Gospel Story Finder

His parents were not sure either. Lucy and Joseph Sr. both came from Christian families and believed in the Bible and Jesus Christ. Lucy attended church meetings and often brought her children with her. She had been seeking the true church of Jesus Christ since the death of her sister many years earlier.
Once, after falling gravely ill sometime before Joseph’s birth, she had feared that she would die before finding the truth. She sensed a dark and lonely chasm between her and the Savior, and she knew she was unprepared for the next life.
Lying awake all night, she prayed to God, promising Him that if He let her live, she would find the Church of Jesus Christ. As she prayed, the voice of the Lord spoke to her, assuring her that if she would seek, she would find. She had visited more churches since then, but she had still not found the right one. Yet even when it felt like the Savior’s Church was no longer on the earth, she kept searching, trusting that going to church was better than not.18

The greatest Christmas present I ever received came early one Christmas morning. At some point during the night the furnace in our house had gone out, and there was no heat for us on that snowy morning. We huddled in blankets close to the Christmas tree and opened presents. While it wasn’t physically the warmest Christmas ever, it was one of the most memorable, as we spent time together trying to keep each other warm and enjoying each other’s company.
—Kasen Christensen

Nine years ago I was invited to train at a camp with Navy Seals. This camp was meant to prepare individuals for entering BUDS, military ventures, or test one’s mental or physical ability. It was 50 hours of hard physical work and no sleep. Going into the event, I greatly underestimated how tough it would be. I should have known it was going to be hard when they measured it in hours. We began with 40 participants; I was one of 4 females to participate and was the oldest participant there. If you quit or didn’t pass any component, you were put in a cab and sent home immediately.
It began with a physical test each individual had to pass before being allowed to stay. We then faced a lot of running with heavy ruck sacks filled with sand, carrying heavy logs miles down to the beach, and more physical training than I could ever have imagined doing at one time. No requirement deference was given for age or gender. We all wore heavy boots and combat pants that easily held a lot of sand and water. As night came we once again ran with our heavy ruck sacks down to the beach. We each carried a large pipe filled with sand to simulate carrying a weapon. After getting wet and sandy for what seemed the hundredth time, our commander pointed off into the distance at a very small red flashing light. He said, “You see that light in the distance? We are going to run to that light.” I could barely pick out what light he was talking about and thought he must be joking. That had to be more than 20 miles away. How could I run to that light in the sand, with my heavy ruck, and holding this ever-increasingly heavy pipe? But we started off. Every 15 minutes or so they yelled at us to run into the surf and get “wet and sandy.” My clothes were heavy with salt water and the skin on my legs and back were being worn off by the abrasive sand. Already almost 25% of the participants had quit or failed the training. The group of about 30 had roughly formed into 3 groups as we ran along the beach. I found myself in the middle group and I was mentally struggling with why I was there. My mind was giving me every excuse to quit. “I was too old for this. Why am I carrying the same weight as that college linebacker who is 10 years younger than me? These pants can’t hold much more sand or water.” And the list went on. As hours passed, I realized that the commander was not lying; we really were running to that red light. My heart sank. It was not getting any closer! I couldn’t bring myself to fall to the last group. I knew that if I did, I would fall behind and quit. I was miserable! At a really low point, I looked around at all the other people and found that the person next to me was really struggling too. I made my way closer to this person and we began to talk. He told me his back was cramping up and he was considering walking. I knew if he did that, he would be done. I told the person to rest their pipe on mine as we ran. I began to look for small milestones we could check off. I gave tips I had learned and pep talks when he wanted to stop. The run didn’t seem so bad to me anymore. We began to pass a lot of other people. We began to work together and enjoy ourselves. As the daylight drew near, I realized that we had finished. We made it to the red light! We went on to do much harder things in the subsequent hours, but I never again in that 50 hours doubted myself or why I was there. I learned a valuable lesson in my dark moment: if I was going to survive, I needed to help those around me.

Shortly after the NCAA finals, Britton announced his decision to serve a mission. The decision came at no small sacrifice. Many people, including Utah head coach Rick Majerus, say Britton has tremendous NBA potential, but leaving the game for two years may jeopardize his pro chances. “Coach was saying everything he could to get me to stay,” recalls Britton. “I’ve been told that if I stay for all four years in a row, I’d definitely go pro.”

