Gospel Story Finder

Despite the cost of the trip, Brother Mateo; his wife, Altagracia; and three of their children were sealed in the temple in 2001. Since then they have sacrificed to save enough to visit the temple at least twice each year.
The work and the sacrifices, both physical and spiritual, are worth it to Brother Mateo.
“It’s not hard when you know what the purpose is,” he says. “We’re fighting for something more sublime than wordly things.”

It was the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, and the grocery store was crowded with shoppers. Jeff and his mother stood near the end of a long line at the checkout.
Suddenly the young woman in front of them gasped. “My purse! I’ve lost it!” The baby in her shopping cart blinked and started to cry.
Jeff’s mother stepped forward. “My name’s Sara Yoder,” she said. “Maybe my son and I can help you.”
Oh, no, thought Jeff. If we lose our place in line, we’ll miss the beginning of tonight’s TV mystery.
The young woman picked up her baby and turned around. “I’m Melanie Ross.” She patted the infant and sighed. “My husband’s paycheck is in that purse.”
Jeff looked at the food in Melanie Ross’s cart. There was a turkey, a carton of milk, butter, bread, celery, and a package of cranberries. This lady’s Thanksgiving dinner is not going back on the shelves, Jeff decided. Not if I can help it.
“Mom can check the dairy case, and I’ll search the produce section and the bread aisles,” Jeff suggested. “Mrs. Ross, maybe you could check the frozen meat case.”
“Leave your carts where they are, and I’ll save your places,” the man behind them offered.
Mrs. Ross looked relieved. “Oh, thank you,” she said.
The three of them left to look for the purse. Very slowly, Jeff walked up one side of the bread aisle and down the other. He looked carefully at each shelf, but he didn’t see a misplaced purse. Then he walked to the produce section and searched just as carefully—no purse.
Jeff returned to the checkout line. Mrs. Ross and his mother were already there. Their hopeful looks disappeared when they saw that he, too, was empty-handed.
Mrs. Ross started pushing her cart out of line. “Thanks, anyway,” she told Jeff and his mother.
“Wait!” said Jeff. “There’s something else you can do.”
“What’s that?”
Jeff pointed to a small room with a window. “Try the lost and found.”
A few minutes later, Mrs. Ross returned to the checkout line, still holding the baby and nothing else.
Just then a voice came over the loud-speaker: “A red clutch purse has been lost in the store. If anyone has found it, please bring it to the lost and found office. Thank you.”
The line moved forward. Soon it was Mrs. Ross’s turn to pay for her groceries.
“Trade places with us while you wait for someone to turn your purse in,” Jeff’s mom suggested.
“Is there any chance that you left your purse at home?” Jeff asked as the carts were switched. “Or in your car?”
Mrs. Ross patted the baby, who was now sleeping on her shoulder. “I rode the bus here, so I had my purse with me then, and I remember having it when I put my baby in the cart.”
Jeff’s mother exchanged glances with him before she turned back to Mrs. Ross and offered, “I’ll drive you home.”
“You can leave your cart here,” the cashier put in kindly. “The stock boy will return the food to the shelves.”
Moments later, shuffling through the snow in the parking lot, Jeff remarked, “It doesn’t seem much like Thanksgiving, does it?”
“To me it does,” Mrs. Ross disagreed.
“How can it?” Jeff asked. “What do you have to be thankful for?”
Mrs. Ross smiled. “I’m thankful that I live in a city where strangers go out of their way to be helpful.”
Jeff opened the car door for Mrs. Ross and the baby. As Jeff climbed in, he asked, “What is a clutch purse, anyway?”
Jeff’s mother put the key in the ignition and explained, “A purse without handles.”
“Wait just a minute,” Jeff said excitedly, getting out of the car again. “I’ll be right back.” He raced toward the store. Soon afterward he came back, clutching a red purse!
“That’s it! Oh, thank you! Where did you find it?”
“In the frozen meat case,” Jeff answered. “Behind the turkeys.”
Jeff watched as Mrs. Ross opened the purse and looked through it. “But I searched there,” she said. “I didn’t see it.”
“I couldn’t see it, either,” Jeff explained. “It was too far back and way at the bottom.”
Jeff’s mother looked at him. “If you couldn’t see it, how did you know where it was?”
“Your shopping cart had a clue in it,” Jeff answered. “Let’s go get your groceries, and I’ll show you.”
The women followed him back to the store. Mrs. Ross’s cart of groceries still stood by the counter. Jeff pushed it back in line. “Watch,” he said as he took the items out of the cart one by one and put them on the conveyer belt. “It takes two hands to lift out the turkey. Everything else I can pick up with one. Since clutch purses don’t have handles, you must have set it down to pick up your turkey.”
“That’s just what I did,” Mrs. Ross admitted. “I remember now. Then my baby started crying, and I forgot all about the purse. I’m sorry that I caused all this trouble.”
“Forget it,” Jeff told her. “Not many kids get a chance to solve a grocery-store mystery.”
“We’re just glad that everything turned out all right,” Jeff’s mother said. “And we’ll still drive you home.”
Jeff looked at his wristwatch. The TV mystery was half over, and he didn’t even care anymore.

