Gospel Story Finder

Imagine yourself on a trip to Mars. You have been traveling for several months and the red planet now looms before you. Peering out of your spaceship through the pane of glass that protects you from the cold vacuum of space, a fantastic drama unfolds before your eyes as the great sphere rotates on its axis and new features of its surface emerge from the dark of night into the light of day.
To the north or top of the disc, with bright clouds trailing from its summit, stands Ascreaus Mons, one of the giant Martian volcanos. To the south or bottom of the disc, with a thin layer of gray white frost glimmering in the morning sun, lies the great Argyre meteor crater. Suddenly, however, your attention is drawn to a third feature midway between the two, a giant scar upon the land that stands out in stark relief against the red terrain. Rubbing your eyes in disbelief, you look again. Yes, it’s still there—and growing bigger! As it moves into the full light of day, you see that it is a giant system of canyons that stretches more than a quarter of the way around the globe. Then you remember. It is the Valles Marineris, the Grand Canyons of Mars.
Think again, now, about your imaginary spaceflight. If you were really on a trip to Mars, what would you take along to help you remember the journey? A camera? Right! And that is just what scientists do whenever they send a spacecraft to another planet. Their snapshots are one of the ways that we are expanding our knowledge of the great variety of God’s creations. In the Valles Marineris we have one more example of His magnificent handiwork.

Today is the first Sunday of April 1993. Go back with me an even century to this same Temple Square. No, make it an even 101 years. It is April conference of 1892. These grounds are crowded with people. The multitude is the largest ever assembled in this area of the West. There are thousands and thousands of them. All cannot get on the grounds, so large is the number. They are on surrounding streets. Some have climbed telephone poles; others, trees. The occasion is the placing of the capstone of the temple, the great round granite sphere which crowns the highest steeple on the east end. It is a day of celebration. Atop the ball is a bronze figure gilded with gold. The figure represents Moroni—prophet, writer, and compiler of the Book of Mormon. The figure represents the angel spoken of by John the Revelator when he declared with prophetic vision:
“And I saw another angel fly in the midst of heaven, having the everlasting gospel to preach unto them that dwell on the earth, and to every nation, and kindred, and tongue, and people,
“Saying with a loud voice, Fear God, and give glory to him; for the hour of his judgment is come: and worship him that made heaven, and earth, and the sea, and the fountains of waters” (Rev. 14:6–7).
In the presence of that multitude, President Wilford Woodruff touched a switch. The capstone with the angel settled in place. President Woodruff led the multitude in a great and sacred shout: “Hosanna! Hosanna! Hosanna to God and the Lamb!”
There had been nothing before it and there has been nothing just like it since.
The shout was an expression of worship. It was an expression of gratitude. This was an unequaled day of thanksgiving. This was a day of which these people had dreamed for almost forty years. You have heard and read and seen much recently concerning that forty-year struggle.
In July of 1847 Brigham Young had pointed out the location, only four days after the pioneers arrived in the valley. That spot had been marked by Wilford Woodruff. On April 6, 1853, the cornerstones were laid. All of you are familiar with the history of the years that followed—years of effort and heartbreaking disappointment; years of labor in sunshine and storm to bring great blocks of granite from these everlasting hills and to dress that stone, each piece according to a carefully designed pattern; years of unyielding faith in the pursuit of a goal.
These were years during which three other beautiful temples had been erected in this territory—in St. George, in Logan, and in Manti.
But the greatest dream of all centered here on Temple Square. And now by April of 1892 the exterior walls, steeples, and roof had been completed. Small wonder that the people shouted hosanna. A generation and more had passed since the work had commenced. Wilford Woodruff was now eighty-five and President of the Church. Before the vast crowd assembled on that day, Elder Francis M. Lyman made a motion that they now finish the interior and dedicate the temple one year from that day, April 6, 1893, forty years from the day of the laying of the cornerstones.
A mighty shout of approval filled the air.
But it was one thing to say yes in the excitement of the occasion and another to actually accomplish the work. Some with practical minds and substantial experience said it could never be done.
The building was a shell. A mighty work of consecrated effort was commenced to finish the interior.
Floors were laid, partitions set in place, plumbing installed, and electrical lines run. And then came the tremendous finishing work.
Wooden lath by the mile was nailed to the framing. Lime by the ton was slaked to become plaster. Timber was cut, seasoned, sawed, and shaped into magnificently beautiful woodwork.
It must have appeared impossible to get all of this done in a year’s time. But craftsmen who had learned their exacting trades in Europe and the British Isles, and who had come as converts to these valleys of western America, exerted themselves unsparingly. Somehow it happened. Somehow it all came together, and this within a period of twelve months.
Wonder of wonders and miracle of miracles, it was ready on the fifth of April. Leading newspapers of America had sent correspondents. Unstinting was their praise of what they saw. The day before the dedication President Woodruff invited a substantial number of nonmembers of the Church to go through the building. They were moved. They recognized that here was beauty that had come not alone of skill but also of inspiration.

