Gospel Story Finder

When President Hinckley was a young man, he served a full-time mission to the British Isles. He tells us some of his experiences.
The boat on which I traveled to England docked at Plymouth the night of July 1, 1933. The three of us missionaries aboard took the boat train to London, arriving late at night. The next day I was assigned to go to Preston, Lancashire. After what seemed like a long, lonely train ride, I met my companion at the station, and he took me to our “digs,” a short distance from Vauxhall Chapel where the first LDS missionary sermon had been preached in 1837.
My companion then announced that we would go into town and hold a street meeting. I was terrified. We sang a hymn and offered prayer. Then he called on me to speak. A crowd gathered. They looked menacing to me. The world was then in the bottom of the Depression, and Lancashire had been particularly hard-hit. The people were poor. They wore wooden clogs on their feet. Their dress reflected the hard times in which they lived. They were difficult to understand; I was a westerner from the United States, and they spoke with a Lancashire dialect.
Those first few weeks I was discouraged. I wrote a letter home to my good father and said that I felt I was wasting my time and his money. He wrote a very short letter to me which said: “Dear Gordon, I have your recent letter. I have only one suggestion: forget yourself and go to work.” Earlier that morning my companion and I had read these words of the Lord: “Whosoever will save his life shall lose it; but whosoever shall lose his life for my sake and the gospel’s, the same shall save it” (Mark 8:35).
Those words of the Master, followed by my father’s letter, went into my very being. I went into our bedroom and got on my knees and made a pledge to the Lord. I covenanted that I would try to forget myself and lose myself in His service.
That July day in 1933 was my day of decision. A new light came into my life and a new joy into my heart. The fog of England seemed to lift, and I saw the sunlight. I had a rich and wonderful mission experience, for which I shall ever be grateful.

Local leaders say that couples like Santiago León and his wife, Raquel Plúas de León, are setting a standard of temple marriage that more and more young people are following. Santiago and Raquel stuck with their decision to marry in the Lima Peru Temple, even though they had to overcome economic difficulties and deal with the feelings of family members of other faiths. “Just seeing the temple from outside made me happy,” he recalls. “But to be able to go inside and participate in the ordinances there—that was a real blessing.” On the wall in the front room of their small home is a photograph of the Washington Temple. Under it hangs a hand-lettered sign: “Ecuador: Prepare Yourself for Your Temple.”

Enugu District
Forty-seven children in the Enugu Nigeria District sang two Primary songs in district conference: “If the Savior Stood Beside Me” and “Families Can Be Together Forever.” Many people in the congregation commented on how their singing brought a wonderful spirit into the meeting. Each child wore a ribbon rosette that said “I am a child of God.”

The November Ensign came today—
One for me.
But I couldn’t open it,
Knowing what was there.
How could I?
Inside were the words
I had felt.
Inside was that Spirit
Again.
Inside was Conference—
The best one so far—
The living moments at whose close
I had cried.
So there it sat
On the kitchen counter,
Unlocked treasure
Filling its pages,
Its power
Bursting
From the seams,
Glowing
From beneath the cover.
I couldn’t open it—
That book in all its
Energy,
Glory.
So it sat there,
Waiting.

The restrictions surrounding COVID-19 changed the way missionary work could be done. “The pandemic was a considerable challenge for us as mission leaders, and as missionaries. Staying at home, staying in place, and adjusting everything that we did,” President McReynolds said. “It created a need to rethink how missionary work could continue virtually. We had always done everything face to face, yet we all know how powerful technology and social media tools can be. Online missionary work became a massive pivot for the mission. I think we made good progress, as we were able to find people, continue to teach and later baptise.”
In March, everything was being cancelled including the mission’s upcoming ‘Why I Believe’ devotional, featuring the conversion stories of new members of the Church. It was decided to take a leap of faith and hold it online. This was a big undertaking to make sure that the programme would be uplifting and inspirational, without the distractions online meetings sometimes have when technology fails.
“We saw the Lord’s hand in that first one,” said Sister McReynolds. “Because of COVID-19, we were all in separate locations, and it honestly shouldn’t have come together as nicely as it did.”
Typically, the in-person monthly devotional saw an attendance of anywhere from 250 to 550 people, depending on the location. With the move to online, an estimated 4,000 people have tuned in each month.

