Gospel Story Finder

One time a young missionary who had recently arrived at Bogotá to serve in our mission said to me in an initial interview: “Well, President, I guess you’ve heard all about me and about all the trouble I was before receiving my mission call and all the problems I had at the MTC.”
I said to him: “No, Elder, I haven’t heard a thing and, frankly, unless it concerns a serious moral transgression, I don’t want to know. The only thing that matters to me, and I believe that the only thing that matters to the Lord, is what you do from now on. I know that you have been called by God to serve in this mission and that you can be a powerful and effective advocate for the Savior. You have a real opportunity right here and right now to go out and show the Lord and others who you really are and what you can do.” I think the missionary was a little surprised at my response, and it effectively terminated our interview.
That young man worked with enthusiasm and energy in some of the areas of our mission that might be considered tough. He taught, he converted, he baptized. He became a district leader and a zone leader. He left our mission with my greatest respect for the work he had done and for the man he had become.

As styles changed, more women were choosing to wear swimsuits that Rose Marie felt were immodest. Everyone thought she should start designing suits in the latest styles. But Rose Marie took a stand.
“I don’t like that style of swimsuit, and I don’t want to design for a company that makes them,” she said. Her business partners wouldn’t listen. Finally, Rose Marie decided to leave the company she had started. It was a hard choice. But she knew that standing up for what was right was more important than doing what was popular.

But I learned an important lesson from an argument I had with a family member. In this situation, we both felt strongly that we were in the right. I quickly got frustrated with how the discussion was going. I’m not a good debater, and he presented his points with a confidence that was hard to contradict. I did my best to state my points respectfully, but it didn’t seem to matter.
My words felt weak.
I felt weak.
I tried not to let my frustration get the best of me, but when he left, I broke down in tears. I felt discouraged and humiliated.
A couple of hours later, he came back. I braced myself for another frustrating argument, but his words surprised me.
“Thanks,” he said. “Thanks for listening.”
He told me how much it meant to him that I’d heard him out, even though I didn’t agree with him. In the end, neither of our opinions had changed, but we understood each other better.
What I had thought was a disastrous conflict turned out to be an opportunity to build a stronger relationship. That simple exchange made me think a lot about how I relate to others during conflicts and the importance of simply listening.

Have you ever taken something for granted, unaware of how it benefited you until it was gone?
I did once—with the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Growing up in Mongolia, my family and I were members of the Church. But over time, my parents’ church attendance became less and less frequent. I slowly started to feel indifferent about the gospel too.
I never took what I learned seriously and eventually stopped going altogether. I didn’t think I would miss the gospel, because it had never really seemed to benefit my life anyway.

When I was a young adult, my older sister bumped into some missionaries. They stopped her to ask if she could translate something for them in Mongolian. They had a quick conversation, and when she returned home, she realized who they were.
She wanted to go to church that week and invited me to join her.
I was totally against the idea at first. I thought I was doing fine in life without the Church! But she convinced me to join her just once.
When I walked into sacrament meeting for the first time in years, I wasn’t very happy to be there. However, as I looked around, I saw some friends I had grown up with. The light they emanated was almost tangible. As I watched them, I recalled small inklings of spiritual experiences I had felt at church growing up.
So many truths I had disregarded came flooding back, and I suddenly felt empty and sad. “I’m not like them,” I thought. “Why did I leave this all behind?”
I realized that I had become a different person in the past few years. There was a sense of darkness in my life I had been ignoring. But as I sat there, I heard a peaceful voice in my mind that seemed to say, “You can shine too. It’s not too late.”
I thought of the parable of the lost sheep. The one sheep who the Savior brought back to the fold (see Luke 15:4–7).
I was that sheep. And the Savior was lovingly coming after me because He loved me as much as His other sheep.
He wanted me back.
This brought me so much gratitude for my Savior. Feeling the Spirit for the first time in years, I made the decision to come back to the Church and, this time, to take it seriously.

I felt that truth and knew that if I put my heart into the gospel, my life was going to change.
As I started living the gospel, I found purpose in my life again. I finally believed that Heavenly Father loves each of His children and that the gospel of Jesus Christ is the key to returning to our heavenly home.
This means everything to me now.

Once while I was in Tonga, I was traveling between islands to attend a district conference. Traveling with me were my wife, a translator, and the mission president and his wife. To get from island to island, the people travel by boat. This particular boat trip between Ha’apai and Ha’afeva took us four hours. When we arrived at Ha’afeva, the Saints were lining the shore and singing to us. We rolled up our pants, took off our shoes, and waded ashore.
We soon learned that the people there had been suffering because of a drought. In the islands, drinking water is collected in barrels from rainwater running off roofs. The islanders drink the water from the barrels. If it doesn’t rain, they’re out of drinking water, and their crops don’t grow either. They had been experiencing the drought for so long that they were out of water, and for dinner that afternoon, they shared with us the last of their food. I thought to myself, “What faith!” They had been fasting, and they asked if we would join them in a prayer for rain, which we did.
After the conference had ended and we prepared to leave, the people on the island prayed not only for rain, but they prayed that we would have good weather until we arrived back at our destination. We got into our boats and traveled back with good weather. But as we arrived at our final destination the heavens opened, and the islands were blessed with rain.

