Gospel Story Finder

Eight years ago my sweetheart, Zina, suffered a massive stroke that took her speech and left her paralyzed. The doctors said she probably would not survive the week. As our children surrounded her bed I pled with the Lord to spare her life. Then I spoke to her, though she was unconscious. I reminded her that through the years of our married courtship we had planned and hoped to take the final trip together. I told her I wanted what was best for her and our Father’s will, but life would seem so empty without her presence. I think the Lord in his mercy permitted Zina her choice—she could travel on into immortality and rest, or remain to bless us with her exhibition of quiet faith, patience, and fortitude. Characteristically, she chose to do what she knew would give me greatest comfort, unmindful of her own tribulation. Hers is truly a Christlike love. Our entire family has been blessed and benefited by her unselfish sacrifice in our behalf. Noble characters do not alone bear trouble; they use it.

In December 2016, my husband developed pneumonia. We were living in Moscow, Russia, where Bruce was serving in the Europe East Area Presidency. The doctors said he would need to stay in the hospital for a few days to receive antibiotics. That night his health took a dramatic turn for the worse, and they placed him in an induced coma.

For the next 10 days, I got up each morning, pleading for the Lord’s help as I drove to the metro station, rode for 45 minutes on the subway, and then walked the remaining blocks to the hospital. I sat all day by Bruce’s side in the intensive care unit as he lay perfectly still, unable to talk or move, surrounded by monitors of all kinds. Each evening I reversed my trip, arriving home to gather our belongings in preparation for our return to Utah.

Even now, I remember that in those cold, dark days, I never felt afraid as I traveled on the subway. I remember the peace and calm I felt as I sat by Bruce’s bed in the hospital. At home each night, I was alone but not lonely.

However, shortly after we returned to Utah, Bruce passed away.

Recently, as I recalled those long days, the Lord spoke clearly to my mind, “I did this for you.” In that moment, the Lord let me know that the peace I had felt, the safety I had experienced, and the sense that I was not alone had come from a loving Heavenly Father and His Son. They had extended mercy to me in my weakness.4

One night five-year-old Jenna sat on the living room floor, combing her doll’s hair. Her dad sat in his chair, reading the newspaper. When Jenna looked up, she saw a picture in the newspaper of a girl about her own age. The girl had curly black hair, her face was smudged with dirt, and her clothes were torn. The girl looked very sad.
“Why does that girl in the newspaper look so sad, Daddy?” Jenna asked as she pointed at the picture.
“Well,” said Dad, “let’s read the story about her. She lives far away in a country where the people are fighting a war. Because of the fighting, she and her family had to leave their home and are looking for a new place to live. Many of the people there don’t have shoes or clean clothes or even enough food to eat.”
“That would make me sad, too,” said Jenna. She sat staring at the picture for a long time. Then she quietly went to her closet and pulled out her suitcase, opened it, and started to put things inside: a pair of shoes, a can of soup, a toothbrush and toothpaste, a storybook, and a pretty blue dress. Jenna carefully looked over her many dolls and chose one she thought that the girl in the picture might like. Then she wrapped the doll in a pink baby blanket and tucked it inside too.
After she closed and latched the suitcase, she pushed and pulled it until she reached her dad. As she stopped in front of him, he peeked over the edge of the newspaper. “Are you going someplace, Jenna?”
“No, Daddy,” she replied. “We need to send these things to the girl in the newspaper. I put in some food and shoes, a book, and even one of my dolls. Let’s send it tonight so the girl won’t be sad for even one more day!”
Dad put down the paper, picked Jenna up, and gave her a great big hug. Then he said, “Oh, Jenna, I’m proud of you for being so willing to help. But I don’t know where to send your suitcase of wonderful gifts. I don’t know this girl’s name, and she doesn’t have a home, so I don’t know how to find her.”
Now it was Jenna who was sad. She sat very still, thinking about what her dad had said.
Then Dad had an idea. “We could take your gifts to the homeless shelter. I’m sure some little girl right here in our town would appreciate them too. What do you think?”
Jenna thought about what her dad had told her. “OK, Daddy. But I still wish I could help the girl in the newspaper.”
Later that night, when Jenna was ready to go to bed, she picked up her doll and said, “I know something I can do for that sad girl tonight. I can pray for her.”
She knelt by her bed and prayed, “Father in Heaven, please bless the girl who is far away that she will have food and a new home and a new doll. But most of all, help her to know that she has a new friend far away and that I love her. In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.”
Jenna climbed into bed and snuggled under her quilt. Being able to help someone made her feel warm inside, and praying for that someone made her feel happy.

