Gospel Story Finder

In September 2021, before the general conference, I visited the holy temple. I felt truly happy, telling my Heavenly Father about the joy and progress in my life, work, Church, and with my children. Having been divorced for nearly five years, I was content and hoped to remain that way.
The following week, a gentleman named José, that I knew somewhat through his daughter, sent me a friend request on Facebook. I was surprised, but nevertheless, we began chatting. During that time, my grandmother was very ill in the hospital. The night before she passed, I reached out to him for comfort, and he was there for me, even at 5:00 in the morning. His support meant a lot during that difficult time.
After my grandmother’s funeral on October 16, 2021, I asked José to meet and talk. I remember arriving at the restaurant, and he was waiting for me outside; we greeted each other with a hug and talked for several hours. On that first date, he told me, “I want to get married, and if it were with you, even better.”
From then on, we felt an incredible bond, as if we had known each other forever. Just days later, we knew we wanted to be together for life and decided to get married six months later.
Despite some challenges, we married civilly on April 8, 2022, in a small but joyful ceremony. We were sealed for eternity on December 17, 2022, in the Monterrey Mexico Temple.

After it snowed all day, my neighborhood was covered with over a foot of slushy snow. I wanted to be alone and have some time to think, so I decided to go out and shovel driveways. I knew of several elderly widows who could use the help.
I went out and walked from house to house, shoveling driveways. Suddenly, I felt the love of our Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. It filled me with hope and the understanding that even though times were tough, everything would be OK. I have found that if we need help to overcome trials, one of the best ways is to help others. I also learned that if you are doing good things, you will be more receptive to the Spirit.
Jared L., Washington, USA

A true story from the USA.
“What’s this, Mom?” Sadie pulled a big tin can out of the back of the cupboard. “It has no label on it.”
“I forgot about that,” Mom said. “The labels had come off some canned goods, so the store was selling them for cheap. I bought one. I figured it was probably canned peas.”
Sadie made a face. Canned peas were not her favorite.
Mom picked up the can and turned it over. “They’ll go bad soon. We’d better eat them today.” She put the can on the table.
“What’s that?” Sadie’s big brother, Jason, asked.
“Who knows?” Sadie said. “Mom thinks it’s peas.”
Jason shook the can. “Doesn’t sound like peas. My guess is beans.”
That gave Sadie an idea. She grabbed some tape and a marker and wrote “peas” on one piece of paper and “beans” on another. She taped them to the can.
Then she thought for a minute and wrote “tomato sauce” on another piece.
Just then Dad came into the kitchen. “What’s going on?”
“We’re playing a game,” Mom said. “Guess what’s in the can.”
Dad picked up the can, shook it hard, and gave it a sniff. “Mushrooms!” he announced.
Everyone groaned. “Not mushrooms!” Sadie said. That was worse than peas, beans, and tomato sauce. “Maybe we should just throw the can away.”
“Aren’t you curious to know what’s really inside?” asked Mom.
Dad grabbed the can opener. “I am!”
As Dad opened the can, Sadie covered her eyes. But when he pulled back the lid, she was surprised. The can was full of delicious fruit.
“Yummy!” she said as she looked at the cut-up pears, grapes, cherries, and peaches.
Jason brought over bowls and spoons. “Let’s eat!”
Sadie spooned some fruit from the can into her bowl. “I can’t believe we were all wrong,” she said. “I was sure there was something yucky inside.”
“Do we ever label people like that?” asked Mom.
“What do you mean?” Sadie asked.
Dad set his bowl on the table. “We decide what they are like on the inside, when all we can see is the outside.”
Sadie thought about that. “When Samara was new at school, I thought she wasn’t friendly. But then I learned she just couldn’t speak our language very well. Now we play all the time!”
“That’s a good example,” said Mom.
“Sometimes I feel labeled,” Jason said softly. “Kids at school say I only get good grades because the teacher likes me. But the truth is, I work hard and do all my homework.”
“Labels can hurt, can’t they?” said Dad.
Jason nodded.
Sadie finished her last bite of fruit. “But are all labels bad? At the store you need to know what you’re actually buying.”
“You’re right,” Dad said. “So when are labels good?”
Jason held up his spoon. “When they’re true!”
“And who knows what’s truly inside a person?” asked Mom.
“Heavenly Father,” Sadie and Jason said together.
“I get it!” Sadie said. “I am a child of God. That’s the right label for me.”
“And me,” said Jason.
“And me!” said Dad.
“For everyone.” Mom smiled. “So we shouldn’t label people based on what we see on the outside, or believe false labels given to us. Because only God knows what we truly are inside.”
Sadie wrote on a new piece of tape and stuck it on her sweater. “A child of God,” she said. Sadie smiled. She liked that label best of all.

