Gospel Story Finder

The day after I learned that Brent had been killed, one of my former bishops gave me a blessing that changed my perspective. In his blessing, he said that my purpose as a wife, mother, and daughter of God had not changed. Then he promised that Brent’s purpose as my husband and our children’s father had not changed either.
After the blessing, I remember chanting in my mind: “My purpose has not changed. My purpose has not changed.”
The next morning, as I repeated those words to myself, a phrase came into my mind: “Only the details have changed.” And as I tried to accept the fact that the details of my life had changed from what I thought they would be, another impression came: “God is in the details.”
The Lord was giving me line-upon-line revelation. When He does this, it’s not because He is keeping secrets from us. It’s because He is going at our pace.
In the months after Brent died, I was anxious about what would come next. But I knew that I could take one step forward at a time and that I could trust that the Lord would give me one line of revelation at a time. It might not be the line I thought He was going to give me, so I had to keep making a conscious choice to trust Him with the details of my life.

On bright, sunny days, shadow tag was a perfect game to play. At the beginning of recess, Henry was chosen to be it. Henry chased the other boys and girls, trying to step on somebody’s shadow. He was just about to step on Laura’s shadow, when she cleverly hid it inside a tree’s shadow. But Laura couldn’t stay there; she had to count to ten, then leave the safety of the shadow. When she did, Henry quickly stomped on her shadow, and she became it.

Many of you hold the Aaronic Priesthood. You are preparing to become missionaries. Begin now to learn in your youth the joy of service in the cause of the Master. Could I share with you an example of such service.

Following Thanksgiving time a few years ago, I received a letter from a widow whom I had known in the stake where I served in the presidency. She had just returned from a dinner sponsored by her bishopric. Her words reflect the peace she felt and the gratitude which filled her heart:

“Dear President Monson,

“I am living in Bountiful now. I miss the people of our old stake, but let me tell you of a wonderful experience I have had. In early November, all the widows and older people received an invitation to come to a lovely dinner. We were told not to worry about transportation, since this would be provided by the older youth in the ward.

“At the appointed hour, a very nice young man rang the bell and took me and another sister to the stake center. He stopped the car, and two other young men walked with us to the building. Inside, they escorted us to the tables, where seated on each side of us was either a young woman or a young man. We were served a lovely Thanksgiving dinner and afterward provided a choice program.

“Then the young men took us home. It was such a nice evening. Most of us shed a tear or two for the love and respect we were shown.

“President Monson, when you see young people treat others like these young people did, I feel the Church is in good hands.”

One morning when I was serving as a young missionary in Beaumont, Texas, my companion became ill and needed to rest. Following the counsel of our mission president for such situations, I pulled a chair up by the open window in our fourth-story apartment and began to read in the Book of Mormon.
Soon I became immersed in the scriptures, and after a time I came to Alma chapter 29, verses 1 and 2:
“O that I were an angel, and could have the wish of mine heart, that I might go forth and speak with the trump of God, with a voice to shake the earth, and cry repentance unto every people!
“Yea, I would declare unto every soul, as with the voice of thunder, repentance and the plan of redemption, that they should repent and come unto our God, that there might not be more sorrow upon all the face of the earth.”
As I pondered on Alma’s words, they became deeply personal. My companion and I had knocked on hundreds of doors in Beaumont, offering to share our message, but with limited success. In my mind’s eye, I began to imagine what it might be like if I were an angel and could cry repentance with a voice to shake the earth. I looked out the window at the people coming and going on the street below. I imagined what it would be like if I were standing there shining like an angel, with my hands raised, speaking with a voice of thunder. I envisioned the buildings shaking and people falling to the earth. Under the circumstances I imagined, they might have a sudden desire to listen to what I had to say!
But then I read the next verse: “But behold, I am a man, and do sin in my wish; for I ought to be content with the things which the Lord hath allotted unto me” (v. 3).
I was humbled to realize the Lord loves all His children and has a plan for His work. My job was to do my part.
I was also humbled to realize something else. In that moment, I knew that what I was reading was not fiction—it was real. Quietly and peacefully while I was reading, I had been filled with light and with the realization that this Alma was an actual person, that he had lived, and that he too had deeply desired to share the gospel message with others.
If you had asked me in that moment, “Do you know this is true?” I would have replied, “Absolutely!” At that point, it became clear to me that I was receiving a spiritual witness of the truth of the Book of Mormon.
As I have reflected on that experience—and many such witnesses since—I have come to better understand how vitally important it is to receive by the Spirit. We often focus, appropriately, on the importance of teaching by the Spirit. But we need to remember that the Lord has placed equal, if not greater, importance on receiving by the Spirit. (See D&C 50:17–22.)
As I have read back over my journal entry to understand and learn more from the experience I had as a missionary, I have realized that although I had read in the Book of Mormon before, what happened in Beaumont that morning was different because I was different. As inexperienced as I was, at least on that occasion I was sincerely trying to seek and to feel, and my intent was to act in faith on what I learned. I know now that such witnesses are available to each of us on a regular basis if we will receive them.

