Gospel Story Finder

Thanksgiving wouldn’t have been Thanksgiving without a turkey in the oven. But a 14-pound (6-kg) turkey would be too much for me, so I invited several students who were from other countries and faraway states to join me. I wanted to share a traditional American Thanksgiving dinner, but I invited them to contribute. I asked each to bring a favorite dish from home. Our Thanksgiving dinner turned out to be a delightful and memorable meal—egg rolls and all.

“Being inspired of the Holy Ghost to lay the foundation thereof, and to build it up unto the most holy faith.
“Which church was organized and established in the year of your Lord eighteen hundred and thirty, in the fourth month, and on the sixth day of the month which is called April” (D&C 21:2–3).
It was on this day that Joseph Smith, Oliver Cowdery, and members of the Smith and Whitmer families met in the home of Peter Whitmer Sr. in Fayette, Seneca County, New York. After appropriate song and prayers, the revelations concerning the organization of the Church were read to the assembled people. These revelations set forth the order of the priesthood and the duties of the officers in the Church. Following this pattern, the Church organization of today has been built.
“According to previous commandment, the Prophet Joseph called upon the brethren present to know if they would accept himself and Oliver Cowdery as their teachers in the things of the kingdom of God; and if they were willing that they should proceed to organize the church according to the commandment of the Lord. To this they consented by unanimous vote” (B. H. Roberts, A Comprehensive History of the Church, 1:196).
And thus we have the pattern established in the very beginning. “And all things shall be done by common consent in the church, by much prayer and faith, for all things you shall receive by faith” (D&C 26:2).

“Through the emotional resilience course, I’ve learned to trust Heavenly Father more and His promise that if we put in effort on our part, He will bless us. This program has also helped me find gratitude for all the challenges in my life, because those things have made me strong and have strengthened my testimony.” —Anli Jay Naelga Emano, Cagayan de Oro, Philippines

You see, I am a Mormon. When I was 13, I had lived with a foster family in Salt Lake City and, after receiving permission, had been baptized into the Church. Upon returning home I found my family very much against my new religion. They forbade me to attend or participate in Church activities, and I obeyed. During the last half of my senior year in high school, however, I was contacted by two missionaries, Elder Michael Morris and Elder Gene L. Peterson, and was retaught the gospel. They encouraged me to seek further education and even go on a mission if it was my desire. It was ironic that now these two options were being offered to me—but in a different way than I had expected.

Recently in a study group of college-age students I was asked, “Which scripture or quotation in Church history gives you the greatest spiritual uplift?” Although I don’t ever remember having been asked this question in such a setting before, I found myself answering without hesitation and with firm conviction: “I think the most powerful declaration ever uttered in the history of the Church is, ‘Joseph, This is My Beloved Son. Hear Him!’” (JS—H 1:17).
We went on to talk about the powers of this celestial conversation and of the plainness of the setting, the greeting, the introduction, and the invitation. Here in a grove of trees were two heavenly personages appearing to a fourteen-year-old boy in response to his earnest pleas and unwavering faith. Here in a setting of simple beauty an obscure boy was called by name by God, was introduced to the Savior Jesus Christ, and was invited to listen to words of understandable plainness that he might begin to learn the most important facts taught in this world.

As a stake Relief Society president in Japan, Sister Junko Yoshida worked with members of her stake Relief Society to collect 1,000 towels for residents affected by severe flooding in early July 2020. Sister Yoshida said: “I wanted to help people. … I immediately [got to work]. … [We had] about 1,000 towels and rags gathered in a short period of about four days.”4

In August 2022, they experienced that feeling once again. “Our second pageant experience was filled with immense fulfilment and joy. As we shared with audience members our testimonies of the gospel of Jesus Christ. We saw miracles and felt God’s hand in these interactions. You see, no one comes to Nauvoo by accident. It is out of the way so if you find yourself there, you’re meant to be there!”

Sometimes the wind is playful;
It blows away my hat
And makes me chase it down the street
Before I get it back.

I remember hearing the story of Elmina Taylor when she was being called to be the very first president over all the Young Women of the Church in 1880. She was frightened of the responsibility and said, “I will not, I cannot serve.” But she was persuaded that with the help of the Lord, she could serve, and for the next 24 years she served the Young Women of the Church very well.

My father-in-law taught at BYU and loved BYU football but could not bring himself to watch their games because he was so nervous about the outcome. Then a wonderful thing happened—the VCR was invented, which made it possible for him to record the games. If BYU won, he would watch the recording with perfect confidence, absolutely certain of the ending! If they were penalized unfairly, injured, or behind late in the fourth quarter, he wasn’t stressed because he knew they would pull it out! You might say he had “a perfect brightness of hope”!

“I’ve been asked what it feels like to be the newest Apostle,” said Elder Patrick Kearon the day after his call to the Quorum of the Twelve.
“I’ve had every conceivable emotion, and I know this is far beyond me. But I will plead for help. I do absolutely believe in a loving Father in Heaven and His Son, our Savior. And I know that They will help. And I’m counting on it. And I will do my best to become, over time, something along the lines of an Apostle that you might have in your imagination.
“And so on this day when I’m struggling, 24 hours after the call, to come to terms with this, if you’re having a day that you feel stretched … beyond your wildest imagination, well, I’m right there with you.”

