Gospel Story Finder

The summer was almost over when one Saturday morning Dad said, “I know a fishing hole I think I’ll visit this afternoon. Do you boys have anything special planned for today?”
The boys’ eyes lighted up in happy anticipation, and right after lunch they all started for Willow Creek. When they reached the stream, Dad turned off the main gravel road onto a steep dirt one.
The road was narrow and full of curves but finally widened out along the creek bank. After Dad helped the boys untangle their lines and bait their fishhooks, he went a short distance downstream to find a good fishing hole.
James and Joseph didn’t notice the sun clouded over until a loud clap of thunder startled them. With a sudden wild gust of wind, heavy rain began to fall. They hurried back to the car, wet and frightened.
Dad opened the door, climbed inside, and said cheerfully, “Guess we better be starting for home.”
The downpour of rain had turned the dirt road into a sea of mud. Dad tried to plow through it but the wheels began to spin out of control. Each spin edged the car closer to the embankment.
The anxious moments ticked slowly by while they all thought of their comfortable home. Father suggested that the boys kneel on the seats of the car while they all prayed for help.
The rain continued to splatter the windows of the car until it seemed as if the car were on an isolated island. But soon above the noise of the pelting storm, they heard the roar of a motor and saw a four-wheel-drive jeep come into view.
The jeep pulled up alongside the stalled car, and a man jumped out. It was an answer to prayer when he called, “We knew someone needed help in this storm!”
He fastened a chain to the front of their car, and with the help of the jeep pulled them safely back to the main road.

Brethren, as you may remember, while speaking this morning I referred to our recent visit to the Caribbean Islands and the wonderful missionary work that has been accomplished in the two short years since we opened up those islands for the preaching of the gospel.
One incident occurred in Santo Domingo that I did not have time to tell you about. I think I should like to relate it to you now.
We held an evening general meeting in Santo Domingo, the capital city of the Dominican Republic. Nearly 1600 souls were present.
About an hour after the close of the general meeting, a busload of one hundred members from the Puerto Plata Branch arrived at the meeting place. They had been delayed because their bus broke down. Under ordinary circumstances, they could have made the trip in about four hours, but they finally arrived after 10:00 p.m. to find the hall dark and empty. Many wept because they were so disappointed. All were converts, some for a few months and others only weeks or days.
Sister Kimball and I had gone to bed after a long and tiring day. Upon learning of the plight of these faithful souls, my secretary knocked on the door of our hotel room and woke us up. He apologized for disturbing us but thought that I would want to know about the late arrivals and perhaps dictate a personal message to them. However, I felt that wouldn’t be good enough and not fair to those who had come so far under such trying circumstances—one hundred people jammed into one bus. I got out of bed and dressed and went downstairs to see the members who had made such an effort only to be disappointed because of engine trouble. The Saints were still weeping as we entered the hall, so I spent more than an hour visiting with them.
They then seemed relieved and satisfied and got back on the bus for the long ride home. They had to get back by morning to go to work and to school. Those good people seemed so appreciative of a brief visit together that I felt we just couldn’t let them down. As I returned to my bed, I did so with a sense of peace and contentment in my soul.

At age 16, she stayed one last time with her favorite relatives. She planned to meet her family at the train station the next morning, ride to Liverpool, England, and board a ship for America.
But she overslept.
“I did not know what to do,” she said. “My father, brothers, and sister were on that train and leaving me behind. Oh, it was terrible!”
She arrived in Liverpool late that night, wandered the streets, and asked strangers to help her find her family. At last, around 1:00 a.m., she peered through the window of a house and saw familiar faces. “I tell you, I was happy,” she said. “It made my father sick, for he thought he would never see me again.”
After five weeks at sea and a train ride to Iowa, she and her family set out across the plains. Members of the Martin Handcart Company “would sit around the campfire and sing and were as happy as larks,” Margaret said, “till the snow caught us.”
Then there was little singing. Instead, Margaret watched as friends, overcome by cold, hunger, or illness, slumped over dead. “All we had to eat was four ounces of flour a day,” she said. Soon “the snow was so deep we could not go any further.” Both her brothers died before reaching Salt Lake, and her father died the day after he reached Salt Lake.
Although Margaret lost family and friends, she didn’t lose hope. She married and lived happily. Later she received an interesting birthday gift from her family: an airplane ride. They wanted to say that she had traveled by every mode of transportation, including train, boat, handcart, wagon, automobile, and airplane.

