Gospel Story Finder

When I was nine years old, I became an altar boy. Altar boys in the Catholic Church help the priest during the Sunday worship service, called Mass. My brothers and many of my friends served with me—a great honor for us. We lit candles at the altar, carefully unfolded the priest’s robes, and placed the scriptures next to the altar. During the service we helped pass the bread for Communion, similar to the sacrament.
To become altar boys, we memorized words of the Mass in Latin. We also participated in weekly religion classes. Each summer my friends and brothers and sisters and I attended Bible school about 20 miles (32 km) from our home. My parents were busy on our wheat farm during the summer. They could have used our help during those weeks, but they felt it was important that we have this opportunity to learn about God and be with good friends. The faith of the priests and nuns who were our teachers impressed me. I decided then that I would do what God wanted me to do.

This is beautifully illustrated by this story as told by President Faust:

“This story is about the great scientist Henry Eyring, who served on the Bonneville Stake high council. He was responsible for the welfare farm, which included a field of onions that needed to be weeded. At that time, he was nearly 80 and suffering from painful bone cancer. He assigned himself to do weeding even though the pain was so great that he pulled himself along on his stomach with his elbows. The pain was too great for him to kneel. Yet he smiled, laughed, and talked happily with the others who were there that day weeding that field of onions. I now quote what [President] Eyring said of this incident: ‘after all the work was finished and the onions were all weeded, someone [said to] him, “Henry good heavens! You didn’t pull those weeds, did you? Those weeds were sprayed two days ago, and they were going to die anyway.” Dad just roared. He thought that was the funniest thing. He thought it was a great joke on himself. He had worked through the day in the wrong weeds. They had been sprayed and would have died anyway. I asked him, ‘Dad how could you make a joke out of that?’ He said something to me that I will never forget . . . He said, ‘Hal, I wasn’t there for the weeds.’”

This opportunity finally presented itself. We did not have a native speaker in our English class one year. I asked my classmates if it was a good idea to invite the missionaries. Then I asked the missionaries if they were allowed to come to schools. And finally I asked my English professor if they could come. I passed out a list on which everyone wrote what she would like the missionaries to talk about. I was amazed to see that the majority wanted to know why they had decided to go on missions, what kind of work they were doing, and how our Church differed from other churches.
Elder Allen and Elder Jones came to class and took most of the class period talking about the Church. It was awesome! After they left, I was bombarded with even more questions.
That year I was no longer the only member of the Church in my school. Because of two of my Latter-day Saint friends who began attending the school, the song “A Child’s Prayer” (Children’s Songbook, 12–13) is now part of the music teacher’s repertoire.
It was not as difficult as I expected to talk about the gospel of Jesus Christ. I am so grateful to Heavenly Father for His Son, Jesus Christ, and for His wonderful gospel. I am also grateful for every opportunity to share my testimony by the Holy Spirit.

Furthermore, I discovered that if gas is released from a balloon through a valve, it descends. But this was not all! I also heard from my friend many delightful stories about previous balloon flights. On one occasion, as the story goes, clouds developed unexpectedly during a flight, and the two men in the wicker basket had not the faintest idea over which part of the country they were sailing.
They decided to lower the balloon, and all of a sudden they saw a Dutchman walking on a lonely country road. When they were able to draw his attention, one of the men in the basket shouted: “Where are we?” And the lonely walker looked up, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted back, “You are in a balloon.”
To make their urgent request for direction more clear, the man in the balloon cried vigorously, “Where are you?” And the man called back at the top of his voice, “I am on the ground!”
Discouraged, the balloonists unloaded some ballast and sailed again into the clouds, while one of them remarked: “The man down there must be a bureaucrat.” The statements he made were perfectly true, but totally useless!

