Gospel Story Finder

A cornet led Wayne S. Peterson to one of his earliest spiritual experiences. He learned to play the instrument as a teenager growing up in Roy, Utah. He was a member of the Ogden Utah Boys’ Chorus and Trumpet Choir, a group that was invited to perform at the Kiwanis International Convention in Atlantic City, New Jersey. As part of the trip east, the boys also had the opportunity to visit the Sacred Grove and the Hill Cumorah near Palmyra, New York.
“It was one of the defining points in my life,” remembers Elder Peterson. “The Spirit that I felt there, the assurance of what had occurred there, sank deeply into my heart.”

With sorrow we have read of young men and those not so young who bravely die, who give their lives upon the altar of freedom. In a hurried moment, one such took in hand a pencil and a scrap of paper and wrote to a worried loved one: “Soon we go into battle. The enemy is well fortified; loss of life will be great. Mom, I hope I live, but I’m not afraid to die, for I’m right with God.”

His mother received the precious note. On the same day another message arrived; “We regret to inform you that your son has been killed in action.”

Friends visited, loved ones comforted, but peace came only from him who called Nazareth his home.

Tina knew how she was supposed to feel at Christmas. After all, she attended her Primary class, and she listened to her teacher. She knew all the right answers: It is better to give than to receive. Love thy neighbor as thyself. Do unto others as … *
It was a tradition in Tina’s family to help a needy family every year, and she and her brother, Mack, and her sister, Juleen, would help decide what gifts to buy for that family’s children. Her whole family always went to deliver the gifts, which usually included a case of oranges, a turkey or ham, and a big box of groceries. Tina liked doing it. Even so, she secretly felt that “the joy of giving” was somewhat overrated. It seemed pretty routine to her, even though she knew she couldn’t admit that to anyone without seeming to be a grouch.
The night after her folks had explained that this year they would be helping a Vietnamese family down the block and that she was to choose gifts for a girl about her own age, Tina knelt down to say her prayers. As she finished with her nightly thank-yous and “please blesses,” she added fervently, “Heavenly Father, please help me to choose something Kia will enjoy. And please, please help me to find the spirit of Christmas so I can know the kind of joy I keep hearing and reading about. I don’t really think I have a hard heart, but it seems to me that people keep making too big a deal about giving to others. Help me to understand.”
At school the next day, Tina took special notice of Kia. Before, she was just the Oriental girl who couldn’t talk very well and who wore dresses that were too long and shoes that looked like boys’ shoes. Tina couldn’t remember whether or not she had ever spoken directly to her. At recess she found Kia leaning against the side of the building, watching the other children build a snow fort. Since she had no gloves and wore only those funny shoes, it was easy to see why she wasn’t participating.
“Hi, Kia. Do you like the snow?”
“I do not like. It is very cold.”
Tina made a mental note that warm boots would make a nice gift. That decision made, she turned to join her frolicking classmates. Something, however, made her pause and turn back to the dark-eyed Kia with another question. “Kia, what would you like for Christmas?”
“Christmas? I do not know about Christmas.”
Tina tried to explain about the birth of Christ and the gifts that were brought by the Wise Men and the traditions of gift-giving and love that have been carried down through the years, but she soon realized that Kia did not understand very much English. She tried to make it simple. “Kia,” she said, “on Christmas we give gifts to people we love. Do you understand gifts?“
Kia nodded. “I understand. My mother make a gift to me. These shoes—see? She buy them at a first-hand clothes shop.”
Tina was about to explain that it was actually a second-hand clothing store, but somehow that did not seem important. “Kia, I want to give you a gift for Christmas. What would you like?”
“A gift because you love me?”
Tina was not sure how to answer. It was obvious that Kia had understood every word of her simple explanation of Christmas gifts. Fortunately the bell rang to signal the end of recess. “We’ll talk after school, Kia. We’d better hurry now.”
As Tina was getting her things from her locker after school, her friend Stacie approached. “Hi, Tina. Natalie and I are going to walk by Ferguson’s Department Store and look at the neat window displays. Want to come?”
“Sure, Stace, just a minute.”
As she turned to join her friend, Tina saw Kia standing expectantly a little way down the hall. She was tempted to pretend that she didn’t see her, but when Kia’s hand lifted hesitantly in a kind of shy greeting, she waved back. “Hey, Stace, I guess I’d better not go with you tonight. I have to … I mean, I sort of made a promise to do something else.”
“OK. I have to hurry—Natalie is waiting. Plan to come with us tomorrow.”
She could have coaxed me a little, Tina thought with a tinge of disappointment as she greeted Kia. “Hi. I see you didn’t forget.”
“No. No. I not forget.”
“Well, now, we were talking about what you would like for a Christmas gift.”
“Yes. Yes. A gift because you love me.”
“Well, ah, yes. I guess so. What one thing would you like most?”
“Ah, I need no thing. My family has some food each day and things to wear from the first-hand shop.”
Tina felt exasperation growing within her. “Well, you must want something.”
Immediately the slender girl stiffened, and Tina regretted her impatience. “Kia,” she said more kindly, “I really do like you, and I would like to know you better. There must be something you want.”
“I want two things. I want very much to have a friend—and I want to be able to speak the English well.”
“I know—let’s walk home together, Kia. My house is near your house. On the way I’ll help you learn more English words.”
As the two girls walked homeward, Tina pointed to objects and spoke their names clearly: Sidewalk. Snow. Lights. Decorations. Christmas tree.
Kia pronounced each word with difficulty; but her laughter bore no trace of an accent. When they reached Tina’s house, Kia said, “Good-bye, Tina. You have made me glad. I really like to talk the English. Will you also yesterday help me?”
Tina laughed. “You mean tomorrow, Kia. Tomorrow is the day after today. And yes, I will help you tomorrow.”
Tina hadn’t forgotten that Stacie and Natalie would again be going to the mall, but she couldn’t ignore the eagerness in Kia’s face. In fact, she suspected that she was learning a little more about the joy of giving. The warm boots would be easy—especially since her dad would be paying for the gift—but the gifts of friendship and time were different. As Kia disappeared into the little house down the street, her words came back to Tina’s mind: “A gift because you love me?”
“Yes,” Tina whispered as she skipped home, a wonderful warmth welling up inside her. “Yes, Kia. A gift because I love you.”

