Gospel Story Finder

Chrissy Peterson had her arms folded neatly in front of her. She knew that some of the other girls were crying, but she knew she wouldn’t cry. I’m not like these others, she thought. I don’t have a problem. I have everything under control. I get good grades in all my classes, I have a boyfriend, my weight’s under control now, I got a superior rating on my piano solo, and I’m a National Merit Scholarship winner. Everything’s under control. I’m not like some of these others. Like Jason Miller. He really had a drinking problem. It’s a miracle he’s still alive.

I don’t have a problem. Other people have problems but not me. There’s nobody who’s been able to achieve what I’ve done this year. In any area you pick I’ve done great.

But what am I going to do if they have refreshments? I can’t eat anything or my weight will go up. All I’ve had today is a piece of toast, and that was just because my mother made me have breakfast. I weigh less than 100 pounds now. That’s good progress. Another ten pounds or so ought to do it. And to think I used to weigh 128 pounds. I was so fat. It’s funny that even though the scale says I weigh less, I still look fat.

Julie is crying and trying to talk at the same time. Doesn’t she know how messy that looks? Somebody should at least give her a tissue so she can wipe her face.

I wish I could have refreshments. I guess I could. But then I’d feel guilty and maybe I’d go into their bathroom and throw it all up again. What I wish more than anything is that I could have refreshments without feeling guilty. Yesterday my mother said she thought I was anorexic. I don’t have a problem though. She has a problem. Everything is going my way.

Now the bishop is talking. He’s talking about the Savior. I wish he wouldn’t talk like that. What does he mean, everybody has problems? Not me—I don’t have any problems.

Who am I trying to kid? I have a problem all right. Father in Heaven, can you hear me think? I have a problem. I know it’s not right, but I can’t eat. I feel so weak all the time, trying to push myself all the time, trying to be perfect in everything. Oh Father, I can’t do it. I’m crying now. Everybody can see me, but I don’t care. I can’t handle this anymore. I’ve got to ask my parents and the bishop to help me out of this. I think I’m going to die if I don’t change the way I feel about food.

I do have a problem, and I can’t handle it all by myself.

I’ll ask the bishop if I can talk to him right after the fireside. Oh Father, please help me, like you’ve helped the others.

I have seen evidence of that miracle in the lives of His servants. I saw it a few weeks ago in the living room of a faithful priesthood holder.
I had known him as a deacon, a father, a bishop, and a member of a stake presidency. I had observed for decades his diligence in serving God’s children with his priesthood.
His family was gathered around him in his living room. He was smiling, dressed in a white shirt, suit, and tie. I was surprised, since I was there because I had been told that he was in the midst of painful medical treatments that had not yet cured him.
Yet he had greeted me as he must have greeted hundreds of other visitors over a lifetime of priesthood service, smiling. I had come to help him in the trials he faced, but as so often happens in priesthood service, I was helped and I learned.
We sat and chatted pleasantly. He told me how his father had tended to my mother as she approached death. I had not known that. I realized then that he had learned as a boy from his diligent priesthood father how to give succor. That thought made me grateful for the times I had taken my little boys with me on priesthood visits to comfort and bless.
After a few minutes, he asked quietly, “Would it be appropriate to ask if you could give me a blessing?” His former stake president, with whom he had served for years, anointed his head with oil consecrated by the power of the Melchizedek Priesthood.
As I sealed the blessing, I was taught by the Holy Ghost at least part of what the Lord had already done for this faithful priesthood holder. He was clean, his sins washed away. His nature had been changed to want what the Savior wanted. He had no fear of death. The desire of his heart was to live to give service to his family and to others of Heavenly Father’s children who needed him.
I walked out into the night grateful to have witnessed the Lord’s kindness to His unfailingly diligent priesthood servants. He changes their hearts to want what He wants and to act as He would act.

Though the efforts of the campaign have improved many lives, not all the benefits have been physical. Namibia resident Olavi Ndafediva’s sister, who is a member of the Church, volunteered in the local campaign in 2006. One day she told Olavi she couldn’t make it and asked him to go in her place. “After that day,” he said, “I decided I had to find out more about a church that helped my people so much.” After joining the Church, Brother Ndafediva participated in the 2009 campaign.

