Gospel Story Finder

My third example highlights the importance of recognizing and accepting the will of God in our lives. Several years ago there was a young father who had been active in the Church as a boy but had chosen a different path during his teenage years. After serving in the military, he married a lovely girl, and soon children blessed their home.

One day without warning their little four-year-old daughter became critically ill and was hospitalized. In desperation and for the first time in many years, the father was found on his knees in prayer, asking that the life of his daughter be spared. Yet her condition worsened. Gradually, this father sensed that his little girl would not live, and slowly his prayers changed; he no longer prayed for healing but rather for understanding. “Let Thy will be done” was now the manner of his pleadings.

Soon his daughter was in a coma, and the father knew her hours on earth were few. Fortified with understanding, trust, and power beyond their own, the young parents prayed again, asking for the opportunity to hold her close once more while she was awake. The daughter’s eyes opened, and her frail arms reached out to her parents for one final embrace. And then she was gone. This father knew their prayers had been answered—a kind, compassionate Father in Heaven had comforted their hearts. God’s will had been done, and they had gained understanding. (Adapted from H. Burke Peterson, “Adversity and Prayer,” Ensign, Jan. 1974, 18.)

On our last trip to Great Britain, I had a chance to visit with an eighteen-year-old young man who has had close association with many missionaries in the field. As I was going to speak to a large number of missionaries in the next few days, I asked this friend what he thought was the most important trait missionaries needed in order to be successful. His answer was simple. “They must know how to work. Many come on a mission never knowing how to work.” It has been my experience over the years that feeble knees are not a by-product of work and commitment to goals.

As this eighteen-year-old has observed, we can strengthen feeble knees of others and ourselves by going to work.

Although Joseph was only eight years old when he and his family moved to Winter Quarters, Nebraska, he and his friends were responsible for taking care of the cows.
One day, the boys were watching the grazing cattle outside of town. They were suddenly attacked by Indians. Joseph’s friends were frightened and rode their horses home. Joseph was frightened, too, but he tried to drive the cattle to safety.
3. Joseph and his horse were moving fast, but the Indians were going faster. When Joseph looked to his right, there was an Indian alongside him! There was one on his left, too!
4. Joseph didn’t know what to do. The Indians reached over and grabbed his arms and legs and lifted him from his horse. Then they dropped him to the ground and rode off with the horse.
5. Even though several horses galloped over Joseph, he was unhurt. Joseph was very brave, and he continued to be brave throughout his life. When he was older, he became the sixth President of the Church.

Scared Silly Meeting a six-foot talking rabbit is a little scary. But for Jo-Beth and Mary Rose, their adventure in a zany museum is more silly than scary as they explore an upside down room and learn how to use a Spider Sniffer.Eth Clifford8–11 years

A native of São Paulo, Brazil, Elder Soares and his wife, Rosana Fernanda Morgado Soares, traveled occasionally to the United States for training as director of temporal affairs for the Brazil South Area. Committed to attending church wherever they traveled, the Soareses remember one Sunday a good Samaritan friendshipped them at church. Grateful for this instant friendship, Elder and Sister Soares realized an additional blessing later that night when they needed his help again. An expectant mother, Sister Soares miscarried.
Elder Soares tearfully recalls: “I didn’t know anybody; I didn’t know the medical system. But the Lord protected us.” Their newfound friend proved to be the Lord’s answer to their prayers, helping them to obtain much-needed medical care. “We were protected,” Elder Soares testifies, “because we went to church that day.”

Two years later Joseph F. Smith and his widowed mother were to set off across the plains of America with many other Mormon pioneers, and there, during the time on the plains, he learned many lessons in faith from his mother. Two are briefly sketched:
The first involved the loss of their oxen while crossing the plains. President Smith has called this “one of the first practical and positive demonstrations of the efficacy of prayer I have ever witnessed.” The impression it made on his mind was to aid him all through his life.
Upon awakening one morning, the Smiths found their best team of oxen missing. Joseph F. and his uncle, Joseph Fielding, set out and searched an entire morning in vain. Filled with fatigue and discouragement, they returned to camp. There they found Mary Fielding Smith on her knees, pleading for God to help them in this search, since the loss of the oxen would mean further delay in reaching their destination.
Arising from prayer, this youthful pioneer mother told her brother and her son to have breakfast and she would bring back the livestock. She started toward the river, despite her brother’s trying to persuade her that further search was futile. Ignoring first her brother and then a herdsman from a Missouri wagon train who tried to tell her that he had seen the oxen headed in the opposite direction that morning. Mary Smith continued her walk to the river. Then, turning at the bank, she motioned her brother and son to join her. As they did, they found the oxen fastened to a clump of willows, hidden from sight. Someone had apparently left them there, planning to return after the pioneer group had moved on.

