Gospel Story Finder

When I was young, my family was not active in the Church. My parents were good people, and they taught my brothers and me to make good choices. We always knew they loved us and wanted us to be happy.
In my home, my parents expected us to obey. Every Saturday was “work day.” Dad was a doctor, so he got up very early to go check on his patients. Before he left, he wrote a list of chores on our big chalkboard. Every week we tried to do the chores as fast as we could. But somehow the chores always lasted the whole day!
It wasn’t terrible, though. We liked spending time together. Mom made us lunch, and Dad came home to eat with us. We all took a break and sat outside together. We were happy when we obeyed.

When I was 11 years old, my bishop invited me and a few other young men my age to meet with him to discuss our responsibilities once we received the priesthood. He also shared with us his testimony of the Book of Mormon and made a request. I had no idea how much of an influence his words would have on my life.
Our bishop invited us to read the entire Book of Mormon five times before we served our missions. We would have about eight years to complete the task. It seemed daunting, given that I didn’t really enjoy reading, especially not text as difficult as scripture. Yet, for reasons I cannot remember or fully explain, my 11-year-old mind decided to take this challenge seriously. I started that night by reading chapter 1 of 1 Nephi.
I didn’t understand much of the chapter, but I had a feeling that I was doing the right thing. The next day I read another chapter, and although I still didn’t understand all of Nephi’s words, I had that same feeling.
As time went on, I read a little bit of the Book of Mormon every day. Later that year, I closed the book after reading Moroni 10 and beamed with a sense of accomplishment. The next time I saw my bishop, I told him with excitement that I had finished reading the entire Book of Mormon. He smiled and commended my efforts but then said, “Don’t forget—you still need to read it four more times before you leave on your mission!”
Later that night, I picked up the Book of Mormon again and flipped through the pages. It had taken me a long time to read it. Would it take me as long the second time? Was it worth it? As I pondered, I turned to 1 Nephi chapter 1. I started reading the first few verses, and the Spirit again confirmed to me that this was the right thing to do. So, I read on. This was the turning point for me where scripture study became a habit rather than a one-time goal.
Over the next several months, the stories seemed more familiar and made more sense. I recognized several meaningful verses from the first time I read it, and I highlighted them. When someone taught from the Book of Mormon at church, I started to recognize some stories and teachings.
As I read, the book slowly changed me. Line upon line, precept upon precept, I started to understand and draw closer to the Savior. The teachings from the Book of Mormon became a part of who I was and what I believed. I continued reading the Book of Mormon over the next several years, and each time I finished reading Moroni 10, I put a tally mark on the inside cover of my book.
Eventually, the time came when I received my mission call. After celebrating with family and friends, I found some time alone and opened the inside cover of my Book of Mormon. I had accomplished my goal. More importantly, however, I had come to know my Savior.

Zina Diantha Huntington Young first encountered the Book of Mormon when she was 14 years old and living in Watertown, New York. She later wrote, “One day on my return from school I saw the Book of Mormon, that strange, new book, lying on the window sill of our sitting-room. I went up to the window, picked it up, and the sweet influence of the Holy Spirit accompanied it to such an extent that I pressed it to my bosom in a rapture of delight, murmuring as I did so, ‘This is the truth, truth, truth’” (see Ensign, March 1984, 37).

1 It was a happy day for me when my family and friends gathered at Temple Beach to share a big moment in my life. The beach is just across from the temple in Laie, Hawaii.
2 The tradewinds were blowing, the sun was hanging low on the horizon, and the waves were lapping gently as we listened to a talk on the importance of baptism.
3 We sang “I Am a Child of God,” and then, after a special prayer was said, I walked into the warm sea to be baptized.
4 My father, Leslie Forester, performed the baptism while my uncle, Chuck Rivers, stood closeby.
5 After the baptism, the three of us headed back to the beach for my confirmation.
6 I was glad to wear the flower leis given to me, for they showed everyone’s aloha, or love, for me.
7 On the beach, with the sound of the surf in the background, I was encircled by members of the priesthood and confirmed a member of the Church.
8 Here I am with my missionary friends. When I grow up, I will go on a mission and perhaps baptize new members into the Church. I am grateful to be a member of the true Church.

