Gospel Story Finder

In a desert region one day, a number of travelers set out on a trip. It was hot and the journey was long. They had little in common except their shared desire to arrive at a distant city. Each carried provisions and water expecting to replenish their supplies along the way. Not long after leaving their homes, a great storm arose. Dust clouds darkened the sun, and the wind brought swirling sands which quickly filled the low places in the road. What at first had seemed a pleasant outing suddenly became a hazardous undertaking. The travelers soon realized that the question was not merely when they would arrive at the city, but whether they would arrive at all.
Confusion and doubt affected the company. Some sought shelter, while others attempted to turn back. A few moved onward through the storm. The end of the first day found them scattered, with inadequate provisions, wanting water, and lost in the desert. A new day brought hunger, thirst, and despair. The storm still raged. Hope was in short supply. Familiar landmarks were gone. The road, which had been narrow and hard to find, at best, was hidden by silt and debris. No one knew where to go to find it. Many claimed to know the way, but as they could not agree, each traveler wandered in his own way in search of water or the shelter of a settlement.
At the end of yet another day, two of the group, half-blinded by dust and with their strength nearly gone, came unexpectedly, with something more than good fortune, upon an inn and way station. There in the sanctuary of walls and roof, they refreshed themselves and counted their blessings. There they replenished their stores and contemplated the remaining portion of their journey. The weather remained unsettled. The wind continued to blow. The poorly marked road wound ahead through hills where the sand piled deep and where it was said that robbers sometimes preyed upon unsuspecting travelers.
One of the two was anxious to reach his destination. He had important business in the city. He gathered his supplies and water and paid his account. Early in the morning he set out in haste in an attempt to cross the hill country by nightfall. But the windblown sand had blocked the road. He was forced to dig and detour. When night came, he was far from the city, exhausted and alone. When he fell asleep, thieves found him, took his supplies, and left him without strength and without water to face almost certain death.
The second traveler was also desirous of reaching his destination. But he remembered the others in the desert behind him. They were lost and would soon perish without water and without hope. He alone knew where they were. He alone knew their condition and their need. He likewise arose early and paid his account. He glanced at the hills with their promise of the city beyond, and then turned back down the road whence he had come. The sky was a little lighter now. He recognized some of the landmarks. He knew about where he had left his traveling companions. He called out to them by name, for he knew them. After hours of patient searching, he found many of them. He shared with them life-giving water from his own containers. He told them he knew the way. He spoke as if he had authority, so they followed him, and he brought them to the way station with him. There they rested and regained their strength. They were given directions regarding how to reach the city. They renewed their provisions, filled their water containers, and went out again to face the storm.
The journey was still difficult. The wind still blew and clouds obscured the sun. The road still wound through the sometimes deep sand, and thieves were still in the hills. But this time the traveler was not alone. The group was large. When sand blocked the way, work parties were organized to remove it. When some faltered, the strong shouldered the burdens of the weak. When night came, there were watchmen to man the watch. After many days, the second man and his friends arrived safely at their destination.
When they arrived there, those who had been rescued and given water gathered around the second traveler and said, “We could not have come to this place without you. We shall ever be grateful to you for searching for us, for finding us, for sharing your water and your bread. We know that you put aside your own journey and submitted to the hardships of the desert in order to help us when we were lost. What can we do to repay you?”
And the second man replied, “Thank me not, for by no power of my own did I find the way station. The water there would have been bitter had I not shared it with you. I know that I could not have arrived at the city without you. Your strength and encouragement enabled me to continue on. Your presence prevented robbers from attacking. I have come to realize that in order to save my own life, I had to save yours as well. I know now that it is not so much the haste of one’s journey but rather what he does along the way which determines whether he will arrive at his destination. Thank me not,” he said. “In truth, I have not brought you to this place, we have brought one another.”