Kiva: A Pueblo Indian ceremonial structure that is usually round and partly underground.
“When is your uncle Tanolo going to take you into the kiva?” Little Brown Bear asked. “I am four moons younger than you, yet I was taken into our kiva this day.”
Acuma pulled his rabbit robe closer around his shoulders and sat huddled by the fire, watching the smoke curl upward to add more blackness to the sooty ceiling of the big cave.
“I don’t know,” he said sadly. “I have done everything I am supposed to do.”
“A boy must prove he is now a man before he can enter a kiva,” Little Brown Bear continued. “Have you gone on a hunt?”
“Oh, yes. We stalked the deer through snow and drove him to the edge of our flat mountain. It was my arrow that brought meat to our fire.”
Little Brown Bear shook his head. “I cannot understand. Surely Tanolo is not so cruel that he would tease you.”
Acuma shrugged but did not answer. He had done everything that was required. He knew the legends, his arrow points were well made, he could make fiber from the yucca plant and weave it into heavy sandals, and he could shoot a straight arrow. All these things his cousin from the big cave village had done too, and this day he had been taken into the kiva.
This was an honor for which every Indian boy lived. Yet Acuma could not go. His father said he was well prepared, but Tanolo would not take him. An Indian boy could not be taken to the kiva by his father. At birth an uncle is chosen to be his teacher, and it is this uncle who must take him to the kiva, where he will go through the rituals to become a man.
Acuma glanced at his cousin, wishing Little Brown Bear could tell him what had happened down in the kiva in his own village. But, of course, it was a secret.
When Little Brown Bear left for his own cave village, Acuma jumped up and called his brown dog. He threw off the rabbit blanket. He would be running and his body would warm on this winter day.
“I will not shed tears like that foolish Popeta,” he exclaimed, and he dashed off to chase rabbits. Maybe he would kill one with his throwing stick and show his uncle how skilled he was. Acuma’s dog romped along beside him as they scrambled down the side of the canyon to the creek below.
Then he stopped in surprise. Popeta was filling a water jug to carry back up the steep canyon wall to the cave. She seemed small although she was his own age. Her father could not till his cornfield properly because of a lame leg, so the family did not have enough to eat. And because the father could not run fast, he could not kill enough rabbits to make new blankets. The one over Popeta’s shivering shoulders was badly worn.
“You wear no blanket,” Popeta said in surprise, her teeth chattering. “It is cold.”
Acuma squared his brown shoulders. “I am a man, and I do not feel the cold,” he boasted. “I shall run and catch a rabbit for our dinner.” He started off.
Popeta lifted the heavy water jug. As she did so, the blanket fell from her shoulders. Immediately the brown dog grabbed it in his teeth and raced off, dragging it through the thorny bushes.
“Come back, come back!” Popeta cried out. “It is my only blanket.” She spun angrily on Acuma. “Your horrible dog has stolen my blanket. Go get it.”
Then her shivering grew worse and she began to cry as she climbed the canyon wall with the water jug on her head.
Acuma tried to find the dog, but it had raced down the canyon, dragging the blanket. He could see torn scraps hanging on bushes.
“It is no good now anyhow,” he said as he raced along, feeling warm. Soon he threw his curved stick at a rabbit and proudly carried the dead animal home.
“We already have meat for stew, my son,” his mother said while she stirred something in a clay pot over the fire. “You are a great hunter, and my heart is proud. But why not give it to one who has none?”
