Gospel Story Finder

Death is just another milepost in the plan of salvation. One mission president noted the sadness experienced by families who send a missionary out into the field. He also observed the great joy experienced by the mission president and his wife as they welcome a new missionary into their area. The very same event brings different feelings to different people depending on where they are. Similarly, those who are left behind feel sadness at the passing of their loved one, but there is great joy in the spirit world as the departed spirit enters into the next phase of his or her eternal existence.

Lisa is a little embarrassed to remember that she and her friends used to laugh a little at the filmstrips they watched in seminary. That made her want to perform so that her character was believable. “I wanted to make this character real so that at least one person who watched it would stop and say, What is she really saying? What is she really wondering about? The whole cast set that as a goal.
“I did make fun of the filmstrips when I was in seminary,” said Lisa. “We had little jokes about what they were wearing and their hairstyles. I can remember when the wardrobe lady was dressing me and doing my hair. I thought, Now I know why we laughed. I would laugh sometimes at myself while I was doing it. It was a humbling experience. There is a message behind what the characters are wearing and how their hair looks. There is a message or a mood behind it all.”

When Horst Scharffs was 14 years old, his mother gave him money for a railroad ticket and sent him into the country to try to buy food. The Scharffs lived in Hamburg, Germany, during World War I, and food was scarce and had to be rationed. Townspeople often tried to purchase food from farmers who sometimes had a little extra.
After a two-hour train ride, Horst arrived at a village where he began walking door-to-door. Though he visited more than 40 houses, no one would sell him anything.
Horst was determined not to return home empty-handed, so he decided to walk 4 1/2 kilometers (2.8 miles) to the next village. After walking about 45 minutes and stopping at all of the houses along the way, he met a farmer who sold him 100 pounds (45 kg) of potatoes. Horst couldn’t believe his luck! The most he had hoped for was a pound of butter or a few pounds of bacon.
The farmer lifted the sack of potatoes across Horst’s shoulders, and Horst started back the way he had come. It wasn’t long before he realized the difficulty of his task. The potatoes, which weighed at least as much as he did, were almost too great a burden for an undernourished boy. If he dropped the load onto the roadside to rest, he might not be able to lift it back onto his shoulders.
As Horst wrestled with this problem, he suddenly thought of his mother, who had taught him from the scriptures about the power of prayer. He remembered a story in the Book of Mormon about the people of Alma in the land of Helam. These Nephites, who were in bondage to the Lamanites, asked the Lord to help them bear their burdens. The Lord answered their prayers by making their burdens seem light. It occurred to Horst that the Lord might also lighten the weight of his burden.
Horst began to pray. Instantly, he felt as if the load had been taken off his shoulders. He was able to walk with ease all the way to the train station without resting.
At the station, another miracle occurred. Village police had the authority to take away any food they found on passengers. Many people tried to hide their food, but there was no way Horst could hide 100 pounds of potatoes. To his surprise, nothing was said when he boarded the train, and he was allowed to take the potatoes home to his mother.
Those potatoes not only fed Horst’s family during a difficult time, but they also fed his spirit—he developed an unshakable testimony that the Lord hears and answers prayers.

There are also other people you can follow to find happiness. When I was eleven years old, my Primary teacher was Sister Esther Geis. The boys in our class knew Sister Geis loved us because she made us behave. In those days, we had Primary on a weekday after school. Across the street from our ward was a big empty field. We boys liked to play marbles in that field, and sometimes we forgot when it was time for Primary. Sister Geis would walk across the street and get us. Once she told my father, “Your son should shape up.” My father talked to me, and I did start behaving better.

