Gospel Story Finder

In 1962, 11 of my high school classmates from Preston, Idaho, and I joined the National Guard. Basic training was like a vacation until we got to Fort Ord, in California.
We needed one another in order to survive our new military surroundings and the onslaught of the other recruits, many of whom used reprehensible language and seemed to have no morals. I sought every opportunity to be with my Latter-day Saint buddies for support from the harassment of our fellow recruits.
After basic training, a couple of my school classmates and I stayed on at Fort Ord to continue training in field communications. Soon, two of the tough, stout recruits in our training class began having a contest to see which one could say the most detestable and vulgar things. Each morning when they arose, they would shout vulgarities so everyone in the barracks could hear their filthy language.
One morning I found myself in front of them and, longing for relief, demanded that they stop. Embarrassed, they turned their ugliness on me, calling me several names. Then they warned me that they had better not catch me alone.
Later that morning, as I was picking up trash, I found myself alone between barracks. Suddenly I saw someone coming my way. It was one of the recruits who had threatened me.
I prepared for the worst as he approached me. But he began telling me how much he respected me and wished that he had the courage to live as I lived. He admitted that his parents would be disappointed if they knew how he was living. He said he would never again use vulgar language in my presence. Then he turned and left.
As I passed the next barracks, I saw the second fellow coming my way. He approached me and apologized for the way he had been acting. He also told me how much he respected me, saying he hoped that someday he could live as he had been taught.
One weekend when my Latter-day Saint buddies were on leave, these two young men invited me to go to a movie with them and their group. As we walked together, someone swore. The two stout recruits told the group that there would be no swearing while I was with them.
After the movie, when the group decided to go to a club for some drinking, my friends excused themselves, explaining that they were going to spend the evening with me. Once we were alone, they asked me about my family and the kind of church I belonged to that would help young men develop the standards by which our Latter-day Saint group lived. I answered their questions and told them about the Church.
I learned that heaven sustains courage and blesses those who stand up for what is right.

The activity day girls in the Marlborough and Framingham Wards, Massachusetts, USA, made a quilt for the victims of the Oklahoma City tornadoes. They cut and sewed 162 squares!

When Elder Holland was a young dad, he moved across the country with his wife and two children to go to college.
They packed everything in their little car and started driving. After only 34 miles, the car broke down. Elder Holland looked under the car’s hood, but he didn’t know what was wrong. He walked three miles back to the nearest town to get help.
When he got there, a kind man gave him a ride back to his car. They drove Elder Holland’s car very slowly back to a larger city to get it repaired.
The mechanic checked the car for two hours, but he couldn’t find anything wrong. So Elder Holland and his family set off again. At exactly the same spot as last time, the car broke down again!
Elder Holland started the long walk for help again. The same kind man gave him a ride and helped bring the car back to the larger city. Elder Holland felt worried and discouraged.
Thirty years after this happened, Elder Holland drove by the same spot, this time in a car that worked. He remembered how hard that time was for his family. He wished he could tell his younger self, “Don’t give up, boy. Don’t you quit. You keep walking. You keep trying. There is help and happiness ahead—a lot of it—30 years of it now, and still counting. You keep your chin up. It will be all right in the end. Trust God and believe in good things to come.”

Over and over, young men and women have told me that the most important factor in their choosing sexual purity was their testimony of Jesus Christ. When I asked how one young woman gained that testimony, she said, “I saw how important the Church was to my parents. As they’ve shared personal spiritual experiences with me, I’ve seen tears of testimony in their eyes.”

One of the Brethren went to a conference and brought back to me a very simple note from a missionary.

“Dear President Monson, You shook hands with me when I was 17. You told me to go on a mission. I’m here in Seattle on my mission. Thank you.” Think of it—the influence of a handshake.

As I prepared to speak in a sacrament meeting in the Linstead Branch, Kingston Jamaica District, I turned to Gospel Principles, one of the books that helped me understand the law of chastity many years ago. As I searched for the topic “chastity,” I saw something I had never noticed before. In the table of contents, the law of chastity is listed under the heading “family salvation.” A realization hit me like a burst of light! This law was designed specifically to protect, not just individuals, but also the most basic and important unit of heaven and earth—the family. I realized that, if kept, this law will do more than any other commandment in protecting and strengthening the family. What a blessing! What a glorious blessing!

