Gospel Story Finder

Riiiing!
Tony grinned as he stood up from his desk. It was finally time for recess!
Other kids ran past him toward the playground, but Tony hung back. He was waiting for Sean. Sean was new to Tony’s class. Maybe they could play together.
“Hey, Sean!” Tony said. “Do you like basketball?”
“Like it? I love it!” Sean said.
“Awesome.” Tony grinned. “Come on. Let’s play!”
Tony and Sean spent the whole recess dribbling, passing, and shooting hoops.
“That was fun!” Tony said as they walked back into the classroom. “You’re really good.”
“Thanks,” Sean said. “It’s fun to play with someone who likes basketball as much as I do!”
Every day after that, Tony and Sean played basketball together at recess. They practiced different plays they made up and perfected their dribbling. Tony loved the swoosh the basket made when the ball fell through the net.
“Here you go!” Tony called. He passed Sean the ball. Sean caught it and jumped to score. Tony noticed a flap hanging down from one of Sean’s shoes.
The basketball bounced off the rim of the hoop. “Oh, almost,” Tony said. “Good try!”
“Thanks,” Sean said. “I think I could play a little better if it weren’t for my shoes.” He laughed as he lifted up his shoe for Tony to see. “I’m going to get some new ones as soon as my dad finds a new job.”
Tony smiled. “But if you get new shoes, you’ll beat me every time!” he teased. “I won’t stand a chance!”
As Tony walked home from school that afternoon, he thought about Sean walking home with a shoe that was falling apart. Tony knew it wouldn’t only be hard to play basketball in those shoes. With the weather changing, Sean’s feet would be cold! Tony wondered if there was something he could do to help.
“Ready for bed?” Dad asked Tony later that night.
“Yeah,” Tony said. “I was just thinking. You know my friend Sean, who I play basketball with at recess? His shoes are wearing out. He needs to wait until his dad gets a job before he can get some new ones. I’d really like to help him out somehow.”
“That’s a great idea,” Dad said. “Why don’t we say a prayer? I know Heavenly Father will help you know what you can do.”
Tony nodded and knelt down with Dad to pray.
The next morning as Tony was getting ready for school, he noticed something in his closet. It was a pair of extra tennis shoes from his older brother! Tony hadn’t worn them yet because they were still a little too big. He had forgotten all about them!
I wonder if these will fit Sean, Tony thought. He put the shoes in his backpack, zipped it up, and hurried off to school.
“Hey.” Tony walked up to Sean and held up the shoes. ”I found these in my closet. They don’t fit me, and I wondered if they might fit you.”
“Wow. Thanks so much!” Sean slipped them on and tied the laces. “They fit great!”
Tony felt happy. He knew Heavenly Father had heard his prayer to know how to help his new friend. “Race you to the basketball court!”

“I will only read and watch things that are pleasing to Heavenly Father.” Show the children a paper bag (with the scriptures inside) and a beautifully wrapped gift box (with garbage inside). Ask which they would choose; let them open the packages. Discuss why they chose as they did. Read Moroni 7:12–19, and discuss the standard for judgment Mormon gives us. Have the children list the books and magazines they have read lately and the programs and movies they have watched. Have each child circle those that would be pleasing to Heavenly Father. Suggest that they discuss their lists with their parents.

The workshops, plays, and concerts were only a part of June Conference and the Heritage Arts Festival. The counsel of Church leaders gave an increased awareness to adult leaders of their responsibility to young Church members and gave youths counsel for conducting their lives. President Spencer W. Kimball stressed that as members we should be “mobilizing and stretching all our muscles and drawing on all our resources” in taking the gospel to the world. The prophet added that “we cannot improve on the doctrines or the basic organization of the Church. But we can improve ourselves, and we can improve the way in which we do our individual duties, the way we keep in step with progress.”
For the thousands of visitors and hundreds of young people who participated in June Conference and the Heritage Arts Festival, the prophet’s counsel to “keep in step with progress” took on additional significance. President Kimball announced that this year’s conference would be the last as the Church moves to decentralize and meet the increased challenges of a worldwide organization. He stressed that Church leaders were realizing “the impracticality of concentrating our activities and learning processes in the headquarters center only.”

