Gospel Story Finder

By the time my plane approached the Salt Lake airport, I felt worn out with the traveling and emotions of the day. The plane had crossed the high Rocky Mountains, which in the early sunset presented a fairy world of peaks and crevices, clouds and shadows in changing, shifting patterns before my eyes.

But now, as the plane touched down, as I moved with the press into the crowded terminal, it seemed everyone had someone to meet them and some place to go. I hesitated, uncertain what to do or where to go next. I noticed a woman approaching, an older woman, very attractive, with rich brown hair and a lovely face. As she drew closer, I thought she looked familiar, so I glanced at her again. It looked as though she was coming directly my way. I shifted my feet and stared down at the floor, and when I glanced up again the woman was standing right beside me. She smiled, and the feeling that I had seen her somewhere before grew stronger.

“Michelle?” she said, with a little question at the end of the word. “You are Michelle Briggs, aren’t you?”

“Yes …” I stammered.

“I thought so,” she said. “You look very much like your mother, Michelle; you have her beautiful eyes.” She smiled again. “I don’t mean to alarm you, my dear, but I’m your Aunt Beth.”

“I don’t understand,” I cried. “What are you doing here? How did you know where to find me … or … or that I exist at all?”

“Your mother, Michelle,” she said, and took my hand gently in hers. “All these years I have written to your mother, but not once did she reply.”

“You, you mean, my mother’s known where you’ve been all along?”

“She’s known, but she hasn’t wanted to admit it. Your mother was very young when I went away, and your Grandpa Hunter did a good job of poisoning her mind. By the time she was old enough to understand … well, it was too late.”

“Understand? Understand what?”

She paused, and her eyes began to sparkle. “When I was a girl I defied my father and joined the Mormon church. I was young and unwise. I hurt his pride, and he refused to forgive me. When I left and went to Utah, he refused to tell anyone where I had gone or what had really happened to me. He died without knowing that I had married and that he had three grandchildren he had never seen and another one on the way.

“But you see, Michelle, I kept taking the Franklin City paper and I read about your mother’s wedding, and I wrote to her faithfully, hoping that sometime something would touch her heart and she would respond to me.”

“All these years?” I breathed in amazement.

“All these years. And all these years I have prayed that the Lord would soften her heart; and he has answered my prayers, Michelle, through you.” The sparkle in her eyes was wet now and her hand tightened over mine.

“But what …” I stammered, “how …” I still didn’t understand.

“Your mother wrote to me telling me you had joined the Mormon church, telling me you were coming to BYU and asking me to take care of you.”

“My mother … did that … ?”

My aunt nodded. “She told me what a special girl you were and how much she loved you.”

I couldn’t see too well, for my own eyes were clouded with tears and my throat ached trying to hold them back. My prayers and Aunt Beth’s prayers—and the prayers of a mother whose concern had overcome her “Pride and Prejudice,” and who could still teach me something about sacrifice and love! I smiled at the lovely woman who held my hand.

“I’ve got a long way to go,” I said.

“You’ll make it,” she replied, and I felt she understood all the things I was unable to say.

“Yes, yes,” I agreed, I have to make it. I want to be a real Latter-day Saint. I want to make my mother proud of me.”

Clearly, a dividing line between those who hear the music of faith and those who are tone-deaf or off-key is the active study of the scriptures. I was deeply touched years ago that a beloved prophet, Spencer W. Kimball, emphasized the need to continually read and study the scriptures. He said: “I find that when I get casual in my relationships with divinity and when it seems that no divine ear is listening and no divine voice is speaking, that I am far, far away. If I immerse myself in the scriptures the distance narrows and the spirituality returns.”24

Missionaries were sent to Southern Rhodesia for a limited time in the early 1930s. Yet by 1935 all missionaries were pulled from Southern Rhodesia (then part of the South African Mission) and the area was closed because of the shortage of missionaries and the distance from the mission home in Cape Town, South Africa.
In September of 1950, eight missionaries were sent to reopen Southern Rhodesia. Five months later, the first convert baptism in the area took place.

