Gospel Story Finder

He loves being around the Prague full-time missionaries. One day he was playing softball with them, and an elder accidentally hit him in the head with a big metal baseball bat. The elders wanted to take Lukáš to the hospital, but he refused and said he just wanted to go home. He felt certain that if he prayed, Heavenly Father would make him better. As soon as he prayed for help, his head stopped hurting. He knew that Heavenly Father had answered his prayer.

After Old Panama burned down, the people of Panama chose a location a few miles away that was easier to defend and started building their city from scratch. It probably wasn’t easy, but the results soar above Old Panama’s ruins.

Mayka and Minerva Moreno’s personal progress has followed a similar course. When the sisters joined the Church, Mayka was the age of the Beehive girls, and Minerva was only a few months away from entering the Young Women program. They were essentially starting from scratch in the gospel without the benefit of a foundation built in Primary. Now, several years later, they look back at what Personal Progress did for them as new converts.

“We didn’t get to go through Primary,” Mayka says. “Personal Progress helped me to understand the doctrines of the gospel. It strengthened my testimony a lot about Christ’s Atonement and other things I didn’t understand.”

“I’ve learned so much more about the gospel and about Joseph Smith,” says Minerva. “I’ve been able to figure out what are the lies some say about the Church and what is the truth.”

Their mother, Justa, has noticed their progress as well. “I’ve seen a great change in them,” says Justa. “It’s been complete, 100 percent, but for the good—in their daily lives, their behavior, their friends, in school.”

“I have learned so many things,” Mayka says. “I’m not the same person I was. I’m better.”

When I was kid, about two weeks before Christmas, my dad said something really weird at dinner. I wasn’t quite sure what Santa was going to bring me for Christmas that year, but the possibilities occupied all my thoughts and time. My dad made the comment that he thought the days leading up to Christmas were more fun than the days after, when all the mystery of what you might be getting is gone.
As a kid I didn’t understand that, but now I think I know what he meant. When I’ve really wanted something and then I am finally able to get it, it’s fun at first, but over time that thing isn’t as cool as it was when I was anticipating getting it.
Maybe you’ve had a similar experience; you’ve wanted something really bad, but then when you finally have it, it doesn’t have the same meaning anymore.

By 1889, just 10 years after the restored gospel arrived in central Mexico, Church leaders had felt prompted to shift the Church’s limited resources to establishing colonies in northern Mexico. The members near Mexico City, about 1,000 miles (1,600 km) from the colonies, felt like sheep without a shepherd as missionaries left for the north. Though still surrounded by her family, Desideria knew that they would have to practice the gospel in isolation. This meant she would never have the benefit of joining the Relief Society or of receiving temple blessings while alive.
But she recognized that the Lord knew her. Through His servants, the Lord had manifested His desire to minister one by one to His flock. Because of her dream, the priesthood blessing, and the Book of Mormon, Desideria could testify of her absolute assurance that God cared for her spiritual and temporal needs. Though this knowledge did not prevent trials and challenges from occurring in her life, it did give her the confidence that the Lord would always ease her burdens.
In 1903, missionaries returned to southern Mexico for the first time since 1886. They met with José, who summed up Desideria’s endurance to the end and legacy of faith by saying that both his wife and his mother “died in full faith of Mormonism” and that he had “hope of dying in Mormonism.”7

At a press conference following the announcement of his call on October 6, President Eyring recalled being invited into President Faust’s office shortly after being called to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles on April 1, 1995. Instead of offering expected encouragement, President Faust pointed heavenward, smiled, and said, “Don’t talk to me. Talk to Him.” President Eyring explained, “Rather than trying to solve all my problems, he sent me to God. He had that gift of being very sensitive and kind—the dearest friend and the best mentor you could have.”

The young women of the Stevensville Montana Stake wanted to do more than just camp at their last girls’ camp; they also wanted to do some good. Reaching out to needy children around the world, the young women put together 72 hygiene kits and gathered around 250 toys and stuffed animals to be distributed by LDS Humanitarian Services.
This project helped the girls realize how blessed they are to have what they have. Many talked of wanting to do more and said they were grateful that the Church has the ability to send these items to people who are truly in need.

