Gospel Story Finder

The train threaded its way through the mountains that walled Feather River Canyon, carrying its load of passengers eastward from San Francisco. Although snow lay deep in some of the higher passes, a bright March sun had caused streams to cascade over the rocks and a soft green to begin to color the oak brush and grass.
Some of those on the train pressed their faces against the windows to see the beauty of the canyon; others slept. A man in one of the cars did neither. His thoughts were of a talk he had been asked to give the following week at Primary General Conference. He wondered what he might say to express his love for children.
This man was Marion G. Romney. He picked up his Bible and turned to the New Testament, to the tenth chapter of Mark, which tells how the Savior took the children in his arms and blessed them. As Elder Romney read, he leaned forward in front of the window of the train, the New Testament in his hands, his elbows on his knees. He read and reread the words until it almost seemed as if he could see the Savior with the children in his arms. The picture was so beautiful that Elder Romney closed the book, leaned back as far as he could, and pressed his body hard against the seat as he shut his eyes in prayerful thought.
Just then a great boulder, crashing down the mountainside, burst through the window of the train where he sat. It grazed his face and bruised his right side but did not seriously hurt him.
A week later as Elder Romney stood in the Salt Lake Tabernacle, he said, “Had I been leaning forward, I am sure I would not be here today.”

Have you ever dreamed about being in the Olympics? Rachel and Nathan P. have—but their dreams are not about twirling across the ice or lunging across the finish line. At “Dress for Your Dreams” day at school, they dressed for the Olympic event they dream about—archery.
It’s a sport they practice about four times a week. Nathan, age 10, first tried archery at Cub Scout camp a few years ago. Then Rachel, age 12, discovered that she liked it too. Now they’re both winning trophies and medals at regional and national archery tournaments.
Rachel and Nathan live in Ledyard, Connecticut, not too far from the ocean. When they practice in their backyard, they each shoot 72 arrows. If it’s rainy or cold, they practice in their basement.

The traffic signal changed to DON’T WALK just as the girls reached the corner. Carla stopped and lifted her sobbing sister up into the stone fence. She used a tissue to blot a trickle of blood from Pam’s knees and scratched hands. The dark-haired girl thought her little sister was more upset and angry than seriously injured. Still Carla was anxious to reach home and turn the problem over to their mother.
They had been playing at the park with friends when a group of older boys swaggered up to them and ordered the girls to leave the swings. The youths were too big for the play equipment but Carla and the others didn’t argue. The snickering boys were looking for trouble. As unfair as it was, the girls surrendered the swings.
Pam was too young to understand that it was best to avoid trouble and to leave the park at once. She had waited for her turn and she was determined to take it.
“Let’s go home, Pam. We can come back and play after supper,” Carla pleaded nervously. The other frightened girls had quickly left.
“No! They’re not playing fair,” Pam cried, looking stubborn. “It’s my turn and I don’t want to go home yet. You promised to swing me up high. I don’t want to play after supper. I want to swing now!”
“Pam, please! Let them have the swings,” Carla whispered. She tried to pry the little girl’s fingers loose from the chains, but Pam held on tightly.
“I’ll get that kid out of there!” the tallest boy boasted. He slapped Pam’s hands but she didn’t loosen her grip. The others laughed and shouted encouragement. Pam was frightened now and began to cry. One boy held Carla back when she tried to protect her sister. The tall one jerked and twisted the chains until Pam lost her balance and toppled out of the swing seat.
White with anger and fear, Carla fled with her wailing sister. The boys were scuffling over the swings and didn’t try to stop them.
Carla was busy trying to soothe Pam. She didn’t notice that a car had stopped at the curb until the driver called to her.
“Is the little girl hurt? Get in and I’ll take you home,” the smiling man offered, opening the car door.
Carla was so upset that she almost accepted the offer. She couldn’t stop Pam’s weeping, and the blood trickling down from her sister’s skinned knees frightened her. All she wanted to do was to get Pam home as soon as possible.
“Come on, honey, get in. Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you. All I want to do is help,” the driver said enticingly.
Suddenly Carla remembered repeated warnings about getting into cars with strangers. Her parents had told her never to accept a ride from anyone she didn’t know, no matter how nice the person seemed. She also remembered the lecture at school when a police officer had explained that some very sick people look normal but might be dangerous.
Something about the man bothered Carla. Most adults would have rushed to help a child who was hurt. But the florid-faced man didn’t really seem concerned about Pam’s injuries. He just kept inviting the girls into his car while glancing nervously into his rearview mirror. His darting eyes kept searching for anyone watching along the street.
Panic swept over Carla as she recognized a dented and rusted rear fender. She had seen the car before! The last two afternoons it had been parked near the play area at the park. The driver had stayed in it, apparently just watching the children.
Carla’s heart hammered with fear. “Thank you,” she stammered, “but we don’t need a ride. We live just down the block. We’re practically home now.”
It wasn’t true and the man sensed that she was not telling the truth. His eyes narrowed and he stopped smiling.
How can I run with Pam? Carla wondered. We’re over three blocks from home! Relief swept over her as she saw a neighbor’s car coming toward them. “Mr. Benning! Mr. Benning!” she shouted, waving frantically.
The stranger quickly slammed his open door and sped through a red light as Mr. Benning stopped his car and leaped out. Carla ran to him sobbing.
Later, with two police officers sitting in their living room, Carla felt embarrassed by all the trouble she seemed to be causing. Her parents were worried, and the policemen looked grim as one of them made notes.
“He didn’t really do anything,” she whispered shyly. “Maybe I was scared for nothing. Maybe he’s just a nice man who was trying to help us.”
“No, Carla. The man you’ve described isn’t a ‘nice’ man,” the tall officer stated flatly. “We know him. He’s suspected of being a child molester. If you and your sister had gotten into the car with him, you don’t know what might have happened. You were smart to remember all the warnings about accepting rides from strangers.”
Carla shivered and snuggled closer to her father. “I’ll always remember not to accept rides from strangers. And I’ll remind Pam and my friends too!” she said.
“Good,” the policeman said, smiling and closing his notebook. “The more children who remember, the easier my job will be. And don’t worry about any more trouble at the park. I’m going to talk to those older boys and their parents. When they understand that they may be banned from the park or arrested for bullying smaller children, they’ll stay at the ball diamond.” The officer smiled. “And none of you will have to miss your turns on the swings again,” he promised.

