Gospel Story Finder

A true story from Canada.
Taylor helped Mom carry the supplies for the Primary activity toward the park. The sun was warm on her face, and the grass in the park was green again. It felt so good to be outside!
Spring was one thing that reminded her that Heavenly Father loved her. Taylor liked to look for God’s love in all things—like a blue sky or getting to see her friends at the Primary activity.
Taylor followed Mom to where the other Primary leaders were setting up games for the kids.
Sister Kingsley waved and said, “Jane is coming!”
“That’s great!” Mom said.
“Who’s Jane?” Taylor asked.
“She’s a new girl we invited. We hope you and the other kids can help her feel welcome,” Mom said.
Taylor felt a worried knot in her stomach. Talking to new people was hard for her. She wanted to be kind. But what if the new girl didn’t like her?
Soon, everyone arrived, including a girl Taylor didn’t know.
“Welcome to our Primary activity!” Sister Kingsley said. She put her hand on the new girl’s shoulder. “This is Jane. She’s joining us today. We hope everyone has fun playing together at the park.”
“Can we play grounders?” asked one of the Primary kids.
“Yes, please!” Taylor shouted.
She was so excited! Grounders was her favorite game. Taylor raced with the other kids to the playground. Then Taylor stopped when she saw Jane standing alone.
Heavenly Father had given her this beautiful and special day. She wanted to enjoy it, and she wanted Jane to enjoy it too. Taylor’s insides felt shaky, but she took a deep breath and walked back to Jane.
“Hi. I’m Taylor.”
“Hi.” Jane smiled a little, but she seemed nervous.
“Have you played grounders before?” Taylor asked.
Jane shook her head.
Taylor knew what it was like to be nervous about new things.
“It’s really fun!” Taylor said. “The person who is ‘it’ keeps their eyes closed while they try to tag someone on the playground equipment. Everyone else can run around. But if the person who is ‘it’ yells ‘grounders!’ then whoever’s feet are still on the ground is ‘it.’”
Jane still looked nervous.
“Do you want to stay by me for a little while?” Taylor asked.
Jane smiled. “Yes!”
Taylor and Jane walked to the playground. As they climbed to the top, other kids said hi to Jane. Jane stayed near Taylor at first, but soon the other kids were helping Jane too. For the rest of the Primary activity, Taylor and all the other kids talked to Jane. By the end, Taylor no longer felt nervous, and she was pretty sure Jane didn’t either.
“Does anyone want an ice pop?” Mom said as she opened a cooler.
After all the running and playing, Taylor felt happy to sit with her friends and cool off. When Jane went home, Taylor and the other kids said goodbye to her.
Soon it was just Taylor, her mom, and the other leaders. Taylor picked up ice pop wrappers and put them in a trash bag.
“I’m so proud of you,” Mom said. “You and your friends shared Heavenly Father’s love with Jane today.”
Taylor thought about that. Even though she usually looked for ways Heavenly Father showed His love for her, today was different. Today, she’d been the one showing His love.
How do you feel God’s love? How can you share His love with a friend?
Illustration by Hollie Hibbert

I started meeting with missionaries and learning more. The spiritual hole inside of me started to be filled. Around the time I was deciding to get baptized, some Christian friends invited me to one of their church campouts.
During the final sermon on the last day of camp, I prayed for God to confirm to me that the Book of Mormon was true. At that exact moment, a student who was studying to be a pastor pulled out the Book of Mormon and said, “Why don’t we read from this book? This book is all about Jesus Christ and is in line with the Bible.” The crowd went silent. I am convinced that this was an answer to my prayer.
After hearing from that student, I felt the Spirit confirm to me that this book is another testament of Jesus Christ. I was baptized soon after.