One of the most reassuring thoughts that has comforted me throughout my years has been: “I chose to come here. I sustained Christ’s plan rather than Satan’s in the premortal existence.” We all knew, before we were born, that we were coming to earth and would experience joy and sorrow. We eagerly accepted the plan. My father made this point very clear to me some years ago. I was wrestling with what to me seemed major issues in my life, with prayers not yet answered, or so I thought. Into my mind I heard him speak, although he had been gone for several years: “My dear, don’t trouble yourself about the little things, and the big things you already agreed to before you came.” We chose this life, with the struggles. We chose to accept the forgetting and to see whether we would walk by faith.

“Another of my classmates studied for a long time and had a testimony, but she didn’t want to be baptized because she was afraid of water. She couldn’t imagine standing in the baptismal font. So we prayed and decided she should try her faith. The baptismal date was set. Even the day before she was still scared. So we prayed again. About 11:00 P.M. that night, she called me to say she had found peace about it and would be baptized.

“There have been many others. Each time I saw one of my friends standing in the baptismal font, I think I was as happy as they were. Once again I could see someone become a member of the kingdom of God.

“Now, even though we are members of different wards, we all keep in touch with each other. It is wonderful to know they have become happier and that they now want to share the gospel.”

Mei Ling regularly writes in her journal, too. And she serves as chorister during her ward’s sacrament meetings.

And even though schoolwork is a high priority, she finds time to join the other Latter-day Saint youth of Taipei for Aaronic Priesthood and Young Women activities.

“I love to take my guitar to the hills and sing, or go to the beach to swim. I like horseback riding at the youth park, or ice skating. And of course it’s only that much better when it’s a Church activity and friends and classmates come along.

“During the mid-autumn festival this year, we’re planning a party at the park. We will build a fire and sing and enjoy the beauty of the moon, which is an old Chinese custom.”

When Mei Ling thinks of future activities like that, she also thinks about things even further in the future.

“It is said that the Taiwanese are full of genuine human warmth—but I believe the people would have even more love and kindness among themselves if they had the gospel. I believe that someday most of the people in Taiwan will be Latter-day Saints. Then from here the Church will continue to grow throughout all of Asia, throughout all the world, as we reach out to our brothers and sisters everywhere.”

In learning about the Church, there are some lessons that Mei Ling has learned well.

“I think that someday I will certainly be married in the temple,” she said. “I will also do the ordinances for my ancestors. I want to enter into the kingdom of God and provide the same opportunity for my family before me. If they aren’t baptized, how can they enter the kingdom of God? So I have to do the ordinances for them. As far as my marriage is concerned, I think that the person I marry will be someone I love and that he will also love me. We will not like the idea of being separated after death. So we will go to the temple and be sealed forever. And because there will soon be a temple in Taipei, we won’t have to travel far.”

Right now, though, Mei Ling said her first priority is to put her own life in order. “Since I now have to go to school both day and night, I am busy. There is tremendous pressure. But as long as I am able to manage my time well, the Lord will bless me to find time to do what he has asked.”

Since she joined the Church, Mei Ling has progressed in two kinds of learning. She has continued her schoolwork, and she works hard at it. But she has also learned that by studying and sharing the gospel, she can help others to acquire a type of knowledge more important than any secular education.

Every weekday, the students of Taipei City Junior Business College come to school, open their books, study their lessons, return home and study some more. In a busy, crowded metropolis like Taipei, their activity may seem just another part of the rush and hurry. In the school’s student body of thousands, one LDS girl may not seem to most of her peers to stand out in a crowd.

But just as the schools of Taiwan have taught students and teachers alike ways of sharing knowledge with each other, the still small voice has taught Chu Mei Ling how to share her testimony with those around her.

There certainly must be lessons to be learned from both.

