Gospel Story Finder

Anyone over the age of 18 can enter and do it; President Russell M. Nelson has said:
“Being educated is the difference between wishing you could do some good and being able to do some good.
“Often people ask me what it’s like to be a doctor. They ask, ‘How long were you in school?’ Well, it was a long time. From the time I got my medical degree until the time I sent my first bill for professional services rendered was 12½ years. It was a long time, but how old would I have been 12½ years later if I weren’t doing that? Exactly the same. So, you might as well strive to become all that you can become.
“My medical education is what allowed me to perform a heart operation on President Spencer W. Kimball (1895-1985) in 1972. So don’t discount knowledge. The glory of God really is intelligence (see D&C 93:36).”1

I remember an occasion when I was hospitalized for an illness, and it was difficult for me to sleep. When I turned off the lights and the room became dark, I saw a reflective sign on the ceiling in front of me that said, “Call, don’t fall.” To my surprise, the next day I observed the same message repeated in several parts of the room.
Why was that message so important? When I asked the nurse about it, she said, “It is to prevent a blow that might increase the pain you already have.”

Friday was fish day, and Emily always went to the market with her mother on Fridays to buy their supper. Today Emily’s mother had given her a penny to buy a sugar cake. The two of them walked down the narrow streets because Mother couldn’t afford to hire a carriage. But Emily didn’t mind. She enjoyed swinging the grocery basket, watching the ladies sweep by in their long skirts, and hearing the clobble-clobble of horse hooves.
A boy selling newspapers yelled, “Read all about it!”
Emily glanced at the date on the newspaper as they passed by—October 14, 1865.
“Mama!” she cried. “Tomorrow’s Papa’s birthday!”
“I know,” Mother said. “I’m going to make his favorite dish for his birthday supper—steak-and-kidney pie.”
“But what about me?” Emily asked. “What can I give him?”
“You could read to him,” Mother suggested. “He loves listening to you read Mr. Dickens’s stories. He says it’s very restful after a long day in the mill.”
“But I can read to him anytime,” Emily said. Then she remembered the penny in her hand. What can I buy for a penny? she wondered.
When they arrived at the market, Emily felt a rush of excitement. The stalls were filled with all kinds of things! Fishmongers swiftly cleaned fresh fish with their flashing silver knives. A baker held his stick of piping hot sugar cakes high in the air.
“Run along,” Mother said. “But meet me in an hour by the greengrocer’s stall.”
Emily raced off. Seeing a hurdy-gurdy man playing his organ-grinder, she laughed when a monkey in a tiny red jacket held out his tin cup. But she didn’t stop to listen because she wanted to hold on to her penny.
There must be something I can buy for Papa’s birthday, she thought.
Dogs darted in and out of the crowd. She remembered how much Papa admired collies. “I’d love to own one,” he had said. “But it’s hard to keep a dog in the city. One of these days—if we’re lucky—we’ll move to the country.”
Papa’s always saying that, Emily thought. If only my penny could buy us a cottage in the country—one with a white fence around it and a little garden!
But Emily was only day-dreaming, and it was almost time to meet her mother. Emily’s wandering had taken her to the end of Market Street. As she turned to go back, something caught her eye. The last stall stood apart from the others. Behind a counter filled with spices and strange-looking vegetables was an old Oriental man. He wore a golden satin jacket with a high collar, and on his feet was a pair of embroidered slippers the same color as his jacket.
Those slippers! Emily wanted a pair just like them for Papa. She imagined him sitting in front of the fire with his slippered feet propped up while she read to him from Mr. Dickens’s stories.
She walked up boldly to the Chinaman’s stall. “Excuse me,” she said. “Where did you buy those slippers you’re wearing?”
“My daughter-in-law makes slippers,” he replied in a papery-dry voice. “Very fine.”
“Yes, they are,” Emily agreed. “I would like to buy a pair like them for my papa’s birthday.”
The old man smiled. “Ah, a present for your papa. Well, little missy, how much money do you have?”
Emily held out her penny.
The Chinaman’s smile was not so wide now. “Oh, my,” he said. “My daughter-in-law charges much more than that. She uses the finest satin, and she spends many hours embroidering.”
“That’s all right,” Emily said, turning away to hide her disappointment. Her elbow knocked over a little cage on the counter.
“I’m sorry!” she cried, setting the tiny bamboo cage upright again. She smiled when she saw what was inside. “A cricket! Why do you have a cricket in a cage?” she asked.
The old man replied, “It makes very fine music. In China emperors keep crickets in cages made of ivory or jade. But for Li-Fu, bamboo is just as fine. When my cricket sings, it reminds me of my home.”
A cricket! Emily tried hard to remember something she had read …
She offered her penny again. “I know it’s not much, Mr. Li-Fu, but I would love to give this cricket to my papa for his birthday.”
The old man thought for a moment. “Done!” he said finally. He handed Emily the tiny cage.
“The cage too?” she asked.
“It is the cricket’s home. Consider it a present from me.”
Smiling her thanks, Emily pressed the penny into his wrinkled palm. Then, carefully carrying the cage, she hurried to find her mother.
The next night Emily couldn’t sit still through supper. She picked at her steak-and-kidney pie until Father said, “You’re bursting with a secret, Emily. What is it?”
Emily ran out of the room and returned with her hands hidden behind her back.
“Happy Birthday, Papa!” With one hand she presented him with the tiny cage.
“What on earth?” He stared at the cricket in the bamboo cage.
With her other hand, Emily revealed a book and flipped it open. “Your gift is explained in one of Mr. Dickens’s stories. See? Right here it says, ‘A cricket on the hearth is the luckiest thing in the world.’”
“Mr. Dickens is usually right,” Papa said. “We’ll keep our lucky cricket here by the fire where it belongs.” He set the cage on the mantle. “But I’m already the luckiest man in the world to have such a wonderful wife and daughter.”
From its perch on the mantle the cricket chirped, as if in agreement.

