Gospel Story Finder

First, let’s focus on the comforting power of the Holy Ghost. When I was just a young girl, I became seriously ill. Each day the illness became increasingly severe. Nothing the doctor recommended helped. At that time the dreaded disease of polio was raging in almost epidemic proportions in the land. It was taking the lives of many, and those who didn’t die were often left crippled. Polio was everyone’s worst fear in those days.
One night my illness became critical, and my father and grandfather administered to me using consecrated oil, and through the power of the holy Melchizedek Priesthood, which they held worthily, they called upon God for healing, help, guidance, and comfort. And then my parents took me to a doctor in another town who immediately sent us to Salt Lake City—two and one-half hours away—with the admonition to hurry. I overheard the doctor whisper that he was certain it was polio.
When we finally arrived at the hospital in Salt Lake, there were medical personnel waiting for us. They grabbed me from my parents’ arms and whisked me away. Without a word of good-bye or explanation, we were separated. I was all alone, and I thought I was going to die.
Following the painful diagnostic procedures, including a spinal tap, they took me to a hospital isolation room, where I would stay all by myself with the hope that I would not infect anyone else, for indeed I did have polio.
I remember how very frightened I was. It was dark and I was so sick and so alone. But my parents had taught me to pray. I got on my knees, and I knelt beside the railing in the criblike bed and asked Heavenly Father to bless me. I was crying, I remember. Heavenly Father heard my prayer even though I was only a child. He did. Heavenly Father sent His comforting power, which enveloped me in quiet love. I felt the power of the Holy Ghost, and I was not alone.

A few years ago Sister Jolley and I concluded an assignment where I presided over a mission in south Texas. Our missionaries there wholeheartedly embraced the “balanced effort” concept of missionary work, which includes finding, teaching, baptizing, and doing everything possible to retain new converts, and spending several hours each week working with less-active members. Our missionaries, like all missionaries throughout the world, were great kingdom builders.

When my wife and I returned to our home ward in Idaho, I was determined to practice what I preached in the mission field. I therefore asked the bishop to assign me as a home teacher to some of our wonderful families who were not enjoying the blessings of full activity in the Church. He quickly obliged by assigning me to six of these special families.

After several visits to one of these families, I challenged the father, who had been inactive for almost 40 years, to become fully active in the Church and to participate in the temple preparation classes. He responded, “These kinds of things are more than I can understand; they are way over my head.” I was troubled by his response and felt bad that he did not think he could embrace the gospel because it was too difficult to understand. But I knew that the truths of the gospel are for everyone and that everyone can understand them through earnest prayer and scripture study. So our next few home teaching visits were spent talking about the simple and beautiful things of the gospel.

With patience and persistence our visits became more enjoyable and more spiritual. We developed a genuine friendship. As time went on, it became apparent that he could and did understand the principles of the gospel. This made his wife very happy. They grew closer in their marriage. They are now attending church regularly, becoming good friends with all members, and preparing to go to the temple. We had similar experiences with other families. The Lord blesses us as well as these wonderful families when we put forth the extra effort to share these simple truths with them.

As a young missionary, I had a most interesting discussion with a clergyman. He told us that he could not accept the Book of Mormon because it openly spoke of Jesus Christ, using His name and events of His life hundreds of years before His birth. He found this transparency uncharacteristic of the pattern of the Old Testament that referenced the Savior more subtly.

Grandpa, do you have any starfish?
Go fish!
WoooOOOooo
What’s that sound?
Tornado warning! Everyone downstairs!
… tornado is approaching Clay County …
Isn’t that close to here?
Yes, honey, but we’ll be all right. We’ve been through this before.
Glad we have these supplies down here.
I think we should say a prayer.
Can we read the Book of Mormon together?
Of course!
“The wind did never cease to blow towards the promised land while they were upon the waters.”
So the Jaredites went through a storm too!
Reading the Book of Mormon helps me not feel so afraid.
The next day …
Let’s make sure to thank Heavenly Father that we’re safe. Just like the Jaredites!
Thanks to Eily for sharing your story.
You can read these scriptures in Ether 6:8, 12.

