Gospel Story Finder

Another man attended a stake leadership meeting where the congregation was challenged to double their fast offerings; they were promised that their incomes would increase if they would do so. As this brother reported,
“I went home and discussed this promise with my wife. We were already paying a lot of fast offerings. We were willing to double the amount but did not want to do it for a selfish purpose. After prayer and consideration we decided to double our fast offerings. Not long after this, unexpected opportunities started coming to me in my work. After one year my income had significantly increased! We felt this was truly a blessing from the Lord—the fulfillment of a promise given to us by one of his servants.”

I grew up in a Latter-day Saint home with loving parents and a sister and brothers whom I adored. I was generally happy, but there were times when I struggled, not knowing who I was and questioning my purpose in life. During my late junior high years I had few friends at school and wondered if anyone really loved me.
One Sunday evening during this time, a youth fireside was held specifically for young women and their fathers. Throughout the meeting I thought about my life. I dreaded the coming week of school and couldn’t find one thing to look forward to. Consumed with my own thoughts, I was only half listening to the fireside speakers. I didn’t even realize the speakers had finished until the congregation began singing the closing song.
The words were familiar, but I had never paid attention to their meaning before. Walk tall, you’re a daughter, a child of God. I straightened up in my seat. I was a daughter of God. Be strong—please remember who you are. Why had I been questioning who I was? The answer was clear in the teachings of the gospel I had learned throughout my life. Try to understand, you’re part of His great plan. I was part of His plan. He had a mission for me if I would but follow His teachings and live righteously. He’s closer than you know—reach up, He’ll take your hand. I had felt alone in the world when all along my Father in Heaven was there beside me, waiting for me to reach up for His hand (see New Era, Jan. 1996, 10–11).
As I sang those words I was comforted by the knowledge that I was important. I was part of Heavenly Father’s plan, and He was by my side, ready and willing to help me every step of the way. I had known this my entire life but had somehow forgotten. The answer I was searching for and the lesson I needed to learn came to me through the words of a song.

“Bedtime!” Mommy called from upstairs.
Grace’s blonde curls bounced as she hopped up the stairs and into her room. She grabbed her fluffy stuffed bunny and jumped into bed. Then she jumped right back out again.
“Mommy, I can’t go to bed yet. I forgot something very important.”
Mommy smiled. “I think you’re right.”
Grace ran to her dresser and pulled out her favorite fuzzy pajamas. She put them on and slid back under the covers.
Suddenly she sat up . “I still forgot something very important.”
“I think you’re right,” Mommy answered patiently.
“I need a glass of milk. I always have milk before I go to bed.”
Mommy left and came back with a glass of cold milk. Grace drank every drop, then licked off her milk mustache.
“Now I’m ready for bed,” Grace said, snuggling deep into the warmth of her covers.
Only a second later, she popped out again. “Mommy, I still forgot something very important.
Mommy nodded. “I think you’re right.”
Grace hurried to the bathroom sink and brushed her teeth until they were shiny white. Then she washed her face and hands.
“Now I’m ready for bed.” Grace scampered back to her room and dove into her empty bed.
Before there was even time to say good night, she tumbled out again. “I still forgot something very important.”
“I think you’re right,” Mommy chuckled.
“I could never go to sleep without a hug and a kiss from my favorite people in the whole world.” She ran down the hall and bumped down the stairs to the living room. She pulled the newspaper out of Daddy’s hands and gave him a big bear hug and a kiss. Then she ran back up to her room, squeezed Mommy tight, and kissed her good night. “Now I’m ready for bed,” Grace said, crawling under her quilted covers and pulling them up to her eyes.
She pulled them right back down. “I still forgot something very important.”
“I think you’re right,” Mommy replied.
“I need a bedtime story. It will give me sweet dreams all night long.”
Mommy read Grace’s favorite fairy tale.
“Now I’m ready for bed,” Grace sighed. “I’m dressed in my warm pajamas. I had a yummy glass of milk. I brushed my teeth and washed my face. I kissed Mommy and Daddy good night, and I heard my favorite bedtime story.”
Then Grace gasped and her eyes got big. “Mommy, I forgot the most important thing of all!”
“I know you did,” Mommy agreed.
Grace slipped out of bed onto her knees. She folded her arms, bowed her head, and closed her eyes. Her mother joined her. Then Grace said a prayer to Heavenly Father. She thanked Him for all that she had, and asked Him to bless her. Grace was glad to talk to Heavenly Father. She knew that He listened to her prayers. When she finished in the name of Jesus Christ, she felt warm inside. Happily she climbed back into bed. Mother tucked the covers under her chin and turned off the light.
Now I really am ready for bed, Grace thought as she drifted peacefully off to sleep.

