Gospel Story Finder

That same revelation that called Ezra to repentance was also directed toward other elders, including Edward Partridge, a bishop. Like Ezra, Edward had also been disappointed in the location of Zion. The Lord instructed Edward to move his family to Independence so that he could oversee the purchase of land for the Saints, but Edward wasn’t excited about living there. He was used to living in an established town. He wrote to his wife, Lydia, “We have to suffer, and shall for some time, many privations here.”4
Edward also disagreed with Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery about what land he should buy. Joseph and Oliver wanted certain tracts to be purchased, but Edward believed there was better land somewhere else. Edward had hard feelings toward Joseph for a while.5
But unlike Ezra, Edward didn’t allow the disagreement or his disappointment to drive him away from the gospel. Instead, he eventually asked for forgiveness from the Lord and from Joseph. “I sometimes feel as though I must fall,” he wrote to Lydia. “I fear my station is above what I can perform to the acceptance of my Heavenly Father.”6 He told Joseph that he hoped the Prophet could forgive him for the dispute because he was and “has always been sorry.”7
Edward and Joseph reconciled, and Edward stayed faithful until he died in 1840.

One of the sisters shared her personal experience of this event. There was an evening when she had gone to bed very concerned about Sister Edna’s critical condition. She prayed fervently while imagining the tremendous physical pain Sister Edna was surely feeling. As she thought about this, she also felt Sister Edna’s indescribable pain in her own body as though she was the one who was hurt and beaten internally. This sister had so much love and empathy for Edna that she experienced for a moment the pain that Edna felt.

We can also encourage our associates to do likewise. Where we have the courage to make a friendly request, like Elder Kimball, we will often receive a respectful and cooperative reply. Our married daughter who lives in Illinois had such an experience. As she took her turn carpooling the twelve-year-olds home from the soccer game, her noisy passengers filled the air with profanity. Firmly, but with good humor, she told the boys, “In our family we only use that name when we worship, so we ask you, please don’t say that name disrespectfully in our car.” The boys immediately complied, and, what is even more surprising, most of them still remembered the next time it was her turn to drive.

I’m going to ask you to participate in a brief experiment. Start by standing in front of a mirror and reciting out loud to yourself the 13th article of faith\. You may remember it as the longest and last article you memorized as you were preparing to advance from Primary.
Analyze your feelings and mannerisms as you voice the words “We believe in being honest, true, chaste”; “we hope all things”; “we seek after these things”; etc.
Do you feel a little removed or distant from the expression of belief being made? Do the words seem to apply more to we than to me? Do they possibly convey a group but not a strong individual sense of conviction?
Now repeat article 13 again. But this time, personalize it by substituting and emphasizing the pronoun I wherever the pronoun we appears. Say the words slowly and thoughtfully: “I believe in being honest, true, chaste”; “I follow the admonition of Paul”; “I have endured many things”; etc. Do you detect a difference? Does it feel more like a part of you, something you truly accept and are personally committed to?

• Your friend had an operation and won’t be back in school for a month; he can have visitors after school but only during the time you usually play basketball with your other friends.

A basketball coach encourages young Gerrit W. Gong to try out for soccer.

