Gospel Story Finder

“In order to be admitted to the Taipei City Junior Business College (which, despite its name, is equivalent to a U.S. high school), I had to take an entrance exam. The number of people taking the exam amounted to 10,000. The number of people admitted to the school is just over 1,000. So you can see the competition is tough.”

But Mei Ling made it—on the second try. “Before I was admitted here, I was a student at Ta-lin Junior High School, which is known for its emphasis on music. After I graduated from that school I took an entrance exam for the junior business college and failed. So I went to a tutoring class for a year, then I took the entrance examination again this year and was accepted.

The Twelve Days of Christmas Mystery in Tustin, California, was perplexing many of the townspeople. Ten widows in town opened their doors for 11 nights straight to find gifts left on their doorsteps—but the gift-givers had vanished.
Soon the widows were calling their friends to try to solve the mystery. Who was leaving all the goodies? But nobody knew anything about the presents, except that they kept coming. First it was a “partridge in a pear tree” attached to a can of pears. The next evening it was “two turtle doves” nestled in a braided wreath attached to a jar of jelly. Then “three French hens” made of calico, covering a can of chicken, arrived. And the presents kept coming.
On the 12th night the widows were greeted by the sweet sound of Christmas carols outside their windows—and the mystery was solved! The Young Women of the Tustin Third Ward, Orange California Stake, had been playing pixie for the widows with some delivery help from the Scouts in the ward. The girls presented the widows with final gifts of large poinsettias and handmade drums filled with homemade cookies, and left understanding the mystery of the Christmas spirit a little bit better.

My friend of many years spent his life as a rancher, doing the hard work of raising cattle and sheep in the rugged Rocky Mountains. He once shared with me the challenges and hazards associated with raising sheep. He described that in early spring, when snow on the expansive mountain range had mostly melted, he placed the family herd of approximately 2,000 sheep in the mountains for the summer. There, he watched over the sheep until late fall, when they were moved from the summer range to a winter range in the desert. He described how tending a large flock of sheep was difficult, requiring early days and late nights—waking well before sunrise and finishing long after dark. He could not possibly do it alone.

Others helped tend the flock, including a mix of experienced ranch hands assisted by younger hands who were benefiting from the wisdom of their companions. He also relied on two old horses, two colts in training, two old sheepdogs, and two or three sheepdog pups. Over the course of the summer, my friend and his sheep faced wind and rainstorms, sickness, injuries, drought, and just about every other hardship one can imagine. Some years they had to haul water all summer just to keep the sheep alive. Then, every year in late fall, when winter weather threatened and the sheep were taken off the mountain and counted, there were usually more than 200 that were lost.

The flock of 2,000 sheep placed in the mountains in early spring was reduced to less than 1,800. Most of the missing sheep were not lost to sickness or natural death but to predators such as mountain lions or coyotes. These predators usually found the lambs that had strayed from the safety of the flock, withdrawing themselves from the protection of their shepherd. Would you consider for a moment what I have just described in a spiritual context? Who is the shepherd? Who is the flock? Who are those who assist the shepherd?

My shepherd friend shared another important element in the watchcare of sheep on the range. He described that lost sheep were particularly vulnerable to the dangers of predators. In fact, up to 15 percent of his and his team’s total time was devoted to finding lost sheep. The sooner they found lost sheep, before the sheep drifted too far from the flock, the less likely the sheep were to be harmed. Recovering lost sheep required much patience and discipline.

Over the years, Kumar met two other mission presidents and occasionally had the opportunity to take some couple missionaries on tours which also had a positive influence on him. After talking with some good members, Kumar decided to take the missionary lessons.

Kumar remembered the first lesson when President Roshan, Negombo branch president, told him he shouldn’t worry if a tour group commitment prevented him from coming to church sometimes. He assured him that this church is not for perfect people but those who are striving to become perfect.

Kumar exclaimed, “This was wonderful to my ears,” as this issue of missing church after committing himself to Christ weighed heavily on his mind. Now he could progress with a clear conscience and learn more about the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.

“The Book of Mormon was very nice to read. It helped me feel closer to my wife and more comfortable with my family,” says Kumar. In December of 2019, Kumar was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

A young mother wrote to me: “Sometimes I wonder if I make a difference in my children’s lives. Especially as a single mother working two jobs to make ends meet, I sometimes come home to confusion, but I never give up hope.

“My children and I were watching a television broadcast of general conference, and you were speaking about prayer. My son made the statement, ‘Mother, you’ve already taught us that.’ I said, ‘What do you mean?’ And he replied, ‘Well, you’ve taught us to pray and showed us how, but the other night I came to your room to ask something and found you on your knees praying to Heavenly Father. If He’s important to you, He’ll be important to me.’” The letter concluded, “I guess you never know what kind of influence you’ll be until a child observes you doing yourself what you have tried to teach him to do.” What a magnificent lesson a child learned from his mother.

