Gospel Story Finder

When Katy Ballenger started volunteering at Primary Children’s Medical Center in Salt Lake City, Utah, she had no idea her life would be changed forever. On her last day volunteering at the hospital, the nurses asked her to spend the day with a terminally ill boy who spoke little and who smiled even less. She read stories to him and played with him all day, and, after all her efforts, the boy laughed. He was sad to see her go at the end of the day. “I realized I had made a difference in this child’s life,” Katy says.
After experiencing the good feelings that resulted from her service, Katy decided to make a difference and continue to use the gifts her Heavenly Father had given her to serve others.

Waupee came upon a ring in the prairie that seemed to have been worn by many moving feet, but there was no trail leading to or from the ring. Waupee hid, and soon twelve dancing sisters descended to earth in a basket and began to dance around the ring. Waupee caught one of the sisters and claimed her as his bride. One day they traveled back to the stars, taking with them earthly gifts. There was great rejoicing when Waupee and his family arrived, and each one there chose a gift. Waupee and his wife and son chose a feather from the white hawk, and together they became white hawks and returned to earth.

Brother and Sister Smith were an elderly couple in their late seventies who had been baptized for one year, had just gone to the temple to be sealed to their family, and had just received their patriarchal blessings. Right before I left on my mission, in a fast and testimony meeting, Brother Smith stood to bear his testimony. He asked for the attention of all the young men and women, pulled out his blessing, unfolded the paper, and read, “Brother Smith. You and your wife would have joined the Church many years earlier except the missionary who was supposed to teach you the gospel decided not to go on a mission.”

To every young man and young woman within the sound of my voice, I challenge you to prepare yourself to accept the sacred call to serve the Lord on a full-time mission!

We’re Sam and Anastasia, and we try to SHINE OUR LIGHT by sharing with others!
Where we live, in Florida, USA, we see lots of people who are homeless. We wondered how we could help them. Jesus fed people who were hungry, and everyone needs to eat! So we decided to make emergency snack kits.
Our friend Joa helped us shop for supplies at the dollar store.
We put granola bars, bread sticks with cheese, and other yummy snacks in our kits. Sam even tried one!
Sharing our kits made us smile. Some people said, “Thank you!” and “Awesome!”
Our mom put our project on a website from the Church called JustServe.org so other people could make snack kits too. The young adult branch made 100 more snack kits for our local homeless shelter. The shelter used them to invite people to sign up for a program to help them get homes. That made us really happy!

Guy de Maupassant, the French writer, tells the story of a peasant named Hauchecorne. While walking through the public square, he caught sight of a piece of string lying on the cobblestones. He picked it up and put it in his pocket.
Later in the day the loss of a purse was reported. Hauchecorne was arrested and taken before the mayor. He protested his innocence, showing that it was only a piece of string that he had picked up. But he was not believed and was laughed at.
The next day the purse was found, and Hauchecorne was absolved [cleared] of any wrongdoing. But, resentful of the false accusation, he became embittered and would not let the matter die. Unwilling to forgive and forget, he thought and talked of little else. Everyone he met had to be told of the injustice. Obsessed with his grievance, he became ill and died.
In his death struggles, he repeatedly murmured, “A piece of string, a piece of string.” (See “The Piece of String,” in The Works of Guy de Maupassant [n.d.], 34–38.)

The very next day I had to go to the temple alone, leaving my family behind at the patron house. When I entered the temple, I was struck with fear because of language. I felt confused not knowing what to do, where to go, and how to participate in the ordinances. I was troubled. But God comforted me by offering help. Just then a sister appeared. She was full of love, she welcomed me with a hug; I was filled with warmth of the Holy Ghost—the Comforter. Thereafter, I was taught everything by the Holy Ghost. And I witnessed the presence of Heavenly Father and His Only Begotten Son, Jesus Christ, in the temple. I had a very glorious experience—an experience that will guide me through eternity. I knew then that no witness is given to us until after the trail of our faith.

