Gospel Story Finder

I remember a young woman in college who was called upon to make a very difficult decision. She was especially sensitive to the feelings of her mother and father and so asked them for advice. After listening carefully, she made a proper decision that affected the rest of her life. She honored her parents.

“People on my island have a strong bond to each other,” he explains. “The word ‘family’ is very important, and it drives me to help my own people.”
Eritai learned about hydroponic sustainability while attending Brigham Young University–Hawaii. He spent hundreds of hours developing that idea into a solution to take to his people.
In 2017, he returned to Kiribati and introduced innovative hydroponic gardening to families and communities in response to the challenges faced in accessing healthier food options. He explained that “it provided a healthy alternative to the processed foods that people were eating.”

“In the church I was in before, they never talked about the Savior. When the missionaries came to our house last year, they taught us about Jesus Christ. That is why I decided to join the Church—I wanted to learn about him.”—Stella Lucero

Perhaps the strongest such planet-wide dust storm to occur on Mars in the last hundred years took place in 1971. It was of special interest to scientists, for at that very same time the first earth-launched spacecraft to ever orbit another planet was on its way to Mars. When Mariner IX went into orbit on November 14, the only things that could be seen through the blanket of dust were four dark spots that later turned out to be huge volcanoes. It wasn’t until the end of January 1972 that clear pictures of the surface could be obtained and sent back to earth.

The power of the priesthood and the importance of its restoration and blessings came to have special meaning in my life when I was the age of many of you. I was just 15. My mother and father were miles away from our home, and my grandmother was staying with me. While my parents were away, a serious ear infection developed, and I was rushed to the hospital. The infection required major surgery and was carried out immediately. Following the operation, I overheard one of the doctors tell a nurse that the damage to my ear had been so severe that I would permanently lose my hearing and my equilibrium.

When my parents arrived at the hospital and realized the seriousness of my situation, they knew what to do. My father and another Melchizedek Priesthood holder, having the power and authority to act in the name of God, administered to me, using the oil that had been consecrated by the priesthood for the healing of the sick. My father placed his hands upon my shaven head, which was mostly wrapped in bandages, and gave me a blessing.

My mother was also impressed that she should place my name on the prayer roll of the Alberta Temple where those in attendance would join their faith in prayer for me. It was the first time I knew that people could have their name placed on the prayer roll in the temple. In time, through faith and the power of the priesthood, my healing was complete.

The Baby Sister by Tomie dePaolaTommy is excited about the upcoming arrival of his baby sister. But when the family’s plans change and his Nana comes to stay with him instead of his beloved aunt, Tommy isn’t sure he likes the new arrangement. Find out how Tommy and Nana find common ground. (Ages 4–8)

I recently met a young woman in the Philippines whose family became less active in the Church when she was only 7 years old, leaving her alone to walk a dangerous road to church week after week. She told how at age 14 she decided that she would stay true to her covenants so she would be worthy to raise her future family in a home “blessed by the strength of priesthood pow’r.”12 The best way to strengthen a home, current or future, is to keep covenants, promises we’ve made to each other and to God.

Thank you for “Triumph” in the August 1997 issue. I can relate to how she feels. I am clinically depressed and have struggled with self-confidence every day of my life. It’s comforting to know that others understand my pain. I can sincerely say that the scriptures and the gospel, along with my family’s love, have kept me alive the past six years.
Name WithheldNevada

