Gospel Story Finder

When I decided to serve a mission, my friends encouraged me to finish college instead. But I decided to go on a mission anyway, and they wondered why. One of my friends said a mission was a waste of time, and I was a little offended by that. But I told him why my mission was important to me. Now I’m on a mission, and I still write my friends and share the blessings I’m receiving as a result of being a missionary.
Elder Janray MillarezPhilippines Quezon City Mission

A few years ago, my wife and I stood at the trailhead of Japan’s highest mountain, Mount Fuji. As we began our ascent we looked up to the far-distant summit and wondered if we could get there.
As we progressed, fatigue, sore muscles, and the effects of altitude set in. Mentally, it became important for us to focus on just the next step. We would say, “I may not soon make it to the top, but I can do this next step right now.” Over time the daunting task ultimately became achievable—step by step.
Now a brief word of caution. The commandment to be like Him is not intended to make you feel guilty, unworthy, or unloved. Our entire mortal experience is about progression, trying, failing, and succeeding. As much as my wife and I may have wished that we could close our eyes and magically transport ourselves to the summit, that is not what life is about.

Before I came on my mission, I didn’t ever read the Church magazines much. As a matter of fact, I didn’t read anything much. Since I’ve become a missionary, I’ve really learned to appreciate reading the New Era. It really helps to make my preparation days super-good days. I realized it was having a positive effect on me one preparation day when we were riding on a crowded bus in the Bangkok traffic. I was enjoying one of the stories when it came time to get off, and with a big smile on my face, I clutched the New Era and stepped down from the bus. The sidewalk was as crowded as the bus, and the people all smiled as I walked by. I realized that it was because the New Era had put a smile on my face.
Elder Thomas BellThailand Bangkok Mission

A few weeks later, Mac suddenly went missing. He didn’t come back the next day, or the next. We were terribly worried, but we knew just what to do. Dad and my brother put up posters and talked to the neighbors. Mom notified the animal shelter. And all of us prayed.
After three days, Mac came home. He was thin and dirty, but safe. We were all grateful.
That night, when family prayer was called, I was happy to stand aside and let Mac precede me down the hall to the bedroom.
“Mac the prayer cat,” my sister said, scratching his head. “At night he reminds us to have family prayer.”
“And during the day he reminds us to pray anytime we need help,” I added.
“Even when he’s gone he reminds us to pray for him to come back,” my brother said.
“And now that he’s back,” Mom said, “he reminds us that prayers are heard and answered.”
“Can you tell how glad we are to have you in our family, Mac?” Dad asked.
In answer, Mac curled up in the middle of our family circle and purred.

For their efforts in saving the life of Levi Tapp, Sand Tapp and David Bos received Boy Scout National Council certificates of Heroism.
In a televised presentation, the two 11-year-olds received gold medals for risking their lives to save another’s. The three boys were walking along the bank of a lake close to their home. Levi slipped in the mud and fell through the ice at the edge of the lake. Sand and David crawled out to Levi, and with one holding the legs of the other, grabbed Levi and inched him up onto solid ice. Sand wrapped Levi in his coat and carried him the half mile to his home.
The boys are from the Second Ward, Springfield Missouri Stake.