Thud! Kristi plopped down on the ice. For a moment, she sat looking at the skates she’d found in the attic. They were wrinkled, black, and three inches longer than her feet. Someday she would be a figure skater and sail across the rink in a glittering blue skirt. But right now all she had were old skates, a coat that was too small, and a patch of ice in the horse pasture.
“Hey, ballerina! Where did you get those ugly skates?”
Kristi looked up and saw her 17-year-old brother, Jake, sitting on the fence. She wondered how long he’d been watching her. “Go away!” she yelled.
“You should’ve seen your face, like you were a famous skater or something. Then—crash!” Jake laughed.
Kristi scrambled to her feet, slipping on the ice. “Just you wait. Someday I’ll be famous.”
Jake backed away from the fence, still grinning. “OK, OK. I believe you. But you’ll need better skates.”
That evening, Kristi told her mother that she wanted ice skates for Christmas.
Mother leaned over and hugged her. “We’ll have a wonderful Christmas this year just because it’s Christmas.” She looked serious. “But try not to get your hopes up about skates. What money we have has to buy things we need.”
Still, Kristi hoped.
Three days before Christmas, she noticed a box under the tree without a name tag. It was shaped like a big shoe box. She knew it had to be skates! Kneeling under the tree, she picked it up and shook it.
Just then, Jake walked in. He smelled like hamburgers because he worked at a fast-food place after school. Quickly, Kristi set the box down.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said, trying to look innocent.
He had a funny look on his face. “You probably think …” he started to say.
“Think what?” Kristi asked.
“Nothing,” he said.
On Christmas morning, Kristi sat by the tree while her father passed around the gifts. She got a new coat, socks, and a mystery book.
Kristi waited, watching the box with no name tag. Finally, her mother leaned over, picked it up, and handed it to Kristi’s father. “Merry Christmas, Dear.” She kissed him on the cheek. “You’ve needed these for a long time.”
It was a pair of work boots.
Kristi bent her head over her new book, seeing just a blur of words. She wasn’t going to cry and ruin everyone’s Christmas.
The next day, Kristi went sledding with her friends. She wore her new coat and had so much fun she almost forgot that she had wanted skates. Later that afternoon she sat curled up in a chair reading her book when Jake came in the door. He was still wearing his work uniform and he smelled like french fries.
“I’m going to the store,” he said. “Do you want to go with me?”
Surprised, Kristi closed her book. “OK.”
Soon they were driving downtown in his old car. It stalled at a stoplight and people behind them honked while Jake restarted it. The car sputtered down the road to a sports equipment store.
“You have to come in and try them on,” Jake said.
“Try what on?”
“Skates,” he said. “I thought I’d get you some, since—”
“Skates?” Kristi cried. “Skates? Really?”
“Yeah,” he said, scratching his ear.
They went inside and the salesman pulled out a box. Nestled in blue tissue paper were the skates, their silver blades shining. Kristi sniffed their newness and tried them on, balancing carefully on the blades.
When they got home, it was almost dark. But there was a full moon. “There’s enough moonlight to go skating if you want,” Jake said. He picked up the old black skates. “Maybe I’ll skate too.”
Together they walked out to the pasture. With trembling fingers, Kristi laced up her skates and stepped onto the ice. They were firm around her ankles. She glided across the ice and did a smooth turn, amazed at how much easier it was.
Jake put on the old skates and joined her. They skated a long time, sometimes falling down and laughing. Over by the fence, the horses watched.
“The horses probably think we’re crazy,” Jake said.
Kristi looked at the horses, then stopped to watch her tall brother as he wobbled across the ice. It was then she noticed his pants were too short, and his coat sleeves were frayed at the cuffs.
Kristi watched as Jake took long, awkward strides around the ice. “He could have gotten himself some clothes,” she thought, “or maybe fixed his car.” But he bought her skates. A warm feeling started in her chest and grew until she felt so warm she could almost take off her coat. Suddenly, Kristi wanted to do something kind for someone else. She wanted to be as kind to everyone as Jake was to her.
Kristi looked toward the fence where the horses were quiet and watching. “Do you want to know what the horses really think?” she asked Jake. “They think you’re the best brother ever.”

As Beth’s horse clip-clopped past the bright red covered bridge a half mile from Heaven’s Gate Cemetery, she couldn’t help but think about Rebecca’s death a year ago. Rebecca had disappeared into a neighbor’s burning house and lowered a small child out a window into someone’s waiting arms just before a section of roof collapsed on her, burying her beneath the fiery timbers.

One day when I was 13, we sang “True to the Faith” (Hymns, no. 254) in sacrament meeting, and I thought it was just about the coolest hymn I had ever heard. I thought, Hey, I remember how to play the piano—sort of. At least I remember what a piano is. I convinced myself that, based on what I knew about piano playing, I could learn to play “True to the Faith.”
The only problem was that I didn’t realize “True to the Faith” is also a very difficult hymn to play. It’s written in a key with just one sharp, but lots of extra sharps and flats are thrown in here and there. After six months of practice I learned it, and I was on my way to being a pianist.

