Gospel Story Finder

But Paul was born with something Phillip didn’t share—a disease called cerebral palsy. Although Phillip soon grew to be healthy, Paul had problems controlling his leg muscles. His brain would send too many signals to his legs, so the legs didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t sit up or walk. He had to have lots of physical therapy.
Then when Paul was five years old, a therapist recommended a new kind of surgery. Fewer than 100 people in the country had ever had such an operation, but doctors said chances were good it would help.
The operation was long. Surgeons cut nerves in Paul’s back and in one leg to reduce the nerve signals to his legs. After the surgery, the recovery was slow and painful, with six more months of therapy. “It was hard for Phillip to watch Paul struggle,” their father says. “They asked to be together, so sometimes we would let Phillip spend the night where Paul was recovering. He just wanted to be with his brother.”
Today the brothers are still together—and still sharing. Paul drags his foot a little, but he walks! That allows him to pass the football back and forth with Phillip. He can also hold the ball while Phillip kicks. They work on Cub Scout pins and badges, and go to their Primary class on Sundays. They earned their Faith in God Awards together. And they practice their trumpets while their older sister Avery, 12, plays clarinet and their younger sister Kaylene, 10, holds the music. All of the children love soccer, and Paul was asked to be the manager for Phillip’s team at school. All of the brothers and sisters read and study together and talk about their school assignments. And all of them play with Avery’s pet hedgehog, Pooka, which she shares with the entire family.

At first I thought the bishop was joking. Me, a Relief Society president? I wasn’t married, and I wondered what I could offer the women in my ward. But the bishop smiled kindly and reassured me that Heavenly Father wanted me to serve in this position.
In the week that followed, I was in a daze. Nothing seemed to sink in. But the next Sunday as I heard my name called and watched as members raised their hands to sustain me. I felt the mantle of the calling settle onto my shoulders. From that moment I began the most wonderful spiritual journey of my life.

Too often we pray to have patience, but we want it right now! As a young man, President David O. McKay prayed for a witness of the truthfulness of the gospel. Many years later, while he was serving his mission in Scotland, that witness finally came. Later he wrote, “It was an assurance to me that sincere prayer is answered ‘sometime, somewhere.’”

“The keys of the kingdom of God are committed to man unto man on the earth, and from thence shall the gospel roll forth unto the ends of the earth, as the stone, which is cut out of the mountain without hand, shall roll forth, until it has filled the whole earth” (Doctrine and Covenants 65:2). Behold is a prophecy of promise that the gospel will reach all the nations and tribes of the earth. The restored gospel will move forward regardless of any situation. We to whom this good news has come, what shall we do? In the following verse we read: “Call upon the Lord, that his kingdom may go forth upon the earth, that the inhabitants thereof may receive it, and be prepared for the days to come, in the which the Son of Man shall come down in heaven, clothed in the brightness of his glory, to meet the kingdom of God which is set up on the earth” (Doctrine and Covenants 65:5). The Daloa area is the fruit of Heavenly Father’s promise to us, His children. The movement towards Daloa began in 2008, however it was from 2009 that it increased with the arrival of the Grah family, followed by the Tapé, the Doha family, Brother Botty, and Brother Bayo from Yamoussoukro, Bouaké, and Abidjan.
They set goals for each family, although they did not know each other. Some made announcements on local radios, posters, and even on social media in the hope of meeting the Saints residing in Daloa. They started a small group. Having made contact with the mission presidency, these brothers and sisters met Elder Sitati in a local hotel, where he strengthened them. This meeting took place with a handful of 20 people and allowed us to decide together a place where we would pray. We decided to pray in a private school, “Bambinos.” This first period can be called the period of reunion, where the Saints from all over came together to build the foundation of the Church in Daloa. After the visit of Elder Sitati we met on Sunday, June 30, 2013, where six prayer groups were organized—Brother Kalou as head for Lobia; Brother Zigbe Appolinaire for Kennedy; Brother Tape Bathelemy for Gbeuliville; Bayo Souleymane for Orly; Grah Georges for Marais; and Doha Seraphim for Tazibouo. These six groups were supported by 24 hardworking missionaries. This marked the first time that the sacrament was partaken of in Daloa.
Six months after the establishment of the Church in Daloa, precisely on February 16, 2014, at the Hotel la Grace, six branches were organized. Armed with faith and hard work, these leaders were committed to working with zeal. The work has had an exceptional progress. This growth is marked by an emphasis on missionary work. These branches, under the auspices of the Yamoussoukro District, have made exceptional progress.
On February 16, 2015, the District of Daloa was organized during the stake organisation conference of the Yamoussoukro Stake of Zion.
On August 27, 2017, the Daloa Stake of Zion was created. The basic unit of the Church was eventually organized in Daloa. This gathering point of Saints, “a banner for the nations” must work with more faith and hope to fulfill its requirements. It is an invitation to all to join in fulfilling the work of our Heavenly Father, which is “to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man” (Moses 1:39). There are now eight branches and four members serving full-time missions.

