Gospel Story Finder

Born in Salt Lake City, Utah, USA, to Marjorie C. and Morris A. Kjar, Sister Burton was 13 years old when her family left Utah so her father could preside over the New Zealand South Mission. Sister Burton—the second of six children—attended the Church College of New Zealand and associated with Latter-day Saint teens from across the Pacific. She returned to Salt Lake City with not only a love for varied cultures and traditions but especially for the Lord and for her family.

After a meeting with our servicemen at DaNang in South Vietnam, we talked with a senior pilot who had come very close to death that day and who was still shaken. He had a request to make, and he made it shyly, not wanting to impose. “I wonder if you might have just a minute when you get home, Brother Hanks, to call or write a note to my 12-year-old son to tell him that I am all right and that his dad is thinking about him. He was ordained a deacon last Sunday without his father there, and I want him to know how much I love him.”

At the age of forty-two, on 6 April 1941, Harold B. Lee was called to be a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. He was twenty years younger than the next youngest quorum member. That morning in general conference, he said: “Since nine o’clock last night I have lived an entire lifetime in retrospect and in prospect. … Throughout the night, as I thought of this most appalling and soul-stirring assignment, there kept coming to me the words of the Apostle Paul, ‘Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy and find grace to help in time of need.’ … Therefore I shall take the word of Apostle Paul. I shall come boldly unto the throne of grace and ask for mercy and his grace to help me in my time of need. With that help I cannot fail. Without it I cannot succeed.”

I am the youngest of seven children. When I was younger, I felt left out, but I also realized that they do love me, even more than I thought. Perhaps you cannot relate to them right now, but the best times I had with my siblings were talking. I realized that they trusted in me a lot, and it’s still that way. In order to talk with them, I would try to help them in their duties, be kind to them, avoid getting angry at them, and team up with them so they could help me. That helped me feel included and loved.
Maria H., 19, Mexico City, Mexico

Most impressive to us members was our meeting with three presiding brethren in the Garden Tomb in Jerusalem on September 20. Their strong testimony of Jesus, given in this sacred spot from whence he arose from the dead, moved us to a greater determination to do good. And this being one of the essentials of the calling of a prophet, we can thereby further testify that Harold B. Lee is deserving of that title.

Elder Asay never aspired to be a General Authority. It was the furthest thing from his mind when he was called to serve in that capacity. But he does recall that one time when he was a small boy in Primary, he was asked to memorize the names of all the General Authorities in the Church, starting with Heber J. Grant, J. Reuben Clark, David O. McKay, and so on. He remembers asking himself the question, What if you were one of them? What if you were ever to be in those circles? He recalls that the feeling was quickly gone and he shrugged it off. Years later, when he was called to be a General Authority, he reflected back to that time in Primary.

Carrie hurried around the corner of the grocery store aisle, trying to keep the cart out of the reach of her six-year-old brother, Andy.
“No fair!” he cried. “You’ve pushed it the whole time we’ve been here.” He tried to grab the cart, but nine-year-old Carrie twisted it away quickly, accidentally hitting a row of ketchup bottles lined up neatly on a shelf. Two of the bottles crashed to the floor, shattering and spraying the bright red contents everywhere. The two children stared in horror at the broken glass and scarlet ketchup.
Mom came around the corner just then, saying, “I want you two to stay with me. …” Her words trailed off as she saw the mess on the floor and the misery on Carrie and Andy’s faces.
“It looks like there’s been an accident,” she said. “It’s all right. Sometimes things break and have to be cleaned up. There’s no use crying over spilt ketchup.”
Mom found a clerk, who cleaned up the mess without getting mad at Carrie or Andy. Carrie still felt terrible. She knew it wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t been swinging the cart to keep it away from Andy. Before they left the store, she quietly told Mom how the bottles had been broken. Mom listened solemnly while Andy stood with a scared expression on his face.
“Are we in trouble?” Andy asked, struggling to keep from crying.
Mom hugged Andy. “No, I think you feel badly enough about what happened that you’ll be more careful in the grocery store from now on. But, Carrie, what do you think you need to do to make up for the store losing those two bottles of ketchup?”
“I think I need to pay for them. I didn’t mean to break them, but it was still my fault.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” Mom said. “I can lend you the money for now, and you can pay me back at home.”
At the cash register, Mom explained that Carrie had been playing around with the cart when the bottles broke, and so she wanted to pay for them. The clerk thanked Carrie for being so honest, and Carrie felt much better.
At home, Carrie didn’t feel quite as good when she gave Mom part of the money she’d been saving for a tape player, but she was still glad she didn’t have that sick feeling in her stomach that she had felt when the bottles exploded on the floor. She remembered how red everything looked. She had been afraid she would see that stain on the floor forever, reminding her of her mistake, but it had come clean with a wet mop.