Was the Prophet himself faithful sufficiently that he was ever healed? Yes—repeatedly. He once was poisoned and then vomited so violently that his jaw was thrown out of joint. He was immediately administered to and healed.71 In another experience, this time with his brother Hyrum, at the end of the Zion’s Camp march, he prophesied that because the Camp was not repentant and not living as a modern Camp of Israel should, some of them would die. One account says, “like sheep with rot”—a terrifying statement.72 Thirteen died. In spite of his prophecy, Joseph yearned to heal them. He and Hyrum tried, but they had no sooner laid their hands on the sufferers than they themselves were smitten with cholera. They felt its ravages, fell down prostrate together, and prayed for deliverance. Even at that moment, Mother Smith was praying for them.73 In prayer they asked for a testimony that the Lord would relieve them and that healing would come. Within minutes they arose free of the disease which, in other cases, was fatal.

When I was 14, some Latter-day Saint missionaries came to our home and taught my mother and me. They soon invited us to be baptized. My mother declined, but I said yes. Looking back, I don’t know that I was converted. I think that, like many teens, I was simply looking to do something different than the norm.
For the next year I went to church by myself. I didn’t really feel like I fit in, and I didn’t understand much of what was taught. But I was active. The next year I lived away from home and attended a Church-owned high school in Mexico City. Although I had loved the high school during my initial visit and worked hard to be accepted to the school (and to convince my parents to let me attend), I quickly found that being on my own wasn’t easy. I still didn’t have a testimony. I didn’t really understand who Joseph Smith was or what the Book of Mormon taught. More than ever I felt like I didn’t fit in.
Of course, I didn’t tell my parents. I had spent a lot of time convincing them to let me come to this school. How could I admit that maybe this wasn’t the place for me after all? Because of my pride, I just struggled silently.
My difficult situation became worse when I received news that my parents were divorcing. I felt as though my whole world was being destroyed.
It was at that point that my bishop took me aside and asked how I was doing. I told him about all of my frustrations and my sorrows. “I feel like I really don’t know anything anymore,” I said.
That good bishop started teaching me about the gospel. We started with how to truly communicate with Heavenly Father. Over time we talked about the Atonement. He taught me truths of the gospel, and for the first time, I felt I had a testimony. I was glad I had something to cling to in that shaky period. Even though I felt powerless to help my family, I was able to feel a sense of happiness in being close to Heavenly Father. I knew that He knew me, and that changed everything.
Thanks to the love and patient teaching of my bishop, high school became a positive period in my life. Attending the Church high school changed my vision of who I was and what my life could be. When I graduated, I stayed in Mexico City. The first thing I did once I found a place to live was find the local ward so I could continue to have a place of refuge, a place where I could grow in the gospel.
A short time after that, I served a mission on Temple Square in Salt Lake City. I found great joy in sharing with others the truths that had given me a solid foundation in an otherwise turbulent time of life.

