Gospel Story Finder

I was at Manti, Utah, some years ago. As we came out of the Saturday night leadership meeting, there was a heavy snowstorm. As we drove to the home of the stake president, he stopped his car and turned back to the temple hill. There the lighted temple was standing majestically. We sat there in silence for a few moments, inspired by the sight of that beautiful, sacred place. He said, “You know, Brother Lee, that temple is never more beautiful than in times of a dense fog or in times of a heavy, severe storm.”

Just so, never is the gospel of Jesus Christ more beautiful than in times of intense need, or in times of a severe storm within us as individuals, or in times of confusion and turmoil.

Let me know how I can help. I’ve said this myself, dozens of times, but words alone are meaningless. I prefer the approach of my neighbor when a section of my backyard fence was blown over in a windstorm. He didn’t ask if there was anything he could do to help, he just came over one day, replaced a rotted post, and repaired the fence.
Are there some specific things that you could use some help with right now? When my neighbor saw my broken fence and fixed it, he knew that I needed help. But other needs aren’t as easily determined without asking. Gently ask or suggest ways in which you might help. For example, I was concerned that the financial provisions for my family were in order, but didn’t quite know how to go about determining whether or not they were. One day my bishop, who is a certified public accountant, came to see me. “If you’d like me to,” he said, “I’d be happy to review your financial affairs with you and your wife.” I was grateful for his tact, and relieved to learn after his review that things were as we wished them to be.

Roger Randrianarison knew something was missing from his family’s life.
“I prayed to God to help me find something to lead my family,” he said. “I had a desire to lead my family in something good, something that would lead to the right path.”
He was concerned about how to raise his three children—sons, Randrianandry and Sedinirina, and daughter, Nirina. He was unhappy that his short temper had led to challenges in the family. He wanted to be a kinder parent.
“I decided I was the one who had to change because I saw who I had become,” he said.
Roger had lost his construction business a few years earlier and was working as a taxi driver in Antananarivo, Madagascar. One day he picked up two sister missionaries.
“Once they were in the car, they asked me my name and if I had a family,” he said. “They asked if I knew who God was and if I prayed to Him.”
The missionaries sang songs with Roger during the ride and invited him to church. He tried to go a few times but never could work the meetings into his schedule, and he lost contact with the missionaries.
About five months later Roger was working at home one day when he heard two missionaries talking to someone outside his fence. Roger knew they would come talk to him. He felt like he should answer yes to whatever questions they would ask him.
After introducing themselves, the missionaries asked him if he knew about God. Yes. Did he want to pray to God? Yes. Did he want to talk to the missionaries? Yes. When? Now. The missionaries said they would return in 20 minutes. When they came back, they had a member with them who lived nearby.
The missionaries taught Roger many times for a month in his home. Because of what they had heard about the Church, the rest of his family didn’t want to study with the missionaries. After a month of learning about the gospel, Roger went to church with the missionaries. The kind reception he experienced left an impression on him. “The members received me like they had already known me for a very long time,” he said.
Roger went home from church and told his family that he was going to be baptized in a month and that they were free to choose to join the Church or not. They asked him to wait so that they could join him. They started attending meetings and were also pleasantly surprised.
The first time he attended Church meetings left a lasting impression on Roger’s oldest son, Randrianandry. “The first time I came to church I was so surprised because the people were so humble,” he said. “First, they were properly dressed for church. After that I realized they were really there for a purpose, not just to show off for other people.”
The Randrianarisons were baptized as a family on February 20, 2003. At the time Nirina was 8, Sedinirina was 17, and Randrianandry was 19. The family stopped working on Sundays and made living the gospel a priority.
“After I got baptized, I saw a lot of changes in our home,” said Arelina, Roger’s wife. “It became a spiritual home, and so many blessings, both temporal and spiritual, came from living the gospel.”

