Gospel Story Finder

Rachelle pulled her shoelaces as tightly as they could go. Last Friday, her laces had come undone, and she had tripped with her lunch tray. Now as she stretched them with all her might, she silently hoped that she wouldn’t be embarrassed again.
Pop! Rachelle fell back on her bed, holding a broken shoelace in her hand. She didn’t want to cry, and the tears that started in her eyes only made her mad. Taking the shoelace, she hurried to the kitchen and held it out for Dad to see.
“Oh no!” Dad frowned. “I don’t think we have any more. We’ll just have to tie it together and hope it holds that way.”
Rachelle threw the lace on the floor and angrily stamped her foot. “All the bad things happen to me!”
Dad chuckled. “Sometimes it does seem that way.”
Rachelle didn’t see how her father could laugh. Now she would probably trip with her lunch tray again. If she did, everyone would think she was really weird. “It’s not fair. Why am I the only one with bad luck? Why don’t I get to have blessings?”
This time when Dad answered her, he was more serious. “I know that sometimes life seems to have a lot of troubles. But I think that if you don’t see the blessings in your life, it’s because you’re not looking for them.”
“I looked,” Rachelle argued. “There aren’t any there.”
“Honey,” Dad gently scolded. “There are blessings everywhere. Really, you have more than you imagine.”
Rachelle rolled her eyes as she sat at the breakfast table. She watched Dad finish spreading butter on her toast and stir her orange juice again. Usually by now, he was getting ready for work. Today he was helping Mom, instead.
“Was Mom up all night with the baby again?” Rachelle quietly asked.
Dad nodded. “Now, there’s a blessing we all enjoy; however, he just doesn’t enjoy sleeping at night like the rest of us.”
When they had finished eating, Dad helped Rachelle read out of the Book of Mormon. They knelt together for prayers, and then Dad helped her put on a jacket and her backpack. When she turned around to give him a kiss good-bye, he held her face in his hands and said, “Rachelle, I want you to do something for me today.”
“Sure, Dad. What?”
“Look around you all day long and try really hard to find blessings the Lord has given you. Write them down in your notebook and share them with us tonight during family home evening.”
“That sounds like a school assignment.”
“In a way it is,” Dad answered. “Just as you sometimes do schoolwork at home, this time I want you to do home work at school.”
Heaving an exaggerated sigh, Rachelle promised that she would. “But don’t be surprised if my paper is blank,” she called over her shoulder as she left the house. She heard her dad chuckling as he closed the door behind her.
When Rachelle was joined by her friends Misty and Stormi, she almost completely forgot about her assignment. But she remembered it when Misty grumped that they lived just too near their school to not be included on the bus route. It seemed like the walk to school was always too long.
“You see,” Rachelle announced her thoughts out loud, “of course I have to walk to school! I’m just one of those people who don’t get any blessings. This is going to be one of the easiest assignments I’ve ever had.”
Misty and Stormi looked at each other, but neither of them said anything. Whatever was bothering Rachelle would most likely be forgotten by lunchtime.
In a way, they were right. By noon, Rachelle had not written anything on her paper for family home evening. She was happily eating her green salad and chatting with Misty and Stormi in between bites, when a loud noise and a lot of laughing caught her attention. At the front of the lunchroom, where everyone could see, stood the new boy. His hair was a mess as usual, his clothes looked dirty, and even though his face was turning red, his ears and neck looked like someone forgot to remind him to scrub them.
