Gospel Story Finder

Several years ago, Amy Stohl didn’t know exactly why she accepted a position as an au pair (similar to a nanny) with an LDS military family living in Belgium. She just felt right about it. She enjoyed her time with the Robert McBride family, and they became close friends.
Soon, however, Amy was back at BYU, where she continued work on her pre-med requirements. But she became convinced that medical school just wouldn’t be right for her, and she switched to a humanities major.
A couple of years later, the McBrides, now assigned to the U.S. Military Academy, called to tell Amy about a cadet named Shaun Greene. He’d been a student at BYU before, but was now at West Point. He was going to be at BYU for a couple of days in the fall to watch a football game, and they’d like her to meet him. Shaun and Amy got acquainted and began writing to each other.
By January, Amy was close to graduation, but was planning to stay at BYU for one more semester. “But I became restless,” she says. “I prayed for guidance, and I felt something important was coming up.”
She talked to the McBrides and decided to move to Manhattan. “I found a place to live, had a job lined up, even arranged to finish my degree by correspondence,” Amy says. “Everything seemed to be working out.

“But when I visited West Point, I had a strong impression that I had to stay, isolated as it was, so that I could understand Shaun and what he had been through. I don’t know that anyone can fully understand a cadet’s thinking without spending time at West Point.”
The understanding grew. In fact, now Shaun and Amy see each other every evening.
It’s graduation day at West Point. Time for the final parade. And even though rain will soak cadets and spectators alike, it won’t matter. Tomorrow the sun will shine, bright and hot, and the graduates, dressed in white because their gray uniforms were ruined by the storm, will receive their diplomas and commissions from the President of the United States.
A few days later, Shaun and Amy will enter the Washington D.C. Temple to be married for time and eternity. Oh, sure, by July Shaun has to report for additional training. But before that, there’s a honeymoon to attend to. It’s a matter of putting first things first.

After watching his newborn nephew, Austin, suffer so long before receiving a transplant, Eric McClellan, a 17-year-old priest from the San Jose California Stake, decided to do a good turn. Now this wasn’t your typical, daily good turn expected of all Scouts. Rather it was a three-month-long Eagle Scout project inspired by a woman who willingly gave her bone marrow to a five-month-old boy she didn’t even know. Eric used his Eagle Scout project as a way to return her good deed. He did this by organizing a bone marrow registry drive in conjunction with his stake’s blood drive.
To begin his project, Eric met with a Red Cross representative and discussed the immediate needs of his community. Eric and other Scouts under his direction then distributed the fliers and some sign-up sheets to the wards in his stake. Then, after weeks of reminders, Eric and his mom got on the phone the night before the drive to call and remind all 108 people on the sign-up sheets.
All this reminding paid off. The next evening 68 pints of blood were collected, and 34 people were tested for bone marrow and put on the national registry.
During the drive Eric, his dad, and one of his friends labeled the blood bags, another Scout escorted donors to the refreshment table, and some adults in the stake typed Red Cross forms. “I learned a lot about organization and organizing people to do the jobs that they are supposed to and getting everything to run smoothly,” Eric said.
Through his service, Eric hopes to spare others the suffering that his nephew and the rest of his family had to go through while waiting for a suitable bone marrow donor. Remembering the difficult five months before Austin had his transplant, Eric says, “It was hard for my sister [Austin’s mom], because she had to just keep hoping that there would be someone found that would match him. If they find someone from my drive to be a donor for someone else, I’ll feel good.”

One of the guidelines in For the Strength of Youth states: “Through your dress and appearance, you can show the Lord that you know how precious your body is. You can show that you are a disciple of Jesus Christ.”
After studying these words, one young woman realized that perhaps some of her clothes were not completely modest. Through prayer and study of the scriptures, she was reminded that she was a disciple of Jesus Christ and that, as His representative, she needed to make some changes. She didn’t want to have anything in her wardrobe that was a temptation, so she went through her closet and drawers and got rid of anything that wasn’t modest. She said, “I would be smart if I didn’t even try on anything in stores that I knew I shouldn’t wear. Why be tempted?” That firm resolve showed the Lord that she respected her body, and she drove down a deep stake for modesty.

