Gospel Story Finder

Tina and Troy are twins. Today they are watching general conference with Grandma. “I have a surprise for you,” Grandma says. She gives them crayons and notebooks. “When you hear a special word, draw it in your notebooks,” she says. So Tina and Troy listen. Troy draws a temple white and tall. Tina draws a heart full of love. They hear the prophet talk about Jesus, so they draw Jesus too! “You filled your notebooks with so many good words,” Grandma said. “I’m happy we could listen to general conference.”

In December 2016, my husband developed pneumonia. We were living in Moscow, Russia, where Bruce was serving in the Europe East Area Presidency. The doctors said he would need to stay in the hospital for a few days to receive antibiotics. That night his health took a dramatic turn for the worse, and they placed him in an induced coma.

For the next 10 days, I got up each morning, pleading for the Lord’s help as I drove to the metro station, rode for 45 minutes on the subway, and then walked the remaining blocks to the hospital. I sat all day by Bruce’s side in the intensive care unit as he lay perfectly still, unable to talk or move, surrounded by monitors of all kinds. Each evening I reversed my trip, arriving home to gather our belongings in preparation for our return to Utah.

Even now, I remember that in those cold, dark days, I never felt afraid as I traveled on the subway. I remember the peace and calm I felt as I sat by Bruce’s bed in the hospital. At home each night, I was alone but not lonely.

However, shortly after we returned to Utah, Bruce passed away.

Recently, as I recalled those long days, the Lord spoke clearly to my mind, “I did this for you.” In that moment, the Lord let me know that the peace I had felt, the safety I had experienced, and the sense that I was not alone had come from a loving Heavenly Father and His Son. They had extended mercy to me in my weakness.4

