Gospel Story Finder

Years passed, and I was attending a radar technician school in the U.S. Air Force at Biloxi, Mississippi. During a general discussion one day, one of my instructors, Norman M. Hale, mentioned that he was a Mormon. That night, as I lay in bed, I couldn’t get the day’s conversation out of my mind. Finally, I got out of bed, dressed, and walked to where the instructors were housed. By then it was past midnight. I knocked on Norman Hale’s door and got him out of bed with the greeting: “Hi, I’d like you to tell me about the Mormon Church.”
Hale and his roommate had been companions in the mission field. They spent the remainder of the night giving me the discussions. When they mentioned temples, genealogy work, and vicarious work for the dead, a voice rang in my ears, Grandpa’s voice, and I heard again the solemn charge that he had given me. A warmth filled my bosom and I knew that what I was being taught was true. I started attending the Latter-day Saint church the following week, and was baptized in October 1954.

These two steps worked beautifully with my family. For instance, by the time I actually started serious work on my grandmother’s history, she was so accustomed to my questions and conversation about the past that she wasn’t a bit nervous or self-conscious answering questions or telling me stories.

A wonderful sister missionary, a convert to the Church from France, used to put notes on my desk to cheer me up. One day I found this note:
“There is nothing noble in being superior to some other man. The true nobility is in being superior to your previous self.”

On another part of the island, in the capital city of Basse-Terre, the Church is becoming a two-generation heritage for Luidgia Duflo, 13, and her sister Stella, 17, who joined the Church two years ago at the same time as their older sister, their younger brother, and their parents. They say the gospel has taught them to honor their mother and their father. They especially enjoy family home evening, which they hold in their family’s apartment, located above their father’s small store. He sells household products, sugar, spices, candy, and animal food. One of their favorite places to talk with him is in his office at the back of the store, where the wall is covered with photos of various Latter-day Saint temples.
“It gives him an opportunity to do a little missionary work when people come in on business and want to know what all those buildings are,” Stella explains. “But I think it also reminds him every day of his eternal promises and goals; it certainly does that for us. We should prepare to go to the temple, and he is constantly reminding us of that.”
The Duflo family sees a bright future ahead. “The Church will keep growing in Guadeloupe, and it will flourish,” Stella says. “We just have to do our part, little by little, day by day, trusting the Lord in all things and sharing the gospel whenever we can.”

Dad, can I invite Jacob to church today?
That’s a good idea, Eric. I’ll call his home for you.
My mom said I could go to church with you!
Great!
Eric and Jacob had a good time at church. They learned about prayer and sang songs during sharing time. Eric was glad he invited Jacob.
The next week, Eric called Jacob again.
Do you want to come to church with me today?
No, not today. I’m going to play at my grandma’s house.
Oh, OK.
Are we picking up Jacob today?
No, he said he didn’t want to come today.
How does that make you feel?
A little sad.
I’m sorry you’re sad. Remember that Heavenly Father lets us all choose for ourselves. Maybe you can invite Jacob another time.
Dad, can I invite him next week?
You sure can. You are a good friend.
Eric called Jacob again the next week.
Do you want to come to church with me today?
Sure.
Eric was glad Jacob went to church with him again. Eric knew that Jacob could choose for himself if he wanted to go to church or not, but he decided to always invite Jacob in order to give him the chance.

As a leader in the Church and a medical practitioner I often encounter those who are in pain, those who are depressed, some who suffer with substance abuse, some who are near the point of suicide, accident victims, etc. It offers a great opportunity for me as I help to restore life. During my one-on-one visits with patients, after giving medical attention, I restore hope to them by sharing my belief and how my family and I have been blessed. Several times, I have pulled out my family picture and shared the joy we feel together. Many develop an interest and listen to the missionaries and are brought to the waters of baptism.

