Gospel Story Finder

Cindy looked at the clock above the door of the playground building. The hour had gone so fast she couldn’t believe it was nearly one o’clock.
She lifted her tennis racket and tossed the ball for her last serve. Donna was ready with a fast cross-court return that caught Cindy unprepared.
“I win!” Donna called. “I beat you for once!”
Cindy smiled as she wiped the back of her hand across her damp face. Then she began picking up the tennis balls.
“Let’s have another game,” Donna invited. “That last one was really an accident. You could easily win this time.”
“I can’t,” Cindy replied. “There’s just time for me to run home and shower before I go to the hospital to help Mrs. Holt with the story and craft activities.”
“Oh, nuts!” Donna scoffed, pulling a face. “That’s some way to spend the summer! Two afternoons a week with sick kids.”
“Those children have to spend a long time in the hospital. They do get awfully lonely, and I promised,” Cindy began.
“Well, just this once I’d think you could play another game,” Donna insisted. “It’s not like you were really that important. You said yourself that you don’t do very much.”
Cindy had thought this a number of times. All she ever did was pass out paper and crayons or scissors or whatever supplies were needed. And she also helped the children with their wheelchairs and crutches.
“Maybe I wouldn’t be missed,” she said to herself. “Maybe I’ve been building up the importance of what I’m doing because I want to feel I’m helping someone.”
“Come on, Cindy, and serve,” Donna said impatiently.
Cindy rolled the ball across her racket a few times, but then she shook her head. “Donna, I can’t. I really did promise, and it wouldn’t be fair!”
Cindy knew that Donna thought she was being foolish, but she couldn’t help that—even if Donna found someone else to play with the rest of the summer.
Cindy hurried to shower and get ready to go to the hospital. She was afraid she would be late, so she ran most of the eight blocks from her home to the hospital.
Her legs ached as she hurried up the hospital steps and down the long corridor toward the room where the children were waiting. As she opened the door, Cindy paused a moment to catch her breath.
“Mrs. Holt hasn’t started the stories yet,” she said to herself. “So maybe I’m not as late as it seemed.”
“Cindy’s here!” Dennis called as he caught sight of her. Dennis was in a cast from his hips down, but he wouldn’t think of missing the stories.
The others turned too. “Cindy! Cindy!” they called. It was almost like a chorus.
Mrs. Holt smiled, but Cindy saw that something was wrong with the gray-haired woman who was usually laughing with the children.
“Don’t you feel well?” Cindy asked quietly.
Mrs. Holt shook her head. “I’ve been a bit dizzy all day. I didn’t know if I could wait until you came. But now that you’re here, I know everything will be all right.”
Cindy felt her face grow warm, remembering how tempted she had been when Donna coaxed her to stay and play another game of tennis.
“I don’t like to leave you, Cindy,” Mrs. Holt sighed. “But all the children love you so much that I can go home and not worry. It’s good to know I can depend on you. Since you’ll be alone today, maybe you could read some stories.”
A shiver of doubt ran through Cindy, but she nodded. “I—I’ll do my best.”
Reluctantly Cindy watched Mrs. Holt walk away. At the door the older woman turned back. “I hope I’ll feel better by Friday, but if not I’ll depend on you again.”
Cindy had never read stories to the children before. At first her voice sounded shaky and small to her, but gradually her confidence grew.
“You read good,” Dennis announced. “Good as anybody!”
Cindy laughed and patted the little boy’s arm. “That’s because you’re all my friends.”
The afternoon went quickly—almost too quickly.
“You’ll come back, won’t you?” Dennis asked as Cindy was leaving. “You said we were friends,” he added wistfully.
Cindy went back and gave him a hug. “We are friends. And I’ll come back—I promise.”
As Cindy left the hospital, she knew she would keep her promise—just as often as she was needed.

