Gospel Story Finder

When my parents suggested I use the For the Strength of Youth booklet to study for my next oral Spanish exam, I was surprised. It did make sense, especially since the examiner would be asking me about my stances on moral issues, but I didn’t think it would be as helpful as they thought it would be.
My father downloaded a copy of Para la Fortaleza de la Juventud from LDS.org, and for the next few weeks, I cross-referenced my English copy with my Spanish one. I looked up interesting words and useful phrases, and it also helped me get a deeper understanding of the doctrine.
When the morning for the exam came, the language came to me as I needed it, and I was able to talk with confidence about morality, music, abstinence from alcohol, the importance of families, and clean living. I was able to testify of the truthfulness of my beliefs, and I actually enjoyed it.
Studying Para la Fortaleza de la Juventud did help me speak better Spanish, but what I didn’t expect was how close it brought me to the Spirit. As I answered the questions that day, the Spirit brought so much back to my remembrance. I know now that as long as I do what it takes to have the Spirit in my life, I don’t have to be afraid.

Elder Thomas S. Monson
Some years ago, President Lee, directed by inspiration and revelation, called Dewitt J. Paul to serve as patriarch in one of the eastern stakes of the Church. The call humbled beyond words both Brother and Sister Paul. They wondered. They worried. They prayed for assurance and heavenly confirmation. Such did not come suddenly.
The vote of the people demonstrated their supporting approval. Then came the time for ordination. In a basement room situated two floors beneath the meeting hall in which the conference was held, Dewitt Paul nervously sat on a chair and, with a silent prayer in his heart, awaited his ordination. President Harold B. Lee then placed his hands upon the head of the newly called patriarch and began to speak. Peace replaced turmoil. Faith overcame doubt. Seated next to Sister Paul was a lifelong friend to whom Sister Paul had confided her concern. During the pronouncement of the blessing and ordination, she opened her eyes. As she did so she saw a ray of light shining upon President Lee as he placed his hands upon the head of Brother Paul. At the conclusion of the blessing, she hastened to tell Brother Lee of this confirmation of a call. She recounted how she saw the sunshine form the ray of light and how it brought a bright glow to the hands of President Lee. “Indeed, this is to you a confirmation of a sacred call,” said President Lee, “for as you look about this basement room, there is no window through which the sun might beam its rays.” Precious are the hands of a prophet.

When I returned home from the audition tour we had less than a year to financially prepare for our German adventure. We had moved in with my parents in Denver to save every penny possible. There were five plane tickets to purchase and, after our arrival in Europe, a car to buy and an entire house to furnish. How in the world could we earn that kind of money in such a short period of time?

Our middle son, Ethan, was in the second grade when he learned of our impending move. He and his older brother, Todd, had seen old paintings of snowy German towns with mosaic cobblestone streets upon which horse-drawn carriages were pulled. One afternoon as they asked a few questions about our upcoming move, it became touchingly apparent to us that they thought we would be moving to a place with no electricity and that our only means of transportation would be horse and carriage. Ethan excitedly came home from school one day. He had mentioned to his teacher that his Dad was an opera singer and that we would soon be moving to Germany. That evening his teacher called and asked me if I would visit his class and introduce the children to opera.

I thought, “No problem. I’ll just sing a couple of arias and answer a few questions.”

Several days later, however, the principal called and asked if I would present the program to the entire student body.

“Well,” I thought, “I guess Jeannie and I will really have to prepare something now.” That “something” evolved into an elementary school assembly program that we called “What Is Opera Anyway?” Its popularity increased as it was promoted by newspaper and word of mouth until nearly every school district in the greater Denver area requested our services. We tallied our earnings just before leaving for Europe, and—gratefully, miraculously—we had more than enough to finance our move and necessary purchases.

