Gospel Story Finder

Hannah and Ellen Joy trust that the Holy Ghost can guide them. Hannah said, “The Holy Ghost can help me anywhere! I have to wash my hands a lot and be careful and listen to the Holy Ghost to help me.”
When Ellen Joy was five, she wanted to eat her friend’s chicken nuggets. But she got a feeling that she shouldn’t, so she ate her own lunch. She found out later the chicken nuggets had milk in them and could have made her sick.

Sidney was also in Hiram, Ohio, on 24 March 1832, when a mob dragged Joseph from the Johnson farmhouse. Sidney had already been attacked, tarred and feathered, and then cruelly dragged by his heels. His head was badly lacerated, and he was unconscious from loss of blood when Joseph saw him lying on the frozen ground. The next day, Sidney was delirious. But despite such persecution, his testimony remained intact for twelve years after that.4

My father was in the stake presidency in our small farming community, Preston, Idaho, and General Authorities visited our home quite often. When I was eleven years old, President George Albert Smith came to Preston to participate in a Boy Scout function. He had breakfast in our home, and he told our family of a spiritual experience that he had had. He said that when he was a young boy about my age, he had a great desire to know if there was, in fact, a God. He believed the story of Joseph Smith going into the Sacred Grove and seeing the face of and hearing the voice of Heavenly Father. For several years, President Smith said, he prayed every night that God would answer his prayers to tell him whether there was a God. After several years of earnest prayer each night, he heard the voice of the Lord say to him that indeed there was a God. This answer was in response to his faith and his perseverance. I have always remembered that story. It taught me both faith in prayer and the importance of taking our pleadings to the Lord.

Illustrations by David Habben
At the end of my eighth grade year, I was so excited to try out for my junior high’s cheerleading squad. I remember watching the ninth-grade cheerleaders, hoping that I might be one of them the following year. I was excited when I realized a lot of my friends would be trying out too. After tryouts, I was thrilled to find out I had made the squad.
Throughout the summer, we learned chants, stunts, and a dance that we’d be performing throughout the year at games and assemblies. I asked my mother to download the song we were dancing to so I could practice at home. After she did, she was concerned that it was suggestive and inappropriate. I quickly explained that the music we were using at school had been edited and that the bad words were taken out. Then my mom explained that just removing the bad words from a song doesn’t remove the meaning. She helped me understand what kind of message I would be sending about myself if I were to dance to this kind of music.
The next day, I brought some wholesome music, hoping the coach would be open to changing the song because it was not appropriate for us. No one really liked my idea, and I chose to sit out while the rest of the squad continued to rehearse to the inappropriate song.
I was disappointed that I was the only one who seemed to be bothered by our squad’s choice of song, and I knew that by choosing to sit out, I would most likely be sitting out the entire year. This was very hard for me because I really wanted to feel like a part of the cheer squad. I knew this was the only dance we would be performing and that I would not get to be a part of the halftime performances.
I realized I would need to rely on the Lord to get me through this trial. I had not made the popular decision. I was very discouraged as young women I trusted as friends began gossiping about me, sharing unkind text messages with one another, and turning their backs on me. There were times I would show up and my teammates would ignore me and pretend I wasn’t there, but even this was better than the times we would sit in a circle while everyone openly talked about me. I struggled with the idea of having to suffer through this for the entire year. I am proud to say I never second-guessed my choice. I did, however, wonder why the right thing didn’t feel better. Why was I being punished for making the right choice?
In church when we talked about standing for truth and righteousness, I often pictured how glorious it would feel to make the right choice and have others happily follow. I thought of how wonderful it would feel to be a righteous leader. This experience helped me understand how difficult it truly is to stand up against your peers and those you respect—and how lonely it can be to stand alone.
As youth in the Church, we are going to have to make unpopular decisions. I know that by taking a stand for things that are virtuous and true, we will not only bless our own lives but the lives of those around us as well. In Joshua 1:9 we read, “Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest.” The Lord loves us and is there to help us make the decisions that will define whom we will become.
I am grateful I was given the opportunity to stand up for what I believe in. I was grateful that I had the courage to stand alone among my peers. I was grateful to experience that the Lord does help us find the strength to do what is right. I could feel in my heart that He was proud of me. Deep down I knew I was a righteous leader, even if no one else followed.

