Gospel Story Finder

Ana M., 17, a Laurel: I’ve had times at school where a friend will say, “Oh, this happened over the weekend,” and I’m like, “Oh, I would never do that.” And I’ll explain. Or if someone has found out that I’m a Mormon, they’ll come and ask me questions about what I believe in, what my attitude is toward sexual purity. Most of them are like, “That’s pretty cool, but I’d never be able to do it.” They respect me for it. If I’m talking to someone who is “sexually active,” they’re like, “Whoa, how can you wait that long?” But then you have the other side of it where they’re like, “Oh, cool. There aren’t many people who do that anymore.” Sometimes it’s both—like, “That’s a bit weird, but that’s kind of cool.”

But it’s not only in public ways that the gospel helps the youth in Alice Springs. For Ivan Munn, 18, the gospel has brought the reassurance that he can turn to the Lord for help.
“I’ve learned some things the hard way,” Ivan says. “I fell away from the Church, but now I’m back. I’ve stopped doing the bad things, and I’m working to show my love for the Lord. Repentance is a hard job, but it’s worth it.”
Ivan says Church friends have made a difference. “The youth here, the missionaries, the branch president, the mission president—they’ve all helped me sort things out,” he says. “But faith in the Savior and in Heavenly Father is what keeps you going. In the Book of Mormon it talks about the servant and the master in the fruit fields. [See Jacob 5:3–77.] It talks about cutting out the bad fruit so that good fruit can come forth. I think that symbolizes my life. With the Lord’s help, I’ve cut away the bad fruit. I believe the good fruit is starting to come forth.”

Becki Jackson’s dream had come true. She had been chosen for one of the starring roles in her high school’s musical production—something she had hoped for since she was a little girl.
With the stress of auditions behind her, Becki looked forward to learning her part. She took the musical score home. But as she looked through the manuscript, she was uncomfortable with many of the songs that seemed to have suggestive lyrics and double meanings. And her role was the worst!
This was her senior year—the first year the high school had put on a musical production in a long time. Her one-time opportunity to perform could be spoiled.
Becki and her family, who live in Fisherville, Ontario, Canada, and attend the Simcoe Branch, had been members of the Church for two years. Becki’s standards had always been high, but she was more determined than ever to uphold them now that she was a member of the Church and the only Latter-day Saint in her school.
When she went to her first rehearsal for the play, “I told my teacher-director that I wouldn’t sing those songs,” she says. “He tried to convince me that the lyrics were only supposed to be funny. They didn’t want to lose me as a lead, he said, but if I felt that strongly they would give me different songs to sing.” And different songs she did get!
At the next rehearsal, Becki was assigned to the chorus. No explanation was given. Another girl was assigned Becki’s lead role and was asked to sing the songs.
However, Becki’s classmates were so supportive of her stand that the teachers finally modified the songs by completely removing the verses that Becki had refused to sing.
Becki’s father, Kel Jackson, says, “I knew the strength of Becki’s testimony when I asked her if she was going to continue in the musical or drop out. She answered, ‘I have waited a long time for this, and I have worked hard. They may have taken away my part, but they did remove the bad words, and I am going to be in this production.’ Through weeks of rehearsal, she never again mentioned the situation or complained in any way.”
When asked if she was bitter toward her teachers for their actions, Becki answers, “I didn’t like their attitude about the songs, but they were nice people, and they were working hard to make this a production the school could be proud of.”
On opening night, Becki showed great delight in participating in her limited role, which included a one-line solo. “Many people questioned why she had not played a larger part,” comments her father. “It was then that I fully understood that she had played a larger part than any role in the play. She had set aside personal desires to act in a manner pleasing to her Father in Heaven. Becki’s example is a reminder that sacrifice for gospel principles will always lead to a starring role.”

Not long ago, as a full-time career person, working and traveling across the country, I was not always where I could say a formal blessing on the food I might eat during the day (one example: breakfast in Chicago, lunch in Boston, and supper in Little Rock, Arkansas), so I always blessed the food of that day in my morning prayer.

In 1832, he prophesied that the southern states and northern states would shortly be divided in civil war, that this war would be the beginning of world wars which would eventually involve all nations and result in the death and misery of many souls. Specifically, he said that the great Civil War would begin with a rebellion in South Carolina. (See D&C 87.) This prophecy was published to the world in 1851.

As every schoolboy knows, the Civil War began with the secession of South Carolina from the Union, and other states followed. When Lincoln sent provisions to the Union forces at Fort Sumter, South Carolina, the Confederate forces opened fire on the fort. Since that fateful day in 1861, the world has seen as a result of warfare the death and misery of many souls.

Then one Sunday, Bruce offered to drive me to my bishop’s interview. After much resistance, I let him drive me to the church. I don’t remember what he did that got me so upset, but by that time in my life, I was always upset with him. All I felt for him was hatred.

