Gospel Story Finder

“From FSY and Young Women camp, I learned a lot about the gospel and how it can help me in my life,” says Irini S., 17. “I made a lot of friends and learned how important it is to express my thoughts and feelings. I felt the Holy Ghost deeply and the love of our Savior, Jesus Christ.”

Being around other Latter-day Saint youth, she says, strengthened her confidence. “Before FSY I couldn’t see the good and beautiful things that God made for us and the plans that He is still making for us.”

And another incident: A member of my student branch had stopped in to see me. “President,” she said, “my dad has a birthday and I want to send him something worthwhile. But he is having such a financial struggle to keep me in school, I don’t think I should spend much. Can you suggest anything?”
I remembered the wonderful gift my own son had given me and then suggested to her: “Jan, why don’t you fast and pray for a true appreciation of your father. Then write down all the things he has done for you over the years—list all the reasons you are proud of him. Next list the things he has done for which you failed to thank him. Finally, sit down and pour your heart out in a letter that will convince him how much you love him. It will be the finest present he has ever received from you, and it will cost only a stamp.”

Third, be friends first and sweethearts second. Relationships between young men and young women should be built like a pyramid. The base of the pyramid is friendship. And the ascending layers are built of things like time, understanding, respect, and restraint. Right at the top of the pyramid is a glittering little mystery called romance.

And when weary travelers in the desert see this pyramid far off in the distance, maybe the first thing they see is that glittering jewel on the top; but when they get closer, they see all that must underlie the jewel of romance to hold it up so high. Now you don’t have to be very smart to know that a pyramid won’t stand up very long if you stand it on its point and expect the point to hold up everything else. In other words, be friends first and sweethearts later, not the other way around. Otherwise, people who think they are sweethearts may discover they can’t be very good friends, and by then it may be too late.

During the exodus of the Latter-day Saints from Missouri, ordered by Governor Lilburn W. Boggs, a man taunted Eliza R. Snow, saying, “Well, I think this will cure you of your faith.” She retorted, “No, sir, it will take more than this to cure me of my faith.” He humbly responded, “I must confess you are a better soldier than I am.” Later Eliza would write, “I passed on, thinking that, unless he was above the average of his fellows in that section, I was not complimented by his confession.”

However, depression didn’t loosen its grip easily. At one point I wanted to give up again. At that moment Sister Ting, the bishop’s wife, called. She told me she had a feeling she needed to call me. She asked how I was doing. I bore my soul to her. To me, she was an angel sent by God.
That incident empowered me. My faith was strengthened. I felt like I could conquer death. I felt delivered, like it says in Alma 36:2–3:
“They were in bondage, and none could deliver them except … God. …
“… Whosoever shall put their trust in God shall be supported in their trials, and their troubles, and their afflictions, and shall be lifted up at the last day.”

Before I celebrated my sixteenth birthday, I had lived in fourteen different homes! My father was a homebuilder, and every home he built was for sale—including the ones we lived in. Because we moved so often, we did not collect a lot of possessions. Every home I lived in was full of the spirit of love, friendship, humor, fun, and laughter. These priceless things always moved with us. The things we didn’t take with us were given to Deseret Industries.
A few things, however, were never discarded, including books, scriptures, family histories and photos, and music. Those material items were handled with care every time we moved, and I learned to value deeply what they stood for. My father and mother carefully wrapped and boxed these items, and I sensed even as a very young child that they were extremely important. As I grew older, this sense developed into a great love for the scriptures and also for family history and for our ancestors who sacrificed so much for us.
These moving adventures shaped me into the person I am today. I am not attached to material possessions. Instead, I place the highest value on relationships with people, including written records of these relationships, such as the ones you find in the scriptures or in family histories. I love to meet new people and look forward to getting to know others and making new friends.

Koy S., age 8, Utah, USA
I like to make cookies. I always add the most special ingredient, which is love! When I share the cookies with others, I feel peace and joy.

One of the fathers he was teaching had what was thought to be an incurable alcohol problem. Every day after work for twenty years, he bought alcohol and consumed it until he could hardly find his way home. He received friendship and encouragement to pray to heaven for help. One day after his work, while he was driving into the countryside with his bottle, a voice came into his heart to stop his car, walk out into the field, and pray to Father in Heaven for help. His simple prayer was heard by his Father in Heaven, and as he stood up and walked back to his car, all desire to drink liquor left his life. The powers of heaven had descended upon him, and he knew that God lived and loved him.

I heard him later stand before the members and testify of the love of God and of my friend and others who had ministered unto him and taught him.