In April 1994 I was living in the city of Monterrey, México, earning a living as a taxi driver. One day it rained for hours, sending water cascading down the mountainsides. After driving around in the rain for hours, I found myself in a little town about eight kilometers from Monterrey. It was about 9:30 P.M., nearly time to go home. Suddenly I saw two young men on foot. They were wearing dark trousers and white shirts, and they were drenched from head to foot.
I opened the door of the taxi and called out, “Get in! I’m going to Monterrey.”
The taller one, who had a very fair complexion, replied, “We don’t have any money.”
“No charge,” I replied.
As I drove, we talked. They asked if they could share a message about Jesus Christ. I agreed and gave them my address.
When I got home, I woke my wife and told her about the two young men. “What a coincidence,” I said. “One is Mexican and the other is American, and they are both named Elder.”
“Elder means missionary,” my wife answered, knowing just a little about the Church.
From deep within me, I felt something stir. These young men had left a feeling of exquisite wonder in my heart. I felt close to finding the water that would quench my thirst.

Another story of a different kind of courage is told of Ruth Campkin Randall, a tiny mother who had spent enough time on the frontier to become accustomed to its risks. As a safeguard from marauding enemies around Pine, Arizona, where she lived, a stockade was built. When an Indian or other raid was reported, all the residents were to get into this enclosure for protection. This occurred frequently enough that Ruth got tired of it. Finally, when a call came for all to go to the fort, Ruth said, “No, I have been dragged from pillar to post and from the post to hell, and I am not going to the fort. I’m staying right here.”11 Others soon decided she was right; there was no longer any point in running to the fort every time some Indians were headed in their direction.

Really for us? I honestly thought that President Hinckley must be talking to those who weren’t reading. After all, we had nightly scripture study, family home evening, and family councils; we prayed together. We thought we would just continue reading a few verses a night.It was a few days later that it hit me: a prophet of the Lord asked us to read the Book of Mormon by the end of the year, and I’m going to ignore it? That night we met as a family, and I was astonished at the resounding “Yes” I received as a commitment to meeting the goal. I told the kids that we would have to read on vacations, birthdays, nights when we were tired. “No problem” was the response.It didn’t take long for the spirit of that great book to take over. We started to understand gospel principles, to communicate more as a family. My wife and I felt our testimonies were strengthened, and I heard the kids explaining scripture stories as if they had served missions and taught the gospel for years! Taking this challenge has changed our lives forever. Shawn O’Leary, Poulsbo, Washington, USA

I rest for a moment and watch the pink sky brighten. Early mornings are so special that I wonder why I hated them as a child. I spent my thirteenth summer at my grandmother’s house in Preston, Idaho. I wanted to eat raspberries, swim in the canal, and read books, but my stern grandmother insisted that I tend the roses, pick the strawberries, and learn to sew. I used to hide under the covers and pretend to be asleep as I heard my grandmother making breakfast. She called to me to come outside and work in her garden, but I ignored her when I could and let the clicking of her pruning shears and the rustling of the bushes lull me back to sleep.

When I had to work in the garden, I complained. Yet talking to my grandmother as the sun spun its way across the sky, I came to love her. In the garden, she didn’t seem so austere and forbidding as she usually did. She told me of her love for my grandfather and how she had never given up on him, though for years he was not a member of the Church. Her eyes grew misty and she smiled as she told me that the happiest day of her life was the day Grandfather took their family to the temple to be sealed.

I hear Jon’s motorcycle as he roars off to work, and I rest for a moment. My tears drop like rain as my heart follows him. Then I remember my grandmother. I remember watching her graft a branch from one of her most beautiful rosebushes onto an old, half-dead bush. Her voice echoes to me from years ago. “I won’t give up on this bush without a fight,” she had said to me on that long-ago morning. “It’s too precious not to try to reclaim.”

Before my first mission, when I was attending the university, I invited a lovely young lady to attend the university’s junior prom dinner dance. I had dated this fine girl a few times before. Every time we came home from a date, her father would be in his big leather chair, fully dressed, waiting for us.

As I went to pick her up the evening of the dance at the university, her father said, “What time will you be home?” I responded, “Sir, as you know, this is a special dinner-dance at the university; the dinner is scheduled to be served after the dance, so we would like to stay out later than usual.” I added, “You may not wish to wait up for us that late.” He simply said, “I will be waiting for you.” The dance was special, but the dinner service was terribly slow. I soon developed indigestion. The longer it went, the worse I felt. When we got back to her home, I found the father had kept his promise. There in his big leather chair was this wonderful, concerned family patriarch waiting for one of his fine daughters to be safely back under his own roof. He said something like this, “What keeps you out so late, James?”

