Gospel Story Finder

No one could ask for a finer day, Josiah Kimball thought, so clean and sparkling and smelling of summer that it makes me want to stop everything and hold tight to this minute, never to let it slip away.
Josiah smiled at the idea. He tipped his head back and mimicked a meadowlark hidden in the grass.
“Was that you, ’Siah?” Emily Jane exclaimed. “Sometimes you sound more like birds than birds do.”
Josiah laughed at her praise, then tried walking backward on the rocks across the shallow stream. But two of them were too far apart for backward stepping. He had to turn for that space. Tillman Reid dropped down from a tree to try walking the rocks. He couldn’t do even as well as Josiah had, and he fell in the water.
At last Josiah sighed. “I guess we have to get on home to help with chores.”
“I have to pick peas for Mama before dark.” Emily Jane sounded as reluctant as Josiah felt.
“Come play again soon,” Tillman invited.
“We stayed too long, didn’t we, ’Siah?” Emily Jane asked hesitantly.
“Yes, but we can hurry. And the sun’s just about down.”
His sister nodded her head in agreement. When they came to their pasture fence, Josiah suddenly stopped.
“Emie, we could cut through the pasture this once,” he suggested, “and save all that way around by the lane.”
“But ’Siah,” Emily Jane took a quick breath, “Papa wouldn’t like it. He’s told us—”
“I don’t see that old Jersey bull anywhere,” Josiah persisted. “He’s probably grazed his fill and is lying down under the cottonwoods. Come on, Emie, it’s getting late. We can run.”
After a moment Emily Jane followed Josiah under the fence.
Once on the pasture side of the wire strands, they stood without moving. “I don’t see that bull anywhere,” Josiah whispered. The shadows were growing long and heavy but no movement was seen.
“Stay close behind,” Josiah instructed.
He set off at a quick trot, Emily Jane at his heels.
“ ’Siah!” Emily Jane’s voice made no more sound than the whispering of their feet in the grass, but he heard.
At the same moment, Josiah saw a dark shadow move in the cluster of pinon pines. A streak of light glinted from curved horns as the bull gave a menacing toss of his head.
“Run, Emie!” Josiah commanded. “Go back!”
Emily Jane could run fast when she needed to, and Josiah kept right behind her.
They could hear the outraged bellow and the thump of hoofbeats of the bull following them, growing closer.
Almost side by side they dropped to the ground to squeeze under the bottom strand of wire. Josiah’s hip pocket snagged on a barb.
Catching his breath, Josiah turned to his sister. “You all right, Emie?”
She nodded, “Th-that’s why Papa said never to go in the pasture. He knew. And—and—”
They stared at the bull through the wires. The immense animal, knowing they were out of reach, had stopped and was pawing the ground and throwing sand and dirt every which way.
“We’ve got to run, Emie. All that time wasted, and now we still have to go the long way.”
“I can’t, ’Siah. Even if Papa and Mama are cross, I can’t run any more—not for a little while.”
Partway up the lane, Josiah paused. “Emie—” He looked away, then glanced back. “Let’s not mention the pasture. We can just say we were late leaving the Reids.”
“I guess,” Emily Jane agreed.
Mama’s face was set in straight lines as they hurried up to the house and stammered out their excuse.
“Well, you’ll be till dark finishing your work,” she said. And then she smiled. “It has been a lovely day and hard to think of work. But get busy now, or you’ll not finish. Your father’s waiting, ’Siah.”
Papa had more questions than Mama had, but at last he said, “I guess there’s been no harm done this time, son. But you must learn to do as you’re told.”
At supper Josiah had trouble looking straight at Papa or Mama. Twice he glanced at Emily Jane, but she wouldn’t look at him. When the supper dishes were finished, they all went to the front porch to cool off.
“You two are certainly quiet,” Mama laughed. “You must have worn yourselves out with play.”
Papa said, “They act wearier than during haying season. We’d better keep them busy at work from now on.”
Josiah made a laughing sound, but he didn’t feel like laughing. Deep inside of him was a shamed feeling that wouldn’t let go.
“ ’Siah, you tell.” Emily Jane’s voice came out of the darkness.
As if he had been waiting for those words, Josiah started to talk. Papa and Mama didn’t say a word, though the swing had stopped moving.
“At chores, you said no harm had been done. But it had, by our not telling.” Josiah hesitated. There was heavy silence.
After a moment Emily Jane continued. “That bull sounded so close! I’m still scared.”
“It’s been a harsh lesson,” Papa said. “Be sure you’ve learned well.” His voice dropped lower, sounding more like Papa. “And by telling, you’ve made a beginning.”
The swish-away of the swing started up again.
Josiah took a deep gulp of fresh air. It smelled of Mama’s flower garden. This minute was too good to let slip away and be past. He held it for as long as it would stay.