For the first time in his life, Britton began to question whether he should go on a mission. Majerus told the press that if Britton were to go after being benched all year, “his pro chances are null and void and his chance for a college career is really in peril. He can’t sit three years.”

In the end, Britton’s coach supported his decision. “It is with regret and sadness from a basketball standpoint that Britton departs, but I am pleased because he seems to be so at peace and happy about the decision,” said Majerus. “I’m proud to be a coach of so many young men who felt so good about a religious experience that they would want to sacrifice their basketball.”

Under the stress and strain of our climate, sometimes people weren’t always at their best. Occasionally neighbors would squabble over one farmer taking too long a turn from the irrigation ditch. That’s how it started with two men who lived near our mountain pasture, whom I will call Chet and Walt. These two neighbors began to quarrel over water from the irrigation ditch they shared. It was innocent enough at first, but over the years the two men allowed their disagreements to turn into resentment and then arguments—even to the point of threats.
One July morning both men felt they were once again short of water. Each went to the ditch to see what had happened, each in his own mind reckoning the other had stolen his water. They arrived at the headgate at the same time. Angry words were exchanged; a scuffle ensued. Walt was a large man with great strength. Chet was small, wiry, and tenacious. In the heat of the scuffle, the shovels the men were carrying were used as weapons. Walt accidentally struck one of Chet’s eyes with the shovel, leaving him blind in that eye.
Months and years passed, yet Chet could not forget nor forgive. The anger that he felt over losing his eye boiled inside him, and his hatred grew more intense. One day Chet went to his barn, took down the gun from its rack, got on his horse, and rode down to the headgate of the ditch. He put a dam in the ditch and diverted the water away from Walt’s farm, knowing that Walt would soon come to see what had happened. Then Chet slipped into the brush and waited. When Walt appeared, Chet shot him dead. Then he got on his horse, went back to his home, and called the sheriff to inform him that he had just shot Walt.
My father was asked to be on the jury that tried Chet for murder. Father disqualified himself because he was a longtime friend of both men and their families. Chet was tried and convicted of murder and sentenced to life in prison.
After many years, Chet’s wife came to my father and asked if he would sign a petition to the governor, asking for clemency for her husband, whose health was now broken after serving so many years in the state penitentiary. Father signed the petition. A few nights later, two of Walt’s grown sons appeared at our door. They were very angry and upset. They said that because Father had signed the petition, many others had signed. They asked Father to have his name withdrawn from the petition. He said no. He felt that Chet was a broken and sick man. He had suffered these many years in prison for that terrible crime of passion. He wanted to see Chet have a decent funeral and burial beside his family.
Walt’s sons whirled in anger and said, “If he is released from prison, we will see that harm comes to him and his family.”
Chet was eventually released and allowed to come home to die with his family. Fortunately, there was no further violence between the families. My father often lamented how tragic it was that Chet and Walt, these two neighbors and boyhood friends, had fallen captive to their anger and let it destroy their lives. How tragic that the passion of the moment was allowed to escalate out of control—eventually taking the lives of both men—simply because two men could not forgive each other over a few shares of irrigation water.

It was an important occasion. The president-elect of the United States, Dwight D. Eisenhower, had assembled his cabinet members for their first meeting. He greeted his new advisers warmly, smiling broadly as he chatted and shook hands.
But when everyone was seated, his smile gave way to seriousness. He turned to his Secretary of Agriculture. The incoming administration had great need for divine inspiration, the president said. Because of that, he was asking Ezra Taft Benson to open the cabinet meeting with prayer.
Even though he was taken by surprise, Ezra Taft Benson was a man used to praying, both in public and private. He offered a beautiful, sincere prayer, and it became a tradition to begin all cabinet meetings with an appeal to the Lord.
That was in January 1953.

To encourage the teachers in our ward to use better object lessons, I called those who would be attending a teacher development meeting and asked them to recall the most memorable object lesson they had seen. The responses were wonderful and sparked a deeper-than-usual interest in our upcoming meeting. At the beginning of the meeting, my wife, Rosie, and I used the responses to list nearly 30 object lessons on the chalkboard. We spent the rest of the meeting encouraging the teachers to share the object lessons that had the most impact on them.

