Gospel Story Finder

It was Christmas Eve. We had just gotten our new pajamas, a tradition in our family. The kids played Christmas music and everyone danced around. No one was grumpy; everyone was happy, smiling, and having fun. Knowing that I was expecting another child, I was thinking about how much I loved our family, about how excited I was to have one more child on the way.
Then I felt a distinct impression. The Spirit whispered to me that one of our family members wouldn’t be with us next year.
Later that night, as my husband, Tim, and I were putting gifts under the tree, he told me that he had felt an impression earlier that evening that one of our family members wouldn’t be with us for our next Christmas Eve. I told Tim I had received the same impression.
Before we left on a post-Christmas trip to visit family out of state, Tim talked to our children about being safe while we traveled. We were troubled by the thought of losing a family member on our trip, but we felt reassured that all would be well. We traveled, had a great visit with family members, and returned home safely.
Soon it was time for my regular prenatal checkup. The doctor delivered sad news. An ultrasound confirmed that the baby had died two weeks before the visit.
As Tim and I drove home, devastated, we realized that two weeks before had been Christmas Eve. We don’t know exactly when the spirit enters the body, but Tim and I feel that our baby got to be with our family, if only for a moment, on that Christmas Eve with everyone dancing around and being happy. We felt so much joy, and we feel the baby was a part of it. When he left us, we believe he became the member of our family who wouldn’t be with us the next Christmas Eve. I believe that someday we’ll get to see our baby again. I’m grateful for the peace that brings to me.

Ronald Millet of Long Beach, California, has a book of remembrance of his own that is complete with certificates to prove his birth, baptism, graduation from Primary, and ordinations in the Aaronic Priesthood, with achievement awards for each year. He has many special events recorded that show his progress thus far in his spiritual journey.

As a dedication to his father, who died three years ago, he is compiling and writing a very remarkable life story in the form of a book of remembrance. Through a lively correspondence with his dad’s former friends and personal interviews with relatives and old friends, he has built a beautiful memorial and testimony of the life of his father. Many testimonies and incidents that might have been lost are now written down and illustrated with available pictures. What a literal treasure.

This book has been arranged in chapters dealing with the different periods in the life of his father, such as childhood, schools, mission, and church activities. Ronald said, “I look forward to each day that I am able to spend with my father’s life story. I have uncovered so many accomplishments that I did not know of before. I hope I can carry on his honored name.”

With no family or friends, Todd, 23, is one of the loneliest people at the Desert Development Center for mentally and physically handicapped people. A product of drug-using parents, he has never had a single friend, a single visitor. On this day Sean White, a teenager in the Las Vegas Stake, took his hand and did not let go of it all day. He was patient and kind to Todd, and stayed by his side, talking to him and offering his friendship. A simple thing. But after Sean left, Todd quietly told a staff member, “This is the best day I have ever had.”
Sean was one of 300 teenagers from the Las Vegas Stake who participated in a service-oriented youth conference. They conducted a field day patterned after the Special Olympics for some 80 handicapped people at the center where Todd lives. And because they did, at least one young man had the best day of his life.