Joseph Fielding Smith loved to study the scriptures. He finished his chores in a hurry so that he could go to his father’s library and study. When he was eighteen, he walked home from work each day, carrying a small copy of the New Testament, which he studied until it was too dark to read. Then he put the book in his pocket and worked on memorizing the scriptures he had just read.

When I was a small boy, each December my father would take us all across the street to the home of Bishop Duncan for tithing settlement. The bishop did not have an office in the ward building, and so he had to conduct business in his home. We would all sit in his living room and, one by one, he would invite us into the dining room. Our tithing might be 25 cents, or maybe 50 cents, but it was a full tithing. He wrote out a receipt and recorded the amount in the ward record. The amount may have been so small that it cost more to record it than it was worth. But it established a habit which continued through all of these years. With the payment of tithing have come innumerable blessings as the Lord has promised.

My parents made family time a priority when my two sisters and I were children. Now that we’re adults, this continues as part of our family culture. The time we spend together is fun and filled with traditions such as races and games, with events including a tortilla toss and bubble-blowing competition.
Growing up, I gained confidence spending time with my family and felt I was vital. I felt my contributions were wanted and needed. However, shortly after I returned from my mission, spending time together changed. The reason: my older sister married a few months before I returned home.
I was happy for her and excited to have a brother for the first time. But I noticed my parents started to treat my younger sister and me differently. I felt that because I was not married, I was pushed aside and treated like a child. Eventually, I spoke with my parents about the changes in our family. We concluded that our individual situations have nothing to do with our worth. Everyone is essential in our family, regardless of age, gender, financial situation, talents, or marital status.
My mind opened to the idea that our Heavenly Father loves and appreciates us as individuals. Heavenly Father wants us to establish and nurture strong family relationships, but our individual worth does not come from our family. Because we are beloved children of God and part of His family, our worth is infinite and eternal. Jesus Christ demonstrated this by giving His life for each of us. (See Doctrine and Covenants 18:10–11.)

