Gospel Story Finder

The moment I turned the corner and viewed the Celestial Room for the first time, I was hit by one of those shock waves that start at your toes and work their way up. It made me realize that I have a long way to go to obtain celestial glory.—Robert Pack, Pullman, Washington

Illustration by Amber Day
A cool spring breeze
billows the curtain sheers
as my husband and I
put on church clothes
and gather in the living room
with scriptures in totes.
A white cloth covers
a makeshift table
for sacrament emblems.
Two lone voices, slightly off key,
sing “I Stand All Amazed”
as the Spirit testifies.
We renew covenants,
read and discuss verses,
and with moist eyes,
share testimony and join our prayers
with others around the world
for relief from illness and fear.

The Latter-day Saints had many problems in Missouri. In the autumn of 1838, Governor Boggs told leaders of the state militia (army) to force the Saints to leave the state.
The Mormons must be treated as enemies.
Joseph and other Church leaders were arrested for crimes they did not commit. The militiamen mocked the prisoners and kept them out in the rain without any shelter.
The commander of the militia told General Alexander W. Doniphan to shoot Joseph and the other prisoners. The prisoners prayed that they would not be killed. Their prayers were answered.
It is cold-blooded murder. I will not obey this order.

It was after nightfall, when I was ready to cross the river on my return. The wind had freshened since the sunset; and the water beating roughly into my little boat, I headed higher up the stream than the point I had left in the morning, and landed where a faint glimmering light invited me to steer.
Here, … sheltered only by the darkness, without roof between them and the sky, I came upon a crowd of several hundred human creatures, whom my movements roused from an uneasy slumber on the ground.
The “faint glimmering light” that had guided him came from a candle that provided poor illumination for a woman tending a man dying of fever. Two little girls, sobbing, sat in the darkness nearby. Kane was to discover that this was a typical scene.
Dreadful, indeed, was the suffering of these forsaken beings. Cowed and cramped by cold and sunburn, alternating as each weary day and night dragged on, they were, most of them, the crippled victims of disease. They were there because they had no homes, nor hospital nor poor-house nor friends to offer them any. They could not satisfy the feeble cravings of their sick; they had not bread to quiet … hunger cries of their children. Mothers and babes, daughters and grandparents, all of them alike, were [camped] in tatters, wanting even covering to comfort those whom the sick shiver of fever was searching to the marrow.
These were Mormons, famishing, in Lee county, Iowa, in the fourth week of the month of September, in the year of our Lord 1846. The city—it was Nauvoo, Illinois. The Mormons were the owners of that city, and the smiling country round. And those who had stopped their ploughs, who had silenced their hammers, their axes, their shuttles and their workshop wheels; those who had put out their fires, who had eaten their food, spoiled their orchards, and trampled under foot their thousands of acres of unharvested bread; were [now] the keepers of their dwellings, the carousers in their Temple, whose drunken riot insulted the ears of their dying.
The party encountered by me at the river shore were the last of the Mormons that left the city. They had all of them engaged the year before that they would vacate their homes, and seek some other place of refuge. It had been a condition of a truce between them and their assailants; and as an earnest of their good faith, the chief elders … , with their families, were to set out for the West in the Spring of 1846. It had been stipulated in return, that the rest of the Mormons might remain behind in their peaceful enjoyment of their Illinois abode, until their leaders, with their exploring party, could with all diligence select for them a new place of settlement beyond the Rocky Mountains, in California, or elsewhere, and until they had opportunity to dispose to the best advantage of the property which they were then to leave.
[But] the enemy had only waited till the emigrants were supposed to be gone on their road too far to return to interfere with them, and then renewed their aggressions [against the Saints remaining in Nauvoo].

On the night Ana Mercedes Torres returned from a trip to the Guatemala City Temple, her house burned down. “The members helped me with clothes, with everything,” she says. “They were there that very night and are still continuing to help.”

