Gospel Story Finder

Crack!
“Oops …”
“Ah! Why me?!?”
“Mami, what’s wrong?”
“Abuela is sick.”
“Why is everything so hard? Why are so many bad things happening?”
“I think we could both use a walk.”
“Oh, Eduardo, it’s going to be OK. But remember what the Lord says: ‘Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee’ (Isaiah 41:10).”
“Will Abuela get better?”
“I hope so, but I also believe that Heavenly Father knows what’s best.”
“Thanks, Mami. I needed that.”

“On the first day we asked our reading and writing students what they wanted to study after they had completed the course, and they all said they wanted to read the scriptures. One of my students in Cacalotepec also said she wanted to learn how to read so she could lead the singing better. In fact, there were three other song leaders from Cacalotepec who had all come to learn so they could better fill their Church callings.
“At our farewell party each of us bore testimony to our thankfulness and love for the people. One girl got up and with almost uncontrollable tears thanked us for the work we were doing. She told us that we were making her branch better. She said that you can’t progress if you can’t read the scriptures and the words of the prophets. Then she expressed her amazement that we would come here on our vacations and work with the people when we could stay home and have an enjoyable time. Words just couldn’t express to her how much we had learned and gained from her village and that it was the best summer vacation I have ever spent.”
Betty LeiningerGreenbrae, California

The next day we visited St. Catwg’s church and we were met by Father Powell and his lay reader Carolynn Corbin, who showed us around this very impressive 2,000-year-old building. While chatting, my brother Richard discovered miracle number nine that Carolynn was a Parry and quite likely a very close cousin of ours. We exchanged emails and discovered that we did indeed have a common ancestor. This led to a wonderful afternoon tea and the uniting of another branch of Welsh and American lines. After just a few minutes with this family we knew we had met before.

Susy went to church after her Primary teacher invited her. Susy’s mom and dad did not go to church, but every Sunday they drove her there. Susy liked Primary.
One day Susy was outside playing dolls with her next-door neighbor Mary. When they went home for lunch, the girls left the dolls there. Later that afternoon the girls returned to get their dolls. But Susy’s doll was missing. She looked and looked, but could not find it. After supper she came back to look for it again. Still, she could not find it.
Then Susy remembered what her Primary teacher had told her about Heavenly Father and how He loves all His children and will answer their prayers. Susy decided to kneel and ask Heavenly Father to help her find the doll. When she stood up, she had a feeling that she should look behind the tallest pine tree. Sure enough, the doll was there! Susy ran quickly home to tell her mother that she had prayed and found the missing doll.
“Maybe I should go to church and learn how to pray to Heavenly Father, too,” her mother said. Susy’s mom and dad did go to church. And her mother learned how to pray to Heavenly Father and was baptized and confirmed a member of the Church.

Karla taught me many important lessons. Half the time she didn’t realize it. She never preached or condemned or lectured. She taught by example. The way she lived, the words she spoke, all she did helped me to think about myself, about my own life. I was a bit rebellious by nature when I first met her, but slowly that changed. I began to consider the reality of serving a mission. I hadn’t made up my mind yet to go, so that was quite a big step.
The most important lesson I learned through her came in early January that same school year. I had just flown back to Utah after Christmas vacation. Karla’s family picked me up from the airport in Salt Lake City on Saturday. I stayed at their home that night, since her parents had offered to drive us to school the next day after church.
Early Sunday afternoon following church, I found myself sitting on the living room sofa, waiting to leave and reading the comics from the morning paper. Karla’s eight-year-old brother came in, sat down across from me, and opened his Book of Mormon.
“Hi,” he said simply, and started to read.
“What are you reading?” I looked up and asked.
“Nephi,” he replied. “I’m reading it myself.”
“Good for you.” I tried to think if I had ever attempted to read scripture when I was so young. “How many times have you read the Book of Mormon?” I asked, half joking.
His answer put me in my place.
“Twice,” he responded, “with my family.” Then he turned the tables. “How many times have you read it?”
I felt foolish. I hadn’t ever read it. “Well, I’ve started it a few times,” I mumbled. Karla was sitting next to me. Her mother was close by as well. I knew they wouldn’t judge me, but that didn’t lessen my uneasiness. Here I was, three months away from being 19 years old, and I had yet to read a book that I had testified to be true. This eight-year-old child was on his third round. I knew nobody was keeping score, but I was very humbled. If I was going to go on a mission, what kind of missionary would I be if I hadn’t even read the Book of Mormon?
That night, back at the dorm and in bed, I opened the book and began to read. I literally could not put it down. Moroni’s introduction, the testimonies of the witnesses, Joseph Smith’s testimony, First Nephi, and on and on. Each word called to me, strengthened me. I could feel a great spiritual power begin to flow into my life. I knew it was true, I had felt it before, and now the feeling grew stronger. Not quite two weeks later I read the parting words of Moroni and closed the book. I had done it! Tears of joy filled my eyes. I knelt down and thanked my Heavenly Father.
After my mission I lost touch with Karla, but I never forgot the lessons she taught me. Through her and her little brother, the Lord inspired me in ways I can never repay. Most importantly, I learned it is never too early or too late to read the Book of Mormon. And then, read it again and again.

