Gospel Story Finder

Angelo Melone lives with his family in L’Aquila, a small city founded in medieval times near the center of Italy. He works as the anti-fraud director of the customs office in L’Aquila, a job that he enjoys very much. The most precious thing in his life, he says, is his family. His wife, Elizabete, is from Brazil, and they have two daughters—Naomi, 11, and Michela Alessandra, 19. He was baptized when he was 18 years old.
Every time I remember my conversion, I thank the Lord for helping me meet the missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
I was born and grew up at Ortona dei Marsi, a tiny village near the National Park of Abruzzo, in the province of L’Aquila. When I was 18, the missionaries contacted my sister. At that time she was studying medicine at the University of Chieti and living in Pescara, where there was a branch of the Church. She received the missionary lessons and decided to be baptized.
I came to know the missionaries as I occasionally went to visit my sister. I was an obstinate person, and I tried to use the Bible to prove that the Church’s doctrine was in error. I read almost all the publications of the Church—but I didn’t succeed in detecting any contradictions. Instead I learned the story of the Restoration and the marvelous experience of the First Vision. I learned about the concept of a testimony and felt a desire to have one.
One Sunday, I said to the branch president in Pescara that I would never be baptized into the Church; but inside me I knew something was changing. That week, I opened my copy of the Book of Mormon and a list of questions glued to the inside front cover caught my eye. I stopped on this question: “How can I develop faith?” The list said I could find the answer in Alma 32, where the word of God is compared to a seed.
As I studied the passage, I realized that if I wanted to receive a testimony, I had to change my attitude. My heart was a plot of ground that had to be weeded. I needed to abandon all my prejudices and misconceptions about the Church, and then I could try the experiment. I sought to plant the seed in my heart—I knelt down and prayed to know if the Church had been restored and if the Book of Mormon really was the result of this Restoration. The Spirit I felt helped me to know that the Church of Jesus Christ was on the earth again. I was baptized August 10, 1978.
The following years were exciting. I had to travel—10 kilometers (6.2 miles) on foot and about three hours by train—to get to church. But it was well worth the effort! Those little sacrifices brought much joy and many blessings in my life: my marriage with Elizabete in the São Paulo Temple in 1990, and the birth of two marvelous daughters, Michela and Naomi.

The young women and the young men in the Charlottetown Branch on Prince Edward Island literally have a service project in their backyard. The land next to their chapel is home to a grove of some of the oldest oak trees on the island. Oaks from this grove were once used in shipbuilding by the early settlers. Now these mighty trees have been preserved by the Island National Trust and are left untouched.
The young women and young men regularly get together to clean up the public paths through the grove. They are amazed by the number of garbage bags they fill and by the strange things people discard, but they like seeing the trees and grounds looking neat and clean. They want the area around their chapel and in this historical place on their island to reflect the joy they feel in the gospel.

Like many young women in Uganda, Sandra walks more than a mile to church, helps clean the meetinghouse on Fridays, and attends seminary on Saturdays. During the week, she rises before 5:00 a.m. to read schoolbooks, and then she walks to school, returning home after 6:00 p.m. She missed a year of school because of financial difficulties but faces her challenges with a positive attitude: “The gospel has really helped me to stay steadfast and immovable.”
Sandra is the only Church member in her home, but her parents support her Church service, such as helping when the ward cleaned the grounds of a local orphanage. Her family sees how the gospel has helped her be strong, even when facing unresolved problems. Reflecting on the source of that strength, Sandra says, “When I go to church, I feel like I am putting on the armor of God” (see Ephesians 6:11–17).

For Camber Page, 17, of Macclenny, Florida, writing her testimony was a spiritual experience. She’s borne her testimony in church before, but, she says, “I get nervous, and I don’t get to say what I am really feeling.” But when she wrote her testimony, she says, “The Spirit was just coming out of me. I had time to think about it. I was able to write it down without getting up and crying and getting all emotional and shaking. I didn’t know I had believed in so much until I started writing it down. I thought, Gosh, my testimony’s stronger than I thought it was.”

