Gospel Story Finder

Tyson Kemege, stricken with polio and orphaned as an infant, grew up in Nairobi, Kenya, where he never slept on a mattress and rarely had two meals a day. He got around only with the aid of a pair of hand crutches.
He made up his mind to attend Kenya’s Augustana College to study information technology, but with no family and no money, his prospects seemed bleak.
Brother Kemege, who had joined the Church a few years earlier after completing his secondary education, contacted a senior missionary couple and told them of his desires. The missionaries put him in touch with the Perpetual Education Fund (PEF) committee. A PEF loan helped him gain admission to the school.
“I’m the luckiest man on earth,” Brother Kemege often told the missionaries.
Today, Brother Kemege serves as student body president of Augustana University and holds two callings in his ward.

Joseph Smith’s religious searchings were not directed exclusively to his own benefit and comfort. He frequently invoked the powers of heaven in behalf of others who suffered around him. In an early letter to his brother Hyrum, Joseph wrote:
“This morning after being called out of my bed in the night to go a small distance [to administer to a sister] I went and had an awful struggle with Satan, but being armed with the power of God he was cast out and the woman is clothed in her right mind. The Lord worketh wonders in this land.”27

“My parents were not active in the Church, but they were wonderful people. I remember my mother teaching me over and over the principle of obedience. When I received my first pair of roller skates, Mother cautioned me, ‘Now, don’t go down the hill, because it will be difficult for you. The hard, level surface on the east side of the house will be much easier for you.’
“But I wanted the thrill of going down the hill, and it was probably only five minutes later that I came in crying, with both knees badly scraped. Mother pointed out that if I had been obedient, I would not have been hurt. I’ve thought about that a lot of times since then, and I think that if we obey our parents and learn to call on our Heavenly Father and obey His prompting, we will avoid many difficulties.

Julie Loper, the Mia Maid adviser in the Sunnyside Ward, Yakima Washington Stake, shared this story: “My husband and I concentrated one of our family home evenings on what to do in case of an emergency. Since our children were so young, we felt the most important thing to tell them was to get help as fast as they could. We made up several situations, acted them out, and tested our children to see if they understood.
“Little did we know that the following Wednesday our efforts would pay off. Our daughter, Erin, 15 months old, fell into a four-foot-deep irrigation box that had a great deal of water rushing through it. Three-year-old Ryan was just coming out of the house when he heard her cries.
“All Ryan could see was her fingertips holding onto the cement. He did not take time to investigate further, but immediately called me for help as we had discussed the week before in home evening. Those valuable seconds saved made the difference. I was able to reach her before she was forced down into the pipe which carries water onto other farms.
“Had Ryan waited before going for help, Erin’s strength would have gone before help arrived. If he had attempted to pull her up himself, probably both of them would have fallen in. Ryan said, ‘Family night helped me know what to do.’”

When I was a very small boy, my father found a lamb all alone in the desert. The herd of sheep to which its mother belonged had moved on, and somehow the lamb got separated from its mother, and the shepherd must not have known that it was lost. Because it could not survive alone in the desert, my father picked it up and brought it home. To have left the lamb there would have meant certain death, either by falling prey to the coyotes or by starvation because it was so young that it still needed milk. My father gave the lamb to me and I became its shepherd.
For several weeks I warmed cow’s milk in a baby’s bottle and fed the lamb. We became fast friends. I named him Nigh—why I don’t remember. It began to grow. My lamb and I would play on the lawn. Sometimes we would lie together on the grass and I would lay my head on its soft, woolly side and look up at the blue sky and the white billowing clouds. I did not lock my lamb up during the day. It would not run away. It soon learned to eat grass. I could call my lamb from anywhere in the yard by just imitating as best I could the bleating sound of a sheep.
One night there came a terrible storm. I forgot to put my lamb in the barn that night as I should have done. I went to bed. My little friend was frightened in the storm and I could hear it bleating. I knew that I should help my pet, but wanted to stay safe, warm, and dry in my bed. I didn’t get up as I should have done. The next morning I went out to find my lamb dead. A dog had also heard its bleating cry and killed it. My young heart was broken. I had not been a good shepherd or steward of that which my father had entrusted to me. My father said, “Son, couldn’t I trust you to take care of just one lamb?” My father’s remark hurt me more than losing my woolly friend. I resolved that day, as a little boy, that I would try never again to neglect my stewardship as a shepherd if I were ever placed in that position again.

