Gospel Story Finder

You may feel that upward pull. I did one afternoon when I came to understand, as I hadn’t before, how much I need the Atonement, what I could do to make it work in my life, and what evidence I could have that it was working.
It was the hour of a devotional at BYU–Idaho. I wasn’t the speaker; I was sitting there, just behind and to the right of the speaker. I’ve still got the book that I held that day. It still has the words in the margins that I wrote then.
In my memory, the room that afternoon was almost as light as the sunshine and as warm. The speaker was Elder A. Theodore Tuttle. I suppose there was a spotlight on his face. Stages always seem light when you’re on them. But the brightness was in more than what I saw. It was inside me that day. I think it happened because I walked into that room with the yearning President McKay says will come to everyone. And for me that day it was irresistible; I was in the right place with the right preparation.
I will give you the few scriptures that have made the most difference—all the difference for me—in knowing how to reach for that something better you and I sometimes feel drawing us up.
The first is not in the margin but is from the 19th section of the Doctrine and Covenants. On the bottom, in capital letters, is written: REPENTANCE. And then an arrow leads to a notation that reads: “Greek word. To have a new mind.” I heard it that day with new meaning.
“Therefore I command you to repent—repent, lest I smite you by the rod of my mouth, and by my wrath, and by my anger, and your sufferings be sore—how sore you know not, how exquisite you know not, yea, how hard to bear you know not.
“For behold, I, God, have suffered these things for all, that they might not suffer if they would repent;
“But if they would not repent they must suffer even as I” (vv. 15–17).
As he read those words that day, I felt the overwhelming suffering of the Savior. And then two things dawned on me. First, if I could not repent to qualify for His Atonement for my sins, I must suffer to the limit of my power to suffer. And, second, with all the requisite suffering of my own, with all I could bear, it would still not be enough. I would still be forever shut out of the only place where there will be the warmth of family, the family of my Heavenly Father whom I have loved and whom I miss, and that of my family here. Somehow I had gotten the idea that the choice was between repenting or not. And then I realized that whatever pain repentance might bring in this life, it was certainly no more than the pain I would face if I did not repent here, and yet that later pain could not lift me home. It could not bring the mercy I needed.
A determination flowed into me both to stay as far as I could from sin and to gain a confidence that my sins were being remitted. In that moment, the penalty for taking chances with sin or with forgiveness loomed larger than I had ever imagined it could. I wanted with all my heart to know both that the Atonement was curing the effects of sin in me and that I was being strengthened against future sin. I wanted confidence whereas before I had been content with hope.
First, I have never forgotten the voice of Elder Tuttle after he read this description of suffering for sin from section 19 of the Doctrine and Covenants:
“Which suffering caused myself, even God, the greatest of all, to tremble because of pain, and to bleed at every pore, and to suffer both body and spirit—and would that I might not drink the bitter cup, and shrink” (v. 18).
It was about there where I wrote these words: “Teach the people repentance hurts.” I bear you my testimony that you must never believe the lie that there is no pain from sin. You can be forgiven. The Atonement is real. True faith in the Atonement of Jesus Christ, rather than leading you to try a little sin, will lead you to stay as far away from it as you can.

The events of that Christmas Eve took on added meaning for me the next year in the winter beauty of Utah Valley. Daddy had died during the preceding year, and no one really felt like holding to the family caroling tradition; emotions were still too close to the surface. So mother gathered us children together, and again we made a trip to the cemetery. We took with us a German wreath. Our family was alone this time; no one was there to hear our songs of Christ’s birth as we placed the wreath on daddy’s grave. Around us was a thick blanket of fog, shrouding us in its quiet mystery, and we could not see much beyond the edges of the cemetery—as if the world ended there.
But oh, what joy filled our hearts as we remembered we were celebrating Christmas, that because of the Savior the world is more than it was, that life does not end with the burial of the body, and that our loved one is not alone! There, in the cemetery, remembering daddy, we celebrated the birth of our Savior, our Hope, our Redeemer; and the peace of his message was a great salve for our loneliness.

