Gospel Story Finder

When Kieth Merrill accepted the Academy Award for Best Documentary Feature of the year for his film, The Great American Cowboy, he expressed thanks to “my mother, who taught me to believe in God; my father, who taught me to believe in myself; and my wife, who helped me do what they taught me.” Though they had never met him, Latter-day Saints throughout the world heard his speech and knew that Kieth Merrill was one of them.

Alex told Shelly something untrue about Janie, and Shelly laughed. Janie was mad at first; then she forgave Alex and Shelly and invited them to study with her.

Lara sat by the big window, looking at the pictures in the book that Grandma had given her. She wished that Mother had time to read the story to her. Baby Emily seemed to need all of Mother’s time.
Baby Emily started crying again. Lara put the new book down and went over to the baby’s crib. Lara picked up the blue and pink rattle and shook it. It sounded like a bunch of little bells. Lara thought that it sounded nice, but Baby Emily just kicked and cried some more.
“Doesn’t she like the rattle?” Lara asked.
“She’s too little,” Mother explained, picking up Baby Emily. “She’ll like it when she gets a little older. I’ll change her diaper; then she’ll be happy again.”
Lara ran to get a soft white diaper from the top of the tall stack. Then she got a damp cloth and the bottle of baby powder. After the clean diaper was on, Lara took the cloth to the bathroom and put the powder back on the shelf with Baby Emily’s other things.
When Mother sat in the rocking chair with Baby Emily, Lara tiptoed out of the room. She knew that Mother wanted the baby to go to sleep.
Lara wanted to run and shout and skip, but even before Baby Emily came, Mother wouldn’t let her run and shout and skip in the house.
The newspaper was on the floor, so Lara folded it and put it on the table.
“You are a big help,” Mother said, coming into the room. “Emily is asleep, and because you helped, I have time to do something with you. What shall we do?”
“We could read my new book.”
“That’s a good idea. I’ve been wanting to read that story.”
Lara got the book and snuggled happily beside Mother in the big chair by the window.

Konnichiwa! My name is Honoka, and I live in Chiba Prefecture, Japan. I like to play, jump rope, and draw. My dream is to be an illustrator someday. I was at school when a big earthquake happened.
When the earthquake hit, my first thoughts were, “This is scary!” and “I wonder if my family is OK.” I prayed in my heart that they would be safe and that people’s lives would be spared. Later I found out that none of my friends had been hurt. At that time, I felt that God had protected us. I know that God and Jesus live.

When I was pregnant, I loved having a big round belly! That was when I realized that I’m perfect in my own way—we all are! I was growing a tiny human, and is there anything better than that? Let me tell you, there is! And that’s holding your baby in your arms.
My baby girl, Sofia, was born just a short time ago. I always planned and dreamed of having a natural birth, with no medication and with a quick recovery. However, there were some complications during labor, and I ended up needing a caesarean section. To be honest, I was afraid of the surgery for both me and my daughter. I was also scared of having a scar.
After the surgery, it took my body a long time to recover. During these weeks and months, I couldn’t really do much physical activity, but all I wanted was to exercise and go back to my pre-pregnancy size. Then one day, it just hit me—my body is not the same as it was before having my daughter, and neither am I. And neither my body nor I will ever be the same as before Sofia came into my life. And I’m grateful for that.
I’ve come to love the stretch marks and the scar that my pregnancy left behind, because every time I look at them, they remind me what an amazing journey I’ve been through. Those little marks are just a sweet reminder of the beautiful daughter Heavenly Father has trusted me with. These marks on my body fill me with gratitude, not just for my daughter, but also for my body that can do amazing things like create, carry, and deliver a human being. My scar also reminds me of how even during our darkest times or when things don’t go according to plan, the Savior is with us. When we are afraid or hurt, He is there, and He knows what’s best for us.