Youth in the Greely Colorado Stake were literally in a rut on their trek—several times! But teamwork and determination helped them reach their destination despite high temperatures and a challenging climb.

Less than a year after that, a two-year-old boy in our ward was run over and killed by a service truck in the parking lot where he lived. I visited the family and spoke at his funeral. The mother mentioned he had been unusually cuddly that morning, almost as if he were saying goodbye.

The roofers let an old shingle fall
in the ivy the other day.
And I noticed it,
for halfway up,
its cedar red was weathered
dull and gray.
My chin on my knees, I studied where
furrowed, mossy, and thin
gave way of a sudden to fat, sappy wood,
sheltered by
the shingle’s twin.
I wondered at how this same piece of wood
had weathered these two separate ways.
But because of another,
beaten himself,
one end had been spared
rainy days.
While the other end covered another in turn
and another was covered by him.
Without thought of themselves
the shingles displayed
the rule, whose gold
has grown dim.

Christmas was a happy and sad occasion because Mama was too wrapped up in herself to pay much attention to holidays. And Daddy was often overwhelmed with the responsibilities of a home, us children, our sick mother, and his job. Yet even though he didn’t have enough money to buy us presents, he always brought us a nice tree the day before Christmas, and he made sure that on Christmas morning we had the biggest oranges and apples and the best candy and nuts in town in our stockings. Our uncles and aunts made sure that we had toys until we got into junior high school. I remember how excited I was when I was seven to find a beautiful walking doll and a carriage for me under the tree. In my excitement, I didn’t notice that my older brothers had received only one basketball between them to share.

Hyrum and Emilee F., ages 7 and 6, from California, USA, like going to Primary. They like singing songs and spending time with their friends.
Last December, Hyrum and his family found out that he has an illness called leukemia. He needs special medicine to help him heal. It’s important for him to stay away from germs, so he and Emilee can’t go to Primary while he’s getting better.
But their Primary leaders found a way for Hyrum and Emilee to come to Primary, even though they can’t be there in person. Each week, the Primary secretaries set up a video call with Hyrum, Emilee, and their mom! On live video they can hear the lessons in sharing time, learn the songs for the Primary program, and be with their friends. Hyrum hopes he will be better in time for his baptism this summer. Until then, he is happy he can still be part of Primary.

Sometime later, touched with the remembrance of that moving Sabbath morning, I told the story to a group of people in another city. Before I left that small community the next day I had a visit from a man who had heard the message and understood it. Later a letter came from him. He had gone home that night and prayed and prepared himself and had then made a visit to the place of a man in his community who had years before imposed upon the sanctity of his home. There had been animosity and revenge in his heart and threats made. That evening when it was made known that he was at the door, his frightened neighbor appeared with a weapon in his hand. The man quickly explained the reasons for his visit, that he had come to say that he was sorry, that he did not want hatred to continue to consume his life. He offered forgiveness and sought forgiveness and went his way in tears, a free man for the first time in years. He left a former adversary also in tears, shaken and repentant.
The next day the same man went to the home of a relative in the town. He said, “I came to ask your forgiveness. I don’t even remember why we have been so long angry, but I have come to tell you that I am sorry and to beg your pardon and to say that I have learned how foolish I have been.” He was invited in to join the family at their table, and was reunited with his kin.
When I heard his story I knew again the importance of qualifying ourselves for the forgiveness of Christ by forgiving.

A YSA council was created. Brother and Sister Dwamena-Frimpong and Brother William and Sister Karen Aryee were called to serve as YSA supporting couples and gathering place specialists, respectively. “When this calling was extended to us, we had no idea of what to do and how to get things done,” said Sister Aryee. “As it is our human nature to come up with plans, thoughts, and goals for the future, we needed to realize God is the only one who truly knows what’s best for us. That was how we sought direction from the Lord for us to come up with activities that will unite, educate, and bring souls unto Christ. The Lord, indeed, answers prayers as we received guidance steadily on what to do and how to get all our YSA’s involved.”
The Aryees met with the stake presidency and began to petition the Lord to lead them and give them direction. President Ghunney, second counselor in the stake presidency, said, “Under the direction of the stake president, we met to discuss and plan on how to implement the gathering place. Through these council meetings, I have seen the heavens open, and revelations poured out to our understanding, and the more we met in council, the more the Lord made clear to us what we needed to do.”

