Gospel Story Finder

When their bishop challenged them to read the Book of Mormon in a year, the youth of the Spring Creek Ward in Mendon, Utah, got right to work—building a temple. For each five chapters they read, each young man or woman would write his or her name on a craft stick to be attached to a model temple built of foam board. The Young Men and their leaders completed two of the walls, the Young Women and their leaders completed the other two, and the bishopric covered the roof. They all got together to celebrate finishing the Book of Mormon and the temple at the end of the year.

One day I was up in the tree fort in our backyard, when all of a sudden I noticed that our neighbors’ cat, Kiska, had escaped from her home. I knew that the neighbors didn’t want her to be outside because she could run away. I was able to catch Kiska. I felt happy that I had helped Kiska be safe so she could go back to her family. This experience helped me gain a testimony of faith in Jesus Christ because He said I should help others and think of their needs before my own and that I would feel happy if I did.

Lily S. of Utah, USA, had a busy ninth grade year. As a cheerleader, she participated in parades, football games, basketball games, and cheer camps and clinics. But the path to Lily’s cheerleading career was not an easy one.
As soon as Lily found out about her junior high school’s cheerleading tryouts, she knew she wanted to be a part of the team. For three weeks, Lily practiced with a former cheerleader to learn cheers and dance routines. She also spent hours making up her own cheer. After weeks of practice and a tough audition process, Lily made the team—and the Young Women Personal Progress program had helped.
Because of Personal Progress, Lily has participated in many activities where she learned to set goals and work hard to achieve them—skills that definitely helped her reach her cheerleading goals.

“Waste not, want not,” her mother always said, but Mary was tired of scrimping and scraping and going without. Ever since her family had arrived in this dry desert valley, life had been difficult for them. Blinking back snowflakes, she looked up at the foothills, now white, where she had stood just months ago when they first glimpsed the Salt Lake Valley. It will take a miracle to make this place “blossom as the rose,” she thought.
It wasn’t that Mary didn’t like the valley. She was happy here with her family. She loved the gospel and read the Book of Mormon every day. But she was worried that this year there would be no Christmas. There were no stores. There was no money. So many things had been left behind. Mary wished for a real Christmas celebration, more for her younger sister, Betsy, than for herself.
Mother jumped up as Mary and the snowy wind came through the cabin door. “You’re back early,” she said with a smile.
“It was too cold to be slow today,” Mary replied, noticing that Mother had quickly pulled her apron around her lap work, as if to hide it. A knitting needle had fallen to the dirt floor, and Mary handed it to Mother. As she did so, she saw a strand of brown crinkly yarn curling from beneath the apron. It looked as if it had been unraveled from something familiar. What was it?
Weeks passed, but the snow didn’t. It kept falling and drifting. Mother worked late and got up early. Mary caught glimpses of the brown yarn again and again. Mother was up to something—probably mittens for everyone. That was good, but Mary longed for a Christmas doll. She would be too old for one next year. … She could bear not getting one, though. She was old enough to understand about such things. But little Betsy was not. Maybe Mary could find a way to make a doll for Betsy’s Christmas surprise.
There wasn’t much to work with. Mary tied sticks and rags together for a body. When she approached Mother for quilt scraps to make doll clothes, she was also given three brown crinkly yarn scraps to use for hair, and buttons for eyes. It wasn’t a very beautiful doll, and Mary knew it. But, as Mother always said, “It’s the thought that counts.” Mary hoped the thought would count enough for Betsy to like her present.
It was hard to fall asleep Christmas Eve. Mary wasn’t excited, really, but she wasn’t tired, either. She lulled Betsy to sleep with Christmas stories, but her own mind was not ready to rest. Father was asleep—she could hear him snoring—but from her loft bed, she could see the flickering light of candles still burning below. “Mother,” she called in a whisper, “are you awake?”
“I am,” Mother answered, “but why are you?”
“I can’t fall asleep. I’ve tried and tried. Is there anything else I can do?”
In her nightgown, Mother started up the ladder steps. “Oh, Mary.” Her soft voice was excited. “I’ve had a fun idea, and I think you’re old enough for Christmas secrets. Do you want to come down and help me?”
The two of them whispered and giggled by candlelight deep into the night. Mother’s idea was perfect. She had tightly rolled a big rag (as long as a ruler) and tied the top part of it like a head. This was tucked into the top center of a pillowcase and tied again. Mary held a piece of lace in place around the face like a bonnet while mother tied that with a pretty ribbon. Then Mary held on to the corners of the pillowcase as Mother tied them into little hands. At the shoulders, they gathered the pillowcase into arms. Soon, trimmed with lace and stitched flowers, the pillowcase had become a soft baby doll with a long, fancy skirt. No face was added to the practical doll—someday it could be a pillowcase again. But for now it was a Christmas doll.
Christmas morning was glorious. There were three new dolls—two of them for Betsy. “Now my dolly has a doll!” she squealed. The third doll was a pillowcase doll for Mary. Mother smiled when Mary pretended surprise.
There were new brown mittens for everyone too. “These will match my old brown sweater,” Pa declared.
Mother blushed. “I wonder what happened to that old thing?” was all she said. Mary thought she knew.
The little family sang carols and talked about Jesus Christ. Mary knew that they were in the right place at the right time. She was happy as she and her new pillowcase doll climbed to the loft to take a nap.
Note: You can make a pillowcase doll too. See Christmas Workshop, pages 40–41.

