Gospel Story Finder

When his grandpa had a mild heart attack, Chris gave up his bedroom to his grandpa and grandma so that they could stay at his house. He did this and many other things without complaint. He helped Grandpa with his IV (medicine that Grandpa had to carry around with him), got him something to drink when he was thirsty, brought him his supper, and did anything else he needed when he couldn’t get around very well. Chris even helped Grandma in the kitchen. A happy, loving child, Chris always has a smile on his face and a song in his heart. He is active in the ward Primary and has borne his strong testimony in fast and testimony meeting at church.

As a young boy, I visited Colonia Dublán, Mexico, with my family. We stayed with my aunt and uncle in the house where my mom lived as a little girl. It was a great adventure for a little boy from Arizona. We caught fireflies at night and bought watermelon frozen treats from the “paleta man,” who sold them from his cart.
One night while playing hide-and-seek with my cousins, I hid in an old shed. No one found me, and when I finally came out, it was dark. I couldn’t find my way back home. I couldn’t speak Spanish to ask for help, and I was very frightened.
My parents had taught me to pray. I knelt down by a tree and asked Heavenly Father to help me somehow find my family. Then I decided to knock on a door in hopes of finding someone who could help. After passing several houses that seemed uninviting, I finally found the courage to knock on a door.
The elderly woman who opened the door seemed surprised to see a little light-haired boy all alone on her front porch. She said something to me that I couldn’t understand. Then I felt an impression to simply tell her my name. I looked up at her and said, “Wilford.”
Her response surprised me. She knelt down, threw her arms around me, kissed my head, and said, “Weelfo, Weelfo!” That’s how Spanish speakers say Wilford. Many years before, she had known my grandfather, whom she loved and respected. His name was also Wilford. She knew right where to take me. She took my hand and walked with me back to my aunt and uncle’s house, where my parents were waiting.

For nearly two years now, the Aaronic Priesthood of the Valley View Second Ward, Salt Lake Valley View Stake, has been administering the sacrament to ward members who are physically unable to attend regular church meetings.
Each week under the supervision of the bishop, the deacons and priests assigned to the task on the preceding fast Sunday prepare the sacrament following priesthood meeting and take it to the several homes of the shut-ins of the ward, where they administer it. A member of the Sunday School presidency accompanies them, bringing greetings from the bishop.
“It has worked very well for us,” says Bishop Mark Blackham. “In fact, several wards in other areas are considering the idea. I think it’s a good one.”

Claire is also thankful for many other blessings that come with being a member of the Church. When she was three years old, she became extremely sick and began having seizures. “We were very frightened,” says Sister Küsseling. “Her dad gave her a blessing, and then we took her to the hospital. The next day, Claire was well. She hasn’t had any seizures since.”

I began seeking for ways that I could teach “The Living Christ” to our children. I recognized that they were young (our oldest was 11) and that this precious document was rather lengthy. But I had a desire, and after I prayed and thought about it often, the Spirit showed me how I could teach my family.
I had long collected pictures cut out of old Church magazines. I went to the box where I kept them and started pulling out pictures that seemed to match the different phrases in “The Living Christ.” For instance, for “He was the Great Jehovah of the Old Testament,” I found a picture of Christ, as Jehovah, talking with Moses. For the next phrase, “Under the direction of His Father,” I found a picture of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ standing together. Within a short time, I had gathered many pictures and paired them with their associated text from “The Living Christ.”
December seemed the perfect time for our family to start focusing on “The Living Christ.” Our children were excited and really got into our endeavor. We posted the pictures we were working on in our kitchen. I noticed that during the day, the kids would say the phrases as they passed by the pictures. When everyone had memorized the set of pictures on the wall, we put them away and started working on a new set.
With each picture, we discussed the gospel and life of Jesus Christ. Our family home evening lessons were filled with stories and lessons about the Savior. My husband taught some of the concepts in “The Living Christ,” bringing new insights.
Family prayers became more meaningful because the children gave more thought to Him in whose name they were praying. The Spirit filled our home. We felt like Nephi when he wrote, “We talk of Christ, we rejoice in Christ, we preach of Christ” (2 Nephi 25:26). Our home became a place of greater peace.

