Gospel Story Finder

I saw signs that I was attracted to other women when I was quite young, but I tried to push those feelings away for years.
A few summers ago, I developed feelings for a woman who is also gay. This was something that I had never experienced before, and I spent weeks praying to know what God wanted me to do about this relationship.
With everything I’ve been taught about the gospel, God’s will probably should have been obvious to me, but because of my feelings, it wasn’t. My feelings for this woman were real, powerful, and so important to me.
I was in turmoil for weeks. I expected the answer to my prayers to be obvious. But instead, I felt very distinctly that Heavenly Father was inviting me to use my agency to decide to follow Him.
For years, I had blamed God for all that was missing in my life—for everything I seemingly couldn’t do. I felt like a martyr as I kept His commandments, like I was meant to suffer alone through mortality. But as I grappled with my feelings for this woman, I eventually realized that I have always had the power to choose how to live my life—agency is one of Heavenly Father’s most powerful gifts to us.
I truly loved and cared for this woman. But those feelings didn’t weigh as much as my teaspoon of faith in the truth that Heavenly Father wanted me to choose a different path.
And it was that small, imperfect teaspoon of faith that enabled me to choose Christ.
I was devastated after I made my decision to end this relationship, and frankly, I am still healing from the heartbreak. But looking back, and after many moments of pondering and prayer, I’ve realized that Heavenly Father would have loved me whether I chose to keep my covenants or pursue a same-sex relationship. But because I chose to keep my covenants, He has been able to love and bless me.
As I have deepened my faith and commitment to the gospel of Jesus Christ, mountains in my life are being moved, one pebble at a time, just as President Nelson promised:
My family relationships have deepened and are full of honesty, vulnerability, compassion, and trust.
My negative self-image is improving one day at a time.
My ability to love others, love myself, and feel loved is being augmented daily.
My love of the gospel has increased.
My eyes have been opened to how much Heavenly Father wants to bless me each day.
I don’t know what to expect about my attraction to women. I don’t know if it will change or what is in store for me in that experience. But I truly believe that as I embrace the fulness of the gospel, I will be given the opportunity to marry a man whom I love in the temple one day. That is a desire I have for my future. Right now, marriage still seems scary, but with faith in Christ, I am preparing for this mountain to be moved. I know that as I keep my covenants, Heavenly Father will pave my path with wonderful experiences.

It was my experience as a small boy to come under the influence of such a teacher. In our Sunday School class, she taught us concerning the Creation of the world, the Fall of Adam, and the atoning sacrifice of Jesus Christ.
One Sunday morning she announced sadly to us the death of a classmate’s mother. We had missed Billy that morning but knew not the reason for his absence. The lesson featured the theme, “It is more blessed to give than to receive.” Midway through the lesson, our teacher closed the manual and asked, “How much money do we have in our class party fund?”
Depression days prompted a proud answer: “Four dollars and seventy-five cents.”
Then she suggested, “Billy’s family is hard-pressed and grief-stricken. What would you think of the possibility of visiting the family members this morning and giving to them your fund?”
Ever shall I remember the tiny band walking those three city blocks, entering Billy’s home, greeting him, his brother, sisters, and father. Tears glistened in the eyes of all as the white envelope containing our precious party fund passed from the hand of our teacher to the hand of a grief-stricken father. We fairly skipped our way back to the chapel. Our hearts were lighter than they had ever been, our joy more full, our understanding more profound. A God-inspired teacher had taught her boys and girls an eternal lesson of divine truth: “It is more blessed to give than to receive.”

