Gospel Story Finder

Sixty-four years ago this September, I returned home from my mission in England. Three days after returning, I attended a Hello Day dance at the University of Utah with a friend of mine. He told me about a beautiful sophomore named Barbara Bowen, whom he thought I ought to meet. He brought her over and introduced us, and we started to dance.
Unfortunately, this was what we used to call a “tag dance,” which meant that you got to dance with the girl only until somebody else tagged you out. Barbara was vivacious and popular, so I got to dance with her for less than a minute before another young man tagged me out.
That was just not acceptable to me. Having learned the importance of follow-up on my mission, I got her telephone number and called her the very next day to ask her out, but she was busy with school and social commitments. Thankfully, my mission taught me to be persistent even in the face of discouragement, and I was eventually able to make a date. And that date led to others. Somehow during those dates I was able to convince her that I was the only true and living returned missionary—at least as far as she should be concerned. Now, 64 years later, there are seven children and many grandchildren and great-grandchildren who stand as evidence of the significant truth that no matter how good your message is, you may not get a chance to deliver it without consistent, persistent follow-up.

Recently, for Thanksgiving, I drove to my sister’s house, where the family was visiting for a few days. Opening the front door, I found Grandpa in the middle of the room, seated in a wheelchair, a yardstick on the floor beside him. He was wearing a yellow cardigan and a pair of brown pants like his old work pants, except these weren’t faded or stained. I instinctively looked for his cane but didn’t find it. When I bent down to hug him, I felt his bony shoulders and his whiskery face.
He asked me how my studies were, would I get straight A’s? Did I ever see my cousin who just got married? We were talking like that when my sister Kris came into the room from downstairs; Tony, her two-year-old son, trailed behind her. After a while she went into the kitchen to see about dinner while I played with Tony. Grandpa remained in the wheelchair, his hands in his lap, his head lolling forward in sleep. Finally I escaped for a few minutes to take my overnight bag downstairs. Above me I could hear Tony tumbling around on the floor, and I suddenly wanted him to know Grandpa by his walking sticks—the staff, the sceptor, the garden implement. Not Grandpa as a shrunken body in a wheelchair, who went only from the bed to the table to the bathroom.
In the kitchen I watched Kris slice vegetables, her fingers moving quickly. When I heard Tony’s laughter from the living room, quiet at first then louder, I went to the doorway to see what he was doing. Grandpa was in the middle of the room as I had left him, but instead of sleeping, he was leaning forward in his chair, his knobby hands wrapped around the wooden yardstick that had been on the floor. He kept the other end of the yardstick poised above Tony, who lay on his back a few feet away watching him.
When Grandpa lowered the yardstick toward Tony’s belly sticking out from his striped T shirt, Tony giggled and tossed his head; then, feeling the tickle of wood on his stomach, he rolled away, his shrill giggles filling the room. And I heard the deeper laughter of my grandfather. Looking into his gray eyes, I saw again the face I had known when I knelt next to the wooden giraffe.

We might be young adults, but we can be leaders in the Church now. Despite being the only member of the Church in her family, Janka Toronyi from Gy?r, Hungary, is strengthened by her fellow young adults’ participation in other aspects of the Restoration: “A bunch of my friends have gone on missions, and it’s been so great to see their progress and then they return and they grow up so much through all their experiences. It’s a great experience for all of us. And it’s always marvelous to see my young single adult friends serve in their callings and sometimes even opportunities they make themselves, like volunteering to be counselors at FSY (For the Strength of Youth) conferences. I feel like the Restoration isn’t always about teaching people about the gospel—it’s about strengthening the members that we have.”
The young adults in Hungary understand that they are the future leaders of the Church. “We are needed and we need to measure up to the task, which is sometimes overwhelming,” Janka admits. “The Lord is hastening the work and we are part of it. Sometimes we think, ‘How am I supposed to do this?’ But it’s great to see that our leaders have so much trust in us. It is motivating for those who do love the Church and have a strong testimony, because we know that one day we are going to be responsible. We have to take responsibility for our own spiritual progression.”

When farmers’ crops fail, it may mean difficult times, but for 47 members of the Church in Mexico a poor harvest also blocked their dreams of going to the Los Angeles Temple. When the seminary students from the La Canada First and Second Wards (La Crescenta California Stake) found out about the postponed trip, they sold cheese, sponsored movies, put on dinners, took inventories for department stores, and held their own fair to raise $3,500 to help the Mexican Saints.

