Gospel Story Finder

During the spring, my husband and I attended our four-year-old grandson’s soccer game. Excitement was in the air as children ran in every direction chasing the ball. When the final whistle blew, the players didn’t know who won or who lost. They had simply played the game.
The coaches asked the players to shake hands with the other team. Then we saw something quite remarkable. One coach called for a victory tunnel.
Parents, grandparents, and anybody who came to see the game stood up and formed two lines facing each other. Then they raised their arms and created an arch. The children squealed as they ran under the arms of the cheering adults and down the path.
Soon the children from the other team decided to join in the fun. All of the players were cheered on by the adults as they ran through the victory tunnel.

A true story from Kenya.
Kelvin carefully stacked the shiny glass milk bottles on the shelf. He had recently moved to live with his grandparents in a village outside the city. They owned a milk shop, and Kelvin liked helping.
“Tonight we are going to an activity at our church,” Ghuka (Grandpa) said. “Want to come with us? It will be fun.”
Kelvin liked having fun. “Yes!” he said. “I’ll go with you.”
After they closed the shop, Kelvin and his grandparents walked to the activity. They passed other shops selling fabrics, fruit, and potted plants. After a while, they reached the church.
Kelvin stood wide-eyed as he looked at the beautiful building. He had never seen a church like this before. Most churches had a cross at the top, but this one didn’t.
Inside, Kelvin’s grandparents introduced him to lots of nice people. They ate yummy food and played games.
But Kelvin was curious. So he wandered the halls of the church. He saw paintings of Jesus Christ. Then he walked into a classroom and noticed some photographs on the wall.
Who are those people? Kelvin wondered.
After he left the room, he saw two young men in the hall. They were wearing white shirts and ties. “Hi,” one of them said. “We’re missionaries. What’s your name?”
Kelvin introduced himself. Then he asked, “Who is the man in that picture?” He pointed back to one of the photos in the room.
“That’s the prophet,” the other missionary said. “Do you know what a prophet is?”
Kelvin smiled and shook his head no.
“A prophet is a messenger from God,” said the missionary. “He teaches us what God wants us to know.”
When Kelvin walked home with his grandparents that night, he was holding a copy of the Book of Mormon that the missionaries had given to him. He was excited to learn more about prophets and this new church.
“Will you read to us?” Ghuka asked when they got home. Kelvin’s grandparents didn’t know how to read.
“Yes!” Kelvin said. He opened the Book of Mormon and read out loud. He didn’t understand all the words, but he felt something special.
On Sunday, Kelvin walked with his grandparents back to church. He went to a class for all the kids. It was called Primary. He made so many friends! He learned more about prophets and Jesus.
The missionaries came to teach Kelvin more. One day they asked him a question. “Will you follow the Savior’s example and be baptized?”
Kelvin smiled big. “Yes!”
On the day of his baptism, Kelvin stepped into the water. It was chilly. But as Kelvin looked around him, he saw his grandparents, the missionaries, and all his new friends from church. He felt so loved!
By choosing to follow Jesus Christ, Kelvin was a pioneer in his family. He couldn’t wait to keep following Him—and to help others follow Him too!
When he grew up, Kelvin served a mission in his home country.
Today, Kelvin attends college through BYU–Pathway Worldwide.
Kelvin enjoys watching movies and reading.
Illustrations by Kristin Sorra

“When life gets me down, I just start drawing. Not only does it make me smile, but it makes others smile as well.”
Madeline K., New Mexico, USA

