Gospel Story Finder

As a mother of three young children, I have often found it difficult to take time for personal scripture study. And sometimes when our children are restless, our family scripture study has not been very rewarding.
One Sunday during a moment of quiet contemplation, I pondered these problems. Softly the answer came. If I studied at least one chapter in the scriptures daily, then at night I could review the chapter with my family.
The review is simple. First, I give a brief overview of the chapter. Next, I relate my feelings and impressions about it. Finally, I read several phrases and verses I feel are important.
Through my studying, I have gained a greater understanding of the scriptures. My husband learns from my summaries even while he plays with our children, and I can speak in terms my toddler understands. Our family has received many blessings from this answer to prayer.

When I left to serve a mission, my mother and sister were members of the Church. Six months later my mother wrote me a letter, saying, “I found an extra copy of the Book of Mormon in our home. Your father said I must have put my book in the wrong place. I’m so excited. Something is happening.” We later found out that four months after I left, my father stopped the missionaries in the street to ask them what a mission was like, where they ate and slept, how they were supported, and what their schedule was. He wanted to know why this Church was more important to me than anything else.
Eight months after I left, I received my first letter from my dad. He wrote, “On 2 December 2000, I was baptized. Little by little I learned about the gospel. I am so proud of you. I’m so proud of my girl who didn’t give up and pulled us onto this path.” By the time I finished my mission, all of my family members were converted to the gospel and many relatives and friends had decided to join the Church.

In the summer of 1980, I was nearing the end of my service in the Massachusetts Boston Mission. One evening we had an appointment to teach a promising young college student about the plan of salvation.
Several times during the course of the lesson, I was almost overwhelmed as the Holy Ghost repeatedly witnessed to me that the principles we were teaching were true. I remember praying almost out loud: “I already know this. I have taught this lesson numerous times these past two years. I am grateful to feel thy Spirit, but please witness to our investigator as well!”
A short time after this evening, I met with my mission president, and he informed me that my mother had been killed in a tragic automobile accident. Naturally, this sudden loss came as a tremendous shock to my family and our entire community. But once the emotions of the moment passed and I had occasion to reflect, I recalled with perfect clarity the powerful witness of the Spirit I’d received during that plan of salvation lesson. I knew that this was the work of a loving Heavenly Father preparing me for the loss that was to come.
A day never passes that I do not miss the teaching and companionship of my mother. But a day also never passes that I am not reminded of how a loving Heavenly Father carefully prepared me for that loss.

… She couldn’t believe it! She, Kristi Evans, had been chosen as a contestant, and they were already to the final big choice of the show. She’d been so clever and careful and thoughtful and had won so many beautiful gifts. She had so much; how could anything be better? Yet here was the M.C. pointing toward another curtain where a gorgeous girl with a frozen smile gestured gracefully toward the next option. The M.C. was describing with his smooth voice all the joys that would await her if she were willing to give up the things she was certain she had for the things behind that curtain. The audience was shouting a din of advice all around her; she looked down at Nils. He shrugged and said, “It’s up to you.”
The M.C. said, “It’s up to you.”
The gorgeous girl gestured, and her grin dripped ice. Nils shrugged, and the M.C. urged her to hurry. She tried to think, but all that came through was, “It’s up to you.”
Suddenly she was seated beside Nils, the M.C. was signing off until tomorrow, and Kristi felt sick. It was all over and she had lost. Why, why, why had she traded that one last time? Why couldn’t she have realized that she had everything she could ever want or need already? She had had no idea what the curtain concealed; she had known what she had; she could see she was well off already. Why, why …