Illustration by Gary Alfonso
One day my grandmother asked me to take some food she had prepared to my aunt. It was a hot Saturday afternoon, and there were a lot of other things I wanted to do instead of go on an errand for my grandmother. I told her to ask one of my cousins to go instead, but she insisted that it should be me.
An hour passed, and I began to feel that I should do what my grandmother had asked. I picked up the food and made my way to my aunt’s house. It was far away, and when I arrived, I didn’t plan on staying long.
I found my aunt and her five-month-old baby in a hammock tied to two young mango trees. The trees were beside a river that ran behind the house. I walked toward them to deliver the food. Suddenly, the ropes to the hammock broke. My aunt and her baby rolled into the river. Fear gripped me. I didn’t know how to swim, and no one was around to help. I didn’t know what to do.
Immediately, I heard the voice of the Spirit: “Jump in!”
Without a second thought, I jumped. Fortunately, I found the baby in just a couple of seconds, and my aunt was able to get out of the water. As I came out of the water with the baby, I couldn’t believe what had just happened. I jumped in a river when I didn’t know how to swim, but because I listened to the Spirit, my baby cousin and I were saved from drowning.
I realized how important it is to recognize and listen to the direction and inspiration that God gives to us through the Holy Ghost. I am grateful that I eventually did what my grandmother asked and took the food to my aunt’s house. I know we must make efforts to be sensitive to spiritual promptings so we can be the hands of God to help His children.

I have always enjoyed sports. When I was growing up, my home in Tremonton, Utah, was a gathering place for the boys in the neighborhood, and we loved to play softball and football in the pasture and basketball in the yard.
As a young man, I was invited to be on a semiprofessional baseball team. I was thrilled! But I soon found out that the games would be on Sunday. I talked with my father, probably trying to persuade him that it would be OK because I would still be able to go to my Church meetings, then play baseball in the evening. My father listened carefully and then asked me to think about how my decision might affect my friends and others who might be watching.
I thought about that advice, and I knew what I should do. I turned down the offer to play on the team. It wasn’t an easy decision, but it was one I have never regretted. Ever since, I have tried to remember that the way I choose to live my life can affect others.

One day I went to the store with my mom. I was wearing my patent leather shoes that I call my “church shoes” because I usually wear them only on Sunday. I was very proud of my shiny shoes. The lady who was helping my mom noticed me wiggling my feet and asked me about my shoes. When I told her they were my church shoes, she asked me which church I attended. I looked at my mom because I wasn’t sure I could remember the full name of the Church, and I wanted to make sure I said it right. My mom reminded me of my favorite Primary song. I sang, “I belong to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints” (Children’s Songbook, 77). The lady smiled and told me that was great. I’m glad the song helped me to remember the Church’s name.