I probably would have been a Mormon years before if Boyd had asked the question right.
To his credit, he’d done all the right things—he’d dragged me along to stake dances, to firesides, and even to church a few times. But after all those months of preparation, and after he’d finally built up the courage to pop the big question, he asked: “Do you want to hear the missionary discussions?”
I had no idea what he was talking about.
“Don’t you have to be a Mormon to do that?” I asked, guessing that missionary discussions were intended to get young folks ready to go on missions.
“No,” Boyd said.
I had no idea what I was turning down when I said, “Uh … I guess not.”
Boyd’s not to blame. He was a good friend and a good Mormon. The only trouble was, he was speaking Mormonese—a language most people do not understand. Eventually, I did join the Church thanks to his and others’ good influence. But from their actions, I’ve learned a few things about being friends to those not of our faith which might help you teach your friends a little about the gospel.

It was bedtime. But Sam wasn’t sleepy yet.
“Tell me an adventure, Mommy,” he said. “Tell me about when you were little.”
“OK,” Mommy said. She stroked his hair. She thought for a while.
“When I was little,” Mommy said, “we loved to build pretend towns. We made houses out of blankets and chairs. My brothers and sisters all had pretend jobs.”
“What was your job?” Sam asked.
“I ran the store. We made coins out of paper. You could buy food and newspapers. We loved playing together in our town.”
“What else did you do?” Sam asked.
“One time we built a zoo for our town. We used our stuffed animals.”
Sam held out his teddy bear. “Like this?”
“Just like that,” Mommy said. “People could come see the zoo.”
Sam snuggled his teddy bear. “Tell me more, Mommy.”
“We also wrote letters to each other. We put them in pretend mailboxes. Your uncle was the mailman. He brought the mail to our houses. It was fun to get letters.”
Sam wanted to write a letter! Maybe he could write one tomorrow.
“Sometimes we argued,” Mommy said. “But we said sorry and tried again. We learned to get along and have fun.”
“Like me and Ava,” Sam said.
“Yes,” Mommy said. “Just like that. You are learning to get along too.”
“That was a good story,” Sam said. “Will you tell me another adventure tomorrow?”
“Yes,” said Mommy. “I’ll tell you about when your daddy was little.”
Mommy kissed Sam. She tucked his blankets closer.
“Good night,” Sam said. Then he closed his eyes and thought about zoos and towns and paper coins.

