Gospel Story Finder

I urge you to do what a missionary companion of mine did. He had run away from home as a teenager, and someone had placed a Book of Mormon in a box he carried with him in his search for more happiness.
Years passed. He moved from place to place across the world. He was alone and unhappy one day when he saw the box. The box was filled with things he had carried with him. At the bottom of the box, he found the Book of Mormon. He read the promise in it and tested it. He knew it was true. That witness changed his life. He found happiness beyond his fondest dreams.

Carmen was born into a religious family in Guatemala City, Guatemala. When she was nine years old, Latter-day Saint sister missionaries taught her family the gospel. She enjoyed attending Primary and spoke of a new feeling of happiness in her family. A year later the family was baptized. She says, “This was a wonderful, wonderful time.” She recalls President David O. McKay (1873–1970) visiting Guatemala in 1954 and teaching the children the principle of tithing. At age 17 she was called to serve in the Central American Mission and was grateful to share “the hope of a better life and being together forever.”

Not only will your circle of friends greatly influence your thinking and behavior, but you will also influence theirs. Many nonmembers have come into the Church through friends who have involved them in Church activities. I share with you a treasured family experience which had its beginning back in 1959, when I was called to preside over the Canadian Mission, headquartered in Toronto.

Our daughter, Ann, turned five shortly after we arrived in Canada. She saw the missionaries going about their work, and she, too, wanted to be a missionary. My wife demonstrated understanding by permitting Ann to take to class a few copies of the Children’s Friend. That wasn’t sufficient for Ann. She also wanted to take with her a copy of the Book of Mormon so that she might talk to her teacher, Miss Pepper, about the Church. I think it rather thrilling that just a few years ago, long years after our return from Toronto, we came home from a vacation and found in our mailbox a note from Miss Pepper which read:

“Dear Ann:
“Think back many years ago. I was your schoolteacher in Toronto, Canada. I was impressed by the copies of the Children’s Friend which you brought to school. I was impressed by your dedication to a book called the Book of Mormon.
“I made a commitment that one day I would come to Salt Lake City and see why you talked as you did and why you believed in the manner you believed. Today I had the privilege of going through your visitors’ center on Temple Square. Thanks to a five-year-old girl who had an understanding of that which she believed, I now have a better understanding of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”

Miss Pepper died not too long after that visit. How happy our daughter, Ann, was when she attended the Jordan River Utah Temple and performed the temple work for her beloved teacher whom she had friendshipped long ago.

I have gone far in my family history, and the more I have been doing, the more I am dreaming about my ancestors. Let me share only two dreams.
First: I will never forget the dream I had about two years ago, about my paternal great-uncle Steven. In that dream, I traveled to my hometown and wanted to come back. I got to the market square, where I wanted to get a car back to my base. Then I saw a car and entered it. When we moved, I looked through the car window, and I saw Uncle Steven running after the car and stopping it. When the car stopped, he entered at the back, where I sat and started pointing at my face and said, “What did I do to you? Why do you not want to help me the way you are helping others?”
When I woke up, I was confused, so I narrated the dream to one of my sons. He told me that the dream I had was about doing temple work for our ancestors. I told him that I didn’t know how I would do this one because I don’t know much about Uncle Steven and I don’t know how I can trust his lineage. We are not from the same village.
My son told me to pray to our Heavenly Father for direction on what to do. So I prayed. One day our most senior brother, my first cousin Emeka, who wasn’t a Christian (he was a traditional man), called me to discuss something. We talked on the phone, and when the discussion was finished, I seized the opportunity to ask him about our Uncle Steven. He acknowledged he knew things about him, and he sent the information that he had to me. I kept on asking him about many people. He sent me information he had for about 15 people. I handed that information to my son to be doing temple work for them.
Second: I had another dream when I traveled home again. I was coming out from my father’s compound, and somebody called my name. I looked on my right side, and I saw Emeka’s stepmother, Virginia, and our uncle’s wife, Regina, and also Emeka’s senior sister, Victoria. All are dead. Emeka’s stepmother was the one who called me. As I was going towards them, Emeka’s sister backed me away, telling them something. Then I heard Emeka’s stepmother saying, “No, no. She is the one helping us.” Our Uncle’s wife was supporting her, saying, “She is the one helping us.”
These experiences taught me how close we are to our dead and help me understand that it is I helping them.

