Gospel Story Finder

Peter McBride was a six-year-old boy who was probably hungrier, colder, and more exhausted than you have ever been. But he couldn’t go inside to warm up or buy food at the store. He could only go inside his tent, which collapsed on him one night and froze to his hair. He could only eat whatever he could find, like boiled ox hide and tree bark. Peter was a member of the Edward Martin Handcart Company.
Members of this company had come from faraway England. Problems delayed their journey to the Salt Lake Valley, and by October they were running out of food. All Peter and his baby sister were given to eat was a little flour each day. Early winter storms came, making pulling a handcart very difficult. Many were dying from cold and exhaustion.
When they came to the North Platte River, Peter said his father “worked hard all day pushing and pulling handcarts through the icy waters of that dangerous river,” helping people reach the other side. Peter’s father had a beautiful singing voice, and before he went to bed that night, he sang about how he longed to be in Zion. “The wind was blowing very cold,” Peter described. “The snow drifted in and covered our tent.”1 The next morning, Peter’s father was dead. Peter cried as he watched his father’s body being buried beneath the snow.
Peter’s older sister Jenetta was left in charge because their mother was sick. Jenetta often walked to the river to get water for cooking, even though her shoes had worn out. Her bare feet left bloody footprints in the snow wherever she went. Realizing they could go no further, the company camped near the Sweetwater River and hoped that help would arrive before it was too late.
A group of missionaries returning home to the Salt Lake Valley passed the struggling pioneers and told Brigham Young about them. Immediately, he called for 20 rescue wagons to be sent. At last, Peter and the pioneers joyfully caught sight of the wagons approaching. Peter said that “men, women, and children knelt down and thanked the Almighty God for [their] delivery from certain death.”2
The rescue teams could not carry enough food and supplies to relieve all the suffering, but they helped give the pioneers courage to continue. Together, they crossed the Sweetwater River and found shelter amid the rocks now known as Martin’s Cove. There, most of the company left their handcarts behind. The weakest pioneers rode in the wagons, and others walked until more wagons came, giving enough room for everyone to ride the rest of the way. On November 30, 1856, Peter and the handcart pioneers arrived safely in the Salt Lake Valley—where they remained faithful Church members for the rest of their lives.

Little is known about Margaret’s life after that seminal meeting in March 1842. In 1844, she married widower John Reid Blanchard, who had five living children; they then had four children together. The family had moved to Iowa, USA, by 1850 and then journeyed to the Salt Lake Valley, where the couple was sealed on February 6, 1853.8 The family lived in Farmington, Davis County, Utah Territory, by 1860.9

I know many of you privately extend your loving and saving hands each day. This includes a faithful Relief Society sister who cares not only for the sisters whom she is assigned to visit teach but also any sisters who are sick or otherwise in need of help. She visits often and for years has strengthened the faith of many. I reflect on a bishop who often visited the widows and widowers in his ward. This pattern of help continued for many years after his release.

It was a cold spring in Denmark. I had just begun my full-time mission, and my testimony was struggling. I was a convert of only 19 months and full of insecurities about facing a foreign country, a language I couldn’t speak, and a maze of streets I couldn’t fathom navigating. My once gratitude-filled prayers soon became sour accusations: “God, why have you left me all alone?”
One morning I pled with Him in prayer. But instead of asking “why” with anger in my heart, I begged for a witness of the gospel’s truth and suppression of my doubts.
After praying, I flipped my scriptures open. I landed on Deuteronomy 31:6: “Be strong and of a good courage, fear not, nor be afraid of them: for the Lord thy God, he it is that doth go with thee; he will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.”
My heart was full of joy as I realized the answer to my prayer: God had been there all along. He was simply waiting for sincere prayer rather than accusations of abandonment.
God will never leave me, even when all seems hopeless. And we can feel His sunshine through prayer and His scriptures.
Clayton E., Texas, USA

Back in 1979, President Russell M. Nelson attended a meeting where President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) charged them to pray that the doors of nations would be opened so that the gospel of Jesus Christ could be brought to all people on earth.
President Nelson extended that same invitation to you. “My fourth invitation is for you to pray daily that all of God’s children might receive the blessings of the gospel of Jesus Christ,” said President Nelson. “You and I are living to see, and will continue to see, Israel gathered with great power. And you can be part of the power behind that gathering!”

