Gospel Story Finder

My beloved brothers and sisters, for several years and with the deepest feelings I have thought about what I would like to talk to you about this morning. The prophet Mormon tells us that “by the power of [the Lord’s] word did they cause prisons to tumble” (Morm. 8:24). In recent weeks, I have reread the stories of Jean Valjean in Victor Hugo’s brilliant novel Les Miserables and of Bob Merrick in the novel Magnificent Obsession by Lloyd C. Douglas. These two stories, though widely different in time, circumstances, and affluence, have touched my heart in many ways.
Some of the same feelings flood my mind as I reflect upon the self-inflicted sufferings of Bob Merrick. The life of a prominent surgeon was lost and the sight of another because of Bob Merrick’s wayward activities, selfishness, ego, and disdain for others. He suffered in a prison of his own making.
The writer, Mr. Douglas, expressed it beautifully when he said to Bob Merrick, “When you find THE WAY, you will be bound—it will become an obsession—a magnificent obsession.”

One rainy fall day, I went into my attic and noticed a leak. Water dripped off the ends of roofing nails between two sets of rafters. Years before, I had done many repairs to my home and wasn’t afraid to attempt new projects. But at this time I was facing personal struggles and lacked confidence. I didn’t feel like I had the emotional strength to deal with the leak, even though I knew something needed to be done before winter came.
A week or two later, I got on my roof with a utility knife, a putty knife, and a caulking gun loaded with roofing tar. I figured I just needed to find the source of the leak and cover it with gooey tar. But I had no idea where the source was. I felt discouraged. I paused and said a prayer, asking the Lord to direct me to the right spot so I could fix the leak. I expected Him to just show me the spot. Instead, one word came to my mind: investigate.
This wasn’t the answer I wanted, but I began to look around. My eyes focused on a vent. I tore off two small shingles by the vent and saw what looked like the source of a leak. I cut out old, dry tar and applied a liberal amount of new tar. I replaced the shingles, and in less than one hour I had completed the job. My depressed spirits were lifted, and I felt good about myself for what I had done to solve the problem. During the next rain, I looked in the attic for leaks and found it dry!
I thought of Oliver Cowdery, who had “[taken] no thought save it was to ask” (D&C 9:7). Like him, I had expected the Lord to simply give me a quick answer to my prayer with no effort on my part. And I thought about how much my spirits were lifted when I had to put forth my own effort to “study it out” (D&C 9:8)—to investigate. I learned that the Lord will not do everything for us. He will help and guide us, but we are also expected to do what we can on our own because this brings personal growth.

“In my home Sunday was always special. The chairs were turned backward around the table so that the first thing we did when we came into the dining room to eat was kneel down and have family prayer.

Peanut and Jilly Forever When Peanut moved from Minneapolis, Jilly thought that she was a motor-mouth, a fatso, and a know-it-all. Peanut thought that Jilly was a snob, a bean pole, and a know-it-all. You’ll never guess who got them to be best friends.Dorothy Haas7–10 years

2 A few days later the New York Saints arrived in Jackson County. The Prophet and Bishop Partridge told the people to buy land in Missouri. Oliver Cowdery and William W. Phelps were to start schools and to prepare books that little children could read.

Claire and Sandra Hoey of Craigavon are members of the Portadown Ward. They talk about the walls that missionaries helped tumble for their family.
“The missionaries had been coming to our parents for a long time,” Sandra says. “But I never paid any attention. Then one night I was upstairs and started listening. I got more interested in what they were saying. I decided it was time to see what it was all about.”
The discussions became more and more serious. The parents were baptized. An older brother was baptized. Then Sandra, then Claire.
After the baptisms, a friend “noticed that since I’ve joined the Church I’ve been happier,” Claire says. “She wanted to find out what it was that was making me happy.” Now the friend is taking the discussions in the Hoeys’ home. “I can remember asking the same questions, praying to resolve the same doubts,” Claire says. “It helps when I can tell her I’ve been through the same thing and gained my own testimony.”

