Gospel Story Finder

As I progressed through high school, the first section was my norm. So I became a little lazy and didn’t practice any harder than I needed to in order to stay in a top spot.
Each year there was an All-State band event where every school selected the best player of each section to be a part of a large multi-school band. It was an honor to be selected, but I forgot that fact. I took it for granted when I was selected and showed up one year on performance day having only glanced at the music. I’d had the ability to master the music, but it would have actually taken some work—work that I hadn’t put in.
I knew I couldn’t play the music very well this year, but I’d been to All-State in previous years and knew how it worked: because I came from the first chair section in my school I would be placed in the first chair section in the All-State band. I wouldn’t be much good to the band this year, but I could fake my way through the day and have fun.
The air was abuzz with excitement as the band students gathered. Then the room grew quiet as the band director stepped onto the podium. What he said next concerned me.
“Instead of grouping everyone based on your position at school, you will try out for the seat in your section. You will play the music you have prepared for a judge, and he or she will place you in your appropriate seat. You do not have to try out, but if you do not, you will automatically be placed at the bottom of the last section.”
My lack of preparation landed on my chest like a pallet of bricks. The music was hard this year, and I had not practiced. I knew how awful I would sound in front of the other first chair section members if I chose to try out. But if I didn’t try out, I would be placed at the bottom of the last section. In all fairness, I can now admit that I deserved to be at the bottom of the last section. However, at that time I was prideful and could not bear to be in the last section. Even if I hadn’t practiced, I knew I was first section material and decided that I would be in that section no matter what.
At the last moment, as the first section clarinets were going to the tryout room, I hurried to join them. One by one, each clarinetist played. My heart sank when it became clear they’d all practiced. Then it was my turn.
In my pride, I put the clarinet to my mouth and proceeded to embarrass myself as I played. I did not have to imagine the amused looks of my fellow clarinetists and the rather horrified look of the judge when I finished. The judge kindly said nothing, but his thoughts were clear enough when he placed me in the last chair in my section.
My stubbornness had kept me in the section I thought I deserved, but it was no victory. I couldn’t hold my head up or participate freely in the other students’ excited conversations during the breaks. I was a fake among the genuine. There was no way I could convince them that I actually belonged with them. They had heard me play.
“I’m really quite good,” I wanted to say. “It’s just that I didn’t practice.” But I never said it because I knew what their response would have been: “You should have practiced like we did.”
I knew that when it came right down to the performance, my potential didn’t matter—only the current skill that I’d developed did.
The saving grace of the day was that I learned clearly and deeply the meaning of hard work and preparation. I saw a connection to the parable of the ten virgins. I had arrived at All-State without oil, so to speak. I could not borrow from the skills of the other clarinetists. I now know that each minute of every day is the time to prepare—especially in the aspects of life that really matter.

I grew up in California and spent my first year of college at San Diego State University in Sunny San Diego. After my first year at San Diego State, in the fall of 1976 I was called to serve a mission in Sweden. Just before I entered the LTM my father passed away and we had to move from the home in which I had grown up. I arrived in Sweden on the 28th of December 1976. At that time of year in Stockholm the sun comes up around 9:30 and goes down at 3:30 in the afternoon and when it is daylight it is either snowing or completely overcast. After 3 weeks in Sweden I couldn't speak the language very well, the people were not exactly lining to be baptized, every time I went outside I was freezing, and I had not seen the sun for almost a month. I was feeling pretty useless and depressed. One day I was at the desk by a window in our apartment doing my daily scripture study and occasionally glancing outside at my winter wonderland. I was reading in the New Testament in one of the Gospels. I don't remember now the specific reference but I was reading the words of the Savior. As I read, a warm spirit came over me and it felt almost as if I was there and the Lord was speaking to me. At that time, while I was struggling as a missionary, the Lord took the occasion of my regular daily scripture study to give me much need comfort and strength. To be sure many trying days (including a lot more snow and cold) lay ahead but I had received much needed encouragement to carry on and something I could look back on when times got tough again.

“One time my mother told me that I could have a birthday party and invite anyone I wanted. We decided that eight children would be about right. But when I got to school and looked at all the children in my class, I couldn’t decide whom not to invite, so I invited all of them without saying anything to Mother. Instead of eight children at the party, there were forty-four! She just laughed about it and put some cupcakes into the oven. By the time we had played our games, she was able to serve them all something. A lot of mothers would have been upset over the situation, but not mine.

