Gospel Story Finder

It happens almost every Sunday evening. Nine-year-old Xinia (ZEE-nyah) Muñoz gets out a pencil and several sheets of lined paper and starts writing letters.
She sits at the kitchen table, absorbed with her writing. Sometimes she’ll look up to ask someone how to spell a word, but during most of her letter-writing time, she is “in her own world”—or in the world of the person who is lucky enough to get her letter.
To whom is she writing? “The missionaries,” she answers with a smile. The letter she is working on in the picture here is for Elder Ed McCoy, a close friend of the family, who is serving a mission in California. He is the only member of his family who belongs to the Church, and Xinia makes sure that he gets at least one letter every week—hers!
“He used to come here for Sunday dinner,” she says. After he left for his mission, Sunday evening just didn’t seem complete without a visit with Elder McCoy—even if only through a letter.
Before long, Xinia started writing letters to the other missionaries from Belize City too. Now she writes a letter nearly every Sunday evening to all six of them. Sometimes she writes to missionaries who served in Belize and have returned to their homes. Every Monday morning, her mother mails a stack of her letters to places such as Honduras, England, Canada, and the United States.

As a boy, I had many interesting experiences with my father’s father. He didn’t have much schooling but was a very wise and good man. He was a superb carpenter and painter, and I can remember spending time with him painting. I thought I was learning to paint, but actually I was learning lessons that were even more important.
My grandfather often told me about the blessings that come from the payment of tithing. Two of his children, my father and my uncle, served missions during the Great Depression, when many people couldn’t afford to go on missions. It was quite an unusual thing to have two sons on a mission. Grandfather, who didn’t ever have much money, used to bear his testimony that his sons were able to serve missions because they always paid their tithing. He said, “I wouldn’t know how we’d make it at times; then somebody would call me and ask me to build a set of steps for them or paint their house or something like that.” I’ve wondered how many of those sets of steps really needed to be built. I’m sure Grandfather would not have taken a handout.
Grandfather thought that the payment of tithing was not only a duty but an opportunity. Shortly before his death I heard him bear his testimony, in a matter-of-fact but very direct way, that blessings come through the faithful payment of tithing. I’ve always considered it a privilege to pay my tithing, and I’ve seen the blessings that have come into people’s lives through living this principle.

Ashlyn was excited to show Grandma what she got in Primary.
“Look, Grandma!” Ashlyn said. “It’s my tree.”
Grandma smiled. “Your family tree,” she said.
Ashlyn nodded. The tree had seven faces connected by lines. “Which one are you, Grandma?”
Grandma pointed to the tree. “I’m here, and Grandpa is here. This one is your dad. We’re his parents.”
“Who’s here?”Ashlyn asked.
“Grandma and Grandpa Clark,” Grandma said. “They’re your mom’s parents.”
“And this is me!” Ashlyn pointed to the picture at the bottom.
“You’re right!” Grandma said.
“But where are Jace and Maggie?” Ashlyn asked.
“It doesn’t show brothers and sisters,” Grandma said.
Ashlyn thought about that. Sometimes Maggie pulled Ashlyn’s hair. Sometimes Jace wanted to draw in her notebook. But Ashlyn was still glad to have them in her family.
She drew two more faces next to her on her family tree.
“I made it even better,” Ashlyn told Grandma. She pointed to where she had drawn Maggie and Jace.
Grandma put her arm around Ashlyn. “I think you made a perfect family tree.”

I knew the Prophet. While I was nine, I attended a school kept by a Miss Mitchell in his brother Hyrum’s brick office.
I was passing the Prophet’s house one morning when he called me to him and asked what book I read at school. I replied, “The Book of Mormon.” He seemed pleased. Taking me into the house, he then gave me a copy of the Book of Mormon to use at school. It was a gift I greatly prized.

