Gospel Story Finder

You know from studying Church history that we have tried to live as one in a variety of settings. A story from one of those tries, in Orderville, Utah, gives us a clue as to why it is so hard.
Orderville was founded in 1870 and 1871 by people who wanted to live the united order; in 1875 they began the order. They built housing units in a square, with a common dining hall. They built a storehouse, shoe shop, bakery, blacksmith shop, tannery, schoolhouse, sheep shed, and woolen factory. They grew and made nearly everything they needed, from soap to trousers. They had carpenters, midwives, teachers, artists, and musicians. They produced enough surplus that they could sell it in neighboring towns for cash: with that they built up a capital fund to buy more land and equipment.
The population rose to seven hundred people. One hundred and fifty of them gave Orderville a special advantage: they had come to Orderville from the mission on the Muddy River, where they had nearly starved. When those who had been called to the Muddy were released, they were in near destitution. Twenty-four of those families went to Long Valley, founded Orderville, and pledged all they had to the Lord. They didn’t have much, but their poverty may have been their greatest contribution. Their having almost nothing provided a basis for future comparison that might have guaranteed gratitude: any food or clothing or housing that came to them in Orderville would be treasure compared to their privation on the Muddy mission.
But time passed, the railroad came, and a mining boom put cash in the hands of people in the neighboring towns. They could buy imported clothes, and they did. The people in Orderville were living better than they had in years, but the memory of poverty on the Muddy had faded. They now focused on what was in the next town. And so they felt old-fashioned and deprived.
One ingenious boy acted on the discontent he felt when he was denied a new pair of pants from the Orderville factory because his were not worn out yet. He secretly gathered the docked lambs’ tails from the spring crop. He sheared the wool from them and stored it in sacks. Then, when he was sent with a load of wool to sell in Nephi, he took his sacks along and exchanged them for a pair of store pants. He created a sensation when he wore the new-style pants to the next dance.
The president of the order asked him what he had done. The boy gave an honest answer. So they called him into a meeting and told him to bring the pants. They commended him for his initiative, pointed out that the pants really belonged to the order, and took them. But they told him this: the pants would be taken apart, used as a pattern, and henceforth Orderville pants would have the new store-bought style. And he would get the first pair.
That did not quite end the pants rebellion. Orders for new pants soon swamped the tailoring department. When the orders were denied because pants weren’t yet worn out, boys began slipping into the shed where the grinding wheel was housed. Soon, pants began to wear out quickly. The elders gave in, sent a load of wool out to trade for cloth, and the new-style pants were produced for everyone.
You know that isn’t a happy ending. There were many challenges Orderville faced in the ten years they lived the order there. One of them they never really conquered. It was the problem of not remembering. That is a problem we must solve, too.

In November 1914, I was back in my native Italy, and called to serve in the Italian army and fought in France. Once I told some men in my company the story of the people of Ammon—how they had refused to shed the blood of their brothers and had buried their weapons rather than be guilty of such great crimes. The chaplain reported me to the commanding officer, and the next day I was escorted to his office. He asked me to tell him the story I had told. Then he asked how I had come into possession of the book. I received as punishment a ten-day sentence of bread and water, with the order that I was to speak no more of the book.

One youth Sunday School teacher wondered how to help two young men with autism act for themselves. When she invited class members to share what they were learning, she worried that these two young men might refuse her invitation. But they didn’t. One stood to teach what he had learned and then invited his classmate with autism to help him. When the first began to struggle, his classmate stayed with him and whispered in his ear so that he could feel successful. They were both teaching that day. They were teaching what the Savior taught, but they were also teaching how the Savior taught. When the Savior taught, He acted out of love for the one He was teaching, just as this classmate did for his friend.5

During my last year of junior high school, it was my privilege to be responsible for taking care of the flag at our school. Each morning just before school began, the bugle sounded and we would raise the flag on the pole out in front of the building. All of the students would then stand at attention in their classrooms and repeat the Pledge of Allegiance to our country.
We really cared for the flag—it meant something special to us! Whenever it rained, we would be excused from class to run out, lower the flag, and carefully put it away until the weather was clear to display it again. Each night before leaving school, the flag would be lowered, gently folded in a triangle with only the white stars on a blue background visible, and put away until the next day.