Many years ago, while attending a stake conference, I noticed that a counselor in the stake presidency was blind. He functioned beautifully, performing his duties as though he had sight. It was a stormy night as we met in the stake office situated on the second floor of the building. Suddenly there was a loud clap of thunder. The lights in the building almost immediately went out. Instinctively I reached out for our sightless leader, and I said, “Here, take my arm and I will help you down the stairway.”
I’m certain he must have had a smile on his face as he responded, “No, Brother Monson, give me your arm, that I might help you. You are now in my territory.” The storm abated, the lights returned, but I shall never forget the trek down those stairs, guided by the man who was sightless yet filled with light.

Every little girl should have the thrill of a new doll on Christmas morning. The Young Women of the Hughson Ward, Modesto California Stake, wanted to make sure such dreams came true for children of needy families. As a service project they dressed dolls and donated them to the community-wide Christmas basket project. Ward members donated the dolls, and the girls outfitted them in clothes of their own design.

Heavenly Father wants us to serve others. My Primary teacher was a great example of service. When we came to Primary, Sister Antonietti always brought a chocolate cake. I hated chocolate cake! Everyone else liked it. But I never ate it.
One day she asked me, “Why don’t you try a little piece? This cake is made with a special ingredient.”
I agreed to try it. And guess what? I liked it!
Many years later my mom told me what Sister Antonietti’s secret ingredient was. “Sister Antonietti didn’t have much money,” my mom said. “Each week she had to choose between paying for a bus ride to Primary or buying the ingredients to make the chocolate cake for your class. She always chose the chocolate cake. So instead of riding the bus, she walked more than two miles [3 km], each way, regardless of the weather.”
Sister Antonietti’s secret ingredient was the love she had for others! What can you do to show your love for others?

A young adult, Kirsten, shared with me her painful experience. High school had been her Liberty Jail. Fortunately, the band room provided relief. She said: “When I stepped into this room, it was as if I stepped into a safe place. There were no degrading or belittling remarks, no profanity. Instead, we heard words of encouragement and love. We exercised kindness. It was a happy place. The band room was filled with the Spirit as we practiced and performed music. The room was like this in large measure because of the influence of the band instructor. He was a good Christian man. Looking back, high school was a refining place. It was difficult, but I learned resilience. I will forever be grateful for my refuge, my holy place, the band room.”8

As a boy of 14, Spencer Kimball heard a sermon in which the speaker asked who in the congregation had read the entire Bible. Only a few raised their hands. Not being one of those few, Spencer keenly felt the need to read the sacred book from cover to cover, which he began doing that very night by the light of a coal-oil lamp. In about a year he completed his goal of reading all of the Bible, an accomplishment that contributed to his lifelong love of scripture study.7

Like Elizabeth generations before, Rosalene soon found herself crossing an ocean to settle in an unfamiliar culture when her husband took a position in Hong Kong.
“Some people thrive on change and adventure, but it was almost too much for me,” Rosalene says.
She again found strength in her Savior and in God’s plan for her. With the support of her family and dear sisters in her ward, Rosalene came to love and treasure her new surroundings and experiences.

Because my parents were busy providing for all five of my brothers and sisters, I developed at a young age a self-motivated attitude towards Scouting.*
As I entered high school, I faced the decision of whether to complete my Eagle Scout. As I talked to my friends, they ridiculed the idea of finishing my Eagle.
One day I watched President Thomas S. Monson give a talk on TV on the importance of achieving the rank of Eagle and how much it helps young men. His words motivated me to try my hardest despite what my friends thought about getting my Eagle. So from that day on I made a goal for myself. I knew from that moment on that with the Lord’s help and my willingness to work hard, I would reach my goal.
Because my parents weren’t forcing me to get my Eagle, it was something I decided in my heart that I was going to do. Even though Scouting wasn’t popular in my particular culture, I followed the guidance of my counselor, and at the end I knew that sticking to this goal made me a better person.
If we follow what the Lord wants us to do and stick to positive goals, He will help us through any situation. This experience taught me that no matter what obstacles or challenges come my way, the Lord will help me overcome my shortcomings and weakness (see Ether 12:27). It doesn’t matter what background we come from or if we are rich or poor. We can achieve our goals because we have the Lord by our side.

