Gospel Story Finder

“What we wanted,” said President Michael Moulton of the Heber City Utah East Stake, “was some kind of meaningful project which would unite the youth of the stake for a few days of dedicated, all-consuming service.” Then he made it even tougher. “It should not only benefit the community, but teach our youth some basic skill.”
So should we have them construct log cabins, do plumbing, or lay brick? Or should we call in the Peace Corps?
The answer came when one of the leaders contacted Uinta National Forest officials, who suggested we organize a Touch America Project, which allows volunteers to learn about America’s natural resources by working under the direction of rangers on public lands. Ranger Roy H. Daniels said that to help with flood control, a rock wall needed to be built at Whiskey Springs picnic area in Daniels Canyon, before spring runoff began.
Youth leaders were called from each of the six wards in the stake. Footings were poured with donated concrete. Sand was hauled to the site, rocks were gathered, and soon portable mixers were stirring cement. With the help of a professional stone mason and a seminary teacher with previous cement experience, the youth began building the wall.
Work progressed over a number of successive Saturdays. The Forest Service was so pleased they asked us to extend the wall an extra hundred feet. Thanks to dry weather, the runoff was lower and later than usual, and we continued working through the end of May. On May 30 the final stones were laid, a cement cap was smoothed in place, and the project was completed.
I asked Kenneth Critchfield, of the Daniel Ward, how he felt about working on the project.
“I graduated from high school last night,” Ken said, looking a little bleary-eyed. “But I wouldn’t have slept in and missed this. I got here at 7:00 A.M. I just love the way this wall looks.”
If constructed professionally, the wall would have cost more than $15,000. Instead, it cost only time and labor. And it is now a monument to the youth of our stake. Imagine how they will feel when they bring their children here and tell them, “I helped build the wall.”

Benjamin Ming Zhe Tai was born on May 20, 1972, in Hong Kong to Kwok Yuen and Hui Hua Tai. His father’s employment took the family around the world before they immigrated to Southern California, USA, where Elder Tai spent his teenage years. In their home, his parents displayed a scroll with these words written in Chinese calligraphy: “As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord” (Joshua 24:15). This has served as the Tai family motto.

The years passed, and Cristina became a strong, smart, playful, and beautiful girl. When she was 12, she needed surgery to place an artificial valve in her heart. We worried whether she would survive the surgery, but with great strength and courage, she said goodbye to us and entered the operating room.
Cristina survived the operation and returned home to us. She always appeared happy and was grateful to Heavenly Father to be alive and to have the opportunity to learn and grow. Friends never imagined she had a heart defect, because she was very active.

The soldiers marched peacefully through Tucson, even though a small group of Mexican soldiers was stationed there, then beyond the Colorado River into a hot desert where water could be found only by digging deep wells. They suffered through scorching days and freezing nights. Many had worn out the bottoms of their boots and were walking practically barefoot. Some wrapped rawhide and rags around their feet to protect them from the hot sands.
The end of their 2,030-mile (3266-k) march came on January 29, 1847, when they reached Mission San Diego. Fortunately the Mexicans had already surrendered and the United States had control of California, so the Mormon Battalion helped protect and build up the areas where they served. On July 16, 1847, the men were discharged; eighty-one chose to re-enlist for another six months.
Most of the discharged men planned to join their families in the Salt Lake Valley. But President Brigham Young sent a messenger to them, requesting that the men without families remain in California for the winter. Many of those who stayed behind worked at Sutter’s Fort on the Sacramento River. They were involved in the beginning of the California gold rush. The next summer, however, they left the gold fields to rejoin the Saints.

One way we can share our testimony is to have a nativity in our home so we can spark conversations about the Lord’s birth. Another way is to relate stories like that of John Weightman in The Mansion.

John Weightman was a successful man whose charities brought him attention and renown. One evening, after perusing a pile of newspaper clippings praising him for his generosity, he picked up his Bible. Soon he fell asleep after reading the Savior’s words: “Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal” (Matthew 6:19).

As he slept, John found himself in “the heavenly city,” traveling with others as they received their mansions. When the Keeper of the Gate stopped in front of a tiny hut built of cast-off materials, he said to John, “This is your mansion.”

John protested, listing his many public contributions.

“Were not all these carefully recorded on earth where they would add to your credit?” asked the Keeper of the Gate. “You have had your reward for them. Would you be paid twice?”1

After I graduated from high school, I was drafted by the Los Angeles Dodgers on June 5, 1993. I had already signed a letter of intent to play baseball for BYU, and my plan was to go to college in Provo. After I had gone through the long, difficult process and come to the conclusion that I was going to go on a mission, I told the [baseball] scouts of my plans. I was called stupid by some scouts. But I did have one scout—the one who drafted me for the Dodgers—who told me if I went on my mission it would only help me when I returned to come and play baseball again. He said that’s mainly the reason why I was drafted. He just thought a mission would help me.

