Gospel Story Finder

I kneel right down to say my prayer
And offer up my every care.
But first I thank for all I hold
And do not stop till each is told:
My eyes, my hands, my walking feet;
The friends I always love to greet;
My home and loving family;
Each of my blessings plain to see!
And then I pray for what I need:
For intellect to help me read;
For kind, sweet words among my friends;
For proper health and rain God sends.
I kneel right down to say my prayer
And realize that God is there.
He listens to my every word,
And this I know: my prayer is heard!

When I was a sixth grader at Garland Elementary School in northern Utah, I received word that a newspaper was sponsoring a pentathlon for grade school boys. I was almost 12, it was spring, and I was anxious to join all the other boys who had signed up to compete.
As you may know, penta comes from the Greek word meaning five. Thus, the pentathlon consisted of five track-and-field events that all of the boys in the state could compete in. The pentathlon was conducted throughout the grade schools across the state. The scores that each competitor attained in the various events were computed by applying a factor for age, height, and weight. They were then added together, and winners in various categories were selected. Winners received recognition and, among other things, an expense-paid trip to Salt Lake City, where they would spend a day as special guests of the newspaper.
The five events consisted of the high jump, broad jump, shot put, basketball free throw, and the 50-yard dash.
The pentathlon was the talk of my school. Most of the boys old enough were suited up for the event. At age 11, I was a 98-pound weakling with marginal coordination. But how I wanted to do well in that athletic contest. I suppose in that respect I was not much different than anyone else as I imagined the thrill that would accompany one to the winner’s circle. I knew I wasn’t what you would call a coach’s dream. But I had studied the rules carefully, and was hopeful the factors for height, weight, and age might give me a chance.
Well, I really got into it. I found a round rock that weighed within an ounce or two of the regulation five-pound shot. I spent considerable time in the evenings when the chores were done putting the shot around the backyard.
I also dug a pit that I used to practice my broad and high jumps. I nailed some old flooring boards together for a backboard, installed a hoop, and secured it to the end of the barn. While it was not fancy it provided the facility to practice my foul shots.
I felt I was ready when the big day finally came. We began with the shot put, and I did exceptionally well for my size. My practice shooting foul shots paid off, and I scored well in that event. The high jump didn’t go quite as well. My lack of coordination worked against me.
Then it was time for the 50-yard dash. We lined up by the starter and were off. It almost instantly became obvious that I would view the race from the rear of the pack. But how I tried. I gave it all the effort I had. As I passed where the coach was standing, I noticed him turn and say something, and then there was a burst of laughter from those who stood around him.
As we crossed the finish line, I was the fifth of five runners. I resigned myself to the fact there would be no trip to Salt Lake for me that year. But the worst was yet to come. As I approached the place where the coach had been standing, one of the more arrogant boys couldn’t wait to call out, “Hey, Hansen, the coach says you run like a duck.” And there was more laughter.
Well, of course, I laughed too. But many thoughts went through my mind. I was angry, hurt, and embarrassed. When I went to bed that night, it was still on my mind. When I awakened the next morning, those pointed words came back, “Hey, Hansen, the coach says you run like a duck.”
I struggled with that situation for quite some time. I admit I had thoughts of never getting on the athletic field again. But then I resolved that I would learn to run. And I was going to show the coach and my friends—but I suppose most of all myself—that I could do it.
From that moment forward, every time I had some distance to go, I ran. When coming from the fields at noon, I ran. When the grain bin on the harvester was full and I had to get the truck to empty it, I ran. When I went to the pasture to get the horses, I ran. As I had spare time while on army duty in Korea, I practiced my running. And after returning home, I kept it up.
Though I realized I had made some substantial progress, it was not until a particular stake fathers and sons outing that I had a chance to evaluate those 20-plus years of determination. We were at a campground in the Uinta Mountains in Utah for the Saturday morning games. All of the youth had run their races when the call came for “everyone over 21.” As I lined up with the dads and others, I noticed a young man in the group who had made a name for himself in high school in the 440-yard run. I knew he would be the challenge.
Again the starting gun sounded, but this time, instead of bringing up the rear, I was in front, where I remained as we crossed the finish line. Of course, the coach wasn’t there to see it. And neither were my grade school friends—particularly the arrogant little guy with the loud voice. But this I know: winning the pentathlon could not have resulted in the self-satisfaction I felt as I shared the first prize—a giant candy bar—with my two little sons that day.
What a lesson in life I gained from that experience. I learned humility, as I was humbled. I learned tolerance, as I successfully fought back the urge to slug the boy who made fun of the way I ran. I learned patience, as I found that some things take several years of determination to accomplish. And I experienced the sweet feeling that comes from successfully accomplishing a goal.

