Gospel Story Finder

That type of reassurance also helped Ramona Morris, a young adult from Barbados, when she first learned about the Restoration. Among other things, she gained a testimony that “Heavenly Father is there for us. The Restoration just brings peace to those who question their life and question God’s plan for them.”
But even though understanding the Restoration has brought clarity in her life, she also admits that “being so far away from Church headquarters, it’s hard to connect with the gospel, but because I’ve had a strong testimony of the restored gospel, I know that as far away as I am, I can still feel like a part of the Restoration, that I’m not alone.”

Something momentarily caught the light when Grandmother Jo showed Christopher a miniature Eagle Scout pin that she had received from Christopher’s dad when he became on Eagle Scout. “Oh, I was proud of him as he stood so straight and tall to accept the award. Then he gave me the pin and kissed me.”
How happy Grandmother Jo looks, Christopher thought. When pirates found their treasures, they were very happy, but not in the same way that Grandmother Jo is right now.

Andrew’s testimony has grown in many ways. He says, “I know the Church is true, and that the Book of Mormon is true.” How does he know? “Our family reads the Book of Mormon together every night. I prayed about the Book of Mormon, and I got a happy feeling.” With this strong foundation, Andrew is working hard to be a good missionary now to prepare to serve a mission when he is older.

Elder L. Tom Perry said he and his wife would take walks around a pond to feel better when they were stressed. (See “Let Him Do It with Simplicity,” Ensign, Nov. 2008, 7.)

There is a message for Latter-day Saints in a seldom quoted revelation given to the Prophet Joseph Smith in 1838. “I remember my servant Oliver Granger; behold, verily I say unto him that his name shall be had in sacred remembrance from generation to generation, forever and ever, saith the Lord” (D&C 117:12).
Oliver Granger was a very ordinary man. He was mostly blind, having “lost his sight by cold and exposure” (History of the Church, 4:408). The First Presidency described him as “a man of the most strict integrity and moral virtue; and in fine, to be a man of God” (History of the Church, 3:350).
When the Saints were driven from Kirtland, Ohio, in a scene that would be repeated in Independence, in Far West, and in Nauvoo, Oliver was left behind to sell their properties for what little he could. There was not much chance that he could succeed. And, really, he did not succeed!
But the Lord said, “Let him contend earnestly for the redemption of the First Presidency of my Church, saith the Lord; and when he falls he shall rise again, for his sacrifice shall be more sacred unto me than his increase, saith the Lord” (D&C 117:13).
What did Oliver Granger do that his name should be held in sacred remembrance? Nothing much, really. It was not so much what he did as what he was.
When we honor Oliver, much, perhaps even most, of the honor should go to Lydia Dibble Granger, his wife.
Oliver and Lydia finally left Kirtland to join the Saints in Far West, Missouri. They had gone but a few miles from Kirtland when they were turned back by a mob. Only later did they join the Saints at Nauvoo.
Oliver died at age 47, leaving Lydia to look after their children.
The Lord did not expect Oliver to be perfect, perhaps not even to succeed. “When he falls he shall rise again, for his sacrifice shall be more sacred unto me than his increase, saith the Lord” (D&C 117:13).

“I grew up very close to the Church,” he said. “My father was made bishop of our ward when I was only six months old. By the time I was six years of age, our ward was building a chapel. Father would take us all over to work on it. I remember that my first job was pulling nails out of boards and straightening them so they could be used again.

And so I tried to escape from Viet Nam. I went to an island, Phu-Quoc, close to Cambodia. I took all my scriptures, translations, and books and buried them in the beach; then I bought a boat preparing to escape. But I was not successful. The police put me in prison for three days, but because I was an old woman, they let me go. I was not able to go back to get the books and translations. They remain there to this day.

I looked through past issues of the Friend and made a poster of Christ to help me remember Him.
Audrey C., age 11, Maine, USA

When I was six, I climbed a tree in my backyard and got stuck. I cried and cried, but then something told me to pray, so I prayed that my mom would come and get me. She came right out of the house and got me down. I know that the Holy Ghost is real and that God answers our prayers.
Mike W., age 8, Arkansas, USA

I also struggled with speaking when I was a little boy. I had a stutter. It was hard to share my testimony in front of everyone. Sometimes when I tried to speak, I just burst into tears instead. I had priesthood blessings to help me. My mum and dad were very encouraging. Eventually I was blessed to be able to speak more clearly and confidently.

