Gospel Story Finder

This is a net, a fisherman’s net that my father, Kanenori Nishimura, made in Hawaii many years ago. It has been mine since he died thirty years ago, and I have cherished it for his sake. For me, that moment of casting the net is a supremely beautiful one. I loved seeing my father standing on a rocky point on the beach, the net close-gathered in his hands, then with a strong, graceful gesture, like a dancer, flinging the net up and out. It would unfold in flight, opening like a fan or an umbrella, then fall over the fish that were darting like silver arrows through the surf. The lead sinkers around the edge of the net would make it sink gently to the bottom, completely enclosing the fish.

Then my father would jump down into the water and gather the net from the bottom, pulling the outer edges into his hands, until he had scooped it up like a bag. He would walk up on the beach holding the dripping net full of twisting fish in his arms, spread it out, quickly pick out the first for our supper and for the next day—very often a fish or two for several of our neighbors—then release the rest into the sea.

Many years ago we used to have money-raising events in our wards to pay for the utilities and other local expenses and activities now paid by the general Church funds and the local unit budget allowance. We used to have bazaars, fairs, dinners, and other fund-raising activities. At that time my ward had a wonderful, devoted, committed bishop.
A member of a neighboring ward found that a dunking machine was a successful money-raising activity. Participants would pay to throw baseballs at a marked mechanical arm. Hitting the bull’s-eye would trigger a release, plunging the person sitting on the seat of the machine into a big basin of cold water. Our ward decided to use this machine, and someone suggested that more people would pay for balls to throw if the bishop would be willing to sit on the dunking seat. Our bishop was a good sport, and because he was responsible for raising the money, he willingly consented to sit on the dunking seat. Soon some began to buy balls and to throw them at the target. Several hit the mark, and the bishop was drenched. After half an hour of this, he began to shake with the cold.
While some of the people thought this was great fun, my father was very offended that the office of the bishop had been so belittled and held up to ridicule or even contempt. Even though the money raised was intended for a good cause, I can still remember feeling ashamed that some of our people did not show more respect for both the office and the man who had by night and day served us so well as our good shepherd. As holders of the priesthood of God, we should set the example of sustaining the leadership of the Church to our families, our friends, and our associates.

At the age of eight I was baptized in borrowed white trousers. They were too long, but my mother tucked the legs up and fastened them with a few stitches. This worked fine until they got wet. As I stepped out of the water the weight of the wet cloth broke the stitches. I tripped over my borrowed pants and fell to my knees. The thought immediately came to me that this was a reminder to always kneel and pray for the help of our Heavenly Father in everything.

Such trust in God can bless communities as well as families. I grew up in a small town in New Jersey. Our branch of the Church had fewer than 20 members who regularly attended.
Among them was a woman—an older, very humble convert to the Church. She was an immigrant who spoke with a heavy Norwegian accent. She was the only member of the Church in her family and the only member of the Church in the city in which she lived.
Through my father, who was the branch president, the Lord called her as the president of the branch Relief Society. She had no handbook to tell her what to do. No other member of the Church lived near her. She only knew that the Lord cared for those in need and the few words in the motto of the Relief Society: “Charity never faileth.”
It was in the depths of what we now call the Great Depression. Thousands were out of work and homeless. So, feeling she had her errand from the Lord, she asked her neighbors for old clothes. She washed the clothes, pressed them, and put them in cardboard boxes on her back porch. When men without money needed clothes and asked her neighbors for help, they would say, “Go to the house down the street. There is a Mormon lady living there who will give you what you need.”
The Lord did not run the city, but He changed a part of it for the better. He called one tiny woman—alone—who trusted Him enough to find out what He wanted her to do and then did it. Because of her trust in the Lord, she was able to help in that city hundreds of Heavenly Father’s children in need.