After meeting with sisters in Ivory Coast, Sister Cordon said, “Their trust and understanding about God and who He is and what He can do with their lives, is amazing to me.” She said that when she talked about having a temple in Abidjan, one sister wept tears of joy. “We’re going away with African eyes,” Sister Cordon said. “We’re going away with new hearts.”

When I moved to Utah, I became involved in the local Catholic community. I didn’t drive back then, so my husband would take me and the children. One Sunday we were running late for church and took a different route. On this route, we passed a building with a sign which read: “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.” Immediately, a presence came over me. Even though we were going about fifty miles, it felt like time had stood still. After mass, I mentioned to the parish priest that I saw a sign that said “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints”. I expressed an appreciation for the name and asked, since we are the true church, why aren’t Catholics called this? He admonished me not to have anything to do with Mormons. This was the first time I had heard this word but the seed had been planted.

Young women in the Port Harcourt (Nigeria) Ward Two held their first Young Women in Excellence program last December. Agnes Teigbanyo, a Laurel in Port Harcourt, received the first Young Womanhood medallion ever given in Nigeria.
Agnes says that earning her award has helped her improve herself in many ways.
“For my Laurel project, I wanted to teach gospel principles to children. I wanted them to know more about the gospel and to help them establish love and charity in their homes. I learned that dealing with children is not easy,” says Agnes.

“The Award” is the story of several high school football stars who decide to reward the ugliest girl in their school with a corsage and a poem extolling her ugliness. They assign Kevin, the only Latter-day Saint on the team, to deliver the “award.” When Kevin reads the poem to his girl friend, Colleen, she begs him not to go through with the cruel joke, but he is afraid of losing his friends if he backs out. Before he can deliver the award, however, he has an opportunity to meet Mary Beth, the “ugly girl,” and discovers that she is really an outstanding person who donates much of her time to helping handicapped children.

Kevin and Colleen decide to go ahead and give Mary Beth an award, but they change it from a cruel put-down to a tribute for her acts of service. When the rest of the football team discovers the change, things become interesting.

Eventually, they too have a chance to meet the real Mary Beth. Some of them, led by the fullback, are unimpressed. “There are winners, and there are losers,” he says. “We’re the winners, and the girls we date are winners. The rest are all losers.”

But Craig, the quarterback, says, “We pick the person in school who everybody agrees is a loser, but then she turns out to be okay once we get to know her. … What if every one of them turns out to be special in some way?”

I’ve visited the Church in different places around the world, and while on those visits have always felt welcome. For a long time, I thought it was good enough for me and my family that I was an enthusiastic supporter of this Church, but in June 2022, something changed.
I was raised Catholic and said prayers during my younger years, but in June of 2022, I really prayed to God for the very first time. I prayed for guidance, to know if this was the right time for me to study the gospel. That night in my sleep, a scripture from the Book of Mormon entered in my mind: 2 Nephi 17.
It was like a movie. I saw golden glowing letters on the inside of my head. I had no idea if the scripture, 2 Nephi 17 existed, but I clearly felt that this was an answer to my prayers and came up with a plan to go to Church with Ellie and the children for at least a year, to read the scriptures and to pray together as a family. Later that day at work, I looked up the text of 2 Nephi 17, and my eyes landed on verse 11, that reads: “Ask thee a sign of the Lord thy God; ask it either in the depths, or in the heights above.”
I did not see this experience as a faint sign. This felt like God literally telling me that indeed it was time. I went home to tell Ellie and told her that I was ready to start a sincere study of the gospel. While telling her my story, I was struck by lightning—not by actual lightning, but by the Holy Ghost. I immediately knew what it was. Physically I felt something happening in my heart and realized that I was freed from a restlessness that I’ve carried all my life. Immediately I felt a love come over me that I have never felt before. I knew that this was the love of Christ. I literally had a change of heart. For my oldest daughter, Mayra, it was a very emotional moment, because two days earlier she had prayed that I would experience a conversion. Later, I learned two other friends had prayed for the same thing a few days earlier. A great testimony of the power of prayer!

