Gospel Story Finder

I love seminary. I have often felt the Spirit there and have left feeling like a better person. On one particular day, however, I not only left feeling the Spirit, but I left with an answer to prayer.
The night before that particular day, I had asked Heavenly Father if the Church was true. After my prayer, I felt peaceful, but I was still not sure. I decided I would sleep on it.
The next day, my seminary teacher started the lesson with a video of some of the General Authorities bearing their testimonies. I felt the Spirit burning inside of me as we talked about testimonies and how little things can strengthen them.
He then put in another video of testimonies of kids who went to my school. I stared at the screen waiting for someone I knew. I saw some people I recognized, but I saw no close friends.
Then it happened. A girl I look up to so much appeared on the screen. As I looked into her eyes, she bore her testimony about Christ’s Atonement. Then she said these words: “I know this Church is true.” The Spirit overcame me. I realized my prayer was answered, and it was answered by one of the people that I look up to the most.
Heavenly Father knew that I needed to hear someone very close to me share her testimony of the Church. I am so grateful for the strong testimonies my friends have. Heavenly Father does answer our prayers.

Your friend Matt didn’t finish his math homework. He asks if he can copy the last 10 problems from your paper. So you …
Let him copy your paper. He’s your friend, and you don’t want him to think you’re a “goody-goody.” Besides, it’s not like he’s copying the whole assignment. It’s more like sharing.
Don’t let him copy your homework.
B. Don’t let him copy your homework. Matt’s your friend, and you don’t want him to get mad at you. But letting him copy your homework isn’t sharing. It’s cheating, whether it’s one answer or ten. Tell him you’re sorry, but don’t let him bully you into letting him copy.

Now that she is a Laurel, Amy has also chosen a value project that is helping her come closer to Christ. “This year I’m really concentrating on getting to know Jesus Christ better,” she says. Realizing that the way to know Him better is to be more like Him, Amy made a list of all the attributes of Christ she could think of, with help from the scriptures. She came up with attributes like faith, charity, and generosity, and she tries to develop each of the qualities on her list one at a time.

Illustrations by Matt Sweeney
Mandy is busy with her campaign for student council.
Matt promised to help. But he’s been spending a lot of time getting to know his cousin Max in Australia.
Hey, Matt.
Hey what?
You said you’d help with my posters. I could really use your help now.
I did promise.
Be right there!
How’s this?
That’s great. Hope you won’t mind hanging on the wall at school for two weeks.

Some 6,000 miles (9,600 km) away from Buenos Aires, the rural Horseshoe Bend Branch near Boise, Idaho, USA, has also seen a dramatic increase in missionary service as families and leaders have reinforced efforts to teach the gospel to their youth.
From a small branch of 75 members, nine young people are serving missions.
Martin Walker, president of the Emmett Idaho Stake, agreed. “Serving a mission places a young person on a course that will affect generations,” he said. “As a stake, we do everything we can to prepare young people for missionary service.”
Part of that preparation includes teaching the youth the doctrine. Youth in the Horseshoe Bend Branch have access to a weekly missionary preparation class taught by a former mission president—training that supplements missionary training provided by the stake’s monthly youth missionary preparation meeting and its annual Aaronic Priesthood Camp.

