Gospel Story Finder

I needn’t look for further proof
That a little bird walked on our roof.
His snowy tracks are plain and clear
Until they stop and disappear
Above the eaves of our back door.
He’s made his tiny trails before—
It’s his way of reminding me
To leave bread crumbs for Chickadee.

At the age of 18, Olivia Nez has been around the longest of any of the girls in the Young Women program on the reservation. She has played a large part in helping to plan this first girls’ camp, working closely with the leaders to make sure that all the girls had the equipment and skills necessary to have a great time. Even though her senior year was chock-full of activities, including being the student body president, Olivia made time to act as the youth camp director.
“Since I just graduated [from high school], this is my first and last camp with our branches,” she says. “The girls in my branch and the other branches face a lot of challenges, and this is a good opportunity to learn more about the gospel and recommit ourselves.”

For years, it was felt that no man could run a mile in less than four minutes. Again and again, athletes broke themselves in the attempt to better that time, until Roger Bannister, an English medical student, amazed the world by clocking a 3:59.4 mile at Oxford on May 6, 1954. Since then, dozens have shattered the old belief of man’s limited capacity. Among them was a young high school boy, Jim Ryun, who ran the race in 3:59, yet finished eighth in a field of more experienced competitors. Ryun himself has now run the mile in less than 4:00 almost 20 times, and the new world record, held by Steve Ovett of Great Britain, is an unbelievable 3:48.8!
After all is said and done, nothing works unless we do! Bannister, after breaking the four-minute barrier, defined desire as “the ability to take more out of yourself than you’ve got.” During the race in which he broke the records, he ordered himself, “Roger, you’re going to run if you have to run on your knees.” Bob Zuppke, a successful coach at Illinois University, believes there is always a little more to give. “If you ran as far and as fast and as long as you could, and sank to the ground in utter exhaustion, and you looked up and saw a big lion standing there, you could run some more, couldn’t you?” he asked.

My decision to become a Latter-day Saint was difficult for my family to accept. As I announced that I would be serving a full-time mission without pay, not everyone understood how or even why I would want to. My parents wanted to share my enthusiasm, but they had difficulty seeing me “give up” the religion they had raised me in.
When I received my call to the Honduras Tegucigalpa Mission, included in the envelope was a checklist of things I needed to bring. My mom noticed that one of the items on my list was a laundry bag. Now that was something she could understand! She quickly purchased some heavy blue denim and handcrafted a simple, functional laundry bag made with love. It was a gift that would keep on giving.
That laundry bag accompanied me to the missionary training center and then to Honduras. It traveled with me from one small village to another, little by little aging from dark blue to light blue, in the way a pair of jeans becomes a favorite and perfect-fitting pair of pants. At the end of my mission, I gave away most of my clothes to a special family I had grown to love, but I held on to the laundry bag. My mom had made it just for me even though she did not understand the significance of a mission.
Nearly 30 years later, our oldest son received his call to the California Carlsbad Mission, along with a checklist of items he would need. We read it together, and when we came to “laundry bag,” we retrieved the bag my mom had made for me. Though it was even more faded by then, off it went to California.
A few years later, my daughter was called to serve in the Ohio Cleveland Mission, and the laundry bag accompanied her there. When she returned, she brought it home a bit more aged but still without significant wear and tear.
The bag reminds me that some things, like the lessons learned from serving a mission and from showing love for others—as my mother did for me—can bless us over and over again. It has become part of a family tradition of missionary service that I hope never wears out.

When President George Albert Smith was young, his deceased grandfather George A. Smith appeared to him in a dream and asked, “I would like to know what you have done with my name.” President Smith responded, “I have never done anything with your name of which you need be ashamed.”
Just as President George Albert Smith had to account to his grandfather for what he had done with his name, someday each one of us will have to account to our Savior, Jesus Christ, for what we have done with His name.

I had no problem attending church on Sunday, but I was not as enthusiastic about attending Primary because it was on Saturday morning at that time. When I was 10, Thelma came home one Saturday and told my other siblings about a great soccer game between the deacons and the Blazers (11-year-old Scouts). She pointed out how unfortunate it was that I had missed the game because I had not attended Primary. Needless to say, I went the following Saturday (with my soccer cleats on) and never missed it again.

