Gospel Story Finder

Not long ago I was pulling weeds in my garden and overheard my six-year-old son use a crude word he had learned on the school playground. In the past I have threatened, scolded, and lectured when I have heard such words slip from my children, but that day I had a new idea.
I called my son over to talk with me. I asked him if he had ever heard Daddy say words like that. He shook his head no. I told my son that many people use inappropriate language, but Daddy sets an example for our family by never using those words. Even at his work, where such language is common, most people have learned that Daddy doesn’t like foul language, and they use only polite words around him.
Together, my young son and I came up with a new family strategy. We call it the “Daddy test.” If there is any question about the propriety of a word, we just think about whether Daddy would use the word, and then we act accordingly.
Since that day in the garden, we have employed the Daddy test frequently in our home. It is now a rare occasion to hear an inappropriate word slip out. How grateful I am for a husband who sets the standard for the Daddy test!

Alice’s mom is a doctor, and her father trains people in first aid. Alice and her family started a youth volunteer team to help people in their area.
First, her parents trained more than 100 teenagers and their parents in first aid. Alice helped too. Next the team gathered more than 3,000 items of clothing for people in need. They also gathered lots of shoes.
The local police were very impressed with their work. They gave the team a table at the market to help them do more good work.
“We believe in God,” Alice says. “So we serve everyone!”

When Thierry was called to serve a mission in the Cote D’Ivoire Abidjan Mission he had never read the Book of Mormon. His bishop encouraged him to read it cover to cover before commencing his mission. For three months, Thierry went every day to his ward building to read, ponder and pray about the Book of Mormon. This experience of daily study resulted in his taking into his mission a strong testimony of the book. He has said, “the greatest tool that we have to bring people to the light of the gospel and gather scattered Israel is the Book of Mormon.”
His mission was profoundly impactful on his life. French is the principal language of the DRC and of Cote D’Ivoire. Thierry had multiple English-speaking companions. His mission president counseled him to take time every day to learn English from his companions. Thierry obediently added English language study to his gospel study and proselyting. His English and French language proficiency has blessed many.

How can I turn my heart to my ancestors? I can do it by learning about them. I recently received a letter from an uncle, Lynwood Ellis, recalling acts of kindness performed long ago by my father and mother. He said that he loved to go to their house because my father always gave him citrus fruit. This was back in 1918 or 1920, when citrus fruit just wasn’t often available in Utah. How did my father manage to get it? My uncle didn’t know, but he was sure that my father didn’t get this fruit for his own use. He just enjoyed giving it away! As I read these stories, my heart was turned to my father and mother because I knew more about their hearts. I found that I wanted to learn more about them and about their parents and grandparents.

One day on the way to work I saw two young men preaching the word of God in the street. They stopped me and asked if I wanted to know more about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. At the time, I didn’t know where my family was headed. We had no spiritual compass to find our way.
I had been drinking alcohol that morning, so I don’t remember much of what the missionaries told me. But they gave me a Book of Mormon and a pamphlet about the Prophet Joseph Smith, along with their phone number. Later that day, I started reading. Something touched my soul when I read the Book of Mormon, and I was amazed how a 14-year-old boy could have such a great vision.
I was searching for truth, so I started meeting with the missionaries. After taking most of the lessons, I knew I needed to get baptized. But as the day of my baptism approached, we held a lesson that was hard for me to hear. That lesson was on the Word of Wisdom.
That lesson was hard for me because I drank a lot. My work environment was tough. Everyone I worked with drank, and so I did too. I would often go out drinking after work and come home late at night.
But the missionaries did a great job. I still love them for it. They taught me that God wants us to be strong and that He gave us the Word of Wisdom to bless us. Obeying this law was really hard for me, but slowly, I started to keep it. I remember calling the missionaries every day, updating them on my progress, and telling them that I did not drink that day. They were so happy with my progress.
With their help, I got baptized and entered the fold of Jesus Christ. I felt the Spirit that beautiful day! But I was alone when I joined the Church. I wanted my family to be with me.
When I talked to my wife, Clirime, about the Church, she would not listen at first. Her grandfather belonged to a different religion, and she wondered why The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints had even come to Albania. I knew that the only way I could bring her into the gospel was through my example. Through our actions, people can see who we really are.
Clirime noticed changes in me as I gave up alcohol and started coming home early from work. Because of the changes I was making, she started to feel the Spirt of God as I told her about the Church. I cannot describe the happy feeling I had when she told me that one day she would also get baptized. Soon she began taking the missionary lessons, which I helped the missionaries teach. I was especially happy when she set a date for her baptism, six months after I was baptized.
With her baptism, and the baptism of our two children when they each turned eight, I felt that we could become an eternal family. But baptism was just the beginning. To prepare to go to the temple, we knew that we had to follow God to the end of our lives, keeping the commandments, going to church, partaking of the sacrament, serving in callings, reading the scriptures, and learning more about covenants and the plan of salvation.
The day we were sealed as a family in the Frankfurt Germany Temple was another beautiful day. In the temple, I came to understand more about the plan of happiness our God has for us, and I felt His love.
I still remember the promises Clirime and I made in the temple. Whenever something goes wrong or we are having a hard time, my mind goes back to those promises.
As a family we try to live in harmony with each other because that is what we felt in the temple. Every time I think of the temple, I feel happy and blessed. I know that God is real and that He loves us and wants us to be happy.