One day in my fourth-grade religion class in Jamaica, my teacher asked all the students to tell about their religious beliefs. Since I was the only Mormon in my prep school, I was chosen as the Mormon representative.
By the time it was my turn, my heart was beating a hundred miles a minute. I was never much of a public speaker anyway, and I didn’t have a loud voice. When I stood up, I just stared at the sea of eyes before me and tried to speak about some of our beliefs. I first spoke about the Word of Wisdom, then talked about the sacrament, about how we used bread and water to represent the Saviour’s body and blood when he died for us.
Before I could say another word, everyone started laughing at me. Tears stung my eyes as I wondered what I had said to make them laugh. I quickly wiped my eyes and went to my seat amidst the chants of “Bread and water, bread and water.” By the end of the day I was still being teased, so when it was time to go home I was overjoyed. I still don’t know why they decided to make fun of what I was saying.
When I got home, I took my mother’s huge Bible off the shelf and began looking at some of the pictures. As I was flipping a page, I glimpsed a scripture and quickly turned back to it. It was Matthew 10:32: “Whosoever therefore shall confess me before men, him will I confess also before my Father which is in heaven.” [Matt. 10:32] As I read the words over and over, a feeling of peace washed over me as I realised it didn’t matter who laughed at me as long as I was doing what was right.

In 1999 our oldest son passed away. He left behind a wife and a one-year-old daughter with whom we had a fun relationship and wonderful, weekly interactions.
Because of tragic circumstances, our granddaughter’s third birthday was the last time we had any communication with her. For many years, we prayed, fasted, and hoped we would somehow be able to see her again.
During the October 2018 general conference, President Russell M. Nelson made an invitation with a promise: “I urge you to find a way to make an appointment regularly with the Lord—to be in His holy house—then keep that appointment with exactness and joy. I promise you that the Lord will bring the miracles He knows you need as you make sacrifices to serve and worship in His temples.”
When I heard these words, I felt that Heavenly Father was speaking to me through His prophet. So, my husband and I committed to begin attending the temple every Tuesday and keep that commitment “with exactness and joy.”
One day in 2019, our then-21-year-old granddaughter unexpectedly messaged me online. Her communication came slowly at first, but as her messages continued, she began to ask questions that opened a marvelous line of dialogue. She allowed us into her life tentatively at first and then often.
In 2021 we invited her to spend Thanksgiving with our family. She accepted, and we had a wonderful time getting to know her. She easily bonded with her aunts, uncles, and cousins. She wanted her Thanksgiving visit to become a tradition.
A year later, an estranged son reconnected with us. In March 2024, for the first time in our family’s life, we had a family reunion that included every living child, their spouses, and all 16 grandchildren.
I have always believed that the prophet speaks for the Lord. I believe that this much-needed miracle came because of President Nelson’s revealed guidance and promise.
My testimony and love for my Heavenly Father and His Son were not, and are not, contingent upon this miracle. I am amazed, however, at how personal Their love is for me and how powerful Their promises are that come through the prophet.

I have gone through this situation and learned that the best thing to do is pray. God will always be there and help us when we need it. People will never fully agree with what we do or say, and we do not have to please them. If we know who we are, what other people say about us does not matter.
Let us forgive others, and try to love them even when they hurt our feelings.
Areli B., 19, Mexico

Years ago I visited a school in Albuquerque. The teacher told me about a youngster who brought a kitten to class. As you can imagine, that disrupted everything. She had him hold the kitten up in front of the children.

It went well until one of the children asked, “Is it a boy kitty or a girl kitty?”

Not wanting to get into that lesson, the teacher said, “It doesn’t matter. It’s just a kitty.”

But they persisted. Finally, one boy raised his hand and said, “I know how you can tell.”

Resigned to face it, the teacher said, “How can you tell?”

And the student answered, “You can vote on it!”

You may laugh at this story, but if we are not alert, there are those today who not only tolerate but advocate voting to change laws that would legalize immorality, as if a vote would somehow alter the designs of God’s laws and nature. A law against nature would be impossible to enforce. For instance, what good would a vote against the law of gravity do?

