Gospel Story Finder

It began with the first letter we received from my mother. She and my father were brand-new missionaries in the Florida Tallahassee Mission. She told of a recent conference they had attended. As everyone was saying good-bye at the conclusion of the meetings, she noticed that her companion was missing. Hearing male laughter, she followed the sound to a classroom and found herself in the midst of a leg-wrestling tournament, which my dad had organized. “I got there just in time,” she wrote, “to see some 20-year-old elder flip your dad across the room.” So much for my worry that a mission might turn Dad into some sort of somber old gentleman.

Then we have here a sister who tells about her experience. Her husband passed away, and then she writes, “After the funeral services were over, I took my five children and went home, and was left to sink or swim. And I sank; I was all alone. How was I going to look after those five children? Oh, sure, the bishop would see that I didn’t go hungry and that we were taken care of, and we had enough food to eat, and so on, but we needed something more than that.”
And then she said this, “I need Special Interests because I need to know that there are other people in the world with feelings like mine. I need to meet other widows who have managed to raise their children alone successfully, without the hang-ups psychologists insist they will have. I need to know that some people’s problems are worse than mine, so I can recognize and count my blessings. I need people to talk to who fully understand my problems and needs. I need Special Interests because I have to learn how to handle my own problems. The first thing I learned as a widow was that no one else will help except in emergencies, and sometimes not then. As soon as the funeral was over, I repeat, I was left on my own either to sink or swim.
“Then,” she said, “your classes geared to the whole families don’t help us a bit, but a class I took this fall with the Special Interests showed me how I can communicate with my family and friends. There is no way you can fully understand our needs or problems, except you go through it yourself. Do you know what it is like to lose your wife or husband in death? It is nothing like losing your father or even your daughter. I know; I lost both before I lost my husband. Do you know what it is like to go through the hell of a divorce? Do you know what it is like to be a girl over 26, and still be single? You can’t know. We need each other. Some of us need small group activities. Some of us need large group activities where we can go and have to talk to people and visit. Sometimes we don’t feel like talking. Special Interests is not a dating bureau or a marriage bureau. As such it would be a complete failure. There are women in our stake who like to go places, but not alone. They come to our small activities hoping to meet other women with similar interests to go places with. One lady buys a season pass to the symphony every year, and she is still looking for someone to go with her.
“We resent being invited to the Young Marrieds activities. To me it is like a slap in the face to have the Young Marrieds or elders announce that Special Interests are invited to their party. I know you may not understand why I feel so strongly about it, but other Special Interests I have talked to understand, and most of the others feel the same way. I feel like this new Special Interest program is inspired of God. It is what we need, if it is done like it should be. I needed it eight-and-a-half years ago. Thank the Lord my president is working hard on it to do his part. Will you recognize us as a special group of people, long ignored and neglected with special problems and special needs and special interests? Some of us are raising special children, boys without fathers, girls without mothers. They have special problems and special needs. If our needs aren’t met, you are also neglecting some of their needs.”

I was a new missionary about to leave the missionary training center, and I didn’t know if the Book of Mormon was true.

I believed it was true. I had read it many times and prayed about it repeatedly, just as Moroni directs (see Moroni 10:3–5). But I had never received an answer! Without that knowledge, how would I be able to teach and testify to the people of Romania? I needed to know for myself, and I needed to know now.

During one evening of quiet study time in our MTC classroom, I gripped my scriptures and bowed my head.

“Heavenly Father,” I prayed silently, “I have read this book many times. If I am going to continue as a missionary, I need to know: Is it true?”

With my eyes still closed, I flipped open the book.

My finger landed on Mosiah 1:6: “O my sons, I would that ye should remember that these sayings are true, and also that these records are true. And behold, also the plates of Nephi, which contain the records and the sayings of our fathers from the time they left Jerusalem until now, and they are true; and we can know of their surety because we have them before our eyes.”

Those words struck me as no passage of scripture ever had before or since. Every instance of the word true leaped off the page. As Joseph Smith said about his own experience, the words “seemed to enter with great force into every feeling of my heart” (Joseph Smith—History 1:12). I felt suddenly full of peace and purpose instead of fear or worry.

In an instant, I knew that the Book of Mormon was the word of God and that Heavenly Father was sending me that message. It was like He was telling me, You already know. Now get to work.
And I did.

I met these two students for the first time Friday, November 21, 2025. They work at the Activities and Involvement desk in the Manwaring Center. I randomly saw them there the day the First Presidency announced the age change for sister missionaries.

