Gospel Story Finder

My school class was doing a play for the whole school, and I had an important part. The night of the play came, and I was kind of nervous. I prayed right before the play started that I would feel a little more comfortable. When it was my turn to say my first line, I wasn’t nervous at all! I am very glad that Heavenly Father answers my prayers.Will Hayden, age 9San Jose, California

It had been one week since school started, and I was very discouraged. I had so many things to do. I wanted to be a cheerleader, and I wanted to take voice lessons. I was planning to take private flute lessons, as well as playing in the band. I was taking piano, and I had a big part in a play. I also had lots of homework each night. On top of that I was trying to maintain a decent social life. Every single day from September to the middle of November was booked solid. I could not fit in everything I needed to do.
The day of our annual family breakfast in Waterton, matters really came to a head. After climbing the usual mountain, we left for home with seven tired brothers and sisters cooped up in a small car. That is enough to make anyone depressed, but in addition to that I was thinking of all the things I had to do. I could not think of any way possible to accomplish it all. When we got home I was not only discouraged—I was cranky. My heart was screaming, and life didn’t seem worth living. When I get like that, I often retreat to my bedroom and read my patriarchal blessing.
As I was reading it this particular time, I thought about the day I had received it. It had been a very spiritual experience for me, and I had felt the power of the truthfulness of the gospel. I had felt so good and peaceful that day. I wanted to feel that way again.
After I finished reading my blessing, I prayed sincerely. My heart was still crying. I needed answers. I was so confused. What about school? How would I ever find time to study or do homework? What about all the things I want to do? Where will I find the time? What about piano—when will I practice?
The answer came, but not in the way I expected. I remembered the words I had read in my blessing: “Remember your father is the patriarch in your home. You can go to him for counsel, for direction, and to receive blessings for …”
I read over and over the words from my blessing. Finally I got the courage to ask my father for a blessing.
I invited my mother to listen, and my father began. “Charlotte Marie ZoBell, by the power of the Holy Melchizedek Priesthood which I hold, I lay my hands upon your head to give you a blessing. …”
The words which my father spoke answered the questions I was struggling with, calmed my aching heart, and gave me hope. I felt the same spiritual feeling that I had experienced the day I received my patriarchal blessing, and I felt good and peaceful inside. It was indeed a blessing given by God, for only God and I knew the questions that needed to be answered. It was God’s blessing given through my father.

The greatest Christmas present I ever received came early one Christmas morning. At some point during the night the furnace in our house had gone out, and there was no heat for us on that snowy morning. We huddled in blankets close to the Christmas tree and opened presents. While it wasn’t physically the warmest Christmas ever, it was one of the most memorable, as we spent time together trying to keep each other warm and enjoying each other’s company.
—Kasen Christensen

When I told my parents I wanted to serve a mission, they were not happy. My older brother, Ivan, and I were the only members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in our family. I had joined when I was 18, and now, one year later, I had decided to serve full-time. Although my parents ultimately agreed to let me go, my Dad warned that when I returned, he could not guarantee he would keep paying my college tuition.
However, I knew that if I served, the Lord would help me.
Throughout my mission, I rejoiced as I saw people embrace the gospel of Jesus Christ and progress toward salvation. When I returned home, I started my studies again. But soon my father said, as he had warned, “I cannot pay anymore.”
How is this possible? I thought. I served a mission. I did what the Lord wanted me to do. Why is this happening to me?
Then I remembered reading in the Book of Mormon. Nephi, who had kept all the commandments, was commanded to build a ship, something he had never done before (see 1 Nephi 17:8, 49–51). I felt like I had a “ship” to build. It was a huge problem that I didn’t know how to solve, so I prayed for inspiration.
Soon Ivan talked to me. “Juan Pablo, I heard our father is not going to pay your tuition,” he said.
“That’s true,” I replied. “I think everything is finished for me!”
Ivan’s response was simple, but it inspired me. “Do you know that you can both study and work?” he said. “That way, you’ll be able to pay for your tuition.” It was the first time I realized I could do both! Soon I found a part-time job that enabled me to continue my studies.
I thought again about Nephi and the boat: “Now I, Nephi, did not … build the ship after the manner of men; but I did build it after the manner which the Lord had shown unto me” (1 Nephi 18:2).
If I had listened to myself, I would have given up on my education. But the Lord inspired me, through the words of my brother, to continue. Sometimes when we have challenges in our lives, we think the Lord is not blessing us. But I can now clearly see how He blessed me with an opportunity to develop and grow.

