Gospel Story Finder

My decision stunned my family. My older brother declared that if I went on a mission, I should not plan on having anything to do with my family in the future.
But as Nephi promised, the Lord prepared a way for me to do what He asked (see 1 Ne. 3:7). I left for the Taiwan Taichung Mission in May 1996. Right before I left, my brother held me in his arms and tearfully told me that he opposed my going because he hated to lose me. Throughout my mission, my family gave me their full support.
Serving a mission changed my life. I came to understand more clearly my relationship with Heavenly Father. My testimony grew, and the significance of the work, of bringing souls to Jesus Christ, became eternally impressed on my mind and heart.
What is most dear to me now that I have completed my mission is the promise I made to God that I would endure to the end. I remember my mission president’s words as a group of us were soon to be released. He said he wanted us to stay worthy so we could all be together again in heaven someday. I have thought of this challenge often, especially during times of trial.
My heart is filled with gratitude. I am grateful that God has protected me and provided me with learning experiences. Many of these experiences were surprising and unexpected, but they all have stretched me into becoming more like the servant of the Lord I so much want to be.

Everyone looks forward to turning 16, and Evan Wilson was no different. He especially looked forward to the honor and duties that go with being a priest in the Medicine Lake Ward of the Minneapolis Minnesota Stake.
Evan, however, is not your average quorum member. Yes, he plays football, wrestles, and runs track for the junior varsity teams at the local high school. He sings in choir, is an Eagle Scout, and goes to the stake dances. Evan also has Down syndrome. He served faithfully as a deacon in the Aaronic Priesthood, always taking the same position when passing the sacrament because a routine brought comfort and success. He was solemn and respectful while passing the sacrament. Evan was equally successful in the responsibilities of a teacher.
For months before his 16th birthday, Evan practiced reading the sacrament prayers aloud with his family. Evan is not a strong reader or a particularly articulate speaker, and he needed the practice. He turned 16 and became a member of the priests quorum, attended quorum meetings, hung out with the priests, and assisted with the sacrament by distributing and collecting the sacrament trays. But offering the sacrament prayers seemed beyond his grasp. He had the prayers memorized, but he rushed, resulting in slurred pronunciation. He was not yet ready to pray before the congregation.
One day Jeff Clark, the priests quorum first assistant, shared an inspired idea with the bishop: help Evan say the prayers more slowly and clearly by using a simple flip-chart. He suggested breaking down the sacrament prayers to one word per page. Evan’s basic skills allowed him to read one word at a time, and through practice and pacing (which the flip-chart controlled), the words became more distinguishable. With practice, more reading aloud, more patience, and more prayer, Evan was ready.
Finally, the eagerly awaited Sunday arrived when Evan would bless the water for the first time. A loving, patient bishop came down from the stand and knelt next to him. While the bishop flipped the cards, Evan painstakingly pronounced the prayer word-by-word, page-by-page, with the bishop’s support and approval.
Many were moved while this special young priest uttered his first sacrament prayer. A quorum presidency had demonstrated the reality of modern revelation and what can happen when they acted upon that inspiration. They were given what President Thomas S. Monson called the “privilege to lift” those whom they were called to serve (see “Our Sacred Priesthood Trust,” Ensign, May 2006, 57).

A few years ago I went on a week-long trip to Guatemala to work at a hospital. Shortly after our arrival, we went on a tour of the hospital. We passed by a courtyard, where I saw a little citrus tree. I noticed that someone had attached several large rocks to the limbs of the tree with wires.
“What a strange way to decorate a tree!” I thought.
I was about to walk away when one of our team leaders came up to me. She explained that the rocks had been placed on the limbs of the tree to strengthen it. Each rock had been selected to place just enough weight on the limb to bend it but not break it. By growing stronger under the weight of their rocks, the limbs were preparing to support the weight of the fruit that the little citrus tree would bear throughout its life.
In a way, we are all like the little citrus tree. Our Heavenly Father is the Master Gardener. Each of us has a set of rocks that come in the form of trials and challenges. Although these rocks can be heavy, we can trust that we will never have a trial or a challenge that we are unable to bear with His help. The weight will bend us but never break us—if we stay faithful. And the added strength we gain through our trials and challenges prepares us to support the weight of the fruit we will bear throughout our lives as chosen sons and daughters of God.

