Gospel Story Finder

Graffiti would soon disappear if those who spray it on had to clean it off. I still remember an experience during my first year in high school. I was eating lunch with some other boys. I peeled a banana and threw the peeling on the ground. Just at that moment the principal walked by. He asked me to pick up the banana peeling. I say he asked—there was a certain steely firmness in his voice. I got off the bench on which I was sitting and picked up the banana peeling. I put it in the trash can. There was other litter around the can. He told me that while I was picking up my own trash, I could pick up the trash of others. I did it. I have never thrown another banana peeling on the ground.

I had planned to go to the temple in December 2017 but ended up postponing the trip. My husband was not ready to go without someone else to go with us. I fasted everyday but after a few months I became sick. All reports were normal, but the doctor recommended complete bedrest. I couldn’t understand what was wrong. I felt that perhaps I was not worthy. I continued to read the scriptures and prayed, but still felt bad. One Sunday I felt especially alone and even left church after taking the sacrament.
At last I met with my stake president and he said, “Sister Mahana you are a strong pillar; you never give up because you have a treasure of miracles.” I realized that he was right, I was fighter and I was a daughter of God. So, I read the scriptures more than before. In October of 2017, I accepted President Nelson’s 85-day challenge to read the Book of Mormon. As soon as I started reading the Book of Mormon, one by one my problems were solved. One month later I received a new calling. I fulfilled that calling faithfully and finished reading the Book of Mormon too. I met with the stake president on 27 January 2018 and we decided that I would go to the temple in April 2019. It felt so good to hear that I was finally going to the temple. This time I felt I couldn’t wait. I realized that what the stake president said was true, that I did have a treasure of miracles because I am totally changed. I have received many blessings, both spiritual and temporal. On 21 April 2019 we left for the temple. I am grateful for this trial. It has taught me more patience and given me more knowledge of spiritual things.

Valerie and Mama walked to the market. Valerie saw colorful fruits and silver fish. She smelled the beautiful flowers for sale. Valerie looked around. Where was Mama? Valerie was scared. She folded her arms and bowed her head. She whispered, “Heavenly Father, please help me find Mama.” Valerie waited. Then she heard someone calling her name. There was Mama! “Thank you, Heavenly Father,” Valerie whispered. Valerie was happy she could pray when she needed help.

Can you imagine the terror that must have been in the heart of 11-year-old Dieter Uchtdorf as his family fled their home in East Germany in 1952 to find freedom in the West? For political reasons, the life of Dieter’s father was in extreme danger. He would have to escape alone to minimize risks to his wife and children. To avoid suspicion, the rest of the family would not be able to travel together. They would have to make the attempt separately.
A plan was implemented. Dieter’s two older brothers, Wolfgang and Karl-Heinz, took a northern route out of their hometown of Zwickau. Their sister, Christel, traveled with two other girls on a train that passed briefly through West Germany en route to its destination city in East Germany. As the train passed through West Germany, the girls persuaded the conductor to open the door for them, and they jumped out of the train.
Dieter, age 11—the youngest of the children—and his courageous mother took still another route. They carried with them only a little food and precious family photographs that had been preserved from destruction through World War II. After Dieter and his mother had walked long hours, Sister Uchtdorf’s knees began to weaken. Dieter carried their belongings and helped his mother climb a final hill to freedom. There they stopped to eat a meager meal, only to realize, when they saw Russian guards, that they were still shy of the border. The mother and son terminated their picnic, picked up their packs, and climbed even higher before reaching their goal.
Dieter and his mother continued their trek as refugees, hitchhiking and walking to their destination at a suburb near Frankfurt. After many long and perilous days of separation, the family was finally reunited. The brothers arrived first; their father followed. Dieter and his mother then arrived, and his sister came last. Their great reunion was joyful.
Of lesser significance was the fact that they had left behind virtually all of their possessions.
Seven years earlier, toward the close of World War II, they had fled from home as foreign forces approached. Now they were refugees again. Once more they owned nothing. Once more they had to start over. But they had each other. They had their deep faith in God, and they had their membership in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, acquired barely five years earlier.