One evening I took three of my younger siblings to the temple to do baptisms. As the temple worker checked our recommends, he discovered that my sister’s was missing the bishop’s signature. I started filling out a form to take to the temple recorder, who would call the bishop. Then the temple worker checked my brother’s recommend and found that it had not been activated. I had the pen, so I took the form we were handed and began filling it out too.
I knew my brother and sister could not go in with errors on their recommends, but I felt responsible for them, and until I helped them take care of these errors, I could not go in either. I felt frustrated at being kept out of the temple. We left the baptistry and went upstairs to the temple entrance to explain our situation at the front desk. The temple recorder said he could fix the problem in just a few minutes, so the four of us sat down to wait in the lobby.
As I sat there, my frustration changed to discouragement. We were being kept out for such simple errors, but they were all the difference between waiting in the lobby and entering the Lord’s house. It had been a rough day, and I had counted on the temple to help me feel at peace. The mistakes weren’t my fault, but as the wait dragged on, I felt ready to cry. I was trying to be good by coming to the temple and setting an example of temple attendance for my younger siblings. So why were we being kept out when I wanted so badly to be inside?
And then I realized something: if I felt discouraged being kept out of the temple for a few clerical errors, how disappointed would I feel to be kept out for my own errors—to not be worthy to enter the temple? As I considered this, I was suddenly calm. I felt that I had learned the lesson God wanted me to learn. I promised Him that I would always try to be worthy to go inside the temple. I promised that I would never be kept out of the Lord’s house for my own errors; I never want my actions to confine me to just the lobby.
Later that night I had an appointment with my bishop to renew my temple recommend. Before I went, I checked for any errors in myself that might keep me out of the temple. When the bishop asked if I was worthy to enter the house of the Lord, I was so grateful that I could say yes.

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

Haven, a 14-year-old from Utah, USA, decided to celebrate being a young woman in the Church by serving others.
“It started as a small idea,” she says. “My uncle went to Bangladesh on a humanitarian trip and learned about difficult things the people there were experiencing. I wanted to help them—so I looked on the JustServe app and got the idea to make homemade kits for the refugees there.”
Haven collected donations at her school, created a GoFundMe page, and even took out neighbors’ garbage cans to help raise money for the kits. “I take out about 22 garbage cans and 11 recycle cans every Monday and Tuesday,” she says. “I normally use the money I earn for my choir program and to save for a mission, but I decided to use my funds that month to help buy supplies instead.”
Haven then went out and bought all the materials she needed for the kits, including socks, gloves, scarfs, and hats. She assembled each kit and also got in contact with the director of Lifting Hands International to coordinate the delivery of the kits in Bangladesh.
“Putting the kits together took up the most time in my project. But every time I put a piece into the kit, I knew that it would go to someone in need and that they would be blessed for a long time by it.”
By the end of her project, Haven felt her confidence build in her ability to serve. “I learned from this how much help I can be if I try my hardest. I also felt compassion for the people I was helping, which helped me feel closer to the Savior and feel some of what He feels for us.”

You may have read the story in the Ensign about the Hibbert family. (See Ensign, June 1980, pp. 41–42.) The husband and father of a large family was diagnosed as having terminal cancer. After the shock and fear were faced, the husband and wife counseled together and decided that the best thing they could do for their joy and peace of mind was to prepare themselves and their family for what was to come.
They chose to create family memories through shared experiences, to complete family histories, to have a year’s supply of food and other necessities to meet the financial emergencies that would come. A will was prepared and all insurance and legal papers were put in order. The children were taught to care for one another and to take responsibility in the home.
Just weeks before the death of Brother Hibbert, their home was destroyed in a fire. With it went much of the food storage, but there was still the togetherness of a family that had learned to work together, to plan and prepare, and to face a difficulty head on. With the death of Brother Hibbert, there was sorrow—but not grief. The family had developed the skills it takes to remain close and loving. They were prepared.

While my mom was expecting my sister Chantel, the whole family tried to guess if she was having a boy or a girl. I was sure it was a boy, since we already had seven girls. We only had three boys, and all of them were older than me. I hoped I was right because it would have been so nice to have a brother who wasn’t big enough to tease me. But when Chantel came to our family, I knew that no one could top this special new girl.
Chantel has Down’s syndrome, which makes it hard for her to learn things quickly. She had to learn sign language because her hearing wasn’t very good. We learned the basics with her and tried to help when we could. We have discovered that Chantel is a peacemaker. When everyone else is fighting or yelling at each other, Chantel is not involved. She is always the one to help us remember that we should be helping, not hurting, each other.
As she grew older, Chan and I became pals. One day I was trying to teach her how to tie her shoelaces. I would show her how to do it and then untie them to let her try. After a while, we both got discouraged. It was hard for Chantel because she couldn’t understand why I didn’t just tie them so she could go play. I lost my patience and began coaxing her with harsh words that were loud and mean. Shocked at my yelling she looked at me with fright in her eyes, and a small tear melted down her cheek. Then she sniffled and pleaded with a soft choked-up voice, “I love you.”
The tables had turned, and now my little sister was teaching me. What I learned that day was something much more important than how to tie a shoe. Even though I was angry and mean, she still loved me. I had tried to teach Chantel something that wasn’t all that important. But in her, I found a Christlike example to follow, an example of forgiveness and kindness.
I can’t think of a more important lesson to learn.

