Gospel Story Finder

Sometimes I feel forgotten because my sisters have their own activities, just as my parents do. As time has gone by, I have come to understand that they all love me and that it isn’t that they don’t want to spend time with me but that to everything there is a time. It is important to enjoy every moment you can be with them, to laugh, be kind, be affectionate, and above all to show them your love. It is important for you to pray and ask our Father to help you to be close to your brothers and sisters. He will hear you and will help you.
Roberto S., 18, Santiago, Chile

When I decided to get baptized, it was because some of my troubles were resolved while I was taking the discussions. It wasn’t because I had prayed and received a testimony that the Book of Mormon was true or that Joseph Smith saw Heavenly Father and his Son, Jesus Christ. The missionaries had invited me to pray about these things, but I never did. I simply believed what the missionaries had taught me.
Three years after my baptism, a sister stood at the chapel podium and shared her testimony of the Book of Mormon and Joseph Smith. She asked everyone to ponder this question: “Have we truly prayed about the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon and about the experience Joseph Smith had?” This question hit me hard, and I thought to myself, “I have never prayed about these things, but I should and I will.”
I was motivated to take action because my faith at the time was weak and my testimony of the scriptures was shallow. That night I prayed to my Father about Joseph Smith and the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon.
I didn’t feel anything the first time I prayed, nor the second time. Not to be discouraged, I opened the scriptures to Joseph Smith—History 1:14–17, where it describes how Joseph went to the grove to have a personal prayer:
“I saw a pillar of light exactly over my head, above the brightness of the sun, which descended gradually until it fell upon me.
“It no sooner appeared than I found myself delivered. … When the light rested upon me I saw two Personages.”
As I read the words, I started shaking as if an electric current had gone through my whole body. Instantly I knew that Joseph Smith had indeed seen Heavenly Father and His Beloved Son, Jesus Christ. I knew that we had the Book of Mormon because God had it translated through His prophet.
I’m grateful that Heavenly Father granted me this witness of the truthfulness of the First Vision. I realized that if the gospel had not been restored, I would not have known my Redeemer. I know the fulness of the gospel is true, and I know I will receive God’s promises if I endure faithfully to the end.

It was my junior year of high school, and I was taking the usual classes, including advanced placement (A.P.) American history. This was my most important class. I had waited two years to take it and was determined to succeed.
It was a difficult class. We had a test every week, research papers to do, weekly essays to write, and a class presentation now and then. I learned a lot, but I never could seem to do well on those awful tests.
The whole goal of the class was just to pass the infamous A.P. test at the end of the year. I remember my teacher, Mrs. Griffin, saying that it took at least a grade of three or above to pass. Those words rang through my mind night and day all year long.
I worked as hard in that class as I thought I possibly could. I studied every day, met with a tutor, took notes in class, did my weekly essays on time, and paid close attention. I decided the worst thing that could happen would be to fail.
Spring rolled around, and my best friend, Emily, and I began studying together. We discussed, wrote, and memorized. The first evening went smoothly, and when I got home I prayed, “Heavenly Father, please help me to pass this test. Help me to make this year worthwhile.” My prayer the next night and the next was much the same.
I could feel May 15 coming closer until it arrived. I got up and, just like every morning, got down on my knees and prayed. But this morning was special. “Heavenly Father,” I prayed, “I’ve done everything I can do to pass this test. Please help me.” I went off to school with confidence.
“You may begin.” Those anxiously awaited words were spoken. The test was as difficult as I expected, but I really felt good as I filled in the answers. I finished the test and turned it in. I was so happy it was over, and I was sure I had passed. After all, I had studied and prayed and had even had a father’s blessing the night before.
Weeks went by, and I checked the mail every day for my scores. I thought they’d never come, but they finally did. I was lying down when my mom walked in.
“Kathy, I’m sorry,” she said. “You got a two.”
At first I thought I was dreaming, but it was real. I was so confused. What more could I have done? I was discouraged and upset that my prayers weren’t answered. I had prayed to pass the test, not fail.
I felt this way for about two weeks. Then one day I picked up the Doctrine and Covenants and read: “The glory of God is intelligence” (D&C 93:36).
I tried to ignore the scripture. I didn’t feel intelligent. I felt like a failure. But after a while it dawned on me what I had done wrong. The glory of God is intelligence, not a three or above on an advanced placement test. I was basing my success on the score of an exam! I didn’t even think of how much I had learned in the class. I had forgotten the whole purpose of getting an education. I was more concerned with getting the answers right than pleasing myself and my Heavenly Father. I am so thankful for my education and will never forget this much-needed lesson.