Daniel pushed the handcart with all his strength. His arms and legs shook from the effort. He saw sweat run like tears down Jane’s face as his sister pushed beside him, while their parents strained to pull the handcart. He saw his mother’s mouth moving and her eyes shut, and he knew that she was praying for strength.
The last few weeks had been difficult. The food supplies were low. Each person in the handcart company was allowed only two cups of flour a day. There hadn’t been any meat for days. Daniel didn’t mind the hungry feeling as much as the weakness. And now they had come to this stretch of the trail without sufficient energy to pull the handcarts through the deep, dry sand.
Daniel’s father set the cart handle down and said, “Let’s all rest for a few minutes.”
Jane crumpled into a heap at Daniel’s feet. He sat down by her and gingerly lifted one of her feet. He tore another little strip from the bottom of his shirt and wound it snugly around her foot.
Her shoes had worn out weeks ago. At first, she had tried walking in the soft dust of the wagon-wheel ruts. But her feet had become so sore that much of the time she either had to crawl or have Daniel carry her piggyback. Any time she had to stand, her feet bled painfully. “Tell me again about what the Salt Lake Valley will be like,” she said.
Daniel sighed. At least she hadn’t asked how many more miles they had to go. “The missionaries said that the beginning of a beautiful city is already there. Thousands of people have arrived in the valley, and a temple has been started.”
“Will we live in the city?” she asked next.
“The missionaries said some of us will stay there, but some families will be called by Brigham Young to settle towns and cities many miles away.”
“What is the land like? Is it beautiful?”
Daniel tore another strip from his shirt to wrap her other foot. He wondered if she was missing her flower garden. “Well, the missionaries said it was land that no one else wanted. That’s one reason the Saints hope to be able to worship and build Zion there without the persecution that we’ve had elsewhere. And we’ll make it beautiful. After all, the scriptures say that the desert is going to ‘blossom as the rose.’”*
Jane smiled contentedly. Daniel leaned against the cart. He knew that Jane had been waiting to hear, “blossom as the rose.” For some reason that gave her comfort. Tears sprang to his eyes as he looked at her. Her clothes were worn and her feet were blistered and scabbed, but never a complaint escaped her lips. Her testimony that God was calling them was firm and sure. He wished that he felt that way.
He had at first. But lately, with so many adversities, he had begun to wonder. Why wasn’t God helping them? Why had the journey been so difficult? Did he really want to be planted in this new land—especially a desert—after all?
Daniel looked around. Not a handcart moved. Most of the company were doing as they were doing—resting. His parents moved closer to him and Jane. His father pulled off his hat and bowed his head in prayer. “Dear Father,” he pleaded, “Thou seest our situation and knowest our needs. We pray that Thou wilt bless us that we may live to yet serve Thee and to build up Thy kingdom. …”
“Pa, look!” Daniel whispered as soon as the prayer was over. A large cloud of dust was moving toward them.
“Is it a buffalo stampede?” Jane asked.
The attention of the whole company riveted on the growing dust cloud.
“I think it’s Indians, Pa,” Daniel whispered. Jane moved close and put her hand in his.
The Indians stopped a short distance from the weary company. The sun shimmered on the sand, and waves of heat could be seen as well as felt. One Indian dismounted and slowly approached the handcarts. Daniel hugged his sister protectively. He heard Mother’s sharp intake of breath.
The Indian went to where Father stood and stared at him for several moments. Without taking his eyes off Pa, he took hold of the cart handle and began to pull it. It moved sluggishly, protesting with loud creaks. At his signal, the other Indians got off their horses and pulled the handcarts through the sand. Their somber faces sometimes broke into smiles, as though they were having fun. A great cheer arose from the handcart company.
By evening the handcarts were on solid ground again. The pioneers began to fix their meager meal to share with the Indians, who now unloaded fresh buffalo meat from two ponies. As Daniel helped one of the Indians unload some of the meat, he noticed a pair of moccasins tied to the saddle. If only Jane could have them for her feet!
Perhaps there was something he could trade for them. All through supper, he hardly noticed the taste of the roasted meat as he thought about the moccasins. His only possession was a broken pocketknife. He pulled it out and looked at it. Very little of the blade was left. No, he couldn’t ask his new Indian friend to trade for it. It wasn’t a fair trade. He put the knife away.
Morning came early. The Indians stayed for breakfast, then they and the Saints prepared to go their separate ways.
Mother leaned her mirror against the wagon wheel. Daniel took the comb from her hand and began to comb his hair. He had long since quit grumbling about this morning ritual. Even though it seemed silly to him to comb his hair in such circumstances, he knew that it was important to his mother.
The astonished face of his Indian friend filled the mirror beside his own. The Indian examined it front and back. He pointed to the mirror then to himself. Daniel nodded. “Mother, I think he wants this mirror.”
Mother looked up from the campfire. “After all he has done for us, if he wants it, let him have it.”
Daniel lifted the mirror off the wheel and put it into the hands of the Indian. Within minutes the man was back with his horse. He put the reins in Daniel’s hand. Daniel understood that the Indian wanted to trade his horse for the mirror.
Daniel smiled warmly at his friend, shook his head, and handed him back the reins. The Indian pulled a long rifle out from under his saddle blanket and offered it to the boy. Again Daniel shook his head. His friend climbed on his horse, looked at him for a moment, then disappeared in a cloud of dust.
Daniel sighed. He had wanted to ask for the moccasins, but he didn’t know if it was fair to ask for more when they had already been given so much.
The next morning he was abruptly awakened by his sister. “Daniel, come quick! Look what Heavenly Father has blessed me with.”
There on her bedding lay the beautiful moccasins. Daniel gently slipped them onto her feet. The Indians had helped them get out of the sand, then given them food, and now his friend had left footwear for Jane! In his mind and heart the thought blossomed—Heavenly Father had answered their prayers!