Michelle Kielmann Hansen grew up in Greenland and now lives in Denmark, both places that have a culture of “showing kindness and being helpful,” she says. In many aspects, she says, the places where she has lived have helped make leading a Christlike life easier.
In other ways, though, she says it’s difficult to help people understand that being a disciple of Jesus Christ isn’t simply a periodic activity but rather a way of life. She said that her peers, including two nonmember roommates, often have difficulty understanding a lifestyle that involves “all those hours at church,” temple attendance, scripture study, and monthly fasting. Living a disciple’s life becomes even more difficult when she encounters bad media, crude language, or other negative external influences. “With those influences,” she says, “it can be very challenging to remember that I’m actually a disciple of Jesus Christ.”
Sister Hansen admits that it’s hard to be a young adult in a world whose morals seem to be constantly shifting. In some cases, the decision between right and wrong is clear-cut. In other cases, it’s not. But, she says, even though the situations she encounters are sometimes complex, the scriptures are simple.
“It’s more difficult to be a disciple of Jesus Christ if you don’t know Him,” Sister Hansen says. “The scriptures are tools for us to get to know Him. Every time I didn’t know how to act, I automatically turned to what I had been studying in the mornings and evenings,” she says. “Studying [the Savior’s] life and teachings helped me to better understand that He did what He did because He loves every one of us.
“As I learned more about Him, I understood that being a disciple of Jesus Christ means knowing who He is. And that helped me act in ways that He taught. Discipleship is to know [and choose] what Jesus Christ would do in any situation—therefore, it’s important to study His teachings frequently.”

During my sophomore year in high school, we were studying the Book of Mormon in seminary. After we read Moroni 10:3–5 [Moro. 10:3–5], our seminary teacher challenged us to pray about the things we were studying. I really enjoyed learning about the Book of Mormon, so I took him up on his challenge.
That night I read Moroni’s promise again and got down on my knees to ask my Heavenly Father if this book was really true. I liked the stories, but I just wasn’t sure if it was true or not.
First I got in tune with the Spirit and started my prayer. At one point in the prayer, I asked Heavenly Father if the Book of Mormon was really true. All at once I experienced a strong, loving feeling in my bedroom, and I got warm all over. The next thing that happened really shocked me. It felt like someone wrapped their arms around me and gave me a big hug.
I am now a missionary on the Navajo Indian Reservation in the New Mexico Albuquerque Mission. I wouldn’t be out here if it wasn’t for the answer I received that night. Now I know the things I prayed about are true. And now I want to share that knowledge with others.

