Gospel Story Finder

It seems like one of the most difficult standards for these teens to convince their friends of is waiting to date until they are 16.
Jared Crain, 17, of the Bedford Ward said that it was tough before he turned 16. He was always being asked why he couldn’t go out. “My whole school got excited about me turning 16 and were putting up posters announcing my birthday.”

You precious young ladies will need a lot of courage—courage to stand up to peer pressure, to resist temptation, to withstand ridicule or ostracism, to stand up for the truth. You will also need courage to face the challenges of life. One young woman who was a cross-country runner wrote: “I am often tempted to give up and quit during a race. During my first race this year, when I was just about to be overpowered and stop running, the words to the third verse of ‘How Firm a Foundation’ filled my mind. The words gave me the courage to finish the race.”
Fear not, I am with thee; oh, be not dismayed,
For I am thy God and will still give thee aid.
I’ll strengthen thee, help thee, and cause thee to stand, …
Upheld by my righteous, omnipotent hand.

After my family and I moved to a new state, I prayed constantly to find friends with whom I could talk about the gospel. As I prayed, I felt comforted, and a few months later I made some incredible friends. I can count on their support, and they have helped me to develop an even greater love for the gospel. I know that friends are important and they can make it easier for us to live the gospel.
Sarah P., age 16, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

However, Allie noticed that her younger sisters, 17-year-old twins Courtney and Cassidy, were reluctant to participate. “Our brother has done well in Special Olympics, and he likes it a lot, but we’re just not so into it,” Courtney explains.
Wanting her sisters to succeed, Allie started looking for ideas. “I got to thinking that maybe there was some way to get them involved, some way to help them be comfortable enough to participate,” Allie says.
When a friend mentioned that the state of Indiana had held the first Special Olympics dance event, Allie knew she had found her solution. Combining her dance education major with her Special Olympics platform and her desire to help her sisters, Allie hatched a plan to create a Special Olympics ballroom dance event in Provo.
The waltz music finishes, and the Special Olympics couples spin out and take deep bows for the enthusiastic crowd. Then they exit the floor and file into a row of chairs on the sidelines or go backstage to wait for their next event, the cha-cha.
Backstage, Courtney sits with her sister Cassidy and cradles a pair of high-heeled ballroom shoes in her lap. They are scuffed and very flexible. “They’re comfortable because Allie wore them out,” Courtney explains, “and now I get to use them.”
While lively music blares from the speakers, Courtney quietly talks about her sister. “I want to be like Allie. She dances a lot, and I want to do a lot of dance at my school.” Cassidy chimes in, “I’ve learned a lot from just watching her.”
More than just learning steps and routines, these sisters know that they’ve learned a lot about life by dancing with their sister. “I can have fun, even though some things are still a little scary. I can be comfortable,” Courtney says. When asked about what advice she would give to other teens, she adds, “Just get involved and do things that you don’t usually do. Get out and have fun!”
Allie’s idea helped her sisters to get out and have fun and, in the end, it was also a great way for the other athletes and volunteers to try something new.

Brother Collins Sarkodie Aning said, “I thank my Heavenly Father for the opportunity to volunteer as the e-commerce and web design instructor. Personally, I will say that what has kept my class going since the gathering place launch is the love that I have for the YSA and my quest to help them acquire a skill to support themselves and their families.” Twice each week Brother Sarkodie dedicated an entire day to his classes and transported himself from his home or workplace to meet and teach the YSA.

Jason finished his breakfast. “Can I go over to Brett’s house now?” he asked. Brett was Jason’s next-door neighbor and one of his best friends.
“Yes,” Mom said. “Be safe and have a good time.”
Next door, the boys played with Brett’s dog, ran through the sprinklers, and built stick forts in the mud. Then Brett suggested they go inside. “I’m hot,” he said. “Let’s play video games.”
“OK,” Jason agreed. “Maybe I can beat you this time.”
“We can try a new game,” Brett said as the boys went inside. “Have you ever played this one before?” He held up the case for a game Jason didn’t recognize.
“I don’t think so. What’s it like?”
“You’ll see,” Brett said, sliding the disc into the game console.
Brett handed Jason a controller and sat down in front of the TV. Jason sat down beside him. As the game started, a screeching alarm went off in Jason’s conscience. The characters in this game looked like real people, and the clothes they were wearing—particularly the women’s clothes—didn’t cover very much of their skin. Jason felt uncomfortable. He knew he needed to escape.
“We need to play a different video game, or I need to go home,” Jason said. “I’m not comfortable with how those people are dressed.” Jason knew his friend might think he was weird for saying that, but he also knew he needed to pay attention to his feelings.
“No big deal,” Brett said. “We can play a different game.” Brett got out a car racing game. The alarm in Jason’s mind quieted as he heard the roar of the engines in the game. For Jason, nothing could have sounded better.

