Gospel Story Finder

“I was baptized one week before the FSY conference started. As a new member, the FSY experience helped strengthen my faith in Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father, and I gained more knowledge about the scriptures …” – Norberto Chio III, 18, Naic Stake

“I had eight children and the last baby was born when he was about twelve years old. He took right over, fixed the bottles, changed the diapers, and did everything. He could cook a good meal—not just bacon and eggs, but delicious dishes from recipes.

Abbie lived near Temple Square in Salt Lake City, Utah. She loved to see the Christmas lights twinkling in the winter and the tulips blooming in the spring, and hear the Tabernacle Choir singing all year round.
One day in sacrament meeting, Bishop Allen made an announcement: “Some Church members from Mexico are thinking about coming to general conference, and they’ll need places to stay. If any of you can host these guests, please talk to me after the meeting.”
On the way home from church, Abbie asked, “Will any of the visitors from Mexico come to our house for general conference?”
“I’m not sure, sweetie. But we’ve volunteered to let a family stay with us if they need to,” Dad said.
“Why do they want to come all this way for general conference? Can’t they watch it on TV?”
“They can watch it at their stake center,” Mom explained. “But until now, they have never had the opportunity to see a prophet in person. Do you remember how you felt when you saw President Hinckley?”
Abbie nodded. “I felt the Spirit really strongly when he walked into the room.” She had never been to general conference, but she had seen the prophet and two Apostles speak in other meetings. She had even gotten to shake an Apostle’s hand. Until now, she had never really thought about how special that was.
“Not every member of the Church gets a chance to see the prophet,” Dad said. “Some watch conference at a stake center and others listen to him on the radio. Some people can only read what he says weeks or months later.”
“Listening to him any way you can and obeying his words is what matters most,” Mom added.
Abbie knew that Mom was right, but she was still glad she had been able to see President Hinckley. She imagined living far away from Salt Lake, not being able to hear the prophet speaking inside the Conference Center or see the tulips blooming around the temple nearby. “I would travel a long way, too,” she decided aloud, “just to see the prophet once.” She hoped that the families from Mexico would come.
When the bishop called to tell Abbie’s dad that they would have guests for general conference, Abbie was excited and worried. Her family’s house was small. Would the visitors like staying here? She was also worried about the language differences. She didn’t know any Spanish! How would she talk to them?
Three weeks later, she stood with her parents in the stake center parking lot, waiting for their guests to arrive. Soon a dusty bus pulled into the lot. It jerked to a stop, and people piled out the door. They looked tired, and their clothes were wrinkled, but they were smiling.
Dad walked over to the group and started speaking in Spanish. He had learned it while serving a mission in Argentina. Soon he came back with a couple and their two children.
“This is Bishop Martinez, Sister Martinez, and their children, Isabel and Alejandro.” Alejandro was barely old enough to walk, but Isabel seemed to be only a bit younger than Abbie. Then Dad introduced Abbie and her mom to the Martinezes in Spanish.
“Hola,” Isabel said shyly.
“Hola,” Abbie repeated. Her dad had taught her that it meant “hello.” As Isabel smiled at her, Abbie’s worries disappeared. They couldn’t speak very well to each other, but they could still be friends.
After dinner, Isabel followed Abbie into her room. Abbie pulled out her box of toy dishes and food. Picking up a plastic apple, she told Isabel the English word.
“Apple?” Isabel repeated. “Manzana.”
“Manzana,” Abbie said. Isabel pretended to gobble it up, and they both laughed.
Isabel rummaged through the box and pulled out a little milk carton. “Leche,” she said. Abbie repeated the Spanish word, then told her the English word. One by one, they learned all the toys’ names.
“This is fun,” Abbie thought.
Suddenly, Isabel covered her face with her hands and cried, “Adios!” Abbie knew that meant good-bye. Confused, she wondered if she had somehow hurt Isabel’s feelings. But then Isabel opened her hands like shutters and yelled, “Hola!” She giggled. Her hands flapped shut again. “Adios!”
“It’s like peekaboo,” Abbie realized. She joined in. “Hello! Good-bye! Hello! Good-bye!”
The next day during conference, Abbie imagined Isabel sitting at the Conference Center, listening to a translator through headphones. She couldn’t wait for her new friend to come back and tell her what she thought of everything.
When the Martinezes returned, Isabel chattered excitedly. Abbie had never heard anyone talk so fast!
“What’s she saying, Dad?” Abbie asked. “Did she like conference?”
“Yes,” Dad answered with a smile. “She saw the prophet.” Abbie grinned.
In no time at all, Abbie and her family were taking the Martinezes back to the stake center to board their bus for home. Abbie felt so sad she couldn’t even look at Isabel. She didn’t want anyone to see her cry. But Isabel wasn’t going to leave without a good-bye. She hugged Abbie. Then she brought her hands up to her face. “Hola! Adios! Hola! Adios!” She laughed as she played their peekaboo game.
“Hello! Good-bye! Hello! Good-bye!” Abbie replied. She giggled, too, even though there was a lump in her throat.
As the bus drove away, Abbie tried to smile. “Can we have guests for general conference every year?” she asked. “I liked making a new friend.”

