Gospel Story Finder

As you exercise your agency, remember, you are not alone. In addition to a kind and wise Heavenly Father, there are others who are praying for you to make wise choices. As a youth, when I would go out on a date or with my friends, I would always check in with my parents when I came home. Usually I would just knock on their door, open it and say, “I’m home,” and then go to bed. One night I came home from a date, knocked as usual, and then opened the door. As I did so, the light from the hall fell on my angel mother on her knees in prayer. And as I saw her there, I knew whom she was praying for. I have never forgotten that experience. And the knowledge that my mother still prays for me today bears me up and reminds me who I am and that I am not alone.

Many times Amelia’s adventures were shared with Muriel. One time, when the family was moving and the last load was ready to go, the family cat, Von Sol, had run off, and the family had to leave without it. At the end of the next day, when nothing had been done to find the cat, Amelia and Muriel grabbed a gunnysack, climbed over a fence, went through a back alley, and set off for their former home. It was a long walk, but they made it. There by the door sat Von Sol. When the girls tried to capture him, the cat became frightened and scrambled up a nearby birch tree. The lowest limb was ten feet above the ground. Seeing no other way to get to the cat, and not being one to give up, Amelia shinnied up a porch post to the roof of the house. From there she climbed onto a branch of the tree and up to where Von Sol was crouching. After a long discussion, Amelia coaxed the cat into the gunnysack. It was a very tiring walk home for the girls, especially with the weight of Von Sol in the gunnysack. And worry about their parents’ reaction to their adventure didn’t make the trip any easier. But Amelia was happy to have rescued Von Sol.

One particular example of true love left a permanent impression in my mind. I once came across a general conference talk by Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin (1917–2008) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles where he spoke on charity, or the “pure love of Christ” (Moroni 7:47).

Elder Wirthlin began by quoting Jesus’s teaching that the greatest commandment is to love God and to love our neighbor (see Matthew 22:37–40). Of course, I’d heard this scriptural account many times before. And always, for me, that level of Christlike love had seemed somehow beyond reach. How could I, plain old me, ever love as purely or as effectively as the Savior? It felt like an impossible goal.

But then Elder Wirthlin described an elderly couple who’d been married for many years. The wife grew unable to care for herself fully, including being able to paint her fingernails.

So the husband decided to paint them for her, simply because it made her smile. “That is an example of the pure love of Christ,” Elder Wirthlin declared.2

And with that brief example, something clicked in my brain. Painting fingernails? Not raising Lazarus from the dead or healing the blind, but a quiet act of kindness? That’sconsidered the pure love of Christ? Well … gee, I could do that!

Elder Wirthlin continued, adding further clarity. “Sometimes the greatest love is not found in the dramatic scenes that poets and writers immortalize. Often, the greatest manifestations of love are the simple acts of kindness and caring we extend to those we meet along the path of life.”3

My mind latched on as this idea took hold. I could perform those acts of kindness. What’s more, I knew for certain I’d been the recipient of countless such acts my whole life. True love isn’t glamorous or glittery. It’s quiet yet powerful. And available to all.

I recall talking to the proprietress of a nursing home. From the hallway where we stood, she pointed to several elderly women assembled in a peaceful living room. She observed, “There’s Mrs. Hansen. Her daughter visits her every week, right at 3:00 P.M. on Sunday. To her right is Mrs. Peek. Each Wednesday there is a letter in her hands from her son in New York. It is read, then reread, then saved as a precious piece of treasure. But see Mrs. Carroll: her family never telephones, never writes, never visits. Patiently she justifies this neglect with words that are heard but do not convince or excuse: ‘They are all so busy.’”

