Gospel Story Finder

Everyone at my school in the fourth grade was reading a book that was very popular. I put the book on hold at the library and finally it was my turn! I started reading it and realized that the book made me feel uncomfortable. I read two chapters to see if it changed, but it didn’t. I stopped reading the book and returned it to the library. I felt good for choosing the right.
Savanna M., age 9, Wyoming, USA

More than a hundred years ago in a small remote place in Arizona lived a family sent there by President Brigham Young to make peace with the Indians.

The father of the family was away on Church business when an impression came to him that something was wrong at home. He responded to this feeling by heading there at once. He arrived at about four o’clock in the morning. His wife had cuddled in her arms their little baby daughter who had fallen into an open fireplace. She was severely burned. The mother, in grief, said, “Let her die. She will be so disfigured.”

The father took this little infant in his arms and gave her a blessing. He promised her that she would live, that she would not be disfigured, and that she would sing before the prominent of the earth.

This baby girl did live, she matured in life, was not disfigured, raised a family, and sang in the Tabernacle Choir. The powers of heaven gave life to that tiny child. That sweet baby girl, in maturity, gave me life. She was my mother.

I owe my very existence to the power of prayer.

Learning to improve relationships was the topic for the Sharon West Stake in Provo. In this difficult yet rewarding subject area, the girls learned about decision making, good manners, and the art of being gracious. Inspired by what she had learned at the workshops, one girl asked her younger brother for a date, taking time from a full schedule of work, school, and activities. Surprised and pleased, the brother said, “What, just me?” They did some of his favorite things and continued to build a closer bond. The gift of brotherly love was placed in the basket.

President Spencer W. Kimball also recognized the benefits of taking on a challenging goal. He told this story of a goal he made when he was 14:

“When I heard a Church leader from Salt Lake City tell us at conference that we should read the scriptures, … I walked to my home a block away … and I read the first chapters of Genesis. …

“I found that this Bible that I was reading had in it 66 books, and then I was nearly dissuaded when I found that it had in it 1,189 chapters, and then I also found that it had 1,519 pages. It was formidable, but I knew if others did it that I could do it.”

That amount of reading wasn’t easy for a teenager, but nevertheless President Kimball persevered and completed his goal. As an adult, he said, “I have always been glad I read the Bible from cover to cover.”

President Kimball benefited from taking the time to think through the logistics of his goal. Even though it sounded daunting, the information prepared him to succeed. As was the case with President Kimball, reaching for and achieving a challenging goal at a young age can bring feelings of confidence and satisfaction to serve us throughout life.

As clear evidence that the Lord loves His people in every dispensation of time, we have modern witnesses of the resurrection as well. The Prophet Joseph Smith, as a young boy with a desire to know which of the churches in his day was the true church of Christ on the earth, knelt in a grove of trees near his home and asked of God. He gave this account of his First Vision.

"So, in accordance with this, my determination to ask of God, I retired to the woods to make the attempt. It was on the morning of a beautiful, clear day, early in the spring of 1820. It was the first time in my life that I had made such an attempt, for amidst all my anxieties I had never as yet made the attempt to pray vocally.
"After I had retired to the place where I had previously designed to go, having looked around me, and finding myself alone, I kneeled down and began to offer up the desires of my heart to God... I saw a pillar of light exactly over my head, above the brightness of the sun, which descended gradually until it fell upon me...When the light rested upon me I saw two Personages, whose brightness and glory defy all description, standing above me in the air. One of them spake unto me, calling me by name and said, pointing to the other - This is My Beloved Son. Hear Him!"[24]

An example of a narrow window of vision being replaced by vision unlimited took place at the Monroe, Louisiana, airport several years ago. I was on my way home from a regional meeting and met a lovely African-American sister who approached me and said joyfully, “President Monson, before I joined the Church and became a member of the Relief Society, I could not read. I could not write. None of my family could. You see, we were all poor sharecroppers. President, my white Relief Society sisters—they taught me to read. They taught me to write. Now I help teach other white sisters how to read and how to write.” I reflected on the supreme happiness she must have felt when she opened her Bible and read for the first time the words of the Lord: “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

That day in Monroe, Louisiana, I received a confirmation by the Spirit of your exalted objective of improving literacy among your sisters.