Adriana was bored. She wanted to play with her twin sister, Diana. But Diana had gone to buy food at the market with Mamá. Adriana sighed. The house felt very empty. She wished she’d gone with them.
Adriana decided to visit her neighbor Margarita. Margarita’s kids were all grown up, and she was like a grandma to Adriana. They always had lots of fun together.
Adriana went outside. The hot sun shone down on her as she walked to Margarita’s house. She poked her head inside the door. “Margarita, are you home?”
“Sí, I am in the kitchen,” Margarita called. Adriana found her sitting at the kitchen table with her head down. She looked up when Adriana came in.
“Hello, Adriana,” said Margarita. She gave a small smile. But it seemed sad.
“Is something wrong?” asked Adriana.
Margarita sighed. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
“How can I help her feel better?” Adriana thought. Margarita always seemed happy when they cooked together. “May I help you make tortillas?”
“I just finished making some,” said Margarita. She lifted a cloth napkin to show a stack of tortillas.
“Then may I help you eat tortillas?” Adriana asked with a grin.
Margarita laughed. “Of course. Let me just heat up some beans to go with them.”
Adriana stood by Margarita at the stove and stirred black refried beans in a pot. When the beans were done, she carried them to the table. Margarita brought the tortillas and the cheese.
Adriana took a warm tortilla and spread beans over it. Then she sprinkled the cheese on top. It looked delicious! Adriana couldn’t wait to take a bite. But there was something she wanted to do first.
“May I please say a prayer?” Adriana asked Margarita.
“Sure.”
Adriana closed her eyes and folded her arms. “Heavenly Father, we thank Thee for this food. Please bless it to make us healthy and strong. And please help Margarita with whatever she needs. I’m glad she’s my friend. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Adriana opened her eyes. Margarita had a big smile—a real one this time. While they ate, they talked about school and sports and books. Adriana loved talking with Margarita.
When they finished eating, Adriana gave Margarita a big hug. “Thank you for the snack. I had a great time!”
Margarita hugged Adriana back. “Thank you, Adriana. I needed a friend today.”
Adriana beamed. “I’m glad we’re amigas.”
“I’m glad we’re friends too,” Margarita said. “Why don’t you take the rest of these tortillas home? I’m so full.”
Adriana skipped all the way back to her house. She felt full too—and not just from the tortillas! She was full of friendship from head to toe.

May I tell you of my own testimony concerning the benefits of Relief Society for single women?
After my husband’s sudden death several years ago, I felt that life was giving me more challenges than I should have. I felt a large amount of self-pity and rebellion to think that as a relatively young woman, I was facing the fact that I would probably spend the rest of my life alone. While I was wrestling with these problems, the opportunity came for me to accept a position at the headquarters of the Relief Society and to become a member of its general board. There was but one drawback—it required that I move far from my family and friends to Salt Lake City.
Of course, I accepted the calling and loved my work in it. But as satisfying as it was, I found that I still needed friends and companionship outside my world of work.
In Relief Society I found that I had friends in my ward. My testimony was strengthened as I participated in gospel studies and heard the testimonies of other sisters. It brought out my valuable feminine qualities, and I found opportunities for service, as well as for homemaking activities. It brought relief from some of the pressures of life and from loneliness, and it gave me a fresh point of view.

The story is told of a man named Jack who had a beloved bird-hunting dog named Cassie. Jack was so proud of Cassie and often bragged about what a skilled dog she was. To prove this, Jack invited some friends to watch Cassie perform. After arriving at the hunting club, Jack let Cassie out to run around while he went inside to check in.
When it was time to begin, Jack was anxious to show off Cassie’s amazing skills. However, Cassie was acting strangely. She wouldn’t obey any of Jack’s commands as she usually did so willingly. All she wanted to do was remain by his side.
Jack was frustrated and embarrassed and angry with Cassie; soon he suggested they leave. Cassie wouldn’t even jump into the back of the truck, so Jack impatiently picked her up and shoved her in the kennel. He fumed as those with him made fun of his dog’s behavior all the way home. Jack couldn’t understand why Cassie was misbehaving. She had been trained well, and her whole desire in the past had been to please and serve him.
After arriving home, Jack began examining Cassie for injuries, burrs, or ticks, as he usually did. As he put his hand on her chest, he felt something wet and found his hand covered with blood. To his shame and horror, he found that Cassie had a long, wide gash right to her chest bone. He found another on her right front leg, also to the bone.
Jack took Cassie into his arms and began to cry. His shame at how he had misjudged and treated her was overwhelming. Cassie had been acting uncharacteristically earlier in the day because she was hurt. Her behavior had been influenced by her pain, her suffering, and her wounds. It had nothing to do with a lack of desire to obey Jack or a lack of love for him.

Three months before receiving this call to be the Stake President, I walked into my office, as a Bishop, and almost audibly I heard a voice saying, “Your time here in this calling is coming to an end.” The thought kept reoccurring that it troubled me. I did not know what it meant, but I tried all I could to ensure that all was well with the ward, before the time came for me to be released. Two months later, we met as Bishops with President Hanneman, he announced that he would be getting released. He told us to prepare for an interview with Elder Sitati, who would be traveling to Hawaii to release him. I remember vividly that morning, as I sat directly across from President Hanneman, the same voice that spoke to me two months prior, said to me “You will be the next stake president.” I was blown away by this thought and dismissed it as quickly as it came to me. I could not think straight for the duration of that meeting as the feeling remained strong and I was not able to concentrate on much else.

