Gospel Story Finder

The other visit was to the North Carbon stake in Price, Utah, also many years ago. I noted during my visit that they had rescued 86 men from the prospective elders in one year and had taken them and their wives to the Manti Temple. I said to Cecil Broadbent, the president, “How did you do it, President?”
He said, “I didn’t. My counselor, President Judd, did.”
President Judd was a large, ruddy-faced Welsh coal miner. I said to him, “President Judd, will you tell me how you were able to rescue 86 brethren in one year?”
I sat anticipating his answer, and he said, “No!”
I was stunned. I’d never had anyone say no so directly in my life. I asked, “Why not?”
He said, “Then you’ll tell the other stake presidents you visit, and we won’t lead the Church in reactivation.” He was smiling, though, so I knew it was half in jest. He said, “I’ll make a deal with you, Brother Monson. I’ll tell you how we rescued 86 men in one year if you’ll get me two tickets to general conference.”
I said, “You’re on!” And so he told me. What he didn’t tell me is that he intended to collect interest every conference for the next 10 years. He came faithfully every six months for his two tickets.

Ashlie played in the backyard sprinklers with her new neighbor, Nicole. They screamed with delight, splashing each other in the cool water.
Ashlie stamped her wet footprint onto the porch. “I’m glad you moved in yesterday,” she said.
“Me too.” Nicole stamped her footprint next to Ashlie’s.
“Look, the same size!” Ashlie said.
Ashlie wanted to give Nicole something great, something for a new friend. She went inside to ask Mom about her idea.
“Can I give Nicole my Book of Mormon?”
“Don’t you think you should get to know her first?” Mom asked.
“But Mom, I do know her,” Ashlie said.
When it was time for Nicole to go home, Ashlie handed her a blue Book of Mormon. “I want you to have this. It’s a book about our church.”
“Thanks,” Nicole said.
But later that week, Nicole rang Ashlie’s doorbell and thrust the Book of Mormon at her. “My mom says I can’t have this. She says Mormons go to too much church.”
With tears puddling in her eyes, Ashlie showed Mom the Book of Mormon. “Maybe Nicole doesn’t want to be my friend anymore.”
“I’m sorry, Ashlie.” Mom hugged her tight. “Sometimes becoming friends takes time. In the Book of Mormon, a missionary named Ammon wanted to teach the people of Lamoni about Jesus Christ. But he decided to get to know them first by serving them.”
Ashlie wiped her eyes. She remembered how Ammon had helped guard the king’s sheep and prepare his horses and chariots.
“Because Ammon served King Lamoni and showed him love, he was able to share the gospel with the king and his people,” Mom said.
Ashlie smiled. “Maybe I can still be Nicole’s friend.”
“And we can pray as a family to be missionaries to Nicole’s family,” Mom added.
Over the next few months, Ashlie prayed for Nicole and got to know her better. They played at school and on the weekends, and they exchanged treats on holidays.
One Saturday after Christmas, Nicole and Ashlie were playing when Mom stuck her head into Ashlie’s room. “Nicole, your mom is here. It’s time for you to go home.” Mom motioned for Ashlie to come into the hall. “You could invite Nicole to church with us tomorrow,” she suggested.
“What if she doesn’t want to come?” Ashlie asked. “What if her mom says no?”
Mom squeezed Ashlie’s arm. “You don’t know until you ask. If she says yes, I’ll ask her mom.”
Ashlie went back into her room and started cleaning up.
“Maybe you could play at my house tomorrow,” Nicole said.
“I don’t play with friends on Sunday because we go to church and do family things,” Ashlie said. “But you could come to church with us.”
“OK!”
Ashlie walked Nicole to the door and tugged on Mom’s hand. “Nicole said yes,” she whispered.
Mom smiled and asked Nicole’s mom if Nicole and her older brother Devin could come to church.
“Well, are you sure that’s not a problem?” Nicole’s mom asked.
“We would be happy to take them,” Mom said.
Nicole’s mom smiled. “All right. What time?”
Just before it was time to leave for church the next day, Devin and Nicole came over dressed in Sunday clothes. After Primary, Nicole linked arms with Ashlie and said, “I liked the singing and lesson time the best.”
A few weeks later, Nicole came to church again. A Primary activity was announced.
“Do you want to come?” Ashlie asked.
“Yes,” Nicole said, “but I’ll have to ask my mom.”
All week Ashlie waited, but Nicole didn’t say anything about it. On Saturday morning, Mom handed Ashlie her jacket. “Go get in the van. We’re going to be late.”
“But what about Nicole?” Ashlie said. “Can I go see if she can come?”
“Sure, but hurry,” Mom said.
Nicole answered the door in her pajamas.
“Do you want to come to our Primary activity?” Ashlie asked.
“Yes. Just a minute!” Nicole shut the door, and when it finally opened again she and Devin both came out dressed and smiling.
Soon Devin started attending church with a friend he had met at the Primary activity. Nicole kept coming with Ashlie.
“Do all of you have your scriptures?” Mom asked one Sunday morning before they headed to church. Everyone said yes except for Nicole. “Would you like a Book of Mormon?” Mom asked.
Nicole nodded yes.
Ashlie was worried that Nicole would give it back, like last time.
That evening, there was a knock at the door. Devin and Nicole stood on the porch, Nicole holding her copy of the Book of Mormon.
Ashlie’s stomach flopped.
But then Devin smiled and said, “Can I have a book too? My mom says it’s OK.”
After Nicole and Devin left, Mom said, “Ashlie, you’ve been a great missionary!”
Ashlie smiled. “That’s because I got to know them first.”