This past January I had the privilege of witnessing a profound act of service in the life of a woman who had lived in my ward when I served as bishop many years ago. Her name is Adele, and she and her two grown daughters—one of whom is handicapped—have lived for many years in the Rose Park area of the Salt Lake Valley. Adele, who is a widow, has struggled financially, and her life has often been difficult.
I had received a telephone call from an individual involved with the Gingerbread House Project inviting me to the unveiling of Adele’s home, the renovation of which had been undertaken during a period of just over three days and nights by many kind and generous individuals, all working voluntarily with materials donated by numerous local businesses. During the time the makeover of her home had been accomplished, Adele and her two daughters had been hosted in a city a number of miles away, where they themselves had received some pampering.
I was present when the limousine bearing Adele and her daughters arrived on the scene. The group which had been waiting for them included not only family and friends but also many of the craftsmen who had worked night and day on the project. It was obvious they were pleased with the result and were anxious to see the reaction of Adele and her daughters.
The women stepped from the car, blindfolds in place. What a thrilling moment it was when the blindfolds were removed and Adele and her daughters turned around and saw their new home. They were absolutely stunned by the magnificent project which had been completed, including a redesign of the front, an extension of the home itself, and a new roof. The outside looked new and immaculate. They could not help but cry.
I accompanied Adele and others as we entered the home and were amazed at what had been accomplished to beautify and enhance the surroundings. The walls had been painted, the floor coverings changed. There were new furnishings, new curtains, new drapes. The cupboards in the kitchen had been replaced; there were new countertops and new appliances. The entire house had been done over from top to bottom, each room spotless and beautiful. Adele and her daughters were literally overcome. However, just as poignant and touching were the expressions on the faces of those who had worked feverishly to make the house new. Tears welled in their eyes as they witnessed the joy they had brought into the lives of Adele and her daughters. Not only had a widow’s burden been made lighter, but countless other lives were touched in the process. All were better people for having participated in this effort.

One time I went to stay at my abuelo’s home with my mum and sisters. (Abuelo is the Spanish word for grandpa.) When I got up in the morning, I started playing with the curtains in the bedroom. Suddenly the rod fell down. I was very worried and scared to tell anyone because I didn’t want my abuelo to be angry. I said a prayer and asked Heavenly Father what I should do. I felt the Holy Ghost tell me that I should tell my abuelo the truth. I went downstairs and told him that I accidentally broke the curtains and that I was very sorry. Abuelo said it was OK, and that it wasn’t my fault because it was already broken. I felt really happy for telling the truth.

We might have difficult classes or textbooks that are challenging to comprehend as stumbling blocks.

We might have difficult classes or text books that are challenging. In that first devotional by President Henry B. Eyring when I was a student, he told the story of his own learning experience reading a text on thermodynamics when he was a young physics student. He joked a bit about having that hazy-eyed experience of reading something that was tough to comprehend, but he stayed at it. He began to doubt, thinking, why would his need to understand matter to God? He knew God loved him, so he prayed for help. President Eyring said he remembered the building and the place where he was studying that the Spirit confirmed that what he was learning was true, and he began to understand clearly. Hearing this story inspired me in my freshman year that I could take my challenges with classes to the Lord and receive a similar experience when I applied myself to study as President Eyring had. You may also receive this help, inspiration, and guidance as you are finishing up with projects and exams this semester. You will be lifted and given strength to step just a little higher to finish well.

