Gospel Story Finder

Illustration by Allen Garns
I had an assignment in my physics class to build a CO2 (carbon dioxide)-powered race car. We started with a block of wood, and with careful planning, instruction, and eventual approval from our teacher, we were able to construct our cars.
On day one of construction, I was kind of nervous. I had never tried to carve anything out of wood and had never seen or even heard of the big machines we were supposed to use. After the teacher helped me for the first little bit, I gained the confidence to move forward by myself, and I was surprised at how simple, easy, and fun the machines were to use. After cutting out the main design and drilling the holes for the axle, I began sanding. I helped a few others sand their cars too.
I spent the next two class periods painting my car. I don’t have the best painting or art skills, but I did the best I could. It took me a long time, and I made sure that each stroke was perfect and that the color flow from lighter to darker was smooth and made sense. Some of my friends complimented me on the design when I was finished.
Race day caught me by surprise, as I still had not put in the axles and wheels, and I had close to zero time to finish everything I needed to do before the race. In a panic, I realized that the axle would not fit into the hole I drilled on the first day because the paint covered it. I quickly drilled new holes, but my aim was just slightly askew, making the axles wonky and unbalanced. The back wheels didn’t spin freely, and one of the front wheels didn’t even touch the racing surface. I replaced that wheel with a larger one to compensate. It looked ridiculous.
I made the final adjustments to my car while watching everybody else in the class race their creations. Some cars flew super fast, sometimes even crash-landing into the box designated as the finish line and losing wheels. For the most part, everyone’s car made it to the finish.
Then it came time for me to race, and I knew my car was going to have trouble. When the button was pressed and the car launched, it pathetically lost its big wheel and stopped about 10 feet from where it started. I glanced at it with a cringe of disappointment. I thought to myself, “Just one mistake messed it up. If it weren’t for that one mistake, it probably would have reached the finish line.”
It was an utter flop. I was anguished by my lack of success.
But toward the end of class I realized something that changed everything.
In spite of what had happened, I had actually made that car—it was still my own work. I had had fun learning how to use those machines, sanding, and painting. I had done the work and learned from my mistakes, and that was what really mattered.
I may not have had the best woodworking or painting skills. I might not have even gotten an A on the project, but I walked happily down the hallway anyway, knowing that I have my own abilities and inabilities, and that I can learn. I am grateful for that knowledge. Just as long as I keep learning and trying, I will always have an A+ in the class of life, where Heavenly Father is the teacher and provider. I’m so grateful for the knowledge of a loving Heavenly Father who knows us and has blessed each of us with diverse traits and the ability to learn.

It’s hard, I know. I’ve been there. It took me two years to gain the courage I needed to go to my bishop. When I did and talked with him about my problem, you wouldn’t believe the amount of guilt and pain that was lifted from my shoulders. It’s almost impossible to imagine the joy one can feel when the problem is gone. Bishops keep these things you tell them a secret. They have to. They show you how to repent and solve your problem. They also let you know that you’re still a son or daughter of God and that your Father in Heaven still loves you. Please, go to your bishop if you haven’t already. You’ll be glad that you did.
Name withheld

