Gospel Story Finder

I didn’t have a lot of friends when I was 15. Or at least that’s the way it seemed. I really wanted to fit in, but most of the time I felt like an outsider.
One warm Sunday morning I shoved my hands in my pockets, ducked my head, and started walking to sacrament meeting. I heard a car behind me but didn’t pay any attention until it pulled up next to me at the curb. It was a classy, bright red outfit. I was surprised that I knew the driver. It was a guy I’ll call Tom.
I’d known Tom most of my life. He was a natural leader. His parents were active, and he usually went to church. We didn’t hang around together at school because Tom ran with a crowd that didn’t think much of me. Tom was athletic, good looking, and popular. I was surprised that he bothered to stop.
“Hey,” Tom said, “where are you going?”
“To church,” I answered awkwardly. “Where did you get the wheels?”
“It belongs to my cousin,” Tom smiled, patting the steering wheel. “He lets me use it.”
I stepped back for a better look. The red car was sleek and shiny, and the engine rumbled like an earthquake. There was music playing that sounded like a live band in the back seat. I hoped Mom would let me drive her rusty clunker when I got my license, but “the green box” was as ugly as a soup can. I shook my head and sighed hopelessly.
“Do you want to go for a ride?” Tom offered.
I was stunned. “Sure,” I said, “but I can’t be gone very long. I’ve got to set up the sacrament.”
“Let someone else do it,” Tom sneered.
I believed my priesthood responsibilities were important, but here was a chance to spend time with someone popular. No one would care if I was late, and I was sure the sacrament would get done without me.
“All right,” I agreed. “Where are we going?”
Tom smiled. “I promised the girls a ride. Jump in. We’ll find them and look up some fun.”
When I realized the offer was more than just a ride around the block, my stomach flopped and my mouth filled with cotton. A thousand thoughts filled my head. This could be my big chance! The girls Tom knew were popular and pretty. If I showed up with him, there was a chance they might like me. It could mean a whole new image. And yet …
Tom’s face clouded over. “Are you coming?” he demanded.
I tried to answer, but the noise I made sounded like I was strangling. I couldn’t seem to move my feet.
“I guess you’re scared,” he concluded as he jammed the car into gear. “Well, it won’t take me long to find someone else.”
Tom punched the pedal and took off like a shot, leaving a patch of rubber to remind me what a fool I was. I stood and stared after him with my mouth open.
“He’s right,” I told myself miserably. “I am scared.” I felt terrible. “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!” I muttered, kicking the curb so hard my toes hurt.
I went to church, but I couldn’t pay attention to the meetings. I was sure that Tom would never ask me to ride with him again (I was right) and that he would tell everyone what a geek I was (right again).
After the meetings I went straight to my bedroom and beat up my pillow. Church had cost me a chance to be with Tom and his cool friends. I felt sick about it and called myself names until I couldn’t think of any more. Finally I went to sleep just to get away from myself.

Take me for example. I’d had LDS friends since I was 13, and I eventually joined the Church when I was 19. But despite learning a lot about Church culture over those years, I had a hard transition. To me, the Church culture and practices were so different that they seemed kind of weird.
I grew up in a church that in many ways is quite unlike the one you know or are coming to know. At church the ministers and choir wore robes similar to high school graduation robes. During worship service—their equivalent of sacrament meeting—the ministers gave sermons and did all the talking. Every Sunday we all repeated the Lord’s Prayer in unison and always sang the hymn “Praise God from Whom All Blessings Flow.” Babies were baptized by having water sprinkled on their heads, but confirmation happened at around 14 years old.
We used grape juice instead of water for the sacrament, and high school kids attended Sunday School with the adults in a class that talked about current issues in society.
Even our building was different from the LDS buildings I had visited. We had a large chapel modeled after Christian churches in Europe, with a high peaked roof and tall, stained-glass windows. There was a cross in the choir loft. A beautiful, tall bell tower stood out front. I loved ringing that bell after church services. It was heavy enough that it could lift a small child off the ground as the rope went up and down.
Our customs and social beliefs were different too. We were taught that it was OK to drink alcohol or smoke. Having a boyfriend or girlfriend as a teenager was OK. In fact, we were taught that you could even have sexual relations before marriage as long as you believed you were in love. We never talked about having a testimony. The first time I saw a fast and testimony meeting—wow! I couldn’t believe how odd that seemed. No one ever stood to share their beliefs like that in my church.
Coming to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints wasn’t just about learning new doctrines, such as the premortal life and baptism for the dead; it was a change in culture and lifestyle and expectations. Resolving those differences was a hard road to walk.
The first six months after my baptism were really hard. I almost didn’t make it. Everything was so different, especially because I was attending church without my family. I still struggled with certain doctrinal points, as well as feelings of being estranged from my past.
Fortunately, my friends in the Church were patient, kind, and constant. They took me to activities, invited me to their homes for dinner and family home evening, and prayed with me. That made a huge difference not just in my joining the Church but also in my staying active and finding strength when my testimony wavered. I owe a lot to them for helping me figure things out.

