Gospel Story Finder

Whenever a 15-year-old is asked to be ward organist, it’s a fairly remarkable thing. When it happened to Kuha‘o C. of Hawaii, it was even more remarkable for two reasons: (1) he had been playing piano for under three years and (2) he is blind.
Beginning a few years ago, Kuha‘o would sit and play the piano during his regular visits to his grandparents. He didn’t have a piano at home, so it seemed like something fun to try. Soon, however, Kuha‘o moved far beyond just playing around with the keys; he was really playing—and playing well. Though he took a few lessons after that, he has been mostly self-taught.
Kuha‘o was baptized in December 2009, and around that time he started playing the organ at the ward meetinghouse, usually on Saturdays while his grandfather fulfilled his building maintenance assignment. He even started waking up at 5:30 a.m. on Sundays to hear Music and the Spoken Word with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir so that he could listen to the organ. It wasn’t long before he was asked to accompany his congregation.
One day Kuha‘o’s friend Andy Thunell heard him playing and was impressed with his ability to play by ear. Andy wanted to document this feat, so he made a video recording of Kuha‘o listening to a song for the first time and then playing it right afterward. Andy posted this video on the Internet, and people were amazed. Since then, many people have taken notice of Kuha‘o, and he has started quite a career, including more online videos, performances, recordings, trips, and competitions, including one in which he won a $10,000 first prize—which he donated to the Hawaii Association of the Blind.
As a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood, Kuha‘o enjoys fulfilling his priesthood duties and serving others. “I like to serve people,” he says, “because that’s what it says in the scriptures—to be kind to others, to love thy neighbor as thyself, and to serve.”
Like other young Latter-day Saints, Kuha‘o loves to read the scriptures (in Braille), especially the Book of Mormon, because the scriptures bring the Spirit. And when it comes right down to it, that’s also why he enjoys music.
“Music helps me feel the Spirit,” he says. “If I were to play something, I would hope you can feel the Spirit inside you, that the Spirit would give you a gentle touch. I feel an excitement when I play something on either the piano or organ like ‘Now Let Us Rejoice’ [Hymns, no. 3], for example. To feel the love of Heavenly Father and that I’m really touched by the Spirit and that others are touched—this is what it’s about.”
Kuha‘o understands that Heavenly Father has given him a gift, a fact that is reinforced by something he carries with him all the time—his name. “My names [Kuha‘o Makana] in Hawaiian mean ‘extraordinary gift,’” he explains. With his musical gift he wants to serve others, bear testimony, and help people feel close to their Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ.
His grandmother, Iwalani C., says that after Kuha‘o performs, “people tell him, ‘You touched my heart,’ or, ‘You touched my spirit,’ or, ‘You made me cry,’ because they feel the Spirit when he plays. And I feel the Spirit when he plays.”
As he embarks on a career in music—a field in which he is still quite new—Kuha‘o continues to learn and grow in the gospel. And, of course, he plays in church on Sundays. Through it all, he relies on another gift from Heavenly Father—his testimony of the gospel—to both guide and ground him.
“I am touched by the Savior, Jesus Christ,” he says. “I love Him so much. I want to stay close to Him, and I want the Lord to be with me. I know that the gospel is true and that President Thomas S. Monson is our prophet and leads us in the path of righteousness.”
Despite his challenges, Kuha‘o knows he has been blessed with gifts from God. He also knows that one way to show gratitude for these gifts is to use them to bless others.

All during that winter of 1846 in those frontier establishments, forges roared and anvils rang with the making of wagons. My own grandfather, barely out of his teens, became an expert blacksmith and wagon builder. No vocation was more useful in those days than that of the ability to shape iron. He would later build his own wagon and with his young wife and baby and his brother-in-law set off for the West. Somewhere on that long journey, his wife sickened and died and his brother-in-law died on the same day. He buried them both, tearfully said good-bye, tenderly picked up his child, and marched on to the valley of the Great Salt Lake.

My mother works every evening from 3:00 p.m. until 11:00 p.m. Even though she couldn’t be home on Monday nights, my older brother and I decided to hold family home evening by ourselves—just the two of us. My brother was inactive for eight years, but he had been attending institute recently and decided to give the message one Monday night. He shared a spiritual thought from the Book of Mormon that I had never considered, even though I had taken four years of seminary and had worked on my Personal Progress. The spirit I felt was just as I had hoped it would be when the time came that I would have a worthy priesthood holder in my home.
I’m grateful Heavenly Father gives me the opportunity to strengthen my family every week through family home evening. I love the gospel of Jesus Christ, and I’m glad that I had this humbling family home evening experience with my brother.

