Gospel Story Finder

We had invited a special guest to join us for the home evening just prior to Christmas. We sat in our living room and I told her why she was there: “Marie, we have watched your actions and as a family have observed that you are one who loves the Savior. Since we could not invite him to join us in person as we celebrate his birth, we decided to invite someone who is striving to be like him. Marie, we chose you.”
Marie is a lovely single woman who, in spite of problems of her own, goes about quietly doing good for others. Tears welled up in her eyes as each of our children told her of the Christlike behavior he or she had observed in her.
But when it was our eight-year-old son’s turn his heart was so full he couldn’t speak. Earlier in the year he had needed extra tutoring in reading, and Marie had worked with him through the summer upgrading his reading skills—and she refused any payment for it. Now, several months later, he was finally achieving success in school.
Everyone in the room sensed the deep feelings our son was trying to communicate. So sacred was this moment that it seemed as though Jesus had come to be with us after all.
The spiritual feeling we all experienced that Christmas helped us determine that each year thereafter we would invite a Christlike person or family into our home to honor the Savior at Christmastime. By so doing we have been inspired to strive more diligently to be like him every day of our lives.

I express gratitude for a Sunday School teacher [named] Lucy Gertsch. She was beautiful, soft-spoken, and interested in us. She made the scriptures actually come to life.
We undertook a project to save nickels and dimes for what was to be a gigantic party. Sister Gertsch kept a careful record of our progress. As boys and girls with typical appetites, we [imagined] cakes, cookies, pies, and ice cream. This was to be a glorious occasion—the biggest party ever.
None of us will forget that gray Sunday morning in January when our beloved teacher announced to us that the mother of one of our classmates had passed away. We thought of our own mothers and how much they meant to us. We felt sorrow for Billy Devenport in his great loss.
The lesson that day was from the book of Acts, chapter 20, verse 35: “Remember the words of the Lord Jesus, how he said, It is more blessed to give than to receive.” Lucy Gertsch asked, “How would you like to follow this teaching of the Lord? How would you feel about taking your party fund and, as a class, giving it to the Devenports as an expression of our love?” The decision was unanimous. We counted very carefully each penny and placed the total sum in a large envelope.
Ever shall I remember the tiny band walking those three city blocks, entering Billy’s home, greeting him, his brother, sisters, and father. Noticeably absent was his mother. Always I shall treasure the tears which glistened in the eyes of each one present as the white envelope containing our precious party fund passed from the delicate hand of our teacher to the needy hand of a grief-stricken father. We fairly skipped our way back to the chapel. Our hearts were lighter than they had ever been, our joy more full, our understanding more profound. We [had] learned through our own experience that indeed it is more blessed to give than to receive.

A few years ago, I was interviewing missionaries. A winter storm was blowing in as missionaries came and went throughout the day. The storm changed from icy rain to snow and back again. Some missionaries arrived by train from nearby cities and walked to the church through the storm. Others rode their bicycles. Almost without exception they were cheerful and happy. They were the Lord’s missionaries. They had His Spirit and felt joy in His service regardless of their circumstances.
As each companionship concluded their interviews, I will never forget watching them go back out into the storm to preach the gospel and do what the Lord had called them to do. I could see their commitment and dedication. I could feel the love they had for the people and for the Lord. As I watched them leave, I felt an overwhelming love for them and for what they were doing.
Later that night, I attended a priesthood meeting in the same city. The storm had continued and was now mostly snow. During the opening song, the branch president of the smallest and farthest branch and his two missionary counselors, Elder Warner and Elder Karpowitz, came into the chapel. As they got ready to sit down, these two wonderful missionaries took off their winter hats and gloves. They took off their outer coats. Then they each took off a second winter coat and sat down. Like the missionaries earlier in the day, despite the weather these missionaries were happy. They felt the Spirit of the Lord in their lives. Through service in the Lord’s cause, they felt a certain love and warmth and joy that are difficult to describe.
As I watched these great young missionaries that evening, I had a remarkable experience. In my mind’s eye, I saw missionaries throughout the mission going out into that winter night. Some were knocking doors and facing rejection as they sought to teach the gospel of Jesus Christ. Some were in homes or apartments teaching individuals and families. In spite of the conditions they faced, they were doing what they could to teach the gospel of Jesus Christ to those who would listen, and they were happy. Into my heart came a feeling that I cannot fully explain.
By a wonderful gift of the Spirit, I felt His love, the pure love of Christ that He has for faithful missionaries everywhere, and it changed me forever. I understood how precious each missionary is to Him. I caught a glimpse of what prophets would describe as the “greatest generation of missionaries” the world has ever known (see M. Russell Ballard, “The Greatest Generation of Missionaries,” Liahona and Ensign, Nov. 2002, 47). I began to understand why it was necessary to raise the bar so that missionaries everywhere would be entitled to the protection, direction, and happiness that accompany the Spirit of the Lord. I also began to understand why—as parents, bishops, stake presidents, and other leaders—we must do everything we can to help the young people of the Church become worthy of the blessings of missionary service.