On February 27, 2011, I received my Young Womanhood Recognition. I am happy that I completed the Personal Progress program, that I kept myself pure and clean, and that I can wear my medallion with pride. I know that the Young Women organization helps us progress and prepare ourselves for marriage in the holy temple. I am grateful to my Heavenly Father for this organization. By earning my medallion, I have completed one of my goals, and I know that I can continue to do much good in the work of the Lord.
Katherine M., Venezuela

Photographs of Gwen by Christina Smith and courtesy of her family
In her first 18 years of life, Gwen has lived in five different countries: Scotland, Angola, England, Kazakhstan, and Qatar. Her dad’s job has taken them all over the world, but most recently, to the Middle East.
Gwen’s older siblings have all moved away, so she lives in Qatar with her mom and dad. One of her favorite experiences was traveling with the youth in her ward for a temple trip to the Kiev Ukraine Temple. There isn’t a temple close by, so the Saints in the Middle East have to fly to visit temples in other countries.
“I was so excited for our trip, and I wanted to bring family names,” she said. “Every day I would find family names on my phone on the way to and from school. I found about 200 names. I felt so ready to go!”
But there was one little problem she couldn’t have prepared for.
A global pandemic.
Gwen’s plane landed in Ukraine in March of 2020—right when they started to hear more about the spread of the COVID-19 virus. With heaven’s help, they made it to the temple and were able to perform baptisms for the family names Gwen had prepared.
“There was miracle after miracle after miracle,” she said. “On our drive to the temple, I was worried about the pandemic. But in the temple I just felt so much peace and comfort. And we were able to fly back to Qatar right before the borders closed.”
But Gwen’s mom, who had gone to visit one of Gwen’s siblings in the United States of America, wasn’t able to return to Qatar. Gwen and her father were quarantined at home when her father contracted COVID. “For a while he was very sick and he wasn’t able to move much,” Gwen said. “I felt so alone. My mom was still gone, and I didn’t know how to make much food other than a grilled cheese sandwich.”
But Gwen had a special experience while holding church at home with her dad.
“It felt like the people whose names we had taken to the temple were with me and my dad,” she said. “I didn’t feel alone anymore. It was such a tender experience. Visiting the temple before the pandemic was such a blessing.”
The Dubai United Arab Emirates Temple was announced just a month after her temple trip to Ukraine. Gwen was thrilled! And she knows how much it will mean to the people in her area.
“I know there are people in my area who can’t afford to fly to another temple in Europe. They’ve been waiting to be sealed as eternal families. It shows me that the gathering is really happening. We’re preparing the way for Christ to come again.”

The NHS North West Ambulance Service runs a partnership and integration community programme, the objective of which is to help the ambulance service better understand the community they serve, including cultural differences and beliefs. They had already begun to reach out to various faith groups to learn more and had recently visited the Central Mosque in Blackburn. After BBC Two aired the documentary The Mormons Are Coming in February 2023, the feeling was that we looked like an “interesting bunch”. A visit was arranged where the managers and directors from the ambulance service could come and learn more about our faith and beliefs.
On 24 May 2023, a gathering of around 25 managers and NHS directors took place at the Preston England Temple site in Chorley.
The group began their visit with a welcome in the Chorley Stake centre, and appreciation was extended for the work the ambulance service provided for our communities.
The group was then taken on a tour of the temple grounds by Brother Martin Cook where questions were taken. Following the tour, the group were invited into the missionary training centre where they were given another tour of the facilities. The group gathered back into the main room of the MTC, where President Don H. Staheli spoke to the group about a typical day in the MTC and again took questions from the group.
Following the MTC experience, the group made their way back to the chapel for lunch and had the opportunity to hear from the president of the Preston England Temple, Paul D. Martin, who spoke about why we have temples.
Following President Martin, four of our missionaries, and a senior missionary couple, shared some personal backgrounds as well as some core principles of the gospel.
To conclude our discussions, we heard from Brother Peter Trebilcock, who shared his experiences and involvement in the building of the Preston temple.
There was a wonderful spirit and appreciation felt by all throughout the day. Photographs were taken, and a presentation was made by the NHS managers and directors as a thank you for the welcome they had received. In return, each member of the group was given a small binder with a pamphlet about the temple and a brochure of our basic beliefs and humanitarian efforts.