John Linford was 43 when he and his wife, Maria, and three of their sons made the decision to leave their home in Gravely, England, to journey thousands of miles to join the Saints in the valley of the Great Salt Lake. They left behind their fourth son, who was serving a mission, sold their belongings, and took passage in Liverpool aboard the ship Thornton.
The journey by sea to New York City, and thence by land to Iowa, proved uneventful. Troubles began, however, shortly after the Linfords and other Latter-day Saints who had sailed on the Thornton left Iowa City on July 15, 1856, as part of the ill-fated James G. Willie handcart company.
The harsh weather and arduous travel took their toll on many in the company, including John. He eventually became so ill and weak that he had to be pulled in a handcart. By the time the company reached Wyoming, his condition had deteriorated significantly. A rescue team from Salt Lake City arrived on October 21, just hours after John’s mortal journey ended. He had died early that morning near the banks of the Sweetwater River.
Was John sorry he had traded comfort and ease for the struggles, privations, and hardships of taking his family to Zion?
“No, Maria,” he told his wife just before he died. “I am glad we came. I shall not live to reach Salt Lake, but you and the boys will, and I do not regret all we have gone through if our boys can grow up and raise their families in Zion.”1
Maria and her sons completed their journey. When Maria passed away nearly 30 years later, she and John left behind a legacy of faith, of service, of devotion, and of sacrifice.
Maria Linford never lost her faith despite persecution in England, the hardships of her journey to “the place which God … prepared,”6 and the subsequent trials she endured for her family and the Church.

“You can do it! You can do it!” fellow Scouts shouted as a 14-year-old comrade strained to complete one more pull-up within the time limit. Every muscle in his face grimaced with the effort; sweat glistened on his face and neck. As he brought his chin near the bar, his forearms and biceps started shaking—but he made his tenth try successful just as the whistle blew. Amid cheers, he dropped to the ground and the next patrol member hoisted himself into place.
The timed pull-up event was just one in a series of physical challenges Scouts faced as they moved from station to station during three days of competition. Broad jumping, rope climbing, push-ups, sit-ups, an obstacle course, three-legged bucket race, slingshot marksmanship, aquatics, frisbee golf, and travois building and racing (carrying an “injured” passenger), along with other races and relays, tested the athletic ability of individuals and patrols.

After Primary was over, I walked down the hall to the bishop’s office to wait for my dad, who’s in the bishopric. I noticed how clean the walls were. I didn’t see any stains on the carpet, or cobwebs in the hallway. The cultural hall was spotless, with all the tables put away and the chairs lined up neatly against the walls. The curtains on the stage looked perfectly fine.
As I passed the chapel, I stopped short. Sticking up behind the hymnbooks were sacrament meeting programs. The picture Sister Gentry described popped into my mind, and I quickly collected all the programs and papers that had been left there. I felt bad for those people who didn’t understand how special the Lord’s house is.
My arms were full, and I was looking for the nearest trash can, when I spotted my dad with a quizzical look on his face. I looked back at the clean chapel, and a happy feeling came into my heart. “I’m just doing my part to keep the church clean,” I told him.
Dad gave me a quick squeeze, and we both knew that the Lord’s spirit was there that day in our beautiful building.

