Gospel Story Finder

One year in college, I was taking a test when my neck began to hurt. The pain didn’t go away when the tension of the test had passed. I consulted with doctors and therapists and tried a variety of treatments, but still the pain continued. Over the next year, as I struggled to cope with this pain, I also struggled to increase my faith. I spent much time in prayer, I studied the scriptures, and I asked for priesthood blessings. I felt that if I just had enough faith, I would be healed.
Jesus Christ healed the sick, the blind, the lame, the leprous—“according to [their] faith” (Matthew 9:29). I knew He had the power to heal me as He had so many others during His mortal life. I concluded, therefore, that only my lack of faith kept me from being healed, so I redoubled my efforts. While I continued with physical therapy, I prayed and fasted and studied and believed. Yet my pain persisted.
The scriptures teach us that with faith we can work miracles (see Matthew 17:20), yet I could not be relieved of this minor suffering. Where was the power in my faith? Finally, I quietly accepted my situation, found ways to cope with my discomfort, and became content to save full understanding of faith and healing for a future time.

Recently, a woman told me of an experience that she had as she was completing an endowment session. She said that as many times as she had been to the temple before and repeated the words given her at the end of the endowment, this time as she spoke, the words pierced her heart, and she realized those promises would be hers and those she loved. Whether in this life single or married, childless or with children, the promises of God were unequivocally sure, and she would, in a future day, realize each one of the blessings she righteously hoped and prayed for, for herself and for those she loved. These thoughts were impressed upon her heart in a new and enlightened way. Her sadness and sorrow and suffering were, in that moment before entering the celestial room, replaced with a bright hope for her future and faith in God’s eternal promises.

A couple of years ago I was at my cousin’s birthday party. She had invited two of her other friends to the party, and we were having lots of fun when one of her friends said, “Let’s watch a movie.” We all agreed. Then they said they wanted to watch a PG-13 movie.
I had a sick feeling in my stomach. I wasn’t allowed to watch PG-13 movies, and I knew what I had to do. I’d been baptized and confirmed a member of the Church. I had to stand up for myself. That was really hard because I’m kind of shy.
Finally I said, “I can’t watch PG-13 movies.”
I felt a little better then, but they started making suggestions like, “Just plug your ears.” I wouldn’t do it. Finally my cousin said, “OK, we won’t watch the movie.” I’m glad I listened to the Holy Ghost and obeyed the rules my mom and dad made for me.

In addition to completing Maria’s home, a number of other good things happened as a result of the project.
Helder Manuel Tomo, 19, helped build the home before he was a member of the Church. He says, “Building Maria’s house was great! I first went to church with Jonqueiro, a great friend of mine who was about to serve a mission. I really enjoyed church, yet I felt like the ‘new guy.’”
Spending time building the house helped Helder get to know the youth in the branch. “This new feeling of belonging and having so many friends is what sealed my decision to be baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I was baptized by Jonqueiro. I am so grateful that he invited me to church and helped me ‘belong’ through this great service project.”
Jonqueiro Alai Malaica, 22, says, “It was a great service project for all of the members. It wasn’t easy, but it was most certainly worth it.” He says it brought the whole branch together.
“I’m also grateful for the youth and the friendship they showed to Helder,” says Jonqueiro. Helder is now working hard as a branch missionary and plans to go on a mission.

In the 1960s during the Vietnam War, Church member Jay Hess, an airman, was shot down over North Vietnam. For two years his family had no idea whether he was dead or alive. His captors in Hanoi eventually allowed him to write home but limited his message to less than 25 words. What would you and I say to our families if we were in the same situation—not having seen them for over two years and not knowing if we would ever see them again? Wanting to provide something his family could recognize as having come from him and also wanting to give them valuable counsel, Brother Hess wrote—and I quote: “These things are important: temple marriage, mission, college. Press on, set goals, write history, take pictures twice a year.”

Another semester passed, and a wonderful friend of mine who was serving in our bishopric came to me and said, “Paul, we know you are over there at Chapman. Our Special Interest group is studying about the Holy Land. You know some of those Bible scholars at Chapman. Do you have any contacts that could come over and give us a lecture on the Holy Land?”

