Gospel Story Finder

Still having trouble with that math? Want some help?
Yeah. Thanks. Think I’ll ever get it? Or am I just dumb at math?
Remember how hard reading was at first?
Yeah. And you said I just wasn’t good at it yet.
So you kept working at it, and … ?
And now I love to read! Guess I should keep working at math too. I’m just not good at it yet!
Funny how important that little word “yet” can be.
That reminds me …
Is it time to eat yet?

My friend Jess had an interesting experience with this. She said: “Growing up, my mom made a point to teach me standards of image and beauty that, unbeknownst to me at the time, left me feeling self-conscious, not pretty enough, and like I needed to cover my entire face in as much makeup as possible. It has been crucial for me to realize that my mom didn’t intend to give me these negative feelings; they were simply a byproduct of her teaching me her love for beauty and cosmetics. Our Heavenly Father fully acknowledges that His children are imperfect. He does not expect perfection in any role we find ourselves in while on earth, including the role of parenthood. Accepting that your parents have made mistakes, and that they will make mistakes, is a truly important part of honoring them as a young adult.”

Fifteen-year-old Daniel Hunt has a hard time hanging on to a hairbrush. A few years ago when his older brother Lamar went on a mission to Mexico, Lamar “borrowed” Daniel’s new brush—for two years. When he returned, Daniel happened to have a new brush again. This time Lamar “borrowed” it when he went away to college.
“Now it’s turned into a joke,” says Daniel. “When Lamar comes home he’ll say, ‘Oh look! Daniel got me a new brush.’ It’s pretty funny. Lamar can always make me laugh.”

Bathsheba had only two children of her own, so it was with great sadness that she heard that her eighteen-year-old son had been killed. Only two months later, her daughter married and moved away. Fortunately Bathsheba’s niece, Julina Lambson, lived with her. Together they made dolls and doll clothes for Julina, who was like a daughter to Bathsheba. After Julina married Joseph F. Smith (later the sixth President of the Church), she had ten children, who were like grandchildren to Bathsheba. They and her daughter’s fourteen children brought Bathsheba much joy. She knit them mittens, wove them dress fabric, and sewed them clothes. She hid these things in her flowered carpetbag when she went to visit them. After running to hug and kiss her, they eagerly waited to see what gifts were in the carpetbag for them.

In early 2005, I was guided to prepare a general conference message about senior missionary couples. Following the conference, a brother recounted: “As we listened to conference, … immediately the Spirit of the Lord touched my very soul. … There was no mistaking the message for me and for my sweetheart. We were to serve a mission, and the time was now. When I … looked at my wife, I realized that she had received the very same impressions from the Spirit.”21 What had brought this strong simultaneous response? The Holy Ghost.

From 1856 to 1860, thousands of Latter-day Saint pioneers pulled their belongings in handcarts for over 1,000 miles (1,600 km) as they traveled to the Salt Lake Valley. One hundred sixty-seven years ago this very week, on October 4, 1856, President Brigham Young was surprised to learn that two handcart companies, led by Edward Martin and James Willie, were still hundreds of miles from Salt Lake, with winter fast approaching. The very next day, not far from where we meet today, President Young stood before the Saints and declared: “Many of our brethren and sisters are on the plains with hand-carts, and they must be brought here. … Go and bring in those people now on the plains.”
Just two days later, the first rescue parties departed in search of the handcart pioneers.
A member of the Willie company described the desperate situation prior to the arrival of the main rescue team. He shared: “[Just] when it seemed all would be lost, … and there seemed little left to live for, like a thunderbolt out of the clear sky, God answered our prayers. A rescue party, bringing food and supplies … , came into sight. … How we thanked God for our rescue.”
These rescuers were heroes to the pioneers, putting their own lives at risk in extreme weather conditions to bring as many as possible safely home. One such hero was Ephraim Hanks.

Under sacred circumstances, our beloved prophet, President Russell M. Nelson, once reminded me of two simple truths that are foundational to your grand and glorious work.
As I sat on the couch with my husband, our prophet pulled his chair over, almost knee to knee with us, and looked at me with his piercing blue eyes. I wasn’t sure if my heart was racing or had completely stopped as he called me to serve as the Young Women General President. He asked a question that still echoes in my heart, “Bonnie, what’s the most important thing the [youth] need to know?”
I pondered for a moment and said, “They need to know who they are.”
“YES!” he exclaimed, “and they need to know their purpose.”

Several young people were introduced to the Church in other ways. Marlene Jackson’s family first noticed the Church when a series of commercials, the Homefront series, began running on television. “You just wanted to be like those people in the commercials,” Marlene said. She and her mother and brother accepted the missionaries’ challenge to baptism.

