Gospel Story Finder

As an “active nonmember,” as everyone called me, I learned to have patience and hope that one day I would become a member of the Church. I knew it was a test of my faith and patience. I wondered how long it would take to be cleansed and start a new life.
That day came almost seven years after my friend took me to church on that cold February morning in 2000. I was baptized at 21 at the mission home in Sofia. My baptism day was one of the happiest days of my life. At that moment I felt the great redeeming love Heavenly Father has for me. I felt that even more when I partook of the sacrament the next day. I couldn’t hold back the tears. The Spirit burning inside me was telling me it was worth waiting for. I could finally enjoy the gift of the Holy Ghost and other blessings of being a member of the Church.

8. Keep your car locked when not in use. Not only does this discourage theft, but it can also prevent freak accidents. Recently two missionaries were in a home presenting a discussion when they noticed through the front window of the house that their car was rolling down the driveway into the street. A young boy of the household, attempting to play a trick on the elders, had backed the car out into heavy traffic. It was demolished and the boy ended up in the hospital. Whose fault? The missionaries’—for leaving the car unlocked and the keys in the ignition.

And while this angelic atmosphere graces every general conference, I feel the October 2019 general conference experience may best express how my own heart and soul were such desperate and blessed recipients of Latter-day Saint blessed kindness—of that soul-restoring light and love of Latter-day Saint kindness that truly establishes your community “as a light unto the nations.”

From left to right: Michael Law, Yael Charnes, Rabbi Joe Charnes, and Elder S. Gifford Nielsen of the Seventy attend general conference in October 2019.
Photo courtesy of Michael Law.

The story itself actually begins a week and a half before the October 2019 general conference session, when I, along with family and friends, had to bury the loveliness of my mother, Eudie (YOU-dee) Charnes. My heart was broken, grieving, and empty beyond empty. The beauty of Eudie, the beauty that was Eudie, was, simply and sadly, no more. She was no longer before me to hold, to hug, or to nourish—to bless, to sing to, to cry over, or to pray with. The life and the light that had given me life had died, her blessedness now gone and beyond. And so too a part of me died with her also, a part deep within, leaving me forever without. With grace she died, embraced by faith, interlaced in the loving arms of her beloved family: of my wife, Sarah; of our daughter, Yael; and of mine, her newly orphaned son.

We were all together yet completely alone—each alone in our individual loss but bound together in our shared loss. And that fragile togetherness that we shared with each other was helped, and at times was even held together, by the kindness and presence of two living Latter-day Saint community treasures: Brother Mike Law and his eternal celestial companion, Sister Debbie Law, of Colorado, USA. Their humble hearts overflow with a love that can only be described as being inspired from above, and we are forever grateful for the light of their accompanying presence during our walk through the darkness and the despair of death.

It was during this time, a mere two days after burying my mother, that my desperate cry for the blessed was answered—answered in the form of a simple phone call and offer from my treasured friend, Brother Mike Law. He was again reaching out and reaching in, as always, to see how I was faring and wayfaring along, in loss along this long and lonely journey of woe.

While we were speaking, I noticed a subtle tenor of uncertainty entering into Mike’s voice, as he asked me the following question: “Joe, I know the answer is probably going to be no, but would you like to go to general conference, if I can get tickets?” My response was simple, immediate, direct, and urgent: “Mike, there’s actually nowhere else that I’d rather be.”

Those were my words, friends; those were my words, words sung forth in solemn song and solemn sorrow. I just knew that general conference would be that consecrating moment of graceful uplift for my heart. I knew the generous arms of every Latter-day Saint–inspired heart would be unconditionally extended and extending in love—that the arms of their loving hearts simply would not fail.

In graceful embrace: Elder Matthew L. Carpenter of the Seventy (right) and Rabbi Joe Charnes (left) at the October 2019 general conference.
Photo courtesy of Michael Law.