At the end of the day, the sun was setting. It was pouring rain. As a sister missionary in Salt Lake City, Utah, on Temple Square, I wasn’t exactly happy. I don’t like the rain, and we had been walking in the garden for over 30 minutes.
I was holding my umbrella, walking and talking with my companion. No one was outside because the weather was so bad. I was watching the raindrops fall to the ground. Then I saw someone sitting alone.
I looked at my companion, and we understood each other. She was the first person we had seen in almost an hour—we had to talk to her!
We slowly walked closer, and I started to see that it was a woman, alone, soaked, with her head down. My companion began speaking to her, but there was no response, no eye contact. We looked at each other again, but I had no idea what to do or what to say. My companion tried to speak to her again, asking questions, but still nothing.
Then I stepped closer to her and held my arm above her head, sharing my umbrella. She finally lifted her head and looked me straight in the eyes.
No thoughts of what to say came to my mind—we just looked into each other’s eyes. Then I asked her if I could share a scripture with her. She nodded yes.
I don’t know why I said that—I had never really shared a scripture with anyone before, especially not in English. But I knew exactly which one to share:
“My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment;
“And then, if thou endure it well, God shall exalt thee on high; thou shalt triumph over all thy foes” (Doctrine and Covenants 121:7–8).
I had never read that scripture to someone before, but it was in my mind.
I handed her my scriptures and asked her to read. She didn’t read aloud—we could only hear the rain hitting the ground and our umbrellas—but everything felt different now. It had become peaceful.
Then she lifted her head, her eyes full of tears, and looked deep into mine. Then she spoke for the first time since we’d met.
“How did you know that was exactly what I needed to hear?”
I simply replied, “It wasn’t me—it was God.”
That scripture became my favorite. I don’t know what happened to that woman, and I don’t know why she was alone in the rain. But our Heavenly Father knows. He is always there and watching over us.

Can you ever understand how a blind person, a deaf person, or a crippled person feels? Lana Brown, director of the Learning Resource Center for the BYU College of Nursing contracted episodic multiple sclerosis in 1966. For the next two years she was confined to a wheelchair for periods of time. This experience taught her that there are things about the handicapped that can never be fully appreciated from books—things that nurses need to understand.
She instituted “Assignment Wheels” as a requirement of the BYU College of Nursing program to give the nurses a chance to learn firsthand about the handicapped. The program demands that each nursing student spend some time in a wheelchair as part of her learning experience.
The girls are given a list of procedures that must be accomplished on wheels, including all the activities of daily living. They must spend half a day in a wheelchair with a classmate nearby to help in case of accident or danger.
Regardless of how difficult or awkward, they must open doors, attend classes, get lunch in the cafeteria, move around in the small space of rest rooms, negotiate the ramps into buildings, and use the elevators.
The coeds then submit a report on their experience, relating the emotions they encountered as well as sharing insights into the practical aspects of wheelchair manipulation.
“Most girls hate it,” Miss Brown emphasized, “but it’s valuable for them and they know this. They discover the many feelings involved as they observe others’ reactions to the physically handicapped. They find themselves watching the ground or their feet to avoid people’s stares. More importantly they become more comfortable working with the disabled. They also gain confidence when asked to demonstrate the handling of a wheelchair to patients who will be confined over short or long periods of time.”

I felt the Spirit when I heard President Nelson say all things are possible through faith. I loved the Primary songs and sang along!
Ayana O., age 9, Nairobi, Kenya

At school Austin sat in a circle with his class. His teacher taught them songs to sing. Austin sang as loud as he could.

During lunch Austin sat with his friends. They shared cookies. They ate sandwiches. They told jokes. Everyone was happy.

Except one boy did not look happy. Austin saw him sitting alone. The boy started to cry.

At home, Austin sat at the kitchen table while Dad chopped vegetables.

“How was school?” Dad asked.

“It was fun. But there was a new boy at school. I don’t think he had a great day,” Austin said.

“Why not?”

“He was sitting alone at lunch and crying.” Austin frowned.

“It sounds like he was pretty sad,” Dad said. “How could you help him?”

Austin rested his chin in his hands. Then he sat up straight. He had an idea. “Maybe I could talk to him at lunch! And I could ask him to sit with me and my friends.”

“That’s a good idea,” Dad said.

The next day Austin looked for the boy at lunch. The boy was sitting alone.

“Hi,” Austin said. “I’m Austin. What’s your name?”

“Hi,” said the boy. “I’m Max.”

“Want to sit with me and my friends?”

