Gospel Story Finder

For much of my life, I believed if I was obedient to God’s commandments, I was entitled to any and all blessings that I asked for. Imagine my bewilderment when, after trying to live a life of obedience for my nearly 30 years, I watched addiction and a cancer diagnosis devastate my family; my father lose his job at the outbreak of a pandemic; my sister contract a debilitating terminal illness; and several other life-changing events I never dreamed I’d experience.
I spent a lot of time in fervent prayer, trying to figure out why these things were happening. I felt I had earned blessings. Why did it appear that people who made no efforts to be obedient had amazing lives without the kinds of trials I had faced? From my finite perspective, my circumstances felt confusing, frustrating, and unjust.
It can be hard to have a broad perspective amid trials, but looking back, I can see that the Lord’s ways truly are not our ways (see Isaiah 55:8). As finite beings in this mortal sphere, some of us like to be instantly gratified, effortlessly happy, and constantly comfortable.

Grandma came to our house last Friday to make jelly. She gave Mom two big brown paper sacks full of plums. All morning Mom and Grandma filled jars with hot pink stuff that was jelly when it cooled. It is the best-tasting jelly in the whole world! I know because once Grandma gave me some when I was at her house.
Mom and Grandma were so busy that I helped by making my own sandwich for lunch. After all the jars were lined up on the kitchen counter to cool, Grandma went home.
The next day I counted fifteen jars of jelly when I helped Mom put them away. I thought she’d put them in our food storage, but she didn’t.
After lunch Mom asked me to take a jar of the jelly to Mrs. Conner. Mrs. Conner is a grouchy lady who lives next door to us. She always yells at me if I cut through her yard or if she thinks I am making too much noise. But she smiled and thanked me when I gave her the jelly.
Later Sister Moreno came to go visiting teaching with Mom. They took six more jars of plum jelly with them.
Sunday we took another jar of jelly to church for Brother Jones. He’s really nice. One time he came into Primary and showed us some wooden toys he’d made in his basement workshop. I like Brother Jones, and I was glad he got some of the jelly.
We gave a jar to each pair of missionaries too. I hope someone gives me some when I’m a missionary!
Dad took another jar with him on Monday. He gave it to the man he rides to work with. And when Aunt Julie stopped by on her way home from the store, Mom gave her a jar of jelly.
I looked up at the shelf and counted the jars again. It didn’t take very long. There were only three jars left. Mom was giving all the jelly away! I went into the living room where she was reading and asked, “Why are we giving all our jelly away?”
She looked at me for a moment. “That’s why we made it—to give away,” she said. “Grandma and I made it to give to people we love, to let them know that we care about them. I think Grandma may have some more plums, Danny. If she does, would you like to help me make some more jelly?”
“Jelly to keep?” I asked her.
“You bet,” she said. “And maybe there will be enough for you to give to some of your friends too.”
The next morning when I looked at the shelf, there were only two jars of jelly left. The third jar was in front of my plate. Taped to the front of the jar was a note that said: Danny’s jelly to keep (because we love him)

Philomath Ward
The Primary children of the Philomath Ward, Corvallis Oregon Stake, have worked hard memorizing the Articles of Faith. For each one they memorized, a footprint was put on the wall of their Primary room. With over 320 footprints, they have gone around the entire room and are heading around again.

Of course, some of the fun times they recall most revolve around their being triplets. At an early age, a favorite trick was to insist to Junior Sunday School teachers that all three of them were Dan. The next week they would all profess to be Dave and then Doug.

Another group of Ogden stakes performed a service that not only delighted thousands of visitors to Temple Square during the Christmas season, but will bring joy to dozens of children in Israel. The Young Women made stuffed stocking dolls dressed in the native costumes of nations throughout the world. The dolls were tied with wide red ribbons to trees in both the North and South Visitors’ Centers on Temple Square. Each girl researched the country her doll was to represent and tried to make the costume look as authentic as possible. She then attached a note with her name and address to the doll.
After Christmas, the dolls were packed in the suitcases of participants on Brigham Young University’s study abroad program to Jerusalem. The dolls were transported by the students to Israel where they were given to Arab orphans in Bethlehem. When the first doll was delivered, a small, bespectacled girl named Ikhlass received it. She clung to her new doll throughout the day, taking it with her as she played, ate, and slept.