All the kids in the lunchroom were pointing and laughing at him because he had dropped his tray.
“Wow!” Rachelle exclaimed. “I sure am glad that wasn’t me.” She remembered how worried she had been that she would drop her tray. But the shoelace Dad had fixed had held just fine, and she hadn’t tripped. “I’d better write that down.” She took a piece of notebook paper from her pocket. “I didn’t drop my tray, and my shoelace stayed together.”
The new boy walked quickly to a seat in the lunchroom. He passed Rachelle’s table on the way. She noticed something else about him. He didn’t have any shoelaces.
“I guess I ought to write that, too,” she mumbled to herself. “I have shoelaces.”
“What on earth are you doing?” Stormi asked.
“Oh, it’s just an assignment my dad gave me today,” Rachelle explained. “I have to write down all my blessings.”
“Why?” Misty wondered.
Rachelle shrugged. “I don’t know. I think it might be because my dad doesn’t think I’m grateful or something.”
“Uh-huh.” Stormi nodded. “My dad does stuff like that to me, too.”
“So you wrote stuff you have that the new boy doesn’t?” Misty guessed.
Rachelle nodded.
“Isn’t he in our ward?” Stormi asked.
Rachelle and Misty shrugged.
“I heard my mom say that his only family is his grandma,” Stormi told them. “Mom said that they moved their trailer house here last week. I guess they move a lot.”
“Does he have any brothers or sisters?” Rachelle asked.
Stormi shook her head. “There are just him and his grandma.”
Rachelle wrote, “I have a house to live in” and “I have a baby brother” and “I have a mom who takes good care of me” and “I have a dad.” She looked over to the table where the new boy was hungrily eating. He didn’t seem to notice that no one was sitting by him, and some kids were making rude faces at him. He ate his food as if it were a feast for a king. Rachelle wrote, “I have a nice school lunch” and “I have good friends.” She was quiet as she looked at her paper. The list had gotten really long in just a short time.
“Come on, Rachelle,” Misty called. She and Stormi were standing by the table, ready to scrape their trays and go outside.
“Um, I’ll come in a minute.” Rachelle was glad her friends left without saying anything else. A lump was forming in her throat. How could she have complained about anything? She was probably one of the most blessed girls in the whole world. Rachelle felt really ashamed for her grumpiness that morning. She found where she had written, “I have a dad” on her paper and added “who puts up with my complaining.”
That night in family home evening when Dad asked for her paper, she unfolded it and tried to read. But the lump started to form in her throat again.
Dad smiled understandingly. “I can tell by the look on Rachelle’s face that she has done her assignment very well.”
Rachelle nodded and turned her paper over so her parents could see. “It’s a lot more than I thought I would have,” she admitted.
Mom held a small sack out for Rachelle to take and said, “Rachelle, Dad told me you needed new shoelaces, so I managed to get to the store to buy some for you today.”
Taking the laces out of the sack, she asked, “Mom, would it be OK if I gave these to someone else?”
Mom and Dad looked in surprise at each other, and Dad asked, “Who?”
“There’s a new boy in our ward who doesn’t even have any broken laces to tie together.”
Mom nodded. “I think I know who you mean. That’s a wonderful idea, Rachelle.”
“The idea is really Dad’s,” Rachelle told her mother. “He wanted me to see that I have all kinds of blessings and shouldn’t complain.”
Dad picked up Rachelle’s paper and wrote something down.
“What are you writing on my paper?”
“I’m just adding something that you missed.” Dad handed her the paper.
Rachelle read, “I have a giving heart.”

