Gospel Story Finder

Last October, President Russell M. Nelson invited us to look ahead to this April 2020 conference by each of us in our own way looking back to see the majesty of God’s hand in restoring the gospel of Jesus Christ. Sister Holland and I took that prophetic invitation seriously. We imagined ourselves living in the early 1800s, looking at the religious beliefs of that day. In that imagined setting, we asked ourselves, “What’s missing here? What do we wish we had? What do we hope God will provide in response to our spiritual longing?”
Well, for one thing, we realized that two centuries ago we would have dearly hoped for the restoration of a truer concept of God than most in that day had, hidden as He often seemed to be behind centuries of error and misunderstanding. To borrow a phrase from William Ellery Channing, a prominent religious figure of the day, we would have looked for the “parental character of God,” which Channing considered “the first great doctrine of Christianity.” Such a doctrine would have recognized Deity as a caring Father in Heaven, rather than a harsh judge dispensing stern justice or as an absentee landlord who had once been engaged in earthly matters but was now preoccupied somewhere else in the universe.
Yes, our hopes in 1820 would have been to find God speaking and guiding as openly in the present as He did in the past, a true Father, in the most loving sense of that word. He certainly would not have been a cold, arbitrary autocrat who predestined a select few for salvation and then consigned the rest of the human family to damnation. No, He would be one whose every action, by divine declaration, would be “for the benefit of the world; for he loveth the world” and every inhabitant in it. That love would be His ultimate reason for sending Jesus Christ, His Only Begotten Son, to the earth.
Speaking of Jesus, had we lived in those first years of the 19th century, we would have realized with great alarm that doubts about the reality of the Savior’s life and Resurrection were beginning to take significant hold within Christendom. Therefore, we would have hoped for evidence to come to the whole world that would confirm the biblical witness that Jesus is the Christ, the literal Son of God, Alpha and Omega, and the only Savior this world will ever know. It would have been among our dearest hopes that other scriptural evidence be brought forward, something that could constitute another testament of Jesus Christ, enlarging and enhancing our knowledge of His miraculous birth, wondrous ministry, atoning sacrifice, and glorious Resurrection. Truly such a document would be “righteousness [sent] down out of heaven; and truth [sent] forth out of the earth.”
Observing the Christian world in that day, we would have hoped to find someone authorized by God with true priesthood authority who could baptize us, bestow the gift of the Holy Ghost, and administer all gospel ordinances necessary for exaltation. In 1820, we would have hoped to see fulfilled the eloquent promises of Isaiah, Micah, and other ancient prophets regarding the return of the majestic house of the Lord. We would have thrilled to see the glory of holy temples established again, with the Spirit, the ordinances, the power, and the authority to teach eternal truths, heal personal wounds, and bind families together forever. I would have looked anywhere and everywhere to find someone authorized to say to me and my beloved Patricia that our marriage in such a setting was sealed for time and all eternity, never to hear or have imposed on us the haunting curse “until death do you part.” I know that “in [our] Father’s house are many mansions,” but, speaking personally, if I were to be so fortunate as to inherit one of them, it could be no more to me than a decaying shack if Pat and our children were not with me to share that inheritance. And for our ancestors, some of whom lived and died anciently without even hearing the name of Jesus Christ, we would have hoped for that most just and merciful of biblical concepts to be restored—the practice of the living offering up saving ordinances on behalf of their kindred dead. No practice I can imagine would demonstrate with more splendor a loving God’s concern for every one of His earthly children no matter when they lived nor where they died.
Well, our 1820 list of hopes could go on, but perhaps the most important message of the Restoration is that such hopes would not have been in vain. Beginning in the Sacred Grove and continuing to this day, these desires began to be clothed in reality and became, as the Apostle Paul and others taught, true anchors to the soul, sure and steadfast. What was once only hoped for has now become history.
Thus our look back at 200 years of God’s goodness to the world. But what of our look ahead? We still have hopes that have not yet been fulfilled.

