Gospel Story Finder

Two Russian Latter-day Saints who feel prompted to share the gospel with each other eventually marry in the temple.

That same light showed two teenage sisters the way to go on a very frightening day in 1833. An angry mob stormed through the quiet streets of Independence, Missouri, where 15-year-old Mary Elizabeth Rollins and her 13-year-old sister Caroline lived. The terrifying mob was destroying property and burning and rioting. Some of the mobsters broke into the home of Brother William Phelps, where the printing press was located. He had been printing revelations received by the Prophet Joseph Smith. They tore apart the printing press and threw it into the street. They carried the priceless printed pages out of the building, throwing them in a pile in the yard to burn.

Mary Elizabeth and her sister Caroline were hiding behind a fence, trembling as they watched the destruction. Mary knew full well the danger of angry mobs, but in spite of that, she felt the urgency to save those precious pages. The two teenage sisters ran out to the street, grabbed armfuls of the scriptures, and fled. Some of the mob saw this and ordered them to stop as they chased after the courageous sisters. The girls ran into a large cornfield, where they fell breathless to the ground. Between the rows of corn they laid the copies of the revelations on the ground and then spread themselves over the pages. The men were relentless in their search for the girls among the tall cornstalks, coming very near at times, but they never were able to find the girls, and eventually they gave up and left to finish their destruction in the town.

The light of the Lord showed those young women what to do and where to go for safety. That same light shines for you. It can keep you safe as it did them. We have a sculpture of those sisters in the Young Women office to remind us of the courage of young women then and now.

White Thunder He isn’t the leader of the herd, but when men on horseback come to capture it, White Thunder must challenge its leader so that the herd can be led to safety.Dave and Pat Sargent6–8 years

Now that you’ve decided on an experience, grab a pencil and write. What? The words don’t come! So you think that a poem comes from a burst of inspiration. Sometimes it does, but more often it doesn’t. One time a teacher asked me in class, “How long did it take for you to write that poem?” The class gasped when I replied, “About fifteen minutes of actual writing.” But then I went on to explain that the poem dealt with an experience that I had been thinking about intermittently for days, possibly even weeks. The ideas had been mulling around in my mind for countless hours. Isaac Newton, when asked how he made his discoveries, said, “I keep the subject constantly before me and wait till the first dawnings open little by little into the full light.” Poetry usually comes that way.

When I was pregnant with my youngest child, Margaret Blackburn served as our ward Relief Society president. We knew each other only from the little time we shared during meetings at church.
After I delivered my baby, women brought meals that first week, including Margaret, who was older and frail. I was grateful because I had no energy or desire to plan a meal, cook, or shop for ingredients—let alone all three.
After that first week, Margaret continued to bring meals. Whether they were home-cooked meals or leftovers from a ward activity, it didn’t matter to me. It was almost as if she knew that more than I needed someone to hold my baby or clean my home, I needed the blessing of not having to think about what was for dinner.
A short while later, Margaret was released from her calling because of failing health. I didn’t know it at the time, but she had been diagnosed with terminal cancer.
Once I learned of her diagnosis, I knew what I needed to do. I needed to serve her—not because I owed it to her or needed to repay her kindness. Rather, because of her service to me, I had grown to love her.
Margaret had taught me that through service, we truly become connected. When I thought of this incredible woman, my heart ached to think of her pushing a vacuum or sweeping her kitchen floor. So, each week I began visiting her and cleaning her home.
One day while driving home afterward, I became overwhelmed with gratitude that Heavenly Father had orchestrated these charitable opportunities. If Margaret had not served me so diligently, I probably would not have been comfortable making regular visits to her home. I came to cherish that time with her! God knew that by sending her to me in my time of need, the path would be paved for me to serve her in her time of need.
My eyes filled with tears as I realized how perfectly these inspirations and service opportunities had forever linked us.