One summer my mom and dad packed our car for a long trip. “Where are we going?” I asked. “Are we going to the beach?” “No,” said Dad. “Are we going to Grandma’s house?” “No,” said Mom. “Are we going to the mountains?” I asked. “Yes,” said Mom. “But we are not going to just any mountains. We are going to follow the pioneers’ trail to the Rocky Mountains.” “Oh,” I said. I remembered singing about pioneers in Primary, but I never thought I would get to see where the pioneers once walked. Dad drove for a long time. We saw the temple in Kirtland, Ohio. We saw the temple in Nauvoo, Illinois. We saw where the pioneers crossed the Mississippi River in their wagons. Then Dad drove our car across the plains. The sun was hot. I was glad I could ride in a car and not a wagon. “It must have been hard to be a pioneer,” I said as we arrived at the Salt Lake Temple. “It was,” Dad agreed. “But the pioneers knew it was important to follow the prophet.” “I guess that makes me a pioneer, too!” I declared. Mom smiled and gave me a hug.

Andrew Mello, age 18, still has several months before he submits his mission papers, but that doesn’t mean he’s not actively preparing now. Studying Preach My Gospel, he says, has been one of the best ways he’s been able to do so.
Some preparation has come through personal study. Other times it comes from training in his priests quorum. On the first Sunday of each month, a member of the quorum is assigned to teach a lesson from Preach My Gospel to his peers and adviser. Sometimes they teach the full 45-minute lesson, but other times, just for practice, they’ll teach the 15- or 5-minute versions of several different lessons instead.
And while Andrew acknowledges that this preparation is equipping him for full-time missionary service, he can also see advantages in his life right now.
“I find myself thinking about things from Preach My Gospel all the time,” says Andrew. “I am the only Mormon in my high school, so people often ask me questions about what I believe. I’ve been able to use lessons and skills from Preach My Gospel to tell friends or acquaintances about the gospel.
“There are some questions or conversations that could go a lot of different ways,” he continues, “but when I can steer them in a productive direction because of things I’ve studied, that feels awesome.”

