Gospel Story Finder

Abigail L., age 7, California, USA, liked Sister Cordon’s talk about ministering to others. “My favorite part was, ‘You fed me and you gave me a drink and you took me in.’ I want to serve.”

During a drive to amass warm clothing to ship to suffering Saints, Elder Harold B. Lee and Elder Marion G. Romney took President George Albert Smith to Welfare Square in Salt Lake City. They were impressed by the generous response of the membership of the Church to the clothing drive and the preparations for sending the goods overseas. They watched President Smith observing the workers as they packaged this great volume of donated clothing and shoes. They saw tears running down his face. After a few moments, President Smith removed a new overcoat that he had on and said, “Please ship this also.”
The Brethren said to him, “No, President, no; don’t send that; it’s cold and you need your coat.”
But President Smith would not take it back.

In my family’s pioneer history there are many accounts of noble souls who demonstrated the traits of true discipleship. My children’s great-grandfather was a valiant disciple of Jesus Christ. His family were wealthy landowners in Denmark. As the favored son, he was to inherit the land of his father. He fell in love with a beautiful young woman who was not of the same social standing as his family. He was encouraged not to pursue the relationship. He was not inclined to follow his family’s counsel, and on one of his visits to see her he discovered that all of her family had joined the Church. He refused to listen to the doctrine her family had embraced and forcefully told her that she had to choose between him and the Church. She boldly declared that she would not give up her religion.

With that forceful pronouncement, he decided he should listen to the teachings that were so important to her. Soon after, he was touched by the Spirit and he, too, became converted to the gospel. But when he informed his parents of his decision to join the Church and marry this young woman, they were angry with him and forced him to decide between his family and their wealth and the Church. He walked away from the comforts he had known all of his life, joined the Church, and married her.

Immediately, they started to prepare to leave Denmark and journey to Zion. Now without the support of his family, he had to work hard at any employment he could find to save for the journey to the new land. After a year of hard labor, he had saved enough for their passage. As soon as they were prepared to leave, their branch president came to them and said there was a family with greater need than he and his wife. He was asked to give up what he had saved so the needy family could go to Zion.

Discipleship requires sacrifice. They gave up their savings to the needy family, and then they began another year of hard labor to save to finance their journey. Eventually they arrived in Zion, but not before they had made many more sacrifices, showing true discipleship.

The influence of Heber’s mother, Rachel Ridgeway Ivins Grant, was equally as powerful. Rachel’s wealthy family in the eastern United States offered her a large income if she would renounce the gospel of Jesus Christ. But she refused and stood by her testimony. After the death of her husband, the young widow, who had been left penniless, worked sewing clothing and taking in boarders in order to provide for her son.
She taught Heber the value of hard work, and together they eked out a meager existence. In the process, Rachel and Heber grew very close. He was later to say of her: “I stand here today as one whose mother was all to him. She was both father and mother to me; she set an example of integrity, of devotion and love, of determination, and honor second to none. I stand here today as the president of the Church because I have followed the advice and counsel and the burning testimony of the divinity of the work of God, which came to me from my mother.”4

I am confident you have heard this story of President Spencer W. Kimball, but I take the liberty of repeating it. He had undergone surgery in the hospital. A young male nurse had placed him on a gurney and was transporting him. When getting on the elevator, the nurse bumped the gurney and let out an oath using the name of the Lord.

President Kimball, only half conscious, said, “Please, Please! That is my Lord whose name you revile.”

There was a deathly silence; then the young man whispered with a subdued voice, “I am sorry.” (See The Teachings of Spencer W. Kimball, ed. Edward L. Kimball [1982], 198.)

