Gospel Story Finder

I once went to a party that had very good food. I remember wishing my family were there to taste the same food. Unfortunately, they were not, but I took the recipes and tried to make some of the dishes at home. This is what happens naturally when you eat something good. As a child, I remember breaking a candy into small pieces so that I could share with my friends. It is not enough to tell people that the candy in my mouth is so sweet. People would never understand how good and sweet it is unless they have also eaten the same candy.

“I remember observing one elderly sister learning how to read. I watched her wrinkled face and beautiful black eyes light up like the sun as she read the first words she had ever read in Spanish: eso, mesa, mama. This came only after a solid week and a half of learning to recognize and distinguish sounds. Now, finally, she was able to put them together into words, the most difficult task of all. Nothing in the world could equal the joy that radiated from her face and eyes as she slowly read those words. Nor could anything take away the joy I felt upon realizing that we were actually helping this woman. Someday, perhaps, she will be able to sit down and read and study the scriptures.
“I never realized before how lucky I really am to be who I am. How much I take for granted the gifts and talents I have. I had never considered that being able to read is a blessing, a gift, and a talent. It is all three! Why is it that we never realize this until the day we meet someone who is without? I know now that I wouldn’t trade anything in the world for this experience and awakening.”
Michelle SmithNovato, California

I’ve never been crazy about my name, Antoinette. It sounds like some fragile French girl who couldn’t look at a spider or a fly without fainting. So I got everybody to call me Toni, which fits me a whole lot better than Antoinette.
I think I started playing basketball the day I climbed out of my stroller. My brothers thought it was kind of funny, because the ball was bigger than I was, but that didn’t stop me. I got so that I could really dribble and shoot well. Once our home teacher asked me what I was going to do when I grew up, and I said, “Play professional basketball.”
The summer before I went to sixth grade, we left our little town of Cotter Creek and moved to the city. It was a bit scary being in a big place, but we bought a house just two blocks west of the city park, and it had the biggest outside basketball court I’d ever seen.
The first day we moved in, I went to the park—and every day after that! One afternoon I was shooting free throws when a bunch of boys came and started playing a game on the next court over. I didn’t pay much attention until one of them said, “Maybe we can get that girl to play in Devin’s place.”
“A girl?”
“It’s just to make the teams even,” someone else said.
A moment later someone walked up behind me. “Hey, do you want to play?” I turned around. There was this boy, probably a year older than I was and about two inches taller. He had a friendly smile. “We’re short one player,” he explained.
“Sure, I’ll play with you.”
“I’m Tanner. Are you new around here?”
“We moved in a couple weeks ago. I’m Toni.”
“Do you know how to play?” one of the others asked when I went over to their court.
“I can dribble without falling down,” I muttered.
“Just don’t throw the ball away,” a blond boy growled back.
At first, nobody trusted me near the ball; then I got a break. Tanner was being double-teamed and was about to have the ball knocked out of his hands. I was standing a few feet from him in the open because no one figured they had to guard me. Tanner tossed me the ball. I shot a little jumper that swished through the net.
“Lucky shot!” the guys on the other team hooted.
The next time Tanner got the ball, I was under the basket in the open again. He tossed it to me, and I went up for another two points. Twice more Tanner fed the ball to me, and I hit the basket two more times.
After that, the other team had someone guard me. I stole the ball right out of the hands of one of their players and raced for our basket, spinning and going in for a smooth layup. Everybody else just stood and gawked at me.
We won the game, and I ended up being the high scorer on our team. The players on the other team complained that the only reason I had scored was that no one was guarding me. Tanner laughed and challenged them, “All right, which one of you wants to go one-on-one against Toni?” There were no takers.
After the game, we walked down the street to the supermarket, and some of the guys went in. Tanner and I stayed outside. Soon the others returned with soda pop for all of us. Everybody was really nice, and for the first time since leaving Cotter Creek, I felt things were going well for me.
Afterward we walked over to Tanner’s house and watched TV. We’d been there for only a few minutes, when someone asked Tanner where his mom was. He shrugged and said that she was gone and wouldn’t be back for an hour or so. I squirmed uneasily because my parents’ rule was that I wasn’t to go over to a friend’s home unless one of the parents was there. I should have left, but I didn’t. I told myself that it really didn’t matter because we weren’t doing anything wrong.