I’ve always wanted to be a princess. Recently, as I was looking at a photo of me standing by the Mount Timpanogos Utah Temple, I suddenly realized that I have always been a princess. As a daughter of Heavenly Father, I am a daughter in His kingdom. I am grateful for that.Kim Pellegrini, age 9, Bellevue, Idaho

Trials of faith began for Samuel Hoglund of Sweden when family members raised questions. He went through a phase of “getting one question answered only to come across yet another one,” he explains. “My faith vacillated from one half hour to the next, until I realized this process and my need for certainty were unsustainable.” Instead of trying to resolve every relatively minor question, Samuel decided to study important questions—those critical to a solid foundation in Jesus Christ. Accompanied by prayer and scripture study, Samuel’s search, like Alba’s, taught him how much he still had to learn and brought him to more mature beliefs. “The experience strengthened my faith immensely,” he says, “and also taught me that what you truly seek you will find.”

You know from studying Church history that we have tried to live as one in a variety of settings. A story from one of those tries, in Orderville, Utah, gives us a clue as to why it is so hard.
Orderville was founded in 1870 and 1871 by people who wanted to live the united order; in 1875 they began the order. They built housing units in a square, with a common dining hall. They built a storehouse, shoe shop, bakery, blacksmith shop, tannery, schoolhouse, sheep shed, and woolen factory. They grew and made nearly everything they needed, from soap to trousers. They had carpenters, midwives, teachers, artists, and musicians. They produced enough surplus that they could sell it in neighboring towns for cash: with that they built up a capital fund to buy more land and equipment.
The population rose to seven hundred people. One hundred and fifty of them gave Orderville a special advantage: they had come to Orderville from the mission on the Muddy River, where they had nearly starved. When those who had been called to the Muddy were released, they were in near destitution. Twenty-four of those families went to Long Valley, founded Orderville, and pledged all they had to the Lord. They didn’t have much, but their poverty may have been their greatest contribution. Their having almost nothing provided a basis for future comparison that might have guaranteed gratitude: any food or clothing or housing that came to them in Orderville would be treasure compared to their privation on the Muddy mission.
But time passed, the railroad came, and a mining boom put cash in the hands of people in the neighboring towns. They could buy imported clothes, and they did. The people in Orderville were living better than they had in years, but the memory of poverty on the Muddy had faded. They now focused on what was in the next town. And so they felt old-fashioned and deprived.
One ingenious boy acted on the discontent he felt when he was denied a new pair of pants from the Orderville factory because his were not worn out yet. He secretly gathered the docked lambs’ tails from the spring crop. He sheared the wool from them and stored it in sacks. Then, when he was sent with a load of wool to sell in Nephi, he took his sacks along and exchanged them for a pair of store pants. He created a sensation when he wore the new-style pants to the next dance.
The president of the order asked him what he had done. The boy gave an honest answer. So they called him into a meeting and told him to bring the pants. They commended him for his initiative, pointed out that the pants really belonged to the order, and took them. But they told him this: the pants would be taken apart, used as a pattern, and henceforth Orderville pants would have the new store-bought style. And he would get the first pair.
That did not quite end the pants rebellion. Orders for new pants soon swamped the tailoring department. When the orders were denied because pants weren’t yet worn out, boys began slipping into the shed where the grinding wheel was housed. Soon, pants began to wear out quickly. The elders gave in, sent a load of wool out to trade for cloth, and the new-style pants were produced for everyone.
You know that isn’t a happy ending. There were many challenges Orderville faced in the ten years they lived the order there. One of them they never really conquered. It was the problem of not remembering. That is a problem we must solve, too.

Emerson said that every great institution is but the lengthened shadow of a great person. (See Essays, First Series: Self Reliance.) I have thought of that as I have recalled some of the people who performed great work in areas where I have had responsibility. When I think of our present status in Korea, seven stakes and three missions, in some ways this is but the lengthened shadow of Dr. Kim and two young men who taught him the gospel while he was a student at New York’s Cornell University—Oliver Wayman and Don C. Wood. These young men stirred within their Korean associate an interest in reading the Book of Mormon. Their interest in him, their activities with him, were entirely separate from the reasons for their being at Cornell. Each of the three was there working towards an advanced degree that could have consumed every minute of his waking time. But they took the time to teach and to learn; and when the Korean Ph.D. returned to his native land, he took with him his love for the Book of Mormon and for the Church whose services he had attended in Ithaca, New York. Latter-day Saint American servicemen involved in the Korean War had also shared the gospel with some of their Korean associates. Thus, the interest of Dr. Kim, this man of learning and responsibility, was the catalyst that led to the establishment of the work in Korea, including the sending of missionaries from Japan. Dr. Kim is deceased, but the work lives on in splendor, touching for eternal good an ever-increasing number of lives in the “Land of the Morning Calm.”

“When our leaders explained the whole project to me, I did not want to sew a quilt, so I was just going to put it off,” says Katie W., 13. “Then I started getting the quilt squares every week, and I was so excited because they were so cute. Then it built up into this huge pile.”

I planted flowers for a sister in my neighborhood and fed her kitten. I felt happy to serve just like Jesus did.

Both of my parents came from Utah, and their pioneer-like examples were also important to me as I was growing up. When I was about eight years old, my father was called to the stake presidency. He served in it the rest of my growing-up years, except for one year when we lived in Washington, D.C. I watched him sit on the stand and serve quietly and faithfully.

Walnetta’s musical skills strengthened as she continued to serve. She witnessed the miraculous growth of the Church in her area, and with it came the opportunity to develop her talent. In her early teens, her branch became the Auckland 5th Ward, and its new chapel featured an electric pipe organ. Walnetta had never played an organ before. “The installer handed me a pamphlet and gave me a very quick rundown—it took about fifteen minutes,” she says. It would be the only organ-playing instructions she would ever receive—but she was not fazed. “I knew the Lord would help me. I then made it my business to learn all I could and to practice, practice, practice!”