Lincoln lived with his family in Santiago, Chile, until his mother died when he was 10. Afterward, he lived with his aunt and uncle. When Lincoln was 18, Elder Barton and Elder Bentley came to his aunt and uncle’s home. Lincoln’s aunt and grandmother immediately accepted the gospel, but Lincoln avoided the missionaries. One Sunday morning, his normally gentle grandmother came to his room, ripped the quilt off his bed, and told him he was going to church with them. Shocked by his grandmother’s unusual behavior and out of respect for her, he got up and went to church. That day he felt something new and powerful within his soul that changed his life. He soon became one of the Church’s first converts in Chile.

Prison warden Kenyon J. Scudder related this experience:
A friend of his happened to be sitting in a railroad coach next to a young man who was obviously depressed. Finally the man revealed that he was a paroled convict returning from a distant prison. His imprisonment had brought shame to his family, and they had neither visited him nor written often. He hoped, however, that this was only because they were too poor to travel and too uneducated to write. He hoped, despite the evidence, that they had forgiven him.
To make it easy for them, however, he had written them to put up a signal for him when the train passed their little farm on the outskirts of town. If his family had forgiven him, they were to put a white ribbon in the big apple tree which stood near the tracks. If they didn’t want him to return, they were to do nothing; and he would remain on the train as it traveled west.
As the train neared his home town, the suspense became so great he couldn’t bear to look out of his window. He exclaimed, “In just five minutes the engineer will sound the whistle indicating our approach to the long bend which opens into the valley I know as home. Will you watch for the apple tree at the side of the track?” His companion changed places with him and said he would. The minutes seemed like hours, but then there came the shrill sound of the train whistle. The young man asked, “Can you see the tree? Is there a white ribbon?”
Came the reply: “I see the tree. I see not one white ribbon, but many. There is a white ribbon on every branch. Son, someone surely does love you.”
In that instant all the bitterness that had poisoned a life was dispelled. “I felt as if I had witnessed a miracle,” the other man said. Indeed, he had witnessed a miracle. We too can experience this same miracle when we, with hand and heart, as did the Savior, lift and love our neighbor to a newness of life.

When I was in the eighth grade, I competed in miniature bull riding in the Idaho Junior Rodeo Association. The whole year, I battled back and forth for first place with a boy named Spencer. One week I would be in first place, and the next week he would be.
At the last rodeo of the year, Spencer pulled ahead of me—but just barely. To win, all I had to do was ride a little bit better. I came out of the chute and was riding great. Then, right before the buzzer, I got bucked off. That was it. Spencer was the new champion.
After the rodeo, I noticed him praying behind the chutes where he thought no one could see him. He was my greatest rival, but I wanted to be nice, so I went over and congratulated him, and he told me he appreciated the kind words. We started talking about our dreams of being world champions. I got to thinking he was a pretty cool guy. From that day on, we were best friends, and every summer after that, we always did things together.

