Gospel Story Finder

Thankfully, when we are weak or incapable, the Lord can strengthen our faith. He can increase our capacity beyond our own. I have experienced that. More than 20 years ago, I was unexpectedly called as an Area Seventy, and I felt very inadequate. Following my training assignments, I was to preside at my first stake conference. The stake president and I meticulously planned every detail. Shortly before the conference, President Boyd K. Packer, then–Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, called to see if he could accompany me. I was surprised and, of course, agreed. I asked how he would like to proceed since he would preside. He suggested that we undo the plans and prepare to follow the Spirit. Thankfully, I still had 10 days to study, pray, and prepare.
With an open agenda, we were on the stand 20 minutes before the leadership meeting began. I leaned over to the stake president and whispered, “This is a wonderful stake.”
President Packer elbowed me gently and said, “No talking.”
I stopped talking, and his general conference talk “Reverence Invites Revelation” came to mind. I observed that President Packer was writing down scripture references. The Spirit confirmed to me that he was receiving impressions for the meeting. My learning experience had just begun.
President Packer spoke for the first 15 minutes and emphasized the importance of conducting all meetings as guided by the Holy Spirit. He then said, “We will now hear from Elder Cook.”
On my way to the pulpit, I asked how long he would like me to take and if there was a topic he would like me to address. He said, “Take 15 minutes and carry on as you feel inspired.” I took about 14 minutes and shared everything I had on my mind.
President Packer stood again and spoke for another 15 minutes. He shared this scripture:
“Speak the thoughts that I shall put into your hearts, and you shall not be confounded before men;
“For it shall be given you … in the very moment, what ye shall say.”
Then he said, “We will now hear from Elder Cook.”
I was shocked. I had never considered the possibility that I would be asked to speak twice in one meeting. I didn’t have anything in mind to say. Praying fervently and relying on the Lord for help, somehow, I was blessed with a thought, a scripture, and I was able to speak for another 15 minutes. I sat down totally exhausted.
President Packer spoke again for 15 minutes about following the Spirit and shared Paul’s teachings that we should not speak “words which man’s wisdom teacheth, but which the Holy Ghost teacheth.” As you can imagine, I was overwhelmed when he was impressed to say for the third time, “We will now hear from Elder Cook.”
I was empty. I had nothing. I knew it was time to exercise more faith. Slowly, I made my way to the pulpit, pleading to God for help. As I stepped up to the microphone, the Lord miraculously blessed me to somehow give another 15-minute message.
The meeting finally ended, but I quickly realized that the adult session would start in one hour. Oh, no! Like Zoram, I sincerely wanted to run, but just as Nephi caught him, I knew President Packer would catch me. The adult meeting followed the very same pattern. I spoke three more times. The next day during the general session, I spoke once.
After the conference, President Packer said with affection, “Let’s do it again sometime.” I love President Boyd K. Packer and appreciate all that I learned.
Do you know what I am grateful for? That I didn’t give up—or resist. If I had given in to my desperate desire to escape from those meetings, I would have missed an opportunity to increase my faith and receive a rich outpouring of love and support from my Heavenly Father. I learned of His mercy, the miraculous enabling power of Jesus Christ and His Atonement, and the powerful influence of the Holy Ghost. In spite of my weakness, I learned that I can serve; I can contribute when the Lord is by my side if I just keep going—with faith.

My uncle is serving a full-time mission in Guatemala, and I miss him a lot. But I have learned that he is serving Heavenly Father, and when I am big, I want to serve a mission just like him. That is why I like the Primary song “I Hope They Call Me on a Mission.”
Manuel L., age 5, El Salvador

