Gospel Story Finder

Thi-Kinh sat in the shade of an areca tree trying to hide her anger from the happy villagers around her, for today was the day before Tet, the Vietnamese New Year.
“Tet is a joyous holiday,” her father had explained last evening as he gathered his eight children around him. “It is a time of new beginning. We must pay old debts, correct our faults, and forget past mistakes. Most important of all, we must forgive others and make friends of enemies. If we do not …” He looked at each of the listening children. “If we do not, bad luck will plague us during the coming year.”
Thi-Kinh flopped over onto her stomach. “Well, Nan-Tan deserves bad luck after what she did to me.” Nan-Tan had been a friend; now she was not. Thi-Kinh could never think about Nan-Tan without becoming angry.
“Thi-Kinh,” her mother called from the doorway of their mud hut. “I need you. See, the sun is high in the sky, and we must finish our work by noon.”
Already they had thoroughly cleaned the hut and decorated inside and out with fresh flowers. They had prepared special food for the holidays and bought new clothes for everyone in the family.
“Please hurry to the market and buy candles for our Giao Thua celebration,” her mother said.
Returning home, Thi-Kinh couldn’t stop thinking about Nan-Tan. Two full moons ago, during the time of examinations at school, Nan-Tan had begged to see Thi-Kinh’s answers.
Thi-Kinh refused and Nan-Tan, hissing angrily, told the teacher Thi-Kinh was cheating. Thi-Kinh had been disgraced.
“Be kind,” her father had counseled. “Nan-Tan must feel great shame for what she has done.”
But Thi-Kinh ignored his advice. Nan-Tan did not deserve kindness. After school she avoided her, and if they met accidentally, Thi-Kinh turned her face away.
Now it was nearly Tet. Thi-Kinh felt secret satisfaction because Nan-Tan’s New Year was ruined. Hadn’t she wronged someone and not asked forgiveness? She is at fault, Thi-Kinh thought, handing the new candles to her mother. May her New Year be most miserable.
For some reason Thi-Kinh did not enjoy the Giao Thua ceremony that evening. The weather was beautiful. Everything was lovely, bright with flowers and lighted candles. Still, Thi-Kinh felt uneasy.
She went with the family to the pagoda to pray for prosperity during the coming year. She should have been happy. Instead, she grew more and more troubled.
On the way home, Thi-Kinh drew her father aside. “Honorable parent,” she said, “I am most confused. Perhaps it is I who will have bad luck, for I hold anger in my heart for another. What shall I do about Nan-Tan?”
“It is for you to decide,” her father replied. “Sometimes the innocent must point the way.”
All night Thi-Kinh tossed on her sleeping mat. I am the innocent one. But point the way? How?
Thi-Kinh went through the next day automatically, half of her mind busy with the problem of Nan-Tan. She arose early with her family and put on her new clothes. She accepted, without the usual joy, the customary lucky red paper envelope containing pieces of silver. She tried to be cheerful when visitors arrived to offer good wishes for the coming year. As she helped her mother with the betel nuts and sticky rice cakes, her heart felt heavy.
Finally, at sunset, she could bear it no longer. “If Nan-Tan will not come to me,” she told her father, “I shall go to her. I cannot begin the new year with this feeling of wrongness in my heart.”
Her father bowed solemnly to her. “It is a wise person who knows in which direction happiness lies.”
Thi-Kinh took the shortcut through the banana grove to Nan-Tan’s hut. As she stepped clear of the trees, she was surprised to see Nan-Tan running toward her with outstretched arms. Tears were streaming down Nan-Tan’s face as she called Thi-Kinh’s name.
Suddenly Thi-Kinh felt like singing, for she knew that Tet would be a time of new beginning after all.

Ryan’s dad is a Cub Scout leader, and he also helps out with the Boy Scouts in the ward. Ryan accompanies him on some of the campouts and activities that he might otherwise have to wait a few years to participate in. After Hurricane Hugo struck near Charleston, South Carolina, the Scouts from the Hugheses’ ward decided to see if there was anything they could do to help. Brother and Sister Hughes, Joshua, and Ryan went with the Scouts, and Ryan learned a great deal about people serving one another.

