Gospel Story Finder

I grew up in Idaho Falls, Idaho, on the edge of town. Across the street were fields where pheasants flew and where we played in the snow. Later our new chapel was built there. I went over every night after school to help build the chapel, handing bricks to bricklayers and cleaning up the construction site. I remember that I took great pride in that chapel. I wanted to take good care of it because I had helped build it.

Susan Buckles settled in Hilton Head, South Carolina, and visited the local family history library. The librarian asked Susan if she would like to volunteer there, and Susan said yes. “There is no way to measure growth unless you are actively involved,” says Susan. “Make yourself useful. Others will notice you and want you to help them.”

When I was young I had a bad case of the flu. My dad gave me a blessing. Many people in the temple prayed for me. I got better the next week. I am thankful for fathers’ blessings, temples, prayer, and the priesthood.David Brown, age 11, Duluth, Georgia

First of all, you should know that I am 15 years old, and I was asked to talk about how I get along with my family. I thought it must be a joke. So did my family when I told them. I could just as well tell you all I know about nuclear chemistry. My Grandma Kreitzer says 15 is a disease, but it does run its course. In our family, two brothers and a sister have gone through it and turned out all right, so there’s hope for me. But to be perfectly honest, I doubt there are many 15-year-olds who could talk from experience on getting along well in their family. I don’t suppose any of us treat our families like we should all the time. That’s why we should think about it occasionally. I was also told it was all right for me to begin my talk by saying, “Do as I say, not as I do.”

At that time, Elder Jones (from Utah) and Elder Erickson (from Canada) had been sent by President Thomas S. Bingham to open missionary work in Warrnambool. Local ministers warned townsfolk not to speak with them, claiming they would “brainwash your children.”
Elder Jones and Elder Erickson faithfully knocked on doors for three months and experienced total rejection. They were discouraged and depressed. Their faith was wavering. They wrote to President Bingham and asked to be transferred out of Warrnambool.
Eventually, a letter arrived from President Bingham. After prayerful consideration, he wrote, he had the strongest impression that there were people in Warrnambool ready to receive the restored Church. He encouraged them to go back to work and to visit places they had not been before.
The elders received the letter around the same time that Fred and Lois were praying for answers. A few days later, they knocked on the Meurs family’s front door at 68 Jamieson Street, Warrnambool. Lois answered, and the elders said they had a special message about Jesus Christ and His Church to share.
Elder Jones and Elder Erickson returned the following week and began teaching Lois and Fred. As they taught, they answered every question on Fred and Lois’s long list. They explained the nature of God, priesthood authority, the Resurrection and life after death, the purpose of life, developing faith, and the ordinances of baptism and the sacrament.
Fred and Lois opened their scriptures—already marked from their earlier study—and found confirmation for everything the missionaries were teaching.
Years later, when I was called as an Area Seventy, I spoke with Elder Bruce Jones about this experience. He told me that their time in Warrnambool, up to the point of meeting my parents, had been a great trial of his faith. But teaching Fred and Lois and having them respond with confirming scriptures from the New Testament rekindled his faith and became a turning point in his life.

One day as I was riding home on a bus from a sporting event, someone on the bus started a game of truth or dare. Bored, some of the other kids and I joined in. When it came to my turn, I was dared to do something that I knew wasn’t right. This could’ve been a hard decision for me to make, but the words of my Young Women leader came to my head, and the choice was easy. I quickly declined. I had already made up my mind on what I would do in that situation.

At the beginning of 2014, Gabin found an article online reporting that Elder David A. Bednar, of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, had a few months earlier been in Libreville. It was just after the Gabonese government had officially recognized the Church and had permitted the beginning of missionary activities. Elder Bednar had dedicated the country of Gabon for the preaching of the gospel and he had organized the Libreville Branch. Gabin was stunned. For more than eight years he had likely been the only endowed member of the Church living in Gabon and suddenly there was a branch organized in his home city.
Using an email address found in the article, Gabin wrote to the Africa Southeast Area office, asking questions about the Church situation in Libreville. Elie Monga, president of the Brazzaville mission in the Republic of Congo, was informed and a few days later, while at work, Gabin received a visit from Elder Michael Moody, the first senior missionary to serve in Gabon.
After their initial greeting, Gabin said to Elder Moody, “I have a few questions. First, where can I pay my tithing?” For more than eight years, Gabin had carefully kept his tithing money in a small box.
“Second,” he asked, “Where can I buy new temple garments? Eight years ago, I brought a few to Libreville, and every night since I have been carefully hand washing them.” Elder Moody went to the car, opened his suitcase, and gave Gabin a brand-new pair of garments that he had been prompted to pack in his travel case that morning.

Like any camp, we also had our cleanup time. The tents were dismantled, the dams broken down, the turf replaced where the fire had been. For our last meal, Brother John Dale, our chef de cuisine treated us to fish and chips from Barnard Castle.
We picked up our tents and equipment and climbed the hill for the last time. Looking back, the field seemed bare, except for yellowed patches of grass where the tents had been. All that we have now are the memories.

