Gospel Story Finder

Illustration by Bradley Clark
I had been home from my mission for only three months when I began to struggle with reading the scriptures.
I had read the scriptures every day on my mission and promised to continue when I returned home. But as time passed, things just seemed to get in the way. I either had too much homework, was too busy working, or was just too tired. With each excuse, my scripture reading dwindled until I was hardly reading at all.
I opened the Book of Mormon one night and planned on reading just a verse. The verse I read reminded me that the scriptures contain “the pleasing word of God, yea, the word which healeth the wounded soul” (Jacob 2:8).
I pondered this verse and realized the negative effect neglecting scripture study was having on me. I felt more stressed at school, more apathetic at church, and more distanced from God. My soul needed the healing word of God found in the scriptures. I knew I needed to reorganize my priorities.
I turned to my friends, family, and Church leaders to ask for suggestions to rejuvenate my scripture study. I found three things to be helpful.
First, I realized that studying the scriptures at night was not effective for me. Studying in the morning allowed me to ponder throughout the day the doctrine and principles I had read that morning.
Second, we are taught to read scriptures with our families, but since I was at college and away from my family, I started reading scriptures with roommates and friends. This helped me stay accountable, and it sparked great gospel discussions.
Third, I started writing down promptings and thoughts I received during scripture study. This helped me focus on what I was reading and helped me better recognize the voice of the Spirit.
Once scripture study became a priority in my life again, I found that I had more time and energy to accomplish everything I needed to get done. Most important, I felt a closeness to God again as I read and pondered the scriptures. Now when I spend time in the scriptures, I feel peace and find healing for my soul.

Right before I graduated from college, my wife and I were pondering two questions: when we should begin having children and where to go after graduation. We spent many hours talking about these intimidating issues but hadn’t come to any conclusions.
One particular Sunday, our conversation slowly turned into a debate, which then escalated into an argument. At that moment, the doorbell rang. We were surprised to find our home teachers standing in the doorway.
We invited them in and listened to their message. One of our home teachers began talking about Moses and the children of Israel making their escape from Egypt. When the children of Israel got to the shores of the Red Sea, they could go no further, and the Egyptians were quickly approaching. The scriptures say that the children of Israel “were sore afraid” (Exodus 14:10). When Moses prayed for guidance, the Lord responded, “Wherefore criest thou unto me? speak unto the children of Israel, that they go forward” (Exodus 14:15).
As soon as our home teacher read that scripture, the feelings of frustration and fear melted away. My wife and I realized that we had been sitting on the banks of the Red Sea wondering what to do but that in order to “see the salvation of the Lord” (Exodus 14:13), we would have to go forward.
In our case, going forward meant making an informed decision, working diligently, and trusting in the Lord. We had to stop debating and start acting in faith. As we followed the Lord’s guidance, the sea of choices before us parted, and we were able to walk through unscathed. We are grateful for the blessings we received from moving forward in faith and for home teachers who inspired us to take the first steps.

I also remember the day I discovered death. I was 16 and had a brand-new 20-gauge shotgun. I had gone pheasant hunting that morning and, like every hunt since I had been given the gun, had failed to hit anything. It was late afternoon, and I was skirting a hill north of my home when I saw a bird standing about 18 meters in front of me. I raised the shotgun and fired. A cloud of dust and feathers signaled a direct hit.
I ran to the spot and there found, flapping painfully on the ground, a wounded meadowlark. It stopped moving as I reached down to pick it up. Instantly, the excitement drained from the day, and in the pit of my stomach grew a sickness I’ve since learned to call disgust. I had killed, not for food or for any other useful reason, but simply for the pleasure of killing. I was ashamed. The meadowlark was gone—and with it a small part of my youth.

My name is Modibo Diarra. In 1981 I had the honor of being the first person to be baptized a member of the Church in my native land of Mali. It is hard to believe how much my life has changed since then, and that it all happened because my dog was sick!