Keri had a little trick she did on the school bus going home each day. After they’d driven past the beautiful new houses in the suburb of Richmond Heights, then through the pretty, tree-lined streets with small, tidy houses bordering the downtown area, she closed her eyes tight. She knew that in two more wide, swinging turns, they would reach her own inner-city neighborhood. And one fine day, if she concentrated really hard, she would open her eyes and surprise the row of small, old, tired-looking houses and deserted apartment buildings into being pretty and new-looking again, and she would feel proud and happy to live where she did.
Before, she had had a different bus trick—a bus dream, really. She used to pretend that her family would move to one of those houses with the real yards, or maybe even to Richmond Heights! She picked which house she wanted, a different one each day. It was only a matter of time, she pretended, till Mama or Daddy got a decent raise at the shirt factory where they both worked.
But that was before the layoffs. Now she knew they wouldn’t be moving—not a chance.
“We’re lucky to have a roof over our heads,” Mama had whispered to her one night, stroking her hair as she tucked her into bed. “We’re lucky to be together, to be safe and warm.”
Keri didn’t always feel lucky, though, especially when she watched other kids get off the bus in Richmond Heights and run across their neat, green yards to their beautiful houses.
It must be easy to feel happy in a house like that, she thought. It must be nice to not worry about things. Some of those kids griped about having to do jobs around the house. Keri would have worked gladly all weekend if she had a house like that to work in. Those kids didn’t appreciate what they had!
“Do you ever … you know … kind of feel embarrassed about our house?” she asked her brother one night, surprising herself because she’d never spoken to anyone about this before. “I mean, it’s neat and clean, but it’s not at all fancy, like the other places where the school bus stops.”
Simon shrugged his skinny shoulders and smiled a lopsided smile that made his freckles crinkle. “A great house has a basketball hoop and a big dog sitting outside, and our house has both those things. Our house is great.”
Sometimes Keri wished she could go back three years and be Simon’s age again. She hadn’t worried about houses then, either. Back then she hadn’t noticed the differences.
But once you noticed, you couldn’t un-notice. The noticing only got worse and worse, and all you could do was use bus tricks, whether they worked or not. They were a way of hoping, she guessed. Lately, though, she’d started wondering if hoping was wrong.
“Somebody’s birthday is coming up,” Mama had said at dinner one night, smiling in Keri’s direction. “Now, I wonder who is going to be twelve years old—old enough, I think, for a special party. What do you say, James? Do you know any girl like that?”
“Only one,” Daddy said, grinning. “How about it, Keri? Your mother and I thought you might like a party this year.”
Keri froze, a forkful of beans halfway to her mouth. It was about the awfullest thing she could imagine—a bunch of her classmates coming here! It had been ages since she’d invited anybody over. All her friends had houses ranging from “nice enough” to “wonderful.”
“No!” she blurted, dropping her fork to her plate with a clatter. “No, it would be horrible!” Pushing back her chair so quickly that it fell to the floor, she ran to her room and threw herself onto the bed.
As Keri had expected, Mama knocked softly on the door a few minutes later, then opened it a crack. Keri could see Daddy in the shadows behind Mama’s shoulder.
“May we come in?” Mama asked softly, and Keri nodded. Her throat was too throbby to answer out loud.
Mama sat on the edge of the bed, and Daddy lowered himself carefully into the rocking chair. They just sat quietly, apparently hoping that Keri would explain her outburst. When she didn’t, Mama took her hand gently and said something surprising. “Honey, a flower isn’t judged by where it grows. A beautiful flower is beautiful anyplace.”
Keri didn’t know exactly what that meant, and she didn’t answer. A few minutes later, her parents got up, kissed her on the cheek, and left her room.
The next afternoon, Keri decided to give up her bus trick. Stuff like that was for little kids. Still, out of habit, she shut her eyes as the bus turned into her neighborhood, leaving the pretty houses with their tree-lined streets behind. Two wide turns later, she felt the bus slowing for her stop, and she opened her eyes.
To her surprise, the biggest, most gorgeous, bright red geranium was perched on the sagging top porch step of her house. It was too beautiful for description, one of those things that take your breath away and make you glad to be alive just looking at them.
“What a flower!” exclaimed the bus driver.
That was odd—Keri could never remember him being impressed by anything before, not even the biggest houses in Richmond Heights.
“It’s her birthday soon!” Simon piped up. “Mama must have bought it for Keri’s birthday!”
“No, I think it’s for all of us,” Keri said.
As she ran off the bus and across her tiny yard, Mama and Daddy stepped out of the house, onto the porch. They held out their arms, welcoming her home.
Keri finally understood what Mama had tried to tell her, and she knew that things would be all right now. That dazzling flower stood for the four of them, blooming beautifully right where they were.

“My parents were not active in the Church, but they were wonderful people. I remember my mother teaching me over and over the principle of obedience. When I received my first pair of roller skates, Mother cautioned me, ‘Now, don’t go down the hill, because it will be difficult for you. The hard, level surface on the east side of the house will be much easier for you.’
“But I wanted the thrill of going down the hill, and it was probably only five minutes later that I came in crying, with both knees badly scraped. Mother pointed out that if I had been obedient, I would not have been hurt. I’ve thought about that a lot of times since then, and I think that if we obey our parents and learn to call on our Heavenly Father and obey His prompting, we will avoid many difficulties.

