Gospel Story Finder

Less than a decade after The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was organized in New York, USA, an island kingdom thousands of miles away in the vast Pacific Ocean turned toward Christianity. In 1839 King George Tupou I of Tonga committed his country, his people, and his posterity to God’s protection. The king’s proclamation “God and Tonga are my inheritance” became Tonga’s motto. Religion plays a great role in Tonga because of this legacy; to this day, every Tongan observes the Sabbath as a day of worship.

I heard the words “Jesus” and “Saviour” so many times that I ran out of tokens to place on my conference notebook!
Wesley F., age 3, New South Wales, Australia

Sister Bednar is a remarkably faithful and competent woman, and I have learned important lessons about the strengthening power from her quiet example. I watched her persevere through intense and continuous morning sickness—literally sick all day every day for eight months—during each of her three pregnancies. Together we prayed that she would be blessed, but that challenge was never removed. Instead, she was enabled to do physically what she could not do in her own power. Over the years I have also watched how she has been magnified to handle the mocking and scorn that come from a secular society when a Latter-day Saint woman heeds prophetic counsel and makes the family and the nurturing of children her highest priorities. I thank and pay tribute to Susan for helping me to learn such invaluable lessons.

Serving with the Hechtles were Rudi and Erika Mueller, both of whom were born in Europe but moved to the United States more than 40 years ago.
“We worked 10 or 11 hours a day,” says Sister Mueller. “On busy days we received and sent as many as 1,000 microfilm boxes. They all had to be numbered and entered into the computer.”
Elder Mueller points out that “we were so happy to be there because we got such a sense of satisfaction knowing our work helped others.”
The Muellers celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary during their mission. They say they couldn’t think of “a better way to observe it than in the work of the Lord.”

The poet wrote:
I met a stranger in the night,
Whose lamp had ceased to shine;
I paused and let him light
His lamp from mine.
A tempest sprang up later on,
And shook the world about,
And when the wind was gone,
My lamp was out.
But back came to me the stranger—
His lamp was glowing fine;
He held the precious flame
And lighted mine.
Perhaps the moral of this poem is simply that if you want to give a light to others, you have to glow yourself.