Shortly after I was married, my three brothers and I were sitting in my father’s office for a business meeting. At the conclusion of our meeting, as we stood to leave, Dad stopped, turned to us, and said, “You boys are not treating your wives as you should. You need to show them more kindness and respect.” My father’s words penetrated my soul.

The Holy Ghost will also help you to do what is right, even when that seems very difficult. I hope you children will never be afraid to stand up for what is right. I still remember an experience I had in primary school. Primary school includes first through seventh grades. When I was about 12 and in my final year of primary school, the head boy, who was supposed to be the school leader, was actually the school’s biggest bully. He and three or four of his pals would go around teasing other kids.
I was new at the school, so one day he tried to intimidate me. When he discovered I would not respond to his intimidation, he gave up and bullied other kids, especially the weaker ones. One day when I saw this happening, I walked over and told him to stop. I said that if he did not stop I would defend the smaller boy. There stood the bully with his three or four friends, surrounding this small, timid boy and myself. It was very scary. I thought they were going to beat me up. To my surprise, the bully withered under my words. He and his friends made some smart remarks and left.
Throughout the rest of the year I continued to defend other boys from these bullies. Others started to do so too, until the bullies gradually lost all their power and influence. Children, the lesson I learned from this experience was that when we do things for the right reason, even when it is very difficult, the Lord will bless us and help us. He needs courageous people to stand up and defend what is right and reduce the influence of evil. You are never too young to begin doing so. When you stand for what is right, you will discover that good triumphs.

After I graduated from high school, the bishop called me into his office. “I want you to prepare for a mission,” he said. He looked me in the eyes, and the word prepare was there.
At supper I told my parents and saw the light in their eyes. “If you decide to go, we will support you in every way.”
There was no pressure. As usual the decision must be mine.
At the mission home in Salt Lake City, the General Authority who set me apart placed his hands upon my head and called me by name. Then, as if he were looking into the windows of my life, he said, “As of this moment, all of your sins are forgiven you.”
I served my mission and am now married to a wonderful woman. We have a little boy and have already started a missionary fund for him. I am sure that as he grows older there will be times when he will say, “Okay, dad, okay.” I will understand, and I will pray for the faith and understanding of my own dad and mother.

At the National Collegiate Athletic Association track meet held at Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah in June 1967, four men from the University of Southern California lowered the world record for the 402 meter relay by one full second. The time of 38.6 seconds for 402 meters becomes remarkable compared to 9.1 seconds, the world’s fastest time for the 91.4 meter. Each member of the University of Southern California’s winning team averaged 8.7 seconds per 91.4 meters!

At first I found Personal Progress to be time-consuming. One thing that helped me become more motivated was to receive my own testimony. Once I focused on receiving that testimony, everything fell into place.
Adriana F., 17, Arizona, USA

