Gospel Story Finder

When President Nelson invited the women of the Church in October 2018 general conference to read the Book of Mormon before the end of the year, Matthew, Andrew, and Isaac, along with their father and younger brothers, decided to offer Mom their support. “We’ll read it with you!” they said. Every morning before seminary, they woke up to read together.
“When we took on this challenge, I thought it was going to take a lot of time,” Andrew says. “I worried that I wouldn’t have enough time to do everything I wanted to do, like play the guitar or hang out with my friends. But I realized that it just doesn’t work like that. The more I was into reading the Book of Mormon, the more time I actually seemed to have. I realized that if I keep up on reading the scriptures as much as possible, my life is balanced. I have more time in the day.”

Tom also drew on his faith. “When I was 16, I wanted to find out for myself if the Church was true. I read the Book of Mormon, then prayed, but received no answer. So I tried again. Still, no answer. On the third day, I felt the Spirit come upon me, and all of a sudden the scriptures came alive and I knew the gospel of Jesus Christ was real.”

Most recently I have returned from spending two and a half years in West Africa, where I was sent to help with a research project.
As I lived among the Nigerian people, I thought, “Wow! Imagine living like that!” I often watched my neighbor, Violet, a 16-year-old Latter-day Saint. It was hard not to think about the life I lived at age 16. My life had been extremely extracurricular. I was a member of almost every high school club I could find time for, I was very involved in sports, I was a student-body officer, I sang in a choir, I attended early-morning seminary, and I fulfilled Church callings. My life was a whirlwind of activity—fun activity.
Violet’s life was very different. She was the oldest of five living children. Three younger family members had died in infancy. Her mother had married at age 14, and Violet was born a short time later.
Violet’s parents spent most of their time doing farm work. As the oldest child, Violet was expected to help with the work needed to sustain the family. Because of family needs and the expense of school fees, Violet was not able to attend the village primary school every year. Some years she had her turn; other years her brothers and sisters had their turn. Violet completed about four or five years of schooling, and she probably would not receive more, as she was at the age when most Nigerian girls are given in marriage.
The village area Violet and I lived in had no electricity or running water. The walls of her home were made of mud clay packed between bamboo poles. The roof was of palm thatch. A wall made of sticks and thatch separated her compound from mine. As I lived by and learned from Violet, I discovered a principle that has had a profound impact on my life. I call it my principle of Difference Relativity.
When I was first asked to go to Nigeria, I was under the impression that I would be going into the bush of Africa to save the dying children. My colleague and I arrived on the scene with our cases and boxes of supplies and comforts and equipment and stuff. And in our books and materials, we thought we had all the answers to the world’s problems. We were ready and willing to find and point out all of the problems of the Nigerian people so we could proceed to solve them.
It didn’t take us long to realize that we were the ones that needed help. We were the ones having a hard time surviving. We were the ones having a hard time coping with life in Nigeria, not the Nigerians. I began to realize that differences are relative. Slowly, as the months went by, I began to see that I was just as different from Violet as she was from me, and I discovered an equality in our differences.
The differences in our lives started first thing in the morning, every morning. My co-workers and I had access to generated power each morning for two hours, and during that time, we bustled and hustled to use our electric typewriters, our computer, and our copying machine to record collected data and to prepare materials for the coming work day.
While we were doing this, Violet and her brothers and sisters were making their way back from a small stream about a half mile away. Every morning, at first light, they went to collect water for their family’s daily needs. Much of West Africa is a tropical rain forest, and so during the wet season, the children don’t have to walk quite so far to collect water. Violet could powerfully hoist a ten-gallon container on her head and then gracefully carry it all the way home without spilling a drop. I could just as gracefully make an entry in my computerized journal describing that feat.
Several times in the week Violet and her brother went out into the bush with their machetes to collect firewood. They usually returned at dusk with large bundles of sticks and wood balanced on their heads. This wood was used for the cooking fire. And then Violet and her mother prepared their usual gari and soup, made almost entirely from ingredients grown in their compound and on their small farm. Violet and her mother knew what it meant to be self-sufficient. My limited experience in such survival skills was a result of a week spent at girls’ camp several years before. I had much to learn from Violet and her mother.
I loved to go over to Violet’s compound on Saturday evenings while her family was preparing for the Sabbath. The children took turns helping each other bathe, the older ones would pour the water while the younger ones lathered themselves with soap. Violet’s father prepared the iron by filling it with hot coals from the fire, and Violet would press the clean white shirts and their dresses and wrappers so they would look their best at church in the morning. Water for the sacrament was boiled and cooled. And by the light of a bush lantern, scriptures and lessons were studied and prepared.
The more I observed Violet, the more I saw the differences between us. But I gained perspective and understanding. I imagined how hard it might be for Violet to live in my home environment. I thought of all the wonderful things she would miss—the sunsets decorated by lacy palms, the quiet of night where the only interruptions are made by choirs of frogs singing and distant drums, the daily contact with family and extended family who lived in the surrounding village. I thought about Violet’s physical strength and her young, supple body and what might happen to it if she were introduced to junk food and lazy habits. I thought of her cooking skills and farming skills and her ability to care for her younger brothers and sisters, and wondered how much of that would be lost if she were transplanted into my home environment.
And most often, I wondered about our thoughts and our feelings about our heavenly home. Violet’s world was different from mine. Our differences were great—she did things I couldn’t do, and I did things she couldn’t do. But we did have one most important thing in common: we were both daughters of our Heavenly Father. And because we both knew that, our differences didn’t separate us; they drew us together, and we learned from each other and we shared with each other, and both of our lives became fuller. I am a better person because of Violet’s differences, because she shared them with me. And I hope Violet is a better person because of my differences.

