Gospel Story Finder

Second, shelter. As a 12-year-old boy I resisted a desire for shelter because of my greater desire to fulfill a Boy Scout requirement to spend a night in the woods. I was one of several boys who left comfortable tents and found a way to construct a shelter and make a primitive bed from the natural materials we could find.

Recently, we met with an executive of a large entertainment corporation. Among her many fine credentials, this corporate leader is of Jewish ethnicity. She obviously enjoyed a tour of our Family History Library and a demonstration of the Church’s commitment to the gathering and preserving of vital records from all over the world. As our meeting ended, she asked me a question, “Why is your church so interested in genealogy?”

I responded, “Let me answer you by asking you the same question. Why are Jews interested in their genealogy?”

She answered, a little surprised by my query: “Why? It is of ultimate and profound importance. It is how we obtain and maintain our identity. It is how I know who I am. The history and lives of our ancestors are the glue that holds the entire Jewish community together.” She concluded, “How else would you know who you are?”

I responded to her, “That is one of the reasons why our church is interested in genealogy.”

I remember coming to this tabernacle as a boy from Arizona, with my father, to attend general conference. I was thrilled to hear all the Brethren speak. I have heard President Joseph F. Smith and all who have followed him up to now. I was thrilled at their utterances and took their warnings seriously, even as a young man. These men are among the prophets of God, just as were the prophets of the Book of Mormon and of the Bible. I do not remember ever feeling that these men pulled any punches or that their counsel went unheeded.

I once had a friend who was a mountain lion hunter. He loved to saddle up his favorite horse, tie on the saddle bags, and make sure his gun was cleaned and ready for instant firing.
One day while I was visiting him, I noticed he had a full-grown hunting dog tied to one of the sheds. “Isn’t he a beauty!” I commented.
“He’s got to go,” my friend replied. “I can’t be bothered with him.”
“Why? What’s the problem?” I asked in surprise.
My lion-tracking friend explained that ever since the dog was a pup it had been trained to track lions. “He knows what I expect,” the man continued, “but the last time we were on a three-day hunt he took off after a deer and then a coyote and finally some rabbits, and was gone the best part of a full day. He knows he must stay on the trail of the lion to be one of my helpers. Our business is mountain lions, and this dog is bad for business. Now he’s for sale pretty cheap.”
I felt sorry for that beautiful, healthy, yet disobedient dog. He couldn’t stay on the path that would keep a place with his master for him.

In Bodø, a city far to the north, Church members have gathered for a district conference. The few teenagers present tell what it’s like living above the Arctic Circle, often as the only LDS youth in their towns.

Håvard Lunde, 15, and his brother Erlend, 13, live in Alta, almost as far north as you can go in Norway. There is no chapel in Alta; the eight Latter-day Saints take turns meeting in each other’s homes.
“The Church seems normal to us, because we were born in it,” Håvard says. “But in Alta, like in most of Norway, young people don’t believe in much of anything. Our friends don’t shun us, but they wonder why we make such a big thing about religion.”
“We just try to set an example,” Erlend says.
And they wait for times like district conference, when their spiritual strength is renewed.

“One cow in our team was very intelligent. In fact, she was so bright that she used to hide in the willows to keep from being yoked up but when father found her and yoked her she was a good worker and a good milker. She got very lame at one time and could scarcely travel. My parents were very much worried, having already lost one. They were afraid they could not keep up with the company, and so Mother said she would make a poultice and put it on as soon as the cow laid down for the night. She made a very large one that covered all over the lame hip. Well, the next morning, when father went to get the cows up he called out, ‘Why, Mother, you have poulticed the wrong hip.’ Mother said, ‘Never mind. It’s all right. It has gone clear through.’ And sure enough she [the cow] limped very little that day, and was soon as well as ever. I know there was a great deal of faith mixed up with that poultice.”

As in so many other circumstances, the undeniable prompting of the Holy Spirit had its special influence when 17-year-old Tom, unlike the forty-one other recruits with whom he joined the armed services that day, chose the naval reserve (for the duration of the war plus six months) over the regular navy (for four years with a fixed promise of discharge). It was a decision he had made a matter of urgent prayer.
Within just a few weeks of his joining, there was an armistice in Europe and only a few months later came peace in the Pacific. Less than a year after he began his active duty, Ensign Thomas S. Monson returned home to graduate with honors from the University of Utah, just one quarter behind those members of his class who had not given military service. The impressions of the Spirit had spared him three needless years of post-war military duty. Little did he know that even then he was being fitted with “the whole armour of God” (Eph. 6:11) for quite a different kind of battle and a much longer tour of duty. He was “on the Lord’s errand” and his time was very important.