Bri-i-ing! went the alarm clock, breaking into the stillness of the dark room. Brad groaned and, pulling his pillow over his head to shut out the noise, burrowed deeper under the covers of his nice warm bed. It was much too early to get up. The sun wasn’t even up yet.
Suddenly Brad sat up. Today was going to be an important day for his big brother, Andy. He was going to the Missionary Training Center (MTC) in Provo, Utah.
What a wonderful time this was for the family! Just last night everyone had gathered in the living room, and Dad had given Andy a father’s blessing. Brad was glad that Dad honored his priesthood. Many times he had laid his hands on Brad’s head and asked Heavenly Father to guide him or to protect him or to bless him with health. Last night he had blessed Andy with those same great blessings for his mission.
Brad dressed in his Sunday clothes and hurried downstairs. The rest of the family was already in the brightly lit, cozy kitchen. Dad was making pancakes, and Andy was looking tall and a little awkward in his new dark blue suit. When Dad saw Brad, he shut off the stove, and the family knelt around the table for prayer. As they seated themselves, Brad felt sad for a moment because this would be the last meal they would all have together for a long time.
Andy reached over and ruffled Brad’s hair. “C’mon, Brad, smile. I don’t want to remember you all full of frowns. Shall I help you smile like Dad does?”
Just thinking about Dad’s way to get smiles brought grins to the entire family. Dad would turn a frowning child upside down and hold him by his ankles if he wouldn’t smile. When he was little, Brad would frown, suppressing a giggle, just to get Dad to turn him upside down.
“I’m much too big for that anymore,” said Brad.
“You’re certainly growing fast, all right,” Dad remarked. “By the time Andy gets home, you’ll probably be able to turn me upside down. You’d better hurry and finish your breakfast now, though. The bishop and Brother Terry will be here soon, and Grandma and Grandpa are on their way.”
A moment later the doorbell rang, and Bishop Maxwell and Brother Terry, their home teacher, were at the door, stomping the snow off their feet. As Brad started to close the door behind them, he saw another car pull into the driveway—and another one pulled in right behind that one. “It’s Grandma and Grandpa!” shouted Brad as he ran to greet them.
Between hugs and introductions, the group entered the house. President Cox, the stake president, was in the third car. He had come to set Andy apart for his mission.
President Cox began by talking to us about Andy’s mission and about how important it was to support him with prayers and letters. Then he laid his hands on Andy’s head and set Andy—no, Elder Andrew Spencer Brown—apart as a missionary to the New Zealand Christchurch Mission. Andy was now an official fulltime missionary!
The bishop, Brother Terry, and President Cox all shock hands with Andy and clapped him on the back. Then they had to leave to go to work.
Looking at the clock, Dad urged everyone to hurry: “Andy has to be at the MTC by 8:30.”
Finally everything and everybody was jammed into the car, and off they went. Andy looked back over his shoulder until the house was long out of sight.
As Dad pulled into the parking lot of the long, low brick Mission Training Center, the Provo Temple up the street shone in the early morning light. Mom and Dad had gone with Andy to the temple the week before. Andy had come home different somehow, a little more serious and more determined to be the best missionary he could be.
Entering the large lounge area of the MTC, they were met by a smiling brother who directed them to put Andy’s luggage in a room that had the appearance of a baggage terminal. Suitcases and garment bags were everywhere. What a large group of missionaries must be arriving!
Andy’s name was checked off a list, and they were directed to a room filled with young men and women, mothers, fathers, and other family members and friends. Most missionaries seemed to be in the middle of a group, hugging someone. Brad thought he’d never seen so many hugs in his life. He’d settle for a handshake!
A tall distinguished brother entered the room and asked everyone to be seated. He introduced himself as President Bishop, the president of the MTC, and told them a little about the MTC and missionary life.
Brad had thought that while Andy was on his mission, his brother would only knock on doors and teach discussions all day. But President Bishop explained that letter writing, journal writing, laundry, and exercise were part of the program too. A large gym at the MTC provided a place for exercise for the missionaries while they were there. They needed to keep in good shape for the hours of missionary work.
President Bishop talked to the missionaries about living within their budgets. And he hoped that all of them had learned to cook and to mend and wash their clothes. Brad knew that Andy had learned to cook—a little, anyway. The night that he’d baked a casserole with tomatoes, cabbage, and macaroni, Brad had managed to wangle an invitation to a friend’s house. But Andy did make pretty good omelets and hamburgers.
Andy had also learned how to mend his clothes and to sort, wash, and dry them. Mother had been giving them all lessons in housekeeping since they were little. She said that they didn’t have time to learn those things in the mission field.
After President Bishop finished his talk, they saw a film about the MTC. When the film was over, the missionaries were to say good-bye to their families and friends; then they were to leave through a door at the front of the room. Andy shook Brad’s hand and told him to take good care of things while he was gone. Brad blinked rapidly as he watched Andy walk up the aisle. It would be eighteen long months before he would see him again!
Forgetting that he was too big for hugging and stuff, Brad ran down the aisle and threw his arms around his brother. “Be the best missionary ever, Andy—at least till it’s my turn.”
“I’ll do my best, Brad. Don’t grow too much while I’m away. I want to be able to recognize you when I get back.” Turning, Andy quickly walked to the door, gave a last wave, and was gone.

Lucio Gil Díez, bishop of the Belén Ward, Santa Cruz Bolivia Equipetrol Stake, finds one of his primary concerns is helping new converts stay committed. “I know how it feels to be new in the Church,” he says. As a young man out of work, he went with a family member to a chapel under construction. He was introduced as an “investigator.” “What is that?” he asked, looking around the construction site. “I haven’t come to investigate anything.” But he soon did investigate and eventually join the Church. He was called as a bishop for the first time at age 27.

Knowing how important finding friends can be to new converts, Bishop Díez supports weekly fellowship evenings held on Mutual nights—as do many wards and stakes throughout Bolivia—to encourage greater love and friendship among members, investigators, and new converts. “The ward is invited to come together Thursday evenings, and many bring friends along. Each week a different family takes charge. It’s a lot like a family home evening,” he explains.

When someone joins the Church, the ward is invited to the baptism, and the new member is invited to the fellowship evenings. “We feed them spiritually,” explains Bishop Díez, “and we give them callings.” In one family, baptized only eight months, the wife is already serving as Relief Society president; her husband, as elders quorum secretary; and their son, as deacons quorum president.