When I hugged Ashley good-bye a day before graduation, I thought I would see her again before she set off on a yearlong journey across the nation to help children. But less than a month after graduation, Ashley died in a car accident.
At 17, I’d never experienced the loss of a loved one, and I didn’t know how to handle this tragedy. I had never met Ashley’s family, so I didn’t feel that I could share my grief with them. My other friends hadn’t been as close to her as I had.
So I mourned alone in my room at night, with tears trickling into my ears as I lay on my bed. “Okay,” I thought, “this is natural. I’ll have my cry and then go to sleep.” But to my surprise, the pain didn’t end. I was frightened to feel a great hole growing inside of me, and it felt bottomless.
In desperation, I pulled out my scriptures and read blindly until a measure of calm stopped the aching, and I slept. But the sadness continued. For about a week it was hard to sleep, and the tears kept falling.
I started to get angry. I was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I knew that death was not the end and that Ashley was in a better and happier place. I was aware that I would see her again. I didn’t understand why I was having such a hard time getting over her death while knowing these things were true. I’d always heard that members of the Church weren’t as sad at funerals because they know about our life after death, and I felt ashamed of my sorrow.
As time passed, so did the ache, but occasionally something would remind me of my friend, and I would have a hard time controlling my emotions.
It’s now been over three years since Ashley’s death, and I’ve finally come to a better understanding of my grief. Jesus Christ blesses those who mourn and commands us to “live together in love, insomuch that thou shalt weep for the loss of them that die” (D&C 42:45).
My tears for the loss of my friend were not wrong. These tears did not indicate a lack of faith in God’s plan. Comfort can reach us. It will sit beside the grief, and while not replacing sorrow, will at least keep it from overpowering one’s heart entirely.
I still think of Ashley occasionally. I picture her in her favorite striped sweater and with the hundreds of friends she had from all areas of the high school. Many times I have thanked my Heavenly Father for not answering my prayer that first day of choir class to be seated by someone I knew. If He had, I never would have experienced the joy of knowing such an inspiring person before she left this earth.

We all have concerns and needs that we can feel alone in. He cares about our concerns no matter how great or small. I have felt the need for His help when worrying about seemingly small things like the ever-present friend I call “house repairs.” Without a spouse to consult with, I can worry alone about the right contractor, fair costs, taking time away from work to be home, and being a good steward over my finances and home. It was a triumph the other day to get my garage door fixed! The Lord heard my concern. And though small in the grand scheme of things, He answered my prayer. How? Through a kind neighbor, the help of the Spirit, and a video on YouTube, I was blessed to know what to do to fix the door.

At last Benito reached Oaxaca. It had taken him three days to walk down the mountain from the hut where he had lived with his uncle for the past nine years. Benito was only three years old when both of his parents died, and he could not remember either of them. Nor could he remember having had enough to eat or to wear. Benito spent each day herding his uncle’s sheep near the pool at the bottom of the towering snow-capped peaks while he dreamed of some day going to Oaxaca to find his sister Josefa who lived there. In Oaxaca there might also be hope of good food, decent clothing, and a chance to go to school. There was so much Benito wanted to know!
His bare brown feet were blistered from the three-day journey. His clothes were almost in tatters. Benito carried with him only a gourd from which to drink, and he ate the few berries he picked from the bushes along the way.
When Benito reached the city he found that the people in the market place spoke a language he did not understand and so they could not answer any of his questions. Benito Juarez was a Zapotec Indian, and he had never heard Spanish spoken before he reached Oaxaca, Mexico. For a moment he almost wished he were back with the sheep. But when Benito remembered how often his uncle had beaten him and how he had sent him to find a sheep that had either strayed or been stolen, Benito pushed back his thin shoulders and kept walking and asking questions until he found someone who helped him find his sister.
Nearly thirty years later Benito was elected governor of Oaxaca. In 1861, when he was fifty-five years of age, Benito Juarez was elected president of all Mexico.
The story of the ragged shepherd boy who was always proud of his Indian heritage, who ignored the cruelty of his schoolmates because he was so eager to learn, and who suffered many hardships all through his life is a thrilling one to read. It is well known to children throughout Mexico, and a statue of this great man stands in almost every city and village. Even streets and schools and cities have been named after him.
Benito Juarez lived during a very crucial time. Many historians believe the dream of liberty and education for all that Benito carried with him down the mountain from his uncle’s hut did more to shape the destiny of Mexico than anything else. Benito Juarez is honored as the liberator of his country, and these words he spoke long ago are still found painted on walls throughout Mexico: “For nations, as well as for individuals, respect for the rights of others is peace.”