In 1937 my wife and I were touring in Europe. In France I sat at a banquet table of the Rotary International Convention in a fashionable hotel. The large, spacious banquet room held hundreds of people. The many waiters moved about the tables, and at every place besides plenteous silver utensils, line napkins, and fancy serving dishes were seven wine glasses. No one was watching me. The temptation nudged me: Shall I drink it or at least sip it? No one who cares will know. Here was quite a temptation. Shall I or shall I not?

Then the thought came: But I made a firm resolution when a boy that I would never touch the forbidden things. I had already lived a third of a century firm and resolute. I would not break my record now.

Remember, O youth of a noble birthright, that “wickedness never was happiness.” (Alma 41:10.) The unrighteous may pretend to be happy and may seek to entice others into such a way of life because misery loves company, as you know, but you will never see a happy sinner. Even the discontent of good people is traceable to such shortcomings as they have.

A casual observer may feel that an unrighteous person is successful and has everything he needs, and for a fleeting moment it may even seem so. But gross sin produces a deep emptiness. Thus the wicked seem to do more of the same in order to reassure themselves and to try to fill the void. When you see a life filled with desperation, there is transgression in it. We may pity such people, but it is wrong and naive to envy them!

There was a time in my life when things had been going wrong and I had very little sense of self-worth. Even my testimony had been at a low point. My school friends didn’t understand why I wouldn’t go with them on Sundays, why I didn’t swear, and why I wouldn’t drink or smoke. They basically told me my beliefs were foolish. In the back of my mind I was also beginning to question what I believed.
As I pondered my problems, I decided to read both my patriarchal blessing and the scriptures. As I read my blessing a feeling of peace and love came over me. I knew there was a God who knows and loves me. He has great expectations of things which I can achieve.
I then turned to the Book of Mormon. As I read the words of Korihor the anti-Christ, these words struck me:
“O ye that are bound down under a foolish and a vain hope, why do ye yoke yourselves with such foolish things? Why do ye look for a Christ? For no man can know of anything which is to come. Behold, these things which ye call prophecies, which ye say are handed down by holy prophets, behold, they are foolish traditions of your fathers. How do ye know of their surety? Behold, ye cannot know of things which ye do not see; therefore ye cannot know that there shall be a Christ. Ye look forward and say that ye see a remission of your sins. But behold, it is the effect of a frenzied mind; and this derangement of your minds comes because of the traditions of your fathers, which lead you away into a belief of things which are not so” (Alma 30:13–16).
I continued to read and gained great comfort from Alma’s response to Korihor:
“Believest thou that there is a God? And [Korihor] answered, Nay. Now Alma said unto him: … I know there is a God, and also that Christ shall come. And now what evidence have ye that there is no God, or that Christ cometh not? I say unto you that ye have none, save it be your word only. But, behold, I have all things as a testimony that these things are true; and ye also have all things as a testimony unto you that they are true; and will ye deny them?” (Alma 30:37–41).
I realized my school friends didn’t have any proof or evidence that what I believed was false. But I had the testimonies of thousands—of prophets, family members, and trusted friends—that it was true. And, most importantly, I had my own testimony confirmed to me by the Spirit.

Mother took me to many of her meetings. I felt like the ward “mascot.” All the sisters in the ward took good care of me and made me feel very special. I loved Primary, too, because the teachers were so kind. As I look back on it, I think that they probably treated all the children in their classes with great love and patience, but they made me feel very loved. Because of them, my memories of Primary always stir wonderful and warm feelings within my heart.

I would like to express my appreciation for J. Scott Henrie’s article “Harley-Davidson” which was published in the August 1985 New Era.
This story closely parallels the situation in my own family. I am about to complete my mission. When I came on my mission my youngest brother was 19 years old and totally inactive in the Church. His favorite pastime was motorbike riding, and he’d become involved with a “bad” group and was using drugs and was in trouble with the law.
When I read your story last year it really touched me. I could compare myself to Paul and my brother to Gus. At the same time as I read your story I also received a letter from my brother (the first in two months). He told me how proud he was of me for serving a mission and how he bragged to his friends about me. I never knew before how he’d felt about me and my mission. I had thought he didn’t care. But then I had hope for him—inspired by your story! I love that story. I posted it to my brother with my next letter.
A couple of weeks later he wrote me again and thanked me for the story and said it was great. Then he told me how he’d gone to church and seen the bishop and was trying to get his life straightened out. The next letter told me of his plans for a mission later this year. Since then he’s never missed church. Last May he was ordained an elder.
Of course I’m very happy. I know that my fasting and prayers have been answered. Your story has a place in my journal along with my brother’s letters. I wanted to share this with you because I thought you might enjoy a real-life story with a happy ending. Brother Henrie’s story was certainly inspired!
Name Withheld