To the priesthood of the Church here on this earth, I salute you. It is an honor to be in your presence tonight. The priesthood that is here and across the whole earth is a wondrous thing. A few months ago, I was in the main lobby of the Church Administration Building waiting for an elevator when three men came in and asked the receptionist at the front desk, “Is this where the brothers are?” The receptionist smiled, and I thought, “Isn’t that a great salutation.”

In our family, everyone helps.
Fofoa: Our family believes in working together. My brother Etuale and I gather firewood for cooking. We also help make food to sell. I remember one time when our family didn’t make enough money to pay an expensive water bill, so we all did our part to help. My sister sold barbecue. Etuale and I gathered coconuts and other food and then helped sell the food to raise money. By working hard as a family and trusting God, we were able to get the water turned back on.

Several months ago I left my country to go to one where I knew only my sister and her boyfriend. At church I felt like an outsider. Two or three months went by, and I felt the same feeling of loneliness until I decided to smile at others and ask, “How are you?” Each Sunday that went by, they were saying more to me than the simple “I’m fine.” It also helped to participate in seminary and Mutual and to work on Personal Progress with other young women. Now I feel comfortable at church, as if I were at home.
Vanessa B., 17, La Vega, Dominican Republic

My brethren and sisters, like many of you I was surprised after my marriage to discover the extent of my wife’s relatives. Having come from an extensive family myself, it was nothing new to me to be surrounded by a large family. Nevertheless, as I became acquainted with the connections into which I had married, I had my eyes opened.
I served as a Regional Representative in Wyoming. Her parents grew up there and it seemed that everyone was her relative. The same thing was evident when I was transferred to southern Utah. Her family connections are everywhere. I find them in Texas and in Arizona. We even found them in Egypt and in Saudi Arabia when we visited there two months ago. I have found myself in constant competition to find relatives of my own. I don’t know whether I should say this, but I’ve always laid a certain claim to fame from the fact that Sister LaVern Parmley, who was president of the Primary, was my cousin. But you know, Sister Bangerter arranged to have her released. And then she had Sister Barbara Smith, who is her cousin, sustained as president of the Relief Society.

In a move to expand the opportunities for young members of the Church to serve full-time missions, President Monson announced on October 6, 2012, that men may begin serving at age 18 and women at age 19. His announcement was made during the opening session of the Church’s 182nd Semiannual General Conference and sparked an outpouring of missionary enthusiasm. Since the announcement, the Church’s Missionary Department has received historic numbers of applications from both young men and young women eager to serve.

The train threaded its way through the mountains that walled Feather River Canyon, carrying its load of passengers eastward from San Francisco, California. Although snow lay deep in some of the higher places, a bright March sun had caused streams to cascade over the rocks and soft green to begin to color the oak brush and grass.
Some of those on the train pressed their faces against the windows to see the beauty of the canyon; others slept. A man in one of the cars did neither. His thoughts were of a talk he had been asked to give the following week at Primary General Conference. He wondered what he might say to express his love for children.
This man was Marion G. Romney. He picked up his Bible and turned to the New Testament, to the tenth chapter of Mark [Mark 10], which tells how the Savior took the children in his arms and blessed them. As Elder Romney read, he leaned forward in front of the window of the train, the New Testament in his hands, his elbows on his knees. He read and reread the words until it almost seemed as if he could see the Savior with the children in his arms. The picture was so beautiful that Elder Romney closed the book, leaned back as far as he could, and pressed his body hard against the seat as he shut his eyes in prayerful thought.
Just then a great boulder, crashing down the mountainside burst through the window of the train where he sat. It grazed his face and bruised his right side, but did not seriously hurt him.
A week later as Elder Romney stood in the Salt Lake Tabernacle, he said, “Had I been leaning forward, I am sure I would not be here today.”

Another thing I learned on my mission was humility. When I was growing up, I had everything I needed. I never had to worry about food, shelter, or the clothes on my back. In contrast, my mission area was on the Yucatán Peninsula, and life was very simple there. Not having the luxuries I had grown accustomed to all my life was extremely humbling.
As anyone who has served in the military knows, a soldier must place himself second to the safety of his fellow soldiers and the preservation of his country. I look back on my mission now and thank my Heavenly Father for allowing me to be humbled in preparation for serving my country.
As a soldier at war, you give up every luxury of home. The men and women I served with gave up their warm beds, dry socks, and daily showers. When I am deployed, not a day goes by that I don’t appreciate all the blessings I have waiting for me at home.

