Gospel Story Finder

A few years ago I was at the house of a friend when I met two well-dressed young men who introduced themselves as Latter-day Saint missionaries. I thought it was strange that they had come all the way to Italy to convert people who already believed in the Savior.
I later asked them to come to my house. “If you want, you can come see me for a cultural exchange,” I said. “But don’t think I’m going to change religions.”
When we met the next night, the missionaries spoke of the Book of Mormon. I thought it strange that I had never heard of it before. I invited them back, but after the second visit my wife, Anna Maria, decided they were crazy and would leave the house during our discussions. The missionaries seemed a little unusual to me as well, but I was curious to know what they had to say and continued to meet with them.
One night when Anna Maria came home, she heard us talking about eternal marriage. This greatly interested her, and we decided that we would start the discussions again together. She had a great knowledge of the scriptures and always had a long list of questions. The elders answered some of them right away, but others they had to go home and research. Each week without fail they returned with responses, and each week Anna Maria had another list of questions.
Shortly after we had finished the discussions, Anna Maria surprised me by asking for my permission to be baptized. I told her I had nothing against it if she was truly converted. I attended her baptism on March 5, 1995, enjoying a wonderful feeling during the service.
I continued to read extensively about the Church, and the missionaries continued to encourage me. Finally I decided to put Moroni’s promise to the test (see Moroni 10:4–5). I wanted to know whether the Book of Mormon came from God or whether it was just a nice novel.
One day in June 1995 while I was alone at home, I knelt at the foot of my bed and asked Heavenly Father, “Is the Book of Mormon true, and if so, when should I be baptized?” Suddenly I felt in my heart and in my mind a clear voice that told me, “The Book of Mormon is true.” I then had a clear impression when to be baptized. A week later I prayed again and received the same answer. My heart was bursting with joy. I now knew that God had spoken to me: the Book of Mormon was inspired of God and Joseph Smith was a true prophet.
Finally, on September 17, 1995, I entered the waters of baptism, a year and a half since I started meeting with the missionaries. Soon our daughter, Aba Chiara, became interested in the Church and was also baptized. In January 1997 our family was sealed in the Bern Switzerland Temple.
We know that this is the true Church, governed by Jesus Christ through a prophet and the priesthood. We are thankful to the Lord for His love, for leading us to the missionaries, and for our knowledge of the gospel.

“Two months after I was baptized, the students from Kiribati were asked if anyone was interested in going home to introduce the Church there. I gave them my name. But when they learned I was 17, they told me I was too young.” Six young men accepted the call to take the gospel to Kiribati. They began in late 1975.
“Before they left, I asked them to talk to my parents. They agreed. I also sent many letters to my family bearing my testimony. They accepted the gospel and were baptized.” His grandmother, Tebwebwenikai Ribauea Tune, was the first person in the family to join.

All week long I have looked forward to the dance tonight. Life on the trail is so dreary, just plodding along day after day. I don’t think I ever fixed supper faster or cleaned up more quickly than I did tonight. I called over to Sister Fuller in the next wagon to see if she needed help getting ready. She has two small children and a grandfather who has been ill. She replied that she wasn’t going to the dance. Her grandfather was feeling very ill, and someone had to stay with him.
Poor Sister Fuller. She loves to dance and sing and was probably looking forward to it even more than I. “I will watch your grandfather,” I told her. “I can come get you if he turns worse.”
“But you don’t want to miss the dance,” she protested.
“There are plenty of dances ahead of me. Go with your husband and enjoy yourself.”
Her smile lit up her entire face, and she hugged me. “God bless you, Hazel,” she whispered, and she hurried to freshen up.
So I spent the evening taking care of the grandfather and watching the sleeping babies. I heard the music and the happy voices all evening, and missed it dreadfully. But I was not sorry I stayed so that Sister Fuller could go. If I don’t feel happiness in my soul tonight, at least I feel peace.