My parents have always taught me how truly important paying tithing is and the blessings that come from doing so. I knew it was what I should do, but every time I got money, it seemed so much easier to just keep it all, spend it all, and not pay my tithing. As I got older, I became better at paying tithing but would occasionally forget to pay it here and there. I honestly couldn’t see how it could be such a blessing!
This last year, I was earning money just about every week doing odd jobs, and since I didn’t have a full-time job, it really was a blessing to have money when I needed things. When I was paid, though, it was always in checks or larger bills. I’d say to myself, “Oh, I’ll pay my tithing later when I get some smaller bills.” But as time kept ticking away, I fell into a bad routine. Once I got smaller bills, I’d decide that I needed a drink or something out of a vending machine at school, and I’d spend the smaller bills. Every time I’d get paid, the same thing happened, and I wouldn’t pay my tithing. I would just spend it.
Then my best friend left on his mission, and I started sending him different things. But for a month, I didn’t have any babysitting jobs, cleaning jobs, or anything. One day I went to go get money to send a package to him, but there was no money to be found in my wallet. I was so confused! Where had all my money gone? I thought about all those times I bought drinks, treats, even clothes, and all those things started to add up in my head. I put sending the package on hold.
The next day, I did end up babysitting for one of my neighbors and decided that I would pay my tithing right then and there because I knew I was very behind. I paid it all, the full amount. The next day I went to church, gave that little envelope with my tithing in it to a member of the bishopric, and had this really warm feeling inside. I wasn’t sure why; I had even less money than I had before.
That night I had three people call me to help them that week, whether it was cleaning, babysitting, or little jobs like that. I agreed to them all, and by the end of the week, I had more money than I’d hoped for. I sent the package and still had money to spare.
I realized something that week. Just paying the 10 percent that our Father in Heaven has asked for opened up a door for me to receive blessings. Since then, I’m in the habit of paying my tithing as soon as I get home and putting it in an envelope. As the week goes by, I add to it so that by the time Sunday comes, I count it, pay my tithing, and it’s no longer in my hands.
I can’t even begin to explain the wonderful feeling of knowing you’ve paid a full tithe. I will never go without paying my tithing again now that I know and have gained a true testimony of how important it is to pay not just part of it, but all of it.

My first encounter with a Latter-day Saint bishop occurred before I was a member of the Church. I was 17 years old and was facing the confusion, doubt, and stress that many high school seniors confront. One Saturday morning I was complaining to my best friend about my woes. Even though he had good intentions, he provided me with few answers. But he did offer what turned out to be a profound suggestion. “Sometimes when I don’t know what to do,” he said, “I talk to my bishop.”
“Your bishop? Who is he?” I asked.
“He is the head of my ward,” my friend replied.
I now recognize my next question to be a distinct prompting from the Spirit, but at the time it was the most out-of-character question I could imagine coming from my 17-year-old mouth. “Do you think he’d meet with me?” I asked.
My friend said he’d call his bishop and call me right back. An appointment was quickly made for later that morning at the bishop’s house.
I didn’t know what to expect. As I pulled up in front of the modest rambler home, I was a bit surprised at its normalcy—bikes in the driveway, nicely mowed lawn. I was even further surprised by the man in the nice, casual shirt who greeted me at the door. He smiled and said, “Hi, you must be Joe. I’m Bishop Maxwell. Please come in.” As we walked to his small, in-home office, my mind was trying to justify it all. “Shouldn’t the bishop’s home be somehow different?” I asked myself. “Shouldn’t he dress in a formal robe or something?”
During the next 45 minutes, what I found was a compassionate man, someone who took a sincere interest in my struggles; an inspired man willing to spend some of his precious time on a Saturday morning to help someone, anyone, of his faith or not, make decisions and draw conclusions.
More than 25 years have passed since that meeting. I don’t recall any of the specific advice the bishop imparted that morning, but I still vividly remember the amazing clarity and lightened burden I felt as I left his home. Not until many years later would I realize that meeting was one of my first experiences in feeling the Spirit.
I joined the Church later that year. My friend Bill, who had referred me to Bishop Maxwell, baptized me. Bishop Maxwell was at the baptism. I later served a mission, married a beautiful young woman in the temple with Bishop Maxwell serving as a witness, and am now raising five wonderful children.

We challenge parents, home teachers, elders quorum presidents, and bishops that from today you show your concern for these young people. Flood them with affection, letters, tapes, cards, packages, birthday and holiday greetings of all types. Give your Young Adults, teenagers, and others in your ward a stimulating project. Sixteen-year-old Debbie Trujillo wrote a serviceman, “Hi. My name is Debbie Trujillo, and I’ve just been baptized in the Church. I don’t know much about you, but our class is doing this project, and I think it’s neat.” The serviceman said, “I hope my reply can be as sweet and uplifting as her letter.”

