Gospel Story Finder

Don was born with a withered and almost useless right arm. It would have been easy for him to feel sorry for himself and shy away from physical activities requiring the use of two arms. But he has never let it be a problem. If you were to say something to him about his handicap, he would probably answer in all sincerity, “What handicap?” Don plays golf, baseball, and basketball, and is able to compete very well. The withered arm is usually a problem for him only upon first acquaintance. Once you know him you forget all about it. He is a student officer in his high school and has many friends. Don’s parents have never dwelt upon his “handicap.” They expect him to perform well in the things he does, and his ability to meet their expectations gives him a feeling of capability and self-esteem.

Then Jamee plays the tune for me
So I can sing a song
Like “Book of Mormon Stories,”
’Bout when Alma turned from wrong.

At the age of 19, I was called to serve a mission in Tahiti, where I had to learn two foreign languages—French and Tahitian. Early in my mission, I became very discouraged at my lack of progress in either language. Every time I tried to speak French, people responded in Tahitian. When I tried to speak Tahitian, they answered in French. I was on the verge of giving up.

Then one day, as I was walking past the laundry room at the mission home, I heard a voice calling me. I turned around and saw a gray-haired Tahitian woman standing in the doorway motioning for me to come back. Her name was Tuputeata Moo. She spoke only Tahitian. And I spoke only English. I missed much of what she was trying to tell me, but I did understand that she wanted me to return to the laundry room every day so she could help me learn Tahitian.

I stopped by daily to practice with her while she ironed clothes. At first I wondered if our meetings would be of any help, but gradually I began to understand her. Each time we met, she communicated to me her complete confidence that I could learn both languages.

Sister Moo helped me learn Tahitian. But she helped me learn much more than that. She was really teaching me the first principle of the gospel—faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. She taught me that if I relied on the Lord, He would help me do something I thought was impossible. She not only helped save my mission—she helped save my life.

Members of the Samabula 1st Ward participated in a service project for the Harland Hostel for the Deaf in Fiji in March 2021.
A group of 20 volunteers spent three hours cleaning the hostel and playing with the children. They raked the yard, cut the grass, planted, and cleaned. They also repaired a washing machine.
“We wanted our members, especially our children, to see firsthand how children as young as five years old leave their homes and loved ones and live at the hostel just so they can have access to quality specialized education,” explained Eileen Swann, one of the participants.
The Harland Hostel for the Deaf has 26 children from ages five to 14. There is also a rented home for older boys and a hostel for older girls.
“The hostel is just five minutes away from our chapel where we meet each Sunday and we as members of the Church need to be aware of others in the community where we live,” said Swann.
“We need to know our community, know what services are available or how we can be of service to our community. When we look beyond our differences, we will find that we have a lot in common with others. In doing so we build resilient and tolerant communities and better citizens.”
Other participants expressed gratitude to see how happy the children were despite having a loss of hearing and being away from their families.

Massimo De Feo’s son tells classmates that his father is “chief of the universe.”

When James H. Moyle visited David Whitmer, Whitmer was an old man; he was out of the Church and was living in a log cabin in Richmond, Missouri. Of this visit to David Whitmer, James H. Moyle stated in this very building on March 22, 1908:
“I went to his humble home, … and I told him … as a young man starting out in life I wanted to know from him … what he knew about the Book of Mormon, and what about the testimony he had published to the world concerning it. He told me in all the solemnity of his advanced years, that the testimony he had given to the world, and which was published in the Book of Mormon, was true, every word of it, and that he had never deviated nor departed in any particular from that testimony, and that nothing in the world could separate him from the sacred message that was delivered to him. I still wondered if it was not possible that he could have been deceived, … so I induced him to relate to me, under such cross-examination as I was able to interpose, every detail of what took place. He described minutely the spot in the woods, the large log that separated him from the angel, and that he saw the plates from which the Book of Mormon was translated, that he handled them, and that he did hear the voice of God declare that the plates were correctly translated. I asked him if there was any possibility for him to have been deceived, and that it was all a mistake, but he said, ‘No.’” (quoted in Gordon B. Hinckley, James Henry Moyle [Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1951], p. 366–67.)

The reality of this thought is delightfully portrayed in the closing lines of the well-known musical Camelot. King Arthur’s Round Table has been destroyed by the jealousies of men, the infidelity of a queen, and the appearance in the present of a mistake from the past, even Mordred. Deprived of his dream, King Arthur and his forces prepare to meet the armies of Lancelot. All he held dear is gone; disillusionment has darkened into despair.
Suddenly, however, there appears a stowaway—the young boy Tom of Warwick. Filled with the hope of youth, he tells the king he has come to help him fight the mighty battle. He reveals his intention to become a knight. Under the questioning of Arthur, Tom declares his knowledge of the Round Table. He repeats the familiar goals: “Might for right! Right for right! Justice for all!”
A look of renewed confidence spreads across King Arthur’s face. All is not lost. To the boy he repeats the goals and glory of Camelot. Then he formally knights him “Sir Tom of Warwick.” Thus commissioned to depart the battlefield, to return to England, to renew the dream of Camelot, to grow up and to grow old, Sir Tom places aside the weapons of war; and armed with the tenets of truth, he hears his monarch command, “Run, boy, run!” A boy had been spared, an idea safeguarded, a hope renewed. (Alan J. Lerner, Camelot, New York: Random House, 1961, p. 115.)