I was studying speech pathology at Mississippi University for Women five years ago. During the year I had looked for a church I could believe in. I had not found one.
One day some friends and I discussed the destination of the spirit after death. Theories were suggested. I had heard one thing about Mormons: they believed in three heavens, and they all went to one of them. As I laughingly related this knowledge a girl spoke up, “That isn’t exactly true.” Attention was directed to her, and I asked, “How do you know?” (I was surprised someone had spoken with conviction.) She answered, “I’m a Mormon.”
For a month I visited my new friend’s home and listened to the flannelboard discussions. The first vision of the Prophet Joseph was a little difficult to accept; also, I had a question about the day of the Sabbath. But the absolutely logical account of the apostasy and the restoration could not be disputed as far as I was concerned.
Still, I held back until one Sunday night after sacrament meeting when the missionaries suggested I be baptized at 9:00 A.M. the next day! The suggestion was made in front of several members. They were smiling encouragingly and I said, after a moment’s thought, “All right.” (How could I refuse with so many people caring?)
Having made the decision, I informed the Lord that Sunday night of my plans. I asked him to give me some indication that I was making the right move. Nevertheless, I told him if I received nothing, I would still be baptized.
Very quietly, instantly, definitely, two scriptures came to my mind: “Ye shall receive power, after that the Holy Ghost is come upon you” (Acts 1:8), and “By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another” (John 13:35). I was satisfied and slept peacefully.
That Monday morning as I was brought from the water, I felt as if I had been on a long, wearisome journey and had at last come home. My own conviction of the authenticity of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints has grown since that time. Now I add my testimony to those of faithful Saints throughout the world.

Several universities recruited him to play for them when he finished his senior season. At this point, playing football first began to clash with doing what he knew he should. When he told recruiters he intended to go on a mission, two of the schools, Washington and Stanford, lost interest. But that didn’t deter him. More than once as he was growing up, his father had taken out his mission slides, and the family had watched as he told about his mission. Eli had always known that he, too, wanted to go on a mission, and he never questioned that decision.
Eli finally chose to attend BYU, and he played there his freshman year before leaving on a mission to Argentina. He came back two years later, stronger, faster, more coordinated, and even more ready to play football. He played his sophomore and junior seasons. He got married and took classes at the university. But always at the back of his mind, he knew that someday he might have to choose between playing football and keeping the Sabbath day holy.

My poor bones! I had the bone marrow test yesterday. Pain! First they deadened my hip, and then they went in and deadened the membrane around the bone. After that they drilled into the bone by twisting a needle until it penetrated the inner membrane. That’s what hurt. I have to do it again Friday.
Something else happened yesterday, something nearly as bad as the bone marrow test. One of the interns came into my room while I was reading my Book of Mormon and asked me if I was a Mormon. When I told him I was, he tried to tell me how foolish I was. He was a little bitter toward the Church and told me something about a brother who had joined. I told him I knew the Church was true.
“Why don’t you call your missionaries then and have them come and give you a blessing?” he asked.
I told him the missionaries were on their way right then.
“And you really think that will help?”
I told him I knew that if my Father in Heaven wanted me to get well, I would.
“You don’t know what you have!” he shouted. He was angry. “You’ll be dead in six months no matter what you do!” When he realized what he had said, a shocked look came on his face. I asked him to leave.
When the missionaries came, they gave me a comfort blessing, but no promise. It helped, and I was able to sleep for a while, but when it came time for the operation, I was petrified. When they took me to the operating room, I walked down the hall like a zombie.

As I neared my 12th birthday, there were several requirements to be completed before I could graduate from Primary. One was to recite the thirteen Articles of Faith in the prescribed order. The first twelve articles were relatively easy, but the thirteenth was much more difficult. It was remembering the order of the virtues that presented the challenge. Thanks to a Primary teacher who was patient and persistent, I finally completed the memorization. …
“We believe in being honest, true, chaste, benevolent, virtuous, and in doing good to all men; indeed, we may say that we follow the admonition of Paul—We believe all things, we hope all things, we have endured many things, and hope to be able to endure all things. If there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things” (Articles of Faith 1:13).