Desiree listened to her Primary teacher, Sister Ruiz, in wonder. She couldn’t believe what Sister Ruiz was saying. It seemed too good to be true. Desiree looked at the other children in her class. They didn’t seem to be as amazed as she was. Finally Desiree raised her hand. “Do you really mean it, Sister Ruiz? Would you really do anything for us?” she asked.
“Yes, Desiree.” The kind look in her teacher’s eyes, even more than her words, showed Desiree that she really meant it. But Desiree continued to wonder if it was really true. Maybe someday she would find out.
It wasn’t even a week later that Desiree was able to test her Primary teacher’s promise. One day when she came home from school, Desiree found a note taped to the front door and grabbed it. When she entered the house, no one answered her calls. The house was empty. A strange, spooky stillness surrounded her, making the hair on her neck prickle.
“Where are you, Mommy?” Desiree whispered as tears trickled down her face. She dropped her backpack on the couch and sat down next to it. Remembering the note in her hand, Desiree opened it. She recognized her mother’s handwriting, but the letters were joined together by slants. Her mother had forgotten that she couldn’t read cursive writing.
“I’ll do anything I can for you, because I love you.” The memory of her Primary teacher’s words came to Desiree’s mind. Maybe she couldn’t read cursive, but she could read typing and she could read numbers. She could find Sister Ruiz’s phone number and call her to ask for help.
When Sister Ruiz heard Desiree’s dilemma, she told her that she would be right over. To Desiree it seemed like a long time before she arrived, but even though Sister Ruiz lived in another town, she made the trip in just 10 minutes.
Desiree flung open the front door and ran down the sidewalk when she saw Sister Ruiz get out of her car. Through her tears, she handed her Primary teacher the note left by her mother.
Sister Ruiz read the note and smiled. “This says that your mommy is at your grandma’s house working on a quilt.”
Desiree suddenly remembered that her mother had told her to go to Grandma’s house, just down the street, after school. She had left the note to remind Desiree but had forgotten to print it in letters Desiree could read.
“Do you want me to walk you to your grandma’s?” Sister Ruiz asked.
Desiree shook her head. She looked up at Sister Ruiz. “You drove all this way just to read a note. Thank you.”
Sister Ruiz smiled, and Desiree noticed that her eyes were glistening with tears. “This wasn’t much, Desiree. I’ll do anything I can for you.”
“It was a lot to me,” Desiree said.
Sister Ruiz hugged Desiree. “I’m glad you think so.”
Desiree carefully looked both ways before crossing the street and walking down to Grandma’s house. Sister Ruiz watched to make sure she arrived safely. Then she drove away.
“Where have you been?” Desiree’s mother asked when she walked in. “I was starting to get worried.”
“I just learned that my Primary teacher will come all the way to my house to read me a note.”
“Why didn’t you read it yourself?” Desiree’s mom asked.
“Because I can’t read cursive.”
Desiree’s mother’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “I didn’t even think about it, Desiree. I’m sorry you had to call your teacher to help you.”
“That’s OK.” Desiree grinned. “My teacher said she was glad to do it, because she loves me.”

Since becoming a young bishop in Fukuoka, Japan, many years ago, Elder Kazuhiko Yamashita has learned from the good examples and attitudes of his senior leaders.
Soon after Elder Yamashita married his wife, Tazuko Tashiro, they moved from Tokyo to Fukuoka, where Elder Yamashita was called as a bishop when he was in his late 20s.
“That was hard for me and my family,” Elder Yamashita says. “We had three young children at the time and were new to the area—but it was also a very good teaching and learning experience for me, and my testimony and faith got stronger.
“Of course I had hard times, because my family was young and I didn’t have much experience as a Church leader beforehand,” Elder Yamashita says. “My senior leaders were good examples and taught me many lessons through their attitude and behavior.”

When I first went to senior high school, there was one thing I struggled with: when a new subject was introduced, I would find it difficult to understand. One evening I prayed to Heavenly Father to help me understand and overcome that challenge. I had faith, and I was able to understand better. Since then, prayer and faith have been on my to-do list in school and everywhere I go. Being in a boys school is challenging because of some of the immoral things students do. When that happens, the words of my parents come to my mind: “Don’t do something that will drive the Holy Ghost away.” I am grateful to my mum, who always reminds me to listen to the Holy Ghost. When we do what is right, God blesses us.
Nyame S., age 16, Ghana

Welfare services missionaries were assigned by the branch president to visit the home of every newly baptized family. In carrying out this assignment, the missionaries often found emergency teaching situations.

For example, one day upon entering the home of a newly baptized member, they were greeted by the mother, who invited them to sit own and then began to cry. Her baby was sick. Its stomach was badly bloated.