After the creation of the Come, Follow Me curriculum, I noticed in priests quorum, Sunday School, and seminary that our teachers began to give us more challenges to do things. They especially encouraged us to do missionary work among our nonmember and less-active friends. One week our priests quorum adviser challenged us to pray and ask God how we could reach out to our friends. We all accepted the challenge.
There was a boy at school named Gavin, who wasn’t a member of the Church. We all decided to start being more friendly to him. We started with small things—saying hi to him in the halls and inviting him to hang out. He even came to some Mutual activities with us. I know the Spirit guided us to him because we had prayed.
Most of my friends are on the wrestling team with me, and Gavin decided to join the team. Our team always prays before matches and studies the scriptures together when we travel for tournaments. Gavin started listening in and got really curious. Seeing us do these things together and being able to do them with us made him want to learn more. He started meeting with the missionaries and decided to be baptized.
After he was confirmed, he bore his testimony in sacrament meeting and thanked the boys in the quorum and on the wrestling team. His grandmother had passed away shortly before we started to befriend him, and he said the Spirit he felt when he came to Church activities helped him cope with the loss. We knew of his grandmother’s passing, but we didn’t think much about it until he bore his testimony that day. As I listened to Gavin’s testimony, I realized that God led us to do simple acts of kindness that didn’t take much work for us but that meant the world to him.

Two missionaries who were aflame spiritually had spent an active day establishing a branch of the Church in a remote village. At 5:30 that morning, they had taught a family before the husband left for the fields. Later they had struggled to plaster their adobe walls to keep out blood-sucking insects. During the week they had laid a small cement floor and had hung a five-gallon can with a shower head to keep clean. They had begun a sanitation facility and put new gravel and sand in their water filter. For part of the day they had worked beside men in the fields to later teach them. They were exhausted and ready for welcome rest.
There came an anxious knock at the crude wooden door. A small girl was crying. She had been running and was gasping for air. They struggled to piece together her message, delivered amid sobs in a torrent of words. Her father had suffered a severe head injury while riding his donkey in the darkness. She knew he would die unless the elders saved his life. Men of the village were at that moment carrying him to the missionaries.
The seriousness of their desperate situation began to engulf them. They were in a village with no doctors or medical facilities. There were no telephones. The only means of communication was a rough road up a riverbed, and they had no vehicle.
The people of the valley trusted them. The missionaries were not trained in medicine. They did not know how to care for a serious head wound, but they knew someone who did. They knelt in prayer and explained their problem to an understanding Father in Heaven. They pled for guidance, realizing that they could not save a life without His help.
They felt impressed that the wound should be cleansed, closed, and the man given a blessing. One companion asked, “How will he stand the pain? How can we cleanse the wound and bless him while he is in such suffering?”
They knelt again and explained to their Father, “We have no medicine. We have no anesthetic. Please help us to know what to do. Please bless him, Father.”
As they arose, friends arrived with the injured man. Even in the subdued candlelight, they could see he had been severely hurt. He was suffering greatly. As they began to cleanse the wound, a very unusual thing occurred. He fell asleep. Carefully, anxiously, they finished the cleansing, closed the wound, and provided a makeshift bandage. As they laid their hands on his head to bless him, he awoke peacefully. Their prayer had been answered, and his life saved. The trust of the people increased, and a branch of the Church flourished.
The missionaries were able to save a life because they trusted the Lord. They knew how to pray with faith for help with a problem they could not resolve themselves. Because they were obedient to the Lord, the Lord trusted them and answered their prayer. They had learned how to recognize the answer when it came as a quiet prompting of the Spirit. You have that same help available to you if you live for it.

One Sunday I watched a group of Primary children sing:
I’m trying to be like Jesus; I’m following in his ways.
I’m trying to love as he did, in all that I do and say.
At times I am tempted to make a wrong choice,
But I try to listen as the still small voice whispers,
“Love one another as Jesus loves you.
Try to show kindness in all that you do.
Be gentle and loving in deed and in thought,
For these are the things Jesus taught.”
Each child was leaning forward, almost to the front of his or her chair. I could see light in their eyes and determination in their faces. Jesus Christ was their example. To be like Him was their goal.