My father is also busy, but we share our daily experiences at breakfast. At least once a week we have our family council. We pray as a family. We also share articles from the Church magazines. Although we are often apart, I have learned a lot from him, and I pray that the Lord will bless us to be a spiritual family.Jenirée M. Rodríguez Hernández, 15, Las Colinas Branch, El Tigre Venezuela District

Of all the presidential families, none had a greater collection of pets than the family of President Theodore Roosevelt. His six children, ranging in age from four to seventeen, were true animal lovers.
Pets were kept everywhere. There were horses, cats, dogs, guinea pigs, rabbits, squirrels, birds, and raccoons. Twelve-year-old Kermit even kept a small kangaroo rat under his bed, but it was kept a secret. “Don’t worry your mother,” President Roosevelt cautioned his son. “That animal may be clean and harmless, but your mother would not sleep well knowing there was a rat in the house.”

In time, I moved from Ghana to Germany. When I arrived, I began looking for a place to worship. I attended a number of churches but never felt at home. Finally I began to pray and fast to know where to worship. A whole month passed before my answer came.
People from many different countries lived in my apartment building. Distinct among them was a couple who sometimes visited my friend. They were not rich, but they cared for us in many ways. Then one day they invited my friend to go to church with them, and he extended the invitation to me. I asked, “What church are we going to?”
He replied that we were going to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I told him that as long as they preached of Christ, I would go with him.
The day arrived, and we went to church. I looked around at the sea of strange faces. My first impression was of warmth and a sense of belonging. I was also happy to see young men administering the sacrament. I had never seen anything like that anywhere.
After sacrament meeting, those visiting for the first time were invited to attend the Gospel Principles class. The topic of discussion that day was the eternal nature of families. I was thrilled with all I heard. All too soon the class was over. I asked the teacher if he was going to continue with the same topic the next week, and he said yes. I decided to return the following Sunday.
The next session was priesthood meeting. The lesson was about managing family finances. What a church! I thought. The gospel and home management all in one!
After priesthood meeting, the couple who brought us to church, recognizing my interest, asked if I would like to hear lessons on the restored gospel. “Sure,” I said. And then, while I was basking in the spirit of the day’s meetings, I suddenly remembered that shop where I bought an old, worn copy of the Book of Mormon. The incident in the shop, which I considered rather insignificant at the time and had long forgotten, now took on great meaning.
My lessons began and continued without a break. It was a joy to learn the gospel from these couple missionaries. They looked upon me not only as a brother but as a son. Lessons completed, I was baptized.
I have meditated often on these two connected but separate incidents. Why would anyone walk into a shop, find an old book with an unfamiliar title, read a couple of sentences he couldn’t understand, and then buy the book? Does that make sense? Still, I believe that much of what reason alone cannot explain actually makes a lot of sense to the Lord. He prepares our path, and when we are ready to receive His word He leads us to the right people and into the right situations. Often, long before we start searching for God, He is looking for us.

So it is, one spring afternoon in November, when a city bus pulls up to its last stop at one of Arica’s beaches and lets out a group of happy, good-looking young men and women who run through the soft sand down to the beach. High above them looms El Morro, the massive gray cliff whose profile dominates Arica’s southern skyline. In a moment’s time a magic carpet of colorful towels has appeared on the beach, and a game of dodge ball is proposed. But there is no ball, so one of the towels disappears from under a young man. After it is tied in a number of knots and wound with some shoelaces which are tied securely, it is a towel no longer. It has become a ball, and the dodge ball game begins—the boys against the girls. The boys are stronger and throw straighter, but the girls are trickier, and the outcome of the battle remains dubious. They churn the sand as they play, leaping and twisting until the hot yellow sun seems to leap and twist in the sky above them. After a while the game somehow evolves into a contest to see which team can keep the ball away from the other team and somewhere along the line a real ball has appeared.

