Gospel Story Finder

Because her husband was at an early morning priesthood leadership meeting, Mary struggled alone to get her family ready for church. The baby was fussing, little Rebekah could not find one of her shoes, and four-year-old David spilled food down the front of his clean Sunday shirt. Frustrated, Mary felt like giving up and staying at home. Arriving late for church, she was still angry with Rebekah and David, and it was hard for her to feel a spirit of reverence.

Through the long hours of the night, I kept a lonely vigil by the nursery window. Inside the nursery, a tiny boy struggled for breath. The day before, we had rushed nearly 160 kilometers from our ranch to the hospital. The baby was born shortly after our arrival, six weeks premature. He looked like a fine, healthy boy, but the doctor told us that his lungs had been slow in developing and that he was fighting a desperate battle for air.
A few hours before, I had given Matthew his name and a father’s blessing. As I had blessed him, the Spirit had assured me that he would someday be a part of our family.
Little Matthew continued to cling to life until his mother was able to come to the nursery to see him. He died before we left the room. It seemed to me that he had only waited for her to have one look before he returned to his heavenly home.
The shock of our son’s death left my wife in such a daze that she could not cry. It was only after the small graveside service, when we had returned home to the ranch, that she was finally able to release her grief. She wept for a long time.
The emptiness of losing a baby after those long months of expecting him was very hard on her. She wasn’t really happy again until the next baby, a fine healthy boy, arrived.

A few months later, I made a decision that raised eyebrows all around me. I decided to serve a full-time mission too. My decision to serve came as a blow to a greater part of my family and my closest friends. Most of them, if not 100 percent of them, counselled me not to, but my desire to serve the Lord and humanity was not thwarted because I knew what foundation I was built upon and my parent’s trust and support kept me going.
Amid the impending situation, I felt so different from everyone else and I remembered the talk by President Monson in which he quotes an old Primary song: “Dare to be a Mormon; Dare to stand alone. Dare to have a purpose firm; Dare to make it known”.1
This ultimately drove me to obtain my patriarchal blessing, and in it I realized the Lord has a greater work for me and that it can be accomplished successfully only if I exercise unyielding faith in Him. That helped me press on to pursue His course.

