Gospel Story Finder

There were very few members of the Church at this time, but they all greatly sacrificed, and the Kirtland Temple was completed and dedicated. The Lord appeared in glory and accepted the temple. Moses, Elias, and Elijah also appeared, each to commit his keys and dispensations. (See D&C 110.)
However, before the temple work could really begin in the Kirtland Temple, the Saints had to flee the attacks of mobs. The temple fell into the hands of wicked men, and, as was stated in the revelation, when it became defiled, it was disowned by the Lord. Efforts were made by the Saints to build a temple in Missouri, but again they were forced to flee for their lives.

Here is an inspiring story that demonstrates how one family made peacemaking a family affair, putting these principles into practice.
Children in this family were struggling in their relationship with an adult whose demeanor was often grumpy, condescending, and curt. The children, hurt and frustrated, began to wonder if the only way forward was to mirror that same mean-spirited behavior.
One evening the family spoke openly together about the tension and the toll it was taking. And then an idea emerged—not just a solution but an experiment.
Instead of responding with silence or retaliation, the children would do something unexpected: they would respond with kindness. Not just polite restraint but a deliberate, heartfelt outpouring of kind words and thoughtful deeds, no matter how they were treated in return. All agreed to try it for a set time, after which they’d regroup and reflect.
Though some were hesitant at first, they committed to the plan with genuine hearts.
What happened next was nothing short of remarkable.
The cold exchanges began to thaw. Smiles replaced scowls. The adult, once distant and harsh, began to change. The children, empowered by their choice to lead with love, found joy in the transformation. The change was so profound that the planned follow-up meeting was never needed. Kindness had done its quiet work.
In time, true bonds of friendship were formed, lifting everyone. To be peacemakers, we forgive others and deliberately build others up instead of tearing them down.

In the closing days of his life, when Nauvoo was besieged with mobs and challenges both from within and without, he and Hyrum still took the time to write to a Mr. Tewkesbury in Boston, who had become disaffiliated with the Church, inviting him to be restored once again to fellowship. The letter says in part, “Feeling an ardent desire for the salvation of the souls of men, we … would, in the sincerity of men of God, advise you to be rebaptized by Elder Nickerson, one of the servants of God, that you may again receive the sweet influences of the Holy Ghost, and enjoy the fellowship of the Saints” (History of the Church, 6:427).

As a youth, Joseph personified the Apostle Paul’s admonition: “Children, obey your parents in the Lord: for this is right” (Eph. 6:1). He strictly obeyed his parents not from fear, but from deep love. His love and tenderness toward his parents can best be seen in an event from his childhood. Young Joseph had become infected with a serious and extremely painful leg disease. After several weeks of excruciating pain and many failed attempts by surgeons to alleviate it, doctors concluded that the leg must be amputated. But when young Joseph and Mother Smith objected, the doctors agreed to attempt one more operation. They insisted that Joseph be bound to the bed and that he must drink some wine or brandy to deaden the pain. Joseph’s response, recorded by his mother, Lucy Mack Smith, illustrates his confidence in his father and his tenderness toward his mother.
“‘No,’ exclaimed Joseph, ‘I will not touch one particle of liquor, neither will I be tied down; but I will tell you what I will do—I will have my father sit on the bed and hold me in his arms, and then I will do whatever is necessary in order to have the bone taken out.’ Looking at me, he said, ‘Mother, I want you to leave the room, for I know you cannot bear to see me suffer so; father can stand it, but you have carried me so much, and watched over me so long, you are almost worn out.’ Then looking up into my face, his eyes swimming in tears, he continued, ‘Now, mother, promise me that you will not stay, will you? The Lord will help me, and I shall get through with it’” (Lucy Mack Smith, History of Joseph Smith by His Mother, edited by Preston Nibley, Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1958, page 57).

