Gospel Story Finder

The Castle in the Attic*, by Elizabeth Winthrop. When the housekeeper, Mrs. Phillips, tells William she is moving back to England, William is very sad. Mrs. Phillips gives William a special good-bye gift—an old toy castle. When a tiny knight comes alive, William discovers that the castle is magic!

Her mother recalls a time when a friend of Talica’s “stole” another friend from her. Instead of trying to get even, she just kept showing love to both girls. One of her teachers saw this and reported it to her mother.

Kadabe stopped in the middle of the path. “We’ve come a long way since dawn,” he said. “We’ll be in Lalibela by noon tomorrow.”
Ayalu squatted on the ground, took roasted grain from a small leather bag, and ate.
Kadabe put his bundle down and untied it. He emptied its contents onto the ground, then formed the shemma—the square of white cloth that had held his possessions—into a turban. He shoved his own bag of roasted grain into a pocket. His extra shirt became a handy carrier for the books that he was taking to his sister, Gemma.
The boys went to school almost a hundred kilometers from their mountain village in Ethiopia, and now they were walking home for the Christmas holidays. Tomorrow they would see their families for the first time since September.
“I pray that there will be many rich and generous tourists in Lalibela who will need guides this season,” said Kadabe, “and that they all speak English. I need money for books, and the seat of my pants is as thin as a butterfly wing. I must earn enough so that Uncle Gebre can make me new ones.”
Ayalu nodded. He, too, had to earn the money for his own books and clothing. “I hope to herd Uncle Asabe’s cows,” he said. “He will pay me what he can. It’s good that you’ve learned English so well. You’ll make a good guide.”
After their rest the friends walked on. By nightfall they had reached a village where Ayalu’s aunt lived. She gave them food and a place to sleep.
Early the next morning they started out again. They conquered the kilometers one by one. The sun was high overhead as they climbed the last steep path and looked down upon their village.
Kadabe shouted, “Hello! Hello!”
Gemma was jumping rope in front of the house. “Kadabe! Kadabe!” she called as she ran. “Mother said that you would be here today.”
Kadabe hurried to greet his father at his loom behind the house. He was weaving another shemma to sell at the Thursday market.
“I like school,” Kadabe told his mother later, “but I also like coming home.” He sat on the low stone bench that ran along the wall outside the house. Gemma sat down beside him.
Mother was resting lightly on her heels before the red coals. She poured injera (a kind of bread) batter onto the hot griddle so that it would be ready for the family’s dinner.
“Did you learn more English words to teach me?” Gemma asked.
“Yes, many more,” Kadabe told her, “and I’ve brought more books for you.”
Gemma jumped up. “Please let me have them now! Please! I want to look at the pictures!”
Just then Ayalu appeared, breathless from running. “Kadabe, come quickly! There are English-speaking tourists in the marketplace, and they need a guide!”
Early that afternoon Kadabe picked up the heavy cameras and bags of the tourists and led them to the first stop, Biet Giorgig, an ancient church carved in the shape of a cross from solid rock.
The Englishmen asked many questions about the village as the group went from place to place, and Kadabe was prepared with answers that he’d learned at school. He told the men about King Lalibela, who had made this village his capital during the thirteenth century.
They thanked Kadabe for his stories, and they said that he spoke English very well. When they left, they gave him five dollars. “Good!” Kadabe said. “Now Uncle Gebre can make me some pants for school.”
But when Kadabe turned toward Uncle Gebre’s, he spotted the camera. He remembered setting it on the steps while he handed the other bags to the tourists. Now the jeep that carried the Englishmen was gone, and the camera was still here!
What can I do? Kadabe asked himself.
Ayalu found Kadabe, still on the steps, his forehead lined with hard thinking.
“Look,” Ayalu said. “I have a soccer ball. Let’s go over to the grass field and start a game.”
Kadabe held up the camera. Ayalu took it and hefted it. “It is not a worthless object,” he said.
“No. Its owner was proud of it,” Kadabe answered.
“Unless the man comes back for it, it is justly yours,” said Ayalu. “Money from its sale would buy many books.”
Kadabe thought about that for a minute, then shook his head.
“But what else can you do? You don’t know where the tourists have gone, do you?”
Kadabe jumped up. “I think I do know,” he said. “I heard them say that they would go to the market at Gondar on Thursday.”
“Thursday’s tomorrow,” Ayalu said. “You’d have to walk all night to reach Gondar by tomorrow.”
Kadabe didn’t want to walk to Gondar, especially at night. There were jackals and hyenas roaming around the hills. The paths were rough and indistinct, and it would be dark. He felt cold just thinking about it.
Kadabe passed the camera strap over his head. At home he went to the back to talk to his father, but he wasn’t there.
“He’s gone to bid on some cotton,” said Mother. “I don’t think that he’ll return until late tonight.”
“Mother,” Kadabe said, “I have a camera that belongs to one of the English tourists.”
Mother nodded.
“They have gone to the Gondar market,” continued Kadabe. “I think that I should take this to him there.”
Mother nodded again.
“Do you think that I should?” Kadabe wanted to know.
“You must decide for yourself,” Mother answered.
Ayalu waited with the soccer ball.
“Then I must do it,” Kadabe decided.
“You don’t have to,” Ayalu told him. “And it’s a dangerous journey.”
When Gemma heard that her brother was leaving, she pouted. “Soon you’ll return to school,” she said. “There won’t be any time for my lessons then.”
Mother quieted Gemma and handed Kadabe a bag of roasted grain and a water gourd. “Take care,” she said.
Kadabe left Lalibela as the day’s light faded to gray. “I can do it,” he told himself as he wrapped himself in his shemma. The camera was heavy on his neck.
It grew darker. Sounds from hidden sources made Kadabe’s heart race. His throat was dry, causing him to sip often from the gourd. Sometimes he stumbled on jagged boulders, and twice he fell. But he went on. Never have I wanted to sleep as much as I want to now, he thought as the first light finally showed in the east.
Just when he had decided that he’d left the path to Gondar somewhere behind him in the dark, he saw the smoke of the town.
The next day, just in time for the evening meal, Kadabe arrived back home.
Ayalu was waiting to see his friend. “Well, did the Englishman reward you for returning the camera?”
“No,” answered Kadabe, “he had already boarded the bus to leave, and I only had time to hand him the camera through the window.”
Ayalu shook his head. “You were foolish,” he said. “You walked to Gondar and back for nothing.”
“That’s right,” Gemma agreed. “You should have stayed at home to teach me.”
Kadabe looked at his mother.
She spoke softly. “Your brother has taught you something greater than the English words you want to know, Gemma. He has shown you that if you do not do what you know is right, knowledge is empty.”
As he looked down at his tired feet, Kadabe smiled in agreement.

