Gospel Story Finder

On February 20, 2016, Cyclone Winston destroyed thousands of homes. It was the largest recorded storm to ever hit Fiji. The next day, President Henry B. Eyring, then-First Counselor in the First Presidency, rededicated the Suva Fiji Temple after a 16-month renovation. He prayed: “We thank Thee for Thy faithful Saints in this beautiful land. We invoke Thy blessings upon them, that they may be blessed with love and peace, that their lands shall be productive, and that they shall be prospered and protected in their righteous undertakings. We ask that they be protected from the storms of nature and from the conflicts of men as they walk in obedience to Thy commandments.”

I lost my father during World War II, when I was four years old. I learned how to work because my father was not there and my mother gave us children assignments. I helped cook dinner for my family because Mother had to work. My older sister and brother had part-time jobs to help the family, and when I got older, I did too. I worked on a farm and with a fishing business.
After I finished junior high school, I had to work to support myself. As a young man I found a full-time job at a bean-curd shop in a larger city about nine hours away from my home. I went to high school in the evenings, so I got home late. Early the next morning at work, I made bean curds and sold them on the street or delivered them to various stores.
I became very sick from working so hard and had to stay in the hospital. I thought I might die. I was born into a Buddhist family. I always felt that there was a God in heaven, but I had never been taught about God. I was very desperate to talk to Him. I didn’t even know the word for “Heavenly Father,” so I asked, “God, are You there? Please help me.” After eight days I was able to leave the hospital, and I lived with my uncle while I recovered.

When I was a new ninth-grade high school student, my English teacher announced that we were going to watch a movie as part of our study of Shakespeare and his works. She told us the movie was R-rated and asked if anyone had any objections. I built up the courage to raise my hand and told my teacher that I did not watch R-rated movies. My face felt like it was about to burst and my whole body felt like it was sweating, but inside I knew I had done the right thing. My objection seemed to silence the class, and I felt everyone’s eyes on me.
Later, my teacher questioned me further on the subject, and I told her that I would not watch the movie. My teacher left it up to me to choose between watching the movie she selected or accepting a lower grade for the assignment.
On the day before the movie was scheduled to be shown, I thought I was going to have to walk out of class and take the grade penalty. When my teacher announced that she had decided to show a different version of the movie, I felt relieved. There was plenty of moaning and whining from many of the students because of the change in plans. I thought everyone would be mad at me.
Instead, the students quickly quieted down, and my friends called me over to sit with them. Their support made me feel great. After class, I thanked my teacher for her decision to show an appropriate version of the movie.
I’m thankful for the standards of the Church. I know that when we keep high standards, we can make a difference in the world in our own small ways.

The leadership abilities that some of the youth have learned serving in the ward have lapped over into other areas of their lives. For Michelle Clark, the things she learned in Young Women presidencies prepared her to lead her school. Although just a junior, Michelle was elected student council president (the same as student body president). Her ability to organize and focus on the needs of the students carried her campaign.

César used to be rather shy, but Church activities have helped him to become more outgoing. Although friendly with everyone, he chooses close friends carefully. And these friendships last. He receives letters and telephone calls from all over Mexico. His best friends are his brother, Daniel (5), and his sister, Diana Gisela (2). His parents can leave them in his care with total confidence that he will keep them safe and happy. Even when the family goes on an outing, César pays attention to what the younger children are doing. He does this in a caring, not-at-all bossy way, and his little brother and sister love him dearly.

When Hurricane Irma came through my town in Georgia, it did some damage. We were out of school for two days, and we had no power. Then we started hearing about the destruction in Florida. So many homes were flooded and damaged by winds. Families lost many of their belongings. My family started making plans to go down with the Mormon Helping Hands teams for the weekend relief efforts. I was sad that I wasn’t old enough to go help.
Then a teacher at my elementary school heard that my siblings were going down to help. She offered to send school supplies. I was so excited when I heard about this because now I had a way to serve. I started collecting backpacks. With the help of my Primary friends, we collected and put together 63 backpacks. We filled them with school supplies to give to children impacted by the hurricane. I learned that you are never too young to serve. If you have a desire to help others, Heavenly Father will provide a way.

After the projects were complete and youth conference was over, the gifts were stored and forgotten—but not for long.