Another matter that came to my attention the other day is a partial quote from Wilford Woodruff about Joseph Smith. Sometimes we find members who have an overdose of false pride. They want their way or they will quit. Have you ever seen anybody leave the ward and never “darken the door” of the ward building again because of a little altercation perhaps with the bishop or with someone there?

“We have no chance to be lifted up in the pride of our hearts,” said the Prophet, “with regard to the position we occupy. If the President of the Church or either of his counselors or, if the apostles, or any other man, feels in his heart that God cannot do without him, and that he is especially important in order to carry on the work of the Lord, he stands upon slippery ground. I heard Joseph Smith say that Oliver Cowdery who was the second Apostle in this Church, said to him, ‘If I leave this church, it will fall.’ Said he, ‘Oliver, you try it.’ Oliver tried it. He fell; but the Kingdom of God did not. I have been acquainted with other Apostles in my day and time who felt that the Lord could not do without them, but the Lord got along with His work without them. I say to all men—Jew and Gentile, great and small, rich and poor—that the Lord Almighty has power within Himself and is not dependent upon any man to carry on His work, but when He does call men to do His work, they have to trust in Him.” (Wilford Woodruff, “Discourse,” Deseret Weekly, Apr. 6, 1890, 40:559–60.)

Mark learns about when Jesus was born.
Nana and Papa tell the story.
Mark and Sarah put on costumes.
Mark is Joseph. Sarah is Mary.
Bo is dressed as baby Jesus.
Mark loves to learn about Jesus!

Because her husband was at an early morning priesthood leadership meeting, Mary struggled alone to get her family ready for church. The baby was fussing, little Rebekah could not find one of her shoes, and four-year-old David spilled food down the front of his clean Sunday shirt. Frustrated, Mary felt like giving up and staying at home. Arriving late for church, she was still angry with Rebekah and David, and it was hard for her to feel a spirit of reverence.

