on my life and, I am sure, on the lives of all those who read it. Thank you for the effort and prayer that go into making this magazine such a tower of strength, spirituality, and encouragement. I think that “A Celestial Missionary” in the June 1980 issue was the best article I have ever read. I will remember Elder Tolman’s dedication during my forthcoming mission.

Following a recent discussion on the subject of adversity, a young man who was greatly concerned about the burdens being carried by his wonderful mother asked the question, “If God is omnipotent and knows all, why does He put my mother through the agony of continual sufferings when He already knows what the outcome will be?” Our response was, “Your mother’s trials are not tests so the Lord can measure her. They are tests and trials so that your mother can measure herself. It is most important that she know her strengths in adversity and grow from the experiences.”

It happened every Sunday in church. No matter how hard Jeremy tried, he always got the wiggle-waggles. He tried very hard to sit still during Primary. He kept his arms folded as long as he could and sang all the Primary songs. Jeremy listened to the lesson in his class and tried to answer questions. But sometimes, even when he tried his very hardest to sit still, they still came—those bothersome wiggle-waggles!
It usually happened toward the end of Primary and carried on through sacrament meeting. Jeremy would start to fidget, then he’d play with his tie. He’d rattle his papers from Primary, then twist around in his seat. He tried talking to his best friend, Thomas, but Thomas would put a finger to his lips to tell Jeremy to be quiet. Thomas never seemed to get the wiggle-waggles.
Sometimes Jeremy would untie his shoes. When the wiggle-waggles were really bad, he would slip off his shoes and kick his stocking feet back and forth.
“Sit still, Jeremy,” his Primary teacher whispered to him.
“Shhh, Jeremy, I want to listen to Sister Bernard,” Thomas said quietly when Jeremy tried to tell him about his new toy dump truck.
“Put your feet down,” his mother cautioned in sacrament meeting.
“Leave your shoes on, son,” his dad told him.
Jeremy tried to sit reverently and quietly. He really did! But he still had those wiggle-waggles every Sunday.
One night at family home evening, Jeremy’s mother brought up the wiggle-waggle problem.
“I try to sit still, Mom. I really do!” Jeremy exclaimed.
“It seems to me that we need to figure out a way to stop those wiggle-waggles from bothering Jeremy,” Dad said thoughtfully. “Let’s all think about it, and maybe we’ll come up with a solution.”
On Sunday morning, just before the family left for church, Jeremy’s mother gave him a piece of paper and a pencil. Then she said, “Jeremy, I want you to write down a sentence about your lesson in Primary, and a sentence about the talks that you hear in sacrament meeting. Do you think you could do that?”
Jeremy nodded enthusiastically.
“We’ll talk about what you wrote on your paper for family home evening,” his mother added.
All through Primary, Jeremy sat very still. He listened carefully to the talks and scripture and wrote down the scripture reference. Jeremy sang with his best voice during singing time, and even wrote down a verse to one of the Primary songs. Then he wrote a sentence about sharing time. Jeremy didn’t talk to Thomas once. During the walk to their class, Thomas commented on how reverent Jeremy was. During his Primary class, Jeremy quietly wrote down a sentence about the lesson. Before he knew it, Primary was over.
“I didn’t get the wiggle-waggles once!” Jeremy proudly reported to his parents as they sat down for sacrament meeting.
During the next hour, Jeremy tried very hard to sit quietly. But after a while, he started to feel the wiggle-waggles creeping up on him. He glanced down at his paper and read the words of the Primary song he had written down: “It shouldn’t be hard to sit very still and think about Jesus, his cross on the hill, and all that he suffered and did for me; it shouldn’t be hard to sit quietly.”*
Jeremy thought about the song. That was the secret! He should think about Jesus. Jeremy knew that Jesus would want him to sit quietly and listen.
Jeremy listened as Elder Vasquez, one of the missionaries serving in his ward, related an experience about a 10-year-old girl who had recently been baptized. He listened when Elder Brown, the other missionary, told the congregation that he was from England and had been on his mission for only three months. As Jeremy listened to the missionaries, he decided that he would like to be a missionary, too.
Jeremy was surprised when the closing hymn was announced. He looked down at his paper and noticed that he hadn’t written anything about the missionaries. He had been too busy listening to them! And the wiggle-waggles hadn’t bothered him once!
As they were leaving the church after sacrament meeting, Jeremy’s parents told him how happy they were that he’d been so reverent. Jeremy told them how the Primary song had taught him to think about Jesus and what He wanted him to do.
Just then, Sister Harper came up to Jeremy’s parents and said, “Jeremy is so quiet! I wish my Kerry would learn how to be quiet and reverent like Jeremy. She gets so wiggly!”
Jeremy’s mother winked at him.
“It looks like the wiggle-waggles found someone else to bother,” she said.
“Yes.” Jeremy smiled and held up his piece of paper. “And I know just what she can do to fix it!”

More recently, in a meeting of the Missionary Executive Council, which Elder Oaks chaired at the time, we counseled together about a proposal related to the missionaries serving in a particular area of the world. After all council members had expressed their views on the matter, Elder Oaks asked several questions and summarized what had been learned. He then stated, “I do not feel we are yet settled on this matter. We should wait upon the Lord and not make a final decision now.”
Events a few months later dramatically highlighted the inspiration that attended that decision to wait. The council, acting under the inspired leadership of Elder Oaks, had been blessed to make the right decision, at the right time, and in the Lord’s way to protect the missionaries and prosper the work.