Gospel Story Finder

“On this anniversary of the death of Joseph Smith, I am grateful for all he did to establish the Church of Christ on the earth. Not only was he intimately involved in the restoration of doctrinal truths to the earth; he also advocated for the rights of the Saints to exercise their religious beliefs.
“He petitioned governments, met with the president of the United States, and was repeatedly jailed because of his faith. Before the presidential election in 1844, he wrote to the five candidates for president to see if any of them would help the Saints recover their properties in Missouri. None would help.
“With encouragement of the leaders of the Church, Joseph Smith declared his candidacy for president. His platform included constitutional reform, prison reform, banking reform, and the abolition of slavery. He was forward-thinking and advocated for the human dignity of all God’s children and their rights of self-determination. He was the first US presidential candidate to be assassinated.
“I admire and love Joseph Smith, who gave his all for the Lord and His Church. His assassination proved the point of his running for president: that religious freedom and self-determination needed to be protected for all.”
Elder Dale G. Renlund, Facebook, June 27, 2021, facebook.com/DaleGRenlund.

Still another young woman said: “This past year I haven’t had many friends, but it hasn’t gotten me down because the peace of the Spirit has filled my soul. … Even in those times when I feel lonely or awkward around people, the Lord has been there for me” (letter in possession of Young Women office).

“Of course, Maman (Mama)!” Louis said. “First I will take the socks you knitted to Monsieur Dubois, then I will meet my friends.” Louis looked at the clock. He still had plenty of time. The puppet show did not start for another hour.
“Here!” His mother handed Louis a small, brightly wrapped package. “And remember to wish Monsieur Dubois Joyeux Noël (Merry Christmas) and invite him again to have Christmas dinner with us.”
“He will not come, Maman. He will just smile and say that Christmas is a time for families as he does every year.”
“Too bad! Nothing is as sad as being old and alone at Christmastime. I do wish we could make him understand that our Christmas would be happier if we could share it with him.” Louis nodded politely, though he did not think that he would be any happier if Monsieur Dubois came for dinner. Christmas was perfect for Louis, just as it was.
“Hurry home as soon as the show is over, Louis. Grandpère (Grandfather) will be arriving soon.”
Louis smiled excitedly. “Do you think that Grandpère has finished my music box?”
“Perhaps,” his mother answered, “but do not ask him. He is always busy, and making a music box takes a long time.”
Louis was very proud of his grandfather, a fine craftsman who owned a shop in the city, where he repaired watches and clocks. In his spare time he had been making a music box for Louis, one that would play “La Marseillaise” (French national anthem).
Louis hurried to meet his friends. He decided to take the gift to Monsieur Dubois after the puppet show. He hastily stuffed the package into his pocket. His mother would not mind when he explained what he had done.
When the show was over, the children did not stop to visit with each other as they usually did. Christmas Eve was a special time, and they were all eager to get home. Outside, Louis talked for just a moment with the other boys. Then he remembered Monsieur Dubois and felt in his pocket. His eyes widened in distress. “The gift for Monsieur Dubois is gone!” he cried.
One after another Louis turned his pockets inside out. Followed by his friends, he ran back inside the hall where the puppet show had been. They searched the cloakroom, then the hall, looking up and down the aisles and beneath the seats. The package was not there.
“Maman will be angry and disappointed in me!” Louis said. “Even if I don’t tell her, I’m sure she will find out,” Louis said sadly.
When Louis got home, Grandpère had just arrived from the city, and Maman was smiling and hurrying about. Louis’s heart rose. He was lucky; he had only to remain silent. Maman was much too busy now to ask him about Monsieur Dubois.
His grandfather placed a hand on Louis’s shoulder. “Ah, how you have grown, mon petit (my little one)!” His dark eyes twinkled. “I have a surprise for you.”
“The music box!” Louis cried.
“Close your eyes,” Grandpère said.
Louis obeyed, smiling.
“Now!” Grandpère cried.
“La Marseillaise” tinkled and chimed from a small, beautifully carved music box, and—wonder of wonders—two tiny soldiers moved in a slow circle on top of the box.
Louis clapped his hands. “It’s wonderful, Grandpère! I have never had so fine a gift. No one in the world has so kind a grandpère as I.”
Grandpère’s eyes were bright. “And without you, my grandson, and your mother and father, I would be a lonely old man.”
Louis swallowed uncomfortably, for suddenly he saw the face of Monsieur Dubois, who had no one. All that evening, try as he might, he could not get the thought of the lonely old man out of his mind—not even when he placed his shoes before the fireplace so that Père Noël (Father Christmas) [Santa Claus] could put a gift or two in them. And when Louis awakened before daylight on Christmas morning, his first thoughts were of Monsieur Dubois. His heart was heavy. Even the music box on the table beside his bed did not help.
Suddenly Louis knew what he must do. He must take Monsieur Dubois a gift, a very fine gift, so that the old man would know that he was not forgotten at Christmas. He must go at once and be back before his parents and grandfather awakened.
As he dressed, Louis forced back a feeling of sadness. The music box was the only gift that he had that was fine enough for Monsieur Dubois.
It was still dark outside, and Louis had to ring several times before Monsieur Dubois opened the door.
“Joyeux Noël, Louis!” Monsieur Dubois greeted him. “Come in! Come in! You are early this morning.”
“Joyeux Noël, Monsieur.” Louis smiled. “I—I was supposed to bring your gift yesterday, but I have brought it for you today, instead.”
Louis wound the music box and placed it on the table. He stood back, listening to the tinkling music and watching the proud little soldiers. “Is it not beautiful!”
“Yes, Louis, very beautiful.” Monsieur Dubois’s eyes were thoughtful. “Now tell me, Louis, why did you bring me one of your gifts?”
Louis hung his head.
“Come, Louis. Tell me,” Monsieur Dubois insisted, smiling kindly.
Before he realized it, Louis told the whole story. “I—I’m sorry, Monsieur,” he finished. “I hoped that the music box was a fine enough gift to make up for my carelessness.”
“It is the finest gift that I have ever received, Louis,” Monsieur Dubois said softly. “But I want you to keep it for me. Each Christmas bring it here, and we will play it together.”
Louis’s face cleared. “You are not angry, Monsieur?”
“No, Louis. I am not angry.”
“And you will have Christmas dinner with us? Please, Monsieur!” Louis pleaded. “Our Christmas will be happier if we can share it with you,” Louis said, repeating his mother’s words. And, strangely, they were no longer just words. Now he understood them. Monsieur Dubois seemed to understand, too, for his face brightened like a Christmas candle.
“Wait for me, Louis,” he cried. “I will put on my finest suit.” Then Monsieur Dubois laughed. “Today, Louis, you and I have both learned something important. We have learned the real meaning of Christmas.”

