Gospel Story Finder

Alex Clinch of Sutton Coldfield, England, enjoys sports and has had success in several. He attends Riland Bedford School, where he is a house captain. He plays on most school teams and serves as captain of several. He led his teammates to victory when they won the Sutton Schools Athletic competition, the Basketball Cup, rugby finals, and table tennis inter-school competition. They were runners-up in the Birmingham Schools League Football finals.
Alex is in his third year of seminary. He was invited to play for the Sutton Town Football League team, a prestigious honor, but refused because it involved playing on Sunday.

Doni had a reputation for success. She played varsity basketball and volleyball. She ran track. She was a cheerleader. And she was an excellent student and graduated as valedictorian of her high school. She also was the recipient of a national $20,000 scholarship that, combined with her athletic scholarship, will cover most of her college expenses at Brigham Young University.
She was one of 50 students across the nation to receive the top scholarships offered by a big soft drink company. The competition was incredible, with 50,000 students applying for the scholarships. Doni’s chances seemed minuscule.
Again, if Doni herself had said that she didn’t have a chance, many might have agreed with her. After all, Pine Ridge, South Dakota, on the reservation of the Oglala-Sioux, is in one of the poorest counties in the nation. The high school is small and doesn’t offer as sophisticated an education as larger schools. But Doni had already learned some lessons from her sports about accepting a challenge. “Sometimes small towns can’t offer the latest technical background, so the only way you can really improve is to challenge yourself and to challenge your teachers. It can earn you a chance.”
Doni and her dad found out about the scholarship by reading through books that described different scholarships offered each year. Her application was accepted. Then began a grueling series of essays, with half of the applicants eliminated after each round.
Doni got tired of writing essays. Sometimes she felt like she had nothing to say. When that happened, her dad would sit at the kitchen table and talk when it was her turn to do the dishes. He would guide the conversation until Doni was telling him what she thought about the future and about the things she was studying. Then, when the dishes were finished, he would say to her, “Okay, that’s what your next essay is about. Go write down what you just said.”
Doni made it to the last 100 contestants. Then she had to appear in person before a panel of judges who questioned her about her essays. There was no way to prepare. You just had to go in and do your best. She did it and was one of the final 50 to receive the scholarships.

The Christmas I remember best happened when I was 12 years old. It all started one evening about a month before Christmas. The room had fallen totally silent. We all stood staring at Father, our jaws dropped in shock.
Just moments before, my three brothers and I had been wrestling with our two big dogs. My mother had watched, smiling, from the nearby kitchen table. But now, even her hands had gone perfectly still, stopping in midair as she sewed buttons back on a blue Scout uniform.
“What do you mean ‘No presents this year’?” my 16-year-old brother Mick asked slowly.
“Just what I said,” Father answered calmly. He sat down across the table from Mother. “Christmas has become all about ‘things.’ We worry too much about what we’re getting, how many presents are under the tree. Your mother and I have always taught you children the real reason we celebrate Christmas.”
“It’s Jesus’ birthday!” I piped up.
Father nodded. “That’s right, Nellie. But even though we all know the story of baby Jesus and can recite Luke chapter 2 by heart, I just feel that our home doesn’t have the right spirit in it during the holiday season. I think that if we forget about buying presents and really concentrate on the true meaning of Christmas, we’ll be more in tune with Jesus Christ and His gospel.”
“But, Dad,” I said, “we’ve always talked about how giving each other presents at Christmas is symbolic of Heavenly Father giving Jesus Christ to the world. Isn’t that true?”
Father considered this. “You’re right, Nellie. OK, let’s do this. No gift given in this family may be store-bought. Whatever you give each other must come from you,” he put his hand on his chest, “from inside you. You figure it out.” He got up and left the room.
“This is going to be the worst Christmas ever,” I thought.
“Is he serious?” Tyler asked Mother.
“He sure sounded like it.” She had already resumed her uniform mending.
“No presents …” Mick seemed in a daze.
Neil, my eight-year-old brother, looked like he was going to cry.
“So, what are we supposed to give each other?” I asked.
“Well, you all have about a month to ‘figure it out,’ as your father said,” Mother replied. She stood up with the finished shirt and left the room, humming a Christmas song.
Over the next four weeks, our house slowly filled with the Christmas spirit. We were all very secretive about what we were planning for everyone else, and we were excited about what we were giving. I never even thought about what I was getting.
Christmas morning dawned, chilly and white outside. For the first time since they had become teenagers, Mick and Tyler were the first ones up.
“Come on! Come on—get up!” They ran from room to room, waking up the rest of us.
Mother laughed. “I can’t believe you two. This alone has made my Christmas!”
Right after family prayers, the gift-giving started. What a wonderful, spirit-filled morning! We exchanged original poetry and songs. Neil had made “I’ll-do-you-a-favor” coupons for everyone. Mother had made copies of black-and-white photos of both sets of grandparents and framed them by hand for each of us.
All the gifts were truly given with love. But the one I remember the most was the one my father gave to me.
He handed me a plastic bag. Inside, I could see a slightly browned paper folded in thirds. All eyes were on me as I took the paper out and unfolded it. I gasped. It was the letter Father’s mother had written to him when he was 14 years old and she was dying of cancer. Her name was Nell, and I’m named after her. I had heard about this letter but had never seen it. I knew how precious it was to my father. And now he was giving it to me.
I started to read. The faith and spiritual strength of my grandmother radiated from her words. I read the six-page letter over and over again. The love she expressed for my father made me cry. The part that touched me the most was when she talked about leaving her family to join the Church:
I shared the letter with my brothers so that they could know Grandma, too. We’ve all grown up now, served missions, and been married in the temple. Every now and then, I pull out my father’s letter and read it again. Ever since my father gave it to me that Christmas long ago, it has been a source of strength for me. And I know, without a doubt, that my grandmother kept her promise to my father and has always been “right there beside” us.