One of my favorite activities as a priesthood leader is visiting members of the Church in their homes. I especially enjoy calling upon and talking with members who commonly are described as “less active.”
During the years I served as a stake president, I often would contact one of the bishops and invite him to prayerfully identify individuals or families we could visit together. Before traveling to a home, the bishop and I would kneel and petition our Heavenly Father for guidance and inspiration, for us and for the members with whom we would meet.
Our visits were quite straightforward. We expressed love and appreciation for the opportunity to be in their home. We affirmed that we were servants of the Lord on His errand to their home. We indicated that we missed and needed them—and that they needed the blessings of the restored gospel. And at some point early in our conversation I often would ask a question like this: “Will you please help us understand why you are not actively participating in the blessings and programs of the Church?”
I made hundreds and hundreds of such visits. Each individual, each family, each home, and each answer was different. Over the years, however, I detected a common theme in many of the answers to my questions. Frequently responses like these were given:
“Several years ago a man said something in Sunday School that offended me, and I have not been back since.”
“No one in this branch greeted or reached out to me. I felt like an outsider. I was hurt by the unfriendliness of this branch.”
“I did not agree with the counsel the bishop gave me. I will not step foot in that building again as long as he is serving in that position.”
Many other causes of offense were cited—from doctrinal differences among adults to taunting, teasing, and excluding by youth. But the recurring theme was: “I was offended by …”
The bishop and I would listen intently and sincerely. One of us might next ask about their conversion to and testimony of the restored gospel. As we talked, eyes often were moist with tears as these good people recalled the confirming witness of the Holy Ghost and described their prior spiritual experiences. Most of the “less-active” people I have ever visited had a discernible and tender testimony of the truthfulness of the restored gospel. However, they were not presently participating in Church activities and meetings.
And then I would say something like this. “Let me make sure I understand what has happened to you. Because someone at church offended you, you have not been blessed by the ordinance of the sacrament. You have withdrawn yourself from the constant companionship of the Holy Ghost. Because someone at church offended you, you have cut yourself off from priesthood ordinances and the holy temple. You have discontinued your opportunity to serve others and to learn and grow. And you are leaving barriers that will impede the spiritual progress of your children, your children’s children, and the generations that will follow.” Many times people would think for a moment and then respond: “I have never thought about it that way.”
The bishop and I would then extend an invitation: “Dear friend, we are here today to counsel you that the time to stop being offended is now. Not only do we need you, but you need the blessings of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. Please come back—now.”

A few years ago, when I was in the navy during World War II, I received orders to report to the fleet headquarters at Pearl Harbor. My family took me to Treasure Island in the San Francisco Bay, where I boarded the plane there, an old sea plane called a Pan-American clipper. On board that plane were some high-ranking medical officers going out to prepare and build up the hospital support because the battle of Tarawa would be taking place within a few weeks. Because of my rank, I was assigned to sleep in a sleeping bag out in the tail of that plane, where I could see the starboard engines as we were flying over San Francisco, which was under military blackout. It was black as we were flying out into the Pacific, and I thought the starboard engine on that old Pan-American plane was on fire. I couldn’t sleep as I watched it throughout the entire flight.

During that sleepless night I wondered about my own life and whether I had been living up to the opportunities that would be mine and the responsibility that would be mine as a holder of the Melchizedek Priesthood—the responsibility to be an example and to live the way I should so that I would be able to fulfill the calls that might come to me. In that sleepless night I took an inventory of myself, of my attitudes, wondering if I was doing all that I might. Even though I had always accepted my Church assignments, I wondered if I was fulfilling them with all of my heart, might, mind, and soul and living up to the responsibility, the blessing, that I received as a holder of the Melchizedek Priesthood and what would be expected of any of us who received this blessing.

Looking back on that sleepless night, I thank the Lord for His blessings today and for all that I have had the opportunity to be involved in. I try always to live the gospel to the fullest, to do everything I am called on to do with all of my heart, might, mind, and strength, to fulfill any call that might come to me so I may be qualified to do whatever I might be asked to do someday.

One husband and father, who had been a dean of a college in his professional career, was then called to be a temple president and then a mission president. Upon release from his mission assignment, he suffered a severe and disabling stroke. Rather than turning to thoughts of complaint, self-pity, or rejection, his wife rose to the trial of this newest experience by drawing upon the strength of the gospel that had always been a part of their lives, as she lovingly reassured: “This is the time for which we have been preparing. We have the foundation of the gospel principles, and I am going to do all I can to make this the happiest time of our lives together.”