I did a little research about filmmaking, too. In the library I studied the responsibilities of a producer. I learned that he takes all the risks. He manages the finances, so he takes the greatest gamble. If the movie is a success, he might earn millions of dollars; if it fails he might lose everything he has. I must be the producer of my movie, since I am the one taking the chances. It will tell of exaltation or outer darkness, or somewhere in between. I am the one who oversees production, who determines where the movie will be filmed and what quality of film will result.

I brought my scriptures with me to Scout camp. But in the excitement of earning merit badges the first few days, I forgot one of the most important things: scripture study. Then on the third night, the wind started to blow hard, the rain began to pour down, and lightning and thunder began to boom and crackle. The lightning was so bright it looked like day. My friend and I were scared out of our socks.
I had an impression that we should study the scriptures together. My friend and I went into the tent, and I pulled my scriptures from my pack. My friend prayed, and I felt the Spirit so strong. We flipped to 2 Nephi 25 and read about the importance of scripture study. I felt like we were led to that chapter to tell us that we need to read our scriptures. As we continued reading, the wind began to calm down, the rain lightened up, and the thunder stopped. As we left the tent I could feel the Spirit so strong, and all I could do was give God thanks.

It was the summer of my sixth year. I loved to sleep in but was awakened early that Saturday morning by my mother. She reminded my sisters, brother, and me that we were going to drive out to the Barkley Ranch so that my older sister could play with her friend.
We quickly dressed while Mother filled a gallon jug with water to take with us on the trip. Mother and we four children climbed into our little gold car.
I can remember the excitement as we headed out toward the desert. None of us had ever been to the Barkley Ranch. Although I wasn’t the lucky one who would get to stay and play, at least I got to go for a ride.
Mother drove while trying to follow a few directions she had been given. It seemed forever before she finally turned off the main highway. I was sure we were almost there. We had traveled down a dirt road for several miles, when we came to and crossed a wash (the dry bed of a stream). As we continued on, the road became more treacherous. Finally, Mother decided that she had taken the wrong road. She turned the car around, and we headed back to the highway.
We soon came to the wash again and attempted to cross it. This time, the wheels of our little gold car sank deep into the sand. When the wheels just spun and spun in the sand, Mother told us that our car was stuck. I thought she was teasing us. We couldn’t get stuck out in the middle of the desert—it just wasn’t possible!
She tried again and again, but the tires just made bigger ruts in the sand. Finally she told my eight-year-old brother to steer while she got out of the car, walked around to the rear, and tried with all her might to push the car out. The car did not move.
The smell of the burning rubber made my empty stomach ache as I came to the sickening reality that we truly were stuck in the middle of the desert.
We all got out of the car and took refuge under the scanty shade of a paloverde tree. Mother took the little collapsible shovel out of the trunk and tried to dig the mounds of sand out of the way so that the wheel could roll forward.
I felt bad for her as we sat in the shade, watching her work in the heat of the morning sun. Her face was bright red, and the sweat poured off her brow as she dug and dug and dug.
We were all hopeful as she started the car, but instead of moving forward, the car’s wheels dug deeper into the sand.
Mother came over to us and told us that we needed to pray for help. We all knelt while she asked Heavenly Father to help us get our car out of the wash.
Then she sat down, and we each took a swallow of water from the gallon jug. My two-year-old sister spilled some water on her clothes. She was so thirsty, that she chewed a hole in them, trying to suck all the water out.