Fatima Alves of Portugal, who has spina bifida, found that the website has helped her realize exactly that: she is not alone.
“It is important to me that the Church has a website to help people with disabilities so that we feel united as Church members. It’s helpful to know that the Church is concerned and has a desire to help and support people in special situations,” she said.

Elder Trent Yeow is following in his grandma’s footsteps. Christina Yeow was a constant example of service and tirelessly served everyone, raising money for the homeless, cancer research and many other charities. Elder Yeow speaks fondly of her. “I just want to serve and make Grandma proud.”

One way he serves is by developing friendships with the residents of Regis Nursing Home, playing chess, conversing with them and just being a listening friend. All he wants to do is to serve people as the Saviour did.

Missionary work also expanded during this time. The Mexico Mission, officially opened in 1879, was divided for the first time in 1956; now Mexico has 34 missions.15 Brother Jorge Zamora, who served as a missionary in the Mexico City North Mission in the 1980s, has witnessed the growth. He recalls an area of his mission where members had to travel an hour to attend church; now a stake is there. He says, “It is amazing to me the way the Lord works to build the Church, regardless of what the country or culture is.”

Four-year-old Christopher sat by the window and watched the wet January snow pelt the glass. “Jingle bells, Jingle bells,” he whispered to himself as he stood up, stretched out his arms, and twirled. He opened and shut his eyes. Blink-blink, blink-blink.
“What are you doing, Christopher?” asked Mom.
“I’m not Christopher. I’m a Christmas tree.”
Mom smiled. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Christmas tree. Are you thirsty? I can put your feet in water if you’d like.”
Christopher giggled. “Oh, Mom!”
Mom laughed too and put her arms around him. “Why do you want to be a Christmas tree?”
“I want to have Christmas every day!” he explained.
“How about if we make Christmas cookies one more time? Would you like that?”
Christopher grinned and ran to the kitchen.
After supper, Christopher sat on his bed and ate a pink-frosted angel. He savored each sugary bite. Finally he licked the last crumb from his mouth and lay back on his pillow.
“‘Away in a manger, no crib for his bed, The little Lord Jesus lay down his sweet head.’” Christopher paused and listened to the stillness. His words sounded kind of empty. He wished it was Christmas Eve again so that he could sing it with his family around the tree.
He left his room and meandered to the kitchen. He got some paper and crayons from the cupboard and sat at the table. “Mom, will you draw a star for me?”
Mom put down her dish towel and drew a big yellow star at the top of the paper. “How is that?”
“Great! Thanks, Mom.”
Mom went back to her dishes, and Christopher covered the rest of the page with tiny golden dots. When it was finished, he smiled. It was just like the star that shined over Jesus when He was born.
He got some tape from the drawer and hung the picture above his bed. “‘Away in a manger,’” he sang. But it still didn’t feel like Christmas.
That night, when the house was dark and silent, Christopher thought long and hard about Christmas. He thought about Baby Jesus and Christmas trees. He thought about candy canes and Wise Men. He thought about presents. Presents! That was it! He could give someone a present. Christopher smiled and sank sleepily into his pillow. He could give someone a present.
The next morning, just before sunrise, Christopher jumped from his bed and ran to his parents’ room. “Mom?” he whispered.
Mom rolled over and opened one eye. “Hmm?”
“How can I earn some money?”
“What? Can’t we talk about it later?”
“Oh, Mom, please? I can’t go back to sleep until I know.”
“Know what?”
“How I can earn some money.”
“Why do you need money?”
“To buy a present.”
“For whom?”
“I don’t know yet, but it will be for someone special. Please, Mom?”
His mother thought for a moment, “I guess you could do extra chores around the house.”
“Thanks, Mom!”
“Now please go back to bed.”
Christopher ran to his room and climbed into bed, but he couldn’t go back to sleep. All he could do was think about his Christmas present.
Every day for a week, Christopher washed walls, made beds, vacuumed, and dusted furniture; and each day he added nickels, dimes, and quarters to his money jar.
Before church on Sunday, his mother helped him count his money and take out enough to pay his tithing. Then she counted it again for him. He had two whole dollars left. “Wow!” she said. “You sure earned a lot of money this week.”
Christopher grinned and slipped the money into his pocket.
“Have you decided whom you’re going to buy a present for?”
“Not yet,” said Christopher, “but I’ll think about it on the way to church.”
In Primary, Christopher’s teacher talked about her mission in Korea. She let the children taste some Korean cookies, and she even let Christopher hold a doll that a Korean child had given to her. Near the end of her lesson, she asked, “Do you know what I liked best about my mission?”
Christopher and his classmates shook their heads.
“Giving the Book of Mormon to people and seeing how it changed their lives.”
Christopher felt her words settle in his heart and grow. He knew about the Book of Mormon, and he loved it too. He wished he could share it with someone, just as his teacher had.
And then he knew what he would do! Excitement tingled through him. He could hardly wait to tell his mother.
“Does a Book of Mormon cost very much?” he asked her after Primary.
“No, why?”
“Do I have enough money to buy one?”
“Yes,” she said with a smile. “But why? You already have a Book of Mormon.”
“I want to give it to someone—it’s my present.” He stuffed his hand deep inside his pocket and pulled out the money. “Now what?”
His mother led him to the bishop’s office and filled out a donation slip for him. He put the money into the envelope and handed it to the bishop. “Make sure this goes to someone special, please,” he said.
The bishop smiled and nodded.
As they walked out of the office, Christopher whisper-sang the words to “Away in a Manger.” He thought about the star that led the Wise Men to Christ. He even thought about the Christmas lights that looked just like candles blinking on a hillside. But the thought he liked most of all was how he would feel next week, when he had another after-Christmas Christmas.