Seeing an excellent financial opportunity, Elder Ribeiro and his wife Zélia and their small children, planned to move to the USA. Ready to leave, after prayer, fasting and attending the temple the answer was “no”. Months later, Elder Ribeiro was called as a stake president. His wife comforted the family by saying, “We were born to serve the Lord.”
During the following years, they experienced very significant financial losses. The hardships seemed to have no end. The heavens were silent. Days followed months, and months followed years. Faith was tested to the limits. Elder Ribeiro‘s testimony was forged. He learned to know his Saviour in a deeper way. He said: “The Son of God trusted in His Father, endured all things, and endured well until the end. We‘ll never know when the end will come. We can only bear it and bear it well”.

It was the morning before my son, Daniel, had his first day of kindergarten, and he had a few concerns about leaving home to attend school. I wanted to make sure that he felt prepared to meet the challenges in the “real world.” I told Daniel that I would miss him very much while he was away. I assured him that even though I couldn’t be with him at school, he would never need to feel afraid or lonely because his Father in Heaven would watch over him. I reminded him that he could pray anytime, anywhere and that God would always hear him.
As I spoke, Daniel, barely five years old, listened very intently. After some thought he responded, “Can He see me when I’m in my house?”
“Yes,” I assured him.
“Can He see me when I’m outside?” he asked.
“Yes, He can always see you,” I replied.
With a look of excitement, Daniel ran immediately to the backyard. I followed closely behind him. Daniel looked upward at the cloudless, blue sky and asked, “If I look up at the sky and smile, will He see me and will He smile back?”
Rendered speechless from the lump in my throat and the tug on my heartstrings, I nodded, “Yes!”
Still looking heavenward, this time with squinted, searching eyes and perfect, childlike faith, Daniel thoughtfully asked, “Can I see Him?”
“You might not be able to see Him,” I replied, “but you will know He is there because you will feel His smile in your heart.”
Daniel stood smiling as he gazed into the heavens. From the peaceful look on his angelic face, I knew he was experiencing that divine smile deep in his soul.

Go with me to talk with a branch president in an Indian village in Guatemala. Hear him as he explains how four of his nine children died before they reached the age of five because of improper nutrition and poor sanitation, which resulted in dysentery, pneumonia, and other illnesses.

These siblings glowed with common faith and excitement as they entered the MTC. Elder Pepe Dore and his mother joined the Church in the Ivory Coast before moving to Guinea after the death of Elder Dore’s father in 2004. “We waited for 10 years before we found other members of the Church to pray together in their home,” said Elder Dore. He shared the gospel with his other siblings, who became interested, such that his younger brother (Elder Emile Dore) was baptized in 2006. “I never doubted when the Church was introduced to me. I knew it was true, I did not hesitate to accept the gospel and be baptized,” Elder Emile Dore testified.

Dr. José Rizal, the Philippine national hero, is revered in his country because he devoted his talents and energies to promote freedom and because he gave his life for what he believed. His writings urged the Filipinos to recognize their intellectual and moral worth and to work for governmental reforms without breaking the law. But when armed insurrections began in 1896, he was executed at age 35.

I guess no snowmen this Christmas …
True, but no thick coats either.
What a time to move.
A big welcome to the Parker family.
Also, please check out the service wishing tree in the hall.
Manuel and Maria want to build the world’s largest sand castle.
Hey, I could do that.
Whoa! I’ve never built a snowman before!
Perfect! Just how I imagined.
Where’d the superhero wrapping paper go?
Best, Christmas, Ever!

In Jamaica, as in many other parts of the world, missionaries ride bicycles to carry out the Lord’s work. But bicycles often break down and parts wear out. And there are often delays in obtaining parts and having repairs made. Again, the solution was obvious—teach and baptize the bicycle repairman. At last report, he was responding to the missionaries’ friendship and testimonies.