Forty-six years ago I was called as an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve, and for the first time, I came to this pulpit. I was 37 years old. I found myself standing among the venerable and wise prophets and apostles, “whose names,” as the song proclaims, “we all revere” (“Oh, Holy Words of Truth and Love,” Hymns, no. 271). I felt how keenly inadequate I was.
About that time here in the Tabernacle I had a defining experience. It gave me assurance and courage.
In those days Primary conference was held here before the April conference. I came through a south door as the opening song was being sung by a large choir of Primary children. Sister Lue S. Groesbeck, a member of the Primary general board, was leading them. They sang:
Rev’rently, quietly, lovingly we think of thee;
Rev’rently, quietly, softly sing our melody.
Rev’rently, quietly, humbly now we pray,
Let thy Holy Spirit dwell in our hearts today.
(“Reverently, Quietly,” Children’s Songbook, 26)
As the children sang quietly, the organist, who understood that excellence does not call attention to itself, did not play a solo while they sang. He skillfully, almost invisibly blended the young voices into a melody of inspiration, of revelation. That was the defining moment. It fixed deeply and permanently in my soul that which I most needed to sustain me in the years to follow.
I felt perhaps that which Elijah the prophet had felt. He sealed the heavens against the wicked king Ahab and fled to a cave to seek the Lord:
“A great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks … ; but the Lord was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake:
“And after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire: and after the fire [came] a still small voice.
“And it was so,” the record says, “when Elijah heard it, that he wrapped his face in his mantle, and went out, and stood in the entering in of the cave” to speak to the Lord (1 Kings 19:11–13).
I felt something of what the Nephites must have felt when the Lord appeared to them: “They heard a voice as if it came out of heaven; and they cast their eyes round about, for they understood not the voice which they heard; and it was not a harsh voice, neither was it a loud voice; nevertheless, and notwithstanding it being a small voice it did pierce them that did hear to the center, insomuch that there was no part of their frame that it did not cause to quake; yea, it did pierce them to the very soul, and did cause their hearts to burn” (3 Nephi 11:3).
It is this still, small voice which Elijah and the Nephites heard that the Prophet Joseph Smith understood when he wrote, “Thus saith the still small voice, which whispereth through and pierceth all things” (D&C 85:6).
In that defining moment, I understood that the still, small voice is felt more than heard. If I hearkened to it, I would be all right in my ministry.
After that, I had the assurance that the Comforter, the Holy Ghost, is there for everyone who will respond to the invitation to ask, to seek, and to knock (see Matthew 7:7–8; Luke 11:9–10; 3 Nephi 14:7–8; D&C 88:63). I knew I would be all right. As the years have unfolded, so it has been.

Before joining the Church, Elder Helio da Rocha Camargo from Brazil was a minister in another religion. He was seriously investigating the Church when he visited a youth meeting one Saturday morning. He was interested in what the young people of our Church had to say. One young lady bore her testimony about being morally clean and the strength she had received from living the law of chastity. Her testimony and the testimony of others greatly impressed Helio Camargo. He and his wife joined the Church. Brother Camargo’s testimony and commitment were great. The Lord called him to be a bishop, a stake president, a mission president, a regional representative, a member of the Seventy, and a temple president.