Acuma strolled over to Popeta’s fire. “Here, you will have meat.”
She thanked him, then asked, “Did you find my blanket? Without it I will have nothing to warm me tonight.”
Acuma shrugged. “No, I could not find it.”
He forgot about Popeta as he ate his hearty stew that night and sat huddled by the fire, his own warm blanket over his shoulders.
During the night he awoke feeling cold and pulled the rabbit fur blanket up closer. Somewhere he could hear crying.
It is probably that foolish Popeta, he thought. She always cries.
The next day he could not see her by her fire. “She is not well,” his mother said. “She needs food and warm blankets. But I have none to spare.”
Too bad, Acuma thought carelessly and ran off. But every now and then he remembered her crying.
“It is the fault of my dog,” he grumbled to himself. And the more he thought about it, the less he enjoyed the games he played with his friends.
That night he could not sleep. Finally he got up and went to the small dark room behind the cave where Popeta slept.
“Here is my blanket,” he said. “Use it.”
“But it is not yours to give,” she said in surprise.
“I will lend it,” Acuma said, and he hurried back to his room. He was shivering. How cold it was! He found an old feather blanket that was so worn it could not cover him well. But if he curled up in a tight ball in the very corner of his room, the blanket kept out a little of the cold. Popeta had been right—he could not give away his blanket, since all things in the family belonged to the mother. Though he used it, the blanket was his mother’s property.
Then I must make Popeta one, he decided.
For many days his friends called him to play games, but he could not because he was hunting rabbits. He had no idea it took so many to make a blanket. He gave the meat either to his mother or to Popeta, and he sat late into the night cleaning and tanning the skins. He sighed wearily. There was so much work and no fun. At times he was tempted to quit, but remembering Popeta’s tears during that cold night kept him going.
And the few hours he slept, he was always cold. He longed for his own rabbit fur blanket again.
After he had collected enough skins, he had to make many, many arrow points—the very best he could. Then he hurried to his cousin’s village, to the Blanket Maker.
“I will give you these fine arrow points if you will make me a blanket,” he said. “But I must have it quickly. The nights get colder and snow is now on the ground.”
Soon the blanket was finished and Acuma took it to Popeta. “This is yours. It should keep you warm.”
Popeta handed him back his own. “You are kind and it is a beautiful blanket. You have brought us so much meat that I am well. My mother and father do not feel hunger either.”
“I shall see that you have meat in your pot,” Acuma said in embarrassment, then hurried to his own campfire.
That night his uncle came to him.
“When the morning sun rises, you will come with me. It is time for you to enter the kiva to learn the things that will make you a man.”
Acuma’s heart leaped With joy. “I am pleased, my uncle. But tell me, why have you chosen the time as now? For these many moons I have been ready—knowing the making of arrow points, yucca fiber, and the hunt.”
“But the one thing you did not know, my son, you have learned,” Tanolo replied. “A boy plays and gives no thought to others. A man gives up his playing when there is work to be done. Because your dog caused misery to another, you did what was your duty to do, and you did it without complaint. I have watched you and my heart is proud. You shall be known as Acuma, the one who has the heart of a man, though his body is still that of a boy.”