During hot summer months many mothers and fathers in the city took their children to the shaded groves and cool streams in the nearby canyons. One of the young boys, Joseph Fielding Smith—later a Church President—recalled watching the men loading stones there to be brought to the city for the temple. He remembered the “ox teams and how they tugged with their heavy loads” and that sometimes, when the loads were too heavy, the “rough-cut blocks skidded from the wagons.”

Troy Davis, 18, who has worked on fishing boats for about six summers, agrees. “Clamming is the same way. You bump something with your foot, then dig around and catch it before it tunnels any deeper. Clams won’t bite you. Every once in a while a scallop will give your toe a pinch, but it doesn’t hurt.”
Troy says he’s glad he came, that it’s fun to teach the younger kids about shellfishing. He’s graduated from Mosley High and from four years of seminary, and will soon be leaving on a mission. It isn’t hard to get him to talk about it, even standing out in the water.
“If they told me to go today, I’d go home now and pack my bags,” he says. “I know the Church is true. I’d do or give anything in the world for it. Ever since I was a little boy, every time I’ve gone out the door my parents have said, ‘Remember you’re going on a mission.’ That reminds me to be good.”
Troy may not be totally aware of it right now, but by example he’s passing on a lot more to the younger kids than lessons on how to dig for clams.

My beloved brothers and sisters, it is with deep humility and great appreciation that I stand in this holy place. As a little boy growing up in Raymond, Alberta, Canada, I loved it every time we sang, “I’ll go where you want me to go, dear Lord” (see Hymns, no. 270). Those words, each time we sang them in a sacrament meeting or Sunday School, burned commitment into my heart and soul, that I always wanted to go where the Lord wanted me to go, to say what He wanted me to say—“I’ll be what you want me to be,” dear Lord. That commitment seems appropriate to restate today.

During general conference in 1906, David took his wife and two young sons to visit cousins in Salt Lake City. Between sessions they sat down to lunch.
Cousin: David, there’s an urgent phone call for you.
David: I’ve been summoned to the Office of the First Presidency.
David met Elder George Albert Smith, an Apostle, on Temple Square. Elder Smith escorted him to the office of the President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. As they walked David thought about how he had performed his stake calling in the Sunday School.
David: I wonder if I’ll be called to the Church Board of Education.
President Francis M. Lyman invited David to sit down. What he said next left David speechless.
President Lyman: So you’re David O. McKay. Well, the Lord wants you to be an Apostle … What’s the matter? Haven’t you anything to say?
David: I’m not worthy of such a call!
President Lyman: Not worthy? Not worthy?! What have you been doing?
David: Nothing of which I’m ashamed.
President Lyman:Then do you have faith that the Lord will make you able to fulfill this calling?
On the way back to his relatives’ apartment, David saw his father.
Father: So, Son, were you called to the Church Board of Education?
David: I’ve been asked not to say anything about my new calling yet.
David and his wife, Emma Ray, attended the afternoon session of conference together. Right before the session ended, a special announcement was made. Emma Ray burst into tears from surprise and joy when David’s name was read. At only 32 years old, David O. McKay was sustained a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.