President Hinckley’s counsel about being true impressed one young man from Arizona.

“I have always thought about this,” wrote Scott Moore. “I have pondered about my past and about how loyal and true I have been to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I can remember that there have been many times when I could have spoken up and declared that I am a Latter-day Saint. After President Hinckley’s talk, I thought about my loyalty to the Church and how I could change myself to be better in this particular aspect of my life. The answer that came to my mind is that there should be no hiding myself and who I am when the opportunity arises.”

Scott went on to describe a time soon after President Hinckley’s talk when he was able to share his beliefs with some friends even though he was nervous they might not accept him after he did. But Scott’s friends were impressed with his beliefs, and he experienced the joy that comes with being true.

A young sister reported her observations of the first Christmas in the Great Salt Lake Valley as follows:
“I remember our first Christmas in the valley. We all worked as usual. The men gathered sagebrush and some even plowed for though it had snowed, the ground was still soft, and the plows were used nearly the entire day. Christmas came on Saturday. We celebrated the day on the Sabbath, when we all gathered around the flag pole in the center of the fort, and there held meeting. And it was a great meeting. We sang praise to God, we all joined in the opening prayer, and the speaking that day has always been remembered. There were words of thanksgiving and cheer. Not an unkind word was uttered. The people were hopeful, and buoyant because of their faith in the great work that they were undertaking. After the meeting, we all shook hands with each other. Some wept with joy, the children played in the enclosure, and around the sagebrush fire that night, we gathered and sang:
‘Come, come, ye Saints,
No toil nor labor fear,
But with joy, wend your way.’
(Hymns, No. 13.)
“That day we had boiled rabbit and a little bread for our dinner. Father had shot some rabbits, and it was feast that we had. All had enough to eat. In the sense of perfect peace and good will, I never had a happier Christmas in all my life.”

During middle school and high school I experienced wonderful and difficult years at the same time, because during adolescence a young person wants support from her parents. It wasn’t easy to be the only member of the Church at home when my parents did things that were at odds with the Church’s teachings. But I remembered what Nephi said, “If ye shall … endure to the end, behold, thus saith the Father: Ye shall have eternal life” (2 Ne. 31:20).
Years later my younger siblings were baptized, but my parents were not. The missionaries talked to them, but they did not want to be baptized. Their decision saddened me, but I knew I had set a good example.
When I was 16 I traveled to the temple in Orlando, Florida, and it was one of the most beautiful experiences of my life. I went by myself and was able to be baptized for my ancestors. Two years later, when I received my Young Womanhood Recognition, my joy could not be contained. I felt that our Heavenly Father was pleased with me.
When President Gordon B. Hinckley visited our beautiful island of Puerto Rico and spoke to the members, I had the privilege of singing in the choir. He urged us to go to the temple on the neighboring island of the Dominican Republic. I did, and in that temple I made a firm decision that I would be married for eternity to a returned missionary.
I reached this goal when I found a worthy priesthood holder who is a returned missionary. We were sealed in the Dominican Republic temple for time and eternity. We now have a baby boy, and I am serving in the stake Young Women presidency. My parents are still not members, but I am pleased with the example I have given them. I try to build on the good in my parents while forgetting their imperfections.
I know I belong to the true Church and that Jesus Christ is my Savior. My dream, which I pray for, is to be sealed someday to my parents and siblings. I love this gospel that has given me so much joy and hope in my life.

I was leaving junior high school, embarking on a new adventure riddled with unknown possibilities and, of course, filled with fun. Little did I know that the first few months of high school would feel disastrous and ultimately change my life.
It all started normally enough for a freshman. I felt small at this new, big school. Everything seemed twice as big, but it was nice knowing I was going through this with my friends. When we checked our class schedules, we saw that I didn’t have any classes with my friends. As the weeks passed, we drifted apart. Instead of the close relationship we’d once shared, I would be lucky to see the backs of their heads as they walked in another direction.
My lunch hour was miserable. I tried to make myself look busy, like making several unneeded trips to my locker to retrieve books I didn’t need, tying my shoes, or pretending to look for someone who would never be found. I guess I wasn’t very good at pretending, because my older brother, Shawn, noticed.
Since my childhood, Shawn was always there, whether it was teasing me incessantly or putting his arm around me after a bad day. He never really asked me what was wrong; he just knew. He started inviting me to eat lunch with him and his friends. When I was with him, he never ignored me. I remember him yelling, “Hey, Sis!” and walking over to put his arm around me.
Slowly I became stronger, and I became comfortable in my own skin. I realized I didn’t need my old friends to define who I was. I had my brother, my friend.