Our son Scott, who is disabled, has taught us love, understanding, compassion, and absolute dependency on the Savior as no one else could have. Many trainers (people who teach him to do things by himself), leaders, and friends have reached out along the way and provided him with a feeling of worth. One of those was a missionary we met in Brazil and who is now one of Scott’s trainers. Scott and his brothers and sister are especially close and share a wonderful loyalty. All who have blessed Scott’s life have been blessed in return as he touches their hearts and expands their vision. I really believe that you children today are more aware of handicaps and are kinder to disabled people than we adults were when we were children. You can be as loving and as gifted in teaching as anyone!

Doug gained a great strength in his life on July 14, 1983, when he married Lynette Nielson of Golden, Colorado, in the Salt Lake Temple. “Marriage has been good to me,” he says. “I’ve got a great wife. She gives me a clearer perspective on running and on life.”

Chad heard the crack of Rocky’s bat as it connected with the ball. Even before he saw the ball shooting straight to right field where he was, he knew what was going to happen—he was going to duck. He always did.
“Catch it!” shouted Pete, the first baseman, but he didn’t sound very hopeful. The whole sixth grade knew how it was with Chad.
“Raise your left arm,” Chad whispered to himself. “Catch the ball.” But his traitorous body was already crumpling.
He ducked.
The ball zinged past him, and Rocky pounced with a big grin onto first base. And the guy who had been there strolled happily to second while the outfielder chased the ball.
“Pop it to Chad the Chicken!” Rocky yelled to the next batter. “It’s a cinch he’ll miss it.”
The school bell rang, ending the physical education period. Chad took off his mitt and bent down, pretending to retie a shoelace so he wouldn’t have to walk to the gym with the rest of the guys. It’s only a class game, he told himself. It doesn’t matter.
But it did matter. A name like “Chad the Chicken” hurt. Chad the Chicken, he tormented himself silently. Why am I afraid of a softball?
After school Chad walked alone toward home. How do people find the courage to do what they’re afraid of? he wondered. Where does a person look for courage anyway? Wouldn’t it be great if you could find it by eating a chewy candy bar? he thought, probably because he was in front of Mr. Slater’s candy store, where he just automatically seemed to drift these days. Candy didn’t give him courage, but it did make him forget his problems momentarily.
Chad was beginning to put on too much weight. But what does that matter? he asked himself. Maybe if I put on enough weight, I won’t be able to run and can sit on the bench during P.E. period. Wouldn’t it be better to be Chad the Chunk than Chad the Chicken? he reasoned.
There was a man standing in front of Mr. Slater’s store, and Chad could see his reflection in the store window. But behind the man’s reflection there seemed to be another reflection: a huge bird with white feathers and a bright red thing on his head—a chicken!
A fear suddenly gripped Chad. I’ve actually become a chicken, he thought frantically, a real, feathered, winged chicken! In panic he turned to go home. What would his parents say? Would they let a chicken come into their house?
“Chad!” Mr. Slater was calling him. “Come on inside.”
How can Mr. Slater recognize me if I’m a chicken? Chad worried. Do I look different? Then an awful thought struck him. Maybe I’ve been a chicken for a long time. He tried to remember the last time he had looked into a mirror. He usually combed his hair by feel, and he didn’t even glance at the mirror when he brushed his teeth.
“Chad!” Mr. Slater called again, and the boy turned and walked into the store.
“Hi, Chad,” Mr. Slater greeted. “How’s it going today?”
Chad didn’t say anything. He considered asking Mr. Slater how long he, Chad, had been a chicken. He trusted Mr. Slater to tell him the truth. He was always nice to everyone.
He cleared his throat and watched as Mr. Slater scooped into one of his candy bins and held something out to him.
Candy corn!
Chickens eat corn. Is Mr. Slater making fun of me? Chad wondered.
He turned and ran out of the store. It was probably a big joke with everyone, his being a chicken. Well, he’d show them. Mr. Slater and Rocky and all the others. Somewhere he would find courage and prove he wasn’t a chicken.
But where? Can I catch a falling airplane like Superman? Can I fight a raging tiger? Where can I find some courage?
Chad sighed. It was hopeless. He might as well face the fact that he would be a chicken all his life. He might as well go back and peck at Mr. Slater’s candy corn.
He turned around and saw that Rocky and the other guys were heading toward the candy store. He was about to hide somewhere when he saw a commotion inside. It looked as though Mr. Slater were fighting with another man. Chad saw the man hit Mr. Slater on the side of his head, then run away from the store. Mr. Slater staggered after him, shouting, “Help, police! That man robbed my store!”
The man was the same one Chad had seen standing in front of the store earlier. Now he was heading down the street, right in Chad’s direction. In one hand he carried a paper bag, probably full of Mr. Slater’s money.
Chad looked around frantically for help. But there was no one in sight except Rocky and the other guys, and they all jumped into a doorway to hide.
The man was coming straight toward Chad. I’ve got to do something. What can I do? he agonized.
Chad’s knees felt weak as he made his decision. He shifted his feet, planting them firmly on the sidewalk, and watched the big man hurtling toward him.
Chad caught his breath. “I’d better duck,” he murmured. No! he argued with himself. He has Mr. Slater’s money. “Stop!” he shouted, and somehow his voice sounded to him like a loud squawk. But the man kept coming. His bloodshot eyes glared at Chad hatefully. Chad felt as though he would faint.
Suddenly the man dodged to go around Chad. Almost without thinking, Chad threw himself at the man’s big feet. He felt the concrete sidewalk scrape the skin off his arm as the man’s toes struck him in the chest. He rolled away, getting clear of the wildly kicking legs. There was a dull thud as the man hit the ground, then the sound of running feet as Mr. Slater and Rocky and the other guys rushed over. They threw themselves onto the man, pinning him to the ground.
“I’ve called the police,” called another storekeeper. “They’ll be here in a minute.”
Other people came out of stores to help.
“Chad,” Mr. Slater puffed from his place on top of the man, “that was the most courageous thing I’ve ever seen. I don’t know how to thank you.”
The way Chad figured it, the only thanks he needed was the way Rocky and the other guys looked at him when he got to his feet. He knew they wouldn’t see him as a chicken any more. Maybe they never had. Maybe he was the only one who had seen that enormous bird in his mind. It was all right. He knew now that everyone was afraid of something, sometime. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t courage down deep inside, ready to go into action when it counted.
“What I could really use is a Band-Aid,” he said modestly, and joined in with Rocky and the other guys as they rocked with laughter.

