Gospel Story Finder

They were strangers in a strange land, upon their own resources, separated from home aid and home news by a month’s travel, with no precedent to follow, no headquarters in Britain to communicate with, no human source of advice or direction. The work was before them. The task loomed mountain-high—everything to do, no trails broken, no paths beaten (Richard L. Evans, A Century of “Mormonism” in Great Britain, Deseret News Press, 1937, p. 22).
It was summer of 1837 when Heber C. Kimball and his associates stepped for the first time onto English soil. They were penniless and, as they walked the streets of Liverpool, were becoming increasingly worried about the difficulty of spreading the gospel in England. They were pioneering a work, marking a trail, beating a path that literally thousands would follow by accepting the message of the restored gospel.

It was a bitterly cold February night—so cold the Mississippi River had turned to solid ice, a blue and white highway. With the river frozen, there were no river barges, no ferryboats, no boats of any kind. Thick ice made it possible to walk out on the river, perhaps to walk all the way to the far bank.
The city of Nauvoo, resting quietly on the banks of the Mississippi, was dark—but four people were still moving about, shivering on shore, about to test the ice. Would it 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’s footsteps as he approached the river. Their friend, Tim McCormick, also moved out onto the ice. Even though she was excited to make the crossing, Kayla was a little scared. Their guide, Jerry McLeod, had already warned them that if they felt the ice begin to crack beneath their feet to spread out their arms to catch themselves from falling in completely. “He told us to try to stay above the ice,” Kayla says. “If you fall below, the current will carry you under the ice. That was sort of scary.”
Kayla stepped out on the ice. Exactly 150 years ago that month, the first pioneers to leave Nauvoo crossed the ice of the Mississippi, leaving behind their beloved and beautiful city with the white temple shining on the hill. Kayla, her father, and a friend had received the necessary authorization to be on the ice and reenact the pioneers’ departure.
“I was wearing three pairs of pants, a turtleneck shirt, and a sweater. Then I had on a big coat, a hat, a scarf, and gloves. I had on two pairs of socks and a pair of hiking boots, and I was still cold,” Kayla recalls. “It was –30° Celsius. That’s why the ice was so thick. It was frozen 45 centimeters 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 making the same crossing. 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 strong testimonies 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.”

Illustration by Allen Garns
Our family has a Christmas tradition of giving gift bags of food, gloves, hats, and other necessities to those in need. In 2016, Christmas Eve was especially cold for the area of California, USA, we live in. We were bundled up, but we were still shivering!
As we drove to a park near our home where many people who are homeless stay, we saw a man huddled in the meager shelter of a bus stop, covered in an old blanket. My husband, Dennis, stopped the car and took our son, Jonathan, with him to give the man a gift bag. Our daughter, Abbey, and I stayed in the car and watched.
The man lifted his head as Dennis handed him the bag. A huge smile spread across the man’s face. They shook hands and began to talk. This was unusual because normally there isn’t much of an exchange.
After several minutes, Dennis returned to the car and opened the trunk.
“Is everything OK?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m giving him my parka. He needs it more than I do.”
I was speechless. This was a really nice parka that Dennis had worn only a handful of times! Dennis went back to the man and helped him put on the warm parka. The man’s face was beaming. Dennis and the man continued talking.
I felt compelled to meet this man. I opened my car door, and Abbey followed me. Dennis smiled as we approached, and he introduced us to the man. I extended my hand and asked for his name.
He took my hand, smiled warmly, and replied, “Jesús.”
My family continued the conversation, but I didn’t hear much after that. I kept thinking of the significance of this sweet man’s name: Jesús—the name of our Savior. In that moment, I was reminded of the Savior’s teaching: “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matthew 25:40). That experience forever changed me.

An important dimension in learning to laugh at ourselves lies in not being afraid to make a mistake. When I was a bishop, we sought to have a ward choir. We had a good leader, Brother Anderson. However, he encouraged me to sing in the choir. I felt that as a measure of support for Brother Anderson and the others, I should try to sing with them, but things went from bad to worse.

Brother Anderson liked to invite the choir members to improve their talents by singing solos. One Sunday during choir practice he asked that I sing a small solo. I found it very difficult to turn him down in front of the choir, so during sacrament meeting, when the choir sang I tried to sing the solo. I was so frightened that the paper trembled in my hand, and I could hardly hold it. I felt embarrassed and humiliated. All of my mask of dignity was gone.

After the meeting, as I walked down the aisle, I was met with warm smiles and expressions of understanding and support. Someone said, “Bishop, it surely makes us feel good to see you scared.” That day the bishop became more human.