Even though I lived with a father who didn’t follow God’s teachings, God placed others in my life to support me as a good father should. I had a wonderful bishop who always took a minute to say hello and see how I was doing. Bishop Hicken treated me the same way he did all the youth in our ward. He held interviews with us, went to our activities, and had us in his home for firesides. He was loving, kind, and patient. I watched how he treated his wife and children, and it helped me believe that my Heavenly Father was like that. He was a happy man, full of life and love. I tried to live better because he expected us to.
I was a late bloomer when it came to dating, and it seemed that when I got my first date, everyone knew about it—even my bishop. The big day arrived and the young man picked me up. While we were at a stoplight, someone very carefully bumped into the back of my date’s truck. As we turned around to see who had done this, I saw a man marching up to the driver’s side of the truck. It was my bishop! As my date rolled down his window, my bishop said, “That’s my girl you have in there and I want her home by 10 o’clock.” I don’t remember much about that night except that I was home by 10:00. But I will never forget that I was “his girl” and that he loved me and cared about me. I knew then that my Heavenly Father cared about me, too.

At an amusement park, my friend and I went on one ride while my mom and my sister went on another ride. After the ride was over, my friend asked if I wanted to go on the roller coaster. I said no because my mother had said to come right back after the ride. He said he would pay me if I went on the ride with him. I said no. He kept adding more and more money. He even said he would pay me $100. I said no. Later, I told my mom what had happened. She was proud of me for obeying her. I felt good that I followed the commandment to obey my parents.

When a guy I was dating opened up to me about his addiction to pornography, the first thing I said was, “How can I help?”
He replied, “Come with me to the addiction-recovery meetings. There is a support group for family and friends that you can attend.”
I knew about the 12-step addiction recovery program, but I had no idea there were support groups. I was a little hesitant at first, but I reminded myself that I had asked him how I could help, and this was what he asked of me.
During the first meeting, I took a deep breath and walked to the room where the support group was meeting. When I entered the room, I felt ready to learn how I could save my boyfriend from his addiction.
But I was surprised at what I discovered.
They handed me a book, Support Guide: Help for Spouses and Family of Those in Recovery, and we read aloud from the book during each class.
Not once did I learn how I could save my boyfriend.
Instead, the support guide’s 12 lessons showed me that before I could support anyone else, I first needed to lay down my burdens at the Lord’s feet and allow Him to heal me (see 3 Nephi 9:13)—to heal me from my own faults and struggles and to bear my pain of supporting a loved one recovering from addiction.
I realized that I needed to rely on and turn to the Savior to find peace, hope, and strength. And because of that, I feel much better equipped in being able to support others who face addictive or compulsive behaviors.
“Our priority must be to personally draw closer to the Lord,” the support guide says. “… This will place us in a better position to support our loved ones. No matter what they may choose to do, the peace and hope of the Savior can be with us” (Support Guide: Help for Spouses and Family of Those in Recovery [2017], iii).
As I continued to attend the course, I learned how much the Savior loves me and how He truly knows my situation. I also learned how no addiction will ever alter how much He loves any one of Heavenly Father’s children.
But I think the most important lesson I learned while attending the support group is I can’t save my boyfriend (or anyone else). Only Jesus Christ can. Through His atoning sacrifice, He has the power to save.
I’m extremely grateful that He is our Savior, for He knows how to perfectly succor us (see Alma 7:11–12). As we trust in His grace, I know that we will receive what is necessary for our personal healing. We will be buoyed up by Him and will be more able to support our loved ones who face addictions.
Because of the support group and ARP classes, my boyfriend felt comfortable telling me when he felt triggered because he knew I wasn’t there to judge but to love and support him in his efforts. His journey of struggle is not over yet, but I saw the improvement and change that the principles from these classes made in both of our lives. And I felt the hand of the Lord continually.

Josh Rohatinsky, a deacon in the Provo Fourth Ward, Provo Utah North Stake, realized a year-long goal when he became the Junior Olympics National Champion in the 3,000-meter run for the 11–12 age group. The games were held in Gainesville, Florida. Josh outperformed the second-place winner by 19 seconds.

Josh is coached by his dad and would like to run in the 2000 summer Olympics. For now, though, he’s just glad the race is over.

"It was hard," says Josh, "but I’m glad I did it."

