Gospel Story Finder

I was 13 years old, and Dad had just bought a new lawn mower. This wasn’t your typical push-from-behind lawn mower. It was one of those riding, three-forward-gears-and-two-backward-gears kind. It had electronic ignition and cut a swath about three feet wide. And it had headlights.
That was the problem. I wasn’t used to cutting our four-and-a-half-acre Pennsylvania lawn with a fancy riding mower. I’d been using an old, beat-up rider that Dad bought from one of our neighbors when we moved into our new house. It had only one forward speed and one backward speed. And no headlights. The headlights on our new mower jutted out a bit on either side. And that spelled trouble.
After I’d cut the lawn a couple of times, I was feeling quite confident with the new mower. I was amazed at how I could finish the job in only four hours. But as I was cutting around a group of pine trees that lined part of our driveway, I tried to get a little too close. I didn’t notice a branch that was in the way of the mower. As I went around a certain tree in second gear, I ran right into the branch. It bent the frame around the headlight, knocking the glass cover to the ground, where it lay broken in two.
Panicked, I turned the mower off and jumped down to inspect the damage. It was bad. It was ugly. But it was nothing compared to the tongue-lashing I imagined I’d get from Dad.
I tried and tried to fix the dent near the headlight. With the help of a hammer, I was finally able to pound the dent out and get it close to its original position. Although the metal was dented and the paint was cracked, it would do. But I still had a problem—the glass. The good thing, though, was that a clean break left two pieces that fit nicely together.
I ran into the house and found some tape. I put the pieces of glass together and held them to the headlight. Then I wrapped and wrapped the tape around the light. It wasn’t pretty, but from a distance—like about a hundred yards—you couldn’t tell the difference.
By this time it was getting dark outside, so I went into the house and tried my best to act like nothing had happened.
Weeks passed. And each week as I saw the broken headlight, guilt rode me like I rode the lawn mower. I tried to put the incident out of my mind, but I couldn’t. And because I didn’t dare tell my dad what had happened, the accident left an ugly scar on both the mower and my soul.
Near the end of the summer, the mower had to be serviced. Dad backed up the pickup and put some planks in place for a ramp. He asked me to drive the mower into the back of the pickup. I knew I had to confess. If I didn’t tell Dad what happened soon, he would see it for himself. But I couldn’t get up the nerve. Dad watched me drive the mower up. He said nothing.
All the way to the service center my stomach felt like twisted knots. We dropped off the mower and went home. I thought then that Dad hadn’t noticed the headlight. But I know now that he had.
A week later we went to pick up the mower. I had literally made myself sick over this headlight. The man at the service center drove the lawn mower onto the bed of Dad’s pickup. Dad still didn’t say a thing about the headlight. On the way home, I thought I was going to get sick right then and there. My face felt hot. My palms were sweaty. My mouth was dry. I had to confess.
But all I could get out was “Dad.” Then the tears came. Boy, did they come. I think Dad must have thought I was having an appendicitis attack. It sure felt like I was. He quickly pulled over as he exclaimed, “What’s wrong?”
I cried and cried. I tried to speak, but I couldn’t. Dad put his hand on my shoulder and asked if I was okay.
“Dad,” I finally said through my tears and sniffles, “I broke the light on the lawn mower. I’m sorry.”
Dad put the parking brake on, slid next to me, and wrapped his arms around me. He just held me for a minute or two. Then the words I had hoped for—even prayed for—came.
“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s okay.”
A wonderful peace came over me as I felt his arms around me and heard his voice say those words. I sobbed some more.
“I didn’t mean to do it. It happened a long time ago. I’m sorry!”
“I know,” he said. “It’s okay.”
A few minutes later, we were sipping strawberry shakes. Dad didn’t have to say anything more. His countenance said it all.
I’ve never forgotten the peace that came over me once I admitted everything. It was so hard to tell Dad I had broken the headlight. But once I confessed, my mind, my spirit, and even my knotted stomach were relieved. I was at peace with myself.
It’s hard to confess our sins to those we’ve offended. But once we get the words out, peace can come in.
There have been times since then that I’ve had to humble myself and confess to the Lord of far more serious wrecks I’ve caused in my life. It’s at these times that I think of a broken headlight, a loving earthly father, and a merciful Heavenly Father.