One time, a woman was feeding some kittens close to my church building, and I invited her to come to a Church conference. She didn’t go, but inviting her helped me feel God’s love and His Spirit.
I felt very happy and grateful for the chance to invite her, and I felt that I could invite people more often. Even if people don’t do what I hope, I know I will feel happy for trying.
Everyone should take the opportunity to share the gospel and feel the joy that I felt that day.

It’s a thrill, brethren, to stand here this evening and see this great audience of priesthood filling this sacred Tabernacle. Having had the privilege of serving as the Presiding Bishop of the Church for fourteen years, and thus, the president of the Aaronic Priesthood, I am thrilled to see all of the boys of the Aaronic Priesthood here tonight, and I imagine that will be true in the other buildings where the priesthood are listening in. We are all thrilled as we go through the Church to find the wonderful attitude that the Saints have toward President Kimball and, particularly, toward the emphasis that he is giving to missionary work. You know that he has indicated that every boy should be a missionary.
I think of when I was a young man, before I was even ordained a deacon, I went to one of our ward meetings in the little country town where I was raised, and two missionaries reported their missions down in the Southern States. In those days they traveled without purse or scrip, and they had to sleep out many nights when they couldn’t get entertainment. I don’t know whether they said anything unusual that night or not; but if they didn’t, the Lord did something unusual for me, because when I left that meeting, I felt like I could have walked to any mission field in the world, if I just had a call. And I went home, went into my little bedroom, and got down on my knees, and asked the Lord to help me to live worthy so that when I was old enough I could go on a mission. And when the train finally left the station here in Salt Lake and I was headed for the little land of Holland, the last thing I said to my loved ones was, “This is the happiest day of my life.”
Before I left on that mission, President Anthon H. Lund, who was then a counselor in the First Presidency of the Church, talked to us missionaries, and he said, among other things, “The people will love you. Now,” he said, “don’t get lifted up in the pride of your hearts and think that they love you because you are better than other people. They will love you because of what you bring to them.” I did not understand that then, but before I left the little land of Holland, where I spent nearly three years, I knew what President Lund meant. I went around saying good-bye to the Saints and the converts who I had brought into the Church, and I shed a thousand tears, as compared to what I shed when I told my loved ones good-bye.
For instance, in Amsterdam I went into a home where I had been the first missionary there, and the little mother, looking up into my face with tears rolling down her cheeks, said, “Brother Richards, it was hard to see my daughter leave for Zion a few months ago, but it’s much harder to see you go.” I had been the first missionary in that home. Then I thought I could understand what President Lund meant when he said, “They will love you.”
I went to tell a man with a little Dutch beard good-bye. He stood erect in the uniform of his country. He got down on his knees and took my hand in his and hugged it and kissed it and bathed it with his tears. And then I thought I could understand what President Lund meant when he said, “They will love you.”
Now I like a little story that President Grant used to tell about the love that converts have for their missionaries. He told about a couple who came here from one of the Scandinavian countries. They hadn’t been taught much about the gospel. All they knew was that it was true. And so the bishop went to this couple and taught them the law of tithing. They paid their tithing. Then later the bishop went to them and taught them about the fast offering. They paid their fast offering. And then the bishop went to them again to get a donation to help build a ward meetinghouse. They thought that ought to come out of the tithing, but before the bishop got through with them, they paid their donation on the meetinghouse.
Then the bishop went to the father to get his son to go on a mission. Now I can hear President Grant standing here, saying, “That was the straw that broke the camel’s back.” The man said, “He’s our only child. His mother will miss him. We can’t let him go.” Then the bishop countered, “Brother So-and-So, who do you love in this world more than anyone else outside of your own relatives?” And he thought for a few minutes. He said, “I guess I love that young man who came up to the land of the midnight sun and taught me the gospel of Jesus Christ.” Then the bishop countered, “Brother So-and-So, how would you like someone to love your boy just like that?” The man said, “Bishop, you win again; take him. I’ll pay for his mission.”
Now you fathers, how would you like someone to love your boys just like that man loved that boy who came up to the land of the midnight sun and taught him the gospel? I heard a missionary up in Oregon giving the report of his mission. He himself was a convert to the Church, and he came down with his fist on the pulpit, and he said, “I wouldn’t take a check tonight for a million dollars for the experience of my mission.” I sat back of him, and I said to myself, “Would you take a million dollars for your first mission in the little land of Holland?” And I began counting the families that I’d been instrumental in bringing into the Church. What kind of a man would I be if I were to sell them out of the Church for a million dollars? I wouldn’t do that for all the money in the world!