I love everything about Christmas: the lights, carols, time with family—everything we do to celebrate the birth of Jesus. Oh, and I especially love getting presents. I start making my Christmas wish list in September.
One year my list was about as long as my arm. And I kept thinking of things to add to it. I was excited to show it to my dad. “Well, David, I see what you want to get for Christmas,” he said as he looked it over. “But what are you going to give?”
“I’m making gifts for you and Mom at school. On Friday Mom is taking me shopping for Shannon’s and Jon’s gifts. So I’ve got it all planned out.”
“Hmmm,” was all Dad said. For some reason he didn’t like my answer. I didn’t like the sound of “hmmm.”
The next family home evening, my parents discussed the idea of giving and getting and the true meaning of Christmas. I could see my wish list getting shorter by the minute. They asked us if we had any ideas to help us remember to be more giving. Shannon waved her hand excitedly. My older brother, Jon, and I groaned. With Shannon, ideas usually involved doing things for other people, like weeding our neighbors’ gardens.
“Let’s choose some people who are lonely or in need and anonymously leave presents on their doorsteps,” Shannon said with excitement.
“Not a bad idea,” Jon said. “It would be top secret.”
“This might actually be fun,” I thought.
We all agreed that it would be a great plan. We chose two families. One was the Swenson family in our ward. Since Brother Swenson had gone back to school, they never seemed to have enough money. They had lots of kids too, who would love getting Christmas surprises. The other family was Mr. and Mrs. Perez, an older couple who lived down the street. They always seemed a little lonely.
We all went shopping for the gifts. We agreed to buy them using some of the money we would have used for our own presents. That was fine with me. I was having way too much fun choosing toys for the younger Swenson boys. Somehow my stuff wasn’t that important anymore.
We decided to give one gift a night to each family starting 12 days before Christmas. When the first night came, I dressed in black from head to toe, and Jon drove me over to the Swensons’ house. I quietly put the first gift on the porch, rang the doorbell, and ran away as fast as I could. I jumped behind a fence just as one of the kids opened the door. I could hear their surprised voices as they discovered the present. I felt like I would explode with excitement and joy. My life as a Secret Giver had begun.
Things only got better—and harder. We had to go at different times every night and sometimes even in the morning because the Swenson kids started looking out the window to try to catch us. And every time I crept up to the Perez’s doorstep, I imagined Mrs. Perez waiting there, ready to fling the door open, give me a hug, and tell me how wonderful I was. I definitely had to avoid that. Keeping a secret was half the fun.
Well, that year was only the beginning. The Christmas after that, we chose a family whose daughter had been in the hospital 11 times that year and another family whose mom had cancer. Wow—I didn’t realize that some people had it so tough.
Now that Christmas is here again, we’ve decided to help three families. The hardest part is choosing them. There seem to be so many people who could use a little Christmas cheer.
As for my own list? Each year it has gotten a little shorter. I’m so busy making my Secret Giver plans that I don’t have much time to think about myself. There are gifts to choose and strategies to plan.
One thing is certain—it’s great doing things for others. Nothing beats the feeling I get when I see the surprise and excitement on the faces of the people we help. Giving has become one of my favorite things about Christmas.

My dad is older than all my friends’ dads. He is too old to do anything.
At the pool last summer, Jimmy’s dad did a triple somersault off the high dive. Everyone cheered. I asked my dad if he would do one, too.
He laughed. “Steven, I wouldn’t survive a fall like that. Let’s get in the pool, and I’ll teach you the backstroke.”
So I learned the backstroke, but no one was cheering.
In the fall, I went out for soccer. Megan’s dad was the coach. He ran up and down the field with us for hours, shouting out the plays and showing us how to kick. My dad watched from the bleachers.
“Dad, can’t you be assistant coach or something?” I asked.
“I don’t have the energy to keep going for that length of time, Steven. But I’ve thought of a few new plays I’d like to tell your coach.”
Megan’s dad used the plays, and we won most of our games. At the end-of-the-season banquet, Megan’s dad got a trophy. My dad just watched and applauded.
During the winter, our class went on a ski trip. All the fathers came, and they all skied down the toughest slopes. All except my dad. He would only go on the smallest slope.
“I don’t need any broken bones at my age,” my dad said when I begged him to try a bigger hill. And instead of always skiing, my dad helped some of the beginners learn to stay up on their skis.
Then at the end of the school year, our class had a parents’ day program. Most of the parents took off work to come and talk about their jobs. Since my dad was retired, I figured he wouldn’t have anything to talk about.
I sat next to John. I didn’t see his father on the stage. “Where’s your dad?” I asked.
“He couldn’t come. He’s away on a business trip. He’s gone a lot.” John wasn’t too happy about that.
“My dad’s always around.”
“You’re lucky.”
One by one the parents got up and talked about their jobs. Some of them had really exciting jobs. One was a pilot, and one was a paramedic. One father even taught skydiving. After the skydiver, it was my dad’s turn. What is he going to talk about? I wondered.
“My job is my son Steven,” he began. “I like to help him learn things and to participate in his activities. I hope I’m always there when he needs me. He doesn’t think I do anything exciting, but to me, being with him every day is the most exciting thing I could do.”
I was so surprised, I couldn’t move. Even when everyone else in the room stood up and applauded him, I still couldn’t move.
After the program, I ran to find my dad. I told him that I understood and that I was glad he wasn’t too old to be my dad.