Recalls Randy Hansen, who spearheaded the project: “When we first came to the orphanage, the children’s eyes were really wide, and they weren’t sure why we were there or what was happening. When they helped us unload and carry in all the packages and supplies, they loosened up. We were then able to be more friendly. When we played ball with them you could see that they didn’t do much of that type of thing. They probably didn’t have any supervised activities. It was really touching when they sang to us because I have never studied another language. When I heard them trying to sing in English and then I tried to sing in Spanish, I knew how much they must have practiced to get it just right.
“I would like to have had more friends and members from our ward go down there,” he added. “It would have been a good experience for them. A lot of people come to church on Sunday and feel the Spirit, but they sometimes lose the Spirit during the week. This trip made me feel that we need to have this kind of spirit with us no matter what we are doing. It really touched me because I have never really felt like that at any other time.”

Sometime ago I overheard what I am confident is an oft-repeated conversation. Three very young boys were discussing the relative virtues of their fathers. One spoke out: "My dad is bigger than your dad," to which another replied, "Well, my dad is smarter than your dad." The third boy countered, "My dad is a doctor"; then, turning to one boy, he taunted in derision, "and your dad is only a teacher."

The call of a mother terminated the conversation, but the words continued to echo in my ears. Only a teacher. Only a teacher. Only a teacher. One day, each of those small boys will come to appreciate the true worth of inspired teachers and will acknowledge with sincere gratitude the lasting imprint such teachers will leave on their personal lives.

All year around, the family goes to church together on Sunday. Neil had a Primary teacher whom he loved who recently left to serve a mission. Neil plans on doing the same thing when he is old enough. Kaitlyn especially enjoys doing the class presentation when it is her class’s turn to do Sharing Time. Good friends are found at church, and there is a family feeling in the Windham Ward.

A few years ago in Italy, LDS missionaries were harassed by some Italian youths. Among the group on two occasions was a young man named Felice Lotito. He was challenged by a bold elder to come to the local LDS branch so that he could judge for himself. It was a dare which Felice accepted. He came. He heard. He studied. He believed. He was baptized. Later he was sent on a mission to England where he increased his faith and his facility with English. He served honorably, came home, married a lovely Italian girl in the Bern Switzerland Temple, and became one of the directors of the seminary and institute program in Italy.
In July of 1980, Felice Lotito left at age 32 to be the mission president in the Italy Padova Mission of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints! God saw in Felice possibilities that Felice did not see in himself. When the gospel was presented to him, Felice had the integrity of heart and intellect to believe it, even though he had been hassling the missionaries just days before.

I’ve been LDS my whole life, and I was always a basically good kid. Then I entered ninth grade. Everything went downhill from there. I was so tired of being teased about being a goody-goody. I never intended to ever do anything really wrong. I just didn’t want to be hassled anymore. So I came up with what seemed like a great plan. Looking back I realize it was pretty stupid.
I decided I would lead a double life. When I was at church or with LDS friends, I would act the part of a perfect Mormon. When I was with my nonmember friends, I would go wherever they went, talk like them, and try to seem like one of them. I figured that as long as I didn’t drink their beer or smoke their pot I was still okay. Unfortunately, I was living a lie with both groups of friends. You can’t get away with a lie for very long. It wasn’t long before my LDS friends started to keep their distance. One girl told me that her mother had told her she couldn’t hang around with me anymore because I smoked pot and drank. She didn’t want her daughter being influenced by me. It just wasn’t true! But how do you convince someone of that when all of your actions point to a different conclusion?
My friends from school started seeing the lie too. My first kiss was in the backseat of a stranger’s car with a boy whose name I didn’t even know. He wanted to go farther than I was willing. Later, his friend told me it was time I started following through on the life I was claiming to live. My partying friends decided that it was time to prove I was one of them, so they planned a little pot party in my honor for the last day of school. I didn’t go to school that day. It was the coward’s way out, but deep down inside I knew they weren’t really my friends.
That was when I realized how foolish I’d been. I had destroyed my reputation in six short months! My LDS friends didn’t believe a thing I said, and my nonmember friends thought I was a jerk—all talk and no play.

