Gospel Story Finder

Keith W. Wilcox, a member of the Church and a prominent architect, shared an experience from his university years that illustrates this truth. As part of his thesis while completing his master of architecture degree at the University of Oregon, his professor asked him to find one word or phrase that described the spirit of his church and then to design a church building that would demonstrate that word or phrase.
Keith responded to his professor that he
felt a single word or phrase could not be found to describe the spirit of my church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, since it is based upon all truth and therefore embraces all true, revealed religious beliefs and practices.
The professor disagreed. He felt strongly that what was missing from my thesis was a simple description of the spirit of my church and a design that would express it architecturally.
After the meeting, I left facing a challenge that, if not met, could well keep me from entering my chosen professional field. After pondering this dilemma, I decided to interview my priesthood leaders and other Church members in our ward. Many excellent suggestions for a single word or phrase to describe the spirit of the Church were made, including faith, eternal progression, revelation, the Book of Mormon, priesthood, prophets and apostles, and many others. I considered them all. But a means of satisfactorily expressing any of these gospel principles architecturally did not come to me.
With this delay in getting my degree, pressure mounted while I wrestled with the problem. For one thing, living costs for my family were becoming a concern. Then one night while pondering my problem, I realized I had not taken the challenge directly to our Father in Heaven. I had prayed for guidance and had sought out my priesthood leaders for advice, but I had not asked the Lord specifically for help in finding the word or phrase I needed. Humility filled my entire being. I had done all in my power to find an answer but had not been able to find a solution on my own. I truly needed direct help.
I found a quiet, private place to pray, and there I knelt and poured out my heart to my Heavenly Father. As I concluded my prayer, a word flashed into my mind: enlightenment. Then the phrase light and enlightenment followed. Joy swept through me. My prayer had been answered. I thought of how light and truth have been restored in our day through the Prophet Joseph Smith. As prophets, seers, and revelators, our Church leaders continue to offer light and truth to all who will listen. Our missionary efforts truly bring enlightenment to the world. Our temples glow with spiritual light. Eternal truths are taught and enlighten all who enter therein.
Suddenly it was easy to envision a meaningful architectural design for one of our Church buildings. I decided to design a building that would allow light to penetrate from the heavens all day long and that would radiate light heavenward each evening.
The resubmission of my thesis that now illustrated the phrase light and enlightenment was accepted. My professors expressed great interest in both the history and my description of the spirit of our church.
I am grateful to our Father in Heaven for the insight and inspiration I received on that occasion. The deep meaning and spiritual significance of this experience have been a wonderful and continued blessing to me since that day.8
Keith “went on to design many significant buildings and was part of the design team for the Washington DC Temple and the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah.”9

You had a busy day! Your classmate asked if he could copy your homework. You wanted to be honest, so you told him no but offered to help him.
On the way home from school, you saw your neighbor struggling to pick up a big basket of vegetables she had just picked from her garden. You wanted to get home, but you ran over and helped her carry the basket inside.
After dinner your dad asked you to do your math homework. Math is hard and you didn’t want to do it, but you decided to obey your dad.
You were tired at bedtime, but you knelt down and thanked Heavenly Father for your blessings.

When I was learning about the Church, I read Jacob 5:74. It stuck with me from the moment I read it. I was a very active member of my previous church for my whole life and had always had a desire to serve God. I even hoped to one day study philosophy and theology in order to serve Him. I had already passed my entrance exams to study philosophy.
But I will never forget when I first read that scripture. I remember that it was the night after I had first attended an LDS Church service. During one of the breaks between classes, I saw on the bulletin board the revelation received by President Thomas S. Monson concerning the lowering of the missionary age.
When I read Jacob 5:74 that night, I knew that I had to serve God. And somehow, looking at the missionaries—those two young men who were the same age as me—giving their lives for Him, I knew that this was how I could do so. The night before that Church service, I had decided to get baptized. The night after the service, I decided to go on a mission. Now I have returned home honorably after serving the beautiful people of the Philippines Cebu East Mission.
Josef Gutierrez, Batangas, Philippines