Merry Milly Mollycot,
Upon the first of May,
Shook out her sheets and swept the floor
And then was heard to say,
“My work is done, I’ll do no more;
I’m tired of toil and taskets.
I’m off into the forest lands
To make some May Day baskets!”
And off she went a-tripping light
Where trees stood all around,
And various things and sundry
Were growing from the ground.
She took some bark, she took some moss,
She took some leaves and tendrils;
She took some threads from fern fronds
And tender willow bendrils.
And these she wove this way and that
And shaped them square and rounded,
Then piled them high with posies sweet
That in the grass she founded.
Then Merry Milly Mollycot,
She hung her baskets high
Upon the lamp posts of the town
Where every passerby
Could see them and admire them
And say with smiling eyes,
“These must be Merry Milly’s work—
A First-of-May surprise!”
Merry Milly Mollycot,
She grinned a Cheshire grin
And chuckled so her dimples
Kept ducking out and in.
Then up she danced a hornypipe
And sang, “I am the lady
Who made these bits of handiwork
To welcome in sweet May Day!”
And then she bowed and curtsied,
Turned a cartwheel on the spot,
While all the people laughed and cheered
For Milly Mollycot.

This conference was certainly like no other! We commemorated the 200th anniversary of the First Vision and Restoration while striving to stay safe during the COVID-19 pandemic. Members of the Church around the world gathered for the 190th annual general conference in their homes.
The talks themselves were delivered in a location other than the Conference Center: an auditorium in the nearby Church Office Building on Temple Square. Aside from the people who spoke, prayed, or conducted, the auditorium was empty. The music was prerecorded too.
President Russell M. Nelson and other speakers invited us to “hear what the Savior says and then to heed His counsel,” and they promised blessings as we do.

Sofia N., age 8, Río Negro Province, Argentina
I received a toy grill one year for Christmas. The next Christmas I heard about a boy who didn’t have any toys. It was hard for me, but I gave him my toy grill.

My parents supported me in all my decisions. Mom and Dad stood with me on the stand in sacrament meeting the day I received my Young Womanhood medallion. They were there when I graduated from seminary. They were with me when I received my patriarchal blessing, and they supported me as I attended Ricks College.
They were both with me the day I walked to the doors of the temple. I had finally reached the day when I would enter the temple and receive the blessings I had learned about. The angel Moroni, glowing in the early morning sun on the temple spire, seemed to proclaim my joy to the world. I kissed my parents good-bye as I entered.

I used to have that situation as well. My sibling and I didn’t get along at all. Getting back and tattling never worked and made me feel worse, and it didn’t help get the friendship back. As time passed, I realized that I should start to be an example. I wasn’t rude as often, and I started to be more Christlike toward my sibling by helping out and encouraging scripture study and uplifting music. My sibling started to take me seriously and started being more like a friend to me.
Alex P., 14, Idaho

“We were not sealed to all our children at once,” he explains. “Traveling to the temple, either in Tokyo or in the United States, was very expensive.” After saving for years, Brother and Sister Ng were sealed in the Provo Temple in 1974. Subsequent temple trips have strengthened the couple’s dedication and commitment to temple work. From 1986 to 1987, they served as missionaries in the Taipei Taiwan Temple.

I’ve always been drawn to the scriptures, largely because of my home environment. I could feel my parents’ love of the scriptures. When I was twelve or thirteen years old, I asked for a Bible for Christmas. I still have that Bible, and it is a treasured possession. Soon after receiving it, I began reading Genesis. It took me a long time to read the Bible from cover to cover, but I really learned to love the Old Testament as well as the New Testament. It taught me a lot of things.

“As stake and full-time missionaries, we know that it is vital that we bear testimony of Jesus Christ. My own testimony began when I was in seminary. Once we were talking about what Jesus Christ did for us, about how he showed his love for others. I felt the Holy Ghost strongly within me. I know that if we strive to serve the Savior, we can become as he is.”
Juan Carlos Gómes,Caracas, Venezuela

I grew up in Zwickau, in the former East Germany. When I was about 11 years old, my father fell under increased scrutiny as a political dissenter, and my parents felt that the only safe choice for our family would be to flee to West Germany. It was decided that the safest plan was to leave at different times and follow different routes to the West, leaving all our belongings behind.

