Gospel Story Finder

“I enjoy seeing friends of my own religion at school, and I like the Church activities,” says Clair Huckfeldt, a 17-year-old Rotary Club exchange student from Brisbane, Australia.
“At home my brother and I were the only Mormons in our school. Our nonmember friends never pressured us to do anything we shouldn’t, but still, it’s nice to be here where there are other members.”
Clair has been in Skokie, Illinois, since January. “It’s very suburban compared to what I’m used to,” she says, “and sometimes I feel hemmed in by the tiny yards and the closeness of the houses. But I do like the shopping centers very much.”
Clair is active in the North Shore Second Ward of the Wilmette Illinois Stake, and attends a local early-morning seminary. “It’s a bit of a pain getting up in order to be there by 6:30 every morning,” she says, laughing. “It’s a good way to start out the day, though.”
Even though Clair was unable to attend seminary at home in Brisbane (she took it through home study courses), she has seen great growth in her own ward.
“I remember when our branch used to meet in an old hall—there were very few members then—and my father remembers when the missionaries ran the whole branch. But now we’re a ward. We have a new chapel, and things are progressing nicely.”
Clair has been a lifelong member of the Church. One of her three brothers is presently serving a mission in Western Australia, and her sister attends BYU.
In January Clair will return to her home in Brisbane and will enroll in a newly built, nearby college.
She has been living in a Jewish home during her stay in America. “Sometimes we have some very interesting discussions,” she says. “They think I go to church an awful lot. And they’re right.”

When Elder Brook P. Hales was eight or nine, he was in a fast and testimony meeting where his father was presiding as bishop. His father invited the congregation to bear testimonies, and nearly everyone present bore testimony. “It was perhaps the first time I felt the Spirit bearing witness to me of the truthfulness of the gospel,” Elder Hales recalls.
That day when he was a young boy, Elder Hales didn’t bear his testimony. But it has grown stronger ever since. “The gospel of Jesus Christ has been restored through the Prophet Joseph Smith, the Book of Mormon is true, God loves us perfectly and is eager to bless us, Jesus is our Savior, and we are blessed to have the constant companionship of the Holy Ghost as we are worthy of it,” he says.

One time, I was standing by an abandoned car in my grandparents’ backyard when some neighbor boys threw a match into the gas tank. It exploded, burning my hands severely. They were absolutely charred, and I went to show my grandmother. A woman of great faith, my grandmother prayed over those hands. She put some salve on them, and the pain went away instantly. By the next day they were healing well.

This story from a Utah rural area: “Twenty-four years ago, as a young man, I was called to teach a Sunday School class of thirteen- and fourteen-year olds. I thought my first lesson was pretty good, but I didn’t have enough material to last through the class period. During my second lesson, again I was out of material. I resolved it would never happen again, but it did the next Sunday. I gave the books back to the Sunday School superintendent. All of these years I have carried a feeling that I was a failure as a teacher, yet I still wanted to teach.
“Now I have taken the basic course. I know what a teacher should be. I know how to prepare. I know how to involve my class, and now I am teaching and fulfilling my lifelong desire. I have developed a foundation for teaching.”

Clomp, clomp, clomp! Twenty-one pairs of feet walked across a wooden bridge. Twenty-one Primary children were about to travel back in history to a special place—and leave it better than they found it.
Primary children from the Billerica Ward, Nashua New Hampshire Stake, were having a service activity at the Minute Man National Historic Park in Concord, Massachusetts. The wooden bridge is a replica of the Old North Bridge, where the first battle of the American Revolution took place on April 19, 1775.
The children’s goal was to help clean up the park. Before they got started, a park ranger told them about the park’s history. Then their Primary president, Sister Stephanie Davis, reminded them how the founding of the United States helped prepare the way for the gospel to be restored.
The children knew they were in a place that deserves respect. They had fun without yelling or being rowdy. What does it mean to respect a place? Here’s what the children had to say:
“It means you want to take care of the place so that it’s kept special.” —Abby K., age 8
“It means you leave it looking the same or better than when you got there.” —Dallen H., age 9
“It’s like saying, ‘I appreciate you.’” —Taylor A., age 11
Then they put on rubber gloves and went to work, putting every piece of trash they could find into their garbage bags.
How did the children feel when they were finished? Good, because “this is a place where something really happened,” said Alden D., age 11. All the children agreed that it felt great to show their respect for an important place that’s right in their own backyard.

