Gospel Story Finder

One night after the molasses making was finished, he kissed my sisters and me goodnight and said, “God bless you.” That night he went to sleep and never awoke again.
My heart broke. I didn’t want Ma to see me cry so I went out to the stable. Later she found me and, putting her arm around me, said, “George, you’re the man of the house now. You have six sisters and your Ma is depending on you.”
Well, pretty soon it was seven sisters. Just two weeks after Pa died, LaVern was born.
One evening when I saw Ma slip out alone and go toward the cemetery I followed, and found her kneeling by Pa’s grave, weeping.
Tugging at her arm, I said, “Ma, you mustn’t come here to cry. Come on home.”
Getting to her feet she drew me to her. “My little man,” was all she said.
“If Pa got permission to come for a visit, do you think he’d come to this cold old graveyard?” I asked.
Thoughtfully, she said, “No, he wouldn’t. He’d want to come home.”
Hand in hand we walked silently through the twilight.
Shortly after that, Ma put Pa’s picture on the easel in the living room. “Children,” she said, “in this home we will live exactly as Pa would want us to do. Because he loved the Lord we have been blessed.” Her voice broke, but only for a moment.
We knew she missed Pa, but she kept herself busy making our home happy. As we grew, it became the gathering place for all of the young folks in town, especially on Sunday afternoons when Ma would sing with us around the organ.

I too was afraid to let my friends down. But I thought to myself that if I did give in, whom else would I let down? What worked best for me was to make the decision long before the situation came up. I made the commitment to myself that I would say no to drugs and alcohol. After I said no a couple of times, I was more respected for the decision I made. After a while, when someone would ask me again if I wanted a drink, one of my friends would say, “No, Calder doesn’t drink.” It made it easier for me once my friends realized that I wasn’t going to drink.
Elder Calder, 20, Idaho Pocatello Mission

Young members like Ferrán Silvestre are representative of the up-and-coming generation of Barcelona Saints. Ferrán finally joined the Church at age twenty, although his parents had been baptized when he was twelve. When two missionaries gained Ferrán’s trust, he listened to the discussions. Those sessions, along with his study of the Book of Mormon, brought him an undeniable spiritual confirmation of the truth of the gospel.

After spending a year in compulsory military service, Ferrán still wanted to go on a mission, although by then he was in his mid-twenties. He has now returned from a mission to Washington, D.C., which he describes as “the greatest experience of my life.”

I was tired. Desiree, Jenny, and I were worn out from a day of teaching a disease prevention program in Uganda, Africa. Our hosts, the Mayeku family, had a lively bunch of five lovable children. We came home to their warm welcome after walking home from the taxi stop.
We started right away with the nightly chores of peeling potatoes, rolling out dough, squeezing passion fruit for juice, and setting the table. Everything there seemed to take a long time, and dinner was no exception. The charcoal stove, dull knives, and manual labor all contributed to the four hours it took before dinner was on the table.
After dinner we washed the dishes, and by then it was 11 o’clock. I was exhausted and ready for bed. But it was Monday, and Rebecca, the oldest child, had prepared a lesson for family home evening. I watched this beautiful family gather around their humble kitchen table to listen. I knew that the Mayeku family was even more drained than I was. They worked so hard to be an obedient, educated, and loving family, and it reminded me of how blessed I was to stay with a family who did so much with the little they had. The Spirit changed my unthankful heart as we all sang “The Spirit of God” (Hymns, no. 2). I was overwhelmed by the family’s desire to serve and love the Lord. Rebecca’s lesson was on God’s creations and how He blesses us with what we need, but the greatest lesson I learned that night was the lesson of gratitude.

