Gospel Story Finder

When I was a university student, the honors program in which I was enrolled required students to write a thesis. Each student’s thesis had to be supervised and approved by two professors.
For my thesis I chose to research and analyze warfare in the Book of Mormon. I consulted with one professor about my idea, and he agreed to be one of my supervisors. He also suggested another professor as a potential second supervisor.
I met with the second professor to explain my thesis topic to him. As soon as I mentioned the Book of Mormon, his demeanor changed and he began to criticize the Church. I listened quietly until he had finished and then briefly explained that I felt he misunderstood our beliefs. He didn’t seem convinced, but to my surprise he agreed to supervise my thesis.
After almost a year of research and writing, I submitted my thesis for faculty approval. During that year I had been accepted to law school, and I needed to finish this project to graduate and move forward.
Within a week I received an e-mail from the professor who had criticized the Church. He asked me to meet him at his office.
When I arrived, he asked me to close the door and sit down. Almost immediately, he launched into an attack—not on my thesis but on the Book of Mormon. As calmly as I could, I bore my testimony of the Book of Mormon.
I hesitantly asked the professor if he would still approve my thesis. He said he would not.
I went home feeling depressed and unsure what to do. Without this man’s approval, I could lose my chances to graduate from the honors program and to begin law school. I prayed that everything would work out somehow.
When I explained my situation to the other professor who was supervising my thesis, he advised me to visit the professor the next day and give him one more chance to approve my thesis.
The next morning I found myself waiting outside the professor’s office. I was nervous, unsure of how he would react to seeing me again. When he arrived, he silently opened his office door, gesturing for me to come in. Without saying a word he took out a pen and signed my thesis, officially giving me his approval. He offered no explanation of what had caused him to change his mind but smiled at me as I said good-bye.
I am grateful that I had the opportunity to bear my testimony to this man. I know that as we stand for what we believe, Heavenly Father will strengthen and bless us.

His own baptism was an occasion to remember. “It was the best day of my whole life!” he says exuberantly.
School teachers, friends, and friends’ parents all came, and each received a small handmade paper book from Illiam and his mother, with poems, pictures, photos, and Illiam’s written testimony.
“It helped them to be better informed about our church and its teachings,” Illiam says.
When he was baptized, he says, “I felt like the Holy Ghost was with me all the time, especially when I went under the water.” He had a special feeling that he was very close to Heavenly Father and that Jesus was proud of him.

When Elder Neal A. Maxwell of the Quorum of the Twelve was growing up, more than anything he wanted to be a basketball star. When he was young, he was the best basketball player among his friends. In fact, he taught one of his friends how to play. But as time went on, his friend grew very tall and he did not. One of the hardest experiences of his life was being cut from the school basketball team while his friend made it.

Let his life be an example to you. Not all of your prayers will be answered the way you’d like. But if you trust Heavenly Father, he will not betray that trust.

As a missionary I was privileged to meet a living Apostle, Elder Boyd K. Packer. All the missionaries were waiting for him at the meetinghouse. We were talking and excited. My back was to the door when Elder Packer arrived, but even without seeing him, I knew he had entered the room. He filled it with the same power and purity I felt at my mother’s side. It was as though he had stepped out of one of the scripture stories. I thought, This is what a lifetime of obedience and communion with God makes a man.

Some years ago I was serving as a bishop. At the same time I was working on a doctor’s degree at a university and working a full-time job. I was under some strain, fearing that because of my desire to succeed in so many areas I was really failing as a father.
One Sunday evening I stayed late at church to complete some work. As I walked into the chapel to turn off the lights before going home, I suddenly felt lonely. I felt that my back would not bear for another day the heavy burdens I was carrying.
I fell to my knees near the pulpit and cried to the Lord. I poured out the feelings of my soul to him and described in detail my seemingly insurmountable tasks. When I finished I remained kneeling. And then I heard the Spirit speak to me in my heart. The answer it gave me was all I needed. It said just three things: Go forward. Do your best. Love your family.
I arose a new man.