It was a beautiful, lonely countryside. Yellow wheat waved like a golden sea in the sun. The air was sweet and pure, and the stream danced clear and sparkling. Each afternoon a young girl would look up expectantly from her chores. Her gaze would follow the slope of the land to a valley where parallel tracks ran east and west.
First she would hear the shrill whistle. Next she would see the gray plume of smoke. Finally the huge black locomotive would push its way into the panorama. It would roar on and not even slacken its pace as it passed. None of its passengers probably ever noticed the girl perched on the top rail of the fence. She always waved excitedly, though, and felt a sense of awe as the wonderful train disappeared around a hill. Where had it been? Where was it going, so safe and secure on those steel ribbons that banded the land? What people did it carry, and what were they like? When the smoke from the train had vanished on the breeze, the girl slowly climbed down from the fence and went about her chores.
One day a peddler appeared on the horizon. The clank and jingle of his wagon and its goods could be heard for a mile. The girl’s mother shielded her eyes and watched the wagon approaching. The kettle was put on to boil, and another plate was set at the table.
The peddler had wondrous things to sell. Cloth and buttons, pots and scrub boards, hammers and ointments, spices and books were stuffed into or hung from the sides of his wagon. While her mother fingered the cloth and her father chatted with the peddler, the girl gazed longingly at his books. She pulled one from a box and carefully opened it. There were pictures of the ocean, strange lands, and strange people wearing clothes she had never seen before! She stared at page after page of marvelous sights!
“Your daughter seems to enjoy the books,” the peddler said and smiled.
“Indeed,” her father replied. “Perhaps it’s time she learned to read.”
“Yes, I believe it is,” her mother agreed.
“I’ll let you have the lot in that box for a dollar and a hot meal,” the peddler offered.
“It’s a bargain,” the girl’s mother replied.
So the dollar was paid, the meal was eaten, and the books were taken into the house. They did not, however, remain long in the box, for the girl was anxious to look at them all.
“God gave us good minds,” her mother said, “and we’re obliged to fill them with meaningful things. It’s time for you to learn to read.” She patted the table and smiled. “Come here by the light, and we shall begin.”
Evening after evening they pored over the pages, and word by word the girl learned to read. As she learned, whole new worlds opened before her eyes. And then when she watched the train in its daily passing, she no longer felt so sad. She knew that the train could go only where its tracks were laid and no farther. But she was free to travel with it, and beyond, with God’s gift of a mind that knows no bounds.

For a long time in Primary, I wanted to go inside the temple and do baptisms for the dead. So when I became a Beehive, I couldn’t wait to get started. The first time I went was on my 12th birthday. My dad took me to the Ogden Utah Temple, where we did the baptisms and confirmations. I felt the Spirit so strongly, and I didn’t want the feeling to leave.
I decided that for a Personal Progress experience, I wanted to do my family history. A kind sister from my ward taught me how to use the FamilySearch program. I then searched for names with my mom, and every time I saw a green arrow pointing to the temple, I squealed with delight—it meant we’d found another name to submit to the temple for temple work!
My mother and I just went to the temple to do six of the baptisms. Temple workers said they had more names for us to do if we’d like to do them. I was overjoyed! My mom and I did at least 12 baptisms each. I felt the Spirit and always will when I go to the temple.