The eight families from Mexico and two bus drivers then rode three days after waiting weeks for visas. Most of the men, farmers and laborers, had seen their area’s crops fail and had canceled their plans to visit the temple this year. The La Canada young people had decided there could be no more worthwhile project than helping the Mexican Saints go to the temple.

The California Saints were ready with a large “Bienvenidos” (welcome) sign when the group arrived, and they greeted their guests with many abrazos (hugs). Everyone moved from the parking lot to the chapel and sang, “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet” and “Come, Come Ye Saints” in both Spanish and English. The Mexican members from Tezontepec and Conejos were welcomed by La Crescenta California Stake President Don L. Rogers and introduced to their host families.

The next day began with a chapel service after which the Mexican Saints went through a Spanish-speaking endowment session. In the afternoon they attended a sealing session. While the adults were in the temple, six of the young people who had traveled with the group and several La Canada seminary students performed baptisms for the dead. Another group of seminary youth served as baby-sitters in the nursery for the day.

After a day at the temple, the La Canada church members held a fiesta in honor of their guests. The cultural hall was decorated in red, green, and white, Mexico’s national colors, and the visitors were served some of their own national specialties—enchiladas, beans, rice, hot chiles, and fruit salad. The Mexican Saints were all introduced, and an informal program was staged by the hosting wards.

The next day was Saturday, and the La Canada youths were excited to show their guests some Southern California sights. The Mexican children especially loved the Mickey Mouse Parade at Disneyland.

The following day Mexican Branch President Tomás Gracia spoke at stake conference, expressing his love for those who had given so much to make the trip possible for his branch members. A fireside that evening gave everyone the opportunity to get better acquainted. The Saints from Mexico sang and answered questions as well as shared testimonies.

The next morning was a sad farewell as the visitors sang to their new American friends. The busload of strengthened Saints left with renewed determination to share their experiences in Mexico. For the seminary students of the La Canada wards it was hard to say goodbye, but knowing that the months of hard work had gone to help enrich and uplift others made the experience one of deep, quiet happiness.

There are those who are ready now, but there are not enough. I know of one lovely woman who is ready. She had been injured in the accident which took her husband’s life, leaving her a widow for the second time in her young life. She had not fully recovered from the mishap and had a family of young children to raise. Yet she paid tithing on the insurance settlement for her husband’s death. The clerk said to the bishop, “Sister So-and-so needs this money much more than the Church does. Don’t you think we should return it?”
The bishop asked me. I answered his question with a question: “What does Sister So-and-so need more than the blessings that come from paying tithing?” Imagine how the Lord will open the windows of heaven for this young mother because of her faith and devotion.

After my friend Buddy was in a car accident, I didn’t see him for a while. I guess he didn’t want to see his friends because he had some scars on his face.
One day I decided to call him on the phone. He said if I saw him I wouldn’t want to be his friend anymore. “I’m ugly,” he said, and I could tell he was crying.
Before the car accident, Buddy had always been happy and fun to be around. Now he was sad and wanted to be alone.
Buddy’s birthday was coming up. He didn’t want a party. He didn’t want anybody to see him or stare at him. Mom told me that Buddy and his family prayed that Heavenly Father would help him to feel different about himself. He knew he was a child of God and that his family loved him, but he still didn’t want to see his friends.
Before I went to visit Buddy, I asked Heavenly Father how I could help my friend. On my way out of my bedroom I saw my rock collection on the shelf. Something told me to give Buddy the big quartz rock. The rock didn’t look like much on the outside, but it had bright crystals inside.
I wrapped the rock in blue paper and headed to Buddy’s house. He didn’t want to see me at first, but he finally told his mom it was OK. When I went in his room, he was wearing a bandana to cover part of his face. I handed Buddy his birthday gift. When he opened it, he just stared at the rock.
“Uh, thanks,” he said.
“It’s better than it looks,” I said. “Grab your dad’s hammer, and come outside with me.”
We went into Buddy’s backyard. I put the rock on the ground and hit it with the hammer. It broke open, and Buddy’s eyes widened with surprise. “Wow, cool!” he exclaimed as he saw the crystals inside glinting in the sun.
Then I realized why I had been prompted to give Buddy the rock. “It’s just like you,” I said. “People who know you don’t care what you look like on the outside. What’s important is your heart.”
Buddy didn’t say anything as he gazed at the quartz, but I could tell he was smiling under the bandana.
Buddy decided to have a birthday party with his friends, and he didn’t wear the bandana over his face. He was his old self again. He still had scars, but he didn’t mind and neither did we. We knew what was inside, and that’s what was important.