When we had submitted our papers, the COVID-19 pandemic had already started and foreign missionaries were forced to return home, and we were uncertain if we would serve a full-time mission. Two weeks later the prophet declared that we had to close the doors of the meetinghouses and 30 days later I received my call to serve a mission in the Kinshasa East mission with six months of preparation and saw the increase in the number of cases related to COVID-19.

I was still in a state of uncertainty, and I knelt down and asked the Lord if He wanted me to be a full-time missionary as I knew personally that He knew the situation perfectly, and my MTC date was postponed three more weeks. On Oct. 15, 2020 I started my training at Accra Ghana Missionary Training Center through technology and I experienced a most memorable experience of my life, spending the training on Zoom every day for three weeks made my faith grow and increase my trust in the Lord because He knew that He had prepared me to serve Him in this moment of technology in His work to learn the best ways to use technology and to help others to come to Him through this medium.

Maxwell M., age 8, Rhode Island, was baptized on New Year’s Day. He had a really good feeling when he received the gift of the Holy Ghost. He likes his Primary teachers. He likes to read, ride his bike, and ice-skate. Maxwell knows a lot about ocean life. His favorite animal is a penguin, and he enjoys collecting stuffed penguins.

Leah Truckenmiller and Bonnie South, both 13, talked about a service project at an elderly woman’s home.
“We cleaned windows and did laundry,” Leah said.
“It felt so good to be helping someone that we even had fun scrubbing bathrooms,” Bonnie added.

My friends at school used to try to get me to do or say things that are against my standards, but now that they know I’m a member of the Church and what I stand for, they respect my boundaries.