I’ve also learned that the more good you do, the closer the Holy Spirit is to you. I often help people on the street if they are carrying lots of things. Recently, I saw this woman carrying some items on her head. I didn’t know the woman or anything about her, but I walked up to her and asked if I could help. She accepted, so I took some of the things she was carrying.
When we got to her house, I found out that she is a baker. At that time, I was not working, and I needed a way to save up some extra money. She didn’t know that I needed work. Out of the blue, she told me that she wanted someone to help her bake bread in exchange for pay. She offered me specific times that fit perfectly in my busy schedule. I don’t think it was a coincidence but a blessing from God for helping others. To me, this was Heavenly Father saying, “My boy, I see the good that you’ve been doing!”

Representative of the members who struggled through this difficult time is Poland’s Marianna Glownia. During World War II, she and her husband became involved in the underground fight against the Nazi occupation and were captured. Both her husband and child were killed. She lived, but the rigors of interrogation left her with broken wrists and ankles. Given no medical attention, the joints healed in that condition, leaving her crippled. She walked with difficulty and depended on neighbors for assistance.
After she joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in 1958, representatives of another church told her they would care for her the rest of her life if she renounced her membership. When I visited her in 1981, she looked at me and my traveling companion, Matthew Cziembronowicz, and said, “Brethren, I want you to know I have never renounced my faith.” Because of the difficult circumstances she faced, she had lost contact with the Church but not with the Lord.
And neither the Lord nor his Church had forgotten her and the others like her. Quietly, patiently, both were at work preparing the way for the time when the full resources of the Church could be brought back into Eastern Europe.

For most of the four years I played high school basketball, I’d been a starter and never missed a game. So when my coach told me that I wasn’t doing enough for the team and wouldn’t be starting the next game, something inside me broke. I’d been benched.
Trying not to cry, I ran out of the gym and, for the first time in my life, felt like giving up. And right then, for some reason, the word fortitude came to mind.
Fortitude means “courage in pain or adversity.” I lifted my head. Fortitude. No one was asking me to do this alone. Hands shaking, I opened my phone and searched the lyrics to “Come, Come, Ye Saints” (Hymns, no. 30). As I read the words, I felt I was being gently reminded of two things.
First, the lyrics ask, “Why should we mourn or think our lot is hard? ’Tis not so; all is right. Why should we think to earn a great reward if we now shun the fight?” And I remembered to be grateful.
Then, second, I read, “Gird up your loins; fresh courage take. Our God will never us forsake; and soon we’ll have this tale to tell—all is well! All is well!” And I remembered to be brave.

Look at fasting as a blessing, not a forced and dreaded chore. I used to focus on my hunger pains on fast Sunday until my mom told me to fast with a purpose. She said every time you have a hunger pain, think of what you’re fasting for and say a silent prayer. I tried that the next fast Sunday, and it really helped! I didn’t feel hungry, and I saw the effects of my fast when I received the help I had fasted for. I gained a testimony of fasting that day, and ever since, fast Sunday has always been a blessing to me.
Janae S., 15, California, USA

“When I was six years old, I had an experience that is very important to me. I’m afraid that I didn’t come out of it as a hero—exactly the opposite. Most of the time we’re not heroes. We are learning, progressing, correcting our mistakes. This incident really taught me about the consequences of dishonesty. In Germany at that time, if teachers wanted to send information to parents, they sent home a letter. Such a letter was always sent in a blue envelope, and so it was nicknamed the ‘blue letter.’ A blue letter always contained bad news! I must have done something wrong at school, because I got a blue letter. I put it in my school bag, and when I got home, my mother asked, ‘What’s wrong with you?’

“I lied. ‘Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.’

“She said, ‘Well, I see by the tip of your nose that something’s wrong.’

“That made me angry and very defensive, so after lunch I went into the living room and opened up my school bag and put everything on the desk. I must have been careless, because the blue letter fell out. My mother immediately saw it and asked, ‘What’s that?’ I tried to grab the envelope and hide it, but Mother had already picked it up and was opening it.