“I found you!” shouted Ellen* as she discovered me behind the shower curtain. Then she tagged me on the shoulder and ran off. I got up from where I was crouched and went downstairs. I was at my friend Ellen’s party. About six other fourth-grade girls were also there.
“I found everyone!” Ellen exclaimed from the family room.
“Dinner,” her mother called.
Soon all the girls and Ellen’s four-year-old brother, Kyle*, sat around the big oak table, eating pepperoni pizza.
“Who wants to watch a movie?” Ellen’s mother cheerfully asked when we were all done eating.
“Me!” all the girls chorused—except me.
“I picked it out, Ellen,” Kyle cried with excitement. “Remember? It’s the one where the guy sings in the bathroom.”
As Ellen’s mother put in the video, I asked quietly, “What’s it rated?”
“PG,” she said absently, sitting down.
“Well, I’m only allowed to watch G-rated movies,” I said.
“It’s OK,” Ellen’s mother reassured me. “It’s only rated PG because parts of it are kind of difficult for children Kyle’s age to understand.”
I turned away. I knew my parents did not want me to watch a PG movie. Ever since I could remember, we’ve had this rule in our family: We watch only G movies. Even my parents watch only G movies. We know that all PG movies have some bad words in them, or other things that don’t fit gospel standards.
My parents had also told me that even if I said I wasn’t going to say the bad words, the more I heard them, the more my mind would be filled with them until I said one by accident. But this was the first time I’ve ever had to make a choice about watching a PG movie with a bunch of friends around.
I left and went into another room. In a few minutes Ellen and three other girls joined me and asked me if I wanted to play a game. I shook my head and answered, “Not right now.” After thinking a little bit more, I decided I should play the game with them. I realized that making the decision to not watch the movie hadn’t really been very hard for me. I also found out that I had really made the decision to follow the family rules long ago.

Somewhere else, in the world, many years ago, some children, a father, a mother were sitting in their living room holding a family council. A tragedy was developing. The children were pleading with their father to stay and live with them. After a pause, the father uttered these words: “I cannot stay. I need to live my own life.” And he left.

Several months ago while visiting our children in another state, I walked with our two-and-a-half-year-old grandson from the chapel to the nursery. As he moved rather energetically down the hall, at least five people called him by name—teenagers, children, adults. “Hi, Benjamin,” “Hey, Benjamin,” “Morning, Benjamin.” My heart overflowed with gratitude that Benjamin is learning he, as an individual, belongs to a ward family. Over a lifetime, ward families will help do for him what his family alone cannot do.

Three years ago, I was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease—a disorder causing progressive tremors and stiffness. It was overwhelming news, and I thought my life was over.
During the next few months, I fell into a well of darkness, anxiety, and depression. I was afraid of the challenges ahead. I thought I couldn’t live long with the continuous pain in my arms and the tremors in my hands. How I longed to sit in the Savior’s path and touch His garment, as did the woman with the issue of blood!
“For she said, If I may touch but his clothes, I shall be whole” (Mark 5:28).
Despite medical treatment and many prayers begging for relief, a cure did not come. One day, as I opened my heart to Heavenly Father, I gained deeper understanding. The Lord was healing me—not with the physical healing I hoped for but with the healing I needed: spiritual healing.
That’s when I realized that my trust in God’s “spiritual tutoring” was growing. My prayers and empathy for others became more fervent. I started to take time daily to meditate and get away from distractions, looking for the lessons I could learn from my challenges. The Atonement of Jesus Christ took on new meaning, and my need for repentance became more urgent.
Amid my pain, when I felt I had nothing more to contribute, I was surprised by a call to serve as ward Relief Society president. Forgetting about my problems as I served other women was a blessing from a loving Father, as if He was saying He still trusted me. In return, I have received the love and affection of kind sisters who understand my challenges.
Today I feel that I am sitting in the Savior’s path. As I wait for Him, my challenges are refining me.
The Lord can heal our pain, whether physical, emotional, or spiritual, but we must exercise faith in His healing and wait patiently. Somewhere along the path, the Savior will be so close that we can touch His garments and hear Him say, “Daughter, thy faith hath made thee whole; go in peace, and be whole of thy plague” (Mark 5:34).

Before the dedication of the Rio de Janeiro Brazil Temple in 2022, our Relief Society wanted to help the families have names ready for the opening. Through personal meetings and online lessons, we helped everyone find ancestors.
My greatest joy was seeing each family prepare for the temple. My soul was filled with love for the Savior and with gratitude to be able to help others connect their families through temple ordinances.
Izabel de Queiroz Martins Silva, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

I am not certain just what our experience will be on Judgment Day, but I will be very surprised if at some point in that conversation, God does not ask us exactly what Christ asked Peter: “Did you love me?” I think He will want to know if in our very mortal, very inadequate, and sometimes childish grasp of things, did we at least understand one commandment, the first and greatest commandment of them all—“Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy strength, and with all thy mind” (Luke 10:27; see also Matthew 22:37–38). And if at such a moment we can stammer out, “Yea, Lord, thou knowest that I love thee,” then He may remind us that the crowning characteristic of love is always loyalty.