A 14-year-old sister was all dressed up to go to a Young Women activity at a time in her life when she felt very unsure about herself. She was quietly and self-consciously inching her way toward the front door, hoping not to be noticed by all the young men in the living room who were visiting with her older brother Russell. She was given a life-changing boost when her older brother interrupted his conversation and said to her in front of all his friends, “My, Emily, you look pretty tonight!”
A small thing? No. There are young women who claim that they would not have made it through those growing-up years without the encouragement and support of their older brothers.

Lots of things can happen on the way home on a school bus. On any given day, there could be a spit-wad fight, an impromptu fashion show, or other unplanned events. Under the right circumstances, it is even possible to have a sing-along.
That’s what happened one fall afternoon on bus 29, which picked up and delivered students from several small rural towns. I don’t know who started it, but all of a sudden someone began singing one of the popular songs on the radio. Before long, even the seniors were singing.
Not long after that Norman started to ride our bus. I didn’t know him well then, even though we were just about the same age and lived in the same ward. My parents told me Norman had a learning disability and that was why he had attended a different school. Now, he had been doing so well that he was being mainstreamed. Norman’s father wasn’t a member of the Church, and the rest of his family were not very active. I didn’t see Norman much at church, either.
When Norman first began riding bus 29, we sat together a couple of times, discovered we shared the same first name, and quickly became friends. Unfortunately, after a few days, some of the older guys started to tease him because he couldn’t pronounce some words very well. They called him “Normie,” and it didn’t take long for them to tease me too. I felt cowardly, but I stopped sitting by him. I didn’t know what else to do.
One afternoon while Norman was being teased, someone suggested that he sing a song. When Norman said he didn’t know any songs, somebody else said he would teach him. He pulled him over to another seat and began to recite the off-color words. Some of the guys were shifting in their seats looking uncomfortable. Others snickered. But no one said anything—not even my older brother, Dean. He just frowned and moved to another seat.
After practicing with Norman for a few minutes, they sang the song together. Many of the offensive words were difficult for Norman to pronounce. When they came to those words, the older boy would stop and let Norman sing them alone. Each time he tried and stumbled on his words, Norman would smile a big, awkward-looking smile. The guys at the back of the bus would smirk and try to keep from laughing too loud.
Day after day, a different boy was selected to teach Norman a new song. One day when he wasn’t on the bus, they started picking on me, “Let’s teach this other Norman a song. Let’s see if he can learn as fast as the other one,” one of them teased. He was a lot bigger than me, so I didn’t say anything, but I’m certain that the look on my face said plenty.
After a while, everybody seemed to be having a good time with this new game. Everybody, it seemed, except Norman and me.
One day, when the singing had ended, that day’s tutor walked up the aisle to where my brother Dean was sitting.
“Hey, Dean, you’re next. Teach Norman a song tomorrow,” he said.
“No thanks, I don’t know any,” was Dean’s gruff reply.
“Ah, come on. It’s not hurting anything. He likes it,” he said.
“I’m not sure he does,” was Dean’s reply. “Besides, I can’t sing.”
“None of us can sing. So what? Teach him a song. It won’t hurt you.”
I could have fainted when Dean looked at his shoes, heaved a sigh, and said, “Okay.”
My brother is fiercely independent and usually doesn’t join in just to gain the approval of others. For instance, he turned down the football coach’s request to try out for the team so he could go to the local rodeo arena and rope calves instead. I couldn’t understand his decision to participate in the singing.
He never did like his younger brother telling him what to do. But this time I had to say something. Later that evening, I went to Dean’s room, where I found him alone.
“Don’t do it, Dean,” I said.
“Don’t do what?” was his startled reply.
“Don’t make Norman sing just so those guys can laugh at him,” I said.
“You’re too late,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’m going to do it.”
“Well, don’t go through with it, then. Come on, give him a break. And me, too. You know how I get teased.”
“Leave me alone,” he said more softly than I expected. “I’ve already made up my mind.”
I did leave him alone. Feeling hurt, I went to my room, dreading the ride home the next day. If I could have found another ride home, I would have. But it was too far to walk and I didn’t know anyone with a car. At the end of the day, I found a seat on the bus and slumped down in it as far as I could.
As we bumped along, Dean announced, “Hey, listen up. Norman and I have learned a song and we want it quiet while we sing it.”
The bus hit a few more potholes while I sank lower and lower into my seat. Everybody sat there with anticipation. With an awkward glance at each other, Dean and Norman began to sing. Anticipation turned to surprise as the two raspy voices sang off-key:
I am a child of God,
And he has sent me here,
Has given me an earthly home
With parents kind and dear.
Lead me, guide me, walk beside me,
Help me find the way.
Teach me all that I must do
To live with him someday.
When they finished, there was none of the usual banter—no joking, laughing, or teasing. Some guys were looking wistfully at their shoes, others were shifting nervously in their seats, while still others were clearing their throats without knowing what to say. The deafening silence was finally broken when somebody began to clap. Then everybody on the bus joined in.
Things were different for Norman after that bus ride home. In fact, Dean seemed to be the only person who wasn’t affected much by his duet. He still roped calves and went to rodeos, still didn’t talk much, and still couldn’t carry a tune. But, to me, he’ll never improve on the song he sang that afternoon on bus 29.