“Come on, Fynn. It’s time to go!” Johan said.
Fynn’s brother, Johan, was waiting impatiently at the front door. He didn’t want to be late for school.
Fynn frowned. He didn’t want to go to school. His family had just moved to a new house. It was his first year at school, and he hadn’t made any friends here yet. He missed his old friends.
“I’m scared!” Fynn said, running to his mom. “Why do I have to go to school?”
Mom gave Fynn a hug. “It’s going to be OK. Let’s say a prayer,” she said. “There’s always time to pray.”
They knelt down and asked Heavenly Father to help Fynn. Then Fynn and his brother went to school. The day went a little better.
Every morning after that, Fynn knelt down and said a prayer asking Heavenly Father for help.
Slowly, things got better. Fynn made a friend, and he wasn’t scared anymore. After a while, Fynn started liking school.
One day Fynn and his brother were walking to school, and Fynn felt happy. He noticed the sun shining. He thought about all the fun things he was learning. Suddenly he stopped walking.
“I forgot something!” he told Johan. Fynn ran back to their house.
Mom looked worried when he ran inside.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I forgot to pray!” Fynn said. He knelt down. He wanted to thank Heavenly Father for helping him.
After ending his prayer, he gave Mom a hug. “There’s always time to pray!” he said.
Fynn smiled. Mom smiled. And as Fynn ran to catch up with his brother, he thought maybe Heavenly Father was smiling too.

About seven weeks after the accident, I was able to return home. My family stayed most of the day, helping me get settled in, but I spent my first Sunday morning home alone. That was very difficult. After being with people and being surrounded by their love, I felt a terrible loneliness that day—something deeper than I had ever felt before. I had gone through the typical frustrations of being single and of wanting to be a mother. Now, after having been wrapped in the wonderfully sustaining love of my family, I wondered if I could handle living alone any more.
That afternoon, Jerry Tucker came to visit me. We had come to know each other through his calling as high council adviser to the Young Women program, so I wasn’t too surprised when he continued to visit me. Months later, though, when he proposed marriage, I wondered if I was reading my feelings correctly. I suppose, quite naturally, that I felt the need for outside assurance to confirm that my judgment and thoughts were sound. Because the Lord had been so close to me through the crisis of the accident and the slow healing, and because my family had given me such tremendous support, I felt the need for their approval and for wisdom outside my own.
So I began praying about Jerry’s proposal. My prayers were answered one day when a great feeling of peace washed over me. I knew then that this was my time to be married. I also knew that the Lord had not left me alone and that I would never be cheated of anything he had promised me. Jerry and I were married in the Salt Lake Temple on 12 February 1987.

We recently hosted in this hall a convention of many officers of a part of the United States military forces. They were holding a conference here in Salt Lake City and wished to hear the Tabernacle Choir.
They came on a beautiful Sunday morning. I was asked to speak to them briefly, and I told them of this Tabernacle and its construction. The choir, accompanied by the 23rd Army Band, then presented a brief concert. As they concluded the concert, the Choir sang with mounting crescendo the “Battle Hymn of the Republic”:
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord;
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored. …
His truth is marching on.
[Hymns, 1985, no. 60]
I looked about the hall and saw seasoned veterans of war with tears running down their cheeks. For many it was a great, moving experience. This building has a spirit, a quality unique and wonderful.

