Gospel Story Finder

I really like fishing because I can get out in nature and just get away from life and be calm. I started going when I was about 10 or 11. I caught a really big fish, and that got me really excited to go out fishing with my dad. Now my dad and I compete in tournaments pretty often, and I’d like to become a professional bass fisherman someday.
To get really good at fishing, you have to spend time on the water. You have to try to educate yourself as much as possible by doing things like watching videos and talking to as many people as you can, and then just going fishing. It takes a lot of practice.
Just like with fishing, if you want to get a testimony and maintain it, you have to keep practicing—keep reading the scriptures and going to church and going to seminary and studying.
I’m the only member of the Church in my school. I drive to another town every morning for seminary where we have about 20 students. It’s been hard being the only member in my school, so I’ve just had to separate myself from some things. Fishing gives me something positive to do so I don’t have to feel like I have to be involved with other bad things.
Josh A., 16, California, USA

Margaret Judd Clawson (pictured at age 18)

“The night before we left, … Henry Ridgeley, came to bid me farewell,” wrote Margaret. “Under our trysting tree we each vowed eternal constancy—for four years, at least.”

Eternal constancy gets hard when there are several nice young men in your company. Soon Margaret, who was 17, was eying another boy.

“He used to say such lovely things to me—told me that I was beautiful and intelligent, and even went so far as to say that I was amiable, something I had never been accused of before. He told me that I was the only woman he ever loved and that we were just suited to each other. I began to believe him, and when he proposed, what could I say but ‘yes.’ Well, the course of true love did run smooth, at least until we got into the Valley. Then we had the usual lovers’ quarrel but not the usual making up. In a short time he let me know that another girl appreciated him, if I did not.”1

Our family lived in Hamburg, Germany, during World War I when food was rationed. City-dwellers often tried to purchase food from farmers, who sometimes had a little surplus. When I was fourteen years old, my mother gave me money for a railroad ticket and sent me to the country to try to buy food.
After a two-hour train ride, I arrived at a village where I began walking door to door. Though I visited more than forty houses, no one would sell me anything.
I was determined not to return home empty-handed and decided to walk the 4.5 kilometers to the next village where the train did not go. After walking about forty-five minutes and visiting all the houses along the way, I found a farmer who sold me forty-five kilos of potatoes. I could not believe my luck! The most I had hoped for was some butter or a few kilos of bacon.
The farmer lifted the sack of potatoes crosswise onto my shoulders, and I started back the way I had come. Before long, I realized the difficulty of my task—the potatoes weighed at least as much as I did. If I dropped my load onto the roadside and rested, I feared that I might not be able to lift it back onto my shoulders.
In the midst of this dilemma, I recalled my mother, who had taught me the scriptures and the power of prayer. I remembered an episode in the Book of Mormon where the Nephites, who were in bondage to the Lamanites, asked the Lord to lighten their burdens. The Lord had answered their prayers, and it occurred to me that the Lord might also lighten the weight of my burden. (See Mosiah 24:15.)
I began to pray. Instantly, I felt as if the load had been taken off my shoulders. I was able to walk with ease all of the way to the train station without resting.
At the station, another miracle occurred. Village police had the authority to confiscate any food found on passengers. Many people tried to hide their food, but there was no way I could hide the forty-five kilo sack of potatoes. However, as I boarded the train, nothing was said and I was allowed to take the potatoes home to my mother.
My search for food brought my family the physical nourishment we needed during a difficult time and developed in me an unshakable testimony that the Lord hears and answers prayers.

