Gospel Story Finder

The Prophet’s parents, Joseph Smith Sr. and Lucy Mack Smith, married in Tunbridge, Vermont, USA, in 1796. After six years of fairly successful farming, the Smiths moved to nearby Randolph to try their hand at storekeeping.3

The line of goods Joseph Sr. acquired with the help of Boston-based creditors moved quickly to eager new customers—not for cash but for promises of payment once harvests came in at the end of the growing season. As he waited for promised payments to pay off his creditors, he jumped into a new investment opportunity.

In those days Chinese markets were clamoring for crystallized ginseng root. Though Joseph Sr. had a hard-cash offer from a middleman for $3,000 for the ginseng root he had collected and prepared for shipment, he decided on the riskier but potentially more lucrative strategy of taking the product to New York himself and contracting with a ship’s captain to sell his goods in China on consignment. By eliminating the middleman, he stood to make as much as $4,500—an immense sum in those days.4

As bad luck or sinister planning would have it, Joseph Sr.’s shipment ended up on the same boat carrying the son of the middleman with whom he had declined to do business. Taking advantage of the situation, this son sold the Smith ginseng in China “at a high price” and kept the proceeds while spinning tales that the venture had been a bust, producing only a chest full of tea as reward.5

Meanwhile, just as this swindle was unfolding, the payments for a large inventory of merchandise had fallen due at the Smith store. In the face of demanding creditors, the Smiths hit a desperation point. To pay their debts, Lucy gave up a wedding gift of $1,000 that she had saved for years, and Joseph accepted $800 for the family farm in Tunbridge.6 The farm was the one thing that would have at least guaranteed a modicum of economic stability and long-term physical security in the often harsh world of the early American frontier. Now, penniless and landless, the Smiths would be forced to move eight times in 14 years, constantly looking for a way to provide for their family.

On Brother Wayman’s last day at Cornell, he was saying good-bye to friends when Kim Ho Jik approached him. Brother Wayman felt impelled to ask the Korean why he had decided to leave his homeland and family to study in the United States. The Korean scholar responded that he needed the new knowledge in nutrition available at Cornell for the benefit of his people.
Then, Brother Wayman recalls:
“I bore my testimony … and told him that it was my opinion that the Lord had moved upon him to come to America … in order that he might receive the gospel and take it back to his people in preparation for a great missionary work to be done there. … I informed him … that if he refused to do the work the Lord had for him … another would be raised up in his place.”
Brother Wayman never saw Kim ho Jik again, but he left New York “sure that the Spirit which touched me when I bore my testimony to him touched him at the same time. I could see a change in his expression.”

Now, some of you older sisters may ask, “Haven’t I heard every Relief Society lesson? What point is there for me to go to Relief Society each week?” The answer to those questions may best be given by relating the story of a young piano student. His mother, wishing to encourage him, “bought tickets for a performance of the great Polish pianist, Paderewski. The night of the concert arrived and the mother and son found their seats near the front of the concert hall. While the mother visited with friends, the boy slipped quietly away.
“Suddenly, it was time for the performance to begin and a single spotlight cut through the darkness of the concert hall to illuminate the grand piano on stage. Only then did the audience notice the little boy on the bench, innocently picking out ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.’
“His mother gasped, but before she could move, Paderewski appeared on stage and quickly moved to the keyboard. He whispered to the boy, ‘Don’t quit. Keep playing.’ And then, leaning over, the master reached down with his left hand and began filling in the bass part. Soon his right arm reached around the other side, encircling the child, to add a running obbligato. Together, the old master and the young novice held the crowd mesmerized.
“In our lives, unpolished though we may be, it is the Master who surrounds us and whispers in our ear, time and time again, ‘Don’t quit. Keep playing.’ And as we do, He augments and supplements until a work of amazing beauty is created. He is right there with all of us, telling us over and over, ‘Keep playing.’”