I once asked my wife, “Who is the happiest person you know?” We agreed it was my mother. Yet Mother faced many trials. As a single mom, she raised five young children. She worked hard and was alone for many years. Why would she come to our minds as the happiest person? Because her happiness was grounded in her faith. She knew she was a beloved daughter of God and that He had a plan for her. She knew she had a bright future. She trusted that all would work out if she just lived the gospel. She focused on keeping her covenants and caring for her family. She believed as President Russell M. Nelson said, “The joy we feel has little to do with the circumstances of our lives and everything to do with the focus of our lives.”1
Some of the happiest people I know: my mother, Ramona (top), my cousin Dave and Penny Barnes (center), and my Aunt Dorothy (above).
Photographs courtesy of the author
The Keetch family, my mother, Dave, Penny, and Aunt Dorothy are examples of being joyful during trials. They simply live the gospel and look to better days ahead. In doing so they show joy that exceeds the temporary, though painful, trials they face. With faith in God, they follow His plan for them and rely on Jesus Christ and the blessings of His Atonement. This brings joy and peace.

“You want a ride home, Bryce?” Kendall asked as we left the Little League field. “I have my bike here. You can ride with me.”
“Sure. I’ll pedal partway, if you want.”
The field and bleachers were clearing fast because ours had been the last game. Kendall’s bike was chained to the back of the bleachers. A few feet away was another one, lying in the dirt. It was one of the nicest bikes I’d seen.
“I wonder whose bike that is,” I muttered.
“That’s Dusty’s,” Kendall grumbled, shaking his head disgustedly. “His dad bought it for him last month. Dusty just dumped it there before the game. I saw him leave with TJ. If I had a bike like that, I sure wouldn’t leave it lying around in the dirt like a pile of junk.”
I looked at the bike again. Its bright yellow-and-black paint was beautiful. Grabbing the handlebars, I hefted it to an upright position. For a moment I just admired it; then I swung my leg over and settled down on the seat.
I looked around. We were the only ones still there. I gripped the handlebars and hunched over, pretending to be flying down the road. I straightened up and told Kendall, “I’m going to ride it home.”
“Huh?”
“Dusty lives just a block from me. I’ll drop it by his place on my way home. He’ll thank me. Let’s go.”
Kendall and I had planned to go right home, but on the way, we passed the construction site of the new shopping center. Heavy equipment had been brought in for digging the footings. There were huge piles of dirt and sand everywhere. It was an awesome place to do dirt biking. The construction crew wasn’t around. …
We had meant to stay only five minutes or so, but once I got started, I couldn’t quit. “I’m going to try that big hill in the middle, where they’ve started digging the foundation,” I called to Kendall.
“You’ll kill yourself, it’s too steep.”
“I’ll make it easy on this bike!”
But from the top, it looked higher and steeper than it had from below. When I looked at Kendall, who stood at the bottom, gazing up anxiously, I almost chickened out. But I’d worked hard to get up there, and Kendall was watching, so I decided to give it a try.
“Watch out for that stack of rebar over to the side,” Kendall shouted.
Sucking in a deep breath, I pushed off. Immediately I wished I had left good enough alone. Dusty’s bike went down the hill as if shot from a gun. It was all I could do to stay on as the bike bounced and swerved down the rocky dirt.
A little past halfway down the hill, I lost my balance and took a tumble. I went in one direction; the bike went in another. Everything was a spinning, twisting blur. My flailing sprawl ended when I crashed against a rock at the bottom of the hill.
“Are you all right, Bryce?” Kendall was kneeling beside me, his face white.
I groaned and tried to sit up. A banging pain throbbed in my right knee. As I grimaced, my teeth ground on dirt and sand. I spit to clean out my mouth. “My leg’s killing me,” I moaned.
After I got up and walked around a bit, I felt better, even though my knee was still throbbing. I pulled up my pant leg and discovered a two-inch scrape. It was bleeding some, but it wasn’t too bad. “I think I’ll be OK,” I finally muttered. “Where’s Dusty’s bike?”
The bike was twisted on its side, next to the pile of iron rebar. As soon as I saw it, I knew that it was badly damaged. I pulled it up. The handlebars were bent at an angle.
Kendall and I were able to straighten the handlebars, but as we were doing it, we saw that two spokes were broken on the front wheel and its rim was crumpled. The tire had a small rip in the side. I had a sick feeling in my stomach.
“What are you going to do?” Kendall asked me.
I shook my head slowly, wishing that I had never seen Dusty’s bike. “Maybe we can fix it,” I said hopefully.
Kendall studied the front wheel more closely, then shook his head. “That thing’s totally wasted, Bryce.”
“Well, he shouldn’t have just left it lying there in the dirt,” I snapped, trying to blame Dusty for the accident instead of me. “He’s lucky somebody didn’t just steal it. I’m going to take it back to the ballpark. He can pick it up there—if he still wants it. Hey—he might even forget that he left it there.”