I once was the student of a great seminary teacher. He was a part-time seminary teacher who had been a missionary in Czechoslovakia before World War II. He said that they had no missionary lesson plan then. The missionaries wrote their own discussions.
The man who became my seminary teacher and his companion prepared carefully what they would teach each day. Each evening they prepared a first discussion for the next day. On one day, in the morning, they went out tracting. Late in the day, they finally found a woman who reluctantly allowed them into her home.
My future teacher’s companion began to present their prepared discussion. The junior companion watched the woman’s face and her eyes. He could sense anger and almost hatred. He became puzzled and then alarmed enough to speak.
He interrupted his companion and said, “Excuse me, I sense … ,” and then described what he felt was her anger and irritation. She said something like this: “Yes, I’m angry. I hate you, and I hate all ministers of religion.”
She said that she’d had a child born, and the child had died as an infant. Her priest had told her that the child would go to hell because of not having been baptized. Then she said, “I hate all religion, and I hate you.”
The young junior companion said, “We’re here to help you.” Then he opened the Book of Mormon to Moroni, the eighth chapter, verse 14. He read to her: “He that supposeth that little children need baptism is in the gall of bitterness and in the bonds of iniquity; for he hath neither faith, hope, nor charity; wherefore, should he be cut off while in the thought, he must go down to hell.”
The woman was interested.
“For awful is the wickedness to suppose that God saveth one child because of baptism, and the other must perish because he hath no baptism” (Moro. 8:15).
And on to verse 22: “All little children are alive in Christ, and also all they that are without the law. For the power of redemption cometh on all them that have no law; wherefore, he that is not condemned, or he that is under no condemnation, cannot repent; and unto such baptism availeth nothing.”
When I heard this story more than 50 years ago, I was impressed. Think of the miracles that came to that young missionary! He sensed her heart. He acted on her need. He remembered the message of the scriptures. The Spirit told him which scriptures would help her and where they are in the Book of Mormon. What miracles! If it could happen then, it can happen again, and often.

This year I was asked to be Santa in the school play. I was thrilled! I borrowed my papa’s Santa suit. All the little kids were excited when I walked into the gym all dressed up in the white beard and red suit. It was really fun being Santa. The best part was yet to come.
My papa dresses up like Santa every year and visits the nursing home in our town. It makes the older people there so happy. He told me that I should go to the nursing home dressed in the Santa suit and that it would probably be my favorite part of Christmas.
So after the play at school, my mom brought some oranges and we went to the nursing home. My little brother, Jaden, came along as Santa’s helper. I already knew a lot of the people there because our school class had visited the nursing home several times. I hoped that they wouldn’t recognize me!
When I walked in the door, I started ringing some Christmas bells that I had brought and shouting, “Merry Christmas!” A group of little grandmas was sitting at the end of the hall. When they heard the bells, they all looked at me and smiled. I gave them each an orange and visited with them. One lady asked, “Why have you come to see me?” I told her that I had come because it was Christmas and I wanted to make sure that she was being good. They all wanted their picture taken with Santa.
But the best part was when I went to visit Bill. He wasn’t in the hall. He was in his room with the door closed. That’s where Bill always is. He never speaks, and he usually doesn’t like visitors at all. I knew that because I had tried to make friends with him before but had never had any luck. The nurse was worried about me going into his room. I asked her if I could see him for just a minute. She opened the door, and I could see Bill lying with his back toward me, watching TV. I started to jingle the bells. As soon as Bill heard the bells, he slowly turned toward me. He sat up on his bed, and he got the biggest smile on his face. I wished him a merry Christmas and gave him a hug. He looked just like a little boy on Christmas morning. The nurse who was with me had a tear running down her cheek. She said that she had never seen Bill smile before.
My papa was right. I had the best feeling that night. I think that visiting the nursing home as Santa was one of my favorite parts of Christmas.

One of my most insightful spiritual experiences occurred when I was thirteen or fourteen years old.
I grew up in Salt Lake City, Utah, and the Church was a large part of my life. One day the Aaronic Priesthood boys in our ward went to Welfare Square for a service project.
We were assigned to unload a large railcar full of lump coal. We were to climb up on the load and throw lumps of coal off to either side of the track.
At first, it was fun, a new adventure. It was fairly easy to toss the coal off. However, as we worked our way down into the railcar, it became necessary to pick up the lumps, raise them over our heads, and throw them over the side. By then we were getting tired and very dirty. The lumps of coal seemed heavier and heavier. It became a difficult task.
I remember going home that night and taking a bath. I had coal dust all over me. It was in my throat and nose. I could taste it and smell it. I felt terrible and decided that I would avoid doing anything like that again.
A few weeks later my family celebrated the Thanksgiving holiday. Under my parents’ guidance, we had prepared little boxes of food for the widows in our neighborhood. My sister and I made popcorn balls and wrapped them in waxed paper. My mother made cookies. We also added fruit and some candies to the boxes. We took these gifts to the homes of five or six widows.
No lights were burning in the last home. We knocked and waited, but no one came to the door. Just as we were about to leave, we saw a light appear at the end of the long hall. Then we heard the footsteps of this elderly sister, who lived alone. She opened the door, greeted us, and invited us in.
As we walked down that long hallway. I felt the cold. There was no heat at all in the house except in the small room at the end of the hall, where she invited us to sit down. A fire was burning in the small fireplace there.
We presented the elderly sister with our gift, sang some Thanksgiving songs, then began to talk about the things for which we were grateful. When it was our hostess’s turn, she said, “One of the things I am grateful for is that you came tonight instead of last night. This afternoon I received a delivery of lump coal from Welfare Square, and so we are able to all sit here and enjoy this fire.” I realized that I had helped make the coal available to her.
That was an impressive experience for me. I sensed as never before the importance of the gospel principle of caring for others. I saw the earlier experience of unloading that coal in an entirely different light and with an entirely different spirit. That Thanksgiving experience has affected me the rest of my life.

