Gospel Story Finder

“As I found myself getting lost in the mass of priorities, I turned to my Father in Heaven for help,” says Eva Laurent of Elk Grove, California, a single mother of six children. “What I wanted was actual physical help—another pair of hands, a strong back, a cognitive mind. What he sent me was a message: Read the Book of Mormon every day. What that book has opened up to me I still find amazing.”

Steve’s love has grown along with his understanding. He wrote home: “This last week I actually started to enjoy my mission. It happened after I got the tape from home. And I’d been praying quite a bit. I really realized how much my family means to me. I’m just overjoyed to be alive. Our family is so special, and I love you all so much. I realize that the love I feel for you is the thing I need to share with these people.”

My little brother, Benjamin, is six years old. A sister in our stake who had cancer needed an operation but didn’t have enough money for it. Flyers reading, “Will you please help save a life?” were sent out asking for donations. When Ben read one, he got twenty dollars, which was all he had, and put it in an envelope to give to the sister. He only gets sixty cents a week for allowance, so twenty dollars was a lot of money for him.
Ben collects coins as a hobby, and I said, “Why don’t you give just part of your money, then you can buy some coins for yourself with the rest.”
“Which is more important, buying coins or saving a life?” he asked. That really impressed me, and I decided to donate some money, too.
My parents kept saying how good Benjamin was because he had given all the money he had. This made me a little jealous of my brother because although I hadn’t given all the money I had, I had donated more money than Ben!
Then I remembered a scripture story about a really poor woman who had only a little money. She gave it all to care for the poor. Some rich people came and gave lots of gold. They were proud of how much money they had given to the poor. But Jesus Christ said that the poor woman had given the most because she had given all that she had.
I was sorry for being jealous of my brother. I felt good knowing that we had been able to help raise the money for the operation. Most of all, I was glad that my little brother had helped me learn a very important lesson about giving.

Once, long ago, an old man named Chang Kung lived with four generations of his family in a small village. They all lived so happily together that not even the animals fought with each other.
The news of this unusual family spread throughout all the kingdom. When the Emperor of the Dragon Throne heard about it, he decided to try to find out the secret of their happiness.
One day he and the people of his court marched solemnly up to the gates of the Chang family.
“Oh, Royal Highness,” Chang Kung greeted the emperor, “what great honor you bring to our simple household.”
“We have come,” said the emperor, “to learn why there is such peace among you that even your animals do not fight.”
“You are most welcome to see and talk with each member of my household, even down to the youngest among us,” Chang Kung said quietly.
So those who had come with the emperor went all through the rooms of the large house, talking to every person. They found only peace and happiness everywhere. When they reported this to the emperor, he asked Chang Kung to tell him the secret for keeping so many people happy.
Chang asked a servant to bring him his ink stick and brush and then on a bamboo tablet he wrote a hundred characters (words) and gave the tablet to the emperor.
“You have written the same word a hundred times!” the emperor exclaimed. “What does this mean?”
Old Chang smiled gently. “Yes, Most Honored One,” he said. “I have written the word Love over and over again, for that is the only thing that can ever hold the secret to peace.”
When the news of this visit of the Emperor of the Dragon Throne reached the people of the Dragon Kingdom, they all asked for a picture of Chang Kung. They placed his picture over their family hearths and prayed that they too might learn to love each other as much as Chang Kung and his family did so that happiness would come to their homes, to their country, and someday to all the world.