It must be difficult living in a place where one of life’s greatest temptations is going to the beach on Sunday. “Sunday always has the perfect beach weather,” says Tami Ting Mei Lim of Honolulu, Hawaii, “but I want to be in church.”
Tami loves her home state and takes advantage of every opportunity to spread the gospel across it. She once spent two hours driving through the busy streets of Honolulu telling her captive driving instructor about the gospel. “I was surprised about the interest he took in hearing about Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon,” she said.
Tami also takes advantage of opportunities to keep her state beautiful. She’s constantly involved in community cleanup projects. Her experience in church and school leadership positions helps her with this. All this, and an avid interest in violin and piano music? No wonder it’s tempting to think of relaxing at the beach.

In 1972 a couple and their six children were sealed in the temple. “I’ve never seen my mom and dad so happy as the day we went into the temple as a family. That day of joy was the culmination of more than twenty years of effort,” one daughter recalls. The wife explains: “I grew up in a strong LDS family but married a nonmember, thinking I could convert him. He joined the Church in 1953, but I learned before too long that he had done it just to get me to stop nagging him. He even started smoking and drinking after baptism, and he had never done either of those before. I guess I nagged him a lot in those years. I would self-righteously take the children to church and then come home and quarrel with him because he hadn’t gone too.”

What finally made the change? “I prayed so hard those years that I never took time to listen to the Lord’s answer. And when I heard it I ignored it. But finally I was so desperate that I felt I had no other choice than to do it His way: ‘You have to love him in,’ the Spirit would whisper to me. ‘Let him go at his own pace.’ So finally I did it and before too long we were at the temple.”