I first heard about the Church when my mother joined Brother Joseph W. B. Johnson’s group in 1968.1 I was about 10 years old. My father’s business had declined because of the 1966 coup d’état, and the family was going through a hard time. So my mother thought it wise to seek spiritual help.

Shortly before President Heber J. Grant passed away, one of the Brethren visited his home. Before he left, President Grant prayed, “O God, bless me that I shall not lose my testimony and keep faithful to the end!”1 After nearly 27 years as President of the Church, this was his fervent prayer. His example is a striking reminder that no one, at any age, is immune from Satan’s influence. Two of Satan’s most powerful tools are distraction and deception.

When I was young I didn’t like how I looked compared to other girls. Then I saw this—
We all know how pretty roses are …
But so are daisies … and lots of other flowers!

Of course, if you came from the family that Sha-Lei does, you would probably be a dancer, too. Sha-Lei performs the hula, the traditional dance of Hawaii, just like her mother and grandmother do, and like her great-grandmother, her great-great-grandmother, and her great-great-great-grandmother did. That is six generations of hula dancers. And most of them have been hula teachers, too. What’s more, her father is a descendant of one of the best-known Latter-day Saint hula dancers in Hawaii—Iolani Luahine.
Sha-Lei’s grandparents Howard and Olana Ai are both kuma hula (hula teachers) at their own halau hula (hula school). They are widely known for helping students develop their talents. For example, Grandpa Howard’s boys’ team has won the first-place international hula trophy nine years in a row. Grandma Olana teaches principles along with the dances—principles like beginning practice with prayer, always dressing modestly, and honoring your mother and father. For her and her students, hula is a way to express gratitude for God’s creations and love and appreciation for others.

I have heard a report that some have started calling the Latter-day Saints who are wearing yellow Helping Hands T-shirts “The Yellow Angels.” One Latter-day Saint took her car in for service, and the man helping her described the “spiritual experience” he had when people in yellow shirts removed trees from his yard and then, he said, they “sang some song to me about being a child of God.”

Peanut and Jilly Forever When Peanut moved from Minneapolis, Jilly thought that she was a motor-mouth, a fatso, and a know-it-all. Peanut thought that Jilly was a snob, a bean pole, and a know-it-all. You’ll never guess who got them to be best friends.Dorothy Haas7–10 years

Certainly this was the thinking of Florence Chukwurah of Nigeria when she was assigned to visit teach a sister who was having difficulties in her marriage and in her home, making it necessary to meet at the marketplace for a visit. After listening to and observing this sister’s challenges, Sister Chukwurah asked her husband for a priesthood blessing so that she might know how to help this troubled sister. Following the blessing she felt prompted to discuss with this sister the importance of tithing. “She tearfully told me that she did not pay her tithes because she was not making enough money,” Sister Chukwurah remembers. “I suggested that she and I discuss Malachi 3:10 and that we do so in my house so we could relax and be alone for the discussion. She consented. After our discussion I encouraged her to exercise her faith and pay her tithes for at least six months. I bore my testimony to her by the Spirit.”
Sister Chukwurah testifies that within a few months of this meeting, this sister’s circumstances changed dramatically. Her daughter received a scholarship to complete her high school education, her husband worked with the bishop to become active and accept a calling, husband and wife teamed up to improve their financial situation and their relationship, and eventually they became an inspiration to others.

For years I felt like I didn’t fit in, and I was often teased by others. Then I realized something: going to church isn’t about fitting in with the other members. Church is about coming unto Heavenly Father and the Savior. We go to church to express our love and respect for Them. When we go to church with the Lord in mind, we will feel better about what we learn and about ourselves. When you feel alone or isolated at church, remember that the Lord is beside you, and focus on what you can be taught.
Margaret M., 18, Utah, USA

Aaron’s experience at Sinai reminds me of a similar experience I had as the leader of a small group of men in my army platoon at Fort Ord, California.