Joseph Smith was a valiant servant of the Lord Jesus Christ. He was brave and courageous in standing for right. One time, the Prophet Joseph and several other brethren had been taken from their families and put into jail. They were chained together and had to sleep on the cold prison floor.

During one of the long, cold nights of their imprisonment, Joseph and his friends were unable to sleep. For hours the guards had been boasting about the horrible things they had done to Latter-day Saints. They bragged about robbing, shooting, and killing. They used loud voices to tell about the horrible things they had done to men, women, and even little children.

Suddenly Joseph, unarmed and in chains, stood up and spoke in a voice like thunder: “SILENCE, ye fiends [devils] of the infernal pit [hell]. In the name of Jesus Christ I rebuke you, and command you to be still; I will not live another minute and bear such language. Cease [stop] such talk, or you or I die THIS INSTANT!” (Autobiography of Parley P. Pratt, page 180.)

The guards shook, and some dropped their weapons. Some of the guards begged Joseph’s pardon. All of them remained quiet until a change of guards.

The subject in the family relations class I taught in my ward Sunday School was how to communicate with teenagers. When I asked the class members—all parents of teenagers—to identify the most important issues or concerns they had in dealing with young people, the question at the top of the list was: “How can I get my son or daughter to talk with me? I know they are facing problems that worry and trouble them, but when I ask them ‘What is the matter?’ they respond with something like ‘Nothing,’ or ‘You wouldn’t understand.’”
These parents also identified a wide range of other issues and concerns, but the consensus was, “If we could just talk over all these things, we might be able to help our teenagers cope better with the problems in their world.”
Is there anything parents can do to improve communication with their teenagers?
First, parents need to remember that children rarely initiate discussions on matters of concern, then ask for parental advice. I asked the parents in my class how many of them, as teenagers, had gone to their parents to talk over problems. Most had never done it. I asked why. The answers: “I was afraid it would embarrass me and my parents,” “I didn’t think they would understand,” and “They would have told me that I worried too much, or that everything was going to turn out just fine.”
One father reported that he had asked his teenage son, “Why don’t you ever come to me to talk over your problems?”
The son had answered, “Did you ever talk things over with your dad?”
“No,” the man replied.
His son said: “Things aren’t so different now.”
If teens don’t come to discuss serious things with parents, what can parents do? A common strategy is to try to get the young people to “open up.” This usually results in questions they interpret as prying. “Why are you so moody?”
“What happened at school today?” “Why did you get such a poor grade on that test?”
A better approach is to find an opportunity to share your own experiences with your son or daughter. The young people may not talk much, but they will usually listen with interest if you talk about how you felt when you failed an exam, or didn’t get a date, or disliked your math teacher, or didn’t get invited to a party. Just talk and share; let them know about you and learn what they will from your experiences.
Two mothers in my class tried this, with somewhat different results. One knew her son was upset because he had not done as well as he wanted on a school project and in a musical program for which he had to play an instrument. She found occasion to talk about how miserable she had been when she got a bad grade, feeling down on herself; but she had finally accepted the fact that she could not always be perfect. She told him she knew that he probably got some of his perfectionism from her, and she hoped he would be able to deal with mistakes better than she had. Her son listened with interest and afterward said, “Thanks, Mom, that was a real help.”
The other mother said she had tried to talk with her son about some of her experiences as a teenager and had told him she had felt that sometimes her parents and teachers didn’t understand what she was going through. When she finished, her son asked, “Is that all?” She said yes, and he left without another word.
She interpreted his response as rejection and felt that what she had said to him had no impact at all. My own feeling is that he may have been impressed more than she knew; at least he listened all the way through and did not become defensive, as often happened when she asked him questions or lectured.

