Gospel Story Finder

Born on November 9, 1818, and raised in St. Johnsbury, Vermont, Erastus was the son of Levi Snow, who “never made a profession of Christianity,” and of Lucina Snow, a devout Methodist. She raised Erastus, her dark-haired son with gray eyes, to believe in God at an early age:
“I being born and brought up amongst them (Methodists) … and being taught by my Mother and trained up somewhat in the statutes and admonition of the Lord, wherefore my mind was called up in my youth years, even at the age of nine years I experienced a joy & comfort which the world cannot give and I endeavored for a season to serve the Lord and be a devout example.”
He said that when he was nine, he “became a student of the Bible, beginning with the life and teachings of Christ.”

I am Sister Little, a service missionary. My story of becoming a missionary is complex, but I think it was that way for a reason.
It was January 2019 when I first started applying, although I had decided the year before that I was going to. There was a slight worry in the back of my mind about my struggles with fibromyalgia, which could prevent me from serving. Having a chronic illness that causes constant pain everywhere is difficult, although that didn’t worry me when applying. All that was going through my mind was the belief that this was the path on which I needed to go.
In September of that year, I was told I couldn’t serve a proselyting mission. There being no other options for a young missionary, I was left feeling discouraged. I continued with the belief that I would serve, but I needed to start preparing for the next stages of my life. On the outside I was coping, but internally I was still trying to process those feelings of doubt, and continually praying and asking: “What do I need to do? When will I be able to serve?”
Fast forward to the end of May 2020 and many of us were still in lockdown. I got a message that gave details of the young service missionary programme that was now being implemented in the UK. Having read the article, I was in a state of shock. I knew our Heavenly Father had a plan; I just didn’t think it would come into effect quite so quickly. It took me two days to decide to take another massive U-turn and go back to preparing myself to become a missionary. At that moment I knew that our Heavenly Father is a person of great miracles. I felt pure gratitude for the increasing opportunities for missionaries to gather Israel.
So far, during my mission, I have had the chance to get involved with the FamilySearch records operation centre project, where I have been able to add to the section called All About Me, researching fun facts that happened in certain years. I have also been able to do ‘match labelling’ (a simple activity where two historical records are reviewed and the decision is made as to whether they are a match, not a match, or can’t tell). This project is making searching FamilySearch easier. It’s also been a blessing to help with the Friendship Centre in Wembley, helping to teach English! I am impressed that I have a positive experience each week. This experience has greatly helped me with my confidence, considering I haven’t been a missionary for too long, it’s amazing.

The Eyrings’ oldest son, Henry, shared an experience that is especially tender to him. “I was in the mission field in Japan,” he recounts. “I went there with great confidence and high expectations.” But at the end of 10 months, there had not been a single baptism. “I was really down,” Henry continues, “very discouraged. And then came a short letter from my dad.” In essence, all it said was that even though the people in Japan might reject him, God would never reject him—and that Henry’s father was pleased with his son’s labors.
With some emotion, Henry concludes, “What made this so important to me was that at that moment, I felt that those were the very words God himself would have spoken to me had he written the letter.”

In about 1680, the French also invented a merry-go-round, or carousel, that was used to train young noblemen for the quintain. Painted horses hung by chains nailed to overhead wooden beams attached to a center pole. As the ride was turned by servants, the horsemen tried to spear a brass ring with their lances.

Before Far West was taken by the mob militia, Joseph Smith and other Church leaders were betrayed by the colonel who led the Latter-day Saints’ forces: he turned them over to the militia. The Church leaders were illegally court-martialed and sentenced to be executed. Their lives were saved the next day when a Missouri general, Alexander Doniphan, refused to obey the order.

The Prophet and five other men, including the Prophet’s brother Hyrum, were sent to Liberty Jail in Clay County to await another trial. The lower level of the jail, where the prisoners were kept, was small, dirty, and had such a low ceiling that they could not stand up straight. The guards were on the floor above and lowered what little food they gave the prisoners through a trap door in the floor (below). The dungeon was cold, and almost no light came in through the tiny barred cell windows. They were there for four months.