They told me they were both working on their missionary papers and had them ready to send in and that they would be turning 19 in a few months. But with this announcement that day, they were eligible now.

My question to you: Are you ready? Are you eligible now for any opportunities that might pop up in your life?

That question has stayed with me. These sisters set a great example for me and helped me to think I need to be ready now for whatever might come my way. They were building me just by how they acted that day.

Since that day, the sisters have reported back to me that they were both called to serve Spanish-speaking missions, one in the Georgia Atlanta North Mission, and the other in the Bolivia Santa Cruz Mission. One is in the MTC already! The other enters the MTC next week!

Atsuko Yamashita, Young Women president in the Maebaru Ward, Fukuoka stake, is impressed with the strength of the youth. In 1999, the youth of her branch asked for the opportunity to visit the Tokyo temple to do baptisms for the dead. Their three-day visit in Tokyo included opportunities to sightsee and have fun, but the young people kept as their first priority performing temple ordinances each evening and experiencing some of the training at the Missionary Training Center.

A beloved hymn states, “The errand of angels is given to women; and this is a gift that, as sisters, we claim.”6 We have much to offer in lives of those we love. Elder Richard G. Scott of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles has shared stories of how the spiritual strength of two women affected his life:
“When I was a young child, my father was not a member of the Church and my mother had become less active. … Some months after my eighth birthday, Grandmother Whittle came across the country to visit us. Grandmother was concerned that neither I nor my older brother had been baptized. I don’t know what she said to my parents about this, but I do know that one morning she took my brother and me to the park and shared with us her feelings about the importance of being baptized and attending Church meetings regularly. I don’t remember the specifics of what she said, but her words stirred something in my heart, and soon my brother and I were baptized. …
“Grandmother used just the right amount of courage and respect to help our father recognize the importance of his driving us to the church for our meetings. In every appropriate way, she helped us to feel a need for the gospel in our lives.”7

Meet Esther (left) from the Calabar Nigeria South Stake. After taking the gathering place baking class, she has become self-employed. She opened her own home-based business where she makes her own products and distributes them to various outlets. She wraps each of her items for individual sale and supplies over 10 establishments. Her business is growing every day under the name “Esther, Snacks and Chops.”

I grew up in a home where my father was not a member of the Church and my mother was less active. That all changed later, and they spent much of their life as temple workers. With that background I didn’t know much about the Church, even though I thought I did. When I was about to graduate from the university, the Lord brought an angel into my life. Her name was Jeanene Watkins. She was a beautiful girl. It took me a long time to date her because so many others recognized her wonderful qualities. As we began to date, I discovered that she was all I had ever dreamed of finding. I fell completely in love with her. I could tell she had deep feelings for me also. One night when we were talking about the future, she carefully wove into the conversation an important comment. She said, “When I marry, it will be to a returned missionary in the temple.” I don’t remember anything else she said. I hadn’t thought much about a mission and didn’t understand much about temple marriage. I went home and couldn’t think of anything else. I was awake all night. I couldn’t do anything at the university the next day. Soon I was at the bishop’s office, having prayed about the importance of a mission. Jeanene and I both went on missions and when we returned were sealed in the temple. Much later I came to realize that she would have left me had I not made the right choices. Jeanene’s courage in standing up for her dream of a temple marriage to a returned missionary, regardless of her love for me, has made all of the difference in our lives together. I will never be able to thank her adequately for not compromising her righteous dreams.

Joseph would often speak outside so that more people could hear him. On one such day in Nauvoo, a heavy wind and storm came up in the middle of his preaching.
This dust is so thick; I can’t see anything.
Let’s go home before it gets worse.
Joseph called out to those who were leaving.
Let everyone pray to the Almighty God that the winds and the rain might cease, and it shall be so.
O Father, bless that the wind and the rain will cease.
After several minutes, the storm divided. The bushes and trees on either side of the group were waving in the wind, but there was calm where Joseph spoke.
Now, brothers and sisters, I would like to speak to you about some important truths.
An hour later the Prophet concluded, and the storm returned.
Return quickly to your homes and think about what I have said.
Hurry, children.