For me while growing up, Christmas was the greatest time of year—not simply because of the gifts but also because Christmas was a time to share with those who mattered most in my life, my family.
Family means everything to me, and through the years, Christmas traditions were always a wonderful arrangement of family fun that still carries many cherished memories for me.
But this past Christmas was different. I had a new job that required me to be out of town on Christmas. Up to this point in my life, I had missed only two Christmases with my family—both while on my mission. Before I even left on my business trip, I was already heartsick and homesick. All Christmas Day I thought, “What a waste!” No work could possibly be worth this!
I decided to watch a movie on TV in my hotel room. In the movie, one of the characters expressed how important it is to give thanks. It wasn’t a major part of the movie, nor was it a particularly moving scene, but nothing could have touched me more.
In that moment I realized that I had never gotten on my knees on Christmas Day to thank Heavenly Father for the gift of His Son, Jesus Christ. In all the years I celebrated Christmas, I had really focused only on my family, presents, and games. Despite my parents’ and grandparents’ best efforts to teach me, I never truly appreciated just how important the Savior was to Christmas. As a family, we read the story of His birth in the scriptures, but I had never given much thought to the significance of His birth on Christmas.
Tears filled my eyes as I prayed to my Heavenly Father. I thanked Him for the sacrifice He made to have His Only Begotten Son come to earth and for His Son’s wonderful life of sacrifice and kindness. The fact that I was alone and away from my family on Christmas still made me sad, but it allowed Heavenly Father to teach me a lesson I might never have learned while surrounded by my family: the Savior is the reason I could have a family at all!
I’m grateful that being alone at Christmas brought me just a little better understanding of Heavenly Father’s loving and infinite gift of His Son.

Many years ago, as a young stake president, one of our bishops had his home in Christchurch destroyed by earthquakes and liquefaction and had to move on several occasions. I asked this good man how he coped with such devastation. In that moment, he reminded me that he and his family knew who they were as children of God, and they had confidence that God would provide for them and look after them.

As some of you may know, just after last October general conference it was discovered that I had been seriously stricken with cancer, which was in its last stage. May I express my love and gratitude for the prayers and blessings and loving concern on my behalf which have brought about a miracle of recovery. As I give thanks for each new day of life, I express gratitude for the opportunities of service—past, present, and future.

When we seek to follow Christ, we take the oath of a Christian as a member of this Church; we covenant to never put another in any sort of prison, but rather to try to liberate those who are there. We become like one man who said that when he joined this Church it changed the way he thought, the way he talked, the way he believed, the way he dressed, the way he worked and honored his employer, the things he read, the movies he saw, the way he conducted his financial affairs in absolute honesty with everyone, and the way he served others. He truly believed in the liberating power of the gospel of Jesus Christ and became free because of it. As is stated in the book of John, “If the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed” (John 8:36).

It’s tough making the right choices when you’re 15 years old. But when your decisions affect the lives of hundreds of thousands of people, the pressure gets a little greater. That was the situation facing Amy Arreátegui Pozo when she was selected from 123 students to be the mayor of Trujillo, Peru, the third largest city in the country. Mayor for a day, that is.
When Amy was a Mia Maid in the Mousserat Ward, Trujillo Perú Laureles Stake, she attended a secondary school called the Academy of Engineering. “One of my goals,” says Amy, “was to become the student mayor [like a student-body president] from this school, and I did. That was my dream. My next goal was to win the ‘Mayor for a Day’ contest, and here I am. I finally made it. What helped me win was my confidence in myself.”
Of course, showing that she had a lot of great ideas about improving schools and neighborhoods in the city also helped. Coming up with these ideas for the contest was a lot of work, but deciding which ones to include was pretty easy. To decide, Amy used a method she’s come to depend on—a method that has given her the confidence she talks about. It’s the process of asking and receiving answers through prayer.
“Always go to Heavenly Father when you’re making a decision, and you will always make the right choice,” Amy says. That’s one reason she could handle the responsibility so well when the city of Trujillo issued the resolution recognizing her as “mayor for a day.” The city council acted to accept her activities during her 24 hours as mayor. All contracts, decisions, and authorizations would be legally binding.