“Wow!” Eric exclaimed. “He had an important job, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” Mother said, “but sometimes it was dangerous, not only for him but for his family. One time while he was away on guard duty, a mob went to their home and told his wife that if there was anything in the house that she wanted, to get it out before they burned the house down. Sick at heart, she got everything out while the mob looked on. The cupboard was so heavy that she couldn’t move it alone, so one of the men helped her get it out. Then, while she and the children watched, the mobbers burned the house to the ground.
“Welcome and his family passed through many of the trials, persecutions, and other hardships that fell upon the Church and its members at that time.”

One day the senior missionaries, Elder and Sister Haines, came to my house. Elder Haines needed my help. He can read German words but does not understand what some of them mean. He found a story in the Kleiner Liahona (Friend) and read it to me in German. I translated it into English for him so he would know what he was reading. We were a good team!
Even though he doesn’t think so, Elder Haines reads German pretty well. Only once did I have to say to him, “I have no idea what you said.” After my mother helped him with his German pronunciation, I understood him better.
I felt like a real teacher when I translated for Elder Haines. He said he felt sure he could bless the sacrament in German thanks to my help. It made me feel warm and good inside that I could help a missionary.

Marny agreed. “They can have so much more fun without those things. A group of kids came over to my house after a football game. It was near Christmastime, and I was the only Latter-day Saint in the group. I think it was the best time I ever had. There were about eight of us, and we sat around the Christmas tree and sang Christmas carols. We stayed up till one o’clock. These were people who would normally go out partying. If they hadn’t been there they would have gone out to the levee and gotten drunk. Later I talked to this guy who had been to the party, and he said, ‘That was one of the best times I’ve ever had.’”

Years ago, following a mission tour, my wife, Jeanene, told me about an elder she had met. Jeanene had asked him about his family. She was surprised as he responded that he had no family. He further explained that at his birth, his mother had given him to the government to raise. He spent his childhood going from one foster home to another. He was blessed as a teenager to find the gospel. A loving ward family had helped him to have the opportunity to serve a mission.

Later Jeanene asked the mission president’s wife about this fine elder. She learned that a few months earlier this elder had been in the mission home for a few days due to an illness. During that time he had joined them for a family home evening. Before he left to go back into the field, he asked the mission president if he could spend two or three days at the end of his mission in the mission home again. He wanted to observe how a Christ-centered family functions. He wanted to be able to pattern his family after theirs.

Last Friday I was in the Regional Representatives’ seminar, but my ticket wasn’t stamped “Regional Representative”; it was stamped “Invited Guest.” By four o’clock that afternoon, I had received a letter signed by President Hinckley telling me I was to speak for thirteen minutes in the Sunday afternoon session of conference.
My first question to President Hinckley wasn’t “What should I say?” It was “How do I get in?”

When I was 15, my Sunday School teacher, Brother Adams, challenged us to read the Book of Mormon. I took this challenge to heart and read the entire book. I prayed about it as Moroni instructed in chapter 10, verse 4. And nothing happened.

“So now what?” I asked myself. “Is this book really true?”

I began to ponder what I had read. I remembered how the words of the prophet Jacob had inspired me. Also, King Benjamin had spoken as a mighty leader. I had felt the Spirit as I read the words of both these prophets. As I read, the Holy Ghost had moved me to believe the principles of the gospel in these stories. Surely the whole of it has to be true. One cannot accept a part to be true and deny the rest. It is not reasonable. As the stories unfolded, the whisperings of the Holy Spirit were real. The Book of Mormon is true. It would also mean that the boy Joseph really did see the Father and the Son, Jesus Christ. This is the power of reasoning that our Savior Jesus Christ speaks of unto each and every one of us, the power of truth.