It was kind of a ritual. Win or lose, after a football game we’d all pile into my old green car and head for our favorite pizza hangout to either celebrate or sulk. The place was always crowded, especially after a victory. That night, everybody was there after we defeated our crosstown rivals.
By the time the football team arrived, it was wall-to-wall people. I had somehow managed to find a seat in the corner and started looking for Dave, my older brother.
Dave always seemed to be in the center of the action and excitement. He was kind of a clown, but it was his easy-going personality that made people want to be around him. In the short time we had lived in Colorado, he’d been elected student-body president of our high school.
Growing up, we’d been somewhat competitive, but usually we got along like good friends, especially when I grew to be bigger than he was and he couldn’t beat me up anymore. In high school, I wasn’t as popular as Dave, but Dave often let me tag along with him and his friends. It made me proud to be called “Dave’s big little brother.”
As the crowd grew at the restaurant, I finally spotted Dave at a table near the center of the room. Suddenly, somebody yelled, “Hey, everybody, it’s Dave’s 18th birthday. He’s a man now.”
“Yeah, now he’s legal” someone else added. At the time, the law in Colorado stated that if you were 18, you could legally buy and drink beer. For the handful of Mormons in our school, turning 18 was just another birthday. For most of our classmates, though, becoming “legal” was a big event in their lives.
Slowly, people began to crowd around Dave’s table and soon everybody was joining in a rowdy chorus of “Happy Birthday to You.”
“Close your eyes, Dave,” somebody yelled out. A path was cleared as a huge glass of foamy, golden beer was brought forward and thrust into Dave’s hands. The whole place erupted into wild cheers. One of the cheerleaders yelled out, “Chug it, Dave! Chug it!” She was soon joined by the rest of the crowd who picked up her chant.
From off in the corner, I watched Dave and wondered what he’d do. He’d always been my example. He’d always been faithful. Of course, he’d never faced a situation like this before. I watched him look around the room at all the cheerleaders and football players and the rest of the crowd surrounding him. I don’t think he saw me watching him back in the corner.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Dave pushed his chair back from the table and rose to his feet. He picked up the glass of beer and raised it slowly in the air. My heart was pounding with anticipation, and I imagined Dave’s was too.
Somebody yelled for quiet, and, except for the jukebox in the other room, the place grew silent.
“I just want to thank everyone for thinking of me on my birthday,” Dave said, as he looked toward his raised glass. “But come on, you guys. You know me better than that. Thanks anyway.” As Dave lowered the glass and sat down, a moan rumbled through the crowd and somebody muttered something about Mormons not having any fun.
After we’d had all the pizza and root beer we could hold, Dave and I walked out into the crisp autumn air toward my car. “Dave, I was worried for a minute that you might crack under the pressure and do something stupid,” I said.
He just shrugged and said, “There wasn’t any big pressure because I didn’t have to make any decisions tonight. I’d already decided a long time ago that I was going to keep the Word of Wisdom. It’s a lot easier that way.”
I just smiled. As we drove home, I was as proud as ever to be Dave’s big little brother.

One night after a conversation with a close friend, I was feeling fearful about the future. The more I thought about life, the more uncertain and worried I felt. These feelings stayed with me until the next day when I flipped through a hymnbook while at a Church meeting. I came across a hymn I’d never heard before: “When Faith Endures” (Hymns, no. 128). I read:
I will not doubt, I will not fear;
God’s love and strength are always near.
His promised gift helps me to find
An inner strength and peace of mind.
I give the Father willingly
My trust, my prayers, humility.
His Spirit guides; his love assures
That fear departs when faith endures.
The lyrics calmed me, and my worries faded instantly. Through the words of a hymn, I learned to trust in the plan that Heavenly Father has lovingly designed for each of us. As I strengthen my faith, I am able to overcome anything, including fear.