That same revelation that called Ezra to repentance was also directed toward other elders, including Edward Partridge, a bishop. Like Ezra, Edward had also been disappointed in the location of Zion. The Lord instructed Edward to move his family to Independence so that he could oversee the purchase of land for the Saints, but Edward wasn’t excited about living there. He was used to living in an established town. He wrote to his wife, Lydia, “We have to suffer, and shall for some time, many privations here.”4
Edward also disagreed with Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery about what land he should buy. Joseph and Oliver wanted certain tracts to be purchased, but Edward believed there was better land somewhere else. Edward had hard feelings toward Joseph for a while.5
But unlike Ezra, Edward didn’t allow the disagreement or his disappointment to drive him away from the gospel. Instead, he eventually asked for forgiveness from the Lord and from Joseph. “I sometimes feel as though I must fall,” he wrote to Lydia. “I fear my station is above what I can perform to the acceptance of my Heavenly Father.”6 He told Joseph that he hoped the Prophet could forgive him for the dispute because he was and “has always been sorry.”7
Edward and Joseph reconciled, and Edward stayed faithful until he died in 1840.

The Book of Mormon is not just a history book, nor just a book of scripture, for the Wolfgramm kids, whose parents migrated from Tonga to Salt Lake City nearly 20 years ago. It’s the story of their family—their relatives. Its sacred pages help them trace their genealogy back to Adam, through their 88th great-grandfather, Nephi.
Their story parallels that of their ancestors in the Book of Mormon to some degree. Their parents, Mike and Vake, left their homeland and crossed the sea for religious reasons. Back then there were no temples in the South Pacific, and they came to Salt Lake City to be sealed together. They didn’t have the funds to make it back to Tonga, however, so they stayed in the States and began adding to their family.
Like the family of Lehi, the Wolfgramms had to work hard to carve a place for themselves in their new country. In addition to other jobs, the parents were involved in Polynesian performing groups in the Salt Lake area. As soon as the children were old enough to walk and talk, they were taught to play, sing, and dance in the Polynesian tradition. They eagerly took to the stage, and soon the family had a Polynesian group of their own.

The missionaries taught us about the Book of Mormon and left a copy for us to read. This was during the summer, and I was on vacation for a couple of months after finishing my first year at the university. So I took the book that afternoon after the discussion and started to read it.
Page after page I read and read and read, and I couldn’t stop. There was this magic that came from the book. I love reading and had read many books, but this was different. I was captured by the book, and after I had read for several hours, my mother said, “Juan, turn off the light! Your brothers want to sleep.” And I said, “Yeah, just a moment, just a moment,” and I continued reading. Even after many hours of reading, I had no hunger, no thirst, and no desire for sleep.
Illustration by Brian Call
Before I finished the book, I knew that something special was in it. I had a testimony because of three things that I experienced as I was reading the book for the first time.
The first thing that happened to me during those hours was a profound feeling of peace that was different from anything I had experienced before. This feeling of peace was with me for several hours.
The second thing I experienced as I was reading was a feeling of joy. It was not the happiness I was used to having when I was with my friends or when I bought something I really liked. It was not a feeling of happiness; it was a feeling of joy. As I was reading, I began to cry and I realized, “Wow, I like this!”
And the third thing that I experienced was enlightenment. When I first started to read, it was difficult to understand because there were words like Nephi and Atonement that were unfamiliar to me. But after a few hours of reading, my mind was opened, and it was like there was light in my mind and I could comprehend more and more as I continued reading the book.
I learned later that those three experiences are some of the ways in which the Spirit manifests to us.

I recall a young man who, as a boy of 13, led his quorum of deacons in a successful search for the Christmas spirit. He and his companions lived in a neighborhood in which many elderly widows of limited means resided. All the year long, the boys had saved and planned for a glorious Christmas party. They were thinking of themselves, until the Christmas spirit prompted them to think of others. Frank, as their leader, suggested to his companions that the funds they had saved so carefully be used not for the planned party, but rather for the benefit of three elderly widows who resided together.
The boys made their plans. As their bishop, I needed but to follow. With the enthusiasm of a new adventure, the boys purchased a giant roasting chicken, the potatoes, the vegetables, the cranberries, and all that comprises the traditional Christmas feast. To the widows’ home they went, carrying their gifts of treasure. Through the snow and up the path to the tumbledown porch they came. A knock at the door, the sound of slow footsteps, and then they met.
In the unmelodic voices characteristic of 13-year-olds, the boys sang: “Silent night! Holy night! All is calm, all is bright.” They then presented their gifts. Angels on that glorious night of long ago sang no more beautifully, nor did Wise Men present gifts of greater meaning. I gazed at the faces of those wonderful women and thought to myself, “Somebody’s mother.” I then looked on the countenances of those noble boys and reflected, “Somebody’s son.”
Not one of those boys ever forgot that precious pilgrimage. Christmas gifts had become Christmas blessings.