I cut out the picture of the Barranquilla Colombia Temple and drew my family inside (Dec. 2019). I want my family to be together forever!
Lane S., age 10, Iowa, USA

Our family had a “season of service.” My brothers and I made puppets for children in an orphanage. We also took chocolate-chip cookies to some firemen and cleaned up at a lake. I’m glad we could serve!
Tobin P., age 9, Idaho, USA

Knock, knock, knock. Bleary-eyed, I looked at the alarm clock next to the bed. 5:55 a.m. Pound, pound, pound. It sounded like a mallet was being used to beat down the front door of our condo in downtown Nashville. My husband stirred next to me but was too tired from our late night assembling toys and stuffing stockings to get up. It was early Christmas morning, and the warm lights on the tree in the corner greeted me as I stumbled, still half asleep, to the door.
I opened it to see two young police officers with alarm on their faces. They quickly informed me that there was a public safety threat in the area, and we needed to evacuate immediately. Shocked and a bit exasperated, I said, “It’s 20 degrees outside, it’s Christmas, and we have kids—is this really necessary?”
At the mention of my children, one of the officers froze. “You have kids? Please, get them and leave as quickly as you can.” I could see the fear in her eyes.
Right then the Holy Ghost delivered a very clear, stern warning to my heart, and I knew we needed to get out immediately. I hurried to inform my sleeping husband that we had to leave. I was met with the same questions and groggy reluctance I had just expressed myself, when the Holy Ghost’s warning returned to my heart more urgently than before. I began to panic. I had no idea what threat my family was facing, but I knew we were in real danger.
I pulled my four-year-old from his bed while my husband went to get the baby from the crib. Carrying my confused, sleepy son down the hall in my arms, I covered his eyes to preserve the surprise of what Santa had left for him—the scene I thought we would be running toward as soon as we opened our eyes, not running from. As we hurried to the front door, I glanced back with longing at that scene adorning our condominium: Christmas presents glittering under the tree, backed by hanging stockings; gingerbread houses proudly decorated and on display; the kitchen full of our favorite holiday foods, ready for a Christmas feast. All the makings of a joyful celebration for our family.
Still in our pajamas, we bundled our children in whatever coats and shoes were in the entryway; then I grabbed the scantily prepared diaper bag and walked out. I closed the door, expecting to be gone only a short time and eager to return to the magical morning we had planned with our boys.
Moments later, we were in the car pulling away from our building. As we drove down the street, we noticed the flashing lights on emergency vehicles illuminating downtown and looking almost festive against the unusual Christmas snow that had fallen overnight.
Suddenly … boom! In stunned terror, we turned to watch as a blazing fireball engulfed our street and filled the sky. A bomb had detonated in front of our building.
I took this photo of our street moments after the explosion. The bomb detonated 30 feet from the front door of our building.
There were flames, smoke, and hundreds of broken windows, alarms blaring, cars exploding, water pouring out of unknown places, and our beautiful row of historic brick buildings crumbling to the ground.
In an instant, we were left homeless.
Our only physical possessions were now reduced to the clothes on our backs, the diaper bag, and the car we were driving.

Sister Yee with two sisters in Micronesia who are raising children abandoned by parents.
As I’ve been reflecting on the blessings of the covenant bond we have with God, I thought about my assignment to visit the Asia North Area.
I had the privilege of traveling to the small islands of Chuuk in Micronesia, about 1,500 miles (2,400 km) southeast of Japan. Two of the sisters on Weno, Chuuk, have given their lives to raise children who have been abandoned by their parents. These two sisters felt it was important to raise these children in the gospel. One of these sisters is single and working full-time as a school counselor.
I shared with them President Nelson’s message to the sisters of the Church, which is that you sisters are loved, necessary, and precious.
The beautiful single sister who is raising her nieces and nephews broke down in tears and said she had not felt precious lately; she had felt forgotten. But she testified she felt of God’s love and awareness for her in the prophet’s words that she was indeed “precious,” and she knew it was true. She felt God’s healing love; she felt relief.
The Lord has said, “Know ye not that I, the Lord your God, have created all men, and that I remember those who are upon the isles of the sea?” (2 Nephi 29:7).
These sisters are known to their Heavenly Father and Savior. They are not alone. And neither are you and I in our trials and challenges. The Lord sent me roughly 8,500 miles (13,700 km) by plane, train, car, and boat to bring God’s love and relief to “the one” on the isles of the sea. And so He will find you and me on our personal islands where we might feel alone in the concerns and the burdens we carry in our hearts. He is present and prepared to bless, guide, and comfort us.

