Gospel Story Finder

One of the lessons he taught me was the importance of paying tithing. He told me about my father, who was born in 1912, and my uncle, who was born a few years later. Both of these boys grew up in the Depression, a tough time. Because of the economic circumstances of the time, most of the young people didn’t get a chance to serve missions or they had to serve missions late.
Despite these circumstances, my grandfather said, “You know, we were really blessed because both your dad and your uncle got to go on missions. And I’ll tell you why they got to go. Because we were always honest in paying our tithing, so the Lord blessed us.”
He said they never had enough money, and people wondered how they sent not only one but two boys. He told me that they worked hard and saved money and were very careful, but they were also very blessed. He emphasized that the blessings were evident because they didn’t have any money fly out of heaven. Instead, grandfather was always able to get extra work and extra jobs.
He was a hard worker and had always worked 12 hours a day six days a week and sometimes more. He said, “Every time we thought that we’d be out of money, somebody would call me and ask me to build a room on their house or ask me to build a set of stairs or to do some painting for them.”
Because of those blessings, my father and his brother were both able to serve missions. I have a copy of my father’s missionary journals, and I saw the record he kept during his mission of when he got money from home. Although those dates were somewhat sporadic, they are evidence of my grandfather’s testimony of tithing.

When I received my call to serve in the France Toulouse Mission, I was excited to serve in a foreign country and learn a new language. Despite not having studied French before, I was confident I would be able to learn to speak the language easily.
My stake president blessed me with the gift of tongues when he set me apart as a missionary. This blessing added to my confidence that I would be able to learn French quickly.
When I arrived at the missionary training center in Provo, Utah, I was eager to begin, but my time at the MTC was humbling. I was overwhelmed and struggled every day. When I left the MTC, I felt I had made few advances with French. I wondered when the gift of tongues would come.
My first assignment in the mission field was in a small town in southern France. One afternoon, just days after I had arrived, my companion and I were street contacting. I didn’t say much when we spoke with people—I could hardly understand them, and they could hardly understand me.
We approached a woman, and my companion began telling her about the Church. The woman listened for a few minutes and then suddenly turned to me and said, “What do you have to say?”
I anxiously and desperately tried to remember something I had learned. In a trembling voice, I bore a simple testimony about Heavenly Father and the Book of Mormon. As I did so, the Spirit bore witness to me that what I had said was true. I don’t know if the woman felt anything, but she smiled, turned back to my companion, and asked her to continue with her message.
This experience taught me an important lesson. I learned that even though I couldn’t speak French well, the Spirit could speak through me. I learned that perhaps the blessing I had received from my stake president was actually a blessing to be able to speak the language of the Spirit.
Years later, this experience still influences me. I am not required to preach the gospel in French anymore, but I need the help of the Spirit when I am asked to teach a lesson or give a talk in church. When I feel that I am struggling to express myself, I find comfort in remembering that the Spirit is able to speak to the hearts of all of God’s children.

When I was in high school, I lived in Idaho. They dismissed school for a couple of weeks every fall for the students to help in the potato harvest. One day when I was picking up potatoes, the boy working with me began to tell me things about the Prophet Joseph Smith that I didn’t believe were true. I don’t think I discussed my concerns with anybody. I just naturally went to the Book of Mormon and began to read. Nobody told me to do this. It just seemed right. From what I read there, I knew that a bad man could not have written it.

