Gospel Story Finder

There is power in the office. The Lord stands with His stake presidents. This is from a stake president in Ecuador: “I observed a man in the stake who often appeared unhappy. One day I received a strong impression that I needed to visit this man. I drove immediately to his home. He told me that he was very sad because for many years he hadn’t exchanged a single word with his father. He explained that his father was a hard man and had cut off their relationship. I asked him if he would like to fix the situation. After driving to his father’s house, I stopped the car in front. I knocked on the door and heard a voice ask, ‘Who is it?’ I recognized the voice of his father and answered, ‘Your stake president, Brother.’ He opened the door and saw me standing side by side with his son. Without a single word, they embraced each other and began to cry. The situation was fixed.”

We recently moved to New Mexico. I thought I would have a hard time making friends. I prayed the night before school started that I would meet new friends. A couple of weeks later, I made a friend. I love Heavenly Father and the blessings He gives me when I pray and choose the right.
Ava S., age 10, New Mexico, USA

When I was a boy, I looked forward to passing the sacrament to the ward members. We deacons were trained as to our duties. One of the men in our ward, Louis, suffered from palsy. His head and hands shook so violently that he could not, by himself, partake of the sacrament. Each deacon knew that his duty in serving Louis was to hold the bread to his lips so that he might partake and to similarly place the cup of water to his mouth with one hand, while steadying his head with the other, the tray being held by another deacon while doing so. Always Louis would say, “Thank you.”

When Camille Erickson was born, no one knew quite what to do.
Don’t misunderstand. Her parents already had five other children, so they were getting to be pros at parenting. Her five siblings had excitedly awaited her arrival. It was just that, well, she was a … girl.
Being the younger sister of five older brothers, and then the older sister of one younger brother, Camille knows a lot about “being one of the guys.” When the family splits up into teams for sports, Camille plays right along. As the only girl, Camille was the only person to have her own room—a fact she didn’t get used to for a long time.
“When I was little, I used to sneak into their rooms at night and go to sleep. My mom would find me the next morning, curled up on the floor,” she says.
But Camille, now a Mia Maid in Battle Ground, Washington, hasn’t slept on the floor for a long time. She still likes to play sports and to roughhouse with her brothers, but Camille’s life is more focused on school, Young Women, and friends than in those days when she was little. Also, her older brothers have grown up, and many of them don’t live at home anymore. In fact, since the age difference between her oldest brother and her youngest brother is 22 years, having the family all together is a rare experience.
“My brothers and I try to do things together, one-on-one, so that we have time to talk,” says Camille
Activities Camille enjoys with her brothers include things that are pretty unstructured, like watching videos, going out for treats, and taking walks together. But, occasionally, there is something more planned, like the time she took ballroom dance lessons with her 23-year-old brother, Travis.
“I think the average age in that class was 60,” says Travis with a grin. “But we had a good time.”
There are traditions that keep them close, too. The night Camille was born, Brad, her oldest brother, stayed up late to make her a birthday cake. Now her brothers send roses to her at school on her birthday.
“When my friends see that I get flowers from my brothers, they’re shocked. They can’t believe we’re all friends.”

How I Got a Testimony
I came to church for the first time when I was eight. I read the Book of Mormon, I listened to the missionaries, and I prayed. The Spirit told me the Church was true, and I wanted to be baptized. The gospel makes me happy.

In April 2006, I married Teni Leavai in Auckland, New Zealand. Although we were both members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we weren’t active at the time, so we had an intimate civil ceremony performed by my bishop. Then we began to make changes in our lives so that we could progress spiritually, more fully participate in the gospel, and embark on our journey together as a family.