Molly woke up early. It was a special day because Molly had something very important to tell Daddy.
Molly climbed up onto her chair for breakfast and smiled. She wanted to tell Daddy her special secret right away, but Mommy and Daddy were talking. So Molly ate her cereal instead.
Molly helped Daddy fix the car. She handed Daddy wrenches and screwdrivers and kept him company. It was a good time to tell Daddy her special secret.
“Daddy?” Molly began.
“Yes, Molly?” Daddy said. But when Daddy sat up, he hit his head and grumbled. So Molly just smiled and gave him another wrench.
After lunch Daddy and Mommy washed dishes. Molly colored in a coloring book. She colored an elephant purple, a lion green, and then paused. “Daddy?” Molly tried again.
But just then, Brring! Brring!
“Wait a minute, Molly,” Daddy said as he went to answer the phone.
Daddy talked a long time, and Molly colored another page in her book. This time she colored an alligator orange.
Daddy and Molly drove to the store that afternoon. Molly watched the trees and houses whiz past. The sun shining through the window made Molly feel warm. Surely now was a good time to tell Daddy.
“Daddy?” Molly said as they arrived at the store.
“Yes?” Daddy replied, opening Molly’s door.
“Daddy, I—” but Molly stopped talking to watch a beautiful black and yellow butterfly flutter past her.
“That’s a swallowtail butterfly, Molly,” Daddy told her. They held hands as they walked into the store, but Molly kept turning around, trying to see the butterfly again. She forgot to tell Daddy her special secret.
Molly played with her racing cars after dinner. Vroom! Vroom! But her racing cars didn’t go as fast as they usually did. Molly sighed. A whole day had gone by, and she still hadn’t told Daddy her special secret. Molly looked up at Daddy sitting on the couch. “Daddy?”
“Yes, Molly?” Daddy put his newspaper down and sat on the floor with her.
Molly grinned. Finally it was time to tell Daddy her special secret.
“I love you, Daddy.”
Daddy hugged Molly for a long time. “I love you, too, Molly,” he said.
Daddy played racing cars with Molly until bedtime. And now the racing cars went very fast.

Every Saturday afternoon, without fail, the young people of the Matangiake Ward of the Liahona stake show up at their chapel to prepare it for Sunday. They know what to do. They’ve done it faithfully for more than four years, ever since they made the commitment to do all the upkeep on the building and grounds themselves. No one has to call with assignments anymore. The older boys teach the younger ones how to handle the mowers and edging equipment. The girls know all the nooks and crannies that need to be dusted and cleaned. The flowerbeds are immaculate. And they do windows too.

“It started with Bishop Sioeli Unga,” said stake president Howard Niu. “He wanted something to keep the kids active and involved in all aspects of Church responsibility.” And the youth rose to the challenge.

But their service did not stop with their own chapel and grounds. They have confidence that they can do any job given to them. They take care of the widows in their ward. In fact, they help out anyone in need. They have even gone so far as to build small homes, under the direction of their priesthood leaders, for families in their ward in desperate need of housing. The younger boys in Primary look forward to their 12th birthdays, when they are old enough to officially help with the projects the Aaronic Priesthood young men undertake. The younger girls often go with their older sisters, and they learn to serve.

Instead of being too hard for them, these projects have proven to these teens that they can do just about anything by learning from their leaders and being given the opportunity.