I was blessed to be with President Gordon B. Hinckley in Korea in 2005, shortly after Sister Hinckley had died. In his talk to all of the Saints in Korea who had assembled in a special conference to commemorate the 50th Anniversary of the Church in Korea, President Hinckley spoke lovingly and tenderly of his wife. Everyone there was touched by his tender expressions of love for Sister Hinckley. He said: "We went to the temple, and we knelt at the altar, and we were sealed for time and for all eternity. She is mine and I am hers, and it won't be long until we are together again."

I am reminded of the year our high school basketball team took the state championship. During the practice period before the final game, to avoid even the slightest adjustment, there was an attempt to make every detail, as nearly as possible, like the situation the team would face. The playing floor would be different, but every other possible detail that could be controlled was considered—diet, uniforms, position on the floor, rest, etc. As I recall now, even the coach was encouraged to wear his familiar green argyle socks because everyone was used to them, and the team wanted every imaginable advantage with minimal adjustment or difference when it really counted. They wanted the coveted award, and no detail was too minor to consider during the preparation time.

I saw his face again about 10 years later. This time he was an old man, excommunicated from the Church for nearly 20 years. In his youth, Paul had been a stalwart Saint and a civic leader. He helped build the local LDS chapel with his own hands and served in it as bishop for 10 years. Then later he deliberately stepped off the path, let go of the rod, and closed his eyes. He was blind, by his own account, as Isaiah chided, “We grope for the wall like the blind, and we grope as if we had no eyes: we stumble at noonday as in the night” (Isaiah 59:10).

I first heard of Paul from one of his close friends, a man who had also left the Church, but who had been loved and taught and had reached decisions that were bringing him back home. He told me that Paul had promised to come when he was rebaptized. When the day arrived, it was easy to pick out Paul as he slipped surreptitiously into the back of the room. He was neat and well groomed, acted with great reverence, and tried to be as inconspicuous and anonymous as possible. He sat right at the side, just inside the door, with his eyes fixed on the floor, his hands twisted together in his lap.

As the service progressed and the baptism was performed, with everyone’s attention fixed on that sacred ordinance, I stole a quick glance at Paul and was astonished to recognize him now so clearly. It was the same face I remembered, the same yearning and helplessness I had seen before, imprinted on my mind by a young boy in a crowded crush of uncaring humanity in Naples. Paul didn’t speak as he watched his friend go down into the water, but I’ve never heard a plea for mercy more clearly. I remember thinking as I looked at Paul, “What can I do?”

Well, the service ended, and Paul was out the door, sprinting for the exit. Could I once again watch him move off into the distance? I found myself bolting down the hallway behind him, calling his name. And he stopped to talk. Over the next year we became friends, and later, surrounded by friends new and old, and armed with a remembered testimony, he himself was rebaptized in a small, quiet ceremony in that same room. Today he travels three hours each way to the temple once a week, wondering how he could have been blind for so long, struggling to find the words to thank his Heavenly Father for allowing him to see once again.

