Gospel Story Finder

Just two weeks after the group’s arrival, Joseph heard Church President Brigham Young issue a call for volunteers to go out and help the 600 members of the Martin Handcart Company still in the mountains in deep snow.
Joseph left that day with the other volunteers.
In the mountains the snow was almost three meters deep, and the wagons couldn’t get through. The volunteers had to carry the supplies on their backs to the handcart company. With the others, Joseph helped set up a camp to prepare the members of the company for the final effort to reach Salt Lake City.
Finally, all the handcart pioneers were safely gathered to Zion, where they went about the business of starting new lives.

Even though I had been to church only a few times, my home teacher faithfully visited me. One night he called and asked if I would share some thoughts about eternal families in the next Gospel Principles class.
“Yes, I’d love to,” I said.
I didn’t think much of it until the next morning. That’s when I realized I had agreed to talk about eternal families to a group of people who probably already knew all about it. I didn’t have a clue what I could say to them.
Over the years, I had made choices that separated me from the gospel. How was I supposed to share my thoughts about something I wasn’t sure I even believed? I felt confused. Then the words to the hymn “I Am a Child of God” (Hymns, no. 301) came to my mind. I had not heard those words in years, but I knew them by heart. Then it struck me: I needed to ask God if I actually was His child.
At that time, I was rearranging the furniture in my bedroom, so with my bed askew in the middle of the room, I kneeled next to it and waited for the words to come. What could I possibly say to God? I wasn’t sure He even existed. In that moment, my heart’s deepest desire brought these simple words to my lips: “God, are You really there? And if You are there, am I Your child?”
The answer came immediately. It was as if He had been waiting for me to ask. I felt God say, “Yes, Camille, I am here, and you are my child.”
When I opened my eyes, I was still in my disheveled bedroom. Everything around me was in disarray, but I felt like my life had been put in perfect order. I knew that I was a child of God, and that was all that mattered.
In class on Sunday, I simply told my story of how I came to know that I am a child of God. “If I am His child,” I said, “then so is everyone else.”
It took another three and a half years for me to make all the positive changes I needed to make, but my life has never been the same. Since that day, I have never doubted who I am. I know that Heavenly Father is always there. He loves me because I am His child.

While traveling along a mountainous road one evening through a driving rainstorm punctuated with frequent claps of thunder and flashes of lightning, Sister Wirthlin and I could barely see the road, either in front of us or to the right and the left. I watched the white lines on that road more intently than ever before. Staying within the lines kept us from going onto the shoulder and into the deep canyon on one side and helped us avoid a head-on collision on the other. To wander over either line could have been very dangerous. Then I thought, “Would a right-thinking person deviate to the left or the right of a traffic lane if he knew the result would be fatal? If he valued his mortal life, certainly he would stay between these lines.”
That experience traveling on this mountain road is so like life. If we stay within the lines that God has marked, he will protect us, and we can arrive safely at our destination.

For a “living history museum” at school, I had to pick an American hero, learn about him, dress like him, and be able to answer questions someone might ask me the night of our presentation. I chose Joseph Smith. When I finished my report, my teacher asked me some questions that I could not answer, and I felt really bad about that. My mom suggested I talk to the missionaries. They told me investigators often ask those questions, and I would someday answer them again when I’m on my mission. The missionaries gave me some information, and I felt good about talking to my teacher. They also suggested I give her a Book of Mormon.
On the night of the performance, many people asked me questions. Reading about Joseph Smith helped me strengthen my testimony about him and his courage to follow Heavenly Father.

When my bishop announced that volunteers were needed for the Nauvoo Illinois Temple open house, I was ecstatic. My assignment was putting on and removing foot coverings from visitors’ shoes so the temple floors would stay clean. As the day went on, I wasn’t thinking too much about the importance of what I was doing. I didn’t really think of it as service. But one visitor completely changed my outlook.
As I had done a thousand times that day, I leaned over to take the coverings off someone’s shoes. When I looked up, looking back at me was a woman with a sweet, warm smile on her face, tears welling in her eyes. She gently remarked, “This has always reminded me so much of washing someone’s feet.” She thanked me for the service, and she walked on.
Her words stayed with me. Every time I put on or removed the coverings after that, I thought about what she had said. She made a connection between what I was doing and something Christ did. Her words helped me to start seeing others in the way that the Lord sees each of us. I began to recognize in the people I met their incredible, divine worth. I finally knew what it was like to really want to serve others.