In 1988 life was pretty normal for Jared Anderson of Pocatello, Idaho. Much like other ten-year-old boys, he had a paper route and assigned chores around the house. He loved to play basketball and baseball and ride bicycles with his friends. But during that year his life changed quite dramatically when he suddenly became responsible for assisting with his mother’s care.
Thirteen-year-old Jared still remembers the pain he felt when he heard that his mother had collapsed with a grand mal seizure one April Sunday in 1988. Jared was visiting that day at his grandmother’s home when a phone call came from the hospital. Tests and surgery later that week confirmed that Marcia Anderson had two types of brain cancer. Doctors gave her three months to live. “I was really scared,” Jared recalls. “It was so frightening to hear that my mother was dying. She has been my best friend. She’s always been there when I’ve needed her.” Now it’s Jared who is there when his mom needs him. He is the youngest of four children in Neil and Marcia Anderson’s family and has the most time at home to be with his mom. Jared’s oldest sister, Trina, is married; his brother, Shane, is on a mission in Roanoke, Virginia; and his sister Kim is a senior in high school.
After Sister Anderson’s surgery, she had to relearn everything—walking, speaking, reading, writing, and dressing herself. She has been involved in extensive physical therapy—all of which Jared has learned to help her with. She still suffers from seizures. So nurses taught Jared how to reduce the danger of her seizures by catching her when she would fall and holding her head so it wouldn’t be injured.
“Jared has a kind of sixth sense,” his mother recalls, “and he always seems to get there to help me at the very moment I need him.” But Jared explains that any boy would do that for a mom he loved.
Jared has cheered his mother on as she has outlived the doctors’ predictions. He has helped her progress from bed to wheelchair to walking again. Through it all, Jared has turned to his Heavenly Father for help. “Even when she’s having seizures, I always stop and pray for help, but I remember also to ask Heavenly Father that his will be done.” He adds, “It has taught me a lot about patience.”

The Lugo family of Valencia, Venezuela, learned that this new approach of starting small and being consistent can pay big dividends. After listening to general conference, Brother Omar Lugo, a Church member in the Falcón Venezuela District, felt inspired to begin his own home storage. He discussed the matter with his family, and they agreed to follow the prophet’s counsel.
They began setting aside food, water, and money, a little at a time. At first the difference was hardly noticeable. But after a while the Lugos found that they had accumulated a substantial reserve. Several months after they began building their home storage, a worker’s strike in Venezuela put many local workers’ jobs in jeopardy. Brother Lugo was among those who eventually lost their jobs.
For a time his family lived on savings. Seven months later the Lugo family was relying exclusively on the food they had stored. It took nearly two years for Brother Lugo to find work again, but his family was able to survive the difficult challenges of unemployment. They had built their reserve gradually, and when adversity struck, they were prepared and the Lord blessed them.

When I was 15, I decided to get my patriarchal blessing. It was something I had wanted to do for a while, but I was nervous. Many of my friends told me it was one of the most spiritual things to ever happen to them. I wanted to make sure I did all I could to make it as special as possible.
When I asked my patriarch how I should prepare, I expected something huge, like "Go to the temple every day" or "Read the whole Book of Mormon this week." Instead, he suggested I might fast the morning of my blessing. I didn’t totally understand the impact it would have, but I did as he asked, and as a result, my patriarchal blessing was a monumentally spiritual experience for me.
This experience taught me that fasting includes sincerely praying while sacrificing meals to express gratitude to God and bring Him closer to you. When I fasted that morning, I prayed that my heart would be open to the words of my blessing. I felt the Spirit so strongly as a result, and that made my experience very meaningful.
Lincoln S., 16, Arizona, USA

