Gospel Story Finder

Let me tell you one little story of a man in Haiti named Alexander Moura. He recorded it for us, so I don’t think he would mind my sharing it with you. This man found a little pamphlet of the Joseph Smith story. He picked it up and read it, and he said that he was electrified. He knew it was true. He can’t understand why anyone wouldn’t know by reading it that it was true. He had tried everything he knew to find meaning in his life, including voodooism, and nothing had helped. But he knew the truth of that little story.

He wrote to the address on the pamphlet and asked for more information. It was a long time coming, but eventually he received some additional literature and a Book of Mormon. He declares that he never closed his eyes from the time he began to read to the time that he finished it. Now try that for a challenge. He had no need to put the test of Moroni 10:4 to work. He knew from the very first words of 1 Nephi that this was the word of God.

At that point he climbed on an airplane and went to Florida to ask for baptism, with his cigarettes still in his pocket. You see, he hadn’t heard about that yet. No one had told him about the Word of Wisdom. As the mission president explained the Word of Wisdom, tithing, and a lot of other things that become stumbling blocks for some other people, he gently moved the wastebasket over and Brother Moura dropped the cigarettes in and never smoked again.

We asked him if this was difficult—a silly question, because this was a man who had smoked four to six packs a day for years and years and years. He averaged about twenty-six cups of coffee in a day, six or seven before he could get to his store and function. He was a frequent drinker of liquor. He answered that he had tried to quit before, many times, but he would get so ill he couldn’t get to the store. There wasn’t any way he could stop. He would try and try, then give it up and go back. But he testifies that with the help of the Lord he never had another craving.

He knows that a miracle happened in his behalf. Just last fall Elder Thomas S. Monson dedicated the land of Haiti, and with Alexander Moura were 155 members of the Church. All from that small beginning. That land has many branches now and people are hearing this great voice of gladness, the good news of the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Indeed, Isaac Watts did demand much from himself. In his lifetime he wrote approximately 600 hymns. Two of his most productive years were between his graduation from school at age 20 and his taking a job teaching when he was 22. At that young age many great hymns flowed from him. Lyrics by Isaac Watts in our book of hymns include, among others, “Joy to the World,” “Sweet Is the Work,” and “He Died! The Great Redeemer Died.”
Even as a small boy, Isaac Watts had poetic potential.
Once, during family prayers, he began to laugh. His father asked him why. [Isaac] replied that he had heard a sound and opened his eyes to see a mouse climbing a rope in a corner, and had immediately thought,
A little mouse for want of stairs
ran up a rope to say its prayers.
His father thought this irreverent, and proceeded to administer [physical] punishment, in the midst of which Isaac called out,
Father, father, mercy take,
and I will no more verses make.

He’d never forget her first football game. She’d been so excited that she could hardly sit still, dressed in a new red sweater, a matching ribbon on her ponytail. His friends had fought to sit next to her, buying her candy from the concession stand. They’d asked her how old she was and where she went to school. Tessie had loved every minute of it, laughing at his friend Hank’s dumb jokes and cheering more loudly than anyone else when the game got exciting. He’d set her on his shoulders so that she could watch the final few minutes, then held her hand tightly so that she didn’t get lost in the crowd.

That had been the first of many games he and his friends had taken her to, and pretty soon she’d known everybody. She’d loved the football games best, but basketball had been fun, and she could cheer for Hank during the baseball season. David had occasionally taken her to the movies or the beach, and she’d baked him chocolate chip cookies with cereal in them, her own special recipe.

“A group of men were talking with the Prophet Joseph Smith one day when news arrived that the house of a poor brother … was burned down. Everyone expressed sorrow for what had happened. The Prophet listened for a moment, then ‘put his hand in his pocket, took out five dollars and said, “I feel sorry for this brother to the amount of five dollars; how much do you all feel sorry?”’ … Last year millions of you responded to the sorrow of others with your means, tender hearts, and helping hands. Thank you for your wonderful measure of generosity.”Bishop H. David Burton, Presiding Bishop, “Tender Hearts and Helping Hands,” Liahona and Ensign, May 2006, 8.