When I was 14, I was called to be a family history youth consultant. My family history class during Sunday School inspired me to find my great-grandfather’s parents on my mom’s side.
Every Sunday I did a little more work, going through records and searching for connections to my great-great-grandfather, William Aldred Thomas. But after a year with no results, I felt discouraged. I wanted to give up. But then one afternoon, I felt a distinct prompting to search for Francina Christina Meyer, his wife.
Several records came up that confirmed a connection to my great-great-grandparents. I was so happy—I had finally found my family! My home was full of indescribable joy. More names connected to the Thomas line were found, and my brother and I have been baptized and confirmed for five generations of that line—all because of perseverance and a single, special prompting!
This experience has been a tremendous blessing and testimony to me of the importance of family history work. I know that our family members on the other side will help us find them and that this work truly brings light into our lives.
Savannah B., Alberta, Canada

When I served as president of the Canadian Mission, headquartered in Toronto, Canada, there was a devoted family history worker in the mission by the name of Myrtle Barnum. Oh, she was faithful in this sacred work. She had accumulated a lot of data on the St. Lawrence River area. She had come to the end of her line. She did not know where she might turn. She studied. She searched. She prayed. But she never gave up. And though she was frustrated for month after weary month because of her apparent inability to find that which was needed, she never lost hope.
One day she was walking by a secondhand store and felt compelled to go inside. Looking up and down the shelves, she noticed a set of books which drew her attention. Why, she will never be able to testify other than that the Lord was able to inspire her. The title of those two books: Pioneer Life on the Bay of Quinte, volumes 1 and 2. They sound like novels. She reached up and took those two dusty volumes down from the shelf, and as she opened them, she was amazed. These books were not novels. These books were genealogical records of all of the people that had lived near the Bay of Quinte from the time records could be maintained. She hurriedly searched through page after page, and there she found the information which opened up her family history lines once again, that her research might continue.
An elders quorum in that area raised the considerable sum needed so that she might buy those two books. They were sent to Church headquarters in Salt Lake City, and I received a letter indicating that these same books had been the means of opening up the lines of connecting heritages for thousands of names of those who had gone beyond the veil. A large number of people rejoiced to learn of this treasure trove which connected to their family lines, including President Henry D. Moyle, then a member of the First Presidency. One of his grandfathers had come from that very area. All this came about because a faith-filled servant of the Lord had refused to give up, refused to be discouraged, refused to say, “There is nothing that I as an individual can do.”

Darcy jumped over a puddle. She giggled. Rainy days were fun. She and Mom raced leaf boats in the water. Darcy cheered as her leaf floated by.
She tiptoed between the puddles with colored chalk in each hand. She colored the sidewalk and even a big rock. The colors looked so pretty against the gray sky. Darcy didn’t mind the cold.
Darcy looked up at the cloudy sky.
“Mommy, can Heavenly Father see me right now?” Darcy asked.
“Yes. Heavenly Father can see you right now,” said Mom.
Darcy thought for a moment. Then she held up her hand and waved.
“Hi!” she said, waving at the sky. Maybe Heavenly Father could see her waving to Him!
At last Darcy and Mom went inside to warm up.
Darcy grabbed some paper and painted a bright rainbow. She showed it to Daddy when he got home. She told him all about her rainy-day fun.
After dinner, the sun was setting. “Let’s go see the sunset,” Daddy said.
They walked outside. It smelled like the earth had a shower. The clouds were puffy and pink. And in the sky was the brightest, most beautiful rainbow!
“Do you remember who makes rainbows?” Mom asked.
“Heavenly Father makes them!” said Darcy.
Darcy wrapped her arms around herself like a hug. “I think He is saying ‘hi’ back to me!”

We may experience hunger, for instance, but if so, we can still respond as did the widow who used the last of her meal to feed Elijah (see 1 Kgs. 17:8–16). Such sharing amid real deprivation and poverty is always touching. Earlier in his life, a wonderful bishop of my youth, M. Thirl Marsh, repeatedly tried to be hired at the mines during the Depression. Being underage but large of stature, he persisted and was hired, but several friends were not. Apparently, on more than one occasion after his hard day’s work, generous young Thirl shared his earnings equally with these friends until they, too, were hired. No wonder he was such a caring shepherd of the flock later on.