As a young missionary in the Republic of South Korea, I was impressed with the quality of many of the Korean people’s marriages. When I was told that the marriages were arranged by parents, I wondered how two people could cleave so well without having first developed romantic love toward each other. Because of the narrow view I had at the time of commitment in marriage, I thought romantic feelings were the sole binding force.

But I learned some basic principles about committed love as I observed those marriages. I learned that when two people work with each other to produce a home, when they struggle to keep children fed and healthy—then love occurs. When illness or adversity strikes and one spouse sacrifices to help and care for the other—then they learn to love. When husband and wife are progressing together spiritually and emotionally—then love grows. Love, I learned, comes as the marriage, and the marriage partners, develop.

I was sitting down at the dinner table trying to find something else to go with my lunch when my eyes glanced across the mail, which was sitting close to my plate. I noticed a magazine with the top blocked off by bills and other mail. I looked closer and recognized one of the people on the front cover. I quickly forgot about lunch and pickled up the magazine. Just as I thought, it was the New Era. I exclaimed to myself, “They finally put the article about my youth conference in the New Era!” I flipped through the pages, trying to anticipate what the article was going to be like. When I found it, I started to read. I soon was blocked out from the rest of the world with my memories of this wonderful youth conference. I remembered how much fun I had had and how I hated to leave. And then I thought to myself, “And to think I didn’t really want to go.” I’m so thankful I didn’t stay home. Like Charmaine said, it is something that I will never forget.
I am so thankful the New Era decided to print an article on this conference. I will keep this issue close to my heart to remind me of the fun I had when I was a youth.

I told Elder Neal A. Maxwell I would come up here without my cane. He had it ready for me, but I said, “No, I can get by without it. I’ll show you I have the faith that it will happen.” As I get older and as the years roll on, I’m honored to have this opportunity and to have the ability and the desire to stand and witness to you of the blessings of the gospel that have come into my life during these past many years. I don’t know if I’m the oldest one in this great hall today, but I am now in my 97th year. When it was announced this morning that this is the 172nd semiannual conference of the Church, I thought some people in their younger years could look upon 172 as a long, long time. I would remind you of the 100th anniversary of the Church. At that time, Ruby and I were married. It was 1930. This is the 172nd anniversary of the Church, and we have been married 72 years. I’m only mentioning that to you so you mathematicians can remember 172; it comes pretty easily.

The kilometers click by on the car’s odometer. After a few hours, you stop checking the odometer and start watching the clock. By Australian standards, the drive from Adelaide to Broken Hill, in New South Wales, is not that long. But it’s long enough that you look for any break in the monotony of the scenery.
A big pile of fluff at the side of the road flashes by and disappears in the rearview mirror. Abandoned feather duster? Dead emu, maybe? Roadkill started to become interesting about 100 kilometers ago.
Once in a while you pass a sign and a dirt road leading over the distant horizon to some station or ranch—places so isolated that the Flying Doctor makes house calls, mail is delivered by plane, and children get their school lessons by radio.
Finally! In the middle of nowhere, there’s Broken Hill, with houses, and real trees, and grass. After that initial feeling of relief, your first thought is, Why did people build this town in the middle of nowhere? The street names give your first clue: Tin Street, Silver Street, Cobalt Street. According to a tourist brochure, Broken Hill is “the site of one of the richest mines the world has ever seen.”

The fact that Apii is alive is part of the reason her family joined the Church. When she was eight years old, she was desperately ill with asthma. Missionaries gave her a blessing, and she was healed literally moments later. “I was really weak,” says Apii. “I couldn’t do anything. I hadn’t been able to eat or drink. As soon as the missionaries said amen, I was all right. I opened my eyes and asked for something to drink. Everybody sort of laughed because they were so relieved. I concentrated on the blessing. I knew it would make me better. I was about nine years old when we joined the Church.”

Sister has learned a short Christmas poem.
Grandpa will sing “Silent Night.”
Baby can ring her new Santa bell,
While I play my drums and recite.
Mother will show us the quilt she just finished,
While Grandma knits socks in her chair.
Father will read of the first Christmas Eve,
And brother will end with a prayer.