“When the announcement came in 2007 that a temple would be built in Manaus,” José says, “I wept for the great joy I felt, and I prayed that the Lord would allow me to live long enough to see the groundbreaking,” which occurred a year later. Now he prays that he will live to see the temple completed and his wife baptized so that they can be sealed.

Six-year-old Katie loves peaches. But she lives in Las Vegas, Nevada, where it is too hot for peaches to grow well. Luckily she has a neighbor named Daun who knows a lot about growing fruits and vegetables. He and his wife, Alice, have a peach tree that grows big, beautiful, very tasty peaches.
One day Alice came over with a big bag full of peaches. “Would you like some peaches?” she asked. “This year we seem to have more than usual.”
Katie’s mom thanked her and took the peaches into the kitchen. She washed them and put them into the refrigerator.
Later that week, while Katie was at a friend’s house, Mom bottled all of the peaches in big glass jars for their food storage. When Katie got home, she cried, “What did you do to my peaches? Now I don’t have any to eat.”
“I’m sorry,” Mom said. “The next time Alice brings over peaches, I’ll be sure to save you some.”
A few days later, Alice brought more peaches. Katie helped Mom wash them. Then she watched Mom put most of them in boiling water. After they were dipped in cold water, Katie cut them in half with a butter knife. She couldn’t help tasting a piece. She kept tasting pieces until she got full. “Mommy, why are we putting my big, beautiful peaches into these glass jars?” she asked.
Her mother explained that they were for food storage. “We are going to do what Joseph in Egypt did.” Katie wanted to hear about Joseph, so while they bottled the peaches, Mom told her the story of Joseph and his coat of many colors. She told Katie about how his brothers sold him into slavery in Egypt, where he became a friend of Pharaoh. She explained that Joseph told Pharaoh to store food during the seven years when there was lots of it. Then they could eat it during the seven years when there would be very little food for them.
“The prophet has asked us to store food while we can, because we may need it later,” she said. Katie wanted to follow the prophet, so she decided that putting the peaches in bottles was a good idea. She had learned a lot more than how to bottle fruit.
Katie didn’t want to wait for a famine, though. She was glad that they had saved some of the big, beautiful, very tasty peaches for her to eat right away.

They recently moved from Eagar, Arizona, to nearby Show Low, where their family business includes a hotel and car wash. Devastating wildfires struck the area last summer. Elder Shumway recalls that for three nights in a row, a television announcer stated the fire would be in Show Low by the next morning. The fire never reached the town, and the announcer finally said that there was a power at work higher than he had ever seen—he could not explain it.
“Had the fire come through, I do not think I would be sitting here today,” says Elder Shumway. “It would have been devastating.”
His family and business were spared, and he is grateful for the new opportunity to serve. “I deem it a privilege to go preach the gospel of Jesus Christ,” he says.

He also met his wife-to-be, Jill Featherstone, at BYU. She was teaching the Gospel Doctrine class in her student ward. Invited by his brother, Elder Taylor visited her class and met her. A romance blossomed, and they were married on April 30, 1987, in the Salt Lake Temple. They are the parents of seven children.
Sister Taylor is the only daughter out of seven children of Elder Vaughn J. Featherstone, emeritus General Authority, and Sister Merlene Featherstone. “They were just really accepting and kind,” Elder Taylor said of his in-laws. “I felt immediately loved.”