Alexandr Masenkov, 17, of the Nevsky Branch, St. Petersburg Russia District, was nervous the first time he blessed the sacrament. “I prepared for it all week,” he remembers. “As I blessed the sacrament that first time, the Spirit touched my heart. Once my father and I were assigned to take the sacrament to a man who was blind and paralyzed. It was the first time I had blessed the sacrament outside of the meetinghouse. I felt I had a responsibility to be a servant and a witness of Jesus Christ and to do what He would do if He were there.”

My wonderful father was an All-America basketball player for UCLA under legendary Coach John Wooden. They remained close throughout my father’s life, and occasionally Coach and Mrs. Wooden would come to our home for dinner. He was always happy to talk to me about basketball or anything else on my mind. Once I asked him what advice he had for me as I entered my senior year of high school. Always the teacher, he said, "Your father told me that you have joined the Church of Jesus Christ, so I know that you have faith in the Lord. With that faith be sure to have poise in every situation. Be a good man in a storm."

Over the years, that conversation stuck with me. That counsel to be calm, cool, and collected in all situations, particularly in times of adversity and pressure, resonated with me. I could see how Coach Wooden’s teams played with poise and the great success that they experienced winning 10 national championships.

One of the great spiritual events in our family occurred in the life of our youngest daughter, Barbara, who was born with a defective heart. Then five months after she was born, she had heart failure and was taken to the hospital. Because she had a very serious type of heart ailment, the doctors had given up on her. Our bishop and I administered to her.
After that blessing, I had a total peace about her. Even though Barbara became very ill with pneumonia and went into a relapse, I knew that she was going to be all right.
She was in the hospital almost three months. At that time, although she was recovering from her problems, I could see that she was losing her will to live, and I was prompted to take her home, even though her doctor was very much against it. When we got home and laid her on the couch and the children all gathered around her, Barbara broke into a smile, her first in months. Taking care of this critically ill baby was a great concern to my wife, so this good doctor came to our home about every two days and checked her.
There have been very few cases of children with this type of defect who have lived into their teens. Barbara was blessed with amazing health, even though her heart wasn’t functioning normally. She took piano and swimming lessons, enjoyed limited activity in sports, and attended college. She actually had fewer health problems than the rest of the family, and she is now twenty-nine years old. There is no doubt in my mind that this resulted from our faith in the Lord and in the power of the priesthood and from following the promptings of the Spirit.

My first radio was a crystal set. It was hard to tune to the frequency of a particular radio station. I had to literally scratch the receiving wire whisker over the top of the rough crystal to find the right pinpoint, a little valley or peak on the crystal where the signal was received. Just a millimeter off on either side of that point and I would lose the signal and get scratchy static. Over time, with patience and perseverance, good eyesight, and a steady hand, I learned to find the signal point on the crystal without too much difficulty.

When I was six, an older couple in our ward wanted to find a good home for their dog, Max. They knew our family would love Max. So we adopted him!
A few weeks later, some of our friends came to stay with us for a few days. Our house was full of playful children running all over.
But Max was used to a nice, quiet home. Being in a house full of noisy children made him very nervous. One day when we were playing and laughing, we suddenly realized that Max was gone!
We looked everywhere for Max. I was near tears as my mom drove us all over the neighborhood. We even checked with Max’s first owners. But he was nowhere to be found.
When we got home, someone said, “Let’s pray for Max!” We knelt in a circle and said a simple prayer. We asked Heavenly Father for ideas for where to look for Max.
Just as we said “amen,” a bark came from the closet! It was Max!

Families are the backbone of the Church. They also are important in “Project Hope.” Lynn Curtis of Torrance, California, originated the idea of doing a benefit project for Orthopedic Hospital of Los Angeles, California, when he was studentbody president of Torrance High four years ago. Younger brother Dean has come along to be studentbody president too and has spearheaded the project, which recently netted $15,000. More than 100,000 people attended the super-festival. The entire Torrance High campus was turned into model regional sections of the United States. The state flags were on display, and special features of the areas were erected in miniature, such as a Coney Island hot dog stand, a hula hut, a lighthouse, and a huge mountain range for the Rockies. The carnival drew students together in a great cause, and the townspeople are glad there are Mormon boys to stir up involvement.