I really liked the article “Sarah’s Shoes” (May 2011). Once I lost my glasses. I looked all over the place and still could not find them. That night I prayed to Heavenly Father and asked Him to help me. The next morning, my mom found them in the garden while she was weeding. I was so happy. I know that Heavenly Father is not too busy to answer little prayers.

It was a sweaty Sunday afternoon, and the chapel was stifling. My wife was wrestling with the kids to keep them reverent, and I was wrestling with my eyelids to keep them open. We were both losing.
The speaker didn’t help me any in my fight against sacrament meeting slumber. He was a typical youth speaker, and he followed the pattern of most youth speakers in our ward—he read to us from the book Especially for Mormons.
As he droned on, my wife and I both surrendered: she took the kids out to the foyer, and I decided to grab some shut-eye. I assumed sacrament sleep position number one: weight forward, elbows on knees, head down, face in hands, and soon I was dozing comfortably.
Maybe I was too comfortable or maybe somebody poked me awake—it’s happened before. At any rate, my head slipped out of my hands and “thwap!” my forehead cracked the bench in front of me.
I don’t normally have such headaches in sacrament meeting, but a dull speaker and a stuffy chapel almost always make me drowsy.

We can teach the importance of prayer to our children and grandchildren both by word and by example. I share with you a lesson in teaching by example as described in a mother’s letter to me relating to prayer. “Dear President Monson: Sometimes I wonder if I make a difference in my children’s lives. Especially as a single mother working two jobs to make ends meet, I sometimes come home to confusion, but I never give up hope.”

Her letter continues as she describes how she and her children were watching general conference, where I was speaking about prayer. Her son made the comment, “Mother, you’ve already taught us that.” She asked, “What do you mean?” Her son replied, “Well, you’ve taught us to pray and showed us how, but the other night I came to your room to ask something and found you on your knees praying to Heavenly Father. If He’s important to you, He’ll be important to me.” The letter concluded, “I guess you never know what kind of influence you’ll be until a child observes you doing yourself what you have tried to teach him to do.”

Albie the Lifeguard by Louise Borden Albie’s friends signed up to be on the swim team. While they practiced, he stayed home and played “lifeguard.” He played at the pool with them after practice, and he cheered for them at swim meets, even though they always lost.

While in Argentina in 1975 at the area conference, President Kimball spoke to a large gathering of youth. Shortly after he began, he set aside his prepared text and shared a personal experience with them. He asked them, “Who gave you your voice?” He then told them about his experience with surgery to save his voice. He explained that the Lord had spared his voice. He said it wasn’t the same voice he had once had. He couldn’t sing as he had previously enjoyed doing but he did have a voice. He said his voice wasn’t a pretty one, but I tell you it was beautiful in what it taught that night. As he spoke the youth responded even before the translator could interpret his words. He told those present, “Serving a mission is like paying tithing; you’re not compelled—you do it because it’s right. We want to go on missions because it’s the Lord’s way. The Savior didn’t say, ‘If it’s convenient, go,’ he said, ‘Go ye into all the world.’” (Mark 16:15.) President Kimball explained that it was the responsibility of young women to help young men remain worthy and to encourage them to go on missions.
As the President concluded his remarks he asked, “Didn’t the Lord give you your voice so you could teach the gospel?” He then testified that he had come to know that his voice and our voices are for the declaring of the gospel of Jesus Christ and for testifying of the truths revealed to the Prophet Joseph Smith. President Kimball teaches us the correct perspective of life.

When his mission ended Barnard looked for work again. Not fish odors this time but pungent cow barn aromas became part of his new lot in life. He ventured into the New York countryside where farmers, he had heard, needed milkers for cows. “Can you milk?” they asked the English boy. “No,” he answered honestly, thereby losing the job. One time, desperate for work, he changed his answer to “I think I can” and was hired. But when he sat on the wrong side of the cow and could get no milk from it, the supervising lady accused him of lying. “I only said I thought I could,” he answered. She liked his forthrightness so taught him how to milk. He traded city-boy clothes for farm workers’ apparel. Mother, he knew, would cringe to see him dressed in dumpy work clothes and rough leather work boots.
Farm hours were long and the work hard. Barnard’s days started at 3:00 A.M. and ended after dark. But he earned some needed pocket money. And, more important, his body developed strength and endurance—strength he would need to avoid disaster later that year in Wyoming.