I’d always been proud to live in Peggy’s Cove. Then she came. Each evening I stood in my backyard among the jumbled boulders and lapping seawater, watching the fishing boats come home. “How’s our own Peggy today?” the fishermen called as they unloaded their baskets of lobsters. “Waiting for your dad, aye?”
Then the other Peggy arrived. I knew something was up when Mom came bustling in, grinning as if Dad had caught a record lobster. “You know that lady from Saskatchewan who bought the gift shop?” she exclaimed. “She has a daughter your age named Peggy!”
“Peg—!” My swallow felt as long as a giraffe’s.
“You should get acquainted. What fun it will be to have a pair of Peggys in town!”
“Peggy’s Cove isn’t big enough for two Peggys,” I muttered.
Still, I walked into the gift shop a few minutes later and found the new owner bending over a box of Peggy’s Cove sweatshirts. She looked up. “Oh, you must be the other Peggy I’ve been hearing about.”
“I’m the Peggy,” I replied.
As if on cue, the owner’s daughter emerged from the back room, carrying a box of Peggy’s Cove stationery. I grimaced. Wasn’t it bad enough having another Peggy in town? Did she have to be beautiful as well?
She smiled sweetly at me with perfect white teeth. “I’m glad to meet you,” she said. “I wasn’t sure if there would be anyone my age here. I’ve never lived in such a small town.”
“Well, you and your mother might push the population past eighty. That’s almost too big for me.”
“You wouldn’t want it to get too big,” she agreed. “It’s such a beautiful place.” She flipped her long black hair toward the window. “The ocean is really spectacular.”
“Oh, it isn’t usually this nice,” I said, flipping my stiff brown hair that hardly moved. “Often it’s terribly foggy and cold.”
She laughed. “Probably not as cold as Saskatchewan. Have you lived here all your life?”
“All my life.”
Her deep blue eyes opened wide with interest. “Have you ever been lobster fishing?”
My dull, sort-of-brown eyes narrowed in contempt. “Of course. My father’s a lobster fisherman.”
“Wow! I’ve never even seen a lobster.”
How revolting! I thought. How could anybody even think about moving to Peggy’s Cove to sell Peggy’s Cove sweatshirts and stationery and knickknacks and never have seen a lobster?
That afternoon I took some plain white stationery and sat on the massive granite rocks between the lighthouse and the cove. The thrashing Atlantic Ocean groaned with me. “The most awful thing has happened,” I wrote to my best friend, Melissa, who had moved to New Brunswick. I told her the whole sad story, then added, “P.S. The next thing I know, she’ll be taking your place next to me in the church choir.”
On the outside of the envelope I quickly scrawled Melissa’s address and my return address—Peggy, Peggy’s Cove, Nova Scotia. That was all I needed.
I mailed the letter inside the lighthouse. The redheaded lighthouse—that’s what I call it because of its red top and white body—is no longer an operating lighthouse. In the summer it serves as the Peggy’s Cove Post Office.
On Sunday I was walking to the little white church on the hill, when the other Peggy and her mother drove by, smiling and waving. “Here comes my next choir partner,” I grumbled. But she never showed up. I guess our church isn’t good enough for her, I thought.
When I saw her washing the gift shop window the next day, I tried to sidle past without being seen.
“Peggy,” she called, “I saw my first lobster the other day. They’re interesting creatures, aren’t they?”
“I suppose. I didn’t see you in church.”
“Our church is in Halifax. But it must be nice to walk. Our Primary’s going to have an activity day here at the cove sometime. You’re welcome to come.”
“Primary?”
“It’s like a children’s Sunday School.”
“Oh.” Another strange thing from Saskatchewan. “Our church is having its own picnic soon.”
“Sounds fun,” she said. “I’d love to come. When is it?”
“I’m not sure,” I hedged. “I’d better go. There’s a letter I need to mail.”
The lighthouse was crowded with tourists when I walked in. The postmistress glanced up quickly. “Oh, Peggy, there’s a package for you.”