It was four days before Christmas, and the excitement in our family was almost tangible. Heidi was busy wrapping her gifts for Mom, while Erin was fascinated by the brightly colored lights twinkling in the window. I was excited because tonight the company John worked for was treating the employees and their wives to dinner and a show.
After dropping the girls off at the baby-sitter’s, John and I were on our way. We used the time as we drove to the company party to reflect on our many blessings.
The party was a huge success. It was well after midnight when we pulled into the driveway. John went ahead to open the door and turn the lights on, while I wrapped our two sleeping girls in blankets to protect them against the wintry night air.
Suddenly, John came running back to me, shouting, “We’ve been robbed!” With Erin in my arms, I felt a chill run through me. After checking the house, we discovered that all our Christmas presents were gone. The thieves had taken everything—even our tithing receipts and patriarchal blessings. We were devastated! What could we do? We felt so helpless.
Instead of enjoying the fun of customary family events connected with the celebration of the birth of our Savior, we struggled with a cold and empty feeling. The gifts could surely be replaced, but the love and care that went into each gift and its wrapping could not.
We held a family council and decided to stay indoors and celebrate Christmas quietly, keeping our focus on a celebration of the Savior’s birth.
That Sunday, news of the robbery spread. Sunday evening, as John and I sat in the living room with the lights out, we heard the sound of car doors slamming. We both jumped, thinking the burglars had come back. Quickly we dashed to the front door. We couldn’t believe what we saw.
Tiny reflections of lighted candles flickered in the frosty air as 25 ward members sang carols to brighten our spirits. It was hard for us to hold back our tears.
As they drove off, we felt joy replace the bitterness in our hearts. When we walked back into the house, the phone was ringing—the first of many phone calls that night from neighbors wondering how they could help us. We turned on Erin’s favorite twinkling lights and decided to have a Christmas celebration, no matter how small.
The following day was Christmas Eve. About 11:00 A.M. it began—visit after visit from Church members with presents and food. One sister was prompted to give us money, and it turned out to be the same amount that had been stolen. Boy Scouts came and made their contribution. Members from a neighboring stake heard of the robbery and sent Santa himself. Heidi could not believe her eyes. This parade of love and aid continued until about midnight.
By the time we went to bed that Christmas Eve, our hearts were filled with gratitude to others. Exemplifying the spirit of Christmas, those who responded to our need had turned a nightmare into a festival of Christlike love.

In the summer of 1998, as Namie returned home from her mission, I made plans with my 16-year-old daughter to go to the Philippines. We arrived in Manila and met with Ruth. We attended the Manila Philippines Temple together. Then we flew south to her family’s home in Tiwi. It’s impossible to describe the joy of seeing Romeo and his family again. The deep bond of brotherhood was instantly renewed. We talked and hugged and reminisced; we ate together and read scriptures with his family each night we were there. They were such strong rocks of testimony in their small branch. We attended sacrament meeting in the Tiwi Branch and listened to Namie report on her mission. It was amazing. It was nearly celestial. Truly this was missionary heaven.

Janice was a weak little girl with a bad heart. If she cried hard or got too excited, she couldn’t get her breath and went into a fainting spell.

