Gospel Story Finder

President Spencer W. Kimball has described just such a situation as I have referred to:
“Sometimes a guilt consciousness overpowers a person with such a heaviness that when a repentant one looks back and sees the ugliness, the loathsomeness of the transgression, he is almost overwhelmed and wonders, ‘Can the Lord ever forgive me? Can I ever forgive myself?’ But when one reaches the depths of despondency and feels the hopelessness of his position, and when he cries out to God for mercy in helplessness but in faith, there comes a still, small, but penetrating voice whispering to his soul, ‘Thy sins are forgiven thee.’” (Miracle of Forgiveness [Bookcraft, 1969], p. 344.)

A way that I make scriptures easier or more fun to read is to have a study list with five steps: pray, search/read, ponder, write, and give thanks to Heavenly Father for the things that I learned. Another thing I am doing is taking a red colored pencil and putting a red check mark in my scriptures every time Jesus Christ is mentioned (you would be surprised at how many different names the Savior has!) and taking a yellow colored pencil and highlighting every time Jesus Christ speaks. This way I am actively looking for Christ.
Ceana B., 17, Oregon, USA

The next thing that needed washing was a large pot. “Ah, yes,” Jenny thought, “Mother cooked macaroni and cheese in this pot.” She lived close enough to her school to walk home for lunch. When she had come home today she had brought her friend Melinda. Jenny’s mother had made them macaroni and cheese with cut-up hot dogs. While they ate, the girls told Jenny’s mother all about the art project they had worked on at school that morning. After they finished lunch, they hurried back to school.
Jenny was glad that she was able to come home during the day, and she was also glad her friends felt welcome in her home. Jenny scrubbed out the macaroni-and-cheese pot carefully. She wanted to make sure it was clean and ready for future lunches with her friends.

I went outside and saw some new neighbors moving in. One of the kids was my age. Her name was Hannah. I remembered there was a Primary activity that very day, so I asked her if she wanted to go. She asked, “What time?” I said, “four o’clock at the church.” She asked her mom and then said OK. I knew at that moment that Jesus and Heavenly Father were happy that I was being kind, because I felt warm inside. Now Hannah and I are best friends.

Recently I sat by a man on an airplane. We began to converse and he asked what I did. I told him I was a Mormon missionary. He quickly retorted that he didn’t have much use for missionaries or others who went around “trying to get people to change their minds.”
I said, “Well, you’re a missionary!” He emphatically denied this and asked why I said he was. I told him that everything he did and said influenced others in some way, so he was a missionary for his way of life.
“For example?” he queried.
“Well,” I replied, “I see by the packet of cigarettes in your pocket that you believe in smoking. Your children see you smoking and are influenced to smoke also when they are able. You are thus doing missionary work for the tobacco people.”
“Oh no!” he exclaimed. “I don’t believe in smoking, and I’m certainly not going to let any of my children smoke. It’s a nasty habit that causes death.”
Needless to say we had a very interesting discussion the rest of the trip. But the point here is: we are all missionaries. All of our words and actions have eternal consequences—for they influence not only ourselves, but others as well.

As a boy I loved to hear a man who, with a rich baritone voice, sang the words of John Taylor:
The Seer, the Seer, Joseph, the Seer! …
I love to dwell on his memory dear;
The chosen of God and the friend of man,
He brought the priesthood back again;
He gazed on the past and the future, too, …
And opened the heavenly world to view.
[“The Seer, Joseph, the Seer,” Hymns (1948), no. 296]

Sister Bonnie L. Oscarson is a strong example of the power of consistency in social media. When called to serve as the Young Women general president in April of 2013, her Pinterest followers doubled overnight. Sister Oscarson’s previous pins provided ample evidence of her integrity, prompting one blogger to ask, “Would your Pinterest page pass the Bonnie Oscarson test? … Who will people decide you are if all they know is what is on your social media page?”6