Youth Voices: Why We Need to Stop It!
The New Era asked some youth how they felt when they heard President Uchtdorf’s talk and why they think it’s important to “stop it!” Here is what one young woman says:
“I love [President Uchtdorf’s] talk! It inspired me to stop gossiping and judging people. It truly had an impact on my life. This talk convinced me to talk to my group of friends about how we should stop with all the hate towards others. They took my words and put them into action. We have often found ourselves having a better day just because we were nice to someone. It was an amazing life lesson.”
Taylor L., 14, Utah

Have you ever stood on a high cliff with your toes on its edge and your back to the abyss below? In rappelling, even though you are securely connected to a system of strong ropes and equipment that can deliver you to safety, standing on the edge is still heart-racing. Stepping backward off the cliff and swinging into thin air requires trust in an anchor secured to an immovable object. It demands trust in the person who will apply tension to the rope as you descend. And although the equipment provides you with some ability to control your descent, you must have confidence that your partner will not allow you to fall.
I vividly remember rappelling with a group of young women. I was first in the group to go. As I stepped backwards off the cliff, I began to fall without control. Gratefully, the rope jerked and my too-rapid descent was stopped. As I dangled halfway down the jagged rock face, I prayed fervently for whomever or whatever was keeping me from dropping onto the rocks.
Later, I learned that the anchor bolt had not been securely set, and as I stepped off the edge, the person belaying me was jerked on his back and pulled towards the edge of the cliff. Somehow, he wedged his feet against some rocks. Stabilized in that position, he was able to laboriously lower me, hand over hand, with the rope. Although I couldn’t see him, I knew he was working with all his strength to save me. Another friend was at the bottom of the cliff, prepared to catch me if the rope ceased to hold. As I came within reach, he caught my harness and lowered me to the ground.

I was looking through my journal the other day and I came across an entry that was about a time when I received an answer to my prayers. When my oldest son left on his mission, I was very concerned about his safety and that he might struggle with homesickness. I wrote:

"Every time that I say my prayers, I pray that he will be safe and that he will not suffer from homesickness.

"One night, after praying and asking that he be protected, the following words came to my mind: 'He is in my care. There is nothing that you can do. Have faith and trust that I will take care of him.'

"An overwhelming feeling of peace came over me and from that point on I did not fear because I knew that the Lord was aware of him where he was and was watching over him.

I continued to write that when he completed his mission and returned home, I asked him if he had ever gotten homesick because he never mentioned it in his letters. He responded that he never did experience homesickness.

When I was in my teenage years, we thought that my older brother wouldn’t get to serve a mission because the ward was allowed to send only one young man at a time on a mission. Everybody else had to be available for the military draft. But our bishop and stake president found out that they could send one more. So, they talked to my brother about it, and he came home and told my parents.

My father was a wonderful man, but he was not active in the Church. His response was negative—but for an unusual reason. He wasn’t critical of the Church or even of a mission, but my brother was preparing for medical school. My father said, “You’ve prepared yourself to go to medical school. You’ve taken the classes. You can do more good if you go to medical school than you can if you go on a mission.”

That evening, this faithful, wonderful brother of mine sat with me, and the two of us talked. We concluded that there were really three questions that would determine his response to our father. The first one was, “Was Jesus Christ the Savior of the world?” The second one was, “Is the Book of Mormon the word of God?” And the third one was, “Was Joseph Smith a prophet?” I realized that the answers to those three questions would affect almost every decision I would make for the rest of my life.

I had always loved the Savior and I had read the Book of Mormon, but realizing how significant those answers were, I prayed that night and received through the Holy Ghost a profound favorable answer to those questions. Jesus Christ is the Savior, the Book of Mormon is the word of God, and Joseph Smith was a prophet. I testify that these things are true.