Our platoon was preparing for a special inspection; after cleaning the barracks, the men went outside to clean their gear. The platoon sergeant called the four squad leaders into the barracks where he noted a few tasks that still needed to be completed. He told me to call some of my men in to do these jobs. So I opened a window and called out to three men in my squad, “Sergeant Carrington wants you to come in and do some more work!”

As I turned around, Sergeant Carrington asked, “What did you tell your men?”

“I told them you wanted them to come in and do some more work.”

“No,” he said, “I told you to call your men in to do the work. You know what to do.” In Sergeant Carrington’s language, “You know what to do” was an order to do one hundred pushups, right then.

I was frustrated and embarrassed at the time; but after a few hours, I began to appreciate what he was teaching me. I was the men’s squad leader, and I had the authority to order them into the barracks to do their jobs. Instead I had used Sergeant Carrington’s name and authority to try and impress the men to do their work.

A few days ago, my profession as a B-747 captain took me home on a flight from Dallas, Texas, to Frankfurt, Germany. It was a moonless night over the North Atlantic, and myriads of stars covered the sky. As I contemplated this awesome sight from the cockpit, my thoughts went to the many miracles I have seen in my life.
That dark night over the North Atlantic, safely directing our big jet to its destination, we had to be extremely careful and precise in creating the navigational basis by entering the geographic coordinates into the navigational reference system. It had to be true and valid because it was the foundation for all future decisions. In 1979, a flight started in New Zealand on wrong coordinates and crashed into Mount Erebus at the South Pole.

For Oksana Fersanova, that’s exactly what the Church is like. Oksana, who lives in Khmel’nyts’kyy, Ukraine, was one of the first people to be baptized when her city opened for missionary work in 2006. Not long after her baptism she was called to serve as Primary president for the small group that meets in her city.
Oksana is typical of Latter-day Saint teenagers throughout the Church here—deeply involved in serving and eager to share the truth in a land where the message of the gospel is now taking hold. In areas like Khmel’nyts’kyy, the young converts provide energy, optimism, and unwavering testimonies of the gospel, which strengthen the Church in Ukraine.
Oksana had a testimony of Jesus Christ, but it wasn’t until her friends gave her a copy of the Book of Mormon that she gained a testimony of His restored gospel.
“As I read about Jesus Christ talking to the Nephites, a strong feeling came over me, and I knew that He loved me. I prayed and had a witness that He is my Savior and the Book of Mormon is true,” Oksana says.
“I knew that if Joseph Smith translated the Book of Mormon and the Book of Mormon was true, he was definitely a prophet of God and had restored the gospel of Jesus Christ,” she says.
Her friends taught her more about the gospel because there were no missionaries in Khmel’nyts’kyy at that time. For four years she studied the gospel and lived its principles as best as she could, praying for the missionaries to come.
Finally, in March 2006, they came. Oksana and her friend Sasha Kubatov were the first two people baptized in Khmel’nyts’kyy.