Several members of the Snow family, including 17-year-old Lorenzo, clambered into the carriage and drove off toward the Johnson farm, four miles away. The year was 1831, and recently a new religious group known as Mormons had sprung up in the area.
Word had been circulated that the Mormon Prophet, Joseph Smith, was to speak at a meeting at the Johnson place and the Snows, curious perhaps, decided to attend.
The Prophet was standing in the doorway of the house, addressing the group. Lorenzo later recorded his impressions thus: “He was only 25 years of age and was not, at that time, what would be called a fluent speaker. His remarks were confined principally to his own experiences, especially the visitation of the angel, giving a strong and powerful testimony in regard to these marvelous manifestations.”
Lorenzo concluded that Joseph Smith had not been deceived. Either the Mormon leader had, indeed, talked with the Father and the Son or he was an outright fraud. The boy was not religiously inclined at the time, and did not bother to find which of the possibilities was true.

Chiasmus was first noticed by a few nineteenth century pioneer theologians in Germany and England, but the idea had to wait until the 1930s before it found an ardent exponent, Nils Lund, who was able to lay the principle before the eyes of the world in a convincing way. But even at that, it was not until the decade of the 1960s, after much more had been learned about the philology of early Semitic languages, that chiasmus was properly understood and unequivocally acknowledged. Today, articles on the subject are quite common.

In September 2002 the First Presidency announced that annual worldwide leadership training meetings broadcast by satellite would teach and train local leaders to apply the Church’s doctrines and principles on a local level. During the first worldwide leadership meeting, President Gordon B. Hinckley emphasized the importance of uniform training.
He said: “We are all one Church, the Church of our Lord and Master, Jesus Christ. We should be performing our duty uniformly to bless the lives of all for whom we are responsible” (“Missionary Service,” Worldwide Leadership Training Meeting, Jan. 11, 2003, 21).

My family and I went to the hospital to see a member of our branch who didn’t come to church very often. We had a small Church service and shared lessons from general conference.
Paul L., age 10, Kansas, USA

The poet wrote:
I met a stranger in the night, whose lamp had ceased to shine;
I paused and let him light his lamp from mine.
A tempest sprang up later on, and shook the world about,
And when the wind was gone, my lamp was out.
But back came to me the stranger—his lamp was glowing fine;
He held the precious flame and lighted mine.
Perhaps the moral of this poem is simply that if you want to give a light to others, you have to glow yourself.

Some years ago my wife clipped an article from a magazine. She said, “John, here is a parable you might be able to use sometime.” I have used it because it comes right down to the bare facts of life. Perhaps it might cause you to think:
“And in those days, behold there came through the Gates of the City a Salesman from afar off. And it came to pass as the day went by that he sold aplenty.
“And in that City were they that were the Order Takers and they that spent their days in adding to the alibi sheets. Mightily were they astonished. Said they one to the other, ‘What giveth here? How doth he getteth away with it?’ And it came to pass that many were gathered in the back office, and a Soothsayer came among them. And he was one wise guy. And they spoke and questioned him, saying, ‘How is it that this stranger accomplished the impossible?’
“Whereupon the Soothsayer made answer: ‘He of whom you speak is one live wire. He ariseth very early in the morning and goeth forth full of pep. He complaineth not, neither doth he know despair. Also, he is arrayed in purple and gold, while ye go forth with pants unpressed and unkempt footgear.
“‘While ye gather here and say one to the other, “Verily, this is a terrible day to work,” he is already abroad. And when the eleventh hour cometh, he needeth no alibi. He knoweth his line, and they that would stave him off, they give him orders. Men say unto him “Nay” when he cometh in, yet when he goeth forth he hath their names on the line that is dotted.
“‘He taketh with him the two angels, Inspiration and Perspiration, and he worketh to beat the band. Verily I say unto you: Go and do ye likewise.’”

At just 18 years old, Brother Iniobong Sunday is making waves in his community after training in barbering at the Gathering Place in the Ikot Akpatek Nigeria Stake. Now a skilled trainer, he is dedicated to teaching others the art of barbering, empowering them with valuable skills for their future.
In addition to mentoring aspiring barbers, Iniobong is actively offering his hair-cutting services within the community. He is saving his earnings to fund his upcoming missionary service, showcasing his commitment to personal growth and community service.
Grateful for the spiritual and practical blessings he has gained, Iniobong’s journey highlights the transformative power of the training received at the Gathering Place, where challenges lead to growth and opportunity. His story is an inspiring example of how investing in oneself can positively impact others and the community.

