Gospel Story Finder

On one occasion I spent a few moments with two elderly patrons who were quietly relaxing
before engaging in an endowment session. As we spoke, I asked one of these men what he
was called to in the Church. His name is Eric and this is his story.
“I was called to a meeting with the Stake President. In my heart I knew that I was to be
interviewed for a new call to serve. I had no inspiration as to the nature of the call and
attended the meeting without any apprehension.
“When I left the Stake President’s office, I was quite dejected. Somehow the call - which I had
accepted - had left me feeling flat, and wondering ‘Why me?’ I had been called to be a Prison
Visitor. I returned home wondering how I could possibly fulfil this call.”
Eric made arrangements to visit the prison to receive instructions for his future visits.
“As I made my way to the prison, still feeling dejected and confused, I heard a voice, quite
clear and distinct, it entered my mind and my heart… ‘Eric, I gave my life for them.’
I was stopped in my tracks. The realisation of these words filled my heart. ‘Eric, I gave my
life for them.’ As much for them, as for me. Tears welled up in my eyes. I became very
emotional and found a quiet area, away from public gaze.
“After a few moments of quiet contemplation, I made my way into the prison to receive my
instruction and begin my Prison Visitor experience.
“I remained a Prison Visitor for 34 years. I learned so much from my experience with these
special members of our society. From within my soul, I learned so much about how to love.”

Next, his journey took him to the enchanting rainforests and towering peaks of Fiji in the South Pacific, where he attended schools of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints near the Suva Fiji Temple. During his seven years there, he encountered numerous miracles brought about by the unwavering faith of the members. He vividly remembers a cyclone that threatened the rededication of the Suva Fiji Temple. He recalls, “We stopped the cultural show early and went home to wait out the storm. We were asked to pray that the storm would be redirected so that the rededication could happen the next day. The faith of the members was strong, and the temple was spared. Even though there was destruction across Suva and other parts of Fiji, the temple grounds were clean. Not a tree branch was out of place, and the rededication proceeded with tears of joy.”

The ability to receive a patriarchal blessing was a profound opportunity for the British Saints, to strengthen their testimonies and better understand what it was the Lord would have them do. At a London district conference in 1932, Samuel Bantock, a seventy-three-year-old member, was filled with excitement. With tears in his eyes and a glowing face, he rushed up to President John Widstoe and whispered, “The Patriarch told me that my life’s offering was acceptable to the Lord. Think of it. The Lord is pleased with my humble efforts! I would rather know that than… possess all the riches or honour of earth.”10
With hands clasped together, the two men stood facing each other with tears in their eyes. Samuel had truly learned how to measure the values of life. Recalling the event, President Widstoe stated, “How many of the hundreds who in this land have received their patriarchal blessings during the last six months, place the true value upon them, as did this veteran soldier in the army of the Lord?”

Sin and the need to repent might be represented by a man who takes a journey. On his back is a large empty bag. From time to time, he picks up a rock, representing the transgression of a law. He places the rock in the bag on his back. Over time, the bag becomes full. It is heavy. The man cannot continue on his journey. He must have a way to empty the bag and remove the rocks. This can be done only by the Savior through the Atonement.

In September 1985, Julia received her endowment in the Johannesburg South Africa Temple. “When I first came into the temple,” she remembers, “I felt that I belonged. Before I joined the Church, when I would read the word Israel, I would throw the book aside and say, ‘It is for the whites. It is not for us. We are not chosen.’ Today, I know I belong to a royal family if I live righteously. I am an Israelite. When I was doing my ordinances in the temple, I captured the feeling that we are all on earth as one.

“Being sealed to my husband and my parents was one of the most touching experiences of my life. I feel that my parents are grateful that I have done their temple work for them. The Holy Spirit witnessed this to me.”