Growing up in the Church, Karina had dreamed of a temple marriage. But like many teens, she craved acceptance.
She wanted to be beautiful and popular like her older sister. She dreamed of standing out and being admired, but she was afraid of sticking out and being ridiculed. Wanting to follow in her father’s footsteps at the police academy only increased the pressure. Out of 2,000 students, there were only 70 women. She both enjoyed the attention and dreaded it.
In her desire to fit in, she made some poor choices. “The pull of the world was strong,” Karina says. “People around me drank and smoked. They pushed and I gave in. I enjoyed being part of a group that felt so carefree.”
She knew what she was doing was wrong, but she wasn’t thinking about where her choices would lead as she followed the crowd away from God (see Matthew 7:13–14).
One day a young man she liked said he respected her church’s beliefs.
Ashamed that she wasn’t living those beliefs better, Karina finally stopped to consider the path she was on (see Haggai 1:5–7). She realized that her decisions were leading her away from God, the companionship of the Holy Ghost, and her dream of an eternal family.
The only way to change her direction was to change the decisions she was making each day.1 But she wondered if she was already too far down the wrong path. Was it too late to change?
Karina decided to begin changing by praying and reading the scriptures daily. She started writing in her journal, which helped her recognize Heavenly Father’s help each day. She changed the topic if conversations turned bad.
Her most difficult decision was to choose no friends for a time rather than choosing friends with a negative influence. She began looking for friends with higher standards.
Over the months that followed, the adversary threw doubt and fear in her face at every decision. Sometimes she wondered if the effort to follow the Savior was worth it. Who she wanted to be seemed out of reach.
But as she watched how her parents and others with strong testimonies lived, she learned that there is something more powerful than doubt and fear—she learned that because of repentance, there is hope.
“I saw it was possible to live the right way,” she says. “We aren’t condemned by our mistakes. Heavenly Father has given us the chance to repent and change direction.”
Turning away from her old choices and trying to follow the Savior each day have taught her that Heavenly Father is patient. “He has given me one chance after another to change and become a better person,” she says. “He has helped me through difficult times.”

Sister Wilson carefully studied each young child as she entered the Primary classroom. How they have grown and developed since January, she thought. She gathered them around her and began her lesson. “You are each very special! You have learned so many things. You have learned to sit reverently and listen to our lessons. Why, you can even say your own prayers!”
“Well, of course,” responded Clayton, “I’ve already been on this earth five years!”
Clayton’s lifetime seemed a very long time to him, and he saw no limits to what he could learn. Brothers and sisters, our children are eager to learn. They want to be taught. They need to be taught.

This principle was reinforced in my heart some years ago when our little family stayed for seven months in the North African country of Tunisia, where my husband, Keith, did research for his doctoral degree. As students on a tight budget, we had no phone and no television. Our home was a tiny fifth-floor apartment in El Menzah, a suburb of the capital city of Tunis, and our daily routine was simple: Keith studied at the national library while I stayed home with our baby boy, David.
As far as our Church involvement went, we were the Church in Tunis. Each Sunday, Keith administered the sacrament and we read the scriptures. We sang our favorite hymns and listened to conference tapes. Then we finished with a lesson from Keith’s priesthood manual.
Although we met some wonderful people and made some good friends, there were still times when I felt alone and even fearful. One of those times was when I returned home from grocery shopping to find that we had no electricity. A thin blue envelope had been shoved under the door, and inside the envelope was a letter written in French and Arabic. When Keith got home he translated the letter. To our dismay, we discovered that the previous tenants had failed to pay their electricity bill and that we were now responsible for it. We wouldn’t have lights until the bill was paid.
We used candles over the weekend, and on Monday morning we rode the bus to the electric company. After we paid the bill, we were assured that within two days the lights would be turned on.
But would two days be soon enough? Suddenly I realized that Keith’s night class was on Tuesday. He had to attend to keep his scholarship, which meant that little David and I would be alone in the apartment. Solitude was difficult even under normal conditions. What if David and I ended up being all alone in the darkness with only a few candles? Even thinking about it frightened me.
Monday passed, and we still had no electricity. On Tuesday afternoon, Keith returned from studying to find that the people from the electric company still had not come. We discussed our options, and finally Keith said, “I feel we should pray.”
With humble hearts we asked for help. After we finished, Keith hugged me and said, “Everything’s going to be all right. The lights will be turned on by tonight.”
I still felt skeptical, but I depended on his faith. By 4:45 that afternoon, however, doubts filled my mind. After a silent prayer, I again felt a peaceful assurance. Then at 4:55 the people from the electric company arrived to turn on the lights.
Experiences like this increased my faith and helped me know that I was not alone. During the months of our stay in Tunisia, I depended on the power of prayer often. I am grateful to Heavenly Father for His watchful care and love, and I am also grateful for the faith-building experience our family had in Tunisia—an experience that is still a source of strength to us today.

