Gospel Story Finder

A woman I know was struggling with anger toward someone who had hurt her and her family. Though she told her children not to become embittered and resentful, she fought those feelings herself. After weeks of entreating her Father in Heaven, she finally felt a change. She related: “One day, in the midst of my nearly constant prayers, the healing came. I felt a physical sensation spread through my body. After, I felt a sense of security and peace. I knew that regardless of what happened, my family and I would be all right. The anger left me and so did my desire for retaliation.”

The living water is the gospel of Jesus Christ; its communicator is the Holy Ghost. My friend knew what was right. She had said the appropriate words to her family. But only when she humbled herself enough to drink of the water—to feel the Holy Spirit—could she begin to heal.

As a bishop or branch president, through motivating interviews you can bless the life of every young man in your ward as well as appropriate couples by encouraging them to prepare for full-time missions. Not only will you bless those potential missionaries but you may answer the prayers of parents who have a maturing son not yet committed to a mission despite their efforts to encourage that desire. For example, from childhood through maturing years, our daughter Mary Lee heard her parents speak of our treasured missionary experiences. We had explained how challenging missionary opportunities had enriched our lives and laid the foundation for all that we treasure in life. Yet we taught that it was her decision whether she would serve or not. Through her growing years, it was clear that she intended to be a missionary. However, as missionary age approached, her exciting experiences in the university began to present attractive alternatives. Once when she mentioned wrestling with that uncertainty, she was counseled to talk to her bishop. An appointment was arranged. As she sat down before a choice bishop, she asked, “What do you think of my serving a full-time mission?” The bishop jumped from his chair, clapped his hands on the desk, and said, “That is the greatest thing I could imagine for you.” That comment tipped the scales.

Mary Lee served a most effective mission in Spain that unveiled hidden capacities, matured her spiritual development, and caused to flower capabilities that have blessed her as a wife and mother. The bishop that had such a profound influence in my daughter’s life is J. Willard Marriott Jr., currently an Area Seventy. But we remember him most for what he did for our daughter Mary Lee. Now in her own family with the strong examples of a returned missionary father and mother, a son and a daughter have fulfilled exemplary missions. The remaining son will clearly be a missionary, and the last daughter will in time make the proper choice. Another grandchild, following in the footsteps of his father, was recently called to serve in the Mexico Cuernavaca Mission.

About a year after my father’s baptism, he became very ill. Early one Sunday morning, he called my mother, my brothers, my sisters, and me to his bedside. There, he looked at me and said, “My son, I hope you will serve a mission.” After saying these words, he died.

My father’s dying words impressed me so deeply that I did wear the “uniform” of a full-time missionary. I served in the Philippines Quezon City Mission.

Grudges, if left to fester, can become serious maladies. Like a painful ailment they can absorb all of our time and attention. Guy de Maupassant has written an interesting chronicle that illustrates this.

It concerns Master Hauchecome, who on market day went to town. He was afflicted with rheumatism, and as he stumbled along he noticed a piece of string on the ground in front of him. He picked it up and carefully put it in his pocket. He was seen doing so by his enemy, the harness maker.

At the same time it was reported to the mayor that a pocketbook containing money had been lost. It was assumed that what Hauchecome had picked up was the pocketbook, and he was accused of taking it. He vehemently denied the charge. A search of his clothing disclosed only the piece of string, but the slander against him had so troubled him that he became obsessed with it. Wherever he went he bothered to tell people about it. He became such a nuisance that they cried out against him. It sickened him.

“His mind kept growing weaker and about the end of December he took to his bed.
“He passed away early in January, and, in the ravings of [his] death agony, he protested his innocence, repeating:
“‘A little [piece] of string—a little [piece] of string. See, here it is, [Mister Mayor.]’” (See “The Piece of String,” http://www.online-literature.com/Maupassant/270/.)