I grew up in a comfortable environment in Logan, Utah. I had no childhood worries about food or shelter or education. But perhaps because life was easy, I needed something to hold on to that would anchor me.
For me that anchor was the priesthood of God. I was in an unusual situation when I was growing up. My dad was called to be the bishop when I was a year old, and he was my bishop for 19 years. His fatherly and spiritual guidance was a tremendous help to me.
I think that is mostly why I looked forward to receiving the Aaronic Priesthood on my 12th birthday. I remember the special day I felt my father’s hands on my head as he ordained me. After that, I advanced through the offices of the Aaronic Priesthood and received callings I enjoyed very much.
Passing the sacrament was very special to me. You could see people commit themselves to obey the Lord and keep His commandments as they partook of the emblems of His body and blood.
As time progressed, I graduated from high school, and then after a year in college, I was called on a mission. I enjoyed every minute of it and loved my companions. One in particular was a strength to me. I learned much from him as we fulfilled our responsibilities.
Because the country was at war, when I returned from my mission I joined the United States Marine Corps. When the war was over, I returned to college, married, and started a family. Successive professional moves took me to many places across the United States, where I learned much as I served in many priesthood callings. I finally landed in Boston, Massachusetts, where I served as a stake president. It was from there that I was called to be an assistant to the Twelve and then, after 17 months, to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.

Through my letters home, I continued my efforts to share the gospel. I remember inviting my father to meet with the missionaries. He said frankly that he was not interested. Reading his response was one of the hardest experiences of my mission, but it gave me a greater drive to work hard and share the gospel with anyone willing to listen. I came to realize that everyone is someone’s family member and that by helping one person I might be answering someone else’s prayers. I strive to continue in my efforts in sharing the gospel, even though I am no longer a full-time missionary.

Ophélie and her family walked out of the church building together.
“What an amazing general conference,” Papa said. “What was your favorite part, Ophélie?”
“I like how President Nelson asked us to do acts of service,” Ophélie said. “I like helping people.”
“I do too,” Maman said. “Let’s follow the prophet and look for ways we can help others.”
A few days later, Ophélie and Papa visited their neighbor Suzie. Ophélie really liked Suzie. She had white hair and a big smile. She was like a bonus grandma!
Suzie told them she was going to have eye surgery the next day. Ophélie was a little worried.
“Will Suzie be OK?” she asked Papa while they walked home.
“Yes,” Papa said. “She’s been having trouble seeing, and the surgery will help her see better. But she’ll need a few days for her eyes to heal.”
Ophélie told Maman about Suzie’s surgery while they set the table for dinner.
“Maybe we could do something to help her,” Ophélie said. “Like President Nelson said.”
“Good idea. What could we do?” Maman asked.
Ophélie thought about it. Ophélie’s family raked leaves in Suzie’s yard each fall. They shoveled her snow during the long Canadian winters. But now it was springtime. There wasn’t any snow. Or leaves. How could they help?
During the prayer before dinner, Ophélie asked Heavenly Father to bless them to know how to help Suzie. Then Papa helped her scoop pâté chinois onto her plate.
The delicious smell of the potatoes, vegetables, and ground beef made Ophélie’s mouth water. She took a bite. It was one of her favorite dinners. Especially because Maman always let her mash the potatoes! She loved helping Maman cook.
Then Ophélie had an idea. “Maman, can we make dinner for Suzie tomorrow?”
“Sure,” Maman said. “How about a tourtière?”
“Great,” Ophélie said. “And we could make muffins too!”
The next day, Ophélie and Papa carried a plate of meat pies and muffins outside. Ophélie spotted the beautiful purple flowers blooming in their garden. She picked some and held them together in a little bouquet. Then she and Papa walked to Suzie’s house.
Ophélie knocked on Suzie’s door. Soon Suzie answered. She was wearing dark sunglasses.
“Bonjour,” Ophélie said. “We brought you dinner. And muffins.”
“It’s so kind of you to think of me,” Suzie said.
“These are for you too,” Ophélie said. She handed Suzie the bouquet.
“Très jolie!” Suzie said. “They’re beautiful. Please, come in.”
Ophélie and Papa followed Suzie into the house. “How are your eyes?” Papa asked.
“They’re a little sore right now. That’s why I have these,” Suzie said, tapping her sunglasses.
“Can you see better now?” Ophélie asked.
“It’s still a little blurry. But I should be able to see better in a few days.”
Ophélie gave Suzie a big hug. “I’m glad you’re OK. Can we come see you again when your eyes are better?”
“Of course. And when you see me next time, I’ll be able to see you too!” Suzie said. They all laughed.
Ophélie was glad she could serve, like Heavenly Father wanted her to and like the prophet asked. She liked helping her friend Suzie.

Five years ago, my little brother was diagnosed with aggressive brain cancer. I poured all my energy into hoping that he would make a miraculous recovery, but I was terrified of the worst-case scenario. Despite my hope, my sweet, remarkable, 10-year-old brother died.

After his death, my testimony was shaken, and I had to rebuild my faith and discover a new hope rooted in Christ and His promises. After years of pondering, I have realized that we can either live with Christ-centered joy or we can live with fear when our faith is dependent on a particular outcome.

