Gospel Story Finder

Several years ago a friend of mine had a young daughter die in a tragic accident. Hopes and dreams were shattered. My friend felt unbearable sorrow. He began to question what he had been taught and what he had taught as a missionary. The mother of my friend wrote me a letter and asked if I would give him a blessing. As I laid my hands upon his head, I felt to tell him something that I had not thought about in exactly the same way before. The impression that came to me was: Faith is not only a feeling; it is a decision. He would need to choose faith.
My friend did not know everything, but he knew enough. He chose the road of faith and obedience. He got on his knees. His spiritual balance returned.
Some years after the blessing to my friend, I received a letter from his son who was serving a mission. It was full of conviction and testimony. As I read his beautiful letter, I saw how a father’s choice of faith in a very difficult time had deeply blessed the next generation.

I’m serving with my husband in Estonia as the first Finnish missionary couple here. When we visit and teach the Estonian members of the Church, we must sometimes travel long distances in the bus. Often I take the Finnish Valkeus magazine with me to read. At times, it has also had a few articles in Estonian in the local pages.
I’m especially grateful for the April 1993 issue, which has many beautiful pictures of Christ. I was looking through the issue one day on the bus when a middle-aged woman sat next to me. Seeing the pictures of Christ, she asked me where she could buy a magazine like that, since local magazines are not so beautifully illustrated. I had the opportunity to tell her about the Church.
While looking at the pictures, she said, “We Estonians need magazines like this.” I then found an article in Estonian by Marina Saarikki that discussed priesthood authority and started to read it out loud to her. In the middle of the reading, my fellow passenger said, “It is true.” We rejoiced in the presence of the Holy Ghost, and I invited her to attend our meetings.
Sister Mirja SilvennoinenTallinn, Estonia

It was the rainy season in the Philippines and had been raining all day. Rain often brought unwanted creatures into our house—usually spiders, rats, and such.
As my companion and I arrived home after a day of proselyting, we noticed a light on at our neighbors’ house and we thought we would visit them. We decided to stop at our house and pick up some photographs of our families to show them.
We kept the pictures on the bottom shelf between our beds. As I reached for mine, I suddenly felt a pain in my right hand. Looking down, I saw that a snake had just bitten me.
I called to my companion, Elder Regis, and he ran to see what the problem was. I showed him the blood on my hand and said I’d been bitten by a snake. A neighbor ran in because of the commotion and helped us look for the snake. We found it when it struck from under the bed at a board Elder Regis was holding. The neighbor cried out, “That’s a Philippine cobra!”
Elder Regis killed the snake. I realized I was getting dizzy, so we rushed to Bishop Rotor’s house because he had some experience treating snakebites. He hurriedly began to do what he could to help me.
My chest was becoming heavy, and it was hard to breathe. A darkness seemed to cloud my thoughts, and I began to lose consciousness. Then I heard a voice say, “If you want to finish your mission on earth, you need a blessing.”
I stayed conscious long enough to say, “Will you give me a blessing?”
The bishop answered, “Yes, just let me finish this first.” It was hard for me to stay alert, but I heard the voice persist, “You need a blessing now. You cannot wait.” This time I said in a commanding voice, “Give me a blessing!”
I don’t remember the words of the blessing my companion and Bishop Rotor gave me. But I put all my trust in the Lord and His priesthood. During the prayer I began to come to my senses, and I vomited repeatedly. As I heard the final words of the blessing, the vomiting stopped. I was aware of my surroundings and felt a warm feeling of comfort and love fill my body. I knew that my Father in Heaven loved me and I would be OK.
My zone leader, Elder Howarth, brought to the bishop’s home a doctor who was investigating the Church. By this time about two hours had passed. We left for a hospital located about an hour away from where I was serving.
On the way the doctor asked me to tell him what had happened. Elder Howarth said, “Doctor, shouldn’t we speed up?” The doctor’s answer was, “Why? He should already be dead. He is a lucky man.” The Philippine cobra is the deadliest snake in the Philippines.
If people say God is not a God of miracles anymore, they don’t understand this gospel or His love for us, His children. I know my life was spared and I suffered no lasting effects because of the power of God’s word: “And by the power of his word did they cause prisons to tumble to the earth,” wrote Moroni, “yea, even the fiery furnace could not harm them, neither wild beasts nor poisonous serpents, because of the power of his word” (Morm. 8:24).