I was greatly impressed as I attended a stake conference and called on a bishop to speak. As he spoke, tears came to his eyes, and it was difficult for him to speak when he said, “I want to acknowledge here tonight at this meeting my home teacher. I was an inactive senior Aaronic Priesthood holder, and this home teacher worked with me. I didn’t want to see him at first; in fact, I refused, but he continued until I would let him come into my home and teach me. And here I am now, his bishop. I want to express to him my deep appreciation.” Thank the Lord for such worthy men, who will not fail to do everything in their power to save those who are wandering.

Some of my personal feelings were very spiritual. To look down on the earth from space is absolutely incredible. I knew ahead of time just exactly what I was going to see. I was intellectually prepared, but I was not prepared emotionally for what I saw. The world is very large. I knew that. But to see this huge, magnificent sphere slowly rotating beneath me was overwhelming. I have no ability to describe what it was really like, and no photographic emulsion can even start to do it justice. The visibility, of course, was excellent. But I was amazed at the intensity of the colors. I estimated that there were twenty shades of intense blue as the earth’s atmosphere changes from the gray of the curved horizon into the incredible black void of space. And when you look at an archipelago of islands, there are hundreds of shades of blue and green and yellow tan that are just beyond description.
The first time I had a minute to stop and just look at the earth, the absolute beauty of the scene brought tears to my eyes. In weightlessness tears do not just quietly roll down your cheeks. They stay in front of your eyeballs and get bigger and bigger and in a few moments you feel like a guppy looking up through the surface of the aquarium.
Now, try to imagine what it was like for me to have that scene in front of me and then have the fragments of half a dozen scriptures pop into my mind. “The heavens declare the glory of God.” (Ps. 19:1.) If you have seen the heavens, you have “seen God moving in his majesty and power.” (D&C 88:47.) I am sure you can imagine the closeness I felt to my Father in Heaven as I looked down at one of His beautiful creations. I was really stirred by an increased awareness of what He did for us as the Creator of our earth. That was one of the most moving experiences of my life.

A revelation to the Prophet Joseph Smith sent groups of Latter-day Saints to Missouri to lay the foundation of Zion. It wasn’t long, however, before mobs confronted them. In scenes from Legacy, families arrive in Missouri (1); soon mobs tar and feather some of the Saints (2), storm the printing office (3), attack the Haun’s Mill settlement (4), and finally force the Saints to leave (5).

James and Drusilla Hendricks came to Missouri in 1836. In 1838, James was paralyzed by a bullet. For the next year, Drusilla nursed him, held off the mobs, and did what she could to keep her family alive.

The day came when they ate the last of their food. Then “the conflict began in my mind,” Drusilla wrote. Recalling her parents’ warning that her husband would be killed, she asked herself, “Are you not sorry you did not listen to them?” Answering her own question, she replied, “No I am not. I did what was right. If I die I am glad I was baptized for the remission of my sins, for I have an answer of a good conscience.” Then she heard a still small voice saying, “‘Hold on, for the Lord will provide.’ I said I would, for I would trust in Him and not grumble.”

James survived, though still an invalid, and the family made it to Utah, united in faith and hope (in Kenneth W. Godfrey and others, Women’s Voices: An Untold History of the Latter-day Saints [1982], 96).

When President Washington arrived at Gilbert’s home studio, the six-foot-two Washington set his face in the stony, lifeless expression typically seen in portraits of that period. Stuart wondered how he could get Washington to appear more natural. The artist usually got his subjects to pose with lively expressions on their faces by talking to them about their interests. Stuart tried to talk to the president about the American Revolution. When Washington didn’t respond, Stuart tried discussing great political figures of ancient Rome. Washington seemed bored, so Stuart had to do his best without the president’s help. The same was true when he painted a second portrait of Washington, this time a full-length picture.

When Washington sat for his third portrait—the last one by Stuart—the artist was still puzzling over how to capture a more lively expression of Washington. Finally Stuart gripped his paintbrush and began to sketch the outline of the president’s head. When Stuart happened to glance up from his canvas, he saw a sudden, bright expression cross Washington’s face. The president had just seen a beautiful horse gallop by the window. Stuart searched his brain for all that he knew about horses and started talking, and Washington’s face soon glowed with interest in their conversation.

