Gospel Story Finder

When I was a student, nothing tried my faith more than the falling away of the Three Witnesses. If ever there was a temptation, for the sake of appearances, for the Church to compromise Church principles, that was the time. It was not done; and therefore, what had shaken my faith, one day was transformed into an anchor to hold it steady.

Sometimes we go to the cemetery to put flowers on Hans’s grave. I told Mom that it’s kind of like the park where we had our family reunion. She hugged me tightly and told me that when Resurrection Day comes, the good people who have been buried will meet with everybody that they love, and it will be the biggest family reunion that you ever saw. I can hardly wait to hug Hans when he is resurrected. I miss him a lot, but I know that he is happy because he lives with Heavenly Father and Jesus.

“I’ll tell you,” Dad said, smiling. “When Uncle Max and I were boys, we loved to play baseball. Every chance we got, we would be outside hitting and pitching and running the bases with the other kids in our neighborhood. Uncle Max loved baseball so much that sometimes he would even roll over in the middle of the night and shake me until I woke up, then tell me about some great play that he’d just made in his dreams.
“One day when we were playing ball, Uncle Max was hit on the collarbone by a fastball. It hit him so hard that it broke the bone.”
“Did it hurt?” I asked, feeling my collarbone.
“Yes, it did,” Dad continued. “But the worst part was that the doctor told Max that he couldn’t play any more baseball until his collarbone healed, which nearly broke Max’s heart. Day after day he’d sit on the porch, wearing his favorite catcher’s mitt and watching us play.
“‘It won’t be long till you’re as good as new,’ Grandma would tell him. But it was long. The bone didn’t heal like it was supposed to, and as the weeks dragged on, Uncle Max stopped coming out on the porch to watch. He didn’t seem to want to do anything. It was like the happiness had gone right out of him.
“Then one day the screen door flew open, and Grandma came bustling into the house with something in a brown paper sack.
“Max was sitting in the rocker, staring out the window. Grandma held the sack out to him and said softly, ‘Max?’ When he finally looked up, she said, ‘This is for you.’
“Uncle Max reached up with his good arm and took the sack. Inside was a small black case, and inside the case was a shiny silver clarinet. Next to my Roger Maris baseball card, that clarinet was just about the finest thing that I’d ever seen.
“As Uncle Max lifted the pieces out of the case, his eyes lit up. ‘Is it really mine?’ he asked Grandma.
“‘Yes, Max, it’s yours to keep.’ She beamed, then sighed. ‘Isn’t it beautiful?’
“‘Wasn’t it expensive?’ Grandpa asked, a little anxiously.
“Grandma smiled. ‘That’s the best part,’ she replied reassuringly. ‘It was only five dollars, and it’s already paid for. Do you remember the money that I have been saving in the sugar bowl for something special? Well, today as I was looking around at Deseret Industries, I saw it, and I thought, This is it. This is something special—something to put the sunshine back into our Max.’
“After that,” Dad continued, “the air was often punctuated with the sounds of Max learning to play the clarinet. At first it sounded pretty awful. But as the weeks passed, it began to sound more and more like music.”
“But what about baseball?” I asked. “Did he ever play baseball again?”
“Oh, he still loved baseball, all right.” Dad smiled. “But by the time his collarbone was healed, he loved music just as much. In fact, when he attended high school, he was the best clarinet player in the band.
“But you know,” Dad said, looking straight at me, “that clarinet wouldn’t have been sitting on the shelf, waiting for Uncle Max, if someone hadn’t been generous enough to give it away.”

I am a cross-country and track distance runner. Sometimes three miles on rough terrain can seem like an eternity. I have learned to endure to the end and to tolerate hard work and many physical and emotional challenges. Sometimes my mind screamed to stop and quit the race or the difficult practice, but I had to mentally and physically endure to the end. I have found that no matter how hard it was to run a race or finish a tough practice, nothing beats the satisfaction I get from knowing that I didn’t give up.

