Gospel Story Finder

I left Albuquerque to go to school in Cambridge, Massachusetts. There was one chapel and a district that stretched across much of Massachusetts and Rhode Island. I drove the hills of that beautiful country to sacrament meetings in tiny branches, most in small rented facilities or little remodeled homes. Now there is a sacred temple of God in Belmont, Massachusetts, and stakes that spread across the countryside.

In my first week of junior high, my math teacher asked me to complete an equation in front of the class. Simple enough, right? Well, I couldn’t do it. Frightening thoughts raced through my mind. My heart pounded, I started sweating, my muscles tensed up, and I had difficulty breathing. I wanted to run away, but I felt trapped and afraid. For most of the year, I felt this way the moment I stepped inside the school each morning.
These kinds of feelings lasted all through high school. I worried about everything. Taking tests, meeting new people, speaking in public, going on dates, and competing in sports all made me feel uneasy. I worried about the future, and I feared I would never be good enough to face life’s challenges. I felt nervous and on edge much of the time, which made it hard for me to just get through a day.
The anxiety I felt was intense, and when the feelings came, all I wanted to do was avoid them. After a while, I noticed I was avoiding situations at school, with my friends, and even at church. Anxiety was controlling my life. I began feeling weak and too fragile to handle life’s ups and downs. I realized that I needed help with this challenge.
Sure enough, I was diagnosed with an anxiety disorder. I had a hard time dealing with it at first, but with the support of my family and others, I’ve learned a lot. I’ve learned that an anxiety disorder doesn’t mean I lack character or I’m weak. It’s like having high blood pressure or diabetes. It’s treatable and something that needs to be worked on—not something to be ashamed of. Yes, I have an anxiety disorder, but I also have hope.
I thought at first that there would be this one thing I could do that would make my anxiety go away forever. I prayed, fasted, and read my scriptures daily. I hoped that I would find permanent relief, but it never came. The treatment and assistance I’ve received have helped me learn that it takes persistence and patience to learn how to manage and cope with anxiety. I’m still learning, and I still struggle with anxiety from time to time.

As a boy, he had been one of those little children, so common in Korea, who follow the missionaries everywhere. The elders lived near Daeyoon’s home in Chinhae, so he would pester them for conversation, treats, games, any kind of fun. They were always patient and kind, so he came to like them. After a while, he started following them to church. When he was twelve, some missionaries taught him the discussions, and he was baptized. Because of the recurring warmth and loving attitude of the elders, he continued to be active in the Church.

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.

Now, my brothers and sisters, I reluctantly desire a personal indulgence for a moment. Some of you have noticed the absence of Sister Hinckley. For the first time in 46 years, since I became a General Authority, she has not attended general conference. Earlier this year we were in Africa to dedicate the Accra Ghana Temple. On leaving there we flew to Sal, a barren island in the Atlantic, where we met with members of a local branch. We then flew to St. Thomas, an island in the Caribbean. There we met with a few others of our members. We were on our way home when she collapsed with weariness. She’s had a difficult time ever since. She’s now 92, a little younger than I am. I guess the clock is winding down, and we do not know how to rewind it.
It is a somber time for me. We’ve been married for 67 years this month. She is the mother of our five gifted and able children, the grandmother of 25 grandchildren and a growing number of great-grandchildren. We’ve walked together side by side through all of these years, coequals and companions through storm and sunshine. She has spoken far and wide in testimony of this work, imparting love, encouragement, and faith wherever she’s gone. Women have written letters of appreciation from all over the world. We continue to hope and pray for her and express from the depths of our hearts our appreciation for all who have attended her and looked after her and for your great faith and prayers in her behalf. Now as we go to our homes, I feel to say:

Our donations are made holy by our faith. Recently I attended sacrament meeting in my own ward. Before the meeting began, a few people handed contribution envelopes to the members of the bishopric. They came with a smile and a happy countenance. These envelopes contained their tithes and other offerings which they were joyfully paying as a humble expression of their gratitude for the Lord’s blessings. This was a testament of their faith.

Bright lights. Screaming crowds. Thousands of fans on Facebook. When 17-year-old Gerson Santos became a top-10 finalist in the Portuguese televised musical talent competition Ídolos, he had to adjust to the fame and attention that came with his success. Gerson decided to embrace this unique opportunity to preach the gospel and quickly became known across the Portuguese media as the “Mormon competitor” willing to answer questions about his faith.

