Gospel Story Finder

Sister Eliza R. Snow, second Relief Society general president, spoke to a large group of sisters—both teenage and adult women—gathered in Ogden, Utah, in 1873. She gave the following counsel that was timely then and is still appropriate today.
Speaking to the younger women, she said: “If you associate together [meaning older and younger women], your minds are improved, you are gaining intelligence, and you are retrenching from ignorance. The Spirit of God will impart instruction to your minds, and you will impart it to each other. I say, God bless you my young sisters. Remember that you are Saints of God; and that you have important works to perform in Zion.”
She further counseled all women: “Paul the Apostle anciently spoke of holy women. It is the duty of each one of us to be a holy woman. We shall have elevated aims, if we are holy women. We shall feel that we are called to perform important duties. No one is exempt from them. There is no sister so isolated, and her sphere so narrow but what she can do a great deal towards establishing the Kingdom of God upon the earth.”7

The world sees dating in a very wrong way. Lucifer has completely counterfeited dating values. I waited until age 16 to begin dating. It was rewarding to know I was acting in the Lord’s way. It brought me a feeling of inner peace that was worth any sacrifice.
Elisa Correa, 19,Humaitá Ward, Porto Alegre Brazil Moinhos de Vento Stake

I really enjoy reading the New Era. Recently I have been having problems. I knew I would have to tell my bishop in order to truly repent. I just couldn’t muster up the strength to confess my sins to him. Then I got the October 1989 issue. It talked about the problem I had in the Question and Answer section. After reading it I realized that I was not alone. That very day I went to my bishop and talked to him. It was hard, but your article gave me the strength. Thanks to the authors and the kids who told of their experiences. I know that you were truly inspired.
Name withheld