“Please, Mom, can we invite Sister Fuhriman just one more time?” Greg pleaded. His younger brothers’ anxious faces poked out from behind Greg like pegs on a coat rack.
“It will be Christmas Eve, and she shouldn’t be alone,” Layne said. Scott and Jim nodded.
“You know how many times we have tried to invite Sister Fuhriman to our house,” Mom said. “She rarely goes out. But you may invite her for Christmas Eve if you like.”
The boys cheered and bounded outside.
Soon the door burst open again. “It’s a miracle, Mom!” Greg called. “She said she’d love to come. Isn’t that great?”
The next day snow started falling. Greg knew that Sister Fuhriman avoided going outside in bad weather, even to the mailbox. “Do you think she will still come tomorrow?” Greg asked. Mom wasn’t sure.
On Christmas Eve, Aunt Carolyn and her three children arrived just as Layne finished cleaning up the kitchen after dinner. “Can we go get Sister Fuhriman now?” Layne asked.
“All right,” Dad said. “Remember to help her as she walks across the road. It’s slick outside.”
“We will, Dad,” Scott said.
“And if she decides not to come after all, don’t make her feel bad about not coming,” Dad said.
“We won’t, Dad,” Greg said. The boys stepped outside into the snow-covered landscape. The snow had stopped falling, and there was still a little daylight to show them the way.
Eight-year-old Adam was helping Bekah and Jill get into their costumes for the family Christmas pageant when the boys stepped through the door—helping Sister Fuhriman inside! She smiled cheerily, her cheeks bright from the cold. The family tried not to seem so surprised that their guest of honor had really come.
Dad made Sister Fuhriman feel welcome and helped her choose a seat next to Mom. Greg slipped out of his coat and sat at the piano. After an opening prayer, he began to play Christmas hymns softly. Scott read from the Bible as the younger children acted out the story of the first Christmas. Wearing a bathrobe, three-year-old Bekah reverently played the part of Mary while Dan pretended to be Joseph. Jill played the part of an angel with a gold garland pinned in her hair. Cousins played shepherds and Wise Men, all come to worship the infant King.
Soon the strains of “Silent Night” faded, and the reverence of the sacred story gave way to hugs, smiles, and compliments all around. To finish off the night, they enjoyed Mom’s warm cinnamon rolls. All too soon, the evening was over.
The boys again put on their coats, hats, and mittens to escort Sister Fuhriman across the road. The glow of the porch light pushed away the darkness, making their walk across the snow-packed country road pleasant in spite of the cold.
“Good night, Sister Fuhriman,” Greg called as he and his brothers turned back toward their house.
“Merry Christmas,” Sister Fuhriman called. “And thank you.”
Greg glanced over his shoulder just before he stepped back into his house. Sister Fuhriman was still on her porch, watching. She waved.

The rural Whitney Ward was blessed with a bishop who loved the young people and the great missionary cause. As a means of stimulating interest, this bishop had each returned missionary make a brief report in Sunday School to the children and a complete report in sacrament meeting. Although it was sometimes difficult to understand how a mission could be “the happiest two years of my life,” as the missionaries would conclude after recounting their hardships of opposition, the children were stimulated by an early desire to “go on a mission.”