On December 18, 2011, members of the five stakes of Puerto Rico participated in a Christmas concert held in the Paseo de las Artes in the city of Caguas. Approximately 85 members of the Church performed, and some 2,500 members of the community attended.

Let me help you understand how this pattern of making early commitments can help you by relating the experience of one Church leader. As a young man he decided that he would always keep the Word of Wisdom and never use alcohol or tobacco. He does not remember what prompted him to make that important commitment at the time, but a crucial victory was won in his heart, and on his knees he made a commitment with the Lord to always keep that commandment. Over the years there were invitations to use these substances, but he learned that “no, thank you” was a good answer. There was no personal battle over the Word of Wisdom because years before he had made a commitment in his heart, and he had sincerely made a commitment to the Lord to obey that law.

This story happened in Chile.
Thanks for the ice cream!
Thanks for shopping with me.
I’m trying to be like Jesus . . .
What are you humming?
A song we learned in Primary. It’s about helping people, like Jesus did.
Mamá, it looks like those ladies need help.
Hi, ma’am. Can we help you?
Oh, thank you. That would be wonderful.
Max: It feels good to help like Jesus did!

Pa had always set great store in fasting and prayer. He never doubted that the Lord would answer a righteous prayer of faith. And my pa was a righteous man, so I never saw his faith go unanswered. But in the summer of 1876, during my twelfth year, his fasting and prayer brought about the most curious answer I’ve ever seen.
Whenever Pa was thinking hard about something, he would tug his left ear. He had been tugging that ear for three or four days, so I knew something important was on his mind.
He mentioned it to Ma that night at supper. “Emily, that upper five acres could mean the difference between meeting the payments at the bank and losing the farm.”
Ma stopped pouring the thick, frothy milk and looked at him. “What do you mean, Edward? You haven’t said anything before.”
“I can’t keep water on it, Em. No matter how I plot a course, the water either won’t flow across the field or it backs up and floods half the crop and leaves the other half dry. I don’t know what to do.”
Ma sat down heavily. “We could really lose the farm?”
“If we don’t get a good crop. And we won’t get a good crop unless I can figure out some way to irrigate that land.”
The next couple of days were really low ones for us. Pa would stand each morning, staring across those five acres, then tug his ear and walk off, glum-faced. Usually after supper he’d play with me and Baby Sam, read out loud from the big family Bible, or pick on his banjo. Now he just sat at the kitchen table, drawing figure after figure on pieces of paper—diagrams of an irrigation system.
It took me a minute to realize what was different that morning. There was no sound of sizzling bacon, no mouthwatering aroma almost lifting me out of bed. Then I remembered—we were going to fast today. I swallowed hard, wishing I had drunk one final glass of water before we had had prayer last night to start our fast.
The loft door lifted up, and Pa came in smiling and wrestled me out of bed. That kind of surprised me because Pa had been so quiet and preoccupied lately. I thought maybe he’d found a way to irrigate the cornfield, so I asked him.
“No,” he said, becoming serious again. “But we’re going to put it to Heavenly Father today during our fast. He knows how to get water to the crops. We just have to ask Him and have faith that He’ll give us the answer. I’ve done all I can.”
We knelt around the kitchen table for morning prayer, and I settled myself into a comfortable half-sleeping position, because Pa’s prayers can get pretty long sometimes. Suddenly my ears pricked up. Pa’s tone was different this morning, and his prayer was short and direct:
“Father, our crops are dying. I’ve tried everything I know to irrigate the land, but the water won’t flow on that hilly ground. We turn to Thee for help. We dedicate this fast to finding the answer we need. Please help us.”
After Pa finished, we knelt there quietly for a minute or two, then got up together. Pa looked relieved and ruffled my hair. I asked if he’d gotten an answer already. He smiled. “No, Son, not yet. But I will.” And much of that day he spent off by himself, praying.
The next morning Pa picked up a long stick as we walked out to the cornfield. Then he walked across the field, dragging that stick behind him! He didn’t turn to look until he was at the other end. And when he did turn to see that crazy wavy line, he stood a long time, tugging on his ear.
“Well, Son,” he said finally. “The Lord moves in mysterious ways, and this has to be one of His most mysterious.”
I couldn’t believe he meant what I thought he was saying! “You’re not going to follow that line to make the irrigation channel are you?” I asked.
Pa grinned. “If that’s what He wants me to do, then yes, I guess I am.” And he pulled the hand plow to the edge of the field. I stood at the side, watching his muscles bulge against his shirt as he plowed a deep, crooked furrow that looked more like a sidewinder’s track than an irrigation ditch.
This is one time, I thought, when Heavenly Father just hasn’t come through.
When Pa had finished plowing the furrows, he removed the board that held back the branch of the creek next to the field. The water rushed along his newly dug furrow, then slowed and found natural furrows that flowed throughout the corn patch and carried the life-giving water to every stalk of corn.
We had a successful crop that year, and I never again doubted the power of fasting and prayer. If ever my faith began to waver, all I had to do was remember my pa and the day that he plowed the crooked furrow.