The snow had just
Begun to fall
When we lay down to sleep.
But in the morning
When we woke,
The snow was wide and deep—
Deep enough to dig a cave
Where we could sit and draw
Big cave pictures on the walls,
Of winter birds we saw.

Lonah loves the gospel and knows it’s the same all over the world. Her grandfather has been ill and is living in Australia while he receives treatment. When visiting him Lonah goes to Primary there. She says it’s different in Australia because there are many different classrooms and classes divided by age. In the Somosomo branch, Primary classes are held all together. But the lessons are the same.

Which would you rather do: Spend a day cruising the San Francisco Bay on a ship, or clean up a house in your neighborhood so that needy families can use it? Seems like a no-brainer, right? A hot summer day calls for some rest and relaxation. Case closed.
Closed, that is, unless you’re a priest or a Laurel in the Manteca California Stake. They gave up a planned one-day cruise to join with the younger youth to paint and clean a house designated for families that are getting back on their feet financially.
Okay, okay. So they helped. But they probably didn’t have a very good time, right?
Wrong again. Outside, young people doing yard work trimmed bushes into smiley-face designs. Inside, they raced to see who could clean up the fastest. All of the youth made the projects into games and had a good feeling about what they were doing.
“I could really feel the Spirit there, and I knew I was doing the right thing,” says participant Cherie Farnes.
Apparently, town leaders agree. The activity was covered in a local newspaper article, and an editorial urged others to follow the lead of the youth, saying, “The project shows what can be accomplished by volunteers who are committed and organized.”

They have found time in their busy lives to take part in service projects, and Saturdays often find them working cement at the construction site of a chapel for another ward. They themselves meet in a beautiful stake center with three Spanish-speaking wards. Their dedication to gospel ideals has not gone unnoticed. At least one young friend has decided to join the Church because of their example.

Cousins
Benjamin, Bryant, Katharine, and Andrew V.; Julia, Nathan, and David J.; Stephen, Callison, and Bensen J.; and Brigham and Brooklyn T. are all cousins. They gathered from their homes in Oklahoma, Tennessee, Utah, and Arizona for a family reunion. Together they went to the Mormon Battalion Visitors’ Center in California.

That one sentence, “It was worse than I ever anticipated,” contains an agony of heartbreak. What it meant was that her mother forbade her to reenter her childhood home. Her husband told her she must choose between her family and her faith; weeping in anguish, she refused to deny her testimony, and he abandoned her and her four little girls. Elizabeth found work in a woolen mill, laboring with the baby in a basket by the loom, and managing to support them all. Seeing her undefeated, William returned and took all four children to London. Under the law, there was nothing she could do to stop him or reclaim them.