“If you do this right, Darryl, they never know what hit them.” Jason paused to let the whole weight of his words sink in, then added, “Only don’t get too confident—Mr. Christensen came out of his house last summer and chased Kyle around a tree for ten minutes. Wasn’t that so, Kyle?”
Kyle rolled his eyes and looked miserable. Jason and Bret laughed until their stomachs ached.
I have to be honest—it sounded like incredible fun. A warm evening, just past sundown, people all settling down in their living rooms after supper. Then, totally unexpectedly, the doorbell rings.
“Of course, that’s why we call it R.A.D.A.R.—Ring A Doorbell And Run,” Jason continued. “While we’re hiding in the bushes or across the street, laughing our heads off, the neighbors are out searching around on their front porches for nothing!”
I was the new kid in the neighborhood, and I was still finding it hard to believe that they all seemed to like me and had included me in their group right away. Jason was the most popular boy in the sixth grade! Things like this just don’t happen to me. I didn’t even think to ask what for when Kyle told me to meet them about eight o’clock that night.
Only R.A.D.A.R. didn’t turn out to be all that great. Megan Andrews, a girl in our class, answered the first door. When she didn’t see anybody there, she yelled out really loud, “Jason, Bret, and Kyle, I know it’s you!”
And things went downhill after that.
In the first place, nobody told me how angry some of the people would be. I knew right away that if Mom and Dad ever found out about this, my new friends would be history. Even worse, R.A.D.A.R. was done to a lot of old people, and I could tell that it was hard for some of them to get to the door. Then they waited and waited there like they were really hoping that this time it wasn’t a joke.
I kept seeing Mrs. Bartholomew in my mind, long after we left her house. She crept along with a walker, and her hands were all gnarled up. My grandma has arthritis, and I’ve seen her in a lot of pain. Mrs. Bartholomew looked the same, like she was really hurting. She turned the porch light on and stood there for a long time, saying over and over, “Hello? Hello?”
I didn’t sleep well that night, mostly because I had a feeling that things weren’t ever going to be the same. I could try to Ring A Doorbell And Rationalize—that it was really important for me to be part of the group in this new school. (How could I ever convert them if they all got mad at me for refusing to carry on the neighborhood tradition?) I wished that I could Ring A Doorbell And Reappear—at my old school, with my old friends, who never knew anything about this crazy game.
In the end, though, my thoughts returned to Mrs. Bartholomew on the porch—and to an old CTR ring that didn’t fit my finger but still fit me just the same.
So the next night it was Ring A Doorbell And Repent. By myself, of course. Jason told me that I was the biggest jerk he ever saw. I went to every door, anyway, and told the people I was sorry and offered to do some chore for them to make it up. Nobody took me up on the offer except Mr. Christensen, who had me mow his lawn three weeks in a row.
Some good things happened, too, though—besides my feeling a whole lot better about myself. Megan Andrews’s parents invited our family over for a cookout. Jason and Kyle and Bret were afraid to Ring A Doorbell again—and they did simmer down after a while. And since we have the only decent basketball hoop in the neighborhood, I figure it will only be a matter of time before they come around.
But the very best thing happens every Tuesday and Thursday night. That’s when I go over to Mrs. Bartholomew’s. Sometimes I take her some of Mom’s biscuits, or some flowers from the backyard. I go over there and R.A.D.A.R.—Ring A Doorbell And Receive—lots and lots of good feelings!

“Do I have to ride the bus today?” I knew what the answer would be, but I had to ask, just in case.
Riding the bus every morning was the worst. The older kids teased me. It was hard to find a seat. And I was always lonely.
“Yes, Jason,” Mom said. “Dad already left in the car.”
I dragged my feet to the bus stop. I’d do anything to not ride the bus. Then I had an idea. I jumped behind a big tree.
I heard the bus slow down and stop. Then I heard it pull away.
I did it! I didn’t have to ride the bus. Why hadn’t I thought of this before?
I walked back home and told Mom that the bus had left without me. I promised to be more careful next time. She called Dad, and he came home to drive me to school.
Later that day I saw Ryan, a boy who rode on my bus.
“What happened to you this morning?” he asked.
“I missed the bus,” I said.
“I know, but why were you hiding behind a tree?”
Oh no! “You saw me?”
“Yup. Everyone did.”
I groaned. Now they would tease me more than ever!
All day long I worried. How could I possibly ride the bus now?
The next day I trudged back to the bus stop. Why did I hide? This was going to be the worst ride to school ever!
I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed. Heavenly Father, Please help me be OK on the bus.
Just then the bus turned the corner and slowly rumbled to my stop. The doors opened, and I climbed up the stairs.
Ryan waved and patted the seat next to him. “You can sit here,” he said.
My eyes widened in surprise. Ryan was funny and had lots of friends. And he wanted to sit by me?
“You didn’t hide today,” he said.
I shook my head, hoping he wasn’t going to tease me.
“I don’t like riding the bus, either,” Ryan said. “But it’s a lot better when you sit by a friend.”
I was even more surprised. Did Ryan feel lonely sometimes too?
We talked the whole way to school. Some of the older kids still teased me, but it was easy to ignore them when I had a friend. It was the best ride to school ever!
But the next morning I was worried again. Would Ryan save me a seat? As I climbed up the stairs, I saw Ryan. He smiled and waved me over. It felt so good to have a friend to sit and laugh with. Ryan was my school-bus hero!
The next day Ryan wasn’t on the bus. But before I could panic, I remembered what Ryan had said: I don’t like riding the bus, either, but it’s a lot better when you sit by a friend.
Maybe there was someone else who needed a friend too. I spotted an empty seat next to a quiet boy I had seen at recess. I sat down next to him and asked what his name was.
“Blake,” he said.
Soon we were talking and laughing. I made another new friend!
It doesn’t take much to be somebody’s hero. Just look around for someone who needs a friend!
For the rest of the year I was never afraid to ride the bus again. I knew what it felt like to be alone, so whenever I saw a kid looking around for a place to sit, I patted the seat next to me. I could be a school-bus hero too.