Here’s a fun way to take notes during conference!
I went to the general women’s session with my mom and my sister Allie. After we sat down, my mom leaned over and said, “I have a great idea. Every time you feel touched by the Spirit, draw a heart in your notebook.” At the end of the meeting, I had drawn 14 hearts! The Spirit touched me that night and my testimony was strengthened!
Katie J., age 9, Utah, USA

At Scout camp, my troop and I had a “spiritual moment” every night before we went to bed. During that time, we’d read a story from the New Era. Afterward, we’d have a discussion about the story and a closing prayer.
Two boys who were not members of the Church were with our troop, and after the first couple of nights they started participating in the discussions and prayers. During the week we taught them about Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. I’m glad we have so many tools for sharing the gospel.

Benson, where are you? It’s time for bed.
I don’t want to go to bed.
Why not?
Because there is a ghost in my room.
There is not a ghost in your room.
Are you sure?
I promise.
Dad, what is the Holy Ghost?
That’s a good question.
The Holy Ghost is a member of the Godhead. His job is to help us feel what Heavenly Father wants us to know and do.
Do we see Him?
No, but we feel Him near. He helps us feel happy.
All right, now close your eyes. It’s time to go to sleep. I love you.
I love you too. And I think I feel the Holy Ghost.

I first discovered the Liahona when I joined the Church several years ago. In the beginning I didn’t think much of it, but as time went by it became one of the most wonderful things in my life and a key to my success. It strengthened my testimony of the restored gospel and helped me stay strong in the Church. Because of this strength, I was able to resist temptations and set a good example for a co-worker, who was eventually baptized and confirmed.
It is so wonderful to study and share the Liahona. It will help me for the rest of my life. I’m so thankful to receive the messages from the Lord’s prophet and apostles every month. The Liahona is sweeter to me than honey and more valuable than gold.
Aldemir Guanacoma Ave, Bolivia

It wasn’t so much that I doubted. It was just that I didn’t know.
There I was, seventeen years old and an “active” member of the Church all my life. Baptized at eight. Ordained a deacon at twelve. Now in my fourth year of seminary. And I still couldn’t say “I know.”
For my good buddy Gary, it seemed so easy. We often sat side by side at the sacrament table. Almost every fast Sunday I would sense him squirming beside me. And almost without fail he would rise to his feet before fast and testimony meeting ended to bear his testimony. His voice quavered, and his eyes would fill with tears as he told how wonderful it was to feel the Holy Ghost.
I envied Gary, but at the same time I felt uncomfortable. His tears made me feel a little embarrassed for him. Still, I wished that I had the kind of testimony he had. I guess I just didn’t want it badly enough then. So I continued to drift comfortably.
Then came that final year of seminary. Subject: The Book of Mormon. Focus: Moroni, chapter 10, verses 4 and 5 [Moro. 10:4–5]. Our challenge was to read the Book of Mormon from cover to cover and to pray for a witness that it is true—in other words, to apply Moroni’s promise.
At first I didn’t make much of an effort. But as the school year wore on, I began to read the Book of Mormon every night, the last thing before I went to bed. And after reading, I would kneel beside my bed and ask for a witness that the book—and the Church—are true.
And still nothing happened.
Constantly in the back of my mind was Gary’s fervent testimony. Also, there was the scripture in Doctrine and Covenants 9:8 [D&C 9:8], where the Lord told Oliver Cowdery, “I will cause that your bosom shall burn within you.”
So night after night I knelt on the small braided rug beside my bed, said a pleading prayer, and climbed into bed to wait for that burning witness. Then, one night, I stopped in the middle of my prayer and asked myself, “Do I know if it’s true yet?”
And then it happened. There was no pillar of light. No voice. Not even the burning sensation that I had been looking for. Instead, a simple realization came into my mind.
Suddenly, I knew that I knew. And that was it. Calm and peaceful and seemingly unspectacular, it was all I needed at the time. I knew that I knew.
Since that time, I have become more aware of the Lord’s words to Oliver Cowdery in the sixth section of the Doctrine and Covenants: “If you desire a further witness, cast your mind upon the night that you cried unto me in your heart, that you might know concerning the truth of these things.
“Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning the matter? What greater witness can you have than from God?” (D&C 6:22–23, italics added).
Many times would follow when I would feel that burning in my bosom. Many times I would feel the joyful swelling in my heart that Alma describes. (See Alma 32:28.) But for the time being, that quiet realization was all I needed, all I had to remember. The Lord had spoken peace to my mind.