It seemed like the bell would never ring. Why does the day that Grandfather comes always seem like the longest day of the year? Alma wondered. And when will—
The clanging schoolbell interrupted Alma’s thoughts, and he quickly ran out of the classroom.
“Alma Cutler, slow down!” his teacher Miss Young called after him.
Alma barely heard her. He just had to get home in a hurry today. Grandfather was coming to visit!
Alma tripped over a rock in the dirt road and fell head over heels. His school books and papers were scattered everywhere. He jumped up and gathered his books and papers into a bunch and continued running. “Why does everything have to slow me down the day Grandfather comes?” he said to no one in particular.
As Alma ran into the kitchen where his mother was baking bread, he went so fast that he couldn’t stop, and he crashed into the table, sending the baking flour flying like a cloud into the air.
“Alma Cutler! What on earth’s wrong with you?” his mother scolded, wiping her hands on her apron.
“I’m just excited to see Grandfather,” Alma replied. “Where is he?”
“He and your father haven’t come from the railroad station yet. Now get yourself out of my kitchen and go and gather the eggs.”
Alma hurried to the chicken coop to gather the eggs. He was proud that he didn’t break any, since everything else had gone wrong. But then when he went to get some chicken feed, he leaned too far over the grain barrel, and it fell over. Alma tried to scoop up the grain, but the chickens were eager to get to the spilled feed and scrambled all over him. He had a terrible time.
Once out of the chicken coop, Alma ran back to the house and yelled, “Is Grandfather here yet?”
“Not yet,” his mother answered.
Alma sat down on an old tree stump outside the kitchen window and picked some chicken feathers off his pants. “How come Grandfather’s not on time?” he grumbled.
“Good heavens, child!” his mother said. “Finish your work and stop worrying about when your grandfather will be here. He’ll get here when he gets here.”
Alma got up and kicked at some weeds. He couldn’t understand why he was the only one who got excited when Grandfather came.
At the side of the house, Alma picked up a bucket of potato peelings and vegetable tops to feed the pigs. When he got to the pigpen, Alma used all his strength to lift the bucket up on to the fence but he wasn’t careful where he put his feet. Suddenly he slipped and fell against the fence, and some of the messy mixture spilled on him. Alma was sure the pigs were laughing at him.
Alma put the bucket away and walked back into the house. Before he could ask about Grandfather, his mother sniffed the air and groaned, “Alma, did you have to play with the pigs? Now get yourself cleaned up before your grandfather comes.”
Alma went to his room and took off his dirty clothes and began to wash himself. He was scrubbing his face when he heard his mother calling out a greeting. “Grandfather’s here!” Alma shouted, letting the soapy water run into his eyes. “Ow!” he yelled, and he quickly rinsed the soap from his eyes.
As soon as he had put on clean clothes, Alma ran to the kitchen. Just before he got there, he heard his mother say, “I’m telling you, Father, I just don’t know what happens to the boy when he knows you’re coming. He complains all day long, wondering when you’ll get here, and he can’t do anything without it going wrong.”
Alma blushed, and he wanted to hide, but there was Grandfather coming out of the kitchen. “There you are, Alma! How’s my favorite grandson?”
“I didn’t mean to complain, Grandfather,” Alma said. “I just wanted you to get here faster.”
“You heard what your mother said, didn’t you?” his grandfather asked.
“I didn’t mean to,” Alma told him, “but—”
“Now, don’t you worry,” Grandfather said. “Come and sit down next to me and let me tell you a story that taught me a lesson about complaining.
“You see, Alma, complaining about being thirsty didn’t get us to the water hole any sooner.”
Alma looked up at his grandfather and saw a smile in the old man’s eyes. The next time Grandfather comes, Alma thought, I’ll be just like Hunkup. I won’t want Grandfather to be here until he comes.