At general conference, people simply smile from the heart. They say hello from the heart, and they glow from the heart. There is an unspoken language of presence of heart. Their presence says hello. Just being there says hello. Just being there is being embraced.

That was the balm my aching soul needed—that heart-embracing balm of general-conference kindness. That is why general conference would truly be that healing balm of Gilead for my soul in need.

And this is a general truism of your grand faith. Wise, loving, nurturing kindness is the service anthem of the Latter-day Saint community; it is the emblematic hallmark and legacy of your faith. If the old adage is true that “the highest form of wisdom is kindness,” then general conference is truly a gathering place for some of the wisest human beings on the planet.

You are “a light unto the nations,” and a light unto my heart. Bless you, Mike, for following the promptings of your heart. Your devotion to helping me restore peace within has the heavenly choir above singing, “Well done, good and faithful servant” (Matthew 25:23).

Illustrated by Shauna Mooney Kawasaki
Wow! It’s spring! Look at the beautiful flowers!
Do you think maybe we should thank Somebody for the flowers?
Sure. Thanks for planting the flowers, Mommy.
You’re welcome. Who else should we thank?
Thanks for spading up the flower bed, Daddy.
There’s still Somebody else.
Thanks for not digging up all the flowers, Digger.
You’re teasing Mommy, aren’t you?
And thanks for the beautiful flowers.

Ward families are a refuge. I know a young family that lived in south Los Angeles during the violent summer of 1992. They could feel the heat from the fires as they sat terrified in their little apartment. They telephoned their parents in Salt Lake. Their families offered encouragement and their prayers. They could do no more at such a distance. It was a ward member who made arrangements for the Parkins to get themselves and their baby out safely. They stayed with members until they could go back to their apartment. They were safe.

One summer’s day, whilst sitting outside having lunch with some work colleagues, the beginning of a new insight came. I was asked why I always had a soft drink with my meal, rather than a beer like the rest of the group. I answered that it was a life choice, hoping that would suffice. But on this occasion, my interrogator would not let the matter go. The conversation continued, and it wasn’t long before I was being asked questions about what I believed as a member of the Church. My contract was coming to an end that week, so I took confidence that I could weather the inevitable storm of questions for a few more days. I gave them deep meaningful answers to all the questions they asked.

While giving an answer, the penny dropped for me. All my colleagues wanted empirical evidence to be able to believe in God, and I was offering all the evidence I had learned, to help convince them I was right—but it wasn’t enough. I then bore my testimony about what I believed, but that wasn’t enough for them either. I pointed out that proof and faith are on opposite sides of a scale. If you are looking for proof, you are not exercising faith. If you are exercising faith, you don’t necessarily need proof. I realised that if you want to look for reasons to prove or disprove your belief in the gospel, you will find both, but neither one will build your faith. The more proof I found that challenged my belief in the gospel, the more faith I would require to continue believing it is true. “For it must needs be, that there is an opposition in all things” (2 Nephi 2:11).

There is one last scene I would call up for you from my journal. I read it as I wrote it in Nha Trang, Vietnam, in May 1967:
“There was a memorable meeting this morning, which began with a senior military chaplain of another church addressing us warmly as ‘My brothers in Christ.’ This touched me deeply.
“After [the meeting], I walked quietly down the passageway alongside the large room where we had met. As I passed the back door, I looked in and saw three men who had their hands on the head of another who sat on a chair. All four were dressed in battle gear; two had returned from air strikes just in time for the meeting, and one was shortly to go. The three members of the district presidency were giving a blessing to an officer senior to them all, setting him apart as a district missionary.”
This sweet scene affected me more deeply than any priesthood sermon I have heard. Priesthood to them meant the right and the power to serve, to act in the name of the Lord as his agents and in his interests with their fellowmen. This scene I hope I will never forget.

I love to bake. I love the smiles that come from baking. Everyone likes good treats. One time my mom left all the ingredients for banana bread in the kitchen, but she wasn’t looking forward to making it.
I decided to bake the banana bread for her. Soon I found out that the banana bread wasn’t for her. Instead, she was preparing it to give to her students. My mom was very happy I helped her in that way.