Before Elder Hales’s passing that October day in 2017, he prepared a short talk for general conference that he was unable to give. In that talk, he wrote, “Our faith prepares us to be in the presence of the Lord.”5

The church’s cultural hall is decorated with streamers of pink, blue, and yellow crepe paper. Near the entry is an arch of balloons. From the ceiling hangs a large mirror ball, slowly rotating and reflecting the colored lights.
The floor is occupied by groups of teenagers. I am 14. It is my first official church dance. Earlier that day, I had spent hours climbing ladders and taping streamers. We had blown up balloons and twisted tissue paper. After taking a moment to admire our work, I hurried home to get ready.
I had carefully chosen my material and sewn my dress to fit the Hawaiian theme. Tiny flowers nestled on a creamy background. While decorating, I had made a multicolored flower. This I would wear in my hair.
I had showered and “borrowed” some of my mom’s Chanel No. 5 after-bath powder. I put on a little bit of lipstick and curled my hair. Every strand was perfect.
Now my heart pounds as I slip off my coat and enter the dimly lit hall, anxious to begin dancing.
But nothing is how I imagined it. For most of the night, I stand on the sideline with a group of girls pretending to be fascinated by the conversation.
The music starts, and I glance over to see a boy making a nonchalant zigzag towards us. My heart starts to race. Maybe this time I will be asked to dance. No. He chooses the girl next to me. The music announces the start of another dance. Everyone in our group is being asked to dance except me.
I look around, intently studying the decorations closest to me. A few boys who aren’t dancing awkwardly gulp the watery punch. Slowly I walk over to one of the chairs arranged at the side of the dance floor. I sit, staring down, not daring to look up for fear the tears that sting my eyes will escape.
Gently, a strong, comforting arm slides around my shoulders. There, beside me, sits my father. Usually he keeps his distance, knowing that parents are sometimes a burden at these functions. However, he knows that this time he’s needed.
For a few minutes we both gaze out at the couples dancing on the floor. Then, with a huskiness in his voice, he says, “I have never complained about being handicapped. I have never regretted it except for times like this. I hope the Lord will forgive me, but how I wish I could dance with my girls!”
As I turn to my father, sitting there in his wheelchair, I see tears in his gentle, loving eyes. My father had been a graceful dancer before his accident. His regret, though, isn’t for himself; it is for me.
The rest of the dance is a blur as I sit, with tears running down my cheeks, next to a father who cares about me.

In Malaysia, the idea of dating one’s spouse after marriage is almost unheard of. My husband and I first learned about this counsel from books and magazines and from American Church members who lived in our branch in the city of Kuala Lumpur. When we heard of the good that can come to a couple who continue to court each other after marriage, we decided to try this “foreign” idea.
In the beginning it was easy for us to spend an evening together because we had no children to worry about. However, when our children began to come one after another, we had to devise new ways to date each other. Because finding a baby-sitter for the evening is difficult, we have had many dates at home after the children are in bed. These home dates are in no way inferior to those we occasionally have outside our home.
We have found a number of activities we enjoy doing together. Sometimes we watch a videocassette while munching snacks and sipping soft drinks, just as we would at the movie theater. Other nights we play computer or board games. Our evenings spent in these activities always end with laughter.
One regular activity is putting together our family photographs on a large poster. Later we frame the finished poster and hang it on our stairway wall. We now have quite a few posters, so we rotate them from time to time. Evenings spent making posters are not only fruitful, but they also bring warm and sentimental feelings to our hearts.
One Valentine’s Day I prepared a candlelit dinner for two. With soft music in the background, the atmosphere was truly romantic. Dating each other regularly has helped increase the romance in our marriage.
Our list of activities for home dates continues to grow. We have found that dating each other is about finding ways to spend time together and about taking time to build and nourish each other. When days are difficult and challenging, I look forward to our home dates when we can spend time together just talking.
My husband and I have found this “foreign” idea to be of great help in strengthening our marriage.