At age 15, Michael M. found his first job. A local cafeteria was the only place around hiring people his age. Most job duties revolved around dishes: busing tables, loading the dishwasher, and so forth. Employees would read their task for the day when they showed up for work.
“If it was busing tables, we’d rejoice,” Michael says. “But the worst thing, what you didn’t want to get, was pots.”
Picture a medieval knight poised in battle armor, sword in hand, ready to battle an angry dragon. Now replace the armor with a full-body rubber apron, the sword with a high-pressure sprayer, and the dragon with a greasy, scorched-bottom pot.
That was pots.
The black rubber apron was heavy and hot. The water was even hotter. And the high-powered spray from the hose practically guaranteed a drenching even with the rubber apron and hat. “It was a hot, dirty, stinky job,” Michael says about pots. “We all hated it.”
A lot of teenagers couldn’t cut it. They’d hire on and then bail within weeks. However, Michael and a friend made an agreement with each other to stick it out an entire summer, and they both did.
For Michael, the experience he gained from that job far outweighed the downsides. “That first job, as awful as it was, made me appreciate the easier jobs I had later.”
After saying good-bye to the cafeteria, Michael worked at a fast-food restaurant, then at a grocery store, and next at a movie theater concessions stand. At each job he had a positive attitude toward the work because of what he’d learned from his first job. “You learn lessons at your first job,” Michael says. “Something good can come out of every job experience.”

Terrence the toad is tired of hopping. The wizard/tutor who turned him into a toad said he’ll restore Terrence to human form if he can prove he’ll stop slacking off on his homework. (And you thought your teachers were demanding!)
All Terrence must do is solve this riddle. With each hop around the circle, he may only change the previous word by one letter to reach the new word. If he reaches the final lily pad with a word that’s one letter away from the original word, he’ll prove to Wizard Wonderly that he’s ready to buckle down on his studies.
Something you run really fast.
It’s hard to make sushi without this.
What you might call a rollercoaster.
An order of bacon, if it’s not already your main dish.
A “dad” in medieval times.
How your feet feel after too much hiking.
What you may need to replace on your shoe after that long hike!
A realtor’s favorite word on a yard sign.
To work or press into a shape. Or, if you leave bread out too long.
He likes the dark, and he’s got the tiny eyes to prove it.
In Old Testament days, animal offerings had to be without blemish and … (see Lev. 1:3 if you’re stuck).
Something our friend Terrence wants for his next birthday—if he gets turned back to a human in time—that he can practice with during medieval battle class.
race
rice
ride
side
sire
sore
sole
sold
mold
mole
male
mace