Born in January 1951 in Murray, Utah, USA, to Milo Fredrick and Mary Katherine Dyches, he was the second of seven children. When he was a young deacon, his family moved to Elko, Nevada, where he spent time after school working at his father’s pharmacy. As they worked side by side, his father taught him the importance of hard work—something that would serve him well as a young missionary in the Germany South Mission from 1970 to 1972.
“It was a tough mission, but it was a great mission for me,” he said. “I learned the value of hard work and obedience and not giving up.”

One day in November 1998, I heard that my younger brother, Ryan, had been baptized in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. This news surprised me because he never wanted to come with me to the churches I attended at that time. A few weeks after his baptism, he died of lung cancer, which was a heavy blow for the family. I didn’t have the chance to ask him what was so interesting about his church, but because I had questions about why he joined, I agreed to receive the missionaries in my home. This was the turning point in my life.
I faithfully attended the missionary lessons and asked many questions. I was baptized on Feb. 14, 1999, and felt like I had come home. I accepted all the callings that my Heavenly Father wanted to give me and grew in faith, strengthening my testimony.

Wind chimes filled the outdoors with music. Telephone wires whistled with each gust of wind. Leaves could not hold on to their branches but danced in the air before floating down to cover the backyard like a big, lumpy, calico quilt.
The wind was teasing everything. It lifted Allison’s hat off her head and pulled her ponytail out in front of her. It pushed at her one way, then shoved her another.
“Stop it!” Allison shouted at the wind. “You’re too rough!”
But the wind didn’t listen.
Allison bounced her ball, but the wind snatched it away. She tried to jump rope, but the wind tangled it under her feet.
“Wind,” shouted Allison, “you don’t play fair!”
Again and again the wind interfered. When Allison tried to roller-skate, the wind made her wobble. When she tried to pedal her bicycle, the wind wheeled her the wrong way.
Allison stopped and thought. “Wind,” she said, looking up into the sky, “I know something that we both can play.”
Allison went into her house and brought out her kite. As she let out some string, the wind pulled the kite little by little high into the sky. Up, up it went, higher than the houses. It kept going up, up until it seemed to be playing tag with the clouds and there was no more string left to unwind.
Allison tugged on the string. The wind pulled on the kite. Allison giggled. The wind whistled. All afternoon Allison and the wind played.
“Al—li—son,” called Grandmother from the porch.
“Wind, I have to go,” Allison said as she tugged harder on the end of the string.
The wind pulled back.
“I really have to go now.” This time she tugged with both hands.
The wind pulled back again, but more gently as it began to die down.
Little by little the kite floated down. Down, down, up, down, zigzagging below the clouds. Down, up, down below the houses. Down, carefully, below the trees. Whispering now, the wind set the kite at Allison’s feet, then brushed across her face like a feather.
“Oh, Allison,” called Grandmother once more. “Come over here and let me see those great big apples in your cheeks.”
Allison giggled. She knew that she didn’t have apples in her cheeks. She had just been kissed by the wind.