A young friend of mine, whom I will call Alan, recently ran his first marathon—a distance of 26.2 miles. He had set his goal several months in advance, learned what preparation was required, and disciplined himself to follow a rigorous training schedule. He sought the advice of experienced runners and read articles on running a marathon. He practiced running the marathon route and planned a strategy for traversing the hilly course.
Finally, the day of the marathon arrived; it would be the culmination of months of training, discipline, and sacrifice. He got off to a good start in a large crowd of runners. He felt strong and confident, following his predetermined strategy. About eight miles into the race, on a downhill part of the course, he caught up with an experienced runner, Brent by name, who had given him sound advice during his training. Alan decided to match his stride to Brent’s disciplined and experienced pace.
As they passed the eighteen-mile mark, Alan struggled to stay with Brent so someone he knew would be by his side if he began “hitting the wall.” Hitting the wall means feeling a sudden urge to quit, encountering an almost tangible barrier that requires a tremendous effort to overcome. It often comes at about the twenty-mile mark.
For the next two miles, Alan kept pace with Brent. Then it hit him. He felt a sudden loss of energy, an almost overwhelming desire to stop or walk. “Stay with me,” Brent said. “We all feel it at some point. You can get through it. I’ll help pull you through.”
Somehow, Alan continued. He and Brent began to pass spectators. He knew his wife, children, and other family members would be watching about one mile ahead. Drawing on the strength provided by thoughts of his family, he was able to hang on until the desire to quit left him.
As they finally neared the finish, Alan found the last mile to be the hardest of all. Alan and Brent crossed the finish line just five seconds apart. Alan was more exhausted than he ever had been but was elated because he had beaten his goal by more than fifteen minutes and had finished among the top twenty-five runners.

A Johannesburg family shared their thoughts:
Dad: “The prophet’s words have made me more aware of the responsibility I have to teach my family. The onus is on us—not on the Church—to take our families back to Heaven Father. It is the same as with ministering, we need to look for opportunities, it is not about statistics. With this new awareness, I’m finding more ‘Sabbath’ to teach my children than the extra one hour could ever make.”
Mom: “Maybe it’s psychological—but spending less time at church in the morning makes it easier to have a purposeful family home evening on a Sunday. With all the children’s sporting commitments just having supper together on a Monday was a nightmare! At first, I missed the extra classes and the opportunity to chat with people in between. But now I am aware of the need to fellowship more and to connect better with other members.”
Teenage daughter: “I love that we now have ‘church’ every day at home instead of just once a week! It is also quite nice to have Young Women every two weeks—makes it more special to be together. I am definitely studying the scriptures a lot more than I did last year.”

Anyway, the first day of school Mrs. Dawson was a little disorganized and kept us a couple of minutes late in drama class. I grabbed my books and ran as soon as she let us out.

I raced into chemistry just as the bell rang, which earned me a dirty look from The Embalmer, but he didn’t say anything. He had just started to tell us about how often we would have labs when the door opened and in came Danny.

Mr. Palmer’s eyebrows knitted themselves together in the middle and he said, “Well, if it isn’t the ten o’clock scholar. You’ll have to do better than that if you want to pass this class.” And then he sort of laughed, like it was a big joke, but I didn’t see anything very funny about it. You could tell Danny didn’t either. He limped over to an empty desk and sat with his head down all through class.

