Gospel Story Finder

“When I was eleven, the Fourth of July was a real big event in Spanish Fork. World War II had begun, and the whole town was having a parade to send off the men who were leaving to serve in the war. The night before the Fourth I went outside to play. I sat on the porch, and my mother said, ‘You’re not going to go anywhere, are you?’ I said, ‘No, I’ll stay here.’
“Then my friend Mark came across the street and said, ‘I have a big box of firecrackers. Let’s go up to Janet’s and show the girls how to light them!’ I forgot that my mother had asked me to stay home. The only thought in my mind was to go up to Janet’s and light some firecrackers.
“We lighted all the firecrackers that would light, and the remainder we put in a cardboard box and set on fire. Mark and I were both burned in the resulting explosion. In fact, our faces, chests, hands, and arms were burned so severely that it didn’t look like we were going to make it.
“Sister Hill, Janet’s mother, came out when she heard the explosion, and she saw five kids on fire. Somehow the fires were put out, and she calmly took us into the house, knelt us down in the living room, and offered a prayer. Then she called the doctor, and we went down to Dr. Moody’s office.
“He operated on my face to put it back together. Before he started, I asked my father to give me a blessing. Dr. Moody was also an elder, so the two of them administered to me. My father said in the blessing that if I would have faith, the Lord would make me well. You have to remember that at that time my father was an alcoholic. But when he said that the Lord would make me well, I knew it was true.
“Then Dr. Moody began to work on me. I didn’t have any anesthetic because they were afraid of shock. into my mind came the words of one of my mother’s favorite hymns:
O how praying rests the weary!
Prayer will change the night to day;
So when life gets dark and dreary,
Don’t forget to pray.
(Hymns, no. 31.)
“I couldn’t speak, but I could hum. For the whole two and a half to three hours while the doctor was trying to fix my face, I hummed that hymn. When he was finished with me, I looked just like a mummy. My face and arms were all wrapped up with bandages. It appeared that I had lost the sight of one eye and severely damaged the other. My hands were as black as shoe leather, and they were hard and crinkled.
“All five of us were healed and back in school in the fall. Janet had a severely damaged finger, Mark had burns on his face, as I did, and on his arms, but we were all back in school. Someone in the ward had placed our names on the prayer roll in the temple. To Mother that was tantamount to saying, ‘Don’t worry, if your names are on the prayer roll in the temple, you can just count on being healed.’ And we were.”

Oliver DeMille liked to go to church with his parents on Sundays because church was held outdoors. Nauvoo had no church buildings yet, so for sacrament meetings, the Prophet Joseph Smith met with the Saints in one of the groves of trees. People sat on plank benches, on blankets on the ground, or in their wagons or carriages. Speakers had to shout sometimes, especially when wind rustled through the trees.
One warm summer Sunday, Oliver, about thirteen, was trying to listen to Joseph Smith preach. The Prophet said that he had had a revelation, and he began to tell it to the people.
“Just then,” Oliver said, “a flock of geese flew over where the meeting was held.” The geese made honking noises, “and most of the people turned their eyes to look.” Oliver did not look but “kept my eyes on the prophet.”
Joseph Smith was concerned because the people turned their attention from him to the geese. He said, “If you care more for the quacking of a wild goose than for the revelations of the Almighty God, I’ve no more to say to you at present.” He stopped preaching and sat down. The people did not get to hear about the revelation that he wanted to share with them.
Oliver was disappointed. But he remembered the lesson the Prophet taught that day—we should pay attention whenever the servants of God speak to us.