While I was serving my first mission to Mexico and Central America, my companion and I received a very interesting final assignment from our mission president. He asked us to leave the mission home and go down to a town in Southern Mexico, where some months before missionaries had been withdrawn due to religious and political persecution. Their lives had been threatened by mobs. A few converts had been baptized, but a real organization of the Church had not been established. As a result, these new members had been left alone, and for months the mission president heard little about how things were going.

We were given a list of names and asked by the mission president to go there, find the people, see how they were doing, and, if possible, locate a place where we could quietly conduct a sacrament meeting. For all those months, they had not had the privilege we take so much for granted of partaking of the sacrament each week.

We arrived early in the morning and immediately searched for the address of the first name on the list. We located her address and passed through a door in a high adobe wall that surrounded a crowded cluster of tiny huts around a central area.

It seemed that everyone there was watching us. Back in the corner was a little grass-thatched hut. The sister we were looking for came to the door, saw us, and easily recognized by our dress that we were missionaries. With tears in her eyes, she rushed to us and greeted us with a hug. We identified ourselves and told her why we were there.

After this brief greeting, she went back into her hut and brought out a clay jar into which she put her hand and withdrew some money she had been saving for months. Even though she had been alone without any Church organization, she had been saving her tithing with faith and hope that someday her tithing would be taken to the appropriate place.

She obviously had many unmet needs; yet, she was handing us money. My first impression was not to accept it and to encourage her to spend it wherever she might need it. Then I realized that it was not my right to do so because she was obeying a commandment. She had gained a testimony that tithing is a divine commandment and was willing to live that principle—even when she was alone.

We need the courage to live up to our standards, especially when there is no one around to check up on us. Then, regardless of where we are, away from home for the first time, in college, in a social setting where there are all kinds of temptations, or any place else—we can stand up for that which we know is true and live consistently with our ideals.

Four years ago I was in Kiev, Ukraine, and the mission president’s wife took me to the home of Katya Sarduk, a lovely young woman with two children. Katya had just joined the Church, and her eyes sparkled as she told about her conversion. She loved her new faith and was committed to living the gospel. As I left her home that day, I prayed that the fire of the covenant would continue to burn in her heart. I prayed that her children and her children’s children would embrace the truth.

I returned to Kiev just two months ago and wondered if I would see her again. I arrived for Church meetings on Sunday. Soon I was introduced to my interpreter, a lovely blonde woman with sparkling eyes who said, “Do you remember me?” Her countenance was even brighter than before. Katya Sarduk had grown in the gospel. She had invested in her spiritual well-being, and her joy was overflowing.

Still, he felt something lacking in his life. Encouraged by bishops and home teachers to attend church meetings and activities, he went, “although at times reluctantly.” For some reason, he sometimes felt as though he were on the sidelines looking in. The same was true at school: although he excelled academically and was well liked, he lacked confidence socially and athletically and often felt alone.
It wasn’t until he was a missionary that he discovered what could have eliminated those feelings. “The expanded understanding of the gospel that came from an urgent desire to share the gospel with others filled all the voids of loneliness,” he says. “I began to recognize that those feelings need not have been part of my life if I had really understood the gospel.”

Illustrated by Shauna Mooney Kawasaki
Wow! It’s spring! Look at the beautiful flowers!
Do you think maybe we should thank Somebody for the flowers?
Sure. Thanks for planting the flowers, Mommy.
You’re welcome. Who else should we thank?
Thanks for spading up the flower bed, Daddy.
There’s still Somebody else.
Thanks for not digging up all the flowers, Digger.
You’re teasing Mommy, aren’t you?
And thanks for the beautiful flowers.