When I was little, I lived in Zwickau, Germany. My grandmother had a friend with white, flowing hair. Her name was Sister Ewig, and she invited my grandmother to church. When our family went there, we saw many children. All of us were very impressed by the families, the children, and the music, especially the singing. I felt at home right away. My whole family—except me, because I was only six years old—were baptized members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. When I was eight, I was baptized in a public swimming pool by my father.

Stephen Robinson, in his excellent book, “Believing Christ,” makes this point with what he calls “The Parable of the Bicycle.” I’m sure many of you are familiar with it.

For those who aren’t, I will briefly summarize it. His seven-year-old daughter, Sarah, was the only child in their neighborhood who did not have a bike, and she ardently wanted one.

Brother Robinson was not in a position to buy one for her so he suggested she conscientiously save her pennies and she would soon be able to buy it herself.

As time passed, she would regularly come to her father to show him the old fruit jar that held her money and ask if she had saved enough to get the bike. One day she said, “You promised if I saved all my pennies, pretty soon I’d have enough to get a bike. And Daddy, I’ve saved every single one.”

He realized she was doing everything in her power to follow his instructions, but her needs were still not being met. With a melting heart, he told her to gather what she had saved and they would go to the bike shop.

Sarah soon saw the bike of her dreams but it cost over $100, hopelessly beyond her means. With a heart full of love, he told her, “Let’s try a different arrangement. You give me everything you’ve got, the whole sixty-one cents, and a hug and a kiss, and the bike is all yours.”

With excitement and joy unique to children, Sarah rode the bike home while her father followed in the car. It then occurred to him that this was a parable for the atonement of Christ.

Let me read the analogy in his words:

“We all want something desperately, but it’s not a bicycle. We want the kingdom of God. We want to go home to our heavenly parents worthy and clean. But the price – perfect performance – is hopelessly beyond our means. At some point…we realize we cannot pay it. And then we despair.”

“At that point the Savior steps in and says, ‘So you’ve done all you can do, but it’s not enough. Well, don’t despair. Let’s try a different arrangement. How much do you have? You give me exactly that much and do all you can do, and I will provide the rest for now…Perfection will still be the ultimate goal, but until you can get it on your own, I’ll let you use mine.”

Two days later, the Willie company had to travel the most difficult part of the trail, going over Rocky Ridge, in a freezing storm. The last of them didn’t reach camp until 5:00 the next morning. Thirteen people died and were buried in a common grave.
On November 7, the Willie company was nearing the Salt Lake Valley, but that morning there were still three deaths. Two days later, the Willie company finally reached Salt Lake, where they had a marvelous greeting and were welcomed into the homes of the Saints.

My beloved brothers and sisters of the great Church of Jesus Christ, I would like you to know how humble I am at this great opportunity. I kind of like Ed Gardner’s story. His wife is hard of hearing and she wore a hearing aid; as they sat one evening in the living room, and she was knitting and looking down, he looked out over his newspaper and, speaking about his wife, he said, “You know, I am just kind of proud of you.” And she looked up and said, “You know, I am getting tired of you, too.”

Born on June 6, 1954, in St. George, Utah, USA, to Richard and Miriam Schmutz, Elder Schmutz learned early about the power of prayer. As a Cub Scout he sold U.S. $17 worth of tickets to a jamboree but couldn’t find the money when it was time to turn it in. His mother encouraged him to pray, and the Lord revealed to him exactly where the money was. It was a strong confirmation of God’s love for and awareness of him.

Karen and Susan Jacobs of Walnut Creek, California, found it fun and rewarding. It started when Karen was in the fifth grade at the American School in Copenhagen, Denmark. She was looking for a subject for a rather ambitious American history report. The teacher called for footnotes, bibliography, note cards, and oral reports—you know, the works. Her biggest hurdle was to choose a subject. Her parents suggested that she do her report on the Mormon trek westward.
“Why not?” she said.
Once started it was an easier topic to write on than most, with all that help at home, her interest, and her background on the subject from Primary and Sunday School.
Few in the class knew much about the Mormons, and the oral report, laced with interest-raising points, created a lively discussion for months afterwards. She got an A grade too!

