Gospel Story Finder

When I was baptized, I was the only member of my family who accepted the gospel. I was 19 years old, and I was happy about my baptism. I was welcomed by the brothers and sisters of my branch in Veracruz, Mexico. In addition, I began preparing to serve a full-time mission as soon as I had been a member of the Church for one year. It was wonderful to know the true Church, and I wanted to share the gospel with others.
My father, my stepmother (my mom died when I was 12 years old), and my three brothers rejected the Church when I was baptized. Unfortunately, I didn’t respond well. I was disrespectful to them. I didn’t consider my father or his opinions. When I told him I would serve a mission soon, he was not happy since I would stop working and especially since I might go far away. It bothered me every time my family’s lifestyle conflicted with my principles, such as when they watched TV or listened to music programs that I felt were inappropriate for Sundays or when my father would invite me to have lunch on fast Sunday.
I justified my negative attitude toward my family by telling myself that I wasn’t doing anything wrong—as a member of the Church, I should live gospel principles even when my family members bothered me. I told myself they were the ones who should change. Due to this reasoning, my relationship with my father was not good. It got worse because of my attitude and pride. I continued this way—not concerning myself with his spiritual welfare.
One day while I was studying for my institute class, I came to 1 Nephi 16, where Nephi breaks his steel bow, making it difficult to get food. Everybody began to murmur—Laman and Lemuel, as was their custom, together with their father, the prophet Lehi. Nephi responded by making a bow and arrow out of wood and asking his father where he should go to obtain food. His father prayed for guidance and was reprimanded by the Lord for having murmured. Lehi reacted favorably and retook his role as leader of his family and as a prophet of the Lord. Nephi did not judge his father in his weakened state, nor did he think that he shouldn’t be prophet anymore, even when Nephi had spoken with the Lord and had received visions.
When I read and understood this account, immediately I thought of how badly I had behaved toward my family. I was embarrassed by my attitude—feeling that I was better than they were—and felt especially bad for not treating my father with respect. I was sad for not making it a priority to share the gospel with them.
I had not seen my family as they could become. I had focused only on their weaknesses. From that day on, my attitude and behavior changed gradually. I strived to always respect my father’s opinions, despite the many times I did not agree with him. If he invited me to lunch when I was fasting, I said I was sorry for not being able to share the meal with him. I no longer felt bothered by the programs or music they watched or listened to on Sundays, remembering that they still hadn’t made covenants with our Heavenly Father, as I had.
One morning while I was helping my father with a meal, I told him how much I loved him and how sorry I was for my rude behavior. I told him I was proud that he was my father and that I wanted to have a peaceful relationship with him.
Everything began to change. The arguments lessened and disappeared. Although I thought it would be a long time before my family joined the Church, their attitude toward the Church improved. None of these changes would have happened had I not changed first.
After I had been a member of the Church for one year, I served as a full-time missionary in the Mexico Tijuana Mission. Three months before returning, I received a letter saying that my family had accepted the gospel and would be baptized. When I returned, they already belonged to the Church.
In my 15 years as a member of the Church, one of my greatest lessons came from my study of the Book of Mormon and with the children of God I had closest to me: my family.