Elder Allen had been assigned to our ward for less than two weeks when he and his companion appeared in the front office of the Daily Press at the worst possible moment on the busiest day of the week. “There are a couple of young men here to see you,” the receptionist said over the intercom. That had to mean the missionaries.
I was frantically trying to meet the deadlines of two newspapers, but I tried to slow down to a glide as I flew into the reception area. Elder Allen towered six-feet-three-inches tall. His companion, Elder Shaum, peered out from behind him. With a firm handshake and a broad smile, Elder Allen pulled me from behind the counter and greeted me simultaneously:
“Hi, Brother Reddick. I just can’t wait to see the headlines when we get done with what we’re going to do in Paso Robles,” he bubbled nonstop.
My mind was already muttering, “Okay, Elder, what have you got in mind?” The word we appeared particularly ominous, but I was too preoccupied with all those deadlines to worry seriously about interrogating him. “How am I going to explain to him in two minutes that the story the paper did last week about his transfer into the city is all that the nonmembers will want to know about Mormons for the next three months?” I asked myself.
He obviously wasn’t listening in on my thoughts at all. He rambled on about displays, speakers, programs, and activities (always inserting that foreboding we everywhere) so rapidly and with such assurance that I wondered if he thought he would convert and baptize my entire office staff on the spot!
“And the mayor is going to proclaim ‘Mormon Days,’” he finished at last. “Aha!” I thought. “Now I see the pitch and I know the way out.” I tossed right back to him the project he had just hurled at me. “You get the mayor to proclaim ‘Mormon Days,’ and I’ll see to it that you get some coverage,” I promised, confident that I had issued an impossible challenge. In a town with 30 different congregations, I figured no politician would commit himself to any undertaking quite so bold and partisan. Besides, the city council would have to ratify the proclamation.
“How do we do it?” Elder Allen asked. (I should have known by now that I was somehow a part of that infamous we.)
“Draw up your proclamation, get an appointment with the mayor, pray a lot, go in, tell him what you plan to do, and ask him to sign the proclamation,” I rattled off like machine-gun fire.
“Okay. We’ll do that then,” Elder Allen affirmed. “Thank you, Brother Reddick, and have a good day.”
I was already back to my desk and deadlines as his cheery good-day bounced out onto the sidewalk. I knew the issue was settled; at least, I’d left him holding the ball.
Sunday. Not fast Sunday, but between racing to one meeting and another, solving a home teaching family’s problem, sprinting to choir practice, and listening to the fireside speaker, I hadn’t had time to eat. And was I ever hungry! Finally the fireside ended and I arrived home to greet my wife and children and relax with a lovingly reheated supper. It was dark outside, and peaceful.
I cut the enchilada eagerly and was just about to take the first delicious bite when, like the Cheshire cat in Through the Looking Glass, Elder Allen grinned at the window. “Hi, Sister Reddick!” he chimed to my wife; then he swung over to the front door and hammered on it.
I swallowed hard as my daughter let the missionaries in. Our seventies president, Larry Adams, was with them. “Go on eating,” he urged. “We’ll watch you.” I chewed on some salad.
“We’re here for some help with the proclamation,” he continued. I was still slow to catch on that that we included me, and that Elder Allen was just trying to magnify his calling. But I couldn’t ignore Elder Allen’s enthusiasm and determination, especially when he looked right at me and said, “Since you’re so good with words, and we don’t know much about proclamations,” and took a pen and piece of paper out of his pocket, ready to jot down notes.
“So, you want my help,” I said, setting down my fork. “Do you want me to write it?”
“That’s it!” all three cheered triumphantly. So we drew up a proclamation, with all the appropriate whereases in it, leading up to a “now therefore be it resolved” that such-and-such a series of days be proclaimed “Mormon Days” in Paso Robles. By the time we were done, it was almost curfew time for the elders. My half-eaten supper was stone cold. My salad was limp, my appetite gone. And I had to be at the office early in the morning.
Monday is supposed to be the elders’ preparation day. But first thing Monday morning Elders Allen and Shaum were in City Hall, setting up an appointment to see the mayor on Tuesday. I still don’t know exactly what went on in the mayor’s office. Not only did he agree to sign the proclamation, but he was enthusiastic about it! (“You Mormons do great things,” he told the elders.)
I had been humbled. These two young men had responded to the promptings of the Spirit in the face of odds that had seemed overwhelming to me. I worked with them on this project and others in the weeks to come, and I learned that they were not fearless. Rather, they subjected their fears to faith. And they moved mountains.
By the time “Mormon Days” actually got through planning and approval by stake authorities, it had become “Family Days,” and the proclamation had been altered slightly. More time had also been allowed for putting together the three-day “show.”
Elders Allen and Shaum assembled displays on boards and tables, and secured permission from the most patronized supermarket in town to set up their displays there for three days and to distribute handbills and tracts.
The highlight of the days was a Thursday evening presentation in a local school. We had a movie on family communications, and we had two families from our ward conduct a special family home evening. The missionaries had their displays out, and, yes, there was publicity—not only in the paper, but on the radio as well. Later, we put on the same program in Shandon, a small town east of Paso Robles. Through the two programs and the displays at the supermarket, more than 200 people came into a direct, one-on-one contact with the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. Who knows what fruit those seeds will bear?

The Three Questions, by Jon Muth. What is the best time to do things? Who is the most important one? What is the right thing to do? Nikolai knows that he wants to be the best person he can be, but often he is unsure if he is doing the right thing. See how he finds the answers.

On our mother’s side, our roots have only been on American soil for two generations. Our grandmother grew up in Holland and our grandfather in Czechoslovakia. We have always felt honor in the heritage and traditions that they brought with them to America. They, too, sought freedom.
Our grandfather knew there were errors in his own church, so when he immigrated to the United States, he often expressed the desire to find the true gospel of Jesus Christ. When two Mormon elders knocked on his door, he was very eager to accept the truth.

Braeden is a good Cub Scout. His dad helped him with his Pinewood Derby racer, and it won! “One of my favorite things about Cub Scouts is day camp,” Braeden says. He smiles as he remembers the crafts and archery. He was even chosen “Viking of the Day.” All four of the Smith boys are active in Scouting. Logan is an Eagle Scout, and Karsten, Kyler, and Braeden plan on becoming Eagle Scouts, too.