Bishop Page, the bishop of our young adult ward, started by explaining that family history and temple work aren’t just for parents or grandparents—they are the responsibility of our generation and part of why we have been sent to earth at this time. Then came the challenge: FamilySearch indexing. In fact, he suggested that our ward index 100,000 names.
It would be a tremendous undertaking. Each person would need to index 1,000 names. Yet when Bishop Page asked who would commit to the goal, we all raised our hands.
The challenge quickly became important in my life. I downloaded the FamilySearch indexing software, read the tutorials, and began.
At first, it seemed difficult. The handwriting wasn’t always easy to decipher. But each time I completed a set of names, I felt more confident.
Because my family is originally from Chile, I chose to index names in Spanish. Perhaps for that reason, the experience felt particularly personal. I didn’t feel I was merely typing names because I realized that each one was a person who could receive the blessings of the temple.
I quickly discovered that indexing is a great activity to do on Sundays. Because I live far from family, I sometimes feel there isn’t a lot to do after church. But indexing helps me use my time in a productive way, and I can listen to music or talks while I do it.
I was fortified when our stake president quoted President Boyd K. Packer, President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles: “No work is more of a protection to this Church than temple work and the family history research that supports it. No work is more spiritually refining. No work we do gives us more power. … Our labors in the temple cover us with a shield and a protection, both individually and as a people.”1
It can seem that young adults are especially bombarded by the “fiery darts of the adversary” (1 Nephi 15:24), and here I was being promised protection. I felt a strong desire to help my ward members experience that same blessing, so a friend and I organized an indexing party. Many people brought laptops. People already familiar with indexing shared their computers and answered the questions of those just starting.
Over the next several months, ward leaders also held activities dedicated to our goal. When anyone got discouraged, we encouraged each other. I was amazed at the sense of unity we developed from serving the Lord and each other, together.
In the end, our ward fell short of our goal of 100,000 names, even though many individuals completed 1,000 names. Our bishop’s challenge, however, wasn’t about numbers; it was about helping us gain a testimony of family history. And because it involved service, sacrifice, and saving others, we felt its purifying effect.
I am grateful for an opportunity to participate in the Lord’s work. In doing His work, I came to know Him better as well.

In 1994, I was called to serve as a mission president in Manchester, England. In that mission, we had missionaries from all over the world. Many of those young missionaries had never seen the prophet or heard him speak, yet they loved and followed him.
One of these missionaries was Sister Kita, who was from Albania. When she heard that President Gordon B. Hinckley was planning to visit Liverpool, where she was serving, she begged me, “President Richards, please don’t transfer me until after the prophet’s visit.” When the prophet came, I remember watching tears stream down her cheeks as she reached out to shake his hand when he walked down the chapel aisle. Sister Kita truly loved and followed the prophet.

He returned to Ghana after earning his doctorate from Cambridge University in England and took a position as a chemistry professor at the University of Cape Coast. He spent the next ten years in academic pursuits, marrying, and beginning a family—unattached to any religious group. During this time he came in contact with “Reverend” Billy Johnson, who had come across copies of the Book of Mormon and started, without official authority, a Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Banyan had attended a church meeting, but couldn’t accept the tribal drumming and dancing that were a part of the services.
Eight years later Billy Johnson gave Brother Dadson copies of the Book of Mormon, Doctrine and Covenants, Pearl of Great Price, and Gospel Principles, along with the news that Latter-day Saint missionaries had recently reorganized the local church, this time with a priesthood foundation. Brother Johnson had been baptized and was called to be the first district president.
Banyan decided to give the new religion one more try. This time he attended a standard Latter-day Saint sacrament meeting with the hymns on cassette tapes. As he learned more about the gospel, he soon realized he had finally found the church he had been searching for. He was soon baptized, followed by the four oldest of his six children and, within a few weeks, his wife Henrietta.

Let me share another experience. In our home our children liked to do jigsaw puzzles. We have probably all had the opportunity to do a puzzle. Some are made up of many small pieces. I remember that one of our children (I won’t give his name in order to protect his identity) used to focus on the individual pieces, and when one did not fit in the place where he thought it should, he would become angry and assume it was no good and want to throw it away. He finally learned to do the puzzle when he understood that each small piece had its place in the final picture, even when he did not know where it fit at a given moment.

Since becoming a young bishop in Fukuoka, Japan, many years ago, Elder Kazuhiko Yamashita has learned from the good examples and attitudes of his senior leaders.
Soon after Elder Yamashita married his wife, Tazuko Tashiro, they moved from Tokyo to Fukuoka, where Elder Yamashita was called as a bishop when he was in his late 20s.
“That was hard for me and my family,” Elder Yamashita says. “We had three young children at the time and were new to the area—but it was also a very good teaching and learning experience for me, and my testimony and faith got stronger.
“Of course I had hard times, because my family was young and I didn’t have much experience as a Church leader beforehand,” Elder Yamashita says. “My senior leaders were good examples and taught me many lessons through their attitude and behavior.”