The news came one spring afternoon when I was a college freshman. My parents, who’d been married in the temple 20 years ago, were officially divorced.
That night, I huddled in my bedroom, bearing adult-sized problems on my shoulders. I couldn’t believe my parents would never live together again. I also realized that gone was the future I had taken for granted—Mom and Dad side-by-side attending my temple marriage someday, or together sharing their joy over grandchildren.
Negative feelings clouded my mind. I had doubts about my ability to make a marriage work. I feared ward members and friends would consider me spiritually inferior because of my family’s problems. I worried that family members would fall away from the Church. And worst of all, I was lonely because we were each withdrawing into our own shells of pain.
It’s been years since that difficult night, and now I have good news. With the Lord’s help and with the support of caring family and ward members, I’ve worked through the trial of my parents’ divorce, and my life is very happy.
I have regained eternal hope, have learned to communicate and function well with both parents separately, and have been able to establish my own happy temple marriage. Other Latter-day Saint youth affected by their parents’ divorce have done the same, and I’d like to share our experiences.
Divorce may make you feel you’re losing everything you considered familiar and safe. I remember sitting on my bedroom floor, trying to study, as my dad moved his personal belongings from the house. His shirts, his books, his grooming items—everything seemed so misplaced in the back of his truck.
Christmas traditions were turned upside down as we tried to spend time with both Mom and Dad—separately. Important things like eating dinner all together or attending church as a whole family no longer existed. Too many changes at once can be overwhelming. In times of instability, remember there are strong, stable resources all around you.
Remarriages may be even more difficult to accept than divorce. Remember that you are not being rejected when your parent chooses a new mate—you are loved as much as ever. I understand this more now that I have my own children. My love for them will never diminish, regardless of the circumstances.
My siblings and I have accepted both a stepmother and a stepfather into our lives. We have learned to love and appreciate both. I admit it was difficult to see our parents with new spouses at first, but with time they have become our special friends.

A few years ago, when President Kimball was a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, he and Sister Kimball were touring missions overseas.

A change in the airline schedule found them, along with a mission president and his wife, in a cold and drafty airport, late at night, with no place to go but wait for an early morning flight.

Sister Kimball had her coat, but the mission president’s wife did not. President Kimball tried to give her his coat, but she would not take it. As they began to fall asleep on those hard benches, President Kimball got up and gently put his coat over the sleeping wife of the mission president. This kind of selfless concern for others is how President Kimball has lived his life. This is the same leader we sustain today as prophet, seer, and revelator. This is the man whom God has called to lead nearly six million Latter-day Saints.

He has literally spent his life in taking off his coat, so to speak, and putting it around the shoulders of those he judged to be in greater need: people of all colors and creeds; men, women, and children. It has never made any difference to him. All are his brothers. All are his sisters.

Let me share with you one of my favorite and true love stories. I happened into the story very late in its development. One night I went with my husband to a company dinner party. I sat next to an older man who was there with his wife. She had suffered a stroke, so consequently he would lean over to cut her meat and help her with her food. His manner was tender and very solicitous. As he finished the meal he turned toward me with a sigh. I said to him, “You are so good to your wife.”

His reply, “Why shouldn’t I be? I love her.”

Then he told me about how they met and about their courtship and their life together. “The first time I saw her,” he said, “was at a party in Canada. She was giving a reading. She had long golden curls and wore a beautiful white eyelet dress with a pretty blue satin sash. I was so taken by her that I told my mother that that was the woman I was going to marry. Mother laughingly indulged me. I went on my mission, and when I came home she was engaged to another. I was asked to take a special assignment by the bishop, and when I protested he told me that if I would always put the work of the Lord first I would find that the Lord would always take care of me. I made the long trek to Salt Lake City. When I came home, she had broken her engagement. We started to date, and then we married.”

His wife rarely accompanied him in public after that dinner. It wasn’t long until her condition worsened, and she was completely bedridden and virtually unable to speak. He was a General Authority and went out on his regular conference assignments to visit and counsel the Saints. It was his practice to come home and tell her all about the conference. One day as he finished, he teased, “If you are not going to speak back to me, then I am not going to tell about my experiences. You must not love me anymore.” Tears welled up in her eyes, and with great effort she rallied enough strength to form the words, “I do love you.” It was laborious and extremely slow, but with great effort she got the words out. He determined he would never again treat their love lightly, for the love they knew transcended even the crippling hindrance of her physical impairment.

At the funeral of this special woman, Zina Card Brown, every speaker commented on her love both for her sweetheart, President Hugh B. Brown, and for others. Elder Marvin J. Ashton declared, “Some of us are where we are because of her.” President Marion G. Romney said, “Wherever she was she was a loving lady.” President N. Eldon Tanner declared that President Brown was so successful because of her love. President Kimball said that the love of President and Sister Brown was such that they would soon be together again everlastingly. Her love pulled them toward immortality—a beginning of eternity.

