Gospel Story Finder

Shirley Florence Sainz, who was born in Mexico, tells the story of how her mother’s struggle to become literate became a blessing to others:

“When my mother, Anita Valenzuela Mendoza, was two years old, my grandfather died in a mining accident, leaving my grandmother with their eight children and little means to care for them. My grandmother could not read, write, or understand numbers.

“When my mother was six years old, she had the privilege of attending school though she did not have pencils, paper, or books. Nevertheless, she loved learning, so she embroidered napkins, swept the classroom, and brought in firewood as a way to earn paper. At home, my grandmother stitched the sheets of precious newsprint paper together into a notebook for my mother.

“The teachers appreciated my mother’s eagerness. Overlooking her worn-out clothes and unruly hair, they nourished her hunger for knowledge. At the end of her elementary school years, the family of one of her schoolteachers offered my mother an opportunity for more schooling. However, she was unable to go and her formal education ended.

“Years later, when my mother was 27, her education blossomed when she met my father and he introduced her to the gospel. She loved learning through reading the scriptures. Relief Society also provided many opportunities for her to increase her knowledge.

“My mother instilled a love for learning in me, and I have graduated from college and am an elementary schoolteacher myself. In two generations, our family has been greatly blessed because, as a young girl, my mother learned to read and write. Her literacy skills opened the door for her to understand and embrace the gospel of Jesus Christ. As a result, all of my mother’s posterity has been blessed.”

I’m told that no one can create something out of nothing. How powerfully I realized that truth the day I had a visit from a member of our stake presidency. His telephone call that told me to expect him made me wonder what was the purpose of his visit. But all my questions failed to prepare me for the challenge he brought. He came to ask me to write a stage production for our region. He emphasized that they wanted quality—the kind of quality that would make the production suitable for a major attractions center in our city—to which the nonmember public could be invited. And then he left.
But he left behind him a great burden. Because the expectations of my priesthood leaders were so high and my play writing experience so little, I felt very anxious. The fearful thought occurred to me that the discomfort that had settled in my stomach and my legs might not go away until after the presentation of the play.
How could I possibly live up to the expectations of my stake presidency? I had never done the kind of thing they wanted. I felt almost oppressed by a terrible cloud of doubt and helplessness. I had not even one idea. It wasn’t that I didn’t have any experience in writing, I had. But I had always had a concept to share; some ideas to work with. But now I had nothing. When I went to bed that night, my mind was still blank. I couldn’t think of any ideas that could be developed and built into a stage production.
But when I awoke in the morning I knew what I wanted to say. From the recesses of my mind came the ideas, the building blocks with which I could construct the play.
Where did the ideas come from? They came from a deep and precious source—the scriptures.
Just prior to the beginning of the Church’s program of scripture study, I had completed independently what to me was an intense, thorough, and highly rewarding study of all the standard works of the Church—a search that left my working Bible very well worn. As a result, the scriptures had provided the basic form with which to help me fulfill my assignment to build a spiritually successful stage production. But even more important, I could not help but see a comparison and realize how much more vital the scriptures are as building blocks with which to construct our testimonies, our character, and our eternal lives.
One week after receiving the assignment I was able to present to the stake leaders a rough draft of the first half of our production, a production that in final form exceeded our hopes and had a beneficial impact on many nonmember visitors.
This whole experience added more conviction to an already growing testimony of the value of the scriptures.

My big sister and I were playing outside and we weren’t getting along. We argued, and I felt bad inside. I went into my house and prayed that I would feel better and not be mad at my sister. After my prayer I felt much better. Soon my sister came into the house and asked me what was wrong. I told her that I was OK, and we started to play again. This time we didn’t argue.Emma V., age 7, with help from her parents, Texas

One beautiful morning my family and I passed our bishop’s home. We noticed two enormous trees had been chopped down and the wood was in a huge pile. We have a fire pit at home, and we were almost out of wood. So we asked our bishop if we could have it. He told us, “You can have all of the wood you want.”
I was so excited. We would finally have more wood! When the day arrived to get the wood, we got right to work.
After a long day, our trailers were overflowing with wood. Then our bishop came outside and told us that a less-active family in our ward heated their home with a fireplace and they were out of wood. Mom and Dad decided to give the wood to them. That made me very upset. We had worked hard without any breaks.
I wasn’t quite sure if I should complain and ask if we could keep the wood. If I help give it away, all the work we did would be for nothing. We wouldn’t have the wood, I thought. What should I do?
It took us over an hour to unload all our precious wood. When we finally finished, we went home. We were very exhausted. When we got home, I went to check how much wood we had left. Guess what I saw? No wood at all. I thought we were giving some wood away, not all of it. I started pacing back and forth, thinking about how much work we did for nothing!
Then I remembered how the family heated their home with a fireplace. We just liked to have fires. It would have been really, really nice to have a surplus of wood. But the other family absolutely needed it. We just wanted it to do things like cook hot dogs and s’mores.
Giving the wood to the other family was hard, but I knew it was the right thing to do. After all, what would the Savior do?

