Gospel Story Finder

I once visited a charming town in Iceland. Right away, I noticed that the traffic lights were shaped like hearts! I asked about it and learned the story.
Years ago, people in Iceland were having a hard time. The town decided to do something to help people be happy again. They called it the “Smile with Your Heart” project. They changed the traffic lights and asked people to hang hearts from windows. The hearts helped everyone remember to love others and have hope.
One person told me the project was to help remind them to be kind to one another. They also said it helped them stop and think about what matters most in life.
This showed me that no act of kindness is too small. Something as simple as a heart-shaped traffic light can remind someone of their worth, give them hope, and help them get through another day.

I was five when I went to the temple to be sealed to my parents. How beautiful the temple is!
Ashley M., age 8, California, USA

When my family and I started attending The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I felt in my heart that my mom had guided us there.
Mom had died unexpectedly on Christmas Day two years before. She was an incredibly faithful and humble follower of Jesus Christ, but she had never learned about the restored gospel. After 11 months of learning about the Church, my husband, Navid, my daughter, Katie, and I were baptized on Christmas Day. What had once been a day of sadness because of my mother’s passing would now be a day of happiness for our family because of our new life in the gospel.
Many people attended our baptism. I was shocked to see over 100 people there at 10:00 a.m. on Christmas morning! We couldn’t have felt more loved.

Mary Whitmer: The angel Moroni showed her the plates and comforted her because of the burdens she had to bear in taking care of eight children and three houseguests while the Book of Mormon was being translated at her home.3

Towards the end of 1989, a friend of mine, Gregory Mutete, came home in our then small township of Dangamvura—situated in Mutare, Zimbabwe. He reported to me and Christopher Bangwayo—our other friend—that he had secured employment as a gardener from a missionary couple named Grant and Sharol Wilson. They had offered him a book called the Book of Mormon, but he had refused to take it—wanting first to confer with the two of us. As a group of three tightly knit teenage friends, we all had to agree before deciding to embark on any form of adventure, which we believed this was going to be. Little did we know that this was a beginning of a journey that would try our faith to the limit. We were skeptical about these missionaries—based on the lessons we had received in school—so we were prepared to disprove all theories they were to share with us.
A decision was taken that Gregory should invite the couple to visit us and to answer some of our questions. The following day the couple drove Gregory to my home and also delivered the Book of Mormon, which they introduced to us together with the story of Joseph Smith. All sounded like a fiction story from a movie script. How could a fourteen-year-old boy see God and His Son, Jesus Christ, and literally talk with them? It was preposterous, to say the least. This was my first time exercising my faith and putting to the test the invitation extended to us and find out for myself through prayer as Joseph Smith did.
In my nineteen-year-old mind, I felt that if fourteen-year-old Joseph Smith was able to see God and Jesus Christ, then I—being 19 years old—would also have the same experience, if not better. I retired to a high mountain close to our home, found a quiet place, knelt and delivered my supplication to God. For at least fifteen minutes I was talking to my God. You may have already guessed what happened after that heartfelt prayer. God and Jesus Christ did not appear to me. Instead as I embarked on my journey back home, I had this total feeling of peace and contentment envelop my whole being. At that moment I did not realize what it was until after some time much later when I realized that it was the language of the Holy Ghost confirming to me that what had been taught to me was truth. After that marvelous experience the three of us were baptized. It took us exactly eight days from the day we met the missionary couple to the day we were baptized.

As they traveled, the pioneers left signs for those who would follow. One sign on a cedar post read, “From Winter Quarters, 295 Miles, May 8th, ’47. Camp, all well. W. Clayton.”* Another message left on a bleached animal skull read, “Pioneers camped here June 23rd, 1847 making 15 miles today All well Brigham Young.” Letters to loved ones were also sent with trappers or other travelers who were headed east.

“I hadn’t thought much about the lyrics of songs on the radio until I went for a drive with a friend from Idaho Falls who kept punching the buttons on the car radio. ‘Some songs aren’t worth listening to,’ he said. He explained that if he wouldn’t want his mom to listen to the song, he wouldn’t either. Maybe that’s corny, but if it is, I’m for it. I’m a lot more selective about what I listen to now,” said one young woman from California.