Cedar Falls, Iowa, LDS youth stood tall and proud with Governor Terry E. Brandstad when he presented them with a certificate of appreciation. They were honored for their work on refurbishing a visitation room for foster children and their parents. The LDS youth were singled out at the annual Governor’s Volunteer Awards ceremony in Dubuque, Iowa.

When I would attempt to walk half a block in my neighborhood, I often experienced shortness of breath, light-headedness, and joint pain. I had been a runner previous to contracting the virus, and now I could only walk slowly. Many times I would fall on my knees to pray that I could get up and feel up. The fatigue got worse every time I tried to get up and do too much. One day I got up and my back went out. I fell to the floor in tears and pain. I cried out to Heavenly Father, “I can’t take it anymore!” He knew I was down and helped me up once again. I would often tell myself, “Just hold on.” There was not much else I could do. By choosing to hold on to hope in Christ and continually calling upon the Lord, I was able to press on.

Never verbally or physically threaten those who may abuse you. Looking back at high school, I could not have made it through some of the taunting I endured without having a fixed hope in the Lord and love of Him and His commandments. When you walk out the doors on your last day of school, you will never see most of those people again. Make the decision to walk out with your head high and your testimony strong, knowing that you were true to the standards of the Lord.Samuel B., 19, Québec, Canada

To scholars, the scripture looked dubious for a while on another point as well. Moroni claimed that “the characters which are called among us the reformed Egyptian” had been “handed down and altered by us, according to our manner of speech.” (See Morm. 9:32.) Those “characters” must, then, have had a phonetic element—they represented sounds to an extent. Yet leading experts like Morley, Thompson, and Barthel were insisting that only trivial phonetic features were built into the Mayan glyphs.4 Soviet scholar, Yuri Knorosov led the way to correcting that error.5 Today it is generally acknowledged that “the Maya system had a strong phonetic-syllabic component,” much like Moroni’s description of the Nephite system.6

In April 1992 my family and I were living in Provo, Utah, where we had moved from Canada so I could complete a degree in engineering at Brigham Young University. My son Jase, who was 17, had become friends with a young woman named Krista.
On the Saturday evening of general conference weekend, Jase came into the living room and asked if he could borrow the car to take Krista out for a milk shake. I tossed him the keys, and he went into the kitchen to call her. I could hear one side of the conversation, which went like this:
“Hi, Krista, it’s me, Jase. I was wondering if you would like to go out for a milk shake.” Silence. “You mean after priesthood meeting? Well, OK, I’ll call you then. See ya.”
Jase hung up the phone and came back into the living room.
“So are you going out with her?” I asked.
“She said she would like to go,” he replied, “but she told me to call her back after I get home from the priesthood session.” With a dejected look on his face, he slunk off to his room.
Something hit me like a ton of bricks. I had grown up in southern Alberta, nearly 80 miles (130 km) from the stake center. No one had expected me or even my parents, who had leadership positions in our branch, to show up for conference sessions, let alone the priesthood session. Now someone was counting on it.
What would my response be to my son’s look of sadness as he went to his room? I knew that my decision would set a precedent for years to come.
I got up from my chair and called down the hall to Jase and my second son, a newly ordained deacon, “Change your clothes. We have 10 minutes to get to the priesthood session at the stake center.” I hurried to get ready, and when I came out of my bedroom, both boys were ready, and we headed for the car.
I don’t remember the talks very well, but I remember that we felt the Spirit. It felt good to be at the priesthood session with my sons. When we came home, Jase felt good about himself, which made me feel good. He called Krista, and they went to get milk shakes.
In the two decades that have passed since that day, the priesthood holders in our family have not missed a single priesthood session of general conference. Because a righteous young woman stood up for her beliefs, our family had the opportunity to change, and we continue to hear the words of latter-day prophets and feel the Spirit in the priesthood session of general conference.