I am a missionary, and I didn’t gain my own testimony until I was four months into my mission. I know what you are going through, and it isn’t easy. I wish, however, that I, like you, had had enough courage to ask someone. I would have been better prepared for my mission.
It’s not wrong to feel the way you do. Asking the question shows that you are willing to do what it takes to gain a testimony.
I like to liken a testimony to a seed. Most of us who were raised in the Church begin by relying on the testimonies of our parents, which is really not bad. We figure that since they know what they are talking about, then it must be true. So here the seed is planted.
How do you help a seed to grow? By nourishing it with the proper food. So it is with a testimony. If you want a testimony of the Church, then go to the keystone of our religion, the Book of Mormon. Read it. I don’t mean for you to sit down and in one big swoop read the whole thing. Try this method instead. It worked for me and many of my investigators.
Pick a topic—say faith, for example.
Read each verse in the scriptures that refers to faith. Read the chapter in which that verse is located. This will give you an idea of what was happening at the time.
Once you finish this, go back and just read the verse, but this time apply it to you.
4. Now do what Moroni said to do in Moroni 10:3–5 [Moro. 10:3–5]. Pray about it. I promise you that Heavenly Father will answer you through the Spirit.
I wish I had done this before my mission. All I did was read straight through, and I didn’t gain much from it. Then when I came on my mission I relied on my companions’ testimonies, which didn’t do me any good, so I decided I’d better get my own.
I nourished the seed that was planted inside my heart, and I continue to nourish it by reading, studying, pondering, and praying about it so that I might have a better understanding of what is being said. Just like a seed, if a testimony is not nourished it will die. As you nourish the seed it will swell within you. Let it happen. Then you can honestly say you are bearing your own testimony. I hope this works for you.
Elder John Hodge, 21England London South Mission

The quality and tone of this favorite are much like the kind of man my friend Leo Politi is—soft, warm, tender, and full of reverence for life.
Every day Rosa and Jose rode their horse Polomo to the village school. After school, Rosa saw an expensive doll in the store window. She longed for this doll, but she knew she could never afford it. At Christmastime her mother gave the family something better than the doll. Because of Leo Politi’s touch, no one forgets Rosa or her dreams.
This book is also available in a Spanish edition.

The accident occurred as we were leaving town. We had signed the legal papers for our new home and had stopped awhile to visit my wife’s grandmother. Our three-year-old daughter, G.J., was asleep in the back seat of our car, and we were anxious to return to our other three children. My wife, Gaydra, had begun to knit. Neither of us had reminded the other to fasten our seat belts. It was nearly five o’clock in the afternoon.
We were in heavy traffic moving at 55 miles an hour. As we approached an intersection, I suddenly saw a car that was coming from the opposite direction try to make a quick left turn in front of us. There was no way he could make it. And with cars on all sides of us, I couldn’t turn. I slammed on the brakes but couldn’t stop quickly enough.
The head-on collision threw me against the steering wheel and into the windshield. I began to gasp for air and tried to call Gaydra’s name. I could see her on the floor, but she didn’t answer me. Then blood began to run into my eyes. I could hear G. J. crying as I frantically kicked the collapsed steering wheel out of my lap. I was afraid the car might explode from spilled gasoline and felt I had to get my wife and daughter to safety.
At last the door was open and I stood up. The world began to turn white. I saw a trickle of water from the smashed radiator running between my shoes and I thought, as my knees gave way under me, “I’m going to land right in that.” I regained consciousness as some men carried me to the grass at the side of the road. I asked about my wife and child and was told they were going to be all right. I could still hear G. J. crying.
When the ambulance arrived, Gaydra and I and the other injured driver all rode on stretchers in the back. G. J. sat with a paramedic in the front of the ambulance. Several times Gaydra tried to sit up and ask for G.J., but she kept falling back into unconsciousness.
When we arrived at the hospital, G. J. had stopped crying. A doctor came into the emergency room and examined me. He gave the nurse instructions and left. She was pleasant but efficient: “Mr. McCallister, your wife has a depression fracture of the skull. It is causing severe pressure on her brain, and we are going to send her by emergency helicopter to the University Medical Center for surgery. We can feel the loose bone. You are well enough that you can probably fly in the helicopter with her.”
The nurse then left me alone. It was 5:20 [P.M.] by the clock on the wall, and the room was very quiet.
“Oh, Heavenly Father!” I cried. “Please help Gaydra. She can’t die! She mustn’t die!” The tears stung the cuts around my eyelids, and I could feel glass in my eyebrows and forehead. Those moments were the most agonizing of my life as I contemplated losing my eternal sweetheart.
Suddenly I became aware that someone was there at my side. Two men in street clothes, not white hospital uniforms, said hello. They were elders from the Church.
“Would you like a blessing?” one of them asked.
“Oh, yes. And my wife is in the X-ray department. Please administer to her.”
“We already have,” they replied.
“My daughter …” I began.
“We’ve blessed her as well,” the other man said.
They anointed my head with oil, gave me a blessing, and then left. It was 5:30.
I was puzzled. Who were those elders? How did they get there so fast? Later I found out.
Gaydra was never flown to the medical center. They couldn’t find the skull fracture in X-ray. G. J. and I were released that night, and two weeks later we took Gaydra home without surgery. Except for an inability to recall the accident and the several days following, she has totally recovered. We had survived a head-on collision at 55 miles an hour.