During my first two years of teaching seminary in Nevada, I assigned two students in each class to be what we called “seminary phantoms.” They were to do nice things throughout the year for their fellow students, without anyone knowing.
Most of the students in my early-morning class were from the same two wards, except for one freshman. His name was Clark, and every day he sat by himself near the front of the room. About three months into the year, I had the class grouped into teams. I asked one boy to let Clark be on his team, and he asked, “Who’s Clark?” It was then that I realized how few people knew Clark.
A few weeks later, as the Christmas season drew near, we geared up to do our annual seminary Christmas activity called “secret Santas.” Students who wanted to participate signed up to do nice things, anonymously, for another student during the week before Christmas break. As the sign-up list went around, nearly everyone signed up. Everyone except Clark.
After class, I pulled aside my two seminary phantoms and asked if they would do a favor for someone in the class. They both willingly agreed. I explained about Clark and asked if they would mind doing just one nice thing for him from his secret Santa.
The following Monday, Clark’s book slot was decorated with ribbons and candy. Tuesday, there were small gifts. As the class came in both days, they crowded around him to see what he had received. Again on Wednesday, there was a small surprise left for him on my desk. When Thursday came, he found a gingerbread house on his desk. He couldn’t believe his eyes.
The next morning was Friday, the last day before Christmas vacation. Clark came into class with a present of his own. It was a huge gingerbread house that must have taken him and his mother all evening to make. He asked if I would please give it to his secret Santa. When class was over, Clark was slow in leaving, hoping to find out who I would give his gift to. But I convinced him that his Santa wanted to remain a secret. As he walked down the street, a car which a few minutes earlier had appeared to drive off, turned into the parking lot again, and two girls got an early Christmas present.
Seminary became Clark’s favorite class. Throughout the remaining three years, he had some wonderful friends in seminary. I can’t help but think that it was partially the result of those two seminary phantoms. The year that he graduated from high school and seminary, I was transferred to another state.
The following summer, my family and I came back to visit. Late one evening, at the home where we were staying, we heard a car drive by. The horn honked and someone yelled, “We love you, Brother Fowler!” In the morning, I found my car “decorated” with toilet paper. Inside was a note with a copy of a mission call attached to it. It was from Clark. It read, “Seminary was the inspiration for the day and for my life. Thanks!”

It’s 6:00 p.m. at the Yoshida family’s natural health products store in El Paso, Texas—time to close for the day. Julio and Gabriela, with help from their children, wait on their last customers, tidy up, and prepare to head home.

As different as the Hernandez and Yoshida businesses are from each other, they have something important in common. They owe their success, at least partially, to principles taught through the Church’s self-reliance initiative.

“If you make the principles of self-reliance the basis of your business, it will grow,” says Julio Yoshida. “It will become stronger and more stable. The self-reliance program also made me stronger and more positive. I find greater meaning in my work and more opportunities when I apply these principles.”

When the Yoshidas opened their business in 2016, Julio was serving as their ward’s bishop. Both money and time were tight.

“When you start a business, you have to be prepared economically and mentally because you might not have a lot of income at first,” says Gabriela Yoshida. “We didn’t suffer any losses when we opened, but our income fell short of what we were accustomed to because we were investing so much in the business. We had to tighten our belts and adjust our budget. We guarded each dollar that went out.”

In 2017, Gabriela, in charge of their family finances, attended a Personal Finances for Self-Reliance course. Julio, in charge of their business finances, took the Starting and Growing My Business course. He says that learning to use financial resources more wisely—both at home and at work—was paramount.

“I became better organized in what we bought and sold,” he says. “I made sure we moved old merchandise first and newer merchandise later. We began purchasing with better efficiency. We eventually got rid of stuff we didn’t sell. We also applied what we learned to our advertising.”

To determine the effectiveness of their advertising, they surveyed new customers to find out how they had heard about the business.

“We advertised on two TV stations, one in English and one in Spanish,” says Gabriela. “Given that many of our clients speak Spanish, we were surprised to learn that the station in English worked better for us.”

