Gospel Story Finder

Indeed, the Savior can help lift our burdens. One sister describes a time when she had prayed to Heavenly Father night and day, asking him for help with some pressing problems. She eventually came to understand, “the necessity of the Atonement. Without the Savior’s help, I literally could not rid myself of my mistakes and continue to progress.”
She was overwhelmed with a sense of the Savior’s love. “I felt that I had been watched over throughout my entire life and that all that had occurred in the past and all that would occur in the future, whether pleasant or painful, could be for my ultimate good—if I accepted it in faith,” she says. She felt a great rushing warmth and a feeling of peace and contentment.” (Ensign, September 1977, pages 50–51.)

Ten years had passed since I had been baptized into the Church, but I had been less active for about nine of them. During that time I had married and now had a seven-year-old daughter. My mother and siblings were living with us when a friend reintroduced them to the Church, and the missionaries started coming to our home. I had a testimony of Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon, but the knowledge I had acquired of the Church had melted away.
My husband became friends with the elders and, almost without knowing it, started taking the discussions. Each discussion took about a week; it was hard for him to accept the divinity of Jesus Christ. Nine months after being taught the first discussion, my husband felt he was not receiving answers to his prayers.
One morning when the missionaries came to pray with me for my husband, I felt impressed that I needed to help him recognize the influence of the Holy Ghost. The missionaries had given us a family home evening manual, and the next Monday I sat down with my husband and daughter and began my first family home evening by giving a lesson on the Holy Ghost. My husband listened in silence as he pondered the subject. The influence of the Spirit was very strong that night, and I could feel the Holy Ghost confirming the truthfulness of the Church, something I had not felt for a long time. The next day my husband bore his testimony to me and told me that the Spirit had borne witness to him and he had recognized it. That night we lit in our hearts a fire that was eternal and inextinguishable.
One week later my husband was baptized, and one year later we were sealed in the São Paulo Brazil Temple. We feel that sacrament meeting is the most important meeting we go to, and next in line is family home evening.
Elizabeth Duce de Mernies, Lezica Ward, Montevideo Uruguay North Stake

When I returned home, I went to my room, knelt on the floor, and began a sincere conversation with Heavenly Father. I told Him that I felt something special about the Mormon Church but that I didn’t want the adversary to delude me. I prayed that He would help resolve my confusion and show me which church was true.
Afterward I felt a great desire to read the Book of Mormon. I prayed again for strength and direction. During my prayer, I felt a strong and good feeling—an interior warmth. I knew I was not alone at that moment. A thought came instantly into my head: “Read the book!”
I opened it and began reading. Before I had finished the introduction, tears began running down my face as the Lord revealed to me the mystery of the Native Americans. The Book of Mormon seemed prepared especially to respond to my concerns. I felt great joy to have my questions answered. It was as though the ancient Americans had spoken from their graves to tell me about their lives and to testify that they also knew Jesus and that He had suffered for them as well.
Amazed with my discovery, I sought out the missionaries and listened to their lessons. On Easter Sunday, March 31, 1991, I descended into the waters of baptism—the best decision I had ever made.

Brother Soliai and his family were the only Latter-day Saints in their little village of Nuuuli on Tutuila. On one occasion, he asked Opapo to come bless his children, his house, his property, and his friends. Present on that occasion was a wealthy nonmember widow, Salataima Puailoa, who was deeply troubled because her husband’s family was taking steps to deprive her of the land she had inherited from him. Impressed by the blessings, she requested one herself; but Opapo was reluctant because she was not a member.
She investigated the Church and was baptized, then came to him again and requested the blessing. In it, Opapo promised that she would receive the land without any hindrance from her husband’s relatives and that she would, if she were faithful, be an instrument in the Lord’s hands to further the work of the Church in American Samoa.
In the early 1950’s, that blessing was fulfilled. The Church purchased some of her property and on it built a high school, faculty housing, a large welfare farm, and a stake center.

