Gospel Story Finder

Years ago while serving as a mission president, I received a phone call from the parents of one of our beloved missionaries informing me about the death of his sister. I remember, in the tenderness of that moment, that missionary and I discussed God’s marvelous plan of salvation for His children and how this knowledge would comfort him.

Although he was stunned and saddened by that adversity, this missionary—through his tears and with faith in God—rejoiced in his sister’s life. He expressed unwavering confidence in the tender mercies of the Lord. Resolutely, he told me that he would continue to serve his mission with all faith and diligence in order to be worthy of the promises that God had for him and his family. In this time of need, that faithful missionary turned his heart to God, placed all of his trust in Him, and renewed his commitment to serve the Lord with faith and with all diligence.

On an occasion, again many years ago, when I was called to be a stake president, Elder Mark E. Petersen of the Council of the Twelve interviewed me searchingly as to my worthiness to serve, and he persisted with one question: “Brother Bangerter, do you believe the gospel?”
I responded that I did insofar as I understood it.
He said, “No, I mean do you believe the gospel according to President Joseph Fielding Smith?”
Most of you know that because of the strictness with which President Smith taught the doctrines of the gospel, this was a question that could separate the sheep from the goats. I am grateful that there has been an influence in my life near to me which has made it easy for me to accept the great truth that the gospel really has been restored in the last days to the earth, and that the president of this Church is in reality a prophet of God with the priesthood and the authority of Jesus Christ to organize his kingdom and direct it here on earth.

One Thursday evening at branch meeting at the Provo Missionary Training Center, a large group of Primary children filed into the chapel. The children gathered on the stand, facing the missionaries, and sang about being in the army of Helaman and hoping to be called on missions.
When the children finished singing, they remained standing. The elders and sisters arose, hearing the piano introduction to “Called to Serve,” the hymn which has become a missionary anthem. The missionaries had been so moved by the children’s songs that many were on the brink of tears. Starting their own song was not easy. As they sang I noticed the children. They were not looking at the floor or at each other. They were gazing intently into the faces of the missionaries whose song bore testimony of faith. The children believed the words they heard, and they knew the missionaries believed them too.
Both missionaries and children were witnesses to a demonstration of faith that borders on the miraculous, and both accepted it matter-of-factly as they would a more routine event. Yet, in that group of missionaries were individuals who had saved for years to serve a mission. All of them were willing to go where and when they were asked. Most had received a letter from someone they had never met which informed them they were going to a place they had never been, to meet people they had never seen and learn languages and discussions they did not know. Most were going at their own expense or were helped by other equally faithful people who made contributions.