This helpfulness seems to be an inherited trait. Chad’s father, who maintains and drives the school’s buses, is known as a kind and generous man, always ready to share with those in need. Though a member of the Church, Brother O’Watch has not attended for many years. That’s why it’s so amazing that he did what he did one afternoon in April when Chad was 11.
Brother O’Watch and Chad were returning in an empty bus from the last run of the day. Instead of turning down his own lane as usual, Brother O’Watch made a surprise right turn into the parking lot of the Carry-The-Kettle Branch of the Regina Saskatchewan Stake. “The missionaries are waiting for you,” he said.
Chad was not a member of the Church and had no wish to be one. He refused to get off the bus. His dad, uncharacteristically, insisted. “There are other kids here,” he said. “You’ll have fun, and it will be good for you.”
So Chad obeyed, steaming and fuming. “I thought my dad was the worst guy alive,” he recalls. He met the missionaries and attended his first Primary meeting. He was astonished to find that he kind of liked it, and he went again the next week.
“After going a few times, I found that I just loved being there. There was a feeling of the Spirit. The missionaries lived next to the chapel, and before long I was there almost every day helping them and being taught.”
In November Chad was baptized and confirmed. “I had a warm, good feeling, like coming home to a place where I belonged.”

Some twenty-four years ago I was seated in the choir seats of the Assembly Hall situated to the south of us here on Temple Square. The setting was stake conference. Elder Joseph Fielding Smith and Elder Alma Sonne had been assigned to reorganize our stake presidency. The Aaronic Priesthood, including members of bishoprics, were providing the music for the conference. Those of us who served as bishops were singing along with our young men. As we concluded singing our first selection, Brother Smith stepped to the pulpit and announced the names of the new stake presidency. I am confident the other members of the presidency had been made aware of their callings, but I had not. After reading my name, Brother Smith announced, “If Brother Monson is willing to respond to this call we shall be pleased to hear from him now.” As I stood at the pulpit and gazed out on that sea of faces, I remembered the song we had just sung. Its title was “Have Courage, My Boy, to Say No.” I selected as my acceptance theme “Have Courage, My Boy, to Say Yes.” Such is the courage I seek this evening.

A note from Dianne Francis, Suzanne’s mother: Suzanne wrote this to help other young people see they miss out if they don’t have a close relationship with their mom and dad. Talking helped us realize we were best friends, that we loved each other and enjoyed being together. This knowledge is particularly meaningful to me now, since Suzanne was killed in an automobile accident a few weeks after she wrote this.

When I was eight, my parents divorced. My dad and I had always been close. At the time, I didn’t realize how hard it would be to not have my father involved in my everyday life. And it was difficult to come to terms with the fact that my dad would not be there to baptize me or participate in many other important events.
Seven years later, there were still times when I would sit to write something about him in my journal, but the feelings of love and sorrow were so strong I couldn’t. It was awful being that completely miserable.
During the 1999 April general conference, Elder Jeffrey Holland’s talk about the importance of a father really struck me. As I listened intently to Elder Holland, my eyes filled with tears. I felt the Spirit surround and comfort me. I realized I did have a father who is always here for me, my Heavenly Father. I was embarrassed that my stubborn thoughts about living a fatherless life were blinding me to the fact that Heavenly Father was waiting to be my support and friend.
Often when we are faced with one of life’s many trials, we focus on the negative effects it has on our life, I was using my parents’ divorce as a reason to be unhappy.
I realized I was drowning in a sea of self-pity, hoping for some miraculous change to come. But I eventually realized that the only way things would change was if I changed. Hardships are what you make them become: a never-ending problem or a chance to learn and grow. As I prayed and grew closer to my Father in Heaven, I realized that I was learning and growing. What a comforting feeling it is to know that when I kneel down to say my prayers, there is always someone who is willing to listen to me and help me. Both my mortal father and my Heavenly Father live far away, but One can hear my silent pleas for guidance.