Some years ago while visiting in Australia, I accompanied the mission president on a flight to Darwin to break ground for that city’s first Latter-day Saint chapel. We stopped for refueling at the small mining community of Mt. Isa. There we were met at the terminal by a mother and her two children of Primary age. She introduced herself as Judith Louden and mentioned that she and her two children were the only members of the Church in the town. Her husband, Richard, was not a member. After four years as Church members, they had never lived where there was an organized branch of the Church. We held a brief meeting, where I discussed the importance of holding a home Primary session each week. I promised to send from Church headquarters the home Primary materials to assist them. There was a commitment to pray, to meet, to persevere in faith.
Upon returning to Salt Lake City, I not only sent the promised materials, but also a subscription to the Friend.
Years later, while attending the stake conference of the Brisbane Australia Stake, I mentioned in a priesthood session the plight of this faithful woman and her children. I said, “Someday I hope to learn how that home Primary succeeded and to meet the nonmember husband and father of that choice family.” One of the brethren in the meeting stood and said, “Brother Monson, I know Richard Louden, the husband of that good woman and father of those precious children. Prayer and Primary brought him into the Church.”

I would like to share with you two of the best ways I have learned in my life to build confidence in yourself and overcome your fears. (1) I remember Dave Bennion. He and I used to double date in college. We had some wonderful outings to the beach where we would make homemade ice cream or to eat at Fisherman's Wharf . Once after a double date, Dave pulled me aside and said-not in any way boasting, "When I come home from a date it is a wonderful feeling to look myself in the mirror and know that I have kept the standards of morality. It is a great feeling inside to know there has been no problem in crossing the line-that I am clearly on solid ground. It feels good just to look myself in the mirror and know that there are no problems with morality and chastity."
Remember Doctrine and Covenants 121:45 "Let virtue garnish thy thoughts unceasingly -- then shall thy confidence wax strong in the presence of God". This is a principle with a promise.
Thank heavens for the Dave Bennions of the world.

I remember my husband sharing an experience he had years ago as he participated in a 20-kilometer running race. Running in a very hot climate, in the middle of the day can be very challenging. The heat is unbearable, your feet, knees and legs ache, you may have injuries and blisters. You may wonder why you engaged in this challenge and wished you could have just stayed home sleeping or doing something fun! You may even want to quit. But why are you here? You came to accomplish a goal, something important to you, to overcome a difficulty and feel the satisfaction, the joy of making it to the finish line. He shared what helped him stay focused and make it to the end. When you have a race like this, you have people posted on the road holding out bottles of water to every participant. Just imagine if you had to run a 20 kilometers without being able to drink along the way? Finishing would be impossible.
But because of this fresh water found all along the way, he was able to reach his goal.

I remember my very first day at BYU. Being African American and a nonmember of the Church, I felt nervous and unsure, and I noticed all the stares that made me feel as if I didn’t belong. In my first class I sat in the back, avoiding eye contact and hoping the professor didn’t call on me. I felt completely alone.

When I checked my schedule, I saw that my next class was a Book of Mormon class. My first thought was to skip it, go home, and prepare for football practice. But a quiet inner voice told me to go, and I listened.

I arrived late to a large auditorium full of students and was about to sit in the back when an older woman near the front stood up waving her hand in front of all the students and saying, “Jamal, I saved a seat for you!”

I was so embarrassed. But when I reached the front row, she greeted me with excitement and gave me a big hug. In that moment I felt loved and cared for. For the first time I felt as if I belonged. That woman was Patty Edwards, Coach LaVell Edwards’s wife.

You will never fully know the influence you can have in a person’s life and the effect it can have for generations to come. Because of the many hope givers in my life, I am three generations deep with my beautiful wife, our children, and our grandchildren, living a wonderful life with God and His eternal plan of peace, hope, and happiness. So please, be that hope, give that hope. That’s what a BYU education can provide.

