Gospel Story Finder

“Everybody needs to look their very best tomorrow,” Mrs. Santos called out in a sing-song voice. “Tomorrow is picture day!”
Whispers and giggles spread around the room. Everyone seemed excited about picture day. Everyone except me. I felt a knot in my stomach.
At recess, all my friends wanted to talk about was what outfit they were going to wear for school pictures. With each thing they mentioned, the knot in my stomach got bigger.
I didn’t have any of the pretty things they talked about. How could I look beautiful if I didn’t have anything beautiful to wear?
The next morning I dug through all my drawers and decided on a red and white striped shirt and my denim skirt. I had two flower hair clips, but one had a broken petal. My shirt had a little yellow stain on it. Maybe it wouldn’t show. My skirt was faded, and my shoes were scuffed. Nervous butterflies joined the knots in my stomach. I worried and worried all the way to school.
When I got to school, I ran to the washroom, hoping no one had seen me yet. Hot tears ran down my face. I quickly wiped them away when I heard footsteps.
“Are you OK?” It was Mrs. Santos. “A couple of your classmates said they saw you run in here and thought something might be wrong.”
I didn’t say anything as I stared down at my shoes. A question bubbled up inside of me.
“Are you disappointed in me?” My voice cracked.
Mrs. Santos put her arm around my shoulder. “Why would I be disappointed in you?”
“Well …” I sniffed and tried to think of how to say what I wanted to say. “You said to look your very best for picture day. And …”
I slowly traced the stain on my shirt with a fingertip.
“I don’t have anything pretty,” I continued. “My clothes are kind of old.”
Mrs. Santos was quiet for a minute. Then she gave my shoulder a squeeze.
“Let’s have a look and see what we can do.” She lifted my chin so that I was looking into the mirror. “Hmmm. You know what I see?”
“What?” I asked.
“I see a special girl who looks sad today,” she said, “and who forgot to wear her prettiest feature.”
I stared at Mrs. Santos. What was she talking about?
“Try a smile, and then let’s take another look,” Mrs. Santos said.
I gazed in the mirror. Slowly the corners of my mouth turned up.
“You aren’t beautiful because of what you wear or the way you look. You are beautiful because of who you are,” Mrs. Santos said. “Your happy personality always puts a smile on everyone’s face.”
I tilted my head and watched my smile grow bigger and bigger. I started to feel the knot in my stomach loosen. Mrs. Santos was right. My smile was the best!
I looked down at my shirt—the yellow stains, the scuffed shoes. Who cares? I was a child of God, and it wasn’t my clothes that made me. They didn’t matter. I looked in the mirror again. My teeth sparkled as my grin stretched out.
“Ah! There it is,” Mrs. Santos said. “Picture perfect!”

Because I studied Come, Follow Me, I think Heavenly Father helped me with school. At first I made lots of mistakes in my homework. Then my dad asked me to start by saying a prayer. After the prayer, I understood better. Soon I was no longer making as many mistakes. When my teachers received my homework, they would say, “Congratulations, Sarah! Keep doing what you are doing!”
I successfully completed my school year. And school at home went well, because we always started with a prayer, just like we do when we study Come, Follow Me.

The Dauphins’ mother, who is single, isn’t a member of the Church, and she often has to be at work on Monday evenings. So Marco and Rosenelle hold family night, complete with a game, songs, prayers, and a lesson. Sometimes the full-time missionaries are invited. It’s a challenge to coordinate their efforts, but all the Dauphins say it’s worth it.
“Joining the Church was a real relief for us,” says Marco. “When we have the Spirit in our home, we feel closer together. We just feel better.”

When Elders Ricks, Seeley, Ogden, and Zanetti were called to the Italy Rome Mission, they had no idea they would become broadcasters. But it’s all in a day’s work for these missionaries now. These elders, who are serving in the city of Ascoli Piceno, transmit a weekly program in which they discuss basic gospel principles and the Book of Mormon. The Church has not been in Ascoli Piceno for long, and these elders have a lot of ground to cover to get the gospel message out. By using the airwaves, their work goes a little faster, and is a lot of fun as well.