One day, my dog got sick, and I thought it might be a case of rabies. At that time I was a school teacher, and one of my students told me about an American veterinarian, Dr. Jerry Zaugg, who was working in Mali. I arranged for Dr. Zaugg to come to our house and asked my wife to prepare tea for him, as is the custom here. But our guest declined to drink the tea. He said it was contrary to the teachings of his church. That interested me, and I asked him many questions.

Several good things came from that visit. First, I learned that my dog did not have rabies. But, more importantly, Dr. Zaugg asked me to tutor him in French. I agreed to do so, and after each of our French lessons, Dr. Zaugg would tell me about his church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

He invited me to attend Church services with two American families who were meeting in a house. The meetings were in English, which I did not speak well then, but the Church members gave me books in French: the Book of Mormon, the Doctrine and Covenants, and A Marvelous Work and a Wonder. The Spirit was beautiful and strong, and eventually I was converted and baptized.

Ten years ago as my wife, Kathy, and I were living in São Paulo, Brazil, President David Marriott was presiding over the Brazil São Paulo Interlagos Mission. He and his wife, Neill, and their sons Will, Wesley, and Trace lived near us. They had left their home, their business, and many in their family to respond to a call from the prophet to serve a mission.

President Marriott called me one afternoon. Their precious, righteous 21-year-old daughter, Georgia, a senior in violin performance at Indiana University, had been hit by a truck while riding her bicycle home after a Church meeting. On first report, Georgia was doing well. Hours later her condition dramatically worsened.

Family and friends began fasting and praying for a miracle for Georgia. Her mother flew through the night from Brazil. Arriving in Indiana the next day, she was met by her older children, who tearfully explained that they had been with Georgia as she passed away.

I watched the Marriott family at the time of this experience and in the months and years that followed. They wept, they prayed, they spoke of Georgia, they felt immense pain and sadness, but their faith did not falter. In this morning’s session, we heard of similar faith in the beautiful lives of the Bowen and Wilberger families.

I began with the story of the Marriott family. Last week Kathy and I joined them at Georgia’s grave. Ten years have passed. Family and friends spoke of the love and memories they have of Georgia. There were white helium balloons to celebrate her life. Amid tears, Georgia’s mother tenderly spoke of the increased faith and understanding she has received, and Georgia’s father quietly told me of the promised witness that has come to him.

August evenings are usually warm in Rexburg, Idaho. I knelt by my bed on such a night, the buzz of my fan chasing away the heat and drowning out the world. Two weeks of college had barely gone by. Each day I learned more about the other five girls I was living with, but my heart ached to be home with my family.
At home my family was having problems. I told my Heavenly Father how heavy my heart was. I did not ask for help; I just knew that He would listen. I finished my prayer and climbed into bed. I tried not to cry, but a few silent tears trickled down my face and onto my pillow. There was a knock at my door.
I quickly wiped away my tears.
“Come in,” I said.
One of my roommates opened the door. The hall light showed her silhouette. I looked at her, waiting for her to ask to borrow my phone or a shirt. Instead, she made her way over to my bed and said, “No one should cry themselves to sleep.”
The tears I had been trying to hold back came rushing out. She wrapped her arms around me. I do not remember exactly what she said to me, but I remember how I felt. She reminded me that Heavenly Father was aware of my problems and that He loves me. She stayed by my side until I finished crying. She left, and I lay in bed thinking about the things I had learned.
I knew that my roommate had heard and followed the promptings of the Holy Ghost. I was grateful for her willingness to obey. I realized how much my Father in Heaven loves me. He knew I was sad and needed someone to comfort me. I know that He would have held me in His arms if He could. Instead, He sent someone close by to share His love with me. And I know that it is my job to reach out to others and share our Father’s love with them.

Many times we magnify our callings individually, quietly, without fanfare. I’m thinking of an elders quorum president, Kirk Barnett of Las Vegas. Visiting a hospital early one morning, he was impressed to ask if any other LDS were there. He was told of an elderly grandmother awaiting her first surgery for a brain hemorrhage. She had no family or friends present, no one to encourage her. She was terrified! President Barnett sat with her for two hours. His hand was white from her strong grip. She said she loved him at least twenty times.