Ethan gazed at the colorful video game covers that lined the shelves. His parents said he could pick one game for a birthday present, and there were so many to choose from! Ethan’s eyes jumped from a car racing game to an adventure game to a dance game. Finally, he picked up the racing game and took it to his dad.
“Did you find one you like?” Dad asked.
“I think I want this racing game,” Ethan said.
“Looks fun,” Dad said. “What is it rated?”
Ethan turned the cover over. He knew he could only play games with certain ratings. When he first got his computer, his parents talked to him about the importance of following their family’s rule about video game ratings. Ethan knew that a lot of games had bad stuff in them, and he wanted to be obedient.
Ethan found the rating on the cover and showed Dad. “It’s rated for everyone,” he said.
“Great,” Dad said. “Let’s go pay for it. Happy birthday, Ethan!”
“Thanks, Dad!” Ethan grinned, excited to get home and try out his new game.
A few days later, Ethan went to his friend Chase’s house to play. He and Chase were in the same Primary class, and they played together a lot. Ethan took along his new video game.
“Hi, Ethan,” Chase said when he answered the door. “Come on in. I got a new video game we can play!”
“I did too!” Ethan said, holding out his game.
The boys settled in front of the computer, and Chase put in his game. The title flashed across the screen, and so did the rating. Ethan froze. It was a rating that he wasn’t allowed to play.
Chase eagerly navigated through the menus with his controller and started the game. Ethan didn’t see anything bad yet. He clicked his own controller to move his character in the game. It was fun, but the longer he played, the more uncomfortable he felt. He still hadn’t seen anything bad, but he wanted to follow his family’s rule.
“Hey, Chase, I’m not allowed to play games with this rating,” Ethan spoke up.
“Oh, it’s OK,” Chase said. “There isn’t anything bad in it.”
“Are you sure?” Ethan asked.
“Yeah,” Chase said. “My family plays it. I think it was given the wrong rating.”
Just then, Chase’s mom stuck her head into the room. “Hi, boys,” she said. “Is everything OK?”
Ethan swallowed hard. “Hi, Sister Murphy,” he said. “It’s just that I’m not allowed to play video games with this rating.”
“I told him there wasn’t anything bad in it,” Chase said.
Chase’s mom waved her hand. “Don’t worry, Ethan,” she said. “I know a lot of the games with that rating aren’t good, but I’m sure your mom would let you play this one.” She smiled and then left the room.
Chase continued playing, but Ethan put down his controller. “Chase, how about we play the racing game I brought?” Ethan asked.
Chase shrugged and kept staring at the screen. “Nah, I’d rather play this.”
Ethan quietly got up and went to Chase’s room, where he found some toy racing cars to play with. They weren’t as fun as his video game, but Ethan felt good knowing he was following his family’s rule.

My name is Koshi. I live near the Sapporo Japan Temple. I loved sitting by a window in my house and watching the temple be built.
During the open house, I invited my good friend to come with us. He thought everything was beautiful.
I like to think of the temple dedication as its birthday. That day was also my birthday. And President Monson’s too! My parents and I got to be in the temple when it was dedicated. I even got to meet President Nelson.
I am so grateful to live near the temple. When I have hard days at school, I can walk through the grounds on my way home. I feel Heavenly Father’s love for me when I am there. I look forward to when I can go inside to do baptisms and later get married there.

Lisa was relatively young at when she joined the Church. She attended meetings with her friends and their families. One day her class got up to sing a special musical number in sacrament meeting. No one had told her anything about it. She’d never heard the song before, and she sat in agonized silence as the rest of her class smiled and sang from the pulpit.

After church, she asked why she hadn’t been included. She was informed that since her parents were not members and she lived several blocks away, they didn’t think anyone would bring her to rehearsals, so they hadn’t invited her to participate. Lisa was devastated, and her parents weren’t very impressed with the lack of compassion that was shown either.

Because of that profound change (see Alma 5:14), a fire burned inside me that I wanted to share. Soon, I found myself in Idaho as a full-time missionary. Halfway through my mission, my father, who was my greatest hero and best friend, passed away. My mother called my mission president and asked that I come home to give a eulogy. When my mission president left the decision up to me whether to leave, I told him I wanted to pray and fast for 24 hours before deciding.
That night I had a dream. My father appeared to me. In the midst of sublime and meaningful discussions with him, he told me, “Son, stay on your mission.”
I followed Dad’s counsel and stayed.