Mom brushed my hair gently and tied a ribbon in it before she caught my gaze in the mirror. “You look awfully grumpy this morning,” she said cheerily to my reflection.
“That’s because I am grumpy,” I replied, scrunching up my face so my lower lip stuck out in a frown.
Mom turned me around and knelt in front of me, looking me in the eye. “You will make friends in this ward. Don’t worry!”
“But, Mom, I liked our old ward! I liked my old friends! Why did we have to move, anyway?” I felt tears sting my eyes.
“Because of Daddy’s job!” a voice piped in helpfully.
My younger sister Alison peeked into the bathroom from the hallway. She smiled her biggest smile—a smile so big that it showed the gaps where her two front teeth were missing and made her eyes disappear into little half-moons. I scowled at her.
“That’s right,” Mom said to her. Alison beamed.
“But I don’t have any friends here,” I said to Mom, ignoring my sister.
“You’ve still got me!” Alison grinned at me from the doorway.
“Great.” I rolled my eyes.
Alison frowned for a few seconds and then said, “We’re best friends!” She ran off laughing before I could shout back at her that we were not best friends.
Later that day I looked glumly at all the people in sacrament meeting. I didn’t know one person in this new ward! My family had been here for only a few days. “Please, Heavenly Father,” I silently prayed, “help me make one new friend today.”
I was nervous when sacrament meeting ended and my parents took Alison and me to our Primary classes. During class, I sat alone and didn’t say anything.
When my class walked down the hall to the Primary room for sharing time, I clutched my scriptures tightly. I still felt nervous. I stopped at the drinking fountain to get a drink of water, then went into the Primary room. It was bright and cheery and full of children. As the pianist played a song I had learned in my old ward, I felt a little better.
But as I looked around, I realized that I couldn’t find the other children in my class. I didn’t know where they had gone, and I didn’t have anyone to sit by. I glanced around the room again, biting my lower lip nervously.
Then, from the corner of the room, a little girl started grinning and waving her hands at me. She pointed to a seat next to her. I smiled back at her as I walked to the empty seat. She smiled her biggest smile—a smile so big that it showed the gaps where her two front teeth were missing and made her eyes disappear into little half-moons.
That little girl rescued me. She was the friend Heavenly Father had sent for me.
I decided that sisters were best friends.

I recall a particularly important crossroad—the decision to go on a full-time mission. I stood on that crossroad for a very, very long time. As I struggled to decide which road to take, my family, friends, and priesthood leaders came forward to take my hand. They encouraged and challenged me and offered countless prayers on my behalf. My full-time missionary sister wrote to me regularly and never gave up.

Even today, I am still carried on the shoulders of good men and women. I suspect that we all are. To some degree we all depend on each other to be able to make it back to our heavenly home.

Recently, a young man in a wheelchair was referred to my office for counsel. He had been informed that he had a terminal illness. He desired a blessing and wanted to see a General Authority before he died. Elder Rector and I were talking with him when in came President Kimball. He had learned of the young man’s condition and came to spend a few moments with him. The President makes time for people.

I share with you today a personal experience with priesthood power.

Sue and I met about two months after I returned from my mission and were married several months later in June of 1971. At the time of this story, we had been married for six years. I was in graduate school and we had three children--a little boy almost four, a little girl almost two, and a brand new baby boy, about two weeks old.

One day I came home from graduate school to find our home in total chaos. The baby was crying; the two little kids were running around wreaking havoc; there were toys all over our little apartment; and Sue was exhausted and in tears.

I pitched in and tried to corral the older children and clean up the apartment. As I went to work, the Spirit whispered to me. "Give your wife a blessing." So, right there in the middle of chaos, Sue sat on a chair and I gave her a blessing. In that moment it was as if a spiritual cocoon settled in around us. Heavenly Father had prepared a blessing for His beloved daughter, my wife, and I was privileged to deliver His blessing to her by the power of the holy priesthood and in the name of Jesus Christ. The blessing was full of words of astonishing breadth and power. Sue received promises of strength and capacity and sweet blessings about our children and our family here on earth and in the eternities. When I finished, I hugged her for a long time. It was a powerful, spiritual, priesthood experience.

After that blessing we still had to pick up the toys and establish order and get the kids fed and to bed. But I am grateful that my husband heard the whisperings of the Spirit and was prepared in that moment to use the holy priesthood to give me a blessing.

