Gospel Story Finder

Just four months after moving into this new ward, Dad fell and broke his hip while visiting a family member in St. George in southern Utah. This accident required surgery and an extended stay in a care facility 250 miles (400 km) from his new home. When we told his ministering brother about the incident, he immediately contacted the Primary president, who started a letter-writing and picture-coloring campaign with the Primary children and other ward members. They sent him mail and coloring pages almost every day. The abundance of attention led the workers at the St. George nursing home to ask if he was some sort of celebrity, as they had never had a patient receive so much mail. Since this was during the height of COVID, he couldn’t have visitors, so this daily written interaction was a gift of service beyond description.

One of the General Authorities once interviewed a young man who had gone into the mission home who had made confession of a transgression which disqualified him from missionary service.

The General Authority was amazed at the sordid nature of what the young man had done and asked, “Where on earth did you get the idea to do things like this?” He was shocked when the young man answered, “From my bishop.”

During a preliminary interview for the young man’s mission, the bishop had said, “Have you ever done this? Have you ever done that?” describing every unworthy and depraved act he could think of. Such things had never before entered the young man’s mind, but they were in his mind now! The adversary put in his way the opportunity and the temptation—and he fell!

On one day of the campaign, Sister Parkin was helping with crowd control, checking children for the ink mark indicating those who had received the vaccination. One young boy didn’t have the mark. Through her translator, Sister Parkin asked why he hadn’t received his shot. He said he was afraid. “Will you go if I go with you?” Sister Parkin asked. He agreed.

“It was a sweet experience,” Sister Parkin recalled after returning from the trip. “Maybe I’ve helped one child. It was life-changing for me.”

Janet lay in a hollow on the sand dune and watched the surfers swimming off the beach below her. There were only a dozen or so swimmers this afternoon. The gusty Australian westerlies whipped the stinging sand around bare legs and into eyes. Most people waited to go swimming until evening when the wind died down. Tonight the beach would be crowded with people trying to cool off from the hot day.
Janet snapped a ti-tree twig from a bush close by and swiped at the small bush flies clustering around her legs. It isn’t fair, she thought. Other people are able to go to New Zealand. I wish we could.
Her father was the branch president, but his family didn’t have enough money to go to the New Zealand Temple with those who were going there next month to be sealed as families.
“When baby Richard was born, we used the money we had saved for the trip to pay the doctor and hospital,” her mother had explained. “So we won’t be able to go with the group this year.”
Janet slammed the screen door and rushed out to the sand dunes, her favorite place to think.
There is just no place we could get the money for the trip, she decided. She knew Grandfather Turner had money, but he wouldn’t help. He had never forgiven Mother for joining the Church and marrying Daddy.
Janet loved her grandfather, even though she seldom saw him. Maybe I should visit him, she thought, as she wiped her eyes. Maybe he is just a lonely person. Thinking about him now, Janet decided she would like to see him.
After school the next day, she walked slowly up the hill toward Grandfather Turner’s house. She was anxious to see him but she was also a little nervous.
A few minutes later, she stood on the wide veranda knocking on the front door of the big house. No one came. But Bluey, Grandfather’s cattle dog, barked furiously. Janet looked around the side of the house and saw the dog tied up in the shade of the peppercorn tree. Perhaps Grandfather was in the back yard.
Janet walked around the side of the house. “What’s up, Bluey?” she asked. “Don’t you remember me? I haven’t seen you for a long time. Where’s Grandfather?”
Just then Janet noticed that the dog was panting by his empty water bowl. “You’re thirsty, Bluey! Grandfather must be ill, for he’d never forget to give you water on a hot day like this.” She ran back to the house.
“Help!” A voice sounded very faint. From far away it came again, “Help!”
Across the yard, through the vegetable garden, and under the jacaranda tree Janet raced. And there, sprawled in the doorway of the chicken house, lay Grandfather.
“I tripped over the jacaranda root,” Grandfather moaned. “I meant to chop it out long ago. I think I broke my hip, and I’ve been lying here since early this morning when I came to feed the chickens. I thought help would never come.”
“Oh, Grandfather, I’m so sorry,” Janet comforted, “but I’ll go for help.” She ran into the house, found the telephone, and dialed the district hospital. Speaking quickly but carefully, Janet told them to send an ambulance to Mr. Turner’s house on the top of the hill on Murray Road.
A few days later when Grandfather was feeling much better, a small family gathered around his hospital bed. Grandfather held Janet’s hand. “I never was so glad to see anyone as I was to see you, young lady. But how did you happen to come just when I needed you?”
“I was lonesome to see you and thought I’d ask you to be friends with us,” Janet replied.
“For a long time I’ve been sorry that I’ve been so stubborn,” Grandfather admitted. “But I was too proud to say so. What happened the other day showed me that I need my family.
“A church shouldn’t divide a family,” Grandfather continued, “so when I’m all better I’ll visit your church with you.”
“That would be great,” Janet said as she squeezed Grandfather’s hand.
“Our church unites families,” Daddy explained. “We’d like to tell you all about it. We had hoped to go to the New Zealand Temple next month, where we could be sealed to each other as a family, but we aren’t able to do so. Maybe if we wait another year, we’ll have another important member of our family going with us.” Daddy smiled at them. “That will certainly be worth waiting for!”
And Janet felt a warm glow of promise.

