Gospel Story Finder

Illustrations by Cam Kendell
Hi, Mia. Want to play four square with us?
I don’t really feel like playing right now.
OK.
That night …
Sound label: Sniffle (coming from top bunk)
I don’t know why I feel so sad. Maybe a Primary song will help me feel better.
Heavenly Father, are you really there? And do you hear and answer every child’s prayer?
What’s wrong, Mia?
I was sad, but now I feel the Holy Ghost.
What does the Holy Ghost do?
He comforts us. That’s why He’s called the Comforter.
Mom, Dad, guess what? I felt the Holy Ghost! I was sad, and He comforted me.
I’m so glad! Come tell us about it.
The next day …
Hi, Mia. Are you feeling better?
Yes! Can I play with you today?
Yeah! Let’s go.
Thanks!
Thanks to Mia P. for sharing her story!

Abby is a girl in the latter days. She learned about Jesus Christ from her parents. Abby’s neighbors didn’t know about Jesus Christ’s Church.
One day Abby’s brother got called as a missionary. He was going far away to teach people about Jesus.
Abby told her neighbors about her brother’s mission call. When they heard her brother was going so far away, they were amazed. They asked what missionaries teach.
Abby’s family knew that this was the time to share the gospel. Abby and her mother invited their neighbors to meet the missionaries, who could answer their questions.
Some of Abby’s neighbors decided to meet the missionaries. Abby listened as the missionaries taught about Jesus Christ. She felt the joy of sharing the gospel.

I never used to find time to read the scriptures daily, especially with waking up early to go to school and long hours of homework. The only times I read were at Sunday School, in Young Women class, and a couple of times a week for family scripture study. Despite all the promised blessings of daily scripture reading, I always put off my personal study. That is, until my cousin came to visit.
My cousin, a student at Brigham Young University–Idaho, was my roommate at our home while she worked at a Church ranch in Florida. Every night she would pray and read her scriptures and, since the light was on anyway, I would join her. Gradually, I developed the habit also, and when she went back to Idaho, I continued personal scripture study on my own.
I know there is a lot more I need to read and understand, but daily reading has truly blessed me. The scriptures have come to life for me, especially in Nephi, Mosiah, and Alma. Whenever I begin to murmur and complain, I can look back to what I have learned in the scriptures and make changes in my life.
It is fun to find the stories I learned when I was in Primary and read the complete versions from the sacred records of God’s prophets. I am so thankful for the example my cousin set by studying the scriptures daily. I know scripture study has helped and will continue to help me throughout my life.

When I was about 11 years old, I was exposed to pornography. That one instance developed into a greater problem that became the defining struggle of my teenage years. By the time I was in high school, I had turned away from pornography and toward Jesus Christ’s Atonement. Although I experienced a miracle in having the filth erased from my mind, I still felt overwhelming guilt in my heart.
Around this time, my grandma lent me my great-great grandmother Thea’s handwritten autobiography. Within days I felt deeply connected with Thea Martina Waagen (1883–1967). Thea’s father tragically died just a few months before her birth, so she was raised by her widowed Norwegian immigrant mother. Growing up was difficult, but she found joy in picking wild strawberries and playing the organ at her local Lutheran church. Thea’s mother remarried, and with her stepfather’s help, she attended college. Later in life, Thea and her family converted to the Church and moved to Utah, USA. Things weren’t easy for Thea. She and her husband divorced. She experienced great heartache and severe depression, yet she remained true to her testimony.
As I learned about Thea and her choice to persevere through adversity, I was overwhelmed with an intense love that reassured me of my worth and helped me overcome my paralyzing guilt. I realized that if she could do hard things, I could too.
I went on LDS.org and requested Thea’s patriarchal blessing. I was further touched when I read, “The seed of thy womb shall rise up and call thee blessed among the women in Zion.” I realized that my profound respect for her was a fulfilment of that simple sentence. Thea’s love helped heal my heart of guilt and turn my heart to my ancestors. This was my first witness of Elder David A. Bednar’s promise that by participating in family history work, I would “be protected against the intensifying influences of the adversary” (“The Hearts of the Children Shall Turn,” Liahona, Nov. 2011, 27).