Elder Pratt’s two former companions traveled on to Tahiti, where their teaching met with far less success. After a few months, Elder Rogers traveled west to the leeward islands and Elder Grouard sailed to the island of Anaa in the Tuamotus. Elder Rogers again met with little success and much opposition. When rumors finally reached him of the death of the Prophet Joseph Smith, he began to fear for the safety of his family in Nauvoo, and he returned to America. He died during the exodus from Nauvoo.

It has been 400 years since the publication of the King James Bible, with significant contributions from William Tyndale, a great hero in my eyes.
The clergy did not want the Bible published in common English. They hounded Tyndale from place to place. He said to them, “If God spare my life, ere many years I will cause a boy that driveth the plough shall know more of the Scripture than thou.”
Tyndale was betrayed and confined to a dark, freezing prison in Brussels for over a year. His clothing was in rags. He begged his captors for his coat and cap and a candle, saying, “It is indeed wearisome sitting alone in the dark.” These were denied him. Eventually, he was taken from prison and before a large crowd was strangled and burned at the stake. But William Tyndale’s work and martyr’s death were not in vain.
Since Latter-day Saint children are taught from their youth to know the scriptures, they in a measure fulfill the prophecy made four centuries earlier by William Tyndale.

I have a dear friend who served as a very successful bishop. During his tenure, the stake president asked a boy and a girl from each ward to visit with him about their relationship with their bishop. During the conversation, the stake president asked, “If you had a serious problem in your life, would you take it to your bishop?” Most responded that they wouldn’t. And when he asked why, their response surprised him. They said, “Our bishop seems too righteous.” To the credit of my friend, his youth replied: “Not our bishop.”

You can see the shock when you remember having seen that problem before. Why, that rowboat has been in the water for generations. You might think that you’ll say, “Well, I’ll make my children feel better by showing them that I can’t do math either.” Let me give you some advice: they will see that as a poor gift.
There is a better gift, but it will take effort now. My dad, when he was a boy, must have tackled the rowboat problem, and lots of others. That was part of the equipment he needed to become a scientist who made a difference to chemistry. But he also made a difference to me. Our family room didn’t look as elegant as some. It had one kind of furniture, chairs, and one wall decoration, a green chalkboard. I came to the age your boy or girl will reach. I didn’t wonder if I could work the math problems; I’d proved to my satisfaction I couldn’t. Some of my teachers were satisfied that was true, too.
But Dad wasn’t satisfied. He thought I could. So we took turns at that chalkboard. I can’t remember the gifts my dad wrapped and helped put under a tree. But I remember the chalkboard and his quiet voice and even his not-so-quiet voice as he built up my mathematics, and me. It took more than knowing what I needed and caring. It took more than being willing to give his time then, precious as it was. It took time earlier when he had the chances you have. Because he spent it then, he and I had that time at the green board. And because he gave me that, I’ve got a boy this year who has let me sit down with him. We’ve rowed that same boat up and down. And his teacher wrote “much improved” on a report card. But I’ll tell you what’s improved most: the feelings of a fine boy about himself. Nothing I will put under the tree for Stuart this year has half the chance to become a family heirloom that his pride of accomplishment does.
Now I see some art, or are they music, majors smiling. You’re thinking: he surely can’t convince me there’s a gift hidden in my unfinished assignments. Let me try. Last week I went to an Eagle Scout court of honor. I’ve been to dozens. But this one had something I won’t forget. Before the Eagle badge was given there was a slide and sound show. The lights went down, and I recognized two voices on the tape. One was a famous singer in the background, and the other, the narrator, was the dad of the new Eagle Scout. The slides were of eagles soaring, and of mountains, and of moon landings. Maybe the Eagle Scout didn’t have a lump in his throat quite the size of mine. But he’ll remember the gift. The dad must have spent hours preparing slides, writing words that soared, and then somehow getting music and words at the right volume and at the right moment. You may have a boy someday, with all his cousins and aunts and uncles in a room looking on. And with your whole heart, you’ll want to tell him what he is and what he can be. Whether you give that gift then depends on whether you feel his heart now, and are touched, and start building the creative skills you’ll need. What it will mean in his life will make it worthwhile. I promise you.