When I first saw the old barn, I figured that it had to be at least a thousand years old. The gray slate roof was half gone, and the huge side doors wouldn’t shut. Inside I could see mounds of hay heaped so high that I knew that there had to be rats living in them—and bats flying around the rafters at night! My pa told me that I could explore the barn as long as I was careful. But every time I thought of that barn, the hair on my arms stood straight up. I spent a lot of time sitting on a rail fence near the garden, just staring at the sagging barn. I felt like it was staring right back at me, daring me to come inside.
I met Doughnut the summer that we moved to the farm, the same year that I turned ten. His real name was Teddy, but everyone called him Doughnut because he was heavier than most kids and his face was round. We played baseball together or walked along the fence, pretending that we were high on a trapeze.
Doughnut and I had a lot of fun together—until one day when he said, “Hey, Elliot let’s go inside the barn and make a fort.”
“Nope,” I said. “That barn is alive.”
“Alive?” Doughnut laughed. “Elliot, you’re just chicken.”
My face felt real hot. I had never been called chicken in my life. “Well, OK,” I said reluctantly. My knees began to shake as I marched up the small path leading to the barn. When I reached the doors, I stopped and tilted my head back to see just how high the barn was. “Wow!” was all I could say.
“Come on.” Doughnut nudged me closer. “Let’s go in.”
Doughnut followed me inside. I was glad that the doors didn’t shut—I might want to make a quick getaway. The beams that supported the roof were as thick as tree stumps. And the wind whistled through the open cracks in the walls.
“Wow!” Doughnut exclaimed. “Our barn isn’t nearly this big.”
“Or this scary,” I told him. I felt my heart pound hard against my chest.
Doughnut climbed the ladder to the loft and grabbed a thick hemp rope. “Come on, Elliot, let’s swing across and drop into the hay.”
“Are you crazy?”
“You’re just a red-bellied chicken.”
I climbed to the loft and pushed Doughnut so hard that he rolled across the floor. I was furious at him for calling me a red-bellied chicken.
Doughnut got up, grabbed the rope, and whooped as he sailed across the barn and dropped into the hay.
Before I knew it, I was swinging across the barn and landing in the hay too. We decided to build forts and tunnels on each side of the barn. Everything about it became new and exciting. I never wanted to leave.
Every morning, when I got out of bed, I hurried and did my chores. I wasn’t afraid of the barn anymore, and I couldn’t wait to play in it. It was wonderful. Some afternoons Doughnut would come over and we’d play in the barn the whole time. I liked it best, though, when I was alone in the barn and could bounce my voice off the rafters or just listen to myself think. I began to think of the barn as a friend. I started taking care of it. I made repairs inside, swept up the scattered hay, and even stuffed hay in the draftiest chinks in the walls.
Early one morning I was eating my breakfast as fast as I could so that I could go out to the barn and tighten the hinges on the side doors. I wasn’t listening to my parents’ conversation until I heard the word barn.
“We’ll start tearing down the barn Saturday afternoon,” Pa said to Mother. “The Amish people will come load up the wood. I told them that they could have it for nothing. It isn’t worth much.”
My mouth dropped. “You can’t tear it down, Pa,” I choked out. “I have it all fixed up inside. Maybe we could rebuild it.”
“Elliot, it would cost more than it’s worth.” He gave me an inquiring look, then said, “Now, finish your breakfast.”
I felt miserable and angry. And I felt sorry for the barn. Was I a normal kid to think that a barn had feelings? I curled up in a chair in my room and drew pictures of how the barn could look if we fixed it up.
All week Doughnut begged me to let him come over. I told him no. I told him that I didn’t feel like playing in that stupid barn anymore. Anyway, it was going to be torn down. I think that that was the only time that I was ever really mad at my pa.
Saturday morning I did my chores and decided to stay in the house. I peeked out my bedroom window to take one last look at the barn. I tried to convince myself that it was just a broken-down building.
After lunch Pa came into my room. He sat down on the edge of my bed and looked me straight in the eyes. “Did I ever tell you about the oak tree that I used to play on when I was about your age?” he asked.
“No, Pa.”
“Well, I found this old tree that had fallen across Miller Creek. The trunk of that tree was about as big around as this room. My folks always knew where to find me in the summertime. I would play on that tree until dark. I pretended that I was shipwrecked and that I was the captain. I fought off dangerous pirates and enormous sharks. I had the greatest adventures on it that I could imagine.”
I hadn’t really known much about Pa when he was a kid. It felt strange to imagine him as a little kid on that tree, letting his imagination run free. I wished that I could have been there with him.
“My adventures on that fallen trunk are some of my happiest memories,” Pa continued. He looked over at me. “I think that every youngster ought to have something happy to remember about growing up. Something he can hold on to.”
“Yes, Pa,” I said.
“So,” he said with a crooked grin, “I’ve thought a lot about what you said and how you feel about that barn. Maybe that’s what you’ll remember when you’re older.” Pa leaned down and picked up the drawings off the floor. “Do you still want to try to rebuild that old relic out there?”
“Oh yes, Pa!” I hugged him as hard as I could.
Pa stood and walked toward the door, then stopped, held out his hand, and said, “Well, come on then. We’d better get started.”

Now let’s take another student who, with the same goal of attaining an A in geometry, realizes that he doesn’t want to count on the intangibles of luck and hope. So, instead of cramming, he or she sets aside a little time every day to study the subject calmly and in depth. This gives the necessary time to digest and properly understand the material. If confusion arises on any given topic, there’s plenty of time to ask the teacher for help. What’s the result from this second technique? A deeper understanding of the material? Increased self-confidence going into the test? Less reliance on luck? I think so.

Is it actually possible to go into the classroom knowing beforehand that you will get an A on the test because of your preparation? I know it is. I’ve seen it done.

I am reminded of Henry Van Dyke’s story “The Mansion,” where he tells of the rich man who lived in a mansion on earth but was shocked to find that he had only a tiny hut when he reached heaven. But the poor man found to his surprise that he had a mansion in heaven because he had been laying up for himself treasures in heaven.