Five years ago, I was thumbing through a copy of this BYU Studies booklet a friend had given me. My friend gave me this issue because the family of a former missionary to Tonga in the 1930’s, named Thomas Whitley, published Elder Whitley’s missionary photos. Among them was this picture.

This is the only photograph that exists of my grandparents Iki Tupou Fulivai and his wife Leva’itai, who appears to be wearing a silk dress that Iki probably bought in China. It was both exciting and haunting to look into my great grandparents’ eyes for the first time. You can imagine the stir I created when I had this photo distributed to my father's family. It was if they had been raised from the dead. We still haven't been able to identify the child, but no matter, these are my great grandparents. If this photo was taken in 1937, Iki would’ve been in his 80s because he died in 1951 at the age of 101. And look at what he’s wearing: a graduation robe and motor board. It’s so fitting that Elder Whitley caught this moment on film because it perfectly captures what I grew up hearing about my great-grandfather and his insatiable thirst for learning. The missionaries came to his home because he wanted his children educated. He saw things and met people in his world travels that must’ve compelled him to yearn for his children to be literate. Keep in mind, this wasn't his undergraduate degree or his MBA. This was his graduation from grammar school! He led by example, sitting with his children and grandchildren, in his 80s, in the same classroom as they all learned math and science.

A sweet sister and friend in our ward recently lost her mother-in-law. I had visited with her on several occasions as funeral plans were being prepared, but at work one afternoon the day before the funeral, I had the distinct impression to give her a call. I was working on a project that I wanted to finish and tried to push the thought away. But the prompting came again, and I stopped, dialed her number and had a very special visit with her over the phone. She later told me that she was feeling especially low and just needed someone to talk to.

I think these are the kinds of “promptings” the Lord gives us quite often, if we have our “ears tuned” to hear. Our Heavenly Father knows each one of us and gives us that “comforting hug” through one of his children who are his “instruments” here on the earth. I would encourage you to record these special occasions in your journals to reference and share with your posterity at a future time.

It was during one of these fishing trips, in late December, that Wilford’s life changed in an unexpected way. Azmon’s wife, Elizabeth, answered a knock on the door of their home. Two missionaries stood on the front step. Wilford and Azmon weren’t home, so the two elders asked Elizabeth to tell the brothers that they would love to have the Woodruffs come that night to the schoolhouse and listen to their message about a newly restored Church and gospel.
When Wilford arrived home and heard about the missionaries, he was eager to hear them preach. He had spent many hours as a boy reading the scriptures and praying, searching for the truth.
Without even waiting for supper, Wilford raced out to his horse and galloped to the schoolhouse. When he arrived, the room was already packed with people. He eased his way through the crowd and finally got a seat at a front desk.
What he saw and heard that night filled his soul with the Spirit of God. “I felt that I had just heard the first true gospel sermon in my life,” he later said. It was exactly what Wilford had been looking for—prophets, apostles, revelation, spiritual gifts. These were things Wilford knew about from studying the Bible, and he knew that they were important. He was so excited that he jumped to his feet at the end of the sermon, turned to the crowd, and said, “Friends and neighbors, I feel to tell you not to oppose these men. They are true servants of God. They have preached to us the pure gospel of Jesus Christ. I witness to you it is true!”

I am thrilled when I hear the many stories of deacons quorum presidents who have caught the vision and occasionally are teaching all or part of the lesson in their quorum meetings. Several weeks ago I attended a deacons quorum class. A 12-year-old boy gave a 25-minute lesson on the Atonement. He commenced by asking his fellow deacons what they thought the Atonement was. Then he shared some meaningful scriptures and asked thoughtful questions, to which they responded. Realizing, however, there was more time than remaining lesson material, he had enough presence of mind and perhaps some forewarning from his father to ask the leaders who were present what questions they had been asked about the Atonement on their missions and their responses. He then concluded with his testimony. I listened in awe. I thought to myself, “I don’t recall ever giving a significant part of a lesson when I was an Aaronic Priesthood youth.” We can raise the bar and vision for these young men, and they will respond.