Rory helps his family clean their house. He thinks washing the dishes is fun. “Mummy can be really busy looking after five children and studying for her university degree,” Rory says. “So if I do something she normally would do, she can have a rest.”

Since I decided to sanctify the Lord’s day, it has been my favorite day of the week. I made a mental list of things that help me keep a spirit of reverence and worship on the Sabbath. For example, my list includes getting up early, reading the scriptures, working on Personal Progress, writing in my journal, and writing letters. As I do these and other spiritual activities, I feel the wonderful spirit and joy that are within me. I also notice that I don’t have time left over for less spiritual activities.Sílvia M., 18, Rio Grande do Sul, Brazil

“All seven of my cousins are going to be at my grandmother’s house for Mother’s Day,” Sarah said as she watered Mrs. Martin’s seedlings. “We always have a picnic lunch in the backyard.”
“That sounds like a lot of fun,” Mrs. Martin replied, pulling a tiny weed from a pot.
Every spring Sarah and Mrs. Martin, who lived next door, planted pumpkin, watermelon, and squash seeds in clay pots on Mrs. Martin’s sun porch. Later they would move the little sprouts to the garden in the backyard.
“What are you doing for Mother’s Day?” Sarah asked.
“I’m not sure. When is it, anyway?”
Sarah couldn’t believe that a grown-up didn’t know the date of Mother’s Day. At lunch she told Mom what Mrs. Martin had said.
“Well, Sarah, Mrs. Martin no longer has a mother or grandmother who’s alive,” Mom explained. “And since she has no children or grandchildren, it’s not surprising that she wouldn’t think about Mother’s Day.”
Sarah chewed her tomato sandwich thoughtfully. She understood what her mother had said, but something still seemed wrong.
She looked out the window and saw Mrs. Martin feeding dog biscuits to Mr. Anderson’s cocker spaniels. Mrs. Martin didn’t even have a dog, but she always kept a jar of dog treats for any neighborhood dogs who might stop by. And for the dog owners, Mrs. Martin always had a big basket filled with apples or pears.
“It just isn’t right,” Sarah said. “Somebody that nice should celebrate Mother’s Day.”
“I think you’re right,” Mom agreed.
Sarah went up to her room. Her desk was covered with art supplies for the cards she was making for her mom and grandma. She had already sprinkled green and pink glitter on the edges of two cards. She picked up a fresh sheet of paper and started writing.
Mothers and grandmothers are nice.
They give us help when we need help.
They talk to us about important things.
They find fun things for us to do.
They make good things for us to eat.
They give us hugs.
You do all these things, so I am saying Happy Mother’s Day to you!
Love, Sarah
Sarah worked on the card most of the afternoon, drawing vegetables all around its edges. Mrs. Martin always said that she would rather grow vegetables than flowers. She thought pumpkins and watermelons were “gorgeous.”
Then Sarah decorated an envelope to match and carefully printed “To Mrs. Martin” on the outside.
“It’s almost ready,” she said to Scooter, the tabby cat who had been watching from his perch on the windowsill.
“Mom,” Sarah called downstairs. “I need to call Grandma.”
“OK.”
After Sarah made her call, she turned over the card for Mrs. Martin and wrote on the back. Then she put it in the envelope and bounced down the stairs and out the back door.
Mrs. Martin was putting seeds into the bird feeder. “Hello, Sarah,” she called.
“Hi,” Sarah said. “This is for you.” She handed the card to Mrs. Martin.
“Should I open it now?”
“Yes. It’s a Mother’s Day card.”
“For me?” Mrs. Martin asked with surprise. “But today isn’t Mother’s Day!”
“No, but this card has to be opened early.”
Mrs. Martin opened the card and read it slowly. Then she turned it over to read what Sarah had carefully written on the back:
You are invited to be
an Honorary Mother
at a picnic at Grandma’s house
on Mother’s Day—
which is next Sunday.
Please come.
Mrs. Martin smiled. “Thank you, Sarah. Now we both know what I’ll be doing for Mother’s Day!”