Michael was going to Suzanne’s and Sara’s baptisms with Sister Ferguson. She always invited her Primary class to the baptisms of their classmates. Michael was glad that his family wasn’t going. Suzanne and Sara would be baptized by their fathers, and his family there would remind him that his father would not be baptizing him.
He was going to be eight soon, but he felt more worried than excited about his birthday. Sometimes that made him angry. Wasn’t a birthday supposed to be all fun? The ride to church was nice because Sister Ferguson didn’t mention his birthday. She talked about school and friends, his bike, and his cat.
Lots of people were at the baptism. Some were from the ward; others seemed to be relatives of Suzanne or Sara. Among those he recognized were Primary leaders, home teachers, bishopric members, friends, and even the missionaries with some investigators.
It is nice they are all here, he thought. I wonder if they came just because it is partof their job. It seemed to Michael that the parents cared the most about a kid’s baptism. And if one or both of your parents didn’t care, you were all alone.
Michael listened to a sister talk about baptism. She said that Suzanne and Sara were making promises to Heavenly Father and that Heavenly Father was making promises to them. The sister said that it was comforting to have a Father who always kept His promises. That made Michael feel a little better, but he was still sad and worried.
He got up close to the font to watch the baptisms. Afterward, he watched Sara and then Suzanne receive the gift of the Holy Ghost and wondered if Suzanne and Sara liked having all those hands on their heads. Did they know all those men?
After the service, Sister Ferguson approached him. “Did you like being at the baptism?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Are you thinking about your own baptism?” she asked him gently.
“Yes.”
“Why are you looking so worried?”
Michael stared at the floor. “Because I don’t have anyone to baptize me.”
Sister Ferguson gave Michael a hug and led him away. They walked over to a quiet place away from the others. “Do you remember in the baptism prayer hearing the words ‘Having been commissioned of Jesus Christ’?” she asked.
Michael thought a moment. “I think so.”
Sister Ferguson explained, “Being commissioned of Jesus Christ means acting for Him, using His power to do His will. Whoever baptizes must have His power, which is the priesthood. It doesn’t matter who actually puts you down into the waters of baptism, because that person is acting for Jesus Christ, not for himself.
“We are all brothers and sisters, children of Heavenly Father. We’re family. All the people at this baptism are here because they are happy to see Suzanne and Sara following the Savior’s commandment to be baptized and making a promise to follow Him. All the men who helped confirm them want to share the love and happiness they feel as members of Christ’s church. Any one of them would be honored to be a representative of Jesus Christ and baptize you. The important thing is for you to obey the commandment to be baptized and receive the gift of the Holy Ghost.”
Michael understood, but tears came to his eyes, anyway. “But I want my dad to baptize me.”
“I know,” Sister Ferguson said. “I wish he could too. All I can do is tell you how much I love you and how much more Heavenly Father loves you. And you won’t be the only one who didn’t get baptized by his father. The Savior Himself was baptized by John the Baptist. New members are often baptized by missionaries. Sometimes older brothers baptize their younger brothers or sisters. You can ask any worthy priesthood holder who has been ordained a priest or received the Melchizedek Priesthood. Why don’t you talk to your mother about it when you get home?”
Michael nodded. Then he went to get a drink and talk to his friends. It felt good to know that so many people really did care.

Elsie Power is one such sister, who writes: “I knew nothing about Zoom or technology and was afraid I might, press the wrong button but our bishop was there at the end of the phone, whenever needed, to walk me through the process. He is always available, and that is reassuring. I am now confident in using Zoom and enjoy meeting with the ward and now know how to contact my family members all over the world. It is a wonderful blessing and a friend who I once thought was my enemy.”

Years ago I switched all of my Church magazine subscriptions to the Liahona. It gave me the best of all the magazines and a broader worldwide perspective. However, its layout was sometimes confusing.
Now with the new Liahona, all my concerns with the layout are resolved, and the content is better focused and more substantive. Now, more than ever, the Liahona will continue to be part of my personal gospel study.
Larry D. Kump, West Virginia, USA

I was impressed with Elder Maxwell’s article “I Am But a Lad” in the May New Era. I wish with all my heart that youth today could understand their potential and believe in what they can become. Glorious changes come when you put your life in the Lord’s hands. I know. I did it myself several years ago. Before my conversion I had many bad habits. How grateful I am to those special friends who looked beneath the hardness and saw my potential as a daughter of God, who had the courage to call me to repentance and, with unconditional love, see me gain membership in the Church, change my life and attitude for the better, and put my life in my Father’s hands. My life is now rich and full of blessings, which include happiness through a better self-image, a temple marriage, a family, a home, Church callings, confidence, respect from those I associate with, and most important, a testimony! With God nothing is impossible!
Name Withheld