A wonderful example of acting your part and using time appropriately comes from the life of Elder L. Tom Perry of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, when, as a marine, he was part of the occupying U.S. force in Japan at the end of World War II. Elder Perry shared this account when he recorded his special witness of the Savior.
“I was among the first wave of Marines to go ashore in Japan following the signing of the peace treaty following World War II. As we entered the devastated city of Nagasaki, it was one of the saddest experiences of my life. A large part of the city had been totally destroyed. Some of the dead had not yet been buried. As occupation troops, we set up headquarters and went to work.
“The situation was very bleak, and a few of us wanted to give more. We went to our division chaplain and requested permission to help rebuild the Christian churches. Because of government restrictions during the war, these churches had almost ceased to function. Their few buildings were badly damaged. A group of us volunteered to repair and replaster these chapels during our off-duty time so that they would be available for the holding of Christian services again.
“… We found the ministers who had been unable to serve during the war years and encouraged them to return to their pulpits. We had a tremendous experience with these people as they again experienced the freedom to practice their Christian beliefs.
“An event occurred as we were leaving Nagasaki to return home that I will always remember. As we were boarding the train that would take us to our ships to return home, we were teased by a lot of the other marines. They had their girlfriends with them and [were] saying good-bye to them. They laughed at us and indicated that we had missed the fun of being in Japan. We had just wasted our time laboring and plastering walls.
“Just as they were at the height of their teasing, up over a little rise near the train station came about 200 of these great Japanese Christians from the churches we had repaired, singing ‘Onward, Christian Soldiers.’ They came down and showered us with gifts. Then they all lined up along the railroad track. And as the train started down the tracks, we reached out and just touched their fingers as we left. We couldn’t speak; our emotions were too strong. But we were grateful that we could help in some small way in reestablishing Christianity in a nation after the war.”5

Elder McKim, 19, was actually born in Glasgow, Scotland. “We moved to Australia when I was five. My parents are converts to the Church. Most of the children were born after my parents were sealed in the London Temple. My father was a stake patriarch in Glasgow. He was set apart by President Kimball, who was at the time a member of the Quorum of the Twelve.
“I was brought up in the Church, and when I was a little boy I knew I was going to go on a mission. But as the time grew near, I planned to put it off until the end of the college year. Then one night I just had this feeling that I had to go on my mission and I wasn’t to put it off. I talked to my bishop and put my papers in. And I’m glad I did. My mission has drastically changed my life and my ideals. Things which I thought were important are so trivial now. And things which I really didn’t think of before are now so important.”

I still have a small set of scriptures that my mom and dad gave me when I turned seventeen. I will always remember one time as a young woman when I read the Book of Mormon. I had read it before, but this time it was different. Perhaps I was more in tune with the Spirit, or maybe I had studied more diligently or prayed more fervently. This time I wanted to know for myself if the Book of Mormon was true.
As I finished Alma chapter thirty-two, with that wonderful passage about faith, I had a feeling that I recognized as a witness from the Holy Ghost. I knew the Book of Mormon was true. I wanted to tell the whole world how I felt, but I was alone. So with tears of joy streaming down my face, I wrote a big red star at the top of the page and wrote, “May 31, 7:30 A.M. This I know, as if written to me.” Then in the margin on one side, “I have received a confirmation. I know the Book of Mormon is true!” In the other margin I wrote, “One month ago I began fasting each Tuesday for a more sure knowledge. This I know.”

From that day my parents spoke of little else but plans for emigrating to America. My father went first, and about a year later he sent for my mother, my brother, and me. My mother was at first denied permission to leave Germany, because she had heart trouble, but she insisted my brother and I go; six months later she was permitted to join us.
Everything the missionary had predicted came to pass. My sister, who did not accept the gospel and who still lives in Germany, told us about the events there that transpired as the elder had prophesied.