Alison touched her hair. Still wet, she thought, smiling. She gazed out the window of the car as it left the church parking lot. The Saturday afternoon looked brighter than usual. The trees seemed greener, the sky a deeper blue. I’ve done it! she told herself. I’ve been baptized.
She closed her eyes and relived the baptismal service in her mind. Dressed in white, she and her father sat on the front row of the chapel as the bishop spoke. “You will come out of the water cleansed from all your sins,” he said. “Then you can be confirmed a member of the Church and receive the gift of the Holy Ghost. If you keep the commandments, the Holy Ghost will be your constant companion and help you choose the right.”
Later, Dad stood waiting in the baptismal font. He took her small hand in his large one and guided her down the steps. The water was warm and clear. She looked up and saw her family and friends watching reverently. Mom smiled. Alison grasped Dad’s wrist with her left hand while he held her right wrist and raised his right arm to the square. She listened carefully as he said the baptismal prayer. Then she held her nose and her breath as he placed his right hand in the middle of her back and immersed her gently but completely under the water.
Warmth and peace surrounded her a moment before she was brought up out of the water by her father. Streaming water dazzled her eyes like diamonds. Through the glistening drops, she saw blurry faces smiling at her, and she smiled back. She felt so good, so clean—like a new person. She looked up at Dad. He smiled and hugged her close. She wanted to feel like this always.
After Alison changed into dry clothes, the family met in a classroom with the bishop. He and Dad put their hands on her head, confirmed her a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and gave her the gift of the Holy Ghost. Now Alison felt not only new and clean but strong, too, as if she could always do what was right, no matter what.
“So how do you feel?” Dad asked, breaking into Alison’s daydream.
She opened her eyes and grinned. “I feel good. I’ve never felt this good in my whole life. I’m never going to do anything wrong again. I’m clean now, and I want to stay this way.”
“That’s a wonderful goal,” Dad said, “but I’m afraid that we all make mistakes.”
I won’t, Alison thought, settling back into her seat. I don’t ever want to lose this feeling.
A couple of weeks later, Alison sat on the couch, studying the baptismal certificate the bishop had given her.
Tyler climbed up beside her. “Let me see it!” he demanded, grabbing the paper.
Alison held him off with an elbow. “This isn’t a toy. This is important.”
Tyler laughed and grabbed the paper as Alison jerked it away. With an ugly ripping sound, the certificate tore in half.
Alison stared a long moment in disbelief. Then a furious anger gathered around her like a storm. How could he destroy this precious thing! Tyler’s eyes were wide with fear and dismay, and Alison had a strong feeling that she should walk away before she did something bad. But she didn’t want to walk away. She wanted to get even. She let the anger rush in, filling her to overflowing, and she gave Tyler a push.
He tumbled off the couch. Before he could even catch his breath to let out his first angry howl, she jumped up and gathered him into her arms. The anger was gone, replaced by remorse and a sick guilt. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry.” Tears ran down her cheeks.
Mom and Dad came running in to see what was wrong. “I pushed Tyler on purpose,” Alison said. “I’ve only been baptized a couple of weeks, and I’ve spoiled it already.” She ran to her room, where she fell on her knees by her bed and prayed and cried a long time.
Finally the door opened and Tyler came in. “Don’t be sad, Alison,” he said. “I’m all right.”
Alison held him tightly. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I’ll try to do better. I’ll try to be a good sister. Will you forgive me?”
Tyler gave her a huge, wet kiss on the cheek and a big hug. “I forgive you this much.”
Mom and Dad came in and sat down on either side of her.
“Alison,” Mom said, “your certificate can be replaced. That is important, of course, but that isn’t what is upsetting you, is it?”
“No—it’s that this time I messed up big time.”
Dad nodded. “We all do. The important thing is that we repent.”
Alison brushed away a tear. “How do I know for sure that I’ve repented?”
“Heavenly Father made it pretty simple,” Dad said. “First we need to recognize that we’ve done wrong and feel sorry for it. I think you’ve already done that. Then we need to ask forgiveness from the person we’ve sinned against and from Heavenly Father.”
Alison sighed. “I’ve been doing that.”
“Then we must try to make up for the wrong we’ve done.”
“I’m going to do something nice for Tyler every day,” Alison said. “I don’t want him to ever be afraid of his own sister. Is that all?”
“There’s one more thing,” Dad said. “We must try as hard as we can not to do the wrong thing again.”
Alison put her head on Dad’s shoulder. “I think the Holy Ghost tried to tell me not to push Tyler, but I wouldn’t listen. If He ever talks to me again, I’m going to listen.”
“He’ll talk to you,” Dad assured her.
“And I’m going to write down some ways of controlling my temper better, and work on them every day.”
Dad hugged her. “Good for you. If you do all those things, the Lord will forgive you and the Holy Ghost will be your Companion. Heavenly Father has promised it.”
“But I’m not clean anymore, and I wanted to stay clean forever. Can I get baptized again?”
“Well, no, but you don’t need to. The Savior knew that we’d make mistakes even after baptism, so He provided a way for us to be clean again. It always starts with sincere repentance, followed by something we do each Sunday in the chapel. Do you know what it is?”
Alison thought for a moment. “The sacrament?”
Dad nodded. “Right. When we’re baptized, we make covenants, or mutual promises, with God. One promise is that we’ll keep His commandments. Each Sunday when we take the sacrament, we renew those covenants. If we’ve repented of our sins, we become clean again.”
“Just as clean as when we were baptized?”
“Just as clean.”
The next day, Alison eagerly waited for the sacrament. She had followed the steps of repentance faithfully. When the sacrament came, Alison quietly put a piece of bread in her mouth. When the water came, she drank it reverently. A sweet peace filled her heart. Dad was right. She felt good again. Clean again.
Smiling, Alison reached up and touched her hair. This time it wasn’t even damp. But that didn’t matter—she was clean.