A wonderful lady in my town served as an elementary school principal for several years. She was the principal for all of my six brothers and sisters. One night she came to our house for a meeting. She was running for supervisor of our county. After the meeting I asked her if she had a Book of Mormon. She told me that she didn’t have one, but she would like one.
Three weeks later I went to a missionary fireside. The missionaries told me to take a Book of Mormon and give it to a nonmember friend. I took one but didn’t know who to give it to. Then the Holy Ghost whispered to me the name of the principal who had been at my house.
I told my dad that I wanted to take the Book of Mormon to her. I marked in it one of my favorite scriptures—1 Nephi 3:7 [1 Ne. 3:7]. Dad took me to her house after the fireside, and I gave it to her.
A month later, when the missionaries came to our house for dinner, they asked me if I knew anyone that they could visit. I told them about the nice lady I had given the Book of Mormon to. I told them her name, phone number, and address.
The next time the missionaries came to dinner, they said that they had visited the woman I’d told them about, and they had a feeling that someday she would join the Church!

When I first started repenting daily, I wasn’t sure what the point of it was. I would repent of my sins, but often, the next day I would make the same mistake again. I wondered, “Why should I repent if I can’t change my bad habits immediately?”
I went to Heavenly Father and told Him my concerns and asked why He wants us to repent every day. I felt the Spirit communicate to my mind that each time I repent, the Savior gives me a chance to start over. President Nelson also said: “Repenting is the key to progress. Pure faith keeps us moving forward on the covenant path.”
Repenting is not about getting things perfect; it’s about continuous reliance on Christ to change our natures over time! I realized that even if I make the same mistakes, when I sincerely repent of my sins and try to change, He will help me progress little by little.

As for the fear of proselyting, much of it ended on that first night. Credit definitely goes to the inspiring messages and testimonies of the 130 elders of the Cumorah Mission who performed in pageant. It was a thrill to watch them among the audience—the joy they had for being back tracting after a week away from it was obvious in their handshakes. But Heavenly Father deserves most of the credit. As Barbara Eichler of the Fairport Ward, New York, explained: “After the study group meeting, my companion and I decided we could use all the help we could get, so we went up to the top of the hill and prayed. As we rose from our knees and walked back down, we could feel our bodies being led, but not by our own power.”

Nik’s brown eyes sparkled with excitement as he thought about the trip that he and his father would take to Chiang Mai that evening.
There were many parasol makers in Thailand, and Nik’s father was the best in his village. Someday Nik would be a parasol maker too. He was already helping his father make parasols, and he’d practiced painting on some. And just last week his father had promised that one day soon Nik could paint some parasols to sell in the market.
“Tonight we will see loy krathong (a festival) in Chiang Mai,” Nik said, as he carefully opened an unpainted parasol for his father.
“That’s right. Tonight in the city you will see thousands of decorations with small candles on them floating down the river. It is a sight you will never forget.”
“I can hardly wait!” Nik said.
“You catch some fish for our lunch while I paint these parasols,” Nik’s father said. “A buyer is coming to see them late this afternoon. Then we will leave for the festival. Maybe we will see someone there making merit.”
“What does it mean to make merit?” Nik asked.
“To make merit is to do something good for the right reason,” Nik’s father explained.
“Do you think I will make merit?”
“You do already, Nik, and when you are a man, I am sure you will make much merit.”
“I saw a woman who bought a cage of birds and then let them fly free. She said she was making merit.”
“Each one must make merit in his own way.”
“I want to make much merit,” Nik said.
Nik’s father smiled. “You run along now and fish, or I will not get these parasols painted.”
Nik picked up his fishing net and headed toward the river. He splashed his way through the edge of the rice field, dipped his net, and gazed into the yellow green waters. He tried to imagine the festival he would see that night.
Before long the sun was overhead. Nik checked his net. He could tell by his growling stomach that it was time to kin kow (eat). He gathered in five fish. They would be tasty as the gup kow (any dish served with rice) for lunch.
As Nik neared his home, he was surprised. He had expected to see a great number of freshly painted parasols drying outside. Instead, there were only three or four.
Nik broke into a run. As he burst into the house, he saw his father with his arm in a makeshift sling.
“I was reaching for a bundle of bamboo and fell off a ladder,” Nik’s father explained. “I think it’s only a sprained wrist, but I’m so slow and awkward with only one good hand that I’ll never finish the parasols before the buyer comes.”
“Don’t worry about that now, Father. I can help you.” Nik stirred the paints until they were smooth, then, with his father helping him hold some of the pieces, Nik finished assembling and painting the parasols. Some were a soft yellow. Some were as pink as a cloud at sunset. A few were blue and red. By midafternoon, a rainbow of parasols stood drying in the sun.
Luckily the buyer was a little late when he came, so all the parasols were dry. “These are fine, indeed,” he said. “I will take them all.”
Nik’s father smiled. “I will have more for you next time. I now have an assistant.”
“Excellent!” the buyer said, and he went his way.
“I’m sorry it’s too late for us to get into the city to see the festival tonight,” Nik’s father said apologetically.
Nik saw the sorrow and disappointment in his father’s face. Nik was disappointed, too, but he was glad that he had been able to help his father and that the buyer had liked the parasols. “We can have our own festival by the river,” Nik said.
Nik and his father each put a small, flat candle onto a strip of bamboo. Then they knelt on the riverbank and sent the candle-lit floats downriver.
Nik watched the candles bob and blink. How could the Chiang Mai festival be more wonderful than this? he thought.
“Today you have made much merit,” Nik’s father said.
Nik and his father smiled at each other. Under the full moon they sat watching until the flickering lights disappeared into the night.