When a friend invited me to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in 2020, I reluctantly agreed. At first, I didn’t feel it was the place to be, but I continued to attend sacrament meeting. Eventually, I was baptized.
I did not understand, however, the concept of having a testimony as spoken of by other members of the Church. The sister missionaries and I had read some scriptural verses together, but I had never opened the Book of Mormon on my own. Despite great efforts by members of the Church to welcome me and keep me active, I soon began coming late to church, skipping meetings, and going back to a worldly state.
Then came one day when I felt a mood swing with a troubled heart. I felt I had been too unstable, worldly, and antagonistic toward the things of God. I recognized I was not on the right track. While in this mood, I glanced toward the scriptures on my bed.
I called upon God to say something to me. I said a little prayer and waited to hear anything at all. I needed some comfort and clarity.
Then I heard something. I do not know whether the sound came from inside my mind or inside my ears, but I heard the words “Helaman 3:27.” I knew that the book of Helaman was in the Book of Mormon, so I took the scriptures and went to the table of contents to locate that book.
What I read next was a message from God to me specifically for that moment of my life: “Thus we may see that the Lord is merciful unto all who will, in the sincerity of their hearts, call upon his holy name.”
This passage changed my perception about my actions and about the Book of Mormon. I realized that my actions and insincerity toward God had been wrong and that I needed to call upon Him and repent. I know that God will not deny me His mercies and blessings so long as I am sincere in calling upon Him and following Him.
That’s how my testimony came of the Book of Mormon—a book I had showed no interest in reading. I know that God lives, that He speaks to us today, and that the Book of Mormon is true.

Scott was asked to give a talk in his sacrament meeting in the Bluebell Ward, Altamont Utah Stake. He chose to talk about his involvement in raising guide dogs. He read the scripture, “For behold, it is not meet that I should command in all things; … Verily I say, men should be anxiously engaged in a good cause, and do many things of their own free will, and bring to pass much righteousness” (D&C 58:26–27). Scott explained that raising puppies to be guide dogs is a way he can help others. It’s a good cause that takes lots of time and daily devotion. Scott explains, “Kennel dogs won’t make it as guide dogs because the puppies have to be raised with love. We don’t really have to worry about teaching them, but our responsibility is to love and care for them.”

