Gospel Story Finder

When Katrin Schulze of Germany went to college far away from home, she was suddenly tested in her resolve to keep the Sabbath day holy. “My parents had taught me and my siblings about the importance of keeping the Sabbath day holy,” she said. “For us, that meant no working, shopping, or playing sports on Sunday. I cannot remember any exceptions.
“My college required that I participate in a seminar that always occupied a full weekend—both Saturday and Sunday. I had a terrible dilemma—unless I participated, I could not graduate; on the other hand, I wanted to keep all the Lord’s commandments. As I studied the situation, I realized this wasn’t a problem I could solve on my own. I pleaded with the Lord and asked Him to show me the way to be obedient and complete my studies. I felt peace inside after that prayer.
“As the date of the seminar grew closer, I felt nervous but remained confident that He could prepare a way. One day I stood at the board where the seminar schedules were listed. Most were over the weekend, but there was one section scheduled over three days, not including a Sunday. I realized the Lord was helping me keep the Sabbath day holy. Never before and never again has there been that seminar on any day but Sunday, but the year I needed it so badly, the Lord made it possible for me. I am so grateful the Lord provided a way to help me keep His commandments.”

It worried me when I noticed that my good friend was not coming to church anymore. Her close friend, I found, had recently passed away, and she was beginning to doubt. One day I invited her to a party with some girls from church. I made it a goal to bring up the Church once. After the others left, we talked about various Church topics that I would have never thought to talk to her about. I learned that by doing my part, the Lord will take care of the rest. All we need to do is open our mouths (see D&C 28:16).

Rebecca T., 16, Washington, USA

“The Savior once asked His disciples the following question: ‘What shall a man give in exchange for his soul?’ (Matthew 16:26).
“This is a question that my father taught me to carefully consider years ago. As I was growing up, my parents assigned me chores around the house and paid me an allowance for that work. I often used that money, a little over 50 cents a week, to go to the movies. Back then a movie ticket cost 25 cents for an 11-year-old. This left me with 25 cents to spend on candy bars, which cost 5 cents apiece. A movie with five candy bars! It couldn’t get much better than that.
“All was well until I turned 12. Standing in line one afternoon, I realized that the ticket price for a 12-year-old was 35 cents, and that meant two less candy bars. Not quite prepared to make that sacrifice, I reasoned to myself, ‘You look the same as you did a week ago.’ I then stepped up and asked for the 25-cent ticket. The cashier did not blink, and I bought my regular five candy bars instead of three.
“Elated by my accomplishment, I later rushed home to tell my dad about my big coup. As I poured out the details, he said nothing. When I finished, he simply looked at me and said, ‘Son, would you sell your soul for a nickel?’ His words pierced my 12-year-old heart. It is a lesson I have never forgotten.”
Elder Robert C. Gay of the Seventy

There is a boy in my class who acts mean. He kicks classmates, and he stole a toy from my backpack. When my birthday came, I decided to invite everyone in my class, except for that boy. But as soon as I had that thought, I knew that it is not what Jesus would have done. I invited the boy to my party, and he was excited when I handed him an invitation. It felt good to be nice to someone, even if he is not always nice to me. I think this is what Jesus would want me to do.

About halfway through my mission, my companion and I were struggling to work well with our ward mission leader. There had been various disagreements, so we decided to talk to the bishop to see what we should do. Deep down, I hoped that the bishop would just have a talk with him and fix our problems for us.
But instead, the bishop had told me that I was being prideful and overly critical of others. I went stomping home feeling misunderstood and frustrated—how could he say that about me? Did he even care about our struggles to share the gospel?
As we walked, I vented my feelings to my companion. But suddenly a phrase came into my head: “The guilty taketh the truth to be hard” (1 Nephi 16:2). It stopped me in my tracks. It was obvious to me that the thought came from the Spirit. My pride may have prevented me from accepting the bishop’s chastisement as truth—but could I really argue with the Holy Ghost?
I was guilty, and God was letting me know it.
In my case, I had convinced myself that I was complaining for the good of the missionary work in our area. And rather than accepting our ward mission leader’s faithful service—imperfect as it seemed to me—I suddenly saw that I was being ungrateful, impatient, and frankly, unkind. Because of the Spirit’s prompting, I could see my actions for what they truly were.
Receiving such direct chastisement from the Spirit was painful, but in the best way. It made me realize that I had to be honest with myself about my flaws.