At times an awareness of the elderly is brought into focus by a reminder from one ever so young. May I share with you a Pakistani folktale which illustrates this truth:
An ancient grandmother lived with her daughter and grandson. As she grew frail and feeble, instead of being a help around the house, she became a constant trial. She broke plates and cups, lost knives, spilled water. One day, exasperated because the old woman had broken another precious plate, the daughter sent the grandson to buy his grandmother a wooden plate. The boy hesitated because he knew a wooden plate would humiliate his grandmother. But his mother insisted, so off he went. He returned bringing not one, but two wooden plates.
“I asked you to buy only one,” his mother said. “Didn’t you hear me?”
“Yes,” said the boy. “But I bought the second one so there would be one for you when you get old.”

The Samkumar family holds their own family home evening every Monday night. They invite neighbors, friends, and family to come and share the gospel with them, but sharing the gospel in a country where people have been brought up to believe in many different gods can be frustrating at times.
“Sometimes they say, ‘maybe Jesus is also true, but we won’t change from our Hindu gods.’” But Kiruba doesn’t let herself get discouraged and believes that the Church will continue to grow in India.
As Kiruba shares her testimony with others, she also looks for ways to help it grow every day. Through faith, study, and prayer, Kiruba is growing in the gospel.

It was Little Wind’s unusual compassion and regard for the buffalo that caused his father to give the old four-legged special consideration. A great scaffold was prepared and its body carried on a litter to the sacred burial grounds that stood on the high jagged cliffs above the village. It was the first time such a thing had been done for any but a Sioux in the history of their people.
Little Wind climbed the steep trail in the icy November wind to the top of the butte to pay final tribute to the old buffalo. He watched as the mighty beast was hoisted up onto the scaffold, covered with furs, and secured with rope. Little Wind’s mother and little sister, Night Fawn, along with a few other village women, heaped brambles at the base of the scaffold to keep away wild animals. Then Ten Days Walking and the others left Little Wind alone to express his mourning.
When the sun had made its journey across the heavens, Little Wind turned from the wind-lashed scaffold and descended the darkened mesa to the village below.

Several years ago a dear friend, who is a descendant of Hyrum Smith, asked if I would help him research the teachings of Hyrum. Though not a descendant myself, I readily agreed to help.

In February 2000, because of my research, I received an invitation to the family celebration of Hyrum's 200th birthday. Many hundreds of Hyrum's descendants gathered in the Assembly Hall on Temple Square. Elder M. Russell Ballard, Hyrum's great-great-grandson attended and President Gordon B. Hinckley made a surprise appearance as well.

As I looked around at all those descendants of Hyrum Smith, I wondered about the research I had been asked to do. Why me? With all those descendants, why should I be asked to do the work? In the midst of my contemplation, an unmistakable voice whispered to my soul, "Because you are willing."

Looking back, I now see that message as typical of Hyrum's life. In fact, I came to feel that it was Hyrum's voice.

My husband, Cory, and I serve as ordinance workers in the temple. Before our shift I often find myself sitting in front of a painting of a distraught Mary and Martha being comforted by a weeping Jesus.

In the painting, the women have brought their troubles to Christ and are having a moment of undisturbed connection with their Savior. They are allowing Him to minister to them, and He is bringing them comfort and lifting their burdens.

One day I found myself craving this level of individual connection with the Savior. A thought came clearly to my mind: “I show up every morning at our appointed time for you to receive this kind of ministering. Do you?”

This question changed how I thought about my mornings with the Lord. I thought back to my recent morning scripture study, which involved a rushed listening of the audio version of the Book of Mormon at two-times speed in my car on my way to work. Although I still considered listening to the scriptures a good practice, it didn’t provide me with the depth of experience that I was craving. I was seeking rest, healing, guidance, and assurance, but I was barely giving God enough time in my life to allow for that kind of experience.

Sometimes we go to the cemetery to put flowers on Hans’s grave. I told Mom that it’s kind of like the park where we had our family reunion. She hugged me tightly and told me that when Resurrection Day comes, the good people who have been buried will meet with everybody that they love, and it will be the biggest family reunion that you ever saw. I can hardly wait to hug Hans when he is resurrected. I miss him a lot, but I know that he is happy because he lives with Heavenly Father and Jesus.