Years ago when our youngest son, Clark, was attending a religion class at Brigham Young University, the instructor, during a lecture, asked him, “Clark, what is an example of life with your father that you best remember?”
The instructor later wrote to me and told me of the reply which Clark had given to the class. Said Clark: “When I was a deacon in the Aaronic Priesthood, my father and I went pheasant hunting near Malad, Idaho. The day was Monday—the last day of the pheasant hunting season. We walked through numerous fields in search of pheasants but saw only a few, and those we missed. Dad then said to me, ‘Clark,’ he looked at his watch, ‘let’s unload our guns, and we’ll place them in this ditch. Then we’ll kneel down to pray.’ I thought Dad would pray for more pheasants, but I was wrong. He explained to me that Elder Richard L. Evans of the Quorum of the Twelve was gravely ill and that at 12:00 noon on that particular Monday the members of the Quorum of the Twelve—wherever they may be—were to kneel and, in a way, together unite in a fervent prayer of faith for Elder Evans. Removing our caps, we knelt, we prayed.”
I well remember the occasion, but I never dreamed a son was watching, was learning, was building his own testimony.

I had just graduated from high school and had just gone to work as a disc jockey at a radio station. As I was making money and gaining valuable experience in broadcasting, the thought of serving a mission was pushed further and further from my mind. After much deliberation I accepted a mission call. I had a great mission and grew to know that some things in life are not as important as we sometimes feel. When I got home, the radio station that I had worked for before my mission called me and asked if I would like to return. I did and had a great opportunity to report on sports, which is what I have always wanted to do.
I tremble when I think of the time that I considered not going on a mission in order to pursue my own goals. I know the Lord will bless you in your life pursuits when you decide to put his work first.
Scott C. Miller, 23Bountiful, Utah

Jon and Tamie Mondragon
Currently reside in Lehi, Utah, USA
Age: 65 and 63
Jon: retired, worked for 41 years for IBM, international operations and technical outsourcing
Tamie: retired nurse, paralegal, medical software consultant
First mission: Africa West Area in-country YSA; received their call in November 2019. Originally scheduled to report to the MTC in July 2020. COVID-19 delayed their service. Anxious to serve in-country as soon as SLC permits international travel
Assigned to Africa West Area coordinating councils: seven coordinating councils in Nigeria upon arrival in Africa West Area

When my grandma on my mom’s side first started struggling with dementia, she moved in with my family. During this time, she told me stories I hadn’t heard before. Each time she finished a story, she gave me a hug and said, “I’m sure glad you’re mine.” I could always find pieces of myself in the moments she shared—it made me realize how much I truly am hers.

“When I was your age, I’d rather dance than eat!” my grandma said. This was how she started one of my favorite stories. She got asked to a dance by a boy who she knew wasn’t exactly the best dancer. I could picture her standing in her school gym when her date came to ask her if she was ready to dance. She had been stalling, but she knew she couldn’t put it off forever. The next song was one of her favorites, and her foot started tapping, almost as if to spite her. She smiled at him and let him lead her out onto the dance floor.

“And wouldn’t you know, he’d been taking dancing lessons the whole time!” my grandma exclaimed at the end of her story. “I had the time of my life!”

This story introduced me to a different version of my grandma. She was suddenly a young girl I could relate to. It always made me smile to picture her happy as could be on a dance floor.

Then, about two years ago, a friend of mine died by suicide. The phone call I received that delivered the news will be etched in my mind for the rest of my life. I beat myself up for months, wondering what more I could have done for this person. How I could have been a better friend. How I could have called more. How I could have invited this person more. I had so many thoughts of regret and self-blame that went on and on.

When Joseph was 19, his family moved to a new house. He lived there when he got the gold plates from the Hill Cumorah.
6. Joseph’s sisters Sophronia and Katherine slept in this little bedroom. One night Joseph wrapped the plates in cloth and hid them between the two girls in their bed.