When assigned to write a theme or a research paper, the usual reaction by most students is a glorious “Ugh!” Even adults often react the same way. Nancy Wudel of Orem, Utah, recently made quite a study about how to write. Here’s what she learned.
Most people lack self-confidence in their writing ability, but in reality they can write as well as nearly everyone else and probably have a handful of fresh ideas. The key to writing is to select an idea that inflames you or excites you or intensely interests you. If you’re enthusiastic about it, you’ll probably make the reader enthusiastic. The next important suggestion is to make the topic specific enough to be covered adequately in the time and space allotted. The most common remark teachers make on returned papers is “This subject has possibilities, but it is too general.”
Think through your subject and then outline—mentally or on paper—the sequence of ideas and points that must be handled. Once you begin to write, do not try to imitate a great literary style. Use your own language. Don’t be too wordy, and use the dictionary for both spelling and meaning. Even adults constantly misuse and misspell the simplest of words.
And finally, says Nancy, remember that there is such a thing as grammar. For a change of pace, here are thirteen “Un-Rules for Writing” that identify the most common mistakes made in writing:
Un-Rules for Writing
Don’t use no double negative.
Make each pronoun agree with their antecedent.
Join clauses good like a conjunction should.
About them sentence fragments.
When dangling, watch your participle.
Verbs has to agree with their subjects.
Just between you and I, case is important, too.
Don’t write run-on sentences they are hard to read.
Don’t use commas, that aren’t necessary.
Try to not ever split infinitives.
It’s important to use your apostrophe’s correctly.
Proofread your writing to see if you any words out.
Correct spelling is esential.

When Lindo and Annabelle decided to get married, he was making enough to support only himself. At first her parents, also members of the Church, were hesitant to permit the marriage, he says. “But I promised them that we would do our best to obey the commandments and that the Lord would bless us. They decided to trust me.”

Annabelle had a good job at a medical center. “But the prophet had said that, if possible, the mother should not work outside the home,” he says. “We trusted the counsel of our leaders for her not to work.” They were blessed with a baby boy, Kahivhan—and now Lindo has a good job, and they have a nice apartment.

In 2012, I lost my brother with whom I had a very close relationship, and in 2024, shortly after she returned from her mission, I lost a daughter. Both deaths were very painful to me, and they challenged my belief in God’s love. I was consoled by messages from our prophets and apostles, which reminded me of God’s love for me. Many leaders have had similar or more challenging experiences and yet remain faithful and grateful to God’s love.

Many of the Christmas carol concerts were attended by civic and interfaith leaders, many of whom also took part in the services. Some concerts and nativity festivals served as opportunities for the collection of food donations, including one for a charity for vulnerable people in the local city centre. Some congregations invited local school groups to see the array of nativities. One building was used for the town’s orchestra to practise. Stake choir members from Leicester England Stake took the carols out into the community to sing at 14 different residential and care homes throughout the Christmas period.