When I was a teenager, my independence and my privacy were very important to me. So I didn’t like our family rule that Mom and Dad always had to know where we were, who we were with, and when we would be home. But even though my siblings and I complained about it, we abided by it.
During my junior year in high school, my 13-year-old sister, Jenni, and I played on a volleyball team. Our team was not the best or the worst. We just played to have fun.
One of the most exciting matches of the season, involving several teams, was scheduled for a Friday night at a location about 40 minutes from our home. Since I’d had my driver’s license for more than a year, Mom and Dad let me drive our van to the match, with my little sister as my companion. Jenni and I didn’t always get along, but we had a great visit on the way to the match. Being alone gave us the opportunity to really talk. The evening was as much fun as we had anticipated. After saying good-bye to friends, Jenni and I headed for home.
Just 15 minutes into the drive—and on a busy freeway—we ran out of gas. It was a dark night, so we hoped we could coast to the next off-ramp. But the van came to a stop under an overpass more than a kilometer from the exit. Scared, we offered a prayer. “Heavenly Father,” we prayed, “please help us find a way to get home safely.”
As we ended our prayer, I remembered learning that in an emergency we should lift the car hood and put something white on the antenna, so we did. We knew it was just a matter of time before a police car would drive by and offer to help. But three times we saw police cars pass us without stopping, even though we were flashing our lights and honking.
Discouragement nearly overcame us, and we decided it was time to pray again. Finishing the prayer with tears streaming down our faces, we talked about possible solutions. We could see the exit sign and decided to walk toward it, hoping to find a telephone.
After walking almost half a kilometer, we heard vehicles approaching us and slowing down. Were our prayers going to be answered? We turned and saw two motorcycles coming toward us. At that moment we both felt very strongly that we should return to the van.
Back in the van, huddled together, we tried to comfort each other. Then, as the Spirit whispered peace to us, we looked out the window and saw our mother and father coming to a stop on the other side of the freeway. Relief and gratitude overwhelmed us as we ran into the arms of our anxious parents.
“How did you know?” we asked. Softly and clearly our parents answered that they knew where we were, who we were with, and when we were supposed to be home. Because we had always followed this rule, they knew to come looking for us when we didn’t arrive home on time.
I was never again annoyed by my parents’ strict rules.

Fred and Jean wanted to buy a new appliance. They often went shopping together and compared various models. At last they found one they both liked, but they hesitated to buy it because of the high price. The next day, Fred went back to the store alone and bought the appliance as a surprise for Jean. He arranged to have it delivered while she was out of the house. When Jean returned and saw the appliance, she was upset. She accused Fred of being inconsiderate by leaving her out of the final decision. Her accusations led to an argument.
Judging is a frequent source of conflict in a marriage. Usually, as with the story of Fred and Jean, judgments are based on false assumptions. Both the assumptions as well as the accusations can lead to anger and resentment.

Coleson pedaled his bicycle and stared at the hill in front of him. He saw his parents, his older brother and sister, and his cousin ahead of him. Coleson’s family was on a cross-country bicycle trip. Grandma drove the van in front of them in case they needed help. Halle, Coleson’s five-year-old sister, rode in the van with Grandma.
Halle had been born with a rare bone disorder. When Halle was a baby, their family moved from Idaho to Chicago so Halle could get the treatment she needed at a special hospital.
Even though they were now living in Idaho again, they wanted to do something special for the hospital in Chicago. They decided to gather donations for the hospital by biking from Idaho to Chicago. The trip would take five weeks. They were now 10 days into the trip, biking through Wyoming.
Coleson took a drink from his water bottle. He looked at the road that rose in front of him. “I will make it up this hill,” he told himself.
Coleson pedaled hard. The muscles in his legs ached. He knew he could ride in the van if he needed to, but he wanted to bike the whole way. He managed to make it up and down the next three hills. After that, it was time for lunch.
“We’ve already ridden more than 50 miles today,” Dad said.
Coleson sighed with relief. They usually rode about 60 miles a day.
“But I think we should keep riding,” Dad said. “If we get ahead, we can take a day off for sightseeing.”
Everyone nodded in agreement. Coleson nodded too, even though he didn’t know if he could ride much more today.
After lunch, Coleson and his family got back on their bikes. Coleson’s legs were stiff and sore, but he rode anyway. As he topped the first hill, he relaxed a little and started coasting. But when he looked up ahead, he groaned.
There were miles and miles of big, rolling hills. He would have to pedal up every single one. Every part of his body wanted to quit. Biking to Chicago didn’t feel like fun anymore. Maybe he should just get in the van.
Then he remembered other goals he had—to go to the temple and to go on a mission. Did he want to stop short of these goals? Coleson knew he wanted to go the whole way.
He kept pumping his legs and thought about all the things his family had been through together. The pedaling didn’t get any easier, but Coleson stopped thinking about quitting. Instead, he thought about how much he wanted to keep biking.
When they finally stopped for the day, Grandma picked them up to drive them to the hotel. Dad put his arm around Coleson and gave him a big hug.
“I’m proud of you,” Dad said. “Today was a rough day, and you made it.”
“Yep,” Coleson said. “And I’m going to make it all the way to Chicago.”
Coleson did bike all the way to Chicago with his family. When they approached the hospital on their bikes, Coleson saw children lined up outside. He realized they were patients who had been waiting for his family to arrive. The children cheered and waved, welcoming the bike-riding family from Idaho.
Coleson was glad he had endured to the end of the trip. It was a fantastic journey.