However, Allie noticed that her younger sisters, 17-year-old twins Courtney and Cassidy, were reluctant to participate. “Our brother has done well in Special Olympics, and he likes it a lot, but we’re just not so into it,” Courtney explains.
Wanting her sisters to succeed, Allie started looking for ideas. “I got to thinking that maybe there was some way to get them involved, some way to help them be comfortable enough to participate,” Allie says.
When a friend mentioned that the state of Indiana had held the first Special Olympics dance event, Allie knew she had found her solution. Combining her dance education major with her Special Olympics platform and her desire to help her sisters, Allie hatched a plan to create a Special Olympics ballroom dance event in Provo.
The waltz music finishes, and the Special Olympics couples spin out and take deep bows for the enthusiastic crowd. Then they exit the floor and file into a row of chairs on the sidelines or go backstage to wait for their next event, the cha-cha.
Backstage, Courtney sits with her sister Cassidy and cradles a pair of high-heeled ballroom shoes in her lap. They are scuffed and very flexible. “They’re comfortable because Allie wore them out,” Courtney explains, “and now I get to use them.”
While lively music blares from the speakers, Courtney quietly talks about her sister. “I want to be like Allie. She dances a lot, and I want to do a lot of dance at my school.” Cassidy chimes in, “I’ve learned a lot from just watching her.”
More than just learning steps and routines, these sisters know that they’ve learned a lot about life by dancing with their sister. “I can have fun, even though some things are still a little scary. I can be comfortable,” Courtney says. When asked about what advice she would give to other teens, she adds, “Just get involved and do things that you don’t usually do. Get out and have fun!”
Allie’s idea helped her sisters to get out and have fun and, in the end, it was also a great way for the other athletes and volunteers to try something new.

Dear Buddy,
Congratulations on your baptism, big guy! Elder Butler sends his congratulations too. That Saturday was a special day for us, also—we were invited to a meeting with the mission president and the Hill Cumorah Pageant committee.
Before the meeting, Elder Butler and I toured the house that Joseph Smith lived in with his parents and five brothers (a sixth brother died when he was a baby) and three sisters. It’s a beautiful little white two-story house set among gently rolling fields and lawns and forests. The rooms are kind of small, especially the bedrooms. In Joseph Smith’s day, clothes and other belongings were kept in chests and cabinets instead of in closets. In the kitchen a lot of the old-time cooking things were hung on the wall, and there was a little black cast-iron stove like the Smiths used for cooking and heating. The doors were planks of wood nailed together. As we went from room to room, I imagined young Joseph doing his chores and playing with his brothers and sisters.
From the front porch we looked across the road to the forest believed to be the place where he prayed to Heavenly Father about which church to join. Later, our meeting was in that forest, the Sacred Grove. The light seemed to shimmer as it filtered among the leaves of the trees, and I wondered if any of the same trees had been there when Joseph Smith knelt to pray.
After our mission president spoke, he asked Elder Butler and me to talk to the group. I told them that I had a little brother being baptized that very day—baptized and confirmed into the Church restored on earth because of another young boy who had come into the grove almost 170 years ago to offer a simple prayer in faith. Then I told them that yet another young boy—Sam—wanted to know more about the Church because of your example. I told them that example is one of the most powerful missionary forces that the Church has.

As young missionaries in the missionary training center in Brazil, we had a day assigned to go, as companionships, into the streets of São Paulo to invite people to hear the missionary lessons. After a few hours we came back to the MTC and held a testimony meeting.
Many spoke of promptings they received to go to a specific street or approach a certain person. These experiences sounded marvelous to me. However, because I had no similar experience, I felt that perhaps I was not good enough, or prepared enough, to be a missionary.
Feeling discouraged, I sought help from MTC leadership. They helped me understand that God is willing to give us instructions through the Holy Ghost, and while my experience may not be the same as those of others, I still needed to qualify for the Spirit’s direction. Just like a radio that needs to be tuned to a specific station, or a smartphone that needs to be connected to the internet, we must be both in tune and connected in order to receive what the Holy Ghost communicates to us.
At the MTC, I learned that I needed to be ready to receive whatever the Lord wanted to send me, in His time and His way. I learned that interference can cause us to be so distracted that we will not be able to identify when the Lord is talking to us or to listen carefully to the message He would have us hear.