The bishop opened the door and greeted me with his usual grin and friendly handshake. He began by asking me the standard questions. But as soon as I opened my mouth to answer, tears began streaming down my face.

I proceeded to tell my bishop about the hatred I had for Bruce. He became very concerned and finally asked, “What are we going to do about it?” in a very fatherly voice, as if it were a problem between him and me. I didn’t intend to do anything about it, but my bishop did. He told me he wanted me to pray and try to overcome this growing “disease” I had. I told him that it was easier to hate Bruce than to love him, and that “we” weren’t going to do or say anything about it.

What my bishop didn’t understand was that what I really wanted was for my real father to love me as much as Bruce did. My real father never gave me the attention or love that I needed and wanted. To this day, I continue to dream that my father will want to play a part in my life and that he will find a way to show me that he loves me.

I cried as I walked home and thought about everything we had talked about. When I got home, I went to my room and began praying. I prayed and I pled for the desire to respect Bruce for who he was—a child of God.

Throughout the next five years, I made great efforts to be kinder and more respectful toward Bruce. I wouldn’t walk away from him when he talked to me. I would acknowledge him when he came to watch me perform. I began to like him again. I no longer wanted to hate him. I actually wanted to show him love.

Not too many days later, I got a phone call from a member of the Church I knew named Dave. He asked if I wanted to come to his house on Saturday night. He also invited me to join his family for dinner the next day. It sounded like a lot more fun than I was currently having with no friends, so I agreed.
Dave and I had a good time together—and, of course, there were no cigarettes or alcohol. As I listened to Dave’s dad say the prayer at dinner, I felt so good. I began to think that maybe—just maybe—things were getting better.
Dave and I became best friends. We played football together, went to school together, helped each other go on missions. When we got back, we were college roommates. We helped each other find the right women to marry and kept each other on the strait and narrow path all the way to the temple and after. All these years later, we’re still good friends. And it all started with a simple phone call, right when I needed it.

Old Mom flapped her huge ears and swayed her long wrinkled trunk. The journey from Germany aboard the big ship had been long and tiring.
“Come on, old girl,” the men coaxed. Reaching their bull hooks gently behind her ears, they tugged her along the gangplank and pulled and prodded until she boarded the circus train to her new American home.
“I can’t believe that my friend Karl would send me such an imbecile!” the American circus owner wailed a few days later. “He told me that he was sending his prize queen! But she doesn’t know any tricks, and she doesn’t obey a single command.” Angrily he placed a call to Germany.
“It is not possible,” said the shocked Karl. “Old Mom is the smartest elephant in the world. Only because we are friends have I sent her to you.”
“Perhaps she is deaf,” suggested her new owner.
“Nein, nein (No, no)!” insisted Karl. “Every morning I would say to her, ‘Wie geht’s Mama (How are you, Mama)?’ or ‘Vas ist los (What’s up)?’ and she would greet me like a child.”
As soon as he hung up, the circus owner hurried over to Old Mom. “Wie geht’s, Mama. Vas ist los?“ he asked.
The huge beast immediately fell to her knees, trumpeting happily. She rose to her feet and shimmied her huge backside in a frenzied dance. Then she curled her trunk around the owner in an elephantine hug. In a strange land, among strange people, finally something was familiar!
“I should have known,” the owner said, chuckling. “A German elephant doesn’t understand English. We’ll find someone to translate for her for a while. Then we will teach her English.”

At a recent temple open house, an Apostle gathered his family around the holy altar in a sealing room. He taught them that everything we do in the Church—classes, activities, programs, and meetings—prepares us to come to the temple altar to receive the sealing ordinance. The temple represents the very essence of your Heavenly Father’s plan for your eternal happiness and progression.

Thank you for the wonderful October issue of the New Era. For almost two years I have been able to utilize the New Era in many ways as a missionary. I especially enjoyed the story “Onward Christian Soldiers.” The Mormonad really impressed a popcorn-loving contact. She read the entire issue. Thank you, Jeanie Carnahan and Lonnie Lonczyna.
Elder Eldon McMurraySouth Dakota Rapid City Mission

All young men over the age of 18 in Finland are required to serve in the military for 6 to 12 months. As I began my required service, I found that the opinions and attitudes of many of my army buddies conflicted with my principles. As a result, I took steps to stay close to the Spirit, praying at least twice a day and reading the scriptures.
At first I was nervous because I didn’t know how my buddies would react, but they didn’t seem to care, so I relaxed. After a while my bunk mates asked what I was reading. “The Book of Mormon,” I told them directly. Their next question, of course, was whether I was a Latter-day Saint. I told them I was, and for a while, they let the matter drop.
In time a few of my army buddies began to ask about the Book of Mormon—its origin, contents, and so forth. Later their questions ranged from the purpose of life to principles of the Church. My religion became a natural part of our discussions, and it popped up in almost any situation.
During the rest of our time together, we had many discussions that always seemed to turn to the Church’s teachings. My roommates called these discussions “Ask the Mormon” sessions. Later, after we had graduated from our training, one roommate told me he had decided to quit swearing.

