Gospel Story Finder

“Come on!” Stacy yelled out the jeep window, honking the horn.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” I called, running out the front door with my arms full of treats for the road.
Stacy and I had been best friends since the sixth grade. We loved doing all of the same things, which led us to take the same digital photography class that year in high school. For one of our assignments, we decided to drive to San Francisco and take pictures of all the amazing buildings there.
The first part of the road trip was a blast. We listened to music and chatted. Suddenly Stacy pointed to a sign along the freeway that read, “Oakland: 10 miles.” Her eyes went wide. “Hey, should we visit the temple?”
The closest temple to where we lived was in Oakland, a two-hour commute from our town. “I guess we should, since we’re so close,” I replied. Excited, we took the exit off the freeway.
At the end of the ramp, Stacy asked, “Which way now?” We looked around. We had no idea which road the temple was actually on! We just assumed we would see it right off the freeway sitting on a hill. All we knew was that the temple was in the town of Oakland, and we were slowly realizing what a big town it was.
Stacy drove up and down random streets, hoping to see something that we would recognize, but we only found ourselves getting more confused and lost. “This was a bad idea,” Stacy muttered grumpily.
I was about to agree with her, when all of a sudden, I saw it: the golden tip of the temple! “Up there! On top of that hill. Do you see it?” I exclaimed.
“Yeah!” Stacy started to head in the direction of the spire.
We began the process of finding the temple simply by keeping it in sight. We drove up hills, only to come to a dead-end. But instead of getting frustrated like before, we simply reversed and backed up, keeping the temple on the hill in sight. Then, we would start down another path, hoping it would eventually lead us to our goal.
The feeling of hope that we had just by keeping the temple in sight was amazing.
We knew we were at least headed in the right direction, and that filled us with comfort. Eventually we found ourselves in front of the temple gate.
I think of that experience a lot in my life. When I find myself at a dark path and I feel lost or unsure of which way to turn, I remember that if I keep my destination in view, I can eventually reach my goal.

I shut the little black book. A feeling of success surged within me. I actually had finished it. I had read the whole book. Now what was supposed to happen? I recalled the words that were written in one of the book’s last chapters. “And when ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost” (Moro. 10:4).
Okay. I knew that I was supposed to feel a burning in the bosom or an overwhelming knowledge of truth. At least that’s what other members of the Church said in their testimonies. They all felt it when they knew that the Church was true. They were sincere. So why wasn’t I feeling anything? Why wasn’t God appearing to me? How will I know if it’s true? How will I know if it’s not? How did they know?
I looked at the little black book. It was torn and tattered, the once-white pages now a stale yellow. The black leather cover bore ugly creases running up and down the length of it. The binding hung limply by the little glue that was left. I opened the cover and read the inscription. “To Michelle Glenetske, from Mom with love.”
When my mom first gave me this copy of the Book of Mormon, I treated it as a souvenir from her visit to Utah. I was too young then to really understand what it meant. Little did I know the true meaning behind those hard-to-read words. Little did I know the faith and courage it had taken the authors to record their day-to-day lives, their revelations, and their spiritual knowledge, even during times of pain and suffering. At that time I did not see, or care to see, the value of this little black book.
During early-morning seminary my freshman year, we read the Book of Mormon together as a class. We had read most of it, and now I had finished all of it—on my own. I did it without my parents or Church leaders pushing me. I did it to fulfill that unknown prompting that wandered within my soul. It was a quest for knowledge and understanding—and now I had finished the race. So where was my reward? Why wasn’t I feeling the way the Church leaders said I should? Was it really not true? I didn’t think I could bear the thought of the one thing that I based my life around not being true. I had to know.
I stepped into the warm spring air and wandered slowly to the big oak tree behind the shed. There I sat on the mossy earth, looking at the cloudless, blue sky. I silently put my little black book next to me and stared blankly into the large branches of the beautiful tree. I saw and felt nothing. I heard nothing except for the unceasing pounding against my chest. I began to pray in my mind. Is it true? I asked.
A few minutes later, a loud chirp broke me out of my reverie. I shook my head and then looked up. I saw a faint rustle among the leaves. But I heard a chirp of a mother robin, and soon heard many delicate cheeps. A feeling of total peace overcame me. “God made all these wonderful things for us,” I said in a whisper. “All things bright and beautiful, All creatures great and small.” I remembered the song I was taught in Primary. “All things wise and wonderful, The Lord God, made them all” (Children’s Songbook, no. 231). Tears formed in my eyes, threatening to spill at any moment.
I was finally realizing what God had done for me. I began to understand who I was. But more significantly, the knowledge of what I had been searching for had finally come. I wasn’t sure how it had. All I knew is I had experienced a feeling of peace that I had never felt before. I knew.