When I was 30 years old, I was visiting the Nagoya mission as part of my work. After the meeting, the mission president kindly arranged for the elders to drive me to the airport. However, as we reached the intersection at the bottom of a long hill, a large truck came barreling down from behind us at great speed. It rammed into the rear of our car and propelled it forward more than 70 feet (20 m). The terrifying part of all of this was there was no driver. The rear of our car was compacted to half its original size. Fortunately, both the elders and I survived.
However, on the following day, I began experiencing pain in my neck and shoulders and developed a severe headache. From that day, I couldn’t sleep and I was forced to live each day with both physical and mental pain. I prayed to God to please heal my pain, but these symptoms lingered on for about 10 years.
At this time, feelings of doubt also began creeping into my mind, and I wondered, “Why do I have to suffer this much pain?” However, even though the kind of healing I sought was not granted, I strove to be faithful in keeping God’s commandments. I continued to pray that I would be able to resolve the questions I had about my trials.
There came a time when I found myself struggling with a few additional personal issues, and I was agitated because I did not know how to cope with this new trial. I was praying for an answer. But I didn’t receive an answer right away. So I went and talked with a trusted Church leader.
As we were talking, with love in his voice, he said, “Brother Aoyagi, isn’t your purpose for being on this earth to experience this trial? Isn’t it to accept all the trials of this life for what they are and then leave the rest up to the Lord? Don’t you think that this problem will be resolved when we are resurrected?”
When I heard these words, I felt the Spirit of the Lord very strongly. I had heard this doctrine countless times, but the eyes of my understanding had never been opened to the extent they were at this time. I understood this was the answer that I had been seeking from the Lord in my prayers. I was able to clearly comprehend our Heavenly Father’s plan of salvation and understand anew this important principle.
Let’s now consider that rear-end collision in Nagoya. I could have died in that accident. Nevertheless, through the Lord’s grace, I miraculously survived. And I know that my sufferings were for my learning and for my growth.5 Heavenly Father schooled me to temper my impatience, to develop empathy, and to comfort those who are suffering. When I realized this, my heart was filled with feelings of thankfulness toward my Heavenly Father for this trial.

Sometimes miracles have helped people perform family history work. One miracle took place in 1971, when heavy rains poured upon the island of Fiji for nearly a week and furious winds bent the palm trees almost double. Ocean waves mixed with rain washed onto the island, and rocks, branches, and even rooftops floated down the flooded streets.

Molimau Tupa’i, the Church microfilmer in Fiji, became worried about the microfilming supplies he had left in his office. As he entered the office building where he worked, he saw that the floor was covered with water. He felt upset as he approached his office, fearing the films, books, and maps he had left on the floor were ruined. To his surprise, although everything looked wet and damaged, the water was actually flowing away from his supplies on the floor! His office was the only one in the building that still had electricity. For days afterward, all regular work on the floor stopped while cleaning crews fixed things. Brother Tupa’i’s work, however, continued as usual.