During Charlie’s five-year struggle to reach the age to become a deacon, he became a hero in another way, in the unselfish help he gave doctors doing research about his disease, even though he would not directly benefit. In the year before and after Charlie died, he was in the spotlight. He was featured on the news show 20/20 and was named by the ABC television network as one of its heroes of the year. His story of sacrifice also became the plot for a television show. Charlie found out that if he let doctors study his body, they might be able to discover a cure for other children who have this rare form of cancer. Charlie traveled to the University of Michigan, where a specialist in medullary thyroid cancer was working at the time. He went through a series of studies and new tests. He gave blood many times for future research. The doctors continued to ask for more blood from Charlie because the research from Charlie’s mutation was proving significant and became the link to solving many unanswered questions about this disease. In June 1996, the mysterious mutant gene was discovered. “Charlie was excited about that,” his mother says, “but he also understood that he would not be alive when the cure for this disease would be found.”
“Because of Charlie,” his mother explains, “it will be easier in the future to detect this type of cancer. It will now be possible to detect it early enough to stop the cancer from spreading. Charlie helped save other children’s lives. That’s an incredible gift he left behind. But to me, the second gift he left behind is just as incredible. He outlived his life expectancy by many years. He set an impossible goal for himself, to become a deacon. Charlie weighed less than 35 pounds when he died. He should have died months or years before. But he wanted to live to pass the sacrament. And he did. That is a miracle. He wanted to be a true follower of Christ. That’s why Charlie is my hero.”

It may have been supposed that Porter was only a bodyguard to the Prophet Joseph. However, frequent mention was made of his attendance at council meetings with Joseph Smith and other Church leaders. And when Joseph decided to leave Nauvoo and go west to help lessen the persecution of the Saints, Porter and only two others went with him. Afterward, when the Prophet learned that his departure was thought by many to be an act of cowardice, he said, “‘If my life is of no value to my friends it is of none to myself.’” Turning to Porter, he asked, “‘What shall I do?’ Rockwell replied, ‘You are the oldest and ought to know best; and as you make your bed, I will lie with you.’” (History of the Church, 6:549.)

I asked a girl at recess if I could play with her. She told me to go away. The same thing happened the next week. I went to her house to give her some hair bows and pudding. The next day she said I could play with her. I followed Jesus’s example by being nice to someone who was mean to me, and I gained a friend!
Liam T., age 8, Idaho, USA

Young people in Solvang, California, practically need a passport to go downtown. The moment they set foot in downtown Solvang, they are in Denmark. Founded in 1911 by Danish Americans wishing to preserve their culture, the modern town of 2,100 people modeled its downtown area after an authentic Danish village. Thousands of tourists stream through the quaint shops every day during the summer, admiring the authentic Danish crafts and enjoying Danish pastries and pretzels and cheese. Each September, Solvang, which means “Sunny Fields” in Danish, hosts its Danish Days, a holdover from the old-time Danish harvest festivals, and now a tribute to the town’s Danish heritage. During the festival’s two-day span some 40,000 tourists inundate the town. The local residents, Danish and non-Danish alike, dress up in Old-World costumes and do their best to make the army of guests feel at home. There are plays, folk dancing, singing, story telling, music, food, parades, and general rejoicing. Young Latter-day Saints from the Solvang Ward are right there in the middle of it all, dancing, and singing, and selling.

