Gospel Story Finder

In São Paulo and Salvador, Brazil, Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf ministered to large groups in meetings but also to small groups and individuals, including consoling the family of a recently deceased full-time missionary, attending two wards’ sacrament and Sunday School meetings, accompanying several companionships of missionaries as they visited part-member families, and being recognized by a recent convert while riding the São Paulo subway. He said that Brazil is a “place where the thought that we are all children of Heavenly Father is really visible and practiced.”

Perhaps it was on that first mission in England that young Elder Benson first glimpsed the converting power of the Book of Mormon—a theme he would address for the rest of his life. Because opposition to the Church was so intense in northern England in 1922, street meetings and tracting had been discontinued in some areas. When the members in South Shields asked Elder Benson and his companion to speak in a meeting where many nonmembers would be in attendance, the missionaries fasted and prayed for inspiration.

Elder Benson prepared to speak about the Apostasy, but it was not until he sat down after delivering his talk that he realized that he had not mentioned that topic. “I had talked on the Prophet Joseph Smith and borne my witness of his divine mission and to the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon,” he later recalled.

Afterward, several people came forward and said, “Tonight we received a witness that the gospel is true as you elders teach it. We are now ready for baptism” (Ensign, May 1977, page 34).

Tropical Colours, Cairns: If you’d like to visit just about every island in the Pacific, learning about the customs, cultures, and dances of the native people, just watch a performance by Tropical Colours of the Pacific, a group of teenagers based in Cairns, Queensland.
Most group members are Mormons, and thanks to their standards there’s more to this group than dancing. There’s a lot of good examples.
“We’ve based our performing group standards on the For the Strength of Youth pamphlet,” explains Rosie Mitchell, 17. “That way, we know we’re building on a righteous foundation.”
Through Rosie’s example, two members of the group, Anne Browne, 17, and Alicia Elliot, 17, became interested and joined the Church.
“You feel the Spirit when you’re around Latter-day Saints,” Alicia says. “That’s what got me into the Church. The Spirit is always there, and it makes you want to know more.”

Some years ago, I went canoeing with a group of young women. The deep blue lakes surrounded by green, thickly forested hills and rocky cliffs were breathtakingly beautiful. The water sparkled on our paddles as we dipped them into the clear water, and the sun shone warmly while we moved smoothly across the lake.
However, clouds soon darkened the sky, and a stiff wind began to blow. To make any progress at all, we had to dig deeply into the water, paddling without pausing between strokes. After a few grueling hours of backbreaking work, we finally turned the corner on the large lake and discovered to our amazement and delight that the wind was blowing in the direction we wanted to go.
Quickly, we took advantage of this gift. We pulled out a small tarp and tied two of its corners to paddle handles and the other corners to my husband’s feet, which he stretched out over the gunwales of the canoe. The wind billowed the improvised sail, and we were off!
When the young women in the other canoes saw how we moved along the water with ease, they quickly improvised sails of their own. Our hearts were light with laughter and relief, grateful for the respite from the challenges of the day.