Although I was baptized as an infant in one church and attended another on and off during my childhood, religion was never a huge part of my life. As I grew older, my family moved a lot, and we stopped attending worship services. I believed in God, but I did not think about Him or religion very often.
That all changed in 2006, when I was 14. My uncle Billy died; he was only in his mid-30s. His premature death made me realize how much I loved him and caused me to start asking questions internally. Where did he go when he died? Did he continue to live and have a future? What would become of his children and other family members left behind? What did his life mean? What did my life mean?

You had a busy day! Your classmate asked if he could copy your homework. You wanted to be honest, so you told him no but offered to help him.
On the way home from school, you saw your neighbor struggling to pick up a big basket of vegetables she had just picked from her garden. You wanted to get home, but you ran over and helped her carry the basket inside.
After dinner your dad asked you to do your math homework. Math is hard and you didn’t want to do it, but you decided to obey your dad.
You were tired at bedtime, but you knelt down and thanked Heavenly Father for your blessings.

Outside of church, 13-year-old Joan Chidester of the Bowie Ward, Suitland Maryland Stake, has two major interests—competitive swimming and playing the violin.
Joan plays in her junior high orchestra, and although she’s only an eighth grader, she has been invited to play with the senior high orchestra too. That takes a lot of practice, as does her swimming. She was recently named the most outstanding swimmer of the 11–12-year-old girls in the Maryland Association of United States Swimming.
All this takes a backseat, however, to her Church activity. She is serving as Beehive class secretary, and loves to do baptisms for the dead in the Washinton Temple.

My mission began in May, and the March 2007 issue of the New Era helped me in my preparation to serve. I’ve come to know more of the greatness of my call to serve the Lord for two years. I love to share it with those who are also preparing for their mission. I’m excited to join with the other missionaries spreading the message of the gospel to the ends of the earth.
Bentley L., Philippines Butuan Mission

My wife, Kathy, and I have known a single sister, now in her mid-40s, who is gifted in her professional abilities and serves valiantly in her ward. She too has kept the laws of God. She wrote:

“I dreamed of the day I would be blessed with a husband and children. I am still waiting. At times, my situation brings feelings of being forgotten and alone, but I try to keep the focus off what I don’t have and instead on what I do have and how I can help others.

“Service to my extended family, in my ward, and in the temple has helped me. I am not forgotten or alone because I am part of, and we are all part of, a larger family.”

Growing up, religion was not a part of my life. Raised in a secular environment, I chased worldly success, dedicating myself to a demanding career as a banker. I worked over 100 hours a week, sacrificing health, relationships, and personal fulfillment in pursuit of professional achievements. Outwardly, I seemed successful, but inwardly, I was empty. Stress and discouragement became constant companions, leading me to rely on alcohol and medication to numb the growing void in my life.
In February 2024, my world shattered when I was laid off amid a wave of redundancies in the banking industry. I felt worthless, as if my identity and purpose had been stripped away. Spiraling into despair, I sought solace in the very habits that were destroying me. My health deteriorated and in March 2024 I suffered a heart attack—a moment that would change my life forever.

“That book was brought forth by the power of God.”
Lucy Mack Smith, History of Joseph Smith (Bookcraft, 1958), p. 204
She was Joseph Smith’s mother.
She taught her children about God. They prayed and read the Bible together.
She led a group of Saints to Kirtland by boat. When the water froze, she encouraged the Saints to pray. The ice cracked so the boat could sail through!

In February 1986, the president of the country promised during a broadcast on state-run television that he would grant the Church legal recognition, and members soon began preaching the gospel openly. That same month, Ralph and Jean Hutchings, the first missionaries called to Zaïre, arrived and found a growing group in Kinshasa. Recognition was granted officially in April, and by June 1987 the Church was growing so quickly in Zaïre that a mission was organized, with Ralph Hutchings as president.

A word of caution may be in order here, however. A friend of mine named Doug lost his father in an automobile accident when he was in junior high school. Though he knew they meant well, it was difficult for him to hear peers whose parents were still living say, “I know exactly how you feel.” The fact is they probably didn’t, and consequently their well-intentioned remarks sounded callous. A simple “I’m sorry” would have been more appropriate. Furthermore, Doug felt oppressed by those people who felt it was their duty to get him to “talk about it” every time they associated with him. Once he felt the concern and sympathy of his friends by their simple expressions of sympathy, he preferred to bring up the subject himself.