Page 104: President Henry B. Eyring, First Counselor in the First Presidency, told a story about his father searching for church one Sunday while he was visiting Australia. As he searched, he prayed at each street intersection to know which direction he should walk. Soon he heard singing and knew that the Holy Ghost had helped him find his way. Think of a time when you felt the Holy Ghost. How did it make you feel?

I am one of 13 children in a Latter-day Saint family that has experienced similar problems. We joined the Church 14 years ago, and over the years some of my brothers and sisters have become less active. Many have shown little or no respect for our parents.
My family underwent a great transformation when my youngest sister died following an accident. We realized then that for us to be together again as an eternal family, we needed to change our lives. Five of my less-active brothers and sisters began to attend church again, our attitude toward each other and toward our parents improved considerably, and quarreling diminished. We attended a temple preparation class taught by my brother-in-law, and five months after my sister’s accident, we were sealed together as a family for time and eternity.
Éder José Lagemann,Parque Ouro Fino Ward, Sorocaba Brazil Trujillo Stake

“I think we ought to kick Robby Burns off the team,” my best friend, Joey, said to me one day after a football game. “He can’t run very fast, and he’s always fumbling the ball.”
“Yeah, and whenever he plays,” I mumbled, “we usually lose.”
“But you’ll hurt his feelings,” said Joey’s younger sister Margie, who had overheard us.
“What does she know about guys playing football,” I grumbled under my breath. “I’ll see how the other guys feel about it,” I said aloud to Joey. “If they agree with us, I’ll talk to Robby after supper.”
“I think you’re both awful,” Margie complained. “Robby can’t help it if he’s not as good as you two are.”
“Margie,” I said, trying to be patient with her, “we’ll still play with him, but not football. He can watch us when we play that.”
I looked up, and Robby was standing right beside me. He had heard what I had said!
“Don’t worry,” he said, smiling. “I don’t mind not playing.”
Something about his smile stuck in my mind. Way down deep I knew that if I’d heard someone say that he didn’t want me on his team, I wouldn’t have smiled. That night after dinner I went for a walk with my dad. “You can understand how we feel, can’t you, Dad?” I asked him as we walked along. “He never helps us win. He’s just not good enough.”
“Yes,” Dad answered, “I do understand how you feel. Even so, it won’t be easy deciding which is more important—winning a game or keeping a friend.”
“But Robby’s still our friend. He told me he doesn’t care if he doesn’t play. I know he understands why we dropped him from the team.”
“I hope you’re right,” Dad said thoughtfully.
The next day in school we had a spelling bee. Robby Burns was one captain, and he picked me to be on his team. “We’ll have a contest each day for four days,” the teacher explained, “and the team that spells the most words correctly will represent our class in a spelling bee against the other third grade class.”
It sure sounded like fun. It was fun, too—except that I found out I wasn’t as good a speller as I thought I was. But Robby was terrific. He never missed a word. The other two on our team didn’t miss many, either. But I sure did.
On the last day we were tied with another team for first place, and there was a special spell-off. I was scared, but Robby encouraged me every time my turn came. It didn’t do much good, though, because the words were just too hard for me, and I missed nearly every one. I felt awful when we lost and the other team was declared the champions. I wouldn’t have blamed Robby for being sore, but he wasn’t.
“I’m sure sorry, Robby,” I apologized. “If it hadn’t been for me, our team would’ve won.”
“That’s OK, Chris,” he answered. “I know you did your best. Besides, it was fun just being on the same team.”
I thought of a few days ago, when I’d said we didn’t want him on our football team.
“Robby’s quite a guy,” I told Dad that night at supper.
“He sounds like a good sport,” Dad answered.
Dad was right. That’s just what Robby was—a good sport. He wanted to win as much as anyone, but he was willing to lose rather than hurt someone else’s feelings.
The next afternoon when the guys got together to play football, I made a little speech. “And from now on,” I said, “anyone who wants to play, can, and no one is going to make fun of someone else. We’re not a professional team where everyone has to be terrific. We’re just a bunch of neighborhood kids who want to have a good time.”
Robby was standing next to me. “Come on, sport,” I said to him, “you’re on my team!”