Many years ago when at the age of 12 I was ordained a deacon, my father, who was president of our stake, took me to my first stake priesthood meeting. … He walked up to the stand, and I sat on the back row, feeling a little alone and uncomfortable in that hall filled with strong men who had been ordained to the priesthood of God. The meeting was called to order, the opening song was announced, and—as was then the custom—we all stood to sing. There were perhaps as many as 400 there. Together these men lifted their strong voices, … all singing these words with a great spirit of conviction and testimony:
Praise to the man who communed with Jehovah!
Jesus anointed that Prophet and Seer.
Blessed to open the last dispensation,
Kings shall extol him, and nations revere.
(“Praise to the Man,” Hymns, no. 27.)
They were singing of the Prophet Joseph Smith, and as they did so there came into my heart a great surge of love for and belief in the mighty Prophet of this dispensation. In my childhood I had been taught much of him in meetings and classes in our ward as well as in our home; but my experience in that stake priesthood meeting was different. I knew then, by the power of the Holy Ghost, that Joseph Smith was indeed a prophet of God.1

Like many young women in Uganda, Sandra walks more than a mile to church, helps clean the meetinghouse on Fridays, and attends seminary on Saturdays. During the week, she rises before 5:00 a.m. to read schoolbooks, and then she walks to school, returning home after 6:00 p.m. She missed a year of school because of financial difficulties but faces her challenges with a positive attitude: “The gospel has really helped me to stay steadfast and immovable.”
Sandra is the only Church member in her home, but her parents support her Church service, such as helping when the ward cleaned the grounds of a local orphanage. Her family sees how the gospel has helped her be strong, even when facing unresolved problems. Reflecting on the source of that strength, Sandra says, “When I go to church, I feel like I am putting on the armor of God” (see Ephesians 6:11–17).

The Church also played a role for Brandi Hadfield, 17, of the Denver Colorado North Stake, in getting started in the theater. When she was younger, she participated in a ward road show. “I felt silly at rehearsals,” she says. “It was a silly part. But when the lights went up, my heart beat, and I did awesome. I loved that feeling, so I decided to try out for more.”

Since then she has performed in several school and community productions. And, she explains, she had a secret weapon that once helped her land a leading role in a musical—Primary. “They auditioned four different girls and looked for who was the most confident singing. I was picked for the lead, I think, because I had been singing for years in Primary.”

“We explained at a fireside what we planned to do at the conference,” Jacie said. “We told them we were going to work and work hard, but we explained how they could help and how much good it would do for the farm.”

Evidently the appeal was convincing. “This is the biggest turnout we’ve ever had for a youth conference,” Jacie said. And Gary, who served on the steering committee with her, noted that more than 500 attended an activity originally planned for 300. “At first we were afraid people would be turned off by the idea of working, but it turned out to be one of the best ideas ever.”

Taking a stand wasn’t easy for Sarah Koyle, a Laurel who lives in Rancho Cucamonga, California, but she knew it was the right thing to do. When a teacher at her school showed a movie that Sarah felt was inappropriate, she made her opinion known.
After Sarah’s bold move, there was little room for doubt by her peers as to what Sarah believed was right. Then a local newspaper interviewed Sarah about her stand on R-rated movies. Again, Sarah was able to voice her opinions without reservation.
Was all the attention worth it, especially when Sarah seemed to be the only one who felt that the movies were wrong?
“If I were given the chance, I would definitely do this again,” says Sarah. “Standing for the prophet’s words is something I can’t do enough of. It wasn’t easy, but it was right.”