From horses, the conversation turned to farming. George Washington had been a planter in Virginia before he became president of the United States. Unfortunately, before the sitting that day was finished, the president’s face had assumed its stiff expression again.

In subsequent sittings, some of Washington’s friends came with him, and their conversation helped keep the president’s face more animated. However, now Stuart wanted Washington’s expression to better show his powerful leadership qualities. By making the president wait when he arrived for the sitting, Stuart irritated Washington just enough so that his face reflected the expression he wore when he was a general commanding his troops.

At first I was frustrated with my siblings when they wouldn’t respond to my invitations. I became angry with them, and they started avoiding all talk on the subject of church. My dad helped me realize that isn’t what the Church is about. He reminded me, “People don’t care how much you know until they know how much you care.” I learned over time that I needed to love them as they are. I found little ways to serve them and show them I genuinely love them. Even though this did not win immediate results, they began to be more open to talk about the Church and were more receptive to my invitations when I showed them love.
Name withheld, Taiwan

After 12 hours of work, the Primary program was done. The girls continued to hold practices with the children’s choir to finish the project’s needed hours—and for fun! But they didn’t stop there.
“Ashley, my younger sister, was always trying to talk me into coaching her basketball team,” says Stephanie. “I’ve been playing on a basketball team since fourth grade, and I love the game so I figured, why not?” Once again Tiana responded to Stephanie’s call for help. At first, it looked like another good opportunity for a Personal Progress project. In the end it became a labor of love in which they ended up working beyond their required hours.
“Not only did we get to be involved in something we both love,” says Tiana, “but it was even more fun when we found out that all but three of the girls on the team are members of our ward and the other girls are all their friends.”
Needless to say, coaching the young team has not been without challenges. For starters, Tiana and Stephanie had to make time in their busy schedules for three full months of weekly practices and Saturday games, not to mention time spent making phone calls to keep parents updated.
Tiana laughs when asked about the other challenges they faced, noting that “the players are the best of friends, and sometimes they love talking even more than they love basketball!”
Stephanie says the hardest part of coaching was teaching basketball skills that are second nature to her and Tiana but are new to the team and especially the younger girls who have never played before.
Tiana added that coaching this team has made her think about what it means to be a good example. “We had to be careful to treat each player fairly and impartially even though we both have younger sisters on the team,” she says.
Tiana and Stephanie taught the girls to work together as a unit, just as they had to learn to work together as coaches. On this team, no girl is a stranger, and no girl is left out.
When asked about her coaches, 11-year-old Leah Williams says, “I totally look up to them. Not only are they really good basketball players and my coaches, but they are also my best friends. I know that when they tell me what to do I can trust them.” She added that someday she would like to coach a team herself.
Eleven-year-old Abby Hulme, who had never played on a basketball team before, said she was more comfortable with Stephanie and Tiana than she would have been with a coach she didn’t know.
Linda Williams, the Saratoga Ward Young Women president (and Leah’s mom), commented that she was impressed that Stephanie and Tiana are so willing to share their talents and what they love with others.

Nearly a century ago, a family from Oregon was vacationing in Indiana—over 2,000 miles (3,200 km) away—when they lost their beloved dog, Bobbie. The frantic family searched for the dog everywhere but to no avail. Bobbie could not be found.
Heartbroken, they made the trip home, each mile taking them farther away from their cherished pet.
Six months later, the family was stunned to find Bobbie on their doorstep in Oregon. “Mangy, scrawny, feet worn to the bone—[he] appeared to have walked the entire distance … by himself.” Bobbie’s story captured the imagination of people across the United States, and he became known as Bobbie the Wonder Dog.