Upon investigation, it was found that the child had never had anything to eat except flour and water or powdered milk. For eight months the mother had been afraid to give the baby any other food because it was so sick, and it was sick because it was starving!

The missionaries taught the mother how to include cereals, fruits, and vegetables in the child’s diet. Now the child is on the road to normal health.

Temple work featured in the “perfect day” for Ben and Carol. When Ben retired a couple of years ago, he and Carol accepted callings as temple workers. “The bishop’s assigned ‘perfect day’ happened to be one of the two days in the week that we serve in the temple.
“I serve as a supervisor at the temple, and I was really touched when, in a prayer meeting, the brother offering the prayer asked that the Lord watch over me, as supervisor, and bless me with a special day. He didn’t know about our ‘perfect day’ assignment, but his prayer was very meaningful to me.
“What a special place to be for a ‘perfect day.’ We were there in the Lord’s house, doing the Lord’s work, side by side with wonderful brothers and sisters, helping others on the road to the celestial kingdom.”

I visited with a young man recently and asked him, “How is your testimony?”
He said, “Well, I want to go on a mission.”
And I said, “Well, do you really feel you know the scriptures?”
He said, “No, I’m going to let my companion do that. I just want to go out. I think I can relate to all the people who have had some problems.”
I said, “What happens when you have a companion who has the same viewpoint you have?”
He looked at me, and a broad grin came over his face. He said, “You have a point there, Elder.” And so he went about studying the scriptures.

For the year-end program at my school, we were putting on a musical. I was so excited, especially when I got a part. I went to all the rehearsals even though no one could drive me there. But when my teacher showed us the costume we were to wear, I was disappointed. It was immodest.
I told my teacher that I would not wear the costume, and she was upset with me. She told me that none of the other girls had a problem with the costume and if I didn’t want to wear it, I couldn’t perform. She even tried to get my mom to pressure me to wear it. But I knew I had to keep the commandments, so I said I wouldn’t perform.
Then, just a few days before the program, the teacher got new costumes that were modest. I’m happy that I didn’t think that “just this one time” it would be OK to be immodest.

I would like to share an example of a time when I was grateful for blessings I received:

In 2009, my Father passed away at the age of 71. As the news spread throughout the community, we received many phone calls and visits from family members, neighbors, ward members, coworkers, and friends. We received monetary gifts, dinners, and groceries – just an abundance of gifts. We even received the gift of music – singing, chanting and dancing. For several weeks, we received an outpouring of love. We were overwhelmed and touched by the generosity of so many. What was a sad time for us became a happy and joyous time because of the love and support that we received from the community. It felt like a big party for our family as we gathered every night to eat and mingle together with visitors. What I remember most at the time, was how everyone made us feel so loved and cared for. Going through this experience makes the plan of happiness much more real to me and it makes me appreciate it more. I know that I will see my Father again. That brings joy to my heart and strengthens my faith. After this experience, it motivated me to want to give service to others especially to those who must go through a family member’s death.

I will always be grateful to all those who blessed our family in our time of need. Their gift of love and service brought a spirit of warmth and happiness into our lives.

A man in a distant city was struggling to make a living, raise a family, and attend to his Church callings. His debts were piling up, there was discontent at home, and his children seemed to be misbehaving increasingly, with everyone going a different direction. Suddenly his job was threatened, and the pressures mounted.
About the time when he didn’t know if he could take any more, his teenage daughter, who had been noticing his frustration and pain, said, “Dad, as a family we can do anything. Hey, let’s work together! I have a wonderful job after school, and Bill has found a paper route. Besides, isn’t it about time we started to eat from our food supply in the basement?”
Well, the entire family caught the spirit. They concentrated their efforts. With time and the mutual support of one another, things did work out.

We have a little four year old granddaughter named Grace who was born with her twin sister Emma at 27 weeks into the pregnancy. She didn’t weigh very much but that wasn’t her main problem. She didn’t have a discernable heartbeat for the first 25 minutes after her birth. There was no sign of life. But the Dr. didn’t give up and he finally got her heart beating. Then the long road to coming alive was ahead. There were brain bleeds, lung problems, heart problems, liver problems and she was attached to every tube and monitor you can imagine. It was uphill all the way for little Grace. Her twin sister Emma had an easier time.