Did you like that Friend magazine I gave you?
Yeah. My dad liked it too, but he just lost his job, so we don’t have money for things like magazines …
Dad, I know we don’t have a lot of money this year because we had to move, but can we get Audrey a Friend subscription for Christmas? You could take it out of whatever you were going to get me.
In fact, I really don’t need much. Could we just give Audrey’s family most of what you would have spent on me? Without letting them know who it was?
I guess so, if you’re sure that’s what you want.
I was really hoping for that cool new scooter. She’s Mandy’s friend, not mine. In fact, she acts like I don’t exist.
But Mandy looked really happy when she told Dad what she wanted to do.
Dad, I heard what Mandy was saying. Would you do the same thing with my Christmas presents? But don’t tell Mandy. I mean, I don’t want her to think I like her friends.
You know what I mean.
You’re never going to guess what those two kids of ours just did.
Uh oh! Do I want to hear this?
Oh, trust me. You do.

Five years later I met some full-time missionaries serving in Delhi and knew immediately that I wanted to serve a mission. In August 1993 I received a call to serve in the India Bangalore Mission, but I was deeply concerned as I entered the mission field against my father’s wishes.
Halfway through my mission, I spoke with my mission president, Gurcharan Singh Gill, about my parents. Although by that time missionaries had been assigned to work in my hometown, my parents speak a native dialect and could not be taught by the English-speaking missionaries. My greatest desire was to have my parents united with me and my brother and sisters in the gospel.
Soon after my conversation with President Gill, he assigned me to go to Rajahmundry to assist with translation and to give me an opportunity to teach my parents. I had spent many years pleading with Father in Heaven to soften my parents’ hearts so they could recognize the truth. When I arrived after a 20-hour train ride, I could see that my prayers had been answered. My father had changed his mind and was supportive of me as a missionary.
A week later I taught my parents the first discussion. It was wonderful to watch my father, who had converted to Christianity when he married my mother, express his love and gratitude to Father in Heaven and Jesus Christ. My parents accepted the Book of Mormon and agreed to hear the other discussions. I was overjoyed.
Then my father began building a house and seldom had time to listen to anything more about the Church. Knowing the power of fasting and prayer, I decided to fast and pray that my father would be able to set aside time to hear the rest of the discussions. Soon after, we were able to continue with the discussions.
My parents accepted the challenge to be baptized. The zone leader interviewed them, and afterward I asked anxiously, “How did it go?”
“They’re ready!” he said.
I was very happy. During the baptismal service, I felt the Spirit so strongly that I cried for joy. Kommu Appo Rao and Kommu Mani were baptized in June 1994 on a very hot day in Rajahmundry. Finally my family was united in the true Church!
I am grateful to our Father in Heaven and to my mission president for sending me to be a missionary to my own parents.

One of the most challenging things I’ve ever overcome was my “I don’t care” attitude. If I wasn’t passionate about what I was doing, I was cold and impatient with people.