This year the Scout troop got involved by building a float for the parade. The float represented Scouting in Denmark and featured Scouts in Danish uniforms building a pole tower and cooking ebles-kivers, Danish pancake balls.

Only a little over a half hour from the beach on one side and the mountains on the other, the young people from Solvang are seldom at a loss for activities, but they all look forward to the days in September that take them across the ocean.

A few days later, we fasted along with our extended family members. For the first time in a while, I felt like fasting in faith made sense. I had faith in the Savior and knew that whatever His will, we could get through it with His help.
We went forward with the treatment, and, amazingly, we soon found out we were pregnant. We were so excited. I felt with my whole heart that God truly is a God of miracles!
A few days later, we learned we were going to lose the baby. All our joy was suddenly replaced with sadness. But because of the experiences I’d had learning about miracles, I felt a sense of peace. I knew that through the Savior’s Atonement we would get through this—I had felt that strongly just a few days before. And the fact that we could get pregnant gave us guidance in the coming months.

For example, if some of your friends invite you to a party where you know there will be alcohol, you might be tempted to teach an in-depth lesson on the Word of Wisdom. That’s more likely to confuse people or put them off. Instead, just make it clear where you stand. Tell them you don’t drink, and use their questions as an opportunity to bear testimony of simple truths. Then tie in simple experiences with specific blessings you’ve seen.
But make sure you also listen to the Spirit. Sometimes you might be prompted to invite them to learn more or to come to a Church meeting with you. Maybe all you need to do in that moment is invite your friends to come with you to a friend’s house instead of to the party. Then, you will live up to your standards and your friends will get the chance to as well.

As Christmas approached one year, I was physically and mentally exhausted. My marriage had ended the summer before, and my three children and I had recently moved to a new location to attend a university, where I was studying for a teaching degree. I had no money, and my two boys, ages 16 and 12, and my kindergarten-age daughter needed warm clothing for the cold winter weather.
While I studied for finals, thoughts about my situation kept interrupting me. My cupboards were bare, I had very little money, and I was tired of trying to be both father and mother to my children. I’d had a temple marriage, had been active in the Church all my life, and had just wanted to stay home and raise my children. Life seemed so unfair.
My first exam was at 7:30 A.M. I left our apartment hoping my boys would remember to get their little sister off to school on time. The air was cold and the sky very dark. I took a shortcut through the cemetery, feeling I was on my way to failure. I had spent half the night studying and trying to remember what I had studied. I felt too old to compete with the young minds of other students.
As I tramped through the snow, I thought about my parents, who were coming to pick us up and take us to spend Christmas at my sister’s home, a home where there would be a large tree and a mountain of gifts. And here I was unable to buy shoes for my own children. My feelings of resentment continued to build. By the time I reached the building for my final exams, I was in a terrible mood. I tried to concentrate but felt I did poorly on my exams. All I wanted was to go home, go to bed, and stay there for two weeks!
I began to trudge home through the snow once again. I stopped at my daughter’s school to pick her up, but her teacher said she had gone home. That did it! I had asked her to wait for me, and now I was mad at her for not waiting. Entering the cemetery I spotted her bright blue parka poking out from behind a tombstone. She was hiding from me, waiting for me to pass so she could jump out and scare me, but I was in no mood for games. I walked on, pretending not to see her. Then I heard her shout, “Mama, Mama, wait for me!”
I turned on her, ready to chastise her for not waiting. But before I could say anything she shoved an envelope in my hands. “Mama,” she said, “look what I made you today. You can open it. It’s for Christmas. I made it just for you!”
I opened the envelope, and inside was a handmade Christmas card with “Merry Christmas” printed in a child’s scrawl. She had drawn Santa flying through the air and little houses beneath him. She had drawn in the corner of the card another scene—a picture of a baby. But this was no ordinary baby. With yellow crayon she had drawn lines all around Him, signifying radiant beams shining from heaven above. There was a halo above His head, and with the brightest red crayon she could find she had drawn a great big smile on His face. No, this wasn’t just any baby. This was baby Jesus, the baby who would grow up to become the Savior of the world.
I looked at baby Jesus. I had been baptized in His name; I belonged to His Church, which had been restored upon the earth; it was in His name that I prayed for strength, guidance, and direction. He had always been there for me. I love baby Jesus, I said to myself.
As I acknowledged my love for Him, something wonderful happened to me. Even though I had been freezing before, a great warmth swept over me. I felt His love envelop me. He loved me; He really did.
I began to count my blessings, including my children. The night before, my 12-year-old son had given me one dollar that he had earned baby-sitting so I could buy bread and milk. And my young daughter who stood before me—I had waited seven years hoping for this child. What a blessing she had been in my life.
Now she looked up at me, her brown eyes sparkling with the excitement of Christmas. Her naturally curly hair poked out from the hood of her parka; her little nose was red from cold. “Mama, don’t you like my picture?” she asked.
“Oh, I love your picture,” I told her. “It’s beautiful!”
“Then why are you crying?” she asked me.
“I’m crying because I love you and your brothers very much. I’m happy we are a family and can be together this Christmas. That’s the most important thing in the world right now. We are going to have a wonderful Christmas.”
I took hold of my daughter’s hand, and we began to sing Christmas carols as we skipped down the snowy path.
It has been more than 30 years since that special Christmas. I passed my exams and went on to become a schoolteacher. But the lesson of that one Christmas has warmed me many times since as I recall the gift of love that touched my heart that day.