One day some of the employees decided to go on a popular hike in Yellowstone Park. It wasn’t a very long hike, only about three miles in all, but it was steep and none of us were used to hiking.
The trail started out as a gradual slope. We walked along leisurely, breathing in the fresh air of the rain that had fallen earlier that day. We could smell the aroma of pine needles from the towering pine trees that lined the path.
All too soon, the trail grew steep and became difficult to climb. We stopped at a halfway mark to catch our breath. Some of the group wanted to go back.
“This is no fun. My feet are killing me,” one complained.
“Look, it’s going to rain any minute now,” said others.
Indeed, the storm clouds had come back, and it looked as if they might dump their contents on us at any minute.
Just then, some tourists on their way back down the trail stopped to talk to us. They told us that it was well worth the hike to the top to see the beautiful view. They were very enthusiastic and gave us encouragement.
When we finally reached the top of the mountain, we still hadn’t achieved our goal; there was still the fire tower to climb. We had to go up several flights of stairs and then climb a ladder through a trap door to the top platform. When we finally reached the top of the tower and were able to view the magnificent sight, we all agreed that it had been well worth the effort.
All we could see for miles around were pine trees, gently swaying in the wind. From our vantage point, they looked almost like waves in the ocean. The sun slid out from behind the clouds to cast light upon the entire scene. It was breathtaking.
In a nearby pine, we could see an eagle’s nest. Just as we were about to leave, the eagle came into sight, flying high, coming home to its nest. To think we were up where eagles soar! I will never forget the feeling of accomplishment and the wonder of being able to see nature so closely.

Several years ago a friend of mine had a young daughter die in a tragic accident. Hopes and dreams were shattered. My friend felt unbearable sorrow. He began to question what he had been taught and what he had taught as a missionary. The mother of my friend wrote me a letter and asked if I would give him a blessing. As I laid my hands upon his head, I felt to tell him something that I had not thought about in exactly the same way before. The impression that came to me was: Faith is not only a feeling; it is a decision. He would need to choose faith.

My friend did not know everything, but he knew enough. He chose the road of faith and obedience. He got on his knees. His spiritual balance returned.

It has been several years since that event. A short time ago I received a letter from his son who is now serving a mission. It was full of conviction and testimony. As I read his beautiful letter, I saw how a father’s choice of faith in a very difficult time had deeply blessed the next generation.

The bunkbed mattress squeaked as Dinis rolled over. He had tossed and turned all night. But he just couldn’t sleep!
What if the missionaries were wrong? Dinis thought. What if this isn’t the true church after all? What if I’m on the wrong path? The questions kept bothering him.
Dinis’s family joined the Church two years earlier, when he was 10. When the missionaries first taught them, Dinis had felt right away that what they taught was true. Dinis and his family were some of the first people to join the Church in Portugal. Dinis was a pioneer!
But lately he had started worrying. What if getting baptized was not the right choice?
Dinis didn’t tell anyone he was worried. Not his brothers or his sister. Not even his parents. But tonight, it was all he could think about.
Dinis sighed. He looked down over the edge of the bed. His brothers were sound asleep on the bottom bunk. Dinis was alone.
He knew he needed to ask God if the Church was true. He knelt in the middle of his bed. He bowed his head and began to pray.
“Please, God,” Dinis said softly. “Let me know if Joseph Smith really saw you and Jesus.”
Dinis had prayed many times before. But this time was different. Dinis really needed to know. He prayed harder than ever for help.
“I don’t want to be wrong,” he whispered. “I just want to know what’s right.”
Then Dinis felt something. The feeling was strong and warm. It grew until he felt it all over his body. He felt like he might explode with joy!
Dinis knew the feeling was the Holy Ghost. God had answered his prayer! The missionaries were right. Joseph Smith really was a prophet. And getting baptized wasn’t just a good choice. It was the best choice.
Dinis lay on his back and looked at the ceiling. His worries were gone. He pulled his blanket close around him. Before he knew it, he was asleep.
As Dinis got older, he always remembered the night when he prayed in his bunkbed. He knew that he was on the right path as a member of Jesus Christ’s Church. And he knew that Heavenly Father would always hear his prayers.

The war over, Alexandria planned to return to her parents. But she became ill, spent two weeks in a hospital, and missed her train. That was a blessing, she now realizes; returning Russians faced great struggles, and living conditions were much better in Germany than in Russia. While living in a displaced-persons camp in 1945, Alexandria met a handsome American soldier on a blind date. After months of courtship, they were married, and two years later Sergeant Ronnie Graybeal brought his young bride to the United States.

