Gospel Story Finder

My new friend Paul testifies of this truth. Paul grew up in a home that was sometimes abusive and always intolerant of religion. While attending school on a military base in Germany, he noticed two sisters who seemed to have a spiritual light. Asking why they were different brought the answer that they belonged to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Soon Paul began meeting with missionaries and was invited to church. The next Sunday, as he got off the bus, he noticed two men dressed in white shirts and ties. He asked them if they were elders of the Church. They answered yes, so Paul followed them.

During the service, a preacher pointed to people in the congregation and invited them to testify. At the end of each testimony, a drummer gave a drum salute and the congregation called out, “Amen.”

When the preacher pointed to Paul, he stood up and said, “I know Joseph Smith was a prophet and the Book of Mormon is true.” There was no drum salute or amens. Paul eventually realized he had gone to the wrong church. Soon, Paul found his way to the right place and was baptized.

On the day of Paul’s baptism, a member he didn’t know told him, “You saved my life.” A few weeks earlier, this man had decided to look for another church and attended a service with drums and amens. When the man heard Paul bear his testimony of Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon, he realized that God knew him, recognized his struggles, and had a plan for him. For both Paul and the man, “it fell on a day,” indeed!

From the very first day Ellen had seen the cameo ring in the display case at Mr. Henry’s general store, she could think of little else. Even while at the Oklahoma homestead, where she lived with her grandparents, she could close her eyes and picture every detail: Tendrils of hair curled down its neck, a half-smile graced its lips, and a bead necklace was carved around the dainty throat. It was mounted on a coral base and enclosed by an oval of gold; its fancy ring box was lined with crimson velvet. The ten-dollar price, however, was more than Ellen thought that she would ever have.
Still, she mused, like Gram always says, “Where there’s a will, there’s a way. Dreams cost nothing.”
Ellen’s daydreaming was interrupted as Gramp reined in the plow horses in front of the livery stable. As soon as the wagon stopped, the gangling girl was off and running, her flaxen braids streaming out from under her white sunbonnet, and her calico skirt whipping around her long legs. She skittered to a stop at the general store.
The ring box was still there! She knew that the day might come when the ring would be gone. I just have to find a way to buy it, she thought. She straightened her shoulders determinedly, then turned reluctantly from her heart’s desire to the shopping list that Gram had given her. As Mr. Henry filled the order, Ellen wandered around the store. It was a fascinating place. Blue-speckled enamel pots and pans hung from wires attached to large hooks in the wooden ceiling. Kerosene lamps of different sizes and jars of lemon drops and licorice sticks took up much of the counter space. A pickle barrel stood under a black-and-white cardboard sign announcing the events for the town’s annual picnic.
As Ellen slowly read what it said, she realized that it could be the answer to her prayers! A footrace for ten-to-twelve-year-olds had been added this year, and first prize was a ten-dollar gold piece! She turned to Mr. Henry and said, “Please enter me in the race.”
Figuring that it would be hard beating boys, especially the older ones, Ellen knew that she would have to train hard. The one-room school that she attended was about a mile down the hardpan path from home, so she decided to use it as her training track. And she’d run it barefoot so that she could run the race that way and not be slowed down by heavy shoes.
“Gram,” she said one afternoon while catching her breath on the wooden steps to the cabin, “sometimes I wish that I were a boy!”
“What on earth for? Gramps and I are glad that you’re a girl. Just you wait and see, someday you will be too.”
“Oh, I’m glad to be a girl most times. It’s just that boys get to wear trousers. They aren’t bothered with skirts when they run. I could run a lot faster if I didn’t have to wear an old skirt!”
As her speed increased over the next three weeks, so did Ellen’s determination. When the prairie wind whipped the bonnet from her head the day before the race, she yelled defiantly, “These dumb skirts won’t stop me from doing mybest!”
That evening she sat on the step by Gramp’s rocker. In the distance they heard a coyote’s mournful howl. The moon was huge and golden, bathing the dirt yard with soft light.
“That’s a beautiful harvest moon,” remarked Gramps. He cleared his throat and tweaked Ellen’s braids. “Lass, I know that you’re all het up about tomorrow. Gram and I want you to know that even if you don’t win, we’re mighty proud of you for trying. Being the only girl in the race is a courageous thing to do.”
Ellen was about to answer, when she heard Gram calling her from inside the cabin. Gram was in her bedroom, putting the finishing stitches in a piece of denim. When she held it up, Ellen could only stare.
It was a skirt, her size, but it had legs!
“Oh, Gram!”
“It’s the kind of divided skirt that they make for riding horses these days,” Gram said with a big smile. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”
The day of the race dawned bright and crisp. As Ellen joined the boys at the starting line, she bowed her head in a silent prayer. “Thank you, Heavenly Father, for all Thy blessings. And especially for Gram and Gramps.”
“On your mark!” the starter shouted. “Get set!”
The pistol shot cracked.
Ellen scarcely noticed the cheers as the onlookers chose their favorites. Her long gangly legs soon left most of the runners behind. Only three were ahead of her. You can do it! she told herself as she approached the halfway mark. She passed one of the runners—then the second. Only one to go! Every breath hurt now, and her arms and legs felt like lead weights. Just as she passed the last boy, she felt the finish-line ribbon snap across her body.
Ellen collapsed in a heap, tears of joy and exertion running down her face. Mr. Henry brought the prize ribbon and the ten-dollar gold piece to her. She whispered something in his ear, and he straightened, smiling broadly, and rushed off.
Her grandparents hurried over to help her up. They were still excitedly congratulating her when the store-keeper returned and pressed something into her hand. She gazed up at him with thankful blue eyes, then turned to her grandmother and said simply, “Gram, this is for you.”
As the surprised woman opened the velvet-lined box, her brown eyes shimmered with tears. She lifted the cameo ring and eased it gently onto her finger.

