Gospel Story Finder

He had no trouble getting up. The alarm would go off, and Chris Muraski was wide awake. Things to do, you know.
No, getting up was never the problem. Being where he was supposed to be was.
Here’s the scoop. At 5:30 A.M., Chris would get dressed, grab a banana, head out the door, and go straight for a couple of blocks. He then had a choice. He could continue driving for another block until he arrived at Libertyville High School in this Chicago suburb. Or he could hang a left and go to Libertyville’s civic center for early-morning seminary.
For two years Chris never used his turn signal on that morning drive.
As a freshman he attended seminary. He even went for part of his sophomore year.
But come on. He was an outside linebacker and he wanted to get stronger. Early-morning weight lifting—extra work on his own—would make him a better player. It was something he had to do.
Midway through that second year of high school, Chris decided he’d skip early-morning seminary even if it would make him a better person.
During the two years he was in the weight room, Chris got stronger and became a solid high school football player, playing for a very good team. The weight lifting was paying off. Unfortunately, injuries began occurring—more specifically, concussions.
“It’s ironic because that’s when the concussions started—when I stopped going to seminary,” he says.
The concussions, bruisings of the brain due to hard hits, were a bit scary because of both pain and memory loss.
The first concussion came during Chris’s sophomore year. He took a hit to the head that forced him to sit out the second half of a game. “It was like waking up from a dream. I couldn’t remember the plays before. I couldn’t remember where I was supposed to go. It took me 10 minutes to pull it all together,” he remembers. “I wanted to go back in during the fourth quarter but the coaches wouldn’t let me.”
Then during the second game of his junior season in 1997, after being cleared to play, Chris took another hit to the head and the result was another concussion. This time it was a bit more serious. It was a kickoff return, and Chris came in for the tackle. Much of that play is a foggy memory, but he does remember this vital statistic: the guy that leveled Chris was six-foot-six and 250 pounds.
“The guy that hit me was huge. I just went full blast into him, and that pretty much ended my season right there,” he says.
It’s worth mentioning that despite the extra work in the weight room, Chris only tipped the scales at a lean 152 that year. It was hardly a fair fight.
After sitting out much of the season on doctors’ orders, Chris played in one more game, then sustained a third concussion in practice. “That was it. I didn’t know if I would even be able to play the next year. The doctors were concerned, and I didn’t want to mess up my brain,” Chris says. “I didn’t feel very confident that I’d be fine, that I wouldn’t have any more problems.”
Chris, at the time a priest in the Buffalo Grove Second Ward, Buffalo Grove Stake, thought often about his love for football. Would he ever play again? Would there be any long-term effects from the blows to the head? These were all questions a high school junior didn’t want to face.
That summer Chris’s bishop approached him. He didn’t want to talk about football. Instead he asked him, “So, Chris, how’s seminary coming?”
But the bishop already knew the answer. When he asked Chris if he would start attending again, Chris said, “No, probably not.” The weight lifting was still too important. At least that’s what he thought.
“I was still active. I was going to church every week. I wasn’t in the gutter,” he explains. “But I wasn’t doing all the little extra things.”
Like going to seminary.
Chris began thinking about his choices, about seminary, about his future. And it wasn’t like he disliked seminary the one year he did regularly attend.
Later the bishop approached Chris again. He had something important to tell him. Chris said that the bishop talked to him and promised him that if he would go to seminary, the Lord would bless him and he wouldn’t have problems with concussions. But Chris needed to aim for 100 percent attendance.
“When he said what he said, I thought, I’ll do it. So I put my faith in what the bishop promised me right there.”
On the first day of seminary to begin the 1997–98 school year, there sat Chris Muraski.
He’d finally made the left turn.
Chris missed exactly one day of seminary last year—because of a conflict with wrestling. But he made that day up. He also didn’t miss one football game during a year when he was one of Libertyville’s team captains. Last summer he earned a spot on an Illinois all-star team that traveled to Australia.
And he never came close to getting another concussion.
“I regret putting lifting in front of seminary,” he says now. “Every morning I was at seminary I felt I was in the right spot, and I got that spiritual flavor that kind of gives you that boost. I feel more spiritual. My testimony has grown from it, from striving to be better.”
Once upon a time Chris was bench pressing 240 pounds. Today it’s down to 200.
Yeah, he may have lost 40 pounds off his bench press, but after returning to seminary, Chris was still plenty strong.