The only obstacle still in our way was the cost of chartering a bus. To meet it, we needed to sell fifty-eight fares—and with only three weeks to go, we had sold only forty-four fares. Unless we sold the remaining fares, the individual cost of each ticket would be higher, and some people wouldn’t be able to go.
But Brother Ávila’s faith didn’t waver. He decided that if we couldn’t fill the bus with branch members, we would invite the rest of Mendoza Stake. So he and Brother Alejandro Suriano visited each of the wards and branches in the stake, leaving a small poster and inviting their members to join us.
What happened next proved to us that signs do follow those who believe. Interested people quickly came forward, and the unsold seats were soon gone. Some of these newcomers did not even live in the stake boundaries. Brother and Sister Freire were from the nearby Godoy Cruz Argentina Stake, and the five members of the Badami family were from Santiago del Estero province—more than 1,000 kilometers away.
As arrangements were finalized, there were three families who had prepared for the trip but could not pay the full cost. Thankfully, the money we had donated at our early meetings settled the balance. Now everything was in order.

My mom was my seminary teacher throughout high school, so I didn’t have much of a choice about going. Every morning for four years I hauled myself out of bed and into a cold car and zipped off to seminary.

Years later, while in the MTC, I was amazed at how much seminary was still helping me. One day while teaching a lesson, my companion turned to me and asked, “How do you know the scriptures so well?” I was taken aback—I didn’t feel like I was a scriptorian at all. “Seminary, I guess?” I stammered.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that attending seminary and memorizing the scripture mastery verses was the reason I felt comfortable in the scriptures (see the scripture mastery verses at sm.lds.org). It was the best preparation I had for serving a mission! Even though I was still an awkward new missionary and I didn’t know how to teach, I did know 100 scriptures that I could turn to when I didn’t know what else to say. So many times, a scripture mastery verse came into my mind through the Spirit when I was teaching investigators.

If I’d read my scriptures just on my own, I wouldn’t have had the same experience without going to seminary and learning the scriptures there too. My advice to my teenage self is to go to seminary—no matter what—and fully participate! The Lord will use the knowledge you gain for years to come.

A teacher from California, who went to Austria to study, made fun of the tales he had heard about the foehn. Years before, he had broken his leg in a skiing accident. When his old wound began to hurt, it was as though the break had just happened, and the pain was agonizing. He soon learned that the weather had changed and that a foehn had descended the mountains into the valley where he was staying. He stopped making fun of the foehn stories.

Tonight I would like to talk to him and tell him some things he may not know about the priesthood he holds. I’d also like to visit with his friends—the members of his deacons quorum—and, in fact, with all of the young men—the deacons, teachers, and priests—throughout the Church. I’d like to visit with you about this very special Aaronic Priesthood authority you now have.
I recognize that to some of you this special authority may not mean so much right now. Others of you may really be excited about it, but you may not know why you feel as you do. And some few of you may not yet have qualified yourselves to receive it.
Now, to my grandson for a moment: Darren, I remember a few weeks ago when we visited your ward sacrament meeting in Arizona. I was seated on the stand and you were assigned to pass the sacrament to those seated there. You passed the bread and the water to me in remembrance of the Savior. In your office as an Aaronic Priesthood bearer, you actually helped me rededicate my life to keeping the commandments of God. Even though I am your grandfather and a Melchizedek Priesthood holder, you used your authority to help me renew my covenants. I was thrilled with that experience we shared together. As I saw the reserved smile on your face I sort of thought you had figured it to be pretty neat too. Did you know that I’ve passed the sacrament during sacred times to the Presidency of the Church, as well as to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and the other General Authorities? Isn’t it terrific that you and I use this same priesthood authority to help each other make these covenants with the Lord?
Sacrament time is a very special time, and you are now an important part of it. You are different now than you used to be. The Lord has said he is going to share with you some of his power and authority to help others through life. He is going to let you do some sacred things now that you couldn’t do before. Let me tell you some more of them.
If you live worthy of it, as a teacher you will be able to go into the homes of some of the members of your ward with the responsibility to help them understand some of the gospel teachings. You don’t need to be afraid; you’ll be surprised and thrilled when you feel the inspiration to say certain things to your families. One of our home teachers is an Aaronic Priesthood bearer. He comes every month. Three weeks ago he prayed with us and left a blessing on our home. We all felt good.