Even though the family had barely enough to live on, Mary Fielding Smith insisted they pay a full tithe.
Joseph’s mother: Choose the nicest potatoes to bring to the tithing office, Joseph. The Lord’s share must be the best pick of the crop.

(112) While taking the missionary discussions, Joaquin E. Costa humbles himself and sees repentance as the path to growth and happiness.

Perhaps the culmination of these spiritual manifestations occurred during the dedication of the Kirtland Temple on March 27, 1836. One of those present was 28-year-old William Draper, who described the day as a “day of Pentecost.” He wrote: “There was such a time of the outpouring of the Spirit of the Lord, that my pen is inadequate to write it in full or my tongue to express it. But I will here say that the Spirit was poured out and came like a mighty rushing wind and filled the house, that many that were present spoke in tongues and had visions and saw angels and prophesied, and had a general time of rejoicing such as had not been known in this generation.”3
These spiritual manifestations were not limited only to those inside the temple, for “the people of the neighborhood came running together (hearing an unusual sound within, and seeing a bright light like a pillar of fire resting upon the Temple), and were astonished at what was taking place.”4

Through obedience we build spiritual strength that sustains us during times of adversity. My friend and counselor Joy F. Evans tells of such a time in her life. She had four young children and was expecting her fifth child. The much-anticipated day of birth arrived—about six weeks early. They had expected to have “a” baby, but they had twins instead—Michael and Amy, premature and very small.

They had already lost one child earlier, and Joy, being a nurse, felt certain those babies were also going to die. She was even afraid that her own lack of faith would contribute to their dying, and she wanted desperately for them to live!

In her words, “I think it was the first time I couldn’t say ‘Thy will be done.’ I just couldn’t say it.”

When her husband went home the second day after the babies’ birth, he prayed, not for the babies, but for his wife, their mother. Then a sweet assurance came to her that everything was all right: whatever happened was the Lord’s will. The babies did die, one after two days, and the other after three; but Joy still had her feeling of peace. She could draw from the wonderful reservoir of strength she had developed by keeping the commandments through the years.

Having the babies dressed appropriately for burial was very important to their mother, but they were so tiny that clothes could not be found small enough to fit them. When the Relief Society president came after the second baby died, she sensed Joy’s disappointment in not being able to dress the babies as she would like. The president went home and sewed busily that night. When she came back the next morning, the day of the graveside service, she had a darling little white suit for Michael and a dainty little white dress for Amy.

Peace can come to both the giver and the receiver as we follow the promptings of the Spirit to serve one another.

Later, I attended Duke University in North Carolina, where I participated in a graduate seminar studying a collection of Jewish and Christian writings dating from the time of Jesus, known as the Pseudepigrapha. During the course of the seminar, I had mentioned the Book of Mormon from time to time, but my comments were not taken seriously by others around the table. Toward the end of the semester, the distinguished professor, who has an impressive reputation in his area of research, asked the seminar to tackle one particularly puzzling writing, the little-known “Narrative of Zosimus.” It tells of a righteous family that God had led away from Jerusalem prior to its destruction by the Babylonians around 600 B.C. and how this group escaped to a land of blessedness where they kept records on metal plates soft enough that they could inscribe them with their fingernails. In the story, Zosimus was allowed to visit these people in vision. In order to get to their land, Zosimus had to journey through wildernesses, pass through impenetrable mists of darkness, cross the ocean, and come from a tree that bore pure fruit and gave forth water sweet as honey. (See the same elements in 1 Ne. 8:10–12 and 1 Ne. 11:25.)
After discussing some of the technical aspects of this Near Eastern document, the professor put it to the class, “Well, what do we make of the Narrative of Zosimus? Is it Jewish or Christian?” The seminar had little to say, and the members of the class were about to conclude that the writing could not be classified, since the Narrative was so unlike anything else they had ever seen. By then I could wait no longer. I told the seminar the history of Lehi and his family and more about the Book of Mormon. When I had spoken, the group had even less to say. Then the teacher said, “Class, let me tell you a few more things about this Book of Mormon.” He then described the Book of Mormon’s use of chiasmus, of Melchizedek in Alma 13, and other things that the two of us had discussed privately, and then he asked, “Well, class what do we make of the Book of Mormon?” Although some of the members of the seminar ultimately concluded that the most convenient solution to their problem might be found in identifying Joseph Smith as a reincarnated Jewish scribe, it was significant to me that the student who had been most sarcastic toward the Book of Mormon earlier was now the one who asked if he could learn more.

