Gospel Story Finder

I am a convert and the only Church member in my family. I’ve learned that one of the sacred ordinances is baptism for the dead. I went to the temple on a tour, and while listening to the host talk about the ordinances, I felt a still, small voice tell me to go to the family history center to submit a temple ordinance request for my mother, who had passed away. I was so happy when the FamilySearch account later confirmed that her temple work was done. It strengthened my testimony, and I know that one of the reasons why we are here on this earth is to help our ancestors receive the true gospel of Jesus Christ.
Marvin S., Philippines

Let me tell you about one shining example named Hillary, a Beehive living in Lagos, Nigeria. Some of her classmates were mocking her standards, particularly her modest clothing. She made the decision to always carry two small copies of For the Strength of Youth with her. When someone gives her a bad time, she hands them one of the copies to keep and explains the standards and why she follows them. The other copy she keeps as her personal reminder to be obedient to the standards.

The boys’ own testimonies have grown as they have shared them with others. Matías talks about one of his recent testimony-building experiences: “A little while ago, on Saturday before I went to bed, I was praying and asking that more people would come to church. That Sunday there were a lot of people there. I felt good about it. Things like that strengthen my testimony. Reading in the Doctrine and Covenants about Joseph Smith strengthens my testimony. I want to pray like he did—he was my age!”

Jasmin, a member in the southern United States, admits that “I had a hard time getting along with a sister in my ward who seemed to meddle in my life too much, and I let that drive me away.” But when concern for her little boy began to outweigh the uncertainty of what it would be like to return, Jasmin knew it was time to “not let others’ opinions of me turn me away from Christ—whether or not I felt that someone in the ward looked down on me.”
She mustered up enough courage to venture out in a heavy storm one Sunday to where her small family soon felt embraced by friends who could help them grow in the Church of Jesus Christ. “I regret leaving,” she says. “But I’m grateful that I didn’t give up and that I pushed forward, because the gospel isn’t about others—or even me—it’s about my Savior.”

In her ward Arlene taught a Sunday School class of four-year-olds, which was an exercise in itself. “They were lots of fun. Sometimes I taught the three-year-olds too. The only thing I worried about was when they would push me down the hall. They were not tall enough to see around the wheelchair.” But she never crashed.

“Grrrr,” I scowled as I stormed into the house a few weeks later.
“What’s your problem?” Jason yelled from the kitchen.
“Annemarie,” I growled back, flopping onto the couch. My brother quickly slurped down his orange juice and then sat next to me, all too eager for me to beg his advice. His mission enthusiasm had not worn off in the two months he had been home, and I wondered if he considered himself my part-time psychiatrist.
“How can I help?”
“Baptize my friend,” I pouted.
“Oh … what has Annemarie done?”
The day after we first talked on the football field, I gave Annemarie a Book of Mormon, which she still hadn’t admitted to cracking open. And that very day, she had reluctantly agreed to attend early-morning seminary. It was nothing short of disaster. Annemarie challenged nearly every point covered in the lesson until, finally, unsatisfied with my teacher’s diplomatic answers, she recoiled into a shell of silent disapproval and doubt. At the end of class, she thanked me for inviting her, but politely let me know she wouldn’t be back.
After sharing the incident with my brother, I wailed, “What else can I do? I’m so frustrated! I thought as long as I did all the right things—you know, like not going to drinking parties, keeping the Sabbath day holy, bearing my testimony—as long as I was a good example for her, then she would eventually want to understand the Church. Annemarie still doesn’t care.”
“Do you care about her?” Jason returned.
“What kind of question is that?” I snapped. “She’s my best friend.”
“From Annemarie’s perspective, she may think you only care about your own church and getting another convert. The Savior loved completely. Exemplify that love in the way you treat her, no matter how she apparently feels about your church.”
“She knows I love her,” I argued. “We’ve been friends since ninth grade. And she thanks me all the time for being one of the few friends she can actually count on. I only thought it was time to start encouraging her to investigate the Church since she hasn’t exactly taken the initiative herself.”
“Okay, I have another question. Do you love Jesus Christ?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes. Why?”
“Really think about it,” he said quietly. “Do you love Jesus Christ? Do you love our Heavenly Father? Are you obedient to the commandments because you love them or because you are more concerned with Annemarie watching you?”
I was surprised. Meekly I questioned, “Isn’t one way of showing love for Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ by sharing the gospel with others?”
“Yes,” Jason agreed. “But sometimes a testimony shines through your actions because Christ has changed your heart to one of charity. It’s charity and service that touch people. Remember Ammon? His first concern was to be the king’s servant before he shared what he knew.”
I thought about that for several moments. “Are you suggesting I concentrate only on myself? Work on becoming more charitable?”
“I’m not telling you to give up,” he smiled. “But you have no control over what Annemarie decides. Maybe if you concentrate on coming unto the Savior with all of your heart, being truly meek and penitent before Him, others will follow. If not, you will have gained the charity to feel love and acceptance for Annemarie and patience about her decisions.”
I knitted my brow in thought, stewing over all he had suggested.
“One more thing,” he added before hopping off the couch. “Don’t forget that Annemarie has already chosen the plan. That’s why she’s here. Her Father in Heaven knows how she can best be touched. In the meantime …”
“In the meantime, what?”
“I’ll be eating leftover pizza. I’m starving.” He disappeared back into the kitchen.
I began serving Annemarie by praying for her nightly. I introduced her to my circle of LDS friends, where she was warmly welcomed. We shared the gospel with Annemarie when she seemed most receptive, but I couldn’t help wondering if our friendship would bring about anything more than memories to cherish. During the remaining year and a half of high school, Annemarie did not show any more interest in the Church. On the other hand, my testimony grew in ways I never could have imagined. I had always known the Church was true, but now I loved it with all of my heart. Annemarie helped me more than she ever knew.