Oliver Granger was a faithful Church member who was given the difficult assignment of staying behind in Kirtland, Ohio, to settle the Church’s finances after most of the Saints had left for Missouri.
This meant negotiating with some of the same people who had chased the Saints out. Unsurprisingly, Brother Granger wasn’t able to collect much of what the Saints were owed.
But the Lord had helped Brother Granger prepare for disappointment when He gave the assignment. He told Joseph Smith, “When he [Oliver Granger] falls he shall rise again, for his sacrifice shall be more sacred unto me than his increase” (Doctrine and Covenants 117:13; emphasis added).

When an LDS chapel in Salta was destroyed by fire a few years ago, the Saints responded in a spirit of faith and hope. After much work and sacrifice, a beautiful new chapel stood in its place only 18 months after the tragedy.

Ward members made very effort to make Sage’s return from Galveston as smooth as possible. During a Sharing Time just before she returned, the Primary presidency held an activity to show the children that although people may be hurt or maimed, they are Heavenly Father’s children and need our help.
Nancy Eldridge, then Primary president, had a video tape made of Sage speaking to the children. On the tape Sage talked about her experience and hopes for the future. She closed by assuring her friends that she was still “the same old Sage.”
Nancy says that each of the children had to adjust to Sage in his or her own way. Her own son had a particularly difficult time. “He loved Sage, but he was afraid, and it bothered him. So he wrote her letters of love and friendship until he was able to work through his feelings.”

She knows dozens of Primary songs and lots of finger plays. I often hear snatches of new songs coming from their bedroom as they play. Many times when the girls quarrel, I say, “Can’t you sing me a pretty song instead?” And they can.

Another thing that matters most is following the promptings of the Spirit in our most important relationships and in our efforts to love our neighbors as ourselves, including in our private and public ministries. I learned this lesson early in my life while serving as a bishop.
Late one cold, snowy winter evening, I was leaving my bishop’s office when I had a strong impression to visit an elderly widow in the ward. I glanced at my watch—it was 10:00 p.m. I reasoned that it was too late to make such a visit. And besides, it was snowing. I decided to visit this dear sister first thing in the morning rather than disturbing her at such a late hour. I drove home and went to bed but tossed and turned throughout the night because the Spirit was stirring me.
Early the next morning, I drove straight to the widow’s home. Her daughter answered the door and tearfully said, “Oh, Bishop, thank you for coming. Mother passed away two hours ago”—I was devastated. I will never forget the feelings of my heart. I wept. Who more than this dear widow deserved to have her bishop hold her hand, comfort her, and perhaps give her a final blessing? I missed that opportunity because I reasoned away this strong prompting from the Spirit.

