Gospel Story Finder

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Dorothy knew the end was coming. Every day she lost something more—not tangible things, but abilities. The ability to shower herself. The ability to fix her own meals. The ability to walk to the bathroom without falling. The ability to unlock the back door and pick up the paper. The ability to write a note to a loved one.
Some things she hadn’t lost yet, though. Her spunk. Her wit. Her gratitude. Because of that, being with Dorothy brought joy. Her home seemed to welcome guests from both sides of the veil.
One night, I was the ward Relief Society guest staying with her—supposedly helping her. A spring storm arose, and the power went off about 11:00 p.m. We discovered the power was out when I tried to turn the lights on so I could help her to the bathroom. I flipped the switch, but nothing happened. Dorothy was prepared, however. She pulled a tiny flashlight from a pocket on her walker, and somehow with that meager light we managed to stumble down the hall. After the slow walk back to her chair, she smiled and said, “Do you know how grateful I am?”
Illustration by Carolyn Vibbert
The same night, about 12:30 a.m., something woke me. I heard the prompting: “Dorothy needs her portable oxygen.” I noticed that the bubbling of Dorothy’s regular oxygen machine had stopped. The power was still off. I hurried to get her portable oxygen. I put it on her, trying not to wake her. As I placed the tubes around her face, she looked up and again said, “Do you know how grateful I am?”
Fortunately, when I texted our Relief Society president at 1:00 a.m., she answered. “The power isn’t off at my house,” she said. “I’ll call the power company.” Her call must have done the trick, because at 1:30 a.m., trucks arrived and men began restoring electricity to Dorothy’s home. When she awoke at 2:30 a.m. to make another slow, flashlight-guided walk to the bathroom, she looked through the kitchen windows. She saw all the workers and said, “I hope they know how grateful I am.”
The workers left at 5:30 that morning, just as the battery ran out on her portable oxygen. But the lights were back on. After another slow trip to the bathroom, we saw that her regular oxygen machine was bubbling once again. I helped her safely settle back into her chair. Before she closed her eyes, she told me about three other visitors she had seen during the night—family members who had come to bring her comfort and peace. Then she whispered once again, “Do you know how grateful I am?”
I left Dorothy’s home at 8:00 a.m. on Saturday morning when another sister from our ward arrived to be with her. As I sat in my car, tears started to form. I felt such love for Dorothy, such thankfulness for the tender moments I had spent with her.
I found myself offering a prayer of thanks as her words came tumbling from my heart: “Heavenly Father, do You know how grateful I am?”
Even though Dorothy was advanced in age and in need of assistance, her simple example of gratitude blessed me that night. And it continues to bless me. Though she has passed on, I often find myself thinking, “Do people know how grateful I am?” And whenever I do, I try to express that gratitude.
Learn More
Read about taking care of yourself while giving care to others in the April 2021 Liahona—one article in print (“While Caring for Others, Take Care of Yourself”) and another digital only (“Caregiver? Take Care of Yourself Too”).

I lived in a ward where one woman was like a beacon of righteousness. Jessica (name has been changed) radiated love and goodness every week in our meetings. She went from person to person, greeting them and loving them—especially those who were “hanging on the edges” of the ward. She invited the lonely to her home, talked to the shy ones, and went out of her way to spread her commitment to Christ and His gospel. It impacted the entire ward for good.

Inside the locker room, you could hear the fans cheering. The Iowa, USA, women’s high school varsity basketball championship game was about to begin. The team in black jerseys—who’d clawed their way into the finals—were ready.
Sixteen girls listened attentively to an inspiring pump-up speech from team manager Hailey B., 16.
In her pregame speech, Hailey told them, “We’ve worked hard for this the entire season, and now it’s our chance to prove we can be champions.” Then they stormed the court as the crowd roared.
Oh, and by the way, Hailey’s team won the state title, 46-42.

I saw a copy of the Book of Mormon in my niece’s house in Ibadan, Nigeria. Being an avid reader, I was curious to understand why the book says it is “another testament of Jesus Christ,” so I took the book and read it.
The subtitle “another testament of Jesus Christ” opened my mind to the possibility of a universal Savior rather than just the Savior of the Israelites, which at that time was a great concern to me. His visit to the Nephites and the establishment of His laws and ordinances among those people got me wanting to know more about His ministry.
That subtitle led me to learn more about the Church. I started feeling the Spirit as I obeyed the admonitions written in the Book of Mormon, like praying to know the truth for myself (see Moroni 10:4). Now I know that the Savior lives and loves all of us.
Ezekiel Akeh, Idaho, USA