Some have thought it important to give a gift to the Savior at Christmastime. President Kimball relates one such gift he received that was earmarked for the Savior. I’d like to quote somewhat from his remarks.
“In one of the stakes of Zion lives a family who also believes in a birthday for Jesus. … They gave me a crisp fifty dollar bill [and] said, ‘Today is the Lord’s birthday. We always give gifts to our family members on their birthdays. We should like to give a gift to the Saviour. Will you please place this money where it will please the Redeemer most?’
“Two days later, Sister Kimball and I were on our way to Europe for a six-month’s tour of all the missions. As we made hasty and extensive preparations, we kept thinking about the birthday gift entrusted to us, and then the thought came to us that perhaps in Europe we would find the most appreciative recipient.
“For months we toured the missions, held meetings with the missionaries and Saints, and met many wonderful folks. There were numerous opportunities to present the gift, for the majority of the Saints over there could use extra funds. But we waited. Toward the end of the mission tour, we met a little woman in Germany. She was a widow; or was she? For she had been alone with her family of children for ten years. Whether her husband was deceased or not, she did not know. A victim of World War II, he had disappeared and no word had ever come from him. It was said that he was behind the Iron Curtain. The little folks who were but children when he was taken away were now near grown, and the son was a full-time missionary among his German people.
“It was nearing the time of the temple dedication at Bern, Switzerland. I said to this good woman, ‘Are you going to the temple dedication?’ I saw the disappointment in her eyes as she said how she would like to go, but how impossible it was because of lack of finances. ‘Here is the place for the gift’ was the thought which rooted itself in my mind. I quietly checked with the mission president as to her worthiness and the appropriateness of her going to the temple; and then I gave to him half of the gift, which he assured me would pay the actual bus transportation to Bern and return.
“A few weeks later we were in southern France. … We were one hour late for our meeting at Nice. It was a hot night. The building was filled to capacity. A woman sat at the piano, entertaining this large crowd until our arrival. For one hour she had played. I was embarrassed for our delay and so grateful to her for what she had done to hold the group and entertain them that I inquired concerning her. Her husband, a professor, had died not long ago and the widow was making a meager living through her musical talents. She was a rather recent convert. Her mission president and the elder assured me that she was worthy and deserving so I left with her mission president to be given to her the other half of the Saviour’s gift.
“We completed our mission tours … and finally returned to Bern for the dedication service of the Swiss Temple. The prophet of the Lord, President David O. McKay, was present with three of the apostles. After the glorious dedication meetings were over, the regular temple services were conducted in the various languages. As I assisted the French Saints in their session, I was conscious of the little musician; and she literally beamed as she was enjoying the Saviour’s birthday gift. She had used it to pay for her transportation to the temple. Her eyes shone with a new luster; her step was lighter; she radiated joy and peace as she came through the temple with new light, new hope. And I whispered to myself, ‘Thank the Lord for good folks who remember the Redeemer on his birthday.’”4

“This will be the 10th load of hay,” David’s father called to him. “Drive over to the higher ground.” Young David O. McKay looked across the field to where his father was pointing. The first nine loads they had gathered were full of lesser-quality hay. David knew his father meant for this 10th load of the best hay to go to the bishops’ storehouse as their tithing. But he didn’t understand why they couldn’t give the Lord the same hay they were collecting.
David called back to his father, “No, let us take the hay as it comes.”
David’s father didn’t answer. David was about to repeat himself when he saw his father turn and begin walking straight toward him. Suddenly, the breeze in the hay field was gone, and the sun became feverishly hot. David wiped the sweat from his forehead and the back of his neck. He knew his father was not crossing the field to give him a pat on the back for his snippy answer. He was coming all this way to be sure that David understood something.
“No, David.” His father spoke sternly, yet the calm in his voice made David pay extra close attention. “This is the 10th load, and the best is none too good for God.” David’s father looked closely at his son’s face to make sure he had been listening. Then he turned and walked away.
David swallowed the lump in his throat and then guided his team to the higher ground. As he loaded the cut hay onto the wagon, he began to think of what his father was trying to teach him. While he knew that tithing is a law, just as much as obedience and sacrifice are, David wanted to put their own needs first. But God had said to take the firstlings of the flocks—the very best—and give them to Him (see Deuteronomy 12:6).
“My father gives the best to God, and we get the next best,” David thought. “Perhaps this is how we make the Lord the center of our thoughts and our lives.”
David turned the hay wagon down the dusty road toward the bishops’ storehouse. He drove into the yard and unloaded the hay. It was a sacrifice for his father to give his best hay to the Lord, but David knew his father would have it no other way. He wanted to give his best for the Lord, just as Heavenly Father gave His perfect Son for the world.
As David turned his team back toward home, a good feeling came over him. He was glad his father had taught him the law of tithing. It was a lesson he would remember all his life.