There are many examples, both ancient and modern, that attest to the influence of righteous music. Discouragement disappeared and minds were filled with peace as the words to “Come, Come, Ye Saints” gave the pioneers courage to face their trials. This same song has been an inspiration to many over the years. At one time I was talking to a pilot who had just returned from a hazardous flight. We spoke of courage and of fear, and I asked how he had held himself together in the face of what he had endured. He said, “I have a favorite hymn, and when it was desperate, when there was little hope that we would return, I would keep it on my mind, and it was as though the engines of the aircraft would sing back to me.”

Come, come, ye Saints,
No toil nor labor fear;
But with joy wend your way.
Though hard to you
This journey may appear,
Grace shall be as your day.

From this he clung to faith, the one essential ingredient to courage.

Years ago when our youngest son, Clark, was attending a religion class at Brigham Young University, the instructor, during a lecture, asked him, “Clark, what is an example of life with your father that you best remember?”
The instructor later wrote to me and told me of the reply which Clark had given to the class. Said Clark: “When I was a deacon in the Aaronic Priesthood, my father and I went pheasant hunting near Malad, Idaho. The day was Monday—the last day of the pheasant hunting season. We walked through numerous fields in search of pheasants but saw only a few, and those we missed. Dad then said to me, ‘Clark,’ he looked at his watch, ‘let’s unload our guns, and we’ll place them in this ditch. Then we’ll kneel down to pray.’ I thought Dad would pray for more pheasants, but I was wrong. He explained to me that Elder Richard L. Evans of the Quorum of the Twelve was gravely ill and that at 12:00 noon on that particular Monday the members of the Quorum of the Twelve—wherever they may be—were to kneel and, in a way, together unite in a fervent prayer of faith for Elder Evans. Removing our caps, we knelt, we prayed.”
I well remember the occasion, but I never dreamed a son was watching, was learning, was building his own testimony.

Stephen Studevan, a priest in the Parkwood Ward, Austin Texas Oak Hills Stake, will be a long way from home when he visits Russia as a member of an international language competition team. Stephen won his spot on the team by demonstrating outstanding proficiency in speaking Russian.

“When Elder Goaslind was a young boy, he fell and hit his head while skiing. “That morning when I came home,” he recalled, “my eyes were very dark. The next morning when I tried to get up, I could hardly move, so my parents called the doctor and took me to the hospital. It was determined that I had a concussion. I still remember the blessing that my father gave me, and shortly after the blessing I regained complete mobility. That priesthood blessing had a real effect on my life, not only because I was healed but also because I learned firsthand that the Lord answers prayers.

Brother Homer even told of one student who was unaware of any seminary program in his area, and so he initiated his own systematic scripture study program. As soon as Brother Homer became aware of the situation, a seminary program was started in that city.

“Today we’re going to talk about temple marriage,” my Mia Maid teacher said, smiling sweetly. I braced myself. It was going to happen—again.
Whenever subjects like temple marriage or the Word of Wisdom came up, someone always seemed to mention my dad, who was both non-LDS and a smoker. Many times he had even been used to illustrate the point.
Two hours later, still flushed and embarrassed from the class comments, I walked home.
My dad has a bad habit, but he’s not a bad person, I thought angrily. How can they judge him when they don’t really know him?
That night after church, I looked up some scriptures on judging others and found just the one I was looking for: “But … as you cannot always tell the wicked from the righteous, … hold your peace until I shall see fit to make all things known unto the world concerning the matter” (D&C 10:37).
I read the words over and over again, and each time I felt angrier and angrier at the ward members.
This scripture is proof that I’m right and they’re all wrong, I thought angrily.
I pictured myself at the pulpit quoting this scripture and setting everyone straight. No doubt, the congregation would be moved to repentant tears. I could hardly wait until testimony meeting next Sunday.
But during the week, my anger began to wear me down. It was too great a battle for one person to fight.
How can I take on the whole ward? I worried.
By Sunday, I had formulated a better plan—one that would really show my resentment. I would stay home with my dad on Sundays.
As my mom and sisters got ready for church, I put on a sweatsuit and plopped down in front of the television with my dad. Mom was upset, but I was sure Dad would be on my side.
After everyone had left, he asked why I was home. I told him everything, including how harshly he was being judged by some ward members.
He just sat there for a moment. Then he asked if the Church was important to me.
“Of course,” I said.
“Do you believe it’s true?” he asked.
“Yes, it’s true,” I said, wondering what he was getting at.
“If it’s true, then you should never let what someone says or does keep you away. Besides, I thought Mormons weren’t supposed to judge,” he said, nudging me playfully.
“Hold your peace,” the words from the scripture rang in my head. It suddenly seemed to apply more to me than to the ward. In my anger, I had forgotten that people make mistakes and sometimes say things that hurt, though they don’t mean to. Perhaps I had judged the ward members unfairly, I thought. Next Sunday I would go back to church.
All my life my father had been teaching me honesty, respect, hard work, and love. But that afternoon he taught me to forgive.