Julia continues to serve in the temple as often as she can. Within those walls she finds in joyful abundance the peace and love, the beauty and oneness of spirit she has cultivated in one corner or another of the Lord’s vineyard all of her life.*

When I was fishing in the ditch,
I met a toad who was a witch.
She said, “I’ll turn you green as cheese,
With hair of seaweed, eyes like peas.
Then I’ll add a spiky tail
And keep you in a dinner pail!”
I kept on fishing in the ditch
And told that toad who was a witch,
“No! I’ll turn YOU orange instead
With a carrot nose and a pumpkin head
And maybe not any feet at all
So you can’t hop but only crawl.”
“ABRACADABRA!” she chittered loudly.
“ALACAZAM!” I chanted proudly.
She slunk away with a sneaky snigger.
I was a witch, too, and I was bigger!

Mensah was born in 1924 to Fanti parents from Winneba, Ghana, and was born with severe bodily defects. An inspiration to all who knew him, he was encouraged by his family to convert to Christianity and led a remarkable life dedicated to God. In high school, he was the school chaplain and later obtained a PhD in theology through correspondence from the University of California in the USA. He went on to become an international evangelist with the Seventh-day Adventist Church.

In the summer of 2012, the Olympics came to my country. We rode the train to London to watch the events inside the stadium. I got to see many athletes receive medals. One of them even gave me a high five! We were so tired afterwards we fell asleep on the train.

In his second week of school, Kevin decided to go out for the cross-country team, partly because he had run for his high school team back home, and partly because Fitzie was the equipment manager of the team and talked him into it.
After Kevin’s first practice, the coach told him he was welcome to be on the team. He took his shower and got dressed. Fitzie was standing, holding a bag of practice uniforms that needed laundering, and talking to the others on the team.
“Let me tell you a story I heard the other day,” Fitzie began. Kevin grabbed his brush and retreated to where there was a mirror in order to get away from hearing the joke. At the punch line the others roared their approval.
Kevin finished with his hair and then returned to his locker. The others had left, and Fitzie was finishing up his work.
“Hey, did you hear the joke I was telling a few minutes ago? This will kill you. It seems that there was this guy …”
Kevin stood mutely listening to the story, the fight within him erupting again. He hoped it would be over soon, and that it wouldn’t be too dirty, and that it would wash away from his memory.
Fitzie finished the joke. “How about that, huh? It’s sort of a cute story, isn’t it? Kim told me that the other day. Well, I’ve got to be going.”
Kevin sat down on the bench in front of his locker and stared numbly at the floor for a long time. He felt that he was losing his battle with his thoughts.
Suddenly he stood up and put on his running uniform and shoes.
Coach Schmidt came out of his office on the way home just as Kevin was heading for the track. “Are you still here?”
“I’m going to run some more,” Kevin said deliberately.
“Five miles isn’t enough for one day?”
“Is it okay? Will I still be able to get into the gym when I’m through?”
“Sure,” the coach said, heading for the door. “It’s open until 9:00.”
On the track Kevin forced himself to maintain a fast pace, trying to push all the debris in his mind out with the sweat, hoping to somehow cleanse himself from his thoughts.
After three laps Jenny appeared alongside him, going at his pace.
“What are you doing here?” he asked as they ran side by side.
“I always run after school. Do you think you can keep up with me today?”
They ran for two miles, and then Kevin stopped.
“I thought you might be getting tired. That’s why I stopped,” he explained as they walked around the track.
“Me tired?” she smiled, teasing him, “at this slow pace? You didn’t need to stop for me. I can run at this pace for hours.”
“Oh yeah, then why don’t you go out for cross-country?”
“Because,” she said, wiping her forehead, “I’m a sprinter. I run the 100, the 220, and the 440 in track. I’ve won some races too. Have you ever won a race?”
“Sure, back home.”
“Well, this isn’t there.”
“I’m finding that out,” he said, feeling the oppressive gloom settling on his mind again. They walked silently for a while. Then he asked, “Jenny, how do you survive here?”
“What do you mean?”
“Everything. The way everybody jokes about the wrong things. Everyone seems willing to do anything that looks like fun.”
“Not everyone,” Jenny said. “You just have to be careful who your friends are. I’ve got some really good friends who aren’t LDS, but they keep their standards high.”
“Well, everyone I’ve met acts like they’ve never even heard the word chastity. Things are different back where I came from. I have a friend there—Jed. He always lives the standards, but he’s fun to be around, too. He’s always looking for new adventures. We climbed some granite cliffs this summer …”
“Kevin, you can’t keep living back there. You’re here now, remember? I don’t know what it was like back there, but you’re wrong about the kids here. You could meet some of my friends instead of going around with Fitzie … and Kim.”
He felt his face getting red.
“Why do you eat lunch with her?” Jenny asked.
“Because she’s the only one who’s made any real effort to be a friend,” he said, feeling his voice tense up.
“Kevin, watch out for her.”
“I thought we weren’t supposed to judge people,” he snapped.
“Okay, I’m sorry. But look, you can rationalize all you want about how wicked it is here and how great it was there, but you’d better face the fact that you chose your friends back there, and you’re choosing your friends here. It’s your choice. Don’t put the blame on the place. Put it on yourself where it belongs.”
They had stopped walking and were squared off at each other.
“You’re jealous,” he accused.
“What do you want, Kevin? An excuse to get involved with her so that if you mess up your life, you can always say that things are rotten here so how could you help making a mistake? Is that what you want? An excuse?”
He wanted to get away from her, to leave her standing on the track, never to have to face her question. He turned and began walking away.
She caught up with him and walked beside him. They didn’t say anything for a lap. Then she said quietly, “Kevin, I’m not your enemy. I want to be your friend. Okay?”
He didn’t say anything for a while. His first words came out weak and uncertain. “Kim is the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known.”
“I know,” Jenny said quietly.
After that he ran with Jenny every day after he finished his workout with the team.
A week later, after they had finished and were walking together, he again confided in her. “Kim’s invited me to a party at her house a week from Saturday.”
“Are you going?” Jenny asked.
“I don’t know. Part of me says yes—it will be fun. Another part says that I shouldn’t go. I guess whatever part is stronger will decide.”
“Kevin,” she said, touching his arm, “don’t go. It won’t be any good for you.”
“I know. But what if I don’t go … this time?” he agonized. “What about the next time she asks me? What will I say then? When will I break down and go? How long will it be before this place breaks me down? I want to go back to my friends back home.”
“Kevin, have you prayed about this? I mean really prayed about your problems?”
He shook his head and confessed, “I haven’t felt worthy to pray.”
“That’s the time you need to pray the most,” she said.