The center of St. Petersburg, crisscrossed by canals, is full of palaces, monuments, statues, churches, gardens, and museums. For seminary students from the Obukhovskii Branch, it seemed a perfect place to talk about their love of seminary, their love for the scriptures, and their love for their city.
Julia Shaikhulina reminisces about returning from a trip to the Stockholm (Sweden) Temple. “I wondered how I’d feel coming home, since going to the temple is such a wonderful experience. But it was autumn, and as our bus drove across the city, the trees and the buildings were bathed in a golden light. It made all of the buildings look beautiful. And I said to myself, I know that I love my city. It made me feel like I wanted to share the gospel with everyone.”

I visited my grandpa and grandma who are not members of the LDS Church. On Sunday we went to the church where my grandpa preaches. A girl invited me to go to Sunday School with her. The teacher was teaching about “Mormonism.” I knew that what she was teaching was not the truth, and I felt angry. I excused myself from class. Once I was alone I said a prayer to ask Heavenly Father for courage to bear my testimony. When I got back to class, I raised my hand and said, “I am a Mormon.” Suddenly I felt the Spirit really strong and my fear went away completely.
The teacher asked me if I could tell the class why we are called Mormons. I said, “We are called Mormons because we believe in the Book of Mormon.” A girl said that she had started to read the Book of the Mormon but she laughed at it. She asked me how I could believe such a story. Her question hurt my feelings, but I said what was in my heart: “I know it is true because I prayed to Heavenly Father and He told me it was so.” Before this happened I did not think I could share my testimony with so many people who didn’t believe in our Church, but now I know that the Spirit will always give me courage.

Richard set about building a home and planting a field of wheat. A hailstorm destroyed his crop, however, and he and his wife and infant son faced a winter with no income and little food. Despite these hardships, Richard was inspired with an idea, one that he could not ignore. He wanted to start a Sunday School for the children in the valley. With his bishop’s approval, Richard began construction on an adobe building in which to hold Sunday School. He worked long hours hauling sandstone and logs, plastering walls, and making benches.
At last it was finished. On December 9, 1849, the first Sunday School in Salt Lake Valley was held. Richard led the children in a song, said a prayer, read a short scripture, then began to tell the story of Jesus. Years later he declared, “I was early called to this work by the voice of the spirit, and I have felt many times that I have been ordained to this work before I was born, for even before I joined the Church I was moved upon to work for the young. Surely no more joyful nor profitable labor can be performed by an elder.”
For four years Richard planted crops, and for four years the crops failed. He resolutely continued with the Sunday School, though, and found peace and satisfaction in teaching the children.

First, children want to be taught. This was brought home to me when I was visiting a Primary in Bolivia. I planned to visit an older class when three little girls tugged at my sleeve. They had been to their classroom, but they came back because there was no teacher. “Please, will you teach us?” they asked. “We need a teacher.” This was one of the sweetest teaching experiences I have ever had because those children were thirsty for gospel truths.

Buffalo-Child-Long-Lance, a Blackfoot Indian Chief, told of his tribe trailing a band of five hundred horses led by the great stallion for ten days. At dawn on the eleventh day, on a plateau between the Rockies and Cascades, the Indian braves finally drove the herd into a log corral they had built between two sides of a rocky gulch.

After a day of futile attempts to rope the imprisoned stallion and near-fatal injuries to four braves, Indians carrying firebrands forced the horse into a corner against the rocks and partitioned off that part of the corral with a seven-foot fence. When they returned the next morning, they were amazed to find he had cleared the high fence, rammed through the heavy log corral, and vanished.

The Indians believed the wild stallion was supernatural, and after his escape, they called him the Ghost Horse of the Prairies. They claimed they often saw him standing on a butte, his majestic body silhouetted against the moon, his silvery mane and tail shining in the moonlight with a phosphorescent glow—a truly ghostly effect.