Since my father was at greatest risk, he took the quickest journey, through Berlin. My older brothers headed north, and each found his own way west. My sister—who would have been the age of many of you here today—together with Helga Fassmann, her teacher in Young Women, and some others took a train that passed briefly through West Germany. They paid a porter to unlock one of the doors for them, and after the train crossed the West German border, they jumped from the moving train to freedom. How I admired my sister for her courage.

I was the youngest child, and my mother decided that she and I would walk across a mountain range separating the two countries. I remember that she packed a lunch as if we were going for a hike or a picnic in the mountains.

We took a train as far as we could and then walked for long hours, getting ever closer to the West German border. The borders were tightly controlled, but we had a map and knew of a time and a place where it might be safe to cross. I could sense my mother’s anxiety. She observed the area intensely to see if we were being followed. With each step, her legs and knees seemed to become weaker. I helped carry her heavy bag filled with food, vital documents, and family photos as we climbed up one last, long hill. Surely, she thought, we had passed the border by now. When she finally felt safe, we sat down and started to eat our picnic lunch. For the first time that day, I’m sure, she breathed more easily.

It was only then that we noticed the border sign. It was still far ahead of us! We were having our picnic on the wrong side of the border. We were still in East Germany!

Border guards could show up any moment!

My mother frantically packed up our lunch, and we hurried up the hillside as quickly as we could. This time we didn’t dare stop until we knew with certainty that we had reached the other side of the border.

Even though each member of our family had taken very different routes and experienced very different hardships along the way, eventually all of us made it to safety. We were finally reunited as a family. What a glorious day that was!

When I was called to serve as a General Authority, I had an interview with President James E. Faust. He noticed I was concerned because I felt inadequate for such a call. In his tender way, President Faust told me, “Athos, be yourself. Be yourself.” That night I lay awake in bed, thinking of my new responsibilities and of President Faust’s words. And I prayed. I asked myself, “Who am I?” And the answer came as clear and bright as the dawn of that brand-new day. I am, like each one of you, a child of God who wants to obey the Lord and serve wherever He sends me and thus be a better child of our Heavenly Father and a faithful member of the true Church of Jesus Christ.

These experiences and many others began to build my small testimony. Yet, I still questioned. I questioned a lot. I decided to read the Book of Mormon daily and ask for confirmation that it was true. After many nights of reading and many prayers, I felt I received an answer from heaven. It was something I couldn’t create. There was no one else around to lead me to the feeling. I felt a warmth—almost like a light—in me. It somehow seemed to calm and excite me simultaneously. I felt that my Heavenly Father had heard my prayer. He sent a message through my thoughts that the Book of Mormon is true and the Church is His kingdom on earth. I also felt He wanted me to know that He had been answering my prayers continually throughout my life. I just hadn’t realized it. Where would my testimony be without the scriptures?

About seven years ago, Sister Siphiwe Shongwe’s daughter, three grandchildren, and a friend of the grandchildren who often joined the family at church, were involved in a devastating car accident. All five occupants of the car died. As Sister Shongwe waded through her grief, she was able to find strength in the gospel and stayed true to its precepts. She shares here how attending the temple has helped her find strength and peace.
“In another experience, while I was preparing for a temple trip in November 2014, I had a conversation with my daughter about also going to temple. She promised to go with me the following year as she was still preparing herself. At the temple, I had a prayer in my heart for her to go to the house of God. I had no idea that the same month she would be involved in a fatal car accident.
“Knowing that my daughter had the desire to go to the temple helped me and gave me strength. Even before my daughter and I discussed it, God knew that she wouldn’t go to the temple physically but in the spirit.