Laurie Baldwin wiped at the tears that stung her eyes during the long trip to Denver. Great-grandma, her mom’s grandma, had died yesterday after being sick a long time. The whole family—Laurie, Mom, Dad, and Laurie’s two older sisters—was going to the funeral.
When they arrived at Great-grandma’s house, Laurie met the cousins, aunts, and uncles who had gathered there.
“How are we going to put together a funeral in only two days?” Aunt Christy asked. “We don’t know anyone here.”
Mom didn’t look worried. “I know where we can find help,” she said, reaching for the phone book.
Laurie listened as Mom called the bishop of a Denver ward and explained the situation.
“Why did you call a bishop?” Laurie asked after Mom replaced the phone. “Great-grandma wasn’t a member of the Church.” Mom was the only member of her family who belonged to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“Even though Grandma wasn’t a member of our Church, we can still ask for help in preparing for her funeral. That’s part of belonging to the Church—being able to go anywhere and know that there are people who are willing to help us.”
Laurie would always remember that.
Soon the phone started ringing. Her mother spent the next hour taking calls and making others. She was smiling after the last one.
“Everything’s taken care of,” she announced to the family. “The bishop called some people. The Relief Society president is going to arrange a meal for the family after the funeral. She’ll also find someone to play the organ and lead the music.”
“Why are they helping us?” Aunt Christy wanted to know. “We don’t live here. We don’t even know them.”
“In our church we call each other ‘Brother’ and ‘Sister.’ That’s because we’re all brothers and sisters in the gospel and help each other whenever we can.”
Laurie thought about that—brothers and sisters in the gospel. She liked the sound of it.
Mom spoke at the funeral and told some things about her grandmother’s life. A lady with a pretty voice sang “How Great Thou Art” (Hymns, no. 86), which had been Great-grandma’s favorite song. Mom was crying and smiling at the same time.
After the funeral, Mom thanked the bishop and everyone who had helped with the music and food. “I don’t know what we would have done without you.”
The bishop took her hand. “We were happy to help. Your grandmother must have been a remarkable woman.”
Laurie heard the quiet sincerity in his voice. The family spent the rest of the afternoon and evening talking about Great-grandma.
“I want to find out more about your church,” Aunt Christy said.
Laurie listened as Mom began to explain. “We belong to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. …”

While attending a conference in the East the other day, I listened to the experience of an engineer who joined the Church some months ago. The missionaries had called at his home, and his wife had invited them in. She had eagerly responded to their message, while he felt himself being pulled in against his will. One evening she indicated that she wished to be baptized. He flew into a fit of anger. Didn’t she know what this meant? This would mean time. This would mean the payment of tithing. This would mean giving up their friends. This would mean no more smoking. He threw on his coat, walked out into the night, slamming the door behind him. He walked the streets, swearing at his wife, swearing at the missionaries, swearing at himself for ever permitting them to teach them. As he grew tired, his anger cooled, and a spirit of prayer somehow came into his heart. He prayed as he walked. He pleaded with God for an answer to his questions. And then an impression, clear and unequivocal, came almost as if a voice had spoken with words that said, “It’s true.”
“It’s true,” he said to himself again and again. “It’s true.” A peace came into his heart. As he walked toward home, the restrictions, the demands, the requirements over which he had been so incensed began to appear as opportunities. When he opened the door, he found his wife had been on her knees.
Then, before the congregation to whom he told this, he spoke of the gladness that had come into their lives. Tithing was not a problem. The sharing of their substance with God who had given them everything seemed little enough. Time for service was not a problem. This required only a little careful budgeting of the hours of the week. Responsibility was not a problem. Out of it came growth and a new outlook on life. And then this man of intellect and training, this engineer accustomed to dealing with the facts of the physical world in which we live, bore solemn testimony with moistened eyes of the miracle that had come into his life.

The Depression of the 1930s deepened during the early years of their marriage. To earn money, Howard sold soap door to door, ran a surveying transit, and painted bridges for Claire’s father, who operated an industrial painting business. He and Claire became parents on 20 March 1934 when Howard William Hunter, Jr., was born. But that summer, tragedy struck as little Billy became ill with an ulcerated intestinal diverticulum and died following surgery.