A prominent American judge was asked what we, as citizens of the countries of the world, could do to reduce crime and disobedience to law and bring peace and contentment into our lives and into our nations. He thoughtfully replied, “I would suggest a return to the old-fashioned practice of family prayer.”

As young missionaries in the missionary training center in Brazil, we had a day assigned to go, as companionships, into the streets of São Paulo to invite people to hear the missionary lessons. After a few hours we came back to the MTC and held a testimony meeting.
Many spoke of promptings they received to go to a specific street or approach a certain person. These experiences sounded marvelous to me. However, because I had no similar experience, I felt that perhaps I was not good enough, or prepared enough, to be a missionary.
Feeling discouraged, I sought help from MTC leadership. They helped me understand that God is willing to give us instructions through the Holy Ghost, and while my experience may not be the same as those of others, I still needed to qualify for the Spirit’s direction. Just like a radio that needs to be tuned to a specific station, or a smartphone that needs to be connected to the internet, we must be both in tune and connected in order to receive what the Holy Ghost communicates to us.
At the MTC, I learned that I needed to be ready to receive whatever the Lord wanted to send me, in His time and His way. I learned that interference can cause us to be so distracted that we will not be able to identify when the Lord is talking to us or to listen carefully to the message He would have us hear.

During general conference in 1906, David took his wife and two young sons to visit cousins in Salt Lake City. Between sessions they sat down to lunch.
Cousin: David, there’s an urgent phone call for you.
David: I’ve been summoned to the Office of the First Presidency.
David met Elder George Albert Smith, an Apostle, on Temple Square. Elder Smith escorted him to the office of the President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. As they walked David thought about how he had performed his stake calling in the Sunday School.
David: I wonder if I’ll be called to the Church Board of Education.
President Francis M. Lyman invited David to sit down. What he said next left David speechless.
President Lyman: So you’re David O. McKay. Well, the Lord wants you to be an Apostle … What’s the matter? Haven’t you anything to say?
David: I’m not worthy of such a call!
President Lyman: Not worthy? Not worthy?! What have you been doing?
David: Nothing of which I’m ashamed.
President Lyman:Then do you have faith that the Lord will make you able to fulfill this calling?
On the way back to his relatives’ apartment, David saw his father.
Father: So, Son, were you called to the Church Board of Education?
David: I’ve been asked not to say anything about my new calling yet.
David and his wife, Emma Ray, attended the afternoon session of conference together. Right before the session ended, a special announcement was made. Emma Ray burst into tears from surprise and joy when David’s name was read. At only 32 years old, David O. McKay was sustained a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.

Though a moratorium on the registration of new churches in Rwanda stood in the way of launching formal missionary work or obtaining a meetinghouse, the Saints longed to see a branch created. As they continued to meet, the Lord gathered other Rwandan Saints to Kigali from different parts of the earth.
Yvonne Martin, who joined the Church in Scotland, arrived in November 2007 and began sharing the gospel with her friends. Jean Marie and Agathe Rumanyika, who had met missionaries in Missouri before business interests brought them back to Kigali, came in time to offer their home and, later, their hotel to host meetings as the group outgrew the Samuel home. Ruth Opar, a returned missionary, and former Relief Society president who had joined the Church in Kenya, came back to see if Kigali would be a good place to settle her family. The Kigali Branch was organized on March 16, 2008. Later that month Joshua Opar—Ruth’s husband and a former bishop—moved into the branch with their children.

“The Divinity of Jesus Christ,” p. 12: Elder Orson F. Whitney understood that the sleeping Apostles in his dream represented his own performance as a young missionary. Ask family members to consider ways they can be sure not to be “asleep at [their] post.”