This story happened in the Netherlands.
Marie opened her jewelry box to look at her pretty stones. One by one, she held them in her hand. The red one, then the green one, then the clear white one.
Grandmother knocked on the bedroom door. “Ready to go?”
“Yes!” Marie carefully put the stones back in her box.
Grandmother was taking Marie to the library. But not just to look at books. There was a special stone display there! Marie was excited.
When their bus got to the library, Marie and Grandmother walked inside. They saw tables and tables of beautiful stones. Some were shiny and smooth. Others were interesting shapes.
“Look at this one!” Grandmother pointed to a large crystal. It had little blue spikes sticking out all over it.
Another table had lots of tiny, round stones. Marie looked at all the colors. At the very end was a purple stone, small and shiny and smooth.
I don’t have a purple stone yet, Marie thought. It would be perfect for her collection.
Marie glanced around. Grandmother was at another table. No one else was nearby. And no one would miss this tiny stone, right?
Marie picked up the stone and put it in her pocket.
That night, with the purple stone safely in her jewelry box, Marie got into bed.
“Ready for story time?” Dad sat on the bed and opened the Friend magazine.
Marie snuggled into her blankets and listened. The story was about a boy who repented after he made a wrong choice.
As Dad read, Marie felt like her stomach was twisting into knots. She rolled onto her side, then flipped over her pillow. But she did not feel right. And she couldn’t stop thinking about the purple stone.
Dad finished the story. “Are you OK?”
Marie didn’t know what to do. If she told Dad, he might get mad.
But maybe he would know how to help.
Slowly, Marie crawled out of bed and took the purple stone out of her box. “I took this from the library today.” Tears spilled out of Marie’s eyes. “I’m really sorry.”
Dad gave her a hug. “It’s always OK to tell me the truth. I’m proud of you for having the courage to be honest.”
Marie’s stomach began to feel better. Dad wasn’t mad!
“And because of Jesus, we can repent. Just like in the story,” he said. “Why don’t we take the stone back to the library?”
Marie squeezed her eyes shut. “No! They’ll be angry.”
Dad put a hand on her shoulder. “They might be a little angry. But I think they’ll be glad that you gave it back. And it will make you feel a lot better too.”
Marie took a deep breath and nodded. “OK.”
Marie got out a piece of paper and started to write a letter. “I’m sorry for taking this,” she wrote. “I wish I hadn’t done it. I want to make it right.”
She slid the letter into an envelope. Then she put the tiny purple stone inside too.
“We’ll take this back tomorrow,” Dad said. “How do you feel now?”
“Better,” said Marie. “There’s just one more thing I need to do.”
Marie knelt by her bed and prayed. “I’m sorry I took the stone,” she said. “I’ll never steal again. Thank Thee for helping me be brave and honest.”
As she got back in bed, Marie felt peace. Tomorrow she would make things right. And she knew Heavenly Father and Jesus would help her. Because of Them, everything would be OK.
Illustrations by Katie Rewse

My family lived in the city, but when I was a teenager, I stayed with my uncle during the summers. He managed a cattle ranch with about four thousand cattle. In Argentina, cowboys are called gauchos. All summer I dressed like a gaucho, rode horses like a gaucho, and worked like a gaucho.
At the ranch, I was given the responsibility to ride all of the horses that were kept for visitors. I remember one horse that was very good for working with cattle but very tough mouthed. That means that he did not respond very well to the bit. It was difficult for a rider to control him. One day, I took him out first thing in the morning. When horses go out to work, they are sometimes a little bit like we are. They don’t go out with a great deal of enthusiasm when it is so early.
I usually switched horses around midday. I had been fighting with this horse all morning, so when it was time for me to go back and switch horses, I thought, If you want to run, I’m really going to make you run! I hit him, and he took off—running at full speed! The only problem was that we were coming up on a gate made of large beams. I pulled on the reins, trying to slow him down. But I had forgotten that when horses are heading for home they are much more excited than when they are heading out. That horse was going home, and nothing was going to stop him! He crashed into the gate—but was unhurt—as I flew onto the ground.
The horse I rode on my uncle’s ranch that day had to follow the right path. The ranch was enormous, around ten thousand acres, and if the horse had not stayed on the path, he could have gotten lost. It was good for that horse to go home, but he also needed to go through several gates—not crash into them!

