Gospel Story Finder

Sister Julie B. Beck: I remember a reporter who attacked our standards as restrictive. She had read the For the Strength of Youth book, and she felt that it was all about rules. So I talked to her about safety and choices, and I used the words liberate and free and protect. I said, for instance, if a young woman keeps our standard not to drink alcohol or take drugs, she will never be a slave to those habits. She’ll be free, and her ability to make choices will be multiplied because she won’t have the problem of addiction. The reporter started to nod her head when she understood that standards are not a fence to keep us in. Standards are what help us go out and function in a world full of choices. We can contribute in this world and live happy, productive lives because we are protected.

“With the knowledge we have, we may mourn, but we need never despair. We have a little loved one in Seattle. There the daily rain keeps the sun and stars alike hidden much of the time, so she hasn’t really seen stars. We think there is magic in stargazing and lessons to learn from them; they are brighter in winter’s night, you know. I explained this to this little girl when we stood on a clear night looking into heaven. I smiled at her wonderment at first seeing stars crowd the nighttime.
“‘Are they there every time it gets dark, even if I can’t see them?’ she asked. I assured her they were, even behind the clouds.
“‘Then darkness isn’t so bad, is it? If you know the stars are there.’
“It has application to life, doesn’t it?”

In December 2005 some relatives who are members of the Church visited my wife and me in Colombia. Before they returned home, my uncle gave me two wonderful gifts—a triple combination and some old issues of the Liahona.
I began to read the November 2004 issue, which contained the talks from October conference. I read “Condition of the Church,” by President Gordon B. Hinckley, and “Prophets, Seers, and Revelators,” by Elder Jeffrey R. Holland. The testimonies of these great men led me to begin reading the Book of Mormon and the Bible.
The result was the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to us. My wife and I made the best decision we have ever made—we were baptized members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Edgar Henry Muñoz Porras, Colombia

It was Thursday night, Mom and Dad’s regular night to work at the Cardston temple. I was in my teens, like you young women. My grandmother, who was living with us, was away, so I would be home alone. As they left, Dad hugged me and said, “Now, Sharon, be in good company.”
I thought, “What is he thinking? Doesn’t he know I’ll be here by myself?” And then I realized—that is exactly what he was thinking.
Standing in holy places is all about being in good company, whether you are alone or with others. It’s being where the Holy Ghost is our companion—alone or in a crowd. When we determine within ourselves that we will control our thoughts and our actions and be the best we can possibly be, the best of life will come to us.