Years ago, my wife, Ruth; our daughter, Ashley; and I joined other tourists on a kayaking excursion in the state of Hawaii in the United States. A kayak is a low-to-the-water, canoe-like boat in which the rower sits facing forward and uses a double-bladed paddle to pull front to back on one side and then on the other. The plan was to row to two small islands off the coast of Oahu and back again. I was confident because, as a young man, I had paddled kayaks across mountain lakes. Hubris never bodes well, does it?
Our guide gave us instructions and showed us the ocean kayaks we would use. They differed from the ones I had previously paddled. I was supposed to sit on top of the kayak, instead of down inside it. When I got onto the kayak, my center of gravity was higher than I was accustomed to, and I was less stable in the water.
As we started out, I rowed faster than Ruth and Ashley. After a while, I was far ahead of them. Though proud of my heroic pace, I stopped paddling and waited for them to catch up. A large wave—about 13 centimeters—hit the side of my kayak and flipped me over into the water. By the time I had turned the kayak upright and struggled to get back on top, Ruth and Ashley had passed me by, but I was too winded to resume paddling. Before I could catch my breath, another wave, this one truly enormous—at least 20 centimeters—hit my kayak and flipped me over again. By the time I managed to right the kayak, I was so out of breath I feared I would not be able to climb on top.
Seeing my situation, the guide rowed over and steadied my kayak, making it easier for me to climb on top. When he saw that I was still too breathless to row on my own, he hitched a towrope to my kayak and began paddling, pulling me along with him. Soon I caught my breath and began paddling adequately on my own. He let go of the rope, and I reached the first island without further assistance. Upon arrival, I flopped down on the sand, exhausted.
After the group had rested, the guide quietly said to me, “Mr. Renlund, if you just keep paddling, maintaining your momentum, I think you’re going to be fine.” I followed his advice as we paddled to the second island and then back to our starting point. Twice the guide rowed by and told me I was doing great. Even larger waves hit my kayak from the side, but I was not flipped over.
Consider how the expedition guide helped me after I flipped over in the kayak. He did not shout from afar an unhelpful question such as, “Mr. Renlund, what are you doing in the water?” He did not paddle up and chide me, saying, “Mr. Renlund, you would not be in this situation if you were more physically fit.” He did not start towing my kayak while I was just trying to get on top of it. And he did not correct me in front of the group. Instead, he gave me the help I needed at the time I needed it. He gave me advice when I was receptive. And he went out of his way to encourage me.

Think of ways to make your world a little kinder—at home, school, and church. One boy wrote a nice note about each person in his class. It made his school a kinder, happier place!

After a young mother was diagnosed with cancer, she felt alone and filled with fear. But as the news of her illness spread throughout her ward, she was soon surrounded by the love and concern of her fellow sisters. As her difficult treatments began, sisters drove her to her appointments and sat with her during long chemotherapy sessions. They prayed with her, encouraged her, brought her the few treats she could eat, and brought meals to her family week after week. Other sisters took time away from their own busy lives to clean her house. One sister knew certain treatments would make it hard to fall asleep, so she planned late-night visits to watch comedy movies. Instead of tossing in bed, the young mother was able to turn away from fears for a while and feel the healing power of laughter and friendship. Through these ministrations, priesthood blessings, and ward fasts, she was carried through an extremely difficult time, and strong bonds of love grew between all who were involved.

This was my first year at a new high school. I thought I’d been getting along all right, making friends and fitting in. Then one day in history class I overheard a group of people talking—right in front of me—about something they were going to do. They were talking about going to an activity that all the Mormons wouldn’t be able to come to because it was on a Sunday and because of the things they were going to be doing. I was friends with them, but they didn’t invite me.
It got me thinking. At first I was hurt that I wasn’t even considered to be part of the group, but then I thought about it. Did I really want to be invited when they would be doing something “Mormons” wouldn’t do? And after thinking about it for a bit more, I decided they unintentionally gave me a compliment. I’ve been living my life in such a way that I’m an example, and they knew—without my verbalizing it—what I stood for.

“What do these scriptures teach us?” Daddy asked as he closed his Book of Mormon.
Four-year-old Tyler piped up, “Jesus said we should pray always.”
“That’s right, Tyler,” Daddy said. “Do you think you can have a prayer in your heart all day today? But don’t just pray for yourself; look for others who need blessings and pray for them, too. We’ll pray for them again when we have family prayer tonight.”
Mommy stood up. “It’s time to get the breakfast dishes done and for Daddy to go to his office.”
As Daddy walked to the front door, Tyler followed and grabbed his hand. “Daddy, I’ll try my best to find someone who needs my prayer today.”
Daddy gave Tyler a hug. “Good! I’m sure that will make Heavenly Father happy.”
Later that morning, Tyler went with Mommy to take books back to the library. He saw a lady holding a baby. The baby wouldn’t stop crying, no matter how her mom tried to soothe her. The baby looked as though she could use Tyler’s prayer. Tyler prayed in his heart, “Please, Heavenly Father, bless the baby to be happy and quiet.”
After lunch, Tyler went outside to ride his tricycle. The people who lived next door waved to him. Tyler saw Mr. Radcliffe helping his wife climb out of her wheelchair and into the car. “Heavenly Father,” Tyler prayed, “I like the Radcliffes. Please bless Mrs. Radcliffe to get well.”
That afternoon the doorbell rang. The piano tuner had come. Tyler liked to watch him use his tools to tune the piano. Tyler asked Heavenly Father to bless the piano man to do a good job.
Before Tyler’s bedtime, his family gathered for their evening prayer. “Did you find anyone to pray for today?” Daddy asked Tyler.
“I found three people who needed my prayers—a baby, Mrs. Radcliffe, and the piano man,” Tyler reported.
“That’s wonderful, Tyler!” Mommy said. “I’m sure Heavenly Father heard your prayers, and He will answer them.”
“Tyler, will you please say the family prayer tonight?” Daddy asked.
As Tyler prayed, he remembered to ask another blessing on the people who had needed his prayers that day.

