Gospel Story Finder

When a testimony has been realized, there is a burning urge on the part of the possessor to bear that testimony to others. When Brigham Young left the waters of baptism, he said: “The spirit of the Lord was upon me, and I felt as though my bones would consume within me unless I spoke to the people. … The first discourse I ever delivered I occupied over an hour. I opened my mouth and the Lord filled it.” As a fire will not burn except the flame be revealed, a testimony cannot abide except it be expressed.

President Lorenzo Snow (1814–1901) said to his granddaughter: “He stood right here, about three feet [one meter] above the floor. It looked as though He stood on a plate of solid gold” (quoted in LeRoi C. Snow, “An Experience of My Father’s,” Improvement Era, September 1933, 677).

During the Mexican-American War in 1846, about 500 members of the Church marched 2,000 miles from Council Bluffs, Iowa, to San Diego, California. The group was known as the Mormon Battalion.
On January 29, 2022, the same number of missionaries and volunteers marched near the Mormon Battalion Historic Site in San Diego during the 175th anniversary program to honor the faith and courage of the battalion.
Elder D. Todd Christofferson spoke at the event, telling members that we can draw strength and inspiration from the courageous, faithful example of the Mormon Battalion: “Their legacy is one of exceptional faith and sacrifice and service as they accepted the call to serve God and their country. … As you stand here in their place, you are heirs of that great legacy. You too are capable of that kind of faith and sacrifice and service. You too are capable of doing hard things. You too have great things to do. Now, go forth and make a difference.”3

I couldn’t find my shoes and said a prayer for help. I thought an answer would come right away, but it didn’t. I was frustrated, so I picked up a shirt on the floor and threw it. Under my shirt were my shoes! My prayer wasn’t answered the way I expected, but I knew my prayer was heard.

Harry Guan, Utah, USA
I grew up in China and considered myself a Christian, despite the fact that I never actually went to church. I was interested in God and Jesus Christ, and I thought Christian doctrine was very comforting.
When I moved to the United States for college, I started attending a nondenominational Christian church. After a few months, I heard about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints from some friends who were considering attending Brigham Young University. I asked a few students at the Christian church about the Latter-day Saints and was surprised when they fervently warned me to stay away from the “Mormons.” I listened to their advice at first, but as I was scrolling through social media about a week later, I came across an address by Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. In the talk, he mentioned that members of the Church should be respectful to other religions (see “Faith, Family, and Religious Freedom,” lds.org/prophets-and-apostles). As I listened to Elder Holland, I felt what I now know as the Spirit and decided that I needed to learn more about the Church.
I ended up going to church and later met with missionaries. I was touched by their teachings, particularly the plan of salvation. My parents weren’t too happy when I decided to be baptized, but they accepted that I was old enough to make my own decisions. When my grandparents visited me in America a few months later, I was able to teach them about the gospel. They both decided to be baptized.
The gospel has brought me so much joy and it has led me to my soon-to-be wife. It is worth every sacrifice I have had to make or will make.

1. Eli ran through the living room, jumping over piles of laundry on the floor as his baby brother, Asher, watched.
Woo-hoo!
Be careful not to land on the laundry.
2. Eli’s foot knocked over a stack of washcloths. Asher laughed as the washcloths flew all over. Eli laughed too. They both laughed as he jumped from one stack of laundry to the next and kicked them over.
3. Mom walked back into the room. Eli stopped in the middle of a kick and fell down on Asher. Asher started to cry.
Oh, Eli!
Sorry, Asher. Sorry, Mom.
4. Thank you for saying sorry, but what are you going to do to fix this problem?
I don’t know. Can I go play with my toys?
5. Eli, when we do something that hurts someone and we say sorry, there is something else we need to do.
What?
We need to show we are sorry by making things better.
6. Eli wanted to show he was sorry. He ran to Asher’s toy box, grabbed a stuffed cheetah, and waved it in front of Asher’s face. Then he did a silly dance. Asher laughed.
7. Next, Eli helped Mom fold all of the washcloths he knocked over.
Good job.
8. Then Eli ran to the piano and made up a new song for his mom.
Wow, Eli. That is my most favorite song ever.
Now am I done being sorry?
Absolutely. And I’m done being angry too.

