Gospel Story Finder

One night Braden was sitting in his bedroom playing a game. He thought he heard someone crying, but who could that be? Braden kept playing with his game. Then he heard the crying again. Something told him that he should go downstairs, and that maybe he could help. He got up and went downstairs.
His mom was sitting on the sofa, crying. What would make his mother feel better? He began cleaning up the living room. Then he put some ice in a cup for her. She was expecting a baby and liked ice.
His mother hugged him. She told him that she was feeling sick and lonely because Dad was out of town on business. She had asked Heavenly Father to please send someone to help her. Braden told her about the feeling that he should come downstairs. His mother told him that the feeling was the Holy Ghost, and that by following the Holy Ghost he had been an answer to her prayer.

I enjoyed reading the New Era in high school, but in some ways it made me feel discouraged and inadequate. It was always telling stories about talented youth, and I thought I could never be like them.
It seemed I wasn’t talented in anything. I was uncoordinated and bad at sports. I was extremely shy and self-conscious, and I was made fun of in school, often because of my high standards. I did make pretty good grades—mainly because I worked hard at it.
I figured that maybe there was still something I could do, even if I couldn’t be a real star like the people highlighted in the magazine. I read the scriptures about loving others and decided I would try to do that.
One day as I came out of Mutual class, I saw a girl standing at the end of the hall. She was slouched over. The thought came to me that this girl needed a friend, so I walked over and started talking to her. More accurately, I started listening to her. She talked very softly, but I showed interest in what she had to say.
We were friends from then on. She was four years younger than I was, and she was not a member of the Church; her neighbors had started bringing her to Church. A few months later, I was able to go to her baptism. She was 13 years old and the only member in her family.
I made friends with other people too. Sometimes I would think that a person wouldn’t want to be friends with me, but I found that these people seemed happy to have someone who cared about them.
When it was time to graduate, our high school had an awards assembly to honor students’ achievements. My name was not called, but my friend who had gotten baptized made a little award for me and had my friends sign it. I felt I had really achieved something too.
I also realized that everyone has their place and purpose in this world. I know that those talented and popular people had an influence on others. But perhaps if I had been very talented or very popular, I might have been too busy for my new friends, and those friendships have become rich treasures to me.

The first time I walked into my new Relief Society, I wanted to turn around and run! I didn’t know anyone. I didn’t see anyone my age. And I definitely didn’t feel like I belonged.
Just a few months earlier, I was in a married student ward in Hawaii, USA, with my husband, Johnny, where most of us were newly married, navigating school, and thinking about starting families. Before that, I was in a student YSA ward that felt like an extension of Young Women. We were all unmarried, childless students, so it was easy to relate, make friends, and serve.
But that season of comfort and similarity didn’t last forever.
After graduating, Johnny and I moved back to the mainland and began attending a family ward. And wow—did Relief Society feel like a culture shock! Suddenly I was surrounded by sisters ages 18 to 98: single, married, divorced, widowed; some with children, some without; some working, studying, raising kids, or retired, and everything in between.
I wasn’t sure where I fit in.
A few weeks in, I got a ministering assignment, and I didn’t feel I had much in common with the sisters I was asked to serve or serve with.
Still, I tried to show up. At first I would send them quick texts or have some post-church chats, mostly just so I could say that I’d contacted them. But my ministering companion was intentional and kind. One day, she suggested we take each of our sisters out for ice cream. I was hesitant. I’m introverted and tend to be quiet around people I don’t know well. But I do love ice cream, so I agreed.
That weekend, my van broke down. The repairs would cost more than the van was worth. It was time to buy a new car. Johnny and I had been saving and were prepared, but it still felt like a lot. So, after a 10-hour workday and a stressful evening of test-driving cars, I really didn’t feel like meeting anyone, even for ice cream.
But I showed up anyway, late and exhausted.
To my surprise, the sisters were thrilled to see me. We ended up talking for hours. I couldn’t relate to their toddler potty-training stories, but I realized we had more in common than I thought. One sister had also been dealing with car trouble, and we bonded over the frustration.
That night wasn’t just about ministering. It showed me what Relief Society is meant to be: a spiritual community where covenant women lift, strengthen, and love each other as disciples of Christ.