David worked hard in physical therapy because he was determined to serve a mission. Some of his friends said serving a mission wasn’t necessary since he was in a wheelchair, but David didn’t agree. “I knew the Lord wanted me to serve,” he says, “so I decided I would do everything in my power to make it possible.”
Soon he could shower and dress himself, drive his car, and take his wheelchair just about anywhere. In fact, after his doctor said it was impossible, David even learned to put on a brace and walk with crutches by moving his shoulders to push his body forward. For someone with no sense of balance or ability to feel the ground under him, this was an incredible feat.

Then in 1950, my three siblings were shipped out to what was then, Southern Rhodesia under the Fairbridge scheme, set up to provide opportunities in the British colonies for fruitful lives for orphaned British children.
In my case, I escaped shipment by coming under the care of my stepmother, Hilda, in 1949, who moved into our house in Hayes with my half-brother John, when the Tappins moved away. Hilda was a marvellous lady and loved me as her own; she was in fact a good friend of Irene’s sister Molly. Hilda, John, and I, then spent 1951 and 1952 with Joe in Nigeria.

Sarah sat in her room playing with her dolls. She was changing them into their best clothes for a Christmas party she was hosting. Everyone was invited: Mr. Snuggles, the teddy bear; Chocolate and Caramel, the raccoon twins; Lady Juniper, the ladybug; and many of their friends.
As Sarah began to introduce her guests to each other, Mom walked into the room.
“Sarah, Dad and I were talking about what service we could do this Christmas. We thought we could give gifts to the children’s home down the road.”
“OK,” Sarah said.
“We were wondering if you would like to donate some of your toys,” Mom said. “I know that it would mean a lot to the children. They probably won’t be getting many new toys for Christmas.”
“But I don’t want to get rid of my toys! I love them all!” Sarah said.
“What about this stuffed cow?” Mom asked.
“Not Moo-Moo!”
“I’ve never seen you play with her. Are you sure you want to keep her?”
“What if I decide I want to play with her after I give her away? Then I won’t have her anymore!” Sarah said.
“The purpose of serving is to think about the needs of others before yourself,” Mom said. “When you make a sacrifice to help someone else, you are becoming more like Jesus Christ.”
“I am?” Sarah asked. “How?”
“What did Jesus do when He was on the earth?”
“He helped people.”
“Right! He spent His life serving others,” Mom said.
“So if I give away something important to me to help others, I am being like Jesus?” Sarah asked.
“Exactly,” Mom said.
Sarah knew Mom was right, but she was still a little nervous about giving up Moo-Moo.
That weekend, Sarah and Mom and Dad went to the children’s home with a big bag of gifts. As the children opened their presents, their smiles grew bigger and bigger.
One little girl picked up a box wrapped in shiny red paper. Sarah watched as the girl carefully unwrapped the present. Inside the box was the stuffed cow.
“Her name is Moo-Moo,” Sarah said to the girl. “And she loves parties.”
A smile spread across the face of the little girl. She hugged Moo-Moo tight and looked up at Sarah. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ve never had my own stuffed animal before.” The girl skipped away with her new toy.
Sarah felt happy. She imagined Jesus must have felt happy too when He helped people.
“I want to come back next Christmas,” Sarah said as she and her parents left the children’s home. “I think I have more toys I can give away next year.”