Christmas morning in our house came early. Who can stay asleep when there are such exciting things to look forward to? I was awake by 2:00 a.m. I knew I wasn’t allowed to wake up my parents then, so I lay in my bed and dreamed. I was eight years old, and my one Christmas wish was for a Molly doll, a doll with dark hair and glasses, which looked a lot like me. I had dreamed about the doll so much that by Christmas morning, I had no doubt I would receive it.
Slowly the minutes ticked by. At 6:00 a.m., just when I thought I couldn’t stand it any longer, my two younger brothers and I ran to wake up my parents. Then we stood at the top of the stairs and waited for my dad to say that he was ready with the video camera. My mom held my eight-month-old sister, Anna, in her arms.
My dad called up the stairs, “Okay, I’m ready,” and it was as if he had started a race. We all tumbled down the steps at a breakneck speed. I had my eyes trained on the place where I knew Molly would be sitting, but she wasn’t there. I stopped in my tracks and took in the whole family room in a single glance. No, she really wasn’t there. I was so disappointed I could have sat on the bottom step and just cried, but I didn’t. After all, it was Christmas morning. I found the present Santa had left me instead. It was very nice, and I played with it a lot, but I still longed to hold a Molly doll in my arms.
Fast forward nine years. I was 17. The doll-playing phase of my life had passed. It was October, and the whole family was gathered around the table for breakfast. Since that Christmas when I was 8, my family had added three more kids, with one more on the way.
“I need someone to clean out the flower beds,” my dad said amidst the general commotion made by seven kids and two parents. “You know, clean up the dead flowers and then plant tulips for next spring.” He was looking directly at my brother, leaving no doubt as to whom he intended that someone to be. “I’ll pay whoever will agree to do it.”
Ben did not seem fazed by the incentive of money, for he did not volunteer his services. Someone else did.
“I’ll do it,” Anna, who was now nine, said with determination.
Over the next several weeks, I vaguely noticed that Anna seemed to acquire a number of new jobs. I didn’t pay much attention. “She probably needs money for Christmas presents, or maybe she’s saving for something,” I thought.
One day she and I were cleaning the room we shared when she asked me a question.
“Amy, if you could have a doll, which one would it be?” she asked.
“Oh, I would still want Molly,” I said absently. I didn’t think too much about the question. She asked me questions like that all the time, and I knew she also wanted a Molly doll for Christmas this year.
Christmas morning came. I still got excited about what the day would hold, but I also liked my sleep. I could now see why my parents refused to let us get them up before 6:00 a.m.
When the time came, my little brothers and Anna were so excited they were practically dancing at the top of the stairs. At Dad’s command, we all ran down.
I took in the family room with a sweeping glance, and, wonder of wonders, Anna had received Molly! I was excited for her and surprised that I did not feel even the slightest twinge of jealousy. It didn’t bother me that she had received the doll I had once wanted so much. We shared the joy of her gift.
After an uneventful breakfast, we all wandered out to the living room to open more presents. Anna was jumping up and down and looked as though she were about to burst.
“I want Amy to open the present from me!” she exclaimed. She was so excited she could barely contain herself. I wondered what on earth it could be. “Maybe it’s something she made,” I thought.
From behind the Christmas tree, Anna pulled out a long, oblong box. I was confused.
“Is this from Anna?” I questioned. “Just from Anna?”
“It’s just from Anna,” Mom answered.
As I began to slowly remove the wrapping, I became even more confused. It was a doll box. Anna was enjoying every second of my confusion.
As I pulled off the lid, my breath caught in my throat. There, nestled snugly inside the box, was a Molly doll identical to Anna’s.
“Oh, my goodness,” I breathed. How could this be from Anna? I looked to my mom for an answer.
“Remember all of the work Anna did?” Mom questioned.
I did remember, and the tears ran down my cheeks. With sudden clarity I remembered all the jobs Anna had been doing that I had barely noticed. Even more than the gift, the impact of how much my sister loved me made me sob.
Anna ran up and threw her arms around me. I held her tight and continued to cry. Soon other family members were crying too. You could feel the love that was in the room. Gently, I lifted the doll out of the box. I had never dreamed that I would actually receive this doll—and from my nine-year-old sister, of all people! Anna’s smile was scattering sunshine all around the room. Everyone was smiling and grinning through their tears.
As I held my doll, I realized I would not have traded this moment for anything. If I had received the doll when I originally wanted it, I never could have shared this Christmas in this way with Anna. Isn’t it funny how things happen? Before, I just couldn’t understand why I didn’t get what I wanted. Now I had received an even more precious gift—my sister’s loving sacrifice for me.
I would think about all these things for years to come. But right now, two sisters were running off to play with their new dolls.

After hearing the stake patriarch speak in sacrament meeting, I felt inspired to ask my bishop for a recommend. Then the patriarch and I set a date. As I entered his house that morning, I knew I was on the right path. We told each other a little about our lives. After that, the patriarch laid his hands upon my head and began to prophesy about my life. I could feel that it was all true and that it was really God that was speaking through the patriarch. I wept. I learned many things about myself that day.
Jared Edge, 18Layton, Utah

I continued to read extensively about the Church, and the missionaries continued to encourage me. Finally I decided to put Moroni’s promise to the test (see Moroni 10:4–5). I wanted to know whether the Book of Mormon came from God or whether it was just a nice novel.
One day in June 1995 while I was alone at home, I knelt at the foot of my bed and asked Heavenly Father, “Is the Book of Mormon true, and if so, when should I be baptized?” Suddenly I felt in my heart and in my mind a clear voice that told me, “The Book of Mormon is true.” I then had a clear impression when to be baptized. A week later I prayed again and received the same answer. My heart was bursting with joy. I now knew that God had spoken to me: the Book of Mormon was inspired of God and Joseph Smith was a true prophet.
Finally, on September 17, 1995, I entered the waters of baptism, a year and a half since I started meeting with the missionaries. Soon our daughter, Aba Chiara, became interested in the Church and was also baptized. In January 1997 our family was sealed in the Bern Switzerland Temple.