Xander always wished he had a big brother. And now he had one!
Well, not really, but Xander liked to pretend that Sevàk was his brother. Sevàk was staying with Xander’s family while he visited the United States to go to school.
For family home evening tonight, Sevàk was teaching them about his home country. He pulled a little flag out of his pocket. It had three stripes—red, blue, and orange. “This is the Armenian flag. Armenia is in Eastern Europe,” he said. He told them more cool stuff about his country—like how it was so small that it could fit inside Xander’s state eight times!
While Xander listened, he thought about how Sevàk was different. He talked kind of funny. He looked different too—his hair and eyes were darker than Xander’s. And Sevàk’s family went to a different church than Xander’s family.
But he’s not that different, Xander thought. We both like to play games. They had even made up their own game together with Xander’s trading cards. They also both liked watching Saturday morning cartoons.
After Sevàk finished telling about his country, they sang a Primary song and read a scripture. “Thank you for sharing with us, Sevàk,” Dad said. “Nathan, will you say the closing prayer?”
“Yup!” said Nathan. Xander glanced at Sevàk, who bowed his head and clasped his hands reverently.
Even though he’s different, Xander thought, he’s Heavenly Father’s son—just like me. That makes us pretty much brothers!
The next afternoon Xander and Nathan were playing basketball on the driveway.
“Hey, guys,” Sevàk said when he got home from school. “Can I play?”
“Sure!” Xander said. “We’re playing Horse.”
Sevàk didn’t know how to play, so Xander explained the rules while Nathan went into the garage to get another ball.
“So when it’s your turn, just make sure you don’t miss the basket,” Xander finished.
“OK, let’s play,” Sevàk said.
They all took turns shooting baskets. Sevàk was pretty good. But after a couple of rounds, he missed a shot, and the ball bounced off the backboard.
Sevàk laughed. “I can’t believe I missed that!” Then he said some words that made Xander’s stomach squirm.
Sevàk wasn’t a bad person, so why did he say those bad words? Maybe he doesn’t know that’s wrong, Xander thought. Sometimes he forgot that Sevàk didn’t know the same things about Heavenly Father and Jesus.
“Umm, we don’t say those words at our house because it makes Heavenly Father sad,” Xander said as kindly as he could. “If you want to say that, you can always just say ‘bummer’ instead.”
“Oh, OK,” Sevàk said, picking up the ball. “Thanks for telling me.”
They kept playing. Sevàk missed again, but this time he said, “Bummer!” and smiled at Xander.
The month went by quickly, and soon it was time for Sevàk to leave. Before he left, he hugged Xander goodbye. “Thank you for teaching me about God. I learned a lot from you,” Sevàk said. “I had such a cool feeling during family home evening and prayers with your family. I want to have a feeling like that in my home someday.”
Xander hugged him back. “Bye, Sevàk. I’ll really miss you!”
Sevàk got baptized later! And he’s still like a brother to Xander.
Xander felt warm inside. He knew that Heavenly Father was happy that he had helped Sevàk feel the Holy Ghost and learn about how Jesus wanted him to live.

In a ceremony presided over by Africa Area President Richard P. Lindsay, Eswatini’s first meetinghouse was dedicated in the capital city of Mbabane on 18 July 1993, just over a year after ground was broken for the building.
Two hundred Church members and leaders from Eswatini’s five branches attended the groundbreaking on 20 June 1992. At the ceremony, Elder Earl C. Tingey, also of the Africa Area Presidency, said the new meetinghouse would be a place where all could be taught how to live the gospel of Jesus Christ in their homes.
Several government officials also attended and spoke at the ceremony, including Enos Mavuso, the official representative of Prince Soblana. He said, “It is our prayer that the Church grows. I think that in heaven angels are happy.”
A year later, as he dedicated the new building, Elder Lindsay asked for God’s blessings that the building “be used as an instrument of Thy peace in this great land. May it be a symbol of Thy love for all Thy children. May all who worship Thee herein be touched by the spirit of true brotherhood and sisterhood, and through that spirit may they come to better know Thee and Thy Son, Jesus Christ.”
At the time of dedication, there were two branches in Mbabane with a total membership of 332. Other branches were beginning in Ezulwini, Manzini, and Nhlangano. Today there are over 2,100 members in the country and the Mbabane meetinghouse is still in use.1

During the 1920s an 80-year-old missionary went to the Austrian Mission from Utah. It was Elder Biesinger, serving his fourth mission to Europe. He felt that the Lord was allowing him to return to Austria in order to finish the mission he had started that cold winter morning in Vienna in 1883.