During April 1993 my father was buying groceries at a local store in the little town of Realicó, Argentina. Two young men approached him and asked if they could visit his family. My father agreed, and they soon came to our home.
I can still hear my little brother, Sebastián, running to my bedroom and whispering excitedly, “Come look! The missionaries are here!” We had seen them on the streets before, and I must confess we had made fun of them.
That day they shared the Book of Mormon with my parents. They stopped by two days later, and to their amazement my mother had read the whole book and had a list of questions. The missionaries were very excited, but my parents were not looking for a change of religion as much as they were interested in developing a friendship with the elders. “Talk all you want, but you will not get a convert out of this family” was my parents’ first reaction to the discussions. Still the missionaries continued to teach us with a lot of faith and patience.
On a cold night we offered to take the elders home after a discussion. On the way back to our house I asked my mother if she was really thinking of being baptized into this new religion. Her reply stunned me: “If I find it to be the truth, then I will get baptized.” I realized I should also know for myself if it was true.
When the commitment to obey the Word of Wisdom came up in the discussions, I thought it was the end. My mother had tried to stop smoking for 16 years without positive results, and my father sometimes drank alcohol at social events. I didn’t think we needed to change our lifestyle to please some strange religion. Still the missionaries asked us to pray to find out if the gospel had been restored and if Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. A miracle occurred because my mother was able to stop smoking. She knew God was trying to let her know the Church was true, and she was baptized.
I kept reading and praying, and once I had a testimony of the Book of Mormon, I entered the waters of baptism. A few weeks later my father made the same decision, and two years later so did my brother. Although I was only 13 years old when I joined the Church, I knew I had found the greatest treasure ever.
We were sealed as an eternal family in the Buenos Aires Argentina Temple, and we have discovered the joy the gospel brings to our lives. As I look back, I can see the Spirit of God working in our hearts and helping us come out of the darkness into the light.
I love my family. I love the gospel. I love being a missionary. And now when I knock on a door and people say, “Talk all you want, but you will not get a convert out of this family,” I smile and pray that the Spirit will touch them the way it touched my family 10 years ago.

May I close with just one other experience. Let me tell you of one elderly brother who sat in a nursing home just looking at the floor day after day, week after week. Someone who loved him and knew about Deseret Industries arranged for him to come to work. He began by the supervisor placing a wide push broom in his hands, taking him to the end of a corridor, and having him push the broom down the hall to the other end; then turning him around and having him push it back again. This he did time after time.
In the process of doing, he started to get a small glimmer of interest in something—in anything—and his eyes raised from the floor. He saw the walls, and he saw the windows. As this process continued, the development of a feeling that everyone needs was nurtured. It wasn’t long until other assignments were given to him which he did very well. In time his faith in himself and his feeling of worth had been restored. He became a supervisor of others.

I see in my mind another pioneer woman who helped the families in a Monclova, Mexico, branch make their homes learning centers. I met her on a Sunday in September 1975. Adelita happily showed me the things she had done in her own home to motivate her children to study, then told of things she was doing to help the other sisters in the branch teach their children better study habits. Adelita herself was illiterate, yet she placed great value on education. Humble and gracious, she desired only to serve.

Matthew told the congregation that in his family’s discussion of a “perfect day,” “we came to understand the need to perfect ourselves a little each and every day. For some months, my wife Joan has been very ill, and her illness has affected the entire family. We have come to rely upon the Lord more and to daily seek his guidance, and we have come to better recognize and understand the power of the priesthood. For our ‘perfect day,’ we agreed that we continually need to be supportive of each other, and to live worthy of the blessings we receive.”

Quite by accident, we just happened to be in Trieste, Italy, the day before the Young Women of the ward there were to leave for the camp. Rita Schina, the Young Women leader in the Trieste Ward, invited us to accompany the group. We had other plans, but a whisper in our hearts told us to go to the camp instead, so we heeded the prompting. We have been thankful ever since that we did.
We attended the camp to see if such an experience could change the lives of young LDS girls. Now we realize that the experience changed our lives as well. The joy the girls felt in living simple gospel standards, and the unpretentious love and respect they showed to us and to each other, have been lasting influences in our lives.