“Sure!” said Max.

Austin and Max sat with Austin’s friends. They shared cookies. They ate sandwiches. They told jokes. Everyone was happy, including Max.

January 1833 The School of the Prophets begins. Emma complains about cleaning up after the brethren who smoke and chew tobacco. The Word of Wisdom is revealed. (See D&C 89.)

Although San Francisco and San Jose are very nice places to know the way to when that’s where you want to go, these fine young Latter-day Saints also know the way to somewhere more important. They know the way home to their Father in Heaven, and they all bear testimony of their dedication to him and of the truthfulness of the gospel. When it was suggested, tongue in cheek, that it isn’t really possible to live the gospel fully outside of Salt Lake City, Utah, the whole group rose up in righteous indignation and explained almost simultaneously that there is no better place in the whole world for being a true Latter-day Saint than in San Jose, California.
They know the way in San Jose.

A friend of mine related the following experience. His father and his father’s cousin lived in the same community and were competitors in the construction business. A bitter rivalry, started in the beginning by some contract bidding, grew up over the years and was eventually inherited by the immediate families, even after the death of my friend’s father. It was difficult for them to be civil to one another, even in their church callings, where my friend was the bishop of one ward and his cousin in another. The situation became worse.
Suddenly my friend found himself with a call to serve as a mission president. He and his family were thrilled with the prospect, but he had an uneasy feeling. He kept asking himself if he were really worthy for such an important call. He knew he was living the Word of Wisdom, was a full tithepayer, faithful in his Church activities, was morally clean, and so forth, but the uneasy feeling persisted. …
In the midst of his preparations he was returning from his office one afternoon when something said to him, “You must go to your father’s cousin and correct this situation that exists between you. You cannot go out to teach the gospel of love while this feeling exists between you.”
So he went to his cousin’s home, rang the doorbell, and waited fearfully, but there was no response. He turned away feeling that at least he had tried and that this attempt would conclude the matter. But the uneasy feeling did not go away.
The next day at a funeral service his cousin came in and sat across from him. He asked his cousin if he could talk to him after the service. I quote from my friend’s account:
“When I rang the doorbell he invited me into the living room and congratulated me on my mission call. We talked a few minutes about unimportant things and then it happened. I looked at him with a feeling of love which replaced all the old bitterness, and said: ‘I have come to ask forgiveness for anything I have ever said or done that has tended to divide us and our families.’
“At this point tears came into our eyes, and for a few minutes neither of us could say a word. This was one time when silence was more powerful than words. In a few minutes he said: ‘I wish I had come to you first.’ I replied, ‘The important thing is that it is done, not who initiated it.’
“At this moment we had a rich spiritual experience which caused us to purge our lives and our souls of those things which had separated us. That experience has resulted in our having proper family relationships. Now I could go on my mission and teach the true meaning of love because for the first time in my life I had experienced its deepest dimension. Now I could honestly say that there wasn’t a person in the world that I didn’t love and appreciate. Since that day my life has never been the same, for it was then that I learned in a most positive way, as I had never understood before, this injunction of the Master to his disciples: ‘A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another’” (John 13:34).

John Allen of the London North Ward said, “My parents have been members about 12 years. I was away from home for a while, but when I moved back, I was reintroduced to the Church. I had a special experience that confirmed to me that the Church is true, and I had to join after that.”

“There’s a Turkish family that I always see at the interfaith dinners, and they run up to me and say, ‘We’re so happy to see you again!’” Romy says. “In a world where there’s so much persecution of religion and faith, it’s nice that we can all come together and just talk to each other.” During one of the service projects, “the ladies at another church were so sweet,” she says. “They didn’t care about anyone’s religion. They were just there to offer their help. It was refreshing.”

YOU BET I‘D LIKE POSTER-SIZE MORMONADS EACH MONTH!!!! I’d even be willing to pay a higher subscription price to make it possible. We live in a small, isolated branch, so you might guess that I have more than one calling. To start 1986 out with a more enthusiastic Gospel Doctrine class, I used the poster-size Mormonad from the December issue. In fact, it’s still up in full view in our classroom.

Suppose, for example, that your spouse said, “Your brother has really done it this time. I never want to see him again!”
You may feel immediately defensive, but to express that reaction could end the chance to understand each other and, instead, start an argument. Set aside your own emotions and say: “You really sound upset! What happened?” In this way, you’re acknowledging your spouse’s emotions and opening the way for further explanation. You may need to handle your feelings later—after you really understand the issues involved.