Two and one-half years passed, and before I knew it, I was home again. I remember hearing someone mention a name: Elisa Rogers, a young woman who was in charge of a university dance at the Hotel Utah. There was something special about that name. I decided I ought to meet her.
I remember the first time I saw her. As a favor for a friend of mine, I had gone to her home to pick up her sister. Elisa opened the door, and I stared. There she was, beautiful, 1.65 meters tall, blue eyes, blond hair.
She must have had a feeling also, because she said to me, “I know who you was.”
She quickly realized she had made a grammatical error. To fully appreciate that, you have to remember that she was an English major.
Even after all of these years, she has remembered the embarrassment of that moment. Of course, my retelling this story doesn’t make matters better, but I trust she will forgive me.

Another rewarding encounter came with a post-doctoral research student who was studying early Christian history at the Pontifical Biblical Institute in Rome. As far as I could tell, this bright scholar had been given every possible honor and privilege of study within the vast Vatican libraries. A mutual friend introduced us at a meeting specifically to examine the Book of Mormon, particularly some of its ritual and historical texts. For instance, we discussed the description of Lehi’s attitudes in the context of contemporary international affairs. Israel’s rulers had formed an alliance with Egypt against their traditional enemy, Babylon; but Jeremiah had vehemently criticized this choice, and there seems to be evidence that Lehi’s political sympathies were as unpopular as Jeremiah’s. One of Babylon’s allies was Sidon; but Sidon’s twin city, Tyre, had allied with Egypt. The people of the Book of Mormon frequently used the name Sidon. There is a city named Sidon, a river named Sidon and, even a man named Gidgiddonah, which, as Dr. Hugh Nibley of Brigham Young University points out, is the Egyptian name for Sidon. But the name Tyre never appears in any form in the Book of Mormon, whereas in the Old Testament the two names are constantly linked; one hardly ever appears without the other. This apparent preference for Sidon over Tyre in the Book of Mormon fits perfectly into the world situation that Lehi knew and may support Brother Nibley’s deduction that Lehi may have been a trader with close personal connections in foreign cities, his safety and prosperity guaranteed by the Chuwa, or “contract of friendship” that protected an alien in another city-state. Naturally, even though he knew Egyptian, he (as did Jeremiah) would still deplore Israel’s alliance with Egypt, since he saw his nation turning away from safety. (Approach to the Book of Mormon, Melchizedek Priesthood Course, 1957, p. 52.)

That was only one of the many areas that I wished to discuss with this eminent scholar; and at first I feared it might be a difficult meeting. He had read several chapters in the Book of Mormon and had understood them fairly well, considering that it was his first reading of them. But he had concluded that the book was without substance. We looked again at what he had read. Then again, first from one angle and then another. Many hours and many words later, he was to admit willingly that the book was anything but meaningless. “Your book,” he said, “will have to be dealt with.”

Eunice loved to sing. Her parents, Titus and Diantha Morley Billings, often sang for Church meetings at the request of the Prophet Joseph Smith. At a very early age, Eunice was taught to harmonize with them and sing the alto part. The Prophet Joseph must have enjoyed her singing, because every time he saw her, he took her on his knee and had her sing a song. Eunice attended Eliza R. Snow’s school with the Prophet’s children. Her mother did sewing and doctoring for the Prophet’s family, so Eunice was in his home often.
One day Mother finished a sewing project and asked Eunice to deliver it to Sister Smith. Upon doing so, Eunice saw the Prophet. This was not unusual, except that at the time, Joseph was in hiding for the safety of his life. He had just slipped home for a change of clothes. The Prophet knelt and lovingly sat young Eunice on his knee. He had her sing a song as always. Then he looked deeply into her eyes.
“Eunice,” he said, “no one must know that I am here. My family is in danger. Please rush home and tell no one that you saw me.”
Eunice ran all the way home so that no one could stop her to talk. Long afterward, she said, “I would have cut out my tongue before I would have told anyone I had seen the Prophet that day!”