When I was a small boy growing up, my older brother was bigger than life to me. He was nine years older and the best player on every team he played on. He always looked out for his little brother and spent many hours teaching me the skills of various sports. Since we shared a bedroom—much to his chagrin—I oftentimes would hear him awake late at night and slip out to the backyard to lift weights to get stronger. I spent many nights peering out the window at his example of extra effort and dreamed I one day could be like him. He truly was, and still remains, a great brother. He continues to influence my life for good as my big brother.

In addition to my wonderful mother, I’ve had many mentors in my life. I first became acquainted with the process of mentoring when I was just nine years old. My Primary teacher taught me to cross-stitch “I Will Bring the Light of the Gospel into My Home,” a picture that hung in my room during my teenage years. My teacher guided me, corrected me, and always encouraged me along the way. Other mentors followed. Two excellent seamstresses in my ward taught me sewing. With their guidance, patience, and encouragement, I entered a dress in a sewing contest when I was 14, and I actually won a prize! The process increased my thirst for knowledge and excellence in other areas as well.

I know of a widowed father who was reluctant to live with his daughter who resided in another state. She thanked him for the privilege of taking him into her home, insisting that she now would be able to demonstrate her love for all she had received from her parents. She felt selfish in finally having him to herself. Upon his death, she told me how blessed she was to have had those last precious years with her father.

With your indulgence I would like to share a personal experience related to the balance between the intellect and the spirit. Prior to having this experience I thought I understood the doctrine, but afterwards I had certain knowledge that it is true. Intellect and spirituality are mutually dependent.
Over 26 years ago I was hired to be the managing director of the Welfare Services Department of the Church. We were at a critical stage in the history of welfare. Our charge was to bring the welfare program from the 1930s to the 1980s. It was time to go through an agonizing reappraisal of the program in light of current world and Church conditions. The specifics are irrelevant but it will suffice to say I was beside myself with worry and concern.
After praying for a solution, I had a terrific thought: “Glenn, you have access to the Quorum of the Twelve and to a member of the First Presidency. What a resource!” I canonized that thought. Consequently, I called for appointments and met one-on-one with these great men. I poured out my concerns and added my feeling that we were at a stage in the history of the Church where further revelation on the subject was necessary. Then I sat back with my yellow notepad and Cross pen and waited for pearls of wisdom.
I received one consistent pearl from each of those prophets, seers, and revelators: “Brother Pace, I commend you for your concern and conscientiousness in finding solutions to these weighty matters. I, too, have some deep concerns and anxieties and you are absolutely right; we do need additional revelation. Now, go get it!”
Who, me? I was an employee of the Church at the time, not a General Authority, but I, along with the well-qualified staff of the welfare department were charged with the responsibility to do our homework and bring forward well-thought-out recommendations to the Brethren which could be confirmed, modified, or rejected in the appropriate forums. It was our obligation and right to receive inspiration, but it came with agonizingly intense study, research, meditation, and prayer. We read everything we could find on welfare with the objective of separating principles from programs and policies from doctrine in order that we could come up with sound recommendations. It was a two-year process.
The points I wish to make are that we must learn how to obtain our own personal revelation and that revelation comes by using all the intellectual and spiritual abilities with which we have been blessed. The Spirit guides us along the way but will not replace the hard work. It would have been nice to offer up a prayer to the Lord on the first day of my employment and find the answer on my desk the next morning in the form of a welfare manual. It would also have made a more spectacular story. However, for good reason it doesn’t work that way.

Before she found the gospel, A. Munkhsaihan saw the world as a dark place with little hope. Finding faith and hope through the gospel changed the world for her.