At one time or another each of us will be called to fill a position in the Church, whether as a deacons quorum president, a teachers quorum secretary, a priesthood adviser, a class teacher, a bishop. I could name more, but you get the picture. I was just 22 years of age when I was called to be the bishop of the Sixth-Seventh Ward in Salt Lake City. With 1,080 members in the ward, a great deal of effort was required to make certain that every matter which needed to be handled was taken care of and every member of the ward felt included and watched over. Although the assignment was monumental in scope, I did not let it overwhelm me. I went to work, as did others, and did all I could to serve. Each of us can do the same, regardless of the calling or assignment.
Just last year I decided to see how many residential dwellings were still standing from the period between 1950 and 1955 when I served as bishop of that same area. I drove slowly around each of the blocks that once comprised the ward. I was surprised to observe in my search that of all the houses and apartment buildings where our 1,080 members had lived, only three dwellings were still standing. At one of those houses, the grass was overgrown, the trees unpruned, and I found no one was living there. Of the other two houses remaining, one was boarded up and unoccupied, and the other housed some sort of a modest business office.
I parked my car, turned off the ignition, and just sat there for a long while. I could picture in my mind each house, each apartment building, each member who lived there. While the homes and the buildings were gone, the memories were still very vivid concerning the families who resided in each dwelling. I thought of the words of the author James Barrie, who wrote that God gave us memories that we might have June roses in the December of our lives. How grateful I was for the opportunity to serve in that assignment. Such can be the blessing of each of us if we put forth in our assignments our very best efforts.

The neonatal resuscitation training concerns in Ghana mirror those of Lesotho and Uganda. Dr. David Gourley, a Salt Lake City physician and member of the Humanitarian Services advisory committee, reported that “a simplified course designed for rural midwives and community nurses will provide basic resuscitation skills and equipment necessary to lower Ghana’s infant mortality rate.”
Dr. Gourley related the following account from a recently trained midwife: “Dora attended a breech delivery. She thought the baby was dead because he was floppy and not breathing. Dora went through the initial steps of resuscitation. She needed only to correctly position the baby’s airway and suction with a bulb syringe before the baby began breathing and tone improved. Today the baby is thriving.”

Heather told us about a time she had been invited to a party with the “popular” people of the school. As she walked in the door, the music that was blasting through the house hit her spirit. She felt sick inside. Then friends started disappearing into darkened rooms. Heather said: “At the party I soon realized I had to make a choice: either these people or my standards. I couldn’t have both. I knew I did not want the words I was hearing or the movie scenes to contaminate my thoughts, no matter how popular these people were. I knew I did not belong there. As I was waiting for my mother to come and get me, I looked out the window in the darkened night, and there shining on the hill like a beacon was the temple. It was like the Lord was reassuring me that I was doing the right thing” (used by permission; name has been changed).

I’ve visited the Church in different places around the world, and while on those visits have always felt welcome. For a long time, I thought it was good enough for me and my family that I was an enthusiastic supporter of this Church, but in June 2022, something changed.
I was raised Catholic and said prayers during my younger years, but in June of 2022, I really prayed to God for the very first time. I prayed for guidance, to know if this was the right time for me to study the gospel. That night in my sleep, a scripture from the Book of Mormon entered in my mind: 2 Nephi 17.
It was like a movie. I saw golden glowing letters on the inside of my head. I had no idea if the scripture, 2 Nephi 17 existed, but I clearly felt that this was an answer to my prayers and came up with a plan to go to Church with Ellie and the children for at least a year, to read the scriptures and to pray together as a family. Later that day at work, I looked up the text of 2 Nephi 17, and my eyes landed on verse 11, that reads: “Ask thee a sign of the Lord thy God; ask it either in the depths, or in the heights above.”
I did not see this experience as a faint sign. This felt like God literally telling me that indeed it was time. I went home to tell Ellie and told her that I was ready to start a sincere study of the gospel. While telling her my story, I was struck by lightning—not by actual lightning, but by the Holy Ghost. I immediately knew what it was. Physically I felt something happening in my heart and realized that I was freed from a restlessness that I’ve carried all my life. Immediately I felt a love come over me that I have never felt before. I knew that this was the love of Christ. I literally had a change of heart. For my oldest daughter, Mayra, it was a very emotional moment, because two days earlier she had prayed that I would experience a conversion. Later, I learned two other friends had prayed for the same thing a few days earlier. A great testimony of the power of prayer!