An example of someone who took personal responsibility to become self-reliant is Cedrick Tshiambwe. Cedrick joined the Church in Luputa, Democratic Republic of the Congo, when he was 12 years old after reading and praying about the Book of Mormon. He wanted to serve a mission, so he developed a plan to save money to cover some of the costs of his mission. To earn the money, he purchased bananas from neighboring towns to take back to Luputa to sell. Using his bicycle, he found he could transport about four to six bunches at a time. Depending on the day, he rode as far as the neighboring town of Lusuku, some 29 kilometres away, to purchase the bananas. It took Cedrick four years, but he saved enough money to pay for his passport, buy clothes and scriptures and to be able to contribute to his mission in the Democratic Republic of Congo Kinshasa Mission.5

The Utah Valley Ranger soccer team is succeeding at something that’s difficult to do in the sports world. The Rangers are a top team, but they don’t play on Sundays. The team is made up of 17 deacons, only two of whom are from the same ward. The players train hard and arrange friendly games with out-of-state teams. Last year, the Rangers were Utah’s state champions. The boys travel for their games sometimes, but they set a goal to keep the Sabbath holy and be in church on Sundays.

Joseph, Sr., endured ridicule and persecution because of his prophet son’s experiences and claims. Yet he was unwavering in his loving support and defended his son.
He saw and handled the plates of gold from which the Book of Mormon was translated and testified throughout his life to the truthfulness of that sacred book. His name remained firmly affixed, with those of the other witnesses to the Book of Mormon, in the front pages of that second witness of Jesus Christ. On one occasion he was imprisoned and told he would be released if he would deny the Book of Mormon. Not only did he not deny it, but he converted two persons during his 30-day confinement.
At the time of his death, Joseph Smith, Sr., was described as “a man faithful to his God and to the Church in every situation and under all circumstances through which he was called to pass” (History of the Church, 4:192).

You see, I am a Mormon. When I was 13, I had lived with a foster family in Salt Lake City and, after receiving permission, had been baptized into the Church. Upon returning home I found my family very much against my new religion. They forbade me to attend or participate in Church activities, and I obeyed. During the last half of my senior year in high school, however, I was contacted by two missionaries, Elder Michael Morris and Elder Gene L. Peterson, and was retaught the gospel. They encouraged me to seek further education and even go on a mission if it was my desire. It was ironic that now these two options were being offered to me—but in a different way than I had expected.
I thought of every reason why I should accept the offer. My future would be secure, my dreams of a master’s degree in art would be realized, and I could devote my time to studying without having to worry about working. Was there really a difference in serving a mission for the Methodist church instead of the Mormon church? Weren’t they both Christian churches? My friends and teachers were encouraging me to take the offer. Their concern for my future was genuine, and I appreciated their love—I didn’t want to disappoint them. My personal desire to say yes to the Methodist church was strengthened by my fear of facing my friends if I did not.
“How could I turn down this offer?” I asked myself. But a still small voice, much quieter than the voices around me, whispered, “How can you accept it? How can you live a lie?” I realized then that if I accepted I would have to keep secret the fact that it was not the Methodist church I desired to serve. I could not use their support to achieve my goals. They were such wonderful people, so generous in their nature. The voice was right. How could I? I could not. My decision was made, and I had to find the strength to face it no matter how unrealistic it seemed to my friends. I wrote the council and explained that I was a Mormon, and though their offer was something I would never forget, I could not accept it. They answered my letter, expressing appreciation for my honesty with them, and wished me luck in my future endeavors.
Since then, through a lot of hard work and help from many people, I have graduated from Brigham Young University with the art degree I so much wanted. I was privileged to enjoy several teaching assistantships there plus the companionship of some of the greatest people I’ve ever known. When faced with similar decisions since then, I’ve reflected back on this experience of standing against the advice of friends and loved ones and listening instead to the whispering of one small voice that only I could hear. I have learned that no matter how great the problems and pressures or how difficult the decisions, Heavenly Father is always there to guide us.

When I was 16, most of my friends at school weren’t members, but they knew that I was a member of the Church. They started to smoke and do other things I wouldn’t do. So things began to change between us; our types of conversation were very different, and our thinking and activities weren’t compatible.
One day my father asked me, “Why aren’t you thinking about your friends’ effect on you?” He counseled me to be careful and think about the necessity of changing my friends.
When I started at the university, I became very busy and didn’t spend a lot of time with my friends, but one time when we were together, they decided to do something bad. We were in a car, and they drove really fast. A policeman pulled us over, and I was scared. I remembered the words of my father about taking care of the future. That experience helped me make a decision about the kinds of friends I wanted to have.
I became very involved in Church activities. Attending Mutual was wonderful because I decided to have those kinds of friends. I learned that my father was right—that I should take care of my relationship with good friends. I needed friends who would help me prepare for a mission.

