Gospel Story Finder

Bart is now influencing his own family. There’s four-year-old Derek, six-month-old Zack, and, of course the former Michelle Ivins, a convert Bart met at BYU and married in the Salt Lake Temple when he’d been home from his mission just under two years.

“We also stay in touch all the time, thanks to cell phones,” says Inka S., 15. “We teach each other by sharing our different experiences. We know we can count on each other, and we try to set good examples for each other.” The young women, who love being together whenever they can, found that rehearsals for the dinner show provided additional opportunities to deepen friendships.
“Before we started rehearsing, I was quite shy,” Inka explains. “I was afraid of making a mistake. But when we danced as a group, I put my shyness aside. I knew it was time to show the ward how hard we had worked.”

1 The Lord told Joseph Smith and the Saints in Kirtland, Ohio, that they should pay tithing. Later, in Far West, Missouri, Joseph prayed to Heavenly Father to find out how much tithing was required of them. The Lord revealed to Joseph that the Saints should pay one-tenth of all their income for tithing.

Like Richelle, Whitney Brown from Poway, California, found comfort after expressing her needs and concerns in her prayers.

“Moving was a very difficult experience for me; however, through prayer, I was able to know of my Heavenly Father’s love for me and His awareness of my situation. I felt my Father’s love as I never had before, and it made going much easier. I knew that He was always there for me to talk to.”

Near the end of last year, I learned of the passing of a dear couple, Mario and Regina Emerick, who were very faithful to the Lord and passed away four days apart from one another due to complications from COVID-19.
One of their sons, who is currently serving as a bishop in Brazil, related the following to me: “It was so difficult to see my parents depart from this world in that condition, but I could clearly feel the hand of the Lord in my life amidst that tragedy, because I received strength and peace that transcended my understanding. Through my faith in Jesus Christ and His Atonement, I received divine help to strengthen and comfort my family members and all those who helped us during this trying experience. Even though the miracle that everyone hoped for did not occur, personally I am a witness of many other miracles that have occurred in my own life and in the lives of my family members. I felt an inexplicable peace that penetrated the depths of my heart, giving me hope and confidence in the love of the Savior for me and in the plan of happiness of God for His children. I learned that on the very most grief-filled days, the loving arms of the Savior are always extended when we seek Him with all our heart, power, mind, and strength.”

We make a breakfast casserole Saturday night and bake it in the morning. This is the only time in the year when we eat together with the television on, which makes it special.
–Romberger Family