The sun’s scorching rays came relentlessly down on us. There was no breeze to bring relief to our sweaty faces.
Mother did not give up. She took a quilt out of the back of the car and laid it in front of the rear tires, trying to tuck the edge of it under the wheels as best she could. She was hoping the quilt would provide enough traction for the wheels to drive out of the ruts.
She again turned on the engine and pressed the gas pedal. The quilt was ripped to shreds by the spinning of the tires. It would take something much more substantial than a quilt to unwedge the wheels.
I was scared. No one knew where we were, not even our father. He had gone to the university for the summer to work on his master’s degree. I was sure that we were going to die.
Mother took the hatchet out of the car and began to chop a huge limb off a nearby mesquite tree. It was her intention to use the limb as a wedge to free the wheels. For hours, she and my big brother took turns chopping at that tree. It was hard work, and their progress was slow.
With one final chop of the hatchet, the limb fell to the ground. The limb was so big and so heavy, that they couldn’t move it. All their hard work had been in vain.
My brother was angry. He said, “Heavenly Father can’t hear us! He’s not going to answer our prayer.”
But Mother kept her faith. Again we knelt in prayer, this time much more humbly than before. Mother was exhausted and couldn’t think of any other way to get our car out. She said we had to leave it up to Heavenly Father to save us.
I watched as a centipede crawled down the bank of the wash, leaving lines in the sand behind him. I wondered why anyone or anything would choose to live in the desert with the cactus and lizards. I knew that I did not want to stay here forever. This was not a good place to die.
Our ration of water was getting low. We always had only clear water in the container for windshield wiper fluid—instead of the bought stuff, which is poisonous—so Mother poured it out of the container and into our water jug.
We were all very hungry as well as thirsty, for by then it was late afternoon. My little sister kept begging, “Baby cereal. Baby cereal.”
Suddenly Mother stood up and announced that we were going to start walking. She lifted the baby up onto her shoulders and, with our precious water in hand, headed out. The road seemed to be endless, and my legs soon felt wobbly. We took a rest alongside the road. We each drank a swallow, then got up and continued on our way.
I wondered how many miles it was to the main highway. Was it five? Was it ten? I didn’t know if I could walk that far—I didn’t know if I would make it. I tried to think of happy thoughts to take my mind off my misery, but they just wouldn’t come.
Then, far in the distance, we saw something: a truck coming down the road! I felt my heart pounding as we waved our arms in the air trying to attract the driver’s attention.
It seemed to take a lifetime for the truck to finally reach us. It belonged to a cattle rancher and was filled with his ranch hands. The rancher told us he thought at first we were cattle. Since he knew there should not be cattle where we were, he had driven down the road to investigate.
We all climbed into his truck, and they gave us cold water from their water cooler. I can still remember how good it tasted! Then he drove us back to the wash, a place where I was hoping to never go again. He had his men hook a tow chain to the front of our car and then push from the back. As the rancher drove his truck forward, our car, almost effortlessly, followed behind.
With smiles of relief, we thanked the men and headed for home. We had spent ten long hours out in the desert sun. We were weak from exhaustion.
When home at last, I guzzled glass after glass of delicious, wonderful water. I drank until I felt I was going to float away on a sea of happiness.
After we had rested and regained our strength, my mother asked us if we thought Heavenly Father had answered our prayers. Yes, I knew He had. I would never doubt Him again.