Two years after the 1978 revelation on priesthood was received and announced, a group of young Durban township boys were contacted and taught by missionaries. By the end of the year, this group had joined the Church, and in early 1981, they became members of the first organized branch of the Church in the township of KwaMashu (located north of Durban). In late 1984, Sipho Khomo—one of those township boys—was asked by his branch president if he would be willing to serve a full-­time mission.
The decision was not an easy one for him to make. At the time he was baptized, black South Africans referred to the Church as “Isonto Labe Lungu,” meaning, “Church of the Whites”—not a flattering label at all—but reflected impressions that many held about the Church during the difficult apartheid years in South Africa. Rumors, false stories, and the social issues stemming from racial tension in the country all weighed heavily on Sipho as he considered the bishop’s invitation to serve.
But exercising great faith, and without fully knowing the impact his decision would have to himself and to many others, Sipho accepted a call in October 1984 to serve in the London England Mission—making him the first black South African to serve as a full-time missionary.
During his mission and afterward, Sipho’s pioneering spirit motivated other African young men to accept mission calls and to serve the Lord. In fact, during one of Elder Khomo’s Christmas phone calls from England, the township boys all gathered with his family to hear of his missionary experiences. The enthusiasm from that telephone call was contagious, and shortly afterward, those same township boys submitted missionary paperwork and received calls from the prophet to serve in the mission field themselves.
In his own words, Brother Khomo said, “I am glad I went on my mission—it helped make me strong. I followed the counsel given in section 4 of the Doctrine and Covenants and served the Lord with all my ‘heart, might, mind and strength’ so that I could ‘stand blameless before God at the last day’” (verse 2).
Brother Khomo still lives in KwaMashu, and he remains faithful to the gospel of Jesus Christ. His example influenced more than the township boys—and is felt even today as more than 1,000 full-time missionaries from the Africa Southeast Area currently serve in many countries around the world.

And a woman said this of her experience in the class: “I think I was a real frustration to my neighbor, even though she didn’t say so. I sat through eight lessons without feeling like there was anything there that I could or should really commit myself to. But I kept going back with her. One Sunday when I got home, though, I sat down and thought for a while, and I suddenly realized that I had learned a lot more than I had thought. I was surprised at how much my views about life had changed little by little, and how hopeful things now seemed. She was really surprised when I called and said, ‘Well, what do I do now?’” Her member friend introduced her to the missionaries, and she was baptized in just a few weeks.

Mervyl Meyer, from South Africa, received this great gift when her mother died at the age of 93. As an only child, Mervyl felt her mother’s loss deeply. She realized that her mother’s death was a blessed release from the pain and frustration of advanced age, but she longed for her mother’s companionship.
One Saturday morning as Mervyl prepared her garden for spring planting, she reviewed in her mind the Relief Society lesson she would be teaching on Sunday. The lesson was about the paradisiacal glory the earth would enjoy during the Millennium. Although she had prayed about the lesson—and the promise it held for her mother’s resurrection—her heart was heavy with the thought of her mother’s body buried deep in the dark ground. She feared she would never see her mother again.
But as she worked, she was touched by the Spirit. “I pondered the lesson. It came to me that the earth in which I worked was the same earth that sheltered my mother’s mortal remains. As I put my hands into the rich brown soil, I received an intimate assurance of the renewal of all life, of the Resurrection. I felt at peace.”

When he looked for a milk jar, there wasn’t one, so he looked in the refrigerator. All three jars were there with milk in them. What do I do now? he wondered. He leaned on the edge of the open refrigerator door and thought awhile. Finally he straightened, told himself out loud, “You think for yourself,” and took out the oldest jar.
He found a cream jar and the skimming ladle, carefully skimmed the cream off the milk, and set the jar of yellow cream in the refrigerator. Then he poured the milk into an old bucket to take to the pigs and chickens and washed the milk jar.
He set the strainer in the milk jar, picked up the milk pail and bucket of skimmed milk, and headed out into the clear evening air.
It looks like I’m going to be doing a lot of thinking for myself the rest of the summer, he reflected. After irrigating, it will be time to cut hay. Then there’ll be more irrigating. Sometime we’re—correction, I’m—probably going to have to move the other cows again.
Right now I mustn’t forget to gather the eggs and close the chicken coop door. And I should look at Ginger’s legs again while the horses are eating.
Boy! Will I have a story to tell when the teacher asks for essays on “What I Did This Summer.” I’ll call mine “The Summer I Grew Up.”
And I thought that all the challenges ended with the pioneers’ trek across the plains!