My husband and I have three children—Thomas (6), Tucker (4), and Madison (1). Thomas and Tucker are learning in Primary about baptism and sharing the gospel.
One day, the children and I were at the doctor’s office. A woman with a very small baby came in. The boys love their younger sister, and they were interested in the woman’s baby. I told the boys to sing the baby a song instead of trying to touch it. They looked at each other, then started to sing “I Am a Child of God.”
Upon finishing the song, Thomas looked straight into the mother’s eyes and said, “You know, we are all children of God. Me, my brother, you, your baby, my mom, my sister. Do you go to church? We should all go to church.”
The mother sat there smiling. It was a very touching moment that ended when the nurse called us in to see the doctor.
We don’t know if we’ll ever see the mother and her baby again. What I know is that Thomas and Tucker are practicing the lessons they are learning in Primary and at home about sharing the gospel. And that I should feel comfortable sharing the gospel whenever possible. I pray that they will continue to share the gospel as they grow and that they will always love Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ as they do now.

Paper stars. I am half Thai and half American. I spent three years living in Laos, next to Thailand. For the first two years we were in Laos, my parents hired a pileang, or nanny, named Rojana, who took good care of me. Since she was Buddhist, I didn’t expect a gift from her at Christmas.
On Christmas morning I found a jar filled with at least a hundred tiny paper stars, folded so they were three-dimensional. They were blue and pink and glittery. Rojana had no money to buy me anything, so she spent hours folding those stars for a child who wasn’t her own.
It was a wonderful Christmas gift, a gift of time and dedication.Faye H., Virginia

My good friend Don Pearson shared an experience that highlights this influence. One night his four-year-old son asked him to read a bedtime story. Eric had picked out his favorite book: The Ballooning Adventures of Paddy Pork, a story about a family who lived on the isles of the sea and traveled from island to island by hot-air balloon. It was a picture book that had no words, so Brother Pearson made up words to the story.
“Paddy is in a hot-air balloon. He is landing on an island now. He is dropping a line over the side of the balloon.”
Eric stopped him. “Dad, that is not a line. It’s a rope.”
Brother Pearson looked at Eric and back at the picture book, and then he continued: “Paddy is getting out of the balloon and climbing down the tree. Oh no! His coat is caught on a limb!”
Again Eric stopped him. “Dad, that’s not a coat. It’s a jacket.”
By now Brother Pearson was somewhat perplexed. He said, “Eric, there are no words in this book, just pictures. Why do you insist that it’s a jacket?”
Eric answered, “Because Mother told me.”
His father closed the book and said, “Eric, who do you think is the last word, the ultimate authority in this house?”
This time Eric thought carefully before he answered, “You are, Dad.”
Brother Pearson beamed at his son. What an exceptional answer! “How did you know that?”
Eric quickly responded, “Mother told me.”

On September 12, 2001, my wife and I were pacing the floor of a hospital in Tucson, Arizona, USA, passing anxious hours as we waited for our son to be born. From our television and from every television in the building, we were barraged by footage from the day before in New York City—images of the two towers that had once anchored the skyline of that city, falling into rubble and dust. The images, broadcast for hours, left us with a sense of despair. It seemed the worst possible time to bring a baby into the world—a world that seemed so dark and threatening.
Early the next morning our infant son was born. As I held our tiny child, I considered the devastating events of the last few days, events that made me think back to the fires in Yellowstone National Park in 1988. The flames had consumed nearly 800,000 acres (323,750 ha) of forest. The park’s devastation seemed absolute. News images showed only scorched earth and thick black smoke in the sky. No amount of human effort could quickly bring back what was lost. It seemed as if even the tireless regeneration and vigor of nature was no match for the destructive power of fire.
Yet the next spring a quiet miracle occurred—small plants and flowers began to push through the charred soil. Gradually, more and more flowers and shrubs and trees bloomed from the earth. The rebirth of the park was slow and filled with tiny, glorious details, and over time the results were dramatic.
In moments of fear that seem to consume us like the blazing fires of Yellowstone, when our faith and hope are at their limits, we must remember that there is one quiet, immovable foundation beneath us, much more powerful than any evil force we will encounter. Helaman explains that this foundation is “the rock of our Redeemer, who is Christ, the Son of God.” If we anchor ourselves to Him, then “when the devil shall send forth his mighty winds, yea, his shafts in the whirlwind, yea, when all his hail and his mighty storm shall beat upon you, it shall have no power over you to drag you down to the gulf of misery and endless wo, because of the rock upon which ye are built, which is a sure foundation, a foundation whereon if men build they cannot fall” (Helaman 5:12).
When faced with the frenzied forces of evil and temptation in the world, we may think that the small and simple influence of the gospel is outmatched and overwhelmed. We may feel doubt and despair as we wait in vain for wrongs to be righted, pain to be relieved, and questions to be resolved. Those very winds that buffet us, however, sow seeds of change and growth, and the immense power of the gospel quietly works under the soil of earthly existence, preparing a thousand small seeds of hope and life.