Choosing good music has always been hard for me. I used to listen to whatever was popular at the time. I would memorize the words and sing along to the radio, but I wasn’t really paying attention to what I was hearing and singing. These small things led to my not making the best decisions in other parts of my life.
Most of the songs had a bad word in the lyrics. I would always make sure I didn’t sing those words, but every once in awhile one would slip. It’s just once, and I’m not doing it on purpose, I would think to myself. I should have stopped listening to that music right away, but I didn’t.
Looking back, I realize the more bad music I listened to, the more my attitude and the way I was acting was changing as well. I didn’t feel the Spirit with me very often, and I felt unhappy and angry all the time. I would yell at my friends, and I’m sure I wasn’t fun to be around.
Then I had this overwhelming feeling that I should look in my Personal Progress book. I noticed Integrity value experience 2: “Pray daily for strength and for the guidance of the Holy Ghost to help you live with integrity. Write in your journal the things you can do to improve your personal integrity and at least one new habit you want to develop” ([booklet, 2009], 62). I realized I hadn’t been the best I could be. I decided that I should work on listening to better music. Now I choose not to listen to bad music. I feel so happy, and the Spirit is back.

As Tyler climbed out of Grandpa’s truck, the cold January wind off Boston Harbor whipped at his face. With each breath, a tiny cloud of fog appeared in front of him. “This is Boston, Grandpa?”
Not waiting for an answer, he continued eagerly, “Where is Boston Garden? And Fenway Park—where is Fenway Park, Grandpa?”
Smiling, Grandpa answered, “Put your scarf on, and then I’ll show you where everything is.”
Wrapping his scarf close around his face, he followed his grandfather. As they walked, Tyler saw a man sit down and take a huge army knapsack off his back. Sitting next to the man was a black Labrador retriever wearing a guide-dog harness. Tyler noticed that the dog’s shaggy fur was scruffy as it looked at him in apparent misery on the cold pavement.
He looked from the dog to the man, who had now set up a small keyboard, amplifier, and generator.
It was obvious that the man was blind as he fumbled to find the power switch. His hands were cracked and bleeding as he placed an old, battered cap upside-down on the ground and began to play. The man smiled politely and said thank you whenever he heard coins drop into the hat.
“Why is that man playing outside in such cold weather, Grandpa?”
“He probably doesn’t have a home,” Grandpa answered solemnly.
“Unfortunately, some of the street performers in the shopping district are homeless.”
Tyler pulled his coat tighter about himself and thought of his own warm home.
When Grandpa dropped him off at home that night, Tyler went straight to his room. Taking his piggy bank from his dresser, he opened it and dumped the contents onto his bed. Slowly he counted first his bills, then his coins. Nineteen dollars and fifty-eight cents.
He lifted the bank up to his face and peered into the hole in the bottom. Reaching in with two fingers, he pulled out a folded catalog page. He unfolded it and admired the fishing pole that he had been planning to get for his grandfather. Now, however, even though Grandpa’s birthday was only two days away, Tyler couldn’t forget the blind man’s cracked hands or the dog’s sad eyes.
The next day after school, Tyler emptied the contents of the piggy bank into his coat pocket, borrowed his little sister’s red wagon, and walked to the store. Twenty minutes later he left it, his pockets no longer jingling with change. Instead, one pocket bulged with a new pair of wool gloves, and his wagon creaked under the weight of a large bag of dog food.
After parking the wagon in the garage, Tyler went to his room. Grandpa’s birthday was only a day away, and Tyler still had no gift to give him. Searching his room, he found the ceramic pot he had made in art class. Dumping out the loose baseball cards in it, he took a closer look.
Well, it’s blue, and that’s Grandpa’s favorite color, he thought, trying to convince himself that his grandfather would like it. He cleaned it up, then sat down with a pencil and a sheet of paper and began to write:
Dear Grandpa,
For your birthday, I wanted to get you something you would really like. I know that to really help people, we are to give as much as we can to fast offerings, but this gift is a sort of remembrance of our wonderful day in Boston together. …
When he finished, he stuck the note and the creased picture of the fishing pole inside the ceramic pot and wrapped it.
The next evening, his stomach felt as though he had eaten stone soup instead of the wonderful birthday dinner his grandmother had prepared. Grandpa is going to be awfully disappointed at my present, he thought sadly as Grandma brought out the candle-lit cake.
When it was time for Grandpa to open his gifts, he reached for Tyler’s package first. Tyler held his breath as he watched his grandfather’s face. When Grandpa finished reading the note in the pot, he smiled at Tyler, his blue eyes twinkling.
The following Saturday, Tyler and his grandfather were back in Boston. Grandpa carried the dog food, and he carried the wool gloves. Rounding the corner, Tyler saw a number of street performers. Straining his eyes, he spotted the blind man and his dog at the end of the block. Approaching him, Tyler said, “Excuse me, sir.”
The man continued to play, but turned his head in the direction of the boy’s voice.
“I have something for you. I paid for it with my own money.”
The man stopped playing his keyboard, and Tyler handed him the gloves. As he felt the wool gloves, a huge smile spread across the man’s face.
“Also,” Tyler quickly went on, “I brought a bag of food for your dog.”
Now the man spoke, his voice husky. “Thank you, boy. Thank you.”
As Grandpa set down the heavy bag, Tyler noticed the Lab’s ears perk up. And when he glanced back later, he saw that the man was wearing the new gloves while he gave his dog some of the food.
Tyler looked up to see Grandpa’s eyes twinkling again. “I’ll treasure the pot,” Grandpa said, “but I like this gift even better.”