One Monday morning as I prayed, I had a strong impression to ask Heavenly Father to give my son a special dream, for it was only when he slept that he was still enough to listen. The specific words to say came gently to my mind. I was startled. I doubted that I had understood the impression correctly. Could I do such a thing? However, after receiving the same prompting two more times, I obeyed. As I knelt in prayer, I was moved to ask specifically for my son to have a bright recollection of all his guilt and to feel the burden of his sins, but also to know immediately that the Savior loved him and wanted him back.
Time passed. Then late one summer night my son came to the house. He stood in the doorway, unsure of his welcome. He told us he had been to visit with the bishop and that he wanted to go on a mission! I ran to him and threw my arms around him, and we both wept. For about two hours he described the pain of what he’d been going through and begged for our forgiveness.
My husband, who had been deeply hurt, was skeptical at first. After many hours of talking, our son reached over and put his hands on his dad’s knees and asked him if he would give him a father’s blessing. I witnessed a second miracle that night as tears came to my husband’s eyes and his heart was immediately softened.
Some time later, my son was asked to speak at a leadership meeting about his return to Church activity. At the meeting he stood and said, “One night I had a dream, and in the dream I had a bright recollection of all my guilt. I felt the burden of my sins but knew immediately that the Savior loved me and wanted me back.”
I was overcome with emotion. I knew then as never before that Heavenly Father had not only responded to my heartfelt fasting and prayer but had also, in his merciful wisdom, graciously taught me what to pray for.

One of my earliest memories is of sacrament meetings held in our home in Warrnambool, Australia. Between 10 and 15 people attended our branch, and my father, one of three priesthood holders, regularly had the opportunity to bless the sacrament. I remember the feelings I had as he humbly and carefully read the words of the sacrament prayers. Often his voice trembled as he felt the Spirit. He sometimes had to pause to control his emotions before completing the prayer.
As a five-year-old, I could not understand the full meaning of what was being said or done; however, I knew something special was occurring. I could feel the calm and reassuring influence of the Holy Ghost as my father contemplated the Savior’s love for us.

We were your age once, a long time ago! Elder Bangerter and I didn’t know each other before his mission. Just after he returned home, he went to work for his dad. A sales girl named Jody worked there and within a few days approached him about a blind date with her friend. He adamantly said, “no.” This same Jody was in my ward, we had just met and were serving as YW camp directors together. She knew I was waiting for a mission call but insisted that I go on a blind date with a new guy at her work. I said, “absolutely not.”

She was persistent, with both of us, but we dug our heels in. She called me the next week and I still said no. She and her husband came jogging by my home and again I said no. Finally, she said, Susan, he has a dirt bike!” I said, “Okay, I’ll go!” Jody went to work the next day and told Steve that I had a dirt bike and he said, “Okay, I’ll go!” We had our blind date on a Wednesday. It was love at first sight. He proposed to me on our 2nd date… and I said, “Yes.” It’s been 36 years of bliss!

When I was 14 years old I was living comfortably as the youngest child in my family—the only one still at home with my parents. We lived in the southern Utah town of St. George, a place steeped in the traditions of its pioneer founders. With both my father and mother born of this stock, I grew up with a strong sense of our pioneer heritage. The stories I heard growing up all centered on our community and the people who lived there. This wonderful heritage was at the center of who my parents were.
So it was a great surprise to me when my parents announced their intention to move. My father didn’t have a new job to go to. He didn’t have business contacts where we were going. But we were going to move from a place that had anchored our family for generations. We were going to leave an extended family of aunts, uncles, cousins, neighbors, and friends, and we were going to move to a larger city.
The reason my parents wanted to move was to live in the same city as their married children and grandchildren. They did it because my father and mother believed nothing was more important than being with and nurturing their immediate family.
We moved when I was a young teenager. I didn’t know anybody at school. I didn’t know anybody at church. I moved out of a small town into a big city. I trusted my parents, but I was a little bewildered as to why we really needed to move. Over time I came to see, and I see even more clearly since I’ve become a father, the great commitment my parents had to our immediate family.
Knowing how committed my parents were to our family made it easier for me to make this difficult transition as a teenager. I came to realize that many of the temporal things I thought were important to my father were not. I came to realize that nothing was as important to him as his family and the eternal covenants that bound us together. My father and mother would go wherever they needed to go and do whatever they needed to do to continue nurturing their relationships with children and grandchildren. Knowing this was of immense comfort to me.
In our small town, I had felt sheltered and protected. It was difficult leaving everything I knew, everything I was comfortable with. I felt lost moving into the city, but I trusted my parents. They had always given me every reason to know that they loved me, cared for me, and wanted me to be happy.
By the end of my first year, I decided I could make it in this new place, and I started to reach out to other people. I made good friends, and I started to fit in and feel comfortable. The best place I found help (besides my family) was at church. I started to come out of my shell because I started to participate more with the youth of the ward. They helped me feel good about who I was and what I was doing. They welcomed me and helped me feel a part of a church family—like the church family I had left in St. George.

