Gospel Story Finder

Fortunately, there are still those who observe such principles of personal rectitude. I recall riding a train from Osaka to Nagoya, Japan. At the station were friends to greet us, and in the excitement my wife left her purse on the train. We called the Tokyo station to report it. When the train arrived at its destination some three hours later, the railroad telephoned to say the purse was there. We were not returning via Tokyo, and more than a month passed before it was delivered to us in Salt Lake City. Everything left in the purse was there when it was returned.

In Liverpool, New York, USA, as Primary president Melissa Fisk attended ward council meeting, she gained insight into its power. When she reached inside her bag for a notebook, she came across a picture of 28 Primary children on the steps of the Palmyra New York Temple. All were covered with wasp stings. For a moment, the picture pulled her attention away from the meeting, and she focused briefly on the day the ward Primary had gone to Palmyra to enjoy the sacred feeling of the temple grounds. Unfortunately, when the children spread out their blankets, they had accidentally upset a wasps’ nest.
After everyone had been cared for, the leaders invited the children to touch the temple. The children refused because they were afraid that there might be more wasps. So parents and leaders stood in a line and created a path to the temple. This gave the children courage to move forward.

When school was out last summer, John Douglas (11) and his neighborhood friends built a two-story tree fort in the woods behind the Douglas home in Pelican Rapids, Minnesota. By sliding a couple of roof boards to one side, the children can see the sun peeking through the leafy treetops, and by popping their heads and shoulders up through the open space, they can observe the surrounding territory. The lower floor holds supplies for the fort’s occupants.

Katy skipped along the sidewalk toward the big oak tree at the corner of her street. The old tree made Nana’s house easy to find.
As usual, Nana was sitting in her living room, quietly braiding and sewing strips of bright cloth. The polished wooden floors of Nana’s house were decorated with beautiful rugs that Nana made herself.
“Hello, honey,” Nana said as Katy came in. Soon they were talking about what Nana called the “old days.” They looked at black-and-white photos together. Katy especially liked seeing the clothes and hairstyles her relatives wore when they were younger.
“Things were very different then,” Nana said with a sigh. “You know, we didn’t have cars or TV or cell phones.”
Katy couldn’t even imagine having to walk everywhere. “What did you do for fun, Nana?” Katy asked.
“We loved to sing together. We would gather around the piano in the evening and sing our favorite songs. Sometimes we’d sing ourselves hoarse! It was such a fun time.”
Nana looked off into the yard as if she could rewind the years and watch them over again.
Katy sat next to the coiled rug that spilled off of Nana’s lap. She traced the careful stitches with her fingers.
“I’ve been thinking,” Nana said slowly. “How would you like to make your very own braided rug?”
Katy jumped up and clapped her hands.
“I would love to, Nana! Can we start today?”
Nana chuckled. “Well, there’s something you need to do first. Go home and gather up old clothes that we can cut into strips.”
Her eyes twinkled as she leaned toward Katy, her voice quiet as if she were sharing a secret.
“That’s what makes the rug special. Because it’s made of clothes, the rug can tell the story of your life. Each braid is like a chapter in a book about you. Looking at the fabric of an old dress can help you remember the places you wore it and what you did when you had it on.”
Katy’s eyes widened. She pointed to the rug Nana was braiding.
“Do you remember all about the cloth in this rug?”
Nana smiled. “You bet I do! This red piece is from the dress I wore when you were born. I remember pressing my nose to the glass window in the nursery to get a closer look at you. You were still all pink and wrinkly.”
Katy and Nana laughed together as Nana continued to tell Katy stories from the rug. As soon as Katy got home that night, she and Mama set aside old clothes that Katy could use for her rug.
The next day, Katy took the cloth to Nana’s house. Nana showed Katy how to cut the fabric into long strips, braid them, and sew the braids together.
Every day after school Katy went to work on the rug at Nana’s house.
Little by little, the rug grew. As the days went by Katy learned many of Nana’s stories by heart. Some days she was the one who told stories to Nana.
One day, after adding a blue strip of cloth that used to be a favorite pair of jeans, Katy rubbed the palm of her hand against the colorful braids.
“Don’t you think that rug is about done?” Nana asked, looking up from her work.
“Not yet,” Katy said with a smile. She never wanted this time with Nana to end.