I could not help noticing the lady in the seat across the aisle. She was looking around the bus with her eyes wide and glossy, her thin hands clasped together in front of her. She kept squinting out the window, shaking her wispy hair, and making a funny noise. She began fidgeting more and more, and I wondered if she was going to make a scene. I turned to the window, trying to ignore her, but curiosity made me look back again.
It was then that I saw tears in her eyes. I wondered if she might be in trouble. I wanted to help, but what if she did make a scene? I wouldn’t know what to do. Besides, I thought, I have to get to school on time, and my stop is coming up.
Then I looked over to where she was sitting and saw the fearful expression on her face. The next thing I knew, I stood up, crossed the aisle, and sat down beside her.
“Are you okay?” I asked. “Do you need some help?”
Her eyes were wet and her hands were shaking. Her delicate face stared at me blankly, like a young child’s, so I asked her again, “Are you okay?”
She looked down at her green handbag and fumbled through it for a pen and a notebook. She began writing, “Have we left Ottawa? I think I took the wrong bus.”
I picked up the pen and wrote, “Are you deaf?” She responded with a nod. “Don’t worry,” I continued to write. “We’ll figure this out.”
My stop was coming up next, and I knew this would make me late, but I didn’t ring the bell. Instead, I approached the bus driver, who phoned the station for directions. I wrote the alternate route down for her, and the bus driver said he would ensure that she caught the connecting bus.
“What is your name?” I wrote quickly, before getting off at a stop quite a distance now from the school.
“Anna,” she scribbled. “Thank you. You are the friend I was praying for.” A calm smile spread across her face that made her hazel eyes sparkle. I could feel her love and appreciation. As I smiled back at her, I felt an understanding that bonded us together.
As the door swished behind me, and I waved good-bye, I could not believe that I had almost let Anna take that frightening journey alone. I ran all the way back to school with a smile on my face. I was glad I had listened to the promptings of the Holy Ghost telling me that someone else needed help.

They aren’t great basketball players, but they are determined, I thought as I watched the opposing team run up and down the court.
They were younger, less experienced, and shorter than our basketball team, but they kept on trying, even when it was clear that they didn’t have a chance of winning.
Randy, a boy with sandy-blond hair, played like he didn’t know what the score was. Although he rarely had possession of the ball, he chased it up and down the court like the whole game depended on him.
When his teammates did pass him the ball, he would carry it four steps, stop, bounce it, and pass it to another player. But the referees didn’t call traveling, and no one complained. Randy, who is mentally handicapped, was doing his best.
With seconds left on the clock, he got the ball and his teammates yelled for him to shoot. Concentrating so hard that his tongue hung out of his mouth, he shot—and missed. One of our players rebounded the ball, hesitated, and then tossed the ball to Randy.
“Shoot the ball!” our player yelled, and members of both teams joined in the cheer.
The ball went up, hit the rim, and bounced off. Again, Randy was given the ball, and again he missed. Time had run out, but the buzzer didn’t sound, and the referees stayed at half court. Everyone yelled for him to try again. This time the ball arched and swished the net, and the last two points of the game belonged to Randy.
The crowd went wild and the members of both teams surrounded Randy to congratulate him. He jumped up and down like he’d won the game. And I realized that he had.
And so had every player in that game. They had been true sportsmen: fair and generous. That night no one went home feeling angry or disappointed. There was no bragging or teasing—only fun, good feelings, and winners.

One of the best ways to make friends is to invite them over, right? That’s what the Montreal Ward of the Montreal Quebec Mount Royal Stake did. Their new chapel created so much interest in the surrounding neighborhood of La Salle that ward leaders decided to open it up for tours.

And when they did, the youth of this ward played a major role. The Latter-day Saint teens served refreshments, directed parking, and greeted guests at the door.

“It was a good experience because it gave other people in the community an opportunity to know more about us—what we believe and what we do,” explains Melissa Poirier, 15. More than 300 non-Latter-day Saints toured the building.

When asked why his family had come to see the building, one man responded: “We watched you last year having a beautiful groundbreaking service. We saw the beautiful building going up. And now we want to see it from the inside. We are so excited!”

One woman said, “I have my own religion, but I was interested in seeing the building.” She spent hours asking questions, and when she left she said, “I didn’t know you believed in Christ. I am so impressed.”

The new building did bring a minor protest. “There were two men standing outside in the rain for six hours, handing out anti-LDS literature,” Melissa’s twin brother, Shawn, says. “We felt sorry for them, so we fixed two plates of cookies and took them out. They seemed grateful for the food.”

