Gospel Story Finder

Early in January 2022, I applied to work for a company in Japan. During the six months of waiting to hear back from them, I learned to trust in God’s timing. I finally got to the point where I could say to God, “If this is meant to happen, please let it happen. But if it isn’t, I will be OK. Either way, I will follow Thy lead.”

I immediately felt peace. My stress and anxiety were still there, but they felt a lot easier to handle because I knew He had a plan for me and would help me along my journey.

President Nelson counseled us to seek and expect miracles6 in our lives. While waiting to hear about the job in Japan, I learned to do just that.

I stopped calling things “coincidences” and “tender mercies.” I started calling them what they really are: miracles. Our God is a god of miracles (see 2 Nephi 27:23), and we should give Him credit for all the miracles in our lives.

I have now been here in Japan for a few months, working at a job I love. I am still seeing God’s miracles in my life—big and small.

We are also blessed by temple covenants and ordinances, where “the power of godliness is manifest.” I visited a woman who had lost a teenage daughter in a terrible accident, then later her husband to cancer. I asked how she could endure such loss and suffering. She replied that strength came from spiritual reassurances of an eternal family, received during regular temple worship. As promised, the ordinances of the Lord’s house had armed her with God’s power.

The worth of a soul! President McKay felt that every living thing deserves our respect and thoughtful care. He felt this way even about animals and birds, and he often liked to return to his Huntsville farm to ride his horses and to visit. Several years ago someone broke into the farm and stole the President’s saddles. When the saddles were replaced with new ones, they were kept in the saddle house under lock and key. One day President McKay’s sisters stopped to check on things at the farm and seeing one of the windows of the saddle house open, they closed it to avert a second theft. Hearing from his sisters what they had done, the president gently said, “I left that window open purposely because there is a bird’s nest inside, and that is the only entrance the parent birds have to carry food to their babies. I think I shall just have time to run over.” He went and opened the window and, returning, said in a gracious way, “It was just as I expected—one little bird was outside trying to get in, and the mother was inside attempting to get out.”

In a recent conversation with a friend of mine, he told me that when he was a young, newly baptized member of the Church, he suddenly felt like somehow he did not fit in anymore in his ward. The missionaries who taught him had been transferred away, and he felt like he was on the periphery. Without friends in the ward, he found his old friends and with them engaged in activities that took him away from participating at church—so much so that he began to stray from the flock. With tears in his eyes, he described how deeply grateful he was when a fellow ward member extended a ministering hand to him and, in a warm and inclusive way, invited him to return. Within months, he was back in the safety of the flock, strengthening others as well as himself. Aren’t we grateful for the shepherd in Brazil who sought after this young man, Elder Carlos A. Godoy, who now sits behind me as a member of the Presidency of the Seventy?

Sometimes I have walked at dusk in the hills near my home. I watch the sun setting in the west over the lake and the shadows lengthening until the most familiar landmarks around me are gradually obscured in the darkness. I suddenly feel alone and a little unsure. But then a little miracle occurs. One by one the lights begin appearing—in the houses, along the streets—and even in the surrounding darkness, I regain my sense of direction. Reassured and cheered by their brightness, I make my way safely home.

Several months ago while traveling by air in the Andes area, I had the opportunity to explain to the man sitting next to me why I was living in South America.
After coming to understand something about the Church, its doctrine, and my role as a General Authority, he finally said, “How can you give your entire life to another man, like this Mr. Kimball, and stay in this country as long as he tells you to stay here? I could never do that.” I responded, “I could not either, if he were just a man,” and then bore testimony of the true role of the prophet on the earth, and that “for the Lord, through him, I would do anything.”

Twenty five years ago this September, Jenny and I were married in Australia. We met two years earlier in Chicago on a work trip, and just two days after meeting her I had this thought pop into my head “you’re going to marry this girl”. That flash of inspiration led me on a journey from London to Australia in order to take Jenny on a date, then to Church. She was baptised 4 months later and moved to London so we could date some more. We got engaged in Italy less than a year later, married in Sydney, then sealed in the London Temple, and subsequently became parents to our four wonderful boys. It was a whirlwind romance!