In 1997 our branch president announced that the branch would do a service project in the neighborhood surrounding our meetinghouse. We were doing this activity to join with Church members all over the world in commemorating the 150th anniversary of the arrival of the Latter-day Saint pioneers in the Salt Lake Valley.
The activity involved cleaning roads and filling potholes. The branch president said we would get dirty but that the activity might give us an opportunity to talk with others about the Church.
I didn’t think I would go because my professor had scheduled extra lectures at the same time as the activity. I felt that everybody would understand, but then I came across a pamphlet titled Faith in Every Footstep. When I read excerpts about the travails of the Saints on their trek to the western United States, I was moved to tears. Some Saints left their comfortable homes to go to a desert, unsure of what they would find. Others forged ahead even after every other member of their family had died along the way. In the midst of sickness, pain, hunger, and poverty, they had faith that if they migrated to the West, they would be free from oppression.
I felt bad that the early Saints had to make great sacrifices, even their own lives in some cases, to see that the Church continued moving forward. Because of their sacrifice and faith, I now enjoy the blessings of the gospel.
I then realized how small a sacrifice I would be making by comparison. I was being asked to give a mere two hours of service and to share the gospel with a few people, and I was making excuses for not attending.
I forgot about the lectures and participated in the activity. I got dirty, but people did come and ask about the Church. I felt happy for being involved, and I have since graduated from the university—despite missing a few lectures.

I didn’t take the opportunity to read the Church publications before I left on my mission, but now I have read every one of the many old New Eras in our apartment, and I can’t believe how sorry I am when I reach the last page. I am very eager to receive each new issue. The New Era has really helped me and strengthened my testimony.
Elder Lawrence N. CampArizona Holbrook Mission

On one occasion, I was with President Marion G. Romney. He spoke to a large gathering of young people. Afterwards, a returned missionary came up to shake his hand. As he did he said,
“Brother Romney, when I was a missionary I had a question that no one knew the answer to. Let me take advantage of your time for a moment and ask you.”
He then asked a rather complicated question, the answer to which could have been found in the scriptures.
President Romney listened attentively for a few moments and then replied, “That is a very good question. When you find the answer, let me know, will you please?”
As we left the hall he commented to me, obviously referring to the young man and his question,
“As a boy my father always taught me that when I wanted a drink I should go to where the spring flowed out of the ground and not downstream where the cattle had been muddying the water. He’ll be better off if he finds the answer for himself.”