I am acquainted with a family which came to America from Germany. The English language was difficult for them. They had but little by way of means, but each was blessed with the will to work and with a love of God.

Their third child was born, lived but two months, and then died. Father was a cabinetmaker and fashioned a beautiful casket for the body of his precious child. The day of the funeral was gloomy, thus reflecting the sadness they felt in their loss. As the family walked to the chapel, with Father carrying the tiny casket, a small number of friends had gathered. However, the chapel door was locked. The busy bishop had forgotten the funeral. Attempts to reach him were futile. Not knowing what to do, the father placed the casket under his arm and, with his family beside him, carried it home, walking in a drenching rain.

If the family were of a lesser character, they could have blamed the bishop and harbored ill feelings. When the bishop discovered the tragedy, he visited the family and apologized. With the hurt still evident in his expression, but with tears in his eyes, the father accepted the apology, and the two embraced in a spirit of understanding. No hidden wedge was left to cause further feelings of anger. Love and acceptance prevailed.

If I had to sum up these past few years in a single word, it would be burnout. Everything felt like so much—including, at times, my responsibilities as a member of the Church—making it hard to tell what I should really care about or how I should invest my little energy.
We have been wisely counseled by President Russell M. Nelson to “turn [our] heart[s], mind[s], and soul[s] increasingly to our Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ”1 during these challenging times.
As I tried to apply this counsel in my life, I initially felt only more overwhelmed, thinking that I needed to follow every guideline perfectly for my efforts to make a difference. But the Spirit gently reminded me that “it is not requisite that [we] should run faster than [we have] strength” (Mosiah 4:27). I realized that I needed to focus on first things first—Christ.
As I applied this shift in mindset to all the “to-dos” I felt I had to accomplish in the gospel, my increased feelings of burnout began to shift to feelings of faith. My burdens felt lighter as I looked toward the central gospel principles that each to-do or commandment represented. Tithing taught me about applying the law of consecration in my life. Attending church each week to take the sacrament became a lesson in the Savior’s Atonement. Suddenly it felt like there was a spirit, and not just a letter, to God’s laws in my life.
As I have centered the foundation of my testimony in Christ, the burden of burnout has felt lighter.
As I have centered the foundation of my testimony in Christ, the burden of burnout has felt lighter. I still get overwhelmed at times, but refocusing my heart on Him helps me realize that what matters most is my efforts, both big and small, to grow closer to Him each day.

In similar ways, the key to gaining the spiritual strength we need lies in what President Thomas S. Monson once described as entering a “sacred grove” of our own. He was teaching bishops, but the counsel applies to all members of the Church: “Every bishop needs a sacred grove to which he can retire to meditate and to pray for guidance. Mine was our old ward chapel. I could not begin to count the occasions when on a dark night at a late hour I would make my way to the stand of this building where I was blessed, confirmed, ordained, taught, and eventually called to preside. The chapel was dimly lighted by the streetlight in front; not a sound would be heard, no intruder to disturb. With my hand on the pulpit I would kneel and share with Him above my thoughts, my concerns, my problems.”2

When I first started reading the Book of Mormon, it seemed strange to me. The only name in the book that was familiar to me was the name of one of Nephi’s brothers—Sam! That was my name! But there was a force that drew me to the Book of Mormon. I felt that if I were to become a member of the Church, my life would become much more meaningful.

Several times during the trip, the pioneers talked with mountain men. Jim Bridger discouraged them from settling all the Saints in the Salt Lake Valley until they knew if grain could be grown there. He didn’t think it could, and he offered a thousand dollars for the first bushel of corn grown. But God was leading the Saints. President Young told Bridger, “Wait a little, and we will show you.”

Before my eighth birthday, I sought to know more about baptism. I read the scriptures and prayed. I learned that I would receive the gift of the Holy Ghost when I was confirmed. I also began to understand that God and Christ are literally a Father and a Son—separate, distinct, individual beings who are wholly unified in Their purpose. “We love [Them], because [They] first loved us.” And over and over again I observed how They love one another and work together for our good. Listen to a few of the many scriptures that teach this truth:

Russell M. Nelson helps a man return to the Church.