As a junior in high school, I was placed in an English class called Everything Is an Argument. We had to debate our feelings on certain topics, which was something I wasn’t looking forward to.
One day the teacher brought up the topic of whether or not we believed the Bible to be true or just made-up stories. It was a conversation I didn’t want to join. As the discussion went on, I was astonished at the number of people who claimed that the Bible couldn’t possibly be true, and I didn’t know how I could change their opinion. Just then, a student in the back of the class said he knew that the Bible was true. After that, a few others added their belief as well.
One student said he thought that people needed something to live for. I immediately thought of the plan of salvation, and before I knew it I found my hand raised for my turn in the discussion. I wasn’t sure what I’d say; I just knew I had to say something.
I began to question my reflex to shoot my hand into the air, but I thought that this might be the only chance these 28 people would get to hear about this marvelous plan.
My turn came and I told my class that I knew there was something we live for—a plan called the plan of salvation. The teacher asked me to explain myself, and I told him that I would have an easier time explaining if I could draw a diagram on the whiteboard.
With everyone’s eyes on me, I turned to the board and began to draw a diagram of the plan of salvation, full of circles and labels. The room was silent as the class watched. My heart was trying to run away from me because of how nervous I was that I’d say something wrong or that I wouldn’t be able to answer the questions I knew would come. As I turned toward my classmates, I had an overwhelming confirmation that the Holy Ghost would guide me to say the right things. I knew that the plan of salvation was true, and there was nothing stopping me from bearing testimony to my class of this belief!
I started with the beginning of the diagram and talked about as much as I could without confusing anyone. I was surprised to not hear anyone tell me I was wrong, and I was even glad when my teacher and a few classmates asked questions. At the end of my question-and-answer session, the bell rang for the dismissal of school, and I thankfully made a beeline for the door! A friend of mine caught up with me and told me that he respected me for standing up for what I believed in and wished that he had the courage that I showed in class. The Holy Ghost really helped me in class that day!
A few days later, my older brother was asked about the plan of salvation by a friend of his because her younger brother was in my class and had told her about it. To hear that someone had talked to his family about what I’d said was a great blessing to me. I love that I have the Holy Ghost to guide me in my life.

SAN ANDRES, PERU—When a group of young men from the four branches of the Church here won their area soccer championship, it brought recognition to the Church and opened doors to preaching the gospel.
The Latter-day Saint team called itself “Moroni’s Strong and Mighty.” At first, no one expected them to win even one game against any of the other fifteen teams in the tournament, some of which were professional. But the Latter-day Saints kept winning. They won the final game 2-0.
The team attributed its success to preparation and to living the Word of Wisdom. When the championship trophy was awarded, the team captain bore his testimony on television. Later, the Church held a successful open house in San Andrés that was attended by enthusiastic residents.
Jorge Panduro, a member of the winning team, said it was a good chance or the Church to receive recognition. “It was satisfying to see the Church held up as a standard to be admired by those who are not members,” he said.
One man taking tickets at the gate said he wanted to receive the missionary discussions. He commented, “As I saw all those people cheering and talking and having fun—and no one smoking or drinking—I decided to learn more about the Church.”

My father shared this experience from when he was younger:

When I was in high school, I learned how to play pool. I am not sure where I learned, but we did have a pool hall in town. Several other boys and I would go downtown at noon, go to the pool hall, and play pool. The front of the pool hall was a bar, and it seems there was always someone there drinking. We never paid much attention to them; we would just go to the back of the room where the pool tables were and play pool. The owners never said anything to us as long as we were just playing pool.

Our stake president owned a grocery store almost directly across the street from the pool hall and had observed us going into the hall nearly every noon. One day while I was in the store, he asked why we were going into the pool hall. I explained that we were just going in to play pool. He explained that some people who saw us going in may not think that and might get the wrong idea about what kind of boys we were. He then explained what it meant to “shun the very appearance of evil.”

My father recognized what he had been doing and how it was more important and valuable to set a good example than satisfying his love for playing pool.

When I went into Young Women I was a little nervous, but then I got a visit from the Beehive presidency and the Beehive leaders and it calmed my nerves. They told me what we would be doing in Young Women and explained the Personal Progress program. They also told me what room we met in at church. I enjoyed getting to know some of the girls who would be in Young Women with me. Now I am the Beehive president in my ward. When a girl turns 12, my presidency, my Beehive leaders, and I go to her house and talk to her about Young Women and Personal Progress. So, if you are nervous, don’t be. Young Women is really fun and we learn a lot about the gospel. I hope you have fun in Young Women.
Victoria O., age 13, Utah