I didn’t tell anybody at home about my accident. I did my best not to limp. But every time I took a step and felt the pain, I remembered what I’d done to Dusty’s bike. I tried to rationalize that it was his own fault for leaving it there, but that didn’t get rid of the guilty feeling.
Before Primary the next day, I heard Dusty talking to some guys. “They trashed my bike,” he growled, hitting his clenched fist into the palm of his other hand.
“Well, why’d you leave it at the park in the first place?” Tyson asked.
“I forgot it—don’t you ever forget things?”
“I’d never forget my new bike. If I did, that would be the last time my dad ever got me anything.”
“Well, if I ever find out who did it,” Dusty muttered angrily, “I’m going to bust him in the nose.”
I looked at Kendall. He looked away and started down the hall for class. Ducking my head, I followed him.
I had a hard time thinking about the Primary lesson, and when sacrament meeting started, I tried to crowd thoughts of Dusty and his bike out of my mind. But as the priests were preparing the sacrament, I thought of a home evening lesson Mom had given. She’d talked about the sacrament and pointed out that we should always take it worthily. Taking it unworthily was mocking Jesus.
Until that Sunday, the sacrament was just something we did Sundays. It was just bread and water that the deacons brought around. But that morning I couldn’t help thinking of the broken bike, and I knew that I wasn’t worthy to take the sacrament. Not until I made things right with Dusty.
I swallowed hard and bowed my head, feeling horribly ashamed. Heavenly Father knew about the bike, and I knew that I couldn’t take the bread and water and renew my covenants with Him while pretending that I hadn’t taken and damaged Dusty’s bike.
When Mom handed me the bread tray, I started to reach for a piece. Then that sick feeling inside me welled up bigger than ever. I pulled my hand back. Without looking at Mom, I slowly shook my head and stared down at my hands. When the water came a few minutes later, I shook my head again.
It was funny that as soon as the sacrament was over and the deacons and the priests had gone to sit with their families, I felt better. I didn’t feel good about what I had done to Dusty’s bike, but I was glad that I’d had the courage not to mock Jesus by taking the sacrament just so that people wouldn’t look at me funny. I also realized that I was going to have to tell Dusty what had happened.
I walked home after the meeting, reaching the house before the rest of my family did. I didn’t wait to change my clothes—I headed straight for the garage, grabbed my bike, and pushed it over to Dusty’s.
My hand shook a little as I rang the doorbell. Sister Baker answered it. “Is Dusty around?” I rasped nervously.
“Sure, Bryce,” she said pleasantly. “Why don’t you come on in?”
“I need to talk to him out here.”
A moment later Dusty came bounding out. “What’s happening, man?”
“Hi, Dusty.” I turned and nodded toward my bike. “I brought you my bike.”
“Oh, you heard mine got trashed. I couldn’t believe that anybody would do that to somebody else’s bike.”
“Yeah,” I gulped, stuffing my hands in my pockets. “I thought you could use mine until yours gets fixed.”
For a moment he stared at me and then at my bike and then back at me. “You don’t have to do that, Bryce.” He sounded surprised and really sincere. “Shoot, that’s nice of you, though. Thanks a lot!”
I shook my head and looked at the ground. “No, Dusty, I’m not all that nice. I wish I was. You see, I”—I swallowed hard and wet my lips—“I’m the one that smashed up your new bike.”
I looked up. Dusty was staring at me. He wasn’t angry, just shocked. “I was going to bring it home to you. I saw it at the park and figured I’d ride it here—you know, as kind of a favor.” I was speaking fast and furiously, wanting to explain before he decided to bust me in the nose. “Then I came to where they’re building that new shopping center, and I started riding the dirt hills. I wasn’t trying to mess up your bike or anything.”
I told him everything. I even showed him the scrape on my knee to prove that I wasn’t lying. Dusty didn’t say much. He just listened. “That’s why I brought you my bike,” I said sadly. “I’ll pay for what it costs to fix up yours, but it’ll take me a little while to earn the money. That’s why I figured you needed another bike until then. It’s not as good as yours, but it’ll get you around. I’m sorry, Dusty. I hadn’t meant for things to end up this way.”
Dusty stepped over to my bike and walked around it, looking it over.
“I wouldn’t blame you if you still wanted to bust me in the nose,” I muttered.
He shrugged. “I’ve thought better about that.” He cuffed my arm. “I still think this is pretty nice of you. Most guys wouldn’t even have told me.”
“Well, I am sorry. And I’ll make up for it.”
I turned and started down his driveway, leaving my bike behind. “Hey, Bryce,” he called after me. I stopped and turned. “Do you want to play a little catch tomorrow after school?”
I hesitated and then smiled. “Sure. I’d like that.”
As I returned home, I was smiling, both inside and out. That deep down sick feeling was gone, and I knew that next Sunday I’d be able to take the sacrament—and I’d appreciate it.

