Gospel Story Finder

Last year, I damaged my ACL so badly that I had to get major knee surgery. When I found out the surgery was one of the most intensive knee surgeries, I was terrified! I asked for a priesthood blessing and fasted. My family members fasted for me too. My recovery ended up being smooth and quick, and I was so grateful for that.
Fasting can be hard, but for me, the blessings from fasting always outweigh the hunger. It’s a small sacrifice we get to make, and the blessings you receive from giving up two meals and donating fast offerings are totally worth it, no matter how inconvenient it seems.
In this world, we like instant gratification. But if you fast consistently and do other things while you fast, like read your scriptures or work on Personal Progress or Duty to God, you dedicate time to the Savior. As you’re consistent with that, you will be blessed. NE
Elaina K., 17, Washington, USA

Years ago I was a member of a stake high council. There was presented to the high council a man to be a bishop of a ward. He had been approved by the Brethren. Then they presented the men he had nominated as his counselors. One of the men was the husband of a woman whom I knew to be a gossip. She had injured many people with her gossip. I thought, “A man like that can’t serve. His wife is too much of a gossip.” When the vote was taken, two of us voted against it. But the stake president said this: “Brethren, there is a greater principle here. He should have the right to nominate his counselors. I feel to approve it.” And he asked for another vote, and we all voted in favor. But I didn’t feel very good about it.
When the conference came, Elder Harold B. Lee was the visiting General Authority. When it came time to set apart and ordain the bishop, Elder Lee took care of that, and he ordained and set apart the first counselor. When the other counselor came forward to be set apart, Brother Strong, the other man who had voted against him, said to me, “Now we will see whether the Church is run by revelation or not.” Elder Lee put his hands on this man’s head and began the setting apart. Then he hesitated and said something like this: “The blessings pronounced upon these other brethren apply to you as well. But for you there is a special blessing. …”
It was a long blessing on keeping counsel, about not talking with his wife about problems in the ward—a marvelous blessing. I was amazed. At the next meeting, one of the brethren asked the stake president, “Did you tell Elder Lee about Brother So-and-so and the problem that had been raised?” He said, “No, I meant to, but we didn’t have time.”
I had the privilege of asking Brother Lee, “Did you know about that problem with the man?”
“No,” he said, “I didn’t, but l felt something when I went to bless him.”
I learned a great lesson. This church is run by revelation. It comes to those who have the responsibility to preside. I am not sure you could get me to vote against a proposition presented by my presiding authority. I’d be very careful. He might just be a common old stick, but it would be the position that counts.

In 2005, I gave birth to premature triplets: Milena, Mateo, and Nelson. Milena was born healthy, but my two little boys suffered complications. Mateo died of those complications three months after he was born.
A month after we lost Mateo, Nelson was diagnosed with cerebral palsy and deafness. We were devastated. Doctors told us he would never walk. At that moment, we were grateful for our knowledge of the gospel of Jesus Christ. It helped us understand why we experience adversity in this life.
Through faith and hard work, Nelson learned to walk and to communicate through sign language. He has done much better than his doctors ever predicted. He has grown up happy in our family and in the gospel.

On another occasion, I shared a hospital room with a delightful woman in her eighties who had broken her hip. Despite her intense pain, she was determined to walk again and was full of faith and optimism. A few weeks after the hospital stay, I took my daughters to meet this good woman and her husband. We had a wonderful visit. They told us many stories of faith and love for the gospel. Now, four years later, the girls still retain an impression of the faith, joy, and love that comes from growing old in the gospel.

Cathy has also spent many hours helping at rest homes. “I guess because I was so close to my grandparents and my mother is a nurse, it was easy for me to volunteer my time,” said Cathy. “My Aunt Mamie worked as a recreation specialist at a rest home when I was 11, so she’d ask me and my cousin to go over there and help. We’d spend the whole day. We’d play bingo with the people. I’d help roll them in their wheelchairs out into the middle of the halls for supper, deliver the mail, read to them if they needed it, and just talk.”

When it was time for Erik’s Eagle project, he found plenty of people willing to help. “I always went out helping the other guys with their projects, and they helped me in return,” he says.
The cemetery in Patagonia sits on a hill and overlooks the town. Although it is still used, the cemetery doesn’t receive continual maintenance, and many of the headstones were buried, and weeds and trash had covered others. For his Eagle project, Erik, with the help of his family, ward members, and friends from the community, cleaned the cemetery.