For Dima Ivanov of Vladivostok, Russia, the invitation to participate in the “discipleship experiment” came at a hectic time. Brother Ivanov had recently left his job to begin his own business, and because he had so many work-related responsibilities to consider, he wondered if he would have difficulty keeping discipleship at the forefront of his thoughts.
Still, he agreed to participate, and since discipleship meant to him “obeying and following the direction or advice of a teacher,” he delved into the Sermon on the Mount, found in Matthew 5 and 3 Nephi 12.
What Brother Ivanov found as he studied the characteristics of that sermon, he said, were his own weaknesses. But knowing that the Savior had promised that those who humble themselves would have weak things made strong (see Ether 12:27), Brother Ivanov turned to Him, seeking opportunities to grow.
“I felt the Savior closer to me,” reported Brother Ivanov. “I learned that He is the greatest Teacher, and I learned ways I could become more like Him. As I studied about the nature of discipleship, I learned that we can find some new way to be like the Savior every time we study His life. And then we continue to learn it by following His example. We have to practice what we learn.”
He said his understanding of discipleship changed over the week. “Following the Savior is not just studying gospel principles or obeying His commandments,” he explained. Wherever we are or whatever we are doing, we can have the “real desire to follow His example and to have the intention to become like Him.”

Several years ago in Osaka, Japan, I received a telephone call from one of the Japanese officers of the Church requesting an appointment. I invited him to my hotel room and there listened to one of the most intelligent and articulate young men I had ever met.
He was a college graduate. He had majored in a special field of science and was employed by a stable, conservative corporation. One of his classmates, who had been at the top of the graduating class in the same field, was employed by a young, progressive firm in Tokyo. Several times in recent months this classmate had tried to entice his friend to change jobs. One of the vice-presidents of the firm in Tokyo made contact with the Church member, saying he could set his own salary at three or four times what he was then making.
The response was, “If there is the slightest question in the minds of the officers of my church about my leaving Osaka, which would require my being released from my Church position, it doesn’t matter how much money you offer me, I will have no interest in your proposal.” The vice-president replied, “I am not a Christian. I know nothing about your religion, but you are the kind of man I want in my organization.”
Should he move from Osaka to Tokyo, which would require his release from his Church assignment? Of course, I assured him that he could serve the Lord in Tokyo as well as in Osaka.
He moved to Tokyo. Later, while visiting that city, I received another call from the same man. We visited for quite some time. He had become extremely successful. He had broadened his experiences and was now a consultant teaching top management in major corporations how to operate their companies. His time was in great demand. He was making a handsome income. But he was neglecting his Church work and his family responsibilities.
I told him I wouldn’t tell him what he should do, but that there was a scripture that would tell him if he truly was converted: “But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.” (Matt. 6:33.) I sensed that this scripture might have caused a few little ripples; however, we parted as good friends.
A few weeks after I returned home, I received a letter from him. He said he had his priorities straightened out. He had resigned from the company. His first priority now would be his family and the Church, and his second priority would be employment. Setting priorities and then reviewing them to see that we are not straying is one of the most valuable lessons we can learn.

I recall an experience I heard at a stake conference in Idaho. A farm family in the community had just contracted for the installation of an additional and much-needed room on their home. Three or four days later the father came to the building supply dealer and said, “Will it be all right with you if we cancel the contract? The bishop talked with my son John about a mission last night. We will need to set this additional room aside for a while.” The building supply dealer responded, “Your son will go on his mission, and he will find the needed room when he returns.” Here was the spirit of Christianity—a family sending a boy into the world to teach the gospel, and friends coming to help the family with their problems. What then, indeed, shall we do with Jesus who is called Christ?

With limited space and resources, it’s not easy to have a garden or a supply of food. But “our bishop told us that it’s not a matter of having a place to garden—it’s a matter of finding a way to obey the principle,” Lindo says. So he improvised. “I got some wood and made a box. Then I took several bus trips out to the country and brought sacks of soil back with me. I planted some vegetables.”

When the 1990 earthquake hit, they were glad they had put some rice and canned foods in a closet. Although their apartment building was destroyed, they were able to salvage and use some of their supply.

“We do our best,” he says in his unassuming way. “The Lord knows whether you’re doing all you can do.”

A young man returning from his mission shared his experience with faith. He acknowledged it as a miracle in his life. He said, “I was the first of six children born to my parents. My mother and father taught me when I was young the principles of the gospel. Faith was taught through the example of both my mother and father. When I was only 10 years old, my father, this great example of trusting the Lord, was killed in an accident. I was young and had many feelings to deal with that were new to me.” This young man said he realized that he had two choices available to him—“I could have become bitter towards the Lord and lost all that I now have, or I could trust the Lord. Because of the example of my parents, trust was the path I chose. Choosing faith has made all of the difference.”