The Jeffrey family, from Illinois, USA, recognizes the freedom that comes from managing their finances with a budget. When the Jeffrey children were very young, the family realized that three of them would be serving missions at the same time. Recognizing the financial strain this would place on the family, their mother, Olga, implemented a strict budget. Along with paying 10 percent of the family’s income to tithing, Sister Jeffrey set aside an additional 10 percent to save for her future missionaries. “I realized that finances could become a stumbling block and that we needed to be prepared to provide the means for our children to serve the Lord,” Sister Jeffrey says.
As the Jeffrey children began leaving on missions, their parents were financially prepared, and the Lord blessed them.

I have learned so much from so many of the faithful saints throughout our Area who have endeavoured to become self-reliant. I would like to share with you the story of Thatayaone Pule, who resides in Kanye, Botswana. I have known him ever since he was in Primary and have watched him grow up in the Church.

His parents were not members of the Church, so he went through the youth program being ministered to by others who treated him like their own son. At the age of 19 he served a mission. After his mission he returned home and got married immediately. Since he and his wife, Lesego, were so young and at that stage had not completed their tertiary education, the two of them did odd jobs together like clearing people’s yards and washing their laundry, in order to earn an income. They went on to buy and sell fruits and vegetables. With their savings, they opened a little internet café. He later got a job as a security camera installer. Because of his reliability, he was promoted to become a supervisor and four years later he was promoted to become site manager. This did not stop him from continuing his self-reliance endeavours. He then got into breeding dogs and this led him to his true passion—that of farming! He sold his dogs, and with the income he bought goats and later cattle.

Eventually, Thatayaone bought himself a huge piece of farmland where he is currently ploughing maize, watermelons, beans and sorghum. As their circumstances improved, Sister Pule went on to study for a diploma in business management.

This good family has learned to apply the things learned at church in their daily lives. Thatayaone has been serving as bishop for the past few years and has become a great blessing to his family, the members of the Church and many others in the community who have turned to him for guidance when it comes to self-reliance matters. In one of my conversations with Bishop Pule I asked him how all this started, and his answer was: “it all started after I attended a provident living workshop on mission.”

The road to recognition in this country has been both difficult and frustrating. Since receiving our European assignments, Elder Ringger and I have traveled to Czechoslovakia at least once each year to meet with governmental officials in Prague. Two transoceanic journeys were rewarded only with failed appointments or hopes dashed with the empty statement that “your request for recognition is still being studied.” When we returned to Prague on 6 February 1990, however, we found that the official with whom we had been dealing had been removed from his chair. When his successor heard our complete story, he said, “Your request for recognition will be approved this very month. Your people may again worship in full dignity. Your missionaries may again return to this country.” Recognition was granted February 21, effective 1 March 1990.

When that important declaration was made, I sensed that the real hero in this story was our district president in Czechoslovakia, Jiri Snederfler. Some two and one-half years earlier, Elder Ringger and I had learned that recognition could be formally requested only by a Czechoslovakian member of the Church. So we went to the home of Brother and Sister Snederfler. We explained that we had just received that information from the chairman of the Council of Religious Affairs. Knowing that other Czechoslovakian leaders and thinkers had been imprisoned or put to death for religious or dissident belief, we told Brother Snederfler that we, as his Church leaders, could not and would not make that request of him. After contemplating only a brief moment, Brother Snederfler humbly said, “I will go! I will do it!” As he spoke, his wife, Olga, shed a tear. They embraced and said, “We will do whatever is needed. This is for the Lord, and His work is more important than our freedom or life.”

Some months later, when the papers were properly prepared, Brother Snederfler submitted them personally. He and our members were then subjected to strict surveillance. The Saints continued in courage and faith. Ultimately, after periodic fasting and prayer and complete compliance with all requirements, that glorious announcement of recognition came. How I admire the Snederflers and all these stalwart members who endured so much interrogation and risk!

Brother Snederfler has been called to preside over the Freiberg Germany Temple effective 1 September 1991, succeeding President Burkhardt, who has given more than six years of devout and faithful service. Sister Olga Snederfler will serve as temple matron, succeeding Sister Inge Burkhardt.