Baden-Powell: Founder of the Boy Scouts A scout and intelligence officer for the British army in India and Africa, “B-P” drew pictures to show the landscape and enemy movements. He used two clever tricks to save the town of Mafeking from its attackers. Many photos and some of his own drawings are in this short book.Pauline York Brower8–11 years

When I was twelve years old, the junior-high music teacher invited me to play the bass viola in the school orchestra. I had to take one semester of instruction before I could join the orchestra. One day a week, the music teacher taught a lesson to me and two other boys. The rest of the week we went into a vacant classroom to practice.
We were practicing in the unsupervised classroom one day when one of the boys—he was a year older and was bigger than I was and something of a bully—started looking through the drawers and cupboards. He found a stack of phonograph records. Looking through them, he said, “I’d like to have these records, and I think I’ll just take them.” The other boy was his friend and agreed to help him. Then the bigger boy turned to me and threatened, “Don’t you tell anybody, or I’ll beat you up.”
I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want him to beat me up, and I didn’t want to be a tattletale. But I knew that stealing was wrong. I went home from school that day very troubled. When my dad came home, I asked if I could talk with him. I told my dad what had happened at school and asked for his advice.
“Well, Son,” he said, “you just need to always do what’s right, whatever it is. It may be hard sometimes, but you must always do what’s right.” He didn’t tell me what to do; he only taught the principle.
I knew that what Dad said was true, and I knew what I should do. But choosing the right isn’t always easy. After I prayed about the situation, though, I felt even more sure of what I should do.
The next day the three of us went back to the unsupervised room again to practice. I was scared because I didn’t know how the boy would respond to what I was going to say. I summoned up my courage and said, “You’re going to bring those records back. And if they’re not here by tomorrow, I’m going to turn you in. You have until tomorrow to bring them back.”
I waited nervously for his answer. He swallowed hard and was silent, but he didn’t attack me. The next day he brought the records back. I’ve always appreciated my dad for his wise counsel to choose the right.

But I did not like being called an “investigator,” and I didn’t like to be pushed. When members asked if I would like the missionaries to teach me at home, I said no. But I invited the sister missionaries for dinner the following Saturday. They came and showed slides of a refugee camp where they worked, but nothing about religion was discussed. Before they left, they gave me several pamphlets, which I promised to read.

Tears stream down the missionary’s face. Watching the people he has taught come out of the waters of baptism, he feels weak with emotion as he listens to these new members pray. They thank their Father in Heaven for sending him to teach them the gospel. All the sacrifices he has made to come so far from his home have been worth it.
Two missionary stories with the same emotion and the same sacrifice. It may be surprising to learn they took place 150 years and an ocean apart. The first missionary was Addison Pratt, who baptized in 1844 the first members of the Church in the Pacific not far from Tahiti. The second missionary was Barbara Nauta, a native Tahitian, who left her island home to serve a mission in Canada in 1993.

In a Face to Face broadcast originating in Palmyra, New York, USA, President Henry B. Eyring and Elder Jeffrey R. Holland encouraged youth of the Church to gain a personal testimony. “Come to know for yourself that these things are true,” President Eyring said.