Whilst former England Missionary Training Centre president, Crag Ostler, was serving in his call, he built up a close relationship with Ralph Assherton, son of Lord and Lady Clitheroe of Downham. Ralph has the responsibility for the day-to-day running of the village and the family estate, and so he takes a real interest in village life and those who visit. All missionaries in the missionary training centre are given a Church history tour of significant sites in the northwest of England, including Downham. Over the years, these visits from the missionaries to Downham have led to the development of a relationship and friendship.
Ralph Assherton had always been very supportive and accommodating regarding these regular visits from the missionaries and would often spend time speaking with President Ostler. They realised they had much in common.
Sadly for President and Sister Ostler, when their assignment at the MTC was completed they did not have an opportunity to meet in person to say goodbye to Ralph.
However they had not forgotten Ralph’s friendship and kindness towards them and the missionaries. Once home, Brother Ostler was determined to express his gratitude to Ralph for the last three years.
Through research, Brother Ostler learnt that one of Ralph’s interests was bell ringing. If you go down to Downham on a Tuesday evening you will hear the bells of St Leonard’s church being rung by Ralph!
Brother Ostler organised the presentation of a handheld bell and a personal letter to Ralph, on his behalf- and on the many others who had benefited from Ralph’s kindness.
On 29 June, President Don H. Staheli, president of the Missionary Training Centre, Sister Staheli, and a number of missionaries gathered in St Leonard’s church along with Ralph Assherton and others to make the presentation. As part of the presentation, musical items were provided by the missionaries, including a beautiful violin solo.
Ralph then took some time speaking to the missionaries, taking questions, and even gave a demonstration with his new handbell.
President Staheli and others expressed their thanks to Ralph and his family for the kindness and support they have shown and continue to extend towards the Church.

Elsie Power is one such sister, who writes: “I knew nothing about Zoom or technology and was afraid I might, press the wrong button but our bishop was there at the end of the phone, whenever needed, to walk me through the process. He is always available, and that is reassuring. I am now confident in using Zoom and enjoy meeting with the ward and now know how to contact my family members all over the world. It is a wonderful blessing and a friend who I once thought was my enemy.”

A devoted colleague once shared with me an experience he had when fulfilling an assignment to put away chairs and straighten up the stake center following a stake conference. After 30 minutes of carrying out these duties, he realized that he was the last person remaining in the building. Rather than feeling alone with a rush to leave, however, he noticed that the same sweet sense of peace he had felt during the conference remained with him and was even increasing.
As he finished the assignment and exited the meetinghouse, he encountered another member who seemed to be watching him intently. Realizing what my friend had been doing, this member took him by the hand and said, “Brother, the Lord sees these small things that you do for Him, and He looks down and smiles upon them.”
Children and youth can be taught that reverence and care for the meetinghouse extends beyond Sunday meetings. Member participation in the cleaning of the meetinghouse—particularly the combined participation of parents and children—is a wonderful means of developing a sense of reverence for our sacred facilities. As evidenced from my friend’s experience in straightening up his stake center after stake conference, the very act of caring for the meetinghouse is a means of worship and invites the Spirit of the Lord.

My Uncle Mons Andersen had said to us that we must go to his folks in Lehi. That same evening a fisherman was going past Lehi and said he could take two of us. So Mother and my brother Mathias went with him. Then someone would come after the rest of us. The train could not take us there for the track was then only laid to the Point of the Mountain. So the rest of us stayed in the tithing yard till the next day. All that day no one came. But the next day, July 20, 1872, a man by the name of Mathias Petersen from Lehi came for us in a brand-new wagon. Happy were we. We came as far as this side of Sandy and stopped overnight. The next day, this being Sunday morning, July 21, 1872, we arrived in Lehi.