President Kasue immediately obtained a copy of the registration document and took it to the assistant chief of Chyulu Village to assure the rights of the Church to operate legally. The Saints could now meet without fear, and their membership soon increased to about 40. They needed a place to meet, but a mission had not yet been established and no meetinghouse was provided. The members built a small bower on President Kasue’s land.
In July 1991 the Kenya Nairobi Mission was organized with Larry Brown as president. Soon he and Sister Brown made a visit to Chyulu. “Although the trip was grueling, it was worth it!” says President Brown. “I remember that the sacrament meeting was held in the bower, but it was raining and the ground inside was wet. Before the priesthood holders knelt down to bless the sacrament, they threw an old sack on the mud. The next time we went, I happened to look in the sacrament trays, and there were only two small pieces of crackers. … They broke those crackers up. There were 63 people there, and I didn’t think those crackers would ever go around, but they did. It was like feeding the 5,000.”7

Recently I talked to an old friend who has gone through two divorces due to the addictions and unfaithfulness of her husbands. She and her three children have suffered greatly. She pleaded, “I have tried so hard to live righteously. Why have I had so many trials? What have I done wrong? What does Heavenly Father want me to do? I pray and read my scriptures, help my children, and go to the temple often.”

As I listened to this sister, I felt like shouting out, “You are doing it! You are doing all that Heavenly Father wants and hopes you will do!”

Understandably, many have expressed that our Father’s promised blessings are just “way too far away,” particularly when our lives are overflowing with challenges. But Amulek taught that “this life is the time … to prepare to meet God.” It is not the time to receive all of our blessings. President Packer explained: “‘And they all lived happily ever after’ is never written into the second act. That line belongs in the third act, when the mysteries are solved and everything is put right.” However, a vision of our Father’s incredible promised blessings must be the central focus before our eyes every day—as well as an awareness “of the multitude of his tender mercies” that we experience on a daily basis.

Sisters, I do not know why we have the many trials that we have, but it is my personal feeling that the reward is so great, so eternal and everlasting, so joyful and beyond our understanding that in that day of reward, we may feel to say to our merciful, loving Father, “Was that all that was required?” I believe that if we could daily remember and recognize the depth of that love our Heavenly Father and our Savior have for us, we would be willing to do anything to be back in Their presence again, surrounded by Their love eternally. What will it matter, dear sisters, what we suffered here if, in the end, those trials are the very things which qualify us for eternal life and exaltation in the kingdom of God with our Father and Savior?

I testify that our bodies are sacred gifts from our Heavenly Father and that as we keep our lives pure and clean through the atoning sacrifice of our Savior and keep the vision of our Father’s promised rewards daily in front of us, we will one day receive “all that [our] Father hath.” In the sacred name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Although the afternoon was crisp and cold, inside our house we were warm and snug. In my parents’ room, my three sisters and I were all busily wrapping presents for the Fitzpatricks.* Ever since my early childhood we’d been friends with the Fitzpatricks, and I was always painfully aware of how little the parents and their four children had.
With the gifts in a pile, my sisters and I formed an assembly line wrapping a present and taking it to my mother. After checking the contents of the package, she would decide who would get what, and then sign it “Santa.” She would deposit the gift in a large plastic bag, and we would go to the next one. Using this method we quickly and efficiently finished wrapping the presents in about an hour.
Later that night we all piled into the family van with those plastic bags and headed toward the trailer park where the Fitzpatricks lived. After parking the van, my dad got out, walked to the trailer, and waited at the door. When he was sure no one was home, he unloaded the bags and left them on the porch.
The following Sunday I sat with my family in sacrament meeting. Sitting still and trying to listen was not something I did readily, and soon I became mesmerized by the pictures I was drawing. At one point I glanced up to see Sister Fitzpatrick at the pulpit. But I was only vaguely aware of what she was saying. Suddenly my sister Audrey jabbed me with her elbow and whispered that she was talking about us.
Streaming down her face were tears, and her voice shook as she spoke. She told the congregation how they didn’t have money for Christmas and they weren’t sure what to do. Upon returning that night, they found the bags of presents on their porch. She warmly thanked the gift givers.
The Fitzpatricks never found out who left the Christmas presents for them, although from the pulpit Sister Fitzpatrick said she knew the gifts came from someone in the congregation. Amazingly, tears came to my eyes, and I had to look down to brush them away. That was when I first felt like an angel.

