Gospel Story Finder

Now, a year after her son’s death, Jesusita was still living in San Marcos. On the first Sunday in July 1916, the Saints held a testimony meeting, and each member of the branch bore witness of the gospel and the hope it gave them. Then, on July 17, the anniversary of the killings, they met together again to remember the martyrs. They sang a hymn about the Second Coming of Jesus Christ, and Casimiro Gutierrez read a chapter from the New Testament. Another branch member compared Rafael and Vicente to the martyr Stephen, who died for his testimony of Christ.6
Jesusita remained a pillar of faith for her family. “Our sorrows have been grievous,” she wrote in a letter, “but our faith is strong, and we will never forsake this religion.”7

The story of two equally fine young men will illustrate the PEF’s impact. They have recently served missions in a less-advantaged country. Both of these elders served obediently. But when one returned home, he enjoyed the means to attend a great university, thanks to parents who have saved enough through self-reliance and provident living to pay for his education. He would not even have to work during school. The other missionary, equally worthy and obedient, returned home to face the same poverty from whence he came.

Anguished at the situation, the returned missionary from better financial circumstances sent a letter to the PEF office. Following inner promptings, he took the money his parents provided for a year of college, donated it to the PEF, and found a job to earn his own way through school that year. Clearly he sought to become one with the Savior by becoming one with his brother. (See D&C 38:25–27.)

I recall as a young boy going with my father to visit an elderly widow living in humble circumstances. We shared a couple of boxes of food with her. When we were leaving, her remarks touched my heart. She said, “Thank you, Bishop, and please come back again, even if it’s just to say hello.”
This was probably the first time I realized that the food items were appreciated but the words of encouragement and the personal visit were of greater value.

At one time in his life, President Grant encountered some severe financial reverses, and in his words, “I was just $91,000 worse off than nothing.”
He was called to open and preside over a mission in Japan, and he was given one year to prepare and put his affairs in order prior to his departure.
After the meeting in which he was called, a fellow apostle told Heber J. Grant that the president of the Church would never have called him if he had known of his difficult financial situation. President Grant agreed. At that moment President Grant put himself completely in the hands of the Lord, and every morning his prayer, in essence, was: “Please help me today to do something to help me get out of debt.” Within the year’s time, all of his creditors had been paid. He was not only completely out of debt but had sufficient to sustain himself in the mission field.

Let me give you an exercise in pure poetry. I was looking up the word widgeon at one time. I had known the word for a long time, but I could not point to any specific duck. I looked at the roots, as I like to do, and I couldn’t figure out what it had come from. So I turned to the dictionary, and it said, “origin uncertain.” I already knew that, so I had made no gain. And then it said, “Any of various aquatic fowl,” which is a miserable thing to do in a dictionary. I can’t go around saying, “Look at one of ‘various aquatic fowl.’”
I had the word widgeon in mind, and as I was looking at the page, I saw another word, wicopy. That turned out to be a word derived from the Algonquian Indians, the name of a particular tree. I found myself saying, “A widgeon in a wicopy—a widgeon in a wicopy.” It wants to syncopate, doesn’t it? The sounds are a bit of fun. But I am not going to let you accuse me of being stupid. The writer has to pretend that he is smarter than the reader. I know that ducks don’t roost in trees, so that gave me a second line. “A widgeon in a wicopy, in which no widgeon ought to be.” But I gathered myself, and now I obviously needed to go for w’s, and what came up was “a widowed widgeon was.” Widowed, I thought, was a good choice. It has a sounded and a muted w, so I had a pattern. “A widgeon in a wicopy in which no widgeon ought to be, a widowed widgeon was.” I like the way it syncopates.
Now I had a pattern, and the joy of it was to see if I could repeat the pattern without stumbling, and the word that came to me was the key word for the next pattern, wickiup. You know what a wickiup is. You take willow branches or something and make your frame. I began, “While in a willow wickiup”—that gave me lots of w’s. And now I needed a w Indian to keep this going, and I finally settled on Wichita. But I wasn’t sure Wichita was a word for a tribe or for a river or for an area. I looked that up in the dictionary, and it said Wichita was an Indian tribe, so I was safe. The dictionary served me that time. And it gave me the next pattern: “While in a willow wickiup, a Wichita sat down to sup with other Wichitas.”
Now here is something you do in poetry. I had said, “a widowed widgeon.” Now, if you widow a widgeon in a poem, you have to explain why. You have to account for it. It is like a theme in music. You have introduced it; you have to answer it. That is the fun of the performance. I got myself into trouble, and I came out with what I submit is an exercise in logic. The whole thing goes:
A widgeon in a wicopy
In which no widgeon ought to be,
A widowed widgeon was.
While in a willow wickiup
A Wichita sat down to sup
With other Wichitas,
And what they whittled as they ate
Included what had been of late
A widgeon’s wing.
‘Twas thus
Now that isn’t finished. It hasn’t rhymed yet.
The widgeon in the wicopy,
In which no widgeon ought to be,
A widowed widgeon was.
It seals itself.