Growing up in a faithful, active Latter-day Saint family, I never thought that one day a child of mine would leave the Church.
My husband and I had married in the temple and eventually had seven children. We did everything we could to obey the counsel of the prophets. We taught our children the gospel, shared our testimonies with them, attended Sunday meetings together, held family home evening, prayed daily both morning and night, and read scriptures as a family. None of our actions, however, prevented our son from leaving the Church.
In my sorrow I turned to the Lord for strength and came to understand more clearly the role of agency in our lives. Still I wondered, “What more can I do? Certainly there is something I can do to bring him back to the truth.” I prayed for our son, but I felt I wasn’t doing enough. Certainly, if I had enough faith, wouldn’t he change?
Such thoughts ran through my mind as I went to sleep one night. Heavenly Father saw fit to answer my questions through a dream. It was a simple dream, but for me its meaning was profound.
In my dream I was standing in the middle of my vegetable garden. I had planted and watered the seeds, but the plants had not begun to grow. In my dream I told my plants to grow. I nagged them to grow! Then I began to laugh at myself. The very idea of trying to get my plants to grow by telling them to do so was absurd.
Then I awoke. I immediately understood my dream’s meaning. My son was the seed I was trying to get to grow. But just as I could not make the garden seeds grow, I cannot make my son change. Inherent in each seed of my garden is a God-given ability to grow, and it is God who directs the growth of each seed. Likewise, my son has the ability to grow because he is a spirit son of Heavenly Father. But if growth and change are to occur in his life, they will result from his agency coupled with God’s power.
In my dream garden, I planted the seeds, watered the garden, pulled out offending weeds, and sought in every way to nourish my seeds. Likewise, in my role as a mother I plant seeds in the lives of my children. With Heavenly Father’s help, I teach them, try to be an example for them, share my testimony with them, and love them, doing all in my power to be an instrument for good in their lives. Then I must wait. In due time the Master Gardener will help the seeds to grow.
In the meantime He helps me to wait with patience. He fills my heart with hope. He reminds me that I am doing all that He requires of me. He gives me daily evidence of His love. In every way I need, He supports me.
So I will wait, pray, trust in His promises, and continue to plant seeds. The harvest will come.

When I was called on a mission to Argentina, I spent three months at what was then called the Language Training Mission. We had a test every Saturday, and I kept getting low scores. I was used to getting good grades in high school, and I was not content with the grades I was getting on my tests at the LTM. The price to get better at Spanish was to get up earlier than anyone else there and practice. At the time, we memorized discussions. When I arrived in Argentina, I had memorized six lessons. When I gave my first discussion, I looked at my companion to see if I had done it right. It was far from perfect, but I felt that the Lord knew I was trying, and He helped me with the language. Learning Spanish was important so that I could serve. I served in Argentina for two years. Later I was called to serve as a mission president in Bolivia for three years and then lived in Central America for three more years, so learning Spanish has blessed my life.

Sister Nielson was teaching the Sunbeam class. She held a picture of Jesus showing His wounds after He had been resurrected.
“You mean He lived again after He was dead?” Heather asked.
Jake exclaimed, “Yes, He did! We will live again too!”
How did three-year-old Jake know that Jesus lived again? How did he know that he too would live again?
Each week Jake listened to Sister Nielson’s lessons. She taught about Jesus and bore her testimony. Jake listened to his parents during family home evening and at other times. They taught about Jesus and bore testimony of Him. The feeling in Jake’s heart told him to believe the words of his teacher and parents.