We talked about it at lunch, and we couldn’t figure out how come the school board would let a guy with no more feelings than that teach school. Joe Nelson said that his dad said that the school board are a bunch of bozos, so we figured that must explain it.

I often like to think of the story about my nana, my dad’s grandmother, who lived on a diet of fish and chips and Neapolitan ice cream, exclusively. Our visits were always enjoyable for this reason, as well as for others. At a family funeral, I have been told that Nana took my dad to one side to a nearby grave and told him, “This is where I’m going to be buried, and after me there’s still one space left. It’s yours if you want it!” My dad has since offered the space to me, but I think I may yet save it and offer it to my son one day. I like this story because it gives me an insight into where my dad’s family’s humour comes from, and it’s a memory worth holding on to so that it can be shared for years to come.

Throughout my life, in Primary and in my youth, I have always cherished the Christmas memories of quality time with my family and extended family. One memory I cherish most is when my grandmother gave each of my siblings and me a present. She had wrapped the present so perfectly, and when I opened it, I was surprised to see a book. It was not just any ordinary book, but The Book of Mormon. At the time I didn’t fully understand the significance of this gift. It was only later, as I grew older, that I came to know the sweetness this gift holds. This memory of my grandmother has never faded. Even at a young age, she implemented the gospel into my life. Her example and the love she had for the Saviour has strengthened my faith and my testimony.

Nadene Thomas, who leads the mission with her husband, shared one such experience. Two sister missionaries invited her to meet with Susi, because, like her own son, Susi’s son was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes.

Sister Thomas said, “I believe Susi moved her feet closer to God because of the heavy burden that she was now feeling daily, keeping her son alive. Susi knew when I looked into her eyes that I understood the gravity of her new caregiver responsibility. Diabetes never sleeps. We FaceTimed Zack who was diagnosed at age three and has grown into a strong and healthy young man. As he spoke of his zest for life and talked of future goals, Susi felt hope for the future.”

Sister Thomas continued, “We opened the Book of Mormon and I shared some of my favourite scriptures that carried me through the hardest years of my life. We cried together, we laughed together, and we felt the Spirit together. The words filled us because they are the Saviour’s words and we rejoiced that we are not alone.”

Healed the captain’s steward on a journey back to North America.
When Elder Snow left England to return to Nauvoo, Illinois, he brought a large group of newly baptized members with him. They all booked passage on the ship Swanton and prepared for the long journey to North America.

Although the captain of the Swanton was not unkind to the Latter-day Saints on his ship, he wasn’t exactly friendly either. He usually distanced himself from them. But after about two weeks at sea, something happened. The captain’s steward was badly injured in an accident. No one expected the steward to live through the night.

But one of the faithful sisters who had been attending to the dying sailor had a suggestion. She told the steward that Elder Lorenzo Snow could give him a blessing and that it might save his life. The steward—who was working to support his wife and two children back in Germany—eagerly agreed.

In the middle of the night, Elder Snow was awakened and asked to come to the dying man’s room. When he arrived, he met the captain of the ship. The captain thanked him for coming but expressed the hopelessness of the situation. Elder Snow could see that the captain had been crying.

He went into the room, laid his hands upon the steward’s head, and gave him a priesthood blessing. Immediately after Elder Snow finished the blessing, the man sat up and got out of bed. The steward was completely healed, and he returned to his duties the next day.

The healing of the steward changed things on board the Swanton. The captain began to spend as much time with the Saints as he could spare, and he even studied the gospel and attended Church meetings. The other sailors were just as impressed. When the ship reached its destination, the crew lovingly bid the Saints farewell. Through the power of the priesthood, not only was a man’s life saved, but several others were also given a glimpse of God’s power and love. The steward and many members of the crew were eventually baptized.

