Gospel Story Finder

“My father isn’t a member and wouldn’t let me go to FSY or be baptized,” says Jesiana, 16. “But then branch members fasted for me, and my grandmother talked with my father. After that he said I could go!”
At FSY, she experienced many firsts, such as, “participating in the lessons and activities and bearing my testimony helped me understand what it is really like to feel the Holy Ghost. I had never felt the Spirit like that before, and I was so happy and excited. I bore my testimony for the first time.”

Recently I received a letter from a friend of over 50 years who is not a member of our church. I had sent him some gospel-related reading, to which he responded: “Initially it was hard for me to follow the meaning of typical Mormon jargon, such as agency. Possibly a short vocabulary page would be helpful.”
I was surprised he did not understand what we mean by the word agency. I went to an online dictionary. Of the 10 definitions and usages of the word agency, none expressed the idea of making choices to act. We teach that agency is the ability and privilege God gives us to choose and “to act for [ourselves] and not to be acted upon.” Agency is to act with accountability and responsibility for our actions. Our agency is essential to the plan of salvation. With it we are “free to choose liberty and eternal life, through the great Mediator of all men, or to choose captivity and death, according to the captivity and power of the devil.”

I have many chances to talk about the gospel with others. I invite my friends to come to Primary with me. A while ago I taught my great-grandmother how we bless the food. Now we pray together over meals.

While recently reading the Book of Mormon, I came upon the following admonition: “Why do ye … suffer the hungry, and the needy, and the naked, and the sick and the afflicted to pass by you, and notice them not?” (Mormon 8:39).
Instead of feeling the peace and comfort I usually find in the scriptures, I was overcome by a lingering feeling of sadness. I had long recognized that I am not a particularly observant person. I had allowed myself to get so involved in my life, my callings, and my family that I just didn’t notice the challenges other people were having.
I knew I wasn’t doing all I could “to bear one another’s burdens, that they [might] be light; … to mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort” (Mosiah 18:8–9). I wanted to change; I wanted to be better. I simply didn’t know how. I prayed that the Lord would help me.
My answer came in an unexpected and unwanted way when I contracted a chronic illness. It slowly took away all my cumbersome busyness. As the disease progressed, I had to give up my outside activities, my callings, and my Church attendance. I’m housebound, I’m lonely, and I feel unnoticed.
I pray that someday the Lord will heal me. When He does, I promise myself that I will never be so blind again. When I arrive at church, I will look to see who is sitting alone and who is not attending that day. I will take time each week to overcome my shyness and visit somebody who is sick or afflicted or just in need of a friend. I will love my brothers and sisters every day—not just on Sunday or during Church activities.
I will remember and, I hope, be worthy to hear the Lord’s approbation: “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matthew 25:40).

I have a cross-stitched picture of two pinto ponies that I worked on for about a year. It was almost completed when I discovered I’d made a mistake in the color of one of the ponies. Since it was a possible color for a horse’s hide, I didn’t realize my mistake until I saw that the color of the pony clashed with the adjacent colors on the canvas.
I was devastated. I had spent all that time working on the picture, and the thought of taking out all the stitches of the wrong color was almost overwhelming. With tears in my eyes, I opened the trash can and threw the picture in.
I sat down at the table where I kept my sewing supplies to mourn the loss of my pretty pony picture and move on to other projects. But I couldn’t do it—I couldn’t just let go of the project I had worked so hard on. I opened the trash and retrieved the cloth. I found a knot on the back of the offending color and snipped it carefully. Turning the picture over, I began removing the thread.
Sometimes the removal went quickly. Other times I found it wasn’t so easy. I wasn’t sure how to undo what I had done. Sometimes I had to cut the thread one stitch at a time. My son remarked that he was impressed that I would go to all that work to make it right. It was only a cross-stitched picture, after all.
As I removed the stitches, I began to think of repentance and how hard it has been to correct some of the errors I have made. True repentance requires intense desire, labor, and suffering, but it is worth the effort.
As I restitched the horse, I was reminded that repentance allows Jesus’s Atonement to remove the stain of sin from my life and help me begin anew. My “repentance ponies” hang in my home, a gentle but vivid reminder to do what is right, never give up when I fall short, and remember that through repentance, the Atonement will make up the difference.

