Gospel Story Finder

As any sailor knows, however, sailing isn’t always that smooth. Like life, there are dangers to watch for. Sharks, for instance. Richard can tell you that just the sight of those big jaws will make you run for the other side of the boat. Storms are more common, though, and the crew of Polaris has weathered a few.
“There’s always some kind of storm coming,” says Jared Case, 16.
Their biggest one hit last summer as they were anchored overnight off Santa Cruz Island. During the night, the wild weather caused the anchor to come loose and sent Polaris hurtling toward some nearby rocks. But though the waves were high, the wind strong, and the deck slippery and dark, the Scouts knew what to do. Calmly and professionally, they worked together to reset the anchor and save the ship.
Several factors contributed to the boys’ safety that night, but the most important was their ability to work as a team. They will all tell you that without cooperation and everyone doing his job, their ship would have been in pieces.
“You depend on each other the whole time you’re on the boat,” says Joey Scrivens, 14. “Without each other, it won’t work. It won’t come together.”

From times of darkness, a Light now shines,
Brought forth by one young boy.
How glorious, as it fills the world
With its song of truth and joy.

When I have bad thoughts enter my mind, I do what I once heard a General Authority say to do. I sing a Church hymn out loud or in my head. Other things that help are keeping the commandments, avoiding bad places and situations, and losing yourself in service. If you do these things and read the scriptures, your testimony will be strengthened, and you will be able to control your thoughts better.
Brandon Jeppson, 16Collierville, Tennessee

“I had a little radish patch, and my first job was raising and selling radishes. Most people turned me down, but one kind lady always bought my radishes, though I’m sure she didn’t always need them. When I was about ten years old, I started mowing lawns. We had no power mowers back then, and many of the men in the neighborhood were in the War. So I went from door to door, and for twenty-five cents or a little more depending on how big the yard was, I mowed lawns. It seems as if I always had a business of some sort.

Mozambique. The name, for some, conjures images of exotic wildlife, lush green vegetation, or white-sand beaches. More likely, it will send the average person scrambling for a map to discover its location in southeast Africa. But for Maria da Conceição, it means home. And thanks to the efforts of members in the Inhamízua Branch and a few missionaries, Maria now has a place in Mozambique to call her own.
Maria is a tiny woman with a gigantic spirit. Abandoned by her husband and oldest daughter, she was left to rear two small children on her own. Crippled by a debilitating disease she has had since birth, Maria struggled to pay the rent each month. In a country that has high unemployment, work and money are nearly impossible to come by. Yet Maria managed to make a meager living and do the best she could.
I was a full-time missionary in Mozambique. When I first met Maria, I was impressed by her positive attitude and zest for life. She worked relentlessly in her machamba (large garden) to provide for two children and herself and to pay rent on a small mud house.
Church members helped by providing food and medical care. Tragically, Maria’s two children died within three weeks of each other due to disease and no access to the right medical facilities. Death and suffering are common in Mozambique.
Serving as the branch president for our tiny branch, I was extremely concerned for Maria. Both the youth and adult members of our isolated branch did everything they could to help Maria. Some worked in the machamba, others offered food, and a few even helped pay the rent; but she needed a permanent answer.
Late one night, while I was pondering and searching for an answer, inspiration came to me in the form of an idea for an ambitious youth project: building a home for Maria. My companion, Elder Bis-Neto, and I proposed our idea to the younger members of the branch, and they jumped at the chance to help build Maria a house. There was little money and a great deal of work to be done, but with many willing hands and a vision of a traditional African mud-and-stick house, a plan took shape, and the youth went to work.
Everyone got down to business immediately. First job: get wood.
A trip into the African jungle to gather wood for building a home is not a job for the fainthearted. The youth and missionaries made many two-hour trips through thick, swampy savannas, endless rice fields, dense overgrown jungles, and waist-deep mud to find the perfect trees with which to build Maria’s house. Using machetes, we hacked down the slender trees and then organized them into bundles for the journey back. Some of the youth used tall wild grass to quickly weave hats to help protect their heads from the rough logs.
The most difficult leg of the journey now began. Carrying a heavy load on our heads, scratching our way through the dense undergrowth, and battling the scorching African sun, we hauled our loads back. As we walked, the youth sang hymns of Zion, with smiles on their faces.
Alves Elídio Eguimane Razão, 18, says, “It was a lot of hard work, and we loved every minute of it!”
The wooden frame went up stick by stick, with care given to ensure a sturdy and lasting structure. Many generous hands constructed the roof by laying down strips of plastic, which were secured with mats of woven weeds. This roof would need to repel the violent storms of the annual rainy season.
From mud walls to mud floors to mud pies, mud was the menu for most building days. Barrel after barrel of rich brown dirt was hauled in and then drenched in water. Dozens of youth and other branch members turned out to help hand mix the mud and cover the frame house. The exterior was done first, followed by the interior walls and partition. After we had packed the walls with several inches of strong, dried mud, the house started to take shape. To jazz up the interior, a special layer of mud was carefully applied to create the floor and solid water-resistant surfaces.
These days were full of hard work, but the atmosphere abounded in good humor and many smiles, not to mention the surprised eyes of the neighbors as they watched missionaries and youth carrying large bundles of sticks and gallons upon gallons of water and slinging handfuls of mud.
Finally the door was hung, a lock installed, and the house was done. After more than 1,000 service hours, given by more than 40 members and a number of missionaries, Maria da Conceição had a beautiful home of her own.