Amid the bustle of the Christmas Eve excitement, my father was preoccupied. His thoughts kept returning to the used bicycle hidden carefully in the garage rafters. Next to it lay the boxes holding two brand-new shining black, matching three-speed bikes which he had purchased for my two older sisters. The budget strains of Christmas had prevented Dad from buying a third black three-speed for Leanne, my third sister.
Instead, he set about restoring the old single-speed, fat-tired bike the older two no longer rode. Scouring pads and elbow grease made the rusty spokes shine. The inner tubes were patched, and a new coat of paint erased the battle scars of collisions and neglect. A replacement set of handgrips made the handlebars look almost new.
This Christmas Eve, when he finished the bicycle assembly projects and rolled out and placed the rejuvenated old bike next to the new ones, the stark contrast of the old half-sized, blue, thick-tubed bike against the sleek, black beauties made the revamped two-wheeler suddenly look small and old-fashioned. Had he made a mistake in trying to redo the old bike for Leanne? Would she feel slighted?
Early Christmas morning, we were poised in our annual positions in the hall—all in a row, youngest to the oldest. Dad was in the living room making the movie camera and the lights ready to record our grand entrance. My older sisters spotted their black beauties, gave them the once over with due praise and admiration, and moved on. Amid the chaos and clutter, Leanne stood firmly next to the old blue bike. She was touching every part and talking aloud, “Look, it has new grips and new paint! Just look at those pedals, and it’s my very own, my very own bike!”
She stayed near the bike and repeated the same speech several times, though no one was listening, no one, that is, except my father. He stood silently, the movie camera held low on his side, listening to Leanne. Tears of joy streamed down his face as he witnessed this perfect acceptance of his imperfect gift.
(December 1984, p. 29.)

Maybe the great temptation entered my life the day a girl at school casually asked me who the Lamanite was that I’d been walking with. It had been my mother; and suddenly I realized that I didn’t look like an Indian, that I looked white. I didn’t lie, but said something evasive, “Oh, that is O Kin Yan Cante,” and changed the subject.
The knowledge was still resting somewhere in the back of my mind when I packed my boxes to go to nurses’ training in Salt Lake City. College was a dream beyond my mother’s power to realize for herself, and to see it coming true for me was equally exciting to us both. I worked hard and liked school; when the chance for a summer job in the obstetrical department came up, I took it and O Kin Yan Cante agreed—even though I know how much she had looked forward to seeing me again. It would mean enough money to pay my expenses for the whole year.
That fall, another family from our town was bringing their daughter up to school. They insisted that O Kin Yan Cante come with them. There would be plenty of room for her in the home of the Salt Lake relative they were staying with. Her reluctance to come was overcome by her desire to see me.
But my desire to see her was almost overcome by my reluctance to have others see us together. Lacking in self-confidence, I had never mentioned that I was part Indian, even though one of the most popular girls at school—and a good friend of mine—was a Lamanite from Arizona.
O Kin Yan Cante called, her voice calm but tired, when they got to town. (She had never been more than 180 kilometers from home in her whole life and to Reno, Nevada only twice, to family funerals.) I took a cab to the house—a large white house with a green roof, trimmed hedges, and carefully kept grounds—and a doorman! I had never seen such wealth. I embraced my mother, waiting for me just inside the door, the first tears I had ever seen her shed glistening in her eyes.
But I also saw the people in the house staring at us, shocked. They must have never seen a Lamanite before, and I, her own daughter, looked at her with their eyes and felt myself withdraw from her.
Our Nevada friends held a hurried conference and O Kin Yan Cante was seated at the dining room table with us instead of in the kitchen where they had planned to put her; but I felt completely isolated during the meal, burning with shame and humiliation—not on their behalf but on my mother’s. That night she was given a pillow, a blanket, and a cot in the kitchen.
Our Nevada friends decided to return the next morning instead of sightseeing for a couple of days as they had planned. O Kin Yan Cante had always wanted to see the temple but didn’t get the chance. I could not speak; but she smoothed my brow with her golden brown hand and said, “Be all you can be, my daughter; be like these fine people who are so gracious to me.” She really meant it! A knife would not have cut so deeply. After she left, I cried and cried.

When he was 11 years old, he attended a session of general conference in the Salt Lake Tabernacle with his father. It was the first time he was in the same room as a prophet, President Joseph Fielding Smith.
“When I saw him,” he said, “the Spirit bore witness to me that he was the prophet.”