A few years ago I read an article written by Jack McConnell, MD. He grew up in the hills of southwest Virginia in the United States as one of seven children of a Methodist minister and a stay-at-home mother. Their circumstances were very humble. He recounted that during his childhood, every day as the family sat around the dinner table, his father would ask each one in turn, “And what did you do for someone today?”1 The children were determined to do a good turn every day so they could report to their father that they had helped someone. Dr. McConnell calls this exercise his father’s most valuable legacy, for that expectation and those words inspired him and his siblings to help others throughout their lives. As they grew and matured, their motivation for providing service changed to an inner desire to help others.
Besides Dr. McConnell’s distinguished medical career—where he directed the development of the tuberculosis tine test, participated in the early development of the polio vaccine, supervised the development of Tylenol, and was instrumental in developing the magnetic resonance imaging procedure, or MRI—he created an organization he calls Volunteers in Medicine, which gives retired medical personnel a chance to volunteer at free clinics serving the working uninsured. Dr. McConnell said his leisure time since he retired has “evaporated into 60-hour weeks of unpaid work, but [his] energy level has increased and there is a satisfaction in [his] life that wasn’t there before.” He made this statement: “In one of those paradoxes of life, I have benefited more from Volunteers in Medicine than my patients have.”2 There are now over 70 such clinics across the United States.

We are serving in the Virginia Richmond Mission and have to admit the best gift we gave happened early in the season. We met a beautiful family, the Galies, late in October. They were taught the discussions and committed to baptism mid-November. The baptism date was set for December sixth. We were all thrilled.
We could not help but think what a wonderful gift from Heavenly Father we had brought to this family. And what a wonderful gift they had given to him in return—that of dedicating their lives to him.
It was such a joy to see their lives change. Their baptism was a powerful spiritual experience for them, their children, and the entire congregation. We know the message we take to people is a true gift of love and hope from Heavenly Father. We love the work we are engaged in.
—Sisters Criddle and JuddVirginia Richmond Mission

Homes are also private places, so unfortunately, we often let down. In our homes and with our families we sometimes become our worst selves with the people who matter the most in our lives. I distinctly remember one morning when I was 14 years old. Before I left for school, I was cross and unkind with my parents and my brothers. After I left the house, I was polite with the bus driver and friendly to my peers. I felt the discrepancy of my actions, and a huge feeling of remorse came over me. I asked the teacher if I could be excused for a few minutes to call home. I apologized to my mother for my behavior and told her how much I loved and appreciated her and promised to do better at showing it.

My Cub Scout troop (which is my friend Jacob and me) made no-sew blankets from “Salsa Service” (Jan. 2017) and donated them to a nearby refugee center. We met a family that had just moved from Congo who received the blankets. I felt the Spirit inside me and knew that Heavenly Father loved this family.

Everyone carries painful memories of being scolded by a parent or a teacher for not trying to learn. I can still hear in my mind a German teacher, short enough to look me in the eye as she stood at my desk, saying, “Du bist ein —————,” which translated means that she thought I was a donkey for not learning and that some day I would be sorry. Indeed, I am sorry. And I’m sorry for a hundred other times and places I was slow or unable to learn. But more than the regret I feel for choosing not to learn from a German teacher and a piano teacher and so many others, my heart aches for the days—even months and years—when the Master would have taught me how to use faith and repentance and the Holy Ghost and charity, but could not get my attention.

