Gospel Story Finder

When I was young, we moved. We had no idea we would be living on my great-great-great-grandpa’s farmland! I learned that he and I shared the same chore: picking rocks out of the garden. He said, “There were so many rocks, it was like the garden grew rocks!” I used to hate picking up rocks, but then I began to love it. It makes me feel close to him because we are so much alike and have the same chores.
Fay K., age 11, Utah, USA

The smell of freshly cooked bacon filled the cabin where the sisters of our young single adult ward had gathered for a Relief Society overnighter. As I lay in bed trying to wake up from a short night’s sleep, I heard the sisters begin to gather in the kitchen for breakfast. I heard their familiar voices laughing, talking, and then laughing some more. As I listened to the happy noise, I felt a surge of love for these amazing women. I smiled as I thought to myself, “This is the sound of Relief Society.”
I then reflected on all the other wonderful sounds that remind me of Relief Society: a sister sharing her heartfelt testimony of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, the voices of many sisters blending as we sing hymns together, a tender visiting teaching lesson, the hum of a sewing machine as we participate together in a service project, and the tears we shed as we share one another’s sorrows. These are just some of the many wonderful sounds that remind me of the Lord’s organization for women.
But that morning in the cabin, as I lay there listening to my sisters laughing and talking, I realized what was my favorite sound of all: the sound of righteous women rejoicing together, loving each other, and celebrating our common sisterhood as daughters of a loving Heavenly Father. To me, that is truly the sound of Relief Society.

I grew up on a small farm in southwest Utah. To escape the heat, our family would sometimes drive up a nearby canyon where a creek flowed year round. I can still feel the dry desert air blowing in my face in the backseat of the car. As we entered the canyon, the air became cooler and more fragrant.
My favorite place to go was the Big Spring, the major source of the creek. At the base of an almost vertical canyon wall, a steady stream of clear, cool, sweet water burst from a cleft in a large boulder.
I learned how to get a drink by watching my father kneel on a large, flat rock and scoop water from the spring. He would never drink downstream, where the water had been fouled by surface runoff. Near the source, the water would always be pure and clear.
As a young boy I learned the difference between the common, muddy water that flowed past my home and the pure, clear water from the stream in the canyon. To obtain the pure water, I had to climb to higher ground. I had to walk the narrow path, and I had to kneel. The pure, clear, sweet water came only at the source of the spring, and it was constant.

Four Generations, by Kwani Povi Winder
I became active in the Church when my Uncle Bill took my two sisters and me to Primary. My Primary teacher, Jean Richardson, was a kindly mother figure. I liked her and my new church friends, who were much kinder to me than the kids in my neighborhood. So, I decided to stay.
As I approached my 12th birthday, Bishop Dal Guymon invited me to receive the Aaronic Priesthood and be ordained a deacon. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I said yes. Then he said, “Why don’t you ask your dad to bring you here next Sunday, and we will ordain you.”
Dad and his family had stopped attending church when he was about 13. As an adult, he spent most weekends in the local bars or fly-fishing. He had served in the US Navy during World War II and the Korean War. He smoked cigars, drank, and swore, but he had a reputation in our small Montana town for being honest and fair.
When Dad took me to church the next Sunday, it was a big deal. When the time came, Bishop Guymon called me up and asked me to sit in a chair. Several men—but not my dad—put their hands on my head and performed the ordinance.
I felt the heavy weight of several big hands on me. Dad, sitting on a bench a few feet away, felt a different kind of pressure—in his chest. A voice spoke to him inside, saying, “You need to be there for your boy the next time this happens.”
In the weeks that followed, Dad turned his life around and started to attend church every Sunday. Soon, the Church became the central focus of our family life.
Dad became my deacons, teachers, and priests quorum adviser; my Sunday School teacher; and my basketball, softball, and volleyball coach. While we were home teaching companions, Dad helped other men and families return to Church activity.
Assisted by my dad, I experienced my own personal and transformative conversion. Since then, I have tried to be sensitive to men who, like my dad, might respond to an invitation to become the best dad they can be.
I will be forever grateful for what my Uncle Bill, a kind Primary teacher, a wise bishop, and my dad did for me 60 years ago.