The next day in nearby Peñaflor a group of Saints gathered at another font to savor the fruits of missionary labors. Cool leaf-shadows from a neighbor’s fig tree patterned the white baptismal clothing and the bottom of the font. Patterns of light and dark lay on the wall behind them. The service was being held beneath the sky in the backyard of the branch president’s home, but no gleaming new chapel was ever filled with more solemn joy and reverence.

All in white, missionaries and converts stood side by side as the opening hymn was sung and the meaning of the baptismal ordinance explained in talks. A fresh breeze ruffled the leafy vegetables in the backyard garden and whispered through the trees. The shadows in the font shattered into facets of light as a wind ruffled the surface. Elder Sanchez conducted the meeting with quiet dignity. Elder Gonzales told of a bright new life on the other side of the baptismal waters. One by one candidates entered the water and were baptized. Sometimes the words of the ordinance were spoken in easy Chilean Spanish, and sometimes they carried a strong English accent, but always they were spoken clearly and with authority.

While the shadows grew quiet again in the font, the congregation sang gospel hymns until the officiators and candidates returned in their Sunday clothes. Now Elder Holbrook spoke humbly of the gift of the Holy Ghost. Firm, strong hands were laid on heads while words of confirmation were spoken. Afterwards there were hugs and handclasps. Some of the hands that clasped that day will remain to build up Chile. Others, in their proper time, will labor in vineyards far north, but the shadows of fig leaves, the wavering pattern on the baptismal waters, the cool, leafsweet breeze, the clouds mounting from the sea, the smell of spring flowers, the love written on faces and in hearts—these will go with everyone there although years and oceans and mountain ranges, and even death itself, may lie between them.

For example, last November, Typhoon Haiyan hit the island nation of the Philippines.
A Category 5 super typhoon, Haiyan left in its wake extensive destruction and suffering. Complete cities were destroyed; many lives were lost; millions of homes were severely damaged or destroyed; and basic services such as water, sewer, and electricity ceased functioning.
Church resources were made available in the very early hours following this disaster. Church members living in the Philippines rallied to the rescue of their brothers and sisters by providing food, water, clothing, and hygiene kits to members and nonmembers alike.
Church meetinghouses became places of refuge to thousands of the homeless. Under the leadership of the Area Presidency and local priesthood leaders, many of whom had lost everything they had, assessments were made as to the condition and safety of all members. Inspired plans began to take shape to help restore members to acceptable living conditions and self-reliance.
Modest resources were provided to help Church members rebuild their wood-frame shelters and homes. This was not just a free handout. Members received training and performed the needed labor for themselves and then for others.
One resulting blessing was that as members developed carpentry, plumbing, and other construction skills, they were able to secure meaningful work opportunities as nearby cities and communities began rebuilding.

In my senior year at Brigham Young University, I entered the national Woodrow Wilson Fellowship competition, named in honor of a former U.S. president. An important part of this competition is a traditional half-hour private interview, in which three judges may ask each applicant any questions they please. My interview went fairly well until about halfway through, when one of the examiners suddenly changed the subject. My file had contained a copy of my article for a BYU publication on the Book of Mormon, and that was the source of his question. Challengingly, he demanded, “Doesn’t the Book of Mormon just steal from the Bible?”
The next five minutes were nervous ones for me. I undertook to show that the Book of Mormon differed from the Bible in several crucial ways. For instance, in the Sermon on the Mount, which appears in both books, the King James text reads: “whosoever is angry with his brother without a cause shall be in danger of the judgment.” (Matt. 5:22; italics added.) The italicized phrase appears to be an interpolation that was added to the text well after it had been written by Matthew. The earliest New Testament manuscripts do not have it; neither does the Book of Mormon. (See 3 Ne. 12:22.) I also pointed to numerous differences between the selected Isaiah passages cited in the Book of Mormon and the same passages in the Bible, to important similarities between Book of Mormon imagery and nonbiblical Jewish imagery (especially in regard to the tree of life and to the significance of Joseph), and finally to the original poetry as part of the writings of the Book of Mormon prophets.
At least two things make me think that my answer was convincing. First, one of the other professors finally asked the challenging professor quite pointedly, “It doesn’t sound like stealing to me. Have you ever read the Book of Mormon?” And second, I received the fellowship.

