Gospel Story Finder

President Thomas S. Monson told a story about a man from the east who was traveling by bus to San Francisco. In Salt Lake City a Primary girl got on the bus and sat next to the man. As they started talking, he asked her if she was a Mormon. She answered yes. He asked her what Mormons believe. It was a big question for such a young girl. What would you have said? Imagine the look on the man’s face as she recited and explained the Articles of Faith. He couldn’t believe it!

After she got off the bus, the man thought about her courage and knowledge. As soon as he arrived in San Francisco, he looked in the telephone directory for the Church’s phone number, then called the local mission president and asked questions about the Church. The mission president sent missionaries to see him, and later the man’s entire family was baptized—all because a Primary girl knew and understood the Articles of Faith and had the courage to share them. (See Ensign, April 1994, pages 67–68.)

Meanwhile, Elder Ott’s memory was kindly preserved by the German Saints. Shortly after Joseph’s death, the president of the European Mission and several elders of the Church conducted a brief graveside service and dedicated the grave. A monument, paid for by local contributions, was erected on the grave site. Constructed of white marble, the monument stood 1.6 meters high, and carried the inscription:
In Memory
of the Missionary
of The Church of Jesus Christ
of Latter-day Saints
Joseph A. Ott
Born Dec. 12, 1870
Virgin City, Utah
Died Jan. 10, 1896 in Dresden
Dedicated to Him
by His Fellow Believers
The German Saints sent a large photograph of the tombstone to the Ott family. For many years it was prominently displayed in the home of Joseph’s parents, and later in his sister’s home. Several years after his death, the Church offered to send Joseph’s remains home for burial in his home town. However, after careful thought and prayer, the family decided to leave the body in Germany, where his mission had tragically ended before it began.

Francesca’s daughter has a severe milk allergy. While her daughter was in Primary, one of her teachers loved to bring homemade cupcakes to class for birthdays. Francesca offered to bring safe cupcakes whenever there was a birthday. The teacher declined the offer and instead sent the six-year-old girl to sit in the hallway when birthday treats were shared.

“This was so hurtful on many levels,” Francesca recalls. “I wish the teacher would have taken the opportunity to teach the children to ‘be like Jesus’ and care enough to include everyone.”

The Christmas spirit knew no bounds as the Young Men and Young Women of the Huntington Beach Seventh Ward, Huntington Beach California Stake, crossed the Mexican border to celebrate Christmas with the Tecate Branch, Tijuana Mexico Stake. Christmas carols were sung in Spanish and English, and colorful piñatas made by the Mexican Saints were broken, scattering candies and fruits to everyone. A delicious homemade tamale dinner followed, treating the Californians to the tasty talents of their new friends. The Huntington Beach Ward then gave gifts of throw rugs designed by the Young Men, handmade stockings filled with treats made by the Young Women, and 16 tricycles and bicycles to the Tecate Saints. Both groups joined in a tearful rendition of “O, Little Town of Bethlehem” as they said good-bye to their newfound friends.

One day while doing missionary work in the dusty streets of Kenya, my companion and I talked to a lady. She accepted the pamphlet we gave her but told us not to return.
A few days later we found ourselves on that same street, and we had a prompting to follow up with her. I asked myself, “Why are we going back when she told us not to return?” But we obeyed the prompting.
She was surprised when we got there but said that she was happy to see us. We began to teach a lesson, but it soon turned into an argument. My companion and I closed the lesson with a prayer and left, immediately agreeing not to go back. But the very next day, we again had a strong prompting to return. I didn’t want to go back, but my companion said we should listen to the Spirit. When we got there, I was shocked. The lady seemed like a different person. Her countenance had changed, and she was willing to listen to what we had to say. During our next visit, she asked us when she could be baptized.
Four weeks later, she was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. After her confirmation, she embraced us and told us that she was ever so grateful we came back. I’ve learned that we should always listen to and act on promptings. Heavenly Father does prepare His children to receive the gospel, and He uses all of us to find them through the Holy Ghost.
Leaha M., KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa

As Easter time approaches, let me share with you the tender story of an eleven-year-old boy named Philip, a Down’s syndrome child who was in a Sunday School class with eight other children.
Easter Sunday the teacher brought an empty plastic egg for each child. They were instructed to go out of the church building onto the grounds and put into the egg something that would remind them of the meaning of Easter.
All returned joyfully. As each egg was opened there were exclamations of delight at a butterfly, a twig, a flower, a blade of grass. Then the last egg was opened. It was Philip’s, and it was empty!
Some of the children made fun of Philip. “But, teacher,” he said, “teacher, the tomb was empty.”
A newspaper article announcing Philip’s death a few months later noted that at the conclusion of the funeral eight children marched forward and put a large empty egg on the small casket. On it was a banner that said, “The tomb was empty.”