One blustery day last March, a young man named Layne Anthony climbed out of his father’s car beneath the flags to answer that call and undertake that adventure. As he lugged the heavy suitcases through the doors, he may have been thinking of the moving promises and awesome authority that had been given him the night before when his stake president set him apart. He may have been remembering the inspiring missionary farewell in sacrament meeting or the day he was ordained an elder. Perhaps he thought of the moment his eyes scanned down his call letter and he learned he was being sent to the Peru Lima North Mission. Maybe he was even thinking about his last good-bye to his girl friend. There were plenty of memories to choose from, because his old life and the old Layne Anthony were being left behind when he walked through those doors.
As the new missionaries came streaming in, a battle-wise old veteran of two or three weeks stood observing them with a knowing eye. “Once you walk through those doors,” he said, “you never come out.” And then he smiled and lent a hand with the luggage to show that he was just kidding. But whether by design or by chance, he spoke the truth, because when these young men and women boarded busses for the Salt Lake City Airport several weeks later, they would not be the same men and women who strained at their luggage that brooding gray morning in March. The real journey, the one inside their hearts, the one that would take them where no jet airliner could fly, had begun.
After leaving their luggage in a large room, the new missionaries and their families gathered in one of the Missionary Training Center’s many chapels. Allen C. Ostergar, administrative director of the MTC, addressed the assembly, telling of the joy of missionary work, recalling his own mission, and explaining some of the rules. He urged the parents not to duplicate the adventure of one lonesome mother who came and hid in the bushes to get a glimpse of her son. Some of the mothers didn’t laugh.
Recalling his own mission call, Brother Ostergar said, “As I read the call I knew I was doing what the Lord wanted me to do. I knew the Church was true. The Spirit literally touched my heart, and it changed my life. And above all other things that the missionaries will feel here, they will feel the Spirit of the Lord, and they will strengthen their testimonies. Please rest assured that that happens. We love the missionaries as if they were our own sons and daughters.”
Before long the meeting was over, and Brother Ostergar invited the missionaries to come forward and exit through doors at the front of the chapel. “Anyone who comes up this way, we keep,” he added, “so the rest of you will have to leave the way you came in.” He invited the missionaries to give their mothers and fathers and brothers and sisters a hug and a kiss and shake their girl friends’ hands. They obeyed enthusiastically, as good missionaries should. All the young ladies present were apparently sisters, because there were few handshakes. Elder Anthony gave a good hard missionary squeeze to each of his family and walked through the doors.
Emerging on the other side, the missionaries found themselves much the same as before, to all appearances, but there was a subtle difference. Now they were really on their missions. The last mooring line had been cast off, and they were embarked.

Of course, returning home after such an experience is a challenge. I met a good brother coming out of the Mormon Handicraft store just before Christmas. He had been in buying his wife a Christmas present. As I was coming down the street, he ran up to me and said, “Don’t you remember me?” I had to be prompted a little. When we last met, it was in the mission field. Living conditions were certainly not like home. But there was a radiance about him and his wife as we had opportunity to be with them for a day and witness their work.

I said to him, “It must be great to be back home.” He hesitated a minute, and then said, “You know, I’ve had a difficult time adjusting. I feel that we should be back among the Saints in the Philippines. They needed us so much. I don’t find that same need here. Can’t you send us back on another mission?”

Jeffrey Holland, president of Brigham Young University, while working on his Ph.D. at a prominent eastern American university, got to know well one of the reference librarians who had helped him with some research.
One day he said, “Ilene, I need to know how many books we have in the university library which claim to have been delivered by an angel.”
As you can imagine, the librarian gave him a peculiar look and said, “I don’t know of any books that have been delivered by angels. Swords maybe, or chariots, but I don’t know of any books.”
“Well, just run a check for me would you? It may take a little doing, but I really would like to know.”
The librarian dutifully did some checking of the nine million books in the library. For several days she had nothing to report, but then one day she smilingly said, “Mr. Holland, I have a book for you. I found one book which, it is claimed, was delivered by an angel,” and she held up a paperback copy of the Book of Mormon. “I’m told you can get them for a dollar. My goodness,” she continued, “an angel’s book for a dollar! You would think angels would charge more, but then again,” she said, “where would they spend it?” (See Pat Holland, President’s Welcome Assembly, Brigham Young University, 9 Sept. 1986).

For example, we once tried to take a family picture after church. This can be complicated with two little children, but I really love to capture these moments and then look back at how much my kids have grown.
While we were trying to get the kids settled down for the photo, I had to take a moment to talk to my two-year-old son, Alvin, who was crying because he wanted me to carry him. I bent down, wiped away his tears, and then begged him to stand up so I could show off our outfits (which I had strategically matched that morning). My three-year-old daughter, Avril, was also asking my husband to hold her because she didn’t want to stand either. They really didn’t want to be taking pictures.
The photography session was unsuccessful—so we gave up. But when I got home, I found something better. My brother (who was taking the photos) captured the moment when all the chaos was happening. Both my husband and I were comforting our children in the photo. It didn’t really show off our outfits, but it was such a tender—and real—moment. I loved it.
When I shared the photo on social media, I captioned it “The reality of a family photo.” I never imagined that so many people would relate to it, but it made me realize that things don’t always need to look perfect. It’s OK to just go with the flow and be real. But it also taught me a larger lesson—that when we believe someone is perfect, we just haven’t seen all the details.