The youth also took to heart a great lesson from the conference about self-reliance. “I gave the youth a worksheet to fill out and watched them wait for pens,” Bishop Leung Wo recounts. “I told them that they should have come prepared with their own pens—that is part of being responsible. They need to learn to take care of their own needs.”
Fifteen-year-old Faleapuna L. brought a pen but discovered that he couldn’t both share it with others and complete the worksheet himself. He said, “I brought a pen today, but it wasn’t enough. I learned that I need to have a pen for myself and a couple of spares to share with others.”

“Here we are, girls.” Mrs. Johnson stopped the car in front of a large, weathered cabin.
Teresa hopped out and dashed to the cabin ahead of the others. “Hey!” she shouted. “We have Jeanne for a counselor again.”
Laura picked up her suitcase and started up the path as Jeanne appeared in the doorway.
“Hi, Laura. I’m glad you and Teresa are in my cabin again.”
“I just hope I don’t get homesick this year.” Laura smiled at her counselor.
“You won’t. The first year is always the hardest,” Jeanne told her. “Have you girls decided which classes you’re going to take?”
“Yes,” answered Teresa, “but the only one we’ll have together is swimming.”
The girls quickly settled in and were eager to start the week’s activities. After breakfast the next morning, they went their separate ways, agreeing to meet at the pool for swimming class. The class was a routine swimming lesson until the last twenty minutes, when the girls worked in pairs to complete their badge requirements. The first one required each person to drop ten coins onto the bottom of the pool and then pick them up one at a time by diving for them from the surface.
“I’ll be first,” Teresa volunteered. She took the coins and dropped them into the water. Diving into the pool, she quickly came to the surface, triumphantly holding her first coin. After ten dives, she had retrieved all ten coins.
“I’ll bet you can’t do it in ten dives,” she challenged Laura.
Laura dropped the coins into the water. Taking a deep breath, she dove for the bottom of the pool. A few seconds later her head popped out of the water, and she grabbed the side of the pool. “Missed by an inch,” she gasped.
Teresa sighed, “You’ll have to do better than that, or we’ll be here all day.”
“I’ll get one this time.” Laura’s second dive was successful, but after twelve dives, she had only nine coins.
“Only one more,” she puffed as she rested her head against the edge of the pool. “I’ll get it this time.” Laura dove for the bottom but came up empty-handed.
“Did you miss again? If we don’t hurry, we’ll be the last ones in the lunch line.” Teresa turned abruptly, dove to the bottom of the pool, and picked up the tenth coin. “Here,” she said, “you were close enough. Nobody will know the difference anyway. Let’s go eat.”
“Teresa! Wait a minute. We can’t do that!”
Laura’s objection dissolved in the breeze, for Teresa was already approaching the swimming teacher.
“Laura and I finished our first badge requirement,” Teresa said as she handed the coins to the instructor.
Laura slowly climbed out of the pool and followed Teresa, keeping her eyes down as she passed the instructor. She grabbed her towel and ran out the gate but slowed to a walk as Teresa disappeared around a bend in the trail. Reaching the swinging bridge, Laura leaned over the wooden railing and stared down at the clear stream. Her unhappy reflection stared back.
“What’s taking you so long?” Teresa stood at the end of the bridge.
“I’m coming.”
Later that day Laura went to the pool to practice her swimming. After standing beside the pool for several minutes, she suddenly squared her shoulders and approached the lifeguard’s chair. “This morning Teresa helped me with my diving,” she said. “I want to do it over again.”
The lifeguard looked up. “OK,” she said. “The coins are on the table.”
Laura picked up the coins and walked slowly back to the pool. Teresa’s probably right, she thought. Nobody cares anyway. But she threw the coins into the pool and began diving. Finally all ten coins lay beside her on the edge of the pool. The lifeguard nodded briefly as Laura returned the coins to the table and ran out the gate. When she reached the cabin, Teresa was there.
“How was swimming?” she asked.
“Just fine,” Laura answered. Smiling to herself, she thought, Teresa was wrong. It does make a difference to somebody. It makes a difference to me.