Lark was feeling rather sad. “I’m so plain and ordinary,” he said. “I have only dull-looking feathers. They’re too brown to be really gray, and too gray to be really brown. And the speckled edges make me look like some disease has left me disfigured and spotted. Even the yellow on my breast isn’t pretty and bright. It looks like dirty egg yolk. Why couldn’t I have had bright, colorful feathers like the parrot or even the bluebird?”
Bird King overheard Lark’s complaints and asked, “What’s troubling you?”
Lark answered sadly, “I’m so plain and ordinary-looking. And I’m not big and strong, or small and cute. There’s nothing special about me.”
“Oh, I see,” responded the king of the birds. “Would you like to go visiting with me today and see what we find?” The young lark quickly agreed, and off they flew.
They saw a giant eagle soaring in the distance. “Oh, I wish I could have strong, powerful wings like Eagle,” said Lark.
Bird King replied, “Let’s go visit Eagle’s nest over on the cliff.” So they tipped their wings and soared through the clear morning air.
After flying so far and high, Lark began to get tired. When they finally reached Eagle’s nest, Lark was all worn out. As he rested, he looked around the nest. Is this all there is to Eagle’s home? he wondered. These big sticks and branches don’t look very comfortable. And it’s lonely up here with no neighbors to chat with.
Bird King asked Lark, “How would you like being an eagle and living here on the cliff?”
Lark answered thoughtfully, “Although the view is lovely, and it’s perfect for him, I’m glad that I don’t have to live so far away from my friends.”
Bird King smiled to himself as they flew away. They hadn’t gone far when they came to the tree where the mountain bluebird nested. Bluebird was just flying home after a nice dust bath. Oh, Lark thought, Bluebird is beautiful! Blue is my favorite color. How I wish I could be a bluebird.
The King greeted the little bird with a cheery “Good morning. My, your feathers look lovely today.”
“Thank you,” Bluebird replied nervously, his eyes darting back and forth in every direction. “I do have pretty feathers, but all my enemies can see my bright color. It is dangerous being blue. I must constantly be on guard to protect myself and my family.”
Oh, Lark thought, I didn’t realize that being colorful would be such a problem. Maybe, my brownish-gray feathers are better because they are safer.
Bird King and Lark bid Bluebird farewell and flew on. As they approached Lark’s neighborhood, they saw Magpie and his cousin Crow.
Oh, how I wish my feathers were beautiful like the crow’s, Lark thought. He looks so shiny and black. And Magpie’s white feathers complement her black ones perfectly! They both looked elegant to Lark.
Bird King asked Crow and Magpie how they were getting along.
“Everybody thinks we live the rich life because of our fine feathers,” Magpie squawked. “But believe me, it’s terrible trying to get enough to eat these days. No one wants to provide for us, so we are forced to forage even in garbage dumps for our very existence.”
Crow broke in, “Gone are the days of wealth and luxurious life when poets wrote of our beauty. Nobody likes us anymore. We are outcasts everywhere, doomed to a life of misery and woe.” Crow complained on and on.
Lark could see why no one would want to even be around these birds with their negative attitudes. “I guess I don’t want to be a crow or a magpie,” he said to Bird King.
Bird King had a bigger smile as the two of them flew on to Lark’s little home. Lark’s neighbors came out to welcome him back with their cheerful chirps and twitters.
“I’m glad to be home where I’m safe and the trees are familiar and I feel like I belong. I have friends to chat with here, and food to eat. Being a plain, ordinary lark isn’t so bad, after all,” Lark admitted.
“There’s one more thing before I leave,” Bird King said. “You have a song no one else can sing. Others may be stronger or bigger, or more colorful, or even smarter, but you have a call that no other bird has. Did you ever stop to think that they may be wishing to be like you?”
As wise Bird King flew away, Lark sat on the branch of his favorite tree, singing his special song, “La-da-dee-dee-dee-da,” as happy as a lark.

A man I worked for gave me a copy of the Book of Mormon. But I didn’t read it for almost two years. One Sunday, I picked up the Book of Mormon and went to a railroad line outside the town where I lived in Zimbabwe. I sat down and began reading.
At first, it was hard to understand. But I reread Joseph Smith’s testimony over and over again. His words touched my heart.
Later, someone invited me to come to church. At first, I was uncomfortable, so I sat in the back row. But when people started sharing their testimonies about the Savior Jesus Christ and the Book of Mormon, I felt something wonderful inside.
Not long after this, missionaries came to my neighborhood. Soon I was baptized. Years later, I had the honor of serving a mission and sharing the gospel with many others.

In the middle of the COVID-19 pandemic, I bought a potted orchid.
I didn’t have high hopes for it—I lived in a basement apartment with limited sunlight, which wasn’t ideal for me or this plant. But I put it up on my highest windowsill, a place that received light for just a few hours of the day.
To my surprise, the orchid thrived, opening big purple blooms and putting down new roots, apparently unconcerned that it was living in less-than-ideal circumstances.
It was adapting to its environment—since it received such limited sunlight, the plant had begun growing in the direction of the sun, tilting its leaves to catch as much light as possible and blossoming right up against the glass of the window. After a couple months, the orchid was comically lopsided.
But it was also healthy and happy.
I was doing the opposite of what my little flower had done—rather than adapting to my difficult circumstances and finding ways to thrive, I was withering away, insisting that the sunlight better accommodate me. I wasn’t changing myself or my outlook; I was just hoping that my circumstances would change.
Although I no longer live in that same basement apartment, I still have that potted orchid, and it serves as a good reminder—even in a time when I now feel I have more sunlight (metaphorically and literally) in my life, I still need that “change of mind and heart” on a constant basis. I’m still engaged in “a lifelong process of becoming more Christlike through the Atonement of Jesus Christ,”4 and I’m still learning how to find hope and healing, even in the darker times of my life, by reaching for the Savior’s light.