It was hot—too hot to do anything but think about how to get cool. The grass-hoppers were popping from spot to spot like sprinkles on a hot griddle, and the grass along the roadside was singed brittle and brown.

Papa liked the hot weather. He said it was good for the crops.

“I think I’ll just walk down to the field and listen to the corn grow,” he announced after breakfast. “Anyone want to come along?”

“Not me,” I said. “It’s too hot.”

“Me neither,” Ed agreed.

“What are you going to do, hon?” he asked Mama.

“As long as it’s miserable anyway, I figure I might as well do a hot job and get it over with,” she said. “I’m going to make apple butter from the windfalls the kids picked up last night. I’ll save my resting time for a day when I can enjoy it.”

“Do you ever have any resting time?” Papa wanted to know.

“Not much,” she answered. “‘A man works from sun to sun, but women’s work is never done.’”

Then turning to me, she said, “Dora, if you’ll just wash the bottles for me, you can go play when you’re through.”

Washing the bottles was a nice sloshy job in the sudsy water and usually good to cool me off, but today the effort left me sticky and uncomfortable. I sat down under a tree and leaned against the rough bark. How I longed for a nice drink of cool water. The drinking water in the barrel got warm so fast in hot weather that it was no use to try to keep it cool. I looked up idly at our water tank. The water was always cool after the windmill pumped it from deep in the ground. If I climb up the ladder with a cup, I mused, I could have my drink. But I didn’t want to move. I just wanted to lie in the shade of the tank with a little trickle of cool water running into my mouth. If I had a long, thin tube, I thought, I could siphon it out and do just that. I could even let it drip over me and cool me off. But I’ve never seen a small one like I need. What can I makeone with? Straw? Not big enough, probably, and not long enough, either, unless I slide one length inside the other.

“I know,” I almost shouted. “Onion stems!” There were long, hollow ones in the garden holding up the fat white blooms, tapered just enough that the top of one would slide into the bottom of the next one. It would take a lot of stems to reach all the way to the top of the tank, but we had a big onion patch.

I forgot how hot I was and ran to make my long green pipe. Then I climbed with it to the top of the tank. I had separated it a few links short of the top and sucked up enough water to start the siphon action when I accidentally let the long piece fall to the ground. That meant another trip down the ladder to get it and one up to connect it again. By the time my refreshing onion-flavored drink was flowing, I was nearly melted with the heat. I lay under the tank and let the water drip over me and into my mouth. What luxury! A little breeze danced by and already I felt cooler. I didn’t want to move—ever—just lie there and guide the end of the hose around to cool me off.

I drizzled water over me until my hair had shrunk into corkscrew curls and my clothes were damp. I was cool as a cucumber. I guess I smelled a little like a pickle too. Whenever I’d had enough water for a while, I’d shut it off by tying a knot in the end of the onion stem. Soon this one section was wearing out and I needed to replace it.

Finally, let us contemplate “mother loved.” Universally applicable is the poem recalled from childhood and enjoyed by children even today, “Which Loved Best?”

“I love you, Mother,” said little John;
Then, forgetting his work, his cap went on,
And he was off to the garden swing,
And left her the water and wood to bring.
“I love you, Mother,” said rosy Nell—
“I love you better than tongue can tell”;
Then she teased and pouted full half the day,
Till her mother rejoiced when she went to play.
“I love you, Mother,” said little Fan;
“Today I’ll help you all I can;
How glad I am that school doesn’t keep!”
So she rocked the babe till it fell asleep.
Then, stepping softly, she fetched the broom,
And swept the floor and tidied the room;
Busy and happy all day was she,
Helpful and happy as a child could be.
“I love you, Mother,” again they said,
Three little children going to bed.
How do you think that Mother guessed
Which of them really loved her best?4