When I was 16, I participated in a student foreign-exchange program for a year. I went from my home in Ukraine to a small town in Arizona, USA, where I stayed with a Latter-day Saint family. I had never heard of Latter-day Saints before.
The exchange program didn’t allow the family to preach to me, and I wasn’t allowed to meet with the missionaries. But I chose to attend church with my host family and participate in all Church activities.
I felt the Spirit with that family, and I felt much love at church. At that time I didn’t know that what I was feeling was the Spirit, but my heart was touched.
When I returned to Ukraine, I missed that feeling very much. I remembered how my life was when I went to church and lived gospel teachings. I realized what was missing, but there was no church and no missionaries where I lived, so I thought I would never have that feeling again.
About four years later, however, some missionaries knocked on my door. I was so happy to see them. While they were out working, they had listened to the Spirit, which led them to my house. I’m so grateful they were obedient. I was baptized and confirmed soon afterward.
Since then I have been sealed in the Stockholm Sweden Temple to my husband, a returned missionary who is from Russia. And now there’s a temple in Kyiv. We plan to attend regularly.
The temple is the most amazing place on earth. It is a place where you can be close to Heavenly Father. I feel so grateful that in the temple we can receive one of the greatest gifts given to us by Heavenly Father: to be sealed as families for eternity.
I am grateful to the members of that Latter-day Saint family who helped me feel the Spirit, starting me on a journey that would lead me to a family of my own that is sealed together forever.

On a very cold but sunny day last October, youth and leaders from the Kettering Ward, Northampton England Stake gave 30 hours of service in their community at Headway, a local charity that works to improve life for patients after brain injury. Armed with paintbrushes and paint, ward members went to work cleaning and painting the inside and outside of the Headway day centre.
“The activity was really fun because although it was cold I could really feel the spirit of the youth working together,” said Sarah Dean, a Laurel. “We had cold hands, but we also had warm hearts.”
Michael Winebrunner, a priest, agreed that it was cold, but says, “We were working really hard, so I hardly noticed. I enjoyed being with my friends and knowing that I was making a difference to the lives of the people in the day centre.”

Here is another story told in President Murphy’s own words:
During one of my visits to the island of Molokai, I was invited to go to the hospital at Hoolehua to administer to a little girl.
On the way to the hospital her father said, “Our little girl Louise is very sick. The doctors all agree that she cannot live. During her few years in our home, she has shown great faith in the missionaries and the priesthood they hold. This morning when I told her that you were coming to visit us, she asked if you could give her a blessing.”
As we arrived at the hospital and entered a small room, I was shocked to find ten-year-old Louise Makaiwi too weak to move and too sick to speak. Tears rolled from her big brown eyes as she tried to shake hands with me. But she could not raise her little hand from the sheet on which it rested.
Louise’s father anointed her head with oil. I sealed the anointing and under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit promised this sweet little girl that she would live. Then I suggested that she be taken to Honolulu to be checked by specialists.
Louise was carried on a soft mattress to Honolulu. Several outstanding doctors examined her, but each shook his head. Not one gave any hope for her life.
Weak and weary, Louise was brought to the mission home, but because of her blessing she was not discouraged.
Louise returned home full of faith, and only a month later she stood in a testimony meeting and told how she had been healed by our Heavenly Father.
Louise speedily regained her health and became one of the loveliest girls in that wonderful land.

Kristi Purdy of the Moberly Ward, Columbia Missouri Stake, had a truly original idea for her American Literature project. The class was assigned to make a learning box, in which you put different things like pictures, charts, objects or family history articles relating to a prominent person in American Literature. Kristi decided to do Joseph Smith, someone who had never before been featured.
“I was a bit reluctant at first,” she said, “being one of the few Mormons at Moberly High School, but it seemed the perfect project to do.”
She made her box look like the golden plates, and constructed a very elaborate presentation.
“When I turned my project in, I had so many good comments, and friends wanted to know all about Joseph Smith. I felt so good inside sharing this magnificent man with everyone and having the opportunity to educate my teacher as well.”