I grew up in Idaho Falls, Idaho, on the edge of town. Across the street were fields where pheasants flew and where we played in the snow. Later our new chapel was built there. I went over every night after school to help build the chapel, handing bricks to bricklayers and cleaning up the construction site. I remember that I took great pride in that chapel. I wanted to take good care of it because I had helped build it.
My mom has been a Relief Society president and a Young Women president. Dad was not active in the Church, but he was a very good man.
My testimony has always been a part of me. I have always had a gift of faith. I remember saying my prayers every night, even when I didn’t feel like it.
I also knew that I felt at peace with myself when I did what was right. I learned when I was in the third or fourth grade how it felt to make a wrong choice. The rules at school were that we could not throw snowballs and that we could not go off the school grounds. One day I got in a snowball fight and crossed the street to get the advantage in the fight. Afterward I felt bad because I knew I had done something wrong.
I remember going to the Idaho Falls Temple when I was twelve to do baptisms for the dead. I felt really good about doing that. I encourage you to do that when you have the opportunity.
As we were growing up, my younger brother and sister and I had lots of fun. We didn’t play video games or watch TV. We played active games—red rover, kick the can, and cowboys—and we floated in inner tubes down the irrigation canal where Mom had taught me to swim.
We always had work to do. When I was eight or nine, we picked potatoes for farmers. We earned seven and a half cents for each half sack we picked. At eleven, I got a paper route. I remember coming home after delivering papers in weather twenty degrees below zero and sitting on my hands to try to warm them up. Later on I hoed beets, moved sprinkler pipe, and hauled hay. And when I was a little older, I paid for braces for my teeth with money I earned working at a grocery store.
My parents always felt that it was important for me to get an education. When I was a junior in high school, I wanted to buy a car. It was the prettiest car I’d ever seen, a white 1950 Oldsmobile convertible, and its price was four hundred dollars. I had just four hundred dollars in my bank account. This is going to work out great, I thought.
When I told my mom about my plan, she asked, “How will you get to college?” Then she said, “I believe that if you will save your money and go to college, you will be able to buy an even nicer car.” I thought and prayed about it and decided that she was right. I saved my money and went on to college. Then, when I had finished the “twenty-second grade” and had my bachelor’s, master’s, and doctoral degrees, I bought an old classic convertible. I still drive this car. It reminds me that if you are patient, follow good counsel, and follow the Spirit’s guidance to do what’s right, there will be all kinds of rewards.
Buying and acquiring things when you are young is unwise. Invest in yourself with education. And the kind of education we will need most through the eternities is spiritual.
Dad was very keen on my going to school, and he had told me that I had better not go on a mission. But one night I talked with my friend Harry about missions until 2:00 A.M. He told me, “You have the opportunity to go on a mission now. You might not always have that opportunity.”
I didn’t know if Dad would support me, but I asked my mother to ask him. When I finished my first year of college, I went home. We were doing the dishes one night, when my dad said, “Stephen, if you want to go on a mission, that will be all right.”
I was called to serve my mission in France. After serving twenty-eight months, I got a telegram telling me that my dad had died of a heart attack. I went home to attend the funeral and to help Mom, and Harry’s words came back to me: “You might not always have the opportunity to go on a mission.” If I had put off serving my mission, my widowed mother could not have afforded to send me.
Many of you children today feel unsettled and worried. You hear about serious problems and dangers in the world. But you do not need to be fearful. There is a way to be guided away from what’s bad for you. Your parents and the Holy Ghost will help you if you will just ask what is good and right for you.

Winston Churchill spoke of the sharp agate points upon which the ponderous balance of destiny turns. Every one of us has in our own lives those sharp agate points upon which the ponderous balance of our destinies turn. Thirteen years ago, my stake president, John K. Edmunds, called me to meet him for lunch in a downtown Chicago restaurant. (We were both practicing law in that city at the time.) I was then a counselor in the Sunday School superintendency of one of the wards in his stake. He called me to a stake mission and to serve as a counselor in the stake mission presidency. At that time, I was working all day and every evening of the week and all day Saturday—excluding Sunday, as has always been my practice. I was working morning, noon, and night six days a week on some very taxing assignments for the law firm that employed me. He called me on a stake mission and told me—as was his wont, perfectly unyielding, without any compromise—that I would be expected to give forty hours of proselyting time per month in addition to attending meetings, bringing investigators to church, and doing the gospel study I would need to qualify myself as a stake missionary. I said to myself at that time that this was a turning point in my life; this was a test of my faith. Would I have the faith necessary to accept that position in view of the requirements of my employment? Even at that time, but more surely as I have looked back on it, I could recognize this as one of those sharp agate points that Churchill identified. Fortunately for me I mustered the faith, accepted the call, and said to my president, “If the Lord wants me to serve in that position—and I do honor the calling as coming from the Lord through his servant—he will make it possible for me to do it. When do you want me to start?”

He said, “I have an appointment I’d like you to keep tonight.”

I got my affairs in order and began that evening. Effective with that calling to a stake mission, I rarely ever worked after five o’clock again in the remaining course of my law practice, and still I realized greater success than I had ever realized by any measure that a young man could choose for success in his chosen profession. The Lord made it up to me in countless ways that I have no time and indeed no ability to particularize for you, but I can simply tell you that my faith was rewarded in every possible way.

More important to me, as I look back, is the certainty with which I can see that this calling to a stake mission changed the direction of my life and set me on a course that brought me here in measurable, deliberate, and direct steps to stand before you today. As I began to do the work of that missionary calling, I began to reevaluate the course on which I had set myself professionally, and I began to think about whether I wanted to spend the rest of my life in that particular law practice. Six months later, when I received a renewed offer of a position in law teaching, I accepted it. I would never have accepted that position if it had not been for my calling to a stake mission. That calling also offered me an opportunity to grow in faith and devotion and loyalty to the leadership of the Church. In every way I can measure it was a turning point in my life.