I hope you can print my letter because I feel it may help a brother or sister who is struggling to find faith. As our Sunday School class discussed “The Currant Bush” by Elder Hugh B. Brown [January issue], I realized that I have had the same kind of experience. Last fall I was working on Sunday, but I thought nothing of it because I needed the money. I got involved in school too and began to become inactive in church. Then I got an important part in our school play—the best part I ever had. I was thrilled. Rehearsals began and conflicts arose. I knew I would have to quit my job and let my schoolwork suffer because of the play. This did not really bother me because I had a great desire to be in the theater at any cost. Well, just then I got mononucleosis and had to withdraw from the play. I was out of school for months and also lost my job. At first I felt very bitter because I had wanted this part in the play. I felt much the same as Elder Brown. I am a junior, and I had worked for this good part since I was a freshman. I also had plans of being the star in my senior play.

My dreams were shattered, my life’s activity stopped. I had to stay home in bed. For a long time I felt bitter. But then one day as I was watching the sun, I knew this was not a curse but a blessing in disguise. I had more than eleven weeks to think and pray. It finally came to me that the Church was the most important thing in my life, not the theater or my job. Now I am well again and am back at church. Every day I thank Heavenly Father for pruning me so that I was able to start over. I realize now the importance of attending church. Perhaps others can learn this lesson less painfully, but I would not change a thing that happened.
Robynann McfarlandKeene, New Hampshire

As he grew up on the farm, Ezra, or “T” as he was nicknamed, learned the value of work. At age four he could drive a team, and he was soon herding cattle, thinning beets, milking cows, and doing general farm work. When Ezra was 12, his father was called on a mission. The family sold half the farm and shared their two-room home with the family that operated part of the remaining acres. President Benson’s mother was left to care for seven children, and the eighth was born shortly after his father arrived in the mission field.
“Never did I hear a murmur from her lips,” President Benson recalls.
In this time of hardship, the family pitched in. Ezra was known as a “tease” at school, but he worked hard. He also found time to trap muskrats to help meet expenses, and to round up cattle in the mountains. At 16, he single-handedly thinned an entire acre of sugar beets in one day. He loved sports, especially basketball and baseball, and was a friend and teammate of Harold B. Lee, who later became the 11th President of the Church.

There are lots of great days every year: Christmas, Easter, the last day of school. But my favorite day of the year is my birthday. I love having a party with all my friends, and birthday cake is my favorite food. And I love getting presents!
Today was my birthday—the best day of the year! I got to wear the birthday crown and be the line leader at school. At lunch I got to eat a special dessert. All day I walked around humming, “Happy birthday to me!”
I ran home from school. Mom had decorated the house with balloons and streamers and a big banner that said, “Happy Birthday, Caleb!”
“I like it!” I told her. “I’m ready for the party!”
Soon my friends all came. I opened the door and showed them where they could put the presents they brought. Some presents were big. Some were small. Some were square. Some were round. I couldn’t wait to open them all!
We played games and ate pizza and cake. Then Mom called, “Time for presents!” My friends sat in a circle in the living room, and I got to sit in the middle while they handed me presents. I got a water gun, a ball, and a model airplane. Every present was better than the last!
Then my friend Collin handed me a present wrapped in light blue paper. It wasn’t very heavy. It wasn’t very big. It didn’t look like anything special. As I ripped the paper, I was already looking around for what the next present would be.
Then I saw what Collin had given me—it was a picture of the temple. All my friends crowded around to see what it was. They were all talking loud and trying to pass me another present, but I felt quiet and warm when I looked at the picture.
“Thanks, Collin,” I said. “I love it.”
When my friends left, Mom and I put the presents in my room.
“That was really nice of your friends,” Mom said. “We’ll have to write them all thank-you notes.”
I nodded and looked around at my presents—the water gun, the ball, the airplane. Then I remembered the warm feeling I got when I opened Collin’s gift.
“The picture of the temple is my favorite,” I said. “I’m going to put it on my dresser right now!”
As I put the picture up, I realized I was singing a different song than I had been all day.
“I love to see the temple,” I sang, and I smiled. It had been a pretty great birthday.