From our youth, many of us may remember the story of a very young boy who was abducted from his parents and his home and taken to a village situated far away. Under these conditions, the small boy grew to young manhood without a knowledge of his actual parents or earthly home.
But where was home to be found? Where were his mother and father to be discovered? Oh, if only he could remember even their names, his task would be less hopeless. Desperately he sought to recall even a glimpse of his childhood.
Like a flash of inspiration, he remembered the sound of a bell which from the tower atop the village church pealed its welcome each Sabbath morning. From village to village the young man wandered, ever listening for that familiar bell to chime. Some bells were similar, others far different from the sound he remembered.
At length the weary young man stood one Sunday morning before a church of a typical town. He listened carefully as the bell began to peal. The sound was familiar. It was unlike any other he had heard, save that bell which pealed in the memory of his childhood days. Yes, it was the same bell. Its ring was true. His eyes filled with tears. His heart rejoiced in gladness. His soul overflowed with gratitude. The young man dropped to his knees, looked upward beyond the bell tower—even toward heaven—and in a prayer of gratitude whispered, “Thanks be to God. I’m home.”

Photograph by Carrie Leona Ryan
Sometimes familiarity and routine have the tendency to rob otherwise sacred moments of their full meaning. For me, I had let the sacrament lose some of its intended meaning. Each week, I listened to the sacred sacramental prayers while seated in nearly the same pew in the same chapel, surrounded by a familiar congregation.
But the COVID-19 pandemic disrupted this routine and reset my perspective.
Unable to join others in the chapel, I found myself receiving the sacrament in a new setting—gathered around my dining room table with my small family. Doing something familiar and routine in this new setting brought a fresh perspective and, with that new perspective, renewed meaning.
Although I had participated in the sacrament ordinance hundreds of times in my lifetime, doing it where I ordinarily joined my family for a meal and conversation highlighted the familial undertones of the sacrament in ways I hadn’t appreciated before.
One Sunday in particular, as I knelt and uttered the words, “We ask thee in the name of thy Son, Jesus Christ” (Moroni 4:3), my attention went to my precious four-year-old son sitting close to me. There he sat with his arms folded, listening to the prayer, radiating innocence and goodness.
With this brilliant sight in my mind, I continued to offer the prayer. As I spoke the words, “the body of thy Son,” a question entered my mind. What would it be like to willingly sacrifice this innocent son of mine and submit him to incomprehensible pain and suffering?
In a word, unimaginable.
Pondering this impossible question, I continued with the prayer. The words “take upon them the name of thy Son” brought another question to my mind. God is also a father. How could He sacrifice His Son? As I looked at my other family members, who, like me, desperately needed the sacrament, the simple but profound answer came: divine love (see John 3:16).
It seemed as if the windows of heaven briefly opened to reveal a portion of our Heavenly Father’s pure love—so great a love that He sacrificed His truly innocent, perfect Son for us, His other children.
In view of this sacrifice, no matter the difficulties and inequities of life—including a deadly pandemic, disrupted economies, civil unrest, an unbelieving world, and general uncertainty—how could we seriously doubt His love for us?
Lest we forget, the sacrament serves as a weekly reminder of this deep and enduring love. In routinely considering the unparalleled gift of His Son, we can find comfort and overcome the temptation to doubt the Father’s love or concern for us during challenging times.
Without properly considering the eternal fatherhood of God and His role in Jesus Christ’s Atonement, the sacrament ordinance feels incomplete to me now. It stands as a constant reminder to me of the sacrifice of Jesus Christ and expression of Heavenly Father’s love for me.
And it is because of this lesson in love that I will always treasure our at-home sacrament experience.