After Skip had told the children the story about how Brigham Young had heard Joseph playing for the pioneers and had arranged for him to learn to play the big organ in the Tabernacle, he told them another story about his great-grandfather.
“In those days,” he began, “there was no electricity to run the organ. To force air through the bellows so that the organ could be played, the builders connected the bellows to a treadmill that men ran on. Before Joseph started a concert, he would look down through a little trapdoor and ask the men if they were ready to start. The men that pumped the organ were strong. Their only job was to climb down under the organ, run on the treadmill, and keep the air pressure up so that the organ could be played.
“People came from all over to hear Joseph play. One day after he had played a wonderful concert, the audience clapped and clapped. He played several encores. Then he sat down to play one last piece. He pulled out the stops and arranged everything perfectly. But when he touched his fingers to the keys, nothing happened! He tried again—still nothing.
“It finally dawned on him that he didn’t have any pumpers. He opened the trapdoor and asked the men to climb out. They were all sweaty because they had been running so long and hard on the treadmill. Joseph had them take a bow. Then they crawled back down to the treadmill, got it going, and Joseph played his final encore. After the concert, everyone clapped, realizing that it wasn’t only Joseph who made the organ work.”

I think of my experience through the years, traveling through the various missions where we’ve had youth firesides. I’m going to refer to one that was held in Carthage, Illinois, where the Prophet Joseph and his brother Hyrum were martyred. We held a fireside there on Sunday morning. We had it in the biggest chapel on the university campus. There were about 1,500 young people there; some of them had traveled for over a thousand miles to be there at that youth conference and to attend that fireside. We had a couple of benches down in front kept vacant for the young people who wanted to bear their testimonies. We met from eight in the morning until twelve noon, and there was not a minute’s time lost. When one young person was nearly through bearing testimony, another would be standing right there by that microphone ready to take over. And there those young people who were gathered from all over the area, thousands of miles, would stand with tears in their voices and tears in their eyes bearing their testimonies, thanking God for the Mormon missionaries who had come to their homes and brought the gospel. I said to myself, “Talk about hidden knowledge; what more could you ask than that?”

Joseph was an everyday Christian. He was concerned about the small things, the daily tasks of service and caring for others. Elder Lyman O. Littlefield was a thirteen-year-old boy who accompanied the camp of Zion when it went up to Missouri. He later narrated this incident of a small, yet personally significant act of service in the life of the Prophet. He said:

The journey was extremely toilsome for all, and the physical suffering, coupled with the knowledge of the persecutions endured by our brethren whom we were traveling to succor, caused me to lapse one day into a state of melancholy. As the camp was making ready to depart I sat tired and brooding by the roadside. The Prophet was the busiest man of the camp; and yet when he saw me, he turned from the great press of other duties to say a word of comfort to a child. Placing his hand upon my head, he said, “Is there no place for you, my boy? If not, we must make one.” This circumstance made an impression upon my mind which long lapse of time and cares of riper years have not effaced.

“Grandpa plays the piano and violin and so do I. I really enjoy hearing him, especially when he plays his two favorite pieces. He once told me about playing the violin at his high school graduation program. His sister Helen, who played the piano for him, whispered, ‘Would you like to tune up?’ ‘No,’ he said and he played the entire number a half note off from the pitch of the piano. I guess it sounded pretty bad.”

I used to attend a school where it was really hard to be a Latter-day Saint. The LDS students were a minority, and there weren’t many who shared similar standards. It seemed especially frustrating for me because my parents divorced during my freshman year.
During that time life was pretty confusing for me. I guess that’s when I really discovered the scriptures. But my family wasn’t supportive of my scripture reading. Even my mother used to tell me it was a waste of time. But through the scriptures I found someone else who dealt with family contention.
Lehi counseled Laman and Lemuel “because of the stiffneckedness of Laman and Lemuel; for behold they did murmur in many things against their father” (1 Ne. 2:11–12).
My family was divided. We fought all the time, my parents couldn’t say anything kind about each other, and they discouraged me from attending church. Our home was full of conflict.
“And it came to pass that Laman was angry with me, and also with my father; and also was Lemuel, for he hearkened unto the words of Laman. Wherefore Laman and Lemuel did speak many hard words unto us, their younger brothers, and they did smite us even with a rod” (1 Ne. 3:28).
I tried to set a good example for my family. I went to church, attended Mutual, and prayed regularly. I even invited my mom to get active in the Church again.
“And now I, Nephi, … spake unto them, saying, … Behold ye are mine elder brethren, and how is it that ye are so hard in your hearts, and so blind in your minds, that ye have need that I, your younger brother, should speak unto you, yea, and set an example for you?
“How is it that ye have not hearkened unto the word of the Lord?” (1 Ne. 7:8–9).
Sometimes, in private, I cried. Sometimes I prayed for them. Always I felt lonely.
“But, behold, Laman and Lemuel would not hearken unto my words; and being grieved because of the hardness of their hearts I cried unto the Lord for them” (1 Ne. 2:18).
When I was sad, I knew that Nephi knew sadness. When I was discouraged, I knew that Nephi knew discouragement. When I was lonely, I knew that Nephi knew loneliness.
No, my story doesn’t have a nice, neat ending. I wish it ended “happily ever after,” but it hasn’t yet. My home is still unhappy. But Heavenly Father has given me the scriptures, and I know that he understands exactly what it is like for me at home. Though the conflict hasn’t stopped, at least I have found comfort and peace and ways to cope.
“I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them” (1 Ne. 3:7).
Just as Nephi knew that the Lord would help him accomplish anything that was commanded, I too know that Heavenly Father will continue to strengthen and support me from my heavenly home as I struggle to deal with a torn earthly home. The scriptures are my lifeline to that heavenly home.