Inclusion and exclusion are common themes when you speak to families with food allergies. Cynthia’s nine-year-old son, who is allergic to peanuts and tree nuts, was anticipating attending a day camp. However, on the morning of the camp, a call came from a leader asking him not to attend. They could not accommodate his allergies.

“I hung up with her and sobbed,” Cynthia recalls, “the sorrowful, bottom-of-my-heart tears for my little guy who was excluded again.”

He learned from his mother the importance of this principle, when she reminded him that even though they were very poor, the Lord’s tenth must come from the best they had.

Sister Martha Marin of Veracruz, Mexico, confronted some of her fears as she served full-time in the employment resource center in Puebla, Mexico. She was uncomfortable using computers, an important part of the employment center. But with the help and support of her companion and the others she worked with, she learned the necessary skills. “This obstacle has turned into a blessing,” she says. “I know that I am not alone in this work.”

Illustration by Adam Howling
“Hey, Trace, where did Mom go tonight?” I called out as I walked through the dirty kitchen. It looked like a tornado had blown through—dirty dishes were all over the place.
“I don’t know. She and Dad went to a dinner party with some friends,” replied the youngest of my 11 brothers and sisters as he watched a basketball game.
“So, is this food up for grabs?” I asked, hoping to find something in the pots and pans.
Wesley, number 10 of the 11, came bounding down the old, battered stairs, and as he ran to see the latest basketball score, he said, “Mom made it for us and left for the party. She said she’ll be back late and to not make too much of a mess.”
“Too late for that,” I mumbled. “Man. Good thing it’s not my night to clean up.”
The Christmas season was in full swing, and having our whole family in town made for a heavy amount of stress that seemed to wind up in Mom’s shoulder muscles. That’s when the idea came to me. It had been a while since I’d done anything but dirty the house—so why not surprise Mom and make it less dirty for a change?
After having a bite to eat, I tried for a miracle. “Wes, Trace, what do you think about cleaning this place up for Mom?”
“You can do what you want. I’m watching the game,” Trace said. He sounded bugged by the mere thought of trading dishes for the game.
“I knew it was pointless to ask you two,” I grumbled, feeling annoyed. The giant mound of dirty dishes was daunting, but someone had to do the job.
Usually when Mom asks me to clean the kitchen I whine for at least five minutes before grudgingly carrying out her wish. I typically react to her pleas for help with pride and selfishness. So this time, at first I started cleaning because I was looking for her praise. But soon I felt a joy that I can’t explain in doing the work without being asked.
As I began to slosh dishes around in the sink and squeeze the pineapple-scented dish soap into the steaming water, something unexpected began to happen.
Slowly, as if trying to hide the fact that he was even thinking of helping, Wesley wandered in and said, “I’ll dry if you wash.” Not wanting to scare him off, I nodded without looking at him.
“OK,” I said, “but the element of surprise is everything, so let’s move fast.”
Two minutes later, Trace walked sheepishly into the kitchen and said, “I’ll wipe the counters and sweep, but that’s it. And if I miss anything cool in the game, I’m going to be mad.”
“No prob,” I answered. “The faster we go, the faster we’ll be done. If Mom could only see us now, I think she’d have a heart attack.”
“Yeah,” they both said in unison.
“I was just thinking. What if we did the math?” Wes said. “There are 365 days in a year, times 13 of us, and then add three meals a day. I can’t even work those numbers. I’m just glad I’m not Mom.”
“It’s 14,235,” declared Trace triumphantly.
“Oh, and then times it by each utensil and cup on the table. I’m beginning to feel depressed. I don’t even know how Mom handles us all.”
“Hurry, here they come!” Trace yelled just as we caught sight of the car’s headlights. “Quick, hide!” I ran to my position at the top of the stairs, just out of eyesight, listening intently for Mom’s response to the sparkling countertops. As I waited, I sat thinking about what had just happened. We’d sacrificed half an hour that would have been wasted in front of the TV. How simple it was to give so little and have it mean so much.
The hum of the car’s motor cut out. The car doors opened and thumped shut. As the kitchen door swung open with a burst of icy winter air, we heard these rewarding words, “Oh! Heavenly angels have been at work!”

I was fortunate enough to meet missionaries from your church. Thanks to these young men, I became acquainted with the Liahona. It is a marvelous magazine! It gives a complete view of the mission and principles of your church. It discusses problems as well as how to solve them. It also talks about the direction of the future path of your church.
I read the article “The Fall of Adam and Eve” in the June 2006 Liahona. I want to thank you for vindicating our first mother, Eve, and for your tireless search for true explanations of complex events described in the gospel.Alla R. Muriseva, Russia

For example, on Christmas morning in 1925, three men walked down to the river’s edge in a park in Buenos Aires, Argentina. Most of the city was probably still sleeping late on a holiday. But these men had left their families behind and spent 21 days on a steam ship to get here. Elder Melvin J. Ballard, a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, had been sent by President Heber J. Grant to dedicate the entire continent of South America for the preaching of the gospel.
So while the rest of the city still slept, Elder Ballard entered a willow grove with Elder Rulon S. Wells and Elder Rey L. Pratt. They sang hymns and read from the Book of Mormon. Then Elder Ballard offered a prayer and used his apostolic authority to “unlock and open the door for the preaching of the gospel in all these South American nations.” From that time on, like a stone tossed into a pond, the ripples of the gospel message spread outward across a continent.
Since Elder Ballard’s visit to Buenos Aires, Church membership in South America has grown from less than a dozen to over a million. Tens of thousands more are joining every year. There are an increasing number of LDS chapels, and temples have begun to dot the land.
That’s why seminary graduation time in Buenos Aires isn’t just another weekend. When Elder Ballard offered his powerful prayer in that willow grove nearly 70 years ago, he asked the Lord to “remember in mercy … the youth of thy Church who are to bear the responsibilities of the future, that they may keep themselves clean … and come to their glorious destiny.” For the LDS youth in Argentina, seminary has been one of the most direct answers to that prayer.