Before dances, dating, and driving occupied my weekends, I often spent Saturday nights babysitting. I remember thinking that I was prepared for any challenge. I had already dealt with overflowing toilets, policemen at the front door, minor illnesses and injuries, and even a leaking ceiling. But I was about to face my biggest babysitting challenge, and it would happen while the kids were sleeping happily and safely down the hall.
Mrs. Porter* left in a hurry, handing me her usual list of instructions and emergency phone numbers with a note at the bottom that read, “I grabbed a movie for you to watch after the kids go to bed. It’s supposed to be good. Thanks again.”
With the exception of an entire bottle of bubbles being spilled on the closet floor, the night went without major upsets. Five rounds of Mother May I later, bedtime came and I had a chance to see what Mrs. Porter had picked out.
I popped the movie into the VCR and read the description on the back of the box. The opening credits started rolling as I noticed the letter R in the bottom corner. With a sigh of exasperation, I pushed eject and put the movie back in the box. I didn’t watch R-rated movies.
But sitting there on top of the TV, the movie seemed to stare at me, calling my name. The minutes seemed like hours as thoughts started to invade my mind, forcing me to question my standards.
No one will know if you watch this, it seemed to say to me. When you’re done, you can just hit rewind. You don’t have to tell anyone. Besides, it’s just a little bad language. It’s not like you don’t hear worse language every day in the hallways of school. How bad could it be? No one will know.
The movie won. My heart started to pound as I opened the box. It’s just a movie, I reassured myself. Just as I reached to put the movie into the machine, I paused. What was I doing?
Then it hit me. Even if no one else in the world ever found out what I had done, I would know, and my Heavenly Father would know. I shut the box with a snap, amazed that I had come so close to doing something I knew in my heart was wrong. The movie lost.
Standing there with the box in my hands, I made a promise to myself to keep my mind clean of things that did not meet Heavenly Father’s standards. I promised to do what was right, even when no one was watching.

When Eliza was baptized, she promised God that she would “ever praise His name in the congregation of the saints.”2 She stayed true to that promise, giving more than a thousand sermons in her lifetime. Yet those who had the privilege of hearing her might be surprised to learn that public speaking made her very anxious. Even while teaching school in Nauvoo and recording the minutes of the Relief Society meetings there, she hesitated to speak up.

Captain Snap and the Children of Vinegar Lane Was Captain Snap really mean? Was his house really made of rusty tin, rotten boards, and tin cans? Was he really dead when the children dared to go to his house that day? And how did he get his new name, Captain Scrap? A delightful story of bravery, service, and caring.Roni Schotter5–8 years

Little did we know that the construction of classrooms through Christ-centered humanitarian projects would create rooms for Christ in the hearts of many children using these classrooms to educate their minds. During a thanksgiving dinner organized by one of the municipal directors in the Dar es Salaam, Tanzania, an opinion leader made a surprise invitation to the Church. She said, “The Church has done a wonderful job in construction and renovations of the classrooms and toilets in our municipality. We now invite you to come and help us in fighting the degradation of moral values among the younger generation which is now an emerging issue.”
Moral values teach us good virtues, including honesty, truthfulness, kindness, integrity, helpfulness, compassion, love, respect for others, hard work, cooperation, and forgiveness. Our leaders are fully aware that the youth are the future, and that they are the driving force of every nation. With such prophetic understanding, one of the four priorities for the Africa Central Area is strengthening faith for the rising generation. So, when this invitation came to the Church, local leaders were very proactive and immediately took action with the emphasis placed on studying the doctrines of the gospel.
They immediately organized some materials through the Church Education System program and teachers, are now teaching religion classes in these public schools. It is amazing to see that more than 80 percent of those attending these religion classes are not of our faith. As the word has spread regarding these religion classes more heads of these public schools are making invitations to the Church to also consider organizing similar classes in their schools. It is evident that as they study the scriptures and learn about Jesus Christ and His atoning sacrifice, they will have a desire to create rooms in their hearts so that the Spirit of the Lord can dwell with them.