Born on September 8, 1873, in Huntsville, Utah, David Oman McKay was the first son of David McKay and Jennette Evans McKay. When the younger David was just seven years old, his father accepted a mission call to serve in Scotland—even though at the time Sister McKay was expecting a baby and had only her young son to help on the farm. Her encouragement was undoubtedly a key factor. As soon as she read the missionary call letter, she said: “Of course you must accept; you need not worry about me. David O. and I will manage things nicely.”2
Under Jennette’s direction the farm did well. Strong spiritual growth paralleled the temporal prosperity the family experienced during David Sr.’s mission. “Family prayer was an established procedure in the McKay home, and when Jennette was left alone with her small family it seemed an ever more important part of the day’s events. David [O.] was taught to take his turn at morning and evening prayers and learned the importance of the blessings of heaven in the home.”3

“I’m not going to school today!” Tilly told her mother one Tuesday morning. She turned over in bed and frowned at the wall.
“Oh, that’s too bad,” her mother said. “I guess you don’t want waffles with strawberry sauce and whipped cream, either, do you?”
Tilly rolled over and tumbled out of bed. “I’ll eat waffles, but I’m not going to school.”
The waffles were crispy on the outside and fluffy on the inside. Tilly ate two. She drank her mug of milk and took her dishes to the sink. “I’m still not going to school,” she said.
“Oh, that’s too bad,” her mother said. “I guess you don’t want to wear your favorite purple sweater with the baby kittens on it, either, do you?”
Tilly went back to her room and opened her top dresser drawer. There was her favorite sweater with the kittens on it. She pulled off her nightgown and put on her sweater and her favorite pair of jeans. She put on her purple socks and tennis shoes. “I’m still not going to school.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” her mother said. “I guess you don’t want me to braid your hair and put in a sparkly hair ribbon, either, do you?”
Tilly brought the hairbrush to her mother. “One braid, please,” she said. “And I’d like the purple sparkly ribbon.”
Tilly stood very still while her mother fixed her hair. The brush went swoosh down her back until all the tangles were out. Tilly felt the gentle tug of her mother’s fingers as they twisted her hair into a braid. Click! went the fastener on the purple sparkly hair ribbon. “I’m still not going to school today,” she said.
“Oh, that’s too bad,” her mother said. “I guess you don’t want a tuna fish sandwich and grapes and chocolate milk in your lunch box, either, do you?”
“I’ll help you make the sandwich,” Tilly said, “but I’m not going to school.”
Tilly watched her mother open the tuna fish can and make tuna salad. Tilly herself carefully spread it nice and thick on a slice of bread, then topped it with another slice before her mother cut it into triangles and wrapped it up.
Tilly put it and some grapes into her lunch box while her mother poured some creamy chocolate milk into Tilly’s thermos bottle. Finally she snapped down the latch on the lunch box. “I’m still not going to school today,” she said.
“Oh, that’s too bad,” her mother said. “I guess you don’t want to take your seashells for show and tell, either, do you?”
Tilly ran to her room. On the top shelf of her bookcase was a jar of seashells from her trip to the beach. There were tiny white ones with smooth, gray insides, and big brown ones with rough edges. She even had two round sand dollars with pretty flowers on their tops.
Just then the doorbell rang. Tilly heard her mother answer the door. It was Tilly’s best friend, Tamra. “Good morning, Tamra,” her mother said. “I guess Tilly’s not going to school today.”
“Yes, I am! Yes, I am!” Tilly called. She held her seashell jar in one hand and her lunch box in the other.
Her mother smiled. “I’m glad, Tilly. Now you can play hopscotch with Tamra at recess and you can show Mrs. Turner how well you practiced your addition last night.”
“Good-bye, Mom,” Tilly said as she kissed her mother on the cheek. “Come on, Tamra—I can’t wait to get to school today!”