President Wheelwright and I have 18 adorable grandchildren, with one on the way, and each is a source of great delight to us. Of course they're all unique and talented but there seems to be about one per family that arrives with the "invention" bug, and they've come up with some pretty clever things!
Rachel is nine years old. When her older sister left for college, she begged her parents to turn her vacated room into a science lab to use for experiments and inventions. Though her parents refused, that didn't stop Rachel from inventing the Snazzy Page Turner to help her hold her music in place as she practices the piano.
Steele is eight years old. He recently took a bad fall while sledding, resulting in scrapes and bruises all over. During his convalescence he came up with this solution: He calls it the RareTip. Pretty ingenious! Luckily, he has a willing and capable dad to help with his big ideas.
Ben is four years old. Ben introduces himself to strangers by announcing, "My name is Ben and I'm an inventor!" Ben's favorite tools are twist ties, toilet paper rolls, and Elmer's glue. He recently asked his mother if she would please buy an emergency supply of 129 bottles of glue, so he would never run out. One of his bigger creations of late was an airplane that filled much of the garage, using every piece of scrap wood he could find, and more than a little glue.
As you might have realized by now, there's a fairly wide range of usefulness, not to mention safety, among these inventions. Some, though currently in prototype form, might actually prove helpful, like Rachel's Snazzy Page Turner or Steele's RareTip; others, like Ben's airplane, might be more of a liability than an asset, I'm afraid!
Life is a lot like that, isn't it? There are things we use, inventions, if you will, that make our lives easier, and other things we use that might actually make our lives harder. In fact, you may know certain people who just seem to have a gift for simplifying their lives, while others have a real knack for complicating things.
What's the difference? What is your friend who is always on time, always neatly groomed, and always remembering birthdays doing differently than your neighbor who seems to be perpetually "a day late and a dollar short?" What's the secret?

May I illustrate this truth with a personal experience. Many years ago, while serving as a bishop, I felt impressed to call upon Augusta Schneider, a widow from the Alsace-Lorraine area of Europe who spoke very little English, although she was fluent in French and German. For years after that first impression, I would visit with her at Christmastime. On one occasion, Augusta said, “Bishop, I have something of great value to me which I would like to present to you.” She then went to a special place in her modest apartment and retrieved the gift. It was a beautiful piece of felt, perhaps six by eight inches (15 by 20 cm) in size, to which she had pinned the medals her husband had been presented for his service as a member of the French forces in World War I. She said, “I would like you to have this personal treasure which is so close to my heart.” I protested politely and suggested there must be some member of her extended family to whom the gift should be given. “No,” she replied firmly, “the gift is yours, for you have the soul of a Frenchman.”

Shortly after presenting this special gift to me, Augusta departed mortality and went home to that God who gave her life. Occasionally I would wonder concerning her declaration that I had “the soul of a Frenchman.” I didn’t have the slightest idea what that meant. I still don’t.

Many years later, I had the privilege to accompany President Ezra Taft Benson (1899–1994) to the dedication of the Frankfurt Germany Temple, which temple would serve German-, French-, and Dutch-speaking members. In packing for the trip, I felt impressed to take along the gift of medals, without any thought concerning what I would do with them. I’d had them a number of years.

For a French-speaking dedication session, the temple was filled. The singing and messages presented were beautiful. Gratitude for God’s blessings penetrated each heart. I saw from my conducting notes that the session included members from the Alsace-Lorraine area.

During my remarks, I observed that the organist had the name of Schneider. I therefore related the account of my association with Augusta Schneider, then stepped to the organ and presented the organist with the medals, along with the charge that since his name was Schneider, he had a responsibility to pursue the Schneider name in his genealogical activities. The Spirit of the Lord confirmed in our hearts that this was a special session. Brother Schneider had a difficult time preparing to play the closing number of the dedicatory service, so moved was he by the Spirit which we felt there in the temple.

I knew that the treasured gift—even the widow’s mite, for it was all Augusta Schneider had—was placed in the hand of one who would ensure that many with the souls of Frenchmen would now receive the blessings the holy temples provide, both for the living and for those who have passed beyond mortality.