When I was a newly called deacons quorum president, I wasn’t sure how to increase my spirituality. I started doing family history, usually each Sunday. I have been going to the temple every Saturday morning. My goal was to take male baptism and confirmation names as often as I could. After I went to the temple each week, I would feel a little more spiritual, and that way I was able to help my quorum better.
Josh B., age 13, Utah, USA

Dr. Neal Halfon, a physician who directs the UCLA Center for Healthier Children, Families, and Communities, refers to “parental benign neglect.” One example involved an 18-month-old and his parents:
“‘Their son seemed happy, active and engaged, clearly enjoying time and pizza with his parents. … At the end of dinner, Mom got up to run an errand, handing over care to Dad.’
“Dad … started reading phone messages while the toddler struggled to get his attention by throwing bits of pizza crust. Then the dad re-engaged, facing his child and playing with him. Soon, though, he substituted watching a video on his phone with the toddler until his wife returned.
“… [Dr.] Halfon observed a dimming of the child’s internal light, a lessening of the connection between parent and child.”5

The work and privation were intensified for the entire family when Brigham’s mother died of tuberculosis in his 14th year. The father soon after moved to a new homestead on 100 acres of timber 15 miles from any settlement and was sometimes away working or getting supplies in the nearest towns. At these times the children were left to clear land and care for the maple trees by themselves. Brigham’s younger brother, who was named after the great Methodist preacher, Lorenzo Dow, recalls that one time when he and Brigham were left alone for a few days while their father went for food, they were famished from living only on the insubstantial maple sugar. Brigham finally shot a robin that lit near the house, and while it was cooking, they managed to thump a few spoonfuls of flour out of the cracks of the empty flour barrel and thus “thickened the broth.”7 The grimness of such an existence was intensified by the father’s continuing insistence that the children not indulge in any amusements. Brigham remembers that his brother Joseph, older by four years, seemed never to smile “during some four or five years.”8

“Being here at the temple has been a wonderful experience,” shared Xian Harisprashad, an 18-year-old medical student-to-be and a first counselor in the elders quorum.
“I felt I needed to do this,” comments Xian. “There’s so much to learn, and it is such a big responsibility.”
Growing up in the Church, his dad not being a member and his mom being the only member at home, he has learned through the Church the importance of being a provider and fostering a relationship with his family.
Sitting with his peers creating a five-year plan has really helped, he said.

Women who have repented change the course of history. I have a friend who was in a car accident when she was young, and from that, she became addicted to pain medication. Later on, her parents divorced. She became pregnant from a brief relationship, and her addictions continued. But one night, she looked at the chaos and mess of her life and thought, “Enough.” She cried out to the Savior Jesus Christ to help her. She said she learned that Jesus Christ was stronger than even her terrible circumstances and that she could rely on His strength as she walked the road of repentance.
By coming back to the Lord and His ways, she changed the course of her history and her little boy’s history and her new husband’s. She is righteous; she has a wide-open heart for others who have made mistakes and want to change. And just like all of us, she isn’t perfect, but she knows how to repent and to keep trying.

David Baker, a priest in the Laie Fifth Ward, Laie Hawaii Stake, won the national Very Special Arts Henry Fonda Young Playwrights Competition. His play, Inside Al, was chosen over more than 100 written by teens throughout the nation. It was performed at the Kennedy Center in Washington, D.C., with David watching in the audience.
The Very Special Arts organization was founded to encourage participation in the arts by people with mental or physical handicaps and to foster better understanding of the challenges faced by the handicapped. Inside Al portrays both the outer appearance and inner thoughts and feelings of a person with cerebral palsy. The play was warmly received.
David also has won second place in a short story contest and has had several accepted for publication. In addition to his writing, David has played in his high school marching band, and his tuba solo won the solo award at the Holiday Bowl competition in San Diego. He also plays m the jazz band and in the brass band at the Polynesian Cultural Center. He enjoys drawing and painting, including painting custom designs on sneakers.
David plans to attend BYU—Hawaii Campus and is looking forward to serving a mission like his two older brothers.

1 When I was ten years old, I bought my horse Blaze. I never worked harder for anything than I did for the money to buy him.
2 One day when I went to the barn to feed him, he was lying on the ground, his mouth foaming, his stomach distended, and his legs covered with blood from thrashing against the troughs.
3 The veterinarian said that Blaze had swallowed some grass that had caused his intestines to twist. He said that Blaze would die if the grass in his stomach couldn’t pass through his system.
4 We had to try to keep Blaze on his feet. My father and mother and I walked my horse all through the night. I cried and pleaded with him each time he dropped to his knees in agony.
5 About 4:00 A.M. Blaze lay down and refused to get up. When I called the veterinarian, he told me that he would probably have to put Blaze to sleep later that morning.
6 My father, who works with the Quorum of the Twelve, had to go to his office. He told me to call and let him know how Blaze was. I called and said that Blaze still hadn’t gotten up.
7 Elder Thomas S. Monson overheard the conversation and asked to speak to me. Elder Monson told me to kneel and pray and said that he would pray too. “Then,” he said, “go out and walk that horse.”
8 When I went outside, I found that my mother had gotten Blaze back on his feet. I had walked him less than an hour when his problem was cured! I called my father with the good news, and my mother and I and my brothers and sisters knelt to thank Heavenly Father for His blessing.

