Gospel Story Finder

Life can sometimes become unsettled in Nairobi, capital of Kenya in East Africa. But as children of a middle-class factory manager, my two siblings and I had plenty to eat and a home with everything we needed.
Elections in 2008 quickly disrupted our comfortable lives, however, and threw the country into chaos. Rebel crowds roamed the streets and looted businesses. Going to work, my father required a police escort.
For safety, we left the city and moved to a home our father was building 450 km (280 miles) away, in Busia, Kenya. But even there, we locked our doors.
Without question, Christmastime in 2009 was our toughest time ever. Every day during that season, we feared for our lives. People lurked outside our home, eager and ready to steal. A gang of thugs once marched toward us with machetes. We were often afraid to open the door. I am convinced that my faithful mother’s prayers kept us safe.
By then, my father was without work. Food soon ran out. Our Christmas meal that year amounted to boiled leaves plucked from bean plants my mother had planted. Despite our afflictions, my father stood firm, though he also felt deeply pained.
We became overwhelmed with dread and almost lost hope. “Why was this happening?” we asked ourselves. “Why are we going through such hardships after just joining The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints?”
One evening two senior missionaries who knew our dangers braved the area to bring us a message of peace. We took courage as they recited Nephi’s witness and promise in 1 Nephi 1:20: “The tender mercies of the Lord are over all those whom he hath chosen, because of their faith, to make them mighty even unto the power of deliverance.”
We believed it.
The missionaries helped us understand that regardless of our afflictions, the Lord expected us to continue living faithfully. I vividly remember the peace and comfort that overwhelmed me that night. I knew, more than ever before, that the Lord was mindful of us and our plight. That night, and during trying times afterward, I learned that His tender mercies are magnificent.
When the time came for me to serve a mission, I felt a desire to bless the people in neighboring Uganda with the gospel, but I also wanted to teach the people in Zimbabwe, home of the missionary who had baptized me.
I prayed, but in my heart, I saw no way I could serve in two countries located far apart. Soon, I received my call to Zimbabwe, but while I was in the missionary training center in Johannesburg, South Africa, my visa was delayed. I was redirected to Uganda, where I served for eight months before receiving visa clearance for Zimbabwe.
“The Lord has His mysterious ways,” I thought to myself.
My first area in Zimbabwe was Chikanga Mutare. Eager to find the family of the missionary who had baptized me, I studied the area book with my companion. Many names matched his family name. We prayed, made our best decision on where to go, and ventured out.
At the first door we knocked we found my missionary’s family. Our joy was instant. We wept and hugged like family. While flipping through the family’s photo albums, I found pictures of my family at our baptism.
I returned home after my mission to discover that circumstances had not improved for my family. My father was still unemployed. Two cousins invited me to live with them in Kibera—the toughest area in Nairobi. There, I created a spot to call home.
Gangs ruled in Kibera, but I stayed clear of crime-ridden areas. I felt out of place, but my cousins helped protect me, making sure others knew I was religious and was to be respected.
Food in the slums amounted to water and a chocolate paste that formed something of a doughnut. I chose to eat at night. Every morning, I woke up hungry. In church, I did my best to smile and be happy so members would not know of my hunger.
During this time, I served as elders quorum president in the Langata Branch and attended school when possible. On Sunday afternoons, I walked with the branch president to visit members, aware that our white shirts made us easy targets for gangs. But we felt heaven as we served others, and my cousins watched over us as we walked the dusty streets.
Despite difficult times, says Brother Omondi, “with prayer, I felt sustained and did not lose hope. That hope was rewarded.”
This was a difficult time, but with prayer, I felt sustained and did not lose hope. That hope was rewarded.
A little later, I was granted an interview for a job. I competed for the position against a dozen others who were more qualified with degrees and certifications. But I had been on a mission, and I had faith and confidence the Lord would bless me. I said a prayer and then walked before a review panel.
At the end of my interview, I blurted out, “When do I start?” Two weeks later, I was one of two who were hired. I soon distinguished myself as a top salesman, which opened doors to advancement, including a call from a chief executive officer to join his large company. Today, I have the blessing of being a husband and a father and of serving as the bishop of the Langata Ward.
“Today, I have the blessing of being a husband and a father and of serving as a bishop.”
I look back on the Christmas of 2009 and subsequent struggles as a memorable lesson—a time when our struggles became our blessings and the Lord extended tender mercies to us in rich measure because of our faith.

With fascination I watched one evening on television the story of a family in the Midwest. It included the father and mother and three sons and one daughter.