When I was a little girl, I had a lot of daydreams. Sure, almost all children have fantasies. But these were not your ordinary, everyday, run of the mill, childhood dreams. I was not a normal child. Yet, what child is normal, and what fantasy is ordinary? Anyway, as I was saying, I had some extraordinary ideas.
First, and probably most unusual, I believed I was a blonde. Don’t ask me why; imagination usually doesn’t provide a “why” or a “because.” I believed the dark-haired, fair-skinned image in the mirror was someone else who had been hired to trick me into believing that I resembled Snow White more than Cinderella. I would stand in front of the mirror for hours on end trying to catch her blinking at the wrong moment or making some other false movement that would give her away. Apparently she had been trained well in the art of imitation, and I never caught her off guard.
Long flowing blonde hair reminds me of gold and sunshine. Angels have blonde hair, and so do all the beautiful princesses who live happily ever after.
There is something magic about blonde hair, and since I imagined I had blonde hair, there was something magic about me.
It’s funny some of the strange things a person can do when she’s magic. Dolls talk, elevator doors open when she waves her hand, and cardboard boxes become sleek new cars. I had traveled in parts of outer space where the shuttle flights hadn’t been. I could talk to bumblebees, make friends with warring natives, and even turn a single pink balloon into an entire birthday party.
Of course, being as magic and as beautiful as I was, I was naturally the center of the universe. When I skinned my knee, the whole world felt the pain; when my goldfish died, everyone mourned with me; when I played the harpsichord for the PTA in the second grade, the room was packed, and they had all come to listen to me.
It was a wonderful world I lived in. It was a good feeling knowing that everyone loved me and that the whole world was watching out for me. It is too bad that kind of fantasy can’t last forever.
One day, as I was looking in the mirror, I felt a strange sense of realization, and reality slowly filtered through the magic. That girl, standing there, staring back at me, was me. Those were my eyes, those were my eyes, those were my freckles, that was my skin, and that, like it or not, was my hair. It was not sunshine or gold. It didn’t shine or gleam or make me look like an angel. It was black.
I stared at the girl for a long time in one last futile attempt to discover her identity. She didn’t flinch. I moved ever so slightly to the left. She moved with me. I lifted my hand above my head, then suddenly jerked it back down. She did it also.
I went into my room and shut the door tightly. Then I lay down on my bed and thought.
I thought about all the people who went to PTA, but not to hear me play the harpsichord. I thought about all the people who were laughing the day my goldfish died. I thought about cardboard boxes and elevator doors. I thought about pink balloons and dolls. I thought about gold and sunshine and everything I could think of.
Then I got up and went back to my mirror. There I was—me—black hair and all.
A smile tickled the corners of my mouth and then leaped boldly to my lips.
Long flowing black hair reminds me of night and the manes of wild stallions, and there is something magically alive about night and wild stallions.

“We love to study the gospel together,” Esther says. They joined the Church after the missionaries came to their home in 1954. “Eternal marriage impressed Palle, and I was struck by the plan of salvation.”

They took the discussions for a while in 1956, and Palle felt spiritual promptings when he read Nephi’s writings. Then one day, without mentioning it to Esther, he was baptized. Soon, Esther noticed a difference in him and asked, “You’ve been baptized, haven’t you?” After more missionary lessons, she was baptized, too. Since then, she has served as Relief Society president twice, and he has presided over both the branch and the district, as well as serving as Fredericia’s first bishop.

Their baptisms occurred just a little more than a hundred years after the first baptisms in Denmark in August 1850, after Elder Erastus Snow had opened the Scandinavian Mission. Today, Denmark has two stakes and 4,100 members.

As she became more active in the Church, Sharon had a great desire to go to the temple. “After many months, my bishop assured me that I had done all possible to [qualify for] a temple recommend,” she says. But she wondered: “Was I really worthy? Would I be able to live up to the covenants I would make? …

“Upon entering the temple that day, I felt a definite warmth and comfort. My loneliness eased away because I felt that many seen and unseen sisters and brothers stood near. … Tears filled my eyes as feelings of uneasiness and unworthiness slipped away.”

Grandpa Reilly had never been to one of his grandsons’ missionary farewells before, but at Derek’s invitation he decided to come to this particular farewell—“Just to see what all the fuss is about,” he told his daughters. So when Derek began to speak at the end of the program, he grandfather watched from the fourth row.

“I’d like to take this opportunity to thank someone who has helped me in more ways than he’ll ever know,” Derek said. “That person is my grandpa Reilly. There isn’t much that I could do to repay him for his help, except to give him my most treasured possession: my testimony of the truthfulness of this gospel.”