When I was a new missionary serving in Kobe, Japan, I noticed an unusual box hanging in the middle of the Church bulletin board.
“What is that?” I asked my companion.
“It’s a mailbox,” she explained. “Our Sunday School teacher Brother Nakatani* has an eight-year-old daughter named Misaki. She was hospitalized a few months ago with cancer.”
We began writing letters every week. Writing in Japanese was difficult for me. But as I wrote, I thought of what I would say to my own little sister, and somehow the words came easily.
One Sunday, Brother Nakatani pulled us aside and told us that Misaki loved our letters and wanted to meet us. He gave us the address of the hospital and told us when to be there. We stood behind a glass wall and spoke to Misaki through a telephone. She wore a little hat to cover her bald head. She looked frail but laughed and talked with us.
Not long afterward I was transferred to another area. I continued to write to Misaki. Sometimes I worried about my Japanese and wondered if the letters were difficult for her to read.
On the last month of my mission I was transferred to a ward in Misaki’s stake. I ran in to the stake president and immediately asked about Misaki.
“A few months ago we almost lost her,” he said. “But now she can go to school again. Her hair is growing back, and she is doing just fine.”
A few days later my companion and I went to church to help with a stake Primary activity. While we were there I saw Brother Nakatani.
“How is she?” I asked.
“She’s here,” he said. “Do you want to see her?”
I recognized her right away. A hat covered her head, but this time I could see dark tufts of newly grown hair underneath.
“Misaki Chan!” I called.
She looked up and smiled as I knelt beside her.
“Do you know who I am?” I asked.
She looked puzzled. I pointed to my nametag.
Misaki’s face brightened, and she clapped her hands with joy. Then, she pulled out the missionary packet that all Primary children had received and asked for my autograph. At that moment, I knew that every letter I had sent to her had been worth it. Each of my letters, imperfect as they were because of grammar and spelling errors, had brought her happiness.
Whenever I hesitate and fear that my kindness to others will be misunderstood, I remember the letters to Misaki. No matter how small or imperfect, kindness is always worth it.

I would be remiss if I did not speak of a branch president and a bishop of my youth. I became a deacon at the age of 12 in a little branch in the eastern part of the United States. The branch was so tiny that my older brother and I were its only Aaronic Priesthood holders until my father, who was the branch president, invited a middle-aged man to join the Church.

The new convert received the Aaronic Priesthood and, with it, a call to watch over the Aaronic Priesthood. I still remember as if it were yesterday. I can recall the beautiful fall leaves as that new convert accompanied my brother and me to do something for a widow. I don’t remember what the project was, but I do remember feeling that the priesthood power joined in doing what I later learned the Lord had said we must all do to have our sins forgiven and so be prepared to see Him.

As I look back now, I feel gratitude for a branch president who called a new convert to help the Lord prepare two boys who would in turn someday be bishops, charged to care for the poor and the needy and also to preside over the preparatory priesthood.

Reading the scriptures is hard for Shellee because of the vocabulary. She doesn’t recognize words from having heard them in conversation; she has to learn each word individually by looking it up. Words like nevertheless are hard enough to understand when you’ve heard other people use them. How is a deaf person to understand it without help?
Shellee’s seminary teacher is helping to solve this problem with drawings. She has her students draw pictures in their scriptures that go along with the stories so they can have a better idea of what is going on. “It helps a lot,” Shellee says.

In 1983 his beloved wife, Clara Jeffs Hunter, passed away. She had suffered a devastating stroke several years before that had left her very much diminished. President Hunter tended to her needs, providing loving care with respect and an uncommon devotion for many years, with a complete disregard for his own health. But there was a reward, for as diminished as she was, Claire would smile and respond only to him. The tenderness so evident in their communication was heartrending. We have never seen such an example of devotion of a husband to his wife. Theirs was a many-splendored love affair. Love is service.