At the rooster’s first call, Juan Carlos opened his eyes and peeked through the cracks in the wooden wall just above his head. The darkness was fading. Today was his first day to help Sister Fuentes make tortillas. Time to get ready, he thought. He slipped from his hammock to the dirt floor below and went outside to wash himself in the cool water from the pump.
Stake conference would be in two months, and last week President Garcia, his branch president, had announced that a General Authority would be coming. That was fantastic, except for one thing—the city boys would all be wearing either fine Panama shirts or white shirts and ties. Even Juan’s father had a Sunday shirt. One of the North American missionaries who’d completed his mission and gone home had given it to him.
Juan Carlos had only one shirt. His mother had stitched it from a flour sack. He wore it every day of the week, even to church on Sundays. It embarrassed Juan to wear a flour-sack shirt to church, even though they met in a one-room home, and he’d told his father so. His father had just said, “Remember, son, the Lord looks on the inside of a person, not the outside.” But last conference, Juan had felt so uncomfortable about his shirt that afterward he hadn’t waited in line to shake anyone’s hand and he couldn’t even remember what the speakers had said. This conference would be different, however—thanks to the tortillas.
Juan loved Sister Fuentes, the Primary teacher—their little branch had only four families and six children. She was also the village tortilla maker. It was hard work to soak and grind the corn, haul buckets of water, and search for firewood in the forest up the hill. Tortillas had to be made early, for before breakfast nearly every family in the village would send a child to her with a small coin to buy some of the steaming, thick, pale, perfectly even circles of dough that she had patted out. Before they left to work in the fields, the men wanted hot tortillas. And later, for lunch, they would eat them cold, folded over some beans.
Saturday Sister Fuentes had come to his home. “Juan Carlos,” she said, “I am looking for someone to help me. So many want tortillas in the mornings! I have tried, but I just can’t make enough for everyone by myself. I was wondering if you would help me. It is very hard work, but I will pay you two lempiras every week.”
Two lempiras! That was a lot of money—why, he could earn enough before conference came to buy a white shirt, if he saved carefully!
Sister Fuentes was already working when Juan Carlos arrived on Monday. The morning passed quickly. He built the fire, hauled water, and ground corn between two stones. He was amazed to see how fast her hands could fly as she worked with the masa (tortilla dough). After the tortillas were sold, there were pots to scrub and wood to gather for the next day.
Day after day he spent his mornings working. Sometimes it was hard to leave his hammock while others in his family still slept, but he just imagined wearing a new white shirt to conference and shaking a General Authority’s hand, and it became easy. Every Saturday he tied two more little silver coins into his handkerchief and hid them under a rock in the corner of his home.
Nearly every week President Garcia traveled by bus to the big city on business. On his last trip to town before conference, after his usual errands, he had a special purchase to make, for in his pocket was Juan’s money, still tied in the handkerchief.
The shirt was beautiful! It was sparkling white, with four pleats down the front and shiny buttons. Juan had never seen such a beautiful shirt. Carefully he folded it and put it back in its crinkly sack. In just a few more days, he, Juan Carlos, would wear it to conference. He certainly wouldn’t be embarrassed then.
The next morning, Juan, anxious to tell Sister Fuentes about the shirt, ran all the way to her home. He was surprised to find her still lying on her cot. That wasn’t like her at all. Then his eyes shifted to her ankle, and a cold chill ran down his spine. It was swollen to twice its usual size, and the purple and black colors told him the injury was serious.
“The clinic nurse thinks that it is broken,” Sister Fuentes said. “She has no way to treat broken bones, so I must go to the city to the hospital if I want it fixed. Otherwise, I must stay in bed for a very long time.”
Traveling to the city and then to the hospital by taxi would be very expensive. Juan knew that few people from the country could afford it. Several villagers limped from poorly healed bones, and Juan remembered how his grandmother’s hand had hurt her for many years after she broke it. As he began making the morning tortillas alone, he promised in his heart to help Sister Fuentes get to the hospital—no matter what! A plan had already formed in his mind when he hurried home that day. …
A soft breeze blew the scent of flowers through the louvered windows and over to the church bench where Juan Carlos sat. How very warm he felt inside. His sister, Lizeta, was on his lap as usual. Sister Fuentes was on one side, her ankle and foot covered with thick white plaster. His father and mother sat on his other side. He listened carefully to the speakers and was sure that this was the best stake conference ever. The closing prayer was said, and a few minutes later—it was a million times better than he had imagined—he was shaking hands with the General Authority.
“Juan Carlos,” the General Authority said, “I would like you to know that the Lord loves you and is proud of you.”
Juan Carlos’s heart was flooded with joy. His father was right—the Lord did look on the inside, not the outside. No one had even noticed his flour-sack shirt. Not even Juan Carlos.