Sixteen-year-old Chelsea Frandsen watches helplessly as the choreographed battle between the English and the French deteriorates into a free-for-all, with soldiers thrusting their wooden swords at whoever is closest and dead men falling and lying still for only a second before jumping back up to join the fun again.
Of course, Chelsea knew this was one of the hazards of enlisting three-year-olds to play soldiers in her neighborhood production of Shakespeare’s King Lear.
“I was just laughing my head off,” recalls Chelsea, a Laurel in the Oak Hills Fourth Ward, Provo Utah Oak Hills Stake. She knows that on performance night, the real goal isn’t perfection—it’s having fun.

Jump in a cold swimming pool and suddenly all your senses will be aware of the water. You know water surrounds you.
But if you stand on the side and watch someone else jump in the water, does it mean that water has nothing to do with you? No, of course not. You still drink water, feel rain on your face, bathe, know that water is in every plant and animal around you, and even realize that your own body is made up mostly of water.
Sometimes, as a young woman, you might see young men and the priesthood as someone else doing the swimming and so think priesthood has nothing to do with you. In fact, the priesthood of God is as important to you spiritually as the water you drink is physically.

In stark contrast, consider the example of another young man. Through the years I have watched how his parents have taught him from infancy to unwaveringly live the commandments of God. By example and precept, they nurtured him, together with their other children, in truth. They encouraged the development of discipline and sacrifice to obtain worthy goals. This young man chose swimming to instill in his character those qualities. Early-morning practice sessions required discipline and sacrifice. Over time he excelled in that sport.
Then came the challenges—for example, a championship swim meet on Sunday. Would he participate? Would he rationalize an exception to his rule of not swimming on Sunday to help his team win the championship? No, he would not yield, even under intense peer pressure. He was called names, even physically abused. But he would not yield. The rejection of friends, the loneliness, and the pressure brought times of sadness and tears. But he would not yield. He was learning firsthand what each of us must come to know, the reality of Paul’s counsel to Timothy, “All that will live godly in Christ Jesus shall suffer persecution” (2 Tim. 3:12). Over the years this consistent pattern of righteous living—woven from hundreds of correct decisions, some in the face of great challenge—has developed a character of strength and capacity. Now, as a missionary, he is appreciated by his peers for his ability to work, his knowledge of truth, his unwavering devotion, and his determination to share the gospel. One who earlier was rejected by his peers now has become a respected leader of his peers. Is there a message for you in these examples?

A few weeks ago, while studying again the message President Russell M. Nelson delivered in the last general conference, and while pondering on the Sabbath day, I felt a deep gratitude for the blessing and privilege of being able to partake of the sacrament. For me that is a very solemn, sacred, and spiritual moment. I greatly enjoy sacrament meeting.

While pondering, I carefully studied the blessings on the bread and the water. I read and deeply meditated on the prayers and the ordinance of the sacrament. I began to go over in my mind and in my heart the events that are connected to it.

In a spirit of meditation, I reflected upon that day, the first day of the feast of the unleavened bread, when Jesus, in response to His disciples’ question about where to prepare for the Passover, answered them, saying, “Go into the city to such a man, and say unto him, The Master saith, My time is at hand; I will keep the passover at thy house with my disciples.”

I tried to visualize in my mind the disciples buying food and carefully preparing the table to eat with Him on that special day: a table for 13 people, Him and His twelve disciples, whom He loved.

I cried as I visualized Christ eating with them and declaring, “Verily I say unto you, that one of you shall betray me.”

I thought about the saddened disciples asking Him, “Lord, is it I?”

And when Judas asked Him the same question, He replied calmly, “Thou hast said.”

I could visualize hands that had healed, comforted, edified, and blessed, breaking the bread as Jesus said, “Take, eat; this is my body.”

Then He took a cup filled with wine and gave thanks and gave the cup to them, saying, “Drink ye all of it; for this is my blood of the new testament, which is shed for many for the remission of sins.”