The influence of these girls reaches beyond the circle of their immediate friends. “We went to the temple last year,” Melissa said. “We had a testimony meeting after going to the temple, and our bus drivers came in and listened. The Spirit was so strong. It touched one of the drivers, and he asked for a copy of the Book of Mormon. He later joined the Church.”

I can never wait until the New Era comes in the mail. The stories are so inspiring. I especially liked the article “When Parents Divorce” (Aug. ’00). My parents are divorced, and I know how hard it is. But this article gave me hope that no matter what happens, my Heavenly Father is there for me and that nothing can stop me from being happy.
Amanda FrancisWidefield, Colorado

I remember going to my first youth conference four weeks after being baptized. I was a shy and timid lad, but the fantastic youth of the Church soon changed that.

That fall, while the printers made steady progress on the Book of Mormon, a former judge named Abner Cole began publishing a newspaper on Grandin’s press. Working at night in the shop, after Grandin’s staff went home, Abner had access to printed pages from the Book of Mormon, which was not yet bound or ready for sale.
Abner soon began poking fun at the “Gold Bible” in his newspaper, and during the winter he printed excerpts from the book alongside sarcastic commentary.11
When Hyrum and Oliver learned what Abner was doing, they confronted him. “What right have you to print the Book of Mormon in this way?” Hyrum demanded. “Do you not know that we have received a copyright?”
“It is none of your business,” Abner said. “I have hired the press and I will print what I please.”
“I forbid you to print any more of that book in your paper,” Hyrum said.
“I don’t care,” Abner said.
Unsure what to do, Hyrum and Oliver sent word to Joseph in Harmony, who returned to Palmyra at once. He found Abner at the printing office, casually reading his own newspaper.
“You seem hard at work,” Joseph said.
“How do you do, Mr. Smith,” Abner replied dryly.
“Mr. Cole,” Joseph said, “the Book of Mormon and the right of publishing it belong to me, and I forbid you meddling with it.”
Abner threw off his coat and pushed up his sleeves. “Do you want to fight, sir?” he barked, pounding his fists together. “If you want to fight, just come on.”
Joseph smiled. “You had better keep your coat on,” he said. “It’s cold, and I am not going to fight you.” He calmly continued, “But you have got to stop printing my book.”
“If you think you are the best man,” Abner said, “just pull off your coat and try it.”
“There is law,” Joseph responded, “and you will find that out if you did not know it before. But I shall not fight you, for that will do no good.”
Abner knew he was on the wrong side of the law. He calmed down and stopped printing excerpts from the Book of Mormon in his newspaper.12

Lily is also able to complete many Personal Progress experiences and projects without adapting them. For example, one of the value experiences for Good Works is to spend three hours serving outside of your family. For this project, Lily and her mom cleaned up a neighbor’s yard. After completing the project, Lily felt stronger. She says, “It was hard work and I was happy when it was over, but I am glad that I did it!”

In the fall of 1842, Emma became seriously ill. Some random entries:
—“This day, Emma began to be sick with fever; consequently I kept in the house with her all day.” (5:166.)
—“Emma is no better. I was with her all day.” (5:166.)
—“Emma was a little better. I was with her all day.” (5:167.)
—“Emma is very sick again. I attended with her all day, being somewhat poorly myself.” (5:167.)
—“My dear Emma was worse … I was unwell and much troubled on account of Emma’s sickness.” (5:167–8.)
—“Emma is somewhat better. I am cheerful and well.” (5:169.)
—“… Emma gaining slowly.” (5:169.)
—“I rode with Emma to the Temple for the benefit of her health. She is rapidly gaining.” (5:182.)
—“Rode out with Emma to the Temple.” (5:183.)

The late Elder Richard L. Evans had a caring mentor, Elder James E. Talmage, who had him rewrite certain pieces for Church publication dozens of times. Irritating though the rewriting must have been, Elder Evans was grateful for such tutoring, and all of his readers—and later on thousands who listened to his radio broadcasts of The Spoken Word—were also grateful. Even though he has passed away, his inspirational thoughts continue to be broadcast in Missouri, where they are one of the most popular programs in the state. (See Wall Street Journal, Feb. 15, 1997.)

Because of the honing and shaping that occurred in the life of that young man, he was permitted to bless the lives of many people.