When I hugged Ashley good-bye a day before graduation, I thought I would see her again before she set off on a yearlong journey across the nation to help children. But less than a month after graduation, Ashley died in a car accident.
At 17, I’d never experienced the loss of a loved one, and I didn’t know how to handle this tragedy. I had never met Ashley’s family, so I didn’t feel that I could share my grief with them. My other friends hadn’t been as close to her as I had.
So I mourned alone in my room at night, with tears trickling into my ears as I lay on my bed. “Okay,” I thought, “this is natural. I’ll have my cry and then go to sleep.” But to my surprise, the pain didn’t end. I was frightened to feel a great hole growing inside of me, and it felt bottomless.
In desperation, I pulled out my scriptures and read blindly until a measure of calm stopped the aching, and I slept. But the sadness continued. For about a week it was hard to sleep, and the tears kept falling.
I started to get angry. I was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I knew that death was not the end and that Ashley was in a better and happier place. I was aware that I would see her again. I didn’t understand why I was having such a hard time getting over her death while knowing these things were true. I’d always heard that members of the Church weren’t as sad at funerals because they know about our life after death, and I felt ashamed of my sorrow.
As time passed, so did the ache, but occasionally something would remind me of my friend, and I would have a hard time controlling my emotions.
It’s now been over three years since Ashley’s death, and I’ve finally come to a better understanding of my grief. Jesus Christ blesses those who mourn and commands us to “live together in love, insomuch that thou shalt weep for the loss of them that die” (D&C 42:45).
My tears for the loss of my friend were not wrong. These tears did not indicate a lack of faith in God’s plan. Comfort can reach us. It will sit beside the grief, and while not replacing sorrow, will at least keep it from overpowering one’s heart entirely.
I still think of Ashley occasionally. I picture her in her favorite striped sweater and with the hundreds of friends she had from all areas of the high school. Many times I have thanked my Heavenly Father for not answering my prayer that first day of choir class to be seated by someone I knew. If He had, I never would have experienced the joy of knowing such an inspiring person before she left this earth.

When my husband, David, and I found out we couldn’t have children, I wept. Then, in 2016, my doctor called me back to her office after a routine medical checkup and mammogram. After more testing, what she at first thought was a small problem had become a big one: cancer.
That was a shock, and we had some bad days. Before we knew how things would turn out, I told Heavenly Father, “If this is the end for me, please take care of David.”
I was able to hold on emotionally during the day, but when nighttime came and all was quiet, the tears would come. But that was also when I would sense through the Holy Ghost that everything was going to be all right—not necessarily because I was going to live but because Heavenly Father was there. So, during my treatment, we went forward one step at a time.
Certain hymns and scriptures became more meaningful. Doctrine and Covenants 122:8 really struck me: “The Son of Man hath descended below them all. Art thou greater that he?”
No, I realized, I am not greater than He. If going through infertility and cancer enabled me to better appreciate the Savior and His atoning sacrifice, then I was willing.
We kept our eye on the Lord so we could see our blessings, including an amazing support system. My Relief Society president was wonderful. People from the school where I taught did a cancer walk for me. A colleague who wanted me to know she cared gave me a pink pen. During moments like that, you say, “You were my angel today. You were my evidence that God knows I needed a hug or a pink pen.”
People watch us as members of the Church. They want to know why we can go through tough things and still smile.
“How are you not a mess?” people often asked us. We explained that the peace we felt came from our faith and beliefs, our love for Heavenly Father, and our trust in His will for us. Sharing our faith strengthened our faith.
Peace didn’t come the second I was diagnosed, but it came. The peace was the miracle.