This all changed one school break when I was asked to care for my 76-year-old grandfather. “Dadi,” as we called him, had suffered a stroke, which left him half-paralyzed. When my family asked me to care for him for two months, I couldn’t even imagine how!

I had to wake up early to prepare his breakfast, his bath, and his medicine. I helped him walk around for his daily exercise. Since he had difficulty moving, I was by his side at all times, including during his bath and his toilet. As an 18-year-old girl, this was the hardest part.

Aside from all this, he was difficult to be with. He is not a member of the Church and has different principles than I do. He was a man full of regrets—always shouting, never smiling, and constantly saying, “I’m dying!” Because of this attitude, it was hard for us to share a good bond.

At first, I did all I could to avoid my tasks, but that didn’t work. So I decided to change my attitude and give my best effort.

After a week of this new attitude, serving Dadi became a joy to me. My patience grew, and I came to understand his affliction. As I served him, I stopped thinking of being with him as a burden but rather as an opportunity to create good times with him.

Dadi changed too. This frowning old man became a smiling, gentle grandpa. He even came to like listening to Especially for Youth songs!

One night I heard him making some noise, so I looked into his room to find out what he was doing. He was praying for the first time. I’m inspired every day by this change.

Now I’m back at college, but I still go twice a month to visit Dadi with my family. We eat with him and sing for him. His health has worsened, so now the most powerful help that I can give is prayers on his behalf.

I’m grateful for the opportunity to watch over Dadi because it helped me see what I’m capable of giving. Love is a very powerful thing—it softened both my heart and Dadi’s. I have learned the meaning of sacrifice and compassion. Truly, charity enlightens every heart!

A couple of years ago I got into drinking. I drank as kind of an experiment. Around here there isn’t a lot to do so my friends all drink and party. I wanted to be like them, I guess. After I started drinking, I felt almost hopeless. At first I thought I was happy, that I was having fun, but I realize I was miserable. I thought, what’s the point in trying to change? I just didn’t feel worthy.
I really love football, and one day after practice I came home to find my mom sitting there. We talked about my drinking, and she called the school. I was suspended for a couple of games. That was a really big kick in the head for me—I realized I needed to change.
My family and some people in my ward helped me and made me feel loved. As I went through the repentance process, I gained a strong testimony of the Atonement of Jesus Christ. It’s so amazing to feel how much Heavenly Father loves us. It’s just crazy to me that He would send His Son to die for me when I mess up so much. You can always call upon Heavenly Father no matter what, and He will be there for you if you are willing to try and change.
I’m so much happier now than I was when I was drinking and partying. The gospel just brings you so much happiness if you turn to God and strive to improve yourself. It’s totally worth it.
Jens P., 18, Illinois, USA