If you want to be in our gang, you have to prove your courage,” Tyler said. “Just peek into the Crazy Man’s workshop and then tell us what you saw.”
I swallowed hard and looked at the little yellow house and white workshop almost hidden among oak and elm trees. There was a chain link fence all around them, and the gate was locked. A big sign said KEEP OUT!
“Who is the Crazy Man?” I asked, barely getting the words out in a wheeze, “And why does he live alone in that creepy old place?”
“Because he’s crazy,” Royce snorted.
“So why do you want to bother him?”
“You’re chicken!” Tyler muttered, turning away.
“I’m not either!” I protested loudly, but I felt an aching in my stomach.
“Do it then. He won’t catch you. He eats supper at this time of day.” Tyler wasn’t smiling.
Royce grinned. It wasn’t a friendly grin, but I was new here, and these were the only friends I had. I didn’t want to lose them.
“Will you wait for me?” I asked.
Royce nodded. “Yeah—we want to hear about it. Now get going.”
Slowly I crossed the street. All I knew about the Crazy Man was what Royce and Tyler had told me. He lived by himself and carried a heavy walking stick and didn’t talk to anybody. All day long he could be heard pounding and sawing and talking to himself inside his shop.
All the kids were afraid of him. They said that he was making coffins in there. They said that if anybody went into his yard, the Crazy Man would beat him with a stick and lock him in an underground dungeon. I didn’t quite believe all that, but I didn’t really want to find out, either.
I stopped at the fence and peered into the yard. There was no grass, just lots of weeds and brush and trees. I studied the house. The blinds were closed, and nobody seemed to be looking out, so I pulled myself over the fence and dropped behind an oak tree.
The sun was going down, and huge, creepy shadows were everywhere. Hunched over, I crept through the bushes and weeds to the workshop behind the Crazy Man’s house. I was just standing up to look in a window, when I heard a screen door bang. Then I heard someone coming—someone who was talking to himself! Without really thinking, I tried the door of the workshop. It wasn’t locked, so I opened it and went in to hide.
The workshop was almost completely dark because there were only two small windows. I leaned against the wall, sucking in big gulps of air. Then the door was flung open, and in walked the Crazy Man!
He didn’t see me at first, because I was behind the door and everything was still dark. He slammed the door and walked to the middle of the shop and pulled a string. A bright light flooded the shop.
I wanted to run and never stop, but I was too scared to move. The shop was filled with parts of beds and dressers and cabinets and all sorts of things. I couldn’t see any coffins.
The Crazy Man started working with his back to me. Then he turned to grab a board and saw me standing there. I could feel my eyes swelling up until I was sure they were going to pop right out of my head.
The Crazy Man was old. He had deep wrinkles in his face and black bushy eyebrows. He looked as mean and crazy as Tyler and Royce had said he was. “What’re you doing here, boy?” he growled, taking a step toward me. “Who let you in here?”
I tried to think, but the only thing that came into my head was a picture of the Crazy Man dragging me down into his dungeon.
“Can’t you talk?”
“I came to see you,” I finally managed to whisper.
“What for?”
I shrugged.
“Well, I don’t like kids bothering me while I work. You aiming to bother me?”
I shook my head furiously.
“And I don’t let kids just hang around and do nothing. Are you going to help me?”
“Wh-What do you want me to do?”
“I need that four-by-four in the corner.”
