Gospel Story Finder

I had just turned eight, and it was getting close to my baptism date. I asked my mom if I could invite my second-grade teacher to my baptism. My mom said, “Of course.” I wrote my teacher an invitation and gave it to her. She said she would love to come but had a family commitment on the same day. Even though she wasn’t there for my baptism, I felt happy that I had invited her. Maybe it would make her curious about my beliefs.
Paige G., age 9, Texas, USA

Elephant & Mouse Get Ready for Christmas Elephant didn’t think it was fair for his big stocking to hold more than Mouse’s little one, so he puts “Elephant” on Mouse’s stocking, and “Mouse” on his own. That doesn’t seem fair, either, does it? Don’t worry, though—Santa took care of the problem.Lois G. Grambling3–6 years

Whether the young men were the only Aaronic Priesthood holders in their remote Alaskan branches or members from a large ward, nearly all of them said that being with the other young men in a gospel-centered environment, especially at a fireside on the Restoration, was more memorable than any leisure activity. As Dakota B. put it, “For me, the most memorable and profound moment of the camp was learning about the Restoration and singing ‘Praise to the Man’ (Hymns, no. 27). I will never forget the powerful experience of over 1,000 priesthood holders singing together.”

During this trying time, the scriptures were a vital anchor for our spiritual health and progress. Although we didn’t read them together every day, they were interwoven into our daily life and conversations. We turned to them during controversies or conflicts, for confirmation of our choices, and for direction in our lives. After discussing feelings or concerns, we would often share a verse of scripture or part of a conference talk to fortify, validate, or comfort each other. Our well-worn sets of the standard works became almost an extension of our hands and hearts.
One evening as I crawled into bed, I reached for my scriptures and opened them but found I couldn’t focus my eyes to read. After a full day of school, two jobs, homework—and my usual four hours of sleep—I was quite literally out of energy. Calling to my daughter who was up finishing her homework, I asked her to read my scriptures to me. What a special moment was the sweet ministering of that beloved daughter. I don’t recall what she read, but I will never forget her love and tenderness as she tucked me into bed that night—as I had done so many times for her.

Some years ago I heard a radio interview featuring Bishop Desmond Tutu, the Anglican archbishop in South Africa. He had just published a book with his daughter about the reconciliation that had taken place in South Africa following apartheid.1 Basically, the book’s message is that there is good in all people.

During the interview the host asked a perceptive, inspired question of Bishop Tutu: “Have you found that your relationship to God has changed as you’ve grown older?”

Bishop Tutu paused and then said, “Yes. I am learning to shut up more in the presence of God.”

He recalled that when he prayed in his earlier years, he did so with a list of requests and solicitudes. He would approach heaven with what he called “a kind of shopping list.” But now, he said, “I think [I am] trying to grow in just being there. Like when you sit in front of a fire in winter, you are just there in front of the fire, and you don’t have to be smart or anything. The fire warms you.”2

I know a grandfather who, at a recent family gathering in the mountains, took his grandchildren for a walk. As they came to a clearing in the trees, he invited the young children to sit down on a log while he told them about a 14-year-old boy named Joseph Smith, who wanted to ask Heavenly Father some questions that were troubling him. The grandfather explained that the boy Joseph went to a grove of trees near his home to pray, having faith that God would answer him. The grandchildren quietly listened, but four-year-old Johnny, who often has difficulty sitting still, could not contain himself. He blurted out, “I’ve heard that story before.”

The grandfather told of Joseph’s sincere prayer and how it was answered with a glorious visitation from Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ. As he finished, little Johnny grabbed his grandfather’s hand and said, “That was a good testimony, Grandpa.” He loved hearing the story again.

Though the grandfather had repeated this sacred account many times throughout his life, he said, “Never did the Spirit of the Lord bear stronger witness than when I bore my testimony of Joseph Smith to my own grandchildren.” The grandfather and the children had felt the witness of the Holy Ghost. Like Johnny, our children may have heard the scripture stories before, but have they heard us bear our personal testimony of the truthfulness of the accounts and the principles they teach?

While the Ogden Utah Temple was being rebuilt, Primary children from the Evanston 6th Ward, Wyoming, USA, used sugar cubes to build a model of the temple. They learned about how families can be together forever. The children are so excited to have the temple open again!

In the Philippines, a man who had seen the Church grow quickly with very young leadership, responded when called, “Oh no, not me. I am too old.” When it was pointed out that some members of the Twelve were three decades older than he, he accepted and served very well.