Several years ago, I was in a sacrament meeting where a new member shared what led to his conversion. One day, he was working in his garden when two young missionaries walked up the path towards him. One of the missionaries then asked him this question: “How would you feel if you knew that there was a living prophet and twelve Apostles on the earth today?” The man had never considered such a thing, and although not religious, he immediately wanted to know more. The missionaries taught him the gospel and he gained a personal testimony. All because he learned that once again we have living prophets and apostles walking the earth.

When I was 17 my mother found out she had breast cancer. The shock overwhelmed my family and brought me to my knees in deep prayer. I cried for almost an hour, asking God why He would let this happen and if He would heal my mom. Relief began to come a few days later when our ward members, extended family, friends, and neighbors learned of the news. They rushed to our aid. Meals were brought in, kind words and deeds were exchanged, concern and sympathy given. The love we felt from them was deep.
But even though we received so much help, I fell into a deep depression. I didn’t care what happened to me. I stopped doing things I loved. I became lazy and careless with chores, schoolwork, and my Church calling. I saw my situation and the extra responsibility placed upon me as a great burden. I felt I could do everything myself and did not need anyone’s help.
Satan worked especially hard on me, telling me that I should feel burdened, that God wanted me to be unhappy, and that I wasn’t anything special. Sadly, for a while I believed it. I couldn’t see the bright side of anything. I did not see myself as a daughter of God. Confusion blinded me, and I couldn’t see my many blessings. I couldn’t even look in the mirror. I felt pain and heartache.
Thankfully, a close friend spent a lot of time helping me, and my siblings supported me as well. I became more open with my parents, who in turn became more open with me. But still I struggled.
My mom would often comfort me when I felt down. When I felt like all hope was gone, it was nice to have someone to talk to and help me out. She would come home in between treatments and iron our clothing, prepare meals, and offer us comfort and counsel. It amazed me how she could endure such trials and yet be so selfless.
When I discussed my depression with her one day, she told me that just because I cried and admitted I needed help, it did not make me weak. She was taking care of me when I should have taken care of her.
After one of her many surgeries, my mom was in the recovery room. At the time, I couldn’t help but think I needed my own recovery room. I had no idea where to start the healing process, but I had to do something.
So I started renewing my talents and abilities as well as developing new ones. I cooked and did the laundry. I took more walks to think. I sang solos. I played the clarinet and piano more and began playing better. I read more books. I started to listen to more uplifting music. I surrounded myself with advice from Church leaders and other valuable sources. I became closer to God and my Savior through personal prayer, fasting, and scripture study.
Still I felt like my peace was fleeting. It was hard when I wanted to be at peace on some days, and instead I would feel the sadness. The mood swings became even more difficult. It seemed my journey for peace had only begun.
Then I went to the temple to do baptisms for the dead with my Young Women class. I thought about my problems while in the temple and while flipping through the pages of my scriptures. I found myself reading about the Savior in Isaiah 53:4, “Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows.”
A few minutes later, the confusion that had blinded me and caused me so much pain completely vanished. The Lord broke through the darkness and the despair of my heart and left the peace of the Spirit instead. I had a sense of clarity and happiness that I hadn’t felt for a long time. I saw how many blessings I had received and how much everyone had done for me and my family. I saw how close my family, friends, and I had become. I saw myself as a truly beautiful daughter of God.
There in the temple I found my recovery room.
Looking back on this experience, I realize that I now have more empathy and compassion for those less fortunate than I am. I know where to recover. The hardest year of my life became the best year of my life.

“Mom and Dad are always telling us about how they got married in the temple,” Sha-Lei says. “I always think, ‘I want to be married there, too!’” As for Chaz, he says he will go to the temple, too—first to do baptisms for the dead starting at age 12, then as he prepares to serve a mission when he turns 19.

At the University of Utah I knew a young woman, Kathy McKay, a wonderful musician, who was taught by her parents that her eternal position was being determined by her daily actions. She was an example to everyone who knew her. One athlete from another state became interested in the gospel of Jesus Christ just by watching her and recognizing her purity. She knew that the person she was to become she was then becoming.