Brothers and sisters, if I say anything worthwhile here this morning it will be because you exercise faith enough to induce the Lord to bless me on the spur of the moment. I had not prepared nor expected to speak here. I feel a little like the young man who, in the early days on his first lecture tour, came out here in the West. As he spoke he became nervous because he saw two cowboys fingering their revolvers and lariats. At the close of his speech, as they came up the aisle he really became excited. When they reached him, however, they said, “Don’t feel frightened, young man. We know you did the best you could. What we are looking for is the one who brought you here.”

Will you imagine something with me? Imagine that I have decided to present to a typical teenager a car such as this, and you are the one who has been chosen. On the evening of the presentation, I see that you are not quite financially able to run such a car, so I generously include free gas, oil, maintenance, tires, anything your car will use. I’ll give you all of this, and the bills will come to me.
How you will enjoy that car! Think of driving it to school tomorrow. Think of all the new friends you will suddenly acquire.
Your parents may be hesitant to let you use this car freely, so I will visit with them. I am sure they will be reluctant, but because of my position as one of the leaders of the Church, they will consent.
Let us imagine, then, that you have your car, everything to run it, and freedom to use it.
Suppose that one evening you are invited to attend a Church social. “There are just enough of you to ride in my station wagon,” your teacher says. “You may leave your car home.” When they come to take you to the party, you suddenly remember your new convertible, with the top down, parked at the curb. You run back in the house and give the car keys to your father, asking that he put it in the garage, for it looks as if it may rain. Your father, of course, obediently agrees.
Later you come home and notice your car is not at the curb. “Dear old Dad,” you muse, “always willing to help out.” But as the station wagon pulls into the driveway and the lights flash into the garage, you see it stands empty.
You rush into the house, find Father, and ask where your car is.
“Oh, I loaned it to someone,” he responds.
Then imagine a conversation such as this.
“Well, who was it?” you ask.
“Oh, that boy who comes by here regularly,” Dad says.
“What boy?”
“Oh, that … well, I have seen him pass here several times on his bicycle.”
“What is his name?”
“Well, I’m afraid I didn’t find out.”
“Where did he take the car?”
“That really wasn’t made clear.”
“When will he bring it back?”
“Well, there really wasn’t any agreement on that.”
Then suppose that your father should say to you, with some impatience, “Now you calm down. He rushed in here. He needed a car. You weren’t using it. He seemed to be in a frantic hurry over something, and he looked like an honest boy, so I gave him the keys. Now relax. Go to bed. Calm down.”
I suppose under the circumstances you would look at your father with a puzzled expression and wonder if some important connection had slipped loose in his thinking mechanism.
It would take a foolish father to lend such an expensive piece of equipment on an arrangement such as that—particularly a car that belonged to you.

When I was a freshman in high school, the weightlifting coach asked me to join weightlifting.
“Mmm … no thanks,” I said. “Not my thing.”
But he kept at it. For weeks.
Finally, I tried it out. He was right: I really liked weightlifting. It was definitely weird at first; my body had never done anything like it before. But I grew to love the feeling of working out. I also loved my teammates and the competitions. And I started doing really well!
Now weightlifting is a huge part of my life. I practice every day for at least two or three hours, doing back squats, clean and jerks, and snatches. (And if you don’t know what any of those things are, don’t worry—neither did I!)

My wife, Jill, and I recently witnessed this truth in the faithful lives of Holly and Rick Porter, whose 12-year-old son, Trey, passed away in a tragic fire. With hands and feet severely burned in a heroic attempt to save her dear son, Holly later testified in ward sacrament meeting of the great peace and joy the Lord had poured out upon her family in their anguish, using words such as miraculous, incredible, and amazing.

This precious mother’s unbearable grief was replaced by surpassing peace with this thought: “My hands are not the hands that save. Those hands belong to the Savior! Instead of looking at my scars as a reminder of what I was not able to do, I remember the scars my Savior bears.”

Holly’s witness fulfills our prophet’s promise: “As you think celestial, you will view trials and opposition in a new light.”