One morning I was walking up a steep hill on the south side of the Brigham Young University campus when I heard a crash behind me. I turned around and saw a young man lying facedown on the pavement, his bike several yards away in pieces. I stood in shock until he weakly tried to lift his head. Then I hurried toward him, along with four other people who had been walking up the hill.
The student who reached the biker first carefully turned him over, revealing severe cuts on the biker’s lips, nose, chin, and eyebrow. Another student called for help on his cell phone. A young mother standing next to me offered a piece of cloth, and the first student stanched the biker’s bleeding lip with it. A second woman and I stood by, anxiously waiting for paramedics to come.
The injured man’s eyes flickered open, and he looked in confusion at the faces around him.
“Where am I?” he said. “What happened?”
The student holding the cloth to his lips answered, “You’re on the south side of campus. You crashed your bike.”
The biker groaned. “It hurts,” he said. “Help me.”
The student said that help was on the way and asked the young man his name.
“David,” he said, sobbing softly. “Where am I?” he asked again.
An older man in a suit—likely a professor—approached and asked David if he wanted a blessing. He nodded gratefully.
The professor paused. “I don’t have any oil, though,” he said, looking around. Those nearby shook their heads. The injured young man groaned and feebly gestured toward his pocket. The student next to him reached inside it and pulled out a large key ring with a small vial of consecrated oil attached.
“He has some!” exclaimed the student.
The biker calmed down as soon as the professor and the male students laid their hands on his head and gave him a blessing. A feeling of calm came over me too as the professor promised the young man that he would recover, be at peace, and draw nearer to the Savior through this experience.
Soon the paramedics came and took the biker away. As I walked to class, I realized that he carried consecrated oil with him so he could use the priesthood to bless someone in need. This day, however, he himself was blessed. I left with a deep feeling of love for faithful men who live ready to bless others and for the Lord, who also blesses them.

Maintaining your standards qualifies you for marriage in the temple. Incidentally, this is the 173rd Annual General Conference of the Church, and for just a bit of trivia, my wife and I have been married 73 years. So the year we were married, the Church would have been holding the 100th annual conference. I can remember that as I was holding Ruby’s hand across the altar of the temple—listening to the words of the sealing ceremony—I had a special feeling in my heart, not only of the sacredness of it but of the responsibility I had to live as I should live, to take care of her and our children, and then our grandchildren, and then the other generations that would come along. I was determined to set an example of living the way a person can live in honoring the priesthood and our marriage covenant.

Tommy’s mother also taught him how to love and serve others. Every Sunday before the Monson family ate dinner, Tommy’s mother prepared a plate of roast beef, potatoes, and gravy for Old Bob. Sometimes it also included Tommy’s mother’s famous ribbon cake with layers of green, pink, and yellow cake and chocolate frosting. Tommy’s job was to deliver the dinner to Old Bob.
At first Tommy did not understand why he couldn’t eat first and then take the plate over. But he never complained. He would run quickly down to Old Bob’s house, balancing the full plate. Then he would wait anxiously as Old Bob came slowly to the door.
The two would then trade plates—Bob’s clean plate from the previous Sunday and Tommy’s plate piled high with food. Then Bob would offer a dime as payment for the kindness.
Tommy’s answer was always the same: “I can’t accept the money. My mother would tan my hide.”
The old gentleman would pat Tommy’s blond hair and say, “My boy, you have a wonderful mother. Tell her thank you.” When Tommy reported the compliment from Old Bob back to his mother, her eyes glistened with tears.

As the Saints moved across the plains, their care for each other was organized in “companies.” One of my paternal great-grandfathers was returning from his mission in what is now Oklahoma when he met a company on the trail. He was so weak with disease that he and his companion were on their backs in a little wagon.
The leader of the company sent two young women to help whoever might be in that forlorn wagon. One of them, a young sister who had been converted in Switzerland, took a look at one of the missionaries and felt compassion. He was saved by that company of Saints. He recovered enough to walk the rest of the way to the Salt Lake Valley with his young rescuer by his side. They fell in love and married. He became my great-grandfather Henry Eyring, and she my great-grandmother Maria Bommeli Eyring.
Years later, when people remarked at the great difficulty of moving across a continent, she said, “Oh no, it wasn’t hard. While we walked, we talked the whole way about what a miracle it was that we had both found the true gospel of Jesus Christ. It was the happiest time I can remember.”