The bell rang out across the playground. Recess was over. Alvin put away his basketball and walked to the classroom.
“Please sit down and take out your math books,” his teacher, Mrs. Hall, said.
Alvin slid into his seat and reached into his school bag. Then he heard a knock on the classroom door. Mrs. Hall answered it and started talking with another teacher.
Just a few desks over, Blake and Jared started whispering.
“Pssst! Look what I found!”
“Whoa!”
“Wanna try it after school?”
What’s going on? Alvin wondered.
He could just barely see Blake and Jared out of the corner of his eye. It looked like one of them was pulling a little plastic bag out of his pocket.
Wait, were those drugs?!
Alvin’s heart beat faster. His parents had talked with him and his siblings about drugs before. He knew that drugs were against the Word of Wisdom and that they could hurt your body and brain. He also knew it was dangerous to take medicine that wasn’t yours.
What should I do? Alvin thought. He glanced around. Those drugs could hurt someone! None of the other kids seemed to be paying attention. Should I tell someone? Or just pretend I didn’t see it?
Alvin had trouble concentrating during math. He couldn’t focus during reading time. By lunchtime, he felt like a rock was sitting in his stomach.
“Are you OK?” his friend Mitch asked.
Alvin shrugged.
“What’s going on? Tell us,” his friend Hazel said.
So Alvin told them about what he had seen. “I think I need to tell Mrs. Hall.”
“But what if they find out it was you?” Mitch said. “They might be really mad at you.”
Alvin agreed. But the yucky feeling in his stomach wouldn’t go away. Finally he made a decision. He was going to tell their teacher.
“I’ll go with you,” Hazel said.
Alvin and Hazel found Mrs. Hall in her classroom.
“Mrs. Hall?” Alvin asked. “Can we talk with you in private?”
“Of course,” Mrs. Hall said. “How can I help you?”
“Um … ,” Alvin said. Mrs. Hall smiled kindly. That made him feel brave. “I saw Blake and Jared with drugs in class today. I felt like I needed to tell you.”
“You did the right thing,” Mrs. Hall said. “You can always come talk to me when you see a problem. I’ll take care of it.”
Alvin let out a big sigh. The heavy feeling had disappeared.
That afternoon, the principal’s assistant came to their room and called Blake and Jared to come out in the hall.
The boys didn’t come back to class for three days.
When they finally came back, Alvin was nervous to see them again.
What if they figured out I was the one who told the teacher? he thought. What if they’re really mad at me?
But they just sat and joked with each other, like usual.
“Where have you been?” another classmate asked them.
“Oh … uh … we got caught with something bad at school,” Blake said. “So we got sent home.”
Everyone kept talking, and eventually Alvin relaxed. He was glad he’d spoken up about the drugs to help keep others safe. He wanted to make good choices to keep his body safe and healthy.

When I was a mission president in South Africa in 2005, I felt a very strong prompting by the Spirit to move our Norwegian missionary, Elder Joseph Henriksen, all the way across the mission—in between normal transfer dates—to replace a missionary who needed to have surgery. I had just interviewed Elder Henriksen in Queenstown, a two-hour flight plus a two-hour drive away from Cape Town, and on the flight home the Spirit kept telling me that he was the one who needed to move into the Strand Branch and replace the elder needing surgery.
As soon as we returned to the mission home, I called Elder Henriksen and asked him to pack his bags. . . . We picked him up [the next day] and talked to him about his new area, where they hadn’t had a baptism for 18 months. I explained to Elder Henriksen that he was the one the Lord had selected to be there and to make a difference in that branch. We introduced him to his new companion, who drove him another hour to Strand, a beautiful beach area on the Atlantic Ocean, about 50 miles south of Cape Town.
The first week in his new area, Elder Henriksen was thumbing through the area book and found a referral that hadn’t been contacted in the seaside town of Hermanus, another hour south of Strand, but in their assigned area. There was a small branch in Hermanus with about twenty active members, but he and his companion were the closest missionaries. Not wanting to waste time, but feeling prompted to contact the referral, he and his companion looked up the addresses of all the members in Hermanus so they could visit them as well as contacting the referral. Then they set aside a day to visit Hermanus.
When that day came, Elder Henriksen and his companion taught a first lesson in the home they were referred to, then began visiting the members. They knocked on the door of a member lady who expressed great surprise at seeing elders at her door. “I didn’t think we had missionaries in Hermanus anymore!” she exclaimed. Then she told them it was the greatest day of her life. She had just received in the mail a 300-year history of her ancestors. She was excited to be able to do temple work for hundreds of family members who had gone on before. Then she told them that her only problem was that she couldn’t understand any of it because it was written in Norwegian.
Elder Henriksen looked at her, smiled and said, “I’m Norwegian!” What a tender mercy for the Lord to inspire a mission president to suddenly transfer the only Norwegian missionary on the African continent to the area where this dear sister lived and needed a Norwegian translator. While he served there, he was able to visit her once a week and complete the translation. This experience strengthened the faith of everyone involved.