I leaped across the granite rocks toward home. My birthday present from Melissa, at last! I was passing Dad’s dory before I noticed the front of the package. The handwriting didn’t look like Melissa’s. Suddenly I prickled in a cold shiver. It wasn’t to me! It was addressed to the other Peggy. I stiffened in hot anger. How dare another Peggy get mail at the Peggy’s Cove Post Office! Why hadn’t Melissa sent me a present?
I crawled into Dad’s dory and moped. Peggy of Saskatchewan didn’t deserve to get mail here. She had no right to even live in Peggy’s Cove. Suddenly I opened the latch of a lobster pot and stashed the package inside. I would give it to her when I was good and ready. Or maybe I wouldn’t give it to her at all. She would never miss it.
The next night at dinner, Dad announced, “I’ve decided to do something different tomorrow for the last day of lobster season. That new Peggy down at the gift shop has never had a chance to go lobstering.” He looked at me. “She’s a cute little thing, aye?”
I shoved more potatoes into my mouth. “I’ve never noticed.”
“Well, anyway, I thought I’d take both of you out with me.”
I almost choked on my potatoes. “I doubt that she’d want to go.”
When the other Peggy arrived at the boat early the next morning, her usual cheery “hi” sounded a bit shaky. Her eyes darted nervously. She’s not used to being around smelly lobster bait, I thought smugly.
But suddenly she was fumbling with her small red backpack. “I need to give you something. I opened it by accident and thought it was so beautiful that I almost kept it for myself.”
She withdrew a small package. I grabbed it. Inside was a beautiful necklace. “I was right!” I said triumphantly. “Melissa wouldn’t forget my birthday.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, hunching her shoulders and looking down. “I should have given it to you sooner.”
By the time the boat had chugged out of the cove, she seemed her usual self again. She was asking Dad a stream of questions. I was more nervous than a lobster in a seafood restaurant.
“See that string of purple and white buoys?” Dad shouted above the wind. “Those are mine. They have my own color pattern to mark where I’ve dropped my lobster pots. We’ll haul up the line and see how many lobsters we’ve caught. Then we’ll rebait the traps with herring and drop them again.”
“Sounds like fun,” Peggy said.
“It’s a lot of work,” I shouted, pacing the deck.
“Two lobsters in this pot,” Dad called, winding up the line on a pulley.
The other Peggy wasn’t a bit squeamish about handling the lobsters. In fact, she seemed to enjoy it. “Look at how many we’re getting!” she shouted.
Dad was hauling up another pot. “No lobsters in this one. Looks like the trap’s broken up pretty badly.” He quickly found another pot to replace it. Opening the wooden trap door to hang the bait bag, he stopped short. “What’s this?” he exclaimed.
Peggy peered curiously inside the pot. “It looks like a package. Oh, my, it’s my package.” She grabbed it out of the pot. “This is what I’ve been waiting for to give Mom on her birthday. How did it …”
I turned. “I’m sorry. I got it by mistake. I was going to give it to you.”
“Lobster pot and all?” Dad asked sternly. He was giving me his “we have some serious talking to do” look while she ripped open the package.
I stared over her shoulder. “A hymnbook?”
“Yes,” she said. “Mom loves to sing, and there’s one song in here she’s always asking me to sing to her.”
As Dad dropped another lobster pot overboard, the other Peggy began to sing:
“‘I am a child of God,
And he has sent me here,
Has given me an earthly home
With parents kind and dear …’”*
Sounds like something those Saskatchewan people would make up, I thought, trying hard not to like it. But the truth was, I did.
She looked up at me. “Do you sing, Peggy?”
“Well, yes. In the church choir.”
“You must have a beautiful voice,” she said. “Will you sing it with me?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so.” But I was already humming the tune under my breath.
As it turned out, we not only sang the song while Dad lobstered, but we sang it for our church picnic, her Primary Activity Day, and several church and community functions in neighboring coves. We even sang it at the lobster festival. We were billed as the Peggys of Peggy’s Cove. I rather liked the sound of it.
She’s going to teach me more of her songs.