The Hacienda Heights California Stake wanted an activity that would appeal to a large group of youth and would be a chance to activate both boys and girls. They chose to sponsor a bicycle motocross race.
A suitable location was found with a track consisting of jumps, sharp turns, and plenty of dirt. Under the direction of Rhett Smith, many young men spent two days getting the track prepared.
Eighty-nine youth showed up to race in age groups ranging from seven and under, eight to nine, ten to eleven, twelve to thirteen, and fourteen and over. Trophies were given in each category. Each rider had to race three times over the track during the course of the day, with those who came in first, second, and third places receiving points. Even though only the high-point winners took home the trophies, the event was termed a success because of the enthusiasm of the participants.

For many years, I worked in the São Paulo Brazil Temple. I saw many families come there to be sealed. Many of them had to make great sacrifices to do so. I remember one family who had traveled for three days to get to the temple. They had six children, and only one of the children had shoes. The father was embarrassed that some of the children had only sandals to wear. But he knew that coming to the temple was more important than having shoes. It was a wonderful experience to see this beautiful family sealed together in the temple.

In 1980, the Saints were blessed with the announcement that a temple would be built in Santiago, Chile.
When President Spencer W. Kimball dedicated the temple lot, he was very weak; but his presence there demonstrated his love for the Saints of South America, with whom he had worked since 1959. Sister Adriana Guerra de Sepúlveda, who was interpreting for Sister Kimball at the event, said, “When I saw the prophet, a tiny person with an angelic face, I began to weep and could not find words to speak to him. It was the first time for me to be at the side of a living prophet. Seeing the Lord’s mouthpiece here upon the earth and in my country was something marvelous.”10
The temple was dedicated in 1983, becoming the second in South America and the first in a Spanish-speaking country.

The first time I saw a Church building, I thought it was a hospital. It was so clean and quiet. I loved the gospel of Jesus Christ the moment I attended church services.

Sister missionaries began teaching me, and I decided to be baptized. It was the best day!

I was introduced to the gospel by my neighbor, who is a returned missionary. She called me one Sunday morning and asked me to go to church with her and her family. At first, my mother told me I couldn’t go because we didn’t have money for the bus fare. When I told my neighbor about it, she said she would take me, and my mother allowed me to go.

After I was baptized, I had a lot of hard times with my family. Sometimes they wanted me to stay home on Sunday, but I would choose to go to church instead. Most of the time it was hard trying to keep on the covenant path.

Some of my family members have been against the Church and have told me that I made the wrong choice to join. When they tell me this, these words come to my mind: “I know that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ live. I know that the Church is true.” These thoughts have helped me hold on to the truth.

When I struggled to know how to pay tithing, my neighbor showed me how to pay it. Now when my mother gives me pocket money, I always pay my tithing. My family and I have seen blessings from it. My family has even started giving me their money to pay as tithing! That has been a surprise.

Most of the time I go to church by myself, but sometimes my mother comes with me. My mother decided to learn more about the gospel and finds it to be very happy, although she hasn’t been baptized yet.

I have seen the Lord’s hand in my family’s life as I pray for them and ask others to pray for them in the temple. My family members have become more supportive, and they now encourage me to go to church and to be true to who I am.

My grandfather passed away recently, and I found his name while doing family history work. I asked my dad if I could have his ordinances done in the temple. He said, “Just do it if it is the right thing.”