It was hard for me to make friends. Then my cousin taught me to think of the word HELP. H is for “hobbies.” E is for “education.” L is for “what you like.” And P is for “plans.” I could talk to anyone about hobbies, school, what we liked to do, and what we were planning to do. That helped me so much that I grew up to be a journalist who interviews lots of people!
Linda Davies, video producer

During a spelling test at school my teacher said the word we were to spell. I did not understand what he said and asked him to repeat it. After he did, I still did not know what the word was. I took a quick peek at my neighbor’s paper and wrote the same word on my paper. I received 100 percent on my test. That night I felt really bad about what I had done. I told my mom what I had done and that I was scared to tell my teacher. We decided to write my teacher a letter and tell him the truth. I also asked if I could retake the test. I went to school and handed my teacher the letter. He read it and said that I could not retake the test, but that he would mark the one word wrong. I felt so much better inside. I did not get 100 percent on my test, but it was worth it.

A sturdy cardboard box covered with vinyl adhesive and filled with supplies for creative activities makes a fun “doing box” for a child, an entire family, or a grandparent who needs to entertain children. It could contain things like round-tipped scissors, construction paper, glue sticks, paste, play dough, crayons, plain drawing paper, or a paint-with-water book. We made one as a Christmas gift for friends and included learning activities such as lacing cards, number puzzles, and alphabet cutouts for the young children. The card taped to the box explained its function: “I am your ‘Doing Box.’ When you are finished with your activities, remember to clean up and put everything away carefully. If you take good care of me, I will last a long time and bring you many hours of fun and learning.”

Kendra and I continued to argue. During one argument, I felt a prompting to not say anything. I went into the bathroom and fell to my knees.
I told Heavenly Father that I would do anything if He would let me know the path He wanted me to take. When I thought about baptism, I felt this rush, like the wind, come over me. It was the Holy Ghost telling me, “This is what you must do.”
I was ready to be baptized. The next morning, I went to work and shared my experience with Gregory. I said, “I’m ready, man.”
He arranged for me to meet with the missionaries. They taught me the lessons, and it went well and really fast! I never questioned anything. I knew that the Prophet Joseph Smith saw what he saw. I had a testimony. But this just drove Kendra further and further away.

