Gospel Story Finder

“Why didn’t you bring me a horse, too, Grandpa?” Janey asked, reaching up to pat the horse’s soft forehead longingly.
“You’ll get a horse when you are a little bit older, Janey,” Grandpa told her. “I only had Glory to give away now, and Dusty has been waiting even longer than you have for a horse.” Janey didn’t see the twinkle in his eye when he added, “But you be patient, and you’ll get a horse, too, before long.”
Janey was sad not to have her own horse, but she was glad that her brother, Dusty, had Glory. And Janey had to admit that what she really wanted was a foal. Still, Janey loved Glory. The horse had large, dark eyes and a long bushy tail. Her white coat glistened when it was brushed. Her mane was long, and it waved on each side of her neck as she ran in the pasture.
Dusty was very generous. He let Janey ride Glory around the barnyard. She could feed Glory lumps of sugar and stroke her smooth, soft face. She loved Dusty’s mare, and it wasn’t so bad sharing a horse with Dusty. But Janey remembered what Grandpa had said about her having a horse of her own, and she wondered when “later” would come.
One day Grandpa told the children that Glory was going to have a foal! Janey and Dusty were happy and excited. Grandpa had a big smile, too, at first, but then he looked very serious as he told them, “The veterinarian says that Glory may have a hard time and be very sick. We must keep her in the stable close to the farmhouse.”
“So we can keep an eye on her?” asked Dusty.
“That’s right,” Grandpa answered.
The children and Grandpa watched Glory night and day. When Janey and Dusty were in school, Grandpa watched the horse. When the children were home, they gave her sweet-smelling hay and oats and corn. They brought her fresh water and fed her lumps of sugar. Each night they covered her with a warm blanket. They petted her and let her know that they loved her very much.
When Janey’s class was dismissed early one day, she went home and sat on the back porch and played with Angel, their cat. Suddenly she heard Grandpa calling to her.
“Is it Glory, Grandpa?” Janey asked as she hurried to the stable.
“Yes,” Grandpa answered. “I must stay and help her. Please go call Dr. Jameson. Hurry!”
Janey raced back to the house to call the vet. How glad she was to hear him tell her that he could come immediately!
When Dusty came home, he saw the veterinarian’s van. “Is it Glory?” he asked Janey. She nodded, and together they ran to the stable.
There, standing on wobbly legs close to Glory, was a tiny white horse! It looked kind of lost, like it needed someone to love it. Glory lay on the soft, mellow hay Grandpa had forked down for her. Her big brown eyes were closed.
“Glory?” Janey’s eyes searched her grandpa’s face, then the doctor’s.
“Glory is only tired. She’s resting,” Dr. Jameson explained. “She’ll be all right.”
When Janey looked at Grandpa again, this time she saw the twinkle in his eye when he said, “Well, Janey, it’s ‘later.’ Glory’s foal is yours. What will you call her?”
Janey blinked back happy, excited tears. She quickly put her arms around the little horse’s neck and said, “Her name’s Glory II. And I’m going to share her with Dusty.”

At the beginning of each year, my family sets goals that we try to complete throughout the year. One of the goals I set was to read the scriptures every other night. I wasn’t doing very well for the first few months of the year. Usually when I get home from church I put my scriptures in the stairway. One day my mom said, “How can you complete your goal of reading the scriptures when they are sitting in the stairway?” So that night I read my scriptures. I have been reading them almost every night since then. They are a blessing, and I’m thankful for them. They give me the power to feel the Spirit and be happy.
Mathieu Q., age 8, Wisconsin