For example, suppose you’re reading 1 Nephi chapter 1. Your attention is drawn by verse 6, so you slow down and linger there for a while. You might be drawn to the “pillar of fire” Lehi saw that “dwelt upon a rock.” That’s unusual behavior for a fire. What could that mean? Your thoughts might go to other pillars of fire mentioned in the scriptures (the footnotes could help you there). You might ponder why the Lord’s presence is so often compared to fire. What does that say about Him? Has He ever been like a pillar of fire in your life?

It’s a lot to think about. And you haven’t even finished the verse yet.

Elder Wong earned a bachelor of science degree in accounting and an associate of science degree in computer science; then he felt the need “to go back to Hong Kong to serve.”
He later received an MBA from the Hong Kong Open University. Elder Wong was the founder and partner of a business and quality consulting company and also worked at a materials testing and inspection group where he began as the senior accountant and left the company as the deputy managing director.
Prior to being sustained on April 5, 2014, as a member of the First Quorum of the Seventy, he served as a bishop, stake president, and Area Seventy.

My dear brothers and sisters, this is, as our missionaries would say, an awesome situation. At this time, I want to thank my parents for the good example they set for me. There was one time in my life—and my mother, who I imagine might be listening, doesn’t know this—when the love I knew she had for me saved me. I knelt down one night to pray, as she had taught me. I was about to throw away everything that I had. As I started praying, I started thinking of her and of the love that she had for me. As I cried and prayed—and it took most of the night—I was so grateful that I knew that she loved me.

Once upon a time a husband and wife who loved each other very much wanted to have a child of their very own to hold and to cuddle and to love. As time passed and they had no children, they prayed to their Heavenly Father to send them a special child. Heavenly Father heard their prayers.
One day this husband and wife received a telephone call to go to a distant city to meet with some people who said they had a tiny baby that this man and his wife could adopt. Excited and filled with anticipation, they made the journey in their car. When they arrived at the city, they went to a certain home and there they were taken into a room where they saw a tiny baby lying in the middle of a big bed waiting for them. There really is such a thing as love at first sight, for when this husband and wife saw that little boy lying there all alone, they immediately loved him. They took him home with them and loved the baby so much that they talked about him as their own beloved son.
Yet in spite of great love for that little baby, they had a fear in their hearts that they might not be able to keep him as their very own child. They first had to see a judge and ask him if they could adopt this baby according to law. Because the judge wanted to make sure the little boy would be properly cared for, he first had to find out if the husband and his wife loved each other, if they had a good and happy home, and if they had enough money to feed and clothe the baby.
It took time for the judge to decide all these questions and all the while the love of the husband and his wife for the baby grew and grew. Finally, the judge gave legal consent for the couple to adopt the baby and this was done. Now the baby was their very own special child and their fear was gone that he would be taken away from them. Still, the judge could only give them permission to have the child during their lifetime on this earth. But they loved that baby more than that! They believed in Jesus and knew that Jesus had more power than the judge. Jesus could give them the child forever and ever and not just for this life only.
After the adoption papers had been signed and the baby had been given a name, the couple took their son with them to a temple of God. There they dressed in white clothes and dressed the little boy in white clothes too. Then they all knelt down at an altar in the temple. A man who held a special priesthood sealed that little boy to his new father and mother so that the family could be together forever. Now this boy really was their own special child, not only during this life, but even after death. If they all did what was right and loved one another, they could all live together with Jesus in heaven. Now that baby really was their special child!
I know that this story is true, because I am that father who loves his very own special child more every day and, as mothers do, my wife loves him even more. Every child who lives in such a family where love is can also feel he or she is a very special child.

“I was strong in my belief that the Church was not true,” says Rosenelle.
But at Marco’s urging, Rosenelle continued to meet with the missionaries, never committing to baptism, but never completely rejecting the idea either.
“I never gave up,” says Marco. “I knew it would happen.”
And it did. While reading the Book of Mormon one afternoon, Rosenelle read about Alma the Younger. Soon she was thinking about her own life and the direction it was taking. She prayed for a long time that day and started to have some feelings that she couldn’t quite describe.
“Marco told me it was the Spirit,” says Rosenelle. “I knew he was right. I became converted and was baptized. I haven’t ever regretted it.”