Marie Taylor, a Laurel, spent a lot of time on her Laurel project. She coordinated the collection and wrapping of several large boxes—giant Christmas containers to be filled with food and delivered to hospice patients and their families. During youth conference, the boxes were wrapped and made ready to go. They wouldn’t be filled with food until the holidays, so they needed to be in storage for a while before they were used. But after being transported a few times, some of the boxes looked a little worse for the wear.

“I did a lot of crazy things to get those boxes,” says Marie, who rounded up her friends to help and then asked local merchants to let her take boxes they no longer needed. “Most of the store owners were nice, but I had to work for those boxes! At one place, with the permission of the owners, I actually climbed into the Dumpster to get a bunch of boxes out.”

So you can imagine her dismay when, just before the holiday season, she discovered that some of the carefully wrapped boxes had come unwrapped or were otherwise unready to be used for food.

“It was discouraging to do things over again,” says Marie. “But we really wanted them to look good. So the other girls in the ward and I had a wrapping party to re-do the damaged boxes. It turned out to be pretty fun.”

In 2015, I was doing proxy baptisms in the São Paulo Brazil Temple. While I was there, a man asked me if I was preparing to serve a mission. I said I hoped to serve someday. Then he said, “I think you need to prepare to serve a mission and speak French.”
I thought to myself, “Why French? I’m from Brazil. How will I serve a French-speaking mission?” Nevertheless, because of that experience in the temple, I started studying French.

About one and a half years ago I moved to Bermuda. Along with the normal hardships and adjustment of moving to a new country, I also left a ward where I had many good LDS friends to come to a tiny branch where I am the only active teenager. I love the New Era. The things I read from it have comforted and strengthened me many times. The New Era also makes me smile a lot. Thank you so much. Things here are going well, the branch is growing slowly but surely, and I am learning a lot and having many wonderful and interesting experiences.
Tori SealockWarwick, Bermuda

Grandpa and I worked on the car most of the afternoon. We stopped at about 4:00. There was a dance in town that night, and I was going to take a girl I hadn’t seen in a long time.
I had known Margie for as long as I could remember. We were in the same kindergarten class, and I used to pull her ponytail. In junior high I used to tie the ends of her dress sashes to the back of her chair during class, and then laugh as she got up and knocked her chair over. Most girls would have gotten mad but not Margie. She would just laugh, shake her finger at me, and say that I had better watch out; she was going to get me back.
But when we went to high school, something happened. Margie was no longer the skinny-legged, freckled-faced girl in knee socks and braces. Sometime during that summer she had changed into a willowy beauty with an electrifying smile and sun-streaked hair. She was so carefree and simple, always laughing, always there to listen.
But halfway through our sophomore year she moved to the city. It was quite a blow to all of her friends, me in particular. But she promised to write and visit when she could.
So, when she called me to tell me that she was going to be in town visiting her grandparents for a few days, I couldn’t help but get excited. She had always been so fun to be with, and I was sure I would have a good time. Two years couldn’t have changed us that much.
As I drove up to the house where her grandparents lived, my hands were sweaty and butterflies were doing acrobatics in my stomach. My legs felt like spaghetti as I got out; and as I knocked on the door, I felt my face flush to a deep, hot red. The door opened and there was Margie, still willowy, still beautiful. Smiling, she let me in.
“Hi,” she said. “Boy, it’s really good to see you again.”
“Hi yourself,” I stuttered.
“Grandpa and grandma are in the kitchen. They said they wanted to see you when you came.”
“Oh. I saw your grandpa in town the other day, but I haven’t seen your grandma for a long time,” I said as we walked down the hall toward the kitchen.
“Bobby, how’s your grandpa?” asked her grandfather. “I hope he’s doing well. Haven’t seen him around for a while. Now, we don’t want to sound old-fashioned, but what time do you think you’ll be home?”
I assured them that it wouldn’t be too late, and then we left. As we walked out to the truck, I heard Margie clear her throat. I looked at her, but all she did was smile and ask who was going to play at the dance.
“Oh, it will be records,” I said.
“Records. How different. At home we always have a band.”
“That really must be nice,” I said uncomfortably. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a little voice kept saying that this evening wasn’t going to be what I had expected. She just kept smiling.
All the kids welcomed her when we got to the dance, but as I watched her, I saw something that puzzled me. It was sort of an amused look, one that seemed to say, “I can’t believe the way you all act. I hope I didn’t act like this.”
We danced; then she danced with some of the others. Every once in a while I would see that same look. It bothered me, but what could I do? I just let it go.
On the way home, I asked if she had had fun.
“Oh yeah. I can’t wait to get home and tell the kids about it.”
I couldn’t help but wonder what exactly she would tell them. Her voice wasn’t the same as it used to be. She acted differently. Maybe it was just my imagination; it was probably nothing more than seeing old friends again. Whatever it was, I wasn’t going to worry about it; we were going to the county fair the next weekend, and I was sure we’d have fun.
The week passed quickly, too quickly in fact, and it was soon time for the fair. I picked Margie up early; I was showing a calf, and I had to be there as soon as possible.
I won a blue ribbon and was pretty proud of myself, but when I showed it to Margie, all she did was smile that same smile she had given the kids at the dance the other night. But now I knew what it was that bothered me so much about it. Her smile was one of polite disinterest, as if to say, “You guys are nice and everything, but you’re so different, so uncool.” My stomach lurched inside me and my heart sank down to my toes. The old Margie was gone, gone forever. Somehow, she had gotten lost in the city.
We didn’t talk very much on the way home. She hadn’t had a good time (she’d nearly been kicked by a cow and run over by a Tennessee Walker), and I was depressed by my discovery.
I never saw Margie again after that. I saw her grandfather in town a few days later, and he said that she had gone back to the “big city.”
The days dragged by, even though I was working on the car with grandpa. He saw by my halfhearted enthusiasm that something was wrong and tried to cheer me up with his funniest stories. I listened and slowly began to feel better.