Walking home from school in the autumn rain, I sloshed through every puddle. Little rivulets of cold water drizzled down my head and plopped to the hood of my blue jacket. I usually forgot to tie the hood over my head, so it just hung over my shoulders, catching raindrops.
“Hi, Mrs. Carver,” I called as I neared the small yellow house down the street from ours.
“Darcy, just look at you—you’re soaking wet!”
Mrs. Carver closed the mailbox and peered at me from under her plaid umbrella. Juggling the umbrella and a little stack of envelopes with one hand, she reached for my arm with the other. “Come on in and get dried off.”
I followed her as she shuffled up the concrete walk to her front door. When she opened it, a fragrant warmth met my face. She smiled. “I just baked some gingerbread. Would you like a piece?”
As I nodded eagerly and stepped inside, she reminded me to wipe my feet. Then she hung my dripping jacket on the back of a kitchen chair.
“Land’s sake, girl,” she said, passing me a hunk of warm gingerbread, “I hope you didn’t catch cold out there in that freezing rain.”
“Not me. I like rain. This is the best time of the year. Next week is Thanksgiving, you know. Wow—this gingerbread sure is good!”
“I’m glad you like it, Darcy. I used to make goodies for my son when he was your age.”
Adjusting her glasses, Mrs. Carver thumbed through the little pile of envelopes. I glanced up between bites of gingerbread, wondering if she’d found anything interesting in her mailbox.
“I’m waiting to hear from my son,” she told me. “He’s coming home for Thanksgiving.” A hopeful smile creased her face.
“We’re going to my grandma’s house,” I said, wiping my hands on a paper napkin. “My cousins will be there, too—I can’t wait! Well, thanks for the gingerbread. I’d better get home.”
I grabbed my jacket and headed for the door. Mrs. Carver sat still in her kitchen and watched me go out into the rain.
“When are we leaving for Grandma’s house?” I asked Mom a few days later. I hadn’t seen my cousins since last summer. My favorite cousin, Trevor, was in the fourth grade too.
“Very early Thanksgiving morning. It’s a long drive.”
“What if there’s a lot of snow in the mountains?” Amy wanted to know. My younger sister didn’t like long car trips, especially in the winter.
“Dad will just stop and put chains on the tires—no problem,” I assured her.
Curling up in the window seat in the family room, I watched dozens of raindrops drip from a branch of a cedar tree. They splattered on the yellow and brown leaves that layered the ground. A squirrel skittered across the branch and up the tree to the roof of our house.
I wonder what he’s doing for Thanksgiving. I grinned at the thought of a squirrel family gathered around a Thanksgiving feast. Then I daydreamed about Grandma’s cheery smile and Trevor’s dumb jokes. Just four more days until we’d sit down to a big turkey dinner at Grandma’s house! Mashed potatoes with her good gravy, pumpkin pie . … My mouth began to water.
Every day after school, I passed Mrs. Carver with her plaid umbrella, checking her mail. I could tell by the look on her face that there was still no letter from her son.
The day before Thanksgiving, she called to me. I liked her smile. In a lot of ways, she reminded me of my grandma.
“Hi, Mrs. Carver,” I said, wiping a strand of wet hair from my forehead.
“Oh, Darcy, why do you think that jacket of yours has a hood? It’s supposed to keep your head dry.”
She bent down, holding her umbrella over both of us. “Come on in. A letter came from my son.”
I followed Mrs. Carver up the walk to her door. She stepped a little faster than usual, even though she was trying to keep the umbrella over my head. Inside her warm kitchen, she handed me a yellow towel and a freshly-baked chocolate chip cookie. “Here,” she said. “Dry that wet hair. Then you can eat that cookie. Chocolate chip was always my son’s favorite.”
I rubbed the dampness out of my hair and sat at the table to eat my cookie. Mrs. Carver opened an envelope and pulled out a single sheet of white paper. As she read the letter, her smile faded. “He’s not coming! My son’s not coming home for Thanksgiving, after all.”
Mrs. Carver seemed so surprised and hurt that I didn’t know what to say. I just watched her take off her glasses and wipe her eyes. Then she turned and gazed out the window. “When is it ever going to stop raining?”
“Uh, maybe your son is just too busy,” I suggested.
“Yes,” Mrs. Carver said, almost in a whisper. “He’s too busy.”
I had the feeling she wanted to be alone, so I muttered a thanks for the cookie and crept quietly out of the house.
On the way home, the gray, swollen sky seemed to close in around me. Whipping down the street, a sudden wind picked up some damp leaves and slapped them against my shoulder.
“Don’t forget to wipe your feet, Darcy,” I heard Mom say as I took off my jacket in the hallway. She was sitting on the couch in the family room, thumbing through a magazine without looking at the pages. Amy was slumped next to her. It seemed like a long time before anyone said anything. That was pretty unusual at home. Finally Mom set down the magazine and turned to me with her serious look.
“Darcy, we can’t go to Grandma’s for Thanksgiving. There’s a blizzard raging in the mountains. Your dad says it’s too dangerous to drive through the pass when the weather’s this bad.”
I just stared at her. No Thanksgiving at Grandma’s! I crawled up on the window seat and tried to keep from crying. Some Thanksgiving we’d have with no cousins and no Grandma! Even though I figured my sister was just trying to cheer me up, it bothered me when she came over, chattering on about some silly thing. Then she scolded me for getting home late from school. “I’ve been home for ages. What took you so long?”
“I stopped to see Mrs. Carver.”
“Oh?” Mom asked. “How is she?”
I sat quietly for a long time, thinking. “Mrs. Carver is going to be all alone for Thanksgiving. …”
Mom came over and put her hands on my shoulders. “Not if I know my Darcy, she won’t. Don’t forget to put your hood up when you go to invite her.”
Picking up her notepad and a pencil, Mom started making plans for Thanksgiving at our house. I looked out into the backyard. It had finally stopped raining.