Both Katya’s and Ivana’s families joined the Church shortly after the Kyiv Ukraine Mission was organized in 1992. But both families drifted into inactivity before either girl was old enough to be baptized.
Ivana’s family moved when she was 13 to a home near a Latter-day Saint chapel. As she and her mother walked past it, her mother remembered the goodness the Church had brought into her life. She encouraged Ivana to go to church. “My mother knew that in the Church they would teach me only good things in comparison to the world,” Ivana says. She began attending church and activities and meeting with the missionaries, and when the missionaries asked her if she would be baptized, she agreed.

Service and missionary work are serious business for the Hankins. James’s mum started a missionary savings account for him when he was young. “I’m happy that my parents are helping me go on a mission,” James says, but he doesn’t leave all the saving to his parents. James has made considerable contributions to this account. Not only does he work Saturdays on Whitby Pier in a toy shop, but he also helps his sister and dad on a daily paper round (paper route). He delivers leaflets each month, and to top that off, he also offers to deliver leaflets for the local businesses in his area.

Of his missionary fund, James says, “I’ve got about 3,000 pounds [approximately 4,557 U.S. dollars] already saved up. And that’s by going to people I know and asking if they want leaflets delivered.”

It was Christmas Eve, and large, soft snowflakes were gently falling. Three small girls—Mary Ellen, Caroline, and Sarah Amelia, who was often called Pet—were home alone while their widowed mother was at work. The three girls were worried about Santa not being able to get down the chimney, so they decided to sweep a path for him from the outside gate to the front door. Mary Ellen, Caroline, and Pet were excited as they finished and went inside their home.
In the house was a very large rocking chair, and all three girls cuddled up in it. They were beginning to get tired, when they heard their family cow, Boss, mooing and mooing. “Poor old Boss,” Pet said. “She must be hungry.”
They were quiet for a minute; then Sarah said, “It’s Christmas, and Boss doesn’t have one Christmas present, not even something to eat.”
Caroline came up with a wonderful idea: “Our mattress is filled with nice dried grass. Let’s feed it to Boss.”
So Mary Ellen, Caroline, and Pet pulled the covers off their bed, struggled to get a good hold on the mattress, and pulled it into the front room. They put on their coats and gloves, then dragged the mattress through the doorway and over to the barnyard. They ripped open the mattress and dumped the grass out. Old Boss stopped mooing and got busy eating her Christmas Eve supper. The very tired girls returned to the house. They curled up in the big rocking chair and were soon fast asleep.
When their mother got home, she awakened the girls and told them to go to bed. Mary Ellen, Caroline, and Pet told her that they couldn’t because they had fed their bed to the cow. So that night their mother let them sleep in the big rocking chair.
Sometime that night, Santa came and filled their stockings with yummy things to eat. And the next morning a good neighbor came with a load of hay and straw. So old Boss got a second Christmas present, and Mary Ellen, Caroline, and Pet got a new straw bed.

When I started first grade, Mom said that she and Dad could not always be with me. And that if I ever needed help when they weren’t around, I should call on Heavenly Father and He would help me. I know that in the Book of Mormon and the Bible, whenever Jesus Christ needed help, He talked to Heavenly Father.
Dad travels a lot and was away one evening when Mom was making us a nice meal by roasting a turkey breast. She cooked it the time the package said to cook it. When she put the meat thermometer in, it said the meat was done. She told me later that she thought the meat was still a little pink but that sometimes when they add basting ingredients to turkeys, the meat is sometimes pink but still done.
We sat down to eat, and I did not want any turkey breast. I ate the other food on my plate. When we were finished, we sat down on the couch so Mom could read to me.
Suddenly Mom got a sharp pain in her stomach, and she bent over and stopped reading. “Wait just a minute, Malcolm,” she said. She started to read again, but the pain came back. This time she was doubled over on the floor, and she couldn’t talk. The dog was outside and scratching to get in. When the pain eased, Mom asked me to let the dog in, then doubled over again in pain.
I quickly dropped to my knees and asked Heavenly Father to help my mother. After my prayer, I asked her if I needed to call 911 and she said no. Within a few minutes the pain was completely gone, and she had no symptoms other than a few turkey-flavored burps.
Mom told me later that she just about cried when she heard my prayer. She felt so good to know that I would turn to Heavenly Father for help. And the minute I said, “amen,” she felt something change in her stomach. She said, “It was like someone turned off a light switch, and the pain, which had been getting worse and worse, started to get better.”