It was a beautiful day in the hills of Tennessee, and I was on a two-hour training ride for cycling with my uncle. For the first half of the ride the wind was at our back, and we flew right along without any difficulty. When we changed direction, however, we found out why our ride had been so easy. Now the wind, which was blowing hard at about 20–30 miles an hour, was in our faces.
In cycling there is a technique, called drafting, where one person rides in the front and uses the most energy to break the wind for the person who rides right behind.
My uncle is a big guy—about 6 foot 3 inches tall and 240 pounds—so he was having a horrible time trying to keep up with a little 17-year-old on a road bike. About halfway home the wind was at its worst, so I accelerated ahead and slid in front of my uncle.
The next day at church he talked about how much of a difference it made. “You’re little, but the amount of wind you blocked made such a significant difference.” He then made a comparison that has changed my life. He said, “It’s almost like when you are having trouble in life, you let the Savior slip in front of you and you get behind Him. You still have to work to stay behind Him, but the wind He blocks makes a world of difference.”
After that ride I was worn, hurting, and beat, but after hearing my uncle, I realized that all I have to do is let the Savior lead and then do the work to stay behind Him, and He will take the wind for me.

Her dad is the bishop of the Arue Ward in the Pirae Tahiti Stake, is a sealer in the Papeete Tahiti Temple, and is a trusted employee of the Bank of Tahiti, so he is a very busy man. Yet he remembers twenty-six years ago, when he was a young father and the sister missionaries came to teach him the gospel. He refused to take the missionary discussions but agreed to let the sisters come and hold family home evenings. They came, and along with the prayers, the songs, the fun, and the refreshments, they taught him the gospel. Family home evening has held a special place in his heart ever since. He has not let a single week pass without holding a family home evening since he was baptized in 1968.

Soon after I graduated from Primary, the bishop called on me to bear my testimony during ward conference. In my talk, I mentioned that I liked the Book of Mormon stories that I knew. I also said that I wanted to read the Book of Mormon all the way through someday.
Someday came sooner than I expected. The day after ward conference, I didn’t feel well and was diagnosed with German measles. I had to lie in bed, so I decided to read the Book of Mormon. I read it from beginning to end in four days. That was a wonderful way to read the Book of Mormon because I gained a feeling for the entire book.

I didn’t always pay attention. After hearing the sacrament prayers every week since childhood, I had started to tune them out. If there was something I found more interesting to think about, I’d let my mind wander.
But then one Sunday as I bowed my head to take the sacrament, I noticed my hands. They had many scrapes from various sources. One was caused by a bicycle crash on a night my parents had told me not to go out, and another scratch was from falling down stairs because I was careless. My hands had several marks caused by things I had done.
Some marks had been there longer than others, but I knew that most of them would heal with time.
As I gently touched the scrapes on my hands, I thought of the wounds on someone else’s hands and how those scars are so vital for us. Jesus Christ went through intense suffering for our spiritual well-being.
I realized that just as my body had physical scars it was trying to heal, my spirit was also pocked and scarred by careless things I had done. Heavenly Father knew we would hurt ourselves spiritually on earth, so he sent his Son to help us heal our wounds.
As I started to listen more intently to the sacrament prayers, I realized that by taking the sacrament and renewing my covenants, the Savior could wipe away the inward bruises on my soul. Through the years, I had been unpleasant to my family, ungrateful to my Young Women leaders, and imperfect in other ways. My soul was blemished from its original perfection. I knew the formula for healing physical wounds, but the way to heal spiritual scars hadn’t seemed so obvious until I listened closely to the prayers: “… keep his commandments which he has given them; that they may always have his Spirit to be with them” (D&C 20:77).
I can be healed through the atonement of Jesus Christ.
I’m thankful for what my slightly scarred hands remind me of when I reach out to partake of the sacrament. Each Sunday I commit to try to keep myself from getting more inward scrapes during the next week, and I remember that the wounds I have on my soul can be healed as I keep the commandments and listen to the Holy Ghost.