We were on a family vacation in Utah when my husband died of a sudden heart attack. Still numb from shock, I faced my first major decision. Our home was three thousand kilometers away in Washington, D.C. “What do we do now?” I wondered. “Do we move back to Utah among family and old friends, or do we stay is Washington where we had established our home?” My ninety-two-year-old grandfather, a wise patriarch of a large family, offered good counsel. “Go back home to Washington for the present,” he said. “It is not wise to uproot your family until you think it through for at least a year.”
It was not a difficult decision to make. Our home, with its familiar surroundings, was a haven, and there was a memory in every room. It would have been more difficult for us to start over somewhere else.
Looking back, I see the wisdom of remaining among supportive neighborhood, school, and Church friends. The great loss we had suffered did not disrupt the stability of our lives.

As time passed and we both matured, we started to talk to each other about school, teachers, friends, and all the other things that concerned us. Tommy and I actually became friends. In high school, Tommy was a senior when I was a sophomore, and it was nice to receive advice from an experienced student. We were both in the marching band, and even though we had our own friends, Tommy was always willing to talk to me or help me in any way. He had developed a real sense of humor, and I enjoyed spending time with him.
I remember nights when we would be the only ones up, doing our homework, and Tommy would serve us both some ice cream. We would talk late into the night. Tommy was a wonderful example to me, and I was always learning something from him. He chose good friends, and I never saw him hesitate to choose the right. I especially respected him for how well he treated my parents. Whenever we came home from school, Tommy would go into the kitchen to get something to eat, and we would sit down and chat with Mama about the day. Somehow, the conversation always drifted to things deeper than school. I will always cherish those times.

As a friend and I were completing the virtue value project for Personal Progress, we read the Book of Mormon at school during breaks. Our teacher and our classmates began to make fun of us. At times I wanted to stop reading, but I simply could not leave my scriptures at home. We continued to read at school, and over time we weren’t made fun of anymore. One of our friends became interested in the gospel and in Personal Progress. We gave her the booklet and a triple combination, and since then we have been telling her about the gospel. Her brother also became interested in the gospel. They are both reading the Book of Mormon.
Kimberly A., 16, Brazil

I love playing volleyball. Last summer I went to a volleyball camp with my friend, and we became friends with another girl there. One day at lunch, she brought up the Church, and we were able to share some of our beliefs with her. She seemed interested and wanted to know more. Although camp was only a few days long and we may not see her again, I hope talking with her will lead her to learn more about the Church and the gospel.
Kate K., 15, Utah, USA

President Camille N. Johnson visits with a mother of three children at a food donation event in Costa Rica. “She was so grateful for a meal for her hungry children,” says President Johnson. “I told her I loved her and, more importantly, that God loved her.”

When I (President Johnson) traveled to Costa Rica last year, I had the opportunity to help with a food donation event. I was touched to meet many women and children who came to receive a healthy meal. I had the distinct impression that we were doing just what the Savior would have us do. I met Yumana and her three beautiful children. This sincere woman was selling ribbon roses she had crafted in order to provide for her family. She was so grateful for a meal for her hungry children. I told her I loved her and, more importantly, that God loved her. Yumana received temporal relief and spiritual relief as she felt and acknowledged the love of God.

But what can we do when those inevitable moments of loneliness or discouragement creep in? Earlier this month, I experienced one of my rare, brief periods of depression. The loneliness I felt was almost unendurable. The neighbors were home and—as I had done so many times in the past—I sought the comforting warmth of their friendship. I was uplifted through the loving concern of these cherished friends and neighbors and discovered a simple truth: In our hours of need, there are loving hands around us to uplift, strengthen and assist us. Look around. I promise you they are there.