The event was part of a busy 11-day visit to Africa by Elder Rasband, the Kearons and the Budges.
With the help of technology, the visiting leaders held priesthood leadership conferences and other meetings across the Africa Central Area and participated in stake conferences in Kinshasa, Democratic Republic of the Congo and Nairobi, Kenya. The leaders also met virtually with missionaries assigned to serve in Gabon and Cameroon, as well as those who have recently been evacuated from Ethiopia due to unrest. They met with Church leaders and members in the Africa South Area and made an impromptu trip to the newly-reopened missionary training centre in Roodepoort, west of Johannesburg, South Africa. In most settings, Elder Rasband invited and responded to questions from the Saints.
Elder Joseph W. Sitati, President of the Africa Central Area, said that having Elder Rasband visit—who has recently been assigned as the supervising Apostle for the Africa Central and Africa South Areas—felt as if the Lord were reaching out to the Saints of the African continent.
“Having an Apostle of the Lord focused specifically on the Church in the Africa Central Area was really like having the Lord Himself speak directly to the challenges that we as leaders and members face,” he said.
Elder Christoffel Golden, Africa South Area President, reflected on some of the messages that encapsulated the essence of Elder Rasband‘s visit.
“The first principle involved love,” he said. “Elder Rasband emphasised the importance of cultivating a love of God and a love of our fellow beings.”
He also “instructed us as leaders to strengthen the Church and live the gospel here in Africa,” Elder Golden continued. “He expressed that the Lord and his prophet, Russell M. Nelson, the First Presidency and the Twelve Apostles love us, are grateful for our service, and need us in this holy work.
Along with that came a clarion call to following the living prophet. This, said Elder Sitati, “was especially relevant at a time when not only are many not vaccinated against COVID-19, but we also have several places where there is growing anxiety due to insecurity such as Ethiopia, Uganda and some areas in the DRC.”
But despite these difficulties, said Elder Golden, “we were given the apostolic assurance that we can live and prosper in faith and joy, irrespective of where we live, in all circumstances and at all times—even within the current COVID-19 pandemic.”
Elder Sitati also described the comfort and assurance that emanated from the Apostle.
“In my interactions with Elder Rasband, I felt the confirming witness deep in my heart that he is an Apostle of the Lord,” he said. “It is difficult for me to properly describe the feeling to someone else but being around him made me feel holy.”
Shortly before returning to the USA, Elder Rasband said that he was amazed and impressed with the people he had interacted with in Africa.
“This is the sixth time I’ve been to Africa and I’m constantly pleased and inspired by everyone,” he said. “Whether it be the leadership we’ve been with, or members, or missionaries—I’m amazed by these wonderful people who are doing their best and building up the Lord’s Church and kingdom.”

Christianity celebrates the life and ministry of Jesus Christ, the Only Begotten Son of God the Eternal Father. Christian churches with great variations of doctrine dot the land the world over. When 14-year-old Cortnee, a daughter of a mission president, entered a new high school as a freshman, she was asked by classmates if she was a Christian. They scoffed at her response that she was a Mormon, a common reference to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Upon arriving home she asked her mother, “Mom, are we Christians?”
Cortnee asked, “Mom, are we Christians?” As a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, you are a Christian, and I am too. I am a devout Christian who is exceedingly fortunate to have greater knowledge of the true “doctrine of Christ”11 since my conversion to the restored Church. These truths define this Church as having the fulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Like other members of the Church, I now understand the true nature of the Godhead, I have access to additional scripture and revelation, and I can partake of the blessings of priesthood authority. Yes, Cortnee, we are Christians, and I testify of these truths in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

One young engaged couple learned a lasting lesson about how listening to the Spirit could help them make correct choices. Before their marriage, they sometimes needed time alone to talk, away from her roommates or the relatives with whom he lived. One night the couple found an attractive spot half a kilometer or so off a main highway, next to a lightly traveled road that ran by the edge of a lake. There was nothing but talk on their minds. Only a few seconds after he turned off the engine of his car, however, they both felt a strong witness of the Spirit that they should not stay there. He started the car, and they drove back to a more public area.

“We’ve never learned the reason why we were supposed to leave that place,” he says, “but we’ve always been glad that we obeyed the prompting. Whatever else it may have meant, it helped us learn to recognize the voice of the Spirit as we’ve sought direction in our marriage and our individual lives.”