I especially loved the peaceful feeling when I stepped inside the Sacred Grove. It is truly a place where God and Jesus Christ have been. The peace there is much like the peace that a temple or Church building brings. It is truly the Spirit.
In the Sacred Grove we split into small groups and went off with our leaders. They taught us about the First Vision, and we each found a quiet spot to pray. I felt a real peace when I prayed. I felt reconfirmation that the Church is true.

On November 7, 1843, Joseph recorded that: “Mr. [Joseph M.] Cole moved the tables back into the hall, when [Willard] Richards and [William W.] Phelps called to report that the noise in the school disturbed them in the progress of writing the History. I gave orders that Cole must look out for another place, as the history must continue, and not be disturbed, as there were but few subjects that I have felt a greater anxiety about than my history, which has been a very difficult task, on account of the death of my best clerks, and the apostasy of others” (History of the Church, 6:66).

by Barbara Sinclair
The clock read 6:45 A.M. on a Saturday morning. The Alaskan sun was hidden behind rain clouds for another hour as people trudged toward the chapel through the pale dawn. They separated to sing and dance and act their various parts in every nook and foyer of the building and then came together again to practice the finale. “We are royal children; we are kings!” sang the deeper, male voices. “We are royal children; we are queens!” replied the sopranos. And then together: “We are sons and daughters of our Heavenly Father. We’re a royal congregation, a royal dispensation. We’re a royal generation. Hear us sing!” And sing they did. The Anchorage Alaska North Stake completed five months of rehearsals and four successful, sold-out performances of their own original Mormon musical production A Royal Generation. Over 70 teenagers, 15 children, and 40 adults were involved in acting, singing, and dancing in the production. In addition, the Anchorage Youth Symphony Orchestra provided the musical accompaniment with a 17-piece orchestra. Church members and nonmembers encouraged, supported, and delighted each other in this experience.
The musical was the creation of three women, Joyce Cox, Barbara Sinclair, and Kaye Wallace, whose goal was to fill a need. They wanted to provide an experience that would be wholesome and that would try to answer many of the questions Mormon youth have about why it is important to choose to obey their Heavenly Father.
Each of the acts of A Royal Generation tells the story of a group of young people who had to make decisions and who found successful ways to do so. Act one concerned young adults deciding about missions, college, work, and marriage. The second act dealt with teenage dating problems, the selection of appropriate friends, and how to become independent though obedient. The final act outlined the difficulties of Mormon youth as they enter the teen years and select their directions and attitudes. When the Anchorage Youth Symphony Orchestra, most of whom are nonmembers, agreed to provide the music, the cast was thrilled. The orchestration was written by a local professional, and a 30-voice choir began to rehearse to back up the actors on stage.
The missionaries in Anchorage (who ushered at each performance) reported that many people expressed interest in the Church, and each request for more information was further adrenalin for the cast, crew, and orchestra.
Was all the time and effort, the cost and sacrifice, the sleeplessness and practice worthwhile? “My two friends who came to see me are taking the missionary discussions,” said one cast member. One look at her face was all the answer that was needed