Now, with a wonderful and talented family of 11 children, Sister Groberg reflected on times Brother Groberg served as a Regional Representative of the Quorum of the Twelve to the Pacific Islands and was frequently gone great distances three weeks at a time. On one occasion a call from the prophet to Elder Groberg conveyed this message: “Tell your wife you won’t be gone over six months on this special assignment (it turned out to be only two months), but we’re not sure how long it will be.” Of these times she spoke tenderly: “When your husband is giving his all, it doesn’t separate you even while he is away. It really doesn’t separate you. You are a part of it with him,” she explained. “It was his letters,” she said. And she had already developed a deep appreciation for his sensitive writing. “He would write such inspiring letters. His letters to us as a family had a profound influence on everything we did. They always have been such a strengthening influence,” she emphasized. “He would share what he could of his experiences and then he would come home and the girls would look forward to their daddy coming back and telling them really special and inspiring things that had happened on his trip.”

The two months that I spent in the Missionary Training Center had prepared me well for the mission experience; I had a reasonable command of the language and felt comfortable teaching the memorized discussions. Culture classes had been sufficient to prepare me for the cultural conditions that abounded in Central America, and with daily vitamins I seemed to be staying healthy in spite of food that I was unaccustomed to and never seemed to get enough of. Sure, there were a lot of things about living in Honduras that took awhile to adjust to, but the actual missionary work didn’t seem to be a big adjustment.
I truly believed in and thought that I really understood most of the truths that I was sharing. I had grown up in an LDS home and was confident that my background had provided me with just about as much as there was to know about basic concepts like faith, baptism, and service. I’d probably heard Sunday School lessons on service a hundred times. I’d always participated in Church service projects and had even done a big community service project to earn an Eagle Scout Award. And now I was giving up two years of my life to share the gospel with people I didn’t even know. When I left on my mission, I was sure that if I hadn’t understood the meaning of service before, I certainly did now. However, in this foreign land, I was finding out that there were quite a few things that I didn’t fully comprehend—and service was one of them.
The rough and dusty trails that led from hut to hut among the palm and papaya trees had become familiar to me in the short time that I had been in the village of Santa Barbara. I had also grown accustomed to cold showers at 6:00 A.M. and was actually developing a taste for bananas at every meal. Our area was small enough that my companion and I knew the location of the homes of every member, and we were able to pass by at least once a week to encourage them to attend Sunday meetings.
The Sortos were a humble family with great faith, and I knew them as the family whose dog always came with them to the small rented building that we used as a chapel. He would sit patiently and wait for the meetings to end and then disappear along with the rest of the family up into the hills. Brother Sorto made adobe bricks for a living and would pick up an odd job here and there cleaning the brush from someone’s field. This he did with a machete, inch by inch, as he literally crawled along the ground.
One day as we approached the one-room, thatched-roof home of the Sorto family, the little dog with near perfect church attendance ran down the trail barking and wagging his tail to greet us. Looking into the open doorway we could see that Brother Sorto was lying on the floor, and the other family members were gathered around. As my companion and I got closer we could see that one of Brother Sorto’s thin brown legs was covered with a mixture of dirt and blood. A moment of explanation from Sister Sorto painted a sickening picture. While cleaning a field that morning Brother Sorto had been swinging his sharpened machete from side to side, cutting away the weeds and brush. The machete had slipped and, instead of swinging along the ground, had dug into his shin. He had made his way home and was now lying quietly waiting for the bleeding to stop.
It quickly became evident that no one quite knew what to do, so my companion and I went right to work. He took the oldest son with him and went down into the pueblo to round up some gauze and perhaps a little rubbing alcohol. I remained with Brother Sorto to clean the dirt and blood from his leg. Sister Sorto brought me a large towel and a basin filled with water that she had been warming over the fire. I tied the towel around my waist and knelt down on the dirt floor next to Brother Sorto. The floor was smooth and hard from being constantly swept with large, dried palm branches. As I began to bathe his feet with the clean water, Brother Sorto looked up, smiled, and took my hand. With the other I continued to clean away the dirt and blood.
“Esta bien, hermano.”
“Te quiero, elder,” he replied.
My heart filled with love for this man, and suddenly my mind was flooded with images from the scriptures:
“He riseth from supper, and laid aside his garments; and took a towel, and girded himself.
“After that he poureth water into a bason, and began to wash the disciples’ feet, and to wipe them with the towel wherewith he was girded” (John 13:4–5).
So many times I had read the account of Christ performing that sacred ordinance. So often I had sat through lessons on service and humility, and now, suddenly, kneeling on the floor in a little adobe hut in the hills of Honduras, it all made sense. Jesus, throughout his ministry, showed us the perfect example through the love and service he gave. Service should be given because there is love, not because there is an obligation.
“Every man according as he purposeth in his heart, so let him give; not grudgingly, or of necessity: for God loveth a cheerful giver” (2 Cor. 9:7).
As the dirt and blood were washed away I could see that the wound was not as deep as I had first anticipated, but the lesson I had learned affected me more deeply than I could have imagined.
Maybe the true meaning of service isn’t found in all of those big projects but rather in the simple everyday kindnesses that we can show one another.