After a grueling confinement throughout the winter in Liberty Jail, the Prophet Joseph and his fellow Latter-day Saint prisoners were granted a change of venue for trial. Apparently to spare the state from the publicity of a trial, the guards allowed their prisoners to escape while en route to the new venue. They crossed the Mississippi River into Illinois on April 22, 1839, where they joined the Saints from Missouri, who had received a sympathetic reception from the citizens of Quincy, Illinois. That same day the Prophet hired James Mulholland to again keep a journal for him. From April to October 1839, Brother Mulholland recorded the Prophet’s activities in 15 pages of a handmade pamphlet titled “Minute Book.”

Marvin J. Ashton was born on May 6, 1915, in Salt Lake City to Marvin O. and Rachel Grace Jeremy Ashton. His parents taught him the value of hard work. He raised rabbits and pigeons and worked on a two-acre produce farm raising and selling fruits and vegetables. His ward didn’t have a Scout troop, so he and four friends rode their horses to a neighboring ward and participated in its Scout program, advancing to the rank of Eagle. While in high school, he helped in his father’s hardware store. He continued to work while he attended the University of Utah, where he graduated with a degree in business administration.

Joseph and Emma Smith’s home in Harmony, Pennsylvania.
In April 1828, Emma and Joseph were living in a home along the Susquehanna River, not far from her parents’ house.22 Now well along in her pregnancy, Emma often acted as Joseph’s scribe after he began translating the record. One day, while he translated, Joseph suddenly grew pale. “Emma, did Jerusalem have a wall around it?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, recalling descriptions of it in the Bible.
“Oh,” Joseph said with relief, “I was afraid I had been deceived.”23
Emma marveled that her husband’s lack of knowledge in history and scripture did not hinder the translation. Joseph could hardly write a coherent letter. Yet hour after hour she sat close beside him while he dictated the record without the aid of any book or manuscript. She knew only God could inspire him to translate as he did.24

“We knew quite early that Shawn would be good in basketball,” says Reiner. “I played ball with some men in the ward early mornings at the stake center. I asked Shawn if he would be interested in coming along. He went with me many mornings to the stake center and played with the adults when he was only eleven or twelve years old.”
Some time in his early teenage years, Shawn first beat his Dad in one-on-one basketball competition. “I don’t remember when it happened. When Dad would win, it would make me feel bad, so the next time, he’d let me beat him. I never really knew when I actually could beat him.”

Two days later, on December 31, Wilford and Azmon were baptized. The day of their baptism, however, was not calm and peaceful. As Wilford was getting ready to leave, his horse kicked the hat right off his head. If the horse had kicked two inches lower, Wilford probably would have been killed.
Just ten minutes later, while he was driving this same horse and another hitched to a sled, several loose floorboards gave way! Wilford fell through them to the ground. He held on to the harnesses with all his might as the two frightened horses dragged him down the hill, where he was able to stop them without being seriously injured.
When he finally got to the lake where his baptism was to take place, the ground at the lake’s edge was covered with three feet of snow. Chunks of ice were floating in the water. Nevertheless, he eagerly stepped into the water, was baptized by immersion, and came up filled with joy and excitement. He didn’t care if the water was icy cold—he had found the Lord’s Church! He then and there made a promise to the Lord that he would do anything, go anywhere, and sacrifice everything, if need be, for Heavenly Father.
Wilford Woodruff kept that promise. In fact, he was so loyal, so dependable, that he was called Wilford the Faithful. He served several missions for the Church, was a devoted friend of the Prophet Joseph Smith, crossed the plains with President Brigham Young, and later became the fourth President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He died in 1898 at the age of 92.

In 1992, just three years after Naume and I were married, when we were struggling with the basic necessities of life, a friend—Jerry Hymas from San Diego, California, USA—taught me a self-reliance principle that has made a difference in our lives, even in times of Zimbabwe’s economic meltdown, which we experienced from 2000 to 2008. Jerry said to me, “Eddie, here is a formula for financial success that has worked for me over the years and has enabled me to retire early. When you receive your paycheck, you (1) pay tithing, 10 percent; (2) pay 10 percent to yourself, and (3) pay 10 percent for emergency purposes.” Then he looked at me and said, “Never spend money you do not have.” Naume and I have tried to the best of our ability to follow this model, and it has blessed us tremendously. I recommend this to anyone, especially young couples.