For the youth in one ward in Maryland, USA, acting and theater are more than just a hobby. “It’s my happy place,” says Mary A., a high school senior. “Our theater group has a really strong family vibe.”
The youth in this ward have many different hobbies and interests. Theater, though, is common ground. “All of us are involved in theater,” says Sonja G., also a senior. “It’s a really good place to get together and make something great.”
For this group, the appeal of the open stage is obviously a big one.
So it wasn’t a small thing when an upcoming school play was announced that made them feel uncomfortable.
“I had no idea what this particular show was about,” says Nathan H., a senior. However, he soon got the feeling that the play in question wasn’t just any old production. A few friends from school started asking him if he planned to actually audition this time. Intrigued by why they’d ask, Nathan did some research.
“I looked into it and made a decision based on what I found that I wasn’t going to be a part of this show.”
He wasn’t the only one. “Once I learned about the story, I didn’t audition,” says Carolyn K., a junior. “It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to be up there on stage to show these characters.”
This wasn’t merely a matter of waiting for the next show to come around, either. For the seniors, it would be one of their last chances to perform at school. This was also the only musical of the year. “It was devastating,” Mary says about the prospects of not being in a show with her friends.
Sonja, who would have been stage manager for the musical, also chose not to join. “There was not really a way for me to do my job and not watch the things I wasn’t comfortable with,” she says.
One by one each of the youth in the ward decided not to participate.
The director asked the students to please reconsider, but their decision held. Soon, the director paid the rights for the show (payment which could not be refunded), auditions were held, and parts were cast. Everything was looking like a done deal.
And then along came a snowstorm.
Right when things were getting rolling with the musical, an enormous snowstorm shut down that part of Maryland. They were out of school for over a week.
During this time their theater director—who some of these youth think of as a kind of second dad—gave the matter a lot of thought. This director, who is a Christian from another faith, had been praying about what to do. Before school resumed after the big storm, the drama group got some big news. Mary said, “He sent a text. The text said, ‘I’ve been praying and I don’t feel right leaving out the Mormon kids. You’ve got until Tuesday to come up with a monologue and a song.’” (That’s theater-speak for get ready to audition.)
Yes, the director decided to drop the original musical entirely. And just like that, the curtain beckoned once more.
“We were all really excited!” Carolyn said.
The youth all jumped at the chance to help in the new production and have enjoyed rolling up their theatrical sleeves once more.
Now, not all stories of this nature can have this kind of a happy ending (on or off the stage). Most of the time, choosing not to participate in something inappropriate doesn’t result in such a significant reversal. But even realizing that they’d be missing out on one of their favorite interests, the youth were at peace with their choice. “I had finally come to terms that it’s OK,” Mary said.
From the start, this group of youth kept each other strong and helped one another live the gospel. “It was easier for us to stand up for our beliefs because there was more than just one of us,” says Sonja. “It’s good when you have friends and you can stand together.”

“When you see a man on top of a mountain, just remember he didn’t fall there,” said Elder Paul H. Dunn before a crowd of youth attending the Alabama-Florida Mission conference at Troy State University. His motivating talks made this event “a time to remember” according to Nancy Cattell of Georgia. At least four baptisms resulted immediately and Cathie Henderson of Alabama told how happy she was that her non-Mormon boyfriend had come to conference because now he was going to be baptized. Jimmy Smith was master of ceremonies for a formal banquet and confessed, “Youth conference sets me up for the whole year of school.” “I’ve always wanted to be a mission president, not because of the glory or the challenge of the problems, but because of how great they are with people. I’d like to be like that,” said Nathan Mayhan of Georgia, complimenting President Spencer H. Osborn. Danny Dyer brought laughs when he said, “Youth conference is the only thing that goes faster than a two-year mission.” Linda Tucker of Tallahassee, Florida, commented on the miracle of forgiveness and how great it was to have two brothers along to learn from great leaders. Robert Neal of Birmingham, Alabama, was chief photographer for the event when he wasn’t starring as a tomato bug in the roadshow.

Soon after the Church was organized in 1830, Church leaders and members gathered to Kirtland, Ohio. In December of 1831, Newel K. Whitney was called to be the second bishop of the Church. As bishop, he was a steward over the temporal and spiritual needs of the congregation. Many of the members did not have much and had traveled to Ohio on foot, carrying everything they owned.
While staying at the John Johnson home in Hiram, Ohio, the Prophet Joseph Smith received the revelation to establish a storehouse: “It must needs be that there be an organization of my people, in regulating and establishing the affairs of the storehouse for the poor of my people, both in this place and in the land of Zion” (D&C 78:3).
To accommodate the needy people in the area, Brother Whitney collected grains and other useful commodities to store and distribute to the poor. Thus, in Kirtland, the first form of a bishops’ storehouse was established.