President Hanneman asked us to share this information with our wives, but to keep it very confidential. I was so scared that I did not even share what was happening with my wife. That night, before I went to bed, it came again, this time with more clarity – “You will be the next stake president, and Dennis Mataia will be your counselor.” For the next few weeks I encountered countless trials of my faith and testimony, and was still too scared to tell my wife. She and I went on a business trip to Maui for a day, several days before my interview with Elder Sitati, and I remember telling her, “Honey, I think I will be the next stake president.” She did not respond and I paid no attention. She then asked me later on that day, “Honey you mentioned something about a new stake president, who do you think it will be?” I answered and said, “Me, Honey!” I wish I could have recorded the look on her face when I said that. Believe me, her facial expression was showing exactly how I was feeling at the time.

The time came to meet with Elder Sitati and Elder Auna for an interview. The interview went well. I answered all of their questions and then left with no feelings at all. I thought, “Well that was interesting. I wonder why the Lord gave me those promptings?” I was being interviewed together with men who were far more intelligent, humble, and looked more like the Stake President type, so I left relieved thinking, “Good, I’m glad that’s over”. A few hours later my wife and I were at home we were planning to go to Honolulu. When my cell phone rang. Before even looking at the phone the same voice tells me, “Get ready, here it comes!” I looked at my phone, and sure enough it was Roberto, the Executive Secretary. He said, “Bishop Niutupuivaha, how soon will you and your wife be able to make it here to the Stake Center?” I replied, “Twenty minutes.” We got ready and as I was driving over I thought, “Good. It’s been a few hours, they have already called the Stake president. I will be one of his counselors or called to some other Stake office.” When we arrived, Roberto asked us to be seated in the waiting area, as Elder Sitati and Elder Auna are just now breaking their Fast. I was so overwhelmed at that point, that I started balling like a baby. The Spirit was telling me, “I tried to warn you.”

Darkness had already fallen for several hours when I pulled into the town where Sisters Hucks and Matson were serving. The hour was late, but I thought I should drop by to say hi since I had to leave early the next morning. The lights in their apartment were on so I guessed correctly that they were there. I was greeted with enthusiasm, and they started an immediate chatter, “Guess what happened with us tonight, president.”
“Tell me, what happened?”
“Well, the ward mission leader has been acting kind of strange all week. He never asked us—he told us to be at a meeting down to the church tonight. We were almost angry at him, and we wondered what was going on. When we got to the church there were a few cars parked but no one in sight.
“We went into the church and could see lights on and hear voices in one of the rooms down the hall. We walked down there and knocked on the door.
“Everything went quiet, and then the doors opened wide.
“To our surprise the room was filled with people, and on the front row looking right at us with radiant smiles was the family we had been teaching. They were all dressed in white baptismal clothes.” Unable to speak further, the sisters smiled at me through their tears.

A bishop, no matter how skilled in administrative matters, must be a friend to children, youth, and adults if he is to help them reach their spiritual potential. I was touched once when a young woman I knew went to her bishop to confess a serious transgression. She had been worried about how the bishop might react to her deviation from the gospel path and had only gone to him after considerable urging. When I asked her afterward what his response had been, she told me with great emotion that her bishop had wept with her and that in working with him to gain the Lord’s forgiveness, she now considered her bishop to be one of her best friends.

I grew up in Colonia Juárez—one of the Mormon colonies in Northern Mexico. Each morning I had to milk two cows, feed the pigs and chickens, and gather and clean the eggs. On Saturdays I worked in the orchard with my father.
My father owned about 20 to 30 cattle. Every year we gathered them together to brand the calves. Once I was riding with my father on his horse when my father got off to brand a calf that he had roped. I was alone on the horse when it became spooked. I was old enough to ride a horse—about eight or nine years old—that is, until it started bucking.
When the horse took off, it didn’t take very long for me to fall off. My shoelace got caught in the stirrup, and I was dragged behind the horse. I was right between the horse’s hind legs, and I could see its hooves on both sides of me. The longer this went on, the more scared the horse became. He kept bucking and kicking and jumping. I was sure I was going to die.
Finally, my shoelace broke. My pants and shirt were ripped to shreds, but I didn’t have a scratch on me. I wasn’t hurt at all. My dad always called it a real miracle.
This experience strengthened my testimony. I know that my life was preserved by Heavenly Father. I know that Jesus Christ is my Savior and that Heavenly Father is my Father. I know that They know me and love me. I know my life was preserved for a purpose and that I need to live the best I can to perform that purpose. I know that President Thomas S. Monson is the Lord’s prophet and that this is Jesus Christ’s Church. I know these things without any doubt.