The first time Alan had come hunting was when he was 11. Before then he was forced to stay behind “with the women” while the men and the older boys in the family went up to the mountains for three or four days.
Uncle Ed had taken a special interest in him. His uncle, now dead, had been a weather-beaten rancher, a widower at 25. His ranch, snuggled against the mountains near Bozeman, had been one of Alan’s favorite places as a boy. Being alone had produced a simplicity in his uncle’s life that Alan envied. When they were there, Alan didn’t have to wash much.
The first day that they hunted, Alan went out with his father. They didn’t see anything. The second day Uncle Ed talked Alan’s father into letting Alan go with him so, as his uncle said, “He’ll learn that hunting is more than sitting around watching the robins.”
His uncle and Alan left early in the morning and hiked along a ridge for two hours before they sat down away from the trail, waiting for the hunters below to scare some deer their way.
As Alan had waited with his uncle that morning, nervous and excited, it was as if he was recording each sensory impression to the smallest detail so that years later he could still remember: his body smelling like a work horse after the long hike; the decaying beauty of a forest preparing for the snows of winter; the smooth reassuring feel of the stock of his 30-30 rifle; and the anticipation that turned every wind into the sound of an approaching deer.
Then the deer came. Alan’s heart pounded inside him until it seemed that the noise would scare away the deer.
It was a six-point buck. His uncle motioned for Alan to make the shot. As he took the gun off safety, a shift in his weight caused a twig to snap. The deer heard the sound and looked over at him the same instant Alan squeezed the trigger. The sound of the shot roared in Alan’s ears.
It had been a good shot, and the deer had not gone very far before he fell down. When they reached him, his uncle reached down and, taking a knife, slit the deer’s throat so the blood would be pumped out, leaving the meat good.
His uncle stood up and, walking over to Alan, placed both of his large hands on Alan’s shoulders. Like some ancient ritual, he said, “You’re a man now.”
That night over a large campfire, the others told Alan stories about hunting. They seemed strangely happy as if they were welcoming him into some ancient brotherhood.
Each year after that Alan went hunting. He became a good hunter and enjoyed the challenge of pitting himself against the mountains.
But one day several years later as he methodically sighted in on his scope an eight-point buck 100 yards away, he thought to himself, “I’m just grocery shopping. That’s all it amounts to anymore.” He squeezed the trigger, and the deer recoiled backwards.
He still hunted after that because they needed the meat. But although he still enjoyed the chance to be outdoors, the sense of excitement was gone for him.

Molly tried not to cry as she said goodbye to her sister, Macy. “I love you!” Molly said. She gave Macy a big hug.
“I’ll see you in a few months,” Macy said. Macy was leaving home to go to college now. One of Molly’s brothers was already away at college. Her other brother was on a mission. Molly would miss them all so much!
Mom squeezed Molly’s hand. They watched Macy drive away. “We’ll miss her,” Mom said. She had tears in her eyes.
Molly walked back into the house. She went to Macy’s empty bedroom and closed the door. Then she sat on Macy’s bed and started crying.
Someone knocked on the door. Mom and Dad came in. They hugged Molly. They all sat on Macy’s bed together until Molly’s tears dried up.
“I know you’re sad Macy’s gone,” Dad said. “Why don’t we have a family prayer? We can ask Heavenly Father to help us feel better. Would you please pray, Molly?”
“OK.” Molly bowed her head. “Heavenly Father, we thank Thee for everyone in our family—for Will, Parker, Macy, me, and Mom and Dad. We thank Thee that we can be a family forever. Please help us feel comfort. And help me to not feel so lonely.”
Molly missed talking to Macy at bedtime. But she knew Heavenly Father heard her prayers. She knew He would help her feel better.
The next morning, Molly’s house was so quiet! She missed laughing with Macy as they got ready for school. She missed eating breakfast together and talking. Sometimes Macy told her about what she was learning in seminary. Molly always felt peaceful when they talked about the gospel.
That was it! Molly had an idea.
Molly got ready for school. Then she found Mom.
“Hi, sweetie.” Mom hugged her. “Are you ready for school?”
“Can we read a conference talk together before I leave?” Molly asked. “I think it will help me feel better.”
Mom smiled. “That’s a great idea.”
They took turns reading a general conference talk about comfort. Molly liked spending time with Mom. It felt good to read the talk with her.
When they finished, Molly smiled. “Let’s do this again!”
She still missed Macy, Will, and Parker. But she felt a little less lonely. Her prayer was answered! She could spend time with her mom and dad. And the words of the prophets could help her find peace.

More than 150 years ago, a 17-year-old was called by the Lord to introduce the restored gospel to the infant colony of South Australia, where his mother and stepfather were emigrating. William James Barratt of England was ordained by Elder George A. Smith of the Quorum of the Twelve in July 1840. He set sail soon afterward, and began his missionary work in Australia just ten years after the Church was organized.
Elder Barratt had no Missionary Training Center experience, no companion, and his mission president was half a world away in Liverpool, England. It took a whole year for him to get an answer to his letters to Church leaders. He did not even have a copy of the Book of Mormon.
“I feel like a lamb among wolves, going into a land of strangers to preach the gospel,” he wrote.
Yet with the vigor of youth, he came, he served, he testified. And he baptized Robert Beauchamp, who later became president of the Australasian Mission (Australia and New Zealand), and who in turn baptized at least 150 others.

