Gospel Story Finder

Bessie Brown and Lila Eliason suggested that when they needed rags to make a rug for the meetinghouse, they should hold a rag dance. Everyone had to bring some rags to gain admittance into the dance. The next day after the dance, the young ladies and the Relief Society women made the carpet.

For some of the students in Buenos Aires, the weekend’s activities begin with an early-morning testimony meeting. And what better place to hold it than in Parque 3. de Febrero, where Elder Ballard dedicated their land?
The park is quiet at 6:00 on this Saturday morning. The palm trees are still dark silhouettes against the pale pink dawn. Sleepy bird calls mingle with the voices of sleepy students as they gather in a clearing, offer prayer, and begin to bear familiar testimonies: “I know the Church is true.” “I know Joseph Smith was a prophet.”
Afterward, walk through the park with Virginia, Esteban, Carolina, and the others. They cluster around a mulberry tree, picking the purple fruit and staining hands and faces. It’s obvious they like each other and spend a lot of time together. As María José Menjoulou observes later, “It’s easier to do the right things if we are surrounded by people who share the same goals and strive to achieve the same things.”
They spend as much time together as possible, playing basketball or soccer, bowling, eating pizza and ice cream. And dancing. They love to dance. In fact, they’d probably be dancing on this Saturday night if it weren’t seminary graduation.

What great relief would come to a young mother with a sick child if one assisted her for a while. A little time, not just calling on the confined for five minutes, but for an hour, reading, helping, feeding, cheering, will change whole attitudes. You will find the need in many homes.

Every time I read the New Era I get a happy feeling inside of me. While I was reading the September 1985 issue I realized how hard it really is to be as perfect as I want to be. I knelt down beside my bed and began repenting for all of the times I had judged people and treated people badly. I also made resolutions to try extra hard to make people feel good.
Thanks. Without the New Era I could never have made those resolutions.
Lanel FennPomerenie, Arizona

Some weeks ago an unhappy mother, who had been left alone to care for herself and her three young children, indicated that she was not attending church anymore: “Why should I? I have lived in the same apartment now for more than four months and not one person has come to call on us.”
She seemed taken aback and surprised when, instead of saying, “I will have the bishop contact you promptly,” I asked, “How many people have you visited since you moved into your new neighborhood?”

Sometimes Eugene’s world got awful noisy. There was the rattle of Clancey Sawyer’s milk wagon and Hector Moore’s ice truck over the rutty dirt road in front of his house. The clatter of Mr. Gunnerson’s old Model T. His Aunt Althea’s loud laughter and nonstop talking whenever she came to visit. (Eugene loved Aunt Althea, but she could outtalk any salesperson he’d ever heard!) And all the other noises the world had to offer in 1932.
His four brothers and two sisters could cause a lot of racket, too, especially when they all wanted to listen to different radio shows at the same time. Or when their friends came over to play and they fought over the stereoscope. If that wasn’t enough, sometimes Widow Willowby’s hound dog howled and barked all night. All that noise was enough to drive any kid up a tree.
And that’s just where Eugene’s favorite quiet place was—in a tree. Not just any tree, but the big old fig tree in the field, a little way behind Eugene’s house. His father and older brother, Vern, had built him a tree house in its strong, leafy branches. And just last week, his father slept with him in the tree house.
They played the imagination game before sleep overtook them, his father telling him that the fireflies that danced in the night reminded him of children’s prayers on their way to heaven. Eugene said that the moon and stars were holes in a big black curtain in God’s window. On the other side, God was staying up late with a big lamp on, sitting in a rocking chair and making a list of all his children who had problems. And that the creaking they heard was not the fig tree limbs in the stiff night breeze but the creaking of His rocker.
Just as Nephi and other prophets of old at times had gone high into the mountains to be alone in order to pray, Eugene liked to climb up into his quiet place in the big fig tree. Sometimes it was to think out his thoughts, sometimes to read his scriptures, sometimes to just relax, and sometimes to pray about things. …

Grandmother was visiting us, and we were just ready to go out on a fun family outing when a minor disaster struck—we couldn’t find the keys to the car. Children, parents, and Grandmother searched everywhere, but the keys were not to be found, and we thought in dismay that we would probably have to stay home. Then Grandmother excused herself and went into her bedroom. In just a few minutes one of the children suddenly found the keys—just barely hidden under a corner of a rug.
As we drove happily to our outing, someone asked Grandmother, “Why did you go into your bedroom instead of looking for the keys?” Grandmother’s answer was absorbed carefully by five young children; “I knew how disappointed everyone would be if we didn’t go on the outing, so I went in and prayed that we could find the keys. I just knew we would find them after that.”