When I was a child, Frank Talley, a member of the Church, offered to help my family fly from Puerto Rico to Salt Lake City so we could be sealed in the temple, but soon obstacles began to appear. One of my sisters, Marivid, became ill. Unsettled, my parents prayed about what to do and still felt prompted to make the journey. They trusted that as they faithfully followed the Lord’s prompting, our family would be watched over and blessed—and we were.
My family’s trip to the temple years ago was difficult, but as we approached the temple in Salt Lake City, Utah, my mother, full of joy and faith, said, “We are going to be OK; the Lord will protect us.” We were sealed as a family, and my sister recovered. This happened only after the trial of my parents’ faith and in following the Lord’s promptings.

When I was a child growing up and learning about life, I did not have the security of my father and mother telling me who I was, how I could find lasting happiness, and what would happen to me if I were to die. My parents did not have the gospel of Jesus Christ, so my childhood was very uncertain in many ways and often full of fear.
But in all the memories of my childhood, there is at least one of peace and joy. This is the memory of Christmas.
Christmastime was celebrated in the traditions and customs of my home country of Germany, and it was specifically for the children.
Four Sundays before Christmas Day, preparations for something holy and beautiful could be felt in our home. A little wreath with four candles on it was placed on the family table.
On the first Sunday, the first candle was lit. As a family we sat around the table, singing Christmas songs and preparing little gifts that each of us would give to each member of the family.
On the fourth Sunday, the last candle was lit, and expectations for the coming joyous events were growing extreme.
A Christmas tree did not appear in our home until December 24. On that day, we children had to stay outside, go on errands, and play by ourselves. I still remember how time seemed to not pass at all.
We children were taught that the Christmas tree and all of its glory and beauty, along with presents and food and cookies, came from the little Christ Child.
This lack of logic did not bother us children. We believed that there was a Christ-child person of a supernatural existence who cared for us in such a way that once a year He would come in person to fulfill all of our hopes and dreams.
In preparation, we cleaned the rooms where we slept. We put on our best clothes. We had our gifts ready to give. When the sun started to set on that special day, we were invited to get ready to enter the living room.
As was the custom, the doors to the living room had been locked because we children were not to go into that room. It became a place of great mystery. Once in a while we heard some rustling of papers, and once in a while the more courageous of us tried to peek in the keyhole—only to learn that the key was in it from the inside and the door was locked.
When Mother finally decided that we were clean, orderly, dressed, our hair groomed, and had our rooms in order, we were asked to listen carefully. Suddenly we heard a little bell ringing, and our hearts beat close to explosion. This was it! This was the moment when the doors were unlocked and we were allowed to go into the living room. And there it was—a Christmas tree standing from the floor to the ceiling! We became aware of its beautiful, fresh-cut smell and that it was glowing with candles. Our father, who happened to be already inside the room when we walked in, was watching it carefully so that nothing caught on fire.
The Christmas tree had many decorations that we as children would see only at Christmastime. In the center of the tree was a wax sculpture of a little Christ Child surrounded by glowing angels of gold paper and silk.
Our family gathered around the tree and sang four or five Christmas songs. Then we children were invited to find our own corner of presents, which had been covered by a blanket.
This Christmas Eve tradition developed in us powerful feelings of holiness, joy, love, gratitude, and security. These feelings, radiating from the symbols of the little wax figure of the Christ Child, which we saw only at Christmastime, had a great influence on all of us.