Well, my mission has helped me in more ways than that scout will ever know. I’ve had days out here where I’ll think back to when I was pitching, and I’ve come to realize that in the mission field there are more important things than baseball. I don’t think I really realized that back home. My testimony has grown a lot. I’ve learned so much out here about what I believe and about why I was given talents. I can see now that I can play baseball to build the kingdom of our Heavenly Father if I use that talent correctly. Had I gone straight into baseball without going on a mission, I might have fallen into the selfish I’m-playing-baseball-for-me trap.

Learning those lessons has been one of the great things about my mission. That’s why I’m so happy I chose to serve a mission, because that summer after I graduated from high school I wasn’t sure what I would do. I had this tempting offer from the Dodgers, but I had also signed a letter of intent to BYU.

When I got to high school, I made the baseball team and was a starting pitcher my freshman year. So when I was drafted, I had to jump back a little and look at things. I had a big decision to make. Would I accept the Dodgers’ offer, or would I go to BYU? Would I go on a mission?

Having already made that decision when I was younger really helped me as far as deciding about my mission and baseball. Once the Dodgers started talking money with me, I started getting really serious. I realized these guys were going to give me a lot of money to play ball for them. I needed to make a commitment one way or the other. I spent a lot of time on my knees never really feeling anything. I think part of the reason for that was because I was looking for the answer I wanted. I wanted to play professional baseball. I wanted that really bad.

Finally, by the end of the summer, I decided to sit down and kick everything out of my mind. Not long after, I had the feeling I should go to BYU and continue my baseball career there. I also had a strong feeling that I was supposed to go on a mission.

Many a major league scout came up to me and said the basic line, “If you play baseball you’ll be able to influence so many people.” I wondered if maybe that was what I was supposed to do.

It was during this time that I realized I needed to serve a full-time mission, and what the scouts were suggesting wasn’t for me. Now, almost two years since I was set apart as a missionary, I have a few new things to think about. Since the Dodgers lost the right to sign me when I went on my mission, I was eligible to be drafted again last June. I didn’t think any team would take a chance on me while I was serving a mission, but the Chicago Cubs did draft me. My plan right now is to finish my mission this month, and then return home and see what the Cubs are offering me. I’ll just have to wait and see.

Looking back on what has happened to me has helped me realize that the “sacrifice” I made to come on a mission was really not a sacrifice at all. I wouldn’t trade my mission experiences, good or bad, for all the money in the world. The Lord has made it possible for me to experience a mission and still continue to play baseball once I return.

I have loved my mission. I love baseball, but I also have loved the time I’ve been serving the Lord.

Baptized in snowy weather during the early spring of 1832, Brigham Young was confirmed at the edge of the water and ordained an elder in his home two miles away before the clothes were dry on his back. And before that year was over—an important year involving the death of his first wife and his initial meeting with the Prophet Joseph Smith—Brigham Young was out in the snow again, this time in an effort to share his new-found orientation to life with his friends in Canada.

In the cold of December, Brigham Young and his brother Joseph set out on foot for Kingston, upper Canada. This journey was to take the two young elders over a distance of 400 kilometers in snow knee deep with a thick layer of mud under it. Only those who have trudged through snow into mud can really appreciate the arduous task that these two missionaries underwent. To add to their discomfort, nearly ten kilometers of this journey was on ice—ice so thin that it bent beneath their feet, allowing the water to seep in until it was “half a shoe deep.”

For two months the missionaries labored in that area and baptized forty-five souls. Anyone who has seen his own inadequacies will appreciate knowing that missionary work was not an easy task for Brigham Young. He considered himself “about as destitute of language as a man could well be. …

“How I have had the headache, when I had ideas to lay before the people, and not words to express them; but I was so gritty that I always tried my best” (in Journal of Discourses, 5:97).

Another year and another mission passed before Brigham Young could finally settle his little family in Kirtland, where he drew close to the Prophet Joseph Smith. Twenty more souls came into the kingdom through his efforts as a result of a second mission, and he then led them to Kirtland, much as he would later lead the westward trek of the Saints. Once he had settled in the quiet little town of Kirtland in northern Ohio, Brigham Young began to learn about Zion, the dwelling place of the pure in heart, from the Prophet Joseph Smith.