Recently a close friend told me some heartbreaking news. Her dog, Holly, had died! My friend, Alli, had really loved her dog.
As soon as I heard the news, I was devastated. Alli and I had spent year after year playing with and admiring Holly. Once we worked hard to give Holly a bath on a hot summer day. As soon as we finished washing her, she ran into the mud and her legs got all dirty!
I wanted to do something to help Alli feel better. So I made her a care package and delivered it to her doorstep. She loved the kindness I showed her. We spent a few moments of silence as we hugged each other and cried.
When I left, I realized I had done the right thing. Comforting someone is what Jesus Christ would have done. I know that everyone can set a good example and follow Christ.

I have always been drawn to associate with older people (now I am one). I remember in the Quorum of the Twelve, LeGrand Richards didn’t walk as fast as the other Brethren, and I would always wait and open the door for him and walk back to the building with him. One day one of the Brethren said, “Oh, you’re so kind to take care of Brother Richards.” And I thought, “You don’t know my selfish motive”—as we would walk back, I would just listen to him. I knew that he could remember Wilford Woodruff, and he would speak. One-on-one teaching is very powerful. Generally one-on-one teaching is what happens when you are corrected.

My name is Emily. Do you know what I like best about being me? I like having lots of feelings inside me, and I like showing my feelings in lots of different ways.
Today I gave a talk about Jesus Christ in Primary. I showed I was scared when my voice cracked.
I felt peaceful, though, when I looked up and saw my father and mother smiling at me. I covered my mouth so I wouldn’t laugh out loud when my big brother winked at me.
I felt happy when I told everyone that Jesus is my friend. I said, “Heavenly Father and Jesus love me, and I love them.”
I showed reverence when I walked to my seat with my arms folded. I closed my eyes and bowed my head when the closing prayer was given. I listened to the prayer and said amen at the end so that Father in Heaven knew I was praying too.
During sacrament meeting I sat still in my seat and thought about Jesus while the bread and water were being passed. I felt warm and calm and happy and peaceful. I felt the Holy Spirit inside my heart. I like that feeling best of all.

Prayer at Gethsemaneby Del Parson“For, behold, the Lord your Redeemer suffered death in the flesh; wherefore he suffered the pain of all men, that all men might repent and come unto him” (D&C 18:11).
Del Parson
Christ is my hero. I love to read about Him and His life. It is humbling to try to portray Him in art.
My art has been greatly influenced by the guidance given in my patriarchal blessing. It gave direction for my work. Early in my career, my wife and young daughter were in a car accident. At that time I felt as if the Holy Ghost showered me with comfort and God’s love. This love is what I try to express in my paintings of the Savior.

In June my wife, Kathy, and I attended the funeral of Jason Hall. At the time of his passing, he was 48 years old and serving as an elders quorum president.