“Christmas was only two weeks away. How would I ever survive the recent death of my eight-year-old son?” says Lyn McGuire of Draper, Utah. “One night after everyone was asleep, I got out of bed and went to the living room to sit by the Christmas tree. I asked Heavenly Father how I was going to make it through the holidays and the years ahead. As I prayed, I remembered an ‘old friend’ that would comfort me—my Book of Mormon. I found it and started to read. I don’t remember what I read; only that it comforted me. As I read, I cried, and relief came. It was like pouring my burdens on the shoulders of a friend.”

Two months later, on March 27, 1836, the Saints crowded into the Kirtland Temple for its dedication. They listened to Joseph’s dedicatory prayer, in which he asked Heavenly Father to accept the Kirtland Temple as a place where the Savior “might … manifest himself to his people” (Doctrine and Covenants 109:5). Squeezed into that sacred space, the Saints sang “The Spirit of God.” They shouted in unison, “Hosanna! Hosanna! Hosanna to God and the Lamb!”
They experienced spiritual blessings at the dedication and during the coming week. They fasted, prayed, took the sacrament, washed each other’s feet, and experienced visions. They felt empowered to go forth and preach the gospel. They had been endowed with power from on high.

Vicky was curious when she arrived at the Rowes’ house on Sunday. First they sang a song. One of the children said a prayer. Then Mr. Rowe prayed and passed bread and water to each person. They said it was called the sacrament. After that their daughter Jessie gave a talk.
“Heavenly Father loves us. He speaks to us through the Holy Ghost,” Jessie said. “Sometimes the Holy Ghost gives us a peaceful feeling. Or sometimes He gives us a thought.”
The next day, Vicky walked to the store to buy bread. On her way home, she was about to pass by some trash cans when a voice in her mind stopped her. Stay away, it said.
Vicky stood still. Suddenly, a car came spinning around the corner. CRASH! It slammed into the garbage cans.
Vicky took a deep breath. She was so glad she listened to the voice!
Later, Vicky told Mrs. Rowe the story. “Was that the Holy Ghost?”
“Sounds like it. Sometimes the Holy Ghost warns us of danger.”
“God protected me,” Vicky said. “I’ll always listen to the Holy Ghost.”