In contrast to the southern Idaho summers I had grown accustomed to during my growing-up years, the summer spent at Awaji Island was almost unbearable with its penetrating stickiness and massive humidity, which without reprieve permeated the enchanted Oriental island. The air not only carried too much moisture, but as if to remind me of the incomparable differences between my Idaho background and my new Japanese home, the humidity stuck to my body like a thin coat of glue. The nights offered little escape from the intense, humid air, and sleeping was often difficult because of the heavy, steamy blanket that seemed to embrace me. Being a young missionary endeavoring to conquer the Japanese language and understand the evasive Japanese culture, I found to my chagrin that I tired easily during my first months under the large, summer sun of Japan.
Awaji Island is a small island, lying a short distance from the Kobe and Osaka ports. According to Japanese legend, when the Japanese gods commenced painting the country’s topography upon the watery Pacific canvas, the first drop to fall from the over-saturated paint brush solidified into the rugged island of Awaji. Sumoto, the largest town on the minute island, is defined with streets which reek of Japanese odors, sounds, and sights. This culture, unlike that found in neighboring Osaka and Kobe, has received only minimal influence from the far-distant countries lying to the west. Even though the island is faintly within sight of Osaka, one of the more metropolitan areas of Japan, it is virtually isolated from the Japanese populous except for the daily speedboat and ferry which make a thin line of interaction between the sleepy island and its neighbor, the Land of the Rising Sun. Because of its water-bound isolation from the mainland of Japan, Awaji escapes the busy life of neighboring Osaka, yet as if a merit for its separation, many conveniences found in the urban areas of Japan are sadly lacking.
The early-morning light found me seated by my desk, carefully balancing my chair on its back legs with the Doctrine and Covenants propped on my lap. I commenced reading the 105th section [D&C 105]. My eyes skimmed over the first two verses but stopped in the third verse. I reread: “But behold, they have not learned to be obedient to the things which I required at their hands, but are full of all manner of evil, and do not impart of their substance, as becometh saints.” Wondering what exactly was meant by “as becometh saints,” my attention wandered from my book. Suddenly, my weight shifted backwards, causing me to lunge forward just in time to save myself from falling backwards. Falling backwards on the tatami mat that covered the floor in the Japanese apartment would probably not have been too painful, but as a proud, young missionary, I was happy not to disturb my senior companion by falling on top of him and his bedroll which lay behind me. Outside, a cheery cricket greeted the morning rays, while the insects in a neighboring rice paddy orchestrated a lively production of a summer serenade.
After my companion and I ate breakfast, I began studying the priesthood discussion which I was to teach later that week. I slowly began to vocalize the sentences. It was always amazing how much harder it was to vocalize the Japanese language compared to the rapidity I prided myself in when I merely ran the phrases through my head. The humidity seemed to intensify as I strained to remember the words necessary to explain the restoration of the Aaronic Priesthood. As I carefully tried to recall the perplexing sentence structure, I heard the door slide open from the outside of the large Japanese house that we proudly used as a church house. With no cheerful greeting coming from the intruder, I realized that Brother Shinooki, the new deaf member, had come to pay one of his frequent visits.
Brother Shinooki was a small, thin man, who rode his antiquated bicycle on his daily rounds. His house was a small, humble shanty at the end of a precariously steep path which carefully crept up a small, rugged hill outside of Sumoto. His life of solitary living must have enhanced his eagerness to make friends, which was not quelled by his deafness. Brother Shinooki had met the missionaries previous to my arrival in Awaji and had become attached to the friendly, Christian foreigners. With the help of a member from Osaka who knew sign language, Brother Shinooki was taught the restored gospel and received the blessings of baptism. Even though my ability to communicate with the deaf was lacking, I did enjoy my attempts to communicate with my deaf friend. By charade-like hand motions and simple pictures, we were able to acquaint ourselves to an amazing degree. Still, since he was unable to vocally communicate and considering Brother Shinooki’s simple mind, I often wondered about the depth of the testimony and understanding of the gospel principles which lay behind his big, warm smile.
It was an extremely hot day. Realizing that study possibilities were diminished by Brother Shinooki’s jubilant presence, my companion and I decided to walk with him to the neighboring store for an ice cream bar in order to fellowship the deaf member and also to give ourselves an extra boost before braving the humid island in search of souls prepared for our cherished message. The three of us each bought a bar and took cover in the shade of an old wooden building with its heat-singed front offering small protection to its three unusual guests. The bars did not even taste exceptionally delicious, but they were inexpensive, and this made them irresistible. If one were lucky, after eating the ice cream substitute from his stick, he would find the Japanese symbols “atari” impressed on the stick and this would allow the proud owner to exchange the naked stick for another ice cream bar at no extra cost. The chance of finding one of these coveted sticks became more and more enticing as the temperature rose higher and higher. As if following an instinctive ritual, I ate the frozen substance around the stick leaving a thin white ice cream covering over the area of the potential “atari.” The last important bite always informed me whether or not the next ice cream bar would be free or come out of my money supply. As I gave the last, important bite, my tongue slid over the smooth stick. My eyes only reconfirmed that the stick was indeed smooth, without any Japanese symbols engraved in the wood. My companion, I noticed, shared the same fate, having no magic word on his bare stick. To our amused dismay, Brother Shinooki was luckier than either of us. The “atari” characters proudly adorned his ice cream stick. As my companion and I covetously eyed the stick held by Brother Shinooki, we glanced at each other as if to share our condolences.
Our deaf friend was happy to find his uncovered treasure. Brother Shinooki’s face glowed, and he smiled at my companion and me. Without a second thought, Brother Shinooki decisively took the stick, jumped into the narrow street, and handed the cherished stick to a young boy who was lazily passing on his bicycle. As if our deaf friend’s smile was contagious, the small boy’s face burst into instant delight as he grabbed the stick and headed to the store to claim his frozen treat. Brother Shinooki returned to his two humbled missionary friends. Though not realized by our friend, he had become the teacher of the moment, teaching true unselfishness. Sharply, I realized that Brother Shinooki understood what was meant by imparting one’s substance “as becometh saints.” We realized that although a person may be unable to vocally bear his testimony, he is not impaired in his ability to live it. Quietly, the communication barrier melted, and the three of us shared a moment of total communication—a moment which cannot be described by words, but can only be understood through the heart.