When my family and I lived in Rhode Island, a minister of a local Methodist church invited me to join with the pastors, priests, and rabbis in our area to help fight a number of problems in the state, such as the prospect of casino gambling. I was happy to help.
One day after our meeting, these ministers were talking about the sense of calling they had, a great inner feeling, that led them to become ministers, pastors, rabbis, and priests. They discussed how, during the course of their career, they had the feeling they should leave one congregation and “seek another pulpit,” as they call it.
I was most interested in this conversation. Then this good friend of mine, the Methodist minister, said, “Well, there may be some here that have a different idea of what a calling is.”
I said, “There’s only one person here who has a different understanding, and that’s me, so let me tell you a little about my own experience.
“When I was 12 years old, the bishop called me to be the music leader for the young men and the young women. I knew nothing about music and couldn’t sing well. But the bishop called me, so I did it.
“A Young Women president told me, ‘Okay, Robert. We’re going to make a conductor out of you.’ And she began to wave her arm one, two, three, four. And within 20 minutes I felt ready to conduct the Mormon Tabernacle Choir!”
Then I told these ministers, “Later I was called to other positions in the Young Men and in Scouting. I didn’t want to do those any more than I wanted to be a music leader, but the bishop called me and so I did it.
“And then one day I got a call to serve as bishop. I had observed what bishops do, and I really didn’t want to be called to be a bishop. But I was called, so I accepted. Later when I was called to be a stake president, I didn’t want to be a stake president, but I was called by an Apostle of the Lord, so I did it.
“Why is it that I accepted all these calls, even though I didn’t really want to do them? It was because I believe that a man must be called of God, by prophecy—which is by revelation—and by the laying on of hands by one having authority to preach the gospel and administer the ordinances” (see A of F 1:5).
I continued, “I do not believe that a call comes from within. It is not a feeling that you have within you. It is a call that comes from God, through the servants who have also been called and set apart to that very purpose.”
In the course of that conversation I perceived what an unusual understanding of callings that was to them. No one saw a call that way, even though that is the biblical understanding of a call (see John 15:16).
As bishop, stake president, and now as a General Authority, I have participated in calling people. I have had remarkably inspiring experiences of joining with another, generally a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles or an Area Seventy, to interview men we did not know. Yet the Lord revealed whom to call. Through these experiences, I began to get an even more powerful witness that the Lord does inspire and reveal who should serve.

Learning to improve relationships was the topic for the Sharon West Stake in Provo. In this difficult yet rewarding subject area, the girls learned about decision making, good manners, and the art of being gracious. Inspired by what she had learned at the workshops, one girl asked her younger brother for a date, taking time from a full schedule of work, school, and activities. Surprised and pleased, the brother said, “What, just me?” They did some of his favorite things and continued to build a closer bond. The gift of brotherly love was placed in the basket.

I recall an experience I heard at a stake conference in Idaho. A farm family in the community had just contracted for the installation of an additional and much-needed room on their home. Three or four days later the father came to the building supply dealer and said, “Will it be all right with you if we cancel the contract? The bishop talked with my son John about a mission last night. We will need to set this additional room aside for a while.” The building supply dealer responded, “Your son will go on his mission, and he will find the needed room when he returns.” Here was the spirit of Christianity—a family sending a boy into the world to teach the gospel, and friends coming to help the family with their problems. What then, indeed, shall we do with Jesus who is called Christ?