Later, Joseph and Anna need to help their mother prepare dinner. Joseph doesn’t help. What should Anna do?
Anna forgives Joseph and helps with dinner. Their mother is grateful for Anna’s help. The family enjoys being together at dinner. Anna feels good that she chose to forgive.

One day during my junior year of high school, my friend Nedra asked me, “Russ, why aren’t you going to seminary?”
At that time, my parents were not attending church. I attended only occasionally with my friends, and I did not participate in seminary. The next day, I attended seminary at 6:30 a.m. After that, I went every day—even on cold, snowy winter mornings.
The things I learned in seminary touched my heart. My testimony grew as I learned more about Jesus Christ and His restored gospel. This prepared me to serve my mission in England and to continue in a lifetime of service to the Lord and His Church.
Nedra’s inviting me to seminary helps me see, in a personal way, that there are countless opportunities for you to help others come unto the Lord Jesus Christ. In simple but powerful ways, you can show your love, share your beliefs, and invite those around you to experience the joy and peace the Savior and His gospel bring.

“There’s no way you’re going on that youth convention, Thomas, and that’s final.” Dad’s voice came loud and curt, bloodshot eyes narrowed, flashing danger signals. His lean, weather-beaten frame straightened to full height, his mouth clamping in a hard line.
I bit my lip, digging the heel of my boot into the dirt with sharp jerks.
“And if I hear any more on the subject, you can tell that James lad to stop picking you up for church Wednesdays. You’re slow enough at school without that … that … seminary stuff taking your time.”
He stomped off past the hen sheds, muttering and shaking his head. “Should never have let you join in the first place. Not been the same since. Always trying to change things, do things.” He tore down a dead branch overhanging the path, swishing it violently. “As if I haven’t got enough problems without you pestering. I’m sick of it, do you hear? Sick of it!” His words ended on a shout as he snapped the branch across his knee.
The hens scattered in all directions, squawking, flustered. One rushed panic-stricken into a pile of loose wire netting. I’d left it there this morning when the school bus arrived before I was ready. (Okay, so I was late—same thing.) Anyway, I never finished the job properly.
“Now look what you’ve done,” Dad yelled. “Can’t you do anything right? That’s all we need, a hen with a broken wing.” Grabbing the screeching hen, he marched back toward the house.
“Get on with the chores,” he flung over his shoulder, “and keep out of my way.”
The twisted, choking feeling in my stomach swam up my throat and stuck there. I hadn’t cried since Mum died in a car accident nine years ago, and I wasn’t about to begin now. We used to live on a Devonshire farm back then, but after the funeral we moved north to Yorkshire. It’s been so cold up here. Seems like Dad’s forever mad at someone for taking Mum, and I’m the one who gets it every time things go wrong.
I think he could use a few of those scriptures my teacher’s always quoting—especially the “forgiving” ones. I’m getting an idea what they’re on about.
I had really thought today would be a safe time to ask about the youth convention, though. I’ve never been to one before, and a boy’s 16th birthday should stand for something, surely?
But no such luck. In fact, the only bright moment was getting that card at breakfast. No one had ever bothered before. Come to think of it, no one had ever believed too much in me at all—that is, before this new seminary lady moved in to the branch. She seems to understand that I’m not as slow as I look. Probably because she’s an artist too.

On Friday, June 1, 2012, some 350 Latter-day Saints in Samoa joined with other Samoans to march in an independence celebration parade through the streets of Apia. Fifty years ago, in 1962, the country gained its independence from New Zealand.
Organizations, schools, local churches, and international organizations took part. Latter-day Saint students entertained the tens of thousands of onlookers with their marching band.
But the weekend included another point of celebration for Latter-day Saint Samoans; it was also 50 years ago that the first stake was organized in the country, in Apia.
On Sunday, June 3, Elder James J. Hamula and Elder Kevin W. Pearson of the Seventy, both members of the Pacific Area Presidency, spoke to Latter-day Saints and guests in a special meeting that was broadcast to LDS meetinghouses across the nation.
Looking ahead, Latter-day Saints in Samoa aim to continue to serve and strengthen their families, villages, and nation, said Elder Hamula, who serves as Area President. “We are growing wonderfully as a Church here, and we are growing in our families and personal lives as we seek to follow the teachings and example of Jesus Christ,” he said.