During my junior year of high school, I moved to live with my dad. I found it very difficult to make friends in my new town. Since I had arrived halfway through the school year, I was at a disadvantage. I felt rejected and lonely.
Because I love to sing, choir class is where I thought I could find my niche of friends. No one was particularly cold to me; however, I found it challenging and awkward to interact with the other choir kids. This made me feel even more isolated and alone.
In stark contrast to the way I was feeling, one girl in choir class seemed to have it all. I will call her Anna. She was stylish, witty, and very popular. She was outspoken with a great sense of humor. Although I didn’t really know her, I found her very likable. Nevertheless, she had one exceedingly offensive and disturbing habit. She frequently took the Lord’s name in vain. She would say His name in a casual and flippant manner. I would cringe when she would say it, but I didn’t know what to do. I thought about asking her to stop, but I was worried that she would laugh at me and mock me in front of the others. I couldn’t stand the thought of feeling even more out of place.
One day our choir class was standing on risers, practicing for a school assembly. While singing, we unexpectedly squawked out a note that was way off pitch.
Anna laughed and yelled, “We sound bad!” punctuated by using the Lord’s name.
Right then and there I decided that I couldn’t take it anymore. The thought came to my mind: “How can I continue day after day to deny my Savior by saying nothing as His name is blasphemed? I have got to speak up now!”
At that moment, I was amazed to hear my voice—loud and firm—saying, “Please don’t say His name that way anymore. He is my Savior.”
Instantly, the room was silent. There was no doubt that the whole class had heard me. I was as shocked as anyone that I had spoken up so boldly. I held my breath and got ready for the repercussions.
After a brief pause, a voice from directly behind me whispered, “Thank you for saying something. I can’t stand it when she says that.” Immediately, I heard another classmate quietly agree. Surprisingly, many in the class seemed to be relieved that I had spoken up.
Anna was silent for a moment. Then she turned to me with tears in her eyes and said softly, “I am so sorry. I didn’t even realize what I was saying. He is my Savior too.”
I am thankful that the Spirit touched me that day in choir class to open my mouth to defend the sacred name of the One who has redeemed me. The Holy Ghost gave me courage to stand up for what is right, and by doing so, I could finally let my light shine (see Matthew 5:14–16).
After that day, I definitely held my head a little higher. Even though I didn’t become popular, I was able to make one first-rate friend in that choir class who joined the Church soon after this experience. As for my other classmates, they seemed to respect me more. One thing I am certain of is that standing up for my Savior gave me more self-respect and confidence. I am eternally grateful for Jesus’s sacrifice. I feel blessed to have been able to do something meaningful to show my love for Him.

After the projects were complete and youth conference was over, the gifts were stored and forgotten—but not for long.

Marie Taylor, a Laurel, spent a lot of time on her Laurel project. She coordinated the collection and wrapping of several large boxes—giant Christmas containers to be filled with food and delivered to hospice patients and their families. During youth conference, the boxes were wrapped and made ready to go. They wouldn’t be filled with food until the holidays, so they needed to be in storage for a while before they were used. But after being transported a few times, some of the boxes looked a little worse for the wear.

“I did a lot of crazy things to get those boxes,” says Marie, who rounded up her friends to help and then asked local merchants to let her take boxes they no longer needed. “Most of the store owners were nice, but I had to work for those boxes! At one place, with the permission of the owners, I actually climbed into the Dumpster to get a bunch of boxes out.”

So you can imagine her dismay when, just before the holiday season, she discovered that some of the carefully wrapped boxes had come unwrapped or were otherwise unready to be used for food.

“It was discouraging to do things over again,” says Marie. “But we really wanted them to look good. So the other girls in the ward and I had a wrapping party to re-do the damaged boxes. It turned out to be pretty fun.”