Now I must say a little about Sunday, July 21, 1872. As I said before, we camped overnight on the state road this side of Sandy. It was a beautiful morning, and time came for us to have something to eat before starting. There were five of us in all, and we had some baked wheat bread. There was a farmhouse some distance away, so Mathias Petersen, our driver, went over there to see if he could get some milk to go with the bread. He soon came back and a lady with him with a pan full of sweet milk. It was my first night camping out and my first meal of wheat bread and sweet milk. I shall never forget how good it tasted to me. I was overjoyed. Oh, how good I thought that lady was to bring us that good milk! I don’t know if she was a Mormon or not. But at that time I thought all the people in Utah were Mormons so, of course, I thought she was. So it was another step to me to gain a little better feeling for Mormonism.

6:00 A.M.—Angie sat in the dark room, memorizing smells, colors, and how each trophy seemed to dominate the one next to it. Everything is just the way Mike left it, she thought.
She had come to her brother’s room often in the two months since his death—hit by a car while biking with his friends. He died doing what he loved, her dad had said at the funeral, as if the thought of biking to heaven was supposed to make it all right. She knew her dad was trying to find his own comfort, but it made her angry anyway. The whole family made her angry. How could they just accept it and go on with life? Well, she couldn’t. She buried her head in the pillow and felt the familiar gray feeling swallow her up.
6:15 A.M.—She glanced at the clock, time to get ready for school. She’d better wake Carrie up, too. She rolled off the bed and into the room she shared with her five-year-old sister. Carrie could sleep through, and on, anything, Angie thought, as she emptied a stack of books from Carrie’s bed.
“Quite a pile for someone who’s still trying to figure out how the letter A sounds. Time to get up.”
Carrie flopped over on a magazine. “Read this one to me,” she yawned, pointing to a book.
Angie pretended not to hear the sleepy voice.
“Read to me,” Carrie repeated, nuzzling and wiggling into Angie’s lap.
Angie just couldn’t get into their reading ritual lately. They’d been reading to each other for two years. Rather, she’d read while Carrie invented. At some point, Angie had begun inventing, too. Their additions had lived again each time they read their favorites. But not anymore. Somehow, when Mike had died, the old stories had disappeared.
Okay, just one, Angie thought. She let the New Testament picture book fall open to Christ feeding the multitude.
This’ll do, Angie decided. I can handle bread and fish—just no details.
She absently read the black and white print. Something about John the Baptist. He was dead, beheaded, and friends were trying to tell Christ.
Dead, dead, dead, the word echoed in her mind.
Don’t think, Angie. Read, but don’t think, she warned herself.
“Jesus wanted to be alone. He went to a place above the Sea of Galilee to think about John.”
Carrie grabbed the book and pulled it closer. “He looks sad. Was John one of Jesus’ friends?”
Angie looked at the picture of Christ sitting away from the crowds, his head bowed, his face grief-drawn. “John was Jesus’ cousin,” she said softly.
Carrie’s finger slowly circled the picture. “He feels like us, doesn’t he?” Like us—He feels like us. The thought invaded her gray feeling and echoed in the giant hole her heart had become.
Without waiting for an answer, Carrie rearranged herself—a signal for Angie to go on reading.
“Jesus turned to the people and left the place where he was alone.” She hesitated.
He felt then as you do now, something whispered to her heart.
It wasn’t a question anymore, but an affirmation. And this time the words weren’t from a child. Waves of understanding and warmth broke over her, challenging the deep gray sorrow.
Again it came—He felt then as you do now. Uncontrollable tears welled up in her eyes.
“He teaches and feeds them …” she mumbled, fighting to keep her voice steady, but it was no use.
“Can I finish later?” she asked, running to the bathroom. She locked herself in and let go of the tears. Clutching at the book, she heard her sister banging on the door.
“Hey, how come you didn’t finish?”
“I have to get ready for school, Carrie. Later …” she covered her mouth to keep the sobs from escaping.
“You’re such a meany,” Carrie said with five-year-old frustration and marched back to their room.
Tears splattered on the child’s drawing of Christ. His pain had been so much like her own. Once more it came—I have felt as you—and love enfolded her.
8:15 A.M.—Angie walked to school, torn-out pages from the book tucked inside her coat. I’ll buy a new book, she told herself. These pages are mine.
1:15 P.M.—In algebra, Angie ignored Mr. Bott’s explanation on quadratic equations and laid the two pages across her desk. Angie looked at the red and blue drawings of Christ surrounded with people.
“Shall we send them away?” his disciples questioned.
Christ said no.
The next picture was of Christ teaching, feeding 5,000 individuals long into the night.
Was John forgotten? No.
The assurance, the strength, swept her from the room full of quadratics and out into the hall. “You’ll need a hall pass,” Mr. Bott said.
“Yeah,” she managed, running to the nearest bathroom.
Alone in the bathroom, she let her finger trace the outlines of his face as Carrie had done earlier. New tears of gratitude and understanding wet the pages. Christ had felt the same grief for John that she felt for Mike, but he had continued teaching, loving—and living. She would too, she promised. Peace surrounded her and this time the soul-filling love sank in and completely pushed the gray out.
3:45 P.M.—Angie walked home carrying a detention slip for skipping out of algebra. She came up the back porch and grabbed an apple on the way in the door.
“Carrie—you home?” she yelled, then took a bite of the apple. It tasted good. She took another bite and wandered through the house. She found Carrie playing with a doll.
“Hey, want to read a story?” she asked.
Carrie’s eyes looked up from the doll she was rocking.
“Come on,” Angie coaxed, reaching out a hand. “I have this great story.”
She pulled out the crumpled pictures and sat down next to her sister. “It all started when Jesus’ friends came to him with some news, sad news.”