Let me just share parts of some letters written by those who have had this great privilege. These quotations are from a composite of letters. They were written to their mission president and his wife after the couples had been serving in the mission field for some time.
“We never asked to be sent on a mission. We didn’t feel qualified. My husband had had only four years of formal education, and was very sensitive about that. He read a lot and was very successful in business. He had a special personality which drew people to him. Several couples we knew had gone on missions, and we were happy for them. When the bishop called us into his office and said that he had been praying for two weeks and that the Lord wanted us to go on a mission, we were overwhelmed. We accepted, as we knew it was from the Lord.
“My husband’s back was in poor condition. He had asked for a little time to see if he could find a doctor who could help him in some way. The doctor’s response was, ‘Just go home and learn to live with the pain.’ When we were set apart for our mission, my husband was promised that he would be blessed with better health. The promise was literally fulfilled.
“We entered the Missionary Training Center. Those few weeks we spent were very special to us. It was difficult for us to learn the discussions, but we found a close relationship with the Lord. As we did the very best we could, He blessed us. We knew we would have to rely on the Lord to help us after we had done all we could.
“There is a feeling of love and closeness at the MTC that cannot be found in any other place. We went to the temple each week. We found that, next to the temple, the MTC was the closest to being near our Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, that you could possibly find here on earth.
“The privilege of serving a full-time mission together was an outstanding time in our lives. It was a time during which we drew close together as we studied and prayed so much together. We learned more fully to depend upon one another. We found great joy in becoming more aware of one another’s strengths. We anticipated the opportunity of helping each other overcome our weaknesses. In the autumn of our lives, it was a time of ripening and cementing together. This is an experience every couple should have if they are physically able and can financially afford it.
“If they can’t afford it, their families would be greatly blessed if they would assist them. It would be much better than giving them a trip to Hawaii or Europe.”

I just started middle school, and it is so much fun. I found so many friends that rock, but lately I’ve been having trouble with a girl. Sometimes I come home crying because of her. But one day I said a prayer and had my dad give me a blessing. Now it’s the second semester of school, and I’ve had no problem with her. I’m so happy I have a Heavenly Father who loves me and a father who can give me a blessing to help me feel better.
September S., age 12, Florida, USA

Meet Charlene and Emmanuella, two sisters from the Bantama Stake in the Kumasi area. They bake bread under their label, “Bake Me,” and sell it. They were able to start this business because of what they learned at the gathering place. They continue to learn with their YSA friends and catering instructor, Josephine.

Perhaps the most tender expressions and examples of Joseph’s love for Emma and their children were those that came when he, because of Church work, persecution, or illegal imprisonments, was separated from his loved ones. His mind and heart were always with them, and he longed to be close to them. Even while he was doing the work of the Lord that he loved so dearly, Joseph’s constant concern was for his family and their welfare. While on a mission to New York and Canada in October 1833, he wrote: “I feel very well in my mind. The Lord is with us, but have much anxiety about my family” (History of the Church, 1:419). Joseph and Sidney Rigdon took their deep concern for their families to the Lord in earnest prayer and received the revelation contained in section 100 of the Doctrine and Covenants, where the Lord promised: “Your families are well; they are in mine hands, …
“Therefore, follow me. …
“Let your hearts be comforted” (D&C 100:1–2, 15).