My mom and I went to the mall to buy my grandma’s birthday present. While we were walking through the mall, I saw a big picture of a woman wearing clothing that did not cover very much of her body. I looked away the whole time we were walking by it. President Hinckley has asked us to be clean. I can keep my mind clean by not looking at bad pictures.
My mom and dad gave me the “great plate” (a special plate to honor someone who has been good that day) at dinner because my mom saw me look away from the picture all by myself. I know that if I keep my mind clean and pure like the prophet asks us to, I will be happy.

Imagine yourself descending through the depths of the sea in a submarine with windows of thick glass. As you submerge and begin your descent, you see schools of small fish darting about, occasionally startled by a larger fish such as a shark prowling about for a meal. Down and down you go, and your sightings become less and less frequent. After a while you are not able to see at all, as the sunlight that strikes the surface is completely filtered out by the water above you.
Descending still further, you begin to notice the eerie fluorescence of deep-sea creatures that inhabit the depths of perpetual midnight. But your voyage is not yet ended. Down you go again. One mile, two … down to where no life can possibly survive—or can it?

My grandmother Adena Warnick Swenson taught me to be conscientious in priesthood service. She encouraged me to memorize the sacramental blessings on the bread and water, explaining that in this way I could express them with greater understanding and feeling. Observing how she sustained my grandfather, a stake patriarch, engendered in me a reverence for sacred things. Grandma Swenson never learned how to drive a car, but she knew how to help boys become priesthood men.

Sheri Linn Dew was born in Ulysses, Kansas, USA, in 1953. She is the oldest of five children, and by the time she finished fifth grade, she was driving a tractor on the family grain farm. On Sundays her grandmother Maudie Dew would pick her up early for church, which was held in a rented hall. They would sweep up cigarette butts and beer cans to prepare the room for church. Participating in a small branch meant she did a lot of speaking and teaching. She became the branch pianist when she was a young woman and served in her branch Primary presidency when she was 16.

I explained how the gospel of Jesus Christ transformed my life and how I first heard about it from missionaries who had left everything behind to share these truths. I told my friends it was my turn to share the joy of the gospel.

Elder Roberto Pacheco,Perú Lima Central Mission

One of my biggest worries about going back to church was how ward members would treat me. My first Sunday back happened to be stake conference. I went feeling a little scared and a little frazzled from trying to get four children ready for church.
Some neighbors were sitting a few seats away from us, and I felt reassured to see some familiar faces. The opening hymn was “I Know That My Redeemer Lives” (Hymns, number 136). I started crying as I followed the words, and I continued crying through the rest of the inspiring talks and hymns.
Near the end of the meeting, a sister passed me a note. As I looked down to read it, I noticed that my two-year-old had unbuttoned my dress. I quickly buttoned it and thought, My goodness, who else noticed? But when I read the note, all it said was that the sister was very impressed with my children and thought they must have good parents to be so well behaved. The note helped me feel reassured that I was in the right place and that people would accept me and my children. I never found out who the woman was, but I will never forget her simple act of kindness.

While driving to the office one morning, I passed a dry-cleaning establishment which had a sign by the side of the front door. It read, “It’s the Service That Counts.” I suppose in a highly competitive field such as the dry-cleaning business and many others, the differentiating factor which distinguishes one store from another is, in actual fact, service.

The message from the small sign simply would not leave my mind. Suddenly I realized why. In actual fact it is the service that counts—the Lord’s service.

After President Wilford Woodruff joined the Church he desired to serve a mission.
“I was but a Teacher,” he wrote, “and it is not a Teacher’s office to go abroad and preach. I dared not tell any of the authorities of the Church that I wanted to preach, lest they might think I was seeking for an office” (Leaves from My Journal, Salt Lake City: Juvenile Instructor Office, 1882, p. 8).
He prayed to the Lord, and without disclosing his desire to any others, he was ordained a priest and sent on a mission. They went to the Arkansas Territory.
He and his companion struggled through a hundred miles of alligator-infested swamps, wet, muddy, and tired. Brother Woodruff developed a sharp pain in his knee and could go no further. His companion left him sitting on a log and went home. Brother Woodruff knelt down in the mud and prayed for help. He was healed and continued his mission alone.
Three days later he arrived in Memphis, Tennessee, weary, hungry, and very muddy. He went to the largest inn and asked for something to eat and for a place to sleep, although he had no money to pay for either.
When the innkeeper found he was a preacher, he laughed and decided to have some fun with him. He offered Brother Woodruff a meal if he would preach to his friends.
A large audience of the rich and fashionable people of Memphis gathered and were quite amused by this mud-stained missionary.
None would sing or pray, so Brother Woodruff did both. He knelt before them and begged the Lord to give him His Spirit and to show him the hearts of the people. And the Spirit came! Brother Woodruff preached with great power. He was able to reveal the secret deeds of those who came to ridicule him.
When he was finished, no one laughed at this humble holder of the Aaronic Priesthood. Thereafter he was treated with kindness (see Leaves from My Journal, pp. 16–18).
He was under the guiding, protecting power of his Aaronic Priesthood. The same power can be with you as well.

