Gospel Story Finder

We experienced a special day in our family on January 4, 1997. My brother organized a party honoring the 200th birthday of Gustavus Adolphus Perry. He was an important member of our family tree. He was baptized in 1832 and became the first of our family to embrace the gospel. The Perry family history records this remarkable event:
As a part of the birthday celebration, my brother spent a year searching for the descendants of Gustavus Adolphus Perry. We were amazed at the record he had on the table before us as we celebrated. He had found more than 10,000 descendants of this good man. The number overwhelmed me. Suddenly I realized the value of a good name. In seven to eight generations, his family had sufficient numbers to organize three stakes of Zion.

I would like to tell you about a little bird that was lying on the parking lot pavement. During the night it had been blown from its nest by the high winds in the storm. Apparently hatched just a few days earlier, it had few feathers, but enough to identify it as just a common sparrow.
As it lay there awaiting whatever fate would come, a young woman walking to her car in the parking lot saw the little sparrow and picked it up. Feeling sympathy for the helpless little bird she took it home to care for it. She prepared a nest in a basket with soft tissues, which were changed often to keep a clean and comfortable bed for the little bird.
She fed it often each day, watching it gain strength, and within a few days it opened its eyes and could see for the first time. It saw the girl who fed it and the family who lived in the home. It heard and became accustomed to the sounds around it, and it was not afraid.
As the days passed, it was able to hop about, and it was taken from the basket and put into a clean birdcage.
It trusted the girl and the family, and when it wanted food, it would chirp and flutter its growing wings rapidly, and when the cage door was opened it would hop out onto the girl’s hand and sit there patiently while she fed it.
It would sit on her hand as she walked through the house and even when she went outside. To help it become accustomed to the outside world where it soon would have to live, she would take it out on the lawn where she and her sister would sit under the tree and visit while the bird would look and observe all around it.
It came time for the girl and her sister to go to girls’ camp, so the bird went with them and spent the week on Cedar Mountain with the girls. It was there that it tried to fly for the first time, flying from the girl’s hand to the low branches in a nearby tree.
It was glad to come back to the familiar hand and security of the girl’s love, and although it was learning to fly it did not leave. When the girls’ camp was over the bird came home with the girls and continued its flying lessons.
The girl, realizing the bird must soon join its own kind, took it out on the front lawn and encouraged it to fly away. It flew across the lawn to a small pine tree, where it perched and looked around. The girl left it there, assuming it would now join the other birds, and she returned into the home.
It wasn’t long before a chirping could be heard outside in front of the home, and when the girl went out to see what the bird was chirping about, it flew out of the tree and landed back on her hand, and she fed it.
For the first few nights the bird would come back to the house and want to come in with the family for the night. Soon, however, it began to stay out with newly found friends living in the trees close by the home. When the girl would go outside and whistle, it would respond and return and land on her hand, and my daughter, Trinilee, would feed it.
That little bird and my daughter taught me a great lesson in faith and trust. Although it was just a fraction of the size of its human friend and could be in great danger for its life amongst humans, it trusted her and had faith it would not be harmed and would be fed by her—and it responded to her beckoning call.

Besides her own efforts, Dalynne was greatly helped by the Easter Seals swimming program. Her mother says that Dalynne hated to put her face into the water at first, but now she swims underwater and dives from a sitting position. As the Utah Easter Seals poster child for two years, she met many celebrities.

President Kimball’s visit to Australia was the second official visit of a president of the Church. The first was President David O. McKay in 1955. When President McKay was in Brisbane, Australia, the mission president one day took him out to see the city. During the course of the day they were looking across the Brisbane River into a new suburb which was known as Chermside. President McKay said to the mission president, “Do we have any missionaries in that area?” The mission president said, “No.” President McKay said, “Send the missionaries in, for the people are ready.” Missionaries were sent into the area and they enjoyed tremendous success. Today Chermside is part of the Brisbane Fourth Ward of the Brisbane Australia Stake.

Several months ago, I had the opportunity to test an idea with two 14-year-old young women. I obtained copies of two actual ward council agendas and gave Emma and Maggie each a copy. I asked them to read over the agendas and see if there were any action items from the ward councils in which they might be able to be of service. Emma saw that a new family was moving into the ward, and she said she could help them move in and unpack. She thought she could befriend the children in the family and show them around their new school. She saw there was a ward dinner coming up and felt there were many different ways she could offer her services.

Maggie saw that there were several elderly people in the ward who needed visits and fellowshipping. She said she would love to visit with and be of help to these wonderful older members. She also felt she could help teach members of the ward how to set up and use social media accounts. There really wasn’t one thing on those agendas with which those two young women could not help!