Jesse opened her eyes and lay quietly for a moment in the unfamiliar room. She closed them again and pictured the pleasant desert town where she used to live. I’ll miss the swimming pool most of all, she thought. This town at the foot of the mountains feels very different, but it must have a good pool somewhere.
And today she would find it. Her mother had promised her they would. Jesse threw back the covers. Placing her hands under her knees, she swung her limp legs off the bed and sat up.
She pulled her wheelchair close to the bed and shifted herself into it and maneuvered into the bathroom.
At breakfast in the large, sunny kitchen, she asked her mother about going swimming.
“You haven’t started on your math lessons,” her mother reminded her.
“I hate math, and you did say that we could go today.”
“We will. Anyway, doing the math at home is better than going to summer school, don’t you think?”
Jesse sighed. “Yes. I just wish I’d worked harder last year and didn’t have to do it now. Well, I’ll try to get something done.” She wheeled out onto the wide, pleasant front porch and set her books on a table.
A girl about Jesse’s age emerged from a white house directly across the street. She hopped lightly down the front steps and gave Jesse a casual wave. Jesse waved back and watched the girl disappear around the corner on her bicycle.
At that moment Jesse’s mother came out onto the porch. “How about inviting that girl to go swimming with us this afternoon?” she asked.
The girl’s name was Diana. She and Jesse found very little to talk about as they rode to the pool.
Once in the water, Jesse became like anyone else. If anyone stared, it was with admiration. In the water her useless legs were no problem as her strong arms took her smoothly to one end of the pool and back. After several laps, Jesse stopped at the deep end and looked around for Diana. She finally spotted her splashing around in the shallow end. “Come on down here!” Jesse called.
Diana struck out, splashing and thrashing. As she reached the center of the pool, the splashing increased, and Jesse could see that Diana was no longer making any real progress. Her wild strokes became more frantic. Jesse swam quickly to her, caught one hand in hers, and pulled her to the edge. Diana sputtered and coughed and rubbed her face with her hands.
“Why didn’t you tell me that you couldn’t swim very well?”
“Was I supposed to shout across the pool, ‘I’m a terrible swimmer’?” She coughed again.
“Let’s get out a minute,” Jesse suggested. Diana climbed out and sat quietly beside Jesse on the edge of the pool.
“I don’t really like the water much,” Diana said, breaking a long silence.
“Well, I try to keep in condition,” Jesse said.
“Condition for what?”
“I want to be on the swim team at school, and I do wheelchair racing and stuff.
“You’re really an athlete, huh?”
“I have a lot of respect for my body, such as it is,” Jesse said quietly. “What do you like to do for exercise? I’ve seen you ride your bike.”
Diana answered, “I ride my bike to get places because it’s easier than walking. I’d rather read. I guess I’m the scholarly type.”
They rode home in silence. Diana climbed out quickly and called out her thanks.
“I don’t think I’ll be seeing much of her,” Jesse said to her mother. “We don’t seem to have much in common.”
“Having something in common helps, but it’s not absolutely necessary for friendship,” her mother commented.
The next morning Jesse again sat on the front porch with her math book. She opened the book and stared for a few minutes at the page. What could be more boring than math?
She saw Diana come out her front door. Diana waved to Jesse, hesitated for a moment, then crossed the street. Jesse smiled and motioned for Diana to sit down.
“What are you doing?” Diana asked, looking at the books.
“I did so poorly in math last year that I have to take the course at home and send the work sheets in.”
“Why did you do so badly?”
“I guess I was more interested in swimming and racing. The teacher gave us a lot of homework, and I didn’t do most of it. I think math is pretty hard—and boring.”
“I’ll help you. I like math.”
Jesse smiled up at her. “Will you?” she said. “That would be great.”
“Well, Jesse, we have to exercise our minds, too, you know,” Diana said, with a twinkle in her eye.
Jesse looked at Diana for a moment and then laughed. “Suppose you help me learn math, and I’ll help you with your swimming.”
“Sounds like a good summer,” Diana answered with a smile.