It was almost Christmas, but Diego wasn’t feeling very excited. This was the first Christmas since his parents got divorced. And nothing felt the same. He and his brother, Samuel, wouldn’t even get to see Mom this Christmas.
“Everything’s different,” Diego said to Dad.
“I know.” Dad’s eyes were sad. “Sometimes things change before they get better.” He was quiet for a bit, then smiled. “Christmas will be different this year, but that doesn’t mean we won’t have some good times. We’ll still be celebrating the birth of the Savior.”
Diego nodded. It would be hard not seeing Mom, but maybe Christmas could still be good, just as Dad said. Diego wanted to help make this Christmas a happy one.
He went to his room to think. Sometimes for Christmas they did a family service project. What could they do this year?
Diego looked around his room. He saw a toy car he didn’t play with anymore. He picked it up and spun the wheels. It was still really good. Maybe he and Dad and Samuel could give some toys to kids who didn’t have any! He found a few other toys and put them in a bag with the car.
When Diego finished, he took the bag to Samuel’s room. “Can I help you clean your room?” he asked. “It’s a surprise for Dad.”
Samuel looked up from the picture he was drawing. “Sure.”
The boys worked together to clean Samuel’s room. Diego told him about the plan. They found a few toys that Samuel didn’t play with and added them to the bag.
When they were done, they carried the bag downstairs. “Dad,” Diego said, “we found some toys we don’t play with anymore. Can we give them to kids who don’t have any toys?”
Dad looked surprised and happy. “That’s a great idea! Let’s take them to the homeless shelter this afternoon.”
Visiting the shelter was fun. Diego and Samuel got to play with some of the kids while Dad talked to the grown-ups.
On the way home, Dad asked what else they could do to make this Christmas special.
“Last Christmas we made treats for our neighbors,” Diego said.
“We could do that,” said Dad. “Let’s go buy stuff to make cookies.”
Samuel thought cookies were a great idea.
The boys helped Dad shop for the ingredients at the store. At home they made the dough and cut out star and tree shapes. Diego and Samuel frosted the cookies yellow and green. Then they took little bags of cookies to their neighbors.
At the end of the day, Diego was tired but happy. He and Samuel and Dad had done things together as a family and had helped others. Dad was right. Christmas was different, but it was still good.

Maybe it was his height—six feet, five inches from his toes to the top of his flyaway hair. Perhaps it was the way he walked—a jerky, foot-flapping gait that gave him the look of a crane. Or it could have been his glasses—canning jar thick, perched halfway down his nose, held together at the bridge with (no kidding) masking tape.
And there was one thing more: the expression on his face. It’s difficult to describe, but it reminded me of a puppy begging for a pat on the head.
I’d been told there was a new boy in the ward. But when I saw Crawford amble into the chapel during sacrament meeting, my first reaction was, “He’s too big to be a teenager.” He didn’t sit next to anyone.
After the closing hymn, I walked over and extended my hand.
“Hi. I’m Jon North. And something tells me you’re a teacher, right?”
“Uh, yes. You’re quite right.”
His voice was crisp and deep. He looked surprised but pleased that someone would speak to him.
“My name is Crawford,” he said. “Crawford P. Jones. Most people mistake me for someone older because of my size. You’re very astute.”
“Thanks, Crawford. I try to be astute. Are you going to be in the ward for a while?”
“We just moved here to Oregon from Arizona. We’ll be staying some time, I think. Sorry I missed the earlier meetings. The change of time zones left me perplexed.”
“Perplexed we can deal with,” I said, wondering about his vocabulary. “Meetings start at nine, priesthood meeting first. I’m the teachers quorum adviser. I’ll come around with the president and visit you this week.”
The Jones’s small home sat by itself on a couple of acres a mile or two from town. Crawford and the quorum president, Dan Quayle, were chattering outside. I was in the kitchen, talking with Sister Jones. I found out she was a widow who had moved here to take a teaching job at the community college.
“Crawford’s a good son,” she said softly. “Kind to his sisters. A good student. The last couple of years, he’s taken on a lot of responsibility. When his father died, he started a paper route and washed cars for a dealer. He’s already looking into a part-time job at the grocery store here. The extra money helps, but I worry that he’s missing out on other things he needs. Sports. Church dances. His dad taught him a lot about photography, but he hasn’t done much lately. It would be nice if he could make some friends here …”
Her voice trailed off.
“It was his father who chose the name Crawford,” she continued. “He wanted him to have a distinctive first name because he thought Jones was so common. Sometimes it’s seemed like a big name for him, but I guess he’s growing into it.”
I could hear the back door open and the shoe-flapping sound of Crawford and Dan coming back to the living room.
“Listen,” I said before the boys could hear. “We’ll make him feel at home.”