Meanwhile, the Ungas moved to New Zealand from Tonga with plans to attend university. In church one Sunday, they overheard a conversation about BYU-Pathway and were intrigued by the low tuition fees and the ability to work while studying.
“My husband has a passion for carpentry and automotive work, and I had studied travel and tourism here in New Zealand but decided not to pursue it,” Ralueri said. “We saw BYU-Pathway as an opportunity to explore business studies.”
Mosese added that when he first came to New Zealand, many companies wouldn’t hire him for better jobs due to his lack of necessary credentials.
“I found a job in the scaffolding business because no one else would hire me,” he said. “I wanted to study, but education was too expensive due to my visa status.”
“Since my wife was already enrolled in BYU-Pathway, I decided to join as well,” he said.
The Ungas started their first semester together in 2020 and quickly progressed through their programs. Mosese completed his BYU-Pathway certificates in July 2021 and continued online courses with Brigham Young University-Idaho.
“I’m pursuing a bachelor’s degree in professional studies, which involves three certificates: auto service technology, computer support, and computer-aided design and drafting,” he said.
Meanwhile, Ralueri said BYU-Pathway helped her chart a course that could lead to the couple working together. “While my initial career path was in travel and tourism, BYU-Pathway allowed me to pivot toward a different future—one where we might eventually run our own business.”
“I have my associate of applied science degree in applied business management, and I’m currently in my last few semesters towards completing a bachelor of applied business management with Brigham Young University-Idaho in December,” she said.
Both currently hold full-time jobs—Ralueri with a bank and Mosese working for a home improvement retailer. Along with their current classes through BYU-Idaho, they also serve as service missionaries facilitating a BYU-Pathway class and attend once-a-week in-person gatherings teaching religion classes and helping other BYU-Pathway students with their educational journey.
“We often get asked how we manage it all, and our answer is simple: prayer and faith guide us through every step,” Mosese said. “It’s been quite a journey, and we’ve learned to manage our time more effectively.”
“You pray for help and somehow the Lord makes that time work out. Even though you only have 24 hours, time just seems to expand,” he said. “I don’t know how it happens, but He helps everything just fit in.”

Building campfires was a favorite “togetherness” activity with my family. Of course my parents would wait until my sister and I had burned every scrap of paper in camp before stepping in to help. But it seemed when everyone lent a hand we could start a fire with two tin cans and a rusty wrench.

It happened in the aftermath of a disaster. A dam in Idaho broke on a June day. A wall of water struck the communities below it. Thousands of people, mostly Latter-day Saints, fled their homes to go to safety.
I was there as the people faced the terrible task of recovery. I saw the stake president gather his bishops to lead the people. We were cut off in those first days from any supervision from outside. I was in the meeting of local leaders when a director from the federal disaster agency arrived.
He tried to take over the meeting. With great force he began to list the things that he said needed to be done. As he read aloud each item, the stake president, who was sitting near him, said quietly, “We’ve already done that.” After that went on for five or ten minutes, the federal official grew silent and sat down. He listened quietly as the stake president took reports from the bishops and gave directions.
For the meeting the next day, the federal disaster official arrived early. He sat toward the back. The stake president began the meeting. He took more reports, and he gave instructions. After a few minutes, the federal official, who had come with all the authority and resources of his great agency, said, “President Ricks, what would you like us to do?”
He recognized power. I saw more. I recognized the evidence of keys and the faith that unlocks their power.

A friend of eight-year-old Chelsea said that she didn’t like a certain boy because he wasn’t a member of our church. What do you think Chelsea did? What would you do? Chelsea told her friend it’s OK that he is not a member of our church; he is still a good person.7 We show we know how to follow the Savior when we treat others with kindness and respect.

1. The Shepherd loves His little lambs,
And when they go astray,
He seeks them as they wander;
He calls each one by name.
They listen for the Shepherd’s voice;
They run to Him, and then
He welcomes them with loving arms
When they return to Him.