Before homes could be built, the Saints had to cut down the thickets and dig ditches to drain the swamps. Unfortunately they were unaware of the dangerous disease the pesky mosquitoes were carrying. Many workers became ill with malaria, or ague, as it was called then. Before long, hundreds of people in Nauvoo and across the Mississippi River in Montrose, Iowa, were very ill with severe chills and fever, and many were dying.
For a time Joseph and Emma nursed and cared for the sick, but then Joseph also became ill. For several days he lay overcome with the sickness. But on July 22, 1839, Joseph was prompted to arise and extend help to others. Filled with the Spirit of the Lord, he obediently arose and began to administer to the sick staying in his house and to the people in the tent city surrounding his home. Then he moved down to the river where many more lay too sick to move. Joseph went to the door of Brother Henry G. Sherwood’s tent and commanded him, in the name of Jesus Christ, to rise and come out. Brother Sherwood obeyed and was healed.
Elder Heber C. Kimball and others then accompanied the Prophet across the river to Montrose, where they visited the homes of the sick and, using the power of the priesthood, healed them. When Joseph arrived at the home of Elijah Fordham, the man was unconscious and near death. Joseph took Brother Fordham’s hand and said, “Brother Fordham, do you not know me?” There was no response at first, then the leaders could see the Spirit of God resting upon Elijah.
Joseph repeated his question, and Elijah whispered, “Yes!”
Joseph said, “Have you not faith to be healed?”
Elijah answered, “I am afraid it is too late. …”
Joseph asked next, “Do you believe that Jesus is the Christ?”
“I do, Brother Joseph,” Elijah said.
Then the Prophet Joseph said in a loud voice, “Elijah, I command you, in the name of Jesus of Nazareth, to arise and be made whole!”
Elijah Fordham jumped from his bed and was healed!
Wilford Woodruff said, “The words of the Prophet were not like the words of man, but like the voice of God. It seemed to me that the house shook from its foundation.”
After the people recovered, they continued to build the beautiful city on a bend in the Mississippi River and to settle many other outlying cities. Once again the hard work and abilities of the Saints began to pay off, and the towns began to flourish. Soon Nauvoo had many shops and factories, including sawmills, brickyards, printing offices, flour mills, etc. Nauvoo craftsmen also produced matches, leather goods, rope and cord, gloves, bonnets, pottery, jewelry, and watches. Professional associations and schools, including a university, were established. The people also put on plays and held dances and parties.

As a college student, I was taking a class in a large amphitheater classroom. Entering the classroom on one of those first days of the semester, I sat in the very back, far from the professor. As he began writing on the blackboard, and as those around me began taking notes, I realized that I could not see what they could see on the chalkboard. Up until that very moment I had not imagined that I needed glasses. I had not anticipated glasses in my future.
But that experience led me to the optometrist and to a pair of glasses. Suddenly my world improved immensely. I could see many things that I had not been seeing for some time. The world became much more alive for me. I remember asking myself, “Why didn’t I realize before that I needed glasses? How could I have not known that I was not seeing?”