In November 1999, my brother David and I were practicing our volleyball serves on a hill in our front yard. My six-year-old brother, Luc (Luke), was leaning on the screen in the window above the garage. He fell through it 13? (4 m) to the driveway. I ran in and told my mom and dad, and they came out and picked him up. No one knew he had landed on his head.
My mom took him to the hospital and called my dad half an hour later, saying that Luc’s skull was practically shattered. He was life-flighted to Primary Children’s Hospital in Salt Lake City, Utah. He was in a coma for three days. The doctors said that he had a huge blood clot behind his right eye. He couldn’t see for a couple of days. The doctors also said that he’d be in the hospital for two months.
While Luc was in the coma, our ward fasted and prayed for him. We fasted after sacrament meeting on Sunday until Monday night. People we knew in India and France did, too, even though most of them weren’t members of the Church. Luc woke up from his coma and got better and so did some other kids in the hospital. Luc was known as the “Miracle Boy.” He was in the hospital for only a week!
He’s OK now but has to go for a couple of checkups. I’m so glad that he survived his accident, and I know that fasting and prayer really work.

Let me speak of another experience where the heart of the widow was in full view. In Samoa, we labor with village councils to gain access for missionaries to preach the gospel. A few years ago, I had a conversation with a chief from a village where the missionaries had been prohibited for many, many years. My conversation occurred not too long after the paramount chief had opened the village to the Church, permitting our missionaries to teach those interested in learning about the gospel and its doctrines.

After so many years, to have this miraculous turn of events, I was curious to learn about what had happened to cause the paramount chief to take this action. I asked about this, and the chief with whom I was conversing replied, “A man can live in the dark for a period, but there will come a time when he will long to come into the light.”

The paramount chief, in opening the village, demonstrated the heart of the widow—a heart that softens when the warmth and light of the truth is revealed. This leader was willing to relinquish years of tradition, confront much opposition, and stand firm so that others might be blessed. This was a leader whose heart was focused on the welfare and happiness of his people rather than on considerations of tradition, culture, and personal power. He gave away those concerns in favor of what President Thomas S. Monson has taught us: “As we follow the example of the Savior, ours will be the opportunity to be a light in the lives of others.”

I really enjoyed the Q&A in the February 1991 issue. I understand about having a problem with weight. I’m suffering with bulimia and the article gave me strength to hold on. Why not have an article on eating disorders? I’m sure it would help many, even me.
Name withheldUpland, California

President Spencer W. Kimball will celebrate his eighty-fourth birthday on March 28.
Last year he helped the town of Snowflake, Arizona, celebrate its 100th birthday. Everyone took care to make Snowflake shiny and clean. Primary children planted flowers in honor of his visit and made a carpet of flowers for him. Many other children in the area also came to see President Kimball.
He paid tribute to the pioneers and talked about Brigham Young who sent them to Arizona 100 years ago. “As the successor of the man who sent you here, I am proud of you,” he said. “I am pleased to be with you. Little did I think when I was on my milk stool as a boy in Thatcher, Arizona, that I would be here celebrating with you today.”
Happy birthday, President Kimball. We hope you live to be 100, too!

I set a goal to read the Book of Mormon. Since I cannot read all the words yet, I read it with my mom. I think we should set more goals to help us become more like Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. I want to live righteously so I can return to live with Them.

A project in Luputa, in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, is a great example. With a population exceeding 100,000, the town had no running water. Citizens had to walk long distances for sources of safe water. A mountain spring was discovered 18 miles (29 km) away, but townspeople could not access that water on a regular basis.
When our humanitarian missionaries learned about this challenge, they worked with the leaders of Luputa by supplying materials and training to pipe the water to the city. The people of Luputa spent three years digging a one-meter-deep trench through rock and jungle. By working together, the joyful day finally arrived when fresh, clean water was available to all in that village.

My friends and I were doing a play. There was a girl nobody talked to. My friend said something mean about her, and I did too. I felt really bad about it. The next day my friend made fun of her again. I said, “Maybe she needs a friend.” I went and talked to her. I told her she was doing a good job. She smiled for the rest of practice. I was glad I could make her day a little brighter.
Lauren C., age 11, Utah, USA

A medical professional maintained a typical practice but felt guided to set aside one day each week to provide free care to individuals with no health insurance. Because of this man’s and his wife’s willingness to bless others, the Lord provided a way for them to support hundreds of patients in need while also raising their large family.