President Uchtdorf learned the value of working hard at a young age. The Uchtdorfs owned a laundry, and Dieter rode a heavy-duty bicycle, pulling a heavy laundry cart before and after school. Years later, when he joined the air force, he learned that he had had a lung disease when he was younger. Because he had worked hard through his childhood, his body had healed itself and built up a resistance to the disease.

The other day at recess I was playing football with some of my friends. A girl from our class came over and asked if she could play with us. Some of the boys told her no because she was a girl. They said girls can’t play football. She looked really sad and started to walk away.
I remembered when the older boys wouldn’t let me play with them because I was too little. It made me feel bad. I told her to come back and that I would play a different game with her. Then the other boys said it would be OK if she played. She was so happy, and she turned out to be a better player than a lot of the boys. Now she plays with us every day. I feel good inside knowing I helped her to be happy. It makes me happy when I help others.

Now, more than forty years later, Melvin J. Ballard was aboard a ship sailing for Buenos Aires, where he and his two companions, Elders Rulon G. Wells and Parley P. Pratt, were to open a mission for the South American people. As he walked along the windswept deck of the steamship Voltaire, he thought he finally understood the words of the inspired patriarch many years before, for he felt that the promise of his blessing was about to be fulfilled.
The steamship docked at Buenos Aires early on the morning of December 6, 1925, and that very afternoon the three elders met with twelve adults and four children who were interested in learning more about the gospel of Jesus Christ.
On December 12 Melvin recorded in his diary: “Just as the sun was going down, I baptized six people in the Rio de la Plata, the first in this generation in South America.” The next day the six were confirmed in a meeting, and at that meeting the sacrament was administered for the first time in South America.
Christmas night of that same year Melvin again wrote in his diary: “The sun came up at 4:41. We were up at 5. We arrived at Park 3 de Febrero at a place near the river in a grove of weeping willows at 7 A.M. We sang ‘The Morning Breaks.’ Brother Pratt read several passages from the Book of Mormon on promises of redemption of the Lamanites. Brother Wells read from the Bible. We all knelt under a weeping willow tree, and I offered prayer.”
Here is part of the prayer Elder Ballard offered:
We are grateful to come to this great land of South America to unlock the door for the preaching of the gospel. We thank thee for the few who have received us and for those we have had the joy of taking into the waters of baptism in this land. May they be the first fruits of a glorious harvest.

“Isaac, Isaac.” It was his mother’s voice. “Your father needs you at the corral.”
Isaac raised his head and looked out the window. Sure enough, the sun was coming up, and that meant it was time for chores. Isaac stumbled out of bed and reached for his shirt. He could hear the oxen mooing.
As he went out the kitchen door, he saw Papa leading old Taurus through the gate.
“Where are you going so early, Papa?” Isaac asked.
“Just over to the fence. I need you to hold the grain bucket so Taurus will stand still.”
The ox bellowed, as if asking, “What is going on this morning?” But as Isaac held the bucket under his nose, Taurus calmed down and began licking up the grain with his long tongue. While the ox ate, Papa tied the halter rope securely to the fence.
When Mama stepped out the front door, Papa asked her, “I have a special project, Emeline. Will you please bring me the wide carpenter pencil from the desk?”
When Mama came back with the pencil, Papa laid some boards on the ground. Then, after looking carefully at Taurus, he began drawing on the smooth yellow wood.
“What are you doing, Papa?” Isaac asked.
“Brother Fordham and I have been given an important assignment for the temple,” Papa explained. “We are going to help make the 12 oxen statues to hold up the font in the baptistry. I am drawing the pattern, and Taurus is my model.”
Hearing his name, Taurus raised his head, then went back to his breakfast.
Isaac watched his father sketching long, wide lines. “That is beginning to look just like Taurus,” Isaac said. “But why did you choose him?”
“Because he is strong and the best ox I have ever seen. See how he stands? He seems to be aware of his importance. Taurus is obedient too.”
“This project is a very special calling, Papa. Isn’t it?”
“Yes, Son, it is. I am thankful I have been asked to help.”
Isaac stroked Taurus’s neck. He could feel the ox’s strong muscles. “What an honor for you, old boy,” he whispered.
Isaac finished his chores quickly. He even made his usual two dozen wooden clothespins faster than usual. He knew when he finished he would have time to do as he wished.
Today Isaac wanted to draw. His parents had given him permission to draw on the fireplace hearth, using pieces of charcoal from the burned logs. The charcoal washed off easily, and he could use it to make wide or narrow lines.
As Isaac drew Taurus, he thought about his father and the beautiful temple being built in Nauvoo. If Isaac was strong and obedient like Taurus, maybe the Lord would choose him to work on the temple, just like his father.