Christiana smiled as she counted the last of the coins. She carefully placed them in the small wooden box and closed the lid. “It is getting so heavy!” she thought as she slid the box into its hiding place under her bed. “Surely I am the richest girl in all of Denmark!” she exclaimed aloud.
Christiana Pedersen had been tending her father’s sheep for as long as she could remember, watching over them and keeping them safe from harm. She loved the green hills near her home in Oudrup in northern Denmark. She enjoyed spending her days in the open air with the gentle sheep.
Each time her father took the sheep to market or sheared their wool, he gave Christiana part of the money earned. Christiana always put her money into a special box, never spending any of it. Her father would put her on his knee and tease, “Whatever will you do with all that money? You are getting so much!”
“I will save it all,” Christiana would reply. “I don’t know why, but someday I will need it!” Her father would chuckle and shake his head. His daughter was so unlike all the other children her age who spent their coins as soon as they got them. He was proud of Christiana. What a good girl she was!
Christiana was about 20 years old when some men wearing dark suits and coats came to her little village. She heard them on the street corners, talking to passersby about the mysterious book they held in their hands. One day when Christiana and her mother were shopping in the village, they stopped to listen to the men. Christiana learned that they were missionaries from faraway America. They had come to share the restored gospel of Jesus Christ with the people of Denmark. The book was the Book of Mormon, the story of an ancient people who lived in the Americas. Part of the book recounted a visit of Jesus Christ to those people after His Resurrection.
Christiana’s family attended a church in her village, and she already knew about Jesus Christ from her study of the Bible. She had a warm feeling as she listened to the missionaries speak about the Savior. Her mother bought one of the books from the men and accepted a few tracts [pamphlets] that explained the beliefs taught by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Christiana’s father was angry when he heard that his wife and daughter had listened to the missionaries. He forbade them from joining “that American church.”
Her mother had a little wooden chest next to the bake oven where she placed the precious missionary tracts and the Book of Mormon. Christiana continued to read and study them. She was drawn to the sacred words and felt a growing testimony of their truthfulness, but she honored her father and did not meet with the missionaries nor join the Church.
At the age of 21, Christiana decided that she must follow the promptings of the Spirit and be baptized. Her father was furious! “I warn you, Christiana,” he shouted, “if you try to cross the ocean with those Mormons, you will surely be lost at sea. I will not help you with this foolishness.”
Christiana was not frightened by her father’s words; she had a strong testimony that the truth had been restored to the earth. Although she had to leave her home and family to join the Saints in Zion, she was baptized on October 25, 1856.
As Christiana counted the coins in her little treasure box, she knew why she had felt so strongly about saving all the money she had earned tending her father’s sheep. She had just enough to take her to join the Saints who were traveling west to the Great Salt Lake Valley. She was so grateful to her Heavenly Father. He had helped her to know that this money must be saved to help her obtain a treasure greater than all the money in the world—a testimony of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ and a place with His Saints.
Christiana Pedersen left the Bol Farm in Oudrup, Denmark, in the winter of 1856, traveling to Copenhagen. She boarded the ship L. N. Hvidt to England on April 18, 1857. In Liverpool, England, she boarded the Westmoreland with 504 other Church converts on April 25, 1857. The ship arrived in Philadelphia on May 31, 1857, after a five-week voyage. She then traveled by train to Iowa City, arriving on July 9. She left three days later with the Seventh Handcart Company, beginning her long walk to Utah. She later married Christian Frederick Nelson Twede and was the mother of eight children. Her mother, Anna Marie, joined her daughter in America in 1878 after Christiana’s father’s death.

I shall always remember the great experiences I had at the open house prior to the dedication of the Washington D.C. Temple. For part of a week, I stood in the entrance to the temple as a host to special guests. Those guests included the wife of the president of the United States, justices of the Supreme Court, senators and congressmen, ambassadors from various nations, clergymen, educators, and business leaders.
Almost without exception, those who came were appreciative and respectful. Many were deeply touched in their hearts. Upon leaving the temple, the wife of the president of the United States commented: “This is a truly great experience for me. … It’s an inspiration to all.”

Last Wednesday I was in Idaho and telephoned to Phoenix and learned that President Hinckley was trying to reach me. I called him that morning and made an appointment to see him Thursday afternoon. Wednesday afternoon I joined with other members of my family at the funeral of my mother, who had passed away here in Salt Lake City the previous Sunday at the age of ninety-five. She joined my father, who had preceded her twenty-two years ago, and my wife, who had joined him four years ago.
I am grateful for them. I have prayed since Thursday afternoon that a kind and loving Heavenly Father would let them who had been such an influence in bringing me to this position be aware of it. I am confident they were.
I promised President Hinckley on Thursday afternoon, and now tonight I would like to do so again to the First Presidency, the Quorum of the Twelve, and these other Brethren that I desire to dedicate my all and serve to whatever extent I am asked.

Easing the pain of losing a child is difficult, if not impossible. But after hearing Sister Read tell her story during a youth conference meeting, and hearing another talk given by Kevin Capener, a young father who lost an infant son, the youth in the North Ogden Utah Ben Lomond Stake were eager to do anything they could to help. So, as a youth conference activity, they decided to “blanket” a local hospital with service.
The nearly 400 young people attending the conference spent an afternoon making more than 500 infant quilts to be given to parents whose newborn babies have died. After the parents have held their baby in the blanket for the last time, the blanket can be kept as a reminder to the parents.
“I hope that this blanket will be used, held, and cherished,” says Mark Miller, a priest. “I want [the parents] to know that there is someone out there who cares about them.”
In just a few short hours, the youth had a stack of quilts ready and waiting to be presented to a representative from Ogden’s McKay Dee Hospital.
It may seem a little thing, making tiny quilts for parents to use after the loss of a child. But sometimes the things people do aren’t measured by the size of their service, but rather, by the size of their hearts.