As a matter of fact, their love for Christ is so big that they wanted to share it with all their friends, LDS or not. They wanted to host an activity that would bring LDS kids and non-LDS kids closer to the Savior and closer to each other. They also decided that such an activity would be the perfect way to cap off the year’s seminary study of the New Testament.
Both youth and adult leaders were called to help organize the event. They decided that since football is such a big sport in Texas, former BYU and Houston Oiler quarterback Gifford Nielson would help attract a crowd. They invited Tim Ross, a Church member well known in the area for his wacky TV weather reports, to speak, figuring he would draw people out too. The conference would include slide presentations, testimonies, prayers, workshops, and of course, there would be some serious, heartfelt talks about the Savior—how much he means to the youth of Texas and to people everywhere. There would be lighter activities, as well, like a dance and a Texas barbecue.
Equipped with an irresistible agenda, they went out to contact various youth groups in the vicinity and invite them over for the big day.
That’s when a big problem came up.
“I contacted several youth groups, and they were really excited at first,” said Anna Francis, 17, a member of the youth planning committee. “But when it got to their ministers, they decided they didn’t want them to come to a Mormon activity. Some of them seem to think that Mormons aren’t Christians, so they said we had no right holding a conference on Christ. It’s sad, because we were trying to help them see that we really are Christians.”
At that point, Plan B went into effect. Since all the youth groups invited declined the invitation, the LDS kids were encouraged to invite their nonmember friends from school. “All the Mormon youth fasted and prayed that everything would work out, and that more people would want to come,” said Tomasyn Harlow, another member of the planning committee. “We invited our friends and talked to people all over the stake. It worked. We ended up with over 225 people.”
Actually, that was quite an impressive turnout. “On a beautiful Saturday like this, they could have been in a million other places,” said Bob Ferguson, a member of the stake high council who was assigned to coordinate the conference. “They could be out waterskiing, fishing, hitting all the new movies. They could have been out working and earning some money. But they wanted to come here to get closer to Christ.”
And the event turned out to be a big success after all.
“I think this is the best we’ve ever done,” said Johnny Apel, 16. And that’s a pretty big compliment. After all, this is a stake that sponsors memorable activities at the end of each seminary year that correspond with the book of scriptures they’ve been studying. They’ve put on things like a “Nephite Festival” that was their version of a county fair in the land of Bountiful, complete with a realistically simulated earthquake and storm, followed by a beautiful talk on Third Nephi.

President Abraham Lincoln was once criticized for his attitude toward his enemies. “Why do you try to make friends of them?” asked an associate. “You should try to destroy them.”

“Am I not destroying my enemies,” Lincoln gently replied, “when I make them my friends?”

Certainly this was the thinking of Florence Chukwurah of Nigeria when she was assigned to visit teach a sister who was having difficulties in her marriage and in her home, making it necessary to meet at the marketplace for a visit. After listening to and observing this sister’s challenges, Sister Chukwurah asked her husband for a priesthood blessing so that she might know how to help this troubled sister. Following the blessing she felt prompted to discuss with this sister the importance of tithing. “She tearfully told me that she did not pay her tithes because she was not making enough money,” Sister Chukwurah remembers. “I suggested that she and I discuss Malachi 3:10 and that we do so in my house so we could relax and be alone for the discussion. She consented. After our discussion I encouraged her to exercise her faith and pay her tithes for at least six months. I bore my testimony to her by the Spirit.”
Sister Chukwurah testifies that within a few months of this meeting, this sister’s circumstances changed dramatically. Her daughter received a scholarship to complete her high school education, her husband worked with the bishop to become active and accept a calling, husband and wife teamed up to improve their financial situation and their relationship, and eventually they became an inspiration to others.