The following week I found myself thinking again and again about what had happened. Everytime I recited the poem to myself I felt renewed strength and happiness. The things I had read about God were more than just words. He really did know each individual on the earth and cared about everyone of us. This experience made my scripture reading alive and meaningful. I knew it would have an effect on the church meetings I attended. It had even more of an effect, however, than I had anticipated.
Sunday arrived, and I sat in our branch sacrament room. The meeting started, and all joined in singing the opening hymn. I carefully followed the words as we sang a piece I had never heard or sung before. It was a strong and pretty melody. Finishing the second verse, the conductor cut us off and gave us the upbeat for the third verse. I started in with the rest of the congregation but suddenly stopped singing. My heart beat faster as I read the words. I looked away from the hymnbook and silently repeated the verse to myself: “Fear not, I am with thee; oh, be not dismayed …”
Tears welled up in my eyes as I felt God speaking to me once again. Not only was his message poetic, but musical as well—a song of the spirit. I joined in with the rest, praising our Heavenly Father with this meaningful hymn. I knew I would never sing it again without being reminded of God’s concern for me.

Chris enthusiastically shared the gospel and invited friends to seminary. He spoke openly of his desire to serve a full-time mission. As he did so, his family noticed a change in him.
“He made up his mind he wanted to serve a mission,” says his father, Rod Yokoyama, “so he wanted to change his life and do all the things a missionary would be doing. It seemed like he was giving us more hugs and telling everyone about the gospel.”

I read the Book of Mormon for the first time about a year after I joined the Church. I remember well the night I obtained my testimony of this sacred record. Nephi’s vision of events that were yet future for him—in chapters 11 through 15 of 1 Nephi—was impressed with amazing clarity on my mind, and I felt I could testify of everything he wrote. [1 Ne. 11–15]

We stopped at a pizza parlor on the way home from the priesthood session of general conference when I was fifteen years old, and as a result I learned a lesson about tithing that I will never forget.
My father, my two brothers, and I were hungry. As we waited for our order, I saw one of my friends working cleaning off the tables. I asked him how he got the job, and he told me they still needed extra help. A few minutes later he came back and told me that the manager would interview me immediately. Perhaps it was because I was wearing a nice shirt and a tie, but the employer seemed impressed. The interview went well. I expressed my wish not to work on Sundays, and he said there would be no problem—plenty of people would work for me. I was hired to begin work as soon as I could.
During the next two years, I gradually worked my way up to the position of pizza cook. Then one evening as I began my shift, I noticed one of my scheduled days had been taken off the calendar. My boss told me that if I wanted to work the regular number of hours, Sunday was open. I worked one Sunday and felt terrible about it, so I declined to work on the Sabbath from then on. My relations with my employer started to deteriorate, and I began to look for another job.
It was interesting that although I was fairly adamant about keeping the Sabbath day holy, I was lax in obeying another commandment—the law of tithing. I didn’t pay tithing at all, unless my parents prompted me. Then I’d say, “Yes, yes,” and put something in the envelope the next week. I just couldn’t understand the sense in giving away one-tenth of my hard-earned money.
I kept searching for a job but with no results. I prayed to my Father in Heaven sincerely, confident that he would help me find employment. One evening while praying, a thought came to me. Why should the Lord help me find another job if I wasn’t paying tithing on the income from my current job?
I studied a couple of scriptures:
“And prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it.” (Mal. 3:10.)
I decided to obey the commandment. I went to the bank and secured a large sum of money from my savings account to pay the tithing I had missed. I took it over to the bishop’s house that very evening.
In my pursuit of better employment, I had applied for work in a shop that installed car mufflers. This was in January, and they said they wouldn’t need any additional help until the following December. Two days after I paid my tithing, someone from the shop telephoned with an offer for me to start work the next day. By the time I left on my mission, I was earning three times as much money as I had earned cooking pizza, plus a good commission. I was able to finance half of the expense of my mission by myself. Furthermore, after I had been in the mission field about a year, my employer from the muffler shop called my parents and asked if he could help pay the rest of my mission expenses.
Some might say that all these things happened coincidentally. I would be inclined to say that I was blessed because I finally started living a gospel principle. Tithing opens a door to blessings from the Lord.