One of the most extraordinary experiences took place when I was 19 years old. I was released from serving as a counselor in my branch presidency so I could accept an assignment as chairman of family history for the mission. We were preparing for a visit from George H. Fudge of the Church’s Genealogical Department in Salt Lake City; he was hoping to microfilm some of the vital records of Uruguay. I was asked to help make the arrangements.
That night I prayed fervently for the ability to do what I had been asked. Later I noticed a newspaper headline that read, “Genealogy in Uruguay.” The story told about an upcoming meeting of Uruguayan genealogists. Then I saw that the newspaper was several days old. The meeting had already been held, but I decided to visit the address in the story anyway.
On the evening I decided to make my visit, I was also assigned to supervise a youth gathering and had to stay at the meetinghouse until 9:30 P.M. I didn’t have the money for bus fare, so I walked to the place where the meeting had been held. By the time I reached the address, it was late. I rang the bell, hoping for the best, and a few minutes later a man opened the door.
I introduced myself, and the man graciously allowed me to come in. What he said next filled me with surprise: “I am glad you came this late because I just arrived. Had you come a few minutes earlier you would have found an empty house.” I soon learned he was part of the only group of genealogists in Uruguay. I also found out that the newspaper had published the story about the meeting despite having been asked not to do so.
I was able to set up a meeting for Brother Fudge with this group of eminent genealogists. They opened the archives to him. At his request, some of the indexes of family history records in Uruguay were microfilmed. I believe these were the first records microfilmed by the Church in Uruguay.

I was baptised on the 14th in May 1955 in Liverpool, when the branch was meeting in Summerfield, a grand old house which stood on Mill Bank where the stake centre now stands. The following year, Spencer W. Kimball (1895-1985), then an Apostle, visited Summerfield because he was in the area.
Even as a very young teenager, I could tell that there was something special about him. He did a wonderful presentation on tithing. We had been in the Church for less than a year and I was part of the choir along with my mother. I was seated at the front and had the advantage of watching him come down the aisle towards the stand.
He stopped and stood in front of the pulpit. He said that he wanted someone to help him.
He had taken the trouble to find ten pieces of three pence (a small gold-coloured coin with many sides resembling our 50-pence piece) before coming to the meeting. He then called a young primary boy named Geoffrey Nugent to come to the front and said, “I want you to help me. Hold out your hand.”
Geoff held out his open hand as Elder Kimball counted the ten coins, one by one, into his hand. Then he asked him, “What have you got there?” “I have ten threepenny pieces” Geoff replied and Elder Kimball said “Yes, now will you do something for me, will you give me one coin back?”
Geoffrey gave him one back, and Elder Kimball said, “Now see this one which you have given back to me? How many have you got left?” Geoffrey counted them and said, “Nine.”
“You’ve got nine and I’ve got one. That’s all the Lord wants from you. He wants one out of every ten of the pennies you have. Would you do that for the Lord? We call it tithing. Would you pay your tithing?”
Geoffrey said he would, and Elder Kimball said, “Well, I am giving you this one back. I am trusting you to pay it in tithing.” He then gave the coin he was holding back to Geoffrey.
I have never forgotten that lesson. Geoffrey went on to do that same lesson with one of his friends, Roy. Elder Kimball taught him, and the rest of us, about tithing, in a simple yet profound way. I was just a young teenager then, but that experience has stayed in my mind and heart all these years.

The mental image of his wife also gave Viktor Frankl the strength to survive the agonies of a Nazi concentration camp: “As we stumbled on for miles, … dragging one another up and onward, … my mind clung to my wife’s image … her look was then more luminous than the sun. … for the first time in my life … I grasped the meaning of the greatest secret that human poetry and human thought and belief have to impart: The salvation of man is through love.” Therefore, “He who has a why to live can bear with almost any how” (Man’s Search for Meaning, 1984, 56–57, 12). His “why” was the vision of being together with his sweetheart. Full of such hope, he could live with the awful “how” of imprisonment.

