Gospel Story Finder

After my military service, I pursued an education in military administration in the West German government. It was quite demanding, but I gained a broad background in such things as finance, real estate, legal affairs, and so forth. I also had a calling to serve in the district presidency. While my fellow students were busy studying on Sundays, I was fulfilling Church assignments and spending time with my family. It was hard, but the Lord’s promises are true, and you can rely on them. I did as well as any of my fellow students.

When my bishop told me, “The Lord is calling you on a mission,” his words seemed to have a different meaning than they had two years before, when he made the call for the first time.
But two years later, I was sitting right there before my bishop once again, being reminded of my obligation to the Lord’s work on the earth. I felt different about it this time, but I was still reluctant to accept. I wanted the Lord himself to tell me what to do. Scriptures that promised marvelous blessings, shown to me by returned missionaries and the bishopric, did not seem to help.
Praying was not enough either. I fasted also, asking the Lord to give me an unmistakable answer so that I would not be left in doubt. It seemed like a fierce battle inside me, my spirit contending against my mortal reasoning. I was nearly exhausted from it when I felt the “burning in my bosom” and knew the Lord had revealed that accepting a mission call was what he wanted from me.
The first round had been won. Now the scriptures would give me strength to support an unshakable faith in God. I knew that other trials would come but not so soon.

When Julio was 13, he was sexually abused by his uncle. Over time, he began to withdraw from his family and isolated himself. At times, he functioned as though nothing had happened, but occasionally he was flooded by emotion. He has always been able to manage life—even feeling intense happiness, like at the birth of his son. He also feels broken. His son is now approaching the same age when Julio was abused, and as Julio contemplates his son’s potential experiences, he is wrestling with thoughts and feelings about his own self-worth and eternal identity.

The abuse Julio endured at the hands of his uncle did not change Julio’s worth and worthiness. He never sinned but was sinned against. At times it can be hard to remember your worth and worthiness when you have been abused. Remember, you did not sin, your worth has never decreased, and you are worthy to continue on the covenant path.

As Julio began to trust in the Lord, He helped Julio realize that mortal experiences don’t change the love our Father in Heaven has for us. He is now learning to see how even though terrible things happened, they did not change his fundamental worth, eternal identity, or worthiness.

Our main purpose in life is to prepare to return to live with our Heavenly Father (see Alma 12:24). Trauma can cloud this purpose and prevent us from seeing who we are. Finding a specific purpose in our daily actions can help us move forward and even remember our main purpose in life. Julio began to move forward and find purpose in his daily actions when he realized he wanted to help his son.

When President Spencer W. Kimball was nine years old, his job on the family farm was milking from two to nine cows every day. Milking cows can become boring, so he thought of things to do while he milked that were interesting and good and fun. He practiced squirting a stream of milk into the mouths of the cats that gathered around at milking time. He memorized every word of the Articles of Faith and the Ten Commandments to the beat of milk squirts hitting the pail. He copied most of the songs in the hymnbook on sheets of paper and memorized them. On a one-legged stool, his head pressed against a cow’s side, he sang them to the cows.

President Kimball made his inner temple brighter and kept his spirit free by filling his mind with worthwhile things while he worked. Can you do the same?

In my past profession, I was a cardiologist specializing in heart failure and transplantation, with many patients who were critically ill. My wife jokingly says that it was a bad prognostic sign to become one of my patients. All teasing aside, I saw many people die, and I developed a kind of emotional distance when things went poorly. That way, feelings of sadness and disappointment were tempered.

In 1986 a young man named Chad developed heart failure and received a heart transplant. He did very well for a decade and a half. Chad did all he could to stay healthy and live as normal a life as possible. He served a mission, worked, and was a devoted son to his parents. The last few years of his life, though, were challenging, and he was in and out of the hospital frequently.