Olá! My name is Alice, and I try to SHINE MY LIGHT by SHOWING GRATITUDE!
I live in Brazil with my parents and sister and brother. My sister, Julia, and I play the piano for sacrament meeting in our ward.
One Sunday, a man named Brother Stahlke gave us a present. He said it was a gift to thank us for the music we played on Sundays. When we opened the box, we found a special kind of flute inside! I put the flute together and started playing. I was enchanted by the sound.
Soon I started playing hymns on the flute. I wanted to do something to thank Brother Stahlke for the gift. So I practiced the hymn “How Great the Wisdom and the Love” (Hymns, no. 195). I asked my dad to take me to Brother Stahlke’s house so I could show him that his gift helped me discover a new talent.
When I played for Brother Stahlke, he was very happy and emotional. He told me that he had a dream about this hymn the night before! I felt the love of God for him and for me.
When we show gratitude, the Lord blesses us with happy feelings from the Holy Ghost.

When wandering the corridors of Shoalhaven Apartment complex in Takapuna, New Zealand, one can easily identify which flats are occupied by senior missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They each have a hand-crafted wooden sign on their door with the phrase, “Kia Ora,” a traditional M?ori greeting for welcome, good health, hello, cheers, good luck, best wishes, etc.
These signs were all made by Jiries Giacaman, known to many as “The Woodcarver.”
In 1987, he moved from Bethlehem, where his family has lived for more than 700 years and made New Zealand his home. His brothers and son own a wood shop “just across the road from the Nativity Church” in Bethlehem in which his father used to work.
When asked how he learned his craft, Jiries said he “learned from my father and skilled old carvers of Bethlehem—hard workers that have been following the footsteps of Jesus, and these carvings became part of us.”
In answer to how long he has been doing this, he noted, “Total of 55 years of carving—22 in Bethlehem with my parents and 33 in Auckland.”
Jiries starts his days at sunrise, (5 a.m. in summer and 7:30 in winter), as he says that is the best time to work. His shop is filled with his original creations, many of which are religious in nature, reflecting his Christian beliefs.
Jiries scours the countryside looking for available wood, which is often stored in the bed of his old pickup truck. He notes, “I always look around for New Zealand native wood to recycle, and it breaks my heart to see it sold as firewood with the other exotic wood. Sometimes I have to buy the whole lot to save some pieces for my work.”
He also grows his own wood, including olive trees, which he prunes, then dries for use in his carvings. He likes working with olive wood, because of its grain, smell, ease of cutting, and the reminder of home.
Jiries says, “You have to work according to the piece of wood. You have to respect the movement.”
He and his wife, Marcelle, make a good team. She traces the patterns onto wood which he cuts out. She also writes “New Zealand Made” in neat cursive on most of the finished items and runs the shop.
As a signature finishing touch, Jiries carves two small ferns on many of his pieces, representing the national plant of New Zealand.
Many senior missionaries have visited Jiries and Marcelle over the years and count them as friends.
“There’s an affinity there,” says Alisa Gubler, a senior missionary serving in the Pacific Area office. “It’s not just the beautiful carvings, and it’s not just because they are delightful people. Their focus on creating beautiful things for others really strikes a chord.”
For 55 years, Jiries Giacaman has been doing just that—taking unorganized matter in his hands and molding it into something of beauty.

In Peru, Sister Gong and I met Salvador and his siblings. Salvador and his siblings are orphans. It was Salvador’s birthday. The Church leaders and members who faithfully minister to this family inspire me. “Pure religion and undefiled … is this, To visit the fatherless and widows,” “succor the weak, lift up the hands which hang down, … strengthen the feeble knees.”