Li Sze Wai (John Lee), 17, has been a priest in the West Point Ward of the Hong Kong Island Stake for one year. "I’m trying to get ready to go on a mission. But I’m the only member in my family, and they don’t understand why I want to go. I love to come to meetings like this, to feel the strength of the Church. Someday I hope my family will feel the same enthusiasm."

“What kind of job do you want to have when you grow up?” Mrs. Lu asked the class.
That was easy to answer! I wanted to be a scientist. I imagined myself wearing a lab coat and doing awesome experiments.
“Today each of you will take a test on the computer that will tell you what jobs you might enjoy someday,” Mrs. Lu said.
Soon I was at the computer, taking my test. I answered all the questions and took a deep breath as I hit the “finish” button.
Scientist! Artist! Astronaut! I thought as the results loaded. Those jobs would be amazing.
But the results did not mention any of those jobs. I looked at the list. Graphic designer sounded kind of cool. I wasn’t so sure about baker. Or event planner.
The most surprising one was the top result. It told me that I would most enjoy being … a florist.
What?! Someone who arranges flowers? I thought. This has to be a mistake!
But I knew I had answered each question honestly. My face felt hot. I didn’t want my friends to see my results, so I hurried and shut down the computer.
“Cool!” said my best friend, Dan. “My top result is website designer!”
“That’s awesome,” I mumbled. “But do you think this test is really right about what our job should be?”
“Well, it’s just a test,” said Dan, shrugging. “What was your top job?”
I froze in fear. “It’s probably wrong. But it told me I should be a florist.”
My worst fears came true. Dan started laughing.
“I knew you’d want to pick flowers for a job! You’ve always liked weird things like that,” Dan joked.
“No way!” I snapped. “I don’t even like flowers.”
Dan smiled and turned back to his computer. My stomach started to hurt. I was so embarrassed! Was the test right? Was Dan right?
Walking home from school, I still felt embarrassed about my test results. I thought about all the things I loved to do, like making art and playing the piano. They were pretty different from the things that some of the other boys in my class liked.
Maybe I am weird, I thought. Tears filled my eyes as I walked inside.
“What’s wrong, Jeff?” Dad asked. “Did something happen at school?”
I sat down and told him all about the job test and how I felt different from a lot of the other boys.
“You know, Jeff,” he said, “Heavenly Father gave you your talents. He loves you and wants you to develop them. And I love you too! Liking different things than your friends like doesn’t make you weird.”
“Really?” I asked.
Dad nodded. “We are all supposed to be different. I want you to love who you are. And remember, the test was just to give you some ideas of what you might like to do. It doesn’t mean that you’ll definitely end up with one of those jobs. You get to make your own choices. But if someday you choose to be a florist, I’m sure you’ll be great at it!”
“Thanks, Dad.” I gave him a hug. My stomach didn’t feel sick anymore.
The next day at school, Dan sat by me at lunch. “Hey, Jeff,” he said. “I’m sorry I laughed at you. I think you’d be awesome at whatever job you have!”
“Thanks, Dan,” I said. “Who knows—maybe I’ll own a flower shop and you’ll build my shop’s website!”
“Deal,” said Dan, smiling. “Maybe I’ll be your first customer too!”
This story took place in the USA.

The next time my wife and I saw Charlotte and her husband, Laurent, was in late 1998 in Salt Lake City, Utah, where Charlotte had returned to the University of Utah for a PhD in comparative literature.

Charlotte and Laurent were on the covenant path, but we learned that their finances were tight. Charlotte and Laurent would fill cracks in their apartment to keep out the cold air. They dressed their three children in warm clothes because they could not afford to heat their apartment. Their daughter Valentine had been born at home because they could not afford insurance or the hospital.

Financial challenges continued after they returned to France. Adequate employment was difficult for both Charlotte and Laurent. On one occasion, Charlotte asked a friend what they should do when they did not have enough money to feed the children and pay tithing. Her friend advised, “Pay your tithing first, and if you need food, go see the bishop.”

They faced other challenges too. Charlotte’s mother had opposed her baptism, her marriage, and her spiritual choices after she joined the Church. This opposition continued, but Charlotte trusted the Lord, nurtured her testimony, and kept her covenants.