It is not difficult to apply these principles in a family setting, especially to our children. Parenting is good training to become good Christians; occasionally children think of their parents in that context. Years ago, Jack Smith told of a poignant story of two young boys at Christmastime.
“I didn’t question Timmy, age nine, or his seven-year-old brother, Billy, about the brown wrapping paper they passed back and forth between them as we visited each store.
“Every year at Christmastime, our Service Club takes the children from poor families in our town on a personally conducted shopping tour. I was assigned Timmy and Billy, whose father was out of work. After giving them the allotted [U.S.] $4.00 each, we began our trip. At different stores I made suggestions, but always their answer was a solemn shake of the head, no. Finally, I asked, ‘Where would you suggest we look?’
“‘Could we go to a shoe store, Sir?’ answered Timmy. ‘We’d like a pair of shoes for our Daddy so he can go to work.’
“In the shoe store the clerk asked what the boys wanted. Out came the brown paper. ‘We want a pair of work shoes to fit this foot,’ they said. Billy explained that it was a pattern of their Daddy’s foot. They had drawn it while he was asleep in a chair.
“The clerk held the paper against a measuring stick, then walked away. Soon, he came with an open box. ‘Will these do?’ he asked. Timmy and Billy handled the shoes with great eagerness. ‘How much do they cost?’ asked Billy. Then Timmy saw the price on the box. ‘They’re $16.95,’ he said in dismay. ‘We only have $8.00.’
“I looked at the clerk and he cleared his throat. ‘That’s the regular price,’ he said, ‘but they’re on sale; $3.98, today only.’ Then, with shoes happily in hand the boys bought gifts for their mother and two little sisters. Not once did they think of themselves.
“The day after Christmas the boys’ father stopped me on the street. The new shoes were on his feet, gratitude was in his eyes. ‘I just thank Jesus for people who care,’ he said. ‘And I thank Jesus for your two sons,’ I replied. ‘They really taught me more about Christmas in one evening than I had learned in a lifetime.’”1

Ellie loved hugs. Hugs from Dad. Hugs from Grandma and Grandpa. Hugs from Mom. Hugs made her feel warm. And safe. And happy.
That’s why Ellie hugged Mom during church. She loved sitting on Mom’s lap. Mom always held her close.
Then sacrament meeting ended. It was time for Primary. Ellie loved Primary. She was a big girl now. Three years old! She even had her own scriptures!
But today Ellie just wanted to keep hugging Mom forever.
Mom carried Ellie down the hall. In the Primary room, Mom sat Ellie down on a chair.
“Can I go with you?” Ellie said.
“No,” Mom said. Her voice was kind. “You need to be in your class,” she said. “And I need to be in my class.”
Mom kissed Ellie’s cheek. Then she walked out the door.
Ellie felt tears rolling down her cheeks.
She thought about Mom holding her. Mom always held her when they read the Book of Mormon. They usually read with the family. Sometimes Ellie and Mom read by themselves.
Ellie picked up her Book of Mormon. Inside was a picture of Jesus.
Ellie closed the book and hugged it. She felt like she was hugging Jesus. She felt warm. And safe. And happy. It was the best hug ever!
What helps you feel better when you are sad?

In December 23, a birthday party was going on inside the warm, cozy home of Norma and Stan Jones. But instead of “Happy Birthday to You,” the family was singing “A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief” (Hymns, no. 29), a favorite hymn of the Prophet Joseph Smith.
As the strains of music filled the pine-scented air, Benjamin Jones, their 21-year-old grandson, was filled with love, appreciation, and excitement. He was preparing for a mission and couldn’t wait to share his testimony of the Prophet Joseph Smith and the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
You see, Ben’s grandma, Norma, has gathered her family and special friends together each December for 38 years to celebrate the Prophet’s birthday by studying his life and teachings. But for Ben, this December 23rd was special because the seeds of love and respect for the Prophet these firesides planted in his heart finally took root.
“I’ve always had a testimony, but I haven’t always made the best choices,” says Elder Jones, of the Salt Lake River Oaks Second Ward, now serving as a full-time missionary in West Virginia. “However, when I saw the death mask that artist David Lindsley brought to our party that year, all of a sudden the Prophet became more than just a story I had heard many times or a painting on the wall. He came alive for me. I had been studying, praying, and searching for the direction my life should take, and I knew at that moment that Joseph Smith was truly a prophet of God.”