It was another day of work in the mission field. My companion and I couldn’t catch any of our investigators, nobody let us in when we knocked on doors, and I was pretty frustrated by the end of the day. When we came home to our apartment for the night, I was upset that nobody talked to us, and I felt it was my fault, even though there really wasn’t anything more I could have done.
As I thought about this, I went into the bathroom and saw the picture of Christ my companion and I had taped to the mirror. I looked at it and smiled. I felt Christ’s love wash over me. In spite of my weaknesses, I’d tried my best, and Christ knew my effort and what I was going through.
I’ve often reflected on that experience, and I’ve resolved to always post a picture of Christ on my mirror, reminding me that as I do my best, no matter how “little” that effort may appear, I can still stand before my Savior and smile, knowing He loves me and accepts me for who I am.

I first learned the names of the ancient and modern apostles in Primary. My mother was one of my teachers. I am certain that never in her wildest dreams did she ever think that any of those whom she taught would one day sit in the council of the special witnesses of the Lord Jesus Christ.

During general conference in 1906, David took his wife and two young sons to visit cousins in Salt Lake City. Between sessions they sat down to lunch.
Cousin: David, there’s an urgent phone call for you.
David: I’ve been summoned to the Office of the First Presidency.
David met Elder George Albert Smith, an Apostle, on Temple Square. Elder Smith escorted him to the office of the President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. As they walked David thought about how he had performed his stake calling in the Sunday School.
David: I wonder if I’ll be called to the Church Board of Education.
President Francis M. Lyman invited David to sit down. What he said next left David speechless.
President Lyman: So you’re David O. McKay. Well, the Lord wants you to be an Apostle … What’s the matter? Haven’t you anything to say?
David: I’m not worthy of such a call!
President Lyman: Not worthy? Not worthy?! What have you been doing?
David: Nothing of which I’m ashamed.
President Lyman:Then do you have faith that the Lord will make you able to fulfill this calling?
On the way back to his relatives’ apartment, David saw his father.
Father: So, Son, were you called to the Church Board of Education?
David: I’ve been asked not to say anything about my new calling yet.
David and his wife, Emma Ray, attended the afternoon session of conference together. Right before the session ended, a special announcement was made. Emma Ray burst into tears from surprise and joy when David’s name was read. At only 32 years old, David O. McKay was sustained a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.

I would like a one-year gift subscription to your awe-inspiring magazine. I truly do love all of the thoughts I receive after reading it. My friend Roxane just got baptized in December. I hope she enjoys this subscription. When the Lord said “How great shall be your joy” for bringing even one soul to him, he wasn’t kidding. I grew so much from being able to have the missionary lessons taught to her. I love her with all my heart, and she deserves only the best counsel the Church has to offer—the New Era. Thank you so very very much.
Christina J. CarsonPanorama City, California