Currently, my favorite family home evenings are those Monday nights when I shut my door to the world and have my own private time. There is a difference between this activity and just another night at home. It doesn’t seem to matter exactly which worthwhile activity I choose during this time, but an opening prayer is critical. Somehow, the spirit present is different then. I may spend time researching a question in the scriptures or reading about it from books in my personal library. Or I may pursue a cultural activity. What a blessing these evenings can be! Often, the knowledge gained improves the decisions I make.

Gift on the doorstep. I remember the first Christmas my family had when we moved to Australia. I was only seven or eight years old. When we woke up Christmas morning, we were delighted by the gifts our parents had brought with them to Australia. But we were in for a greater surprise. Outside our house on that Christmas morning was a sack of goodies! To this day we don’t know who brought it, and although I don’t remember every gift in the sack, I will always remember the feelings of peace and happiness that washed over me and my family. The sweet sack of goodies taught me a precious lesson—anonymous service brings joy to our souls.Elder Vasu Nephi Chetty, New York New York South Mission

The effects of the Atonement in our lives can also produce in us the example those we love will need. I learned again the other night the example we need to be.
I was chatting with my wife at the end of a long day. Three of our children were in the room, listening. I turned and noticed that one of them was watching me—and watching my face intently. And then he asked me, softly, “Why are you unhappy?” I tried to give a reason for my furrowed brow, but I realized later that he could well have been asking this deeper question: “Can I see in you the hope for peace in this life that Jesus promised?”
To turn my thoughts from what darkened my look to what would brighten it, I went to another letter from Mormon to his son. Both Mormon and Moroni were facing days of difficulty that make my challenges pale. Mormon knew his son might be overcome with gloom and foreboding, so he told him the perfect antidote. He told him that he could choose, by what he put in his mind, to become an example of hope. Here is what he wrote:
“My son, be faithful in Christ; and may not the things which I have written grieve thee, to weigh thee down unto death; but may Christ lift thee up, and may his sufferings and death, and the showing his body unto our fathers, and his mercy and long-suffering, and the hope of his glory and of eternal life, rest in your mind forever” (Moro. 9:25).

Wherever you live, you have seen that miracle of sympathy turned to unselfish action. It may not have been in the wake of a great natural disaster. I have seen it in a priesthood quorum where a brother rises to describe the needs of a man or a woman who seeks an opportunity to work to support himself or herself and his or her family. I could feel sympathy in the room, but some suggested names of people who might employ the person who needed work.
What happened in that priesthood quorum and what happened in the flooded houses in Idaho is a manifestation of the Lord’s way to help those in great need become self-reliant. We feel compassion, and we know how to act in the Lord’s way to help.

“Our next thrilling adventure was one pleasant afternoon as we were slowly traveling along. Suddenly, all the wagons in our company were flying in every direction with lightning speed over the plains. I don’t think the fastest horses could have kept up with our cows. Father sat in the front of the wagon, talking to and whipping his staid, old oxen to keep them going right along. He was afraid the cows might get mixed up with other teams that were running, or might turn around and tip the wagon over with us all in it. We went over hump and bump. Sometimes we would be thrown up so that our heads hit the top of the wagon bows, then we would alight anywhere it happened inside the wagon. Nobody can appreciate the situation without the experience. Again death was staring me in the face and again I covered my head. If I had to be killed I didn’t want to see the process. Mother soon snatched the covering off my head, and when we came to a stop she gave me a thorough lecture to always look out and watch for the best chance for escape.
“Well, after the cattle had run as long as they could they stopped. There were several accidents, and a woman was killed. She was knocked down and trampled to death. She left a family of children. How we all dreaded stampedes—there is something dreadful in a lot of panic-stricken cattle. Even human beings are not responsible when fright overcomes reason.”

When I was in the mission field, the Church didn’t have the satellite system, and the country where I served did not have broadcasts of general conference. My mother sent me audiotapes of the sessions, and I listened to them over and over again. I grew to love the voices and the words of the prophets and apostles.