When my wife and I had been married for about six years, we were living in Makiki and my wife expressed the desire to attend graduate school on the mainland. Just a few months before this, we welcomed our oldest daughter into our family. Having a new child would make graduate school and a move even more challenging. My wife’s parents still lived in Boston, where my wife was born and raised, so we had a built-in support system there. We prayed and fasted about the decision and felt like it was the path that we should take.

A few months later, we sold everything that we had and left the island with only a couple of suitcases full of clothes and baby toys. We arrived in Boston and found a house to rent in an area called Cambridge Port. Our home was located a block from the Charles River, right by the BU bridge. It was a great location. Sister Yamamoto’s school was located right across the bridge. The historic Fenway Ball Park was less than a mile away. Right around the corner was an amazing mom-and-pop Italian pizza joint called “Stephanie's Pizzeria.” I can still remember the amazing smell of fresh calzones and pizza, which permeated the air.

The fall in the Northeast was terrific. We enjoyed apple picking, viewing the fall foliage, going to pumpkin patches, attending Redsox games at Fenway, and spending time with my wife’s family. It was an amazing place until the winter season came. I was cold to my very core for four months straight. We lived in one of those historical Cambridge homes that had big metal radiators used for a heating system. When you turned them on, they would start hissing and clanking and the temperature was very hard to control. The only thing that saved me during those winters was coming back here for a month in January during the winter break.

While we lived in Boston, we attended the Cambridge 1st Ward. The ward was mostly made up of married graduate students and their families attending the various universities in the area. Because the bulk of our ward was students, the Elders Quorum was constantly moving members in and out. One of my home teaching sisters needed to move from one home to another home that was only a couple of blocks away. Three or four of the Elders from our ward and the full-time missionaries showed up to help out.

I arrived at the house and much to my delight, it was a dream move. Sometimes you show up for a move, and the family is busily stuffing things into bags, boxes, trash bags or whatever they can find to transport their belongings. This sister had everything nicely packed, and she even had a moving truck. In less than 20 minutes, everything was completely loaded into the truck. The truck was packed so efficiently that only half of the inside of the truck was filled.

We were ready to get into our cars and drive over to the new house when the sister came out and warned us that parking was very limited around her new home and that it would be a good idea to ride over together. One of the Elders had a great idea or what seemed like a good idea. He proposed that we utilize the empty space in the back of the moving truck by jumping in and riding over to the house together. It was only a short couple of blocks. We all agreed to his proposal without thinking about it and piled into the back of the moving truck.

I was chatting with one of the missionaries when all of a sudden, the inside of the truck started to get dark. I looked toward the opening and the driver was pulling down on the rope connected to the rolling back door. Within seconds, the door was completely closed and the area was completely dark. Suddenly, you could hear a click of metal on the exterior of the door. I'm sure that you have all seen that round metal piece on the back of diesels and moving trucks that when turned locks into place, securing the door and locking the door from the outside. That click meant that we were locked inside.

Up to that point in my life, I had never experienced any kind of claustrophobia or anxieties from being in an enclosed space. While I was a student at BYU in Provo, I even went to a place called the Nutty Putty Caves a few times to explore with friends. The Nutty Putty Caves were located on the west side of Utah Lake. You would drive to this remote spot on dirt roads and then there was literally a hole in the earth that you would go down a network of caves. They had this one section in the Nutty Putty Caves called the birth canal. I am sure you can picture why it might be called the birth canal and I even went through that section and didn’t even think twice about it then.

Back to Boston and the moving truck. I heard that metal piece click and we were locked inside. It was so dark that I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. All of a sudden, my chest began to constrict and I couldn’t breathe. My mind started to go crazy. I began searching frantically for a way to get out of the truck. I finally spotted a tiny pinprick of light coming from the bottom corner of the door. I rushed over, knelt down, put my face right by the hole, and tried to suck in air from the hole. It didn’t provide any relief. By this time my lungs were begging for air. I was desperate and my mind and body felt like they were going to explode. I am very lucky that it was pitch black because the people in the truck would have thought that I was literally crazy.