My dad had a stroke and went to the hospital. He was still in the hospital when I turned eight. I decided to wait until my dad was out of the hospital to be baptized and confirmed. It was one of the happiest days for me.
William M., age 9, Queensland, Australia

How has your testimony been strengthened through working with your sister? I have definitely seen the hand of God in the transformation of my sister from a sickly child. Seeing color in her face, watching her develop a love for running, and watching her feel well has been so miraculous. I know that could have been accomplished only with the help of God. My testimony of the love of God for each of us has grown immensely.

On September 4, 1893, Peter Rabbit was “born” in a letter written by Beatrix Potter to a sick child. In the first paragraph, she wrote:
“My dear Noel, I don’t know what to write to you, so I shall tell you a story about four little rabbits whose names are Flopsy, Mopsy, Cottontail, and Peter. They lived with their mother in a sandbank under the foot of a big fir tree. …”

Last October my mom told my siblings and me to listen to ward business that Sunday instead of drawing. So when sacrament meeting started, I paid close attention to the opening prayer and the hymn. Once that was over, the person conducting the meeting asked the bishop to stand up. Then he said the bishop was being released.
He asked my dad, who was first counselor at the time, to stand up. Then he announced that my dad was going to be the new bishop!
I was really worried that something about my dad would change drastically. I had always thought bishops were people who were formal and serious, most unlike my dad. That they had perfectly well-behaved kids who sat quietly on the bench every week. That was not my family.
But I realized that bishops aren’t men with perfect families. They aren’t men who are solemn and serious. They are men with the priesthood. Men with strong, good testimonies.
I don’t know why the Lord chose my dad to be the bishop, but I know that He has His reasons. And I know that my dad did change … but not into a stiff and serious man I didn’t know. I could tell his testimony grew.
And so did mine.

The stage was aflame with the swirl of red and orange skirts, flared pant legs, and silky, shimmery blouses. Twelve feet stomped rapidly on the stage floor to the beat of the Bolivian folk music, and out in the Utah high school auditorium there were happy whistles, claps, and shouts of “ah-ree-va,” which the young Bolivians insisted on as audience participation. There were six performers: four young men and two young women. They had come to Utah as part of a “partner’s program” between Bolivia and Utah—they came as a cultural exchange group after winning the National Folk Music Contest from among thousands of Bolivian entries.
It didn’t just happen that they were all Mormons; it was because of the Church that they met and organized their group. They were all members of the La Paz Ninth Branch, La Paz Second District in the Bolivia La Paz Mission. As branch members they began singing and dancing together at youth activity night. As they began to stir interest in their performances, they called themselves Rama Nueve—Branch Nine.
It was in February of 1976 that they came to Salt Lake City to be the guests of Dave and Chris Boyd. The Boyds did not speak Spanish nor did the Bolivians speak English when they first arrived in Utah. Chris said, “It’s close to a miracle how we have been able to communicate. We’ve been able to work with the time schedules, solve medical problems, and enjoy each other’s company.

Those of us who are a little more mature can have a tremendous influence on the younger generations. When my mother was just a little girl, neither of her parents was active in the Church. Even at the young age of five, she would walk by herself to church and attend her meetings—Primary, Sunday School, and sacrament meeting—all at different times.
I recently asked my mother why in the world she did that week after week when she had no support or encouragement at home. Her answer was: “I had Primary teachers who loved me.” These teachers cared about her and taught her the gospel. They taught her that she had a Father in Heaven, who loved her, and it was their concern for her that kept her coming week after week. My mother said to me, “That was one of the most important influences in my early life.” I hope I can thank those wonderful sisters someday! There is no age barrier when it comes to Christlike service.

The most powerful conference moment for me was the talk given by President Uchtdorf about the plane crash that occurred in Antarctica. That hit me deeply on how a matter of such tiny proportion can have the lasting effect that may be irreversible with lasting consequences. It also showed no matter how far off we may stroll from the straight and narrow, we need to admit we have wronged and seek forgiveness from our ever-loving Heavenly Father. He cares deeply for our well-being and loves us when we can accept our wrongs, learn from them, and grow spiritually from them.
Orion H., Colorado, USA

At one point, Dan Ellsworth, also from the United States, wasn’t sure he had a particle of faith left to exercise. His initial exposure to academic and historical approaches to the Old Testament weakened his faith in the Bible and affected his belief in all scripture. But Dan kept going to church and decided to experiment for six months with a plan to pray, fast, and serve in the Church. At times, he asked his young daughters to also pray for their daddy’s faith.

After a while, Dan began having spiritual experiences and finding answers to some of the questions that bothered him most. One day, while at a library, he felt prompted to go down a row of books and pick out one. In it, he found insightful counterarguments to the book that initially shook his belief in the Bible. While this experience didn’t resolve every question, it taught Dan some important lessons: “First, I needed to be humble about how much I could really know on my own. And second, other ways of finding truth, along with reason, exist: spiritual impressions, positive outcomes from fruits of the Spirit, and ideas that foster mental breakthroughs, all of which led to much stronger convictions and faith than I had before.”