But three years ago Arlene, her mother, and two others were in a car that plunged off an overpass onto a railroad track below. Arlene’s back was broken in more than 20 places; her mother was killed.
After the accident Arlene really got the chance to test her lifelong philosophy—change what you can; learn to live happily with what you can’t. She spent the next 16 weeks in a Salt Lake City hospital. For the first four she was strapped in a Stryker frame. (“They’re like ironing boards. They’d turn me over every two hours. I couldn’t see anything but the ceiling or the floor. I used to hate vacuuming, but while I was between those boards, I’d have done anything to be able to vacuum.”) Rehabilitation took another 12 weeks.
She wondered if she would ever see her old friends and the familiar countryside of her hometown, Nephi, Utah. She also had some serious doubts.
“After the accident I felt I hadn’t deserved it. I hadn’t done anything wrong. I felt that if Heavenly Father loved me, he wouldn’t let something like this happen. It wasn’t fair.”
Arlene told her father she was paralyzed before the doctors told her. When the doctors finally told her she would never walk again, she just lay there and cried.
“Finally there was nothing I could do but turn to my Heavenly Father the way I’d been taught since I was in Primary. I prayed and knew that He did love me and I would receive blessings if I’d heed his counsel.”

My missionary companion and I weren’t getting along so well. Sister Reynolds* and I were as different as—well, just think of any two opposites and you’ll have a fair idea of how different we were. We were like day and night, hot and cold, lobster and lunchmeat.
For example, my idea of Christmas decorating was to set out a miniature Nativity scene. Her idea involved covering every available surface with either tinsel, Christmas lights, fake snow, or all of the above.
Sister Reynolds thought an essential P-day activity was to grab the garden hose and have a water fight or apply a fresh coat of polish to her nails. My essential P-day activity was to grab the garden hose and wash the car or polish my shoes.
Or do yard work.
That usually consisted of nothing more than firing up the mower and taking it for a few turns around the front lawn, which was only slightly bigger than your average hankie. But one day I decided I was going to prune the hibiscus tree.
Now I’m no gardener. If killing houseplants were a crime, I’d be on death row by now. But this tree—like my companion—had been a source of irritation to me for some time. It was just so big. Its towering branches extended a good foot or two above the roof, and its dark foliage was so thick and dense that it obscured the view from our front window. And worst of all, it blocked out the sunlight, making our front room appear dim and gloomy.
Something had to be done, and although I had never pruned a tree myself, I had read about it often enough in the scriptures. How hard could it be?
I found a pair of pruning shears in the garage and went to work. As I worked, I thought of how the Savior often used examples from nature in his teachings. I wondered if I could illustrate a gospel principle by pruning a tree. I thought of how sometimes being cut back helps us be what God intended us to be. I also thought how bad habits, selfishness, and pride are like overgrown branches that stop trees from having the strength to bring forth the “good fruit” of joy and service.
Feeling quite pleased with this little analogy, my thoughts turned to my fun-loving companion. Now there’s someone whose tree needs a little trimming, I thought in exasperation. With each snip of my pruning shears, I imagined some habit or shortcoming I would love to cut off my companion.
Wakes up late. Snip! Plays practical jokes. Snip!
Snip! Snip! Snip!
I guess I got a bit carried away. When I stood back to survey my work, leafy branches and hibiscus flowers littered the ground. And the tree looked a bit like a Marine haircut.
It will probably fill out in a few weeks, I convinced myself.
A couple of months passed, and all the while my companion and I worked hard to overcome our differences. When Sister Reynolds’s transfer came, we parted on good terms.
I probably would have forgotten all about the hibiscus episode except that I stayed in the area for another month. And another and still another.