One day some of the employees decided to go on a popular hike in Yellowstone Park. It wasn’t a very long hike, only about three miles in all, but it was steep and none of us were used to hiking.
The trail started out as a gradual slope. We walked along leisurely, breathing in the fresh air of the rain that had fallen earlier that day. We could smell the aroma of pine needles from the towering pine trees that lined the path.
All too soon, the trail grew steep and became difficult to climb. We stopped at a halfway mark to catch our breath. Some of the group wanted to go back.
“This is no fun. My feet are killing me,” one complained.
“Look, it’s going to rain any minute now,” said others.
Indeed, the storm clouds had come back, and it looked as if they might dump their contents on us at any minute.
Just then, some tourists on their way back down the trail stopped to talk to us. They told us that it was well worth the hike to the top to see the beautiful view. They were very enthusiastic and gave us encouragement.
When we finally reached the top of the mountain, we still hadn’t achieved our goal; there was still the fire tower to climb. We had to go up several flights of stairs and then climb a ladder through a trap door to the top platform. When we finally reached the top of the tower and were able to view the magnificent sight, we all agreed that it had been well worth the effort.
All we could see for miles around were pine trees, gently swaying in the wind. From our vantage point, they looked almost like waves in the ocean. The sun slid out from behind the clouds to cast light upon the entire scene. It was breathtaking.
In a nearby pine, we could see an eagle’s nest. Just as we were about to leave, the eagle came into sight, flying high, coming home to its nest. To think we were up where eagles soar! I will never forget the feeling of accomplishment and the wonder of being able to see nature so closely.

Nearly 1,300 young men and women, ages 12–18, from the Bellingham, Bothell, Lynnwood, Marysville, Mount Vernon, Shoreline and Snohomish Washington Stakes performed in a multi-stake dance festival last April.

In three performances youth danced an Asian fan and ribbon dance, a Russian Cossack dance, and a Samoan Sasa, with additional dances from Africa, Germany, South America, and Tahiti. Along with the traditional dances from around the world, the performances included unique dances specially choreographed for the festival.

The event theme was “Celebrating a Life Well Lived,” in honor of President Gordon B. Hinckley. It was attended by nearly 10,000 residents of western Washington.

Members of the MIA of the Cannon Seventh Ward in Salt Lake City dressed up in Santa Claus and elf costumes and, for a fee, visited the homes of neighbors who wanted their children to have a visit from Saint Nick.

After his wife dies, Henry B. Eyring’s father is comforted by the Holy Ghost.

I was born into the Church but didn’t have much of a testimony until I started to read the scriptures with pure intent. Instead of just reading the words on the paper, I began searching deeply for their meaning. I read 3 Nephi 11:3 and put myself in the people’s shoes. That scripture and the ones following it shook me. From then on I kept reading the scriptures and praying with sincerity, and my testimony grew.
Ryan R., 14, Washington

I can remember as a young boy hearing my mother and father in our daily family prayers asking for the kind and protecting care of our Heavenly Father to be with us during that day, or on a particular trip, or during any special activity in which we might be engaged. I was so impressed by those pleadings with the Lord by my dear parents that I incorporated them into my personal prayers as well, and later into our own family prayers.

Vítor lived with his mother and sister at his grandma’s home in Brazil. Vítor’s grandma became ill and could not leave her bed for many weeks. She was lonely in her room by herself.
Vítor decided that he could keep Grandma company. Every day when he came home from school, he took a copy of the Liahona into Grandma’s room and read her stories from the children’s pages.
After he read all the copies of the Liahona that his family had, he began reading the Book of Mormon and the Bible to her. Grandma was not a member of the Church, but she loved hearing Vítor read to her. She was happy to learn about the gospel.
Grandma asked many questions. If Vítor did not know the answers, he asked his Primary teacher or looked in the scriptures. Grandma called Vítor her little missionary.
Grandma told Vítor that she had learned a lot from him. She promised that she would attend church with him when she got well. What she had learned made her want to get better and study more about the gospel.
When Grandma was well, she kept her promise. She went to church with Vítor to learn more about what he had taught her. It was not long before Grandma was baptized and confirmed. Vítor had helped her learn that the gospel is true.
When Vítor grew up, he became a full-time missionary in the Boston Massachusetts Mission. Before he left, he went to the temple—with his grandma.