“How much money do I have in my mission fund, Mom?” asked Hyrum, age eight.
“About 75 dollars,” I answered.
“How much do missions cost?”
“Lots.”
“Will you pay for my mission, Mom?”
“There will be four of you on missions at the same time while two others will be in college. Since money will be stretched pretty thin, you had better plan on paying for your own mission.”
“Where will I find lots of money? If I were Rumpelstiltskin I could turn straw into gold, but I don’t even have straw,” he said.
“Why don’t we ask the missionaries we know how they financed their missions?” I said. We did.

Hyrum learned a lot from the missionaries as he said, “I don’t have to be Rumpelstiltskin to turn straw into gold.”
He and his brothers and sisters learned to paint house numbers on curbs. Their story appeared in the local newspaper, which helped business. Another family wanted to form a similar business, so the children charged a learning fee. They have ideas of hiring other kids and expanding their business.
Hyrum worked with a companion, gathered equipment, memorized a door approach, kept records, advertised, corrected sloppy work, cleaned messes, paid tithing, and met savings goals. He learned to overcome disappointment by going on to the next house when turned down at the first one, the second one, and so on.
Hyrum spun paint into gold, several kinds of gold—the kind a boy saves, the kind a mother treasures, and the kind Heavenly Father honors.

I have spoken at three different funerals of old friends in the past three weeks. I have had occasion to reflect on the fact and miracle of life, and the wonder and miracle of death.
Returning from a memorial service for a high school friend of long ago, I took from a shelf in my study the yearbook for the class of 1928. I spent an hour quietly thumbing through the pages of photographs of my associates in our graduating class of sixty years ago.
All of those faces were then young and bright and full of promise. I do not know what has become of all of them, but I know what has become of many of them. We have followed a myriad of interests in pursuit of our dreams. Some perished with honor in the terrible wars that have scourged the earth during these threescore years. Most of us have married, happily I am glad to say, and have already become the forebears of three generations of posterity. I know of no divorces among that large number.
Once as lively students we shouted for victory for our basketball and football teams. Now, somewhat bent, we prefer to read and ponder and reflect. Once we danced and sang with noisy delight. We now enjoy peace and quiet and a comfortable chair. These of my peers have become educators, scientists, doctors, lawyers, civil servants, and have done well in many other honorable vocations. As I thumbed through the pages of that old book, I could not think of one who had been convicted of a serious crime. I think that remarkable. All who are alive are now in their late seventies. Many are gone, and we remember them with affection and appreciation.
In each case their passing has brought sorrow over the separation of friends. But in every case there have also been comfort and reassurance and certainty that death, though bitter to observe, is not the end, but is, rather, only another graduation from which we go on to a better life. For all of my classmates were of my faith, who believed as I believe. Along with English and chemistry, history and math, we were taught the things of God, just as hundreds of thousands of our youth today are taught through the great programs of the Church.
The other day as I stood at the bier of my classmate and reflected on the things of eternity, I had peace in my heart and gratitude. There were tears, yes, properly so. The Lord said: “Thou shalt live together in love, insomuch that thou shalt weep for the loss of them that die, and more especially for those that have not hope of a glorious resurrection.
“And it shall come to pass that those that die in me shall not taste of death, for it shall be sweet unto them” (D&C 42:45–46).
I am confident that for the friend of my high school days, death was a sweet experience with the assurance of a glorious resurrection.
Now absent is the pain of mortal life. Gone is the suffering of long sickness and much of loneliness. She is again in the association of loved ones, the parents who gave her mortal life and others of her family who loved her while they lived. Her spirit has gone to join theirs, and there will come that promised morning of the first resurrection, when they shall again take up their bodies and live in that sociality which bound them with the bonds of love while they were mortal beings.

Several years ago I met one of our sons in the mission field in a distant part of the world. He had been there for a year. His first question was this: “Dad, what can I do to grow spiritually? I have tried so hard to grow spiritually, and I just haven’t made any progress.”
That was his perception: to me it was otherwise. I could hardly believe the maturity, the spiritual growth that he had gained in just one year. He “knew it not” for it had come as growth, not as a startling spiritual experience.