Derek had to pause for a few moments because tears were rolling down his cheeks, and he could no longer trust himself to speak. He regained his composure, then cleared his throat and plunged on. “I know by the power of the Holy Ghost that this is the gospel of Jesus Christ and that by following its principles and ordinances, we and our loved ones will be able to return to Heavenly Father and live with him forever. I know of no other truth more simple or precious.”

Then Derek picked up a Book of Mormon. “Because of your advice, Grandpa, I’m going to be teaching the gospel to the Portuguese people. Before I leave, though, I challenge you to read this book. I’d like you to be my first investigator.” Derek noticed that his grandpa, too, was crying.

After the meeting, Grandpa Reilly confided to him, “For 20 years I’ve wanted someone to say that to me, but I was too stubborn to ask for myself. I’m just grateful that I have a grandson who will give me that chance.”

Derek baptized and confirmed his grandfather two weeks later, three days before he entered the Missionary Training Center. Two years later, when he came home from Portugal, he had the privilege of going through the Washington, D.C., temple with his family and seeing Grandpa sealed to Grandma Reilly for time and all eternity. After the ceremony, Grandpa looked over at Derek and smiled. “She approves,” he said, pointing upwards.

We have a dear friend who was a train engineer. One day while he was driving a train on his route, he spotted a car stopped on the track ahead of him. He quickly realized that the car was stuck and unable to cross the track. He immediately put the train in emergency mode, which engaged the brakes on each boxcar that extended three-quarters of a mile (1.2 km) behind the engine, carrying a load of 6,500 tons (5,900 metric tons). There was no physical chance that the train would be able to stop before it hit the car, which it did. Fortunately for the people in the car, they heard the warning of the train whistle and escaped from the car before the impact. As the engineer spoke with the investigating police officer, an angry woman approached them. She shouted that she had seen the whole incident and then testified that the engineer did not even try to swerve out of the way to miss the car!
Obviously, if the engineer had been able to swerve and leave the tracks to avoid an accident, he and his entire train would have been lost in a derailment and the train’s forward progress would have come to an abrupt stop. Fortunately for him, the rails of the tracks on which his train ran kept the wheels of the train snugly moving toward its destination regardless of the obstacle in his way. Fortunately for us, we too are on a track, a covenant path we committed to when we were baptized as members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Although we may encounter occasional obstacles along the way, this path will keep us moving toward our prized eternal destination if we stay firmly on it.

I had a difficult childhood; my parents separated when I was still a teenager. This separation was a big blow to me and my three siblings, I being the eldest. Despite my mother’s meager resources, she did her best to provide for our needs. During this challenging situation, we learned to live with little, wake up early, appreciate life and people, and to think seriously about life and the existence of God: Does God really exist? If so, why did He allow us to live such experiences? We wondered what we did to deserve that. These questions went unanswered until I met the missionaries.
I brilliantly passed my baccalaureate exams in 2010 and gained admission to the faculty of psychology at a university in Abidjan. Despite our poverty, I had decided to take a chance with this as I could not accept the fact that my brilliant school career was going to stop due to lack of financial means. I contacted one of my uncles living in Abidjan, asking him to take me in to further my education. He was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-­day Saints; I had never heard of it before. What impressed me from the first moments in this home was the love and joy filled there. I had no difficulty fitting in. I grew up in a Christian sect; however, I had begun to lose interest because of everything that had happened to me. I found it unjust and I began to question the very existence of God. It was just at this moment of desperation that my host family asked me if I was ready to receive the missionaries. In fact, it did not interest me anymore, this matter of religion, but for the respect that I had for my uncle, I accepted.
After several unsuccessful visits and discussions with the missionaries, I came to recognize the fact that the Church was true, but I had a problem: The Book of Mormon. I did not accept the idea that there was another scripture besides the Bible that would testify of Christ. I had a keen interest in reading and my supposed broad knowledge of the Bible and other philosophical books did not facilitate my discussions with missionaries.
Finally, I began to read the Book of Mormon. At first, I read it just out of curiosity, but once I started, I could not find the strength to stop. After a full reading in a month, I began to feel something deep inside me, a warm feeling in my heart, a light in my mind, a transformation, a voice.
At night, I could not close my eyes because my mind was revealed about the sacredness of the Book of Mormon. I was baptized in February 2010. As a result, I served a full-time mission and married Prisca Ebi, a lovely daughter of our Heavenly Father!
I am grateful to the Lord for using the Akoi family in making me an instrument in His hands to do a lot of good for His children.
I testify that God is hiding in the Book of Mormon, and I invite everyone who wants to discover it to make it their personal experience to gain their own testimony.