Amy trudged along the sidewalk, dragging her hand across the slats of the wooden fence that surrounded Sister Pedersen’s yard. It’s not fair, she thought. Why do I have to stay indoors reading the newspaper to an old blind lady while everyone else is going to the movies with Emily. And how can I ever be Emily’s friend if I can’t go to the movie with her?
Grudgingly Amy walked up the steps to Sister Pedersen’s house and knocked on the door.
The door swung open, and there stood eighty-year-old Sister Pedersen.
“It’s me, Amy, Sister Pedersen.”
“Come on in, Amy, and sit down here in this armchair. I believe in taking care of business first. Shall I pay you each day you come?” Sister Pedersen asked, opening her purse.
“No, ma’am. Mother said that I shouldn’t take money for reading to you. In family home evening we agreed to work on serving others, and you’re my assignment.”
Sister Pedersen snapped her purse shut, nodded her head, and said, “You may read to me now.”
Amy struggled through reading the newspaper’s front-page articles. She wondered how anyone could consider this a pleasure.
After about forty-five minutes, Sister Pedersen interrupted, “Let’s stop now, Amy. Do you like treasures?”
“I suppose so. What kind of treasures?”
“Follow me, and you’ll see,” Sister Pedersen told her.
“This is my treasure room,” Sister Pedersen announced, as she guided Amy into a small room with several cabinets filled with collectibles: red goblets, silk flowers in painted vases, tiny dolls in native costumes, crystal paperweights, and bright blue plates. “It’s like an antique shop!” she exclaimed, rushing from one cabinet to another to peer at the treasures.
“You probably wonder why a blind lady keeps so many ornaments,” Sister Pedersen said. “When I touch the smooth glass objects or the soft silk fabrics, my fingers experience beauty.”
Amy watched the old lady gently rub a delicate bird fashioned of blown glass. She traced the china roses on a pink vase. Then she picked up a crystal ball etched with an intricate pattern.
“Go ahead. Touch them, Amy,” Sister Pedersen coaxed.
Fascinated by the beauty of the bird, Amy timidly picked it up from the table. It was a swan with its neck arched proudly and its wings spread wide, ready to take flight.
“This swan is wonderful!” Amy whispered.
“A glassblower made it for me when I was very young. He created that lovely bird from liquid glass, and then let me feel all the glass figures in his store. Since that day, whenever I touch my swan, I know that I, too, have ‘seen’ beauty. Now, you look around, and don’t be afraid to handle everything. I’ll go prepare some refreshments for us. I remember how hungry young people are after school.”
Amy held the swan and imagined herself a young blind girl. Hearing sounds of laughter outside, she set the swan down and leaned over the table to look out the window. Emily and all her friends were returning from the movie. Amy didn’t feel as bad about missing it as she thought she would. As she turned away from the window, Amy’s hand accidentally bumped the swan, knocking it to the floor. She quickly picked up the pieces and frantically put them into her pocket.
Sister Pedersen called, “Come downstairs, Amy, and have some biscuits and milk. Then you’d better hurry home, or your mother might not let you come again.”
Amy gulped down her snack nervously. She was too afraid to say anything about the broken glass swan. She said good-bye and quickly left the house.
What should I do? she wondered. I can’t go back, no matter what Mother says. As Amy shut the gate, she looked up and saw Sister Pedersen waving to her. It made her feel worse, somehow.
Walking home from school the next day, Amy passed Sister Pedersen’s house and sighed with relief. At least she wasn’t supposed to read to Sister Pedersen until next week. But she still felt awful, and when she got home, she emptied a container of all the money she had saved and counted it carefully. “I hope it’s enough,” she muttered as she went to find her mother.
After school Monday, Amy slowly approached Sister Pedersen’s house, clutching a white box. When the door opened, she said, “It’s Amy, Sister Pedersen.”
“Come in, Amy. I didn’t think this was the day for your visit, but you’re welcome any time.”
After they sat down, Amy carefully opened the box and placed the new swan in Sister Pedersen’s hands. Swallowing nervously, Amy said, “This is a replacement for the one that I broke. I’m awfully sorry. It was an accident.”
“It’s all right, Amy. I heard it break. I’m glad that you told me, though,” Sister Pedersen said, adding, “I’m sure this bird cost you quite a lot of money, and I want you to keep it and enjoy its beauty. You have given me something more important. You have been an honest and good friend.”
When she left to go home, Amy happily turned at the gate to call good-bye to Sister Pedersen, her new friend, who stood in the doorway, waving.