Each of us has an opportunity to serve people through callings and to feel that we are “no more strangers and foreigners, but fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God” (Ephesians 2:19). I clearly and profoundly remember that shortly after I was baptized, my branch president assigned me to take the roll for Sunday School classes. I was glad to have this assignment. Each class I would excitedly hold the name list and check off each name. As time went by, I gradually got to know each member of the Sunday School. I soon became acquainted with all the members and would care about those who were absent. I felt privileged and happy that I could do my part for the Lord’s Church. I also felt that the Lord had taught me and blessed me in this assignment.

I asked myself what I could do to enjoy the scriptures more. First, I figured I’d better start saying a prayer before I read. In that prayer I could ask for an open heart and mind so I could understand what I read. Second, I found out if I read out loud I could keep my mind on one subject. The last thing I do is think about what I read.
If I still have questions there are plenty of people to ask—one of whom I pray to every night.
Shelly Saling, 15,Mokane, Missouri

Then there was the couple who took a small electronic organ to one of the islands in the South Pacific. They used it in their meetings. Since it was the only instrument of that kind on the island, the people flocked to hear it and sing with it. Even the members of other churches went to the Latter-day Saint meetings because they wanted to sing with the beautiful music.

In an area encampment held in Arizona this summer, an Eagle Scout banquet was held to honor 1,150 Eagle Scouts. During that banquet, every Eagle Scout committed himself to serving a mission.

When I was younger, the only thing I thought about during the sacrament was how I could be quiet. Now that I am a priesthood bearer, I understand that for the sacrament to have meaning and help me grow spiritually, I need to reflect during it. I think about the Savior’s Atonement and how He showed love for us. I also think about how taking the sacrament can strengthen my faith and desire to fulfill my baptismal covenant.
Levi F., age 19, Abia, Nigeria

I was living up in Canada. I had purchased a farm. It was run-down. I went out one morning and saw a currant bush. It had grown up over six feet high. It was going all to wood. There were no blossoms and no currants. I was raised on a fruit farm in Salt Lake before we went to Canada, and I knew what ought to happen to that currant bush. So I got some pruning shears and clipped it back until there was nothing left but stumps. It was just coming daylight, and I thought I saw on top of each of these little stumps what appeared to be a tear, and I thought the currant bush was crying. I was kind of simpleminded (and I haven’t entirely gotten over it), and I looked at it and smiled and said, “What are you crying about?” You know, I thought I heard that currant bush say this:
“How could you do this to me? I was making such wonderful growth. I was almost as big as the shade tree and the fruit tree that are inside the fence, and now you have cut me down. Every plant in the garden will look down on me because I didn’t make what I should have made. How could you do this to me? I thought you were the gardener here.”
That’s what I thought I heard the currant bush say, and I thought it so much that I answered. I said, “Look, little currant bush, I am the gardener here, and I know what I want you to be. I didn’t intend you to be a fruit tree or a shade tree. I want you to be a currant bush, and someday, little currant bush, when you are laden with fruit, you are going to say, ‘Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for loving me enough to cut me down. Thank you, Mr. Gardener.’”

My admiration almost had no bounds one day when a young man from Murray came in to be interviewed for a mission. He’d saved $2,900 for his mission from his Marine pay in three years and nine months and fifteen days. By doing odd jobs which others wished to escape, he had $2,900 for his mission. Just a boy without a job, without a place, without a home, without somebody to keep him busy. But he caught the idea and went out and did other people’s work on the ship, and saved his money for this important thing.

One of the most common ways people learn is by watching others. Dating is no different. In the dating academy, we spend time observing others in dating situations. In our family, we learned many pointers—some to do, others to avoid—by watching dates in progress at restaurants and other settings. Yes, we went to certain places with the sole purpose to observe dates for “class.”