After school you have soccer, dance, and art class—it’s exhausting. Do you quit some after-school activities?
No?
All these activities can be fun, but it can be hard on your body. If you’re always tired, talk to a parent about doing just one or two activities.
Yes!
You need to give yourself time every day to be with your family and to rest and relax.

On August 30, in the middle of Wyoming, the teenage driver received a special honor. Captain Joseph W. Young needed to rush ahead of his train to catch up with another wagon company, so he selected Zeb to drive him in a wagon pulled by mules. (Mules travel much faster than oxen.) Zeb drove as fast as he could for three days and then Captain Young, needing to travel even faster, hailed a passing stagecoach, boarded it, and left Zeb to travel alone.
Zeb liked the fast mule team which moved him 20 to 45 miles a day, double what wagon trains could cover. But driving alone on the hot, dusty trail and camping by himself at night had its lonely moments. So he enjoyed catching up to other travelers and visiting with them. Late on September 3 he overtook the Joseph Horne train “where I joined the people in that camp in a dance.” An injured man in the camp needed to be hurried to Salt Lake, so Richard Horne joined Zeb as a traveling companion, “and I was very glad of his company,” Zeb confessed.
Zeb, the teenage driver, put his mule-pulled wagon and injured passenger into Salt Lake City in near record time, arriving on September 7 at breakfast time. He beat his Joseph W. Young wagon train there by 16 days. In total, down and back, Zeb had been on the trail for 18 weeks.

I am pleased with the theme that has been selected for this meeting, “Learn—Then Teach.” All my married life I have been blessed with my sweet companion, Camilla, who has had an unquenchable thirst for knowledge. She is always reading and seeking. She believes literally in the Lord’s counsel through the Prophet Joseph Smith: “Whatever principle of intelligence we attain unto in this life, it will rise with us in the resurrection” (D&C 130:18). Not only has she been continually learning during our sixty-three years of marriage, but she has been sharing as well, by example and by teaching. For more than half a century she has been a Relief Society visiting teacher, and has taught the Spiritual Living lessons in Relief Society for much of that time.

I have always been greatly impressed by the experience that Elder Orson F. Whitney had. He was a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, and he related this in one of our conferences. I would like to read it to you. He said:
“Many years ago a learned man, a member of the Roman Catholic Church, came to Utah and spoke from the stand of the Salt Lake Tabernacle. I became well-acquainted with him, and we conversed freely and frankly. A great scholar, with perhaps a dozen languages at his tongue’s end, he seemed to know all about theology, law, literature, science and philosophy. One day he said to me: ‘You Mormons are all ignoramuses. You don’t even know the strength of your own position. It is so strong that there is only one other tenable in the whole Christian world, and that is the position of the Catholic Church. The issue is between Catholicism and Mormonism. If we are right, you are wrong; if you are right, we are wrong; and that’s all there is to it. The Protestants haven’t a leg to stand on. For, if we are wrong, they are wrong with us, since they were a part of us and went out from us; while if we are right, they are apostates whom we cut off long ago. If we have the apostolic succession from St. Peter, as we claim, there is no need of Joseph Smith and Mormonism; but if we have not that succession, then such a man as Joseph Smith was necessary, and Mormonism’s attitude is the only consistent one. It is either the perpetuation of the gospel from ancient times, or the restoration of the gospel in latter days.’” (LeGrand Richards, A Marvelous Work and a Wonder [Deseret Book Co., 1950], pp. 3–4.)

I enjoyed President Hinckley’s comments regarding the walnut from which this pulpit is made. The Tabernacle pulpit had both a red light and an amber light to assist the speaker with his time. As we get older, our eyesight usually isn’t as sharp as it used to be. The amber light would come on, and if you didn’t pay attention to that, the red light would start to blink. Brother LeGrand Richards, when the light was first installed, said, “Someone’s put a silly light up here.” He said, “I’ll just put my hand over it.” There isn’t a light here today, so I don’t know when I will end.