Most people don’t think of a 17-year-old boy having to relearn to stand, but that was my situation this past year. I broke my jaw in a car accident and also had an emergency appendectomy. I was in rough shape, physically and mentally, and spent a lot of time in the hospital.
I remember clearly the first chance I had to stand after days of lying in bed. Despite the awkwardness, standing felt good. It wasn’t easy to do, but I did it.
Standing isn’t just putting your feet on the floor and standing up. We must also stand in holy places where we can be protected (see D&C 87:8). With the Lord’s loving help, any child of God can withstand the winds of temptation and evil. Everyone can stand strong. The Lord has provided a way for me to stand tall physically and, more importantly, spiritually. And boy, am I grateful!

Early in April Chauncey traveled to Salt Lake City with LeRoi, who had been staying with him. They took the train as far as Ogden, where Chauncey visited his cousin, his uncle, and other relatives, and went to the cemetery to see the burial spot of his father, who had been murdered in 1894. They then continued to Salt Lake City. The busy day was not over: “On arriving LeRoi C. Snow took me through the electric light works, business college, bicycle school, and Christensen’s Dancing Academy. … We then went to my aunt’s house.”
The next day, after a trip to the depot to get their baggage, LeRoi showed him ZCMI, the Deseret News building, and the natatorium, where they took a swim. On April 6 they went to see the City and County building:
“It is a fine, large, immense and beautiful structure in outside appearance, with a town clock and tower, in which we were favored with the privilege of ascending into. We went through the principal halls and some rooms, winding our way gradually to the top. We were in the clock and saw the four chimes that make known the time. At last we reached the high tower and could see all over the city, being up a height of 263 feet.”
After attending all of the sessions of general conference, they visited the Deseret Museum and Science Building at the University of Utah and attended a class in theology at LDS College. Later Chauncey visited the gymnasium and the public library.

Muhammed scanned the cliffs anxiously. It was time to take his small herd of goats home to the Bedouin camp, but one had disappeared among the rocky hills that swelled up against the cloudless blue sky. Where could that naughty goat be? Muhammed wondered.
Nimbly he scrambled over the rocks, calling out to the little animal. Suddenly he caught sight of a small, partially-hidden opening high on the hillside. Muhammed had explored caves like this one before. Perhaps his goat was inside.
He picked up some pebbles and threw them into the opening. To his surprise, instead of a goat’s bleating, the sound of something breaking met his ears.
“Musa!” he called excitedly to another Bedouin shepherd boy who was herding his own goats nearby.
Musa’s face looked puzzled under his white keffiyah (head covering), but he quickly joined his friend. The lost goat was temporarily forgotten as the two boys scurried over the rocks toward the hole and crawled inside. They stood blinking for a moment, growing accustomed to the dim light in the cave; then their eyes grew round at what they saw. The cave floor was covered with broken pottery and other rubble, and tall, dusty jars stood against the cave wall!
Muhammed reached inside one of the jars and pulled out something wrapped in cloth. Removing the covering, he held a tightly rolled bundle of decaying leather with writing upon it. He didn’t know that what he gazed at in wonderment was later to be known as one of the Dead Sea Scrolls, one of this century’s important discoveries from the ancient world.
There are other versions of this story, but it is known that in late 1946 or early 1947, a Bedouin shepherd boy found some of the scrolls in a cave near the Dead Sea.