Stake Relief Society president Josefina Cacuango says that consistent contact through visiting teachers is one way members can show this love. But it can be difficult to reach everyone, because many members are scattered outside Otavalo in el campo, the countryside, where visiting teachers and leaders usually must walk to visit them.
For example, Sister Cacuango’s husband, Luís, presides over the Pucará Branch, which stretches northward for several miles along a portion of the Pan American Highway, and some three or four miles eastward into the foothills. Most members walk to meetings. The small, basic chapel they built with materials furnished by the Church is a focus of pride among Latter-day Saints and other residents as well.
Luís Cacuango is in some ways branch president to all of Pucará. He preaches the gospel to any who will listen. His service extends to the practical level, too. When he makes a run into Otavalo in his small truck, people in Pucará know they can get a ride with him. And when he returns, he may be carrying supplies some of them have requested.

“I spent my early childhood in Little Rock, Arkansas, where the Church wasn’t well established except for the little branch our family helped form. During the first eight years we lived there, we were the only Latter-day Saints.
“Our family held family home evening on Monday nights from the time I was a small boy. Besides learning gospel principles during family nights, we had recreational activities. It is hot and humid in Arkansas, so we often went swimming as a family or had a picnic and invited friends.
“After three other Mormon families moved into the area, a branch was organized in downtown Little Rock. I remember we met upstairs in the Women’s Club building. When the missionaries came to our area, we fed and housed them and enjoyed their companionship.”

Jason Matheny of the Ventura Fourth Ward, Ventura California Stake, was chosen as the offensive player of the year for his high school football team. He was also voted team captain and most valuable player by the other team members.
Jason broke Ventura High School’s record for passing yardage in a single season and was chosen to be on the All Ventura County first team.
In addition, Jason was a four-year honor roll student and an Eagle Scout.

That difference also characterized several hundred members from the Riverton Utah North Stake, who averaged more than fifteen ordinances per family for their ancestors in the Jordan River (Utah) Temple in two days.

For the Riverton Utah North Stake, the challenge to take an ancestor to the temple came from the Jordan River Temple presidency. The stake presidency decided to use two days for the work—the youth would come on 29 December 1987 to be baptized for their ancestors, and the adults would come the following day for initiatory work, endowments, and sealings. That way, the temple would not be overly congested. The goal: that every temple recommend holder in the stake would do work for their kindred dead by the end of the year.

President Duane B. Williams says that they were actually fairly well prepared. “The main reason we were able to undertake this challenge successfully was because the stake and wards were already participating in the Church family history program. A couple were serving as stake family history specialists, and each ward had a couple as ward family history consultants. Furthermore, the ward Sunday Schools offered the family history class.”

The high priests group leaders and family history consultants attended priesthood quorum, Relief Society, and Young Men and Young Women meetings to discuss the challenge and to describe the program: how to fill out the records, when to submit them, and what the schedule would be on the stake ancestral temple days. The consultants also kept up personal contact with ward members, visiting them in their homes to help with the work.

The stake also held a family-history clinic one Saturday. The purpose was to provide hands-on experience in finding information and filling out forms.

The results were astounding. More than 160 families attended the temple on December 29 and 30. Stake members completed over 2,500 ordinances in two days—all for their kindred dead. The outpouring of the Spirit was immeasurable. Many Saints felt their ancestors’ presence during the ordinances. One woman, for example, recounted that she had felt the arm of one of her ancestors encircling her; she was nearly overwhelmed by a great outpouring of love. Many testified that they had never felt such complete peace before.

Because of the experience, many other members in the stake began to prepare to go to the temple. One bishop reported that at tithing settlement, one day after the temple excursion, two couples who had not had temple recommends for some time paid their tithing in full so they could once again attend the temple. They said they did not want to be excluded from the temple work they had heard so much about.

[One young man] and another Aaronic Priesthood holder were assigned to administer the sacrament to a man who was homebound and very sick. They arrived at his home not realizing that recent medical treatments prevented him from eating any food—even a piece of the sacrament bread. After blessing the bread, the young man presented the sacrament to the frail man. He took a piece of the blessed bread, waited a moment, and then held it against his lips. The young man said when he saw this faithful brother express his reverence for the sacrament, he felt as though he were watching him kiss the feet of the Savior. He could tell that he loved Him.
The significance of the sacrament was impressed upon that young man in an unforgettable way that day. You will have sacred experiences, just as this young man did.