“It’s fun making valentines for your friends for Valentine’s Day,” said Goose, cutting out a big red heart from a piece of red paper.
“Lots of fun,” said Gander, pasting a big red heart on a piece of lacy white paper.
Goose took a crayon and wrote, “From Guess Who” across the bottom of the valentine she had just finished making.
Gander took a crayon and wrote “From an admirer” across the bottom of the lacy valentine he had just finished making.
“There,” said Goose. “I’m done.”
“So am I,” said Gander.
“They do look nice, don’t they?” asked Goose.
“Very,” said Gander.
“Whom shall we give valentines to this year, Gander?” asked Goose.
“Why, to all our old friends, of course, Goose!” said Gander. “And to our new friend, Bear.”
“To our new friend, Bear?” said Goose. “But, Bear is still sleeping. He doesn’t wake up till spring!”
“I guess we’ll just have to wake him, then,” said Gander.
“But won’t Bear be a bit grumpy if we wake him?” asked Goose.
“Not when we give him his valentines,” said Gander smiling.
“I hope you’re right!” said Goose.
Delivering valentines to all their old friends was easy for Goose and Gander. The friends were all waiting for them when they rang their friends’ doorbells.
But delivering valentines to their new friend was not easy. Bear was not up and waiting for them.
He was sound asleep.
“Maybe we should just leave Bear’s valentines on his doorstep, Gander,” said Goose.
“But then he won’t get them till spring, Goose,” said Gander. “And Valentine’s Day is today, not in spring!”
Goose knew Gander was right. She rang Bear’s doorbell again. Brnnng! Brnnng! Brnnng!
This time Bear answered. “Is it spring already?” Bear asked, yawning.
“It isn’t spring yet, Bear,” said Gander.
“Then why did you wake me?” asked Bear, looking and sounding a bit grumpy.
“Because it’s Valentine’s Day!” said Goose.
“Valentine’s Day?” said Bear. “Gruuump! What’s Valentine’s Day?”
“Valentine’s Day is a special day when you give valentines to all your friends,” said Gander.
“Valentines?” said Bear. “Gruuump! What are valentines?”
“This is a valentine,” said Gander, quickly handing Bear the big red lacy valentine that he had been holding behind his back.
“And this is a valentine,” said Goose, quickly handing Bear the big red lacy valentine that she had been holding behind her back.
Bear took them and read them:
Having a friend like you is nice, Bear,
Especially on Valentine’s Day.
From an admirer
Having a friend like you, Bear,
makes Valentine’s Day happy for me.
From guess who
“No one has ever given me a valentine before. These are beautiful. Thank you, Goose and Gander,” said Bear.
That night as Goose and Gander were getting ready for bed, their doorbell rang.
It was Bear. “I wasn’t sleepy after you left, so I made these for you.” He handed Gander a big purple valentine, and Goose a big orange valentine. “I hope you like them.” Bear grinned worriedly. “Are the colors all right? Purple and orange were the only colors I had.”
“Purple is my favorite color,” said Gander.
“And orange is my favorite color,” said Goose.
Gander read his big purple valentine:
Sharing Valentine’s Day with you,
Gander, is more important to me than sleeping!
From an admirer
“Thank you, Bear,” said Gander.
Goose read her big orange valentine:
Having a friend like you, Goose, makes
Valentine’s Day worth waking up for!
From guess who
“Thank you, Bear,” said Goose.
“Next fall,” said Bear, “I’m setting my alarm clock for Valentine’s Day. It’s too special a day to sleep through.”
“We were just going to have some warm milk and bread and honey before going to bed, Bear,” said Goose. “Would you join us?”
“I’d love to,” said Bear. “I haven’t eaten anything since last fall!”
When all the milk and bread and honey had been eaten, Bear wiped his mouth politely and said, “I have my winter nap to finish. Thank you for the midwinter snack. It was delicious. And thank you for waking me up today.”
“You didn’t mind, then?” said Goose.
“Not at all,” said Bear. “It was Valentine’s Day, wasn’t it? But,” he added, yawning, “I wouldn’t want to be awakened again. Not by anybody! Not for anything! Not till spring!”
Bear yawned again. “Suddenly I’m very sleepy,” he said. “It must be all that warm milk. …” And even as Bear spoke, his head began to nod, his eyes began to close, and he fell sound asleep!
“Bear’s asleep in our kitchen!” exclaimed Goose. “What shall we do?”
“Wait here,” said Gander. “I’ll be right back.”
When Gander returned, he was carrying a big blanket.
“What are you going to do with that?” asked Goose.
“Cover Bear,” said Gander.
“And let him sleep right here—till spring?” asked Goose.
“Do you have a better idea?” asked Gander.
Goose didn’t, so she tucked in Bear’s blanket, turned off the lights, and tiptoed to bed.