“Come on, Tito, it’s time to get to work!” Pedro stretched his arms toward the early dawn sky, then reached over and scratched the donkey’s ears.
Pedro and Tito were a team and had an important but difficult job. As they did every morning before daybreak, they went down to the sea where there were large mounds of salt that had been evaporated from the salty seawater. The donkey stood still and sleepily watched as his master shoveled salt into two large gunnysacks. When they were full, Pedro hoisted them onto Tito’s back and tied them down securely.
“You are loaded, old friend, so now we are off.” Pedro picked up the lead rope and guided the donkey toward the foothills.
The city where the salt was to be delivered was several miles away and was reached only by traveling along a dirt path that wound over stony, steep hills. Day after day the pair would make the long journey, sell the salt in the open-air market, and return, tired and hungry, to their little shack near the sea. To relieve his loneliness on these trips, Pedro often sang or talked to his shaggy brown friend as they walked along. Tito would twitch his long ears and keep on plodding.
About halfway to the city, they had to cross a small river. And as there was no bridge, Pedro would jump across from stone to stone. But Tito had to slosh through the knee-deep water. The donkey never seemed to like wading across the river, and he needed a lot of coaxing each time they came to it. “Now, come on,” Pedro would say, impatiently pulling the lead rope. “Every day it is the same. You know that you must get to the other side, so why don’t you just do it!”
But Tito would always dig in his heels and refuse to budge.
“The water won’t hurt you. Do you expect me to carry you across?”
Finally the donkey would put his ears back, bat his big brown eyes resentfully at his master, then slowly and carefully step into the water.
One day the current was a little stronger than usual. When Tito got to the middle of the stream, he stumbled and fell to his knees. The salt in the sacks started to wash away, so that by the time the donkey got back on his feet, they were nearly empty.
“What a foolish thing to do!” scolded Pedro. He was very unhappy to lose so much salt, but it was too late to turn back. They would have to go on and sell what was left. To Tito’s delight, his load was much lighter, and it was much easier to climb the hills!
The next day the little team got their load of salt and headed for the hills. When they got to the stream, Tito slipped and fell again. And again a lot of the salt washed away, leaving very little to sell in the city.
Day after day the canny donkey slipped and fell into the water. Realizing that Tito was doing it on purpose, Pedro scolded him and even used the switch on him. But it was no use.
Pedro was not only angry but worried. Hauling salt was the way that he made his living. Without money, he couldn’t eat or buy clothing. “What shall I do?” Pedro asked a friend one evening. “I must stop that dishonest little donkey from shirking his part of the work!”
“He is a smart one,” his friend said. “He does not like carrying that heavy load over all those hills.”
“But what can I do?”
“I have an idea,” said the friend. “Not too much farther down the shore is a man who has harvested a pile of sponges from the sea. He is looking for someone to take them to the city. Perhaps it would make a good load for your donkey to carry.”
“Thank you. I shall go see him right away,” said Pedro.
The next day Pedro loaded Tito down with sponges. The cargo wasn’t very heavy, and the donkey twitched his ears happily, thinking that his master had finally learned that he, Tito, didn’t like working hard.
When they got to the river, Pedro warned the animal, “If you fall in this time, you’ll learn a hard lesson!”
Tito stepped slowly into the river, and, as usual, “fell” into the water. But this time he was in for a big surprise! The sponges filled with water so that when he got to his feet, his load was many times heavier than before! Now it was even harder to climb the hills than when he had carried salt!
After two more days of hauling sponges, falling into the water, and increasing the weight of his load, Tito was careful to keep his footing while crossing the river. A few days later Pedro again loaded sacks filled with salt on Tito’s back and headed toward the city. When they came to the water, the little donkey didn’t hesitate a moment but crossed the river quickly and willingly did his share of hauling the salt to market.

