Gospel Story Finder

Countless are the acts of service provided by the vast army of Relief Society visiting teachers. A few years ago I heard of two of them who aided a grieving widow, Angela, the granddaughter of a cousin of mine. Angela’s husband and a friend of his had gone snowmobiling and had become victims of suffocation through a snowslide. Each of them left a pregnant wife—in Angela’s case, their first child, and in the other case, a wife not only expecting a child but also the mother of a toddler. In the funeral held for Angela’s husband, the bishop reported that upon hearing of the tragic accident, he had gone immediately to Angela’s home. Almost as soon as he arrived, the doorbell sounded. The door was opened, and there stood Angela’s two visiting teachers. The bishop said he watched as they so sincerely expressed to Angela their love and compassion. The three women cried together, and it was apparent that these two fine visiting teachers cared deeply about Angela. As perhaps only women can, they gently indicated—without being asked—exactly what help they would be providing. That they would be close by as long as Angela needed them was obvious. The bishop expressed his deep gratitude in knowing they would be a real source of comfort to her in the days ahead.

In Lewis Carroll’s classic Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Alice finds herself coming to a crossroads with two paths before her, each stretching onward but in opposite directions. She is confronted by the Cheshire Cat, of whom she asks, “Which path shall I take?”
The cat answers: “That depends where you want to go. If you do not know where you want to go, it doesn’t really matter which path you take!”

When Lisa Berkle of the Whittier Third Ward, Whittier California Stake, saw that her school newspaper was doing a series on cults, she decided to take advantage of an opportunity to show the truth about the gospel. As a member of the journalism staff, she got permission to do an article on the subject “Is Mormonism a cult?”
The article was a popular one, and Lisa learned a lot researching it. She is now at Ricks College, and is preparing to serve a mission.

The note was written on blue paper with zigzags drawn around the corners, so even though Jeremy handed it to her, Melanie knew the note was from Rachel. Melanie glanced around. Reading time was over, and her classmates were putting away their books.
Melanie knew how the note would start: “Dear Best Friend.” She smiled to herself. She and Rachel had been friends since second grade. “We’re still best friends, even though we’re very different,” Melanie thought as she unfolded the note.
Dear Best Friend,
Do you smoke?
—Rachel
Melanie was surprised. “Rachel and I are together all the time,” she thought. “Doesn’t she know I don’t smoke?”
She wrote on the bottom of the paper:
No. I think it’s gross. Why do you want to know?
—Melanie
Melanie handed the note back to Jeremy. Soon he passed it back again. Melanie read:
I snuck a pack of cigarettes from my aunt’s house. Do you want to try some with me after school?
—Rachel
Melanie stared at the note. Then she wrote:
Rachel! Why do you want to smoke? It’s bad for you! I know you like to try new things, but I don’t want to see you get hurt.
—Melanie
Rachel wrote back:
A few cigarettes aren’t going to hurt me. I might not even finish the whole pack.
—Rachel
Melanie felt like she was going to cry. She wrote:
You’re my friend, and I love you. Don’t smoke.
—Melanie
Melanie watched Rachel as she read the note. Now Rachel looked like she was going to cry. She held onto the note for a long time. Then she wrote back. When Melanie got the note, she read:
Thanks. I love you too. I won’t smoke the cigarettes.
Melanie was grateful she had chosen to be an example. She felt relieved that Rachel had made the right choice.

I remember the feeling of sinking into the chair in my bishop’s office. I felt hopeless and lost. What I had dedicated years of preparation to—what I had spent so long hoping for—was gone.
After many discussions with my bishop, stake president, and mental health professionals, we decided that because of my ongoing mental health issues, I would not be able to serve a teaching mission. The mental pictures I had painted of myself wearing a name tag, knocking on doors, riding bikes, and attending zone conferences couldn’t become reality.
With a broken heart, I remember asking my bishop, “Does the Lord want me? Do I still have a place in His work?”
He assured me that I did. And since that conversation, I’ve learned there are so many ways I can help build the Lord’s kingdom on the earth.
Elder John C. Pingree Jr. of the Seventy once asked: “Have you ever wondered if Heavenly Father has a work for you? Are there important things He has prepared you—and specifically you—to accomplish?”1
These questions followed me for the next several years. I yearned for places to serve. I wanted to contribute my whole heart to the Lord. But I felt lost in knowing how or where I could do that.
I served in callings and did what was asked of me, but I still felt like I wasn’t doing enough. After a few years of trying to find my place, I was at stake conference, in a new state and a new stake, feeling piercing isolation. But I listened as a sister began to speak about the temple. She told stories of her service as a temple worker that brought her and others closer to the Savior. Looking at her, I could tell she was glowing with the Spirit. She had found her place.
As she finished her address, she said the temple was currently looking for workers on Fridays. Immediately, I felt the Spirit pierce my soul. “That is what you can do. That is where you can serve.” The Spirit reinvigorated my desire to find a place in the Lord’s work.
The following Sunday, I asked my bishop about becoming a temple worker. And within a month, I was starting my first shift at the temple. When the temple president set me apart, I felt so much gratitude that I had found my place to serve the Lord. I had been set apart to work in His House.
The Lord wanted me to serve Him there.
I felt what the Apostle Paul described: “Now therefore ye are no more strangers and foreigners, but fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God” (Ephesians 2:19). I felt like I was no longer a stranger in the Lord’s work.