It was final exams week at my university. As I walked home, my last test loomed heavily on my mind. I just couldn’t wait to finish it, pack my things, say a tearful good-bye to friends, and drive home to be with my family again. Before I knew it, I would be entering the Missionary Training Center and flying across the ocean to serve in the England Manchester Mission—if I could just make it through this last exam.
I was met at the apartment door by my roommate frantically telling me our apartment manager would be coming soon for check-out inspections. My anxiety heightened when I realized that, to avoid fines, my tasks would have to be completed before I went to take my final exam.
“What are my responsibilities?” I asked. She shoved the signup sheet at me and scurried off, noticeably guilty that I had been left with the last and most dreaded of the cleaning jobs: defrosting the refrigerator.
“Well, how bad can it be?” I thought. With my work, school, and social schedule, I was practically never home. In fact, I don’t think I ever opened the freezer that semester. What I saw shocked me. Three inches of ice entombed a bag of frozen vegetables along with several other unidentifiable items. Inwardly I groaned, knowing I would have very little time to cram for my test.
Without time to let the refrigerator defrost correctly, I turned to more creative ways. I tried picking at it with silverware, but the ice was solid. I borrowed a screwdriver and began chopping at the ice, making some headway. Encouraged by my progress, I became a bit careless, and after chipping away a large piece, I heard a quiet “sssssssss” sound, like air seeping out of a tire. Upon closer examination, I discovered a small puncture to the plastic-covered piping at the back of the freezer. After a few attempts to repair the hole, I called the apartment manager, who soberly congratulated me on “buying” my first refrigerator.
The weight of his words on my mind equaled the weight of the refrigerator. In one careless moment, I had incurred a debt I couldn’t possibly hope to pay. My savings were for my mission, and even then, I had to rely heavily on my parents for financial help.
I called my mom and dad in my time of great need. I felt terrible. After all they had done for me, how could I ask them to buy a useless refrigerator? I will never forget the feelings of love and compassion my dad expressed, assuring me that he would find a way to pay for it on my behalf.
Though I greatly appreciated his help at the time, it wasn’t until I was on my mission, trying to teach someone about the Atonement that my mind turned back to my broken refrigerator experience.

Then there is Charles Dickens’s Ebenezer Scrooge, whose journey takes him not from place to place but from time to time. It’s a journey right within his own heart that helped him to understand why he became the way he was and to see what would happen to him if he continued on his path of selfishness and ingratitude.

For the next nine years, he worked by day and attended school at night, earning degrees from The Richard Stockton College of New Jersey and Rutgers University Law School.

Ethan gazed at the colorful video game covers that lined the shelves. His parents said he could pick one game for a birthday present, and there were so many to choose from! Ethan’s eyes jumped from a car racing game to an adventure game to a dance game. Finally, he picked up the racing game and took it to his dad.
“Did you find one you like?” Dad asked.
“I think I want this racing game,” Ethan said.
“Looks fun,” Dad said. “What is it rated?”
Ethan turned the cover over. He knew he could only play games with certain ratings. When he first got his computer, his parents talked to him about the importance of following their family’s rule about video game ratings. Ethan knew that a lot of games had bad stuff in them, and he wanted to be obedient.
Ethan found the rating on the cover and showed Dad. “It’s rated for everyone,” he said.
“Great,” Dad said. “Let’s go pay for it. Happy birthday, Ethan!”
“Thanks, Dad!” Ethan grinned, excited to get home and try out his new game.
A few days later, Ethan went to his friend Chase’s house to play. He and Chase were in the same Primary class, and they played together a lot. Ethan took along his new video game.
“Hi, Ethan,” Chase said when he answered the door. “Come on in. I got a new video game we can play!”
“I did too!” Ethan said, holding out his game.
The boys settled in front of the computer, and Chase put in his game. The title flashed across the screen, and so did the rating. Ethan froze. It was a rating that he wasn’t allowed to play.
Chase eagerly navigated through the menus with his controller and started the game. Ethan didn’t see anything bad yet. He clicked his own controller to move his character in the game. It was fun, but the longer he played, the more uncomfortable he felt. He still hadn’t seen anything bad, but he wanted to follow his family’s rule.
“Hey, Chase, I’m not allowed to play games with this rating,” Ethan spoke up.
“Oh, it’s OK,” Chase said. “There isn’t anything bad in it.”
“Are you sure?” Ethan asked.
“Yeah,” Chase said. “My family plays it. I think it was given the wrong rating.”
Just then, Chase’s mom stuck her head into the room. “Hi, boys,” she said. “Is everything OK?”
Ethan swallowed hard. “Hi, Sister Murphy,” he said. “It’s just that I’m not allowed to play video games with this rating.”
“I told him there wasn’t anything bad in it,” Chase said.
Chase’s mom waved her hand. “Don’t worry, Ethan,” she said. “I know a lot of the games with that rating aren’t good, but I’m sure your mom would let you play this one.” She smiled and then left the room.
Chase continued playing, but Ethan put down his controller. “Chase, how about we play the racing game I brought?” Ethan asked.
Chase shrugged and kept staring at the screen. “Nah, I’d rather play this.”
Ethan quietly got up and went to Chase’s room, where he found some toy racing cars to play with. They weren’t as fun as his video game, but Ethan felt good knowing he was following his family’s rule.