Alma Elizabeth, with her family and the other Saints, took a long train trip to Iowa. There they joined wagon trains going to Utah. She walked the entire way, except when she got into a wagon to cross a deep river.
Alma Elizabeth’s father had trouble walking. In Sweden he had been a concert violinist and an orchestra director. Then rheumatism crippled him. Slowly he learned to use his hands and feet again, but it was difficult and painful. Elizabeth’s father was unable to keep up with the wagon train, and he insisted that his family go on ahead, promising to catch up with them.
Her father struggled on until he spotted a light. It was a camp of soldiers on their way to the Civil War. One soldier spoke Swedish. When they learned that Alma Elizabeth’s father was a musician, they found a violin and he played it for them. In the morning they took him on horseback and caught up with the wagon train.

I am impressed with the deep humility of President Kimball. Years ago he related an experience that emphasizes that the person in a Church position is not as great as the calling. Elder Spencer W. Kimball gives us this story:
“In a hotel in the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania long years ago, I learned an important lesson when the president of the Rotary International said to the district governors in the assembly:
“‘Gentlemen: This has been a great year for you. The people have honored you, praised you, banqueted you, applauded you, and given you lavish gifts. If you ever get the mistaken idea that they were doing this for you personally, just try going back to the clubs next year when the mantle is on other shoulders.’
“This has kept me on my knees in my holy calling. Whenever I have been inclined to think the honors were coming to me as I go about the Church, then I remember that it is not to me, but to the position I hold that honors come. I am but a symbol.” (In Conference Report, Oct. 1958, p. 57.)

While planning things that needed to be done at Providence House, several items on the list became good ideas for one person to take on as a Laurel project or as part of an Eagle Scout project.
Megan Baillio was excited to take on the redecorating of several rooms used for children who stay overnight. She worked with her mother in learning to sew quilt tops and curtains for the rooms. She organized groups at the youth conference to tie the quilts.

He also wrote to his wife every day. Sometimes the letters would not be delivered to her regularly. One day she received 90 letters, and her boss gave her the afternoon off to read them.

Hey, Hot Shot. Did Mom talk to you about the piano yet?
If it’s missing, I didn’t take it.
You think you’re funny, but it sounds like we’re both going to be taking the piano.
You mean taking piano lessons again?
Yeah, Mom found out that Sister Jenkins gives lessons.
I don’t like practicing, but playing was starting to be fun. And Dad says knowing how to play will come in handy on my mission.
Mom says if I keep playing, I’ll be really glad some day. She loved playing the piano in Primary. Besides, I was finally learning some fun songs.
Fun for you, maybe. But the rest of us had to listen to you!

I just wanted to express my appreciation for your wonderful magazine. It brings so much warmth and love into my life. Last year I was unable to receive the New Era because of certain circumstances, and I missed the positive spirit that accompanies each issue. Luckily for Christmas I was able to receive a renewal of my subscription. Yesterday, I found my New Era in the mail and was ecstatic. Thank you for your inspiring articles and clever and uplifting Mormonads.
Amanda TerryFresno, California

If by any chance there are doubts in any hearts within the sound of my voice, or if your own testimony is at all shakey at the moment, hang on to ours while yours grows. I know that God lives, and I know that Jesus is the Christ and a necessary Redeemer, that he loves us and that his principles suffice. On this very special occasion of my maiden voyage, as it were, I am thankful to be able to personally testify that as President Kimball placed his hands upon my head with the other Brethren, President Tanner and President Romney, to set me apart as the general president of the Young Women of the Church, I felt, through the power of the Holy Ghost, that sweet and undeniable witness of the validity of his calling as prophet. This church is true, sisters. The system—priesthood, womanhood—is a blessing to us.

Brothers and sisters, this is Sammy Ho Ching, seven months old, watching general conference on television in his home last April.
As time approached to sustain President Russell M. Nelson and the other General Authorities, Sammy’s arms were busy holding his bottle. So he did the next best thing.
Sammy gives entirely new meaning to the concept of voting with your feet.

His older brother Craig had a basketball scholarship at Utah State University in Logan, Utah, and was trying to decide whether to serve a mission or continue his college career.
“One night at dinner I said [to him], ‘Hey, if you go on a mission, I’ll go on a mission,’” Elder Taylor recalled. Both brothers ended up serving, with Elder Taylor going to the Spain Seville Mission.