“When Lisa isn’t on the basketball court or at a Church activity, there’s another place you may find her. She loves animals; horses are her favorites.
“Some neighbors needed someone to watch their stable last summer, so I volunteered, just so I could be around the horses. Horses have a peaceful spirit, and I like to be with them.”
“The horses can tell she cares about them, and they really respond to her,” says her grandfather, James Larson.

Illustrations by Shauna Mooney Kawasaki
Good morning, Mister Matt and Miss Mandy.
Good morning, Mister Bernini.
What’s this?
It’s a thank-you gift for helping us stay safe.
We really appreciate it.
And we think you’re a nice person. Thank you.
Well, thank you right back. Now let’s get a couple of very nice children across this street.
At Mr. Bernini’s home.
I got a raise this morning.
A raise? How much?
This much!

One Christmas, my young son needed two dollars to make me a present. On Christmas morning, he was so excited about it that, in spite of the many brightly wrapped packages with his name on them, he insisted I open his present first. It was a pencil holder for my office—made from a jar covered with brightly colored macaroni shells. The two dollars bought pencils and erasers. I was pleased with his innocence and love. He then eagerly turned to his own presents.

President Oaks shared the story of a man named Mr. Gabriel, who helped thousands of refugee children. He created “tree schools,” where children gathered for lessons under the shade of trees. When he saw a need, he helped! God inspires many people like Mr. Gabriel to do good.

In 1946, the young researcher Arthur Hasler was hiking along a mountain stream near his boyhood home when he had an experience that led to an important discovery about how fish find their way back to their birth streams.
Hiking up a mountain, yet out of sight of his favorite childhood waterfall, Hasler was suddenly brought back to a forgotten memory. He said, “As a cool breeze, bearing the fragrance of mosses and columbine, swept around the rocky abutment, the details of this waterfall and its setting on the face of the mountain suddenly leapt into my mind’s eye.”
These smells rekindled his childhood memories and reminded him of home.
If smells could trigger such memories for him, he reasoned that perhaps smells could be as evocative for salmon who, after years of being in the open ocean, return to the exact stream of their birth to spawn.
Based on this experience, Hasler, together with other researchers, went on to demonstrate that salmon remember the very scents that would help them navigate thousands of miles to find their way back home from the sea.