When my dear wife returned home to our Heavenly Father, it was necessary for our family to find a suitable grave site. In doing so, I faced opposition when I wanted to have the term resting place included on the gravestone. The term did not meet the cemetery management’s policy.
Thus ensued a tenacious struggle. At one point the minister of the church to which the cemetery grounds belonged asked about the term. I was able to bear my testimony that I believe in the literal resurrection of the body, quoting the Savior: “All that are in the graves shall hear his voice, and shall come forth; they that have done good, unto the resurrection of life” (John 5:28–29). I testified that this grave is a sacred resting place for us until the Resurrection.
Then the minister made an inspired suggestion: “Have the following words inscribed on the gravestone: ‘The Bohne and Lehmann families are resting here in anticipation of the Resurrection.’ ” So it was done. And with that, my testimony was chiseled in stone.

A third visit involved me, the bishop, and another colleague. We entered the home of an active member and grandmother who was caring for at least ten less-active children and young adults. After we got acquainted, I invited them to share their favourite scriptures. Diana promptly replied that Jeremiah 29:11 was a meaningful scripture to her. (This is a beautiful scripture and not often quoted.) I asked her why she loved this scripture, and she explained that it reminds her that the Lord loves her. She then paraphrased Isaiah 49:16, saying, “I know that He loves me and will never forget me because He has written my name in the palms of His hands.”

I will not forget this sweet experience with Diana and her scriptures. We took this opportunity to discuss our need to remember Him. We spoke of the blessing of partaking the sacrament every week as one way of remembering Him. We highlighted the significance of the promise, “If ye do always remember me ye shall have my Spirit to be with you” (3 Nephi 18:7).

Melusi and the two families we visited are once again actively participating in church. Elder Mervyn B. Arnold of the Seventy said, “As we go to the rescue, God gives us power, encouragement, and blessings.”1 I have learned that we will receive help and inspiration when we are on the Lord’s errand. We surely do not go alone when we go to rescue His children. He has indeed graven us upon the palms of His hands and will therefore never forget any of His children.

The man who became one of the Urdu translators was converted to the Church in Pakistan while working as a teacher. As a result of his conversion, he lost his job; he lost his house, which was provided by the school where he taught; and he lost the schooling for his children. A Church translation supervisor approached him about serving as a translator and offered him a modest recompense. After working as a translator for a few months, the man visited with the supervisor and timidly asked if the supervisor would buy him a new ballpoint pen. The one he had been using had run out of ink. Only then did the supervisor discover and fix a clerical error that had resulted in the translator receiving much less than what he should have been paid.

What would you do if you were really good at karate and other kids made fun of you? Would you use your skills to get back at them? Maybe teach them not to pick on you anymore?
Eleven-year-old Eduardo Dourado knows what he would do—nothing. Although some of his schoolmates make fun of him for keeping the standards of the Church, he chooses the right and refuses to fight. “I could beat them,” he says, “but I don’t want to hurt anyone. Sometimes I’ve had to protect myself, but I try other things first to keep from fighting.”
As Jesus taught, Eduardo ignores insults. But it isn’t always easy. Because he won’t swear and do other bad things, kids make fun of him. Sometimes he feels lonely. But he knows what Jesus wants him to do, and that is what he chooses to do.

Some years ago, Constance, a student nurse, was assigned to try and help a woman who had injured her leg in an accident. The woman refused medical help because she had had a negative experience with someone at the hospital. She was afraid and had become something of a recluse. The first time Constance dropped by, the injured woman ordered her out. On the second try, she did let Constance in. By now the woman’s leg was covered with large ulcers, and some of the flesh was rotting. But still she didn’t want to be treated.

Constance made it a matter of prayer, and in a day or two the answer came. She took some foaming hydrogen peroxide with her for the next visit. As this was painless, the old woman let her use it on her leg. Then they talked about more serious treatment at the hospital. Constance assured her the hospital would make her stay as pleasant as possible. In a day or two the woman did get the courage to enter the hospital. When Constance visited her, the woman smiled as she said, “You convinced me.” Then, quite unexpectedly, she asked Constance, “What church do you belong to?” Constance told her she was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The woman said: “I knew it. I knew you were sent to me from the first day that I saw you. There was a light in your face that I had noticed in others of your faith. I had to put my trust in you.”