"Time to go shopping for Christmas presents!" Mom called. Four-year-old Kirsten hopped to the car. Kirsten liked getting presents. She wanted a new doll with curly hair.
As they drove to the store, Mommy turned around in her seat. "Tonight we are buying presents for another family. They won’t have any if we don’t help," she said.
"What?" asked Kirsten. "And no presents for us?"
"We are going to share our presents. You will still get some, but not as many. Remember, we talked about this in family home evening?"
Kirsten frowned.
"We don’t know the family," Mom said. "But you can help Dad and me find presents."
"Hooray!" Deanna said.
Kirsten frowned harder. Her bottom lip stuck out and the corners of her mouth pushed down as far as they would reach.
At the store, Kirsten helped Britney. They walked up and down the aisles until they saw the games. Kirsten picked one in a gray box for the boy.
"Good choice," Britney said.
Kirsten’s frown started to shrink—but only a little.
Next, Juleen wanted to buy some good-smelling soap for the mom. Kirsten helped Juleen pick a happy peach scent.
"Mmmm," Juleen said as she took a sniff, "my favorite!"
The corners of Kirsten’s mouth got a little higher. She almost smiled.
When they were done buying presents, Kirsten and her family went home and wrapped them. Kirsten wrapped a scarf for the girl and tied it with a fluffy bow.
"That looks beautiful!" Mom said.
Kirsten couldn’t help it—an itty-bitty smile kept sneaking onto her face.
Mommy put all the presents in a big box. They sang Christmas carols all the way to the family’s house. Kirsten’s smile got a little bigger.
Dad started to take the box out of the car. "Can I come?" asked Kirsten.
"Of course," Dad said.
Dad carried the box to the door and Kirsten rang the doorbell. A teenage girl with sad eyes answered.
"Merry Christmas!" said Dad and Kirsten. They put the box in the girl’s hands. The girl smiled, and then Dad and Kirsten ran away before she could ask them questions or find out what was in the box.
Kirsten skipped around the corner to where Mommy and her family were waiting in the car. Kirsten could see her brother and sisters’ smiles through the car windows. "Did you have fun?" Mommy asked.
Kirsten didn’t even have to answer. Mom could tell just by looking at Kirsten’s face—she had the biggest smile of them all.

A few days later we were reading scriptures in Mom and Dad’s bedroom. Mom and I sat on the bed, and Eli stood next to us, holding Susie. We read about being witnesses for Jesus Christ. “To be a witness means that we tell people about Jesus,” Mom explained. “How do we help Eli know about Jesus?”
“We love him,” I said.
“That’s a very good way,” Mom said.
Suddenly, something warm and fuzzy landed in my lap. It was Susie Bear.
“Hannah. Susie,” Eli said, pointing at me.
“Is it my turn to play with Susie?” I asked him.
Eli nodded.
“That’s so nice, Eli,” Mom told him. “Hannah, I think Eli loves you a lot.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “And I love him a lot too.”