One time Papa and Mama took Janice to the doctor in Harmony to see if anything could be done for her. The three boys and I were trying to think of a game to play while they were gone.

“Want to play hopscotch?” I asked as I scratched the pattern in the dirt with a stick.

“Naw, that’s a sissy game,” Ed scoffed.

“Besides, it makes you too hot,” Frank said.

“Let’s go over to Grandma’s then,” I suggested, “and see if she still likes her mattress.” Even after all this time I could get excited just thinking about how much I’d enjoyed making it and how pleased she was when we took it over to her.

As I was scrolling Facebook later, an ad popped up for a page called “Come unto Christ.” I didn’t think much of it. However, something drew me in, and I soon found myself putting my phone number into the site.
A few months later, I received a phone call from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
I didn’t answer.
After a quick Google search, I decided to call the number back. The missionaries who answered explained that they’d gotten my information from the Come unto Christ website, and suddenly everything was clear. I’d unknowingly signed up for information from the very Church that I had been learning about.
I started meeting with missionaries and learning more. The spiritual hole inside of me started to be filled. Around the time I was deciding to get baptized, some Christian friends invited me to one of their church campouts.

“The man who had prepared the plaster for the outside walls [of the Kirtland Temple] had asked the Saints to contribute their broken glass and chinaware to be crushed and mixed with the plaster. China closets and cupboards were almost left empty in an effort to get enough material containing the tiny articles of china and glass that glistened in the sunshine as if the walls were set with countless precious stones” (E. Cecil McGavin, Improvement Era, Oct. 1940, p. 595).

“My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment” (D&C 121:7).
This verse also helped me make a difficult decision. My friend and I had been inseparable for five years. We played sports together, went on trips together, and hung out every weekend. But she began hanging out with an older group of friends who I didn’t want to be around. In the end she made me choose between having her as a friend or sticking to my beliefs regarding the Word of Wisdom and the law of chastity. I was devastated. I never knew that standing up for what I believed could be so hard. But I chose to make new friends, always keeping in mind Heavenly Father’s promise to Joseph Smith that everything would work out all right.

When I was young, my parents planted within me the pure love from my Father in Heaven. I began to know Him as my mom sang “I Am a Child of God” (Hymns, no. 301) to me, and over time my parents’ examples have been my greatest inspiration to come to know and love my Father in Heaven through service and by faithfully attending Church meetings and activities.

Being a missionary in the newly created Minnesota-Wisconsin Mission is a very great blessing. Serving stateside is rare and beautiful. While growing up I always dreamed of going to some faraway, mystical country. But I ended up in the great United States of America. The gospel is needed everywhere, especially here. I am proud and happy to have been chosen to serve in this area. I want to commend the New Era for the missionary edition. The articles are of great worth to the elders and sisters now serving, as well as those who will serve in the future. Your contest issue was also top-notch. “The Winner,” though fictional, could easily have been factual. It helped me evaluate my own life.
P.S. I thought you might be interested in seeing this street sign in Wisconsin.
Elder John R. TitensorMinnesota-Wisconsin Mission

President Gordon B. Hinckley is the same way. His ordinary speech is scriptural prose, and even in his pleasant, easy moments, that prose is a part of him. I think he has a great literary gift, in part because of his knowledge of the scriptures. I was with him just the other day when he very casually pulled a scripture into the conversation and it fit perfectly. Obviously the scriptures are in him; they’re part of him.

The youth committee of the Bountiful 36th Ward, Bountiful, Utah, did it with dessert. The young men visited ward members with menus listing all kinds of desserts, from cream pies to brownies, and the respective prices. Then the female members of the committee fired up their ovens and created the delicacies that had been ordered, and the men delivered them on two consecutive evenings around supper time.

A group of young basketball players climbed aboard the bus on which I was riding. They seemed to vie with each other to see who could curse most viciously. Perhaps they had learned it from older men as they associated with them in various activities. I know they did not fully realize the seriousness of their words.

Elder Wirthlin ran his family business with integrity. One time, a supplier accidentally charged the business too little money for their merchandise. Instead of keeping the money, Elder Wirthlin ________ the bill and paid the higher cost.