With some difficulty, my husband and I, carrying our two young children, found an empty table in the college’s large dining room. Pulling out the sandwiches we had made at home, we discussed our bleak financial situation.
We had no money and a week to go until our next paycheck. Neither of us wanted to ask our parents for help. We had credit cards, but if we started using them, how would we stop? We had been paying our tithing faithfully, and we hoped Heavenly Father would bless us.
As we considered our options, I noticed a man smiling at us from several tables away. With our noisy, active children, I was used to people staring at us. I gave his notice no thought until he walked toward us. Placing a folded piece of paper on the table, he patted my husband on the back and said with a smile, “It looks like you’ve got your hands full.”
Then he walked away and quickly disappeared into the crowd. Unfolding the paper, we read, “Good luck! It looks like you’re doing a good job so far.” Tucked into the fold was enough money to get us through the next week and then some.
With tears in my eyes, I felt the Spirit’s peaceful assurance that this was an answer to our prayers and a blessing from paying our tithing. I knew at that moment that Heavenly Father was intimately aware of our little family and that He would not forsake us.
I kept the note and have read it many times over the past few years. I am sure that the generous stranger did not fully comprehend the impact his action would have. But for our family, this experience was a turning point—a turning toward greater obedience, faith, and gratitude.
A spiritual prompting, a generous stranger willing to act, and a helpful note have blessed my family eternally.

For me, the words of prophets taught by my Laurel teacher gave me a vision of what a covenant marriage relationship should look like. The words of the prophets gave me the faith and hope that I could prepare for and obtain a happy home. Consistently studying the teachings of the prophets, both ancient and modern, sustained me during the strenuous and often exhausting years of bearing, teaching, and nurturing seven children. The words of the prophets in the scriptures and taught from this pulpit are words of comfort, love, strength, and good cheer that embrace us all.

The story of Olga Ková?ová of the former Czechoslovakia is an example of member missionary work from our Relief Society history. In the 1970s, Olga was a doctoral student and hungry for a deeper spiritual life. She noticed 75-year-old Otakar Vojk?vka, a Latter-day Saint. “He appeared to me seventy-five in his age but in his heart nearer to eighteen and full of joy,” she said. “This was so unusual in Czechoslovakia at that time of cynicism.”

Olga asked Otakar and his family how they found joy. They introduced her to other Church members and gave her a Book of Mormon. She read it eagerly and was soon baptized and confirmed. Since that time Olga has been an influence for good in a world of political oppression and religious persecution. She served as Relief Society president in her little branch and helped save the souls of others by bringing them to Christ.3

The next day Kipp and I rode out to Carlos’s place again. He was working in his garden. Kipp and I gave him a hand. He told us stories of when he was a young man. He had left home when he was twelve years old to work as a ranch hand, first in Mexico and finally in Arizona. At noon we went into his little house and ate beans and tortillas again.
Kipp and I made at least one visit a day to Carlos’s place. Sometimes we’d help him work around his house. Other times we’d just sit in the shade and he’d talk. Two days before Christmas, I asked him, “What are you doing for Christmas?”
“I’m too old for Christmas. It is for children and families.”
Kipp and I were quiet as we rode Bill back to the barn. As we stripped off the bridle and saddle, I said, “Carlos can’t spend Christmas alone.”
Kipp nodded. “We thought things were rough for us. He doesn’t have anybody. And he won’t have any presents.”
“Aunt Clara,” I asked as we burst through the front door, “do you suppose we could invite Carlos over for Christmas?”
Aunt Clara sighed. “We used to invite him every year, but the last few years he hasn’t come. He says he doesn’t care for Christmas anymore.”
“Can’t we try?” Kipp pleaded. “Spending Christmas in that little hut can’t be any fun. Christmas is for everybody. This year we can be his family, and he can be ours.”
Uncle Hank thought our idea was a good one, so the next morning we went to Tucson. It took us most of the day, but when we had finished, we had two blankets, a pair of work boots, a new hat, and a basket of fruit and nuts for Carlos.
“Now, how are we going to get him to celebrate with us?” Uncle Hank asked as we drove down the dirt road to the ranch.
“Kipp and I will worry about that,” I said with a grin.
It was turning dark, but there was a bright, full moon when Kipp and I saddled old Bill and headed for Carlos’s place. As we rode up, we saw a little light from his two windows. When he opened his door, we shouted, “Merry Christmas, Carlos!” I added, “Grab a jacket—we’re going to be late.”
“Late? Late for what?”
“It’s Christmas Eve. The party’s ready to start.”
“I thought I told you that I don’t celebrate Christmas anymore.”
Kipp said, “But we can’t celebrate Christmas without you. This year we don’t have family except you, Uncle Hank, and Aunt Clara. You have to come! You can ride old Bill. We’ll walk.”
Kipp and I had to do some more fast talking, but we finally got Carlos out of his house and onto Bill; then the three of us left for the ranch house.
Aunt Clara had a stocking for each of us, bulging with candy and nuts. We sang Christmas carols, read the Christmas story from the Bible, and snacked on popcorn, candy, and apple cider. Toward the end of the evening, we gave him our gifts.
Carlos was like a little kid! He admired the blankets and fruit basket. Then he tried on his new shoes and hat and marched around the house, studying himself in the hall mirror. Big, happy tears trickled down his cheeks.
When Kipp and I took Carlos back to his place, he paused in the doorway and said, “Maybe I am still a child, because Christmas feels good tonight. Or maybe it is because I was with family.” He grinned. “Feliz Navidad, muchachos. Y muchas gracias! (Merry Christmas, boys. And many thanks!)”
Kipp and I rode Bill back to the ranch house in silence. “You know, Jacob,” Kipp said quietly, “a week ago we thought that this was going to be our worst Christmas ever.”
“Yeah,” I answered, “but this Christmas was special, and I’m going to remember it more than any other.”