Those who know him well would speak of President Nelson facing the difficulties of life with faith and courage. When cancer took the life of his 37-year-old daughter, Emily, leaving a loving husband and five small children, I heard him say, “I was her father, a medical doctor, and an Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ, but I had to bow my head and acknowledge, ‘Not my will but thine be done.’”

He set a good example for a man he worked with by not drinking any alcohol at a party. The man could tell that Elder Cook was a Latter-day Saint because of his good choices.

Growing up, I wasn’t that religious. I knew the basics of Christianity, but I always had more questions than faith and didn’t really think much of it. But I had always heard my devout, religious aunt repeat Matthew 22:14:
“For many are called, but few are chosen.”
“Chosen for what?” I would think.
I never understood what this verse truly meant, and I never bothered to ask her. I started to assume this verse of scripture meant that God must have a list of His favorite children who would fill up the seats of heaven—His chosen few.
I didn’t believe I was one of those favorites.
The older I got and the more I looked around at the way others lived, it seemed that no matter what I did in my life, whether good things or bad things, I would be insignificant if I wasn’t one of His “chosen.”
I didn’t even know how to reach that status!
Knowing this, I started to believe that I would never amount to much in God’s eyes. I wouldn’t inherit His blessings or promises because I wasn’t born a favorite.
These thoughts often filled me with anxiety. I desperately wished to learn more about what it meant to become one of God’s chosen people and what it took to receive His blessings.
One day, I was scrolling social media when I came across an advertisement for Come, Follow Me. When I clicked on the ad, I found a way to connect with missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My willingness to find answers and hope for my life led me to agree to meet with them.
Through their lessons and many prayers, I learned so much about the gospel of Jesus Christ, my purpose in life, and, most importantly, the perfect love Heavenly Father has for me—His divine child.
I was baptized and felt so much joy and understanding spilling into my life. But I still didn’t quite feel the reassurance I was longing for. My anxious thoughts prior to joining the Church had lessened, but I still didn’t know if I was one of God’s chosen few who would inherit all that He has. I wasn’t sure what more I could do to become one of those special people.
That all changed a few months later when I was watching general conference. I was hopeful I would find some answers to questions that still felt unsettling when Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles began to speak. I was shocked when I heard him mention the very same verse that had left me puzzled throughout my life.
I was suddenly struck with hope.
Elder Bednar explained that “[Heavenly Father] does not limit ‘the chosen’ to a restricted few. Instead, our hearts, our desires, our honoring of sacred gospel covenants and ordinances, our obedience to the commandments, and, most importantly, the Savior’s redeeming grace and mercy determine whether we are counted as one of God’s chosen.”1
And in that moment, I knew—I am chosen.
Elder Bednar’s words gave me a deep feeling of gratitude that overwhelmed me. I felt more blessed than ever to have found The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
God doesn’t have favorites—He loves all His children with perfect love—but being chosen means we also choose Him too.
We are chosen because we choose to let Him prevail in our lives above everything else.
We are chosen because we choose to let Him prevail in our lives above everything else.
Elder Bednar inspired me to faithfully stay on the covenant path as I endure to the end. I also felt inspired by President Russell M. Nelson’s message to prioritize my relationship with Heavenly Father and to strive to forsake and overcome the world2 so that I can return to Him!