Photographs by Christina Smith
For violinist Claire Z. of Idaho, USA, music has always been important. “It just makes everything better,” she says. “It gives you something to focus on and enjoy and share with others.” Music also gives Claire a way to share her beliefs. “I’m not very outgoing. Music is a way to bear my testimony.”
Growing up, Claire loved playing the violin and thought about studying it in college. But a four-wheeling accident almost changed her path forever.
When Claire was 13, she and her friend were riding a four-wheeler together near Claire’s house. At a curve in the road, Claire lost control of the vehicle and it flipped. Claire’s friend was unharmed, but Claire’s left hand—the hand she most needed to play the violin—was crushed underneath a metal bar. Claire and her friend crawled out from under the vehicle and walked home, singing hymns and Primary songs to keep up their spirits.
It took several surgeries and a year of physical therapy before Claire could even think about playing the violin again. At first it seemed impossible because the fingers of her left hand were weak and most of her ring finger had been amputated. Between surgeries, Claire found comfort playing the piano with her right hand.
Claire struggled with feeling angry and sad at the beginning of her trial. She remembers one night when she was having a hard time. “I felt like I was suffocating,” Claire says, “like something really heavy was lying on my chest, and I couldn’t breathe. Finally, I just knelt down and prayed, ‘Heavenly Father, please help me to get through this and be OK.’ And immediately that weight, that pressure just lifted, and I felt like I could do it. That was a really amazing experience. You can get through hard things with Heavenly Father.”
Before the accident, Claire had been the youngest member of her city’s symphony. After the accident, she was worried she would never play the violin again.
Claire’s violin teacher started to research how to build a backward violin that could be held with the right hand instead of the left. Everything on and inside the violin had to be moved around. Other music teachers and professional musicians said it was impossible, but Claire, her mother, and her violin teacher knew it could be done and eventually found someone who would make the violin.
Once the new violin was ready, it was very frustrating for Claire to learn to play with her right hand. She’d spent years training her left hand and fingers to move quickly across violin strings. Now she had to start over and teach her right hand to do it all. She felt discouraged by her memories of playing, because she was now unable to play as well as she had before. But with time, practice, and prayer, she did improve.
After six months of daily practice, Claire eventually earned a spot back in the symphony with her friends. She also put on a piano and violin recital with her friends at the hospital where she’d been treated. Those who know her think of her as an inspiration and have learned from her example of hard work, determination, and faith in the Lord.
Claire has learned a lot from her trial, but she thinks the most important lesson is to stay positive. “Don’t let your anger control you,” she says. “You have to get negative feelings out because they’re all in there, but make sure you’re focusing on the good in your situation and finding the positive after you have those moments. You have to make yourself think positively and find the good things, however few or little you think they may be.”
Claire says that good support also helped her stay positive. “I have great family, friends, and neighbors who were just happy, visited me, and brought me lots of treats.”
Claire’s life is very different from the life she may have imagined a few years ago, but she says, “I don’t think I’d ever want it to change. I’ve met so many amazing people.” With the Lord’s help, hard work, determination, and a positive attitude, Claire can once again follow her dream and continue playing the violin.

Mark Madsen led the Stanford basketball team to the NCAA Final Four last year. He is a tenacious and aggressive player, and it would be easy to assume that basketball is the only thing that matters to such an impressive athlete. But Mark, who served a mission in Spain, says that it’s church, not sports, that gives him the anchor he needs in his life.
“Going to church at the student ward is a huge relief for me, especially after a road trip with the team,” says Mark. “After a few days in a strange city playing against tough guys, it’s nice to come and sing the opening hymn and be with my ward family. I love Sundays.”

My grandfather had been living in Farmington, Utah, for a few years before he and his family were asked to go out into south-central Idaho and help settle a new community to be named Oakley. My father, Hector, was a teenager when they moved. My mother, Clara, was a teenager living in Tooele, Utah, when her father was asked to move to Oakley and build the first flour mill there. And so Hector and Clara fell in love out in that little Idaho town.
When it was time to be married in 1890, they didn’t ask where they would be married and what they would do. They knew what to do. I remind those of you who may not have your geography straight that in that part of Idaho it is about 180 miles to the Logan Temple. But my parents went to the Logan Temple from that little town to be married on May 15, 1890. I’ve often wondered how they made the trip. Imagine one of the old double-seat surrey buggies without any sides on it, pulled by a team of horses. In spite of spring rains, they set out to go 180 miles in the buggy.
I don’t know how many were in the company, but if you would imagine a modern automobile with its steel top, glass sides, heaters, radio, comfortable seats by the side of that buggy, you would see a great difference. Imagine those young people with some of their party organizing to travel 180 miles. It would take a week. They set out to make the seven-day trip to the temple in that buggy. They were without sleeping bags or winter clothing as we know it today, but they had clothing that was appropriate for that time—blankets and quilts—and some flour sacks filled with food.
So when we sing about the strength of the hills, we should thank the Lord for the strength of where we are and who we are and what we believe in and how we live. Are the young people today wondering if it would be inconvenient for them to go a few miles to the Manti Temple or the St. George Temple or the Atlanta Georgia Temple or even to the Stockholm Sweden Temple or the Johannesburg South Africa Temple or wherever it might be? Picture in your minds what went on only a few years ago, and your travel to a temple will not seem so inconvenient.