When the chemotherapy began, so did the inevitable side effects, including hair loss. I don’t know why it bothered me so much, but it did—probably more than it bothered Chris. At first, there was hair on his pillow. Then it was in the sink. Finally, Chris shaved off what hair was left. Later that afternoon with Chris napping on the couch, the two Bens and Jeremy knocked at the door. As they came in, they doffed their hats to show Chris their cleanly shaved heads. They laughed together and watched a video of them all shaving each other’s heads.
“Now I wasn’t the only one with a shaved head. I just had the smoothest,” explained Chris.
A few days later at school, the four boys were walking down the hallway when a girl said, “They look like they have cancer.” Alone, that remark could have been devastating. Together, they just laughed about it.

After Taona and Amanda had dated for 10 days, Taona told Amanda that he was done dating. “I thought he was dumping me!” Amanda said. Instead, he asked her to marry him. “I thought he was joking, but he had a ring!” Taona and Amanda were sealed in the temple 10 months later.

Hazelwood Ward
The Primary children of the Hazelwood Ward, St. Louis Missouri North Stake, gathered school supplies for local children with special needs. They also honored one of their Primary teachers, Helen Koerner, who has served in the Primary for 35 years. She is 90 years old. She currently serves as a Sunbeam teacher and enjoys working in the Primary.

“What are you doing?” Nate asked his big sister, Jessica.
“Writing a thank-you to Grandma for my birthday present.”
“I want to write one too.”
“You don’t know how to write yet,” Jessica said. “Besides, you write thank-yous to someone who gives you a present, and it wasn’t your birthday.”
“Oh,” said Nate, rolling his tongue around in his cheek. Then he started to grin. “I know someone I can make a thank-you for. I’ll be right back.”
A minute later, Nate dumped crayons, markers, and a big sheet of plain white paper on the table.
“Now what are you doing?” Jessica sighed, moving over.
“Making a thank-you picture. I can’t write, but I can draw.”
“Who are you thanking?”
“It’s a surprise.” Nate picked up a yellow crayon, drew a round sun, and colored it in. Then he used markers to make a red house with two blue windows and a door.
Jessica peered at it. “I know who that picture’s for. It’s for Dad.”
“No,” said Nate, smiling. He drew his black cat, Pepper, and the swing hanging from their big oak tree.
“I bet that picture’s for Mom,” Jessica said.
“Nope.” Nate picked up a blue crayon. He colored birds flying in the sky, and the pond next to their house.
“I’m done,” said Jessica, putting her note into an envelope. “Now I have to write Grandma’s address on it and send it.”
“I’m done, too,” said Nate, coloring a frog by the pond.
“I bet that picture’s for your kindergarten teacher,” Jessica said.
“No,” Nate said. “It’s for someone who gives me different things every day. It’s a thank-you picture for Heavenly Father.”
Jessica smiled. “You’re right, Nate. He does give us all kinds of presents.”
“Do you think he likes my thank-you picture?”
“Sure he does. Everyone likes it when you say thank you.”
Nate smiled. “Help me hang my picture up for Heavenly Father to see. Then I’ll help you mail yours.”

While swimsuits are the appropriate attire for swimming, they are not generally appropriate for out-of-water activities. A former student of mine related feeling fine and perfectly modest while swimming in a pool at a party. But later, when seated inside the house for a casual supper, she felt uncomfortable and immodest and she wished for something fun to put on as a cover-up. For those after-swim occasions, a cover-up is not only fashionably modest, but it may be needed for warmth or for protection from the sun, sand, or wind. It will also add to your comfort for lunch or for lounging when you are unable to change back into regular clothing. Quick and slide-on simple is the key to clever cover-ups.

My grandson Stuart also learned that Heavenly Father hears our prayers. He needed a friend at school. He and his mom decided to pray to help him find a friend. Every day when the recess bell rang, Stuart knew that his mom was praying for him. Pretty soon he made a new friend! Stuart learned that Heavenly Father cares about his worries. He learned that Heavenly Father would answer his prayers.