Luck is a marvelous thing. I know. It kept me out of a number of scrapes when I was a beginning driver of a big car.
My greatest challenge was maneuvering in our two-car driveway, especially when the other car had been parked too close to the center. Then I was faced with the white Oldsmobile on one side and a one-foot concrete retaining wall on the other.
Usually luck was on my side of the driveway, but one Saturday morning it just didn’t hold out. As my sister and I drove up the sloping hill into the driveway, we heard a grinding noise not unlike that of a demolition crew at work.
“Stop, Michelle!” Anne screamed. “You’ve hit the wall!”
“I have not!” I insisted, but I put my foot on the brake. The grinding stopped.
“Okay, Anne, so maybe I nicked the wall, but all I need to do is pull forward and …”
The car didn’t move. The back left wheel scraped itself into a spin, but the car didn’t move.
“Stop! I’m going to get Dad.”
“Don’t you dare. If I can’t go forward, I can always go backward …”
Fortunately for Anne, me, and the wall, I didn’t have a chance to shift into reverse. With a sudden thrust, the back wheel spun free and the scraping stopped.
“I’m going to tell Dad.” She hopped out of the car and ran into the house.
Surveying the damage, I had to admit that a demolition crew could not have done a better job. The one-foot wall had been reduced to a half-foot mound of concrete Legos.
As I walked slowly up the stairs to the front door, I remembered what was now the second worst disaster of my life.
That was 12 years ago, I reminded myself. But there Dad stood in the front doorway. He was holding a garbage can, a push broom, and a dustpan. “Uh, Dad …” I began.
He didn’t say a word. It was my worst mess ever, and he didn’t say a word. He must have understood that right then I needed acceptance more than condemnation; I had already condemned myself. He just handed me the broom, and together we went down to the driveway.

As Orson continued his search for deeper religious truths, the persuasive voice of Sidney Rigdon soon convinced him to join the Campbellite movement. The new sect’s belief in baptism by immersion for the remission of sins struck a responsive chord in the mind of young Hyde. At Sidney Rigdon’s invitation, Orson moved to Mentor, Ohio, to live with the Rigdon family, where he entered the Burton Academy and was ordained an elder in the Campbellite church. In the fall of 1829 he accompanied Sidney Rigdon on a mission throughout Ohio.
Orson’s beliefs in Campbellism were challenged in 1830 by a group of unusual young men who visited Kirtland. Among these were Oliver Cowdery, Peter Whitmer, Jr., and Parley P. Pratt. Their message concerned the coming forth of the Book of Mormon and the restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Orson received the peculiar doctrine with mixed emotions. He resolved to read the famed “Golden Bible” (Book of Mormon), and after having read a portion of it, preached against it several times. After one such occasion, however, his opinions began to change. He recorded, “For the first time, I thought that the ‘Mormon’ bible might be the truth of heaven; and fully resolved before leaving the house, that I would never preach against it any more until I knew more about it, being pretty strongly convicted in my own mind that I was doing wrong.”1
As he reexamined the message of the Mormon elders, the rebuke of the Spirit caused Orson much unhappiness and deep remorse. The Prophet Joseph Smith was living in Kirtland, and Orson, eager to know the unusual man of whom he had heard so much, frequently attended meetings, public and private, at which the Prophet spoke about the new religion. He attended meetings at which he “heard the arguments pro and con, but was careful to say nothing.” In his autobiography he wrote:
“I marked carefully the spirit that attended the opposition, also the spirit that attended the Mormons and their friends, and after about three months of careful praying and investigation, reflection and meditation, I came to the conclusion that the Mormons had more light and a better spirit than their opponents.”2
Orson was baptized in the Chagrin River by his friend Elder Sidney Rigdon (who had converted to Mormonism), and was then confirmed and ordained an elder by Joseph Smith and Sidney Rigdon on the banks of the river. During the month of November, Orson enthusiastically accepted a call to serve a mission with the Prophet Joseph Smith’s older brother Hyrum. Soon after returning, he was called to serve a second mission to the eastern states, with the Prophet’s younger brother Samuel as his companion. They proselyted without purse or scrip, relying on the hospitality of those contacted for their food and lodging.