Fortunately, just weeks before the lockdown was announced, the Africa West Area had begun working with Church headquarters to authorize delivery of cleaning supplies for all 7,800 Latter-day Saint families in Sierra Leone and to provide a 110-pound (50 kg) bag of rice and several liters of cooking oil to more than 2,500 LDS families on an as-needed basis. Unaware of the impending lockdown, local Church leaders still raced to deliver these supplies.

"It is hard to explain the urgency that we felt at the time," recalled Sahr Doe, a special assistant to the mission president. "The weekend when distribution of the supplies was approved, we learned that a particular area might be quarantined. That would make it very difficult to deliver supplies, so we worked around the clock to load trucks and get them on their way to branches throughout the country. In one city, supplies arrived only hours before access restrictions were imposed. Throughout the country, we were able to deliver supplies just prior to the lockdown. It was a blessing to all of us and a modern-day miracle."

Now to those who may be incapacitated in any one of a variety of ways, be it physical, mental, or financial—to those who cannot do what you would sincerely like to do for another—let me tell of a personal family experience.
Some months ago my wife drove down to Provo for her customary weekly visit with her mother, who had been ill for some time. On this particular day her mother had been having an unusually difficult time, and didn’t have the strength to hold up her head, or even open her eyes. Though she was physically restricted, she was very alert mentally, and as my wife was caring for her many needs of the day she visited with her about family and friends. My wife held her mother’s head up with one hand while she fed her with the other, and during the meal their conversation turned to one of our daughters and her husband who have five children under the age of seven. My wife commented to her mother that three of our daughter’s children had chicken pox at the same time. The fact that this little mother was unusually busy was obvious. My mother-in-law stopped eating, thought for a moment, and then in a weak, almost inaudible voice said, “I feel so sorry for Robin. I wish I could go to her home and help her.” A few moments later, as my wife pondered this wish, she observed, “You know, Mother, I think in your case wanting to is enough. Surely you will receive a blessing for service and selflessness as though you went to her home and helped.”
When I was told of the experience, I recalled the words of King Benjamin when, in his final address to his people, he said, “And again, I say unto the poor, ye who have not and yet have sufficient, that ye remain from day to day; I mean all you who deny the beggar, because ye have not; I would that ye say in your hearts that: I give not because I have not, but if I had I would give.” (Mosiah 4:24.)

Except perhaps one thing. Consider the fate of Boabdil, last Caliph of the Moorish kingdom of Granada. On the second day of the year 1492, he stood looking down on the fair white houses and lofty minarets of his beloved city for the last time. The Christian armies under the banners of Isabel of Castile and her husband Ferdinand of Aragon were pouring through the sunny streets, invading the beautiful mosques, schools, and marketplaces, possessing the quiet patios and well-wrought pleasure gardens. Boabdil, a man of culture and learning and taste, looked down on his earthly paradise and wept. He may have thought of Adam looking back on the garden or Abraham turning away from the cool green valleys and deep wells into the desert.
Legend says that Boabdil’s mother looked upon her heartbroken son with contempt and said bitterly, “You do well, my son, to weep as a woman for what you could not defend as a man!” But the citizens of Granada, wiser than that mother, have always felt a deep sympathy for Boabdil. How hard would be the heart that could not weep for Granada!
Boabdil watched as the Christian troops marched through the city to a hill that thrust into the heart of Granada like the prow of a mighty ship. Climbing through groves and gardens, they came to the walls of the royal fortress and palaces. For Boabdil this must have been the bitterest moment of all because this was the symbol of all he was losing, the Alhambra, renowned then and now as one of the chief wonders of the world and one of the most beautiful places on the earth. Built by his ancestors Muhammed Al-Ahmar, Muhammed II, Abul Yusaf I, and Muhammed V, it was a wonderland of courts and patios and airy passageways, fountains and gardens and towers in which an earthly king could anticipate paradise. Turning away, Boabdil and his men continued their retreat out of Spanish history. For the first time in centuries, Spain was once again totally under Christian control.