For many years I practiced law with a fine Christian gentleman who was not of our faith. He was a man of humble origins whose family had not long been in the United States. By hard work and faith, he worked his way through school and became successful and wealthy. But he never lost his interest and compassion for the poor of all faiths. At Thanksgiving and Christmas, he would take his family, load up the car with turkeys and groceries of all kinds, and go to the poorer sections of the city, where he would personally deliver food to the poor.
He would enlist my help in contacting bishops who lived in the less-affluent areas to identify people of our own faith who might be in need. Year after year he did this without any thought of recognition. He literally fulfilled the Lord’s admonition in the Doctrine and Covenants to “remember in all things the poor and the needy, the sick and the afflicted,” for, as that verse continues, “he that doeth not these things, the same is not my disciple” (D&C 52:40).

Melissa, a four-year-old member of a Star A class, knows that important things happen at Church, because when her baby sister was blessed, she felt a special warmth and happiness and her parents told her that that feeling was the Spirit.

A sister in Mexico City was 16 years old when the missionaries came to her door. She says that as they taught with the Spirit, “it seemed like they had taken the bandages off my eyes and that the Lord was clearing my understanding. … The word of God and my prayers strengthened [me] to overcome my next trial, to face my father. When I met rejection from my family because of my baptism, the Spirit of the Lord strengthened me by whispering: ‘Keep on. Go on. Some of your relatives will become members of the Church.’”

At our house it is my job to empty the dishwasher. I also empty the garbage cans and put my laundry away. One day while my mom was doing the laundry I decided to surprise her and fold my sister’s clothes. It made my mom so happy. She said that I went the extra mile. I felt so good that I began to think of other ways I could go the extra mile. The next day I helped my mom by picking up some garbage that had blown into our yard. I also tried to go the extra mile with my other jobs. It makes my mom and dad happy when I am a good helper, and it makes me happy too.

Well do I remember attending an important international symposium. The speaker was one of the world’s leading scholars, addressing a learned society with faculty representatives from major universities near and far. He said, in effect, that libraries of the world are being filled with case histories and anecdotal research. He pled for a significant change in direction. “What we need,” he said, “is research in things that really matter. We need to learn more about why we are here, where we have come from, and where we are going!”

That unforgettable address comes to mind each time I hear teachers at Primary and mothers at home enlighten children with revealed answers to these same questions. While so doing, they bear firm testimonies of the divinity of the Lord Jesus Christ.

Tonight my thoughts are about a boy somewhere in the world. He is wondering if he can do what being a priesthood holder will require of him. I had that worry when I was about 13 or 14.
I had grown up in the mission field where there was only a tiny branch, which met in my home. Then my family moved to where there were stakes and large wards and chapels and quorums of boys who all seemed to know so much more than I did about what priesthood holders do. They had in that ward a complicated pattern for passing the sacrament. I felt almost certain that I would make a mistake when my turn to pass or prepare the sacrament came.
In my fear and desperation, I remember going outside the chapel to be alone. I was worried. I prayed for help and for some assurance that I would not fail in serving God in His priesthood.
It is now many years later. I have held the Melchizedek Priesthood for more than 50 years. But in the last few days I have prayed with that same pleading for help and assurance that I will not fail in the call which has come to me to serve in the First Presidency. Others seem so much more able to serve and so much better prepared. But as I prayed this time, I think I could feel an answer that was probably sent to me outside the Yalecrest Ward chapel long ago. It is the same answer you can expect to get when you face a call to serve in the priesthood which seems beyond you.