Prior to travel restrictions caused by the current pandemic, I was returning home from an international assignment which, due to scheduling issues, created a Sunday layover. I had time between flights to attend a local sacrament meeting, where I was also able to share a brief message. Following the meeting, an enthusiastic deacon approached me and asked if I knew President Nelson and if I had ever had a chance to shake his hand. I answered that I did know him, that I had shaken his hand, and that, as a member of the Presiding Bishopric, I had the opportunity to meet with President Nelson and his counselors a couple of times each week.
The young deacon then sat down on a chair, threw his hands in the air, and shouted, “This is the greatest day of my life!” Brothers and sisters, I may not throw my hands in the air and shout, but I am eternally grateful for a living prophet and for the direction we receive from prophets, seers, and revelators, especially during these times of challenge.

Erin had it all figured out. Alexa could be the monster! “She’s kind of big and slow compared to us,” Erin thought. “We can outrun her, and Alexa can still be part of the game.” It was perfect!
At recess, Erin told her friends Samantha and Natalie that Alexa had asked to play Monster and Princess with them. At first, Samantha seemed annoyed. “I thought we didn’t want her to play with us,” she said.
“I said she could be the monster,” Erin quickly explained. “We’ll have a real monster instead of a pretend one.”
Samantha slowly smiled at the news.
Erin told Alexa the rules of the game. “The monster lives in the castle behind the baseball diamond,” she said. “He tries to capture the princesses while they’re picking magic flowers in the castle garden.”
“What happens if I catch someone?” Alexa asked.
“You lock her up in the tower,” Samantha said. “She has to stay there until the prince rescues her.”
“But who’s the prince?”
“He’s pretend,” said Natalie. “Let’s play!”
Alexa made a great monster. She stomped and growled and swung her arms in giant circles, trying to catch the princesses. The other girls squealed and dodged and ran away.
When recess ended, Erin patted Alexa on the back. They were both panting from running so much. “You were great!” she said.
“But I never caught anybody,” Alexa complained.
Erin thought about that. “Maybe we should get caught sometimes, or we’ll never get to meet the prince.”
For several days, the girls played Monster and Princess at every recess. Alexa got better at capturing the other girls. She’d grab their arms in her big hands and haul them, screaming, to the tower. It was more fun than ever!
One day at recess, Erin noticed that Alexa wasn’t running to the ball field as usual. “Come on,” Erin called. But Alexa didn’t move. Erin ran over to Alexa. “What’s the matter?” she asked.
“I don’t want to be the monster all the time,” Alexa said. “Can’t I be a princess too?”
Erin was stunned. It had never occurred to her that Alexa might not want to be the monster. After all, it was a great game, and she was getting to play. But fair was fair. “OK,” Erin said. “I’ll be the monster today. You can be a princess.”
Alexa smiled. The two girls ran to the field where Samantha and Natalie were waiting.
By the end of recess, Erin was nearly in tears. It was awful being the monster! She couldn’t catch anybody! And every time she got close, the girls would run off screaming! Erin felt frustrated and strange, like she really was ugly or creepy. It wasn’t fun at all!
During silent reading time, Erin thought about the game. How had Alexa stood being the monster for so long? Suddenly, Erin realized that kids had always sort of treated Alexa like a “monster.” They often treated her like she was ugly or different. The game had just been another way to do the same thing! Erin realized she hadn’t been kind at all! She felt ashamed, and she said a prayer in her heart. “I’m sorry! Help me to fix it.”
At the next recess, Erin called her friends over. “Let’s go back to having a pretend monster,” she said.
“Why?” Samantha asked.
“It’s not fun being the monster. Nobody should have to do it.”
Samantha looked at Erin for a long moment. Then she shrugged. “Whatever,” she said.
Erin and Alexa smiled at each other. Then they ran out to the field together.