It was early spring in Nauvoo when I first walked the Trail of Hope. The light was golden and the shadows warm as I walked the tree-lined path. As a photographer, I was focused only on shutter speed, aperture, and the amazing light that filled my lens.
Then gradually the thoughts of my ancestors who had walked this trail began to fill my heart. First it was Jared and Cornelia with their two-year-old son. I felt the chill in the air, but that chill was nothing compared to the freezing conditions Jared and his little family had experienced during their exodus. Cornelia died somewhere between Nauvoo and Salt Lake. I imagined Jared weeping as he picked up his son and continued on.
Afraid the feeling of their presence would leave, I didn’t stop photographing as tears blurred my view. Then I remembered young Sarah, who had left with her loving stepmother in the last group of Saints to leave Nauvoo. At one point, a loving Heavenly Father filled their camp with quail to feed them. Then they struggled forward with grateful hearts.
My heart began to swell with emotion; it felt as though Sarah had joined me. Jared and Cornelia with their little son were with me also. We walked together amid the light and shadow, past and present merging on this trail—this trail of hope, this trail of tears. In a way I can’t explain, they were with me and awakened in me our shared love of the gospel of Jesus Christ. I realized that my testimony burns in me because it had burned in them—passed from generation to generation—each laying the foundation for the next. I wept with gratitude.
Soon my husband, who had been photographing elsewhere, caught up with me. I stood close to him as I told him of my experience. He, like those Nauvoo Saints, was the first in his family to believe the gospel. And he, like those who had walked this trail more than 150 years before, would not be the last to believe. His testimony and mine nurtured the testimonies that now burn in the hearts of our children, just as the testimonies of Jared and Cornelia and Sarah nurtured the testimonies of thousands of their descendants.
Forgetting about our photography, my husband and I slowly walked the rest of the Trail of Hope together, quietly remembering those who had gone before.

The mission of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is to establish this peace in the hearts and homes of the people. A recent letter from our grandson who is serving a mission in Brazil bears this out as he relates how a convert of one month spoke at a sacrament meeting. He said, “Just a month in the Church and he is in the pulpit expounding on the parable of the sower. The greatest joy of missionary work is to see the changes the gospel makes in the lives of people.” This is so true.

My eldest sister, Amelia Crowfoot Clark, also had a great love for temple work. Our mother was Amelia’s traveling companion for a number of visits to different temples. After my mother passed, I was able to attend the temple with Amelia. Whenever the prophet announced more temples, we were happy that more members could have the opportunity to do their own temple work and that of their ancestors.

Forty-six years ago I was called as an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve, and for the first time, I came to this pulpit. I was 37 years old. I found myself standing among the venerable and wise prophets and apostles, “whose names,” as the song proclaims, “we all revere” (“Oh, Holy Words of Truth and Love,” Hymns, no. 271). I felt how keenly inadequate I was.
About that time here in the Tabernacle I had a defining experience. It gave me assurance and courage.
In those days Primary conference was held here before the April conference. I came through a south door as the opening song was being sung by a large choir of Primary children. Sister Lue S. Groesbeck, a member of the Primary general board, was leading them. They sang:
Rev’rently, quietly, lovingly we think of thee;
Rev’rently, quietly, softly sing our melody.
Rev’rently, quietly, humbly now we pray,
Let thy Holy Spirit dwell in our hearts today.
(“Reverently, Quietly,” Children’s Songbook, 26)
As the children sang quietly, the organist, who understood that excellence does not call attention to itself, did not play a solo while they sang. He skillfully, almost invisibly blended the young voices into a melody of inspiration, of revelation. That was the defining moment. It fixed deeply and permanently in my soul that which I most needed to sustain me in the years to follow.
I felt perhaps that which Elijah the prophet had felt. He sealed the heavens against the wicked king Ahab and fled to a cave to seek the Lord:
“A great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks … ; but the Lord was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake:
“And after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire: and after the fire [came] a still small voice.
“And it was so,” the record says, “when Elijah heard it, that he wrapped his face in his mantle, and went out, and stood in the entering in of the cave” to speak to the Lord (1 Kings 19:11–13).
I felt something of what the Nephites must have felt when the Lord appeared to them: “They heard a voice as if it came out of heaven; and they cast their eyes round about, for they understood not the voice which they heard; and it was not a harsh voice, neither was it a loud voice; nevertheless, and notwithstanding it being a small voice it did pierce them that did hear to the center, insomuch that there was no part of their frame that it did not cause to quake; yea, it did pierce them to the very soul, and did cause their hearts to burn” (3 Nephi 11:3).
It is this still, small voice which Elijah and the Nephites heard that the Prophet Joseph Smith understood when he wrote, “Thus saith the still small voice, which whispereth through and pierceth all things” (D&C 85:6).
In that defining moment, I understood that the still, small voice is felt more than heard. If I hearkened to it, I would be all right in my ministry.
After that I had the assurance that the Comforter, the Holy Ghost, is there for everyone who will respond to the invitation to ask, to seek, and to knock (see Matthew 7:7–8; Luke 11:9–10; 3 Nephi 14:7–8; D&C 88:63). I knew I would be all right. As the years have unfolded, so it has been.
I learned too what power there can be in music. When music is reverently presented, it can be akin to revelation. At times, I think, it cannot be separated from the voice of the Lord, the quiet, still voice of the Spirit.