He was a mean, gruff man. Every word that came out of his mouth was angry and sharp. His words always dug into us. He was mad at the world, mad at life, mad at God.
We hoped that the Christmas spirit would flicker in his soul. But, as with the rest of his dreams that year, the candle was being snuffed out.
Oh, he hadn’t always been that way. He used to be loving and funny. He had a quick wit. That disappeared when he stopped going to church.
I can’t remember when my dad became mean and gruff. It happened gradually. He sort of shifted that way like sand.
Mom and I are regular churchgoers. Maybe that’s why we can deal with anger so well. We know God loves us. We know that he loves Dad too. Though I guess it’s sometimes hard even for Him.
Dad was a big man. The kind that could play Santa Claus without the pillows. The bishop must have thought so too because he marched right over to our house after church and asked Dad to play Santa Claus that year.
Has he lost his marbles? I thought. Who’d want a Santa that would yell at the kids?
Dad thought it was just silly so he laughed sarcastically. I heard bitterness in his voice as he said, “Inactive for years—now he’s giving me a job that I don’t need any brains to do.”
The bishop stared and so did I. He should have known, I thought to myself.
“You think it over, Brother Henderson,” the bishop said and made a speedy exit. Dad just grunted and turned on his noisy TV.
“Think it over all right,” I complained to Mom later. “He wants a miracle.” I was disgusted with the whole thing by now. “Dad will never do it.”
Mom just stood there listening. She was a quiet person—the type that would take lots from Dad and never say very much. The type that sat alone in church every Sunday while I sat with my friends. The type that taught a rambunctious Primary class and smiled.
“We mustn’t give up, Andi. There’s a part of him that someone still might reach,” Mom said. Here was a woman who hadn’t heard a home teaching message for years because Dad refused, and she was telling me about miracles.
“Hogwash!” I answered. I hurried out the door to catch a movie.
I suppose that I should have been more understanding of Dad. After all, his business had been ruined. He had lost everything when his store burned down. We had lived on borrowed money until he could rebuild. He must have felt defeated. I guess that’s why he wasn’t going to play Santa—mainly because he had stopped believing there was one. He had stopped believing in himself. He just sat there in his chair watching television reruns. I sometimes thought he didn’t really watch them. Maybe it was just there to keep him from thinking or hurting. I was beginning to think that no one could help him. But there was Brother Darrin.
Brother Darrin was our long-suffering home teacher. He came every month. He always acted like he expected Dad to let him give a lesson. Brother Darrin was short and thin and soft spoken. Dad couldn’t wait to give him a hard time. The teachers quorum had to draw straws to see who would come with poor Brother Darrin. Dad had scared them all, one by one. But through it all, Brother Darrin was persistent.
I listened just to see how Brother Darrin would sneak the gospel in. One minute he and Dad would be talking about fishing, and Brother Darrin would put in loaves and fishes before Dad could get his next word out. The strangest thing was that Dad liked Brother Darrin.
I knew that Brother Darrin must have said his prayers the week before the Christmas party because he was starting out rather boldly. “Brother Henderson, do you believe in miracles?” I just gulped and pretended to be a fly on the ceiling. I knew Dad was going to explode. When I finally started to breathe again, I heard Dad say, “No, not anymore.” The silence hung heavy in the air.
Brother Darrin continued, “Well, I do, Brother Henderson. I’ll see you at the Christmas party.” He added quickly—“in a Santa suit.” Out he went, leaving Dad to glare at Mom and me as if it were our fault. He got up and turned on the TV.
“Doesn’t even faze him,” I whispered to Mom. “He’s as hard as an old rusty nail.” That time I said it pretty loud.
I soon learned from Tricia Darrin that her father had been fasting and praying for Dad. “Won’t help,” I promptly informed her. “Tell him to stop before he gets anorexia.”
She giggled for a minute. “He’s serious, Andi.”
As I knelt to say my prayers that night, I found myself thanking Heavenly Father for a dedicated home teacher. I even began begging to somehow get my dad back to church even if it was just to the cultural hall to play Santa.
The night of the Christmas party finally arrived. Mom and I carried our fruitcakes to the car as usual. When we came back in the house, Dad was in his chair watching television. “Good-bye, we’re leaving,” we announced. He grunted a good-bye without even looking up. Suddenly an envelope slid under the door. I handed it to Dad since it had his name printed on the front. We left feeling empty and downhearted. I knew Mom felt worse than I did because she started to hum. Humming usually meant tears.
We went to the program and watched the Primary act out the Nativity, including a sheep that fell off the stage during the big scene.
We tried not to think of Dad sitting in front of the TV when he should be here with us. Across the aisle was Brother Darrin.
Soon the big announcement came for Santa. The air filled with anticipation. “Wonder who they got?” I asked Mom. She just answered, “Some unfortunate stand-in.”
“Ho ho ho!” the shouts soon resounded in the hall. The children started to squeal in joy. The jolly Santa sounded familiar, like a sound that I had heard long ago. As I turned I gasped, for I couldn’t believe my eyes. Mom must have turned about the same time.
“Dad,” I said in a strange voice.
“It’s a miracle,” said Mom. Her voice was strange too. Her eyes were swimming in a pool of green. I looked over at Brother Darrin. He just winked and smiled.
Mom went up and got in line to sit on Santa’s lap. “Hi, good looking,” he said to her. “I think I know what you’d like for Christmas.” By this time her tears were spilling over into his glued on beard. “You’d like your husband to come back to church.” She just nodded and cried. “I think Old Santa can arrange that.” He gave her a quick kiss, “Move along, kid. Santa’s got others to see.”
I’ve never seen Mom look so happy, nor the bishop and Brother Darrin for that matter. They all looked like they swallowed chocolate-covered ice cream and it tasted sweet.
I couldn’t understand miracles right then, but I remembered the note that came under the door. I decided that it must have had something to do with it. I ran the whole block home just to read it. What it said shocked me. Scribbled in uneven handwriting were the words:
Dear Brother Henderson:
I believe in you and I love you.
Brother Darrin
I guess that’s why it was the best Christmas ever. Dad thought so too. He’s now the second counselor in the bishopric, and that, he says ironically, is a job that nobody should have, not even Santa Claus. Secretly he loves it—just ask Mom. Too bad she still has to sit alone in church. Now, though, she probably doesn’t mind so much.