To conclude their year of study of the New Testament, the three seminary classes of Merced, California, held a mock trial to hear witnesses give testimony about the death and resurrection of the Savior. To add authenticity to the proceedings, they received permission to use a local courtroom at 6:00 A.M.
Students were selected as jurors, court reporter, bailiff, and members of the press. Others were asked to participate as witnesses, representing biblical characters. The trial was conducted with witnesses testifying as to what they knew and had seen. Each witness was cross-examined. The courtroom was crowded with spectators as those students not assigned parts were invited to watch.
The jury returned with a verdict, indicating that the evidence presented supported the claim that Christ died on the cross and was resurrected.
The seminary students were involved in something out of the ordinary and were given the chance to examine the significance of the world-changing nature of the crucifixion and resurrection.

“I hate freckles!” Tommy exclaimed as he studied his face in the mirror. “Why do I have so many?”
“Well,” Mother said thoughtfully, “I guess you could say that they’re a gift.”
“A gift! Who would give freckles as a gift?”
“Grandma Flamm would.” Mother smiled. “And I’ll bet if you ‘climb’ your family tree, you’ll find even more surprising gifts.”
Tommy thought about the trees in his backyard. There was a big oak tree, an apple tree, and a pine tree, but he couldn’t think of a family tree. “Where is my family tree?” he asked.
“I’ll get it.”
Tommy shook his head, puzzled. Mother sure was saying funny things this morning. He imagined his big old oak tree covered with brightly wrapped packages. How could Mother find something like that?
“Here it is,” Mother called, coming down the stairs. She held up a piece of paper as Tommy eagerly ran toward her.
“Why, it’s nothing but words on some lines,” he said, disappointed. “I thought you said it was a tree.”
“Look at it this way,” Mother said, turning the paper sideways.
Tommy studied it thoughtfully. “Hey, that does look kind of like a tree! But I don’t see any presents.”
“Let me explain,” Mother said. “Every line on this chart has the name of one of your ancestors. And every one of your ancestors has given you a gift. They have given you something that they had, so now you have it, too.”
“Like freckles?”
“Exactly!”
“I think I’d rather have birthday presents,” Tommy said glumly.
Mother laughed. “Grandma thought so, too. In fact, she hated her freckles until she met Grandpa. But he said that he couldn’t forget the girl with the cute freckles, and they got married.”
“Really?” asked Tommy, wide-eyed. Maybe this gift business wasn’t so bad after all. “What other gifts did I get?”
“Well, look at your hair—it’s blond like Grandpa Peck’s. That’s his gift to you.”
“Yeah, and my hair’s curly like yours! Is that your gift?”
“That’s right, Tommy. You’re starting to understand. Let’s see if we can find another gift.”
“Blue eyes! Grandma Peck has blue eyes—just like me!” He studied the chart. There were still two more names there—Dad’s and Grandpa’s. He tried to think of gifts from them. “I guess Dad and Grandpa Flamm didn’t give me a gift,” he decided sadly.
“Sure, they did. Let me give you a hint,” Mother said. “Do you remember the pictures Grandpa painted that are hanging in our living room?”
“Yes,” said Tommy, “but Grandpa didn’t give them to me.”
“No, he didn’t. His gift to you is much better than that. He gave you a love of painting and the talent to paint beautiful pictures.”
Tommy’s eyes began to sparkle. “You mean Grandpa’s gift was that I can paint well?”
“That’s right.”
“And what about Dad?” Tommy asked excitedly. “What did he give me?”
“Dad’s gift is extra special, too. He gave you the gift of kindness. You have a special talent for being kind, just like him.”
“Wow! I never knew I could get so many gifts from a family tree,” said Tommy. A big grin spread across his face, almost connecting his freckles. “You know what, Mom?” he asked happily. “This is even better than birthday presents!”