A few years ago, I attended an international conference of English teachers in Zvenigorod, near Moscow, Russia. I felt apprehensive about conversing in English with native-speaking professors. Although I had been an English teacher for years, this was my first international conference, and I feared that my English-speaking skills would not be adequate.
Toward the end of the conference, I attended a roundtable about Russian current events. Having thus far avoided speaking much English, I sat discreetly in a corner crowded room and listened to the discussion.
At one point, a gray-haired American professor stood up and asked, “What religious changes have occurred in Russia?”
Silence followed. Nobody wanted to answer because the sharing of religious feelings was still an unusual thing in our country. For me, however, the silence was difficult to bear because I had a response. I was feeling a prompting to speak out.
Despite my fears, I stood up and told the group in English that I had come from a religious family. Several of my father’s ancestors had been priests, and some of them had perished in Stalin’s camps.
Nevertheless, God and prayer had been part of my life for as long as I could remember, though I didn’t attend church except while on business trips to Moscow, where no one would recognize me. Starting in 1991, however, I no longer had to hide my Christian beliefs. Although I never forgot that my forebears had lost their lives for believing in God, I felt Russia’s new religious freedom was wonderful.
After I spoke, teachers from many different countries shared positive feelings with me about my response. The professor who had asked the question was from Brigham Young University, and we began a warm friendship. He taught me about the Latter-day Saints, the Book of Mormon, and the restored gospel.
Later, students from BYU came to my hometown of Voronezh to teach English. I invited them to my home for Russian cooking classes, and they invited me to their Sunday gathering. The meeting deeply impressed me with its simplicity, light, and spirit of mutual love, and I became a regular attender.
As I prayed and read the scriptures, I learned about repentance, baptism, and the gift of the Holy Ghost. I was baptized in Moscow by a BYU student on 15 December 1992, and in January 1993 the missionaries opened up Voronezh to missionary work. In February my son was baptized, and a year later my son baptized my husband. Because a gray-haired professor planted seeds of testimony, my family’s life is now full of purpose, joy, and the spreading of the gospel in Russia.

Many years ago, while serving as a bishop, I asked our ward council, “How could we become the most welcoming and friendly ward?” We counselled together on what it would be like to come to our ward for the first time. Who would greet us? Would someone sit with us? What would happen if we weren’t dressed correctly or were clearly struggling with an addiction to smoking? We talked about the Savior’s love and how we could ensure that those visiting our ward felt of that love. As we continued to counsel together, each member of the ward council considered and talked about the contribution they could make to help our ward become more welcoming and friendly. Together, we developed some ideas and as a ward council committed ourselves in the coming weeks to try to:
Personally shake hands with new members and investigators and help them feel welcome and comfortable.
Discuss ways of becoming a most welcoming and friendly ward in each auxiliary and quorum meeting.
Invite young men to be in the parking area before meetings to greet everyone and to provide assistance to anyone that needs help.
Invite young women to be greeters in the foyer and help all entering the building feel the Savior’s love.
Introduce new members and investigators to a member of the bishopric.
Welcome and recognise new members and investigators at classes, auxiliary, and priesthood meetings.
Avoid making any judgement of, or suggestions to, new investigators or returning members who are not dressed in normal church attire.
Make recommendations for callings and assignments to new members that will bless their lives and help them feel needed and learn and grow.
Assign ministering brothers and ministering sisters to care for new members.
Work shoulder-to-shoulder with full-time missionaries so that their investigators are connected and have ward member friends who love them as soon as they start attending church.
As the ward council continued to implement their ideas and to review progress, we quickly became a happier ward. As we learned together how to be welcoming and friendly, we all felt more loved and united. Church became a joyful experience, and people attending the ward for the first time felt like they were home.

One day while I was working on this devotional address at home, my four-year-old daughter was playing on the couch next to me. Our dog Jin barked at the back door, wanting to be let into the house.

“Can you let Jin inside?” I asked my daughter. Because what are children for except to do the small tasks you don’t feel like doing yourself?

But instead of jumping up happily to help, my daughter informed me, “Jin did not bark.”

“Well, I just heard him,” I told her.

“Jin is not outside,” she responded.

“Well,” I said, “I am actually looking at the door, and I see him standing outside.”