Hang in there. How many times had I heard that as I was growing up? My mind carried me back to my senior year in high school.
I was the Laurel class president and my mom was president of the Young Women. Each week I made what seemed like endless rounds to pick up all the less-active girls in my class to get them out to Young Women classes, basketball practices, activities, or whatever else came up. I didn’t enjoy it. “I’m not doing it anymore,” I told my mom after a particularly frustrating day and then proceeded to explain to her the heavy burden I carried as class president.
She smiled and listened patiently. “Well, Lori,” she said when I had finished, “it’s not forever. Just do your best and hang in there.”
So I tried. It wasn’t always easy and I didn’t always smile as I went, but I hung in there. And, surprisingly, as I looked back it wasn’t the hard times I remembered. What I do remember were basketball games that we almost won together, slumber parties where we stayed up talking and laughing most of the night, and Young Women classes when everyone was there for a lesson.

The third poster is entitled “America Rediscovered.” Centuries passed before the Lord guided Christopher Columbus to the New World. On several occasions Columbus gave credit to the Almighty. In writing to the Spanish leaders, he said, “Our Lord unlocked my mind, sent me upon the sea, and gave me fire for the deed. Who heard of my enterprise, called it foolish, mocked me, and laughed. But who can doubt but that the Holy Ghost inspired me?” (Jacob Wassermann, Columbus, Don Quixote of the Seas, trans. Eric Sutton, Boston: Little, Brown, and Co., 1930, p. 20.) During the voyage, after weeks of sailing with no land in sight, mutiny raised its head. Finally Columbus promised the captains of the two other ships that they would turn back if land was not sighted in 48 hours. Then he went to his cabin and in his words “prayed mightily to the Lord.” The next day, October 12, they sighted land. We know a land of liberty and religious freedom was a necessary ingredient in the plan of God. Thus, Columbus and others, particularly those seeking religious freedom, were led to the shores of America.