After recovering from three major surgeries which have prevented me from speaking in the past two general conferences, what a joy it is to be able to stand in this beautiful Conference Center today to teach and bear testimony to those who desire to hear the word of the Lord.
In the past two years, I have waited upon the Lord for mortal lessons to be taught me through periods of physical pain, mental anguish, and pondering. I learned that constant, intense pain is a great consecrating purifier that humbles us and draws us closer to God’s Spirit. If we listen and obey, we will be guided by His Spirit and do His will in our daily endeavors.
There were times when I have asked a few direct questions in my prayers, such as, “What lessons dost Thou want me to learn from these experiences?”
As I studied the scriptures during this critical period of my life, the veil was thin and answers were given to me as they were recorded in lives of others who had gone through even more severe trials.
“My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment;
“And then, if thou endure it well, God shall exalt thee on high” (D&C 121:7–8).
Dark moments of depression were quickly dispelled by the light of the gospel as the Spirit brought peace and comfort with assurances that all would be well.
On a few occasions I told the Lord that I had surely learned the lessons to be taught and that it wouldn’t be necessary for me to endure any more suffering. Such entreaties seemed to be of no avail, for it was made clear to me that this purifying process of testing was to be endured in the Lord’s time and in the Lord’s own way. It is one thing to teach, “Thy will be done” (Matt. 26:42). It is another to live it. I also learned that I would not be left alone to meet these trials and tribulations but that guardian angels would attend me. There were some that were near angels in the form of doctors, nurses, and most of all my sweet companion, Mary. And on occasion, when the Lord so desired, I was to be comforted with visitations of heavenly hosts that brought comfort and eternal reassurances in my time of need.
The experiences of the last two years have made me stronger in spirit and have given me courage to testify more boldly to the world the deep feelings of my heart. I stand before you today with a resolve to teach the gospel principles like the prophets of old—without the fear of man, speaking clearly with plain talk, and teaching simple gospel truths.

Although he had planned to attend Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah, as a junior in high school he felt he needed to explore other options and decided to apply to Harvard University in Massachusetts—a place that would eventually become his home for more than three decades.

Some time ago I received a letter from Brother Rafael Pérez Cisneros of Galicia, Spain, telling me about his conversion. Part of his letter said the following:
“I had no concept of the purpose of life or what the family really is. When I finally allowed the missionaries to come into my home, I told them, ‘Give me your message, but I warn you that nothing is going to make me change religions.’ On this first occasion my children and my wife were listening attentively. I felt separated from the group. I felt afraid, and without thinking I went to my bedroom. I closed the door and began to pray from the depths of my soul like I had never prayed before. ‘Father, if it is true that these young men are Your disciples and have come to help us, please make it known to me.’ It was in that very moment that I began to cry like a small child. My tears were abundant, and I felt happiness like I had never before experienced. I was absorbed in a sphere full of joy and happiness that penetrated my soul. I understood that God was answering my prayer.
“All of my family was baptized, and we had the blessing of being sealed in the Swiss Temple, making me the happiest man in the world.”
I think this story should motivate us to do “all we can do” to share the blessings of joy that come from living the gospel of happiness.