I always tell my granddaughter that tithing is the best money I ever spend.
I remember almost 60 years ago when I got into the tithing habit. I had gone to Chicago to find a job after graduation from college. I had $30 in my pocket, earned from a summer job. In Chicago I could stay with friends from college, and since the cost of living in 1941 was low, I thought I would have enough money.
The first Sunday I attended church in the Chicago area, one of the speakers was a newly returned missionary named Scott Whitaker. He talked convincingly about the importance of paying tithing and bore his testimony about the blessings of keeping that commandment. Although I had been raised in the Church, I had never paid or even thought of paying tithing. But all that changed after that sacrament meeting was over. I calculated how much money I had made during the summer, figured the tithing I owed on it, and with almost all the cash I had left, I paid off my tithing debt. I had barely enough left for bus and train fare, and I didn’t have a job yet.
When I left my family in Ames, Iowa, I was sure that I could make it on my own without asking for financial help from my parents. Now I wasn’t so confident.
Finally, down to my last few nickels, I stopped in the waiting room of Marshall Field’s department store and used a piece of complimentary stationery to write my parents a letter asking for help. I paid three cents for the stamp, and the letter would probably take three days to be delivered. Could I hold out that long?
The next day I received a call from a company that needed some temporary help. (It later turned into a full-time job.) Gleefully I called my dad to tell him, “Never mind! I don’t need any money.”
Since that time I have always had what I needed if I paid my tithing. And that is why I say to my granddaughter, “Rachel, paying tithing is the best money I ever spend. It buys me peace of mind.”

Early in their marriage the Scotts lost two children. A daughter died just before birth, and six weeks later their two-year-old boy died in heart surgery. Hard as it was, “it was a real testimony-strengthening time for us,” says Sister Scott. “We knew it was the will of the Lord. As I look back on it now, I wonder how we were so strong about it. But there are many blessings that come from these sadnesses.”

I am thinking of the kinds of confidence expressed by President Tanner in a story he told in General Conference several years ago. I will relate it in his own words:

Some years ago in Canada I was driving along and had two young men with me in my car, and a young man thumbed a ride with us. I asked the boys who were with me if we should take him with us, and they said yes. I picked him up, and after we had driven along a little way he said, “Do you mind if I smoke in your car?”

I said, “No, not at all if you can give me any good reason why you should smoke.” And I said, “I will go farther than that.” (I was stake president at this time.) “If you can give me a good reason why you should smoke, I will smoke with you.” Well, my two young friends looked at me and wondered.

We drove on for some distance, about twenty minutes, I think, and I turned around and said, “Aren’t you going to smoke?”

And he said, “No.”

I said, “Why not?”

And he said, “I can’t think of a good reason why I should.” [CR, April 1965, p. 93]

I have some health issues that weaken my body and mind, but I am thankful that I can understand and enjoy the New Era articles. Recently I read the February 2008 issue, and I was so impressed with two of the stories that I read them out loud to the rest of the family so they wouldn’t miss out. I really appreciated the articles “Too Fast!” and “What I Learned from Lisa.” They reminded me of an experience when I went to a rental car agency where I had worked 10 years earlier. When I asked if I could test drive a car, the sales manager remembered me and told me that I could drive any car I wanted to. He said, “One thing I remember about you is your integrity and honesty.” I was honored that someone would remember that about me a decade later. I hope I can always be worthy of that type of reputation.

The new learning resources for youth have one central goal: to help youth become converted to the gospel of Jesus Christ. I recently saw a young man in a youth Sunday School class discover truth for himself. When I noticed that he was having difficulty relating the Atonement to his own life, I asked him if he had ever felt forgiveness. He responded: “Yeah, like that time I broke a guy’s nose when we were playing soccer. I felt bad about it. I wondered what I needed to do to feel better. So I went to his home and asked him to forgive me, but I knew I needed to do more, so I prayed, and then I felt that Heavenly Father forgave me too. This is what the Atonement means to me.”
When he shared this experience in class that day, he read from John 3:16—“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son”—and then testified of the power of the Atonement. This doctrine was no longer an abstract concept to this young man. It became part of his life because he asked his own question and then exercised his agency to act.9

It took me many years to learn how well Heavenly Father knows and loves each one of us. And when I finally had a better idea of this, I realized I had some sore repenting to do for the offenses I had caused Randa.
I called her and asked her forgiveness for all the unkind things I had said and done at her expense. She could only remember one time I was cruel. Her memory had been much kinder to me than mine was. She freely forgave me.

Several years ago I taught a beautiful dance education student named Michelle. Michelle had a difficult home life. Her parents had divorced, her father had not maintained contact, and she and her mother had a tenuous relationship. Sometimes Michelle confided in me, expressing deep yearning to feel her parents’ love. As if these challenges were not enough, Michelle was diagnosed with a relentless form of cancer, and the crucible of illness took command of her body. The cancer treatments robbed Michelle of her beautiful, white-blond hair, and, in spite of aggressive treatments, she grew steadily weaker.