It started out as an ordinary Primary lesson. I was standing in front of my class of eight-year-old boys and girls, telling them a story about one of the latter-day prophets. When I finished, I began to question them about the moral the story taught. Everyone in the class wanted to answer my question—everyone, that is, but Robert.
I thought nothing of it. He was new in the class, and I thought he was probably just shy about speaking out on his first day. But as the answer was given and as we talked about it, I noticed that Robert’s face got more and more troubled. He wasn’t understanding the idea.
The week before, I hadn’t had time to finish the lesson I had prepared. I knew there wasn’t much time again now, and so I told myself I couldn’t make the other children wait until I had explained it again for Robert’s sake. I decided to go on. After all, I told myself, we will probably go over this idea again some other time.
I made one quick look around the room to make sure the rest understood. As my eyes passed by Robert’s, my heart froze. In an instant it seemed as though his face faded away and in its place I saw that of my three-year-old son, Sam. Startled, I just stood there, staring at Robert as if I expected the transformation to happen again. It didn’t then, or ever again.
Then I realized the impact of what I had done. I had passed over a child of God simply because I couldn’t be bothered. I had lost an important teaching moment. I had been given the opportunity to place a child closer to his Father in Heaven, but had turned my back.
I’ve never forgotten the lesson I learned that day—that only when I have done my best on behalf of all the children I teach can I pray for the best from another teacher on behalf of my own child.

Many things changed for me the year I turned 17. I was advancing to a new school and moving on to my third year of seminary. Not only that, but I also had a new seminary teacher: my mom.
Did I mention I was the only student in her class? Since the school I was going to attend was an hour’s train ride from where I lived, my mother decided to teach me early-morning seminary at home so I would be able to reach school on time. I was fortunate to have her teach me every day, but it was also a little nerve-racking. I had to give her my fullest attention, which was especially a struggle at 5:30 in the morning.
When we were studying the Book of Mormon, we came to Moroni, a prophet I really admire. However, I’ve always wondered: Why was Moroni alone? Why didn’t Heavenly Father send someone to accompany him? Why didn’t he complain when the Lord left him all alone to finish the Book of Mormon?
My mother explained that because of his righteousness and faith in Heavenly Father, Moroni knew that he was not alone. He had Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ to help him complete the Book of Mormon. I realized then that Moroni didn’t need anyone to be physically there because he knew that someone was spiritually there, watching over him. He knew that Heavenly Father would never leave his side.
That had a huge impact on me. I now know that whenever I think I’m alone, I’m not spiritually alone since I have the companionship of the Holy Ghost, who helps me feel closer to my Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. I know that as long as I have faith and trust in the Lord, I will never walk alone.
This particular lesson made an impact on my faith and my testimony of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. Although I was worried about having seminary at home, I’m now grateful because it has given me special learning experiences with my mom.

“I was a little freaked out [after the announcement] because I am not an athletic person whatsoever,” Kendra C., one of the YCLs at camp, said. “I’m terrible at sports. I’m just not coordinated enough to do it.”
After the initial “freak-out,” Kendra decided to at least try the Fit Challenge so she could keep up with the other young women when they ran the 5K. Though she didn’t suddenly come to love physical activity, she was surprised to realize that exercise was actually fun for her.
“I had to find something I enjoyed,” Kendra said. “Exercise shouldn’t be something that you don’t look forward to, that you’re afraid of. Finding something you like, whether it be dancing, walking or running, or playing a sport, is key. For me, yoga and Pilates make me feel really good.”

Maybe we don’t know a widow whose home needs paint or a new neighbor on our street. But promptings will come, encouraging us to do something good for someone. When we lived in Idaho, we enjoyed doing little things for “Uncle Joe,” the ward’s favorite pioneer. After we moved, we remembered him occasionally and thought that we really should write a letter to brighten “Uncle Joe’s” day. The idea began pressing on my mind, and finally we mailed a note to him. But it was too late. Only one day later we received word that “Uncle Joe” had passed away. An opportunity for service had slipped by because we had ignored a first impulse.