Gospel Story Finder

Joseph annually went to where the plates were buried and received further instruction from Moroni. However, in the excitement and temptation of potentially finding other valuable objects in the stone box, Joseph put down the plates in violation of the command God previously gave to him. Joseph was thrown violently to the ground; when he recovered, the angel Moroni was gone, and Joseph returned to the house “weeping with grief and disappointment.”3

This incident filled the Smith family with great uneasiness that Joseph might fail to get the plates due to his own negligence. “We therefore doubled our diligence in prayer and supplication to God,” Lucy recalled, “in order that he might be more fully instructed in his duty.”4 Shortly thereafter, tragedy struck the Smith family when the oldest son, Alvin, died. His deathbed instruction to Joseph was to keep the commandments God gave him and to do everything in his power to obtain the record. Joseph in time received the plates to translate.

Toledo Second Ward
The Primary children of the Toledo Second Ward, Toledo Ohio Stake, enjoyed making posters representing what they learned about eternal families. They enjoyed coloring the posters and sharing their artwork with each other.

Bonnie L. Oscarson
(119) A young girl learns the joy of serving others as she and her mother care for a woman with multiple sclerosis.

The alarm jangled while I groped through the darkness to shut it off. Even at that early hour, I jumped out of bed with anticipation. I was eager to join my friends on a hike up Timpanogos, a large, snowcapped mountain which overlooks Provo in Utah Valley.
The hike followed steep switchback trails, then a climb up a sloped snowfield near a sheer drop-off and a slide down a glacier. The reward was a well-earned picnic by the crystal waters of the tiny lake fed by the glacier’s runoff.
My mother got up early with me and graciously fixed breakfast, packed my lunch, and fussed around making sure I was properly prepared.
Eager to be off, I was a little impatient when she asked me to come back to the bedroom with her. I think I even rolled my eyes a little when she knelt by the bed and invited me to join her. At 14, that sort of thing can seem sort of sappy. But I truly did love my mother with that prickly heart of mine and was secretly pleased by her concern.
She gave a simple but beautiful prayer asking the Lord for my safety and protection that day. It touched that sometimes rebellious heart of mine. Embarrassed to show my feelings, I ducked my head and wiped at my eyes.
I hiked that day with a glow in my soul. I had been reminded what a special mother I had.
On our way back down the mountain, someone in our group decided it would be much faster to take shortcuts between the switchbacks, even though we had been warned not to do so at the beginning of the day. We all followed like sheep.
Midway between the trails, someone above me started a small rock slide. Pebbles and stones and a few larger rocks showered down around us. Then, as if in slow motion, I saw one fist-sized rock knock sharply against the shoulder of the boy just above me. The rock bounced around me, then catapulted to strike the girl in front of me right in the back of her head. A gash was opened and began bleeding profusely as head wounds do.
Slipping and sliding down to the next trail, my friend was helped by a fellow hiker who donated his handkerchief and first-aid skills. Careful now to abide by the hiking rules, we eventually made it down the mountain and home.
I’ve never forgotten that day my mother knelt with me, and I believe I was spared injury because of her prayer. Deep down I knew she loved me, but since becoming a teenager, I’d lost communication with her. I’d become independent, “prickly sensitive,” and sometimes difficult to get along with. I was finding it harder to feel my mother’s love. But on that clear morning a strong bond was forged between us by prayer. It made all the difference then and later to know my mother was praying for me.