Thomas Bullock
Thomas Bullock kept the official journal for the first group of pioneers who traveled to the Salt Lake Valley with Brigham Young in 1847. Brother Bullock made lists. He wrote the names of every person who traveled west with him. From this list we know exactly who was on that trek.

I taped a piece of paper
to the ceiling
in an effort
to catch my thoughts
before they floated away.
But that didn’t work.
So I grabbed a pen
and proceeded
to scribble
several inadequate words that couldn’t
begin to express my feelings.

Name: Eugene
Location: Kenya
Goal: Improve at football (soccer)
“I started practicing with a team of friends last month. The experience has helped me understand that God doesn’t want us to do this alone. We can have our friends join us in our goals to be like the Savior. He knows that we need each other to succeed. If we pray, He will put people in our lives to help us be our very best.”

My father was not an emotional man. One of the few times that I ever saw him shed tears was when he was released as bishop. He loved serving the Lord, and he helped to develop in all his children a great satisfaction in helping other people. He made sure that his Church calling involved our whole family and brought us together.

“It’s a lot of fun,” agrees Sister Hill. “Even when it’s hectic, we try to support them in all of their activities. One day we drove over 400 miles to attend both Greg and Mechelle’s tournament games! We feel we have really good relationships.”

Sometime around my 17th birthday, I had achieved my full growth with the usual bulges and ripples in the right places. Dad and I were alone together on the farm since my older brothers were married or at college. One day we were stacking bales of alfalfa hay. I was placing them from the truck on a long conveyer that carried them to where Dad was placing them in the right position on the haystack. The sound of the small motor drowned out any possibility of talk, so, lost in my own thoughts, I worked rapidly to finish the job. I was startled when Dad yelled. I looked up to see that I was sending bales of hay up to him faster than he could place them. After waving for me to stop, he sat down to rest. Dad pulled out a red bandana handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. At that moment I realized I was no longer a small child following my father’s footsteps in the snow. My father was more tired than I was.
I had never before realized that this was natural since I was 17 and he was 55. I was instead a bit shocked by the recognition that he was no longer going to be the person I compared myself to in order to see if I was doing all right. Truthfully, I felt a bit anxious as if I were suddenly without a leader and were on my own. As I sat looking at him, a wave of emotion passed through me. I could not understand all of it, but I knew something significant was taking place. He suddenly looked a bit older to me and more tired than I had been willing to notice.
As we began to work again, and I more slowly, my father seemed a bit less than he used to be. I felt a little disappointed and even resentful. Some fate had robbed me of a security I had as a child, but I gained an understanding that has been a wonderful part of my life. I understood that more than an unattainable example of manhood, my father was just a man. He was a mortal like me, and what he did I could someday do too. Knowing this was far better than trying to be like someone and never succeeding. My father became to me a real person who had feelings and ideas, strengths and weaknesses, hopes and dreams.
My disappointment was brief, and I began to view him differently, even feeling protective of him. As the days followed, I became more responsible in doing my chores and tried in many ways to be more helpful to him. I began to tell him more things about myself, and we became closer. Though he was by nature a reserved and quiet man, we became more openly affectionate with each other. We are not equals. I am better in some areas because of an advanced education he gave me. He is wiser because of his experience.

Amanda can make gelatin. She is the “little mom” of the family and helps out with the three younger girls. In stores, people often stop and stare at the seven children, and Amanda likes to lag behind and answer questions. As her eighth birthday approached, she counted down the days until she could be baptized. Due to unusual circumstances, the water in the font at the stake center was freezing, but she didn’t mind the cold. Her father did, though! “I had to do it,” she said. “I wanted to be baptized so much!” Dad just hopes the next baptism comes in the summer.

“And he had a special job at church on Sundays,” Mom said. “The organ needed to have air pumped into it so it could work. During the songs, he helped pump the air for the organ to play the hymns.”
“I bet it was hard work,” Dad said. “But he loved the music. His favorite song was ‘Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam.’”