Youth from the Newcastle Stake and surrounding districts in Australia make the most of their Easter break youth conference. Some 120 young people gathered for last year’s activity, with the theme, “I teach them correct principles and they govern themselves.”

They had dances. They had waterfights. They had fun old movies. They put snags (sausages) on the barby. They had firesides, church meetings, and the best-loved testimony meeting.

But a major part of the conference was spent cleaning up the land around the Richmond Vale Mine Museum, at a historic coal mine. They pulled weeds, cleared train tracks, moved logs, and basically tidied up the area.

Sister Boyer: All women, whatever their situations, can perform service in their homes. For example, our general secretary has not had children of her own. But she loves and serves the children of others. In fact, while we are talking here, she’s taking care of a niece and her niece’s brand new baby and three-year-old son. As long as we are thinking “What can I do for someone else?” we are on the right track. And the woman living alone can come to appreciate the great blessings she does have.

Upon arrival, Church leaders were warmly greeted by local youth, dressed as warriors, who ceremoniously questioned the purpose of their visit.
Peter Awao, a member of the Church who had been baptized in Honiara and relocated to Ulawa in 2022, spoke on behalf of the group in local pidgin, explaining, “Mifala no come here to fait, but we only bring the good words to Ulawa Island. Mifala no come waitem any mata knife, axe or alawolo to fait weitem you fala but come and ask compassion. Mifala just came here to witness Jesus Christ is the Saviour for the world today. So please open the way for us to come in. Poro Kana Ute.”

Elder Malm was born in September 1948 in Jönköping, Sweden, to Karl Gösta Ivar and Karin Anna-Greta Malm. He learned many of life’s most important lessons from his parents, punctuated by the testimony his father bore before passing away at age 48: “Stay true to the gospel.”
“He was teaching us that in the gospel we will find solutions to the things that matter most,” Elder Malm says.