Sometimes I find myself under obligations of work requiring quiet and seclusion such as neither my comfortable office nor the cozy study at home insures. My favorite retreat is an upper room in the tower of a large building, well removed from the noise and confusion of the city streets. The room is somewhat difficult of access and relatively secure against human intrusion. Therein I have spent many peaceful and busy hours with books and pen.
I am not always without visitors, however, especially in summertime; for when I sit with windows open, flying insects occasionally find entrance and share the place with me. These self-invited guests are not unwelcome. Many a time I have laid down the pen and, forgetful of my theme, have watched with interest the activities of these winged visitants, with an afterthought that the time so spent had not been wasted, for is it not true that even a butterfly, a beetle, or a bee may be a bearer of lessons to the receptive student?
A wild bee from the neighboring hills once flew into the room, and at intervals during an hour or more I caught the pleasing hum of its flight. The little creature realized that it was a prisoner, yet all its efforts to find the exit through the partly opened casement failed. When ready to close up the room and leave, I threw the window wide and tried at first to guide and then to drive the bee to liberty and safety, knowing well that if left in the room it would die as other insects there entrapped had perished in the dry atmosphere of the enclosure. The more I tried to drive it out, the more determinedly did it oppose and resist my efforts. Its erstwhile peaceful hum developed into an angry roar; its darting flight became hostile and threatening.
Then it caught me off my guard and stung my hand—the hand that would have guided it to freedom. At last it alighted on a pendant attached to the ceiling, beyond my reach of help or injury. The sharp pain of its unkind sting aroused in me rather pity than anger. I knew the inevitable penalty of its mistaken opposition and defiance, and I had to leave the creature to its fate. Three days later I returned to the room and found the dried, lifeless body of the bee on the writing table. It had paid for its stubbornness with its life.

Years ago when I was serving as a bishop, a recently converted family moved into our rural Utah community. These good people had joined the Church in the eastern United States and had been warmly fellowshipped and put to work in a small branch there. When they came to our larger, more-established ward, they somehow slipped through the cracks. Some of the family members, particularly the father, became disenchanted with the Church and its members.

One Sunday morning when I noticed the father was missing from priesthood meeting, I left the meetinghouse and drove to his home. He invited me in, and we had a very honest conversation about the struggle he was having with his new faith and neighbors. After exploring various possibilities for responding to his concerns, none of which seemed to appeal to him very much, I asked him with a tone of frustration in my voice just what we could do to help him. I’ve never forgotten his reply:

“Well, bishop,” he said (and I will need to paraphrase here slightly), “for heaven’s sake, whatever you do, please don’t assign me a friend.”

I learned a great lesson that day. No one wants to become a “project”; we all want spontaneously to be loved. And, if we are to have friends, we want them to be genuine and sincere, not “assigned.”

Mark Peterson was ordained a deacon one Sunday last March. When the family returned from church, the telephone rang. It was the deacons president who asked for an appointment for the presidency of the deacons quorum to visit with Mark and with his parents. The appointment was set. Promptly at the hour set, the doorbell rang. The members of the presidency stood on the porch, dressed in suits, white shirts, and ties, and each one carrying his scriptures.

Sitting down with Mark and his parents, they began with prayer, then handed an agenda to everyone there.

The president then opened the scriptures, having Mark and his father read those references which speak of the power of the Aaronic Priesthood, what it is, and the particular duties of a deacon.

The president then spoke about Mark’s particular responsibilities and duties: how he should dress, how he should pass the sacrament, act as a messenger, collect fast offerings. And then they asked him if he had any questions.

At the end of the visit they welcomed him to the quorum and offered help whenever he needed it. As they left, Mark’s eyes were as big as saucers. He said to his Dad: “They were awesome!”

Elder Fyans will always remember a story his mother told him about herself as a baby. This story has been a source of faith and strength to him over the years. “My mother was the first white girl born in Tuba, Arizona. One morning when she had barely learned to walk, she fell into an open fireplace and was badly burned. Her father was away from home at the time, but something impressed him that he should return home. Arriving home about four o’clock in the morning, he found that his little daughter was critically burned. Grandmother said, ‘Let the child die. She’s so badly scarred.’ But my grandfather picked his little daughter up in his arms, and he and the patriarch gave her a blessing. He blessed her that she would not be scarred and that one day she would sing before the crowned heads of Europe. That kind of blessing for a little child born on an Indian reservation was impressive.

“My mother grew to be a healthy, normal child, and, as the blessing had promised, she was not scarred. As she grew to maturity, she sang for a number of years with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. The choir toured Europe and she did sing before royalty there, fulfilling the blessing given to her years before by those having priesthood authority.”