My father was 69 years old when he passed away. I happened to be with him when he suddenly collapsed. Soon after, he was gone.
I often think about my father. I miss him.

George Pierce Billings was only seven years old, but no one had told him to go to bed. Never before had he been allowed to stay up so late. He was beginning to wish that he could go to bed, but the air was thick with suspense and fear. Sleep was impossible.
Father had taken his wagon down to the river time and time again. George had wanted to ride along, but there was no room. Father was helping people move out of Independence, Missouri, before morning. Angry men had threatened to burn anything and anybody still there when the sun rose.
George kept checking the night sky. Father had been gone a long time, and Mother was still busy packing. George was worried. His job was to watch his little sister, but he was watching for sunrise, too.
Four-year-old Eunice was getting very tired. Leaning against the wooden porch, George cradled her small curly-haired head in his lap and thought about their Missouri home. He had been only five when they had come, and they had planned to stay forever. He had watched and tried to help his father clear the land. Together, they had built this home and the barn. Father had planted crops on most of the 34 acres, not only for his family, but also for the many new Saints who would not have time to raise a crop that season. George liked Missouri. He liked playing in the trees. He liked catching fireflies. “Even the fireflies must be sleeping now,” he thought.
Then he remembered the big fire. Father had cut 24 tons of hay and hauled it six miles to the property rented by Bishop Partridge from Governor Boggs. He had stacked it there in a long, tall pile. Then, last month, someone had set it on fire and burned it to the ground. George felt sorry for his father.
The night was very dark. Where was Father? Why didn’t he come to get them?
George thought he heard an explosion. Light flashed, but he couldn’t tell where it had come from. In fear, he jumped to his feet, startling Eunice. Light exploded all around him. No, it was above him, high above him—higher than any cannon or musket could fire. George could not believe his eyes! They were fixed on lights in the heavens bursting and streaming across the sky.
George rushed into the house, Eunice right behind him. “Mother! Mother! The sky is on fire!” Mother pulled them close. “Have the mobs come for us already?” she cried.
“No, Mother, no!” George pulled her to the doorway. “It’s not the mobs, Mother. It’s a miracle from Heavenly Father!”
And so it was. The heavens danced with a glorious meteor shower for the rest of the night. Stars raced back and forth across the November sky, lighting the way for the fleeing Saints. In the miraculous light, George saw his father’s wagon returning. Cheered and strengthened by the heavenly signs, George’s family and many others safely settled themselves along the Missouri River banks before sunrise. The meteor showers continued until dawn.

By 9:00 her morning work was done, and she was kneeling in her chrysanthemums, acting very busy with weeding, looking for any evil little bug that would bring harm to her small, delicate beings. Her thoughts kept wandering to the events that had happened just last week.

Her morning had started as usual, but at 7:30 her phone rang and it was bad news from her daughter. Her grandson, one of those with the long hair and bad habits, had been involved in what started as a stay-out-of-Africa rally and ended in a blood bath between students with rocks, signs, and knives and a local garrison of guardsmen with their clubs, shields, and guns. The rally ended with one dead national guard member and five dead students, of which her grandson had been one.

The shock lingered long after the telephone call. She sat staring at the kitchen wall for an hour, and finally she had dragged herself down to her flowers. There she sat, trying to forget.

All the boys and girls on our street went to Primary except me. Dad was a Latter-day Saint but not active. And Mother was very active in her own church.
I was about five when I first began to feel left out of things. My friends asked me to go to Primary with them, and I kept asking Mom if I could go but she would always say no.
One day after I had coaxed her for awhile, she finally said yes. And after that I went to Primary every week. When I would come home excited about what we had done and what we had learned, I noticed that Mom seemed to like to hear what I could tell her about Primary.