One memorable ministering experience taught me how the Lord works through His servants to bless His children. One day my companion and I set out to visit a brother in our ward. It was our second ministering visit of the day, and as we embarked on our journey, we encountered difficulties locating his home. Google Maps directed us to the wrong location, leaving us confused and unsure of where to go. Determined not to give up, we decided to call the brother to explain the situation. He kindly clarified that he did not live in the area where the map had directed us and proceeded to describe his actual location.
With his guidance, we got back into the car and continued our journey, hopeful that we would find his home. Thankfully, we arrived at the correct address. The brother warmly welcomed us into his home, and we felt great joy in meeting him and his family. After exchanging pleasantries, we asked if there was anything we could do for them or if there was something they would like to share with us. The brother opened up about a concern that had been troubling him. He explained that just the day before, he had felt very guilty about his situation and knew he needed to speak with someone from church who could help him. Our visit seemed to him like an answer to his prayers.
He went on to share his concern: he was not legally married to his wife. This revelation surprised us because, according to the information on the Church’s member tools, his record indicated that he was married. He clarified that this was a mistake, likely a mix-up from when he was interviewed by the missionaries prior to his baptism. He expressed feelings of guilt and a strong desire to correct the situation.
We offered words of counsel and encouragement, discussing the steps he could take to resolve his situation. We assured him of our support and reminded him of the blessings that come from doing what is right. With our encouragement, he determined to take the necessary steps to address his marital status in a way that aligned with God’s commandments.
Today, this brother and his wife are legally married, and they are preparing to be sealed as an eternal family in the temple.

James walked quietly along the canal bank right behind the tall figure of his father. It was difficult to see through the darkness of the clear June night, but any light would be dangerous.
Elijah and Ellen Gilbert trailed behind Brother Talmage and his son, being careful not to lose sight of them. Although Ellen’s uncertain steps slowed them down, Elijah held tightly to his sister’s hand. He was older and knew the way better.
The water made loud splashing noises as it passed over the old mill wheel, but further down where the four finally stopped the water was much calmer.
James’ father looked slowly in every direction, but there was no one in sight. None of the townspeople in Eddington, England, had seen the eleven-year-old boy leave the village with his father and friends. It was safe to go ahead with the baptism.
Earlier that year, in the spring of 1873, James had become seriously ill. The Talmage family grew concerned about the life of their oldest son. Three years had passed since the time he should have been baptized, and his father thought that perhaps this was the reason for his boy’s sickness. He made a covenant with our Heavenly Father to baptize James as soon as possible if only he could be well again. James recovered and his father was keeping his promise.
The baptism was scheduled at night to avoid any trouble with the villagers.
Mormon beliefs were new and unpopular in the area at that time, and the members of the Church were often treated unfairly.
Brother Talmage stepped into the water and firmly braced his feet so that the current could not upset his balance. Just as he offered a hand to his son, a horrible noise more powerful than a scream broke the calmness of the night. It was a combination of a shriek and a howl and sounded as loud as a thunderclap.
James froze on the bank and Ellen clung to Elijah in fear. Father Talmage was also frightened by the sound and understood his son’s trembling as he stood alone in the dark.
“James, are you too frightened to be baptized tonight?” his father asked. James answered by stepping boldly into the deep canal.
The cold water soaked his thin clothing, but the young boy was unaware of the shivers running down his back. The noise stopped as mysteriously as it began the instant James entered the water. Elijah’s grip loosened on his sister’s hand and they both bowed their heads as Brother Talmage said the sacred words of the baptism. Then his strong arm lowered his son into the water.
Elijah helped James onto the bank as Ellen stepped into the water. She too was baptized a member of the Church and that night made a special promise to our Heavenly Father to keep His commandments.
When they returned home, Brother Talmage told the rest of the family about the strange happening. Surely, he thought, the loud noise reached the house, yet no one heard anything unusual. Questioning the townspeople the next day provided no answers either, for it seemed only the baptismal party shared the experience.
James E. Talmage never understood what caused the strange sound on the night he was baptized. But through his trust in the Lord he had had the courage to be baptized and to obey our Heavenly Father’s commandment. Later in his life he became a great leader and an apostle in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Christmas is a giving time of year for the young people of the Mt. Pleasant Second Ward, Mt. Pleasant Utah Stake. The youth were involved in service projects that helped emphasize the true spirit of giving.
The Mia Maids of the ward spent weeks collecting pictures of all the children of the ward, which they used to make special Christmas tree decorations. The ornaments were presented to the parents after they were used to decorate the ward Christmas tree.

Recently I saw a young teen-aged friend, Jami Palmer, whom I have known for several years. She is recovering from cancer. She has endured the diagnosis. She has undergone surgery and painful chemotherapy. Today she is a bright, beautiful young lady and looking to the future with confidence and with faith. I learned that in her darkest hour, when any future appeared somewhat grim, her leg where the cancer was situated would require multiple surgeries. A long-planned hike with her Young Women class up to Timpanogos Cave was out of the question—she thought. Jami told her friends they would have to undertake the hike without her. I’m confident there was a catch in her voice and disappointment in her heart. But then the other young women responded emphatically, “No, Jami, you are going with us!”