When I turned 12, I started to really think about how I could be involved in the gospel.
I was living in my hometown of Taranto, Italy. It had been only a few years since my brother and I had met the missionaries and become members of the Church, but I started feeling eager to participate more. I began to feel a desire to pass the sacrament. I remember walking to church each Sunday with a prayer in my heart that I would be called to pass the sacrament.
One Sunday morning, my branch president called me into his office. He said, “Massimo, the Lord wants you to receive the priesthood and be ordained a deacon.”
When I heard those words—“the Lord wants you”—something struck me. I felt that it wasn’t a human asking me to do something, but that it really was the Lord personally extending a responsibility. When my branch president looked at me, I felt that the Lord was reaching out to me.
As I began to pass the sacrament every Sunday, I could feel the power of godliness in my life. I felt responsible, I felt involved, and I knew that I was doing the Lord’s work. I felt closer to Him by serving Him.
This experience of feeling the Lord’s hand both through my leaders and in my responsibilities helped me develop a deeper personal relationship with Him. I wanted to be more involved in the gospel; as I lived that way, I felt the presence of God in my life. Developing this kind of relationship with Him is one of the most important things you can do in your youth.
As I met with my branch president, it made a deep spiritual impression on me when I felt that it was the Lord, not just my branch president, giving me a responsibility. By recognizing the Lord in my leader, I felt closer to Him, and my relationship with Him deepened.
We can also develop a personal relationship with the Lord by recognizing His presence as we participate in the ordinances of the gospel. When we are involved in the ordinances—like the sacrament—we know that “the power of godliness is manifest” (D&C 84:20). When I passed the sacrament, even at the age of 12 or 13, I really felt that I was an instrument in His hands. I felt the presence and power of God in those ordinances and the power of godliness in my life. Having that sacred experience each week by recognizing the Lord in this ordinance helped me deepen my personal relationship with the Lord.

When Elder Neal A. Maxwell of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles was young, he wanted to be a basketball star. He was the best basketball player among his friends. In fact, he taught one of them how to play. But his friend grew very tall, and he did not. One of the hardest experiences of his young life was being cut from his school’s basketball team while his friend made it.
Because he did not succeed as a sports hero, Elder Maxwell turned to words. The personal tragedy of the moment turned out to be an eternal blessing for many Saints who have learned from his wisdom, spirituality, and insight.
Let his life be an example to you. Not all your prayers will be answered the way you’d like. But if you trust Heavenly Father, He will not betray that trust.

When my children were teenagers and they sometimes did not want to attend Mutual or other meetings, I talked to them about their responsibility. I said that we don’t always go to a meeting for what we can get out of it, but for what we can give. I said often, “You need the Church, and the Church needs you.” New converts and less-active members need to feel needed because they are needed.