The best solution to shortness: Don’t fret about being short. I quit worrying about my lack of height before I was ever graduated from high school. In my Latin class, three of the four boys registered were named Paul. One was so tall he had a perpetual cloud at his hairline, one was just a shade shorter than that, and then there was me. One day our wise old teacher sized us up as we left the room after class.
“When I see two of you three Pauls, it’s hard to believe,” she said, “that paulus means ‘little’ in Latin.” Then she dropped one of those little bombs that made her a memorable teacher. “As a matter of fact,” she went on, “a name doesn’t mean much in any language until or unless you make something of it.” She looked right at me as she spoke, and for a few minutes I thought I might bump my head on the ceiling.

Some people thought the girls were a little off their rockers, but five Beehive girls from the South Cottonwood Tenth Ward, Salt Lake South Cottonwood Stake, decided to help raise money for the Cambodians by staging a rockathon. After getting pledges from friends (paid according to the number of hours rocked), the girls mounted their rockers, made sure they were well stocked with food and blankets, and kept rocking for 24 hours straight. Their mothers took turns staying with the girls, supplying encouragement and meals. At the end of the rockathon, the Beehives had raised $150, which they donated to the Utah Cambodian Fund—and they found that they’d grown to be even closer friends than before!

Do you know what it means to minister? Think about this question while I tell you about a girl named Chy Johnson.
When Chy started high school last year, she became the victim of cruel and thoughtless bullying. She was mistreated, shoved, and taunted as she walked to class—some students even threw garbage at her. You have probably seen people mistreated like this in your school too.
For too many people, the teenage years are a time of loneliness and fear. It doesn’t have to be this way. Fortunately for Chy, there were young men at her school who understood what it means to minister.
Chy’s mother had asked teachers at the school to help stop the bullying, but it continued. She then contacted Carson Jones, an Aaronic Priesthood holder and the starting quarterback of the football team. She asked him to help her find out who was doing the bullying.
Carson agreed to help, but in his heart he felt that he could do much more than just identify the bullies. The Spirit whispered to him that he needed to help Chy feel loved.
Carson asked some of his teammates to join him in ministering to Chy. They invited her to sit with them during lunch. They walked her to class to make sure she was safe. Not surprisingly, with football players as her close friends, no one bullied Chy anymore.
This was an exciting season for the football team. But even with the thrill of an undefeated season, these young men did not forget about Chy. They invited her to join the team on the field after games. Chy felt loved and appreciated. She felt safe. She was happy.
The football team went on to win the state title. But something more important than a football championship happened at their school. The example of these young men has motivated other students to be more accepting, more friendly. They now treat each other with more kindness and respect.
National news media found out what these young men had done and shared their story across the country. What began as an effort to minister to one is inspiring thousands of others to do the same.
Chy’s mother calls these young men “angels in disguise.” Carson and his friends are quick to say that Chy has blessed their lives much more than they blessed hers. That’s what happens when you lose yourself in serving others—you find yourself.2 You change and grow in ways that would not be possible otherwise. These young men have experienced the joy of ministering and continue to seek opportunities to bless others. They are anxious to extend their ministering in the coming months when they serve as full-time missionaries.3