My best friend had gone to church with me the past two weeks. But when I invited him again, he said he would not be going with me. He wanted to enjoy the rest of the weekend by sleeping in and going out to have some fun. I accepted his reply, but inwardly I was saddened because I really wanted him to come and feel the Spirit and learn from God. When I got home, I went to my room and prayed, telling Heavenly Father of my sadness and asking for His comfort and guidance.
After finishing my prayer, I went to the kitchen to wash dishes. My father asked whether my friend would be going to church with me again the next day. When I told him what my friend had said, my father could tell that I was concerned and sad. All he said was, “You did your part. People have their agency. You planted a seed.” My father’s words of faith brought peace to my heart.
In preparation for Sunday School, I read Alma 30–32. In chapter 31, Alma prays to the Lord with all his heart for his brethren the Zoramites, who were rejecting the Lord’s ways and beginning to fall into error. As I read his words, the Spirit touched me, and I was inspired to pray as well.
I knelt and offered a prayer similar to Alma’s for my best friend. Like Alma, I told Heavenly Father that “[his soul is] precious, and [he is my brother]; therefore, give unto [me], O Lord, power and wisdom that [I] may bring [him, my brother], again unto thee” (Alma 31:35).
The next day I got ready for church, knowing that my friend would not be going with me. Nevertheless, I had peace in my heart because I, like Alma, had prayed in faith. As I set out for church, I received a call from my friend. He asked if I had already left the house and if I could stop by and pick him up. We had a wonderful meeting that Sunday, and I know that the Spirit testified of the truth to him.
I know that my friend was not the only one blessed on that day because of the Book of Mormon and the prayer of faith. My own testimony of the Lord and this book was strengthened, and that testimony led me to serve a mission and made it possible for me to testify of the truth. I know that the Book of Mormon brings us closer to God, that it teaches us to come unto Christ, and that He will save our soul.

When I was younger, I lived next door to an elderly lady who spent most of her time alone and seldom left her house. When she did leave, she would be gone for a long time, and that is when I went to work.
I would get a rake or snow shovel or broom and do what I could to clean up the area around her house. Sometimes I would just leave her a plate of cookies with a note. I tried so hard to be a friend to the lady who lived there, and I thought that if I did these things for her she would be nice to me.
I really enjoyed the extra work because it made me feel good inside, but I thought I would feel even better if she would only acknowledge my kindness. I would watch her come home and feel disappointed because she never made an attempt to show thanks or appreciation. I had worked so hard and never received so much as a smile.
Then one Sunday at church we had a lesson on service, and I realized that I had been performing acts of service for my neighbor with the expectation of getting something in return. I went home and asked my mother about service and she gave me a scripture to read. It was Mosiah 2:17:
“And behold, I tell you these things that ye may learn wisdom; that ye may learn that when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God.”
That taught me a valuable lesson about my activities. And I knew that even if my neighbor didn’t seem to care about my efforts, my Heavenly Father did care.

It was June of 1987 and I was visiting a friend for one week in a city 600 km from where I lived. When Sunday arrived, I told him that perhaps I’d not go to his ward but to a different one. The fact is that I was planning to secretly watch a very important soccer game on TV (a Sunday practice that I have since abandoned long ago) that would take place in the exact same time of his ward’s Sunday block. I did promise him that I would go to church in some other unit at a different time, but to no avail. He exercised his agency and persisted in convincing me to do the right thing. I ended up going to church with him and his family.
Now at that very same moment, on the other side of that very same city, a young woman—also a member of my friend’s ward—was similarly confronted with an important decision to make. She was ready to leave for church with her parents when her dear aunt and family unexpectedly arrived at her home to visit and stay for several days. For a moment, she felt like she needed to stay home and give proper attention to those relatives while the rest of the family went to church. However, a thought came to her mind: “Your relatives know of your faith, they’ll be fine staying in your home for some hours until you come back. Be a good example and honor the Sabbath day and everything will be fine”. That’s what she did.
When I arrived at my friend’s ward some minutes before sacrament meeting—and began talking with some young men of my age group—I saw from a distance this gorgeous green-eyed girl passing by and asked them: “Who is she?!?!” They told me to forget about her as every returned missionary in that stake was after her and I’d have no chance at all.
However, all of the sudden, this beautiful girl approaches and boldly asks me, in front of all:
Girl: “Can I ask you something: Are you married?”
Me: “No!” (because I want to marry you, I thought.)
Girl: “There’s a new mall in town, would you like to visit it with me tomorrow?”
Me: “Of course!!”
Girl: “And by the way, sacrament meeting will start momentarily, shall we sit together?”
Me: “Of course!!”
Me (turning to the awestruck guys around me): “If you will excuse me.”
I went into the chapel with her.
It was the same girl who was confronted with the decision of staying home with her unexpected visitors or coming to church that Sunday.
We married in the temple 10 months later. If both of us that day had not followed the promptings to go to church—regardless of our particular situations that day—we possibly wouldn’t ever have met.

