Gospel Story Finder

Most of my teachers believed in work and advocated good work habits. But the one who made me appreciate this principle most was a custodian-teacher by the name of Thatcher Smith.
Thatcher understood how much my friends and I loved to play basketball. It would have been simple for him on Saturday mornings to throw us a key to the gym and rid himself of our pleadings. Instead he insisted we clean out the furnace, dump the cinders, and clean the showers in exchange for playing basketball. We were required to work for our play.
Thatcher’s “gym rats” over a period of years became championship teams. Those same young men, in the passage of time, have worked and earned degrees and achievements in a variety of businesses and professions. Most have gained full understanding of the “sweat-of-thy-brow” concept.

One of your friends at church says he is not sure he really has a testimony. What do you say to him?
Tell a joke to quickly change the subject.
Tell him he’ll probably get one on his mission.
Explain that a testimony often comes gradually as we learn more about the gospel and sincerely seek the truth. You then bear your testimony and encourage him to study and pray to receive his own testimony and think about what he already does know.

Not long ago I was presiding at a stake conference. It was a new stake, organized just six months before, and this was the stake’s first conference after being constituted out of a district. The new stake president and I had our interview, and at the conclusion of our time I asked if he had any questions he would like to ask. His first question was “What is the Presiding Bishopric?” He added, “I didn’t even know there was a Presiding Bishopric until I received a letter indicating that you would be presiding at our conference.” This is not an uncommon question.
I proceeded to explain to this stake president what the Presiding Bishopric is, to whom we report, and what our responsibilities entail. I explained that under the direction of the First Presidency the Presiding Bishopric serves as the presidency of the Aaronic Priesthood of the Church (see D&C 107:15) and that the Presiding Bishopric also administers the Church’s temporal affairs (see D&C 107:68).
The Presiding Bishopric is also the channel through which temporal matters of the Church are carried out. These temporal matters include issues that deal with tithes; fast offerings; the recording, disbursement, and management of funds; and the welfare program of the Church and its humanitarian efforts. The Presiding Bishopric is also responsible for Church buildings; for membership records; for the production of temple clothing; and for the translating, printing, binding, and distributing of materials that are used in support of proclaiming and teaching the gospel. These materials include the scriptures, curriculum materials, posters, DVDs, videos, teaching aids, and the Church magazines—all in support of the spiritual purposes of the Church. All members of the Presiding Bishopric are General Authorities and as such can do whatever the First Presidency or Quorum of the Twelve Apostles asks of us. And so it was that I was on assignment to preside over a stake conference when this question came to me.

We read the missionary issue of the New Era today in our joint study, as usual, but as we read the spirit changed. It was not just another magazine. We found ourselves laughing, remembering, and even shedding tears as memories of our own mission flooded back. The issue didn’t just talk about missionaries; it captured our feelings, our hopes, our dreams. We have nothing but gratitude for such a beautiful expression of what is in our hearts.
Elder Gilette and Elder ThompsonNew Mexico-Arizona Mission

Three weeks ago tonight the women of the Church, both young and older, filled this great tabernacle and assembled in the same halls in which you are meeting tonight. Unable to attend the women’s meeting personally, I watched the proceedings of that glorious event by special television in my hospital room. My heart was filled to overflowing for the special blessing of the wonderful sisters of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints—God’s heavenly kingdom here upon the earth. My beloved eternal companion, Camilla, read to those lovely sisters my brief message.
In that message I said to the sisters: “As we approach the general conference with its priesthood session, we will be no less loving or direct with the brethren, for our counsel will be similar.”
I now want to make good on that promise to the sisters as I speak to you brethren.

“I’m an angry lion,”
The March wind cried,
And roared a loud roar
With chest-swelling pride.
But the March wind changed
As the month moved by,
And the sun’s warm rays
Caught his roving eye.
Soon the angry lion,
Thoroughly smitten,
Waltzed into April
A tame little kitten.