In Norway, right by the town of Drammen, there is a mountain called the Spiralen. From the outside it looks like a normal mountain, but inside it is hollow. The mountain hides an old quarry where rock was dug, forming a spiral tunnel. Now the tunnel has been converted to a roadway that takes cars to the top for a panoramic view of the town and the ocean.
Not long ago, 43 priests and Laurels from the Norway Oslo Stake climbed the Spiralen as part of a priests and Laurels conference. This was not a regular youth conference; the stake sponsors one of those each year. But the stake also has a long tradition of holding a special conference at which all the priests and Laurels gather for two days of fun and serious discussions.
The next morning they climbed the Spiralen. It was soon clear that this hike was going to be more than just a fun activity. They should have known. The hike was going to be an object lesson.
First the priests and Laurels divided into family groups using surnames from Church history, such as Smith, Young, and Kimball. The family groups were sent on their way up the path in intervals. The first rest stop was for water. Everything seemed normal. The second stop was for juice. Gradually, the hike’s meaning started to become clear—traveling in family groups, the rewards becoming better and better.
John Gundersen of the Fredrickstad Branch said he caught on to the symbolism of the hike at the first stop. “I started to understand when they told us to hold to the iron rod.” The first stop could be telestial glory. The second stop could be the terrestrial. When the families emerged from the woods at the parking lot near the top, they were expecting the end of the journey and their celestial reward. But it was not over yet.
Each family was given a wheelbarrow loaded with five large stones. They were told to continue up the path. Everyone was laughing and joking, and no one thought this last stretch would be hard at all. One strong boy could easily handle the loaded wheelbarrow, they thought—until they saw the last pull to the summit. It was so steep and slick that they would have a hard time just getting themselves up the hill. But their wheelbarrows and those loads of rocks would make it really hard work.
Each family figured out their own method for getting up the hill. ElRay Gene Hendricksen from the Hokksund Branch said, “We decided to share the burdens. Everyone took a stone out of the wheelbarrow. Two other guys took the empty wheelbarrow. We made it. We were the only family group who did it that way.”
No one complained. They all just pitched in and figured out how to get their rocks to the top. Then came their reward. Hot and tired, they rested and looked out at the beautiful country below them. They were pleased that everyone made it to the top, where they were able to drop their burdens, represented by the stones. They piled the rocks together into an impromptu memorial. Then they were served lunch—food for the body—and listened to a speaker who talked of heavenly things—food for the soul.
Bishop Aabo of the Drammen Ward explained that at times the climb was more challenging for some than for others. For a while a few carried the burdens while the others just walked along and didn’t need to help. But even though the challenges were uneven, eventually they all had to work together to make sure everyone made it to the top. Bishop Aabo pointed out that Jesus Christ promised he would help make our burdens light. Gaining our own testimonies gives us strength to reach the pinnacle.
Soon it was time to leave the mountaintop and go back down to the real day-to-day world. But as these friends made their way back down, they knew that in that high place they had built a monument more significant than one of simple stones. ElRay Hendricksen explained: “It is a monument that symbolized that we had all done the same things and made it to the top by helping each other. But we are not finished yet. We will have to develop ourselves and stay together and stay true.”
On a mountaintop in Norway, one group of teens found some answers.

It was the first day at my new school. I loved making new friends and was pretty good at it. I got to my classroom and saw all of the people. I thought I was going to have a great year. During lunch with my new friends, we all sat down next to a girl from another class. Her name was Hannah. When I sat down, Hannah said, “Wow, your shoes really stink. I wondered if it was the garbage can or your fashion sense.”
I was really surprised when she said that, and so were the others. So I got up and moved to another table by another new friend.
The next day at recess, Hannah had something else mean to say. This went on and on each day, but every time, I would not say something rude back because my Sunday School teacher, Brother Lawson, said that you should treat others the way you want to be treated. When I thought of that, I asked Hannah politely to please stop or please tell me why she was acting like this to me.
Then I went home and told my mom about all of the things Hannah had said. I felt like exploding! My mom said, “Abbey, just try not to be rude back. Sometimes people act the way they do because something hard is going on at home.”
So I went to school thinking about what my mom and Brother Lawson said. That day at school, Hannah finally told me that hard things were going on at home and she said mean things because she was mad. I forgave her, and this year she is in my class and we are really good friends!
I learned that following Jesus is the best path.