In 1976 Elder Robert C. Oaks, then a colonel in the United States Air Force, was a member of the Incidents at Sea negotiating team. They were guests at a dinner hosted by the Leningrad Naval District. About 50 senior officers of the Soviet Union and the United States were present as the host led the group in toasts before dinner. They stood for the first toast and raised their glasses, most of which were filled with Russian vodka. Brother Oaks had pink lemonade in his glass, which was immediately noticed by the admiral leading the toast. He stopped and demanded that Brother Oaks fill his glass with vodka, stating that he would not proceed until he had done so. Brother Oaks declined, explaining that he was happy with what he had in his glass.

A significant tension began to build, and even his own team members, most of whom were senior to him, were growing uneasy over the impasse. Brother Oaks’s Soviet escort hissed in his ear, “Fill your glass with vodka!” Brother Oaks uttered the shortest prayer of his life: “God, help me!”

Within seconds the Soviet interpreter, an army captain with whom he had previously discussed religion, whispered to the host admiral, “It is because of his religion.” The admiral nodded his head, the tension immediately diffused, and the program moved on.

Elder Oaks had decided years before that he would never drink alcohol, and so in the moment of trial he did not have to make this choice again. Elder Oaks was convinced that more harm would have come to him if he had compromised a tenet of his faith than the harm that would have come from drinking the vodka. Incidentally, adhering to his religious principles did not hurt his career. After this incident he went on to become a four-star general.

From the time I was old enough to grip the handle of a broom, my dad gave me the weekend chore of sweeping the driveway in front of our house. Though it was a fair-sized driveway, the sweeping only took a half hour, and it wasn’t difficult. But once the driveway was cleaned, well, like any other kid who is anxious to complete a chore, I hoped it would stay that way. Forever.
Only one thing could ruin my handiwork with the broom: squirrels. With a beautiful eucalyptus tree hanging over most of the driveway, squirrels were often a problem.
A eucalyptus tree bears much fruit: woody, cup-shaped receptacles filled with hundreds of small seeds. For lack of a better name, we used to call them acorns. As a kid who was trying to sweep the driveway once and for all, it seemed as if there were millions of those acorns. And the squirrels loved to eat them. Now squirrels eating acorns aren’t, in and of themselves, a problem. It’s the way they eat them that’s the problem. You see, squirrels are real connoisseurs. They don’t eat the entire acorn, just a bite here and a bite there of the insides. The outside shavings and the rest of the insides that the squirrel doesn’t eat simply fall to the ground.
I could do a wonderful job sweeping up every acorn, leaf, and twig, and the driveway would look great. Then, after a squirrel munch-out, the driveway would look terrible.
The squirrels were having a field day at my expense.
I can remember looking up into the branches at what seemed like the entire family tree of the two original squirrels that accompanied Noah. I also remember giving them dirty looks, but they only looked down at me, unconcerned and very content with the distance between us.
This is where the bright green tennis balls enter into the story. Dad always had a large bucket of tennis balls that had seen better days on the courts months before.
How could I remedy the dirty driveway dilemma? Right, throw bright green tennis balls at the little rascals in hopes of scaring them away to another tree. I just thought that if I could scare them away I might never have to sweep the driveway again. I confess, I used to worry about what our neighbor next door, Mrs. McDonald, might think. She loved animals. In fact, every year for four years I would go around the neighborhood selling Little League Baseball raffle tickets. Mrs. McDonald would always buy one, but she would always sign the name of one of her cats or dogs on the tickets. Last year it was “Elsa” the German shepherd.
Swoosh!
I easily followed the path of the bright green tennis ball. It missed its mark but came close enough to scare the squirrel away.
“Check, check, check, check, check, check,” it cried.
If you wanted to look on the bright side, you could say that throughout my teenage years, my baseball throwing arm became stronger and more accurate.
On the not so bright side, the squirrels quickly became accustomed to watching those mysterious green projectiles fly past them. I never did succeed in scaring the squirrels away on a permanent basis. Every Saturday morning, the driveway had to be swept. Every Saturday morning I would be out there with the squirrels. And no amount of tennis balls would make it easier, regardless of how accurately I threw. I always ended up sweeping.
Eventually I learned an important lesson, one I have reflected on again and again. For many kinds of work, there aren’t any shortcuts. Even when a job is done right the first time, sometimes it needs to be done right again and again. That’s why it’s called a chore—not because it’s burdensome, but because it’s a duty.
Today, when I visit my parents, the eucalyptus tree still towers over the driveway. The squirrels are still there, and they’re still dropping the acorns. Sometimes, just for fun, I’ll hurl a green tennis ball in their direction.
Then I’ll go get the broom.