On 1 July 1990, a mission in Czechoslovakia, forbidden for forty years, was again opened, with Richard W. Winder as president of the Czechoslovakian Mission. He had served in that country on his first mission as a young man. His wife, Barbara, was released as general president of the Relief Society to accompany her husband on this crucial assignment for which they alone were so uniquely qualified.

Come with me to view the humility before God demonstrated by one young, very dear friend of mine.

On January 5, 2025—91 days ago—Easton Darrin Jolley had the Aaronic Priesthood conferred upon him and was ordained a deacon in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Easton had longed to pass the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper for as long as he could remember. But this sacred opportunity was accompanied by the stomach-wrenching fear that he would fail, that he would fall, that he would be teased or embarrass himself and his family.

You see, Easton has a rare and very destructive illness, Ullrich congenital muscular dystrophy. It has progressively filled his young life with formidable challenges while shattering his hopes and dreams for the future. He will soon be in a wheelchair permanently. His family does not talk about what awaits him after that.

The Sunday after his ordination, Easton would pass the sacrament for the first time. And his privately held motivation was that he could present himself and these sacred emblems to his father, who was the bishop of the ward. In anticipating that task, he had begged and pled and wept and begged, extracting a guarantee that no one, no one, would try to help him. For many reasons, private to himself, he needed to do this alone and unaided.

After the priest had broken the bread and blessed it—an emblem representing the broken body of Christ—Easton, with his broken body, limped up to receive his tray. However, there were three sizable steps from the meetinghouse floor to the elevated stand. So, after receiving his tray, he stretched up as high as he could and placed his tray on the surface above the handrail. Then, sitting down on one of the higher steps, with both hands he pulled his right leg up onto the first step. Then he pulled his left leg onto the same step, and so on up until, arduously, he was at the summit of his personal three-step Mount Everest.

He then maneuvered himself to a structural post by which he could climb to a standing position. He made his way back to the tray. A few more steps and he stood in front of the bishop, his father, who, with tears drenching his eyes and flooding down his face, had to restrain himself from embracing this perfectly courageous and faithful son. And Easton, with relief and a broad smile consuming his face, might well have said, “I have glorified [my father and] have finished the work [he gave] me to do.”

During the time I was preparing to receive my mission call, I had the opportunity to attend a devotional where Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles spoke to a group of youth and young single adults. I had no idea that he’d be coming, and when I saw him, I couldn’t wait to hear what he had to say. He said he wanted to have a question-and-answer session. And when he asked for questions, I jumped at the opportunity.

“What is the most important thing I can do to prepare to be an effective missionary?” I asked.

He looked right at me and said, “Get over yourself.” At first I was taken aback. I had to think twice to make sure I hadn’t said something wrong, thinking maybe I was being scolded a little.

But then he explained that serving a mission is not about me; instead, it’s about serving the Lord and completely losing myself in that service. This advice completely changed my missionary preparation and my outlook on missionary service.