It was a week before Grace could even be held, but finally the day came when the intensive care nurse placed tiny Grace in her Daddy’s arms for the first time. As he cuddled the tiny infant close to him, he looked down tenderly in her face and began to softly sing “I am a child of God and He has sent me here. Has given me an earthly home with parents kind and dear…” The soft melody lingered on the air as he looked into the face of tiny Grace. He saw her eyelids faintly flutter and then, for the first time in her life, she opened her eyes! And she looked up at her daddy. It was as if the words he sang stirred a sweet memory of the truths she had been taught in heaven before her birth. Yes, she was a child of God and He had sent her here!

From that moment on she fought to live and her story is one filled with miracles and faith. Her name is Grace but we like to call her “Amazing Grace”.

I had an extremely frightening experience several years ago while flying from Reno, Nevada, to San Rafael, California, with a friend in his twin-engine Aztec airplane.
When we left Reno, the weather was a little cloudy, and my friend was somewhat worried about it. Because of his concern, we landed at the Lake Tahoe airport to get a second report on the weather. It did not indicate that the weather was too bad, so we continued our flight to San Rafael.
Our destination was an airport in the northern part of San Francisco Bay. As we approached the Bay area, the clouds became increasingly low and dense. We tried to stay under the clouds so we could see the water and thus keep our bearings visually. But suddenly we flew into very dense clouds and could see nothing.
When you fly into such clouds, you become totally disoriented. You do not know whether you are flying straight, sideways, or upside down. You lose your sense of forward motion, and it takes a few minutes for the pilot to orient himself from visual flying to instrument flying. At 180 miles an hour, you move a long distance in that few minutes and can get into serious trouble very quickly. Unfortunately, my friend had not flown entirely on instruments for two years.
My friend struggled intensely and was near the point of panic as he tried to recall all that he had learned about instrument flying. I knew very little about instrument flying, so I could not help him. All I could do was put my hand on his shoulder and tell him to take a deep breath and get hold of himself. The only instrument that I could read was the altimeter. I said, “We are now at 500 feet. Don’t make any quick moves; just think it out, and you can pull us through.”
It seemed an eternity before he finally made radio contact with Hamilton Air Force Base. He said to them, “I am in trouble; please help me.” The air traffic controllers had us on their radar screen and immediately began to help my friend regain control of the plane. They told us where we were and started to give us instructions to help guide us to safety.
When my friend heard the voice from Hamilton Tower, he regained a sense of confidence that enabled him to gain control. But he knew that the plane was completely out of control and that our chances of pulling out of this danger were marginal. We could easily go the wrong way. The foothills, buildings, towers, and bridges were not far away. At one time we dropped to only 200 feet, and must have been flying upside down at one time because the maps and other items in the visor above my head fell into my lap.
At the peak of this crisis, an instant replay of my entire life flashed through my mind. I thought of my wife, my seven children, my parents, my business partners, the 37 priests whom I was the adviser to, and many other things. I prayed fervently all through this crisis and made a commitment more deep and more sincere than ever before in my life. I began, “Heavenly Father, guide us out of this thick, dense cloud, and help my friend remember all he knows about instrument flying.” And then I said, “In the name of Jesus Christ and by the power of the holy priesthood, bless my friend that he might regain control.” My prayer continued. I committed to Heavenly Father that if he would help us, I would place my life in his hands. I promised him that I would be what he wanted me to be.
Finally, we saw the lights on the runway. The white line in the center of the runway was a most welcome sight.