One day, as I was walking on my crutches to the local grocery store, I was attacked by a large dog. It bit me on the legs and the arms and knocked me to the ground. I remember screaming for help. Suddenly, a little black shape came flying into the fight and began to help me. It was a savage battle between a crippled cocker spaniel and this much larger, ferocious animal. Pepper’s efforts gave me enough time to get one of my crutches and join in the battle. Together, Pepper and I were able to chase the dog away.
We were both hurt, Pepper much more than I. Soon, my brother arrived to help us. Pepper suffered from his injuries for a few weeks but overcame them and lived for several more years. Little Pepper saved me from potentially serious injury.

Illustration by Brandon Dorman
I loved to read, and the summer I turned 12, I visited the nearby library often. One day, a large book caught my eye. I found it was about genealogy, which was a new word for me. Intrigued, I took the book home.
Once home, I looked through it carefully. The old pictures of people who had lived a long time ago, along with their births, marriages, and where they lived, sparked my interest because I didn’t know much about my own family. I wondered what my ancestors were like and where they came from. I decided to find out.
“Mamí,” I asked my mom while she was fixing dinner, “where were you born?”
“Well, in Mexico, of course.”
“Yes, but what part of Mexico?”
“In Coahuila. It’s a state.”
“Oh. What’s it like?”
I wanted to find out more about her family, her parents, brothers and sisters, uncles and aunts, cousins, as well as her grandparents. She came from a large family and told us stories from her childhood, but she didn’t know all the details. She said, “If you want to know more, you’ll have to ask Papá Héctor.”
Papá Héctor was my mom’s father. Before we moved to Texas, USA, I had seen him only a few times, and he was very reserved and seemed a little stern. Since we’d moved to Texas, Papá Héctor started visiting us every Saturday morning.
Whenever he showed up, my brothers and sisters and I would greet him quickly and then leave. But I knew the only way to find out more about our family was to ask Papá. One Saturday morning when he was watching a TV program, I sat next to him on the sofa and blurted out, “So how have you been, Papá Héctor?”
“Good, good.” He barely looked at me.
I stared at the floor, not knowing what to say next, and then started again, “I wondered if I could ask you something.”
This time he turned to look at me, somewhat surprised, as he answered, “Sure, what do you want to know?”
I explained that I wanted to know more about our family. That’s how he started telling me about where he was born and his life in a little mining town up in the Sierra, about his parents and siblings and all the fond memories of his childhood and youth. As the weeks went by, little by little he started opening up more and more. We became the best of friends.
I discovered that behind his stern appearance he actually had a great sense of humor! He also had an amazing memory and rattled off every person’s full name, with exact birth, marriage, and death date, as well as the official names of places. He made sure I learned how to write them in Spanish correctly.
I learned that Papá Héctor had been the presidente municipal (mayor) of his town twice—and other things I never imagined. My mother was surprised. “I don’t get it,” she said. “He talks more with you than he ever did with me.”
I think he was flattered that I would be so interested in his life. I waited impatiently for Papá Héctor to arrive every Saturday morning. Since he had started talking more, he smiled more often and would sometimes burst out laughing. My younger brothers and sisters all agreed he was much more fun, and we sat around him to listen to his stories. He told us of his childhood pranks, his travels, and how he and my grandmother had fallen in love.
Pretty soon I had not only a rough sketch of our family tree, but I also had a visual image of each person he described to me. They were no longer unfamiliar names of people I’d never met, but somehow they became real. Each person he described now had a place in my heart.
The missionaries taught my family the gospel two years later. My grandfather didn’t approve of our new religion, but he still showed respect for my decision to join the Church. Papá Héctor died suddenly when we were away on vacation, and I never had the opportunity to say good-bye.
I’m grateful that I took the time to get to know him, and I’m grateful for his friendship and for the wonderful heritage he left me. Knowing a little more about my family and ancestors has given me great joy and a sense of identity. It makes me feel proud of my roots, of our customs, warm culture, and beautiful language. And I suspect that he, too, must feel proud.