I like chemistry, football, fried chicken, a cute girl, and strawberry malts. I guess you can say that I am an average American guy—except for one thing. I don’t think anyone who has a sister like mine can be all average. I mean, she doesn’t just giggle, comb her hair for hours, fill your nostrils with the aroma of hair spray, and monopolize the bathroom to put on her make-up, but she saves things too. Like when she came home from kindergarten the first day carrying an empty milk carton. That’s when it started.
“You’re not supposed to bring that home,” I told her. “When you get through drinking the milk, you throw the carton in the trash can.”
“I know,” she answered as she opened a drawer and tucked it neatly inside, “but I want to save it.”
“What for?” I persisted. “Are you going to make something out of it?”
“No,” she said, closing the drawer, “I’m just going to save it.”
“Boy, that’s dumb. Mom,” I called, pursuing the subject further, “Lisa has a milk carton in her drawer, and it will probably sour and smell the whole house up. She isn’t going to use it, so why is she saving it?”
Mom smiled. “Well,” she said, “this is her first day at school, the first time she’s been given milk in a small carton. I guess it represents a happy memory.”
That was just the beginning. She saved everything. I mean I can understand kids saving useful things like marbles, bicycle valve caps, and bugs for scientific research. I could even understand my sister saving outdated clothes to remodel, because Mom said that was being conservative, but I think everything that came into her possession she kept. The older she got the more she saved. She saved test papers, banquet favors, pressed corsages, ticket stubs, and programs.
Now, I suppose all this would have been tolerable if it hadn’t been for the string. Suddenly she started saving string. Not long lengths, but bits and pieces.
“What’s that for?” I asked.
“For nothing,” she snapped defensively. “I’m just saving it. Is there a law against that?”
I couldn’t believe it. I decided she was a real dumb-dumb. Now, don’t get me wrong. Just because I thought she was dumb didn’t mean I didn’t like her, and it didn’t mean that anyone else could make fun of her, for if they did they would have me to settle with. Like the time Mom said I couldn’t go fishing with Jim unless I took Lisa along. She and Dad were planning to be gone for the day, and she didn’t want Lisa to stay home alone. Boy, I was pretty burned up over that. A twelve-year-old guy having to take his kid sister fishing! I grumbled and complained and yelled at her all the way. But when Jim started yelling at her and grumbling because she was along, it made me plain boil.
“What’s the matter with Lisa going fishing with us?” I bristled. “She’s my sister, and if she wants to go fishing, she can.”
Jim was so surprised he didn’t say anything. Lisa was so surprised she dropped the rock she had been holding, and I was so surprised at what I had said that I picked it up and gave it back to her—to save.
But what really takes the cake about all this saving is what I discovered the day Mom was helping Lisa clean her room. I stepped in to see if either of them could tell me what had happened to my blue sweat shirt. I knew if Lisa had seen it, it was safe, but Mom sometimes got carried away and burned things just because they were ten years old, full of holes, and covered with paint smears and grease spots. She never burned things like banquet favors or pressed corsages, just sweat shirts.
“I didn’t burn it,” Mom said patiently. “I didn’t throw it away. In fact, I haven’t seen it since the day you were washing the car with it.”
“Oh, yes!” I remembered and was standing there wondering if I had hung it up to dry so it would be wearable to goof around in, when I caught sight of the curler bag on Lisa’s bed. It wasn’t the bag that captured my attention exactly, it was the fact that instead of curlers it was full of string, bits and pieces.
“What in the world!” I picked it up and read the small neatly handwritten note pasted on the outside, “String too short to use.”
I started laughing.
“Give it here,” Lisa cried, snatching it out of my hands.
“String too short to use!” I doubled over with laughter. “Man, I can’t believe you’re for real.”
“Mother!” Lisa was close to tears.
“Son—” Mom started.
“But she says herself that the string is too short to use.” I defended myself. “If she can’t use it then she isn’t being conservative, and I don’t believe this represents memories. No one has that many happy memories,” I teased as I darted out the door still laughing.
Actually the string incident came in very handy, for I used it constantly as a weapon. For instance, when Lisa started teasing me when I let my hair grow longer than usual, I reminded her of her useless string, and she said no more.
Then I met this kind of special girl. She liked football and fried chicken and strawberry malts; and I liked her.
When we got married, I decided I was the luckiest guy ever. It was somewhere around this time I decided that I was pretty lucky not to be all average. In fact, it was the evening Ann and I were looking at our wedding gifts in our apartment. I picked up this one gift, and as a kind of lump came in my throat, I realized that if it had been a large amount of money, it wouldn’t have been as nice as it was. The homemade article represented many things, among them a kind of forgiveness.
Ann came up in back of the chair in which I was sitting and put her arms around my neck. “I wonder who that is from,” she said as she leaned over and read the unsigned note pinned on the pretty velvet cushion.
I started to tell her, but the lump in my throat kept me from speaking. “I’ll explain later,” I said finally.
Then I unpinned the note and read the neatly handwritten message once more.
It said, “This cushion is filled with all my love and the string too short to use.”

Just as black members had crossed into another part of town and another culture to attend the Johannesburg Ward, white members had to adjust to a new environment and culture as they served in Soweto. Things did not always go smoothly. Maureen van Zyl, a white member who had been called to serve as Primary president, thought nothing of it when the South African national anthem of the time was chosen as the opening song in Relief Society meeting one week. She soon learned, however, that black South Africans viewed the anthem as a symbol of apartheid and that many black sisters were offended by the choice of song.
Black and white members alike could easily have become discouraged by such misunderstandings, but they chose to see them as an opportunity for discussion and improvement instead. “We shared all sorts of things,” Maureen remembered. “As blacks, what would be offensive and as whites, what we’d find offensive. How they did certain things and how we did certain things. And so it was just this wonderful time of learning together.”

Petey’s Bedtime Story by Beverly Cleary Petey loves to go to bed. After his bath, stories read by both Mommy and Daddy, and his prayer, it’s time for “the baby story.” Daddy starts it, but Petey takes over and tells his version—one that parents will chortle over as well as children!