Despite his familiar and friendly style, the Prophet Joseph Smith was resolute in doing his duty. During a meeting to consider disciplining a man who had rejected the counsel of the Presidency and the Twelve, he declared: “The Saints need not think because I am familiar with them and am playful and cheerful, that I am ignorant of what is going on. Iniquity of any kind cannot be sustained in the Church, and it will not fare well where I am; for I am determined while I do lead the Church, to lead it right” (History of the Church, 5:411). On another occasion he wrote, “I am a lover of the cause of Christ and of virtue chastity and an upright steady course of conduct & a holy walk, I despise a hypocrite or a covenant breaker” (The Personal Writings of Joseph Smith, ed. Dean C. Jessee [1984], 246).

We have always learnt about the importance of serving a mission and being a missionary even if we have not had an opportunity to labor full time in the mission field. What a great privilege it is to watch our children learn about the Savior and to develop a willing heart to serve in the Lord’s vineyard. “And all thy children shall be taught of the Lord; and great shall be the peace of thy children” (Isaiah 54:13). Fulfilling this command, recently, the New Delhi India Stake Primary presidency organized a fun-filled activity for Primary children where they could learn about the process of becoming a missionary.
These beautiful children aged between 4–11 were welcomed to the activity by stake Primary leaders and were given individual missionary name tags and a letter extending a call to serve in the “Vasant Vihar Mission” for four hours. The children then boarded an airplane. They were served a snack and informed that they would be landing at the missionary training center soon. At the MTC the new missionary force was divided into companionships and received instruction which included games emphasizing missionary rules, specifically to stay close to and cooperate with their companions.
After lunch, President and Sister Ramakrishna reviewed the first principles and ordinances of the gospel of Jesus Christ with the senior Primary children and practiced their door approaches. Each companionship had the opportunity to knock on a door and share a brief lesson with “investigators.”
Meanwhile, the junior Primary children enjoyed movies and a coloring activity. The activity was wrapped up by making handwritten cards for the missionaries serving in New Delhi.
Jaden John, an eight-year-old Primary child said that this was the best activity he had ever attended. “I learned the four principles of the gospel, “he said, “and how to be a missionary.” Vivek Kumar said he learned, “that we have to follow the principles that God has given us.”
These young minds were nourished and nurtured by good instruction. Every child seemed to be saying, “I hope that I can share the gospel with those who want to know the truth. I want to be a missionary . . . And serve the Lord while I am in my youth.”
Indeed, these children are like the army of Helaman who are being taught in their youth to be the Lord’s missionaries and to bring the world his truth. Let us be comforted to know that there is no better work to be involved in than missionary work.

A few months ago, when I was learning to ride my bike, I needed to believe I could do it. At first I didn’t believe that I could do it, so I didn’t try much. Then I started believing that I could do it, and I practiced more—and I could ride my bike!