“I hadn’t thought much about the lyrics of songs on the radio until I went for a drive with a friend from Idaho Falls who kept punching the buttons on the car radio. ‘Some songs aren’t worth listening to,’ he said. He explained that if he wouldn’t want his mom to listen to the song, he wouldn’t either. Maybe that’s corny, but if it is, I’m for it. I’m a lot more selective about what I listen to now,” said one young woman from California.

Sasha was called to serve as branch Relief Society president at age 18. “At first I thought, ‘I have a lot of energy. I can do everything by myself. It will be so easy.’ But then I realized there were more than 90 sisters in the branch—most of them much older than I—and I couldn’t do anything by myself!”
She humbled herself and called upon the Lord for help. Her branch president encouraged her to unite the sisters in friendship. “We felt that visiting teaching was our most important work.”
For decades, Christmas had not been celebrated in Russia. But after a great deal of prayer, Sasha felt the importance of emphasizing the holiday as a celebration of the Savior’s birth. “I wanted every sister to feel the spirit of Christmas,” she says. In Homemaking meetings, they learned how to make stuffed animals out of fabric. Then small groups of sisters visited everyone in the branch—more than 50 homes—sharing Christmas greetings and delivering the toys to the children.
Sasha had been so busy with all the preparations and visits that she had never given any thought to receiving a visit herself. “But on December 23, the coldest night of the winter, my doorbell rang and four of my Relief Society sisters entered my apartment,” she remembers. “One of them hadn’t been active in the Church for a year and a half. They had already visited several sisters that evening, but they decided to come and visit me, too! It was so cold—they were frozen. But they lit candles and sang ‘Silent Night’ with me. They said a lot of kind words and gave me one of the Christmas cards we had made in Homemaking meeting! I felt so much love from them and from Heavenly Father.”
Later, many of the women told Sasha how much they had enjoyed making and receiving their Christmas visits. “As they told me their experiences, they were full of feelings, full of light and fire. I could feel warmth from them, even though it was the coldest time of the winter!”

Marie Purcell, of the Massey Park Ward in the Auckland New Zealand Papatoetoe Stake, experienced the joy of this work when she and her parents sealed her beloved grandfather, Afele Schwenke, to his family—a blessing he did not receive in his lifetime despite his faithfulness and service to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Years later, while reviewing family history records, Marie and her parents discovered that her mother’s sealing to her parents had not been recorded. Marie immediately felt a strong spiritual prompting—not only did her mother’s sealing need to be done, but also her grandfather Afele’s. His face came to her mind, and she knew that temple work needed to be completed.

Trusting this prompting, the family scheduled a sealing appointment. However, when they arrived at the temple, Marie realized they were not fully prepared with the required documents. They proceeded with other ordinances, but in the sealing room, both Marie and her mother felt a distinct sadness at leaving the ordinance undone.

Determined to finish the work, Marie and her parents scheduled another appointment. On April 6, 2024, they returned to the temple, fully prepared. Marie and her father would stand as proxies for her grandparents.

When the sealer called her mother’s name, a deep feeling of peace washed over them. Marie remembers tears flowing as they completed the ordinance.

Through the Atonement of Jesus Christ and the sacred work of the temple, Afele Schwenke and his wife, Soala, received the blessings of eternity.

As saviours on Mount Zion, we can offer our ancestors the same gift of exaltation Christ offers to us. Reflecting on the experience of sealing her grandparents, Marie shared, “I testify that the joy that comes from participating through family history brings eternal happiness.”

