Gospel Story Finder

Finally, honesty is the best policy. I learned this truth in a dramatic manner during boot camp when I served in the navy 55 years ago. After those first three weeks of isolated training, the good news came that we would have our first liberty and could visit the city of San Diego. All of the men were most eager for this change of pace. As we prepared to board the buses to town, the petty officer commanded, “Now all of you men who know how to swim, you stand over here. You will go into San Diego for liberty. Those of you who don’t know how to swim, you line up over there. You will go to the swimming pool and have a lesson on how to swim. Only when you learn to swim will you be permitted liberty.”

I had been a swimmer most of my life, so I prepared to get on the bus to town; but then that petty officer said to our group, “One more thing before we board the buses. Follow me. Forward, march!” He marched us right to the swimming pool and had us take our clothing off and stand at the edge of the deep end of the pool. Then he directed, “Jump in and swim the length of the pool.” In that group, all of whom could supposedly swim (at least they had so declared), were about 10 who had thought they could fool somebody. They did not really know how to swim. In the water they went, voluntarily or otherwise. Catastrophe was at the door. The petty officers let them go under once or twice before they extended the bamboo pole to pull them to safety. With a few choice words, which I shall not repeat, they then said, “That will teach you to tell the truth!”

How grateful I was that I had told the truth, that I knew how to swim and made it easily to the other end of the pool. Such lessons teach us to be true—true to the faith, true to the Lord, true to our companions, true to all that is sacred and dear to us. That lesson has never left me.

“Please, Mom and Dad, bear me your testimonies,” I sobbed.
It was late Christmas Eve, and my mother and father had just retired after fulfilling their duties as Santa’s helpers. I was home from college for the holidays. I hoped the festivities would make me forget the gloom that filled my soul and that I would be able to feel a bit of peace. But even now, on the edge of my parents’ bed, I felt as if the empty feelings would never go away.
It started in the summer vacation. I made friends with a newly baptized girl stationed at the same military base as my parents. Soon after we met, she began sharing her concerns about anti-Mormon literature she was receiving from people where she worked. As summer dragged on, my testimony seemed to be evaporating. As I wrestled to answer her questions, I became spiritually exhausted.
“What if the Church isn’t true?” The thought plagued me. Nothing seemed to have any purpose if it was not true. Why bother to serve others? Why keep the commandments? What was there to be happy about?
Yet two things kept me hanging on. If the Church was not true, then the Book of Mormon would have to be false. I could not imagine giving up my favorite scriptures, stories, and prophets from its pages.
Second, I had received my patriarchal blessing when I was 13. I had come to appreciate the inspiration and love it represented. If I denied the Church’s truthfulness, I would have to discard my blessing.
As I returned to my room that Christmas Eve, I knelt and pled with my Heavenly Father. “Please, I have struggled now for months. I need to know if the Church is true.”
Quietly, as I knelt there in the darkness, a line from my patriarchal blessing filled my mind. “Have the courage and the determination to prepare yourself through study and through prayer.” Study and prayer! Somehow I had forgotten to continually strengthen my testimony as I had fought to save my friend’s.
The next morning, though it was Christmas, I slept in. Anxious to be on with the festivities, my two-year-old brother came to wake me. Sensing from my swollen eyes that something was wrong, he began to sing: “I am a child of God, and he has sent me here.” Then he stopped. “Lisa, sing ‘Child God’ too.”
I sang what I could through my sobbing. “Yes, I am a child of God! He has heard my prayer!” my heart shouted.
That Christmas, Heavenly Father gave me the gift of how to know again that the Church was true and the remembrance of his love for me. Now each Christmas I thank my Father in Heaven, not only for “peace on earth” as the words to the carol go, but also for peace in my heart.

When I was a young adult, I began investigating the Church. At first I was drawn to the gospel by the examples of my Latter-day Saint friends, but eventually I was attracted to the unique doctrine. When I learned that faithful men and women could keep progressing and ultimately become like our heavenly parents, I was frankly amazed. I loved the concept; it rang true to me.
Soon after my baptism, I was studying the Sermon on the Mount, and I recognized that Jesus taught this same truth about eternal progression in the Bible. He said, “Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect.”