I wasn’t really interested in the Church. I had listened to the missionary discussions only to learn more about a friend’s religious beliefs. But when the missionaries then asked me to pray about whether or not the Church was true, I felt I needed someone to talk to.
I thought about talking with the minister of the Christian church I had been attending. He and his wife had been good to me, and I respected him as a man of God.
“Surely, he could give me some direction,” I thought as I put on my coat.
As I was about to leave, I was impressed to pray about the matter. The feeling was so strong that I acted immediately without question.
I closed the door, knelt by me bed, and asked Heavenly Father to guide me as I talked to my minister. I also prayed that I might receive an answer about what the missionaries had told me.
After ending my prayer, I rose to my feet and again prepared to depart. However, another strong feeling came—that I should not see the minister. I felt that I should tell no one of my problem and that my answer would come in due time. If I needed truthful answers, I was to turn to the Lord in prayer.
Without further thought, I took off my coat and went on with my usual morning tasks.
My answer did come in due time. A burning sensation within me testified of the truthfulness of the gospel.
Several weeks after my baptism I visited my former minister and told him of my experiences. As I politely listened to his biased opinions, I felt thankful that I had taken the time to listen to that still, small voice several months earlier.

Staley’s Butte—7,921 feet high. He knew its elevation by heart after studying an old road atlas that Grandpa had in the bookcase. And he knew the mountain because he’d climbed it right to the top.
Sam’s mind wandered back to a Friday in the fall four years earlier, just after school had started. The family was around the kitchen table, talking about lots of little things that seem to be best discussed over a warm supper. Along about dessert time, Dad abruptly brought up the subject of climbing Staley’s Butte.
“You got much planned for tomorrow, Sam?” Dad asked between bites of chocolate ice cream.
“Nothing outside of the regular chores,” he answered cautiously, wondering if his answer would lead to additional work.
“What do you think of the two of us packing a lunch and making a climb up Staley’s Butte? I don’t believe you and I have ever climbed it.”
“Sure, Dad!” Sam said. “Really? That’s a pretty hard climb isn’t it?”
“Oh, it’s a test. That’s for sure. But you’ll make it,” Dad encouraged, and then turning to Mother. “Say Ruth, did you hear Vernon Henderson sunk a new well …”
Nothing more was said about the climb, at least until five the next morning when Sam felt someone gently shaking his shoulder.
“You going with me on the hike today, Son?”
Sam was a little startled by having his sleep broken so unexpectedly. “Huh … hike? Oh yeah, Staley’s Butte,” he said groggily. “We’d better fix something to eat for when we get to the top,” he said, proud of what he felt was admirable foresight.
“Already done,” Dad reassured, smiling. “I’ve been up an hour. Breakfast is on the table, and I’ve got a pack full of sandwiches. Are you going up there in your pajamas?”
“Be right with you,” Sam said, swinging out of bed and fumbling around with some clothes.
Thirty minutes later they were turning away from the highway and onto a dirt road that led to the mountain. The morning air was clear, still, and cool. Sam leaned back in the car seat, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. The air smelled mostly like dew and juniper, with the fragrance of sage intermingled. Higher up, where the road started switching back on an upward path, he knew the fresh smell of pine would dominate.
They poked ahead for another ten miles before Dad slowed up and pulled the car over where the road flared just before a wooden bridge crossed a hard-running stream. Light had been making steady gains on the darkness, and now sunshine was reaching the tops of the trees. Sam pulled back on the door handle and jumped out into the nippy, tingling air.
“There’s a trail that runs parallel to the stream. We’ll follow it for a couple of miles,” Dad said matter-of-factly. “There’s a little draw that washes down almost from the top of the mountain. We can follow it up almost to the summit. The last stretch is tough, but I think we can lick it.”
Dad was digging through the back seat for the pack with the food in it. He fished it out and hefted it onto his back, then stopped just short of letting it rest on his shoulders.
“You know, Sam, I think it might be time to let you carry the pack. You’re about as big as I am now.”
They started off on the trail, Dad in the lead, taking long, loping strides. Gradually the trail left the streamside, climbing higher into the thick pine forest. The harsh noise of the rumbling water was slowly replaced by the sounds of the wind stirring through the tree limbs and a host of mountainside birds clucking and calling. Soon the sunshine filtered to the trail and Sam was mildly surprised to find perspiration forming on his forehead. They pushed on for an hour, not saying much, but sharing the communication that seems to come naturally for fathers and sons in the outdoors.
They hiked on for 45 minutes. The pine forests were thinning into small meadows and patches of rock. Sam noticed they were now able to look down on the tops of the lower peaks nearby.
“This is where we leave the trail,” Dad said, stopping for a rest. “The streambed should lead us almost to the top. How about some water?”
Sam took the pack off and passed a plastic jug to his father. Far below, perhaps a half-mile, the stream thrashed and twisted down the canyon. Its gurgling could only be heard during the moments when the wind died down.
Dad handed the water jug back to Sam, who took a couple of long swallows before wiping the top off and placing it back in the pack. He looked at Sam. “How about you taking the lead? I’m getting sort of tired I guess.”
“Okay, Dad, but don’t expect me to slow down on your account,” Sam teased.
“Then let’s go, Mr. Young and Arrogant.”
Sam turned and faced Staley’s Butte. It wouldn’t be an easy climb, this last stretch. The slope was steep and there was plenty of loose rock. And the top of the butte resembled a king’s crown, with tall spires that seemed to dare anyone to climb them.
They made steady progress for the next hour, zigzagging along the rocks. But the small streambed they’d been trying to follow began to narrow and steepen, finally disappearing among the upper reaches of the mountain. It wasn’t long before both father and son were using hands and feet to help them work their way to the top. Sam found himself nearly out of breath as he searched for hand holds and solid footing. Dad was right behind, and Sam could hear him breathing hard. They rose, slowly, arduously, until the terrain flattened into a small mesa two dozen feet wide with a few good-sized stones sprinkled about.
“Ready for a rest?” Sam questioned, hoping that his father would say yes.
“I think so … that was quite a climb … that last little stretch,” his father panted. “There’s some good sittin’ rocks here. Let’s take five.”
Both of them were quiet for a few moments. The water jug was passed around again.
“By the look of things, we’re going to have to grow some wings if we want to make it to the top,” Dad said, studying the steep spires above. “You still game?”
“I think we can do it, Dad,” Sam said slowly. “If we stay to the left there seem to be places between the spires where we can get some good holds.”
“That’s our best bet, no doubt about it,” Dad agreed. “You know, my foot is kind of bothering me. Blisters. Why don’t you start up, and if you make it okay, then I’ll follow you in a few minutes. I think I’d better take care of my foot,” he added with a trace of playfulness in his voice.
Sam took the challenge. “See you at the top,” he said.
The last part of the climb was the most difficult. Sam carefully crept up an opening between two of the spires, ignoring a dozen scrapes and small cuts he received as he pulled himself up. After 20 minutes, he crawled over the last ledge. He stood up and gazed at the panorama around him, then called down to his father to let him know he’d reached the top of Staley’s Butte.