From then on, I spent a lot of time with Tanner and his friends. Many times after playing in the park, we’d stop at the supermarket for drinks. Usually I didn’t have any money, but Tanner just waved me away and laughed. “It’s no big deal, Toni. You watch the bikes and one of the guys will grab something for you.”
After getting our drinks, we’d bike to someone’s house and watch TV. Many times no parents were there, but since I had stayed that first time at Tanner’s place, it got easier to tell myself that everything was OK. We weren’t doing anything wrong, even though there were times when the guys talked kind of crude.
One Monday night in his home evening lesson about Alma in the court of King Noah, Dad explained how Alma stood up to the wicked priests, who had been his friends, and told them to spare the life of the prophet Abinadi. Dad challenged us to be like Alma, even when it wasn’t the popular thing to do.
“Why are the scripture stories always about boys?” I complained at the end of the lesson. “I’d like some scripture stories about girls.”
Dad smiled. “Toni, there are some wonderful stories about women in the scriptures. But who the scripture character is, is not the important thing. The important thing is the lesson we can learn from whomever the story is about. You don’t have to be a man to learn the same lesson that Alma learned.”
“I’m not at all like Alma,” I said. “I want a scripture story about girls doing real things. When am I ever going to be running around with a bunch of wicked priests, talking back to a crooked king?”
My brothers laughed and rolled their eyes.
A few days later, after my regular afternoon basketball game with the guys, we all headed for the supermarket.
That afternoon Tanner and I went into the store with the others. I didn’t have any money, but Tanner grabbed a couple of sodas for us. As he strolled down the aisle, he slipped them under his big T-shirt and down into the pockets of his baggy knee-length shorts. Then he followed me out of the store.
Suddenly I had a sick feeling in my stomach. I still wasn’t sure if I had actually seen what Tanner did, until the others came out of the store and he pulled the two sodas from his pockets and handed me one.
“You didn’t pay for those, Tanner,” I blurted out.
While the others gathered around, Tanner laughed, still holding the soda out to me. “These are two bonus cans, Toni. We give this store so much business that we deserve to pick up some free stuff once in a while.” The others laughed and nudged Tanner playfully. “Tyson and Brent picked up a couple of free drinks too.”
I gaped. “I can’t drink stolen pop.”
“You can’t?” Tanner asked, a smirk on his face. “What do you think you’ve been drinking all the other times we’ve come down here? Did you think someone else was paying for your drinks?”
“I just thought … Yes … I mean …”
All the guys laughed. Tanner popped the lid from the can and again held it out to me. “Go ahead, Toni, drink it. It won’t kill you. Besides, you didn’t take it—I did.”
“You do this all the time?” I asked, still having a hard time understanding.
“Sure—it’s easy.”
“But it’s still stealing,” I rasped.
“It didn’t bother you before.”
“I didn’t know before. I—I guess I’m not thirsty.”
Tanner shrugged, and held it up. “Anybody want a soda?” Three or four hands grabbed for it.
While the guys drank their sodas, I stood there wishing that I’d never left the basketball court. They were my friends. We had had good times together. But they were doing things I knew were wrong. I had been doing wrong. I had gone to their homes without their parents being there. I had been choosing the wrong, too, and making excuses for myself.
Suddenly I thought of Alma, and I realized that even though he was a man who lived two thousand years ago, he knew what it was like to stand up to friends and tell them he didn’t want to keep doing what was wrong. And I knew that it didn’t make any difference that he was a man and I was a girl. Just like Dad had said, the lesson to learn was the same.
“Let’s head over to my place,” Tanner said. “We’ll have the house to ourselves for a while. And I found a video hidden in the top of my brother’s closet that will be interesting to check out.”
All the guys started climbing onto their bikes, but I choked out, “I’m going home, Tanner.”
“You don’t want to come with us?”
“I’d better get home,” I said slowly. “Mom’s probably waiting for me.”
Tanner shrugged. “That’s cool. Maybe you can come over tomorrow. We’ll tell you if the video’s any good.”
I prayed silently for the courage to speak out like the prophet Alma, and not put the blame on Mom. Then I shook my head. “I won’t be coming again.”
“Do you think that you’re too good to hang around with us?” Tanner growled.
I swallowed hard. “I’m just trying to do what’s right.” I took my bike and started to walk away.
“You’ll be shooting baskets by yourself,” Tanner called after me. “If you’re too good to hang around with us, we don’t want you any more.”
I stopped, knowing that walking away meant having to make new friends. It probably meant being teased. But I had to do it, just as Alma had. A few minutes before, I had felt sick, not knowing for sure what I should do. But that sick feeling was gone now, and in its place was a warm, comfortable feeling. I climbed onto my bike and headed home to talk to Dad and Mom.