Here’s a second story, closer to home: As a young boy, I often saw my mom as the rule maker. She decided when I could play and when I had to go to bed or, worse, pull weeds in the yard.
She obviously loved me. But too often and to my shame, I saw her only as “She Who Must Be Obeyed.”
Only years later did I come to see her as a real person. I am embarrassed that I never really noticed her sacrifice or wondered why for years she only ever wore the same two old skirts (while I got new school clothes) or why, at the end of the day, she was so tired and eager for me to go to bed early.

Young Women in the Scotch Plains Ward, Morristown New Jersey Stake, went out on a limb for scripture study. What started out as a project for the “Experiment upon the Word” program has turned into a growing tradition.
Each girl set a goal for personal scripture study and wrote it on a piece of fruit made from construction paper. For each week that she reached her goal, every girl put a leaf on the tree, which is now loaded with them!
“Reading the scriptures has helped me in my life. It has made me feel more peaceful, and it has given me more faith in the gospel,” says one Beehive.
“Experiment upon the Word” has ended, but the girls in Scotch Plains are still adding leaves to their tree and building testimonies that are firmly rooted in the scriptures.

The Trouble With Tuck Tuck, a lovable golden Labrador, saved Helen’s life twice! Then, in a way, Helen saved Tuck’s life too. This story, with its happy ending, is based on true events.Theodore Taylor9–12 years

More than one thousand years after Nephi and Mormon wrote and compiled their records on metal plates, 116 pages of Joseph Smith’s translation of those records were lost. Thankfully, Joseph Smith was still able to include a record of Nephi’s people in the Book of Mormon because two ancient prophets had followed God’s commands without knowing why.

Early in our marriage my wife and I attended school in the northeastern United States, where winters are harsh and road salt is plentiful. After several winters, the body of our old car began to corrode, culminating with a passenger stepping through the floor of the car. With optimism I purchased some sheets of aluminum and pop rivets, and we called my parents to see if we could visit that weekend and work on the car.
We arrived late Friday night, and my father and I got up early on Saturday to work on the car floor. We pulled back the rubber mats and started looking for sound metal to which we could fasten the metal sheets. Our search revealed nothing but corroded metal. We looked at each other silently, replaced the mats, and went to breakfast.
After we made the slow and careful five-hour drive back to our apartment, the phone was ringing when we walked in. Mom had decided that she “needed” a new car and wondered if we would like her old one. My dad cautioned that the car was three years old and had many miles on it. My mom then joked that it couldn’t be too bad—it had been driven by a full-tithe payer. We laughed, and after we hung up the phone, we danced around the apartment in honor of this bit of manna from heaven.

Justin A., 5, Utah, loves the Friend so much he created his own. He colored pictures and wrote stories about the prophet, the temple, and being a friend. He also put in games, a family home evening page, a recipe, and even hid a CTR ring inside.

We built a testimony tower for family home evening (June 2015). Each block represented something that helped our testimonies grow. Last week we both shared our testimonies. Sharing it helps ours to be strengthened. Thanks for the great idea!

An evening of sharing that emphasized the similarities in people and helped to create a better understanding of the differences was sponsored by the Monument Park Third Ward, Salt Lake Foothill Stake, last November. Several weeks of planning and preparation resulted in a lively carnival and dance for 65 handicapped persons from the Salt Lake Work Activity Center.
The youth leaders of the priest and Laurel groups, Tom Green and Kay Nilson, visited the center to get acquainted with the adults and to gain some insight into what they could and could not do. After that, Tom and Kay reported to the ward Young Men-Young Women committee their observations and ideas. Then plans were made, committees were formed, and in addition, each Mutual class was given responsibility to plan and construct one carnival booth.
The night of the party, the cultural hall took on a festive, carnival atmosphere, with brightly colored, hand-lettered signs announcing the events. A long line soon formed at the bowling area, as everyone seemed to want to try his hand at knocking down the pins. The relay race consisted of participants, many of them in wheelchairs, throwing footballs through suspended hoops. Other events included a beanbag toss, fish pond, tennis ball toss, and a beauty parlor. Another popular booth was the hammer-and-nail drive where participants hammered a nail into a wooden plank. The highlight of the evening, however, was the dance. The young people earned the money to pay for a live band by making the desserts for an elders quorum party. Once the music started, everyone joined in the dancing, including those in wheelchairs, who were assisted by the young people.
A rewarding part of the evening was to see the excitement the handicapped persons exhibited when they won a prize, the pride they felt at being successful. Nancy Straider, the adviser from the center who accompanied them, said, “This has been such a wonderful experience for them! Some who are really reluctant to participate and who are usually afraid of strangers are getting involved tonight and having a great time.”
Each young person was assigned to be a special companion to one of the guests, and they really took the assignment seriously, seeing that their guests had an enjoyable time. By the time the last booth was taken down and the final cup of punch finished, all agreed it had been an evening of sharing that will be long remembered by those who participated.