To illustrate this I should like to repeat a story related by Henry D. Taylor a few years ago in a talk which he gave at conference and which he entitled “Man Does Not Stand Alone.”
“A boy was extended an invitation to visit his uncle who was a lumberjack up in the Northwest. … [As he arrived] his uncle met him at the depot, and as the two pursued their way to the lumber camp, the boy was impressed by the enormous size of the trees on every hand. There was a gigantic tree which he observed standing all alone on the top of a small hill. The boy, full of awe, called out excitedly, ‘Uncle George, look at that big tree! It will make a lot of good lumber, won’t it?’
“Uncle George slowly shook his head, then replied, ‘No, son, that tree will not make a lot of good lumber. It might make a lot of lumber but not a lot of good lumber. When a tree grows off by itself, too many branches grow on it. Those branches produce knots when the tree is cut into lumber. The best lumber comes from trees that grow together in groves. The trees also grow taller and straighter when they grow together.’”
Then Brother Taylor made this observation: “It is so with people. We become better individuals, more useful timber when we grow together rather than alone.” (Conference Report, April 1965, pp. 54–55.)

For a long time, whenever I searched the Topical Guide or the index of the scriptures to write a talk, I preferred finding scriptures in the Book of Mormon, the New Testament, and even the Old Testament over scriptures in the Doctrine and Covenants. Sure, a lot of the information in the Old Testament has old book names and seems hard to understand, but the Doctrine and Covenants has just numbers—no interesting book names at all.
My feelings about the Doctrine and Covenants changed when we studied it in seminary. I had already tried to read through the entire standard works during my personal scripture study, which I had started when I was eight, but I had skipped the Doctrine and Covenants. The Doctrine and Covenants seemed to be just tedious numbers and instruction—no storylines, no main characters, no wars, no challenges. How could it mean something to me?
So the Church history and Doctrine and Covenants year of study came. During my previous two years of seminary, I had fulfilled my goal to read the entire book of study (the New Testament and then Book of Mormon) as we studied it in seminary throughout the school year. I couldn’t skip that goal just because of a bunch of boring numbers, so I took up the challenge.
Throughout the year, my seminary teacher taught us the historical context of each section in the Doctrine and Covenants. This instruction really helped me understand what I read on my own. The greatest thing I learned that year in seminary was that I was wrong—the Doctrine and Covenants is not a book of boring numbers that doesn’t apply to me. On the contrary, I found that I connected to this book of scripture in a special way because the people the Lord talks to in the Doctrine and Covenants are a lot closer to me in lifestyle and time period than the people in any other book of scripture.
My experience with the Doctrine and Covenants taught me that if, for whatever reason, I feel uninterested in any type of gospel instruction, I’m usually missing out on something great. With patience and a sincere desire to learn, I came to appreciate the Lord’s revelations to the Prophet Joseph Smith in the Doctrine and Covenants, as well as all the writings of ancient and modern prophets. Through this experience the Holy Ghost touched me and the gospel blessed my life every day.

“If I was five, I could go to school, too,” Sally said to Mom as they watched Jamie climb off the school bus.
“Then I’d really have a something day to tell about.”
“What happened at school today?” Sally asked as soon as she opened the door.
“Well,” said Jamie, “Anne’s cat had seven kittens, I traded sandwiches with Pete, and Miss Johnson has short hair now.”
Sally followed Jamie to the kitchen, where she added, “And Marsha’s mom helped her make cookies. I got two. I saved them to eat with you.”
Jamie put her lunchbox on the table next to a paper sack and two paper cups. “What happened at home?”
“Nothing ever happens at home.” Sally sighed. “Mom sewed curtains all day. I only went discovering in the backyard.”
“You did? What’s in the sack, Sally? Can I see?”
“Oh, it’s just a plain old cricket,” said Sally, “but you can look at it if you want to.”
Jamie opened the bag carefully and peeked inside. “That’s a neat cricket,” she said. “Greenish yellow crickets are tree crickets, and they chirp real loud. Did you know that crickets have their ears on their front legs just below their knees?”
“They do?”
“This is a great cricket, Sally. Not everyone can catch a tree cricket. What’s in the paper cup?” asked Jamie.
“There’s just an old dead bee in this one,” Sally said. “You can look at it if you want to.”
“Why, that’s a bumblebee!” declared Jamie.
“See, it’s black and yellow and fat and hairy.”
“Do bumblebees have a loud buzz?”
Turning the bee over gently, Jamie answered, “Yes, and they have a sharp stinger, too, but a bumblebee usually only stings something if it’s hurt or frightened. It’s a good bee. A bumblebee carries pollen from blossom to blossom, and that helps the plants grow and produce fruit.”
“Mom said that farmers call them friends,” said Sally.
“That’s right,” agreed Jamie.
“What’s in the other cup?”
“Nothing special,” said Sally. “Just an old caterpillar.”
“Wow!” Jamie exclaimed. “I’ve never seen a better black and white and yellow-striped caterpillar. Look at all its little feet! I read that it likes to eat and eat until it grows out of its skin.”
“It does?”
“Sure,” said Jamie. “We’ll let it go, and someday that caterpillar will be a big, beautiful monarch butterfly with orange and black wings.”
Sally and Jamie walked to the vacant lot down the street. They put the caterpillar near some milkweed plants.
“Now let’s go eat Marsha’s cookies,” suggested Jamie.
“You know what?” said Sally as she watched Jamie get out Marsha’s cookies. “I had a something day, after all!”