When I was baptized at thirteen, I didn’t enjoy the scriptures. I didn’t understand them, and I read them only once in a while—preferring to read other literature instead. Then one Sunday, I heard two members bear their testimonies about how the scriptures had changed their lives. I felt bad that I hadn’t done my part to learn. I began praying that the Holy Ghost would help me understand. Later, I began attending seminary and reading the scriptures before going to bed. Now I have my own testimony that the scriptures are the word of God and that through them we can know the will of our Heavenly Father.
Raquel Herrera, 19El Ejido Branch, Ibarra DistrictEcuador

Hooray! Your brother is turning (number) next week! And, being the kind sibling you are, you’ve decided to make him an extra (adjective) birthday present. First, grab some (plural noun) and maybe a few (plural noun) as well. It’s true that (adjective ) (plural noun) are also his favorite, but your sister is giving him those already. Next, (verb) over to your favorite (noun) store to buy (plural noun). You’ll need some (plural noun) to make everything stick together, of course, so be sure to find at least (number). It’s building time! Grab a (noun), gather your supplies, then head to (location) and (verb) for (length of time) to finish the craft. Wrap your brother’s present with a (color) (noun), top it with a bow, and give it to him. He’ll be sure to say (silly phrase) over and over again!

On a recent flight, our pilot announced that we would encounter turbulence during our descent and that all passengers must fasten their seat belts securely. Sure enough, turbulence came. It was really rough. Across the aisle and a couple of rows behind me, a terrified woman panicked. With each frightening drop and jarring bump, she screamed loudly. Her husband tried to comfort her but to no avail. Her hysterical shouts persisted until we passed through that zone of turbulence to a safe landing. During her period of anxiety, I felt sorry for her. Because faith is the antidote for fear, I silently wished that I could have strengthened her faith.

Later, as passengers were leaving the aircraft, this woman’s husband spoke to me. He said, “I’m sorry my wife was so terrified. The only way I could comfort her was to tell her that ‘Elder Nelson is on this flight, so you don’t need to worry.’”

I’m not sure that my presence on that flight should have given her any comfort, but I will say that one of the realities of mortal life is that our faith will be tested and challenged. Sometimes those tests come as we face what appear to be life-and-death encounters. For this frightened woman, a violently rocking plane presented one of those moments when we come face-to-face with the strength of our faith.

My younger sister, Hannah, was also studying about the Godhead that week. She said that when her teacher talked about God the Father, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost being one person, she knew that it was not true. She tried to shut out what was being said by not listening. After Bible class, she went up to her teacher and said, “Joseph Smith said he saw two Personages.” Her teacher was taken aback and asked her to explain what she meant. Hannah explained our church’s teaching about the Godhead, and her teacher listened and was respectful. Afterward, the teacher told our mom that she was proud of Hannah for sharing her beliefs with her. Her teacher even came to watch Hannah get baptized at the beach later that year.