“Manda, the world would be a sad and sorry place without music,” he had said to her often. “It’s helped me more times than I can recollect, both before and after I left Denmark.”
“Tell me a story about Denmark, Grandpa. Please?” she used to plead.
“All right, but you know you’ve heard them all before.” His eyes would twinkle as the tale would unfold. “When I was a young lad in Alborg, my family tended sheep in the fields surrounding the town. The country was lush and green in the daytime, but at night everything was veiled in shadows. I had the evening watch alone. Sometimes the sheep were restless, so I always took along my old mandolin. I’d sing a quiet song, and it would settle them down. It would ease my mind a bit too. Tending sheep can be mighty lonely. My mandolin has always been a comfort to me, Manda. I’m glad you have learned to play it. Someday I want you to have it.”

“Pizza face!”
I winced and sunk down into the bus seat, trying to disappear. The 20-minute ride home from school every day was pure torture for me. Lance and Sean always took the seat right behind me, and thought up as many names for me as they could. My face, full of acne since the fifth grade, provided them with such entertainment that they acted like I should be proud to receive so much verbal creativity.
I would run home from the bus stop, sit in the corner of my room with a blanket over my head, and cry. This experience was detrimental to a young girl’s self-esteem, but after a few months the boys moved on to some other poor soul with a visible affliction.
My self-esteem seemed to recover at the same rate my acne cleared—slowly. By high school a pimple was rare for me. On the other hand, both Lance and Sean, whom I still avoided, had acne problems of their own. They were much more withdrawn and had few friends.
“Serves them right,” I would think. “Now they’ve got exactly what they made fun of me for.” I felt inclined, even entitled, to some revenge of my own.
My chance came one day when Sean and I were alone in a large school hallway. He didn’t see me walking his way, and when I judged he was close enough for maximum damage, I said in a most disgusted way, “Pizza face!”
He winced, hung his head, and quickened his pace. As I watched him fleeing my torment, looking so alone in the huge hallway, I was astonished at what I felt. I had expected to feel triumphant. Instead I felt guilty and small.
Revenge had seemed like the clear answer for me, but standing there in the hall, I realized that revenge was empty. I felt worse than I’d ever felt in my life. I wanted to apologize. I learned my lesson that day: revenge is not the way to heal your inner injuries.

Martin was born in the United States. But then his family moved to a country in Europe called the Czech Republic. The people there spoke Czech. Martin knew some of the Czech words his Primary teacher used. He could say ahoj, which meant “hi.” But he mostly spoke English.
Martin loved his school. He had an English teacher and a Czech teacher. There was a big playroom with fun wooden toys.
One day Martin was playing with puppets when a new boy came into the classroom. The English teacher said, “This is Josef. It’s his first day of school. He doesn’t know much English yet.”
Josef had a worried look on his face. Martin thought he must be scared on his first day of school. Maybe Josef couldn’t understand the English teacher.
The teacher led Josef to a table with wooden puzzles on it. Without meaning to, Josef knocked over the whole stack of puzzles. Crash! The puzzle pieces flew everywhere! Josef looked like he might cry.
Martin wanted to tell Josef not to feel bad. It was just an accident. But Martin didn’t know how to tell him in Czech. He stopped playing with his puppets and walked over to the puzzle table. He smiled and started stacking one of the puzzles. He showed Josef how to put it back together. Soon he and Josef finished all the puzzles. They put them back on the table.
For the first time that day, Josef smiled. Martin felt very happy. He had made a new friend without saying a word.

We planted a garden in the backyard. Mommy and I planted peas. We watered them and pulled out weeds together. Sometimes we eat the peas with dinner, and sometimes we eat them right out of the pod!

Imagine this. You’ve just received a present. It’s big. It’s fancy. It’s expensive. The card with it says, “Merry Christmas. I didn’t put any thought into this gift. I didn’t put any effort into it. I had the money, so it wasn’t really a sacrifice. Enjoy.”
Of course, you’ll probably never get a card like that. But you might get a gift like that—something impressive but without real meaning.