My family loves the Friend. During family home evening, I asked my parents and siblings what they liked most about the Friend. Even though we are different ages, we all still read the Friend.
I like hunting for the CTR ring and reading the stories. My oldest sister, Sarah, likes Our Creative Friends. My other older sister, Amanda, likes making the tasty recipes. My brother, Jacob, likes the stories and sometimes uses them when he goes home teaching. My little sister, Emily, likes the coloring pages. My mom and dad like reading Friend to Friend. We are all grateful for the Friend.

A true story from Argentina.
Ángel climbed up on the cart next to Papá. The glass milk bottles in the back clinked softly as their horse trotted forward. The sun was shining, and it reminded him of his favorite song.
“Jesus wants me for a sunbeam,” Ángel sang.
A few months ago, Ángel had been baptized. Mamá and his little brother, Oscar, were baptized too. Papá didn’t join the Church, but he was happy for them. Ángel still remembered how it felt when he came up out of the water. It was like how the warm sunshine felt on his back, but on the inside.
Ángel kept singing to himself as Papá stopped the cart outside of Señora Perez’s house. Ángel hopped down and grabbed a milk bottle from the back. Señora Perez was one of his family’s customers.
“Delivery!” he said.
Señora Perez was working in her garden. “Thank you,” she said, taking the bottle. She handed him some coins. “What was that song you were singing?”
Ángel felt his cheeks get hot. He didn’t realize she had heard him!
“It’s a song from my church,” Ángel said. “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
Señora Perez smiled. “Why don’t you tell me something about your church?”
For a moment, Ángel wasn’t sure what to say. Then he said, “We believe that the same church Jesus Christ set up when He lived on earth is here again.”
“Interesting,” Señora Perez said. “I’ve never heard of a church that believes that.”
“Maybe you can come sometime,” Ángel said. “Have a good day!” Then he ran back to Papá to help deliver the rest of the milk.
Early Sunday morning, Ángel woke up. He could hear Mamá in the kitchen making breakfast.
“Oscar,” Ángel said, “it’s time to get ready for church!”
Ángel and Oscar put on their church clothes and got ready to leave. The church building was almost two miles away. It was a long walk, so they had to leave early.
“Have a nice time,” Papá said as they left.
As they walked, Ángel hummed his favorite song again. He hummed as they passed the houses where he delivered milk. He hummed as they passed the fruit stands at the market. And he hummed as they turned onto the street where the church building was.
When they stepped inside, Ángel was surprised. Señora Perez was there! She had brought her whole family with her.
“You came to church!” Ángel said.
Señora Perez nodded. “I was inspired by your song,” she said. “I called your mother for the address. I wanted to come learn about this church for myself.”
Ángel smiled. He had shared the gospel just by singing a song. He hoped Señora Perez could feel some sunshine in her heart today too.

You see, when the Latter-day Saint missionaries first came to England in 1837, they began their labors in Preston. At that time the city was in the midst of a grand celebration of Queen Victoria’s reign. As the missionaries alighted from their coach, they saw a banner overhead proclaiming in bold gilt letters “Truth Will Prevail.”
It became a widely-used phrase in the Church and appeared in various publications. One elder, reporting on his mission to Indiana, wrote in a letter published in Nauvoo’s Times and Seasonsin 1841: “Although the Lord has chosen the weak things of this world to preach his gospel, truth will prevail, and will prosper.”1