In those six years I grew not only spiritually, but in other ways. By the time I was in the ninth grade, I stood a shade over six feet tall, and like my father, was wiry and strong. That spring I discovered that I was a runner.
Chuck and I turned out for track only after mulling long and hard about trying out for baseball. We finally decided that the assurance of running races was preferable to sitting on a bench in baseball. With only a week before the first meet, Chuck and I approached the track coach who had us join the other runners in lap work.
The middle distances sounded good to me. So a week later I found myself at a starting line with a dozen other shivering boys on a chilly April afternoon of the first race, waiting for the starter to fire his pistol.
The gun popped. “Why are they all sprinting?” I thought as we rounded the first corner. The whole race, it seemed, was a sprint. Four times around the track, pumping my arms, maintaining a stride. I kept my head down, concentrating. Midway through the last lap I looked up and saw another runner 20 yards ahead. I began to run faster, trying to catch him. If I’d come this far and run this hard, why not go for first place? The ease with which I caught him was bewildering. He must be terribly tired, I thought. Then, right in front of me was the tape. I ran through it and, for the first time, became conscious of the cheering around me.
“Great race, Tommy. Wait until you’re really in shape. You won by half a lap!” said the coach.
“How could I? I barely passed the last runner.”
“You were lapping him, Tommy.”
It seemed that I had met my destiny, all in the space of a little over four and a half minutes.
That evening, Father finished his dinner and placed his knife and fork across his plate. I had said nothing about the race because I knew he would ask. The time was at hand.
“So, how was your meet, Tommy?”
“Pretty good. I won my race. Set a freshman record, too.”
“In the 1,500 meters?”
“Yes.”
Father sat back and looked at me. “And to think you almost went out for baseball.”

Later on in my life, many of my prayers were answered with a yes. One such time was when I received a pocketknife for my Christmas gift. This was a rare and a fine gift for someone in my humble circumstances, and I cherished it with all my heart and took very good care of it. However, in the springtime, a terrible thing happened—I lost my pocketknife! I searched everyplace I could think of but could not find it. The days went by, and each day I continued to search and pray. Some weeks later as I was returning home from school, my brother came running as fast as he could, shouting that he had found my pocketknife. I was overjoyed and so thankful that Heavenly Father had finally answered my prayers.
In this case, my prayers were answered with a yes. Heavenly Father knew that this answer would strengthen my faith. Since that time, I have had many, many prayers answered, but not all have been answered with a yes.

When Fabian shares his testimony, Jordan says, he draws power from his conversion, his love of the gospel, and his blessings.

“He saw the blessings that came to his family, which is what inspires him to be so brave and straightforward in sharing the gospel with his friends,” Jordan says. “Once he was testifying to an investigator about what a big blessing it was for his parents to get married but how hard it was for him to wait four months after his baptism for his mother to get baptized. His emotions overcame him, and he was moved to tears. He then testified that if we keep the commandments, God will take care of us.”

The cooperative effort of both priesthood and Relief Society in these councils continues to be a significant factor in successful ward and stake welfare services operations. Such cooperation was exemplified recently when a flood swept over many of the homes in an Ogden, Utah, stake. The stake president reported, “The stake Relief Society president didn’t wait for me to go to her. She came to me first.”
At his direction, she mobilized the sisters and obtained food for the victims and their rescuers. She quickly set up serving areas in mobile “kitchens” improvised in vans and station wagons, taking hot, home-cooked food to the actual work sites. As the flood waters receded, men and women worked together to clean muddy walls and floors.

What if I left? When I first moved here, there were only two other young women in my branch. We became friends and I got to know them very well. But they stopped going to church.
One time when I went to the temple, I saw the mission president. I told him about my friends and asked what I could do to help them return to the Church. He told me to stay where I was, be strong, and pray for them.
Soon after that, I saw one of the girls, and I was so happy to see her. When I returned home that night, I prayed and felt strongly that I definitely needed to stay right where I was and keep going to church, keep going to seminary, and keep being an example to my friends. What if I left and never came back and one of my friends returned to church? Who would be their friend and help them return?
Things are easier when we do them together.
Alyona, Kharkiv Oblast, Ukraine

As Ryan was participating in a school quartet, he found that the song selected for the group to sing had lyrics he objected to. Ryan talked to the teacher about changing the words, but the teacher became angry. Ryan was hurt by the teacher’s reaction. After school, the teacher asked to speak to him and apologized for getting upset. “She said that what I had done took courage,” said Ryan. “She said she admired me for standing up for what I believed in and that she was willing to resolve the problem because she really wanted me in the quartet.”

Sister Ana Marie Karganilla, Committee Coordinator, was worried because the shoe covers she ordered overseas well in advance were not delivered, a month into the open house.
Her anxiety increased when the items had not yet arrived a week before the event.
Then a day before the open house, the shoe covers miraculously came, all 200,000 of them!
Ana Marie learned to trust and rely on the Lord more and that He will not let anything hinder the progress of His Works.