Hilda Larson was setting the table for dinner when her father came in and said to her, “Put the old dishes away, Hilda. We’re having company.”
“Who is coming, John?” asked Hilda’s mother.
“Two of the men I have been working with today on the temple,” he replied. “Heber Kimball and Brigham Young.”
Hilda smiled, glad to know Brother Young was coming to dinner. She liked most of the men her father had worked with since they moved to Kirtland, Ohio. But she especially liked Brigham Young who told such interesting stories.
Hilda and her mother went into a small room where the china dishes were kept in a tall cupboard behind heavy glass doors. Although they were used only for company or special holidays, Hilda was familiar with every piece.
There was the set of eight beautiful plates with matching cups and saucers, a gravy boat, and a large soup tureen made of delicate Dresden china. Around the edge of each piece was a willow branch pattern in dainty blue.
As her mother handed the dishes to her, Hilda held each one carefully.
“This set of china,” her mother explained, “belonged to your great-grandmother. She wrapped every piece in quilts when she sailed from England in 1770. She worried every time there was a storm on the ocean for fear her dishes would break.”
Hilda thought how happy her great-grandmother must have been when the dishes were unwrapped. Not one was broken then but Hilda’s grandmother had dropped a saucer when she was a little girl. And Hilda’s mother often told about how she, herself, broke the sugar bowl after the dishes were given to her for a wedding present.
“I really cried,” she said. “That bowl was my favorite.”
Hilda walked very slowly carrying the fragile china into the kitchen. After the table was set, Mother brought in a lovely blue pitcher that Hilda could remember the family using only a few times. She placed the pitcher in the center of the table. “There,” she said. “Doesn’t everything look nice?”
Putting his arm around his wife, Hilda’s father said, “It is beautiful, Sara.” But his voice was sad. “I’m glad you have a chance to show off the porcelain pitcher. It may be the last time.”
Hilda didn’t understand. Why would my mother stop using the pitcher? she wondered.
She remembered once when she had been allowed to hold it up carefully to the window to see how the light shone through. Her father had explained to her that fine porcelain china was translucent and that his mother brought the pitcher with her from Holland many years ago.
In answer to a knock, Father opened the door and welcomed the two distinguished men who stood outside. “Our guests are here,” he called, and Hilda and her mother hurried to welcome them.
During the meal Hilda enjoyed listening to her father talk with the two men. They spoke of how the Kirtland Temple they were building was nearly completed.
“All the Saints in Kirtland have helped,” Brother Kimball said.
“We may be few in number,” Brother Young agreed, “and poor, but we are rich in faith. While the men labor on the building, the women spin and weave cloth for our clothes.”
Brother Kimball picked up the china cup that was beside his plate. “And now the women give their precious dishes,” he said, looking at her mother. Then he pointed to the beautiful porcelain pitcher.
“That, too, Sister Larson?” he asked.
“Yes, Brother Young,” her mother nodded. “If it is needed.”
After the men had left, Hilda helped wash the dishes and put them back in their cupboard. As her mother closed the glass doors tears ran down her cheeks. Hilda wished she knew why everyone seemed so sad about the dishes.
The next afternoon Hilda was surprised to see her father come home early. He usually worked on the temple all day unless he had a cabinet-making job in Kirtland. He spoke quietly to Hilda’s mother, “We are ready for them, Sara.”
“Come, Hilda, I’ll need your help,” Mother said, and guided her into the room where the dish cupboard stood. A large box was on the floor beside it.
“We must pack the china into the box, Hilda,” her mother told her. “The dishes are needed to help build the temple.” Hilda could not imagine how china dishes and the priceless porcelain pitcher could help build a temple. She watched her father lift the box of dishes into the back of a pony cart. Then they rode to the bluff where the temple was being built.
Hilda climbed off the cart and followed her father toward a large vat where a workman was stirring something inside.
Bending down, Hilda’s father said over the noise, “We’re making stuccoed plaster for the outer temple walls. We have discovered that broken china helps hold the plaster together. Also,” he added, “the walls look very beautiful with the sparkling bits of china and glass shining through.”
A man nearby said, “Nearly all the Latter-day Saint women have given their best china for the temple.”
Hilda could hardly believe it when she saw her mother take the lovely Dresden china from the box and hand each piece to a man who stood beside the vat. He put them on a flat board, broke them into bits, and scraped the shattered pieces into the vat.
When the blue porcelain pitcher was broken and stirred into the stucco mixture, Hilda began to cry.
“Don’t feel badly, Hilda,” Mother said, putting an arm around the sobbing girl. But all the way down the hill in the cart, with the empty box rattling in back, Hilda was quietly crying.
One evening after the temple was finished, Hilda walked with her father and mother up the road toward the beautiful building. The sun was setting and Hilda saw the temple walls. They sparkled and shimmered in the sunlight.
“Oh, Mother!” she exclaimed, her heart suddenly full and happy. “Do you see that sort of blue brightness beside the front door? Only Grandmother Larson’s porcelain pitcher could sparkle like that!”