A couple in England was invited to attend a special seminar for those who had never been to the temple. “Each week we heard testimonies of many people who had been blessed by keeping the commandments of the Lord, of people who had had to change their lives to go to the temple. That really helped us. And we were given a different project each week concerning the gospel that we were to include in our activities and to achieve during that week.” When the seminar ended they felt prepared to go to the temple and had the necessary interviews. “On November 9, 1973, we were able to receive our endowments and were sealed with our children, Jon and Jamey, for time and eternity. That was truly the most glorious day of our lives.”

Let me tell you about one shining example named Hillary, a Beehive living in Lagos, Nigeria. Some of her classmates were mocking her standards, particularly her modest clothing. She made the decision to always carry two small copies of For the Strength of Youth with her. When someone gives her a bad time, she hands them one of the copies to keep and explains the standards and why she follows them. The other copy she keeps as her personal reminder to be obedient to the standards.

My sister and I were no doubt the envy of many during the great economic depression in the United States during the 1930s. We grew up in a comfortable home. Our father had a job and provided well for the family. Our mother put meals on the table, shopped with us for clothes, and routinely visited her aged mother. I did not know what the Depression was until I studied it in school as a teenager.
Nevertheless, my sister and I felt deprived—emotionally deprived—by our mother. As adults, we have endlessly discussed the lack of warmth, approval, constructive criticism, moral training, and hospitality in our home. Why had Mother seemed so uncaring, critical, and self-centered?
After I joined the Church, I “adopted” someone else’s tender, loving mother as my own. However, it still didn’t salve the hurt. Even Mother’s death provided no healing. It meant only that the yearning for her love and approval could not be fulfilled in mortality.
One day, I drove alone to the temple to be baptized for Mother. As I drove, I prayed for her. Hot tears stung my eyes, and choking sobs welled up inside me.
The sorrow and hurt I was feeling continued all the way to the temple and even into the baptismal font. But when I rose up out of the water, a healing balm enveloped me. It washed away all my bitterness and longing.
I saw Mother, stalwart and whole. The Holy Ghost filled me with the awareness that my mother had been handicapped in mortal life. She had had an emotional handicap, the source of which remains a secret to me. But she is handicapped no longer. And neither am I.
How thankful I am for the Savior and for his love, which extends to me and to my now-whole mother, who is learning the lessons she could not learn in mortal life. I am eager to meet her and to share the love with her that we both were deprived of on earth.

You may know that I am the mother of seven sons. I know boys! It has been an exciting life at our house! I’ve learned a lot from them and from their friends, both boys and girls, and I could tell you a few of their secrets. Maybe I could just share one and hope that I won’t get in trouble. This is it: boys hate to be embarrassed. I remember the time a young man I know had a date for the prom. He brought her to our house before the dance so we could take pictures. When they got there he came into the kitchen, where I was looking for the camera, and said: “Wait until you see my date’s dress. She looks so beautiful!” This boy had never said anything like that before so I could hardly wait to see what he meant.
When I saw her I understood; she was lovely. The dress she was wearing was beautiful; I learned that she and her mother had searched everywhere for it. When they finally found this dress, they knew it would be perfect with some added fabric and finishing touches to meet their high standards.
All their efforts were rewarded because she was absolutely radiant this night, but it was more than the dress that made her shine. It was her quiet confidence. As I looked at her, I was reminded of the scripture, “Let virtue garnish thy thoughts unceasingly; then shall thy confidence wax strong.” Where did this confidence that she had come from? I noticed that this young woman could focus on others because she was not worried about how she looked. She had taken care of that detail weeks before. The young man she was with felt comfortable and safe and happy when he was with her because her dress was not revealing. It was modest in every way, and this made her confident and happy. And that’s appealing. He wasn’t embarrassed by her; he was proud of her.