At the same time, the Lord was reaching out to this man in other ways. His colleagues at work had begun to ridicule Joseph Smith, and he felt he had to know if the things they were saying were true. If they were, he would leave the Church. “I started to read the Book of Mormon. I had never really tried to understand it before. It was a marvelous experience. And I learned how to defend the Church to the men at work and that it was defensible. I got so I really thirsted to know the truth. I went back to church. And all the while I was amazed at the quiet support my wife was giving me. Instead of nagging, instead of saying, ‘I told you so,’ like she once would have done when I started to go back, she simply took my hand and said she wanted to help me do whatever would make me happiest.”

Study and church attendance—even a thoughtful testimony borne on a fast Sunday—were followed by a review of the missionary discussions, giving up drinking, and having a difficult struggle to stop smoking. “I thought it would be easy for me to quit smoking, even though I had smoked for seven years—because I generally have good will power. But I tried and tried to quit and I couldn’t. Every time I definitely decided to quit, something would happen, and suddenly I would find myself with a cigarette in my hand and smoke coming out of my mouth. I had heard stories about the Lord taking the desire away from people when they sought him in prayer, but that didn’t work for me. Maybe I didn’t have strong enough faith, or maybe he wanted me to grow more from the struggle. I just knew that I couldn’t quit. Finally I went to the Lord in prayer and committed myself to him that I would never smoke again, even if it was difficult. It wasn’t easy—in fact, even now when I smell tobacco I have an urge to smoke again—but from that moment to this I have never broken my covenant.”

“I don’t think all these things would have happened if we hadn’t made a plan. Our home teachers taught us that the best thing we could do was to set specific goals for what we would have to do in our lives before we could go to the temple, and then of course to reach our goals by the designated time. First, we decided we would have to go to all our meetings. That was a hard one for me because I worked nights, and priesthood meeting started about an hour after my bedtime. But I went anyway. Second, I had to start living the Word of Wisdom; third, we had to pay tithing, and so on. Those goals really made the difference. They gave us a deadline for us to accomplish each step and a final date for when we wanted to be at the temple. That was the only approach that would have been effective for us.”

Years later, at the far side of Oslo, Norway, a tall, fair-haired Otto Monson could see his destination a stately mansion. The day was pleasantly warm, and it felt good to be out.
After half an hour Otto decided the walk to the mansion would take longer than he had time for. Not wanting to be late, he turned off the main road and cut through a maze of narrow back streets in the poorer part of the city. A short distance from the mansion he came to a lone row of houses.
It was a rule in the mission that missionaries were to speak Norwegian, and it had been over a year since Otto had heard a word of spoken English. He was passing close to one of the small houses when he heard a commanding voice in English:
“Go into that house,” it demanded.
Otto stopped, his face a little pale. He looked around; there was no one in sight. The streets were vacant. Why go in there? he thought. He seriously doubted if anyone could live in that rotting shack. Looking around he continued walking. As he walked, the voice, now small but strong, repeated the command.
“Go into that house.”
I have another appointment, he thought. Besides, what could be more important than an appointment with the wealthiest man in Oslo, an educated man, a man of importance, a man of influence?
Two days before, the man had contacted President Christopherson, the president of the Norwegian Mission, and asked if someone could come and explain the principles of the LDS doctrine to him. Otto, a clerk in the mission offices, had felt a sense of pride when President Christopherson asked him to go. How could he stop now? He couldn’t be late.
“Go into that house,” the voice repeated.
Otto could see the gate of the mansion when he stopped and turned back. I must be crazy, he thought. I’ll bet no one even lives there.
He knocked on the door of the shack. From inside the building he heard the sound of shuffling feet and the creak of boards. His skin shivered. The door swung inward on leather hinges, and the sallow face of an old, old woman appeared. She looked as old as time itself, he thought. She smelled of sickness and old age, and he knew from her appearance that she was near death, but she looked up and smiled at him, a little painfully. He could sense a terrible loneliness in her. A loneliness that pricked at his conscience so deeply and painfully that he wanted to turn and run, to get away from her sight, from the warm, brown eyes.
“Yes?” she said; her voice was weak but pleasant sounding.
Otto wondered what he should say or do.
“I’m from America,” he said. It was all he could think of.
“I once knew a boy who went to America,” she said.
“What was his name?” Otto asked politely, wondering what he was doing here when he was late for another appointment, an important appointment. He wanted to tell her he had made a mistake, that he had knocked on the wrong door.
“His name,” she said, with a warm, faraway look in her eyes, “was Christian, Christian Monson, but that was a long time ago, nearly 50 years.”
Otto felt a burning humbling excitement flood unexpectedly over his body at the sound of the name. Breathless, he asked what her name was. It couldn’t be, he thought, not after all these years!
“I am Mrs. Hotvedtvien,” she answered.
Otto felt an indescribable pleasure deep inside, and he felt warm tears on his cheeks.
“I am Otto Monson; Christian Monson is my father, and I know you well, Ann Hotvedtvien, very well.”
The street was quiet. It seemed to Otto that time stood still. Then, suddenly, he felt the boney arms of the old woman embrace him, heard her crying softly, and felt the terrible loneliness leave her.
Later Otto learned from her that not long after Christian left for America, the Hotvedtviens moved from Drammen to Oslo. The letters Christian sent from America never found them. Five years after they moved, Moen Hotvedtvien became ill and died. Since then his wife had been alone, and for the last few years she had been sick and unable to earn a living. There was no one to help. She said she had been afraid she would die alone and had prayed for help.
Otto visited the old woman often, saw that she was cared for, arranged for her to have a good house to live in, good food, and medicine. Several months later she died, but she didn’t die alone or without love.