Later, some of the young people relax and tell the youth magazine writer about life in Arica.

I picked up my husband’s memoirs and read, once again, his account of finding the Church more than half a century ago:
“As a 20-year-old in 1951, I was at the school of sergeants at the Kronborg Castle [in Denmark]. On Christmas night I was on guard duty on the embankment that surrounds the castle. At one point I stopped, looked up to the stars, and felt that there was more between the sky and the earth than I had thus far thought. In other words, I began to believe that there was a God, which I had never really believed before. My parents were absolutely not religious, and they and I came to church only for baptisms, confirmations, weddings, and funerals.
“When months later I became a sergeant, I got my own troop: 44 new recruits—or more exactly, 43 plus 1. This one was very different, and when I asked him what it was that made him different from the others, he said he would tell me in the evening inside my quarters.
“There he told me about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for five evenings in a row. On the sixth day, Sunday, I went to church. And with that my new life began.
“The Church involved me completely. Little by little I became acquainted with the members of the Church. I found out that my recruit was not so much different than the overall membership.
“I became convinced that the Church was true, that it was the Lord’s Church—and I was baptized. A truly magnificent day.”
I am grateful that my husband, Orla, who died in 1998, included these words in his personal history. That long-ago Christmas night, when my husband first sensed that God truly did exist, and his conversations with the new recruit are responsible for our meeting each other, being sealed in the temple, and having five children—who have now brought grandchildren and great-grandchildren into our family. We have had a rich life in the Church and many blessings. I am grateful for that Christmas night and for the new recruit in Denmark those many years ago.

As a young Primary girl, I worked diligently to cross-stitch a simple saying which read, “I will bring the light of the gospel into my home.” One weekday afternoon as we girls pulled our needles up and down through the fabric, our teacher told us the story of a girl who lived on a hill on one side of a valley. Each late afternoon she noticed on the hill on the opposite side of the valley a house that had shining, golden windows. Her own home was small and somewhat shabby, and the girl dreamed of living in that beautiful house with windows of gold.
One day the girl was given permission to ride her bike across the valley. She eagerly rode until she reached the house with the golden windows that she had admired for so long. But when she dismounted from her bike, she saw that the house was abandoned and dilapidated, with tall weeds in the yard and windows that were plain and dirty. Sadly, the girl turned her face toward home. To her surprise, she saw a house with shining, golden windows on the hill across the valley and soon realized it was her very own home!

I am so grateful that when the Lord established this Church, He gave us the law of tithing. I talked at one time with an officer of another church which, I understand, relies on the playing of bingo for a substantial part of its income. I said to this man, “Have you ever considered tithing to finance your church?” He replied, “Yes, and oh, how I wish that we might follow this practice instead of playing bingo. But I do not expect this change in my lifetime.”