My mind has been much on this topic because of an experience our family has had in the last few months. Our daughter and her husband took a while to find each other and then, though they wanted children with all their hearts, over a number of years had difficulty realizing that dream. They prayed and they sought priesthood blessings and medical help, and eventually were thrilled to learn they were expecting twins.
Things did not go smoothly, however, and three and a half months before the babies were due to arrive, the mother-to-be found herself in the labor and delivery section of the hospital. The doctors at first were hopeful that they could stop the labor for a few more weeks. Quickly, however, the question became, would they even have the 48 hours necessary for medication to prepare the babies’ immature lungs to function?
A nurse came in from the newborn intensive care unit to show the couple pictures of the machines the babies would be hooked up to if they were born alive. She explained the risks for eye damage, for lung collapse, for physical impairment, for brain damage. The couple listened, humbled yet hopeful, and then, despite all the doctors could do, it was obvious that these babies were coming.
They were born alive. First the baby girl and then the baby boy—weighing less than four pounds together—were rushed to the intensive care unit and put on ventilators, with umbilical tubes and intravenous lines and constant attention. They can’t have too much light, they can’t have too much noise, their chemical balances need constant monitoring, as the hospital, with millions of dollars of equipment and many wonderful doctors and nurses, attempted to replicate the miracle of a mother’s womb.
There are multitudes of little miracles every day: a collapsed lung heals and then, despite the odds, continues to function properly; pneumonia is beaten back; more deadly infections invade and are overcome; IV lines go bad and are replaced. After two and a half months, the baby boy has gained two pounds and can breathe with an oxygen supplement. His ventilator is gone, he learns to eat, and his grateful parents take him home with monitors attached.
The baby girl keeps pulling her ventilator tube out, setting off alarms across the nursery. Maybe she wants to keep up with her brother, we think, but her throat closes off each time, and she just can’t breathe on her own. Her throat is so inflamed that at times the respiratory therapists have great difficulty reinserting the tube, and she almost dies. Her normal progress is stymied by her continued dependence on the ventilator.
Finally, after her baby brother has been home for two months, the doctors feel they are forced to suggest surgery for her—a surgery that will allow her to breathe by opening a hole in her throat, a surgery that might solve the stomach problems by opening a hole in her side, but a surgery that will impact her little body for many more months and maybe for the rest of her life. As the parents wrestled with this decision, a beloved aunt sent a message to all the family. She explained the situation—the critical issue of timing, the importance of getting off the ventilator—and suggested that we join our faith once again, and in prayer and fasting ask for one more miracle—if it was the Lord’s will. We would culminate our fast with a prayer the evening of December 3.
Let me read from a letter that was sent to the family the morning of December 4. “Dearest Family, Wonderful news! Blessings from the Lord. Our heartfelt thanks for your prayers and fasting in behalf of our little girl. Yesterday morning she came off the ventilator and has been off for 24 hours at this writing. To us, it is a miracle. The medical staff are still guarded about predicting the future, but we are so grateful to the Lord and to you. We are praying that this will mark the beginning of the end of her hospital stay. And we even dare to hope that she’ll be home for Christmas.”
She did make it home for Christmas, and both babies are currently doing “just fine.” Our family has had its own “parting of the Red Sea,” and we are prepared to testify that there is today, as there was yesterday and will be forever, a “God of miracles” who loves His children and desires to bless them.