“He is not outside,” she insisted.

Because I was working on a devotional address about knowledge, I decided to do that “experiment on your own children” thing and asked, “Do you know that Jin is not outside?”

With great confidence she looked at me and said, “I know that Jin is not outside.”

At this point I got up myself and let our dog inside, and my daughter exclaimed, “Oh, Mommy, Jin was outside!”

Her apparent genuine surprise convinced me that she had not been lying when, in the face of visual and aural evidence, she had informed me that our dog was not actually outside barking to be let in. I believe she really knew that the dog was not outside because she wanted him to not be outside. It would have been inconvenient for her if he were outside because she would have had to stop playing and go let him in.

It makes for a funny little anecdote when it is about my determined, headstrong little daughter, but we do this all the time. When we know something, we are likely to hold on to that knowledge as tightly as we can, even when we are mistaken. We usually don’t realize we are doing this. Of course we don’t, because we know!

I have some friends who are about my age and who have never been able to have children. However, they have been able to turn their challenge into a life of service to the young people of their ward and extended family. What could have become a life filled with negatives, has become a life filled with children. Kids are over at their house after school for milk and cookies, the husband has built a zip line in the pasture for the neighbor kids to play on, and he installed a long rope on a tree at the river's edge so the kids can hold onto it and knee board as the river runs beneath them. Isn't that cool! They also have opportunities to teach the lessons of life that children often have a hard time taking from a parent. Life can still be good! And when some of those kids have their rotten days, you can send them home!

As we all must, they have also learned one of life's great lessons as exemplified by the Savior:
... and he will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities.[14]
What my friends have learned is that countless times since they've suffered their test, they've been able to take on the infirmities of others, they have had opportunity to succor others in their trials. When we lift burdens and sorrows in that way and express mercy, we experience god-like emotions of compassion and love. By doing so, our suffering assumes meaning in our lives. When we find meaning in suffering, we are better able to bear our own burdens. I repeat--when we can find meaning in the difficult things in life--by serving others who are burdened--we will be better able to bear our own burdens. I love and admire them for their willingness to bear others burdens, even amidst their own trials!

It’s easy to say, “The time isn’t right.” But there is danger in procrastination. Years ago I worked for a man in California. He hired me, he was kind to me, he seemed to regard me highly. I may have been the only Latter-day Saint he ever knew well. I don’t know all the reasons I found to wait for a better moment to talk with him about the gospel. I just remember my feeling of sorrow when I learned, after he had retired and I lived far away, that he and his wife had been killed in a late night drive to their home in Carmel, California. He loved his wife. He loved his children. He had loved his parents. He loved his grandchildren, and he will love their children and will want to be with them forever.

Now, I don’t know how the crowds will be handled in the world to come. But I suppose that I will meet him, that he will look into my eyes, and that I will see in them the question: “Hal, you knew. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Little did I know how much going to the temple was going to bless my family. After we had been going more often for over a year, I was sitting in a session when I noticed a quadriplegic man. I thought it was amazing that he was there. On the way out of the temple, I saw him sitting near the parking lot, so my husband and I thought we would say hi.
The man asked my husband, Chad, and I if we could help him make a phone call. We agreed to help, and the man told Chad where his phone was. Chad dialed the number for him and then handed him the phone. The man could not reach out for it, though he smiled kindly. Chad looked down at the man’s arms, which were strapped to his wheelchair, and quickly realized he needed to hold the phone up to his ear. The city bus service that was supposed to pick the man up was late. We stayed with him and talked until his bus came. We were amazed that, despite his challenges, he was at the temple. He had such a great attitude. He had a bright smile. Before he left, we exchanged contact information and learned that his name was Max Para.
If Brother Para could get himself to the temple, we could get ourselves to the temple—no excuses!

Loving those around us includes being sensitive to feelings of others. As is often done, a conducting officer announced that when the deacons were through passing the sacrament, they were invited to go and sit with their families. One father noticed a boy walk out and sit in the foyer. The next week he invited that deacon to sit with his family rather than go through the embarrassment and loneliness caused by not having his own family in attendance. This parent responded to the need of the boy rather than criticizing the leaders for the policy. The actions of this father can be enlarged on and put into practice by every member.