Fourteen-year-old Jason said the closing prayer at the conclusion of our Sunday School class. It had been one of my most successful lessons, and I kept my eyes shut a moment longer to add my own words of gratitude. The boys unfolded their lanky bodies from the chairs and ambled out of the classroom.
Jason paused as he passed me. “That was a good discussion, Sister Udy. It really made me think.”
I smiled. “Thank you, Jason. I enjoyed it, too. I’ll see you next week.”
I packed my lesson book and scriptures into my tote bag and made my way along the congested hallway toward the foyer.
“Sister Udy! Sister Udy!” A voice rose above the babble. I turned to see Brother Richardson, the Sunday School president, frantically waving at me as he tried to maneuver through the crowd.
“Sister Udy, I’ve been wanting to talk to you, but I haven’t had a chance,” he said as he guided me into an empty classroom. You’ve been doing a wonderful job with your Sunday School class.”
“Thank you.” I smiled.
“That’s why we feel we can ask you to take another student,” he continued. “You know that the Housman family recently moved into our ward, and we really haven’t known where to put Deedra until now. We think she would fit well into your class.”
“Deedra?” I stammered. “But she must be at least eighteen years old. Shouldn’t she be in with the adults?” Or in Primary? I thought. Anywhere but in my class.
I knew about Deedra—knew that she was intellectually impaired and that she talked out loud during the sacrament and sang all the hymns at the top of her lungs. I knew that some girls made fun of her. The boys simply ignored her. What would this eighteen-year-old girl have in common with a class of lively fourteen- and fifteen-year-old boys?
“You know that there are no other girls in my class this year,” I reminded Brother Richardson. “And the boys tend to be a little rowdy at times. Don’t you think Deedra might be more comfortable somewhere else?”
Brother Richardson smiled reassuringly. “No, no,” he said kindly. “We think that you will be the perfect teacher for Deedra.” He looked at me expectantly, then added, “Of course, it’s up to you.”
I sighed. “Of course Deedra is welcome in my class.”
Brother Richardson beamed. “I’ll tell her parents,” he said happily. “She’ll be there next Sunday.”
I knew she would. Deedra was never absent. My heart sank as I thought about the lesson I had already been preparing for the next class. How could I ever keep the boys’ interest if I had to teach on Deedra’s level too? The boys were used to lots of questions and discussion of scriptures. Deedra couldn’t even read.
Maybe she won’t like the class. I comforted myself with the thought. Then they’ll see that it is wrong for her.
The next Sunday morning dawned bright and fair, but the beautiful day failed to lighten my spirits. My prayers were perfunctory—my heart just wasn’t in them.
After Sunday School opening exercises, I hurried to my classroom. Deedra was already there, horn-rimmed glasses tilting crookedly across her freckled nose.
Deedra’s face broke into a wide grin when she saw me. “Hi, buddy,” she said as she bounced out of her chair to give me a hug. “Can I help you?”
I smiled in spite of myself. “You can move the chairs if you want. I like them in a big circle.”
She was busily moving the chairs as the boys walked in. They looked at her warily. “Here,” said Deedra, pointing to Jim. “You can sit in this one, buddy.” She set the chair down. Jim sat. One by one, Deedra assigned each of the boys a seat. Then she sat herself down, facing the boys. She smiled at me. “I did a good job,” she said.
“Yes, … thank you,” I replied. I introduced her to the subdued boys and began my lesson.
Deedra was quiet while the boys responded to the questions. The discussion became animated as the class attempted to determine the function of each member of the Godhead.
“And what does Jesus do?” I finally asked Deedra. She looked up. “He loves me,” she replied.
I stopped for a moment, stunned. “That’s right,” I said. “He does.” I slowed the pace of the lesson, aiming more questions at Deedra. She responded simply but with unerring accuracy. She knew the things that mattered. I pointed out to the boys that her answers were correct, even if they weren’t what we expected. The class ended before we knew it, and Deedra gave me a hug as she left. This time I hugged her back.
I can’t say that the following weeks were easy. Often Deedra became bored, and sometimes the boys grew restless. But gradually they loosened up and began to exchange friendly banter with Deedra, who could hold her own.
“I want to sit next to Jim,” Deedra announced one Sunday. Jim’s ears reddened as the boys teased him, but he good-naturedly made a place for her. After that, Deedra always sat with the boys instead of across from them. Whoever was her choice for the week would share his scriptures with her and be on her team if we had a game. No one ever complained. Deedra was as much a part of the class now as anyone else.
January was almost here, and most of my class would be moving on. I sought out Brother Richardson.
“Would you like me to keep her another year?” I asked.
He gently smiled at me. “You’ve done a good job with Deedra. But I’ve already spoken to her and her parents, and we think she’s ready to go on.”
A feeling of disappointment overcame me. I hadn’t realized just how much I had grown to love Deedra, with her cheerful spirit and ever-ready hug. “I’ll miss her,” I said sincerely.
“I told you that you were the perfect teacher for her,” Brother Richardson said.
“No,” I said softly. “I was the one who learned the lesson this year. It was Deedra who was the perfect teacher.”

The After-Christmas Tree Taking down the Christmas tree seemed so sad a thing to do that the Tyler family decided to have an after-Christmas party. They sent invitations to their friends and did lots of fun things, including redecorate the tree!Linda Wagner Tyler3–7 years

When President Soares asked Luan what he would like to do when he left the hospital, Luan said he would like to perform vicarious baptisms in the Recife Brazil Temple. After Luan left the hospital, President Soares and Bishop Farias helped him fulfill this desire. Luan performed as many baptisms as his strength would allow. At the end of his day at the temple, he was beaming with happiness that he could do something for others, even though he was in great pain himself.

Nicole, who recently turned eight and was baptized and confirmed, also writes about things that mean a lot to her. “When I was baptized and confirmed, I wrote about feeling the Holy Ghost,” she says. She knows it will be important to remember those things later to strengthen her testimony when hard times come.

Illustrated by Shauna Mooney Kawasaki
I’m sorry the tree ate your kite, Mandy.You’d be a lot sorrier if it ate yours.
Listen, Mandy. This kite isn’t mine anymore, it’s ours. OK?Really?Really.
Wait a minute! You’re never this nice. You must want something of mine.No I don’t.Then why are you sharing?
Well, remember family scriptures last night? Jesus said that anything we do for someone else, we’re really doing for Him.Oh.
So, shall we fly our kite?

Two ranchers who lived side by side in southwestern Montana argued and fought. Each thought that he was being cheated by the other because a rusty barbed wire fence that separated their ranches was not the true property line. The real estate records were unclear on the matter.
They told their children not to play with one another. The conflict became worse until finally, after years of exchanging words and threats, one of the ranchers said to himself, “Enough of this.” He drove down the lane from his place to his neighbor’s.
“What do you want?” his neighbor asked.
“Look, you take your hired men and your sons, and I’ll take mine; and we’ll put the fence wherever you’d like it. I’ve had enough of this quarreling. I want us to be friends.”
His rawboned neighbor softened, and tears ran down both of their faces. The neighbor responded. “Hey, let’s drive to Virginia City and record that the present fence is where both of us want the property line to be.”
They did, and the problem was solved. Why? Because a neighbor wanted to be friends with the family next door.