In 1836 Parley P. Pratt went to Canada following a great prophecy uttered by Heber C. Kimball in which Brother Pratt was instructed to go to Toronto. He was told that he would there find people waiting for him who would receive the gospel, and that from there the gospel would spread into England, where a great work would be done. In Toronto he found President John Taylor, the Fieldings, and many others.

I was skeptical when the missionaries taught me about Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon. My first thought was that Joseph Smith, like many other so-called “prophets,” may have brought a false book into the world seeking to become wealthy, famous, or heroic.
I had no intention of reading the Book of Mormon. But over time the missionaries’ friendship and their enthusiasm for the gospel allowed my curiosity toward their message to grow.
As I read the verses the missionaries gave me in the Book of Mormon, I found Moroni’s invitation to ask God with a sincere heart, real intent, and faith in Christ if the Book of Mormon is true (see Moroni 10:4–5). I thought, “Who, knowing the book was fake, would dare challenge us to ask God with real intent and sincerity if the Book of Mormon is true?”
Then one day the missionaries explained that Joseph Smith and his brother, Hyrum, were martyred for their testimony. Suddenly, a thought came to me that they would never have given up their own lives for something they knew was false. At that moment, a warm feeling, like a burning fire, spread through me. It was a witness of the Holy Spirit confirming to my heart that Joseph Smith was a true prophet. With this witness, I was baptized and confirmed.

Let me share with you something that has been happening in some stakes and districts in Peru, and in so doing, I will mention some family names: the Causo family, the Banda family, the Vargas family, and the list goes on. It includes over 1,700 names of members who have come home. They are members of different wards, branches, stakes, and districts from all over the country of Peru who were invited by stake presidents, bishops, and leaders of quorums and auxiliary organizations to return home. They accepted the invitation made by priesthood leaders, full-time missionaries, and others who took upon themselves the responsibility to help them return to Church and come unto Christ. To each one of them, we say, “Welcome. Welcome home!”
What made it possible for these persons to return home? It was the combined effort of 14 stakes and 4 districts in a mission laboring for one year to bring about the return of all these persons through reactivation and the ordinances of baptism and confirmation.

You’ve heard some of our young men say, “But I can’t find a job. No one will hire me.” May I suggest to you the example of one enterprising 13-year-old who has already produced some handbills that he is passing out in his neighborhood. The handbill reads: “When you’re on vacation and need someone to care for your yard, or if you want any odd jobs done, call Bill, because when you call me, I’ll be there.” He then signed his name and included his phone number. He already has his summer filled with work.

A few weeks later, Mac suddenly went missing. He didn’t come back the next day, or the next. We were terribly worried, but we knew just what to do. Dad and my brother put up posters and talked to the neighbors. Mom notified the animal shelter. And all of us prayed.
After three days, Mac came home. He was thin and dirty, but safe. We were all grateful.
That night, when family prayer was called, I was happy to stand aside and let Mac precede me down the hall to the bedroom.
“Mac the prayer cat,” my sister said, scratching his head. “At night he reminds us to have family prayer.”
“And during the day he reminds us to pray anytime we need help,” I added.
“Even when he’s gone he reminds us to pray for him to come back,” my brother said.
“And now that he’s back,” Mom said, “he reminds us that prayers are heard and answered.”
“Can you tell how glad we are to have you in our family, Mac?” Dad asked.
In answer, Mac curled up in the middle of our family circle and purred.

President Nathan Eldon Tanner had not reached his peak as one of Canada’s great leaders. Opportunity and financial wealth beyond his wildest supposition were ahead. A call came from the prophet and it was all laid aside.

Elder Ronald A. Rasband counseled members and missionaries in the Central America Area to stay true to their covenants and to look to the Lord in turbulent times. He visited a children’s cancer hospital in Guatemala, delivered the keynote address at a Church-sponsored religious freedom symposium in El Salvador, and met with the president of Nicaragua.