Julio Yoshida and his daughter Martha wait on customers at their family business.

That principle also blessed the Yoshida family.

“We didn’t think we had enough money to save any, but we said, ‘We must have a savings, come what may,’” says Gabriela. “So, we started saving, though it was only a small amount each month.”

During the first three years that they ran their business, the Yoshidas worked hard, saved, and sacrificed. Their children also helped at the store.

“We all worked in the family business, and we didn’t have any rest for three years,” says Sister Yoshida. “We had two children serving missions, and there wasn’t money for a vacation. We just kept saving until finally we could all enjoy a summer vacation together. We deserved it!”

It can take a while for a start-up business to begin making money and for a family to build up a savings, but for the Yoshida, Hernandez, and Vasquez families, embracing inspired principles has brought them blessings.

“It’s very important that we pay our tithing,” says Brother Yoshida. “We have had some tight times, but we have always remembered to live this law, and the Lord has blessed us greatly. We are self-reliant. That’s what we wanted.”

Imagine the morning scene this way: It’s Saturday morning and you’re comfy in your bed. You hear the door open and smell your favorite breakfast food. Your mom comes in and softly tells you breakfast is ready. It’s a bit of a different picture, isn’t it? That’s a softer approach.

3. Prepare a quiz on prophets. Ask questions such as: “Who was the first prophet?” (Adam); “Who is the prophet and President of the Church today?” (President Gordon B. Hinckley); “Name a prophet from the Old Testament”; “Name a prophet from the Book of Mormon”; “Who wrote the Articles of Faith?” (Joseph Smith), etc. Display pictures of as many of the prophets you ask questions about as you can find in the GAK. As the children answer each question, have them hold up the picture of that prophet. If pictures are not available, hold up the book of scriptures where that prophet’s teachings are found. Each of these prophets has counseled the people in his day to do the things the Savior wants them to do. Tell how Joseph Smith was asked by a newspaper reporter what the Church believed. In response, Joseph wrote a letter. He listed thirteen basic beliefs of the Church. The Prophet’s list became the Articles of Faith. Ask, “Who knows the thirteenth article of faith?” Have the children repeat it together. Joseph Smith used the teachings of another prophet, Paul in the New Testament, when he wrote, “If there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things” (see Philip. 4:8). Have the children tell or pantomime things that they do every day to follow the teachings found in the thirteenth article of faith (watch only appropriate television shows, read books and listen to music that is uplifting and motivates us to think and act and feel in righteous ways, etc.). Sing “Hum Your Favorite Hymn” (CS, p. 152).