About this time, I became acquainted with Ans, a young woman who was a little bit older than I was. Later she told me that she had been searching for the truth and was so impressed by the enthusiasm I radiated that she decided to investigate the Church. She lived in another town, so our contact stayed rather superficial. However, I later learned that she joined the Church.

My friend forgot his lunch one day, and the school gave him a sandwich that did not look very good! So I shared my lunch with him.
Christian G., age 10, California

Children in Tasmania, Australia, had a Primary activity to paint pictures of Jesus Christ. They enjoyed it so much that they had another activity to paint God’s creations.

My husband, Ryan, and I, along with our five other sons, have all grown spiritually from our experiences with Nolan. At times we get discouraged and worry about his future, but then we count our blessings, recognize the love and concern our Father in Heaven and His Son have for each of us, and remember a prayer that was answered when Nolan was six.

One evening when we were unsure how to handle Nolan’s challenges, my husband and I knelt to pray about his welfare. As we petitioned the Lord, we expressed particular concern about Nolan’s behavior as related to his perception of his self-worth. We sincerely asked for Nolan to feel the love of our Savior and know of his great worth as a child of God.

The next morning Nolan came directly into the kitchen, where I was cooking breakfast. Before breakfast he would usually play with his brothers or plop on the couch. But he seemed intent as he climbed a stool at the breakfast bar, looked up at me, and said, “I had a dream last night.”

I sensed his seriousness, and my interest was immediately piqued.

“Really?” I asked. “What happened in your dream?”

“Jesus was there,” Nolan replied simply, “and He held me.”

Illustrations by Shauna Mooney Kawasaki
Matt: How far did pioneer children have to walk?
Dad: It varied, but from Winter Quarters to Salt Lake City was a little over a thousand miles.
Matt: Wow! How far have we walked today?
Dad: Oh, a couple of miles so far.
Matt: I’m a wimp! I could never have been a pioneer!
Dad: Those pioneer children were heroes, Matt, but in some ways they had it easier than you do. How many bad Internet sites ambushed them on the trek? How many trashy TV shows or video games did they have to dodge?
Dad: You have your own plains to cross, your own mountains to climb, your own rivers to ford. You’ll need every bit as much strength as the pioneers had, and I think you’ve got it. What do you think?
Matt: I don’t know if I’ve got it, but I’m going to get it.
Dad: Spoken like a true pioneer!

I know a very faithful young deacon who transformed himself into a modern Captain Moroni. Inasmuch as he has sought to follow the counsel of his parents and Church leaders, his faith and determination have been tested every day, even at his young age. He told me one day he was surprised by a very difficult and uncomfortable situation—his friends were accessing pornographic images on their cell phones. In that exact moment, this young man had to decide what was most important—his popularity or his righteousness. In the few seconds that followed, he was filled with courage and told his friends that what they were doing was not right. Moreover, he told them that they should stop what they were doing or they would become slaves to it. Most of his classmates ridiculed his counsel, saying that it was a part of life and that there was nothing wrong with it. However, there was one among them who listened to the counsel of that young man and decided to stop what he was doing.

This deacon’s example had a positive influence on at least one of his classmates. Undoubtedly, he and his friend faced mockery and persecution because of that decision. On the other hand, they had followed the admonition of Alma to his people when he said, “Come ye out from the wicked, and be ye separate, and touch not their unclean things.”6