Last spring we announced our 1971 summer collegiate intern-scholarship competition. Soon the entries began to come in. We carefully read each one and tried to consider the kind of staff member each entrant would make, and then we did considerable interviewing among the finalists.
The three winners—Dale Van Atta, 19, Rochester, New York; Margaret Ellis, 20, Montreal, Quebec; and Anna Stone, 24, Blacksburg, Virginia—have more than fulfilled our expectations. They have brought youthful perspective and vigor. Dale had previously won awards in the United States and England for his editing and writing. Anna had successfully presented her own photography exhibits and had one year’s experience in designing books for Hallmark Cards. Margaret had worked as a secretary on the Montreal Star, for which she occasionally did a guest column.
Now the summer is past, and they’re back in school mastering their trades. But the New Era won’t forget them. Who else but Dale would write a seventeen-page article on Frisbees? Or will any of us ever mispronounce Muntreal again, after having worked alongside Margaret? Then there is the memory of Anna—her round glasses and photographic eyes that have exposed to us forever the fresh beauty in a drop of water or a ray of light.
You will be seeing and reading their work in future issues. We gratefully thank our co-sponsors in the project: the YWMIA and Sigma Gamma Chi and Lambda Delta Sigma, the Church collegiate fraternity and sorority organizations.

The young women of the Sharon Second Ward, Orem Utah Sharon Stake, were searching for Knowledge. They had already found Divine Nature, Integrity, and all the other values. Finally, their search led them to parsley. Yes—parsley.
When the flower bed at their chapel became overgrown, the young women and their leaders decided they would spruce it up with some help from the ward custodian. They cleared away the overgrowth and planted a value garden. They chose flowers that would represent the colors of the Young Women values. A green flower for Knowledge was a little hard to find, but the girls eventually settled on parsley.
“I was very excited to see the value garden grow into something beautiful,” says Emily Killpack, one of the young women. “I was thinking that my testimony would grow just like these flowers. The Young Women values are the things that help my testimony grow.”

One night, my family and some friends had a family home evening. We had the lesson and the closing prayer, and then had a treat. When it was time for our friends to leave, my mom and I told one of my friends about the Friend magazine. She is taking discussions from the missionaries and hadn’t heard about the Friend, so I let her look through it. She really liked it. I let her have the August 2007 Friend. I’m glad that I can share the gospel with others.

My English teacher has a habit of taking the Lord’s name in vain whenever there is a distraction in the class. One day I approached her privately after class and said, “I feel very uncomfortable when you say God’s name when someone disturbs you while you’re talking. Maybe you could use other words, but I feel very uncomfortable when people say His name that way around me.”
My English teacher thanked me for coming to talk to her, but she said she would have to think about it. After that week, she didn’t profane the Lord’s name for a long time, except once or twice when the word would just come out of her mouth, but I understood how hard it is not to make a mistake again when it is a habit. I realized how important it is to spend time with people to let them know what your standards are. Never be ashamed of doing what is right, because there’s always someone that stands on your side. I was so grateful to see this change in my English teacher. Not only does she not use the Lord’s name, but I realized that her attitude has changed, too.
As it says in Romans 1:16, “I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ.” I won’t ever feel ashamed of asking people to not misuse our Heavenly Father’s name, because it is sacred. We should always stand up for our standards, and for our Heavenly Father, because of the blessings and courage that He gives us.

It was my privilege to serve for many years with President Spencer W. Kimball when he was chairman of the Missionary Executive Committee of the Church. Those never-to-be-forgotten missionary assignment meetings were filled with inspiration and occasionally interspersed with humor. Well do I remember the recommendation form for one prospective missionary on which the bishop had written: “This young man is very close to his mother. She wonders if he might be assigned to a mission close to home in California so that she can visit him on occasion and telephone him weekly.” As I read aloud this comment, I awaited from President Kimball the pronouncement of a designated assignment. I noticed a twinkle in his eye and a sweet smile cross his lips as he said, without additional comment, “Assign him to the Johannesburg South Africa Mission.”

Too numerous to mention are the many instances where a particular call proved providential. This I know—divine inspiration attends such sacred assignments. We, with you, acknowledge the truth stated so simply in the Doctrine and Covenants: “If ye have desires to serve God ye are called to the work” (D&C 4:3).