The small farmhouse appeared dreamlike in the predawn Florida mist that enveloped it and the surrounding swamplands. A large white ibis resting atop a darkened tree shape started at the sound of a screen door banging closed. A young girl ran from the farmhouse toward an as yet invisible landing on the edge of the swamp. She was crying and carrying a large doll with a broken right leg.
Cassie Gunnerson climbed into one of three wooden boats, untethered the rope that secured it to the pier, and shoved off into the gray silence. Using a long pole, she pushed with angry, tearful grunts against the soggy bottom of the shallow water.
The ibis blinked its eye, and the eleven-year-old girl was gone, swallowed up by the mist.
It wasn’t long before Cassie’s twelve-year-old brother, Nathan, and their parents, were up and searching for her. “We got in a fight, Pa,” Nathan sheepishly admitted as he and his parents scoured the mangrove thickets on the outer edge of the field. No one bothered to call to Cassie because she had been born deaf. “Cassie dropped the spyglass you gave me into the water yesterday while we were fishing, because …” Nathan’s voice trailed.
“Because why?” his father gently but firmly probed.
“Well,” Nathan continued somewhat hesitantly, “I guess because I cut her line. And that’s because,” he added defensively, “she kept splashing her feet in the water and scaring away the fish!”
“You haven’t told us why she ran off,” Nathan’s mother prompted him.
Nathan’s eyes fell, then lifted slowly. “I really liked that spyglass.” His look shifted to his father’s, hoping to find some kind of sympathy. But what he saw was deepening concern. “With it I could see things in the marsh nobody knew were there,” Nathan continued. “Little things like cooties and skater bugs and cucumber beetles and potter wasps and …” Anger festered inside Nathan as he tried to justify what he was about to say. “I broke Cassie’s doll,” he declared, “because of what she did to my spyglass!”
“Do you realize how long your sister saved for that doll?” Nathan’s mother questioned sternly. “How much it meant to her?”
“I guess about as much as my spyglass,” Nathan retorted.
Father rested his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Do two wrongs make a right?”
Nathan’s mother stared toward the swamp. “Cassie’s boat is gone!”
The swamp was deep, a maze of twisting waterways in a jungle of trees and vines. What made matters worse was Cassie’s being deaf. She couldn’t hear them call for her.
Father rested a calming hand on his wife’s arm. He turned to Nathan. “Son, I’ll take my boat; you take yours. I’ll carry my rifle; you take my Colt Dragoon. Whichever one of us finds Cassie first will fire three shots, is that understood?”
“Yes, Pa.”
Father’s eyes focused on Mother. “You stay near the house, in case Cassie shows up here first. Grandpa Sawyer’s pepperbox pistol is in the root cellar. If she does come here, fire three rounds to let us know.”
Nathan navigated his small boat through the lily-pad-laden backwater with his long pole. His eyes scanned the densely brushed islands and the countless waterways between the huge cypress trees for any sign of his sister’s boat. To his right, on some goldenrod that protruded above a log wrapped with Spanish moss, he observed a tiger swallowtail butterfly. To his left, a harmless rat snake rested in the fold of a dead tree. Directly above him on an old, dilapidated walkway that spanned two small islands, a gray squirrel chattered loudly and shook its bushy tail at him. And less than fifty yards in front of Nathan a sandhill crane waded looking for food. The young boy found himself thinking that he would gladly trade all these wondrous sights for a glimpse of his younger sister.
The boat scraped against hidden roots of cypress trees and groaned like Nathan’s conscience. He gazed into the smooth, glassy water and stared at his reflection. Then he disrupted his image with a swish of the pole—he didn’t like what he saw.
The thrashing of brushwood on one of the nearby small islands caused him to lift his eyes with a start. There, in a little clearing high atop dry ground, Nathan witnessed two male white-tailed deer contending with each other. They pushed against each other with their heads and curved antlers. Finally the fight ended when one of them tired and ran away. “I guess Cassie got tired of fighting and ran away, too,” Nathan muttered. “It was a stupid argument,” he added as he continued on down the winding, watery corridor. “Why do people who love each other fight so much? And what if something’s happened to Cassie and I didn’t tell her I was sorry!” Nathan’s pace quickened, scanning the shadows with unblinking scrutiny.
Nathan searched all day, meandering in and out of a maze of waterways. He was a few miles from home when it started to rain. He steered his little boat under the protection of an overhanging tree limb. His eyes welled up. He hadn’t heard any gunshots. Cassie hadn’t been found, nor had she returned home. He gazed through the gray curtain of falling rain. “Cassie!” he screamed, knowing full well that she couldn’t have heard him even if she was sitting right beside him. He bowed his head and beseeched his Heavenly Father to help him find his sister. He knew that Heavenly Father could hear him even through the pounding rain.
A few moments later the rain stopped as quickly as it had started, and Nathan continued his search. A great horned owl stared out of the mossy shadows with its bright yellow eyes and hooted as the little boat moved quietly by.
A short time later Nathan’s dugout floated into a clearing. He felt prompted to stop and listen. He heard someone whimpering! Rapidly poling toward the sound, he saw a small boat harbored along the shore of an island. Then he saw Cassie. She was sitting in a patch of goldenrod, her face soiled and drawn, her hair tangled. She looked very lost and very frightened. Relief washed over Nathan.
A moment later Nathan was standing before his sister. She was relieved to see him, but her reaction was dulled by leftover hurt. He glanced at the broken doll in Cassie’s boat, then at a paint-root plant in a tuft of grass. He picked some seeds from it and crushed them on a smooth rock. He dabbed his index finger in orange dye from the seeds and wrote “I love you” on Cassie’s arm. After a long look at her arm, then at Nathan, Cassie leaned forward and hugged her brother.
Smiling through his tears, he took his father’s Colt Dragoon from his boat and fired three rounds skyward.

When his brother Tyler got his mission call, Matt gave him all of the money he had made from making balloon animals to get ready for his mission.

The day after my baptism, I was confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It was during a fast and testimony meeting, and I decided, for the first time ever, to bear my testimony. As I spoke, a wonderful, warm feeling filled my heart. It was a confirmation of the Spirit that joining the Church was the right thing to do. That warm feeling was the beginning of my small testimony, which grew as I grew older. I know that children can gain testimonies of their own and that even small testimonies are enough to help us choose the right.

President Taim was aware of the physical and emotional challenges black members faced. He considered starting a branch in Soweto to make travel easier for them but did not want to make them feel as if they were unwelcome in Johannesburg. He decided to interview Soweto members like Frans to gauge their feelings before taking any action. They gave him a clear answer: “We would love to establish the Church in Soweto.”
President Taim identified experienced leaders who could help mentor recent converts. He interviewed over 200 members in Johannesburg and ultimately called 40 to join the new branch long enough to help train a pioneering group of local leaders there.

Sacrament Thoughts
I fold my arms
And bow my head;
Then the sacrament prayer is said.
I open my eyes
And then look up,
And after the bread I drink water
From a little plastic cup.
I try to think
Of how Jesus died,
Sacrificed His life
For all mankind.
I picture His hands
Pierced, bleeding, and sore.
A crown of thorns
On His head He wore.
And now I think
As I take the sacrament’s drink
How Jesus, our Savior,
Died for us,
That we might live again.
Sariah J., age 11, Utah

Later on, a friend I made in the ward texted me and asked if I wanted to sing in the choir for a stake conference. Why does she want me to sing? I thought. I’m not a member. I kept battling it, but finally I said, “Sure, I’ll do it.”
It wasn’t like singing in other churches where there’s a band, it’s loud, and it feels like you’re at a concert. We sang “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing.” The words of the hymn and the sweet sound of the music really touched me.