It had been a perfect day of exploring a narrow sandstone canyon and basking in the rugged beauty of southern Utah. I was a little worried that we hadn’t come across any signs of previous hikers in the canyon, but we had researched the route and had a good map, so we knew what lay ahead: a spectacular 150-foot rope descent through a waterfall into a picturesque canyon, leading out to the main road. As Dustin, Roland, and I neared what we expected to be the end of our adventure, we stopped to eat the last of our food and grinned at each other in anticipation.
Half an hour later, the canyon opened up to the sunlight, and in front of us the riverbed curved in a different direction than the map indicated. Our spirit of adventure overcame our better judgment, so we followed this new course. The soft sand quickly turned to rock, and we scrambled over boulders and potholes. We successfully negotiated a 40-foot drop, turned a corner—and stared in disbelief. There in front of us the ground melted away, dropping hundreds of feet to the Virgin River below.
It dawned on us that we had messed up somehow. There was no turning back; the slick canyon walls made ascension impossible. My two friends scouted the narrow ledge for a possible route down while I pored over the map. After awhile, my eye spotted another canyon on the map, and this one definitely matched the canyon we were in. Scanning the map, I could see that the cliff we were on was over 400 feet high. Dustin and Roland returned, and we talked about the possibility of trying to descend the cliff with the rope we had. Roland suggested we pray about it, and we quickly agreed.
It was a simple, sincere prayer. We thanked the Lord for keeping us safe and admitted that we had made mistakes. We told Him we were now trying our best to correct ourselves and return to safety. Laying before Him our problem and the possible solution of descending the cliff, we asked for a confirmation. And the Lord truly responded, touching each of us with a quiet feeling in our hearts that we should not try to go down the cliff.
As darkness fell, we realized our only way out was rescue. Our cellular phone received no signal, and we couldn’t go forward or back. When the sun sank behind the opposite mountains, the temperature dropped sharply, and we spent a sleepless night shivering together, hungry and thirsty, a few steps from a 400-foot cliff. Before trying to sleep, we again offered up a prayer of sincere thanks for protection, and a blessing of peace for our families, who had certainly figured out, by now, that something had gone wrong.
The next morning, by the time it was light enough to safely walk around the cliff’s edge, we had decided on several courses of action. We burned leaves to send up white smoke and scattered our equipment around the ledge to make us easier to spot from the air. After we split a granola bar, Dustin climbed up to higher ground to try to get reception for the phone, while Roland and I set about purifying water from a pool. We had made mistakes, and now we could only do everything in our power to be rescued, trusting that the Lord would comfort our families and lead rescuers to us. The day wore on, and our situation worsened. The fire melted our water container, Dustin had no luck with his phone, and we made plans for surviving another night. In that helpless state, I realized like never before my utter dependence on the Lord. I’d never felt so close to Heavenly Father when I prayed.
We thought we heard planes throughout the day, but neither the fire nor our yells brought them any closer. Around noon we heard the thumping sound of an engine grow and saw a helicopter in the distance, but our hopes faded when it flew out of sight. Then, quite suddenly, the search and rescue helicopter burst over the far canyon wall. It spotted Dustin above us and circled, looking for a place to land. Not long after, a rope dropped down to us, quickly followed by the search and rescue team with food, water, and our way home.
As we flew over canyon and mountain to our waiting families, I offered a silent prayer of thanks. The Lord had helped us make wise judgments and had helped our rescuers find us. He had also answered our plea to comfort our families. While they had spent a sleepless night, they had felt the Spirit whisper that we were OK. The Savior’s promise in 3 Nephi 18:21 is true: “Pray in your families unto the Father, always in my name, that your wives and your children may be blessed.” I learned that on the edge of a 400-foot cliff, waiting to be rescued.

On December 18, 2011, members of the five stakes of Puerto Rico participated in a Christmas concert held in the Paseo de las Artes in the city of Caguas. Approximately 85 members of the Church performed, and some 2,500 members of the community attended.