Prior to my introduction to the restored gospel, I spent much of my time playing football, including games on the Sabbath day. Even though I had been brought up to have respect for the Lord’s day, it was through applying the principle after I came in contact with the Church that I gained an understanding of the doctrine and its blessings. Withdrawing from the Sunday league team was one of the significant sacrifices that led to my conversion. It helped me appreciate the value of the gospel in my life.
Three years later, when work commenced on building the chapel in Norwich, England, I also withdrew from the Saturday league team so that I could make my contribution to the building project. The mist of self-interest that had previously restricted my vision was beginning to disperse, and a new panoramic view was emerging, bringing with it a deeper appreciation for and an increasing love of life.

In my calling as an institute teacher, I recently taught about the parable of the Good Samaritan (see Luke 10:25–37). Life can bring pain that we don’t deserve, and many times we might feel like the man who was beaten and robbed, just hoping that someone will help us. But in this parable, our Savior, Jesus Christ, wants us to be more like the Samaritan or the innkeeper, who took care of those who were hurt. That’s what the Savior did in spite of His own intense rejection and pain. I realized that instead of choosing to be the victim, I can choose to act in the role of healer.

Growing up, I was the kid you didn’t have to worry about. I had been active in the Church all my life. I had been the president of my priesthood quorums and seminary classes. I went to every youth conference, temple trip, Scouting event, and Mutual night. I also had a testimony of the gospel. Yet when I became a member of my priests quorum, I struggled, though no one knew it. After all, I was the kid you didn’t have to worry about.
Those first few weeks and months in the quorum I did what I always did: I went to church, Mutual, and Scouting activities. Inwardly, however, I was battling. I didn’t feel that I was a part of the group or that the other young men wanted me there. I wanted desperately to belong.
As time went on, I had questions and doubts about whether I wanted to be a part of the quorum. But I remained active, silently suffering and hoping that something or someone would help me feel welcome.
My father and I had just finished fixing up my first car, a beautiful 1967 Ford Mustang. Brother Stay, my Young Men president, asked about it from time to time. I thought his questions showed his interest in a classic car—not in a young man.
All this changed one rainy evening after Mutual. Because of the downpour, Brother Stay drove us all home from the church, dropping me off last. When he saw my blue Mustang in the driveway, he again asked about it. I offered to let him see the engine I had spent hours and hours repairing.
Brother Stay knew little about cars, and he had a wife and young son at home waiting for him. Yet there he stood in the dark, in the rain, looking at a barely visible car engine. At that moment I realized that he wasn’t doing what he was doing to see a classic car—he was doing it because he cared about me.
Because of that minute and a half standing in the rain, I found what I needed. I finally felt welcomed. My silent prayers had been answered.
Since then I have been to the temple, served a mission, graduated from college, and tried to keep my covenants. Brother Stay may not remember that moment, but I will never forget it.

On another occasion we were returning from area conferences in Europe, and we had a rather extended layover in New York City. Although tired and weary from his rigorous schedule, President Kimball eagerly visited with six missionaries who were en route to the Germany Munich Mission. He inquired about their families, their personal feelings about serving on missions, and then he charged them to be the best missionaries in their mission. He encouraged them to be diligent and faithful and promised that success would accompany such efforts. The missionaries left feeling uplifted in spirit and determined to serve valiantly. President Kimball edifies and inspires others.