“I will never forget the feelings of pain that came over me while she was reading that letter. To make a mistake is one thing, but it isn’t a really serious mistake if you admit it, ask for forgiveness, and make a commitment not to do it again. But to try to hide a mistake, hoping that nobody will find out, that’s a serious mistake.

“And so the lie caused me much more sorrow than the original mistake. I can’t even remember what was in that blue letter, but I still recall, in vivid detail, the awfulness of lying to my mother.”

Michael was more than six feet tall, with long arms, skinny legs, thick glasses, and hair that looked as though it had been styled by a brisk wind. Michael had a passion for reading. In middle school, I’d often pass the library on my lunch break and see him with his nose in a book. We had some classes together, but I didn’t consider him a friend. I suppose the only token of friendship we shared was an occasional hurried hello or nod in the hallway between classes.
Often, I heard others say things about Michael that were anything but complimentary. He was an easy target because he was different. He was tall but not athletic. And he was always reading. I didn’t really care about him, and from what I could tell none of my peers did either.
But I began to see Michael differently one day when I least expected it—at work, teaching second-graders the basics of basketball.
Every Saturday during the fall and winter, I coach basketball and soccer for first- and second-graders. I’ve learned how to develop patience and a positive attitude because, if I’m not enthusiastic, they won’t be.
One second-grade girl in particular really knew how to test my ability to have a positive attitude. She tested the other coaches as well. We were getting ready for the day’s activities when one of the other coaches let out a huge sigh and said, “Oh, brother! She’s here.” Another coach said, “It’s going to be a long day whenever Wendy is here.”
Standing in the doorway was Wendy. She was autistic and didn’t fit in well with other children. Wendy often yelped and grunted, and she couldn’t stand still for very long. She had the habit of touching other children’s hair, which made them uncomfortable and caused disruption. Sometimes she pushed and even slapped other people, both children and coaches. I had to agree. It was going to be a long day.
Wendy walked to the middle of the gym floor, lay down, and started crying. It looked as though one of us was going to have to spend our whole day on “Wendy Patrol.”
Then something unexpected happened. In came Michael. He walked to Wendy and gently picked her up. In a voice hardly above a whisper, he calmly said, “Come on, Wendy, I’ll do the warmups with you so you won’t be alone.”
Michael was Wendy’s big brother. For the rest of the morning, he never left Wendy’s side. He was so patient and caring. I could tell that Michael loved his little sister and wanted her to fit in and be happy. Maybe he wanted those same things for himself.
I started to think about Michael’s trials. All day at school, he heard put-downs and snide comments from people who thought they were being clever. And then I thought about his home life, dealing with a sister who had a difficult condition. Yet these trials brought out the best in him. He was compassionate and Christlike.
It was at that point I recognized Michael for what he was—a hero, a true hero, right there in a small school gymnasium early on a Saturday morning.
My attitude toward Michael changed. I am grateful I was able to see a side of him I didn’t know existed. I’m grateful, too, that when Michael made eye contact with me that Saturday morning, I gave him a sincere smile. I tried to be his friend after that.
There are heroes like Michael among us. We all need heroes close by, people we can learn from and model our lives after. If I watch them long enough and pattern my life after theirs, perhaps I can one day be somebody’s hero, too.

Brian R.
Twelve-year-old Brian R. of Arizona, USA, was preparing to pass the sacrament for the first time. He didn’t want to make a mistake, so he asked the other Aaronic Priesthood holders in his ward to explain things to him.
“They were great,” he says. “They told me where to stand, where to go, and how to pass the trays.”
But even more important, they reminded him to be reverent. “We need to remember the Savior as we pass the sacrament,” Brian says. “If we are reverent, it helps others to remember Him too.”
Brian learned that others are happy to help him to understand his duties and to learn to do them well. “Just ask,” he says. “Moving from Primary into Young Men is easier than you think.”

Another “home front” soldier for the Lord is a taxi driver. In his cab hangs a sign which reads, “I Care.” Most passengers ask “What do you care about?” This good brother then explains that he belongs to a church that cares about people. If his passengers inquire further he accommodates their interest by handing them a copy of the Book of Mormon from the supply of copies he conveniently keeps by his driver’s seat. This faithful member has participated in the conversion of more than 200 souls.