For New Beginnings, I was asked to talk about virtue as a Young Women value. I was supposed to wear something gold to coordinate with its value color, but my wardrobe didn’t seem to include that color. After searching through my closet, I located a gold shirt that I hadn’t worn in a long time. I tried it on only to realize I’d outgrown it. Looking in the mirror, I thought, “This is probably not a good night to wear something a little too short—I’m representing virtue.”
Then it hit me: I’m always standing for virtue. Every day I represent virtue and modesty in my attitude, actions, words, and clothing. On Sundays and at youth activities, I can be a model of modesty for the younger girls. As one of the few Latter-day Saint students at my school, I try to dress appropriately, because to others, I represent my religion. Most important, my clothes can show others and myself that I know my body is a temple and that I respect it as such. By dressing modestly, I “stand for truth and righteousness,” just as the Young Women motto proclaims.
As I talked about virtue that night, I spoke with confidence. Perhaps my outfit was more yellow than gold, but I felt at peace before my friends, my leaders, and my Heavenly Father. “No matter what I’m doing,” I thought, “I always want to dress modestly. I represent virtue every single day.”

Katy skipped along the sidewalk toward the big oak tree at the corner of her street. The old tree made Nana’s house easy to find.
As usual, Nana was sitting in her living room, quietly braiding and sewing strips of bright cloth. The polished wooden floors of Nana’s house were decorated with beautiful rugs that Nana made herself.
“Hello, honey,” Nana said as Katy came in. Soon they were talking about what Nana called the “old days.” They looked at black-and-white photos together. Katy especially liked seeing the clothes and hairstyles her relatives wore when they were younger.
“Things were very different then,” Nana said with a sigh. “You know, we didn’t have cars or TV or cell phones.”
Katy couldn’t even imagine having to walk everywhere. “What did you do for fun, Nana?” Katy asked.
“We loved to sing together. We would gather around the piano in the evening and sing our favorite songs. Sometimes we’d sing ourselves hoarse! It was such a fun time.”
Nana looked off into the yard like she could rewind the years and watch them over again.
Katy sat next to the coiled rug that spilled off of Nana’s lap. She traced the careful stitches with her fingers.
“I’ve been thinking,” Nana said slowly, “how would you like to make your very own braided rug?”
Katy jumped up and clapped her hands.
“I would love to, Nana! Can we start today?”
Nana chuckled. “Well, there’s something you need to do first. Go home and gather up old clothes that we can cut into strips.”
Her eyes twinkled as she leaned toward Katy, her voice quiet as if she were sharing a secret.
“That’s what makes the rug special. Because it’s made of clothes, the rug can tell the story of your life. Each braid is like a chapter in a book about you. Looking at the fabric of an old dress can help you remember the places you wore it and what you did when you had it on.”
Katy’s eyes widened. She pointed to the rug Nana was braiding.
“Do you remember all about the cloth in this rug?”
Nana smiled. “You bet I do! This red piece is from the dress I wore when you were born. I remember pressing my nose to the glass window in the nursery to get a closer look at you. You were still all pink and wrinkly.”
Katy and Nana laughed together as Nana continued to tell Katy stories from the rug. As soon as Katy got home that night, she and Mama set aside old clothes that Katy could use.
The next day, Katy took the cloth to Nana’s house. Nana showed Katy how to cut the fabric into long strips, braid them, and sew the braids together.
Every day after school, Katy went to work on the rug at Nana’s house.
Little by little, the rug grew. As the days went by, Katy learned many of Nana’s stories by heart. Some days she was the one who told lots of stories to Nana.
One day, after adding a blue section to the rug that used to be a favorite pair of jeans, Katy rubbed the palm of her hand against the colorful braids.
“Don’t you think that rug is about done?” Nana asked, looking up from her work.
“Not yet,” Katy said with a smile. She never wanted this time with Nana to end.