I knew we are all supposed to share the gospel, but I had never had any success. Then, during a Spanish course I was taking, I met a young man named Tiago. We became friends and often walked home from school together. One day we passed an LDS chapel that had recently been built.
“I have been a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for several years,” I said. I shared with him some of the things that we believe, and I told him how much my family and I have been blessed because of the gospel. I invited him to attend meetings that coming Sunday at 9:00 a.m.
Sunday arrived and I anxiously waited, but he did not come. During the week, I invited him again. This continued every week for two or three months. He always gave me a reason why he hadn’t shown up: “I slept late,” “I was tired,” “There were problems.” But I kept asking him anyway, and he didn’t seem to mind.
One Sunday morning I sat down on one of the benches toward the back of the chapel. There were still a few minutes to go before the meeting began when someone quietly called my name. I looked toward the door, and there was Tiago!
“Didn’t I promise you I would come one day?” he said. He attended sacrament meeting and, to my surprise, stayed for the rest of the meetings and seemed pleased when I introduced him to the missionaries. He began meeting with them regularly. Tiago and I continued to talk as we walked home from school, but our conversations were about the truths he was learning. I was able to answer questions and bear my testimony. Finally, he gained a testimony of his own and joined the Church.
Today I am a full-time missionary in the Brazil Santa Maria Mission. Before I left for the mission field, Tiago also submitted his application to be a full-time missionary, and he is now serving in the Brazil Manaus Mission.
I recently received a letter from him. “Thank you for inviting me again and again to come to church,” he wrote. “I will be eternally grateful.” I am happy not only to share the gospel each day but also to know that Tiago is doing the same.

For a good part of my young life, I carried my gym bag in one hand and a cornet case in the other. There was always a conflict between my gym bag and my horn case. My mom kept promoting music, and I kept promoting athletics. Although I wanted to be a great athlete, I had only average abilities, so eventually the cornet prevailed. I studied the cornet for ten years, taking lessons every week. Music has been associated with a lot of my most spiritual moments in life: while singing hymns in the mission field, at family home evenings, and at sacrament meetings, and while attending musicals and concerts.

Two thoughts come to mind here. I recall a talk given by President David O. McKay. He made reference to a statement by John D. Rockefeller—then one of the world’s richest men—who apparently had stomach trouble and had purportedly said, “I would rather be able to enjoy a good meal than have a million dollars.” Then with a wink of the eye, President McKay remarked, “Of course, he had a million dollars when he said that.”

I have seminary at 6 a.m., before school. I wake up really early to have time to eat breakfast, have family prayer, and walk to the church. But the more I go to seminary, the more I see that waking up early is worth it!
The teachers are really great and always teach with the Spirit. They are wise and know so much about the gospel, which made me excited to go and learn more.
Going to seminary each morning helped me be brave enough to share the gospel with two classmates and helped me explain the scriptures. Seminary also helped me be brave enough to stand up for my beliefs. I was listening to the radio one morning, and a man was saying Joseph Smith was a liar. I was really frustrated by this because I had gained a strong testimony of Joseph Smith in seminary and knew that what the man was saying wasn’t true.
I told my seminary teacher about it, and he suggested I write a letter to the man and share my testimony of Joseph Smith. I wrote the letter and bore my testimony about Joseph Smith and the Church. It helped me calm down and not be so frustrated. He never responded, but I felt a confirmation of my testimony while I was writing. It made me really grateful that I had gained such a strong testimony of the Prophet and the gospel in seminary.
Raquel B., Argentina

Thank you for printing the March 1995 Mormonad about the Word of Wisdom. About a week before I received my issue, I had decided to start smoking clove cigarettes. I didn’t know much about clove cigarettes, and I had heard they were safe and had no nicotine or tobacco. I was tempted to smoke regular cigarettes, but decided not to. As I opened my issue of the New Era, I flipped right to the Mormonad. My heart literally skipped a beat. I felt that Heavenly Father had sent this message especially for me.
Name WithheldBellevue, Washington

And of all those people I gave copies of the Book of Mormon to, only one rejected the gift. He was a very good friend of mine, and I guess he had read some anti-Mormon literature. He told me he could not accept the book. I left feeling sorrowful, and I thought maybe I had a glimpse of what Heavenly Father might feel when his children don’t accept the gospel.