Thank you for the wonderful October issue of the New Era. For almost two years I have been able to utilize the New Era in many ways as a missionary. I especially enjoyed the story “Onward Christian Soldiers.” The Mormonad really impressed a popcorn-loving contact. She read the entire issue. Thank you, Jeanie Carnahan and Lonnie Lonczyna.
Elder Eldon McMurraySouth Dakota Rapid City Mission

The activity-day girls from the Ketchikan Ward, Alaska, USA, made more than 100 hats and headbands for other children in their community. Each one was unique and made with love!

A young adult was seen near an institute of religion building, and he was asked if he had LDS friends. He responded, “Yes, and they are all on missions for the Mormon Church!” He was invited to be taught the gospel. He joined the Church. And one year later he was serving his own mission for the Lord.

President Benson bore such a testimony in October 1959 when he visited the Central Baptist Church in Moscow, Russia, and was asked to speak. He described the event later as one of the most moving experiences of his life. The church was filled with about 1,500 people seeking to satisfy their spiritual hunger and thirst even though government policy discouraged religion. He testified: “God lives, I know that He lives. He is our Father. Jesus Christ, the Redeemer of the World, watches over this earth. … Be unafraid, keep His commandments, love one another, pray for peace and all will be well.” In closing, he said, “I leave you my witness as a Church servant for many years that the truth will endure. Time is on the side of truth. God bless you and keep you all the days of your life.” Those present were touched deeply. Many wept openly, including a cynical newsman and a young Russian interpreter. The congregation began singing “God Be with You Till We Meet Again.” They waved their handkerchiefs in joyous gratitude and in farewell as he and those with him left the meeting. (In Ezra Taft Benson, Cross Fire: The Eight Years with Eisenhower, Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1962, pp. 485–88.)

At age 14, Martin of the Westlands Branch found himself away from his home in Nairobi, attending a boarding school where he was the only member of the Church. In Martin’s school, on certain days of the week, only tea and bread were offered for breakfast. With 700 students, school authorities did not have the means to provide a special menu for one, so Martin chose to take water with the bread.
On Sundays he had to attend church with the rest of his schoolmates. There he had to listen to religious teachings he knew were sometimes distorted. From time to time schoolmates would steal glances at him as they talked in low tones about his “strange” beliefs. Occasionally, some would even call him a devil worshipper.
These challenges strengthened rather than weakened Martin. He was greatly encouraged by monthly visits from his parents and frequent messages from his branch president, who always sent the latest issue of the New Era. Reading it helped increase his courage to face these trials.

But one time I found out that the scriptures really can be a lot like my life! It all happened when we went on a backpack trip for a family reunion.
I carried my own backpack and sleeping bag, and I didn’t complain. After all, it was only supposed to be four miles (6.5 km) to the lake. I could make it, no problem.
The hike wasn’t too hard, but I was glad to stop for a rest after two miles (3 km). Then we saw the first trailhead sign. It said that the lake was still six miles (9.5 km) away. My dad didn’t have to tell me that the trail was really twice as long as we first thought. I already figured that out. He did need to remind us to make our water last longer.
My dad’s advice was important but hard to follow. The afternoon sun was hot, and we hardly had any shade on the trail. It seemed like we were never going to reach the lake.
The grown-ups stayed in the back with the youngest kids, and the older cousins went on ahead. I stayed with three cousins my age, and we ended up somewhere in between.
When we couldn’t see anyone ahead or behind us anymore, we started to get nervous. Our backpacks felt heavy, and our water bottles were empty. How much farther did we have to go?
Finally we got so worried and tired that we decided to stop and pray.
After the prayer we picked up our backpacks and trudged on.
Just a little while later, we heard hoofbeats coming up the trail. We waited and saw a man on a horse riding toward us.
He stopped and gave us some water. He explained that our older cousins had hurried to the lake with a water filter to start pumping water to bring back to us. The man heard about how we needed water and had agreed to help. “Do any of you need help with your backpacks?” he asked.
I looked at my cousins, and they smiled back at me. We actually felt pretty good!
“You better go on and help the others,” we said to the man. “We’re fine.”
And it was true! The rest of the way to the lake it felt like angels were lifting our packs and pushing us along.
A week later my family was reading the Book of Mormon. My eyes opened wide when we read these words: “And I will also ease the burdens which are put upon your shoulders, that even you cannot feel them upon your backs” (Mosiah 24:14).
“That’s what happened on the trail!” I blurted out. I didn’t have to think about how to use this scripture in my life. It described something that had already happened in my life! It was amazing! I could hardly wait to find other scriptures that were like my life.
And that’s how I learned I could liken the scriptures to me, and I could also liken me to the scriptures!