Emily’s family had spent a wonderful weekend at Grandma’s house, and now it was time to leave. Emily was sad to say good-bye but happy that it was her turn to fly home with Dad in his small airplane while her sisters and brother drove back with Mom in their car. Emily loved flying with Dad. It was so peaceful in the sky. She liked to gaze across the tops of the puffy clouds and pretend that she could jump down onto them and run about.
“We’d better get going,” Dad said. “Although when I turned in my flight plan, the airport official said that we should easily miss the storm coming in, it’s almost dusk. I don’t like to take chances, even on a short flight like this one.”
Emily hugged Grandma good-bye and climbed aboard. Soon they were in the air.
It quickly became dark and began to rain. “Are you OK, Emily?” Dad asked. Emily nodded. The weather was making the flight bumpy, but she did not mind. The bumps made her tummy tickle.
The storm grew worse. Rain pounded the windows, and lightning flashed all around. The little plane bucked and shook. Emily started feeling scared. She knew that Dad must be nervous, too, because he stopped talking to her and concentrated on flying.
Then Emily remembered something she had learned in Primary. Sister Adams had told them that whenever they were afraid, they could pray to Heavenly Father. “Dad, can we have a special prayer to help us get home safely?” she asked.
Dad smiled at her. “I’ve already been praying in my heart. Will you please say a prayer for us out loud?”
Emily closed her eyes and folded her arms. She asked Heavenly Father to bless them to fly safely home and to help her to not be afraid.
“Thank you for praying, Emily,” Dad said. “We should be home in about thirty minutes.”
Emily felt peaceful and calm. The wind and rain continued to lash the plane, and the ride was still bumpy, but she was no longer afraid. Instead, she felt sleepy.
When the wheels of the airplane hit the runway, they made a squeaky sound that awakened her. “We made it, honey,” Dad said. “Let’s go home.”
The next morning when Emily got up, there was a letter by her pillow.
Dear Emily,I wanted to tell you how much I love you. Last night I was afraid. I couldn’t believe that I had taken my little girl with me in such a bad storm. After your sweet prayer, I looked over to see how you were doing. When I saw that you were asleep, an overwhelmingly peaceful feeling came over me. I knew that if you could sleep while the plane was being tossed around in a lightning storm, you must have tremendous faith that we would be OK. Then I, too, had faith that we would be OK. I knew that Heavenly Father was watching over us and that I would be able to fly us home safely. Thank you, Emily, for not only having faith in me, but faith in our Father in Heaven.Love,Dad
Emily felt good inside. She loved Dad and her family so much! She knelt by her bed and thanked Heavenly Father for such a wonderful family and for the gospel. She couldn’t wait to get to school and tell her friends all about her airplane ride in the storm.

A few months ago I went to Edmonton for work. The weather conditions were bad, and I struggled to get there. I didn’t know the city and got lost. I needed to find a gas station that sold diesel.
I started to worry. I was on a time budget and needed to get home quickly. I started to call friends who were familiar with the area. I talked to a close friend who was able to direct me. I then called my mom who comforted me and helped me feel safe again. I ended my conversation so I could continue driving.
I drove for a while and started to think I had somehow missed my exit. Worry again came to my mind. I began to scan my surroundings to find any clue about where I was or if I was on the right track. As I rounded a corner, the Edmonton Alberta Temple came into view. It was beautiful and white, with a spire that soared into the air. I could see the golden statue of the angel Moroni. The Spirit flooded my heart, and all fear was swept away. The Spirit seemed to confirm to me that I was going in the right direction.

Another convert living in Arizona had this to say:
“One brother was extremely instrumental in our becoming members of the Church. We will ever be indebted to him and thankful to him for asking us what we knew about the Mormon Church and would we like to know more. Through the missionary discussions we were thoroughly convinced that this was the true church. And the thing that has changed my life the most is that I have found a purpose in life and a certain peace of mind I have never felt before. I know with all my heart that this is the true church and that Christ lives and God lives.”

The third part of the formula to obtain a testimony is to attend church and become involved in church activities. My Arizona convert friend also had this to say: “The first time we visited a ward meeting, I felt such a warm, loving feeling. All the people seemed to have smiles on their faces and hearty handshakes for us. We felt so welcome, and we knew we wanted to be a part of all this. This was the only way.
She continued: “Another aspect of the Church I love is its constant learning, developing, and growing power. I’m grateful for the opportunity to work in the Church because this constant contact is helping us to grow and develop in the gospel.”