My wife and I tearfully opened the letter containing our mission call. We had been planning for many years to serve a mission together. Now we were delighted to find we were called to the New Zealand Auckland Mission, where I had served 45 years earlier as a young missionary. Memories of those wonderful years flooded my mind.
One day during my first mission, my companion, Elder Gordon Gallup, and I walked along a rural road late in the day when there was little traffic. It seemed no one wanted to give a ride to two tired elders. We knelt and asked the Lord to help us get a ride.
Almost immediately a pickup truck stopped. The driver, Sam Potaka, lived close to Taihape, our destination. When we reached his village, Utiku, he invited us to stay for dinner at his house. We held a wonderful missionary discussion with his family, and in due time Sam’s wife, mother-in-law, two married daughters, one married son, and their families gained testimonies and joined the Church. Later two other sons were also converted. The conversion of this wonderful family was a highlight of my mission.
Forty-five years later, my wife and I wondered if any of those I had taught would still be alive. Would we be able to find them? Would they be active in the Church?
Soon after we arrived in New Zealand, we found more than 100 descendants of Sam Potaka, including children, grandchildren, and their families. Most had remained active in the Church. Many had become leaders in their stakes and wards and had sent their children and grandchildren on missions.
One of Sam Potaka’s daughters, Una Tsaclis, had become a family history expert. She had researched hundreds of ancestors, including her husband’s Greek progenitors. Because there are few members of the Church in Greece, her family history work was unique.
My wife and I were invited to go to the New Zealand temple with Una and other family members to perform sealings for their ancestors. It was an unforgettable temple experience. We realized that not only had many family members joined the Church because a good man listened to the Spirit and gave a ride to two missionaries, but now those family members and their children were performing temple ordinances for hundreds of Greek and Maori ancestors who had passed away without the opportunity of hearing the gospel. The Lord’s mathematics multiplies the opportunities to share and accept the gospel both in this life and after death.
Never before had Doctrine and Covenants 64:33 meant so much: “Wherefore, be not weary in well-doing, for ye are laying the foundation of a great work. And out of small things proceedeth that which is great.”

When I was 16, the stake presidency announced that our stake would visit the temple in Buenos Aires, and I was invited to go. I saved money and worked hard to be worthy to obtain a temple recommend.
After I received the recommend, temptations attacked me from every side, all trying to make me lose that worthiness. But I had a desire to attend the temple. I didn’t want to just hear the experience and testimony of others; I wanted to have my own experience and testimony.
The night to travel came. Even before getting on the bus, I had thoughts about not going, but I didn’t give in. During the 10-hour trip, I sat by a member of the Church who was very friendly to me. He was around 60 years old. He told me about his life and how happy he was to have gone through the trials he had.
I began to tell him about my life and how I felt very alone because many people had distanced themselves from me because I was following God. He told me, “God will give you a great friend, and that friend will always be there for you. Don’t forget it.” When he finished saying these words, I felt calm and peaceful because I felt that what he told me was true.
When I entered the temple, the heaviness I was carrying disappeared. It felt like there was a spiritual embrace telling me, “Welcome, my son. I have been waiting for you.”
I felt that the temple really was the house of God, not just a beautiful structure. After doing some baptisms and confirmations, I went outside. I felt the burdens return, but now I felt like I had the strength to overcome them.
I know that preparing ourselves and leaving everything in the hands of God and giving the best of ourselves to enter the temple is what is expected of us. Then God blesses us abundantly.