On 27 June 1854, Rosa Clara had her first baby, a little girl, named Annie Augusta after President Farnham. When little Annie Augusta was fourteen months old, the family sailed from Sydney with a company of Saints on the Julia Ann, bound for California. Disaster struck four weeks later.
On the evening of 3 October 1855, Rosa Clara put her baby to bed while some of the pioneering Church members sang hymns on the deck. Suddenly the vessel struck a coral reef. For a little while, confusion reigned. Then, one of the ship’s crew swam to the reef and managed to fasten a rope. With a sling, the captain prepared to ferry the women and children one at a time to the reef.
No one knew what lay ahead in the pitch-black night. The women were afraid. Finally Rosa Clara, not yet eighteen, volunteered to be the first. Hurriedly, she helped tie baby Ann securely to Charles’s back in a brown woolen shawl and readied herself to be taken to the reef. But then, before Rosa Clara’s horrified eyes, her husband and baby were swept overboard by the huge seas. One of the sailors rescued them unharmed.
With enormous courage, then, in leaving her family on the wreck, Rosa Clara climbed onto the captain’s lap and was pulled, hand over hand, to the reef. Here the captain left her standing barefoot on the sharp coral, chest-deep in the sea, with the surf breaking on the reef. She stayed alone and in darkness while he returned for the other women. Gradually, most of the company, including Charles and baby Ann, arrived safely. But not all were so fortunate. Two little girls were washed off the deck and were lost; two women and a small baby drowned in their cabin.
When daylight arrived, the crew made a raft from timber and nails salvaged from the wreck. They managed to get the passengers from the reef to a small island, which became their home for the next eight weeks.
A barrel of hard biscuits and a chest of tea retrieved from the ship, as well as coconuts, fish, turtle meat, and eggs sustained everyone. They formed coconut shells into drinking vessels. With a large silk skirt also salvaged from the wreck, Charles Loge fashioned a tent for Rosa Clara, who was ill, and baby Ann crawled around playing happily in the sand. After repairing the ship’s boat, some of the crew rowed more than 300 kilometers to the Society islands (Tahiti) for help.
The Loge family and others were taken off the island two months after the wreck, finally arriving in San Francisco. There, Elder George Q. Cannon presented Rosa Clara with a small pewter teapot in recognition of her bravery in being the first to go to the reef. The teapot is a treasured family heirloom today, together with a carved coconut-shell drinking vessel and a handmade nail from the Julia Ann.

Meet Thomas from the Asokore Mampong Stake in the Kumasi area. He took the electrical class at the gathering place and now is confident to fix his fan, repair sockets and many other simple repairs in his home. He enjoyed learning this skill and is deciding whether to further his education in this vocation.

The sun shone fiercely on a hot summer day in Salt Lake City, Utah. There was some problem underneath the street near the home of President George Albert Smith, and several workmen from the city had come to fix it.
The workmen were not very careful with their language. They were swearing and using terrible language as the sun beat down on their backs.
Very few people had air-conditioning in their homes in the late 1940s, so nearly everybody had their windows open, hoping to catch any breeze that might cool them. After a while, the neighbors could hardly stand to listen to the workers’ words any longer. One of them walked over to where the workmen were digging and asked them to be more considerate. He pointed out that the Church President, George Albert Smith, lived nearby—couldn’t they show some respect for him and keep quiet, please?
At that, the men let loose with a new string of bad words and spoke even more loudly than before.
Quietly President Smith scurried around in his kitchen and prepared some ice-cold lemonade. He placed some glasses and the full pitcher on a tray, carried it out to the workmen, and said, “My friends, you look so hot and tired. Why don’t you come and sit under my trees here and have a cool drink?”
Their anger gone, the men responded to the kindness with meekness and appreciation. After their pleasant little break, the men went back to their labor and finished their work carefully and quietly.
George Albert Smith believed in treating others with courtesy regardless of how they treated him. On that hot summer day in Salt Lake City he handled a difficult situation with kindness and great wisdom.

A key document of the restoration of the gospel is a letter the Prophet Joseph Smith wrote in reply to a request of John Wentworth, editor of a Chicago newspaper. In the Wentworth letter, the Prophet wrote a “sketch of the rise, progress, persecution, and faith of the Latter-day Saints” (History of the Church, 4:535). It apparently was the first published account of principal events that occurred in the 36-year-period after the Prophet’s birth. The last part of the letter, the Articles of Faith, is a concise statement of fundamental beliefs of the Church. The fact that one heaven-inspired person rather than a council of scholars produced this remarkable document is another evidence of Joseph Smith’s divine calling (see History of the Church, 4:535 note).