Before any temple is dedicated, children and adults can go to the temple open house and see what a house of the Lord looks like on the inside.
Aubree, Reese, and Ellee M. live a few blocks from the Draper Utah Temple, so they watched as it was built week by week. They even saw a big crane lifting the angel Moroni into place. “That was really awesome!” 10-year-old Aubree said. “But the best day ever was when my family and I got to go inside.”
As soon as they walked through the temple door, the children felt a special spirit. Their tour guide explained that “everything in the temple is sacred,” Aubree said.

One morning as I knelt for my morning prayers, I distinctly remember praying that the Lord would provide me with the opportunity to serve someone that day. Sometime mid-morning, I was informed that there was a student waiting in our office reception area that needed my assistance. Without too much further thought, I approached the front desk area and invited the student to my office. He followed me back, and before I could take my seat at my desk and turn to face him, the Spirit whispered very distinctly in my mind, “He is here now; I have sent him to you.”

Now, back to the student sitting in my office. We began our conversation and talked about the charges which were still owed on his student account and discussed his options for payment. Then, he broke down and expressed the real concerns that he was feeling that day. He had only been married a short time, but he felt his marriage was failing. He expressed that all his siblings were happily married and wondered what he was doing wrong. I am not a skilled counselor, however, I­­—now the one who had been married for several years­­—was able to share with him what had worked for me. I assured him that he needed to continue to do those things that he was most likely already doing—daily prayer and scripture study, temple attendance, and to continue to keep the covenants that he had made with his Father in Heaven.

Now, my advice was simple, but the Spirit that presided in that small office that day was undeniable. I later learned from our receptionist that the student had returned to ask my name, which confirmed that he had felt the same impressions.

“When are we going camping?” four-year-old Bryce asked as he sat at the kitchen counter eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
“In three more days,” Mother said.
Bryce frowned. “That’s a long time.”
Mother nodded. “Well, you can pack some of your toys and help me make cookies so the time will go faster.”
“Hurray!” Bryce hopped off the stool and ran to get his army men. Later, as he stirred the cookie dough, he said, “We’re going to roast hot dogs and marshmallows and sleep in a tent!”
“We sure are,” Mother agreed. Then she mussed his hair. He laughed.
The next morning Bryce slept in later than usual. At the breakfast table, he didn’t touch his toast and jam.
“Are you OK?” Mother asked.
“I’m tired,” he said.
He climbed off the chair and lay down on the couch with his blanket. Mother put her hand on his forehead. “You feel warm,” she said. “I hope you’re not getting sick.”
His stomach hurt. “If I get sick, we won’t be able to go camping, will we?”
“We’ll see,” Mother said.
Bryce slept most of the day. When Mother took his temperature, she said it was high. She gave him some syrupy medicine that tasted like cherries.
“What if I’m sick tomorrow?” he asked.
“Hopefully you’ll be better by then,” she said.
But that night Bryce’s temperature rose. He fell asleep and had bad dreams. Waking up scared and thirsty, he went into the kitchen to ask for a drink of water. Then he curled up in the recliner in the family room. Mother held up a cup of water to his lips. The cold liquid cooled his mouth and throat as he sipped it.
“Dad’s going to give you a blessing,” Mother said in a soft voice.
Bryce smiled faintly. “Good. Then my fever will go away.”
His parents smiled at each other. He fell back asleep and woke up in his bed when someone touched his shoulder lightly.
“We’re going to give you a blessing now,” Dad said.
One of their home teachers was standing by the bed.
“Are you going to put oil on my head?” Bryce asked. He had seen other family members receive blessings before, and Dad had put oil on their heads.
“Yes.” Dad opened a small bottle and put a drop of oil on top of Bryce’s head.
As Bryce lay on his bed, Dad and the home teacher placed their hands on his head. They gave him a blessing that the fever would break and he would be able to go camping in the morning. When they were done, Bryce fell back asleep. He woke up to see light shining through the cracks in the window blinds. He jumped out of bed and ran to find his dad in the kitchen.
“Am I better?” he asked.
Dad felt Bryce’s forehead. “Yes, the fever’s gone.”
Bryce ran to find Mother in her bedroom. “My fever’s gone! The blessing worked,” he said.
Mother hugged him. “I’m so glad. You had faith, and Heavenly Father blessed you.”