Finding the local meetinghouse was the last thing on my mind.
Things like the hot weather, high humidity, and learning Cantonese were much more important.
I was a discouraged, homesick missionary who had just arrived in Hong Kong and I found myself thanking a man for giving me an address I already knew and really didn’t need. And all this because I couldn’t learn Cantonese.
I hadn’t meant for things to happen that way. The missionaries in my district were doing a street display near Hong Kong’s Star Ferry boat just when the commuters were coming home from work. I wanted to get referrals and talk with people—and I tried to—but I was having little success.
My inexperience in speaking Cantonese—the second-most common Chinese dialect was painfully obvious. Speaking to Chinese people seemed impossible, and understanding what people said to me seemed about as easy as walking on water. And because I could neither speak nor understand, I began to think that I was of little worth to the Lord.
I saw Mr. Wong just as he was coming down the steps off of the ferry. He looked like such a nice man. He wore a blue suit and black shoes. His eyeglasses were slipping down his nose. His tie was still tight around his neck—something that looked very out of place in the humid air.
I got up as much self-confidence as I could in the few seconds I had. And I tried to feel confident. With a quick prayer in my heart and a deep breath, I started toward him.
The instructors at the Missionary Training Center had prepared me well for situations like this. I had practiced asking golden questions and getting referrals dozens of times. But all the preparation in the world couldn’t have taught me what I was about to learn.
“Neih hou ma?” I asked. “Good,” he replied in a language I knew was Chinese but bore little resemblance to what I had learned in the MTC.
“I’m a representative of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter day Saints. Have you ever heard of this church before?”
Mr. Wong gave his reply, but—as usual—I couldn’t understand.
“My name is Gong Jeung-louh,” I said. “May I ask your honorable name?”
I didn’t understand much of what he said back to me, but I did understand his last name was Wong. He drew the Chinese Wong character on his hand and raised it to my eyes. His drawings meant nothing to me, but I pretended they did.
“May I tell you a little about our church?” I asked.
“I don’t understand,” he said. That was one of the few things I could understand. I had used that phrase myself several times during the past three weeks.
I showed Mr. Wong my name tag so he could read the name of the Church in Chinese.
“Oh—a church!” he said.
I smiled. “Yes—I am a missionary from this church,” I said, pointing to my name tag. “May I tell you a little about it?”
His reply was long and difficult for a new missionary to understand.
“What is your address?” I asked. I decided I might as well do everything I could and try to get a referral.
“Address? You want address?” he asked.
“Yes. What is your address?” I got my pen and notebook ready to write—or at least to ask him to write—the address down.
“You wait here. I will return in a few minutes,” he said. I barely understood what he was trying to tell me, thanks to his hand gestures.
“You stay right here,” he insisted.
“I will,” I assured him. Off he went, leaving me with no idea of where he was going or why he wanted me to wait.
Mr. Wong reappeared from among the sea of Chinese commuters a full 15 minutes later. He walked briskly—almost at a trot—with a paper in his hand.
He smiled and waved as he approached. I walked to meet him.
“Here,” he said. He handed me a page of an English phone book. The address of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter day Saints was circled.
“Here is your church’s address,” he said.
Now I understood. Mr. Wong had thought I was a lost foreigner looking for my church. I lost my confidence as I thanked him for his trouble.
Mr. Wong offered his hand with a smile of pride and friendliness.
“Thank you very much,” I said.
“No problem,” he replied, and began to walk away.
“See you later,” I said. And then, as an afterthought, “May I give you this?”
I reached into my suit pocket and handed him a Joseph Smith pamphlet. I gave it to him with two hands, and he accepted the gift in the same manner, a Chinese custom.
“At least I learned something in the MTC,” I thought to myself, remembering our classes on cultural customs. Mr. Wong disappeared into the crowd.
I went to sleep that night praying for strength and success. I wanted to preach the gospel with all my heart, but I felt great frustration in learning to speak the language.
The months passed, and as they passed my confidence grew. I was soon transferred out of that area, and new investigators, new companions, new street displays occupied my mind.
A year later I was a zone leader in another part of Hong Kong. One Sunday I was back in my first area taking care of some mission business. Being in that first meetinghouse brought back many good memories. I rejoiced in seeing my old friends from the local ward.
As the meetings ended and people started leaving the building, I watched, hoping to see more of my former friends. Soon my companion and I were the only ones in the foyer.
As we were about to leave, a classroom door opened. My eyes widened as I saw Mr. Wong—the commuter at Star Ferry—emerge from the dark hall!
“Mr. Wong! How are you?” I asked with excitement.
“I’m Brother Wong now, Elder Call,” he said in perfect Mandarin.
“You speak Mandarin? No wonder I couldn’t understand you at the ferry!”
“And you were speaking Cantonese—that is why I couldn’t understand you,” he said.
We sat and talked for several minutes. Brother Wong explained to me that after our encounter at the ferry a year before, he went home and read the Joseph Smith pamphlet. He said he read it out of curiosity more than anything else. The Spirit touched his soul. He telephoned the mission home to ask for more information and two sisters began teaching him the gospel. He gained a testimony and was baptized.
Our reunion was sweet and joyous, even though we had seen each other only once before. My heart was touched and the Spirit bore record to me of the true meaning of Paul’s words to the Corinthians:
“I have planted, Apollos watered; but God gave the increase” (1 Cor. 3:6).