1 Young Spencer Kimball spent many hours helping his father on the family farm. He tramped hay, planted seeds, weeded the garden, and painted the barn and house.
2 And every day Spencer milked the cows. There were no milking machines in those days, and it took the young boy quite a while to finish this chore.
3 Spencer liked to learn. He decided to use his “milking time” to learn new things, so he copied the words from Church hymns onto small pieces of paper and sang to the cows while he milked them.
4 He memorized many of his favorite scriptures the same way. Neighbors often joked about those cows being the most spiritual cows in the area!
5 From the barn doorway, Spencer’s father would watch him sitting on a three-legged stool, milking a cow and learning hymns and scriptures.
6 Spencer W. Kimball learned at a young age to be dedicated to the gospel and to seek after righteousness. He was well prepared to become the twelfth President of the Church.

President Thomas S. Monson is a great example of this principle. In January of 2005, he was presiding over a priesthood leadership conference in Puerto Rico when he demonstrated how the Savior and His servants render service through personal ministry. At the conclusion of that wonderful meeting, President Monson began to greet all the priesthood leaders in attendance. Suddenly, he noticed that one of them was watching everything from afar, off by himself.

President Monson walked away from the group, toward that brother, and spoke to him. With emotion, José R. Zayas told him it was a miracle that he had approached him and an answer to the prayers that he and his wife, Yolanda, had offered before the meeting. He told President Monson that his daughter was in very poor health and that he had with him a letter from his wife that she wanted delivered to President Monson. Brother Zayas had told his wife that it would be impossible since President Monson would be too busy. President Monson listened to the story and asked for the letter, which he read silently. Then he put it in his suit pocket and told Brother Zayas that he would take care of their request.

In this way, that family was touched by our Lord, Jesus Christ, through His servant. I believe the words of the Savior in the parable of the good Samaritan apply to us: “Go, and do thou likewise.”4

In 1966, I joined the Church at the age of 14 while living as a resident of Siksika Nation, an Indian reservation in Alberta, Canada. In the fall of that year, three of my siblings and I went on a placement program sponsored by the Church to assist young First Nations members of the Church to become rooted in the gospel. I was placed in the home of John and Marguerite Webb in Vermilion, Alberta. They were wonderful. They treated me like one of their own. I lived with them for five years, and they taught me the gospel of Jesus Christ and instilled in me a love for it.

Nathan and his cousins were playing by a large irrigation ditch. They knew that they shouldn’t play so close to it, but it was fun to throw rocks into the water, and it was cooler near the water on this hot summer day. Suddenly Nathan slipped and fell in. His cousins yelled for help. Fortunately the aunts and uncles were not far away. Uncle Gary jumped the pasture fence, ran to the ditch, and pulled Nathan from the water just before he went into a culvert under the road. Uncle Gary saved Nathan’s life that day.
You can probably imagine how grateful Nathan’s family was to Uncle Gary that summer day. How much more grateful we ought to be to Jesus Christ! His Atonement made it possible for us to live again forever. His Atonement paid the price for our sins if we repent. No wonder we celebrate Easter! In some parts of the world, people greet each other at Easter time by saying, “Christ is risen!” And their friends reply, “In truth, He is risen.” Jesus Christ—our Savior and our Redeemer—is risen! How great is our joy!

Soon I will be eight years old. I’m not sure that I want to be baptized. I am a little bit afraid. … What would Jesus Christ want me to do?

“So, I’m supposed to … what?”
I had listened. Really, I had. The instructor had checked my harness, had shown me exactly how to release the rope, had even looked me right in the eyes and said, “I will NOT let you fall!”
But at that crucial moment, there I stood: shaking and sweating, as I looked over my shoulder and down … way down, knowing
I had to take that first step.
Off a cliff.

