Gospel Story Finder

At school, one of my friends gave me a ticket stub to play with. I read it and it said, “beer ticket.” I know that we are not supposed to drink alcohol, so I threw it away. I felt good inside because I knew I made the right choice.

“During the past eight years, one of my assignments was to review and read all the remarkable Joseph Smith Papers and documents and the research that led to the publication of Saints—a book that documents the history of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“My testimony and admiration of the Prophet Joseph Smith has been greatly strengthened and enhanced after reading the inspiring details of his life and foreordained prophetic ministry.
“Joseph’s translation of the Book of Mormon by the gift and power of God was foundational to the Restoration. The Book of Mormon is internally consistent, beautifully written, and contains the answers to life’s great questions. It is a companion to the Holy Bible and is another testament of Jesus Christ.”
Elder Quentin L. Cook, Facebook, June 1, 2022, facebook.com/quentin.lcook.

Being a missionary in the newly created Minnesota-Wisconsin Mission is a very great blessing. Serving stateside is rare and beautiful. While growing up I always dreamed of going to some faraway, mystical country. But I ended up in the great United States of America. The gospel is needed everywhere, especially here. I am proud and happy to have been chosen to serve in this area. I want to commend the New Era for the missionary edition. The articles are of great worth to the elders and sisters now serving, as well as those who will serve in the future. Your contest issue was also top-notch. “The Winner,” though fictional, could easily have been factual. It helped me evaluate my own life.
P.S. I thought you might be interested in seeing this street sign in Wisconsin.
Elder John R. TitensorMinnesota-Wisconsin Mission

When the pandemic hit in 2020, I was one of the first people infected with COVID-19 in my area in Scotland. At first I thought it was a simple cold. But as time went on, my health progressively got worse, until even breathing was a struggle. My throat and sinuses were badly damaged, and I suffered from chronic fatigue.
Recovery was ongoing for over a year and a half, during which time I was unable to participate in any sport or physical activity. I had to put everything on pause. I even dropped out of university for a year, and I became very bitter—bitter about my circumstances and angry at Heavenly Father when recovery seemed unattainable.
Despite my mindset, I continued living the gospel. I continued going to church and doing what I could to help and serve others. Gradually, my state of mind started improving.
When the worst of the symptoms started dissipating, I got an unexpected call to serve on my stake high council. Despite my apprehension, I accepted the call with the hope that the Lord would provide a way for me to fulfil the call despite my poor health (see 1 Nephi 3:7).
One of the first assignments I received was to speak about the Saviour and His Atonement. With every talk I gave to other followers of Jesus Christ, my understanding of Him and what He did for me grew. I realised I’d been ignoring a vital part of His Atonement—the Lord suffered and died not only for our sins but for our afflictions. He knows how to uplift us in our trials (see Alma 7:12).
President Camille N. Johnson, Relief Society General President, recently taught:
“Jesus Christ can lighten our load.
“Jesus Christ can lift our burdens.
“Jesus Christ provides a way for us to be relieved of the weight of sin.
“Jesus Christ is our relief. ...
“… I can’t go at it alone, and I don’t need to, and I won’t. Choosing to be bound to my Savior, Jesus Christ, through the covenants I have made with God, ‘I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me’ [Philippians 4:13].”1
I’m also prone to relying upon my own strength, and in my pride I really had thought I could overcome my trial alone. But I came to realise that I wasn’t failing because the trial was too hard; it was because I wasn’t allowing Jesus Christ to offer me His strength and support.
Finally understanding what He offers me through His healing power changed everything. Although my road to recovery wasn’t going to be easy or quick, I could find peace, joy, and strength along the way by turning to Him.
We don’t have to face any trials alone. We can rely upon our Saviour for strength. I realised that the spiritual hardship I felt during my sickness came from my lack of understanding in my relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and what strength They could provide me with as I continued to serve, seek, and follow Them.
President Dallin H. Oaks, First Counselor in the First Presidency, gave a powerful reminder of our relationship with the Saviour when he said: “He … knows our struggles, our heartaches, our temptations, and our suffering, for He willingly experienced them all as an essential part of His Atonement. And because of this, His Atonement empowers Him to succor us—to give us the strength to bear it all.”2
Fortunately, the Lord pushed me to be more active in the pursuit of understanding Him. And as I’ve come to understand Him better, I’ve been able to see His hand in my life in greater abundance and see miracles of healing, even if it has taken longer than anticipated. As President Johnson also taught, “Covenant keepers are blessed with the Savior’s relief.”3
Increasing my understanding of the Saviour and keeping my covenants has been a huge blessing in my life. He has given me so much spiritual and temporal relief from my hardships. I can promise that as you strive to do the same, the love of the Lord and your divine purpose will become clear. You’ll find strength beyond your own—as I have.