Sometimes it’s a well-meaning person who doesn’t understand. Do you remember the story of little Timmy, the slow learner who was taken to an ungraded school? The teacher asked why he was sent to her. He said, “I was sent because I am a moron. Teacher, what is a moron?”

The teacher said, “A moron is one who does not know all the answers.”

“I guess I’m a moron because there are a lot of things I don’t know. My father must be one, too. Just this morning at breakfast my mother told Dad that he would never learn to eat like he ought to. I like my father, though, because he always says, ‘Timmy, what do you think?’”

The teacher inquired, “What do you think, Tim?”

“Just let a bird sing two notes, and I can tell you what kind of a bird it is. I can tell you its color, what the papa looks like, how many eggs the mother lays, the color of the eggs, and how long it will take for them to hatch. I know all the birds that stay here and when and where they go. I even know when the birds are here and when they are going somewhere else.”

The teacher said, “Timmy, you’re a genius.”

Timmy said, “Teacher, you know more about me already than my teacher did last year. She never asked me what I thought; she always told me what I didn’t know. She must be a moron.”

Someday Torrance, California, will boast a 12-acre park with landscaped picnic areas, sports fields, and a playground for children; and the 10,000 residents who live within a square mile will be able to thank some active LDS youths for helping to bring it about.
The huge stacks of tumbleweeds and trash collected by the young people of the Torrance California South Stake helped the city move closer to beginning work on the park. For the youths, the cleanup campaign followed President Kimball’s advice that Americans devote 24 service hours to their communities this year. The project was also part of a three-day Bicentennial youth conference.
Choosing the theme, “Join the Freedom Train—Share Your Gospel Heritage,” the young people began the conference with a flag ceremony and color guard presentation. Then the 400 members and nonmembers were treated to a banquet served by their adult advisers. Of course, the decorations were all patriotic red, white, and blue. Song, dance, comedy, and a touch of dramatics were provided by the “Sounds of Zion,” a 50-member, touring Utah State University performing group. The college students reviewed the early days of movies, radio, television, and popular music. Also included were Church hymns and patriotic songs.
The next day the young people went to work at Torrance’s del Thorne Park. There are currently no park facilities available for nearby residents. The area will welcome the park when completed, and the young people will enjoy its features, knowing they contributed to its success.
The cleanup project was followed by the Rio Hondo Institute’s three-act musical-drama, Moroni’s Promise. The play centers on a young man’s uncertainty about accepting a mission call until he prays for guidance. After the play the Torrance young people danced to the music of “Pacifica,” though no one could believe they were still able to stand on their feet after the day’s work.
On Sunday evening the youth gathered for a sacrament and testimony meeting conducted by Stake President Eldon H. Morgan. President Morgan spoke on liberty, the true meaning of freedom, and why we should live within the law. Many youths bore their testimonies and expressed deep feelings for their families, Church, and country.
When the conference came to an end, the young people recognized that they had helped serve their community, made new friends, shared testimonies, and strengthened their commitment to do the Lord’s work. These were goals they had determined themselves. They knew that if they made up their minds to get something done, they probably would.

I got an invitation to one of my friend’s birthday parties, and I couldn’t go because it was on Sunday. I made a choice to not go to the party, and instead of going to the party to go to church. One of the Ten Commandments is to keep the Sabbath day holy. I want to show Heavenly Father I love Him by obeying His commandments. It was hard to miss the party, but I feel good because I know I made the right choice.