Mitch Dunford has been a member of the high priests group in the Santee First Ward, Santee California Stake, for most of the 11 years he has lived there. “Our high priests group has studied the scriptures together and done missionary work together,” he says. “We’ve given blessings to each other and to others’ family members. Our camaraderie is a natural outgrowth of helping each other honor callings in the priesthood.”
On the night of Sunday, October 26, 2003, the high priests in the Santee stake, along with most residents of San Diego County, found themselves under attack by the largest wildfire in the history of California. For nearly 24 hours, 50- to 70-mile-per-hour (80- to 110-km-per-hour) winds had pushed 100-foot (30-m) flames and burned hundreds of homes, killing 13 people.
Mitch Dunford stood alone in the hills behind his home with a garden hose in one hand and a shovel in the other. Earlier he had taken his wife, Cathy, and their five children to a hotel. When the evacuation order was lifted, he returned home to see what he could do.
“The fire was 4 feet [1.2 m] high and 30 feet [9 m] wide,” says Brother Dunford. “It was coming from two directions. It was so quiet. I just stood there, wondering if I could really stop this fire by myself.”
Meanwhile, stake president Chris Allred was atop the stake center with binoculars. With flames coming toward the Dunfords’ house, he began making phone calls.
“I was alone,” says Brother Dunford, with more than a little emotion in his voice, “and then one by one they came—the ‘boys’ from the quorum and their sons, each with a shovel. I was overwhelmed, yet it seemed just the way it ought to be.”
Fifteen minutes later the first wave of fire swept through.
“We beat the fire down and tossed dirt on it,” says Steven Schimpf, 15, who came with his dad, Bishop Randall Schimpf.
After the first wave was out, the second wave came. They beat back that one too.
A news cameraman climbed up to the group and was amazed to discover they were just some men and boys from a church helping one of their own.
“It was touching to have our home saved by my priesthood brethren,” says Brother Dunford. “It is so typical of the way they are. My neighbors couldn’t believe all those men and boys just showed up to help. But we know it’s what you do when you’re a member of a priesthood quorum.”

One of the family’s favourite activities is ice skating. When Jeannine was still too little to skate, her mom, dad, and sisters pushed her to the ice rink in a stroller, so she was used to the ice before she ever tried it out herself. Now the whole family skates together almost every Saturday during the winter.

Mom, Dad, can we invite my friend Lily and her dad and brother for Thanksgiving?
Yeah, can we? Her brother Oliver is in my class.
We have lots to be grateful for. If we can share, that’s another blessing.
In that case, how about inviting Audrey and her mom?
And Franco and his dad?
On Thanksgiving Day the Cooper house is crowded but happy.
Thanksgiving Day is in October in Canada. Do we have any family there?
Why?
’Cause next year we could go to their house for Thanksgiving. If we did this twice a year, I’d be twice as thankful!

She and her father often take their dog, Wags, out for a walk. Wags is one of her best friends, too. “We rescued him from the pound. He was an abandoned pup, only 12 weeks old. His tail hasn’t stopped wagging since we first met. That’s why his name is Wags.”

Looking for a cheap project with a big reach, the group harnessed the power of sidewalk chalk. They obtained approval from the city and set out. “We went downtown and wrote kind messages on the sidewalk with chalk,” says Isabelle C., a 15-year-old Lutheran. “When we finished, we left some chalk and wrote a message saying ‘write some more’ so other people could keep writing kind messages. This was my favorite project because I knew the messages we wrote would make someone smile. And they made me smile!”