During my second year of college, I worked at the university library as a student assistant. One day in December I was assigned to work with another student assistant. I had never met him before, so as we worked I tried to strike up a conversation. We talked about school, work, and our families.
Later in the afternoon he started to sing songs that mentioned God. I asked him about his religion. I hoped he would ask me the same thing so I could talk to him about the Church, and he did. I was so excited, because this was a great missionary opportunity. With a big smile, I told him I was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He looked surprised and, in a not-very-pleasant tone of voice, replied, “The Mormons? You’re a Mormon? Those people don’t believe in Jesus Christ.”
His words were hard for me to hear. Whatever I was expecting, it certainly wasn’t to hear that I didn’t believe in Jesus Christ. I had heard stories like this, but now it was happening to me. What should I say? How could I respond to such a remark? The only thing that came to mind was, “But it’s the Church of Jesus Christ!”
I knew I had to repeat in my mind the Young Women motto—“Stand for Truth and Righteousness”—and put it into action. But how?
I proceeded to tell the other assistant that our church is the Church of Jesus Christ, that we believed in Him as our Savior, and that I understood the love He has for God’s children. I expressed from the depths of my soul that I believed in Jesus Christ, that I was a member of His Church, and that I had been taught to love Him and to follow His example.
My coworker did not want to listen anymore. He responded reproachfully to the things I said even while I kept trying to explain. He also talked about the Book of Mormon in the same manner as he had spoken about the Church. I could tell he didn’t want to listen. I didn’t want to listen to what he was saying either because he was trying to contend with me. I knew I shouldn’t go on explaining, so I bore my testimony. I told him that I knew everything I was saying was true. I could feel it in my heart.
As I left the library, I wondered how anyone could possibly talk about the Church that way. I thought about what I had felt as I testified to him and wondered if I should have allowed him to express himself the way he did. I felt anger and fear and thought of things I could have said. I felt frustrated and doubted my own level of spirituality because he had not changed his mind. Had I failed?
On the way home, I prayed. I wanted to get rid of my negative thoughts. I wanted to feel sure of what I had been taught my whole life, and I wanted to feel that Heavenly Father was pleased with me for what I had done. Prayer was the best tool I had. Prayer and the Holy Ghost had helped me know what to say and how to testify to my coworker, and they also helped me to know that my Heavenly Father was pleased with me.
This experience helped me to know with a greater certainty that this is the true Church of Jesus Christ and that, just as He was persecuted, so is His Church. I learned the importance of having a firm testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ and His Church.

Not long ago, a faithful sister in the Church shared with me a deep concern she had been praying about for some time. Her concern was for some of the sisters in her ward. She told me how it hurt her heart to observe that they sometimes spoke disrespectfully to their husbands and about their husbands, even in front of their children. She then told me how as a young woman she had earnestly desired and prayed to find and marry a worthy priesthood holder and build a happy home with him. She had grown up in a home where her mother had “ruled the roost” and her father had cowered to her mother’s demands in order to keep peace at home. She felt that there was a better way. She had not seen it modeled in the home she grew up in, but as she prayed fervently for guidance, the Lord blessed her to know how to create a home with her husband where the Spirit would be warmly welcomed. I have been in that home and can testify it is a holy place!

Since last year I have been the executive secretary and magazine representative of the Campo Alegre Ward, Caracas Venezuela Stake.
With special effort, the number of subscriptions in the ward to the Liahona (Spanish) has risen from 40 to 133.
I’m happy to be of service to my brothers and sisters in the ward by helping them receive messages from the First Presidency and the other general authorities.
Jesús N. Marvez NúñezCaracas, Venezuela

One young man strayed from the Church for years before finally returning. At a testimony meeting he said: “I got involved in a lot of things I shouldn’t have in an effort to fit in with the popular group, but I always knew something was missing. When I finally repented and returned to full activity in the Church, I didn’t feel that void anymore. I came back, and through the forgiveness of Jesus Christ and His perfect love, I know this is where I belong.”