One evening, he was brought to the hospital’s emergency department in full cardiac arrest. My associates and I worked for a long time to restore his circulation. Finally, it became clear that Chad could not be revived. We stopped our futile efforts, and I declared him dead. Although sad and disappointed, I maintained a professional attitude. I thought to myself, “Chad has had good care. He has had many more years of life than he otherwise would have had.” That emotional distance soon shattered as his parents came into the emergency room bay and saw their deceased son lying on a stretcher. In that moment, I saw Chad through his mother’s and father’s eyes. I saw the great hopes and expectations they had had for him, the desire they had had that he would live just a little bit longer and a little bit better. With this realization, I began to weep. In an ironic reversal of roles and in an act of kindness I will never forget, Chad’s parents comforted me.

It was almost the end of the month, and I had visited every sister on my new visiting teaching list except one. I’d never met Joan (name has been changed). She did not attend church, and in the recent past, she had not wanted to have contact with the Church.

I had made many phone calls to her home throughout the month, but they were always greeted by her answering machine, no matter what time I called. I left several voice messages, introducing myself as her new visiting teacher, telling her I was looking forward to meeting her, and asking her to return my call. But Joan never called back.

With only a few days left in the month, I decided to drop by Joan’s home unannounced with a plate of muffins. But as I drove up and down the busy highway near her street, I realized that none of the numbers on the houses matched the address I had been given for her. I became increasingly frustrated, thinking, “Why am I doing this? She probably won’t even be home, and if I leave the muffins on her porch, some dog will most likely eat them.” Finally I checked my ward directory and discovered that Joan’s address on my visiting teaching list was incorrect. With the correct address, I found the home within minutes.

Armed with my muffins, I walked toward Joan’s house. I hesitated when I saw a big No Trespassing sign but cautiously continued toward her porch. I rang the doorbell two times. No answer. Thinking, “Well, at least I tried,” I left the muffins and my note near Joan’s front door.

That evening at dinner, I mentioned to my family my apparently wasted hour attempting to reach this faceless, voiceless, impossible-to-contact sister. During the meal the phone rang. Contrary to our mealtime practice, I answered it. The woman on the phone identified herself as Joan. Suddenly feeling as though I had been reunited with a friend, rather than the stranger she was, I whooped, “Joan! I’ve wanted to hear your voice for so long! I’m so excited you’ve called!”

Joan explained that she hadn’t returned my calls because of recent turmoil in her life. She continued, “Today I was at the courthouse, feeling defeated and humiliated as I stood in front of the judge and my estranged husband. When I drove home, I prayed, ‘God, I feel so worthless and unloved.’ Sobbing, I asked, ‘If You love me, please show me.’

“When I reached home, there before my eyes, as though a miracle from God, was a plate of muffins and a note saying, ‘I’m thinking of you. Love, your visiting teacher.’ It was as if God were saying to me that He loved me. I just wanted you to know that I know God used you to answer my prayer today.”

Since that day Joan has become my friend. We have read the scriptures and prayed together, and she has joined me at church. She has been a gift to me, teaching me never to give up when serving the Lord.

Flooding on the island of Oahu, Hawaii, USA, on December 11, 2008, damaged homes in Laie, Waianae, and Mililani, as well as several Church-owned buildings. Up to 12 inches (30 cm) of rain fell in about four hours, shutting down major roads and causing a rockslide. No evacuation orders were given but several schools closed. No Church members or missionaries were harmed.
Brigham Young University–Hawaii officials estimated $1.5 million in damages to the campus was caused by the flood. Several buildings flooded—the General Classroom Building, the Social Sciences Building, and 36 married-student housing apartments.
The Polynesian Cultural Center’s Gateway Building and several other on-campus buildings were also damaged.
The temple and Church meetinghouses were not affected, but the temple’s visitors’ center sustained minor damages.
Church members teamed with the Red Cross to provide shelter and food on the BYU–Hawaii campus for those displaced by the flood. University students and Church members helped to clean up after the flooding.

I remember a particular period of my life when I was under unusual stress. There were troubles with my employment, and at the same time my wife was diagnosed with a life-threatening illness. This was one of those times when it felt like the adversary had mounted a frontal assault against me and my family. On days when the stresses and anxieties of our tumultuous life were about to get the best of us, my wife and I found a way to relieve them.
We drove to a place just a few miles from our home to get away for a few moments of relief from our troubles, talk, and give emotional comfort to each other. Our place was Walden Pond. It was a beautiful little pond surrounded by forests of trees. When my wife was feeling strong enough, we’d go for a walk around the pond. Other days, when she did not feel up to the exertion of walking, we’d just sit in the car and talk. Walden Pond was our special place to pause, reflect, and heal. Perhaps it was partly due to its history—its connection to the efforts of Henry David Thoreau to separate himself from worldliness for a period of years—that Walden Pond offered us so much hope for simplicity and provided such a renewing escape from our overly complex lives.