Many of us have had experiences with the sweet power of prayer. One of mine was shared with a stake patriarch from southern Utah. I first met him in my medical office more than 40 years ago, during the early pioneering days of surgery of the heart. This saintly soul suffered much because of a failing heart. He pleaded for help, thinking that his condition resulted from a damaged but repairable valve in his heart.
Extensive evaluation revealed that he had two faulty valves. While one could be helped surgically, the other could not. Thus, an operation was not advised. He received this news with deep disappointment.
Subsequent visits ended with the same advice. Finally, in desperation, he spoke to me with considerable emotion: “Dr. Nelson, I have prayed for help and have been directed to you. The Lord will not reveal to me how to repair that second valve, but He can reveal it to you. Your mind is so prepared. If you will operate upon me, the Lord will make it known to you what to do. Please perform the operation that I need, and pray for the help that you need.”
His great faith had a profound effect upon me. How could I turn him away again? Following a fervent prayer together, I agreed to try. In preparing for that fateful day, I prayed over and over again, but still did not know what to do for his leaking tricuspid valve. Even as the operation commenced, my assistant asked, “What are you going to do for that?”
I said, “I do not know.”
We began the operation. After relieving the obstruction of the first valve, we exposed the second valve. We found it to be intact but so badly dilated that it could no longer function as it should. While examining this valve, a message was distinctly impressed upon my mind: Reduce the circumference of the ring. I announced that message to my assistant. “The valve tissue will be sufficient if we can effectively reduce the ring toward its normal size.”
But how? We could not apply a belt as one would use to tighten the waist of oversized trousers. We could not squeeze with a strap as one would cinch a saddle on a horse. Then a picture came vividly to my mind, showing how stitches could be placed—to make a pleat here and a tuck there—to accomplish the desired objective. I still remember that mental image—complete with dotted lines where sutures should be placed. The repair was completed as diagrammed in my mind. We tested the valve and found the leak to be reduced remarkably. My assistant said, “It’s a miracle.”
I responded, “It’s an answer to prayer.”
The patient’s recovery was rapid and his relief gratifying. Not only was he helped in a marvelous way, but surgical help for other people with similar problems had become a possibility. I take no credit. Praise goes to this faithful patriarch and to God, who answered our prayers. This faithful man lived for many more years and has since gone to his eternal glory.

For example, a few years ago I was given an exciting job offer. But I was worried it would require me to work on Sundays. As I struggled to decide what to do, I prayed and fasted. I was filled with peace and was even prompted to ask the manager if I could have Sundays off. Without my childlike trust in Heavenly Father, I never would have had the courage to set such a condition, but the manager agreed. So, I began a new and exciting chapter.

After I started my job, challenges came. My hours became extremely hard on my family, and my manager grew frustrated with me. I began questioning the answer I’d received about accepting the job.

Heavenly Father is “a God of truth, and canst not lie” (Ether 3:12), so I assumed I didn’t understand His guidance, which made me wonder how many other promptings I had misunderstood. Then I remembered the words of Alma the Younger: “Experiment upon my words, and exercise a particle of faith, yea, even if [you] can no more than desire to believe, let this desire work in you” (Alma 32:27).

I had the desire to continue believing in Heavenly Father, so I chose to exercise faith and experiment upon His prompting for me to accept this job, and I pressed on.

Having the faith to finish my job contract also required faith like my daughter’s. I couldn’t see what lay ahead. But I kept moving forward with faith that Heavenly Father led me to my job for a reason. And that reason was eventually revealed.

On a quiet day at work, a coworker opened up to me about how when she had learned I was a member of the Church, she assumed I wouldn’t be any different than some contentious religious people from her past. She told me she had been moved by my respect and kindness for her and our other coworkers. We spent the next hours talking about faith and Jesus Christ.

She told me she wanted to believe in Him, and the Spirit swelled in my chest as I told her about the gospel.

I realized that she was one reason Heavenly Father had directed me to this job. It was a miracle.

As President Russell M. Nelson taught, “Miracles come according to your faith in the Lord. Central to that faith is trusting His will and timetable—how and when He will bless you with the miraculous help you desire. Only your unbelief will keep God from blessing you with miracles to move the mountains in your life.”1 When I exercised childlike faith in His prompting to take this job and finish my contract, Heavenly Father showed me His ability to bring forth miracles.