Let me share a humorous story to illustrate. In my family, pretty much all the females share the same DNA for large calves. We lovingly credit our great-grandma with passing them down to us. We never actually saw her legs, but when we tried to blame my mom she said it was her grandma’s fault. We refer to our calves as cows—they are the calves already grown up. A few years ago my sister was cursing her calves when the Spirit said to her very clearly, “That which you curse is what got your ancestors across the plains.” A humbling revelation indeed!

In His perfect wisdom, Heavenly Father has given each of us the unique temples we need to fill the missions He sent us here to accomplish.

I testify that conversion is a process. I am sure that the missionaries were praying and fasting for the change of my mind, because as soon as we started to attend the meetings, I began criticizing many temporal things at the meetinghouse, such as the crooked pictures on the walls. The branch president, a fine and wise man, appointed me as the “pictures supervisor,” this being my first calling in the Church. Incidentally, I have never seen that position in the handbooks, but it served me very well to start my involvement in the service of the Lord.

My first calling in church was to be the accompanist in our branch. I did not play the piano, nor had a piano at home. Within months, my mother purchased one. I began taking piano lessons and started to play in church. It was pure agony and embarrassment to follow the music director. My first goal was to get the first and the last note right. I practiced during the week at home and had joint practices with the director, who was as inexperienced as I was. However, there was a reverence towards the callings we held. We knew our duty and did our best.

I remained the accompanist till I went to college, but directors changed. I recall a dark cloud of impatience coming over me at times. A chorister had a small hand, I a powerful piano. I could have taken over easily, and everyone would have followed me, but I had to humble myself and keep practicing behind the scenes with music directors. When a hymn started, all eyes were on the director, and we followed her lead.

Too often I have failed to express gratitude for the faith and goodness of such people in my life. President James E. Faust stood at this pulpit 13 years ago and said, “As a small boy … , I remember my grandmother … cooking our delicious meals on a hot woodstove. When the wood box next to the stove became empty, Grandmother would silently … go out to refill it from the pile of cedar wood outside, and bring the heavily laden box back into the house. I was so insensitive … [that] I sat there and let my beloved grandmother refill [that] box.” Then, his voice choking with emotion, he said, “I feel ashamed of myself and have regretted my omission for all of my life. I hope someday to ask for her forgiveness.”3
If a man as perfect as I felt President Faust was can acknowledge his youthful oversight, I can do no less than make a similar admission and pay a long-overdue tribute of my own today.
When I was called to serve a mission back before the dawn of time, there was no equalization of missionary costs. Each had to bear the full expense of the mission to which he or she was sent. Some missions were very expensive, and as it turned out, mine was one of those.
When I was called to serve a mission back before the dawn of time, there was no equalization of missionary costs. Each had to bear the full expense of the mission to which he or she was sent. Some missions were very expensive, and as it turned out, mine was one of those.
As we encourage missionaries to do, I had saved money and sold personal belongings to pay my own way as best I could. I thought I had enough money, but I wasn’t sure how it would be in the final months of my mission. With that question on my mind, I nevertheless blissfully left my family for the greatest experience anyone could hope to have. I loved my mission as I am sure no young man has ever loved one before or since.
Then I returned home just as my parents were called to serve a mission of their own. What would I do now? How in the world could I pay for a college education? How could I possibly pay for board and room? And how could I realize the great dream of my heart, to marry the breathtakingly perfect Patricia Terry? I don’t mind admitting that I was discouraged and frightened.
Hesitantly I went to the local bank and asked the manager, a family friend, how much was in my account. He looked surprised and said, “Why, Jeff, it’s all in your account. Didn’t they tell you? Your parents wanted to do what little they could to help you get started when you got home. They didn’t withdraw a cent during your mission. I supposed that you knew.”
Well, I didn’t know. What I do know is that my dad, a self-educated accountant, a “bookkeeper” as they were called in our little town, with very few clients, probably never wore a new suit or a new shirt or a new pair of shoes for two years so his son could have all of those for his mission. Furthermore, what I did not know but then came to know was that my mother, who had never worked out of the home in her married life, took a job at a local department store so that my mission expenses could be met. And not one word of that was ever conveyed to me on my mission. Not a single word was said regarding any of it. How many fathers in this Church have done exactly what my father did? And how many mothers, in these difficult economic times, are still doing what my mother did?
My father has been gone for 34 years, so like President Faust, I will have to wait to fully thank him on the other side. But my sweet mother, who turns 95 next week, is happily watching this broadcast today at her home in St. George, so it’s not too late to thank her. To you, Mom and Dad, and to all the moms and dads and families and faithful people everywhere, I thank you for sacrificing for your children (and for other people’s children!), for wanting so much to give them advantages you never had, for wanting so much to give them the happiest life you could provide.