Sometimes we feel that we don’t have any particularly important gifts. One day, a discouraged sister pleaded, “Lord, what is my personal ministry?” He answered, “Notice others.” It was a spiritual gift! Since then, she has found joy in noticing those who are regularly forgotten, and God has worked through her to bless many. While some spiritual gifts may not be prominent by the world’s standards, they are essential to God and His work.7

The first time Aries and Lowenna saw each other was at a young single adult dance. It was just a glance; neither spoke. Six months later, Aries and a couple of his friends traveled 120 miles (190 km) to a young single adult housewarming activity at Lowenna’s student house. He says, “I guess it was the normal thing to do where the young single adults are so far spread.”

They both recognized each other from the dance, and Aries wasted no time inviting Lowenna and her sister to go wakeboarding with him. Lowenna and her sister didn’t make it because the distance to pick them up and return would have been too difficult for Aries, but they continued to see each other a couple of times a month at dances and activities. They grew to be good friends. As their feelings became stronger, they would regularly call and talk on the phone.

As Lowenna says, “Our feelings were stronger than we had ever experienced with past boyfriends or girlfriends. We both wanted to be the best that we possibly could for each other.”

Aries planned to propose and secretly bought a ring and overcame the daunting task of asking her dad’s permission. The couple planned to walk to a beautiful waterfall in a place where Aries spent a lot of his childhood. As Aries knelt to rummage in his backpack for the ring, Lowenna, thinking he wanted to take everything slower, said, “Is there anything you would like to change in our relationship?”

Aries replied, “Yes, there is actually. I would like to change quite a lot.” He pulled out a box with a ring inside.

The couple immediately started making plans. They were married 10 weeks later in the Preston England Temple, with Lowenna’s grandfather performing the temple sealing.

Lowenna says, “The Spirit was really strong through the day and served as an excellent introduction to the gospel to all our nonmember family and friends. We felt that there was nothing more important in this life than our eternal marriage. We are so grateful for the strength that we were to each other during our courtship, which enabled us to enter worthily into our Father’s house to make the sacred covenants that guide us in our married life today.”

When I was about to receive my mission call, I had an experience with my dad that really impressed upon my heart and mind the importance of worthy hands.
I had the opportunity to accompany my dad to the house of a man we home-taught. This good brother had asked for a blessing. I was not yet a Melchizedek Priesthood holder, so I watched and listened as my dad placed his hands upon the brother’s head and spoke the words that the Spirit put into his mouth. I felt the Spirit strongly during the blessing.
Afterwards my thoughts lingered on my dad’s hands. Those rough, tough farmer hands had been kept clean by their owner. Because of that, they were able to be an instrument in the Lord’s hands to bestow the blessings and power of heaven upon one of many whom my dad cared for. I viewed the sacred power of those hands with awe and thought: “Wow. I want to have hands like those.” I knew that soon I could, but I would need to keep them clean throughout my life to do any good.
My dad has always used his hands for good. He has kept them ever worthy to hold the priesthood of God.