Both of my parents are disabled, and they are having very difficult financial problems. I talk to other missionaries, and it seems that their lives back home always seem to be picture perfect. I wondered why my family had all of the problems. The article in the August 1997 Questions and Answers gave me great comfort. I now know that I am not the only one who feels that way. Thank you so much.
Elder Kenneth CourterCalifornia Sacramento Mission

Several months ago while visiting our children in another state, I walked with our two-and-a-half-year-old grandson from the chapel to the nursery. As he moved rather energetically down the hall, at least five people called him by name—teenagers, children, adults. “Hi, Benjamin,” “Hey, Benjamin,” “Morning, Benjamin.” My heart overflowed with gratitude that Benjamin is learning he, as an individual, belongs to a ward family. Over a lifetime, ward families will help do for him what his family alone cannot do.

I had the privilege of visiting with a faithful family of Latter-day Saints in a small nipa hut in the Philippines. In this humble setting a beautiful young woman, fourteen years old, listened intently while her father explained that by saving all the money they could and selling everything they owned, the family would one day have enough to go to the temple, where they could be sealed as a family forever.

In the first few years of my Church membership, I especially appreciated being invited to join in the home evenings of traditional families. While it was easy to feel like an observer rather than a participant, it gave me a chance to see how faithful Latter-day Saint families operate. Since I had joined the Church as a young adult, this experience was invaluable.

When my friend Fernanda (not her real name) didn’t show up to class one Friday, I wondered what was wrong. “Is Fer feeling sick? Is she OK?” I asked as I ran over to some friends at the end of the day. “She isn’t sick,” another friend answered, “she just had to go to a psychologist.” When I asked why, she told me that Fernanda was suffering from depression and had been hurting herself. Shortly after I found out, Fernanda was admitted to the hospital for treatment, and we didn’t see her for a few weeks.
Even though we were friends, she hadn’t shared that part of her life with me. She had been hiding it from everyone because she was ashamed. She later told me that she didn’t want others to pity her or her situation. But I didn’t pity her—I just felt compassion.
That first day, I lay on my bed after school, my face buried in a pillow. I was emotionally exhausted but too anxious to sleep. My world was in chaos. I felt like I was in the middle of a storm, and so many thoughts and feelings whirled in the wind. I felt confused, lonely, and, most of all, so powerless to help.
What could I do or say to help her? How could we as friends pull together and lend our support? I couldn’t find any sort of solution to comfort my friends or myself. I prayed for inspiration but felt like my prayers just weren’t getting answered.
But the next week I had an epiphany. I was sitting in my early-morning seminary class when my teacher reminded us of the First Vision and how Joseph Smith asked Heavenly Father directly for help with his difficulties and concerns. My teacher then said, “If we seek out the Father and ask Him, He will answer us. We will never be alone.”
I realized that in my sadness, I had closed my heart off to my Heavenly Father. Even though I was trying to pray often, it wasn’t enough—I still had too much fear to find peace. I knew that He understood exactly how I felt and that He could help me. But I needed to open myself up to Him and truly trust that He could do it—I needed to exercise faith.
So I did. Over time, as I continued to pray and read my scriptures, striving to let the Savior take my burdens, I came to understand that eventually my friend’s depression would end. Despite the fact that the external chaos continued, I felt calm, balanced, in harmony. My mother kept encouraging me to seek out peace, saying, “Your friend will be OK and so will you. Stay strong in the gospel, and it will all work out.”
When Fernanda finally came back to school, I was able to provide strong support for her, but only because I had sought out and found peace through Jesus Christ myself. I tried my best to be a good listener, to be positive, and to share the gospel. I felt confident when I explained the plan of happiness and when I told her that our Father wants us to find joy, despite our challenges. It may take time, but it is possible for every one of His children.
There have been many situations in my life in which I have felt anguish and sadness, but because of the gospel I always remember where I come from. I know that I am a daughter of God and that He has a plan for me—and for Fernanda. We all walk distinct paths, but each is for our good because He loves us. Each path, each trial, has a purpose. And if we can find peace in those trials, we can share the peace we gain with others.