When I was trying out for baseball, I was nervous that I might not make the team. Then I thought of the song “I Am a Child of God.” I started to sing it in my head. I did a great job at the tryout, and eventually I made the team. I am glad that I could sing to calm my nerves and do a good job!
Jacob O., age 8, California, USA

I met him on the street, and he had changed from when I knew him last. There were streaks of gray in his hair, especially around the temples. But his eyes had that same friendly glow that I knew years ago when he was my explorer leader. My name is Bobby. Economic conditions had caused Jim to move away from our ward and our city, and I had not seen or heard from him for several years.
We dispensed with the usual handshake and threw our arms around each other in a bear hug.
I looked into those warm, friendly eyes, and words that I had stored in my heart came tumbling out.
“Remember our trip to Yellowstone, and especially our pack trip into Heart Lake?” I asked.
We had had 12 boys in our explorer post, and Jim had been the leader. What a leader he was! Each boy loved him like an older brother. As for me? Well, I guess I was different. I was not dishonest, but I had learned that there were ways to get out of work and have other people carry your load.
For example, when we planned our trip to Yellowstone, each member of the post was to make his own trail tent. I didn’t want to bother my mother to do the cutting of the material. So, just by chance mind you, I learned when one of our troop was going to cut his. I just happened to stop by his home, with my material, of course, and his mother just naturally cut out mine.
My mom didn’t like to sew, so I didn’t bother her. Johnny, a post member, had a mother who just loved to sew, and it was no job for me to have Johnny invite me to his home. While I was there his mother sewed up my tent. One of our projects to finance our trip was to collect scrap metal and sell it. On Saturday morning Jim would come around in his old pickup, and away we would go in quest of scrap iron or steel. That stuff was dirty and heavy, so I volunteered to drive the truck. Some of the guys in the post were bigger than me anyway.
Summer came and preparations were completed for the trip to Yellowstone. Each post member had his own trail tent trimmed with his favorite color. A committee was chosen to go with Jim to purchase the food.
What a morning it was when we started on our journey! There was laughter, and back slapping, and all that silly stuff that boys do.
We spent our first night at Old Faithful. We enjoyed the old geyser, but supper that evening was even more enjoyable.
Jim had called for volunteers to peel the potatoes and help prepare the other things, and perhaps it was the camp-robber bird in a nearby tree that took my attention away from cooking chores. There were plenty of other volunteers anyway.
But that supper—I can taste it yet. Chicken cooked in a dutch oven, and potatoes and carrots so tender they wouldn’t stay on a fork. Reflector-oven rolls that just begged for butter. What a meal! What a memory!
The next day we traveled to Lewis Lake, which was the jumping off place for our hike to Heart Lake.
Early in the morning after we saluted the dawn with prayer, Jim had us gather around a picnic table. There, each boy was allotted his share of food—so much bacon, eggs, pancake flour, and so on. Jim explained that we would be gone for three days and that each boy would be responsible for his own food and for the cooking of it.
A bear strolled through the campground, and it got my attention, so maybe Jim’s instructions didn’t sink in too deeply.
Finally, packs on our backs, we headed up the trail toward Heart Lake. We passed a skinny looking cow moose, standing knee deep in water, who wondered what all that boy noise was about. We passed the summit, and as the trail descended toward the lake, we discovered Witch Creek. It was a warm stream that originated in some underground heated spring. There was a spot where it tumbled over a ten-foot bank, creating a beautiful waterfall and a perfect shower for overheated boys.
As if with one thought we threw off our packs and clothes, and with varied yips and squeals we dashed under the shower.
By this time Jim, who was carrying a heavier pack, caught up with us.
He took one amused look at us, then off came his pack and clothes, and soon his happy yips joined ours.
We found a delightful camp spot in a pocket of pines just off the lake shore.
It was time to prepare the evening meal and the post began preparation to cook. I hate cooking. It seems such a useless chore to provide a meal.
I looked at Chubby Lewis, the overweight boy of the post who had an appetite like a wolf cub, and suggested to him that if he would cook my meals, I would give him part of my food as payment.
Chubby jumped at the chance, and everything was lovely until the afternoon of the third day when I discovered all my food was gone.
I couldn’t ask Chubby or any of the other post members for a share of their food because they only had enough for their supper and breakfast the next morning.
I sat down with my back against a pine tree. Across the lake a trout jumped, making rings that turned to silver when touched by the rays of the sun. A gull soared overhead, its white underpart looking like a maverick snowflake against the blue sky. In a nearby pasture a bull elk threw his huge antlers into the air, a picture of majesty and strength.
The breeze was touched with the smell of pine, and the chatter of a squirrel broke the silence. But these things had lost their beauty and meaning because the growling in my stomach was like thunder in a storm. I didn’t realize that Chubby had told Jim of my predicament, but still, when I saw him walking toward me, I knew I was in for a good scolding.
Oh, I know a Scout is supposed to be brave and all of that, but there were tears ready to come, and if Jim had cussed me out, those tears would have fallen like Witch Creek over the bank.
Instead, he took me by the hand and helped me up. Then with his arm around my shoulder he led me to where he was preparing his supper.
He shared with me his beans and a trout he had caught; then he reached into his knapsack and brought out a little package containing two oatmeal cookies, one of which he gave to me. The other he returned to his knapsack.
When the meal was over and the dishes put away, Jim sat down by my side. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, like the breeze on the lake.
“Bobby,” he said, “there are certain responsibilities in life we cannot pass on to others. If we try, we will end up being dismal failures. God gave you a talent to be able to sway people with words, but words are empty echoes if not backed up with work and acceptance of responsibilities.”
There was a campfire program that night with songs and the exchange of the day’s experiences. But somehow I couldn’t join in. The words that Jim had spoken were strong in my heart. I knew I had failed as a post member. The program ended and the campfire was dying. Jim had called on one of the boys to say the evening prayer. However, before he could begin the prayer, I stood on my feet, and words touched with tears came tumbling out.
“Fellows, I want to apologize for my actions. I realize I have been a disgrace to the post, but if you will help me, I will try to be a better Scout.”
Morning came, and with the rising sun, a miracle in comradeship. One by one the post members came and shared their meager breakfast with me. One sliver of bacon, a hotcake, a cup of hot chocolate, and other things. Then Jim reached into his knapsack and brought out the other oatmeal cookie.
“Here, Bobby,” he said, “this will help you down the trail.” The trip back to Lewis Lake was uneventful. Soon our duffle was packed in the truck, and we were ready to leave for home. Before we did, however, Jim had us gather in a circle and he uttered a prayer. He first asked for a safe journey home. The words that followed have been a guideline in my life.
“Heavenly Father, we thank thee for all things that are good and lovely, for the friendship we enjoy with each other. May the lessons we have learned on this trip help us as we go through life.”
The years have passed, and I now have a wife and children of my own. I am considered a fairly successful businessman and am active in the Church.
I still know the power of words, but as Jim said, they are empty echoes without work and responsibility. Do I remember Jim? When I greet the dawn and feel the breath of a summer breeze, the memories of that mountain lake and Jim come out of the treasure chest of my heart.