It was one of those days that start out bad and only get worse. I sat on my bed wondering if I should do nothing but feel depressed or do something to cheer myself up. Cheering myself up seemed like too much for me to even try, so I did the easiest thing I could think of and picked up my scriptures. I looked under the heading “depressed” in the Index, and there I found the answer I had been searching for.
I turned to Alma 26:27 and started reading: “Now when our hearts were depressed, and we were about to turn back, behold, the Lord comforted us, and said: Go amongst thy brethren, the Lamanites, and bear with patience thine afflictions, and I will give unto you success.”
As I repeatedly read that scripture, I began to feel my depression disappear. I realized that if I could bear my afflictions with patience, God would grant me success. It was almost like a bright light at the end of a darkened tunnel.
Since that day, that particular scripture in Alma has become a treasured jewel in my life. I have memorized it, posted it in my room, and repeated it often when feelings of depression have again crept up on me. It reminds me that Heavenly Father is there when I need him, to comfort and to love me. Although I may not always realize just how much Heavenly Father loves me, reading these words brings me closer to him and helps me keep an eternal perspective.

A little while back, my friend and I were going to the girls’ washroom at school to wash our hands. We had just been doing an art project and had paste on our fingers. But when we got to the bathroom the sink was a complete disaster! There was soapy water everywhere. My friend and I quickly decided that we should clean it up before washing our hands. When we finished I felt good inside. I have just been baptized and I knew it was the Holy Ghost giving me that warm feeling. I am trying to act more Christlike every day.

Some of those words were repeated in a sacrament meeting I attended more than 70 years ago. In those days sacrament meetings were held in the evening. It was dark outside. The congregation sang these familiar words. I had heard them many times. But my lasting memory is of a feeling on one particular night. It draws me closer to the Savior. Perhaps if I recite the words, it will come to all of us again:
Abide with me; ’tis eventide.
The day is past and gone;
The shadows of the evening fall;
The night is coming on.
Within my heart a welcome guest,
Within my home abide.
Abide with me; ’tis eventide.
Thy walk today with me
Has made my heart within me burn,
As I communed with thee.
Thy earnest words have filled my soul
And kept me near thy side.
O Savior, stay this night with me;
Behold, ’tis eventide.
O Savior, stay this night with me;
Behold, ’tis eventide.