As you reach out to them, please remember the experience of a friend of mine. He had never owned a horse in his life until he married a wonderful woman who loves horses. Wanting to impress his new bride, he announced one evening that he was going to the pasture to teach a colt how to be led. He weighed more than the colt. He knew more than the colt. He assumed all he would need to do was pull on the lead rope and sooner or later the colt would follow. He was confident that the process would be short and simple.
He attached the lead rope to the halter, got in front of the colt, and pulled. The colt resisted. My friend pulled harder, and the colt planted his legs more firmly. So he really pulled, and the colt fell over. The process was repeated several times until my friend made this assessment: in just four or five minutes he had successfully taught the colt to fall over. All he had to do was get in front of the colt, pick up the rope, and over it would go.
His wife, watching this process, finally suggested that instead of getting in front of the colt and pulling, he might try wrapping the rope around the colt and simply walking alongside. To my friend’s chagrin, it worked.

I used to have nightmares about volcanoes. The nightmares were really awful.
They started after I watched a television special with pictures of different volcanoes erupting and spitting lava all over the place. I thought it was really neat—until the middle of the night! That’s when I had this horrible dream that a volcano was shooting off in my bedroom. I let out a yell, and Mom rushed in and turned on the light. Even though she was very tired, she patiently listened to me tell about my dream, then assured me that there aren’t any volcanoes in upstate New York.
After that I had nightmares every few nights. I’m much too old to wake up in the middle of the night screaming, but by the time I was awake enough to remember that, Mom would be in my room, telling me that everything was OK.
I haven’t had those nightmares for a while now. I’ll tell you why they stopped, but it’s sort of complicated. It started with the Barretts down the street. They have a bunch of kids, and the whole family’s really nice. One day they called Mom and asked if we’d like to go with them to a big show their church puts on every year, called the Hill Cumorah Pageant. Mom had read in the newspaper that it was supposed to be really spectacular, so she said we’d love to go.
The play is held outside, on a hill. Randi Barrett, who is my age, tried to fill me in on what was going to happen, but mostly all I remembered was that there were good guys and bad guys. When we got there, some of the actors were walking around in their costumes and we got to meet them, which was fun. There were even kids in it. I asked one kid if he was in movies, too, but he said no, he just lived in New Jersey the rest of the year.
When it began to get dark, the show started. I liked this guy called Nephi and how he built a ship. I also liked how he had these things called visions, where he saw Jesus Christ even before He was born. I got a little confused after that, but it was still fun to watch.
When they started telling about when Jesus died, we heard rumbling, like thunder, and my mom started to open her umbrella. Suddenly there was all this noise. It was so loud that it felt like the ground was shaking. And then, right in front of us, a volcano appeared out of the darkness and started to erupt. That was it! I yelped and put my jacket over my head so that I wouldn’t have to see it.
Randi told me that it was just part of the show, and Mr. Barrett tried to explain how they made it look like a real volcano. Mom told Mrs. Barrett about my nightmares, and Mrs. Barrett began apologizing for not warning me. Then everything stopped. It just stopped—all the noise, the lightning flashes, even the talking around me. It was suddenly very dark and very quiet.
I thought that maybe the world had ended, and I took my jacket off my head just to check. Then I looked up and saw a light, and in the light was a man. I thought for a minute that maybe I was having a vision, but all the people on the stage could see him, too, and they were looking up and waiting for him.
He came down out of the sky until he was right down among the people. He told them that He was Jesus Christ and that He had been killed but that it was all right now—more than all right, because He was alive again, and they would also live again after they died. He taught them lots more things, and then He blessed all the little children before He went back up into heaven.
I was really quiet all the way home, and Mom was worried because she was sure I would have nightmares that night. But I didn’t. I thought about Jesus coming and blessing all the little kids, and I figured that He would bless me too. I went a whole week without any nightmares. When I did have another one, I asked Mom to tell me about Jesus coming down from Heaven. She told me what she could remember, and I went right back to sleep.
Mom hadn’t remembered the story very well, so the next day I asked Randi about it. She said that the pageant was based on a book called the Book of Mormon, and she offered to let me borrow her copy, if I would return it by Sunday. She helped me find the right part, and I read it every night. The story was more complicated in the book, but there was also lots of good stuff that they’d left out—like when Jesus promised the people that if they’d listen to Him, He’d gather them the way a hen gathers her chickens under her wing.* I liked that, and from then on, when I went to bed, I imagined that I was a little chick snuggled under Jesus’ wing, and I stopped having nightmares.
When I took Randi’s book back, Mrs. Barrett asked if I wanted a copy for myself. She arranged for two people called missionaries to bring it to the house. They wanted to start by telling about somebody named Joseph Smith, but I told them I wanted the part about Jesus coming out of heaven. My mother gave me one of those “be polite” looks, but the missionaries said that it was their favorite part, too, so they didn’t mind talking about it first.
They left a Book of Mormon, and I started reading a little bit every night. Mom got in the habit of coming in my room after I fell asleep and borrowing it so that she could read it. Elder Sutherland, one of the missionaries, gave us another copy, so now I keep mine under my pillow. If I do have a bad dream, I know I have it right there.
But I don’t have nightmares anymore—after all, we don’t have volcanoes in upstate New York, except in the pageant. Besides, I have other stuff to think about. I just found out that the people in the pageant aren’t movie stars at all. They’re just ordinary people. I’m already planning that after Mom and I are baptized, I’ll be in next year’s pageant. Then, when Jesus comes down out of heaven, I’ll be waiting there to meet Him.