A Laurel class president noticed a Laurel-­age girl who had never been baptized and whose mother was a less-­active member. She reached out to her and invited her to girls’ camp. All the young women befriended her. How great was their joy when she was baptized.

The headquarters of the Church are in this city which recently hosted the 19th Winter Olympics. We made a deliberate decision that we would not use this as a time or place to proselytize, but we were confident that out of this significant event would come a wonderful thing for the Church. The great buildings which we have here—the Temple, the Tabernacle, this magnificent Conference Center, the Joseph Smith Memorial Building, Family History facilities, the Church Administration Building, the Church Office Building, our Welfare facilities, together with scores of chapels in this valley—could not be overlooked by those who walked the streets of this and neighboring cities. As Mike Wallace once remarked to me, “These structures all denote something solid.”

And beyond this, we had total confidence in our people, many thousands of them, who would serve as volunteers in this great undertaking. They would be dependable; they would be pleasant; they would be knowledgeable; they would be accommodating. The unique and distinctive capacity of our people in speaking the languages of the world would prove to be a tremendous asset beyond anything to be found elsewhere.

Well, it all worked out. The visitors came by the hundreds of thousands. Some came with suspicion and hesitancy, old and false images persisting in their minds. They came feeling they might get trapped in some unwanted situation by religious zealots. But they found something they never expected. They discovered not only the scenic wonder of this area, with its magnificent mountains and valleys, they found not only the wonderful spirit of the international games at their best, but they found beauty in this city. They found hosts who were gracious and accommodating and anxious to assist them. I do not wish to infer that such hospitality was limited to our people. The entire community joined together in a great expression of hospitality. But out of all of this came something wonderful for this Church. Representatives of the media, so often a tough and calloused group, with very few exceptions spoke and wrote in language both complimentary and accurately descriptive of a unique culture they found here, of the people they met and dealt with, of the spirit of hospitality which they felt.

Television carried the picture to billions of people across the earth. Newspapers and magazines ran story after story.

Thousands upon tens of thousands walked through Temple Square, admired the majestic House of the Lord, sat in the Tabernacle and listened to the matchless music of the choir. More thousands filled this great Conference Center to watch a wonderful production dealing with the Church and its worldwide mission. Other thousands visited the Family History Center. The media were hosted in the Joseph Smith Memorial Building. We were interviewed for television, radio, and the press by correspondents from many parts of this nation and from across the world. I am told that nearly 4,000 stories about the Church appeared in the German press alone.

Georgie Anne Geyer, prominent syndicated writer whose column appears in many newspapers, wrote as follows: “How on earth could a largely Mormon state do something so daring as hosting an international celebrity meeting? Would the world come gladly to a state whose dominant religion asks members to abstain from alcohol, tobacco and even caffeine, three staples of international conferences?”

And then she went on to quote Raymond T. Grant, artistic director of the Olympic Arts Festival. He talked of the opening ceremony and said: “‘You know, 98 percent of the entire cast were volunteers, and that’s huge. In fact, most were not paid at all. This is an extraordinary story, and I’d link it directly to Mormon culture. As a Catholic boy from New York, I found it interesting that Brigham Young, the founder of the Utah settlement of the Mormons, built a theater before anything else.’

“He went on to tally up: The state has six dance companies; more pianos and harps are sold in Utah than anywhere in the United States; the Mormon Tabernacle Choir has [360] members; and the oldest Steinway dealership in Utah … was started as early as 1862. In Utah, their per capita spending on students is one of the lowest—yet they boast high test scores. ‘It has been fascinating for me, having to tap into this culture.’”

Miss Geyer concluded her story by writing: “It is simply the mix of a serious and upright religion, of families who foster and insist upon providing the highest levels of culture right along with the highest modern technology, and of generally sensible organizing and governing. In short, it is a modern mix of the old America” (“Salt Lake City and State of Utah Reveal Themselves to the World,” Salt Lake Tribune, 15 Feb. 2002, A15).