We got sick then just as people get sick now. In fact, I think we did more so. In those early years, the milk we drank was not pasteurized. We, of course, did not have an automatic dishwasher, except that it was our automatic duty to wash the dishes. When we were diagnosed as having chicken pox or measles, the doctor would advise the city health department, and a man would be sent to put a sign in the front window. This was a warning to any who might wish to come to our house that they did so at their own peril.

If the disease was smallpox or diphtheria, the sign was bright orange with black letters. It said, in effect, “Stay away from this place.”

I learned something I have always remembered—to watch for signs of danger and evil and stay away.

Too often I have failed to express gratitude for the faith and goodness of such people in my life. President James E. Faust stood at this pulpit 13 years ago and said, “As a small boy … , I remember my grandmother … cooking our delicious meals on a hot woodstove. When the wood box next to the stove became empty, Grandmother would silently … go out to refill it from the pile of cedar wood outside, and bring the heavily laden box back into the house. I was so insensitive … [that] I sat there and let my beloved grandmother refill [that] box.” Then, his voice choking with emotion, he said, “I feel ashamed of myself and have regretted my omission for all of my life. I hope someday to ask for her forgiveness.”3

The story, presumably authentic, is told that during the Civil War when the fortunes of the Union armies, under the command of General Grant, were going badly, some concerned ministers called on President Abraham Lincoln at the White House and forcefully urged the dismissal of Grant.
To these men he is alleged to have said: “Gentlemen, General Grant has under his command all that we hold dear in this nation. Instead of criticism, you too should get down on your knees and pray God that he would see this nation through to victory.”

Seminary, rugby, and collecting old coins. Those are some of 15-year-old Joshua Kimberling’s favorite things, and in that order.
Joshua lives in York, England, where he’s not afraid to talk about the gospel. “I can answer my friends’ questions about the Church a lot easier now that we’ve studied Church history in seminary,” he says.
He also took some maps of Church history sites in England to school to show his geography teacher, who then photocopied them to show to other classes.
Joshua has just begun his Bronze Duke of Edinburgh course and especially enjoys the first aid, which he hopes he never has to use.

“Mommy, are you crying?” my three-year-old son often asks me. Then I hold him and say, “Yes, honey, because I have such a beautiful family. I cannot help crying for joy. Let’s say ‘thank you’ to Heavenly Father.”

This change prepared Truman to accept the message of two Latter-day Saint missionaries a few years later, after he had moved to western New York. He was baptized, and so were his wife, Polly, and his mother. Then, fired with the spirit and happiness of the gospel, Truman and a cousin traveled east five hundred miles, preaching daily for nine weeks.

The family talked of the times when Dad has been home: of camping trips in the Shenandoah Mountains when deer would eat right out of their hands, of water slides and visits to the Cherokee reservation, of playing baseball and football together, of trips to the beach.
“One time, just as we were leaving to pick up Dad, I slipped and cut my chin,” Nathan said. “Dad had been waiting 30 minutes before he found out we were at the emergency room.”