One time when I was on the Priesthood Missionary Committee of the Church, I traveled to a conference with President Marion G. Romney, who at that time was a member of the Quorum of the Twelve. Between conference sessions we walked around the parking lot of the Pocatello East Stake Center. It was a cool, blustery day. He stopped and put his arm through mine, and then he said, “Brother Featherstone, do you think the brethren of the priesthood will ever come to understand that they were born to serve their fellowmen?” And I ask you, brethren, do you think we will?

When I was 19, my family lost everything. Life became overwhelmingly difficult for my mother, my siblings, and me. The uncertainty of our future weighed heavily on me. We often lacked sufficient food, and although my mother bravely hid her distress, I could see through her façade. Despair took hold of me, and I spiraled into hopelessness, convinced that my life would never amount to anything. In one of my moments of despair, I distinctly recall a voice in my mind asking, “Is this how your life is going to end? This is not who you are. You have the power to rise and shine. Just have a bit of faith.”
At the time, my younger sister had recently joined the Church. She frequently invited me to attend young single adult (YSA) activities, but I always declined—perhaps out of pride, feeling that I should lead the way as the older sibling. However, after my epiphany, I accepted her invitation. When I arrived at the YSA event, I intended to remain unnoticed, sitting quietly at the back. Yet a greeter at the door welcomed me warmly, and others approached me with genuine interest and kindness. They embraced me as their own and invited me to join in their activities. Surprisingly, I was surrounded by young people my age who radiated positivity and were full of joy. I felt truly loved and accepted for the first time in a long while.
My sister’s consistent invitations to church activities and the love and acceptance I received from the young single adults transformed my life. As I embraced the gospel of Jesus Christ, my faith grew. Though my future remained uncertain, I felt a renewed hope and peace. I was baptized in April 1997, and through that sacred ordinance, I came to understand that the voice I had heard during my epiphany earlier was the Holy Ghost. I am grateful for the constant companionship of the Spirit in my life today.
Faith, even in its most miniature form, can spark profound change. The Savior taught: “If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye shall say unto this mountain, Remove hence to yonder place; and it shall remove; and nothing shall be impossible unto you” (Matthew 17:20). The love, sharing, and inviting extended to me by my sister and the YSA community led me to the missionaries and, ultimately, to the waters of baptism. I witnessed a mountain in my life shift, and my heart and circumstances transformed. This journey deepened my testimony of Jesus Christ.
Today, my family (my wife and children) enjoys the blessings of the gospel, including the sacred privilege of being sealed together in the temple. From despair to divine hope, we have been showered with the Lord’s blessings. I testify that Jesus is the Christ and that we are led by a living prophet today. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Sergei Leliukhin was such a person. Sergei’s wife, Irina, had been baptized into the predominant church while living briefly with her grandmother. When the couple’s daughter, Marina, asked to be baptized into that church in 1990, Sergei began to reflect on the importance of religion.
“I started reading many religious books. … The central point I came to understand was that for a believer, the church is the foundation of one’s life. When I knew I could find the strength within myself to lead a religious life, I decided to be baptized.”
Sergei and Marina were baptized into the Orthodox church in November 1990. But they continued to feel a spiritual hunger. While on a business trip in June 1992 to Donetsk, Ukraine, Sergei met some Latter-day Saints. He was curious about their beliefs but unable to accept an invitation to join them at a Sunday meeting. Four months later he received another chance.
“I was walking home from work along the main street of the city,” Sergei recalls. “Ahead of me I saw two young men wearing backpacks. Walking quickly, I passed them and approached a green traffic light. I could have quickly crossed the street, but an unfamiliar [feeling] prevented me from continuing.
“These two young men caught up with me and asked me how to get to one of the streets in the city. I said I could show them to the street. While we walked together for about 10 minutes, these missionaries told me about their church. At the end of our conversation, we agreed to meet at my apartment.”
A few days later the Leliukhins joined the missionaries at the first Church meeting held in Saratov, located 675 kilometers southeast of Moscow. “We very much liked the atmosphere at the meeting,” Sergei says. “After the service I had a desire to pray, which I did when the missionaries came over for the second discussion.”
After completing the discussions, the family members were baptized in November 1992. They learned the gospel quickly, served cheerfully, and fellowshipped others joyfully.
“The opportunity to serve the Lord in his Church has helped us in our spiritual development,” says President Leliukhin, who became the first branch president in Saratov. “We feel our own growth so much as we try to help other Saints grow.”
The family’s baptism left them confident and happy but caused concern among some of their relatives. “After our baptism we encountered misunderstandings and even some aggressiveness from our relatives,” President Leliukhin recalls. “But we were confident we would endure. Even though a total understanding is still far away, relations toward us have become more tolerant.”
The Leliukhins were sealed in the Stockholm Sweden Temple in March 1995. Today President Leliukhin serves as a district president in Saratov.