When I was in Primary, my brother was a toddler, and my sister was a baby. My mother was very busy taking care of them during the day, so when I came home from school, I helped her. I put my brother in the stroller and walked around the block with him, again and again. We talked about the beautiful world together and looked at the birds, bugs, and our neighbors’ pets. It was a small thing, but it made a big difference! It helped my mom feel happy and rested. It helped my whole family. It was a way of helping like Jesus wants us to help.

The Church in Taiwan offers many examples of those who have made the right decisions. Hsiung Kuan Ping, bishop of the Taipei Third Ward, Taipei Taiwan East Stake, remembers his father as one of those examples. “My father served as a bishop for many years,” Bishop Hsiung says. “The church was like our home. My father loved it. Every day he made sure the doors and windows were closed. I helped clean the meetinghouse and at age 14 began assisting the clerk. Now I’m very busy with work and family, but because of my father’s influence I make time for Church service. If I put the Church first, I find I have easier success in my work and family.”

When I was younger, I made a friend who wasn’t a Church member. She and her family had been invited to church before, but they weren’t interested. I prayed about it and felt that I should go to their house and give them a copy of the Book of Mormon.
The next day I gave the Book of Mormon to my friend and her family and asked if they’d be willing to read just one chapter. I went home and told my mom that I wasn’t sure if they would do it. After a while, my friend asked if I wanted to spend the night at her house. While there, her family said that they’d read a little bit from the Book of Mormon but didn’t feel like it was the right time to learn more about the Church.
At dinner, my friend’s dad asked what members of the Church usually did before eating. I explained that we pray over the food. He asked if I’d be willing to pray. I was surprised! But I was also excited to share what I believed in. They thanked me for my prayer, and my friend said that she’d felt something as I prayed that made her feel good inside. We talked for the rest of dinner about prayer and more of what I believe in.
The next morning at breakfast, my friend’s dad prayed for a blessing on the food. He then mentioned that he had also prayed before bed the night before.
Though they haven’t joined the Church, I still keep in touch with them and answer their questions about the Church and encourage them to read the Book of Mormon.
I am glad that I could be a missionary and help them feel the Spirit. I know that by ministering to them and helping them feel the Spirit, I’ve helped them come closer to Christ.

A few months later, I received a letter from my family telling me they were waiting for my return. I never lost faith and hope that my whole family would become members of the Church, be sealed in the temple for all eternity, and be with our Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, someday.
After returning from my mission, I began to see that dream come true. I was able to baptize my mother, who is now preparing to go to the temple. I see my family often, and we are closer than ever before.

Brandon stretched his legs. He could feel how strong they were.
“Vroom, vroom!” Brandon said. He leaned forward on his tricycle. He just knew he could win the preschool tricycle race.
Brandon’s teacher waved a flag. “Ready! Set! Go!” she shouted.
Brandon took off. He felt the wind rushing through his hair. Whoosh! He felt his legs pedaling so fast. He was ahead of everyone.
Brandon sped across the finish line. He won!
Brandon’s teacher pinned a blue ribbon to his shirt. Brandon smiled. It felt good to win.
Brandon climbed onto his tricycle for the next race. He stretched his legs. He leaned forward. He was excited to race again.
“Go!” Brandon’s teacher shouted, waving her flag.
Brandon took off. He was in the lead again!
Then Brandon looked behind him. His friends were racing as fast as they could. But they couldn’t catch up to him.
Brandon was almost at the finish line. He could see his teacher holding another blue ribbon. He could win two blue ribbons today!
But then Brandon started pedaling slower. He watched Spencer and Luis race past him and cross the finish line.
The crowd cheered. Brandon watched his teacher pin a blue ribbon to Spencer’s shirt. He was smiling.
“Why did you slow down?” Brandon’s teacher asked.
Brandon smiled up at his teacher. “Because I wanted someone else to know how great it feels to win.”

My name is Tyler, and I am eight years old. One day at camp I was walking with my dad, and we saw a newborn fawn lying under a car in the shade. I was worried about it because it seemed tired. I started petting it.
After a while I saw a mother doe with another baby fawn. I knew that the doe was abandoning the first baby under the car. A doctor came and helped me carry the fawn across the street to where the mother was. The doe was leaving, but we put the fawn on the grass and walked away, hoping that the mother would come back.
I was so worried about the baby deer all night, and I prayed three times to Heavenly Father that He would help the fawn. In the morning we checked where we had left the fawn and saw that it was gone. Then we saw the doe lying in some grass with her two babies.
I know that Heavenly Father answered my prayer.