In 1876, a renowned educator named Dr. William Clark1 was invited to come to Hokkaido to teach. He lived in Japan for just eight months, but his Christian spirit left a lasting impression on his young non-Christian students. Before leaving, he gave his students a parting message that has become immortalized in this bronze statue.2 He said, “Boys, be ambitious!”—“Be ambitious for Christ.”3 His injunction to “be ambitious for Christ” can help direct daily decisions for today’s Latter-day Saints.

In the summer of 2021, I took my family to Berlin, where I showed them the spot where the wall used to stand. It no longer stops God’s servants from sharing the message of the Restoration with the people of Eastern Europe. God’s miracles continue in our day.

Windows teach lessons never to be forgotten. Ever shall I remember a visit to the home of President Hugh B. Brown. It was graduation day at Brigham Young University. He was to conduct the exercises, and I was to deliver the commencement address. I drove to President Brown’s home and escorted him to my car. Before we could drive away, however, he said to me, “Wait just a few minutes. My wife, Zina, will come to the front window.”

I glanced at the window, noted that the curtain had parted, and saw Zina Brown sitting in her wheelchair, affectionately waving a small, white handkerchief toward the gaze of her smiling husband. President Brown reached into his jacket pocket, retrieved a white handkerchief, and began to wave it gently, much to the delight of his wife. We then inched away from the curb and commenced the journey to Provo.

“What is the significance of the white-handkerchief waving?” I asked.

He replied, “Zina and I have followed that custom since we were first married. It is somewhat a symbol between us that all will be well throughout the day until we are again together at eventide.”

That day, I witnessed a window to the heart.

President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985)
12th President of the Church
“Day after day I went alone and with great solemnity and seriousness in the upper rooms of the temple, and there I offered my soul and offered my efforts to go forward with the program. I wanted to do what [God] wanted. …
“We had the glorious experience of having the Lord indicate clearly that the time had come when all worthy men and women everywhere can be fellowheirs and partakers of the full blessings of the gospel. I want you to know, as a special witness of the Savior, how close I have felt to him and to our Heavenly Father as I have made numerous visits to the upper rooms in the temple, going on some days several times by myself. The Lord made it very clear to me what was to be done.”

Bryon Sorenson, now serving in the Oregon Mission, draws on his Playmill experience by asking people if he can come in and play their piano. Once inside, he plays LDS hymns and introduces the Church. Bryon baptized a talented young man named Randy Davenport who acted at the Playmill last summer. “I decided,” Randy says, “that if the Playmill could do for me what it did for Bryon, I wanted some of it.”

I often have trouble getting people to stop swearing and making inappropriate comments. The February 2010 New Era helped me to convince others to respect my beliefs. Although it is still difficult, it is easier to stand up for what I believe in.
Craig S.

Comedy is a major part of his art. One of his distinctive sketches depicts a traveler who cannot leave because his overloaded suitcase will not budge. The suitcase hangs at the end of the mime’s arm, all the exertions of his body seemingly unable to move it—until he opens the bag and throws out one handkerchief!

In Florida a young couple was visiting different denominations and finally happened upon an LDS church, where they attended a meeting. They said:
“We found it to be different from any church we’d visited before. After having the lessons and going to church, we decided this was the church we’d been seeking all along.” The mother stated that it was surprising to see what the children were learning about the Bible and Jesus Christ, the changes she noticed in their relating better to other children, and their helpfulness at home.
Family and home life also changed for them when her husband received the priesthood, which increased his self-confidence and desire to improve their family life and relationship.

Sister Wilson carefully studied each young child as she entered the Primary classroom. How they have grown and developed since January, she thought. She gathered them around her and began her lesson. “You are each very special! You have learned so many things. You have learned to sit reverently and listen to our lessons. Why, you can even say your own prayers!”
“Well, of course,” responded Clayton, “I’ve already been on this earth five years!”
Clayton’s lifetime seemed a very long time to him, and he saw no limits to what he could learn. Brothers and sisters, our children are eager to learn. They want to be taught. They need to be taught.