It was Thursday, and like hundreds of others in the Church, Jim and Alex anxiously waited for the mail to arrive. Their missionary recommendation papers had been turned in several weeks before, and today might be the day their calls would arrive.
Jim was working at the local supermarket, and Alex was working for a home builder. Both had made their mothers promise that if a large white envelope from Church headquarters arrived, they would not open it. Both had trouble concentrating on their work that day. Jim nearly bagged bath soap with the fresh vegetables, and Alex cut a couple of boards too short.
The large white envelopes did arrive. And both young men rushed home from work at the end of the day. With their families around them, they opened the long-awaited calls to serve. The anticipation was replaced by joy and tears of gratitude. Both young men felt the Lord had spoken, and they were ready to respond to His call.
As the initial excitement died down, the next phase of preparation began. Both families made detailed checklists: scheduling the last day of work, buying clothes and luggage, preparing for sacrament meeting, holding a family get-together, and—oh yes—going to the temple. Sadly, however, only one of the families revered the temple experience as the main event in the life of their son, giving it the emphasis it deserves.

One Friday at school, my best friend Dawson wasn’t there. A couple kids said they had seen ambulances at his house, and I started to worry. Later that day, our principal told us that Dawson had been taken to the hospital with a brain bleed.
Dawson and I had become friends when my family first moved from South Carolina, USA. He had been one of the first people to say hi to me. He would find any new kid and make them feel loved.
The night after Dawson was taken to the hospital, as our family prayed for him to get better, I heard a still, small voice say two words: “It’s OK.” As soon as I heard that, I knew Dawson would be OK and that he would live.
But then I started thinking, “What if God meant that it would be OK whether Dawson was here on earth or in heaven?”
My stake held a 24-hour fast for Dawson and his family. Then we got the news that Dawson had passed away.
I had never really had a tough experience before where I felt I needed to pray. But when Dawson died, praying was the only way I could feel any comfort. God helped me feel peace, and I felt that He must have something for Dawson to do.
I know that anytime I’m going through something hard, I can talk to God. It helps me to know that God will always be there for me and people around me. I miss Dawson every day, but I know I will see him again because of Jesus Christ.

Eighteen years ago, during my first visit to general conference as a new stake president, I learned a valuable lesson in punctuality. I wanted to visit all the Church departments, which at that time were spread over a wide area of Salt Lake City. Above all I had an earnest desire to meet President David O. McKay. I inquired whether it would be possible to see the prophet for just a few minutes and was delighted when I was told to return at 1:30 P.M. for this great privilege. My heart sang as I made other visits during the morning, and the time passed very quickly.
Suddenly I looked at my watch and was horrified to see that it was almost the appointed time. I literally ran to the Church Administration Building, arriving red-faced and breathless. Imagine my feelings when I was told, “By being one minute late you may have missed a golden opportunity.” Those words still ring in my ears, even though I was subsequently able to meet President McKay.