I was a senior in high school and had joined the cross-country team mainly to get in shape for track and field events that took place later in the year. As part of our training, every morning before school our coach would have us run to his home, which was four miles from the school, and then run back again.
Several times after having made the eight-mile run my coach asked me if I’d “found my second wind yet?”
I’d always ask, out of breath, “What’s a second wind?”
To which he would reply, “You’ll know it when you find it.”
After several weeks of arduous training we finally had our first cross-country meet. It was well over eight miles long, with no stops and only an orange cone indicating the halfway mark. Knowing how difficult the last four miles had been for me every morning, I began to doubt myself even before the race began. But out of respect for my coach and with my competitive spirit, I positioned myself at the starting line.
The gun went off and we were on our way, trying to pace ourselves so we would have enough energy to finish. As usual, I could feel the burn and fatigue starting to build up with every stride I was taking. Well into the race I wobbled around a corner looking up a hill that seemed to be Mount Everest, only to see the halfway sign marked by the orange cone. I was exhausted. By this time I was feeling the temptation to quit. But relying on competitive drive still left in me, I made it to the top, with a weak, staggering run.
Suddenly something happened that I can’t explain fully. As I reached the crest of the hill, the words of my coach came to my mind, “Hey, Marler, have you found your second wind yet?”
At that moment, the question and the answer, “You’ll know it when you find it,” all came to light. As the burn, aches, and pains flooded through my body, as I was gasping for every breath, my whole body suddenly felt as if I had never started the race. I felt as if I was at the starting line, waiting for the gun to go off. I knew for the first time what a second wind was. I was able to finish the race and assist our team in winning the overall competition.
After the race I found my coach, and seeing the expression on my face, he said, “You found your second wind, didn’t you, Marler?” I will never forget the moment or the feeling I had. I know that anyone else who has experienced a second wind during a race can relate and will know what I have experienced.

Since we assembled in general conference last April, as many of you know, I experienced my third heart attack, which necessitated bypass surgery. Because of skilled doctors; a caring and well-trained medical staff; my wife, Mary, who is my patient, loving, and constant caregiver; and the prayers offered by so many in my behalf, I have been blessed with renewed health and strength. Thank you for your concern and for your prayers.
My message today is how to aid the healing process of the soul. It is a message to lead you and me to the Great Healer, the Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. It is a plan to read the scriptures, pray, ponder, repent if necessary, and be healed with the peace and joy of His Spirit. May I share my ponderings as I went through the healing process.
While I was lying in my hospital bed and for several weeks at home, my physical activity was severely restricted by intense pain which disabled my weakened body, but I learned the joy of freeing my mind to ponder the meaning of life and the eternities. Since my calendar was wiped clean of meetings, tasks, and appointments, for a number of weeks I was able to turn my attention away from matters of administration to matters of the eternities. The Lord has told us, “Let the solemnities of eternity rest upon your minds” (D&C 43:34). I discovered that if I dwelt only upon my pain, it inhibited the healing process. I found that pondering was a very important element in the healing process for both soul and body. Pain brings you to a humility that allows you to ponder. It is an experience I am grateful to have endured.
I pondered deeply the purpose of pain and studied in my mind what I could learn from my experience and began to comprehend pain a little better. I learned that the physical pain and the healing of the body after major surgery are remarkably similar to the spiritual pain and the healing of the soul in the process of repentance. “Therefore, care not for the body, neither the life of the body; but care for the soul, and for the life of the soul” (D&C 101:37).
I have come to understand how useless it is to dwell on the whys, what ifs, and if onlys for which there likely will be given no answers in mortality. To receive the Lord’s comfort, we must exercise faith. The questions Why me? Why our family? Why now? are usually unanswerable questions. These questions detract from our spirituality and can destroy our faith. We need to spend our time and energy building our faith by turning to the Lord and asking for strength to overcome the pains and trials of this world and to endure to the end for greater understanding.

I chose to arrange the next two family home evenings, focusing on faith. I started off by preparing the lessons and trying to learn the chords on the guitar for the songs we would sing.
The first lesson was on faith. I asked what we as a family could change to grow our faith. They replied, “Praying, studying scriptures, fasting, going to church,” and so on. We agreed that there are many things you can do to grow your faith, but the most important thing is to actually do them. It’s important that you act in order to strengthen your faith.
The second lesson was on spiritual gifts. We talked about what faith and spiritual gifts had to do with each other.
Our faith-themed family home evenings went really well. We improved some things in our family; we had fun and tried not to just get it over with. We felt the Spirit together as a family.
Riza S., 16, Roskilde, Denmark

One young woman wrote and shared an experience about a very special boyfriend. She told of his desire to persuade her to participate in improper conduct. She said: “I would tell him that I wanted him to be worthy to go on a mission. Every now and then, when it felt right, I’d say little things about standards or following the wrong path. A few weeks ago, I called him up, and I bore my testimony to him and told him why I say no. It was so hard. I hung up and just bawled. The next day I got a note from him, and in it he told me that I was one of the most respected young women he knew. I am so happy that I have the standards of this gospel and that I could pray to my Heavenly Father for the strength to handle these trials.” And then she closed with this strong commitment: “I’ve made up my mind. I will keep plowing right through all the trials that Satan puts in my way.”