I said, “I think so.” I approached my friend, Guy Davis. This was a man who received a very impressive honorarium when he’d go to other churches to lecture. Dr. Davis was one of the first who instituted student tours to the Holy Land 27 years ago, and he had developed a tremendous process of explaining and expressing the spirit of that wonderful place. I went to him and I said, “The Special Interest group in our church is having a lecture on the Holy Land, and we wondered if you could come and talk to them.”

“Oh,” he said, “I’d be honored.”

He checked his calendar and had to cancel out another Protestant appointment. I said, “Hold it; don’t do that. We don’t pay honorariums. You remember one of the unique differences of our church and all other churches is that we are a lay church. At best, I may be able to get you two cookies and a glass of punch.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, “I’d be honored to come.”

He came. On the night of the special event, since he did not know where our church was located, I decided to pick him up. It was a chance for another visit. The meeting was scheduled for 7:30. We arrived at the church at 7:15. There was a familiar sight. The ward was dark. No one around. I sat out in front of the chapel, giving him another little two-and-a-half-minute talk on the lay nature of the Mormon Church and how different we are from other faiths. 7:20, and from out of no-where came the first Latter-day Saint with a set of keys. She opened a door, and lights went on, and then that interesting Mormon phenomenon occurred. Mormons came from everywhere. I thought some of them had parachuted in. One by one they scurried in. 7:25, I got out of the car and escorted my friend into the chapel. We stood in the foyer for several minutes. Nobody approached us. Finally a member of the bishopric went by, and I reached out and grabbed him. I said, “Your guest is here.”

“Oh, yeah, thank you!”

We were escorted into the Relief Society room. The members were taking their seats. Have you ever watched a Mormon congregation as they gather? You know how interesting and a little different we are. I hope we never lose our informality—I like it. But there has to be some good taste and proper understanding as we exercise it. Finally, in came a lady with an armful of songbooks, and she distributed them. One by one people filled the Relief Society room. The person who was conducting got up and thumbed through the songbook: “Anybody got a song they want to sing?” The prayer was quickly offered, and the meeting was turned to me. I tried to set the stage so the spirit would be right. You young leaders know the challenge of creating the spirit and the atmosphere for teaching, don’t you? Sometimes we work against it. I wish you could have heard the lecture that night. Tremendously powerful. He was so delicate and sensitive not to offend Mormons, understanding our differences. There wasn’t anything we couldn’t have accepted, particularly as he interpreted some New Testament thinking. His part of the meeting was then concluded, and we opened it for questions. The first hand went up, and I’ll never forget the comment. A well-meaning Latter-day Saint said, “Sir, by what authority do you teach all of this?” And one by one, similar questions followed. I finally had to stand up and say, “Folks, we have a guest here tonight. Thank you for understanding.”

We ended on a high note. You Mormons have genius for recovery. You really do. As I drove my friend home that night, I gave him another little talk on the lay nature of the Mormon Church. But I have often thought as I have reflected back on those experiences: If you were a Baptist or a Catholic or a Jew coming from the east coast to California, and you went to the First Methodist Church in Glendale, and then you came to a wonderful only-true-Church ward in Hollywood, which church would you want to join? Now think about it. I appreciate that knowledge and understanding and rationale are vital tools in learning truth. I submit again a very important principle of the gospel—that the Spirit is the revealing force. When the Spirit speaks to the spirit, a person comes to know, and this whole field of courtesy and delight, I think, is the vehicle through which the Spirit tends to move.