I grew up as a Christian. Even though my family was never religious, my father always taught me to act upon what I know to be true.
In my early teen years I went through many trials. Back surgery, my parents’ divorce, my mother’s illness, and caring for a younger sister left me bitter and cynical. Then a few months before I turned 15, I came into contact with missionaries. Elder Johnson and Elder Chadwick taught me about the gospel.
I read the Book of Mormon, but I didn’t want to make the changes the elders asked me to. I told them the changes were too much and almost told them to leave me alone. I looked up as I spoke those words and met Elder Chadwick’s eye. A single tear rolled down his cheek, and I have never felt so ashamed. I told them I would call them the next day.
I went home from church and finished reading the Book of Mormon for the first time. Then I knelt down, which I had never done before, and asked God if it was true. I’d never asked God a question before. I was so afraid of changing. After I said “amen,” a feeling of calm and peace came over me. I knew I had a Heavenly Father who loved me, I knew the Book of Mormon was true, and I knew I could change.
Ten days later I was baptized. Both of my parents came to my baptism. Although I’m still the only member in my family, I have faith that one day they too will kneel and ask God. I’m reading the Book of Mormon for the eighth time now, and it’s as wonderful as the first time. I know that the Book of Mormon is true. It has the power to change people.

Soon I made friends at school and looked forward to seeing them each day. One friend, Larry Dawson, lived about a mile from my home. Larry invited me to his house for a birthday party. I had never been to a birthday party before. It was so much fun! I still remember some of the special toys Larry received—especially his new toy fire engine.
Larry and I rode the bus to school because we lived too far from school to walk. Larry got off the bus at the bus stop on the main highway just before I got off. He then had to cross the highway and walk half a mile (about 1 km) to his home. At that time cars did not stop when a school bus was loading or unloading students.
One day as we were returning home from school, a car speeding by the bus hit and killed my friend. I felt very sad. I missed being with Larry at school and on the bus. My mother and father comforted me by explaining that even though I wouldn’t see Larry anymore in this life, his spirit continued to live in the spirit world. Larry was so kind and good that I knew he would be worthy to live with our Heavenly Father. As I grew, I learned more about our Father’s plan for His children.

I was not a member of the Church when my children were little—it took me 18 years to decide to be baptized—but my husband was. He helped our children build a relationship with Heavenly Father through family prayer, scripture study, and family home evening. We were far from perfect, but my husband was persistent and patient.
I believe that my husband’s example of living the gospel was the biggest influence on our children. They saw him read scriptures, pray, and attend church—even if on his own. This had an impact far more powerful than anything we formally taught.