July 12. I didn’t go to Billy’s funeral today. I just couldn’t. His parents said that they understood. I know that after we die, we will see our loved ones again, and, I believe, our close friends, too. But right now I miss him so bad! We were like brothers. I guess we are brothers. Spirit brothers. And blood brothers. I know we’re spirit brothers because we are all Heavenly Father’s children. And I know we’re blood brothers because we sat under the old fig tree in the field one day and made a pact.
Maybe we can play together in the next life. There might be creeks with tadpoles, but in heaven I’m sure there will always be enough water. Maybe a fence to sit on. And clouds to watch go by.
I know Billy’s happy where he is because he was always more of heaven than of earth. But right now I miss him so much! I will never forget him. Not ever. My mom says I will always have the memories, and so, in a sense, he will always be with me. Memories are eternal, she says, like our spirits. I guess I will always hear his laughter, then. I like that.

I had just turned 14 and my bishop had invited me to enroll in seminary. By a stroke of severe timing, my bishop’s invitation came right when I was embarking on a system of scholarly torture known as the General Certificate of Secondary Education. In England (I live in Manchester), we refer to it as the GCSEs. So here was the bishop inviting me to seminary while the never-ending storm of exams, homework, mock exams, projects, tests, and experiments that are the GCSEs were just beginning.
Consequently, apathetic would be the best word to describe my approach to seminary. There was the initial excitement of studying in the same class as my big brother, but that quickly wore off. It wasn’t until I decided to find out about the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon that I began to appreciate what seminary could do for me.
When I began the course, we had been taught that Moroni 10:4 [Moro. 10:4] was our key scripture for the year. I had marked that scripture in red and green, and I had felt prompted to pray to Heavenly Father and ask for a special witness concerning the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon.
As I knelt by my bed to talk with my Father in Heaven, I realized I had not prepared myself very well. I remembered the passage in the Doctrine and Covenants when the Lord told Oliver Cowdery that he “took no thought save it was to ask me” (D&C 9:7). I knew I was doing the same thing, and when I prayed to Heavenly Father I felt nothing different except a feeling that I was right to ask. But I didn’t feel like I’d received an answer to my prayer. I knew I had to do all that the Lord asked of me before I was to find out whether the Book of Mormon was a book of scripture or just a very clever novel.
Then one night I was alone in the house when my answer came. My homework was already completed, and usually such times are a welcome opportunity to veg out in front of the TV or get stuck in another science-fiction book. But that night I felt like doing neither.
On impulse, I went upstairs to my room and brought down my new brown triple combination. I sat in the living room and searched for the final chapters of Nephi’s life in 2 Nephi.
Somehow I felt that these were important chapters, so I said a short and simple prayer before I began to study, asking that the Spirit be with me. I had often asked for the same thing when I would pray before seminary lessons, yet this time my request seemed to mean more. I felt I needed to feel these words as I read them, so I began to read the scriptures out loud to myself.
As I read one chapter, then another, I began to feel as if I could actually hear Nephi himself saying those things to his people. As I read of his love for his people, I could feel the words of a prophet crying out, each sentence filled with the anguished cries of a loving man who had served God all his life. I read through chapter 32 [2 Ne. 32], spellbound by the words of a man who was suddenly becoming so real to me. The things he said were so beautiful and right. When I turned the page and began to read chapter 33 [2 Ne. 33], my empathy for this man overflowed. I could not contain my tears as I read how this prophet cried day and night for his people, and so I cried with him—desperately aware that those words were the last written in the Book of Mormon by such a great man.
I finished the final testimony of Nephi with a clogged throat and bleary eyes. Yet inside I felt on fire, alive with a knowledge that had settled in my heart. Nephi was a prophet of God, a real man, with a real life.
Many weeks after I had first prayed to know if those words were God’s words, I had fulfilled my end of Moroni’s promise and received a testimony that I hope will stay with me forever.