Seventy-five miles of backpacking beauty in the high Cascades and not a worry in the world! The immediate future seemed to hold nothing but blue skies and bluebirds for our Scout troop.
We were counting on an unforgettable experience, and we got it. With only a half hour of trail behind us, we were hit with a downpour that soon turned the steep trail into a slippery tightrope. For six days it rained, and for six days we slogged and slipped along that trail, and the experience kept getting more unforgettable with every step.
It was especially memorable for: The boy who slipped into a swift river and was being dragged by the current to a probable death when his head lodged between two tree branches just long enough for us to save him. The boy who slipped and slashed his forearm badly. The two of us who twisted our knees. The two boys who sprained their ankles. The boy who suffered second-degree burns when boiling water was spilled on him. The two boys who developed bad colds. The boy who contracted a serious case of diarrhea. The three boys who developed hypothermia—a dangerous lowering of the body temperature—especially one of them who came very near death as a result.
We started out expecting blue-birds—and maybe a few bruises and blisters if we were unlucky. When the bluebirds flew away and the brickbats started flying, we were very grateful that we had some first aid supplies and knew how to use them. If that boy with hypothermia had died, the hike would now be unforgettable in a way I don’t like to think about.
That hike in the high Cascades was the most accident-laden trip I had suffered through in my ten years of backpacking. It was the exception rather than the rule, and yet every year groups face much worse first aid challenges in the out-of-doors. I don’t want to scare off any would-be campers, but I want to emphasize that we must prepare for the worst case and not the best. I am constantly running into youth groups in the wilderness who aren’t even prepared to fix a blister—let alone deal with a serious accident. Such groups are simply courting tragedy.

I’m from Hawaii. I’m also a receiver and running back for my high school football team.
Our team once played in a tournament on Saturday and Sunday. I had already decided I was not going to play sports on Sundays. Four teammates were injured on Saturday, so there was a lot of pressure to play on Sunday. But I didn’t play. Instead, I wanted to go to church and take the sacrament. So my cousin brought me to church.
College recruiters come to see how you perform in football tournaments. I knew I would miss opportunities by not playing on Sunday. But I also knew that Heavenly Father would bless me for my commitment. After the tournament, I was grateful that two colleges contacted me. But I was most grateful for the spirit I felt when I chose to keep the Sabbath day holy.

I am a nineteen-year-old girl. When I was fifteen I started taking all sorts of drugs. As soon as I turned eighteen I told myself it was time I gave up all my drugs. So I did! I made up my mind and did it all by myself.
You may be asking, why did I do it all by myself? Why didn’t I get help? Very simple—none of my church friends knew what to do. So I did it on my own. It was hard. I slipped a few times, but I’ve been off drugs for sixteen months now, and I’ll never go back.
Sure, the temptation is always there. It’s a lot easier to pop a pill or shoot up than it is to face your problems day in and day out. A lot deadlier too.
Now I have a reason never to go back. I’ve become friends with a girl who goes to my ward who is on heroin and cocaine. She is ready to give it up, and I am going to help her. She is only fifteen, and she reminds me of myself. I don’t want her to go through the tireless hell I went through.
We talked to our bishop, and he was helpful in telling us to read the scriptures and pray about our problem. But if someone is too afraid to go to the bishop, and their arms and insides are burning up from using the drugs, to whom can they go for help with this problem? They need someone inside the Church to help and direct them onto a path toward the Church, someone who can understand what we who have been on drugs are going through, and someone who will listen. Whom do we go to?

All my life I had been taught that the Church was true. When I decided to gain a testimony of my own, I thought I needed to approach things from a different angle than my teachers and friends did. So I asked: What if the gospel is not true? What if my well-meaning friends and parents have been misled? What if the Book of Mormon is a work of fiction? What if there is no living prophet today and families aren’t forever?
As such questions filled my mind, darkness clouded my thoughts. I felt as if doors were closing inside me, and for an entire day I wandered around in a depressed stupor of thought, thinking and acting unkindly toward others.
The next morning I realized I was getting nowhere. Then I remembered a seminary lesson I’d had on prayer. I knew that in Doctrine and Covenants 9:7–9 [D&C 9:7–9] there were some guidelines on getting answers. As I read these verses, I could see that I had asked the wrong questions. When I studied my questions out in my mind and in my heart, I sincerely believed the things I had been taught were true. So I prayed again, this time asking if my beliefs were right: Was I really a child of God? Was there a celestial kingdom? Was the priesthood the power of God?
Light replaced darkness. The Spirit confirmed that my belief was not in vain. I felt as if doors were being flung open, and I could see things more clearly.
I gained a desire to serve and to share my testimony. The Lord had heard and answered my sincere prayer. Now I know for myself that what I had believed all along was really true.