Not long ago a beautiful young mother asked me for guidance with a very difficult decision she was facing. It pertained to an important surgical operation that was being considered. Consequences of her choice would affect her husband and her family as well. She said, “Decisions are really hard for me. I even have trouble choosing what to wear each morning.”
“You are not so different,” I replied. “Each of us must make choices. That is one of life’s great privileges.”
I told this lovely mother that my fellow physicians are regularly asked questions about the human body. Some questions relate to surgical intervention to save a life or to save a part of the body. Other questions relate to elective procedures to alter the body’s structure or function. In recent years, many questions relate to the “choice” to abort the life of a newly forming human being. Ironically, such “choice” would deny that developing individual both life and choice.
I reminded her that questions regarding our bodies represent only an important fraction of life’s most challenging choices. Others include “Where shall I live?” “What shall I do with my life?” “To which cause should I commit my effort and my good name?” These are but a few of the many choices that we must make each day.
I will not disclose the name of the sister, nor the specific operation she was contemplating. To do so might divert our attention to a specific topic and away from those fundamental principles that pertain to important decisions generally.
Because challenging choices face all of us from time to time, I invite others to join with us as I extend my conversation with this young mother.
I would suggest three questions you might ask yourself as you consider your options. Whether they are once-in-a-lifetime or routine daily decisions, serious reflection on these three questions will help clarify your thinking. You might wish to review these questions first alone and then with your husband. They are:
“Who am I?”
“Why am I here?”
“Where am I going?”
Truthful answers to these three questions will remind you of important anchors and unchanging principles.
As you consider these fundamental questions, it will become clear that decisions you first thought to be purely personal virtually always impact the lives of others. In answering these questions, then, you must be mindful of the broader circle of family and friends who will be affected by the consequences of your choice. This self-evaluation will be a silent examination. No one else will hear your replies. Though I will suggest some answers, the ultimate responses must be uniquely yours.

They finally decided to each contribute some poems into a collection to be sent to an editor. The poems were accepted for publication, but the girls had to pay the printing expense. Only two copies were bought at that time, but these same two copies would be worth a fortune today.
Before the poems were sent off, the girls had a decision to make—what names to attach to their work. Women’s writing was not regarded highly then, so they desired to choose names that were neither feminine nor masculine. Each chose a name using her first initial. Anne chose Acton, Emily, Ellis; and Charlotte, Currer. They wanted the last name to begin with B and finally decided upon Bell.

“Our family home was on the foothill of a solitary mountain that was a moving force all of my young life. I could see it from my bedroom window and felt a certain security in its closeness. I had climbed its bald dome with my family, with Church groups, and with a gang of kids. Then one day—driven by desire to go to the mount, like Moses, to commune with God, to consider who I was and what I was going to do about it—I set out alone to climb that peak. I was 16, and this day my aloneness on that mountain was exhilarating. It was a most spectacular spring morning at sunrise when I made my way to the top.

“With fascination I sat looking down at the houses I knew so well and at their people beginning to stir with the sun. I watched the achingly familiar scenes as an extension of myself. I followed the paths of my life from home to a friend’s house, to the church on the corner and the school down the hill and to the neighborhood store. Finally, I let myself look upon our own house, the scene of my most tender times, my most important learnings. Almost in panic and with a wrench of my heart, I felt childhood slipping from my grasp.

“Everywhere I looked was someone who had touched my life. At 16 I was the sum of them—parents, school friends, storekeeper, Church leader. My heart flooded with a new awareness. Suddenly I realized I had some debts to pay. I vowed that I would try to be useful. I knew I needed the help of God, and when I turned to him, my soul filled with an awareness that he lives, that he cares even about a little person sitting on a mountain thinking she can make a difference in the world. When I came down off the mountain the world seemed beautiful, and I was glad to be alive.”

My family and I went to an amusement park for family vacation. While we were walking in the park, I saw two one-dollar bills. I picked them up and gave them to a park worker. I felt happy inside that I was honest.

If effective teaching had taken place, it is likely that the following situation, related to me by a young man, would not have happened. A young Latter-day Saint woman who worked at this young man’s place of employment confided that she and her boyfriend, who was planning to serve a mission, sometimes engaged in immorality. The young woman’s co-worker informed her that there was no way her boyfriend would be worthy to go on a mission. Her reply was, “Oh, yes, he can. We’ll just repent.”