During the current Covid pandemic, missionaries are based in their apartments or chapels. Though fewer in number, they are using social media to reach out to many more people than they have previously been able to work with. Hats are no longer essential and dress standards have been adjusted to suit conditions wherever the missionaries are based.

We who do not have children can wallow in self-pity—or we can experience “birth pains” as we struggle to open the passageway to eternal life for ourselves and others. I bear testimony to you that instead of wrapping your empty and aching arms around yourself, you can reach out to others. As you do so, one day you will even be able to hold your friends’ babies and rejoice. You will be able to rejoice with the mother of a new bride, and the mother of a newly called missionary, and even with your friends the day they become grandmothers. How can that be? Let me tell you.

One year my heart cried out as I anticipated Christmas approaching. Although my husband and I could share in the joy and excitement of our nieces and nephews, it wasn’t like having our own children at such a special time of the year. The whole thing seemed to me to be unfair. I felt a darkness and a despondency settle over me, and I did what I’d learned to do over the years. I got on my knees and prayed for insight.

My answer came when I opened the scriptures to Doctrine and Covenants 88:67–68 [D&C 88:67–68]: “And if your eye be single to my glory [and remember, God’s glory is to help to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man” (Moses 1:39)] your whole bodies shall be filled with light, and there shall be no darkness in you; and that body which is filled with light comprehendeth all things.

“Therefore, sanctify yourselves that your minds become single to God, and the days will come that ye shall see him; for he will unveil his face unto you, and it shall be in his own time, and in his own way, and according to his own will.”

I don’t know how long it will be for you. For us it was years. But one day you will gain an eternal perspective, and you will feel peace not pain, hope not despair. I would have liked so much to have received that insight years before, but I know that had that happened, I would have been deprived of the growth that comes from being comforted by the witness of the Spirit after the trial of my faith.

I’ve definitely noticed how I’ve changed through my depression. The Savior’s Atonement is real, my heart has been changed, and I’ve gotten stronger. I feel like I’m a different person than I once was. People notice and say, “You’ve changed.” One girl from school even said, “I see a difference and a light in you.” It’s weird because she isn’t even a member of the Church, and we hadn’t ever really talked before.

“Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, 8th, 9th, and 10th of July.—I was with the Twelve selecting hymns, for the purpose of compiling a hymn book.
“About this time much sickness began to manifest itself among the brethren, as well as among the inhabitants of the place, so that this week and the following were generally spent visiting the sick and administering to them …
“Sunday, 21.—There was no meeting on account of much rain and much sickness, however many of the sick were this day raised up by the power of God, through the instrumentality of the Elders of Israel ministering unto them in the name of Jesus Christ.
“Monday and Tuesday, 22nd and 23rd.—The sick were administered unto with great success, but many remain sick, and new cases are occurring daily.
“Sunday, 28.—Meeting was held as usual. Elder Parley P. Pratt preached on the gathering of Israel. In the afternoon Orson Pratt addressed the Church on the necessity of keeping the commandments of God. I spoke, and admonished the members of the Church individually to set their houses in order, to make clean the inside of the platter, and to meet on the next Sabbath to partake of the Sacrament, in order that by our obedience to the ordinances, we might be enabled to prevail with God against the destroyer, and that the sick might be healed.
“All this week chiefly spent among the sick, who in general are gaining strength, and recovering health.”6