It then became my responsibility to discern whom the Lord had prepared to be my counselors. How could I choose only two of the twelve other Apostles, each of whom I love so dearly? I’m deeply grateful to the Lord for answering my fervent prayers. I am very thankful that President Dallin Harris Oaks and President Henry Bennion Eyring are willing to serve with me as First and Second Counselors, respectively.

Each year I feel the Christmas spirit in our home as we get out the Nativity scene and the other traditional decorations. And always, when we place the Christmas angel in her usual spot, I remember something that happened halfway around the world.
It’s 22 December 1970. I am in the jungle near the village of Song Be, South Vietnam. We can hear the supply helicopters coming. We prepare the landing zone for them and wait to receive supplies: food, water, ammunition, and, most important, letters and packages from home.
I make sure the men under my command have received their rations and have all their mail and packages. Then I take some time to read my own letters. My mind wanders, and many things trouble me as I read the letters—some of them mailed over four weeks ago. I’ve been in Vietnam for 335 days, most of them spent in combat. I feel calloused and frustrated with life. Here it is—three days before Christmas—and the one thing I’m thinking of is that I have only twenty-nine days left until my assignment ends and I’m on my way home. I hope my last combat missions will go well, that I’ll be able to leave my responsibilities and my men well, and that the officer replacing me will be the best one they could receive.
I have no thoughts of Christmas or of my Savior’s birth until I open the package with the beautiful white angel inside. She’s about twelve inches tall, is dressed in white clothes, has golden hair, and stands on a music box. I put her on top of an overturned ammunition can and begin to read the letter from my dear mother.
In her own words, she tells me the story of the birth of our Savior and bears a quiet, sweet testimony. I feel myself being lifted spiritually. My mother told me the Christmas story over and over when I was a child, but never did I feel the Spirit of Christ so close before.
I glance up from the letter and notice some of my men looking at the white angel. I wind up the music box, and no one says a word as the sound of “Silent Night” fills the air and the Christmas angel brings special emotions out in each one of us. Some tears are shed and feelings exchanged as the Spirit of Christ touches each one of us.
Later, as I pack and prepare to move out, I wrap the angel carefully and place her in my backpack. I think of home, family, and loved ones. But most of all, I think of Jesus and all that he has done for me.