Only two weeks later, on June 27, the Prophet was killed. Brigham did not learn of Joseph’s death for three weeks, but he then remembered his experience on the day of the martyrdom while sitting in the depot in Boston, waiting for the train to Salem: “I felt a heavy depression of spirit, and so melancholy I could not converse with any degree of pleasure.”21 He had seen newspaper accounts of the assassination on July 9 but had discounted them because of the current sensationalism in the press about Mormonism. Then, on July 16, while in Petersboro, New Hampshire, with other apostles, he read a letter from Nauvoo that gave details of the murder of Joseph Smith and his brother Hyrum. He roused himself from despair, decided on a course of action, and returned to Boston the next day to take the Twelve back to Nauvoo. But first, as Wilford Woodruff recounts:
“Elder Brigham Young arrived in Boston this morning. I walked with him to 57 Temple Street and called upon Sister Vose. Brother Young took the bed and gave vent to his feelings in tears. I took the big chair, and veiled my face, and for the first time gave vent to my grief and mourning for the Prophet. …”22
Nearly a month later, shortly after the great meeting where he and the rest of the Quorum of the Twelve were sustained to lead the Church, President Young wrote to his daughter back in Massachusetts:
“It has been a time of mourning. The day that Joseph and Hyrum were brought in from Carthage to Nauvoo, it was judged by many, both in and out of the Church, that there were more than five barrels of tears shed. I cannot bear to think anything about it.”23
But besides the ability to grieve deeply at this tragic personal loss, President Young had learned from the Prophet how to cope with new responsibilities and to move ahead with courage. He recovered quickly from the fear, felt by many of the Saints who were totally surprised by the death of the Prophet, that the Church’s religious authority had died with him:
“The first thing which I thought of [when the letter was read] was, whether Joseph had taken the keys of the kingdom with him from the earth; brother Orson Pratt sat on my left; we were both leaning back on our chairs. Bringing my hand down on my knee, I said, the keys of the kingdom are right here with the Church.”24

We all knew President Spencer W. Kimball as a man of love. He thought of love as a way to overcome even unknown offenses. Such an incident occurred with one of his neighbors who would go out and talk to President Kimball whenever he saw him in the yard. Until one day the neighbor’s wife said, “You mustn’t do that. The only time President Kimball is alone is when he is in the yard, and then you go over and impose yourself upon him.” After that the neighbor stayed in and just watched President Kimball through the window. A few weeks passed before President Kimball rang the neighbor’s doorbell and handed him a casserole. “What’s this for?” the neighbor asked. “I don’t know,” replied President Kimball. “I’ve come to make amends for whatever I’ve done to offend you. You never come and talk to me anymore, so I decided I must have done something wrong.”

A dear friend shared how she gained her precious testimony of the Atonement of Jesus Christ. She grew up believing sin always brought great punishment, borne by us alone. She pleaded to God to understand the possibility of divine forgiveness. She prayed to understand and know how Jesus Christ can forgive those who repent, how mercy can satisfy justice.
One day her prayer was answered in a spiritually transforming experience. A desperate young man came running out of a grocery store carrying two bags of stolen food. He ran into a busy street, chased by the store manager, who caught him and began yelling and fighting. Instead of feeling judgment for the frightened young man as a thief, my friend was unexpectedly filled with great compassion for him. Without fear or concern for her own safety, she walked straight up to the two quarreling men. She found herself saying, “I will pay for the food. Please let him go. Please let me pay for the food.”
Prompted by the Holy Ghost and filled with a love she had never felt before, my friend said, “All I wanted to do was to help and save the young man.” My friend said she began to understand Jesus Christ and His Atonement—how and why with pure and perfect love Jesus Christ would willingly sacrifice to be her Savior and Redeemer, and why she wanted Him to be.