I looked down at my lap. No matter how I tugged at my skirt, it didn’t cover my knees. It just wasn’t fair! I almost never got a store-bought dress. It was a summery green fabric, and when I wore it my eyes looked more green than their normal gray-blue. It fit perfectly too. And it was modern, without being weird.
Beverly had a new outfit that made my eyes blink. It was an orange and purple skirt and top with matching tights in a big, wild, diamond pattern. Beverly always wore the latest styles. When I’d worn my new green dress the week before, she had complimented me for the first time.
It was hard to be me. It was bad enough to wear glasses as thick as a sugar bowl, to be as skinny as a pencil, and have a huge mouth full of oversized teeth. Beverly had long blonde hair, long eyelashes, and no glasses, either. Next to Beverly, I felt ugly and awkward. One way to make up the difference was with fashionable clothes.
Finding that green dress was amazing. Buying it had been a miracle. Mom had taken down the hem, and it was perfect. Now, one laundry day later, my chance to be noticed was over.
My mother came into the room. “What’s the matter?” she asked. I guess my tear-misted glasses gave me away.
“Look at this dress!” I wailed. “It shrank in the wash!”
Mom understood how much that dress meant to me. “Oh, Linda,” she said softly. “I promise I followed the washing directions on the tag.” But she could see as I did that it had shrunk just enough to be too short.
We talked it over, but there wasn’t a happy solution. The hem had already been lengthened as far as it could go. Mom and Dad were immovable on their rule: girls in our family covered their knees. Mom cried with me as we took the dress to the thrift store box in the garage.
I moped for several days. It seemed so unfair that my parents could ruin my life by something as silly as a rule about knees. I had never been a rebel. I knew my parents loved me, so I had trusted them to be sensible. Until now.
I was troubled. I realized that this was a major decision: I could continue to follow my parents’ rules or I could choose not to. There were ways to rebel. I saw girls at school sometimes roll up their skirts at the waist to make them shorter. It was up to me.
One day in church, our class talked about Joseph Smith’s First Vision. As the teacher read about Joseph’s decision to ask God which church to join, I realized that I was in a similar situation. I needed to know for myself if my parents’ dress standards were right or if they were too strict. Like Joseph, I decided I could simply ask Heavenly Father.
I thought about it for several days. I remembered the process I had gone through when I’d prayed about being baptized. The answer had come because I had been ready to receive it. I decided to fast and pray. Because this was an important decision, I knew it would probably take more than one day’s effort to learn the answer. I talked to my parents about my plan.
“I’ll fast with you,” Mom offered.
Dad gave me a clue. “Linda,” he said, “if you want a testimony of a certain principle, practice living it.”
I tried to do everything I could so that I would be able to hear that still, small voice. Meanwhile, I practiced keeping the standard that my parents required.
Heavenly Father answered my prayers through my feelings and in my mind. One day, as I was getting ready for church, I realized that I knew what Heavenly Father wanted me to do. Through the prompting of the Holy Ghost, I knew that Heavenly Father expects me to dress modestly. Just like Joseph Smith, I knew that I had received an answer and that I could not deny it. The knowledge was like a warm, peaceful understanding that filled me from head to toe. I wondered how I could have ever felt sorry for myself for living a righteous standard. I felt that Heavenly Father was pleased with me. Nothing else mattered as much as that.
“I’m lucky to be me,” I thought. I didn’t need to be like Beverly or anybody else. What a relief!
I had friends, but I was never really popular. I learned how to be happy without being popular. That’s how I know it can be done. Never again was I an invisible nobody. Heavenly Father helped me become beautiful in my own way.

On my mission, I was in a car accident that left me with back pain and memory loss. Once I returned home, I enrolled in school, but I struggled. I couldn’t remember simple things, and I couldn’t carry more than a notebook and a pen in my backpack because of the pain.
I was angry. I had spent 18 months serving God and giving Him my all. Why wouldn’t He heal me? Where was He?
As the intense pain continued, I began to feel that I couldn’t turn to God. I began to doubt that He would—or even could—help me. And if He couldn’t help me, then I thought scripture study and temple attendance wouldn’t help either. I turned away from God because life was too hard, and I couldn’t see a way out.
On one particularly difficult day, I had failed another test after studying for hours, and the pain in my back was worse than it had ever been. I stepped outside, sat down, and cried.
A few minutes later, a girl came up to me and smiled. She handed me a note that read, “‘Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself’ [Matthew 6:34]. Heavenly Father is watching over you. I asked Him to. He loves you.”
The Spirit washed over me. I hadn’t felt God’s love for me in a long time. But the girl who handed me the note sparked feelings in my soul, brought me back to the beginning of my faith, and reminded me of my many prior experiences with the Spirit.
I began to turn to Heavenly Father more often in prayer. Even if I couldn’t see the end of my pain, I asked Him to ease my pain or to give me the strength to simply make it through the day. I concentrated more on scripture study and temple attendance.
Though my memory and my pain aren’t fully healed, I have learned to stay close to the Lord. Even when I cannot see all of what lies ahead, I know He is there. I can look forward to the future with faith in Him.

In all his ministry around the globe, perhaps some of the most gripping experiences were the years he supervised the Church behind the Iron Curtain. When my husband and I finished our mission in 2009, we went to Germany to walk the ground President Monson walked, talk to the members he so loved, and feel the influence of his years of service. What we found were hearty priesthood holders who wept as they spoke of his consistent visits, his love for Jesus Christ, and his encouragement and concern. We stood in the now-abandoned, dilapidated factory building in Görlitz where in 1968 President Monson stood at the podium and promised the haggard East German Latter-day Saints all the blessings that the Lord had for His children—if they were faithful. That day they sang with such fervor: “If the way be full of trial, Weary not! … Jesus never will forsake us, Weary not.”6 He had come under the direction of the First Presidency to the Saints’ rescue. Two decades later, with the Berlin wall still standing, these East German Latter-day Saints had stakes, meetinghouses, patriarchs, missionaries, and a temple. And then the wall came down, and the Saints were reunited with their families and as a country.