I grew up the youngest of ten children in a wonderful Latter-day Saint home. When I was a little boy, we had “home night” every Monday night.
At each home night, we were taught lessons on honesty, tithing, prayer, and fasting, as well as such practical lessons as turning off the lights and hanging up the towels. And we all gathered around the piano to sing, with Alice, my oldest sister, playing the piano. We always sang a hymn. I think that there is something very special about a family singing a hymn together in the home. It doesn’t matter how well they sing.
I have a deep love of music. I took piano lessons as a child, and my mother made sure I practiced every day after school. I have a tongue-in-cheek saying: “Mean mothers have children who play the piano.”
I had a wise bishop who called me in when I was twelve. He said, “LeGrand, we need some organists in our ward. I’d like you to take an organ class at the McCune School of Music. It costs five dollars for ten lessons. The ward will pay half of it, and you pay half.” I’m sure my mother put him up to it and paid the ward’s half.
I took the class and started to play the organ. When I was fourteen, I became the ward organist. In my high school days, I played the piano in a dance orchestra. That was a lot of fun. I loved the rhythm, and I could usually make five or ten dollars a night. When I was in dental school in Kansas City, Missouri, I played the organ at a Presbyterian church. It was a great experience for me. I played a lot of LDS hymns for them. They especially enjoyed “O My Father” and “Come, Come Ye Saints.” After playing at their service, I would get on the bus and go play a pump organ at our service.
Music has always been important to my own eight children too. When one of my four daughters was about nine or ten, we were all sitting at the kitchen table, reading the book of Mark in the New Testament. She said, “Daddy, is that where the song comes from? Could we please sing it?” We got out the hymnbooks and sang “Master, the Tempest Is Raging.” We weren’t a challenge to the Tabernacle Choir, but that hymn will never be the same again to me, because we sang it around the kitchen table.”
My girls sing together too. They’re are all married now, but they still come to see me at least once a week. I play for them and they sing. When my grandchildren come over on Sunday evenings, the ones taking music lessons always play for me. It’s a tradition.
When my wife and I went on our mission to Tallahassee, Florida, we started our missionaries singing. Our very favorite song was “Love One Another.” It helped when missionaries weren’t getting along.
My favorite hymn is “O My Father”—partly because it was my father’s favorite. After I grew up, I used to go every Sunday night and play hymns for my parents. They had an organ, and my father would sing along with me. He lived to be ninety-five. He loved good music and wanted me to play the hymns.
Now a General Authority, I sometimes play at stake conferences. I usually play “O My Father,” “A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief,” “I Am a Child of God,” “Love at Home,” “I Know That My Redeemer Lives,” or “I Need Thee Every Hour.” Each time I’ve played, several mothers have come up to me and said, “Thank you. I wanted my children to see a grown man play. I have some sons who think that they want to quit, but when they see you, they want to keep going.”
My wife and I have a little tape recorder in the kitchen, and many times we turn it on and listen to good music. We love the Tabernacle Choir. Occasionally I sit down at the piano or organ and make my own arrangements of the hymns.
It’s important what children sing and listen to, because music can affect their thoughts. The Primary songs and the hymns are precious and are music that the Savior wants us to hear. There is too much music in the world, especially on radio and television, that just isn’t appropriate. I don’t think music is everything, but it is an important part of the Church—music and the scriptures and daily family prayer.

How can I turn my heart to my ancestors? I can do it by learning about them. I recently received a letter from an uncle, Lynwood Ellis, recalling acts of kindness performed long ago by my father and mother. He said that he loved to go to their house because my father always gave him citrus fruit. This was back in 1918 or 1920, when citrus fruit just wasn’t often available in Utah. How did my father manage to get it? My uncle didn’t know, but he was sure that my father didn’t get this fruit for his own use. He just enjoyed giving it away! As I read these stories, my heart was turned to my father and mother because I knew more about their hearts. I found that I wanted to learn more about them and about their parents and grandparents.

“The greatest hardship I passed through on our journey was the day before we got to Laramie. The cattle were tired and footsore and the traveling was very hard so Father told us that morning we must all walk. No riding that day. I shall never forget that memorable walk, sand ankle deep to men and women and much deeper to the cattle and wagons. When we camped that night, we had traveled ten miles. I thought it was a thousand and wished many times that day that I was where people didn’t get tired.”
“At last, we came to the end of our long, tedious journey, and on the evening of October 15 we camped at the mouth of Emigration Canyon. Oh, what a glorious sight to look down into the valley of the Great Salt Lake! The next morning we were up bright and early, and soon drove down.”

One new father wrote: “Often as I watch my son watch me, I am taken back to moments with my own dad, remembering how vividly I wanted to be just like him. I remember having a plastic razor and my own can of foaming cream, and each morning I would shave when he shaved. I remember following his footsteps back and forth across the grass as he mowed the lawn in summer.

“Now I want my son to follow my lead, and yet it terrifies me to know he probably will. Holding this little boy in my arms, I feel a ‘heavenly homesickness,’ a longing to love the way God loves, to comfort the way He comforts, to protect the way He protects. The answer to all the fears of my youth was always ‘What would Dad do?’ Now that I have a child to raise I am counting on a Heavenly Father to tell me exactly that.”