Samantha turned her back to the cheerful view outside her window. She tried to tune out the happy sounds coming from downstairs, but it didn’t work. A tear escaped from her eye, and she hastily wiped it away—she did not want to be caught crying. They have been so nice! she thought.
Other families had not been. They hadn’t really been mean or anything, and her physical needs had always been met—but she’d never felt like she had a real home where she belonged. And after a few weeks or months, she would move on to a new house and a new family—which was fine because she didn’t really miss the previous one much.
But the McMillans were different. Samantha could tell they really cared for her. That’s why thinking about leaving some day made her so sad. It’s better not to become too close, she thought. Another tear trailed its way down her cheek. Why am I upset? I should be happy. This is a nice family, I feel at home here, even though I’ve been here only four days.
Suddenly footsteps galloped up the stairs. That has to be Amy, she thought, smiling.
The door flew open, and six-year-old Amy bounded in, her pigtails bouncing and a huge smile on her face. “Samantha! Samantha! Mom has our dessert downstairs! You’d better hurry, or Kevin will eat it all up!” The whipped cream smeared across her cheek made it obvious that Amy had eaten hers already. She stopped abruptly and looked closely at Samantha in the darkening room. “Are you sad?”
Samantha jumped up. “Oh, I’m just thinking. What did your mom make for dessert?” she replied, trying to change the subject.
“Pumpkin pie, of course. We always have pie on Saturday night. You can even put cream on it if you want!”
“I bet you had cream on yours!”
“How’d you know?”
“A good guess,” Samantha said as she wiped the cream from Amy’s cheek.
“Well, come on!” Amy grabbed at Samantha’s hand. “You need to hurry if you want any.”
As Amy bounded down the stairs, Samantha followed, unsure of herself and of where she fit in with this family.
The McMillans were sitting at the table, eating their pie. A place was set for her, and a piece of pie had been cut and put at her place. She sat down silently and looked around the table. Everyone smiled a greeting except Kevin, who was eyeing her piece of pie. She smiled and looked down at her hands shyly.
“We already blessed the pie, Samantha,” Mrs. McMillan said. “Won’t you have some with us?”
Samantha was relieved. She felt awkward when they said these prayers. She remembered her first meal with them. All of a sudden everyone had bowed their heads and were quiet, and she’d had no idea what they were doing. She had glanced around the table and tried to copy what she saw. No one had noticed because they all had their eyes closed. Suddenly remembering Mrs. McMillan’s question, she quickly said, “Kevin can have mine, I’m still full from dinner.”
“Yes!” Kevin shouted.
“Kevin! You’ve had two pieces already!” Mrs. McMillan said in disbelief. “And you ate more than anyone else at dinner!”
“I know, Mom, but I’m a growing boy!” Kevin replied, reaching for Samantha’s pie and giving her a great big smile of thanks.
Samantha giggled and looked at Amy, who giggled too.
“Well, it’s time for bed now,” Mr. McMillan said a few minutes later as he stood up and began to gather the dishes on the table. “I’ll help your mother with these while you kids run up and get your pajamas on. We’ll come up and tuck you in shortly.”
As she and Samantha climbed the stairs, Amy grumbled about having to go to bed so soon. Kevin ate his last bite of pie and fell in step behind them.
Samantha followed Amy into their room, and they began to change into their pajamas. Samantha was eager to wear the new pink ones Mrs. McMillan had bought for her. But when Amy knelt at the side of her bed to say her prayers, Samantha felt the awkward feeling seep into her chest again. Mr. and Mrs. McMillan had offered to help her pray, but they didn’t insist when she said maybe later, after she got more used to the family routines. Amy soon stood up and hopped under the covers. She glanced over at Samantha and asked, “Are you going to say your prayers tonight?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Samantha said, getting into bed. She turned out the lamp on the nightstand. Mr. and Mrs. McMillan came in and wished them good night and sweet dreams, then closed the door quietly. The moon shining through the trees cast shadows on the wall, and Samantha watched the shadows sway back and forth as the night breeze blew.
“Amy, why do you p-pray every night?” Samantha asked, feeling awkward even asking.
“Because I need to talk to Heavenly Father.”
“Why do you need to talk to Heavenly Father?”
“I need to thank Him for my mom, dad, and brother. And my friend Jesse is sick, so I need to ask Heavenly Father to bless her and help her get better. Oh, and I need to thank Him for the nice day we had—and for sending you to live with us.”
“For me?”
Amy nodded.
“And you’re praying to a person?”
“Sure, but not a person like us—God is our Heavenly Father and He’s perfect. Mom says He loves us and wants us to be happy. He answers our prayers, though sometimes not the way we want to have them answered.”
“Do you really believe that there is a Person who hears you when you pray?”
“Oh, yes, I’m sure. I always feel good inside when I pray.”
“Do you think He will listen and answer prayers for anyone—even for me?” Samantha had many feelings inside that she wanted to share with someone who loved her, especially someone like the Heavenly Father Amy had described.
“Of course!” Amy chirped reassuringly.
“How do you say a prayer? I mean, do you say it like your family does at dinner?”
“Yep! Do you want to pray now? I’ll help you!”
Without waiting for an answer, Amy scrambled over and knelt beside Samantha’s bed. Samantha knelt next to her and closed her eyes. Amy thanked Heavenly Father for the nice day and asked Him to bless the family, including the goldfish. As Samantha echoed Amy’s words, she began to feel good inside. They ended their prayer in the name of Jesus Christ and climbed into their beds.
“We can pray together again in the morning, and you can do the talking,” Amy said and then was soon asleep.
Samantha couldn’t sleep. All she could think about was how she felt and what Amy had said. In her heart she began to say another prayer, thanking Heavenly Father for the McMillans.