The hours that followed were a blur—our phones constantly ringing with calls or pinging with texts from concerned friends and family, most of which we were unable to answer.
In the midst of it all, I felt an urgent need to call my aunt, whom I’ve probably called five times in my entire life. But every time I see her, she always seems to say something that my soul needs.
When she answered, I was surprised by her upbeat and confident response. “Noelle,” she said, “this is a miracle! You got out!” She continued, “This is only the first of many miracles. Watch and see what the Lord has in store for you. He will lead you to where you need to be.”
I wanted to believe my aunt—to believe in Him. But the grief was real, and the tears were many. The problems seemed too complex to solve, and our hearts seemed too broken to mend. There were times when I would crumble beneath the weight of trying to rebuild an entire life from scratch. I wondered quietly, and desperately, “Will He really lead us now? What will we do if He doesn’t come?” But during the weeks and months following the explosion, we watched in amazement as my aunt’s faithful prediction proved true, and our broken hearts were bound up again and again. I did not know that extreme grief and profound gratitude could co-exist.
My aunt promised, “Watch and see what the Lord has in store for you. He will lead you to where you need to be.”

While going from a chapel to an airport in Central America, their vehicle was involved in an accident. Sister Nelson and I were traveling behind them and saw it occur. A truck loaded on top with unsecured metal rods approached them at an intersection. To avoid a collision, its driver suddenly stopped the truck, launching those iron rods like javelins to pierce the Hinckleys’ car. Windows were smashed; fenders and doors were dented. The accident could have been very serious. While shattered glass was being removed from their clothing and skin, President Hinckley said, “Thank the Lord for His blessing; now let’s continue on in another car.”

Stephen had difficulty sitting. By the time he was 12, he knelt on his chair during class and got callouses on his knees. But he didn’t believe in missing anything that he could take part in. He figured out ways to be part of what the other kids did. The following year his class decided to learn square dancing, and the teacher apparently told Stephen that he could go to the library and read while the others danced.
“But I’d rather take part,” Stephen told her.
“Just how do you propose to do that?” asked his teacher, startled, because by now he walked hanging on to the wall and couldn’t balance himself.
“Well, I’ve thought about it and I’ve decided I could handle the record player, change the record, and watch how the steps are done. That’ll give you more time to be with the other kids on the floor,” he said. So he got to change the records and watch.

I do not like to see people getting teased or laughed at. I feel bad for them when that happens. I know I wouldn’t like it if that happened to me.
One day I was walking home from school with a friend. As we got to our street, a boy named Mark* was just getting off the school bus. Mark lives nearby, but he goes to a different school. He is overweight. My friend started to call him rude names, like “Chunky” and “Chubby.” Mark pretended not to hear and walked more quickly toward his house. After he was out of sight, I told my friend that calling him names was not nice. After I got home, I was still upset about it. Even though I had not called him names, I had stood by and let someone else do it.
Early the next morning I went over to Mark’s house and apologized to him that my friend had called him names and that I had not stopped it. After I apologized to him, I felt much better inside. I hope it made him feel better, too.

George T. Benson was known for his industry and honesty. In addition to being a leading citizen in the community, he served in both the bishopric and the stake presidency. “Father was always very prompt,” President Benson recalls. “I have never known him to be late for a meeting. He would set a time when the buggy was to leave the farm and drive the mile and a half to church. Sometimes, if there was a late one, he would start the team up slowly at the appointed time, and more than once the children who were not quite ready would have to run to catch the buggy.”

When her dad was on the stake high council, he used to take Katie along on his Sunday speaking assignments, and she would speak in the wards and branches that he visited. “I would talk on the subject the stake president gave us to talk about. I talked about the Book of Mormon and about Alma the Younger. And once I had to talk about being baptized into the Church. When I got baptized, it was fun. I arranged the program.” Katie smiled. “And I want to tell all of the children how nice it felt. It felt lovely.”