Pam had never really thought of herself as being different. She had always known, of course, that she was Korean and that she had been adopted by Mom and Dad when she was just a baby. She loved to hear the story about how her parents went to the airport to get her and how excited they were to have the baby placed in their arms. She enjoyed looking at the special album her mother had, which contained her medical report, a brief history, and several pictures. She giggled at the two small pictures of the chubby baby in the strange Korean woman’s arms. Her mom always told her that she and Dad had taken one look at those pictures and said, “Yes, we want that child!”
But today she didn’t feel wanted as she huddled in a corner of the school yard and tried to keep the tears from falling. Just a few minutes ago their teacher, Mrs. Macy, had lined them up by the door and asked,
“All right, who’s turn is it to be the line leader for kickball today?”
“Me! Me!” Randy had demanded loudly.
Mrs. Macy had been gentle but firm. “Randy, you were leader last week.” After checking her list, she had given the ball to Pam.
When they were outside, Randy had come up to Pam and demanded to be the leader.
“It’s my turn. I want to do it,” Pam had said, clutching the ball more tightly.
“Come on, Pam. Let me do it.”
“No.”
“You dumb Chinese!”
The words had come out harshly and spitefully. Pam had frozen. Randy, pleased to be getting a reaction from her, had continued, “You don’t even belong in this country. You’re not like us at all! Why don’t you just go back to where you came from?”
Pam had felt the eyes of her other classmates boring into her. No one had said a word. Pam had dropped the ball and had run across the field.
It was hard to go back to the classroom when the bell rang. Pam slumped down in her seat all afternoon and didn’t speak to anyone. The minute school was over, she rushed out of the building and raced home. She gave her mother a brief hello, then locked herself in the bathroom. She stared at her slanted eyes, olive complexion, and straight black hair. She was different!
Pam barely said anything during dinner, but it all came pouring out when her mother brought out a pink brocade Oriental jacket she had bought for Pam.
Pam’s thank-you for the gift was barely audible.
“Don’t you like it?” her mother asked. “I think it’s beautiful.”
“No, I don’t!” Pam burst out. “It looks Oriental. I want to look like everyone else!”
Her parents exchanged glances. “What happened today, Pam?” her mother asked quietly.
Pam told them about what Randy had said and how the rest of the class had stared at her.
“Randy is mistaken,” Dad said. “First of all, you are not Chinese; you are Korean. You’re certainly not dumb. And what is most important to us, you are our daughter, and we love you very much.”
Talking to her parents helped. Pam felt secure in their love for her. But she still dreaded going to school the next day. She waited until the very last bell had rung before hurrying to her seat. She stared straight ahead throughout the class period, and when recess time came, she went to a corner of the field and stayed by herself. She didn’t talk to anyone the whole day, not even to Patti, her best friend. When school was over, and Patti started toward her, to walk home together the way they usually did, Pam hurried away.
Pam kept to herself the next week too. She didn’t play with anyone at school, and she spent her time at home reading in her room. Her mother urged her to go out and play with her friends, but Pam just shook her head.
The following Monday she walked home slowly. There was no need to hurry anymore, because Patti no longer tried to catch up with her. Pam was just heading into the field across from the service station when she heard a low whine. Something or somebody was in trouble! She stopped and listened. There it was again, a whine of pain just to her left. She hesitantly walked toward it. Bending down, she saw a dog tangled in some brush so that it couldn’t get free. While she spoke soothingly to the dog, Pam gently freed his trapped leg.
It was after she had untangled the dog and he was licking her hand gratefully that Pam got her first real look at him. He was the funniest-looking dog that she had ever seen. He had one huge black patch around one eye, and his nose was bent to one side. His ears were way too long for his short body, and Pam saw that his legs were short and bowlegged.
As Pam started for home again, the dog waddled along right behind her. “Go away now!” Pam told him firmly. “Go home!”
But the dog kept following her. When she reached her house, she wondered, What am I going to do with him? She knelt down and scratched him behind the ears. Again the dog’s tongue licked her. Pam sighed and went into the house, her new friend right at her heels.
“Pam, what is that!” Mother exclaimed.
Pam explained how she had found the dog and how he had followed her home. “He’s awfully skinny, Mom—can I feed him something?” she pleaded.
Worried about the dog’s ownership but happy to see Pam interested in something again, her mother went to the refrigerator for some leftover meat.
Pam spent the rest of the afternoon with the dog. She decided to call him Hector. After she gave him a bath with the garden hose, she brushed his coat until it was dry and shining. Then she found a stick and tried to teach him to chase it. When Hector got the idea and bounded eagerly after the stick with his curious lopsided gait, Pam laughed with delight. By the time her father came home, she thought Hector was the cutest dog she’d ever seen.
“What’s that?” Dad asked.
Pam giggled. “A dog!” She explained again how she had found him. “I call him Hector. Can we keep him? Oh, please! Can we?” she pleaded as her mother joined them in the backyard.
Her father knelt down beside her and Hector. “OK—but only if you check the newspaper. He probably belongs to someone, honey.”
“I will, Dad, but I’m sure he doesn’t! There’s no collar or anything. Please. I love him!”
“That funny looking thing?”
“He’s not funny looking!”
“What do you mean? Look at that patch, that nose, those legs.”
Pam drew Hector protectively into her arms. “But I like him! Just because he looks a little different from other dogs doesn’t mean that he isn’t the most super dog in the world. I love the way he looks.”
Her father stroked her hair. “Why, Pam. Do you mean that a dog—or a person—can look different and still be very wonderful and very loved?”
“Yes! That’s what I like about Hector. He’s different! He’s—” she stopped as she realized the point her father was making. Maybe she was a little different from the other kids, but Dad and Mom and Mrs. Macy and her friend Patti liked her just as she was!
Dad went into the house, and Pam sat outside for a long time, thinking and stroking Hector’s back. At last she got up and went into the house, with Hector following her. Her parents were sitting in the living room.
“I’m going to call Patti,” she said. “I want to see if she can come over after dinner and meet Hector.”