Suddenly, the cars arrived, and the hall of the stake house was crowded with boys in straw hats covered with cookies, and girls in neon yellow, green, and orange skirts with big bows holding giant candy bars as hats. And just as quickly, they gathered in a classroom for one more run-through of their song—“Buy Me Chocolate,” which helps explain the cookies and candy bars.
Then another group walked by, all dressed in black and white with red-checkered napkins. They were humming something that sounded vaguely operatic but had tongue-twisting lyrics. Another group had swatches of cloth with an African print. They were going over some steps in a dance.
The cultural hall of the Salt Lake Hunter Stake was filled wall to wall with families from nine wards, all waiting to see each ward’s performance in the Young Women and Young Men Choral Festival. Every ward had two songs to perform: one serious song and one fun song from another country that could include some dance steps. The wards chose from religious songs that have been printed in the New Era.
As each well-rehearsed ward came on stage, the energy began to build. Everyone was ready to sing with volume and enthusiasm. But when the Mapusaga (Samoan) Ward came on (they were the ones with the chocolate song), the Caribbean rhythm had everyone moving. After that, there was no stopping them. Each ward put everything they had into their performances before an appreciative audience.
Why have a choral festival? The youth in the Hunter stake now know it means some fun times at practices and an even better time at the performance. And the audience agreed.

Toward the end of World War II, my family was living in Czechoslovakia, where I was born. My father, a customs officer, was drafted into the army and sent to the western front of the war. As the war raged with more severity and the eastern front moved closer to our town, my mother, alone with her four children and in an effort to protect them, made the decision to leave our home and all our earthly possessions behind and head west, toward the home of her parents in East Germany.
It was the winter of 1944—one of the coldest, harshest winters of World War II. My mother instructed us to take only warm clothes and food but no other possessions. At this time, we were members of the Lutheran Church, not even aware that there was a restored Church of Jesus Christ. Considering this, it is interesting that she took most of our family records and family pictures on our flight west.
We were on one of the last refugee trains, and the journey, which would usually take one or two days, took us almost two weeks. I was only four years old. Traveling in a freezing train, stopping over in refugee camps, and heading out again—exhaustion, hunger, and fear were the continuous ingredients of this perilous flight.
One night the train stopped again at a train station, and, as usual, my mother stepped out in search of some food for us children. Often, kind people came to those stations and brought milk and bread and other food for the refugee children. But this time when my mother returned with some precious food for us, the train was gone, with all of her four children in it.
During this time of the war, many family members were separated from each other, never to be united again. There she was, in a war zone, without her husband, alone on deserted railroad tracks, realizing that she had just lost all of her children! Later she shared with us how lonely and devastated she felt. The physical stress of the effort to flee to the west and the emotional stress culminating in the apparent loss of all her children in a few minutes of time were overwhelming. She started to pray—the only source of solace available to her at that desperate time. I know today that the Light of Christ moved her to pray with faith, as a good Lutheran, and then to get up and look around to see if she could find the train somewhere else at the station. After a short period of terror and despair, she got on her feet and moved from one track to another and eventually found our train on a parallel track quite a distance away, where it had been moved during her absence.
With the protection of God and under the inspired leadership of our mother, we reached her hometown and were reunited with her parents in Zwickau, East Germany.

I have heard of truly great experiences of couples in the mission field.
Brother and Sister Ralph Lambert served their eighteen months’ mission in the Oklahoma Tulsa Mission. While serving in a small branch they had a sister and her teenage son coming to church every Sunday. Although the father in this family was a member of record, he never came along.
Before his retirement in Oklahoma, he had lived in Utah, and as a young deacon he was so shy that he did not attend church because he was afraid to be asked to pray or to carry out some other assignment.
From time to time he met young missionaries who talked to him about the Church, but they were never able to bring him back into activity. However, Brother and Sister Lambert, being of the same age and having great maturity, were able to develop a warm relationship with him.
He started coming to church with his wife and son, and he was never pressured to do anything he did not feel like doing. After a while, he started to ask how much money was expected as a contribution to the branch budget. When this was explained to him in a loving way, he made his first contribution.
About a month later, when fast Sunday was approaching, he asked what the present procedure was for paying tithing. It was explained to him that it hadn’t changed in the fifty years since he had lived in Utah! He then started paying this voluntary contribution to the kingdom.
Shortly thereafter, he said that he would accept any call that would be extended to him in that small branch. He was ordained a priest, and this enabled him to ordain his youngest son a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood.
He later became a counselor in the branch presidency, and last year he was ordained an elder and his whole family was sealed together in the Salt Lake Temple.