Mike Johnson from Utah State University has basketball in the blood. His dad and uncles all played at Utah State, and Mike wanted to follow in their footsteps. But a mission came first. He left for the England Leeds Mission straight out of high school, not knowing if any of the recruiters who contacted him before he left would be interested when he returned two years later.
“I wanted to go on a mission,” said Mike. “I wanted to say, ‘Hey, I’ve done what I’ve been asked to and now, if I need to call on my Heavenly Father for help, then I can do it knowing that I haven’t put Him off.’”
Mike has talked to several freshman who are leaving on their missions. He encourages them to work hard and be dedicated. Then he tells them the lesson he learned, “If you go, when you get back everything will fall into place.”

President Marion G. Romney understood this. Years ago he started a daily procedure, which he recommended to us, of reading the Book of Mormon each morning for thirty minutes. “I know that it kept me in harmony,” he said, “so far as I did keep in harmony, with the Spirit of the Lord.” Then he added, “It will hold us as close to the Spirit of the Lord as anything I know.” (In Conference Report, Apr. 1949, pp. 36, 41.)

Géoffroy wanted to go on a mission. He didn’t have enough money, so he sold his farm. A few months later, he received a mission call to the Ivory Coast. He was the first missionary from Benin to get a mission call!
His dedication helped him for years. Because of his faith, and that of other members, many more people were baptized. His branch became a ward. That ward is now part of the first stake in Benin!
Géoffroy Koussemou continues to work hard and rely on God. He knows that great things can happen with God’s help.

No wonder she was chosen to be the official ambassador for Walt Disney World in Florida, chosen for her special responsibilities from the more than 13,000 employees at Disney World. Because many people try out for this position, applying for it involved a series of taxing tests and interviews.

“I really wanted this, but it is so much more than just a job,” said Pam. “During the year you are an ambassador, you have to devote most of your time to it. I always come in early and stay late, and travel much of the time.

“I knew I wanted the job and felt I had something to offer and so I tried out four different years. At first I thought that if I had to try out more than once then maybe I should forget it. But then I realized that was my false pride talking, not me. I finally realized that I did not get the position to begin with because I was not ready for it—I did not know enough about what I was doing.

“The first time I tried out I felt knew all there was to know about Disney. I walked into that room and there were five managers there for the first interview. I was so scared I could hardly talk to them—my voice kind of squeaked out, I gave them all the wrong answers, and I didn’t say anything I wanted to say. I am basically a shy person, and I knew I would have to work harder at being able to get up and speak to groups and being able to present my thoughts in a clear way. So I studied and learned all the facts I could about Disney World. I learned how many acres there are in Bay Lake, how many beams were laid beneath the contemporary hotel, and how many leaves are growing on the Swiss Family tree house. And I tried to develop my poise. I transferred into tour guiding, and this helped me in talking to people and becoming more outgoing.