Brayden listened to Mom read from the Bible and looked at the picture she showed them. It showed Jesus after He was resurrected. He was talking to some of His disciples who were on a fishing boat.
The disciples had fished all night without catching anything. When Jesus came, He told them where to put their net to catch fish. They tossed the net into the water. This time it caught so many fish they couldn’t pull the net back up!
“They caught that many fish?” Brayden’s brother, Christian, asked, eyes wide. Mom nodded, and kept reading.
She read how the disciples dragged the net to shore. It had caught 153 large fish. But even though it was so full, the net hadn’t broken! (See John 21:2–11).
This time, it was Brayden who had a question.
“What do you think they did with all of the fish?”
Mom set her scriptures down on her lap. “You know, I’ve read these verses many times, but I guess I never really thought about that. But I love your question! Let’s keep reading and see what it says.”
Soon they found a verse that said Jesus cooked fish for Peter and the other disciples.
“So they ate some of the fish?” Brayden asked.
Mom nodded, but before she could read more, Christian jumped up and down.
“I know! I know!” he said. “The fish were like money back then, right? Because fishing was Peter’s job. Like our dad has a job building walls with cement.”
Mom smiled. “That’s right! So the fish were probably a blessing to Peter’s family, just like the money Dad earns is a blessing to us.”
This time, Brayden’s sister, Victoria, spoke up.
“Maybe they traded fish with a carpenter to get some furniture,” she said. “Joseph was a carpenter, right?”
Mom put her arm around Victoria and squeezed her shoulders. “Wow! You guys have some great ideas about this story. Let’s think of some of the blessings our family has. We already talked about one—that Dad has a job. What are some others?”
Making this list was easy.
“Our house!”
“Clothes!”
“Food!”
Brayden and Christian and Victoria were still calling out answers when they heard Dad open the door.
“You’re home!” Victoria said as she jumped into his arms.
Dad kissed the top of her head. “What are you kids up to?”
“We’re talking about blessing fish!” Brayden said.
Dad raised his eyebrows. “Sounds exciting! I can’t wait to hear all about it.”
Go to “Family Night Fun” for an activity to go with this story!
That night Brayden and his family decided to start a new tradition. Every night after dinner, they would tell each other about new blessings they had noticed. Tonight, Mom even brought out a bowl of fish-shaped candy to eat while they shared.
Brayden smiled as he took a bite. Who knew that blessings could be so sweet?

Christopher’s heart was heavy as he walked slowly to his family’s car after Primary. Why does everyone but me hear the still, small voice? he wondered.

“How was Primary?” Mom asked as Christopher and his two younger sisters climbed into the car. Jill and Michelle started telling about their lessons and the songs they learned in singing time. Christopher stared sadly at the floor.

“What was your lesson about, Christopher?” Dad asked.

A tear rolled down Christopher’s cheek. “The Holy Ghost,” he replied softly. Sensing that something was wrong, Jill and Michelle quit chattering.

“Maybe we could talk about this a little more when we get in the house,” Mom said as they turned into the driveway.

Later Mom and Dad invited Christopher to come to their room. “Christopher,” Mom said, “can you tell us what’s bothering you?”

Christopher looked down. He didn’t want his parents to know the Holy Ghost didn’t talk to him. They probably heard the still, small voice all the time.

“Listen,” Dad said, putting his arm around Christopher, “we can tell you’re upset, and we’d like to help.”

Christopher felt tears ready to spill from his eyes. “Mom, Dad,” he said in a shaky voice, “why doesn’t the Holy Ghost speak to me? I’ve always tried to do what’s right. I know I make mistakes—like the time I spilled the red punch on the new carpet and said Jill did it so I wouldn’t get in trouble. But I did finally tell the truth. Do you have to be perfect like the bishop or Brother Johnson or Sister Woolett to have the Holy Ghost speak to you?”

Mom and Dad looked a little surprised. “Christopher,” Mom said, “the only perfect person to ever live on the earth is Jesus Christ. Everyone makes mistakes. Why don’t you think the Holy Ghost speaks to you?”

“I’ve never heard the still, small voice,” Christopher replied.

“Hearing a voice isn’t the only way the Holy Ghost can communicate with you,” Mom said. “Often it’s what you feel, not what you hear. Don’t you remember the good feeling you had after you prayed and asked Heavenly Father to forgive you for blaming your sister for the carpet stain? That feeling was from the Holy Ghost.”

“It was?”

“Or how about the time we were reading the scriptures,” Dad added, “and you suddenly understood what Jesus Christ was talking about in the parable of the wheat and the tares. That was the Holy Ghost teaching you.”

“I never thought about it that way before!” Christopher was starting to feel a lot better.

“And,” Mom said, “remember when you got lost last summer and you prayed for help? After you prayed, you felt calm and knew you should sit on the nearest bench and let us find you. That calm, reassuring feeling helping you know what to do was the Holy Ghost.”

Christopher smiled. Now he understood. The Holy Ghost had been talking to him—even if he didn’t hear the still, small voice with his ears! Now he said excitedly, “What about last week when I gave my talk in Primary? I’d studied it really hard, but when I got up, I had forgotten it. Then I said a silent prayer, and suddenly I could remember my talk. That was the Holy Ghost, too, wasn’t it?”

“That’s right,” Dad said. “Helping you remember is also a part of the gift of the Holy Ghost.”

“All those times the Holy Ghost really was talking to me!” The warm feeling in Christopher’s heart helped him know it was true.