I sat in the temple Wednesday last and looked at the two presiding quorums, the First Presidency and the Twelve. I had borne in on me the great increase in the power of President Kimball, as in the third general quorum he placed some of the best-trained, most experienced, and loyal men in the Church. It thrilled me to see something come to pass for which we had so long hoped.

As a missionary I was privileged to meet a living Apostle, Elder Boyd K. Packer. All the missionaries were waiting for him at the meetinghouse. We were talking and excited. My back was to the door when Elder Packer arrived, but even without seeing him, I knew he had entered the room. He filled it with the same power and purity I felt at my mother’s side. It was as though he had stepped out of one of the scripture stories. I thought, This is what a lifetime of obedience and communion with God makes a man.

In 1883 the Widtsoe family immigrated to Logan, Utah, where young John later enrolled in Brigham Young College. A hard worker and bright student, he graduated in 1891, studied chemistry at Harvard University, and graduated with highest honors in 1894. While at Harvard, he met Leah Eudora Dunford. They married in the Salt Lake Temple in 1898 and became the parents of seven children, only three of whom lived to adulthood.

The elected president of Edinburgh Napier Students Association, Edinburgh Napier University, hosted a discussion event for students and staff members. The topic for the webinar was, “Faith plays a role for good mental health.” The point was to make students learn to use their faith for hope, peaceful minds, and other aspects of life. I enjoyed participating in the event and invited two of our full-time missionaries to share their testimonies and to perform a dance as part of our contribution.
Below is my presentation:
“Thank you for the opportunity to both hear and participate this evening. One distinct principle that I believe as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is that God speaks to us today, as we individually connect with Him through prayer and collectively as His children on earth through living prophets.
“The Old Testament tells us how God spoke to His children through living prophets such as Abraham, Isaiah, Noah, Daniel, and others. I believe that the doctrine of prophetic leadership has been restored.
“Every six months, there is a worldwide conference where our prophet and apostles address the world in my faith tradition. In the most recent conference, they taught and counselled on themes such as love your enemies, embrace the future with faith, finding joy in Christ, I believe in angels, let God prevail, and a new normal. All these addresses can be found on YouTube as well as the official Church website.
“Listening to this counsel helps me anchor my faith in Jesus Christ. I know that His sacrifice on my behalf can lift me from the darkest times. He is the Light of the World and calms my troubled soul.”
I was delighted to be asked to participate in this event along with members of many other faiths from across our country.
You can view the broadcast event at https://www.youtube.com/user/napierstudents.

Later that night, I began my daily scripture study, as always, with a prayer. After I prayed to understand what I would read, the words meant more to me than ever before. I realized the same miracle that happened in the temple takes place in my bedroom each night. I thought of the words of Moroni as he prayed for the ability to write, and I sympathized with his “stumbl[ing] because of the placing of [his] words” (Ether 12:25). He feared the Gentiles would mock his weakness in writing and that the power of the Lord would be lost. This was similar to the way I felt about being a Spanish translator at the temple.