My companion and I were teaching the first discussion, and as is customary I challenged our investigators to ask God whether Joseph Smith was a prophet. I never imagined I would hear the answer I heard, for the day had been very difficult. They responded, “We do not have to ask God, because while you were speaking, we felt that it is true.” How sweet those words were to me.
I have heard those same words several times since then. How gratifying it is to see people who share testimonies of the Prophet Joseph Smith and of the Church. Their faith strengthens my own testimony that this is the Church of the Savior, that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God, and that the Book of Mormon is true. How marvelous it is to share this message with others.
Elder Adriano Machado de Souza,Brazil Curitiba Mission

After my mission to Taiwan, I thought international law would be a good career choice. As Christy and I considered that possible future, we understood that five more years of expensive education lay ahead.

The U.S. economy was in a deep recession and our funds were limited, so we reasoned that joining the Air Force ROTC would be a wise choice to pay for my schooling. But as I took the required tests and filled out the paperwork, we just could not get comfortable making that commitment. No stupor of thought or dark feelings came—only an absence of peace.

That seemingly illogical financial decision was inspired, in part, because I would have been a horrible lawyer!

Eighteen-year-old Amber Romney has a philosophy about her life. She got it from a children’s book she read when she was 11. The book is a familiar one, The Little Engine That Could. Amber, who is deaf, can relate to the little engine who had to tell herself over and over again, “I think I can, I think I can” as she pulled the big train up the mountain.
“In my life, my hill is my hearing impairment,” says Amber, of Mesa, Arizona. “The little engine is my strong will.”
With that attitude, Amber is able to face her daily challenges.
Amber’s positive attitude and desire to succeed have helped her to accomplish many things since a severe illness took her hearing when she was only 15 months old.
She’s learned to read lips and use sign language to communicate. Most importantly she has learned to never give up. With the help of her family, friends, and especially Heavenly Father, Amber has learned to overcome her disability and excel at many things.
“Everyone has their ups and downs,” Amber says, using her mother, Stephanie, as an interpreter. “I try to have as many ups as I can.”
Meeting people and making new friends is sometimes difficult. “I think maybe some people are intimidated because they think that they can’t talk to me,” she says. “Sometimes I have to make the first approach.”
Even if someone can’t sign to Amber, she can usually read lips. It’s a talent she says she’s continually getting better at.
She can speak to others because of years of speech therapy. She says that after the first few conversations people have with her, they usually get used to the way she talks. Then it gets easier.

On 30 March 1976, while working with sixty other missionaries to clear away rubble in the devastated town of Patzun, Daniel was killed as an adobe wall was collapsed by one of the earthquake’s many after-shocks.
His death was hard to accept. But as a fellow missionary, Elder Julio Salazar, said at his funeral: “I could picture Elder Choc as a great leader in Patzicia. For this reason, I could not accept his death. As I pondered why he died, I realized that it was probably because of his preparation that the Lord called him to aid with the work in the spirit world, especially among the thousands of Cakchiquel people who were taken during the earthquake.”

The Liahona (Spanish) is a wonderful traveling companion. My job requires me to take long trips, and fortunately I can depend on the magazine to make them more pleasant. I feel great joy as I learn about my brothers and sisters in other countries and am reminded that we are all embraced by the love of our Heavenly Father.
Beatriz Bustamante,Cuauhtémoc Ward, Chihuahua Mexico Chuviscar Stake

I grew up in Idaho Falls, Idaho, on the edge of town. Across the street were fields where pheasants flew and where we played in the snow. Later our new chapel was built there. I went over every night after school to help build the chapel, handing bricks to bricklayers and cleaning up the construction site. I remember that I took great pride in that chapel. I wanted to take good care of it because I had helped build it.