In Mendoza, Argentina, we attended a seminary graduation. In the class was a young man who had great difficulty climbing ordinary steps. As the class marched in, two strong young classmates gracefully lifted him up the steps. We watched during and after the proceedings, and it became apparent that the whole class was afflicted with a marvelous kind of blindness. They could not see that he was different. They saw a classmate, a friend. In them the works of God were being manifest. While there was no physical transformation in the boy or in his classmates, they were serving like angels, soothing a spirit locked in a deformed body awaiting that time when it would be everlastingly made perfect.

From a missionary I received an unforgettable letter. He wrote: “I still am not certain why it was that I was [afflicted] with [cancer], particularly during the time I was serving the Lord on a mission, but I can say with all honesty and sincerity that I am eternally grateful to our gracious Heavenly Father for allowing me to have that experience. … Not a day goes by,” he continued, “that I don’t think about the days I spent lying in the hospital suffering through chemotherapy or grimacing with the pain from another operation. … Not a day … passes when I don’t think of the days I spent studying the scriptures, particularly the Book of Mormon, and remembering the overwhelming feelings of comfort and peace which I felt. I often think of the nights when I would retire to bed and pour out my soul to my Heavenly Father and thank Him for preserving my life.” Then the elder shared this wonderful news: “I returned to the doctor this week … and … he found no evidence of any disease in my body.” I love such faithful missionaries!

Samuel grew up in Cape Coast, Ghana, as a devoted Seventh-day Adventist. He knew of the Church through his friend Alexander Asare Duodu, a friend from his teenage years who would invite him to services and activities. The lifestyle and conduct of Alexander and others, such as Charles Amoah, Ernest Arko, Stephen Amoah, impressed him greatly, and he began to live his life in accord with those attributes. But whenever he was asked if he’d like to join the Church, which happened to him regularly, he always declined. He admits that part of the reason was fear of telling his mother, who was staunch in her beliefs. And he just wasn’t ready to make the commitment.
One day, after getting another invitation to be baptised, he decided to accept just so that he could be free of the constant invitations. His plan, however, was to just not show up on the day of the baptism. But when the day came, as he explained, he “failed to flee.” He was baptised by Elder Anthony M. Kaku and confirmed by Elder John K. Buah on December 13, 1986.