Drenched in sweat, I felt and thought that I was going to die. All of a sudden, one of the guys we were with flipped open his phone. Back in 2008, we had those cool phones that you flip open. The flip phone provided a small glow of light around his face as he looked at the screen. He must have thought that I was crazy when I scooted right next to him and hovered my face over his phone. The light on the phone immediately eased my mind and I could breathe again. My anxieties and panic immediately disappeared. It was amazing that the tiny bit of light would provide such a great relief. We arrived at our destination a couple of minutes later and I was liberated from the moving truck. We quickly moved the items into the house and then I let the guys know that I was going to walk back to my car and didn’t need a ride.

Thinking back to my moving truck experience, I later realized that I had a cell phone in my pocket during the entire experience. I had the tool that would have alleviated any kind of pain and anguish that I experienced. When we are in the midst of a problem or hardship, don’t we sometimes forget about the things that would help us the most? Sometimes we forget or blame God, we forget what the prophet and our church leaders have taught us, we forget the principles and doctrines of the gospel. We stop praying, stop reading our scriptures, and stop attending church. These are the times that we need those things the most. We forget the things that bring light and hope into our lives.

Everyone said, “Five, that’s wonderful! Now you can go to school.”
But I wasn’t sure I wanted to go to school. Mom drove past the school so I could see it. She smiled, but I thought it looked like a scary place. I saw many older boys and girls playing ball. They were all so big!
I was afraid to ride in the school bus too. It groans as it creeps up the hill by our house.
The morning I started school, Mom and Dad seemed happy because I was getting to be such a big girl. When I got dressed, Dad took my picture for our scrapbook.
Mom and I met Kari and her mother at the bus stop on the corner. Kari and I sat together after we got on the bus. We stopped a few times for other children and their mothers.
At school, Mom led me down the hall, past the library and a giant painting, and into my room.
I had already met my teacher, Miss Sorenson. I wondered if she’d remember my name.
“Welcome to kindergarten,” said Miss Sorenson. She smiled and told us about the schoolwork we would do. She even had name tags for us.
Kari and I explored. Records and picture books filled some shelves. There was a piano in the corner near the door.
Miss Sorenson showed us a workbench and a small kitchen. We worked at tables, with a shelf above for our crayons and scissors.
After school I was worried about finding my bus stop. But Miss Sorenson pinned a card on me with my name and bus stop, and a fifth grader helped me. So it was easy.
Now I like school. We listen to stories and learn new songs. Sometimes we cook, and one day we learned about caterpillars. Some days we visit the library or play in the gym. One day we even made gingerbread men.
Now I know my way around. The school is big, but I am too. After all, now I’m five!

I have witnessed and been greatly impressed by the sacrifices many members endure to get to the temple. Let me share one such story.

In 1976, when we were living in Costa Rica, the mission president asked my husband to help organize the first trip from the mission to a temple. The Central America Mission then included Costa Rica, Panama, Nicaragua, and Honduras. The closest temple was the Mesa Arizona Temple. The trip required us to travel five days each way, crossing six borders. The financial sacrifice for most of those who went was great. They sold their television sets, bikes, skates, and anything else they could sell. We traveled in two uncomfortable buses day and night. Some of the members had used all their money to pay for the bus fare and had taken only crackers and margarine to eat on the way.

I have never forgotten the great outpouring of the Spirit we experienced during the three days we spent at the Mesa Temple. I was deeply touched as I watched family members embrace each other with tears streaming down their faces after being sealed for the eternities.

Twenty-four years later the temple in San José, Costa Rica, was dedicated. Among those present at the session I attended were many of the families who had gone on that first temple excursion. They had waited faithfully and worthily for this sacred moment. They all can now attend the temple often because a temple in Panama was recently dedicated, and a temple in Honduras has been announced.

Many teens who live close to Nauvoo remember what it was like before the new Nauvoo Illinois Temple was built. Brianne Bokish of the Quincy Ward says, “I remember when the temple wasn’t there. There were stones marking where the corners and walls had been. My brother and I would run around, stepping on all the rocks around the whole thing. My parents took pictures of us standing in the very center where the font had been. It doesn’t seem like so long ago, but the temple is here today.”