Josie yawned as she slowed her jog to a walk. Today was the big race! She had been looking forward to this day for months. But instead of feeling excited during warm-ups, Josie felt tired.
“How’s it going?” her older sister, Christine, asked. She sat down with Josie on the grass so they could stretch their legs.
“I’m really tired today,” Josie said, reaching for her toes.
She had been sick and had to miss several days of school. So last night she stayed up late catching up on her schoolwork.
“I hope I don’t let our team down,” Josie said.
“Just do the best you can,” Christine said. “Looks like we’re about to start!”
The girls jogged over to join their teammates. As they lined up with the other runners, Josie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She knew her team was counting on her to run fast, like she usually did. The race time from the top five runners on their team would determine whether their team went on to the finals. She barely had time to get in position when the gun sounded to start the race. Bang! The runners pushed off the starting line and sprinted forward.
Josie pumped her arms and lengthened her steps. She knew she needed to get ahead in the beginning if she wanted to be a top finisher. At first Josie could keep up with the other lead runners. But when she tried to run faster, she couldn’t.
Josie breathed harder. She just couldn’t get her legs to move any faster. The runners behind her started passing her. Usually Josie was the one doing the passing! Maybe I should just give up, she thought.
Josie looked down at the ground as she heard another runner pass her. “Keep going, Josie!” the runner said as she ran by. Josie looked up. Then she smiled. It was one of her teammates.
“You can do it!” another teammate said as she ran past. One by one as Josie’s teammates passed her, they encouraged her to keep running.
Josie felt a surge of determination. Maybe she wouldn’t be in the top five, but she could still finish the race. She focused on her steps and didn’t stop until she finally crossed the finish line.
“I’m sorry I … didn’t help us … qualify for the next race,” she said between big breaths.
“Our team did qualify!” Josie’s coach said as she ran over to the girls. Everyone on the team cheered, and Christine threw her arms around Josie in a big hug.
That night as Josie knelt to pray, she thought about how her teammates had helped her. Their words gave her strength to keep going when she wanted to quit.
Josie looked up at the picture of Jesus hanging above her bed. Jesus does the same thing for us, she thought. She smiled as she imagined the Savior cheering her on. “Keep going, Josie! I am here to help you.” She wanted to help others too.
Josie thanked Heavenly Father for His help in running the race and for her wonderful teammates. She felt like she could do anything with Jesus cheering her on!

I will tell you of an experience I had before I was a General Authority that affected me profoundly. I sat on a plane next to a professed atheist who pressed his disbelief in God so urgently that I bore my testimony to him. “You are wrong,” I said. “There is a God. I know He lives!”
He protested, “You don’t know. Nobody knows that! You can’t know it!” When I would not yield, the atheist, who was an attorney, asked perhaps the ultimate question on the subject of testimony. “All right,” he said in a sneering, condescending way, “you say you know. Tell me how you know.”
When I attempted to answer, even though I held advanced academic degrees, I was helpless to communicate.
When I used the words Spirit and witness, the atheist responded, “I don’t know what you are talking about.” The words prayer, discernment, and faith were equally meaningless to him. “You see,” he said, “you don’t really know. If you did, you would be able to tell me how you know.”
I felt, perhaps, that I had borne my testimony to him unwisely and was at a loss as to what to do. Then came the experience! Something came into my mind. And I mention here a statement of the Prophet Joseph Smith: “A person may profit by noticing the first intimation of the spirit of revelation; for instance, when you feel pure intelligence flowing into you, it may give you sudden strokes of ideas … and thus by learning the Spirit of God and understanding it, you may grow into the principle of revelation, until you become perfect in Christ Jesus.”1
Such an idea came into my mind, and I said to the atheist, “Let me ask if you know what salt tastes like.”
“Of course I do,” was his reply.
“Then,” I said, “assuming that I have never tasted salt, explain to me just what it tastes like.”
After some thought, he said, “Well, I, uh, it is not sweet and it is not sour.”
“You’ve told me what it isn’t, not what it is.”
After several attempts, of course, he could not do it. He could not convey, in words alone, so ordinary an experience as tasting salt. I bore testimony to him once again and said, “I know there is a God. You ridiculed that testimony and said that if I did know, I would be able to tell you exactly how I know. My friend, spiritually speaking, I have tasted salt. I am no more able to convey to you in words how this knowledge has come than you are to tell me what salt tastes like. But I say to you again, there is a God! He does live! And just because you don’t know, don’t try to tell me that I don’t know, for I do!”
As we parted, I heard him mutter, “I don’t need your religion for a crutch! I don’t need it.”

Two groups of young people in California and some Scouts in Idaho followed through on their own cemetery projects. The El Centro California Stake set aside a Saturday in February to record information found in the Evergreen Cemetery. Along with their clipboards, pencils, and typewriters, 75 youth and adult advisers arrived at the cemetery carrying rakes and shovels. Working in teams, they probed the ground to search for hidden plaques and, at the same time, cleaned up the area and cleared away overgrown grass. Approximately 7,670 names were recorded. Copies of their work were given to local agencies and a local genealogy library as well as being sent to the Church Genealogical Department in Salt Lake City.