In this next situation, Janet, as I will call her, was involved in serious transgression. After discovering that she was expecting a child out of wedlock, her bishop referred her to LDS Social Services. Instead of being condemned by staff personnel as she had feared, she found love and understanding—the love and understanding that she needed to help her repent. With the help of her bishop and the agency, she began to seek the Lord’s forgiveness. She was introduced to foster parents who lovingly accepted her into their home. She attended church regularly and studied the gospel. An unwed parents group sponsored by the Church helped her to realize the magnitude of her transgression and to resolve to start a new life. She began to more fully understand herself and her relationship to her Father in heaven.
“I went through an awful lot,” she recalled. “But I felt like such a load was lifted by being able to share the burden with those who understood. I’m so grateful for all the help I received from my Heavenly Father.”

I was born during a time of political revolution and war in Iran. During that time my mother was a political activist fighting for freedom in our country. One day military personnel barged into our home and arrested my mom, and she went to prison for two and a half years for fighting for what she believed in. Not long after she was released, through miracles, my family left Iran and moved to Los Angeles so my father could do a one-year fellowship at UCLA. Additional miracles led my family toward The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

My mom got baptized thinking she might be sentenced to die for her faith. At the time she had no idea if her family would be able to stay in America, but she was willing to sacrifice everything for God. Later, my parents applied for political asylum, and by the grace of God we were allowed to stay in the U.S.

The sacrifice my mother was willing to make for her faith demonstrated that she gave her heart to God.

At Christmastime several years ago, I had an experience where this parable was put into action. It was nighttime, and I was driving on the interstate. Snow had started to fall, and the road was getting slick. Suddenly, my tire exploded. I pulled over and prayed that somehow, Heavenly Father would rescue me from this dangerous situation. Shortly after, a kind man stopped to help me change my tire. With no hesitation and very few words, he got my spare tire on the car, wished me a merry Christmas, and drove away.
Like the good Samaritan, this man recognized a person in need, and he acted. He didn’t wait for an invitation, and he expected nothing in return for his selfless service. He truly understood that the greatest way we can honor the Savior is by serving others. As the Savior taught, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matthew 25:40).

In August 2020, my wife, Jacqui, and I briefly returned from Africa to Salt Lake City, where I had the unexpected blessing of joining President Russell M. Nelson for lunch. I told him how intimidating it was for me to sit next to the prophet of the whole world.

With a gentle smile, he said, “Just eat your soup. You will get over it.”

At the time, the COVID-19 pandemic was causing real fear and suffering in the countries where we were serving, so I asked, “President Nelson, very soon I will be returning to our beloved brothers and sisters on the African continent. Is there a personal message you would want me to share?”

He paused thoughtfully and then gave this profound answer: “Tell them that some things are out of our control, so we should focus on those things that we can control—specifically on how we live our lives. We need to live our lives in such a way that we are always ready to meet our Maker.”

In the distance we can hear voices descending through the mountain trees. Looking up the rocky slope, we see three Italian girls, arm in arm, singing and walking toward us. Gradually we recognize the song—a favorite among LDS young women—“I Walk by Faith.” As Iris Cartia, Annalisa Brandonisio, and Stefania Ferrazzano come closer, they all begin talking at once—part in English, part in Italian, and part in French, with a lot of hand gestures. Then Stefania starts to sing a popular Italian song for us, accompanied with dancing and good-natured laughter. Soon, the girls get serious again and sing several LDS hymns. These girls, who range in age from fifteen to seventeen, come from widely different areas and backgrounds in Italy, but it is obvious that they enjoy each other.
Three short whistle blasts—the call to supper. The three girls hesitate for a moment, but supper can wait while they finish sharing expressions of testimony and friendship. After a few more songs from these unpretentious girls, we all reluctantly and slowly return to camp.