On an overcast day in late November, the apostles at Winter Quarters met to discuss Oliver Cowdery. Most of them had known him in Kirtland and had heard his powerful testimony of the Book of Mormon. Along with David Whitmer and Martin Harris, he had helped the prophet Joseph Smith call some of them to the Quorum of the Twelve and had taught them their responsibilities. Phineas Young had also assured them that Oliver was committed to Zion and had softened his heart toward the Church.26
With Willard Richards acting as clerk, the apostles composed a letter to Oliver. “Come,” they wrote, “and return to our Father’s house, from whence thou hast wandered.” Describing Oliver as a beloved prodigal son, they invited him to be rebaptized and ordained again to the priesthood.
“If you desire to serve God with all your heart and become partaker of the blessings of the celestial kingdom, do these things,” they declared. “Thy soul will be filled with rejoicing.”
They gave Phineas the letter and asked him to deliver it in person.27

Love was the final gift mentioned, and my mind turned to the newspaper account of a group of Christian missionaries in Ecuador who a few years ago were killed by members of a tribe they were trying to help and teach. They went to their deaths singing a great Christian hymn, the text of which is taken from 2 Chronicles 14 [2 Chr. 14]: “We rest on thee, and in thy name we go.” It has since been reported that the wives and families of those martyred men have returned to Ecuador to continue teaching the same tribe.

Isaiah Kaberry, 17, Perth: “I’m just here with these two blokes.” Typical down-understatement. Isaiah played basketball with John and Cliff Mahaurike. He also played a big role in bringing them into the Church by inviting them to seminary and introducing them to missionaries.

Katie Lewis is my neighbor. Her older brother, Jimmie, is battling leukemia. But like the faithful Latter-day Saints they are, the Lewises turned to God with urgency and with faith and with hope. They fasted and prayed, prayed and fasted. And they went again and again to the temple.
One day Sister Lewis came home from a temple session weary and worried. As she entered her home, four-year-old Katie ran up to her with love in her eyes and a crumpled sheaf [stack] of papers in her hand. Holding the papers out to her mother, she said enthusiastically, “Mommy, do you know what these are?”
Sister Lewis smiled through her sorrow and said, “No, Katie. I don’t know what they are. Please tell me.”
“They are the scriptures,” Katie beamed back, “and do you know what they say?”
Sister Lewis knelt down to her level and said, “Tell me, Katie. What do the scriptures say?”
“They say, ‘Trust Jesus.’”
Sister Lewis said that as she stood back up, she felt arms of peace encircle her weary soul and a divine stillness calm her troubled heart.

On one occasion he was home on a break from college. He was focused on upcoming finals and was not feeling right, though he didn’t feel physically ill.
“If you’re feeling well and don’t feel right,” his mother told him, “you need to go serve somebody.”
Brett threw a snow shovel in the back of the family pickup and went around shoveling the driveways of the widows in the ward. He felt much better.
“I was so focused on myself and the finals, I had forgotten that the real purpose of life is to serve others,” he says.

It was 5:30 p.m. on a Friday in June 2001, and I was working in my home office when the phone rang. It was my wife calling in a bit of a panic. She and our three daughters had been on a bike ride and had stopped at the supermarket for a cold drink and some ice cream. When they came out of the store, the combination lock securing the bicycles wouldn’t work. The combination was 3690, but it didn’t open the lock, which was firmly holding the bicycles against a metal fence just outside the store.
I jumped in our minivan and drove to the supermarket, but I had no more luck than they had had. I drove my wife and daughters home and began to think of what I could do. The first counselor in the branch presidency repairs saws, so I called and explained my predicament to him. He told me that most bicycle locks of this kind are made from toughened steel that is impervious to saws and bolt cutters. But he said I could at least try to cut the lock.
I found the box containing my electric saw and an extension cable. I called the store to ask if I could use their power for my saw. They kindly said I could. By the time I arrived, it was 7:45, and the store would close at 8:00. I was under pressure and started to panic too.
If the bicycles were there overnight, they would surely be a target for vandalism, and besides, my wife, who couldn’t drive at that time, used them every day to get the children to and from school.
When I got to the store I grabbed my electric saw’s hard plastic case, opened it, and found I had brought my cordless drill by mistake. They both have the same black plastic casing. It was now 7:55 and too late to get home and back before the store closed.
I tried the lock again, tugging as hard as I could to separate the two pieces, but nothing moved. A couple of people were staring at me, and employees were starting to close the store.
I sat in the minivan and thumped the steering wheel, feeling utterly frustrated. Then in my “mind’s ear” I heard my daughter singing the hymn “Did You Think to Pray?” (Hymns, no. 140).
In my panic I had failed to do the simplest thing. I had forgotten to pray. So I bowed my head and explained my situation to Heavenly Father. I left nothing out. I even told Him how silly I felt about the drill/saw mistake. In an instant I felt prompted to try the lock again. I got out of the car, and as I started to tumble the combination to read 3690 again, I heard a number whispered in my ear: 2591. I looked around, but no one was standing there. I tried 2591, and the lock fell open in my hands.
Never before or since have I had an answer to my prayers given so clearly or so quickly. Tears rolled down my face as I loaded the bicycles into the back of our minivan. I hurried home and related the story to my wife and children.
Later when I turned the numbers to 3690, just as I expected, the gaps in the teeth inside the cylinder didn’t line up so that I could put the two pieces of the lock back together. I then tried 2591, and it didn’t work either. On closer inspection I realized that the tumblers had broken. Every time I turned them, a different number would open the lock. So, considering the thousands of possible combinations I could have tried that Friday evening, only heaven could help me find the one unique combination. And all I had to do was ask in faith.