My first social work job was as a child protection investigator. It was a job that definitely stretched me in many ways. As a result, I felt stress, anxiety, and sometimes despair. During that challenging time a colleague asked if I was serving in a Church calling. At the time I was serving in a bishopric. My colleague reported they didn’t accept a calling because they felt their child protection job was too stressful. As I thought about their logic, it made sense, but the Lord’s ways are not always understood by us. [15] I’m not so sure the people I served in my calling benefited from my service, but I know for sure that I did. Now I can see that I felt peace and happiness when I served. It soothed my soul that was disturbed by my difficult employment. Serving others enlarged my heart, made a bigger place for the Holy Spirit to dwell, and I had inspired direction in my life.

Finally, I’ll always remember a man I met when I was driving a delivery van through downtown Seattle. I was earning money for my mission. I met a wide variety of people, but Larry was the most interesting by far. I had just run some boxes into a store and was hustling back to my van when he came up alongside and extended his hand.
“Hi, my name is Larry. Will you be my friend?”
“You bet,” I agreed with a smile. It was plain that Larry was mentally disabled. I’m sure some thought it was funny he would walk up to a total stranger asking for friendship. But I believe Larry was only innocently asking out loud the same question so many ask silently, Will you be my friend? If we would all just say, “Sure,” wouldn’t it be cool? Cool-aid.
We all know how it feels to be thirsty, so thirsty we can hardly stand it. I’m convinced that’s how many in the world feel right now, thirsty for attention, approval, acceptance, and love. We can do something about it! By giving cool-aid—the coolest aid of real selfless service—to those around us, we can quench the thirst that our brothers and sisters have and leave joy that will last longer than the purple mustaches on my upper lip ever did.

About 10 years before I joined the Church in 1976, I had a dream. In my dream I saw my father, who had been dead for some time. He called me by my nickname, “Mya, you will later do something in a foreign country that will be very important for your family.” It was a dream I could never forget—what did my father mean?
It was a remarkable day when the missionaries knocked on my door for the first time. I had always been very open and ready to listen to everyone who wanted to talk about religion, but I would often try to contradict and ask a lot of questions. But this time, it was like God was telling me: “Now listen! Don’t interrupt them, just listen!” I wanted to find the right place, the right church, so I listened.
After they left, I paced the floor and kept saying, “Truly, these are the servants of the Lord! I can feel it.” I listened to them and learned from them. Many things I hadn’t understood before started opening up for me, but nothing had as much effect on me as did their teaching about baptism for the dead.
I decided, after a few lessons, that I would be baptized. But it was not easy—I stayed awake many nights and prayed. Whenever I prayed I found peace and felt as if the arms of the Lord were holding me.
My five children were positive and supportive of my decision to be baptized, but my husband was very much against it. He gave his permission, but it became very obvious how much he was against it after I was baptized. Even my friends criticized me for turning against my husband, but somehow I always received the strength I needed.
When I had been a member of the Church for only six months, I was called to be the first Icelandic Relief Society president. It was a difficult time, but I knew I was serving the Lord. There was no one to teach me what to do—we were all so new. We had a manual and a handbook in English, but they were of no use to me because I could not speak or understand that language. Sister Sveinbjörg Gudmundsdóttir translated the lessons each week for the teachers. That was the first Church material I had ever seen in Icelandic! I loved getting those lessons, and I read them over and over again. As I look back, I think that perhaps the best times were when it was most difficult—it was then that I had to get on my knees and seek the Lord.
Throughout my life, I had always been very interested in my family history. After I became a member of the Church, I had another dream. In this dream, I was receiving some guests—very distinguished people. I had prepared a salmon, but I needed to put some plates on the table for the guests. There was always some interruption when I tried to add more plates, but I knew there should be many more. I awoke for a time after the dream but still felt very sleepy. I went to sleep again—and the dream was repeated. I felt I was being told that I had the salmon (which I understood represented the gospel)—I just needed to make it ready for others. I knew that I needed to get names to the temple!
That was the beginning of many hours in the family history library, searching out family records. Time did not exist while I was working there. I had a distant goal of some day being able to take these records to the temple, but I was afraid I would never realize this goal because of the language barrier.
I was so excited when I heard that the temple ceremony had been translated into Icelandic! For 19 years I had worked on my genealogy but never dared to dream that I would be able to go to the temple. And now—somehow—I had the feeling that I was not worthy, and I was afraid my husband would never allow me to go. I watched as members of the branch planned for the trip and went for their temple recommend interviews.
When President Ólafur called me into his office one Sunday and asked why I hadn’t asked for a temple recommend, I told him of my fears and misgivings. He said, “Why do you judge yourself so harshly? Will you believe you are worthy if I, as a servant of the Lord, tell you that you can go?” President Ólafur also told me he would visit with my husband to ask him permission for me to go. I was so happy when I left his office, I embraced everyone I saw. I was still happy when I got home, but the fear came back. I told my husband what had happened, and he said, “Of course you will go!”
When I finally entered the temple in London, my father’s words in that dream 29 years earlier suddenly became clear to me. Here I was, in a foreign country, prepared to do temple ordinances for my ancestors. There are not words to describe the feeling I had at that time. When I came into the celestial room after my own endowment, I felt like Simeon of old when he saw the child Jesus in the temple (see Luke 2:29–30). I, too, felt that after this experience, I could die in peace.
Truly, this was a dream come true!