Ace was just pulling the crawdad trap up toward the bridge when the children heard it. “Kittens, I think,” said Cindie. “Maybe in the tall grass there near the water.”
“No, it sounds like baby birds,” said her sister Vikki. “Over on the other side of the creek by those blackberry bushes.”
The two girls and their younger brother quickly clambered down through the brush toward the pitiful cries. “Over here!” shouted Cindie. “I’ve found a gunnysack!”
Anxiously, the young people fumbled with the twine and opened the sack. Inside were four very cold, very hungry newborn creatures, their eyes still closed.
“Kittens?” asked Vikki, holding one baby close.
“They look like tiny pigs,” observed Cindie, peering closely at another.
“Let’s get back up to the bridge,” said Ace. “Dad will know.”
“They’re puppies,” said dad. “Really young and really ugly. It looks like someone driving over the bridge threw out the pups to drown them in the creek. But they missed the water. These pups can’t be more than a few hours old.”
“Poor babies. We’ll just have to take care of them,” said Vikki, 11-year-old protector of all things living. “We’ll take them to grandma’s house and feed them right now.”
“Yeah, dad, we can check the crawdad trap later. We need to take care of the pups now.” It was unusual for six-year-old Ace (legally known as Adrian) to consider anything more important than trapping—and releasing—crawdads while vacationing at grandma’s house in Oregon.
“We’d better hurry. This one looks pretty weak,” observed Cindie, age 14 and the most practical of the three.
“Whoa, kids. Let’s think for a minute,” chimed in dad. “We’re on vacation 800 miles from home. We surely can’t take these pups home with us, and I doubt if anyone else would want four mongrel dogs. It might be better if …”
“If what, dad? Maybe other people can throw innocent little puppies in a creek to drown, but you’ve always said that we should protect living things.” The determination in Cindie’s voice was evident.
“Besides, dad. I think Heavenly Father intended that we be here this morning so that we could rescue these poor little things. We’ll figure out what to do with them later. Right now we’ve got to hurry and get them some milk.”
Minutes later mom and grandma were examining the foundlings—and asking the same practical questions adults usually ask when young people bring home newborn pups. Meanwhile, Cindie put some milk in a saucer and tried to feed one of the crying pups.
“I’m afraid that won’t work,” said grandma. “They’re so tiny that they’ll have to be fed from a bottle. Who would have a bottle with a nipple that small?”
“Maybe a doll’s bottle?” suggested Vikki. “But where can we get a doll’s bottle?”
“And that’s not all,” said mother. “For the first few days, they probably won’t be able to digest regular milk. I’m sure they’ll need milk from a mother dog.”
“But we’ve got to do something,” said Ace. “We can’t just let them starve.”
“Is there a pet store in Oregon City?” asked dad. “Perhaps they could help us.”
“I’m sure there is,” replied grandma. “But is it wise to spend the time and expense to rescue four mongrel dogs that no one will want? They can’t stay here, and you surely can’t take them back home with you. They’d never survive the trip.”
“It might have been kinder in the long run if you had left them at the creek,” mother quietly observed.
By now Cindie had located the telephone number of the pet shop and had started dialing. “We’ll find a way, grandma. Heavenly Father will help us. But first we’ve got to find a way to feed these poor crying babies.”
And a way was found. Two very expensive cans of dog milk and two doll bottles were purchased. Each pup was fed, almost constantly, and wrapped in a warm cloth. Eventually they received their names: Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.
The days which followed were taken up with feeding and loving the puppies. The girls learned that newborn puppies cry mightily if not fed periodically—all day and all night. On short trips to visit uncles and aunts, the pups were brought along so that they could be fed—and so that they could melt the hearts of potential owners.
But to no avail. Aunt Janine already had a dog. Aunt Karen surmised that one more dog at her house would result in one less husband. Uncle Dennis had two dogs, and grandma had cats. No luck. Neighbors and friends were approached. No luck. Pet store owners were implored. No market for ugly orphan pups.
Each day in their prayers the family members asked Heavenly Father to help them find homes for Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. But as they prepared to leave for southern Oregon to visit grandpa, four little puppies still had no homes. A family council was called to consider the options. The family knelt in prayer, and each of the children asked Heavenly Father to help them find homes for the pups.
Finally a decision was made: The pups would go to southern Oregon—but no further. If grandpa couldn’t take them, and if no other homes could be found when the family reached Ashland, the pups would have to go to the pound.
The trip to grandpa’s farm was a happy one. The young people took turns feeding the now fat, happy pups, and they took endless delight in the puppies’ antics. Both Mark and Luke started opening their eyes. And the children discovered that Mark ate the most, that John cried the loudest, and that Matthew was a girl!
But the four pups were still homeless—and the family was getting closer and closer to grandpa’s farm. Three worried young people entrusted all to a kind Heavenly Father and offered many silent prayers from the back seat (plus a few were offered from dad and mom in the front seat).
One prayer was answered; grandpa took one pup! At least John would be spared, grow up on a farm, and be loved.
All too soon the time at grandpa’s was gone, and the prayers for Matthew, Mark, and Luke were still unanswered. Only one last faint hope remained: Brother “Cwik.”
The family stopped to have dinner and attend sacrament meeting with family friends, the Cwiklinskis. Cindie, Vikki, and Ace were heart-broken to discover that the Cwiklinskis already had a dog and a cat and a goat. There just was no way the family could take in three pups.
On the way to sacrament meeting, the pups were fed once more so they could stay in the car in the shade and not cry while their rescuers were in church. Before going in, Cindie, Vikki, and Ace each offered a silent prayer to remind Heavenly Father that after church they would drive to Ashland—the last stop for Matthew, Mark, and Luke.
Cindie spent most of sacrament meeting with her eyes closed, praying for a miracle. Vikki cried softly into a handkerchief. Ace chewed his lower lip. Too soon the meeting was over; the family was in the foyer and moving toward the door.
Then a miracle began to unfold. “Cindie,” whispered Brother Cwik, “run out to the car and bring me those pups. Bring everything—the milk, the bottles, the blankets—everything. And hurry!”
Cindie was back in a flash, and Brother Cwik showed the pups to the Young Women of the ward. Matthew, Mark, and Luke were passed from hand to hand and lovingly fussed over as Brother Cwik recounted how the babies had been miraculously rescued.
If a potential dog owner wavered in her decision to adopt, Brother Cwik mentioned the canned milk, the feeding bottles, and the blankets. Luke went first—to a young girl with soft brown eyes. With his arms around Cindie and Vikki, Brother Cwik mentioned how earnestly the girls had prayed that someone would adopt the orphans. An older girl with long, blonde hair finally persuaded her parents to permit her to take Mark.
Only Matthew, the little female puppy, remained. People were drifting away now; super-salesman Cwik was losing his audience. It appeared as though no one would take an ugly orphan female pup. Suddenly, running down the hall with Ace came a nine-year-old boy, his eyes shining.
“Have you got any puppies left?” he shouted. “Dad says it’s all right. Are there any left?”
Indeed, there was one. A nine-year-old boy got his birthday present a week early, and three young people learned some important lessons about faith and works and the value of all living things. All the way home the family thanked Heavenly Father for hearing and answering prayers.