Now may I speak from my heart of what an honorable full-time mission has meant to me personally. I grew up in a home with very good parents, but my father was not a member and my mother was less active. After my mission, that changed. They became strong members and served devotedly in the temple—he a sealer, she an ordinance worker. But as a young man, like many of you today, I had no way to judge personally the importance of a mission. I fell in love with an exceptional young woman. At a critical point in our courtship, she made it very clear that she would only be married in the temple to a returned missionary. Duly motivated, I served a mission in Uruguay.

It was not easy. The Lord gave me many challenges that became stepping-stones to personal growth. There I gained my testimony that God the Father and His Beloved Son, Jesus Christ, did in fact visit Joseph Smith to begin a restoration of truth, priesthood authority, and the true Church on earth. I gained a witness that Joseph Smith is a singular prophet. I learned essential doctrines. I discovered what it meant to be led by the Spirit. Many a night I got up as my companion slept to pour my heart out to the Lord for guidance and direction. I pled for the ability to express effectively in Spanish my testimony and the truth I was learning to a people I had come to love. Those prayers were abundantly answered. At the same time, my future eternal companion, Jeanene, was being molded to become an exceptional wife and mother by her own mission.

Most important, all that I now hold dear in life began to mature in the mission field. Had I not been encouraged to be a missionary, I would not have the eternal companion or precious family I dearly love. I am confident that I would not have had the exceptional professional opportunities that stretched my every capacity. I am certain that I would not have received the sacred callings with opportunities to serve for which I will be eternally grateful. My life has been richly blessed beyond measure because I served a mission.

The children enjoy their Primary classes. Cillian looks forward to playing games in Sharing Time. Cathal has been preparing for his baptism. He eagerly stated, “I already have my baptismal clothes. And my dad has shown me the right way to stand in the water before being baptized.” Padhraig is enjoying the scripture lessons in his Primary class. Colin has been diligently working to complete his Gospel in Action award. The boys’ three-year-old sister, Una, really likes being a Sunbeam.

Thirteen-year-old Vetaley Kurnosov lives in a fairly isolated place. His home is in Chernigov, a little more than 100 miles north of Kiev, and about 75 miles east of the nuclear disaster site at Chernobyl. Because the roads are rough, Chernigov is about three and a half hours by bus from Kiev. The trip takes even longer by train.

Though Chernigov is a fair-sized town, many of the streets are unpaved. Houses are built of cinder block, capped with tin roofs. The blocks are left without stucco. A rural atmosphere prevails. Most people have some land and grow some crops. Ducks and other animals wander down the lanes.

There is a branch of the Church in Chernigov, and full-time missionaries are just beginning work in the area. For now the members meet in a family’s home. Besides that family, Vetaley, his mother, and his grandmother attend Sunday services with elders, investigators, and visitors, including a missionary couple that travels up every other week from Kiev.

“I’m the only deacon,” Vetaley explains. “My main duty is to pass the sacrament.”

But if he could, he’d preach the gospel to the whole world. “I’d tell them that this Church is true. I believe in it 100 percent and even more. I’d tell them how it felt so right when I was baptized and how everything in my life seems better because of the Church. I’d tell them how prayer has helped me to change my study habits and do better in school. I’d say that I feel perfected by reading the scriptures. I would invite them to join the Church, because we have to have faith in somebody, and Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ are the ones to rely on. We can trust in Them completely, and They will give us more than we ever need.”

Unfortunately, such an “O-that-I-were-an-angel” attitude (see Alma 29:1) has not yet convinced his non-LDS friends. “They just don’t pay much attention,” Vetaley says. Perhaps that will change, particularly as they watch his example. “That’s the best hope,” he says. “One day the Church will be well established here, and when it is it will be because of us. We are laying the foundation.”