When I was training to be a paratrooper, we had very intense training each day. We would get back to our barrack almost crawling, but I always found the strength to read the Book of Mormon. Daily reading of the scriptures strengthened my spirit and helped me continue with my training.

Paris T., and Talatau and Tahira P., ages 5, 3, and 6, came from Hawaii, USA, to watch general conference. Paris liked when President Monson talked about his wife. Talatau loved the songs, and Tahira’s favorite talk was from Elder Hamilton when he taught us to attend all three hours of church.

In 1816 the family moved again, this time to Palmyra, New York. Joseph’s father had gone ahead to find a place for them to live. When Lucy Mack Smith and the eight children went to join him, a man named Caleb Howard was hired to drive the wagon with their things. Ten-year-old Joseph had not fully recovered from his leg operation yet, making it painful for him to walk. Nevertheless, Mr. Howard made him walk miles at a time.

At Utica, New York, still many miles from Palmyra, Mr. Howard unloaded the Smith’s household goods and was about to leave with the wagon and horses. Joseph’s mother demanded that he leave them, then reloaded the wagon and drove the rest of the way herself.

One day at school, a boy at my table brought a bad magazine to class. He kept showing it to other boys at my table. It made me feel sad. I asked him if he could please put away the magazine, and he did. It took a lot of courage for me to say something, but I’m glad I did.
Melissa M., age 9, Mexico

3 Joseph was next instructed to show the plates to eight other witnesses: Christian Whitmer; Jacob Whitmer; Peter Whitmer, Jr.; John Whitmer; Hiram Page; Joseph Smith, Sr.; Hyrum Smith; and Samuel H. Smith. These men saw the plates and held them in their hands. (See Book of Mormon: Introduction—Testimony of the Eight Witnesses.)