In addition to holding the open house, the ward also sponsored a dinner for the mayor of La Salle, the mayor’s council, the contractor, the designers, the architects, and other people involved in the construction.

“The dinner was quite fast paced, so we were on our toes most of the time,” Shawn says. “But we received many compliments. I think that was a good sign of community interest and acceptance.”

I know of one Laurel-aged girl named Diana who will always appreciate what a good friend did for her without being asked during a critical period of her life. When she was 17, Diana became extremely and chronically depressed. Her depression was so severe that she eventually required medical attention. When her friend Rachel learned of this, she made quietly sure that she was available whenever Diana needed her. To this day Diana maintains that the phone calls, long walks, tennis matches, and lengthy conversations on a variety of subjects, including her illness, were instrumental in helping her return to full health and activity.

Nearly a year ago, we lost my older brother in a tragic automobile accident. John’s early years were full of promise and accomplishment. But as he grew older, a broken body and uncooperative mind made life very difficult. While the healing he hoped for didn’t come in this life, John nonetheless held to his faith, determined to endure, as best he could, to the end.
Now, I know that John was not perfect, but I have wondered what it was that gave him such endurance. Many voices invited him into the cynical fringe, but he chose not to go. Instead, he did his best to anchor his life at the gospel center. He lived his life there because he knew he would find the voice of his Master there; he lived his life there because he knew it was there that he would be taught.
Brothers and sisters, in a world with so many competing voices, I testify that our Heavenly Father has made it possible for us to hear and follow His. If we are diligent, He and His Son will give us the direction we seek, the strength we need, and the happiness we all desire. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

First, let’s focus on the comforting power of the Holy Ghost. When I was just a young girl, I became seriously ill. Each day the illness became increasingly severe. Nothing the doctor recommended helped. At that time the dreaded disease of polio was raging in almost epidemic proportions in the land. It was taking the lives of many, and those who didn’t die were often left crippled. Polio was everyone’s worst fear in those days.
One night my illness became critical, and my father and grandfather administered to me using consecrated oil, and through the power of the holy Melchizedek Priesthood, which they held worthily, they called upon God for healing, help, guidance, and comfort. And then my parents took me to a doctor in another town who immediately sent us to Salt Lake City—two and one-half hours away—with the admonition to hurry. I overheard the doctor whisper that he was certain it was polio.
When we finally arrived at the hospital in Salt Lake, there were medical personnel waiting for us. They grabbed me from my parents’ arms and whisked me away. Without a word of good-bye or explanation, we were separated. I was all alone, and I thought I was going to die.
Following the painful diagnostic procedures, including a spinal tap, they took me to a hospital isolation room, where I would stay all by myself with the hope that I would not infect anyone else, for indeed I did have polio.
I remember how very frightened I was. It was dark and I was so sick and so alone. But my parents had taught me to pray. I got on my knees, and I knelt beside the railing in the criblike bed and asked Heavenly Father to bless me. I was crying, I remember. Heavenly Father heard my prayer even though I was only a child. He did. Heavenly Father sent His comforting power, which enveloped me in quiet love. I felt the power of the Holy Ghost, and I was not alone.

Edevanir Leopoldino of the São Paulo Brazil São Miguel Paulista Stake remembers a family home evening that changed his life. He was 16 years old and not a member of the Church when he stopped at his friend Leandro’s house to see if Leandro wanted to attend a local dance. His friend instead invited Edevanir to share in his family home evening. Not sure what to expect, Edevanir reluctantly agreed to take part.
Of the evening, Edevanir writes, “It was great!” Leandro’s brother was going on a mission, so the family home evening was a going-away party. Edevanir recalls: “The Spirit of the Lord touched me in such a way that I felt a warmth inside me so strongly that I didn’t know what to do, and I felt a joy so grand that I could no longer feel alone.
“After that family home evening I began the missionary discussions and soon was baptized. The following year I was called to serve in the Brazil Porto Alegre Mission [later the Brazil Santa Maria Mission]. Just eight years after that special family home evening with Leandro, I am now sharing family home evenings with my own family.”