Many years ago, one of our General Authorities shared this challenging story:
A wise Cherokee, one of the indigenous tribes in the United States, told his grandson a parable about life. “Inside me there is a terrible fight between two wolves,” the grandfather said. “One is evil: full of anger and envy, self-pity and sorrow, greed and lies. The other is good: full of kindness and compassion, humility and truth, love and joy. That fight is going on inside each of us.”
“Which wolf will win?” the grandson asked.
“The one you feed,” the grandfather wisely answered.1

The golfer, Arnold Palmer, once hit a golf ball into a hole that was quite far away to win a tournament. An observer remarked, “Arnold, you certainly were lucky.” Mr. Palmer then commented, “It is interesting that the more I practice the ‘luckier’ I get.” Would the Lord answer prayers to hit golf balls into holes far away if we didn’t practice? Probably not. Some blessings require more than just prayers for as James observed, “Faith, if it hath not works, is dead, being alone.” (James 2:17.)

She was expecting them because weeks earlier Laurel president Donna Muir had suggested that something should be done for the elderly. The young people of the Culver City and La Cienega wards, who meet together for activity night, agreed, and so they sought and received inspiration. The result was an innovative service project that would allow some of the widows and widowers in the area to give just as much as they received. Small groups of young people would visit selected oldsters and chat with them about their lives. The interviews would be recorded and preserved as a contribution to oral history. They decided that each group would take a small present to those they visited to show their love and appreciation.
And in other houses, other cassettes turned, other pens scratched, and warm, old voices escorted other young people into the heart of other times and other lives. It was a guided tour of history—not embalmed textbook history, but history still alive and breathing. Horizons of time, space, and personality were broadened, and everyone, young and old, knew that they were co-citizens of forever.
Several weeks after the last stop buttons had been pushed and the last goodbyes said, the young people hosted their elderly friends at a dinner where each of them was presented with a typed transcript of what he had said. It had nothing to do with a service project anymore. It was a get-together between friends.

For an entire week, Sydney G., 14, from Utah, USA, visibly carried a copy of the Book of Mormon everywhere she went—to school, to her extracurricular activities, and to church. She was prayerfully trying to find someone to share the gospel with, and keeping the Book of Mormon out with her was a constant reminder of that goal.
One day, she went to the office at school and accidentally left the book there. Without even opening the cover, the office secretary knew immediately whose it was. That week, Sydney had become known at her school for carrying that Book of Mormon with her. And throughout her life, she’s become known for many other things as well.