After making a career move to New York City, I was out shopping one December evening for items for my new apartment. A storm had recently hit the city, and knee-deep snow lined the streets. I was bundled up in a warm down coat as I made my way to the train with a bustling crowd of holiday shoppers.
I waited impatiently for the train to arrive, thinking about my shopping list. When the train finally arrived, I stepped onto the car, scanning the seats for a place to sit. The nearest seat was directly across from an old homeless man. He had no warm coat or heavy clothing. He just had some plastic bags filled with trinkets.
I did not want to sit near his offensive odor, and his rugged appearance made me wonder if he was dangerous. Mostly, I did not want to be hit up for cash. I abruptly walked to the other end of the car and took a seat. All the other passengers also filed to the end of the car, leaving the man alone.
Soon a young man boarded the train and settled down in the seat directly in front of the homeless man. Without hesitation, the young man extended a welcoming smile, a handshake, and a jolly hello. The man’s face brightened, and they began a pleasant conversation. They talked for the next 15 minutes, enjoying each other’s company.
As I watched, I was reminded of the true spirit of the Christmas season. While deeply engaged in conversation, the young man stood up and removed his vest, shirt, and a second long-sleeve shirt he was wearing underneath. Standing in his undershirt, he then handed the long-sleeve shirt to the homeless man. The old man accepted it graciously, and the two continued their conversation. I stepped off the train at the next stop, touched by the young man’s kindness. I felt guilty for my selfishness, but I had a desire to be a better person.
The King of kings came into the world in the most humble of circumstances, in a lowly stable. The world was given a precious, saving gift—the Son of God. I am grateful for the gift of the Savior in my life and for the reminder of His infinite love and compassion for God’s children. That Christmas season, I felt a renewed desire to be kinder, more selfless, and more like my Savior, Jesus Christ.

A few hours before the youth began to arrive, we held a meeting and a quick spiritual thought with the young single adults. As a Church, our pioneers have crossed rivers in times of extreme difficulty before. “Let me tell you about the Sweetwater River in Wyoming and the story of the Martin and Willie handcart companies,” I said.
I recounted the events of Nov. 4, 1856, when the members of the Martin handcart company could go no further and wept at the thought of crossing that river in the frigid cold to find shelter from the storm at Martin’s Cove.
I told them of three members of the rescue party from Salt Lake City, all young adults, who stepped forward and volunteered to carry the entire company across the frigid river at great personal cost. I then asked, “who is willing to carry on this tradition and carry our 530 youth across the river this morning so a different kind of rescue can continue today, right here?”

“I wasn’t sure I wanted to come to youth conference,” confides 15-year-old Rebecca Eve. “I thought the days would be long and boring, but now I don’t want it to end. This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience.”

This historic point contains the ruins of a fortress apparently built by ancient Britons. It was to this spot in 1840 that Brigham Young, Wilford Woodruff, and Willard Richards came, following the work of Brother Woodruff at Benbow’s Farm, where many were baptised. On top of the Beacon, prayers were given, and they discussed publishing the first 5,000 copies of the Book of Mormon and 3,000 copies of the hymnbook for British Saints.

For Aileen Akagi, 17, the word crèche doesn’t remind her of only one nativity scene—it reminds her of roughly 600 of them! As a member of the Midway Fourth Ward, Midway Utah Stake, she has volunteered at the Interfaith Crèche Exhibit for three years in a row.
“It’s interesting to see the different styles of nativity scenes,” Aileen says. Seeing how diverse cultures portray the Christ child’s birth reminds her of how well-known the Christmas story is.
Volunteers set up the exhibits, monitor them, and lead children’s activities. Although Aileen has done a little of each, she spends most of her time running the marionette show for children. She organizes young women into groups who perform scenes from the Nativity with puppets. The show runs every 20 minutes.
“The first year we did the marionette show, one little boy brought his grandma to see it four times in a row,” Aileen laughs.
Throughout the show, the young women and audience sing Christmas songs. “One year, we finished by singing ‘Silent Night’ (Hymns, no. 204), and all the children and their parents joined in. It sounded like more than the audience was there—like angels were singing.”

Some of you may be familiar with Thornton Wilder’s classic drama Our Town. If you are, you will remember the town of Grover’s Corners, where the story takes place. In the play, Emily Webb dies in childbirth, and we read of the lonely grief of her young husband, George, left with their four-year-old son. Emily does not wish to rest in peace; she wants to experience again the joys of her life. She is granted the privilege of returning to earth and reliving her 12th birthday. At first it is exciting to be young again, but the excitement wears off quickly. The day holds no joy now that Emily knows what is in store for the future. It is unbearably painful to realize how unaware she had been of the meaning and wonder of life while she was alive. Before returning to her resting place, Emily laments, “Do … human beings ever realize life while they live it—every, every minute?”