“I prepared in every way that I could, and then I gave it my big try. Now I am so glad that I did not give up earlier because I have had so many great experiences and met so many wonderful people. After I became ambassador, I even joined Toastmasters International where I learned more about addressing large audiences,” she added.

Caridad peeped out between the pieces of cardboard that mended the broken window in the one-room house. The lady missionaries had said that they would return mañana por la tarde (tomorrow afternoon). At ten years of age, Cari was old enough to understand the message of hope that they brought.
The tinkle of a bicycle bell floated across the dirt courtyard, and Cari raced outside. “You’re here! Welcome, hermanas (sisters),” she said joyfully.
“We came as soon as we could,” Sister Martin said as she leaned her bike against the adobe house. The dwelling was whitewashed outside, but it still showed the mud bricks inside. “Where is your mother?”
“Waiting inside. Come on!” Cari rushed ahead and opened the door. “Mamá, aquí estan (they’re here)!” she called.
Señora Arguello hurried forward, taking the missionaries’ outstretched hands and giving the sisters the customary kiss on the cheek. “Pasen, no mas (Come in),” she welcomed them as she showed them to the chairs at the table, the only furniture other than the bed in the tiny room. “Cari, see that the sisters have cups,” Señora Arguello said, bustling outside to the rustic stove where hot cocoa was warming.
Cari quickly set the table for four. Of course, she and her mother would drink very little of the precious cocoa, but perhaps the sisters wouldn’t notice.
When the cups were empty, the lady missionaries began teaching Cari and her mother more of the marvelous truths that had brought such hope to the Arguellos. As Sister Martin and Sister Darnell told about the Savior’s love and plan of salvation for all men, Cari felt a tear sting her eye. Her father had died four years before in an accident. Would she really see him again someday? She sniffed loudly.
“Here, Cari.” Sister Martin handed her a handkerchief. “Borrow mine,” she said with a wink.
Cari dabbed her eyes, then smoothed the handkerchief out. The material felt fine and soft. “This feels good, Hermana,” Cari said. “What a shame that some of the embroidery has come out.”
“It is beautiful,” said Senora Arguello. “If you like, I can mend it for you.”
“Oh, would you? It was a gift from a former companion.”
“Of course. I’ll have it ready tomorrow.”
“Hermana Arguello,” Sister Martin said, turning again to her lesson, “we’re holding a baptismal service on Saturday. Will you and Cari be baptized then?”
Cari held her breath. She had only been to church once. She had to take turns with her mother, since they owned only one pair of shoes between them.
“Sí (Yes), we will be most happy to become members of the true church,” she answered.
“Wonderful! And on Sunday we want you to come to church together! No more excuses.” Sister Darnell smiled at them.
Cari exchanged worried looks with her mother.
“Perhaps. We’ll see,” her mother said softly.
“Sister Arguello, I know the Lord wants you to attend. When you are baptized, you are making a commitment to attend every week. Both of you.”
“I know. I know. We’ll try.”
The sisters looked doubtfully at one another. Cari could see they were not satisfied. They left a few minutes later, with promises to return mañana.
That night Cari and her mother talked long about the Church. They tried to think of some way to get enough money for another pair of shoes, but there just wasn’t time between then and Saturday.
The next day, Cari waited in the courtyard for the sisters. When they finally wheeled in on their bikes, she called out excitedly, “Guess what? I’ve read all of First Nephi! Mamá and I read very late last night, and she was still reading when I fell asleep.”
“That’s wonderful, Cari,” said Sister Martin, drawing her close for a hug and kiss. “I think you really do want to become a member of the Church.”
“Oh, yes. More than anything!”
Sister Martin paused, “Then you be sure to go to church next Sunday. They need smart little girls like you in Primary!”
Cari’s face fell. Next Sunday was her mother’s turn. “I’ll see,” she mumbled.
The missionaries didn’t urge her further as they all went inside.
“Here is your pañuelo (handkerchief), Hermana,” said Señora Arguello, handing it to Sister Martin.
“What lovely work! Thank you!” As she looked at the handkerchief, a smile began to light up her face. “Hermana Arguello,” she said, “this gives me an idea. Could you embroider some pañuelos for my friends in the United States? I’ll be glad to pay for your time and the materials.”
Senora Arguello’s eyes lit up. “Of course! If you’ll bring them over, I’ll do them right away!”
Later, when the sisters brought the handkerchiefs, Cari looked longingly at the lovely, fine cotton squares. She had never owned anything so delicate. Her hand caressed one gently.
Sister Martin noticed Cari’s longing. Leaning down, she said, “I brought an extra one. Would you like it, Cari?”
“Oh, yes!” Cari clapped her hands. “Thank you!”
Later Cari’s mother pulled her close. “Mi preciosa (Honey), why don’t you help me embroider the pañuelos? If we do yours, too, we might just make enough money to buy a pair of shoes. Can you part with it, darling?”
Cari fell silent. She had never owned anything of beauty in her life. She reached out and touched the pañuelos again, then answered, “Sí, Mamá.” She turned and went out to scrub clothes in the cold water from the spigot in the courtyard. She would try to forget the lovely gift.
When the sisters returned on Friday, the pañuelos were ready.
“Here, take all of them.” Señora Arguello handed the beautiful handkerchiefs to Sister Martin. “Thank you for the one you gave to Cari, but it would be foolish to keep it when we need the money for necessities. Está bien (Is that all right with you)?”
“Of course. Here you are.” Sister Martin paid Señora Arguello for all of the handkerchiefs, then carefully tucked them away.
Cari smiled bravely at Sister Martin. After all, there were things more precious than handkerchiefs. She would have shoes for church. What else mattered?
The baptismal service was beautiful. Cari could hardly wait to go to Primary as a real member of the true Church! On Sunday she and her mother entered the chapel together. People they had met only briefly hurried up to them and made them welcome.
“¡Buenos días (Good morning)! We knew you’d both be here!” Sister Martin and Sister Darnell each gave them big abrazos (hugs).
Cari sat proudly by her mother, and as the sacrament came by, she reverently thought of the Savior. A small tear of happiness escaped, and Cari wiped it away with the back of her hand.
“Here,” Sister Martin whispered. She handed Cari a small handkerchief. “Use mine.”
After sacrament meeting, Cari told Sister Martin that she’d return the handkerchief as soon as it was washed.
“Please don’t bother,” Sister Martin said. “It’s such an old worn-out thing. It’s about time I threw it away.”
“May I have it, Hermana?” Cari asked, looking longingly at its little pink flowers and dainty lace edge.
“If you really want it—but it won’t last long, I’m afraid.”
Sister Martin was wrong. It would last forever as a reminder of the most precious thing in Cari’s life, the gospel of Jesus Christ.