The father and mother determined when they married that they would do all they could to see that their children were exposed to the very best educational experiences.

They lived in a modest home. They observed modest ways. But they nurtured their children with knowledge. Every one of those children achieved in a remarkable way. Every one was well educated. One became a university president; the others became heads of large business institutions, successful individuals by any measure.

At war’s end, Františka’s husband lost his job when all native Czechs in Austrian government positions were replaced. In 1919 he moved his family to Prague (in newly formed Czechoslovakia). He died shortly thereafter.

Life was difficult for the widow and her two young daughters. Left alone in a strange city with only what little money Františka’s brother could send, they barely avoided starvation. Their spiritual hunger was just as intense, as two years passed without any contact from the Church.

Then, in 1921, two elders from the Vienna Branch visited them in response to Františka’s letters to the German-Austrian Mission. They baptized her two daughters, the first members baptized in Czechoslovakia.

Wilford Woodruff, as President of the Church, described his experience in the offices of the priesthood:
“I heard the first sermon I ever heard in this Church. The next day I was baptized. … I was ordained a Teacher. My mission immediately commenced. … I went through that whole mission as a Teacher. … At the conference I was ordained a Priest. … After I was ordained a Priest I was sent … on a mission to the southern country. That was in the fall of 1834. I had a companion with me, and we started out without purse and scrip. I traveled alone a good many miles and preached the Gospel, and I baptized a number that I could not confirm in the Church, because I was only a Priest. … I traveled some time preaching the Gospel before I was ordained an Elder. …
“[Now] I have been some fifty-four years a member of the Twelve Apostles. I have traveled with that and other quorums now for sixty years; and I want to say to this assembly that I was just as much sustained by the power of God while holding the office of a Teacher, and especially while officiating in the vineyard as a Priest, as I ever was as an Apostle. There is no difference in this so long as we do our duty.”

Not since I left France in 1965 had I personally known another missionary called to serve there, until Sister Marian Ream departed from our ward for Paris in the winter of 1978. I wrote her letters of encouragement, and she responded with postcards telling me of the progress of the mission.
The following summer I was startled to find enclosed with her letter a picture of me and a junior companion taken in Versailles in 1964. Where had she found this picture?
“Dear Gladys,” her letter read, “A strange thing happened last week. We were at the Desmurs home to talk with them and get some copies of the Book of Mormon they had for us. When they found out I had always been a member of the Church, Sister Desmurs stood on a chair in her front room and got this picture down. She pointed to the missionary on the right and asked me if I knew her. I looked for a minute and said, ‘I’m not sure, but I think it’s Sister Farmer who lives in my ward in Provo, Utah.’ The whole family was very excited to think I might have identified this missionary. Sister Desmurs had tears in her eyes. She said it was because of the testimony of this sister that she had joined the Church. She had asked countless missionaries since if they could identify and help locate her.”
Sister Ream went on to describe the family to me. The father, now second counselor in the ward bishopric, had joined the Church several months after his wife’s baptism. The entire family of seven was active and very helpful to the missionaries.

I woke up one morning feeling overwhelmed. My duties as a parent felt heavy, and I was very aware of my weaknesses. There seemed to be a large gap between how I imagined I’d be as a parent and how I really am.
I knelt to pray and told Heavenly Father how much I love Him. I told Him how much I love the children He has blessed our family with. And I began telling Him how I was trying to be a good parent, but felt like I wasn’t doing a good enough job. As I prayed, I thought about how much better my children would be if God just raised them Himself.
Then an image came to mind. I pictured my children sweeping the kitchen floor. This is one of many jobs they are assigned to do to help our family. Sometimes watching them do it makes me cringe because they are still learning and miss lots of spots. But I let them do it, as well as other daily chores, because I have a greater vision for them. I know that through all of this imperfect practice, they will learn and grow. Eventually, they will be able to do it just as quickly and effectively as I can. That vision of them becoming responsible and independent is much more rewarding than if I were to do everything myself. I’m not raising children for short-term success—I’m trying to help them be successful in the long run.
And I wondered if perhaps something like this is true for our heavenly parents too. Heavenly Father knows we can’t do a perfect job of being parents. Some things we do probably make Him cringe, but He allows it because He knows we are learning and growing. He has the ultimate long-term perspective. He envisions us someday becoming a parent like Him, able to love completely, teach effectively, and model perfectly. As we fumble, He knows we are developing qualities like patience and charity. And so, in His wisdom, He lets us work and fail and try again.
How I wish I could be a perfect parent already! Like Joseph Smith wrote, I often find myself falling “into many foolish errors” (Joseph Smith—History 1:28). But I find comfort in knowing that God understands my heart, which means He knows I am trying to be teachable. I feel joy when my children ask, “How can I do this better?” and seem to want to improve. At least I can be that way for Heavenly Father.
As all of these thoughts played through my mind, I had one more moment of discouragement. “But what if my parenting mistakes hurt my children?” I asked. “I don’t want to hold them back, even if I become something wonderful in the process.”
Again, the image of my children’s cleaning came to mind. After my daughter earnestly tries to mop the floor and then hurries off to play or finish another task, I usually wash the remaining sticky spots. And I thought of the infinite mercy and power of Jesus Christ, whose Atonement covers every one of life’s sticky situations. His grace makes up for my shortcomings as a parent, just as His grace makes up for the pains my children suffer because of my shortcomings. In a way that none of us can comprehend, His Atonement can heal all of it.
I take great comfort in the personal revelation I received that day. I felt the Spirit teach me that my best efforts, in partnership with the Lord, are enough. I know that Heavenly Father will continue working in the lives of my children, little by little, to perfectly do what I so imperfectly do. With His help, my children can someday shine in their own right, just as brightly as if Heavenly Father had raised them the first time. Except His plan also manages to change me in the process—sanctifying and molding me to become more like Him. How great the wisdom of our God!