Not long ago a telephone call came to President Monson’s office from the son of an 82-year-old woman who was nearing death. The mother’s final and only request was that she might meet her “favorite General Authority” before she passed away. When such calls come, the secretaries hope they will be able to get to the telephone before President Monson does, because otherwise his entire life would be spent on such visits, for requests of this kind come into his office by the score. One of the secretaries did take this particular call, carefully noting the details and promising to relay the message to President Monson. She also courteously mentioned that President Monson’s time commitments were overwhelming, so the elderly sister would certainly be in President Monson’s prayers even if he were not able to make a personal visit. The faithful son hung up the telephone, very grateful for and fully satisfied with the response he had received.
The message was relayed. The schedule, overflowing as always, precluded a visit. A day went by, and President Monson began to be restless. That night he was more restless still. On the second day, he could not resist. He got into his car and headed for an unfamiliar address to visit a dying woman he had never met.
Wending his way through streets and side roads and neighborhoods totally unfamiliar, President Monson eventually arrived at his destination. Knocking at the door, he introduced himself to that very surprised son and handed him a green planter purchased for the visit. He was then ushered into a modest bedroom where a new-found friend was entering a comatose state, hovering between life and death.
Quietly, President Monson sat on the edge of the bed and held her hand. He talked softly and lovingly to her at great length about a wide variety of gospel principles. Although her eyes were essentially closed and she could make no verbal response, her son—witness to every detail of this great apostolic gesture—testified that he was certain that his mother not only knew who was visiting her but also understood every word he said. A blessing was given, and then President Monson, noting but not mentioning a framed picture of himself on the modest mantlepiece, excused himself from the room.
The sweet sister died nine hours later, having realized the one final wish she had in this life. The next day the local newspaper obituary read, “Alice Petersen Tingey, 82, passed away of natural causes at her home. [She] was a loving person who touched the lives of many people. We would like to thank President Thomas S. Monson for his special blessing and the influence he shared with her and her family.”

“Before I was eight years old, I sometimes walked in my sleep. I would get up at night without knowing it and do strange things. One night I went to a neighbor’s home and told them that my parents weren’t home. Another time, I walked into a neighbors’ home in the middle of the night and gave them a bunch of daisies because they had just had a new baby. When I learned about what I had done, I became very frightened and couldn’t sleep at night. My mother suggested that I pray about my problem. She prayed with me that I would be able to sleep without sleepwalking. From then on, I was able to sleep without fear. Praying and receiving that help was a personal, spiritual experience for me.”

I’m from France, but my sister and I spent a year in the eastern United States as exchange students. During that time, we met lots of people, but the one who left the biggest impression on me was a girl named Destiny. She became one of my best friends. We did all kinds of things together, during school and after school and with my sister. Destiny was always happy. That was the thing I liked most about her.
Then one day I saw her in a troubled mood I had never seen her in before. I asked her what was wrong. She said she didn’t want to talk about it. Then I noticed a paper in her hand. I took it and read it.
Someone had written unbelievably mean things to her. The anonymous note said she was ugly, that no one liked her, that she didn’t have any purpose for being alive, and that she ought to go and kill herself. I would never have believed someone like her could be attacked like that. It affected me deeply to know the pain she was going through.
From then on, I made an even bigger effort to be Destiny’s friend—not just to spend time with her, but to always be there for her, and especially to be sincere. I explained to her that she is a daughter of God, blessed with a divine nature, worthy of admiration and capable of great things.
It’s difficult to try to love yourself when others treat you badly and criticize you. As I befriended Destiny, I learned that sometimes the best way to help others is just to love them and to help them know who they truly are.
At the end of the year, when I had to return to France, Destiny told me something I will always treasure. “Emma,” she said, “you saved me. Before you came, I wanted to kill myself. But then you and your sister helped me a lot, just by caring. Today I love myself, and I love you.”

Ha Phuoc Thach and his wife, Nguyen Thi Hong, are Vietnamese converts of nearly three years. In 1990 all three of their teenage children were lost at sea in a boat filled with Vietnamese refugees. Despite—or perhaps because of—this tragedy, the couple embraced the gospel when they heard it. Speaking about their baptism, Ha Phuoc Thach says: “Our lives changed. It was a spiritual change.” His wife adds, “I want everyone to pray, because God does answer prayers.” He serves as a counselor in the branch presidency of the Vietnamese-speaking branch. His wife is the Relief Society president. When asked why with all they have suffered they are always smiling, the couple respond, “Because now we are happy.”