Gandía, a tiny town in southern Spain, lies nestled against an inlet of the Mediterranean Sea. It is a picturesque village of orange groves, fishing boats, and tourist shops. As a full-time missionary in the Spain Barcelona Mission, I was transferred there in December 1993.
A few months later as Easter approached, I was charmed to see Gandía blossom into spring. The clouds lifted, the skies lightened, and the streets filled with women stopping to chat on their way to and from market. Local festivities included marching bands, parades, and special masses at the little cathedral. And at dusk the air was saturated with the scent of orange blossoms.
My companion and I had become good friends with one of the members in the Gandía Branch, a woman named Doris Kessler. One day she said with a smile, “I gave a Book of Mormon to my neighbor Concha, and she wants to meet you.”
After arranging to visit, we knocked on Concha’s door. A weak voice invited us in. The tiny rooms were dark; windows and shutters were shut tight to retain the inadequate warmth of a small gas heater. A gooseneck lamp illuminated the face of a woman who lay in pain, shivering with cold.
Many years earlier, Concha had suffered a bad fall, breaking bones in both legs. The doctors put screws in her ankles to strengthen them, but additional falls had forced her to accept permanent bed rest. “If you fall again,” the doctors warned, “we will have to amputate.” So except for trips to the grocery store on the ground floor of her building, Concha stayed in bed. She grew discouraged as she gained weight and lost strength.
Like the vast majority of the people of Spain, Concha Femenía Martí was born a Catholic. But in her mature life she had begun to explore other religions. She had enthusiastically accepted a Book of Mormon from Sister Kessler, and now my companion and I began to share the doctrines of the gospel of Jesus Christ with her. Light literally replaced darkness in the little apartment as the words of the discussions touched her heart. Her body relaxed, and her face began to shine.
Concha studied the scriptures, prayed humbly and fervently, and accepted truth upon truth. A member of the branch agreed to stop by for her on Sunday mornings so she could attend Church meetings. She accepted the invitation to be baptized and began saving coins in a little plastic container to make a trip to the temple.
Unfortunately, the Sunday before her baptism, the person who had agreed to pick her up was so busy with other responsibilities he forgot to go after her. We hurriedly found someone else with a car to go, but he did not get far. There in the parking lot stood Concha, gasping and perspiring and leaning heavily on her crutches. She smiled as we ran up to greet her. “I knew something must have happened,” she said. “But I wanted so much to partake of the blessings of the gospel—I wasn’t going to let anything stop me!”
She was not the only person to benefit from her attendance that day. As the members bore their testimonies, many of them expressed gratitude for Concha’s conversion and commitment and rededicated themselves to the Lord.
Three months after her baptism, Concha was sustained as the branch Relief Society president. She continues to prepare for her trip to the temple and shares her testimony with others whenever she can.
When I think about springtime, the Atonement of Jesus Christ, and new beginnings, I always think of Concha and the day she stood on the sidewalk beaming with testimony. I also remember how she looked on a later day—the day she joyfully rose from the waters of baptism, having partaken of that very sacred symbol of rebirth.

One day, my mother and I were driving home when a man on a bicycle came down a small hill. The biker suddenly swerved to avoid hitting an oncoming truck. In a split second that felt like an eternity, the sharp turn caused the man to lose control of his bike, fly over the handlebars, and hit his head violently on the road. We immediately pulled over. Panicked, I got out of my car and rushed to his side. His breathing was heavy, but he wasn’t conscious.
I immediately knew that this man needed a priesthood blessing, but I couldn’t help but wonder: could I do it?
In that moment, I recalled listening to the words of Elder Jefferey R. Holland when I was a young Aaronic Priesthood holder: “Young men, you will learn, if you have not already, that in frightening, even perilous moments, your faith and your priesthood will demand the very best of you and the best you can call down from heaven. . . .
“. . . The day may come—indeed, I am certain will come—when in an unexpected circumstance or a time of critical need, lightning will strike, so to speak, and the future will be in your hands. Be ready when that day comes” (“Sanctify Yourselves,” Ensign, Nov. 2000, 39, 40; Liahona, Jan. 2001, 47, 49).
Just as Elder Holland had prophesied, lightning struck that day on the road in the form of an unexpectedly injured biker. Had I not worked with the Lord over the previous years to overcome my fear of giving blessings in safer circumstances, we would’ve both been helpless in this potentially life-threatening situation. But with the Lord guiding and strengthening me, I knelt beside him and quietly whispered the words I felt impressed to say as I blessed him.
When I finished, I looked up and a sheriff’s deputy was standing next to me. He happened to be right behind us the whole time and had called for an ambulance. But the injured man quickly regained consciousness, insisted that he was fine, and rode off on his bicycle, passing the ambulance down the road. While I understand that not every priesthood blessing produces such immediate results, this was an experience I will never forget. I’m so grateful that when the time came, I was ready.