The answer has to be in that room. Maybe I missed a false wall, Jackson thought.

“How do you spell kiwi, Jackson?”

“Uh, what, Miss Grouder?”

“Kiwi. How do you spell it? We’ve been talking about the spelling test for the past 10 minutes. Where have you been?”

“Trying to rescue the princess of Mendoza,” Chester whispered from his seat behind Jackson.

Jackson felt his face getting hot. He had no idea how to spell kiwi.

Miss Grouder sighed as she gave Jackson’s spelling test back to him. He had spelled most of the words wrong.

On the way home, Jackson crumpled the spelling test and stuffed it into the bottom of his backpack. Chester ran up behind him. “Do you want to come to my house and play soccer?”

“No,” Jackson replied. “I think I’ve figured out how to rescue the princess. Do you want to come watch?”

“Sit there and watch you play?” asked Chester. “No thanks! Seems like all you think about lately is video games.” Chester turned the corner toward his own house.

At home, Jackson turned on the computer and started the video game. I’ll play one game, he thought, and then I’ll get going on my homework.

Two hours later his mother called, “Time to eat, Jackson. We have to hurry or we’ll miss the start of the movie.”

“Coming, Mendoz—uh, Mom.” If I can just get past this guard, he thought. His hand deftly moved the joystick back and forth. Too late. The figure on the screen toppled over. No fair! I’ll play just one more. I know I can do it.

Suddenly the house seemed awfully quiet. Jackson grabbed his jacket and ran to the front door. His family was gone. There was a note on the table: “Gone to the movie. Wish you had come. Home by 8:00. Call Grandpa if you need anything.”

It’s all the guard’s fault! Jackson thought angrily as he stomped to his bedroom. His unfinished homework was on his bed. Beside it lay his scriptures. He hadn’t read them all week. And there was the family home evening manual. He was supposed to give the lesson next Monday. But he didn’t feel like doing any of those things tonight.

Good thing it’s Friday, Jackson thought as he headed back to the computer. I’ll catch up on everything tomorrow.

But he didn’t catch up the next day—or the next. And it wasn’t long before the sound of the piano interrupted Jackson’s concentration on his latest attempt to rescue the princess. It was his sister playing the opening hymn for family home evening.

Family home evening! He had intended to prepare the lesson on Sunday, but he had gotten closer to rescuing the princess than ever before. Now it was too late to prepare.

Jackson grabbed his scriptures and ran to home evening. He would fake it. After all, they often read a scripture and talked about it so long they never got to the lesson. He would make sure they did that tonight.

“And help us apply the lesson to our lives,” his little brother said as he finished the opening prayer.

Jackson opened his scriptures to where he had last read. “Dad, could you read a scripture for us?” he asked. “How about Ether 12:27?”

His father read: “And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.”

“What do you think that means?” Jackson asked.