I was only 15 when I first met the full-time missionaries—two nice young men with something unusual in their countenances. Although I didn’t remember much of what they said during the first missionary discussion, I couldn’t forget the good feeling I had when I talked with them.
I was president of my church’s local youth group, and I was not interested in changing religions. In fact, when my older brother and sister decided to be baptized, I felt betrayed. Even though I did not approve of what they were doing, I went to their baptismal service to support them. It was hard for me to admit, but at the baptism I felt that good feeling again.
As time passed, I became better and better friends with the missionaries. Finally, I resigned from my position as my church’s youth group president, but I still wasn’t sure I wanted to be baptized.
Then one day one of the elders came to my home with a ward member. I said, “Elder, I would like to work with you sometime.” He replied, “I’m sorry, but you must be a member of the Church before you can be a missionary.”
Several days later I picked up the pamphlets the elders had left at my home. Reading them one by one, I looked up the Bible and Book of Mormon scriptures they referred to. Then, putting Moroni’s promise to the test, I prayed to know if the Book of Mormon was true. The Spirit testified to me that it indeed was true, and six months after meeting the missionaries, I was baptized.
The first thing I did after my baptism was ask the missionaries if I could work with them now. “You must wait until you receive the Aaronic Priesthood,” they replied. Two weeks later I did receive the priesthood. That same day, I went out with the elders. And as I walked along with them, I decided that someday I too would be a full-time missionary.

President Faust shows how selfless service made an empty cart full and a full cart empty.
Some years ago a priests quorum decided to gather food for the needy as a service project. Jim, one of the priests, was excited to participate and was determined to collect more food than anyone else. The time arrived when the priests met at the chapel. They all went out at the same time and returned at a specified time later in the evening. To everyone’s surprise, Jim’s cart was empty. He seemed rather quiet, and some of the young men made fun of him. Seeing this and knowing that Jim had an interest in cars, the adviser said, “Come outside, Jim. I want you to look at my car. It’s giving me some trouble.”
When they got outside, the adviser asked Jim if he was upset. Jim said, “No, not really. But when I went out to collect the food, I really got a lot. My cart was full. As I was returning to the chapel, I stopped at the home of a nonmember woman who is divorced and lives within our ward boundaries. I knocked on the door and explained what we were doing, and she invited me in. She began to look for something to give me. She opened the refrigerator, and I could see there was hardly anything in it. The cupboards were bare. Finally, she found a small can of peaches.
“I could hardly believe it. There were all these little kids running around that needed to be fed, and she handed me this can of peaches. I took it and put it in my cart and went on up the street. I got about halfway up the block when I just felt warm all over and knew I needed to go back to that house. I gave her all the food.”
The adviser said, “Jim, don’t you ever forget the way you feel tonight, because that’s what it is all about.” Jim had tasted the nutrient of selfless service.