A few weeks ago our youngest son and his wife and family stopped to see us. The first one out of the car was our two-year-old grandson. He came running to me with his arms outstretched, shouting, “Gwampa! Gwampa! Gwampa!”
He hugged my legs, and I looked down at that smiling face and those big, innocent eyes and thought, “What kind of a world awaits him?”
For a moment I had that feeling of anxiety, that fear of the future that so many parents express to us. Everywhere we go fathers and mothers worry about the future of their children in this very troubled world.
But then a feeling of assurance came over me. My fear of the future faded.
That guiding, comforting Spirit, with which we in the Church are so familiar, brought to my remembrance what I already knew. The fear of the future was gone. That bright-eyed, little two-year-old can have a good life—a very good life—and so can his children and his grandchildren, even though they will live in a world where there is much of wickedness.

I have experienced the same problem. Whenever I got conflicting advice, I went down on my knees and prayed to my Heavenly Father to know which pieces of advice to take into consideration, just as the Prophet Joseph Smith did to know which of all the sects was true. Each time the answers came loud and clear, and I knew perfectly the right advice to follow.
Anita O., age 17, Western, Ghana

—Catch Jay Stipe, 15, also from the Second Ward, as he’s going out the door with his home teaching companion, the stake patriarch.
“We always get 100 percent,” Jay says. “We take turns giving the lesson every other month, but I always call and make the appointments.”

Ultimately, it’s their individual testimonies that keep these Hmong youth active in the Church while they face so much opposition from friends and family. “Sometimes you doubt,” says Mylea. “And I had doubts.” But when she learned more about the life of Joseph Smith and about the gospel, her doubts left her. “Everything was taken away from Joseph Smith, even his own life. Now I know he wasn’t lying.”

My friends at school used to try to get me to do or say things that are against my standards, but now that they know I’m a member of the Church and what I stand for, they respect my boundaries.

Three years later, while Joseph was praying for further truth, light spread throughout the dark room where he slept in his family’s log home. An angel who called himself Moroni told Joseph about a book of scripture containing the fulness of the gospel. The book was written on gold plates and hidden in a nearby hill. After Moroni left, Joseph lay thinking about the experience. Suddenly the room grew bright once more, and Moroni again appeared and delivered his message. And he appeared yet again that night to instruct Joseph. Right after Moroni left the third time, the rooster outside crowed and sunlight began melting away the night. Joseph got up and went to the fields to do his chores. He was so tired that he could not work, so his father sent him home to rest.
Joseph started home, but as he tried to cross a fence he fell exhausted to the ground. As he lay there, Moroni once more came and repeated the message of the night before. He then told Joseph to tell his father about all that had happened.
Joseph’s father recognized that the message was from God; he directed Joseph to do as Moroni had instructed. Joseph hurried to the hill, Cumorah, where he found the sacred record inside a stone box beneath a large stone. Once more Moroni appeared. This time he told Joseph to come back again a year later.