Some time ago, my family and I lived in Veracruz, Mexico, where my children attended elementary school. Each morning as I helped my three children get ready for school, we listened to the radio—the most popular station in the city—with a very pleasant program conducted by a young male radio announcer.
We began hearing a very catchy song. As I started paying closer attention to the lyrics, I realized that the things it said, though not vulgar, were suggestive and crude.
I said determinedly to my children, “We cannot listen to this type of language.” Perhaps they didn’t even pay attention to the lyrics of the song, but they did pay enough attention to be humming its tune.
They saw me turn off the volume on the stereo system and asked me what I was doing. “I am going to tell the radio announcer to take that song off the program.” Their astonishment encouraged me to take further action.
They couldn’t believe it and neither could I, but I picked up the telephone and called the radio station. I didn’t expect to get an answer, but to my surprise, the same radio announcer we had just heard on the show answered my call almost immediately.
I told him that I didn’t agree with listening to that song, since many families tuned in to the radio at that time in the morning. He asked me what I would suggest he replace it with, but his demeanor was so well-mannered that I asked only that he not play that song during the time when the children were at home.
I never found out if my call was on the air, but I was just grateful that the radio announcer had listened. And for the next few days, I could tell that my request had been granted.
That experience affirmed to me that we should be courageous when it is in our hands to make decisions and do what is necessary to protect our children from negative influences. As we do so, the Holy Ghost can continue being our constant companion.

Years ago, a woman named Jacqueline Langey-Johnson moved into our neighborhood. She is a caretaker for two young women with developmental disabilities. As a couple, we wondered if Jacqueline might have a difficult time taking care of her property while caring for these young women. We decided to introduce ourselves and see how we could help.
We had a wonderful conversation during which we told Jacqueline we would be delighted to help her with some yard work. She gratefully accepted our offer and told us how difficult it was for her to get outside and do yard work since she couldn’t leave the young women alone in the house.
The Lord was very aware of Jacqueline’s situation and used us to help her find joy in her new home and feel welcomed in the neighborhood. We were thrilled at the chance to serve her and develop a forever friendship.
We soon discovered that Jacqueline was a devout Christian who loved reading about the Savior. So during one of our conversations, we gave her a Come, Follow Me—For Individuals and Families: New Testament manual. Jacqueline absolutely loved the material in the manual and the creative way it was presented—it made reading the New Testament enjoyable and easy to understand.
One day about two years ago, Jacqueline asked if the full-time missionaries could come to her home and teach her more about the Church using the Come, Follow Me manual. Alongside the full-time missionaries, we started having weekly discussions with her. After four months, she wanted to be baptized. She asked me (Bob) to perform the ordinance and my wife (Judy) to be a witness.
Since her baptism in September 2020, Jacqueline has served as a sacrament meeting greeter, assisted the full-time missionaries in teaching others, counseled young adults in our ward with developmental disabilities, met with the full-time missionaries weekly to learn more about the Church, and identified several of her ancestors who need temple ordinance work performed for them. She also currently serves in the Denver Colorado Temple.

On another occasion, President Young said that he also worried about people losing their way when they were being blessed—when life was good: “It is in calm weather, when the old ship of Zion is sailing with a gentle breeze, [and] when all is quiet on deck, that some of the brethren want to go out in the whaling boats to have … a swim, and some get drowned, others drifted away, and others again get back to the ship. Let us stick to the old ship and she will carry us [safely] into the harbor; you need not be concerned.”2

Two parallel episodes related by his eternal companion, Ruth, are especially illustrative.
The first concerns his initial call in 1972 to be a General Authority: “We had a special family home evening, including the only grandchild back then. Jim went around the circle and told the children what was unique about them and how they were special individually. Then he told them about his call, stressing that if he were not a good father, he could not succeed as a General Authority, adding, ‘I am never going to be released from my calling as a father or a grandfather.’”
In the second episode, when he was called to be in the First Presidency, President Faust did the very same thing! In 1995 the teaching involved 22 grandchildren and ended with President Faust’s saying again how very important they all were to him and that he couldn’t succeed as a member of the First Presidency if he wasn’t a good father. Sister Faust further observed, “This is the kind of person he has been all of his life. Family and loved ones have come first!”

It was on Beacon Hill that Elders Brigham Young, Wilford Woodruff, and Willard Richards prayerfully decided to authorize the printing of copies of the Book of Mormon and hymn books in Great Britain. These brethren did not have access to a temple, so they often retreated to the Malvern Hills to discuss with the Lord various weighty decisions. These hills, and particularly Beacon Hill, are sacred places.