“Well,” said his father thoughtfully, “I think it means that we are given weakness to help us be humble. If we acknowledge our weakness and ask Heavenly Father to help us overcome it, it will become a strength to us.”

Mom raised her hand. “Soap operas were my weakness. Some days I didn’t do anything but watch my shows. The television was like a magnet, drawing me to it. It wasn’t until I admitted I had a problem that I figured out a solution.” Then she told how she had prayed and asked Heavenly Father to help her give up those shows.

Jackson squirmed in his chair. This wasn’t going quite like he wanted it to. He began to think about how much time he spent playing video games.

“When I worked at the candy shop,” his older sister began, “I practically ate my paycheck each week in candy. I prayed about it, then decided to set a candy quota for each day. If I stuck to my quota, I rewarded myself by putting the money I would have spent on candy toward a new pair of jeans. Some days I didn’t make it, but gradually I ate less candy.”

Jackson thanked everyone for their participation and bore his testimony that while we all have weaknesses, we can overcome them with Heavenly Father’s help. In fact, those weaknesses can even become our strengths.

After the closing prayer Jackson went to turn on the computer. Maybe a video game would help him forget the growing uneasiness inside him.

But he couldn’t ignore the feeling he had. Did he really have a problem with video games? He didn’t spend much time with Chester or his other friends anymore. He had gotten a bad grade on a spelling test for the first time. He hadn’t read the scriptures all week. And he had missed the family movie. He knew it was time to apply tonight’s lesson to his own life.

Jackson turned away from the computer and went to his bedroom. He flopped down on his bed and opened his scriptures to Ether. The princess would have to wait. Right now he had some reading and thinking to do.

Louisa knew that there were other ways to help her children besides keeping them from harm. One day while Harold was in high school, he attended a very important debate meet out of town, which he and his team won. When he called his mother to tell her the good news, she said, “I know all about it.” When Harold came home, she explained: “When I knew it was just time for [the debate] to start I went out among the willows by the creek side … and prayed God you would not fail.”

I spent Christmas 2012 together with my family in Samoa and experienced my first ever tropical cyclone. The power went out throughout our whole village in Afega on Christmas Eve night, so our family of four used torches and candles to see each other around our kitchen table. We spent the night talking and laughing and crying together. It was the least glamorous Christmas I can remember—we had no presents and no parties, but it is one of my favourite memories because all we could give each other was time.

It is inspiring to learn how Parley Pratt came to know of the book about which he wrote the words of this hymn. In August of 1830, as a lay preacher, he was traveling from Ohio to eastern New York. At Newark, along the Erie Canal, he left the boat and walked 10 miles (16 km) into the country where he met a Baptist deacon by the name of Hamlin, who told him “of a book, a strange book, a VERY STRANGE BOOK! … This book, he said, purported to have been originally written on plates either of gold or brass, by a branch of the tribes of Israel; and to have been discovered and translated by a young man near Palmyra, in the State of New York, by the aid of visions, or the ministry of angels. I inquired of him how or where the book was to be obtained. He promised me the perusal of it, at his house the next day. … Next morning I called at his house, where, for the first time, my eyes beheld the ‘BOOK OF MORMON’—that book of books … which was the principal means, in the hands of God, of directing the entire course of my future life.

“I opened it with eagerness, and read its title page. I then read the testimony of several witnesses in relation to the manner of its being found and translated. After this I commenced its contents by course. I read all day; eating was a burden, I had no desire for food; sleep was a burden when the night came, for I preferred reading to sleep.

“As I read, the spirit of the Lord was upon me, and I knew and comprehended that the book was true, as plainly and manifestly as a man comprehends and knows that he exists.”

Parley Pratt was then 23 years of age. The reading of the Book of Mormon affected him so profoundly that he was soon baptized into the Church and became one of its most effective and powerful advocates.

President Smith showed an example of such kindness in a meeting where an accident involving a Church-owned automobile was discussed. An elderly man driving a vegetable truck with no insurance had caused the mishap. After some discussion, it was recommended that the Church pursue the matter in a court of law. However, President Smith spoke up: “Yes, we could do that. And if we press with all vigor, we might even succeed in taking the truck away from the poor man; then how would he make a living?” The committee reversed its recommendation and let the matter rest.15