While it is not known how many finished discs were ultimately sold or how broadly they were distributed, the public response was positive. J. A. Vernon, a missionary serving in Larned, Kansas, USA, reported in a letter printed in the February 1911 Improvement Era: “We recently received some phonograph records containing songs and solos by the Tabernacle Choir and organ. On hearing them played, the people become inquisitive, which gives us many opportunities to explain the principles of the gospel.”5

In a revelation received by Joseph Smith on July 8, 1838, the Lord directed that “those who have thus been tithed shall pay one-tenth of all their interest annually.” It was also explained that this particular instruction would be for all the Saints “a standing law unto them forever.”2
That same day in 1838, Joseph received another revelation in which the Lord clarified the manner in which the utilization of tithing should be approved and administered. He declared, “It shall be disposed of by a council, composed of the First Presidency of my Church, and of the bishop and his council, and by my high council; and by mine own voice unto them, saith the Lord.”4 The “bishop and his council” and “my high council” referred to in this revelation are known today as the Presiding Bishopric and the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, respectively.

The Prophet Joseph Smith was a tall, strong man. He grew up on a farm and spent many hours clearing the land and planting crops with his father and brothers.
The Prophet loved spending time with young people. One of his favorite activities was wrestling. In those days, wrestling consisted mostly of trying to throw your opponent off balance.
One day Joseph noticed a crowd of enthusiastic young men and boys. When he got closer, he saw that they were wrestling. He decided to join them.
There was one especially large fellow who seemed to be the champion. He was proud of the fact that no one had thrown him, and he was eager to wrestle the Prophet.
The match had scarcely begun when the champion found himself being carried by his collar and the seat of his pants to a nearby ditch, where Joseph dropped him.
As the crowd yelled and cheered, Joseph helped the young man to his feet, patted him on his back, and said, “You must not mind this. When I am with the boys, I make all the fun I can for them.”
Although he was the first President of the Church and a very busy man, Joseph Smith knew that taking time to be friendly with others was important.

Blow and bluster, do your worst!
Rattle windows till they burst.
Frost the air and make me shiver,
Freeze the current in the river.
Naught can chill my heart to stay;
There’s a hint of spring today.
Saw a crocus peeping through,
And a violet bud’s first blue.
Then I heard a robin call,
Pecking seeds from garden wall.
I don’t mind your blustering,
Now I know there will be spring.

In Tokyo, Japan, Natsuko Soejima doubted she could teach well. “When I was called to be a youth Sunday School teacher,” she says, “I told the bishop I would be scared. But he said the call was from God, so I accepted.”
As a group, the class intimidated her because of the individual challenges they presented. Two of the youth had hearing disabilities. Some class members who had moved to Japan from other countries spoke only English. She also feared the age difference between her and her class members.
Then, in a teacher council meeting, Sister Soejima found an answer. “We talked about loving each class member, learning their names, praying for them one by one, and teaching—guided by the Spirit—according to their needs,” she explains, “so that’s what I began to do.” She also did something else she’d learned in the council: “I used language that conveyed my love.”
The result? “My heart changed. I began to feel affection for my students. I cared about those who were missing and prayed for them too. As soon as one lesson ended, I started preparing for the next, to have time to think about teaching opportunities. I was overflowing with joy.”

On 20 April 1935, after five years as stake president, Brother Lee was called to the office of the First Presidency and was asked to take charge of a new Church welfare plan. He felt very humble and inadequate in this huge assignment. So, as was his pattern, he went to the Lord in prayer.

“As I kneeled down, my petition was, ‘What kind of organization should be set up in order to accomplish what the Presidency has assigned?’ And there came to me that glorious morning one of the most heavenly realizations of the power of the priesthood of God. It was as though something were saying to me, ‘There is no new organization necessary to take care of the needs of this people. All that is necessary is to put the priesthood of God to work. There is nothing else that you need as a substitute.’”

He resigned from the city commission and began a life of full-time service to the kingdom of God, never wavering in his assurance that God would guide him and that within the priesthood organization were the answers to all the challenges that lay ahead of the growing church.

My mother taught me the gospel when I was young, but because my father was not a Church member, I always wondered if I was on the correct path. I never understood why my father had never joined the Church if it really was true. Still, I loved going to Primary and singing the hymns. I also enjoyed when my mother read the scriptures to me, and little by little I began to develop my own testimony.