The baby was crying, our three other young children needed to be put to bed, and I was exhausted.
As I tried to wrap my mind around the impossible task before me, all I could hear in my mind were the last words of my husband (who was currently serving as our bishop) as he walked out the door that evening: “I’ll be at the pool with the priests. Tim is teaching the boys how to scuba dive.”
“Really?” I thought to myself. “I’m here juggling four children, and you’re off learning to scuba dive? How is this fair?”
Later that evening when Bruce walked in the door, he met one tired wife.
“How did your evening go?” he asked.
In tears, I told him how hard it had been to put four children, including a fussy baby, to bed knowing that he was off learning how to scuba dive. I could understand him leaving if someone in the ward was facing a crisis, yes. But scuba diving? Not so much.
Bruce sat down beside me. “I’m sorry it was hard for you. I didn’t go for the scuba diving. I didn’t even know if I would get into the pool. I went for two young men.”
He told me he had felt strongly he should attend this event because two priests who hadn’t attended church or activities for a long time were going to be there. He shared that he had been able to talk to them that evening, strengthening his relationship with them and helping them integrate with the others.
My heart softened, and I was reminded that him being called to serve as a bishop while also being a husband and father required a sacrifice from both of us.

The house was a raging inferno.

“It’s no use,” the fire chief muttered, watching the flames leap high into the air. “Pull back!” he shouted. The fire crew moved back from the searing heat.

“Help!” a girl suddenly cried out from a second floor window.

“Oh no,” the fire chief mourned.

The girl’s parents, who had just returned from a movie, were quickly ushered over to the fire chief.

“Help me!” the girl shouted.

“Please save our daughter,” the mother pleaded.

“I can’t ask any of my men to go into that tinder box now—it’d be suicide.”

Randy stepped from the crowd. “Don’t worry, I’ll save your daughter.”

Before anyone could stop him, he ran toward the house, paying only slight attention to the crowd’s horrified gasp as he rushed into the flames.

It’s a good thing I’m wearing this action jacket, he thought as he kicked the door down. Inside, the stairs were still intact, although fire was licking through several of the steps. He covered his face with the jacket and bounded up the stairs.

On the second floor landing, because the jacket was still over his face, he tripped over a tricycle in the hall, but quickly recovered and hurried to her room.

He opened the door and saw her. She was in one of his classes in high school. She had long hair and nice eyes, although for some reason he couldn’t make out any details of her face. Maybe it’s the smoke, he thought.

She threw her arms around him. “I knew you’d come,” she cried.

A loud crash shook the house.

“What was that?” she cried.

“The staircase caving in,” he said calmly.

“How will we ever get out?”

He thought for a second then said, “I have a plan.”

Running to what was left of the hall, he grabbed the tricycle and hurried back to the room. He pulled an adjustable wrench from his jacket pocket and undid the front wheel. Then he kicked out the rubber from the wheel, leaving just the metal rim.

“Anyone else in the house?”

“No—my brother is spending the night at our uncle’s house.”

He hurried to the window and kicked out the screen and looked out. Just as he had noticed earlier—a telephone cable ran from the street pole to within a foot of the window. He leaned out, placing the rim of the wheel over the cable, then asked her to hand him the rest of the tricycle, which he refastened upside down onto the wheel again, the forked brace holding the wheel rim in place on the cable.

It was ready. He motioned for her to climb next to him on the window ledge. Putting one arm around her waist and holding onto the handle bar with the other, he jumped out into space.

They rolled gently down the telephone cable like a miniature cable car, leaving the house just before it broke apart. The crowd below roared its approval.

“Oh, Randy, you’re wonderful,” she sighed, hugging him.

A minute later they were on the ground, surrounded by a TV news crew and several newspaper reporters.

A newsman from the TV station stepped forward, microphone in hand, and asked the question on everyone’s mind.

“Hey, kid, whataya think you’re doing?”

That’s not the right question, Randy thought.

He looked again at the reporter. Somehow he had changed into a store clerk.

…

As he walked home, he began to think.

The house was a raging inferno.