The challenges that face us and our families as disciples of Christ are somewhat different than those of Joshua’s Israelites. Let me illustrate with an experience. Our family lived for many years in the state of Florida. Because Florida has a high concentration of sand, lawns there are planted with a large broadleaf grass we call Saint Augustine. A formidable enemy of a Florida lawn is a small, brown insect called a mole cricket.

One evening as my neighbor and I stood on the front steps, he noticed a little bug crossing my sidewalk. “You better spray your lawn,” he warned. “There goes a mole cricket.” I had sprayed the lawn with insecticide not too many weeks previously, and I hardly felt that I had the time or money to do it again so soon.

In the light of the next morning, I examined my lawn closely. It was lush and beautifully green. I looked down into the grass to see if I could see any of the little bugs. I could see none. I remember thinking, “Well, maybe that little mole cricket was just passing through my yard on the way to my neighbor’s yard.”

I watched my lawn for more than a week, looking for signs of invaders, but none was evident. I congratulated myself that I had not overreacted to my neighbor’s warning.

The story, however, has a sad ending. I came out the front door one morning, about 10 days after the conversation with my neighbor. Shockingly, as if it had happened overnight, brown spots covered my lawn. I ran to the garden store, bought the insecticide, and sprayed immediately, but it was too late. The lawn was ruined, and to return it to its former state required a new crop of sod, long hours of work, and large expense.

My neighbor’s warning was central to my lawn’s welfare. He saw things I could not see. He knew something I did not know. He knew that mole crickets live underground and are active only at night, making my daytime examinations ineffective. He knew that mole crickets did not eat the leaves of the grass but rather found nourishment in the roots. He knew that these little inch-long creatures could eat a lot of roots before I would ever see the effect above the ground. I paid a dear price for my smug independence.

I don’t know how many kids live in small branches, but I live in one up here in Alaska. There aren’t many young people, but when the New Era comes, we all get together and discuss the things we’ve read. It gives us a chance (in its own way) to associate with other Mormon youth.
Jon MerrillEielson Air Force Base, Alaska

I am a new member of the Church as of February 26, 1977. I was first taught the gospel by two fine young missionaries about seven years ago but did not join the Church at that time. Throughout this long period the Church magazines have been my only contact with the Church. I have received endless spiritual guidance and encouragement from the many articles. There have been many times during this period when I have been very depressed, and the magazines have always been a source of strength. They have played a strong part in finally bringing me into the true Church.
Tom WaitmanCupertino, California

For some reason, I began to think about the Saints in Nauvoo. I remembered that after all their sacrifices and work to construct their temple, they had to flee Nauvoo, leaving the temple and their homes behind. I marveled at the great faith of these people. In the midst of their trials, they continued to have confidence in Heavenly Father and to do all He asked of them.

An adjacent farm was owned by Joseph and Sarah McKune. Their granddaughter later reported that Joseph McKune had been allowed “to take in his hands a pillow-case in which the supposed saintly treasure was wrapped, and to feel through the cloth that it had leaves.”

I was able to attend conference at the Conference Center on Sunday. At first I was nervous to go since there would be so many people. Once I sat down inside I felt an overwhelming love for the prophet and apostles, and I could feel their love. Heavenly Father sent peace to my soul.
Denali L., Alaska, USA

Another of Brother Anthian’s goals is to share this joy, love, and hope with others. “For example,” he says, “after a concert in the subway, a lady took my hand in hers and told me she had just learned she had cancer. She had wanted to give up. But after listening to these men who had come so far, she had renewed courage.”

By the time I was 19, my parents and most of my immediate family were dead, and many of the possessions that I had inherited were lost or stolen. And yet there is one thing that time, natural calamities, or even death could ever destroy: the bridge spanning past, present, and future that each of my family members built. Because of their diligence, the thread that binds our hearts has proven stronger than any mortal trials and has given me the strength to overcome difficult circumstances.

After I received the missionary lessons, I prayed to know whether the gospel was true. My beloved grandfather came to me in a dream and testified of its truth. At this point, I began to understand my divine obligation to my ancestors. President Henry B. Eyring, First Counselor in the First Presidency, said it this way: “When you were baptized, your ancestors looked down on you with hope. Perhaps after centuries, they rejoiced to see one of their descendants make a covenant to find them and to offer them freedom. … Their hearts are bound to you. Their hope is in your hands.”1
Steven E. Nabor, baptized in Utah, USA, in 1979