A lack of action is a choice. Whether we choose by acting or not acting, those choices have consequences. Branch President Jonathan Joel Torres Santos, and counselors Carlos Ortiz and Hilario Beltre, together with Young Women president, Sister Juana Lissette Falcón Saba, and counselors Vivian Guzman and Ana Luisa Valdez chose to act and make a difference.
In a monthly branch missionary meeting, the topic of discussion was a group of boys in the Don Gregorio neighborhood who would frequent the church to play ball, socialize, and on occasion venture into one of the Church’s activities. As leaders, it was decided to make a plan to involve these boys and others. Included in the plan were eight steps:
Get to know their names and their families.
Help others in the branch get to know them.
Encourage youth members with common interests to get to know their needs, passions, and goals.
Every week assign a youth to invite them to Church and offer to drive or walk with them.
Invite them to activities of all kinds, including games, seminary, even trips to the temple.
Opportunity given to the youth to speak in Church and to share their testimonies.
Opportunities for service offered, allowing each person to be aware of others.
Always follow Church guidelines.
Over time, many boys of varying ages came to play basketball at the church court. They weren’t members of the Church but were welcomed with open arms. It started with an evening of games in the parking lot followed by treats. Soon after, information was shared, and invites were given and accepted. One by one, nine boys came to Church and felt the Spirit. The boys were baptized, and as they came of age, received the priesthood. Today those nine boys wear a white shirt and tie as they perform priesthood ordinances and serve together in the Don Gregorio Branch.
This effort was a success because everyone in the branch felt that a choice was a call to action.