Brad says when people do swear around him, he uses good-natured humor to encourage them to stop. “I’ll just jokingly say, ‘Heeeeey. Use substitute words!’ I have a good time with everybody.”
“During football season he started telling other players he was going to charge them money for every swear word they said. Some words were worth a quarter, some a dime, and some five cents,” says Steve.
“I didn’t keep track, so I never made any money,” Brad says with a smile.

President George Albert Smith’s mother knew the Lord’s will; he told this touching incident of being taught to pray: “I was trained at the knee of a Latter-day Saint mother. One of the first things I remember was when she took me by the hand and led me upstairs to the bedroom. In the room there were two beds, the bed in which my parents slept, and a little trundle bed over on the other side. I can remember it as if it were yesterday. When we got upstairs she sat down by my little trundle bed. She had me kneel in front of her. She folded my hands and took them in hers and taught me my first prayers. I shall never forget it. I do not want to forget it. It is one of the loveliest memories that I have in life: an angelic mother sitting down by my bedside and teaching me to pray … That prayer opened for me the window of heaven. That prayer extended to me the hand of my Father in Heaven, for she had explained to me what it all meant, as far as a little child could understand …” (Sharing the Gospel with Others (Deseret Book Co., 1950) pp. 147–48.)

For instance, I think of a friend I came to know in Vietnam during times of great trouble in his land. He was a man of quiet and transcendent faith in God, our Eternal Father, and in His Son, the Living Christ. Well do I recall hearing him sing, with deep conviction,
When through the deep waters I call thee to go,
The rivers of sorrow shall not thee o’erflow,
For I will be with thee, thy troubles to bless,
And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.
(“How Firm a Foundation,” Hymns, no. 85)

Enforced confinement for seven weeks is a bit tough for a person used to playing sports every day. But that’s what a generous dose of glandular fever and jaundice does for you. It also puts an end to school, church, Mutual, and early morning seminary.
Alas! It does not damage the brain cells, so after five hours a day of studying (the amount required to keep up in school) the New Era is lifted with anticipation as faint strains of music, reminiscent of the Tabernacle Choir, ring softly in the distance. Illness fades into oblivion.
Well, it’s not that dramatic, but it sure is a welcome break and a great tonic for isolation—not just the isolation of illness but also that of living in a small branch. When youth conferences are reported, we devour them with a touch of green around the gills. However, it does give us something to strive for. Maybe we too can have a district youth conference with 400 of us. After all, that’s only 350 to convert.
The New Era is terrific. It’s being used by my English class in their poetry anthologies. As I’m the only Mormon, it’s a great missionary tool. In fact, it’s just all around great. Even when I’ve read all the issues four times already, I can still always find a new article with that special sparkle on the fifth time through. As we say in South Africa: “Jy wen die goue medalje.” (You win the gold medal.)
Tessa MeyerCape Town, South Africa

We have come to the end of a great conference. Through its messages, you have been given inspired truth without much effort on your part. Make these truths yours through study and thoughtful application and by emulating a prophet of God, Spencer W. Kimball, who at the conclusion of a conference, taught:
“While sitting here, I have made up my mind that when I go home from this conference this night there are many, many areas in my life that I can perfect. I have made a mental list of them, and I expect to go to work as soon as we get through with conference” (in Conference Report, Oct. 1975, p. 164; or Ensign, Nov. 1975, p. 111).

On weekdays I learn about numbers and words
And how to subtract and to add.
I’m using my brain cells. My mother says,
“Not learning to think would be sad.”
On Saturday mornings I sweep and I clean
And do many chores until noon,
Then I ski or skate or hike or swim—
I’m keeping my muscles in tune.
On Sunday I worship my Heavenly Father,
And learn about Him and His word.
I try to grow spiritually on that day
And reverently serve the Lord.
It’s easy dividing the days like this
But the truth of the matter is:
I remember the Lord every day of the week,
But Sunday is really His.

A year after my sister’s death, my friend’s mother died. I felt incredible sorrow. I thought, “The next time I see her, I’ll tell her how sorry I am.” Then, remembering my own experience, I knew that my friend needed me right then. Walking to her house, I felt apprehensive. What if she didn’t want to see me? Maybe her family didn’t want me there. Should I wait and talk to her later? But when she answered the door, I could tell she was glad I came. Her father and older siblings were busy planning the funeral. We went for a walk. I didn’t have to worry about what to say. She did most of the talking.

I’m Mackenzie, a young adult and one of the writers of the new Come, Follow Me initiative for the home, Sunday School, and Primary. I’ve been blessed to help write Come, Follow Me, and I’ve seen the difference, and the power, that more effective scripture study can have in a person’s life—namely my own.
When I was first exposed to the new Come, Follow Me initiative, I wasn’t sure what to think. Sometimes it can be a real struggle to make time to read my scriptures every day—even though I always feel the difference and recognize the blessings I get when I read them regularly. (Anyone else in the “looking over a verse before rolling over to go to sleep” camp?) But really digging into the scriptures while helping write these materials has taught me the value of (1) not only giving myself time to adequately study the scriptures but also (2) that I can actually get revelation, really cool revelation, for myself when I actually try to have the Spirit when I study.
Working on the new Come, Follow Me initiative has given me the unique opportunity to get better at studying and finding truths in my scriptures for my job. And while many, many young adults will not have similar opportunities, I am confident that Come, Follow Me can do that for each of us.