In three months’ time that festering leg was completely healed. Members of the ward where the old woman lived remodeled her house and fixed up her yard. The missionaries met with her, and she was baptized soon after. All of this because she noticed the light in that young student nurse’s face.

At that time the nearest temple was in Mesa, Arizona, in the United States. It was difficult to make such an expensive trip. Later, when my father was called as district president, the mission president asked him, “Well, what are you planning to do?”
“We are going to the temple,” my father answered. He organized a group of about 100 people who traveled together to the Mesa Arizona Temple. Our family was sealed, and we all felt my mother’s presence. We knew she had accepted the gospel.

Malou Ducta shivered in the darkness as she prayed. The typhoon, still raging out of control, was threatening to shatter the small house where she and the others were huddled. The friendly sea had become a violent stranger. Everybody was crying.

Hours ago, Malou and her family had evacuated their small house of nipa palms and wood at the edge of the sea near the city of Sorsogon. They had waded through chilling chest-deep water and muddy debris to reach a friend’s house higher on the hill.

Now, as the tumult outside continued, Malou kept praying. Suddenly she thought of her college notebook! How could she have forgotten it? Tucked inside its cover was the money she had been awarded from a Church scholarship fund. This money would pay for her final exams. With the money, she could take the exams and graduate. Without it, her dreams of graduating—and of getting a job to help support her family—would shatter like a tiny nipa hut in a storm.

“I was praying as if talking to a friend, and I said to the Lord, ‘It’s your money, and you know that if I don’t have it, I can’t graduate from college.’ I kept praying, asking Heavenly Father to save the money.”

At 2:00 A.M., the men ventured outside. “They found out that there were no more houses by the seashore,” Malou says. In tears, everyone ran to see for themselves. “All were destroyed. All gone.”

The shore was littered with debris and with bodies of people and animals that had died in the storm. “We were just thankful that no one in our family had died,” she says. “The only things we were able to save were our lives and the clothes that we wore. I felt comforted about losing my tuition money, because it was only money.”

People started digging in the sand and mud, trying to salvage whatever they could find. “One of my cousins shouted at me: ‘Oh, this is your folder!’ I ran and got it. It was wet, but the money was all there!”

As Malou recalls that moment, she again begins to cry. “Heavenly Father really knows my need.”

The only other belongings Malou’s family recovered were some irreplaceable photos—photos of her parents when they were young, a photo of the family dressed in white on their baptism day, and a photo of the family in white on the day they were sealed in the Manila Temple.

Since that 1987 typhoon, Malou has graduated in accounting and has served a mission. With donated funds and materials, the family has built a new house on the same spot at the edge of the sea, because they have no money for land elsewhere. On the wall in picture frames are the water-stained photos and her college diploma. “It’s really a miracle for us,” she says, “a great lesson.”

I recently set up a service activity in my ward so the young women could serve the Relief Society sisters. We sent a clipboard around to the sisters in Relief Society and asked what acts of service they needed. So far we’ve vacuumed stairs, babysat, and done yard work. We love it because it gives us a chance to come together as friends, unite as young women, help our ward sisters, and ultimately serve the Lord. Service helps me feel God’s love for those we help and also for me individually!
Danielle F., Utah, USA