With the trusting nature of a child, four-year-old Chitalu Kennedy from Lusaka, Zambia ran into the open arms of Jesus! The moment was later captured on canvas by Latter-day Saint artist Liz Lemon Swindle in a heartwarming painting entitled Worth of a Soul. Since 2008, this painting has found a place in our hearts. We see the Savior draw this young, trusting child to Him. As we look into this young child’s eyes it may really be ourselves that we see. If we allow the Spirit in, it will testify that it is really each one of us that is cradled in His arms.
Kennedy was orphaned when both parents passed passed away from undiagnosed diseases just a couple of months apart. They left behind eight cherished children, the youngest just three weeks old. The lives of Kennedy and his brothers and sisters were forever changed. The emptiness and loss robbed him of hope. That feeling would follow him for many years. His Spirit craved acceptance, love and belonging.
Two years after his parents’ passing, on a sunny day in Lusaka West, Zambia at the Mothers Without Borders Children’s Center, where Kennedy and some of his siblings were being cared for, a man portraying the Savior arrived with the artist and a photographer where an environment was created with the desire to photograph African children with the Savior so that a much-needed painting could be created.
Kennedy was then four years old. With the innocence of a child, and fully believing this man to be the Savior, he broke loose from the grip of his sister Bridget’s hand and ran toward him. He jumped into his outstretched arms. Throughout the day, Kennedy rarely left his side. Was the Spirit whispering to him that something here was familiar?
As a young orphan, Kennedy depended on others for survival. Prior to being brought to the children’s center, he and his siblings were scattered among relatives. As with most experiences in life, some of the times were good, some desperate. Throughout it all, and despite separation from each other, the siblings remain bonded together. His older brother Bwalya was ever present in his life and took on the role of father and protector even though he was only two years older than Kennedy.
Kennedy was introduced to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints when he was nine and became a baptized member at the age of eleven. Five siblings were also baptized.
As a young teenager, life became difficult for Kennedy when no funds were available for his continued housing, food and much desired education. It was at this time that BJ Warnick, Sandra Peters, and Anthony Mulenga—who had all known Kennedy since he was four—were able to take him into their care. Through their Heart to Hands Foundation, he and Bwalya were immediately adopted into their flock. While it was obvious that Kennedy needed the basics required for daily survival, what he really needed was hope and love and they had plenty of that to offer. Kennedy said while he was not officially adopted, it was even better. He now had two moms. With his new family’s help, he was able to complete grade twelve, obtain a driver’s license and complete auto mechanic school. Again, he was wrapped in the arms of his Savior, but it was through the acts of others. Kennedy remarked, “I don’t know who I would have become without the continual love of my enlarged family and friends who have dedicated so much time to me.”
It was a year ago that Kennedy made the decision to serve a mission and to become those arms of the Savior for others. His ‘better than adopted family’, his brother Bwalya and his determined Bishop Michael Simbeya in the Libala Ward helped him prepare. While at the Ghana MTC, before departing to the Kenya Nairobi mission, miracles occurred and he was able to attend the temple and take part not only in his father’s ordinance work, but also to participate in the sealing of his parents and finally his sealing to them for time and all eternity.
Now, as Elder Chitalu, in the mission office he met Sister Stacie Sturt, mission leader for Kenya Nairobi West Mission. She captured this beautiful photo of Elder Kennedy Chitalu standing in front of the picture of his much younger self, cradled in the arms of his Savior. Now he wears a name tag as a representative of Jesus Christ. It is his turn to wrap his arms around others and help bring them to Christ. He testifies: “I know and stand as a solemn witness that Jesus Christ is our Savior, and I know that His Atonement has healing power for all kinds of afflictions”.

1849–1919
“I esteem it a great privilege to … help in the [spreading] of the gospel.”
She lived in Norway. She was a widow, and she raised two sons.
She learned the gospel from a shoemaker. When he repaired her shoes, he put a Church pamphlet in each one. She was baptized in the sea.
She served a mission in Scandinavia. Her son John became an Apostle.
Anna C. Widtsoe letter, Salt Lake City, Utah, to Joseph F. Smith, June 6, 1903, Church History Library, Salt Lake City, Utah, USA.

How do you feel when you express gratitude to another? I’d like to express gratitude to someone who cares about my grandchildren. A few months ago, while visiting in Texas, I asked six-year-old Thomas to tell me about his bishop. He said, “Oh, Grandmother, you will know him. He wears a dark suit, a white shirt like Papa, and he has shiny shoes and a red tie. He wears glasses and always has a smile.” I recognized Thomas’s bishop as soon as I saw him. My heart was filled with gratitude for him. Thank you, Bishop Goodman, and thank you, all you wonderful bishops.

An inspiring funeral was held for eighteen-year-old John Anderson. John was a remarkable young man who courageously battled muscular dystrophy and lost. He was confined to a wheelchair during his Aaronic Priesthood years.