We can learn a great deal from others. I had an older brother whom I worshiped. He played football in high school and was my hero. I would polish his football cleats before each game. I would wash his white shoelaces and press them. No one had better looking football cleats than my older brother. During the summer before I went to high school, he would take me out to the backyard. I would put on shoulder pads and a helmet, and he would try to run over me. I shouldn’t say try; he did. We would hit each other head on; I would tackle and he would carry the ball. Then after a while we would reverse the procedure and I would carry the ball and he would tackle. After doing this a few nights with him (he weighed about 185 pounds and I weighed 155 pounds), do you think I had any fear of those my own age? He suggested wind sprints to build up my speed and timing. He encouraged me to run long distances to build up my wind. We would do push-ups, sit-ups, chin-ups, etc. The interesting thing is that it was hard work, but I wanted to do it.

I recall an experience that shows the effect of her teachings. Just before Christmas one year, our bishop asked me, as a deacon, to help him deliver Christmas baskets to the widows of the ward. I carried a basket to each door with his greetings. When he drove me home, there was one basket remaining. He handed it to me and said it was for my mother. As he drove away, I stood in the falling snow wondering why there was a basket for my mother. She never referred to herself as a widow, and it had never occurred to me that she was. To a 12-year-old boy, she wasn’t a widow. She had a husband, and we had a father. He was just away for a while.

A small river runs through the field near Cooper House, a farm a little more than four miles outside of Barnard Castle in northeast England. Normally the setting is quite tranquil, and it seemed like the perfect spot for our annual camp.
When we parked the cars, however, we realized that we would have some chores to do before we could enjoy our fun. Due to the location of the site, all the equipment had to be carried down a steep, dusty hill. Most of the 38 young men felt an inclination to slide rather than walk, but somehow everything and everyone arrived intact.

Second, pay your tithing to rightfully claim the blessings promised those who do so. “Prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of Hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it.” After she lost her husband in the martyrdom at Nauvoo and made her way west with five fatherless children, Mary Fielding Smith continued in her poverty to pay tithing. When someone at the tithing office inappropriately suggested one day that she should not contribute a tenth of the only potatoes she had been able to raise that year, she cried out to the man, “William, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Would you deny me a blessing? If I did not pay my tithing, I should expect the Lord to withhold His blessings from me. I pay my tithing, not only because it is a law of God, but because I expect a blessing by doing it. [I need a blessing.] By keeping this and other laws, I expect … to be able to provide for my family.”

When I was 17, I began taking philosophy classes in high school. One day the teacher said to the class, “Surely there isn’t anyone here who believes that Adam really existed!” Then he scanned the room with the look of an inquisitor, ready to pounce on whoever dared to admit to such belief. I was petrified! However, my desire to be loyal to my faith was even stronger. I glanced around to see that I was the only one of those 40 students to raise a hand. The teacher, taken by surprise, changed the subject.

It all started in 1988 when three young women from the Jacana Ward in Sao Paulo, Brazil, felt a strong desire to visit the elderly ladies who live in a nursing home near the chapel.
The initial idea turned into a continuous service project called “Adopt a Grandma” and other young women from the ward soon began to participate. Later on, more young people from two other wards were also involved. Now, there are nonmembers who help with the project.

There are examples that lead one to believe that your history is a guided history. In the days when Phillip of Spain determined to conquer these islands, his motivation, his determination, the size and scope of his preparations all summed up made certain the outcome. The British Isles would be conquered. The Armada sailed, the result a foregone conclusion. And yet, tiny things weighed n the outcome, small miscalculations—a general commanding the fleet instead of an admiral, other things. When it was over, Queen Elizabeth sought to honor those who had defended these islands, and a medal was struck taking note of two things: a change in the weather and the hand of God. An unexpected wind in an unusual place at the precise time, and the outcome of the whole war was settled. Engraved on the face of that medal were these words: “God breathed and they were scattered.”
Elder Boyd K. Packerof the Council of the Twelve