Not too long ago, I was working on our farm with my nephew Nash. He is six and has a pure heart. He is my favorite nephew named Nash, and I believe I am his favorite uncle speaking in conference today.
As he helped me come up with a solution for our project, I said, “Nash, that is a great idea. How did you get so smart?” He looked at me with an expression in his eyes that said, “Uncle Ryan, how do you not know the answer to this question?”
He simply shrugged his shoulders, smiled, and confidently said, “Jesus.”
Nash reminded me that day of this simple and yet profound teaching. The answer to the simplest questions and to the most complex problems is always the same. The answer is Jesus Christ. Every solution is found in Him.

When I was a young seminary teacher, one of my students approached me about her assignment to prepare a devotional for the class. She said she wanted to bring her married sister to class with a newborn daughter and have her sing a song about the child. I agreed.
On the day of the devotional, her sister announced the number, and my student accompanied her on the piano. Standing in front of the class, the young mother held her daughter in her arms and, looking at her, began to sing of her love for her daughter and her desire for her child to realize her potential as a child of God.
All the students were touched by what they saw and heard. It was a heavenly scene. I cannot talk about it today without having tender feelings surface.

Mercedes became a dedicated visiting teacher herself. She and her companion, Olga Barros, visited an elderly sister who lived with her daughter, who had an intellectual impairment. One day Mercedes and Olga arrived to find the daughter distressed and confused. She said that her mother had been tired after lunch and had lain down to rest. When the daughter tried to rouse her, she refused to wake up. At that very moment the visiting teachers arrived.
Since I lived nearby, Mercedes ran to get me while Olga massaged the old woman. We called a doctor and did everything we could for the mother until the doctor arrived. How remarkable it was that the visiting teachers had arrived at the very moment when we could call the doctor and calm the frightened daughter!

One of the most important life lessons I have learned is to be steadfast in waiting for the Lord. As the psalmist wrote, "I waited patiently for the Lord; and he inclined unto me, and heard my cry" (Psalms 40:1). The summer of my high school graduation I received a very personal witness of Heavenly Father's awareness of and love for each of His children. When I arrived in Provo for my freshman year, I sought out my patriarchal blessing, desirous of better knowing the will of my Father for me, His daughter. I received very specific counsel and direction but was left with lingering questions and uncertainty. Should I change my major? Should I change the course I had prayerfully determined prior to coming to school? Through fasting and prayer the Spirit taught me to be patient, to continue forward, and to know that Heavenly Father was aware of me and my needs.