In the years before 1990, she taught Russian. But when the political and cultural climate of Mongolia changed, she found that she needed to learn English so she could teach it. Munkhsaihan studied English for a year with Latter-day Saint missionaries. Before listening to the missionary discussions, she determined that she would examine their faith carefully. She found their religion was more than a faith based on true principles—it was a way of life. She was baptized and confirmed in June 2000, and the rest of her family joined the Church a month later. Now she sees the world as a much brighter place for her, her children, and her grandchildren. Currently, she serves as president of the Relief Society in the Ulaanbaatar district.

After the gospel changed her own life, Munkhsaihan wondered what would happen if she applied its principles in her work as a teacher. She began trying consciously to love all her students—and with some that was difficult. She began to pray for her students. Interestingly, she found herself changing; she developed a greater capacity to love them. Even though the students did not know she was praying for them, their attitudes toward her changed as well.

“As we exercise faith in the gospel, we can change ourselves,” she says.

And this, her experience suggests, is how the gospel may change Mongolia. As members change themselves through faith in Jesus Christ, they will change the world around them.

One day after a particularly hard shift in the hospital’s pediatrics unit, I was tired and grumpy. As I walked to the security desk, I noticed some beautiful flowers. When I commented to the person at the desk how beautiful they were and how good they smelled, she told me I could have them.
I was so happy! I thought that surely Heavenly Father wanted me to have the flowers to brighten my day.
Walking out of the hospital, I found myself behind a woman in a wheelchair. I grew impatient with her but finally was able to pass her as we exited the building. As I passed, she lifted her head and said, “Oh, what beautiful flowers.” I thanked her and hurried toward my husband, who was waiting in our car. I was excited to show him my flowers.
Suddenly I felt the Holy Ghost tell me that the woman needed the flowers more than I did. I was reluctant to give them to her, but I followed the prompting. When I asked if she would like them, I hoped she would say no.
“Oh, yes!” she replied. “I would love them. They are beautiful.”
I handed them to her, but as I turned to leave, she began to sob. When I asked if she was all right, she told me that her husband had passed away several years ago and that it had been more than a year since any of her children had visited her. She said she had been pleading with God to show her a sign of His love.
“You are an angel sent from God to give me my favorite flowers,” she said. “Now I know that He loves me.”
My heart broke. I had been so selfish. This woman needed a loving word, and I didn’t even want to talk to her. I was no angel. As we parted, I also started to cry.
When I reached the car, my husband asked what was wrong and why I had given away my flowers. He seemed confused but then relieved as I related the story.
“I sent you roses today. I felt that you needed them,” he said. “I was worried you had just given them away. If those weren’t the flowers I sent you, where are they?”
It turned out that the floral shop had forgotten to deliver the roses, so we drove to the shop. My husband went in and soon came out with a beautiful bouquet.
I couldn’t help but cry again. Heavenly Father had asked me to sacrifice those flowers, knowing that there was something better waiting for me and also that His lonely daughter needed a reminder of His love.

It occurred when this most treasured, little son was nearly three years old. One day, suddenly and without warning, he stopped breathing and fell to the floor, apparently lifeless. My husband was not home, and I called my ten-year-old daughter, Nancy, to get help as I carried him to the bedroom. As I worked to revive him, I literally, cried out unto the Lord. I begged him to spare our only son. I promised that I would dedicate myself to training him up to be an instrument in the hands of God if he would be spared. The police arrived with their emergency equipment. I continued in fervent, vocal prayer to the Lord, petitioning him to restore our little boy. The doctor arrived. Just as a stimulant was to be injected directly into his heart as a final emergency measure, he cried. My prayers had been answered, but I was to receive further testimony of this in a most unexpected way.
The next morning, our son climbed on his daddy’s knee. “I was sitting on the lap of Jesus,” he said. Then he went on, “He looked into my eyes. I was so happy. I wanted to stay there with him, but he told me I had to go back home to you.” Even now, twenty-four years later, our son remembers vividly the reciprocal love he experienced during his brief “step out of time.” He is vigorous and well, living with his lovely wife and a little son of his own as he continues to serve the Lord.