We heard the music and stirring words of “Onward, Christian Soldiers” as we entered the house used as the chapel of the Lagos Nigeria Fourth Branch. The singers—eighteen elders, two sisters, and one missionary couple—were preparing for their zone conference. We were impressed by their bright, eager smiles and faces glowing with enthusiasm. The single missionaries had been called to serve from homes in Ghana, Sierra Leone, and Nigeria. The couple from Canada were on their second mission.
We sang with conviction the opening hymn of the conference:
Go forth with faith to tell the world
Of Jesus Christ, the Lord.
Bear witness he is God’s own Son;
Proclaim his wondrous word.
Go forth with hope and courage strong
To spread the word abroad
That people of all nations
Are children of our God. …
Go forth with pow’r to tell the world
The gospel is restored,
That all may gain eternal life
Thru Jesus Christ, the Lord.
[“Go Forth with Faith,” Hymns, 1985, no. 263]

As a teenage boy, I struggled a lot with my identity. I wondered why I was on this earth and who I was supposed to become. When I was about 13, the principal of my school gave every student a copy of the New Testament with English and Japanese side-by-side. “It isn’t for religious purposes,” he said. “It is a very good translation, so use it to study English.” When I opened it up though, it gave scripture references for when you feel lonely, need answers to your questions, or are struggling. I could relate to all of those situations!
I read about Jesus Christ. “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28). “Take up [your] cross, and follow me” (Matthew 16:24). The words resonated with me even though I didn’t fully understand them. I wondered who Jesus Christ is and what it means to have Him as a Savior.
I wondered if I was the only one feeling such a connection to what was supposed to be a textbook.

The New Era has been a tremendous help to us missionaries. Recently our six-elder district got together with a stack of old New Eras and cut out all the pictures and photographs that depict the youth of the Church throughout the world engaging in fun, clean, activities. Our labors have resulted in a very useful and colorful display that introduces to the world the programs outlined by our Father in heaven for strengthening the youth of Zion. The New Era is a missionary in and of itself.

Thousands of Mormon men, women, and children camped homeless in Indian country, refugees from Nauvoo. Poverty and hunger were permanent guests at their tents, wagons, and crude cabins. Back east, the plight of these sufferers touched the hearts of society people. When the Irish potato famine caused mass starvation, wealthy socialites quickly raised funds and food to provide relief. So when Mormon elders, sent east to seek aid from Gentiles, explained the Mormons’ troubles, wealthy hearts softened again.
“Shall it be said,” asked the Daily Union, a Washington, D.C., newspaper, “that the same people [who aided the Irish] have driven from their peaceful homes fifteen hundred [thousand] of our own people to perish of hunger and cold in the wilderness? We trust not.” Then followed advertisements for “The Ladies Tea Party for the Benefit of the Mormons.” On October 28, 1846, according to one newspaper report, the special tea-party opened very successfully in Washington, with many prominent people present:
“Suffice it for the present, that the ladies of all denominations, all over the city, headed by the mayor and the clergy, went heart and hand into the work. The venerable Mrs. ex-President Madison, Mrs. [President James K.] Polk, Mrs. General Macomb, and many others of the most influential and highly respected and most beautiful of the metropolis were united in the benevolent enterprise.”
Guests paid 50¢ per ticket, which enabled them to hear the Marine Band and a popular vocal group, both of which volunteered their services. Several persons in the city opened their homes as collecting points for clothing and moneys donated to help the Mormon refugees.4