This morning, I invite you to join with me on an African journey. You won’t see any lions, zebras, or elephants, but perhaps, by journey’s end, you will see how thousands of members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints are responding to Christ’s second great commandment to “love thy neighbour” (Mark 12:31).
Imagine for a moment the rural, red dirt of Africa. You see from the parched and barren earth that rain has not fallen in any measurable quantity for too many years. The few cattle which cross your path are more bones than flesh and are being driven by a blanket-covered Karamojong herdsman who, with sandalled feet, trudges on in hope of finding vegetation and water.
As you navigate the rough and rocky road, you see several groups of beautiful children and wonder why they are not in school. The children smile and wave, and you wave back with a tear and a smile. Ninety-two percent of the youngest children you see on this journey live in food poverty, and your heart groans with anguish.
Ahead, you see a mother carrying a carefully balanced five-gallon (19 L) container of water on her head and another in her hand. She represents one of every two households in this area where women, young and old, walk more than 30 minutes each way, each day, to a source of water for their family. A wave of sorrow washes over you.
Two hours pass and you arrive at a secluded, shady clearing. The meeting place is not a hall or even a tent but rather under a few large trees providing shelter from the sweltering sun. In this place, you notice there is no running water, no electricity, no flush toilets. You look around and know you are amongst a people who love God, and you instantly feel God’s love for them. They have gathered to receive help and hope, and you have arrived to share it.
Such was the journey of Sister Ardern and me, in the company of Sister Camille Johnson, our General Relief Society President, and her husband, Doug, and Sister Sharon Eubank, director of the Church’s Humanitarian Services, as we travelled in Uganda, a country of 47 million people in the Africa Central Area of the Church. On that day, under the shade of the trees, we visited a community health project that is jointly funded by the Church Humanitarian Services, UNICEF, and the Ministry of Health of the Ugandan government. These are trusted organisations, carefully selected to ensure the donated humanitarian funds of the members of the Church are prudently used.
As heart-wrenching as it was to see malnourished children and the effects of tuberculosis, malaria, and incessant diarrhea, there came to each of us an increase of hope for a better tomorrow for those we met.
That hope came, in part, through the kindness of Church members from around the world who donate time and money to the Church humanitarian effort. As I saw the sick and the afflicted being helped and lifted, I bowed my head in gratitude. At that moment, I better understood what was meant by the King of kings, who said:
“Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you … :
“For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in” (Matthew 25:34–35).
Our Saviour’s plea is to “let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven” (Matthew 5:16; see also verses 14–15). In that far-flung corner of the earth, your good works brightened the lives and lightened the load of a people in desperate need, and God was glorified.
On that hot and dusty day, I wished you could have heard their prayers of praise and gratitude to God. They would have me say to you in their native Karamojong, “Alakara.” Thank you.
In that distant land, on that unforgettable day, I stood then and stand now as a witness of the soul-stirring and life-changing compassion of members of the Church, both rich and poor.
All those months ago, we found the hungry and the afflicted on a dry and dusty plain and were witnesses to their pleading eyes for help. In our own way, we groaned in the spirit and were troubled (see John 11:33), and yet those feelings were tempered as we saw the compassion of Church members at work as the hungry were fed, the widows were provided for, and the afflicted were comforted and their tears dried up.

One summer while traveling in a remote area, our family spent an evening sleeping outdoors under a cloudless sky. Clearly visible above us was the magnificent Milky Way, filled with innumerable stars and the occasional shooting star. While we marveled at the majesty of God’s creation, we felt a reverent connection to Him. Our young children, who had grown up in Hong Kong, had never experienced anything like this before. They innocently asked if we lived under the same sky back home. I tried to explain to them that it was the same sky, but air and light pollution where we lived prevented us from seeing these stars even though they were there.

I serve as a Church-service missionary with the PathwayConnect program in the Kyiv Ukraine Stake. The leaders of the program decided to train all of us who lead in-person gatherings so that we could conduct them virtually. The very next day, the government announced quarantine measures in Kyiv.
I love the opportunity to gather together for PathwayConnect. And I love the opportunity to gather together to worship and sing together at home on Sundays. I am grateful for the assurance that where two or three gather in His name, He is there. No one knows how long we will be in quarantine in Kyiv, but we know that the Savior will hear our singing.
Kateryna Serdyuk, Kyiv, Ukraine

Mary McMurrin Lee took the child and let him nurse along with her own child, but after a time the strain was too great, so they took the baby to Salt Lake City to Grandmother McMurrin.
“I’ll give him one last nursing,” she said, and then laying him in his crib, she went back to Meadow Valley.
Under his grandmother’s care the baby Samuel grew into a stalwart boy, and when sixteen went to Clifton, Idaho, in Cache Valley, where he worked on a farm and there later met Louisa Bingham.