As the tears wet her nightgown, she remembered once when she saw the Prophet cry. It had happened the year before, when Mary Ann’s family was returning from England. Many converts came with them on the boat, and they were anxious to see Joseph Smith.

“I’ll know him immediately,” one man said. Others agreed that they, too, would be able to pick him out, even in a multitude.

Mary Ann told the converts how noble and grand the Prophet looked on his horse at the head of the Nauvoo Legion. She told them how she had watched him preach to the people in the Kirtland Temple, and to the Indians in the grove at Nauvoo.

Mary Ann still remembered how the steamboat pushed through large, floating blocks of ice on the Mississippi River as it approached the city of Nauvoo. At the landing there was a large group of people waiting to welcome the company of travelers. Right away, Mary Ann noticed the Prophet. He came on the boat, into their cabin, and embraced Parley Pratt. Then he welcomed each family member in turn.

The Prophet was a very big man. Six foot, her father had said. Mary Ann’s head came just above his belt buckle, but he leaned over so he could look into her eyes and shake her hand. Then he sat down and took her little brother on his knees.

“Well, well, Brother Parley, you have returned, bringing your sheaves with you.” He hugged little Parley and Nathan, and the tears filled his clear blue eyes and streamed down his cheeks. Mary Ann had discovered that grown folk sometimes cry when they’re filled with joy, so she knew it was just his happiness spilling over.

Mary Ann recalled how Father had teased the Prophet when he saw the tears.

“Brother Smith, if you feel so bad about our coming home, I guess we’ll have to go back again.”

After that, everyone laughed, the Prophet most of all. Then he said, “Brother Parley, bring your folks up to my house.” Mary Ann remembered how as they walked up the hill with the Prophet, she had tried to match her step with his.

One way to overcome difficulties is by serving the Lord. Service has connected me with the Lord and helped me listen to His voice and follow Him.
This past year, we had an FSY conference, and although I couldn’t attend in person, the couple directing the session invited me to make a video sharing my testimony.
In my video I shared about how no matter what is happening in my life, I have the desire to do my part and serve others. I received 571 letters from youth who saw my video and were encouraged.