After I earned my black belt in tae kwan do, I went to a special ceremony for all the new black belts. Before it started, my instructor told us what we would do during the ceremony, which included drinking tea. I knew Heavenly Father said not to drink tea. I explained to my instructor why I could not drink tea. He let me drink water instead. My mother said she was proud of me for honoring my baptismal covenants and sharing my beliefs. I know following Heavenly Father’s commandments will always make me happy.
Joseph R., age 10, Texas, USA

“My father isn’t a member and wouldn’t let me go to FSY or be baptized,” says Jesiana, 16. “But then branch members fasted for me, and my grandmother talked with my father. After that he said I could go!”
At FSY, she experienced many firsts, such as, “participating in the lessons and activities and bearing my testimony helped me understand what it is really like to feel the Holy Ghost. I had never felt the Spirit like that before, and I was so happy and excited. I bore my testimony for the first time.”

Do you recall the experience of John Weightman from Van Dyke’s immortal, The Mansion? He lived a life of wretched selfishness. He gave only those coins which would be seen of men and honor thus accorded him. Then one night he dreamed that he visited the Celestial City. He was given a dilapidated, old house in which to live.
Feeling that this was unjust, because he felt he had lived a successful life, he inquired of the keeper of the Celestial City: “What is it that counts here?”
The answer was: “Only that which is truly given. Only that good which is done for the love of doing it. Only those plans in which the welfare of others is the master thought. Only those labors in which the sacrifice is greater than the reward. Only those gifts in which the giver forgets himself.”

I was playing a game with some other children on a camping trip. Some of them started using bad words. I asked them to stop. Then another girl said we should play the game without using bad words. After that none of the children used bad words, and we had a lot of fun.
When I told my dad what happened, he said that I was a leader. He said a leader is someone who shows others the way and that my friend and I had shown the children how to play without using bad language. Now I know that even children like me can be leaders.

When I was 15, my father and I took a walk one Sunday evening. Suddenly, my father stopped and suggested that we go to the Mormon Church. I was surprised, but out of curiosity I went with him. The choir was singing a beautiful hymn. I had never heard anything so touching.
After the song, a missionary stood up and gave a talk about the Godhead. He later talked to my father and me for a few minutes.
I didn’t go back to church until one year later when I went to learn English from the missionaries. When each English class ended, we drifted into religious discussions. The missionaries taught me about the gospel and how to pray to God the Father in the name of Jesus Christ. They told me about the Restoration of the gospel through the Prophet Joseph Smith, the coming forth of the Book of Mormon, and many other gospel principles.
All this was so new to me, yet it had a familiar sound. I studied the scriptures intently and prayed sincerely for enlightenment, which was given to me.
My father noticed a change in me. But when he realized that I was getting serious about the Church, he became angry and forbade me to go to church. I went anyway. Frequently he sent my brother to bring me home in the middle of Church meetings.
When I turned 17, my father asked me what I wanted for my birthday. I told him I wanted his approval to be baptized. He pounded his fist on the table and shouted, “Never!”
By this time my parents had joined a different church. My father sent the church’s minister and others to talk to me, but I was firm in my testimony of the gospel. Father told me I was a disgrace to the family, and I was forced to leave home. I stayed at the home of a Relief Society sister for about a week. During that time my father’s heart was softened, and he allowed me to come home.
Within several months my father realized that nothing could take away the testimony I had of the gospel, so he gave his consent for me to be baptized. My joy and happiness were so great that they made a deep impression on my father. He even wanted to go with me to Oslo to attend my baptism.
All through this time, my mother didn’t say very much, but I could tell that she believed the gospel was true. We spent many hours talking about the gospel together.
However, the struggle was not over at home. My father wouldn’t listen to me. I put pamphlets on his nightstand, as he always read long into the night. I invited the missionaries to our home often, and they talked to my father, but nothing seemed to help.
One day my father asked me, “Do you ever pray?” I told him that I prayed every day that his eyes would be opened to the truthfulness of the gospel. He responded that it was all from the devil but then said, “Let’s pray together.”
I said, “All right, you pray to your God, and I will pray to my God, and we will see which answers first.” So we did.
Soon after that I started noticing that he was reading the pamphlets and the Book of Mormon. He went to church several times with me but would never talk about it or show me any change in his beliefs. Still, there was rarely a day when we didn’t discuss different principles of the gospel.
One day, after three years of this, he told me he was going to Oslo and wanted me to go with him. When we arrived at the station, one of the local elders was there. I asked him where he was going.
The elder said, “Don’t you know? I’m going to baptize your father.”
I cried and laughed! One month later my mother and youngest brother were also baptized. My sister and her husband joined the Church a short time later, as did three of my brothers.
Sara Elvira Eriksen’s faithful posterity in the Church now numbers in the hundreds. This account from her personal history was submitted by her children, Rose Anderson, Betty Farley, Aksel Tanner, and Janet Bylund.

