Gospel Story Finder

Your brother trips on a book you left on the floor and yells at you. You say,
“I’ve told you a million times to watch where you’re walking!”
“I’m sorry I left the book there. Are you hurt?”

My mom and I seemed to drift apart after I joined the Church. She didn’t accept my new beliefs and resented me for leaving the church she had raised me in. I had prayed about what to do to help us become close again.
One Sunday, someone spoke about the need to let the people we love know how much they mean to us. The speaker suggested that we not only express it verbally, but also seal it with a hug and a kiss. I couldn’t remember my family ever hugging, kissing, or expressing our love for one another. Everyone just sort of assumed they were loved and hoped they were right.
That day, I decided I would give it a try. It wasn’t easy. In fact, it was a bit scary. But I did it. I told my mom how much I loved her, gave her a kiss on the cheek, and hugged her. It was as though the balm of Gilead had somehow healed the cankering that was coming between us.
That act, inspired by prayer, seems to have had an effect on the entire family. Now when any relatives leave our home, they do so with a hug and a kiss. It gets quite interesting when a lot of family members are present, but I wouldn’t change it for the world.

I received permission from my dear friend and emeritus General Authority Seventy, Elder Robert E. Wells, now 97 years old, to share his experience of more than 60 years ago:
While living in Paraguay in 1960 and employed as an international banker, Robert Wells, then 32 years old, and his wife, Meryl, were each a pilot in two different planes, flying home from Uruguay to Paraguay. Encountering thick clouds, Robert and Meryl lost visual and radio contact with each other. Robert quickly landed, where he learned his wife’s plane had crashed. Neither his wife nor the two friends flying with her had survived. His children, at home in Asunción, were ages seven, five, and two.
Elder Wells spoke of his grief:
“Words will forever be inadequate in expressing the pain that swelled within me, consuming my emotions and numbing my senses. Profound tears of sorrow simply wouldn’t stop flowing. To make matters worse, as my mind was attempting to deal with the devastating realization of my wife’s passing, I found myself experiencing tremendous guilt for feeling I was responsible for the crash.”
Robert blamed himself for not having had the plane inspected more thoroughly and for not giving his wife better instrument flying instructions. He felt he was guilty of neglect.
Robert said:
“My mind went into a dark daze. … I simply existed—[for the sake of the children,] nothing more.”
“I … lost my desire to continue on.”
In time, Robert was blessed with a deeply spiritual experience. He recounted:
“One evening, about one year later, while on my knees in prayer, a miracle occurred. While praying and pleading to my Heavenly Father, I felt as though the Savior came to my side and I heard an audible voice speaking these words to my soul and to my ears: ‘Robert, my atoning sacrifice paid for your sins and your mistakes. Your wife forgives you. Your friends forgive you. I will lift your burden. …’
“From that moment, the burden of guilt [and despair] was amazingly lifted from me. I had been rescued! I immediately understood the encompassing power of the Savior’s Atonement and … that it applied directly to me. … I … experienced light and joy like I had never before known. … I had been given an unearned gift—the Lord’s gift of grace. … I didn’t deserve it—I had done nothing to merit it, but He gave it to me nonetheless.”

When President Nelson invited the women of the Church in October 2018 general conference to read the Book of Mormon before the end of the year, Matthew, Andrew, and Isaac, along with their father and younger brothers, decided to offer Mom their support. “We’ll read it with you!” they said. Every morning before seminary, they woke up to read together.
“When we took on this challenge, I thought it was going to take a lot of time,” Andrew says. “I worried that I wouldn’t have enough time to do everything I wanted to do, like play the guitar or hang out with my friends. But I realized that it just doesn’t work like that. The more I was into reading the Book of Mormon, the more time I actually seemed to have. I realized that if I keep up on reading the scriptures as much as possible, my life is balanced. I have more time in the day.”

The first stage in the development of ice cream probably occurred during the Roman emperor Nero’s reign. Nero sent armies of slaves into the mountains to bring back snow and ice to cool the fruit drinks he liked so well. It’s believed that through the accidental overcooling of a fruit drink, “water ice,” a forerunner of “cream ice,” was discovered. However, with the fall of the Roman Empire, such iced desserts apparently disappeared.