At a youth conference last year, the air was filled with cries of excitement as the teens experienced yet another first—baseball. Only two or three of the youth who attended the conference had ever played the game before, so they were asked to explain the rules to the others.

“It was a brand-new experience to learn how to play baseball, since soccer and badminton are the sports we play here,” says Malvinder.

In addition to baseball, youth conference was filled with other fun games and activities. Although the youth enjoyed the activities, they say what they will remember most about the experience was the opportunity to meet people with similar beliefs and to draw courage from knowing they are not alone.

Ariana Dabier, a Mia Maid, says, “It was great to see so many Malaysian youth who are just like me—faced with similar trials and temptations—yet they stand firm in their faith. I now know that no matter where I go on this earth, the gospel will be the same.”

Trent is now a member of the Utah Figure Skating Club and the United States Figure Skating Association; he is climbing the same difficult steps that world champion skaters have taken. Trent practices on the ice sixteen hours each week. It took him three long months of practice before he could land an axel—a jump made by taking off in a forward position, spinning one and a half times in the air, and landing on the opposite foot, going backward.

“The intense concentration of skating helps to build the connectors in Trent’s brain,” Trent’s mother explains, “so that his body will follow his brain’s commands. When he is discouraged with his studies, I remind him about how many hours it took him and how many times he fell before he could perform an axel.”

Trent’s coach, Barry Kamber, says, “Trent listens carefully and practices a lot. He attacks each new challenge with an ‘I get to do this!’ attitude.”

Let me illustrate: Several years ago, while teaching a course in American literature at Brigham Young University, I assigned a famous novel, a book familiar to many students, a book that I found to be, when I first read it after my mission, a thought-provoking, stimulating, uplifting, and essentially spiritual book, a book of “good report.” I had read and studied the book without feeling my delicate relationship with the Holy Spirit bruised in the least. I was surprised, then, when a lovely young female student approached me after class, with tears in her eyes, to confess that the first few pages of the book had so upset her that she could not continue reading what she felt to be indecent literature. Although it was not what I considered an “indecent” book, by any standard, I saw that her relationship with the Holy Spirit had apparently been harmed by exposure to this book, and I promptly asked her to read, instead, another book by the same author. Still concerned about the assignment, I queried other students. At their various levels of development they had found the book generally unobjectionable. Indeed, one of the students, a returned missionary, thanked me for the opportunity of reading the book, for he had met many people in his missionary experiences who resembled characters in the book, and the novel had opened to him, he insisted, new insights into those people and new vistas regarding life in general. The occasionally earthy (not obscene) language had not troubled him, for he had heard such language and dismissed it; instead, he had thrilled to the portrait that the author had penned of children of God on a troubled journey through a life full of wrong turns and dead ends that arose because the characters were having to learn, the hard way, of the need to be in harmony with eternal principles. The young man was ready for the book. In fact, when I told him of his classmate’s response to the novel, he asked, “Have we both been reading the same book?”