December 17, 2024, began like any other day in Port Vila, Vanuatu. The city was alive with holiday preparations, and I was at work in a popular clothing store, helping customers and wrapping gifts. Then, without warning, the ground beneath us shook violently.
As a 26-year-old returned missionary, currently serving in the stake Primary, I had faced many faith-strengthening trials before—but nothing could have prepared me for this. Yet, in that moment of sudden chaos, I wasn’t afraid. I distinctly heard a still, small voice tell me, “Jane, you will be OK.”
What began as a small tremor escalated into a powerful earthquake. Instinctively, people ran for safety, but before I could reach the exit, I was struck on the shoulder by a falling TV screen. I fell to the floor as darkness engulfed me.
For a moment, panic threatened to overtake me, but a quiet, reassuring feeling filled my heart. Though I was trapped, I knew I was not alone. A minute later the still, small voice said, “Turn yourself around!” As I turned my body around, I found that my hands were OK, my head was OK, and nothing on my body was injured. I could sit up a little but not stand because of a heavy wall on top of me.
Somewhere nearby, I heard the voices of a woman and her son, also caught beneath the rubble. We spoke to each other, reassuring one another that help would come. They had a phone, but reaching anyone was difficult as networks were down. Hours passed as we waited, unable to move, listening to the distant sounds of sirens and the murmurs of people working above us. I prayed, trusting that my Heavenly Father knew where I was and that He would send help.
As night fell, an unexpected blessing came—fresh air. Despite being buried beneath the collapsed building, we could still breathe deeply, and I felt a quiet peace settle over me. Though the situation was dire, I knew in my heart that God was aware of us.
Early the next morning, we heard voices above us. Rescue teams had arrived. The young man trapped with his mother called out, and soon the rescuers responded. One by one, they carefully worked to clear a path, bringing first his mother to safety and then him. Before leaving, the rescuers promised to return for me. I watched as the last bit of light from their escape route faded, and for the first time since the earthquake, I was alone.
Minutes turned to hours, and again I prayed. I reflected on the blessings of my life: the love of my family, the strength I had gained from serving a mission, and the covenants I had made with my Heavenly Father. In that quiet, sacred space, I felt an overwhelming assurance that I was in His hands.
Finally, a rescuer called my name. “Sister Jane, can you see my light?” I turned my head and saw a small beam of light piercing the darkness. “Yes!” I called back, tears welling in my eyes.
The rescue team worked carefully. They reassured me that they would proceed cautiously to avoid further collapse. I knew their work was dangerous, and I silently prayed for their protection as well as mine. Piece by piece, they cleared the rubble until they reached me. As strong arms lifted me into the light, I was overwhelmed by the sight of so many people waiting—cheering, crying, praying. Then I heard the voice I longed for most. “Jane, Mommy is here.” My mother’s arms wrapped around me, and I knew I was home.
After 27 hours trapped beneath a collapsed building, I emerged without injury. My heart swelled with gratitude—not just for my physical safety but for the undeniable presence of God in my life. Through prayer and faith, I was strengthened, comforted, and ultimately delivered.
I am grateful for the gospel of Jesus Christ, for the power of prayer, and for the knowledge that no matter how dark our trials may seem, His light will always find us.

Maybe you have felt similar as your efforts at sharing the gospel have seemed to come to naught. Ross Pooley of the Bridlington Ward felt so as he came to the end of his two-year mission to Scotland. Speaking to his Mission President he said, “I was very emotional and expressed my love for my mission, but also some feeling of regret in failing to baptise during my two years of service.”

Fast forward forty years and the picture looks very different. Thinking about a family he taught while on his mission, but who never committed to baptism, he decided to look them up. Deeply religious and long-time investigators of the Church, they started to attend Latter-day Saint meetings in 1999 while living in Independence, Missouri and twenty years later were baptised.