A few years ago, on a beautiful fall evening, my wife and I were in the temple in Kirtland, Ohio. It was late fall, and the afternoon sun was streaking through the old, wavy, hand-blown windowpanes. The building was light and airy and magnificent. Since some of my forebears helped in its construction, I was humbled and honored to be under its roof. Within its walls and under its spell, I was enchanted by its beauty. I was so impressed with the building that I came back to Church headquarters and told the Brethren that it would be wonderful if that building were still operating as one of our temples.
Elder Boyd K. Packer corrected my thinking when he said, “We do not have the building, but when our people left, they took with them that which was important. They preserved the keys of the ordinances, the covenants, and the sealing power. They took with them all the essentials which we have today.”

A young man once pleaded with me for help. He had become addicted to pornography, which he accessed via his home computer. It burdened him with such guilt that he could not feel good about attending church or participating in priesthood assignments. It adversely affected his social life. He was powerfully drawn to spend hour upon hour alone in front of the computer viewing that which he acknowledged brought only frustration and despair. It was as if he were chained by a master whose only purpose was to make him miserable.
He did not decide at once to become a slave to the computer screen. Rather, he decided at some earlier time that viewing destructive images “just this once” would not hurt and would satisfy a “curiosity.” Once became twice, and twice became several times, until a powerful addiction had lessened his power of choice. Only after he was enchained by his addiction did he recognize that he had willingly submitted to captivity.

“Oh no! I spent all day working on my science project, and I didn’t start my math homework, take the dog for a walk, call my grandma and wish her a happy birthday, or post on social! I can’t believe myself. I can’t do anything right.”
Does this sound like you?

Last November, I had the privilege of being invited—along with President Henry B. Eyring and Bishop Gérald Caussé—to attend a colloquium on marriage and family at the Vatican in Rome, Italy. In attendance were religious representatives from 14 different faiths and from six of the seven continents, all of whom had been invited to express their beliefs on what is happening to the family in today’s world.
Pope Francis opened the first session of the assembly with this statement: “We now live in a culture of the temporary, in which more and more people are simply giving up on marriage as a public commitment. This revolution in manners and morals has often flown the flag of freedom, but in fact it has brought spiritual and material devastation to countless human beings, especially the poorest and most vulnerable. … It is always they who suffer the most in this crisis.”
In referring to those of the rising generation, he said it is important that they “do not give themselves over to the poisonous [mentality] of the temporary, but rather be revolutionaries with the courage to seek true and lasting love, going against the common pattern”; this must be done.
This was followed by three days of presentation and discussion with religious leaders addressing the subject of marriage between a man and a woman. As I listened to the widest imaginable variety of worldwide religious leaders, I heard them agree completely with each other and express support for one another’s beliefs on the sanctity of the institution of marriage and of the importance of families as the basic unit of society. I felt a powerful sense of commonality and unity with them.
There were many who saw and expressed this unity, and they did so in a variety of ways. One of my favorites was when a Muslim scholar from Iran quoted two paragraphs verbatim from our very own proclamation on the family.
During the colloquium, I observed that when various faiths and denominations and religions are united on marriage and family, they are also united on the values and loyalty and commitment which are naturally associated with family units. It was remarkable for me to see how marriage and family-centered priorities cut across and superseded any political, economic, or religious differences. When it comes to love of spouse and hopes, worries, and dreams for children, we are all the same.
It was marvelous to be in meetings with worldwide presenters as they universally addressed their feelings of the importance of marriage between a man and a woman. Each of their addresses was followed by testimonies from other religious leaders. President Henry B. Eyring gave a final testimony at the colloquium. He bore powerful witness to the beauty of a committed marriage and to our belief in the promised blessing of eternal families.
President Eyring’s testimony was a fitting benediction to those three special days.