Melissa ran her fingernails over the frosted bus window, making designs. It was so cold outside that the window soon frosted over again.
Camille poked Melissa. “Look what Kathy is wearing today,” she whispered, giggling.
Melissa’s eyes followed Camille’s pointing finger. Kathy sat by herself, her tangled hair sticking out of an old wool hat. Her coat was too short in the sleeves. Her canvas shoes had holes in the toes, and she wasn’t wearing socks. Kathy’s eyes were downcast.
“We shouldn’t be mean,” Melissa said. “I think her family must be really poor.”
“You don’t have to be rich to brush your hair,” Camille said.
“Shh!” Melissa warned.
When the bus stopped, Melissa watched Kathy get off the bus and walk with her little brother toward a small house. No Christmas decorations were visible. No lights. No tree. When Melissa got home, Kathy’s sad face wouldn’t leave her mind. It didn’t seem fair that some people had so much and others so little.
After dinner, Melissa went to their Christmas tree and picked up each of her presents—one from Grandma, one from her best friend, and one from her little brother.
Melissa took her presents over to the table where her parents were talking. “I want to give these away,” she blurted out, before she could change her mind.
Mom and Dad looked surprised. “Why?” Dad asked.
Melissa told them about Kathy.
“I know her family,” Dad said. “Their father died a few years ago, and there are four children in the family.”
“May I give her my presents?” Melissa asked.
“We can do even better than that,” Dad said.
Mom smiled and nodded. “We certainly can.”
Melissa’s family spent the next two days in a frenzy. They cut and decorated another tree, baked more Christmas goodies, and bought food for another Christmas dinner. They gathered clothes for the children—socks, shoes, hats, coats, gloves, shirts, pants, and dresses.
Then Melissa and her brothers opened their presents and rewrapped the ones they wanted to give away. Melissa’s present from her brother was a doll she had been wanting since September. She thought about giving Kathy one of her other presents instead. Then, thinking how happy it would make Kathy, she wrapped the doll in the prettiest paper she could find and put a big red bow on top.
On Christmas Eve, the family loaded all of the presents into the van. Dad drove slowly past Kathy’s house and stopped the van behind a big bush.
Melissa and her older brother, Trent, loaded their arms with presents and followed Dad up the walk. Melissa heard the snow crunching loudly under her boots.
“Please don’t hear us,” she thought.
When they reached the front step, Dad set down the tree in its stand and a big box filled with food. Melissa and Trent hurried to set down their armloads too.
Dad rang the bell and whispered, “Run!”
Everyone ran to hide behind the bush. Melissa tried to quiet her loud breathing as she watched to see what would happen.
When Kathy’s little brother opened the door, he looked around, his eyes huge. Then he yelled, “Mom, Kathy, look! It’s Christmas! It’s Christmas!”
Then Kathy came to the door, looking astonished and happy. Melissa had never seen her smile like that before.
On the way home, Melissa felt like she was going to explode with joy. “This is the best Christmas ever!” she said.

In the summer of 1921, at age twenty-one, Ezra received a letter from President Heber J. Grant calling him on a mission to Great Britain. July 14, 1921, he went through the Logan Temple with his parents, and two days later, he said good-bye to his parents and girlfriend and started on his way to England (see Ezra Taft Benson, p. 50). Elder Benson studied and worked hard but didn’t feel like he was doing too well and wrote in his journal that he was disgusted with his “‘frail attempt at speaking.’” But as he matured spiritually, he was invited to speak at the South Shields Branch. He was assigned to speak on the Apostasy, but instead he “‘gave a strong and impressive discourse of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon.’” He later said, “‘I spoke with a freedom I had never experienced. Afterwards, I couldn’t recall what I had said, but several nonmembers surrounded me and said, “Tonight, we received a witness that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God, and we are ready for baptism.” It was the experience of a lifetime. … It was the first experience of that kind I’d had, where I knew that the Lord was with me’” (Ezra Taft Benson, p. 55).

Practices went on for months in the individual stakes, with leaders traveling from one group to the other to make sure that all of them were doing the dances the same way. Months and months of man-hours were involved. And it all came together on Tuesday morning, July 23.
The 2,000 young people met with Johnny Whitaker, the D’s, the Grandland Singers, and the leaders, and they took a million pieces of puzzle and created a beautiful, finished product. They rehearsed all day.
“And it worked,” said Bruce Nelson of the Spokane Stake. “One of the greatest experiences happened when we performed for the first time on Tuesday evening. Everything came off like it was planned. It was really fantastic! The theme of the whole thing was ‘Catch a Happy Feeling!’ And we caught it!” And so did those who came to observe. Favorable comments were heard on every side, and the young performers’ enthusiasm grew as the 24th and their second performance approached.