One unique thing about this seminary class has been how much the students enjoy being together. It seems every weekday morning isn’t enough. They now get together every Saturday night, too.
It all started when Louise’s mother told Brett that Louise’s friends always ask her to go to the pub with them on Saturdays, but she never goes. Brett said, “We can get a group of people and go out and have some fun. We decided to take the whole class, make it a seminary thing. After that, every Saturday night, we’ve been doing it. It’s good fun.”
What do they do? The first week they went to the cinema, but that quickly became too expensive. So they started going to each other’s houses to play games (the Crowthers taught them to play capture-the-flag) or watch videos or just talk and talk and talk. Elaine explains, “We used to have nothing to talk about; now we don’t have enough time to talk. It’s very fun. When I was in Primary, I never used to mix. I’d stay to myself. When I was in school, I never talked to anybody. But my confidence has grown to talk to people more since I started hanging around with the group.”
For Louise, having something else to do on Saturdays has helped her be comfortable in her decision to stay strong in the Church. “It’s not an excuse, but it’s a reason for me not to go with my friends from work because they go out every weekend. Sometimes, I used to go along. I didn’t do anything I shouldn’t, but it was just being there. It just didn’t feel good. It wears out your spirit eventually. I got so tired of trying to speak up for myself. When I go with the seminary class, I can just be me. And that’s accepted.”
And most of all, “Saturday nights are fun,” says Pamela. “Usually my friends go out on Saturday night. Their standards are completely different from mine. I prefer and feel much better going to the seminary activity. We have great fun.”
Derek adds, “Early-morning seminary has brought us closer, and we’re better friends. Definitely. Saturday evenings we have activities. It’s not planned by any adults. It’s all arranged by us. I’ve gotten a lot closer to everyone in the class, even Pamela, my sister. Most nights the kids at school would go out and get drunk and break the Word of Wisdom. I wouldn’t even consider that as a choice.”

Recently I had the privilege of performing the temple sealing ordinances for a wonderful family. It was a beautiful occasion, as such ceremonies almost always are. But if you had known the father of this family several years earlier, you would have understood what a miracle was taking place in the house of the Lord that day. With his permission I quote from a letter he wrote to me:
“I was born into the Church and was taught the gospel at my mother’s knee. Through her diligence and perseverance, she kindled a small ember of testimony that never left me even through some of the roughest times of my life. In my teen years Satan hit me hard. It was during the late 1960s and early 1970s, a time of great turmoil, and Satan was hard at work on me. I was taken with the practice of free drugs, free love, free fun, and the rest of the world be damned. Beginning with my first drink of alcohol, I began to slowly deteriorate. After alcohol, other drugs were that much easier to use. In order to take drugs, you must become a good liar. You learn to do whatever it takes to conceal your behavior from others.
“After many years of living this way, all my moral fiber seemed to be completely eroded away. I had a minimal amount of conscience and had sunk to the depths of despair and depression. I watched friends die from drugs and suicide. As time passed, my friends and I were exposed to the criminal justice system. In fact, many of my former friends are still in prison. Had it not been for the small flicker of testimony instilled in me by my mother when I was a child, to know that Heavenly Father could still love me, I have reservations as to whether I would even be writing this letter today.”
Some parents might have given up hope on this prodigal son, but not this man’s mother. She continued to believe that he would find his way back to the teachings of his childhood and once again place his trust in the Lord Jesus Christ. With the loving support of his family and friends, that is exactly what he did. Let me read again from his letter:
“If there is one thing I have learned, it is that no matter how lost you feel, no matter how low you may have sunk, there can be forgiveness and peace. I learned that the further one drifts from the Lord, the harder it is to return to Him and His teachings. But once I opened my heart and called out in prayer to Heavenly Father to help me in the name of His Son, Jesus Christ, I came to know the power of repentance and the blessings of obedience to God’s commandments.”
Brothers and sisters, I wish all of you could have been with us in the temple that day to feel the joy of hope fulfilled. I am sure you would have sensed, as I did, the rekindled love for God and the sublime happiness that filled the heart of my friend’s mother as her four sons, their companions, and other family members surrounded her in the sealing room.