Have you ever thought what it would be like to spend Christmas in a country halfway around the world, among people with different religions and different customs than yours? That happened to me when I was eleven.
My father is a professor of Middle East history. He believes that it is important to understand the countries he teaches about and that the best way to learn about the people is to live there. For two years my parents, my two little sisters, and I lived and traveled in many countries of the Middle East.
Our hosts on this particular Christmas Eve were the Hassans in Egypt. Mohammed Hassan, a student of my father’s in the United States, had said: “When you go to Cairo, please visit my brother Ali and his family. It will make them very happy.”
We went from Lebanon, where Daddy was teaching, to spend our Christmas vacation in Egypt. When we arrived in Cairo Daddy telephoned Ali Hassan, who invited us to his home for dinner the next night—Christmas Eve. Mr. Hassan called for us in his car. He seemed pleased to meet friends of Mohammed. When we reached his home we were received with the familiar Arabic greeting, Ahalan-wasahalan (You are welcome here)!” He introduced his wife, their three little girls and baby boy, Mr. Hassan’s mother, who lived with them, and relatives who were visiting from Upper Egypt.
None of them spoke much English and we only knew a few words of Arabic, so I dreaded the long evening ahead of us. It was bad enough to be missing all the excitement of Christmas—gifts, parties, and the Christmas services—but having to spend Christmas Eve this way seemed like a nightmare. I wished we were back in our cold hotel room where we could celebrate by telling the Christmas story, hanging up our stockings, exchanging small gifts, and singing a few Christmas carols instead of sitting in uncomfortable silence for hours on end.
While we waited for dinner we sat in a circle in the living room, smiling and nodding at our hosts who smiled and nodded back. My father and Mr. Hassan and the relatives from Upper Egypt attempted to discuss Egyptian politics and history, but the conversation was stumbling and broken.
The rest of us just sat. Finally Mrs. Ali Hassan smiled at my mother and handed her the baby. My mother cuddled him and crooned to him and he gurgled back. Across the room I saw Mr. Hassan’s mother glance at them for a moment and then quickly look away. Most of the time she just stared shyly at the floor, almost as if she were afraid to look at us. Like many traditional Moslem women, she wore a black kerchief that covered her hair and part of her face. She seemed out of place in the modern apartment with its gilded furniture and television set.
At last dinner was served. We went into the dining room and there on the table was a huge turkey! I could hardly believe my eyes. Did the Hassans know that turkey was a Christmas tradition for many American families or was it just a coincidence? The table was loaded! There were meats, vegetables, rice and potato dishes, pickled lemons, a special green soup, and other foods. Mr. Hassan piled our plates with turkey, and the other dishes were passed around.
“Eat, please!” Mr. Hassan kept saying. “Do you not like our food?”
I ate until I was stuffed. I saw my mother and my sisters struggling to eat more than they wanted, to please the Hassans.
At last the dessert was brought in. There were sweet pastries and pudding and then fresh fruit that always comes at the end of a Middle Eastern meal. I took a tangerine and peeled it, and then I noticed that my seven-year-old sister Anne and my father seemed embarrassed. Try as they would, they could not cut or peel their fruit. Anne saw Mr. Hassan looking at her.
“You do not eat your fruit,” he said. “Do you not like it?”
“I can’t eat it,” Anne answered, grinning. “It’s not real fruit. It’s artificial.”
I looked around the table and realized that the Egyptian family had been waiting for this moment. Mr. Hassan’s mother started to laugh and then we all laughed. We laughed until we cried. When we moved back into the living room, we were all relaxed.
The rest of the evening passed quickly. Mom played singing games with the children until my sisters grew sleepy. Finally she signaled to Daddy that it was time to leave. As we started to say good-bye, Mr. Hassan said, “Please, wait a moment.”
Soon his mother appeared, carrying an ornate brass candlestick shaped like a cobra. She gave it to my mother and made a little speech that Mr. Hassan translated: “My mother wants you to have this candlestick. She says that now that she has met some Americans and knows that they are nice people, she will no longer weep for Mohammed.” Then Mr. Hassan explained that every day his mother cried for Mohammed because she didn’t know whether he was happy or if people in America were kind to him.
I saw tears in my mother’s eyes.
“Shukran, shukran (Thank-you, thank-you),” Mom said and hugged Mr. Hassan’s mother.
“Please tell your mother,” she said to Mr. Hassan, “that we will treasure this candlestick. It will remind us of your thoughtfulness and hospitality and help us remember that even without words people can communicate. Warmth and understanding and laughter can be shared by all people. We will never forget this Christmas Eve in Cairo that has been filled with the true spirit of Christmas.”
Then I realized that this was a joyful Christmas. Piles of presents and tinseled trees no longer seemed important.

Elder Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles organized, in June 2011, the Moscow Russia Stake—the first in Russia and the second in the area covered by the former Soviet Union. More than 1,100 people attended. Search “Nelson, Moscow” on news.lds.org.

My spirit today is one of gratitude but not one of self-congratulation. How well are we doing with what we have, with what we know? I am only hours away from a sobering interview with another beautiful young person who has apparently experienced failure of relationship at every level—with family, friends, leaders, teachers, even with God, she felt. She seemed so alone in the presence of great pressures that she surrendered to the enemy for a time. Now she has some help. She has learned that Christ the Lord has the answer; she will be liberated because she is looking to him who is strengthening her in this and all things.