Thanks to my dear wife, Ruth, I can say that our home has been a place where we have sought to honor the spirit of holiness to the Lord. We did not always succeed. Of course not. But we tried. When I was overwhelmed as a young father with the responsibility of providing temporally for my family, taking care of my Church callings and many other civic duties, Ruth would lovingly and gently bring me back to my parental responsibility in our home.
For example, she would remind me when it was time for home evening and then tenderly suggest what we might appropriately study in our home evenings. She would also help me keep track of important family events such as birthdays and activities of the children when they needed my time and support. She still does that important and appreciated service. If we really want our homes to be places of holiness, we will try harder to do those things that are conducive to the Spirit of the Lord.

In our family we have tried to hold early-morning scripture study. But we were often frustrated when one son complained and had to be coaxed out of bed. When he finally came, he would often put his head right down on the table. Years later, while serving his mission, he wrote home in a letter: “Thank you for teaching me the scriptures. I want you to know that all those times I acted like I was sleeping, I was really listening with my eyes closed.”

One youth described how he first experienced the spirit of worship. He had been marginally active through his Aaronic Priesthood years. When he attended sacrament meeting, he usually sat in the back with a group of his friends, and he was less than a model of reverence.

One day, however, he came in a little late, and there were no seats by his friends. He sat alone, and for the first time in his life, he closed his eyes during the prayers, he sang the hymns, he listened to the sacrament prayers, and he paid attention to the speakers.

About midway through the first speaker, he found tears welling up in his eyes. With some embarrassment, he carefully glanced around; no one else seemed emotional. He didn’t know for sure what was happening to him, but the experience changed his life. It was during that meeting that he really started his spiritual preparation for his mission. He felt something, and fortunately, he acted and thus sustained those feelings.

I still remember that day. It could have been the most terrible day of my life if I hadn’t had the gospel of Jesus Christ. It was July 12, 2001, when my mother died of an illness that had struck on Sunday night and took her life the following Thursday morning. I was 16 years old. I had to miss exams in school to be with my family and attend my mother’s funeral services.
I went home from the funeral feeling completely undone. I had a great hole in my heart, a hole so huge I thought it would never heal. I lay down on the bed, broke into sobs, and asked myself, “Why did she have to go so soon? Why did she have to leave me?”
My 10-year-old brother and I decided to listen to some quiet Church hymns. I had that lonely, sad, comfortless feeling, and then a warm sensation came over me. I felt great peace and tranquillity. My sad expression vanished, as did the empty feeling in my chest.
I was still feeling this comforting spirit when I went with my family to the church where my relatives were mourning. All of my relatives were very sad, with some breaking into heartrending sobs. Deep pain was reflected in their faces. They looked at my family strangely, as if they wondered why we didn’t seem to feel as bad as they did. But my heart was beating calmly, and my whole body was filled with peace. I knew that the Comforter, the Holy Ghost, was calming our pain. He was also testifying that Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father live and that this is the true Church, with eternal covenants.
Afterward, I wrote in my journal: “Our mother didn’t want us to cry very much. I do feel sad, but still I have a great peace inside. I just have to be strong and live a good life so I can see her again. My faith and testimony have grown, and so have my desires to serve my God and my fellow man on a full-time mission. She will always be there, helping me stay on the right path. I know that families can be forever. On a day like today 15 years ago, my family and I were sealed as an eternal family in the Lima Peru Temple, and this is what comforts me.”
My family and I continue to experience many difficulties. But each time my testimony falters, I remember the time when the Holy Ghost comforted me and testified to me of the eternal truths of the gospel.

It was a sweaty Sunday afternoon, and the chapel was stifling. My wife was wrestling with the kids to keep them reverent, and I was wrestling with my eyelids to keep them open. We were both losing.
The speaker didn’t help me any in my fight against sacrament meeting slumber. He was a typical youth speaker, and he followed the pattern of most youth speakers in our ward—he read to us from the book Especially for Mormons.
As he droned on, my wife and I both surrendered: she took the kids out to the foyer, and I decided to grab some shut-eye. I assumed sacrament sleep position number one: weight forward, elbows on knees, head down, face in hands, and soon I was dozing comfortably.
Maybe I was too comfortable or maybe somebody poked me awake—it’s happened before. At any rate, my head slipped out of my hands and “thwap!” my forehead cracked the bench in front of me.
I don’t normally have such headaches in sacrament meeting, but a dull speaker and a stuffy chapel almost always make me drowsy.