I searched among this hurting world for the God that I was promised, Wasn’t it His job to keep this people being honest?Couldn’t He just stop them when wars and crimes began?How could all this terror be a part of His great plan?
I thought that I would see Him ride upon the storm, cutting down the enemy, forcing some reform.The world says He cannot exist if suffering does as wellThe presence of one surely means the other cannot dwell?
And so it was that I began searching for a God.Walking paths to worship where the pilgrims often trod.I sat inside the church – the first place I should lookMy heart said He was not just here or in the holy book.
His being in the church or world is not mutually exclusiveIt turns out that our Saviour is not really that elusive.I thought He would be in the church, that day, He was not there.Though I felt His Spirit near me as I talked to Him through prayer.
My feet began to move, walking paths of dirt and fear,Poverty, depravity, and cruelty were near. Scenes of devastation met me on my wayMy instinct was to turn around—I did not want to stay.Confused I sat and wondered, how this could be so.If God loved His children, surely He could stop the foe?
Suddenly like light aglow I grew in understandingDefining my theology, my view of God expanding.Though I did not expect it, the empty hallowed hall,I found our Saviour, Jesus Christ, in the centre of the squall.
I found Him in the shelters, with dirt streaks on His face.He was there within the handshakes between strangers in that place.He was present in the kitchens of those preparing food, In the faces of the fathers in whom duty was imbued.
He was comforting the guilt of those soldiers doing wrongHe was there with the new mother singing with her in her song.He was walking with the refugee the long road to the border. Inspiring politicians in the efforts to keep order.
Perhaps you think it’s godless, the world in your long searching.Seeing all the suff’ring you’ve been crying of in your hurting.
You think He is not coming, but He is there alreadyThe glue that holds together and the strength that keeps them steady.He is evident in the kindness all around that you are seeing. He is holding on to those who are struggling just being.
He is holding up the hands for whom Democracy is threatenedDrying eyes and wiping brows from blood, and tears and sweat andShedding tears for all His children who are calling for Him now, hoping they will see Him in the ways He keeps this vow.
He is there in the strength they feel to walk that extra mileThe hope that fills their tired hearts though all around’s hostile.He is there in the aching hands of volunteers who’ve travelled As they hold in their embrace those whose lives have been unravelled.
His hands upon the backs of the soldiers who are scaredAnd the mothers and the partners, whose lives, for now, are spared.His light is in the eyes of the children who are crying, He lays beside the lonely who are wounded, hurt and dying.
I realise He’s everywhere a falling tear is shed, Or a breath of prayer is whispered by a child within her bed.He’s everywhere there’s suffering, hurt and devastationHe is always with us, as the works of His creation.
The suffering that happens does not mean that He is absent, Only that we understand a tiny little fragmentOf His plan, and of this life and of all He knows is coming, And because of this, we trust in Him, who sees what we’re becoming.
And though some may refute it, this idea of deityExisting in this fallen world where all people are not free,I know that without Him, I would not see Him there, In the suffering of others when their resources they share.
I would not see Him present in the hands of those who aid,Or in the eyes of families strong, though separate and afraid.And who knows but the strength we feel when we walk aloneIs not Him in His essence showing us that we are known,