I didn’t waste any time. I grabbed the four-by-four and took it to the Crazy Man, and he started working on it. He talked the whole time. He asked me about my family—why we’d moved, who my friends were. Sometimes he just muttered to himself, complaining about the wood, the tools, the light, or anything else that bothered him. He made me work, too, but I didn’t mind. I figured that as long as I was working, he wouldn’t throw me in his dungeon.
“Boy,” the Crazy Man growled at me, “there’s a big box of old scrap boards in the back corner. You could make yourself useful and haul them to the woodpile outside.”
I breathed a sigh of relief—I could slip away without the Crazy Man knowing. I hurried to the back of the shop and found the box. As I grabbed an armful of scrap boards, a stick caught my eye. It was round and long, with neat carvings all over it: flowers, people, animals, suns. I pulled it from the box and studied it. It was one of the prettiest pieces of wood I’d ever seen. “You don’t want to throw this away, do you?” I asked, holding it up.
The Crazy Man squinted toward me. “What is it?” he demanded, coming over to where I stood. He grabbed the wood from my hands, looked at it, then tossed it into the box again. “That’s nothing,” he muttered. “Throw it away.”
“But it’s pretty,” I protested, reaching for the stick again. He shook his head. “It’s just something I practiced on.”
“Practiced for what?”
He waved his hand about. I had been too scared to look closely at the things in the shop before. Nearly all of them had carvings on them. Beautiful carvings. There was a huge bed headboard with a giant smiling sun in the middle. There was a dresser with flying geese carved in the front.
“You made all these things?” I gasped.
The Crazy Man nodded.
“Wow! That’s great carving for a crazy m—” I stopped suddenly and covered my mouth with my hand. I thought I was going to faint.
The Crazy Man started to laugh. “Crazy, eh? Is that why you came, to see what a crazy man was like?”
“I didn’t mean … ,” I croaked, but the rest of the words got caught in my throat.
The Crazy Man went back to his work. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. I won’t hurt you.”
I glanced at the door, then back at the pile of scrap boards. After a moment I started hauling the boards out to the woodpile. When I was finished, I watched him work on a small table.
“My name’s George,” he said suddenly. “George Blake.”
Funny—once the Crazy Man had a name, I wasn’t afraid of him anymore. “I’m Jimmy—Jimmy Johnson.”
A while later, Mr. Blake said, “Do you think it’s right to trespass on private property?”
“No, sir. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t seem like the kind of boy who would play tricks on an old man. Whose idea was this?”
I told him about Royce and Tyler without using their names.
“They thought I was dangerous,” he said, “but I didn’t see them rushing in to save you. Do you think that they’re really your friends?”
I shook my head. “Could I come again tomorrow?”
“If you want to.”
The next day after I had helped Mr. Blake for a while, he nodded toward a back corner. “There’s something there that you might want to look at.”
I looked in the corner and found a walking stick just my size. The bottom part was smooth and round. It got thicker near the top. The very top was carved into the smiling face of a boy, and there were small carvings beneath that. Jimmy was carved down the stick.
“The varnish is still drying, and it needs another coat. But it should be ready by tomorrow. That one wasn’t for practice. You can keep it. It’s for helping me yesterday.”
While we worked together, Mr. Blake said, “Listen, boy, I know it’s hard being new in town. But stick to what’s right, and you’ll find friends who feel the same way. Then you and I can teach them how to make walking sticks and lots of other things.”
I grinned. “You’re pretty nice for a crazy man.”
“Hand me that chisel,” Mr. Blake growled, but I knew he wasn’t really angry. Yesterday he had been “the Crazy Man.” Today he was my friend.