Great-Grandma came to live with Grandpa and Grandma Marshal about two years ago. My family lives just up the street, and we like that because we can visit them a lot.
Grandma Marshal is Great-Grandma’s caregiver. She helps take care of her mother’s needs, and is a very good and loving daughter.
Great-Grandma is old. She told me one day, “I’m so old I feel guilty every time I draw a breath!”
Great-Grandma makes me laugh. And she’s always smiling, even when she’s sad. “Life’s too short to waste it by wearing a long face, even at my age. Happiness is a choice, Makinzee,” she explained one day. We were sitting on the porch swing together watching a little autumn breeze carry leaves and birds across the sky. “The only one that can make you unhappy is yourself.” Great-Grandma tapped the tip of my nose. “Besides, there’s so much to be happy about!”
“Like what, Great-Grandma?” I asked.
Her smile got as bright as the sunlight shining through the elm tree’s yellow leaves. “Even at 93, I’m a child of God,” she said. “And just look about you, child. There are birds that sing their hearts out. There’s the sun that can light a whole world, and there are flowers that bloom.”
She patted my knee. “I have a family who loves me, and I have hands to help others.” She held up a pair of fleece mittens she was sewing for a needy children’s program.
Then she looked up at the sky. “My, my, everywhere I look there’s more. A loving Heavenly Father watching over us, and, oh!” She pointed to a huge, misty rainbow a ways off. “Rainbows are not only promises of better times, but reminders that when we have trials we can still be happy.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Don’t rainbows come after it rains? Don’t wildflowers grow when it rains?” Great-Grandma asked.
I nodded.
“If rain can make the flowers grow, Makinzee, then why not the rest of us too?” Great-Grandma smiled.
The next summer Great-Grandma got really sick. She had to stay in bed a lot of the time. One day I looked quietly into her room, and she was lying in bed staring at an empty wall, watching the shadows get bigger. I guess she was happy because she said life was too short to be sad, but, well, today she looked sad.
I decided it was my turn to make her smile. Grandpa Marshal had planned for a long time to take my brother, Ethan, and me to the circus. I really wanted to go, and today was the last day before it left town. But instead I asked Grandpa if he would mind taking just Ethan. I had a strong feeling that I should stay and do something for Great-Grandma.
Grandpa didn’t say anything. His chin started shaking like the leaves do when the wind blows, and he hugged me for a long time.
When I told Grandma Marshal why I was staying, her eyes filled up with tears, and one ran down onto her smile before she could push it away. She always said if a warm tear touches your lips it makes sweet words grow, and I guess she’s right because she whispered, “Bless you.”
Grandma keeps lots of paper, crayons, watercolors, and other fun stuff for her grandchildren in what she calls the “kids’ corner.” After Grandpa and Ethan left, I set to work.
Three hours later I hung pictures of rainbows all over the empty wall in Great-Grandma’s room. She cried. It was only the third time I ever saw her cry. The first time was when she bore her testimony at church. The second was when a little bird died in her hands—she said it’s a sad thing when someone or something passes away and nobody sheds a tear. And the third time was when she saw all those rainbows. But those tears—like the ones when she bore her testimony—were happy tears. She laughed. “So many rainbows,” she said, “and all in my room!”
Two days later, Great-Grandma died. I cried, but they were warm tears, the kind that make sweet words grow. I wrote some of them down on a piece of paper and put them in Great-Grandma’s casket. I said, “I love you, Great-Grandma. Thank you for your smiles. I will try to be like you by being my own best self. Mom and Dad said that if I can learn to be happy like you, even when I’m sad, and to think of others like you always did, that I will be in pretty good shape when it’s my turn for someone to paint rainbows in my room. I’ll see you later, Great-Grandma, so I won’t say good-bye. Love, Makinzee.”

From times of darkness, a Light now shines,
Brought forth by one young boy.
How glorious, as it fills the world
With its song of truth and joy.

Two mothers in my class tried this, with somewhat different results. One knew her son was upset because he had not done as well as he wanted on a school project and in a musical program for which he had to play an instrument. She found occasion to talk about how miserable she had been when she got a bad grade, feeling down on herself; but she had finally accepted the fact that she could not always be perfect. She told him she knew that he probably got some of his perfectionism from her, and she hoped he would be able to deal with mistakes better than she had. Her son listened with interest and afterward said, “Thanks, Mom, that was a real help.”

Wonderful Primary teachers also taught me many good things. My memory of names is very poor, and yet these people’s names are engraven on my soul. I think there is a cement of love that permanently binds such people’s names to our hearts and our minds. Most of all, I remember their love toward me. My Primary teachers demonstrated that love in lots of ways. I remember them coming over to see me when I was sick. If I ever missed Primary, they were there to find out why and to check on me.

I had an experience a few years ago that emphasized the importance of this process. A friend came to my office with a problem. He told me that he had studied art in college and then pursued a career in that field, which included a couple of teaching positions. It was while he was the director of an art museum that he finally realized that his profession was not going to provide him with enough money to support his family. He thought he had solved his problem by taking a job in the advertising department of a large company. But two years later the company fell on hard times, and he was laid off. He came to ask for my advice. I suggested a book for him to read. I didn’t see him until three years later when we met at a high school reunion. He thanked me for all my help. When I questioned him, he explained that he had read the book and completed the self-assessment. Based on that information, he decided he would really enjoy working in business, and he took a job selling life insurance. That job gave him a better income, and he thoroughly enjoyed the work. He felt good about the service he was providing. Now I’m not saying that selling insurance is better than being an art director. I’m saying that understanding yourself is important in making career decisions.

On Sunday our family went to church. We arrived very early, and the sisters were surprised to see us. They hadn’t really invited us, just told us where the building was.