Several days after I returned home, the missionaries asked me to help them teach a lesson. The investigator was a science student, and he was struggling with some of the same questions I had confronted when I was studying the same subjects. I explained to him how I had found answers to the questions, and when we left he seemed satisfied and happy.
A few days later, the missionaries called to tell me he was joining the Church. “How about that,” I told myself. “Here I am, able to help someone else accept baptism, and not myself. This has lasted long enough!” I felt I had a testimony, but I fasted and prayed. I stayed up the whole night pleading with the Lord to seal this testimony in me. Finally, early in the morning, a sweet, peaceful calm filled my soul. I knew I had to tell the elders I was ready to be baptized.

Reflecting on the experience, one stake president said: “One of our projects was to assist cleaning up around the local Baptist church. … We assigned 25 youth. … The Baptists said that they would have lots of donuts and coffee for us. We told them the coffee would go stale, but our youth could handle as many donuts as they could provide!”

Seven-year-old Joseph was sick for only two weeks, but the terrible fever caused an infection in the bone between the knee and ankle of his left leg. The skin there swelled tight, and for over two weeks Joseph suffered terrible pain in his leg. Twelve-year-old Hyrum showed great love for his little brother. He sat beside Joseph almost day and night, pressing the swollen leg in his hands, trying to help Joseph endure the pain.

Twice the doctor tried to drain the infection and reduce the swelling, but it didn’t work. Finally he told Joseph’s parents that the leg ought to be removed before the infection spread to the rest of Joseph’s body. But Joseph’s mother insisted that they try again to save the leg.

Dr. Nathan Smith, who knew more about this disease than any other doctor in the United States at that time, was one of the doctors who treated Joseph. He agreed to try one more time to cut out only the infection. Before he began to operate, he wanted to tie Joseph to the bed and to give him some liquor to dull the pain. Joseph refused both helps. “No,” exclaimed Joseph, “I will not touch one particle of liquor, neither will I be tied down. … I will have my father sit on the bed and hold me in his arms.”* He also wanted his mother to leave the room so that she wouldn’t have to see him suffer. The surgery was extremely painful. When Dr. Smith broke off the infected part of the bone, Joseph screamed.

When the surgery was finally over, Joseph was sent to visit his Uncle Jesse Smith at a seaside town, Salem, Massachusetts, to help him recover. But though both his life and leg were spared, for three years he walked with crutches, and for the rest of his life—especially when he was tired—he walked with a slight limp.

I’m sure we’ve all been impressed by the miracle that has occurred in our valley. Joshua Dennis, age ten, is alive today because of his own fervent prayer, faith, and overwhelming optimism, and, in addition, because of the fact that he listened to his mother and obeyed her counsel. In addition, we remember the feeling, and I call it inspiration, given to John Skinner, who led the search party to Joshua. I hope our youth will remember this great lesson of prayer as they pass through life’s journey.

Near my family’s home in St. George, Utah, was a big hill where I loved to play. One day as I was playing there with my older brother, Dennis, I slipped and tumbled onto a huge, prickly cactus plant. I had cactus spines everywhere—in my shoes, my trousers, my shirt. Frightened and in pain and scarcely able to move because of all those sharp spines, I started to wail at the top of my voice. Dennis tried to help by pulling out the spines, but that seemed to hurt even worse and caused my skin to bleed. Finally, to my surprise, Dennis turned without a word and ran down the hill. I thought, Oh boy, that’s great. Right when I need him, he runs away. I was afraid I was going to be left alone with that cactus in me forever.

Soon, however, I looked up, sniffling, to see him struggling up the hill with his small red wagon. He had run home to get it, and he pulled it all the way up the hill, tugging and pulling and huffing and puffing, so that he could take me home in it.

In some ways, the love my brother showed for me that day was like the love the Savior has shown for us. I would not have been able to return home without the help of my brother, just as we would not be able to return safely to our heavenly home without the selfless, loving help of our Savior, Jesus Christ. He paid a terrible price to do this for us, a price that caused him great pain and suffering. Yet because of him, our fears are calmed and we are able to have eternal life.

Jessica and her best friend, Mariah, met when they were just babies. Mariah’s mother, Beverly, helped Jessica’s mother when she was having trouble communicating at a restaurant. The two women have been friends ever since. Their two daughters have been best friends for 10 years, and the girls share some of the same dreams for the future. Both girls want to grow up to be horse trainers, even though they’ve never actually ridden a horse yet. They also want to save their money and visit Ireland. They both have ancestors who came from there. As she grows, Jessica hopes to learn more about her family history.