Gospel Story Finder

The family, who set sail from Liverpool, England, in 1856 on the ship Thornton, welcomed a new baby boy just three days into the voyage. The Thornton had been chartered to carry 764 Danish, Swedish, and English Saints. They were under the direction of a missionary named James Grey Willie.
Six weeks later the Thornton sailed into New York Harbor. The Moulton family then boarded a train to make the long journey westward. They arrived in Iowa City, Iowa, in June 1856, which was the starting point for the handcart companies. Only three days before their arrival, Captain Edward Bunker’s handcart company had pulled away from Iowa City, taking many of the available handcarts.
About two weeks later, the Willie company was joined by another company of Saints, under the direction of Edward Martin. Church agents at Iowa City, who had worked hard to equip and send off the first three handcart companies, now had to struggle frantically to provide for an unexpectedly large body of late arrivals. They had to construct 250 handcarts before these Saints could continue their journey.
Every able-bodied man was put to work making handcarts, while the women made dozens of tents for the journey. Many of these amateur cart makers did not adhere to specifications but made carts of various sizes and strength, which would prove a handicap to them. Of necessity, the number of needed handcarts required that they be built out of green, unseasoned timber, and in some instances, using rawhide and tin for the wheels. Each cart carried food as well as the total earthly possessions of many of the Saints.
Often, 400 to 500 pounds (180 to 230 kg) of flour, bedding, cooking utensils, and clothing were loaded onto each handcart. Only 17 pounds (8 kg) of personal luggage on a cart was allowed each person.
Thomas Moulton and his family of 10 were assigned to the fourth handcart company, again under the direction of Captain Willie. It comprised over 400 Saints, with more than the usual number of aged folks. A report made in September of that year listed “404 persons, 6 wagons, 87 handcarts, 6 yoke of oxen, 32 cows, and 5 mules.”1
The Moulton family was allowed one covered and one open handcart. Thomas and his wife pulled the covered cart. New baby Charles and sister Lizzie (Sophia Elizabeth) rode in this cart. Lottie (Charlotte) could ride whenever the cart was going downhill. Eight-year-old James Heber walked behind with a rope tied around his waist to keep him from straying. The other heavy cart was pulled by the two oldest girls—Sarah Elizabeth (19) and Mary Ann (15)—and by brothers William (12) and Joseph (10).
In July 1856 the Moultons bade farewell to Iowa City and began their 1,300-mile (2,090 km) journey westward. After traveling 26 days, they reached Winter Quarters (Florence), Nebraska. As was customary, they spent several days there, mending carts and taking on supplies since there were no major cities between Winter Quarters and Salt Lake City.
It was so late in the season before the Willie company was prepared to leave Winter Quarters that a council was held to decide whether they should go or remain until spring. Some who already had been over the route strongly cautioned them against the danger of traveling so late in the season. But Captain Willie and many company members felt that they should go on because they had no accommodations to spend the winter in Florence.
With inadequate provisions, members of the Willie company started their journey again on August 18, thinking they could replenish their supplies at Fort Laramie (north of present-day Laramie, Wyoming). In the face of the warning they had received, they placed an extra 100-pound (45 kg) sack of flour in each cart and trusted that they would meet supply wagons sent out from Salt Lake City. However, the drivers of the supply wagons, thinking there were no more immigrants on the trail, headed back to Salt Lake City in late September, before the Willie company reached them.
In Florence, the Moultons found it advisable to leave behind a box of supplies because the load they had to pull for a family of 10 was just too heavy. By then, they had left baggage at the port in Liverpool, a box of clothing onboard ship, a trunk of clothing at New York City, and a trunk of supplies containing most of their personal belongings at Iowa City. Even on the trail, they looked for ways to ease their burden.
During their travels, the Moulton children went into the fields with their mother to glean wild wheat to add food to their rapidly diminishing supplies. At one point the family had only barley bread and one apple a day for every three members.

Collin was the next to submit his mission papers. But the weekend after he did so, he broke three vertebrae in a snowboarding accident in Idaho and was diagnosed as an incomplete quadriplegic. Now the work ethic he learned in the Mission Pines Nursery helps him in an unexpected way. He currently undergoes physical therapy seven hours a day and is making what his parents and therapists call “miraculous progress.” He intends to get back to 100 percent because a full-time mission is still his priority.