The last word in the title is Saints. I smile when I remember a comment made after my call to the Quorum of the Twelve. A doctor friend relayed a report made at a professional meeting that “Dr. Nelson was no longer practicing cardiac surgery because his church had made him ‘a saint.’”

Such a comment was not only amusing but revealing. It evidenced unfamiliarity with the language of the Bible, in which the word saint is used much more frequently than is the term Christian.

The Twelve Days of Christmas
The artist shows all that is going on both inside and outside the farm home of Bedeliah, to whom Benjamin Bear is bringing his twelve days’ gifts. The animals cavort with all the exuberance of the season, an art subplot shows Reginald Raccoon’s efforts to get into Bedeliah’s garbage can, and a foldout page at the end reveals a wonderful Christmas Fair in which there is always something new to find.Hilary Knight (illustrator)

Remembering an example of love demonstrated, the Cooks’ second son, Joe, recalls that his father was uneasy about Joe’s driving back to San Francisco after finishing his first-semester exams at Brigham Young University. It would be late December, the roads might be snowbound, and he would be tired. At the end of the semester Joe answered a knock on the door of his dormitory to see his father standing there, having flown up from the Bay Area to be his son’s driving companion for the trip home. Joe says that was not only a powerful manifestation of his dad’s love for him but the talk time they had on the trip home—filled with discussions of various gospel principles and repeated testimonies of the Savior—became one of the truly formative moments in young Joe’s vision of what he wanted by way of testimony and for his own future fatherhood.

It’s been eight years since we stepped into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We had no clue about family history work at the time of our conversion. But when we heard about baptism for the dead, we began studying about it and learned that we could perform baptisms for our dead ancestors. This knowledge was a cause for excitement, knowing that our ancestors who had died could receive baptism and live with our Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.
It was very hard when we initially started gathering information on our family, but we didn’t stop. Our faith in the Lord made a way for us to find information for up to five generations. Section 2 of the Doctrine and Covenants speaks of promises made to the fathers, that their children would remember them.
We felt joy and happiness when we got baptized for our progenitors and felt that they had become free and clean to be judged worthy to be with the Lord. Great was our happiness that l, along with my husband, had the courage to initiate this work for them and be the reason for their redemption. We learned the great significance of proxy baptism in the process.

On April 3, Jesus Christ appeared to the Prophet Joseph and Oliver Cowdery in the temple. He told them that He accepted it as His house and that the Saints should rejoice because of the blessings they would receive.

Supported by one elbow, tired and weak,
Signs of sickness written on his face;
Gazing on the valley, he tried to speak,
And with much effort said, “This is the place.”
With unbelieving eyes the Saints looked down
And thought of far-off, beautiful Nauvoo.
The picture of their pleasant, thriving town
Was far beyond compare with this sad view.
Surely Zion cannot be built here!
They looked once more, their eyes filled with despair.
“His words are born in fever,” said one near.
“He sees a land that is not really there.”
He spoke more close to truth than they could see;
For Brigham had a vision he held dear
Of a land not there but soon to be;
Yes, for a season Zion would dwell here.

With my boss’s encouragement, I joined the Puurai Ward in Tahiti at the beginning of 2024. There, I was welcomed by kind and always-smiling members. It became my place of refuge every Sunday. The more I attended, the more I felt our Heavenly Father’s love grow stronger. That’s when I started to seriously rethink my priorities in life.
Of course, we need a job and income to live, but I was beginning to feel emotionally, physically, and mentally exhausted. That’s when my bishop told me about Sister Tararaina Mana, a service missionary and career coach in our ward. He said I could meet with her if I wished. I was immediately interested. I was at a turning point and no longer knew what to do.
On Sunday, 2 June 2024, I had my first coaching session with her. That first meeting was very different from what I expected. I thought it would be like school orientation where you pick a career based on your degrees, but it was so much more! For the first time, someone asked me questions that were truly about me. Beyond my academic background, my coach focused on my needs, my expectations—simply put, on me.
We started exercises that I didn’t quite understand at first. We began with my “Whys.” Thanks to that exercise, I started thinking deeply about my goals and my life vision. I rediscovered myself. I learned to listen to myself, to know myself, to trust myself. I realized I had forgotten who I was. I had let myself be consumed by temporal needs and society’s expectations.
Society imposes a model on us: studies, diploma, great job, house, car, then family. It sounds simple, tut reality is much harsher. Fear, doubt, and anxiety about basic needs had taken over my spiritual growth.