“We can show love for others by doing kind things. Do something nice for somebody you love, and leave a heart where they will find it,” Cassi’s teacher told them as she handed three red hearts to each class member.
Cassi took her hearts home. Mommy hadn’t had time to make her bed before church. Cassi made Mommy’s bed and put a heart on the pillow.
“Thank you!” Mommy hugged Cassi. “When you make my bed, I feel happy.” Cassi felt happy too.
Cassi’s dog, Floppy, was whining. He was thirsty. Cassi filled his dish and put a heart beside it. Floppy’s tail wagged back and forth as he drank. He was happy.
Cassie had one heart left. Who else did she love? Daddy, of course, but he was out of town for two whole weeks, and she wanted to do something else nice for someone sooner than that. She thought hard all week. She loved Heavenly Father, but how could she do something nice for Him?
On Sunday, Cassi knew what to do! She took her last heart to church to remind her of her plan. She listened to her teacher. She was reverent during sacrament meeting. And when she went home, she drew pictures of her favorite story in the Book of Mormon, put the last red heart with them, and gave them to Mommy to send to a missionary.

Susan awoke to the smell of sausage frying. Saturday! That’s the only day Mom cooked sausage. She sat on the edge of her bed and stretched. A familiar rattle outside drew her to the window. Uncle Gordon’s brown pickup truck drove into the driveway in a cloud of dust.
Susan quickly straightened the bed covers and tucked them in. She slipped into her blue jeans and lavender gingham cowboy shirt. Then she grabbed her cowboy boots and pulled them on as she ran down the hall.
“Good morning, Kate,” she heard Uncle Gordon greet her mother. “Is Susan up yet this morning?”
“Here I am, Uncle Gordon,” she called. “Did you get the new horses?”
“Well, now, I like that,” he teased. “I haven’t seen you since school started, and all you can think of is horses.”
“I’m glad to see you too.” Susan grinned. “How are you? Did you get the horses?”
“That’s better,” he laughed. “Yes, I did. I picked up two yesterday.”
“What do they look like?” she asked.
“They’re both mares and as black as the root cellar at midnight,” he told her. “I’m having a hard time figuring out what to call them. In fact, that’s why I’m here. I was hoping your mother would let you spend the day at the ranch with me. Then you could have the job of naming them.”
“May I please? I’ll do my chores before I go,” she promised.
“It’s fine with me if your father doesn’t need you today,” Mom agreed.
The kitchen door opened wide, and Dad entered with pail of fresh milk. “Good morning, Gordon,” he said. “I’d shake your hand, but Kate doesn’t allow us to have milk shakes before breakfast.”
Susan grinned. She liked her father’s sense of humor. “May I go home with Uncle Gordon?” she asked. “He has two new horses, and he needs me to name them. May I, please?”
“Hold on just a minute, young lady,” her father said. “You can’t go anywhere without breakfast. How about joining us, Gordon?”
“I was hoping you’d ask,” he admitted. “No one makes biscuits like my sister-in-law.”
“Susan, will you get the pitcher of orange juice while I finish setting the table?” her mother asked. “Then we can eat.”
“The men will go wash up,” Father said.
“Don’t forget the raspberry jam,” Gordon whispered to Susan as he headed to the bathroom.
After breakfast, as Susan and Uncle Gordon drove from Pleasant Heights to Middleton, Susan studied her uncle. He looked a lot like her father, only much younger. He’d only been home from his mission a few years. He was medium in build and had strong arms like her father’s from throwing bales of hay. Both had brown arms and faces from a summer in the sun. The strong jaw and high cheekbones were the same too. But Dad’s hair was dark brown touched with gray. Uncle Gordon’s was blond.
“Why don’t you get married, Uncle Gordon?” Susan asked.
“Because I haven’t met someone just like you yet,” he laughed.
Susan blushed at his joke. Deep down she didn’t want Uncle Gordon to get married right away. He would have less time for her if he did. But she knew that someday she would have to share him.
Grandpa had been ill when Uncle Gordon returned from his mission to Brazil. Uncle Gordon had taken over the ranch and cared for Grandpa until he died last summer. At first, it was hard for Susan to go to the ranch after Grandpa died. She loved the horses, but everywhere she went, she expected to see him. Uncle Gordon understood how she felt. He knew when to make her laugh and when to let her think about the emptiness she felt without Grandpa.
When they arrived at the ranch, Uncle Gordon pointed to the pasture by the barn. “There they are,” he told her. “You go over and get acquainted.”
“Are they broke?” she asked.