On a cold winter’s night in 1951 there was a knock at my door, and a German brother from Ogden, Utah, announced himself and said, “Are you Bishop Monson?” I answered in the affirmative. He began to weep and said, “My brother and his wife and family are coming here from Germany. They are going to live in your ward. Will you come with us to see the apartment we have rented for them?” On the way to the apartment, he told me he had not seen his brother for many years. Yet all through the holocaust of World War II, his brother had been faithful to the Church, serving as a branch president before the war took him to the Russian front.
I looked at the apartment. It was cold and dreary. The paint was peeling, the wallpaper soiled, the cupboards empty. A forty-watt bulb hanging from the living room ceiling revealed a linoleum floor covering with a large hole in the center. I was heartsick. I thought, “What a dismal welcome for a family which has endured so much.”
My thoughts were interrupted by the brother’s statement, “It isn’t much, but it’s better than they have in Germany.” With that, the key was left with me, along with the information that the family would arrive in Salt Lake City in three weeks—just two days before Christmas.
Sleep was slow in coming to me that night. The next morning was Sunday. In our ward welfare committee meeting, one of my counselors said, “Bishop, you look worried. Is something wrong?” I recounted to those present my experience of the night before, the details of the uninviting apartment. There were a few moments of silence. Then the group leader of the high priests said, “Bishop, did you say that apartment was inadequately lighted and that the kitchen appliances were in need of replacement?” I answered in the affirmative. He continued, “I am an electrical contractor. Would you permit the high priests of this ward to rewire that apartment? I would also like to invite my suppliers to contribute a new stove and a new refrigerator. Do I have your permission?” I answered with a glad “Certainly.”
Then the seventies president responded: “Bishop, as you know I’m in the carpet business. I would like to invite my suppliers to contribute some carpet, and the seventies can easily lay it and eliminate that worn linoleum.”
Then the president of the elders quorum spoke up. He was a painting contractor. He said, “I’ll furnish the paint. May the elders paint and wallpaper that apartment?”
The Relief Society president was next to speak: “We in the Relief Society cannot stand the thought of empty cupboards. May we fill them?”
The next three weeks are ever to be remembered. It seemed that the entire ward joined in the project. The days passed, and at the appointed time the family arrived from Germany. Again at my door stood the brother from Ogden. With an emotion-filled voice, he introduced to me his brother, wife, and their family. Then he asked, “Could we go visit the apartment?” As we walked up the staircase to the apartment, he repeated, “It isn’t much, but it’s more than they have had in Germany.” Little did he know what a transformation had taken place, that many who participated were inside waiting for our arrival.
The door opened to reveal a literal newness of life. We were greeted by the aroma of freshly painted woodwork and newly papered walls. Gone was the forty-watt bulb, along with the worn linoleum it had illuminated. We stepped on carpet deep and beautiful. A walk to the kitchen presented to our view a new stove and refrigerator. The cupboard doors were still open; however, they now revealed that every shelf was filled with food. The Relief Society as usual had done its work.
In the living room we began to sing Christmas hymns. We sang “Silent night! Holy night! All is calm; all is bright.” (Hymns, no. 160.) We sang in English; they sang in German. At the conclusion, the father, realizing that all of this was his, took me by the hand to express his thanks. His emotion was too great. He buried his head in my shoulder and repeated the words, “Mein Bruder, mein Bruder, mein Bruder.”
As we walked down the stairs and out into the night air, it was snowing. Not a word was spoken. Then a young girl asked, “Bishop, I feel better inside than I have ever felt before. Can you tell me why?”
I responded with the words of the Master: “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matt. 25:40). Suddenly there came to mind the words from “O Little Town of Bethlehem”:
How silently, how silently,
The wondrous gift is given!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of his heaven.
No ear may hear his coming;
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive him, still
The dear Christ enters in.
(Hymns, no. 165.)

Bennette, who works as a reporter for a local television station, said that her family helps her cope with the pressures of her employment.

“I go around with a cameraman and shoot the important and significant things in the community,” she said. She has interviewed the mayor and other local officials. “But I often see things like fires, holdups, or robberies, and you see a lot of people who aren’t happy with what they’re doing.

“When you can come home and find as nice an atmosphere as this family has,” she continued, “it makes you very thankful to the Lord. I know that if there are problems or difficulties, I can come home and talk with my family about them. My parents and my brothers and sisters help me solve the problems. I also get a lot of support from them in other ways. We do many things together as a family, such as going to church on Sunday or going to other Church-sponsored activities during the week.”

She said she gets questions at work about being LDS, usually because she is offered coffee by those she is interviewing and they want to know why she turns it down. “That often leads to discussions about the Word of Wisdom,” she said. She also noted that “in broadcasting some people have an especially hard time with ‘colorful language,’ like the director who shouts at you in not-so-nice language. Aside from being a correspondent, I also direct some of the shows, and usually when I’m directing, someone will say, ‘Why don’t you get mad and swear like the others?’ But I can get mad without saying nasty things. I can be just as forceful in a nice sort of way.”

In speaking of heroes, I have been greatly blessed in my lifetime to be in church services where each of the prophets since Heber J. Grant spoke. I grew up in Salt Lake City, and President Grant spoke in our ward. I remember him talking about his desires to play baseball better, write better, and sing better. He talked about how hard those three things were for him and how he practiced to become better at them.
I was about eight years old at the time, and I wasn’t a very good baseball player. I didn’t write very well, either. And although I loved to sing, especially the Primary songs, I didn’t sing very well. So I related to President Grant, and his story gave me hope that I could do better.