It was Christmastime, and the three young Rogers girls, LeOla, Ruby, and Alice, were excited. Not because of any special gift they were expecting to receive, but because of the one gift they were planning to give.
Christmastime was always exciting in Snowflake, Arizona, but this year needed some extra cheer. Grandma Rogers had died a short time earlier, and Grandpa Locy—we all called Grandpa Rogers by his middle name—was sad and lonely.
A kind and gentle man, he loved every child in the town, and they loved him in return. He always had an encouraging word to give, or a piece of candy to share with any child who asked for one. In fact, he was affectionately known as “Candy Man.” Whenever the neighborhood children saw him, they ran to him. He was always cheerful—until this year, anyway.
Grandpa’s sadness settled on everyone. Something had to be done! How could anyone be cheerful when Grandpa Locy was so unhappy? A family council was called. For several nights the girls and their parents discussed the problem. Finally they came up with an exciting plan.
“Let’s not have any gifts this year!” LeOla exclaimed. “Instead, let’s give something extra special to Grandpa to make him happy.”
“What if we helped him do something nice for the children in town with the money we save?” Ruby suggested. “We could make a Santa suit for him, and on Christmas Eve, he could pass out the candy and toys we’ll buy for him to give to the children.”
Alice, the youngest of the three girls, added, “I want to help pick out all the toys and candy!”
LeOla, Ruby, and Alice spent the next few days poring over the Sears and Roebuck catalog, ordering lots of candy, and sorting through every small toy that the children might enjoy. They made one list for the girls and another for the boys. Their mother’s job was to make the Santa suit for Grandpa. She was an excellent seamstress, and it was soon ready. Father’s part was to put an ad in the Snowflake Herald: “Attention all children eight years old and under: Come to the Rogers’s place on Christmas Eve to see Santa and receive a gift.”
The day the gifts arrived was the day the work really began. The Rogers girls and their best friends became a squad of gift wrappers. Paper and ribbons flew as each gift was adorned in bright Christmas array, and candy bags were filled. What fun it was! Best of all, the family could see that their plan was working—Grandpa was pleased that he had been asked to dress as Santa and pass out gifts.
Each year, the Rogers family festooned a huge blue spruce with hundreds of colored lights. The festive tree was on one side of the front yard and across the street from the Social Hall. The three girls particularly enjoyed lighting it each night. All the Christmas programs and dances in the area were held in the hall, and the family hoped that their lighted tree added to everyone’s Christmas spirit.
Long evenings were spent making decorations for the old tree. Mother popped corn, and the girls strung it into long strands. They also made great chains of colored paper. These were hung carefully around the tree’s boughs after the lights had been put on. LeOla, Ruby, and Alice took turns decorating and then redecorating the tree until it was just right. They made sure each limb was trimmed perfectly before Father turned on the lights.
At last Christmas Eve day arrived. A feathery snow began to fall, blanketing everything in fresh, bright white. The Rogers girls thought the tree looked even more beautiful than before as its colored lights reflected in the snow.
After supper, LeOla looked out the window. It was only five o’clock, and the street was filled with people! There was a line of fathers with children on their shoulders, and mothers with their arms filled with toddlers, all waiting for a chance to see Santa. Others milled around, just enjoying the sights. It stopped snowing, and the stars began to peep out from behind the clouds. Upstairs, behind the snow-topped rails of an uncovered porch, carolers began to sing. Below them, Leon and Thalia Kartchnew were strumming along on their guitars.
At last Grandpa, dressed in his bright red suit, came out of the house and stood behind the snow-laden picket fence under the tree. The soft strains of the Christmas carols drifted down over the crowd, and a feeling of peace and quiet sifted among the people.
As each child came up to Santa, he handed him or her a gift. There were bracelets, lockets, or dolls for the girls. For the boys, a top or some marbles. Each child was also given a sack of candy and nuts.
LeOla could not recall seeing so many smiling faces before. All the children were happy—except one.
A young boy burst into tears of great disappointment when he saw his gift. “But Santa,” he sobbed, “I wrote you for a pocketknife!”
“Santa” knew that the young lad’s father had died several years before and that his mother was quite poor and probably couldn’t afford the gift he wanted so badly. Putting his hand on the boy’s shoulder, he whispered, “I will leave it in your stocking tonight!”
Although it was quite late when the last visitor left, Grandpa Locy changed his clothes, put on his heavy winter coat, and trudged out into the now-bitter night air. He crunched a path through the snow to the town’s only general store. By the time he arrived, the storekeeper and his family were already in bed.
Grandpa Locy knocked on the door until the sleepy-eyed storekeeper opened the door and let him in to make his purchase. Then he headed for the boy’s home on the far side of town. Though he had smiled many times in the past few days, his biggest smile came as he thought of the little boy’s happiness upon finding the pocketknife in his stocking.
The next morning, there were no gifts waiting under the tree for LeOla, Ruby, or Alice. There were no new dolls, no tea sets, and no frilly new dresses. There was, however, one gift for the entire family—Grandpa Locy’s smile! And many, many years later, when the Rogers girls were grandmas, they would remember and tell their own grandchildren about the very best Christmas that they ever had!

I saw in the days and months that followed their being sustained that those stake presidents were lifted up to their callings. I have seen the same miracle in the service of President Monson as he received the call to preside as the prophet and President of the Church and to exercise all the keys of the priesthood in the earth. Revelation and inspiration have come to him in my presence, which confirms to me that God is honoring those keys. I am an eyewitness. They are keys of a priesthood which is, in the Lord’s words, “without beginning or end.”