Live theater was my passion! As a young adult, I threw myself into acting and singing on the stage. I was blessed with talent and hoped to establish a career performing professionally. I won the most challenging roles I could get and always behaved professionally in order to win the respect of my fellow thespians.
I was thrilled when the most influential director in our area told me that he would be holding auditions for an operetta and that he wanted me to try out. The show would be performed in our area’s most prestigious venue, and it seemed that my director friend already had me in mind for the leading role.
The script was unavailable for perusal before the audition, but the operetta was based on a novel by an 18th-century philosopher, which I read. I also became familiar with the show’s music, which was exceptionally beautiful and challenging.
The audition went well, and I was soon informed that the leading role—the most important part—was mine! I believed that this role was a huge opportunity.
I walked on clouds of excitement—until the script arrived. As I read it, my elation rapidly floated away. While the novel and the music were worthy, the script was irreverent and contained suggestive and inappropriate stage directions. I knew that I shouldn’t be involved in this production. It was a terrible disappointment.
Suddenly I had a dilemma. Theater etiquette dictates that after accepting a role, an actor does not quit because the production schedule does not allow time for changes in cast. Backing out now would be considered very unprofessional. I feared losing the trust of the theater company, offending the director, and even losing the opportunity to continue performing elsewhere.
Of course, I was tempted to rationalize! A voice strutted across my mind, proclaiming, “You can’t quit now. The script isn’t so bad. The good in the show will make up for the naughty parts.” But the Holy Spirit was always in the wings of my heart—firmly, patiently, unwaveringly cuing me that I needed to exit the operetta.
I knew what I had to do. Trembling, I picked up the phone and dialed the director.
“Hello, sir,” I said when he answered. “This is Annie.”
“Annie! I’m so excited about the show. Did you get the script?”
“Yes, I did, and I … I …”
I burst into tears. Talk about unprofessional!
Somehow, between sobs, I managed to explain to the director why I could not be in his show. And then I waited for the world to end.
The dear man laughed. He respected my choice. At first he tried to talk me into staying with the show, but he relented. He said he would still adore me even if I didn’t want to be in his operetta. And he simply asked me to bring the script to him right away so that he could give it to somebody else. I hung up the phone, mortified at my weeping but grateful for the director’s affectionate, understanding response.
I wiped away my tears and then grabbed the script and jumped into my car. As the engine started, the radio also came to life. It was preset to the local classical music station, and to my amazement, the tune playing was the overture of the very same operetta. I had never ever heard it played on the radio before.
I felt like Heavenly Father was playing this music for me. He wanted me to understand that He loved me and that He approved of my choice. The music coming over the airwaves was one of God’s tender mercies. Through it I felt the comfort of His love.

Here’s a solution to pollution, some psychology in ecology, and a great way to clean up after litterbugs. A good member in Salt Lake’s Valley View First Ward offered $5.00 to the youth who could collect the most flip lids from drink cans. Several thousands, shown here strung like leis across the chapel foyer, were collected by Carolyn Jensen and Merla Lybbert, each of whom won a prize.

My name is Brooklyn. There is a boy in my grade 3 class who has been quite mean to me throughout the whole year. When I asked my mom why he’s mean to me, she told me that sometimes people try to make you feel bad when they’re sad about their own lives.
Yesterday I came home from school a little bit sad because he was unkind to me again. Mommy said he was probably unhappy. I decided that instead of letting him make me feel sad, I was going to try to cheer him up. So I wrote him a card. It said that I noticed that sometimes he was sad, and I hoped my card would make him feel happier. I put a candy on the card and gave it to him. When he read it, he smiled. Then he said, “Thank you, Brooklyn.” He has been nice to me ever since.
My mom says that I showed Christlike love and saw him through the Savior’s eyes. If someone’s not kind to you, try being kind to them. It might take a month or a year, but you might finally get a smile back!

My elementary school music teacher was Miss Sharp. She helped her students love music and taught us to identify musical instruments and sounds. Miss Burkhaus taught geography. She rolled down the maps of the world and pointed out the capital cities of nations, the features of each country, as well as the language and culture. Little did I dream that one day I would visit these lands and peoples.

The best part about the pageant is the spirit that surrounds it. Eighteen-year-old Janna Halcomb’s brother encouraged her to try out for the pageant with him just before he left on his mission to Hungary. “That year we were able to be angels together,” she says. “It was such an incredible experience. The Spirit on the temple grounds is so strong, and as we bore witness of the Savior and His life my testimony was strengthened.”