I recall when my wife and I invited our teenage sons and daughters to take a challenge, one which they accepted. They were to pray earnestly that the Lord would help them identify a person they were to help come into the Church. There would be no time limit. They were to pray and search and wait until the Spirit spoke to them, until they found that special person who would accept the invitation to either participate with them in a Church activity or to listen to the message of our missionaries.
We promised them that they would know for sure because it would be just as though the Lord were pointing his finger at that person. They were also to pray that they would know what to say to that person at the time.
One son returned in about two weeks with the story that he definitely had been impressed to approach a young man who sat by him at the university. He approached him about the Church and was rejected. Naturally he felt discouraged and questioned the validity of our project.
“Did you truly love him?” I asked. “Or were you just trying to compile a statistic? Did you have love in your heart and in your eyes when you approached him? Were you listening to the Spirit to help you as you approached him?”
“Let me try again,” our son asked. “Let me fast and pray about it. Then I`ll try again.”
After fasting and praying about it, he still felt impressed that this was the young man he should introduce to the Church. He approached him once more, this time with great love in his heart, in his eyes, and in his soul. The young man agreed to meet with our son and the missionaries to learn about the Church.
Not only was the young man baptized but his inactive wife was reactivated and their three children will now have the blessings of being reared in an LDS home.

Once, on my mission, my companion and I made a beautiful coconut cake. We wanted to show our love and gratitude for our ward members, so when we saw a cake mix at the grocery store, we knew exactly what to do.
We spent hours delivering slices of cake, saving the last ones for two recently returned missionaries. We stopped at our apartment to grab the last container of cake, then hurried to our friends’ house through the pouring rain.
Their porch was dark, so I couldn’t see their expressions very well, but I could imagine their grateful smiles as they sampled our beautiful cake. I did not imagine that one of them would stop chewing mid-bite and say confusedly, “Sister … this is rice.”
Realization dawned on me. I’d grabbed the wrong container—and brought them our leftovers from lunch!
I was humiliated. How could our act of service have gone so wrong?
Even though my cake delivery didn’t turn out right, my friends appreciated the gesture (and had a good sense of humor). “It’s not about the cake,” one of them said. “The real gift was the effort you made to serve us.” It didn’t matter to them what I’d done, just that I’d done something. Because of that, our friendship was strengthened.
Sister Maxfield and her companion, Sister Sousa

One hot summer day, Reesey and Cheyenne invited Zara over to play. Mum made a snack. The girls sat at the table to eat.
Mum sliced mangoes from their mango tree. She put apple slices and grapes on a plate. Reesey looked at the delicious food. She remembered to say a prayer before eating her snack. She asked Zara, “Do you pray at your house?”
“What’s that?” Zara asked.
“Like this,” said Cheyenne. She folded her arms and bowed her head. She asked a blessing on the food. When she was done, she said, “See? Like that. Easy!”
“We don’t do that at our house. We just eat,” said Zara.
Reesey had never thought about not praying. “Mum,” she said, “can we stop saying prayers?”
Mum smiled as she carried cups of ice water to the table. “We like thanking Heavenly Father for what He has given us. We’re going to keep saying prayers. But it’s OK if other people don’t.”
Reesey knew Mum was right. She was happy when her family prayed. Maybe praying would make Zara happy too. “You could try it,” she said to Zara. “Prayers are good.”
“I like it when we pray,” said Cheyenne.“It makes me feel like a smile all over me inside.”
Zara smiled. “Maybe I will,” she said and ate a slice of mango.
Reesey and Cheyenne were happy they could tell their friend about praying. They all finished their snacks and ran back outside to play.