As a young teen growing up in Santiago, Chile, Andrea González never had much except for a dream—a university degree that would allow her to support her family if necessary.
To get there, she hoped to graduate from seminary, get good grades at school, and score high enough on her college placement exam (PSU) to go to a university where she could study engineering.
But by the time she had started her final year of high school in preparation for the PSU, she started to wonder if any of that was possible. “All my goals seemed impossible to achieve,” she recalls.
Andrea was trying to break into a competitive and male-dominated field of study. Because of the competition, the top universities were looking for extremely high scores on the math portion of the PSU, scores usually earned by those who could afford to attend private schools.
To try and overcome these obstacles, Andrea kept a daunting schedule her final year. She was up early and studying after school until late, eating when she had a free moment and squeezing in seminary four nights a week.
“It was discouraging sometimes,” she says. “I had to sacrifice a lot. I don’t know how many times my friends heard me say, ‘No, I’ve got to study’ or how often I’ve been teased for being smart.”
But she knew she couldn’t give up if she wanted to secure her future.
Her sacrifices paid off. On the math section of the PSU, Andrea was one of 200 students in the country to earn a perfect score of 850 and one of only two girls from public schools to do so.
She also graduated from seminary, got the good grades she studied so hard for, and was named by her classmates as the year’s “Best Friend” because of all of the time she spent helping others with their own studying.
But Andrea believes her success has less to do with how much she knows than it does with what she knows she must do. In other words, blessings come from following the Lord’s counsel, not our own (see 2 Nephi 9:28–29). “It’s not worth anything to be smart if we ignore God,” she says. “You always have to put God first.”
Learning that principle as she studied for her college entrance exam was critical to the other test Andrea was taking—the test of life that everyone must take.
The Lord Himself explains this test in the scriptures: “We will prove them herewith, to see if they will do all things whatsoever the Lord their God shall command them” (Abraham 3:25).
“Heavenly Father tests us to see what we will do,” Andrea says, thinking back on the difficult schedule she had to keep and the teasing she sometimes had to endure. “To pass life’s test, we have to be obedient,” Andrea says.
And not just when things are going well but during the hard times too.
“The great test of life,” said President Henry B. Eyring, First Counselor in the First Presidency, “is to see whether we will hearken to and obey God’s commands in the midst of the storms of life.”1
Often her two tests collided. That’s when Andrea learned that putting God first was the secret to passing both tests.
Many times she had to choose between Church activities and school activities, between studying the gospel and studying for her test. She says she learned early on that she felt better if she chose Church first. It strengthened her testimony that Heavenly Father would help her with her concerns if her first concern was Him.
These experiences also taught Andrea another important lesson. “He is capable of helping me with the tests He has given me,” she says.
Or as one of her heroes, Nephi, said, “I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them” (1 Nephi 3:7).
Andrea knows that even though she has passed her first test, there is a lot she must learn before she’ll feel ready to pass the next. But she knows if she puts God first, He’ll help her pass that test too.

Entering the United States Navy in the closing months of World War II was a challenging experience for me. I learned of brave deeds, acts of valor, and examples of courage. One best remembered was the quiet courage of an 18-year-old seaman—not of our faith—who was not too proud to pray. Of 250 men in the company, he was the only one who each night knelt down by the side of his bunk, at times amidst the jeers of the curious and the jests of unbelievers, and, with bowed head, prayed to God. He never wavered. He never faltered. He had courage.

Youth in the Greely Colorado Stake were literally in a rut on their trek—several times! But teamwork and determination helped them reach their destination despite high temperatures and a challenging climb.

One morning when I was serving as a young missionary in Beaumont, Texas, my companion became ill and needed to rest. Following the counsel of our mission president for such situations, I pulled a chair up by the open window in our fourth-story apartment and began to read in the Book of Mormon.
Soon I became immersed in the scriptures, and after a time I came to Alma chapter 29, verses 1 and 2:
“O that I were an angel, and could have the wish of mine heart, that I might go forth and speak with the trump of God, with a voice to shake the earth, and cry repentance unto every people!
“Yea, I would declare unto every soul, as with the voice of thunder, repentance and the plan of redemption, that they should repent and come unto our God, that there might not be more sorrow upon all the face of the earth.”
As I pondered on Alma’s words, they became deeply personal. My companion and I had knocked on hundreds of doors in Beaumont, offering to share our message, but with limited success. In my mind’s eye, I began to imagine what it might be like if I were an angel and could cry repentance with a voice to shake the earth. I looked out the window at the people coming and going on the street below. I imagined what it would be like if I were standing there shining like an angel, with my hands raised, speaking with a voice of thunder. I envisioned the buildings shaking and people falling to the earth. Under the circumstances I imagined, they might have a sudden desire to listen to what I had to say!
But then I read the next verse: “But behold, I am a man, and do sin in my wish; for I ought to be content with the things which the Lord hath allotted unto me” (v. 3).
I was humbled to realize the Lord loves all His children and has a plan for His work. My job was to do my part.
I was also humbled to realize something else. In that moment, I knew that what I was reading was not fiction—it was real. Quietly and peacefully while I was reading, I had been filled with light and with the realization that this Alma was an actual person, that he had lived, and that he too had deeply desired to share the gospel message with others.
If you had asked me in that moment, “Do you know this is true?” I would have replied, “Absolutely!” At that point, it became clear to me that I was receiving a spiritual witness of the truth of the Book of Mormon.
As I have reflected on that experience—and many such witnesses since—I have come to better understand how vitally important it is to receive by the Spirit. We often focus, appropriately, on the importance of teaching by the Spirit. But we need to remember that the Lord has placed equal, if not greater, importance on receiving by the Spirit. (See D&C 50:17–22.)
As I have read back over my journal entry to understand and learn more from the experience I had as a missionary, I have realized that although I had read in the Book of Mormon before, what happened in Beaumont that morning was different because I was different. As inexperienced as I was, at least on that occasion I was sincerely trying to seek and to feel, and my intent was to act in faith on what I learned. I know now that such witnesses are available to each of us on a regular basis if we will receive them.