Although it often took an hour to make it through one chapter of the Book of Mormon, Cham Nap Kong didn’t get discouraged. Every Tuesday the 14-year-old Cambodian boy would struggle through a chapter of the first English book he ever tried to read outside of school.
He had received a Book of Mormon for Christmas. When summer arrived and the pressures of school were gone, he asked soft-spoken Delaures Harkness, a sister in his ward, to help him read it. When she met Cham Nap, Sister Harkness “just took a liking to him. He really wanted to study the scriptures,” she says.
“I wanted to know about Jesus and the Mormon church. I wanted to understand it,” explains shy Cham Nap in a suddenly decisive tone.
Progress was slow. It took all summer to make it through 1 Nephi.
Cham Nap’s schooling, before he came to the United States four years ago, was very limited. As a child he attended kindergarten, but political unrest in Cambodia prevented him from attending any more school. In 1979, he went to Thailand with his aunt, uncle, and cousin to escape the war. There they lived in a refugee camp. Cham Nap has not seen or heard from his mother or brothers and sisters since then.
“In Thailand I went to school for about one month and learned to read and write a little Cambodian,” he explains. That’s also where his friends first told him about Jesus Christ and the LDS church.
Before coming to America, he and his relatives were sent to Indonesia for seven months to learn English. “I just learned the first words—‘hello,’ ‘how are you,’ and a few to use in the home.”
They arrived in the United States in 1981 and settled down in Salt Lake City. Cham Nap attended school with many other Southeast Asians at South High School. He had an LDS school teacher who invited him to go to church, and then she sent the missionaries to his home.
His friends in Thailand had told him the LDS church was a good church. “I heard that Mormons didn’t drink, and they went without food and water the first Sunday every month,” he says. “The missionaries taught me about the gospel. It made me excited because it’s so good. I wanted to clean my sins and be a good person.”
He had attended other churches, but he felt strongly that what the LDS missionaries taught him was true. He was baptized on October 23, 1982, in Salt Lake City. About that time he became friends with Delaures and Harold Harkness. Brother Harkness was a counselor in the presidency of the Cambodian Branch of the Salt Lake Park Stake. Cham Nap occasionally ate dinner with them, and they often gave him a ride to church.
During the summer, he would go to their home every Tuesday, and for half an hour to an hour he would struggle to read one chapter in the Book of Mormon. “We didn’t read a lot every time because it just seemed awfully hard for him,” Sister Harkness says. “I tried to explain what the words meant as we went along. Then we’d talk about what we read. It was hard for him to grasp at times.”
When Cham Nap first started going to church, he didn’t understand anything except for sacrament meeting, which was translated into Cambodian. But he kept on going because it made him happy. “Even though I didn’t understand in the classes, I felt the Spirit and I liked to go. Afterward I’d go to Sister Harkness and ask her questions and she would teach me.”
Cham Nap now lives with a foster family in Farr West, Utah. He is an eager eighth grader who wants to perfect his English, so he takes two English classes. It is still difficult for him to read, but he studies the scriptures regularly, usually for an hour on Sundays and frequently after school. “The words I don’t understand I look up in the dictionary,” he notes.
He has three church books in Cambodian, including Book of Mormon Selections, which he studies along with the scriptures in English.
Cham Nap says he likes to study and learn more about the gospel. “I want to be a missionary and teach people and make them happy. I want to share what I have learned.” Just like Ammon, the Book of Mormon prophet he’s reading about right now.

Phoebe Carter was similarly led 750 miles (1,200 km) from Scarboro, Maine, to Kirtland, Ohio, in 1835. Phoebe was 28 years old when she determined to gather with Church members, even though she had to make her trek alone. As she later reported: “My friends marvelled at my course, as did I, but something within impelled me on. My mother’s grief at my leaving home was almost more than I could bear; and had it not been for the spirit within I should have faltered at the last. My mother told me she would rather see me buried than going thus alone into the heartless world. … ‘Phoebe,’ she said, impressively, ‘will you come back to me if you find Mormonism false?’ I answered thrice, ‘Yes, mother, I will.’ … When the time came for my departure I dared not trust myself to say farewell, so I wrote my good-bye to each, and leaving them on my table, ran down stairs and jumped into the carriage. Thus I left my beloved home of childhood to link my life with the Saints of God.”6

At that point Phoebe had no idea that her footsteps of faith would lead her on a journey much longer than the 750 miles (1,200 km) to Kirtland. She would marry Wilford Woodruff and join with him in journeying through Missouri to Nauvoo and then on the 1,350-mile (2,170-km) trek through wilderness lands to the Great Salt Lake Valley.