Here are Jason’s words about an event that changed his life:
“[At age 15] I [was] in a diving accident. … I [broke] my neck and was paralyzed from the chest down. I lost complete control of my legs and partial control of my arms. I could no longer walk, stand, … or feed myself. I could barely breathe or speak.”14
“‘Dear Father [in Heaven],’ I begged, ‘if I could only have my hands, I know I could make it. Please, Father, please. …
“… ‘Keep my legs, Father; I just [pray for] the use of my hands.’”15
Jason never received the use of his hands. Can you hear the voices from the spacious building? “Jason Hall, God does not hear your prayers! If God is a loving God, how could He leave you like this? Why have faith in Christ?” Jason Hall heard their voices, but he did not heed them. Instead he feasted upon the fruit of the tree. His faith in Jesus Christ became immovable. He graduated from the university and married Kolette Coleman in the temple, describing her as the love of his life.16 After 16 years of marriage, another miracle, their precious son, Coleman, was born.
How did they grow their faith? Kolette explained: “We trusted in God’s plan. And it gave us hope. We knew that Jason would [in a future day] be whole. … We knew that God provided us a Savior, whose atoning sacrifice enables us to keep looking forward when we want to give up.”17
Speaking at Jason’s funeral, 10-year-old Coleman said his dad taught him: “Heavenly Father [has] a plan for us, earth life would be awesome, and we could live in families. … But … we would have to go through hard things and we would make mistakes.”
Coleman continued: “Heavenly Father sent His Son, Jesus, to earth. His job was to be perfect. To heal people. To love them. And then to suffer for all of our pain, sorrows, and sins. Then He died for us.” Then Coleman added, “Because He did this, Jesus knows how I feel right now.
“Three days after Jesus died, He … came alive again, with His body perfect. This is important to me because I know that … my [dad’s] body will be perfect and we will be together as a family.”
Coleman concluded: “Every night since I was a baby, my dad said to me, ‘Dad loves you, Heavenly Father loves you, and you’re a good boy.’”18
President Russell M. Nelson described why the Hall family feels joy and hope. He said:
“The joy we feel has little to do with the circumstances of our lives and everything to do with the focus of our lives.
“When the focus of our lives is on God’s plan of salvation … and Jesus Christ and His gospel, we can feel joy regardless of what is happening—or not happening—in our lives. Joy comes from and because of Him. He is the source of all joy. …
“If we look to the world … , we will never know joy. … [Joy] is the gift that comes from intentionally trying to live a righteous life, as taught by Jesus Christ.”19

We all need to know what it means to be honest. Honesty is more than not lying. It is truth telling, truth speaking, truth living, and truth loving. John, a nine-year-old Swiss pioneer child who was in one of the handcart companies, is an example of honesty. His father put a chunk of buffalo meat in the handcart and said it was to be saved for Sunday dinner. John said, “I was so very hungry and the meat smelled so good to me while pushing at the handcart that I could not resist. I had a little pocket knife. … Although I expected a severe whipping when father found it out, I cut off little pieces each day. I would chew them so long that they got white and perfectly tasteless. When father came to get the meat he asked me if I had been cutting off some of it. I said ‘Yes. I was so hungry I could not let it alone.’ Instead of giving me a scolding or whipping, father turned away and wiped tears from his eyes.”

One day in high school, I had a geography test where I was asked to recognize and name each continent and country in the world. Sounds tough, right? Well, it was. Especially since I am mostly blind.
I have tunnel vision, so my eyes—well, the one that works—can only focus on a small portion of a page at a time. Not ideal for a test where I needed to see the whole picture all at once.
I got frustrated pretty quick. I couldn’t tell Europe apart from South America or Africa from Australia. I got so frustrated that I started to cry, making the already jumbled shapes on my paper even more blurry. Thankfully, I was saved when my dad walked in to pick me up at the end of the day.
My teacher gave me extra time to complete the test at home. After dinner that night I sat at the table, ready to try again, while my siblings watched a video in the living room.
I started trying to fill in the map when something in the video caught my attention. A blind man was asking the Savior if He would give him sight. At that moment, that’s what I wanted more than anything.
Suddenly I realized that if anyone could help me, it was Jesus Christ. I didn’t have sight given to me that day, but as I listened to the Savior heal that man, I felt joy! I knew Jesus Christ cared about me and would help me finish my test.
I knelt down and offered heartfelt thanks to my Heavenly Father for the gift of His Son. Then, with newfound determination, I picked up my pencil, ready to try again.

But some of the siblings also had their own reservations about the Church. The second daughter, Cho Gil Ja, had doubts centered in part on why her older brother was asked to give so much service to his church without being paid, as ministers were in other churches. She dated, married, and was raising her own young children before she finally heeded her brother’s request to listen to the missionaries.
When they asked her to read the Book of Mormon, she became absorbed in the reading and finished the book in three days. She heeded Moroni’s admonition to pray about its teachings and received a strong confirmation that they are true. At that point, she says, “I felt there must be something I could do for God.” The impression she received in answer to this desire was that she too should attend church and serve.