The third area of improvement was finding faith that I could allow our four children, who are now grown, to live their lives without my feeling responsible to make them live a certain way. Some of them were less active in the Church, but I still wanted to influence them for good without infringing on their agency. On one particular visit to the temple, I put their names on the prayer roll and prayed long and sincerely in their behalf. I received a profoundly peaceful assurance that all would be well with them.
When meditating on the experience later, I realized that Heavenly Father loved them even more than I did because He understood them better. He wants to bless them and have them return to Him, and He will provide them with learning opportunities. Now when I begin to worry, I remember that experience and do what I can, knowing the Lord will do the rest.

Then, recently I visited the Junior Sunday School meeting in connection with the stake conference where I was assigned. As I entered the room I saw a little girl crying and looking very lost and very, very frightened. Her parents had just deposited her and gone on to the meeting with the big people. In a moment a wonderful young teacher reached her, knelt by her, and put her arms around her and comforted her. The sobs turned to sniffles and peace began to enter a little heart. Just then the second act in the drama began. Another youngster appeared and started to cry also, frightened and feeling alone like the other had. The young teacher, still holding the first little one, reached the second child, and knelt by her and enveloped her in her arms. As she did I heard her say to the first little girl, “Ellen, this young lady is frightened and lonesome. Will you help me make her feel welcome?”
The first youngster, her sniffles barely dried, nodded, and the two little children, in the safe haven of the teacher’s arms, supported each other and soon both were quieted. The teacher put three chairs together and sat between the two of them, a hand gently resting on each.
When I left that morning I thought I had seen as clearly as I am capable of seeing how the Lord expects us to treat each other, and how wonderful it is to have someone who has lived a little longer and learned to love, to reach out and help us, and then help us help others.

Like Jared Carter and Stephen Burnett (see Doctrine and Covenants 79 and 80), modern missionaries also need a witness that they are called of the Lord.
Thousands of missionaries had their mission calls changed because of the coronavirus. For example, Curtis and Ramona Miller were reassigned to a different mission because of the virus. They testified: “We have a strong testimony that it does not matter where we serve but that we are willing to serve. As we allow the Savior’s hand to guide our life, He qualifies us for this work.”
Jared Carter (1801–49)
Baptized by Hyrum Smith in 1831 in Colesville, New York.
Preached in Ohio, Pennsylvania, New York, and Vermont in 1831 and 1832.
Went to Hiram, Ohio, to ask Joseph Smith what the will of the Lord was for him.
Joseph Smith received a revelation directing him to preach again in the eastern United States (see Doctrine and Covenants 79).
Stephen Burnett (1813–85)
Baptized by John Murdock in 1830 in Warrensville, Ohio.
Ordained a high priest at age 17.
Appointed to preach with Eden Smith (see Doctrine and Covenants 80:2), but Eden became ill.
Began his mission instead with Eden’s father, John Smith.
Curtis and Ramona Miller
Looking at options on the Church’s senior missionary website, the Millers selected eight possible locations—most of which were in Polynesia and Europe.
Their call came to serve in the Democratic Republic of the Congo.
They would need to learn French.
After three and a half months in Africa, the Millers were reassigned to serve in Georgia, USA, because of COVID-19.

Restoration of the Vernal Temple went carefully, brick by brick. However, some of the native brick was damaged and needed to be replaced. What’s more, additions to the building itself needed to match. A long-time Vernal resident had a pioneer home built of the same brick as the tabernacle. Though not a member of the Church himself, he graciously agreed to donate it to the temple. So two years before the temple was completed, youth groups from all the wards in the four stakes surrounding Vernal spent service time dismantling the house and cleaning the brick. Each small effort toward the restoration gave joy and satisfaction to those who helped.