I admonish all families: search out your heritage. It is important to know, as far as possible, those who came before us. We discover something about ourselves when we learn about our ancestors.
I recall as a boy hearing of the experiences of my Miller ancestors. In the spring of 1848, my great-great-grandparents Charles Stewart Miller and Mary McGowan Miller, joined the Church in their native Scotland; left their home in Rutherglen, Scotland; and journeyed across the Atlantic Ocean. They reached the port of New Orleans and traveled up the Mississippi River to St. Louis, Missouri, with a group of Saints, arriving there in 1849. One of their 11 children, Margaret, would become my great-grandmother.
When the family arrived in St. Louis, planning to earn enough money to make their way to the Salt Lake Valley, a plague of cholera struck the area. The Miller family was hard-hit: in the space of two weeks, mother, father, and two of their sons died. My great-grandmother Margaret Miller was 13 years old at the time.
Because of all the deaths in the area, there were no caskets available—at any price. The older surviving boys dismantled the family’s oxen pens in order to make crude caskets for the family members who had passed away.
The nine remaining orphaned Miller children and the husband of one of the older daughters left St. Louis in the spring of 1850 with four oxen and one wagon, arriving finally in the Salt Lake Valley that same year.
I owe such a debt of gratitude to these and other noble forebears who loved the gospel and who loved the Lord so deeply that they were willing to sacrifice all they had, including their own lives, for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. How grateful I am for the temple ordinances which bind us together for all eternity.

Just this past month, a mammoth 747 jetliner, while flying over the Pacific, sustained a gigantic tear in its side, ejecting nine passengers to their deaths and threatening the lives of all. When the pilot, Captain David Cronin, was interviewed, having brought the craft back safely to Honolulu, he was asked, “What did you do when the plane ripped open? How did you cope?”

Captain Cronin replied, “I prayed, then went to work.”

My parents have always taught me to dress modestly. My best friend, who is not a member of the Church, gave me a sundress with thin spaghetti straps. I graciously thanked my friend, but I didn’t know what I should do. It was a very cute dress, and I wanted to be able to wear it. I talked to my mom about what I should do. Then I remembered that my Aunt Emily sometimes wears sundresses, but wears a T-shirt underneath to be modest. I am grateful for the example my aunt sets for me, and for my parents who teach me how to dress modestly so I can be ready to go to the temple someday. I’m glad I came up with a modest solution so that I can wear my cute new dress!

The only girl and the youngest child in her family, she teases back her four big brothers when they occasionally tease her. When her family took her oldest brother, Rick, to the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah, two years ago, she knew that she’d miss him, but she wanted him to go on a mission.

After his mission in New Jersey, Rick joined the family as they visited important places in the early history of the Church. Caliana enjoyed seeing the Grandin Press, where the first Book of Mormon was printed, and the Sacred Grove. “All of those places helped me appreciate Church history and the pioneers. They were so faithful, and it helps me want to be true, too.”

As a boy I learned a great lesson of faith and sacrifice as I worked on my grandfather’s farm during the terrible economic depression of the 1930s. The taxes on the farm were delinquent, and Grandfather, like so many, had no money. There was a drought in the land, and some cows and horses were dying for lack of grass and hay. One day when we were harvesting what little hay there was in the field, Grandfather told us to take the wagon to the corner of the field where the best stand of hay stood and fill the wagon as full as we could and take it to the tithing yard as payment of his tithing in kind.
I wondered how Grandfather could use the hay to pay tithing when some of the cows that we were depending upon to sustain us might starve. I even questioned if the Lord expected that much sacrifice from him. Ultimately, I marveled at his great faith that somehow the Lord would provide. The legacy of faith he passed on to his posterity was far greater than money, because he established in the minds of his children and grandchildren that above all, he loved the Lord and His holy work over other earthly things. He never became wealthy, but he died at peace with the Lord and with himself.