When I was almost eight years old, my father, who was a doctor, died of an ailment he caught from one of his patients. A few months later, my mother left my little brother and sister and me in the care of her parents and went away to attend a university so that she would be able to earn enough money to support us. But the stress of her husband’s death, combined with the stress of leaving us children, was too much for her to bear. It affected her health very seriously, and she was placed in the care of a nurse. I didn’t see her for many months.
I had lost my father, and for a time I lost my mother too. I was a very unhappy little boy. In school, I was hopeless as a student. I didn’t learn how to write cursive, and to this day I can hardly write in cursive except my own signature. My spelling was terrible, and my mathematics was worse. My teacher would have the class pass their arithmetic papers forward one seat to be corrected; then we had to announce the results out loud. On a twenty-problem exercise, I’d usually get fifteen or sixteen wrong answers—so I was usually at the bottom of the class. I believed that I was the dumbest boy in the room. I remember one occasion when some classmates threw snowballs at me and called me stupid. It was a sad time in my life.
Mother recovered, and when she was able to take care of us again, we moved to Vernal, Utah, where Pearl Shaffer became my fifth-grade teacher. She was a dear soul, and what she did for this unhappy little boy can never be repaid. She had confidence in me and expected me to be able to do the work. She really helped me to learn and to recover my confidence. By the time I finished my fifth-grade year, I was competing with the better students.

Zipporah Garba of Jos District Nigeria
I grew up with the knowledge that I am creative, and I love it. As I grew up, I became more interested in the production of garments, but I needed to learn the skill of sewing to help me achieve my dreams. I enrolled in the self-reliance program and took the Education for Better Work course. I chose tailoring/fashion design and then applied for the PEF loan. That started my journey into the fashion world. It was a beautiful experience. I learned tailoring in one year and now I can make female garments in African styles and English wears. I made my first wedding dress in 2019 and have been able to create many beautiful designs and patterns.
Currently I teach draft garment patterns to some sisters from the Dogon Dutse Branch, and in my neighborhood, as my own way of giving back to my people. I do not only see myself as teaching but also as ministering. I hope that by the end of 2020 I will have created a style and standard for myself and the garments I make which will be a signature for my work because I hope that it becomes a global brand.
I am so grateful to our Heavenly Father for the privilege of the PEF. It has greatly blessed my life and put me on the pedestal of achieving all my dreams. I am prepared to pursue my dreams including all I learned in the self-reliance group meetings.

I remember as a young man receiving in my home two young men. (Strangely enough, they had the same first name: Elder!) They showed our family the Book of Mormon, a divine evidence of the Lord’s care and love for his children. They declared to our family the message of the restoration of the gospel, the divine sonship of Christ, the divine mission of Joseph Smith, and the divinity of this church. Their message and their willingness to follow the prophet’s call changed our lives.