The Scout slogan is “Do a good turn daily,” and service is a value that Erik has tried to internalize. During high school, Erik donated time at a farm for injured animals. The owners of the farm were getting old, and their health kept them from working as much as they wanted. So every day after school, Erik would spend time feeding the animals and doing other chores on the farm.

Can you think of someone who doesn’t live the standards of the Church, has no interest in your beliefs, or is generally negative toward God? It’s like this person is sleeping through the morning with the blinds closed, the curtains drawn, and a blanket pulled over their head. They seem not to want any light right now, and they’re not prepared for you to come in with the sword of truth blazing!
It isn’t that your friend is a terrible person; it’s that the sudden light would be uncomfortable to them. Being told that a comfy, dark room isn’t the best place to be is kind of hard to believe when you’re sleeping in on a Saturday morning. If you try and throw as much light as possible on your friend, they may react negatively—maybe find a pillow and throw it at you, ask you to leave, and generally show signs of feeling attacked.

Moeaki began art while attending Liahona High School in Nuku’alofa, Tonga. He once placed third in a Danish international art competition, and later gained a bachelor of fine arts from BYU-Idaho in the United States. He has been teaching art for the last nine years at his alma mater, Liahona High School.
Moe works in oil, acrylic and watercolour and describes his art as abstract expressionism. He is most interested in drawing things that are “beyond the veil.”
“I had some near-death experiences when I was a child, which have influenced me. When my father was a mission president, he asked me to do a drawing of the plan of salvation as a missionary tool. . . . It really fired my imagination to think about what it is like beyond the veil.”
His selected work is a tapa collage and acrylic on cardboard entitled, “All Are Alike unto Christ.” A unique feature of this piece is that it includes a strip of tapa cloth.
“Tapa is a very important part of Tongan culture. Newborn babies are wrapped in it, brides and grooms wear it on their wedding day and caskets are draped with it at funerals. It literally is the fabric of our lives,” Moeaki says. “To me, it is an actual veil between this life and the spirit world so it’s important that it is included in my art.”
In his painting, tapa separates our mortal life and a heavenly existence. Beyond that veil, ministering angels are depicted eager to reach out and bless those in times of great need.
“All are alike unto God. . . . We all long for peace, love, and comfort,” Moeaki says, “we all feel that we are being ministered to by the Saviour and His angels in times of need.”

I got sick and my dad gave me a blessing that I would feel better. The next day I was better!
Kaylyn A., age 10, Indiana, USA

Stories abound of his kind acts and thoughtfulness. One snowy day when many airline flights had been canceled, thousands were stranded in a busy airport. A young mother and her two-year-old child waited in line after line trying to buy a ticket. The child was tired and hungry, and the mother was pregnant and could not carry her child. As the child sat whimpering on the floor, the mother moved her along with her foot. As people behind her in the line muttered and criticized, the young mother wanted to cry.
Then a man approached her with a kind smile on his face, “Young lady, it appears to me that you need a little help.” He took the child in his arms, comforted her, and gave her a stick of chewing gum. After he told the other people of the woman’s plight, they agreed to let her go to the front of the line. The man took her to her flight. As she boarded the plane, she thought, “What a wonderful man, and I don’t even know his name.” A few days later, she saw his picture in a newspaper and learned that he was Elder Spencer W. Kimball of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

How touching it was to hear a hardened prisoner say: “That is the first time anybody ever told me they loved me.” This was after a six-year-old girl kissed him on the cheek during a Church-sponsored family home evening visit in the prison.