A few days into the #GiveThanks challenge issued by President Russell M. Nelson in late November, I was already feeling sensitised to the many blessings around me. I noted with thanks my beautiful family, my job, the gospel, and the sunshine we enjoy almost every day of the year in South Africa.
And then, on Tuesday, the doorbell rang.
I had just managed to get my three-year-old daughter down for her afternoon nap. Our young baby was also fussing and tired. As a working mom of three small children I too was in a haze of fatigue. On top of that, I was in pain because I had sprained my ankle while running that morning, and was feeling a little sorry for myself because I had been participating in a fitness challenge that I knew I now wouldn’t be able to finish.
I felt concerned that the noise of the bell would wake my sleeping daughter, irritated at the inconvenience of moving my sore ankle and impatient to get my baby to sleep, so that I could get back to my work deadline.
I limped to the door.
A man who was doing construction at a house down the road stood outside the gate. He said he hadn’t brought his skaftin (lunchbox). He asked if I could I please give him some lunch.
My husband mentioned that this was the third time that someone from the same construction project had come to ask for food.
I told him this was a bad time: I was trying to get my baby to sleep.
He said please, just a piece of bread, just for him.
“I’ll give you something simple, but please try to remember your lunchbox tomorrow,” I said.
I went into my kitchen and opened my fridge. It was teeming with fresh, healthy food. In that moment, I felt a simultaneous sense of gratitude and guilt: grateful for the abundance of food I enjoy each day; guilty for having felt inconvenienced by his request.
The scripture of Matthew 25:35 came to mind: “For I was an hungered, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in.”
The Spirit prodded me with a question. Was I a true follower of Christ if I wasn’t willing to inconvenience myself to help someone in their time of need?
I hobbled outside to my gate, holding my baby in one arm; two peanut butter sandwiches and two apples in the other. I smiled and told him the bread was still slightly frozen.
My offering was meagre and hastily prepared, but the man looked genuinely surprised as I handed him the four items through the gate. Both sandwiches? Both apples? All for him? His eyes seemed to ask.
Then it was my turn to be surprised. I saw his eyes well up with tears. “Thank you, Mami,” he kept saying, “Thank you. Mami, Mami . . . this will go a long way.” I looked away—embarrassed at his reaction to my small donation, scared I might also tear up, and bid him goodbye.
What did it take to give someone four minutes of my day and two peanut butter sandwiches? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
What did it mean to the man at the gate? Evidently, a whole lot.
It occurred to me that, due to the downturn of construction projects and the huge spike in unemployment in South Africa following the outbreak of the Coronavirus, this man might have been earning money for the first time in several months. It occurred to me that he probably needs every cent he earns to help support several other unemployed family members.
It occurred to me that he wasn’t forgetting his lunchbox at all.
It occurred to me that he couldn’t afford to eat lunch.
In the few moments following that tiny interaction, I felt almost overcome with emotion. My action had been small and flawed. Yet despite that, it had made a huge difference to the man I helped. I felt a deep sense of gratitude that the Lord would allow the weak and simple (See D&C 1:23) such as myself to help achieve his ends.
I give thanks for the millions of lessons such as this one that Heavenly Father offers to us, for these small opportunities of connecting with other human spirits, for the grace of God in allowing us—through no qualification of our own—to breathe tiny particles of goodness into others’ existence.
I give thanks for the lesson I learned from the man at my gate.

“I put my name in place of other names in the scriptures. I like to think that everything in the scriptures has its own personal meaning to me. I pick on every word, syllable, comma. Sometimes I’m a pretty slow learner and can only parse a few verses rather than the whole chapter. But for me, this method is more effective and helps me draw closer to Jesus Christ and keeps me thinking about Him all day long. Since my mission, I have made it a habit to listen to general conference in the mornings as I do my makeup, make my bed, brush my teeth, make breakfast, or travel to work. This makes my mind receptive to the right things. In the evening before I go to bed, I write down impressions and commitments inspired by the Holy Spirit.”
Marina Kharlamova, Krasnoyarsk, Russia

Sister Beck: I met with a group of women cabinet ministers and parliament members from West Africa who asked me how we help African women. I explained that in their countries we have many organized groups of women, called Relief Societies. We send the Church Handbook of Instructions to the president of each group. The women gather together often to study the gospel and to learn how to care for their families.

The president divides the Relief Society women into pairs that visit the women in their homes, where they assess needs. Is anyone sick? Do they have enough food and clothing? Do they have the education they need? After the visits the women report what they found. Someone needs shoes, someone is having a baby, and one of them needs work. They ask if within their group they have the needed resources. Most of the time they do. That is what we do for our women in Africa.

As I talked, these women nodded their heads and smiled. One said to me, “That model would work for our women.”

I believe that Relief Society is a model that works throughout the world and that our sisters are the finest, most capable, greatest force for good on the earth today. I have confidence in our ability to further the Lord’s work of salvation together.