The month passed with lots of stories to write. One Sunday they visited Grandma, and Janie made sure that she wore her reporter’s hat and carried her notebook. Grandma always had great stories. “Tell me something about Dad when he was a boy,” Janie asked her privately after dinner.
“Oh, your dad!” Grandma laughed. “I remember the time our bishop asked the congregation to raise their hands if they wanted a new parking lot. Every person there but one raised his hand to vote yes. Then, when the bishop asked if anyone was against the new lot, your dad raised his hand high and called out, ‘I am, bishop. If you put in a parking lot, we won’t have anyplace to play basketball.’ The rest of the congregation laughed for ten minutes!”

In ancient Greece, runners competed in a relay race called a lampadedromia.1 In the race, runners held a torch in their hand and passed it on to the next runner until the final member of the team crossed the finish line.
The prize wasn’t awarded to the team that ran fastest—it was awarded to the first team to reach the finish line with its torch still lit.

After visiting North and South Carolina, USA, President Dallin H. Oaks and Elder David A. Bednar spoke to storm-weary hurricane victims at an evening devotional in Tallahassee, Florida, USA. President Oaks reminded listeners that adversity and afflictions are part of mortal life, but that “If we are faithful and prayerful, the Lord will help us get through them.”

Little did we know, another miracle was in store for us.
When Kahn turned 4, we holidayed in our homeland of Samoa, where we reconnected with Kahn’s birth family. They welcomed us with open arms, and Kahn’s birth grandmother wept when she recognised him. “Your son is gorgeous,” she said. “He’s so active, and he looks like he enjoys his food, too.”
It was an emotional reunion. They thanked us for loving and nurturing Kahn—and then they asked if we had room in our lives for another child.
My husband and I were astonished.
We discovered that Kahn’s birth mother had another baby. Naree Alalafaga was 5 months old at the time and, again, her family wanted more for this child than they were able to offer.
My mother’s words echoed softly in my mind: you reap what you sow.
It wasn’t by chance we met our miracle daughter this way. The Lord knows our deepest desires, and what is best for us. So, when our reunion with Kahn’s birth family brought a precious addition—his baby sister—to our home, it just felt right.

I was once saved from death or serious accident because my father hearkened to the voice of the Spirit. If he had not responded instantly to the whisperings of the still small voice, my life might have ended then or had its course totally changed.
One of my earliest childhood recollections is of riding a horse through an apple orchard. The horse was tame and well broken, and I felt at home in the saddle.
But one day something frightened my mount, and he bolted through the orchard. I was swept from the saddle by the overhanging limbs, and one leg slipped down through the stirrup. I desperately hung to an almost broken leather strap that a cowboy uses to tie a lariat to his saddle. My weight should have broken the strap, but somehow it held for the moment. Another lunge or two of the stampeding horse would have broken the strap or wrenched it from my hands and left me to be dragged to injury or death with my foot entangled in the stirrup.
Suddenly the horse stopped, and I became aware that someone was holding the bridle tightly and attempting to calm the quivering animal. Almost immediately I was snatched up into the arms of my father.
What had happened? What had brought my father to my rescue in the split second before I slipped beneath the hoofs of my panic-driven horse?
My father had been sitting in the house reading the newspaper when the Spirit whispered to him, “Run out into the orchard!”
Without a moment’s hesitation, not waiting to learn why or for what reason, my father ran. Finding himself in the orchard without knowing why he was there, he saw the galloping horse and thought, I must stop this horse.
He did so and found me. And that is how I was saved from serious injury or possible death.