I hope we are reading the Book of Mormon with our children regularly. I have discussed this with my own children. They have shared with me two observations. First, persistence in reading the scriptures daily as a family is the key. My daughter in a lighthearted way describes their early-morning efforts with mostly teenage children to consistently read the scriptures. She and her husband wake up early in the morning and move through the blurry mist to grasp the iron railing that lines their staircase to where their family gathers to read the word of God. Persistence is the answer, and a sense of humor helps. It requires great effort from every family member every day, but it is worth the effort. Temporary setbacks are overshadowed by persistence.
The second is how our youngest son and his wife are reading the scriptures with their young family. Two out of their four children are not old enough to read. For the five-year-old, they have five finger signals to which he responds in order for him to participate fully in the family scripture reading. The signal for finger 1 is for him to repeat, “And it came to pass” whenever it appears in the Book of Mormon. I have to admit that I love the fact that the phrase appears so often. Incidentally, for the interest of young families, finger signal 2 is “And thus we see”; fingers 3, 4, and 5 are chosen by the parents based on the words contained in the chapter they are reading.
We know that family scripture study and family home evenings are not always perfect. Regardless of the challenges you face, do not become discouraged.

I noticed that I was having a hard time paying attention in school. I was daydreaming a lot, and I wasn’t learning everything that I was being taught. So one night I prayed to Heavenly Father, “Please help me to pay attention in class so that I can raise my grades.” The next day I went to school, and it was a good day. I learned a lot and was able to pay attention to the teacher that day. Now I know that if you ask with all your heart, Heavenly Father will answer your prayer.
Brock P., age 11, Utah, USA

Young Women in the San Jose California South Stake are wondering why everyone tells such horror stories about boot camp. As far as they’re concerned, it’s about the greatest thing to do with their free summer days.
Of course, their “boots” were a little different than those worn in the military, and it was a training camp for living a Christlike life, rather than serving as a soldier. BOOT (which stands for “building our own testimonies”) camp had a lot of the same activities that all girls’ camps have. But the highlight of camp was having poems written by the girls set to music by their stake president. The songs were then sung by a guest soloist at a special camp fireside, and tape-recorded for the girls to keep.
“It made my poem sound so good,” says April Gustavson. “I couldn’t believe it was something that I wrote.”

The Holy Ghost guided me again when I was confused about what was really true. I spent my early years attending a Catholic school. When I learned the teachings of a different religion at school, I sometimes felt confused. I think maybe I felt a little like Joseph Smith did when he didn’t know which church was right. But as I got older, the more I read the scriptures, the more I was guided to the true light of the gospel. The teachings of the Church had logic and harmony, and the Holy Ghost confirmed to me that they were true.

Illustrated by Shauna Mooney Kawasaki
1. Matt: Let’s play pioneers.
Mandy: OK. The tree house can be our covered wagon.
2. Mandy: There’s a herd of buffalo!
Matt: I’ll drive the oxen around them.
Mandy: We’d better pray for help too.
3. Mandy: There’s a river ahead!
Matt: We’ll cross it.
Mandy: It looks deep. Let’s say a prayer first.
4. Mandy: There’s a band of Indians!
Matt: We’ll make friends with them.
Mandy: Let’s pray that they’ll trust us.
5. Mandy: It’s time to make camp.
Matt: I’ll gather firewood, and you can fetch water.
Mandy: First, let’s thank Heavenly Father for a safe journey.
6. Matt: Boy, pioneers must have prayed a lot.
Mandy: Pioneers were smart people.