When I was a child, my dad worked far away and always came home when it was pitch dark. I would stay awake until he came home. But one day he was very late, and I couldn’t reach him on the phone. I was very scared. I remembered that my parents had taught me to pray always and to ask for help whenever I was scared, so I knelt down and prayed that my father would return home safely. To my surprise, as I ended my prayer, I heard my dad’s bike outside. I was so grateful to my Heavenly Father for watching over my father.

My mother once said of me, “Tommy, I’m very proud of all that you’ve done. But I have one comment to make to you. You should have stayed with the piano.”
So I went to the piano and played a number for her: “Here we go, [here we go] to a birthday party.”1 Then I gave her a kiss on the forehead, and she embraced me.

There are elders quorum presidents listening tonight who know what I mean. Here is what happened to one of you. It has likely happened to many of you—and more than once. The details may vary, but the situation is the same.
An elder you do not know well asked for your help. He had just found out that he had to move his wife and young baby boy today from the apartment where they have been living to another one nearby.
He and his wife had already asked a friend if they could borrow a truck for the day to move their household and personal belongings. The friend loaned them the truck. The young father began to load all they owned into the truck, but in the first few minutes, he hurt his back. The friend who loaned the truck was too busy to help. The young father felt desperate. He thought of you, his elders quorum president.
By the time he asked for help, it was early afternoon. It was the day of an evening Church meeting. You had already promised to help your wife with household projects that day. Your children had asked you to do something with them, but you hadn’t gotten to it yet.
You also knew that the members of your quorum, particularly the most faithful, the ones you usually called on to help, were likely to be in the same time bind that you were in.

As I express my appreciation for the privilege of being with you in this historic conference and for the opportunity to sustain our beloved prophet and his associates, I must also express gratitude—first, to the Lord for the opportunity to serve in this holy calling; and second, to all who have nurtured, tutored, and supported me. My family, particularly my wife, Sharon, has always been willing to provide what I have needed. Many friends and colleagues, both in and out of the Church, have tried to understand what this assignment means to me and have been most thoughtful and encouraging. The Brethren have been particularly patient and kind, and I will ever be grateful to those who have lovingly helped me through these many weeks of self-evaluation and adjustment.
During this recent process of self-examination, I confess I have wondered what others might think about this appointment which has come to me. I have reflected on the words of the poet Robert Burns, which I modernize with no disrespect intended: “Oh, what … a gift to give us, to see ourselves as others see us” (“To a Louse”). If it is of interest and of importance to recognize how we are viewed by others, particularly those about whom we care the most, then what a gift it must be to understand how the Savior sees us.

For example, one time my buddies and I hiked into the mountains for a week of fishing. We had a lot of fun. The deer flies and mosquitoes were so tame they let us feed them. The jays were so friendly they’d swoop down and help themselves to food right off the griddle. And some of the trout were so dumb they let us catch them.
Now, we were on our way back. For breakfast that morning we finished off the last of the food we had packed in. Now we were surviving on lint-covered raisins from the bottom of our packs. We had about eight more miles to hike before we met our rides and headed home to good food and to showers that didn’t come directly out of a cloud.
Ordinarily, the packs are lighter on the hike out; you’ve eaten all of the food and lost half of everything else. But for some reason, I found it tougher going than usual. My companions, on the other hand, laughed as we walked uphill.
Maybe it was because my face was going from red to purple—at any rate, we stopped to rest for a few minutes. When we took off our packs, I made an interesting discovery. You see, we had brought an army surplus canvas bucket for carrying spring water into camp, and I had tied the empty bucket to the back of my pack for the trip out. But somewhere along the way someone had put a rock the size of a large grapefruit in that bucket.
Well, there was a lot of laughter. I laughed too—later. And with the heavy weight gone, I not only kept up with my buddies, I practically chased them up those hills. I also learned a valuable lesson: don’t carry unnecessary burdens.

Ronald A. Rasband’s daughter and son-in-law overcome their fear of bringing children into the world.

When President Monson was a young boy, his parents taught him to serve others. One Christmas, his mother asked him to choose one of his toys to give to a boy who had no gifts. And on Sundays, before his family ate their dinner, his mother had him deliver a plate of food to a neighbor who was in need. As President Monson got older, his desire to help others grew and grew.