It had rained. Teddy stopped and raised his nose to sniff. His black tail, combed by the wind, streamed behind him.
Bramble was more anxious to get out and get going. She leaped over the ditch and raced wildly through the field. Then even she stopped to sniff the marvelous smells. She could smell a mole and a gopher, as well as a deer. Where was Teddy? What a slow poke! she thought.
Teddy was leisurely making his way to Bramble. He never understood why she had to go so fast and never stopped to enjoy the fresh air, the trees, and the damp coolness of grass on her paws. It was all marvelous!
When Teddy caught up to Bramble, he sniffed her ear in a friendly greeting. Then both dogs went to investigate a promising gopher hole. Bramble was first to start digging. Then Teddy joined in and stuck his nose and paws into the hole she had started. This they both enjoyed. It didn’t matter that they rarely caught a gopher or a mole; just the joy of the hunt was enough.
Finally they tired of digging and moved on. Suddenly Bramble turned and leaped sideways into the long grass. Another leap. Then another, and another. Teddy was mystified. What on earth was she up to now? He went to investigate. As he got closer, Bramble leaped backward and landed right on top of him. Yawp!
Then a frog leaped past him and made for the marsh. Teddy and Bramble were too busy sorting out who had run into whom to follow it. After several playful growls and tumbles, they forgot all about the frog.
Then off Bramble went again, running through the long grasses, her ears flying out so, it looked like she might take off. Teddy traipsed on in the plodding, thoughtful way he had. Soon he lost track of Bramble. Oh well, he thought, I’ll probably find something much more interesting than she will.
Soon Teddy caught a familiar scent. It was a bird smell, and it was close to him. He cautiously moved forward, then stopped with a front paw raised and a back paw barely touching the ground. He stayed in this tottery position for a full minute. Then, sensing that the birds knew of his presence, he carefully inched forward.
Suddenly a bird flew up in his face and landed in the grass several feet behind him. Bramble would chase that bird, thought Teddy. But I smell something more interesting here. So he continued edging forward. And there at his feet was a nest. Three little birds were in it. They didn’t have feathers yet. Teddy was enchanted. He lay down and watched closely. The mother bird tried to scare him away by screeching over his head, but he ignored her and continued to watch the little ones. They sat in the nest and, if he breathed on them, opened their mouths wide. Teddy wagged his tail. He wanted to be their friend.
The baby birds were calling for food. Finally the mother bird couldn’t stand it any more. She flew down and landed on the opposite side of the nest from Teddy. He was surprised to see her, but he wasn’t really interested in catching her. She inched forward and began to feed her children. Teddy watched, fascinated. It looked like she was pushing food way down into their tummies. He was glad his mother had never done that to him.
The mother bird finished, then glared defiantly at him. Oh well, Teddy thought, it’s probably time to get back home, anyway.
Meanwhile, Bramble had discovered a deer scent that was getting stronger. She followed her nose and ran faster and faster. She was startled when she looked up to see the deer only a short distance in front of her. The deer was startled, too. It raised its tail like a white flag and leaped through the bushes. Yippee! thought Bramble. She started running and leaping, faster and faster, after the deer. When she panted to a stop, she had no idea how long she’d been running, or how far. She only knew that she was in a clearing in the forest and that she was very, very tired.
She heard a slight noise and raised her head. The deer was in the clearing, too, and two fawns were with her. Bramble was excited, but she was so tired that all she could do was lie there and watch them. The deer moved about, flicking their tails and their ears. This must be how Teddy feels when he just sits and enjoys the wind, she thought.
At that moment the wind changed direction, and the deer raised their heads in alarm. They smelled dog! With three tails waving, they turned their backs to Bramble and leaped deep into the forest. Bramble had no desire to follow. She was tired and wanted to get back to Teddy and tell him that she thought she knew why he liked to go slowly.
After leaving the baby birds, Teddy ambled back across the meadow, feeling happy and somewhat frisky. So when a rabbit scurried in front of him, he chased it. He felt his muscles stretch and the wind ruffle his fur. The rabbit quickly found its hole and disappeared, but not before Teddy had gotten a good run. His whole body tingled, and Teddy thought that now he knew why Bramble liked to run so much.
Just then he saw Bramble returning across the meadow, walking very slowly. She saw him and speeded up slightly. They met and went through their usual ear sniffing, nose touching, tail wagging ritual. Then they told each other of their day’s experiences. Bramble had decided that Teddy’s way of walking slowly and observing was nice sometimes, but she really preferred speed and excitement.
Teddy had decided that Bramble’s way of chasing and leaping about was nice sometimes, but he really preferred slow, quiet journeys of discovery. He promised to take Bramble to see the baby birds every day if she would be very quiet. Bramble said that she would if Teddy would come with her to the deer grove and play tag on the way there. They both agreed and knew that they had each learned a valuable lesson: They could learn a lot from each other.

It takes forever to clean the slate when you get behind in your nut cracking. Once our family was planning a vacation. Dad decided that we weren’t going until everyone had his nuts cracked. Those who didn’t have nuts to crack were encouraged to help the others. We started out being grumpy, but by the end, we were all working together and actually enjoying it! Spending that time together, just talking while we were at our nut cracking, made us closer.