I saw signs that I was attracted to other women when I was quite young, but I tried to push those feelings away for years.
A few summers ago, I developed feelings for a woman who is also gay. This was something that I had never experienced before, and I spent weeks praying to know what God wanted me to do about this relationship.
With everything I’ve been taught about the gospel, God’s will probably should have been obvious to me, but because of my feelings, it wasn’t. My feelings for this woman were real, powerful, and so important to me.
I was in turmoil for weeks. I expected the answer to my prayers to be obvious. But instead, I felt very distinctly that Heavenly Father was inviting me to use my agency to decide to follow Him.
For years, I had blamed God for all that was missing in my life—for everything I seemingly couldn’t do. I felt like a martyr as I kept His commandments, like I was meant to suffer alone through mortality. But as I grappled with my feelings for this woman, I eventually realized that I have always had the power to choose how to live my life—agency is one of Heavenly Father’s most powerful gifts to us.
I truly loved and cared for this woman. But those feelings didn’t weigh as much as my teaspoon of faith in the truth that Heavenly Father wanted me to choose a different path.
And it was that small, imperfect teaspoon of faith that enabled me to choose Christ.
I was devastated after I made my decision to end this relationship, and frankly, I am still healing from the heartbreak. But looking back, and after many moments of pondering and prayer, I’ve realized that Heavenly Father would have loved me whether I chose to keep my covenants or pursue a same-sex relationship. But because I chose to keep my covenants, He has been able to love and bless me.
As I have deepened my faith and commitment to the gospel of Jesus Christ, mountains in my life are being moved, one pebble at a time, just as President Nelson promised:
My family relationships have deepened and are full of honesty, vulnerability, compassion, and trust.
My negative self-image is improving one day at a time.
My ability to love others, love myself, and feel loved is being augmented daily.
My love of the gospel has increased.
My eyes have been opened to how much Heavenly Father wants to bless me each day.
I don’t know what to expect about my attraction to women. I don’t know if it will change or what is in store for me in that experience. But I truly believe that as I embrace the fulness of the gospel, I will be given the opportunity to marry a man whom I love in the temple one day. That is a desire I have for my future. Right now, marriage still seems scary, but with faith in Christ, I am preparing for this mountain to be moved. I know that as I keep my covenants, Heavenly Father will pave my path with wonderful experiences.

Imagine my delight as I read the December 1979 Feedback letters and saw one from a very special returned missionary with whom we have not been in contact for at least two years. I say special (and all missionaries are special) because this young man—a “greenie”—and his senior companion taught our family of nine about the gospel of Jesus Christ. And may I add, we didn’t make it easy! Because of their dedication to the Lord and our (rather weak) testimonies, we were all baptized, and most of us continue to grow stronger in the gospel every year. One of us is attending BYU and planning a mission. Another is setting goals for a temple marriage. Others are fulfilling jobs in our ward. To top it all off, we were recently sealed in the Salt Lake Temple for time and all eternity. I wish our special elders had been there and that we had stayed in closer contact. Thanks to DeMar Clegg and Kevin Wagner for setting the example and leading the way. They will always be very special to us.
Incidentally, one of the first gifts we received as investigators of the Church was a subscription to the New Era.
Joyce TaylorEl Toro, California

Once while the Rogers were out of town on vacation, Charles and Lucie Didier wall-papered the room of teenager Elizabeth Rogers—as a surprise. Elizabeth was overwhelmed.

Then he and his little family turned the corner of the last block. They could see the ice-covered water clearly. Anthon felt the whitened wool next to his skin. He had been ordered to wear it constantly since his illness. His illness! Yes, he remembered the birth of his testimony. He had been healed after 12 months of life and death struggle with pneumonia. The elders had said that with faith and a special blessing called administration he could be healed. He had submitted to their counsel and believed. Shortly after, Anthon had resolutely cleared away the dark clouds that had been gathering around his search for truth. He told the ministers of the other churches that he could not serve two masters. (See Matt. 6:24.) They had been good neighborhood friends, but with his decision to join the Mormons, that friendship ended—the ministers gave him up as a lost soul.