Gospel Story Finder

A nurse who cares for the terminally ill says that she has often asked a simple question of her patients as they prepared to depart this life.
“Do you have any regrets?” she would ask.
Being so close to that final day of mortality often gives clarity to thought and provides insight and perspective. So when these people were asked about their regrets, they opened their hearts. They reflected about what they would change if only they could turn back the clock.

One summer morning Elizabeth saw a big moving van pull up in front of the house next door. New neighbors! Wouldn’t it be fun if the new family had a girl close to her own age?
Later that day, while Elizabeth was playing croquet by herself in the front yard, she saw a car drive up next door. A man and woman got out of the car. And then a girl with bright red hair got out. She looked just the right age! Elizabeth ran over to meet her.
The new girl’s name was Becky. Elizabeth smiled at her. Becky smiled back.
“I’m playing croquet,” Elizabeth said. “Do you want to play?”
“I’ve never played it before …” Becky said shyly.
Elizabeth smiled and held out a croquet ball. “Want to learn?”
Becky nodded and ran over to play.
From then on Elizabeth and Becky were always together. During the day they played and ate snacks in their clubhouse. At night they sat by their bedroom windows and yelled to each other so they could keep talking.
One night as the girls were yelling back and forth, Elizabeth’s older brother stopped by her room. “You know what you two need?” he said. “Soup-can phones.”
“What are those?” Elizabeth asked.
“All you do is connect two cans with some string. You run the string between your windows. And then you won’t have to yell.” He promised to help set it all up tomorrow.
The next night Elizabeth and Becky had their first soup–can phone conversation.
The rest of the summer was filled with playing tennis, picnicking in the park, roller-skating, and playing more croquet. And of course, every night they talked using their soup cans.
All too soon summer turned to fall. With homework and dancing lessons (for Elizabeth) and swimming lessons (for Becky), they didn’t see each other as much as they had during the summer. But almost every night, they sat by their windows and talked using their soup-can phones.
They talked about lots of things. If Elizabeth had a hard day at school, she told Becky about it. And if Becky had good news to share, she always told Elizabeth.
One day Becky left for her grandma’s funeral. She didn’t know how long she’d be gone.
“I’ll miss you,” Elizabeth said.
Becky nodded and hugged her goodbye.
That night, after saying her prayer and getting in bed, Elizabeth couldn’t sleep. She missed talking with her friend.
A thought came to her: Why not pray? But she prayed every night before going to bed. And besides, she had already said her prayer tonight.
But the thought came again: Pray. Pray as if you’re really talking with Heavenly Father.
And so she got on her knees again and prayed. Only this time she didn’t just repeat what she usually said. This time she really talked about how she felt about things—small things and big things.
Prayer isn’t just a bunch of words you say, Elizabeth thought as she climbed back in bed. Prayer could be like a real conversation—like her soup-can conversations with Becky.
In her prayers Elizabeth started talking about things that had happened to her earlier in the day. She talked about her problems and her feelings. She felt like she’d found another friend.
Elizabeth was glad when Becky finally came home. That night they had their usual soup–can phone conversation. And later, just before she went to bed, Elizabeth had another special conversation—with her Heavenly Father.

Sister Moulder went to a training center in New York State for more than three weeks. She and Buddy learned there how to get along together. On their first Sunday together in our ward, Sister Moulder taught us how to help Buddy adjust to his new home and friends. Did you know that it helps Buddy if we do not look in his eyes, pat his head, or rub his ears? When he wears his working harness, he must not be distracted. If we invite him to play, we will be undoing the good training he has been given. We help him best by ignoring him. We must never call him by name or offer him food. He should take commands and food only from Sister Moulder. She takes good care of Buddy, and she trains him to behave nicely around people. He takes good care of her, showing her the way through the chapel door, down the hall, and into the Relief Society room.