It was here that young cadets clutched the Mexican flag and lept to their deaths rather than surrender during the Mexican-American war. The six niños heroes, as they are known, are now pictured on a ceiling mural in the castle.
Another young person found the visit to Chapultepec castle to be the most moving experience. “It brought great honor to our nation when the six niños heroes gave their lives rather than let their country’s flag be dishonored,” she said.

I have stood at the tomb of Napoleon in Paris, at the tomb of Lenin in Moscow, and before the burial places of many others of the great leaders of the earth. In their time they commanded armies, they ruled with almost omnipotent power, their very words brought terror into the hearts of people. I have reverently walked through some of the great cemeteries of the world. I have reflected quietly and thoughtfully as I have stood in the military cemetery in Manila in the Philippines where are buried some 17,000 Americans who gave their lives in the Second World War and where are remembered another 35,000 who died in the terrible battles of the Pacific and whose remains were never found. I have walked with reverence through the British cemetery on the outskirts of Rangoon, Burma, and noted the names of hundreds of young men who came from the villages, towns, and great cities of the British Isles and gave their lives in hot and distant places. I have strolled through old cemeteries in Asia and Europe and yet other places and reflected on the lives of those who were once buoyant and happy, who were creative and distinguished, who gave much to the world in which they lived. They have all passed into the oblivion of the grave. All who have lived upon the earth before us are now gone. They have left all behind as they have stepped over the threshold of silent death. None has escaped. All have walked their way to “the undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returns” (Hamlet, act 3, scene 1, lines 79–80). Shakespeare so described it.

Young women around the world stand in holy places in nature at Young Women camp. A leader shared with me the story of one young woman’s experience. This girl was less active and was a bit skeptical about having a spiritual experience in the woods. After the first day, she reported to the leader, “I’m having a great time, but could we please cut out all of the talk about the Spirit? I’m here to camp, enjoy nature, be with my friends, and have some fun!” However, at the concluding testimony meeting, this same girl tearfully admitted, “I don’t want to go home. How can I have what I am feeling right now, this Spirit, with me all the time?” She had discovered a holy place.

Our benefits from worship in the temple have extended beyond blessing our children. On one occasion, my husband faced a very perplexing employment problem, and he decided to take it to the Lord in the temple. On that day, the Lord blessed him with the impression that a particular scripture was the answer to his question.