In 1989, Elder Haight became critically ill and was rushed unconscious to the hospital. He later reported in the October 1989 general conference that while unconscious, he found himself “in a calm, peaceful setting … conscious of two persons on a hillside. … I was conscious of being in a holy presence and atmosphere. During the hours and days that followed, there was impressed again and again upon my mind the eternal mission and exalted position of the Son of Man. I witness to you that He is Jesus the Christ, the Son of God, Savior to all, Redeemer of all mankind, Bestower of infinite love, mercy and forgiveness, the Light and Life of the world. I knew this truth before—I had never doubted nor wondered. But now I knew, because of the impressions of the Spirit upon my heart and soul, these divine truths in a most unusual way” (Ensign, Nov. 1989, pp. 59–60).

For a long time something else puzzled me. Forty-six years ago I was a 37-year-old seminary supervisor. My Church calling was as an assistant teacher in a class in the Lindon Ward.

To my great surprise I was called to meet with President David O. McKay. He took both of my hands in his and called me to be one of the General Authorities, an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.

A few days later I came to Salt Lake City to meet with the First Presidency to be set apart as one of the General Authorities of the Church. This was the first time I had met with the First Presidency—President David O. McKay and his counselors, President Hugh B. Brown and President Henry D. Moyle.

President McKay explained that one of the responsibilities of an Assistant to the Twelve was to stand with the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles as a special witness and to bear testimony that Jesus is the Christ. What he said next overwhelmed me: “Before we proceed to set you apart, I ask you to bear your testimony to us. We want to know if you have that witness.”

I did the best I could. I bore my testimony the same as I might have in a fast and testimony meeting in my ward. To my surprise, the Brethren of the Presidency seemed pleased and proceeded to confer the office upon me.