Conspicuous at the funeral were devoted members of his priests quorum. John’s influence upon his quorum was profound, and yet he never played a football game, nor went camping with them, nor danced, nor did any of the usual teenage activities. It was his faith and commitment to the Church that touched his quorum members. And something else—John provided his quorum with an opportunity to serve with love.

When John was a deacon, he wanted to pass the sacrament. One boy was assigned to push his wheelchair while John held the tray on his lap. It seemed awkward at first, but soon others were anxious to help him perform his priesthood duty.

By the time John was ordained a priest, he was very weak and could not kneel to bless the sacrament. His quorum found a solution. They placed his wheelchair next to the sacrament table. One would break the bread, then kneel for him, by the wheelchair, and hold a microphone while John pronounced those sacred words. To do this for their brother soon became an honor for each one in the quorum.

They enthusiastically followed his leadership as first assistant in the priests quorum. Because John was unable to realize his dream of becoming an Eagle Scout, the priests raised money to buy a special achievement plaque which was given to him in sacrament meeting. It read: “Presented to John Anderson for outstanding service to your quorum and for being a great example to us all.”

Over the years, the young men in John’s quorum enjoyed many fun activities, but none had greater impact or taught them more about magnifying their priesthood callings and loving each other than this choice experience they shared with their friend John.

Elder Cuthbert and his family are converts to the Church. “We were baptized on a January evening in 1951,” he said, “and we didn’t have a beautiful chapel such as those located in many parts of the world. Our meeting place was in an old house, where the missionaries had constructed a baptismal font under the floorboards. My family was among the first group to be baptized in the font. We were very happy and excited and had been looking forward to our baptism, because each of us knew it was what Heavenly Father and Jesus wanted us to do. Although it was a very cold evening, we felt warm as we went into the font.
“After our baptism and confirmation, we had an even warmer feeling because we knew we had been baptized into the Lord’s true church. It helped us to start again and to feel clean and pure.”

A young man once walked the foggy streets in London, England, carrying a brightly burning lamp. An old man approached him, saying, “I will pay you if you can guide me to my hotel.” The young man lifted his lamp and took the older man to the appointed location. When they arrived the young man received not one, but three payments, because two other men who were lost had also followed the light through the fog.
“The light that we shine will be seen by the people around us, often without our knowing it,” says Sister Julie Jacobs, relating one of her favorite stories from the Ster, the Church’s International Magazine in the Netherlands.

We are grateful to our Heavenly Father for the blessings of attending self-reliance group meetings.
Before I attended the self-reliance group meetings, I was into a small-scale business and I could not separate my capital from the profit. I usually added up everything together, making it impossible to determine if there had been any profit. During the self-reliance group meetings, I was able to learn the principle of budgeting which has helped me to put my costs in order as I now know what to buy first and what to forgo, i.e., my needs, versus my wants, as well as the important principle of tithing.
The principles I learned in self-reliance have been helpful in my workplace in so many ways, such as helping me know how to manage my salary through effective budgeting as I try to spend wisely, organize myself by creating a balance in my life, as well as helping me to be spiritually and financially self-reliant.
Currently, I am gainfully employed through a referral I got from the office of the Welfare and Self-Reliance Services in Benin City.
I testify that the Church is true, and I know that self-reliance will bless us as we participate in any of the group meetings because it has really blessed my life.

Recently, I was at home with my 4-year-old daughter, Romana, and we were both in my bedroom. I left the bedroom and went to the living room, leaving her alone in the bedroom. A few minutes later, I called out to her: “Romana, you are alone in the bedroom, come to the living room to be with me and your dolls.”

Without hesitating, she replied: “Mom, I am not alone, God is with me! We are never alone, remember?” I was so touched to hear my little girl saying those words. A few days earlier, during our family study, my husband and I had taught our children that our Heavenly Father and our Savior are always with us, despite our weaknesses and challenges. We are never alone!