My family had a similar experience. My two faithful brothers, wonderful sister, and I were raised by exemplary parents. We were taught the gospel in our home, we successfully made it to adulthood, and all four of us were sealed in the temple to our spouses. However, in 1994 our sister, Susan, became disenchanted with the Church and some of its teachings. She was persuaded by those who mocked and criticized the early leaders of the Church. She allowed her faith in living prophets and apostles to diminish. Over time, her doubts overcame her faith, and she chose to leave the Church. Susan has given me permission to share her story with the hope that it might help others.
My brothers and I and our widowed mother were devastated. We couldn’t imagine what possibly could have led her to abandon her faith. My sister’s choices seemed to be breaking our mother’s heart.
My brothers and I had served as bishops and quorum presidents, and we had experienced the joy of success with ward and quorum members as we left the ninety and nine and went after the one. However, with our sister, our persistent efforts to rescue her and to invite her back only pushed her further and further away.
As we sought heavenly guidance as to how we might properly respond to her, it became evident that we had to follow the example of the father in the parable of the prodigal son. Susan had made her choice, and we had to figuratively let her go—but not without her knowing and feeling our sincere love for her. And so, with renewed love and kindness, we watched and we waited.
My mother never stopped loving and caring for Susan. Every time my mother attended the temple, she placed Susan’s name on the prayer roll and never lost hope. My older brother and his wife, who lived closest to Susan in California, invited her to all family events. They prepared dinner in their home each year on Susan’s birthday. They made sure they were always in touch with her and that she knew of their genuine love for her.
My younger brother and his wife reached out to Susan’s children in Utah and cared for them and loved them. They made sure that her children were always invited to family gatherings, and when it came time for Susan’s granddaughter to be baptized, my brother was there to perform the ordinance. Susan also had loving home teachers and visiting teachers who never gave up.
As our children went on missions and were married, Susan was invited to and attended these family celebrations. We tried diligently to create family events so that Susan and her children could be with us and they would know that we loved them and that they were part of our family. As Susan received an advanced degree at a California university, we were all there to support her at her graduation. Although we could not embrace all of her choices, we could certainly embrace her. We loved, we watched, and we waited.
In 2006, after 12 years had passed since Susan left the Church, our daughter Katy moved with her husband to California so he could attend law school. They were in the same city as Susan. This young couple looked to their aunt Susan for help and support, and they loved her. Susan helped care for our two-year-old granddaughter, Lucy, and Susan found herself helping Lucy with her nightly prayers. Katy called me one day and asked if I thought Susan would ever come back to the Church. I assured her that I felt she would and that we needed to continue to be patient. As another three years passed, with continued love, we watched and we waited.
Six years ago this weekend, my wife, Marcia, and I were sitting on the front row of this Conference Center. I was to be sustained as a new General Authority that day. Marcia, who is always in touch with the Spirit, had written a note to me that read, “I think it is time for Susan to come back.” My daughter Katy suggested that I leave and call Susan to invite her to watch general conference that day.
Prompted by these two great women, I walked to the foyer and called my sister. I got her voice mail and simply invited her to watch that session of general conference. She got the message. To our delight, she felt impressed to watch all the sessions of conference. She heard from prophets and apostles she had loved in earlier years. She found new names she had not heard before, such as President Uchtdorf and Elders Bednar, Cook, Christofferson, and Andersen. During this and other unique heaven-sent experiences, my sister—like the prodigal son—came to herself (see Luke 15:17). The words of prophets and apostles and the love of her family moved her to turn and begin the walk back home. After 15 years our daughter and sister who was lost had been found. The watch and the wait were over.
Susan describes this experience just as Lehi described it in the Book of Mormon. She let go of the iron rod and found herself in a mist of darkness (see 1 Nephi 8:23). She states that she did not know she was lost until her faith was reawakened by the Light of Christ, which brightly magnified the stark contrast between what she was experiencing in the world and what the Lord and her family were offering.
A miracle has occurred over the past six years. Susan has a renewed testimony of the Book of Mormon. She has received her temple recommend. She has served as an ordinance worker in the temple, and she currently teaches the Gospel Doctrine class in her ward. The windows of heaven have opened to her children and her grandchildren, and although there have been difficult consequences, it feels as if she never left.

Years later my husband and I knelt by the side of our 17-year-old daughter and pleaded for her life. This time the answer was no, but that same feeling of love and peace that our Savior has promised was just as powerful, and we knew that even though Heavenly Father was calling her back home, everything would be all right. We have come to know what it means to cast our burdens upon the Lord, to know that He loves us and feels compassion for us in our sorrows and pain.