In my case the Book of Mormon became the keystone of my testimony over a period of years and through a number of experiences. One powerful experience in forming my testimony occurred while I was a young missionary serving in my first area: Kumamoto, Japan. My companion and I were house-to-house proselyting. I met a grandmother who kindly invited us into the entry of her home, which is called a genkan in Japanese. She offered us a cold drink on a hot day. I had not been in Japan very long, and I had recently completed reading the Book of Mormon and had been praying to know with certainty that it was true.
Because of my newness to Japan, I didn’t speak Japanese very well. In fact, I don’t think this woman understood much of what I was saying. I began teaching her about the Book of Mormon, describing how Joseph Smith received from an angel an ancient record engraved on plates and how he translated them by the power of God.
As I offered her my testimony that the Book of Mormon is the word of God and another testament of Jesus Christ, I received the strongest impression, accompanied by a warm feeling of comfort and serenity inside my chest, which the scriptures describe as “your bosom [burning] within you.” This feeling reaffirmed to me in a powerful way that the Book of Mormon truly is the word of God. At that time my feelings were so strong that tears came to my eyes as I talked to this Japanese grandmother. I have never forgotten the special feeling of that day.

The youth of the Portland Sixth Ward, Portland Oregon East Stake, came up with an activity that tied up both young men and young women. They decided to benefit two separate centers for homeless children and victims of AIDS by tying, then donating, quilts.
In two hours, 20 youth produced five tie quilts, each one extremely unique. Everyone ended up developing new skills, growing closer, and experiencing the joy of service, all at the same time.

I have three darling little granddaughters. One is five years old, and the others are three and one. The oldest is Amy Christine, but I call her Love-Love. The second is named Melissa. Her parents call her Missy, but I call her my Dolly. The third little girl whose name is Natalie Ann is so soft and cuddly that I call her Pinky.
Nicknames are fun, but I had an experience recently that caused me to think. Minnie, my wife, held Missy in her arms, gave her a big kiss, and asked, “Who’s my love?” and Missy answered, “Amy.” When it was my turn to give her a squeeze, I held her tight and said, “Who does grandpa love?” And Missy answered, “Your Love-Love.”
“Yes,” I answered and then asked, “and who else does grandpa love?” Missy replied, “Your Love-Bird,” which is an affectionate term I use for my wife. Missy did not think we loved her because we didn’t use love in her name.
After we compared notes, we realized that we had to do something special to let Melissa know that she was loved too. Now I call her my Love-Dolly, and my wife calls her Missy-Love. In the future, as our smallest grows up, we must be also careful to let her know that she isn’t just Pinky. We’ll choose another name for her that includes love so she also will know that she is loved as much as her sisters.
May I return to my granddaughter? Instead of just saying, “How’s my Dolly?” I now say, “How is grandpa’s Love-Dolly?” To hear the cries of joy when grandpa and grandma come to see them is worth waiting and working for. Try something similar with your friends and see if I’m not telling you the truth!

I recently met a young woman in the Philippines whose family became less active in the Church when she was only 7 years old, leaving her alone to walk a dangerous road to church week after week. She told how at age 14 she decided that she would stay true to her covenants so she would be worthy to raise her future family in a home “blessed by the strength of priesthood pow’r.”12 The best way to strengthen a home, current or future, is to keep covenants, promises we’ve made to each other and to God.

When I was 12 years old, my family lived on a farm in Brazil, far from the city. That December my brother and I were harvesting nuts for another farm owner when it suddenly began to rain. For days the rain continued so heavily that we couldn’t work.
It was almost Christmas, and our family was running out of food. My mother was worried we wouldn’t have a Christmas dinner, so she asked my older brother and me to ask the farm owner for the money we had earned. It wouldn’t be much, but it would buy a little food for our family at a time when others were preparing their holiday feasts.
My brother and I walked several miles on a muddy road to get to the farm owner’s house. When we arrived, the owner was surprised. “What brings you here on such a rainy day?” he asked. We explained our situation, and he said, “I don’t have any cash to pay you with, but I can pay you with a check.” We accepted and left quickly so we could make it into town to cash the check and buy the groceries we needed.
By the time we got to town, almost every business had closed for the Christmas holiday. We were exhausted, and our efforts to cash the check were in vain.
When we arrived home without the groceries, my mother and eight brothers and sisters were very disappointed. All we had was the check, which at the moment was worthless to us. Christmas Eve came without any presents and with little food. We ate a dinner of rice and went to bed.
We arose on Christmas morning to the sound of our neighbors celebrating outside, but we remained inside, hoping for a miracle that would put food on our table. To our surprise, just before lunch there was a knock on the door. There stood one of our neighbors, holding an enormous bowl covered with a towel.
“I came to bring this to you,” she said. My mother gratefully accepted the bowl, and when we looked inside, we found it was full of Christmas foods. To us it was a banquet, a true miracle!
That Christmas meal was the best present I ever received because it fed us on such a special day. Although our neighbor was not aware of our circumstances, I know that our Heavenly Father was, and He worked through her to feed us that Christmas. I know that when we have no other way out, the Lord in His infinite mercy and goodness sends great miracles into our lives. And as our family learned that Christmas, we can serve the Lord—as our neighbor did—by bringing miracles into the lives of others.