I felt the Spirit when I listened to Brother Brough’s talk. I learned that I can do hard things and feel joy at the same time. I know this is true because all things are possible with the Lord on your side.
Harrison S., age 12, Western Australia, Australia

Jill stood up, gathering her things together. One memory flashed swiftly across her mind. It was the hot summer of her tenth year. She had been bike racing with Martin up the hill to her house. Everything was going fine until her front tire hit a patch of gravel that caused her to skid out of control. Martin brought his bike to a screeching halt and helped Jill untangle herself from her bicycle. Jill remembered she had bumped her nose and skinned both her knees. Martin helped her limp home and then left. As her mother carefully applied Band-Aids to the torn knees, Jill told her that Martin was glad she fell because she had been winning. Her mother tried to explain that she was sure that that wasn’t true, but Jill insisted, pointing out that he had even left her alone. About a half an hour later, Martin showed up at their doorstep. He had brought Jill’s bicycle back and put it in the garage. He asked if Jill could come outside for a minute. Jill remembered walking out with a cool expression of complete disdain. She was completely surprised when Martin presented her with a “victory scoop” of strawberry ice cream. She had been winning, he had explained, so he bought her an ice cream cone with his allowance.

When I was in about fifth grade, I stopped playing the piano because I thought it was too hard. Now I see you have to put work in to become good at something. I am now working at basketball, and I’m trying the piano again. You’ll find out what you’re good at if you put forth the effort.
Hannah G., age 12, Utah

Keoni Barney, 16, is a recent Church convert in the Mount Vernon Stake. “All the kids were just so nice,” he says. He found out about the Church when he moved in with his aunt and uncle and started dancing with the youth at their practices. He says his friends’ examples helped him gain a testimony. “I’ve never seen so much energy out of a group of youth in my entire life,” Keoni laughs. He says he can’t keep up with them, but maybe it’s the over-sized collar on his disco outfit that’s holding him back, he jokes. “I love having the opportunity to be in the dance festival.”

You’re falling asleep at school and your friend offers you an energy drink to help you wake up. Do you take it?
Yes?
Energy drinks will only keep you awake for a little while. They are harmful because they contain lots of caffeine and sugar.
No!
You decide to get more sleep tonight. Depending on your age, your body needs 9–12 hours of sleep each night.

Prayer, by Walter Rane
I never prayed so much as when one of my sons reached the age of 17. He started having some doubts about the gospel, and at times he was rebellious and didn’t want to listen. My husband and I always tried to insist that he attend church, but many times he refused. We held our family home evenings, read the scriptures, and prayed as a family, but he often chose not to participate. I can’t remember how many times I knelt down to ask our Heavenly Father to touch his heart and help him continue along the right path.
Over the next two years, he had many ups and downs. Church leaders supported me and they spoke with him, but nothing seemed to be of use. Eventually he left home.
All that time I never stopped praying for him. At times my husband, tired of it, said to me, “Leave him. He has his moral agency.” But my reply was always the same: “No. I will not lose hope.”
After a time, our son came to our home. He asked my forgiveness and told me, “Mama, I want to come home.” My husband and I were wary, but after discussing it, we yielded. After he returned home, we saw his firm determination to change. He became active in the Church and participated in activities. He was later called to serve as a Primary teacher, an experience that was quite special for him.
One day I hung up a Poster from the Liahona that said, “Don’t let worries or doubts keep you from serving a full-time mission.”1 It hung in his bedroom for a couple of months, when suddenly one day he said to me, “Mama, I want to go on a mission at the end of the year.” It was marvelous. My husband and I cried and cried, and of course we supported him as he prepared to go to the temple and serve a mission. I continued praying all the time, now thanking Heavenly Father for having touched the heart of my son.
After some time on his mission, in one of his letters he said to me, “Mama, I have a great testimony of prayer, thanks to you. I know that you were praying the whole time for me, and now I am on a mission because the Lord touched my heart, not because I am all that good. Thanks, Mama. Share with the sisters this principle that changed my life.”
Now my son has served a faithful mission and participated in a marvelous work. I am very thankful to Heavenly Father for listening to my prayers all these years and for touching the heart of my son, which caused him to return to the right path.

Like these ancient disciples nearly 2,000 years ago, many of you may also feel lonely from time to time. I have experienced this loneliness since the death of my precious wife, Barbara, over two and a half years ago. I know what it is to be surrounded by family members, friends, and associates but still feel lonely—because the love of my life is no longer here beside me.