A few weeks ago, I was visiting with an elder in the mission field. During our interview, I inquired, “Is your father a member of the Church?”
He said, “No.”
“Is your mother a member of the Church?” he was asked.
He responded with a smile, “Just barely.”
I said, “Did your father want you to go on a mission?”
He answered, “No.”
“Did your mother want you to go on a mission?”
“She really didn’t care whether I went or not.”
“Who influenced you most in your decision to go?”
Without hesitation he said, “I did. I’ve always wanted to go, and I knew I could make a success of it.”
I looked into this young man’s eyes and said, “From what I hear and what I feel of your spirit, you will succeed.” He is a determined individual, one who months ago might have said, “My dad doesn’t care. My mother doesn’t care. Why should I care?” This wonderful missionary knows the importance of going forward and has the courage to continue in the paths that lead to happiness. He admitted to me that he once was lost, but now he definitely knows where he is going and how to get there.

During my third year of college I got sick. Not just the flu-for-a-couple-of-weeks sick. I couldn’t get better.
I was finally diagnosed with a chronic illness. The doctor gave me medications that were supposed to help, but this was a really bleak and depressing time for me.
It was then I noticed my clothes getting tighter, but I figured that was because I was sleeping all the time. I hardly ever walked to class. I knew as soon as I started to feel better, I’d be up and about on campus again.
After several months, I started feeling better and walked to campus regularly. But the weight kept coming. I even popped the zipper on my pants one day at work.
My doctor discovered that one of the medications had made my body hold onto the fat. I stopped taking it, but the damage was already done.
I hated looking in a mirror. I hated buying clothes. I hated running into people I knew before I got sick. I hated myself. I was stuck in a downward spiral of self-loathing. I was also struggling to accept the fact I couldn’t do everything I used to do. I simply didn’t have the health to do everything anymore. I hated this body I had that hurt all the time and kept getting sick. I felt I was stuck with a fat, ugly, sick body.
We hear all the time in Young Women that our bodies are temples. And one day I had a flash of understanding. It didn’t matter if my body was fat or skinny, it was a temple. I’ve never heard anyone make fun of the way the temples look, so why do we do that to our personal temples—our bodies? I realized that every time I felt bad about my body, I was being ungrateful for and disrespectful to a temple. I remembered that one-third of the hosts of heaven didn’t even get mortal bodies.
I thought of the scripture in the New Testament, when devils begged the Savior to let them enter the bodies of swine, just to have a body (see Mark 5:1–13). I was blessed with a physical body to house my spirit while I’m on this earth, a body patterned after my Heavenly Father’s.
Since that realization, I haven’t miraculously felt like my body is perfect. It’s hard to change old habits and perceptions. Instead of wishing I had someone else’s body, I try to remember that my body is a temple.

Hi, I’m Matej! (It’s pronounced ma-tay.)
Burma is a country in Southeast Asia. It’s also called Myanmar!
Our Primary learned about some kids in our city whose families are refugees from a country called Burma. Being a refugee means they had to leave their homes very quickly because of problems in their country. Many of these kids couldn’t bring any of their things when they left. We wanted to help!
The Plan
We made a plan to help our new friends from Burma. First we would collect things these kids needed, like warm clothes. Then we would invite them to come to an activity where we could play together and give them what we had collected.
Working Together
Kids in our Primary donated extra coats and scarves. Our families got a jar to help us save chore money. Every time we brought our scriptures to Primary, we put a nickel in our Primary jar. School and neighborhood kids got involved too.
Collecting Supplies
My family used our chore money to buy hairbrushes, socks, and 40 shampoos! I liked shopping to get the supplies. It made me really excited. We also collected warm coats, gloves, and hats.
The Day of Our Activity
When our Primary and the Burmese branch Primary had an activity together, we played games and learned about how Jesus Christ is like a shepherd. We made yummy treats and talked about His resurrection. We made new friends, and we’re excited to play together again!
Finally!
My favorite part of the activity was giving everything to our new friends. They loved their coats so much they didn’t want to take them off! I was so happy to see how happy they were. Helping others is how I can show Heavenly Father that I love His children and I love Him.

Ever since Jeff had moved to St. Anthony the beginning of their freshman year in high school, Jeff and Brett had been friends, almost brothers. There had been a bit of animosity in the beginning when they had both ended up on the football team vying for the same position. Both had had dreams of being great quarterbacks, but there could only be one starter and both of them were too good as athletes for a team like St. Anthony to allow one of them to sit on the bench. The conflict was solved when Brett finally decided to be a tight end. Suddenly this daring duo became the hope of the small town of St. Anthony. From the time Jeff and Brett Baker were juniors until they graduated, St. Anthony never lost a football game.