Media—whether good or bad—can be habit-forming. But it is a habit that can be broken. One woman who was “addicted” to watching daytime soap operas decided to rearrange her priorities and to stop what she felt was a time- and mind-wasting practice. She succeeded and later wrote: “Sometimes our whole family watches shows together, and it’s fun. But now I’m the master. When I want to invite newsmen, actors, or entertainers into my home, I do so. But it’s because they have informative and/or morally, spiritually, and emotionally uplifting programs to offer—not just because they’re there” (LeRee Farrar, “How I Kicked the TV Habit,” Ensign, March 1977, 19).

As a result, Eric lived outside, on a bench in an open-air shed. His mother, Lucy, and his sisters brought him food, washed his clothes, and helped him bathe. Eric was often drenched by rain and shivered from cold in the night. He learned to love morning sunshine because it brought warmth. Too poor to go to school and unable to work, he spent years in that shed, occasionally venturing into the neighborhood on his wheelchair.

Rather than becoming resentful, “I started to love and believe in God,” Eric says. “Nobody taught me about Him, but I could see His creations, and I could see the good and bad in people. Sometimes it is hard to believe in Him when life is hard. But then I would see something good come into my life, and I would say, ‘See, God is here, and it is wonderful.’”

Eric had not been formally taught how to pray, but he began calling upon God. He received answers—when he was sick, an unanticipated opportunity to see a doctor; when he asked for relief from his sores, they went away; when he outgrew his small wheelchair, a kind stranger brought him a larger one. “God did many good things in my life,” he says.

Still, sometimes Eric would get discouraged. He found himself crying when he was in pain and hungry. “I decided if I was going to be happy, it was up to me,” he recalls. “I forced myself to smile. If I didn’t, I was afraid I would turn to something bad.” In particular, he saw friends using alcohol and drugs, and, “my heart told me that was wrong.”

I was taught by great elders. When I heard the message of the Restoration, I had an even greater confirmation that I should be baptized. But I wanted to know for myself the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon. The elders marked Moroni 10:3–5 in my Book of Mormon and invited me to pray and ask God if it is true.

The next evening I remembered that I had not yet read the Book of Mormon. As I began to read, I felt a very strong spirit. I prayed, and before I was finished, I knew that the Book of Mormon is true. I am grateful to God for having answered my prayer. I was baptized in July 2006.

Some years ago, the Salt Lake City newspapers published an obituary notice of a close friend—a mother and wife taken by death in the prime of her life. I visited the mortuary and joined a host of persons gathered to express condolence to the distraught husband and motherless children. Suddenly the smallest child, Kelly, recognized me and took my hand in hers. “Come with me,” she said, and she led me to the casket in which rested the body of her beloved mother. “I’m not crying, Brother Monson, and neither must you. My mommy told me many times about death and life with Heavenly Father. I belong to my mommy and my daddy. We’ll all be together again.” The words of the Psalmist echoed to my soul: “Out of the mouth of babes … hast thou ordained strength” (Ps. 8:2).
Through tear-moistened eyes, I recognized a beautiful and faith-filled smile. For my young friend, whose tiny hand yet clasped mine, there would never be a hopeless dawn. Sustained by her unfailing testimony, knowing that life continues beyond the grave, she, her father, her brothers, her sisters, and indeed all who share this knowledge of divine truth can declare to the world: “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning” (Ps. 30:50).

His young life is full of memories. They begin on the island of Timor, several hundred miles north of Australia. His Chinese parents were working in the Portuguese colony there (Domingos is a Portuguese name) when it was invaded by Indonesia. The men fled to Portugal. Women and children escaped to Darwin. “My mother, myself, and some other relatives came on one of two boats that got away,” Domingos explains. “We were lucky to survive.”
Domingos’s father later joined them in Darwin. Thanks to hard work, the family prospered. Two more boys were born. Domingos learned English. He discovered sports—cricket, karate, tennis, soccer, handball, volleyball. He excelled in school, in music, and in art. He worked in his uncle’s restaurant.

In the November 2008 Friends by Mail section, I liked reading about how the children received answers to their prayers. It reminded me of how my own prayers have been answered. I once told my mom that I didn’t think Jesus was real. My parents asked me to pray to Heavenly Father to ask Him if Jesus is real. I prayed and was excited when I could tell my mom a week later that I felt a good, warm feeling when I prayed that let me know Jesus is real. I’m glad that I can ask Heavenly Father for help and get answers to my prayers.