When I was about 11 years old, a man came to our little town to teach at the Church academy. He played the violin a little, and we hadn’t had anyone there for a long time that had played the violin. My mother was impressed and picked up a little violin, I guess at some little rummage sale somewhere, and decided that I should learn to play the violin.
Even though I had never seen anyone play the violin in public, he came to our house and started giving me some little simple lessons on playing the violin. I was coming along fairly well by the time we graduated from the eighth grade in grammar school, and for the graduation exercises held in the high school I was asked to play a violin solo.
I’d carefully practiced the little number “Traumerei,” as I remember the name. My sister who was four years older than I and was then one of the popular girls in high school was my pianist. At the graduation exercises, Connie McMurray was the valedictorian. Girls are always smarter in school than boys. As she was giving the valedictory address, there was a little pedestal with a pitcher of water and a glass on it for the school board. The school board was on the stand, plus a little handful of us who were graduating from the eighth grade.
As Connie McMurray was giving her famous valedictory address, near the end of it we noticed the little doily under the pitcher of water on the pedestal was moving over a little bit towards the edge, and over it fell with the pitcher and glass of water! Connie McMurray fell in a dead faint.
In the scurrying around of cleaning the water off the stage and rearranging the chairs, they announced that we would now have the violin solo from David Haight. I walked over to the little old piano, and my sister came up from the audience. I took that little simple violin out of that wooden case as my sister sat down at the piano and sounded an A. I said, “Go ahead and play.”
She said, “David, you’d better tune it.”
I said, “No, no, I tuned it at our piano at home.” We had an old Kimball piano at home. You know, homes in those days—if you had a piano and books, that’s all you needed for the family. I had carefully tuned the strings by twisting those ebony pegs of that violin, but I didn’t know that all pianos weren’t the same. So as my sister said, “You’d better tune it,” I said, “No, no, it’s all tuned. I tuned it at home.”
So she went ahead and played the introduction, and then I came down on the first note. We were off about two notes.
As she slowed down, I said, “Keep playing,” because I couldn’t imagine anyone would take the time of a famous audience like I was playing to—you know, 100 people in that little high school auditorium. You wouldn’t hold up Carnegie Hall while you tuned your violin! That would be shop work. You would do that in the back room so that when you would start to play, why, you’d be all ready to play.
She slowed down. I said, “Keep playing.” We finished it, and she didn’t speak to me for days following that show.

Camping, boating, swimming
Hot summer days
Inviting all my cousins over for a barbecue,
Together, as a family.
The sound of his voice
The happiness in his laughter
All slowing as he became sick
The color in his face slowly draining away.
I remember his frail body
Trying desperately not to show
The pain in his sunken eyes,
His small, weak voice calling for help.
His pale skin clinging to his tired bones
Hanging on for life
Not wanting to go.
Torn between two worlds,
Loved ones on both sides.
Finally the hour is come
Tears fill his eyes
My mother gently sobbing, “It’s okay to go.”
His spirit leaves his body
He’s gone.
It seems so unreal
It hasn’t quite sunk in
He’s in his room
He’s in the hospital
He’ll be back in a couple weeks.
When he first died
I couldn’t remember his face.
Pictures
Home movies
Help me to remember.
Now he is with his Father.
I will see him soon someday
And he will be the way he was.
I love you, Dad.

Recently, I was overcome with a sense of awe. I thought, “Who am I to address God?” But He is my Father and I am His daughter. I know He longs to hear from me as much as I yearn to commune with Him.

Five Oaks Ward
The Primary children of the Five Oaks Ward, Cedar Mill Oregon Stake, made puppets of themselves and learned that they are each a son or daughter of Heavenly Father.

Sister Howells brought to her Primary call a wealth of experience and vision. She had served as counselor to Sister Hinckley and believed in developing cultural and artistic skills in children as well as in promoting their spiritual education. She established new creative sections in the Children’s Friend, began a weekly local radio story time and a local TV quiz show, and helped to commission the Friberg paintings of the Book of Mormon scenes. Children gave dimes to “buy a brick,” and building began on the new Primary Children’s Hospital.