Abbie lived near Temple Square in Salt Lake City, Utah. She loved to see the Christmas lights twinkling in the winter and the tulips blooming in the spring, and hear the Tabernacle Choir singing all year round.
One day in sacrament meeting, Bishop Allen made an announcement: “Some Church members from Mexico are thinking about coming to general conference, and they’ll need places to stay. If any of you can host these guests, please talk to me after the meeting.”
On the way home from church, Abbie asked, “Will any of the visitors from Mexico come to our house for general conference?”
“I’m not sure, sweetie. But we’ve volunteered to let a family stay with us if they need to,” Dad said.
“Why do they want to come all this way for general conference? Can’t they watch it on TV?”
“They can watch it at their stake center,” Mom explained. “But until now, they have never had the opportunity to see a prophet in person. Do you remember how you felt when you saw President Hinckley?”
Abbie nodded. “I felt the Spirit really strongly when he walked into the room.” She had never been to general conference, but she had seen the prophet and two Apostles speak in other meetings. She had even gotten to shake an Apostle’s hand. Until now, she had never really thought about how special that was.
“Not every member of the Church gets a chance to see the prophet,” Dad said. “Some watch conference at a stake center and others listen to him on the radio. Some people can only read what he says weeks or months later.”
“Listening to him any way you can and obeying his words is what matters most,” Mom added.
Abbie knew that Mom was right, but she was still glad she had been able to see President Hinckley. She imagined living far away from Salt Lake, not being able to hear the prophet speaking inside the Conference Center or see the tulips blooming around the temple nearby. “I would travel a long way, too,” she decided aloud, “just to see the prophet once.” She hoped that the families from Mexico would come.
When the bishop called to tell Abbie’s dad that they would have guests for general conference, Abbie was excited and worried. Her family’s house was small. Would the visitors like staying here? She was also worried about the language differences. She didn’t know any Spanish! How would she talk to them?
Three weeks later, she stood with her parents in the stake center parking lot, waiting for their guests to arrive. Soon a dusty bus pulled into the lot. It jerked to a stop, and people piled out the door. They looked tired, and their clothes were wrinkled, but they were smiling.
Dad walked over to the group and started speaking in Spanish. He had learned it while serving a mission in Argentina. Soon he came back with a couple and their two children.
“This is Bishop Martinez, Sister Martinez, and their children, Isabel and Alejandro.” Alejandro was barely old enough to walk, but Isabel seemed to be only a bit younger than Abbie. Then Dad introduced Abbie and her mom to the Martinezes in Spanish.
“Hola,” Isabel said shyly.
“Hola,” Abbie repeated. Her dad had taught her that it meant “hello.” As Isabel smiled at her, Abbie’s worries disappeared. They couldn’t speak very well to each other, but they could still be friends.
After dinner, Isabel followed Abbie into her room. Abbie pulled out her box of toy dishes and food. Picking up a plastic apple, she told Isabel the English word.
“Apple?” Isabel repeated. “Manzana.”
“Manzana,” Abbie said. Isabel pretended to gobble it up, and they both laughed.
Isabel rummaged through the box and pulled out a little milk carton. “Leche,” she said. Abbie repeated the Spanish word, then told her the English word. One by one, they learned all the toys’ names.
“This is fun,” Abbie thought.
Suddenly, Isabel covered her face with her hands and cried, “Adios!” Abbie knew that meant good-bye. Confused, she wondered if she had somehow hurt Isabel’s feelings. But then Isabel opened her hands like shutters and yelled, “Hola!” She giggled. Her hands flapped shut again. “Adios!”
“It’s like peekaboo,” Abbie realized. She joined in. “Hello! Good-bye! Hello! Good-bye!”
The next day during conference, Abbie imagined Isabel sitting at the Conference Center, listening to a translator through headphones. She couldn’t wait for her new friend to come back and tell her what she thought of everything.
When the Martinezes returned, Isabel chattered excitedly. Abbie had never heard anyone talk so fast!
“What’s she saying, Dad?” Abbie asked. “Did she like conference?”
“Yes,” Dad answered with a smile. “She saw the prophet.” Abbie grinned.
In no time at all, Abbie and her family were taking the Martinezes back to the stake center to board their bus for home. Abbie felt so sad she couldn’t even look at Isabel. She didn’t want anyone to see her cry. But Isabel wasn’t going to leave without a good-bye. She hugged Abbie. Then she brought her hands up to her face. “Hola! Adios! Hola! Adios!” She laughed as she played their peekaboo game.
“Hello! Good-bye! Hello! Good-bye!” Abbie replied. She giggled, too, even though there was a lump in her throat.
As the bus drove away, Abbie tried to smile. “Can we have guests for general conference every year?” she asked. “I liked making a new friend.”