“I needed a personal second witness of Jesus Christ,” says Jodi Burr of Danville, Pennsylvania. “I wanted to know Christ. I had no doubt of his reality and atonement, but I wanted to come to a knowledge of him as a person and as a loving God. As I reread the Book of Mormon, no individual verse or story provided what I was looking for. However, my knowledge of Christ formed piece by piece as I studied about him in the various Book of Mormon settings.
“I bore my testimony in sacrament meeting, and my soul was flooded with the Holy Spirit as I received what I had longed for—a second witness of Jesus Christ. After church, one sentence kept repeating itself in my thoughts: ‘I know the Master; I know the Master.’ This testimony is priceless to me. What I was given that day was exactly what I had been searching for—‘and it came to pass’ through reading the Book of Mormon.”

In a stake conference in Campinas, Brazil, I enjoyed a soul-restoring experience of listening to the gifted, able, and charming president of the stake Relief Society, Sister Vilma Figuereda. She told of the great excitement and personal revelation she received regarding the truthfulness of the Church when she first heard its message from the missionaries. She was literally twice born, with energy, conviction, and a desire to tell all of her acquaintances and others of the healing and sanctifying message of the gospel. She walked over so many cobblestones and on so many sidewalks that she would wear out a pair of shoes each month. Her husband, at that time not a member of the Church but concerned about the many demands upon the limited resources of the family, asked her, “Couldn’t the Church at least buy you a pair of shoes?” The soles of her shoes were worn thin, but the inner soul of her being was fully restored.

I remember one summer I was very unsettled and hurt by a disagreement with a family member. Several family members, including the one who troubled me, decided to come together and counsel about it. I earnestly prayed and fasted to know what I should say or do. I needed more wisdom and love than what I had.

When we met that evening, the Lord’s Spirit mercifully softened our hearts. I remember I was taught by the words I spoke; they did not seem to be my own. They were filled with love, clarity, power, and the Spirit. I cried as I felt purely that God loved my family and wanted to heal us. I witnessed the Lord’s power, healing, and revelation come through earnest prayer and fasting. The windows of heaven opened widely that evening.

Nearly one year ago, our daughter Alisa died. She had struggled with cancer for almost eight years, with several surgeries, many different treatments, exciting miracles, and deep disappointments. We watched her physical condition deteriorate as she came to the close of her mortal life. It was excruciating to see that happen to our precious daughter—that bright-eyed little baby who had grown up to be a talented, wonderful woman, wife, and mother. I thought my heart would break.
Last year at Easter time, a little over a month before she passed away, Alisa wrote: “Easter is a reminder of all that I hope for myself. That someday I will be healed and someday I will be whole. Someday I won’t have any metal or plastic inside of me. Someday my heart will be free of fear and my mind free of anxieties. I am not praying that this happens soon, but I am so glad I truly believe in a beautiful afterlife.”1
Each of us has physical, mental, and emotional limitations and weaknesses. These challenges, some of which seem so intractable now, will eventually be resolved. None of these problems will plague us after we are resurrected. Alisa researched survival rates for persons with the type of cancer she had, and the numbers were not encouraging. She wrote: “But there is a cure, so I’m not scared. Jesus has already cured my cancer, and yours. … I will be better. I’m glad I know this.”10
I long to see my mother again and feel her gentle touch and look into her loving eyes. I want to see my father’s smile and hear his laugh and see him as a resurrected, perfect being. With an eye of faith, I picture Alisa completely beyond the reach of any earthly troubles or any sting of death—a resurrected, perfected Alisa, victorious and with a fulness of joy.
A few Easters ago, she wrote simply: “Life through His name. So much hope. Always. Through everything. I love Easter to remind me.”23