As it turned out, I spent the last eight months of my mission there. I had plenty of time to watch that poor hibiscus tree slowly shrivel up and die.
Those eight months also gave me plenty of time to make a few other observations. I noticed how sad it is to have a dried-up stump in your yard where there used to be a vibrant display of beautiful, tropical flowers. I also began to realize just how hot a room can get without any foliage to block the sun’s scorching rays.
Lastly I realized just how foolish and proud I had been to ever prune that tree in the first place.
Gospel principles began occurring to me. I thought of how sometimes we get so busy criticizing others and thinking about how they should change that we can’t see what we really need to change is the way we’re looking at things. I needed to open my eyes to the good in others and begin appreciating their true worth and beauty. Of course I thought about my former companion and how wrong I had been to want to prune away her beautiful branches.
What I had thought was her impulsiveness was actually a lovely quality called spontaneity. And her “irreverence” was something most people recognize as light heartedness. She could enjoy herself in all situations.
Sister Reynolds’s personality, I figured out, suited her abilities perfectly. That’s why she could do the work. She was just like that hibiscus tree.
As I look back on this experience, one lesson stands out. Pruning is best left to gardeners.

Illustrations by Katie McDee
What happened here?
Um, it was Kiwi!
Yeah, she flew in and knocked over the lemonade!
Is that true?
No … it was our fault.
We’re sorry, Papai. We’ll clean it up and make more!
Thanks for being honest. I’m sure you’ll do a great job this time.

When Newel Knight informed his wife, Lydia, that the Saints would have to leave Nauvoo and move yet again, she responded with tenacious faith, saying, “Our place is with the kingdom of God. Let us at once set about making preparations to leave.”1 Brother Knight had moved his family several times already as many of the Saints had moved from New York to Ohio to Missouri and to Illinois. Lydia Knight’s devoted submission to what she knew was God’s will typifies powerfully the faith of those heroic early Saints.

My mother and I were baptized on 5 October 1997. It was such a great blessing for me. I had always felt something important was missing in my life, and I could not understand what it was. But while studying the Book of Mormon I felt that this book was true and that the Church was true. This feeling grew stronger and stronger. My faith grew too. I read the Book of Mormon every day. When the missionaries came to visit us, they asked my mother and me if we had asked the Lord if the Book of Mormon was true. I told them I did not have any doubts about the Book of Mormon. My feelings about the book were strong from the minute I started to read.
Julia Martynova,Obukhovsky Branch, St. Petersburg Russia South District

Shortly after the NCAA finals, Britton announced his decision to serve a mission. The decision came at no small sacrifice. Many people, including Utah head coach Rick Majerus, say Britton has tremendous NBA potential, but leaving the game for two years may jeopardize his pro chances. “Coach was saying everything he could to get me to stay,” recalls Britton. “I’ve been told that if I stay for all four years in a row, I’d definitely go pro.”

For the first time in his life, Britton began to question whether he should go on a mission. Majerus told the press that if Britton were to go after being benched all year, “his pro chances are null and void and his chance for a college career is really in peril. He can’t sit three years.”

In the end, Britton’s coach supported his decision. “It is with regret and sadness from a basketball standpoint that Britton departs, but I am pleased because he seems to be so at peace and happy about the decision,” said Majerus. “I’m proud to be a coach of so many young men who felt so good about a religious experience that they would want to sacrifice their basketball.”

A misty-eyed official in Turnavo, Bulgaria, asked the Sounds to assemble after their show. He told them, “You have brought the sun to us. We have seen America through your music and smiles. There is no distance between our countries today.”