When it was announced on Sunday that the young men in my ward were going to do baptisms for the dead, I just thought to myself, Too bad I can’t go. I never gave it another thought because I knew it would be too difficult for me to go. I have cerebral palsy.
After my mom picked me up from school on Tuesday (the day the young men were going to the temple), she said we needed to hurry because the bishop would be picking us up at 5:30 P.M. I didn’t even pay attention because I thought she was talking to my brother, Beau.
Then she said, “Bart, you need to hurry and eat and get showered and into your Sunday clothes.”
I said, “What? I’m going?”
She told me that the bishop didn’t want me to be left out and thought that it would be nice if I went and watched the other boys do baptisms for the dead. I couldn’t believe it. I was going to go to the temple!
As we hurried to get ready, I could hardly quit smiling; just the thought that I could go to the temple made me happy. Rick Hansen, my teachers quorum adviser, drove me to the temple in his nice, new van. My wheelchair fit inside just fine.
The temple was so beautiful. I had heard people say how strong the Spirit of the Holy Ghost is in the temple, and boy, were they right. I sat behind the window looking at the other boys being baptized, wishing I could be baptized too.
Just then Bishop Homer came over to me. “Come on,” he said. “We need to get you dressed.” I wasn’t sure what he meant or where we were going. He took me back to a special dressing room that was for temple workers, and he and Rick tried to figure out how to get the baptismal clothes on me. They did a pretty good job. I looked down at myself and thought it was neat to be dressed in white.
Then the temple worker gave me a card with my name on it. The bishop took me into the baptismal font area where I waited for my turn. As I sat and waited, a special feeling came over me. I kept looking up at the ceiling and thanking my Heavenly Father for this chance that he had given me. I also thought about the people I would be doing the baptisms for. I wondered what they would think about me, a handicapped boy, being baptized for them.
Then my turn came. It was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop. I felt as if all eyes were on me. The bishop scooped me up in his arms and carried me down into the baptismal font. It took both the bishop and Rick to baptize me because of my floppy trunk and stiff limbs. The bishop stopped after completing the ordinance for each name and made sure I was still breathing all right. I did a total of five baptisms. The bishop and Rick then dressed me, and the bishop even combed my hair with his comb. Beau told me that when the bishop pushed me out of the dressing room he had sweat coming down his face. I’m not sure the bishop realized how much work it was going to be to dress me.
As we went over to do the confirmations, I felt warm all over. I thought to myself, How could people not know that the Church is true? I was so grateful my bishop cared enough to give me the chance to be baptized in the temple. It’s so beautiful inside the temple. The powerful feeling inside just makes me feel that I know the Church is true.

Although seven-year-old Caylen Craven of Pawhuska, Oklahoma, has not ever had to go to war, he is a “stripling warrior” because he has learned how to be honest, too. One day while walking through the airport with his family, he saw a man in front of him accidently drop some money. Even though he is normally very shy around strangers, Caylen ran to pick up the money and return it to its owner.
Caylen’s mother wrote, “We were thankful that his first reaction was to do the right and honest thing, that he didn’t even think about keeping the dollar.”