“Hurry up, kids!” Dad called. “I found a sacrament meeting that starts in an hour.”
We had driven all the way to California for a week of going to the beach, sleeping late, eating lots of ice cream, and visiting amusement parks. But today was Sunday, and Dad had been on the phone looking for a ward for us to attend.
“It’s hard to get ready for church on vacation,” I thought. My dress was wrinkled, and my brother Mike had left his Sunday shoes at home. My little sister Ruthie kept turning on the TV and opening every drawer and closet in our small hotel room. Finally we were ready.
The drive to church was longer than we expected, and by the time we arrived, the deacons had just finished passing the sacrament. We quietly slipped into a back row and listened to the rest of the meeting. Even though we didn’t know any of the people there, it felt just like home. We sang “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet,” and one of the speakers told a story I had heard in Primary the week before.
After the meeting, Dad disappeared for a minute. When he came back, he said, “I just talked to the bishop. Another sacrament meeting starts in 15 minutes. You can stay cozy right here.”
“What? Why? We just went to sacrament meeting!” Mike protested.
“Yes, but we missed the sacrament,” Dad explained.
“But we heard all the talks and songs. Dad, we’re on vacation,” I whined.
Dad thought for a minute. “Michelle, you remember your baptism, don’t you?”
“Yes.” I had been baptized a few months before.
“Well, you remember that Mom and the bishop gave talks, Mike played the piano, and Sister Tueller led the opening and closing songs?”
“Yes.”
“What was the most important part of your baptism? What were we all there for?” Dad asked.
“My baptism, of course!”
“Right. And taking the sacrament is the reason we come to sacrament meeting.”
I thought about how silly it would be to attend your baptism and leave before getting baptized. I realized that the sacrament must be even more important than I thought.
“Taking the sacrament is the most important thing we’ll do all week,” Dad said.
“More important than going to the beach?” Ruthie asked.
Dad smiled and pulled Ruthie onto his lap. “Even more important than going to the beach.”
We all chuckled. After all, we were on vacation.

Peni and Jieni Naivaluvou doubled the size of their family when they took in four girls from Vanuatu who were attending the Fiji LDS Church College. But the Naivaluvous do not see this as a sacrifice. They feel they have been amply blessed for doing it. One of those blessings, they believe, is the addition to their family of baby Hagoth, born in January 2009.
In early 2008 Bishop and Sister Naivaluvou of the Tamavua Ward, Suva Fiji North Stake, heard that two young students from Vanuatu needed a place to board, so the Naivaluvous took stock of their own situation. Their sons, Soane, 18, and Ross, 16, were away from home attending a Church school in Tonga, the land of their father’s ancestry. The two girls from Vanuatu were boarding, at high cost to their parents, with a non-LDS family in Suva. The two girls would be good company for then 13-year-old Andrea Naivaluvou; Andrea also attends the Church College and was arriving home in the afternoon before her parents were off work. So Brother and Sister Naivaluvou decided they would invite the two girls from Vanuatu to live in their home at no charge.
The girls insisted on helping with costs, but still their expenses were less than half of what they had been paying earlier—a blessing for their families.
In April two other Vanuatuan girls came for a visit and enjoyed the atmosphere of the Naivaluvou home. A short time later these two girls asked if they too might come there to live. The Naivaluvous gladly took them in.
How did it work to have four extra young people in the home? “We’ve built up such a bond it’s more like they are our daughters,” Bishop Naivaluvou says. The Naivaluvous made it clear from the beginning that the girls were to be considered part of the family. The four girls from Vanuatu actually are related to each other, but in the Naivaluvou home they treated each other like sisters born of the same parents. Andrea Naivaluvou also came to accept them “like my sisters,” she says; the older girls watched out for her and even helped her with homework when there was a need. The four girls began to call Bishop and Sister Naivaluvou Ta and Na—“Dad” and “Mom” in Fijian.
This may be the first time, Sister Naivaluvou says, that girls from Vanuatu who are attending the Church College have been able to board with member families. The father of one of the girls, when he came to visit, expressed his deep gratitude to the Naivaluvous for the love they have shown his daughter.
Sister Naivaluvou points out that one of the girls, the daughter of a district president on Vanuatu, was a great example to their family through her faith; Bishop Naivaluvou says her example helped his family be more consistent about scripture study and family prayer.
Both of the Naivaluvous say they have been blessed temporally because they have shared with others. Their resources have gone farther. And Sister Naivaluvou believes the blessing of being able to become pregnant again after 13 years is connected with their willingness to share love with others.
When the Naivaluvous’ two sons returned home at the end of their school year in Tonga, they too accepted the young women as part of the family. But perhaps Soane can be excused for not seeing the girls exactly as sisters. He found himself drafted as a prom date for one of the young women. He played his role like a gentleman.
When the four girls finished their school year and returned home to Vanuatu late in 2008, the farewells were heart tugging, Bishop Naivaluvou recalls. It was as though he and his wife were saying good-bye to four daughters. And when a new school year began in 2009, the Naivaluvous were glad to welcome their four “daughters” back—plus two more.
With only four sleeping rooms in their home, some would wonder how they could make room for six young women in addition to their own daughter and new baby. But the Naivaluvou family quickly worked it out without difficulty.
After all, it was not a matter of personal space. It was simply a matter of expanding their circle of love.