Like myself, one student I know came here planning to go into pre-med with hopes of becoming a medical doctor. She took classes and worked hard toward majoring in Biology. She simultaneously explored different avenues, through her minors in her Holokai, various student jobs, and volunteering locally in hospitals and community programs. Along the way, she discovered new strengths and passions and adjusted her course. That is part of the process of beginning with the end in mind—it is not rigid. It’s intentional, but flexible. As you are diligent in your academic endeavors and prayerful in all that you do, you will discover personal attributes and talents that will lead you to opportunities that align with who you are and who you want to be. I want to add that she will graduate in winter 2026, in 10 semesters, and in a major that suits her values, talents, and skills. I am sure her education will lead her to opportunities that suit her as she continues to work diligently and pray for guidance and support from the Lord.

On many occasions our children have had dinners on a tennis court. It was interesting to watch them plan who would attend, where the food would come from, and what type of date would want to spread a checkered cloth on a piece of cement and have a picnic on a tennis court. On another occasion this same group had dinner inside a playhouse and acted like they were on the roof garden of an elegant hotel. It was interesting to watch them plan and grow and develop as they made assignments and had a truly wonderful time without it costing very much.

For the Saints leaving New York, their first place of refuge was Kirtland, Ohio. When they arrived, they found many people ready to receive the restored gospel.

Among those who had been prepared were Newel K. Whitney and his wife, Elizabeth Ann. The two embraced the gospel in 1830 after missionaries brought the Book of Mormon to their home. Over the next two decades, the Whitneys moved with the Saints from Kirtland to Missouri to Illinois, sacrificing time, talents, family relationships, and prosperity to help build up the Church.

Active in Church leadership, Newel was often away from Elizabeth Ann. “During all these absences and separations from my husband,” she wrote, “I never felt to murmur or complain in the least. … I was more than satisfied to have him give all, time, talents and ability into the service of the Kingdom of God; and the change in our circumstances and associations which were consequent upon our embracing the Gospel, never caused me a moment’s sorrow” (“A Leaf from an Autobiography,” Woman’s Exponent, 1 October 1878, 71).

Years ago, my family attended a Stake Conference in South Carolina where Elder Neal A. Maxwell was the visiting General Authority. The sessions were wonderful, and the Spirit very strong. Just before Elder Maxwell spoke in the final general session, we sang “How Great Thou Art,” an old evangelical hymn in our current hymnal that is a favorite of saints in the South. The Spirit was especially strong during the singing, and many individuals, including me, shed tears. At the conclusion of Elder Maxwell’s address, he gave the assembled congregation an Apostolic blessing in which he promised us that when we would hear the hymn we had sung, we would remember the feelings of the Spirit that we had experienced that day. I don’t know about others, but it has been so for me, if I pray and claim the blessing that was given me. Such events don’t happen frequently, but many of us have had precious occasions when we’ve interacted with the Spirit. If we pray and seek to remember these occasions, their significance is renewed in our lives.