Joy and happiness are born of gratitude. Recently Sister Watts and I spent three years in another part of the world working with a very kind and gracious people. If worldly possessions equated to happiness, the majority of these Saints would be unhappy. Quite the contrary, gratitude abounds, resulting in a contagious display of rejoicing. It is evident that even though they live in a challenging environment with few advantages, they are a delightful people. A cheerfulness is generated by their gratitude for the gospel of Jesus Christ and the blessings derived from living the principles taught. One faithful district president expressed gratitude to have a bicycle for transportation to perform his calling. It seemed the more he pedaled, the happier he became. Perhaps there is a lesson here: if we are feeling ungrateful, we need to pedal a little faster. The depth and the willingness with which we serve is a direct reflection of our gratitude.

One day, a few months after my baptism, I heard some members criticizing each other in church. I was very disappointed. I went home and told my father that maybe I should not go to church anymore. It was difficult to see members criticize others like that. After listening, my father taught me that the gospel had been restored and it is perfect but members are not yet, neither himself nor me. He firmly said, “Do not lose your faith because of the people around you, but build a strong relationship with Jesus Christ. Don’t look around, look up!”
Look up to Jesus Christ—the wise advice of my father—strengthens my faith whenever I face challenges in life. He taught me how to apply the teachings of Christ, as in these words: “Look unto me in every thought; doubt not, fear not.”4

Angelica Velez, 15, wiped her forehead, then smiled. “When we first got to the cemetery,” she said, “you couldn’t even see the tombstones. Then we brought in lawn mowers and weed cutters and raked it up and carried out a lot of branches and wood. Now you can see what we’ve done, and it looks nice.”

I had never understood this scripture. Jesus had healed the blind man so that the works of God could be manifest. But what about all those who are not healed? What about my sister with disabilities, who had died when I was a child? What about Cameron, our home teacher’s son who had cerebral palsy and was in a wheelchair?
As I thought of Cameron, scenes flooded my mind.
We are sitting on our back porch with our home teachers. Cameron is in his wheelchair. He is bearing his testimony, slowly, painstakingly—fighting the obstinate, uncooperative muscles in his face.
“I know God loves me,” he says. “I love God.” It takes much effort, much time before he is finished. My husband, Van, leans forward.
“Cameron,” he says earnestly, “you are improving so much on your speaking. I can understand every word!”
Cameron beams with pride. I see my husband’s tender, compassionate face, and I wonder: Are not the works of God made manifest?
At twelve, Cameron is old enough to pass the sacrament. One of the brethren in our ward has designed and fitted his wheelchair with a special tray. The bread and water are placed on his tray by members of his Aaronic Priesthood quorum.
He wheels to the end of the pew, where a member lifts the tray to partake of the sacrament. Are not the works of God made manifest in that sacred act?
I see Cameron, my sister, and others I have known who have disabilities in mind or body. Others carry them; others are their arms, their legs, their minds. I see these same individuals with disabilities giving others gifts of love and hope.
I see the works of God made manifest for them and by them.

Thank you very much for the beautiful article “Power to Heal” (Apr. 2003) by Elder Merrill J. Bateman. It was an answer to my prayers.
Five years ago my mom died of cancer. I have always had the support of my friends and family, but I never thought anyone really knew how I felt about the situation. When I read this article I realized that Christ’s Atonement is not only for sin but also for comforting our pains. He died for each one of us and felt every one of our pains and sins. He really does know how I feel and can help me. I am so grateful for the Atonement and the love of the Savior. Thank you for strengthening my testimony.Rachel Knutson, Bellingham Third Ward, Bellingham Washington Stake