That puzzled me greatly, for I had supposed that someone called to such an office would have an unusual, different, and greatly enlarged testimony and spiritual power.

It puzzled me for a long time until finally I could see that I already had what was required: an abiding testimony in my heart of the Restoration of the fulness of the gospel through the Prophet Joseph Smith, that we have a Heavenly Father, and that Jesus Christ is our Redeemer. I may not have known all about it, but I did have a testimony, and I was willing to learn.

I was perhaps no different from those spoken of in the Book of Mormon: “And whoso cometh unto me with a broken heart and a contrite spirit, him will I baptize with fire and with the Holy Ghost, even as the Lamanites, because of their faith in me at the time of their conversion, were baptized with fire and with the Holy Ghost, and they knew it not” (3 Nephi 9:20; emphasis added).

Elder David L. Buckner was born on September 27, 1963, in Ogden, Utah, USA, but “grew up” while he lived for three years in Sacramento, California, USA.
The youngest of Melba and E. LaMar Buckner’s five children, 11-year-old David moved to California with his family when his father was called to preside over the Church’s mission in Sacramento. Away from well-established friends in Utah, he learned how to make new friends and found “300 older brothers and sisters” among the full-time missionaries.
Most important, his testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ took root. “That mission experience changed everything for me,” he said.

Katherine Kitterman has always been curious about her great-grandmother, Clara Turner, who died when Katherine was just a baby. She found some taped interviews of her great-grandmother and began transcribing them. Eventually this became her Individual Worth Value Project. She has spent dozens of hours at the computer recording her great-grandmother’s history so other family members can read and enjoy it.
“Some people might think it is boring, but it’s fun,” says Katherine. “The first thing to do is to ask questions. Then you become more curious. The more you find out about someone, the more you get to know them.”
Katherine says this project taught her how important it is to keep a journal. “I’m really interested in the everyday things my great-grandmother did, like chores and school, sewing rag rugs, or making silk from cocoons on mulberry trees. This made me realize that things we don’t think are very out of the ordinary or exciting would be very interesting to our posterity.”

Sometimes in our church we think only of our dear sisters offering and doing compassionate service. But it is the high priests in our ward who have served our family.
One day, without warning, my husband suffered a stroke that paralyzed his left side. He spent two and a half months in the hospital, and when he came home, I had to take care of him twenty-four hours a day. Other members of our family, who live many kilometers away, called and wrote letters filled with kind words of encouragement, but it was impossible for them to come and help me take care of my husband.
My husband had been home from the hospital only a day when our home teacher, Cliff Barton, stopped by to see how the high priests in our ward could help. We decided that my getting away from the house for a few hours each week would be the best therapy for both me and my husband.
Since then, loving and caring high priests have come to stay with my husband for a few hours each week. They have brought spiritual and intellectual enlightenment through sharing magazine articles, stories, humor, and companionship.
Men we knew only casually before are now dear friends because they have given of themselves in precious service to us. The first Monday of every month, without fail, the telephone rings; it’s Brother Barton wanting to know my schedule for the month so he can arrange the visits.
These men are wonderful, caring, and tender. Their happy visits have made the long, cold winter days shorter, the dull days brighter, and the sunny days more brilliant.
There’s no question that in my ward, the brethren know how to serve.

As part of their Young Women celebration, the girls of the New York Manhattan Stake participated in a family history open house. The people of the metropolitan area were invited to learn more about family history and the resources of the Church. The Young Women participated by putting up displays about their own projects. During refreshment breaks, those attending the open house were able to talk with the girls about some of the treasured items of their families as well as photos and written histories.
For the display, Alaira Fleming, 13, brought a figurine that was precious to her mother and grandmother. The porcelain figurine was one that Alaira’s mother had given as a Mother’s Day gift to her mother. After her grandmother’s death, Alaira was given the figurine to cherish as a representation of the love between mothers and daughters in their family.
Alaira was also taught and encouraged by her mother to keep a journal. “It makes me feel good that someday my children can read it and know what my life was like and the troubles I went through and the happiness that I’ve enjoyed.”