I had won the race. The prize seat in the minivan was mine. As I squeezed in between my best friend and the guy I had a crush on, I thought, “Life is great.” Soon I would be caught up in the normal chatting that accompanies any Mutual Christmas-caroling activity. Only this time, by some chance, I saw Chrslyn—left behind in our mad dash for the vehicles.
I knew Chrslyn from passing conversations in school. I may have even called and invited her to a few Church activities. But in the previous months I had failed to bring her into my circle of friends because she was in a wheelchair.
On that winter night, squashed into a minivan, as I watched her skillfully yet slowly struggle to catch up with us, I realized I also had a disability, and I knew I must change. I must treat Chrslyn as the daughter of God that she was. I decided to help her when she needed it.
As I tried to be of aid, I felt a little frustrated because I was being left out of the fun of the evening. No one even noticed that I was no longer with the group. At one stop, as I was helping Chrysln to her wheelchair, I begged Jared, one of the more outgoing young men, to wait for me. He complied, and soon the other youth began to notice Chrslyn and offer their help in various ways. The quest to help Chrysln soon became a game, as we each fought for a turn in pushing her wheelchair. We rotated the privilege of sitting in the truck with our new friend and generally kept her at the center of attention the whole night.
We soon had a system set up. I was responsible for lifting Chrysln from the vehicle while one of the young men reassembled her wheelchair, and then we were off. Even as we walked up and down the dirt roads that were becoming more mud than dirt, we were not daunted. This was our new mission, and nothing would stop us from helping Chrslyn have the caroling experience of her life.
At the last home we visited, we were able to park close to the house, so instead of reassembling her wheelchair, I just carried Chrslyn to the door. I was surprised at how light she felt. As strains of “Away in a Manger” (Hymns, no. 206) filled the night air, I looked down and saw Chrslyn smiling. Holding her in my arms, I thought of the Savior’s message: “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matt. 25:40).
In my mind I saw the picture of the Savior healing the lame man near the pool of Bethesda, and I knew this night another miracle had been performed. Only this night it was not the physically lame who had been made whole: it was I, the spiritually blind. I now saw Chrslyn as a person and a friend who had feelings and desires similar to mine.
That night ended, and months passed. Chrslyn and her family left our branch, but I know that through Chrslyn my life was changed. Even now, when I think of this experience, I am reminded to follow the Savior, loving and serving all men, no matter their circumstances, for we are all children of God.

I remember the day my Aunt Madge gave Pepper to my brother Max and me. He was a coal-black puppy, and we were thrilled to have him. We didn’t know a cocker spaniel’s tail was supposed to be clipped while it was small. So, as he grew, Pepper didn’t look like most cocker spaniels. He had a long, heavy tail and long ears which nearly touched the ground. He was seriously injured by an automobile but survived with a crushed shoulder that affected his mobility. He walked with just one of his front legs and was a funny little dog. My friends all made fun of him, but my brother and I loved him. He was our loyal, wonderful friend.

Brother Michael Bahati mentioned he had always wanted to apply his farming skills on the shamba, saying that it had been neglected for as long as he could remember. Brother Bahati made sure that he had reserved enough time to dig, dung, graft and prune. It would have grieved him if he had lost the harvest, which was not only for himself but was stored up for the benefit of all the ward members.