In June 1969, my parents were asked by the church to come to serve a mission for two years at the Polynesian Cultural Center (PCC). My father was to work as the Chief of the Tahitian Village. My parents accepted the mission call and our family moved hereto Laie, Hawaii. We first lived on Iosepa street in Laie. We moved a few times until PCC got us a permanent house on Lanihuli street right next to the Laie chapel. This took a lot of trust, faith, and courage on the part of my parents to come to a foreign land with only $300 dollars in their pocket and had to learn a new language. But my father said they would try, and they would put all their trust and faith in the Lord to help them. Soon a two-year mission became a four-year mission. And after serving for four years, my parents were told that their mission was finished and that our family would have to return home to Tahiti.

When my parents shared the information with my siblings and me, we were all sad and begged our parents to find a way for the family to stay in Hawaii. Without letting us know, my Dad prayed and Fasted for three days to our Heavenly Father to help him find a way for his family to stay in Hawaii. One day soon after his three days of fasting, my father was talking to one of his best friends, Brother Damuni, who was the chief of the Fijian village at PCC. He told brother Damuni what he was trying to do for his family. Brother Damuni told my Dad not to worry; the Lord will help you and your family to stay in Hawaii. Soon after, Brother Damuni would introduce my parents to Jack Thompson, the owner of Tihati production. We would have to go back to Tahiti as was contracted with PCC, and Jack Thompson would hire my dad to work for him as the Tahitian dance instructor. And Jack Thompson was able to sponsor our whole family to come back to Hawaii to live and stay. I am so grateful to PCC and Tihati productions for not only bringing us to Hawaii but also giving my parents and my jobs so we could sustain ourselves and continue to live in Hawaii.

Because of my father's strong faith in the power of prayer and fasting, the Lord gave my dad a path to someone, Brother Damuni, to answer his prayer. Our family has been blessed through my parent's faith and their love for our Heavenly Father.

One spring a young, lanky cowboy named Rick Errington came to work for the Kanes. At first he was quiet and took a background role in the events at camp. But Sister Kane sensed something about him that persuaded her to introduce him to the gospel. The twins confess that they are sometimes embarrassed to take the first step in inviting a new cowboy to church. After their mother breaks the ice, they are right behind her working just as hard to get to know him and talk about the gospel.
“I remember the first time Rick came to church,” says Salli. “Here is this new guy, and he’s really young, and Mom invited him to church.”
“We were wondering what he was thinking,” says Syndi. “Then he started coming to church in our trailer. We take a little trailer out to the cowboy camps and hold sacrament meeting in it. It’s really crowded with the seven of our family and two or three cowboys. There is a little bench and one chair and a little cabinet to put the sacrament on.”
Salli interrupts, “And the Spirit is always there. We have one hymnbook and try to keep in tune.”
“The sacrament means the same,” says Syndi, “even though it’s on an old pie plate with different kinds of cups.”
The meeting is a comfortable one for those trying to learn more about the gospel. Scripture study is combined with the talks. No one is afraid to comment or ask questions, even in the middle of a talk.
To get to know Rick a little better, Sister Kane asked him to help her sons with their Cub Scout projects. They had a great time building a scooter from old barn wood and used roller skate wheels.
At camp Rick came to meetings regularly and started giving talks. “At first,” says Rick, “I saw the Kanes as a very special family that loved each other and showed this love to everyone. After a while I learned that it was the gospel that pulled them together like that.”
Rick helped with family home evening and encouraged the other cowboys to participate. “At first, some of the men didn’t want anything to do with it, but then they started to come and liked it. Every family home evening, we were fed just a little more of the gospel.”
The time Rick spent riding the range after cattle became a time for reflection, growth, and prayer. He was profoundly affected by experiences he had while by himself in the sagebrush hills. And at the church meetings, “I heard what I needed to hear,” he says.
After the roundup, Rick attended branch meetings held in the Kane home on their ranch. Soon the missionaries from Elko were making the 60-mile drive to teach him. He was baptized, and his first calling was to be the Sunday School teacher to Salli and Syndi. “He was really good,” says Syndi. “Those lessons were really hard for him at first. He would study and study.”
But Salli and Syndi lost their Sunday School teacher. Syndi explains, “One day after Rick was baptized, Mom told him, ‘You know the next step after being baptized is to get prepared for a mission.’ He had a real desire to go. He saved up his money for a year after being baptized. Now he’s in Oklahoma serving his mission.”