The Hull England Stake collected for a winter jacket appeal for help for refugees, to keep the refugees and asylum seekers warm over winter. One ward donated hampers to the charity Changing Lives on Your Doorstep. These were given to families in need. Another ward built and packed two hundred ‘happiness boxes’ to go to a charity whose focus is to provide nutritious food for children in poverty. Aberdeen Ward participated in cooking and serving meals to 100 people in the city, working alongside those of other faiths.

Excitedly Tommy called out to his father, “The creek has overflowed and the back wheels of the wagon are standing in the water!”
Tommy’s father was out of the wagon in an instant. When he saw the situation, he helped Tommy pull the bed out from under the wagon and then hitched up both teams of oxen to pull the wagon out of the water. The ground was so slippery the oxen could not get a foothold.
“We will have to build a corduroy road,” said Tommy’s father.
To do this, Tommy and his father cut down many trees. They trimmed off the limbs and laid the poles side by side, close to and in front of the wagon; then with willows they bound each log tightly to the next one so they would not roll. When this was finished, they packed tough grass and pine needles on top of the poles so the oxen’s hoofs could not slip into the cracks.
Finally they coaxed the frightened oxen up onto the corduroy road and hitched them to the wagon. Father spoke to the oxen in a soothing tone, “Steady now, pull together.”
The oxen did pull together. The heavy wagon wheels rolled out of the mud, onto the tough grass, over the corduroy road, and up onto the road that the Camp of Israel would be traveling that day.
Tommy shouted, “Hooray!” and he could see by the look on his mother’s face that she was proud of her two “men.”

On a quiet morning last week I left my office in Sao Paulo, Brazil, and walked over to the Sao Paulo Temple site. There was a soft morning mist beginning to clear away. As I walked up the gentle rise in the street onto the site, I noted with great interest and pleasure brush being cleared away and the new pegs recently driven into the ground. These pegs in the ground mark the dimensions of a new temple soon to be erected for the glory of God and the endless blessing of his children in South America. This temple will be different from any other building now standing in South America.
As I stood where the entrance of the temple will be, I recalled how thirty-six years ago my companions and I landed by ship in Santos after twenty-one days at sea and went by train to Sao Paulo. There were other missionaries on the same vessel going to Argentina and Uruguay, which were the two other relatively new missions on the continent.
In all of South America there was but a mere handful of members of the Church, mostly emigrants from Europe, many of whom were converted in Europe. As I stood last week on this site where this new, special, multimillion-dollar building will stand, I recalled how difficult and unpromising the future of the Church appeared in South America thirty-six years ago. In all of our mission we had only three baptisms in one year, despite the conscientious labors of over seventy missionaries. We did not have the Doctrine and Covenants, the Pearl of Great Price, or the Book of Mormon translated into Portuguese. We held our meetings in rooms that were small and unfit for the lofty message we were trying to teach. We often had to sweep out these rooms before meeting to remove the empty bottles and trash from the revelry of the night before. It was always difficult and often discouraging.
In comparison, last year in South America there were over 8,000 convert baptisms. There are now twenty-two stakes and seventeen missions of the Church with over 152,000 members on that vast continent; and the work has only begun. Our great first generation of South American Regional Representatives and stake and mission presidents are men of affairs, including bankers, businessmen, factory owners, and professional men. They are men of great ability and faith.
I marveled at how through the Spirit of God this has all come about. Surely it is a fulfillment of what Jesus said to his early apostles: “And I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven.” (Matt. 16:19.) Having seen it all from close range, I cannot doubt that this is the work of God.
Last week at the temple site, after much brooding and pondering, I stepped farther back to where the inner rooms of the temple will be. The morning mist had now cleared so that in the distance I could see part of the great city of Sao Paulo. I recalled how as a young missionary I presided over the work in that city, with thirteen missionaries and about 300 members. There are now four stakes of the Church and about 100 missionaries laboring in that city. There are also neighboring stakes in Campinas and Santos.
This great progress in South America has come about largely through the sacrifice and dedication of hundreds of missionaries and their families, as well as dedicated mission presidents from the United States and Canada. This is changing. In the Brazil Porto Alegre Mission there are now 136 missionaries of which fifty-eight, or 43 percent, are native-born Brazilians. All of the four mission presidents in Argentina are native South Americans. How can anyone who has seen what I have deny that this is the work of God.