Let me tell you of a wonderful mother whose life was an example of faith. When the Prophet Joseph Smith was a very young boy, he watched and learned about faith in God from his mother, Lucy Mack Smith. Lucy sought answers by searching the scriptures,6 and Joseph too employed the practice, turning to the Bible for guidance as his mother had.7
Lucy also solved family problems by privately seeking the Lord’s help through prayer. One day, experiencing discord in her family regarding the subject of religion, Lucy said she “retired to a grove of handsome wild cherry trees not far distant and prayed to the Lord.”8
Lucy also prayed with great faith when faced with personal health issues, when Joseph nearly lost his leg to osteomyelitis, and when Joseph’s sister Sophronia almost died from typhoid fever. Regarding Sophronia’s illness, Lucy wrote: “I gazed upon my child. … My husband and I clasped our hands together and fell upon our knees by the bedside and poured our grief and supplications into his ears.”9 Sophronia lived. I am confident that Lucy’s children often witnessed her praying with faith and receiving answers to those prayers.
Lucy prayed in faith for guidance, and Joseph too retired to a grove of trees, where he prayed with faith, seeking an answer from the Lord as his mother had.

Lillie couldn’t wait for the lunch bell to ring. She watched the clock as the hands slowly moved to 12:00. She was supposed to be reading quietly, but she was too excited to concentrate. Lunch was her favorite part of the day—a time to be with her new friends, talking, laughing, and making plans for after school.
Lillie had moved a few months ago, and at first she had felt alone and afraid. The first week in Primary, she met one other girl in her class, but she lived far across town and went to another school. Luckily, on Lillie’s first day of school, she was placed in the same sixth-grade class as Teresa. Teresa was very friendly, and now Lillie was part of a fun group. It was hard being the new girl in school, but Teresa and her friends made Lillie feel welcome.
Finally the bell clanged and Lillie grabbed her sack lunch from inside her desk. Teresa called, “Wait for me by the door. I have to grab my backpack.”
Lillie saw Jackie coming from a classroom down the hall and waved. “Hey, Lillie,” Jackie called over the noisy chatter. “Are you ready for lunch?”
“I am now,” she said as Teresa came up beside her and linked arms with her. Together they followed Jackie to the lunchroom and found a table where everyone could sit. Lillie sat between Jackie and a boy named Brad and quickly unwrapped her lunch. Brad asked if she had seen the game on TV the night before. Jackie discussed her birthday party coming up the next month. Lillie ate her lunch happily.
After lunch most of the others scattered, but Lillie and her friends pushed back their chairs and continued talking. Brad told funny jokes that made everyone laugh. Jackie described something funny her little sister had done. Lillie wished she had something witty and wonderful to say too, but nothing came to her mind.
Lunch was almost over. The cafeteria workers began cleaning the tables. Teresa imitated a popular movie star, and everyone laughed. Lillie took a deep breath and decided to do something she had never done before. She took the Lord’s name in vain, giggled, then said, “That was so funny, Teresa!”
Suddenly, the lunchroom fell silent. Lillie felt her face grow red with embarrassment as everyone looked at her. Brad shook his head slowly. “Lillie,” he asked softly, “aren’t you a Mormon?”
“Yeah,” Jackie said, “I thought Mormons didn’t swear.”
Lillie felt sick. She couldn’t say anything. The bell rang, and everyone shuffled back to class. Teresa walked beside Lillie, but she didn’t say a word.