The young people of a certain ward had worked to earn the large sum of money needed to go on an adventure trip. I had had some acquaintance with their bishop. He called and asked if I would help him get some news publicity so that these young people would be recognized for the fine things they were doing.
I said that I would not help him. He was surprised and asked why. I answered that although it was commendable that the young people had worked hard to earn this money, some things are interesting while other things are important, and that there might be a higher purpose for the funds they had obtained.
I explained that my ministry takes me into countries where the people are less privileged than where he lives. I explained that the amount of money these fine young people had earned would keep several missionaries from these areas in the field for their entire missions.
He said, “Are you asking me to have these young people donate their funds to the general missionary fund of the Church?”
I said, “No, I have not asked you to do that. I have just said that there are finer things to do.” I explained that I was not against the kind of project they were planning but that there must be a balance, and, by comparison, some things are interesting while other things are important.
Later the bishop said that he had talked to the young people and that they wanted to sacrifice their adventure trip and donate all the money to the general missionary fund. He asked if they could bring the check and have their picture taken with me as they made the donation and if they could have the picture and an article put into the news.
I said no. Then I said, “You might consider helping your young people learn a higher law of recognition. Let them feel the joy and gain the treasure in their heart and soul that come from silent, selfless service.”

Have you ever felt alone? When our daughter Tina was six years old, our family went to live in Brazil. None of our family knew how to speak Portuguese, and it was especially hard for Tina to learn. We decided to put her in preschool with four-year-olds, even though she should have been starting first grade. We hoped that being with younger children would help her feel more comfortable and make it easier to learn Portuguese.
But Tina was as foreign to the other children as they were to her. Each day was a struggle for her, and each day she returned home from school very sad.
One day some children were particularly unkind to her. At recess a few children even threw rocks at her, bullying her and laughing rudely. Tina was scared and hurt. She decided that she wouldn’t go back to class.
Sitting alone while the playground emptied, she remembered what we had taught her about loneliness. She remembered that Heavenly Father is always close to His children and that she could speak to Him at any time. He would understand the language of her heart. In a corner of the playground, she bowed her head and said a prayer. Tina didn’t know exactly what to say, so she asked that her father and mother could be with her to protect her.
A Primary song came into her mind:
I often go walking in meadows of clover,
And I gather armfuls of blossoms of blue.
I gather the blossoms the whole meadow over;
Dear mother, all flowers remind me of you.
(“I Often Go Walking,” Children’s Songbook, 202)
As Tina opened her eyes, she noticed one little flower growing between the cracks of the concrete. She picked it up and put it into her pocket. Her troubles with the other children did not disappear, but she walked back into the school, feeling that her parents were with her.

The Semmler family of nearby Christy’s Beach tries to go to the temple together once a year. Catherine Semmler, 16, says that in the temple, “everything’s perfect. Everything’s peaceful, and everyone’s happy and friendly.” That can make going back to school kind of a shock. But, still, the feeling of the temple stays with you.

“Can we offer you just one verse today,
A sweet and simple testimony, like
An apple on the way out the door?
Do you have time for a chapter,
Or will you be skipping the full course again?”
And so they call to me every morning,
And I try to ignore the prompting
As I dress and pack.
But they cry as I leave, like
A voice from the dust,
And say,
“We’ll be waiting here
Until you come back
Hungry.”

Coupon books with tickets good for personal services are our favorite gifts. Tickets read: “Good for one dressmaking session” or “Good for one lawn cut” or “Good for one dinner out.” We try to offer the kind of help the other person really would appreciate.—Susan Coburn, San Diego, California.

With the help of my family, we decided to start a Billion Graves assignment, taking pictures at the Anfield cemetery in Liverpool. Everything was okay because the headstones were clear, and it was easy to take legible pictures- although we had to deal with English weather, trying to avoid the pouring rain, something difficult to achieve. The cemetery was about 20 minutes from our home.
We then realised that the task was too big, as it was not close enough, so we searched for something smaller and closer to our home. That is when we started at St Chad’s cemetery which was just five minutes from home. Whenever it was not raining, we just ran to take pictures.
There was a lot to do, not because of the number of headstones, but because of the challenges we had when we got there. We needed gloves to remove the grass and dust the leaves off the headstones, to get clear pictures. We found loads of weeds to remove, even stinging nettles (Urtica dioica) and we got many stings on our arms. There were so many weeds and we even found trees growing from some of these headstones.
Many headstones were buried in the ground so that the names and dates were underground. That was when we started bringing small shovels to remove the soil and dig up the headstones to read the information we could not see. We took spatulas, brushes and knee pads, to help in this work. Our tool bag kept growing bigger each time.