In Denmark, on May 22, 2004, the simple words of a powerful solo, “Come light, come truth,” opened the production A Bridge of Faith for 4,000 people on the eve of the dedication of the Copenhagen Denmark Temple. Latter-day Saints from Denmark, Sweden, and Iceland, dressed in medieval costumes, sang original music as if it were a plea from those who lived in the Middle Ages. Their performance dramatized how the restored gospel and the building of a temple became the “bridge of faith” that led them to light and truth.

The Laziest Robot in Zone One Sol-1 hasn’t done his homework or weeded the space garden. And he didn’t lock the gate, so his dog is lost. But he did help his friends, and they helped him. An easy-to-read book.Lillian and Phoebe Hoban6–8 years

At times a small mistake can fester and bring distress and heartache to him or her who harbors and dwells on the matter, leaving it uncorrected. All of us are subject to such an experience. Let me share with you an example with a beautiful ending. I recently received a note, with a key enclosed, which read:

“Dear President Monson, Thirteen years ago this summer my husband and I stayed at the Hotel Utah. As a memento of our vacation, I took this hotel key and have felt bad about it ever since. I know that the Church owns the former Hotel Utah, and so I am returning this key to you—to the Church—in an effort to set this right. I am so sorry for having taken the key. Please, please, forgive me.”

I thought to myself, What honesty; what a sweet spirit the writer must possess. I replied as follows:

“Dear Sister, Thank you for your thoughtful note and for the Hotel Utah key which you returned. My heart was touched by your sincerity. Though the key itself weighed very little, apparently this has been a heavy burden for you to carry for such a long time. Though the key was of very little worth, its return is of far greater value. I am honored to accept the key and know that you are certainly forgiven. Please accept the enclosed gift with my warmest wishes.”

The key was returned to her, mounted on an attractive plaque.

Despite this experience, I fought an internal battle that was continually fueled by commonly asked questions about when I would submit mission papers and what my plans were. The mission decision was constantly on my mind. After graduating in 2021, I knew I had to make a choice, so I prayed, already sensing what the Lord wanted. I wanted a sign to give me a special pardon that I didn’t have to go. I did not expect what happened next.
The next day as usual, I picked up the others on my crew and headed to a jobsite, when a car came flying through a stop sign and crashed into us. Our truck was totaled and the car that hit us flew about 30 yards down the road. We had just pulled out of a gas station before the crash and none of us had put our seat belts yet. Miraculously, none of us were badly injured. Later, talking with the police officers, they told me that my coworker and I sitting in the front seat could easily have been thrown through the windshield without our seat belts on. Things started to settle in for me later that night, when I heard a familiar voice in my head saying “Travis, you could be dead right now. But you’re not.”
This changed my life. I realized I was protected because the Lord had something in store for me. Finally, I knew I truly was called to serve. Months later, I received my mission assignment: the Dominican Republic Santo Domingo West Mission.

I remember reading that passage with one of my sons when he was in Primary. We were reading the Book of Mormon together, a verse at a time, he a verse and I a verse. As we read this passage, he was so moved by the statement “ye will not suffer your children that they … transgress the laws of God, and fight and quarrel one with another, and serve the devil” (Mosiah 4:14) that as he thought of some of his own pranks, tears came to his eyes. From that time, until he grew to be a man, if ever he was of a mind to quarrel and this statement was brought to his attention, his eyes would fill with tears.

A mouse and a hippo once built a balloon.
They thought they’d be able to fly to the moon.
The mouse was quite sure it was made of green cheese.
The hippo was certain they’d both of them freeze.
But these facts they’d never be able to prove,
’Cause when they got in, the balloon wouldn’t move.

Before I came out on my mission, the article “The Way to a Missionary’s Mailbox” came out in the December 1976 issue of the New Era. A young lady I care for very much told me that was the kind of letters she’d be writing me. At first I thought, “Oh, brother,” but now after being out a few months, I’m really glad she follows the ideas from the magazine. Her letters are really uplifting and motivating—the type missionaries need. Now I’d like to say thanks for myself and many other elders for the great article.
An ElderNew York Rochester Mission

Yolanda Santillán, 17, says her most sincere prayers were “that someday I would be able to go to the temple with my family to be sealed. Heavenly Father answered those prayers. We did go to the temple! Now we can be together always.”

Once I was baptized, the Church was my world. What I loved best was to be at church with the other members. I remember many times being there on Saturdays with the deacons, cleaning the chapel and preparing it for Sunday. I also participated in the branch’s Mutual activities. From seeing the missionaries in Primary and at home, I decided early in my life to go on a mission. When I served my mission, I was very happy. I served two years in the west of Mexico.