Ali smiled as she closed the last bright blue envelope. Her eighth birthday was next week! She had spent the whole morning making invitations for her birthday party.
“Ready to go?” Mom asked.
Ali nodded. They were taking an invitation to her friend Tiffany in the hospital.
“I think Tiffany will be glad to see you,” Mom said as she and Ali climbed into the car. “Her mom told me they had to shave off some of her hair for the surgery.”
Ali’s eyes got wide. “But school is starting soon! How can she go to school with no hair?”
“They didn’t shave off all her hair—just a little bit,” Mom said. “And taking care of our bodies is much more important than how we look.”
Ali ran her fingers through her own long hair. It almost reached her waist. “I feel sad for Tiffany.”
“That’s why we’re going to visit her,” Mom said. “It’s part of bearing one another’s burdens.”
Ali scrunched up her eyebrows. “What does that mean?”
“It means helping others when they are going through a hard time,” Mom said. “It’s something you’ll promise to do when you get baptized.”
Ali smiled. Her baptism was coming up! “So I guess helping Tiffany feel better is one way I can practice doing that?” she said.
“Yeah,” said Mom. “That’s a great way to think of it.”
When they got to the hospital, Ali followed Mom to Tiffany’s room. They walked down a long hallway with brightly painted walls and open doors. Inside the rooms, Ali could see children resting in big white hospital beds. Some of them didn’t have any hair.
Finally they got to Tiffany’s room. Tiffany was happy to see Ali.
Ali saw that Tiffany had a bandage on the side of her head. “How are you feeling?” Ali asked.
“Pretty good,” Tiffany said. “The doctor says the surgery went great.”
“Yay! I’m so glad you’re OK,” Ali said.
Then Ali held out a bright blue birthday invitation. “When you’re feeling better, I hope you can come to my birthday party! And maybe you can even come to my baptism.”
Tiffany gave Ali a big hug. “Thank you!”
When it was time to go, Ali walked back down the hallway with Mom. Ali noticed a poster hanging on the wall. It had a picture of a girl holding a long ponytail of her hair. She was smiling. The top of the poster said, “Donate Your Hair for Wigs.”
“Mom,” Ali said. “Can I do that?” She pointed to the poster.
Mom turned to read it. “But Tiffany doesn’t need a wig.”
“I know,” said Ali. “But there are lots of kids at the hospital who do!”
Mom smiled. “I think that’s a great idea.”
On the morning of Ali’s birthday party, Mom took Ali to get her hair cut. After lots of combing and snipping, Ali looked in the mirror. Now her hair reached just to her chin. She felt happy inside when she imagined a girl sitting in a hospital bed, putting on a wig made with some of Ali’s hair.
“How do you feel?” Mom asked.
“So happy that I made up a joke,” said Ali. “Want to hear it?”
Mom nodded.
“I’m getting a head start on my baptism promises!” Ali said with a laugh. She couldn’t wait to keep helping others bear their burdens.

“When Dad was a little boy, he went to the bird refuge and learned all about the birds—their names, their habits, their calls. He’s loved them ever since.”

We’ve found this to be true in our own family. When we were first married, Ed would occasionally come home upset about something that happened at work. As he walked in the door, Ann would immediately wonder what she had done to make him irritable. It took many reassurances for her to understand that Ed wasn’t angry with her. We have noticed a similar reaction in our children when the two of us have been disagreeing about something. They seem to feel an element of responsibility for our problems.
By the same token, they seem to feel peaceful and secure when we are on good and friendly terms. And they’re more cooperative and considerate when that’s the feeling of our marriage.

Alex, with his parents and sister Audrey, visits what remains of his family’s home.
Photographs by Richard M. Romney
Returning to the burned-out batting cage where he used to practice with his friends, he shows off one of the new uniforms donated to the Paradise High School baseball team. “After the fire,” he says, “many of the team members moved away, and we didn’t even have a field to practice on.” Those who remained, however, rebuilt the team and were still able to complete the season.

When I feel alone and that nobody understands me, I try to always remember that my Heavenly Father loves me. When I think this, it brings peace and makes me feel like I’m not alone.
Allison H., 14, Oregon, USA

“I find that for a lot of my friends it’s difficult to get in front of a classroom to give an oral report,” Lily said. “I have to do it in front of the whole student body, but it hasn’t been hard. At first I didn’t know why. Then I realized what training I have had. I’ve been giving 2 1/2-minute talks all my life. Forget about the religious part of the Church programs and just look at their positive influence. Then add in the truthfulness of the gospel, too, and you have the best thing on earth.”