Grant was only six weeks old when his father, H. Grant Heaton, was called to preside over the Southern Far East Mission. Unlike most children in the United States, Grant spoke his first words in Chinese. His little sister, Lisa Lee, who was born a year and a half after the family moved to Hong Kong, also learned Chinese first.
The mission home was filled with happiness until March 1958, when Grant was three years old. One day his neck became stiff, and there was pain in his chest. Soon he could not walk on his legs. President and Sister Heaton asked the missionaries to fast and pray for their son, but still his condition grew worse.
Grant’s father gave him a special blessing before taking him to the hospital. After tests, the illness was diagnosed as paralytic polio. The doctors said Grant would soon need an iron lung to help him breathe. Polio is not common among the Chinese, however, and the only iron lung in the country was being used by a British sailor.
By the end of a week in the hospital, Grant was completely paralyzed. Only his eyes moved, and the little body that had seemed healthy just a week before was quickly wasting away.
One morning Sister Heaton was with Grant. It was so hard for him to breathe that she thought surely he would soon return to our Heavenly Father. Two men came to the hospital that morning. They represented the Chinese Saints who had held a special fast and a prayer meeting the day before.
Both men had been members of the Church less than a year and neither held the priesthood, but they wanted to help. They asked permission to pray for Grant. Sister Heaton readily agreed and bowed her head to join them. She felt the faith of these humble Chinese men as they knelt beside Grant’s bed and prayed that this little boy’s health might be restored.
As they rose to their feet and left the room, Grant’s mother followed them down the hall. She thanked them and then went to the refrigerator where special food for Grant was stored.
Just as she opened the door, a familiar little voice called from down the hall and she turned around quickly to see Grant coming toward her.
“Look, Mommy,” he exclaimed with a happy smile. “I can walk!”
The doctors were amazed, but when the polio symptoms did not return, they let Grant go home. President and Sister Heaton and the missionaries gratefully acknowledged the power of the Lord and the faith of the Chinese Saints in behalf of their son.
Grant is now eighteen and lives with his family in Salt Lake City, Utah. He doesn’t remember his illness in China. His strong legs that helped him make the football team and wrestle for his high school don’t remember either!