Every year my family gets lots of peaches from my aunt’s tree. Whenever we get them my mom has all four kids help peel them, cut them in half, and put them into jars. None of us likes to help can the peaches, but we help anyway. We would want to do other things, like go to a friend’s house or watch TV. Last fall when my mom asked me if I would help with the peaches, I decided to help but with a good attitude this time. As we were canning, I noticed that we all were talking and laughing and having a good time. That was the most fun time I had canning peaches, and it took less time than I thought.
Katie W., age 12, Utah

I talked with a Relief Society member about a visit she had made. It was to a woman who would soon lose her husband suddenly and tragically. In recent years the woman had only intermittent contact with Relief Society.

The visitor prepared by stopping at a shop to buy flowers. It was a season when the tulips were stacked for sale in many colors. She chose one color, her favorite, but then felt impressed to try another. She didn’t know why she selected yellow, but she did.

When she presented the yellow tulips at the door, the woman smiled and said, “Come. See my backyard garden.” It was filled with yellow tulips in full bloom. The woman said, “I was just wondering if I should cut some for the house. But now I can leave them and enjoy them a little longer in my garden because you brought me these.” They chatted pleasantly as if they were old friends. From that impression to bring some flowers and to choose yellow tulips, that visiting teacher had evidence that she was on the Lord’s errand. When she told me, I could hear the joy in her voice.

When she spoke with me, she didn’t know what the widow felt after the visit. But if the widow felt that God loved her and that He had sent an angel to her, the visiting teacher had helped her move down the road to success in the Lord’s eyes. That visitor may verify success from her faithful effort only in the world to come.

The challenges that face us and our families as disciples of Christ are somewhat different than those of Joshua’s Israelites. Let me illustrate with an experience. Our family lived for many years in the state of Florida. Because Florida has a high concentration of sand, lawns there are planted with a large broadleaf grass we call Saint Augustine. A formidable enemy of a Florida lawn is a small, brown insect called a mole cricket.

One evening as my neighbor and I stood on the front steps, he noticed a little bug crossing my sidewalk. “You better spray your lawn,” he warned. “There goes a mole cricket.” I had sprayed the lawn with insecticide not too many weeks previously, and I hardly felt that I had the time or money to do it again so soon.

In the light of the next morning, I examined my lawn closely. It was lush and beautifully green. I looked down into the grass to see if I could see any of the little bugs. I could see none. I remember thinking, “Well, maybe that little mole cricket was just passing through my yard on the way to my neighbor’s yard.”

I watched my lawn for more than a week, looking for signs of invaders, but none was evident. I congratulated myself that I had not overreacted to my neighbor’s warning.

The story, however, has a sad ending. I came out the front door one morning, about 10 days after the conversation with my neighbor. Shockingly, as if it had happened overnight, brown spots covered my lawn. I ran to the garden store, bought the insecticide, and sprayed immediately, but it was too late. The lawn was ruined, and to return it to its former state required a new crop of sod, long hours of work, and large expense.

My neighbor’s warning was central to my lawn’s welfare. He saw things I could not see. He knew something I did not know. He knew that mole crickets live underground and are active only at night, making my daytime examinations ineffective. He knew that mole crickets did not eat the leaves of the grass but rather found nourishment in the roots. He knew that these little inch-long creatures could eat a lot of roots before I would ever see the effect above the ground. I paid a dear price for my smug independence.