We are reminded of a young boy whose home was threatened by a severe storm. All day there had been reports of it on the radio and when evening came, he and his mother heard frightening warnings. The boy grew more and more upset. Suddenly, with a loud crash, the power failed. The radio became silent and the house was plunged into darkness. Then the mother heard muffled sobs from her young son.

“Try not to be upset,” she told him. “We’ve prepared as well as we could. After all, we are together, and there’s nothing more we can do about it.”

“I know,” he answered. “I know there’s nothing we can do about it. But isn’t there something more we can do about us?”

So in the darkness the mother and the boy knelt together and prayed for courage and comfort and safety. The storm did not cease, but a sweet peace came to them and stayed in their hearts until help arrived.

Some months ago, John announced in an academic journal the remarkable discovery that an ancient and highly specialized Hebrew literary style could be found throughout the Book of Mormon. A world-famous, non-Mormon scholar called it the “most stunning information I’ve learned concerning the Book of Mormon.” John, presently a doctoral student at England’s Oxford University, is a transplanted Californian via BYU.

For the early members of the Church, on a collective and an individual level, receiving the promised endowment of power was the center of their temporal and spiritual striving (see Doctrine and Covenants 38:32).

The Lord repeatedly commanded the building of temples in Kirtland and Missouri. In Kirtland, the Saints succeeded with heroic effort to raise a remarkable building. It was their best effort to build something worthy of the Lord Jesus Christ. The temple still stands today. Newel’s store, along with his nearby ashery, were essential parts of the economy in Kirtland that supported the temple project.

In 1836, the Savior appeared in the temple and accepted their efforts. He promised that His people “shall greatly rejoice in consequence of the blessings which shall be poured out, and the endowment with which my servants have been endowed in this house” (Doctrine and Covenants 110:9). Then Moses, Elias, and Elijah came and conferred keys critical to the last dispensation (see Doctrine and Covenants 110:11–16).