When we finally arrived at the São Paulo Temple thanks to one last ride from a friend we made on the train, the temple lodging was closed. Resigned but happy, we made ourselves comfortable on a couple of benches outside the temple. There it was, just as beautiful as we had dreamed it would be. It was now midnight, and we cried as we hugged, tired and wet from the falling rain. We didn’t feel the dampness, the hunger, or the cold, just an indescribable sense of happiness for being so close to the house of the Lord. We had been obedient, and there was our reward.

While we were basking in that moment, someone tapped me on the shoulder. It was one of my former mission companions, who had been sealed in the temple that day and was returning from dinner with his wife. He let us stay in their apartment that night, and the next day he was a witness to our sealing, performed by the temple president himself. How beautiful it was to see my wife in the celestial room, all dressed in white.

With a loan from my missionary friend and help from the temple president, we made the return trip in less than five days, without any delays—and with only $20 dollars to begin a life with my wife, Maria Ondina, as my eternal companion.

Last February my cousin, who was a very bright, intelligent, and fun high school junior, committed suicide. I was so terrified, confused, upset, and sorrowful that for weeks I walked around idly not knowing what to do with myself.
My cousin dwelt on her problems and didn’t communicate to anyone what was really disturbing her. As a result, those terrible thoughts and emotions could not be cleansed from her system. She didn’t give anyone the chance to hear, care, or help. I miss her now, and what hurts the most is that I couldn’t do anything to help her or save her.
If my cousin had taken her confusion and pain to someone that loved, understood, and cared about her, maybe she would be here today.
Do anything and everything you can to feel the Lord’s presence and love. I’m sure that when you feel that presence, you will be determined to fulfill your mission here on earth rather than end your potential quest which God has planned for you.
Nigelle Halloway, 16Vienna, Virginia

Judy always seemed to be angry, but Raybell remembered one day last summer when she wasn’t. Raybell’s yellow kitten had disappeared. She had searched everywhere around their farm and finally had walked down the road calling it. Raybell was afraid a coyote had come down from the hills and eaten it. Tears were falling as she walked along the road. Suddenly she looked up, and through the blur of her tears, she saw Judy running across the field toward her with the yellow kitten in her arms. She held the kitten out to her. “Is this yours?”
Raybell gathered the soft kitten into her arms. It purred and rubbed its nose against her cheek. “Yes. Where did you find it?”
“When I cut through the field I heard a loud meow, and there it was, between the rows of wheat. I thought maybe it was yours.”
“Thanks for bringing her to me.” Raybell smiled, and Judy smiled back.

One benefit of his high school involvement in athletics was that it kept him close to the young woman who would later become his wife. Patricia Terry was a cheerleader for the school athletic teams. Her parents, Maeser and Marilla Terry, had moved to St. George just as she entered high school. She and Jeff dated for two years before his mission.

Though he was active in the Church and enjoyed seminary, Elder Holland credits Pat’s faith with solidifying his determination to serve a mission at a time when it was not clearly expected that every worthy young man should go. Pat’s parents say strong faith was a part of her nature even as a little child. Elder Holland comments, “Her faith has always been as pure and as powerful and as strong as any person’s I’ve ever known.” And when they were dating, Pat knew even before he was sure of it himself that he should serve a mission.

“Could I … ah …” The dark haired girl in front of me shifted awkwardly. “I mean, I was wondering … if we could talk.”
I had been teaching the 15-year-olds in Sunday School for only a month and had just finished my weekly lesson.
“How about right now?” I asked.
“It’s about …” she began. “Well, I have this friend see, and the other day we were talking and …” Her unusual seriousness puzzled me. This was the girl who always talked and laughed with her friends (even during my lessons). What could be so serious that she would now be this solemn? I tuned back to her words, “… and this friend said he doesn’t believe in Joseph Smith anymore because he was a gold digger and a thief and he drank a lot.” I smiled. She continued, “My friend has these books to prove it!”
So that was the big life-and-death matter. This 15-year-old had finally had her first taste of the cold and nutritionless dish called “anti-Mormon literature.”
She went on, “Those books—they say the Church isn’t true! They say Joseph Smith was a con man and that all he wanted was money and …”
“Hold it!” I stopped her. How many reading assignments had I given in the last month which had gone unfulfilled by my whole class? I had to turn cartwheels to even get these kids to skim the scriptures, and here this girl was reading entire books of her friend’s anti-Mormon publications. I faced her. “Not all that stuff you’re reading is true.”
“But it’s in a book,” she responded innocently.
I tried to explain, “Just because something is printed, sold, and even accepted and popular doesn’t make it true.”
“I know that.” She was embarrassed. “But how do you know when something you read or hear is true?” A very good question—and here is what we finally decided:
Anything heard or read about another person, idea, or belief needs to pass what we called the
H O G M E T test. Each letter stands for a question.
My 15-year-old friend was ready to leave. She smiled, “Next time that guy ever says he has another book for me to read, I’ll have a few questions for him first.”
“Good luck,” I offered.
“Oh, I won’t need luck.” She started down the hall, “Now I have H O G M E T!”

