Gospel Story Finder

Again the question arises, what really is the difference that causes such devotion? Let us go to Joseph Smith for an answer. In December 1839 he was in Washington in company with others trying to obtain redress of grievances for the Saints. In corresponding with his brother Hyrum, he stated that they had had an interview with the president of the United States and reported, and I quote: “In our interview with the President, he interrogated us wherein we differed in our religion from other religions of the day. Brother Joseph said we differed in mode of baptism, and the gift of the Holy Ghost by the laying on of hands. We considered that all other considerations were contained in the gift of the Holy Ghost.” (History of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, 4:42.) That is the gift conveyed to each member as he is confirmed into the Church. Those who respond to that gift are guided by it.

I live in New South Wales, Australia, where we are blessed with some of the most beautiful beaches in the world. Golden sand and crystal blue waters grace our coastlines. A favorite pastime for me and my friends is walking along a nearby beach. While walking we talk and enjoy each other’s company.
One afternoon, when we had enjoyed the day, a friend of mine noticed that a locket I usually wear was missing from around my neck. I was particularly fond of the locket since my grandmother had given it to me as a special birthday present.
I frantically searched up and down the beach looking for my prized possession but to no avail. Soon my friends realized my distress and joined in the search. After searching for a while, one of my friends suggested we have a prayer.
By now it was nearly dusk and the incoming tide was growing higher. Kneeling in the sand, we asked Heavenly Father to guide us to my locket. As we rose one of my friends headed for a part of the beach we had already combed. “It can’t be there,” I said. “We’ve already searched every grain of sand.” Still my friend continued on his way up the beach while the rest of us maintained the search.
The next thing I knew, my friend was running down the beach with a grin from ear to ear. He had found my locket and rescued it from the tide just in time.
It was a simple thing, maybe even a little bit trivial, but Heavenly Father knew it was important to me. Just after we found the locket, I realized something. If Heavenly Father answered a prayer about something as small as a piece of jewelry, surely He would answer prayers about more important things, like times when I need guidance to make good decisions or strengthen my testimony.
Now I know that when I pray, the answers will come. I just have to listen.