“And during school,” I’ll say, “a king came into our room. He said he wanted me to slay a dragon. Then he made me a knight.”
“Really?” she’ll say.
“Well,” I’ll say, “it was really the principal. He wanted me to take a note to Mrs. Smith’s room. Then he told me I could be his messenger and take notes all over the school. But he looked like a king to me for just a minute.

Sister Yngrid Cepeda, temple and family history consultant for the San Gerónimo Stake shared the following from the stake indexing day: “Today I had a beautiful experience with my dear friend Sister Marte from the Enriquillo Ward. She didn’t know anything about her father’s relatives, and she only had the names of her grandparents. She had not had the work done for her grandfather, and we decided to print the card. As we entered the website, we saw a suggested record that was a death certificate of an aunt about whom I knew nothing. We continued researching and found a baptism certificate for her grandparents, where we found her parents (her great-grandparents). Next, we found five more children of this couple. All of this in less than 20 minutes. Thanks to someone’s indexing these records, Sister Marte has more than eight family name cards including those of her grandfather and of her great-grandparents. The spirit of Elijah manifested itself in such a clear and precise way. Tell me if this is a coincidence or is it the work of the spirit of Elijah that helps the living and the dead to meet again?”

I was 26 when my husband and I lost our first child. Kennedy was diagnosed with a brain tumor when she was only 13 months old. After three surgeries, five rounds of chemotherapy, and many medications and treatments, she passed away in our arms at 20 months old.
I was devastated to lose my beautiful, curious, and energetic little girl. How could this happen? How could I move on? I had so many questions, but I didn’t have any answers. A couple of days after the funeral, my husband and I visited the gravesite, still covered with beautiful pink flowers and ribbons from the funeral.
As I thought about my daughter, I saw a tiny baby bird, too young to fly, hopping on the grass. This bird reminded me of Kennedy because she loved animals. The bird hopped over to the grave and played in the ribbons and flowers. I smiled, knowing this is exactly what Kennedy would have wanted. The bird then hopped toward me. I didn’t dare move a muscle. The little bird hopped right next to me, leaned against my leg, closed its eyes, and fell asleep.
I can hardly explain the feelings I had in that moment. I felt as if I was getting a hug from my Kennedy. I could not hold my daughter, but this little bird—a creation of our Father in Heaven—could come and rest its tiny head on me, reminding me that Heavenly Father understood my pain and would always be there to comfort me and help me through this trial.
I still didn’t have all the answers to my questions, but this tender mercy reassured me that Kennedy and I are both loved by our Heavenly Father and that through the atoning sacrifice of His Son, Jesus Christ, I have the hope that Kennedy, my husband, and I will one day be together again as a family.

Russell’s parents didn’t go to church very often. But they taught him how to pray and sent him to church every Sunday. When he was a teenager, he gained his own testimony. He knew Heavenly Father loved him, and he decided to always obey Him. When he got older, his parents started going to church too.

The unfolding of God’s work often proceeds quietly. For example, whatever the immediate economic reasons the Joseph Smith Sr. family had for moving from New England to upstate New York, they were being led—unawares—to sacred plates, buried in Cumorah’s Hill, waiting to become another testament of Christ for “as long as the earth shall stand” (2 Nephi 25:22).

We visited Granddad’s farm most summers. The summer I was 14, however, Stu decided he was too old and too cool to come on a family vacation with us. Stu had stopped coming to church and had started going with a new crowd of friends. Most nights he came home late, and I could smell the cigarette smoke and beer on his clothes.

But after a few days camping at Granddad’s farm without Stu, I began to feel very alone and very bored. Early one morning I was kicking a football (soccer ball) against our caravan (trailer) when Granddad passed by carting a big paper bag.

“Fancy sum’ mushrooms?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I muttered, not very happy with the world.

“Aye. Good ‘enough. I’ll just have to try and find ‘em by myself,” he said, and shuffled off across his green pasture. I shrugged my shoulders and ran after him. Mushroom hunting was something to do. And, anyway, Granddad was old and might need my help.

“Thought we might find sum’ by town,” he said as he stepped onto a low stone fence and bounded over. I scrambled over the rocks and had to run to catch up with Granddad. In fact, I soon found myself running a lot to keep up with his breezy pace. Obviously he was not going to need my help.

“You must walk a lot,” I said to him, half out of breath.

He looked down at me and laughed. “I walk these hills every day. But a young ‘un like you should be able to out-walk me. Living in the city makes you soft.”

I dropped my gaze to the path.

“You have something on your mind, lad?” he asked.

“No, just bored.”

“Aye, probably.”