A year after my baptism in 1963 in Argentina, I was called to serve as branch clerk. One day I came across some blank family group records and pedigree charts. Without any training, I began filling out the sheets with the help of my mother. She remembered the names of her ancestors and my father’s, as well as the important dates in their lives, back to the fourth generation. She even remembered some of the people in the fifth generation and one person in the sixth.
I felt the desire to go further in my search, and I worked to verify the information my mother had given me. When I learned the purpose of family history work, I immediately began submitting to the temple the names of my deceased loved ones.
Though I had been successful on my mother’s line, I struggled with my father’s side. Despite my efforts, for close to 25 years I was unable to confirm the date of my paternal grandfather’s birth. His marriage certificate stated that he was born in Udine, Italy, so I wrote about 30 letters to that town and the surrounding towns. None of the replies confirmed what I was looking for.
In 1988 a branch of the family history library opened in Rosario, and I was called to work as a librarian. It felt like touching heaven, having all of that material within reach. I spent hours reading, and I ordered microfilm records from many cities. In the International Genealogical Index (IGI), I found the exact names of my grandfather and great-grandfather. I wrote to the town in Italy where the two men had been born and asked for their birth certificates. The parish priest sent them to me, but the records proved these men were not related to me.
I wrote again—asking this time if the priest had any information on my grandfather. He referred me to the city hall, so I wrote a letter there. My heart leaped with joy when I received a sheet of paper containing the names and important dates pertaining to my grandparents, great-grandparents, second great-grandparents, and many other family members. This sheet also told me that my grandfather’s name had been changed after his arrival in Argentina, explaining the confusion in finding his information.
I wrote to the city again and asked them to send me the sheet that preceded the one they had already sent. They did so, and it included the names of 27 more people. I had the temple ordinances done for all these family members, with the assurance that they were indeed my ancestors.
Because of wonderful experiences like these, I feel well rewarded for my efforts in doing family history research. Though there have been disappointments at times, I have not given up. I can see that Heavenly Father has surely led me in my search.
I know that our Heavenly Father will provide an opportunity for all of His children to receive temple ordinances, whether now or in the Millennium. But I also know that our ancestors who accept the gospel in the spirit world are longing for us to do our family history work. If we give our best efforts to the Lord, He will provide a way.

It was Elliott’s first day at a new school, and he was nervous.
Mom, I’m going to miss my old friends.
I know you will, but you can make new friends.
After arriving at school, Elliott sat down in a new classroom. A lot of the children already knew each other. They were talking and laughing. Elliott sat quietly.
At recess Elliott couldn’t find anyone to play with. He didn’t know whom to ask. A couple of the boys on the playground said something unkind to him. Elliott was not happy.
Elliott returned home from school feeling sad.
What’s wrong?
I had a hard day at school. You said I would make new friends, but I didn’t. Some boys were mean to me, and I didn’t even do anything to them.
I’m sorry you had a bad day. If you keep trying, things will get better. Maybe we should pray about this. What do you think?
OK. I really want to have a good time at school.
Day after day Elliott prayed for help so he could have good days at school. Some days were a little rough, but he slowly started to find friends to play with.
Elliott kept praying for help. After a few weeks, Elliott was playing with new friends every day. Even though some kids were not always nice, he wasn’t bothered by them as much. Elliott knew Heavenly Father blessed him so he could be happy at his new school.

What you are feeling is normal. It’s a part of the grieving process. My father died three years ago when I was 15. I still get angry and saddened because of the times he has not been and will not be here on earth to see me grow and do wonderful and important things.
The thing that has become the most important to me is the gospel. It helps to ease the heartaches of death. I’ve also found praying to Heavenly Father a real strength. He can become a good friend and listener. He can be there 24 hours a day.
It always helps (I’ve found) to talk to a listening friend about your parent. The more you talk about your mother and remember her, the easier it will become to get through the grieving process. I am so grateful for those good friends I was able to talk to.
If you keep all your feelings bottled up inside (and I know it’s hard to let them out), you will take longer and may never get through your grief and anger.
If you remember that Heavenly Father really does love you, you will be able to make it through the challenges you face right now. I also found that the closer I drew to the Church, the more peace I found, just as you will.
Laura Wright, 18Dallas, Texas

Another family uses Preach My Gospel to help prepare their children for missions. They reported, “Our 17-year-old was the first to get an assignment. As expected, he looked for the shortest segment in the book. His lesson, however, was a 20-minute heartfelt expression of the principles, complete with scriptures and testimony.”

“I ask Heavenly Father about problems a lot, and He helps me. Just this morning I asked Him what to do about your scary dreams.”
“Did He help you?”
“Yes. I had the idea that you should pray about your dreams, and when that idea came to my mind, I felt the Holy Ghost telling me it was a good thing to do.”
“How did it feel?”
“I felt warm and happy, and I felt sure everything would be OK,” Mom said. “Do you know what I mean?”

At his grandparents’ home in Arizona, he and his family members would ride horses, and his grandfather loved to watch them race.