He was leaving. His meager belongings tucked into his school backpack, Makoto slipped out of his room and down the hall. The morning sun was creeping silently into the house. Shadows lingered in the living room like quiet storm clouds after a summer rain. He would soon be free.
“Good morning, Makoto.”
Makoto stopped, hoping the shadows would swallow him whole.
“I said, ‘Good morning.’”
It was Grandfather, of course. No one else would have been up this early. Sometimes he wondered if the old man ever slept. “Good morning,” he answered meekly. It sounded like a surrender.
“You’re up early,” remarked Grandfather. “I usually don’t have company at this time of the day. Come sit with me for a moment.”
Makoto sighed and crossed the room. Grandfather sat on the floor, a book leaning against his chest. It occurred to Makoto that it was still too dark to read. He crouched on the floor, expecting the old man to ask him where he was going so early in the day. But Grandfather sat motionless, making Makoto feel very uncomfortable.
“I’m—I’m leaving,” Makoto stammered in confusion.
“Ahhh,” Grandfather acknowledged.
“Leaving. Yes, yes, Makoto, so you are. But it’s not enough that one leaves. One must have somewhere to go. Where are you going, Makoto?”
“It’s boring here in Kyoto,” Makoto blurted out. “I’ve seen everything, done everything. Now I want to see the world.” He wondered if this sounded as silly to Grandfather as it did to him right then—an eleven-year-old boy wanting to see the world.
“Good,” Grandfather replied. “It’s good to see the world. But have you any money with which to see it?”
“A little.”
“Well, it’s expensive to see the world. You’ll need money for trains, food, and places to stay. I could lend you some money.”
Makoto hadn’t expected this. Was Grandfather actually going to assist his escape? “I could use a little more,” he admitted.
“Well then, you shall have it,” Grandfather said, “just as soon as you answer a very simple question for me.”
Makoto winced. He felt as if he were being cleverly pulled into a bargain he could not win. Nevertheless, he did need the money. “All right.”
“It’s about the garden in the center of the house. You know the one I mean?”
Of course he knew. There were small palms and other trees, bamboo, many flowers, massive rocks tucked into corners, and a stone lantern near a pond topped with yellow and purple lotus flowers beneath which swam silver and white carp.
“Well, in the east corner of the garden is a chrysanthemum in a pot. Tell me, what insect makes its home in the leaves but does not consume them?”
Makoto knew the plant. At least he thought he did. He had seen it hundreds of times. “I’m not sure,” he finally admitted. “I mean … I guess I don’t know.”
“Too bad. We can try again tomorrow if you wish. It will be our arrangement.”
The light of day was beginning to scatter the shadows, and Makoto thought he saw Grandfather smile.
He would not be fooled again. For the rest of the day, Makoto scoured the garden, searching for the answers to the questions Grandfather might pose. He memorized every bush and tree, every rock formation, and the location of as many insects as he could find. When dusk ended his day-long study, he confidently left the garden and collapsed into his bed.
It was a new day. Makoto arose silently and dressed. His arms and legs ached, though he wasn’t sure why. Had yesterday’s expedition to the garden done this to him, he wondered. It didn’t matter. He would answer Grandfather’s question, get the money, and leave. The arrangement would come to a very quick end.
“A black beetle,” he stated matter-of-factly a few minutes later.
Grandfather nodded. “Yes, it is the black beetle that makes his home in the chrysanthemum. But that was yesterday’s question. Here is today’s. There is moss on the cherry tree. On which side of the trunk does it grow?”
Moss! He hadn’t noticed any moss. He had been looking at trees and bushes and insects. Was this a trick? Maybe there wasn’t any moss. Maybe there was moss but on a different tree. “I … I’m not sure,” he finally managed. “To tell the truth, I didn’t notice any moss at all.”
He could have guessed, of course. If there really was moss, it would have to be on the east, west, south, or north side. But somehow Makoto didn’t want to risk being wrong.
Grandfather chuckled softly and motioned for him to leave. He kept chuckling as Makoto steered his sore legs in the direction of the garden.
And so the arrangement continued. Makoto, on his hands and knees, scurried through the ferns and aspidistra—studying and memorizing every inch of the terrain. Each morning he had the answer to the previous day’s question. And each morning he would slink away, confounded by his grandfather’s latest query.
Weeks passed. And though it was difficult to pinpoint exactly when it had happened, Makoto found that he began looking forward to the daily quest.
Until one day. Makoto was propped on his elbows, watching two ladybugs wind their way lazily up the stem of a beautiful plantain lily, when the thought struck him like a peal of thunder. He had forgotten to present himself to Grandfather for a question!
That morning Makoto had dressed, quickly consumed some rice cakes, then headed to the tiny garden. He had completely forgotten about the arrangement.
Uneasy, he got to his feet. Feelings of embarrassment, anger, and dismay flooded over him.
Grandfather was sitting nearby on the porch, softly playing a bamboo flute. His eyes were closed.
Makoto quietly approached his mentor. “Are you awake?” he asked, realizing just how ridiculous the question was after he had asked it.
“Very awake,” Grandfather quietly remarked. “And waiting.”
Makoto wanted to ask what his grandfather was waiting for but thought better of it. Our arrangement, he reminded himself.
“I’m here for my question,” he announced finally.
“Hmmm, yes, our arrangement. I’d thought maybe you’d forgotten.”
Makoto shifted uneasily. At least Grandfather wasn’t smiling.
The old man hesitated. “The question is: What insect makes its home in the chrysanthemum but doesn’t eat the leaves?”
Makoto stepped back and almost stumbled. What kind of nonsense was this? Grandfather was asking a question to which he had the answer, a question he had asked before, the very first question he had asked. His heart beat wildly. He could answer the question, get the money, and leave Kyoto to see the world. It was as simple as that. That was the arrangement.
But something prevented him from speaking. His mind spun silken images of the garden before his eyes—the red plum blossoms, the persimmon and mulberry trees, the green waterfalls of moss on the rocks. Why hadn’t Grandfather asked about any of these?
A whole world was in the garden. His world. An exciting, ever-changing world, one he had only just begun to explore. “I—I’m not really sure,” he stammered, not looking at Grandfather. “I mean … I don’t know, Grandfather.”
“No? Well, perhaps the matter requires a bit more study, hmm?”
Makoto glanced at Grandfather, who winked at him. He couldn’t remember his grandfather ever winking at him before. The old man unfolded his legs, rose from the porch, and draped one of his arms over Makoto’s shoulders. “Let’s go to the garden,” he said softly. “There may be a few things that this old man can show you yet.”
Makoto smiled. He was sure that there would be.