After my freshman year I returned home to Kentucky to continue my education. My Latter-day Saint friends soon left to serve missions, and I felt a profound loneliness at their absence. I wanted to have some of the conviction that had inspired them to offer two years of their lives. At the same time, I was continually bothered that I still had no answer to Matt’s question. I wanted to know truths for myself. At last, after many letters from my friends encouraging me to meet with the missionaries, I overcame my trepidation and accepted.
Nevertheless, I had reservations regarding the idea that the various principles of the gospel were interconnected into one unified whole. The missionaries believed that since their message, in its entirety, was either all true or all false, once I gained a testimony of one principle, I could naturally accept all their teachings.
I did not believe them. I thought it was acceptable to pick and choose what I wanted to believe from a sort of spiritual and doctrinal smorgasbord. At the same time, my logic demanded empirical evidence as proof, not faith-based conversion.
Unfortunately, my logic also left me unhappy and dissatisfied. All philosophical arguments I considered were competing postulates of pessimism that provided no real answers. I desired something more, something that would commune with my heart the way my friends and the missionaries described communing with the Holy Ghost. I participated in the missionary discussions in hopes that I might come to know what they said was true or, at the very least, gain some satisfaction in learning it was false.
The missionaries were patient yet bold. Over the course of several months, they taught me many discussions and invited me to be baptized a number of times, but I always said no. I was waiting for some obvious and miraculous event that would provide me with a witness before I was willing to accept their invitation. I didn’t receive that kind of witness, so I kept stonewalling their invitations.
One day the elders read a passage from the Book of Mormon: “Dispute not because ye see not, for ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith” (Ether 12:6). Then they said, “Josh, every time we invite you to be baptized, you say no. What you have to do is say yes, and then the Spirit will confirm it to you.”
In other words, I had not yet received a witness because I had not yet tried my faith. I had taken no thought but to ask, believing I would receive without trying (see D&C 9:7). I had effectively blocked the Spirit from being able to witness to me because I was unwilling to take the next step. What I needed to do was to take a leap of faith into the darkness before the light would shine. The confirming witness would come after I tried my faith, not before.
My first thought was that the missionaries were manipulating me to get me baptized. Then it occurred to me that at the precise moment when I answered no to the baptismal invitation, something faint left my heart. It was a still, soft, and subtle feeling of peace urging me to follow the missionaries’ counsel, but I had not recognized its presence until it was gone, leaving me confused, unhappy, and sorrowful.
I wondered if this faint feeling could be the Spirit leaving me and if the cause of my confusion was my own hard heart pushing Him away. With no other recourse, I decided to try the missionaries’ challenge. I would say yes to the inevitable invitation, and then if I felt the Spirit as they promised me, I would go through with the baptism. On the other hand, if I did not feel the Spirit, I was perfectly prepared to tell the missionaries I was just joking.
The evening of our next appointment we watched a new Church video, The Prodigal Son. There was a special feeling in the room; the missionaries were visibly touched, tears welling in their eyes.
After the movie ended, we read several passages in the scriptures. At last Elder Critchfield turned to me and asked, “Josh, will you be baptized on Saturday, November 10, at 4:00 in the afternoon?”
I hesitated and then answered, “Yes.”
The Spirit hit me with such an electrifying presence that the hairs on my arms rose, and I nearly cried. There could be no doubt that light had shone into the darkness. I had tested my faith, and I knew unequivocally that I had to be baptized.

“I came out west every summer by car or train. In those days travel by air wasn’t very common. The families of my mother and father all lived in the Salt Lake area. My aunts and uncles were just like second mothers and fathers to me. My cousins are still like brothers and sisters. I worked on a ranch in Skull Valley, west of Salt Lake City, riding after wild horses, putting down salt licks, and sitting on a baler. I still have scars on one of my hands from working on the baler.”

Once I heard a forceful appeal by a woman from the Mutual. Perhaps it was the approach she made or perhaps it may have been the mood I was in. She gave a rousing talk on the reading of the scriptures and making them our own; then she stopped her dissertation to ask this mixed congregation, about a thousand of us, "How many of you have read the Bible through?"

I think I was about 14 years old at the time. An accusing guilt complex spread over me. I had read many books by that time, cartoons, and light books, but my accusing heart said to me, "You, Spencer Kimball, you have never read that holy book. Why?" I looked around me at the people in front and on both sides of the hall to see if I was alone in my failure to read the sacred book. Of the thousand people, there were perhaps a half dozen who proudly raised their hands. I slumped down in my seat. I had no thought for the others who had also failed, but only a deep accusing thought for myself. In my slumped posture, I condemned no man, only my little insignificant self. I don’t know what other people were doing and thinking. I heard no more of the sermon. It had accomplished its work. The meeting closed. I sought the large double exit door and rushed to my home only a block east of the chapel, and I was gritting my teeth and saying to myself, "I will. I will. I will."

Entering the back door of our family home, I went to the kitchen shelf where we kept the coal-oil lamps, selected one that was full of oil with a newly trimmed wick, and climbed the stairs to my attic room. There I opened my Bible and began on Genesis, first chapter, and the first verse, and I sat well into the night with Cain and Abel and Adam and Eve and Enoch and Noah and through the flood even to Abraham.