A few weeks ago, I was hurried and frazzled, with too many to-dos on my list. I had hoped to go to the temple that day but felt I was just too busy. As soon as that thought of being too busy for temple service crossed my mind, it awakened me to what I most needed to do. I left my office to walk over to the Salt Lake Temple, wondering when I was going to recapture the time I was losing. Thankfully, the Lord is patient and merciful and taught me a beautiful lesson that day.
As I sat down in the session room, a young sister leaned over and reverently whispered, “I’m really nervous. This is only my second time in the temple. Could you please help me?” How could she ever have known that those words were exactly what I needed to hear? She didn’t know, but Heavenly Father knew. He had observed my greatest need. I needed to serve. He prompted this humble young sister to serve me by inviting me to serve her. I assure you that I was the one who benefited most.

Six priests from Long Beach Seventh Ward, California, representing over 80 percent of their quorum, received their Duty to God awards and became licensed scuba divers during last year. Scott Taylor, Steve Burt, Lee Johnson, Jim Daniels, Jeff Burt, and Daril Johnson received training and experience through their Explorer post that enabled them to pass the requirements for scuba divers’ licenses. As a result they have been bringing home lobsters, crab, and other delicacies from the southern California coast.

From the back patio of my home in Hawaii, I could see the outdoor basketball court in the corner of the playground of Laie Elementary School. Lengthwise, the rough asphalt court was regulation size with standard ten-foot baskets at each end. Two shorter courts, each with lower eight-foot baskets, ran across its width.
Most afternoons, players of all ages, sizes, and colors jammed the court. But they didn’t play on the regulation baskets. They played on the eight-footers. With the shorter court and the lower standards, their fast breaks often ended in twisting two-handed slam dunks.
I wondered why so many kids would choose the lower hoops over the regulation ones, and this reason stood out: Who wouldn’t prefer a slam dunk over a jump shot?
I have to admit that I’ve played on that same court a few times myself, driving around my ten-year-old son to swoop down on the low basket with a rim-rattling dunk. Jonathan would be duly impressed by my leaping ability. And for a fleeting moment playing above the rim made me feel a little like Shaquille O’Neal or Patrick Ewing.
It was a good feeling.
But then we’d move to the ten-foot hoops, and I became a grounded bird; the rim seemed miles over my head, far, far out of range. All my shots would be off, ricocheting from the rim in weird angles. I’d have to play on the regular baskets for quite a while to get my shooting eye back. But no matter how much I played on the regulation hoops, I never did feel like an NBA giant. I just felt like a regular guy, hoping a combination of luck, wind currents, and my aim would guide the ball through the hoop.
Even though it was a blast skying over the eight-foot baskets to stuff in shots or snatch rebounds right off the rim, playing on the lower standards always hurt my ability to play on the standard baskets. Eventually, I wised up. Whenever Jonathan managed to get me to shoot around with him at the school court, I ignored the lower baskets, knowing that even though they might be fun, in the long run, they wouldn’t do my meager basketball skills a bit of good.
The funny thing is, I’ve known that since junior high school. I can still remember our coach warning us against playing on eight-foot baskets. “The game you guys are preparing for uses ten-foot standards. The lower baskets will only foul you up. So don’t you mess with them.” And if he ever caught any of us playing a lunchtime game on the low baskets, we’d get extra running at practice as a reminder of what was good for us.

Keeping the mighty works of God in our memory builds in us knowledge, confidence, and a profound reverence for His magnificent power. On one occasion we stayed overnight in the Austrian Alps. Our lodging was a small guesthouse on the edge of a deep precipice. Across the divide rose a sheer wall of rock thousands of feet high. Early in the evening a fierce storm arose. As thunder and lightning reverberated against the rock wall, the whole valley seemed to shake. With profound respect for the awesome power of God, we could not help but compare our puny experience with the account found in 3 Nephi:
There arose a great storm, such an one as never had been known in all the land.
And there was also a great and terrible tempest; and there was terrible thunder, insomuch that it did shake the whole earth as if it was about to divide asunder.
And there were exceedingly sharp lightnings, such as never had been known in all the land. [3 Nephi 8:5–7]
The mightiest of all His work is, of course, His magnificent Atonement, which brought to pass the immortality and eternal life of you and me. May we always remember His mighty works.