“One of them is, and one isn’t,” he said, “so be careful. I have a truckful of grain to unload. I’ll be back in a little while to see how you’re getting along.”
Susan leaned against the top rail of the fence and watched the two horses grazing side by side. They look just alike from here, she thought. Still, being around horses all her life taught her that no two horses were ever exactly alike. I’ll find the difference, she told herself.
She climbed the fence and walked slowly around the edge of the pasture until she could see their faces. The closest horse whinnied and tossed her head. Susan saw a brief flash of white. There must be a small blaze under her forelock, she thought. The mare tossed her head again. There was the blaze! It’s like the moon hiding on a cloudy night.
The second mare cocked her head to one side and studied Susan. Then she sauntered over to her and nuzzled at her jean pocket.
“What are you looking for?” Susan asked. “Do you have a sweet tooth?”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a sugar cube. The horse carefully put its lips around the cube on the palm of Susan’s hand, then nudged again at her pocket.
“You’ve had enough.” Susan pushed her nose away. “The other one is for your friend.”
The second mare continued to nuzzle at her, letting Susan scratch her behind the ears. “You’re pretty friendly, aren’t you, girl,” she said, stroking the horse’s slender nose. She’d keep her distance more if she was wild, Susan reasoned. Well, there’s one way to find out if she’s broke or not.
Uncle Gordon’s rule was if she could catch, saddle, and bridle it, she could ride it, so Susan headed for the tack room of the barn. She shut her eyes tightly for a moment when she entered the barn, to help her eyes adjust to the dim light. The saddles rested on sawhorses against the wall of the tack room; the bridles hung on the wall above them. She chose her favorite saddle from the farthest sawhorses, and the bridle closest to the door.
Talking softly, she approached the mare. The horse stood steady as Susan slipped the bit into her mouth and the leather strap over her ears. After putting on the saddle blanket, Susan paused for a moment. The mare acted indifferent to the blanket, so Susan slung the saddle onto her back too. She pulled the cinch tight, lifted her left foot into the stirrup, swung her right leg over the mare’s back, then took the reins and clucked her tongue. “Come on, girl,” she coaxed. “Let’s take a little walk.”
At first they swayed gently back and forth together. Then the mare went crazy. She ran full speed toward the fence. Just when Susan was sure that they would hit it, the mare turned with a jerk that nearly snapped her rider out of the saddle. Susan grabbed the saddle horn tightly with one hand and pulled back on the reins with the other. “Whoa, girl!”
But the mare just continued her wild dance. She stiffened her legs and bounced across the pasture. Each jolt forced the air out of Susan’s lungs. The horse spun around several times, then ran full speed toward the open barn door! Susan knew that the top of the door was only about a foot taller than the mare’s back, but she didn’t dare roll to the ground—the horse might suddenly turn back and trample her. Heavenly Father, help! she prayed silently.
“Lie down!” the thought pushed through her fear.
She lay back until her head rested on the horse’s rump just as the mare lunged over the threshold of the barn. The top of the door frame missed Susan’s nose by inches.
Once inside the barn, the horse stopped as though she had come in from a leisurely trail outing. She pulled a mouthful of hay from the manger and was chewing innocently when Uncle Gordon came running into the barn. “Are you all right, Susan?”
Susan was still lying on the horse’s rump, catching her breath. Her heart pounded against her ribs. “Yeah, I’m OK,” she replied sheepishly between breaths. “I guess I got the wrong horse.”
“You got the right one if you’re training for the rodeo,” he laughed. “I couldn’t have paid for a better show than the two of you put on.”
Susan sat up, swung her right leg over the mare’s back, and slid to the ground. Uncle Gordon put his arm around her and walked her to the house. They sat on the porch steps and listened to a meadowlark calling. Susan sat on the top step, and Uncle Gordon sat two below her. It made them eye level.
“Did you come up with some names for me?” Uncle Gordon asked at length.
She nodded. “I’d call the one in the pasture Moonlight for the small blaze hidden under her forelock. And you can call the one in the barn Nightmare!”
“What great names,” he laughed. “Do you think you’ll take up breaking horses?”
“It was exciting,” she assured him. “But I think I’ll leave that to you. I did learn one thing, though—next time I’m going to ask Heavenly Father if I made the right choice before I get on a horse.”