“Sarah! Sarah, wake up!” five-year-old Christiana Larsen said to her little sister. “It’s time to leave.”
Three-year-old Sarah struggled to open her eyes.
“But it’s still dark outside,” she complained sleepily.
“I know, but Mama says we have to get an early start. The ship to America leaves soon.”
The Larsen family had joined the Church in Denmark. Now they would be making the long journey to join the Saints in the Salt Lake Valley.
Christiana helped Sarah get dressed. Then the little girls tearfully took one last look around their comfortable bedroom. They knew it would be a long time before they would sleep in a real bed again.
“Don’t forget your parasol, Sarah,” Christiana said as she picked up her own lacy silk parasol. “Mama said she would pack them with the bedding.”
Mama and Papa had said they couldn’t take anything besides necessities on the trip to America. After the bedding, clothing, and tools were packed, there wouldn’t be much room for anything else. But Christiana and Sarah had begged to take just one favorite thing to their new home. After all, they were leaving behind their dolls, books, and toys. Each girl chose her pretty parasol.
As the sun rose, Christiana and her family boarded the ship that would sail to America. They were excited to go to Zion, even though they had to leave friends, family, and their home.
The ocean voyage was long and tiresome. During the hot afternoons on the ship, the two girls used their pretty parasols to keep the sun off their heads. If the wind blew in the right direction, the ship sailed steadily on. But if it changed course, the ship was forced back, often as far as it had already come.
When the Larsens landed in America, they bought a wagon and oxen and began the long journey to the Salt Lake Valley. The ride in the wagon was bumpy and hot, so Christiana and Sarah often walked instead.
Like many other pioneer families, Christiana’s family experienced hardships and tragedy along the way. Christiana’s newborn brother died during their journey and was buried on the plains.
After the Larsen family reached the Salt Lake Valley in 1857, Christiana loved to go to church with other children her age. Christiana and Sarah happily carried their parasols to church every Sunday to keep the hot desert sun off their faces.
As the days and weeks went by, the family’s money and food began to run out. One night Christiana heard her parents discussing the problem. Her father said he knew of a family who had been blessed with a good harvest of grain. The Larsens could trade something they had for some flour. But what did they have to trade?
Christiana spoke up. “You can trade Sarah’s and my parasols, Papa.”
“But you love your parasols, Christiana. I couldn’t do that!”
“It’s all right, Papa,” Christiana said. “We need the food more than we need the parasols.”
The next day Christiana’s father traded the beautiful lacy parasols for some flour. The flour provided food for the whole family.
That night, as Christiana got ready for bed, she looked sadly at the corner where her lovely parasol had stood. But as she remembered the wonderful bread she had eaten for supper, her sadness turned to gratitude. As she said her prayers that night, she thanked Heavenly Father for her lovely parasol, which helped to feed her family.

Daddy has taken me—only me—camping today! Baby Justin is at home with Mama. And Claire and Michael are home, too—they have each gone with Daddy before. I have waited and waited, and finally it’s my turn.
Daddy and I clear a space for the tent. We fling sticks into the trees, and Daddy digs up a rock with his fingers. “It was waiting to poke into my back when I lie down,” he says.
We put up the tent. It’s a two-man tent that’s just right for Daddy and me. “You could almost put it up yourself,” Daddy says.
We walk down to the river. Daddy straps on my life jacket, nice and snug. When I climb into the front of the canoe, it wobbles. I’m a little scared, but Daddy holds it still while I sit down. “I’m here,” he says. “I won’t let it tip over.” He pushes the canoe away from the shore, and we slip into the silent river. I lift my oar and flip a few drops of water back at Daddy. He flips some at me.
A breeze sends yellow leaves flying. They float down, down, down, to land lightly—golden boats on the shimmering green silk river.
We eat sandwiches on a little island where frogs sing. Daddy teaches me to skip stones on the quiet water. Hop, hop, plop.
Back at our campsite, dusk is falling. We gather wood—tiny twigs, medium-size sticks, and thick logs. Daddy starts the fire.
I watch the flames lick the sticks. Sparks crackle and fly into the black sky to meet the stars. The stars wink and blink. I blink. I think my eyes are sizzling. I move a little farther from the fire.
We eat our campfire supper, then toss our plates and cups into the flames. The cups shrivel. The plates blacken, then flare up.
We roast marshmallows and make icky, sticky, gooey, messy, yummy s’mores. My fingers stick together, so I lick them clean.
I lean against Daddy. He tells me stories of when he was little with his father. The stories are funny at first. Then quieter.
We watch the fire.
“I like to be alone with you sometimes,” I say. “When we’re at home, everyone wants to talk to you at the same time.”
Daddy nods. “I hear you even in a crowd, but sometimes we need to be in quiet places to talk and listen, to know each other even better.”
I snuggle closer.
Daddy continues, “Just like with Heavenly Father. He hears us in crowds, but I still like to pray to Him in quiet places. To talk, to listen, and to know Him better.”
“Me, too,” I say.

When I was in Primary, my brother was a toddler, and my sister was a baby. My mother was very busy taking care of them during the day, so when I came home from school, I helped her. I put my brother in the stroller and walked around the block with him, again and again. We talked about the beautiful world together and looked at the birds, bugs, and our neighbors’ pets. It was a small thing, but it made a big difference! It helped my mom feel happy and rested. It helped my whole family. It was a way of helping like Jesus wants us to help.

Walnetta Broederlow McCall was only nine years old when a missionary asked if anyone could play piano for their fledgling congregation. “I gingerly put up my hand!” she recalls. The missionary, Elder Charles W. Ashman, was not deterred by her age or inexperience. He gave Walnetta hymns to practice, and the following week, she became the pianist for their meetings.
Over the years, Walnetta has served in many other callings and enjoyed those experiences too. Today, she feels just as privileged to provide prelude music in her current Taupo Ward, to invite the Holy Spirit and set a reverent tone for their sacrament meetings. Reflecting on her love for her calling, she is so grateful for the gift that Elder Ashman gave her all those years ago when he asked for a volunteer pianist. “His invitation to play for our meetings and [his] confidence in me has blessed my life,” she says.