Katie rummaged through the storage box, carefully looking through the crumpled packing paper. She still couldn’t find what she was looking for.
She put everything back in the box and went to find Mom.
Katie had looked behind the piano, under the couch, even in Thomas’s crib. It was lost. She had to tell Mom.
“Mommy, the baby Jesus is lost!”
Katie led Mom to the nativity set in the living room. Joseph and Mary and the shepherds were there. The Wise Men—even a camel and a donkey—were there. All of the figures were gathered around the empty manger.
“It looks that way, doesn’t it?” Mom said.
“I can’t find Him anywhere! I looked and looked.” The nativity would be ruined without the baby Jesus.
Mom went to the bookshelf. “He isn’t lost,” she said as she reached up and took something from the top shelf.
Katie sighed in relief. “There He is!” she said. “I’ll go put Him in the manger.”
She reached for the figurine, but Mom put it back on the shelf. “This year we’re going to put the baby Jesus in the manger on Christmas morning,” Mom said. “It’s a tradition Dad learned in France.”
“But everyone looks so sad,” Katie said.
“I don’t think they’re sad,” Mom said. “To me, it looks more like they’re waiting.”
Katie looked at the figures. She could see the place in the manger where baby Jesus belonged. Some of the figurines were reaching out to the empty spot.
“I guess so,” Katie said.
“Remember before Thomas was born how excited you were for him to come?” Mom asked.
Katie smiled at her baby brother, who was playing on a blanket. “It felt like forever!” she said.
“Did you know that prophets waited for thousands of years for Jesus to come to help us return to live with Heavenly Father?” Mom asked.
Katie remembered seeing a picture in Primary of a prophet writing about the Savior’s birth. “I think so,” she said.
“Prophets like Isaiah thought about and wrote about what the Savior would do when He came,” Mom said. “They spent their whole lives waiting for Him to be born. That’s one of the reasons we set up the nativity like this, to remind us that many people waited a long time for the Savior to come.”
“I would get tired of waiting my whole life,” Katie said, looking at the shepherds who were waiting for Jesus.
“But there’s also another reason we do this,” Mom said.
“What?”
“Do you remember in family home evening when we talked about the Second Coming?”
Katie thought for a minute. “Isn’t that when Jesus comes again?
“That’s right,” Mom said.
“When will that happen?” Katie asked.
“Well, we don’t know. But we’re waiting for Jesus to come, just like the shepherds in the nativity and just like the ancient prophets. That’s the other reason we’re waiting until Christmas to put the baby Jesus in the nativity—to remind us that we’re waiting for Jesus too.”
“Will He come to a manger again?” Katie asked.
“No, He won’t be a baby again. The next time Jesus comes, He’ll be resurrected. But the empty manger in the nativity reminds us that just like you’re waiting for Christmas morning, and just like people waited for Jesus to come to earth, now we’re waiting for Him to come back. We didn’t lose the baby Jesus. This is part of the way our family plans to remember Him.”
“We just need to wait,” Katie said with a smile.
“That’s right,” Mom said.
“OK,” Katie said. “But while we’re waiting, can we make some sugar cookies?”

“Get him, Banner, get him!” The words sent little chills through my body, and I felt my muscles tense and my mouth get just a little dry because I knew the him referred to in the command was me. Banner was a tall and lanky German shepherd police dog assigned to a member of the Salt Lake City Police Department K–9 Corps. He wasn’t one of the heaviest dogs—he weighed only about 85 pounds—but oh, could he bite. My sweating hand tightened inside the heavy burlap covered sleeve which would protect me from injury of the dog’s attack, and then he was there. He hit hard and bit harder. I worked my arm up and down, giving the dog a good battle, until, after what seemed like an eternity, I heard the welcome command, “Out, Banner.” The dog released his grip and trotted back to his handler where he received his reward of pats and praise for a job well done.
All the officers in the corps had to take their turn being the quarry for the dogs. It was dangerous and sometimes tiring, but when your own dog was the attacker, it was the highlight of long tedious hours of patient training. Each dog was carefully selected and trained to be very obedient to his handler before being used on the street. Each could be controlled while on or off leash with only hand signals, voice command, or both. They were taught to attack to protect their handler under all conditions, even in the face of gunfire if necessary. The training took a long time, but the work of the dog with his police officer partner made it worth the investment. After spending such long hours in preparation, it was only natural that every officer looked forward to the time when he could send his dog after a fleeing burglar or use his training in other ways to do “real police work.” I was no exception.
My big chance came late one Saturday night. It had been fairly quiet and I had been spending time checking back alleys when suddenly the silence was broken by the breathless voice of an excited officer calling for help. “Fifth West and Second South … gang fight … 9-1.” Nine-one is the code meaning emergency aid is needed, and every officer able to help responded.
I was nearly the first car to arrive. There were hundreds of people completely blocking the street, and many were fighting. The officers quickly identified those who seemed to be the ring leaders of the disturbance and systematically started making arrests. As the first few were isolated and hand-cuffed, most of the crowd seemed to vanish into the alleys and doorways. Soon there were only the police cars, lights flashing in the darkness, a few officers, and those who had been arrested.
As the crowd disbursed, most officers left the scene, and I was also preparing to leave for the jail with the prisoner I had handcuffed and placed in the front seat of my K–9 truck. My dog was still in the back, since I didn’t feel it was wise to use him with such a large crowd. I approached the driver’s door and had just opened it, when suddenly I was engulfed from behind in the tightest, biggest bear hug I had ever felt. I struggled and fought futilely. This big man was trying to rescue his friend whom I had arrested, and it looked like he might make it.
Now was the time to use my dog. His name was Dusty, and I struggled to reach the small release handle on the side of the vehicle. It would free the back door to the cage and allow the dog to get out. With a lunge I jerked the handle, my arms still pinned to my sides, and the door swung open. “Get him, Dusty,” I shouted. Dusty hit the street running, skidded as he turned back toward me and my captor, and then to my amazement he ran right past me and around the truck. I continued to shout for him to “get him,” but without response. Around and around he went, once, twice, then with sudden purpose he turned from his path and ran to the gutter where fresh water was running and paused for a drink. Thank goodness by this time another police officer came to my rescue.
I spent about another year in the K–9 Corps after that incident, but it was spent with a different dog. In spite of his fine performance in training, Dusty had proven that in real life he couldn’t be trusted.