“It’s not fair,” I muttered to no one in particular, but my best friend, Maria, heard me.
“What’s not fair?” she asked.
As we walked home from school together, I tried to explain. I began by saying that I’d always enjoyed doing the kinds of things the boys did and that I would never learn to be a “little lady,” even though I was the oldest of four children. I absolutely hated washing the dishes, and I hated arguing with my mother.
I kicked a small rock in disgust because my home life seemed hard sometimes.
“Not only that,” I complained, “my parents don’t even live under the same roof.” Maria, who had only recently begun teaching me about her Church, was very quiet for a moment. She later told me that during that time in her life she had been hesitant about making friends with people whose homes had such a different atmosphere than what she was used to. Nevertheless, she quickly came to a decision.
After walking along the road a little farther, she decided to use a scripture, rather than trying to tell me what was wrong with my attitude. Quoting the words of Nephi she said:
“And it came to pass that I, Nephi, said unto my father: I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them” (1 Ne. 3:7).
The quotation from her church’s scriptures was new to me because I had never read the Book of Mormon, although she had challenged me to do so. Maria knew that I’d been taught the Ten Commandments and that I was familiar with the commandment to honor parents. She told me that I could obey the commandments because the Lord would help me, and that I could solve my problems by trusting that the Lord would prepare a way for me.
Today, four years later, I enjoy a very good relationship with each of my parents. I am also a member of the Church. Although I experienced family pressure not to join and I only had a small testimony, I persisted in my goal, built up my testimony, and waited for my parents’ permission to be baptized.
How did I last so long without becoming discouraged or giving up? I trusted in the Lord, and he prepared a way for me to obey his commandments.

Toward the end of the first century, all of the writings now preserved in the New Testament were completed and circulated widely among the branches of the Church. Scribes made copies of the texts on papyrus and then later on parchment, but there were relatively few copies available. Church members gathered the books that were available to them and read and studied the words of the Lord and the Apostles. One notable setback to the circulation of the scriptures was the persecution of Christians by the Roman emperor Diocletian in A.D. 303. He ordered that the Christian scriptures be burned and forced Christians to offer sacrifices to pagan gods. Many faithful individuals hid the sacred texts during those years of persecution. Later, when the first Christian emperor, Constantine, ordered new copies of the scriptures to be made, his scholars were able to recover books that had been used in the branches prior to Diocletian’s edict. Our modern printed editions of the New Testament trace their ancestry to the copies of the Bible made during Constantine’s day and therefore back to those individuals who sacrificed their safety to preserve the new covenant of the Lord.

As I knelt by my bed to say my nightly prayers, I felt like my heart would burst—not with joy, but with loneliness and anger. This wasn’t what I had expected at all!
It was my second night at the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah, and I was feeling miserable. I didn’t like my companion, I didn’t like Spanish, and I didn’t like myself much for being such a baby.
I started my prayer, but then realized that I didn’t have anything to say. Although I desperately needed someone to talk to, it just didn’t seem right to express my empty, lonely, and bitter feelings to Heavenly Father. I finally said a standard, “thank you for my health and the chance to be here,” sort of prayer and crawled into bed.
Why doesn’t Heavenly Father help me? If he really knows how I feel before I ask, what is he waiting for? I thought angrily.
Then I remembered the book of Enos, which I had read that afternoon. I pictured Enos kneeling in the forest, pleading for the Lord to forgive and help him. His words echoed in my mind: “I did pour out my whole soul unto God” (Enos 1:9).
Had I done the same? Had I really humbly asked for Heavenly Father’s help? I knew I hadn’t.
I knelt again. This time I had plenty to say. I told my Father how frustrated I felt, how I couldn’t learn the language, how I needed to love my companion, and how I wanted to do a good job. I cried as I explained that I felt abandoned, and I needed his help.
“And ye shall seek me, and find me, when ye shall search for me with all your heart” (Jer. 29:13).
This time I didn’t say a prayer—I prayed. Again, I felt that my heart would burst, but this time with hope, peace, and love. As I climbed into bed, I still didn’t know how things would work out, but I knew they would.