Since returning from my mission, I’ve had to live far from home because of my schooling. But even though I’m by myself, I have one of the best possible incentives for the soul—the Liahona magazine. It is a source of inspiration to keep me progressing in life. It is a voice of encouragement, and each day it helps me to be better than the day before.Lenin Enrique Colonia Córdova,Pueblo Libre Branch, Cajamarca Perú Stake

Each ward roadshow was developed around a decade and immediately followed its slide introduction. Wakefield Ward opened the century with Teddy Roosevelt frantically searching for his missing daughter, Alice. Even the Pinkertons were called in to assist. But it all ended happily with Alice’s lavish wedding to Mr. Longworth. Manassas Ward brought 1910–1920 alive with the suffragette movement.

Rising in the west behind Plymouth Rock is Cole’s Hill where during that first terrible winter in 1620–21 the Pilgrims buried nearly half their number. In the spring those graves were leveled and sowed to grain, “lest the Indians know how many were the graves.” Plymouth Rock was identified as such in 1741 and became a symbol of freedom in 1774 during pre-Revolutionary agitation in the colonies. The city of Plymouth was founded by those we now call the Pilgrims, who in the early days left England for Holland and then came to the New World to find religious freedom and new opportunity in a new land.

Have you ever thought what it would be like to spend Christmas in a country halfway around the world, among people with different religions and different customs than yours? That happened to me when I was eleven.
My father is a professor of Middle East history. He believes that it is important to understand the countries he teaches about and that the best way to learn about the people is to live there. For two years my parents, my two little sisters, and I lived and traveled in many countries of the Middle East.
Our hosts on this particular Christmas Eve were the Hassans in Egypt. Mohammed Hassan, a student of my father’s in the United States, had said: “When you go to Cairo, please visit my brother Ali and his family. It will make them very happy.”
We went from Lebanon, where Daddy was teaching, to spend our Christmas vacation in Egypt. When we arrived in Cairo Daddy telephoned Ali Hassan, who invited us to his home for dinner the next night—Christmas Eve. Mr. Hassan called for us in his car. He seemed pleased to meet friends of Mohammed. When we reached his home we were received with the familiar Arabic greeting, Ahalan-wasahalan (You are welcome here)!” He introduced his wife, their three little girls and baby boy, Mr. Hassan’s mother, who lived with them, and relatives who were visiting from Upper Egypt.
None of them spoke much English and we only knew a few words of Arabic, so I dreaded the long evening ahead of us. It was bad enough to be missing all the excitement of Christmas—gifts, parties, and the Christmas services—but having to spend Christmas Eve this way seemed like a nightmare. I wished we were back in our cold hotel room where we could celebrate by telling the Christmas story, hanging up our stockings, exchanging small gifts, and singing a few Christmas carols instead of sitting in uncomfortable silence for hours on end.
While we waited for dinner we sat in a circle in the living room, smiling and nodding at our hosts who smiled and nodded back. My father and Mr. Hassan and the relatives from Upper Egypt attempted to discuss Egyptian politics and history, but the conversation was stumbling and broken.
The rest of us just sat. Finally Mrs. Ali Hassan smiled at my mother and handed her the baby. My mother cuddled him and crooned to him and he gurgled back. Across the room I saw Mr. Hassan’s mother glance at them for a moment and then quickly look away. Most of the time she just stared shyly at the floor, almost as if she were afraid to look at us. Like many traditional Moslem women, she wore a black kerchief that covered her hair and part of her face. She seemed out of place in the modern apartment with its gilded furniture and television set.
At last dinner was served. We went into the dining room and there on the table was a huge turkey! I could hardly believe my eyes. Did the Hassans know that turkey was a Christmas tradition for many American families or was it just a coincidence? The table was loaded! There were meats, vegetables, rice and potato dishes, pickled lemons, a special green soup, and other foods. Mr. Hassan piled our plates with turkey, and the other dishes were passed around.
“Eat, please!” Mr. Hassan kept saying. “Do you not like our food?”
I ate until I was stuffed. I saw my mother and my sisters struggling to eat more than they wanted, to please the Hassans.
At last the dessert was brought in. There were sweet pastries and pudding and then fresh fruit that always comes at the end of a Middle Eastern meal. I took a tangerine and peeled it, and then I noticed that my seven-year-old sister Anne and my father seemed embarrassed. Try as they would, they could not cut or peel their fruit. Anne saw Mr. Hassan looking at her.
“You do not eat your fruit,” he said. “Do you not like it?”
“I can’t eat it,” Anne answered, grinning. “It’s not real fruit. It’s artificial.”
I looked around the table and realized that the Egyptian family had been waiting for this moment. Mr. Hassan’s mother started to laugh and then we all laughed. We laughed until we cried. When we moved back into the living room, we were all relaxed.
The rest of the evening passed quickly. Mom played singing games with the children until my sisters grew sleepy. Finally she signaled to Daddy that it was time to leave. As we started to say good-bye, Mr. Hassan said, “Please, wait a moment.”
Soon his mother appeared, carrying an ornate brass candlestick shaped like a cobra. She gave it to my mother and made a little speech that Mr. Hassan translated: “My mother wants you to have this candlestick. She says that now that she has met some Americans and knows that they are nice people, she will no longer weep for Mohammed.” Then Mr. Hassan explained that every day his mother cried for Mohammed because she didn’t know whether he was happy or if people in America were kind to him.
I saw tears in my mother’s eyes.
“Shukran, shukran (Thank-you, thank-you),” Mom said and hugged Mr. Hassan’s mother.
“Please tell your mother,” she said to Mr. Hassan, “that we will treasure this candlestick. It will remind us of your thoughtfulness and hospitality and help us remember that even without words people can communicate. Warmth and understanding and laughter can be shared by all people. We will never forget this Christmas Eve in Cairo that has been filled with the true spirit of Christmas.”
Then I realized that this was a joyful Christmas. Piles of presents and tinseled trees no longer seemed important.