After his wife suffered a heartbreaking miscarriage during their first pregnancy, Solofo Ravelojaona felt that their prayers were answered a year later with their second pregnancy. He and his wife, Hary Martine, consider the birth of their daughter to be one of their greatest blessings. Solofo explains, “Because we asked God and He gave her to us, we gave her a name that, in Malagasy, means ‘God’s answer.’”
Solofo, a young adult from Madagascar, holds to the knowledge that God answers prayers and in time blesses the faithful. “Life is hard,” says Solofo, “and when people don’t get what they want, some start asking, ‘Why did this happen to me?’ They might leave the Church or question their belief in God. But when we live the gospel and read the scriptures, it’s easier. When you really live the gospel, you can really see the blessings.”
Living in a country with serious challenges, such as extreme poverty, instability within the government, a weak infrastructure, and natural disasters, it’s clear why Solofo says life is hard. But for him, the blessings that living the gospel brings outweigh any hardships. “I cannot even count the blessings I receive, as long as I live the gospel,” he says.
Because the Church is relatively new in Madagascar (the first branch was organized in 1990), Solofo says the hardest part about being a member is the rumors and misconceptions about the Church. Solofo comments that, just as in Lehi’s vision of the tree of life, “people may not fully embrace the gospel because they feel ashamed in front of their friends and scared that they’ll be rejected by their family.” What makes Solofo different, he suggests, is that, “I have never been ashamed. I live the gospel, and I always want to share it with my colleagues, even though some of them aren’t really interested.” He often shares his simple testimony, so much so that his co-workers nicknamed him “pastor.”
In the midst of economic and political turmoil, Solofo and Hary Martine rely on the blessings of their temple covenants (they were married in the Johannesburg South Africa Temple one year after their missions—his in Uganda, hers in Madagascar), as well as their trust in the Lord. “I have the gospel, and I just put my life in God’s hands,” Solofo explains. He can rely on his solid testimony because he already has faith in “God’s answers.”

Many years ago, when I was on my mission, my companion and I had resolved to talk to everyone about the gospel. To open our mouths as the scriptures command. [20] One day, on the outskirts of the small Japanese town of Komatsu, we rode past a man on his bicycle. Although we had said we would talk to everyone, I had not thought to ride parallel to this man and yell out to him in Japanese, “Hello, we are missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” We passed by him without speaking to him. After completing a follow-up visit with a friend of the Church we continued down the same road to visit a member family that lived some distance away. We again passed by the same man on the bicycle without speaking to him. We were someway further down the road, and now in the middle of nowhere, with rice paddy fields everywhere when my companion, who was also my trainer, suddenly came to a complete stop. He said to me, did you see that man back there? I queried who he meant. By now we were so far ahead of the cyclist we could not even see him. He said we passed that man on the bicycle twice and I have felt that we need to speak to him. The Lord wants us to speak to him. I was nervous as we waited on the side of the road for this man, who had come into view on the long stretch of road, to approach us. But as he approached us, he had a smile on his face. We introduced ourselves as missionaries for the Church. He said, "Oh, I know who you are." He told us that many years earlier he had been taught as a young man and had wanted to join the Church but had lived with his parents who had not wanted him to do so. He wanted to be taught again. Only a short while later, he was baptised a member of the Church.

I learnt a great lesson that day from my missionary companion. He knew how to speak the language of the Spirit. He knew how to hear the voice of the Lord and be an instrument in the hands of God. When we learn how to speak the language of the Spirit, our lives are blessed, and God enables us to be instruments in His hands in blessing the lives of others.

Five years after I was baptized, while I was studying in the Church’s high school, Benemérito de las Américas, the construction of the first temple in Mexico was announced. At school we were invited to participate in an activity that consisted of making partitions for the temple.
At first, I thought it would just be an opportunity to have fun with my friends. After several hours of hard work and with some blisters on my hand, I realized that although it had not been so much fun, I felt joy in my heart for having done my small part in the construction.