In elementary school, I always heard about the “popular” kids. Being popular wasn’t something you did, it was who you were—and by the beginning of my first year in middle school, I was at the top of the middle school popularity chain. I hung out with the popular kids in the popular part of the hallway, had the same popular brand clothes, and most importantly, ate lunch with them at the exclusive Popular Table in the cafeteria.
The Popular Table had the perfect location, right by the lunch line but far away from the teachers. Even better, it was the only table where boys and girls sat together. I felt so cool as I sat with them, and we talked about our TV shows and our clothes.
But one thing was just a little off—these popular kids weren’t really that nice. When I was with them I felt popular, but I didn’t feel happy. Sometimes we all gossiped or made fun of others. There was a lot of swearing and talking about things I knew were not appropriate, and I didn’t feel like they cared about me. My “friends” rarely did anything really nice for me, and eventually I began to feel like a doormat.
“You should try to make some new friends,” my older sister said. “By the time those kids get to high school, they’ll probably be drinking and maybe even doing drugs. That’s what happened to a lot the popular kids from my middle school.”
I was shocked. “These are my friends,” I thought, “and they’re not going to do anything that would bring me down. Besides, even if they aren’t that nice, at least they still let me hang out with them.”
One day, as I was walking to my lunch table, I saw Cindy, a girl from church who was in the grade above me. She sat on the complete opposite side of the cafeteria.
“Hey there!” Cindy called to me. “Do you want to sit with me and my friends?”
“Ah … no thanks,” I said, “I have my own lunch table.”
But one day, at the Popular Table, one of the girls was rude to me. She hurt my feelings, and I was tired of feeling like my friends just tolerated me. But where else could I go?
Then I remembered Cindy’s offer.
“All right,” I thought. “I’m going to sit with Cindy. But just today.”
I picked up my lunch tray and tried to hold back the tears as I walked away from the best table in the cafeteria.
Cindy saw me, smiled, and said, “Hey, Meredith! Want to sit with us?”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “Sure,” I said and sat down at her table.
Cindy and her friends welcomed me to their table and were really nice. It was a completely different feeling from sitting with the popular kids. I was surprised. Not only were these girls nicer, but we also had similar standards, and that made it easier to go through lunch without having to listen to swearing or crude stories.
I decided to eat with them the next day, and the day after that, until eating with Cindy and her friends became routine. I was still nice to the popular kids, and we got along fine in class, but I stopped hanging out with them in the hallways.
One day, at the end of the year, Cindy and her friends had a field trip and were gone during lunch. I walked over to the popular side of the cafeteria and sat with my old friends again. During lunch, there was all the old swearing, telling crude jokes, and making fun of people, but now they were also talking about drugs and immoral activities. I couldn’t believe how much they had changed over the course of the year, and I was so grateful I had moved to the other side of the cafeteria when I did.
My sister was right; their standards were different from mine, and it would have become more difficult to follow the counsel of the prophets and stay close to the Lord if they had been my only friends. That year I made friends who were not of my faith but who shared a lot of the same standards and made it easy for me to practice my beliefs. They stayed my friends all the way through high school.
I’m grateful for my friend Cindy, who invited me sit with her, and to the Lord for giving me courage to change lunch tables. It seemed like such a big deal, but having friends with different standards was an even bigger deal.
The Lord blessed me to find friends who were fun, encouraging, and shared my standards. Trading being “popular” for being happy was definitely worth it.