Jesus Christ was kind to everyone He met. He is a great example of kindness to me. One day when I was in first grade, I was the leader of the day in my class. Part of being a leader of the day was choosing someone to help me carry the lunch basket filled with lunch boxes to the cafeteria. I stood in front of the class and looked out at my classmates, trying to decide who to choose. All of my good friends were raising their hands, and at first I wanted to choose one of them. But then I noticed a boy standing in the back of the room. He didn’t have many friends, and sometimes people were not very nice to him. He never got chosen for anything. Something inside my heart told me to pick him. When I picked him to be my helper, everyone else acted surprised, but he got a big smile on his face. After lunch my teacher pulled me aside and whispered in my ear, “Thank you for picking him. That was a very kind thing to do.” All day I felt really good inside.

Read your scriptures. “It’s one of the best ways to come closer to Heavenly Father and to have your problems answered,” says Doralee Solomon, 17, of the Douglas Georgia Stake. “You can always go to your scriptures for help and get answers.” At one time Doralee had a friend who was smoking, and she didn’t know what to do about it. She didn’t know whether she should talk to the person, the bishop, or the parents. But after reading, praying, and listening to her Young Women lessons, she knew she needed to confront her friend. “I know reading my scriptures helped put me in tune for an answer,” Doralee says.

Sister Groberg shared other memories about her high school friends. “There was always a surplus of girls,” she remembered, and then added, “and I was never in the real dating circle. I hardly had any dates in high school, and you know how you’d feel. The day my older sister who was always an example for me turned 16, a young man called her up, and for four nights in a row a different boy called. It was like they had all been waiting for her to turn 16. It was so exciting. I thought that was the magical thing: you turn 16 and you start dating. Well,” Jean said, with emphasis, as though she was remembering it all over again, “it didn’t happen when I turned 16.” She paused a moment, reflecting on what must have been a very disappointing experience.
“And how did you survive that situation?” I asked.
“Oh, I had a lot of good girl friends, and we had a lot of fun” she said, then thoughtfully added, “I never feel badly if a girl doesn’t have dates in high school. If you’re just a little patient, you can still have a good time. I really had fun dating in college, a lot of fun.”

Bitterness became quiet as Tim turned his mind to thoughts of past years. When he was just a boy, he had left Ireland with his two older brothers and a younger sister to come to America. They landed in New York and then moved to Baltimore to join an uncle.
The streets of Baltimore hadn’t been paved with gold. They had had to work long hours in their uncle’s store. Slowly the hours began to pay off, and the sweat and toil became the mortgage price of prosperity. Ever so slowly, poverty released its strong icy fingers from around the immigrants.
When he was 17, Tim Ryan had let his brother Michael talk him into going to a parish dance. “Come along, Timmy. It’s time that you began to think about the ladies. And what better place to meet them than at the parish house?”
Tim went with Michael, shyly, unwillingly at first. He stood off on the sidelines, watching the others dance and hating them for their social graces and himself for his shyness. Then Maggie appeared and the climate changed.
She was short, no taller than his five foot three inches, with long black hair. She smiled often, and once, when he looked enough in her direction, she smiled at him. He could feel the color rising in his cheeks.
He summoned up the courage to go over and introduce himself. She asked him with that ever-present smile if he always blushed so brightly. “No,” he said, “it only happens when I talk with a beautiful young lady. And by the way, may I have the next dance?” She said yes.
Tim Ryan walked Maggie Rourke home that night after the dance. They saw each other often in the next year. Then, one night, on the anniversary of that dance in the parish house, he asked her another question. She answered yes to this one too, and they made arrangements with Father Kelly to perform the ceremony.