My name is Bea and I am five. It is hard being five years old. Today was Fast Sunday, and I’m not old enough to fast two meals. I tried to pour my own milk. It went all over the table.
“Oh, Bea,” my mother said, “you should have asked for help. It is hard for five-year-olds to pour milk.”
After I ate, I started dressing. My favorite dress has a lot of buttons. My big sister said, “Bea, you need help with all those buttons.” I let her help button my dress.
I put my shoes on by myself. I even tied them! Then my big brother said, “Bea, one of your laces is too long. You don’t want to trip over it.” He retied my shoe.
Joey, my baby brother, started to cry. I tried to carry him to Dad, but we fell. Dad said, “Joey’s too heavy for a five-year-old to carry.”
When it was my turn to read from the Book of Mormon before church this morning, Dad helped me a lot because I didn’t know most of the words.
It’s really hard being five.
During fast and testimony meeting, I whispered to Dad, “I want to bear my testimony. Will you go up with me?”
He looked at me. I was afraid that he’d say, “Bea, you are only five. You are too little to bear your testimony.” But he didn’t say that. He took me by the hand and led me to the pulpit. I bore my testimony! It was scary, but I did it all by myself. I said, “I know Jesus died and was resurrected. I love President Hinckley and Joseph Smith. I am grateful to be able to come to church. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
My dad held my hand, but he didn’t sit down. He stood by me and bore his testimony. He said, “Bea is a great teacher in our family. When she bore her testimony, I was reminded of the time when Christ came to the Nephites. He taught the children many marvelous things, and then they taught their parents. Bea has reminded me of the Savior’s mission. I am so grateful for Bea’s example. A five-year-old child can do great things.”
I was wonderfully happy. I had done something important. I was an example for my Savior by bearing my testimony. Although it is hard, I’m glad that I am five.

As the young men worked on their snowshoe frames, they discussed how they could help others in the quorum who were less active, and they made a plan to visit them. “We visited every boy on our list and invited them to come to Scouts,” Sam says. “We told them we were making snowshoes for the winter campout coming up.” Having a clear goal was helpful in drawing other boys to the troop.
As the snowshoes progressed, so did the quorum. Six young men started the snowshoe project, but soon others joined in, including one of another faith.

The author lives in Utah, USA.
Photographs by Getty Images
I had just finished breakfast when my stake president called to tell me that my mission application had been denied. My heart sank as he told me why—I needed to lose a certain amount of weight before I would be able to serve. As he explained to me what I would need to do in order to resubmit my papers, the only thing I wanted to do was climb into my bed and hide.
After the shock wore off, I called my dad at work and explained what had happened. He paused and then asked, “Well, what are you going to do?” Would I give up? Let go of my dream to serve a mission? No.
“I’m going to go for it,” I replied. “I’m going to try to lose the weight.”
Within a week, I had a solid plan of action. I learned as much as I could about nutrition and exercise and, after setting some goals, I was ready to get started. I felt so much love and support from my Heavenly Father. I knew that I was doing the right thing and that He would help me every step of the way.
As I worked hard every day, I began to see progress! It was exciting to notice the physical effects of diet and exercise, but what surprised me most was the spiritual health I was gaining. I became more confident and self-aware as I developed into the person Heavenly Father wanted me to be.
I realized that as my spiritual health increased, it actually became easier for me to improve my physical health. The sacrament was so important in helping me stay focused on my goals. It became a sacred time of reflection for me as I thought about my Savior and how much He had helped me on this journey. I knew that He would stay by my side no matter what.
Prayer also made a big difference. There were so many times when I was running on the treadmill and would just start crying because I was so tired and my lungs hurt and I just wanted to go on a mission. I would say a prayer because I knew that someone in the mission field needed me, and I knew that I needed help to get there. After every workout, I thanked Heavenly Father for giving me the strength to go on.
The gospel teaches us that our bodies and our spirits are one, but until this experience, I had never thought about how directly the health of my body could affect the health of my spirit. As I thought about my body as a temple, this connection between body and spirit began to make more sense. I knew that one reason we keep the temple so clean and beautiful is because it helps the Spirit to be there. So it makes sense that as I began to eat healthy and exercise more, I began to feel the Spirit even more.
I also noticed that I felt more energized and more willing to talk to and serve the people around me. I could feel the Spirit guide me as I put my trust in the Lord, and I discovered that I could turn to Him for help with any trial or hardship I might face.
Photograph courtesy of Jillian Pierson
After months of hard work, I finally received my mission call! I was so excited I could hardly wait. And when I entered the Missionary Training Center, I felt prepared both physically and spiritually.
I feel so blessed to have had the opportunity to learn how to take care of both my body and my spirit. Working toward a meaningful goal gave me the motivation I needed to become a better version of myself. I learned that if I rely on the Lord as I try to accomplish my goals, He will help me every step of the way.