Elder Pratt’s two former companions traveled on to Tahiti, where their teaching met with far less success. After a few months, Elder Rogers traveled west to the leeward islands and Elder Grouard sailed to the island of Anaa in the Tuamotus. Elder Rogers again met with little success and much opposition. When rumors finally reached him of the death of the Prophet Joseph Smith, he began to fear for the safety of his family in Nauvoo, and he returned to America. He died during the exodus from Nauvoo.
The people of Anaa, on the other hand, came to greatly love Elder Grouard. He was the first white missionary of any kind to come to their island, and many of them accepted the truth he taught. He baptized over six hundred natives, organized five branches, and called local officers to serve. He wrote to Elder Pratt and asked him to come to Anaa, as there was too much work for him to do alone.
Elder Pratt responded to his companion’s invitation, and a conference of the Church was held on Anaa with over eight hundred in attendance. At this time Addison Pratt decided to travel back to Church headquarters to request more missionaries to help in the work in the South Pacific. Leaving Elder Grouard behind, he traveled first to California, then to the Salt Lake Valley, arriving in September 1848, one week after his wife and four daughters had arrived from Winter Quarters.

Let me share two brief examples from my own experience with trusted leaders. The first occurred when I was a graduate student pursuing my PhD. I needed to choose a dissertation advisor. While I imagined that such a choice would have an impact on my future career, little did I realize the incredible difference it would make in every aspect of that career.

Fortunately, with counsel from friends and inspiration from the Lord, I decided to join two young associate professors who were just forming a new department in the college. I made that choice largely because I admired and trusted them - they were leaders I knew would be true to their values and principles and who I could follow in confidence. One of those two trusted leaders is now a member of the First Presidency, President Henry B. Eyring. Since I made that dissertation advisor decision over 40 years ago, he has continued to be someone whose counsel I have sought and followed repeatedly, because I knew I could trust him.
The other example I would share is that of a newly arriving missionary when my wife and I were presiding over the England London Mission. We were welcoming a group of 18 excited and anxious new missionaries at Heathrow Airport. As our assistants organized things and got the luggage into the mission van, one missionary stood near my wife, observing the wonderful leadership of those two Assistants to the President. This new missionary then remarked in a conversational, but sincere voice, "Sister Wheelwright, I want you to know that you can count on me."? And we soon found that we could count on that missionary no matter what the circumstances. He could be trusted to always do the right thing.
That young man became a wonderful leader in the mission because all of the other missionaries knew they could trust him as well. Since his mission that characteristic of being trust worthy has only continued to expand with the result that more and more people "count on him."? He now has a wonderful wife and family, serves faithfully as a Priesthood leader and is thriving in a career with the FBI.

Twenty years ago, in a terrible car accident, Brother Herb Gellert lost three precious people in his life - his wife, his daughter, and his wife's dear mother. At fault was the driver of the other vehicle, a young man, not a member of the Church, who had been drinking alcohol to celebrate the birth of his first baby. Herb was faced with a choice of acting out the immediate natural feelings of vindictive rage, or he could offer some kind of forgiveness. He chose the latter and in the process short-circuited the languishing misery of his own broken heart. In fact, he ended up in the home of the guilty driver, embracing him and giving him a priesthood blessing to help him overcome his own suffering and guilt for what he had done. Herb was in our home last week to give me his own write up of that experience, a testimony of the miracle of forgiveness.

Photograph by Melanie Garcia
As another example of youth leading out in positive activities that strengthen others, an entire city in Texas, USA, became a bit brighter after a group of young women in one ward decided to “SMILE” at everyone around them: “Surround Myself In Light Every day.”

The goal of their SMILE Project was to spread happiness through smiling at every person they came in contact with—including themselves. Each day for two weeks, the young women would smile at the mirror in the morning and then smile at each person they met during the day. Their efforts quickly turned into something worth grinning over.

“I felt extremely privileged to be able to spread happiness in such a simple and brilliant way!” says Kelly D., 15. “I felt like I was really trying to be like Jesus and sharing my love with the community by smiling.”

Of course, when you smile at someone, you often receive a smile back. Their smiles began spreading through town.

The young women also noticed that smiling at themselves in the mirror made a difference in their day. “At first the part about smiling at myself sounded kind of strange,” admits Megan M., 13. “But after a little while, my self-confidence grew.”

As the two weeks unfolded, the young women realized their small acts of kindness had a big impact. Maisie D., 17, sums up the project: “I learned for myself that small and simple acts of kindness can make all the difference in someone’s life,” she says. In this case, as in many cases (see Alma 37:6), taking “the first step on the dance floor” didn’t require a huge effort—just a simple goal that invited happiness and allowed others to join in a good thing.