Jane Allgood Bailey wasn’t about to give up the light of her new religion. She would not be defeated by the cold, starvation, and sickness on the plains of Wyoming. She grasped hands with other women to wade through icy streams. They came out on the other side with their clothes frozen to them, but they carried on. On the trek, her 18-year-old son, Langley, became ill and was so weak that he had to be pushed on the handcart much of the way. One morning he rose from his bed on the cart, which had frozen canvas for bedding, and he went ahead of the company and lay down under a sagebrush to die, feeling that he was too much of a burden. When his faithful mother found him, she scolded him and told him: “Get on the cart. I’ll help you, but you’re not giving up!” Then the family moved on with what was left of the Martin-Willey Handcart Company.
Upon arrival in the Salt Lake Valley, Langley was still alive! He was 18 years old and he weighed only 60 pounds. That 18-year-old boy was my great-grandfather. I’m grateful for the preservation of his young life and for the fortitude and stamina of his noble, courageous mother, who was a light to her family and kept her son going in spite of deathly odds.

After the service our Russian guide, a sister, and I walked to the elevator. During the meeting Tanya had sat quietly and perfectly attentive; she was still pensive. I hoped she had not been offended. She asked us if Mormons would dare speak from the heart in larger groups. (She wrongly assumed that our tour group consisted of longtime acquaintances and intimate friends.) Briefly I explained to her the purpose of monthly testimony meetings; I told her of men and women and boys and girls who would stand in front of two and three hundred people and bear their testimonies of the gospel with fervor and love. She marveled and stated with sobriety that her Soviet people were afraid to open their hearts with each other. Most masked their true feelings almost completely when in groups. She warmly thanked us for our sincerity. I believed she wished it for her people.

The sister standing with us asked Tanya if she would like a copy of the Book of Mormon. She quickly replied she would, but noted that a mailed copy would never reach her. Oh how I wished I had brought one with me! The sister’s eyes gleamed as she revealed that she had one packed in her suitcase for just such an occasion. We were all three delighted. Tanya only requested that we not give it to her where anyone might see her accept it. A couple of days later the sister deftly slipped the book, wrapped in a newspaper and signed by the members of the tour, into Tanya’s purse. Our guide acknowledged the gift with a quick smile and a knowing nod of the head.

Soon afterwards we left the USSR for Afghanistan, but we also left someone touched because we shared something dear to us with her. At best we planted a seed that will someday burgeon to bring one, or even many, into the Lord’s kingdom; at least we did not hide our light under a bushel simply because we were confronted on many sides by spiritual darkness.

I returned home from my mission in Arizona, USA, just as the pandemic started spreading across the globe. During the last few weeks of my mission, I had been creating a vision for where I wanted my life to go once I returned home. I made specific plans and goals and was ready to get started! I planned to go to nursing school, to start new hobbies and find new friends, and to seize so many opportunities that come during young adulthood. I felt a sense of peace and assurance that God was guiding me and had great things in store for me after my mission.
That changed soon after I got home.
One by one, my plans were canceled because of COVID-19. I began to question and doubt the decisions and goals I had made. I chose to start looking for a job while waiting for online classes to start instead of moving to another state to begin school like I had originally planned. After a while, I felt I had lost my purpose and was wasting so much time. I was used to always having a jam-packed schedule as a missionary, and so I suddenly felt lonely, bored, and useless.
I wasn’t looking forward to the future. I didn’t want to face this life transition. I wanted to go back in time, to return to past friendships and places that had once made me happy. The vision and plans I had for my life just a few weeks before had disappeared, and I felt like I was paralyzed by darkness, fear, and discouragement. I didn’t feel like myself at all. I had just finished the most amazing experience of serving the Lord for 18 months, but now I felt lower than I ever had in my life.
I wondered why everything was going wrong and where the Lord’s promised blessings were. The reassurances I had felt in the final weeks of my mission seemed to have disappeared.
Then general conference came, and I realized how much I was lacking in one specific area of life—hope.
Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles gave a talk titled “A Perfect Brightness of Hope” (April 2020 general conference), and it especially stood out to me. I realized that because of my faith in Christ, I could and should hope for better things to come. Because Christ lives and is constantly working in my life, I realized my future will be just as miracle-filled and bountifully blessed as my past has been.
Because the Savior felt and overcame everything I will ever face, I could believe, despite every reason not to believe, that things were going to get better—even if my plans were sometimes skewed.