“My prayers became more meaningful as I imagined Heavenly Father being in the room with me. This helped me articulate my thoughts and feelings. I worked on listening for answers throughout the whole day and not just when praying. When I did listen while praying, it felt like I was counseling with God rather than talking at Him. I felt He was listening and responding to me. Sometimes I would receive a specific spiritual insight or answer to a question, but mostly I just felt that He and the Savior love me and are aware of me.”—Stefanie Roussety, Victoria, Australia

I can say as Nephi said, that I was “born of goodly parents” (1 Ne. 1:1). During World War II my father was captured by the Germans when they invaded our country of Belgium. He escaped from them and disappeared into the Underground (a group opposing the invaders). As a young child, I remember seeing my father only once or twice. He made very short visits, then disappeared again into the Underground, where he was a radio operator.
Even when the war was over, he didn’t come home right away but went to Germany with the Belgian Army. Then he was assigned to another city in Belgium. Fortunately my mother was a very strong and faithful person. When my father was away, she was the head and the strength of the family.

7 The golden spike connected railroad tracks from east and west which Mormon muscles helped to build. Brigham Young, wanting to keep Gentile construction gangs out of Utah, contracted for the Saints to grade the ground, lay track, dig tunnels, and build bridges and trestles. To fill the contract, LDS bishops called men on “labor” missions to form track crews. When the job was done, the railroads failed to pay the promised six million dollars owed the Church, but they did donate some railroad equipment which the Church used to build branch line railroads in Utah. The transcontinental railroad helped reduce the price of eastern goods sold in Utah and transportation costs to and from Utah. By train, missionaries reached their mission fields quicker, and immigrants reached Utah easier—the pioneer era of wagon trains came to an end. Trains brought an influx of Gentiles to Utah. LDS leaders, fearing outside influences brought by the railroads, launched several retrenchment programs, including what became the Young Ladies Mutual Improvement Association, Relief Societies, and ZCMI Stores (Zion’s Cooperative Mercantile Institute) to guard the Saints against unacceptable dress styles and unfair Gentile competition with Utah industries.

I gained an interest in studying the scriptures and learning about the doctrines of the gospel. Seminary really helped me to get ready to go on a mission.
I had a great family. My dad and my mom understood the gospel and taught it to us. But studying and trying to learn something on my own made a difference for me.

Juwan and Jia help Mom shop.
Jia is tired!
Juwan makes a silly face. But Jia is still not happy.
He makes more funny faces for Jia!Jia laughs.
“Thank you for helping me finish our shopping, Juwan,” Mom says.
Juwan is glad he can help his family.
Juwan made funny faces to help Jia feel better. What faces can you make to help others feel happy? Draw them below.

Elder Featherstone’s childhood years were often difficult. His father had a drinking problem. “I remember that on payday my mother would look out the window, waiting for the bus to come by that would drop my dad off. She would wait and wait until the last bus had gone by. He would not come home; he would be out spending his paycheck on alcohol.

“We’d have no food in the house at all, and the next day my mother would send me to the store. I’d get our old red wagon with the tires worn off and the rims worn flat and drag it up the street as slowly as I possibly could. I’d get to the store, go in, and walk around the aisles, trying to avoid Mr. Parsons. Finally, I’d hand him my mother’s note: ‘Dear Mr. Parsons, We don’t have any food in the house. Would you mind charging fifty pounds of flour, a bucket of lard, some side pork, and a few other things? We promise to pay back every penny when we get some money. Thanks.’

“Mr. Parsons would fill the order and make out a charge slip and put the food in the wagon, and I’d drag it home. I did that more times than I can tell you. I give credit to my mother and older brothers that we paid back every single penny that we ever owed to Mr. Parsons.

My name is Somaro Manning, and I am a professional building contractor in Jamaica. In October 2023, my business partner, Loren McDonald, a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, and I had the opportunity to bid on and complete a Church humanitarian project in our area. Little did I know this opportunity would lead to my baptism into the Church.
My business partner, whom I consider to be my brother, would often nudge me, encouraging me to be baptized. After working on the humanitarian project and having in-depth conversations with strong men in the gospel, I met with the missionaries and saw how truthful and sincere they were in spreading the gospel of Christ. On November 6, 2023, I was baptized a member of the Church. My wife is not yet a member, but my hope is that she will accept the gospel soon so that she, too, can experience the joy and blessings that the gospel brings.