Jayden’s town had a big flood. Some people’s houses got lots of water and mud inside. Mom and Dad were putting cans of food, towels, and other things in a big box to help people.
Jayden wanted to help too. “What can I do?” he asked.
“You could give a toy to a child whose toys were ruined in the flood,” Mom said.
Jayden ran to his room and looked at his toys. None of them seemed just right. Then he saw Fluffy, his favorite stuffed animal.
Jayden thought for a minute. He picked up Fluffy and gave him a big hug. Then he ran to put him in the box.
Mom looked surprised. “Are you sure you want to give Fluffy away?”
Jayden felt sad, but he nodded.
That night when Jayden said his prayers, he said, “Thank Thee, Heavenly Father, for letting us help people.”
Jayden missed Fluffy, but he also felt happy inside. He was glad he had shared.

When Lorenzo Snow was finishing his studies at Oberlin College in Ohio, his sister, Eliza R. Snow, invited him to come to Kirtland to study Hebrew under a famous professor. Lorenzo eagerly accepted.
Eliza wanted her brother to join the Church as she had. After studying the gospel, Lorenzo prayed to Heavenly Father. His prayers were answered, and he was baptized in June 1836.
Several weeks after his baptism, Lorenzo still had some unanswered questions about the gospel. He believed that it was true, but he wanted to know it. One night while he was studying, he felt depressed.
Deep in thought, Lorenzo left his books and went walking through the fields around his house. A feeling of darkness and confusion overcame him. He had made a habit of praying every night in a nearby grove, but that night he did not feel like praying.
Still, Lorenzo knew that he should pray, so he went to the grove and knelt down. As soon as he began praying, he felt the Spirit stronger than he had ever felt it before. He knew that the gospel was true and that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ lived and loved him.
Lorenzo later became the fifth President of the Church, and he often told the story of the night that he gained his testimony. The memory of that night stayed with him and strengthened him throughout his life.

When my sixth-grade class talks about movies, they usually talk about PG-13 or R-rated movies. They ask me, “Have you seen them?” I answer, “No, I can’t watch PG-13 movies. I’m not allowed to watch R-rated movies either.” They laugh at me and say, “You can only watch baby shows.” It hurts me, but I get over it because I know I’m doing what Heavenly Father wants me to do. So even if people tease me, I will still keep my spirit high because I love the Lord. I will follow His teachings and always keep Him in my heart.

Aunt Jennie sent me a scrapbook for my birthday. The cover is red with “My Book of Remembrance” written on the front in big blue letters. Inside, the pages are thick and gray.
I decided to put the supplies I needed to work on my scrapbook in a shoe box. I soon had the box filled with markers, crayons, stickers, scissors, glue, and tape.
Mom is going to help me fill my book with things about me. She said that when I have filled this book, she will buy me another one!
For the first page I glued a photo of me and signed my name below it. Then I wrote, “My eyes are green. My hair is brown. I am six years old.”
On the next page, I glued a special letter from Grandma. It is the first letter that I have ever received.
Last month I wrote my dad a poem for Father’s Day. Then I colored purple flowers all around it. Dad said it was OK to glue it in my book.
On another page, I drew pictures of my mom, dad, brother, cat, and me. I added a photo of the whole family and wrote, “We are a family.”
Mom helped me find a picture of the Portland Oregon Temple to glue in my book. I want everyone to know that we are a forever family.
I drew a picture of my house and my favorite climbing tree. I also wrote my address and phone number on the page.
If you read my book of remembrance, you will learn lots of things about me. You can fill a scrapbook with things about you, too. When people read it, they will learn about your history!

Riptide “‘He needs a hug,’ Zach’s father said, ‘and then he needs a name.’” Zach named the puppy Riptide after the current so strong when it runs out to sea that the sandbars crumble. Riptide became a self-appointed lifeguard on the beach. The officer didn’t want him there—until the riptide came when the human lifeguards couldn’t save all the swimmers being dragged out to sea. … Based on a true story.Frances Ward Weller4–8 years

When Elder Richard G. Scott was young, his father was not a member of the Church. His mother was a member, but she didn’t go to church very often. When Richard turned eight years old, he didn’t get baptized. Then his Grandma Whittle came to visit.
Grandma Whittle was a very good example. She helped Richard and his brothers learn how important it is to be baptized and go to church. Soon Richard and his older brother were baptized.