We learn of the dedication which was given to the seminary program in its very beginning by reading from a diary of John M. Whitaker, one of the early instructors of the seminary program. In April of 1915 he was employed as an instructor in the Granite Seminary with a salary of $1,500 per year. He found little to work with as he assumed his new position. His diary records:
“I had to start without the least scratch, or outline, and I thought out many approaches to the new problem before me. I had taught several years at the University of Deseret. But there I knew my course well, but to commence a course now, where here-to-fore the Bible alone had been the guide, and to meet the need of the hour when students of the age coming into high school and junior work, with strict outlines and supervision, with everything before them and now coming from the discipline of high school requirements, into religion class work where they could come if they desired or remain away, … but to take religion which was frowned down upon during the week days, only for Sundays, was a task too great to undertake alone. So I did as I have always done when presented with a task, went in humility and prayer to my Father in Heaven and in my simplicity told him my problem and asked for inspiration, guidance, wisdom and courage for the task before me. … I was unknown to most of the Faculty and students of the Granite High and so during the summer I thought out how best to make a beginning.”
He became enthusiastic about the beginning of the year in teaching at Granite High School and looked forward to registration day, on September 3, 1915. A crowd of students was on hand, and his journal entry describes the event: “Commenced a very important period of my life and one that will, I am sure affect the destiny of thousands of the youth of Zion, if the plans maturing in my mind blossom into fruition” (quoted in Lyman Clarence Pedersen Jr., “John Mills Whitaker: Diarist, Educator, Churchman” [master’s thesis, University of Utah, 1960], 167).
His diary records events step-by-step which led to the tremendous success he had in carrying forward this program over the years. Significant is the statement of the late S. Dilworth Young, one of the Seventy, who was one of Brother Whitaker’s earliest seminary students: “Had Elder A. Theodore Tuttle been clairvoyant, he would have seen in the year 1914 a fourteen-and-a-half-year-old stripling entering the first seminary instituted by the Church. Across the street from Granite High School a building had been constructed—one room in size—a teacher employed, and the school opened to students. I was that stripling. There died yesterday the third teacher of that particular seminary. The teacher was John M. Whitaker.
“I should like to make a short tribute to Brother Whitaker. He likely did not know the profound influence he had upon me as a boy, as I studied minutely under him and Guy C. Wilson before him, the detail of the Bible, the Book of Mormon, and the Doctrine and Covenants. I look back upon it now, realizing that there was where I got my first detailed knowledge of these standard works. Could I have enough influence I would see to it that every boy and every girl in the Church had a like experience under a man of faith” (in Conference Report, Apr. 1960, 80).

The lesson I learned from this experience became even more important many years later when I had five teenage children of my own. Like many families, we occasionally found our family relationships a little strained or uneven. On one such occasion I felt like the key to family harmony was for my children to see things my way and act in ways I thought were right. They were not doing anything bad, I just felt they should change their attitudes to conform more closely to mine. To me, that seemed like the answer, but as I pondered the solution, the Lord spoke to me through my feelings. In my heart and mind came the message, “It is better to be one than to be right.”
I wasn’t quite sure what that meant. But I heard and felt it. After a lot of thought and prayer, I began to understand that it was more important for our family to be one than it was for me to be right. That realization pierced me to the core, and I could see that even if I were right about how things ought to be done, that knowledge alone would not bless my family. I remembered that the Lord had said, “Be one; and if ye are not one ye are not mine” (D&C 38:27). I realized that the only way to gain what we all really wanted was for us to be one and that if I insisted on holding to what I perceived as the moral high ground, we would not likely resolve our differences.
Most importantly, the message implied that I shouldn’t be expecting my children to change: I needed to change. Suddenly I could see that if I would change and do the things that would make us one as a family, everything would work out. The Lord truly helped me, and almost overnight I began to change. I focused on loving my children without conditions, without expecting them to change. I simply wanted to love them—and for them to love me.
That was not a dramatic change, but it was an important change of heart and mind. As my children became aware of the transformation taking place in their father, it was surprising how quickly we became one again. The strains we were experiencing just melted away. Harmony returned. Once again our home became a place of love.
Since those long-ago days my children have all married and now have their own families, and as parents my wife and I take such delight in them. We are all such good friends—best friends. My prayers were answered. Not the prayer to change my children, which is what I prayed for at first, but for the change that came over me as a result of my prayers. The Lord answered my prayers by helping me change.