Adjei Kwame was guided into the Church by spiritual promptings he felt when he took a teaching position in Zimbabwe. “I had been searching for the true church,” he says. “I kept having dreams about a church building. When I went through Kwe Kwe, Zimbabwe, I saw it and wanted to go in to find out what kept coming into my dreams all the time.” When he visited the church one Sunday, he says, “I felt I was actually with some people that I knew a long time ago who had been good friends.”

As part of the service, members of the Kwe Kwe Branch bore their testimonies. Brother Kwame went to the pulpit. He said that he believed in God and wanted to be a member of the Church. He later met with Sister Hamstead, the wife of the mission president. “What actually descended upon the two of us I cannot explain. I became aware that I was weeping. I can’t explain the feeling. I was released of all burdens. I felt that I had gone to a place where I visited often, but now I was at home.”

“If you want to see desire and courage, you just watch a boy who reaches the age of 12 and can’t swim. He may struggle, fail, fight, and fail. With determination he will try again, fail again, sometimes cry, but always pick himself up and go on. in the end he knows that he has succeeded at something he thought to be impossible.”

My ward had been planning a temple day for a long time. So, early on a Saturday morning, my sister and I woke up, groggily drove to the church, met the youth of our ward, and then drove to the temple. When we arrived, we noticed a large group ahead of us that was also waiting to perform baptisms for the dead. Our leaders had made the appointment for us to be at the temple that morning, and they had been told that at 8:00 we would be able to go and perform baptisms.
Well, 8:00 came and went, and the group ahead of us was still there. Soon it was 9:00, and no one in our group had been baptized yet. A few people started to grow impatient. I’ll admit, I did, too.
I looked around. The leaders’ faces were showing a bit of concern. Some teens had to be home by 10:00. The temple workers let them go ahead of everyone else and be baptized. Since I didn’t have to be home by a certain time, I waited.
Around 10:15, the temple workers let me and the rest of the girls in my ward go to the font. But we still had to wait, because they were letting others come in before us to be baptized. I grew a little bit impatient. We were so close to being baptized, but we still had to wait. I watched the minutes creep by slowly on the clock. When would it be my turn?
I watched a deacon walk down the steps into the font. It must have been his first time, because he climbed down the steps very slowly and looked rather nervous. That was when it hit me. I had been waiting for two and a half hours, but the people we were being baptized for had been waiting for much longer than that, some for hundreds of years! Who was I to grow impatient because I was giving up a Saturday, while many people who had passed on were waiting for someone to find their names and submit them to the temple? I said a silent prayer to Heavenly Father asking for forgiveness.
Soon it was my turn to enter the font. As I walked down the steps, I thought of the people who had been waiting for this day. How did they feel knowing that finally they had the opportunity to accept the gospel of Jesus Christ? How would I feel if I were one of them? I read the name on the screen of the first woman I was being baptized for. She had died in 1752. She had been waiting for more than 250 years! My mind couldn’t even start to comprehend that.
After I was baptized, I stepped out of the font, feeling gratitude toward my Heavenly Father for letting me be born into a family that had the gospel so that I didn’t have to wait my turn after I passed on. I was so grateful that I had made good choices and was able to come to the temple. In the dressing room, I distinctly heard a voice whisper, “Thank you.” Tears filled my eyes as I toweled off my wet hair.
After we left the temple, one of my Young Women leaders remarked, “You girls have been here for a long time, but what better place to spend a few hours than in the temple?” For the feeling I had right then, I would gladly give up Saturday morning just to come to the temple.

Many years ago I attended a large gathering of Church members in the city of Berlin, Germany. A spirit of quiet reverence permeated the gathering as an organ prelude of hymns was played. I gazed at those who sat before me. There were mothers and fathers and relatively few children. The majority of those who sat on crowded benches were women about middle age—and alone.
Suddenly it dawned on me that perhaps these were widows, having lost their husbands during World War II. My curiosity demanded an answer to my unexpressed thought, so I asked the conducting officer to take a sort of standing roll call. When he asked all those who were widows to please arise, it seemed that half the vast throng stood. Their faces reflected the grim effect of war’s cruelty. Their hopes had been shattered, their lives altered, and their future had in a way been taken from them. Behind each countenance was a personal travail of tears. I addressed my remarks to them and to all who have loved, then lost, those most dear.

Like the portrait of the Richards family, each photograph has a story behind it. For example, the 1989 photograph, at right, shows Latter-day Saints in a remote mountain region of Guatemala building their own chapel from handmade adobe brick. Theirs is a project born of faith, dedication, service, and a love for the Lord.