From 1856 to 1860, thousands of Latter-day Saint pioneers pulled their belongings in handcarts for over 1,000 miles (1,600 km) as they traveled to the Salt Lake Valley. One hundred sixty-seven years ago this very week, on October 4, 1856, President Brigham Young was surprised to learn that two handcart companies, led by Edward Martin and James Willie, were still hundreds of miles from Salt Lake, with winter fast approaching. The very next day, not far from where we meet today, President Young stood before the Saints and declared: “Many of our brethren and sisters are on the plains with hand-carts, and they must be brought here. … Go and bring in those people now on the plains.”
Just two days later, the first rescue parties departed in search of the handcart pioneers.
A member of the Willie company described the desperate situation prior to the arrival of the main rescue team. He shared: “[Just] when it seemed all would be lost, … and there seemed little left to live for, like a thunderbolt out of the clear sky, God answered our prayers. A rescue party, bringing food and supplies … , came into sight. … How we thanked God for our rescue.”

The final point to consider is how and when to close the speech. Concluding remarks should be timed so that listeners feel refreshed rather than exhausted. Have you ever heard a speaker say four times, “In conclusion …” and then listened as he continued for another five or ten minutes each time? Equally as frustrating is a speaker who goes on and on after making his point. Mark Twain wrote:
“Some years ago in Hartford, we all went to church one hot, sweltering night to hear the annual report of Mr. Hawley, a city missionary who went around finding people who needed help and didn’t want to ask for it. He told of life in cellars, where poverty resided; he gave instances of heroism and devotion of the poor. ‘When a man with millions gives,’ he said, ‘we make a great deal of noise. It’s noise in the wrong place, for it’s the widow’s mite that counts.’
“Well, Hawley worked me up to a great pitch. I could hardly wait for him to get through. I had $400 in my pocket I wanted to give that and borrow more to give. You could see greenbacks in every eye. But instead of passing the plate, then, he kept on talking and talking, and as he talked it grew hotter and hotter, and we grew sleepier and sleepier. My enthusiasm went down, down, down—$100 at a clip—until finally when the plate did come around, I stole ten cents out of it.” (Thesaurus of Anecdotes, ed. Edmund Fuller, Crown Publishers: N.Y., 1942, pp. 58–59.) Don’t wait until the audience has quit listening before you quit speaking.

I grew up much like any other child in the Church, involved with school, sports, and other interests. By the time I was eighteen, I was looking forward to serving a mission. My older brother had served in Brazil, and my sister was then serving in England. A mission had always seemed like the right thing to do.
But as I approached the end of my senior year in high school, I was getting a little worried. I wasn’t sure I could testify of every part of the gospel—particularly the story of Joseph Smith. One of my best friends asked me, “Why are you going on a mission—just because your dad said to and you’re scared not to?” I thought this over again and again until I came to the conclusion that I had better find out why I was going on a mission.
By this time I had already sent in my mission papers. I turned to my dad for help in preparing. Every Sunday we would spend an hour or two in my room talking about a gospel topic or just reading from the scriptures. My dad encouraged me to read A Marvelous Work and a Wonder, which I finished before entering the Missionary Training Center. I had a good feeling that what I was doing was right.
But after several weeks in the MTC, I felt discouraged. My testimony of Joseph Smith still wasn’t as strong as I felt it needed to be. I started to pray with all my heart. No answer. I thought maybe I was doing something wrong, and so I read the scriptures, talked to people, did everything possible. Still nothing.
Then, about a week later, my favorite teacher at the MTC had us role-play teaching the fourth principle of the first discussion, which happens to be about Joseph Smith. As my companion, Elder Brockbank, began to teach about the Prophet, I received an answer to my prayers. When he finished, I was crying. I will never forget that night. I will be eternally thankful for Elder Brockbank and the way he delivered the message of Joseph Smith. His testimony helped me receive mine.
My testimony has never been stronger in my life, and bearing it every day to the German people is wonderful. I now know, with all my heart, that Joseph Smith was called of God to lead this dispensation.