In addition to the relief efforts in Haiti, aid was sent to help victims in the southern United States, also hard hit by the storms. The Church donated more than 20 truckloads of supplies, including more than 7 truckloads of hygiene kits (103,600) and 11 truckloads of cleaning kits (22,176). Food boxes intended to feed a family of four were distributed to some 1,200 families. Each food box included rice, vegetable oil, peanut butter, fruit drink mix, and assorted canned goods.
Additional assistance from the bishops’ storehouse in Slidell, Louisiana, included food, water, generators, tools, sleeping bags, chain saws, tarps, and other smaller items.

Silverdale First Ward
Children in the Silverdale First Ward, Silverdale Washington Stake, painted ties for their fathers to celebrate Father’s Day. The children included a special poem with each tie.

How many 12-year-olds do you know who are building a baseball hall of fame right in their own bedroom? Joseph Jackson of the Kirtland Ward, Kirtland Ohio Stake, is. It goes along with his hope to become a pro ball player some day and his plans to start his own baseball card show business.
His first love though is not baseball but Scouting. He’s an Eagle Scout and has received many awards leading up to that. He has earned 40 merit badges, and his goal is to earn all 120 offered.
Joseph has church goals as well. He is currently serving as president of his deacons quorum and is saving for a mission.

September had come, and autumn was just around the corner. The leaves of the poplar and cottonwood trees had changed from green to golden yellow. The grass that grew beside the road had turned to rusty brown. And Malan had turned eight.
The day of Malan’s baptism finally arrived. He had learned about baptism in Primary and during family home evenings, and he had thought about the event for a long time. Using his own new copies of the scriptures, he and his dad had read about the baptism of Jesus (Matt. 3:13–17). Now he could be a member of record of the Church, like his mom and dad and the bishop and the boys who passed the sacrament. If he always tried to do the right thing, his baptism would enable him to “enter into the kingdom of God” (John 3:5), and that’s where he and Dad decided they wanted the whole family to be. Malan closed his eyes and listened to the hum of the car’s tires on the pavement as the car carried them to the Parkland Ward meetinghouse.
In a few minutes he and his sister, Ginger, his mom, Aunt Marcia and Uncle Scott, his cousins Jenny and Coral, and his Grandma and Grandpa would be there. His dad was already there, running water into the font and making sure that the white clothes were ready.
It seemed to Malan that time was dragging. The streets of the city were crammed with cars, and every red light seemed to refuse to turn green. A lane ahead was blocked because a truck had tipped over and spilled its load of wood.
Malan peered anxiously out the car window. A man was frantically directing the traffic and casting unhappy glances at his overturned truck. Behind him, driving along the ditch, was a police car with its red and blue lights flashing.
“Don’t worry,” Malan’s mom said, turning around and giving his arm a comforting squeeze. “We’ll be there in time.”
Malan sighed with relief when they finally pulled up in front of the large red brick building. He was so eager to get inside that he almost forgot how important it was to walk quietly and be reverent in the Lord’s house.
He saw his dad, dressed all in white, coming to meet him. But something was wrong! Dad knelt down; his kind blue eyes were concerned. “You have a decision to make, Son,” his dad said, giving his shoulders a gentle squeeze. “I’ve run the water for a long time, and it appears that the hot water heater is broken. The water in the font is very cold. Do you want to be baptized in cold water or wait until next week?”
Malan stood for a long moment and wondered what to do. Behind him he could hear his Grandpa talking, and the excited voices of his small cousins. Through the chapel window he could see the yellow-clad branch of a tall poplar tree as it scratched gently against the pane.
“Were you baptized in a river, Dad?” he asked.
His dad smiled. “Yes, I was baptized in the Moose Jaw River.”
“Was it cold?”
“Only for a few moments.”
Malan lifted his chin and hoped that his dad wouldn’t notice his trembling body. “I want to be baptized today. I don’t mind if the water is cold.”
Malan was uneasy as he changed into his white clothing. And although he tried to sit quietly through his Grandpa’s prayer and his mother’s talk about Jesus, Malan’s legs insisted upon swinging and his stomach had a big knot in it.
Finally it was time! As Malan stepped into the icy water, his knees shook and he wanted to run back through the halls and out to the shelter of the car. Then his dad’s strong hands reached for his. “Are you ready?”
Malan nodded. He listened to the prayer, then pinched his nose as the icy water swept over his head. When he stood up, he gasped for air and splashed to the stairs of the font. As he moved toward the dressing room, his body shook and his teeth chattered, but he hardly noticed. Inside he was filled with a golden warmth, like the autumn leaves outside.