My Aunt Martha is soon to be ninety-five years of age. I’d challenge almost anyone to keep up with her. There seems to be no end to what she finds to do. She attends civic meetings. She studies her Church lesson assignments and makes appropriate contributions to classroom discussions. In a time of need, she is the first one to render compassionate service. I’ve heard many people say that the bowl of hot soup she brought was just what they needed. Was it the food or the loving concern which was special?
Sisters in her visiting teaching district know she will be there early in the month. She attends two or three sessions each time she goes to the temple. She keeps current her genealogical records, helps with the housework and gardening.
But I think her greatest joy is missionary work. She filled a mission in Southern California when she was seventy-five years of age, and since then I don’t suppose she has let a single opportunity to share the gospel pass her by. She loves and is loved. She is grateful for life and lives each moment fully.

His wife, Sister Nelson, shared her experience with personal blessings this work has provided in her life: “I realized that if I was working on an overwhelming project and I was out of time, energy, and ideas, if I would make a sacrifice of time by finding the ordinance-qualifying information for some ancestors or by going to the temple to be proxy for them, the heavens opened and the energy and ideas started flowing. Somehow, I had enough time to meet my deadline. It was totally impossible, but it would happen every time. Temple and family history work bring me a joy that is truly not of this world”.

My bishop and I sat in his small, organized office. He peered at me through his clear glasses. “A patriarchal blessing is like a blessing from Heavenly Father. And as you go through life, little by little, more of your blessing will make sense.”
I got up from the small wooden chair and shook the bishop’s hand. He then gave me a patriarchal blessing recommend. I thanked him and left the office.
Lately I had been pondering some questions. Does Heavenly Father really love me? Does he really know who I am? Does he know me individually and love me for who I am, not just because I’m one of his daughters?
I would try to come up with as many answers as I possibly could. “God loves you because you’re his daughter,” my teachers would tell our class during Young Women lessons.
“You should feel special because you’re a child of God,” my Primary teachers had told me.
I knew those things were true. I knew he loved me. I knew I was a child of God, but would Heavenly Father be able to point me out among all of his children? Did he love me for my qualities, my personality?
I rode to the church house with my mother and walked briskly to that small office where the patriarch was waiting. He was an elderly man with a smile and soft, kind eyes.
He gave us a quick review of what a patriarchal blessing was and how sacred it was. He then put his hands on my head and began talking for my Heavenly Father.
I listened closely to every word he said. I felt the Spirit so strongly at times I couldn’t help crying. I received the answer my heart had wanted to hear: “I assure you your Heavenly Father knows you well and loves you.” The patriarch also mentioned several things only my Heavenly Father knew. I felt a complete feeling of love and caring.
I know now that my Heavenly Father loves me and knows me, just as he does each of you. He loves you for who you are.

President Benson has always loved temples and temple work. When he felt better, each Friday he and Sister Benson would enter the temple to participate in a session. We knew our First Presidency meeting that morning must accommodate this commitment. One morning I commented that I had to get busy and do some of my own family names that were prepared. With a smile and a twinkle in his eye, the President said, “Brother Monson, if you’re too busy, why not let Sister Benson and me do your names for you.” Needless to say, we found time to do the work ourselves.