I travel about 70 miles each day commuting to and from work. The Liahona (Spanish) is one of my traveling companions. The magazine is a wonderful balm. It comforts me, renews me, inspires me, and helps me feel closer to Jesus Christ, our Savior and Redeemer.
Magdalena de PittaSan Isidro Ward, San Miguelito Panama Stake

A year after I joined the Church, I had a desire to serve a full-time mission. During my interview with the bishop to fill out my application, he asked me, “Do you have any problems with anyone that you have not yet resolved?”
I answered no, because I told myself that I didn’t, ignoring the bad feelings between my father and me. I declared myself worthy and ready to serve.
The days that followed were extremely painful. The idea that I would have to reconcile with my father bitterly invaded my soul. My father never worried about his children. We all had reached the point where we no longer spoke to him. If I was ever asked about my father, I answered without remorse, “He is dead.”
I really couldn’t see any reason to try to reconcile with someone who wouldn’t take time to listen to me. I didn’t feel that I had wronged him. On the contrary, I felt that he was the one who needed to come see me and ask for my forgiveness. Nevertheless, the idea that I needed to go see my father continued to torment me.
One evening I went to visit him. He lived some 220 miles (360 km) away. The first hour of our conversation was a time for insults, mutual accusation, and words that truly hurt. In spite of our angry words, my intention to reconcile was strong. With the help of the Spirit of God, we managed, after five hours, to end with positive feelings.
After many tears were shed, my father and I were able to embrace, happy to finally understand the core of the problem that had kept us so angry at each other for so long. At the end, my father took a container of warm water and, while speaking, slowly poured out its contents, as we do in Africa to represent a reconciliation. He then gave me his blessing after reviewing all that had happened in the past and committing to repent of his mistakes.
I am so grateful to Heavenly Father, who inspired me to seek such a discussion that gave way to mutual repentance. As a missionary in the Ivory Coast Abidjan Mission I was happy to wear a badge on which was inscribed two names: Lagoua, my father’s name, and Jesus Christ, my Savior’s name.