Gospel Story Finder

Regan Grandy, of the Petersburg Ward, Alaska Anchorage North Stake, knows how to write right. The essay he entered in a Drug Free Youth contest won him the opportunity to intern as a congressional aide in Washington, D.C., for Senator Frank H. Murkowski. He also won an honorable mention in a local TV station’s writing contest with the theme of “What I Can Do for Planet Earth.”
Regan also plays percussion instruments with his high school band and has landed a chair in the honor band. Add to that Regan’s service as seminary president, and you’ve got one active guy.

One hot summer day the circus pulled into a lot where there was no dust for the elephants to throw onto their backs to rid themselves of the flies that tormented them. Old Mom spied a gunnysack. Picking it up, she waved it around, and the flies flew away. Squealing with delight, Old Mom shimmied and swatted. Suddenly a young bull snatched the gunnysack from her. When Old Mom smacked him on the nose and he dropped it, a punk grabbed the treasure. Soon the sack was flying back and forth like a football. Fred heard the commotion and came running. He yelled for a boy to get each elephant a gunnysack. Within minutes the entire herd was squealing and swatting contentedly. Not one would give up his prize. Imagine the surprise of the circus crowd that night when Old Mom led the elephants into the ring, waving their limp brown flyswatters!

I already had a desire to serve a mission, but I was so moved by the October 2001 Liahona (English) that I felt I should begin serving a mission immediately. October 2001 was the first month of our subscription, and already I like the Liahona very much.
Allwyn Arokia Raj Kilbert,Coimbatore First Branch, Bangalore India District

After several weeks on the road, Christian had used all his money, and he was forced to beg for food. At night he slept against fallen trees in the woods, curled up, pulling his coat tight against the cold. He felt more alone and cold then he ever had in his life. The loneliness bit at his insides even more than his hunger did.
At last he reached Drammen, but he found no success, no work, and no one knew of any Mormons or they were unwilling to help him find them. For days he wandered, knocking on doors, asking for work and direction. A blackness of despair grew inside him.
While he was looking for shelter against a growing snow storm one evening, he saw a small cottage on the edge of the woods just outside of Drammen. He decided to knock on one more door. He told the woman who answered that he was looking for work. She smiled and told Christian that her husband was not home at the moment and that Christian should come back later and talk to him. She offered him slices of bread and cheese. He took them, thanked her, turned, and walked back into the woods. In the fading daylight he found a snow-covered brush pile with a hollow inside and crawled into it. His nose and fingers were numb with cold, and inside he felt lost, without hope.
The woman reminded him of his own mother, and he longed to be home. His thoughts became unclear and dreamy as a drowsiness came over him. He knew it was the cold and that if he went to sleep he would freeze. For a while he accepted the hopelessness and began drifting into a comfortable, warm sleep.
Then he remembered his grandfather’s words.
“There are steps in life that can change your entire future and the future of entire generations. Take those steps carefully, Christian, in the direction you believe to be right, no matter how difficult they appear to be, and God will be with you.”
Christian crawled from under the shelter. The snow was falling heavily.
“Surely,” Christian said aloud, “if God is my Father, he can help me. I know he will.”
Christian knelt in the fresh snow and began praying.
In the darkness a short distance away, a figure watched and listened. When Christian stood from his prayers the figure approached him.
A tall man, Moen Hotvedtvien stood looking at the slender boy.
“I am Brother Hotvedtvien, and I am also a Mormon,” he said. He led Christian back to the house where the woman had given Christian bread and cheese. The house was warm.
The Hotvedtviens had no children of their own, and they took Christian in as their son. Moen was a carpenter and cabinetmaker; he taught Christian his trade.

“As I did so [begin to read the Book of Mormon] the spirit bore witness that the record which it contained was true. I opened my eyes to see, my ears to hear, and my heart to understand. I also opened my doors to entertain the servants of God.” (As quoted in Matthias F. Cowley, Wilford Woodruff: History of His Life and Labors, Salt Lake City, Utah: Bookcraft, 1964.)

The doctrines of the gospel are indispensable. They are essential, but the packaging is optional. Let me share a simple example to show the difference between the doctrines of the Church and the cultural packaging. Here is a bottle of Utah peaches, prepared by a Utah homemaker to feed her family during a snowy season. Hawaiian homemakers don’t bottle fruit. They pick enough fruit for a few days and store it in baskets like this for their families. This basket contains a mango, bananas, a pineapple, and a papaya … picked by a Polynesian homemaker to feed her family in a climate where fruit ripens all year round.