The book was as different as the experience that each student brought to it. The young lady was on a level of development that prevented her from seeing beyond some of the rawness described in the work; the alternate selection was more suited for her personal development, and she was delighted by her insights into that novel. Perhaps there would come a point when she would be ready for the other book. There had surely been a point in the returned missionary’s life, as in mine, when we, too, would have been unable to see beyond some of the rawness of life as depicted in the book to the genuine beauty and truth of the work. The young lady was right in rejecting the book. The returned missionary was right in reading it. Finding that self-understanding which enables us to make careful and proper selections which will not discourage the Holy Spirit from remaining with us is part of reaching for spiritual maturity. Enroute to such maturity, most of us make some mistakes, along with a lot of right decisions.

I remember teaching an extremely intelligent woman who had a hard time accepting anything until she had nailed down every intellectual loose end. However, at long last we heard her say, “I cannot deny this feeling any longer.”
She joined the Church and was very happy for the next few years, but she gradually let her intellectual doubts creep back in and ultimately left the Church.
Fifteen years went by, and she came to visit our family. We took her to Temple Square. As we started up the circular ramp leading to the statue of the Savior, she paused and tearfully said, “Here comes that feeling again. My heart still yearns for what my mind won’t accept!”

Beginning in February 2022, Latter-day Saints in Poland helped refugees with transportation, food, and shelter.
RaeAnn and Sterling Jarvis—Church members in Warsaw, Poland—didn’t know what to expect when they chose to host refugees in their home. But they were willing to help in any way they could.
Soon after conflict began in Europe, a Ukrainian family of five arrived at their door at 1:00 a.m. They had traveled almost 500 miles (800 km) to find safety. The Jarvises welcomed Maryna and Serhii Bovt and their three children into their home. Over time they developed a real love and concern for the Bovt family. “When you share love, it grows,” Maryna said of the Jarvises’ example of service. “It makes us closer to each other and to the Lord.”

I confess that I used to think we reached the tree and partook of the fruit at the end of life, when we had finally fought our way through the mists of darkness. Now I understand that by exercising faith and hope, we begin in this life to taste the sweetness of the Lord’s love for us—to become filled with charity. That gives us strength to continue forward confidently and successfully, pressing forward in faith and holding fast with hope.

Sister Nomawethu Dingaan from Mdantsane Ward 3 expressed her gratitude for the initiative because it helped her invite a friend to church, and she was later baptized.
“I shared [with her] the Book of Mormon story of how faithful Nephi was, and today she is a member of the Church. She has a calling and next year she is going to the temple. I am really grateful for the pass along cards and scriptures that I got to share with her,” said Dingaan.

In September 1985, Julia received her endowment in the Johannesburg South Africa Temple. “When I first came into the temple,” she remembers, “I felt that I belonged. Before I joined the Church, when I would read the word Israel, I would throw the book aside and say, ‘It is for the whites. It is not for us. We are not chosen.’ Today, I know I belong to a royal family if I live righteously. I am an Israelite. When I was doing my ordinances in the temple, I captured the feeling that we are all on earth as one.

“Being sealed to my husband and my parents was one of the most touching experiences of my life. I feel that my parents are grateful that I have done their temple work for them. The Holy Spirit witnessed this to me.”

Julia continues to serve in the temple as often as she can. Within those walls she finds in joyful abundance the peace and love, the beauty and oneness of spirit she has cultivated in one corner or another of the Lord’s vineyard all of her life.*

Audrey and her mom have come to the Cooper’s family home evening.
The proclamation on the family says that each of us is “a beloved spirit son or daughter of heavenly parents.”
I really like that word “beloved.” When Jesus was baptized, Heavenly Father said, “This is my beloved son.”
I’m so glad to know I have a Heavenly Father. I’m His beloved child. When I’m having a hard time, I can pray and talk to Him. And He comforts me.
Now we’ll sing “I Am a Child of God,” and Dad will say the prayer.
And then dessert! Right?
Thanks for inviting us. I liked what you said. And it’s nice to see Mom smile.