“I would advise that if a person has a chance to get a four-year bachelor’s degree, he should do it. The two-year hospital programs are good, but the baccalaureate degree lets you do more in the field, no matter how you may rationalize otherwise. However, everyone has to examine his own condition, because not every program is right for every person.
“A nurse sees many tragedies and sorrows. One time I took care of a young man who was dying. His wife was pregnant with their fourth child. I had the privilege of teaching her how to care for him and her children. Part of nursing is being able to teach others. I’ve learned that without the gospel in my life, my attitude might be callous. The saddest thing is to see so many people who could view things so differently if they only understood the gospel plan. I try to share what I can. I’ve had people say things that touch me deeply, such as, ‘Oh, you’re a Mormon. That’s why you’re so kind.’”—Marilyn

“When I was a little boy, each December we would go to the home of the bishop—Father and Mother and each of their children. The bishop didn’t have an office in the meetinghouse. We had to go to his home. And then he would call us in individually and find out how much tithing we had paid and how much we wished to pay. It was a very small amount for the children. I think it cost more to keep track of than it was worth, but it did something. When we were little tiny children we were on the tithing records of the Church, and it has never been a difficult thing to pay tithing ever since then.”5

Helping others along their covenant path may take the form of an unconventional act of service. As an example, during my current assignment in the Philippines, I learned of the Agamata family. They were baptized in 2023, and then they eagerly set a date to be sealed as a family in the nearby Urdaneta Philippines Temple. However, just before the family’s appointment, several typhoons struck the region. Brother Agamata, a rice farmer, was unable to plant his crops during the harsh storms. When the tempests finally passed, he needed to quickly plant the rice while the ground was soaked with water—ideal conditions for planting. Sadly, the temple trip would have to be postponed.

Two disciples, Elder and Sister Cauilan, along with three young service missionaries, heard of the Agamata family’s struggle and offered help despite having no farming experience. Working under the blistering sun, they helped plant the seedlings, allowing the Agamatas to complete their task and attend their temple sealing as scheduled. Elder Cauilan observed that “[the Agamatas’] countenances glowed as we saw them dressed in white in the house of the Lord. The joy we felt ministering to the one is a joy beyond compare!”

The Agamatas now enjoy the rich blessings of being sealed as an eternal family because a few fellow disciples who were filled with charity—a sign of their discipleship—determined to help their brothers and sisters forward along their covenant path.

I started college at the University of Texas in Austin and began to contemplate serving a full-time mission. This became another test of how well I could couple a sincere heart with real intent. I was definitely curious to know the Lord’s will about my missionary service. But as I had learned while investigating the Church, curiosity alone is not sufficient. I was convinced that the answer to my question about serving a mission would be revealed in my patriarchal blessing, so I traveled to San Antonio, where the patriarch pronounced my blessing. There was, however, no mention of a mission. Driving home, I reasoned that maybe the Lord didn’t want me to serve. But then I felt impressed to pull off the road. I walked over to a grove of trees and knelt down. As soon as I commenced my prayer, the words that came into my mind were very clear: “I didn’t have to tell you to go. You already know you’re supposed to go.”
I’d been a member only about a year and 10 months when I went into the mission field in Guatemala and El Salvador. It was there that I learned what it meant to consecrate my life to do what the Lord wanted me to do. My mission was my preparation for the rest of my life. Had I not gone on a mission and learned what I did there, I might never have had the opportunities that I have today. Today I am living in Guatemala again, where I serve in the Central America Area Presidency. I love being back among the people who meant so much to me in the development of my own testimony.