I breathed hard as my math teacher talked about our upcoming activity.
“I know most of you young people listen to rap,” he said. “It’s not very good music, and it’s often hard to leave it alone.”
He wanted to show us how bad it was by having the class count the seconds to the first swear word of each song. He explained that after we collected the data we were going to put it into graphs.
“Now, I expect you all to be mature about this,” he lectured. “But if anyone’s uncomfortable or you know your parents wouldn’t approve, you can take your book and go into the hall.”
I gripped my chair. I knew I couldn’t stay here—but I was afraid to move. No one else seemed to be thinking the same thing I was. “I’ll be the only one if I leave,” I told myself.
I rationalized that maybe it would be okay if my teacher stopped the song after the first swear word. I was so petrified to stand up that I lost my chance to leave. The first song came on, and I felt my heart sink as the Spirit disappeared from the room.
The song ended, and its data was written on the board. Before I could think, another song blared curse words through the speakers. I couldn’t take it anymore. I knew that this kind of music drove away the Spirit, and that Heavenly Father didn’t want me listening to it. I picked up my book and asked the teacher if I could leave. As I walked out of the room, the Spirit returned, and I knew I had done the right thing.

Years ago I was admitted to a graduate program for which I was poorly prepared. The competition was fierce. On the first day the professor said, “Look at the person on your left and on your right. One of the three of you will not be here at the end.” The schedule of classes filled the five weekdays from early until late. Preparations for the next day’s classes lasted until nearly midnight, often beyond. And then late on Friday a major paper was assigned, with no way to prepare until the assignment was given and with the paper due at nine o’clock on Saturday night.
I can still remember the hours of frantic study and writing on those Saturdays. And as the nine o’clock deadline approached, crowds of students would stand around the slot in the wall of the library to cheer as the last desperate student would dash up to throw in his completed paper, just before the box inside the building was pulled away. Then the students would go back to their homes and to their rooms for a few hours of celebration before starting preparations for Monday classes. Most of them would study all day on Sunday and late into the night.
For me, there was no party on Saturday and no studying on Sunday. The Lord gave me an opportunity to test His promise. Early in that year He called me, through a humble district president, to Church service that took me across the hills of New England from the early hours of Sunday to late in the evening, visiting the tiny branches and the scattered Latter-day Saints in the area. I found joy in going to those places, loving the Lord, and trusting that somehow He would keep His promise. He always did. In the few minutes I could give to preparation on Monday morning before classes, ideas and understanding came to more than match what others gained from a Sunday of study.

Years ago when our youngest son, Clark, was attending a religion class at Brigham Young University, the instructor, during a lecture, asked him, “Clark, what is an example of life with your father that you best remember?”
The instructor later wrote to me and told me of the reply which Clark had given to the class. Said Clark: “When I was a deacon in the Aaronic Priesthood, my father and I went pheasant hunting near Malad, Idaho. The day was Monday—the last day of the pheasant hunting season. We walked through numerous fields in search of pheasants but saw only a few, and those we missed. Dad then said to me, ‘Clark,’ he looked at his watch, ‘let’s unload our guns, and we’ll place them in this ditch. Then we’ll kneel down to pray.’ I thought Dad would pray for more pheasants, but I was wrong. He explained to me that Elder Richard L. Evans of the Quorum of the Twelve was gravely ill and that at 12:00 noon on that particular Monday the members of the Quorum of the Twelve—wherever they may be—were to kneel and, in a way, together unite in a fervent prayer of faith for Elder Evans. Removing our caps, we knelt, we prayed.”
I well remember the occasion, but I never dreamed a son was watching, was learning, was building his own testimony.