Two years ago we decided to have a reunion and honor Bruford Reynolds and other youth leaders who led us in Richards Ward between 1940 and 1950. The chapel was completely filled with men, former boys who had lived in the ward. We had raised money to buy some very nice gifts, which were presented to them, and using an opaque projector, we showed pictures of the boys and some of the activities during those years. We made a real fuss over Bruford Reynolds and the other great men.
Then we called for a response. Bruford Reynolds stood up, and with great tears dimming his eyes he said, “I think this is the greatest day of my life.” As I thought about that statement, I looked out across that group of deacons/Scouts grown tall. It included three men who had been stake presidents, two men who had been mission presidents, several men in stake presidencies, thirty-three men who had been bishops or counselors, and one who is a General Authority. Then I thought, maybe this is what life is all about, to be able to look back and see the young men you had influenced grow up and become leaders in the kingdom.

My husband, Alvaro, entered his first marathon while he was in high school in Colombia. Much to his surprise, he won!
After that, he decided to start running more seriously. But he needed a pair of running shoes, and they were expensive. His parents were struggling to support their family of eight, and he hesitated to ask them if they would buy the shoes. However, when they realized how determined he was to run, they bought the shoes.
Alvaro joined the high school track team and trained daily. But as his first competition approached, the shoes began to wear out. Two weeks before the race, the soles tore away from the tops of the shoes. Alvaro didn’t want to ask his parents for another pair of shoes, so he found some thread and sewed them back together.
On the day of the race, Alvaro started off strongly and stayed comfortably with the group of runners as they circled the track. With only a few laps to go, he pulled away from the other runners to take the lead. At that same moment, the wire worked loose from the sole of his shoe and began to dig into his foot. Despite the pain he felt as the wire pierced his skin, he thought to himself, “I can’t give up.”
He didn’t. Running with determination, he crossed the finish line in first place—but with his foot cut and bleeding in several places.

He returned with an assignment from his mission president to give a report to the First Presidency on the condition of the mission. He was scheduled to spend just a few minutes with President Heber J. Grant and his counselors, but the meeting lasted much longer. As it turned out in the months ahead, that report to the First Presidency was a job interview as well.
A new committee of the Twelve was organized to bring to missionary work the power of the latest means of communication. Gordon was to serve as producer and secretary for the Church Radio, Publicity, and Mission Literature Committee. This was, in fact, the beginning of the public communications office in the Church. His plans to go to the university would be put aside. His career as a seminary teacher, for he taught part-time when he returned from his mission, would be replaced. The committee included six members of the Twelve, with Elder Stephen L. Richards as chairman.
There was an empty office available, but no furniture at the moment. Being resourceful, he went to a former missionary companion whose father sold office furniture and came away with a shaky reject table. One leg was short; that could be fixed with a block of wood. The top was warped and split a little; that could be ignored. He brought his typewriter from home and began a career that would take him to the ordination of an Apostle and to the First Presidency of the Church.

Before hiding the gold plates, Moroni, the last prophet of the Book of Mormon, wrote on the book’s title page that the book would be translated “by the gift and power of God.” This remains the best description of the translation of the Book of Mormon.
Joseph Smith dictated the words of the translation to scribes, mostly Oliver Cowdery. Because Joseph was translating a completely unknown language, he needed to rely on the Lord. One way the Lord helped was to provide physical instruments to aid Joseph in translating. Witnesses said Joseph looked into the instruments and that words appeared to him in English. The translation instruments included the “interpreters” or “Urim and Thummim”—two clear stones fastened in a metal rim so that Joseph could look through them. These had been given to Joseph along with the plates. Another instrument Joseph used was a “seer stone” that he would look into, often by placing it in a hat. Joseph had found this stone earlier and had used it to find hidden or lost things. He used both the interpreters and the seer stone as he translated, always relying on the inspiration of heaven.
The translation of the Book of Mormon was truly miraculous and was done “by the gift and power of God.”
For more on the translation of the Book of Mormon, see “Book of Mormon Translation” at topics.ChurchofJesusChrist.org or in Gospel Topics in the Gospel Library app.