In 1975, President Ezra Taft Benson (1899–1994), who was then the President of the Quorum of the Twelve, read from this proclamation in his general conference address, saying it was fitting to “reaffirm the great truths” and “proclaim them anew to the world.”6
“To the rulers and peoples of all nations, we solemnly declare again that the God of heaven has established his latter-day kingdom upon the earth in fulfillment of prophecies,” President Benson said in his address. He continued: “Holy angels have again communed with men on the earth. God has again revealed himself from heaven and restored to the earth his holy priesthood with power to administer in all the sacred ordinances necessary for the exaltation of his children.”7

Another sister tells how her family was finally able to go to the temple: “Probably the biggest reason I became completely inactive was that I wasn’t obeying the Word of Wisdom and I felt very guilty anytime I was around members who were doing what they should. Then my husband was transferred to another state, and the home teachers located us. Their names were Brother Fakatou and Brother Marcek. One thing that struck me about them was they made no fuss about my not following the Word of Wisdom but instead discussed other aspects of gospel living with us. As they continued their visits their concern and kindness became apparent, and we remembered a time when everything was much better. Brother Marcek would come pick up our two girls and take them to see the rabbits he was raising. Sister Fakatou would call me up on the telephone and we would talk like old friends. In fact, the whole ward seemed to care about us, even though we never went to church. Those home teachers and our new friends in the ward were the whole reason we were able to start obeying the Word of Wisdom and the other commandments of the Lord and go to the temple. We saw how happy they were, doing what’s right—and knew we could do the same. The day we were sealed was the greatest day of our lives.”

A mission president told the story of an unsuccessful missionary serving in one of the European missions. After giving the elder several transfers and still consistently receiving poor reports, the president decided to call the missionary in for a special interview. He asked the young man, seemingly so eager to do the Lord’s work, why he found it so difficult to become involved with his assignments. The missionary replied that he just could not keep his mind on missionary work.
Probing deeper, the mission president discovered that before the young man left home, he had become friends with a lovely young girl. They had spent a lot of time together—with friends and family—and had grown to enjoy each other’s company. Though they were smart enough not to make any commitments, both said that they hoped they would find each other’s company equally as enjoyable when he returned.
There was nothing out of order with that, the mission president concluded; so he looked for something deeper. When the president asked how often the young man heard from this young lady, the missionary told him that the girl called on the phone frequently, wrote lengthy letters daily, and sent expensive packages every week.
“She misses me terribly,” the missionary said, “and I wonder if I can wait the rest of my mission to see her again.”
The mission president concluded his story by saying, “Her selfish immaturity ruined his mission. He worried so much about her that he had no time or energy to worry about, and more important, grow to love the people in the field.”

On June 10, 1953, my wife and I had the privilege of being married in the Salt Lake Temple. After President Harold B. Lee, then an apostle, concluded the beautiful ceremony, he had us stand in the center of the sealing room. Looking to the left into the mirrors that reflect off one another to show hundreds of images, he said, “On the left are the eternities you came from, and on the right the eternities to which you are going.” We looked and could see our images. Then he brought our thoughts back to the sealing room where we were and said, “This is like the world. It is but one step to all the eternities.” We were lovingly advised to stay true to the commitments of chastity, to obey the law of sacrifice and the law of consecration whereby we give all of our time, talents, and everything with which we are blessed to the service of the Lord. Then he said, “Make sure you understand that an argument never solves problems. As you stand here today, commit yourselves to having and expressing love and appreciation for each other.” It was a great teaching moment in our lives that we have never forgotten.

Panya invites her cousin to go to church with her. When he comes, Panya helps him feel welcome. She helps him meet the other kids at Primary and make friends.

When we graduated from high school, I had to make another decision: should I leave for my mission now, or should I go to a year of college first? It was a huge question for me. I had already been accepted to BYU, and I didn’t know which timing would be better for me. After a lot of prayer, I felt like I should go to school first.
It was hard not going on my mission at the same time all my friends were. No one judged me too harshly, even though people definitely commented on the fact that I was “still here.” But I know that waiting was the right decision for me and that I was inspired to do it.
I saw a lot of blessings in my life because I felt so much more prepared to go on a mission after a year of college. For instance, I wasn’t afraid of the long study schedule in the missionary training center because in college, I was studying all day anyway. It was a great experience having faith in God and in the promptings I got that it was the right thing to do, and then seeing the fruits of it.