During the first year of my mission, my parents were not supportive about my missionary service. The Lord revealed to me while I was on my mission that my family was fine, and they would be taken care of. Then things changed all of a sudden. The last six to eight months of my mission my family was very supportive. They said they were receiving blessings, and they knew it was because of my serving a mission.

The sun peeked in at the window. Anna and Josh jumped out of bed.
“Let’s be secret helpers today,” Anna said.
Anna and Josh made their beds.
They put on their clothes and put their pajamas away.
Josh got milk out of the fridge. He took bananas and apples out of the basket.
Anna put a loaf of bread and a jar of jam on the table.
Mommy and Daddy came into the kitchen.
“Surprise!” said Anna and Josh. “Breakfast is ready!”
“It looks delicious!” Mommy said.
Daddy gave Anna and Josh a big hug.

Suddenly it started to rain. At first it was a soft, gentle rain that did not bother Tommy as he milked the cow and helped his father feed the oxen. Later, when they started to pitch the tent, the rain came down in fierce, angry sheets that bit into Tommy’s shoulders. The wind blew so hard that it wrenched the tent out of their hands.
“We’ll have to do without the tent tonight,” Father finally decided.
“Where will you and Mamma sleep?” asked Tommy. “My wagon is too full of corn and wheat for anybody to sleep there.”
“You and Betsy can sleep with Mamma in the other wagon,” answered his father, “and I will make a bed underneath it for me.”
“I will sleep under the wagon,” said Tommy quietly.
Father did not answer at once, but Tommy knew by the pressure of his hand that he was proud that his son had offered. Finally Father quietly said, “I’ll help you gather pine boughs to put on the ground so your bed won’t sink into the mud.”
Tommy was glad when they had enough pine boughs, because it was difficult to cut them in the stinging rain. Over these pine boughs he and his father put the folded tent, leaving enough of it free on each side to pull over the bedroll so Tommy would not get wet.
When the bed was ready, Tommy crawled into it. At first it was frightening to be alone in the storm. Never had he heard such loud thunder, and the lightning flashes were so close that he could see small fires appear in the tops of the trees where lightning had hit. Even though he knew the heavy rain would soon put them out, Tommy was afraid. What if the lightning should strike the wagon where the others are sleeping? he asked himself. He wanted to call out to his father for comfort, but he didn’t want anyone to know that he was afraid.
I’ll ask Heavenly Father to help me, he said to himself. And he did. Tommy almost expected his prayer to be answered by the thunder and lightning stopping. Instead it was answered by Tommy not being afraid any more.
Then Tommy began to enjoy the storm. It was almost as if giant fireworks were everywhere. Instead of wanting to go to sleep, he wanted to stay awake so he would not miss any of it. But since the storm lasted all night, Tommy’s eyes finally closed. He did not open them again until he felt water lapping at his feet and discovered that the little creek beside which they had camped had become a raging torrent during the night.
Excitedly Tommy called out to his father, “The creek has overflowed and the back wheels of the wagon are standing in the water!”
Tommy’s father was out of the wagon in an instant. When he saw the situation, he helped Tommy pull the bed out from under the wagon and then hitched up both teams of oxen to pull the wagon out of the water. The ground was so slippery the oxen could not get a foothold.
“We will have to build a corduroy road,” said Tommy’s father.
To do this, Tommy and his father cut down many trees. They trimmed off the limbs and laid the poles side by side, close to and in front of the wagon; then with willows they bound each log tightly to the next one so they would not roll. When this was finished, they packed tough grass and pine needles on top of the poles so the oxen’s hoofs could not slip into the cracks.
Finally they coaxed the frightened oxen up onto the corduroy road and hitched them to the wagon. Father spoke to the oxen in a soothing tone, “Steady now, pull together.”
The oxen did pull together. The heavy wagon wheels rolled out of the mud, onto the tough grass, over the corduroy road, and up onto the road that the Camp of Israel would be traveling that day.
Tommy shouted, “Hooray!” and he could see by the look on his mother’s face that she was proud of her two “men.”