A true story from Kenya.
One bright Easter Sunday, Ryan woke up early and ran to the kitchen. He could smell the coconut and spices from the mahamri Mum had just made. Ryan took a bite of one of the warm, fluffy triangle donuts. “Mum! It’s Easter! Can we watch the Jesus movie today?” he asked with a big smile.
Mum looked at him and smiled. “Of course!”
Ryan’s little brother, Liam, ran outside as Mum and Ryan sat down to watch the movie.
They saw Jesus Christ perform miracles and serve people. Then when the people hurt Jesus, Ryan’s eyes filled with tears.
“Mum, why did they do that to Jesus?” he asked sadly.
“He chose to suffer for us,” Mum said. “He loves us so much, Ryan. He died so we can live again.”
When the movie showed Jesus Christ’s Resurrection, Ryan smiled. “Look, Mum! He’s alive again!”
“That’s right,” Mum said. “He is risen! Just like the angel said in the Bible.”
Later, Ryan went outside to play. He saw Liam playing with sticks under the mango tree.
“Liam! I want to tell you a cool story,” Ryan said.
Liam waited as Ryan sat down under the mango tree. “Is it about cars?”
“No. Even better!” Ryan said. “It’s about Jesus. He died, but then He came back to life.”
“Really?” Liam asked.
“Yes! An angel said, ‘He is not here, for He is risen!’ That means we can live again too.”
“Wow!” Liam said. “Jesus really is strong.”
Ryan nodded. He thought about how much Jesus Christ loved him. It made his heart feel full and happy. He had shared the good news with his family, and that made his Easter even more special.

When my daughter Sabrina was four years old, she had terrible growing pains in her legs. I, too, was troubled by growing pains as a young girl. It was very late one evening, way past Sabrina’s bedtime. I was exhausted because she would not stop crying. When the pain medicine did not work, I told her that we needed to pray and ask Heavenly Father to help take away her pain. We knelt down together, and I offered a simple prayer that her pain would subside and that she would be able to sleep. I put Sabrina in bed next to me and rubbed her legs until we both fell asleep.

In the morning, I was awakened by squeals of delight from Sabrina. She said, “Mom, my legs don’t hurt anymore!”

But what she did next melted my heart. She immediately looked up to heaven and said, “Thank you, Father!”

You know, life is all about decisions. When I look back at all the decisions I’ve made over the years, maybe a few of them questionable, I think back to the decision to come to BYU–Hawaii in the Fall of 1983, the decision to throw my luggage in my dorm room and run to Temple Beach, the decision to strike up a conversation with a beautiful California girl there on the sand. These have to be the best decisions I have made in my life. More than 30 years later, I hope Cheryl feels the same.

I probably shouldn’t mention this, particularly in this setting, but seven years after we met, after being married and having three children, Cheryl and I returned to Laie and went immediately to that wonderful spot on Temple Beach, just to soak in the memories. We then drove up to the school. I said to Cheryl, “Wow, things have changed. That’s a new building there on the right, isn’t it?”

“No, Honey,” she said. “That’s the library, and it was here when we went to school.” It was certainly new to me.

Our reunion tour took us to our favorite spots around campus. The Aloha Center, where we received our orientation. The cafeteria, where we received the freshman 15. The memories came flooding back. To the Laie Theater, the scene of our first date. We walked the same path where we walked back to campus so many years ago where on that first date, I stopped to pretend to tie my shoe as I picked up a small frog and slipped it into Cheryl’s hand. Not the best move on a first date, I learned.

Our reunion tour took us to the tennis courts where Cheryl informed me, after the first few dates, that it “just wasn’t working out.” To the Auditorium, where I remember sitting, without a date, as I watched Cheryl play the piano and sing before a cheering audience. It was then I realized I really needed to step up my game if I was ever going to pay for the frog episode and win her back. I’ve been trying to do so ever since.

As a single parent, my mother had many things to do, but she always took time to help me, comfort me, or simply listen to me. Knowing that she was always there was invaluable, and I want to give that to my own children in the future.
When my mother remarried, her new husband chose to become the father of my older brother and me. Soon afterward, a little sister joined our family, but I have never felt the slightest difference in the affectionate and loving way he has taken care of us all as his own. Thanks to his attitude, my older brother and I have been able to grow up in a strong and unified family with the priesthood in the home. The day we were sealed as a family was very special. His loving example has taught me that a father isn’t just something you are—it’s something you become.