Soon after my baptism, people in my ward began asking me how I felt about serving a mission. To be honest, I didn’t know exactly what to say. The idea of leaving my family and school to serve a mission seemed absurd.
Then one day I started thinking about my conversion. I remembered the missionaries who had taught me, who had patiently answered my questions and helped me understand the gospel. I realized that without their help, I never would have discovered the true Church. As soon as I made that realization, the desire to serve blossomed in my heart. I could feel the Spirit telling me that I should serve a full-time mission.

I had a friend who was active for a long time in the Church. He always came alone because his family had decided they no longer wanted to come. I was impressed by his strength and courage. But then one day I heard that he no longer came to church. I felt strongly prompted by the Spirit that I should talk with him. I told him how impressed I had been that he had come alone to church, and I told him not to give up. That next Sunday he came to sacrament meeting and since then has continued to come to church. By being faithful and living the gospel, we can be examples to our friends and give them the love and support they need.Marina V., 18, Småland, Sweden

I thought about Dean Smoot’s comments, and how we as humans constantly try to push the laws of nature as well as the laws of God, when I read in the newspaper about a young man celebrating his birthday at a hotel. He and his friends had been drinking and were probably not thinking clearly when he decided to jump from one tenth-floor balcony to the next. Being successful the first time, he attempted a second leap and fell to his death. “We were just out having a good time,” said his friend, “but now] I realize how quickly life can be taken away.”

The Lost Purse
When I was recently assigned to a conference in the Mission Viejo California Stake, I was touched by an account of their four-stake New Year’s Eve youth dance. Following the dance, a purse was found with no outside identification. I share with you part of what Sister Monica Sedgwick, the Young Women president in the Laguna Niguel stake, recorded: “We didn’t want to pry; this was someone’s personal stuff! So we gingerly opened it and grabbed the first thing that was on top—hopefully, it would identify her. It did, but in another way—it was a For the Strength of Youth pamphlet. Wow! This told us something about her. Then we reached in for the next item, a little notebook. Surely this would give us answers, but not the kind we were expecting. The first page was a list of favorite scriptures. There were five more pages of carefully written scriptures and personal notes.”
The sisters immediately wanted to meet this stalwart young woman. They returned to that purse to identify its owner. They pulled out some breath mints, soap, lotion, and a brush. I loved their comments: “Oh, good things come out of her mouth; she has clean and soft hands; and she takes care of herself.”
They eagerly awaited the next treasure. Out came a clever little homemade coin purse made from a cardboard juice carton, and there was some money in a zippered pocket. They exclaimed, “Ahh, she’s creative and prepared!” They felt like little children on Christmas morning. What they pulled out next surprised them even more: a recipe for Black Forest chocolate cake and a note to make the cake for a friend’s birthday. They almost screamed, “She’s a HOMEMAKER! Thoughtful and service minded.” Then, yes, finally some identification. The youth leaders said they felt greatly blessed “to observe the quiet example of a young lady living the gospel.”
Elder Quentin L. Cook of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles

When he was eight years old, he wanted to be baptized. His nonmember father felt that Howard should be older before he chose to join any church. Even though he knew Heavenly Father wanted him to be a member of the Church, young Howard also knew it was important to do what his father wanted him to do. He honored his father by waiting for his permission. Five months after his twelfth birthday, Howard was baptized.

And, finally, be a good influence on others. When I was a sophomore in high school, some of my friends started drinking and smoking. They knew I didn’t drink or smoke, but they began to pressure me to join their parties anyway. The more they pressured me, the more uncomfortable I felt, until finally I stopped hanging around them. I figured that if they were really my friends, they wouldn’t push me to do things I didn’t want to do. Real friends would never ask you to do something you shouldn’t.