Will you imagine something with me? Imagine that I have decided to present to a typical teenager a car such as this, and you are the one who has been chosen. On the evening of the presentation, I see that you are not quite financially able to run such a car, so I generously include free gas, oil, maintenance, tires, anything your car will use. I’ll give you all of this, and the bills will come to me.
How you will enjoy that car! Think of driving it to school tomorrow. Think of all the new friends you will suddenly acquire.
Your parents may be hesitant to let you use this car freely, so I will visit with them. I am sure they will be reluctant, but because of my position as one of the leaders of the Church, they will consent.
Let us imagine, then, that you have your car, everything to run it, and freedom to use it.
Suppose that one evening you are invited to attend a Church social. “There are just enough of you to ride in my station wagon,” your teacher says. “You may leave your car home.” When they come to take you to the party, you suddenly remember your new convertible, with the top down, parked at the curb. You run back in the house and give the car keys to your father, asking that he put it in the garage, for it looks as if it may rain. Your father, of course, obediently agrees.
Later you come home and notice your car is not at the curb. “Dear old Dad,” you muse, “always willing to help out.” But as the station wagon pulls into the driveway and the lights flash into the garage, you see it stands empty.
You rush into the house, find Father, and ask where your car is.
“Oh, I loaned it to someone,” he responds.
Then imagine a conversation such as this.
“Well, who was it?” you ask.
“Oh, that boy who comes by here regularly,” Dad says.
“What boy?”
“Oh, that … well, I have seen him pass here several times on his bicycle.”
“What is his name?”
“Well, I’m afraid I didn’t find out.”
“Where did he take the car?”
“That really wasn’t made clear.”
“When will he bring it back?”
“Well, there really wasn’t any agreement on that.”
Then suppose that your father should say to you, with some impatience, “Now you calm down. He rushed in here. He needed a car. You weren’t using it. He seemed to be in a frantic hurry over something, and he looked like an honest boy, so I gave him the keys. Now relax. Go to bed. Calm down.”
I suppose under the circumstances you would look at your father with a puzzled expression and wonder if some important connection had slipped loose in his thinking mechanism.
It would take a foolish father to lend such an expensive piece of equipment on an arrangement such as that—particularly a car that belonged to you.

Third, offer prayers of gratitude. I was requested to bless a lad who was having problems in his young life a few weeks ago. After the blessing, as I prepared to leave, his mother said to him, “Son, thank him for the blessing before he leaves.” Instead of turning to me, he lowered his head, folded his arms, and thanked his Father in Heaven. How perceptive children are!

My life was changed by a saintly patriarch. He married his sweetheart. They were deeply in love, and soon she was expecting their first child.
The night the baby was born, there were complications. The only doctor was somewhere in the countryside tending to the sick. After many hours of labor, the condition of the mother-to-be became desperate. Finally, the doctor was located. In the emergency, he acted quickly and soon the baby was born, and the crisis, it appeared, was over. But some days later, the young mother died from the very infection that the doctor had been treating at another home that night.
The young man’s world was shattered. As the weeks wore on, his grief festered. He thought of little else, and in his bitterness he became threatening. Today, no doubt, he would have been pressed to file a malpractice suit, as though money would solve anything.
One night a knock came at his door. A little girl said simply, “Daddy wants you to come over. He wants to talk to you.”
“Daddy” was the stake president. The counsel from that wise leader was simply “John, leave it alone. Nothing you do about it will bring her back. Anything you do will make it worse. John, leave it alone.”
This had been my friend’s trial. How could he leave it alone? A terrible wrong had been committed. He struggled to get hold of himself and finally determined that he should be obedient and follow the counsel of that wise stake president. He would leave it alone.
He said, “I was an old man before I understood and could finally see a poor country doctor—overworked, underpaid, run ragged from patient to patient, with little medicine, no hospital, few instruments, struggling to save lives, and succeeding for the most part. He had come in a moment of crisis, when two lives hung in the balance, and had acted without delay. I finally understood!” He said, “I would have ruined my life and the lives of others.”
Many times he had thanked the Lord on his knees for a wise priesthood leader who counseled simply, “John, leave it alone.”

One day at school we were having a limbo contest. To do the limbo, you have to walk under a pole without touching it while bending over backwards.
If you touch the pole or the ground, you’re out of the game. When I went under the pole, my knee touched the ground. My teacher didn’t see what happened, so she asked me if I touched the ground. I knew that if I told the truth I would be out, but I told her that my knee touched the ground anyway. I was out of the game, but at the end I got the honesty award. My mom said that was better than first place any day.

Another missionary had a bad back. He was in pain constantly. He did not know that I knew of his condition. He loved missionary work so much he had kept it a secret for fear that he might be released from his mission.

During World War II he was trained as a pilot. When the war ended, he was stationed in Japan for a year. While he was there, he and other LDS men in the military preached the gospel among the Japanese.