In the fateful war year of 1942, I was inducted into the United States Army Air Corps. One cold night at Chanute Field, Illinois, I was given all-night guard duty. As I walked around my post, I meditated and pondered the whole miserable, long night through. By morning I had come to some firm conclusions. I was engaged to be married and knew that I could not support my wife on a private’s pay. In a day or two, I filed my application for Officer’s Candidate School. Shortly thereafter, I was summoned before the board of inquiry. My qualifications were few, but I had had two years of college and had finished a mission for the Church in South America.
The questions asked of me at the officers’ board of inquiry took a very surprising turn. Nearly all of them centered upon my beliefs: “Do you smoke?” “Do you drink?” “What do you think of others who smoke and drink?” I had no trouble answering these questions.
“Do you pray?” “Do you believe that an officer should pray?” The officer asking these questions was a hard-bitten career soldier. He did not look like he prayed very often. I pondered. Would I give him offense if I answered how I truly believed? I wanted to be an officer very much so that I would not have to do all-night guard duty and KP and clean latrines, but mostly so my sweetheart and I could afford to be married.
I decided not to equivocate. I admitted that I did pray and that I felt that officers might seek divine guidance as some truly great generals had done. I told them that I thought that officers should be prepared to lead their men in all appropriate activities, if the occasion requires, including prayer.
More interesting questions came. “In times of war, should not the moral code be relaxed? Does not the stress of battle justify men in doing things that they would not do when at home under normal situations?”
I recognized that here was a chance perhaps to make some points and look broad-minded. I suspected that the men who were asking me this question did not live by the standards that I had been taught. The thought flashed through my mind that perhaps I could say that I had my own beliefs, but I did not wish to impose them on others. But there seemed to flash before my mind the faces of the many people to whom I had taught the law of chastity as a missionary. In the end I simply said, “I do not believe there is a double standard of morality.”
I left the hearing resigned to the fact that these hard-bitten officers would not like the answers I had given to their questions and would surely score me very low. A few days later when the scores were posted, to my astonishment I had passed. I was in the first group taken for Officer’s Candidate School! I graduated, became a second lieutenant, married my sweetheart, and we have “lived together happily ever after.”
This was one of the critical crossroads of my life. Not all of the experiences in my life turned out that way or the way I wanted them to, but they have always been strengthening to my faith.

Q. When did you first become involved in music?
A. My parents always had music around the house, and some of my relatives had been professional musicians. But I started taking legitimate piano lessons when I was seven.
Q. Did you immediately take to it?
A. No! I hated practicing. But taking lessons and practicing was something I was expected to do, with no other options. It turned out to be a smart thing.
Q. When and how did you make the switch from hating to play to loving to play?
A. I think it began when I started getting attention for playing. Aunt Violet would come over, and I’d be asked to play for her, and I enjoyed the attention. What kid doesn’t? Oh, and I started liking it better when I started creating.
Q. How did you start creating?
A. My teacher was great. She would give me a piece by Bach and have me learn it the way he meant it to be played, but then she’d let me improvise. I’d make it a bit jazzier here and there. I guess that was composition in embryo. She’d even let me play it both ways in recitals. That’s when piano started becoming fun.

After this, my fiancé sent the missionaries to teach me. I told them I already knew the restored gospel was true and that I understood what the Holy Ghost feels like. But I was concerned that it would be difficult for me to give up smoking and drinking coffee and tea.
I began to attend church, read the Book of Mormon, and meet with the sister missionaries three or four times a week. Eventually, the Holy Ghost helped me stop smoking and drinking coffee and tea.

For my English GCSE exam (a qualifying test in specific subjects), I was required to plan and deliver a five-minute presentation on a topic of my choice. I chose to outline the Young Women programme of the Church and some of the standards I keep. I prayed that I would know if this was the right choice, and I felt that this would be the perfect chance for me to share some of my beliefs.
During my presentation I used lots of visual materials and shared the blessings I have received. The class seemed to genuinely enjoy my talk. My teacher also found it interesting and asked questions afterward. Not only did I get the grade I had hoped for, but more importantly, I was able to share the gospel with my friends.