For a long time in Primary, I wanted to go inside the temple and do baptisms for the dead. So when I became a Beehive, I couldn’t wait to get started. The first time I went was on my 12th birthday. My dad took me to the Ogden Utah Temple, where we did the baptisms and confirmations. I felt the Spirit so strongly, and I didn’t want the feeling to leave.
I decided that for a Personal Progress experience, I wanted to do my family history. A kind sister from my ward taught me how to use the FamilySearch program. I then searched for names with my mom, and every time I saw a green arrow pointing to the temple, I squealed with delight—it meant we’d found another name to submit to the temple for temple work!
My mother and I just went to the temple to do six of the baptisms. Temple workers said they had more names for us to do if we’d like to do them. I was overjoyed! My mom and I did at least 12 baptisms each. I felt the Spirit and always will when I go to the temple.

I recently heard Jenny’s story. She is a returned missionary whose parents divorced while she was serving her mission. She told how the thought of returning home “scared [her] to death.” But at the end of her mission to Italy, as she stopped in the mission home on her way home to the United States, a certain woman, the mission president’s wife, tenderly ministered to her simply by brushing her hair.
Years later, another certain woman, Terry—a stake Relief Society president and disciple of Jesus Christ—blessed Jenny’s life when Jenny was called as a ward Relief Society president. At that time, Jenny was working on her dissertation for her doctoral degree. Not only did Terry serve as a mentor to Jenny as a leader, but she also sat with her for 10 hours at the hospital when Jenny received the alarming diagnosis of leukemia. Terry visited the hospital and drove Jenny to appointments. Jenny confessed, “I think I may have thrown up several times in her car.”
Despite her illness, Jenny continued to serve valiantly as the ward Relief Society president. Even in her extremity, she made phone calls and sent texts and emails from her bed, and she invited sisters to come see her. She mailed cards and notes to people, loving her sisters from a distance. When her ward requested a photograph of her presidency for their ward history, this is what they got. Because Jenny is a certain woman herself, she invited all to share others’ burdens, including her own.
As a certain woman, Jenny testified: “Not only are we here to save others but to save ourselves. And that salvation comes from partnering with Jesus Christ, from understanding His grace and His Atonement and His feelings of love for the women of the Church. That happens through things as simple as brushing someone’s hair; sending a note with an inspired, clear, revelatory message of hope and grace; or allowing women to serve us.”

I am acquainted with a family which came to America from Germany. The English language was difficult for them. They had but little by way of means, but each was blessed with the will to work and with a love of God.
Their third child was born, lived but two months, and then died. Father was a cabinetmaker and fashioned a beautiful casket for the body of his precious child. The day of the funeral was gloomy, thus reflecting the sadness they felt in their loss. As the family walked to the chapel, with Father carrying the tiny casket, a small number of friends had gathered. However, the chapel door was locked. The busy bishop had forgotten the funeral. Attempts to reach him were futile. Not knowing what to do, the father placed the casket under his arm and, with his family beside him, carried it home, walking in a drenching rain.
If the family were of a lesser character, they could have blamed the bishop and harbored ill feelings. When the bishop discovered the tragedy, he visited the family and apologized. With the hurt still evident in his expression, but with tears in his eyes, the father accepted the apology, and the two embraced in a spirit of understanding. No hidden wedge was left to cause further feelings of anger. Love and acceptance prevailed.

For the first time ever, a youth conference was held in the Republic of Kiribati, a group of islands straddling the equator in the central Pacific. The islands are part of the Fiji Suva Mission, and there are branches of the Church on some of the islands.
For two days, 500 young people gathered on the campus of Moroni High School on the island of Tarawa. The first day was spent getting acquainted in games, races, and field events. Everyone enjoyed participating in the activities regardless of who won. A dance was held in the evening.
The next day started with a testimony meeting, the highlight of all youth conferences. The testimonies expressed dealt with the depth of feeling the youth had for the gospel.
One of the outstanding stories about the conference took place before the conference began. Youth from the North Tarawa Branch, which is separated from South Tarawa by a strip of ocean half a mile wide, were not able to get transportation. They waded through the shallow water at low tide, then hiked 15 miles through much of the night to arrive at the conference on time. They were so pleased with the conference that they said the effort they made to get there was well worth it.
The youth enjoyed the conference and getting to know each other better. They tried to persuade the adult leaders to hold another conference the following month.