My experience with temptation as an exchange student came from the outside, from persistent friends. It was an external challenge to the things I believed, and I was able to stand firm. But as additional experiences came to me, I learned that we are going to be tested from all sides. Some of the most difficult challenges are internal ones, when the temptations that have to be resisted take place in the quiet of our own hearts and minds.
One of these challenges came when I chose to pay an honest tithe when I was away from home. Every year my dad would take us to tithing settlement. He would help us calculate our tithing, and we would pay it. All during the time I was growing up, I developed this habit of paying tithing. If you had asked me at the time, I would have told you that I had a testimony of tithing.
When I finished high school, I had been admitted to Harvard University, so I worked that summer and earned money to pay for the expenses that weren’t covered by my scholarship. By the end of the first semester, I had foolishly spent all the money that I had earned to get me through the whole year.
At the start of the second semester, I got a job. I couldn’t work very much because I was a full-time student, but I worked a few hours a week and received my first paycheck. Of course, it wasn’t very much, but it was all I had to get by until the next paycheck.
Then the question arose in my mind, “What about tithing?” I had been in the habit of paying my tithing but had always had sufficient money to pay the tithing. Here I was faced with the challenge: do I pay my tithing when I don’t know if I’ve got enough money to get through the next two weeks?
As I thought about it, I remembered the scripture in Malachi 3:10, where the Lord promises, “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.”
So I realized that was my answer. I would leave it up to the Lord. I paid my tithing, not sure if I had enough money to carry me until the next paycheck. And a miracle happened. I made it through that two weeks.
It came to me so powerfully that the Lord keeps His word. The Lord came through the way He promised. Just as the scriptures say, if we pay our tithing, He will bless us. That same miracle happened every two weeks throughout the rest of the semester. Before, I had thought I had a testimony of tithing, but now, because of my correct decision, I had a powerful testimony of tithing. The Lord always does what He says, so my testimony continued to grow step-by-step.

Jakarta, Indonesia
“Christmas in Indonesia is definitely not a white Christmas, and it’s not cold. Also, although there might be some Christmas decorations here and there in malls, cafes, or hotels, the majority of the people here don’t celebrate Christmas.
“Still, my family celebrates as best as we can. I love eating cookies and sipping hot chocolate, shopping for new Christmas ornaments, and decorating the Christmas tree.
“Last Christmas I was with my parents and my brother only. I wasn’t able to meet my other relatives like my uncles, aunties, cousins, and grandparents due to COVID-19. It felt rather lonely and empty because we would usually gather together.
“Despite the circumstances we were in, it didn’t stop us from remembering the meaning of Christmas day, which is the birth of our Savior, Jesus Christ. Throughout our Christmas celebration, we were able to eat delicious meals and to dress in nice clothing. I was lucky enough to receive a gift, and I got so many warm virtual Christmas greetings from the lovely people around me. These are wonderful blessings, and I was able to stay focused on Christ as I remember to be grateful for everything.”
Abigail S., 14, Jakarta, Indonesia