When I was preparing to go on a mission, I had an experience which touched my life forever. It had been a particularly bad day as I came home from school that May afternoon, the kind of day that made me want to lock myself in a room, away from the rest of the world. And that’s exactly what I did. I had always planned to go on a mission, always prepared for it. But now that the chips were down, I didn’t know if I actually had the courage to follow through with it.
Prospective missionaries are given a routine exam to try to detect potential problems which could later hinder them in the service of the Lord. It’s really no big deal. But I have cerebral palsy, and I’ve had quite a few major operations to correct problems in my muscles and joints which have been caused by my condition. I had been to one too many “routine” physicals in my life only to be told that major surgery was necessary to correct a problem which had been discovered by the physical.
I desperately didn’t want that to happen again, but I was really worried that something might be discovered which would not only affect my ability to serve a mission but the very quality of my life as well. I was also worried that I just might not be physically able to do the work—that I wouldn’t be able to “pound pavement” and knock on doors for several hours a day for two years, even if nothing else was wrong.
All of these thoughts were swirling through my mind as I lay alone in my room. I was depressed enough that, before long, I fell asleep. When I woke up, I was startled to find that the room was completely dark. I looked at the clock. It was 10:30 P.M. I’d been asleep for six hours. I lay awake wondering what to do when I received the prompting, “Read the Book of Mormon.” I dismissed this prompting three times, and three times it returned.
Knowing that I wouldn’t be able to get the prompting out of my mind unless I obeyed, I went up the stairs, turned the corner into the kitchen, and turned on the light. There on the table was a copy of the Book of Mormon. I sat down, flipped the book open rather casually and began to read. I read three or four chapters. I then began to read Alma, chapter 26.
In verses 8 and 9, Ammon expresses his joy at the success he and his brethren have had as missionaries among the Lamanites. In verse 10, Ammon’s brother Aaron rebukes him for boasting.
Ammon’s reply, in verses 11 and 12, chilled me to the bone, and I knew that I had received revelation from the Spirit: “I do not boast in my own strength, nor in my own wisdom. But behold, my joy is full, yea, my heart is brim with joy, and I will rejoice in my God.
“Yea, I know that I am nothing; as to my strength, I am weak; therefore I will not boast of myself, but I will boast of my God, for in his strength I can do all things.”
I knew that serving a successful mission wouldn’t be easy, and it wasn’t. I had many physical challenges. But I also knew that I could rely on the Lord’s strength when my own strength was running low. Together, we accomplished a lot.

First, I remember visiting an elderly widow whose health confined her to her home. With warmth, graciousness and love, she received me and appreciated that as an Aaronic Priesthood holder I was giving her a donation envelope so she could joyfully pay her fast offerings. She respected the Aaronic Priesthood I held and treated me with love and dignity. Second, the bishopric also treated me with love and dignity. They made me want to be a better person. They made me feel I needed to be worthy to participate in sacred ordinances. To this day I remember the feelings of appreciation and responsibility I felt every time I participated in blessing or passing the sacrament.

Elder Koelliker also spoke of President Brigham Young’s inspired placement of the Salt Lake Temple, even though President Young did not live to see it finished.

“In my own heart, I feel that both he and Joseph were there on that date when they dedicated the Salt Lake Temple,” he said. Elder Koelliker quoted President Gordon B. Hinckley speaking after the completion of the new Nauvoo Illinois Temple in 2002: “Today, facing west, on the high bluff overlooking the city of Nauvoo, thence across the Mississippi, and over the plains of Iowa, there stands Joseph’s temple, a magnificent house of God. Here in the Salt Lake Valley, facing east to that beautiful temple in Nauvoo, stands Brigham’s temple, the Salt Lake Temple. They look toward one another as bookends between which there are volumes that speak of the suffering, the sorrow, the sacrifice, even the deaths of thousands who made the long journey from the Mississippi River to the valley of the Great Salt Lake” (“O That I Were an Angel, and Could Have the Wish of Mine Heart,” Liahona and Ensign, Nov. 2002, 6).

Elder Dallin H. Oaks
(19) The 16-year-old brother of a Brazilian missionary works to support his family.

When I was young, I hated waiting for morning. I would get so excited and impatient about what the next day had to offer that I spent many nights tossing and turning in my bed, slipping in and out of sleep and taking frequent trips to the window, letting out a disappointed sigh every time I realized it was still dark outside. To me, morning always took forever to come.
Sometimes in the middle of the night, I would go ask my parents what time it was. They would reassure me that morning would come. I always slept better after that.
Second, we need to remember that to receive personal revelation, we need to be willing to proceed with an eye of faith despite not having a perfect knowledge. Just like I always had to wait for morning to come, we can realize that even as we wait for promised blessings, there is preparation to do, small steps to take, and knowledge to gain in the meantime. As we wait, we can continue learning and striving to be worthy of the blessings in store for us.
In times of doubt when we feel like we are in a dark room without heaven’s light, let us remember that the Savior’s arms are always outstretched toward us, eagerly waiting for us to reach out to Him. He will reassure us of His love for us, just like my parents did whenever I was worried that morning would never come.