It was a mid-April snowstorm that started it all. Not necessarily an unusual occurrence for Utah, but still, I thought the snow-drenched tulips on Temple Square needed to be documented. So I created an Instagram account—one that featured not photos of my cats (as adorable as they are) but rather photos of the temple.
Thus began a year of daily posting (and a few more years of not-so-daily posting). Taking photos of the temple and posting them with temple-related quotes from Church leaders became a fun way to develop talents and deepen my appreciation for the temple.
But the more people I reached, the more I recognized my opportunity to be an influence for good. I’m no social media “influencer,” but I like to think that my efforts make a difference for someone somewhere.

Recently in the small village of Ubon, Thailand, a member family by the name of Tan was beset with what seemed to be insurmountable problems. The father had lost his job, they had no money, the children were sick and malnourished. They were being forced to remove their humble home from the government land upon which it was built, and they had no place to go.
At this point a fine priesthood leader, who had been using welfare services missionaries as a resource, stepped in and averted what could otherwise have been a tragic situation. Under his guidance and with the assistance of all the branch members, a piece of land was obtained, and the Tan family home was dismantled, transported, and rebuilt. Brother Tan began farming the land and started a family produce business which is now flourishing. Some hard work, dedication, and love from local leaders and members, aided by the suggestions of welfare services missionaries, caused a miracle for one family and a great learning and growing experience for a whole branch.

Jamie has also had a lot of experience for someone so young. Because his father is in the military, the family has lived not only in Arizona, but in Georgia, Michigan, Utah, Texas, New Jersey, and Korea as well. That has given Jamie a chance to see the Church in a lot of settings. And last summer, when he went to visit his father in Korea, it gave him the opportunity for a particularly memorable experience.
“The mission president asked me to serve an eight-day minimission. I got to go to a zone conference, participate in discussions, watch the elders bless the sick, bear my testimony in sacrament meeting, and meet the mission president. But best of all, I got to baptize a Korean investigator! After a week like that, it was hard to leave.”
It was an experience that kindled the missionary zeal in James Young, an excitement he tries to foster in the quorum he leads.
“We’ve got to go!” he says with quiet intensity. “And we’ve got to go prepared.”

When I was about 10, I made my first attempt to read the Book of Mormon. The first part was easy-flowing New Testament language. Then I came to the writings of the Old Testament prophet Isaiah. I could not understand them; I found them difficult to read. I laid the book aside.
I made other attempts to read the Book of Mormon. I did not read it all until I was on a troop ship with other bomber crew members, headed for the war in the Pacific. I determined that I would read the Book of Mormon and find out for myself whether it is true or not. Carefully I read and reread the book. I tested the promise that it contained. That was a life-changing event. After that, I never set the book aside.

One summer I reached the conclusion I was too old and too cool for family vacations. “No way,” I said when my parents suggested we begin planning our annual outing. “I have to work.” Like the local burger place couldn’t function without my eight hours a week.

For 16 years my family had taken summer vacations together. Even when money was tight we hitched up the tent trailer and rambled somewhere. I think Mom and Dad knew that if they got me in the station wagon, and out onto the highway, I’d soften and remember the good times. They suggested I give the family vacation one last try, and after much complaining I finally consented and got the time off work. A few days later we pulled into the freeway traffic and in a moment all that was good about our trips came back to me. Somewhere down the road, through many years of trips, we had learned how to make a vacation fun.

Though I can’t even remember where we went during our 16th summer vacation, I can vividly recall the feeling of closeness we all shared. That trip actually helped me overcome the irrational fear of being seen with my family. Once the station wagon started rolling, the people I sat with and the things we did together made me forget about appearances. And after a while I realized my family were all pretty cool themselves.

Despite the company’s progress, Brigham was often frustrated when he saw the actions of some members of the company. Most of them had been in the Church for years, served missions, and received the ordinances of the temple. Yet many ignored his counsel on hunting or idled away their free time with gambling, wrestling, and dancing late into the night. Sometimes Brigham woke in the morning to the sound of men arguing over something that had happened during the night. He worried that their quarrels would soon lead to fistfights or worse.
“Do we suppose,” he asked the men on the morning of May 29, “that we are going to look out a home for the Saints, a resting place, a place of peace, where they can build up the kingdom and bid the nations welcome, with a low, mean, dirty, trifling, covetous, wicked spirit?”8 Each of them, he declared, ought to be men of faith and sober minds, given to prayer and meditation.
“Here is an opportunity,” he said, “for every man to prove himself, to know whether he will pray and remember his God, without being asked to do it every day.” He urged them to serve the Lord, remember their temple covenants, and repent of their sins.
Afterward, the men grouped themselves together in priesthood quorums and covenanted, by uplifted hand, to do right and walk humbly before God.9 The next day, when the men partook of the sacrament, a new spirit prevailed.
“I have never seen the brethren so still and sober on a Sunday,” Heber Kimball noted in his journal, “since we started on the journey.”10