May I share two experiences to demonstrate what I mean? One day a very close friend came to my home. He was a bishop very much enjoying his calling. He had an opportunity for employment in another part of the country and was undecided about whether or not to go. We discussed the principles just reviewed. He went home and made a decision to move. He felt no confirmation of the correctness of that decision, but moved to the new job anyway. His employment was good and his family comfortable, yet he continued to feel somewhat ill at ease, not knowing for sure whether he had made the right decision. A week passed, then a month, then additional months. One day one of the Brethren was assigned to reorganize the stake in the area where he now lived. He received his confirmation from the Lord when he was selected to be the new stake president.

Since the time of our baptism in 2001, my husband and I had many conversations about traveling to the temple with our family to be sealed together for eternity. However, our plans came to a halt when he was diagnosed with liver disease and passed away before we could go.
I was heartbroken, but my desire for our family to be sealed for eternity grew even stronger after my husband’s death. As a widowed mother of four children, however, I knew it would not be easy to raise the money needed to take my family from Cambodia to the Hong Kong China Temple—roughly 1,000 miles (1,600 km) away.
Despite our meager income, my children and I knew that we needed to get to the temple so we could be sealed as a family for eternity. I continued to work hard doing laundry at a hotel while my children worked odd jobs. We slowly began to save a little money for our trip, but we soon realized that we might never be able to save enough.
Because we knew an eternal family was more valuable than anything we could have on earth, we decided to sell the only thing of value that we owned—my late husband’s motorbike. After we sold it for a significant amount of money, our hearts rejoiced to know that we would soon be able to be sealed to our beloved father and husband.
But our happiness was short-lived. One week after selling the motorbike, we returned from church to find that our home had been burglarized. When we discovered that the money from the sale of the motorbike was gone, we were grief stricken. For months after the break-in, we continued to pray that we could find a way to go to the temple.
After several months our prayers were answered when we were told that we could receive help from the Church’s General Temple Patron Assistance Fund.* My children and I rejoiced at the news and soon made our hoped-for trip to the temple.
Thanks to the generosity of other Latter-day Saints, we are now an eternal family.
*The General Temple Patron Assistance Fund was created to give financial assistance to Church members who otherwise could not afford to attend the temple.

Suppose for a moment a man contemplating an exhilarating free fall makes a rash decision and spontaneously jumps from a small plane. After doing so, he quickly realizes the foolishness of his actions. He wants to land safely, but there is an obstacle—the law of gravity. He moves his arms with astounding speed, hoping to fly, but to no avail. He positions his body to float or glide to slow the descent, but the law of gravity is unrelenting and unmerciful. He tries to reason with this basic law of nature: “It was a mistake. I will never do it again.” But his pleas fall on deaf ears. The law of gravity knows no compassion; it makes no exceptions. Fortuitously, though, the man suddenly feels something on his back. His friend in the plane, sensing the moment of foolishness, had placed a parachute there just before the jump. He finds the rip cord and pulls it. Relieved, he floats safely to the ground. We might ask, “Was the law of gravity violated, or did that parachute work within that law to provide a safe landing?”

That’s when I really got to know my Mormon friend, Walt. When everybody else was partying, he and I would find something better to do. Walt made it easy for me to be good because I knew he didn’t drink or smoke, so I never felt any pressure to either.
Walt didn’t swear, and he was always correcting me when I did. He was polite and well mannered (most of the time), and when I was around him, I felt I should try to act a little better myself. He was a serious athlete, as I was, but he also took his studies just as seriously. He studies hard and got good grades (something I did only occasionally). Being friends with Walt didn’t make me perfect, but it showed me how I could improve.
Of course, Walt also put a little friendly peer pressure on me about his church. “Hey, Chris,” he’d say, “you might as well be a Mormon—you don’t drink, smoke, or use drugs. You’re practically a Mormon anyway.” As we became better friends, we talked about his church a lot, and I started to meet other Latter-day Saint youth.
One of them was Walt’s girlfriend, Liz. She was an attractive, cheerful Mormon girl whom I used to tease unmercifully. Liz was the perfect lady, and as we got to know each other better, her good influence began to change me. I stopped swearing. And, most important of all, I became interested in the Church.
It wasn’t easy for me, a Catholic, to consider changing my religion, but good friends like Walt and Liz made it easier for me to investigate the Church. Liz encouraged me to seek out the truth and to do what was right. And when I had gained a testimony, she and Walt gave me the strength and courage I needed to go through with my decision to get baptized.
I know much has been said about how bad peer pressure can be, and it can be very bad. But when I look back on the friends I’ve enjoyed associating with, I’d say that peer pressure can be very good too. My friends have helped me to become a better person than I would have been without them.