Josh carefully colored in the last black spot on his white T-shirt. Normally he’d be grounded for a million years for coloring on his clothes. But Mom said it was OK this time. Josh was going to a Primary activity, and all the kids were supposed to dress up like their favorite book or movie character. Josh was going as Dex the Dalmatian, the mystery-solving dog!
After Mom dropped Josh off, he spotted Robbie and Nate from his Primary class. Robbie looked like a pirate, and Nate was some kind of superhero.
“What are you supposed to be?” Robbie asked when Josh came closer.
“I’m Dex from Sticky Ricky.”
Robbie and Nate laughed. “That show is so lame!” Robbie said.
Josh felt his face go red. “Well, who did you guys dress up as?”
“Can’t you tell?” Robbie asked. “I’m Percy, from The Pirate’s Revenge.”
“And I’m Captain Scorpio,” said Nate. “You seriously haven’t seen those movies? Everybody has!”
Josh looked down. “I guess my family watches different kinds of shows.”
Just then Sister McCarthy called everyone to get in a circle for a game. Josh made sure he was far away from Robbie and Nate.
The next week, Josh played basketball with some other boys from Primary. He tried his best, but he wasn’t very good at it. He couldn’t bounce the ball right or make a basket. The other boys laughed when he couldn’t throw the ball very high.
Josh ran home, trying not to cry. I’m not doing that ever again! I don’t even like sports! he thought. And I’m not going to any more Primary activities, either. I just don’t fit in. When Josh got home, he played the piano to calm himself down. Then he read his favorite book until he felt better.
A few weeks later, a boy named Mark moved into Josh’s ward. Josh could tell right away that he was cool and popular and good at sports. Would he make fun of Josh like the other boys did?
But he was actually really nice! Mark sat by Josh and talked with him about a book he was reading. A few days later he invited Josh to play basketball.
Josh didn’t really want to play basketball. It had been pretty awful last time. But maybe with Mark there it would be better. He decided to give it another chance.
The first time Josh tried to shoot the ball, it didn’t get very far. It dropped to the ground and bounced away. Josh froze, waiting for Mark to laugh at him. But instead, Mark just grabbed the ball and smiled.
“Hey, good try!” Mark passed the ball back to Josh. “Try again.”
Later, during a game, Mark kept passing the ball to Josh. Their team lost, but Mark didn’t seem mad about it.
“Great game!” he said with a smile. “If you want, we could stay and practice for a little while.” Mark taught Josh how to hold the ball when he was shooting and how to aim for the basket. After a little while, Josh made a basket!
“Awesome!” Mark gave Josh a high five.
“Thanks for helping me,” said Josh.
“It was fun! See you tomorrow?”
“OK!”
As Josh walked home, he couldn’t stop smiling. He was glad to have a friend like Mark. And maybe one day, he could be a friend like Mark to someone else.

My family has a big raspberry bush in our backyard that always produces more berries than we can eat, so every year my dad and I would take a bowl of raspberries to a widow in our ward, Sister Hair.
I would always complain when my dad made me go with him because I was afraid Sister Hair would kiss me on the cheek, as she usually did. In fact, one time I took my nephew along so she would kiss him instead.
This went on every year until Sister Hair went to live in a rest home. Some time later, the young women in my ward went to visit her for an activity. We introduced ourselves when we walked in, but she didn’t remember any of the young women except me. She repeated my last name and said, “That’s right, she used to bring me raspberries every year.” She told us how much she had enjoyed the company and the raspberries.
As part of our visit, we sang some hymns for her. One hymn struck me in particular. As we sang, “Because I have been given much, I too must give,” (Hymns, no. 219), I felt ashamed that I hadn’t been more willing to share my friendship along with the raspberries. Sister Hair passed away shortly after our visit, but I will never forget the lesson I learned from her: that we should show gratitude for what we have by sharing it with others.

Marianne Hill, 21, Liverpool South Branch—It was very moving when at the closing of conference everyone sang “God be with you till we meet again,” and the people started spontaneously to sing the last line of “Jerusalem” that says, “We will not cease from mental strife, nor shall our sword sleep in our hand, Till we have built Jerusalem in England’s green and pleasant land.” Many of my friends were moved to tears. At the end, it was hard to believe that it was all over and that the prophet and the other leaders of the Church had been amongst us and had talked to us.