What does one pray for when your eternal sweetheart is at the gate of Heaven? I must confess my initial prayers as my Darla went into cardiac arrest were for her to live. But, as my son offered a priesthood blessing and was unable to pronounce life, I knew the will of God. So my prayers turned to understanding the will of the Father and what he would have me learn and do. On the very last night before Darla left this mortality, I sensed her proximity to her mortal exit, and asked my children to have the night alone with my wife. Although she was unconscious, I read her a collection of scriptures. I told her what lessons I learned and bore witness of her next journey. I expressed my eternal love. I held her non-responsive hand and offered a prayer to our Eternal Father. As I was praying I had an interesting feeling come over me. It was as if the Spirit was prompting me to ask whatever I desired, and it would be granted. As I pondered this feeling briefly, I responded by saying, Father, if it be thy will, please take my sweetheart to her eternal state. I then laid my hands on her head and offered the last mortal priesthood blessing she would have.

Often for us to understand the will of the Father, it requires us to go beyond our mortal desires and short-sightedness. We must as Paul taught see the things that are not seen. I know the love Darla and I share is not limited to the boundaries of mortality, but expands to the eternities. I have been blessed by countless tender mercies to know she is my eternal companion, and though we are separated by a veil, we walk together in spirit. I know she is performing a heavenly work that required her to go beyond my understanding, but my faith relieves all doubts. The scales of my mortal eyes have fallen. I have obtained a peace. It is the unusual peace described by the Savior, Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you; not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid (John 14:27). With eyes now opened by the Lord, my troubled heart was healed, and I was not afraid of the future. I could also declare, "Whereas I was blind, now I see."

Sitting down to family home evening, a mother begins by asking her two children, “When have you felt guided by the Spirit?”
Her 17-year-old daughter complains, “I’ve already had three lessons on the Spirit this month.”
“Good, then you’ll have a lot to contribute,” her dad responds. It’s silent as Mom and Dad wait patiently while their children think about the question.
Eventually, their 14-year-old son shares an experience from school that day.
“Yeah,” replies his mother, “that reminds me of Nephi following the Spirit when he didn’t know how to get the plates from Laban.”
Her daughter speaks up, sharing how she followed a prompting to talk to a lonely girl on the bus. Her dad praises her decision and relates an experience he had at work.
They end the discussion by singing “Let the Holy Spirit Guide” (Hymns, no. 143).
A simple teaching method—sharing experiences about this doctrine—made this family home evening successful.

“And what do Mormons believe about marriage?” my high school Spanish teacher asked me.
All of my classmates turned in their seats, listening for my answer. I gulped as I wondered how our class discussion had wandered from Don Quixote and Dulcinea to dating and marriage.
There wasn’t another member of the Church in the class. What should I say? How much detail should I give? Would everyone make fun of me if I talked about eternal marriage?
“We, uh … ,” I stammered, still uncertain what to say.
Just then, my friend Denise came to my rescue. “Mormons have a beautiful view of marriage,” she said. “They believe that marriages performed in their temples can last forever.”
“That is beautiful,” our teacher replied. Even my classmates seemed satisfied.
With that, class resumed and I was left wondering why I had been sweating over a question that my nonmember friend answered so easily.
As more people hear about the Church, Latter-day Saints will have more opportunities to answer questions about the gospel. In high school, I learned that we don’t have to give long answers, and we don’t have to be afraid. The beautiful, simple doctrines of the gospel speak for themselves.

From a very early age, I became appreciative of cultures and people. On my first day as a fourth grader in Niles, I was told that our school had religious instruction for all students. Everyone went to either the Protestant section or the Catholic section. I didn’t think I was either one, but I went with the Protestants and enjoyed singing those old hymns. Later, I had a good Jewish friend all through high school. I liked athletics and became very close friends with many black and Hispanic boys through sports.
I later served a mission to Chile. Following my mission, I attended the University of Madrid in Spain. I lived in a pensión (boarding house) with about twelve or thirteen other students from various parts of Spain. Because of my experiences, I have always been very interested in studying cultures and have come to appreciate all of them.