Reading the scriptures and knowing about the Atonement of Jesus Christ has brought me joy, happiness, peace, and comfort.

The Atonement of Jesus Christ has brought me joy.

I know that through the Savior’s atoning sacrifice, I can be with my Heavenly Father again and that my family can be with me forever if we are sealed in the temple one day.

Emma Whitney’s life was completely different to what it became as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Twenty years old, living in Scunthorpe, England, Emma describes her life before discovering the Church as full of drink, drugs, partying, toxic friends, no respect for herself, little education, and challenges to her mental health.
Learning and understanding God’s words has always been a desire for Emma. One life-changing experience brought Emma to her knees; pouring her heart out in prayer led to an answer a few weeks later, by accepting a request to participate in a Bible study class with full-time Church missionaries. Understanding the words of the Bible has been a struggle for Emma; on the other hand, she says, “Even though the words are old English words, I understand the Book of Mormon clearly.”
Scripture study and prayer are factors that enable Emma to stay strong and to say no to situations that she deems would be bad for her. Inspiration which led Emma to change her ways and join the Church, was understanding that she could turn over a new leaf and all would be forgiven. Therefore, after five weeks of investigating the Church, Emma was baptised on the fifth of May 2021.
In 2022, clean from drugs and alcohol, surrounded by good friends, a good relationship, good family relationships, and studying the subject of communications using the online BYU-Pathway programme, Emma says she is genuinely happy and strengthened. Dealing with her past has been easier for her as she talks about the importance of looking after her body, “I was just abusing my body in every way you could think of. I’ve come to realise that to take pride in our bodies is a gift from God.”
Follow Emma’s journey at lds.scripturestudy on Instagram.

I have asked that serious question of myself: “Where would I be without the gospel?”
It was that gospel testimony that helped me to say no to my Navy friends when our first leave came while I was in training camp in early 1944. My naval colleagues invited me to share in their worldly activities; to prove that I was a “man” by getting a tattoo, and then going after drink and women.
I was the only Latter-day Saint in that group, and, yes, I felt a little lonely as I left them to go by myself to the servicemen’s recreation center and then to a movie. The following day I found Church services and Church friends who strengthened and reinforced a lonely Mormon boy from Provo, Utah.
To have come home from the service in world War II still living a virtuous life has held eternal rewards for me.

We had a Young Women’s conference, and a sister talked about this very subject. She had us walk into a messy room with pictures that were not uplifting. Then she took us into another room that was organized and had uplifting pictures and sayings. The difference in atmosphere and feeling in each room was amazing. A clean, organized room can bring the Spirit of the Lord.
Heather Holmes, 15Milan, New Mexico

The Norwich England Stake decided to depart from their usual routine for their annual youth conference. After their Saturday activity, the youth came back to the Lowestoft Ward meetinghouse to find that some of their leaders had organized a “quilt factory” and chosen some team leaders and a factory manager from among the youth. Stations were set up for cutting, pinning, sewing, and tying, and dinner was served in shifts. After watching a Church-produced video about humanitarian aid, the youth got to work.

Their goal was to make 100 quilts from scratch. Three and a half hours later, they had completed 106 quilts, ready to be donated. The Norwich youth had a great time and felt the Spirit as they partook of the atmosphere of service at their youth conference.

As the years passed, I finally reached the sixth grade. One of my friends was Lynn. That wasn’t his real name, but that’s what I’ll call him. He was always in trouble. Lynn seemed to have a hard time concentrating, particularly when spring came and things looked better outside than they did in.
Miss Spooner, our teacher, seemed to have it in for Lynn. One day at about 11 o’clock, Lynn disturbed the class, and Miss Spooner told him to shut himself in the closet. Lynn obediently went and closed the door behind him. When the bell rang at 12 o’clock, Lynn came out eating the last bite of Miss Spooner’s lunch. We couldn’t help laughing, all but Miss Spooner, and that made matters worse.
Lynn went on clowning throughout his life. He never learned until it was too late that life is a serious thing, in which serious choices are to be made with care and prayer.