Now, as all of us are aware, the Gulf States area of the United States has recently suffered terribly from raging winds and waters. Many have lost all they had. The damage has been astronomical. Literally millions have suffered. Fear and worry have gripped the hearts of many. Lives have been lost.
With all of this, there has been a great outpouring of help. Hearts have been softened. Homes have been opened. Critics love to talk about the failures of Christianity. Any such should take a look at what the churches have done in these circumstances. Those of many denominations have accomplished wonders. And far from the least among these has been our own Church. Great numbers of our men have traveled considerable distances, bringing with them tools and tents and radiant hope. Men of the priesthood have given thousands upon thousands of hours in the work of rehabilitation. There have been three and four thousand at a time. There are some there tonight. We cannot say enough of thanks to them. Please know of our gratitude, of our love, and of our prayers in your behalf.
Two of our Area Seventies, Brother John Anderson, who resides in Florida, and Brother Stanley Ellis, who lives in Texas, have directed much of this effort. But they would be the first to say that the credit belongs to the great numbers of men and boys who have given assistance. Many have worn shirts that say “Mormon Helping Hands.” They have won the love and respect of those they have assisted. Their assistance has gone not only to members of the Church in trouble, but to great numbers of those concerning whom no religious affiliation has been made.
They have followed the pattern of the Nephites as recorded in the book of Alma: “They did not send away any who were naked, or that were hungry, or that were athirst, or that were sick, or that had not been nourished; and they did not set their hearts upon riches; therefore they were liberal to all, both old and young, both bond and free, both male and female, whether out of the church or in the church, having no respect to persons as to those who stood in need” (Alma 1:30).
Women and girls in many parts of the Church have rendered a Herculean effort in providing hygiene and cleaning kits by the tens of thousands. The Church has provided equipment, food, water, and comfort.
We have contributed substantial amounts of money to the Red Cross and other agencies. We have given millions from fast offerings and humanitarian funds. To every one of you I say thanks in behalf of your beneficiaries and thanks in behalf of the Church.

Young Women in the Cartersville Branch, Marietta Georgia East Stake, sent a box filled with treats to the full-time missionaries in their area. Each treat came with a scripture attached so that the missionaries could feed both their bodies and their spirits. The youth loved the activity—and so did the missionaries!

“I didn’t really know what a family was,” says one young man who is now preparing for a mission after joining the Church. “I’d been promiscuous since I was thirteen and didn’t know anything different—until the gospel came into my life and changed everything.”

While in St. George for a stake conference, President Snow received a revelation in which the Lord reaffirmed that Church members should pay an honest tithing. President Snow felt so strongly about this inspired direction that despite his advanced age he vigorously taught the commandment in the stakes all that summer. He also asked the Quorum of the Twelve to teach the doctrine of full tithing payment at every opportunity. Over time, the Saints responded, eventually saving the Church from a crushing burden of debt.

Twenty years later, in the mid-1970s, the blacks’ reaction to apartheid had gone from peaceful protests to violent outbursts. One of the flash points for the violence was Soweto, where Julia was living. She said, “Soweto became unlike any place we had known—it was as if we were in a battlefield.”

Julia feared that her wound of bitterness would reopen: “It had been over 20 years since John’s death, but I could still feel the pain of that time.” In an effort to seek healing, both for herself and for her people, Julia thought, “Perhaps if I can teach the children to love working in the soil, all is not lost.” She established a community garden that symbolized hope to people who knew only fear and anger.

As she worked with the children in her community garden, she would teach them: “Let us dig the soil of bitterness, throw in a seed of love, and see what fruits it can give us. … Love will not come without forgiving others.”

She said, “I knew deep in my heart I was breaking up the soil of my own bitterness as I forgave those who had hurt me.” The lump of bitterness that remained after John’s death started to dissolve.

I love the story of Captain Moroni in the Book of Mormon. My dad read it in family home evening, and it inspired me to make my own flag. My flag reminds me of who I am and that Heavenly Father is always with me.

Bringing the Bible to life with yoga! This uncommon pairing of the Bible and yoga has probably not come to mind during Bible study sessions in the past. However, for one lady, this is what happened.
Like many, Naomi, a children’s yoga teacher, was affected by the pandemic. Mostly working in schools, Naomi was a full-time yoga teacher running classes to improve the physical and mental well-being of students of all ages. However, after the pandemic struck and schools in the United Kingdom closed, Naomi lost a great deal of work.
While seeking comfort and guidance from the scriptures, an idea came to her as she read one of the many stories within its pages. It was the story of the Nativity. A story of love, suspense, adventure, sacrifice, unique characters, and twists in plots.
It was clear to her that such a story could underpin a fantastic yoga adventure, while also giving children the opportunity to act out a much-loved story that they perhaps could not do in the same way now that schools were closed.
Turning her spare room into a yoga studio, Naomi began to bring the Nativity to life with movements to match the different characters and events. She posted the finished adventure online for all to enjoy for free.
Since then, many more Bible stories have been brought to life through yoga. Children can now help Jonah as he is swallowed by the whale, join Noah on the ark with the animals, and learn how to be like the good Samaritan.
It is well known, now more than ever, that children’s wellbeing is paramount. By bringing Bible stories to life using yoga, the videos help children focus on mindful movements, breathing techniques, relaxation, positive affirmations, and visualisations. They do all this whilst experiencing fun, interactive adventures.
The videos, created from a passion for mindful yoga and love of gospel stories, have been a big hit and brought to many children joy, happiness, and a sense of adventure from the comfort of their living room. They are also a great missionary tool!
Naomi hopes to continue spreading these little rays of sunshine as she makes her way through the many Bible adventures, helping children to let their light shine in dark times.