Darla’s mittens and boots had barely dried when she sat down on the rug to put them back on. She could hardly wait to go sledding again!
Sledding in the park with her friends was Darla’s favorite thing about winter. The round, snowy hills were perfect for sledding.
But now that Darla and her friends were getting older, they wanted to try the bigger hills at the park instead. They were ready for The Hill. It was the biggest, slipperiest hill in the whole park. And for Darla, it was also off-limits.
“I’ve already heard of at least two kids getting hurt on that hill this year,” Mom said when Darla asked to go sledding on The Hill. “That’s why one of our family rules is that we don’t sled on it.”
When The Hill got icy, sleds got harder to control. Kids crashed into the fence at the bottom and got hurt.
“But, Mom, by the time you get to the bottom, you’re going so slow you can just roll off before you get to the fence,” Darla said.
But Mom wasn’t changing her mind.
Darla headed outside to meet up with her friends.
“Let’s go down The Hill!” Sasha said.
Darla’s stomach squirmed. “How about we just stay on the small hills?” she said. “My mom says I can’t go down that one.”
“Why not? The other hills are too boring,” said Emily. She started toward The Hill. “Come on.”
Darla looked up at The Hill. It really did look fun. And she’d be careful! But then she looked down at the fence at the bottom. Darla sighed. She knew Mom wanted her to be safe.
Sasha and Emily were already walking to The Hill. “I guess I’d better head home,” Darla called after them.
“OK,” Sasha called back. “But you’re missing out!”
Maybe she was missing out, Darla thought as she dragged her sled home.
“What happened?” Mom asked when Darla walked back inside.
“Sasha and Emily wanted to sled down The Hill,” she said with a frown. “I told them I couldn’t, and I asked them to stay on the smaller hills. But they still went, so I came home.”
Mom hugged Darla. “Thanks for being obedient,” she said. “I bet that was hard.”
Darla’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah. I was really excited to go sledding.”
“I know,” Mom said. “Obeying family rules isn’t always easy, but I’m really proud of you for choosing the right. I bet you were listening to the Holy Ghost.”
Darla nodded. She did feel good about her choice, even though it was hard.
Mom’s words helped warm her up inside. And that reminded her. “How about some hot chocolate? Maybe we can invite Sasha and Emily over for some when they get back!”

Decisions, when made in earnest, when made with one's whole heart, are extremely influential in our lives. I decided to be married to Shauna Sizemore in the Salt Lake Temple in 1971. I decided that I would love her, cherish her, pray for her, pray for us, provide for her, be a good example for her, and be attentive to her needs and deepest desires. Only she could say how well I have done that (and I have no plans to give out either my phone number or e-mail address!), but I have really tried to make her happy and secure. All of that because of a decision.

I decided when I was very young that I would observe the Word of Wisdom all my days, that I would abstain from alcohol, tobacco, coffee, tea, and habit-forming drugs. My wife and I made a decision, before we were married, that our marriage would indeed best be visualized as a triangle representing Shauna, Bob, and the Lord. Our individual lives and our marriage would belong to him. We decided that we would welcome children into our home, pay a full tithing, be active and involved in the Church and accept and magnify callings. We have been married now for a little less than forty years and, despite the challenges and pain and vicissitudes of life that inevitably come to every marriage, ours has been a happy union. We have had our differences, our disagreements, our diverse views on things, but the idea of throwing in the towel and choosing to divorce has never been an option. We feel the influence of that Holy Spirit of Promise, to whom it is given to bind and seal couples and families for eternity. We made an eternal decision. We have stuck with it. And that has made all the difference.

Not long ago I had the opportunity to sail on a great ship along the marvelous coast of Alaska, USA. While the captain prepared for the ship’s overnight stay in a remote pristine bay, he carefully evaluated the location and circumstances, such as the sequence of the tides, depth of the waters, and distance from dangerous obstacles. When satisfied, he dropped anchor so that the ship would remain safe and firmly anchored, allowing the passengers an opportunity to marvel at the spectacular beauty of God’s creations.
As I was looking at the coastline, I began to realize that the ship was drifting almost imperceptibly with the slightest amount of wind and underlying current. Nevertheless, the ship stayed firmly and persistently within a fixed circle defined by the length of the anchor line and the strength of the anchor.
The captain had not kept the anchor stored on the ship, ready to be lowered only if a storm should approach. No, he had anchored the vessel as a preventive measure and protected the ship from moving into unsafe waters or slowly drifting aground while passengers and crew felt safe.
As I was contemplating this scene, it occurred to me that if this wasn’t an opportunity for a parable, I had never piloted an airplane.