When we arrived at Point Lake, it was covered with ice floes. Shifting ice floes in a bad wind would crash a small canoe like an egg shell. We made camp, and I asked Bob to pray that night. He exhibited a faith rarely seen. He said, simply, “Father, stop the wind.”
The next day when we got up, it was perfectly still. The lake was smooth as a mirror. But we had 32 kilometers to cross. Even the slightest breeze once we were on the lake and we would be destroyed. For 32 kilometers we pushed through the floes. Twice the canoe froze in the ice as we got hemmed in, and we had to jump and pry and push to work our way free. Finally, after 7 1/2 hours, we got into open waters. We had just gotten through the ice floes when the wind began to blow again. The wind had been a daily companion except for those 7 1/2 hours. We prayed again, this time a prayer of thanks.

Septream goes to school in a big city. Sometimes at school he notices friends who don’t have enough food. So he shares his snacks and lunch with them. Septream says helping others makes him feel good. “It makes me want to do more. I feel happy when I am following Jesus,” he says.
Septream says we are blessed when we serve others. “When we do something good, God will bless us. Jesus says that doing good things for other people is like doing good things for Him.”

After his baptism, Jorge had to forgo many social customs associated with his budding banking career. At first he was the target of teasing and jokes from co-workers who were curious to see how long he could go without a drink or a cigarette. But Jorge remained faithful to his covenants, and his critics eventually became his greatest protectors from those who tried to pressure him into disregarding the Word of Wisdom.

Harold B. Lee grew up on a farm. One day, he followed his father out into the fields.
While he waited for his father to finish working, Harold played in the dirt and made toys out of pebbles and sticks.
After a while, he grew bored. He looked across the barbed-wire fence into the neighbor’s yard and saw some broken down buildings and sheds.
Harold: I should go exploring! Those buildings can be a castle.
Harold jumped up and ran toward the fence. Then he heard a voice.
“Harold, don’t go over there.”
Harold: What, Papa?
He spun around, but his father wasn’t there. He looked in every direction, but he was alone.
He wondered why he shouldn’t go into the old buildings. He didn’t know why, but he knew that the Spirit had warned him. He ran back from the fence.
When his father came, he found Harold right where he had left him.
Father: Ready to go home, Harold?
Harold: Yes, Papa. Let’s go.
Harold never knew what danger lurked inside the old buildings. Perhaps the rotting timbers would have caved in on him. Maybe there were wild animals inside. No matter what the danger was, he was happy that he had followed the prompting of the Holy Ghost to stay out of harm’s way.
(See Ensign, November 1971, page 17.)