Illustration by Bethany Stancliffe
It was another cold and rainy day for my companion and me as we walked the streets of the small seaside town of Los Vilos, Chile. It had been a difficult few weeks for us—we didn’t have anyone to teach and were struggling to find anyone who wanted to listen to our message. I was pretty discouraged, and I felt like we weren’t having much success because we weren’t teaching many lessons.
My companion and I were walking along that night, and I looked over and saw a woman on a park bench crying. I just knew we needed to speak to her. I looked at my companion and motioned toward the woman. As we walked up to her, I kept feeling like she really needed to hear something from us, but I couldn’t think of what. I just knew it was important that we speak with her.
The instant she saw us, she said, “Go away. I don’t want to talk to anyone.”
I tried telling her who we were and that we just wanted to help, but she wouldn’t listen. She asked us again to leave. I tried to think of what we could say but came up blank. We walked away.
We were only about four steps away when I got another feeling that we needed to talk to her. I turned to my companion and said, “We have to go back.”
We went back, and the exact same thing happened, but this time she was more upset. “I need to be alone. Go away.”
Again, I couldn’t think of anything important to say to her. I could tell she was having a really hard day, but I didn’t know what she needed to hear. So I sighed, and once more, we walked away.
We were a bit farther away when I got the feeling again: Go talk to her.
“I hate to say this, Hermana,” I said, “but we really have to go back and talk to that lady.”
My companion suggested that we not do it, since the woman was clearly not very happy with us.
Honestly, I agreed with her and felt a bit worried about going back again and annoying the woman, who was clearly in distress. But instead I said, “Nope, I really feel like we need to. She doesn’t know it yet, but she needs to talk to us.”
We cautiously made our way back to the woman on the bench, who was still crying. Before we got to her, I said a small prayer. “Heavenly Father,” I thought, “please just help me know what this woman needs to hear.”
As soon as we got to her, I said, “I’m sorry to bother you again, but I just want to tell you that you are a child of God. He really needs you to know that He loves you. Because He does. And we’re happy to talk to you more, but if you really don’t want us to, it’s OK. I just needed you to know that.”
She looked up at us with a much calmer expression. She said, “I guess you can come sit down.”
Her name was Veronica. She opened up and told us about what was going on in her life. She was having a lot of family trouble and had gotten some bad news about her job. She had been feeling very lost and alone.
We shared a scripture from the Book of Mormon with her and asked if she wanted to hear more about the gospel. She politely declined but thanked us for our message and for being so insistent about talking to her. Before leaving, we prayed with her on that small park bench, and we asked that she and her family would be blessed and guided.
We never saw Veronica again, but that experience taught me that even though we might not see someone get baptized, just expressing love to someone is an important act of missionary work. Even the smallest actions can have a great impact, so when we receive a prompting—even if it seems a bit scary or we don’t know why—it’s important that we follow it. Because Heavenly Father knows what His children need. Even if the best we can do is to simply share the love of God with someone, that is still a success.

I attended the general Young Women broadcast in 2005 with my three sisters and our mom. Our family is from the Chicago area, and it was the first time we had been inside the Conference Center. I was amazed at how many young women were there together. I was used to watching the broadcast in a dark stake center with a few other young women and leaders.
This time, participating in the meeting, it felt different. When we sang the closing hymn, “As Zion’s Youth in Latter Days” (Hymns, no. 256), I was overwhelmed by the sheer number of young women singing with me. These were young women who had committed to make right choices, hold the same high standards, and continue through life in faith.

In my current calling, I’m sent to stakes throughout the Church to reorganize stake presidencies. As my companion and I interview individuals, we have thoughts, feelings, and impressions come to us. We then counsel and pray together. Eventually, revelation comes, and the Lord confirms to us whom He has called to serve.

Marta likes going to the market with Mamá.
Marta sees a lost dog.
Marta says a prayer to find the dog’s owner.
“Is this your dog?” Marta asks. Everyone says no.
“There you are, Paco! Thank you for finding him!”
Marta feels good when she helps!

Take the example of Dr. Blair Bybee. After his call he received additional training in parasitology and nutrition. He was then sent to a Latter-day Saint hospital in a rural area so that he could gain experience in that situation.
Q—How long was this extra training in the rural hospital?
Dr. Mason—Two weeks.
Q—What happens when the health missionary arrives in his field of labor?
Dr. Mason—For the first five months of Elder Bybee’s mission, he performed as any other missionary would. He was a junior companion in a small village. During this time his responsibilities were divided between proselyting (70 percent) and health service (30 percent), as he learned the language and the customs of the Samoan people. Then in January he ended his preparation period and began concentrating on his specific health mission responsibilities. He was assigned by the mission president to create a health education and disease prevention program for all the Saints in Samoa. Appropriate health lessons that had been developed with the help of the BYU faculty and then translated into Samoan during the first five months of his mission were ready for use. He began conducting health seminars in conjunction with district conferences throughout the mission. He is lecturing in village after village—wherever we have a chapel—to members and nonmembers—anyone who wishes to attend—on such subjects as nutrition, alcoholism, baby care, home sanitation, the evils of tobacco, and so forth.