The summer before Elder Mark D. Eddy’s senior year of high school, a seminary teacher invited him and other members of their seminary student council to read the Book of Mormon. He had read it many times with his family, but this was his first time by himself.
He decided to pray before and after he read each day. He hoped that a clear answer regarding the book’s truthfulness would come within a week or two. After reading for more than two months, he still had not received his anticipated confirmation.
Hours before a “welcome back” seminary devotional in which he was asked to bear his testimony, Elder Eddy arrived early to help set up. Then he found a quiet place to read the Book of Mormon and pray.
“I then received that clear and unmistakable feeling that it was true,” he said. “It came just in time for me to bear my testimony that evening. The feeling took enough work to receive and lasted just long enough for me to never forget.”

Some weeks the ratio of members to nonmembers who visit the pavilion is very high, and some weeks there are very few members in the lines of interested fair-goers. On July 24, Pioneer Festival Day, the elder waiting in front of the pavilion asked the crowd, “How many of you are Mormons? Raise your hands.” Many hands went up.
One of the members from North Dakota who was waiting at the front of the line said, “Elder, you should be asking who the non-Mormons are.”
“Okay,” said the agreeable young missionary. “How many of you are not Mormons?”
Again many hands were seen waving in the air.
“Go to it, elder,” encouraged the man who had made the suggestion.
And that’s exactly what the elders do.

“Prairie gum!” exclaimed Roxanna. “Would you like to go out and get some prairie gum?” “Oh, yes,” Rachel said. She had just walked the few kilometers between her soddy—a home built of grass, or sod—and Roxanna’s, but her six-year-old legs were eager to go on if the reward was prairie gum, a sticky substance that gathered on the broken tops of the tall rosinweeds dotting the land.
In the spring, the weed blossomed like a little yellow sunflower, but today it was fall, and the rosinweed, like everything on the prairie, was brown and dry. The little wildflowers, which had once added splashes of red, orange, and purple to the sea of grass, were all gone.
The girls walked hand in hand through the dry grass. They felt lucky to live so close to each other; most families on the prairie did not have neighbors nearby. The golden land was vast, and homes were spread out. As Rachel and Roxanna walked, they could not even see another soddy.
They trotted from weed to weed, their long braids dancing behind them. Picking off a bit of the colorless gum here and a bit there, they tried to gather enough of it to make a chewy lump. They were so focused on spotting the next rosinweed and scraping off its gum they didn’t realize they had walked another kilometer. When a faint cry rang out, the two best friends froze.
“Listen! What is that?” Rachel’s brown eyes widened with fear. Both girls strained to make out the sound. Then in the distance they saw Roxanna’s father running toward them. “It’s your father! He wants us to do something. What is it, Roxanna? Can you hear?” Rachel asked, frightened.
“Run! Run! Run!” Roxanna’s father was yelling frantically. “Run to the breaking!” Roxanna quickly spotted the place where her father had turned over the prairie sod with the breaking-up plow. Land on the prairie could not be cultivated the first year; it had to be broken up, then left to lie and rot. During the fall and winter, the tough grass roots rotted away so a common plow could get through them. Roxanna grabbed Rachel’s hand and began running the half kilometer to the breaking. They stumbled through the tall, dry prairie grass.
“Run to the breaking! Run! Run!” Roxanna and Rachel could see the blur of a blue shirt as Roxanna’s father waved his arms desperately. “Run! Run!” His frantic voice was still faint, but the words were distinct.
“Roxanna, what is it? What’s the matter?” Rachel asked between frenzied breaths.
“I don’t know,” Roxanna gasped. Neither girl stopped running. Their parents had taught them to obey immediately, so they stumbled on as fast as their little legs could carry them.
The prairie grass felt like claws snatching at them again and again, trying to trip them. Roxanna stepped into a gopher hole, but Rachel pulled her up. Rachel’s lungs ached, and she felt she did not have another breath in her, but she kept going.
At last they reached the edge of the breaking. Roxanna’s father came running up from the opposite direction. Seizing both girls in his arms, he dragged them into the middle of the bare black clearing.
“Get down!” he gasped, throwing his body over theirs as protection. The black soil was hard and scratched the girls’ faces.
“What is it?” Rachel panted.
A crisp, crackling sound was her answer. She turned her head to see large flames sweeping across the prairie. The orange fire swiftly swallowed up the dry grass and weeds in its path, including where Rachel and Roxanna had stood just minutes before! The flames shot high into the sky, sizzling like wicked laughter. The air over them grew thick with gray smoke and flying red cinders. Roxanna’s eyes and lungs burned from the smoke. Rachel thought her skin would melt from the intense heat that enveloped them.
“Hold on, girls,” Roxanna’s father urged.
And then the danger was over. The fire moved swiftly down the prairie, leaving Rachel, Roxanna, and Roxanna’s father untouched because there was no grass around them to burn. They sat up and stared at the moving fire. Rachel wiped the sweat and dirt from her face with the back of her hand. Roxanna let out a big sigh of relief.
“That was close,” Roxanna’s father gasped, “but we made it!” He looked back to see a stretch of black extending down the prairie, marking the fire’s path. The ground around the breaking was black and still sizzling. He inhaled deeply. “We made it because you quickly obeyed my shouts.” Then he bowed his head and gave thanks to Heavenly Father that the girls had been obedient and that none of them had been hurt by the fire.