Photograph from Getty Images
While on my mission in the Philippines, my companion and I taught a particularly powerful lesson about the importance of studying the Book of Mormon daily. At the end of the lesson, my companion bore one of the most powerful testimonies of scripture study that I had ever heard. She testified that reading the Book of Mormon added a new power into her life that was impossible to explain.
It was obvious that her experience with the Book of Mormon had changed her life, and I wanted that for myself.
I decided that night that I would read the Book of Mormon again. From the beginning.
I spent a lot of time on my knees explaining to God that I wanted to experience the conversion and power that comes from the Holy Ghost.
The answer I received was: Read. Just read.
So that’s what I did. I threw myself into reading with a new vigor. I paid special attention to each verse, chapter, and page. As I read, I found verses that answered my questions, soothed my worries, and helped lift the burdens of those I was teaching.
After about a month, I realized that something inside of me was changing. My capacity to love others increased; I had more hope in the future; I was able to work harder and longer each day; I was more focused on the work; and I started to feel so much joy.
One day in my studies I came across a quote from President Ezra Taft Benson (1899–1994), former president of the Church: “There is a power in the [Book of Mormon] which will begin to flow into your lives the moment you begin a serious study of the book. … When you begin to hunger and thirst after those words, you will find life in greater and greater abundance.”1
As I continued to study, I began to really understand what he meant. I was finding life in greater abundance.
Looking back, I am convinced that one of the reasons I was put with that companion was so I could be there that night to hear her testimony. I felt like all the good parts of life—love, hope, trust, hard work, determination, and joy—were amplified.
There was a new light in my life, and I knew that it was real.

Massimo and Daniela Lo Monaco
Massimo Lo Monaco confided to his young wife that he had doubts about the existence of God. If there was a God, why didn’t he make himself known to man?
But a recent experience, an answer to prayer, had left Daniela Lo Monaco certain of the existence of God. She had been responsible for a serious error at her place of employment and feared the consequences. She had prayed to God for help, and when she reported the problem to her supervisor, the situation had been resolved surprisingly easily. So she prayed again in gratitude, and asked her Heavenly Father, “What would you have me do?”
Not long afterward, two young missionaries knocked on their door. As the missionaries taught them, the Lo Monacos discovered that the gospel answered both his question and hers, and they were soon baptized. He is first counselor in the presidency of the Pisa Branch and she is the Primary president.

When I reflect on the race of life, I remember another type of race, even from childhood days. When I was about ten, my boyfriends and I would take pocketknives in hand and, from the soft wood of a willow tree, fashion small toy boats. With a triangular-shaped cotton sail in place, each boy would launch his crude craft in the race down the relatively turbulent waters of the Provo River. We would run along the river’s bank and watch the tiny vessels sometimes bobbing violently in the swift current and at other times sailing serenely as the water deepened.

During one such race we noted that one boat led all the rest toward the appointed finish line. Suddenly the current carried it too close to a large whirlpool, and the boat heaved to its side and capsized. Around and around it was carried, unable to make its way back into the main current. At last it came to an uneasy rest at the end of the pool, amid the flotsam and jetsam that surrounded it.

The toy boats of childhood had no keel for stability, no rudder to provide direction, and no source of power. Inevitably their destination was downstream—the path of least resistance.

My mother’s mission taught her a great lesson on faith. Her bishop and stake president told her that it would be difficult for her to serve a mission because she had a speech impediment, which made it hard for her to be understood. But she felt impressed to go and had the overwhelming feeling that if she would be faithful, the Lord would correct her problem and she would be able to serve.
At age 14 she had received a blessing regarding a mission. Some time later she went to the secluded upper rooms of the meetinghouse and poured her soul out to her Heavenly Father regarding her desire to serve a mission. She felt inspired to call her uncle, who was a mission president in Missouri, and ask him if she could be his secretary. (Back then they didn’t have all the formalities concerning mission calls that we do now.) He said yes, and she was set apart by a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, who promised her she would bring many people into the Church. She was surprised at this, knowing that she had difficulty speaking.
However, after she began to serve, one of the sister missionaries became very ill. The mission president asked my mother to work with this sister’s companion so that the sister could come to the mission home to recover and her companion could keep working. My mother took a train to the area where she would be working. When she stepped off the train, she was met by a couple of elders, one of whom remarked when he saw her, “Why have they sent Sister Bennion? She can’t even talk.” She turned to that missionary and said indignantly, “Yes, I can talk.” And in that moment her problem was gone, and it never returned.

“I remember when there were a lot of cows here,” Karissa (7) says. “I used to take a shortcut to Grandma’s house, and one time my cousin Krista and I got chased by a bull! Chickens were running in front of us, and they ran right under the fence. But Krista and I had to climb over it—fast!”