I recall as a boy hearing of the experiences of my Miller ancestors. In the spring of 1848, my great-great-grandparents, Charles Stewart Miller and Mary McGowan Miller, joined the Church in their native Scotland, left their home in Rutherglen, Scotland, and journeyed across the Atlantic Ocean. They reached the port of New Orleans and traveled up the Mississippi River to St. Louis, Missouri, with a group of Saints, arriving there in 1849. One of their 11 children, Margaret, would become my great-grandmother.
When the family arrived in St. Louis, planning to earn enough money to make their way to the Salt Lake Valley, a plague of cholera struck the area. The Miller family was hard-hit: in the space of two weeks, mother, father, and two of their sons died. My great-grandmother, Margaret Miller, was 13 years old at the time.
Because of all the deaths in the area, there were no caskets available—at any price. The older surviving boys dismantled the family’s oxen pens in order to make crude caskets for the family members who had passed away.
The nine remaining orphaned Miller children and the husband of one of the older daughters left St. Louis in the spring of 1850 with four oxen and one wagon, arriving finally in the Salt Lake Valley that same year.

Elder James Swift, of England Leeds, Manchester, Scotland/Ireland Service Mission, remarked, “At the time of the first two band members leaving for their missions we had received lots of interest from record labels, managers and agents wanting to get us on their rosters. But the boys knew that it was their time to go and serve, so we turned down all those amazing offers and trusted in the Lord. Leaving my music aspirations behind and leaving university was a difficult decision to make. I won’t lie but I was very reluctant, even frustrated by the fact that this was the time I felt so impressed to go and serve. However, I have been blessed already beyond measure. I’ve been placed in the most perfect mission, with some of the greatest missionaries the Church has to offer. I’m truly grateful for the chance I have had to show my love for the Saviour by making these sacrifices and ultimately devoting myself to His ministry.”

Lucy can’t always tell others what she is feeling, but she wants people to feel loved and happy. And her paintings do that!
Lucy was born with a syndrome that makes her muscles not work together well. It makes it hard for her to swallow and talk. Lucy rides a special bike and goes on hikes with her family to get stronger.

Recently a young father bore his testimony regarding his contribution to the temple fund. His challenge by his bishop was to accept a suggested assessment for the contribution to the temple fund. This amount totaled nearly all he had saved through the years to build his own home. After discussing this with his wife and his children, they decided to give to the Lord all they had in their savings account for the building of the temple in Tokyo, and they gave up their dream of a new home.
One day, not too long after making this contribution to the bishop, the man’s superiors called him into the office and unexpectedly gave him a promotion in the company, with a large increase in his salary, and also with the promotion came an allowance for a new home.