On Sunday April 2nd, the morning of General Conference, Sister Deneen Kenchington, Deputy Head of Ferndown Upper School and Relief Society President of Christchurch Ward, Poole Stake, received a phone call from a teacher who was with around 60 students on their way to Europe for a skiing trip.
Mr Howard, the teacher, informed Deneen that they were stuck at Dover Port due to a critical incident. They, along with hundreds of others, had been there for about 14 hours. They couldn’t move forward, and they couldn’t move back.
The students on the coach had run out of food and water, and the teachers that were with the students didn’t know what to do. The situation was turning pretty dire.
Deneen’s first thought was that she would go to the supermarket, fill up her car with supplies and drive the six hours or so to Dover. Then the thought came that as much as she wanted to do that, it just was not practical.
Deneen got on her knees and prayed for some guidance. She then phoned President Steve Cottrell of the Poole Stake Presidency and asked for the phone number of the nearest Bishop to the Port of Dover.
Deneen phoned Bishop Rudloff of the Deal Ward, explained the situation, and without missing a beat he said “We can help, I have people I can call to help”. Deneen gave Bishop Rudloff Mr Howard’s phone number, a phone call was made, and the plan was in place.
Bishop Rudloff said that his first thought was very similar to Deneen’s, that he would load up his car and drive to the port, but then he realised that his son Joshua, who was staying with some friends and their family, was much closer to the Port. He phoned Joshua, who along with his friends Angel, Lou Lou and Ciaran Rickard from the Deal Ward, jumped into action and within an hour they were at the Port of Dover with enough supplies for all the students and teachers.
Miraculously, the group were able to get through Port Authority, find the coach, deliver the supplies, pass on their best wishes, then turn around and leave.
The teachers and students offered to pay for the supplies, but this amazing bunch of young adults would hear none of it, and they left the teachers and students totally blown away by the kindness and goodness of strangers.
Word soon spread around the school community about Bishop Rudloff, the young adults, and the church, and how amazing it was that they served without wanting recompense or reward. The Church is now synonymous with service and generosity within the school. Both staff and students alike will not forget how their lives were touched for good.
Bishop Rudloff said that as well as the wonderful opportunity to give service to those in need, what was also wonderful was the trust that a Relief Society President had in others that she had never met. Deneen knew she could call and ask for help and that the help would be given.

Meanwhile, faithful members of the Church had resided in the German Democratic Republic and in Czechoslovakia during decades of political duress. Of course, no missionary couples served there. Members’ activities were limited by the restrictive regimes of those lands. For example, the first time Sister Nelson and I visited Czechoslovakia in 1975, I had been invited to participate in a medical capacity. While in Prague, we met with a few Saints in a member’s apartment, which we accessed up a dimly lighted stairway. Well do we remember meeting the fifteen-year-old daughter of two members who indicated that they had never before revealed to their daughter their affiliation with the Church. That night—for the first time—she was being entrusted with that potentially dangerous information. After the meeting was over, the district president dropped us off some distance from our hotel so that police would not identify him in our presence. Under such imposed limitations, there was no hope of missionary work either in Czechoslovakia or in the German Democratic Republic, both of which had been blessed with missionaries prior to the onset of the Second World War.

I wish to express my appreciation for the August issue of the New Era. It was a joy to read all the articles contained therein. I especially enjoyed the story “Harley-Davidson” by J. Scott Henrie. I could really relate to it. You see, I have a friend who was a bit “wayward.” Now he has joined me in serving a mission. It is hard to believe that his story isn’t fiction too! Parents and friends, please do as Brother Henrie exhorts. I quote: “Please don’t resent them. Don’t judge them. Don’t be self-righteous. Be patient and be a good example and pray for them with all the faith of your heart.” Your lost sheep may return home—as a good friend has for me. Thanks again for this fine publication. I look forward to it each month.
Robert R. EscobarAustralia Perth Mission

I heard one of my brethren tell of a recent visit he made to a prison. There he noticed a young man, handsome in appearance and intelligent in his ways.

My brother said to the prison official, “What is that young man doing in here?”

The reply was that one evening he had taken his mother’s car, had obtained some beer and drunk it, and then, out of control of himself, he drove the car down the sidewalk and killed two girls.

I do not know how long he will be in prison, but I do know that he will never entirely get over his feelings concerning the act that put him there. On such small hinges turn the gates of our lives. Little mistakes, which seem so unimportant in their beginnings, determine the eternal courses we follow.