My brothers, Billy, Tommy, and Jimmy, and I were gathered in the living room for family home evening. Father was talking about the importance of always prayerfully considering our actions before they become acts—thinking before doing. He said that Satan would rather we act on impulse, just like a fly that buzzes blindly into a spider web hidden in the shadow of an overripe July melon.
I guess that makes sense, I told myself. But what could possibly happen to a twelve-year-old boy like me?
Two weeks later, my brothers and I were sitting atop a huge rock on the crest of one of the forested hills behind town. The dry wind blew across our sweaty faces as we drank from bottles of water we’d brought in paper bags from home. After taking a swallow of cold water, Tommy thoughtlessly dropped his bottle back in his paper bag that was sitting near the edge of the rock. The bottle broke, its water spilling out. We all laughed, except for Tommy who glowered at the rest of us.
I lay back on the rock and gazed up at a buzzard that was circling high above. I wish I could fly, I thought. I also told myself that I was getting bored. To wish to do something I knew that I couldn’t do meant that I was running out of real things to do. I knew that my brothers were bored, too, because they were staring at the same buzzard and wishing that they could fly.
“Let’s play a game,” my oldest brother, Billy, said.
“What kind of game?” Tommy piped in crossly. “If it’s a running-around game, you can count me out. I’ll get thirsty, and I don’t have any water!”
“You can have some of mine,” Billy offered, “if you play.”
“What kind of game is it?” I asked.
Billy sat up. He took his water bottle out of his bag, slid down off the boulder, picked up a stick, and broke it in four pieces, each a different length. Then he dropped them into his bag and closed it up.
“Are you going to tell us about the dumb game or not?” my youngest brother, Jimmy, snapped impatiently.
“It’s kind of like tag, but different,” Billy explained as he picked up a small branch. “The one who draws the shortest stick from the bag is ‘It.’ He has to sit on this rock and count to fifty while everyone else hides. We can hide anywhere from up by the quarry down to the old graveyard.”
“What’s so different about that game?” Tommy asked.
“Well,” Billy went on, “the one who’s It uses this stick to tag with. Then the person tagged gets a stick, too, and he and It look for someone else together. Then—”
I sat up, my excitement growing. “Oh, I get it!” I interrupted. “Then they tag the third guy, and they all go after the last guy!”
Billy drew the shortest stick and started counting. Everyone else scattered.
About a half hour later, I was hiding behind an old shack. I saw Billy, Tommy, and Jimmy above me on the top of a hill, looking down on the dumped rocks from the quarry. We knew the area well because a lot of blue-belly lizards lived in those rocks, and we often tried to catch them. Anyway, now I knew that I was the last one left to be tagged! It was kind of scary in a fun sort of way because they were all after me! It would only take them a minute or two to see me and scurry down those rocks and tag me with their sticks.
I turned and bolted away. I looked back once and saw my brothers already close to the bottom of the hill. They had spotted me!
I lunged through the trees, jumping over rotting logs. I glanced behind me. I couldn’t see my brothers. For the moment I was safe from their sight, but I soon found myself in the middle of a clearing. They would spot me unless I lost myself in the tangles.
Suddenly I was face-to-face with a wall of thick brushwood. I’ll hide there until I can catch my wind, I thought as I protected my face with my hands and leaped through the dense undergrowth, not knowing what lay beyond, and not taking time to even think about it.
Everything beyond the wall of brushwood was a good ten to fifteen feet below me! I fell hard through its brittle branches and landed on my back.
The rest of the world above me was spinning—the sun, the clouds, the twisted tops of the towering oaks. And my wonder at what had happened. Rising between my right arm and side, protruding like a great spear with a big, ugly point, was the shaft of a long, iron spike from an old graveside!
I felt a stinging sensation on my arm and discovered that the point of the huge spike had torn my shirt and scraped the inner side of my arm. If I had landed few short inches farther to the right, the spear would have pierced my chest and my time on earth would have been brought to an immediate end.
I lay there listening to the sound of my pounding heart, glad it was still beating. Glad that when my brothers found me, after coming the long way around to where I lay in the old graveyard, it would be a happy tagging. As I waited, I remembered my father’s words at family home evening two weeks before. He had said that we should prayerfully consider our actions before they become acts. That we should let the Spirit, instead of blind impulse, be the guiding force in our day-to-day living. My father always said that it’s in our hearts and minds that God speaks to us.
In the quiet of the thicket that day, I promised Heavenly Father that from then on I would try to live as my father had counseled. As I gazed up and again caught sight of that buzzard high above me, I was glad that it was circling something else and not me!