About the last thing Cindie and I had expected to find on our evening stroll was a tombstone. But there it was, at the base of a large oak tree where the forest met the meadow, not a hundred yards from Bottlerock Road.
Quickly 11-year-old Cindie ran to the stone, knelt beside it, and began trying to make out the inscription. Together we pulled away the dry moss that obscured some of the lettering and read:
MARYANN DEMING
wife of Rufus Deming
died Jan. 5, 1855
in the 56th year of her age
Her eyes shining, my auburn-haired Cindie said, “Oh, dad, I can just see what happened. There were Mormon pioneers crossing the plains, and poor Maryann was killed in an Indian raid, and her husband and children were heartbroken, and they buried her here and sadly left her and went on to Utah. It was so tragic!”
“I don’t think so, Red. The Mormon pioneers didn’t pass through Lake County, California, in 1855 or any other time. More likely she and her family were here as part of the gold rush or to find a good farm or something like that. But I’m sure you’re right about her family being very sad when she died.”
“Well, we’ll just have to do her temple work for her. I just know that Heavenly Father led us to this spot so we could find Maryann’s tombstone and do her temple work for her.”
“I’m glad you thought of that, love. But we can’t do her temple work with just a tombstone inscription. We’d have to have her birth date and other information—and anyway, her work may already have been done.”
“But what if it hasn’t? Oh, dad, I can just see it now: One of her great-grandchildren has been looking for her records for just years and years, and they need her death date, and they’re praying that someone will find her tombstone and send in the information to the Genealogical Library, and give me your pen and paper.”
Well, I’ve never been one to deter an 11-year-old daughter of mine from doing something good. We copied down the tombstone inscription so that it could be sent to the library in Salt Lake. Why not? My exuberant, fervent, firstborn might be right—maybe someone somewhere was looking for Maryann Deming.
When we got back to grandma and grandpa’s summer cabin, it was nearly dark. Cindie recounted our discovery of the tombstone and our plan to send the inscription to Salt Lake.
Cindie didn’t join the rest of us for our usual evening game of dominoes that night. She spent the entire evening at the kitchen table with the old portable typewriter, trying to get a letter to the Genealogical Library ready to go.
The next day was Sunday. Together with grandma and grandpa our family drove to the Lakeport Branch to attend our Sunday meetings and to enjoy a nice dinner and a leisurely drive.
On the way back to the vacation cabin grandpa took Bottlerock Road, and we were nearing home when Cindie cried out, “Grandpa! Stop the car! There’s a cemetery!”
Well, we stopped, and Cindie ran the hundred yards or so to a small cemetery atop a hill. She walked quickly from one stone to the next, peered intently at several inscriptions, and then ran back to the car. “It won’t take but a few minutes,” she announced. “If we divide up the cemetery, and if everyone helps, we can write down all of the inscriptions in 15 minutes! We’ll add these names onto the list with Maryann’s and send them all to Salt Lake!”
Now, I’m not one to discourage an 11-year-old daughter of mine from doing something good, but we were dressed in our Sunday clothes, and the cemetery was dusty and overgrown with dry weeds, and we didn’t have enough pencils, and it was really hot. “Tell you what, Red. You’ve got a great idea, and I’m all for it—but let’s do it this evening, okay?”
As it turned out, Cindie couldn’t wait until evening. As soon as we got back to the cabin she put on her dust-and-dry-weeds ensemble and began organizing a cemetery safari. Everyone else opted for hammocks and shade, so old dad got elected to provide transportation. Besides, I try never to discourage an 11-year-old daughter of mine from doing something good.
We took a couple of pencils and pads of paper and drove back to Mountaintop Cemetery. Working together, with one of us reading the inscriptions and the other writing, we finished the job in less than an hour. As we worked, I marveled at the unflagging enthusiasm of my tall redhead: It was a scorching day—there was no shade—dust and weeds were everywhere—we had nothing to drink—and yet she chattered continually and gave the impression that she was having the very time of her life.
That evening Cindie tried to type up the 85 new inscriptions so that they could be sent to the library in Salt Lake. At length her mom took pity on her and took over the typing chores.
I was enjoying my favorite Sunday evening activity: lying in a lounge chair, sipping lemonade, and looking up at the stars peeking through the pine trees. Cindie pulled a lounge chair over next to mine, helped herself to my lemonade, and thanked me for helping her with her cemetery project. “Oh, dad, I can just see it all,” she said quietly. “There are people somewhere who have been looking for those names for just years and years. I’m sure Heavenly Father guided us to take Bottlerock Road today so we could find that cemetery and copy down those names.”