Since it was near the beginning of the school year, being only the second week of classes, his teachers didn’t make much of a fuss over him. He sat unknown in his first two classes. When the bell rang, old friends joined up, leaving him alone and ignored.
His 11:00 class was sociology. It took him a long time to find the room, so that by the time he arrived, it was already nearly full. He found an empty desk and sat down.
To his left a boy was scanning a “men’s” magazine. As he slowly turned each page on his desk, he grinned, chattering a stream of crude remarks to his friend ahead of him.
Kevin looked away to avoid seeing the picture spread blatantly on the desk next to his. He felt his stomach churning; he clenched his teeth tightly, thinking sarcastically that he wished his father were there to see some of the new friends he was making in his new school.
“Hey, are you new here?”
Kevin turned back and saw the boy facing him, holding the rolled-up magazine in one hand. Nodding his head, he said, “Yeah, we just moved here.”
“Great. They call me Fitzie,” he said, flashing a broad grin. “Hey, have you seen this issue yet? Go ahead, take a look.” He plopped the magazine on Kevin’s desk.
Kevin’s mind raced, his internal defense and prosecution lawyers giving their arguments why he should or should not open the magazine to avoid offending the only person who had made any attempt to be a friend.
“C’mon, hurry up,” the boy said impatiently. “Class is going to start in a minute. You do want to look at this, don’t you?”
Kevin paused for what seemed a long time, then with a smile handed the magazine back. “Later. There’s not enough time now.”
At first he thought it had been a victory. After all, he thought, I didn’t look at the magazine. But a gnawing uneasiness bothered him.
The class began with Mr. Martin yelling to get everybody to quiet down. Mr. Martin had the voice and face of a movie gangster, but either because of that or in spite of it, he had control and the interest of his class.
“Today,” he said, leaning against the front of his desk, “we’re going to talk about what ethical basis you use in making decisions or why you do the things that you do. Fitzie, you usually have something interesting to say. Why do you do some things but don’t do others?”
Fitzie extended his feet further into the aisle, attempting to look more relaxed than he was. “I don’t know. I’m no philosopher. I just do things.”
“But how do you decide?”
“Well,” he said with a mischievous grin, “if it looks like fun, then I do it.” This brought catcalls of approval from many in the class.
“Kim, what basis do you use in making decisions?” Mr. Martin asked.
Kim sat three seats from Kevin. He was fascinated by her. Her high cheekbones made her look as if some sculptor had fashioned her face. She caught him staring at her and cast him a hurried smile.
“I think it’s important to be sincere,” she answered. “We live in an age of freedom, don’t we? All the old barriers are down. We’re free to do anything we want to, as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone. So all we have to do is to be honest with our feelings.”
The discussion came around to dating. Kim raised her hand and was called on by Mr. Martin.
“If a girl is going with a guy,” she said, nervously tapping her pencil on the desk, “and if she really cares about him, and if he’s sincerely interested in her at the time, then I think it’s okay for them to use their freedom. I mean, what good is freedom if you don’t use it?”
Mr. Martin walked intently across the room toward Kim. “You say if he’s sincere at the time. What happens when he no longer cares about her?”
Kevin sat close enough to see her eyes close momentarily, as if Mr. Martin had found a weakness. She fought for composure for only a moment, her distress unnoticed by most in the class. “Well, of course, people change … and drift apart. Maybe if they can just try to be honest with their feelings,” her voice trailed off, “while they’re together, maybe that’s all any of us can hope for.”
As the discussion continued, Kevin suddenly realized that he was waiting for someone to stand and present arguments against the ideas being given for doing whatever looked like fun—someone who would say that freedom requires responsibility. In his classes back home in his old high school, although there had been the same reasons given for freedom to “love,” there had always been some of his friends who defended the standards of the gospel.
By the end of the class he realized that the someone he waited for wasn’t around anymore. More painful to him, he realized that he had not been that someone.
After class Kevin went up and introduced himself to Mr. Martin, who gave him some previous assignments.
As he turned to leave, Kim was waiting for him.
“You’re new here, aren’t you? Can I show you how to make it through the cafeteria alive?”
They jostled their way through the line and ate by themselves at one end of a table in the corner. As they ate, other boys came and talked with Kim. As they were leaving the cafeteria, she told him, “I’m not going with anyone now … in case you were wondering.”
They walked outside to the parking lot in back of school. It was filled with students lounging in cars or standing around talking.
“You can get anything here in the parking lot if you need it,” she said to him.
He looked at her with a puzzled expression.
“You know? Beer, grass, whatever you need.”
“Oh,” he said, looking more carefully at the cars filled with students.
“Mostly I’ve given it up. Now it’s just for special occasions. How about you?”
“I’ve never tried it.”
“Never? Why not?”
“I don’t know,” he said weakly, again feeling his stomach tighten up.
“Well, you should,” she said, touching his arm, “just to see what it’s like. It’s fun. Sometime, when my parents are out of town, I’ll let you know. Maybe we could get a few others together and have a party.”