At Brigham Young University we have had some great athletic coaches. We have them now and we have had them in the past. One of these of long ago was Eugene L. Roberts. He grew up in Provo and drifted aimlessly with the wrong kind of friends. Then something remarkable happened. I read you his own words. He wrote:
“Several years ago when Provo City was scarred with unsightly saloons and other questionable forms of amusement, I was standing one evening on the street, waiting for my gang to show up, when I noticed that the [Provo] tabernacle was lighted up and that a large crowd was moving in that direction. I had nothing to do so I drifted over there and went in. I thought I might find some of my gang, or at least some of the girls that I was interested in. Upon entering, I ran across three or four of the fellows and we placed ourselves under the gallery where there was a crowd of young ladies, who seemed to promise entertainment. We were not interested in what came from the pulpit. We knew that the people on the rostrum were all old fogies. They didn’t know anything about life, and they certainly couldn’t tell us anything, for we knew it all. So we settled down to have a good time. Right in the midst of our disturbance there thundered from the pulpit the following [statement]:
“‘You can’t tell the character of an individual by the way he does his daily work. Watch him when his work is done. See where he goes. Note the companions he seeks, and the things he does when he may do as he pleases. Then you can tell his true character.’
“I looked up toward the rostrum,” Roberts continued, “because I was struck with this powerful statement. I saw there a slim, dark-haired fierce-eyed fighting-man whom I knew and feared; but didn’t have any particular love for.”
As he continued, “[the speaker] went on to make a comparison. He said: ‘Let us take the eagle, for example. This bird works as hard and as efficiently as any other animal or bird in doing its daily work. It provides for itself and its young by the sweat of its brow, so to speak; but when its daily work is over and the eagle has time of its own to do just as it pleases, note how it spends its recreational moments. It flies in the highest realms of heaven, spreads its wings and bathes in the upper air, for it loves the pure, clean atmosphere and the lofty heights.
“‘On the other hand, let us consider the hog. This animal grunts and grubs and provides for its young just as well as the eagle; but when its working hours are over and it has some recreational moments, observe where it goes and what it does. The hog will seek out the muddiest hole in the pasture and will roll and soak itself in filth, for this is the thing it loves. People can be either eagles or hogs in their leisure time.’
“Now when I heard this short speech,” said Gene Roberts, “I was dumbfounded. I turned to my companions abashed for I was ashamed to be caught listening. What was my surprise to find everyone of the gang with his attention fixed upon the speaker and his eyes containing a far-away expression.
“We went out of the tabernacle that evening rather quiet and we separated from each other unusually early. I thought of that speech all the way home. I classified myself immediately as of the hog family. I thought of that speech for years. That night there was implanted within me the faintest beginnings of ambition to lift myself out of the hog group and to rise to that of the eagle. …
“There was instilled within me that same evening, the urge to help fill up the mud holes in the social pasture so that those people with hog tendencies would find it difficult to wallow in recreational filth. As a result of constant thinking about that speech, I was stirred to devote my whole life and my profession toward developing wholesome recreational activities for the young people, so that it would be natural and easy for them to indulge in the eagle-type of leisure.
“The man who made that speech which affected my life more than any other speech I ever heard, was President George H. Brimhall. May God bless him!” (Raymond Brimhall Holbrook and Esther Hamilton Holbrook, The Tall Pine Tree: The Life and Work of George H. Brimhall [n.p., 1988], pp. 111–13).
That simple story, told by a great teacher, turned around the life of a drifter and made of him an able and gifted leader. I repeat it tonight because I think that most of us are constantly faced with a choice of whether we wallow in the mire or fly to lofty heights.