To Him, the one who made us and who sent us here to benot His pawns, but sentient, with choice to make us free.Choices to defend those whose freedom now is huntedChoices to be brave enough for wrongs to be confrontedChoice for us to be to others what He is to us,Loving, patient, kind and present, be forever thus.And so I learned that day when I looked to Him in sadness,I would not find Him there in the absence of the madness,But in the epicentre of all that is distressing,Because He is with us in the strength we are expressing.He is truly with us, even when we feel we’re lost Because, for us, His children, He paid the final cost.
Without all this suffering, the world that I can see, Is one without the help and love that others give to me. For if there was no hardship, no sorrow and no pain, We need not reach out in love, or bear another’s strain.
So when you see destruction, and crippling unfairnessGo out and work in goodness showing this awareness.God is far from absent in the lives of those we love.I found Him in the sadness when I thought He was above.

“Let’s ride our bikes down by the stream,” I said to my friend Amy.
“OK. I just need to ask my mom first,” Amy answered.
A little while later we were happily riding down our street. The stream was just a few blocks from my home. A dirt path ran beside it. We rode our bikes to the end of the path, and on our way back we stopped to toss some rocks into the stream.
“Let’s race sticks,” I said. We both looked for a small twig to toss into the water.
“Ready, set, go!” Amy yelled. We threw our sticks into the water and watched as they floated around a bend in the stream and out of sight.
“I think you won,” I said.
We continued riding our bikes back up the path. I stopped to pick up a stick lying across the path and tossed it in the stream. Before I could spot where the stick had landed, a buzzing cloud encircled me. Within seconds, hundreds of yellow jackets covered my body. Chills of fear ran up my spine. I had stepped on their nest somewhere underneath the brush.
“Run!” Amy yelled. “They’re all over you!”
Just as I was about to swing my arms to try to swat them away, I had a strong feeling not to move. I remembered what I had been taught whenever a bee or wasp was on me: The best thing to do is stay still. They won’t sting unless they feel threatened.
Fighting the urge to run, I felt the yellow jackets crawl into my hair. They walked across my ears and up the sleeves of my shirt. My rapid breathing shook my body, even though I tried not to move.
“Hurry, Amy, go get my dad,” I stammered under my breath. My friend raced up the dirt path.
Suddenly, one of the yellow jackets stung my cheek. Shocked by the sharp pain, I jumped and screamed. The persistent thought remained: “Hold still!”
I continued to stay motionless as the yellow jackets crawled on me. I quietly prayed, “Heavenly Father, please help me escape the swarm. Please, please help me.”
A minute later, a wasp stung my other cheek. Startled once more, I flinched. My body trembled as I began to cry. Then the entire swarm flew away.
Worn out, I picked up my bike and walked up the dirt path as tears streamed down my cheeks. As I reached the paved road, I could see the relief in Dad’s eyes as he ran toward me. Sobbing, I explained everything that had happened.
“You were very blessed,” Dad said as he examined my cheeks. “What made you stand there so still?”
“At first I felt like swatting at them and running, especially when I realized they were crawling in my hair and clothes, but then I had a strong feeling to hold still,” I explained.
“That was the Holy Ghost, Kelly,” Dad said. “The Spirit gives us promptings so we will know in our minds and feel in our hearts what to do. It may not be what we want to do, but if we obey those feelings we will be protected from danger. I’m so grateful you listened and followed His prompting.”
Even though my cheeks throbbed with pain, I felt extremely blessed to be safe from the swarm.