Near my family’s home in St. George, Utah, was a big hill where I loved to play. One day as I was playing there with my older brother, Dennis, I slipped and tumbled onto a huge, prickly cactus plant. I had cactus spines everywhere—in my shoes, my trousers, my shirt. Frightened and in pain, and scarcely able to move because of all those sharp spines, I started to wail at the top of my voice. Dennis tried to help by pulling out the spines, but that seemed to hurt even worse and caused my skin to bleed. Finally, to my surprise, Dennis turned without a word and ran down the hill. I thought, Oh boy, that’s great. Right when I need him, he runs away. I was afraid that I was going to be left alone with that cactus in me forever.
Soon, however, I looked up, sniffling, to see him struggling up the hill with his small red wagon. He had run home to get it, and he pulled it all the way up the hill, tugging and pulling and huffing and puffing, so that he could take me home in it.

Tyler watched as some of his Primary friends went to the front of the chapel. It was fast and testimony meeting. Every month, his friends shared their testimonies in front of the whole ward. Even little Sunbeams and CTR five-year-olds did it. Tyler squirmed in his seat. He wanted to share his testimony, too, but he was afraid that everyone would make fun of him.
Tyler had been in speech therapy since he was four years old. At first, he had worked on sounds that he’d never been able to make. Slowly he became really good at them. But now that Tyler was seven, he had a different speech problem. It seemed that when he talked, no one listened. He wanted everyone to hear what he had to say, so he kept starting over. His speech teacher called it “stuttering.” Some of the older kids on the school bus called him “stupid.” Tyler knew that he could not talk as well as the other kids his age. He also knew that he wasn’t stupid. Still, being called names hurt his feelings.
“Why don’t you say your testimony?” Tyler’s little sister, Michelle, asked loudly as he sat hunched over on the bench with his family.
Tyler knew that his face was turning red. “Don’t worry about me,” he hissed at her.
Mom leaned over and whispered to Michelle, “Tyler will share his testimony when he’s ready.”
After church, Tyler found his mother studying her Primary lesson at the kitchen table. He had waited until he could talk to her alone. “I can’t say my testimony because I stutter,” he blurted out to her.
She looked up from her lesson manual and smiled at him. “Everyone has challenges in their lives to work on. This one is just for you.”
Tyler looked down. Tiny tears were starting to form in the corners of his eyes. “But, Mom, no one else stutters.”
His mother was very quiet. Tyler looked up at her and thought he saw tears in her eyes, too. Finally she said, “No one else in our family stutters, but even some grown men have speech problems. Even some of the Lord’s prophets were afraid to share their testimonies because of their speech problems. We don’t know what we would call their problem today; the scriptures describe it as being ‘slow of speech.’”*
“Grown men? Even prophets had trouble talking?”
His mother smiled at Tyler’s excitement and nodded. “In the scriptures, there are two prophets that I can think of who were worried about sharing the gospel because of their speech. They both learned to follow the counsel of the Lord and overcame their fear of speaking. They did great things for the Lord.”
Tyler’s eyes twinkled with joy. “Who were they?”
“Well, one of them was Moses.”
“Moses!” Tyler exclaimed. “He was a great prophet. He led the children of Israel to the promised land. But I thought his brother, Aaron, did all the talking.”
“Very good,” Mom said. “I can tell that you were listening in family home evening. That’s right—Aaron did talk at first. But Moses gradually overcame his fear and did a lot of the talking himself.”
“I didn’t know that,” Tyler said. “Who was the other prophet?”
“You might not have heard of him,” Mom told him. “His name was Enoch. He lived before Noah and the flood.”
“No, I haven’t heard of him. What did he do?”
“He taught his people the gospel.”
“What’s so special about that?” Tyler wanted to know. “All the prophets do that.”
Mom nodded. “Yes, but with Enoch, the difference was that his people listened.”
“To a prophet who couldn’t talk very well?”
“Absolutely. They listened to him so well that their city of Zion was translated, or taken up to heaven to be with Heavenly Father. The scriptures say that they were so righteous that the Lord couldn’t keep them from His presence, and He took them to Himself.”
“The people really didn’t laugh at Enoch, did they?”
Mom closed her manual and folded her arms on top of it. “Tyler, when people listen with the Spirit of the Lord, they listen to what you say, not how you say it.”
Tyler traced the pattern on the tablecloth with his finger as he thought about what Mom had said.
“You know, Tyler,” she continued, “there are General Authorities today who come from different parts of the world. Often they don’t speak English as well as they would like to when they speak at general conference. But every time I listen to them, I have a warm feeling inside. I know that what they’re saying is true.”
“I bet some people would make fun of them, too.” Tyler frowned.
Mom nodded. “I think you’re right. Some people probably do. But if they do, they’re only hurting themselves. They’re missing out on a wonderful spiritual experience.”
Tyler was quiet as this new thought went through his mind. “Thanks, Mom. That helps a lot.”
When the next fast and testimony meeting came, Tyler was ready. He didn’t care if some of the other children laughed. He was going to bear his testimony. He had wanted to do it for a long time, and now he wasn’t going to let other people’s rudeness stop him.
To his surprise, no one laughed. No one even snickered or pointed. Tyler spoke to the whole ward about what was in his heart, what he had felt the Spirit testify was true. It wasn’t a long testimony like adults sometimes give, but it was his testimony.
When Tyler returned to his seat, Mom leaned over. “That was one of the most beautiful testimonies I’ve ever heard. Thanks, Tyler.”
The warm feeling inside of Tyler grew. He knew that it was the Spirit of the Lord making him feel good. All he could think of to answer his mom was, “Thank you, too, Mom.”