Jason lay by the hearth, doing his homework in the firelight. But he couldn’t concentrate. The image of Mr. Rayburn’s ranch kept coming back to him, and with it the sight of the beautiful little pony the rancher had for sale. Only eighteen dollars, that’s all it would cost! he thought. But it might as well be five hundred. Jason’s father had gone to fight in the Civil War, and had left his ten-year-old son as the man of the house.
More than anything he had ever wanted before, Jason wanted a pony. But how will I ever get eighteen dollars of my own? he asked himself. All the other boys rode to school on horses. But Jason had to be up before dawn to milk the cow, feed the chickens, and then walk the long distance to school. When he wasn’t at school, Jason was busy at home, helping his mother on their farm.
Jason’s mother listened sympathetically when he told her about Mr. Rayburn’s pony. But when the boy finished, she just looked at him with a sad kind of smile. “Oh, Jason,” she said. “The pony sounds wonderful. But I’m afraid we don’t have any money to spare. We’re having a hard time now and with a new baby coming …”
“I’d forgotten for a minute about the baby. I hope it’s a girl. I’d like to have a little sister,” said Jason with a smile. “And maybe if I work extra hard, there will be enough money for a cradle.”
His mother hugged him close. “With you here to help, we’ll do just fine, Jason,” she said.
Later that night Jason climbed the ladder up to the loft where he slept. But before sleep came he couldn’t help thinking about the pony.
The next morning on his way to school, Jason saw a notice in the window of the general store:
Boys needed afternoons or evenings at the planing mill—10¢ an hour.
Ten cents an hour is a lot of money, Jason thought. I hope I can get that job after school.
The hours seemed to drag by until school was over. When the bell rang, Jason raced to the mill, but his heart sank when he saw the long line of waiting boys. At last it was his turn to apply for a job.
“How old are you, boy?” asked the man.
“Ten years old, sir. But I’ll be eleven in March. And I’m a hard worker,” replied Jason.
“I don’t think you’re old enough for a job here, son. Why don’t you try us next year?”
Jason did not move. “Please, sir, now that my father is at war, I’m the only man in the house. And I’ll work hard.”
“Well, if your dad’s away fighting, I guess we can find a job for you,” the man said.
Jason could hardly wait to tell his mother about his new job. “I know you’ll make me proud of you,” she said. “And since you’re working on your own time between school and chores, son, you may keep the money you earn.”
Jason jumped up with delight and hugged her. His chores weren’t so hard that night. In his mind he could just see himself up on the back of that little pony. It won’t matter if I don’t have a saddle. I’ll still be able to ride like the other boys, and they won’t laugh at (ridicule) me anymore, he thought.
Jason liked his work at the mill. But it became hard to study without falling asleep and even harder to get up in the mornings. As the weeks passed, Jason’s little pile of money grew. Each payday brought him closer to his goal. However, it was nearly time for the baby to be born and Jason knew that he would soon have to quit working at the mill because his mother would need more help at home. Every night when he went to bed he wondered how long he would be able to work.
The next payday Jason counted his savings. He had $19.10, and in his mind he could see the little pony in their barn. He was so busy thinking about the pony that he almost bumped into a buggy parked in their yard. He looked up and his heart leaped. It was Dr. Frank’s. The baby must have been born! He raced toward the house. Then he suddenly got sad. The cradle! Mother still didn’t have a cradle for the baby. But it really wasn’t his fault. Mother had said he could keep the money he earned. Still, he felt a little selfish. He opened the door slowly and peeked in. His grandmother was in the kitchen.
“Grandmother is it a boy or a girl?” he asked.
Grandmother smiled and put a finger to her lips, “Shh, your mother is asleep. Come and see your baby sister.”
Jason approached timidly. He had not been this close to a newborn baby before. She lay curled up in the laundry basket, wrapped in layers of blankets.
“Oh, Grandmother she’s so tiny,” he whispered.
“Your mother has named her Jenny. She looks a little like you did when you were a baby,” said Grandmother.
Jason bent down to look at the tiny fingers. They moved when he touched them and curled themselves around his larger finger. He frowned. He was the man of the house, and this little baby was partly his responsibility. How could he think of buying a pony when Jenny had no cradle?
“Grandmother I’m not very hungry. I have something important to do. Please tell Mother I’ll be back soon.”
Jason ran outside and didn’t stop till he came to the general store. Mr. Wright, the proprietor, also did woodworking as a hobby.
“Mr. Wright! My mother had a baby girl. How much would you charge to make me a cradle for her—one that rocks?”
“Well, since you’re a working man,” the storekeeper said with a twinkle in his eye, “I’ll make a real nice one for you for nine dollars. I can have it ready by Friday.”
“That’d be fine,” said Jason. As he turned to leave, he saw some baby clothes inside a showcase. “How much is that pretty little gown?” he asked. “I want to get that for Jenny too.”
All the way home Jason whistled a jaunty tune. He was sure that the real man of the house couldn’t be any happier about the new baby than her big brother was.

Brother Elian González from Mirador Ward, recently returned from his mission, made it his goal to attend the temple with his girlfriend every Saturday: “Regular temple attendance has filled my life with countless blessings. Returning from a full-time mission, I was very concerned about how I could constantly keep myself in a holy place. As I try to have the Holy Ghost present in my home and become holy, I have made it a goal to attend the temple as regularly as possible, each week. By going to the temple, I do not escape from problems, but rather I find solutions for them. I do not hide from the world, but rather I find the spiritual forces to conquer the world and its desires. As I consistently attend the temple, I receive guidance from Heavenly Father and divine comfort from the Savior. As I perform temple work, I have seen the promise fulfilled to become a savior on Mount Zion. I was blessed to do the ordinances for my father, and I have felt peace and immense love knowing that, thanks to temple ordinances, families can be eternal. I testify that temples give us hope and peace, I know that they are the house of the Lord and that in temples we can be instruments in his hands to help gather Israel on the other side of the veil.

Now that Brett’s brother Lane and Ben’s brother Ryan have returned from their missions, Lane and Ryan feel the missionary board means more to them than it did before they left. As Lane explains, “When I came home the missionary board meant a lot more to me because I knew what the past missionaries had gone through, and I knew the importance of their service.” Ryan also said the missionary board was the first thing he looked for his first Sunday home from his mission.