I wrote thank-you letters to our bishop and a couple of people who work in our Primary. In church, many people work very hard, and I think they should get some sort of thanks. President Thomas S. Monson inspires us all with all the good things he does to help the world.
Drew B., age 9, Nevada

The youth of the St. Paul Third Ward in Minnesota would like to thank you for the New Era. Our ward members read it each month and enjoy it very much. In fact, we like the New Era so well that we decided to use it in our roadshow “On the Cover of the New Era.” In the roadshow we tell everyone that even though our ward is small, it’s very special and friendly. We picked the New Era for our theme because it’s special too. We’re happy to report that “On the Cover of the New Era” took first place in our stakewide competition.
The Youth of the St. Paul Third WardSt. Paul, Minnesota

As the Swiss movers were packing our household belongings preparatory to our return to America, the doorbell rang. A special-delivery mailman had a package for us. When opened, it revealed a green pillow with an embroidered message of love on it, the handiwork of Sister Alice Rusterholz. Our hearts and feelings swelled as we thought of this wonderful older sister. For four years she had graced our Sunday dinner table with her sweet spirit and lively sense of humor. For many years as a single, unmarried sister and the only member of the Church from her family, she struggled to come to church. Early Sunday morning she would leave her humble second-floor apartment. With great effort due to a crippled leg, she would walk down the outside stairway and on to the Küsnacht train station, beginning her journey of one hour and 15 minutes by train, tram, bus, and a final walk to our meetinghouse. What a blessing it had been for us in that beautiful land to pick up Sister Rusterholz every Sunday morning, accompany her to church, and conclude with dinner in our home before returning her to her apartment.

Ninety-eight.
Ninety-nine.
One hundred! I did it!
Whoa!
OK, let’s try that again.
Later …
Whew! I’m tired.
My arm is sore.
Mine too. But that was fun!
Hey, we invented a new exercise!
Jumping rope isn’t new.
I think he means falling down and getting up.

In 1979 a large passenger jet with 257 people on board left New Zealand for a sightseeing flight to Antarctica and back. Unknown to the pilots, however, someone had modified the flight coordinates by a mere two degrees. This error placed the aircraft 28 miles (45 km) to the east of where the pilots assumed they were. As they approached Antarctica, the pilots descended to a lower altitude to give the passengers a better look at the landscape. Although both were experienced pilots, neither had made this particular flight before, and they had no way of knowing that the incorrect coordinates had placed them directly in the path of Mount Erebus, an active volcano that rises from the frozen landscape to a height of more than 12,000 feet (3,700 m).
As the pilots flew onward, the white of the snow and ice covering the volcano blended with the white of the clouds above, making it appear as though they were flying over flat ground. By the time the instruments sounded the warning that the ground was rising fast toward them, it was too late. The airplane crashed into the side of the volcano, killing everyone on board.
It was a terrible tragedy brought on by a minor error—a matter of only a few degrees.

When Shirley Sun of Taipei, Taiwan, joined a new ward, her bishop called her to teach the Gospel Essentials class in Sunday School. “I had a lot of opportunities to talk to members in the class and get to know them better,” she says.

Set specific, measurable goals that will help you develop this attribute. Give yourself a time frame to work on your goal. Then evaluate your progress. For example, if you’re trying to be more charitable, you might set a goal to say positive things about your brother or sister three times each day for a week. At the end of the week, you would evaluate how you did with your goal and make adjustments that will help you continue to improve.

President Brigham Young received a vision of the Prophet Joseph Smith in which Joseph showed him a mountain and an ensign upon its peak. Joseph said, “Build under the point where the colors fall and you will prosper and have peace” (see George A. Smith, in Journal of Discourses, 13:85).

The identification of this mountain peak, as the Saints entered Salt Lake Valley in July 1847, confirmed to President Young that the pioneers had found their destination, their Zion, in the tops of the mountains. We know this conical, dome-shaped mountain today as Ensign Peak. It rises above the valley near downtown Salt Lake City.

The last week Elder Allen was in our ward, I had the privilege of being humbled again. I accompanied him on a teaching session. The lady of the household wanted to be baptized but was waiting for her husband, who seemed to be fighting his own better instincts. After a beautiful lesson on the plan of salvation, the husband’s heart had changed. He offered a plain, simple prayer that was truly inspired.