I was shopping with my mom and I saw some money on the floor, so I told my mom. She picked up the bills, and it was $430! I did what Heavenly Father would want me to do and took the money to the service counter. They asked for our names and phone number. The employee called us about 10 minutes later and said the owner had claimed the money and had left $10 for me as a reward for being honest. It gave me a good feeling.

“Let’s enter,” Kristy urged her twin brother Derek. So after school they did.
As an incentive to keep the youth out of trouble and off the streets on traditionally mischief-filled Halloween night, community merchants had donated a good used car as a prize for the one teenager contacted and found home before midnight.
Not much was mentioned of the contest or the twins silent dreams until supper time October 31st, when Kristy expressed her distinct confidence and anticipation. A strong hunch that she would be the winner left her expectant all evening while at the door she met one “trick-or-treater” after another. Derek attended volleyball practice, returning home exhausted. By 10:30 he was fast asleep.
Soon treats were depleted, porch lights extinguished, and younger brothers and sisters retired with mild stomach aches from overindulgence. Even Kristy relented and went to bed. Only Mother was still reading when at 11:45 the shrill ring of the telephone sent her flying in response. “This is radio station KPCS wishing to speak with … Derek,” she was told. As if by prearrangement the entire household flared alive. Father switched on the radio to listen in on the conversation. Several youngsters squealed into Derek’s bedroom, dragging their groggy brother to the downstairs extension phone. Suddenly realizing the implication of this late disturbance, he became fully alert. Incredulous as it seemed, his brain registered the fact that he had won the coveted automobile. Hundreds of teenagers must have put in their names. Yet he would be the one to drive home the prize the very next afternoon. Nothing this exciting had ever happened to him before.
Understandably, the family had trouble settling down. Finally, having drifted off to dreamland, Derek visualized himself on gleaming hubcapped “wheels,” gliding noiselessly through throngs of cheering friends. Later he found himself whizzing breathlessly past open spaces in a fire-red machine, and before waking to reality, he was the one roaring down main street in a fabulous convertible, accompanied by several of the most gorgeous girls he had ever seen—the envy of all his peers.
Indeed, the next day Derek was the center of attraction when word of his good fortune spread at seminary and at school. “What kind of a car is it?” he was asked repeatedly. No one knew. Some speculated on a late model; others, less optimistic, suspected an old “clunker.” But when at last classes had finished Derek was to find out.
The vehicle his eyes beheld proved to be beyond his expectations, much nicer than those owned by anyone in his circle of friends. That purring beauty was his, all his. Was he ever going to have a ball!
Delighted and proud he was greeted by his equally pleased family, all assembled on the front lawn. Neighbors soon joined them. Each was given a ride. Definitely this was Derek’s finest hour. Soon the dealer’s license plate had to be returned. Well, tomorrow insurance matters could be worked out.
The subject did come up and was thoroughly considered and discussed with earnest efforts made to help Derek’s car get on the road. Yet it simply could not be done. The painful truth was that funds had been extremely limited with one brother in the mission field, another due to leave and depending on family assistance. Even Derek, a senior in high school, had been forced to drop out of basketball because he was unable to afford the tournament travel expenses. Scraping up nearly $400 for licensing and insurance was impossible under the circumstances.
So there stood the apple of Derek’s eye, evoking a pronounced pounding of his heart every time he glanced at it and extracting each spare minute of his time with polishing and sprucing it up to top performance. Particular care was lavished on achieving the finest reproduction from its stereo system. How he yearned to drive it!
Still, hope prevailed. Perhaps an after-school and Saturday job was the solution. Unfortunately, scores of jobless hopefuls saturated the market. Weeks of filling out applications, interviews, and callbacks produced no results.
One blustery December day Derek noticed a vaguely familiar figure stomping through the deep snow. Seconds later he recognized it as belonging to Sister Taylor. Her family had been experiencing incredible hardships. First, their business had gone bankrupt. Then they had lost their home, recently also their car.
Ever so subtly and ever so quietly a thought began creeping into Derek’s subconscious mind. On reaching awareness, he tried desperately to push it out. However, once conceived, it would not be suppressed. No matter how hard he fought the impulse, gradually a plan took shape, one which caused him to alternate between gladness and sadness. And so, at first reluctantly, but soon with stern determination, the young man made a difficult and noble decision.
Christmas Sunday at priesthood meeting someone mentioned, “Did I see Brother Taylor driving your car today, Derek?” “I sold it to him,” was the reply.
This prompted several priests into simultaneously responding, “But they have no money.”
“They had enough,” answered Derek with a wistful grin. Audible only to himself he added, “They had one dollar.”