I remember a woman who constantly nagged her husband (an inactive elder) about not paying his tithing, saying again and again, “When you don’t pay your tithing, you deny me and the children the blessings that are associated with this commandment … I want those blessings, even if you don’t.” She became so irate and her marriage became so disturbed over this issue that she went to the bishop trying to get his aid in forcing her husband to pay tithing. The bishop’s response was, “Overall your husband is basically a good and righteous man. If you sustain him in righteousness, even in his judgment not to pay tithing at this time, the Lord will sustain you, and you will be obeying God’s commandments and will not miss out on any of the blessings.” When the husband later learned of this bishop’s counsel, he was so deeply affected and impressed that his Church activity increased and the marital relationship was much improved.

President Paulo Kretly of the Mozambique Maputo Mission shared this experience: “It is common in Mozambique [for] couples to live their lives together [without being married because] African tradition require[s] an expensive dowry to marry, a dowry most couples can’t afford.”
Members and missionaries thought and prayed about how to help.
The answer to their prayers was that they would emphasize the law of chastity and the importance of marriage and eternal families. And while helping couples to repent and legally marry, they would teach of the happiness that only comes through following Jesus Christ.
This is a picture of couples from two different cities in Mozambique. Married on Friday, they were baptized with their older children on Saturday. Friends and family were invited to “come and see,” and hundreds did “come and see.”
Following the baptism, one sister said, “We needed to choose whether to follow the traditions of our fathers or to follow Jesus Christ. We chose to follow Christ.”

Years ago, I went with my daughter to the temple. She was the last to be baptized that day. A temple worker asked my daughter if she could stay longer to be baptized for everyone whose names were ready that day. She said yes.
I watched my daughter step into the baptismal font. The baptisms began. Water streamed down her face each time she came out of the water. She was asked again and again, “Can you do more?” Each time, she said yes in a determined voice. She stayed until the last person on the list had been baptized in the name of Jesus Christ.
I still remember the feeling of light and peace as we walked together from the temple. That is how temple service lifts and changes us.