While teaching at BYU in 1978, Brother Dennis Rasmussen applied and was selected to study at the Jewish Theological Seminary of America. In the opening session, as he gave his name and university, Rabbi Muffs boomed, “You’re the Mormon! … Do you pay your tithing?” “Yes,” he answered. “Do you pay it with a joyful heart?” “I believe,” the rabbi said, “that joy is the essence of religion. There is nothing more fundamental to religious living than joy. … I am working on a book about joy.” Brother Rasmussen responded, “There’s a passage in the Book of Mormon that you might like. It says, ‘Adam fell that men might be; and men are, that they might have joy.’” Rabbi Muffs was profoundly touched and exclaimed, “I’ve found the text I’ve searched for all my life … in the Book of Mormon.” Turning to Brother Rasmussen he said, “Say it again, but not so fast.” As he repeated the familiar words, the rabbi’s eyes glowed in appreciation of this great truth he understood but had not heard so succinctly expressed.

Evan Stephen’s family came to Utah from Wales. When he was twelve years old, he was asked to join the choir. Evan borrowed music books and taught himself to read, play, and write music. In 1890 he was asked to direct the Tabernacle Choir. A conductor and composer, Evan Stephens has many hymns in our hymnbook and five children’s songs in Sing with Me. “O Bright Smiling Morning” (Sing with Me, G-9) and “Let’s Be Kind to One Another” (Sing with Me, B-68) are still sung by children today.

When I was a young boy, I spent most of my summer on the farm with my Grandma and Grandpa Pace in the little town of Hoytsville, Utah. My grandfather had a great sense of humor, and he was a tease. I loved to be around him.
He loved his family deeply. I remember him taking me into the living room and showing me a picture in the Church News. He and Grandma were standing in front of the Salt Lake Temple with their eleven children and their spouses. They had all gone through a temple session together for my grandparents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary. This had been the happiest day of Grandpa’s life.

In my English class we were having a debate about evolution. We easily wandered into the topic of religion. Some students started to ask what members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints believe. My teacher could not answer the questions.
So he said, “Aleesha, why don’t you tell us what you believe?” I knew that I could not turn this opportunity down. I stood up and told the class some of our basic beliefs. They asked a few questions, which I was able to answer. After class, one girl came up to me and asked me how to learn more. I gave her a Book of Mormon the next day.
The gospel has never made so much sense to me. Being able to share my beliefs with my peers at school strengthened my testimony so much.

Another question is “Where are we needed?” For 16 years I served in the presidency of the Houston Texas North Stake. Many moved to our area during those years. We would often receive a phone call announcing someone moving in and asking which was the best ward. Only once in 16 years did I receive a call asking, “Which ward needs a good family? Where can we help?”

Thanks to the love and patient teaching of my bishop, high school became a positive period in my life. Attending the Church high school changed my vision of who I was and what my life could be. When I graduated, I stayed in Mexico City. The first thing I did once I found a place to live was find the local ward so I could continue to have a place of refuge, a place where I could grow in the gospel.
A short time after that, I served a mission on Temple Square in Salt Lake City. I found great joy in sharing with others the truths that had given me a solid foundation in an otherwise turbulent time of life.

I lost my father during World War II, when I was four years old. I learned how to work because my father was not there and my mother gave us children assignments. I helped cook dinner for my family because Mother had to work. My older sister and brother had part-time jobs to help the family, and when I got older, I did too. I worked on a farm and with a fishing business.

A few months later Dad was at it again. It began when a notice came in the mail that one of the senators from our state, Senator Brown, would be in town to give a lecture about what was going on in Washington, D.C. When Dad mentioned that he was going to call this senator and invite him to dinner, we all begged him not to do it. Mom said senators don’t have time for such things. But Dad was undaunted (that’s one of the week’s vocabulary words) and called the senator’s office. He even got to talk to the senator.
The senator said he was sorry, but all his evenings were busy, so he couldn’t come to dinner. Now my dad is a quick thinker and just like he’d planned it, he said, “Well, then, how about coming to breakfast?”
Senator Brown is no match for my Dad, and he certainly was not prepared for that and couldn’t think of an excuse fast enough, so he said, “Yes.” He actually said he would come.
Before he came you can imagine what we had to learn. Did you know there are 435 congressmen in the House of Representatives, 100 senators in the Senate, that a senator is elected to a term of six years and a congressman for two? We were crammed full of facts, and we got Mom’s now famous manners and etiquette review.
The morning the senator came, a newspaper reporter did too. The reporter took our pictures with Senator Brown and wrote down all about how the senator was having breakfast with this family. It was kind of embarrassing and was even more embarrassing when the picture and article were in the newspaper.