This conference was certainly like no other! We commemorated the 200th anniversary of the First Vision and Restoration while striving to stay safe during the COVID-19 pandemic. Members of the Church around the world gathered for the 190th annual general conference in their homes.
The talks themselves were delivered in a location other than the Conference Center: an auditorium in the nearby Church Office Building on Temple Square. Aside from the people who spoke, prayed, or conducted, the auditorium was empty. The music was prerecorded too.
President Russell M. Nelson and other speakers invited us to “hear what the Savior says and then to heed His counsel,” and they promised blessings as we do.

Downtown Salt Lake City was lit up like a Christmas tree. Shoppers laden with an abundance of bags of beautifully wrapped packages ran from store to store, purchasing this and that. Groups of carolers sang out the melodies of good tidings, welcoming in Christmas and the New Year to everyone. Snowflakes with many glorious patterns sprinkled like fairies’ dust over the city streets. There was a feeling of love towards everyone on earth.
I was walking with my dad on Temple Square, admiring the shimmering lights. Our family had planned to spend an enjoyable evening listening to the Mormon Youth Symphony and Chorus and looking at the lights. My mother, my two brothers, and my two sisters were already seated, and my dad and I were going to meet them. We arrived only eight minutes late, but the ushers wouldn’t let us in. We explained that half of our family was already seated, but “policy was policy,” and Dad and I were left out in the cold—the cold snow to be exact.
“Oh, Dad, we were planning on a family activity tonight,” I moaned with disappointment. “Now what are we going to do?”
“Let’s dash over to the visitors’ center,” he replied, with typical enthusiasm. “We’ll be out of the cold, and we can catch a tour while we wait for the others.”
By the time we made our way through the crowds and into the visitors’ center, the last tour had already begun, and the lady at the desk was announcing that the center would close in 15 minutes. Hungry, tired, and discouraged, I plopped myself on one of the benches and tried to tune out my dad’s effort at cheery conversation.
Moments later, my mom rushed in with my brothers and sisters, chattering about how worried they had been and how glad they were to find us.
“Okay, kids,” Dad announced, “we missed the concert, and the visitors’ center is closing, but such a lovely evening should not be spoiled; so I’m treating you all to burritos!
“Yahoo!” we shouted.
“Honey,” my dad said to my mom, “how much money do you have in your purse?”
“Uh, I didn’t bring my purse—not even my checkbook.”
“Oh, no,” I muttered, “my mom always brings her purse, and she had to forget it tonight.”
“Well, kids, I don’t have any money except for one dollar,” my dad said sadly, as he rummaged through his wallet. “Check your pockets for spare change.”
Between the seven of us we came up with an additional $1.37. How was our family going to eat out on two dollars and 37 cents?
“I promised you all burritos,” Dad announced, “and a promise is a promise. So, c’mon, I’ll race you all to the car!” The twinkle in his eye confused us all, but he had already set a brisk pace. We didn’t ask how or why; we just hustled along behind.
Curiosity and suspense mounted as we drove to the restaurant. How could a family of seven be going out to dinner with less than $2.50 and no credit cards?
When we arrived, Dad escorted us in, seated us at a table, and stepped up to the cashier to place his order.
“Are you sure that you only want one burrito?” inquired the puzzled cashier.
“That’s it,” answered my dad.
“Sir,” she asked, “are you positive you wouldn’t like any drinks?”
“Yup, only one burrito. I can’t afford drinks.”
Overhearing his conversation, we burst into giggles and imagined that everyone in the restaurant was staring at us. Giggles turned to hysteria as we watched Dad carry his order to the table as if it were a wedding cake on a silver platter. Carefully, he cut the single burrito into seven bite-sized pieces and presented one to each of us ceremoniously. Dad savored his bite of burrito as he would escargot and reminded us that it’s not what you get in life that counts—it’s how it’s served. Dad always has a mini-sermon to share, but this one we truly savored. He told us of a boyhood Christmas with only one orange but lots of love, of folks he knew with lots of money but poor health, and of friends with great material wealth but no family to share it with.
It took us less than a minute to devour our share of that single burrito, but somehow as we left, I felt full of appreciation for good health, a fun family, and a rather zany dad who taught me that sometimes a burrito Christmas outing can be the one you treasure most.