The summer before my 16th birthday, I worked for a local radio station operating a huge promotional searchlight. The light sat on two trailers. The front one held the generator, and the rear one held the five-and-a-half-foot-diameter light. Two very large power cables ran from the generator to the light. With a flip of the switch, more than a million candle power would light up the night sky. Anyone within 30 miles could drive to my location following its beam.
One night, however, as I sat in the truck, I heard a terrible noise. A huge plume of flame burst from the gas tank. As I leaped from the truck and started between the light and the generator, a second explosion came. The generator was on fire. I reached through the flames and turned off the ignition. The beam from the light faded as I raced toward the building for help.
I grabbed a fire extinguisher and quickly put out the flames. As I examined the damage, I could see that the positive electrical cable had scraped against the gas tank until a hole had been rubbed through the insulation. The power from the generator had burned a hole in the top of the gas tank almost four inches long.
Then the reality of the danger began to sink in. If the fire had continued, a deadly explosion would have been almost certain. Had some other power intervened in my behalf?
Sitting on the curb, I placed my head in my hands to thank my Heavenly Father for the protection I had been given. As I prayed, the awareness of a new light began to burn. This light did not light up the sky. This heavenly light illuminated my soul. It seemed to start slowly, and before I knew it, it filled me almost to overflowing. This was the first time I had ever felt such a powerful, yet calming feeling in such magnitude. It was more than love; it pushed every other fear and anxiety away. It was calm and peaceful. I wept with joy as I realized it was the comforting influence of the Holy Ghost. My prayers continued. I clung to the feeling.
After several minutes, I repaired the burnt wires of the old light and covered the hole in the tank with a wet rag. But as I wondered about turning the light on again, I heard a familiar voice: “Ken, what’s the matter? Why is the light out?”
To my surprise, there was my father. He had been having a quiet evening at home when the same light touched his soul, and he had been directed to come and see me. As he drove to find me, he had been following the light in the sky. When that light went out, he was temporarily lost. To find me, he had to rely on the other light, the Light of Christ.
It has been almost 25 years since that experience. Every time I think of that night, those glorious feelings of love and protection flood into my being. The feelings of importance and power from running that magnificent light were dwarfed by the feelings of love and comfort gained by the knowledge that I am really a child of God and that He knows me and loves me.

The youth of the Huntsville Utah Stake couldn’t all go to the Nauvoo temple for last year’s dedication, so they decided to bring the temple to them. As part of their youth conference on temple work and worthiness, the youth and their leaders built a replica of the Nauvoo Illinois Temple. It was about one-fifth the size of the original Nauvoo temple, and the youth worked on it in rotations, between workshops, speakers, and activities. The youth and their leaders also completed more than 1,000 ordinances for the dead in the Ogden Utah Temple.

They learned how to saw wood and staple fabric, but more importantly they learned how they could lay strong foundations for their testimonies of the temple and their worthiness to go there.

The next evening I joined five other people in a study group at the home of Mr. Kasongo. He had been doing research when he came across a book about American churches. “My heart pounded as I read the name of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” he said. After writing to the Church’s headquarters, he received some literature—including A Marvelous Work and a Wonder by Elder LeGrand Richards (1886–1983) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
For two years, our group met twice a week. When missionaries, Elder Roger L. and Sister Simonne B. Dock, arrived in March 1987, 50 people were studying together.
The Docks began teaching the missionary discussions in French in the public school. Because some people spoke only Swahili, I interpreted. I heard the missionary discussions for the first time myself while interpreting.
On 9 May 1987 I was one of 80 people baptized in a pool at an abandoned copper mine. For me, baptism was an outer confirmation of an inner conversion that had taken place years earlier. I had been waiting for this sacred ordinance so I could officially become a member of the Church.
I have received so many blessings—among them the time I spent translating for couple missionaries. They are as dedicated as if the Master Himself were physically beside them.
I thank my Heavenly Father for these rich experiences and for the opportunity my wife, Jolie Mwenze, and I have to raise our son in the Church. And particularly I thank Him for sending me the gospel—a gem beyond price.

Jill Johnson of Sandy, Utah, tells how the Lord blessed her family: “As newly married college students, we had carefully budgeted our meager monthly income. Then the landlord raised our rent. We prayed for a blessing. The next day our old car broke down beyond repair. We wondered why we had these trials all at once, but the loss of the car turned out to be a blessing. With help from family and friends, we found we could manage without a car. The money saved on gas and oil was the same amount as our increase in rent. Sometimes we are blessed for obedience in unexpected ways.”

Another family invited their eighteen-year-old son’s friend who needed a home to stay with them for a year while he prepared for a mission. They provided an environment of emotional support and spiritual example and enabled him to earn his own money for his mission. On his mission he grew in maturity, self-esteem, and confidence. Since his mission, with self-reliance, he has gone forward to strengthen others.