Taking second place at the state wrestling meet without legs was a challenge. But so was learning to walk on prosthetics, and doing a hilly paper route in a wheelchair, and completing a 50-mile hike on his hands.
Kacey can’t remember a time when there weren’t challenges. But if there’s anything he’s learned from wrestling, it’s that eating the mat isn’t any fun. He’d much rather come out on top.
The first year Kacey wrestled, he won only once. Some thought he should give up. Others doubted he’d ever be very competitive. “I wasn’t very good at first,” he laughs. “But I stuck with it and got a little better every year.” After years of hard work and a lot of time in the weight room, he won 39 matches during his final year and lost only one.
“He’s finished everything I’ve seen him start,” says Kacey’s wrestling coach, Tony Oliff. “Kacey’s got that attitude. He’s upbeat, and a lot of kids lean on it. He’s positive about life and fun to be around.”

The merit of rendering faithful service, regardless of one’s position in the Church, was tenderly brought to my attention several years ago during the funeral service of a man who had done much good in his life without ever being recognized with a high church office. I was touched as I heard the deceased’s brother-in-law describe him as a man who had never served as an elders quorum president, as a bishop, or as a stake president, but who “had made a lot of them look awfully good.”

I am so grateful I was blessed with the strength to break the unhealthy cycle with my ex-husband. It took a while for me to forgive him, but as I continued to study the Book of Mormon, I learned it was possible for me to forgive through the power of Jesus Christ’s Atonement.
I felt a huge weight lifted from me as I learned to completely trust that God would judge righteously knowing all the facts of our circumstances. I realized I was hurting myself by holding on to pain and resentment toward my ex-husband. I needed to forgive him in order to heal myself.
Elder Tad R. Callister, an emeritus General Authority Seventy, once wrote:
“One of the blessings of the Atonement is that we can receive of the Savior’s succoring powers. …
“… His spirit heals; it refines; it comforts; it breathes new life into hopeless hearts. It has the power to transform all that is ugly and vicious and worthless in life to something of supreme and glorious splendor. He has the power to convert the ashes of mortality to the beauties of eternity.”2
I know this is true, because I experienced it.
I am so blessed that I have been able to experience the succoring power of the Savior. He healed my heart so I could forgive. He transformed all that was ugly into a glorious experience. I have been filled with joy, and I can honestly say I’m grateful for this trial because it helped me become a stronger, better disciple of Christ.
Years later, I am still saddened at times about my divorce, but it is no longer a painful memory. It is merely an experience in my life that taught me so much about myself and helped me gain a closer relationship with God. And my ex-husband and I have remained cordial, thanks to the Savior’s healing power.

When he was a deacon, he went with his father to a stake priesthood meeting. The brethren stood and sang “Praise to the Man,” and “there came into my heart the conviction that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God.”

The Bunny Play The bunnies’ play is a musical version of “Little Red Riding Hood.” They show you how it is cast and directed and rehearsed, and tell you about making props and scenery and posters.Loreen Leedy5–8 years

I recall a story of a Latter-day Saint boy in military service. He was the only Latter-day Saint in his barracks, and he soon wearied of the jibes of his associates. One day when the going was particularly rough, he finally agreed to go into town with the crowd. But as they entered the town, there came before his mind’s eye a picture. He saw the kitchen of his home. It was supper time. There was his family, kneeling at the kitchen chairs—his father, mother, two sisters, and a small brother. The little brother was praying, and he was asking our Heavenly Father to look after his brother in the military.
That mental picture did it. The young man turned away from the crowd. The prayer of that little brother, of that family, brought clarity of mind and courage to that Latter-day Saint youth.

When asked about his picture, Ben said, “I’m so happy that the judges like my photo of a mountain hare so much.
“Winter at my local moorland is often cold and this particular day was freezing. The winter sun was out which didn’t help at all, and after walking for hours I finally spotted this mountain hare. After hours of steady approach, I was the closest I have ever been to a mountain hare. The sun was setting, and the mountain hare was fully relaxed in my presence so I was able to photograph this individual as the sun was going down.”