Our parents hadn’t encouraged us to go. They said it was too early to be climbing in Echo Canyon, that we should “wait until spring was really here.” But the winter had been long and cold, we were 16, and we couldn’t wait any longer. Though it was just mid-March, the invitation from the brilliant sun light and the soaring temperatures could not be turned down.
Glenn, Marvin, John, and I settled into Glenn’s Chevy Bel Air. We didn’t relax much in the car for the ten minutes or so it took us to drive to Echo Canyon.
I climbed out of the back seat, stretched, and looked up at the rock formations surrounding us. The prehistoric waters of Lake Bonneville once covered this area, and the currents had eroded the cliffs and pinnacles into exotic shapes. Now the almost continual wind worked on the job of rock carving. Its blasts had slashed grotesque caves and chutes and chambers into the sandstone and shale walls. Echo Canyon was a place of eerie beauty.
In our years of going to Echo Canyon, we never climbed up any of the “real” cliffs. We didn’t have the equipment or experience for that. But several times each summer we tried our strength against the intermixed “almost” cliffs—they were close enough to being straight up and down to suit us fine.
We settled down to climb one of the major “almost” cliffs that glowered down on the main canyon and spent almost an hour getting to the top. Our ascents—though requiring more endurance than skill—were always marked by caution. Even though nature had already gouged hundreds of hand and foot holds out of the rock, it was a long way to the bottom for a foolhardy climber.
The view from the top, though familiar, was invigorating. From the valley floor, the blue sky seemed to arch overhead. Here on top, we were in the sky, a part of it. Climbing today was more than an adventure—it was a celebration of the radiance of the sun, a celebration of our youth and vitality—a celebration of life.
Going down the “cliff” took longer than climbing it did. Between us and the car, still almost a quarter of a mile below us, was a rock slide. Since we had run down similar slides on earlier trips, we knew that we could throw caution away and rashly blast down the hill without much danger of a twisted ankle or a small avalanche of cascading rock, as long as we ran without stopping.
We scattered out along the top side of the immense slide, littered with tons of shale and sand stone, threw our hands high in the air, whooped and screamed, and started running for the car. We were cheered by our own echoing voices as the sliding rocks and our churning legs started us down the hill.
One of the best parts of these lunatic runs was jumping over any sagebrush we could find. We purposely headed for any of the sparsely-spaced bushes that punctuated the shale for the incredible ecstasy of soaring over them. The momentum of our bodies would carry us over them with hardly any effort. I would feel like a lunar astronaut, bounding into the air against gravity, landing—still running—below the bushes I hurdled.
Halfway down the slide, I headed for a grand sagebrush. It was almost three feet higher than any other I had seen on the slope, and I knew I could jump it with dramatic speed. As I approached it, I calculated how I would maintain my balance—and speed—as I landed on the other side of it.
As I hit my final approach, my energy seemed electrified, yet I was in absolute control. Just before I jumped, a voice in my mind commanded, “Stop! Stop right now!”
There was no time to consider the source of the voice—I just felt impelled to stop. My legs stopped churning and dug into the shale like anchors. I leaned backwards and skidded to a stop in a shower of stones.
As the dust swirled around me, I felt foolish. My friends were still running, oblivious of me in their own descent. I lay there on the sharp rocks on the uphill side of the bush, catching my breath, wondering how long it would be until inevitable scrapes and bruises from the rock would start to sting my currently numbed body.
Some of the retinue of rocks I had loosened as I ran down the hill caught up with me and rocketed through the sagebrush and on down the slope. Then I heard the buzzing—fierce and steady. There was a rattlesnake somewhere close!
My breath stopped momentarily with fear. We all knew that a few rattlesnakes showed up here and there in our area, but not here in Echo Canyon! I wondered what I should do and warily looked around, being careful to not move anything but my eyes. I couldn’t see anything.
I listened intently to the buzzing and determined that it was coming from the downhill side of the bush. I slowly got to my feet and skirted the sage, keeping back from the sound, until I could see the downhill side clearly.
Until interrupted by me and my rocks, a big rattler had been sunning itself in the shale. Now it was coiled to strike—its defiant head was matched by its angry tail. I watched it for several minutes until it uncoiled and slid back into the security of the bush. It was a diamondback, at least three feet long. At its thickest part, its brown and gray body was as big around as a baseball.
I felt no anger for the snake. I had disturbed it; it hadn’t sought me out. The unusual warmth of the last few days had undoubtedly brought it prematurely out of hibernation. Its venom would be a thick concentrate, incredibly potent after not being used for killing prey during the winter months of hibernation. If I had jumped the bush, I would have landed inches away from its fangs. My heart was still beating like primitive drums from my downhill exertion and my astonishment. This rapid heartbeat would have scattered the poison throughout my body in a few seconds. My only chance for survival came in the voice: “Stop! Stop right now!”
I was overwhelmed as I realized, with a startling and clear perspective, that God was aware of me as an individual. He really was a Heavenly Father—and he knew Layne Dearden, one of his sons. He knew what I was doing on that March afternoon. And he knew that my careless exuberance would end my life unless he helped.
That day was more of a celebration of life than I ever imagined it could be, even when I had stood at the top of the cliff. I basked in the warmth of my Father’s love as I slowly walked down the remaining shale slope.