David looked proudly at his project. He had worked very hard to make it perfect for Mommy. He had even stayed in at recess to finish it instead of play dodgeball with the rest of his first-grade class.
He had started out with a large sheet of plain white paper. Then he had carefully cut out bright yellow flowers, curly red flowers, and big orange flowers with long petals. Next, he had carefully glued them one by one onto his paper. With green crayons of two different shades, he had drawn tall stems and wavy leaves on all the flowers. In the very center of the largest yellow flower, he carefully spelled out “I love you.”
“What a beautiful garden, David,” said his teacher. “Your mother will be very pleased.”
“Thank you,” David answered politely. “I made it big so it would be special.”
After school, he went to the back of the room to get his jacket. He set his lunch box and the picture on the floor while he put on his jacket. When he reached down to pick up his picture, he heard an awful tearing sound. His foot had been on the edge of the paper, and a big piece tore completely off. Sadly, David threw the piece away. The rest was still big enough to be special, but not as big as he had wanted it to be.
He started walking home, holding Mommy’s picture carefully in one hand and his lunch box in the other. As he passed Mrs. Johnson’s house, the picture caught on a branch of her rosebush. One whole corner was ripped into shreds. He tore it off and threw it into a nearby dumpster. He hoped Mommy would like what was left of her picture, even though it wasn’t very big anymore.
A sudden gust of wind tore the paper from his grasp at the corner of his block. He chased it down the sidewalk and finally caught up with it, but not before it had landed partway in a puddle. Nearly everything that was left of Mommy’s garden picture was soggy.
As David entered his own yard, he tossed the damaged part into the big trash can near the gate, saving only the yellow flower that said “I love you.” He trudged into the house. “I have something for you, Mommy,” he called.
“What is it, honey?” she asked, coming to give him a big welcome-home hug.
“It’s a flower. It was a whole garden, and it was special because it was big, but this is all there is left.” He held the yellow flower out to her.
“Why, David, this is perfect!” exclaimed Mommy, taking the flower and giving him another big hug. “And it’s just the right size!”
She went over to the table, picked up her purse, and took out her new wallet. “Look,” she said. “It fits into the last empty window in my wallet. I can take my special flower with me everywhere I go, and it will remind me of the special boy who made it for me!”
David grinned a big, happy, “I love you” grin.

The Vershinin family from Nizhniy Novgorod first visited the Stockholm Sweden Temple in 2000. After traveling to St. Petersburg, Sergey, Vera, and their daughter, Irina, joined a group of Russian Latter-day Saints from various cities and traveled by bus and ferry to reach the temple. At the temple, Irina participated in baptisms for the dead and was sealed to her parents. “The trip gave us testimonies and many blessings,” she recalled. “They were small testimonies received individually by each person. But as a whole they helped us and gave momentum for further spiritual growth.”12

While living and working in Alaska a number of years ago, I had occasion to go on a fishing trip with a group of young men that included one of my sons. The other adult leaders and I knew that the area we would be camping in was bear country, so prior to the trip, we gathered the boys together to discuss certain safety measures.
We talked about four basic rules to remember when fishing in bear country: First, don’t do things that would invite a bear into the camp. For example, don’t store food out in the open that would attract the bears. Second, keep the camp clean. Take care of all garbage. If you catch and clean fish, get rid of the entrails and slime. Third, if a bear does come, know how to defend yourself. Drop down, be still, and play dead. Fourth, if someone gets hurt or is attacked by a bear, know how to get help. Signal to others that you are in trouble, and keep a good orientation of your surroundings so that you know the fastest way to go for assistance.
I am confident that all would have gone well on that trip had we kept all those rules. But we didn’t! On our last day we cleaned fish in the center of the camp and didn’t properly dispose of the remains. That night a Kodiak bear wandered into camp. We had just settled inside our tents, when we heard its panting. We literally froze in fear. We couldn’t talk.
Luckily for us, the bear got what it was after and nothing more. It found and ate some of the fish we had cleaned, and it ran off with two buckets, which were filled with the day’s catch. But it left us alone and didn’t do more harm.