As a boy, President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910-2008) would lie outside during summer nights and look at the stars. He noticed that most of the stars moved, but one star always stayed in the same place. It was called the Polar Star.
“Love is like the Polar Star,” President Hinckley said. “In a changing world, it is a constant” (“Let Love Be the Lodestar of Your Life,” Ensign, May 1989, 66).

Within months, my sister Dina and I were called as local missionaries in San Salvador. This calling gave us the opportunity to go door to door to share the glad news of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ and bring many people to the waters of baptism. In due time, we both served full-time missions in the Central America Mission.

Sometimes contentions arise because we disagree with what a leader is trying to do. I recall one couple who were very upset at their bishop. They came to me, their stake president, and said the bishop had asked their son to be his assistant—but that the bishop had asked him to get his haircut before he was presented to the quorum. Their son had come home angry. He had just had a haircut a few days before and felt no need to have it shorter. As the mother and father complained to me, they referred to how much more serious it would be if he were smoking or drinking. But getting a hair cut seemed so trivial! Why would the bishop insist on that?
After listening to what they had to say, I asked them if they felt they really loved their son. They looked surprised at my question, but quickly assured me this was the reason they were here. I then told them that if he were my son I would go home and tell him how grateful I was that the bishop had such great love and respect for him. It was a great compliment to be chosen to be an assistant. Undoubtedly the bishop felt he must have leadership ability and the ability to be an example to all the other priests in the ward. I would explain to him how the Lord loves an obedient servant and that many times our obedience has to rest upon faith.
I told this wonderful couple that they needed to strengthen that bishop in the eyes of their son in every way possible; to do otherwise would only bring them unhappiness. Failure to support the bishop would communicate to their son that the bishop was not called of God, that we may follow our leaders only when we choose. The danger of this approach would be that they would be teaching their son that he was a law unto himself, ever sitting as a judge over the words and actions of those called to guide him. There would come a day, I said, when something much more critical than a haircut would arise to test their son. How he—and they—responded to this smaller test would help determine his response to the greater ones.
As we chatted, the contention in the room melted away. Through the Spirit we were all reminded that contention is of the devil and can bring only destructive results.

My father was an example for me of what the Lord teaches in the 121st section about getting heaven’s help in preparing young men. During my early years, he was sometimes disappointed by my performance. He let me know it. Hearing his voice, I could feel he thought I was better than that. But he did it in the Lord’s way: “Reproving betimes with sharpness, when moved upon by the Holy Ghost; and then showing forth afterwards an increase of love toward him whom thou hast reproved, lest he esteem thee to be his enemy.”3

I knew, even after the most direct correction, that Dad’s reproof was given in love. In fact, his love seemed to increase when he used even his strongest correction, which was a disapproving and disappointed look. He was my leader and my trainer, never using compulsory means, and I am sure that the promise given in the Doctrine and Covenants will be fulfilled for him. His influence on me will flow unto him “forever and ever.”4

Up the stairs in a small, tightly packed room above Newel K. Whitney’s store in Kirtland, Ohio, on January 22, 1833, the elders of the Church gathered with the Prophet Joseph Smith. In December the previous year, Joseph had received a revelation directing him to establish a school primarily to prepare the brethren for missions.
“I give unto you a commandment,” the Lord had declared, “that you shall teach one another the doctrine of the kingdom.
“Teach ye diligently and my grace shall attend you, that you may be instructed more perfectly in theory, in principle, in doctrine, in the law of the gospel, in all things that pertain unto the kingdom of God, that are expedient for you to understand; …
“That ye may be prepared in all things when I shall send you again to magnify the calling whereunto I have called you, and the mission with which I have commissioned you” (Doctrine and Covenants 88:77–78, 80).
This “School of the Prophets,” as it was called, provided a wonderful spiritual outpouring. Many early leaders of the Church were taught there. Today the world is an entirely different place, but the guidance the Lord gave then is still incredibly applicable. We, too, must seek knowledge and truth “of things as they are, and as they were, and as they are to come” (Doctrine and Covenants 93:24).