When Richard Moyer lost his job, he and his family ate food from their home storage, paid bills using their savings, and continued to pay tithing faithfully. Despite his unemployment, Brother Moyer was amazed to see that he made exactly U.S. $1.00 more income that year than the previous one. “I have always attributed that miracle in our lives to paying tithing,” Brother Moyer explains. “The Lord always blesses you when you do the things He wants you to do.”
President N. Eldon Tanner (1898–1982) of the First Presidency taught that tithing is a commandment with a promise: “As you discharge this obligation to your Maker, you will find great, great happiness, the like of which is known only by those who are faithful to this commandment.”2 Obedience to this commandment brings peace and security. As Church members pay tithes and offerings they will experience miracles in their lives, as the Moyer family did.

Stephen Smyth, a 16-year-old priest in the Londonderry Branch, Scotland Glasgow Mission, recently finished second in the “Superyouth” athletic competition open to all schools in Ireland. Stephen competed in six events—high jump, swimming, 100-meter race, 1,500-meter race, basketball, and overall fitness.
Preparing himself by an hour of intensive road work and general fitness training each morning before seminary (of which he’s president), Stephen was able to rank nationally over 100 other young men from across the country who competed in the section for 16- and 17-year-olds.
“My parents have been a great influence for good in my life,” said Stephen. “They’ve always set the standard and been the perfect example for me.”
Stephen is preparing to serve a mission and is looking forward to attending BYU eventually. He is currently assistant branch clerk, assistant to the president of the priests quorum, and branch music director.
To celebrate his success, the Young Men of his branch held a fireside at which he was the guest of honor. In addition, the members of the Londonderry Branch presented him with a copy of a one-volume history of the Church.

I know a wonderful Gospel Doctrine teacher who lifts class members as she teaches, but that wasn’t always the case. After joining the Church, she received a calling to teach in Primary. She felt she had no teaching skills, but because she knew the importance of serving, she accepted. Fear quickly overcame her, and she stopped attending so she wouldn’t have to teach. Thankfully, her home teacher noticed her absence, visited her, and invited her back. The bishop and ward members assisted her. Eventually, with increased faith, she began teaching children. As she applied principles now taught in Teaching in the Savior’s Way, the Lord blessed her efforts and she became a gifted teacher.11

Throughout my life I have learned that when we follow the teachings of our prophets, we receive promised blessings. In the April 1986 general conference, President Ezra Taft Benson (1899–1994) promised that if families would read the scriptures together regularly, the Spirit would fill their homes.1
My dear wife and I decided to follow that counsel. We set a goal to read a chapter a day from the Book of Mormon with our three children—Jorge, 10; Susi, 9; and Luis, 3. We read every day, each of us reading one verse at a time. Even though Luis could not yet read, he wanted to participate. He sat on my lap, facing me, with the Book of Mormon between us. When it was my turn to read, we both followed my finger as I pointed to each word, and Luis repeated out loud every word I read while he looked at those words upside down.
Just before he turned five years old, Luis asked, “When is it my turn to read?”
We explained that when he was older, he would go to school and learn to read.
He responded, “I already know how to read!”
Astonished, I handed him a Book of Mormon. He opened the book upside down and began to read perfectly. He had learned to read by following along in the Book of Mormon!
When he was six years old, Luis sometimes went with me to visit Church members. I asked him to share his testimony as well as a short scripture message that I had taught him. Whenever he read from the Book of Mormon, he held it upside down and read perfectly.
Luis is now finishing his university studies and working full-time. No matter how late he gets home from work, school, or a Church assignment, he still reads a chapter from the Book of Mormon before he goes to bed. The prophet’s promise has truly been fulfilled: as a result of our reading this sacred book, our family has been richly blessed and we are more united.

I’ve been able to look back over my own life and see many parallels to my hike into Coyote Gulch. For instance, I was a lousy student in high school. But with a mission and a few more years’ experience behind me, I sailed through college.
Various challenges that felt permanent then proved to be fleeting at best. And don’t even get me started on all the high school drama at every turn (which seemed like such a big deal at the time) that I haven’t thought about since graduation.

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.