An invented creature came my way,
Loppity-lurping one fine day.
He wasn’t for real and he wasn’t for not,
With his lippity-lurping sort of trot.
He had moon-bright eyes and a spangled chin
Festooned with a tail where it shouldn’t have been.
His ears drooped down to his knees almost,
And his skin was browned like well-done toast,
With leaf-green freckles here and there,
And trimmed with splotches of curly hair.
The invented creature, he nodded his head
And “How-dee doody, friend,” he said.
“Would you like to see me spin on my nose?”
And before I could answer, up he rose.
With his feet in the air and his nose to the ground,
He spun like a top, around and around.
I was agoggle, and cross-eyed, too,
And amazed to see what he could do.
And then the creature flopped to his feet
And drummed the ground with a quick wild beat,
And he loppity-lurped this way and that
And almost lolloped just where I sat.
But suddenly with a lippity-wheeze,
He ducked his head and began to sneeze,
And he kerchooed and kerchooed all over the place
Till blue smoke covered his head and face.
And then he called out, “Excuse me, do,
But I guess I’m allergic to kids like you.
So I’ll be on my way. Take care! Sit tight!”
And he loppity-lurped right out of sight.

I’ve never spent the night away from home. What if I get scared at Grandma’s house?
I know! I’ll take some of my favorite things with me!
It won’t all fit!
Mommy! I can’t fit everything in my backpack to take to Grandma’s!
Maybe just pick something that makes you feel safe and happy.
Now I’m all ready to go!

Most of the people who live in Iceland belong to the state church, and Binni, Unnur, and Matthías are the only Latter-day Saints in their school. When the time came for his baptism, Binni decided to do some missionary work. He told his parents he would like to invite one special person—his schoolteacher! Binni’s mother and father encouraged him to ask her, but cautioned him that she might choose not to come. But on the day of his baptism, she was there at the church! “She even stayed afterwards, had some refreshments with us, and asked some things about the Church,” said Binni. He was excited that she had accepted his invitation and that his first efforts as a missionary had been successful.