During my junior year in high school, my friend had a brain aneurism and passed away the next day. Although I was a member of the Church, I still struggled. I had been taught my entire life that I could turn to Heavenly Father and the Savior for anything, but I never had to go through something like this before.
I cried for hours, trying to find something—anything—to give me peace. The night after her passing, I turned to the hymnbook. As I flipped through the pages, I landed on “Abide with Me; ’Tis Eventide” (Hymns, no. 165). The third verse stuck out to me:
Abide with me; ’tis eventide,
And lone will be the night
If I cannot commune with thee,
Nor find in thee my light.
The darkness of the world, I fear,
Would in my home abide.
O Savior, stay this night with me;
Behold, ’tis eventide.
This verse filled me with so much peace. I knew then that not only could the Savior stay that night with me but that He also knew exactly how I was feeling. I know that the love I felt through the hymn not only got me through that night but has also gotten me through many other trials I’ve endured.

In these canyons, Mosiah, Lao Moy, and many other faithful Saints worked tirelessly to divide the boulders with hand drills, wedges, and low-power explosives. The rough blocks were then transported by oxteam—four yoke required for each block—and every trip was a difficult three- or four-day journey to the temple site some twenty miles away.
Mosiah touched Lao Moy’s shoulder and brought him out of his reverie. “I’m going to set off the blast, Lao Moy,” he cautioned, and then shouted a warning to the nearby workers. Mosiah lit the fuse and sprinted with Lao Moy for cover.
Two other workmen held a team of oxen. One of them was fourteen-year-old Corey Atwood. Corey, a tough, stout boy, had long taken pleasure in cruelly funning Lao Moy because of his broken English, his long queue (braid), and his quiet and obedient ways. It was often Corey who kept Lao Moy’s bitterness alive, but the Chinese boy had held it all inside, even when the troublesome Corey had once grabbed Lao Moy’s queue and threatened to cut it off with a knife.
The blast erupted like the sound of cannon fire over a Virginia cottonfield, and the big piece of granite split in two. Cheers went up, and Mosiah scrambled up the rocks to view his accomplishment. Lao Moy started up, too, but was soon held fast by Corey, who held onto his queue.
“What’s the matter, Lao Moy,” he chuckled, “somebody got your tail?”
Suddenly something exploded inside Lao Moy with no less force than Mosiah’s dynamite blast. He turned and struck Corey in the face so hard that the big boy was lifted off his feet and thrown backward in front of the team of oxen. The wide-eyed Atwood looked as surprised as Lao Moy. He wiped at the blood on his mouth and started to lift himself up when a clap of thunder suddenly boomed. As the already spooked oxen lurched forward, Lao Moy sprang for Corey and rolled him out of the path of pounding hooves and grinding wheels.
For a long moment the two boys just lay there, staring at each other. Finally, a smile broke across Corey’s dusty, blood-smeared face. Lao Moy smiled back, and all the old bitterness in his heart seemed to melt away like ice in a summer sun. A new peaceful feeling assured him it would not return.
Lao Moy was forty-five years old when the Salt Lake Temple was finally dedicated on April 6, 1893; Mosiah, seventy-six; and Corey Atwood, forty-seven. Corey sat close beside Lao Moy as President Wilford Woodruff offered the dedicatory prayer. A friendship had grown between them, a friendship as strong as the temple granite they had helped to cut. And like that granite, it would last forever.

My mom suggested that I draw things related to the gospel. I chose to draw the Prophet Joseph Smith’s First Vision, and I really felt the Spirit when I drew it.
Ashwin V., India