Their friendship wasn’t restricted to the football field. They were in the same ward. Those who didn’t know them well, just assumed that they were brothers, since they both had the same last name. But blood couldn’t have made their friendship more solid. They had dreamed together. They were both going to go to a semester at Ricks, where they had both received scholarships to play football, and then they were going to leave on missions. That was just the beginning. After that their whole lives lay before them.

My parents and grandparents were born and raised in Utah. However, my mother and father began their married life in Phoenix, Arizona. That is where my three brothers and I were raised. Almost every summer my father and mother would take all of us to Utah to get out of the Arizona heat and also to enjoy the association with our cousins and other relatives.
Our parents taught us early the importance of working, first with the various responsibilities around the home and later adding other work opportunities such as selling newspapers, magazines, doing gardening for the neighbors, and babysitting. When I was old enough to work for someone else on a full-time basis, I had desires to go from Phoenix to Utah alone and spend the summer there working and earning money. This was to be during the summer vacation. One spring before school was out I asked my father if I could go to Salt Lake City to work and then return to Phoenix at the end of the summer to be with my family and begin school again. After thinking it over, my parents decided it would be fine. When school was out in May, Dad took me with him to the Continental Bus depot and, since I had no money of my own as yet, bought me a ticket to Salt Lake City. I was somewhat taken back when I found out that he had purchased for me a one-way ticket instead of a round trip. He said he would take the responsibility to see that I arrived in Salt Lake City but it would be up to me to do what was necessary while I was there to purchase the ticket for a return home to Phoenix at the end of the summer. As you can imagine, I was most anxious to come back home after my work experience as I had burning in my memory the happy experiences we had always enjoyed in our home. I enjoyed the association with and loved my three brothers and was most happy and comfortable being with my parents.
When I arrived in Salt Lake City I immediately set about to find work. This I was able to accomplish, and as soon as my first paycheck was given to me, guess what I did. First I paid my tithing, and then I took the rest of the money to the bus depot downtown in Salt Lake City and purchased a return trip ticket to Phoenix. I wanted to be sure that when summer was over there would be nothing to stand in the way of my returning home. I loved my home very much. For the rest of the summer I was particularly mindful of taking good care of myself and doing everything necessary to insure my return home to Phoenix. More than anything else I wanted to enjoy again the experience of being with my family.

Just four months after moving into this new ward, Dad fell and broke his hip while visiting a family member in St. George in southern Utah. This accident required surgery and an extended stay in a care facility 250 miles (400 km) from his new home. When we told his ministering brother about the incident, he immediately contacted the Primary president, who started a letter-writing and picture-coloring campaign with the Primary children and other ward members. They sent him mail and coloring pages almost every day. The abundance of attention led the workers at the St. George nursing home to ask if he was some sort of celebrity, as they had never had a patient receive so much mail. Since this was during the height of COVID, he couldn’t have visitors, so this daily written interaction was a gift of service beyond description.