During World War II, on my first Sunday as a Marine, I ran into a very special missionary companion of mine at a Church service. Both of us had volunteered for the Marine Corps! When we completed boot camp, we were both assigned to the Second Marine Division.
After the battle was over on the island to which our division was assigned, we were able to obtain a tent for Church services. We made benches, a pulpit, and a sacrament table out of any pieces of lumber we could find. Under the sacrament table we placed a special green footlocker. We carried that footlocker with us from island to island as our division completed its orders. The contents of the green footlocker represented all we held dear: a wooden plate, a wooden sacrament tray, a card containing the sacrament prayers, and several boxes of small paper cups.
As President David O. McKay has reminded us, partaking of the sacrament is a renewal of the covenants we made at the time of baptism, which are that “We are willing to take upon ourselves the name of the Son. In so doing we choose him as our leader and our ideal. … We will always remember him. Not just on Sunday, but on Monday [and the other days of the week]. … We promise to ‘… keep his commandments. …’—tithing, fast offerings, the Word of Wisdom, kindness, forgiveness, love.” (Gospel Ideals, page 146.)
As we gathered each week on the Lord’s day, we opened our footlocker and used the contents to prepare, bless, and pass the sacrament. It was a spiritual and uplifting experience that renewed our faith and gave us hope for the days ahead.
Eventually our tent chapel was filled with many holes caused by shrapnel tearing through it. When frequent tropical rains made it uncomfortable to sit in a tent with so many holes in it, we determined that our meetings deserved better quarters. We finally obtained enough material to construct a chapel. Now the green footlocker was placed beneath the table in a dedicated house of worship.
When our duties on the island were completed, we boarded a ship and moved out. Our footlocker remained in the chapel for others to use. I don’t know its final destination, but that old green footlocker will always have a special place in my heart because even in one of the most trying periods of my life, I was able to receive spiritual renewal for the days ahead as I partook of the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper.

Brigham Young began to develop rapidly toward his own foreordained role as a prophet the night in October 1832 when he first met Joseph and began to “subject [himself] to his counsel.” He and Heber C. Kimball were invited to stay for supper and for a regular, informal gathering of the Church leaders in Kirtland. There they “conversed together upon the things of the kingdom.” Brigham was asked to give the closing prayer, during which he was moved to speak in tongues. This was a spiritual gift the Prophet had not witnessed before; in fact, he had strongly warned against certain over-enthusiastic and unedifying cases of such expression at frontier camp meetings he had heard about, and the brethren thought he would condemn this manifestation. But when they asked him about it after Brigham left, he said, “No, it is of God, and the time will come when Brigham Young will preside over this Church.”8

I was born in Rigby, Idaho, a farming community of about 2,000 people. About four miles outside of town was a small junkyard. Rigby had a junkyard man, a little old Danish immigrant who couldn’t speak English. He didn’t have a name that I can remember; we just called him the “junkyard man.”
He not only ran the junkyard; he lived there. His home was made of plywood scraps and other junk he had gathered from the yard. He didn’t have any electricity and he lived all alone, except for some dogs to keep him company.
A few times each year he walked four miles into town for groceries. Most people respected him because he worked hard and did a good job. My dad’s mother was a Danish immigrant, so Dad always had a soft spot in his heart for the old man. Whenever we went to the dump, Dad would take him groceries, cookies, or other goodies.
Well, I remember one day when I acted like a real chicken toward the junkyard man; it was a Sunday in 1965. Somehow Dad, who was the bishop, got the junkyard man to come to church that day. I was about 13 years old. I felt real cool sitting there in church in my turtleneck shirt and 100 percent polyester suit, but then it happened. Dad brought the junkyard man to the bench where my family was and sat him down right next to me! I could hear my friends laughing. I was so embarrassed I didn’t even look at the man during sacrament meeting.
After the meeting, I left as fast as I could. Outside, my friends and I really started pecking at the junkyard man, and I was the worst. I told the boys that as the old man sat there I saw “cooties” crawling out of his clothes. I told them he smelled like trash, that his weird wool pants had moth holes in them, and all sorts of other insulting things. The more my friends laughed, the bigger I felt, and the more I “pecked” at him in our conversation.
Of course, he didn’t hear any of this. But about three weeks later, on a particularly cold Idaho night, the pipe of the old man’s coal-burning stove in his house broke. The house filled with thick, sooty smoke and he died in his sleep.
I don’t tell you this story to make you feel sorry for the old man, because his life was not really sad. He was a good man who contributed something to his community and made his own way. The sad part is that I remembered the mean things I said, and it was too late to apologize. I had picked on the old man only because he was different.