I was called as a member of the Seventy in 1977. Since then I have had the privilege of visiting hundreds of stakes. After one priesthood leadership meeting in Taylorsville, Utah, a large man approached me and whispered that his brother had been killed during World War II and that he hated Japanese people. Following the stake conference, however, this same man approached me with tears in his eyes. Crying for joy, he gave me a hug because I had shared my conversion story and my love for Americans and it had touched him.

Toklat, the grizzly bear cub, stared at the yellow sun until his eyes watered. It was a very hot day. In all of his five months of life on earth, he had never been so warm.
His mother and sister were lying near the creek where his sister had been playing in the water, splashing fans of white spray into the air. It was a game that Toklat liked, too—but not today. His energy was gone. Not the slightest breeze stirred the leaves of the birch and poplar trees in the forest. Not a cloud drifted in the blue sky to keep the sun company. The air around Toklat shimmered with heat waves.
Toklat ambled away from his mother and sister into the forest, looking for—he didn’t know what. Maybe a cooler place in which to lie down. Maybe a new game to divert his attention from the heat.
He moved slowly to the top of a low hill. From there he could see in every direction over the tops of the trees. Everything was motionless and quiet, except for one thing: Not far away a column of black smoke was rising, as straight as a cottonwood tree, several hundred feet into the air. Then it fanned out. The smoke spread across the sky like a cloud, drifting toward Toklat’s hill.
Even as he watched, Toklat’s sensitive nose caught a whiff of the acrid smoke. His eyesight wasn’t good, as is the case with most bears. His nose, however, made up for his poor vision. It told him of dinner, when his mother caught salmon in the creek. It told him that other bears or strange animals were in the area. It warned him of danger, and as Toklat sniffed now, he felt uneasy. Does this smell mean trouble? he wondered.
As Toklat watched the smoke, a breeze began to blow it toward him. And for the first time, the young bear saw fire beneath the smoke. The breeze became a wind, causing great spires of orange flame to leap through the forest, converting trees and brush to charcoal in minutes.
If he had had any experience with fire and smoke, Toklat would have fled right then. He’d have run back to his mother and sister, and they would have headed for the bare, high hills to the south. But Toklat had never seen a forest fire, and though his instincts told him to flee, he didn’t. He stayed where he was, fascinated by the roaring flames. And that fascination almost cost the grizzly bear cub his life.
Leaping toward Toklat, the fire sent advance balls of flame ahead of its main body. They ignited trees over a wide, blazing path. Some of the fireballs were lifted by powerful thermal currents—currents caused by the fire’s great heat—and dropped beyond Toklat, starting new fires between him and his mother.
All at once Toklat was aware that he stood in the middle of a ring of fire that hissed, roared, and lashed about like a monster with a life of its own. He bawled loudly.
As the fire snarled and whipped closer to him, Toklat bawled more frantically. He coughed and darted this way and that, trying to find a way through the fire.
In just moments his mother appeared on the outer edge of the flames. She stood on her hind legs, sniffing the air in search of her son. When she finally located him, she dropped to all fours and bawled for Toklat to come to her. He answered and started toward the sound of her voice. The two cried back and forth until Toklat could finally see his mother.
How reassuring she looked—so big and powerful and safe! Toklat wanted to be with her, but the fire had almost closed its ring. There was only a small place left that he could get through. Toklat knew that he’d have to dash through it, yet he hesitated because the stifling and rambling flames were so fierce! As Toklat cowered in fear, his mother bawled for him again, and the urging in her voice stirred the cub into action. Lowering his head, he ran. Flaming limbs dropped in his path, and Toklat stepped on one. His paw felt as though a hundred porcupine quills had all penetrated at once. He yelped in pain, but he plunged on. He made it through the narrow place even as sparks were singeing his fur.
Without nosing her cub for his hurts, the mother fled, with Toklat and his sister right behind her. They ran through the forest and climbed a high hill to its summit. There were no trees at the top, nothing but shale, so the fire would have nothing to feed on. The bears were safe.
Toklat sat on his rump and licked his sore paw. His mother looked him over, grumped in her chest a few times, then wandered off in search of shade. His sister followed her, but Toklat remained where he was for a while, licking his paw and watching the fire far below. Smoke filled the valley, and the forest had turned black where thousands of trees had burned. Despite the heat of the day and from the fire, as Toklat ran his moist tongue over his burned paw, he shivered. Fire would frighten him for as long as he lived. Never again would he just sit and watch it leap toward him. At the first sign of smoke or fire, he would race for the high hills and safety.