Lights! Camera! Action! Will Norman Mormon (yeah!) be able to foil Sam Snitch (hiss!) and rescue Lora Lovely from his evil clutches?
The Cody Second Ward, Cody Wyoming Stake, filmed the answer to this and other pressing questions, with the Aaronic Priesthood and the Young Women getting into the act. The script for “Norman Mormon Bites the Dust!” was written by two members of the Laurel class, but the whole group helped brainstorm the plot, characters, and dialogue.
In addition to acting chores, the young people worked on lettering, make-up, props, costumes, or filming committees. Except for the horses that were of the stick variety, everything was authentic. The film was a special high-speed film made to run slightly faster and look a little grainy. The setting—at nearby Trail Town—was an old, rebuilt western street complete with wagons, boardwalk, and cabins filled with brass beds, old quilts, antique chests, chairs, and a player piano. A costume shop loaned them many old, gay nineties costumes. Of course, the hero dressed in white and the villain in black. And even their fake mustaches were made of real hair. The only requirement to act in the play was a willingness to be a ham!
After the action shots were completed, the film crew, working with their specialist, took still photos of written conversation placards. Cards included “Ladies, please remove your hats” and “Please keep your laughing to yourself. It might disturb others.” An introduction shot of a “roaring” toy tiger was also added. The stills were spliced into the film as it was edited. A talented musical specialist helped work out a sound track of old-time songs and ragtime music appropriate to each scene.
The melodrama premiered at a two-ward party, and if enthusiastic hurrahs, yeahs, hisses, and boos from the audience are any indication, the film was a huge success. But that wasn’t the end of Norman Mormon. The young people immediately made plans to show the film at the local nursing home.
Everyone involved in “Norman Mormon Bites the Dust” agreed that it was a fun way for young people to learn new skills and create unity.

As the Christmas season drew near, Nathan anxiously shared some news with his family at dinner one evening.
“Gard told me today that he has not had a Christmas tree since he was a boy.”
With that announcement, the family soon outlined a plan of action—Gard would have a Christmas tree!
On Saturday, Nathan’s family drove to the nearby forest for their traditional Christmas-tree hunt. In the past their goal had been to search until they found a perfect blue spruce for their home, but this year everyone felt more excitement than ever before at finding the right tree for Gard. A perfect little spruce caught Nathan’s eye, and everyone approved. They took the tree home to prepare for Gard’s Christmas surprise.
On Monday for family home evening, Mom helped Nathan, Angie, and Eric make ornaments out of felt, glitter, ribbon, buttons, and beads. Then they decorated the tree and loaded it into the back of their truck.
Nathan had never felt such excitement as they huddled together around the tree before knocking on Gard’s door. As soon as they heard the click of the latch, everyone started singing, “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.”
Gard’s eyes lit up with excitement, followed by a few tears of joy as he invited them in. He danced from one foot to the other as he helped Nathan and Dad place the tree in front of his window that faced the street. Gard was so excited about his Christmas tree that he left it standing and decorated until March! Nathan and his family felt a warm peace in their hearts as they observed the soft glow of Gard’s tree lights each evening throughout the winter.

Before Yondonjamts was baptized and confirmed, he prayed constantly that his father would join the Church too. He was very thankful when his father decided to be baptized. After his baptism and confirmation, Yondonjamts knew it was important for him to prepare to become a deacon in the Aaronic Priesthood. It was also important for his father to receive the priesthood. This young man prayed often that his father would receive the priesthood, and he did. Everyone in the family agrees that Yondonjamts is a faithful young man who knows the importance of prayer.

Many of you are aware that a short time after October conference, my dear wife, Frances, suffered a fall, which left her with a broken hip and a broken shoulder. After two successful surgeries and several weeks of hospitalization, she was able to return home. She is doing well and continues to make progress toward a full recovery. She was able to attend the general Young Women meeting last Saturday and plans to attend a session or two this weekend. In fact, at the last minute she said, “I’m going today!” And she’s here! She joins me in expressing our deep gratitude to our Heavenly Father and to all of you for your prayers and your well wishes in her behalf.