I was born and raised in Korea in a loving family, and I joined the Church while in my teens. I would like to share the experience of my conversion with you.
My classmate and I were working together in the school library just after winter vacation when he asked me if I was interested in going to church with him. I asked him what kind of church he was talking about, and he told me it was near our school. He said it was a lot of fun, and there were many girls. I was 16 at the time, and that description of church appealed to me. I decided to go. I had gone to a Presbyterian church for a couple of years in elementary school, and I had good memories of church.
My friend and I went to a Saturday activity, and everyone came to greet me and welcome me. I was impressed that they would be so kind to welcome a small guy they didn’t know. I went to church the next day, and I was introduced to the missionaries.
The missionaries taught me about basic gospel principles, about Jesus Christ, and about the Restoration of the gospel through the Prophet Joseph Smith. All the lessons I was taught were reasonable and logical, and I was impressed by eternal progress and the plan of salvation. I had often thought about why I was here on earth and what things were waiting for me after death. It was comforting to know that if I would do all I could for myself, the Savior would do the rest.
Two months later I wanted to be baptized and confirmed, but I needed permission from my parents. They were Buddhist, but they trusted me. I decided it would be best to ask my mother first, so I asked the missionaries to come to my home during the day. Before I went to school, I told my mother that she might have some foreigners come to ask her something and that she should just say yes. And then I ran out the door to school. When I returned, my mom said she had two handsome American visitors. She said they spoke wonderful Korean, and she was so impressed that she said yes. So I got permission from my parents to join the Church.

Mom also taught me to be mindful of others. On my first day of kindergarten, she took me to my class, pointed to the teacher, and said, “Look! You get to be in Mrs. Merrill’s class. Your brother Rick was in her class last year. She’s a very nice teacher.” This relieved some of my nervousness. Then Mom saw another little girl sobbing with her face buried in her arms. Mom whispered, “Go be her friend.” I did. When the girl stopped crying, I noticed that Mom had left. But I wasn’t nervous anymore.

Class was starting, and I felt as nervous as a cat in a thunderstorm.
After roll call we would be starting with Kenneth’s speech. That would give me about fifteen to twenty minutes. Why do I have to give my speech today? I thought. Why did I choose Joseph Smith as my “famous American”?
The majority of the class were Baptist, including the teacher. I was the only Mormon in the whole group. I must have felt brave the day I chose this topic.
Kenneth was almost finished. No one had any questions about his speech on President Dwight D. Eisenhower.
It was my turn.
“My ‘famous American’ is Joseph Smith,” I began. “He was born in. …” My speech lasted about ten minutes—not bad.
“Any questions?” the teacher asked.
It was so silent you could have heard a pin drop.
“Well, I have one,” my teacher replied. “What is the name of the church that Joseph started?”
I knew I had left out something and it would be the most important part. I answered, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, more commonly known as the Mormons.”
That started the questions: Where did the plates come from? Who was Moroni? How did he get the plates? And oh, yes, the usual question—What about polygamy? By this time I was feeling pretty good. I answered all of the questions that I could, and then one student, who I’ll always be thankful to, asked, “How do you know it’s true?”
This question touched me. I truly felt the Spirit in my heart and in the room.
I looked at my questioner and said, “Bill, have you ever felt so right about something that no matter what anybody else says, you know it’s true? You know in your heart, and no one can persuade you otherwise?”
A hush came over the class. Even the teacher didn’t have a reply.
I’ll always be thankful to Bill for helping me realize that I do have a testimony and that I shouldn’t keep it inside.
I had been in front of the class answering questions for over thirty minutes. We even missed part of our break. And I felt radiant the rest of the day.
This experience helped me realize that people want to know about the gospel. I also realized that I have a duty to share my knowledge with others.

Just after their conversion, I underwent surgery for cancer in my upper jaw. On the day of my surgery, the president of the temple, where I served as an organist and an ordinance worker, fasted and prayed for me. After my surgery, I found it difficult to speak, eat, sing, and do other normal things.

“If you can’t speak,” the temple president told me, “you can still be an organist!”

That encouraged me to resume my service after I had healed. As I played the organ in the temple chapel, I was filled with the Spirit of the Lord and felt strengthened spiritually and physically. I often gave thanks and prayed silently over the words of the hymns.

While on my mission, I became accustomed to missionary work and began thinking more deeply about our message. I had always felt that the gospel was true, but I had a strong desire to know that it was true. I prayed, fasted, studied, worked, and then waited for an answer.
During a lesson one day, I shared Joseph Smith’s account of the First Vision:
“I saw a pillar of light exactly over my head, above the brightness of the sun, which descended gradually until it fell upon me. …
“When the light rested upon me I saw two Personages, whose brightness and glory defy all description, standing above me in the air. One of them spake unto me, calling me by name and said, pointing to the other—This is My Beloved Son. Hear Him!” (Joseph Smith—History 1:16–17).
In that moment, I could feel the Holy Ghost confirm to me that what I was teaching was true. The Prophet Joseph Smith had indeed seen the Father and the Son, and the Book of Mormon is the word of God and, with the Bible, testifies of our Savior. What peace this brought to my soul. Even decades later, it still warms my heart.