During my senior year of high school, I prayed for the Spirit to lead me to someone ready to hear the gospel. I had a friend in mind as I prayed. This friend of mine, Ashley (name has been changed), had expressed some interest in my religion, and she already held herself to the same standards as Latter-day Saint youth. I was convinced this was the time she needed to hear the gospel.
I was serving in my Laurel class presidency at the time, and during a bishopric youth committee meeting, I received a strong impression to suggest to the bishop that we have a missionary activity in Mutual. I felt impressed that the youth of our ward should invite nonmember friends to this activity for a question-and-answer session with the missionaries serving in our ward. My bishop enthusiastically set up the activity with the elders, and I was sure that this was the answer I had been praying for. Now Ashley could come and learn more about the gospel in an environment where she would not feel any pressure. I was confident that after Ashley came to the question-and-answer activity, she would be touched by the Spirit, ask to receive the missionary lessons, and in about a month would be baptized and confirmed a member of the Church.
Now my prayers turned to how to ask Ashley to the activity. I prayed to serve as an instrument in the Lord’s hands to introduce His plan and gospel to someone prepared to receive it. At school I invited Ashley to the activity, and she said she would ask her parents if it was all right with them.
Later that afternoon, I received a call from Ashley. She told me her parents were definitely OK with it. In fact, she explained that before her parents married, her father had lived with two LDS roommates and was very impressed with how they lived. I was overjoyed because the only obstacle I had envisioned was whether or not Ashley’s parents would be OK with her pursuing another religion.
As I continued to pray about the upcoming missionary activity, I felt a calm reassurance that I was indeed an instrument in the hands of the Lord and that He was pleased I had acted on the prompting at the bishopric youth committee meeting. I looked forward to the activity with great anticipation. Ashley and I had been friends for many years, and I was excited to play a part in her introduction to the gospel and, of course, her resulting conversion.
On the morning of the activity, I received a phone call from Ashley. She had changed her mind and was no longer planning to come to the activity. I was devastated and confused. I had been praying for Ashley, I was sure she was ready, and she was the whole reason I had thrown myself into missionary mode. I also felt embarrassed. During the activity planning process, I had made it very clear to everyone that my friend Ashley was ready to learn and accept the gospel.
As I cried with frustration in my room, I began to be filled with self-doubt. If I had been wrong about Ashley, then maybe I had been wrong in believing that the missionary question-and-answer activity was actually a spiritual prompting. Engulfed in a teenage sense of uncertainty, anger, self-pity, and disappointment, I decided to skip the activity myself.
A few weeks later, as I was walking through the school library, my friend Brian asked me if I wanted to come to his baptism. Brian and I didn’t have any classes together that year, so it had been quite a while since I had seen or spoken with him. The previous year we had sat next to each other in a history class and had partnered up for a class project. Our project topic, randomly assigned by our teacher, was “Joseph Smith and the Mormons.” I remembered Brian had been quite interested in the topic as we did our research. However, he also liked to joke around, saying things like, “Remind me which wife number your mom is” and “There is going to be this fun party this weekend, but oh, wait—you’re Mormon, so you would be no fun to go with.” Thus, I initially dismissed his baptism invitation as another joke at the expense of my religion. He did not seem like the type ready to join a church with such “restrictive standards.”
But the next words out of his mouth stunned me as he described the whirlwind of the past few weeks of his life. He explained overhearing a fellow classmate and member of my ward invite someone to a question-and-answer activity at the Mormon church. When the person receiving the invitation declined, Brian asked our classmate if he could come along instead. Following the activity, he immediately began taking the missionary lessons. He read the Book of Mormon. He prayed about it. He knew it was true. He really was getting baptized, and if I wanted to, I was welcome to come. After all, he said, I was the one who introduced him to Joseph Smith and the Mormons.
In quiet amazement I realized that the Lord had heard my prayers. He was using me as an instrument in His hands to find someone He had prepared to hear and accept the gospel. It had never occurred to me to invite Brian to meet the missionaries because he did not seem, in my opinion, ready. Not like Ashley.
At that humbling moment I realized how vital it is that I act on all promptings I receive by the Spirit. Although I continue to pray that Ashley will be ready for the gospel, I learned a significant lesson from the unexpected outcome of my attempt at sharing the gospel with her. The Lord always has a purpose for the promptings He gives us, and I do not need to know or guess what it is. Instead, it is my responsibility to carry out the prompting confidently and resolutely. As I pray for missionary opportunities, act on promptings, and accept the Lord’s will, rather than trying to impose my own, I can more fully serve as an instrument in the hands of God and help build His kingdom.

A girl was crying on the first day of school because she missed her mom. I held her hand, and she stopped crying.
Brynlee W., age 5, Colorado, USA

When I was young, I loved Primary songs. I loved to sing them, even though I didn’t always understand all the words. As I grew older, I remembered the songs, and they helped me do the right things. I still love to sing the songs. I remember “Our Primary colors are one, two, three—red, yellow, and blue. Each one has a message for you and me. Each is a symbol true!”1 I also remember “If you chance to meet a frown, do not let it stay. Quickly turn it upside down and smile that frown away.”2 The song about the wise man and the foolish man is another one of my favorites.3
I know Primary songs have been a source of strength for me. Now it makes me happy to see children learning Primary songs. I know the songs will help you the way they helped me.

You may be able to recall something of what I say by remembering a daughter’s statement to her mother: “I cannot marry John because he does not believe in the devil,” and mother’s response: “Go ahead and marry him. You and I will change his mind on that question.”

Not long ago, death came to the husband of a friend of ours, suddenly and without warning. Of her, these words were penned by her own sister: “Searching the years and days just past, she is awestruck, recognizing specific skills and experiences put into her life by a loving Father, things that might have seemed circumstantial at the time but that have specifically prepared her to cope successfully with this heart-breaking loss. Rather than feeling abandoned and bitter, she feels cradled and cared for. … She said to me, ‘When I see how carefully Heavenly Father has prepared and planned for my present circumstance, how can I be frightened about my future? Surely He is putting into place today all that I will need to face the unknown times ahead.’”

One of my new friends, Rick, was a member of the Church too. The night before he left on his mission, I told him I was feeling frustrated. I couldn’t go into the military, I didn’t want to go to college, and I didn’t know what to do. He looked right at me and said, “You should go on a mission like me.”
That statement hit me like a ton of bricks. I said, “All right, I’ll go on a mission.”
He laughed and said, “Well, you have to be a member of the Church first.”
I met with the missionaries with Spencer’s family after Rick left for his mission. Six weeks later, Spencer baptized me. I was almost 19 years old.