Sabrina watched as Mom walked to the door with their neighbors. “Thank you for this book,” the father said. He was holding a Book of Mormon.
“Mommy, why do you talk about the Church to everyone?” Sabrina asked later while they washed dishes together.
“It’s because my testimony of the Church is like a treasure,” Mom said. “It makes me happy. And I want to share it with others so they can be happy too!”
Sabrina pictured Mom’s shiny necklace in her jewelry box. “What do you mean it’s like a treasure?”
“Well, a testimony is very valuable,” Mom said. “It’s a gift from Heavenly Father that helps us know what’s true.”
“How did you get it?” Sabrina wanted to know.
Mom handed Sabrina a sparkling clean dish to dry. “I got it a little at a time. When I pray or read the scriptures, I feel peaceful and warm inside. It’s like I’m adding to my testimony treasure.”
Sabrina nodded slowly. Could she get a testimony treasure?
On Sunday, Sabrina’s Primary teacher told a story about Jesus Christ. Sabrina listened closely. Sister Lopez said Jesus invited all the little children to come to Him. He blessed and taught them. When Sabrina thought about Jesus, she started to feel warm in her heart.
Sabrina hurried to find Mom after Primary. “Mommy, guess what?” She told Mom about the warm feeling.
“That’s beautiful,” Mom said. “That feeling is when the Holy Ghost touches our hearts and lets us know the gospel is true.”
Sabrina smiled up at Mom. “That’s what happened! It made me happy inside.” The Holy Ghost had been so quiet that Sabrina knew she wouldn’t have noticed Him if she hadn’t been reverent.
Mom hugged her tight. “Now you’re getting your own testimony treasure.” Sabrina hugged Mom back. She wanted to share her treasure with everyone—just like Mom did! But how could she do that?
That night Sabrina found a pass-along card with a picture of Jesus on the front. She tucked it in her backpack.
The next day when it was time for recess, Sabrina remembered the card. She pulled it out and went to find her friend Carla. “Here, Carla, this is for you,” Sabrina said.
Carla held the card close. “Thank you! I love pictures of Jesus.”
Sabrina showed Carla the website on the back. “You can learn more about Jesus’s Church here.”
“What church is that?” Carla asked.
“The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” Sabrina said. “Going to church and learning about Jesus makes me happy.”
Carla put the card in her pocket. “I’m going to show this card to my mom.”
A few weeks later, Carla ran up to Sabrina before class. “I have something to tell you!” she said. She had a big smile on her face.
Sabrina was excited. What could it be? Carla smiled. “My family went to your church! And it was like you said—I felt happy there.”
“I knew you would feel the Holy Ghost!” Sabrina said.
“And I think we’re going to get baptized soon!”
Sabrina jumped up and hugged Carla. Now they could share their testimony treasures together!

Angie shook the tin box, and the loose change rattled against the metal sides. Opening the lid, she let the coins fall onto the carpeted floor where she was sitting. “Seventy-three cents,” she muttered, remembering the lace-trimmed valentine in the store that cost a dollar. Frustrated, Angie kicked the box and it went flying across the room.
The front door opened, and Angie looked up.
“Hi,” said her brother David. “You beat me home from school today. Is Mom home from work yet?”
“No,” said Angie, as she stooped to pick up her money.
“What’s all this doing on the floor?” David asked.
Angie looked up, trying to force her tears back. “Oh, David, I saw this beautiful valentine yesterday, and I really wanted to buy it for Mom. But I only have seventy-three cents, and it costs a dollar.”
David bent down to help pick up the scattered coins. “I wish I could help you, Angie. But I only have about six cents to my name.”
“I just can’t ask Mom for money to buy a card for her,” sighed Angie.
“Why don’t you make her one?” asked David. “You know how much she likes things that we make for her.”
“I do that all the time,” wailed Angie. “But I wanted to get her a really fancy valentine.”
David dropped the rest of the change into the box. “Well, go back to the store and find a smaller card that won’t cost as much as the big one you liked.”
“OK, but I hope I can find one I like,” Angie said, taking the box from David.
It was almost closing time when Angie arrived at the store, and no one else was in the card department. Angie looked again at the large card that she had wanted to buy. Flowers decorated the edges, and rows of paper lace peeked from behind the red heart. Angie sighed, then turned to look through the smaller valentines.
She opened and closed several cards, but none appealed to her like the big valentine on which she had set her heart. Angie read the verses on some of the cards, then turned around to leave.
On a rack by the card department were rows of colored paper and paper doilies. Angie stopped. Just maybe, she thought, looking back at the large valentine in the card section, maybe I can make Mom a big card! Angie picked out a large piece of red construction paper and some paper doilies. Next she went to the candy counter and searched the showcase until she found the red and white striped peppermints that were her mother’s favorite candy. Smiling, Angie opened her box and counted out the money. She had more than enough for four paper-wrapped candies.
David was waiting by the door when she returned home. “I was just getting ready to come looking for you. What took so long? Did you find a smaller card?”
Angie smiled. “I’m going to give Mom a giant valentine. And I still have some money left.” She rattled the little box and walked into the living room with a large brown paper sack.
“Let me see what you have,” said David.
“Not yet. It’s a secret,” said Angie, and she went into her bedroom with the package.
After dinner Angie gathered up some old magazines and scissors and went back into her room. She came out once for glue.
“Do you want some help?” asked David. “I’m finished with my homework.”
“No,” said Angie, “but thanks anyway. I don’t want to ruin your surprise.”
“Mine?” asked David.
Angie carefully shut her bedroom door. She smiled, thinking about David’s surprised expression. Again, she began to look through the old magazines.
Two stacks of words surrounded Angie. One set described her mother; the other described David. Carefully Angie glued the paper lace around a red heart, then she began to position the words in place.
As she glued the picture of a football on David’s valentine, she thought, They’ll know right away which valentine is theirs. Then, pulling off some tape, she attached the peppermint candies to the one for her mother. She had just finished when Mom knocked on her bedroom door. Angie quickly pushed the valentines under her bed.
“Time to get ready for bed,” said Mom, coming into the room. “You must be tired. You haven’t been out of your room all evening. Is everything OK?”
Angie smiled. “Everything is super, Mom. I can hardly wait for tomorrow.”
“Neither can I,” replied her mother with a wink as she noticed a large, lacy valentine with the word Mom on the bottom poking out from under Angie’s bed.