Amy hated riding in the car. It bumped along the road, turning corners and making her feel dizzy. She was too little to see much out the windows. “Are we there yet?” she asked Mommy a lot.
Today they were on their way to Grandma’s. Amy was eager to play with her cousins in Grandma’s big backyard. She hoped that they would pick yellow flowers out of the grass and make a pretend house under the trees. But first she had to get there—and that meant more time in the car than Amy thought she could stand.
“Mommy, my tummy hurts,” she grumbled.
Her baby brother whimpered. “I think Baby Jacob’s tummy hurts, too,” she said.
Amy wanted to cry. “At least Jacob can see out the window,” she whined. “Why can’t we go any faster?”
“Well,” Mommy said, taking a deep breath, “there are a lot of cars on the highway, and nobody is going fast.”
“Oh.” Amy scrunched her eyebrows. “So how much longer?”
“I’m not sure, sweetheart.” Then Mommy smiled, and in the mirror at the front of the car, Amy saw her eyes grow wide. “Amy,” she said, “if you look out your window, way up high, I think pretty soon you will see the top of the temple.”
“The temple? Where you and Daddy were married?”
“We were married in the temple,” Mom said, “but not this temple. This is the Seattle Washington Temple, where Grandma and Grandpa go to help with baptisms.”
Amy craned her neck to look through the window at the sky. “Mommy, I don’t see it!”
“Sit up as tall as you can, Amy. Look for the Angel Moroni on top.”
Amy said a quick prayer in her head. Heavenly Father, please help me to see the temple. Then, in the middle of dark green trees, she spotted a spire. “Mommy, Mommy! I see it! There’s the Angel Moroni!”
Amy looked to see if Baby Jacob was watching, but he was busy looking at his fingers. “That’s the temple, Jacob,” she said, pointing out the window.
“‘I love to see the temple,’”* Mommy sang, beginning Amy’s favorite Primary song.
“‘I’m going there someday,’” Amy joined in. Even when the temple disappeared behind the trees, she kept singing. “‘To feel the Holy Spirit, To listen and to pray.’”
When they finished the song, Amy asked if they could sing it again. Soon they were pulling into Grandma’s driveway.
“How’s your tummy?” Mom whispered, turning off the car. Baby Jacob was sound asleep.
“All better,” Amy said. She unbuckled her seat belt and jumped out in the sunshine. “I’m going to tell Grandma we saw the temple!”

One day in math, a young woman I’ve known since last year wanted to hear me swear, just to see how the teacher reacted. I told her I do not use inappropriate language, but she kept pressuring me. At first I was tempted to use her words against her, but when my hand touched the familiar heart around my neck, I knew I couldn’t fall into temptation. Instead, I told her that no matter how hard she tries, I would be true to my standards. As I talked, she seemed amazed that I stood up for what I believe in. She left me alone after that.

After translating the Book of Mormon, the Lord commanded Joseph to revise the Bible.
As he read the Bible, Joseph was inspired by the Lord to make some changes.
Joseph asked scribes to help him.
The work was delayed when the Lord commanded the Saints to move to Ohio.
After moving to Ohio, Joseph started his revisions again with Sidney Rigdon helping as scribe.
“We need to resume our work on the Bible.”
On February 16, 1832, Joseph and Sidney were revising the book of John in the New Testament.
“… they who have done good, in the resurrection of the just; and they who have done evil, in the resurrection of the unjust.”
“What does this mean?”
An incredible vision opened up to them.
They saw Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father.
They also learned that there are three kingdoms in heaven.
They were shown that those who will inherit the celestial kingdom will be resurrected first.
“These are they who are … made perfect through Jesus.”
When the vision was over, they were amazed. Sidney was tired.
“Sidney is not as used to this as I am.”
President Wilford Woodruff said that this vision “gives more light, more truth, and more principle than any revelation contained in any other book we ever read.”
Teachings of Presidents of the Church: Wilford Woodruff (2004), 120–21.

Before he became an apostle, George Albert Smith served two missions—one as an MIA missionary in the Southern settlements of Utah and one in the southern United States, where persecution against Mormons was still rampant. Elder Smith was once with a group of missionaries in a log cabin that was under seige by a mob. While the missionaries huddled against the floor, a barrage of bullets poured into the room. Yet, through all this experience, there was no bitterness on Elder Smith’s part, just a determination to work harder to “share the gospel with the rest of God’s children.”