Going on a mission is hard. However, coming home from a mission is just as hard, especially when you come home earlier than planned. You worry about what others will say or how they will act around you. Will they be judgmental? Disappointed? Awkward? You worry that you’ll feel like you weren’t good enough or strong enough. You wonder if something is wrong with you or if you made the wrong decision in even going. I worried about all of these things.
When I decided to serve a mission, I was thrilled. I knew it was what the Lord wanted me to do. The next few months were some of the happiest of my life, and after having a great experience at the missionary training center, I thought the rest of my mission in Argentina would follow suit. It didn’t.
I struggled with anxiety, fear, and hopelessness on my mission—things I had never experienced before, at least to the degree I was experiencing then. My mission president tried everything to help me. Eventually, I decided to go home. That decision was easy to make in the moment, but back at home, all those questions above started looming over me.
I learned that over time though, the Savior brings both healing and perspective if you sincerely seek both. I firmly believe that there is a lesson to be learned in all of life’s experiences, whether they are good or bad. And in the Lord’s time, He taught me some valuable lessons that I now treasure.
Going on a mission was the right thing for me. But for whatever reason, I wasn’t meant to stay for 18 months. God has another plan for me. I still don’t fully know where my life is heading, but I’m OK with that. What I do know is that I’m doing what He wants me to be doing now. During my four months in Argentina, my testimony and conversion deepened. I met incredible people, and I must have touched the lives He wanted me to touch. I no longer regret my experience or wish it had been different. It was exactly what I needed and has become sacred to me.
I recently read a talk by Elder Neal A. Maxwell (1926–2004) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles that put my experience into perspective. He said:
“One’s life . . . cannot be both faith-filled and stress-free. . . .
“Therefore, how can you and I really expect to glide naively through life, as if to say, ‘Lord, give me experience, but not grief, not sorrow, not pain, not opposition, not betrayal, and certainly not to be forsaken. Keep from me, Lord, all those experiences which made Thee what Thou art! Then let me come and dwell with Thee and fully share Thy joy!’” (“Lest Ye Be Wearied and Faint in Your Minds,” Ensign, May 1991, 88).
The Savior didn’t become who He is in spite of the trials He faced. He became who He is because of those trials. They helped shape His perfect character, and they gave Him the ability to feel the joy He feels now. I feel privileged to have had a character-shaping experience. It wasn’t what I asked for; it certainly wasn’t what I wanted; but God knows my potential, and He wants me to share His joy. That joy is something I cannot comprehend without also knowing grief, sorrow, pain, and opposition. Coming home early was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever gone through, but with perspective and the Savior’s help, it now seems like a small price to pay for what I gained in return.

A conversation in another lesson teaches leaders how to meet with parents and introduce the Personal Progress program. Viewers watch a ward Young Women president ask Maria about her future goals and then suggest how Personal Progress could help her reach those goals.

It was a bomb that helped convince Yvonne Fitzpatrick of Northern Ireland that Heavenly Father loved her and was looking after her—or the threat of a bomb, anyway.
Yvonne’s mother had been taking the missionary discussions, and Yvonne had been listening in. On the afternoon following her mother’s baptism, the two decided to go shopping in Crown Alley, Dublin. When they returned home that evening, they turned on the news and heard that bombs had been planted in Crown Alley, but none had gone off.
“I was convinced that someone was looking out for us that day,” Yvonne says. “Today, here I am a member of the Church and a Sunday School teacher.” Yvonne is active in the Kilkenny Branch.