I know all these things, but sometimes I still feel “concealed,” and I think it is not the adulation of the world that would change that feeling. I remember the time when, as the young mother of four very small children and the wife of a very busy husband, I felt not just concealed, but buried by my home. I vividly remember standing at the ironing board in a room cluttered with toys and children, watching general conference on television. As President Harold B. Lee spoke, he seemed to be talking directly to me, and the Spirit entered my heart that day to remind me that I was a daughter of God and beloved of Him. Tears splashed on the iron as I felt His love surround me—a feeling I had forgotten.
Later I realized that I had become too busy with my little family for scripture study and going to the temple. Most of my time at church was spent in the hall with fussy babies, rather than worshiping. I had thought that reading the scriptures years earlier as a missionary would carry me through the rest of my life. I felt “concealed”—cut off from the Lord, but I was not. He was there, but I had failed to look up and see Him and receive His help and blessing. Now I know that no matter how small and insignificant my life may appear to the world, it doesn’t matter—as long as I am not concealed from the Lord.

For the next several months, time seemed to stand still for me; it seemed as though my life was a continual nightmare. No one seemed to understand my situation. There was no organization or group to support me or offer understanding. My life lost all direction and meaning. I was listless, tossed like a ship without sails, rudder, or anchor. Because I lost sight of all my former goals, my feelings were almost totally dead.
After spending some time at home, I met my childhood sweetheart and we began dating. Several months later we were married, but only after a very bad courtship. Because I had no priesthood, we could not enter the temple to be married, so we settled for a civil wedding. From the beginning our relationship was unstable.
I realized that attending church was a necessary part of the repentance process I had committed myself to, but I found it an almost overwhelmingly painful experience. Over and over again I reminded myself of my condition. Many times unknowing friends called on me to say a prayer or answer a question about the lesson and I knew that the only thing I was allowed to say was, “I’m sorry—I can’t.” In many ways I was reminded of my serious transgression.
As painful as these and other situations were, I was able to bear all but one. Each week as the sacrament was blessed and passed, in my heart I grieved and wept and prayed. But, because of my transgression and excommunication, I could not seal the holy baptismal contract by partaking of the sacrament. I had broken my contract. I longed to be one with the Lord and to be freed from my mountain of guilt.
Years earlier I had experienced the powers of Satan and his followers. Now I soon learned with great clarity the divine power contained in the righteous exercise of the priesthood. I could no longer exert this power to ward off these evil influences. Over the next several months, I called on my father many times to bless both me and my house and to cast out the darkness.

“We learned about commitment when he told us about receiving his mission call. His parents had both recently passed away and, after their burial, left him with a few debts to pay. When the bishop talked to him about going on a mission, he mentioned these debts to the bishop and said that it would take him six months to pay them if he saved everything that he could.
“At the end of the six months, the bishop returned and asked if the debts had been paid. My father said yes, but that he didn’t have any money left, adding, ‘But I’ll go, even though I don’t have a nickel to my name.’ So he went to the bank, where, because of his reputation for integrity, he was able to borrow enough money to support himself on his mission. When he returned from his mission, he worked and paid the money back.
“I don’t remember how old I was when he first told me that story, but I have remembered it all my life. It helped me understand that you do what you’re asked to do.”

To those who faithfully and honestly live the law of tithing, the Lord promises an abundance of blessings. Some of these blessings are temporal, just as tithes are temporal. But like the outward physical ordinances of baptism and the sacrament, the commandment to pay tithing requires temporal sacrifice, which ultimately yields great spiritual blessings.
I know of a couple who lived thousands of miles from the nearest temple. Although they earned little, they faithfully paid their tithing and saved all that they could to journey to the house of the Lord. After a year, the husband’s brother—not a member of the Church—unexpectedly came forward and offered them two airplane tickets. This temporal blessing made possible the spiritual blessings of their temple endowments and sealing. An additional spiritual blessing came later as the brother, touched by the couple’s humble faithfulness, joined the Church.

After the end of the war, I returned to New York, where I met an old friend, a pastor of my former church. He interceded for me with the synod, and I was finally admitted to the congregation as a lay member. As an experiment, it was agreed that I should accompany one of the pastors on a mission to New Zealand and Australia.
In Australia, we met some Italian immigrants who asked questions about the errors in some Bible translations. They were not satisfied with my companion’s answers. When they asked me about it, I once again told the story of Christ’s appearance to the people of America. When they asked me where I had learned such teachings, I told them of the book I had found. The story was good to them but bad for my colleague. He reported me to the synod, and once again they cut me off from the church.