Early in the morning today I went to the municipality offices in Dombo Tombo, and while we were in line a woman dropped a $20 note on the ground. I saw it fall and told her about it. She picked it up and said, “Thank you.”
Many of the other people in line said to me, “You are stupid. You are foolish. Why didn’t you take the money and buy your own things?”
But I said, “No, I shall never do that because I am a child of God.”
When the others calmed down, an older man who was standing behind me said quietly, “Do you go to church? It seems as if you are a good girl.”
And I said, “Yes, I go to church.”
And he said, “What is the name of your church?”
I said, “It is called The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. If you want to, you can come to the Dombo Tombo Hall on Tuesday nights at 5:30 P.M. or on Sunday at half past ten and I will meet you there.”
And the man said, “Oh, yes! I will come!”
So I am very happy about what I did today.

Illustrations by Shauna Mooney Kawasaki
Matt: Digger, when I turn 19, I’m going on a mission. I’ll be gone two whole years.
Matt: I’ll miss you too! But I want to tell people about Heavenly Father and Jesus. I want them to know that their families can be together forever.
Matt: No, I won’t forget you. I’ll write every week and tell you about the people I’m teaching.
Matt: No, sorry. I can’t take you with me. You’d be a great missionary, though.
Matt: You can help me be a missionary right now! There’s a boy in my class who loves dogs.

The day after Dad passed away, my mother, brothers, sister, and I made the necessary visit to the mortuary for funeral arrangements. Our tasks included choosing a casket and a vault into which the casket would be placed.
As we considered the options, I noticed a sales pamphlet promoting a certain vault. It claimed, among other things, that the vault was self-sealing, and it guaranteed that seal for 75 years. Even though the occasion was a solemn one, the guarantee amused me.
“Who will check on the seal in 75 years?” I wondered. “And if someone does and it has failed, who will collect on the guarantee? What are the chances, really,” I mused, “of that vault staying sealed?”
In that thoughtful moment, my mind was directed to another vault, the one described in Matthew 27. This vault, actually a sepulchre in a distant time and place, had an opening covered by a great stone:
“Now the next day, that followed the day of the preparation, the chief priests and Pharisees came together unto Pilate,
“Saying, Sir, we remember that that deceiver said, while he was yet alive, After three days I will rise again.
“Command therefore that the sepulchre be made sure until the third day, lest his disciples come by night, and steal him away, and say unto the people, He is risen from the dead: so the last error shall be worse than the first.
“Pilate said unto them, Ye have a watch: go your way, make it as sure as ye can.
“So they went, and made the sepulchre sure, sealing the stone, and setting a watch” (Matthew 27:62–66).