The sacrament is an ordinance that helps us stay on the path, and worthily partaking is evidence that we are keeping the covenants associated with all the other ordinances. A few years ago, while my wife, Anita, and I were serving in the Arkansas Little Rock Mission, I went out to teach with two young missionaries. During the lesson, the good brother we were teaching said, “I have been to your church; why do you have to eat bread and drink water every Sunday? In our church, we do it twice a year, on Easter and Christmas, and that is very meaningful.”

We shared with him that we are commanded to “meet together oft to partake of bread and wine” (Moroni 6:6; see also D&C 20:75). We read out loud Matthew 26 and 3 Nephi 18. He responded that he still did not see the necessity.

We then shared the following comparison: “Imagine you are involved in a very serious car accident. You have been injured and are unconscious. Someone runs by, seeing that you are unconscious, and dials the emergency number, 911. You are attended to and regain consciousness.”

We asked this brother, “When you are able to recognize your surroundings, what questions will you have?”

He said, “I will want to know how I got there and who found me. I will want to thank him every day because he saved my life.”

We shared with this good brother how the Savior saved our lives and how we need to thank Him every day, every day, every day!

We then asked, “Knowing that He gave His life for you and us, how often do you want to eat the bread and drink the water as emblems of His body and blood?”

He said, “I get it, I get it. But one more thing. Your church is not lively like ours.”

To that we responded, “What would you do if the Savior Jesus Christ walked through your door?”

He said, “Immediately, I would go down to my knees.”

We asked, “Isn’t that what you feel when you walk into Latter-day Saint chapels—reverence for the Savior?”

He said, “I get it, I get it, I get it!”

He showed up at church that Easter Sunday and kept returning.

We live in a time when too many who purport to be Christians have a cause that comes ahead of Christ. For example, a national magazine recently reported an innovation by a new bishop of a prominent Christian church. Their ministers have always consecrated the emblems of the flesh and blood of Jesus Christ in the name of the “Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.” However, in an effort to use what are called “nonsexist words,” this new bishop has begun to consecrate the eucharist in the name of the “Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer” (“Fretful Murmur in the Cathedral,” Insight, 24 Apr. 1989, p. 47). Such trendy and expedient tampering with the Christian faith is illustrative of the extent to which some are unwilling to witness of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.

While in Europe, Heber met King Oscar of Sweden and Norway.
King Oscar: Emigrants from here are happier in Utah than anywhere else in the United States. As long as I am king, your people will have religious freedom here.

Excited by their newfound religion, Jaanus and his friend Urmas Raavk decided they must spread the gospel. They spoke with at least 50 people on the streets and knocked on 20 doors. They tried to talk like missionaries, explaining the story of Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon. The missionaries later asked Jaanus, “Why did you do that? Who gave you the authority to act as missionaries?”
“We know from reading in the Bible that everybody must be a missionary,” Jaanus answered. “I already have a strong desire to serve. It is hard to wait until I get a mission call.”
The elders smiled, “In opening this new mission, we need to be very careful and only work through referrals to members’ friends,” they explained. President Steven R. Mecham of the Finland Helsinki East Mission said that this proved to be important in getting the Church accepted. Proselyting needed to be handled carefully so as not to offend. From then on, Jaanus and Urmas worked with the missionaries.

In 1946 I visited Hawaii shortly after a huge tidal wave, where walls of water some forty feet high struck Hilo and the Hamakua coast, and I saw the devastation that resulted. Homes had been overturned and shredded, crushed into splinters like toothpicks; fences and gardens were obliterated; bridges and roads were washed away. Bathtubs, refrigerators, mangled autos lay strewn all about the streets. Where one of our little chapels had stood, nothing remained but the foundation. More than a hundred people lost their lives; as many more were injured; thousands were left homeless. I heard many stories while there of suffering, of heroism, of salvation.
One woman told how she received a telephone message from friends to get out and to leave—that a tidal wave was coming. She looked out to sea and saw the monstrous wave approaching, like a mountain. She and her husband picked up the baby and ran for their lives up the hill. However, two of their little girls were away from home playing near a clump of lauhala trees. They saw the wave coming, ran into the trees, and held tightly with their arms around the tree trunks. The first gigantic wave washed entirely over them, but they held their breath and clung with all their might until the water receded and their heads were again above the water. When the wave receded, they quickly ran up the hill before the succeeding waves came. Together, the family watched from the safety of the hill as their home below disappeared under the pounding of the waves.