“Can you see where that smoke is coming from? It seems awfully close. I wonder what’s burning?”
“Could be just a grass fire.”
“It’s not that close. It just seems that way.”
“Yes! Could be somewhere around … our … Oh no!”
It was our 13th wedding anniversary. Because of other commitments that evening, we had decided to celebrate with a nice restaurant lunch and include our five children in the festivities. We had barely ordered our meal when one of the children had spotted the smoke and our spirit of celebration was all but ruined. We tried to tell each other that it just couldn’t be anywhere near our home and thus we somehow got through the lunch. But that was about it. Hurriedly we got into our car and started the drive home.
It was only about 16 kilometers, but what a long distance it seemed to be. The closer to the smoke we came, the more worried we got. It certainly looked like it was coming from our neighborhood. I can still remember the fear and anxiety reflected on each face during that drive.
We lived in southern California, where after a dry summer the terrible grass fires were rather commonplace. Our home was situated near the top of the hill, and the road leading to our home ran higher on top. In back of the house and down the hill were thousands of hectares of grassy undeveloped land with some clusters of trees here and there. The grass that summer had grown high and then, due to a lack of rain, had died and dried standing up. Somehow that grass had caught on fire.
As we arrived home the police and a couple of fire trucks were already positioned on the road up the hill. The wind was toward us, and the fire was advancing with unbelievable speed.
I whispered a quick prayer, “Dear God, save our home.”
It is interesting to see what a person thinks important and valuable when faced with the fact that there is just a small truck in the driveway with which to haul his prized possessions to safety. In our case, sentimentality played a bigger role than monetary value. The family records came first, and the only piece of furniture we even thought of bothering with was my great-grandparents’ untunable piano. The girls, with their selected valuables, were sent off with a ward member, but our 11-year-old twin boys stayed around placing wet blankets on the top of the roof and keeping them wet.
There were only a few houses on that hill, all some distance from one another. We started, as did all our neighbors, to clear away the dry grass and the shrubbery surrounding our property. It seemed like useless work, but we had to do something; we couldn’t just stand there waiting.
“Dear God, save our home.”
The fire was getting closer, and the place was getting hotter. And we were coming to the attention of the news media. The television cameras were aimed at us, and we were being interviewed for the evening news.
“How does it feel to wait for your home to burn down?”
“It might not burn.”
“Well, tell us how you feel right now.”
“Terrible. Scared.”
The police had long since stopped all the traffic to our area. Only the people living there and close relatives were admitted. Suddenly a car full of men from our ward arrived. They were all anxious to help, and we were grateful for their concern. Then other elders started to come. We knew about the roadblock and wondered how these good men had been able to come through.
“Brother Ellett,” I said to one of them, “how did you get past the police?”
“That was easy,” he chuckled. “I just told them that my brother lives here!” That seemed to be the way all the other brethren had come through the roadblock.
A few minutes later, while the elders were still coming through one young policeman came walking down the driveway.
“I came to see the man,” he said, “who has so many brothers.”
I went outside the house and counted all the men from our ward that I could see. I counted 39. Thirty-nine brothers!
Thirty-nine priesthood holders, I thought. There they were fighting the fire with every possible means they could lay their hands on. They fought it with shovels, with hoes, with rakes, and even with sticks. And right then and there I realized that they had even stronger power than those few helpless tools in their possession. Great feelings of peace filled my soul. I knew then as surely as I have ever known anything that no fire could get through that line of fire fighters.
Anybody who has ever seen a group of full-grown trees, or even one of them, explode with fire will know how scary such a thing is, especially when seen at close quarters. There I stood watching the flames that seemed to touch the sky, and still I knew that I and all that was mine were safe from that raging inferno. The peace and calmness that filled my being is something I will never be able to fully describe. I was so grateful, oh, so grateful for my membership in the Church and for the knowledge I had. Tears running down my cheeks, I thanked the Lord, not so much for the material things he would preserve, but for the spiritual things nothing can destroy.
Somebody had bulldozed a big gully between the burnt area and us. The television cameras were busy recording what to them was news. The bulldozed area would not have been wide enough to stop the fire if something else had not suddenly happened. The wind that had all the time blown briskly towards us turned unexpectedly and completely and began to blow now in the direction of the already burnt area. The fight was now easier, and the fire never crossed the bulldozed area to our home.
“My brother lives there,” they had said.
My brother! I felt then stronger than ever before the bond that ties us together in the Church. I felt it loving and caring for my family. We are not alone. We have one another.
Often, when I travel at night and see a light in the distance all by itself, I wonder who might live there. And then I remember, and this thought comes to me like a flash, “My brother lives there!”

Mark Twain wrote:
“Some years ago in Hartford, Connecticut, we all went to church one hot, sweltering night to hear the annual report of Mr. Hawley, a city missionary who went around finding people who needed help and didn’t want to ask for it. He told of life in cellars, where poverty resided; he gave instances of heroism and devotion of the poor. ‘When a man with millions gives,’ he said, ‘we talk a lot about it and praise him. It’s praise in the wrong place, for it’s the widow’s mite that is significant.’
“Well, Hawley really got me excited. I could hardly wait for him to get through. I had $400 in my pocket. I wanted to give that and borrow more to give. You could see money in every eye. But instead of passing the plate to collect money then, he kept on talking and talking, and as he talked it grew hotter and hotter, and we grew sleepier and sleepier. My enthusiasm went down, down, down—$100 at a time until finally when the collection plate did come around, I stole ten cents out of it.” (Thesaurus of Anecdotes, ed. Edmund Fuller, Crown Publishers: N.Y., 1942, pp. 58~59.)

While attending a stake conference and having the added blessing of meeting with the young people, some of whom had driven long hours, I learned that several of them were the only Latter-day Saints in their high schools. When I asked, “You set the right example for the rest of the students, don’t you?” they replied, “We really try.” As they said “We really try,” I could see the light of belief and conviction in those youthful faces. I could begin to understand what Peter meant by our being called out of the “darkness into his marvellous light.”

Recently the Miller family participated in a ward program that helps new converts learn more about the gospel by attending group family home evenings. The Millers transformed their backyard into a stage. While her father, Dan, taught a lesson from Doctrine and Covenants 27:15–18 on putting on the whole armor of God, Angela became a living object lesson. As her father taught that each part of the armor represents a quality that will help guard against temptation, such as the shield of faith and the sword of the Spirit, Angela added that piece to her costume. Everyone’s favorite part of the lesson was when Brother Miller taught about the fiery darts of the adversary, and the missionaries got to throw “fiery darts” made out of yellow cellophane and popcorn kernels at her “armor.”