His parents divorced when he was 11, and his mother moved to Hawaii. A year later, Peter joined the Nation of Islam and became a Muslim. This association provided guidance and support and prepared him to embrace the gospel of Jesus Christ.

On 27 June 1854, Rosa Clara had her first baby, a little girl, named Annie Augusta after President Farnham. When little Annie Augusta was fourteen months old, the family sailed from Sydney with a company of Saints on the Julia Ann, bound for California. Disaster struck four weeks later.
On the evening of 3 October 1855, Rosa Clara put her baby to bed while some of the pioneering Church members sang hymns on the deck. Suddenly the vessel struck a coral reef. For a little while, confusion reigned. Then, one of the ship’s crew swam to the reef and managed to fasten a rope. With a sling, the captain prepared to ferry the women and children one at a time to the reef.
No one knew what lay ahead in the pitch-black night. The women were afraid. Finally Rosa Clara, not yet eighteen, volunteered to be the first. Hurriedly, she helped tie baby Ann securely to Charles’s back in a brown woolen shawl and readied herself to be taken to the reef. But then, before Rosa Clara’s horrified eyes, her husband and baby were swept overboard by the huge seas. One of the sailors rescued them unharmed.
With enormous courage, then, in leaving her family on the wreck, Rosa Clara climbed onto the captain’s lap and was pulled, hand over hand, to the reef. Here the captain left her standing barefoot on the sharp coral, chest-deep in the sea, with the surf breaking on the reef. She stayed alone and in darkness while he returned for the other women. Gradually, most of the company, including Charles and baby Ann, arrived safely. But not all were so fortunate. Two little girls were washed off the deck and were lost; two women and a small baby drowned in their cabin.
When daylight arrived, the crew made a raft from timber and nails salvaged from the wreck. They managed to get the passengers from the reef to a small island, which became their home for the next eight weeks.
A barrel of hard biscuits and a chest of tea retrieved from the ship, as well as coconuts, fish, turtle meat, and eggs sustained everyone. They formed coconut shells into drinking vessels. With a large silk skirt also salvaged from the wreck, Charles Loge fashioned a tent for Rosa Clara, who was ill, and baby Ann crawled around playing happily in the sand. After repairing the ship’s boat, some of the crew rowed more than 300 kilometers to the Society islands (Tahiti) for help.
The Loge family and others were taken off the island two months after the wreck, finally arriving in San Francisco. There, Elder George Q. Cannon presented Rosa Clara with a small pewter teapot in recognition of her bravery in being the first to go to the reef. The teapot is a treasured family heirloom today, together with a carved coconut-shell drinking vessel and a handmade nail from the Julia Ann.

I was grateful for that school year to end. The summer was a welcome escape from my old friends who didn’t understand why they saw less and less of me. I knew that the less I saw of them the easier it would be to begin repenting. Every day was a constant struggle. But, by the following August, I ended my relationships with all of those old friends. Some of them didn’t care. Some hated me and my new religion. Some were hurt and just didn’t understand. But I understood, and I knew that from then on I would always be different.

Let me illustrate: Several years ago, while teaching a course in American literature at Brigham Young University, I assigned a famous novel, a book familiar to many students, a book that I found to be, when I first read it after my mission, a thought-provoking, stimulating, uplifting, and essentially spiritual book, a book of “good report.” I had read and studied the book without feeling my delicate relationship with the Holy Spirit bruised in the least. I was surprised, then, when a lovely young female student approached me after class, with tears in her eyes, to confess that the first few pages of the book had so upset her that she could not continue reading what she felt to be indecent literature. Although it was not what I considered an “indecent” book, by any standard, I saw that her relationship with the Holy Spirit had apparently been harmed by exposure to this book, and I promptly asked her to read, instead, another book by the same author. Still concerned about the assignment, I queried other students. At their various levels of development they had found the book generally unobjectionable. Indeed, one of the students, a returned missionary, thanked me for the opportunity of reading the book, for he had met many people in his missionary experiences who resembled characters in the book, and the novel had opened to him, he insisted, new insights into those people and new vistas regarding life in general. The occasionally earthy (not obscene) language had not troubled him, for he had heard such language and dismissed it; instead, he had thrilled to the portrait that the author had penned of children of God on a troubled journey through a life full of wrong turns and dead ends that arose because the characters were having to learn, the hard way, of the need to be in harmony with eternal principles. The young man was ready for the book. In fact, when I told him of his classmate’s response to the novel, he asked, “Have we both been reading the same book?”