When I was preparing to serve a mission, my bishop called me to teach the Sunbeams. I had never before learned to love others more than myself until I had served those children in such a simple assignment. With time and patience I learned how to keep those seven children in their seats and listening to a simple lesson.
One day I invited Mike* to come to church and visit my class. Mike was my age but had stopped attending church completely by the time he was 12. We had remained friends over the years as I had served as the deacons quorum president, the teachers quorum president, and first assistant to the bishop in the priests quorum. He had been the topic of many fellowshipping discussions and was often part of my prayers. Once in a while Mike would accept my invitations to come to an activity. It always surprised me when he did, so I kept inviting him.
I don’t remember when I invited him to my Primary class, but one day he showed up. At that time, Mike had long, black hair and a beard.
“Class, I would like to introduce you to my friend Mike,” I said to begin my lesson. “He is visiting us today.”
Mike sat next to me in front. The children sat in a semicircle around us with their eyes fixed on Mike. They were much quieter than usual. I was about five or six minutes into the lesson when one little boy got up from his chair and walked across the room and stood directly in front of my friend. He paused for a moment and then climbed onto Mike’s lap. I watched the two of them as I continued with the lesson.
The boy stared into Mike’s face. Mike was quite uncomfortable but did not interrupt the lesson or turn the boy away. The other children watched the two of them for a few minutes.
Then one of the girls climbed off her seat and approached Mike. I was intently interested in seeing how Mike would react, so I did not ask the two children to return to their seats. The girl stood with her hand on Mike’s knee looking into his face.
Then it happened. The boy on Mike’s lap reached up with both hands and turned Mike’s face directly to his. I stopped my lesson to see what was about to unfold.
With the innocence of a child, he said to Mike, “Are you Jesus?”
The look on Mike’s face was total surprise. It seemed, as I glanced at the children’s faces, they all had the same question on their minds.
Mike looked at me as if to ask, Help, what do I say?
I stepped in. “No, this is not Jesus. This is His brother.”
Mike looked at me in shock.
Then without hesitation the boy on Mike’s lap reached up and wrapped his arms around Mike’s neck. “I can tell,” he said as he hugged Mike.
The rest of the children smiled and nodded in agreement as their question was answered. Mike blinked back tears in response to the love he felt from this small Sunbeam. The lesson went on, but that day the teacher who taught the most was a three-year-old child.
Mike spent more than a year getting ready to serve a full-time mission. It thrilled me to learn he left for the mission field a few months before I returned. When I think of those Sunbeams, I think of the scripture in Matthew 18:5: “And whoso shall receive one such little child in my name receiveth me.”

As a young Honolulu teenager, my mother, Jean Char Gong, met missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, recognized gospel truth, and was baptized, the only member of her family to join at the time.
She later married in the temple, raised and nurtured three children, 11 grandchildren, and now 11 great-grandchildren. She has served faithfully in Church callings, including arranging flowers for the chapel and typing patriarchal blessings for her husband, who served many years as a patriarch.
My mother’s lifelong faith, hope, and charity make her a pioneer in our now four-generation gospel family. She has walked with faith in every footstep throughout her life.

After I finished high school I got a job that didn’t pay very much, and I was embarrassed to be paying so little tithing. One of my friends reminded me of Jesus praising the poor widow (see Luke 21:1–4). From that point on, those thoughts didn’t return to my mind. I continued to pay a full tithing. Later on I was blessed to get a better job and earn money for my mission.
Fabián Argote Montalvo,Las Granjas Ward, Neiva Colombia Stake

Over time, I shared my mental health journey online.
Soon afterward, I began receiving messages from my male friends, asking about my mental health and sharing their similar thoughts and feelings. They asked me for help to know how to fight their numbness. At first I was surprised.
In many cultures, men are expected to always appear strong and never reveal their emotions. That makes it hard for them to admit they need help, and they often suffer in silence.
When this happened for the third time, I realized that my trials had prepared me to help. All those dark moments, all those therapy sessions, all my prayers, and all my efforts to exercise faith as I sought heavenly help taught me to recognize when others are facing similar trials and how to point them toward help.

A few days ago I was trying to read my scriptures, but I kept getting interrupted. First it was somebody coming to tell me I hadn’t done a job right. Then it was my little sisters fighting. I was about ready to explode. All I wanted was some peace and quiet. Was it asking too much just to be able to concentrate?
Finally, I lowered my head and said a silent prayer. I asked Heavenly Father to bless me that I could understand what he wanted me to learn from the scriptures. I finished my prayer and put the book down. All of a sudden, it was like all of the interruptions shut off.
I had been reading 1 Nephi 8, where it talks about Lehi’s dream about the tree of life and the iron rod. I thought about the people who get distracted and end up wandering in darkness. It occurred to me that I should not let myself get distracted by worries or noise.
Then I thought about the tree of life, and I re-read 1 Ne. 8:11–12: “And it came to pass that I did go forth and partake of the fruit thereof; and I beheld that it was most sweet, above all that I ever before tasted. …
“And as I partook of the fruit thereof it filled my soul with exceedingly great joy.” [1 Ne. 8:11–12]
The Lord had granted me peace, the peace of understanding. I sat thinking, grateful for the quiet in the room, but even more grateful for the newfound inner calm.