At this point, Henry interrupted his steeple-chasing to fulfill a mission to Brazil. He grew spiritually in the mission field, and to his chagrin he grew physically as well.

“For about 12 months in the middle of my two-year mission I didn’t run a step. I put on 20 pounds, and I was pretty out of shape. But the last six months I started running and trying to incorporate running with missionary work. I went to an athletic club, and we taught the people as we ran with them.”

Nevertheless, the Henry Marsh who returned home in August of 1975 struck no terror in the hearts of the world’s other steeplechasers.

For example, one time my buddies and I hiked into the mountains for a week of fishing. We had a lot of fun. The deer flies and mosquitoes were so tame they let us feed them. The jays were so friendly they’d swoop down and help themselves to food right off the griddle. And some of the trout were so dumb they let us catch them.
Now, we were on our way back. For breakfast that morning we finished off the last of the food we had packed in. Now we were surviving on lint-covered raisins from the bottom of our packs. We had about eight more miles to hike before we met our rides and headed home to good food and to showers that didn’t come directly out of a cloud.
Ordinarily, the packs are lighter on the hike out; you’ve eaten all of the food and lost half of everything else. But for some reason, I found it tougher going than usual. My companions, on the other hand, laughed as we walked uphill.
Maybe it was because my face was going from red to purple—at any rate, we stopped to rest for a few minutes. When we took off our packs, I made an interesting discovery. You see, we had brought an army surplus canvas bucket for carrying spring water into camp, and I had tied the empty bucket to the back of my pack for the trip out. But somewhere along the way someone had put a rock the size of a large grapefruit in that bucket.
Well, there was a lot of laughter. I laughed too—later. And with the heavy weight gone, I not only kept up with my buddies, I practically chased them up those hills. I also learned a valuable lesson: don’t carry unnecessary burdens.

When I was 14, I met some young women who were excellent leaders. At that time, my family moved across the United States and became members of a new ward. I do not remember who served in the Mia Maid class presidency, but I clearly remember that the young women were particularly kind to me. They sincerely embraced a scared and scrawny new girl as a long-lost friend and made me feel welcome. Coming from Delaware, where I was the only Mormon girl in my junior high school and where the only other Mormon girl I knew lived an hour’s drive from my home, I thought, “This must be what heaven is like!”
For the first time in my life, I had a circle of friends who lived the standards in For the Strength of Youth, invited me to participate in activities, and shared their testimonies of the gospel with me. Their examples of loving-kindness did more to secure me to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints at that time than any talk or lesson could have done. In their love and Christlike light, they were the message of the gospel of Christ, and they were the ones to lead and guide me into His fold.

One of my best friends in high school was very rowdy and wild. He was into all the wrong stuff. I tried encouraging him to come to church and to change his ways, but he didn’t listen to me and his problems multiplied. I didn’t hear from him for a long time. Then one day he came over to my house unexpectedly. He had been in jail and said while he was there he thought, why can’t I be more like Tom and stay out of trouble.
I think the best way we can help people is by being a good example to them and not worrying about being a little self-righteous. Just be yourself.

An anonymous Church member wrote about the continuous heartache her brother caused her parents. He got involved in drugs. He resisted all efforts at control and discipline. He was deceitful and defiant. Unlike the prodigal, this errant son did not come home of his own accord. Instead he got caught by the police and was forced to face the consequences of his actions. For two years his parents supported Bill’s treatment program, which brought about his eventual recovery from drugs. In summary, Bill’s sister observed: “I think my parents are extraordinary. They never wavered in their love for Bill, though they disagreed with and even hated what he was doing to himself and to their family life. But they were committed enough to their family to support Bill in any way necessary to get him through the tough times and onto more solid ground. They practiced the deeper, more sensitive, and extensive gospel of Christ by loving one who had gone astray.”