As missionaries in the Canada Winnipeg Mission, my companion and I were serving in the beautiful city of Prince Albert, Saskatchewan. I had grown up in Laie, Hawaii, in the shadow of the Laie Hawaii Temple. My companion, Elder Larmour, came from Belfast, Northern Ireland. Our families and wards back home supported us, but at times our monthly allotment of funds was held up en route. Such was the situation that brought about this experience.
At the beginning of one month, after I received my check, we waited for Elder Larmour’s to be forwarded from the mission office. As usual, our rent was due and the cupboards were getting bare. We had to decide whether we should pay the rent with my check or buy food. We paid the rent.
A few days passed and we still hadn’t received Elder Larmour’s money. We had eaten all the food in our apartment, except for half a bag of frozen mixed vegetables and an old freezer-burned soup bone that took some effort to pry loose from its icy confines. With these ingredients I cooked a vegetable soup. It wasn’t much, but we were grateful for what we had.
The next day we decided to tract in an area not too far from home. The street seemed endless, and no one was interested in our message. Hunger pangs tormented us, and we were both getting faint from lack of food. As we came to the end of the street, we decided to take a break. We found a bench in a park at the end of this street and tried to recover our strength. My companion said in a sincere plea, “I’m hungry.” My heart went out to him as we sat there. I was twice his size. I knew I would be able to endure for quite a while, but I did not think he’d be able to go on for long if he didn’t get something to eat.
I was the senior companion, so in my heart I pleaded with Heavenly Father to provide the means we needed to get us through. I looked across the park and noticed a short street with about five homes on it. It was a continuation of the long street we had just tracted. I turned to my companion and said, “Come on, let’s finish this street.” He turned to me and said, “Let’s just go home.” We came to an agreement that if we finished the street and no one was interested, we would then head home.
As we walked past the first home, a couple was busy in the driveway doing some work on their car. A call of “Not today, guys” kept us moving to the next home. As we approached the door, we could smell the wonderful aroma of home cooking. Suddenly the door opened wide, and a smiling, middle-aged woman greeted us with “Come in, boys. I hope you’re hungry!”
With hesitation we entered her home, not knowing what to expect. She led us to the dining room, where two places were already set. We sat down and she busied herself with serving us. I started to get a lump in my throat, anticipating a feast fit for kings. Or perhaps we would be thrown out when she finally came to her senses and realized who we were.
After filling the table with pork chops, mashed potatoes, gravy, and all the fixings, she said, “I don’t know why I cooked all this food, but something told me to do it. I wasn’t expecting company, and I live here alone. I’m sure glad you boys happened by. You haven’t eaten, have you?”
I replied, “No, but do you know who we are?”
“You’re Mormon missionaries, aren’t you?” she answered. “So don’t you say a blessing on the food before you eat?”
We did bless the food and give thanks for the many blessings the Lord had given us. And to this day I cannot think of a better meal than that meal the Lord provided in our time of need.

When I got back from my mission, my mother was very sick with cancer. One day she asked me to teach her to pray. She wanted to pray for me. Even in her pain, she was thinking of others. She reminded me of Jesus too. When He atoned for us, He was in great pain. But He was praying for us.

You recall the Prophet Joseph Smith’s experience with darkness and light in the Sacred Grove. President Lorenzo Snow (1814–1901) wrote of an experience of his own:

“Some two or three weeks after I was baptized … I began to reflect upon the fact that I had not obtained a knowledge of the truth of the work … , and I began to feel very uneasy. I laid aside my books, left the house, and wandered around through the fields under the oppressive influence of a gloomy, disconsolate spirit, while an indescribable cloud of darkness seemed to envelop me. I had been accustomed, at the close of the day, to retire for secret prayer, to a grove a short distance from my lodgings, but at this time I felt no inclination to do so. The spirit of prayer had departed and the heavens seemed like brass over my head. At length, realizing that the usual time had come for secret prayer, I concluded I would not forego my evening service, and, as a matter of formality, knelt as I was in the habit of doing, and in my accustomed retired place, but not feeling as I was wont to feel.

“I had no sooner opened my lips in an effort to pray, than I heard a sound, just above my head, like the rustling of silken robes, and immediately the Spirit of God descended upon me, completely enveloping my whole person, filling me, from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet, and O, the joy and happiness I felt! No language can describe the almost instantaneous transition from a dense cloud of mental and spiritual darkness into a refulgence of light and knowledge, as it was at that time imparted to my understanding. I then received a perfect knowledge that God lives, that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and of the restoration of the holy Priesthood, and the fulness of the Gospel. …

“… That night, as I retired to rest, the same wonderful manifestations were repeated, and continued to be for several successive nights. The sweet remembrance of those glorious experiences, from that time to the present, bring them fresh before me, imparting an inspiring influence which pervades my whole being, and I trust will to the close of my earthly existence.”