Natalie liked to watch her mom put on makeup. “Can I wear lipstick, too?” she asked one morning.
Mom smiled. “Not yet. Makeup isn’t for children.”
Natalie tried not to frown, but Mom looked so pretty. Natalie wanted to see how she would look wearing lipstick, too. “I won’t make a mess,” she promised. “I won’t even touch it! You can put it on for me.” She puckered her lips and stared at her mother’s reflection in the mirror. “Please?”
“No, Natalie. You’re too young.”
Natalie stormed out of the bathroom and flopped onto her bed. She had been old enough to make a very important decision last month—the decision to be baptized. If she was old enough to do something that important, why was she still too young to do so many other things? She sighed. It didn’t seem fair.
On Sunday, Grandma and Grandpa came over for dinner. After the meal, while the family sat around the table talking, Natalie excused herself to go to the bathroom. Something on the bathroom counter caught her eye: Mom’s makeup bag.
“Mom won’t know if I try on her lipstick,” Natalie thought, “as long as I wipe it off afterward.” She peered down the hall and saw the adults still talking and laughing. Now was her chance! She closed the door and poked through the bag until she found Mom’s red lipstick. Smearing it on her lips, she gave the mirror a glamorous smile. “See, I do look pretty with it on,” she thought.
When the doorknob rattled, she realized she hadn’t locked the door. It opened a crack. Quickly, she slammed it shut again.
“Hey,” Dad called. “What’s going on in there?”
“Nothing,” Natalie called back. “I need to use the bathroom, but I forgot to lock the door.”
“Sorry,” Dad said. She heard his footsteps disappear back down the hall. Breathing a sigh of relief, she wiped the lipstick off.
At first Natalie didn’t think much about the incident. She had tried on Mom’s makeup. It was only for a few seconds. She hadn’t made a mess or ruined anything. No one had seen her.
But a few weeks later, during the sacrament, Natalie remembered slamming the door on Dad. “What’s going on in there?” he had called. “Nothing,” she had said. Not only had she disobeyed her mom, she had lied to her dad, too.
“Why am I thinking about this?” she asked herself crossly, trying to shrug away the uncomfortable feeling. “It’s no big deal.” As the sacrament tray came down her row, she silently said a quick prayer asking for forgiveness and tried to think about something else.
All week, she couldn’t shake the bad feeling. It only got worse. Every time she forgot about her little white lie, something reminded her again. When her third-grade teacher smiled, Natalie noticed her shiny red lipstick. When a classmate came in late, slamming the door behind him, Natalie remembered slamming the door on Dad. “This is silly,” she chided herself. “Forget about it!” But she couldn’t.
By the end of the week, Natalie was so worried she felt almost sick. “All this guilt over lipstick?” she thought. Why was her conscience hounding her over something so small?
“Heavenly Father,” she prayed that night, “please help me to feel better without having to tell Mom what I did. It’s not that important, and I don’t want her to know. But I’m really, really sorry. Please forgive me. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
She sat at her bedside waiting for the Holy Ghost to tell her that everything was OK, but she felt only sadness.
The next morning, Natalie knew she had to confess. She sat on the edge of her bed and took a deep breath. Even though she was determined, she was also scared. Slowly, she stood and padded barefoot down the hall to the bathroom, where her mom was getting ready for the day.
“Mom, your lipstick is pretty,” she murmured.
Mom smiled. “Thank you, sweetie.”
Natalie gulped. “I tried it on a few weeks ago.”
Mom raised her eyebrows. “After I told you not to?”
“When Grandma and Grandpa came for dinner, I came in here and tried it on. Dad almost caught me, but I told him I was using the bathroom. I’m sorry.”
Mom didn’t say anything.
“Are you mad?” Natalie whimpered.
Mom squeezed Natalie’s shoulder. “I’m disappointed because you know better. But I’m happy that you told me the truth.”
At once, Natalie’s prayer to feel OK again was answered. The worried feeling went away. The knot in her stomach relaxed. Even though Mom was sure to punish her, Natalie felt like smiling. Nothing could be worse than the guilt she had carried. She never wanted to feel like that again.
Even though she wasn’t old enough to wear makeup, she was old enough for more important things—like honoring the gift of the Holy Ghost and following its promptings.

I decided to enroll in early-morning seminary, and I was eager to learn. Every morning I woke up at 5:00 a.m. to get ready for school, and then I drove to the seminary building. I was amazed at how much I enjoyed early-morning seminary.
Halfway into my early-morning seminary experience, I grew tired of my usual music collection and decided to turn on the radio. I didn’t listen to the radio often, so I turned the station to a popular one that I knew my friends listened to. The station streamed fast-paced, popular music that I recognized from school dances. I decided it couldn’t be too bad, and I left it there for weeks. I wasn’t really listening to the music—it was mostly just background music while I focused on driving and thought about school. If I ever heard a bad word, I immediately turned the volume down and waited until the song was over before turning the volume back up and listening to a different song.
A gradual change started happening in me. I found that I didn’t want to go to Mutual activities and struggled to focus in church. I became increasingly irritated with my family. I didn’t want to go home, and I argued with my parents over things that didn’t really matter. I was frequently in a bad mood and I had no idea why.
One morning I was running late, and when I started my car, the radio blared with a popular song streaming through the speakers. I was getting tired of the song, so I started rummaging through my music collection, looking for music that I hadn’t listened to in a while. I had trouble finding something, and I kept thinking, “Just leave it, you’re already going to be late!” Still, I kept looking and settled on the soundtrack of a fun animated movie I enjoyed.
My mood changed. For one week I left that soundtrack playing in my car, and my mood immediately took a turn for the better. I focused on church more, eager to feel the Spirit and become closer to my Heavenly Father. Then one day, as I drove to seminary, I thought about what could have been the cause of my sudden sour mood and what had fixed it. I offered a prayer in my heart for the answer so I could prevent it from happening again.
Then it hit me: even though I hadn’t been listening to the messages of the lyrics, the songs played on the radio station I’d been listening to didn’t have an uplifting spirit to them. Even when the message wasn’t bad, the sound of the music was dark. The music, which I’d only left on for background music, had started affecting my spirit, without my even realizing it.
I’m not saying all popular music is bad, but I learned that day that it isn’t just the lyrics we need to focus on when choosing good music but also the feel of the music as well. I started asking, “If I just listen to the sound of it, how does it make me feel?” I am so grateful to my Heavenly Father for teaching me this lesson. Music is a very powerful thing. Wholesome, spiritual music can bring us almost as close to our Heavenly Father as prayer does, but music that doesn’t possess these qualities can drive us dangerously far away from Him. I love music, but I love my Heavenly Father more, and I’m grateful He has provided music that brings us closer to Him.