“I have felt those on the other side of the veil through this great and marvelous work. And I know that they embrace with excitement receiving these sacred ordinances, as I embrace with joy on this side of the veil uniting my eternal family.”

The sealing power reminded her that the blessings of the Atonement extend beyond the veil. As Doctrine and Covenants 128:22 invites, “Shall we not go on in so great a cause?”

I remember going to the Longfellow home, which was the beginning for me of learning something of our past. I also remember making the trip to the old North Church, with little Italian kids hanging on the fenders of the Model T and chanting the story of Paul Revere. I remember trudging the little dirt road to Lexington and Concord, and traveling to Plymouth with a family of RLDS people on their way to a conference. It was on the copy of the Mayflower Compact where I read the signature of a distant grandfather of mine. I’ll always be grateful for that time that gave me an interest in the history of this marvelous land, this land “choice above all others.”

Illustration by Adam Koford
Benji stood in front of the mirror, straightening his tie. His white shirt and gray pants fit perfectly. His hair was combed. He definitely looked ready to be ordained a deacon. So why did he feel so nervous?
Benji grabbed his scriptures and left the room. He tried not to think about how different things would be at church today. And then there was the new priesthood duty that worried him whenever he thought about it: passing the sacrament. What if he made a mistake his first time next week? He tried to forget that too as he left the house.
Sacrament meeting went the same as always. But afterward Benji walked with his family to Bishop Salazar’s office. This was definitely different. Normally he’d be in Primary opening exercises right now.
Benji sat down as Dad, the bishop, the Young Men president, and the bishopric counselors laid their hands on his head. Dad gave him the Aaronic Priesthood. During the blessing, the butterflies in Benji’s stomach disappeared. He felt calm and happy.
Benji stood and shook hands with everybody. Then he hugged Mom and his brother, Jay, and his little sister, Mirasol.
Afterward he went to Sunday School. Even though the new classes weren’t the same as in Primary, they still felt familiar. The lesson was on prayer. He’d had plenty of prayer lessons before in Primary. Benji breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe being a deacon wouldn’t be so hard.
“It will be great,” Jay told Benji after church. “I’ll bless the sacrament, and you can pass it.”
All the butterflies rushed back. “Yeah, great,” he said quietly. Passing the sacrament was what Benji was most worried about!
Later that night Benji found Dad reading on the couch. “What if I miss someone and they don’t get the sacrament?” he asked. “What if I trip?” He could see it clear as day in his mind, the tray clattering to the floor and water cups flying everywhere.
Dad squeezed Benji’s shoulder. “I remember the first time I passed the sacrament. I was probably more nervous than you are right now.”
Benji blinked in surprise. “You? You aren’t afraid of anything!”
Dad laughed. “I’ve been scared plenty of times. Do you know what helped me get over being nervous?”
Benji thought a moment. “Prayer?”
Dad smiled. “That’s right. Prayer. And my father gave me a blessing. Would you like me to give you one?”
Benji nodded quickly. “Yes! I’d like that a lot.”
The family gathered in the living room. Dad put his hands on Benji’s head. As Dad spoke, Benji felt tears begin to form. “Remember,” Dad said in the blessing, “you have received the priesthood through a sacred ordinance. Heavenly Father gave us the priesthood so that we can serve others. If you can do this with full purpose of heart, you will be blessed in this and in all things.”
All week Benji prayed for help. The following Sunday he joined the deacons at the front of the chapel. He listened closely as Jay said the blessing on the bread.
Suddenly he felt worried all over again. Could he really do this? It was so important! Then he remembered the promises from Dad’s blessing. His worried feelings left as the Spirit settled over him.
He picked up the tray and moved confidently to his assigned rows. Carefully he handed the tray to a woman in the first row.
She smiled at him. Benji smiled back, knowing that he was serving the Lord.