In New Zealand, it isn’t just the girls who get a summer camp. The young men of Tokoroa recently received invites to a “missionary training camp” to promote both Scouting and missionary service.
The camp was divided into four “missions,” and the boys were taught first aid, problem solving alone, and problem solving with a quorum. They listened to guest speakers talk about missionary skills and preparation. They had a number of experiences that helped them grow physically, mentally, and spiritually.
“I enjoyed it soooooo much,” said Lucky Manu. “It has built my confidence to serve the Lord, wear the badge, and be proud to be a missionary.”

Not far from the vast expanse of the Ohio River lies a small town on the outskirts of Louisville, Kentucky, called Anchorage. Once a farming community where a riverboat captain established his last portage, it has become home to families of many diverse faiths.
It was there in church, at home, and while exploring the marvelous world beneath the woods of sycamore, oak, maple, chestnut, and willow trees that I learned one of the fundamentals of Christianity: that Jesus came as the master teacher, instructing us in the ways of goodness and integrity.
My parents were good folks, faithful in their church. They taught me how to be a good person and that there are certain things that are right, such as being kind to others, and certain things that are wrong, such as stealing. On the other hand, they also taught that what one person believes to be true is just as valid as what someone else believes to be true, even if those beliefs differ in fundamental ways. In this philosophy, as I understand it, there are no eternal principles true for everyone, just personal viewpoints that intelligent people have the right and obligation to determine are true for themselves.
Because of those underlying tenets of moral relativism, I had a difficult time believing what the Mormon missionaries taught me about the need for the Atonement, priesthood authority, and prophets. Indeed, my journey to conversion took me six long years of constantly challenging and questioning who I was, what I believed, and whether there could, in fact, be a God who had established eternal principles of truth and error, sin and consequence.
Remarkably, I did receive a spiritual confirmation, but it did not come until I was humble enough to accept it. First came a witness of baptism, then of the Book of Mormon, then of Joseph Smith as a true prophet. Additional witnesses followed, line upon line, regarding today’s prophets and apostles.
Eventually, there came a point in my life when I didn’t just believe the gospel was true—I knew it. The culmination of many little witnesses created a foundation upon which my faith was sure, a bulwark against which challenges to testimony break.

A few years ago, on the day of my parents’ anniversary, my mom was diagnosed with a stage 4 pancreatic cancer. The results of her CT scan showed that her cancer was life-threatening and her body was deteriorating. It was in that moment that I knew my mom wouldn’t live much longer.
I was not ready for that. I foresaw what life would be without my mom. Everything was dark, gloomy, and sad. There was no more joy or laughter—and no warm hugs from my mom that would comfort me. There didn’t seem to be life at all.
Months passed by and my mom’s body continued to weaken. But what amazed me the most was her desire to go to church, participate in our daily family scripture study, give lessons in our family home evenings, and even laugh with us.
One day, I asked her, “Haven’t you questioned Heavenly Father? Haven’t you wondered why you have to have cancer?” My mom smiled and shared her testimony about the plan of salvation. She told me that I needed to understand the plan of salvation to feel the genuine happiness that it gives. She said if I understood where we come from, what our purpose in this life is, and where we are going, I would understand that we will always be together, that I would never really lose her. She encouraged me to continue preparing for a mission and to share the gospel of Jesus Christ and the plan of salvation with others so that they could receive the blessings of comfort and happiness as well.
I realized that my mom was right. Why would I fear losing her here on earth if I knew that as long as I kept my covenants and completed the will of the Father that I would see her in the next life? I felt peaceful.
A little while later, my mom passed away. During my mom’s wake—a celebration of her life we held before her burial—even though it was hard and I was sad, everything seemed peaceful, and I could still feel my mom’s presence. Even the people around me seemed to be uplifted. I knew that I was feeling the true blessing of understanding God’s divine plan.
Later, when it was time to take my mom to the cemetery, a young boy came up to me and asked me why I wasn’t crying. I remembered how I thought of my mom’s death before and how I had only seen a lot of sadness and grief. I smiled and knelt down to his level. I told him, “I know that I will see my mom again if I continue to follow God’s commandments.” The boy smiled too, and I knew that he felt the same peace I was feeling.
My mom was gone, but the darkness, gloom, and sadness I thought would fill my life weren’t present. I said goodbye to her and told her that we would see each other in the next life. I felt comforted despite our loss. It was a blessing that came from understanding the plan of salvation.