If there were time, I could give you many quotations from the seasoned journalists of the world, who wrote in a most laudatory fashion.

Was there anything negative? Of course. But it was minimal. We had private interviews with presidents of nations, with ambassadors, with leaders in business, and other fields.

As a boy I enjoyed working with my Uncle Lyman and Aunt Dorothy on their farm. Uncle Lyman usually led our projects, and Aunt Dorothy often assisted and drove the old Dodge truck. I remember the rush of adrenaline when we got bogged down in the mud or tried to climb a steep hill: Uncle Lyman would yell, “Put ’er in compound, Dorothy!” That’s when I started to pray. Somehow, with the Lord’s help and after some grinding of gears, Aunt Dorothy found compound. With all wheels locked in and churning, the truck lunged forward and our work continued.

Let me take you back to the year 2015. I was a newly called member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. One of the wonderful responsibilities we carry as Apostles is to assign missionaries to their fields of labor. I had participated as a Seventy in the process, but now as an Apostle, I felt the full weight of the assignment. I began with prayerfully placing a great number of young elders and sisters, one by one, in missions around the world. Then I turned to the senior couples. There were 10 on the list. Not very many. Surprised, I asked my associate from the Missionary Department, “How many do we need this week to fill the requests?”
He responded, “300.”
That sobering moment has stayed with me: 10 couples to fill 300 requests.

Listen to the words of a friend who understands well the meaning of this scripture, a man who was bound by the chains of indifference. But when he sought God’s help and turned to righteous principles, those chains were not only broken, but smashed. This letter was received a few weeks ago.
“I was baptized into the Church in March of 1974. At the time, I was employed in a job that required my having to work on Sundays. This, combined with my lack of strength in the gospel, prevented me from becoming an active and faithful member of the Church. Over the years I neglected my daily study and prayers. Throughout this time in my life I drifted farther and farther from the Church and the teachings of the gospel. This neglect brought disappointment after disappointment to myself and my family. I was discouraged, disillusioned, and I lacked self-respect and confidence.
“On the afternoon of April 6, 1986, my wife was scanning through the TV channels in search of something to pass away another lazy Sunday afternoon when she came across the Sunday afternoon session of general conference about to begin. We decided to watch and see what was going on as we had lost complete contact with the Church, and I, frankly, could not have told you who the prophet was at the time.
“The message I listened to was a gift from my Heavenly Father, one that would turn my life around. The message stayed with me for the next couple of days. I commented to my wife how much better I felt about myself and my relationship with others as a result of simply applying some recommended principles. We have since returned to a faithful and active involvement in our ward.”
What a blessing it is to rise from the dust and the chains of indifference.

May I share with you a personal experience? We had spent nearly four years in South America and returned just in time for our eldest son to enter Brigham Young University. Several months after school had begun we received a call—I think it was a collect call—and the conversation proceeded something like this:
“Hello, Dad?”
“Yes.”
“This is David.”
“Yes, what do you want now?”
“Oh, nothing.”
“Nothing! Well, why did you call then?”
“Oh, I just wanted to tell you about school. I love it. It’s great. I am glad to be here. I like the place where I live. I like my roommate. I like my professors and I like the spirit here.”
And I said, “Yes, but what do you need?”
“I don’t need anything.”
“Well, why did you call?”
“I just called to say ‘Thank you.’ I am grateful for your helping me to be here.”
Well, there was considerable silence on our end of the line and we muttered something about, “We’re glad you’re happy.” Later that night as his mother and I prayed, we thanked the Lord for a thankful son. The lesson, of course, came clear to me. I appreciate a son who says, “Thank you” for things that parents have done, as all parents do. But I am a son also. I have a Father in heaven, who, like me, appreciates a son or a daughter who frequently says, “Thank you.”