Lately I have been thinking of a time in my life when the weight of worry and concern over an uncertain future seemed ever present. I was 11 years old and living with my family in the attic of a farmhouse near Frankfurt, Germany. We were refugees for the second time in a period of only a few years, and we were struggling to establish ourselves in a new place far away from our previous home. I could say that we were poor, but that would be an understatement. We all slept in one room that was so tiny there was scarcely space to walk around the beds. In the other small room, we had a few pieces of modest furniture and a stove that Mother used to cook meals on. To get from one room to the other, we had to pass through a storage area where the farmer kept his equipment and tools, along with assorted meats and sausages hanging from the rafters. The aroma always made me very hungry. We had no bathroom, but we did have an outhouse—down the stairs and some 50 feet (15 m) away, though it seemed much farther during wintertime.
Because I was a refugee and because of my East German accent, other children often made fun of me and called me names that deeply hurt. Of all the times of my youth, I believe this may have been the most discouraging.
Now, decades later, I can look back on those days through the softening filter of experience. Even though I still remember the hurt and despair, I can see now what I was unable to see then: this was a period of great personal growth. During this time, our family bonded together. I watched and learned from my parents. I admired their determination and optimism. From them I learned that adversity, when confronted with faith, courage, and tenacity, could be overcome.
Brethren, I think back on that 11-year-old boy in Frankfurt, Germany, who worried about his future and felt the lasting sting of unkind remarks. I remember this time with a sort of sad fondness. While I would not be eager to relive those days of trial and trouble, I have little doubt that the lessons I learned were a necessary preparation for future opportunity. Now, many years later, I know this for a certainty: it is often in the trial of adversity that we learn those most critical lessons that form our character and shape our destiny.

I have shared before my memory of the first day I set out to practice healing. It was not quite 50 years ago—but close. I could hardly sleep the night before my first day as a nurse. I remember it so vividly. The spring air was cool, and the sun seemed unusually bright. Two conflicting feelings left my heart pounding. First, I felt courage and couldn’t wait to put that first tube into the first orifice. On the other hand, I was afraid that by sheer inexperience I would violate the promise to “do no harm.” As a student nurse I did not have the blessing of the computer-simulated patient that our students now have.

That first day I carefully pulled on my support hose, little white nylon dress, and ugly prescription shoes. My crowning glory was the starched white cap that held my long hair tucked tightly beneath. I couldn’t wait to handle the instruments, titrate the fluids, and perform the treatment procedures. I wanted to cure. I wanted to care. I wanted to heal.

I have learned a lot about healing since that day. I have learned that healing is a process of restoring and becoming whole.

We need more such attitudes in the world. There is the story of the husband and wife who had saved and saved for a new car. After taking delivery, the husband told his wife that all the necessary legal documents and insurance information were in a packet in the glove compartment. On her first day out in the new car, she was involved in an accident, which demolished the front end of the car. Unhurt, in tears, and near panic, she opened the packet to show the police officer her papers. There she found a handwritten note from her husband which read: “Now that you have had an accident, remember I can always replace the car, but not you. Please know how much I love you!”

Jack Reinwand, of the campus police, reported that campus and city officers patrolled the streets to help stragglers move to the college and safety before the flood waters hit Rexburg. “Jim Sessions and I were going up Main Street when we saw a young man, about 15, running up the street as hard as he could go. The water was only two city blocks away, so we pulled over and picked him up. He managed to gasp something about a sister or girl at home.”
The officers raced to the home and the youth dashed inside to get the young lady. There was a delay. The officer and his companion looked up the street, where just one block away the flood, tumbling a house trailer and a Cadillac, was bearing down on them. Brother Sessions, who is also a branch president on the campus, then ran in the house and brought the pair out. They jumped into the car and sped off, scant seconds in front of the flood.