I ran for the office of historian on my fifth-grade student council. When my opponent, Kylie, won I felt sad. Later Kylie slipped me a note that said nice things about me. I will always remember Kylie’s example of kindness.Sara G., age 10, Nevada

You might reasonably ask how a man of any age can know what mothers need. It’s a valid question. Men can’t know everything, but we can learn some lessons by revelation from God. And we can also learn much by observation, when we take the opportunity to seek the Spirit to help us understand what we observe.
I have been observing Kathleen Johnson Eyring for the 57 years we have been married. She is the mother of four boys and two girls. To date, she has accepted the call to be a mothering influence on more than a hundred direct family members and hundreds more whom she has adopted into her mother heart.
You remember President Nelson’s perfect description of a woman’s divine mission—including her mission of mothering: “As mother, teacher, or nurturing Saint, she molds living clay to the shape of her hopes. In partnership with God, her divine mission is to help spirits live and souls be lifted. This is the measure of her creation.”
As nearly as I can discern, my wife, Kathleen, has followed that charge, given to our Father’s daughters. The key appears to me to be the words “she molds living clay to the shape of her hopes … in partnership with God.” She did not force. She molded. And she had a template for her hopes, and to which she tried to mold those she loved and mothered. Her template was the gospel of Jesus Christ—as I could see through prayerful observation over the years.

Charles Dickens has a character in the book Bleak House, a Mrs. Jellyby, whose flaw he labels as “telescopic philanthropy.” She is so consumed with helping a suffering tribe in a distant land that she dismisses her own bruised and dirty child who comes to her in need of comfort. Mrs. Jellyby wants to make sure her good works are grandiose and visible to all. (See Charles Dickens, Bleak House [1985], 82–87.) Maybe some of us would rather help with hurricane relief than home relief. Now both are important, but home relief is our primary and eternal responsibility. “Parents have a sacred duty to rear their children in love and righteousness, to provide for their physical and spiritual needs” (“The Family: A Proclamation to the World,” Liahona, Oct. 2004, 49; Ensign, Nov. 1995, 102).

One of the finest basketball players of all time was asked what had contributed the most to his outstanding success. His answer was, “I learned to play in pain. Although injuries, bruises, and bumps came, I never allowed myself the luxury of slowing down or quitting.”

While preparing my talk for this conference, I received a shocking phone call from my father. He said that my younger brother had died that morning in his sleep. I was heartbroken. He was only 51 years old. As I thought about him, I felt impressed to share with you some events from his life. I do so with permission.

As a youth my brother was handsome, friendly, and outgoing—totally dedicated to the gospel. After serving an honorable mission, he married his sweetheart in the temple. They were blessed with a son and a daughter. His future was full of promise.

But then he gave in to a weakness. He chose to live a hedonistic lifestyle, which cost him his health, his marriage, and his membership in the Church.

He moved far from home. He continued his self-destructive behavior for more than a decade, but the Savior had not forgotten or abandoned him. Eventually the pain of his despair allowed a spirit of humility to enter his soul. His feelings of anger, rebellion, and militancy began to dissipate. Like the prodigal son, “he came to himself.” He began to reach out to the Savior and to make his way back home and to faithful parents who never gave up on him.

He walked the path of repentance. It wasn’t easy. After being out of the Church for 12 years, he was rebaptized and received again the gift of the Holy Ghost. His priesthood and temple blessings were eventually restored.

He was blessed to find a woman who was willing to overlook the ongoing health challenges from his prior lifestyle, and they were sealed in the temple. Together they had two children. He served faithfully in the bishopric for several years.

My brother died on Monday morning, March 7. The previous Friday evening he and his wife attended the temple. On Sunday morning, the day before he died, he taught the priesthood lesson in his high priests group. He went to bed that evening, never to awaken again in this life—but to come forth in the resurrection of the just.

I am grateful for the miracle of the Atonement in the life of my brother. The Savior’s Atonement is available to each of us—always.

Years ago my brother exercised his agency when he chose a lifestyle that cost him his health, his family, and his membership in the Church. Years later he exercised that same agency when he chose to repent, to conform his life to the teachings of the Savior, and to literally be born again through the power of the Atonement.

I testify of the miracle of the Atonement. I have seen its healing power in the life of my brother and felt it in my own life. The healing and redemptive power of the Atonement is available to each of us—always.