Earl was sitting with Mom in the front room. From the corner of his eye, he saw something move outside the window. Earl peeked through the curtains and couldn’t believe what he saw. A woman was picking vegetables out of their garden!
Earl and Mom loved their garden. Two years ago, Earl’s dad had died. One thing that helped Earl and Mom feel better was working in their vegetable garden together. It reminded them of how much Dad liked working in the garden, and how much he loved them. And now someone was taking the vegetables they’d worked so hard to grow!
“Mom! A lady is stealing our vegetables!” Earl shouted. “I’m going to stop her!”
He jumped up and ran for the door. He was going to chase that woman right out of the garden!
“Earl, wait!” Mom said. “I’ll go talk to her.”
Earl looked out the window as Mom and the woman talked. The woman had a sad look on her face. She put her head in her hands, and it looked like she was crying. Mom gave the woman a hug.
What’s going on? Earl wondered.
A few minutes later, Mom walked back into the house.
“What happened?” Earl asked.
“That woman needs our help,” Mom said. “Please go get a box and fill it up with the prettiest vegetables from our garden. Then load it in her car.”
“What?” Earl said. “But she’s stealing!”
“She needs our help, and we have enough vegetables to share. Do you remember what charity is?” Mom asked.
Earl remembered learning about charity in church. “It’s the pure love of Christ,” he said.
“That’s right. Do you think Jesus would share from His garden?”
Earl knew the answer, but he still felt upset as he got a box and walked outside. The woman looked surprised and then a little embarrassed to see Earl. He didn’t say anything. He just looked for the best vegetables he could find. He filled the box full of cucumbers, carrots, and tomatoes, then carried it to the woman’s car. When he turned to walk back inside, Earl saw that the woman’s eyes were filled with tears.
“Thank you,” she said. “I know I shouldn’t have gone into your garden without asking, but my family is hungry, and we don’t have food. Thank you for helping us.”
“You’re welcome,” Earl said. A small smile crossed his face.
Earl didn’t feel angry anymore. He was sad the lady’s family was hungry. And he was glad he could share his vegetables. He could feel the Holy Ghost tell him that Heavenly Father was happy Earl had been kind.

My mind was focused on the Savior as the congregation finished singing the sacrament hymn, but as I started to close the hymnbook, the music continued. A large congregation that day made it necessary for the organist to play two more verses while the priests finished breaking the bread. I was grateful for the extra time. It allowed me an additional moment of reverent meditation before the sacramental prayers.
During the prayers, I followed carefully the words the priests spoke as they blessed the emblems of Christ’s sacrifice for us. Just as the final prayer concluded and at the moment when the congregation voiced their assent, a four-year-old boy’s voice from two rows behind me sprang from the midst of the “amens.”
“Hooray!” he exclaimed.
His spontaneous expression was loud enough to cause several children nearby to giggle. I confess that it brought a quizzical smile to my lips.
“Hooray?” I thought. That’s an odd response to the sacrament prayers. It was certainly a response I’d never heard before and likely will never hear again. After all, we end our prayers with “amen.”
Perhaps that young child had sensed more of the truth than I had.
Hooray communicates excitement. It is an exclamation of joy, usually for a victory. Sometimes it’s shouted to show approval for someone who has finished a difficult task well.1
Instantly, my mind caught hold of the idea. Yes, I thought, hooray that Jesus Christ overcame death so we can all be resurrected! Hooray that because of His Atonement, He can forgive our sins! More to the point, He can forgive me of my sins! Hooray that through His grace I may return to my Heavenly Father and enjoy the hope of eternal life! Yes! Hooray!
As I silently shouted these praises of thanks to my Heavenly Father, the Holy Ghost flooded my heart with a joy that nearly brought me to tears. I had been led that day by a little child (see Isaiah 11:6), and I rejoiced with fresh vision for the blessings of the Savior’s Atonement in my life.

My father recounts the following story, which occurred early in the construction of the school:
We needed rock for aggregate for the blocks we were making to build the Liahona School. We had taken the compressor out to the quarry and drilled many holes so we could put in dynamite and blast out the rock to be crushed in our small crusher.
President Dunn asked me to go to the government quarry and pick up the licensed dynamite expert of the Tongan Government and take him over to our quarry to get our blasting done.
At the appointed time next morning (about sun up) I left for the government quarry about five miles away. It was raining quite hard and became more intense as time passed. By the time I reached the [government office] it was raining so hard I couldn’t see through the windshield of the jeep station wagon and I had to look out the side window to stay on the road.
I confronted the man I was to pick up but he protested because of the rain. I felt inclined to persist and in so doing we loaded up his gear and dynamite and started out. The rain continued making it almost impossible to drive. As we had to pass by Liahona I drove into the building area and stopped, but I was uneasy and felt that I should continue on to our quarry about a mile away.
I started the motor again and we were on our way. My passenger, for the most part, was silent. Upon reaching the gate to the fence around the quarry I stopped and turned off the ignition. It stopped raining instantly. My passenger, looking greatly surprised, got out and opened the gate. We drove down into the quarry, set the dynamite and fired it, getting out a good quantity of rock.
We gathered up the gear and put it into the jeep. I got into the jeep and turned on the ignition. The motor started and so did the rain.[Thomas P. Wilding, History of Thomas Preston Wilding, 1988, in author’s possession, 45]