There are many ways we can serve the Lord daily. However, one of the most powerful ways we can serve Him is to share the gospel with others. I am so very grateful for the missionaries who taught my parents the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.

A few years after my parents had married and moved to Las Vegas, they had some concerns about moving into a house on Lacy Lane, partly because there were so many Mormons living on that street. Two months after that move, four-year-old Joni Christensen, a Mormon, invited my older sister, Tami, to attend a Primary Halloween party, and since Tami and Joni were such good friends, my sister also began attending midweek Primary activities.

Shortly following the party and after my father was asked the golden question by a coworker, two stake missionaries, Faye Boyd and Muriel Hammond, showed up at my parents’ home. My father told the missionaries he wasn’t a good prospect for their church, but he did want to know what they were teaching his daughter in Primary. The missionaries were probably thrilled to hear that!

My mother relates her feelings about the message these missionaries brought:

The second time they came to the home, it was the most unbelievable experience. As they were giving [us] the discussion, it was just like a light-bulb experience. I just knew in the depths of my soul that what I had been looking for all of my life I had finally found at the age of 21—that this was the gospel that I had searched so hard to find.

At this time she was pregnant with me. She recalls:

I just barely was pregnant with Tina. I wasn’t quite sure, but pretty sure. And so I tried to get out of the baptism by telling the missionaries that I would catch cold because it was December. It was down at the old First Ward chapel, and I didn’t want to catch cold. . . . And then they said that no one has ever caught cold from being baptized.

Within five weeks [we] had entered the waters of baptism, and my life would never be the same again. It’s by far the most important thing I ever did, and “sweet is the peace the gospel brings.” I searched so long and so hard, and when I found the gospel it was so sweet.

Sister Boyd and Sister Hammond served the Lord “moment by moment,” and by so doing they changed my parents’ lives in such wonderful ways. In turn, my life has been blessed, and I hope that “moment by moment” I can bless the lives of others.

I am so grateful for the ongoing building of temples in this “dispensation of the fulness of times” (Doctrine and Covenants 128:18). Since the early days of the Restoration, faithful Saints have made many sacrifices to receive temple ordinances and covenants. Following their great example, in 1975, after many economic sacrifices to travel from Mexico City, my dear wife, Evelia, and I, being accompanied by our dear parents, were sealed as an eternal husband and wife in the Mesa Arizona Temple. That day, as we were united by the authority of the priesthood in the house of the Lord, we truly experienced a glimpse of heaven.