One day, some years ago, when the youngest of my nephews was about 5, I received a phone call from his brother, 3 years his senior. “Now, Aunty Sarah,” the voice on the phone said, “you mustn’t be cross.”
Uh oh, I thought.
“R wants to talk to you, he’s very upset.”
A very sniffly voice came on the line. “Aunty Sarah, I’ve spent all of your money!”
Let me pause to explain the back story. In the days of angry birds and me being a very cool aunt, I had given my nephews access to my bank account (I know!), with strict instructions that they stick to the agreed budget and always pay me back with their pocket money at the end of the month.
This agreement had largely been honoured.
“What happened R?”
“I pressed the thing to buy the game and it didn’t work and so I pressed it a few more times, and now I’ve spent ALL of your money!”
“How much have you spent?”
“£30!”
As it turns out, I had £35 in the bank, so all was well, but here’s the point. In the light of his overwhelming distress and remorse, I would have done anything to comfort him. I did everything to console him that he had not, in fact, spent all of my money. And that if he had, his father and I would have sorted it out. Over and over, I reassured him that although terrible and enormous to him, what he had done was fixable and he could leave it with me. I told him all was well, that these app things are tricky to work when you’re 5 and that I loved him.
He stopped crying and after a time, we ended the call.
In that moment, I believe I felt some measure of the power and depth of God’s love for all of us, when we seek Him in utter despair and humility. When all feels hopeless. When the long burden feels too much to bear.
I had a glimpse into all that our Heavenly Parents must feel for us. I would have done anything to comfort and console my nephew. I didn’t care about the money, I only wished to reassure him. We know that the Saviour feels the same about us. May we learn to trust and believe that He will do, in fact has done, all that is necessary to carry the burden for us.

In 2009 I was in Washington D.C. with the world foundations teaching team visiting sites and learning things related to our curriculum. We attended Easter Mass at the Cathedral of Saint Matthew the Apostle. Later in the day we returned to the cathedral to take a closer look at the interior and to have a chance to take some pictures at the invitation of the clergy there. As I was standing in the nave admiring the beautiful and symbolic artwork behind the altar, I noticed a woman entering who looked very troubled, even distraught. She humbly knelt between the pews in prayer for quite a long time and then proceeded to one of the confessional booths with tears flowing from her eyes where she was attended by a priest. Sometime later, she and he emerged. She had a look of great relief as if a heavy burden had been lifted. The priest embraced her and they spoke for several minutes outside the confessional. The love and care of the priest for her was very apparent. As I watched this scene from across the cathedral I felt an overwhelming impression from the Spirit that this woman was an example of true repentance and that the priest was an example of true forgiveness and love. I learned a deep lesson about humble repentance, forgiveness, and love from a Catholic parishioner and her priest.

I remember distinctly the time and place I found my spiritual second wind, my more sure witness of the Book of Mormon. I was in Scotland in my first assignment as a missionary in a little town called Barrhead just outside of Glasgow. I had been challenged by a Scotsman asking me how I knew the Book of Mormon was true. It was at that point I realized I had never received a sure witness or even put the book to the test as Moroni challenges us in Moroni 10:3–5. You first have to have a sincere desire to read the Book of Mormon; then you study and ponder the message with real intent and pray in faith, asking the Lord if it is true—something I had not yet done.
It was later one evening as I was kneeling by my bed in humble prayer that I received a feeling so powerful, so sweet, and so warm that it was as if I had just reached the crest of a hill in my spiritual race for truth and understanding. The Holy Ghost bore witness to my soul that the Book of Mormon was true. Like my physical second wind, no one can tell me that I imagined this witness. It was real! I knew it, and no one could take it away from me. From that point on, I had no problem bearing testimony of the Book of Mormon, living prophets, and the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. I could never deny it!