How helpful this experience was for me twenty years later when my wife and I stood outside an emergency room in our home town. We had waited for hours as several doctors examined our sixteen-year-old daughter. She had been in an automobile accident and had been seriously injured. Our bishop and his wife joined us, along with the stake president and his wife.

When a doctor stepped out of the X-ray room, his voice choked as he told us that our daughter’s spinal cord had been severed and that she would never walk again. My sweetheart and I embraced while she wept, “Oh, no, no!” Our friends wept with us.

Later, as we drove home, we wondered how we could break the news to our daughter. We wondered, too, whether it would have been better for our Heavenly Father to have taken her out of this life. A few hours later, we returned to the hospital. As I leaned over to explain to our daughter, I could not contain my tears.

She opened her eyes, thrust out her arms, and exclaimed, “Don’t cry, Daddy. Look, I’ve got my arms, I’ve got my heart, I’ve got my mind, and I have all eternity to run around in.”

When Princella was looking for a Personal Progress project, she didn’t have to look far. In her own branch was a humanitarian aid missionary, Sister Thompson, struggling to teach English to the town’s adults. Since most people in Nsawam don’t speak any English and Sister Thompson doesn’t speak the local Twi dialect, she was having a difficult time communicating with her students.
Enter Princella, who learned English in school and speaks the four regional dialects, including Twi. She was perfect for the job. She could communicate with everyone.
“The project of helping in the literacy class came to my mind when I got to the knowledge value,” said Princella. “At first I felt it was too much to go stand in front of my mothers and fathers [the adults of her town] and teach them English. For the first and second week, it was not easy because they felt I was there to make a mockery of them, but then I had the opportunity to explain myself.” After that, things went smoothly, and communication between the teenage teacher and adult students was much more effective.
After completing her project, Princella considered leaving the class but decided against it. She says, “The literacy class is very interesting, and I never want to leave.” Princella continues to serve with love, remembering that those who serve others also serve God.

Chaplain Brent Jones served as an army chaplain at Ft. Carson, Colorado, in January 2004. He remembers having the responsibility to provide support and comfort to the family of a soldier who had been killed in action. Because the soldier’s unit remained in Iraq to fight, Chaplain Jones was flown to California to honor the dead, which is one of the vital missions of a chaplain.
Chaplain Jones did not know the family or the soldier and was not asked to participate in the soldier’s viewing, funeral, or graveside service. A ministry of presence would have to suffice. However, “on the morning of the funeral,” he says, “I felt the impression that the Lord wanted me to offer a special prayer at the graveside service that would indeed be a blessing to this killed-in-action soldier and his family. But how could I do this when I was not on the program, and I certainly didn’t want to offend anyone?
“After the funeral, as I was walking toward the grave, his religious leader caught sight of me. We had a brief conversation, and it was determined that near the end of the graveside service, when he looked in my direction, I could step forward and offer a prayer. That’s just what I did: I was given the opportunity to offer that special prayer that the Spirit had told me about earlier that morning. I was extremely grateful that the Lord had prepared a way for me to bring honor and comfort to a grieving family.”

Church membership has brought some sacrifices. “When I was baptized, my father—a military officer—said, `You’re not my son anymore.’ I spoke to him with love and bore my testimony of the Church. But he rejected me and treated me as if I had betrayed my family. And my brothers and sisters distanced themselves from me.”

Carlos’s mother had studied the gospel privately, long before Carlos was baptized. She was converted and had set a baptismal date. “But my father wouldn’t permit it. He told her, ‘If you get baptized, you will never come back.’ So she wasn’t baptized before she died.”

Years later, his father became seriously ill, and Carlos spent many days and nights with him. “Before my father died, a Catholic priest came to do the last rites. But my father said, `I don’t want it. I’m with my son.’ The priest objected, ‘We need to do the prayer.’ But my father said, ‘No, I’m going to do it with Carlos.’ His last words before dying were, ‘Carlos, if I live, my life will change.’ When he said that, I realized that we should do the temple work for him and my mother. And we have done so.”

Those who knew my father knew how active he was. Someone once told me that he could do the work of three men. He rarely slowed down. In 1938 he was operating a successful business when he received a call from the President of the Church, Heber J. Grant.
President Grant told him they were reorganizing the Presiding Bishopric that day and wanted my father to serve as counselor to LeGrand Richards. This caught my father by surprise, and he asked if he could pray about it first.
President Grant said, “Brother Wirthlin, there are only 30 minutes before the next session of conference, and I want to have some rest. What do you say?”
Of course my father said yes. He served 23 years, 9 of them as Presiding Bishop of the Church.