Ouch!” Caroline cried when she pricked her finger with a needle for the third time. Holding the quilt block to the light, she examined her progress. The rose she had been sewing with such tiny stitches bloomed bravely. She had one more block to sew, then she could begin sewing the quilt blocks together.
“Carrie,” her brother called excitedly from outside. The fresh salt breeze stirred her curls as she leaned out the window. The gray blue of Barnegat Bay was a beautiful sight with the wind ruffling the water and swishing the grass.
“Carrie,” Tom shouted again. “Father needs a message about supplies sent to Trenton.”
For three months Tom and Father had been passing information about King George’s soldiers up the coast to the patriots in Trenton, and she thought that Tom was sometimes carried away with the Revolution and their part in it.
Carrie and her family lived some distance from the center of their town with its white clapboard houses and tree-lined streets. As he mended nets or worked on his fishing boat her father was able to see things that others might miss. After he gathered information about ships or troops or supplies, he drove to Trenton in the wagon or sent Tom with a message. Tom thought it was a great adventure to saddle his horse Powder and deliver the latest installment of information.
Carrie worried that someone might discover the real reason for Tom and Father’s frequent trips, even though their messages were always hidden in barrels of salted fish, rolls of netting, or under Powder’s saddle blanket. Turning from the window, she crossed the room and picked up her sewing. She was busily unpicking a row of crooked stitches when Tom and her father came into the room.
“Carrie,” her father spoke quietly and quickly. “I’m afraid that the enemy suspects that Tom and I have been acting as couriers, so I’m asking you to take the message this time. We have a message that must be delivered. It’s a good thing that your mother is visiting Aunt Liza in Trenton so you’ll have a reason for going there.”
Carrie nodded her head in agreement while she repinned the applique pattern onto her sewing.
“Tom, hurry and saddle Powder while Carrie and I think of a place to hide the message,” Father urged.
Carrie listened eagerly as Father continued, “We can’t hide it on the horse or saddle. We’ve done that too many times before. Nor can we hide it in your boots or in the food or—”
Carrie, who was still working with the pattern for the quilt block, interrupted him as an idea came to her. “Father, I’ll finish unpicking the stitches around this rose, then we can slip the message between the rose and the quilt block. I’ll sew it up, pin the applique pattern on the top so the block will have a feel of paper, and it will be as safe as can be.”
Carrie showed her father where there could be a secret pocket between the rose and the quilt block. He took a folded paper from his pocket and slipped it into the hiding place she had made. Then Carrie quickly stitched the rose into place. Smoothing it, she put the block into her sewing basket and fastened the clasp.
“Quick, Carrie, there’s little time,” Father said as he took her dark blue cloak from the hook by the door and settled it on her shoulders.
“You are to ride straight to the Delaware Printing Shop on Front Street. John Grant will be watching for Powder. Give him the message and then ride to Aunt Eliza’s.” He looked into his young daughter’s eyes. “Tom and I will pray for your safe trip, my dear,” he said and gave her a quick hug.
Carrie picked up her sewing basket, gathered the cloak around her, and ran outside where Tom helped her onto the sturdy little horse that would carry her to Trenton. Tom squeezed her hand as he handed her the reins and then safely tucked the sewing basket and a packet of bread and cheese into the saddlebags.
Carrie pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and waved good-bye as Powder settled into a steady gait. Most of the journey would be along the lonely coast road. Powder knew this road so well that Carrie let him find his way while gulls wheeled above the boggy track. Just before Powder took the turn where the sandy path merged into the well-traveled main road, Carrie reined the horse in and offered a silent prayer for the success of the ride.
Powder’s hooves made an even beat on the hard surface of the road as they picked up speed and raced toward Trenton. Carrie was so concerned about her errand that she barely heard the shout of a soldier from somewhere in the gloom.
“Halt, young lady,” he repeated. The soldier was an older man who had a pleasant smile on his face as he stepped out of the shadows and greeted, “Hello, miss. What are you doing alone on this road so late?”
“I’m on my way to my Aunt Eliza’s in Trenton. My mother’s there and I’m to join her,” Carrie explained, shivering with cold and fear.
The soldier’s lantern made curious shadows when he held it up to look into Carrie’s face, then he said, “Well, miss, I’m sorry but I must search your saddlebags. Would you please dismount?”
The frightened girl scrambled down off the horse and stood beside Powder as his saddle was removed and his saddle blanket shaken. Then the soldier took the saddlebags and carefully unpacked them. He grinned when he found the bread and cheese, and handed them to Carrie whose mouth was so dry she knew she could never choke down the food Tom had packed for her. When the man lifted out the sewing basket, his eyes were eager. But his face fell when he opened it and saw only thread, needles, scissors, linen, and the quilt block. “What do you call that,” he asked, “knitting?”
Carrie held her voice steady as she shook her head and answered, “That’s a quilt block, and after I get the pattern right, I’ll sew some other blocks to it and then quilt them.”
“It’s pretty,” he said. “Back home we have a bush with roses as red as this one. I’m sorry that I had to stop you,” he added, putting the handwork back into the basket and repacking her saddlebags. Then he saddled Powder and helped Carrie onto her horse again.
Carrie breathed a prayer of thanks as Powder seemed almost to fly toward Trenton, carrying her and her father’s message safely inside the red rose of the Revolution.