My mother was born of Puerto Rican parents working in the sugar industry in La Romana, Dominican Republic in 1913. Both of her parents died in 1916 within months of one another when she was almost three years old. Puerto Rican neighbors raised her until she married and moved to Puerto Rico with her little family in 1930. My mother never found any paperwork on the birth or death of her parents or where they were buried. I felt this was my chance to do some digging and find what my mother could not find.
One Sunday we decided to visit a ward in La Romana. It happened to be Mother’s Day. I shared my story with the sisters in Relief Society with hopes that someone could help. A kind sister who happened to work in the civil registry of the town said she would research the archives for me. A few weeks later she said she could not find anything. An official registry was not kept, by law, until the 1930s. Some records were destroyed by floods or fire or just stored under poor conditions causing them to deteriorate. I gave her my sisters’ names and birth dates and the towns in which they were born. No records found. I was devastated. What do I do now?
With nowhere to turn I immersed myself in FamilySearch. I had found documentation on my grandmother in Puerto Rico before she left to La Romana in a census. I found a ship manifest that listed my grandmother traveling with a newborn (my mother) to Puerto Rico twice. The last time was within the year she had passed. I now knew the town she was from, my mother’s real birthday and who they visited. This was a real treasure. My mother was an orphan with no real information, and now I had a place to start.
Although I had not found what I was looking for, we took the time to visit all the places my mother talked about. I was able to get a feel for what life must have been like in the early days of the twentieth century living in a sugar cane industry town. This gave me renewed faith in continuing my search for more information.
As I continued to search further back through my grandparents’ lines, I found many wonderful treasures. I found that my family line in Puerto Rico dates to early explorers in the Caribbean. Some had served as governors in the Dominican Republic. Some were sea captains, farmers, and businessmen. Some were maids, seamstresses, and some of nobility. I was able to do the temple work for many there in the Santo Domingo Dominican Republic Temple where we volunteered as ordinance workers once a week. I was beginning to feel a closeness to my ancestors that I thought I would never experience. My excitement and joy in the work I was doing carried me through times of disappointments. I knew that if I kept looking, I would be able to find many more, and I did.
My time in the Dominican Republic was cut short because of the pandemic, but not before finding my family and learning more about my rich Caribbean roots. The tapestry of my family lines is rich with stories of courage and faith. At one time, I thought I would not be able to complete my four generations with temple work, at least not in this life. But now I have gone well beyond four generations. Elder and Sister Soares said in the last RootsTech that one purpose of temple work was to unite the past with the present and the future. I have felt this each time as my grandchildren enter the temple to do the work for these sweet people I never knew existed. I can honestly say I now know them and love them. They are my family.

One evening as I conversed with President Harold B. Lee, I said to him, “President Lee, you seem different someway tonight.” He smiled and said, “You know what it is, don’t you?” I shook my head and said I really didn’t know what it was. Then he shared with me his remarkable experience saying:

“After I became the President of the Church, I thought a great deal about what the Lord wanted me to do. One night, while I was sleeping, President McKay came to me in a dream. He pointed his finger and looked at me with those piercing eyes of his as only President McKay could do, and he said, ‘If you would serve the Lord, you must love and serve his children.’ I awakened with a compelling desire to learn all I could about love that I might serve the Lord.”

He said, “After I had read everything the scriptures had to say about love, I began to put into practice all that I had gleaned from my study. That’s what you can feel. It is my newfound ability to truly love and serve his children.”

I watched President Lee even a little more closely that night and noted that not one person who came to the table to shake his hand left without receiving a special word of encouragement or an extra question that indicated the concern of the prophet. No one went away without seeing his smile or hearing his words of love.

Over a year after his first meeting with the missionaries, with his parents in attendance to support him, Tyreece entered the waters of baptism and became a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He is currently preparing to serve a mission, but more importantly, Tyreece can confidently declare: “Even though I started this journey for someone else, my testimony of the gospel is now my own.”
Tyreece’s progress in the Church has not gone unnoticed. At the end of 2022, he was asked to speak at the Auckland Papatoetoe Stake conference, where he bore his testimony:
“I know this Church is true. I know that when your faith in Heavenly Father is strong, He will bless you and your family for all eternity. I know that when you follow Heavenly Father’s commandments, He will guide you and your family to the right path . . . I have seen it with my own eyes and through experience. Now I want to help guide families towards Heavenly Father, so they can be together forever for all eternity.”