Third, an opportunity for development. My children taught me a great lesson one day. We had moved from California to New York where I had accepted an employment opportunity and we were in the process of finding a new home. We started close to the city, but each day that passed we would move further out to find a home more suited to our needs. In Connecticut we found just the one. It was a beautiful home nestled in New England’s radiant forests. We were all pleased with the selection. The final test before making an offer for purchase was to ride the train into New York to check out the commuting time. I made the trip and returned very discouraged. The trip required an hour and a half each way. I returned to the motel where my family was waiting for me and gave them the choice of having a father or this new home. Much to my surprise, they said, “We will take the home. You are not around much anyway.”
The shock of that statement was overwhelming to me. If that statement was true, I needed to repent fast. My children deserved a father. Is it not our obligation as fathers to spend as much time as possible with our children, to teach them honesty, industry, and morality?

One of the most reassuring thoughts that has comforted me throughout my years has been: “I chose to come here. I sustained Christ’s plan rather than Satan’s in the premortal existence.” We all knew, before we were born, that we were coming to earth and would experience joy and sorrow. We eagerly accepted the plan. My father made this point very clear to me some years ago. I was wrestling with what to me seemed major issues in my life, with prayers not yet answered, or so I thought. Into my mind I heard him speak, although he had been gone for several years: “My dear, don’t trouble yourself about the little things, and the big things you already agreed to before you came.” We chose this life, with the struggles. We chose to accept the forgetting and to see whether we would walk by faith.

The older members of the Farr West Third Ward, Plain City Utah Stake, were invited to an evening of formal dining and dancing hosted by the ward’s Young Men and Young Women.
The young people, dressed in their best, picked up their special guests in chauffeur-driven cars. They served dinner, provided a photographer to record the event, and led a sing-along.
The young hosts had earned the money to hold the dinner by sponsoring a spook alley during the week preceding Halloween.

Shortly thereafter, Joseph Smith went to Colesville to preach and hold meetings, probably because he knew that the Knights were ready to receive the gospel. While there, he challenged Newel Knight to pray vocally. In the attempt, Newel was attacked by an evil spirit that lifted him from the floor “and tossed him about most fearfully.” Neighbors gathered, and then saw the Prophet command the devil in the name of Jesus Christ to depart. Newel felt great relief and gladly accepted baptism. (This exorcism was the first miracle performed in the restored church.)7 He became the first of more than sixty of the Knight clan to join the Church.

The Kloosterman family has enjoyed the blessings of being free from the bondage of debt. When Kevin Kloosterman was called as the bishop of his ward in Illinois, USA, his family had some consumer debt. His stake president reminded him of the First Presidency’s counsel, and Bishop Kloosterman left the interview determined to pay off the debt. “We had always … tried to put the Lord first,” he recalls. “In this one case, we hadn’t.”
The Kloosterman family studied the scriptures and modern-day counsel related to finance and debt and took the steps necessary to achieve their goal. It became clear that they were being blessed by the Lord for heeding the counsel of His servants. “There is no affliction in mortality which the Savior cannot heal,” Bishop Kloosterman says. “If He can deliver us from the captivity of sin and death, He can certainly deliver us out of financial bondage.”