As a member of the Church, you can expect that the full-time or the ward or branch missionaries will ask for the opportunity to help you make a list of people with whom you could share the gospel. The missionaries may suggest you think of relatives, neighbors, and acquaintances. They may ask you to set a date by which you will try to have the person or family prepared to be taught by the missionaries. I’ve had that experience. Because we in our family accepted that invitation from the missionaries, I was blessed to perform the baptism of a widow in her 80s, taught by sister missionaries.

When I placed my hands on her head to confirm her a member of the Church, I felt impressed to say that her choice to be baptized would bless generations of her family, after and before her. Even after she passed away, I was able to be in the temple with her son as he was sealed to her.

As a young man, I developed the idea that if I took care of the Lord’s business, he would take care of me. I’m not sure where I learned such an unsubstantiated idea, but it appealed to me, so I followed it faithfully for a number of years. It provided the comfortable insulation I wanted to shield me from the necessity of being cautious and careful. It allowed me to make excuses for minor business mishaps, problems at home, and even major catastrophes. “Surely the Lord is testing me,” I remarked when a business venture failed. “Satan is really after us,” I observed when contention threatened my family.

Because I felt the Lord would always take care of me, I felt no need to “study it out in [my] mind” (D&C 9:8) before asking God. I felt a quick little prayer would do. I often said, “Father, I’ve done my best to serve you, now I ask that you bless me in this endeavor.” I felt that if I magnified my Church calling, God wouldn’t let me lose my family—that if I put God first, I’d never want financially. I did not understand that by following such a procedure, I was yielding to the spirit of the temptation given to the Savior by Satan: “If thou be the Son of God, cast thyself down: for it is written, He shall give his angels charge concerning thee: and in their hands they shall bear thee up, lest at any time thou dash thy foot against a stone.” (Matt. 4:6.)

Finally, as more “tests” came my way, complete with frustration and disappointment, I began to examine my careless attitude. I began to study the scriptures and to prayerfully examine my responsibility for my affairs. The evidence overwhelmingly suggested that God wants us to work out our own plans and actions, always seeking his confirmation that our course is right. A relationship with God is not an alternative to personal effort. It is, rather, a guide along the stairway of growth and understanding, a stairway which we must climb through our own personal exertion. As I adopted this new approach, I ordered and took responsibility for my life.

It was one of those days that start out bad and only get worse. I sat on my bed wondering if I should do nothing but feel depressed or do something to cheer myself up. Cheering myself up seemed like too much for me to even try, so I did the easiest thing I could think of and picked up my scriptures. I looked under the heading “depressed” in the Index, and there I found the answer I had been searching for.
I turned to Alma 26:27 and started reading: “Now when our hearts were depressed, and we were about to turn back, behold, the Lord comforted us, and said: Go amongst thy brethren, the Lamanites, and bear with patience thine afflictions, and I will give unto you success.”
As I repeatedly read that scripture, I began to feel my depression disappear. I realized that if I could bear my afflictions with patience, God would grant me success. It was almost like a bright light at the end of a darkened tunnel.
Since that day, that particular scripture in Alma has become a treasured jewel in my life. I have memorized it, posted it in my room, and repeated it often when feelings of depression have again crept up on me. It reminds me that Heavenly Father is there when I need him, to comfort and to love me. Although I may not always realize just how much Heavenly Father loves me, reading these words brings me closer to him and helps me keep an eternal perspective.