I made the strawberry hearts (Jan. 2017) for family home evening. Since it didn’t need the oven, I did most of it myself! They were delicious!

I learn a lot by watching my older brother. I love video games and soccer, and, honestly, I would probably do those things all the time if it weren’t for him. He likes those things too, and a lot of the time we play them together, but he always makes time to grow and improve. I’ll never forget being invited to do drugs at school. I immediately thought of my brother and knew what he would choose; because I want to be like him, I made the right choice and said no.
Emilio, Tennessee, USA

My dad’s funeral was small and sacred. Twelve of us sang happy hymns of gratitude to God for my dad’s mortal life. When we started singing “There Is Sunshine in My Soul Today,”1 the family next to us, previously weeping for their own loss, became quiet. They seemed surprised that we weren’t shattered by our loss, but we experienced the peace of knowing there is a plan for us. I believe they also felt the peace that Jesus gives.

A few weeks after my 18th birthday, my parents called my sister and me downstairs to talk. They told us that my dad’s sister, Charlotte, was in the hospital and was probably going to pass away.
Unfortunately, being in the hospital was a fairly common occurrence for her, but we could all feel this really was the last time. She was on life support after an accident. A few days later, my dad was on a plane from Georgia, USA, to California to say goodbye to her. And just days after that, my mom, my sister, and I were flying to California for her funeral. She was only 38.
Despite this major tragedy in my life, I was uncomfortably emotionless at the news of her death. I had hardly known my Aunt Charlotte—I had met her only once in person, so we had simply been social media friends. She had struggled with anorexia and other mental health issues throughout her life that had caused her to feel she needed to distance herself from our family. I didn’t have any contact with her until I was about 16, and when she did come into my life, it was awkward for me as a teenager.
What I did know about my aunt was that she loved yoga and wanted to become a yoga teacher. I knew that she wanted nothing more than to be a mom. And I had always heard about how she had a personality so big that it couldn’t be contained.
I couldn’t help but feel that the whole situation seemed so unfair. She was finally managing the chronic pain she had developed during her struggles with anorexia. She had moved to California and become a yoga teacher. It seemed like just when Charlotte was finally getting her life back on track and I finally had the opportunity to get to know her, she died.
It didn’t make any sense to me.
In the April 2021 general conference, Elder Dale G. Renlund of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles spoke about this infuriating unfairness. He said: “Some unfairness cannot be explained; inexplicable unfairness is infuriating. Unfairness comes from living with bodies that are imperfect, injured, or diseased. Mortal life is inherently unfair.” 1
I felt this very deeply with Charlotte. She had spent most of her life at war with her brain and her body and it had nearly taken her several times, but she was finally starting to get better. All I could think was, “How could God take her back when she seemed to be getting out of the woods? Why, after surviving all her near-death experiences, was it a freak accident that took her life?”
Elder Renlund’s later words struck a deeper chord with me. He said: “Do not let unfairness harden you or corrode your faith in God. Instead, ask God for help. Increase your appreciation for and reliance on the Savior.” 2
My faith had been tested only a few times up until this point in my life, but I struggled with being able to understand this unfairness for years—from when Charlotte died in 2018 until the April 2021 general conference. Although I had always believed in Heavenly Father’s plan for us, this experience had shaken me.
But thanks to that general conference message—given on Easter weekend, appropriately—now I know, like Elder Renlund, that “all that is unfair about life can be made right through the Atonement of Jesus Christ and that by His authority families can be joined together forever.” 3
During this Easter season, the fifth since Charlotte died, I’m grateful for the knowledge that her death isn’t the end. Because of the events of Easter weekend, because of the Resurrection, hope is not lost. I feel confident Charlotte is continuing on the path she started just before her earthly life ended. I know that when other members of my family join her one day, she will be waiting there to welcome them home.
For me, Charlotte is a tangible reminder of the Atonement and Resurrection of our Savior, Jesus Christ. I may never know why she was taken from this earth so young. But what I do know is that because He lives, one day she will too. When that day comes, I will finally get to build a relationship with the person she was becoming before her death.