This is the world Mike Lee stepped into at age 16, when his father sent him out to learn about work.
Now, before you start picturing Mike’s father as some sort of hardhearted Captain Bligh, let’s set the record straight. His father’s act may have seemed at the time almost cruel, but in truth it was an act of love.
It was 1979. “I’d been having a lot of trouble in school, a lot of trouble in everything,” Mike explained. “I wasn’t a bad kid. I just didn’t know what I wanted to do.”
Mike’s father, W. Boyd Lee, was serving at the time as president of the Norfolk Virginia Stake. He loved his son and worried about him a lot. “Mike’s mother and I prayed constantly. I kept feeling that Mike should work on Spencers’ boat.”
Ira Spencer, Jr., a good friend of Brother Lee, was the branch president of the Manteo (North Carolina) Branch. Ira owned a fishing trawler that his son Duke piloted out of Wanchese, a little town near Kitty Hawk, where the Wright brothers first flew a plane. Ira and his wife Shirley also ran a seafood restaurant in Nags Head, and maybe Mike could help out in the kitchen when the ship was in port. Ira and Duke enjoyed having LDS crew members, because they had proven to be honest and dependable, and they didn’t use foul language or smoke on the ship.
“Still, he was only 16, and I didn’t want to impose on the Spencers,” Brother Lee explained. He talked the idea over with Ira.
“Mike seemed like a good boy,” Ira said. “Sometimes you’ve just got to give a boy incentive, and on his own he’ll move from where he is to where he should be.”
So Mike became a fisherman on the War Cry, a boat named after a line in the hymn “Hope of Israel”: “Sound the war cry, ‘Watch and pray!’” (Hymns, no. 64).
“It’s the hardest work I’ve ever done,” Mike said. “It’s not only skill that’s involved, but also a strong stomach and a desire to keep going. A lot of people can work hard for eight hours, but when you’re working almost twenty-four hours a day over a long period of time, you learn about endurance.”
At first Mike was in charge of small but important details. He had to make sure tools were always returned to the right place. He helped push trash fish overboard when the sorting was done. When the boat went after scallops, he learned how to cut the shells open and slice out the edible muscle.
“He was kind of timid at first, but pretty quick he showed us all what a good worker he was,” Duke said. “It got to where we’d trust him to run anything. He knew the gear and could do anything the rest of us could do.”
The basic crew included three returned missionaries, two others just getting ready to leave, a recent convert, captain Duke (who served a mission in Brazil), and an inactive prospective elder. “Working together, we developed quite a camaraderie,” Mike said. By the end of the summer the inactive member wasn’t inactive anymore, and Mike was ready for school again.
“Working on the boat gave me a chance to sort out my life,” Mike explained. “Even though you’re working, you’ve got plenty of time to think, and I thought a lot about the future. I thought about college, about a mission, about my family.”
He also said that being out at sea “made me love the ocean, made me respect its power. It helped me appreciate what God has created, the same way that getting out in nature helps you. It’s just a different kind of nature. The sea makes you appreciate the world that you’re a part of.”

Back home, he attended George Washington University, studying mechanical engineering and playing clarinet and saxophone in a jazz band. As he neared university graduation, all of his career plans seemed to be on schedule. But then “the Lord placed a bombshell in my little world: Jeanene Watkins.” A vivacious young woman, Jeanene was the daughter of Utah’s Senator Arthur V. Watkins.
Their developing relationship presented a problem for Richard’s carefully laid career plans. One night Jeanene said to him, “When I marry, it will be in the temple to a returned missionary.” He had not thought much about a mission, but with that motivation, he prayed harder than ever before and ended up talking to the bishop about it. Soon after graduation, he left for a mission to Uruguay. Jeanene graduated the following June in sociology and left the next day for a mission to the northwestern states. Soon after they returned home, they were married in the Manti Temple.

After my baptism and confirmation, my mother drew me aside and asked, “What do you feel?” I described as best I could the warm feeling of peace, comfort, and happiness I had. Mother explained that what I was feeling was the gift I had just received, the gift of the Holy Ghost. She told me that if I lived worthy of it, I would have that gift with me continually. That was a teaching moment that has lived with me all my life.