When Joseph saw his brother Hyrum walking toward him, he left the ax buried in the log he was cutting up for firewood. Hyrum was nearly six years older, and just about the best friend that nine-year-old Joseph had in the whole world. Hadn’t he sat with Joseph day and night, holding his leg to ease the pain when it was so sore and swollen! And no one was more fun to wrestle or run with than Hyrum. Joseph challenged Hyrum to a footrace every chance he got, though he still needed a crutch at times and walked with a limp.
“Hyrum, I’ll race you to the house for dinner.”
Hyrum grinned. “Then you’d better take a head start while you have the chance.”
Joseph took off like a duck after a June bug, under the apple tree then right through the corn patch. No use worrying about tromping through the corn, he reasoned. An early frost had already ruined it.
Joseph reached the house and raced right through the open door, shouting, “I beat you, Hyrum!” But he came to an abrupt standstill when he saw his father and mother in earnest conversation. His father looked at the boys for a full half minute before he spoke, as though he were still trying to make friends with an idea. “We’re thinking of moving to Palmyra. It’s a settlement in New York state.”
Hyrum was the first to find words. “It’s because of the drought and the frost killing our crops the past three years, isn’t it?”
“ ’Fraid so. We’ve done the best we could, and you’ve both worked like men to help. If we hadn’t been able to sell a little fruit from our trees, we’d have starved. Caleb Howard says folks are getting forty bushels of wheat to an acre in New York. He’s going to Palmyra right away … said we could go along with him. If I could only arrange our affairs in time …”
“Why don’t you go on ahead, Father? We can follow with Mother and help her,” Hyrum suggested.
Joseph chimed in, “We can help get things ready here.”
Lucy put her arms around her two sons. “With the help of the boys I’m sure I can manage. Sophronia is thirteen now and she can take over the little ones. You go on ahead and find a place for us to live.”
By the time the moon was new once more, Joseph’s father had sent for the family and Mr. Howard was back in Vermont to help them move.
Joseph helped his mother pack their homespun sheets and quilts. A huge hide-covered trunk, bound with metal bands, was filled with clothing. Joseph helped his brothers put this, along with their featherbeds, iron pots and pans, and furniture into the wagon.
“Let’s be off,” Mr. Howard called impatiently, as he climbed onto the wagon.
Lucy and her eight children gathered beside the wagon, for most of them would have to walk. Mr. Howard clucked to the team. Unwillingly, they hunched forward, taking up the slack in the halter. The loaded wagon creaked and groaned like a weary old woman leaving her bed of a morning.
As they moved away from the house, Joseph took a last look at the fruit trees, gnarled and near-barren from years of struggle. And the puny ears of corn left in the garden would have made him laugh if they had not made his mother weep.
Joseph looked at her and knew her thoughts were close on the trail of his own. Trouble had been crowding them for over four years, but now … now they could see nothing ahead but blessings.
As the family walked past the stone wall that marked the end of their property his mother shifted the baby in her arms and took Joseph’s hand. Her mouth eased its hard line into a gentle smile. In spite of his limp he seemed as spry as a cricket.
“We’ve had three years of crop failure and a year of sickness,” she said. “But the Lord has been with us. We need to thank Him for preserving our lives through such tremendous afflictions … more so than if we had seen nothing but health and prosperity.”
Joseph lifted his face and his smile caught the sunlight.
“It’s a new beginning, Mother.”
(To be continued.)

On the first day of third grade, something really embarrassing happened to me. I didn’t want to go back to school. I said a prayer with my mom and dad. The next day, no one laughed or even mentioned it. I am so glad we can pray and ask for help.
Analyn H., age 11, Indiana, USA

“I had carried with me a Russian Book of Mormon through the entire tour, and by Saturday—the last day of the tour—I had not handed it out. I wondered why I had not given it away earlier,” said Wilma S. Livsey. “As I went to breakfast in our St. Petersburg hotel, up the stairs came one of our Russian guides—a beautiful young woman. She asked if I was ready to go. I said, ‘No, I have to find a place for my Book of Mormon.’ I showed it to her. She said she would like it. Surprised, I said, ‘No, this book is for someone very special. It must be. I have carried it all over eastern Europe waiting for the right person to give it to.’ She again said that she would like the book. ‘But this book must go to someone who will read it. It is Russian.’ Then she said with great intensity, ‘I read Russian. I will read it. I want the book!’ Tears welled up in her eyes as she said, ‘I’d like to start reading it right now.’ I then handed the book to her. I told her that the book was a second witness for Christ—and that the Bible was the first. I told her of the promise in the book of Moroni and told her that if she prayed after she read it, and if she felt the same about it as I did, she was to get in touch with missionaries. I gave her a card with the mission home address on it. Tears came down both our faces as we hugged, and she again said, ‘I want the book. I promise I will read it.’”

I learned an important lesson on giving and receiving mercy one winter when my son Rob was taking care of the neighbors’ rabbits. One night he forgot to empty the watering bottles—and the bottles were frozen solid the next morning. When he discovered his mistake, I had no mercy and became upset at his forgetfulness. I unjustly reproved him for forgetting and for making us both late that morning.
After I arrived at work, my conscience wouldn’t leave me alone. In a moment of truth I admitted to myself that Rob had made a simple human error similar to ones I frequently make. I admitted to myself that I had no justification in taking offense at his mistake, given my own weaknesses. The truth is, Rob is a conscientious boy who does many things well.
My sorrow for my own wrongdoing motivated me to find him at school and apologize. I found that he had taken the whole thing compassionately; even though I had been wrong, he had seen it from my point of view and had taken no offense.
The experience greatly humbled me. If my heart had been right in the first place, I never would have become upset by Rob’s simple mistake. If Rob hadn’t been merciful, he could have taken my behavior personally, which could have harmed his own self-esteem as well as our relationship. After I had apologized (part of my repentance), a peace of conscience came like that which came to King Benjamin’s people as they admitted their wrongdoing and called upon the Lord for forgiveness. (See Mosiah 4:3.)