Sarah tried not to move as she stood on the footstool, waiting while her mother adjusted the hem of the long white dress. “How much longer?” she asked her mother.
Mother looked up from where she knelt on the floor and removed two pins from her mouth. “Another minute or so and I’ll have the hem done.”
“Why do we wear white clothes in the temple?” Sarah asked.
“The temple is a sacred place,” Mother said as she pushed the pins into the material. “And because it is, we wear white clothes when we are there.”
“I can’t wait until Saturday. Lori says she wishes she could go to the temple with her family, too.” Sarah looked thoughtful. “Why doesn’t Lori’s family get sealed in the temple?”
Mother smiled. “Lori’s parents were sealed in the temple when they were married, so Lori is already sealed to her parents. There, I’m finished.” Mother struggled to rise to her feet.
Sarah jumped down from the chair to help her mother, who was seven months pregnant and had trouble bending and standing. “How come you and Daddy didn’t get sealed in the temple when you were married?”
“Come over here, Sarah,” her mother said, patting the seat beside her on the sofa. “Remember last year when we took the missionary lessons?”
Sarah nodded. Shortly after they had finished the lessons, her parents had been baptized. She remembered the special feeling she had when she saw first her father and then her mother emerge from the water. Next year, when Sarah turned eight, her father would baptize her.
“Before we learned about the gospel, your father and I had never heard about temples or being sealed to each other. After we were baptized, we promised ourselves and you that we would go to the temple and be sealed to each other as soon as we could.”
“And that means our family can be together forever,” Sarah finished.
“That’s right.”
Sarah felt a gentle nudge as she cuddled closer to her mother. Her eyes widened. “The baby kicked me.”
Her mother laughed softly. “Babies sometimes do that.” Sarah’s lips curved into a smile as she thought about the baby. In two more months she would have a new brother or sister. Her parents had already started painting the extra bedroom a sunny yellow to turn it into a nursery. Her smile faltered as she realized that the baby wouldn’t be able to go to the temple with the family on Saturday. “Mom, we have to wait!”
“Wait for what, honey?”
“The baby. We can’t go to the temple without him.” But Sarah’s mother didn’t seem worried. “After your dad and I are sealed in the temple, any children we have will be sealed to us also. It’s called being born in the covenant.”
Sarah frowned as she tried to understand what her mother had said. “So our baby will be sealed to us on Saturday, even though he isn’t born yet?”
“That’s right.”
Sarah hugged her mother. “I love you. And I love Dad and our baby.”
Her mother returned the hug. “I love you, too.” As she stood up she added, “Come on. We have a dress to finish sewing.”
On Sunday morning, Sarah felt especially happy as she sat next to her parents in sacrament meeting. The congregation began singing the opening song. Tears trickled down her cheeks as she joined in. “I have a family here on earth. They are so good to me. I want to share my life with them through all eternity.”*

Deacons and others of the Aaronic Priesthood who perform today this sacred service, please know this to be a sacred duty. I recall that as a bishop, one morning the boys in the ward over which I presided had assembled—sleepy-eyed, a bit disheveled, and mildly complaining about arising so early to fulfill their assignment. Not a word of reproof was spoken, but during the following week we escorted the boys to Welfare Square in Salt Lake City for a guided tour. They saw firsthand a lame sister operating the telephone switchboard, an older man stocking shelves, women arranging clothing to be distributed—even a blind person placing labels on cans of food. Here were individuals earning their sustenance through their contributed labors. A penetrating silence came over the boys as they witnessed how their effort each month helped to collect the sacred fast offering funds which aided the needy and provided employment for those who otherwise would be idle.
From that hallowed day forward, we no longer had to urge our deacons with regard to collecting fast offerings. On fast Sunday mornings, they were present at 7:00 a.m., dressed in their Sunday best, anxious to do their duty as holders of the Aaronic Priesthood. No longer were they simply distributing and collecting envelopes. They were helping to provide food for the hungry and shelter for the homeless—all after the way of the Lord. Their smiles were more frequent, their pace more eager, their very souls more subdued. Perhaps now they were marching to the beat of a different drummer; perhaps now they better understood the classic passage, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”