All afternoon Lillie wondered why she had said such a thing. She knew it was wrong. She had never said it before. Her teacher asked her several questions about the day’s lesson, but she shook her head and said she didn’t know. She couldn’t wait for school to end so she could go home and hide under her bed.
After school Lillie told Teresa she had to hurry home. She ran from the building, tears in her eyes and a big lump in her throat. When her mother asked about her day, she was too ashamed to answer and hurried to her room.
How had it happened? She had been eager to impress the others, but she had hurt her spirit instead. She knew she had to ask for forgiveness. If her actions had disappointed her new friends, how much more must they have disappointed Heavenly Father.
That night Lillie couldn’t eat her dinner, and it was hard to look at her parents. Finally her father gently asked what was troubling her. The story spilled out, mixed with bitter tears. “Dad, I am so sorry. I feel terrible,” Lillie cried.
Her father put his arm around her shoulders. “That’s an important part of repentance, Lillie. You truly have to be sorry for what you do—or say.”
Lillie wiped her eyes. “Oh, I am, Dad. I’ll never swear again. Never!”
Her father nodded. “Good. Now go tell Heavenly Father what you just told me, and I’m sure you’ll feel better soon.”
As Lillie knelt beside her bed and prayed, she felt her heart would break. She thought of other mistakes she had made and wondered how Heavenly Father and Jesus could continue to love and forgive her. But as she whispered, “I am so sorry,” she felt the peaceful warmth of the Holy Ghost. Finishing her prayer, she was filled with the strength to do one more thing she needed to do.
Lillie shakily dialed Teresa’s phone number. She could barely speak, but she managed to say she was sorry for what she had said at lunch. Then she called Jackie and Brad.
“Do I have to go to school today?” she asked her mother the next morning. She didn’t want to face her friends. What must they think of her?
Her mother hugged her. “Yes. If you don’t, it will be harder tomorrow.”
Teresa found Lillie before school and gave her a quick hug. “I can’t believe you called everyone and said you were sorry. I never could have done that!”
Jackie called from the doorway of her classroom. “Lillie! I have to talk to you about my birthday party, OK? See you at lunch.”
Lillie gave a small sigh of relief and slid into her chair. She never wanted to feel the hurt of a wrong choice again. Even if her friends hadn’t known she was a member of the Church, she would have felt the sting all the same. She was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and from now on she intended to act like it.

For Charlotte, her decision to live a life consistent with God’s law began even before joining the Church. Many years later, her daughter Amélie told me that when Charlotte was a teenager, “she felt different from her friends. Her friends drank alcohol, smoked, and did not keep the law of chastity, but Charlotte did not feel the desire to do any of these things.”

Regardless of their circumstances, when the opportunity came, Morgan and Charlotte chose to make covenants with the Lord and have been transformed because of it.

These are not guys who brag about themselves. But someone else in the quorum will tell you that when Marcus Lunt won the Texas state high school tennis championship in 2004, “He went 16-0. Undefeated.” Others will tell you that Chad Warner played a big part in winning some games for the high school basketball team last year. They will tell you that Brent Davis looks like a standout at catcher for the high school baseball team. Ronny Rodriguez, who enjoys soccer and rugby, is focusing on debate and the Spanish honor society in school this year. Stephen Weatherholtz, an accomplished musician, stands out in the high school choir.