The next morning at 10:00, about ten of the Niçois (as the people from Nice are known) gathered at the gare (train station) and headed for the hills. With them were two 16-year-old sisters from Marseilles. First stop, Mont Alban, an ancient chateau fort (fortified castle) overlooking the bay.
Looking out from the summit, Christiane Beltrutti, 18, mentally traced trails between the red tile roofs of buildings, then gazed at sails drifting on the azure bay. The mood of the moment led her to contemplate her love for her home.
“The most important thing we can do is to build up the Church where we live,” she said. “I love this area. I love these people. I want to share the gospel with them; I want to grow strong here and see my children, later on, grow up in the Church, along with many of their friends.
“People come from all over the world to visit Nice. Those of us who live here should really appreciate the beauty, not just of the coastline, but of the inland towns and villages as well. I think most of us do.”
It’s a quick ride from the top of the hill back to the old part of the city. Here tourists crowded the boutiques and souvenir shops, eager to gather memories of their days in the sun. Everyone seemed excited just to be there. “We call it la joie de vivre,” said Michel Demisse. “That means the joy of being alive.”
The young Latter-day Saints did, indeed, seem excited with life, excited to be exploring the city. On foot they wound their way through narrow cobblestone streets, between houses stacked haphazardly one upon another, past women who still carry home laundry in baskets on their heads. In the marketplace, bright red buckets brimmed with olives and clams and cod for sale. Flower shops peeked in colorful profusion from alley corners. Minstrels serenaded restaurant patrons dining on pan bagnat or socca, specialties of the regional cuisine.
Nice is a melting pot community. The Greek-French singer Georges Moustaki defined the area as a meeting place of continents and civilizations. A glance at the young Saints confirmed his analysis. Philippe Benarous is from a Norman family that has Scandinavian and Germanic ancestry. Chantal Daviot, a member of a year and a half, had ancestors who helped settle the French colonies in Africa. Isabelle Perez’s name reflects the Spanish influence in the area, and Christiane’s last name, Beltrutti, shows the Italian flavor of the sunlit coast.
After a pause at a fountain to eat their sandwiches, the group decided that, despite threatening clouds, it was worth the two-mile hike up hills and stairs to Le Château, site of a castle long-since destroyed. In their decision, they reflected again the philosophy described by Moustaki: “Il y a un bel été qui ne craint pas l’automne en méditerranée.” (There is a beautiful summer that is not afraid of autumn, in the Mediterranean.) Though the rain drizzled down, they knew the sun would eventually break through. They bounded up the steps and paused to catch their breath at the top of the first flight.
Huddled under umbrellas, they again shared their feelings about gospel ideals.
Isabelle, 18, is the only one in the group who was born in the Church. “I like what we are able to learn about ourselves by being active in the gospel,” she said. “It’s important to get together with other members of the Church because in different spiritual, cultural, and recreational activities, we get to appreciate ourselves and our brothers and sisters better. I especially enjoy meetings at which returned missionaries from our hometowns speak because it helps us see that the Church is not small; it’s worldwide and growing. This helps young people to want to go on missions.”
“In fact,” Brigitte Besson added, “one of the problems we face is that we have to change personnel so often—all of our young men keep leaving on missions.”
Jean-Paul Tran, 18, from Grasse, said one of the local goals is to get everyone working together so that soon a stake can be formed in Nice.
“We all have the same ideals, really,” said Chantal. “To progress together, to improve each other by being together, to find increased spirituality.”
The hike continued. The rain lessened, then increased, just as the group passed in front of a waterfall that tumbles from the summit. “Isn’t it nice to be so cool?” someone hollered ahe mist from the falls and flung it in his face.
One more flight of stairs, and the group was on top. Leaning over the railings, they looked at the beach, usually full of sunbathers, now empty and stretching for miles between la Promenade des Anglais (one of Nice’s main streets) and la Baie des Anges (Bay of the Angels).
Several minutes later, after stopping by the beach and listening to roaring waves, the group rejoined the rest of the conference attenders for an afternoon of workshops at the chapel.

Thank you so much for printing “What Is Real Love and Happiness?” in your June 1992 issue. I was very confused on the subject, mostly about the forgiveness part. After reading that article, I finally realized that even good people make mistakes. With true repentance, God remembers our sins no more. So why should I?
Name Withheld

After the war, her family rebuilt their lives. One day, Vinca and her parents were staying in a summer home in Aarhus in Jutland. There they happened to meet a pair of missionaries, who were seeking a place to stay. The young men were so kind and friendly, Vinca’s parents agreed to let them board in the guest quarters.
““I attended church with them for a short time,” Vinca recalls, “but my family wasn’t really into religion at all. My father was of Jewish descent, and my mother was Lutheran, but we weren’t raised in a religion. And then I had to return to school.”
The missionaries later visited her briefly in Copenhagen. Although Vinca enjoyed the visit, she was not yet ready to accept the gospel.