It was here that young cadets clutched the Mexican flag and lept to their deaths rather than surrender during the Mexican-American war. The six niños heroes, as they are known, are now pictured on a ceiling mural in the castle.
Another young person found the visit to Chapultepec castle to be the most moving experience. “It brought great honor to our nation when the six niños heroes gave their lives rather than let their country’s flag be dishonored,” she said.

An experience, repeated many times during my time as mission president and again as branch president at the Missionary Training Center, confirmed for me the truth of Joseph Smith’s statement that the Book of Mormon “was the most correct of any book on earth, and the keystone of our religion, and a man would get nearer to God by abiding its precepts, than by any other book.” (Introduction to the Book of Mormon, 1981 Edition.) From time to time, one of my missionaries would sit with me, and our interview would go something like this:
“No, President, I seem to have lost my excitement about missionary work lately. I haven’t felt very spiritual either.”
“Try and tell me what you have been feeling,” I would ask.
“Oh, I just haven’t been feeling positive, excited, or enthusiastic about doing the work.”
“Have you felt this way long?”
“For about the last three weeks.”
“Has something happened personally that we need to talk about?”
“No, President. I am keeping all the mission rules. I get up on time. I read scriptures daily. I am reading the Old Testament now. I say my prayers. My companion and I get along well. I really can’t think of anything that would make me feel depressed.”
“Are you reading the Book of Mormon as part of your scripture studies ?”
“No.”
Then I would say, “I would like you to try something for several weeks and then give me a telephone call. In addition to your regular study in the Missionary Gospel Study Program, try reading and studying at least one chapter from the Book of Mormon a day.”
Two weeks later the missionary would call and report that things were fine and he had felt again the spiritual excitement he thought he had lost.

At age 11, I attempted to obtain my first job delivering newspapers. I had just turned 11 and was an entire year away from the minimum age of 12 required for being a newspaper boy. It was difficult at first trying to convince the man that someone so young could really be an effective worker, but with the help of my dad, I talked him into letting me try.
The Lord really blessed me as a young man because I was able to effectively do that important job. It was an important job to me for I learned as a young man how to collect and be accountable for money, how to deal with different kinds of people, and how to sell newspaper subscriptions. A tenth of my income was always paid willingly to the Lord as tithing.
At 16, after delivering newspapers for five years, I was somewhat surprised when the manager of circulation asked me to be the assistant manager and supervise all the newspaper boys in the city. It was quite an honor because of my youth, and I remember how grateful I felt to the Lord. I saw it as a direct blessing from the Lord allowing me to grow and obtain additional development.
I worked as the assistant manager for about two years, and I will never forget the great challenge that then came to me. I had been paying my tithing regularly during that time and certainly believed in the principle, but I did not have as sure a witness of that principle as I was about to attain.

Eighteen-year-old Brandy Smith of Decatur also loves music. She has been playing piano for eight years and recently won a music scholarship for college. “I love music and I love the words that are written to the Church hymns,” she says. “I love to play the hymns and to have people sing while I play. It increases my testimony.”
That love of the hymns took on an even deeper meaning when, for a three-month period, the Young Women organization in her ward provided weekly visits to Nell Whitt, an older sister who was dying of cancer.
“We would clean her house and spend time talking with her,” Brandy says. “Then we would sing hymns with her. She loved Church songs.” The hymns were sweet to Sister Whitt. They made her feel at home.

Christmas Service in Guatemala
Eva’s city is recovering from a hurricane and COVID-19. Read a story about how she chooses to serve and bring cheer to others at Christmas.