Of course the gospel brings a sense of peace too, a comfort and reassurance the youth of Huntsville want to share with their friends. So when Amanda and the rest of the youth in her ward wanted to know how to be better missionaries, they called in some experts—the elders serving in their area! And since ward members already take turns inviting the missionaries to dinner, the youth promised to feed their guests before hearing from them.
“It was a lot of fun,” says Jared Mayfield, 13, who craves almost anything associated with cheese and pepperoni. All of the youth helped in making, baking—or at least eating—the pizzas. After dinner, the elders gave advice about how to prepare for a mission and told how they felt when their own calls came. They suggested ways to bring the gospel into everyday conversations and discussed how to tell if people are interested in what you have to say.
But most of all they bore testimony of the Restoration of the gospel and the change it can bring in the lives of those who embrace the truth. And they encouraged the youth to do their part in sharing the gospel right now and in preparing themselves for future missionary service.

There were two ranchers living side by side in southwestern Montana. They bickered and fought because each thought a rusty barbed wire fence that separated their ranches was not the true property line. Each felt the other was encroaching upon his land. The real estate records were unclear at the county courthouse.
They forbade their children to play with one another. The conflict became worse. Finally, after years of exchanging words and threats, one of the ranchers said to himself, “Enough of this.” He drove down the lane from his place onto the county road and then down the long driveway to his neighbor’s place.
“What do you want?” his adversary asked.
“Look, you take your hired men and your sons, and I’ll take mine; and we’ll put the fence wherever you’d like it. I’ve had enough of this. I want us to be friends.”
His raw-boned neighbor softened, and tears ran down both of their faces. The neighbor responded, “Hey, let’s drive to Virginia City and record that the present fence is where both of us want the property line to be.”
They did and the problem was solved. Why? Because a neighbor wanted to be one with the family next door.

“On the Fourth of July we camped for the day, not entirely to celebrate, but to wash and do mending and various other things that were necessary. We camped in a pretty place near a creek. I was to wash with Phebe’s help. She was only twelve but very energetic. We selected a place quite secluded, close to the creek where we could have plenty of water. Well, we were making the suds foam when a dapper young gentleman from New York, a nephew of our captain, who was on his way to California, discovered us and brought a drink and a large piece of delicious fruitcake which was made to celebrate the Fourth on the plains. A rather embarrassing position, to accept this compliment in the midst of soiled linen and soapsuds. I had not been introduced to him before. However, I accepted the cake and drink with great patriotism, and from that time he often called at our wagon—that is, our wagon yard. Everyone was supposed to honor all the land that was occupied by ox yokes, camp kettles, and everything that goes to make an outfit for traveling. So when any of the young folks called I was as much at home sitting on an ox yoke as if I were sitting in an easy chair in a parlor. Such is life on the plains.”

In the same class, I was faced with another moment that would force me to act on all of the things I had been taught since Primary. My teacher was in the front of the class, talking about a snippet of a movie we were about to watch. Some of my classmates suggested that we watch the whole movie. My teacher shook her head and nonchalantly explained that she couldn’t because the movie had a mature rating. I was stunned when I first heard this. I never thought this would happen.
I sat in my chair, thinking about what I should do. A thought kept coming into my head: We have been asked not to watch offensive movies. I tried to rationalize that because I was in school, the part of the movie we were going to watch would be appropriate. But the thought of not watching offensive movies trumped my rationalizations.
I calmly raised my hand, and in front of my whole class, I asked to sit outside of class while the movie played. I felt everyone’s eyes on me as I pushed in my chair and grabbed my book. I saw the looks on their faces; they simply didn’t understand.
While sitting in the hallway, I felt very happy. I knew I had done the right thing, no matter what my peers or teacher said. I felt stronger too. I knew I didn’t have to watch an inappropriate movie clip just because my teacher had presented it to us.

Recently at a stake priesthood meeting I was greeted by two good convert brethren from the Netherlands, one of whom I like to think I had some participation in his conversion. I turned to him and asked: “Have you ever been sorry for having joined the Church?” His eyes brightened, and he responded with happy enthusiasm, saying, “No, never!”
Here, in my opinion, was a successful man. No doubt he had many vicissitudes in his life. His worldly possessions were probably minimal, but his good works—treasures in heaven—are innumerable. Here is evidence of just one of the thousands—millions—who have had similar experiences of becoming a “somebody.”