A Friend. Elder Joseph Thomas Miller of Utah, USA, attending the Spain MTC: “I had never studied Spanish, but my companion had studied it for six years. He has helped me so much with the language, the gospel, and many things. He has been more than a companion; he has been a friend.” His companion, Elder Samuel David Norton of England, says it goes both ways: “Elder Miller is amazing. The lessons of humility and diligence that I have learned from him have really helped me.”

Wally and I both attended BYU until Wally graduated. We moved to Edmonton and made the six-hour drive to the Cardston Temple whenever we could. We made personal sacrifices, but those were well worth it for the knowledge we received each time we visited the temple. Our lives, and those of our family, were blessed tremendously.

The metal cover on the door’s mail slot clattered as the mail was pushed through and landed on the floor of our apartment. One of the high points of our day had arrived, and my companion and I collided as we made haste to see what the mailman had brought. Not even Santa could compete with the excitement he inspired.
Four white envelopes lay scattered on the floor and my companion, having mastered the morning dash and beaten me to the door, scooped them up. “Let’s see,” she said slowly, holding them just out of my reach. “One for me. One for me. One for me, and, oh, one for you.”
One for me. Why did I insist on racing to the door for this kind of treatment? The handwriting on the envelope was familiar, and I knew it was from home. I tore it open as I walked to my bed and pulled out a card with a picture on the front of two tired sister missionaries soaking their feet. I opened it up and settled back on my bed to read. “Hang in there,” it said. “We love you! Mom and Dad.”
“Well, so much for news from home,” I thought and glanced over at my companion who was still on her first letter (a three-pager) and smiling slightly as she read. The other two letters waited patiently on her lap.
“I guess I’ll go finish making breakfast,” I said and walked toward the small kitchen. My companion nodded her head in acknowledgment that I had spoken and continued reading without a pause.
I had been in Finland four months. I pulled out a pan to mix our purro (porridge) in and sighed heavily. Because the mission was short on missionaries who had been in the field for very long, the president had had no choice but to make senior companions of fairly new missionaries. And I was one of them.
I remembered back a few weeks ago to the excitement I had felt at the prospect of leaving my first city to go on to a new area as a senior companion. I remembered even more clearly the sick feeling I had experienced as my new companion and I knocked on our first door, and I realized that neither of us understood the language very well; and I was in charge.
That’s what my parents’ card was in response to. I’d written home expressing, mildly, of course, the way I was feeling, and the card was their message of encouragement. No thought-provoking words of wisdom, no sage advice to ponder, not even a quotation from Richard L. Evans. How was I supposed to reach lofty new heights on the words “hang in there”?
I wondered if any other missionaries had parents who were so economical with words. I turned on the stove and began slowly stirring the purro.
The purro began to boil thickly, and its slow bubbling called my attention back to what I was doing. I turned off the stove and called to my companion.
Those four short months in Finland quickly turned into 16, and I found myself on my way home. As I look back now, I remember only vaguely the fear and inadequacy I felt in that new city as a new senior companion (although my journal could tell tales!). What I do remember is the fact that my companion and I hung in there.
We probably weren’t the most successful companionship to ever pack scriptures, pamphlets, filmstrips and a projector onto our bikes to hit the tracting trail, but we did hit it.
And in that city during some of the hardest times of my mission, I learned what it meant to pray, to really pray, and consequently to receive answers to prayers. I learned that we weren’t out there alone and that we could do what we had been called to do.
I hadn’t needed to receive a long discourse from my parents on the at merits of overcoming discouragement and pushing ahead. The card they sent was enough because it served as a reminder to me that sometimes half the battle is just enduring to the end.

Family commitments and expectations should be at the top of our priorities to protect our divine destiny. For those who are looking for more fruitful use of the Sabbath day for the family as a whole, the hastening of this work is fertile ground. One mother glowingly tells how her 17-year-old son gets on the computer after church on Sunday to do family history work and her 10-year-old son loves to hear the stories and see pictures of his ancestors. This has blessed their entire family to experience the spirit of Elijah. Our precious roots and branches must be nourished.

I remember the day my father died, my mind was somewhat in anxiety and turmoil. I returned home, sat in my favorite chair, and picked up the scriptures. I read a little, then closed my eyes. In my mind’s eye I saw my father as a young man, and he was dressed in white. Although he had never become a member of the Church, I knew I would see him in the resurrection and, furthermore, I had seen him as he would appear. My mind was at peace again. When we rely on the Lord, we can have fulfillment of his promise, “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: … Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid” (John 14:27). He is “The Prince of Peace” (Isa. 9:6).