During my youth I had cultivated my spiritual soil. I had planted the seed of prayer in my heart and had felt the growth of knowing that there is a God and that he answers prayers. I had planted the seed of service by home teaching and performing other Church tasks, and I had felt the growth that told me that there is joy in such deeds and that in serving my fellow beings I was truly in the service of my God. I had paid my tithing and had felt the joy of having the windows of heaven opened to me.

Because of these and other thoughts and feelings and commitments, I was in a springtime condition when I planted a mightier seed than I had ever planted before. I accepted the call to serve a mission.

After my bishop announced to me that the Lord would like me to serve a mission, I left his office and went directly to the service station where I worked and told my boss that I was going on a mission. He replied, “That’s good. It’s great training. You’ll be able to speak up and have a lot more confidence when you come home.” Then he added, “Just don’t stand up in church and say you know the gospel is true, because you can’t know that. Those who say such a thing are liars. They don’t know it’s true.” I could not tell him at the time that I knew the Church was true, but I did tell him that I thought it was.

The most abundant harvest came for me some two months after I arrived in England as a missionary. Those first weeks were difficult, and I had been homesick and heartsick. But at the same time I had an intense desire to be a good missionary. I had been assigned to tell the Joseph Smith story to the other seven missionaries in the Hull District. I stood up to recite that which I had diligently and prayerfully prepared and planted within my heart. At first my message was just words, but then something happened. I felt a swelling within my soul which filled me with such joy I could scarcely speak. In my heart I could see the Sacred Grove and I could see Joseph Smith and I could see that he could see God the Father and his Son, Jesus Christ. Then I knew it was good and was true. I didn’t think anymore that the Church was true—I knew. When I returned from my mission, I said in the presence of my former boss that I knew the Church was true. To have not done so would have been a denial of the very real harvest that had grown within me.

Prior to and in the early days of my mission I had desired to know the Church was true. Yet it had not been my main all-consuming concern. The big issue for me was the heartfelt desire to be a good missionary. As I sought after that goal, almost from the sidelines instead of from head-on, I came to know that the Church was true.

Let me conclude by sharing with you a recent episode in the life of Elder Anguiano, a young Mexican-American who prepared for a Spanish-speaking mission, only to be called by the prophet to serve in Christchurch, New Zealand, of all places! Imagine a young man with Spanish as his prime language being sent to a country where the Spanish language is spoken very rarely, if ever!

As President Philip Sonntag waited at the airport for his one lone missionary to arrive, his mind was seeking for divine help in the proper placement of a young man with Spanish language ability in a mission where only English was understood. As the passengers started deplaning, President Sonntag spotted his new elder immediately. Maybe it was his gleaming, new white shirt that seemed particularly white compared to the other holidaying passengers. His sparkling attitude set him apart as being very special. He was one of the Lord’s anointed. His steps quickened as he neared the terminal building. He was obviously eager to start his mission. As he approached his mission president, it was with outstretched arms for a warm Mexican abrazo. This was his background, this was his custom even in faraway New Zealand. And then he spoke his first words: “President, I have come here to baptize.”

Now, mission presidents don’t usually release one of their assistants to be a trainer for a new missionary, but when the Spirit prompted President Sonntag for the third time, he was convinced, and Elder Keung, an outstanding young man of Chinese and Maori parentage, was made available to form this “League of Nations” companionship.

Would you believe that not more than three weeks later President Sonntag was informed that the two had contacted what was perhaps the only family on the south island of New Zealand who could speak nothing but Spanish? This Chilean family, newly arrived in New Zealand, needed the Church. They needed Elder Anguiano, and the Lord answered that need through a living prophet. Not only that, but word has now come that more than one hundred other families from Chile are currently in the process of immigrating to New Zealand, and Elder Anguiano is anxiously waiting with his newly baptized family to start the friendshipping and teaching process.