In modern history perhaps no more atrocious crime has been committed than the Holocaust, the systematic murder of millions of Jews, political prisoners, handicapped persons, and others by Hitler’s Nazi regime. Corrie ten Boom, a Christian political prisoner, survived the concentration camp at Ravensbruck, but her beloved sister Betsie did not. After the war Corrie traveled the world preaching sermons of reconciliation, peace, and forgiveness. Then it happened. She was called upon to practice what she preached. She records in her autobiography, The Hiding Place, the defining moment of her Christian discipleship:

It was at a church service in Munich that I saw him, the former S.S. man who had stood guard at the shower room door in the processing center at Ravensbruck. He was the first of our actual jailers that I had seen since that time. And suddenly it was all there—the roomful of mocking men, the heaps of clothing, Betsie’s pain-blanched face.
He came up to me as the church was emptying, beaming and bowing. “How grateful I am for your message, Fraulein,” he said. “To think that, as you say, He has washed my sins away!”
His hand was thrust out to shake mine. And I, who had preached so often . . . the need to forgive, kept my hand at my side.
Even as the angry, vengeful thoughts boiled through me, I saw the sin of them. Jesus Christ had died for this man; was I going to ask for more? Lord Jesus, I prayed, forgive me and help me to forgive him.
I tried to smile, I struggled to raise my hand. I could not. I felt nothing, not the slightest spark of warmth or charity. And so again I breathed a silent prayer. Jesus, I cannot forgive him. Give me Your forgiveness.
As I took his hand the most incredible thing happened. From my shoulder along my arm and through my hand a current seemed to pass from me to him, while into my heart sprang a love for this stranger that almost overwhelmed me.
And so I discovered that it is not on our forgiveness any more than on our goodness that the world’s healing hinges, but on His. When He tells us to love our enemies, He gives, along with the command, the love itself.

I have a very good friend who served as a Congregational minister for over 26 years. He had one of the largest churches on Long Island, New York, at one time. He became acquainted with the Mormons by visiting Salt Lake City and receiving visits from Latter-day Saint missionaries in his home. He developed a great admiration for the programs of the Church, primarily because of the fruits he saw that were produced by the Church. So he thought to borrow these programs and adopt them into his own church, which he tried to do. But he found that they did not work. His statement to me was:
“It was somewhat of a jolt to discover that the genius of Mormonism was in its theology, not its methodology, and that the amazing vitality of the Church sprang from the commitment of its members to the Restored Gospel of Jesus Christ received by revelation. It became obvious that one could not have the fruits of Mormonism without its roots.” (John F. Heidenreich, “It May Change Your Life.”)

The story is told of a group of men who were talking about people who had influenced their lives and for whom they were grateful. One man thought of a high school teacher who had introduced him to Tennyson. He decided to write and thank her. In time, written in a feeble scrawl, came the teacher’s reply:
“My Dear Willie:
“I can’t tell you how much your note meant to me. I am in my 80s, living alone in a small room, cooking my own meals, lonely and like the last leaf lingering behind. You will be interested to know that I taught school for 50 years, and yours is the first note of appreciation I have ever received. It came on a blue, cold morning, and it cheered me as nothing has for years.”

It was my experience as a small boy to come under the influence of a most effective and inspired teacher who listened to us and who loved us. Her name was Lucy Gertsch. In our Sunday School class, she taught us concerning the Creation of the world, the Fall of Adam, the atoning sacrifice of Jesus. She brought to her classroom as honored guests Moses, Joshua, Peter, Thomas, Paul, and, of course, Christ. Though we did not see them, we learned to love, honor, and emulate them.

Never was her teaching so dynamic nor its impact more everlasting as one Sunday morning when she sadly announced to us the passing of a classmate’s mother. We had missed Billy that morning but did not know the reason for his absence.

The lesson featured the theme “It is more blessed to give than to receive” (Acts 20:35). Midway through the lesson, our teacher closed the manual and opened our eyes and our ears and our hearts to the glory of God. She asked, “How much money do we have in our class party fund?”

Depression days prompted a proud answer: “Four dollars and seventy-five cents.”