Numerous individuals and couples have served both international and local welfare missions. The variety and scope of their service grew to span both the globe and the range of human need. As they have served on projects including instruction and practical help on food security, medical aid, sewing, clean water projects, and literacy to help for the disabled, welfare missionaries have followed the Savior’s example to care for those in need. Their reports show the spiritual dimension of this temporal service. Sister Connie Polve and her companion, both nurses serving welfare missions in Paraguay, treated an infant suffering from a severe skin infection. She reported, “I distinctly felt the Spirit of the Holy Ghost descend upon me and I knew that I was no longer operating under my own direction, but was indeed being a literal tool in the hand of the Lord to do a work for Him upon the earth.” The infant recovered, and the family—once “lost, timid people”—radiated “strength and [the] light of Christ [in] their countenances.”11 Today, over 11,000 missionaries care for those in need in 188 countries.12

Shayly Terris (11) was asked to read with him and help him practice pronouncing words. “He asked me questions, and I got to know him better. After we finished reading, my mom and I went to help him get back into bed, and he fell and hit his head. He just said, ‘Shhhh, don’t tell Mom.’ He never complains!”

“It’s a neat day for a crosscountry tour to Clear Falls!” exclaimed Randy.
“The snow’s great,” agreed his older brother Tom.
“Looks good to me,” said Randy’s friend Boyd.
Turning back to their car they pulled their skis and poles from the trunk. “I’m glad we waxed our skis last night,” said Randy. “Did you wax for powder conditions, Boyd?”
“Yeah, mine are doing great,” said Boyd as he tested them on the light, powdery snow.
Tom bent over to adjust his bindings and secure his gaiters. The colored tubes of sturdy nylon around his ankles would help keep snow out of his shoes.
Boyd handed canteens and day packs to Tom and Randy. They had packed matches in waterproof containers, goggles, a small candle, compass, pocketknife, extra mittens and socks, snack food, and a small first-aid kit.
“Every time I go on an all-day outing I pack all this stuff,” said Boyd disgustedly, “but I’ve never had to use it.”
“In this kind of terrain and weather, it’s not safe to take chances,” said Tom emphatically. “It’s clear and sunny now, but we have to be ready to meet any kind of trouble.”
Boyd nodded. “Which way to Clear Falls? This is my first time in this area.”
“We’ll cross this field and head toward Twin Peak. The falls are at the base of the peak. It’ll take us about three hours to get there,” explained Tom.
The three boys set out, their skis gliding smoothly and quietly. After traveling uphill for a couple of hours, they rested by a snow-covered stream. “It sure is peaceful here,” said Boyd as he sat on a bark-stripped log.
Tom reached into his pack and pulled out a plastic bag. “Who wants some gorp?”
“I do!” said Randy and Boyd together.
“What did you put in it this time?” asked Randy.
“Raisins, peanuts, coconut, dried fruits, and bits of candy,” replied Tom.
They ate a couple of handfuls of gorp, sipped the cold water from their canteens, and relaxed a few minutes. “Are you guys ready to go?” asked Boyd anxiously.
The others nodded. Then they all put on their skis, checked the bindings, and set off toward Clear Falls.
After skiing a short distance, they stopped abruptly when Tom said, “Look! There’s a skier heading this way.”
“I wonder where his partner is,” said Randy. “It’s not safe to ski alone.”
“Hello!” called Boyd.
The man looked at them in surprise and skied toward them. “I didn’t know there was anybody else in this area. I’m heading toward Summit Ridge by way of Left Gully.”
But the gulley’s a common avalanche trail, Tom thought. “You can see the sunballs rolling down the slopes from here. There’s a lot of loose snow because of the afternoon sun. It wouldn’t take much to set off an avalanche,” he cautioned.
“Why don’t you come with us?” asked Boyd. “We’re heading for Clear Falls.”
“It’s a neat place,” added Randy.
“Thanks, but I’m going to stick to my route,” said the man, and he skied away.
“What are we going to do?” asked Randy. “We can’t force him to stay away from Summit Ridge.”