“Hey, April!” April’s big brother Brad walked into her bedroom with a huge smile on his face. “Ready to get your new racing wheels?” Brad was going to drive April to pick up her wheelchair today.
“Yeah, I guess,” April said. She was glad to be leaving her house at last. She couldn’t believe it had been over two months since her bicycle accident! And the whole time she’d been stuck in a hospital bed in her room.
But she was also nervous about figuring out wheelchairs. She wasn’t allowed to even stand up yet, so she’d need to use one for at least a month. Yuck.
“Maybe we can find one with flames painted on the side,” Brad said. He was still smiling. April tried smiling back, but she still felt sad and a little scared. April prayed silently to feel happier.
The next few hours passed by in a slow, cloudy blur. The people at the medical supply store gave her a boring, plain old black wheelchair. Then they taught her a few things about how to use it. But it was all so complicated. It was so much easier when she could just walk!
Soon they were heading back home. April looked out the car window. It was nice to see big trees and puffy clouds again. But somehow it didn’t make her feel happy like she used to feel before she got hurt.
“Oh, I forgot to mention that I need to buy something at the mall,” Brad said as he turned the car into the mall parking lot. “It shouldn’t take long.”
That seemed strange to April. Why wouldn’t he just go to the mall later on his own?
In the mall parking lot, Brad got the wheelchair out of the car. He pushed April in it for a short way. Then he stopped.
“Ready to give it a go yourself?” Brad asked.
“Um, okay …” April pushed down on the wheels and rolled forward slowly. It was hard!
“This way,” Brad said. “You can do it.” He walked toward the entrance to the mall.
April gripped the wheels uncertainly. She would have to turn the wheelchair. She tried doing what the people at the medical store had taught her, but it took forever.
How was she supposed to get around if she could barely even turn this dumb wheelchair once? Would she ever be her old self again?
Brad held the door open with a mischievous smile. April knew that smile well. What was he planning?
“See that elevator?” Brad said after they got through the doors.
April peered down the long empty hallway in the mall. The elevator was clear at the end.
“Race ya!” Brad said. Then he took off running.
April blinked. Race? How could she race?
But Brad’s laughter sparked something inside her. April started pushing down on her wheels as hard as she could. Soon she was catching up! She couldn’t believe it!
Before she realized it, April started laughing along with Brad. The storefronts passed in a blur as April chased her brother. The whole way they both laughed so hard they could barely breathe.
At the last second, April passed Brad and made it to the elevator first. “I win!” she yelled with a laugh. Brad had probably let her win, but she didn’t mind. She felt great.
“I knew you could do it!” Brad said.
April looked at her big brother’s kind smile. This time she had a smile of her own to match. Brad was right. She could do this. It might not be easy, but she could make this work until she got all the way better.
Thank you, Heavenly Father, she prayed silently. Thank you for giving me such a great family.
“Next time I’ll give you an even bigger head start,” April said. “You’re gonna need it!”

“This course has helped me recognize my struggle with inaccurate thinking patterns. I’ve often had negative thoughts and felt like I’m constantly bracing myself for the worst possible outcome in all situations. Because of what I’ve learned in the course, I’ve found myself asking things like, ‘Is this something the Savior would want me to think or feel?’ And by doing this, I’ve been able to be more compassionate toward myself and have more productive thoughts. This class has been very eye-opening and has helped me become a better person!” —Lexy Wagner, Utah, USA

I read about Shannon in the New Era. Her high school speech teacher assigned a group project to the students. They were to select a scene from a play to perform for the class. One group chose a questionable scene dealing with morality issues. The teacher allowed them to keep their selection “for the sake of art.” But knowing that it might be offensive, the teacher gave permission for those who felt uncomfortable to leave the room.
As the students’ scene began, Shannon felt a little bit nervous. Several of her classmates blushed and giggled uneasily, but no one left. She looked at a few of her Latter-day Saint friends, watching for one of them to give the signal for them all to walk out together. But none of them did. Shannon remained at her desk with her head down so no one could see her crimson cheeks. She felt very uncomfortable, but she was also afraid to leave. After all, it was art, right? Shannon states:
“At [that] moment, the Young Women theme came into my mind: ‘We will “stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places.”’ (Mosiah 18:9). Immediately, I knew what [I was going to] do. ‘All places’ meant everywhere, even in a classroom with my friends.
“Quietly, I got up and left the room. That was it. No one got up and followed me. No one applauded my valiant act. No one was converted by my example. But inside I knew I had done the right thing” (Shannon D. Jensen, “Stand as a Witness,” New Era, Nov. 1998, 10).