Anthony Meadows from Southport, Merseyside, shares firm testimony. “If I could get one message to the youth of these islands, it would be to serve a mission as soon as you leave school!

“My experience has been full of miracles,” he adds. “Since teaching the gospel in New Zealand, I’ve come home to an excellent place at Exeter University, studying physical education. I’ve also found my wife, another British returned missionary from New Zealand. And I’ve never been short of part-time work.”

A young sister with diabetes became blind during her pregnancy with her second child. Her loss was devastating—and irreversible. After a time of anguish and questioning, she turned to the Lord for comfort and answers about what was expected of her in these new circumstances. With patience she learned that the “pleasing word of God … healeth the wounded soul” (Jacob 2:8) and that she could use her disability to help others. Her cheerful, open attitude makes it easy for others to talk with her about her blindness and her long struggle to accept and benefit from it.

Eliza R. Snow, speaking of the Kirtland Temple dedication (which she attended), said: “The ceremonies of that dedication may be rehearsed, but no mortal language can describe the heavenly manifestations of that memorable day. Angels appeared to some, while a sense of divine presence was realized by all present, and each heart was filled with joy inexpressible and full of glory.”1

During my freshman year of college, I had an amazing experience with the priesthood. I was having the worst day possible—I had heard some bad news about a few friends from home and was waiting to hear more of the details. I was stressed with school and with life in general. I needed comfort.
One of the girls in my dorm suggested that I ask for a priesthood blessing. I hadn’t even thought of it because all my life my dad had been the one to give me blessings. I asked one of my good friends if he would give me a blessing, which he and another young man from my ward did. Afterward, I felt calm and peaceful. Things started to fall into place.
This experience helped me to see that the priesthood is the same wherever you go, and its power can help us no matter where we are.

In sacrament meeting one hot afternoon, the speaker was talking about the Holy Ghost. I couldn’t really imagine what the Holy Ghost was like, but I wanted to know that he was real. One night I found out.
My cousin Chasta came over to spend the night. We wanted to sleep outside in our tent trailer, so we got my sister, Korina, and an armful of games and blankets. It was dark, and my dad lit the lantern so we could have light to play games by. He showed us how to turn off the lantern when we were done with it.
We played for hours. Then I got up and turned off the lantern. We tried to go to sleep, but we all agreed that we wanted to play another game.
We stood a couple of flashlights on the table, but it still wasn’t enough light to see the game by. So I suggested that we turn the lantern back on. I had seen my dad do it several times, so I thought I could do it. I felt important, pumping gas into the lantern with the matches in my hands, while Korina and Chasta stood near me watching.
I went to strike a match, but I stopped. Something told me not to. I had never felt anything like this before. I was stunned. I didn’t know what to say. All I did know was that we would be in danger if I lit the match. The thought came to me to move the lantern out of the tent trailer.
I set the lantern down on a chimney support right next to the house and continued the process of pumping gas, getting the lantern ready to light. The feeling came again just as strong.
I remember my dad saying one night during family home evening that the Holy Ghost was the still, small voice that helps you when you need help and warns you about sudden dangers.
Right next to the house was not a good place either, we decided. I placed the lantern on the cement, away from everything. I realized I was talking aloud. The words, “Be prepared to jump and run, just in case,” came out of my mouth. I hadn’t even thought of saying it. When I finally did light the lantern, it blew up and caught fire. But none of us was hurt, and nothing except the lantern was damaged.
Ever since that night, I think about what could have happened if I hadn’t been warned to get the lantern away from the tent trailer and also away from the house. I felt the Holy Ghost had really prompted me. Now I know he is real and I can feel his promptings.

You settle in for another episode of your favorite TV series, seriously considering whether professional couch potatoing could be your future career. Your dad throws open the back door and asks for your help with the yard work. Without expecting it or maybe even realizing it, an involuntary groan works its way out of your mouth.