My name is Job Abram Goldrup. When I was four years old and my older brother, Matt, was six and a half, Dad took us camping at a place called Blue Lake in northern California. It was in the middle of a very hot summer. Although most of the other lakes around there were very low and muddy, Blue Lake was filled with water.
We slept in sleeping bags on the ground that night, and Dad told us a story. I can’t remember what it was about, but I liked the soft sound of his voice and the feeling of being with him by the lake in the woods. I felt safe and loved and excited. The moon made silver, bouncy light on the water, and I heard an owl hooting in the dark trees, whose branches swayed back and forth in the dry wind. I looked a long time at the warm, bright glow of our campfire. It made the dark not too scary, just like Dad’s voice did.
In the morning Dad made hot chocolate and cooked hot dogs. The chocolate had a few twigs in it because he spilled the chocolate powder on the ground and some stuff got mixed up with it when he scooped it up. But that was OK because Dad said there was hardly any use being in nature if you didn’t get a little of it in you. "Besides," he added, "a little roughage is good for the system." We just laughed and drank it down. It was kind of a strange breakfast—what we ate should have been for dinner, and what we had for dinner we should have had for breakfast—that was part of the fun of camping with Dad.
After breakfast, we rented a rowboat and went out on the lake. Dad made us wear orange life jackets. That’s the only part that wasn’t much fun, because it was already getting hot and the life jacket made me hotter. But Dad said that just as the words of the prophets are meant to help keep us spiritually safe, life jackets are made to help keep us temporally safe.
I scrunched up my face something awful and fidgeted as if to shake that life jacket right off me.
"You have to plow your own furrow, huh, Joby?" Dad said, smiling and shaking his head.
I didn’t know what he meant. I scrunched up my face again and reached my hand down into the cool water. The water felt good. And, I have to admit, so did Dad’s counsel. Even if I didn’t understand it sometimes, I knew it meant that hecared about me and my brother.
We kind of went around in a few circles before Dad started rowing straight. Matt whispered to me that Dad was about as good at rowing as he was at cooking.
Dad heard us and laughed. "I’m just taking the scenic route," he joked.
After a while, we reached a small island near the other side of the lake. I felt like an explorer as Dad pulled the rowboat partway onto the pebbly beach. The island was covered with trees. A few big ones had long before fallen into the water along its edges, and there were logs on the beach.
There was only one problem: It was very hot! It helped to take off my shirt and shoes and wade in the shallow water along the beach, looking for rocks and small fish. It helped, but it wasn’t enough. "Dad," I begged, "can’t I take off my life jacket? It’s so hot, and the water isn’t deep here. It hardly comes up to my knees."
Dad, who was wading higher up the beach ahead of us, scratched his head and scrunched up his face. "I guess it would be OK, Joby," he said at last, "as long as you don’t wade out any deeper."
I promised I wouldn’t, and Matt helped me get out of the jacket. I threw it up onto the beach. It felt great to have it off! My brother and I continued to look for rocks and fish below the surface of the water, Matt poking and turning the rocks over with a stick he had brought from camp.
A few minutes later, Dad looked back to check on me and my brother and yelled, "Where’s Joby, Matt?"
Matt looked this way and that, then, bewildered, back at Dad. "I don’t know—he was right here a minute ago."
Dad raced up out of the water and faced the thick, tangly island trees. "Joby!" he yelled again and again, hoping I had decided to venture into the trees.
Matt was worried, too. "Where is he, Dad?"
Dad didn’t answer. He ran into the shallow water close to where Matt stood, scanning the water about him. Then he ran along the beach, first in one direction, then another. Suddenly he stopped, looked down into the shallow water by a fallen tree, and screamed, "Joby!" He threw himself beneath the surface and pulled me up!
A big gasp came from me as I breathed in air at last.
"Are you all right?" Dad looked at me with tears filling his eyes.
I nodded. "I guess I stepped into a hole. A feeling like a voice told me, ‘Stay calm; your dad will come for you.’ So I did. I just started looking around at the big tree roots, waiting for you to find me."
Dad started crying hard. He hugged me as though he would never let go. And for a moment, I didn’t want him to. I started to cry, too.
Afterward we all sat on a log up on the beach, and Dad explained what had happened. He said that I had stepped in a pothole and very well could have drowned. It was because of Heavenly Father’s loving, watchful care that I was spared. Dad said that the voice-feeling I had was the Holy Ghost telling me what to do. I know that’s true because of the special feeling I had while I was waiting for Dad to find me. "If you had panicked," Dad said, "you would have swallowed water and might have drowned."
I will always remember that day—listening to Dad’s story, sleeping by the campfire, eating those hot dogs, drinking twiggy hot chocolate, wading in the cool lake water on a hot summer day. But most of all I will remember my experience with the Holy Ghost that taught me how near he is to us—as near, Dad would say, as an amen at the end of a prayer.