“I myself came down with smallpox, a deadly disease in those days. I was isolated in the granary, which had a stove. Pillows were tied on my hands so that I couldn’t scratch the big pox that covered my body. The Lord blessed me so that today I don’t have any pockmarks. I also had diphtheria, another deadly disease, and the Lord spared my life then too.

But while Pedro’s academic curiosity and craftsmanship would have made him stand out in any community, one other quality made him unique. There have been few characters in the course of written history with whom faith and fact were synonymous. Pedro was one of these.
Even for those of us who use the term daily, faith is a paradox. Conspicuously absent in many who bear its robes, it sometimes finds a more congenial soil under homespun wool and leather thongs.
At any rate Pedro’s faith was both simple and factual. We had bought a diesel engine that generated electricity for our school and church building. A film arrived from Church headquarters depicting the struggles of early pioneers in southern Utah. President Lorenzo Snow, president of the Church at that time, promised the pioneers that a devastating drought would end if they would pay their tithing.
That year Pedro’s village was experiencing a drought. Potatoes and corn were drooping in despair at the rainy season’s slow arrival.
Pedro arrived the morning after the film was shown to pay ten soles (less than 50 cents) in tithing. He then went home and sat on his porch to wait for the rain.
It rained.

Stories have been shared of ancestors discovered in that week, that had been hidden in what was thought to be completed family lines. A sister from the Milford Haven Branch shared how she felt prompted to look through all the certificates that her father had gathered. There she discovered a cause of death that led her to be able to have an infant sealed to their parents.