It hadn’t been that way with Tessie. She was as awkward in her world as he was in his, new in California after being given to her mother in a messy divorce settlement. He remembered the first day she’d moved into the neighborhood, lost in the shuffle of refrigerators and dining room tables. She had sat in the branches of the birch tree between his house and hers, thin legs dangling, her big eyes solemn. His heart had gone out to her as he watched from beneath his car, where he’d given up on his drive shaft to watch the scene next door.

He had worked on his car a lot back then, where he could be alone and not worry about being the life of the party or what to say when the best-looking cheerleader in the school said hello to him. Tessie had watched him from high in the birch tree, never saying a word, just watching him work. It had bothered him at first, like having a shadow looking over his shoulder, and then he’d grown to like it. It was comforting to have her there, and lonely when she wasn’t.

It was almost Christmas when David had come home late one night from a date with Sherri Gilbert. Sherri was cute, and a lot of guys liked her, so when Hank had excitedly told him that she was looking his way, well, it had only seemed right to ask her out. He hadn’t known then that the movie would be boring, the hamburgers cold, and that she would talk about nothing but her summer in France with her cousin Louisa. He had been ready to swear off women forever when he’d turned the corner and seen Tessie sitting on her front porch, her head on her knees.

She’d heard the car and looked up as it turned into his driveway. He’d cut the engine and waited a few minutes before slowly climbing out.

“Past your bedtime, isn’t it?” He’d glanced at his watch and seen that it was almost midnight. “My name is David White.”

“Hello.” She’d lifted her head slightly and peered through her bangs. “How come your car’s always broken?”

“Broken?” He’d grinned. “I don’t know. Maybe I never fix it the right way.” He’d glanced at it in the driveway. It certainly didn’t look like much, one side stripped down to primer, waiting for its paint job. “Maybe if I had somebody to help me, I could talk it over and do a better job.”

She’d hesitated a minute. “Maybe I could help. I used to help my dad with his car.”

“Hey, I’d like that. I don’t suppose you have a name?”

“Tessie Tobin.” He’d thought he’d seen excitement in her eyes. “I’m only seven, and everybody tells me that I’m too little to do anything, because I’m the shortest girl in my class, but that doesn’t matter, does it?”

He’d hidden a smile. “I don’t think so. I like short people just as much as the tall ones.”

And that had been the beginning. She’d kept her promise and left the birch tree to become his first-class mate, always ready with a wrench or rag or sometimes just a glass of lemonade.

For example, our bishop delegated to our high priests group leader the project of arranging for the ward banquet. This included making all arrangements for the food, tables, decorations, serving, and program. The quorum leader in turn made a number of assignments for those specific responsibilities.

(President of the Church from 1918 to 1945)
President Heber J. Grant taught his family to look for ways to be unselfish during Christmas. One year President Grant’s children decided to donate money to help build the Salt Lake Temple instead of getting Christmas presents. Another year President Grant noticed that a woman he worked with was very poor. His family decided to take the money they would have spent on gifts for each other and give it to her instead. The woman was overjoyed on Christmas morning when President Grant handed her a turkey and a check to help pay for her house!

Other gifts followed. Two years later I met a young man who was not a member of the Church. I took him to church with me, and after he made his own baptismal covenants, we were married. Later Heavenly Father blessed my husband and me with three children, who were sealed to us for time and all eternity in the Buenos Aires Argentina Temple.

One of the most trying experiences in Spencer W. Kimball’s life was losing his mother, who died when he was 11 years old. He recalled that the news “came as a thunderbolt. I ran from the house out in the backyard to be alone in my deluge of tears. Out of sight and sound, away from everybody, I sobbed and sobbed. … My eleven-year-old heart seemed to burst.”

Even at this young age, however, Spencer knew of the comfort and peace that prayer could bring. During this time of sorrow, a family friend wrote, “My children wept with [my wife and me] as we heard of the prayers of little Spencer and how the loss of his mother weighed so heavily upon his little heart and yet how bravely he battled with his grief and sought comfort from the only source.”4