“That Ye May Know,” by Gary L. Kapp“Arise and come forth unto me, … that ye may know that I am the God of Israel” (3 Ne. 11:14).
Gary L. Kapp
“I don’t remember ever not having a testimony of Jesus Christ, but it wasn’t until I arrived in the mission field that I began a serious study of His life, especially in the Book of Mormon. At that time, I truly began to feel the burning in my heart that comes from a sure knowledge that Jesus is the Savior of the world and the Son of God.
“All of my life I have wanted to give as much of my time and talent as possible to sharing my testimony through art. I sincerely hope my love for the Savior is evident in my art and that it will somehow strengthen the testimonies of those who view it.”

Illustration by Adam Howling
“Hey, Trace, where did Mom go tonight?” I called out as I walked through the dirty kitchen. It looked like a tornado had blown through—dirty dishes were all over the place.
“I don’t know. She and Dad went to a dinner party with some friends,” replied the youngest of my 11 brothers and sisters as he watched a basketball game.
“So, is this food up for grabs?” I asked, hoping to find something in the pots and pans.
Wesley, number 10 of the 11, came bounding down the old, battered stairs, and as he ran to see the latest basketball score, he said, “Mom made it for us and left for the party. She said she’ll be back late and to not make too much of a mess.”
“Too late for that,” I mumbled. “Man. Good thing it’s not my night to clean up.”
The Christmas season was in full swing, and having our whole family in town made for a heavy amount of stress that seemed to wind up in Mom’s shoulder muscles. That’s when the idea came to me. It had been a while since I’d done anything but dirty the house—so why not surprise Mom and make it less dirty for a change?
After having a bite to eat, I tried for a miracle. “Wes, Trace, what do you think about cleaning this place up for Mom?”
“You can do what you want. I’m watching the game,” Trace said. He sounded bugged by the mere thought of trading dishes for the game.
“I knew it was pointless to ask you two,” I grumbled, feeling annoyed. The giant mound of dirty dishes was daunting, but someone had to do the job.
Usually when Mom asks me to clean the kitchen I whine for at least five minutes before grudgingly carrying out her wish. I typically react to her pleas for help with pride and selfishness. So this time, at first I started cleaning because I was looking for her praise. But soon I felt a joy that I can’t explain in doing the work without being asked.
As I began to slosh dishes around in the sink and squeeze the pineapple-scented dish soap into the steaming water, something unexpected began to happen.
Slowly, as if trying to hide the fact that he was even thinking of helping, Wesley wandered in and said, “I’ll dry if you wash.” Not wanting to scare him off, I nodded without looking at him.
“OK,” I said, “but the element of surprise is everything, so let’s move fast.”
Two minutes later, Trace walked sheepishly into the kitchen and said, “I’ll wipe the counters and sweep, but that’s it. And if I miss anything cool in the game, I’m going to be mad.”
“No prob,” I answered. “The faster we go, the faster we’ll be done. If Mom could only see us now, I think she’d have a heart attack.”
“Yeah,” they both said in unison.
“I was just thinking. What if we did the math?” Wes said. “There are 365 days in a year, times 13 of us, and then add three meals a day. I can’t even work those numbers. I’m just glad I’m not Mom.”
“It’s 14,235,” declared Trace triumphantly.
“Oh, and then times it by each utensil and cup on the table. I’m beginning to feel depressed. I don’t even know how Mom handles us all.”
“Hurry, here they come!” Trace yelled just as we caught sight of the car’s headlights. “Quick, hide!” I ran to my position at the top of the stairs, just out of eyesight, listening intently for Mom’s response to the sparkling countertops. As I waited, I sat thinking about what had just happened. We’d sacrificed half an hour that would have been wasted in front of the TV. How simple it was to give so little and have it mean so much.
The hum of the car’s motor cut out. The car doors opened and thumped shut. As the kitchen door swung open with a burst of icy winter air, we heard these rewarding words, “Oh! Heavenly angels have been at work!”

President Dieter F. Uchtdorf spoke about a man who influenced others for good by reading his scriptures at lunchtime, even though some made fun of him for doing so.