In my mind I looked at the disciples one by one and saw in their eyes their concern for the Master, whom they loved greatly. It was as if I were sitting there with them, watching everything. I felt an intense pain in my heart, full of grief and sorrow for what He was about to experience for me.

My soul was filled by an overwhelming desire to be a better person. In repentance and sorrow, I fervently wished to be able to dry and avoid the spilling of at least a few drops of His blood shed in Gethsemane.

I then pondered about the sacrament we partake of every week in remembrance of Him. While doing so, I meditated upon each word of the blessings on the bread and the water. I deeply reflected on the words “and always remember him” in the blessing on the bread and “that they do always remember him” in the blessing on the water.

I meditated on what it means to always remember Him.

A few years ago, I spoke to a friend who had attended a church meeting earlier that day and enquired how it was. The response was negative; apparently the talks were poor and the meeting not at all edifying. Later that day I spoke to another friend who had attended the same meeting and I made the same enquiry. ‘It was wonderful’ was the response.
I have often pondered about the experience of these two friends. Both attended the same meeting and heard the same talks, yet one had left spiritually hungry, and the other completely nourished. It’s possible that the subject of the talks simply resonated more with my second friend. However, I imagine it was much more than that. My second friend had gone spiritually prepared to listen with an open heart and with a desire to act on that which they heard.

In 2005 a group of Saints traveled 12 hours aboard a flatbed truck under inhospitable weather and road conditions to perform ordinances for themselves and their ancestors.

I. You suggest that you all play on the swing. Tasha has the first turn. As Julie climbs on for her turn, a car full of teenagers drives by. One of them flips a cigarette on the curb. Tasha runs to pick it up. “It’s still lit!” She turns to you and says, “I dare you to try it!”
If you say, “No, I don’t do that kind of stuff, and I hope you don’t either, because it’s bad for you,” go to D. If you say, “Well, maybe just one puff—but you’d better not tell anyone!” go to H.

H. You put the cigarette to your mouth. Even though you don’t breathe it in deeply, it tastes terrible. You are still holding it when Tasha’s mom drives by. She stops the car, tells Tasha to get in, and says to you, “Don’t expect Tasha to come over anymore.”
You feel awful. When your eyes meet Julie’s, you see that she is very disappointed in you. You promise that you’ll never do anything like that again. Julie gives you a weak smile and says, “I believe you, but I don’t think Tasha’s mom ever will.”
This is your last chance to get this story on the “right-choice” track. Hurry to D!

Malo e lelei! I’m Lui, and I shine my light by sharing what I have with others.
I live on a big island in Tonga. I have six sisters and four brothers, and I live close to the Nuku’alofa Tonga Temple.
We have many beautiful plants and animals on our island. I’m in class four at the Ocean of Light Primary School, and science is my favorite subject.
My father grows crops, so we have plenty to eat. But many widows (women whose husbands have died) and other families don’t have their own crops. So my parents take them some of ours. I like going along to help!
The widows we visit use coconut husks to make fires to cook their food. When we take food to them, I always remind my parents to take coconut husks too. I help load the husks into the van and unload them when we get to the widows’ houses.
Heavenly Father gives me great blessings when I help others—not blessings of money but blessings of wisdom and knowledge. I always want to help and share what I have with others.

After extensive testing in 14 missions, Preach My Gospel was adjusted. That result was reviewed, modified, and approved by the First Presidency and Quorum of the Twelve. On October 15, 2004, a worldwide satellite broadcast introduced mission presidents and missionary leaders to Preach My Gospel. Every missionary throughout the world was given an English copy. While many did not speak English, they felt part of the renewal of our missionary effort. Interestingly, some foreign-language-speaking missionaries were motivated to learn English. Early this year, Japanese, Korean, Spanish, and Portuguese versions of Preach My Gospel were distributed. By the end of the year, we anticipate that the guide will be available in most of the languages spoken by missionaries.

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.”