Several years ago I presided over one of our missions. Two of our missionaries were teaching a fine family, and they had expressed a desire to be baptized, and then they suddenly cooled off. The father had learned about tithing and canceled all further meetings with the missionaries.
Two sad elders reported to the branch president, who himself was a recent convert, that he would not have this fine family in his branch.
A few days later the branch president persuaded the elders to join him in another visit to the family.
“I understand,” he told the father, “that you have decided not to join the Church.”
“That is correct,” he answered.
“The elders tell me that you are disturbed about tithing.”
“Yes,” said the father. “They had not told us about it; and when I learned of it, I said, ‘Now that’s too much to ask. Our church has never asked anything like that.’ We think that’s just too much, and we will not join.”
“Did they tell you about fast offering?” he asked.
“No,” said the man. “What is that?”
“In the Church we fast for two meals each month and give the value of the meals for the help of the poor.”
“They did not tell us that,” the man said.
“Did they mention the building fund?”
“No, what is that?”
“In the Church we all contribute toward building chapels. If you joined the Church, you would want to participate both in labor and with money. Incidentally, we are building a new chapel here,” he told him.
“Strange,” he said, “that they didn’t mention it.”
“Did they explain the welfare program to you?”
“No,” said the father. “What is that?”
“Well, we believe in helping one another. If someone is in need or ill or out of work or in trouble, we are organized to assist, and you would be expected to help.
“Did they also tell you that we have no professional clergy? All of us contribute our time, our talents, our means, and travel—all to help the work. And we’re not paid for it in money.”
“They didn’t tell us any of that,” said the father.
“Well,” said the branch president, “If you are turned away by a little thing like tithing, it is obvious you’re not ready for this Church. Perhaps you have made the right decision and you should not join.”
As they departed, almost as an afterthought, he turned and said, “Have you ever wondered why people will do all of these things willingly? I have never received a bill for tithing. No one has ever called to collect it. But we pay it—and all of the rest—and count it a great privilege.
“If you could discover why, you would be within reach of the pearl of great price, which the Lord said the merchant man was willing to sell all that he had that he might obtain it.
“But,” said the branch president, “It is your decision. I only hope you will pray about it.”
A few days later the man appeared at the branch president’s home. No, he did not want to reschedule the missionaries. That would not be necessary. He wanted to schedule the baptism of his family. They had been praying, fervently praying.

My parents took back my credit card, my cell phone, and my car. They ignored me for a few months and would not let me speak to my brothers. My sister also found it difficult to accept me for a while. I moved to Utah for college, where I met a wonderful man and fell in love. My parents would not meet my husband when we were married, but now those tensions are slowly resolving, and I am in hopeful pursuit of my eternal family.

It was June of 1987 and I was visiting a friend for one week in a city 600 km from where I lived. When Sunday arrived, I told him that perhaps I’d not go to his ward but to a different one. The fact is that I was planning to secretly watch a very important soccer game on TV (a Sunday practice that I have since abandoned long ago) that would take place in the exact same time of his ward’s Sunday block. I did promise him that I would go to church in some other unit at a different time, but to no avail. He exercised his agency and persisted in convincing me to do the right thing. I ended up going to church with him and his family.
Now at that very same moment, on the other side of that very same city, a young woman—also a member of my friend’s ward—was similarly confronted with an important decision to make. She was ready to leave for church with her parents when her dear aunt and family unexpectedly arrived at her home to visit and stay for several days. For a moment, she felt like she needed to stay home and give proper attention to those relatives while the rest of the family went to church. However, a thought came to her mind: “Your relatives know of your faith, they’ll be fine staying in your home for some hours until you come back. Be a good example and honor the Sabbath day and everything will be fine”. That’s what she did.
When I arrived at my friend’s ward some minutes before sacrament meeting—and began talking with some young men of my age group—I saw from a distance this gorgeous green-eyed girl passing by and asked them: “Who is she?!?!” They told me to forget about her as every returned missionary in that stake was after her and I’d have no chance at all.
However, all of the sudden, this beautiful girl approaches and boldly asks me, in front of all:
Girl: “Can I ask you something: Are you married?”
Me: “No!” (because I want to marry you, I thought.)
Girl: “There’s a new mall in town, would you like to visit it with me tomorrow?”
Me: “Of course!!”
Girl: “And by the way, sacrament meeting will start momentarily, shall we sit together?”
Me: “Of course!!”
Me (turning to the awestruck guys around me): “If you will excuse me.”
I went into the chapel with her.
It was the same girl who was confronted with the decision of staying home with her unexpected visitors or coming to church that Sunday.
We married in the temple 10 months later. If both of us that day had not followed the promptings to go to church—regardless of our particular situations that day—we possibly wouldn’t ever have met.