While firefighters were battling roaring forest fires in the West recently, two grandmothers—Altha Clark, from Texas, and Hazel Stills, from Florida—kindled countless spiritual flames by creating new “interest of people who [had] investigated the Church for years, but who needed a firm, loving nudge to accept baptism,” and with caring fellowshipping, reached out to the less-active members.

“They don’t take no for an answer,” the second counselor in the Altamont Utah Stake presidency said, “and they [teach] without offending anyone.” They combine the Spirit with hard work.

A rancher said the two sisters “have kept us so busy I don’t have time to get my hay in. We … keep them [booked with people] to teach. In this stake, the full-time missionaries teach very few discussions without a stake missionary or fellowshipper going along.”

The two grandmothers travel about one hundred miles a day on unpaved country roads, and the dust and ruts don’t slow them down.

While visiting a member’s home, these remarkable missionaries asked if she knew someone they could teach.

The sister replied, “my husband.”

Directed by the Spirit how to approach this husband, they taught him the gospel and rejoiced with his wife at his baptism.

Fourteen families have now become active and will go to the temple this year because of the efforts of these full-time grandmother missionaries coordinating with the stake missionaries and properly following a plan in fellowshipping new members. A change has come about in the whole stake that has influenced the less active as well as nonmembers. (See Church News, 10 Sept. 1988, pp. 8, 9, 12.)

At the heart of their celebrating, however, is the remembrance of Jesus Christ, and Finnish members use the season, like mission president Mel Luthy and his family, to live even more fully His teachings. On Christmas Eve in Finland, families often visit the graves of loved ones and leave lighted candles in the snow. An elderly sister, a widow, wished to travel from Helsinki to Porvoo so that she could visit her husband’s grave. She had, however, no means of transportation. The Luthys volunteered to share their holiday with her by driving her to the distant cemetery. It turned out to be a magical night—candles glowed and light danced. All was calm. All was bright.
Christmas had come to Finland!

I started playing the clarinet in sixth grade, and it came fairly easy to me. In junior high and high school, I always joined the school band. One year, I missed school on the day of the band tryouts. We weren’t trying out for acceptance into the band, but rather for what “seats” we would have and in what sections. I was horrified to learn that because I’d missed the tryouts I would be placed in the very last seat in the last clarinet section. I’d always been a first section player and often first chair. Sitting in the last chair embarrassed me and made me a little angry. My band teacher understood this and reminded me that I didn’t have to stay there—I could work my way back up throughout the year. I worked hard and eventually reached first chair again.

When a fire last year burned a housing complex, leaving 20 families homeless, LDS Charities stepped in to help. The families found homes to stay in temporarily in the community and at a chapel. And the Church donated canned and fresh food, stoves, lanterns, sheets, pillows, and mattresses. These supplies were dropped off at the Mini-Okoro chapel, where they were given to the families by full-time missionaries Elders Obadan and Abu and local Church leaders (below).

The parents of one family with 11 children shed tears of gratitude when they received their supplies. Another family said the whole community celebrated with them when the family returned with their supplies.

Dealing with Divorce
Bret Bryce, 15, Farragut Ward
My parents got divorced about five years ago. We were in the living room on a Saturday morning. My parents came in and told us they were going to be separated for a while. I always thought we had the perfect family. I remember that everybody cried. We were really sad and scared. I felt like the world was about to end, a terrible sick feeling. I was praying and hoping that they would get back together. But it never happened. They each got married to other people, really good people.
I would tell kids going through the same thing that it’s not their fault. Just because your parents get divorced doesn’t mean they don’t love you.