A week and a half before the October 2019 general conference session, I, along with family and friends, had to bury the loveliness of my mother, Eudie (YOU-dee) Charnes. My heart was broken, grieving, and empty beyond empty. The beauty of Eudie, the beauty that was Eudie, was, simply and sadly, no more. She was no longer before me to hold, to hug, or to nourish—to bless, to sing to, to cry over, or to pray with. The life and the light that had given me life had died, her blessedness now gone and beyond. And so too a part of me died with her also, a part deep within, leaving me forever without. With grace she died, embraced by faith, interlaced in the loving arms of her beloved family: of my wife, Sarah; of our daughter, Yael; and of mine, her newly orphaned son.
We were all together, yet completely alone—each alone in our individual loss, but bound together in our shared loss. And that fragile togetherness that we shared with each other was helped, and at times was even held together, by the kindness and presence of two living Latter-day Saint community treasures: Brother Mike Law and his eternal celestial companion, Sister Debbie Law, of Colorado, USA. Their humble hearts overflow with a love that can only be described as being inspired from above, and we are forever grateful for the light of their accompanying presence during our walk through the darkness and the despair of death.
It was during this time, a mere two days after burying my mother, that my desperate cry for the blessed was answered—answered in the form of a simple phone call and offer from my treasured friend Brother Mike Law. He was again reaching out and reaching in, as always, to see how I was faring and wayfaring along, in loss along this long and lonely journey of woe.
While we were speaking, I noticed a subtle tenor of uncertainty entering into Mike’s voice as he asked me the following question: “Joe, I know the answer is probably going to be no, but would you like to go to general conference, if I can get tickets?” My response was simple, immediate, direct, and urgent: “Mike, there’s actually nowhere else that I’d rather be.”
Those were my words, friends; those were my words—words sung forth in solemn song and solemn sorrow. I just knew that general conference would be that consecrating moment of graceful uplift for my heart. I knew the generous arms of every Latter-day Saint–inspired heart would be unconditionally extended and extending in love—that the arms of their loving hearts simply would not fail.
At general conference, people simply smile from the heart. They say hello from the heart, and they glow from the heart. There is an unspoken language of presence of heart. Their presence says hello. Just being there says hello. Just being there is being embraced.
That was the balm my aching soul needed—that heart-embracing balm of general conference kindness. That is why general conference would truly be that healing balm of Gilead for my soul in need.
And this is a general truism of your grand faith. Wise, loving, nurturing kindness is the service anthem of the Latter-day Saint community; it is the emblematic hallmark and legacy of your faith. If the old adage is true that “the highest form of wisdom is kindness,” then general conference is truly a gathering place for some of the wisest human beings on the planet.
You are “a light unto the nations,” and a light unto my heart. Bless you, Mike, for following the promptings of your heart. Your devotion to helping me restore peace within has the heavenly choir above singing, “Well done, good and faithful servant” (Matthew 25:23).

Once my brothers and I were sledding down the hill in our backyard. My older brother said it was time to go inside, but I said, “Once more, please!” Both my brother and I had a bad feeling about it, but he pushed me down the hill anyway. I ran into a tree and had to get seven stiches in my chin. I know that bad feeling was the Holy Ghost warning me. I should have listened!
Madelyn G., age 8, Idaho

One evening Jean and I were both gone from home on different Church assignments. I thought I would be home in plenty of time to read with the children, but my meeting lasted longer than I had planned. When I arrived home it was nine o’clock, well past the children’s bedtime. Jean was already home and the children were all in bed. “Did we miss reading the scriptures?” I asked. “No, Lori and Tommy (who at the time were ten and eight) read with the younger children before I got home.” That sort of initiative on the part of our children was something new.