Experience Helps Us Understand Our Heavenly Father’s Love for His Children

I have asked young missionaries, “Do you know what the word father means?” They say, of course, they do know. I respect their answer, but deep down I think, “You know so very little.” They do know what the word father means, but their knowledge is immature.
To you who are married and have a child, the word father takes on a new meaning; the word father comes into clearer focus.
Perhaps there will come a day when a doctor tells you, “I think you are not going to keep this one.” Finally, you learn about the Father and about yourself.
We had been married for nine years when we first heard those words from the doctor: “I’m afraid you’re not going to keep this one.” As parents, we looked at our tiny baby son and did the only thing we could do. He was named and given a father’s blessing in the hospital. We prayed, had faith, and said aloud, “Thy will be done.”
Hours passed, and then days. The doctors and nurses continued to work with our son.
At last we heard the words from the doctor, “I believe you will keep this one.”
As parents, we grew in understanding and strength and drew closer to each other and to the Father.
Thirteen years later, in a much larger hospital, that experience was repeated with our tenth child. He was given a name and a father’s blessing in the hospital. We prayed, had faith, and once again said aloud, “Thy will be done.”
Hours crept slowly by. Once again we were greatly blessed. He would live. The lessons learned years before had been repeated.
Such experiences will teach you what father and mother mean. Then you know that you would give your life if that little son could live to experience mortality. You then can begin to understand our Heavenly Father. Then you will truly know what the words father and mother mean.

“It’s not easy getting to the church by 6:00 a.m. every school day, but it sure seems to make the day go smoother,” says Blake N. of Illinois, who recently graduated from early-morning seminary with a record of four years of perfect attendance.
Smoother days are nice, but the real motivation for Blake was that he wanted to follow the example of his older brother Conner, who graduated from early-morning seminary in 2008 without missing a day. Conner received his motivation from Derek, who graduated in 2005. Derek followed Jacob, a 2003 seminary graduate. Jacob took after Aryn, who graduated in 2001. Aryn followed Michael, who started the string of perfect attendance when he graduated in 2000. All six brothers combined for a total of 24 years of perfect attendance at early-morning seminary.
“We’ve always tried to support each other, but we also all have somewhat of a competitive streak. Nobody wants to be outdone,” says the oldest brother, Michael. The camaraderie has paid off in other areas. All six brothers are Eagle Scouts. The oldest five have served missions, and Blake has submitted his papers and is waiting for his call.

While visiting the country of Sierra Leone in West Africa, I participated in a meeting conducted by a stake Primary leader. Mariama led with such love, grace, and confidence that it was easy to assume she had long been a member of the Church. Mariama, however, was a fairly recent convert.
Her younger sister joined the Church and invited Mariama to attend a Church class with her. Mariama was deeply impressed by the message. The lesson was on the law of chastity. She asked to have the missionaries teach her more and soon received a testimony of the Prophet Joseph Smith. She was baptized in 2014, and her daughter was baptized last month. Imagine, the two fundamental teachings that led to Mariama’s conversion were the law of chastity and the Prophet Joseph Smith, two points the world often sees as irrelevant, outdated, or inconvenient. But Mariama testified that she was like a moth attracted to the light. She said, “When I found the gospel, I found myself.” She discovered her worth through divine principles. Her value as a daughter of God was revealed to her through the Holy Ghost.