Some years ago in the early spring, I took my little niece Shelly’s hand in mine, and for hours we carefully picked our way from one rock to the next along a creek bed shaded by some tall trees. The gurgling water was like a musical accompaniment to the dance we were creating, as we would take a step, hesitate, reach, step forward, and then wait a moment to secure our balance.
Before long, we were drawn to an open meadow where some large cottonwood trees had been recently cut. Making my way through the tall grass, I held Shelly’s hand as she cautiously placed one foot ahead of the other, walking the full length of the tree and back again. We noticed in that springtime tender green shoots forcing their way through the earthy floor, and we saw the winter snow receding toward the mountain peaks. It seemed as though all of nature bore evidence of God’s creations and his great love for us.
Our afternoon activities continued until the evening breeze reminded us that our special day was coming to a close.
Approaching the narrow, steep garden path leading to my home, I let go of Shelly’s hand, allowing her to go first. Our hands stuck together for a moment. A bond had formed from the warmth of the day through our shared adventures.
Just before reaching the clearing near the house, we stopped. Bending down, I lifted Shelly up to see into a little nest built by a robin in the branch of a tree.
At the close of this memorable day, before tucking my little niece (whom my sister shares with me) into bed, we knelt together while she expressed her own thanks which included gratitude for the creek, the slippery rocks, the big tree, and the robin’s nest. Feeling a renewed appreciation for the same wonderful blessings, I tucked the covers around her and bent down for a goodnight kiss. Reaching up, placing both arms around my neck, and pulling me close to her, Shelly whispered, “I wish we were in the same family.”
“Shelly, my dear,” I quickly explained, “we are in the same family.”
“No, I mean the very same family. My last name is Larsen, and your last name is Kapp, and that isn’t the same. I mean, if you were my sister and we had the very same last name.”
Even though she was very young, I felt that she might sense security in our eternal relationship if I could somehow awaken within her a great eternal truth.
“Shelly, we really are in the very same family. You see, we are all our Heavenly Father’s children, every one of us, and that makes us members of one great family. We are brothers and sisters, and Jesus is our brother, too, our elder brother.”
“Then what is Jesus’ last name?” she asked.
“Shelly, we know our Savior as Jesus the Christ.” With the pure innocence of youth, she began to make us all one family by linking my first name with the surname “The Christ.”
“Oh, no, my dear! We don’t put our names together like that.”
“But why not?” she asked.
Wanting her to be aware of the sacredness of our relationship with the Savior, I tried to explain: “I guess maybe it’s because sometimes we are not good enough. I don’t feel worthy yet.”
With that, she raised up on her elbow. “What do you do that’s wrong? Why don’t you stop doing it, and then we can all be in the same family? We can all use His name.”
I pondered the answer to her simple questions. I heard in my mind words as though I was hearing them for the first time. And yet, it had been only two days since I had attended sacrament meeting where I had listened to the same words. I had heard them with my ears so often before, but now it seemed different. It was as though I was hearing them with my whole heart and soul: “… that they are willing to take upon them the name of thy Son, and always remember him and keep his commandments which he has given them …” (D&C 20:77).
As I held Shelly’s little hand in mine for one last squeeze before tiptoeing from her room that evening some years ago, a feeling of gratitude and reverence came flooding forth as I realized that while her hand had been in mine for most of the afternoon as I helped her through the creek, across the rocks, and over the tree and lifted her up to see the miracle of life unfolding in a robin’s nest, this child led me to begin a search that would lead me to a better understanding of a great eternal truth. King Benjamin explained it for us:
“And now, because of the covenant which ye have made ye shall be called the children of Christ, his sons, and his daughters; for behold, this day he hath spiritually begotten you; for ye say that your hearts are changed through faith on his name; therefore, ye are born of him and have become his sons and his daughters” (Mosiah 5:7).
We can all be members of the same family. If you’re doing something you shouldn’t, consider Shelly’s question to me: Why don’t you stop? It may not always be easy, but with his help we can overcome.

I have always enjoyed nature and the outdoors. I grew up in Boise, Idaho, and one of my favorite things to do when I was out of school in the summer was to go to my aunt’s ranch. There I herded cows, rode horses, swam in the canal, and often slept in the haystack under the stars.
Oh, how I admired the boys and girls who lived on ranches and farms! They had opportunities that those of us who were raised in the city never had.
However, within a half mile of where I lived in Boise was a river that ran through the city. There was a wooded area there that I loved to go to after school or on Saturdays. My dog was my pal, and we went there together and sailed boats or made whistles out of willows. We watched the beavers make dams and the fish swim in the water. We watched the birds build nests and hatch their young.
As I grew older, I joined the local Boy Scout troop and enjoyed hiking and camping in the summertime with my friends. Many of these boys were in Primary with me. My mother was Primary president, and my younger sister, Dorothy, and I were regular attenders.
My father, however, was not a member of the Church, and when I had my eighth birthday, I was not baptized.
I did have a testimony, though. I knew that God lived. My mother had taught me to pray and to thank Heavenly Father for all the things that I enjoyed. I often thanked Him for the beauty of the earth and for the wonderful times that I had at the ranch and by the river and with the Scouts. I also learned to ask Him for the things that I wanted or needed.
I went to all the Church meetings and activities, but it wasn’t until I was twelve that I really missed not being baptized. By that time, all my friends had been ordained deacons. Because I wasn’t an official member of the Church, I wasn’t able to do many of the things that they did. Passing the sacrament and building a fire to warm up the meetinghouse were only two of the responsibilities that I watched my friends do without me.
So my sister and I began coaxing our father to allow us to be baptized. We also prayed that he might say yes. We were overjoyed when he finally gave his consent, and I was baptized when I was thirteen years old. A whole new world opened up to me as I learned the responsibilities of being a member of the Church and holding the priesthood.
I’m grateful for the influence of the Church in those early years and for my mother’s teachings. Even though I wasn’t baptized until later than many children, I knew that God loved me and listened to me.