The basket and the bottle are different containers, but the content is the same: fruit for a family. Is the bottle right and the basket wrong? No, they are both right. They are containers appropriate to the culture and the needs of the people. And they are both appropriate for the content they carry, which is the fruit.

My dear brethren, we have received good counsel this evening.
Since we met last April, I have been much out among our people. I have determined that for so long as I have the strength to do so, I will get out and meet with the Saints I love, both the youth and the adults. I have in recent months participated in many meetings with more than 300,000 Latter-day Saints in 17 different nations. We have traveled from sea to sea across the United States, and extensively in Asia and in Europe. I do not enjoy travel. I weary of it. Jet lag, for me, is a very real thing. But I do enjoy looking into the faces and shaking the hands of faithful Latter-day Saints, and I thank those who have made this possible.

At the close of the meeting, a young man came up to me and said, “Brother Richards, I also will write such an article and send you a copy of it.” He is 16, a priest, and the only member of his family in the Church. He is a member of the South Shore First Ward in the Chicago Heights Illinois Stake. His name is Tomas Andres Cruz.
This is what he wrote: “The kind of young man I should be is one who is very close to our Heavenly Father. I feel every young man should bear his priesthood proudly, do his assignments willingly, and be ready to serve his ward in time of need.
“I have a few goals in life that I hope I can cling to. Three are to serve a worthy mission, receive a temple marriage, and raise a very spiritually strong family. If I can’t attain a temple marriage, I won’t get married at all.
“I look forward to the day when I can bless, baptize, confirm, and ordain my own children.
“Chastity is very important these days. The first things I look for in a girl are her testimony, her modesty, and her personality. I know that you must be morally clean to enter the house of the Lord to receive the blessings of an eternal marriage. I hope and pray that the sister I marry will meet my standards as well as those of the Church.
“I know with all my heart that this church is true. I am grateful to be a part of it even though I am the only member of my family who is a Latter-day Saint. I am thankful for my priesthood and those who support me in my callings. I am grateful for our leaders who guide us through these hard times.
“I leave you this witness of the truth in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.”

Sometimes it takes a traumatic event to help us understand things of first importance. A few weeks ago we experienced one of those dramatic events that changed our lives forever and helped us realize the need to be prepared. The most frequent sentiment expressed by those directly affected by the recent terrorist attacks on the eastern coast of the United States was that all they wanted was to have their family together again. I understand this reaction.
Earlier this year, I underwent a serious surgery and spent many days in the hospital. As I pondered my life and what I would report to the Lord if I were called home, I realized with absolute clarity that the family is one of the most important responsibilities we have. I knew my greatest joy would be to have my children, grandchildren, and future great-grandchildren remain firm, steadfast, and immovable in the gospel. In those lonely moments in a dark hospital room, I realized that what we do within the walls of our homes far outweighs the things we do outside of them.

This year, Elder Monte Schofield and his wife Sister Kathy Schofield will be completing their service as a couple missionary assigned to the Manila Philippines Temple. This is the couple’s third call to serve in the country, and the fourth for Elder Schofield.
The Schofields were married in the Idaho Falls Temple in 1974 and raised a family of two boys and three girls. After retiring from working in the retail clothing business, Brother Schofield responded positively to the invitation to serve the Lord again full-time.
“I have always told my wife I wanted to come back to the Philippines and serve as a senior couple,” Elder Schofield reveals, “I love this country, and most of all the kind hearted people.” Together, the Schofields served in the Cebu City Philippines Temple (2015–2017), Philippines Olongapo Mission (2019), and lastly in the Manila Philippines Temple (2024–2025).

When I had been on my mission in Germany about a year, I was assigned to work with a brand new missionary named Elder Keeler, who had just arrived fresh from converting, so he thought, all the stewardesses on the plane from New York to Frankfurt. Within a few days of his arrival, I was called to a meeting in another city and had to leave him to work in our city with another inexperienced missionary whose companion went with me. I returned late that night. The next morning I asked him how his day had gone. He broke into an enthusiastic smile and said he had found a family who would surely join the Church. In our mission, it was rare to see anyone join the Church let alone a whole family. I asked for more details, but he had forgotten to write down either the name or the address. All he could remember was that the family lived on the top floor of a big apartment house.

“Oh, that’s great,” I thought to myself as I contemplated all those flights of stairs. He also explained that he knew so little German that he had exchanged just a few words with the woman who answered the door. But he did think she wanted us to come back—and he wanted to go find her and have me talk to her that very minute. I explained that all the people who don’t slam the door in our faces did not intend to join the Church. But we went to find her, mostly to appease him. He couldn’t remember the right street either, so we picked a street it might have been and began climbing up and down those endless polished staircases.