My mom taught us to question whether is it kind, necessary, or true before we say something. That has cut back on a lot of teasing that hurts. And if we still say it, our mom will make us sing the song “Kindness Begins With Me” (Children’s Songbook, 145). After singing that song about a half a dozen times, we got tired of singing and just quit saying those hurtful things.
Rebeka M., 16, Missouri, USA

Once upon a time there was a flabby heart. It sat all inflated and bunchy in the chest cavity of an inert teenager. Rather pressed for space by over-sized and flabby organs like the stomach (a terrible space hog!), the head was always elbowing the ribs for more room.
All day long this flaccid pump would heave blood through the circulatory system—lub dub, lub dub, obviously with little relish for its job. Life did have its rewards for the heart though. Between a lub and a dub it would pause for a minute to nibble on a few of the fatty acids the stomach was processing. (For all the crowding the over-sized stomach caused, the heart certainly enjoyed all the goodies it put out. Why only today the stomach had processed four milk shakes and three orders of French fries.)
The flabby heart led a rather peaceful, routine existence and was fairly happy. It could shove the blood around pretty well most of the time, and it had the body it ran well disciplined. When the heart shook with fear at the sight of a long flight of stairs, it could usually talk the person into taking the elevator. If subjected to a short run on the way to the refrigerator from the TV, it would simply pound ferociously against the chest and scream, “Stop this instant!” Usually the person stopped running immediately. And when it was once again in front of the TV munching on those delicious fatty acids, life for the heart seemed just wonderful.
Resting there in front of the TV, the heart was blissfully unaware it was part of a growing problem. For out there in front of thousands of other TV sets were many more flabby hearts, victims of a lack of exercise and physical conditioning common in today’s convenient society. Even with (and possibly because of) the currently faddish “no sweat” conditioning programs and “30 second” fitness apparatus, America’s, and the world’s, hearts continue to get flabbier and flabbier.
The flabby heart had obviously never heard of a cardiovascular endurance program; it was too busy resting. Then one day the person visited his doctor. The doctor gave him a complete physical and delivered a short but firm lecture on the dangers of being physically unfit. All the talk disturbed the heart, and as the steely cold stethoscope pressed against it, the heart somehow knew its days of delicious fatty acids and complete inactivity were drawing to a close. Resigning itself to this horrible fate, the heart heaved another batch of blood on by and considered resigning, retiring, or just plain going on strike. But instead, it began running.
The flabby heart got busy working toward physical fitness the very next morning after seeing the doctor. And at the beginning it wasn’t too enthusiastic.
The first time the person ran around the block, the flabby heart decided he’d teach the person a good lesson. He pounded and thumped as hard as he could, making only the required efforts at supplying oxygen, until the person was out of breath, red in the face, and sweating profusely. Thinking the person would forever give up such activity after such abuse, the heart was surprised to be subjected to the same treatment the next day. The person was determined to make his conditioning program successful.
Oh, and if you are wondering what happened to the flabby heart, the person kept on running. Day after day, week after week. It took quite a while for the heart to get used to all that extra work, but soon it found it could really throw the blood around through the arteries. The stomach got smaller, and the heart found it had more room to work in. After several months it was beating more slowly and efficiently and didn’t miss the excess fatty acids at all.
That was one heart that did live happily ever after.

One Saturday when I was a bishop, I was preparing to go out with my family to the beach when the Spirit caused me to stop. My family asked what happened, and I responded that I couldn’t go with them because I had to visit a certain couple. I didn’t understand the reason, but I returned home and prayed and felt that I should take with me a copy of the Liahona. I did not know what message I would share, but as I arrived I felt I should talk about eternal marriage.
Later, the husband told me that God sent me there because they had been having a fight that stopped when I arrived. What that couple needed at that moment was the message I had brought.
It is very important that we have the Liahona in our homes because we don’t know when we will need it to solve our problems. I am grateful to always have the Liahona in my home. I feel the Spirit stronger when I read it and seek to apply its teachings.Marcial F. Lima, Brazil

It had been a long night of practice, and I was ready to go home. As I pulled out of the school parking lot, I noticed a friend waiting in the dark for a ride. I nodded and waved to him as I drove past.
But I was only a couple blocks down the road when I felt a strong impression that I needed to turn around. So I drove back and asked my friend if he needed a ride. He said he did.
As we started driving home, the topic of religion came up. I was surprised when he asked me hesitantly, “So … what do you typically do on Sundays?”
I told him that Sunday is a day where I take time to worship Heavenly Father and be with family. He was intrigued and continued to ask questions. Before dropping him off, I invited him to come to church. He accepted, and the next Sunday, he joined my family and me at church and even participated in our at-home Come, Follow Me discussion afterwards.
My friend eventually started coming to church every Sunday and even got baptized. Now we go to the temple together with our friends.
Seeing his experience helped me realize how much God loves all of His children. If I hadn’t heeded that prompting to turn around, I’m not sure I would’ve been a part of my friend’s amazing journey. I know the Lord can work through us when we heed the Spirit’s promptings.
Morgan G., Arizona, USA

As a young father, I learned the demanding role of motherhood. I served as a counselor and then as bishop for a period of 10 years. During that time we were blessed with six of our seven children. Barbara was often worn-out by the time I got home Sunday evening. She tried to explain what it was like to sit on the back row in sacrament meeting with our young family. Then the day came that I was released. After sitting on the stand for 10 years, I was now sitting with my family on the back row.