Abby hadn’t paid much attention when Rachel and her family moved in across the street. Abby already had a best friend. Besides, Rachel wasn’t Abby’s type. Rachel and her older brothers wore the kind of clothes that Abby knew her parents would never let her wear. And the Miller kids stayed up really late at night—Abby knew because she heard them yelling at each other and playing loud music.
Abby saw Rachel every day at school but didn’t bother to introduce herself. She figured Rachel would find her own friends who were more like her. Sure enough, Rachel started hanging around with Kami. Kami bullied some of the other kids, and she swore a lot. Abby thought Kami and Rachel were perfect for each other.
A few weeks later, Abby stepped out onto her porch to go to school. The night before, Abby and her family had placed pumpkins on their front porch. Abby gasped as she saw the remains of the pumpkins smashed to smithereens and smeared all over the porch steps. Abby stared at the sticky, orange mess and wanted to cry. When she looked up, she saw Rachel’s older brother watching her from across the street. Abby knew that Rachel and her brothers had smashed the pumpkins on purpose.
She went inside and told her mom what had happened. “I know it was Rachel and her brothers,” she said.
“You can’t know that for sure,” Mom said.
“I just know,” Abby said. “And I hate them.”
Abby’s mom tried to tell her that hate was wrong, but Abby didn’t listen.
At school, Abby watched Rachel. Would Rachel brag to Kami about smashing the pumpkins? Was she secretly laughing at Abby?
That night after dinner, Mom asked Abby if she would try an experiment.
“I guess so,” Abby said. “What is it?”
“For the rest of the week, I want you to do everything you can to replace your anger with feelings of love for Rachel,” Mom said. “Pray for her. Think about her. Smile at her at school. Do whatever you can think of to show love. Then we’ll talk about it.”
“Five days!” Abby thought. She didn’t think she could have feelings of love for Rachel, but she wanted to do what her mom asked.
“OK,” Abby agreed. “I’ll do it for the rest of the week. But I don’t know if it will work.”
Abby began by praying for Rachel. She didn’t really know what to say in her prayer, so she just said, “Please bless Rachel.” That day she watched Rachel more closely during school. She noticed that Rachel was having a hard time in math. “That’s something I can pray about,” Abby thought.
On day two, Abby prayed, “Please help Rachel do better in math.” During math class, Rachel must have felt Abby watching her because she looked right back at Abby. Abby didn’t know what to do, so she smiled. On the way home from school, Rachel caught up to Abby.
“Why were you staring at me in math?” Rachel asked.
Abby’s heart raced. Would Rachel hit her?
“Um, I was wondering if you needed some help. I’m kind of good at math,” Abby said.
“I don’t need help!” Rachel said, and she ran ahead of Abby.
On day three, Abby prayed that she would be able to help Rachel. At recess, Rachel didn’t play with Kami. She came over to Abby instead. “Are you really good at math?” she asked.
Abby nodded.
“Could you help me after school?”
Abby thought about Rachel’s house. She didn’t want to go there. “Sure,” she said. “Can you come over to my house?”
“OK,” Rachel said, smiling. “How about tomorrow?”
On day four, which was Saturday, the doorbell rang at 7 a.m. Abby wasn’t even out of bed yet, but her father was awake and he let Rachel in. “Abby, Rachel’s here,” he called.
When Abby came into the kitchen in her pajamas, Rachel looked embarrassed. “I guess I came over too early,” she said. “I just didn’t want to be at my house right now.”
Abby was glad Rachel was in their house. She didn’t want Rachel to be feeling sad at her own house this morning. Abby’s dad was making pancakes. Abby smiled at Rachel and got her a plate and a fork.
On day five, Abby took Rachel with her to Primary. After church, she told her mom she had been right about the experiment. It did feel better to love her enemies. “Only, Rachel’s not my enemy anymore,” she said. “She’s my friend.”

8. Bishop Kofi Sosu and His Father: Forgiveness of Father and Son, by Emmalee Glauser Powell
After his mission, Kofi wanted to return home, but his father had disowned him. He felt impressed to go anyway. When he arrived, his father saw him and said, “Stop.” So he stopped.
“Who are you?” asked his father.
“I am your son.”
“My son?”
“Yes, your son, Kofi.” At this he saw tears running down his father’s face. His father stood up and embraced him.
“Oh, my son, my son. I am so sorry. I know you did the right thing. I have accepted you as my son.”

As I went into surgery a few years ago, I was still conscious when the doctors and nurses were standing around me waiting. I said to the specialist, “There are numerous people full of faith who are praying for you this morning.” He quietly replied, “I’ll need their prayers.” It is my firm conviction that the numerous prayers were heard, that his hand was steadied and guided, that his judgment increased, and that as a result of the blessings of the Lord, healing followed and voice returned to a satisfactory extent. The skeptic might have other answers.

As I began to investigate the Church, I was given several issues of the Liahona (Spanish). The articles in these issues helped resolve some of my questions, and, as a result, I accepted the missionary discussions and was baptized 27 June 1987.
Since then, I have served a mission in Guayaquil, Ecuador, been sealed to a former missionary, and become a mother. I am very grateful to the good person who had the inspiration to give me the magazines. My testimony is strengthened continually as I read the Liahona.
Ruth Elena de GuaycalLas Palmas Ward, Santo Domingo Ecuador Stake

Young Women in the Cartersville Branch, Marietta Georgia East Stake, sent a box filled with treats to the full-time missionaries in their area. Each treat came with a scripture attached so that the missionaries could feed both their bodies and their spirits. The youth loved the activity—and so did the missionaries!

Elder Wada told the story of a time his mother came to church before she was baptized. A young boy noticed that she needed a hymnbook and gave one to her. That boy helped Elder Wada’s mother feel God’s love. She decided to be baptized!