Another scene is quickly before us. A grieving young father and his two children sit alone after a makeshift dinner. The children have been staying with Grandmother while their mother has slowly slipped away in a lingering illness; now they and their father are home again after her funeral. The little girl drops off to sleep and is carried to her bed. The little boy fights off sleepiness until he finally asks his father if tonight, just tonight, he can sleep with him in his bed. As the two lie silently in the dark, the lad speaks: “Daddy, are you looking at me?”

“Yes, son,” the father replies, “I am looking at you.”

The boy sighs and, exhausted, sleeps. The father waits a time and then, weeping, cries out in the dark: “God, are you looking at me? If you are, maybe I can make it. Without you, I know I can’t.”

Many years ago when I was practicing law, I was consulted by a woman who wanted a divorce from her husband on grounds that, in my opinion, seemed justified. After the divorce was concluded, I did not see her again for many years. In a chance meeting with her on the street, I noticed that the years of loneliness and discouragement were evident in her once-beautiful face.
After we passed a few pleasantries, she was quick to say that life had not been rich and rewarding for her and that she was tired of facing the struggle alone. Then she startled me by disclosing, “Bad as it was, if I had to do it over again and had known then what I do now, I would not have sought the divorce. This is worse.”

EPILOGUE: I’m now living in Japan with my parents. My dad is headmaster of an international school here in Kobe. (Now I really have to pay attention.) Here we are able to attend a Japanese ward, and it’s not a lack of Mormons that presents the challenge, it’s the language the numerous Mormons speak. I speak English; they speak Japanese. Oh well, the missionaries will translate until I learn it. But I’ve come to realize that the Lord’s Spirit comes through in any language or in any size congregation if you seek it. His love knows no boundary.

When Dianne Cooper heard about the Church’s emotional resilience course, she decided it was something she “might want to look into in the future.” Little did she know how important the course would soon become to her.
“In April 2020 my eternal companion passed away very suddenly,” says Dianne, a member of the Discovery Park Ward in Las Vegas, Nevada. “I am a firm believer in the gospel and eternal families. Even with that knowledge, I was grieving profoundly. My husband’s death was the hardest thing I had ever encountered. Grief is one of the prices we pay for deep love.”
Dianne felt that the emotional resilience course would bless her, and she encouraged other members of her ward to attend with her.
“Our class was a combination of single sisters, widows, a couple married for many years, and younger sisters married with small children,” she says. “Our class developed a special bond. We all felt safe to share our feelings, and there was no judgment regarding our circumstances or comments. I really looked forward to attending class each week.”
As Dianne attended the 10-week course, she gained spiritual and practical skills that helped her work through her grief. She found support and developed strength and patience. And she was reminded that Heavenly Father and the Savior know her needs and that, in time, she could be healed.1
“It is all right to ask for help,” she says. “Sometimes that help consists of stepping out of our comfort zone and taking action. It can also include people listening, being empathetic, loving, and praying for one another.”
The emotional resilience course is not meant as “group therapy or professional treatment for mental health issues.”2 But anyone, regardless of circumstances, can benefit from learning how to become more emotionally resilient, says Dianne.
The workbook helped Dianne set and reach goals. In the process, she says, “I drew closer to my Savior, and that increased my faith. My prayers became more fervent. I tried to be an example for others going through difficult challenges in their lives. Weekly, I shared key learnings from the course with family and friends near and far. This often evolved into deep gospel discussions.”
Dianne recommends the emotional resilience course for anyone who wants to learn positive thinking patterns and develop and maintain healthy relationships.
“As I studied, pondered, and prayed during the course, I felt the Holy Spirit more than at any other time in my life,” she says. “Each day I strive to have joy and live in a constant state of gratitude. What a blessing to have had this opportunity for growth.”