Here’s an imaginary conversation. See if it feels familiar.
“Hey, Joe. How’s it going?”
“Hey, Tyler. I’m doing all right.”
“Did you see that episode of Junior Varsity Superspy last night?”
“Uh, no …” [Joe starts to feel a little uncomfortable because he always thought that show had content that was against Church standards, and Tyler is his quorum president.]
“It was awesome. I love that show. It’s way better than Rich Kids with Issues. That just has way too much swearing and too many bad scenes. Don’t you think so?”
“Uh, well …” [Joe feels even more uncomfortable because that show is actually one of his favorites and he never thought it had that much bad stuff in it.]

I’m sure I complained to my parents about a thousand times while I was growing up that something wasn’t fair. It shouldn’t have been my turn to do the dishes. I shouldn’t have had more chores than my younger siblings.
My parents’ response was always the same. A unanimous, resounding, “Life isn’t fair!”
But apparently that never sunk in.

Several years ago, upon entering an electrical establishment, Elder James E. Talmage saw an impressive array of lamps, door chimes, and other electrical items. And “having chosen a lamp, [he] turned the switch to test the … light; but lo, there was no light. The attendant told [him] that the lamps were there as an exhibit only, but were not connected up.”

He reported, “I turned to the bells, but when I pressed a button I listened in vain for [a] responsive tinkle. And so with everything [else] in the shop—pleasing to look upon, some pieces artistic, all suggestive of usefulness, but, as displayed, they were [only] ornaments and nothing more, for they were not connected up.”

Upon leaving the shop Elder Talmage thought, “A burning candle … is worth more in terms of utility than the most elaborate of electroliers without the current.” Then a fitting parallel came to his mind of the “scriptural description of minds and souls darkened and deceived by outward appearances while devoid of spirituality: ‘Having a form of godliness, but denying the power thereof’ (2 Tim. 3:5)” (Handbook of the Restoration [Independence, Mo.: Zion’s Printing and Publishing Co., 1944], pp. 389–90).

And their classmates have returned the favor. Lara says, “They have prayed for my family during their school masses. When my brother was on his mission, they prayed for him that he would have a successful mission.”

I have seen the miracle of that growth in charity in the hearts of priesthood holders. So have many of you. And so have many outside the Church. I was in the office of President Gordon B. Hinckley when he was asked to take a phone call. He spoke briefly on the phone and then returned to our conversation. But he took a moment to explain. He said that the call was from the president of the United States, who was flying over Utah in Air Force One on his way to Washington. The president of the United States had called to thank President Hinckley for what priesthood holders had done in the aftermath of a hurricane. The president of the United States had said that it was a miracle that we were able to get so many people, so quickly, working together so well. He praised our people by saying that we knew how to do things.

Perhaps the president of the United States was impressed with what he thought were our great organizational skills. That was part of the miracle. But the greater reason for the miracle was that hundreds and perhaps thousands of priesthood holders had such faith in the oath and covenant of the priesthood. It was not how they were organized that made the difference: faith in the oath and covenant of the priesthood impelled them to go long distances, stay long hours, and endure hardship as representatives of the Lord Jesus Christ in caring for those in great need.

They were in that process of giving priesthood service, developing the power and the spirit of charity necessary to become great husbands, fathers, sons, and brothers in families here and in families forever. Those instances of priesthood service have occurred in our outreach to people, as brothers and sisters in God’s family across the earth, time and time again.

Arriving by canoe, missionaries for the Church crossed the Piscataqua River to Maine in 1832. They searched door to door for people to teach and started a congregation in Saco, York County. More missionaries arrived, and one mass conversion brought 30 individuals into the Church. In 1835, Maine had nearly 320 members. Church activity slowed in Maine after most members joined the mass exodus west to escape persecution.

The Smyth family of Londonderry, Ireland, may have set a new record. As far as they have been able to determine, they are the first family in Ireland to have three sons serve missions for the Church. All three served their missions in California.
David Smyth served in the California Oakland Mission. Stephen followed his brother and also served in the California Oakland Mission. Lloyd is presently serving in the California Anaheim Mission.
All three young men are outstanding athletes and have won both school and national honors for their abilities.