Forty years ago, I gave my heart to Jesus Christ and began attending an evangelical church. I had a wonderful pastor and made many friends who helped me grow spiritually. But after many years of attending, I became troubled by some of the church’s new practices. I tried so hard to stay, but I just couldn’t abide by the changes.
When I began searching for a new church, my brother and his wife, who were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, invited me to come to their church. But I couldn’t wrap my heart and mind around Joseph Smith as a prophet. I respectfully told them, “Thanks, but no thanks.”
I started going to another evangelical church, but the same thing happened there too. After a while, I felt that my spiritual needs weren’t being fulfilled there either. Once again, my brother and his wife invited me to come to their church, and again I politely refused.
I decided I couldn’t trust any church. I made a plan to practice my faith alone. But without church or the opportunity to share my faith with others, I felt myself slipping away from my commitment to Jesus Christ. I started doubting what I had believed in for 30 years! That was the turning point for me.
I looked to the only option I seemed to have left and finally told my brother and his wife that I wanted to go to church with them.
I was skeptical at first, but I will never forget that first Sunday I attended with them. My heart swelled throughout sacrament meeting, as we discussed the New Testament in Sunday School, and again when we sang beautiful music together in Relief Society. And I loved the way people interacted with such love and compassion.
I felt at home.
I continued going to church, but after praying and searching for almost two years, I still had many questions for the Lord and wasn’t ready to be baptized. Then, in October 2012, I decided to watch general conference to find my answers.
Both Saturday sessions greatly touched my heart, and I decided to watch the Sunday morning session in the church building. Even though there was hardly anyone there, I felt distinct peace about my decision to be in the chapel. I could feel my heart softening. I was so hungry for truth.
President Henry B. Eyring, Second Counselor in the First Presidency, shared a beautiful message that I will never forget. He spoke of Joseph Smith’s prayer in Liberty Jail, when he cried out: “O God, where art thou? And where is the pavilion that covereth thy hiding place?” (Doctrine and Covenants 121:1). President Eyring compared Joseph’s feeling to what I had felt:
“Many of us, in moments of personal anguish, feel that God is far from us. … God is never hidden, yet sometimes we are, covered by a pavilion of motivations that draw us away from God and make Him seem distant and inaccessible. …
“Our feelings of separation from God will diminish as we become more childlike before Him. … It will help us recognize this truth: God is close to us and aware of us and never hides from His faithful children.”1
As President Eyring shared this message about receiving God’s love and His will, I heard a message from the Spirit in my mind. It was two simple words: “Be baptized.”
When Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles spoke about conversion that same day,2 I felt my concerns about being baptized disappear. I realized I wasn’t giving up my core beliefs from my evangelical days by joining a new faith. I was building on the faith and truths that I already had. I was being further converted unto the Lord. And His prophets were helping me along the way.
The morning after conference, I called my brother and asked him if he would baptize me. It was a joyful moment that brought us both to tears.
As I reflect on my life journey, I’m grateful for the opportunities afforded me through Jesus Christ. And I’m grateful for general conference. During general conference, I felt that God had heard me. He answered my questions, addressed my fears, and loved me through the words of His prophets.
I know that each general conference has a message straight from the Lord that is personally tailored to you and what you’re going through. As we listen to the prophets with a willingness to accept God’s message for us, we will hear Him. We will receive answers to our prayers and answers to our questions. We will find that the Lord speaks, and we will become more and more converted unto Him.

I recently had a former ward member ask me for help in dealing with some personal issues. She had moved to a new ward and was not sure if she wanted to go to her new bishop for guidance. I shared with her what I have shared many times since being released, which was that while I was happy to assist, I no longer held the keys that a bishop holds and that those keys could be crucial to providing the support she needed. I suggested that she speak with her bishop. I visited with her two weeks later, and she said that she had met with her bishop and it was as if he already knew what her issues were and how to best help her. While the bishop is certainly fallible, the Lord inspires him, guides him, and blesses lives through his words.