Illustration by Ben Simonsen
I grew up in the Church. My family and I went to church every Sunday, and when I turned 12, I started going to Mutual every week. Even though I was active in the Church, I still relied mostly on my family’s testimonies. I liked going to the activities, but I mostly went out of habit. Sometimes I wondered why I went at all.
One Mutual activity very clearly answered that question. We went to a local food bank and started by sorting through giant bins of food that had been donated. After a little while we divided up into groups to deliver food to different families in need.
We all chatted as we drove from one place to another. The families had big smiles on their faces when we gave them the food. At one point we all got out of the car to deliver the food together. The air was crisp as we walked toward the building. We crowded into a small staircase of a rundown apartment building.
We knocked on the door and waited for a bit, shivering, until the door opened just a crack. I could see a woman’s eyes peeking out. Someone in our group said a few words but stopped when the woman almost closed the door. We stepped forward with a box of food. She told us to wait and closed the door. The other girls and I stared at each other, wondering what was happening.
We waited for what seemed like forever. Finally, a man came to the door, the little woman right behind him with a baby wrapped in a big blanket in her arms. Tears of gratitude were in her eyes as we gave the food to her husband. Warmth started in my heart and filled my entire body, and I started to cry. I looked at the little family, and I didn’t know what was happening. I’d never felt anything like it.
Walking away from that humble apartment, my heart still felt so full. The snow on the ground looked more beautiful than before. I was more grateful for my family. I felt like I was going to burst with love.
When we got back in the car, I was quiet, thinking about how I didn’t even know those people, but I was so happy and full of love. I sat there bewildered until it hit me like a stampede—it was the Spirit giving me that warmth and love. The words of King Benjamin came to my mind: “And behold, I tell you these things that ye may learn wisdom; that ye may learn that when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God” (Mosiah 2:17).
My mouth nearly dropped open with the realization of how much God loves His children. He had just allowed me to feel a little bit of that love. He is aware of His children’s needs. He has a plan for us. It is a plan that I’d learned about since I was a little girl. It means that He loves me! In that moment the Spirit burned within me. I knew that I was supposed to be at Mutual that night so that I could learn that lesson of God’s love. And I didn’t have to rely on anyone else for that testimony.

Friends who don’t share your standards could actually weaken and tear your standards down. When I first moved to my new school, I tried to fit in by saying some of the things people around me would say. I almost forgot some of my standards while trying to be like everyone. I know now that in order to build your standards, you need friends who support and share your standards. I’m grateful I eventually found friends like that because they remind me of my standards.
Logan J., age 15, Utah, USA

In June of the year I was 12 years old, I was injured in a horse accident while delivering newspapers in my old hometown of Randolph, Utah. I was placed in a wheelchair for six months, until I first walked on Christmas Day. I remember the members of my deacons quorum presidency coming to my home to visit me—Dale Rex, Doug McKinnon, and others who were 13-year-old leaders in the deacons quorum presidency. They seemed to understand their responsibility to me as a member of their quorum.

I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, in the Diala ward in the Kolwezi Stake. I would like to share my testimony dating back to my years of secondary school when I admired a young couple who apparently lived in happiness. After beginning my university studies, I made the decision to get married before completing them, and today I’m blessed with a happy family.
The motivation behind this decision is based on the belief that the best place to nurture light and truth is in our home. The family is regarded as the Lord’s workshop where we learn and live the gospel. Each family member has a sacred duty to help strengthen others spiritually. Eternal families and homes filled with the Spirit don’t just happen by chance! They require substantial efforts, time, and the participation of each member.
Although each home is unique, it is essential that everyone seeks the truth to help make a difference. Today, my greatest joy is that my family and I have been sealed in the Kinshasa Democratic Republic of the Congo Temple for time and for all eternity. We express our gratitude to God, our Heavenly Father, and His Son, Jesus Christ, for the blessings bestowed upon us. Our marriage is a success, and we strongly believe that anything can happen except separation. The Mutobola family remains grateful and united.