Not long ago, while riding in a plane, I talked with a young man who was seated beside me. We moved from one subject to another, and then came to the matter of religion. He said he had read considerably about the Mormons, had found much to admire, but that he had a definite prejudice concerning the origin of the Church and particularly Joseph Smith.

He was an active member of another religion, and when I asked where he had acquired his information about the LDS church, he indicated it had come from publications of his church. I asked what company he worked for. He proudly replied that he was a sales representative for IBM. I then asked whether he would think it fair for his customers to learn of the qualities of IBM products from a Xerox representative. He replied with a smile, “I think I get the point.”

I took from my case a copy of the Doctrine and Covenants and read to him the words of the Lord expressed through Joseph Smith, words which are the source of those practices my friend had come to admire in us while disdaining the man through whom they had come. Before we parted, he agreed to read the literature I would send to him. I promised him that if he would do so prayerfully he would know the truth not only of these doctrines and practices which have interested him, but also of the man through whom they were introduced. I then gave him my testimony concerning the prophetic calling of Joseph Smith.

I wanted to be Mary in the Christmas program, Mommy,” Elizabeth said. “But Julie gets to be Mary, and I’m only the star.”
Mom smiled down at Elizabeth as they walked home from church. “Well, dear, Julie is six, and you are only four.”
The edges of Elizabeth’s mouth pulled down into a frown. “But Julie gets to wear a pretty blue blanket on her head and hold a real baby!”
“Mary was a very brave and good woman,” Mom said. “I can see why you would want to be her in the program. But I think you have the perfect part for you.”
“The star?”
“Yes. You see, whenever anything happens, you are the first to tell everyone. Just yesterday you ran in and told me that Mr. Allen had fallen on his steps. And because you did, I was able to go over and help him into his house.”
Elizabeth felt happy she had told her mom. “But how is that like the Christmas star?”
“Well, many of the people in Bethlehem did not know that Jesus Christ had been born. The beautiful star sparkling in the sky told the whole world of the Savior’s birth.”
“And the Wise Men saw it too!”
“That’s right. And even the people in the Book of Mormon who lived far away saw the star.”
“Wow! The whole world saw the star shining!”
Mom smiled at Elizabeth’s glowing face. “See, you do have an important part next Sunday. What greater message is there than the message of the Savior’s birth?”
Elizabeth walked quietly, thinking for a while. Then she said, “Mommy, I’m going to smile so big! Everyone will see that I’m the Christmas star and know I’m happy because Jesus Christ was born.”

A few years ago, I decided to attend the temple weekly. At the time, we lived near a temple. This practice became a reliable source of light and power that I came to count on.
A year later, when our family moved across the country, we no longer lived close to a temple. Temple attendance was not impossible, but faced with the longer travel time and the needs of my young family, I attended only twice a month.
Once the COVID-19 pandemic started, I couldn’t attend the temple at all, which seemed like a punishment after reorganizing my life to attend frequently. I wondered how I could continue to grow spiritually, and I felt heavy with how unfair things seemed.
During a routine dental cleaning, I struggled to calm my mind. When the hygienist asked me what I wanted to listen to during my cleaning, I replied, “I would really love some relaxing meditation sounds.”
She said nobody had ever requested that, but she obliged. Fifteen minutes into our appointment, she expressed how much she was enjoying our “meditative cleaning.” Then she told me about the anxiety in her own life, which included her 13-year-old son’s recent injury. Surrounded by the hum of a busy office, she shared her burden with me, and we found peace together.
In my relaxed mental state, my thoughts went to the temple. I found myself progressing through an initiatory session, the words of my temple covenants passing seamlessly through my mind. Three distinct promptings from the Spirit then followed:
Ask the hygienist the name of her son.
Tell her you will pray for him.
Pray for both of them by name.
Through this seemingly simple exchange, I felt my burden transform into a blessing. I caught a glimpse of how my covenants helped me to love Heavenly Father and my neighbor. The Spirit taught me that attending the temple is just as much about helping others on this side of the veil as it is about spiritually empowering myself and my ancestors.
Temple closures hadn’t stunted my spiritual growth. Rather, they had allowed me to create new ways to engage in God’s work and receive heavenly love, light, and knowledge.