I decided to open the case and show my daughter what was inside. As well as the scriptures themselves, dozens of lesson handouts and various other bits of paper tumbled out. I found my old Personal Progress journal, a lanyard from a weeklong youth conference in 2012, and a photo of the Saviour. To my daughter these were all exciting new treasures; to me, an equally exciting time capsule. I couldn’t believe that I had neglected to look inside after so long—I probably hadn’t unzipped the case since before my daughter was born. We had a lovely time going through each item, before finally reaching the set of scriptures. Despite one mishap with a ripped page (toddlers aren’t very delicate), it was a wonderful activity.

In the summer of 1915, Rafael Monroy served as the president of a branch of around forty Saints in San Marcos, Hidalgo, Mexico. On July 17, a group of rebel troops overran the village, set up headquarters in a large house at the center of town, and demanded that Rafael, a prosperous rancher, provide them with beef.1
Hoping to appease the troops, Rafael gave them a cow to slaughter.2 After Rafael delivered the cow, some of his neighbors began talking to the rebels. One neighbor, Andres Reyes, was unhappy about the growing number of Saints in the area. Many Mexicans opposed foreign influences in their country, and Andres and others in town resented the Monroys for leaving their Catholic faith to join a church widely associated with the United States.3
Hearing this, the soldiers followed Rafael back to his house and arrested him just as he was sitting down for breakfast. They ordered him to open the family store, claiming that he and his American brother-in-law were colonels in the Carrancista army who were hiding weapons to use against the Zapatistas.
At the store, Rafael and the troops found Vicente Morales, another Church member, doing odd jobs. Believing he was also a Carrancista soldier, the troops arrested him and began ransacking the store as they searched for weapons. Rafael and Vicente pleaded their innocence, assuring the troops that they were not the enemy.
The soldiers did not believe them. “If you do not give us your weapons,” they said, “we will hang you from the highest tree.”
The soldiers brought the two men to a tall tree and slung ropes over its strong limbs. Then they placed nooses around their necks. If Rafael and Vicente would abandon their religion and join the Zapatistas, the soldiers said, they would be freed.
“My religion is dearer to me than my life,” Rafael said, “and I cannot forsake it.”
The soldiers pulled the ropes until Rafael and Vicente dangled from their necks and passed out. The rebels then released the ropes, revived the men, and continued to torture them.4
Back at the store, the rebels kept up their search for weapons. Rafael’s mother, Jesusita, and his wife, Guadalupe, insisted there were no weapons. “My son is a peaceful man!” Jesusita said. “If it weren’t so, do you think that you would have found him in his home?” When the soldiers again demanded to see the family’s weapons, the Monroys held out copies of the Book of Mormon and Bible.
“Those aren’t weapons,” the rebels said.
By that afternoon, the Zapatistas had taken Rafael and Vicente to their headquarters, where they were also holding Rafael’s siblings—Jovita, Lupe, and Natalia. Lupe was shocked at Rafael’s appearance. “Rafa, you have blood on your neck,” she told him. Rafael walked to a sink in the room and washed his face. He looked calm and did not seem angry, despite everything that had happened.
Later, Jesusita brought her children food. Before she left, Rafael handed her a letter he had written to a Zapatista captain he knew, seeking his help to prove his innocence. Jesusita took the letter and went looking for the captain. The Monroys and Vicente then blessed their meal, but before they could eat, they heard the clatter of footsteps and weapons outside the door. The soldiers called for Rafael and Vicente, and the two men exited the room. At the door, Rafael asked his sister Natalia to come out with him, but the guards pushed her back inside.
The sisters looked at one another, their hearts pounding. Silence settled over them. Then gunshots split the night.5
On the night of the Zapatistas’ invasion of San Marcos, Jesusita de Monroy had been on her way to speak with a rebel leader, hopeful that he could help her free her imprisoned children, when she heard the fateful gunshots. Hurrying back to the prison, she found her son Rafael and fellow Latter-day Saint Vicente Morales dead, victims of the rebel bullets.