Kenny was going shopping. He had saved his allowance to buy himself a treat. Just down the street from his house was a little grocery store. Mr. and Mrs. Arnett, who ran the store, had big jars of candy on the counter. They used a little scoop to put the candy into a red and white bag. Then they weighed it on a big old-fashioned scale and told you how much to pay.
Kenny had saved enough money to get a whole pound of candy. That was a lot, but he knew that if he was careful, it would last a long time. He had already decided what kind he was getting. It was his very favorite—peas and carrots. Not real peas and carrots. Candy peas and carrots that looked just like real peas and tiny carrots.
Because the store wasn’t very far from his house, Kenny’s mom let him go by himself. He walked, skipped, and ran down the street. As he passed some of his friends’ houses along the way, he thought, What if people are outside when I come back with my candy? They will see the bag from Arnett’s store and want some.
Kenny had worked hard to save his money for a whole pound of peas and carrots, and he wanted it to last a long time. If he shared it with others, it wouldn’t last very long. So he thought up a plan and turned around and ran all the way home.
“Did you get your treat already? Mom asked.
“No, I forgot something.”
“OK, be careful,” Mom said.
Kenny hurried back to the store, this time carrying something besides money in his pockets.
When Mr. Arnett handed Kenny the red and white bag, it felt heavy. A pound of peas and carrots was a lot of candy! He was going to make it last a long, long time. And his plan was going to help.
As he left the store, Kenny pulled some headphones from his pocket and put them over his ears. He plugged them into a little radio in his other pocket. He turned the radio on and made sure the sound was pretty loud. As he started home, he watched carefully for any friends he might see.
Ashley and Isaac were the first friends he saw. They were just coming out of their house to play. Kenny looked straight ahead and pretended not to see them. He could see out of the corner of his eye that they were saying something to him, but he couldn’t hear them. They were pointing at his bag. He knew that they were going to ask for some of his candy, so he walked a little faster and passed them by.
My plan worked! Kenny thought.
Mrs. Moulton was working in her yard when he passed. He gave her a smile and a little wave. She was pointing at his bag and saying something.
She wants some candy, too! Kenny thought. He looked away and tried to enjoy the loud music.
He looked up the street and saw Hannah coming down the sidewalk on her skateboard. She hopped off and started talking to Kenny, pointing at his bag. He just smiled, bobbed his head in time with the music, and went around her. Hannah was asking him for candy, and he just didn’t want to share.
One more house to pass, and he would be home. He thought the Pierce brothers were visiting their grandma, but he was wrong. There they were, and they had already seen him. They also jumped up and down and pointed at his bag. Kenny pretended he didn’t see them and hurried to his house.
Now all he had to do was avoid his sister and brother and get to his room, where he would be safe at last! He rushed in and headed for the stairs. There was Janelle looking right at his bag and asking for some of the candy that he still hadn’t even tasted. He ran past her and up to his room. Dustin was on his way out to play ball. He reached out to touch the red-and-white bag. Kenny pulled it away and told him to leave it alone. Then he noticed something. The bag wasn’t as heavy as it had been when Mr. Arnett had given it to him. He looked inside.
“Oh no!” Kenny yelled. Instead of a whole pound of peas and carrots in his bag, there were only one pea and two carrots in the bottom. And right next to them was a great big hole! All of his candy was gone!
Kenny was sad. The candy must have fallen out a little at a time as he walked home. He hadn’t heard it landing on the sidewalk because he had had the radio turned up so loud.
Then he thought of something else. Everyone he’d passed had pointed at his bag. All those friends weren’t asking for candy—they were trying to tell him that his candy was falling out of the bag! Kenny didn’t feel like being selfish anymore. He wished he had some candy left to share.
He made another plan.
The next time Kenny saved up enough allowance for some candy, he didn’t take his radio to the store. Instead of pretending to not see his friends, he looked for them. He stopped at all their houses on the way home to share his peas and carrots. And the ones that were left tasted extra delicious.

While I was serving my first mission to Mexico and Central America, my companion and I received a very interesting final assignment from our mission president. He asked us to leave the mission home and go down to a town in Southern Mexico, where some months before missionaries had been withdrawn due to religious and political persecution. Their lives had been threatened by mobs. A few converts had been baptized, but a real organization of the Church had not been established. As a result, these new members had been left alone, and for months the mission president heard little about how things were going.

We were given a list of names and asked by the mission president to go there, find the people, see how they were doing, and, if possible, locate a place where we could quietly conduct a sacrament meeting. For all those months, they had not had the privilege we take so much for granted of partaking of the sacrament each week.

We arrived early in the morning and immediately searched for the address of the first name on the list. We located her address and passed through a door in a high adobe wall that surrounded a crowded cluster of tiny huts around a central area.

It seemed that everyone there was watching us. Back in the corner was a little grass-thatched hut. The sister we were looking for came to the door, saw us, and easily recognized by our dress that we were missionaries. With tears in her eyes, she rushed to us and greeted us with a hug. We identified ourselves and told her why we were there.

After this brief greeting, she went back into her hut and brought out a clay jar into which she put her hand and withdrew some money she had been saving for months. Even though she had been alone without any Church organization, she had been saving her tithing with faith and hope that someday her tithing would be taken to the appropriate place.

She obviously had many unmet needs; yet, she was handing us money. My first impression was not to accept it and to encourage her to spend it wherever she might need it. Then I realized that it was not my right to do so because she was obeying a commandment. She had gained a testimony that tithing is a divine commandment and was willing to live that principle—even when she was alone.

We need the courage to live up to our standards, especially when there is no one around to check up on us. Then, regardless of where we are, away from home for the first time, in college, in a social setting where there are all kinds of temptations, or any place else—we can stand up for that which we know is true and live consistently with our ideals.