The scriptures say the Sabbath day is a holy day, a joyful and delightful day, a day of rest, a day to celebrate.1 But a few years ago, while in my late teens, I found Sundays miserable. Instead of peace, I felt stress. Instead of joy, sadness. Instead of hope, guilt. I had a full-on case of the Sabbath blues.
Each Sunday morning, after an embarrassing amount of time hiding under my covers, I’d finally admit it was indeed Sunday and get dressed for church. At church, I’d review my past week. During the sacrament, I would add up all my failures, never finishing before the first speaker got up. The rest of church became a battle of staving off tears as the guilt intensified with the new regret of feeling so rotten at church.
The afternoon was much the same. I’d feel guilt about past choices, stress about future choices, and sadness about present circumstances. Without school and extracurricular activities to distract me, I would spend my time dwelling on negative thoughts.
After listening to, reading, and then re-reading President Russell M. Nelson’s October 2015 general conference talk about how the Sabbath is a delight, I prayed for peace on and love for the Sabbath rather than the misery I currently felt.2 And an answer came.
I felt prompted to shift my focus from my woes to my relationship with Heavenly Father and the Savior. Rather than ponder my failures, I took time to ponder Their involvement in my life.
When negative thoughts came, I repeated to myself what I knew and believed about God and Jesus Christ: I am a child of God. He loves me. Jesus Christ is my Brother, and He atoned for me. They want me to be happy and return to Them. The Sabbath is a gift from God.
I began to exercise faith in this testimony.
Changing my focus led me to also reconsider how I approached the sacrament. For so long I had treated the sacrament as time to punish myself. But that’s not its purpose. The sacrament is a sacred ordinance to renew our covenants. It is a chance to become clean again through the atoning power of Jesus Christ. Focusing on the ordinance and the covenant with faith and a repentant heart, I realized that the sacrament offered peace as I accepted the gift of forgiveness, kept my covenants, and received the Lord’s Spirit (see D&C 20:77, 79).
Thinking of Christ’s Atonement during the sacrament brought another gift to my mind. Not only could I be forgiven, but I could also receive healing because my Savior took upon Himself my pain and infirmities (see Alma 7:11–12). Through His Atonement and the sacrament, I could find peace and strength on the Sabbath—or on any other day—rather than stress and sadness.
And I found that peace. My Savior is there for me on Sundays and always!
This wasn’t a one-week fix. It was a struggle, and it took time. “But if we hope for that we see not, then do we with patience wait for it” (Romans 8:25). I kept working on my focus and praying to feel love for the Sabbath.
In time, I did find peace and delight on that holy day, but I couldn’t quit there or I’d again slide into the Sabbath slumps. Each week requires diligent focus on the Savior and the purpose of the Sabbath, but I know the promise of peace and joy is true.

Waimate and Heeni Anaru yearned to be part of the first group to travel to the temple. Yet the task seemed impossible because of the family’s poverty and the required cost of 1,200 New Zealand pounds for the trip—a hefty sum. They would need a miracle.
For years, the Anaru family followed the prophet’s counsel and gathered their genealogical records. Those records then sat in stacks while the Anarus waited for a miracle to occur. Their son, Wiwini, knew of his parents’ faith: “Mother never ever despaired that she would [not] someday kneel with Father at a temple altar.”
A miracle did occur. Waimate won a contract from the New Zealand government for a large land-development project. His income from this project provided sufficient cash paid in advance to cover the cost of the trip to Hawaii. Waimate and Heeni overcame their fear of ocean travel and journeyed to Hawaii with a group of 14 Saints in May 1920. They received their endowments and were sealed. The impossible had happened.