I finished my degree and graduated as I had originally planned. I was privileged to be a stay-at-home mother of six children. I served faithfully in my Church callings and responsibilities and engaged in voluntary community service. And during this time I waited steadfastly and patiently for further direction from the Lord. And it came. Not in my time, but in His. Opportunities seemed to appear from nowhere. Ways and means were provided for me to pursue my graduate work. Time after time I was in the right place at the right time. I was led and prepared to acquire the knowledge and experience necessary for me to fulfill the Lord's purposes. I have felt the guidance and tender mercies of the Lord throughout my life. It is His hand that led me to where I am today. I testify to you that if we remain steadfast and faithful, trusting in the Lord, He will direct our paths.

Kim Dohm was comfortable at her grandparents’ house in Fort Worth, Texas, 500 miles from her home and parents. Her father and mother were helping with relief efforts in Slidell. But when she heard the news that evacuees wouldn’t be allowed back home for weeks or possibly months, it was more than she could bear. “One day at school, I just started to sob,” Kim says. “Everyone told me things would be okay, but I couldn’t stop crying.” Anxious and uncertain, she prayed. “I felt the most overwhelming peace in my heart,” she says. “I remembered how the Savior calmed the storm and reassured the disciples on the Sea of Galilee. My heart was raging, but His example calmed and reassured me.”

I was born in a small community on the northern island of Hokkaido, Japan. When I was five years old, my father was killed by an attack from an American submarine. As a little boy I became bitter toward Americans. I grew up that way, not really knowing what had happened to cause the war.
When I graduated from junior high school, we were so poor. My mother could not afford to send me to senior high school, so I decided to go to work in order to fund my continued education. There was no work in our small village, but I found a job producing tofu (bean curd) nine hours away from home in Muroran, where my mother was raised.
Every day in Muroran I got up by 4:30 a.m., made tofu until noon, and then delivered it to various stores until 6:00 p.m. After work I washed, changed, ate, and ran to night school. I returned home about 10:30 p.m. and jumped into bed at 11:00 p.m. Because of my exhausting schedule, I soon lost all of my energy and became ill.
I was staying in the tofu shop owner’s home, but I quit my job and asked my uncle to take me in so I could finish my first year of high school. Despite medication, I remained sick. I didn’t know what to do, and I became desperate and felt that I might be dying. I prayed hard, saying, “If there is a God, wilt Thou bless me that I might be able to get well.” Then I prayed something somewhat presumptuous: “If I am cured, I want to repay Thee.”
While I was at my uncle’s home, two foreigners knocked at the door early one evening. They were missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. One, Elder Law—the senior companion—had been a farmer in St. Anthony, Idaho, USA; the other, Elder Porter—a new elder—was from Salt Lake City. It was cold, rainy, and nearly dark, and they were ready to go home. But for some reason they persisted in knocking on doors.
When they knocked on my door, I was alone. I answered the door and said, “No, thank you.”
These young men were humble and persistent, but I said again, “No, thank you.” Then I added, “You folks killed my father.” I was still bitter.
Undeterred, the elder from Idaho asked my age. I said, “What does my age matter? Please go.”
He replied, “I want to tell you a story about a boy your age who saw your Heavenly Father and your Savior, Jesus Christ. We want to share that story.” I almost froze at the door.
I said, “I’ll give you 10 minutes.”
Those 10 minutes touched me deeply and changed my life. The story the missionaries shared was so profound and beautiful. I found out that I am a child of God and that I came from Him.
The elders came every day because I was sick. During their discussions with me, the missionaries taught me the beautiful gospel of the Restoration. I found my Savior. The gospel gave me hope and the will to live. A few weeks after the missionaries knocked on my door, I was baptized.

After Sister Teh and I dated for a little while, it became obvious that I wanted to spend eternity with her. Naturally, I made it a subject of earnest prayer and fasting. No particular change in my feeling followed. I did not feel a burning in my bosom. I did, however, continue to feel good about my decision, so I persevered. Sister Teh got the same answer, so here we are. Since that experience, I have arrived at many of my decisions in a similar fashion (see D&C 6:22–23).