Brother Knight and his wife, Polly, had faith in the young Prophet from the beginning. They helped Joseph while he was translating the plates by giving him shoes, money, writing paper, mackerel, grain, and potatoes. Brother Knight became a good friend of the Smith family, and in June 1830 the Knights were baptized.

“Who knows what this is?” Sister Gonzales held up a picture of a white building with pointed steeples.
Samantha’s eyes sparkled. She knew. “That’s the temple.”
“Right!” the nursery leader said. “And I’m going to sing you a song about the temple.” Sister Gonzales began to sing:
“I love to see the temple.
I’m going there someday …”*
Samantha smiled. Yesterday, her family had gone inside that very temple to be sealed for time and all eternity. Samantha wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but Daddy had explained that now they could be together as a family forever.
Sister Gonzales continued singing:
“To feel the Holy Spirit,
To listen and to pray. …”
Just thinking about the temple gave Samantha that same warm feeling she had felt when she was inside it. It felt like being in heaven.
The two women dressed in white in the youth center had been very kind to her and her brothers. Samantha called them “her angels.” While the children were waiting to join their parents, Sister Ferguson read stories to Samantha, and Sister Moore gave her some cookies and juice. Then they had both watched as Samantha built a temple with blocks.
“For the temple is a house of God,
A place of love and beauty. …”
Sister Gonzales’s voice was sweet and clear.
Samantha already knew that the temple was Heavenly Father’s house. And it was a beautiful house! She thought about the sealing room with its crystal lights and mirrors. She remembered how her family had knelt around the altar as the temple sealer, dressed in a white suit, spoke the words of the sealing ordinance.
Afterward, they stood in front of the mirrors, and it seemed to Samantha that her family just kept going on and on and on. Maybe that’s what forever means, she thought.
By now, Sister Gonzales was finishing the second verse of the song:
“As a child of God,
I’ve learned this truth:
A family is forever.”
Samantha was glad that she belonged to a forever family.

This story happened in the USA.
Zack likes to run, jump, and play. Zack also has sensory processing disorder.
For Zack, that means he doesn’t like loud noises. And he likes to do the same things every day.
Every afternoon he plays with the same toy airplane.
Every night he reads the same bedtime story.
And every Sunday he sits in the same chair during Primary.
One day at church, all the kids practiced for the Primary program in the chapel. This was very different!
Zack doesn’t like it when things are different.
Mom had him stand in the front row so he had room to wiggle.
His friend stood next to him to help him feel better.
His teacher gave him headphones to make everything quieter. But Zack was still upset.
Then the music director and the Primary president had an idea.
Zack’s special job was just right for him! He was happy to feel Heavenly Father’s love.
Illustrations by Natalie Briscoe

There is a father listening tonight who has come back from inactivity because he wants the assurance of that gift with all his heart. He and his wife love their two small children, a boy and a girl. Like other parents he can foresee heavenly happiness when he reads these words: “And that same sociality which exists among us here will exist among us there, only it will be coupled with eternal glory, which glory we do not now enjoy.”1
That father listening with us tonight knows the path to that glorious destination. It is not easy. He already knows that. It took faith in Jesus Christ, deep repentance, and a change in his heart that came with a kind bishop helping him feel the Lord’s loving forgiveness.
Wonderful changes continued as he went to the holy temple for an endowment that the Lord described to those whom He empowered in the first temple in this dispensation. It was in Kirtland, Ohio. The Lord said of that:
“Wherefore, for this cause I gave unto you the commandment that ye should go to the Ohio; and there I will give unto you my law; and there you shall be endowed with power from on high;
“And from thence, … for I have a great work laid up in store, for Israel shall be saved, and I will lead them whithersoever I will, and no power shall stay my hand.”2
For my recently activated friend and for all the priesthood, a great work ahead is to lead in saving the part of Israel for which we are or will be responsible, our families. My friend and his wife knew that requires being sealed by the power of the Melchizedek Priesthood in a holy temple of God.
He asked that I perform the sealing. He and his wife wanted it done as soon as possible. But with the busy time of general conference approaching, I left it to the couple and their bishop to work with my secretary to find the best date.
Imagine my surprise and delight when the father told me in church that the sealing is set for April 3. That was the day in 1836 when Elijah, the translated prophet, was sent to the Kirtland Temple to give the sealing power to Joseph Smith and to Oliver Cowdery. Those keys reside in the Church today and will continue to the end of time.3