Thank you for the article “Before the Call” in the March 1982 New Era. As a young woman in the Church, I have been confused as to the right priorities concerning a mission and temple marriage. President Lewis’s advice to young women was particularly pertinent to me. He said to prepare for a mission, but if the opportunity to serve does not come and marriage presents itself instead, a young woman should consider this her important mission. The article also gave me some pointers on writing more uplifting letters to missionaries in the field. The New Era is great, mate!
Karen LustyHazelbrook, New South Wales, Australia

Once when Enrique López, 16, of Caracas, and four of his friends had a free period during school, they went to a friend’s house. “Someone took out some beer. I didn’t think they would try to get me to drink, because they all know about my religion—but they did. I said, ‘No, I don’t drink that stuff.’ They started criticizing me and saying there was nothing wrong with drinking and a little bit wouldn’t hurt. But even a little bit does hurt you in the end. I said no. After a while they said, ‘Oh, this is a waste of time.’ So they stopped, and we went back to class. I think they respected me.”

Many years ago, I was hurt by someone at church. I was angry and upset, and I wanted that person to apologize, but they never did. I tried to forget what had happened, thinking that the pain and anger I felt would just go away.
But I carried those feelings of anger with me for several years. The resentment I felt toward this person refused to go away.
One day I was talking to a friend about this situation. A thought came into my heart:
Forgive.
The Spirit was prompting me to forgive this person I was harboring so much anger for. I was astounded.
How was I supposed to forgive this person? I was the one who had been hurt, so I deserved to be asked for forgiveness, didn’t I?
I struggled with this prompting for a long time. However, I pondered my Savior’s example and His teachings about forgiveness:
“For if ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you:
“But if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses” (Matthew 6:14–15).
Even on the cross, the Savior pleaded with His Father to forgive the soldiers who crucified Him (see Luke 23:34).
I also remembered President Russell M. Nelson’s invitation to “exercise the humility, courage, and strength required both to forgive and to seek forgiveness. …
“… If forgiveness presently seems impossible, plead for power through the atoning blood of Jesus Christ to help you.”
With all of this in mind, I prayed a lot. I prayed to my Heavenly Father, saying, “If it’s Thy will that I forgive this person, open the doors and help me make it happen, because I don’t have the strength to do it myself.”
The next day at church, I found myself face-to-face with the person who had hurt me. Guided by the Spirit, I felt that I should ask them for forgiveness. I apologized for not having been a good friend at times and asked if they could forgive me. They did, and in return they asked me for forgiveness for what they had done. I forgave them.
I left that experience relieved. My hurt feelings didn’t go away all at once, but I felt better. I was free from the pain and the sorrow that had plagued me for so long. I could move on with peace.

With the help of my mother and sister, I painted this banner for the Relief Society sports festival held in our stake. My mother recommended me to the Relief Society president, who asked me to make their banner for them. I accepted their request and started to make rough sketches. Through the combined efforts of my family and me, we were able to create a beautiful work of art that represents the theme, “Find Nobility in Motherhood and Joy in Womanhood.”
I know that if we use our talents to serve other people, we not only bring them happiness but we also develop our own abilities. The Lord blesses those who use their gifts from Him to build up His kingdom. As the parable of the talents teaches, if we do not share our gifts with others, we lose those gifts (see Matthew 25:24–29). But if we use our talents for good, we can make the world a better place.
Vanessa Pamittan, Philippines

Little Calf is the incomparably beautiful story of the life cycles of a sperm whale calf. Born in September after lying for sixteen months in the warm body of his mother at a temperature of ninety-six degrees, he is suddenly cast into the cold water at birth.
The beauty of his development over the next months is artistically and authentically detailed in this unusual volume. Dr. Scheffer was awarded the Burroughs Medal for the year’s best book in the field of natural history, The Year of the Whale. This is an adaptation of that book. All anyone would ever want to know about whales is here.

James Joseph Jacques Tissot (1836–1902) was a French painter who began his career designing stained glass windows. Tissot spent 10 years in Palestine studying the colors and moods of the Holy Land to enhance the quality of his religious paintings. In his work Christ in Gethsemane, not only does Tissot capture the mood, but he also seems to catch the color and geography of the garden. Tissot’s works show signs of impressionistic attitudes in the looseness of brushwork and use of color.