Last August we took some of our grandchildren to Timpanogos Cave National Monument, one of Utah’s most popular destinations. It is a rather strenuous one-and-a-half-mile (2.4 km) hike to reach the cave but well worth the effort to witness the cave’s beautiful, spiraling formations. I was certain that nine-year-old Ruthie would have little difficulty, but I wondered whether six-year-old Caroline would have the strength and stamina to make it all the way.
We were all very excited to begin the hike, and at first we moved rapidly along the paved trail. One-fourth of the way came quickly, but it took longer to reach the halfway point. Caroline started to get discouraged. Ruthie was doing well and encouraged Caroline to continue. We slowed down so Caroline could keep up. Then it seemed that everything went wrong. Strong winds came up, and the dust from the winds made it difficult to see. It was a little scary, and as if that weren’t enough, we came across a signpost that read, "Rattlesnake Habitat. Stay on the Trail. Stay Safe."
Slowly we trudged along, three-fourths of the way to our goal, but we still had the steepest part of the mountain to climb. Tired, scared, and doubting her abilities, Caroline sat down and tearfully declared, "I give up! I can’t go any farther!"
We sat down, and we talked about what we should do. We made a plan. We decided to count our steps and see how we felt after 100 steps. Ruthie and I assured Caroline that we would help her. We were to look for something that made us happy along the way and share our discoveries. We even sang some Primary songs.
Things changed. Caroline made the choice to follow the plan. One hundred steps made an impossible task seem doable. Caroline knew we would help her, and as we looked for the good things around us and sang songs, we felt happier.
Finally, live to be worthy of the companionship of the Holy Ghost. When we helped Caroline, looked for the good around us, and even sang Primary songs, we invited the Spirit. We felt love, joy, and peace, which are fruits of the Spirit (see Galatians 5:22). You will need that peace and assurance when Satan tries to confuse you with winds of doubt, when you are tempted to take another path, or when others are unkind or mock you for your beliefs.

When I was in my 20s, I had to take a very hard exam to get into a prominent business school in France. I had been studying long hours every day for two years. But I always went to church and institute and fulfilled my Church responsibilities.
The most important part of the exam was the interview. I had an interview with one school, and when they found out I was a member of the Church, it didn’t go well.
Then I took the exam with the school I wanted to go to most. After some time in the interview, the interviewers started asking questions about what I did outside my studying hours. I knew that it was a go/no-go question for me. But I decided in a second I would be faithful to my principles.
I said, “I’m a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” and then I spent 15 minutes explaining what I did in the Church.
The director of the school said, “You know, I’m glad you said this. When I was a student, I studied in the United States, and one of my best friends was a Mormon. He was a great man, a very kind person. I consider the Mormons to be very good people.”
What a relief! I was one of the first candidates that year to be accepted to this school.
There are two lessons out of this story. First, we shouldn’t underestimate the influence we have on others. Second, we should always be faithful to our principles. Make your best effort, and the Lord will help you with the rest.

When I was seven years old, I was diagnosed with cancer.
During the next year, I went through several rounds of chemotherapy and eventually a big surgery. The surgery left me cancer free until my freshman year of high school, when it came back and spread to my liver, where it remains to this day.
Through this whole process, I’ve become a stronger person as I’ve grown closer to my Savior. There were times when I felt like He was very close to me, telling me to keep fighting because my journey here on earth was not even close to done. These experiences strengthened my testimony of Christ.

I am reminded of a little village called Panacaxtlán, situated where the coastal plains meet the mountains of central Mexico, just a few kilometers off the Vía Corta (the short route) between Mexico City and Tampico, Tamaulipas. The village is situated in a lush, green, humid area known as the Huasteca, and the inhabitants are sons and daughters of Lehi. In 1979, while I was serving as president in the Mexico Mexico City North Mission, missionaries began proselyting in the Huasteca. Fifty-two people joined the Church in Panacaxtlán, along with about 400 others in nearby communities that formed the new Tempoal Mexico District.
A short time later, a meeting was called in Panacaxtlán at which Church members were given the following options: denounce the Church, leave the village, or be killed (not an idle threat).
The members, particularly the women, said they knew the Church to be true and would not denounce it. They also indicated they had worked just as hard as the rest of the community to secure their homesteads, and they would not leave. Boldly stepping forward, they told their taunters if they were going to kill them, to get on with it. The moment grew tense as machetes were raised, then finally lowered while the Latter-day Saints stood up for that which the Spirit had testified to them to be true.
These Saints eventually learned, as most of us do, that it is harder to live the gospel day by day than to die for it in an instant, but their early commitment came because the Spirit had touched their hearts and changed their lives. Their conversion had taken place as the Book of Mormon helped build their faith in Jesus Christ, the Son of God. They learned that Christ had visited their ancestors in the Americas after His Resurrection, and they were grateful for the blessings available to all our Father’s children because Heavenly Father had sent His Son. Like the Saints of New Testament times, those members in Panacaxtlán had developed faith sufficient to withstand the persecutions of people whose minds were closed.