Upon arriving home, he anxiously opened the scriptures and, to his delight, found help for his problem. This experience opened up a whole new application of the scriptures. The Lord can speak to his children by reminding us of scriptures that contain answers to our challenges. His Spirit can help us understand how passages of scripture apply to us. Regular scripture study fills our minds with divine thoughts with which the Lord can prompt us as occasion warrants. We appreciate this principle we learned in the temple.

Nicole Davie and Luwana Qummou of Brisbane, Australia, built a bridge together. It wasn’t a massive stone-and-steel structure like the one that arches over the bay behind them as they stroll the waterfront of Brisbane’s business district; Nicole and Luwana built a bridge of trust and love.
While they were teenagers, Nicole met Luwana at Sunnybank High School. They became good friends and have known each other for five years, including the past two years as university students.
“If the full-time missionaries had come to my door, I’m not sure if I would have listened to them,” Luwana says. “But Nicole was my friend. We had lots of fun at school, and I vaguely remember her talking about the Church. It took years before I felt comfortable asking about her religion.”
That finally happened late in 1993. “The first time we had a spiritual talk, she just wanted to learn more,” Nicole says. “She had a lot of questions and was troubled by some things she’d heard from others. I said a prayer for her that night, and I think the Holy Ghost went to work on her.”
“The next day, as we talked again, everything I’d been upset about didn’t seem to matter anymore,” Luwana says. “I felt the Holy Spirit strongly. I felt calm and happy. I knew I needed to study the Church, so I took the missionary discussions and started reading the Book of Mormon. The feelings got stronger and stronger.”
Friendship became a bridge of trust between Nicole and Luwana, and helped Luwana build a bridge of faith linking her to her Heavenly Father. With that kind of path to understanding, it wasn’t long before Luwana was baptized and became an enthusiastic member of the Church.
Now, as Luwana looks out over the waterfront in Brisbane, she knows she is building more bridges—bridges to eternity. Soon she will be married to a returned missionary in the Sydney Temple, and she thanks Nicole for the knowledge that made that possible.
“We’re best friends,” Luwana says. “To know that she wanted to see me marry a worthy man in the temple, that she wanted me to have that happiness, that’s really wonderful.”

Five-year-old Dee woke to whispers and gentle nudging from Grandpa Leonard, who was dressed in his blue Sunbeam Bakery uniform. Dee sat straight up in bed, rubbed his eyes, and looked around. The clock on the nightstand next to him read 3:00 a.m.
An inviting aroma of bacon and toast came from the kitchen. “Grandma is finishing breakfast for us,” Grandpa whispered. “Hurry and dress, but don’t wake your brother. Duke can come to work with me tomorrow. Today it’s your turn.”
Excitement swelled as Dee quickly dressed. He looked across the room at Duke, his twin brother, who was sound asleep and snoring. All year long Dee and Duke looked forward to the day school would end and they could visit Grandma and Grandpa in the country. They fed the chickens, worked in the garden, and went fishing. But Dee’s favorite activity was riding in the big bread truck, helping Grandpa deliver bread to the small country grocery stores serving the Iowa townships nearby.
Dee made his way to the kitchen, his stomach growling. After prayer, he gobbled his breakfast in record time and ran out the door to the car with Grandpa. Grandma stood on the porch in her robe and waved good-bye.
When they arrived at Sunbeam Bakery, Dee was surprised to see Grandpa’s bread truck already loaded with freshly baked bread and delicious pastries. He savored the aroma. A man emerged from the idling truck’s cab and waved. “Everything’s ready for you this morning.”
Grandpa smiled. “Thank you, Charlie. I’ll just get my inventory sheet and double-check our load. Then we’ll be on our way.”
Grandpa quickly and carefully checked off each item and made a few notes on the inventory list. He lifted Dee onto the passenger seat and handed him a day-old Danish. “Here you go, Dee—dessert to top off Grandma’s fine breakfast.” Grandpa was allowed to buy the day-old breads and pastries at a reduced price after he had returned them to the bakery. Sometimes Grandpa’s boss treated them, but they never took anything unless it was offered first.
Soon they were on the road. Dee watched the sun peer over the rolling hills of corn and grain carpeting the Iowa landscape. The ride with Grandpa was fun. They sang songs together that Dee had learned in church, and Grandpa taught him to whistle a new tune. He told Dee stories about life on the farm as they passed cow pastures, sheds that held pigs, and chicken coops.
Before Dee knew it, they had arrived at the tiny town of Fairview, and Grandpa pulled the truck to the back door of the local grocery store. Grandpa hopped out of the truck and helped Dee out. Dee was happy with his small hand in Grandpa’s great big one as they approached the store. With his free hand, Grandpa reached for the ring of keys that he kept attached to his belt loop and unlocked the back door.
Grandpa spoke slowly. “These keys are a sacred trust. Do you understand what that means?” Dee wasn’t sure. He slowly shook his head.
As they walked through the door, Dee saw the many items the grocer had for sale. There were aisles and aisles of food, an aisle for cleaning supplies, and even a special aisle filled with toys and sporting goods, like fishing gear. “How nice it would be to own this store,” Dee thought, “to have all these things and never just wish for them.”
Grandpa interrupted Dee’s thoughts. “The owner of this store has given me his key to the back door because he knows that I will never harm my good name by stealing,” Grandpa said. “My father was known for his honest dealings in this town, and I am blessed to carry his name.”
Nothing more was said. Dee helped Grandpa remove the bread that would go back to the bakery to be sold as day-old goods. He helped him stack the fresh bread that was still warm. He thought about what Grandpa had said and smiled. He was happy to be a member of Grandpa’s family. He made a promise to himself that he too would someday be known for his good name.
Dee watched with pride as Grandpa reached again for the ring of keys and securely locked the door. They got into the truck again and headed for the Eddyville store, whistling as loud as they could.