The boys reluctantly turned away from the retreating skier. But as they moved forward slowly, they kept glancing over their shoulders toward Summit Ridge, trying to keep the foolish skier in sight. His bright orange day pack looked like a small dot against the white snow. “He’s almost in the middle of Left Gully,” said Randy quietly.
Just then they heard a roaring sound from the direction of Summit Ridge and knew what was happening before they even turned around. “Avalanche!” whispered Boyd hoarsely.
Although no one mentioned it, they knew their own lives could be in danger from other slides that might be set off from the main slide. While Randy tried to watch and listen for secondary slides, Tom and Boyd turned back toward the main avalanche. Its initial force spent, the snow billowed high into the air as it swept into Left Gully.
After several seconds, Boyd yelled, “I see some orange on the north side of the gully!”
Three pairs of eyes strained as they tried to follow the orange spot sweeping downward—sometimes on top of the snow and sometimes below its surface.
“It’s stopping!” they all cried together.
“Remember where you think the orange stopped. I think it’s safe enough to check now,” directed Tom.
The boys skied quickly toward Left Gully, and in less than five minutes they reached the avalanche trail. Breathing heavily, Randy gasped, “I hope the man made an air space for breathing when he went under.”
“It’s a good thing the snow is light and powdery instead of wet and slushy. The air space won’t seal as quickly. Take your hands out of your pole straps. If another avalanche starts, we don’t want anything to drag us under. If we get caught, try to stay on your back and keep an uphill swimming motion,” said Tom. “Boyd, where did you see him last?”
“To the right where that pine tree stood.”
They glanced at the splintered remains of the tree. The avalanche had bent or shattered everything in its path. “Where did you see him last, Randy?”
“About ten feet below where Boyd saw him.”
“The same area where I saw him,” replied Tom. “Let’s start there. Turn your poles upside down so we can probe.”
They quickly removed their skis and began searching for the buried skier.
“How long has it been?” Tom asked, breaking the silence.
“Almost nine minutes since the avalanche began,” answered Boyd.
They shouted, then listened carefully as they searched, hoping to hear a noise from the buried man.
“I found a ski!” called Boyd excitedly.
Several minutes went by as the boys searched slightly uphill.
“I’ve found him!” Boyd said as he pointed to a gloved hand he had uncovered in the snow.
The boys dug frantically to uncover the skier.
“Is he alive?” asked Randy when Tom uncovered the man’s face.
Tom quickly checked. “He’s breathing OK. Looks like he made an air pocket. He has a bad cut on his head, though.”
“No sign of compound fractures,” said Boyd.
Tom bandaged the victim’s head wound while Boyd and Randy quickly treated him for frostbite and shock.
The man began to rouse and tried to lift his head. “Oh! My head,” he groaned. He looked at the three boys in surprise, then relief. “How did you find me?” he asked weakly.
“We’ll tell you later. Right now, we need to find out how badly you’re hurt,” said Tom.
After more questioning and checking, the boys were satisfied that the man wasn’t too badly injured. “Looks like we’ll be able to get you out of here ourselves,” said Randy. “It would take four or five hours for a rescue party to reach you.”
Tom glanced around warily. “We’ll have to get out of the area as soon as possible. Another avalanche could start anytime.”
The boys hastily constructed a stretcher from their ski poles and jackets and carefully started down the snowy trail. Several hours later, after slow and difficult travel, they finally reached their car.
“We’ll soon have you taken care of,” said Tom. “I’ll bet this has been a pretty painful trip for you.”
“It has. But it would have served me right if you’d left me up there in that snow hole when I didn’t pay any attention to your warning about an avalanche. I’m grateful to you, boys.”
“I can’t believe it’s still Saturday,” said Boyd. “So much has happened since morning.”
“It’s a Saturday we’ll never forget,” Randy added.
“And neither will I,” said the injured skier quietly. “Thanks to you.”

My grandma gave me a gospel journal when I was baptized. Whenever I write in it, I think about how many things Jesus does for us and how we should do more for Him. So every time I write in my journal I pray before and after to thank Heavenly Father.
Jessica B., age 12, Nebraska