But even as her physical body weakened, a transformation of another kind was taking place: Michelle’s very countenance began to change. Although she had previously been reserved and shy, Michelle began to radiate joy and goodness. It was not uncommon to see her somewhere within the halls of the Richards Building, her shiny bald head tied with a big pink bow and her smile the size of Texas! Rather than succumbing to self-pity and fear, Michelle chose to fill her days with joy and laughter, surrounded by those she loved most.

Not long before her death, she told me that, to her amazement and joy, the circumstances of her illness had initiated a healing process for her fractured family. Michelle had placed her trust in the hands of God and was rewarded with the ability to live out her remaining days with a heightened sense of happiness and love. Though she did not find physical healing, Michelle found the spiritual healing and profound joy that come only through Jesus Christ’s healing Atonement.

This is the story of Patrick and Elizabeth Appianti:
Brother Appianti: “After three years in senior high school, I noticed a construction project taking place in my neighborhood where a hospital once stood. Upon enquiring from the workers, I learned they were building a church. A few friends and I decided to attend that church once the project was over. I walked into the premises on a Sunday a few months after the project was finished and met with the missionaries who began teaching the lessons. I was impressed by the power of the Spirit that attended the missionaries and how I felt anytime they visited. After reading the Book of Mormon through to Alma and praying about it, I felt answers to many of the questions I had about religion and decided to be baptized.”

Several years ago I heard a story that I shall not soon forget:
A young man, climbing in some rugged, high mountain peaks, came across an eagle’s nest. The nest contained several eggs. He took one and gently carried it back to his home. He then put it with several eggs an old hen was setting over. In due time all of the eggs were hatched, and there came forth the eaglet with the baby chicks. During the next several months the baby eagle grew along with the chicks. He scratched in the barnyard for his food like chickens do. Although he grew to full size, he still never flew. The young man watched the process with great interest. He wanted the eagle to fly. So one day he took the eagle up on top of his house and said, “Thou art an eagle, fly.” But the eagle just flew down to the barnyard and commenced scratching like the chickens. A few days later, long before sunlight, the young lad took the eagle to a lofty crag high among the mountain peaks. Then, as the first streaks of sunlight burst over the mountain range, he said, “Thou art an eagle, fly.” The eagle began to stretch its wings; its eye caught a shaft of sunlight; a sensation swept through it from wing tip to wing tip. The fresh, cool air, the smell of pine trees, and an exhilaration it had never known coursed through the great bird. Its wings spread wider; power swept through its entire frame. It began to lift off the arm of the young man. Soon it was lifting and soaring hundreds of feet above the high peaks. It lifted higher and higher and soared farther and farther into the endless sky. It saw more in an instant than its earthbound chicken companions saw in a lifetime. From that time forth the eagle was never more content to be a barnyard fowl.

My wife and I, and two of my colleagues and their wives, recently participated in a Jewish Shabbat (Sabbath) at the invitation of a dear friend, Robert Abrams and his wife, Diane, in their New York home.21 It commenced at the beginning of the Jewish Sabbath on a Friday evening. The focus was honoring God as the Creator. It began by blessing the family and singing a Sabbath hymn.22 We joined in the ceremonial washing of hands, the blessing of the bread, the prayers, the kosher meal, the recitation of scripture, and singing Sabbath songs in a celebratory mood. We listened to the Hebrew words, following along with English translations. The most poignant scriptures read from the Old Testament, which are also dear to us, were from Isaiah, declaring the Sabbath a delight,23 and from Ezekiel, that the Sabbath “shall be a sign between me and you, that ye may know that I am the Lord your God.”24

The overwhelming impression from this wonderful evening was of family love, devotion, and accountability to God. As I thought about this event, I reflected on the extreme persecution that the Jews have experienced over centuries. Clearly, honoring the Sabbath has been “a perpetual covenant,” preserving and blessing the Jewish people in fulfillment of scripture.25 It has also contributed to the extraordinary family life and happiness that are evident in the lives of many Jewish people.26