“What’s a testimony?” I asked my mom one Sunday as we were getting ready for church. I knew that it was fast Sunday, that people would be “bearing their testimonies,” and I wasn’t sure what a testimony was.
My sister, Diana, hurried by, and Mom asked her, “What do you think a testimony is, Diana?”
“I think it’s when the Holy Ghost tells you something is true,” she said. “We’ve been studying about Jesus Christ in seminary. I have a testimony that He loves me and that He died for me. It’s a good feeling inside to know that He will help me when I have problems.”
“We can have a testimony of many things, Bryan,” Mom said. “Bearing a testimony means you tell how you know a gospel principle is true.
“I have an idea,” she added later, as we were going into the chapel. “Why don’t you write down all the things that the people bear testimony of in sacrament meeting today?”
“I can help you spell the people’s names,” Dad said. “Pretend that you are a secretary or reporter. It will help you learn what a testimony is.”
After the sacrament, Dad handed me a piece of paper and a pencil. At the top he had written, “Name, Testimony,” and he had drawn a big line underneath. I felt like a news reporter as I wrote down everything.
Brother Nielson talked about how his prayers had been answered that week, and I wrote “prayers answered” beside his name.
Brother Brown, who must be the oldest person in our ward, bore his testimony next. He told how a priesthood blessing had saved his sister’s life. Dad showed me how to spell priesthood. I know that when I have a sick stomach or a really sore throat and Dad gives me a blessing, I feel better immediately. Sometimes my stomach or throat still hurts, but I feel better. It’s like the feeling I have when I have a bad dream and Mom comes and holds me and tells me about Jesus. After she does this, the bad feeling goes away and I feel sleepy again. I think I have a testimony of priesthood blessings, just like Brother Brown.
Sister Hatty cried when she bore her testimony about how glad she was that families can be together forever. Dad whispered to me that her father had died the week before. I couldn’t think what to write down as her testimony, so Dad spelled out resurrection for me.
As I wrote the names and topics, a strange feeling began to grow in me. “Dad,” I whispered, “How old do you have to be to bear a testimony?”
“You can bear your testimony when you’re old enough to have a testimony.”
“Can someone my age bear his testimony?” I whispered.
“If a person is old enough to know what a testimony is,” Dad whispered back, “he can bear it. Children know things are true, just like grown-ups.”
When Craig bore his testimony, the funny feeling inside me grew bigger. Craig was still in elementary school, like me. He said that he was glad that his older brother, Aaron, was serving a mission. Craig said that he wanted to go on a mission, too, when he got older. I wrote “mission” by his name and thought how wonderful it would be to be a missionary like Aaron. Craig said that missionaries bear their testimonies all the time.
It was then that I decided that I wanted to bear my testimony. I wasn’t old enough to be a missionary, but I could tell what I believed in. Dad smiled and gave me a hug when I whispered what I was going to do.
When Sister Morris sat down, I took a deep breath and started walking to the front of the chapel. I felt really scared, and I wished I could run back to my seat. But the feeling that I wanted to bear my testimony kept me moving toward the front.
“I love Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ,” I said shakily and very loudly. I paused and I felt better. “I like to read the Book of Mormon. I get a good feeling when I read it, even when I don’t understand all of it. I like to pray. I know Heavenly Father answers my prayers.” The wonderful feeling had spread all over me, and I felt warm and safe, like when I am wrapped in Dad’s strong arms.
I felt really good when I finished my testimony, and I quickly walked back to Mom and Dad. Diana gave me a big hug as I squeezed by her. I whispered to her, “A testimony is a really good feeling that makes you happy inside, Diana, just like you said.” Then I added, “Bearing your testimony makes the good feeling inside feel even better.”

One freezing October evening, as we were packing up, a man in his late 40s came to us with only the shirt on his chest, the shorts on his legs, and the shoes on his feet. He had nothing else to his name. But he was the happiest person I saw that day. We were able to give him some clothes, a sleeping bag, and a hot water bottle. As we were talking with him, we discovered it was his birthday. He said it was the best birthday he has ever had with the small gifts we gave him. His attitude was one of gratitude. Then we all noticed someone who was not happy, and our new friend went straight over to this man. He told us that he would take care of him, and make sure that the other man got home safely!