Priests Doug Lloyd and Zac White know that school is important. After being on their school’s Academic Decathlon team, it might seem as if that is the only thing that’s important to them—they brought home nine gold medals in their regional competition in varying subjects. All that gold has earned them the nickname “the Golden Boys.”
But these boys from Petaluma, California, both know there are other things that are important, too. Things like keeping the Sabbath day holy. In order to participate, Doug and Zac had to convince the team that not studying on Sunday was a good idea. Because of their persistence, the team agreed to study on a weekday instead.
“Most of the team was actually pretty good about it,” says Zac.
Doug adds, “We actually spent more time studying during the week than we would have on Sunday, so the whole team benefitted.”
Zac and Doug are also successful in sports and Scouts. And they are active in early-morning seminary—further proof that these golden boys know real treasure when they see it.

Following high school, Robert attended the University of Utah for two years. Unfortunately, his low self-esteem went with him. And there were other worries. World War II was looming on the horizon, and like most students, Robert enrolled in ROTC. If war was inevitable, as it appeared to be, he felt it was better to go in the army as an officer. But at the end of his sophomore year, he had to make a decision. Should he go on with ROTC or go on a mission and probably end up in the infantry when he came back? “I wrestled with that decision. Should I go on and get my commission or do as I ought to do and go on a mission and take my chances? Most of my friends chose to stay in college. Very few of them served missions.”
But Elder Backman was not like most of his friends. He chose to serve the Lord. “There are so many decisions you make as you go along and you really can’t say why, except that somebody was on your shoulder making suggestions. And I can say without any hesitation whatsoever that anything good that’s happened to me since, I can trace directly to that missionary experience. I feel so strongly about that that whenever I have a chance to talk to young people, I tell those boys that if they miss that chance to serve a mission, they’re cheating themselves out of the greatest experience of their lives. I feel that keenly about it. I’ve had a lot of schooling since then, but I don’t think I could have gone to any university in the world for any length of time and have the experience equal what that two-year period in my life did for me. I don’t know whether I did any good. I didn’t baptize a single soul on my mission, but I sure converted me.”

When I was 18, my older brother, John, returned from his mission in England. He was determined to make sure I was also ready to serve. We had adjacent bedrooms, and at night we would sometimes speak to each other after we turned out the lights. One night, John’s voice pierced through the darkness.
“Dave, do you know that Joseph Smith was a prophet?”
“Of course, John,” I replied. John soon went to sleep, but I stayed awake, wondering if I really did know.
A few months later, I visited my sister and her family in Tokyo, Japan. At that time, the Tabernacle Choir was touring Asia. President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008), then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, traveled with them.
I was invited to be an usher at several performances. One night I had the opportunity to sit with Elder and Sister Hinckley. Afterward, Elder Hinckley reached out to me.
“Now, young man,” he said, “you’re going to serve a mission, right?”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“Good,” he replied.
That was it. But this 30-second interview built upon other experiences I was having. I realized that for me to become a missionary, I needed to have a testimony. So, I started studying the Book of Mormon and the life of the Prophet Joseph Smith.
One evening, I finished reading a book about Joseph Smith. I remember lying on the floor in my parents’ living room. I closed the book and had a peaceful feeling. The Spirit witnessed to me that Joseph was a prophet. I then realized that I needed to tell others about it. This solidified for me the decision to serve a mission.
I’m grateful I not only had the Spirit but that I also had the voices of my brother and Elder Hinckley encouraging me to head in the right direction. My life has been blessed because I listened to their voices.

A friend shared an experience she had with one of her former mission companions. Since their mission they had seen each other occasionally. On one of these occasions, the mission companion confided in my friend about the difficulties she was facing with one of her children and the trial and heartache this experience created.

In the course of the conversation, the mission companion asked my friend what her greatest heartache was. My friend, feeling that she could safely share her thoughts and feelings about her greatest heartache, proceeded to tell her mission companion about the heartache she was currently facing with one of her own children. Instead of responding with the expected empathy and understanding, the mission companion immediately was critical of my friend, judging her and her situation with harshness.

My friend was surprised and shocked, to say the least, at her companion’s response—especially since it was the mission companion who had asked the question in the first place. My friend thought that she was in “a safe place” while relating her experience to her former mission companion, but instead she found herself exposed to criticism and harsh judgment with no empathy or understanding.

In 1991 we moved into a small branch. Several months before our youngest son’s eighth birthday, my wife, the Primary president, asked him who he wanted to perform his baptism. Of course he wanted his father to perform the ordinance. My wife told him that probably was not going to happen. He did not accept that answer and set about the task of activating his father. He was quite relentless, and in short order I found myself serving as the Scoutmaster, and I later baptized and confirmed my son.