I wanted my ninth birthday to be special. I love learning about the colonial times in America, so I decided that I wanted to have a colonial-theme birthday party with my friends. I planned everything for the party, but I wanted to have some kind of an activity that colonial girls would have had. My mother and I thought about it for a while. Then my mother told me that our ward was collecting quilts for the Church’s Humanitarian Center. She suggested that my friends and I tie a baby quilt to contribute with our ward’s other quilts. She explained to me that the quilts are sent to those in need throughout the world. I thought of a baby or small child somewhere who may not have anything to keep him or her warm during the cold winter months. I became excited about making this quilt.
My mother took me to the store, and I picked out the fabric that we would use for the quilt. I wanted to find the perfect fabric for this gift of love I was making for my birthday. I found some that was soft and warm. There was light-blue striped fabric for one side and light-blue floral for the other. I imagined a baby somewhere snuggling into the soft warmth of my quilt. A sister in our ward let me use her quilting supplies and offered some words of advice for putting the quilt together.
Finally the day of the party arrived. We did normal party things for the first hour, and then our attention was turned to the quilt that was set up, ready to be tied. Since my mother was concerned that my friends might not stay interested in the quilt long enough to finish it, she explained what it was for. My friends caught the vision and became excited to provide a quilt for a small child somewhere.
After my mother showed us how to tie the quilt, we had a great time working on it together. When it was time for the party to end, no one wanted to go home! My friends called their parents to see if they could stay longer and finish the quilt. We were all so excited and thought that we would even like to make more if we could. We stayed another couple of hours working on the quilt. When we finished tying it, my mother bound the edges.
The following Sunday, my mother took the quilt to Relief Society so that the sisters in our ward could see it. My friends and I feel good when we think about the service we gave. We know that when we serve those around us, we are serving Jesus and following His example. I will always remember my ninth birthday as one of the most special of all.

On the island of Sardinia, Antonio Mura turned the missionaries away twice, refusing to come to the door. The third time the missionaries came, they told the person who answered the door that there was a man in the house who needed to hear the message they brought. They knew this, they said, because the Spirit of the Lord had guided them to his door three times. Antonio Mura finally listened to the gospel—and found “it was like a window opening on a beautiful landscape I hadn’t known was there.” He “devoured” the Book of Mormon, he recalls. Since his baptism in 1973, he has served in a number of leadership positions including district president.

When I was called to serve as a bishop, our six young children made sacrament meetings challenging for my wife, Cristin, who had to manage them alone while I sat on the stand. As you may imagine, our children were often less than reverent. Noticing her situation, two members of our ward, John and Debbie Benich, began sitting with her each Sunday to help. Their kindness continued for years, and they became surrogate grandparents to our family. Like the Lord, these disciples had noticed the unspoken need and acted in love—a prominent sign of their discipleship.

The invitation to appear on the popular Edward R. Murrow show on CBS to present a typical Mormon home evening was a serious challenge. The eyes of the nation would be focused on this popular show. Not only the family but, to a great extent, the Church would be on trial before the people. There was some reluctance on the part of the wise mother. She did not want her daughters publicized; but with the persuasion of her sons that this would be an opportunity to do missionary work, she readily agreed. There followed prayer and fasting, but no rehearsing. It was to be an informal Mormon home evening. Questions were to be answered, as the children decided, with “a Church answer.” The Lord heard our prayers, and afterwards letters came in by the hundreds. Later, in a national magazine article, Mr. Murrow expressed his pleasure and surprise when he received more fan mail on the Mormon home evening with Secretary Benson’s family than on any other program of his years-long “Person to Person” series.