After a frustrating hour, I decided I had to be frank (honest) with him. Based on my many months of experience, I said, it was simply not worth our time to try any longer to find her. I had developed a tolerance for the realities of missionary work and simply knew more than he did about it. His eyes filled with tears and his lower lip began to tremble. “Elder Hafen,” he said, “I came on my mission to find the honest in heart. The Spirit told me that, that woman will be a member of the Church.” So I decided to teach him a lesson. I raced him up one staircase after another, until he was ready to fall over from exhaustion, and so was I. “Elder Keeler,” I asked, “have you had enough?” “No,” he said. “We’ve got to find her.” I began to get angry, I decided to work him until he asked to stop—then maybe he would get the message.

Then at the top of a long flight of stairs, we found the apartment. She came to the door. He thrashed my ribs with his elbow, and whispered loudly, “That’s her, Elder. That’s the one. Talk to her!”

Brothers and sisters, not long ago that woman’s husband sat in my living room. He was in Utah for general conference. He is the bishop of the Mannheim Ward. His two boys are preparing for missions. His wife and daughter are strong, active members of the Church. That is a lesson I can never forget about the limitations of the skepticism that comes with learning and experience. I hope that I will never be so aware of “reality” that I am unresponsive to the whisperings of heaven.

The Kindness Foundation, Moscow, Russia:
“Your aid was very timely and was distributed in Ivanovo and the surrounding area. Many families wished they could personally see you and express their thanksgiving to you. The children who received the beautiful clothing wanted to get to know the children who donated the clothing to them and become their friends.”

My father, who was raised in a farming village, was living in the city going to school when he met my mother. My mother was beginning her career as a professional opera singer. As they became acquainted, she introduced him to the Church. Although he had not been baptized yet, my parents married on February 18, 1967.
At the end of that year they were blessed with the arrival of my older brother. Eight months after his birth, the branch president received a revelation that the members should prepare to be led out of the country to a place where they could worship in freedom. In August 1968 the Russians invaded Czechoslovakia, creating chaos at the borders and throughout the country. The branch members who had obediently prepared escaped to Vienna, Austria.
My grandmother, who left the country with my parents, wrote: “At night when everybody in the apartment house slept, we said good-bye to our home and quietly slipped away in fear that the baby might start crying. We had to do all this in secret because we had in our building three spies who worked for the secret police. We were blessed by the Lord. We escaped. When we left we knew we [would] never return, but we didn’t know where we would go from Vienna either. At this time we couldn’t worry about it. The Lord revealed to the branch president His promises to us if we stay faithful to Him.”
My grandmother, my parents, and two other families lived in the basement of the Böcklinstrasse church building in Vienna for over a month. During this month my father took the missionary discussions and was baptized. Many members of the three families found jobs, and they pooled their wages together until they were all able to immigrate to Calgary, Alberta, Canada. Due to bad weather in Calgary, their plane landed in Edmonton on November 5, 1968.

(89) A river guide warns rafters to “stay in the boat” as they prepare for a trip through white-water rapids.

In the face of frightening danger, a young pioneer boy takes his old grandmother and injured dog for an unforgettable river ride on his homemade log raft.

In the early days of the Church in Cambodia, one of the first converts was 18-year-old Vietnam native Phuong Hong Hanh. She first attended church in July 1994 because she was interested in learning English but she was soon converted to the gospel. “I knew it was right,” she said.

Dean has had encouragement along the way. “You know, I had a favorite teacher in high school who was also my bishop. He said to me, ‘Listen, Dean. Now is the time for you to paint. I know you’d like to go out and play basketball or baseball and you’d like to be with the rest of your friends; but I’ll promise you that if you will do the art that you feel strongly about now, someday you’ll be able to play while your friends work.’ And you know, this has really come true. Now when I want to go somewhere I go—Alaska, New York, or down south. I’ll never have to worry about a job, I guess. My paintings are selling and I can say in them what I have to say. This is my form of communication. This is me, and if people like my art, they like me. I guess I have the best life in this world, because my fun is my work and my work is fun.”