For her Faith in God Award, Chevon Rayner is working on several activities and keeping a record of them in her journal. For the “Learning and Living the Gospel” category, she created a gospel crossword puzzle with 72 answers. She made it up from notes she took in her Primary class. She is studying the piano to develop her talents and meet the great need for pianists in the branches in Malaysia. Chevon also organized a dinner and made cakes for Valentine’s Day for the eight missionaries in her area. This is part of her “Serving Others” requirement. She also reads the scriptures every day.

The Lord’s work began for Walter immediately after his baptism in 1950. His parents and brother and sister had returned to Germany with plans for Walter to rejoin them after he sold the family farm in Santa Catarina. But when World War II broke out, Walter stayed in Brazil, and in 1946, he married Edith Altman, a Swiss immigrant. They moved to São Paulo, where Walter worked as a furniture maker and where the question of religion soon arose in their home.

Edith attended church services regularly, but Walter refused to accompany her. He would become a dedicated member of a church only when he could find the true church, he said. He had a feeling such a thing existed. So after Walter left for work every morning, Edith would kneel and ask God to show them the true church. Five months later, in November 1949, American missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints knocked on their door.

For five months Walter studied with the missionaries, read the scriptures, and attended Church meetings. He gradually became convinced that this was the true Church, and on 20 March 1950, Walter Spät was baptized. Edith joined the Church in October of the same year. Having been a member of a strict Protestant denomination, she had difficulty accepting certain aspects of LDS life, particularly dances held in the church building. “Only after I read the Book of Mormon several years after my baptism,” she says, “was I truly convinced that this was the Lord’s church.”

President Thomas S. Monson, First Counselor in the First Presidency: “As our youngest son, Clark, was approaching his 12th birthday, he and I were leaving the Church Administration Building when President Harold B. Lee approached and greeted us. I mentioned that Clark would soon be 12, whereupon President Lee turned to him and asked, ‘What happens to you when you turn 12?’
“… Clark, without hesitation, said to President Lee, ‘I will be ordained a deacon!’
“The answer was the one President Lee had sought. He then counseled our son, ‘Remember, it is a great blessing to hold the priesthood.’”

Roxy loved looking at all the houses in her neighborhood as she walked home from school. One house had a dog that barked and jumped up and down in the window. Another house had birds chirping in the trees.
And then there was Mrs. Banks’s house. Mrs. Banks had been her third-grade teacher, and she was Roxy’s favorite. Roxy always waved at Mrs. Banks when she saw her sitting on the chair on her front porch. Mrs. Banks was always friendly and happy.
But today the chair on the porch was empty. The house looked quiet. Even Mrs. Banks’s cat, Chester, was gone.
Roxy remembered her mom saying that Mrs. Banks was sick. She went to the hospital every day for treatments. Roxy felt sad. She wanted to do something nice for Mrs. Banks. But what?
Roxy looked around at the bees flying from flower to flower. Then she had an idea!
Roxy ran home and picked a rose from her garden. She went back to Mrs. Banks’s house and placed it on the front porch.
The next day Roxy put a sunflower on Mrs. Banks’s chair. And the day after that, she put a daisy by her front door. Each day for two weeks, Roxy left a flower for Mrs. Banks. She was careful not to be seen.
One day on her way home, Roxy saw Mrs. Banks sitting on the front porch. She was holding some flowers in her hand.
“Roxy,” Mrs. Banks said, “look at my beautiful flowers. Someone has been leaving them for me. Each day a new flower was waiting for me when I got home from the hospital.”
Roxy smiled. “Do you know who it was?”
Mrs. Banks smiled back. “Whoever it was, I’d like to thank them.”
“It was probably someone who loves you!” Roxy said.
“Well, I looked forward to finding a new flower each day,” said Mrs. Banks. “The first flower was on my porch.”
“Do you think your cat left it?” Roxy asked.
“Chester likes to leave me surprises, but he’s never left flowers.” Mrs. Banks laughed. “What about the flower on my chair?”
“The dog down the street?” Roxy smiled even bigger.
“By my front door?”
“A squirrel?”
“Oh my,” said Mrs. Banks, laughing. “I didn’t realize there were so many creatures who love me! But the flowers sure did help me feel special.”
Roxy was almost bursting with happiness. She was glad she helped make Mrs. Banks smile again.
This story took place in the USA.