Long ago when the earth was new, all the birds that flew in the sky were gray. They were awed by the rainbow’s shimmering beauty, for they had no color. Great Bird, who ruled the skies, would call a meeting after every rainfall so all could admire the splendid colors of the rainbow arching over the earth.
One evening as the sky glistened with the red, yellow, green, blue, and violet of the rainbow, Great Bird made an announcement: “Too long have you just admired such gleaming colors. This night you may share them. You may each choose one color from the rainbow to tint your feathers.”
Almost before Great Bird was through talking, the parrot streaked through the sky and snatched the green. “This is my color. All mine,” he screeched.
“I want the yellow. Give me the yellow,” cried the canary, darting in and out among the feathered bodies.
“Don’t touch the blue,” shrieked the jay.
The cardinal fluttered his wings over the rainbow. “I’ll take the red. It was meant just for me.”
A large duck reached through the crowd and captured the violet ribbon. He wound it tightly around his neck, then flapped to a nearby pond.
Great Bird flew to a tree and watched the fluttering and flapping, the shoving and pushing, the calling and crowding as the birds flew to the rainbow in search of beauty. But sitting beside Great Bird under a leafy branch sat a small gray finch.
“Why are you not grabbing for a color, little finch?” asked Great Bird.
“I was waiting my turn,” answered the finch gently. “But now I’m afraid all the colors are gone.”
“Never!” cried Great Bird, and he called his flock back as they were about to fly away.
While the other birds passed before him, Great Bird took a bit of color from each one and passed it to the finch. The cardinal lost a bit of red; the canary a touch of yellow. The parrot surrendered some green and the jay some of his blue. Finally, the duck unwound the violet ribbon from his neck and passed a strand to the finch.
The little finch glistened with all the hues of the rainbow. Like the rainbow, all the colors melted softly into one another, tinting the feathers with a glow.
Great Bird looked at the gentle finch. “While the rainbow is a symbol of thanks for rain, your beauty is a thank-you for waiting your turn,” he said. “Little finch, wear your colors as a medal for patience.”
To this day, after a rain, the sweet song of the finch can be heard over the rainbow, telling all to wait their turn.

Organized to help women develop and express charity, the Relief Society gives many opportunities to love and serve others. Such service helps both the giver and the receiver develop charity—as the Relief Society sisters in one ward learned when they helped a young mother face tragedy.
Elizabeth was in her early thirties when she underwent an operation. But a mistake was made, a nerve was cut, and Elizabeth was left permanently paralyzed. She was confined to a wheelchair. Her husband was an alcoholic, and he soon left her and their four young children.
Elizabeth struggled to raise her children, with the help of family, friends, neighbors, and Relief Society sisters—all of whom helped her do what she could not do by herself. Surprisingly, many of those who served Elizabeth often left her home wondering who had given and who had received!

“When I was released, for some reason I didn’t want to go to the Protestant school anymore. I wanted to go to another school called AKAS. So my grandmother enrolled me in 1974. During that year, Eb Davis, the LDS mission president in Fiji, came to our school to select 10 students to attend Liahona High School on Tonga. Attending high school is a great opportunity. Only two groups had gone before. I was older than most and had been out of school for two years, so I didn’t have much hope I would be selected. But I was.
“The big problem for my family was finding the money to purchase the required round-trip airfare. I asked my father, ‘How will you get the money? We don’t have any.’ My father had a terminal illness that left him unable to work, but he said, ‘We’ll get the money.’ My mother sewed for the hospital and had some money saved. My uncle and other relatives also helped. It seemed a miracle, but we came up with the money.
“So there I was in 1975 at Liahona High School. When I came to the campus, I thought I was in heaven. The people were clean, the school was clean, and the men were wearing ties. And then I discovered this was a church school, run by Mormons. I had no idea what a Mormon was, so I asked.
“That first Sunday I started the missionary discussions. Grant Howlett, one of my teachers, taught me. I was really excited. I had promised the Lord I would be a missionary if He healed me, and I knew I couldn’t be a missionary until I joined the Church. I was baptized on 22 June 1975—the first from our group. When my friends asked why I joined the Church so quickly, I said, ‘I couldn’t reject anything they taught. I just felt it was what my Father in Heaven wanted me to do.’”