In one of the large cities of this world there is a man standing at the window of his apartment, looking at the gray colors of a rainy day. “This is not an ordinary day,” he reflects to himself as he watches the two young men, who have just paid him a visit, disappearing on their bicycles at the end of the road. He is becoming aware of how richly his life has been blessed since he began to listen to the spirit radiated by these two humble ambassadors of the Lord from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. This truly is not an ordinary day, for on this day he was allowed, by invitation of the two young missionaries, to make a covenant with his Heavenly Father for the remission of his sins through baptism and to receive the Holy Ghost for himself.
“I always thought that I was not a big sinner,” he reflects. “I have always provided for my family. I was a good father, and I was a good husband to my beloved late wife.”
He remembers how his life was brought into a new perspective when he, for the first time in his life, learned from the two young men how to truly pray—not to say just a few nice words, but to open up his heart in sacred communication with his Heavenly Father. Oh, what great joy came into his heart as he learned from the missionaries that he is indeed literally a child of a loving Heavenly Father! With an ever-increasing light within himself, he now understands the true purpose of the pain, frustrations, and strugglings of his earlier life that became an instigating influence to make him think, to make him search, and to make him become an earnest seeker of the truth so that he was ready to listen as these two young men came knocking at his door.
Oh, how much he has learned since that first sacred experience of opening his heart and speaking to his Father! Suddenly he understands the deep, meaningful purpose of his life. He is now aware, in the depths of gratitude, of the many precious blessings of every day with its opportunities to serve and help. With an ever-increasing awareness of the need for constant repentance, he is able to fill all the hours of his life with the presence of this Spirit and, therefore, with great joy. He feels with each new day as if the sun of a beautiful spring morning is quickening and refreshing his soul after a long, dark, Arctic night.
In the light of this Spirit within him, he sees the people of this world as they are—running around in their vanity, in their vain ambitions, and in their lack of awareness of the greatness of God and His plan of salvation. He is learning to understand that the only burden, the only pain, and the only frustration of a human being is the burden of wrongdoing—the burden of sin. “Oh, what a sacred experience,” he reflects, “to learn about myself and the majestic request by the Spirit to grow in the dimensions of honesty, to grow in the dimensions of exercising the pure love of Christ, to be able to forgive, to have patience, to understand, and to overcome laziness, procrastination, and other cravings of the carnal mind.”
He understands that God was always there but that he himself was blinded—blinded through the traditions of his environment. He reflects on the truth of the words of the prophet Isaiah:
“Behold, the Lord’s hand is not shortened, that it cannot save; neither his ear heavy, that it cannot hear:
“But your iniquities have separated between you and your God, and your sins have hid his face from you, that he will not hear.” (Isa. 59:1–2.)
He can now see that no matter how numerous the sins of a human being can be, they all can be traced back to one single source or origin—the laziness, complacency and blindness that keeps us from looking and searching for our God and King in every phase of our lives and becoming totally His disciples. For the first time he understands the words of the Lord, Jesus Christ, when He said:
“If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me.
“For whosoever will save his life shall lose it: and whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it.” (Matt. 16:24–25.)
He understands that the Lord knew there could be no compromise made. When we are not fully dedicated, we cannot truly stand in His light and be His disciples.
“And another also said, Lord, I will follow thee; but let me first go bid them farewell, which are at home at my house.
“And Jesus said unto him, No man, having put his hand to the plough, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God.” (Luke 9:61–62.)
In light of this Spirit within him, he is not afraid of what his friends and relatives might think of him now that he has taken upon himself Christ’s name. Perhaps they will not understand, and maybe they will make fun of him. But he feels now how easy it will be to love them anyway, because he understands them better than ever before; and he will do everything that is in his heart to show real interest in them, that they might be filled with light to penetrate the darkness of their lives.
He understands, in the light and the power of the Holy Ghost, what a privilege it is that the Lord allows and commands us to pay a full tithe and invites us to give service, that we can show through our actions every day how much we love our Heavenly Father.
No, it is not difficult to say good-bye to the world with its craving for lust, its thirst for pleasure, and its quest for power, leaving the world groping in the mire of egoism. He understands that, as he is placing his life in the hand of Heavenly Father, he has now become a disciple of Christ, and he has experienced the sweetness of the divine light in its fullness—the light and power of the Holy Ghost. No longer can he be satisfied by the light he can find in this world. No, he will not be able to forget his Savior and Master anymore!
He appreciates so much the special privilege of being invited every Sabbath day to renew his covenant in the sacred setting of the sacrament. The power of this light gives him the knowledge that he will always listen to that Spirit that teaches a man to pray, about which Nephi, the prophet of whom he has just learned, testified: “For if ye would hearken unto the Spirit which teacheth a man to pray ye would know that ye must pray.” (2 Ne. 32:8.)
He now understands that by the authority of this Spirit he was led to grow in reverence, that the words of his prayers became fewer and fewer until he became quiet and was changed from someone who was speaking to someone who was listening—listening to the still, soft, sweet voice whose word is quick and powerful, and “sharper than a two-edged sword.” (D&C 6:2.)