A few days after his prayer in the Sacred Grove, Joseph Smith gave an account of his vision to a preacher with whom he was acquainted. To his surprise, his communication was treated with “contempt” and “was the cause of great persecution, which continued to increase.” Joseph, however, did not waver. He later wrote, “I had actually seen a light, and in the midst of that light I saw two Personages, and they did in reality speak to me; and though I was hated and persecuted for saying that I had seen a vision, yet it was true. … For I had seen a vision; I knew it, and I knew that God knew it, and I could not deny it.” Despite the physical and mental punishment at the hands of his opponents which the Prophet Joseph Smith endured throughout the remainder of his life, he did not falter. He taught honesty—by example.

I recently lost my leg in a train accident.
I was sitting in the train when I felt my phone leave my hands—someone robbed me. Without thinking, I ran after the man through a train car that didn’t have doors. I’m not sure exactly what happened, but suddenly I was below the train, yelling for help.
I woke up in the hospital a few days later. I learned that I had lost my right leg. During my stay in the hospital, I cried many times. But my family, friends, and Church family were always with me, helping me.
I know that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ also helped me. Before each surgery, I always said a personal prayer that everything would be alright and that I wouldn’t be afraid. Every time I felt hopeless, the Lord was there.
I continue to get better and am striving to press forward with the Savior’s help.
Every time I felt hopeless, the Lord was there.

Before he met the missionaries, Brother Dupont said, he had been like a wanderer in a drought-ravaged land. Then suddenly he stumbled into a lake of water. The gospel was rich and refreshing to him, and he could not drink his fill. In his exuberance to immerse himself in his new-found treasure, he could not understand why others did not want to savor the same message. This lack of communication spilled into his marriage. His wife didn’t understand what had changed her husband.
As we ate, she told us of the war years, when he was bedridden. She had managed to find food for both of them, even during shortages. She had nursed him daily. Even after the war, he had required her constant care for several years before he gained the strength to walk. Then he had spent more years training and rehabilitating himself while she supported the family. No sooner had he started working again than two Americans began talking religion with him. Then he joined their church—he was the only member in town, and they baptized him in the river—and more and more of his life belonged to his church, not to her. She felt deprived, then embarrassed, when parishioners laughed at her, the wife of the town fanatic.

I sat down this morning with my toast and Postum and picked up the August New Era just to thumb through until I had more time. But when I came to the poetry I had to stop and read it. Then for a few minutes I laughed and cried a little. What a beautiful magazine. What beautiful people who contribute. I especially enjoyed Holly Ann Welker. What a pleasure it must be to have her for company. By the way, I’m 51 years young with two teenage daughters still at home and three sons who are married.
Ellie WarburtonLas Vegas, Nevada

About a year after my father’s baptism, he became very ill. Early one Sunday morning, he called my mother, my brothers, my sisters, and me to his bedside. There, he looked at me and said, “My son, I hope you will serve a mission.” After saying these words, he died.

My father’s dying words impressed me so deeply that I did wear the “uniform” of a full-time missionary. I served in the Philippines Quezon City Mission.

Benjamin Juarez, 12, faces different challenges in Brooklyn. He was born in California, lived briefly in Mexico, and now, while his father is studying to be a doctor, Benjamin and his three younger brothers do what every successful Brooklyn child does: adapt.
“You can’t live here the same as you do other places,” Benjamin says. “For your own safety, you have to keep your eyes wide open.” Once, at school, some bigger boys jumped him. He’s never let that happen again. “You have to be a little tough, just for safety.”
That’s another lesson of city life: everyone takes care of himself, and that extends to the gospel. “My friends in the ward live a long way from me,” Benjamin says. “We only see each other on Mutual nights, Sundays, and for Scout activities. So everybody has to have his own testimony. He just can’t depend on anyone else for it.”

My grandpa always wanted to play the violin. But his violin sat unused and dusty on his shelf. Then he gave it to me, and it sat for years unused on my shelf. I never learned to play it.