My mother, Stella Oaks, died before any of our grandchildren were born. So Sister Oaks and I had a “Stella party” to help them learn about her. I also wrote a book about her and about my father. You can learn more about your ancestors too. This will give you strength and direction for your life.

President and Sister Oaks had a “Stella party” to help their grandchildren get to know their great-grandmother Stella Oaks. Here are some things they did.
They decorated with Great-Grandmother Stella’s favorite color—yellow!
Everyone wore a hat, like she always did.
They looked at pictures and heard stories about her.

“Why do bad things always happen to me?” grumbled Harold as he tried to pull his school backpack out from under him. It was a cold morning, and the road to school was very icy. He was late, and in his hurry, he had fallen just outside the school door and landed on his backpack.
Harold looked inside the pack. “Oh no!” he moaned. “This is worse than I thought.” When he’d fallen, he’d mashed everything in his lunch, including the little box of juice his mother had put in as a treat. It had squirted over everything. Harold pulled out his book report. It was dripping with apple juice.
“Why do bad things always happen to me?” he muttered over and over as he opened the school door and went down the hall to his class, holding up with two fingers the dripping book report.
“Good morning, Harold, how are you today?” asked Mrs. Bennett as he walked into the classroom.
“I’m terrible,” he growled as he hung up his coat and sat down.
Two girls nearby giggled. “Harold is always terrible,” Katie said.
“Always,” laughed Anna.
Mrs. Bennett went over and sat down next to Harold. “Why is everything so terrible?”
Without a word, Harold showed her the soggy and sticky book report. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. He smoothed it out on the top of his desk and said, “See this? Bad things always happen to me. I can prove it because I have them all written down on this list. Now today I need to add what happened on the way to school. I fell on the ice. I squashed my lunch. Juice got all over my book report, and I think I bruised my elbow.”
“Well,” his teacher said, “that is kind of a tough way to start the morning. What else is on your list?”
Harold read down his bad-things list. “Yesterday I stubbed my toe. My two big brothers took all the chocolate milk at dinner before I could get any. I didn’t get a turn on the swings at recess. On Monday I lost my favorite little car, and my pencil broke during the spelling test. Amanda spilled her milk in the lunchroom, and it went all over me.” Harold took a deep breath and was about to go on.
“I see what you mean,” Mrs. Bennett broke in quickly. “I’m wondering, though, just why you keep all of that on a list.”
“Because if I don’t, I might forget something. You see bad things always happen to me.”
Mrs. Bennett looked for a long time at Harold and then pulled the pencil from behind her ear. “Do you know what I think?” she asked.
Harold shook his head.
“I think your list isn’t long enough.” Harold looked at his teacher in surprise. He thought his list pretty much covered everything. He had kept it in his pocket and added to it all week.
“I’d be really curious to see what your list looks like if you wrote down absolutely everything that happens to you today. You will need more than that little paper. Here, use this notebook. Start with what happened on the way to school, then add everything that happens to you all day.”
“OK,” Harold said, “but you’ll see that bad things always happen to me.” Mrs. Bennett just smiled, and he started writing. He made sure that he covered all the details about the apple juice, the ruined book report, the smashed sandwich, his bruised elbow—everything.
Math was the first class. They worked through the problems on the chalkboard while Mrs. Bennett handed back their tests. Harold’s had a big 100% written on the top! She winked at Harold when she gave it to him and said, “Better write this down in the notebook.” Harold got out his list.
In reading, the students were reading aloud a play called “Robin Hood Rescues Maid Marian,” and when they drew names, Harold drew the part of Robin Hood! Mrs. Bennett winked again, and Harold knew that he was supposed to write that down.
As the children put on their coats to go outside for recess, his teacher noticed that he had some new boots with a warm, fuzzy lining, and new gloves to match. “New boots, Harold?” she asked.
“Yep,” he said. “Mom got them for me yesterday while she was shopping.”
“Hmmmm.” Mrs. Bennett rubbed her chin, “That sounds to me like something that happened to you.”
“I know,” said Harold. “I’d better write it down.” While he was at it, he noticed that his coat was pretty nice and warm too. Then he realized that he hadn’t yet written down anything about the hot breakfast his mother had made for him.
As the day went on, Harold’s list grew longer and longer. Right after lunch, he put down all about how terrible it was to eat a smashed lunch and how Robert had laughed about his funny flat sandwich for an hour. But out on the playground, he scored three baskets for his team, and Nick asked him to play after school, and he had to put that on the list too.
During art, his paint water spilled all over. That went into the notebook in big, capital letters. Jenny helped him wipe everything up, though, and Mrs. Bennett winked again, so he knew that he was supposed to add “help from a friend” to his list. He was on the third page of the notebook already.
At the end of the day, Harold took the notebook back to his teacher. “Well,” he said to her, “I think I’ve recorded just about everything.”
“Good,” she said. “What do you think—shall we count up all the bad things now?”
Harold looked at his feet and fiddled with the old, crumpled list in his pocket. It was really hard for him to say it, but maybe everything wasn’t so terrible. “Mrs. Bennett,” he said as he looked at the notebook, “I think maybe I saved up all the bad things so long that I forgot to notice the good things.”
Mrs. Bennett smiled.
“This kind of a list is a lot more interesting to write than the old one. Do you think I could keep this paper?”
“Harold, you can keep the whole notebook,” Mrs. Bennett said. “I hope you keep adding things until it’s a very long list.”
Harold grinned. “Thanks,” he said. “But, you know, it still bugs me that my apple juice ended up all over my book report instead of in my lunch.”
“I bet it does,” Mrs. Bennett said, “but at least it helped you see not only that good things happened to you, too, but also that it helps to write things down. Hmmm—I think you’ll have good things happen to you next week when we start a lesson on journals. What do you think?”
“Yes!”

As a young man, David O. McKay took a summer job delivering newspapers to a mining town. He made friends with the miners, and they were always glad to see him.
Miner: Here comes David with our newspapers!
David: Good afternoon, gentlemen.
The trip took five hours each way. This gave David plenty of time to read books, memorize quotations, and learn from the scriptures. He loved learning! Sometimes he stopped to pray about gaining a testimony.
David never stopped learning. When he was President of the Church, some of his sermons included quotes he had memorized long before while riding his horse.

(89) A river guide warns rafters to “stay in the boat” as they prepare for a trip through white-water rapids.