“Okay, give me a big smile,” the photographer said to Natalie Omer of West Valley City, Utah, as he snapped her senior picture.
Natalie had no idea that would be her last big smile for some time. Three hours later, her face would be destroyed.
That afternoon, the energetic redhead went about her duties as track team manager, measuring shot put distances. Perhaps the senior prom was on her mind—she’d been asked the week before. All she knows is that it was between heats, and no one was supposed to be throwing. So when she heard the call, “Heads up!” the last thing she expected was to see a 12-pound ball of iron hurtling toward her.
A thrower had tried to get in one last practice throw. His shot smashed into Natalie’s face, crushing bones, blackening eyes, knocking out teeth. Blood was everywhere. Fortunately, Natalie’s memory fled, and she doesn’t remember a thing.
She does remember, however, waking in the hospital more than 24 hours later. Her pain was intense, but she had a question she wanted answered immediately. “Who did this?” were her first cognizant words through bruised and swollen lips. “Find out who did this!”
Her mother said she’d find out. She’d been so concerned over her daughter she hadn’t thought about whoever was responsible for the terrible accident, but now knew she’d better.
“Mom,” Natalie murmured. “Find out who did it, and tell him that I’m okay. He doesn’t have to worry. I’m not mad. It was an accident. I forgive him.”
Natalie’s mother was stunned. “Those wouldn’t have been my first words or reactions,” she admitted.
Several months later, Natalie, smiling again, talks about the accident. Her jaw is no longer wired, and she hardly notices the metal plates embedded in her face, or her permanent false teeth. “The doctor said I could have gone to the prom afterwards,” she says. “But my face was purple and my teeth were gone, so I decided not to. I did graduate with my class though,” she laughs.
“I really think I had help in forgiving the one who did it,” she reflects. “I never felt any anger, but I worried that he thought I might. My injuries were physical and could heal. But his injuries were emotional, and he might have to carry them for life. I don’t want him to be miserable. These things happen.”
Just to make sure, Natalie wrote him a note as soon as she got home from the hospital, telling him she didn’t hold him responsible. Since he was from another school, she told him she’d even like to meet him in person—after she healed, of course. She knew it would make him feel worse to see just how bad her injuries were.
“I learned so much from this,” Natalie says. “I learned how supportive my family, friends, and ward could be. I learned a lot about the power of prayers and blessings. And I learned about the power of forgiveness. It would have been pointless to have to heal bad feelings on the inside while I was trying to heal on the outside. Forgiving quickly was just as good for me as it was for him.
“So I guess you could say I learned a lot about Christ, too,” she added. More than many of us ever do.

One extremely hot afternoon I was crossing the green agricultural lands of the Pampas in Argentina. The sun was scorching the highway to the point that the heat waves became visible. Nevertheless, I was confident and comfortable because I had just purchased a brand-new car, fresh from the factory, with a big motor and plenty of power to conquer the elements and allow me to travel briskly in air-conditioned comfort.
Suddenly, I noticed that the temperature in my new car had begun to climb and the big motor began to show signs of strain. When the temperature gauge got to the danger point, I pulled the car over to the side of the road in the hope that with my very limited knowledge of mechanics I could discover what was wrong with the car. I must admit I was rather disgusted to think that something could stop my big new car. It wasn’t long after I had lifted the hood that I discovered, to my amazement, that a myriad of colorful little butterflies had collected on the radiator, choked off the cooling process, and stopped the car. I was then struck with the realization of how a few hundred little butterflies, in their collective strength, could master the immense horsepower of the motor. No, it wasn’t an eagle, a hawk, or anything else more or less justifiable, but just a couple hundred little butterflies.
This incident made me think about what often happens in our own lives. I thought about the tremendous potential that exists in each one of us, potential that can direct us to eternal life.

Another former missionary says, “Texting, listening to messages, and even taking phone calls can wait. Do it in your private time rather than in front of others.” He said, “My mission president had a cell phone, but he kept it on silent and never answered it in a conference or interview. We always knew we were his priority at the moment.”

In the 1960s, a professor at Stanford University began a modest experiment testing the willpower of four-year-old children. He placed before them a large marshmallow and then told them they could eat it right away or, if they waited for 15 minutes, they could have two marshmallows.
He then left the children alone and watched what happened behind a two-way mirror. Some of the children ate the marshmallow immediately; some could wait only a few minutes before giving in to temptation. Only 30 percent were able to wait.
It was a mildly interesting experiment, and the professor moved on to other areas of research, for, in his own words, “there are only so many things you can do with kids trying not to eat marshmallows.” But as time went on, he kept track of the children and began to notice an interesting correlation: the children who could not wait struggled later in life and had more behavioral problems, while those who waited tended to be more positive and better motivated, have higher grades and incomes, and have healthier relationships.
What started as a simple experiment with children and marshmallows became a landmark study suggesting that the ability to wait—to be patient—was a key character trait that might predict later success in life.