Then ever so gently she suggested, “Billy’s family is hard pressed and grief stricken. What would you think of the possibility of visiting the family members this morning and giving to them your fund?”

Ever shall I remember the tiny band walking those three city blocks, entering Billy’s home, greeting him, his brother, sisters, and father. Noticeably absent was his mother. Always I shall treasure the tears which glistened in the eyes of all as the white envelope containing our precious party fund passed from the delicate hand of our teacher to the needy hand of a grief-stricken father.

We fairly skipped our way back to the chapel. Our hearts were lighter than they had ever been, our joy more full, our understanding more profound. A God-inspired teacher had taught her boys and girls an eternal lesson of divine truth: “It is more blessed to give than to receive.”

Well could we have paraphrased the words of the disciples on the way to Emmaus: “Did not our heart burn within us … while [she] opened to us the scriptures?” (Luke 24:32).

Lucy Gertsch knew each of her students. She unfailingly called on those who missed a Sunday or who just didn’t come. We knew she cared about us. None of us has ever forgotten her or the lessons she taught.

Many, many years later, when Lucy was nearing the end of her life, I visited with her. We reminisced concerning those days so long before when she had been our teacher. We spoke of each member of our class and discussed what each one was now doing. Her love and caring spanned a lifetime.

Our family had a vacation and drove to southeastern Utah to do some hiking and spend some family time together. We decided to spend a day hiking two slot canyons known as the Spooky and Peek-a-boo Gulch. The names of these canyons should have been enough to let me know what I was in for, but our children convinced Elder Johnson and I that it would be worth it and that we could do it. The description of the slot canyons suggested that we would see very unique and colorful rock formations. The description also suggested that Peek-a-boo Canyon would have several sections of challenging rock scrambling and a 12-foot climb to enter the canyon. It further said that Spooky Canyon at some points along the trail would narrow to only 10 inches wide and included in the description was a warning that said Spooky was more suited for smaller body types.
These descriptions proved true as we scrambled over, under and around rocks. We navigated through Peek-a-boo and then located Spooky Canyon. We headed down into the entrance of Spooky Gulch and started to descend quickly. At one point, we had to descend down a 10-foot drop to continue on the way. As we struggled to climb down this narrow portion of the canyon, we had to lean on each other and at one point my son had to catch me as I slid down the canyon wall. Often in this adventure I questioned, “Is this the right way?” or “This cannot be right?” The only reassurance that we were going the right way was the footprints left in the dirt. Others had gone before us.
Just as in life, others have gone before and showed us the way to follow.

Laurent B. of France remembers how it feels to be the one asking the questions. As a 15-year-old teenager attending Church meetings for the first time, he was impressed with the happiness of the members, especially the youth.
“I had lots of questions,” he says. “Unlike the students at my school, they didn’t smoke or drink and the young men and young women showed great respect for each other. Everyone seemed to have a sense of direction and purpose, and that was very attractive to me.”
He made friends with Jean-Michel L., 16, and his sister, Eve, 14. “They explained that the Word of Wisdom provides principles for healthy living,” Laurent recalls. “They shared their feelings about chastity and explained that it is a commandment from Heavenly Father, who wants us to be faithful husbands and wives for eternity.
“Not only did they explain their standards to me, but I saw firsthand that they lived what they believed,” Laurent says. “When you keep the commandments it makes you happy, and your happiness will help people want to know why you live that way.”
Laurent’s experience taught him that reciting a bunch of standard answers isn’t the best way to share what you know. The best way is to live what you believe. Then as the scripture says, “be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you” (1 Peter 3:15).

Later, when I was 19, I was a missionary in French Polynesia, and I had to learn to speak two languages, French and Tahitian, without the benefit of the Missionary Training Center. It humbled me to the depths of my soul. I learned that missionaries did better when they would do everything they could to learn. Even though they made mistakes, the Spirit helped them. I found that without the Spirit, we couldn’t do anything. But when we had the Spirit, the languages, as well as the missionary work, started to unfold.