“I shall always remember the faith of an old Maori brother in New Zealand. As the missionaries came to his humble little fishing shack located well off the beaten track, he hurried to find an envelope containing the money and letter to the missionaries. This fine brother didn’t have the ability to read the letter when it arrived, for it was written in English and his tongue was Maori, but he could read the financial figures contained in it, and he recognized the letterhead as being from the mission office. He thought the mission needed the cash amount mentioned for some special purpose, and he had it all ready for the missionaries. After translating the letter for him, it was now clear that the letter merely confirmed his annual tithing settlement and stated the total amount paid for the previous year. His faith was such that he stood ready to pay the same amount all over again if the Lord’s servants needed it for the work.” (Robert L. Simpson, Conference Report, April 1966, p. 52.)

Cristi: From previous marriages, James had five children and I had four. I decided I needed to write letters to them. So, I wrote this whole box of letters, and guess what—years have passed since then, and now my arm is so swollen and full of tumors that I can’t write anymore. Just a few days ago I tried to write a letter to my daughter for her birthday, and my arm was in such horrible pain that I was out of breath. So, writing those letters when I did was inspiration. I’m glad I listened to that prompting because now I wouldn’t be able to do it.

Some time ago I was participating on a basketball team that usually played games on Saturdays. When we played on Sunday, however, I would not attend, and my teammates would make fun of this. When they asked me why I didn’t play on Sundays, I responded, “I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and I am taught to make the Sabbath sacred and not play sports. I follow the principles of the gospel because I know that God wants the best for us.” After that, my teammates respected my beliefs and stopped making fun of me.
Nicolás B., age 19, Córdoba, Argentina

I hadn’t been reading the scriptures until my Young Women president suggested that I work on Personal Progress. It asked me to read the scriptures every day for some weeks. After doing this, I never stopped reading them. My best advice is that you ought to work on your Personal Progress or Duty to God. Challenge yourself to read the scriptures more and more, and you will see a change within yourself. I tell you this without a doubt—you will see that you have a stronger testimony.
Paola S., 16, Cortés, Honduras

Moeaki began art while attending Liahona High School in Nuku’alofa, Tonga. He once placed third in a Danish international art competition, and later gained a bachelor of fine arts from BYU-Idaho in the United States. He has been teaching art for the last nine years at his alma mater, Liahona High School.
Moe works in oil, acrylic and watercolour and describes his art as abstract expressionism. He is most interested in drawing things that are “beyond the veil.”
“I had some near-death experiences when I was a child, which have influenced me. When my father was a mission president, he asked me to do a drawing of the plan of salvation as a missionary tool. . . . It really fired my imagination to think about what it is like beyond the veil.”
His selected work is a tapa collage and acrylic on cardboard entitled, “All Are Alike unto Christ.” A unique feature of this piece is that it includes a strip of tapa cloth.
“Tapa is a very important part of Tongan culture. Newborn babies are wrapped in it, brides and grooms wear it on their wedding day and caskets are draped with it at funerals. It literally is the fabric of our lives,” Moeaki says. “To me, it is an actual veil between this life and the spirit world so it’s important that it is included in my art.”
In his painting, tapa separates our mortal life and a heavenly existence. Beyond that veil, ministering angels are depicted eager to reach out and bless those in times of great need.
“All are alike unto God. . . . We all long for peace, love, and comfort,” Moeaki says, “we all feel that we are being ministered to by the Saviour and His angels in times of need.”