Valentina Aranda, 33 years old, feels blessed to have lived all her life in the same neighborhood in Rome, a city loved throughout the world for its history and art. Her family comes from many different parts of Italy, which enriches her life with varied traditions. She had a promising career in marketing that she set aside to be a full-time mother to her two daughters. Below she shares the story of her conversion at age 21.
It all started with the Book of Mormon, which I saw in my friend’s library. The book made me very curious, and I felt drawn to it. One day I picked it up and began reading it—but it didn’t make sense to me. I told this to my friend’s mother, who said that I should pray before I read it.
The next evening, I prayed and started reading at the beginning of the book. It seemed to be a different book from what I had read the day previous, and I felt something I had never felt before. I talked about it with my friend and told her I would like to go with her family to church the next Sunday.
When I arrived at the church, I immediately felt at home. It was fast and testimony Sunday, and a very strong spirit descended upon me. I’ll never forget that Sunday. That morning I met the missionaries, who began helping me to know the truth. Those two angels were a great gift, and they are still dear friends today.
But my belief in Joseph Smith as a prophet was the greatest, strongest, and firmest testimony I had. I knew right away that he was a prophet of God and that a great mission was entrusted to him, and after the lesson with the missionaries where I learned about the Restoration, I decided to be baptized. Five weeks after my first time attending church, I entered the waters of baptism. How exciting it was!
The Church gave me a new life. I am happy and secure in my decision; I am sealed to my husband and daughters; I have new friends, the truth, the scriptures, the temple, and knees that now know how to kneel to pray.
I await with anticipation the temple here in Rome. I know that it will be a great blessing for me and for many, many brothers and sisters who are waiting for it.

When I was young, I had to hurry home from school on Tuesday afternoons in order to get to Primary on time. It was held during the week then. I remember one particular teacher, Sister Rawlings. She helped our class learn the last five articles of faith so we could recite them all. She also instilled in me a love for Scouting. On my 12th birthday, I spent the afternoon passing off the Tenderfoot requirements so I could be a Scout. Sister Rawlings had prepared me well, and I passed. She gave me a Boy Scout pocketknife that I treasured for years.

As I sat restlessly in sacrament meeting one Sunday afternoon listening to a returned missionary speak, I entertained myself by watching two children play peek-a-boo across the back of the bench. Sunday meetings seemed a meaningless ritual. None of my friends went to church or observed the Sabbath, and I sat there grumpy, determined to be miserable.
Then I casually looked over my right shoulder and saw my parents with tears in their eyes. I looked around the room and noticed that many others had tear-stained cheeks. As I turned my attention back to the recently returned elder, I heard him say, “… and I know that my Father lives.”
That was a statement I had heard many times, especially in sacrament meetings. I had always asked myself, How could they possibly know that there is a God? The thought occurred again, and as the closing prayer was said, I felt a little guilty for my thoughts.
Later that evening my family sat down together for family scripture study. We were in the 30th chapter of Alma, and my older brother Jim was reading about the anti-Christ Korihor telling Alma there was no God. In verses 43–44, he read, “And now Korihor said unto Alma: If thou wilt show me a sign, that I may be convinced that there is a God, yea, show unto me that he hath power, and then will I be convinced of the truth of thy words.
“But Alma said unto him: … The scriptures are laid before thee, yea, and all things denote there is a God; yea, even the earth, and all things that are upon the face of it.” [Alma 30:43–44]
That night I lay very still and pondered the words of Alma. I thought about all the creations on the earth, about the flowers and the trees and the animals—and about me. How magnificent the creation of the human body is! I lay there thinking a very long time until the words of a song I had learned in Primary entered my head: “Whenever I touch a velvet rose or walk by our lilac tree, I’m glad that I live in this beautiful world Heavenly Father created for me.”
Tears fell down my face, and I said a prayer to Father in Heaven asking his forgiveness and thanking him for the beautiful world he created for me. I know now that my Father lives.

Sister Hazel Gotts, a widow who is a recent convert, was visited by Gerilynn Price and Mark Packard, the priests quorum group leader. They took her a cake. Mark reports, “I enjoyed talking with a person who has been around so long and seen so much. I think it’s a good way for the youth and older people to get to know and understand each other better. I had a very nice feeling when I left, knowing I had made someone happy, and I know she was very happy to know that someone cares about her. She enjoyed telling us about herself. I think it would be nice if the youth could establish a close relationship with the elderly people in the ward.”