But that was all before I began using my famous one-liner: “I intend to go on a mission for the Mormon church, sir.” This was not an original phrase for me. I just happened to pick it up one day in World Studies II, Advanced Review of the Emerging Third-World Nations. In this class we spent a lot of time memorizing the African states, capitals, and leaders. A Mr. Cranberg from Trenton, New Jersey, taught the course very methodically. Most days I quickly memorized my three countries and went on to my geometry. I never noticed that everyone else around me did the same until one day I suddenly detected a slight change in Mr. Cranberg’s drone.
“Anderson, stand!”
“Sir?” replied Anderson, standing in the formal Eaton manner.
“What are you doing?”
“Reading, sir.”
“World Problems?”
“No, sir.”
“How then, explain, do you expect to succeed in this class? And if you do not succeed in this class, how do you expect to understand this complex world in which you live?”
“I live in the dorms, sir. It’s very educational.”
Even I snickered at this.
“Don’t be funny, Anderson. You do not seem to understand the necessity of succeeding in this world. What may I ask do you intend to do after your graduation?”
Looking straight ahead and without a smile, Anderson replied, “I intend, sir, to go on a mission for the Mormon church.”
“A what?”
“A mission, sir.”
“To where? Africa?”
“My brother, sir, went to New Jersey.”
The class broke into an uproar. Mr. Cranberg, furious at this apparent slight toward his home state, assigned us all 18 extra pages of reading, with outline. All of us except Anderson who got 36. No one complained much because of the great joke. And also because of who Anderson was.
He was fairly good-looking and a pretty good athlete, but most of all he was just the sort of fellow who was friends with everyone. Never crude or wild or conceited like some of the boys I watched, he was always so friendly, as though his world were an excellent place into which he wished to draw all his fellows. Even me, it seemed, which puzzled me. I had never had a close friend with whom I confided my problems, my hopes, my dreams. I believe that is why his warmth fascinated me. And also that is why I took as my own his famous line.
It was not that I intended to go anywhere for the Mormon church. In my mind the Mormons were still out in the Rocky Mountains trudging around the hills in their covered wagons. I didn’t connect Scott Anderson with them; I just admired him so much that I stole his line. Besides, I was tired of being “we” and needed a conversation stopper.

Listen to general conference. Once, just before general conference, I was feeling discouraged and prayed to know if anyone understood my situation. That very conference, Elder David S. Baxter of the Seventy said: “There are, of course, some single families where it is the father who is the single parent. Brethren, we also pray for you and pay tribute to you.”3 That helped me understand that the same love and support given to single mothers is available to single fathers too.

Making the choice to be baptized was the hardest decision I have ever made. But nothing could have prevented me from joining the Church at that point, not even the opposition of my family and my Catholic friends. I knew that getting baptized was the right thing to do, and I have never regretted it. It has brought many blessings into my life and the lives of my family. My brother Jerry joined the Church ten weeks after I did, and eight years later, we baptized one of my sisters and her husband. I have also been able to do temple work for many of my ancestors, including my own father and my grandfathers.

Anja Pedersen, 16, lives in another Arctic city, Finnsness. On Sundays, she and her father, the only active members in town, drive two hours each way to Narvik, the nearest branch.
“I have a brother who says he could write five pages of things he thinks are wrong with the Church,” she says. “And I have a sister who thinks my father has brainwashed me. My mother and my other two brothers just don’t care. But I met a friend a year ago who asked me about the gospel. I had to read and study and I found things that I needed. My testimony grew stronger and stronger.”
Since then, she’s shared seven copies of the Book of Mormon with friends and given two copies to local libraries. She also wrote a seven-page report about the Doctrine and Covenants, which she read to her school religion class, and saved up enough money to take a trip to the temple that left her feeling “all warm inside.”

They had one daughter, Rhonda, in 1951 who tragically passed away as a young adult, leaving behind a daughter, Chantelle. Chantelle now lives in Len and May’s house with her partner and two children, Ky and Remi. She says her grandfather’s life has been one of service.
Shortly after Rhonda passed away, Len and May found hope in the message brought to their door by missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“It’s made a big difference in our lives,” Len says. “I’ve missed going to Sunday meetings this year, but I listen to the recorded [Zoom] meetings every week.”

Tonight is activity night, and the Laurels and priests are meeting at the chapel in New Canaan, Connecticut, to go bowling. While they wait, a pickup game of basketball develops in the cultural hall. As the basketball players run up and down the court, Matt and his friend Mark Fuller are using their lacrosse sticks to whip a small rubber ball back and forth between the players. They seem unconcerned about the threat of a black eye or broken nose as the ball whizzes past them. They’ve watched Mark and Matt practice everywhere and have seen them play on the state championship team. They know the lacrosse players have complete control.