Abby: It’s fun doing “Matt and Mandy” for the Friend with my younger brother Jacob. Once they switched it around and had me as Matt and Jacob as Mandy. That was pretty funny. We used to just read the articles, but now they are putting in more special sound effects.

Before she was 10 years old, Laura Córdova, now 15, prayed for a testimony. “I heard others say that the Book of Mormon and the Church were true,” she says. “So I prayed to know for myself. And the Lord gave me my testimony.”

When I struggled to know how to pay tithing, my neighbor showed me how to pay it. Now when my mother gives me pocket money, I always pay my tithing. My family and I have seen blessings from it. My family has even started giving me their money to pay as tithing! That has been a surprise.

That’s when I remember the family’s love and romance expert, my Grandpa John, who courted my grandma via the postman while he was in Europe during World War II and she was in Casper, Wyoming. Grandpa and Grandma passed away when I was little, but Mom still tells the stories about how they fell and stayed in love. Mom has all of Grandpa’s letters to Grandma. I will make it a survey. Grandpa is source number three.
The letters are in Mom’s closet on the high shelf, so I have to lug a chair to reach them. I create a clunking racket as I rummage through journals and baby books and photo albums. Mom comes in to ask me what I’m doing.
“I’m just looking for Grandpa’s letters.”
“Marie, is something bothering you?” Mom raises an eyebrow, but I’ve found the letter box. I pull the chair back to Dad’s desk and retreat to my room with the letters from the expert.
“Dear Emma,” reads the first one I open. It smells like smoky dust. “Hello beautiful. I miss the glow of your pretty face. …”
I quit there and tally the score: three to zero.

I held the tiny brass horn and thought of the invitation of the musically gifted choir director who invited me to join in early morning practices for a special musical program as a teenager. Her confidence instilled in me love of classical music and the confidence to participate in choirs the rest of my life.

I decided that I should try to be the peacemaker rather than waiting for other family members to change. I first started by praying to my Heavenly Father to help me go throughout the day with a smiling face and to obey my father and mother and to get along with my sister. Then I started reading and studying the scriptures, which made a big difference.
Julie GustafsonParkville, Missouri

I have been a member of the Church for 11 years, and for the first three years, I attended Church as an investigator, I met several missionaries who taught me. Every time they asked me about baptism, I declined as my family didn’t want me joining the Church. I prayed and fasted that the Lord would touch the hearts of my parents. In 2017 I asked my mother nicely, if I could be baptized and that she could also get to learn with the missionaries.
It was a tough decision for me to confront my parents about the Church, but after my baptism on May 27, 2017, I got to know people who helped me stay on the covenant path despite the difficulties and plagues I faced. However, I was still concerned about my family. On June 3, 2021, I was called to serve the Lord in the Democratic Republic of the Congo Kinshasa East Mission. When I entered the temple on June 12, 2021, for my own endowment, I prayed to our Heavenly Father in these words, “Heavenly Father, I have come to serve Thee, my request is that Thou may assist my family so that someday we may all become members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and may enter the temple.”

Beehive Marianne Miner, of the Salt Lake Valley View Sixth Ward, along with others in her Young Women program, joined in to help make a slide and sound presentation on record keeping. Before this she was unaware that her ward Young Women president, Annette Brantzeg, had a special testimony of keeping records. The presentation explained that when Annette was only nine weeks old her mother died. Annette was raised by her grandparents and was never told much about her mother. Because of unusual circumstances Annette did not see her father for many years. Then when she was 17, he visited her and brought with him a journal that her mother had kept for one year of her life. That journal made it possible for a daughter to come to know her mother. In that record Annette was able to share a part of her mother’s life—her courtship, the discovery of a heart condition, her experiences as a school teacher in Wyoming.
Hearing the story made Marianne think about the importance of keeping records and the many kinds of records we can keep. “I was really moved by Annette’s story. I immediately started my book of remembrance. I’m going to keep things from school and church to put in it. I’m also going to start my life story.”