The book was as different as the experience that each student brought to it. The young lady was on a level of development that prevented her from seeing beyond some of the rawness described in the work; the alternate selection was more suited for her personal development, and she was delighted by her insights into that novel. Perhaps there would come a point when she would be ready for the other book. There had surely been a point in the returned missionary’s life, as in mine, when we, too, would have been unable to see beyond some of the rawness of life as depicted in the book to the genuine beauty and truth of the work. The young lady was right in rejecting the book. The returned missionary was right in reading it. Finding that self-understanding which enables us to make careful and proper selections which will not discourage the Holy Spirit from remaining with us is part of reaching for spiritual maturity. Enroute to such maturity, most of us make some mistakes, along with a lot of right decisions.

Every day the fishermen of Visakhapatnam, India, sail out to sea. Most days the waves are gentle, the ocean is kind, and the boats return laden with fish. Occasionally, however, the waters turn rough. Skies darken, menacing waves rise, and the fishermen rejoice just to return safely to their harbor.
Every day the Latter-day Saint youth of Visakhapatnam set out into the world. Most days life treats them well. They gain knowledge, make friends, and return home filled with the joy of life. Occasionally, however, the world turns rough. Discouragement pounds like waves, temptation towers tall, and doubt darkens the spiritual sky. On those days they rejoice as they return safely to their havens of peace, harbors they call home.
Every day the fishing boats sail out from Visakhapatnam. Every day the youth of the Visakhapatnam First, Second, and Gajuwaka Branches set out into the world. All of them can return safely to a familiar harbor. But in the case of the Latter-day Saints, it is a harbor that’s not only safe for now but also secure for eternity.

When I was a student in dental school, the financial outlook of our local economy was not very encouraging. Inflation dramatically decreased the value of currency from one day to the next.
I remember the year when I was to enroll in surgery practices; I needed to have all the necessary surgical equipment before enrolling that semester. My parents saved the needed funds. But one night something dramatic happened. We went to buy the equipment, only to discover that the amount of money we had to buy all the equipment now was sufficient to buy only a pair of surgical tweezers—and nothing else. We returned home with empty hands and with heavy hearts at the thought of my losing a semester of college. Suddenly, however, my mother said, “Taylor, come with me; let’s go out.”
We went downtown where there were many places that buy and sell jewelry. When we arrived at one store, my mother took out of her purse a small blue velvet bag containing a beautiful gold bracelet with an inscription that read, “To my dear daughter from your father.” It was a bracelet that my grandfather had given her on one of her birthdays. Then, before my eyes, she sold it.
When she received the money, she told me, “If there is one thing I am sure of, it is that you are going to be a dentist. Go and buy all the equipment you need.” Now, can you imagine what kind of student I became from that moment on? I wanted to be the best and finish my studies soon because I knew the high cost of the sacrifice she was making.
I learned that the sacrifices our loved ones make for us refresh us like cool water in the middle of the desert. Such sacrifice brings hope and motivation.

Great friendships, of course, can be formed at any age.

Sean C., a 16-year-old from southern Utah, USA, knows how to be a friend as well as a home teacher. Sean has a broad range of interests that include competing in rodeo, wrestling, working with cattle, and repairing cars. He also loves cultivating friendships with the people he home teaches.

“I love talking to people and seeing what I can do to help them,” Sean says.

His home teaching companion is the bishop of their ward. In one home they visit, the wife is a member of the Church and the husband is not. Sean connected with the husband, Floyd, on their very first visit. As Floyd began talking about his Jeep, Sean perked up. “We just clicked,” says Sean.

In the year that Sean and the bishop have visited Floyd and his wife, Sean has strengthened those friendships—including helping Floyd work on engines from time to time.