Later that week at school …
Dave, you lucky dog—you get to write my history report for me. Have it ready Friday morning.
I won’t do it, Spike.
Here are five good reasons why you will!
Spike, some people think you’re stupid just because you’re big. Maybe you’ve even started believing it yourself. But I know better.
You do?
I know that you can do the report yourself and do it well. But if you could use some help, I’m your man. My place at six?
OK, but this had better work.
Wow, talk about dramatic and dangerous! But you went and did, just like Nephi!
Not unless Nephi was so scared that he swallowed his jawbreaker!

It started out like any other day at school. Our teacher, Miss Blackstock, was writing on the chalkboard while I sat daydreaming at my desk. Then our principal walked in with a boy I had never seen before. The principal whispered something in Miss Blackstock’s ear, and everyone got quiet trying to listen.
The boy stood at the front of the classroom while the other kids stared at him. His faded plaid shirt hung loosely. There was a hole in the right knee of his pants. With slumped shoulders, he dug his hands deep into his pockets and stared at the floor.
After the principal left, Miss Blackstock said, “Class, I would like you to meet Caleb Sanders. He recently moved here from Montana. That is quite a distance from here! Caleb, you may take the seat next to Luke.”
She pointed to the seat next to mine, and the class watched as Caleb nervously made his way down the aisle. As Miss Blackstock turned back to the chalkboard, whispers filled the room. Some of the kids were saying mean things about the way Caleb was dressed.
“Look at those weird boots,” someone said.
“He could hike up the Himalayas in those!” another boy chimed in.
I glanced over at Caleb, but he just sat there staring at his blank notebook page and clutching his pencil. I knew that he must have heard them because I saw him shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Then a couple of boys snickered so loudly that Miss Blackstock stopped writing.
“I see that everyone is eager to talk to Caleb, so let’s have him come up here and tell us a little bit about himself,” she said.
The class got quiet and stared at Caleb. I felt sorry for him. The boy who sat behind him kicked the back of Caleb’s chair and jeered, “Go ahead, mountain boy.”
Caleb slowly made his way to the front of the class. His hair partly covered his eyes, and his boots scuffed the floor when he walked. The kids around me snickered again. I knew that Miss Blackstock was trying to help, but I was afraid this would only make things worse.
One boy raised his hand and asked, “Where did you live in Montana, under a rock?”
The class burst into laughter.
The girl on the front row asked, “Does everyone in Montana dress like you?”
I felt my face getting hot as anger welled up inside me. If someone didn’t stop this, I knew Caleb would remain an outcast for the rest of the school year. But if I stuck up for him, the kids might laugh at me too.
Then I remembered what my stepmom told me when I tried out for the soccer team. She told me about David in the Old Testament. David was the youngest of all his brothers, but the Lord chose him to be king. It didn’t matter what he looked like. Sometimes people judge others by their appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.
I knew Caleb needed help, so I raised my hand. Miss Blackstock called on me. Caleb didn’t look up. He probably expected me to make fun of him too.
“I’ve heard that there are some cool parks in Montana with great hiking trails. What are they like?” I asked.
The class got quiet. I felt my face turning red again, but Caleb smiled. I could see that he was relieved to answer a kind question. In a quiet voice he started to speak.
He told us that his family had lived on a large ranch in Montana, and he had even owned a horse. He told about his favorite trail in Glacier National Park and how he had encountered a real live bear. As he told more and more about his home, the other kids began asking questions about the bear, the hiking, and the rock climbing.
After school I wasn’t sure if anyone would sit by me on the bus. I held my backpack close and stared out the bus window. Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Caleb.
“Can I sit here?” he asked shyly.
“Sure!” I said, moving over to make room.
I never would have guessed how that day would turn out. I am glad I had the courage to be nice to Caleb. Now he has many friends—and I’m proud to be one of them.

“On social media, I see all kinds of people who seem perfect, or at least better than me. Living the gospel helps me develop an attitude of gratitude about who I am. When I’m living Gospel principles such as faith, repentance, and pondering the scriptures, I feel unique. I don’t feel the need to compare myself to others, and ultimately, I’m much more confident.
Alexandra R., Mexico

“We would leave for school in the morning when it was dark, and we would leave to come home when it was dark. Often it would be forty degrees below zero, and when we arrived at school, the room would be too cold for us to sit at our desks. For a half hour or so we would just march around the room in order to keep our circulation going.