As a teenager, my independence and my privacy were very important to me. So our family rule that Mom and Dad always had to know where we were, who we were with, and when we’d be home, was annoying. Even though we all complained about it, we all abided by it.
It was early spring of my junior year in high school when my 13-year-old sister, Jenni, and I were heavily involved with our girls’ volleyball team. Our team was not the best nor the worst. We just played to have fun. One of the most exciting matches of the season, involving several teams, was to be held about 40 minutes from our home. It was a Friday night, and since I’d had my driver’s license for more than a year, Mom and Dad let me take the van with my little sister as my companion. Jenni and I didn’t always see eye to eye, but we had a great visit with each other on the way to the match. Being alone gave us the opportunity to really talk. The evening was as much fun as we had anticipated. After saying good-bye to friends old and new, Jenni and I left and headed for home.
Just 15 minutes into the ride on a fast moving freeway, we ran out of gas. It was a dark night, so we hoped we could coast to the next off-ramp. But the van came to a stop under an overpass nearly a mile away from the exit. Scared, we offered a prayer. “Heavenly Father,” we prayed, “please help us find a way to get home safely.”
As we ended our prayer, I remembered that in an emergency we are told to lift the car hood and put something white on the antenna, so we did. We knew it was just a matter of time before a police car would drive by and offer to help. Three times we were passed by police, even though we were flashing our lights and honking.
Discouragement nearly overcame us, and we decided it was time to pray again. Finishing the prayer with tears streaming down our faces, we talked about possible solutions. We could see the exit sign and decided to walk toward it, hoping to find a telephone. About a quarter of a mile away from the van, we heard a vehicle approaching us and slowing down. Could our prayers be answered? We turned around and saw two motorcycles coming toward us. At that moment we both felt very strongly that we should head back to the safety of the van. Back in the car, huddled together, we tried to comfort each other. Then, as the Spirit whispered peace to each of us, we looked out our window to see our mother and father coming to a stop on the other side of the freeway. Our relief and gratitude completely overcame us as we ran into the arms of our anxious parents. “How did you know?” we asked. Softly and clearly our parents answered that they knew where we were, who we were with, and when we were supposed to be home. Because we had always followed this rule, when we didn’t arrive home on time, they knew they had to come looking for us.
I was never annoyed by my parents’ strict rules again.

Fifty years ago, I knew a young man—even a priest—who held the authority of the Aaronic Priesthood. As the bishop, I was his quorum president. Robert stuttered and stammered, void of control. He was self-conscious, shy, fearful of himself and all others, and this impediment was devastating to him. Never did he fulfill an assignment; never would he look another in the eye; always he would gaze downward. Then one day, through a set of unusual circumstances, he accepted an assignment to perform the priestly responsibility to baptize another.

I sat next to Robert in the baptistry of the Salt Lake Tabernacle. He was dressed in immaculate white, prepared for the ordinance he was to perform. I leaned over and asked him how he felt. He gazed at the floor and stuttered almost uncontrollably that he felt terrible, terrible.

We both prayed fervently that he would be made equal to his task. Suddenly the clerk said, “Nancy Ann McArthur will now be baptized by Robert Williams, a priest.”

Robert left my side, stepped into the font, took little Nancy by the hand, and helped her into that water which cleanses human lives and provides a spiritual rebirth. He spoke the words, “Nancy Ann McArthur, having been commissioned of Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.” Not once did he stutter! Not once did he falter! A modern miracle had been witnessed. Robert then performed the baptismal ordinance for two or three other children in the same fashion.

In the dressing room, as I congratulated Robert, I expected to hear this same uninterrupted flow of speech. I was wrong. He gazed downward and stammered his reply of gratitude.

To each of you brethren this evening, I testify that when Robert acted in the authority of the Aaronic Priesthood, he spoke with power, with conviction, and with heavenly help.

We went to church in Port Harcourt from Omoku, our hometown. It was about two-hour drive. We did this every Sunday until sometime in 2001 when the Port Harcourt West Stake Presidency authorized me and family to stay back and worship in Omoku under the supervision of the Rumueme Ward. We reactivated some members of the Church who resided in our town and surrounding towns, two of whom were old schoolmates at the university. We started worshipping in my one-room apartment and later moved into a three-rooms flat in the city center where, on the 9th of January 2005, the Church was officially organized with me as the first branch president and my wife as first counsellor in the Relief Society. We had 36 members of our branch.

I spent my career in the department store business. Because I was part of a management team, it was important for me to interact socially with local business organizations. The meetings with most of these organizations always started with a cocktail hour. It was a time to mix and get acquainted with the men who belonged to the organization. I have always felt uncomfortable in these social hours. At first I started asking for a lemon-lime soda. I soon discovered that lemon-lime soda looks like many of the other drinks. I could not build the impression I was a nondrinker with a clear soda in my hands. I tried root beer. It had the same problem.