We are fortunate to have received the gift of the Messiah in our lives, His example, courage, firmness, and perseverance transform us into the people we should become, however there are women who have found Jesus Christ in an extraordinary way and have felt His love and protection. One of these women is Ramona Rosario, who was introduced to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in 1981 in the municipality of Constanza, Dominican Republic, one of the most beautiful places in the Caribbean.
She tells us that when she was only eighteen years old, she lived through one of the most desperate times where she had a clear sense of the meaning of life. This experience would affirm her testimony of the Lord Jesus Christ and help her to listen with humility to the missionaries when they taught her some months later.
Because of a great drought, the Dominican Republic experienced very difficult times of water shortages, forcing a majority of the population to move to rivers and canals to obtain supplies of this precious liquid. Ramona Rosario was one of those people affected by the shortages.
She tells us that while walking on one of the many days that she was forced to carry cans and gallons on her shoulders on the banks of the Yaqué del Norte River, she had to be careful where she walked because they had extracted sand with heavy equipment creating holes that later disappeared in the murky waters of the river. This made it impossible to detect the dangerous holes that constantly threatened the needy people in the environment, both adults and children.
Even though she never thought she would be one of the victims of these fearsome holes, one Wednesday morning in November 1981, she fell into one of the holes that made whirlpool movements, and she could not get out. She began to feel a terror that threatened to rip out her life. She remembers that in that moment of agony, she prayed and cried out to the Lord Jesus Christ with all the energy she had left, asking him for an opportunity, and begging for His help while the water choked her more and more.
With the little strength she had left, she continued to strive against the muddy walls of the hole; her tears were mixed with the brown water until, in a last attempt, a friend who was desperately looking for her stood next to the hole. She was able to hold onto her friend’s foot, which made her friend slip and fall, causing her to shout for someone to come to help and pull her out of the hole “of the evil one,” as she described it.
It has been more than 30 years since this experience. Ramona expresses and testifies that the hand of the Lord preserved her life. Two of her children served missions in South America, baptizing dozens of people in Chile and Nicaragua who are members and leaders in the Church today. Truly when we cry out with all our hearts to the Lord, He answers our prayers.
Ramona expresses: “We do not have to wait for a desperate moment to pray to our Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, but every occasion is an opportunity to pray to the Lord for strength and for gratitude for all the blessings we receive.”

They first heard that message from two lady missionaries who were tracting in their area. Sister Zulema Abrea accepted the gospel immediately. She helped her son Angel understand the story of the Book of Mormon and learn to study the scriptures in preparation for his baptism, which came almost a year later. Oscar, who was then too young, entered the waters of baptism at age eight.

It would be satisfying to write that Edealo Abrea joined his wife and sons in Church membership before his death eight years ago, but that did not happen. Elder Abrea’s father nevertheless supported his family, encouraging his wife and sons in their Church service. Elder Abrea remembers that when he was baptized, his father told him, “Angel, if you are going to be a member of that Church—if you are going to be a member of the Mormon Church—you have to be a faithful member. I remember that was a Sunday morning, when he was waking me up to go to the meetings. Really, he was a tremendous help for me.”

I was surprised recently to learn that a good friend of mine, who is active in the Church, does not allow his wife to attend the evening Relief Society homemaking classes because he would have to tend their young children. It seems incongruous that he would deny her that opportunity—and deny himself and the children of that choice time together.

In February 1959, Elder Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles visited Chile and stressed the need for developing local leadership. One of the first local leaders was Carlos Cifuentes, who was a counselor to the mission president, Robert Burton. Elder Julio Jaramillo, who later became an Area Seventy and a temple president, related this experience: “I received my first impression of Brother Cifuentes when I was invited to a priesthood meeting after my baptism. When the meeting began, he came up to the pulpit and the only thing I saw was his dirty, black fingernails. I thought, ‘How can this man be conducting a meeting alongside the mission president if he has dirty hands?’ That was until he began to speak and I forgot everything else when I felt his spirit. With simple words he delivered profound concepts to us. He was a heavy machinery mechanic and on Saturdays he worked late, then would clean his hands, but with the few means available at his shop was unable to remove all the grease. Then and there I learned to not judge people by appearances but rather to value them for what they really are.”4