I love to knit and crochet. As a service missionary, I’ve been trying to find ways to use my talents to serve others. I’ve enjoyed making sweaters for dogs of my family and friends to keep them warm this season. I am currently working on a sweater to give to a friend for Christmas. I also teach my friends to crochet, which has been a fun way to spend time together.
Star Passey, Returned Service Missionary

I made knitted bears and gave them as a thank-you to nurses who treated COVID-19 patients. I am grateful to serve my community.
Emi L., age 11, New Mexico, USA

My brother calls me “Snickle-fritz”
And teases me a lot.
Sis calls me “Miss America,”
But, of course, I’m not.
Daddy calls me “Punkin Pie.”
I think he’ll be home soon.
Mom says that I’m her “Precious Child.”
I turned 18 last June.
Those names are nice—but some are not.
Some make my life so hard,
Like when boys ride by me on bikes,
Yelling “Dummy” or “Retard.”
Besides bad names that hurt me, though,
Are kids who stop and stare.
Some grown-ups look the other way,
Pretending I’m not there.
There are some things I’m good at—
You might not think it’s true—
My dad says that I’m cheerful.
He calls me “Sunny Sue.”
And Mom says that I’m thrifty,
’Cause I save every penny,
So another name for me is
“Thrifty, Nifty Jenny.”
But there’s one name that’s special,
I learned at Primary.
The song says “I am a Child of God.”
I know that He loves me.

Now, you may be thinking: It’s not that easy for me. I have so many people to watch over. And I have so little time. But where the Lord calls He prepares a way, His way. There are shepherds who believe that. I’ll tell you about one.
Two years ago, a man was called as the president of his elders quorum. He had been a member of the Church for less than 10 years. He had just become worthy to be sealed to his wife and family in the temple. His wife was an invalid. He had three daughters. The oldest was 13, and she cooked the meals and, with the others, cared for the house. His scant earnings from manual labor supported not only those five people but a grandfather who lived with them in their small house.
When he was called to be president of his elders quorum, it had 13 members. That tiny quorum was responsible for another 101 men who either had no priesthood at all or who were deacons, teachers, or priests. He was responsible to watch over the souls of 114 families, with little hope that he could devote more than his Sundays and perhaps one night a week to his service, with all he did to serve his own family.
The difficulty of what he faced drove him to his knees in prayer. Then he stood up and went to work. In his efforts to meet and know his sheep, his prayers were answered in a way he had not expected. He came to see beyond individuals. He came to know that the Lord’s purpose was for him to build families. And even with his limited experience, he knew that the way to build families would be to help them qualify to make and keep temple covenants.
He began to do what a good shepherd always does, but he did it differently when he saw the temple as their destination. First, he prayed to know who were to be his counselors to go with him. And then he prayed to know which families needed him and had been prepared.
He called on as many as he could. Some were cold and did not accept his friendship. But with those who did, he followed a pattern. As soon as he saw interest and trust, he invited them to meet the bishop. He had asked the bishop beforehand: “Please tell them what it takes to be worthy to go to the temple to claim its blessings for them and their families. And then please testify to them, as I have, that it will be worth it.”
A few then accepted the quorum president’s invitation to a temple preparation class taught by stake leaders. Not all completed the course and not all qualified for the temple. But each family and each father was prayed for. Most were invited at least once to a feast of the good word of God. With every invitation came the president’s testimony of the blessings of being a family sealed forever and the sadness of being separated. Every invitation was issued with the love of the Savior.
During the president’s service, he has seen 12 of the men he taught ordained elders. He has seen four of his elders ordained high priests. Those numbers don’t come close to measuring the miracle. The families of those men will be blessed over generations. Fathers and mothers are now sealed to each other and to their children. They are praying over their children, receiving the help of heaven, and teaching the gospel with the love and inspiration the Lord gives to faithful parents.
That president and his counselors have become true shepherds. They have watched over the flock with the Master and have come to love Him.