Our grandson was only four when a policeman picked him up on the side of the highway. He said he was headed to Grandma’s house, about five miles (8 km) away.
It was the second time he had run away from the unhappiness at home, trying to get to me. Over the next few months, I came to realize that the responsibility of raising my grandson and his two younger sisters was probably going to fall on my shoulders—an idea I did not readily embrace.
My husband and I had done our best to raise our children with gospel principles, but they eventually rejected those principles. I was in my 50s and felt that I had finally earned the right to pursue my own interests. I cherished the goal my husband and I shared of serving a mission together when he retired. The notion of going grocery shopping with preschoolers, organizing mealtimes, doing thousands of loads of laundry, and someday again mothering teenagers reduced me to tears.
One afternoon, however, something changed my heart. A small thing had upset my grandson, so I took him onto my lap and wiped away his tears. As I held him, we talked about how much Jesus loved him. Nearby I had a wall calendar featuring paintings of the Savior, so we looked at those beautiful images one by one.
My grandson was especially interested in a depiction of the Savior sitting in a stone doorway with a small, brown-haired girl on His lap. In the painting, both the Savior and the child radiate peace. My grandson looked closely, pointed to the girl, and called her by his sister’s name.
“How can Katie sit on Jesus’s lap, Grandma?” he asked. “I want to sit on His lap too!”
“You can’t sit on Jesus’s lap now, sweetheart, but you can sit on my lap,” I said. “Jesus gives little children grandmas to love them and hold them and take care of them when they need it.”
Suddenly my heart embraced a future of loving—as the Savior would love—three beloved children who needed me. They were no longer a burden but a wonderful blessing and opportunity to serve our Lord.
I will be forever grateful for the tender mercy of the Lord given to me that afternoon. It changed my life and continues to strengthen and bless our home.

Two of my sisters, widows—one the mother of ten, and the other the mother of eight—after sending their children on missions, talked to their bishops about going on missions themselves.

I well remember the day they called me on the telephone and said, “Guess what? We’ve received our missionary calls.”

I said, “What missionary calls?”

They replied, “Don’t you know?”

I said, “No, I hadn’t heard.”

They responded, “Yes, we’re both going to your old field of labor in England.”

The mission president assigned them to work as companions—twenty months without a transfer. I think that is some kind of a record.

A few weeks ago I learned an important lesson from a Laurel who was the youth speaker in my ward. I was touched as she confidently taught and testified of Jesus Christ. She concluded her remarks with this statement: “When I make Jesus Christ the center of my life, my day goes better, I’m kinder to my loved ones, and I am filled with joy.”
I have observed this young woman from a distance over the past few months. She greets everyone with sparkling eyes and a quick smile. I’ve watched her rejoice in the success of other youth. Two Mia Maids recently reported to me of this young woman’s decision to forfeit her ticket to a movie when she realized that it was not going to be an experience that was “virtuous and lovely.”1 She’s loving, kind, and obedient. She comes from a single-parent home, and her life has not been without challenges, so I’ve wondered how she maintains her happy, kind spirit. When this young woman testified, “I center my life on Jesus Christ,” I had the answer.

What would you do if a frantic mother came running toward you with a lifeless baby in her arms? If you had hours of lifesaving training in Scouts like Karl Durst does, you’d probably do what he did. He administered CPR to the child and saved its life.

Karl’s neighbor’s 11-month-old baby had slipped under the bath water and lost consciousness. The mother dialed 911, then ran her baby next door for help. Karl, an Eagle Scout, had come home early for lunch (the only day all summer he’d done that), and was the only one at home when his neighbor came. Karl was shocked but acted quickly and efficiently, and soon the baby was breathing and crying again.

Karl is a priest in the Rigby Fifth Ward, Rigby Idaho Stake.

When Hurricane Harvey hit Houston, Texas, USA, Hailey and London wanted to help. They saw news stories about libraries whose books had been ruined in the flood. Hailey and London love reading, so they decided to raise money for new books. They made more than 165 “Texas Strong” stickers. People from all over bought the stickers. Hailey and London donated all the money to their favorite library in Houston.

“As [a] man was walking past his neighbor’s house, he noticed in the middle of [the] beautiful lawn a single, enormous, yellow dandelion weed. … Why didn’t his neighbor pull it out? Couldn’t he see it? … This solitary dandelion bothered [the man] beyond description, and he wanted to do something about it. Should he just pluck it out? Or spray it with weed killer? Perhaps if he went under cover of night, he could remove it secretly. These thoughts totally occupied his mind as he walked toward his own home. He entered his house without even glancing at his own front yard—which was blanketed with hundreds of yellow dandelions. … I’m not sure why we are able to diagnose and recommend remedies for other people’s ills so well, while we often have difficulty seeing our own.”

A man of wisdom often offered this simple piece of advice: “David, stand tall.” My dad did not expect that I would add inches to my stature or rise up on my tiptoes. He meant that I should be courageous in my decision, not compromising principles, not violating spiritual values, and not shrinking from responsibility. When I have followed his advice, life has been very good. When I have failed to stand tall, life has usually been unpleasant. I recently asked my two young grandsons what it would mean to them if Heavenly Father asked them to stand tall. I noticed one inadvertently raised himself to his tippy-toes so as to seem a little taller. And then they quickly said in unison, “He wants us to do what is right.”