For my birthday this year, I decided to have a lemonade stand and a bake sale and give the money to a children’s hospital. My sister, cousins, and I made flyers and took them around our neighborhood. Then we made treats and lemonade. We were so excited to see so many friends and neighbors come to our sale. I am happy I could help the sick children and their families. I think that’s what Jesus would do.
Avery J., age 7, Utah, USA

“Before conference, we show our little kids pictures of people who will likely be speaking. Leading up to conference, we talk about how special it is! This helps them look forward to it, so when those long hours come it is easier to listen.” —Amy C.

During a recent department session of Education Week sponsored by Brigham Young University, a wise teacher and stake Relief Society president, Sister Leisel McBride, flashed a large picture on a screen. It showed a bright-eyed boy with unkempt hair and folded arms, deep in thought. The caption read, “I know I’m somebody ’cause God don’t make no junk.” Please let me repeat, “I know I’m somebody ’cause God don’t make no junk.”
With the grammar improved, that caption could well be the theme of welfare services.

A: “The mission has helped me change the focus of my life. Before my mission, I really only cared about what others thought of me. My mission has taught me that when I put Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ first, everything else falls into place.”
Elder Jakob Blad

During the sacrament, I take time to listen carefully to the song and the prayer. I can’t tell you how much good that does. My entire being is filled and my tears fall because I remember that Jesus Christ came to earth knowing that he must die for our sins.
Mahalani Tinirauarii, 18Papeete, Tahiti

My mom is not a member of the Church, and she has many modern views that go against the principles I’d been taught in church, particularly about modesty and virtue. She didn’t understand why I didn’t dress or act like my peers. It was hard for me to defend myself because our relationship was already rocky, and I didn’t want to cause any more contention between us. One day the topic came up, and, despite my hesitation, I explained to her why I choose to dress modestly and live virtuously and why these things are important to me. This didn’t change her views on the subject at all, but I felt good defending my beliefs.
Over the next several months I made an extra effort to strengthen my relationship with her. The next year, when I was serving a mission, I asked my sister to send me skirts. My mom offered to do so instead, and she bought me ones that were both modest and stylish. I know that because I was willing to open my mouth and defend my beliefs and then continue to show my mom love, she became more accepting of my values, even though they are still different from hers.
Alisa B., Ukraine

Part of our answer may come as we remember how the Lord tutored President Russell M. Nelson in the months prior to his call as President of the Church. Speaking one year before his call, President Nelson invited us to more deeply study the 2,200 references of the name Jesus Christ listed in the Topical Guide.

Three months later, in April general conference, he spoke of how, even with his decades of devoted discipleship, this deeper study of Jesus Christ had greatly affected him. Sister Wendy Nelson asked him about its impact. He replied, “I am a different man!” He was a different man? At age 92, a different man? President Nelson explained:

“As we invest time in learning about the Savior and His atoning sacrifice, we are drawn to [Him]. …

“… Our focus [becomes] riveted on the Savior and His gospel.”

If a renewed study of the Savior helped prepare President Nelson, could it not help prepare us as well?

Sister Whang’s dream of serving began much earlier, when she was a young girl in Japanese-occupied Korea. A devout Presbyterian, Whang Keun-Ok worked on a farm by day, and by night prayed that she might be able to go to school so that she could work for God. She hoped to study medicine, because her people were dying from lack of proper health care. But because of the subordinate role women occupied in Korean society, this seemed an impossible goal.
In time, however, her prayers were answered. She was able to attend junior high school in Jeryung and in Seoul, working at the same time so she could pay her tuition. She studied hard and was an honor student. After graduation, she enrolled in nursing school.
But life was difficult in her country. Poverty was widespread, and the Korean people were not allowed to speak their own language or practice their cultural customs. Sister Whang herself was expelled from school for not worshipping the Japanese emperor. Because of such persecution, Whang Keun-Ok and several friends made an oath to dedicate their lives to making sure others wouldn’t have to endure the same struggles. Later, after Korea won its independence, they converted that oath to caring for those who had suffered in the wars that ravaged Korea—particularly the children.

Ean Shelley, 17, was surprised when Elder Dallin H. Oaks of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles approached him after a performance in Nauvoo. Elder Oaks told Ean, “The pipers are the salt in the oatmeal.” When Ean asked him what he meant, Elder Oaks explained that you have to put a little bit of salt into the oatmeal to make it taste just right. The bagpipers add that flavor to the experience.