For gymnast Kim McCauley, a 14-year-old from the Rockwall Ward, “someday” began when she was a toddler. She was walking at six months, running at eight months, and by the time she hit three, her parents decided they’d better find a way to channel her energy, or they’d be exhausted in the chase. They enrolled her in gymnastics classes, and today, she not only is a top competitor on her high school team, but she also uses her talent in her spare time to teach gymnastics classes for small children.

Jason fixed his gaze on the carpet below him.

It had been only two months since he had started going back to church after having been a runaway for four months.

A lot can happen in four months when you’re just going with the flow, doing whatever seems like a good idea at the time. He had done things he thought would make him happy—and yet, strangely enough, they eventually made him feel worse.

He had quit high school, left home, and moved in with some friends across town. One night late, after he’d been drinking, he was hit by a car as he tried to cross the street.

The next thing he remembered was the sound of a familiar voice. “I’m Jason Miller’s mother. How is he?” she said to the nurse in intensive care.

“So far he’s stable, but he’s still unconscious.”

“My husband will be coming soon. He was out of town when we got the news. I phoned him, and he’ll be here in an hour. Is it okay if I stay here with my son?”

“Of course. I’ll get you a chair.”

Jason felt her hand on his. “Jason, I’m here.”

“He can’t hear you,” the nurse said.

Jason could hear his mother though. He just couldn’t let her know. There was some kind of a barrier.

“Jason, I love you. I’m sorry about your accident. Everything is going to be okay. As soon as your dad gets here, he’ll administer to you. He’ll be here in just a short time.” She paused. “Jason, you don’t know how many times I’ve prayed for you. Every day, several times a day. I’ve prayed that when you grow tired of being rebellious, that you’ll know we love you and come back. We made some mistakes as parents. Maybe we were too critical of you, too quick to find fault, but we did our best. There are some things we’d do differently now, but we did the best we could at the time.

“There’s a story the Savior told—I’ve thought so much about it lately. A father had a son who wanted to be independent. He asked for his inheritance and took it to live in another town. He lived a wild life. But then there was a famine, and he ran out of money and was forced to get a job feeding swine. He was so hungry he thought about eating the husks he was feeding to the pigs. But then he thought about his father’s servants, how much better off they were than he was. He decided to return home and ask his father if he could be just one of his servants.

“His father was in the field the day the son came home. The scriptures tell us he saw his son from afar off and ran out to greet him, and when he saw him, he threw his arms around him and welcomed him back and requested the servants to prepare a celebration dinner.

“I’ll tell you a secret. It was no accident that the father saw his son from far off, because I think he looked down that road for his son many times every day. Like your father and I have. Sometimes we’ve left the lights on all night just in case you might come home during the night. We wanted you to know you were welcome, but you never came.”

His mother broke down crying.

“I’m sorry. It’s just that sometimes it’s hard to be a parent. You’ll find that out someday. It’s hard to wait for a prodigal son to come home. We love you, Jason. All we want is what’s best for you. Heavenly Father loves you. Jason, please, when you’re able, come home. Live the gospel. It’s not too late to come back.”

Jason had heard everything his mother said, but he couldn’t seem to make any movement to tell her.

Later Jason was aware that his father had come into the room with another man. He felt their hands being placed lightly on his head. And then they administered to him.

The next day Jason came out of his coma. A week later he was well enough to go home.

And now he was working with the bishop on plans to someday serve a mission.

Jason stood up, cleared his throat, and began his testimony. “I’m glad that Christ gave the parable of the prodigal son …”