Exactly forty years ago this fall, in a steamy little missionary apartment in Tonga, suffering from culture shock, an identity crisis, unbearable homesickness, discouragement with the Tongan language, and self-doubt, I knelt weeping before the Lord, asking to be rescued from my despair. I had plead for this with humility and desperation for several weeks. The result was the first, unmistakable divine communication of my life, unforgettable in its sweetness and power. There was no vision or thunderclap, but it was as if I was enfolded in Heavenly Father’s love, and his promise of support was impressed indelibly upon my mind. All of those promises came to pass.

But the relationship was not merely ecclesiastical. When President Young returned from his ingathering mission in the fall of 1842, he was struck with a terrible illness that nearly killed him. The Prophet administered to him, prophesied that he would live, and then personally cared for him, sitting with him for hours, carefully instructing and supervising his attendants for many days during the crisis period. Brigham said much later concerning this time, “I used to think, while Joseph was living, that his life compared well with the history of the Savior.”18

Several stakes chose to serve the older members of their areas. In the Salt Lake Holladay North Stake, each Young Women class adopted a “grandmother” or “grandfather” to help throughout the year. They took turns helping with transportation and home cleaning. As a special service, they made white handkerchiefs for their newfound friends to take to the Jordan River Temple dedication. In addition, the girls arranged to tape record the older members’ personal histories. They transcribed the tapes and made a typewritten copy for each grandmother or grandfather to keep, with enough extra copies to give to their children.

At the University of Alabama, I had a friend who lived in the student housing across from me. He was a fine young man and a great football player. We used to have talks together. Sometimes, he would share some of his Baptist beliefs and I would share some of my Mormon ones. One day when were discussing the need to have faith demonstrated by our actions, he told me. "Mike, what do you think of sinning saints?" I confessed that I was not sure what he was talking about. He said that his minister believed that if we love the Lord even if we could not keep the commandments we would still be saved. The minister called this group sinning saints. I wondered what happened to all the words that the Savior said, such as, "If ye love me keep my commandments." Or, "Not everyone that saith unto me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the Kingdom of Heaven; but he that doeth the will of my Father which is in Heaven. (Matthew 7:21.) We were never able to reconcile this together. He was a good person but he had come to believe that what we did had no impact on his being saved. However, the Lord could not be more clear. D&C 1:31 For I the Lord cannot look upon sin with the least degree of allowance." To my friend wherever he is, I state again - sin matters.

When you see Madilyn Paige perform, you would never guess the 20-year-old once suffered from paralyzing stage fright. At age 16, she faced her fear by trying out for the singing competition The Voice. She made it to the finals, where her voice enchanted judges and viewers alike.
Since then, Madilyn has released singles and is soon to release an album. She continues performing at venues like the Stadium of Fire in Provo, Utah, USA, and keeps chasing her dream to spread light and share uplifting messages through her music.
“I think music is a superpower. I feel so fortunate that I’ve been blessed with this gift. I want to use it to bring hope and happiness to people.”

Foi had helped her friends prepare for the special ceremony honoring the twelve-year-old students at the school. She knew that during the ceremony all of the girls would become members of the church that had established the school.

The girls had washed and ironed their white dresses and had gathered flowers to decorate the chapel. Now in the hot humid kitchen they laughed and talked together as they finished preparing refreshments.

Only Foi was quiet. Several of the girls tried to make her a part of their excitement, but Foi could manage only a small smile. Her thoughts were with her parents, who had promised to send for her. But the lonely years had gone by, and she had not heard from either of them. Unless she took part in the ceremony that night, she could not remain at the school—but something within her made it seem impossible for her to join the church of the school.

Foi had often tried to put together fragments of her memories and assure herself that someday she would be reunited with her family now living in a Samoan village far from the school. But few people ever left that village and strangers seldom visited it.

Once, however, two young men came to her fala. They said they were missionaries, and they taught the people in her village. Even though she had been only a little girl, Foi remembered the good feeling that had come to her as she listened to these young men and heard about their Church. She longed to have that feeling again. But severe storms had come soon after their visit, and the elders had not returned before Foi had been sent to the school.

Maybe it is the memory of those missionaries that makes me feel as I do, Foi thought.