We want to be sure that every call, including possible short-term calls, involves a meaningful assignment. This is more difficult than it appears. When the severe earthquake occurred in Peru several years ago, many physicians went down there from the United States, Russia, Australia, and other countries. One of Peru’s greatest problems was figuring out what to do with these doctors who were milling around without supplies, organization, or purpose. Every call made by the Church must be well planned and responsive to local need.

When I completed my mission, the Spirit prompted me to follow the second part of President Kimball’s counsel and not delay marriage in the temple. A year before, Church members in Japan began planning a trip to the Salt Lake Temple. Because they were going to leave in three months, I prayed and fasted to be led to a worthy young woman I could take to the temple.
A short while later I attended a Church activity in my hometown of Matsumoto City. While there I ran into Shiroko Momose, who had attended the same high school I was attending when I joined the Church. The Spirit immediately confirmed that she was the one who had been prepared for me.
I proposed to Shiroko shortly after we began dating. She made me happy when she accepted, but she surprised me by what she said next.
“I am very happy to know that your Lord is my Lord,” she said. “When they announced the trip to the Salt Lake Temple, I longed to go. I prayed many times that the Lord would help me find someone I could marry there. About a year ago I came to know through the Spirit while praying that I should wait for you and that you would propose to me when you returned from your mission.”
That was a great spiritual experience for us, and it strengthened our resolve to marry in the Salt Lake Temple. We had little money to make the trip, but we did not let that discourage us. By then we knew that when we rely on the Lord and keep His commandments, He helps us accomplish things we could not otherwise accomplish.
We appealed to our Heavenly Father in prayer and exerted all our efforts to raise the necessary funds. Those efforts, combined with financial help from one of Shiroko’s friends, enabled us to join the Japanese Saints who went to the Salt Lake Temple.
It is not possible to express the joy we felt in being sealed there as an eternal couple. We will never forget that experience. What added to our joy is that we had researched five generations of our ancestors and had prepared their names for temple work. While in Salt Lake City we performed proxy ordinances for those ancestors. Doing those ordinances helped us feel close to them. We knew they were filled with joy because of our efforts.
We were poor newlyweds, but we made temple attendance a priority, later going to the Laie Hawaii Temple as often as finances permitted.