Finally I decided I had to have a drink that would clearly mark me as a nondrinker. I went to the bartender and requested a glass of milk. The bartender had never had such a request. He went into the kitchen and found a glass of milk for me. Now I had a drink that looked very different from the alcoholic beverages the others were drinking. Suddenly I was the center of attention. There were a lot of jokes made of my drink. My milk was a conversation piece. I met more business leaders that evening than I ever had before at a cocktail hour.

Milk became my drink of choice at the cocktail hours. It soon became common knowledge I was a Mormon. The respect I received really surprised me, as did an interesting event that started to occur. Others soon joined me in a pure milk cocktail!

Nauvoo, once so vibrant and progressive, literally, almost from one month to the next, became a ghost town. In the late summer of August in 1846, Col. Thomas L. Kane, a special friend to the Church, acquired a small boat on the Iowa side and rowed across the Mississippi River to the main landing wharf at Nauvoo and visited what he called the deserted city.

In a speech Col. Kane delivered to the Pennsylvania Historical Society in 1850, he shared some of his experience on that visit. Picture in your imaginations the scene he observed:

No one met me there. I looked and saw no one. I could hear no one move;...the quiet everywhere was such that I heard the flies buzz, ... I walked through solitary streets...I went about unchecked. I went into empty workshops,...The spinner's wheel was idle; the carpenter had gone from his workbench and shavings,... The blacksmith's shop was cold; but his coal heap and ladling pool, and crooked water horn were all there, as if he had just gone off for a holiday... No one called out to me from any opened window, or dog sprang forward to bark an alarm. . . . The doors were unfastened; and when at last I timidly entered them, I found dead ashes white upon the hearths, and [felt as though I] had to tread a-tiptoe, as if walking down the aisle of a country church,...
[For me as a farmer, this next part is especially gripping:]
Fields upon fields of heavy-headed yellow grain lay rotting ungathered upon the ground. No one was at hand to take in their rich harvest. As far as the eye could reach, they stretched awayCthey sleeping too in the hazy air of autumn.[11]

The plan began to take shape in an unexpected way when I received a phone call from the local police station. Alex had been arrested. My new husband and I put on our coats and in the middle of the night picked Alex up from the police station. We didn’t make a scene; actually Alex’s stepfather and I said very little.

When we got home, Alex told us what had happened when he and his friend had stolen a scooter. He was so sorry for what he had done. I saw for the first time a broken young man.

The arrest was a turning point for Alex as he began to realize the consequences of his actions and where he was headed. From that day on, so many blessings started to come our way.

The next day Alex told us that he had asked the officer to call us because he knew that we loved him. He also realized how much he had hurt us, and he appreciated that we had stayed calm.

Eight months before I attended that home evening with that young family, the ward council was gathered on a Sunday morning. We opened with prayer and watched a video about helping individuals and families receive the blessings and ordinances of the gospel. I asked the council members if anyone had come to mind as we viewed the video. That led to a discussion of this family. We expressed our love for them. We talked about possible callings, how we could help the father work toward Melchizedek Priesthood ordination, and how we could help the couple work toward receiving temple ordinances.
As the bishop I made some assignments. It seemed the discussion was nearly closed, but something did not feel quite right. It was the Young Women president who finally said, “I think we’re moving too fast. I kind of feel like we need to focus on the basics with them, like family home evening and scripture study and prayer.” Then that “not quite right” feeling went away. She spoke, not on behalf of the Young Women organization, but out of love for this family, and in that moment the Spirit bore witness to us of the truth of her counsel.
This sister’s comment reopened the discussion. We talked about how to help the family develop a pattern of scripture study, prayer, and home evening. The young father’s sister was serving as one of our ward missionaries, so the ward mission leader took the assignment to work with her and the home teachers to institute regular family home evenings. My wife and I delivered a copy of the Family Home Evening resource guidebook and a hymnbook to their home.
The most consistent support and strength came from the mother and sister of this young father as they consistently attended family home evening with the family, ultimately leading to that important family night that I was privileged to attend.

When I was four years old, I found out that I had to get my frenulum (a part of the tongue that connects it to the mouth) clipped. I was really scared the day of my operation. I said a prayer to Heavenly Father that everything would be all right. At the hospital, the doctor gave me some medicine, and I went to sleep. When I woke up, the next thing I knew I was in my mom’s arms, and I didn’t cry. I believe that Heavenly Father helped me through the operation without feeling pain.