I have asked that serious question of myself: “Where would I be without the gospel?”
It was that gospel testimony that persuaded me to say no to my Navy friends when our first “liberty” came to leave boot camp training in Farragut, Idaho, in early 1944. On the train from Farragut to Spokane, Washington, the invitations were presented in a most appealing way to go with them to get a “manly” tattoo and then be off to find the real pleasures that men seek.
I was the only Mormon in that group, and, yes, I felt a little lonely as I broke off to go by myself to the USO facility and then to a movie. The following day I found church services and church friends who strengthened and reinforced a lonely Mormon boy from Provo, Utah.
To have come home from the service in World War II with virtue intact has held for me eternal rewards.

Haven, a 14-year-old from Utah, USA, decided to celebrate being a young woman in the Church by serving others.
“It started as a small idea,” she says. “My uncle went to Bangladesh on a humanitarian trip and learned about difficult things the people there were experiencing. I wanted to help them—so I looked on the JustServe app and got the idea to make homemade kits for the refugees there.”
Haven collected donations at her school, created a GoFundMe page, and even took out neighbors’ garbage cans to help raise money for the kits. “I take out about 22 garbage cans and 11 recycle cans every Monday and Tuesday,” she says. “I normally use the money I earn for my choir program and to save for a mission, but I decided to use my funds that month to help buy supplies instead.”
Haven then went out and bought all the materials she needed for the kits, including socks, gloves, scarfs, and hats. She assembled each kit and also got in contact with the director of Lifting Hands International to coordinate the delivery of the kits in Bangladesh.
“Putting the kits together took up the most time in my project. But every time I put a piece into the kit, I knew that it would go to someone in need and that they would be blessed for a long time by it.”
By the end of her project, Haven felt her confidence build in her ability to serve. “I learned from this how much help I can be if I try my hardest. I also felt compassion for the people I was helping, which helped me feel closer to the Savior and feel some of what He feels for us.”
As we celebrate the anniversary of the Young Women organization, each of us can remember that we are examples of Christ. Like Haven, we can be a big help to others when we try our hardest to serve as He would.

I had an interesting experience many years ago as my family and I returned from our mission in Brazil. We had nine children, and the ship we traveled on carried about forty passengers, so we were very conspicuous. It turned out that there were three other ministers on board, and within a few days each of the three approached me and inquired if we could talk about what the Mormons believe. They didn’t seem to be much interested in what each other believed, but they all wanted to know what we believed.
With some hesitation, because I had little experience with ministers of other faiths, I arranged an interview when all four of us could sit down together. It turned out to be very congenial and consisted primarily of them asking questions and me giving the answers. I had supposed that they would come out with strong arguments supported by scriptures that would make it difficult for me to maintain my position. But in their friendly, congenial way they just asked questions, and it turned out that I knew the answer to each question. I hadn’t realized that I was that well informed.
Within a few minutes, as we talked, they began to turn to each other and make comments like, “Isn’t it interesting? He has an answer for any question you can ask.” They repeated that comment over and over again, and we ended our discussion on a very friendly basis.
Two or three days later, however, one of these men engaged me in conversation and said, “I have been thinking of what you told us the other day and I wonder if it is right to know everything. I think maybe you know too much. I don’t believe the Lord wants us to know it all.” I could tell that he was offended. A day or two later he spoke to me again. He said, “I’ve been considering what you told me, and I have come to the conclusion that what you teach is a very dangerous heresy.”
I wasn’t prepared, as I ought to have been, for that kind of comment, and with hurt feelings I asked him why it was that other religions didn’t seem willing to place the Latter-day Saints in the same fellowship with themselves. He turned on me almost in anger and said, “Because I want you to know it is a two-way street.” Then I understood. We do not fellowship them. We do not recognize them as the true church of Jesus Christ, and therefore we offend them in some things we teach. I don’t think it should be otherwise, but he had reason for the feelings that he had. I wasn’t in a position, being unprepared, to smooth his feelings.