Fourteen-year-old Farid Bensouna of Orleans is another young man who talks about his father.
“I was four when Papa joined the Church,” he says. “When I turned eight, he baptized me. We do lots of church things together. We were a father-and-son team during the branch Ping-Pong tournament. Dad’s a branch clerk, and I always wait for him after sacrament meeting so we can go home together. Sometimes on Sundays, we talk together and read the scriptures.”
Besides his father, Farid has another hero, “a young man like me.” That young man is Joseph Smith.
“I love to hear the story of the Prophet and the golden plates. I know that Jesus talked to him. I know that the record he translated is true. And Joseph was a 14-year-old boy. That means I can do great things, too.”

Have you ever had opportunity to do something for which you felt unprepared or inadequate but that you were blessed for trying?
I have. Here’s one example.
Some years ago, Elder Richard G. Scott, a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, kindly invited, “Gerrit, would you like to watercolor with me?”
And that brings us back to Elder Scott’s invitation.
“Elder Scott,” I replied, “I would like to become more observant and creative. I thrill to imagine Heavenly Father paints with billowing clouds and every hue of sky and water. But”—here was a long pause—“Elder Scott,” I said, “I have no skill to watercolor. I worry it may frustrate you to try and teach me.”
Elder Scott smiled and arranged for us to meet. On the appointed day, he prepared the paper, paints, and brushes. He sketched some outlines and helped wet the paper for me.
We used as a model his beautiful watercolor titled Campfire at Sunset. As we painted, we talked about faith—how as we face the light and warmth of a campfire, we leave the darkness and uncertainty behind us—how on sometimes long, lonely nights, our campfire of faith can give hope and assurance. And the dawn does come. Our campfire of faith—our memories, experiences, and heritage of faith in God’s goodness and tender mercies in our life—has strengthened us through the night.
My testimony is—for those who seek, allow, and live for it—the dawn of faith, sometimes gradually, will come or can return. The light will come when we desire and seek it, when we are patient and obedient to God’s commandments, when we are open to God’s grace, healing, and covenants.
As we began painting, Elder Scott encouraged, “Gerrit, even with one lesson you will paint something you will want to keep and remember.” Elder Scott was right. I treasure the watercolor of our campfire of faith Elder Scott helped me paint. My artistic ability was and remains limited, but the remembrance of our campfire of faith can encourage us in five ways.

Her sister, Liduvina, recalls that their parents were constantly involved in sharing the gospel. For a time in the 1970s, the family home, where the aged Eulogia still lives, served also as a meetinghouse on Sundays. In addition to the more than 60 descendants of Delio and Eulogia in the Church, there are more than two dozen other people who joined because of their example of Christlike living. Liduvina says her parents were also examples of honesty, teaching their children never to do anything of which they would later be ashamed.

I was walking through a parking lot with my mom and two sisters when we saw a homeless man. I asked my mom if we could go into the store and buy him something to eat. My sister and I bought a candy bar and gave it to the man. It made us feel really good, because he was hungry.

A noble wife continued for 37 years to teach her children to honor their father, for she promised that he would one day honor his priesthood. This promise was realized, and he became a diligent and faithful follower of the Lord.

The 14-year-old boy stood up there all alone
at his brother’s farewell.
He smiled at us,
but then we saw his smile
had tears behind it.
He took a step back,
perhaps to regain his composure,
and he wasn’t smiling.
His face went red
and one teardrop—was it
dew distilled from the heart?—
one tear ran down his cheek.
He stood for a moment mute—
dad came up behind him,
hugged him,
whispered some quiet words
in his ear,
stood by him.
As his shoulders began to shake,
I was crying too.
When he finally was calm, somehow he shone,
and he said, “I just want my brother to know
that I really love him a lot …”
He turned to sit, and his father
followed. The 14-year-old boy
who cried at his brother’s farewell.

Yet, even though we want to overcome feelings of loneliness, we still want to reserve some time every day for privacy and for being alone. Someone asked a Hindu how he was able to maintain the great serenity and peace he had about him, no matter what pressures he faced. His answer: “I never leave my place of meditation.” Every morning he meditated for thirty minutes. Then in his mind and heart he never left that place in his mind—he maintained the spirit of that place throughout the day amid his pressures.