Other rewards for the young women have come from this activity. For instance, 14-year-old Megan Jeppesen says, “At first I was scared, but the carnival has helped me overcome my fears of handicapped people. Now I tutor some handicapped kids in my school.”

We were particularly impressed when we discovered that our rescuers had pressing problems of their own. A young mum had had the power cut off to her home, but she left her younger children with a kind friend and came with her older children to help us.

For Kip Twitchell, a book of remembrance and a journal are a natural part of his life. In fact, for a group of seminary students attending Bonneville High School in Ogden, Utah, the whole concept of family histories has become an exciting project that they think about and work on often.
It all started when the seminary students invited a guest speaker to address an assembly of the seminary classes at Bonneville High School. While chauffeuring their speaker to and from the meeting, they began relating stories about their ancestors. The students became interested in doing something about their family histories when their guest challenged them to consider how the experiences of their ancestors have affected them individually. They reread copies of family histories, interviewed members of their families, sorted through and identified old photographs, and updated their own journals. They found that learning about their families helped them understand their own talents and attitudes.

I have been a member of the Church since I was 10 years old. I don’t think I really knew what I was doing at first. I’ve been through my ups and downs in life, but right now I’ve made up my mind about what I want in life. In the last few weeks I have experienced the pressures of life and the hurt and loneliness of death. Last December I remember discussing the importance of reading and studying the gospel with my brother, Scott Macy. Scott wasn’t really a blood relative, but we were close enough to be. That December he sent me a letter that has a message for all of us. He wrote, “I think it’s really neat that you want to study the gospel more. It has everything anybody needs. How does it feel to be one of those who want, and can get, what is right?”

Scott’s goal in life was to serve a mission. Even though he was too young for a full-time mission, he was a great missionary to his friends and to everyone around him. On August 1,1976, Scott left to serve a mission for the Lord, but not on this earth.
I have received the New Era for many years, and I have just recently become interested in it. Feedback has been interesting to me. It helps me grow and want to learn what makes people so happy. The articles hit close to home and make me realize that I don’t have it so hard after all. I’m very thankful that my father has ordered the New Era even though no one would read it. Now I look forward to getting it. Scott’s question is very valuable. Can you answer it? Well, I can. It’s great!
Name WithheldCanby, Oregon

I often think of the 11-year-old boy I taught in Primary many years ago. He had been labeled “troublemaker, incorrigible.” But as I came to know him, I found the labels were wrong; they should have been “bright,” “quick,” “ahead of everyone.” He was bored because he knew all the answers. He had only to be challenged.

Several years ago, I attended a work seminar, and I noticed that some of the seminar leaders would fold their arms and bow their heads before eating lunch. These people are usually so nice, I thought to myself. Why are they in such a bad mood whenever they sit down to eat?
I quickly learned that they were praying—not sulking—and I couldn’t help but ask more questions about their faith. They were overwhelmingly kind and had such a unique spirit about them, and I yearned to know more. I learned that they were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and we quickly accepted their invitation to attend church with them.

In Bolivia and Peru, Elder Cook counseled members to focus on faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. He said that youth and young single adults there are exceptional and demonstrate love for the Savior and His Atonement and Resurrection.

Thank you so much for this wonderful magazine and for publishing “Fields Ready to Harvest” (May 2001). I felt impressed to read it and used it as my personal study guide. It helped me a lot. I know that missionary work is hard, but it’s fun. I love seeing changes people make when they go into the waters of baptism. This story inspired me to work hard, which is the key to success. The things I have read and learned in the New Era will help me be a better missionary.
Elder Ricarter G. RepePhilippines Ilagan Mission (via e-mail)

In my freshman English class, the professor insisted that, to describe a situation, one of the students must substitute a crude expression for one gentler. I was jarred at an expression which I had seldom heard and never in harmonious circumstances. Years later in graduate school I had a conversation with a friend who argued that one should be, as he called it, direct, even if rude and insensitive to others’ feelings