As the desire for stability and truth grew in my life, this great desire caused me to turn to the scriptures. It was then that I found a new meaning in Moroni 10:4 [Moro. 10:4]:
“And when ye shall receive these things, I would ask God, the eternal Father in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost.”
These were words of hope and comfort to me. I began to read the Book of Mormon with a new purpose. The writings of the prophets found a new place in my heart. I read with the desire to learn and know.
I longed for the comfort, purpose, and perspective that the gospel had always given to my life. Each night before I read, I would pray with a great desire to know the truth. I felt that the scriptures were true, but I wanted to know. When I read, I often found scriptures that gave me inspiration on how to live my life better. Many tears were shed as I felt the power and truth of the Book of Mormon.
I began to regard prayer more seriously. My relationship with my Father in Heaven became much closer. I prayed to him with a new enthusiasm. I desired to know if he was there. I prayed for a remission of my sins. I prayed for forgiveness because of my lack of faith.
After reading the Book of Mormon, I knelt in prayer. I had a great desire to know of its truth. I hoped it was true, knowing what joy this would bring me. That night I prayed for hours desiring to know. The following nights I continued in my prayers and began to wonder if I would receive a witness.
My determination in waiting for a witness was a trial of my faith. After many days I came to the realization that I knew the Book of Mormon was true. It came not as a sign or a voice. I knew because in the center of my being I could not deny that it was true. I also knew that God existed and that he is my Heavenly Father, that Jesus Christ is the only begotten son of God.
This came to me, not as new knowledge, but as a peaceful remembrance of that which I already knew. I did not need a further witness. I had always known the truth. My pride in my own knowledge had caused me to forget my testimony.
With this new understanding my life received meaning and peace. Although I still question some of what I hear, I do it for my own good and a desire to learn the truth.

Joseph F. Smith presided over the Church at a time of great bitterness toward Latter-day Saints. He was the target of vile accusations, of an outpouring of criticism by editorial writers even in his own community. He was ridiculed and made the subject of editorial cartoons. Listen to his response to those who made fun of him: “Let them alone. Let them go. Give them the liberty of speech they want. Let them tell their own story, and write their own doom” (Gospel Doctrine, fifth edition, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1939, page 339). And then, with an outreaching spirit of forgiving and forgetting, he went ahead with the great and positive work of leading the Church forward to new growth and remarkable accomplishments. At the time of his death, many of those who had ridiculed him wrote tributes of praise about him.

“Bye, kids! We’re going on our temple date,” Mom said.
“Be good and have fun,” Dad said as he pulled the door shut behind them.
“Yay!” I said. “We can do whatever we want now!”
My older brother Matt sighed. “Not me. I’ve got to do homework so I can go to the dance tomorrow.” He disappeared into his room.
I felt a little jealous. He was old enough to go to stake dances—but I still had another four years before I could go. I didn’t have much homework, so I decided to see what was on TV.
As I flipped through the channels, I saw a movie I’d really wanted to watch last year, but hadn’t because of the rating. I could finally see it now that it was edited for TV!
I settled down on the couch. This movie was going to be great. But just a few scenes in, I started to feel uncomfortable. There wasn’t anything horrible going on, but I started to wonder about the scenes and words that had been cut out.
When I heard Matt’s bedroom door open, I quickly changed the channel so he wouldn’t see what I was watching. I was a little nervous. I didn’t want him to ask about the movie and the rating. He walked by me and went into the kitchen. I flipped back to the movie. When I heard him walking back, I hurried and changed the channel again.
“What are you watching?” Matt asked.
“Nothing,” I said, flipping through more channels.
Matt shrugged and went back to his room.
I flipped back to the movie and watched for a few more minutes. But I wasn’t really focused on it anymore. What am I doing? I thought to myself. If I don’t even want Matt to know what I’m watching, and I feel uncomfortable, why am I watching it?
Finally I decided to just turn off the TV. I sat there holding the remote, trying to think of something good to do to stop thinking about the movie. I didn’t want to start watching again just because I was bored.
I wandered up to my room and looked around. I hadn’t written in my journal in awhile, and I had that drawing I’d been working on. I knew I’d feel better doing those things than watching the movie.
I turned on some good music and wrote about the experience in my journal. I had a warm, comfortable feeling. I’d been missing that feeling during the movie. Instead of that good, peaceful feeling—the Holy Ghost—I’d felt worried and kind of embarrassed.
I don’t want to do things I feel worried and embarrassed about, I wrote in my journal. I want to do things that the Holy Ghost can stick around for.
When my parents came home a couple of hours later, I showed them my finished drawing.
“Glad to see that you spent your time well,” Dad said.
I smiled. “Me too.”