The Prophet’s brother Hyrum understood this and testified fearlessly of divine truth as it had been revealed to his brother Joseph and confirmed in his own heart. His testimony blessed the lives of many, including Parley P. Pratt. When Parley first encountered the Book of Mormon, Hyrum took him into his own home and spent the night teaching and testifying to him. He bore witness of the prophetic mantle that rested upon Joseph and of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon. Shortly thereafter, Hyrum set aside his own needs and went with Parley to honor his request for baptism. (See Autobiography of Parley P. Pratt, ed. Parley P. Pratt Jr. [1938], 35–42.)
We may never fully comprehend or be able to measure the far-reaching effects of Hyrum’s one-on-one testimony to Parley P. Pratt. In addition to Parley’s faithful posterity, his apostolic witness and missionary service drew countless souls into the kingdom of God. Interestingly, included among those who joined the Church as a direct result of his ministry in Canada were Joseph Fielding and his sisters, Mary and Mercy. After his first wife, Jerusha, died, Hyrum met and married Mary Fielding, and from their marriage came President Joseph F. Smith and countless other members and Church leaders. Now I realize that not all testimonies will return such a blessing as Hyrum’s did.

A mission had always been a goal of mine, ever since being in Primary and singing “I Hope They Call Me on a Mission”.
Unfortunately, being diagnosed with a brain tumour at the age of 16 shattered that dream. I started to suffer with depression and anxiety while still struggling with the day-to-day issues from my illness.
In 2017, I had begun to prepare to serve in the Birmingham England mission office. I was to spend a few days a week working in the office, and the remainder of the week resting at home. A few weeks before this was due to start, while having a routine check-up, I was told my tumour had grown and that I would need radiotherapy. I felt the world was telling me that the goal I had, of serving a mission, was never going to happen.
Fast forward to December 2020, my physical and mental health weren’t great, and I was struggling to just wake up and get out of bed most days. I remember fasting and asking for help. I was impressed with the idea to work on my physical health. I had hidden away at home for a long time. I decided to mix walking with fundraising for the charities who had helped me since my diagnosis. I ran a yearlong fundraiser while doing virtual-walking challenges, with the goal of climbing Mount Snowdon at the end of the year. The year went great! My physical health improved massively, as did my mental health. I climbed Snowdon in August, four months before I had planned.
In 2021, the service-mission programme started in the UK. This led me to look at serving again. I am now two months into my service mission—it is the best decision I have ever made. I was set apart at the same time as my younger brother, Elder Joseph Peedle, who is serving in Helsinki, Finland. It was amazing to be set apart on the same day! During my preparation for starting my mission, I learnt a lot about being patient and how things are done in the Lord’s timing.
My service mission has saved me. It has given me purpose and focus. I felt lost for a long time and this mission ‘found’ me. I love the gospel and I love our Saviour and our Heavenly Father. Trust in the Lord, everything will work out!
Read more about Elder Peedle’s work as a service missionary in the next article, “Historic Times Lichfield Stake Service Missionaries”.

Ever since I was in Primary, I’ve wanted to be a missionary. But when I was twelve years old, I became discouraged. Being old enough to serve a mission seemed so far away to me. I worried that I would fall into temptation. I thought I might as well live my life however I wanted and not worry about preparing.
But when I talked to my parents about serving a mission, they encouraged me. They told me Satan will always try to tempt me when I’m doing something good for my Heavenly Father. I prayed for guidance, and I felt Heavenly Father affirm that He will be with me every day.
Even though I’ve been through temptations and trials, my faith is strong. I know if I prepare now, through Jesus Christ, I can become a missionary like I’ve always wanted. It might be hard, but I know God will be with me in everything I do.