My best friend in high school was an agnostic. My friend said he didn’t know if there was a God, but if a God created us, He must have gone far away and left us all alone. Why else would so many bad things happen in this world? How could a God who watched over His children let them be hurt so much?
I understood why some people did bad things. I knew about agency and the effects of choices we make. My widowed mother had taught me about those things at home. I knew the gospel was the right way to live. I saw it work for my mother in her life, and I knew in my mind that it was the way Heavenly Father wanted us to live.
But I didn’t know this where it really counted—in my heart. I thought I was sure of the truth, but sometimes I had my own “why” and “what if” questions about God and His plan for us. I wasn’t so sure of what I “knew” that I could tell my friend and mean it with every part of me.
That kind of knowing did not come until I took a Book of Mormon class while I was in college. Sister Irene Spears taught the class as if the Book of Mormon were completely new to us. In a way it was for me; I had never read the book all the way through. When I reached the end, I found Moroni’s promise to readers: “And when ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost” (Moroni 10:4). I knew this promise was to me. I got on my knees beside my bed to ask.
I didn’t expect an answer to be so strong or to come so fast. Before I could finish the words of my prayer, I knew that the Book of Mormon was the word of God and that Joseph Smith was a prophet. If those things were true, then David O. McKay was also a prophet, and he had said that every young man who was able should go on a mission, so I was going on a mission.

Suellen (Su) Moraes is a member of the Church and a third-year student at Birmingham City University. She applied to the ParliaMentors programme after she followed a link sent to her by her stake president via a young adult group chat.
Su has been recognised as an outstanding ParliaMentors student, and Sister Tracey Prior and ParliaMentors Programme organiser, Ben Shapiro, wanted to show appreciation for her involvement.
Su, and three other students studying at Birmingham City University, knew that there were homeless people in the city. During the coronavirus pandemic, they recognised that homelessness would be a greater challenge.
At first, they wanted to collect supplies to give to the homeless, but this wasn’t possible with no one on campus. They kept looking for ways to help, however, and explored the matter through networking.
Su reconnected with a friend who worked with her a few years earlier. She discovered his passion for politics and was amazed at his desire to do meaningful work. That’s when she felt prompted to mention the homeless project. Her friend was able to link Su’s group to a company certified in construction-industry training. She was told that if the group had homeless people. they would train them free of charge.
Su then went back to her group to get their thoughts on the construction-industry training opportunity.
The construction-training opportunity is a huge success, and Su’s group are pleased with their efforts. They said that giving the homeless in their areas skills would help them in the long run.
Now Su’s group is working with homeless charities to refer individuals to them so they can liaise with the construction company to enrol the candidates into courses.
Ben is very impressed with their efforts, mostly because networking was in socially distanced ways, primarily online.
Sister Prior congratulated Su, saying she was “changing someone’s future, not just today.”
Su’s group is continuing its referral project, even after graduation, to help homeless people to be trained for careers. They started a society at their university, and they hope it will continue with other ParliaMentors participants.