Peace McBride placed a “closed” sign in the window and carefully shut the curtains. Then she packed the blue silk ball gown into the brown box to be delivered to Mrs. Farren for a ball that very night. As she folded the dress, she admired the shimmering silk. Her employer, Mrs. Root, was very particular, and Peace had learned to be a good seamstress. Some of my own stitches are in this beautiful dress, Peace thought happily.
Mrs. Root had already gone for the evening, leaving Peace to deliver the dress. She was pleased that Mrs. Root trusted her now. As she hurried out into the cold December evening of 1839, she pulled her pelisse close and bowed her head against the chill wind. Glancing ahead, she saw a long line of people winding toward the church on the corner. Her curiosity made her stop. “Excuse me,” she said to a young woman with a pink feather curled around her hat, “could you tell me what’s happening tonight?”
“There’s a new preacher speaking,” the woman answered. “His name is Joseph Smith, and he claims to have seen an angel who gave him a golden Bible.”
“A golden Bible!” Peace exclaimed. “I’ve never heard of anything like that.”
“Stand thee in line with us,” a matronly Quaker woman said. “It costs nothing, and thee mayest learn something.”
Peace looked down at the box. “I would like to, but I promised my mistress that I would deliver this.”
The older woman nodded. “Then thee must do as thee hast promised.”
As Peace made her way through the crowd to the corner, a carriage pulled up beside her. A man leaped lightly from the carriage, followed by his companions. Peace studied his face. It was a fine face with good, clean lines. The eyes were clear and straightforward. She felt that he was a special person. As she watched, people shook his hand and greeted him. She decided that he must be Joseph Smith.
The crowd surged into the church as the doors opened to admit the men. Peace found herself pulled along with them. She couldn’t fight her way out, so she took a seat near the middle of the church and sat down. The man who she had assumed was Joseph Smith was now at the pulpit, shaking hands with those around him. Settling herself, she saw Mrs. Root seated two rows ahead of her!
Peace slumped down behind a tall man dressed in quiet Quaker garb. He was tall enough to hide her if Mrs. Root turned around. She knew that her employer would not be pleased to see her at a meeting when she should be working.
People continued to pour into the building. Peace knew that over two thousand people could be seated comfortably in the building, and although it was one of Philadelphia’s largest, people were crammed onto the benches. There must be over three thousand people squeezed in here, she thought.
A hush stilled the audience as Joseph Smith stood to speak. He spoke in a voice that all could hear. He spoke with great power about visions that he had seen and of an angel who had told him where to find scriptures written on gold plates. He told of translating those plates by the power of God.
Peace felt something flow through her as he spoke. It was like some of old Ben Franklin’s electricity had passed right through her. She sensed that the people around her were having the same reaction to the speaker’s words. When he bore his testimony to them, Peace felt a burning inside her. She believed that it was the burning of the Holy Ghost, which she had heard about in church.
She didn’t know how long the sermon lasted. She only remembered feeling that at last she had found truth. When Joseph Smith challenged all within his hearing to be baptized and join The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, she knew that she needed to do so.
Clutching the forgotten brown box in her arms, she followed the crowd out of the church and into the chill evening air. She edged her way to the front of the group, where several men surrounding Joseph Smith were talking to the people and telling them where the baptism would be held. “Please, good sir,” Peace said to a nice-looking man. “I desire to be baptized. Do you baptize children?”
“How old are you, my child?” he asked.
“I’m twelve.”
“Do you truly believe what Joseph Smith the Prophet has said this evening?”
“I know that it’s true,” she answered simply. “I must do as he said and join his church.”
“It’s not Joseph’s church,” the man reminded her gently. “It’s the Church of Jesus Christ.”
“I know it. Please let me join!”
With the knowledge that the baptism would be the next day, Peace slowly retraced her steps back to the shop. At the doorway, she looked in horror at the brown box in her hands! “Mrs. Farren!” she gasped.
With the box bumping against her legs, she ran as fast as she could past the crowd at the church and across the street to the Farren mansion. Lights blazed from all the rooms, and her heart sank as she realized the lateness of the hour. Hurrying to the back door, she knocked timidly. The door was thrown open, and a maid stood impatiently at the door. “Is that the mistress’s dress?”
“Yes, if it pleases you, Miss,” Peace replied, curtsying.
“You’re late. She almost had to make do without it. She’ll have something to say about this to Mrs. Root!” She slammed the door in Peace’s face.
It seemed a long way back to the shop. Peace suddenly felt very tired, and she still had to face her employer and tell her what had happened. Mrs. Root was in the front parlor when Peace climbed the stairs to the living quarters above the shop. She put her bonnet and pelisse away, then stood in front of her mistress. “Mistress Root,” she began with her head down, “Mrs. Farren is angry tonight. I didn’t get the dress to her when I should have.” She expected an angry retort or maybe even a slap as Mistress Root was wont to inflict at times. When nothing happened, Peace looked up.
A beautiful smile covered Mrs. Root’s face. “What caused you to be so late?” she asked. “I’ve never known you to offend like this.”
“I started out in plenty of time,” Peace began, “but there was a large crowd in front of the church, and I followed them inside and listened to the speaker.” Again she remembered the burning feeling and tried to explain it. “There was a prophet of God there,” she declared, even though she knew that her mistress had heard him too. “He told of a new church that had the restored gospel of Jesus Christ—”
“I know,” Mrs. Root interrupted gently. “I, too, was there. It was a special evening, wasn’t it?” She smiled, then picked up a book from her lap. In the light of the lamp, Peace could see the name on the cover—The Book of Mormon.
It was the book that Joseph Smith had translated through the power of God. He had said that it had been delivered by an angel. Reverently Peace took it in her hands. “Would you let me try to read some of it?” she asked. She had never had an opportunity to go to school, but she had learned to read a little in her spare time.
“Sit down, my dear,” Mrs. Root replied. “You still have that collar to sew for Patience Black. The night’s still early, and idle hands are not good for young girls.”
Peace sighed. It had been a long day, and she wanted to go to the solitude of her room to think over what had happened that evening. But she obediently picked up the collar and began to place small, even stitches around the lace edging.
“There,” Mrs. Root said in satisfaction. “While you’re sewing, I’ll just read a little of the book to you.”
Peace looked up in surprise. Mrs. Root was smiling kindly at her, and Peace felt a keen joy. It will be good to hear what is in this important book, she decided. It will be good to hear more of the word of God.