One day my twin sister, Maddie, our younger brother Nathan, and I wanted to do something together. Since we were really busy that week, we hadn’t had much time to be together. We all chose to do service. Our mom suggested that we do a service club! We all agreed and turned the room under our stairs into a meeting room.
For our first service project, we made a list of people around our neighborhood that we appreciated. We decorated cards and wrote letters that thanked them and told them we love and appreciate them. We signed the letters with a big question mark.
The next day we rode our bikes all around the neighborhood to our friends’ houses and stuck the letters on their front porches. By the time we had delivered all the letters, we all felt really happy. We had so much fun being together and—even better—serving!
Later that week we were at our summer cooking class. We had given our teacher a letter. We saw that same letter hung up on her bulletin board! We all felt excited that she had felt our love.
We continued the service club and also started making delicious treats to give to people we love. We gave a treat we called “The Butterscotch Supreme” to a lady in our ward who had gotten a concussion. Our mom got a text saying that the lady loved it and appreciated our kindness. That led to more baking for friends.
I am so glad that we can show people we love them. It makes me feel good to know that I am serving Heavenly Father when I serve others.

For most of my childhood years my grandmother Elsie Elkington lived with my family. What a grand blessing and privilege this was for us. She was a virtuous woman, highly favored of the Lord and her name is one I am striving to be worthy of. As a child I remember always being fascinated with her. She was a perfect lady, and although she was old and practically blind, using a cane to guide her, she always walked and talked like a perfect lady. Her mannerisms were extremely proper and when she ate it was like an art she spoke with a soft New Zealand accent. Always to me she was beautiful. We lived in New Zealand at the time and in our house, her room was at the end of the hallway. Stepping in her room, for a young girl, was like stepping into another world, stepping back in time. She had things a perfect lady should have. It all was so ancient and antique, jewelry box with beautiful necklaces and broaches, old books and shoes and coats. My imagination would run away with me, as I would dream whom my grandmother really was. I was told not to go in her room unless she was there but I was drawn to it. Couldn't help myself. One day alone in her room, I started to look through her old books, hoping to find a clue maybe to confirm my childhood imaginations of her identity. I came across a large book that looked hand made but with particular skill. The pages were thick and black and on those pages were the most beautiful old black and white photos of beautiful people. (Photo) One of them I recognized to be my grandmother (Photo) although much much younger I could identify her immediately. (Photo) As I continued to turn the pages I came across one particular photo that melted my heart. It was of a beautiful woman sitting alone on a stage with a crown on her head surrounded by people who were all looking at her. This woman I recognized to be my grandmother and can you imagine what began to go through my mind? Remember I was very young. My thoughts were, my grandmother is a queen! and then, if she is a queen than that makes me a princess. I was on top of the world that day but it was short-lived, later being told that it was only a beauty pageant. My grandmother passed away in 2000 and as I shared this story at her funeral I had a strong confirmation that she is indeed a queen and I also have the potential to become that also, and each of you Kings and Queens, the first presidency proclaims to the world that each of us "has a divine nature, a destiny."

The results were truly remarkable. A young returned missionary unable to find work for eight months, was skeptical when his bishop suggested a certain amount for his contribution. He told the Lord, however, that if he had an income he would willingly pay the assessment—and more if it were required of him. The first employer he approached that day offered him a permanent job and he started work the next day. Two days later he was given a significant increase in pay.

While my wife served as our ward Young Women president, each summer she invited me to Young Women camp to help with outdoor activities. During a recent camp, I helped with a ropes course the young women walked while blindfolded.
Those walking the course had to hold on to a thin rope that stretched from one tree to another. After they reached each tree, they would feel around the tree’s trunk for the section of rope that led to the next tree. The course featured a few difficult areas, including a dead end. I helped participants if they stumbled or had trouble with one particularly tricky spot halfway through the course.
At that spot, the rope tied into a tree as usual. But the rope leading to the next tree was located a few feet above the rope coming into the tree. By that point in the course, the young women were used to merely reaching around each tree trunk to locate the next rope. When they struggled to find the higher rope, I told them, “Reach higher.”
Like others before her, a young woman named Emily soon became frustrated trying to find the higher rope. After about 20 seconds, I whispered, “Reach higher.” Emily soon found the rope, but then she paused.
Instead of proceeding, Emily turned and reached out for the young woman behind her, Gwen. Then Emily gently lifted Gwen’s hand to the higher rope so she would know where to find it. Emily then went on her way, and Gwen followed.
Emily’s helpful gesture was small, but it reminded me of our weighty responsibility as disciples of Jesus Christ to assist others along the covenant path, help God’s children reach higher, and “lift up the hands which hang down” (Doctrine and Covenants 81:5).