In the Dominican Republic capital of Santo Domingo is a small school for poor children, held in the patio of a dedicated LDS sister by the name of Lubian Sequi.
When the youth of the West Bountiful Ninth Ward, West Bountiful Stake, heard about the school, they decided they wanted to help. After all, Sister Sequi was funding the school out of her own pocket, and she didn’t have much to spare.
The youth chipped in with their own money to buy school supplies like crayons, pencils, and paper, and they decorated school boxes for each of the students. Then they collected clothes from ward members to include, since Sister Sequi noted that sometimes the children were absent because they literally did not have shirts on their backs.
Once all the things were put together, a local shipping company helped them get the supplies overseas and through customs.
“It was one of the best service projects we’ve ever done,” said Scott Thomas, a priest. “More people came out to this project than any other. They came because they thought it was such a good cause. It makes you feel great to know that you’re helping those little kids.”

I was 13 or 14 years old, living with my father and two of my older brothers. My oldest brother was living in a group home in Provo, Utah, and we were going to meet him at church. He was mentally disabled, and he was going to pass the sacrament that day. I was nervous. I was always nervous around the people in the group home. I didn’t know what to say, and I didn’t know how to act. Arnol, my brother, was okay, because I grew up with him and he would make me laugh with his silly jokes. He always called me “dog eyes” because my eyes were brown and they looked like the eyes of our dog.
My dad was wearing his suit, and he looked very distinguished. We didn’t talk much in the car. It was a two-hour drive, and I think we were all a little nervous. We were all wondering how Arnol was going to handle this big responsibility.
The church was crowded, and we were sitting in the very back of the chapel in the overflow area. I could see Arnol sitting by the sacrament table. He kept looking around to see if he could spot us. He looked good. His hair was combed, his tie was on, and his jacket hid his stooped shoulders. I could tell he was nervous and hesitating, looking for reassuring nods from the other boys.
The boys stood up for the prayer, then took their trays and started down the aisles. Arnol tipped his tray as he shuffled along, but nothing fell off. He took it to the correct row, and he managed to pass it to the first person. People in the audience smiled at him and gave him encouraging nods. He was grinning. I could tell that he was pleased with himself. He was doing this all by himself. He was doing a good job. I heard a sigh of relief pass from my dad’s lips. Inwardly, I started to relax a little too. It was going to work out fine.
After the sacrament, the boys stood up to join their families. My dad stood up straight and tall in the back of the chapel so that Arnol could see him. Arnol looked around and saw Dad; then while half running down the aisle, he said, “Did you see me, Dad? Here I come, Dad; did you see me?”
I was embarrassed, and I could feel my face grow red. What would everyone think? But no one was frowning; they were smiling as they watched Arnol head towards his dad. And my dad stood tall and proud, ready to welcome his son after a job well done.
I think of this instance often. I reflect on the poise and pride in my dad’s stance and the love he felt for Arnol. Arnol accomplished what he was able to do. He would never be a football star or a great musician or an A student, but he could pass the sacrament and my dad was proud of that.
I think this must be similar to how our Heavenly Father is. He knows each of our capabilities and each of our limitations. He knows the burdens that we are called upon to bear. And whether we are physically disabled or have any other kind of disability, when we go to meet Him, He will greet us with love for accomplishing the things He knows we are capable of.