“One day in my religious instruction class at school (in South Africa, where I live, students study the Bible daily) we were allowed to study the scriptures on our own. I decided to do a home-study seminary assignment. As I was doing it, my teacher came past my desk and asked me what I was doing. I explained to her what it was, and then told her about the seminary program. I told her that my seminary classmates and I met with our teacher once a week and then studied the rest of the days on our own.
“She returned to her desk, but a few minutes later she called me over to her desk. She asked me if I would be willing to give one of the lessons in the seminary book to my class. I said I would be happy to do it.
“Now I have the opportunity to not only teach my teacher but my classmates as well. I have a very strong testimony of seminary and the things it teaches me. I hope and pray that for the next two years that I have left in seminary, I will become even stronger in the gospel and have more opportunities to teach others about it.”—Lucille Kruger, Carletonville, South Africa

My first job out of college was working for a major airplane manufacturer. While there, I learned that to make airplanes that were safe, the company had specifications for every part. The parts had to be certified as meeting all standards, including shape, size, material, and tolerances.
If a part met the standards, it would be placed in inventory for building an airplane. If it didn’t meet the standards, the part would be rejected and returned to the supplier. Suppliers of parts were careful to understand and meet all of the requirements, including the tolerances.

These priests from the Bend Third Ward, Bend Oregon Stake, made it! They biked along the Oregon coastline and crossed the California border in four and a half days. To accomplish their goal, the boys had to average 80 miles per day. To keep their bodies going, the young men ate mass quantities of bananas, bagels, and pasta. To keep their minds and spirits going, the boys sang hymns while they rode.
“It sounds a little weird,” says Matt Dustin. “But it worked. By singing as a group, we stayed together. We also stayed happy and cheerful.”

He walked back into the mission home for his last night before flying home. President Snowden had it arranged so that the missionaries going home and the missionaries just coming into the mission field could have a testimony meeting together the night before they went their separate ways.

“I guess this has been the happiest 18 months of your life. Right?” one of the new elders asked him after the testimony meeting.

“What?” Scott asked, coming out of his deep thoughts.

“The happiest 18 months of your life—that’s what all the elders say in our ward when they return.”

“Happy?” Scott said. “Yes, I guess it has been happy.”

“You’ve lost all your hair, haven’t you? How are you going to find anyone to marry?”

“I’ll set a goal, Elder,” Scott said with a smile.

“They tell me you were a zone leader. How long did it take you to be a zone leader?”

“Why do you want to know?” Scott asked.

“Oh, nothing.”

“I hope you’re not planning on that as some kind of a goal.”

“I want to succeed on my mission,” the elder said with determination.

“Look,” Scott said firmly, “let me sum up 18 months of my life. Jesus Christ stands at the head of this church. We are commissioned by the Savior to teach the gospel. He loves the people in this mission. You must focus your entire energy on serving Jesus by loving and serving the people.”

“I know that already,” the new elder said confidently.

“Don’t worry about artificial goals—like being a zone leader. That kind of a goal has no place in this work.”

“Sure, you can say that,” the new elder said. “You are a zone leader. How long did it take you?”

Scott shook his head in frustration. “Elder, you’re going to learn a great deal out here.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve pretty much got the discussions learned already.”

Scott reached out and shook the elder’s hand. “I wasn’t talking about the discussions.”

“You never told me how long it took you before you became a zone leader,” the new elder called after Scott as he ascended the stairs to his room.

Before he went to bed, Scott read 1 Corinthians 13 [1 Cor. 13] and Moroni 7 [Moro. 7].

Fifty-eight years ago, I knocked on the door of J. Roland Sandstrom, patriarch of the Santa Ana California Stake, with a recommend from my bishop to receive a patriarchal blessing. We had never met and would not meet again for 14 years. We met again 15 years later. This time, as one of the Twelve, I blessed him the day before he died.
The blessing was delivered by mail to my barracks at an air force base where I was stationed. I did not know then, as I know now, that a patriarch has prophetic insight, that his blessing would be more than a guide to me. It has been a shield and a protection.
The patriarch, who had never seen me before, made a promise that applies to every one of us. He told me to “face toward the sunlight of truth so that the shadow of error, disbelief, doubt and discouragement shall be cast behind you.” Many times I have gained strength from reading that patriarchal blessing given by an inspired servant of the Lord.