It was Christmas Day. Judith hummed as she walked to the church building. She and her siblings were going to their branch’s Christmas party.
Her sister, Esther, smiled. “Is that ‘Angels We Have Heard on High?’”
“Yes! It’s my favorite. I hope we sing it today.” Judith grinned.
“I love that song!” Désiré, her brother, added. He loudly sang, “Gl-o-o-o-ria!”
They all laughed. Judith couldn’t wait to celebrate with their branch. Not many people in Mali celebrated Christmas. In this part of Africa, most people didn’t know much about Jesus. To them, Christmas was just an ordinary day.
The streets were full of people. Vendors sold light green melons. People young and old carried jugs of water on their heads. A young boy led a donkey pulling a cart. Judith looked up at the tall, narrow tower of a mosque. It was a beautiful building where many of their Muslim neighbors worshipped.
Judith, Esther, and Désiré used to go to Papa’s church. But last summer, they joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Now the three of them walked to church together every week. Judith loved learning about Jesus in Primary.
At last they got to the party. Most of the families in the branch were already there. A projector was showing Christmas videos on the chapel wall. Judith watched Joseph lead Mary through Bethlehem on a donkey. The busy, dusty streets reminded her of Mali!
After the video ended, a taxi pulled up. Sister Valerie, the Relief Society president, got out.
“I’ve brought the food!” she called.
Everyone helped bring dishes up to the balcony. It was a feast! Potato salad, carrots, green beans, bright yellow rice, fried chicken … it was all delicious!
“Thank you so much, Sister Valerie!” Judith said.
Then the youngest children each got a ball, doll, or toy car. There weren’t enough gifts for Judith to get one, but she didn’t mind. She loved seeing the little kids smile.
The party ended with singing. Judith smiled when they sang “Angels We Have Heard on High.”
The whole branch sang together. It was so beautiful. Jesus really was born all those years ago! Judith was so grateful that she, Désiré, and Esther knew about Him. And she was so happy to celebrate His birth.

Do you remember President Nelson playing the song “Hope of Israel” on the piano in the worldwide Youth Music Festival on March 17, 2021? Calling us the Lord’s youth battalion, he invited us to let the Spirit guide us as we help to gather Israel in these latter days.
Probably like many of you, I wondered what I as a 15-year-old could do to follow the prophet’s invitation, especially in the middle of a worldwide pandemic.
A year earlier, President Nelson had also invited the world to #HearHim, meaning to listen to the words of the Lord Jesus Christ. I knew the Book of Mormon was another testament of Jesus Christ. The idea came to me to help people hear the Lord’s voice by sharing the Book of Mormon in a new way: as a podcast recorded by teenagers.
“I thought it would be cool to hear the book read by everyday teens like you and me.”
In addition to the professionally produced recordings of the Book of Mormon available from the Church, I thought it would be cool to hear the book read by everyday teens like you and me, the way we experience it. We don’t always read perfectly, and not everyone knows how to pronounce every word correctly. But that’s OK because none of us is perfect anyway. I actually kind of like the imperfections in some of the recordings—it makes me feel like I’m listening to one of my friends reading.
The project took a lot of work. It turns out that requesting, editing, assembling, publishing, and hosting a podcast with recordings from 250 different people is quite a big job. The result is a recording of the entire text of the Book of Mormon featuring readers from 15 U.S. states and 10 countries from around the world. The recordings can be heard on the website www.teensreadthebook.com and on all major podcast listening platforms under Teens Read the Book.
McKay (center in the yellow shirt) gathers with other youth who helped with the podcast. They enjoyed the chance to talk about the podcast and reflect on the blessing it was to work on it.
I love hearing the variety of voices and accents of youth who sent in recordings. Knowing their voices would be heard around the world, many readers worked very hard to get their recordings just right. Some, like Thomas from New Zealand (who read 3 Nephi 20) or José from Peru (who read 3 Nephi 23), practiced for hours or days before recording. A group of 10 youth from South Korea faced the challenge of English not being their first language. Their solution was to work together, each recording a few verses at a time and stitching them together into what became 2 Nephi 28 and 29.
My goal when I started the project was to help people feel the Spirit and come closer to Jesus Christ. Seeing youth, most of whom I don’t know, respond to my invitation showed me how deeply they felt about the Book of Mormon. Their words have now been downloaded and listened to thousands of times. They are helping people feel the Spirit of God.
I am grateful to those who contributed to this project and for the way I felt the Lord’s help doing it. I am honored to be part of the Lord’s youth battalion, standing alongside others who love the Book of Mormon. I have also learned that when we respond to invitations from the Lord’s prophet, the Spirit will guide our efforts.