Tracy pressed her nose against the big picture window and watched the rain. Tracy usually liked the rain, but today she felt miserable. Her two older sisters, Janet and Merry, were standing on the sidewalk in their bright pink raincoats, waving good-bye to her. They had a clear plastic umbrella to keep the rain off, and they were laughing.
Tracy waved to her sisters, then began to cry. She would have to wait another year before she could go to school too.
“It looks like it’s raining in here,” Mother said, coming into the room. She had the popcorn popper in her hand. “I thought that you might like some popcorn,” she added. “Janet and Merry will just have to miss out this time.”
“All right,” Tracy said with a sigh. She took one last look at her sisters skipping down the street, then followed Mother into the kitchen.
Tracy was a good popcorn maker. She poured in the oil, and when Mother said it was hot enough, Tracy added the popcorn and shook it just right.
Mother made caramel on the stove. She had to stand away from the stove, because her tummy was big with a new baby. She looked so funny with the apron trying to cover her big dress that Tracy couldn’t help but laugh. Mother laughed too. “I’ll be glad when this baby comes and I can stand next to the stove again!” she said.
When the caramel was ready, Mother poured it over the popcorn and shaped the sticky popcorn into round balls. Tracy put each one on a sheet of waxed paper to dry. Then they each ate a popcorn ball.
Suddenly the kitchen was very bright. “Look,” Mother said. “It’s stopped raining outside.”
“It’s not raining in here anymore, either,” Tracy said, pointing to her dry eyes. Then she thought of her two sisters and how much she would like to go to school with them. “I do hate to be here by myself, though.”
“I do, too,” Mother said.
Tracy was puzzled. “But I’m here with you, Mother. You’re not alone with me here.”
“I’m glad about that.” Mother put her arms around Tracy. “I would be lonesome without you. One reason that I wanted a new baby is that when you’re at school next year, I’ll have someone to keep me company. And this year while Janet and Merry are both in school, I can have you all to myself for a while!”
Tracy gave Mother a big hug. “And I can have you all to myself!”

We had a great time finding sticks, rocks, and weeds to make our diorama (Jan. 2025). It was a fun way to learn about the First Vision.
James and Penny M., ages 7 and 9, California, USA

We grew so close together over the years as friends that even after I was married she continued to teach me great lessons. We lived next door to each other. When I would return home from work, I had to pass her home before going into my home. During her later years she had arthritis, and I always worried about her health. One of the first days after my wife and I were married and I arrived home from work, I stopped in at my mother’s house before going to my own. I will never forget the experience of having her take me by the arm and escort me right back out of her house with this counsel, “You go see your wife first and tell her you love her. Then you can come and see me.”

The day I played tennis for the first time was also the day I vowed never to set foot on a tennis court again.
My friend had offered to teach me how to play, and I thought it sounded like fun. I’d seen him and some other friends play before, and it didn’t look that hard.
I was right: tennis wasn’t hard—it was impossible. From the get-go, my hold on the racket felt awkward, I didn’t know how to stand, and I kept hitting the ball either too hard or too soft—that is, on the rare occasions when I actually hit the ball.
My friend tried teaching me some techniques, but no matter what I did, I wasn’t improving. On top of that, the sun was scorching hot, and I was sweating in my poor outfit choice of a gray shirt and thick black pants. An hour into it, I couldn’t handle it anymore.
“I can’t do this.” I told my friend as I sunk down onto the court. “I am the least athletic person in the world!”
He came and sat by me. “It’s OK,” he said. “We don’t have to keep going. But you can hardly beat yourself up because you aren’t Serena Williams your first day on the court. You’re just learning.”
We went home, but I thought about that day a lot after that. My friend was right—I was just learning. He had been patient with me, so why couldn’t I be patient with myself? Eventually, I broke my vow and decided to try tennis again. Guess what? I even hit a few balls over the net! So I kept at it. Now it’s one of my favorite hobbies!
We aren’t perfect. We sometimes feel scared, embarrassed, or unsure. Conditions around us can make things harder, like the hot sun did when I tried to learn tennis. In fact, with everything going on in life, it can sometimes seem impossible to just get along with ourselves.

“Before our young children could read well, we made picture cards of words they were likely to hear during conference. We gave a reward each time they heard and found three cards. Sometimes we put a poster-sized paper on the wall and let them run up and make a tally mark or draw their own picture every time they heard a word or idea. Sometimes we cut out images from old Church magazines and let them glue a collage on a paper for each session. We put these papers in plastic sleeves to use as quiet books in sacrament meeting later!” —Anita P.