Bennett and Kevin aren’t sure exactly when they started rock climbing. They liked to crawl around on boulders whenever they went hiking, and gradually they became more serious about it. Finally they bought a length of manila rope and started trying some cliffs on for size. They used pocketknives and other odds and ends for pitons, until one day the members of a local climbing club saw them high above the ground and nearly had a collective heart attack. After that the daring young men received some expert instruction, purchased some nylon rope, and went on to become two of the most skillful climbers in the area.

I took this picture of the flower bush in my yard. These make me smile because they are so pretty. It makes me think of Jesus Christ and how He created everything for our happiness and how much He loves us.
Amy P., 14, South Carolina, USA

Aron C., age 10, Colombia
I help my father clean our house, and I receive money every month for helping. Instead of spending all my money, I set aside 10 percent for tithing and give it to the bishop. I feel good after I pay my tithing because I know the money goes to take care of the chapel and to buy books and many other things. I know that Jesus Christ gave us everything, and when we pay tithing, we give back to Him. I feel happy when I pay my tithing.

At this point it may not be improper to again solemnly warn the officers and members of the Church against all conduct that tends to immorality and unchastity. We are being continually, though most falsely, accused of teaching and practicing sexual vice under the garb of religion. No charge could be more utterly false; for no system of philosophy, no code of ethics, no articles of religion since the world was first peopled, ever taught more strictly and emphatically than does the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints the paramount necessity of personal purity in the relations of the sexes. Of this the Saints are well aware. Let us see to it, then, that our actions correspond with our faith; for we may be sure that no prominence of opposition, no ties of family, no influence of wealth can save us from the penalty if we break the law of God in this regard. But a few weeks ago it became the sad duty of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles to sever from the communion of the Saints one of its members who had violated the law of chastity. He was a man of education, of experience, of judgement, of long standing in the Church, but neither these nor his exalted position to the Priesthood could save him from the penalty of the law he had so flagrantly broken. And as with him, so with all others. The law must be administered by the officers of the Church with justice and impartiality, with malice towards none, but with due regard to the commands of God and the honor of His holy name. Hear it, O house of Israel! ye who are seeking to attain to the Celestial Kingdom of our Father—none but the pure in heart can see God; none but those who have sanctified all their affections and passions by entire and complete subservience to His laws can dwell in His eternal presence! Let us also remember that the condition of a community, as a whole, depends upon the conditions of the individuals composing it; as are its component parts, so is it in its SIC entirety. If the individual members of a people are wise, just, intelligent, honest, honorable and pure, that community will be distinguished among other communities by those peculiar virtues. To apply the lesson to ourselves, each one for himself, if we wish to see the Church of Christ prepared as a bride for the Savior, we must, individually, live our religion and exemplify in our own lives those virtues which we know must adorn the bride before she can enter the presence of her Lord. This matter of personal purity, faith, diligence and good works is one that we cannot delegate to our neighbor, or make the responsibility of other men and women; but each must do his own duty, each bear his own responsibilities, each set his own house in order (D&C 93:43), each magnify his calling (D&C 84:33), each live near unto God, if he expects God to draw nigh unto him. (James 4:8).

Early one morning my wife and I were commenting on the fact that our parents had passed away—we were both orphans. We concluded that since we were both in our 60s, it did not have the same effect it would have had if we were in our infancy or youth. We had outgrown our orphan status. It simply was no longer limiting to our growth.

As I attended college and then medical school, I was continually drawn to Latter-day Saints. I watched them closely, and they rarely disappointed me. Finally, after several years, I decided that I was going to learn for myself what made them so different. I went to the public library and checked out every book I could find about the Mormons.
I found a copy of the Book of Mormon and began to read it. As soon as I read just a few chapters, I had the feeling that this was something special. After about six months of reading and studying, I realized that I needed to make some changes in my life. A voice inside me whispered that real faith requires action. If I wanted to experience what my LDS friends had, I knew I would have to act.
So I decided to be baptized. As soon as I made the decision, I felt the assurance of the Spirit. It was the best decision I ever made!
After I was baptized and received the gift of the Holy Ghost, I finally understood the source of that “Mormon confidence.” It comes from the companionship of the Holy Ghost.