I was raised on a farm in Kansas where we lived next door to my Grandma Dew, and I was her shadow. We went everywhere together—to the bank, the doctor, the Early Bird Garden Club, and to an endless procession of Church meetings. When it came to the gospel, Grandma was zealous. She would talk about the Church anytime and with anyone—including her eldest granddaughter.
I’ll never forget an interchange she and I had one night as we drove home from yet another meeting. It began when I blurted out a question that flashed through my eight-year-old mind: “Grandma, what if the gospel isn’t true and we’ve been going to all of these meetings for nothing?”
Charming little eight-year-old, wasn’t I?
“Sheri, you don’t need to worry about that,” she answered, “because I know that the gospel is true.”
I challenged her: “How can you know for sure?”
Several seconds passed before she said slowly, “I know for sure that the gospel is true because the Holy Ghost has told me that Jesus Christ is our Savior and that this is His Church.” She paused, and then she added something I will never forget: “And, Sheri, He’ll tell you too, and when He does, your life can never be the same again.”
I still vividly remember what happened next. A sensation unlike any I had ever experienced charged through my body, and then I began to cry. Though I didn’t understand the reason for my outburst, I’m sure Grandma realized exactly what was happening—that the Spirit was bearing witness to me that what she had said was true.
I am grateful to testify that during the intervening years I have come to know for myself that Jesus is the Christ, our Savior and our Redeemer. And with that knowledge, my life has been changed forever.

I recently had the honour of volunteering with the Holiday Hunger East Lancashire team over October half-term holidays. The main aim was to ensure that no child went hungry during the holidays. We ended up providing 3,000 meals a day. Surprising as that was, it wasn’t the only thing that amazed me.
At the beginning of the half-term week, I posted on a local Facebook page to ask for volunteer drivers to deliver food. Following my post, a lovely lady sent me a private message to say she couldn’t physically help, as she is disabled, but if there was anything she could do, she was ready to help.
I thanked her for her willingness and suggested that she could handwrite address labels for the food bags, so people would know where to deliver each meal. She agreed and I contacted Nicola, one of the organisers to arrange to drop off the labels.
The following day, Nicola sent her partner, David a high school teacher, to deliver the labels— it was at that point that he realised that we hadn’t explained to that lady, that we needed to have the labels written that same day.
David, reached out to assist the lady, and it just so happened that this kind-hearted woman who volunteered to help us, had been one of David’s pupils over 10 years ago. As they sat together and handwrote address labels, they talked of how her life had been since they had last seen each other.
Once a very healthy young woman, she got older and developed a curve in her spine. After seeking medical help and undergoing a life-changing surgery that unfortunately went wrong, she was left without feeling in one of her legs. She is now in a wheelchair.
David discovered that she had been waiting for the council to provide a ramp for her home for over 12 months. The lack of a ramp meant she had to carry her wheelchair down her two front steps daily, with only one functioning leg.
A master at woodwork, David immediately offered his services and has already started building her a ramp (with a permanent metal one on order).
Were it not for the many kind volunteers of Holiday Hunger East Lancashire, people united doing good and feeding children during half-term, this woman and David would have never crossed paths that day. It is a miracle without a doubt.

While on a family vacation, we got separated from my dad and little brother. It was getting dark. The rest of the family didn’t know what to do. I told them we should pray. We said a prayer, and then we started to walk to some other stores. We looked up the street and saw my dad and my little brother! I was happy. I knew that God loved us and helped us find our dad.
Oliver P., age 8, São Paulo, Brazil

As a teenager, Gerrit loved to go backpacking and hiking with the other young men in his ward. Wally Salbacka, a lifelong friend, remembers one camping trip in particular. “I was there with Gerrit and his brother, Brian, and a friend who wasn’t a member of our Church. For some reason, we started singing hymns. Gerrit sang melody, Brian sang tenor, and I sang bass. I think we sang 10 or 20 hymns, just for the joy of singing. It was a good experience. Our nonmember friend was impressed.”