I am indebted to Elder Dallin Oaks for an account, a modern-day parable which I refer to as the parable of the bushy-tailed squirrel, the tree, and the dog, which illustrates my concern:
As two men walked across an eastern university campus, they were attracted by a crowd of people surrounding a large maple tree. As they approached, they noticed that the crowd was being amused by the antics of a fox-tailed squirrel circling the tree, climbing it, and running back down again. A red Irish setter dog crouched nearby, intently watching the squirrel. Each time the squirrel ran up the tree out of sight, the dog would slowly creep towards the tree. The squirrel paid little attention as the dog crept closer and closer, patiently biding its time. People watching this entertaining drama unfold knew what could happen, but they did nothing until in a flash the dog—catching the squirrel unaware—had it in the grip of his sharp teeth.
The people then rushed forward in horror, forcing the dog’s mouth open to rescue the squirrel. It was too late. The squirrel was dead. Anyone could have warned the squirrel or held back the dog. But they had been momentarily amused and had watched silently while evil slowly crept up on good. When they rushed to the defense, it was too late.

My testimony is that the Lord knows us. He knows what we can learn and what can happen if we’ll do what He asks us to do. My mission to Japan began a remarkable set of experiences for me. Years later I went back to Japan as a mission president. After that, I returned as a General Authority.
I wrote my mom a letter recently and said, “Who could’ve imagined all that would happen because of that one interview with my bishop that day?” My mother wrote back, “I imagined it.”

Missionary service has ever called for courage. One who responded to this call was Randal Ellsworth. While serving in Guatemala as a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Randal Ellsworth survived a devastating earthquake which struck Guatemala on February 4, 1976. A beam fell onto his back, paralyzing his legs and severely damaging his kidneys. He was the only American injured in the quake, which claimed the lives of some 30,000 persons.
After receiving emergency medical treatment, he was flown to a large hospital near his home in Rockville, Maryland. While Randal was confined there, a newscaster conducted with him an interview that I witnessed on television. The reporter asked, “Can you walk?”
The answer: “Not yet, but I will.”
“Do you think you will be able to complete your mission?”
Came the reply: “Others think not, but I will. With the president of my church praying for me, and through the prayers of my family, my friends, and my missionary companions, I will walk, and I will return again to Guatemala. The Lord wants me to preach the gospel there for two years, and that’s what I intend to do.”
There followed a lengthy period of therapy, punctuated by heroic yet silent courage. Little by little, feeling began to return to the almost lifeless limbs. More therapy, more courage, more prayer.
At last, Randal Ellsworth walked aboard the plane that carried him back to the mission to which he had been called—back to the people whom he loved. Behind he left a trail of skeptics and a host of doubters, but also hundreds amazed at the power of God, the miracle of faith, and the example of courage.
On his return to Guatemala, Randal Ellsworth supported himself with the help of two canes. His walk was slow and deliberate. Then one day, as he stood before his mission president, Elder Ellsworth heard these almost unbelievable words spoken to him. “You have been the recipient of a miracle,” said the mission president. “Your faith has been rewarded. If you have the necessary confidence, if you have abiding faith, if you have supreme courage, place those two canes on my desk and walk.”
After a long pause, first one cane and then the other was placed on the desk, and a missionary walked. It was halting, it was painful—but he walked, never again to need the canes.
In the spring of 1986 I thought once more of the courage demonstrated by Randal Ellsworth. Ten years had passed since his ordeal. He was now a husband and a father. An engraved announcement arrived at my office. It read: “The President and Directors of Georgetown University announce commencement exercises of Georgetown University School of Medicine.” Randal Ellsworth received his Doctor of Medicine degree. More effort, more study, more faith, more sacrifice, more courage had been required. The price was paid, the victory won.

In July 2001, Hoi Hoon was invited by the Hong Kong government to perform with other prominent gymnasts in the Chinese Gymnastic Gold Medalist Show. Then age 8, Hoi Hoon was the youngest participant.
All of the gymnasts were asked to attend a final rehearsal the Sunday before the performance. The Tam family knows it is important to keep the Sabbath day holy, so Brother Tam told Hoi Hoon’s coach that Hoi Hoon would attend every other rehearsal—but not the one on Sunday. The coaches and officials were upset and thought about replacing Hoi Hoon with another boy. The Tam family would not change their minds, but they prayed every night in their family prayer that Hoi Hoon would be able to perform. In the end, the officials allowed him to be in the show. Even without the extra practice, Hoi Hoon did every movement perfectly. “I know that obeying the Lord is very important,” Hoi Hoon says.