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. I remember well 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.”

As a young boy, George Albert Smith was very ill with typhoid fever, a disease that killed many people at that time. The doctor advised his mother to give him coffee to drink, but George refused it. Instead, he asked for a priesthood blessing from their ward (home) teacher. The next morning, when the doctor arrived, he found George Albert in the yard, playing. “I was grateful to the Lord for my recovery,” he said. “I was sure that He had healed me.”

The Winnipeg Manitoba Stake youth have got it together. At a recent stake dance, held in the institute building, there were 50 or more youth—and almost all of them were actually dancing. And guess what else? When a slow song started, the dance floor wasn’t empty! The music was fun and tasteful, the dancing was appropriate, and the decorations were simple but effective. Large paper flowers lined the walls, and beach balls provided constant entertainment as they were swatted around the room from dancer to dancer.
How, you ask, did this stake pull off its successful dance? Well, each month the youth of one of the wards in the stake is in charge. Stake leaders assign the wards at the beginning of the year so there will be lots of time to plan. The Waverley Ward was assigned to this stake dance. Its members started planning about a month in advance, and the first thing they did was decide on a theme—“Hawaiian School’s Out.” The young men were in charge of refreshments, and the young women did the decorating. Then they publicized.
“Do lots of poster advertisements and announcements. Plan ahead. Come up with interesting themes. Maybe a ‘dress as your parents night.’ Make sure you have a good deejay with lots of appropriate music and a large selection,” says David Moore, the teachers quorum president, who helped plan the dance along with the rest of the bishop’s youth council.
Also on the council was Stephen Wood, the stake’s deejay for the dance. The stake has mixers, speakers, and other audio equipment because it doesn’t want to hire disc jockeys anymore. It was too hard to regulate the music selected by hired deejays, and it was also becoming too expensive. So Stephen was put in charge of the music, a very important responsibility, because we all know—besides the fun people, of course—it’s the music that makes or breaks a dance.
Stephen, a priest, had some deejay experience from being in charge of the youth conference dance music. “I talk to people before the dance and see what they want,” he says. But he does have some ground rules. “No swearing or unacceptable lyrics. I haven’t really played anything too heavy. Too heavy or too fast a beat isn’t good.” He usually uses his own CDs, and others bring their CDs to the dance as well.
Not that there’s a problem with inappropriate music requests. Each of the youth is interviewed by his or her bishop or branch president or one of his counselors before they come to the dance. They receive dance cards outlining what standards are expected of them while at the dance, and they need to show those cards before they can get in.
The interviews aren’t stressful. For the most part, the bishop just explains the guidelines for casual versus semi-formal attire, asks you not to dance too close to your partner, and reminds you that drugs and alcohol of any kind won’t be tolerated—things you already know. The interview is just a reminder of the appropriate behavior that will help you have more fun at the dance.
Surrounded by paper flowers and beach balls, everyone line danced, swing danced, and did other dances you might never have seen before. If you had seen how much fun they were having, you would definitely have joined in. Stephen even jumped off the stage once, leaving the deejaying duties to his older brother Richard, while Stephen and a friend taught everyone how to line dance to the song that was playing.
They also played games. There was a hula contest, the limbo (how low can you go?), and a snowball dance. Each time Stephen yelled “snowball” everyone had to trade partners fast!
As fun as all this sounds, you don’t have to go to Manitoba to find a good stake dance. You can make your stake dances the best ever. All you really need to do is go with the attitude that you’re going to have fun and that you’re not going to be a wallflower. And when you’re planning, be sure you follow the guidelines the Church has given for stake dances. Then you’ll have it together too.

Anne Luthy, Annette’s mother, knows Finnish well, and she helped translate Annette’s testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel onto the inside cover of several copies of the Book of Mormon. Annette took the books to school, where she is one of only three members of the Church, and gave them to five of her teachers and several of her classmates. She also found occasion to tell her friends the Joseph Smith story.