As we got off the bus, we saw a tent belonging to a bedouin family. Farther from the road, two or three children were watching a flock of sheep grazing there on the hills outside Bethlehem. Our tour group was finishing a two-week stay in Israel, and we had come to Shepherds’ Field for a testimony meeting.
As we sat on the rocky hillside and looked in one direction, we could see Bethlehem. If we looked slightly to the left in another direction, we could see Herodion, a fortified mountain atop which Herod the Great had built a luxurious palace complete with pools, gardens, and two hundred white marble steps. We had visited it earlier in the day. Now, looking at it, I felt as if it represented all the material successes one could ever wish for. On the other hand, the village of Bethlehem seemed to symbolize everything I had learned about Jesus during our visit to the Holy Land.
I looked back and forth, from Bethlehem to Herodion. The question came to me: Which am I choosing? Of course I want to follow the Savior. But are my day-to-day decisions and actions taking me in a different direction?
As we sang Christmas carols and shared testimonies, I thought of how easy it is to make the wrong things our first priority. How easy it is to expend a lot of time and worry on things that are unimportant in an eternal frame of reference. How easy it is to pretend that material possessions are forever! And how difficult it is to remember that Jesus said, “No man can serve two masters.” (Matt. 6:24.)
The question would not go away: Which direction am I going? Then, over and over again, almost like a prayer, I heard the words of the shepherds: “Let us now go even unto Bethlehem.” (Luke 2:15.)
I have thought of that experience often since returning home—the sun dropping behind the Judean hills, the flock of sheep nearby, and the peace I felt as I recommitted myself to worry less about the things of the world and to seek more diligently the kingdom of God.
Sometimes still I can hear the shepherds from that long-ago night on a hill far away, saying, “Let us now go even unto Bethlehem.” And I remind myself to choose wisely. Herodion lies in ruins, but Bethlehem remains.

As the flight attendants began their usual safety instructions, I checked to make sure my son, Max, was secured in his infant carrier in the seat next to me on the airplane.
I reflected on the day Max was born a few months prior. When I held him for the first time in the hospital, I was determined to do everything in my power to keep him safe, teach him how to find happiness, and provide everything he would need to successfully navigate this life.
I’m sure most fathers experience these feelings. Mine were particularly poignant as I looked into his eyes and remembered the struggle of infertility that preceded his birth, with the physical, emotional, and spiritual toll that it took on me and my wife.
The flight attendants had just explained the way to use the overhead oxygen masks during an emergency, and when one of them reached our row, she had a look of absolute seriousness. She pointed right at me. “If the masks come down, you put yours on first before helping him,” she said, pointing at Max. For some reason, the emphasis with which she said the word first struck me like lightning.
Looking out the airplane window, I imagined the scene—oxygen masks deploying, doubting that I would feel comfortable wasting any time to help Max. Then the thought came to me of the words Jesus Christ spoke to Peter, whose only desire in that moment was to serve and protect the Savior: “When thou art converted, strengthen thy brethren” (Luke 22:32).
And it hit me: the best way I can help Max is to first help myself. I realized that if I needed to secure my own oxygen mask, it would only take a few seconds, but then I could fully and properly help Max. I thought for the remainder of the flight about the small and simple things—much more eternally important than oxygen masks—that I can do first that would put me in the best position to then help Max, to first become converted and to then strengthen others.
These following things only take a few minutes of my time but have made a major difference in strengthening me:
Kneeling in prayer helps me gain the proper focus to have an honest discussion with Father in Heaven.
Using a notebook or computer document to write down thoughts and insights has created a richer scripture study experience for me.
Pausing to ask, “What does that really mean?” or “What does that mean for me?” while worshipping in the temple or reviewing general conference talks has helped me receive important insight and understanding.
Writing down how I saw the Lord’s hand in my life at the end of each day has helped me see His influence more easily and feel closer to Him.1

So, with unwavering faith, courage and resolute in purpose, I joined the queue to pay my respects to my late queen as she lay in state, on 14 September. I knew others had already been camping overnight to ensure their places in the queue; those joining it were warned to expect waiting times of up to 30 hours.
I went prepared for most eventualities and, upon joining the end of the queue, soon introduced myself to those in front of me and to those rapidly joining behind. Many have since attested to what I experienced: moments of quiet contemplation, joviality, camaraderie, and a willingness to consecrate our time together in sharing food, watching others’ belongings, and offering to purchase further snacks for each other.
As we went through security at Westminster Hall, we said our mutual goodbyes. Then a solemn reverence descended as those present who, unified in grief, filed past Queen Elizabeth’s coffin, adorned by the magnificent crown jewels. I was so overcome by the tangible presence of the Holy Spirit, that I began to weep.
It occurred to me how much the entire experience reflected the concept of enduring well once we get on the covenant path, by saving others and being served along the way, keeping our spirits up, sacrificing our time, and being one in purpose.
For the few short hours that I was in the queue—only eight—my reward was a precious moment long enough for me to curtsey and blow a kiss towards the coffin.