During my last year of junior high school, it was my privilege to be responsible for taking care of the flag at our school. Each morning just before school began, the bugle sounded and we would raise the flag on the pole out in front of the building. All of the students would then stand at attention in their classrooms and repeat the Pledge of Allegiance to our country.
We really cared for the flag—it meant something special to us! Whenever it rained, we would be excused from class to run out, lower the flag, and carefully put it away until the weather was clear to display it again. Each night before leaving school, the flag would be lowered, gently folded in a triangle with only the white stars on a blue background visible, and put away until the next day.

You have just listened to the strains of “Come, Come, Ye Saints” (Hymns, no. 30). My first opportunity to really become acquainted with “Come, Come, Ye Saints” was in a little stone tabernacle in southern Idaho, where I grew up as a boy. Inside that little tabernacle built out of lava rock by the local members of the Church back in the late 1880s, there was a stand, a podium similar to what we have here, and then a pipe organ in the back, like this beautiful pipe organ we have here, but smaller. This was before electricity and motors, and it had a pump system. The way air got into the pipe organ was through a bellows system. Someone would sit on a stool and pump the lever at the back of the organ. It was always a great privilege to a young man to be selected to sit on that stool and pump the organ.

In that little tabernacle, when we would sing “Come, Come, Ye Saints,” I felt the spirit and power of the music would raise the roof. You could feel it because of the power, the faith, and the testimony of the members. In that little tabernacle we would have Aaronic Priesthood choruses where we’d learn to sing. It was there we would sing “A Mormon Boy.” We don’t hear that song much anymore. I wish we would. “A Mormon boy, a Mormon boy, / I am a Mormon boy. / I might be envied by a king, / For I am a Mormon boy” (Evan Stephens, in Jack M. Lyon and others, eds., Best-Loved Poems of the LDS People [1996], 296).

That made a great impression upon me. Just think of that for a moment. “I might be envied by a king.” Here’s a king with all the power, all the pomp, all the wealth the king would have. But I was beginning to learn that we held, as members of the Church, blessings, priesthood blessings, knowledge, information that the king wouldn’t know about and didn’t have. “I might be envied by a king, for I am a Mormon boy.”