A time back I clipped a column from the Deseret Morning News, written by Jay Evensen. With his permission, I quote from a part of it. Wrote he:
“How would you feel toward a teenager who decided to toss a 20-pound frozen turkey from a speeding car headlong into the windshield of the car you were driving? How would you feel after enduring six hours of surgery using metal plates and other hardware to piece your face together, and after learning you still face years of therapy before returning to normal—and that you ought to feel lucky you didn’t die or suffer permanent brain damage?
“And how would you feel after learning that your assailant and his buddies had the turkey in the first place because they had stolen a credit card and gone on a senseless shopping spree, just for kicks? …
“This is the kind of hideous crime that propels politicians to office on promises of getting tough on crime. It’s the kind of thing that prompts legislators to climb all over each other in a struggle to be the first to introduce a bill that would add enhanced penalties for the use of frozen fowl in the commission of a crime.
“The New York Times quoted the district attorney as saying this is the sort of crime for which victims feel no punishment is harsh enough. ‘Death doesn’t even satisfy them,’ he said.
“Which is what makes what really happened so unusual. The victim, Victoria Ruvolo, a 44-year-old former manager of a collections agency, was more interested in salvaging the life of her 19-year-old assailant, Ryan Cushing, than in exacting any sort of revenge. She pestered prosecutors for information about him, his life, how he was raised, etc. Then she insisted on offering him a plea deal. Cushing could serve six months in the county jail and be on probation for 5 years if he pleaded guilty to second-degree assault.
“Had he been convicted of first-degree assault—the charge most fitting for the crime—he could have served 25 years in prison, finally thrown back into society as a middle-aged man with no skills or prospects.
“But this is only half the story. The rest of it, what happened the day this all played out in court, is the truly remarkable part.
“According to an account in the New York Post, Cushing carefully and tentatively made his way to where Ruvolo sat in the courtroom and tearfully whispered an apology. ‘I’m so sorry for what I did to you.’
“Ruvolo then stood, and the victim and her assailant embraced, weeping. She stroked his head and patted his back as he sobbed, and witnesses, including a Times reporter, heard her say, ‘It’s OK. I just want you to make your life the best it can be.’ According to accounts, hardened prosecutors, and even reporters, were choking back tears” (“Forgiveness Has Power to Change Future,” Deseret Morning News, Aug. 21, 2005, p. AA3).
What a great story that is, greater because it actually happened and that it happened in tough old New York. Who can feel anything but admiration for this woman who forgave the young man who might have taken her life?

It was a crisp fall Sunday morning in 1971 when, as investigators of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, my husband and I walked into the Douglas Ward meetinghouse, which at that time also served as the meetinghouse for the University 12th Ward. There in the foyer, among others who were there to welcome us, was one young man whose warmth, enthusiasm, and spirit enveloped us. He was also there the day we were baptized and on several occasions thereafter. Can you begin to imagine the thrill and joy in our home this past week when we opened our New Era and saw again that unforgettable young man there on the pages of “Inside’s What Counts”?
When we moved back east in 1974 we lost contact with Pete Jeppson, but after seeing him again, old feelings were stirred to a new height. Our sincere appreciation to you in this effort and also in the effort of publishing such an excellent magazine as the New Era. We are a busy young family but always find the time to read the New Era from cover to cover—usually the very day it arrives!
Sandy and Gary Frederick

by Mike Kawasaki
The Young Men and Young Women presidencies with the Activities Committee of the Oak Hills 4th Ward, Provo Utah Oak Hills Stake, had planned a formal dinner-dance for the Mutual-age youth.
The dinner-dance was to prepare the youth to learn spiritual responsibilities and etiquette without the peer pressures of dating.
In preparation for the activity, we had a fireside with the speaker stressing that the youth develop a style of their own. A second fireside was held to learn manners, with volunteers offering to demonstrate their knowledge of table manners. The leader gently corrected or complimented as individuals demonstrated their knowledge of correct table etiquette. Details from avoiding chewing gum to how to butter bread were reviewed.
The evening of the dinner-dance arrived. The cultural hall was arranged with round tables, each set with fine crystal and china. As the different courses were served, leaders acting as waiters and waitresses were eavesdropping on dinner conversations ranging in subject from braces to seminary classes.
Following dinner, the dance began with partners having been arranged for each dance. One of the young men had programmed his computer to match up dance partners. Each participant was given a computer printout, rolled and tied with a ribbon.
The evening was a tremendous success. “We looked forward to this activity for so long, and it was so much fun. We learned a lot about how to eat at a formal table, and we learned about how to act on dates,” said my daughter Kara when reflecting about the evening.
After thanking their hosts, the young people asked, “Can we do this again next year?” The resounding answer was yes.