One who listened and who followed was the Mormon missionary Randall Ellsworth, about whom you may have read in your daily newspaper or watched on the television set in your home.
Six months ago, while serving in Guatemala as a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Randall Ellsworth survived the devastating earthquake which hurled a beam down on his back, paralyzed his legs, and severely damaged his kidneys.
After receiving emergency medical treatment, Randall was flown to a large hospital near his home in Rockville, Maryland. While confined there, a television newscaster conducted with Randall an interview which I witnessed through the miracle of television. The reporter asked, “Can you walk?” The answer, “Not yet, but I will.” “Do you think you will be able to complete your mission?” Came the reply, “Others think not, but I will.”
With microphone in hand, the reporter continued: “I understand you have received a special letter containing a get-well message from none other than the president of the United States.” “Yes,” replied Randall, “I am very grateful to President Ford for his thoughtfulness; but I received another letter, not from the president of my country, but from the president of my church—The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints—even President Spencer W. Kimball. This I cherish. With him praying for me, and the prayers of my family, my friends, and my missionary companions, I will return to Guatemala. The Lord wanted me to preach the gospel there for two years, and that’s what I intend to do.”
I turned to my wife and commented, “He surely must not know the extent of his injuries. Our official medical reports would not permit us to expect such a return to Guatemala.”
How grateful am I that the day of faith and the age of miracles are not past history but continue with us even now.
The newspapers and the television cameras directed their attention to more immediate news as the days turned to weeks and the weeks to months. The words of Rudyard Kipling described Randall Ellsworth’s situation:
The tumult and the shouting dies;
The Captains and the Kings depart:
Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,
An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!
Rudyard Kipling’s Verse, Garden City, New York: Doubleday, 1946, p. 327.
And God did not forget him who possessed an humble and a contrite heart, even Elder Randall Ellsworth. Little by little the feeling in his legs began to return. In his own words, Randall described the recovery: “The thing I did was always to keep busy, always pushing myself. In the hospital I asked to do therapy twice a day instead of just once. I wanted to walk again on my own.”
When the Missionary Committee evaluated the amazing medical progress Randall Ellsworth had made, word was sent to him that his return to Guatemala was authorized. Said he, “At first I was so happy I didn’t know what to do. Then I went into my bedroom and I started to cry. Then I dropped to my knees and thanked my Heavenly Father.”
Two months ago Randall Ellsworth walked aboard the plane that carried him back to the mission to which he was called and back to the people whom he loved. Behind he left a trail of skeptics, a host of doubters, but also hundreds amazed at the power of God, the miracle of faith, and the reward of determination. Ahead lay honest, God-fearing, and earnestly seeking sons and daughters of our Heavenly Father. They shall hear His word. They shall learn His truth. They shall accept His ordinances. A modern-day Paul, who too overcame his “thorn in the flesh,” has returned to teach them the truth, to lead them to life eternal.

I want to share with you some of the great blessings the Book of Mormon can bring to us. The Book of Mormon can and does change lives. After our son John received his mission call to Japan, he said to me, “Dad, before I enter the Missionary Training Center, I am going to read the Book of Mormon twice.” I said to John, “That is quite a demanding goal.” I felt his resolve and made the decision to follow his example. I began reading early each morning. A few days later when I came home from work, John said to me, “I caught up with you today.” I asked, “What do you mean?” His response: “I caught up to where you are in the Book of Mormon. You left it open on your desk.” The next morning after my reading, I felt inspired to turn about 150 pages past where I was. I left my Book of Mormon open where he could not miss it and went to work. After a meeting that morning, I checked my voice mail. The very first message said, “Yeah, sure, Dad!”

Why this story? As I watched my son read from the Book of Mormon, I began to see a special change in his life as he prepared to enter the Missionary Training Center. That experience has anchored my son to the gospel of Jesus Christ.

When I enrolled in a philosophy class in high school, my dad was a little concerned. In philosophy, everything is questioned, including the existence of God. My teacher taught us things that go against religion and deny God’s existence.
One philosophy test asked, “Why have we come to the earth?” The answer I was supposed to give was so that we could become self-actualized and take our place in the circle of life. I didn’t write that answer because it’s not what I believe.
Instead, I wrote, “We have come to the earth to be tested and to return to live with our Father in Heaven for eternity with our families.”
Afterward, the teacher called me up and asked me if I knew the correct answer to the question. I told him I did but that I wasn’t going to write something I knew was untrue.
He asked me if I was religious and which church I belonged to. I told him I was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He told me that he had never known any religious student who was courageous enough to stand up for his beliefs and write such an answer.
“I did not give you full credit because your answer wasn’t the correct one,” he said. “But I gave you points for having the courage to write what you believe.”
I was happy because I had answered according to my convictions and according to the gospel truths I know and am trying to live.
Benjamin M., Chile

Bert and I grew up expecting to serve missions, and when we got old enough, we did. My mission made all the difference in the world to me. I gained a deeper understanding of the gospel, I developed discipline, and I learned to serve others. It has been the basis for a happy, successful life.
Three months after we returned from our missions, a man killed my twin brother. My father and another brother were badly wounded in the same attack. We knew who the person was who did it, but he was never arrested. I learned what it was like to feel hate and want revenge. I even had dreams of hurting the man who had done this terrible thing. But the Lord had made it clear what he expected of me:
“Ye ought to forgive one another; for he that forgiveth not his brother his trespasses standeth condemned before the Lord; for there remaineth in him the greater sin.
“I, the Lord, will forgive whom I will forgive, but of you it is required to forgive all men.” (D&C 64:9–10.)
With time and prayer, I did forgive that man. We all did.