Last October when my teachers quorum was learning about becoming more Christlike, we served some families in our ward. During the Duty to God lesson that month,* we talked about the many examples of service in Christ’s life. We also read Doctrine and Covenants 20:53, which says that one of a teacher’s priesthood responsibilities is to watch over and strengthen the Church. Together, we thought of some ways we could do this through service.
For example, as a quorum we mowed our bishop’s lawn. We also visited an elderly man in our ward, which was fun because he told us stories about his life and shared some lessons he’d learned. Both of these experiences made me feel great. As a quorum, we also completed the “Serve Others” section in the Fulfilling My Duty to God booklet. I felt like an instrument in Heavenly Father’s hands, and I felt like I was coming closer to Heavenly Father as we served.

The two women disembarking from the train in the United States capital of Washington, DC, were tired but determined. After five days traveling from Salt Lake City, Emmeline B. Wells and Zina Young Williams hoped to advance the cause of Church members but knew they faced resistance.
In January 1879 they attended national meetings about women’s right to vote and presented petitions to the US Congress, asking lawmakers to undo harsh legislation against the Church.
“I desire to do all in my power to help elevate the condition of my own people especially wom[e]n,” Emmeline recorded in her diary.1 From 1877 to 1914, she was editor of a publication for women of the Church called the Woman’s Exponent, in which she championed good works in homes and communities.
National voting rights leaders Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony “cordially welcomed” the two women from Utah.2 They helpfully assigned them to a committee carrying messages to the nation’s president, Rutherford B. Hayes.3
Emmeline confidently spoke with him, reporting, “After we had given him a few facts in relation to the condition of this people, and what was likely to be the consequences of severe and harsh measures, he remarked that he had never before considered the subject in the light we had presented it.” President Hayes invited his wife, Lucy, to listen to their appeal. “Her womanly sympathies were very perceptibly aroused.”4
For two more weeks, Emmeline and Zina carried messages on behalf of the Church to influential legislators. Emmeline recalled that they “frequently met with people who manifested the greatest interest in” their message.5
Although they were not successful in changing public opinion that year, for 17 more years, Emmeline and her Relief Society sisters spoke out for the rights of women and Church members. Happily, in 1896, Utah became a state, and many religious and civil rights were restored.

“Sometimes we argued,” Mommy said. “But we said sorry and tried again. We learned to get along and have fun.”

I have an illness called miastenia gravis. I also have attention deficit disorder and hyperactivity. Because of these things, I act differently than other children. Lots of people don’t understand, and many don’t even try.

Children in my school often want to hit me, but I don’t fight with them. Recently I began learning karate—for my health, I am supposed to get exercise. My schoolmates want me to teach them—or at least demonstrate—the different karate moves and techniques. I always say no, because I’m not learning them in order to fight but to gain discipline and the values that come with it. I want to be able to defend myself if I have to, but I never look for a fight. Jesus Christ always taught with calmness and love. Avoiding contention makes me more like Him.

As we turn backward the clock of time, we recall that some fifty-five years ago a desperately arranged peace, a conference of peace, convened in the Bavarian city of Munich. Leaders of the European powers assembled even as the world tottered on the brink of war. Their purpose, openly stated, was to pursue a course which they felt would avert war and maintain peace. Mistrust, intrigue, a quest for power doomed to failure that conference. The outcome was not “peace in our time” but rather war and destruction to a degree not previously experienced. Overlooked, or at least set aside, was the hauntingly touching appeal of one who had fallen in an earlier war. He seemed to be writing in behalf of millions of comrades—friend and foe alike:
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Develop friendships. “Don’t think about love and romance as much as you think about friendship and fun,” say Ed and Lisa Knight. “Don’t have boyfriends and girlfriends too early. Just have friends.” Ed and Lisa did this in their own relationship. They were friends first. Lisa says, “Although dating is an important part of social development and can be a lot of fun, it is not how you learn to be a good husband or wife. You learn those skills more in other relationships with friends and family.” She’s right. Ultimately, your eternal mate is not your eternal date. The best marriages are built on a foundation of friendship and mutual respect.