I was introduced to the Church in the beginning of 2018. I loved learning from the missionaries, and when they told me about the importance of family history and temple work, I wasn’t surprised. I already knew that there was something important about learning about and serving family members who had gone before.
Elder Dale G. Renlund of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles explained:
“Family history and temple work is not only for the dead but blesses the living as well. …
“… This is far more than an encouraged hobby, because the ordinances of salvation are necessary for all of God’s children.”1
In hearing this, I was excited to keep learning about the gospel and to eventually do temple work for my ancestors and connect with them more.
On November 1, 2018, my family and I visited my grandma’s memorial. I had known her well all my life, and I missed her since she had passed away. I was still learning about the Church at the time, and I was pretty positive that my grandma would have disagreed with and discouraged my interest in the Church if she were alive. She had been very traditional in her religion.
So I was surprised when, while standing in front of her grave and praying for her, I got the distinct impression that she already knew the truths of the gospel of Jesus Christ. I felt that she was proud of me because I had the opportunity to live my life according to the Savior’s example.
I was stunned.
The missionaries had recently taught me that those who are on the other side of the veil have opportunities to learn about the gospel if they didn’t have a chance to learn about it on the earth (see Doctrine and Covenants 138:22–24). Somehow I knew my grandma had been taught these truths and was ready to accept the gospel. I knew she needed my help to get her temple work done.
And to do that work, I needed to get baptized myself.
I had been contemplating if I truly wanted to become a member of the Church of Jesus Christ for a while. And it was this experience at my grandma’s grave that led me to finally set up a baptismal date with the missionaries.

I also often spent time in the homes of my two uncles as I played with my cousins. I especially liked being there when it was time for family prayer. Uncle Carl was a farmer. When he prayed, he concentrated on really talking to Heavenly Father, thanking Him for his many blessings and humbly pleading for moisture for the crops. Uncle Angus was the father of six lively boys, and he prayed for the guidance and protection of his sons. When these two men prayed, I knew that Heavenly Father was listening. I got the same warm feeling while kneeling in family prayer with them that I did while on my grandpa’s lap listening to scripture stories.

More than once I have repeated an experience I had in getting my portrait painted.
In the temple on the fourth floor is the room of the Council of the Twelve Apostles with large chairs in a semicircle. Here important meetings of that body are held. Around its walls are portraits of the Brethren. When I came to this service, I looked upon them with admiration and affection, for these were truly great men with whom I was associated.
Sometime later authorization was given by the First Presidency of the Church for my portrait to be added to the others.
Lee Greene Richards was selected as the artist, and we began immediately. I sat on a chair on an elevated platform in his studio and tried very hard to look handsome, like some of the other brethren. With paints, brushes, and palette ready, the artist scrutinized my features and daubed on the canvas alternately. I returned many times to the studio. After weeks the portrait was exhibited to the First Presidency and later to my wife and daughter.
It did not pass, and I was to submit to a redoing.
The angle was changed, the hours—many of them—were spent, and finally the portrait was near completion. This particular day was a busy one like most others. I suppose I was daydreaming, and quite detached from this world. Apparently he had difficulty translating my faraway gaze onto the canvas. I saw the artist lay down his palette and paints, fold his arms, and look straight at me, and I was shocked out of my dreaming by the abrupt question: “Brother Kimball, have you ever been to heaven?”
My answer seemed to be a shock of equal magnitude to him as I said without hesitation: “Why, yes, Brother Richards, certainly. I had a glimpse of heaven just before coming to your studio.” I saw him assume a relaxed position and look intently at me, with wonder in his eyes. I continued:
“Do you believe in heaven, Brother Artist?” I asked. “Yes, that is it. Heaven is a place, but also a condition; it is home and family. It is understanding and kindness. It is interdependence and selfless activity. It is quiet, sane living; personal sacrifice, genuine hospitality, wholesome concern for others. It is living the commandments of God without ostentation or hypocrisy. It is selflessness. It is all about us. We need only to be able to recognize it as we find it and enjoy it. Yes, my dear brother, I’ve had many glimpses of heaven.”
I straightened up in my chair and posed again. The artist picked up his palette and brushes and paints, did some touching up of the portrait, and sighed contentedly as he said, “It is completed.”
In due time it was placed with those of others of the Brethren in the Council of the Twelve room on the fourth floor of the Salt Lake Temple, where it hangs to this day.