My sisters and I asked our parents to have a family home evening about emergency preparedness. First we tried out our two-story ladder, and we got to leave the house out the upstairs window. It was a little scary, but it was fun. We talked about what to do if there really was a fire. Then my parents pretended that someone was at the door, telling us we had to evacuate and we only had 10 minutes and may not be able to go home for a few days! We ran around, trying to find our shoes and coats. My parents put our 72-hour kits and some other items in the van.
We drove around and pretended we were going to a safe place. A few minutes later we were home again. We brought our gear into the living room to see what we had. My parents realized we forgot a few things—sleeping stuff, Dad’s wallet, and extra food. We talked about things we learned and what we should do better next time. Mom made a list.
Four days later some parts of the city were flooding. During the night we were evacuated! My parents again tossed everything into the van—including the things we forgot during our practice in family home evening. We were the first to leave our neighborhood.
We drove to the church and spent the night there. It was fun! We all had sleeping bags and air mattresses and snacks and toys. My little sisters were very sad the next day when we went back home. They wanted to sleep at the church again. We were grateful my sisters and I we were inspired to have a family home evening about preparedness and that my parents listened. I’m glad we were prepared; it made the experience fun and not at all scary.

Sandra, a BYU Relief Society president, told the following story. “I got up one morning and went out to my car. The tire was flat. Luckily it was Saturday and I didn’t have to be anywhere right away, so I called my home teacher and asked him if he could come over and fix it for me. He said sure, and a while later, there he was at my doorstep. I walked out to the parking lot with him, all set to give him moral support and compliments on his chivalry in coming to my rescue. Was I surprised when, upon arriving at my car, he handed me the jack and said, ‘Okay, Sandra, this is your car. You had better learn how to change a tire.’ At the time I wasn’t so sure I agreed with his reasoning, but I did change the tire! And I’m kind of glad now that I know how.”

This experience of ritualizing the sacrament has been a blessing in my life. Not long ago I had a profound experience with partaking of the emblems of the sacrament. On this particular Sunday I needed to be in two places at the same time: a ward conference and a Primary children’s sacrament meeting presentation. I knew I could figure out how to juggle both events but decided to pray to know where I should be. The answer was simple and came as a thought: the name of a man in our stake who was in a serious battle with cancer came to mind. He lived in the ward that was having their ward conference. I went to his ward.

As I sat in the back of the chapel contemplating the prompt to be there, I found myself filled with emotion. While I did not see this man in the congregation, I felt grateful that I had acted in obedience to the simple prompting. We sang one of my favorite sacrament hymns, “In Humility, Our Savior.” The words penetrated my heart:

In humility, our Savior, Grant thy Spirit here, we pray, As we bless the bread and water In thy name this holy day. Let me not forget, O Savior, Thou didst bleed and die for me When thy heart was stilled and broken On the cross at Calvary.

Fill our hearts with sweet forgiving; Teach us tolerance and love. Let our prayers find access to thee In thy holy courts above. Then, when we have proven worthy Of thy sacrifice divine, Lord, let us regain thy presence; Let thy glory round us shine.43

My whole soul seemed to be responding to the pleas of this song. I found myself reflecting on the Atonement and my opportunity to change. I desired to understand more of the humility of our Savior. My heart desired an example, a visualization of humble service.

In those first moments of the passing of the sacrament, I heard someone coming into the chapel. At the door was my friend, the man whose name had come to my mind that morning. He required the help of his brother and a walker. This man who was facing death slowly made his way to take his position at the right of the bishop, as he was serving as a counselor in the bishopric. I watched him struggle, unable to move on his own. I marveled as he took the steps to the rostrum. He didn’t have to be there, nor did he need to take his place on the stand. The entire congregation seemed to be in awe of his effort to perform his duty of being where he was supposed to be. Tears flowed freely as I watched him, and the Spirit whispered, “Here is an example of humility.” This was one of those precious, parabolic moments, filled with customized tutoring in response to heartfelt need.

In that moment I had a clear view of myself in the true light of the Son. I could see more of my potential to be a dutiful disciple. The Spirit testified a simple truth to me: perform your duty in humility. Here was an example of an offering of a broken heart and contrite spirit. I was changed by the example of another.

My friend died a few weeks later. At the viewing prior to the funeral service, his wife told me that he had awoken that morning with a desire to bear his testimony. While the opportunity to stand and testify with words was not granted, he testified to all of us that day in his deeds.