However, many of us put ourselves in situations like that of Ruben, who took pride in the communication techniques he had learned from his sales training. Knowing of his wife’s unhappy childhood, he earnestly tried to get her to talk whenever she became upset. Unfortunately, because Ruben was rather mechanical and scrutinizing, relying more on technique than on the love he felt for his wife, he intimidated rather than encouraged her. As she would tense up, he would press harder, applying probing techniques until them was very little heart-to-heart communication.

The solution lay almost totally with Ruben. He learned to care enough about his wife to recognize that often she needed respect more than she needed to talk. As he allowed his love for her to guide him, he learned to watch for nonverbal nuances. If he asked a question and she did not respond immediately, he did not press her for an answer. On more than one occasion, he went days without pressing issues, confining himself to simple courtesies, thoughtful actions, and words such as “please” and “thank you.” As he concentrated on creating a climate of respect instead of trying to get his wife to open up, she responded with increasing trust, and their communication improved steadily.

Going to seminary often means you’ll have to give up something else you enjoy doing in order to find the time to attend. But it’s a sacrifice that’s worth making. Elijah Bugayong of the Philippines chose to make that decision during her last year of high school. Throughout high school, she had always been second in her class. She was determined to place first her senior year and had even considered foregoing seminary, which she had attended in the years before, in order to meet her goal.

Then one day her thoughts changed. “I [looked at] my study table,” she says. “I saw a pile of books near it, my quadruple combination together with my seminary notebook and manual. Deep inside I asked myself, ‘Which matters most?’”

Elijah found her answer in Matthew 6:33: “But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.” She decided to faithfully attend seminary and find other ways to balance her time in order to work on her academics. At the end of the year, she was named valedictorian and even won a university scholarship.

As a Relief Society president in São Paulo, Brazil, Elizabeth Contieri Kemeny felt impressed to assign herself to visit a shy, pregnant sister who attended church alone as her husband was often away on business. The ward Relief Society had just participated in a stake project to make baby layettes consisting of blankets, clothing, and other supplies for infants. The layettes were supposed to be delivered to the stake on a particular Sunday morning. On that day Sister Kemeny awoke at 6:00 A.M. with a strong impression she should deliver the layettes to the home of this sister, rather than to the stake.
Taking along her counselor and the bishop, Sister Kemeny arrived at this sister’s apartment only to learn that she had already gone to the hospital in labor. Pressing on to the hospital, they found her holding her new baby in her arms, with tears streaming down her own cheeks. She had been praying that Heavenly Father would send somebody to help her. Her husband was out of town, and she had nothing—not a blanket to wrap the baby in nor money for a bus ride home.
That afternoon at the stake meeting this ward had no layettes to contribute. They had been given to bless a sister both temporally and spiritually—all because a visiting teacher had prayed and listened to the promptings of the Spirit.

Tyler’s example inspired Sarah to start thinking about serving her own mission. “I realized how many people my brother helped come unto Christ, and I also saw how much he had come unto Christ himself. I wanted to have similar experiences,” Hermana Christensen says. “I started to seriously study the gospel and found that the more my testimony and my relationship with my Savior grew, the more I wanted to share what I had.”
Sarah made the choice to put her construction business on hold and serve the Lord. This decision has given her powerful new insights.
“The number one thing my mission has taught me is that the gospel completely changes lives,” Hermana Christensen says. “Growing up in the Church made it hard for me to see how significant the gospel was in my life.
“Here on my mission, I am surrounded by people who do not know about Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. When they learn that they are children of God and He has a plan for them, it changes their lives. It is the coolest thing to witness and be a part of. I had an understanding of that before my mission, but now I know that the gospel of Jesus Christ is crucial for joy in this world and in the world to come.”
Hermana Christensen (right) and her companion Hermana Taylor (left) love to serve any way they can.
Photograph courtesy of Sarah Christensen
Though she misses being able to build houses while she serves, Hermana Christensen doesn’t regret her choice. “Of course, there is potential growth that my business could have made while I’m a full-time missionary,” she says. “But I know the Lord will bless my sacrifice of leaving it behind for a bit. My business can wait, but the Lord’s work cannot!”