Carter opened the back door and felt the wind blow him into the house. Brrr! He reached into his pocket. There it was—the money Sister Campbell had given him for shoveling snow.
“Hey, Madison,” Carter called to his sister. “Look what I have for the Christmas jar!”
“Cool,” Madison said. She reached on top of the fridge for the jar. Last year, when their jar was full of money, they’d left it on the front porch of a family whose father had lost his job.
Madison handed him the jar, and they both frowned at the coins inside.
“Where did all the money go?” Carter asked. “There’s barely anything in there.”
“There hasn’t been much all year,” Madison said.
Carter nodded. He knew money was tight for their family this year. “It’s almost Christmas,” he said. “What are we going to do?”
That night Mom got down the almost-empty jar. “Dad and I have been talking about Christmas and how we won’t have as many gifts this year,” she said.
“That’s OK,” Carter said.
“Yeah, we’ll still get presents from our aunts and uncles,” said Carter’s sister Kennedy.
“Well, actually,” Dad said, “we’ve been thinking about a new way to help others who have less than we do.”
“We thought we could ask Aunt Stephanie and Uncle J.J. to join us in giving this year,” Mom said. “We would use the money we would have spent on gifts for each other’s families and buy presents for a family in need instead.”
“You mean we won’t get anything for Christmas?” Kennedy asked.
“We’ll still have some presents,” Dad said. “But more important, we’ll have the gift of helping someone else.”
On Saturday the whole family—aunts, uncles, grandparents, and a few cousins—met to go shopping.
“Kennedy and Carter, we’ll shop for the little girl. She’s seven,” Mom said.
They walked past the sleds and scooters. Carter tried not to think about how much he would like to open those toys on Christmas morning. Instead, he picked out a pretty doll for the little girl.
Back at home, Carter couldn’t wait to show Grandma and Grandpa what they had found. “We got some boots and a doll and some pink gloves too!” he said.
“Very nice,” Grandma said.
“Never saw you get so excited about shopping before,” Grandpa laughed.
On Christmas Eve, Carter looked at the small pile of presents under the tree. Then he thought of all the gifts for the little girl, wrapped in shiny paper. He imagined her smile when she saw them under her own tree.
Just then Carter heard a knock on the front door. He jumped up to open it.
“Hi, Bishop Black,” Carter said. “Come in.”
The bishop stepped into the front room, smiling. He held a bag in his arms.
“This is from some people in the ward,” the bishop said, handing the sack to Dad. “We all love your family so much, and we want to wish you a merry Christmas.”
“Thank you,” Dad said. His eyes were filling with tears, and Mom was crying too.
Carter could hardly wait until the bishop was out the door to ask, “What’s in the bag? Can we peek?”
“We’ll see on Christmas,” Mom said. “I’m sure it will be wonderful.”
“But what’s more wonderful,” Dad said, “is that other people care about us and want to help.”
“Like we helped that little girl,” Carter said.
“Right,” Mom said. “Because helping each other, and remembering how Jesus helps us, is what Christmas is all about.”

She adds a personal experience of following the counsel of the Brethren: “I remember President Kimball as an apostle. Ten years ago he said, ‘Prepare yourselves and have provisions in your homes because difficult times will come.’ Several years ago Chile went through a difficult time when there was no food. The prophecy was fulfilled, and every time I remember this, I put more emphasis on obeying the counsel of the prophets.”

Elder Wilford W. Andersen
(16) Daughter recalls the faith of her father, who died of cancer.

On the day before Valentine’s Day, Elder Ronald A. Rasband gave a devotional address titled “What’s Not to Love?” at Brigham Young University–Idaho.
He taught that “love of God embraces both the Father and the Son” and motivates us to become true disciples: “To love God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength is life’s curriculum in becoming a true disciple. It is no lukewarm, casual effort with spotty results. … When your love of God consumes your service, interests, priorities, and affections, you are blessed, and joy attends those blessings.”2

Sister Eileen Taylor of the Oldham Ward, Ashton Stake, lives in an area which has many back-to-back terraced houses, with some being built between 1900-1929. Between the streets are alleyways with the original cobbled stone.
Some residents began throwing furniture and rubbish bags into the alley, turning it into an eyesore. This is when Sister Taylor and her friend Maureen decided to do something about it. They began to have meetings with councillors and environmentalists to make changes and improve the state of the alley.
After two years of concerted efforts, they obtained enough money to make an amazing transformation. Solar lamps were added to lighten the alley at night, specially made fold up benches were attached to the walls, printed and framed photographs of Oldham’s cotton industry and other local historical events were displayed. Frames were made and painted for hanging baskets, and the wooden back gates were painted to add colour to the area.
Eileen and Maureen were awarded a certificate from “Britain in Bloom” and became involved with the Greener, Cleaner Environment Exchange Programme. They were invited to speak in other areas, such as Preston, regarding the environment and its impact on health and well-being.
The alley became a colourful vibrant place where children could play safely and adults could sit and chat. The children who lived here said, “It makes us happy seeing the flowers!” and they enjoyed helping to water them.
When Covid-19 kicked in, things sadly reverted. In November 2023, this changed when one of the Oldham councillors encouraged the friends to apply for a small “Love Where You Live” grant, enabling the renewal of flowers and worn items. This meant many hours spent over several months, buying and transporting the items needed to re-create a beautiful environment.
They both enjoy sitting in the alley with their neighbours, watching the children play. It has created a special communal feeling. Two people changed the alley, and it became a beacon for other areas. A true success story.