Saturday started just like any other day. The sun rose over the mountains next to Kolin’s home, and the light trickled in through his bedroom window. On another day he might have tried to hide under his covers and stay in bed. But Kolin yawned and stretched and crawled out of bed because something special was going to happen, and he needed to get ready.
Usually Saturday was a day to play with friends or help in the yard or stop in to visit Grandma and Grandpa after errands. He often wore comfortable clothes that were good for getting dirty. Instead, he dressed in his Sunday best that Mom had cleaned and pressed for him. He buttoned his white shirt and carefully tucked it in. He put on his socks and shoes and slipped his tie around his neck—Dad would help him tie it. When Mom called, “It’s time to go,” he was ready.
With everyone buckled safely in the van, Dad drove down the street and around the curve in the road. Kolin smiled when they got to the temple. He saw its smooth surface glistening in the sunlight and the colorful stained-glass windows that stretched toward the spire and the angel Moroni.
Kolin had seen the temple many times. He had been inside a temple before too: once when he was sealed to his parents when he was six months old and again after his parents adopted his younger brother, Kaden. Kolin was too young to remember either of those times, but as he grew he learned that what had happened there was important. And Kolin understood that after this special Saturday visit, his adopted baby sister, Shayla, would be part of the family forever, just like her big brothers.
On any other day Kolin liked laughing and talking. But when he entered the big temple doors with his family, he tried to leave all his wiggles and giggles outside. He knew it was a sacred place.
Friendly temple workers took Kolin, Kaden, and Shayla to a room especially for children, where they dressed in white and stayed until it was time to go to the sealing room where Mom and Dad were waiting. In the sealing room, Kolin saw his grandpa and grandma, aunts and uncles, family friends, and some members of his ward. It was a happy day, even though some people wiped away tears.
The temple sealer greeted the boys with a firm handshake and a smile. He said they looked nice in their white clothing. He encouraged them to always make good choices so they could prepare for missions and come back to the temple. And then he reminded them of the importance of what was about to happen. After that he began the sealing ordinance.
When the sealing was over, Kolin and his family stood and looked into the mirrors across the room. He saw himself with his dad, mom, brother, and baby sister. The reflection didn’t end, just like his eternal family. Kolin knew that because of the temple, his family could be together not just for that day, but forever.

Brigham Young was critical of those who waited to pray until they were in trouble or great need. “When the ship is in a storm,” said Brother Brigham, “it is then time to look out for the rigging. One may say, ‘Are you not going down below to pray, in this dreadful storm?’ ‘No, I have no time to pray now, I must take care of the ship.’ … By and bye the storm is over, then let us go down into the cabin and do up our praying in fair weather” (Journal of Discourses, 3:207). There is a time for total concentration in prayer and a time for answering prayer with your own muscles—helping.

Brother Collins Ntow shared his feelings: “Coming back from my mission, I had a little idea as to what to do to get a hand-making job. How could I do something to help me focus on my education? But YSA Gathering Place has given me that assistance.”

In the Philippines Tacloban Mission, missionaries focused on this idea of eternal conversion. They encouraged both themselves and those they taught to strengthen their faith in Jesus Christ. As their faith grew, they were motivated to repent and to draw closer to the Savior. They made covenants with the Lord, which brought the Holy Spirit into their lives. This helped them stay on the path of eternal conversion.

“You know how I came to this country.” (I did. My mother’s family was surprised when she married a widower with four children but shocked it meant she was leaving Holland for the United States.) “But some things you don’t know. When we came here, we had nothing. Life was hard. Your father was working two jobs but with little pay. I took in washing and ironing. Still we didn’t have enough money.
“Ann was 17 then and understood how much money we owed. She decided she could help. She went to work. She found a job in the city at a candy store. She had to take the bus there and stand at the counter all day. She gave us almost all her salary, keeping just enough for bus fare and to buy some lunch, since she couldn’t keep any food behind the counter.
“Ann would tell me she was glad she had a job and that her salary could help us. But she didn’t tell me she worried for her little brothers. Christmas was coming. Their new American friends were talking about the toys they had asked Santa to bring them. What if Santa didn’t bring any presents to our house?
“A few days before Christmas, Ann gave me some money. But it wasn’t her payday. I asked her where she got this money. She told me she had saved it by not eating lunch. It wasn’t a lot of money, but I knew it meant she hadn’t had lunch for weeks. She told me to take the money and buy Christmas presents for her brothers. She trusted me, the new stepmother, to buy what was right.
“I had to buy little things. But I decided I could make a Christmas for the whole family. Tangerines to eat, teddy bear soaps, crayons, little toy cars, socks for your father. And I bought Ann a handkerchief. It was plain, but I stayed up late at night to embroider it and make it pretty. I was so happy my new daughter was giving us Christmas. I wanted her to have something special for Christmas too.
“Christmas came. We were surprised when our church friends brought us a Christmas tree and a box full of presents. They apologized that it was simple things wrapped up in newspaper, but it was wonderful! There were so many useful things and good food to eat. And then another surprise, Ann’s and my secret surprise: Santa had come to our house! Your brothers were so excited! Soon they were on the floor of that little living room, running cars over and under the newspaper. Newspaper everywhere! And Ann opened her present and found the handkerchief. She cried. I cried a little too.
“We made our Christmas meal. Oh, we had treats we hadn’t had in such a long time! Then we cleaned up. Ann went to put her handkerchief away. But it was gone. We looked everywhere. And then I thought, oh no, your father had thrown the newspaper in the fire. Had the handkerchief gone in the fire? It must have because we never found it. But Ann didn’t complain. What had happened had happened. She said she was happy because her brothers were happy.
“The next Christmas, I gave Ann a handkerchief. I made sure that one didn’t get lost. When she got married and moved away, I mailed her a Christmas handkerchief. I don’t give her a handkerchief now because I think she needs it. I give her a handkerchief to tell her I will never forget what she did for our first Christmas together.”