Matt, Joey, Isaac, and Liza had spent a whole week at Grandma and Grandpa’s house with their parents. They had played at the park, visited the river, and seen the last patches of snow melting in the mountains. They also went to a children’s museum, read books at the library, and watched a funny movie. It had been a good trip.
“Are we leaving tomorrow?” Liza asked on the last night of their vacation.
“Yes,” Mom said. “But we don’t have to leave until after lunch. Maybe we can do something fun together in the morning.”
“Shopping?” Matt asked. He was hoping to search the second-hand store for treasures.
“I have a different idea,” Mom said. She pointed out the window at the garden. Spring was almost over, but most of the things growing in the garden were weeds. Last year’s grapevines draped over a fence. One fuzzy, pale green plant had started an army of little shoots just like itself. Matt remembered that plant—lamb’s ear. He helped Grandpa choose it a few years ago.
“Don’t you think we’d have fun helping Grandma and Grandpa get their garden ready for summer?” Mom asked. Nobody said a word. “Think about all the nice things Grandma and Grandpa have done for you. Wouldn’t you like to do something kind for them? I know you’re all good workers, and they’d be thankful for your help.”
Matt didn’t think working sounded like fun, but he did want to help his grandparents.
After breakfast the next day, Grandpa gave each person a job. Mom used big clippers to trim the grapevines. Liza pulled weeds, Isaac lined up smooth stones around the edges of a new flowerbed, Joey carried weeds and grapevine trimmings to a compost pile, and Matt helped Grandpa and Dad dig up the little lamb’s ear plants so they could be planted in new places in the garden.
Soon the sun was high in the sky. “I think we’ve put in a good morning’s work,” Grandpa said.
The garden looked much different than it had earlier that morning. Matt was amazed they had done so much work.
“Everybody, go clean up for lunch,” Mom said. “After we eat it will be time to go home.”
After lunch, Mom and Dad buckled the children into the car. Grandma and Grandpa came out to say good-bye.
“Thank you for all your hard work,” Grandma said. “It would have taken us a lot longer to do it all by ourselves.”
Grandpa leaned into the car and handed Matt a big, sealed plastic bag. When Matt looked closely, he realized it was one of the small lamb’s ear plants surrounded by dirt.
“Remember when you chose that plant, Matt?” Grandpa asked. “I thought you’d like to have one for your own garden.”
Matt looked at Mom. “Can we put it in our flowerbed in the front yard?” he asked.
“Sure, Matt. Then you’ll see it every day,” Mom said.
“Awesome,” Matt said. “And every time I see it, I’ll remember working in Grandma and Grandpa’s garden.”

Cindy Shufeldt of Jackson, Wyoming, demonstrates the missionary potential of the New Era in her letter: “The New Era really brightens my day. Just recently I read one through from cover to cover and then lent it to a girl friend. She quickly devoured every word, and then I took it to my place of employment—the Jackson Hole Playhouse Theatre—where it was passed around one evening. One of the guys in the cast adopted it, and I haven’t seen it since! I am an investigator of the Church, and I can’t express in words how much the New Era has helped me in my studies. In fact, you may wish to know that I plan to be baptized.”

Many people qualify as heroes in my life, but one great example to me was a little cocker spaniel dog named Pepper.
I remember the day that my Aunt Madge gave Pepper to my brother, Max, and me. Pepper was a tiny black puppy, and we were thrilled to have him. He had a long, heavy tail, and long ears that nearly touched the ground.
One day Pepper was seriously injured by an automobile. His shoulder was crushed, and afterward he always walked with just one of his front legs. He was a funny-looking little dog. My friends all made fun of Pepper, but my brother and I loved him. He was our loyal friend.
I was born with some birth defects that required several major surgeries on my left leg during my childhood. I couldn’t run and play like the other children. When I was twelve, I was in an accident that left my leg so badly broken that I had to use crutches or a wheelchair for the next six months.
One day as I was hobbling with my crutches to the local grocery store, I was attacked by a large dog. He bit me on the legs and arms and knocked me to the ground. I remember screaming for help but thinking that no one could hear me. Suddenly a little black figure came flying into the fight and began to defend me. It was a savage battle between a crippled little cocker spaniel and a ferocious, much larger dog. Pepper gave me enough time to get one of my crutches and join the battle. Together we were able to chase the dog away.
Pepper and I were both hurt, Pepper much worse than I. He suffered from his injuries for many days, but he did finally heal.
Pepper—my gentle, little crippled friend. He was quite willing to give his life for me. I learned a great deal about friendship from the example of this little black dog. He didn’t require a single thing in return for his love and loyalty. He was pleased just to be patted on the head and treated with kindness. Maybe in some way I can return Pepper’s gift by remembering him and following his example of friendship. Because of Pepper, I have tried to be a loyal and devoted friend myself.