One winter day, I thought back to an experience from my boyhood. I was just eleven. Our Primary president, Melissa, was an older and loving gray-haired lady. One day at Primary, Melissa asked me to stay behind and visit with her. There the two of us sat in the otherwise-empty chapel. She placed her arm about my shoulder and began to cry.
Surprised, I asked her why she was crying.
She replied, “I don’t seem to be able to encourage the Trail Builder boys to be reverent during the opening exercises of Primary. Would you be willing to help me, Tommy?”
I promised Melissa that I would. Strangely to me, but not to Melissa, that ended any problem of reverence in that Primary. She had gone to the source of the problem—me. The solution was love.
The years flew by. Marvelous Melissa, now in her nineties, lived in a nursing facility in the northwest part of Salt Lake City. Just before Christmas I determined to visit my beloved Primary president. Over the car radio, I heard the song, “Hark! the herald angels sing; Glory to the newborn King!” (Hymns, 1985, no. 209.) I reflected on the visit made by wise men those long years ago. They brought gifts of gold, of frankincense, and of myrrh. I brought only the gift of love and a desire to say thank you.
I found Melissa in the lunchroom. She was staring at her plate of food, teasing it with the fork she held in her aged hand. Not a bite did she eat. As I spoke to her, my words were met by a benign but blank stare. I took the fork in hand and began to feed Melissa, talking all the time I did so about her service to boys and girls as a Primary worker. There wasn’t so much as a glimmer of recognition, far less a spoken word. Two other residents of the nursing home gazed at me with puzzled expressions. At last they spoke, saying, “Don’t talk to her. She doesn’t know anyone—even her own family. She hasn’t said a word in all the years she’s been here.”
Luncheon ended. My one-sided conversation wound down. I stood to leave. I held her frail hand in mine, gazed into her wrinkled but beautiful countenance, and said, “God bless you, Melissa. Merry Christmas.”
Without warning, she spoke the words, “I know you. You’re Tommy Monson, my Primary boy. How I love you.” She pressed my hand to her lips and bestowed on it the kiss of love. Tears coursed down her cheeks and bathed our clasped hands. Those hands, that day, were hallowed by heaven and graced by God. The herald angels did sing. The words of the Master seemed to have a personal meaning never before fully felt: “Woman, behold thy son!” And to his disciple, “Behold thy mother!” (see John 19:26–27).
Outside the sky was blue—azure blue. The air was cool—crispy cool. The snow was white—crystal white.
From Bethlehem there seemed to echo the words:
How silently, how silently
The wondrous gift is giv’n!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of his heav’n.
No ear may hear his coming;
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive him, still
The dear Christ enters in.
(“O Little Town of Bethlehem,” Hymns, 1985, no. 208)
The wondrous gift was given, the heavenly blessing was received, the dear Christ had entered in—all through the doorway called love. I declare this solemn truth in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Colonel Thomas L. Kane, in a speech before the Historical Society of Philadelphia, gave this graphic picture of Nauvoo:
“A few years ago, ascending the upper Mississippi in the autumn, when its waters were low, I was compelled to travel by land past the region of the rapids. My road lay through the Half Breed tract, a fine section of Iowa, which the unsettled state of its land titles had appropriated as a sanctuary for coiners, horse thieves and other outlaws. I had left my steamer at Keokuk at the foot of the lower falls, to hire a carriage and to contend for some fragments of a dirty meal with the swarming flies, the only scavengers of the locality.
“From this place to where the deep water of the river returns my eye wearied to see everywhere sordid vagabonds and idle settlers, and a country marred without being improved by their careless hands. I was descending the last hillside upon my journey, when a landscape in delightful contrast broke upon my view. Half encircled by a bend of the river, a beautiful city lay glittering in the fresh morning sun. Its bright new dwellings [were] set in cool green gardens ranging up around a stately dome-shaped hill, which was crowned by a noble marble edifice, whose high tapering spire was radiant with white and gold. The city appeared to cover several miles, and beyond it, in the background, there rolled off a fair country chequered by the careful lines of fruitful husbandry. The unmistakable marks of industry, enterprise and educated wealth everywhere, made the scene one of singular and most striking beauty” (Memoirs of John R. Young, Utah Pioneer, 1847, Salt Lake City: The Deseret News, 1920, p. 31).

Only One Woof • Gyp and Sweep were brothers and best friends. And the only time in eight years that Gyp barked was when Sweep won the sheepdog trials.James Herriot5 years and up

I heard some bad words, which made me feel uncomfortable. Once I was home, I prayed for help to forget the words. Heavenly Father answered my prayer.
Emree H., age 10, Oregon, USA

A couple of years ago as Sister Dickson and I arrived at the Provo Missionary Training Center to speak with the missionaries, the MTC president asked if I would tie my tie for the missionaries to help them understand that they could handle the challenges that come with missionary service. I considered his request and adjusted my talk to cover some of what has been mentioned in this article.
As I was about to conclude, I invited four missionaries in the front to come forward for a little race at tie tying. One asked if they should use just their left hand, but I suggested they would need both hands. As you can imagine, the missionaries were quite excited when I won.