A passage from the novel Les misérables illustrates how priesthood holders can treat those individuals viewed as strangers. Jean Valjean had just been released as a prisoner. Exhausted by a long voyage and dying of hunger and thirst, he arrives in a small town seeking a place to find food and shelter for the night. When the news of his arrival spreads, one by one all the inhabitants close their doors to him. Not the hotel, not the inn, not even the prison would invite him in. He is rejected, driven away, banished. Finally, with no strength left, he collapses at the front door of the town’s bishop.
The good clergyman is entirely aware of Valjean’s background, but he invites the vagabond into his home with these compassionate words:
“‘This is not my house; it is the house of Jesus Christ. This door does not demand of him who enters whether he has a name, but whether he has a grief. You suffer, you are hungry and thirsty; you are welcome. … What need have I to know your name? Besides, before you told me [your name], you had one which I knew.’
“[Valjean] opened his eyes in astonishment.
“‘Really? You knew what I was called?’
“‘Yes,’ replied the Bishop, ‘you are called my brother.’”

Caylen made a special fast, too. His grandmother had written a letter to us, telling how she had prayed following a Relief Society lesson and asked Heavenly Father to help her find a new way to serve. She soon met a woman who had struggled seriously with infections made worse by foods with yeast in them, like most bread. Grandma Craven makes delicious bread with hardly any yeast. She knew that this was the way Heavenly Father had answered her prayer, and she now makes bread for this sister regularly.
I had shared this with my children, showing them how Grandma Craven had received an answer to her prayer. Prior to the next Fast Sunday, Caylen said, “I want to fast for the lady Grandma bakes bread for.” So without even knowing her personally, he fasted for this sister.

Some years ago I served as a naval aviator aboard a large aircraft carrier, the USS Philippine Sea. The carrier was operating off the coast of Korea and would stay out at sea for about thirty days at a time.
Supplies were brought to us by other ships. These cargo vessels would pull up alongside our carrier and, while both ships were underway, would send food, mail, repair parts, and other supplies over to us by cables. Sometimes the containers broke open, and the contents would spill out onto the hangar deck of the aircraft carrier.
One day I walked past an area where fresh fruit was being unloaded. A carton of oranges had been slightly damaged, and a big beautiful orange fell out and rolled right across the deck to me. I picked it up and continued on my way down to the pilot’s ready room, where a number of my squadron mates were sitting around reading their mail that had just come aboard from the supply ship.
As I entered the room, all of my friends saw the orange. Fresh fruit was a very scarce item aboard ship, and I could tell that their mouths were watering for a taste of my fresh juicy orange. Pretending that I did not notice them, I peeled the orange, broke it in half, and then counted the sections. There were just enough orange sections to give each of them two, and so I divided the orange equally among my six friends, who expressed their gratitude.
A short time later someone came in the door and shouted, “Hey, a whole case of oranges has been dropped on the hangar deck, and oranges are all over the floor!” Out my friends ran.
Soon they returned, each proudly carrying an orange. They all peeled their oranges, and to my great surprise, each one gave me four sections in return for the two sections I had given him. I actually ended up with enough sections to make two whole oranges after they had all shared with me.
As I thanked them I had an opportunity to learn a very plain gospel principle.
I did not share my orange with the thought of receiving a reward. But it is never possible for us to do something nice or generous for someone else without being rewarded somehow for what we have done. The Bible tells us, “Cast thy bread upon the waters: for thou shalt find it after many days” (Eccl. 11:1). Sometimes we do not have to wait “many days”—we are rewarded immediately.
The Lord said, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matt. 25:40). The Lord loves all of us, and He delights to see His children showing love and kindness and tenderness to each other. “Oh, there’s One who smiles on high, when there’s love at home” (Hymn no. 169).

At the age of twenty-seven, I was diagnosed with eye cancer. When I thought all was lost and without any purpose in living, two missionaries came to my home. I had always been God-fearing, so I listened to the lessons. I struggled to make up my mind, but after three months I was baptized. My life with this disease has not been easy. I walk with my cane everywhere. I continue with medication and treatment. I have remained true to what I have come to know as the Lord’s self-reliance principles. I support myself with a business selling sheets and household items, plus help from the government and the generous members of our Church.
I can say today that my strength comes from the knowledge I have of Jesus Christ. I thank those missionaries who came to me. The Church is my family. I invite everyone to know Jesus Christ who brings hope and love to our lives.