“Could be, love. But it could also be that someone has already written down those inscriptions. They might already be in the library in Salt Lake.” It was several minutes later when Cindie broke the silence.
“Dad?”
“What, love?”
“Do you suppose there are other cemeteries around here?”
“Probably.”
“Like where?”
“Hard to say. There’s probably one down in the valley in Middletown. Why?”
“Oh, I was just thinking.” Well, that should have tipped me off, but somehow I completely missed it—until next morning at 5:30.
“Psst. Dad. Get up.”
“Hzmph?”
“Get up. It’s already light outside. We’ve got to get started before it gets hot.” There was urgency in my Cindie’s dark brown eyes.
“Hzmph? Frmms?”
“The cemetery in Middletown. I’ve got a jug of ice-water, and I’ve made a sack lunch—I mean sack breakfast—and I’ve got pencils and the note pads.”
“Prmp?” inquired mom.
“Hurry, dad,” implored my redhead. “And be quiet. We don’t want to wake anyone at this hour.”
Now that last statement was something I could believe in. But I’ve never been one to discourage an 11-year-old daughter of mine from doing something good, so I got up and got dressed.
When we got to Middletown the thermometer by the bank displayed 6:15 A.M. and 80° F. Just outside of town on Highway 29, we found what looked like the largest cemetery in the Northern Hemisphere, with major portions overrun with poison oak and blackberry vines. In my mind I pictured the rest of the family sleeping in.
We soon discovered that it’s hard to keep track of which stones have been copied and which haven’t, so we drove back to town and bought a box of chalk at a variety store. The display at the bank now, showed 97° F.
It took until lunchtime to get through the poison-oak-and-berry-vine section of the cemetery. Page after page of notes had been taken, but we had made chalk marks on only a few dozen of the hundreds of tombstones. We had barely made a good beginning.
We took time out to go back to town for a hamburger and a milkshake, and then checked out the temperature again: 105° F. In my mind I could see the rest of the family enjoying a swim at the resort near the cabin.
It was nearly dark when we finished, and both Cindie and I were exhausted. We left Middletown and its heat and drove back up the mountain to the cabin in the cool, shady grove. My redhead slept as we drove and was too tired to even eat supper.
But the next morning she was up and at it. All through the morning, while other family members swam and hiked and picked berries, Cindie hunched over the old typewriter.
After lunch I offered to help Cindie with the typing, and she gratefully accepted. Together we worked our way through the pile of notes: typing, proofreading, rechecking. It was evening before we finished the last page.
Grandpa went with Cindie to the store near the resort to buy a binder for the completed project. When they returned, Cindie reported that she and grandpa had decided one thing was lacking—an index.
All through the evening Cindie and her grandpa worked on the index. Twenty-six pieces of notebook paper—one for each letter of the alphabet—were laid out on the table. Slowly, carefully, the names were written down and organized. As portions of the index were completed they were handed to mom, who typed them. It was midnight before the title page was completed and we all stumbled into bed. The next day we sent Cindie’s book to the Genealogical Library in Salt Lake.
A few weeks later, with summer vacation behind us, Cindie came home from school to discover an impressive-looking envelope in the mailbox. Excitedly, she called me at my work and read, “The Genealogical Society wishes to thank you for your 41-page booklet, Cemetery Inscriptions of Lake County, California. You have provided important information which we did not have in our collection—information which will no doubt be very useful to many of our patrons in the years ahead. We congratulate you, at age 11, on having your own author card in our card catalog.”
As she read the letter and chattered happily over the telephone, I thought to myself how important it is to never discourage an exuberant 11-year-old from doing something good.
Then Cindie spoke again: “Dad,” she said, “when do you want to start on Los Angeles County?”

Tine Andersen of the Roskilde Ward, Copenhagen Denmark Stake, says, “You don’t have that closeness anywhere else. The Spirit is very strong.” A returned missionary, Tine is the daughter of two temple workers. Her father, Niels, speaks with reverence of opportunities he had while serving as a guide during the open house before the temple’s dedication. “It was a fantastic experience to see people’s reactions,” he says, and emotion overtakes him as he recalls the stream of visitors. “I have done missionary work for many years, and for the first time, I saw them come on their own. We did not have to knock on doors to find them.”
Some 25,000 people toured the temple during the open house. Brother Andersen remembers one of those people, an architect who had been involved in building many fine churches throughout Europe. But what the man felt in the temple touched him in ways he could not explain; he could only try to describe it in terms of the beauty and quality of the building.