For months she had prayed that she would know what to do before the night came for the membership meeting. Now the night of the meeting was nearly here, and she was still undecided. She had tried to tell her teachers that she was not ready to become a member of their church, but they had only laughed at her. “You are already past twelve,” they said. “You will never see your people again. It is time you became one of us.”

The girls finished their work in the kitchen and left. Only Foi lingered. She bowed her head and murmured a prayer that she might know what to do. When she looked up, two young men were at the door.

“We are looking for Foi Frost,” they said. “We are Mormon missionaries. Her family has joined our church and sent us to take her back to her people.”

Foi cried out with joy. The missionaries had come at last. She would see her family again.

Following is the example of Maria and Gretchen—visiting teachers who understand the power of ministering. Here we can see that now visiting teachers have the opportunity to visit separately or together. They can count their “caring” whether or not they visit together and give the message. They can take appropriate action without being asked. They can actively seek, receive, and act on personal revelation to know how to respond to the spiritual and temporal needs of each sister they visit.
Rachel was expecting her first baby and had to remain in bed for most of her pregnancy. Her visiting teachers prayed for inspiration to know the best ways to help her. Maria, who lived nearby, was able to help at Rachel’s home on most days before work. One day she cleaned part of the bathroom; the next day she cleaned the rest of it. Another day she vacuumed the living room, and the next day she made lunch for Rachel. And so her ongoing ministering continued as she did laundry, dusting, or whatever Rachel needed.
Gretchen phoned Rachel often to brighten her day. Sometimes they talked and laughed. Other times Gretchen and Maria visited with Rachel at her bedside and shared their testimonies, scripture reading, or the Visiting Teaching Message. And after Rachel’s baby was born, they continued to help her.
Throughout this time, Maria and Gretchen also worked with the Relief Society presidency to coordinate other care Rachel and her family needed. The Relief Society presidency counseled with the bishop and the ward council so home teachers and others could provide additional assistance.
Ministering became sweeter as these sisters developed love for one another and as they shared spiritual experiences. As visiting teachers we can follow these same patterns and principles of ministering and receive the same blessings.

by Jeffery A. Lee and Paul Scott Embley
What do you get when you combine 39 Hollanders, eight missionaries, and five eight-foot sandwiches? The young members of the Groningen Branch, Netherlands Amsterdam Mission, found out when they joined their nonmember friends, the missionaries, and fellow branch members in the park. The combination means you’re having an American picnic, Dutch style.
Actually, the fun began the night before when the Aaronic Priesthood and the Young Women gathered to fill the lengthy loaves. Armed with spoons, knives, ham, bologna, cheese, lettuce, pickles, and condiments, they soon stuffed the “submarines” amply enough to satisfy any appetite.
The next morning, an unexpected problem arose: how do you transport five eight-foot sandwiches to the park when the major means of transportation is bicycles? The answer was easy—recruit a Volkswagen! Such a car may already seem small to some people, but it seemed even smaller stuffed with super sandwiches!
But the sandwiches arrived and so did the crowd, with young and old enjoying each other’s company. The picnic started with contests: tossing raw eggs between partners, three-legged races, wheelbarrow racing, Frisbee throwing, volleyball, and soccer.
The games were followed by a testimony meeting, during which the picnickers discussed their love for their Savior, Jesus Christ. Then, finally, it was time to eat. Even though everyone’s hunger was great, they found it small compared to the size of the sandwiches—a total of 40 feet of bread and fillings.

A recent missionary-for-a-day activity conducted by the young people in the Renton Washington Stake resulted in five baptisms in two states as the result of one referral.
Heidi Vikari and Claudia Judd of the Renton Third Ward were assigned a tracting district in an older part of the town. The two took copies of the Book of Mormon and knocked on 15 doors that day, and at the last one, a woman responded to the message. She and a nine-year-old son were taught and baptized. She then referred the missionaries to a brother in Oregon, who also accepted the gospel. He, in turn, sent missionaries to another couple who also joined the Church.
Thus, within three months of knocking on doors in the stake’s semiannual missionary-for-a-day program, one contact resulted in five baptisms.