“One evening I came running panic-stricken into the house after hearing a realistic radio program at a neighbor’s about the end of the world. When I told Dad about it, he looked up from his newspaper and said, ‘Son, that’s not the way it’s going to happen.’ And I simply replied, ‘Oh.’ And all my concern washed away because of my confidence in my dad and his knowledge of the scriptures.

When I have a cold or sickness lays me low, the great green chair is the place I go. I snuggle up against its huge sheltering wings, and wait for Mother to bring me things like chicken soup or soda pop. She serves me, you know where, in the great green chair! Even if Father is there.

A Sense of Urgency
Because of poor health, President Jeffrey R. Holland, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, wasn’t able to speak in general conference in 2023. In his April 2024 general conference address, “Motions of a Hidden Fire,” President Holland briefly described being unconscious in the hospital. During that time, he seemed taken to “the edge of eternity.”
He received “an admonition to return to my ministry with more urgency, more consecration, more focus on the Savior, more faith in His word. …
“… Since that experience, I have tried to take up my cross more earnestly, with more resolve to find where I can raise an apostolic voice of both warmth and warning,” he said.

Jenny stood at the gate, waiting for them. She seemed taller in her city clothes, thinner and more delicate. But she was the same Jenny. Her arms were held out to Jethro, and for that moment when he ran toward her, all the shadows were lifted from the April morning. 10

Elder Ronald A. Rasband feels prompted to visit and bless Church members in Ecuador following an earthquake there.

As it got late, everybody separated except Patrick and me. We left together in a jeepney. Still wondering why Patrick didn’t join in, I thought back to a day four years before, when we were 16. I remembered we were walking in the street near our school when I told him I wanted to be a priest someday.

“In our church you could already be a priest,” Patrick replied. “You just need to be ordained. Then when you turn 19, you can preach the gospel as a missionary.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I said, thinking he didn’t know much about the gospel. “How can a 19-year-old preach to people? Priests take a lot of time to study so they can preach.”

Patrick insisted that 19-year-olds in his church could preach. He told me that his church also has another book of scripture, and he gave me a copy. I browsed through it at home, and I felt something mysterious in that book. But I didn’t really care about it; I just stuck it in a box, where it lay for the next four years.

Latter-day Saint missionary work began in New Zealand in 1854. Missionary work was slow until 1883, when the Maori people began to join the Church in large numbers. The Lord had prepared them for the gospel. Several Maori tohungas (priests) had prophesied concerning the true Church before the missionaries taught the people. One priest had told his people to wait and not join a church until missionaries came in pairs, visited their homes, and spoke to them in their native language. Many other prophecies were given to the Maoris that were fulfilled by the missionaries.

I really liked the advent calendar (Dec. 2008) and focused a family home evening on it. My family and I started planning and decided on a task: my sister and I made homemade mincemeat pies and took them to an elderly woman in our neighborhood. That made her very happy, and we decided to visit her more often. My mum, sister, grandmother and I also sang the song “Little Baby” at our ward’s Christmas party.
Alice T., Scotland

After serving for a time in Salzburg, I was transferred to Zürich, Switzerland. While I was there, Brother Julius Billeter, a member of the Church, approached me. He was a professional genealogist, and he told me he had seen quite a few Wirthlin names in his work. He offered to research my family lines. I wrote home, and my father thought it was a wonderful opportunity, so we hired him to begin.
A year later he handed me a book. It was 36 centimeters long, 46 centimeters wide, and weighed 6.2 kilograms. It was filled with nearly 6,000 names of my ancestors. It was a priceless volume that I treasured. Just before my missionary release, I packed the precious book in a steamer trunk along with some of my other possessions and shipped it home. I prayed that it would arrive safely and that the precious family history would not be lost.
I arrived home before the trunk. Weeks passed. Still no trunk. I began to worry that the irreplaceable book had been lost. Six months after I had arrived in Salt Lake City, I received a call from the Union Pacific depot. A trunk had arrived for me. I rushed down to retrieve it, but when I saw it, my heart sank. The lock on the trunk had been broken.
I pried up the lid, and when I looked inside, my heart fell further. Everything had been soaked with seawater. What is more, I could tell someone had rifled through my belongings. Some things were missing.
I gingerly removed the layers of clothing, searching for my precious book. When I reached it, my heart overflowed with joy. Not only was it there, but the papers were completely dry! I know the book was preserved through divine intervention.