There were two young boys returning home late one afternoon. It was getting dark, and they should have been home earlier. Knowing they were in trouble, they decided to save a little time and take a shortcut by going through a pasture. The boys were well aware they were not to go into the pasture. The property was posted with “no trespassing” signs because of the presence of a large, mean bull. It was getting dark, and since the bull was in an area of the pasture where he couldn’t see the boys, they decided to attempt the shortcut. After they had crawled under the fence, and were about halfway across the pasture—at the point of no return—the bull spotted them and charged in their direction. The boys began running, but one of them stopped and said, “Wait, let’s kneel down and pray for help.” The other boy said, “If you want to stop and kneel down and pray, you do it, but I’m going to run and pray.” I don’t want to dwell on the “stop-and-kneel-down-and-pray” faith; I want to discuss the “run-and-pray” faith. I’ve always believed in that kind of faith. In James we read: “Even so faith, if it hath not works, is dead, being alone” (James 2:17). President Harold B. Lee once said, “If you want the blessing, don’t just kneel down and pray about it. Prepare yourselves in every conceivable way you can in order to make yourselves worthy to receive the blessing you seek.” Sometimes we tend to believe that if we have enough faith, anything can happen without our really putting forth much effort, without doing all that is possible, or without “running as hard as we can and praying on the run.” The Lord expects us to do all in our power as we exercise our faith.

One experience in particular strengthened Tina’s testimony of prayer. One day Tina and her younger siblings were playing in the church garden when they accidentally locked themselves inside. “We were just playing, and then we realized the door was locked, and we couldn’t get out. We started panicking because no one was inside the church to hear us,” Tina recalls. Her younger brother, knowing that they needed divine help, decided to pray. “He just said, ‘Heavenly Father, please help someone hear us and open the door.’ And then, not long after, the bishop just walked by and heard us!” she says. The bishop quickly unlocked the door, and they were freed. “That experience made me realize that Heavenly Father listens to us,” Tina reflects.
This experience deepened Tina’s understanding of the power of prayer. She realized that just as Heavenly Father helped them in that moment, He is always ready to provide guidance and comfort when she turns to Him. “That day, I learned that prayer isn’t just for big things. It’s for everything, even the small stuff. Heavenly Father listens,” she shares. Since then she has made prayer a more consistent part of her life, knowing that it is one of the greatest privileges of being a child of God.
Tina’s relationship with her younger brother also grew stronger through this experience. She saw his faith in action, and it inspired her to trust in God even more. “Seeing my brother pray with so much faith reminded me that we don’t have to go through challenges alone. We can always turn to the Lord,” she says. Their mutual encouragement has continued, especially in their efforts to stay active in the gospel. When one of them feels unmotivated to attend church or seminary, the other steps in to encourage and uplift. “If I don’t feel like going, my brother’s like, ‘Come on, let’s go.’ And if he doesn’t want to, I tell him the same thing,” she adds.

When I was growing up, playing soccer brought me confidence and happiness. So it was difficult when my soccer team began losing games. We had a history of winning, but now our confidence as a team was shaken. I also got injured and missed some games and practices. I felt disappointed in myself because I wasn’t performing at the level others expected of me.
One evening before a game, the coaches told me that a teammate would be starting in my place. I wasn’t surprised, but I felt discouraged. This teammate and I competed for the same position and had developed an unspoken and unfriendly rivalry.
As I watched my team struggle, I noticed the teammate playing in my spot get pulled from the game. She walked off the field, looking really disappointed. I felt impressed to talk to her. I approached and offered her some words of encouragement. She was surprised, because we hadn’t been friendly to each other before. As I walked away, I felt joy and peace come over me. From that day on, we weren’t rivals but friends.

I recall so well a young man of great faith and devotion. He was my friend and my mentor during a sensitive period of my life. The manner of his living and the enthusiasm of his service were evidence of his love for the Lord and for the work of the Church. But he was slowly led away by the flattery of associates who saw in him the means of their own advancement in the affairs in which they were engaged together. Rather than lead them in the direction of his own faith and behavior, he slowly succumbed to their enticings in the opposite direction.

He never spoke in defiance of the faith he had lived by. That was not necessary. His altered manner was testimony enough of his having forsaken it. The years passed, and then I met him again. He spoke as one disillusioned. With lowered voice and lowered eyes, he told of his drifting when he cut himself loose from the anchor of his once-treasured faith. Then, concluding his narrative, like Peter, he wept.

When I was a child, a neighbor brought us food during a celebration. When our family receives such a gift, it is customary in my home for my father to decide when the family eats the food. This time, my father was not home. I desired so much to eat the food that I cried and begged my mother to give me some. My mother didn’t want to disrespect my father’s traditional role, but she also didn’t want me to be unhappy. She cut some of the food and gave me a little to eat.
Later, when my father came home, he was unhappy about what I had done. He invited me into his room and told me he was disappointed that I had not shown contentment for what I already had. He taught me that peace of mind and a good life are only for those who are content with what they have.