But there are many areas of the Church that are remote, where the membership is small and not likely to grow very much in the near future. Are those who live in these places to be denied forever the blessings of the temple ordinances? While visiting such an area a few months ago, we prayerfully pondered this question. The answer, we believe, came bright and clear.
We will construct small temples in some of these areas, buildings with all of the facilities to administer all of the ordinances. They would be built to temple standards, which are much higher than meetinghouse standards. They would accommodate baptisms for the dead, the endowment service, sealings, and all other ordinances to be had in the Lord’s house for both the living and the dead.
They would be presided over, wherever possible, by local men called as temple presidents, just as stake presidents are called. They would have an indefinite period of appointment. They would live in the area, in their own homes. One counselor would serve as temple recorder, the other as temple engineer. All ordinance workers would be local people who would serve in other capacities in their wards and stakes.
Patrons would be expected to have their own temple clothing, thereby making unnecessary the construction of very costly laundries. A simple laundry would take care of baptismal clothing. There would be no eating facilities.
These structures would be open according to need, maybe only one or two days a week—that would be left to the judgment of the temple president. Where possible, we would place such a building on the same grounds as the stake center, using the same parking lot for both facilities, thereby effecting a great savings.
One of these small temples can be constructed for about the same cost it takes just to maintain a large temple for a single year. It can be constructed in a relatively short time, several months. I repeat that none of the essentials would be missing. Every ordinance performed in the house of the Lord would be available. These small buildings would have at least half the capacity of some of our much larger temples. They could be expanded when needed.
Now as you hear me say these things, I think stake presidents in many areas will say this is exactly what we need. Well, let us know of your needs, and we will give them prayerful and careful consideration, but please don’t expect things to happen all at once. We need a little experience for this undertaking.
The operation of such temples will require some measure of sacrifice on the part of our faithful local Saints. They not only will serve as ordinance workers; it will be expected that they will clean the buildings and take care of them. But the burden will not be heavy; in view of the blessings, it will be light indeed. There will be no paid employees; all of the work of operation will represent faith and devotion and dedication.
We are planning such structures immediately in Anchorage, Alaska; in the LDS colonies in northern Mexico; and in Monticello, Utah. In areas of greater Church membership we will build more of the traditional temples, but we are developing plans that will reduce the costs without any reduction in terms of the work to be performed therein. We are determined, brethren, to take the temples to the people and afford them every opportunity for the very precious blessings that come of temple worship.

Another important building in the Dallas area is the Dallas Texas Temple. Before its dedication in January 1985, Tyler attended the open house with his family. He proudly exclaims, “We have our own temple now!”

Clomp, clomp, clomp! Twenty-one pairs of feet walked across a wooden bridge. Twenty-one Primary children were about to travel back in history to a special place—and leave it better than they found it.
Primary children from the Billerica Ward, Nashua New Hampshire Stake, were having a service activity at the Minute Man National Historic Park in Concord, Massachusetts. The wooden bridge is a replica of the Old North Bridge, where the first battle of the American Revolution took place on April 19, 1775.
The children’s goal was to help clean up the park. Before they got started, a park ranger told them about the park’s history. Then their Primary president, Sister Stephanie Davis, reminded them how the founding of the United States helped prepare the way for the gospel to be restored.
The children knew they were in a place that deserves respect. They had fun without yelling or being rowdy. What does it mean to respect a place? Here’s what the children had to say:
“It means you want to take care of the place so that it’s kept special.” —Abby K., age 8
“It means you leave it looking the same or better than when you got there.” —Dallen H., age 9
“It’s like saying, ‘I appreciate you.’” —Taylor A., age 11
Then they put on rubber gloves and went to work, putting every piece of trash they could find into their garbage bags.
How did the children feel when they were finished? Good, because “this is a place where something really happened,” said Alden D., age 11. All the children agreed that it felt great to show their respect for an important place that’s right in their own backyard.

More Than Anything Else by Marie Bradby The beautiful art and few words express the intense longing of young Booker T. Washington to read—and the joy he feels upon learning the sounds of the alphabet.

“My favorite babysitter was my grandaunt Bertha Irvine, my grandmother’s older sister. She was a personal secretary to Wilford Woodruff, Lorenzo Snow, Joseph F. Smith, Heber J. Grant, and George Albert Smith. Sometimes I went to her office in the Church Administration Building and sat at her feet while she worked. Or I would play outside and climb on the building and around its big pillars. We’ve had twelve prophets, and I’ve known and shaken hands with six of them. I never even dreamed that I would ever have an office in that very building, but I serve today with a number of men who knew Aunt Bertha well: President Kimball, President Benson, and President Hinckley. She worked with Elder Joseph Anderson for years in the office of our wonderful prophets.