It seemed like we crossed most of the Yorkshire glens before we reached the top of a hill that overlooked town. Granddad led me down the hillside, past at least a dozen bent-over people searching for white mushrooms amid the waving grass. I noticed most of their bags were empty.

“I don’t think there are many mushrooms around here,” I confided to Granddad.

He looked back at the mushroom hunters and chuckled. “Oh, I think we might find one or two.”

He stepped off the trail, and I followed him as we rounded a small rock outcropping and were suddenly alone in a shady clearing with more mushrooms than I’d ever seen. They were everywhere! Big, white, fluffy mushrooms.

It only took us a few minutes to fill our bag. Then we started back up the hill, past the scattered mushroom hunters.

A man with wire-rimmed glasses stood up when we passed and wiped his forehead. “Find any?” he asked.

“Just enough,” Granddad answered. Then he winked at me and whispered, “You have to know where to look, lad.”

I laughed and put my hand on Granddad’s shoulder.

But as we walked away, Granddad looked back at the man and said, “You might want to try behind those rocks.”

“I just might,” came the reply.

We reached the top of the hill and rested on a big, flat rock, perched with a grand view of the gray and green town below.

“That was nice of you, telling that man where to look,” I said.

“Sumtimes people just need a little hint,” he answered.

And then I thought once again of an experience I had recently. I had just arrived at the Joseph Smith memorial birthplace. I walked over to Sister Kempton, who is one of the caretakers, and as I shook hands with her I said, “Sister Kempton, would you like a special blessing?” And then she began to weep, and she said, “I have prayed this whole week that I would have enough courage to ask.” We gave her a special blessing. She apparently had a sickness that had been prolonged for ten days, with a terrible pain at the back of her head. As we prepared to retire that night, she said, “You take our room.” And I said, “How can I do this? How can I take your room? If the Lord is going to help, you had better sleep in your bed. Let me sleep on the cot you have rolled out for your husband and yourself.”

They would not let me do that, however, and so I ended up in their bed. That night as I knelt down to pray, I think my words were somewhat similar to those once uttered by President Lorenzo Snow.
I said, “Heavenly Father, please vindicate the blessing given by thy servant. This woman has given all. She has withheld nothing. Please give her the blessing.”

I didn’t sleep very well that night. The next morning when I wakened I went out for a walk around those beautiful grounds. Later, as I returned to the home, her husband came out. I asked, “How is your wife?” And he answered, “She woke this morning without any problems. She said it was the first time in ten days she hasn’t had that terrible pain at the back of her head. And I said to her, ‘What did you expect?’”

Then I thought of another verse of that hymn:
“ ’Twas night; the floods were out; it blew
A winter hurricane aloof;
I heard his voice abroad and flew
To bid him welcome to my roof.
I warmed and clothed and cheered my guest
And laid him on my couch to rest,
Then made the earth my bed, and seemed
In Eden’s garden while I dreamed.”

One stake enrichment meeting focused on building faith in Jesus Christ with a sharing of testimonies. Stephanie Wilkey, stake Relief Society president, writes: “We had felt inspired to have a home, family, and personal enrichment meeting based on one of the principles of charity: kindness. It took every bit of faith we had to follow the promptings we had received as a presidency to carry through with this idea. My counselors assured me that the sisters would come and that they would stand and speak to us of the things of the heart. Oh, did they come! Close to 350 sisters poured into the chapel on a windy, rainy evening. They stood and poured their hearts out to each other in magnificent testimonies of applying the principle of kindness in their lives. As the sisters left the building an hour and a half later, they expressed with words and tears that they had felt the love of the Lord and were so very grateful they had come.”

I was baptized in 2012 and attended a branch in the Ipoméia Brazil District. Since 2014, I have been really engaged in family history. It started with the invitation from Elder Neil L. Andersen of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles at RootsTech to do baptisms for my own family names. I felt really committed to do family history, knowing that if I “knocked,” it would be “opened” (see Matthew 7:7).
Now I have many more generations, pictures, documents, and, most important, more family stories, which is awesome. Having this information, I wrote a book with pictures and dates from my family history. This project helped me contact my nonmember family members and gave me the opportunity to share my testimony that families can be eternal.
This work has helped me stand in holy places, stay active in the Church, and accept the calling to serve the Lord on a mission.
I have a testimony that the work of salvation done by this Church on both sides of the veil is true and inspired by our Heavenly Father. Before my mission, I had the opportunity to do baptisms for my ancestors, and now as a missionary I have the opportunity to baptize people who are alive and want to change their lives forever.
Elder Claudio Klaus Jr., Arizona Mesa Mission