My husband is a talented martial artist. He was taught by his father and often relates that his dad was harder on him than he was on the other students. His father’s discipline strengthened him and helped him advance more quickly. Like our Heavenly Father, noble earthly fathers encourage their children to do their best while offering strength, love, and support.

Children in the Peachwood Ward, Salt Lake Granger Stake, Utah, USA, put together notebooks of the “I Can Play It!” songs. After they practice the songs, they get to play them as prelude music for sharing time.

President Oaks shared the story of a man named Mr. Gabriel, who helped thousands of refugee children. He created “tree schools,” where children gathered for lessons under the shade of trees. When he saw a need, he helped! God inspires many people like Mr. Gabriel to do good.

For example, a sister in Russia had a difficult family situation that prevented her from attending church for more than a year. Another sister in the branch reached out in compassion every Sunday by calling her to tell her about the talks, lessons, mission calls, babies born, and other news of the branch. When the housebound sister’s family situation was resolved, she felt like she was still a part of the branch because of her friend’s weekly calls.

“And the finalists for president are …”
I thought back to all of the work I’d put into this election. I hadn’t planned on running until two weeks before when one of my teachers asked me if I was going to run for office. The idea of running sounded pretty weird—Me? President? After a while, I decided maybe it would be fun to try. He said he thought I’d be a great president.
Just to be sure I’d made the right choice, I prayed to Heavenly Father. The warm feeling inside told me I was doing the right thing.
I submitted an application feeling pretty confident. But then I found out I’d be running against one of the most popular girls in the school. I was scared to death.
A few days later, the teacher in charge announced that due to the large number of candidates, a primary election would be held.
Because of the unexpected pre-election, we had to rush our campaigning. I spent a lot of time on posters, buttons, and flyers. I put so much effort into the election. But I have a problem. I’m a perfectionist. That’s good in a way because it makes me push myself to be a good student and accomplish things I wouldn’t do otherwise. But it also causes a lot of anxiety. I’m afraid of failing. And when I do fail, my self-esteem plunges. So you can imagine how I felt the night before the election.
We’d recently had a seminary lesson on prayer and fasting. So I decided that this would help me through the election. But I still felt like I needed something more. I again turned to Heavenly Father for advice. I recalled a fireside we’d had on fathers’ blessings. After my dad gave me a blessing, I felt a lot better. A heavy load was lifted. I was even able to sleep.
Throughout the day of the primaries, I was petrified. I was so worried about the elections I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I passed out flyers for final publicity with the help of six or seven friends. When we were through, I realized that no matter what, I’d always have many good friends to support me and be there when I needed them most. Then a wave of warmth and calmness swept over me. I knew that everything would be okay.
Until the end of sixth period, everything was fine. The ballots had been distributed to the school and collected. Then we all awaited the results. About 15 minutes before school was over, all candidates were called down to the office. Slowly, the names of the two finalists for each office were called: secretary, treasurer, and vice president. “And the finalists for president are …”
I took a deep breath. It seemed like it took forever for the names to reach my ears. The two names were the popular girl and one of her friends. At first, I thought I was going to cry. But then that special feeling returned. It was an unbelievable calmness. I felt in control, and yet I understood completely what had just happened. I was even able to congratulate the winning candidates.
A new light shone on me as I realized, Hey! I’m not a failure. I’m just closer to being a success. I finally understood the necessity of failures. They make you develop character and work that much harder the next time. Now I’m able to accept my failings by thinking, At least I tried. By trying, I know next time what to expect and what I need to work on. And in my eyes and His, I did win!

Gwendolyn’s Gifts by Patty Sheehan Queen Gwendolyn was bored. Every time she said so, King Cornelius told her, “Perhaps you need a change, my dear,” and ordered something new to be made for her. Finally she took matters into her own hands and learned how to make things for herself, and she was never bored again. King Cornelius learned a lesson from her, and became a gourmet cook. Perhaps you need a change, too, my dear?