At a fast and testimony meeting, Emanuel, age 5, felt impressed to bear his testimony. He thought, No, I can’t get up and do that. I’d be too frightened! Then he felt as if someone were speaking to him, telling him he needed to bear his testimony. He walked to the front of the chapel. As he did so, he felt calm. When his turn came, he remembered everything he wanted to say and wasn’t at all nervous. It was the first time he had borne his testimony, and it made him very happy.

Last summer a group of young women from Alpine, Utah, decided that they would become “more fit for the kingdom.” They determined to focus on the temple by walking from the Draper Utah Temple to the Salt Lake Temple, a total distance of 22 miles (35 km), just as one of the pioneers, John Rowe Moyle, had done. Brother Moyle was a stonemason who was called by the prophet, Brigham Young, to work on the Salt Lake Temple. Each week he walked the distance of 22 miles from his home to the temple. One of his jobs was to carve the words “Holiness to the Lord” on the east side of the Salt Lake Temple. It was not easy and he had many obstacles to overcome. At one point, he was kicked in the leg by one of his cows. Because it would not heal, he had to have this leg amputated. But that did not stop him from his commitment to the prophet and to work on the temple. He carved a wooden leg, and after many weeks he again walked the 22-mile distance to the temple to do the work he had committed to do.6

I look back to 1967 as a time of change in my life, a time of growing into maturity in many ways. I was fifteen years old, and in January we had discovered that my mother was expecting her sixth child. We were all excited, and mother couldn’t have been happier.
Then, without warning, my mother began to have a miscarriage. My father took her to the hospital, where she was given a powerful drug to prevent the miscarriage. The doctor told my father that if the drug was successful, there was a strong possibility the baby would be either mentally or physically deformed.
My father didn’t share this news with anyone, not even my mother, and under that heavy burden he became depressed. He was inactive in the Church then, and had no testimony to sustain him. My mother became despondent, and when she learned that she would be confined to bed for the rest of her pregnancy, her distress deepened.
I sensed acutely the sadness in our home, and being the oldest child, I felt responsible for doing something about it. But I didn’t know what. Then, remembering the counsel in James 1:5 to ask God for wisdom, I decided to pray.
I remember tearfully kneeling, all alone, pleading with our Heavenly Father to let us have our baby, promising that we would always love and cherish it, that my mother would not be able to accept the child’s loss. As soon as I had uttered these words, I felt a warm, comforting hand upon my shoulder. I was told that all would be well. I stopped crying and stumbled to my feet, anxious to tell my sweet mother the wonderful news!
I remember her surprise as I walked into her room. She had just sent everyone out. I didn’t give her a chance to say a word, I was so excited. As I finished telling her of my experience, she wept. I bent and kissed her, and left the room.
Later she called me to ask if I remembered what I had said to her. I said yes, and related the story again. She looked puzzled and said, "What else?" I really didn’t know what she meant. She said that when I entered the room my face seemed to glow. It told her not to fear, our Father in Heaven knew of her deep desire to keep her child. She would be granted that, and the baby girl would be perfect in every way. I don’t remember saying all that to her, but the Lord knew of her need to hear it.
On May 18, a new baby girl joined our family.

At times, when you are being led to the rescue, it may seem accidental.

Once, I simply asked someone I met on a trip, “Would you tell me a little about your family?” The conversation led me to ask to see a picture of her adult daughter, who she said was struggling. I was struck with the goodness in the face of that girl in the picture. I felt impressed to ask if I could have her email address. The daughter was at that moment lost and wondering if God had any message for her. He did. It was this: “The Lord loves you. He always has. The Lord wants you to come back. Your promised blessings are still in place.”