Illustration by Bryan Beach
I glanced out the car window. The sign was still there. Right outside our neighborhood, there was a store with a giant picture of someone without many clothes on. I didn’t want to see it.
Mom looked at me in the rearview mirror. “Just don’t look at it, Gary.”
I turned my head. “I try not to, but it’s hard when we have to drive by it almost every day.”
“I know,” Mom said. “We can’t choose what pictures other people put up, but we can choose not to look at them.”
“I wish it wasn’t there at all.”
“Me too.”
I didn’t like seeing bad pictures in my town. To make things worse, there was another bad picture in a store window right by our church building! I hated seeing that right before going into church. I didn’t like the way it made me feel. I also didn’t like thinking about my three younger brothers seeing things like that.
Maybe there was something I could do about it.
“Hey, Mom, do you think if I wrote them a letter they would take it down?”
“I don’t know,” Mom said. “But I think it’s a great idea to try.”
I nodded. “Will you help me look up that store’s address when we get home?”
“Of course.”
That night, I sat down at the kitchen table with a notebook. My plan was to write two letters, one to each of the stores that had the bad pictures in their windows.
I stared at the blank paper. What could I say? For a minute, I thought about one of my favorite scripture stories, David and Goliath. I felt like David. I was just a kid. Would they even listen to me?
But David had something going for him that Goliath didn’t. He had help from Heavenly Father! That’s what I needed. I bowed my head and said a prayer to know what to write.
Then I started writing.
I tried to be polite and respectful. I wanted to make sure they knew how I felt every time I saw those pictures. I told them how much I didn’t want my little brothers to see them either. I said that I wished they could find something else to put in their window. When I finished writing the letters, I had a good feeling inside.
“What do you think, Dad?” I asked. Dad read through my letters and nodded.
“These are great! I wouldn’t change a thing.”
So I put them in envelopes and dropped them in the mailbox.
“I guess now we wait,” I said. My family and I prayed that Heavenly Father would take things from there. We trusted that if it was His will, something would happen.
For a while, nothing happened. Then one day, Mom and Dad said they had something to show us. We all piled into the car and drove to the first store. The picture was gone!
“You were so brave to write those letters, and look what happened!” Mom said.
“They took it down!” I shouted.
I said another prayer right then in the car, thanking Heavenly Father for His help. And then we got even more good news.
When we drove to church that Sunday, we saw that the other store had taken their bad picture down too. I couldn’t believe it. I was so grateful Heavenly Father had answered our prayers. When we do our best to keep our minds pure, God will help us. ?
Thanks to Gary P. for your great example!And for sharing your story!

Lara M., 8, England, was baptized on her birthday by her bishop. Her mother and two older brothers were excited to see her baptized.

Like Bishop Caussé, I lived in a small branch of the Church during a good part of my teen years, and I was often asked to fulfill assignments and callings that would normally have been done by adults. For example, those of us in the youth program often took the lead in helping organize and run our activities and special events. We wrote plays, formed a singing group to entertain at branch activities, and were full participants in every meeting. I was called to be the branch music leader and led the singing in sacrament meeting each week. It was a great experience as a 16-year-old to stand in front of everyone in the branch each Sunday and lead them in singing the hymns. I felt needed and knew I had something to contribute. People depended on me to be there, and I loved feeling useful. That experience helped build my testimony of Jesus Christ, and just as it did for Bishop Caussé, it anchored my life in gospel service.