Prior to leaving on my mission, I had felt an impression that my grandmother’s husband—who died in 1996, before I joined the Church—was striving to help soften her heart. While I was in the Missionary Training Center, the elders in my district did his temple work. Sitting in the celestial room, I was overwhelmed with the idea of my entire family being there together. I like to think that my grandfather is doing all he can to help our family accept the gospel.

It was a bitterly cold February night. The ice was so thick on the Mississippi River it had turned to a solid mass, a blue-white highway. With the river frozen solid, there was no traffic that night, no river barges, no ferrys, no boats of any kind. Thick ice made it possible to walk out on the water, solid enough, perhaps, to walk all the way to the far bank.
The city of Nauvoo was dark, but four people shivering on shore were about to test the ice. Would the ice be strong enough to support them? Was it possible to drive a team of horses pulling a wagon across?
Kayla Walker followed in her father Kay’s footsteps as he approached the river. Their friend, Tim McCormick, also moved out onto the ice. But even though she was excited to make the crossing, she was a little scared. Their guide, Jerry McLeod, had already warned them both that if they felt the ice crack beneath their feet to spread out their arms to catch themselves from falling in completely. Kayla said, “He told us to try to stay above the ice. If you fall below, the current will carry you under the ice, and they wouldn’t be able to get you. That was sort of scary.”
Kayla stepped out on the ice. Exactly 150 years ago that month, the first pioneers to leave Nauvoo crossed on the ice of the Mississippi to the other side, leaving behind their beloved and beautiful city with the white temple shining on the hill. Kayla was reenacting that night with her father and a friend. (Any unauthorized activity on the river ice is prohibited.)
“I was wearing three pairs of pants, a turtleneck, and a sweater. Then I had on a big ski coat, a hat, a scarf, and gloves. I had on two pairs of boot socks and hiking boots, and I was still cold. It was, like, minus-20 degrees. That’s why the ice was so thick. It was frozen 18 inches down. I could see cracks in it, but all you could see was more ice because it was so thick.
“It was dark. It was slippery, but we kept a steady pace. There was snow on top of the ice, so we did have some traction. We hit some slick spots where it was hard for me to keep up. I just didn’t want to stop. I wanted to get across. It took us 18 1/2 minutes.
“Brother McLeod’s wife met us on the other side in her van and drove us back home. I was very glad to get in that van with the heater on high and hot chocolate waiting. It was neat to think about my ancestors doing the same thing. Only they did it with long dresses and their children and some people who were sick. They did that, with no questions asked, because they believed in the Church. What a strong testimony they had. I think I would have gone hesitantly. I would have been asking, Why can’t I just wait? Just doing what they did so long ago was a big testimony builder.”

Here is an example of the kind of Christlike ministering that happens among members of the Lord’s Church. A student at Brigham Young University recently wrote:
“I was going through a really rough time. One day I was really struggling and on the verge of tears. I pleaded and prayed silently for strength to continue. In that exact moment, my roommate sent me a text expressing her love for me. She shared a scripture and bore a testimony. It brought me so much strength and comfort and hope in that moment of despair.”

When I was presiding over the Edmonton Branch a man came to me and said, “I can’t pay a full tithing this year. I have had to do some building, some remodeling, and so on.” I told him that the Lord had said that he would pour out blessings that we would hardly be able to contain. He said, “I still can’t do it.” Right after the first of the year that man spent several days in the hospital with a high doctor bill, and he paid it. I am not suggesting that he was there because he didn’t pay a full tithing, but I am suggesting that the evidence is there that he could have paid a full tithing.

I know this may come as a surprise, but I’m old enough to remember when we were taught in school that there were nine planets in our solar system. One of those planets, Pluto, was given its name by 11-year-old Venetia Burney of Oxford, England, after its discovery in 1930. And up until 1992, Pluto was believed to be the most distant object in our solar system. During this time, it was common to find childhood papier mâché models of our planetary neighborhood in classrooms and science fairs, each one illustrating Pluto’s position on the known border. Many scientists believed that beyond that edge, the outer solar system consisted of empty space.
However, a lingering question remained within the scientific community regarding the origin of a particular type of comet that astronomers regularly tracked. And that question persisted for decades before the discovery of another distant region of our solar system. With the limited knowledge they had, scientists used those intervening decades to produce significant technological advances that allowed for further study and exploration. Their eventual breakthrough reconfigured our planetary zone and resulted in Pluto being rehomed to this new region of space and our solar system consisting of eight planets.
One leading planetary scientist and principal investigator for the New Horizons space mission tasked with exploring Pluto up close had this to say about this experience: “We thought we understood the geography of our solar system. We didn’t. We thought we understood the population of planets in our solar system. And we were wrong.”