It was cool inside the Western Presbyterian Church of Palmyra on Sunday, that twenty-first day of September, 1823. Fall had just come blowing in, laying the smoke flat on the chimney tops, but there was no fireplace inside the frame meetinghouse on Church Street. It was not considered necessary to provide comforts in a house of worship.
Joseph and Don Carlos, who were not Presbyterians, had accompanied their mother, Hyrum, Sophronia, and Samuel to meeting. The other members of the family attended the newly built Methodist church in the eastern part of Palmyra. As Joseph passed the Reverend Daniel C. Hopkins on the way out, he smiled and was about to comment on the sermon when the minister abruptly turned away. Joseph and his family had almost grown used to being treated with a shrug and turn of the head, so they quietly walked on through the doorway. On several occasions, men of high standing in the most popular churches of the day had instigated bitter persecution against Joseph and his family. Joseph thought often of the intense bitterness that would cause someone to try to kill him in the dooryard of his home.
Joseph recalled his mother’s words as he walked down the meetinghouse steps that morning. A red-headed boy with a splash of freckles taunted in a whisper that was meant to be heard, “Had any visions lately?”
When Joseph turned and caught his eye, the boy snickered and ran down Church Street.
Suddenly chilled, Lucy hugged a shawl to her shoulders as a husky, weather-beaten farmer called out, “Well, I do believe that’s young Joe Smith coming out of our meetinghouse!”
The men began joking about visions, taunting Joseph to argue with them. But he walked on in silence, his mouth tightened around a reply that he would not utter. No use starting a war of words, especially when he wasn’t right sure of the answers.
Lucy’s heart cried out to her son, Joseph, Joseph, don’t let them hurt you. Alvin, noticing his mother’s anguished expression, took her arm and said comfortingly, “Remember that Father has often said that Joseph has a lot of courage for a stripling. He can take it on the chin. If he had a mind to, he could wrestle the two of them to the ground with one arm tied behind his back.”
Lucy knew it was true. She also knew it took strength and courage to bear the humiliation in silence.
But six-year-old Don Carlos was flushed with anger. He backed away from the men, fretting like a cornered owl. Then suddenly he stopped for a moment, his face curiously without expression. When he caught up with Joseph again, he was smiling broadly. In guarded tones he confessed, “There’s one good thing about having four front teeth missing at once. You can stick out your tongue with your mouth closed.”
Joseph chuckled all the way to the wagon. “I’ll never tell,” he promised.

Eleven-year-old Hansen P. of the Bangalore Second Branch, Bangalore India District, was excited. After church the older boys in the branch would be teaching him how to prepare, bless, and pass the sacrament.
First, the boys who are teachers in the Aaronic Priesthood showed Hansen how they prepare the trays of bread and fill the cups with water.
Next, the priests read through the sacrament prayers and explained how they fold the tablecloths.
Finally, the deacons showed where they stand, how they pass the sacrament to the congregation, and how they help everyone be reverent.
“The Aaronic Priesthood is important,” Hansen says. “There is much I must do to prepare to receive it.”

“Becky, could you please ask your brothers to come to the family room?” Mom said. “Dad and I have something to tell everyone.”
I went and got Chip and Keith, and we gathered in the family room.
“I received some great news today,” Dad said. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope. “Grandpa Greer sent us a letter saying that Great-Grandma Meikle is going to be baptized.”
“Who is Great-Grandma Meikle?” Chip asked.
“She is Grandma Greer’s mother,” Dad said. “Do you remember when we visited Grandma and Grandpa last year? We also visited Great-Grandma Meikle in the nursing home where she lives.”
“But Great-Grandma must be 100 years old!” Keith said. “She can hardly walk. How can she be baptized? When I was baptized, I was eight years old. Grandmas can’t be baptized.”
“Great-Grandma’s birthday is next week,” Mom said. “She will be 88 years old. She wants to be baptized on her birthday. To be baptized, a person needs to be eight or older. Remember when Brother Garcia was baptized? He wasn’t eight years old.”
Brother Garcia’s daughter Maria was in my class at school. We ate lunch together. She told me the missionaries had been visiting her dad. She loved to have the missionaries in her home. “Did Great-Grandma Meikle have the missionaries visit her?” I asked.
“Yes,” Dad replied. “They visited her every week and answered her questions. Grandpa Greer has also been helping her learn the gospel. And Great-Grandma attends church meetings in the nursing home. She has made many friends in the Church.”
“Who is going to baptize her?” Keith asked. “Dad baptized me. Great-Grandma doesn’t have a dad.”
“The missionaries could do it,” Mom said, “but Great-Grandma has asked Grandpa Greer to do it.”
“Can we go?” Chip pleaded.
“I’m afraid not,” Dad said. “It’s too far away.”
“Can I write a letter?” I asked.
“What a great idea!” Mom said, smiling. “Let’s all write her letters telling her how happy we are for her.”
“I’ll tell her about my baptism so she won’t be nervous,” Keith said on his way to get a pencil and paper.
After everyone finished their letters, we put them in a big envelope and addressed it to Great-Grandma Meikle in the nursing home. Maybe she would write back and tell us all about her special day. It was great news knowing that even great-grandmas can be baptized.