One day during my senior year in high school, a strong feeling came over me that my grandfather wanted to see me. So after school I got a notebook from my locker and walked over to Uncle Jacob Cline’s house, where grandpa had been staying since grandma’s death.
When I arrived, grandpa was sitting up in bed. “Come in, Ray,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
He wanted to tell me the history of his family, and I was to write the information down. I knew then why I had brought my notebook along with me. Over the next hour, he told me the history of his family four-generations back—names, dates, places, and stories. When he finished, he laid his hand on my shoulder and said very quietly: “Ray, I give unto you a charge to preserve this information, for someday you will need it. And when that day arrives, you will hear my voice and know now is the time, and this is the reason.”
I felt a shiver go down my spine and a warm feeling in my chest as my eyes remained riveted to the penetrating eyes of grandpa. I promised I would, even though I had no idea why I was writing down or preserving the information. Grandpa died two weeks later.

Brother Ringger comes from Switzerland. His grandmother was touched by the missionaries a long, long time ago. His father was a man of great faith, a patriarch in the midst of his people, in a very literal way. Brother Hans Ringger has been a stake president among his people and a Regional Representative. He is a man of faith. His English may not be as polished as perhaps yours is. But there burns in his heart a deep, flaming conviction of the truth of this work. By profession, he is a distinguished architect in his native land. He has just retired as a full colonel from the Swiss Army. When I talked with him the other day about his leaving his business and consecrating himself to the work of the Lord and what it would entail, I looked into his strong face, and the tears began to well just a little. Then he said, “Of course, of course. If that’s what the Lord wishes, that’s what I want to do.”