I love cooking desserts and savory foods and playing the marimba. I sing and dance, and I am learning to play the flute, xylophone, and piano.
The bishop asked me to help lead the music in sacrament meeting. I didn’t expect it and thought they would choose somebody older. But I also felt loved and happy because I love music.
Sometimes I still get scared that I’ll sing something the wrong way and that people will hear it. But the Holy Ghost helps me to be comfortable in front of everybody. Now that I’m getting used to it, it’s actually pretty fun!
At first it was scary. As we were practicing, sometimes I forgot some of the words. So I practiced singing with my mom at home, and that helped a lot. When we practiced in Primary, I sang louder to help those who can’t read or didn’t know the words.
I felt excited when the day of the presentation came. Everything went beautifully. I felt peaceful and calm, and the words just came to me.
I learned that sometimes things don’t go perfectly, but it’s OK and you can learn from them. Leading the music in Primary also prepared me for my new assignment!
Sometimes it might be hard to serve in front of a lot of people, but the thing about us kids is that we can lead no matter our age or how short or tall we are. I would tell them that even though sometimes our fear might get us down, the Holy Ghost can help us feel peaceful. He will always help us get back up again.

Theresa also has had a special experience. Soon after she was baptized, Theresa began preparing to go to the Tokyo Temple to perform vicarious baptisms for her deceased ancestors, who did not have the opportunity to receive the fulness of Christ’s gospel in this life. Through the efforts of those around the world doing indexing of public records, and with help from ward members and the missionaries, Theresa was able to find long lost information about her father, who died when she was young. This was such a blessing, as many family records were destroyed by bombings during wars in Sierra Leone. The database was updated just before her baptism. She was then able to prepare his name, her grandmother’s, and others to receive baptism and other temple ordinances.

After I graduated, I decided to do a full-time mission, which was difficult as my family initially disagreed, and I decided to apply Alma’s advice in 37:37, and I prayed to the Lord to help me, and I began to prepare for my mission by saving a little money from my odd teaching jobs to fund my mission.

In 2018 when I submitted my mission papers, President Alfred Kyungu of the Democratic Republic of the Congo Mbuji Mayi Mission explained to me the importance of doing a full-time mission and helped me with some advice to get there. I applied his advice, and it took me at least two years to get there and I saw other missionaries leaving on missions. It pained me at times, with everything, the sacrifice of cycling over 68 kilometers to get some documents I needed for my mission with other brothers with whom we were preparing together.