I was baptized in April 1992, the first member of my family to join the Church. As a single mother, I found that it was not always easy to face people’s negative reaction to my conversion. But my baptism was a glorious experience, and I have never regretted my decision to join the Church. It is wonderful to have the opportunity to help my four-year-old daughter develop her testimony.
I find spiritual support in a wonderful magazine, Lys over Norge (Norwegian). I read it from cover to cover. My daughter loves the children’s section. Whenever we go to our mailbox, she asks if the children’s magazine has arrived for her.
I share the magazine with my mother and sister, who are now members of the Church, and with my nonmember friends; they all enjoy it very much. I also place copies wherever I can—at my doctor’s office, on passenger ferry boats, and so on—so that others may read it.
Eldrid Helén AntonesenBergen 1st Branch, Stavanger Norway District

In April of 1847, Brigham Young led the first company of pioneers out of Winter Quarters. At that same time, 1,600 miles to the west the survivors of the Donner Party straggled down the slopes of the Sierra Nevada Mountains into the Sacramento Valley.
They had spent the ferocious winter trapped in the snowdrifts below the summit. That any survived the days and weeks and months of starvation and indescribable suffering is almost beyond belief.
Among them was 15-year-old John Breen. On the night of April 24 he walked into Johnson’s Ranch. Years later John wrote:
“It was long after dark when we got to Johnson’s Ranch, so the first time I saw it was early in the morning. The weather was fine, the ground was covered with green grass, the birds were singing from the tops of the trees, and the journey was over. I could scarcely believe that I was alive.
“The scene that I saw that morning seems to be photographed on my mind. Most of the incidents are gone from memory, but I can always see the camp near Johnson’s Ranch.”1
John Breen did not come to that morning at Johnson’s Ranch simply by desiring it. He wallowed and clawed his way up over the pass, suffering every step of the way. But once he knew he would survive and the suffering would end, surely he did not complain at the ordeal. And he had help all the way down. He was with rescuers.

But before I could focus my attention on our grandmother’s biography, I felt that I needed to write my mother’s. She was only fifty-one, but she was ill, and I realized that she would probably not survive another year. So I began spending more time with her, gathering information about her life. Ginny and I worked together on both histories; she documented names and dates and I wrote the stories. They were finished soon after my mother’s death.

I know of at least two people listening today who want that blessing with all their hearts. They will try earnestly to draw nearer to the Lord during this conference. They each wrote to me—their letters arriving at my office in the same week—pleading for the same kind of help.

Both of them are converts to the Church and have previously received clear testimonies of the love of God the Father and of His Son, Jesus Christ, the Savior of the world. They knew that the Prophet Joseph Smith organized the Church by direct revelation from God and that the keys of the holy priesthood were restored. Each felt a witness that keys are in place in the Church today. They bore to me their solemn testimony in writing.

Yet both lamented that feelings of love for the Lord and His love for them were lessening. They both wanted, with full heart, for me to help them regain the joy and the feeling of being loved that was theirs as they came into the kingdom of God. Both expressed a fear that if they could not regain in full those feelings of love for the Savior and His Church, the trials and tests they faced would finally overcome their faith.