Last October my wife and I accompanied Elder and Sister Neil L. Andersen for the groundbreaking of a new temple in Córdoba, Argentina. As is customary, a press conference followed the ceremony. A journalist, not a member of our church, commented that she had observed how well the men treated their wives. Then she unexpectedly asked, “Is that real or fiction?” I am sure that she saw and felt something different among our members. She might have perceived the desire of our members to follow Christ. Members all over the world have such a desire. At the same time, millions who are not members of the Church also have a desire to follow Him.

When I was 17 years old, we lived on an island in southern Norway called Andabeløy. My father converted to the Church on Andabeløy, and I was baptized in the ocean there.
I was a fisherman by that time and was well experienced in handling a boat. My father put me in charge of our maritime taxi service used by area residents.
One day in 1941 we got a call from the doctor in Flekkefjord, to the north. A woman who lived about two hours away by boat needed immediate medical attention. Dr. Hoffman asked if I could take him to see her, but my parents were worried about a storm raging in the North Sea. We decided to pray, asking Heavenly Father what to do. We received an answer that I should proceed.
When I eased Tryg, my 31-foot (10 m) fishing boat, into the sea, the weather was bad and the waves were big. After picking up the doctor, I set out through the fjord into the open sea. We were to travel to a community just north of Lista, located on Norway’s rocky southern coastline—famous for stormy weather and shipwrecks.
I steered through the storm until we got to a rocky inlet, about 40 feet (12 m) across, which led to our destination. The waves, so high I could not control the boat through the inlet, were rushing into the inlet and crashing against the rocks.
“What should we do?” the doctor asked over the gale.
“We have to pray about it,” I replied.
I paused and prayed, asking Heavenly Father for direction. As soon as I had said amen, an answer came to me clearly. I suddenly recalled a story an old fisherman had told me. He had been fishing in this same area during a bad storm and couldn’t get to shore. As he waited out the storm, he noticed a pattern in the incoming waves. After three great big waves washed in, a short period of calm followed—long enough for him to enter the inlet.
I had fished many times in this area but had never noticed a wave pattern. Nevertheless, I brought the boat to the front of the inlet, where we waited and watched as three big waves came in. Sure enough, a sudden calm followed. I glided the boat forward over the smooth water of the inner bay and brought Dr. Hoffman safely to shore. He hurried to the ill woman while I waited in the boat, thankful Heavenly Father had answered my prayer.
When the doctor returned about an hour later, he declared, “We saved her life!”
Relieved by the news and the improving weather, I piloted the boat home without incident.
I bear witness that when we need help, we should pray. I know that Heavenly Father will answer.

Primary children in the Tlaxcallan Ward, Chiautempan Mexico Stake, set apart two days to visit and serve widowed sisters and other families in the ward. They sang hymns, helped feed the chickens, and did housework in some of the homes.

I had an experience recently which further illustrates these principles. A father who was very wealthy asked if I could talk to his family. His daughter had recently been through a divorce. I went to see her and her children. Her father could have provided for all of their needs and cares, but he said it was time for them to live more modestly and to help support themselves, to be more self-sufficient, to be able to stand on their own. This experience is similar to the Lord’s asking His Father, “Why hast thou forsaken me?” for the family’s reaction was, “Why would Father do this now when we need him the most?” But you see, he was preparing them that they might be strengthened by providing for their own needs, so that when they did gain their inheritance, they would be able to endure to the end and remain self-sufficient.

There are times that we, as parents, must be able to cut our own children loose in order that they may learn to make decisions for themselves and have the strength to stand on their own.

I used to have a hard time reading, and I was really self-conscious about it. I wouldn’t read in class because it was hard for me to sound out some of the words, and I was afraid to read out loud because the kids in school would tease me because I couldn’t understand what I was reading. It was hard for me to make friends, too, because my family moved around a lot. Then my family moved to Oregon, USA.
One of my new neighbors quickly became one of my best friends. He encouraged me to go to church. The guys there didn’t tease me like the kids in school did. They took it upon themselves during church to help me read the scriptures. They spent the time to help me learn to read the words I couldn’t sound out. Slowly, they gave me the courage to read out loud. From that day on I would read even if it would take half the class time for me to read what the teacher asked me to read.
I was blessed with these great guys who took me under their wings. They didn’t have to do this for me, and they could’ve stayed silent, but following the Spirit, they made a choice to help me and made a difference in my life. We too can make a difference in others’ lives; we just have to be willing to listen to the Spirit to guide us to those people who are in need of help.