As the Ellsworth company crossed the plains, it was closely followed by the McArthur company. The companies passed many homes and settlements that had recently been built as the prairie began to be settled.
One day when six-year-old Arthur Parker of the McArthur company sat down to rest, he was accidentally left behind, and members of the Ellsworth company, traveling close-by, delayed their travel to help search for the boy. When the boy wasn’t found, his father stayed behind to continue the search while the companies moved on.
Arthur’s mother gave her husband a bright shawl and told him that if the boy was dead to wrap his body in it. If the boy was alive, he was to use it as a signal to let her know. Arthur was found a few days later in the care of a kind couple, and his father happily waved the red shawl when he and the boy finally came within sight of the handcarts.
2
Men searched for lost Parker boy of McArthur company; camped by Nishnabotna River (10 miles)
5
Company washed clothes and rested; Brother Parker brought son into camp—camp rejoiced (no miles)

My name is Matilda, and I am from Chile. Ever since moving to another country, other kids have made me notice that I am different from them. They have laughed at my curly hair, the color of my eyes, my eyebrows, and even the color of my skin. They have called me ugly and weird and even told me that I am poor because I look different than everyone else.
My mom has taught me to respond to bullying with a smile. She says many times that people who bully are sad or are living with something that hurts them. She has also taught me that it’s not my fault, and being different is something good and wonderful. God created different kinds of things in the world like different plants, places, and people. It doesn’t matter how we look as long as we have a good heart.
Since my mom taught me that, every time I get bullied, I think about it and talk to the person who is saying bad things. I try to stop the situation. Once I told a classmate that saying bad things about others can hurt a lot. I said that he doesn’t know what happens to others in their hearts when they hear bad things about themselves for being different. Since that day, that classmate hasn’t made fun of me anymore, and now we are friends.
I think the way my mom taught me to fight bullying is the best way. She taught me to fight bullying with love, as God would do it. I try to always ask myself, “What would Jesus Christ do in this situation?” This has helped me come closer to our Heavenly Father.

Even before he joined the Church, José Luis Alonso Trejo had a testimony of the power of prayer. “When I was 11 years old,” he says, “I nearly died. The doctors had given up on me—I overheard them speaking. So I prayed and prayed to the Lord, and He healed me.

Our beloved quorum president, Marion G. Romney, is not able to be with us here today. My, how we miss his companionship and his wit, his experience and his leadership! President Romney has had some doors swing closed for him even in the work of his ministry. He has known considerable pain and discouragement and has seen his plans changed during these past few years. But it was he who, from this very pulpit a few years ago, said that all men and women, including the most faithful and loyal, would find adversity and affliction in their lives because, in the words of Joseph Smith, “Men have to suffer that they may come upon Mount Zion and be exalted above the heavens” (History of the Church, 5:556; see Conference Report, Oct. 1969, p. 57; or Improvement Era, Dec. 1969, p. 66).

President Romney then said:
“This does not mean that we crave suffering. We avoid all we can. However, we now know, and we all knew when we elected to come into mortality, that we would here be proved in the crucible of adversity and affliction. …
“[Furthermore,] the Father’s plan for proving [and refining] his children did not exempt the Savior himself. The suffering he undertook to endure, and which he did endure, equaled the combined suffering of all men [and women everywhere. Trembling and bleeding and wishing to shrink from the cup, he said,] ‘I partook and finished my preparations unto the children of men’ (D&C 19:18–19)” (in Conference Report, Oct. 1969, p. 57; or Improvement Era, Dec. 1969, pp. 66–67).

My stake president called three families from the stake to attend a branch. My family was one of the three. I was excited and sad. I was going to miss my friends in my ward. But I am a missionary now, and I enjoy my new branch. I know that we don’t have to be called on a mission to be missionaries. So don’t wait until you get called!
Kirsi G., age 11, Arkansas