After a rough day at school, Lucy S. (13, from Utah, USA) finally arrived home. Her brother, David (12) noticed she was upset.
“What’s wrong?” David asked. “Are you OK?”
David’s concern made a big difference for Lucy. “I felt a lot better,” Lucy says. “David has autism, and he often just focuses on what he’s interested in, but when he sees someone who is sad or lonely, he’ll go up to them. He’s very aware of other people. That’s the kind of person he is—he’s good, genuine, and honest.”

When his grandpa had a mild heart attack, Chris gave up his bedroom to his grandpa and grandma so that they could stay at his house. He did this and many other things without complaint. He helped Grandpa with his IV (medicine that Grandpa had to carry around with him), got him something to drink when he was thirsty, brought him his supper, and did anything else he needed when he couldn’t get around very well. Chris even helped Grandma in the kitchen. A happy, loving child, Chris always has a smile on his face and a song in his heart. He is active in the ward Primary and has borne his strong testimony in fast and testimony meeting at church.

Elder Taylor received a call to the Eastern States Mission. But during the summer before he was to leave, he and a brother had drunk some contaminated water while on a trip to southern Utah. As a result, Henry contracted typhoid fever and was not able to leave until later. He recalls that “when I first reached my mission, our room wasn’t well heated. We had our study class at 6:00 A.M., and I would don my bathrobe and sit there with my teeth chattering. I found that putting a hot toaster under my chair helped a little.”
At that time missionaries often traveled without purse or scrip. Elder Taylor said that during his mission “the Lord was good to us, and the people were kind and provided us with food and lodging. My mission experiences were humbling and inspirational.
“I salute you noble young people. You will be the leaders in your communities and the Church in the very near future. Live clean and useful lives. Happiness comes from keeping the Lord’s commandments. I leave my blessing with you, and pray that our Heavenly Father will guide, guard, and protect you.”

The October conference of 1993 was particularly moving to my wife and me. For once, we were able to sit down in our family room and listen without interruption. Both of us were especially struck by Elder Jeffrey R. Holland’s talk. He related the story of a Sister Lewis, who was struggling with her son’s leukemia.

[One day] as she entered her home, four-year-old Katie ran up to her with love in her eyes and a crumpled sheaf of papers in her hand. Holding the papers out to her mother, she said enthusiastically, “Mommy, do you know what these are?”
Sister Lewis said frankly her first impulse was to deflect Katie’s zeal and say she didn’t feel like playing just then. But she thought of her children . . . and the possible regret of missed opportunities and little lives that pass too swiftly. So she smiled through her sorrow and said, “No, Katie. I don’t know what they are. Please tell me.”
“They are the scriptures,” Katie beamed back, “and do you know what they say?”
Sister Lewis stopped smiling, gazed deeply at this little child, knelt down to her level, and said, “Tell me, Katie. What do the scriptures say?”
“They say, ‘Trust Jesus.’” And then she was gone.
Sister Lewis said that as she stood back up, holding a fistful of her four-year-old’s scribbling, she felt near-tangible arms of peace encircle her weary soul and a divine stillness calm her troubled heart. [Jeffrey R. Holland, “Look to God and Live,” Ensign, November 1993, p. 15]

Gaining a Testimony
Brad Barber, 14, Farragut Ward
It was about two years ago, and our family was driving home from Utah. I was talking to my mom. I had heard a bunch of people say that they had this burning feeling and they knew the Church was true. I told her that I had never felt anything like that. I asked her if I was too young to have something like that happen. She said I wasn’t too young. That night at the motel, when I was getting ready for bed, I prayed real hard about it. I asked the Lord if the Church was really true and if it was the right place for me to be. As soon as I was done, I felt that feeling that I had always heard about in sacrament meeting. I felt a warmness and happiness that said, “Everything’s okay.” It was peacefulness. I’ve heard it called a burning inside your chest. I guess that’s what it feels like. It makes you feel at ease with everything.