“But I can’t walk,” came the anguished reply.

“Then, Jami, we’ll carry you to the top!” And they did.

Today, the hike is a memory, but in reality it is much more. James Barrie, the Scottish poet, declared: “God gave us memories, that we might have June roses in the December of our lives.” None of those precious young women will ever forget that memorable day when, I am confident, a loving Heavenly Father looked down with a smile of approval and was well pleased.

If we follow up, the Lord will not let us down. I have seen the unspeakable joy that accompanies testimony-driven inviting and faithful follow-up among members of the Church the world over. While in Argentina recently, I encouraged members to invite someone to church before this general conference. An eight-year-old by the name of Joshua listened and invited his best friend and his friend’s family to an open house at their ward in Buenos Aires. Let me read from a letter I just received that explained Joshua’s invitation and his faithful follow-up:
“Every few minutes [Joshua] would run out to the gate to see if they were coming. He said that he knew they would [come].
“The evening wore on and Joshua’s friend did not come, but Joshua did not give up. He faithfully checked the front gate every few minutes. It was time to start putting things away when Joshua started to jump up and down announcing, ‘They are here! They are here!’ I looked up to see an entire family approaching the church. Joshua ran out to greet them and hugged his friend. They all came in and seemed to enjoy the open house very much. They took some pamphlets and spent lots of time getting acquainted with some new friends. It was great to see the faith of this little boy and to know that Primary children can be missionaries too.”

While sitting in my police car watching for speeders one afternoon in June 1996, I heard on my radio a report of an argument between a convenience store clerk and some customers. Two junior officers were being sent to the store. I wasn’t seeing many speeders, so I decided to drive to the store to offer help. I felt impressed to drive along a seldom-used road.
Before long I heard on the radio that the first officer to arrive on the scene was Ben. I was concerned because he was a newly hired officer with little experience.
As I continued on the back road, I heard the dispatcher report that the customers at the store were drunk and becoming combative. I was somewhat relieved when I heard that the second officer, Rocky, who was a little more experienced, had arrived at the scene.
Then came a report that the customers, four of them, had just left in a blue compact car. Still driving toward the scene, I heard another police jurisdiction broadcast a description of the car and its occupants and request officers to look for it. Rocky’s voice came on the radio, giving the direction the car was last seen traveling.
Moments later, I saw the car speeding toward me. My heart sank when I heard someone advise that an officer had been assaulted. I guessed that Ben, the rookie officer who was first on the scene, had been attacked.
I quickly turned around and began to follow the car, which then pulled over and stopped as if waiting for me to pass. Believing that the people in the car had just assaulted a police officer, I followed different tactics than I might have otherwise, and all my senses were on alert. I turned on my emergency lights and stopped my car some distance behind the vehicle. After informing the dispatcher that I had the car stopped, I drew my gun and waited for backup. About a minute later Rocky arrived to assist me.
We began to call each person out of the car at gunpoint, one at a time. Rocky interviewed each person. In the meantime our sergeant arrived with an off-duty officer who, it turned out, had been assaulted only verbally by two of the men in the blue car. Ben was uninjured and was still at the store interviewing witnesses.
The four men were arrested. Inside their car was a semiautomatic assault rifle and several boxes of ammunition. Later we discovered that the rifle had been modified to function like a machine gun. We also learned that one of the men arrested was a gang member with a long history of violence, especially against the police.
After our police reports were finished, we conducted a debriefing, during which I recounted the events as I remembered them. I told the others I had heard that the people in the blue car had assaulted a police officer. The room grew quiet for a moment, and then the sergeant said that no one on any of the radio frequencies had said anything about a police officer being assaulted. I looked around the room, and all agreed that no one had said anything about an officer being assaulted. I told them I had definitely heard someone report it.
Ultimately I concluded that the Holy Ghost had spoken to me in such a way that I would listen at a critical time. Had I not heard that an officer had been assaulted, I might have been less cautious—and I might even have lost my life.
I am deeply grateful for the voice of inspiration that put me on alert that day.

I know the power of prayer by my own experience. Recently I was alone in my office. I had just gone through a medical procedure on my hand. It was black and blue, swollen, and it was painful. As I sat at my desk, I could not focus on important and critical matters because I was distracted by this pain.
I knelt in prayer and asked the Lord to help me focus so I could accomplish my work. I stood and returned to the pile of papers on my desk. Almost immediately, clarity and focus came to my mind, and I was able to complete the pressing matters before me.