Eight-year-old Maggie stretched forward to better talk to her parents in the front seat of the car. A frown tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Mom, do I have to go to Aunt Alice’s house?”
Maggie’s parents had been planning this temple trip for weeks. They had arranged for Maggie to stay with her great-aunt, who lived in the same town as the temple. Aunt Alice was quite old and lived alone.
Mom turned in her seat to ask, “Don’t you want to go to Aunt Alice’s house? She’s very kind and will take good care of you.”
“I know. It’s just that, well, what if there’s nothing to do? Sitting around all day could get really boring. Maybe I should have stayed home and spent the night at Anna’s house.” Anna was Maggie’s best friend.
Mother looked deeply into Maggie’s worried eyes. “It’s true, we could have left you at Anna’s house, but Dad and I wanted this to be a special trip for the whole family. We have been preparing Grandma and Grandpa McCallister’s records for a long time so that we could do their temple work. You never knew Grandma, but you’re like her in many ways. We thought this trip would be a good chance for you to feel close to her.”
Grandma McCallister had passed away when Maggie was only a baby, and Grandpa had died just last summer. Maggie knew that Mom was anxious to have their temple work done so that they could be a part of her family forever. Maggie slumped back in her seat. She knew that this day was important. She just wasn’t sure about spending it with Aunt Alice.
When they stopped in front of a small brick home several hours later, butterflies fluttered around in Maggie’s stomach.
“Grab your bag, sweetie—this is it,” Mom said.
Maggie picked up her backpack and slowly climbed out of the car. Her legs were stiff from the long trip, and she dragged them reluctantly up the front walk.
“Come on, honey. Dad and I have to get going.” Mom stopped at the front door and put her arms around Maggie’s drooping shoulders. “Don’t worry. Everything is going to be just fine. You might even enjoy yourself.” Mom smiled.
It was comforting to see the familiar twinkle in Mom’s eyes. Maggie perked up and smiled back.
Just then the front door opened, and the familiar aroma of chocolate chip cookies met Maggie’s nose.
“Well, look who’s here!” Aunt Alice exclaimed. “Maggie Magpie! I haven’t seen you since you were a baby!”
Maggie raised an eyebrow. “Maggie Magpie?”
“Oh, that’s what we used to call your grandma when she was a girl. Her name is Margaret, too, you know.”
Maggie barely heard her mother’s good-bye as she stepped into the house with Aunt Alice.
“Come and have some cookies while we get reacquainted, Maggie Magpie.”
Maggie looked around as she walked through the front room toward the kitchen. She stopped in her tracks when her eyes came to rest on a tall display cabinet full of fancy porcelain dolls. “Wow! Do you collect dolls?”
“Sure do. Do you like dolls?”
“I do! I have a collection, too. Well, it’s not as big or fancy as yours, but I really like dolls.”
“You know, your Grandma McCallister liked dolls, too. In fact, I may have something of hers that you can take home with you.”
Maggie followed Aunt Alice into the kitchen, wondering what she might have for her. Aunt Alice poured Maggie a glass of milk and set out some cookies. “Help yourself, honey. I’ll be right back.” She climbed a creaky flight of narrow wooden stairs to the attic. A few minutes later, she returned with an old shoe box.
“Just before your grandma died, she gave me this box. She asked me to keep it for you until you were old enough to take care of what’s inside.” A smile filled Aunt Alice’s face. “I think you’re old enough now. Want to see?”
Maggie nodded eagerly.
Aunt Alice took off several rubber bands, then carefully lifted the cardboard lid. Very gently she peeled back layers of faded tissue paper. Maggie leaned forward to see what lay inside. Beneath the folds of paper lay the most beautiful doll Maggie had ever seen. The eyes blinked open in the pale porcelain face as Aunt Alice lifted the doll out of the box. “Do you want to hold it?”
Maggie could barely breathe as she carefully took the doll into her arms and rocked it tenderly.
“Your grandma called her Bessie, or sometimes Miss Bess. She has the same beautiful dark red hair that you have and that your grandmother had.”
As Maggie gently smoothed the pale blue dress and white lace pinafore and patted the shining curly hair, she imagined another little redheaded girl holding this very doll a long time ago. She felt a new love for Grandma and began to believe that maybe she knew her a little bit after all.
An unexpected tear slid down Maggie’s cheek as she looked into Aunt Alice’s beaming face. “Thank you, Aunt Alice. I’ll take good care of her, I promise.”
“I know you will, Maggie Magpie,” Aunt Alice said. “You’re a lot like your grandma, you know.”
Maggie smiled lovingly at Grandma’s doll. She was glad that she was a lot like Grandma. And she was grateful that her parents were at the temple doing Grandma and Grandpa’s temple work. She wanted them all to be a family forever.

Brother Bradshaw was old. At least that’s what the other kids said. But he didn’t seem old to Mikey. He remembered that for many years Brother Bradshaw had gone over to the church early each Sunday to sweep away the leaves from the walkways so that people wouldn’t slip. Now, since Brother Bradshaw had been in a wheelchair, Mikey had gone to his home each Sunday morning to push him to church. They became friends as they spent time together.
One morning, Mikey’s mom told him that Brother Bradshaw had passed away. Tears came to his eyes. “How could he?” he thought. “We were just talking last Sunday!”
The next few days were difficult for Mikey. He knew Brother Bradshaw was 91 years old, but he had never thought about him dying. He missed him so much. But as he saw Brother Bradshaw’s family arriving from out of town for the funeral, he knew that they missed him too. He knew how much Brother Bradshaw had loved his family, and he wanted to let them know that Brother Bradshaw was special to him too.
Mikey sat down and wrote them a note. He told them about how much he enjoyed knowing Brother Bradshaw and that he was his best friend. Then he delivered it to the Bradshaw house. But Mikey still felt like he should do something more. He thought and thought. What could he do that would be special for Brother Bradshaw?
Finally it came to him. Just before the funeral he went over to the Bradshaw home again and delivered another note. This one read:
“I swept off the church sidewalks this morning. It’s the last thing I can do for Brother Bradshaw, my good friend, here on earth. I can’t wait to see him again when I go to heaven. I am so thankful to Brother Bradshaw for sweeping off the sidewalks for me every Sunday. It was hard for me, and I know it was hard for him, and I never said thank you to him. My mom said he knows I am thankful, but that’s the first thing I am going to tell him when I see him in heaven.
Love,
Mikey”
As Brother Bradshaw’s daughter-in-law read the note her eyes began to glisten. “Oh, Mikey!” was all she could say, and she gave him a big hug. Mikey knew that Brother Bradshaw would like his gift.