I have just been ordained as a teacher and go to early-morning seminary. A few of us from our youth program attend the same high school. Every day we meet up after seminary and bike to school together. We encourage each other every day to make good choices. When school is over, we all bike home together. I enjoy being around other youth who share my beliefs and hope to one day serve a mission. I know that if I continue to spend time with others who share my beliefs and standards, I will realize this goal. I have a testimony that if you choose your friends wisely, they will encourage you to choose the right.
Darhys S., New Zealand

President Benson’s own expressions indicate this love for temples. He reflected:
“I remember so well, as a little boy, coming in from the field and approaching the old farm house. … I could hear my mother singing, ‘Have I Done Any Good in the World Today?’ … I can still see her in my mind’s eye bending over the ironing board … with beads of perspiration on her forehead.” She was ironing long strips of white cloth, with newspapers on the floor to keep them clean. “When I asked her what she was doing, she said, ‘These are temple robes, my son. Your father and I are going to the temple at Logan.’
“Then she put the old flatiron on the stove, drew a chair close to mine, and told me about temple work—how important it is to be able to go to the temple and participate in the sacred ordinances performed there. She also expressed her fervent hope that some day her children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren would have the opportunity to enjoy those priceless blessings.” He continued, “I am happy to say that her fondest hopes in large measure have been realized.”

I will always be grateful for a father and a mother who, as far back as I can remember, taught us to pay our tithing. In those days, in the ward in which we lived the bishop did not have an office in the meetinghouse. We went to his home for tithing settlement. I can still sense my feelings of trepidation as I walked into that home as a very small boy to settle my tithing with Bishop John C. Duncan. The amount may have been only twenty-five cents, since we did not have very much of an allowance in those lean times, but it was an honest 10 percent as we had figured it in our childish way, based on the little couplet that we would recite in Sunday School:
What is tithing? I will tell you every time.
Ten cents from a dollar, and a penny from a dime.
We never felt that it was a sacrifice to pay our tithing. We felt it was an obligation, that even as small children we were doing our duty as the Lord had outlined that duty, and that we were assisting his church in the great work it had to accomplish.

The years passed, and Cristina became a strong, smart, playful, and beautiful girl. When she was 12, she needed surgery to place an artificial valve in her heart. We worried whether she would survive the surgery, but with great strength and courage, she said goodbye to us and entered the operating room.
Cristina survived the operation and returned home to us. She always appeared happy and was grateful to Heavenly Father to be alive and to have the opportunity to learn and grow. Friends never imagined she had a heart defect, because she was very active.