The Nagoya Saints held their first Sunday School meeting in January 1950. To attract more people, Toshiko and the missionaries placed flyers in a local newspaper. The next Sunday, 150 people showed up at the lecture hall. Latter-day Saint meetings often drew crowds in post-war Japan as many people sought hope and meaning after the trauma they had experienced.1 But for most, interest in the Church was temporary, especially as the country grew more economically stable. As fewer people felt a need to turn to faith, attendance at the meetings declined.2

Thank you, random student, for shouting out "remember who you are" at 7:00 in the morning. Your shout out inspired me!
True story by the way. It happened just a few weeks ago as I was walking from the Clarke building to the Manwaring Center for a meeting. It was about 10 minutes to seven and I was just passing the child lab when I heard someone holler "remember who you are!" from the crosswalk behind me. I knew the student was not shouting directly to me (at least I don't think so), but the message stopped me in my tracks and I laughed out loud. It had been a long time since I had heard that phrase with that level of imperative, but it was just what I needed! What inspiration and happiness filled my heart! Remember who you are. This is the message I want to share.
But more than just remembering who you are -which to me is a more passive appreciation for something you've forgotten; I would like to explore rediscovering who you are - which more actively reconnects you with what you already deeply know.

—The lights were already blazing at the famous Lincoln Center in Manhattan, but their glow was a little brighter when reflected in the eyes of the young women who had been doing service projects in New York that day.
Young women in the Manhattan Spanish Ward spent the day helping at a crafts fair and celebration to benefit a facility that assists women dealing with AIDS. The girls decorated hand towels, handed out fliers, and helped cook lunch. They not only provided service but were educated as well. “Now that we understand about the virus, we will not brush these people off,” says Karina Mora. “We know how to help people and not be afraid.”

Over 25 years ago, while serving as bishop of the Aix-en-Provence Ward and working for Seminaries and Institutes, I met Sophronia, who had come from Tahiti to study in France. She was a young adult with solid gospel knowledge, having grown up in the Church. It was therefore disconcerting when she came into my office to announce she would no longer be attending church. I hoped it would be temporary but, indeed, she carried out her wish, and I never saw her again. For more than 20 years, Sophronia led a life distant from the gospel.
In 2024, when my wife and I arrived on our mission in Tahiti, we were delighted to see her again—and even happier to learn she had returned to the Church two years earlier. She shared what prompted her return:
“You have to know that throughout my time away from the Church, I kept my testimony of the gospel and had a deep desire for my daughter, Kahaili, to grow up as I had—in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I wanted her to know that God lives, that He loves her, and that He has a plan for her to return to live with Him and her family if she kept His commandments. Yet I didn’t want to return to church myself. Quite contradictory, wasn’t it?
“Kahaili occasionally attended meetings with my mother, but this sporadic attendance wouldn’t adequately prepare her for baptism. In 2022, when Kahaili was six and a half, I realized we only had a year and a half to prepare. I say ‘we’ because this process meant I would have to become involved personally, not relying on my mother or anyone else.
“I asked her, ‘Kahaili, do you want to be baptized when you turn eight?’
“Without hesitation, she replied, ‘Yes, Mom, I want to be baptized!’
“Her enthusiasm amazed me, and in that outpouring of fervor, I found the courage to make the sacrifice and return to church.
“We attended that first Sunday alone. But soon after, my husband, Cyril (although not a member of the Church), joined us, feeling his place was with us. When Kahaili expressed her desire for her father to baptize her, I responded with a forced smile, ‘Well, ask your daddy. You never know!’—not believing for a moment it could happen. Her father replied, ‘If I can, my daughter, I will.’”
The Lord then intervened in Cyril’s life. His conversion came through reading Ether 12:4: “Wherefore, whoso believeth in God might with surety hope for a better world, yea, even a place at the right hand of God, which hope cometh of faith, maketh an anchor to the souls of men, which would make them sure and steadfast, always abounding in good works, being led to glorify God.”
This scripture about hope becoming an anchor resonated deeply with Cyril as he recalled nearly drowning in the Tuamotus lagoon years earlier. While he was fishing, his boat had drifted away when its anchor came loose. Despite swimming desperately to catch up, he grew exhausted. Miraculously, the boat’s anchor caught on a coral formation, stopping the boat so he could reach it. Cyril still describes this as a miracle that saved his life.
Like a rebirth, Cyril was baptized on March 28, 2024—his 50th birthday. The following month, he baptized Kahaili. The crowning moment came on April 12, 2025, when Sophronia, Cyril, and Kahaili were sealed in the Papeete Tahiti Temple. We had the privilege of attending this sacred ceremony.
I share this story to testify that there is always hope when family members stray from the Church. Even if it takes a quarter century, through faith in Jesus Christ, a miracle is always possible.