One of the important lessons Elder Brent H. Nielson learned after a family member left the Church for several years is that all of God’s children need the Savior’s love and the healing power of His Atonement.
While studying Luke 15 with his family during this time, Elder Nielson heard the parable of the prodigal son in a new way.
“For some reason, I had always related to the son who stayed home. … That morning, I realized that in some ways I was the prodigal son,” he said. “All of us fall short of the glory of the Father (see Romans 3:23). All of us need the Savior’s Atonement to heal us. All of us are lost and need to be found.”1

I wanted to learn to sew a blanket for my baby brothers who are coming. So I set a goal. My mom showed me how to use the sewing machine, and now I can do it by myself! I’m excited for my baby brothers to see the blanket. And I’m glad I learned how to sew!
Jayci H., age 9, Utah, USA

In Abidjan, Ivory Coast, members greet each other with warm handshakes and hugs. They represent three races and were born in six different countries, with as many native languages.
A Ghanian woman leads the music in Relief Society, using the French hymnbook. A convert from Germany teaches the lesson. A Japanese-Hawaiian sister serves as Relief Society secretary. On homemaking day, a Zairian and an Ivory Coaster instruct other young mothers in nutrition and child care. Then sisters demonstrate recipes from their countries and villages, some squatting over a charcoal brazier and others standing at a stove. All are teaching each other.
The spirit of this branch Relief Society’s original ten or twelve members has spread to include other women as well; now more than a hundred in this African city call themselves sisters and share the gospel’s treasures.

When we were transferred in 1989 from the Germany Hamburg Mission to East Germany to preside over the Dresden mission, the time was not convenient for our family. Our children had just adapted to their new school in Hamburg and now had to become acquainted with the socialistic school system in East Germany. One child could not even come with us because she needed to finish school in the West. However, we have learned from this experience that what seemed to be hard for us in the beginning eventually turned into a great blessing for all of us. The Lord had His own way to take care of our challenges.

Aurelia Rogers started the Primary Association to teach children in her neighborhood …
… and now I can go to Primary!

I used to love having spiritual discussions with my family. But when I joined the Church, those conversations—at least for a season—became impossible to have. Spiritual discussions with my family left me feeling drained rather than invigorated.
Living the gospel without my family was not a trial I could endure by myself. Gratefully, my Heavenly Father and the faithful bishop in my young single adult ward were there to help.
No matter what I discussed with my bishop, I always grew spiritually. I felt the support and love I needed.

I like this hill—
It isn’t a big hill,
It doesn’t have a
beautiful view
But it’s a quiet hill
And I can come here
and think
About Brother Johnson’s
lesson on repentance;
Or how I’ve been doing
as our quorum’s
first assistant;
Or the way Christ
resisted temptation.
Wind—
It blows past me and
shoots through the
tall grass;
Rain clouds gather,
Mingle and mumble,
A stormy premonition;
But they leave again
And the grass is still dry.
I realize
It’s not so important
what I think about
while I’m here,
As what I do between
visits.

One day I sat on the school bus near two brothers. They started singing a song I hadn’t heard before. A few of the words were about the Holy Ghost, but they weren’t very nice. I started to feel sick. Later, just thinking about the song made my stomach hurt. After school, I told my mom about it. She thought it was possible that I had misunderstood what the boys were singing about. She told my dad, and we decided to talk to the bus driver about it.
The next morning, the three of us talked to the bus driver. We explained that the boys were singing a song that made me feel bad. My mom said that maybe I had not heard exactly right. The driver seemed concerned and said that he would ask the boys about it.
That afternoon, when I came home, my parents were waiting at the bus stop. The driver got out after me. He told my parents that he had talked to the boys. They said that they had heard the song on a CD but they hadn’t been using the words that were bad. Then they admitted that they really had been singing the bad words. The bus driver said that he felt that the song’s words really were bad and that the boys could not sing it on the bus anymore. They haven’t, and I’m very glad. Now I don’t feel awful inside every time I ride the bus.Aubrey Fitzgerald, age 6West Linn, Oregon

Jean-Olivier Smatti, a youth leader in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, said: “This week was a miracle. We had 86 young men and women including 15 who are investigating our Church. We had passport problems and even a tornado, but we know that our stay on Lifou was an incredible tool for missionary work. The locals were impressed by our youth, and they were so pleased to meet them.”