Speaking many years ago in general conference, I told of a phrase that entered my mind as I wondered if I was prepared to serve a mission. The phrase was “You don’t know everything, but you know enough!”9 A young woman sitting in general conference that day told me that she was praying over a proposal for marriage, wondering how well she knew the young man. When I spoke the words “You don’t know everything, but you know enough,” the Spirit confirmed to her that she did know him well enough. They have been happily married for many years.

I know how you feel. My brother drinks and smokes. I didn’t know what to do. I thought a long time about it and prayed. I decided to go to my parents. They confronted him, and he has stopped drinking. Try praying, fasting, and talking it over with your parents.
Name withheld

Our Dog What happens when Mom and son take their dog for a walk is funny—and so is what happens when they get home.Helen Oxenbury3–6 years

It was another day of work in the mission field. My companion and I couldn’t catch any of our investigators, nobody let us in when we knocked on doors, and I was pretty frustrated by the end of the day. When we came home to our apartment for the night, I was upset that nobody talked to us, and I felt it was my fault, even though there really wasn’t anything more I could have done.
As I thought about this, I went into the bathroom and saw the picture of Christ my companion and I had taped to the mirror. I looked at it and smiled. I felt Christ’s love wash over me. In spite of my weaknesses, I’d tried my best, and Christ knew my effort and what I was going through.
I’ve often reflected on that experience, and I’ve resolved to always post a picture of Christ on my mirror, reminding me that as I do my best, no matter how “little” that effort may appear, I can still stand before my Savior and smile, knowing He loves me and accepts me for who I am.

Thirty-three years ago, as a young boy, I received the ordinance of baptism. The baptizer was my father, Samuel E. Otuonye, who had just found the new faith and embraced it with the greatest joy. Though we had no full-time missionaries posted in our area then, as the Church was relatively new, I saw my father proselyting from home-to-home sharing the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. As a farmer, he would gather us, his children, for a service to those he was sharing the gospel with. The Church was very far from us, and my father would use his motorcycle to carry the investigators three to four times every Sunday to church and bring them back in the same manner.

During our family home evening or family council, he would always emphasize that all his sons would serve a full-time mission eventually. It was very easy for me and my other siblings to make the decision to serve a mission when it was time. We are all happy today for the good example of my father as we were growing.

In April of 2000, I was called to serve in the Ghana Accra Mission. It became the greatest opportunity for me to show my love, share my beliefs and invite others to join me to come unto Christ. Four of my siblings have also served in various missions.

As she lay in bed, Julia thought back to the twins’ baptisms. They had been asked to sing a duet for the baptismal program. Julia remembered how nervous they had looked when they first got up in front of everyone. But they had squeezed each other’s hand for courage and had sung “Love One Another” beautifully.

Kirtland, Ohio, was a busy place. In 1832 the Lord had told Joseph Smith to build the first temple in modern times, and now everyone had a job to do. Men dug trenches and built walls. Children helped their mothers at home and carried lunch to the workers. A 10-year-old boy named Asa drove a team of oxen that pulled a wagon filled with big stones from the quarry to the temple site.
When the temple was finally finished, 1,000 people came to hear the Prophet Joseph Smith dedicate it. Some people saw angels and heard them singing. The first temple in the latter days was complete!

Young women in the Kathmandu Branch in the New Delhi India Mission participated in their first New Beginnings program in April 2010. Five young women and their mothers were present as the branch presidency, the Young Women president, and other youth leaders offered inspirational counsel. The young women were taught about the Personal Progress program, accomplishing their goals with the help of their families, and the importance of building and strengthening their personal testimonies.