Christa worked for a seed company. One day she got a complaint that puzzled her.
“The seeds don’t work,” a customer said.
“Did you plant them in good soil and give them water and sunlight?” Christa asked.
“No! That would mean getting dirty.”
Christa decided to write instructions: “You must plant the seeds. You can’t set them on the shelf and expect them to grow.”
Soon she got another complaint.
“I planted the seeds, and I was hoping to have tomatoes for dinner. Now I am very disappointed.”
“Wait,” Christa said. “Are you saying you planted the seeds today?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” the customer replied. “I planted them a week ago.”
Christa added another guideline: “You must be patient and wait.”
All went well until Christa received another complaint.
“I planted the seeds, gave them water and sunshine, and waited. But I got zucchini!” the customer said.
“You ordered zucchini seeds,” Christa said.
“But I don’t want zucchini. I want pumpkins! I planted the seeds in my pumpkin patch!”
harvest: the food picked from a garden
Christa wrote: “The seeds you plant determine the harvest.”

My Grandfather Patterson was a missionary in the Eastern States Mission in 1927 when Elder B. H. Roberts was president of that mission. Elder Roberts had an intensive six-week school with which he prepared his missionaries for the rigors of missionary life. Elder Roberts cared deeply about his missionaries and wanted them to develop the spiritual, intellectual, and physical gifts that would help them succeed. He pushed them very hard to think about the gospel and to develop the ability to preach it and defend it. My grandfather recorded in his journal what I think is the essence of the work required of us to learn the gospel. On January 17, 1927, he wrote:

School started out as per schedule and we have been following the schedule all week, and it certainly put one’s nerves on edge, for my head has felt like a boiler factory. But it was worth it just to hear Pres. Roberts talk.

The next day, January 18, he recorded: “School went along as schedule[d], even if my head did hurt.”

January 19: “School as usual. Head still hurting.”

January 20: “School as usual. Head still hurting.”

Now, lest you think this ends with my grandfather’s head exploding, he recorded on January 21, “Just had school till noon, had the rest of [the day] to catch up on our loafing.”

Being an introvert and having to talk to people wasn’t the easiest thing for me. Most of the time I let people approach me, but in high school there weren’t a lot of people who wanted to talk to me. So I was happy that I remembered this old trick I had learned—I smiled. The more someone smiles, the more approachable that person will become. I realized the more I smiled at people, the more they would start talking to me and the easier it became for me to become friends with them.

My family and I were watching President Nelson on TV when he said something that caught my attention. He said that there was going to be a worldwide fast!
I wanted to fast, but I had never done it before. Recently the COVID-19 pandemic had started, and we were stuck at home. I knew that I had to do my part. My mom couldn’t fast because she had a baby a few months ago. My little sister and brothers were too young to fast. It would be just me and my dad.
I decided I was only going to skip breakfast because this was my very first time fasting, and I didn’t know how long I would last. On Saturday night I had a good dinner, and then my family said a prayer for my dad and me to start our fast.
The next day we had home church, which is what we had been doing since the pandemic started. I was trying to distract myself from the fact that my sister was eating and that I was really hungry. After church, I played hymns on the piano. Later I looked at the clock, and it was almost lunchtime! I had no idea how fast time had gone. I had completely forgotten that I was fasting!
I decided to say a prayer to break my fast. During the prayer, I felt the Spirit more strongly than I ever had before. I felt that everything was going to be OK. It was a great experience.
Ever since that first fast, I have done every fast that the prophet has asked us to do, and I have felt the Spirit strongly every time.

The youngest of four children, Robert was born in Idaho Falls, Idaho, on 25 December 1936 to Jack and Blanche Wood. After graduating from high school, he began studies at Stanford University, where he met Dixie Leigh Jones. He then served in the French Mission from 1957 to 1959. When Robert returned to complete his degree in history, he and Dixie began dating. He recalls, “Probably the most significant question she asked after we had been dating for a while was when she looked me straight in the eye and said, ‘Robert, are you going to stay active?’” His answer was clear, and they were married in the Idaho Falls Temple on 27 March 1961.
The Woods are parents of four daughters and have eight grandchildren. “Two things explain our family,” says Elder Wood. “First, Heavenly Father just sent us four terrific kids. And second, their mother … I would never have been able to do anything that I’ve done professionally or in the Church had I not married the right woman who asked the question, ‘Are you going to stay active?’”