Wayne Bennett, a junior high instructor in Ventura, California, noted that he has been turned down for house insurance because of his deafness. The former deaf missionary also told about a deaf friend who worked in a supermarket. “When the boss needed his attention, he would throw an orange at him. Finally, one day my friend, with a watermelon in his hand, went up to the man and said, ‘The next time you throw an orange at me, you get a watermelon in the head.’ The young man, who was six feet tall and weighed 200 pounds, had no further trouble.”

Terence M. Vinson
(104) The prayer of a faithful Church member in Papua New Guinea is answered when rain suddenly puts out a fire that threatens village crops.

Marci dropped her sleeping bag on the kitchen floor. “I was trapped!” she wailed to her mother. “Just trapped. What else could I do?”
“You really had no choice,” said Mother. “Anyway, I agree with Hoa and her parents. If you had Hoa spend the night with you, then you should be willing to spend a night with her.”
“But, Mom,” groaned Marci. “That’s different. They live in a one-bedroom apartment. Hoa, her little sister, and I will be sleeping in the front room. And that’s part of the kitchen!”
Marci didn’t expect an answer. She could hear the car in the driveway and knew Dad was waiting. Sighing, she picked up her sleeping bag. “Well, I guess I have to go. Hoa would be very hurt if I didn’t.”
As Marci entered the apartment where her friend Hoa lived, Hoa’s mother turned from the stove. “We are most glad you came, Marci. We thank you.”
Marci smiled and put her sleeping bag under the kitchen table. Hoa was pouring rice into a pot. “What are you doing,” Marci asked.
“I always fix the rice for dinner,” answered Hoa. A small face peeked from behind her legs. “This is my little sister, Truc.”
Marci knelt down and touched the little girl on the arm. “Hello, Truc,” she said. “I’ve wanted to meet you.”
Truc waved a few fingers at Marci, and Marci reached for her hand.
“She’s cute,” said Marci. “I would baby-sit her any day.”
Hoa’s mother turned around and asked, “What is ‘baby-sit?’”
“I would watch Truc for you,” answered Marci.
The mother smiled. “No need,” she said. “Where I go, Truc goes or Hoa watches her.”
“Vietnamese do not use baby-sitters,” explained Hoa. She winked at Marci. “But you baby-sit me. I always have to ask you what to do.”
Marci laughed. That was true. She had been explaining different things to her new friend for six months now, ever since Hoa had come to her school.
When the father came home, they sat down for dinner. Marci thought it was very quiet, not like dinner at her house. Everyone spoke softly, and Marci could feel her voice become quieter.
“Does your name have a meaning, Marci?” asked Hoa’s father.
“I don’t understand,” said Marci.
“Vietnamese names have another meaning,” explained Hoa. “Mine means flower. Truc means bamboo.”
Marci studied Hoa. She does look like a flower. Marci looked at Truc. She wasn’t sure she resembled bamboo. “I wish my name did have another meaning, but I don’t think the names of many people in the United States do.”
After dinner, Hoa’s mother began cooking again.
“What are you making, Mother?” asked Hoa.
“For Marci I would like to make pho,” she replied. “We will eat it in the morning.”
“Oh, good!” Hoa smiled and turned to Marci. “Pho is like a soup. It is made with beef and egg noodles. You will like it.”
Marci nodded. She was sitting on the floor and Truc was on her lap. Marci looked around the room. There were no toys. A small television set was perched on a low table, but no one seemed interested in turning it on.
“Truc, have you ever heard the story of Peter Rabbit?” asked Marci.
Truc shook her head, and Marci began the story. Then she told her the story of Cinderella. After that, she related some tales about Daniel Boone and Paul Revere. Hoa and her parents listened too. They had never heard the stories either. When Truc fell asleep, Marci looked at her watch. It was ten o’clock! Hoa’s mother took Truc away to get her ready for bed.
Hoa’s father stood up and bowed. “You are most welcome, Marci. We liked the stories. I hope you have a good time here. Goodnight.”
Marci stood up and made a slight bow back to Hoa’s father. “This is one of the best times I have ever had,” she said.
Hoa yawned and brought out a mat to spread on the floor. Marci pulled her sleeping bag from under the table and put it next to Hoa’s mat. After the girls were ready for bed, Marci crawled into her sleeping bag and looked at Hoa. The warm smell of pho filled the room. “Thank you for asking me,” she whispered. “I’m really glad I came.”