Several years ago, while serving as a bishop, I witnessed a group of youth discover their significance and divine purpose. They learned that “Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this, To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction.”1
Through ministering visits, these youth had become acquainted with Sister Orpha Cutler. She was a sweet elderly sister with failing health who lived alone in a small trailer. Her many needs provided a wonderful opportunity for young men to find themselves through serving her. Several activities included washing her windows, cleaning her trailer, and sitting in her front room and visiting with her. Over time, these young men formed a lasting bond with Sister Cutler. She had won them over.
Then one day, she received shocking news. She was diagnosed with terminal cancer and was given only a short time to live. This development was devastating! Within weeks, her condition worsened, and she was unable to attend sacrament meeting on a consistent basis. These young men became a spiritual lifeline for Orpha as they made ministering visits to her home and administered the emblems of the sacrament to her. She loved her time with them and especially the opportunity to renew her covenants.
As her condition progressively deteriorated, she moved to a nearby community and into an assisted living center where she received the care she needed and where a small group met each week for sacrament service. One day I received a telephone call from the center. A worker asked if I would bring the priests, or in Sister Cutler’s words “the boys”, to visit her and administer the sacrament. I told the worker we were honoured with the opportunity.
On Sunday, I informed the priests of Sister Cutler’s request. Without hesitation, they accepted the invitation.
Following our Sunday meetings, we made our way to the care center. During the drive, the young men spoke about recent sporting events, their upcoming exams, and mostly about the young women they wanted to take to the next school dance. It was a typical teenage conversation.
When we arrived at the center, we were greeted at the door by Sister Cutler’s concerned caregiver. With tears in her eyes, she frantically said, “Bishop Nattress, Orpha is getting weaker and weaker. She fades in and out, and I am afraid we are going to lose her!” She continued, “Her one desire has been to partake of the sacrament.”
She then eyed the young men standing behind me. They were dressed in white shirts and ties—worthy young men of God, holding His priesthood, honouring that priesthood. They were on the Lord’s errand. Through her tears, this worker said, “You look like angels!” She then led us to Orpha’s room.
Orpha’s condition was critical. She was lying very still in her bed. I knelt at her bedside, took her hand in mine, and said, “Sister Cutler, this is Bishop Nattress; I am here with the priests quorum. We have come to administer the sacrament.” She offered a faint smile and nodded positively.
The priests formed a semicircle as they knelt around her bed. One tiny piece of bread was placed on a small saucer. It was blessed, and the morsel was carefully placed in the side of her mouth. We knelt again. One sacrament cup full of water was then blessed, and a small drop of water was carefully administered.
This was a sacred moment. As we concluded the ordinance, Sister Cutler smiled and softly whispered, “Thank you.”
I looked around the room at these fine young men. They were not so different from the sons of Helaman. The words of Isaiah best describe them as they were, in fact, “mount[ed] up with wings as eagles.”2 They were truly on the Lord’s errand.
We all left that care center changed. We had participated in a sacred event. Sister Cutler had for the last time during her mortal existence covenanted with God that she would always remember Him. By so doing, the heavens were opened, and she was blessed again to have His promise to have His Spirit to always be with her—in sickness and even in death.
Our drive home was filled with silence. Eventually one young man broke the stillness when he simply said, “That was really good.” We returned home with a renewed understanding of what it truly means to take upon us the Saviour’s name.
Sister Cutler passed away a few days later—faithful and true to her covenants.

Harold was called, at the age of thirty-one, as the president of the Pioneer Stake, just as the Great Depression struck. More than half the members of his stake were unemployed. Seeking inspiration from the Lord, and with the help of his counselors and bishops, President Lee formulated a plan to help his stake members. A warehouse was donated, and surplus goods were gathered to it; contracts were made with farmers to provide labor to help harvest their crops in return for payment in kind; and the Relief Society sisters established canning kitchens to preserve the food. These supplies were then distributed to those in need. A gymnasium was constructed by the unemployed men, using donated materials.