Two of my good friends were my older brothers, Mike and Bill. They never minded having me tag along when they went to play basketball, baseball, or football, and if their friends didn’t want me to play, Mike and Bill wouldn’t play either. Playing sports with my brothers and their friends was hard because I was younger than they were, but it paid off in the long run. I always had to work harder to compete with them, but that extra effort made me a better athlete. By the time I was in high school, I was ahead of most guys my age, and that edge later helped me earn an athletic scholarship that paid my way through college.

“What do these scriptures teach us?” Daddy asked as he closed his Book of Mormon.
Four-year-old Tyler piped up, “Jesus said we should pray always.”
“That’s right, Tyler,” Daddy said. “Do you think you can have a prayer in your heart all day today? But don’t just pray for yourself; look for others who need blessings and pray for them, too. We’ll pray for them again when we have family prayer tonight.”
Mommy stood up. “It’s time to get the breakfast dishes done and for Daddy to go to his office.”
As Daddy walked to the front door, Tyler followed and grabbed his hand. “Daddy, I’ll try my best to find someone who needs my prayer today.”
Daddy gave Tyler a hug. “Good! I’m sure that will make Heavenly Father happy.”
Later that morning, Tyler went with Mommy to take books back to the library. He saw a lady holding a baby. The baby wouldn’t stop crying, no matter how her mom tried to soothe her. The baby looked as though she could use Tyler’s prayer. Tyler prayed in his heart, “Please, Heavenly Father, bless the baby to be happy and quiet.”
After lunch, Tyler went outside to ride his tricycle. The people who lived next door waved to him. Tyler saw Mr. Radcliffe helping his wife climb out of her wheelchair and into the car. “Heavenly Father,” Tyler prayed, “I like the Radcliffes. Please bless Mrs. Radcliffe to get well.”
That afternoon the doorbell rang. The piano tuner had come. Tyler liked to watch him use his tools to tune the piano. Tyler asked Heavenly Father to bless the piano man to do a good job.
Before Tyler’s bedtime, his family gathered for their evening prayer. “Did you find anyone to pray for today?” Daddy asked Tyler.
“I found three people who needed my prayers—a baby, Mrs. Radcliffe, and the piano man,” Tyler reported.
“That’s wonderful, Tyler!” Mommy said. “I’m sure Heavenly Father heard your prayers, and He will answer them.”
“Tyler, will you please say the family prayer tonight?” Daddy asked.
As Tyler prayed, he remembered to ask another blessing on the people who had needed his prayers that day.