Alan rested his arms wearily on the edge of the pool and gulped deep breaths of air. He’d lost to Chris again—by a tenth of a second. Alan wished he could beat his teammate in the 50-yard freestyle race just once!
As Alan hoisted himself from the water, Chris clapped him on the back. “Good race,” he said. “The two of us ought to take first and second this Saturday against Brookston. If we do, the team could get the district trophy.”
Alan wished he felt as confident about winning as Chris did. Instead, he groaned inwardly at the thought of letting the team down. He’d have to do well in both the 50-freestyle race and the 400-freestyle relay for the team to win, and he was afraid he couldn’t do it.
That evening when Alan sat down to supper, he tried not to think about swimming. But his brother Pete’s trophies kept staring down at him from the trophy shelf. Then Pete came into the kitchen, plopped into his chair, and immediately launched into his swim report. “What a workout we had at the pool today! But the coach clocked me at one minute thirteen in the 100-yard breaststroke. At that rate I could break the district record on Saturday.”
Pete turned to Alan. “How about you guys? Think you’ll bring home a trophy?”
“Chris thinks we will, but I’m not sure,” Alan answered. “They’re counting on me to take second in the 50-yard freestyle.”
“Why not a first?” Pete asked.
“You know I can’t beat Chris. Every time I take off a tenth of a second, he does too.”
“If you keep thinking like that you’ll never win a race,” Pete chided. “When you’re competing in a swimming meet, you have to think of yourself as a winner.”
“Sure, sure,” Alan muttered, pushing back his chair with an “Excuse me.”
Alan hurried down the basement steps and went over to the exercise mat where Pete kept his weights. Maybe I should try using them, he thought. Alan had watched Pete work out, so he knew what to do.
Just as Alan was about to lift one of his brother’s weights, Pete came down the stairs. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m going to lift some weights,” Alan replied as he got into position.
“You don’t start lifting weights three days before a meet. If you do, your muscles might tighten up, and you won’t have a chance of winning.”
Alan put down the weights and went upstairs to his bedroom. I might as well face it, he thought. I’ll never be as good as Pete or Chris. If only Saturday were over …
The day of the meet, as Pete walked to the locker room with Alan, Pete delivered his familiar pep talk: “Remember now, don’t start thinking you’re going to lose. I’ve been watching you, and you can swim just as fast as Chris. You can start adding your own trophies to the family collection.”
Pete clapped Alan on the back, and the younger boy hurried off to change into his suit. It’s easy for Pete to talk about beating Chris, he thought, but I’m the one who has to swim the race!
When the time came to swim the 50-freestyle, Brookston was slightly ahead of Lakewood in team points. Chris slapped Alan on the shoulder good-naturedly and said, “Don’t forget—we’re going for first and second.”
When the starter’s gun sounded, Alan made a good, long, entering dive and came up to the turn even with Chris. Alan knew Chris would pull ahead now—he always did on the second length. Alan sucked in air and choked on some water. For an instant his rhythm broke, and he felt Chris touch the wall before him. What was even worse, the swimmer from Brookston had edged out both of them. That meant Lakewood had to win both the backstroke and the freestyle relay to win.
Alan helped Chris stretch out for the backstroke race, working his arm muscles and drawing out his legs. Chris didn’t disappoint the team. He pulled ahead even before he reached the first turn. And when he smacked his hand against the wall for the finish, the timer flashed a record-breaking 28.6 seconds.
But Chris got out of the pool white-faced, clutching his wrist. “I hit too hard. Something’s wrong!”
Quickly the coach led Chris to the locker room, while the team murmured anxiously. When the coach came out of the locker room, he was alone and he headed straight for Alan.
“The trainer’s taking Chris for an X-ray, Alan. We’ll put Tony Ramos in as third swimmer, and you’ll swim anchor.” The coach gave him an encouraging smile. “You can do it, Alan. You’re as good as Chris is—maybe even better. I’ve been watching your progress. Now, get out there and get that win for us!”
Alan swallowed hard. He wasn’t “as good as Chris.” And he’d have to be even better if he was to beat the swimmer from Brookston! Alan’s eyes moved up into the stands. He saw Pete pointing his thumb up in the air in a sign that meant, “Get in there and win!”
As they lined up for the start, Alan looked over the Brookston team. Sure enough, the power swimmer who had beaten Chris and him earlier would be Brookston’s anchorman. What chance did Lakewood have!
But the Lakewood team put up a battle. Alan watched his teammates churn up and down, splashing water as far as two lanes away. Lakewood fell behind on the third leg, though, and Brookston’s anchor swimmer got off the block before Alan did. Not wanting to let his team down, Alan resolved to do his best. He poured all his strength into each kick, each stroke. Then, at the turn, Alan saw that he was almost even with the Brookston swimmer! Somewhere, deep down inside, Alan felt a new confidence.
I’m not going to let him beat me! he decided. His legs ached, his arms hurt, but he pulled and kicked harder than he’d ever done before. He began a rhythmic chant to himself: Pull and win. Pull and win. With a final surging stroke he hit the touch pad. The electronic timer flashed the results, and a great shout broke from the Lakewood team. They’d won!
Alan’s teammates pounded him on the back, and he heard the coach exclaim, “You did it!”
Now Pete was beside him, his eyes dancing. “Hey, Brother, what got into you?” he asked.
“Oh, I just got to thinking,” Alan answered.
“That’ll do it!”
Alan nodded happily as he went to get the trophy that just might be the start of his own collection at home.

President Thomas S. Monson taught me an important lesson about keeping an eternal point of view.

Eighteen years ago while traveling on a train in Switzerland with President Monson, I asked him about his heavy responsibilities. His response strengthened my faith. “In the First Presidency,” he said, “we do everything we can to move this work forward. But this is the Lord’s work, and He directs it. He is at the helm. We marvel as we watch Him open doors we cannot open and perform miracles we can scarcely imagine.”

My father was fortunate to marry a good woman who encouraged him to come back to the church of his youth and begin again to progress along the path. Their faithful lives have blessed all of their children, the next generation of grandchildren, and now great-grandchildren.