“I need you to watch your brother,” Mama said. “Your pa and I are going to help someone who is sick.”
I looked up from sweeping the floor of our small house and nodded. Mama was the Relief Society president, and she often went to visit sisters in our ward.
“Thank you, Arlyn,” Mama said, kissing the top of my head. “John’s asleep. And there’s bread dough rising on the counter. Please don’t touch it.”
I watched through the doorway as she and Pa rode the wagon down our dusty road. I felt proud that Mama trusted me.
As I swept the kitchen, I stopped to look at the bread dough. I could hardly wait for Mama to bake it tonight. Usually we ate the fresh bread with homemade jam. But we had run out of jam three months ago.
Jam! The thought made me hungry for something sweet. I glanced up at the sugar jar, high up on the shelf. I knew Mama was saving it to make more jam.
But the more I thought about the sugar, the hungrier I felt. Finally, I pulled a chair up to the counter and reached up. My fingers just barely touched the jar of sugar. I pulled it closer to the edge of the shelf. …
And then the jar slipped right off the shelf! I tried to catch it, but it fell with a loud plop right in the middle of the bread dough. Sugar spilled all over the bread and counter and onto the floor.
“Oh no!” I yelled. That woke my baby brother up. He started crying. I wanted to cry too. What would Mama say about this mess?
After I got John calmed down, I did my best to clean up the sugar. I pulled the jar out of the dough and washed it. I wiped the sugar off the counter and floor. But there was nothing I could do to get the sugar out of the dough.
I thought about putting the jar back on the shelf. Maybe Mama wouldn’t notice it was empty. But I knew that wasn’t right. So I set the jar on the table and waited for Mama and Pa to come home.
When they got home, Mama noticed the sugar jar right away.
I took a deep breath. “I just wanted a taste of sugar. But I knocked the jar off the shelf. I tried to clean it up, but I couldn’t get it out of the bread dough.” The words rushed out as I looked down at the floor.
Mama was quiet for a minute.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
Mama let out a sigh. “Well, I guess the bread will be extra sweet tonight,” she said. I looked up. She gave me a little smile. “Thank you for telling us what happened.”
As we ate the sugary bread that night, Mama and Pa and I talked about honesty.
“We all make lots of mistakes in life,” Pa said. “But when we are honest and try to repent, Heavenly Father and Jesus are happy. We will always be blessed for being honest—even if it seems harder at first.”
I was still sad that I had spilled the sugar. I knew we probably wouldn’t have as much jam this year because of my mistake. But I was glad I had told the truth. That was a sweet feeling no amount of sugar could give.

A commercial airplane plunged into the Potomac River near Washington, D.C., earlier this year, and an unidentified passenger gave his life for his “unknown friends.” Bystanders watched in amazement as he caught the life preserver lowered from the helicopter to rescue those in the water. Rather than save himself, he passed the life preserver over to another person; the helicopter returned and he again passed the life preserver to another. “Why doesn’t he hold on and save himself?” someone shouted. After others near him were saved, people on the shore watched in anguish as he slowly sank and disappeared into the frozen waters.

In 1851, Mary Murray Murdoch joined the Church in Scotland as a widow at age 67. A small woman at four feet seven inches (1.4 m) tall and barely 90 pounds (41 kg), she bore eight children, six of whom lived to maturity. Because of her size, her children and grandchildren affectionately called her “Wee Granny.”

Her son John Murdoch and his wife joined the Church and left for Utah in 1852 with their two small children. In spite of his family’s own hardships, four years later John sent his mother the necessary funds so she might join the family in Salt Lake City. With a hope much greater than her small size, Mary began the arduous journey west to Utah at age 73.

After a safe passage across the Atlantic, she ultimately joined the ill-fated Martin handcart company. On July 28 these handcart pioneers began the journey west. The suffering of this company is well known. Of the 576 members of the party, almost one-fourth died before they reached Utah. More would have perished if not for the rescue effort organized by President Brigham Young, who sent wagons and supplies to find the stranded, snowbound Saints.

Mary Murdoch died on October 2, 1856, near Chimney Rock, Nebraska. Here she succumbed to fatigue, exposure, and the hardships of the journey. Her frail body simply gave out under the physical hardships the Saints encountered. As she lay clinging to life, her thoughts were of her family in Utah. The last words of this faithful pioneer woman were “Tell John that I died with my face toward Zion.” (See Kenneth W. Merrell, Scottish Shepherd: The Life and Times of John Murray Murdoch, Utah Pioneer [2006], 34, 39, 54, 77, 94–97, 103, 112–13, 115.)

Twenty-year-old Elaine Jack of Livingstone Ward, Scotland, found this to be so. “Not only was I the only LDS student at school where religious beliefs were mocked, but I was also the only active youth at church,” she says. “Now that I’m older, I don’t mind being different, but as a teenager I wanted so much to be accepted. Between ages 15 and 17 I stayed away from church. Until then I had relied on my parents’ testimony. This was not enough.

“It wasn’t until a caring Primary leader asked me to help with the children,” continues Elaine, “that I slowly began attending church again. I was still ready to find fault with everything. Then I studied the Book of Mormon in institute. That completely turned me around. By then I was ready to reach out and learn. The last three chapters of Second Nephi became especially significant to me.”