Marcus V., a priest from Washington, USA, is a busy young man. He’s student body president and football team captain, and he participates in other sports, academic pursuits, and interests such as the drums and drama. But despite his busy schedule, he is an active member of his priests quorum, and he makes time to do his duty to God.
In March 2011, Marcus made a plan in his Fulfilling My Duty to God booklet that read simply, “Invite a friend to youth conference.” On the day before youth conference, though he’d thought about the plan often, he hadn’t invited anyone yet. At lunch, he casually asked if anyone wanted to come to youth conference. To his surprise, one friend did. This friend, Jesse, came to what turned out to be a great youth conference. “The testimony meeting was extremely powerful,” says Marcus, “and people Jesse knew from school were standing up and sharing their feelings about the gospel.” At the end of the conference, Jesse asked for a Book of Mormon.
Marcus gave him a copy, and Jesse started reading right away. “Jesse ran track with me,” says Marcus. “We’d go running together and talk about the Book of Mormon and what he’d read.”
When Marcus invited Jesse to church, he accepted. He started coming to church and Mutual and meeting with the missionaries.
One day Jesse was reading the Book of Mormon at school, and the boy next to him, his friend Kelly, asked him what he was reading. After a conversation about the Book of Mormon, Jesse invited Kelly to Mutual that night.
Before Mutual the missionaries talked with Kelly. They asked if he wanted to come sit in on a discussion with Jesse. The discussion “contradicted everything I’d ever been told about the Church,” Kelly says. “I had a bunch of misconceptions about the Church. It started to change my point of view.”
Kelly and Jesse both continued to meet with the missionaries, and Marcus was there as much as possible.
“It was a really happy time for me,” Marcus explains. “I felt that when I was at school I could always do the right thing because I was not only responsible for myself, but I was also responsible for these friends I was helping come to the gospel.” Kelly says Marcus supported him through it all. “He answered all my questions, and he was a really good friend. He encouraged me to keep going, but he didn’t push.”
Just a few weeks after his first missionary discussion, Kelly committed to baptism and asked Marcus to baptize him. Marcus relates the baptism to Doctrine and Covenants 18:15, which says, “If it so be that you should labor all your days in crying repentance unto this people, and bring, save it be one soul unto me, how great shall be your joy with him in the kingdom of my Father!”
“I felt that joy,” he says. “It was indescribable, so full of light and happiness.”
Kelly knows that the gospel has changed his life. “I make positive choices now,” he says. “I have good friends. I feel better knowing the truth and that God is real. I’m excited for the future now.”
Marcus invites young men to “make Duty to God a priority. It’s really a booklet to make young men into missionaries. Value it, ask your friends about it, talk about it, be thinking about it all the time.” Just as Marcus’s plan made a difference for Kelly and for Jesse, who continues to study the gospel, your plans in Duty to God can change lives. But it’s not just about making plans, it’s about carrying out your plans, living the gospel, and doing your duty to God.

High above the lake, up where the city gives way to rugged desert foothills, is the home of Brother Hurt. It’s late spring, and the grape arbor which hangs over his front porch is heavy with fruit. Out back he has a garden he’s very proud of. But the careful desert landscaping of his front yard has given way to a riot of uninvited bushes and weeds. His cancer simply hasn’t left him the strength to swing a mattock or a shovel as hard or often as he needs to in order to keep the area clear.
It’s late. The sun is burning into the mountains on the far side of the lake, turning the cliffs, rank on rank, to purple and blue cutouts. There is dust in the air. It glows with the sunset. The dust is from the blades of mattocks and hoes and shovels. The priests quorum is working hard, grubbing out the weeds and brush.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. The rhythm is swift and even. The priests don’t stop to talk or laugh or play. Brother Hurt stands among them, pointing out with a crutch what he wants grubbed and what he wants left. Out go the cheese weed and spurge, the skeleton weed and quail brush, the bullheads and scorpion plants. Out go all their henchmen of the plant underworld.
The sun goes down and no one stops working. No one takes a break. No one complains. They just keep on grubbing until it’s too dark to go on.
The priests shake hands with Brother Hurt. They promise him they’ll be back to finish the job. They’re smiling, both because it feels good to help out, and because Brother Levi has promised he’ll treat them to frozen yogurt.
Brother Hurt smiles too. He was a strong man in his day, and he’s still strong inside, unbowed and unembittered by the illness which gnaws at his vitals. His once viselike grip is growing weak, but he knows that the strong young hands of his brothers are his without even the asking.