Jason C. Jones climbed out of the hatchway and stepped on the deck of the ship. Full daylight spread across the ocean. He looked up at the enormous square sails spread overhead. Usually the rising sun tinged them gold, but this morning the clouds were heavy. No sunlight came through.
Jason walked around boxes and barrels lashed on deck that belonged to the emigrants. He was looking for his friend William Baxter, first mate of the ship.
William had told Jason shortly after they embarked from Liverpool, England, that he was glad to sail on a ship with Latter-day Saints on board.
“Sailors know,” William had said, winking at Jason, “that ships carrying your people aren’t apt to be lost at sea.”
During the long days of the voyage, William had talked with Jason, explaining many things about the ship. He pointed out how the sails worked and even let Jason raise and lower the small, triangular canvas sheets he called jibs and staysails.
He also told Jason what the captain was doing when he used a sextant. “He’s finding our way across the water,” William explained. “There are no roads on the sea. Our landmarks can’t rightly be called that. We must steer by sun and stars.”
Walking to the rail on this morning, Jason looked down at the water. He clung to the rail, frightened. Never had he seen such high waves. They looked like vast green hills, rolling forward, with deep valleys between. The waves caused the ship to pitch up and down, heavily. It was hard for Jason to stand. He was afraid.
The great square sails fastened crosswise on the ship’s mast billowed outward as the wind blew even harder. People who were beginning to come on deck for air after a night spent between decks felt its force. Jason saw Mrs. Perkins grab for her skirts as they swirled about. Mr. Wilson’s long white beard blew straight out. In spite of his fear, the sight made Jason laugh.
Then he saw his father going toward Captain Brown. Jason followed. He heard the captain shout, “Best get your folks below again, Elder Jones. She’s comin’ on to blow hard!”
Jason’s father, holding his black hat with both hands, began to direct the people back down the hatchway. Jason saw William swinging along the deck.
“Can I help?” he called, running beside the sailor.
He thought about how much William had taught him. Once they had even gone into the wheelhouse where he had let Jason take the wheel, alone. Holding the big wooden spokes, feeling the great square-rigger ship move under his hands, had made Jason feel like a king.
Now that ship was in danger, and so were the people on it! Jason worried about the old folks, the young couples with their children—even a baby born the day before—who had left their homes in England to go to new homes in the Salt Lake Valley.
Jason heard William shout, “Grab a line there, boy! Help reef the sail!”
He ran along the tilting deck. Pulling hard on a rope end, Jason helped the sailors shorten sails. Wild wind whipped his clothes. Pelting rain blew sideways and slashed at his body as he shivered with excitement and cold.
Captain Brown, standing on the forward deck with his legs sprawled wide, pointed upward. Jason heard him bellow, “Aloft, men!”
He could hardly believe that sailors were to be sent along those high ropes and into the rigging in such a storm. Jason saw the huge sails billow, felt the ship under him leap like a runaway horse. Then he knew the sailors must obey their captain; the safety of the ship depended on it.
Captain Brown took Jason’s shoulder and shouted, “Go tell your father we could use a special prayer!”
Jason scrambled down the hatchway into the darkness—no candles could burn in such a storm. Even though he knew there were more than four hundred people gathered below decks, he heard no sound except roaring wind and pounding water.
Then he saw his father. He and several other men were kneeling in a circle. Jason knew they were already saying the prayer for which Captain Brown had asked.
Jason returned to the deck. Tilting his head back, he saw sailors hanging, high above, to wooden booms that were anchored crossways on the tall mast. The sailors struggled to anchor sails to the booms. How could they keep from being blown off the swaying booms while they fastened flapping canvas? Finally the sails were secured. One by one the sailors lowered themselves on the ropes and jumped to the deck.
Suddenly Jason felt his feet slip under him. The ship was sliding sideways. Down, down it went, until Jason was sure it would never again float upright. An enormous wave crashed on deck, smothering him with green water. He gasped, fighting for air, as the ship slowly returned to an even keel.
Wiping water out of his eyes, Jason looked around. Captain Brown stood still. So did the sailors, their faces tight with fear. But the wild waves were beginning to smooth out. The screaming wind died. Gradually the calm sound of the creaking mast and of a baby crying below deck could be heard.
William Baxter spoke with awe. “The storm’s blown out.”
Jason’s father and two other men came on deck. Captain Brown went to them. He held out his hand.
“In my thirty years at sea,” he declared, “I have never seen a terrible storm end so quickly.” Then he added solemnly, “The Lord be praised!”