The current conventional wisdom is that more is better and less is usually undesirable. For some, the pursuit to acquire more of this world’s goods and services has become a passion. For others, more of this world’s wealth is necessary just to sustain life or raise living standards to a minimum level. The unbridled desire for more often has tragic consequences. For example, President Boyd K. Packer reminded us: “We could be like a father determined to provide everything for his family. He devotes every energy to that end and succeeds; only then does he discover that what they needed most—to be together as a family—has been neglected. And he reaps sorrow in place of contentment” (in Conference Report, Oct. 1998, 28; or Ensign, Nov. 1998, 22).

He tells how he once built a hot-air balloon during a class visit to the flight museum. “We made it out of paper, then filled it with hot air and it flew!” he says. Through that activity, he learned about obedience. “The balloon works because hot air rises,” he says. “It’s a natural law.” And when laws are obeyed, whether they are laws of flight or laws of life, the obedience brings blessings.

Oh, hey, Dad. Mom can’t talk on the phone right now ’cause she’s making a surprise birthday cake for you.
Michael!!!

A significant moment in my personal journey to Jesus Christ can be traced to an invitation given by President Henry B. Eyring where he invited the audience to act.
He said, “I bless you that every day, if you will ask in prayer to be shown where the hand of God intervened in your life that day, I bless you that you will see that. It will be made manifest to you. That you will see that He is leading and guiding and lifting you, and that He knows you”. 1
This invitation, to consciously document the hand of the Lord in our lives every day, resonated with me.
I accepted the invitation and purchased a new pastel blue notebook that would become a precious personal record, capturing moments when I saw the hand of the Lord in my life. Little did I know how pivotal this little blue pastel notepad would prove, in my continuing journey to seek Jesus Christ.
Without relaying every experience I have documented in my pastel blue notepad, a consistent pattern has emerged. As I ask and believe, I will receive3 and in acknowledging Him, my relationship to Him is strengthened. This pattern has guided and continues to guide me through illness, trials, despair, and pain.

Music and the Spoken Word, the weekly broadcast of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, has been inducted into the Radio Hall of Fame in the United States. The broadcast was selected after a board of officials nominated programs for induction and the public voted for their favorite programs and personalities.
Music and the Spoken Word won the National Pioneer category, which honors broadcasters who have given at least 10 years of service to the radio industry and have been leaders in developing or improving radio programming at the national level.
Music and the Spoken Word is the longest-running radio broadcast in the United States. The first broadcast took place on July 15, 1929.
The program is carried on more than 2,000 radio stations, television stations, and cable systems. It is also available online at musicandthespokenword.org. From the home page, click on Listen Live and follow the link for online streaming.

It was a simple step, but from that day forward, her whole family started saying those words to each other, and they’ve been saying it ever since. Of course, it doesn’t always happen exactly like that; another young woman tried it several years ago, and it took her family a couple of years to start saying “I love you” back to her (and then to each other). But she kept saying it, and she could tell it made a difference. And those changes come not just through words but also through actions!

Elder Robert L. Backman, when he was general president of the Young Men of the Church, liked to tell the story of a deacons quorum presidency who took it upon themselves to visit every member of their quorum. They made appointments, got together at an appointed time, and went to the homes of their young brethren. One such visit was particularly memorable, when they visited a young man who was just about to become a deacon.
The presidency arrived at their prospective quorum member’s home at the appointed hour and knocked on the door. They were invited into the living room, and the prospective deacon joined them. He was a little nervous and didn’t know exactly what to expect. His parents left them alone to visit. The presidency took the time to explain to him what his duties would be, where and when they met as a quorum, how he would participate in meetings and activities, and then welcomed him into the group.
When the presidency left, the young man’s father asked how the visit had gone, to which he responded, “They were awesome, Dad.”

Have any of you brethren ever had your wife say something like I heard recently: “Joe, are you listening?” She wasn’t the only one who wondered if I was listening. Some time ago, I was taking a nap and our little granddaughter Allison came and lifted up one of my eyelids and said, “Grandpa, are you in there?” We should be “in there” and responsive to our mate.