I love everything about Christmas: the lights, carols, time with family—everything we do to celebrate the birth of Jesus. Oh, and I especially love getting presents. I start making my Christmas wish list in September.
One year my list was about as long as my arm. And I kept thinking of things to add to it. I was excited to show it to my dad. “Well, David, I see what you want to get for Christmas,” he said as he looked it over. “But what are you going to give?”
“I’m making gifts for you and Mom at school. On Friday Mom is taking me shopping for Shannon’s and Jon’s gifts. So I’ve got it all planned out.”
“Hmmm,” was all Dad said. For some reason he didn’t like my answer. I didn’t like the sound of “hmmm.”
The next family home evening, my parents discussed the idea of giving and getting and the true meaning of Christmas. I could see my wish list getting shorter by the minute. They asked us if we had any ideas to help us remember to be more giving. Shannon waved her hand excitedly. My older brother, Jon, and I groaned. With Shannon, ideas usually involved doing things for other people, like weeding our neighbors’ gardens.
“Let’s choose some people who are lonely or in need and anonymously leave presents on their doorsteps,” Shannon said with excitement.
“Not a bad idea,” Jon said. “It would be top secret.”
“This might actually be fun,” I thought.
We all agreed that it would be a great plan. We chose two families. One was the Swenson family in our ward. Since Brother Swenson had gone back to school, they never seemed to have enough money. They had lots of kids too, who would love getting Christmas surprises. The other family was Mr. and Mrs. Perez, an older couple who lived down the street. They always seemed a little lonely.
We all went shopping for the gifts. We agreed to buy them using some of the money we would have used for our own presents. That was fine with me. I was having way too much fun choosing toys for the younger Swenson boys. Somehow my stuff wasn’t that important anymore.
We decided to give one gift a night to each family starting 12 days before Christmas. When the first night came, I dressed in black from head to toe, and Jon drove me over to the Swensons’ house. I quietly put the first gift on the porch, rang the doorbell, and ran away as fast as I could. I jumped behind a fence just as one of the kids opened the door. I could hear their surprised voices as they discovered the present. I felt like I would explode with excitement and joy. My life as a Secret Giver had begun.
Things only got better—and harder. We had to go at different times every night and sometimes even in the morning because the Swenson kids started looking out the window to try to catch us. And every time I crept up to the Perez’s doorstep, I imagined Mrs. Perez waiting there, ready to fling the door open, give me a hug, and tell me how wonderful I was. I definitely had to avoid that. Keeping a secret was half the fun.
Well, that year was only the beginning. The Christmas after that, we chose a family whose daughter had been in the hospital 11 times that year and another family whose mom had cancer. Wow—I didn’t realize that some people had it so tough.
Now that Christmas is here again, we’ve decided to help three families. The hardest part is choosing them. There seem to be so many people who could use a little Christmas cheer.
As for my own list? Each year it has gotten a little shorter. I’m so busy making my Secret Giver plans that I don’t have much time to think about myself. There are gifts to choose and strategies to plan.
One thing is certain—it’s great doing things for others. Nothing beats the feeling I get when I see the surprise and excitement on the faces of the people we help. Giving has become one of my favorite things about Christmas.

Although she came from a family with few resources, Sister Patience Ngalula, from Kananga, DRC, had a passion to be a journalist. She finished her secondary studies and then volunteered to work without pay at a radio/television station. She learned many things, and after one year she was hired at a radio station. She then had funds to help her family and to complete her professional studies. “I now have a very good job at a radio station in Kinshasa whose content is especially dedicated to children. I remain positive, ready to serve and have great concern for the well-being of others.”

There are inactive volcanoes near where I live, but recently one erupted. We were all really shocked when it happened. The sky was gloomy and dark, and there were lots of ashes falling from the sky. I was afraid, because we live in a pretty safe place and usually don’t have natural disasters. The scariest part was the aftershocks that came after the volcano erupted.
When the volcano erupted, my family went to stay at the church. There were lots of people staying there, which helped me not be scared. I was happy to see so many people because then I knew that they were safe.
While we were staying in the church, it was really nice to serve and minister to other people who were coming in to stay and escape the danger. I liked being able to serve without expecting anything in return. It reminded me that we need to make good decisions every day and be generous to everyone, not just in times of natural disasters but each day.