Others might remember him as a 17-year-old speaking during the April 1983 general conference priesthood session.
Elder Holland remembers that speaking in general conference was daunting. Prepping a message that eventually came “line upon line, precept upon precept” (2 Nephi 28:30) became “an early, reassuring blessing to know that when you accept assignments from the Lord, He will help you and give you the thoughts and impressions of things that need to be shared.”

I have seen for myself what faithful priesthood leaders and members can do. In 1955 I became an officer in the United States Air Force. My bishop at home gave me a blessing just before I left for my first station, which was in Albuquerque, New Mexico.

In his blessing he said that my time in the air force would be missionary service. I arrived in church on my first Sunday at the Albuquerque First Branch. A man walked up to me, introduced himself as the district president, and told me that he was going to call me to serve as a district missionary.

I told him that I would be there for training for only a few weeks and then I would be assigned somewhere else in the world. He said, “I don’t know about that, but we are to call you to serve.” In the middle of my military training, by what appeared to be chance, I was chosen from hundreds of officers being trained to take the place in headquarters of an officer who had died suddenly.

So, for the two years I was there, I worked in my office. On most evenings and every weekend, I taught the gospel of Jesus Christ to people the members brought to us.

My companions and I averaged more than 40 hours a month in our missionary service without once having to knock on doors to find someone to teach. The members filled our plates so full that we often taught two families in an evening. I saw for myself the power and the blessing in the repeated call of prophets for every member to be a missionary.

On the last Sunday before I left Albuquerque, the first stake was organized in that city. There is now a sacred temple there, a house of the Lord, in a city where we once met in a single chapel with Saints who brought friends to us to be taught and to feel the witness of the Spirit. Those friends felt a welcoming home in the Lord’s true Church.

Sandy and the other Hmong youth agree that regular scripture study and attending Sunday School really help to strengthen their testimonies. “I guess I know a lot because of the gospel,” says Toua Yang, Sandy’s brother. “Without it I wouldn’t know why I’m here or what I would do after I died.” He credits going to seminary and trying to teach others about the gospel with helping his testimony grow. Toua, a priest, plans to tell more people about the gospel when he goes on a mission in two years.

A private code would keep their secrets safe! She wanted something the other sixth graders wouldn’t be able to figure out, so 11-year-old Michelle Hansen decided to learn sign language. After memorizing the alphabet, she taught it to her friends, and for the rest of the year they had fun quietly communicating their thoughts, dreams, and plans.
When Michelle and her family later moved to Puyallup, Washington, the old gang was broken up, but Michelle retained her skill in sign language, never suspecting that this talent would someday help unite a class of nine-year-old Targeteers.
Michelle’s mother was called to teach the Targeteer A class in Primary, which included a deaf child named Kim Hunt. Sister Hansen was talking to her family about the situation, wondering what she could do to help Kim feel more a part of the group. Michelle, then 16, told her mother she knew some sign language and volunteered to accompany her to Primary and translate the lesson for Kim.
Beginning the second week, Michelle took five minutes each class period to teach the rest of the girls to say hello and to tell Kim their names. She gave them each a copy of the alphabet and continues to teach them as much as possible. Her younger sister, Hope, is also in the class and helps Michelle teach the signs.
Michelle has since taken two classes in sign language and has volunteered in the Seattle Washington Stake to interpret conferences and other meetings for the deaf. Because of her willingness and desire to share her talent to help others, Michelle has seen a little girl who was once only a silent observer at Primary become an eager, happy listener.