The ward’s singing mothers’ chorus was providing the music, and I found myself sitting alone with our six children. I have never been so busy in my whole life. I had the hand puppets going on both hands, and that wasn’t working too well. The Cheerios got away from me, and that was embarrassing. The coloring books didn’t seem to entertain as well as they should.

As I struggled with the children through the meeting, I looked up at Barbara, and she was watching me and smiling. I learned for myself to more fully appreciate what all of you dear mothers do so well and so faithfully!

When I was a freshman at BYU, I was so looking forward to receiving a call and beginning to serve in my campus ward. During our first week in the ward, we filled out surveys indicating our talents, interests, and experience. About a week later I had an appointment with the bishop. After the introductory exchange he said, “Sister Nyland, we’d like you to serve as the Relief Society chorister.” I nearly fell off the chair. I said, “But Bishop, I don’t know anything about music.” He was quite surprised at that and said, “Well, let’s look at the cards.” All of the data from our surveys had been entered onto punch cards (something many of you are too young to remember), and he stuck a skinny little knitting needle into the hole for music ability. Mine was the only card that came out of the stack as having no musical skill. He thought that was interesting, as did I, but he asked me if I’d like to try anyway. Well, I’d been raised to accept callings, so I told him that I would accept this call and ask my roommate to help me. Susan and I went to the basement of our dorm, and she sat at the piano, plunking out the melody with one hand and showing me how to lead it with the other. We practiced and practiced each Saturday. I did learn the pattern for 4/4 and 3/4 time, but I never could quite get the pattern to match the beat of the music. Mercifully, after about a month I was released, and my roommate was called to lead the music!

My Father
I was 16 years old when I realized my father was not perfect. Our family was a pillar of the small community where I grew up. We attended church every Sunday. Our membership and service in the Church was who we were. When I was eight years old, my dad was my Cubmaster, and the best Cubmaster the Cub Scouts ever had. When I was starting high school, he was in the bishopric. My dad was just the best. It was a surprise when we were told to wait at home when my parents went to church earlier than usual one Sunday morning. When they returned, they informed us that my father had been excommunicated from the church. They didn’t tell us why. I later found out the details and this hurt deeply. It embarrassed me; I knew that my friends knew, and I had a very difficult time at a very vulnerable point in my life. My dad also lost his job and this put a heavy burden on my family, and I didn’t take it well. I resented my father for years and blamed him for a lot of my insecurities and failures. I blamed him for much longer than he deserved.
What I failed to realize is that my father was making sacrifices necessary for him to return to the covenant path. My dad never lost hope. He rededicated himself to his family, to obedience, and to the gospel of Jesus Christ. Through humility, determination, and the process of repentance, he was able to take advantage of the greatest sacrifice of all: the Atonement of our Savior Jesus Christ. The process was difficult, but he was forgiven by God. He was forgiven by my mother. He was re-baptized, held significant callings in the Church, and remained faithful to the gospel for his entire life. He made significant sacrifices to make it possible to stay on the covenant path. He remained the best dad ever. I, however, still struggled with his mistake and what it did to our family.
It took me years—decades really—to understand that my dad was a great example of somebody who was willing to do everything it took to get himself right in the eyes of God. Jesus Christ paid for our sins, and my dad made the necessary sacrifices in his life so that he could take advantage of the Savior’s Atonement. The reality is that his mistake and his willingness to become humble and to seek repentance and to ask for forgiveness has made me a more understanding, less judgmental, and a more compassionate father, husband, and friend.
I think I realized too late that my dad is a hero. He died a little over a year ago. I miss him dearly and I wish we could have gotten to a point where I could have fully embraced and appreciated who he was, but something continued to hold me back. I regret that deeply. I hope he knows now how much I love him. I hope he knows how indebted our family is to the sacrifices he made.