Zamu sped across the yard on his blue bicycle. His two-year-old brother, Zinathi, was right behind him on his red scooter.
“Come on, let’s go again!” Zamu said when they reached the edge of the yard. He turned around and pedaled as fast as he could back to the front. The wind rushed over his face.
“Zamu and Zinathi!” Zamu shouted.
Zinathi laughed. He shouted with Zamu.
“Zamu and Zinathi! Zamu and Zinathi!”
They rode across the yard, back and forth, back and forth, until Zamu’s legs were too tired to pedal anymore.
“Let’s take a break,” Zamu panted.
“Come over here and rest,” Dad called from the trampoline.
Zamu parked his bike and took Zinathi by the hand. He helped his little brother climb onto the trampoline. Then he climbed up and sat beside Dad.
“Were you having fun?” Dad asked.
“Yeah!” Zinathi said.
Zamu lay back on the trampoline with a sigh. The sky above him was bright blue, and the sun felt warm on his skin.
“It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” Dad said.
Zamu nodded. He closed his eyes and listened to the birds sing while Dad talked to Zinathi. He was getting sleepy.
“Zamu.”
He opened his eyes. Zinathi was leaning over his face.
“What?” Zamu asked.
“Let’s go!” Zinathi pointed to his scooter.
“Not now. I’m resting.”
Zinathi’s mouth slipped into a frown.
“Sorry,” Zamu said. “I’m too tired.”
Zinathi tugged at Zamu’s arm. “Come on!”
“No! I already played with you!”
“Zamu,” Dad said.
Zamu looked over at him.
“One day, when he’s older, Zinathi will remember how you used to play together. The memories you make now will live in his heart.”
Zamu looked back into his little brother’s big brown eyes.
“Please?” Zinathi asked.
Zamu still didn’t feel like playing. But he did want to make memories with Zinathi.
He smiled. “OK.”
Zinathi’s face lit up. “Yay!”
Zamu hopped down from the trampoline and helped Zinathi get back on his scooter. Then he swung his leg over his own bike.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yeah!”
Together they rode across the yard. “Zamu and Zinathi!” they shouted again.
Zamu was still tired, but it was a good kind of tired. His legs felt strong as he pedaled behind Zinathi. I hope Zinathi will remember this, he thought. I’ll remember it forever.

Anyone who’s been a Boy Scout can tell you that becoming an Eagle is no simple task. But for Ryan Scholes, a member of the Basalt Ward, Firth Idaho Stake, becoming an Eagle Scout was an extra-special achievement.
Because Ryan has Down’s syndrome, earning merit badges, learning Scouting skills, and organizing his Eagle project were all more challenging than usual. Other members of his troop helped him with some of the more difficult tasks, but little by little, Ryan became a true Scouter on his own.
The day before Ryan turned 18, he completed his project of collecting more than 700 food items for needy families in his troop area. And, although it may have been a little harder for Ryan to achieve the rank of Eagle, he’s proud that in his troop he’s just “one of the boys.”

Recently I was called by a broken-hearted father. His daughter Jenna (names have been changed) was away at college in a new relationship, and it was moving fast. Her boyfriend, Jake, was pushing for marriage and limiting Jenna’s communication with her parents. Jenna apologized to them, explaining it as Jake’s strong love and desire to spend time as a couple.
Jenna’s family became concerned when they discovered that Jake had an ex-wife and child he had not mentioned to Jenna. They called the ex-wife, who said Jake had an ugly temper and was jealous. When Jake found out he became enraged. He said Jenna’s parents were “controlling” and cited a time they disapproved of a sarcastic joke he made about Jenna’s intelligence. Jake ironically insisted that Jenna make her own decisions by cutting them off. Jenna’s parents were desperate as their calls and texts were now going unanswered.
Everyone wants a happy family, but even when people try to live the gospel, relationships can become hurtful. Some challenges are a result of the misunderstandings and frictions common to families. However, in healthy homes, people apologize for poor behavior and mend rifts, while in unhealthy situations, there are ongoing patterns of harshness or maltreatment that become abusive.
“Ye have broken the hearts of your tender wives and lost the confidence of your children” (Jacob 2:35).