I was born into a family of many children, and I remember being able to have open discussions with my mother. One day, I asked her: “Mommy, why does one of my classmates always obtain the highest grades in class?” She looked at me and kindly replied: “Indeed, you are going to the same school; but he does something differently than you do. In fact, he goes to church every week, but you only attend Church sometimes.”
Since that day, I made a personal commitment to always attend church on Sunday so that I could do better at school. My grades became better because I did go to church regularly, although I did not always fully understand the teachings.

“Before the big dam was built near Hyrum, there was a small valley called ‘the holler.’ That’s where my Grandfather Wilson had his pastures. Part of the grandchildren’s duties was to take the cows down to pasture every morning. Nearby was a stream where we fished and swam. The ‘holler’ was located between Hyrum and the town of Paradise. The ‘holler’ was truly a ‘paradise’ for us kids. We’d get together there with our cousins and swim, fish, hunt, and play all day long. Toward evening we would get the cows and lead them back home to be milked.”

Doesn’t he realize he’s making us late for an appointment with the best family I’ve ever taught? my mind screamed as I turned my bike around. I was a missionary in the Taiwan Taipei Mission, and my new companion, Elder Loo, was lagging behind as usual.
I found him talking to a woman who was angrily holding a thick stick in one hand and clenching the arm of a small, whimpering boy with the other. I listened as Elder Loo tried to talk her out of beating the boy. She left without the stick.
When we finally arrived at our destination, my companion taught the family about “the first and great commandment,” to love the Lord. “And the second is like unto it,” he read, “Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself” (Matt. 22:38–39).
I flinched. Although I had taught this discussion many times, it was as if I were hearing the scripture for the first time. I would have helped that little boy if we hadn’t been late, I rationalized. But I couldn’t convince myself.
Following a beautiful discussion on sacrifice and service, we made our way to our next appointment. But before we got far, I realized I was again alone. Elder Loo was helping a drunken man who had wrecked his motorcycle.
As we peddled slowly through the crowded market, my companion stopped again. I watched as he knelt by a crying child who appeared to be lost. The child’s eyes were red and puffy, and his face was streaked with tears. We didn’t leave until Elder Loo had assurances from people who said they would locate the boy’s parents.
I followed in silence, my mind racing. Why hadn’t I noticed the crying child? Or the motorcyclist? Why did he see things I missed?
Then it dawned on me. He saw opportunities to serve because he looked for them. He didn’t trail behind because he was just enjoying the scenery; he was looking for people in need.
I wondered what I would see if I really looked.
The next morning I didn’t race ahead of my companion. We rode side by side, looking, listening, and ready to serve.
Since then, whenever I think no one needs my help, I slow down and take another look. It’s amazing what I see.

One elderly person had no knowledge of the county she was born in. She mistakenly said, “I don’t think we lived in a county because we lived in the country—way out there. My ancestors lived on the Muskrat Branch, and to the west of their place there was a big swamp that they called Blackwater Swamp. It was someplace in Virginia I think.”
With this information a county was identified, and the records of the family were found in the courthouse.

When I was five, my family traveled from Tonga to New Zealand to be sealed in the temple. First, we sailed from Tonga to Fiji. The Church members traveling with us sang the entire way. A storm came. The waves were bigger than the ship we were on! As the storm got bigger, we sang louder. Finally the storm passed.
When we got to Fiji safely, we had to ride a bus to the airport. Then we got on a plane to New Zealand.
After the plane landed in New Zealand, we had another two-hour bus ride. It was a cool morning with low clouds. Everyone on the bus was talking. It was loud! Then the temple came into view, and suddenly, the bus was totally quiet. Everybody rushed to that side of the bus to see it. I thought the bus was going to tip over!
Dad lifted me up against the bus window so I could get a good view of the temple. The temple seemed to float in the clouds. It looked heavenly.
Even though that happened many years ago, I can still feel that same special spirit today. We knew we were looking at the house of God. Before, we had only seen it in pictures. We were amazed. I remember thinking, Is God in there? And just as quickly, I thought, This is God’s house. Of course He is. We may not see Him in the temple, but we know we can feel His Spirit there.