Senen had lived in the mountains all his life, but he’d never traveled as far up the valley as he’d come that day.
If I can reach the gap between the mountains where the valley begins, he thought, I’ll be so high that maybe I can see all of Andorra.
Senen knew that his country was so small that he might be able to see it all from just one vantage point. Andorra covers only 465 square kilometers and is one of the smallest countries in the world. Some maps and globes don’t even bother to show its location. However, to Senen it was big enough. And surely its pine-clad mountains were among the most beautiful on earth.
Early that morning Senen had noticed that clouds were gathering around the tallest mountain peaks. However, as he’d climbed from the valley floor, he’d become lost in his thoughts and hadn’t noticed that those clouds were coming together and that even the mountaintops were being covered by dark, angry-looking clouds.
When Senen finally neared the big gap between the mountains, what appeared above him was unlike anything he had ever seen. Like a huge white hand reaching from the sky, a cloud billowed through the gap and began descending into the valley toward him. Slowly the cloud dropped lower and lower. The closer it came to Senen, the thinner it became. Finally it broke into separate wisps and vanished.
With a mighty burst of energy another cloud emerged through the gap. Within a few minutes, this one had descended even lower into the valley than the first one. Nevertheless, it, too, simply disappeared into the wind before it reached Senen.
What would it be like inside one of those clouds? Senen wondered.
Then, with even more energy than the last cloud seemed to have, another darker, faster-moving cloud poured through the gap. As it descended into the valley, Senen watched in awe; he could see the cloud’s surface churning and rolling like fresh milk gushing from a pail. But this cloud was not milk white. It was an angry, dark color, and it didn’t show any signs of disappearing!
Soon Senen knew what it was like to be inside a cloud, for the cloud had enveloped him! He could feel its cold, tiny droplets blowing against his face. He discovered beads of water forming, like tiny light bulbs on the hairs of his arms.
The wind inside the cloud was so strong that Senen had to hold on to a boulder to steady himself. He couldn’t see more than a couple of meters around him. As soon as the cloud disappears the way the others have, he decided, I’ll go home.
However, minutes passed and the cloud became darker. Worse still, in the distance thunder began rumbling among the mountain peaks.
“I’d better start back home now,” Senen murmured. Then a new thought sent shivers down his spine: Which way is home?
Senen could see nothing but the dark mists around him. He thought he remembered the right way home, but a few steps in that direction carried him smack into the trunk of a big pine tree.
Senen was lost in a cloud!
It seemed like hours passed as Senen huddled beneath a rocky overhang. The cloud became darker, and the thunder came closer. The pines groaned in the wind like giants bending their backs, trying to hold up the whole sky.
Then Senen heard the sound of bells. He heard small bells that went tink-tink-tink, big bells that went bonk-clunk-clang, and medium bells with all kinds of in-between sounds.
At first the beautiful clangor seemed to come from a distance. Then the bell sounds came closer. They surrounded Senen, then began moving away.
I’m not sure what’s happening, Senen thought, but I’m going to follow those bells!
That night Senen sat beside the glowing fireplace in his home. As the winds whistled through the big pines outside, he told his story. “When I heard those bells, I followed them. Down and down I came until finally the cloud wasn’t so dark and I could see where I was. I found myself in our own pasture, surrounded by our own cows! I’m so glad that the cows passed me today and that they were wearing bells.” Senen stopped and looked thoughtful. He asked, “Father, why do you put bells around the necks of some of our cattle?”
“Calves can get lost very easily,” Father explained. “However, when they hear the bells, they can simply follow the sound to their mamas.”
Senen laughed to think that in just one day he had learned what it feels like both to be inside a cloud and to be a little calf being led home by bells.

Not long ago, one of our sons was married in the Idaho Falls Temple. We had assembled in the sealing room for the ceremony when the sealer asked me and the bride’s mother to bear our testimonies before he performed the marriage ceremony. As I spoke, I noticed that my oldest daughter was sobbing. Later, outside the temple, she told us that as I stood to speak, Matthew had entered the room accompanied by so much spiritual power that she could not control her feelings. As she was about to leave the room, lingering behind all the others, she had felt something warm touch her shoulder. A still, small voice had whispered, “That was your brother Matthew. He is the one who stood by your bed one night.”
The peace and joy this beautiful experience brought to us is inexpressible. What comfort there is in knowing that we are important to Matthew and that he cares about what we are doing, and to know that God loves us and has let us feel Matthew’s presence so that we can have that assurance.