Wheels were set in motion when Sister Jennilyn Stoffers arrived in 2022 to serve in the Barbados Bridgetown Mission office. Her call to Barbados came as a last-minute surprise. For months, she had made preparations with Church leaders to serve in Ireland, where the wet and cold of northern Europe were more conducive to her health. She had her bags packed for Ireland until she read her mission call, sending her the other direction—to the heat and humidity of Barbados.
Sister Stoffers replaced her warm wools with breezy cottons and soon arrived in Barbados. “There was a lot of adapting,” she said of the weather, the Bajan dialect,2 the culture, the food—just about everything.
“It was easy to fall in love with the members and their pure faith in God,” she said. “Everyone should experience a fast and testimony meeting in Barbados. Members know the scriptures. They are strong in their faith. They face persecution from family and society. Many are the only members of the Church in their families.”
Before long, the branch president asked Sister Stoffers to teach a class on temple preparation and family history work, a subject that fires her imagination and devotion.
A spark was struck among several members. They lingered after meetings, huddling around the branch computer, where Sister Stoffers helped them discover the richness of family history work.
Margaret Haynes was among the first to taste the spirit of the work.
“Imagine how my ancestors are reacting,” she said in reflection. “One day I will meet them. I have always felt a special feeling of being watched over by them. It brings me joy to unite my family. I feel their yearning to make covenants.”
Enthusiasm spread, and more members joined in the weekly gatherings.
“They get after it,” Sister Stoffers said. “If they need permission to perform an ordinance or need data like a birth date, they call a relative right then. There’s no waiting for a more convenient time.”
The laws and culture in the Caribbean make researching family records a challenge. “Yet,” said Sister Stoffers, “members of the branch deal with the frustrations and have now submitted more than 500 ordinances to the temple.” And more are coming.
As Church members unearthed their ancestral past, Sister Stoffers began wondering how they might experience the joy of serving in the temple on their ancestors’ behalf, given the expense of traveling to the Santo Domingo Dominican Republic Temple.
Considering her resources, she remembered the youth and adults in her home ward near Ogden, Utah, USA. With their enthusiasm to serve, could they fill the gap and help their brothers and sisters in Barbados?

When Glyn Piercy, a priest in the Dayton Ohio East Stake, decided to carve a stairway in a hillside for his Eagle Scout project, his whole stake got into the act. More than 60 young people showed up the day of the project to take on “the hill,” which is part of the Sugar Bush Trail, located in the Ohio Narrows Reserve. At the end of the day of the project, the stairway was nearly complete. And the youth, although they were tired and a little bit dirty, had a product they could be proud of.

Over the past 18 months the staff in the National Health Service have adapted in unimaginable ways to protect and treat those affected by the coronavirus pandemic. The Chorley Stake youth have seen firsthand, with NHS workers in their families and stakes, the impact it has had on their personal and professional lives. So, they wanted to say not just a big thank you but also a personal thank you for all their hard work.
We started by gathering some names of the NHS workers in our stake, and then asked them to share stories of co-workers that they know working each day to save and protect lives. These stories were provided to each individual youth in blank cards with a pen and decorations. This enabled the youth not just to see a name but also to understand a little of the everyday changes each of these workers has had to make since the pandemic started. This meant the youth could thank them personally by reflecting on their individual sacrifices.

Sally Randall of Nauvoo, Illinois, whose 14-year-old son died, found great comfort in the promise of eternal families. After her husband was baptized for their son, she wrote to her relatives: “What a glorious thing it is that we … can be baptized for all of our dead [ancestors] and save them as far back as we can get any knowledge of them.” Then she asked her relatives to send her information on their ancestors, saying, “I intend to do what I can to save [our family].”4

One night during this time, I was awakened from a deep sleep by a voice which came into my mind. As I listened to what was being said, I realized that my great-great-grandfather was speaking to me. I lay there for a moment, listening and thinking. My great-great-grandfather was telling me to have his family sealed to him. He had lived in the United States in the mid-1800s. Due to the American Civil War and the economic conditions prior to the war, my great-great-grandfather George Wilkie had been away from his beloved wife and four sons a great deal. Eventually he died while serving his country in the Civil War.
I had read copies of letters George Wilkie had written home to his family and letters his family had sent to him during his many absences. I had also read his journals. These letters and journals reflected the love family members had for one another, as well as their desires to be reunited.

Romans 8:16 says, “The Spirit itself beareth witness with our spirit, that we are the children of God.” The first time I remember feeling with all certainty that Heavenly Father knew me, loved me, and cared for me was when I entered the waters of baptism at age 15. Before then, I knew God existed and Jesus Christ was the Savior of the world. I believed in Them and loved Them, but I had never felt Their love and care for me, individually, until that day as I rejoiced in my opportunity to make baptismal covenants.

I realized what a great miracle it had been to have been found and taught by the missionaries, especially with only a handful of missionaries amongst two million people! I knew then that Heavenly Father knew me and loved me in such a special way that He guided the missionaries to my home.