On the first day of our vacation, we stopped at a park in a small town to eat lunch. As we put a tablecloth and paper plates on one of the picnic tables, Jimmy nudged me and pointed at an old man walking toward the tables. “He looks like the guys you see on TV—the ones who don’t have any place to live.”
“He really does,” I answered.
We watched as he came closer. “Do you suppose he’s going to ask us for something to eat?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
We were disappointed when he sat down at a table far from ours.
“Mom,” I said, “see that old man over there? Do you think he has a home anywhere?”
Mom stopped turning the hamburgers on the grill and looked where I was pointing. “No, Crissie,” she said, “he looks like he’s carrying everything he owns with him.”
“That’s what I thought too. Do you suppose he has anything to eat?”
“I don’t know,” Mom answered, “but he doesn’t look like he eats very often. He surely is thin.”
“Could we ask him to come and eat with us?”
“We have plenty of food,” Mom said. “Why don’t you check with Dad first. He’s over by the swings with Susan and Missy.”
When I asked Dad, he didn’t say yes right away. He said he wanted to get a little closer and see what this man looked like. He didn’t want to put any of us in danger.
As we began walking across the grass, the old man glanced curiously in our direction. It surprised me to think that he might be as curious about us as we were about him.
The closer we got, the harder it was for me not to stare. I had never seen anyone quite like this man before. His hair hung almost to his shoulders. It was the color of dirt and looked like it hadn’t been washed or combed for a long time. His face was tanned and wrinkled. His eyes were a milky blue-green color, and I wondered if he could see through that milky haze. But what really fascinated me was his mouth. There were wrinkles all around it, and when he opened it, I could see why. He had hardly any teeth. There was one on the top in the front, and maybe two or three on the bottom. I couldn’t see any more.
His clothes were old and dirty and just hung on his thin body. Next to him on the ground was an old army duffel bag.
As we drew near, he grew apprehensive. He reached down and pulled his duffel bag closer to him. Once again I was surprised to think that he might be afraid of us. “Hello there,” Dad said.
The man didn’t answer, but he didn’t take his eyes off us, either.
“My name is Mike Lambert,” Dad went on, just as if the man had greeted him warmly. “We’re fixing our lunch just over there, and we wondered if you’d like to join us.”
The old man looked up as if he hadn’t understood, so Dad said it again. “Would you like to join us for lunch? We’re just going to have hamburgers.”
Smiling his almost toothless smile, the old man said, “Nobody’s asked me to eat with them for a long time. That’s right nice of you.”
I ran ahead to tell Mom. She set another place at the table, and a few minutes later we all sat down. Our guest was getting ready to dig right in, when he noticed that we were all sitting with our arms folded. He quietly dropped his hands in his lap, and we all bowed our heads as Missy said a blessing on the food. She also thanked Heavenly Father for our guest and asked a blessing on him. When I looked up, I noticed tears in the old man’s eyes. I wondered if anyone had ever prayed for him before.
“No preacher could have said it any better,” he whispered.
Smiling through teary eyes of her own, Mom began to pass out the food. Jimmy and I were so fascinated at how our guest managed to chew his food with so few teeth that we forgot to eat our own. Mom nudged us and, without saying a word, let us know that we shouldn’t stare.
During the meal, we learned that our guest’s name was Joe. He was from Chicago but had traveled all over the United States. He didn’t know where his family was anymore. He’d lost track of them several years before. When Susan asked him if he had any children, he said, “Yes, I had two little girls. The last time I saw them, they were about the same size as you and your little sister. I guess they’re grown-ups now.”
Before we could ask any more questions, Mom asked if anyone would like another hamburger. Joe said that he would. He said he was going to save it for his supper. Mom promptly put several other things in some paper dishes and covered them and gave them to him too. “You might as well take some of this other food to go along with it,” she said.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said.
As we packed our things in the car, Joe carefully packed his food in his duffel bag. We waved to him as we drove away. He waved back for as long as we could see him.
“What will happen to Joe when it gets cold outside?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Mom said. “Maybe he’ll have gone to a warmer climate by then. Or maybe he’ll find a shelter to stay in.”
“I’m sure thankful we have a house,” I said.
“I am, too,” Mom replied, “and I’m also thankful for children who have caring hearts.”
We had a wonderful vacation that summer, but the thing I remember best was our lunch with Joe.

My family traveled to Hong Kong to be sealed in the temple, and we felt the Spirit. I was able to help the missionaries because I speak English!
Rosa P., age 9, Phnom Penh, Cambodia

Before Elder Derrick was called to be a General Authority, he operated a steel fabricating plant that he had started by saving twenty-five dollars a month from a meager wage. “After I had started in the business, I discovered that my grandfather had served two apprenticeships, the first for seven years to become a mechanic and the second for seven years to become a foundryman. He was well prepared to make a meaningful contribution to his newly found church. He later built the first iron stove to be manufactured in the state of Utah. Much to my surprise I found that he was in the same type of business in which I had become engaged.”