In February 1846 during the mass departure of Saints from Nauvoo, the weather was extremely cold, allowing long caravans of wagons to stretch out across the Mississippi River over a solid flow of ice extending from bank to bank, a distance of one mile.

It’s a beautiful sound when all the members of the London Ward in Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada, sing hymns with the organ music in their chapel. Thirteen-year-old Marvin Cardona is the organist. Anywhere there’s music in the London Ward, you’ll most likely find one of the youth from the ward providing the accompaniment.
It’s strange to think that only a few months ago the members in this ward would either sing without accompaniment in their meetings or play the Church-produced tapes of the hymns as they sang.
Everyone prefers having the young people in the ward play the hymns now. Andrew Cardona, 17, says, “Everyone actually sings in time now. Sometimes we were off a few beats [from the tape]. You feel the Spirit more now.” Jackie Famini, 13, agrees. “It’s nice to have someone play the piano instead of listening to the tapes.”
When the London Ward was split from another ward, there was no one left in the ward boundaries who could play the organ or the piano well enough to accompany the congregation. That’s where Elder and Sister Heap entered the scene. They are a missionary couple who realized that once they left the ward, there would be no one who could play the piano. So they decided to teach music lessons to anyone who was interested.
Almost all the youth in the ward signed up. “I heard about all the other people taking lessons, and I was interested because I wanted to play the piano,” says Sherri Cardona, 15. “So I asked Sister Heap, and she said yes.” Sherri now rotates with other girls in the ward to play the keyboard for Young Women opening exercises.
The youth in the ward are grateful to Elder and Sister Heap for all they’ve taught them. They say the Heaps were not only good music teachers but also good friends.

Seventeen-year-old Amy J. lives in a part of Alabama, USA, that is popular among tourists. As a result, many businesses stay open seven days a week. And yet, Amy has been fortunate enough to find a job that doesn’t require her to work on Sunday—something very important to her.
Amy works year-round as a lifeguard and swim instructor at the local recreation center. She enjoys her job, especially teaching swimming lessons. “I like working with the kids,” Amy says.
The job also provides valuable income. “Last summer I was able to save up money and buy a car. That has been a tremendous blessing,” she says.
In short, she says it’s a fantastic job. So how did she land it? By first joining the swim team. “My swim coach texted me about a job she knew of,” Amy says. Amy believes she never would have found this opportunity if she hadn’t been putting herself out there and meeting people. She advises all youth to become involved in activities and to network.
Amy, too, has picked up useful life skills from her job. In her case, some of them may prove extremely helpful. “I want to go into the medical field,” she explains. The CPR and first-aid training she received as part of her lifeguard duties are excellent foundational skills.
She’s learned about balancing work and school schedules too. “Time management skills definitely come from having a job,” she says.
Last, but certainly not least, Amy has gained a testimony of paying tithing as a result of the income she receives from work. “I can see that when I pay tithing, I’m able to use my money in a more productive fashion,” she says.

In 1983 his beloved wife, Clara Jeffs Hunter, passed away. She had suffered a devastating stroke several years before that had left her very much diminished. President Hunter tended to her needs, providing loving care with respect and an uncommon devotion for many years, with a complete disregard for his own health. But there was a reward, for as diminished as she was, Claire would smile and respond only to him. The tenderness so evident in their communication was heartrending. We have never seen such an example of devotion of a husband to his wife. Theirs was a many-splendored love affair. Love is service.

Of her first experience in the temple, Natalia Lorena Figueroa from Argentina said, “In the temple baptistry, I watched a brother be baptized for my grandfather and my uncles. Then I was baptized for my grandmother and aunts. The joy I felt was incredible. Tears fell from my eyes, and I felt the burning in my breast as never before.” Similar blessings await those who qualify for and use limited-use temple recommends.

Nathan, a neighbor boy, came around to play with my son Michael. Later I took them to the park. Michael rode his bike to the park and promised Nathan that he could ride on the way home. But when the time came to leave, Michael found it hard to keep his promise. He rode his bike home himself, feeling very unhappy. Nathan wasn’t too pleased either. After Michael had time to think about it, he agreed that Nathan could have a go on his bike after all, so off they went. Afterward Michael told me, “I liked sharing because Nathan is my friend, and it made me feel happy.”