One day years ago, as young missionaries laboring in a tiny branch on the small island of Amami Oshima, Japan, my companion and I were ecstatic to learn that President Spencer W. Kimball would be visiting Asia and that all members and missionaries in Japan were invited to Tokyo to hear the prophet at an area conference. With branch members, my companion and I excitedly began making plans for the conference, which would require a 12-hour boat ride across the East China Sea to mainland Japan, followed by a 15-hour train ride to Tokyo. Sadly, however, it was not to be. We received word from our mission president that because of distance and time, my companion and I would not be able to attend the conference in Tokyo.
While members of our little branch embarked for Tokyo, we stayed behind. The following days seemed quiet and empty. We held sacrament meeting alone in the small chapel, while the Latter-day Saints and missionaries of Japan attended the conference.
My sense of personal disappointment intensified even as I joyfully listened to branch members return from the conference days later to report that President Kimball had announced a temple in Tokyo. They gushed with excitement as they shared the fulfillment of their dream. They described how, upon hearing the temple announcement, members and missionaries were unable to contain their joy and spontaneously erupted into clapping their hands.
Years have passed, but I can still remember the disappointment I felt from missing that historic meeting.

It was the first day at my new school. My mother and I were in the office filling out papers when we heard an announcement over the speakers that basketball tryouts would be held that day after school. Since I had played on the team at my old school, I thought I’d go to the tryouts and see what happened. I knew things would be a little different moving from a school where almost everyone was a member of the Church to a school where I might be the only one. But that day I learned things would be really different.
Before school my father had given me a priesthood blessing, which helped me feel a little less worried. Then when we had family prayer, my four-year-old brother prayed that I wouldn’t be scared and that I would be happy at my new school. His prayer really had an effect on me, especially because I’m more of a quiet personality and don’t like drawing attention to myself. At this new school, where my religious beliefs were so unique, I knew I would get a lot of unwanted attention. I was scared and worried, and I already felt like I didn’t fit in.
Basketball tryouts started with drills and shooting baskets and ended with a lot of running. I had tried my best and felt that I had a pretty good chance of making the team. Then it happened.
The coach called everyone over to give some final instructions. As we stood there tired and breathing heavily, the coach asked a question in a loud voice. “Are there any Mormon boys here who can’t practice on Sundays?”
Time seemed to freeze. Did I hear him right? Instantly my mind flashed back to the recent night when I was struggling with living in this new place. I had decided to read For the Strength of Youth and underline what I thought was important in each section. I knew this would help me keep the Lord’s standards and help me feel closer to God. I knew the Lord would be there to help me in my time of need. I could see in my mind the section under “Sabbath Day Observance” where it says, “The Lord has given the Sabbath day for your benefit and has commanded you to keep it holy. … Sunday is not a holiday or a day for recreation or athletic events” (32–33).
Without hesitation I raised my hand. The coach looked at me. All the other boys looked at me. When I looked around I saw that I was the only “Mormon boy” there. What I’d been afraid of was happening. But I didn’t feel embarrassed or scared. I actually felt happy inside.
Talking to my dad on the way home, I remembered my little brother’s prayer; it had been answered. I was happy here. I was happy that I had passed the test and that I’d had the courage to stand up for the truth.
That day had been a tryout. I thought it was only for the basketball team, but it was also a tryout to see if I would stand on the Lord’s side. I was so glad that I had raised my hand to show I wanted to be on His side. When the basketball roster was posted, I was surprised to see my name on it. I made the basketball team and got some good playing time during the season—even though I didn’t go to the practices on Sunday. The coach and the other boys were friendly to me, and the student body would cheer my name when I was on the court. After the season ended, I found out from the missionaries that my coach was taking the missionary lessons. I am grateful for the For the Strength of Youth pamphlet. It really did give me strength that day when I had to stand for the truth alone.