My family’s faith began years ago when my father was 10. When the U.S. Army, under General Douglas McArthur, left the Philippines because of Japanese advancement, they set up a training/recreational base outside Brisbane, Australia. My grandparents were dairy farmers on the Brisbane River and their farm became the base for the encampment of the American soldiers.
One day, while my father and his sister were milking the cows, a soldier, Danny Roberts, offered to give them a hand. He was lonely and his thoughts were of his home on a farm in America. Danny stayed for dinner, and when asked about his religion, he told the story of the First Vision.
With great interest, my family discussed what they had been taught, and asked the question of most investigators: “Could a young boy of 14 really see God and Jesus Christ in our day?” The feeling surrounding the conversation caused great contemplation. Eventually they determined that if Moses and Abraham in years gone by could see Jesus, then why not a prophet in our day as well.
A flicker of faith began in the Maurer family. Did they know for sure that this was true? No. Did they receive a personal visitation from Heavenly Father? No. What prompted them to take the next step? It was the Spirit of God impressing on their minds that this felt right, and a hope that this, maybe, was true.
Faith brings a power and a desire, and it motivates us to action. So strong was the feeling of faith that they wanted to find out more. The nearest Church meetinghouse was over two hours away, but they attended the next Sunday and loved the Spirit they felt there. They loved the people who were so genuine and friendly.
There were no missionaries because of the war, but the leaders and members taught and helped strengthen their faith in Jesus Christ. The family added to their faith and built a stronger understanding of the plan of salvation. Through sacrifice, their faith in Jesus Christ gave them a power they had not experienced in their life to that point.
I have often reflected on that unique experience that my father, his two sisters, Tess and Julie, and their parents had. They sacrificed, endured hardship, and changed their lifestyle—all because they felt that the Lord led this Church, which provides the greatest chance for eternal salvation and lasting happiness. There is a power that comes when faith is exercised.

The company I was working for closed. I moved to Mexico City, and because I liked to work, I applied for a temporary job with an international editorial company. They wanted me to take an inventory, which was something of a specialty with me. I did the inventory in two weeks. They offered me a permanent job at good pay, and I accepted.
I didn’t speak English at that time. Our director, a man from Texas who didn’t speak any Spanish, said to my boss, “This boy is doing good work. If he knew English, we would pay more. We would send him to New York for training, and he could eventually be a manager here.”
When my boss told me that, I asked, “All I have to do is learn English?”
I was married by then. My wife spoke English because she was born in the Church colonies in Mexico. The first time I tried to speak a few words in English, someone told me not to try. It was not my gift.
Now I was motivated by the thoughts of improving my job position and having opportunities such as traveling to New York. I went to a language school and told them I wanted to learn to speak English as soon as I could.
They asked, “How much do you know?”
I said, “Not a word. Not even ‘Good morning.’”
They said, “We have an intensive course: two weeks, 16 hours a day. Eight hours here with teachers and eight hours in your home with tapes. It costs $1,000.”
I said, “I can do that. I will ask for my vacation, and I can study 16 hours a day for two weeks.”
I went to my boss and said, “I’m going to learn English in two weeks, and you have to pay only $1,000.” He laughed and said, “It is not possible. I learned in two years.”
I told my boss, “Ask the director to give me two weeks’ vacation and pay for the course. If after these two weeks I cannot talk to him in English, then you can take the fee out of my salary.”
He gave permission.
I went to the school. Every 45 minutes for eight hours, they changed teachers. They drilled and drilled the vocabulary, sentences, and conversations.
After eight hours in school, I went into the streets looking for English-speaking tourists to talk to. Then I listened to eight more hours of tapes.
The main reason I went to school was not to learn English. I really wanted to be a manager and go to New York City. Because I was highly motivated, learning English wasn’t hard for me. I enjoyed every second of it.
When I finished the 224 hours of study, I could communicate somewhat in English. I knew that the test was communicating with my director. If I couldn’t, I would have to pay back the $1,000. So I made up a plan. I would talk to him about all that I had learned. When I entered his office, I talked and talked for 20 minutes without letting him say a word. He said, “That’s enough. Send him to New York.” And I went to New York!