As a young girl, my grandmother Chasty Olsen Harris was tending some children who were playing in a dry riverbed near their home in Castle Dale, Utah. Suddenly she heard a voice that called her by name and directed her to get the children out of the riverbed and up on the bank. It was a clear day, and there was no sign of rain. She saw no reason to heed the voice and continued to play. The voice spoke to her again, urgently. This time she heeded the warning. Quickly gathering the children, she made a run for the bank. Just as they reached the bank, an enormous wall of water, originating with a cloudburst in the mountains many miles away, swept down the canyon and roared across where the children had played.
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Except for this type of impelling revelation, my grandmother and the children she was tending would have been lost in the river.

I’m home again. Things are not going well. The cancer is back, and Tuesday I’ll be leaving for Minnesota for a bone marrow transplant. I’m not excited about it, but it’s the only hope I have. …
I’ve been in Minnesota for a couple of days now. The doctors have killed most of my diseased bone marrow, and because of that I need blood platelets and white cells. I don’t know anyone here to ask to be a donor, so I had the doctor call the mission president. Within just a few hours—can you believe it!—there were more than eight people here waiting to be typed. My doctor was amazed, and I was just thankful. It isn’t like giving blood. They had to sit by a machine for several hours while their blood was pumped out and stripped of the materials I need.
None of them even knew me, and some of them drove as far as 60 miles to help me. The Church is like a big family for me. I know I can depend on the members for help anytime I need it. It’s a good feeling.
My brother is going to be the donor for my transplant. I’m grateful that his marrow is compatible with mine and grateful he is willing to give it to me. It’s a big sacrifice. I really love him for it.
During the operation they are going to kill the rest of my bone marrow and then give me some of my brother’s healthy marrow. If the transplant doesn’t work, I’m in a little bit of trouble. It’s a chance I have to take. I don’t have a choice, not if I want to live. There is so much I want to do, but if I don’t make it, I’m grateful for what I’ve had. I have so much to be thankful for: my family, my friends, the gospel.
I still don’t know why this has happened to me. I guess it really isn’t important. What I do know is that I must trust in and obey my Father in Heaven. I know that in the end, everything will be all right. One of the beautiful things about the gospel is that no matter what happens to us, as long as we have faith and as long as we are obedient, we have hope. I wouldn’t wish what I have experienced on anyone, but I do wish that everyone could feel what I feel about the beauty of life, about the value of living every day as completely as we can, and most of all, about the beauty and strength the gospel can bring to us.

One day while seven-year-old Ramsey was playing with his friend, two missionaries knocked on the door and were invited in to talk to his friend’s family. Ramsey was so excited about what the two elders said that he asked them to come over to his house and talk to his parents too.
Ramsey’s family were also impressed with the message of the missionaries and invited them back again and again to teach them more about the gospel of Jesus Christ. Soon Ramsey’s parents and his two older brothers were baptized members of the Church. The next year Ramsey had his happiest birthday. He was old enough to be baptized too! (Ohio-West Virginia Mission)

A few years ago, I was becoming more comfortable with sharing my experience with same-sex attraction. However, I was having a hard time feeling like I belonged at church. On a beautiful October Sunday, I took a moment to go on a walk and pray before going to elders quorum. I was feeling quite raw and vulnerable from sharing some of my personal experiences and feared how people would perceive me. I knew Heavenly Father could help provide the peace I needed.
I prayed to Him, letting Him know the pain and emotions I was experiencing. I remember saying, “God, how can I go back to a place where I feel that people don’t get me?”
And this sweet impression came to my mind: “Spencer, they don’t need to get you, because I get you.”
Knowing that Heavenly Father and the Savior truly saw me, understood me, and loved me was, in that moment, a profound tender mercy.
They affirmed my “belovedness” that day, and I realized that following Them and remembering that I belong to Them fills me with joy and helps me see what I can be. Being reminded of this eternal truth and allowing it to take root in me gave me the peace I needed.