When I was first learning to read, I felt sad because I could not read fast. My parents and sister helped me, and now I’m excited to read the scriptures.
Acumen D., age 7, Central Luzon, Philippines

After 12 years of marriage and with six young children, I found myself separated from my husband. My husband’s mother continued to live with our family, but with one exception, my children never saw their father again.
The children were too young to understand fully what was happening to our family, and I tried to shelter them as much as I could from the pain I was feeling. But within a few weeks of separating from my husband, I felt vulnerable, empty, and alone. Although I was surrounded by people in my Philippine hometown, I often found myself weeping, longing for the comfort of someone to confide in. Assailed by doubts, I felt as though I were living in a haze. I couldn’t think or plan clearly. And yet I knew I had to be strong for the sake of my children. I felt that the burden of their welfare rested solely upon my shoulders.
Humbled and desperate, I knelt and asked Heavenly Father for three favors: good health, a clear mind, and emotional strength devoid of self-pity and selfishness.
My prayers were answered. In spite of difficult economic conditions in the Philippines, I was blessed with a good income. The harder I was able to work, the more money I earned. Our temporal needs were met, and I found the clarity of mind and the emotional strength I needed to be both mother and father to my children.
I gave my children love and affection and as much attention as possible. I devoted Sundays and holidays solely to them. I taught them not to look back in anger, nor forward in fear, but to look around in awareness. They learned not to hate anyone, especially their absent father.
They also learned to share with one another and build family solidarity. We exchanged ideas and valued each other’s differing points of view. We rejoiced in one another’s victories and comforted each other in our defeats. We were a united family—cooking, cleaning, laughing, sharing, and above all praying together.
Seven years after my separation, four of my children and I became members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The teachings of the Church honed and polished my children, further cultivating their talents. They learned more patience and understanding. As they grew older they also discovered leadership skills and other abilities they did not know they had. They enjoyed peace and a sense of belonging. My children often turned to Church leaders for educational, emotional, and spiritual counsel. They were devoted to their callings and eagerly engaged in Church activities. I watched them thrive as they grew spiritually and developed social skills.
My son and three daughters served as full-time missionaries. They have continued to grow and develop into wonderful people.
My trials have helped me to become stronger and grow in ways I may not have otherwise. Many times I was weary, but in those times of great need my Heavenly Father gave me rest, guided my footsteps, and filled my soul with His love.
I have been abundantly blessed. I cherish my beautiful family. Out of our great adversity, we have emerged triumphant. But we owe everything to our Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ. For Their influence in our lives we are eternally grateful.

A young couple experienced a stillbirth. With broken hearts, they decided to honor their daughter by providing counseling and material support to parents enduring similar situations. The Lord has worked through this couple because of their specialized empathy, developed through adversity.

Upon arrival, Church leaders were warmly greeted by local youth, dressed as warriors, who ceremoniously questioned the purpose of their visit.
Peter Awao, a member of the Church who had been baptized in Honiara and relocated to Ulawa in 2022, spoke on behalf of the group in local pidgin, explaining, “Mifala no come here to fait, but we only bring the good words to Ulawa Island. Mifala no come waitem any mata knife, axe or alawolo to fait weitem you fala but come and ask compassion. Mifala just came here to witness Jesus Christ is the Saviour for the world today. So please open the way for us to come in. Poro Kana Ute.”

Our children’s great-grandfather J. Leo Seely received a mission call in 1914 to the British Mission and served the Lord in Ireland. He left his wife and little children for two years. The depth of his sacrifice has become clear to us as we read their letters. Because of the power of this man’s example and that of his noble wife, his son served a mission, and over 50 of his grandchildren and great-grandchildren have gone forth to serve the Lord in missions that cover the world.