Members and service volunteers of the Church in India welcomed Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf as he visited New Delhi, Hyderabad, and Bengaluru from February 6 to 17. “We love India and the people,” Elder Uchtdorf exclaimed. “We were deeply touched and impressed.”

Rebecca B., 15, of Leicestershire, England, played the role of Mary Alice Cannon, a young woman who was converted to the gospel and traveled to America with her family in the early history of the Church. During her time acting in the pageant, Rebecca had many chances to share the gospel. After one performance, Rebecca saw a young woman who was standing alone and decided to talk with her. “I discovered that she was not a Church member and that she came to the pageant because her friend was in it,” Rebecca said. Rebecca talked with her more and found out that she was attending some Church activities.
“A couple days later, I was able to get a Book of Mormon for her,” Rebecca said. “I wrote a note in it and then gave it to her friend to give to her. That was the first Book of Mormon I’ve given away, and the experience has helped me know that Heavenly Father will prepare a way for all of His children to receive the truth of the gospel someday.”

I grew up with three brothers in California, USA. We were raised by wonderful parents. At night our mother would come into our rooms and listen to our prayers. I felt so much love from her. She understood me and was interested in my life. She helped me realize that Heavenly Father loved me too. I knew He was listening to me when I prayed.

“But they won’t want to go,” Tad insisted.
Brother Feagin thought for a moment and then said, “Do you know how many years Sister Arnold has been a widow?” We shook our heads.
“Thirty-five years. Her husband was killed when she was 42. She had eight kids under 18. She went back to college, got a degree, and then taught for the next 19 years. She didn’t have much time for a social life. Have you ever wondered what it would be like to go 35 years without a date? That’s twice as long as you’ve been alive. People never outgrow their need for doing things with other people. Oh, she’s gone to a church dance occasionally, but always with a couple, always feeling like a fifth wheel. Now she has a chance to go out and be the main wheel. Going with someone young enough to be her grandkid won’t be ideal, but it beats staying home for 35 years.”

“Dad was born in the Netherlands, but he was converted to the Church in Toronto, Canada. He says that he kept calling the mission home in Toronto to have the missionaries come and teach him. For some reason they missed him on several occasions. He kept calling and calling. Finally, the missionaries came, gave him the lessons, and baptized him.”

The Los Angeles California Temple, dedicated in 1956, was the second temple to have an angel Moroni statue. Millard F. Malin made the plaster casts of his 4.7-meter statue in Salt Lake City. These casts were sent in five pieces to New York City, where they were cast in aluminum and welded together. The statue weighs 953 kilograms.

The figure has Native American features, wears a cloak of Mayan design, holds a 2.4-meter trumpet to his lips, and carries a replica of the gold plates in his left arm.6 It was placed on the 81-meter tower of the Los Angeles California Temple on 10 October 1953.

It took several months to gain courage to go to church. I knew where the church was, but there were no missionaries in our little branch. In February 1984, I walked into the Kwekwe chapel. I wanted to walk back out. I wasn’t sure I belonged and sat at the back, ready to bolt. After the opening exercises, the branch president, Mike Allen, bore his testimony about the Savior Jesus Christ and the Book of Mormon. I felt connected. The next person also bore his testimony about the Savior and the Book of Mormon, and so did the third one. I was euphoric. I couldn’t get the courage to go to the pulpit, so I stood where I was and said, “I love Jesus. I’m reading the Book of Mormon.” And I sat down. That was the beginning of my testimony.
Those testimonies were the Lord’s way of reaching out to me because it helped me feel that I belonged there. I felt that these were my brothers and sisters. During the following days I prayed for them and for acceptance. I met members there who were so kind and who helped me.