Some jobs, of course, are traditional, but if you approach them from a new angle, they can be modified from mundane chores into exciting, or at least profitable, endeavors. Try specializing: One fellow was earning money repairing flat bicycle tires when he also discovered he could use the same kit to patch the elementary school’s punctured playground balls. Now he has a regular agreement with the school to maintain their playground equipment.

When I was little, I loved listening to the stories my mom would tell me about Joseph Smith and the history of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I grew up in western Oregon, USA, an area surrounded by nut orchards and agriculture. With crickets chirping softly in the background, our family would gather on our back porch in the summertime and listen to my mom tell these stories.
Maybe it was because I was also young, but I was particularly intrigued by stories from the Prophet Joseph Smith’s youth, like the leg operation he underwent to remove a bone infection when he was only seven years old. Or when the Smith family moved to New York when young Joseph was still using crutches three years later. I learned so much about Joseph Smith that I knew some historical facts better than even my Sunday School and Primary teachers!

Elder Robert D. Hales
Elder Hales’s mother teaches the importance of family meals.

My wife and I taught our children the importance of setting aside tithing each week as they received an allowance or earned money babysitting or doing special jobs. They put the tithing in a little box. On fast Sunday they gave the tithing to the bishop. They also learned the value of money by saving a goodly portion of the balance of their income for a future mission and education.
Our grandchildren are now following a similar pattern.

“I have rejoiced during the past six or seven weeks in reading carefully through, at the rate of about ten pages a day, with a prayerful heart, the Book of Mormon. I do not think that I have ever before enjoyed that book so much. I do not think the wonderful testimonies contained in it regarding the divine mission of the Savior, have ever made a more profound impression upon my heart and soul than they have made this last time that I have read the Book of Mormon. I remember, and have often spoken of the fact of reading it in my youthful days, and how there came into my heart an abiding testimony that the book was true, that it was in very deed exactly what it purports to be—the sacred history of the forefathers of the American Indian. I could not as a child or as a young man, comprehend and understand as fully as today the splendid discourses regarding the divine mission of the Savior. His wonderful teachings to the people upon this continent, the wonderful inspired teachings of Alma and Abinadi and many others, as contained in that book. But I am thankful beyond expression that I did read the book in my boyhood days and that the assurance came into my heart that it was in very deed the truth, and that I fell in love with the character of Nephi. …
“I rejoice in the increased testimony that has come into my heart and soul regarding the divinity of the Book of Mormon, in the reading that I have just completed.” (General Conference, April 1924.)

But a new love was waiting in the wings, and at 12 years of age, Kent was to have his eyes snatched from the delightful snake-harboring ground to the wide, blue, eagle-bearing sky.
One day on a camping trip Kent’s Scoutmaster pointed at a dead cottonwood tree and said, “Hey, guys, there are two eagles!” The two golden eagles perched on skeletal limbs burned their image into an unexposed surface of Kent’s brain and filled his life’s appointment book all in an instant. He came. He saw. He was conquered.

Our family chooses to not watch TV on Sunday to help us keep the Sabbath day holy. One Sunday night, our neighbors told me about a show that I wanted to watch very badly. I asked my mom and dad if I could watch it, but they said no. I felt sad that I couldn’t watch the show. My mom read the Friend with me, and then we played a game together. My brother and sister joined us, and we all played a game together. It was fun! When I went to bed, I realized that I didn’t feel bad anymore for missing the TV show. I felt really good that I had kept the Sabbath day holy.

Thank you so much for the article “Real-Life Education” in the April 2009 issue. I’ve been struggling with school and was being too hard on myself for not getting perfect grades. This article really helped me look at the real importance of education, and that it’s not the grade that shows up on your report card.
Our Young Women leaders have challenged us to read the magazine each month cover to cover. I can’t say I’m perfect at it, but the stories I do read inspire me so much and strengthen my testimony. I don’t know where I would be without the gospel. Thank you for helping me realize that.
Lori T., South Carolina