So when the high school football coach asked Jake to be the water boy for the team, Jake jumped at the chance. “I’ve always liked football. There was never any doubt that I would say yes. I was pretty excited,” says Jake.
Jake is happy to be part of the team, and his positive influence also lifts the spirits of those around him.
Riley Davis plays center on the football team and is one of Jake’s longtime friends. He says the players “were all sophomores coming into the school and didn’t have too many friends. But when Jake joined the team, everybody wanted to be his friend, and then we all started being friends together.”
Another player on the team, Sheen Beard, found Jake to be a tremendous help to him. Injured before the season began, Sheen was unable to play on the team and became a water boy alongside Jake. Jake helped him not only with water and equipment but also by easing the ache of being unable to play. Sheen says, “It turned out well; we worked as a team. He made it fun and had a really good attitude the whole time.”
“Jake has never allowed his problems to affect his life too much,” his mother says. “Of course, he couldn’t do it alone. Joining the football team has made it a lot easier for him and for us, as parents.”
Jake and his parents are especially grateful to Coach Mike Miller for giving Jake such a tremendous opportunity. “This new opportunity gave Jake something to look forward to at a time when he really needed it,” his mom says.
“Jake also receives help from his good friend Riley,” she says. “He has always been the one to go out of his way to do things with him.”

After Primary a while ago our four-year-old grandson, Michael, reported to his parents, “When I pray, my heart feels like a roasted marshmallow.” Already Michael is recognizing the feelings associated with faith. How fortunate that he is willing and able to identify and talk about his feelings with his parents.

Florence Chukwurah, Relief Society general board member from Nigeria: I chose early in life to break from poverty and to seek God diligently. I decided to be obedient to my parents and elders and to be serious with my schoolwork. I made up my mind to work hard with my hands. The Lord heard my prayers and crowned my efforts with blessings for me and my family.

Vivi Tzanis, a Beehive in Wollongong, is pretty much like all the girls in her branch, except that she has a special reason to be thankful for her LDS friends. Vivi had to wait several years for permission from her father to be baptized. Vivi’s mother is a member of the Church and has always been a great support. Fellow Beehives Mei-Eun and Mei-Jin Lee have also encouraged her as she has prepared and prayed for permission to be baptized.
“Mei-Eun and Mei-Jin and I love to talk and laugh together,” she says. “It’s great to have friends who are the right kind of influence on me.”
While she was waiting, the members of the branch treated her just like everyone else and prayed and fasted for her. Finally, after a fair amount of waiting, Vivi’s father felt good about giving her permission.
“My dad really likes the Church, and it has been my greatest wish to be baptized and to be a member of the true Church,” says Vivi. “The day my dad gave me permission was the happiest day of my life.”
Now that Vivi is officially a Church member, some things in her life will change. One thing that won’t? The help and support of the friends she has in her branch.

When Phillipe and Annelies Assard (left) met Lucien and Agathe Affoué in Côte d’Ivoire, both couples rejoiced to know they were not alone in the Church there.
Phillipe and Annelies Assard had built a comfortable life when the missionaries knocked on their door in Köln, Germany, in 1980. They quickly embraced the gospel and felt “overwhelmed with blessings.” Phillipe soon felt a powerful desire to return to his native country of Côte d’Ivoire to share the restored gospel. “So in 1986, after many prayers and fasting with my wife,” Phillipe recalled, “I decided to return to Ivory Coast to give what I had received, to improve the lot of my family and my people.”8
Before leaving Germany, Phillipe consulted with Church leaders. Though there were no Church units in Côte d’Ivoire, there were a number of members there who had joined the Church while in other countries. The Assards were given a list of their names and for the next year diligently wrote to each one. Gradually, the Assards rekindled the spark of faith in others and were given permission to begin holding Sunday meetings in their home. Wards and branches followed, and in 1997 the first stake in Côte d’Ivoire was organized.

A little more than a year later, David and Emma Ray were the first couple sealed in the Salt Lake Temple in the 20th century.
During their 69 years of marriage, they were examples of love and kindness to all who knew them. They always tried to be thoughtful and sometimes wrote each other poetry.
David:
Companion, counselor, adviser alway
My wife for eternity, my own Emma Ray.