“Help!” Michelle cried out from a second-floor window …

In 1993, after I had served as president of the Mexico Tuxtla Gutiérrez Mission, we traveled as a family to see my parents, who lived in northern Mexico. During the trip we talked about the joy of serving the Lord and seeing the change in people who had accepted the gospel during the three years we were in the mission. We were commenting about those people who were baptized, confirmed, and had received the priesthood and the ones we knew had entered the temple and were sealed as families for eternity.
My youngest son asked a question that made me reflect: “Dad, are you sealed to your parents?” I told him that because my father had been less active for many years, he and my mother were not sealed in the temple. To help him become active, I thought up a plan. It involved my children, and I explained to them how we would do it: Every Sunday my father would get up early to take my mother and sister to church, only to return home, wait for the services to end, then go back to pick them up. So I assigned my children to go with him and say, “Grandpa, would you do us a favor?” I knew his answer would be, “Whatever you want, my children.” Then they would ask him if he would go with them to church and stay with them so he could listen to their testimonies. It was the first Sunday of the month. I also knew my father would give any excuse not to go, so I planned to enter the room to help my children convince him.
The time soon came for executing the plan. My daughter, Susana, approached my father and asked him about the favor. Sure enough, my father told her he would do anything he could for them. Then came the invitation to go to church, and just as we had predicted, he used this excuse: “I can’t because I haven’t even showered.” That’s when my wife and I, who were hiding behind the door, shouted, “We’ll wait for you!”
When we realized he was not making a decision, my wife and I entered the room and, together with our children, began to insist: “Shower! Shower!” Then what we expected happened. My father came with us, he stayed for the services, listened to the testimonies of my children, his heart was softened, and from that Sunday on he never missed church. Months later, at the age of 78, he and my mother were sealed, and we, his children, were sealed to them.
I know that thanks to the power of godliness manifest in the ordinances of the temple, I can now be reunited with my parents for all eternity, even after death.

An experience I had as a boy in my own ward in the little country town where I spent my boyhood days has had a great influence upon my life.
Two young men returned from their missions in the Southern States and reported their missions in our sacrament meeting. In those days the missionaries traveled without purse or scrip and were thus required to sleep out on occasion when they were not successful in finding a family willing to give them a night’s lodging.
In those days the missionaries were subjected to some persecution. Under such conditions they were humbled and they experienced many evidences of how the Lord raised up friends to care for their needs.
The spirit of these two returned missionaries made such an impression on me that I went home and got down on my knees and asked the Lord to help me to live worthy to go on a mission when I became old enough. I continued to pray for this privilege until the train pulled out of the railroad station in Salt Lake City and I was headed for Holland. My last words to my loved ones were: “This is the happiest day of my life.”

The work moved forward. The paramount blessing needed was the privilege of our worthy members to receive their endowments and their sealings.
We explored every possibility. A trip once in a lifetime to the temple in Switzerland? Not approved by the government. Perhaps mother and father could come to Switzerland, leaving the children behind. Not right. How do you seal children to parents when they cannot kneel at an altar? It was a tragic situation. Then, through the fasting and the prayers of many members, and in a most natural manner, government leaders proposed: Rather than having your people go to Switzerland to visit a temple, why don’t you build a temple here in the German Democratic Republic? The proposal was accepted, a choice parcel of property obtained in Freiberg, and ground broken for a beautiful temple of God.
The day of dedication was an historic occasion. President Gordon B. Hinckley offered the dedicatory prayer. Heaven was close that day.
For its size, this temple is one of the busiest temples in the Church. It is the only temple where one makes an appointment to participate in an endowment session. It is the only temple I know of where stake presidents say, “What can we do? Our home teaching is somewhat down because everyone is in the temple!” When I heard that comment, I thought, “Not bad—not bad at all!”

Even some of the most difficult clients responded differently than expected.
Shelly is deaf and blind. She can’t talk, can’t communicate. In her dark world, she only knows how to scream when she gets alarmed or frustrated or disoriented. Staff expected to quietly take her back to her room after a very short time. But she was assigned to three girls as her friends for the day. They held her hand, patted her, touched her, stayed with her constantly.
“We were amazed at Shelly. Those girls managed to communicate a sense of love and caring that penetrated her darkness,” said Brother Holmes-Gull. Shelly was seen quietly laying her head near the girls while they sat on the grass.

I was taught by great elders. When I heard the message of the Restoration, I had an even greater confirmation that I should be baptized. But I wanted to know for myself the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon. The elders marked Moroni 10:3–5 in my Book of Mormon and invited me to pray and ask God if it is true.

The next evening I remembered that I had not yet read the Book of Mormon. As I began to read, I felt a very strong spirit. I prayed, and before I was finished, I knew that the Book of Mormon is true. I am grateful to God for having answered my prayer. I was baptized in July 2006.