There was a determination about Elmer that I came to admire. He had an appreciation for nature and beauty and loved to see things grow. Every morning you could see him heading out to work in his garden. With the aid of an old walking stick, Elmer would drag his crippled leg behind him. The walk itself was difficult, and keeping the weeds out of his large garden seemed to me to be a monumental task. It wasn’t easy, but he took pride in the beautiful produce that grew there. I would help him when I could. I enjoyed our conversations. He was full of interesting facts that he was willing to share with a listening boy.

Growing up, I didn’t believe there was a God. My life was full of turmoil, and in my darkest days I was depressed enough that I wanted to end my life. That was when the missionaries came knocking on my door. The gospel was exactly what I needed; I was drawn to it like a magnet.
My trials didn’t end after I joined the Church, but I was in a better position to resist the influence of the adversary. For the first time, I knew what happiness felt like.

Catfish Stew
Hush puppies, black-eyed peas, and catfish are as much a part of the South as a southern accent. Elder Alden Breinholt from Bountiful, Utah, learned to make Catfish Stew from a family living in the back hills of North Carolina.

Let me share with you a personal experience from my own youth about the power of righteous motives.

After the turmoil of the Second World War, my family ended up in Russian-occupied East Germany. When I attended fourth grade I had to learn Russian as my first foreign language in school. I found this quite difficult because of the Cyrillic alphabet, but as time went on I seemed to do all right.
When I turned 11 we had to leave East Germany overnight because of the political orientation of my father. Now I was going to school in West Germany, which was American-occupied at that time. There in school all children were required to learn English and not Russian. To learn Russian had been difficult, but English was impossible for me. I thought my mouth was not made for speaking English. My teachers struggled. My parents suffered. And I knew English was definitely not my language.
But then something changed in my young life. Almost daily I rode my bicycle to the airport and watched airplanes take off and land. I read, studied, and learned everything I could find about aviation. It was my greatest desire to become a pilot. I could already picture myself in the cockpit of an airliner or in a military fighter plane. I felt deep in my heart this was my thing!
Then I learned that to become a pilot I needed to speak English. Overnight, to the total surprise of everybody, it appeared as if my mouth had changed. I was able to learn English. It still took a lot of work, persistence, and patience, but I was able to learn English!
Why? Because of a righteous and strong motive!

For example, as section 76 of the Doctrine and Covenants was given, Philo Dibble wrote that Joseph “seemed to be dressed in an element of glorious white, and his face shone as if it were transparent.”1 Orson Pratt was present when section 51 was received, and he testified that “Joseph’s face was exceedingly white, and seemed to shine.” 2 Brigham Young testified, “Those who were acquainted with him knew when the Spirit of revelation was upon him, for his countenance wore an expression peculiar to himself while under that influence. He preached by the Spirit of revelation, and taught in his council by it, and those who were acquainted with him could discover it at once, for at such times there was a peculiar clearness and transparency in his face.”3

President Kimball even suggested that “too frequent administrations may be an indication of lack of faith or of the ill one trying to pass the responsibility for faith development to the elders rather than self.” He told about a faithful sister who received a priesthood blessing. When asked the next day if she wished to be administered to again, she replied: “No, I have been anointed and administered to. The ordinance has been performed. It is up to me now to claim my blessing through my faith.”

He uses the plan of salvation as an example. It’s a doctrine he has heard many times. “But studying it for myself, I saw the love Heavenly Father has for us. The Holy Ghost touched my heart, and I felt inside that it is true. I came to feel the love He has for me that He would send His Son.”

My officer friend told me recently of two young men in the backseat of a police car, handcuffs about their wrists. They had started out innocently enough that evening. Four of them in a car went about looking for excitement. They found it. Soon there was a fight. Then the police cars converged. The boys were detained and handcuffed.

These were good young men. They were not of the kind that go to the jailhouse periodically. The mother of one of them had said to him before he left home, “Bad things happen after 11 o’clock.”

He had quickly learned the meaning of that statement. He was embarrassed. He was ashamed to face his mother.