One of Sean’s favorite scriptures is about service: “When ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God” (Mosiah 2:17).

Sean explains, “Everybody needs to be looking out to find ways to serve.”

Michael Greenstreet, a priest from Pylesville, Maryland, represents the 38,000 students in his school district as a member of the school board. Being a part of the board will include meetings, votes, and social activities—things that will make being a member of this board anything but boring.

In an October general conference, Sister Grassli, the Primary General President, reported: “Nine-year-old Matt spoke in church about something he had learned from the scriptures that brought him peace. He said, ‘When my father told our family that we would be moving from Denver to Wisconsin, my mother reminded us of Lehi’s family. Like them, I was leaving the only home I had known, all my friends, my school, my ward. Luckily we were able to bring all our possessions with us, though they were in storage for three months, and we missed having a house and our “precious things.”
“‘My mother reminded us of how Nephi accepted this challenge—willingly—knowing that the Lord would “prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them” (See 1 Ne. 3:7.)
“‘I have learned that I can do without things, but not without my family. My brotheres and sisters and I have tried to be more like Nephi than his complaining brothers. I am grateful for the things that the Book of Mormon teaches us.’” (Ensign, November 1988, page 79.)
Matt was comforted by the story of Lehi’s family from the Book of Mormon. As you read or listen to stories from the scriptures, which of the stories bring you peace?

Put yourself in this situation: Imagine that a devastating plague is sweeping across your country. Your family must leave everything behind and flee to, say, China. Some of your own family members are left behind in the turmoil, and you may never see them again.
You arrive in your new country with only the clothes on your back. But the Chinese are gracious, and you receive many things—
Food. Nearly all of it is strange. Some is delicious, some so foreign you don’t even know how to cook it.
Clothing. Most is cast-off, and so different that you unknowingly wear Chinese pajamas to school on your first day.
Education. But in a language so foreign to yours that there are no similar words.
A different name. You may keep your given name, of course, but most Chinese cannot pronounce it, so you shorten it, alter it, or even take a Chinese name.
Life is even more difficult for your parents. They can find only menial, low-paying jobs. The new language is much harder for them, and you find yourself dealing with businesses and government agencies on their behalf.
Those who fled their homelands in search of peace and freedom have gone through this and much more.
Idea from LeAnn Hunt, Oakton VA Stake.

“I have seen many examples of faith and courage among young missionaries in the Church. Ian Menzies, a missionary in Scotland, said, ‘I must finish my mission,’ even though he had a tumor on his brain. Through faith and determination and priesthood administration, he accomplished what others said was impossible. Peter Chaya, a missionary in Zimbabwe, Africa, fulfilled his mission on crutches. He had lost the use of both legs through polio when he was a child. Pip Lees served as a stake missionary in England. Her companion pushed her door to door in a wheelchair for two years.

As Heber grew older, his persistence and fortitude were put to good use in business ventures. Offered an appointment to the United States Naval Academy, he opted to stay near his mother and to become a businessman instead.7 After finishing his schooling at age 16, Heber got a job as a bank clerk and learned bookkeeping. His honesty, ability to work hard, and great desire to learn soon opened up many opportunities. By the time he was 20 years old, he had been made the assistant cashier of Zion’s Savings Bank and Trust Company, and he had purchased an insurance agency.8

When I was in first grade, nobody was playing with Jack,* so I decided to play with him. The first time we played together, we played firemen, because that’s what he wants to be when he grows up. I want to be an inventor—Jack’s going to help me, of course. The next time we played together, Jack brought his football to school and we played with it at recess. Ever since then, we’ve played together at recess and after school. We are still good friends, even though other kids don’t play with him. They laugh at him when he talks, and some don’t want to sit by him at lunch. But Jack is a good friend and a very smart boy. I’m glad I can be his friend.

Six months after Ethel died, then at nine months, then at two years, I wrote down my feelings. Keeping a daily journal has been a source of comfort. Between nine and twelve months after Ethel’s passing, I decided to ‘get back out there’ by joining a social group and a travel group. That lasted about a month before I realised my heart wasn’t ready. I felt the impression to attend the temple regularly. Despite the initial pain, this proved a great strength to me.