It was cold! Nicole and her friends hurried into the busy café to warm up for a few minutes. As they stood inside, Nicole glanced at the menu.
“I’m going to get some hot chocolate,” she said.
“Me too,” Beth said.
Audrey looked at her watch, and Heather said, “We don’t have much time. Remember, my mom is picking us up at two o’clock.”
Nicole looked at the long line. It would sure be nice to have a cup of hot chocolate to keep her warm while they finished their Christmas shopping. “Beth and I will meet you in the clothing store next door,” she told Heather. “We won’t take long.”
Heather and Audrey left, and Beth and Nicole got in line.
“Look, they have French vanilla,” Beth said, pointing at the menu.
Nicole’s eyes brightened. “Yum! I love French vanilla hot chocolate.” But then she frowned, a little uncertain. “It doesn’t say French vanilla hot chocolate,” she said. “It just says French vanilla.” She bit her lip. “Isn’t there a French vanilla coffee too?”
Beth shrugged. When it was Nicole’s turn to order, she asked the employee about it, just in case.
“It’s hot chocolate,” the lady behind the counter assured her.
“Great!” Nicole said. “I’ll have a large French vanilla.”
Beth ordered one too, and they left the café. When they met up with Heather and Audrey, Nicole sniffed her steaming cup. She gasped. “I think this is French vanilla coffee!”
Beth took a sip. “I think so too. But oh well. It’s nice and hot. I’m getting all warmed up.”
“But it’s coffee!”
“So?”
Nicole told her friend, “I belong to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I’m not supposed to drink coffee.”
“You can drink coffee this one time,” Heather said impatiently. “You don’t have to be perfect every second of the day. We won’t tell anyone. Just come on. We need to hurry.”
Nicole could see that the line in the café was now even longer, and they didn’t have much time left to shop. But she knew what she needed to do. “I’m going to exchange this for hot chocolate,” she said firmly. “You guys go ahead. I’ll meet you at the toy store.”
She started to walk away alone, but Audrey caught up to her. “I’ll wait with you,” she said. Audrey was a Latter-day Saint too.
As the girls stood in line, Audrey said, “I’m glad you didn’t drink the coffee.”
Nicole smiled. “Me too.”
When Nicole explained to the lady behind the counter that the drink was actually coffee, the lady apologized and exchanged it for hot chocolate. Then Nicole and Audrey hurried through the cold to catch up with their friends. Nicole felt warm inside, but not just from the hot chocolate. She knew she had chosen the right. Despite what her friends had said about no one ever knowing, Heavenly Father knew. And she felt He would be proud of her.

Joseph Smith and William W. Phelps, by Robert Anderson McKay
In the early years of the Church, William W. Phelps was a strong supporter of Joseph Smith. He was one of the first Latter-day Saints sent to Jackson County, Missouri, where the Lord called him as a counselor in the presidency there.
But as Brother Phelps began to stray, his behavior became so serious that the Lord revealed to Joseph Smith that if Brother Phelps did not repent, he would be “removed out of” his place.4 He did not repent and was excommunicated on March 10, 1838.
Although William was rebaptized, his difficulties with the Church and Church leaders continued. In October 1838, he testified against the Prophet and other leaders of the Church. This led to Joseph Smith’s incarceration in November 1838.
For the next five months, the Prophet was imprisoned in two Missouri jails, including Liberty Jail.
By 1840, William W. Phelps had experienced a profound change of heart and wrote to the Prophet pleading for forgiveness. The letter Joseph wrote in response concluded with the couplet:
“‘Come on, dear brother, since the war is past,
“‘For friends at first, are friends again at last.’”5
Joseph freely forgave Brother Phelps and welcomed him back into full fellowship.
Four years later, when Brother Phelps learned that Joseph and Hyrum had been killed by a mob, he was devastated. Joseph’s forgiveness of Brother Phelps may have inspired him as he penned the beautiful and moving words to the hymn “Praise to the Man.”6

One special experience I remember was when I was going through a little rebellious period. It felt like I could see so many of my parents’ flaws, and I felt that they had no right to counsel me how to live my life. Although I lived worthy to go to the temple, I was questioning my father’s role as the head of our family. But when we went to the temple together to do baptisms and confirmations, I felt the presence of a sweet spirit. As my father laid his hands on my head to confirm me on behalf of people who had passed away, I felt the Spirit confirm to me that he was acting by the true authority of the priesthood. This made me realize that although my father was not perfect, he was still a good father and I was blessed to be his son. I felt I needed to repent of my rebelliousness and try to see the wisdom and love of his admonitions.