I had planned to go to the temple in December 2017 but ended up postponing the trip. My husband was not ready to go without someone else to go with us. I fasted everyday but after a few months I became sick. All reports were normal, but the doctor recommended complete bedrest. I couldn’t understand what was wrong. I felt that perhaps I was not worthy. I continued to read the scriptures and prayed, but still felt bad. One Sunday I felt especially alone and even left church after taking the sacrament.
At last I met with my stake president and he said, “Sister Mahana you are a strong pillar; you never give up because you have a treasure of miracles.” I realized that he was right, I was fighter and I was a daughter of God. So, I read the scriptures more than before. In October of 2017, I accepted President Nelson’s 85-day challenge to read the Book of Mormon. As soon as I started reading the Book of Mormon, one by one my problems were solved. One month later I received a new calling. I fulfilled that calling faithfully and finished reading the Book of Mormon too. I met with the stake president on 27 January 2018 and we decided that I would go to the temple in April 2019. It felt so good to hear that I was finally going to the temple. This time I felt I couldn’t wait. I realized that what the stake president said was true, that I did have a treasure of miracles because I am totally changed. I have received many blessings, both spiritual and temporal. On 21 April 2019 we left for the temple. I am grateful for this trial. It has taught me more patience and given me more knowledge of spiritual things.

From the time I was eight years old until I was fifteen, my parents owned and operated a flower shop. It was a family business, and everyone in the family—my parents; my older sister, Pat; my younger brother, Steve; and I—helped in either the shop or the greenhouse. We all helped in delivering the orders.
During the spring, I transplanted flowers in the greenhouse after school and on Saturdays. Another of my responsibilities was to water all the flowers and green potted plants in the large showroom. My father also worked for the railroad, so while he was gone during the day, my mother operated the shop. Holidays were very busy times in the shop. We often worked long into the night, getting orders ready.
Every summer my parents closed the flower shop for two weeks so that we could go on a family vacation. We often went to Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming. One year we visited a redwood forest in northern California.
When I was about twelve, my parents planned the most exciting trip of all! My father ordered a new car from Detroit, then scheduled his vacation for the following summer, when it would be ready. Our plan was to take the train to Detroit, pick up the car, drive east to New York City and Washington, D.C., and then drive home. We were all very excited that whole year as we planned the trip. By the time school was out for summer vacation, we could not think or talk about anything else.
One day, about two weeks before we were to leave, Dad came home from work with a worried look on his face, and I knew that something was bothering him. He told us that some unexpected things had come up at his office. He would not be able to leave, and we could not take the vacation we had planned. It was hard to believe what we were hearing, and the disappointment was almost more than we could bear. Dad said that Mother, my older sister, and my aunt would take the train to Detroit and pick up the car. I would have to stay home to take care of Steve, who was eight.
At first I felt it was unfair that I should be the one to stay home, but my father explained that my sister, who was then sixteen, could help Mother with the driving, and I was needed to help with my brother. I felt an ache in my heart that I didn’t think would ever go away.
One day after my mother and sister had been gone about a week, Steve was playing with some of his friends in the field up the street. They had made a fire and put a can of water on it. One of the boys accidentally kicked the can, and the boiling water splashed all over Steve’s stomach, burning him badly.
For the next week, I sat with him as he lay on the couch, unable to move. I found things to do with him that helped to get his mind off his pain. We played lots of games. One of our favorites was Fish, a card game. I also read to him. My father told me how thankful he was to have me there. I found that I was no longer thinking about my disappointment; instead, I was thinking about how I could help my brother feel better. And the ache in my heart was gone.
Dad surprised us at the end of the week—the three of us got on the train for Denver, where we would meet my mother, aunt, and sister. I will never forget seeing my brother stretched out on the train seat, unable to sit up because the burn on his stomach had still not healed. For a few days, we stayed with my uncle who lived in Denver; then the six of us drove home in our new car. Even though the trip was shorter and less scenic than a trip to the East Coast, it was enjoyable because our family was all together.
Giving up the trip to Detroit, New York City, and Washington, D.C., was a very difficult experience for me, yet I knew how much it meant to my brother to have me there. I understood why my family needed me to stay home, and it gave me a good feeling to know that I was needed and that I had chosen the right. My brother and I became very close through this experience. We found that we enjoyed spending time together long after he recovered from the burn. As adults, we are still close.