After a few years of marriage, Sandra and I had our third child, a little boy named Stephen who was born just three days before Christmas. When he was born, he could not inflate his lungs. He had a valiant little spirit about him. He fought for life, but the doctors said it wasn’t likely he would live. Our bishop invited the ward to join their prayers with ours for our son.
The greatest gift that special Christmas Eve was being able to give him a blessing. After the blessing, I felt prompted to go to Sandra’s hospital room and tell her Stephen was going to be just fine and that she shouldn’t worry. On Christmas morning, the doctors told us Stephen was going to be OK. They had no idea what had happened. It was a miracle. I’m so grateful for the power of the priesthood. We consider Stephen’s survival to be one of our family’s greatest Christmas gifts.

On August 27, 1982, my brother, Howard Pack, died of a heart attack while running a cross-country race. At the age of 17, he was taken from our family of 13. We love him so very much. He was an example to us all.

How I love my younger brother. Although I am two years older, I looked up to him. He was such a good friend. We mourn the passing of a loved one, but my family knows that “families are forever.”

I remember how I felt forty-one years ago when I was taken from a train in Europe at 2:00 a.m. by two soldiers of a hostile nation and held against my will. I was verbally and physically abused. I felt I would never see my family or my country again. I assure you that while I was held captive, the blood coursed through my veins like adrenaline. Though the captivity lasted less than a day, it seemed like an eternity. And when I was put on another train and sent back to safety, my gratitude to the Lord knew no bounds. I was free! As I talked to the train conductor, I learned that hundreds had not been so lucky.

They don’t get chased by dogs or have companions. They don’t write letters home on preparation days because they still live at home, in Pleasant Grove, Utah. But the Willeys—Anthony, 18, Elizabeth, 16, and Kristina, 14—are still missionaries, music missionaries, actually. They were set apart in the Salt Lake Tabernacle.
“When I was set apart,” Elizabeth says grinning, “I was told, ‘Now you’re the youngest sister missionary.’ It made me feel special.” And she enjoyed being the youngest sister missionary until a year or so later when her little sister Kristina was set apart and took over as the youngest.

Some years ago I spoke to a Mia Maid adviser who told me of an experience she had with one of the young women in her class. This young woman had been tempted time and time again to leave the pathway of truth and follow the detour of sin. Through the constant persuasion of some of her friends at school, she had finally agreed to follow such a detour. The plan was set: she would tell her parents she was going to her activity night for Young Women. She planned, however, to be there only long enough for her girlfriends and their dates to pick her up. They would then attend a party where alcoholic beverages would be consumed and where the behavior would be in complete violation of what this young woman knew was right.

The teacher had prayed for inspiration in helping all her girls but especially this particular young woman, who seemed so uncertain about her commitment to the gospel. The teacher had received inspiration that night to abandon what she had previously planned and to speak to the girls about remaining morally clean. As she began sharing her thoughts and feelings, the young woman in question checked her watch often to make sure she didn’t miss her rendezvous with her friends. However, as the discussion progressed, her heart was touched, her conscience awakened, and her determination renewed. When it came, she ignored the repeated sound of the automobile horn summoning her. She remained throughout the evening with her teacher and the other girls in the class. The temptation to detour from God’s approved way had been averted. Satan had been frustrated. The young woman remained after the others had left in order to thank her teacher for the lesson and to let her know how it had helped her avoid what might have been a tragic outcome. A teacher’s prayer had been answered.

I subsequently learned that because she had made her decision not to go with her friends that night—some of the most popular girls and boys at school—the young woman was shunned by them and for many months had no friends at school. They couldn’t accept that she was unwilling to do the things they did. It was an extremely difficult and lonely period for her, but she remained steadfast and eventually gained friends who shared her standards. Now, several years later, she has a temple marriage and four beautiful children. How different her life could have been. Our decisions determine our destiny.