My father died of cancer when I was 4 years old. I grew up wondering why he had to die. I questioned God and asked why life was so unfair. Ten years later, when I was 14, I met the missionaries. As they taught us, my mother felt that they were teaching the truth and that we should listen. When we joined the Church, the gospel of Jesus Christ and an understanding of the plan of salvation came into my life at a time when I really needed it.
Later, when I was sealed to my parents in the temple, my mother whispered to me, “I feel your father’s presence.” As I thought about the blessings of being sealed, I knew that the Lord was aware of our family and that He had been with us often, even when we were unaware.

Tate lay awake in the darkness, blinking back tears. He had prayed for help, but it seemed like a heavy black cloud hung over him, shutting out the Spirit.
What if I never forget that awful TV show? he worried.
A few days ago, he had finished his homework early and flipped on the TV. But he hadn’t expected to see something like that on the screen. Tate was so shocked that he forgot to turn off the television as quickly as he should have.
It was an accident. He hadn’t meant to watch a scene like that, but now he couldn’t forget it. Sometimes it popped into his head in the middle of school, at the dinner table—even during church. At times like that, he was glad Mom and Dad couldn’t read his mind. Tate’s parents had taught him not to look at pictures of people without clothes on. He knew that they also expected him to avoid violent TV shows, movies, and video games.
“Now I know why,” Tate mumbled to himself.
Tate got out of bed and onto his knees again. What could he do?
“Heavenly Father,” Tate whispered. “Please help me stop thinking about what I saw.” He wiped away the tears that had been forming in his eyes and listened. His heart beat faster. He thought he felt the Holy Ghost prompting him, but it wasn’t the answer he wanted.
He needed to tell his parents.
“Why?” Tate wondered. He would feel like a baby going into his parents’ room in the middle of the night. And to tell them? He felt embarrassed and sick all over again.
Then a clear thought came into his mind: Heavenly Father wanted him to be happy. Heavenly Father wanted him to feel the Spirit again, to think about good things, and to be honest with his family. He especially wanted Tate to become a worthy Aaronic Priesthood holder when he turned 12 in a few months. Tate realized that if he held on to what he had seen and kept it a secret, he would stay unhappy about it.
Tate knew he needed help—and the Holy Ghost had just told him where to find it.
Tate looked at the digital clock’s glowing numbers beside his bed. It was nearly 1:00 in the morning. He stood up and headed into the dark hallway toward his parents’ room. Swallowing nervously, he tapped on their door.
“Mom? Dad?”
“Tate, is that you?” came Mom’s sleepy voice.
“Is something wrong?” Dad asked.
“Yeah,” Tate said. “Can we talk? And can I maybe get a blessing?”
Dad clicked on his bedside lamp and invited Tate inside. For the first time in days, Tate felt warmth, hope, and light.