From a position of great influence and authority, all three witnesses fell, each in his own way. During 1837 there were intense financial and spiritual conflicts in Kirtland, Ohio. Martin Harris later said that he “lost confidence in Joseph Smith” and “his mind became darkened” (quoted in Anderson, Investigating the Book of Mormon Witnesses, 110). He was released from the high council in September 1837 and three months later was excommunicated.
Martin’s wife, Lucy, who had been involved in the loss of the manuscript pages, died in Palmyra in 1836. Within a year thereafter, Martin and his family located in Kirtland, and Martin married Caroline Young, a niece of Brigham Young.
When most of the Saints moved on—to Missouri, to Nauvoo, and to the West—Martin Harris remained in Kirtland. There he was rebaptized by a visiting missionary in 1842. In 1856 Caroline and their four children took the long journey to Utah, but Martin, then 73 years of age, remained on his property in Kirtland. In 1860 he told a census taker that he was a “Mormon preacher,” evidence of his continuing loyalty to the restored gospel. Later he would tell a visitor, “I never did leave the Church; the Church left me” (quoted in William H. Homer Jr., “‘Publish It Upon the Mountains’: The Story of Martin Harris,” Improvement Era, July 1955, 505), meaning of course that Brigham Young led the Church west and the aging Martin remained in Kirtland.
During part of his remaining years in Kirtland, Martin Harris acted as a self-appointed guide-caretaker of the deserted Kirtland Temple, which he loved. Visitors reported his alienation from the leaders of the Church in Utah but also his fervent reaffirmation of his published testimony of the Book of Mormon.
Finally, in 1870, Martin’s desire to be reunited with his family in Utah resulted in a warm invitation from Brigham Young, a ticket for his passage, and an official escort from one of the Presidents of Seventy. A Utah interviewer of the 87-year-old man described him as “remarkably vigorous for one of his years, … his memory being very good” (Deseret News, 31 Aug. 1870). He was rebaptized, a common practice at that time, and spoke twice to audiences in this Tabernacle. We have no official report of what he said, but we can be sure of his central message since over 35 persons left similar personal accounts of what he told them during this period. One reported Martin saying, “It is not a mere belief, but is a matter of knowledge. I saw the plates and the inscriptions thereon. I saw the angel, and he showed them unto me” (quoted in Anderson, Investigating the Book of Mormon Witnesses, 116).
When he reiterated his testimony of the Book of Mormon in the closing days of his life, Martin Harris declared, “I tell you of these things that you may tell others that what I have said is true, and I dare not deny it; I heard the voice of God commanding me to testify to the same” (quoted in Anderson, Investigating the Book of Mormon Witnesses, 118).
Martin Harris died in Clarkston, Utah, in 1875, at age 92. His life is commemorated in the memorable pageant, Martin Harris: The Man Who Knew, produced each summer in Clarkston, Utah.