7 Masonic Hall
Many civic and cultural events were held in this white stucco three-story building after it was completed in April 1844. Wheat was stored in its basement. After the Saints left Nauvoo, the building was used to turn as a grocery store, a hotel, and after the top floor was torn down, a home.

Monday night in Manila doesn’t seem much different at first glance than any other night. Traffic in the city moves like a million ants all trying to use the same narrow tree branch to crawl in two different directions at once. Except these ants honk.
We were trying to get to the Velascos’ house so I could see a Filipino family home evening in action, but rush hour wasn’t cooperating. Finally our guide announced he was taking a shortcut, and we pulled onto a narrow street packed with people buying and selling items at small roadside stands. The shoppers were enjoying themselves, laughing and calling out to one another. They paid little attention to our compact car inching its way through their open-air shopping center.
When we finally arrived at the Velascos’ at the other end of the market, the contrast was astonishing. As we walked into their home, the hustle and bustle outside seemed to simply fade away.
They hadn’t sat down for a lesson yet, but family night had already started. Six-year-old Stephen sat on Sister Velasco’s lap while she and Brother Velasco chatted with Grandma and Grandpa. Kevin and Kirby, 14, laughed about something 15-year-old Naomi had said. Katrina, 11, was setting out the scriptures and hymnbook.
After we had met everyone, the family sat down together. Grandpa offered an opening prayer. Brother Velasco talked about talents. During the discussion the family switched easily between Tagalog and English whenever one language suited better than the other. Katrina and Naomi took turns reading the parable of the talents from Matthew 25:14–30. Brother Velasco pulled out his guitar and shared one of his talents in song, then passed the guitar to Kirby, who played a song too. Sister Velasco helped Stephen say the closing prayer, and everyone stepped into the kitchen for a special treat, homemade pizza.
While everyone was chewing, I had the chance to ask them their feelings about family home evening.
“What’s your favorite part?” I asked Kirby. Unfortunately, he had just taken a bite. “The refreshments,” he said around the mouthful. Everyone laughed.
“The laughter,” Naomi said as their fit of the giggles passed.
“What has it done for your family?”
“It has helped us bond,” Kevin said. “That’s what happens when you share your thoughts and feelings.”
It was a good answer, but I wanted to make sure he wasn’t saying it just because I was there. “Does it really?” I asked.
They all nodded. “Because of family home evening, we have become closer,” Naomi answered. “We’re more friendly to each other.”
That was obvious. The blessings of family home evening were obvious too. And it was with great reluctance that I said good-bye and stepped back out into the endless rush of a busy world.

A woman sitting in the foyer each week and never in the chapel. The rest of the story: While I was working for the Church in Salt Lake City, a sister wrote to our Disability Services of?ce about her experience with post-traumatic stress disorder because of her military service. Because a cell phone ring or other sudden noise could spark a ?ashback, she never sat in the chapel so that she didn’t unintentionally hurt anyone.

Elder Stevenson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles told the true story of a loyal sheep dog. When some sheep got stuck in the mountains, the dog stayed with them, circling in the snowy weather, protecting them from coyotes. The dog finally led the sheep back to the shepherd and the flock. Heavenly Father loves us and, like the sheep dog, will never leave us, even when life gets stormy. We should also love and protect others.

Marriage is like climbing a mountain. You tie yourself to a companion, and you start up the mountain of life. As a child comes along, you tie him to Mom and Dad and continue your journey. The ropes will hold all of the mountain climbers together. But there are many elements—the wind and the rain and the snow and the ice—all the elements of the world will tear at you to pull you off that eternal mountain. How do you reach the summit?
Someone has said it this way: “Thee lift me, and I’ll lift thee, and we’ll ascend together.” What does that mean?

Sister Ariiotima Mahirava, Benjamin’s and Rumia’s seminary teacher, asks her students to learn one scripture mastery each week. On the back of each scripture mastery card is a suggestion for how the student can apply in his or her life what the scripture is teaching. Sister Mahirava challenges the students to live that personal application during the week, then share their testimonies in class of how it blessed them.
“I think the students are realizing that the gospel isn’t something you live only on Sundays,” Sister Mahirava says. “It’s neat to watch the light come on.”

I love walking on trails, hammocking, and just stargazing. I also experiment with wood carving and woodburning. The sacrament is also important to me. Every Sunday morning, I get up to make homemade bread for the sacrament. Through just a few minutes of work, I can help dozens of people. But the biggest drive for me is when I take the sacrament to those who can’t make it to church. Their gratitude strengthens my testimony of service and the power of the sacrament.
Jonah P., 17, Arkansas, USA

In a recent regional council meeting, a counselor in a stake presidency was sharing moments from his life and giving his testimony. As he talked about his wife, he said that at that moment she had a major responsibility in an auxiliary leadership meeting and he was praying that she would do well. I appreciated his example of supporting and sustaining his wife in his thoughts and prayers.

My family and I moved to Layton, Utah, from Georgia during my senior year in high school. As a black teenager, I hated the thought of moving. I liked it in Georgia where I fit in quite well with my peers. The idea of attending a different school in a very white community didn’t appeal to me, even though I was a member of the Church. When I arrived in Utah, adjusting to life there took a great deal of time, and I only managed to make a few friends.