The bugle blared, and Elizabeth knew it was time for morning prayers. The night had seemed so short, and her weary little body shook in the chilly autumn air. She quickly pulled her long ragged dress over her head and tugged her worn boots over her tired feet. Mother met her with little John, and together they walked to the center of the handcart circle where her father, John, stood with his bugle.
Father was the bugler for the company. Each morning he called the company to prayer. Afterward, his bugle call started the carts on the trail. At night he called them to a halt. It was also his job to ration out the flour.
How sad he looks today, Elizabeth thought as she longed for the time when things would be nice again. Her body was always tired now, and her stomach was never full.
Everyone had been happy that day in August when Edward Martin had led this band of 576 handcart-pulling Saints on the first leg of their overland journey to Zion. They were so confident the Lord would protect them that they ignored President Brigham Young’s advice to start their journey early in the warm season with carts made of well-seasoned wood.
Because of a misunderstanding between English and American agents, the handcarts for the last two companies, headed by Captains Martin and Willie, had not been ready when the immigrants arrived in Iowa City from England. Ignoring warnings from experienced frontiersmen, the enthusiastic Saints stocked their small boxlike carts with flour, bedding, cooking utensils, and clothing for the long journey. Only seventeen pounds of personal belongings were allowed for each person; even that would be difficult to push and pull up steep hills and through cold rivers.
The green wood the carts were made from soon dried out on the long, hot journey and fell apart. When supplies were shifted to other carts, badly needed clothing and bedding were discarded.
The sound of sobs and sighs brought Elizabeth’s thoughts back to the present. Elizabeth could see tears running down her father’s face, too, as he reported to the company that he had just rationed out the last of the flour. Elizabeth knew that the Lord had always taken care of them before, and she prayed that somehow they would be taken care of now.
Gathering their strength, the pioneers pushed forward, and the faint strains of a familiar hymn could be heard above the creaking wheels of the carts. The snow that had begun to fall as they crossed the partially frozen North Platte River had turned into a blizzard. Father took Elizabeth and John into his arms and explained to them that the exhausted Saints could no longer go on. They would rest here until the Lord found a way to take care of them.
Father and Mother took out their battered tin plates and dug away at the deep snow to make a clearing for their tent. With great effort Father pounded the tent pegs into the frozen ground. Here the family waited with uncertainty.
As the days dragged on, a number of the Saints died from hunger, cold, and exhaustion. The food supply was now completely gone. Elizabeth and the other children had begun to scavenge the area for anything they could find to eat.
One day the children wandered among the willows, eating the bark from young trees to take the edge off their hunger. Suddenly a group of horsemen appeared at the top of a nearby hill. Indians! was Elizabeth’s first thought, but the frightened children were too weak to scamper off. As the horsemen approached, Elizabeth saw that the riders were members of a rescue party. The children were happy to see them and happier still to taste the crackers they had brought. The crackers weren’t a feast, but they were enough to keep the emigrant company alive until wagons loaded with more nourishing provisions arrived four days later.
Finally Elizabeth’s tired and ragged family, together with the rest of their company, straggled into Salt Lake Valley. Word of their arrival preceded them, and Brigham Young had sent the local members home from worship meeting early. After announcing that the afternoon meeting would be omitted, President Young said, “I wish the sisters to go home and prepare to give those who have just arrived a mouthful of something to eat, and to wash them and nurse them up. You know that I would give more for a dish of pudding and milk or a baked potato and salt, were I in the situation of those persons who have just come in, than I would for all your prayers, though you were to stay here all afternoon and pray. Prayer is good, but when baked potatoes and milk are needed, prayer will not supply their place.” (Deseret News, December 10, 1856, p. 320.)
That night as Elizabeth snuggled down in a cozy warm bed at the home of one of the kind sisters, she dreamed of the delicious dinner she had just eaten. Her stomach was full for the first time in months. The aroma of warm food still clung to the air, and her eyes began to close. Elizabeth knew that prayer had seen her family safely across the long frozen plains. She thanked the Lord now for baked potatoes and milk!

Recently I had the opportunity to visit some beloved women who are in prison. As we said our heartfelt goodbyes, one darling woman pleaded, “Sister Burton, please don’t forget us.” I hope she and others who want to be remembered will feel so as I share a few thoughts with you.

It had been a long, hard day. First the youth from the Ephraim Utah Stake had cleaned up an old cemetery. Then they had a picnic lunch and a water fight. Now they were on a two-mile hike to find the campground where they’d spend the night. Was there really time to stop and help the woman and children whose car had broken down on the side of the road?
There had better be. The people in the broken down car were part of the youth conference, put there to see if the youth were really learning their lessons. They were. Every group that came by offered to help.
The service-oriented youth conference also found the youth reseeding the ground cover, cleaning up trash, and making new trails in the area of a popular campground. Their service never stopped.

Families and temples just seem to go together, and Sam loves his family even more than he loves temples. His brothers, Willie and John, who are twins serving missions in Uruguay and England respectively, are role models for him. He is especially close to his sister, Lea, a student at BYU. Five years ago Lea suffered a spinal cord injury in a car accident, and she now uses a wheelchair. Sam often paints with her and plays wheelchair basketball with her when she is home on vacation. “Sam’s very sensitive to the feelings of others,” Lea says. “Since I’ve been in the wheelchair, he’s always there to help.”

I had to choose between a high-paying job and keeping the Lord’s day holy. I chose to keep the Sabbath holy, because the Lord promises that if we keep His commandments, we will prosper in the land. After a time, during which He proved my faith, I was blessed with a job not requiring Sunday work.Rafael Dias de Moura, 18, Matinhos Ward, Paranaguá Brazil Stake

4. Stay on Your Toes
The photographer spent hours drilling holes and driving nails into boards. Then, leaning on parallel bars unseen in the photo, the dancer went on pointe. Boards were slid next to her feet, and the photo was taken.