I recently resumed my university studies. When the impression came to return to school, I worried about how I could provide for my family. Two days a week I would be in the classroom, not at work. How was my family going to make it?
Again, my wife and I made this challenge a matter of prayer, and the Lord responded. I began receiving permanent contracts, which have made it easier for me to make up workdays I miss while at school.

On one occasion I took to the Genealogical Society eight large volumes, manuscript family history work, consisting of 6,000 family group records of very professional family history work, all on the Packer family. All of it was compiled by Warren Packer, originally from Ohio, a schoolteacher, a Lutheran. He has spent 30 years doing this work, not really knowing why. There are two more volumes now added to the others. He senses now why he has been involved in this work over the years and very much has the spirit of the work.

I will not recount the difficult challenges of my life. I want to share an experience that shows that He cares for us in every way.
When my husband had his business in the early 2000s, he called me one day, asking me to prepare a very important administrative document that was necessary for him, and I had to find it quickly. I knew I had seen this paper in one of the trays. I looked all over the office, but it wasn’t there. I searched several times, but nothing worked. I prayed. But not a simple prayer. I prayed with all the energy of my heart, the strength of my soul. When I do this kind of prayer, I am almost exhausted as I put my faith into action. Expressing to the Lord that I know He can help me and guide me to find what I seek, affirming that I believe in His power. I continued to search, then, as I leaned against the door frame at the entrance of the office, I observed the room. I looked at the tray, which was near the window, and then I understood what had happened. It was as if the story of this sheet was being shown to me. The document had flown out the window. I ran downstairs, I must say my faith was tested; a paper that flies from a second-floor window can go anywhere.
I circled the building, tree leaves strewn across the ground. No documents in sight. I continued to seek, nevertheless fearing that it was lost.
I saw a small piece of dirty paper under the leaves, and I almost missed it as it could barely be seen. I picked it up, and oh, what joy I felt when I saw that it was indeed it, this precious document for which I had spent so much energy, searching, imploring, and importuning my Heavenly Father. I took the time to sincerely thank Him.
I was so grateful that He helped me, and especially that He even kept this document outside for us because I noticed, with the dirt on it, that it had been outside for several hours or even a day or two. God had paved the way before I even knew it.

For the two years of their missions, these athletes just about gave up basketball. Most of them did not touch a basketball for more than a few hours during the entire time they served. Now, these basketball-playing returned missionaries won’t lie and say they stepped right back onto the court and played as well as ever. On the contrary, BYU’s Bob Capener, who served in Chile and was a star guard last year, said, “Even though you don’t really lose your skills, you’re not ready to play right when you get back. I came to school to play about a month after I returned, and I almost died. I was out of shape and couldn’t breathe. But in time, with the habits and discipline that I gained on my mission, I was in better shape than I ever was before.”

My father was loving but exacting. He noted that while I worked hard, my work was often not carefully done. I was a stranger to excellence. One summer day I determined to please Dad by putting in a number of needed fence posts, firmly implanted and fully aligned. I worked hard all that day and then expectantly scanned the lane down which my father would walk home. When he arrived, I watched anxiously as he carefully inspected the fence posts, even checking them with a level bar before pronouncing them to be fully satisfactory. Then came his praise. My sweat of the brow had earned Dad’s commendation, which, in turn, melted my heart.

One day my English teacher was telling us how she thought Clinton Central didn’t welcome new students and left others out. A week later I received the October 1987 New Era. As I was glancing through it, the story “Everyone Belongs” caught my eye. While I was reading, all I could think about was how much this school in the story sounded like my own. Since I am a class officer, I felt I could try to do something.
I showed the story to my English teacher, who is also my freshman class adviser. While the class was doing the assigned homework, she read the story. I couldn’t help but notice a tear running down her face. When she had finished reading she said she thought we as a school needed to do something to make everyone feel as if they belonged. She had me take the story to Mrs. Pearson, who is in charge of the student council and to Mr. Thompson, who is in charge of the Fellowship of Christian Athletes at Clinton Central.
I know this article is going to affect many people at my school, and I can already see the efforts being made to include others by those who have read it.