Ever wonder what the future holds for the school athletes you know—or knew? Was it all worth it? When they get older and evaluate through the eyes of time, would they have participated in athletics if they had to do it all over again? These were the kinds of questions for which Max F. Shifrer wanted to find answers, so he asked seventy-four former small-town high school athletes these and many other questions. The men had graduated from high school over a ten-year period—1945 to 1954—and had participated in football, basketball, baseball, track and field, or tennis. Here are some of the important facts that Max discovered:
—85 percent said they’d do it over again; the remaining 15 percent said they’d still be involved “considerably” in athletics.
—However, the percentage dropped to 72 percent when the men were asked if they’d advise a boy entering high school to participate in athletics.
—27 percent—more than one out of every four—said that they were permanently injured, some very seriously, from athletic competition.
—66 percent felt that athletic participation contributed to “unjustifiable feelings of importance among some team members”—or out-and-out snobbery.
—Max found very mixed feelings about the extent to which athletics helped former athletes subdue undesirable traits, even though more than half of the men gave credit to athletics for helping them in this fight.
—Less than half (only 42 percent) said that they continued to participate in their school-days sport. And it was the men who had played tennis who continued to thoroughly enjoy their high school sport—100 percent of them!
—89 percent thought that athletics helped them to develop and maintain physical fitness; 65 percent felt that the habits of eating, sleeping, and exercising had carried over into their present living.
—40 percent—a very high percentage—agreed that sports had interfered with their class studies.
—92 percent said that participation in athletics helped them establish “real friendships”; 84 percent said it helped them “develop courage and self-confidence”; 88 percent said it helped “develop calmness and poise under pressure”; 94 percent said it helped “develop cooperation and teamwork”; and 77 percent said it helped them “develop leadership”—all good assets!
—19 percent said athletics had helped them to a “great extent” in their work; 35 percent said it had helped “considerably”; 28 percent said it had helped “to a small extent”; and 15 percent said it hadn’t helped at all.
—77 percent said they were successful in their present work, but the tennis athletes and two-sport athletes indicated the most success.
—Men who had played in four or more sports reported more unhappiness and less satisfaction than others, probably because an overemphasis on sports had forced a neglect of studies that in turn resulted in poorer preparation for life.
—82 percent said that athletic prominence had helped them in their vocational pursuit.
—And 54 percent said that athletics encouraged them to “stay in school.” All in all, the study showed that moderate involvement in athletics is very worthwhile, but not essential for everyone. It was noted that many of today’s best students are not necessarily athletic in nature, but that everyone should develop some physical activity that he enjoys, particularly one that can have some carry-over value into later life.

As a young seminary teacher, I learned a valuable lesson from our principal, Able S. Rich. He told me, “If you really want to know what a man is, and what he believes, do not go to his enemies. Go to the man himself or to his friends. He does not confide the thoughts of his heart to his enemies. His friends know him best; they know his strengths and his weaknesses. They will represent him fairly. His enemies will misrepresent him.”

When Buddy came to Primary Activity Day, he seemed to enjoy watching us perform during talent time. He liked it when we played the guitar or violin or piano. But Sister Moulder did not bring him into the room where we frosted cookies. It would have been a big temptation for us to hand him one—and a bigger temptation for him to eat it!

Dr. José Rizal, the Philippine national hero, is revered in his country because he devoted his talents and energies to promote freedom and because he gave his life for what he believed. His writings urged the Filipinos to recognize their intellectual and moral worth and to work for governmental reforms without breaking the law. But when armed insurrections began in 1896, he was executed at age 35.

One day while I was riding in the car with Dad, a song that was not good came on the radio. It was about gambling. I remembered that one of My Gospel Standards says: I will only listen to music that is pleasing to Heavenly Father. I asked my dad to change the station. I had a good feeling after that. I know we’re supposed to choose the right and do good things and not do the bad things that Satan wants us to do. I’m glad to have My Gospel Standards because they help me choose the right.