While visiting the country of Sierra Leone in West Africa, I participated in a meeting conducted by a stake Primary leader. Mariama led with such love, grace, and confidence that it was easy to assume she had long been a member of the Church. Mariama, however, was a fairly recent convert.
Her younger sister joined the Church and invited Mariama to attend a Church class with her. Mariama was deeply impressed by the message. The lesson was on the law of chastity. She asked to have the missionaries teach her more and soon received a testimony of the Prophet Joseph Smith. She was baptized in 2014, and her daughter was baptized last month. Imagine, the two fundamental teachings that led to Mariama’s conversion were the law of chastity and the Prophet Joseph Smith, two points the world often sees as irrelevant, outdated, or inconvenient. But Mariama testified that she was like a moth attracted to the light. She said, “When I found the gospel, I found myself.” She discovered her worth through divine principles. Her value as a daughter of God was revealed to her through the Holy Ghost.
Now let’s meet the Singh sisters from India. Renu, on the far right, the first of five sisters to join the Church, shared these thoughts:
“Before I started investigating the Church, I didn’t really feel that I was very special. I was just one of many people, and my society and culture didn’t really teach me that I had any value as an individual. When I learned the gospel and learned that I was a daughter of our Heavenly Father, it changed me. Suddenly I felt so special—God had actually created me and had created my soul and my life with value and purpose.
“Before I had the gospel in my life, I was always trying to prove to others that I was someone special. But when I learned the truth, that I am a daughter of God, I didn’t have to prove anything to anyone. I knew that I was special. … Don’t ever think that you are nothing.”
President Thomas S. Monson said it perfectly when he quoted these words: “The worth of a soul is its capacity to become as God.”
I was recently blessed to meet another young woman who understands this same truth. Her name is Taiana. I met her at Primary Children’s Hospital in Salt Lake City. Taiana was a junior in high school when she was diagnosed with cancer. She fought a brave battle for 18 months before passing away a few short weeks ago. Taiana was full of light and love. She was known for her contagious smile and her trademark “double thumbs-up.” When others asked, “Why you, Taiana?” her response was, “Why not me?” Taiana sought to become like her Savior, whom she so dearly loved. During our visits, I learned that Taiana understood her divine worth. Knowing she was a daughter of God gave her peace and courage to face her overwhelming trial in the positive way she did.

In 2005, I gave birth to premature triplets: Milena, Mateo, and Nelson. Milena was born healthy, but my two little boys suffered complications. Mateo died of those complications three months after he was born.
A month after we lost Mateo, Nelson was diagnosed with cerebral palsy and deafness. We were devastated. Doctors told us he would never walk. At that moment, we were grateful for our knowledge of the gospel of Jesus Christ. It helped us understand why we experience adversity in this life.
Through faith and hard work, Nelson learned to walk and to communicate through sign language. He has done much better than his doctors ever predicted. He has grown up happy in our family and in the gospel.

Let me share an experience from a noble Latter-day Saint in São Paulo, Brazil. She tells of her struggle between paying her tithing or her tuition. Here are her words:
“The university … prohibited the students that were in debt [or who had not paid their tuition] from taking tests.
“I remember a time when I … faced serious financial difficulties. It was a Thursday when I received my salary. When I figured the monthly budget, I noticed that there wouldn’t be enough to pay [both] my tithing and my university. I would have to choose between them. The bimonthly tests would start the following week, and if I didn’t take them, I could lose the school year. I felt great agony. … My heart ached.”
I return to her story. First, she paid her tithing on Sunday. The following Monday she recounted what happened:
“The working period was ending when my employer approached and gave the last orders of the day. … Suddenly, he halted, and asked, ‘How is your college?’ [She described him as a harsh man, and all she could say was:] ‘Everything is all right!’”
He then left. Suddenly the secretary entered the room. She said, “The employer has just said that from today on, the company is going to pay fully for your college and your books. Before you leave, stop at my desk and inform me of the costs so that tomorrow I can give you the check.”7