Sometimes the late summer rains would wash out the dams and leave all the valley dry and the canals all dry. Then the older boys, my brothers, answered the call to rush up to the headwaters of the canal with their teams and scrapers and wagons to haul rocks and brush and gravel to fill up the dam again to divert the water from the river to the farms and homes.
Years later we learned to make the sausage dams. The sausage dam was a long wire mesh filled with rocks to fill the water holes of the river and divert the river water back into the canal.
Nearly all the boys and girls were baptized in that famous old Union Canal.

Like many people, Pedro sets goals for himself. Unlike a lot of people, Pedro consistently reaches those goals. “If he sets a goal,” his father said, “he doesn’t rest until he has reached it. He fights hard to reach it, and he always gains it. For example, we were talking about what he wanted to do professionally. He said that he wanted to be a lawyer. I made a promise to him that if he worked hard enough to get accepted into Harvard Law School, I would somehow find a way to support him financially.” Pedro knows that fulfilling his dream means getting good grades and learning to speak English well. He is working hard at both.

May I share with you something of a personal and sacred testimony?
Nearly forty years ago I was on a mission in England. I had been called to labor in the European Mission office in London under President Joseph F. Merrill of the Council of the Twelve, then president of the European Mission. One day three or four of the London papers carried reviews of a reprint of an old book, snide and ugly in tone, indicating that the book was a history of the Mormons. President Merrill said to me, “I want you to go down to the publisher and protest this.” I looked at him and was about to say, “Surely not me.” But I meekly said, “Yes, sir.”
I do not hesitate to say that I was frightened. I went to my room and felt something as I think Moses must have felt when the Lord asked him to go and see Pharaoh. I offered a prayer. My stomach was churning as I walked over to the Goodge Street station to get the underground train to Fleet Street. I found the office of the president and presented my card to the receptionist. She took it and went into the inner office and soon returned to say that Mr. Skeffington was too busy to see me. I replied that I had come five thousand miles and that I would wait. During the next hour she made two or three trips to his office, then finally invited me in. I shall never forget the picture when I entered. He was smoking a long cigar with a look that seemed to say, “Don’t bother me.”
I held in my hand the reviews. I do not know what I said after that. Another power seemed to be speaking through me. At first he was defensive and even belligerent. Then he began to soften. He concluded by promising to do something. Within an hour word went out to every book dealer in England to return the books to the publisher. At great expense he printed and tipped in the front of each volume a statement to the effect that the book was not to be considered as history, but only as fiction, and that no offense was intended against the respected Mormon people. Years later he granted another favor of substantial worth to the Church, and each year until the time of his death I received a Christmas card from him.
I came to know that when we try in faith to walk in obedience to the requests of the priesthood, the Lord opens the way, even when there appears to be no way.

Right: “I felt very happy that I had an opportunity to serve my fellow beings. I had a wonderful experience, and I learned so many things by doing it, and at the same time we enjoyed being together with friends packing the food and supplies that were needed. I felt my Savior’s love and peace as I served others.” —Venus Armstrong

The Thomas J. Pappas Elementary School in Phoenix, Arizona, isn’t a typical school. At the end of the day, students don’t go home, because they don’t have homes. After school, the buses drop them off at various homeless shelters, old hotels, or even under bridges.
When the stake youth committee of the Mesa Central Stake learned about this school, they wanted to do something for the students. They wanted to give them a day of fun and activities, so they planned a carnival with games, sports, and food. But the youth of the stake found that they gained much more than they gave.
On the morning of the activity, anticipation was high. What would students from a homeless school be like? What would they talk about? How would they act?
The youth from the stake were each partnered with a student from the school as a “buddy,” or mentor, for the day. After eating breakfast with their new friends, everyone was divided into groups to rotate through the different activities.
Most of the youth who participated in this activity had the same observation—in their efforts to give, they had received. They came away from the activity more grateful for their blessings. In their efforts to provide a day of entertainment for homeless children, they learned a valuable lesson in gratitude.