I was barely 17 when two missionaries knocked on our door; my mother was recently divorced and had five children. At the time I accepted only what could be proved by sight or touch or logic. So when my mother let the elders in, I was angry. I listened to the discussions but kept my distance. All the family members but me agreed to be baptized.
One night the elders came to our home. Elder Álvarez spoke to me in a tone I had never heard before: “We have taught you all you need to know and have invited you to change your life. Now we come in the name of Jesus Christ to ask you to kneel before that God whose existence you deny and ask Him if the things we have told you are true. Do you accept our challenge—or are you afraid?”
Afraid? That word was not in my vocabulary. I could ride a horse and hunt as well as most men. I would have put a rattlesnake around my neck if someone had dared me to.
“I accept,” I said.
It was hard to sleep that night. I kept thinking of the challenge I had accepted: Why had I done it? How could I bow down before an invisible being? The truth was, I was afraid.
The next day I waited until everyone left the house before I went to the top of the building. There, I knelt down and began, “Father in Heaven …” Then I stopped. A strong wind was blowing, and I felt vulnerable. My senses were tuned to every sound, and I didn’t dare open my eyes. I felt utterly alone.
Suddenly I felt protected, and I had the courage to go on. I asked to know if God existed. I asked for understanding. I asked to feel. I asked and asked. And before I knew it, I was crying—asking forgiveness for having doubted. I felt a burning in my heart and knew beyond any doubt that God existed and that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was His Church. As I arose, I saw grit embedded in my knees and realized I had been praying for a long time.

Bronwyn Kerns of the Winchester Ward, Winchester Virginia Stake found an unusual way to incorporate the Young Women values into her daily life—she spent more than 200 hours making them into a quilt! Different squares of the quilt highlight different aspects of the values, and the center square contains the Young Women theme.

Bronwyn credits her mother for helping her with the project, which is now used as a decoration in Bronwyn’s home and as a special display at Young Women functions.

Pornography pretends that it is no evil stranger—that it is not a problem and is not addictive. That is a lie. One 12-year-old boy recently wrote to the New Era, telling of his experience viewing pornography when he was alone at home. While initially it was exciting, he soon felt deep despair. He wrote: “I have been trying my best to forget those images. I would like to say to anyone reading the Friend or New Era that while porn might be pleasurable, it really wrecks your soul and is hard to recover from.”

In my mid-60s, it was getting harder for me to get around. I weighed almost 300 pounds (136 kg). I had low energy and stamina and even obtained a handicapped parking permit so that I could park as close to stores as possible.
I decided it was time to lose weight. I turned to Doctrine and Covenants 89 and prayed to Heavenly Father, “Help me to understand what this is really telling me.” Over time each verse, each word took on new meaning. Even though I don’t drink alcohol, tea, or coffee, and I don’t smoke, I hadn’t really absorbed the overall message. I knew the Word of Wisdom was a health code, but I had never before thought of it as a way of life.
For the first time I truly felt that I could change my lifestyle. I set a realistic goal of losing 50 pounds (23 kg) in 50 weeks.
I kept track of my calories and nutrients. I researched the health benefits of everything I ate. As I ate healthier foods, I felt satisfied. I had no cravings. My body seemed to know what it needed. Unhealthy food I used to enjoy lost its appeal. I quit eating sugar. Over time, I quit counting calories and ate plant-based foods, as the Word of Wisdom says: “that which yieldeth fruit, whether in the ground or above the ground” (D&C 89:16). I met my goal and more. In just over 23 months I had lost over half my body weight. That’s 12 dress sizes smaller! I have now maintained that weight for over three years.
I feel healthy. I no longer have blood-sugar spikes when I’m hungry, and I can’t remember the last time I had a headache. I don’t have to take medications. While losing weight has contributed to my overall feeling of well-being, my new lifestyle does also.
Controlling the things I eat is part of overcoming the natural man (see Mosiah 3:19). In turn, it tweaks my spiritual discernment, allowing me to receive the promise that I “shall find wisdom and great treasures of knowledge, even hidden treasures” (D&C 89:19). Giving up fast food for wisdom is a good trade-off.
I am most grateful to a loving Heavenly Father who heard my simple plea and gave me insight into the Word of Wisdom. I know the Word of Wisdom is revelation. I know it can change lives.