“My mother was only five feet two inches tall. A very capable individual, she had been a schoolteacher before I was born, and she was an elocutionist (one who excels in public speaking). Before I started school, she taught me all the things that are taught in the first, second, and third grades. When my two brothers and two sisters came along, she didn’t have as much time to spend teaching me, and then I was just ordinary in school.

In 1996 in Salt Lake City, Zachary Snarr was brutally and senselessly murdered. Among the many wonderful things said about him by family and friends was that he rarely missed a day without telling his mother how much he loved her. His cheerful and loving nature around their home leaves them with priceless memories. Your mothers need you to be a champion of them. Never should we as Church members be guilty of saying anything discourteous or disrespectful to our mothers.

Five years later, when I was 17, I got a job in another city and lived alone. While I was away from home, the missionaries knocked on my parents’ door again. This time, my family listened and was baptized. When my parents told me, I said, “I have no interest in religion right now.”

While we lived in South America, our eldest son reached the age to fill a mission. He was the first missionary to leave our little branch composed mainly of converts. The closing prayer at his farewell was offered by one of the new converts. He expressed this thought: “Heavenly Father, we have seen missionaries come. They have blessed our lives. Now we see that we must send missionaries. Help us to rear our sons to serve.”
That prayer of faith was answered. When that man’s son was nineteen, he was called to go to Italy. I received this note about him from the president of the branch where he labored.
“We have known Elder LaBuonora since he arrived six months ago. … In the short time he has been here he has baptized nine people.
“Because you knew him before, I share a little experience. We were visiting one of our sick members in the hospital. … In the ward of about twenty people, there was a three-year-old boy whose mother had abandoned him when he was born. He has had no one to love him. The child was playing in his crib and needed his nose wiped. So Elder LaBuonora wiped his nose with the tenderness of a real father, held him in his arms for a minute, kissed him, and put him gently back in bed. The expression on the child’s face was a mixture of surprise and security. We believe this young man is the greatest missionary we have seen. What a blessing he is to our mission and branch.”
It is a further evidence of faith to note that President LaBuonora, the father who prayed that they could rear their sons to serve, has since sent his second son into the mission field.

Earlier, the speaker had related to us a story about David O. McKay receiving his patriarchal blessing. President McKay was, at the time, a champion marble player, an activity which, the speaker pointed out, required quite a bit of skill. After the blessing, however, the patriarch told 13-year-old David that he had more important things to do than play marbles. The speaker now gave to us that same wise counsel. “Brothers and sisters,” he pleaded, “please, put away your marbles, and take advantage of this opportunity to find out for yourself if the Church is true.”

The standard of the common thief, “What can we get away with?” has become the standard for many in the world rather than what our own integrity ought to demand that we do. What has happened to self-respect and personal integrity, which would not permit even entertaining the idea of doing cheap or small things? An example might be our relationship with the financial credit by which the world’s commerce is carried on. Often we forget that those who extend credit to us are also extending trust and confidence in us. Our own integrity is involved. I recall my father speaking with profound respect of a man whom father as a lawyer had taken through bankruptcy. Given time, this man paid in full all of his creditors who had trusted him and extended confidence in him, even though he was legally relieved of paying the debts. Our own integrity is a substantial part of our individual worth.

The Prophet was then inspired to raise money to purchase Chandler’s mummies and the accompanying papyri, even though he did not know exactly what the writings would disclose. Kirtland Saints contributed the funds for the purchase. The price was $2,400—not an inconsequential sum at the time, considering that the Kirtland Temple was under construction, but the faith of members who knew the Prophet and his works led them to help.4

The Prophet recorded: “With W W. Phelps and Oliver Cowdery as scribes, [I] commenced the translation of some of the characters or hieroglyphics, and much to our joy found that one of the rolls contained the writings of Abraham, another the writings of Joseph of Egypt, etc., a more full account of which will appear in their place, as I proceed to examine or unfold them. Truly can we say, the Lord is beginning to reveal the abundance of peace and truth.”5