Two missionaries in the New Zealand Christchurch Mission decided that more people needed to know just how important families are—so they decided to build a float to tell them. Elder Dick Bybee and Elder Jeff Jarvic entered the resulting “Families Are Forever” float in the Blossom Festival parade in Alexandra. The float was shown on television and to the 15,000 visitors who came to the festival. Local Church members helped work on the float, which in turn helped open doors in town for the missionaries.

Both of my parents joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Kenya, and both served full-time missions. Ever since I was young, they taught me that I should serve a mission too. I looked forward to it.
Nine months before I received my call, I moved from Kenya to New Jersey, USA, where my mother was working. When I turned in my mission application, I thought it would be cool to go back to Africa on my mission. In fact, I hoped to be called there.
But when I received my mission call, I learned that I would be going to the Washington Spokane Mission in the United States. I didn’t even know where that was, but the first thought the Spirit spoke to my mind was, “That is where the Lord needs you.”
When I landed in Spokane a few months later, the mission president greeted me and asked me a question: “I was looking at your application. Do you really speak Swahili?”
“Yes,” I replied. “I grew up speaking Swahili and English.”
“Well, then,” he said, “your mission call has been changed from English speaking to Swahili speaking.”
He had been praying for a missionary who could speak Swahili. Some elders in the mission had even tried to learn Swahili on their own. I soon found out why.
Spokane had received a large group of refugees from the east African nations of Tanzania, Kenya, Burundi, Rwanda, and Uganda. Many of those refugees originally came from the Democratic Republic of the Congo. Their Swahili was a little different from what I spoke, but we could understand each other. I ended up spending my whole mission in the same ward in Spokane teaching those refugees.
We are all children of God. He knows us and will use us in areas where we can best serve Him with our unique abilities. This is His work. It is not our work. He puts us where He knows best. When missionaries get their call, they may not be going where they wanted to go, but the Lord is for sure sending them where He wants them to go. The place He sends them is the land where He has prepared people to receive them.
When I arrived in Spokane, I felt like I didn’t have to go to Africa after all. In Spokane, I felt like I was brought to a little Africa in America.
Sometimes I think about my mission and say, “That was too big for me to be a part of. Was I really supposed to be a part of that?”
I’m humbled and grateful to think I was.

Elder Jeffrey R. Holland told of a young man who was the brunt of his peers’ teasing during his school years. Some years later he moved away, joined the military, received an education, and became active in the Church. This period of his life was marked with wonderfully successful experiences.
After several years he returned to his hometown. However, the people refused to acknowledge his growth and improvement. To them, he was still just old “so-and-so,” and they treated him that way. Eventually, this good man faded away to a shadow of his former successful self without being able to use his marvelously developed talents to bless those who derided and rejected him once again. What a loss, both for him and the community!