Because there were no deaths in battle, people often assume no one died in the Mormon Battalion. Actually, 22 men from the battalion died from disease, exposure, and accident. One of these men was another of my great-grandfathers, Arnold Stevens.
Arnold was a large, gentle man, and first corporal in Company D. He went with the battalion’s first detachment of sick soldiers to Pueblo, Colorado, where he stayed through the difficult winter of 1846. Huddled in the frigid December air, Arnold wrote a letter to his wife, Lois, on Christmas Day, describing his concern for his family’s safety and their lack of money. He longed to be with them again.
“My dear Lois, you know my family was always my delight, yet [I] never knew how to prize or appreciate their society. There is scarcely a night passes, but I dream about you. …
“I will send Ransome Abram a Christmas gift. Yours I will keep until I see you; if I can get anything for the girls I will. Give them my love, and may the Lord bless you all. Farewell. Pray for me.”
Arnold never gave Lois her Christmas gift. In March, he was dragged over several logs by a wild mule. He died a few days later.
Arnold didn’t have to enlist in the battalion, but he heeded the prophet Brigham Young’s call. He died before he could return to his family. His conviction and unselfishness allowed him to pass away peacefully in the face of tragedy. He taught me that dedicating my life to God means trusting Him no matter what happens.

Great destinations are not achieved in a single step or by "sudden flight", but by the accomplishment of numerous smaller or interim goals all along the way. These interim goals should be written down and placed where you can see them often. I recall entering a missionary apartment in Greece and noticing a number taped to the ceiling. When I asked what it was, the missionaries told me that it was their baptismal goal for the month and that they had put it on the ceiling so that it was the first thing they saw each morning when they opened their eyes and the last thing they saw at night before they fell asleep.

The setting and accomplishing of daily goals lead you little by little to your destination.

Elizabeth Fowkes was born into the church (her father having been baptised during the time of Heber C. Kimball’s mission to Britain), but was only baptised in 1896, in her late thirties. Growing up in Burton on Trent, she moved to Derby in her twenties where she met and married George Bradley. Over the following years she brought her husband and her family of four boys and one girl into the Church.
The Relief Society was first organised in Derby branch in 1910 and Elizabeth Bradley was set apart as President by Apostle Charles W. Penrose. She would serve as the Derby Branch Relief Society President for thirty-six years – through two world wars and the great depression, as well as the ‘Roaring Twenties’.
Elizabeth’s life was not an easy one. In 1910 her son John and daughter Lizzie announced their plans to ‘go to Zion’. Then in May 1916, her son George announced that he was joining the army to fight in France. In January 1918, he died as he was returning home on leave, one of the early victims of the Spanish Flu. He was just 28 years old. Then Elizabeth’s son Wilfred died in January 1929. He was only 35 years old. In September of the same year her husband passed away at the age of 75.
It would later be reported of her: “But for all that, she bears a deep and convincing testimony that her life in the Church has been rich with blessings and happiness. Her life reveals a splendid example of what a Relief Society President and a Latter-day Saint should be.”
In 1935 the Derby branch celebrated a double Jubilee– the 25th year of the reign of George V and 25 years that Elizabeth had served as Relief Society president. It was also her 78th birthday. This made her the oldest president in the British mission of a branch of the oldest auxiliary organisation of the Church.
In 1946, Elizabeth was finally released from her position as the president of the Relief Society. She was eighty-nine years old. She lived until April 1952 and died at the age of 95.