When the car was ready to go, we started on our way again, slowly, down the coast. A short time later we saw two young Mexican parents and their two toddlers standing next to a car with a mangled tire. Our opportunity to help had come sooner than I expected.
We spoke with them and offered to take them to their home a few miles down the road. They gratefully accepted and piled into the back seat.
Two dusty little hands plunged into our box of crackers as we bumped along that rocky dirt road in the Mexican desert. Now seven people were crammed into the minivan, along with a cooler, two surfboards, camping gear, and a pile of oily towels.
As the toddlers eagerly devoured the last cracker crumbs and we joked with their parents, I realized that this was what helping was all about. It didn’t matter how much it cost the man to give us the epoxy or how far out of our way we went to take the family home. We all knew we had done the right thing, and the feeling was worth more than anything in the world.

Youth from five different Christian denominations joined for a day of music, faith, and unity on Easter Monday 2025.
The outdoor event took place on the 21st of April at Paofai Park, Papeete, Tahiti.
According to one of the organisers, Hina Brodien, “Despite the rain, over 800 young people participated, demonstrating a powerful collective spiritual momentum. The goal was to strengthen the faith of young people and unite them around Jesus Christ. The concert allowed them to experience a moment of communion beyond denominational boundaries.”
Brodien continued, “Through their involvement in music, workshops, and logistics, they learned to serve together in the Spirit of Christ.”
The event was part of the worldwide “Greater Love” Easter initiative begun by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and supported by members of other Christian denominations.
In Papeete, youth and young adults from the Catholic Church, Ma’ohi Protestant Church, Seventh-day Adventist Church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and Community of Christ participated in the day’s activities. Parents, youth leaders, and other friends came along to lend their support.
“Meeting Tents” organized by spiritual themes (prayer, blessings, praise, testimony, fellowship) welcomed small groups of youth. Each tent was hosted by a different denomination offering opportunities to learn about others’ faith.
Then an interfaith concert brought together the choirs of each church and a shared music group ("Himene Amui"), made up of youth from all denominations.
Despite the sometimes-rainy weather, participants sang and prayed fervently, revealing the strength of their faith.
Over 300 singers and musicians participated in the concert. The audience was made up of more than 1,000 guests including around 800 young people.
Around 50 volunteers mobilized logistics, communication, and security; and 13 coordinators from the five denominations brought everything together.
Young people expressed feelings of gratitude, freedom, and pride in publicly expressing their faith. Many discovered fellow believers in their school environments, breaking spiritual isolation.
The activities encouraged them to speak out, pray, testify, and sing together—creating new friendships and strengthening their Christian commitment.