I used to share my testimony ever since I was small growing up, but it was like a routine for me to share it every fast and testimony Sunday. I knew all the commandments that I should keep, but it never really had great meaning in my life. Then I fasted and prayed about Joseph Smith and about whether he was indeed a prophet of God and translated the Book of Mormon. After much fasting and prayer, the Spirit confirmed in my heart that all these things were true. Now I’ve earned a testimony of my own and it is no longer a borrowed testimony.
Meradani R., 20, Fiji

Percy Peacock and his friends lived in the garden of the finest castle in the land. On sunny days people loved to stand outside the castle gate and watch the peacocks.
Percy and his friends held their heads high and strutted around the garden. Sometimes they spread their tail feathers to make colorful fans of orange, gold, green, and blue.
The people clapped their hands. “How lovely!” they cried. “What beautiful colors!”
“It’s true,” Percy said to his friends. “We peacocks are the finest, most beautiful of all birds. Just to prove that’s true,” he added, “let’s have a contest to show which bird is the finest of all. We are sure to win.”
The other peacocks all agreed that it was a splendid idea.
“Each bird must bring seeds, nuts, and berries for the prize,” said Percy. “I’m tired of eating the same old castle food.”
Percy and his friends practiced their proudest walks. They spread their tail feathers, walked down to the lake, and admired their reflections in the water.
On the day of the contest, birds came from many lands. There were small ones and large ones. Some birds squawked and others sang. There were yellow birds, red birds, blue birds, and birds of many colors.
Percy had never seen so many birds.
“There is still no bird as fine as we are,” he told his friends. “Look how fat that one is.”
“Yes, and those others are so plain,” ridiculed another peacock.
All day birds flew into the garden. Soon prize baskets were full of corn, wheat, rice, and nuts. Others were overflowing with plums, cherries, and berries.
“What a feast!” declared the peacocks.
When the robin came, she asked, “Who is the judge?”
“Oh, dear!” said Percy. “I forgot about that.”
An old owl sat nearby. “I will be the judge,” he offered.
That was fine with Percy. “I have heard that owls are very wise,” he said. To himself Percy muttered, “Owls are drab and brown and not beautiful at all.”
So all the birds flew before the judge. They flapped their wings and sang their best songs. A white swan glided on the silver lake. Parrots flashed their bright wings. Eagles soared high above the oak tree.
Last of all were the peacocks. They walked proudly and turned all around so that the judge could admire their colorful tails.
Percy anxiously clicked his beak as he passed the prize baskets. Then he shouted, “Now announce who the winner is!”
All the birds stood around the owl. The owl looked at Percy. He cleared his throat. “It is true that you peacocks have beautiful tail feathers,” he said. “But you are not modest like the robin or sensible like the sparrow. You don’t have the nightingale’s sweet song or the swan’s fine manners. You are not as fast as the hummingbird or as friendly as the canary.”
“Then who won?” asked the parrot.
“No one and everyone,” the owl said wisely. “Each of you is special. Each can learn from the other.”
For once Percy had nothing to say.
Then all the birds asked one another, “If no one won, who gets the prize?”
“All of us,” said the sparrow. “We will share.”
And that is what they did.

BOOM! Thunder cracked outside. Alexis hid under her blanket. But the thunder didn’t stop. Alexis shivered. Then she got up to find Daddy.
“Daddy,” she said. “I’m scared.”
Daddy gave Alexis a hug. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know thunderstorms can be scary. But we’re safe inside our home.”
Alexis thought about that. “I don’t feel safe right now. Could we say a prayer together?”
“That’s a great idea.”
Alexis and Daddy got on their knees. Daddy reached for her hand. He held it while he prayed.
“Dear Heavenly Father, please help Alexis feel safe from the storm.”
Alexis held tightly to Daddy’s hand. Her heart felt peaceful. She wasn’t afraid anymore.
“I feel better,” Alexis said.
“Good,” said Daddy. “Now let’s get you back in bed.”
Alexis crawled into bed. Daddy pulled her blanket up to her chin. He kissed her forehead.
“I love you, Daddy,” Alexis said. “Thank you for praying with me.”
Daddy smiled. “You’re welcome. I love you too.”

I would like to tell a story about my Grandfather Nelson. They called him A.C. When he was just 27 years old, his father died. A few months later, his deceased father came to visit him in a vision. He was in bed when his father came and sat on the side of the bed.
“What have you been doing since you died, Father?” Grandfather asked.
“I’ve been very busy preaching the gospel of Jesus Christ,” his father answered. “You cannot imagine, my son, how many spirits there are in the spirit world that have not yet received the gospel.”
He said many spirits were learning about the gospel and were looking forward to the time when their friends would do their temple work for them.
Grandfather had another question.
“Father, can you see us at all times, and do you know what we’re doing?”
His father said, “No, I am usually busy doing my work there. But today I am allowed to visit for a little while.”
Grandfather had a third question.
“Father, is it natural to die?”
His father said it was as natural as being born. It was like walking through a door from one room into another room.
Grandfather had one last question.
“Father, is the gospel as taught by this Church true?”
His father pointed to a picture of the First Presidency that was hanging on the wall.
“Just as sure as you see that picture, just as sure is the gospel true,” he said. He testified that the gospel can save everyone who obeys it, and that it’s the only way to be saved in the kingdom of God. “Always cling to the gospel.”
My grandfather’s father told him to be humble, prayerful, true, and faithful.
“Never do anything that would displease God,” he said. “My son, be a good boy.”
Grandfather wrote this special experience in his journal. I took his journal entry and made a copy for every member of my family. And now I want to share the story with you, my Church family.

Recently, I was visiting with a family member who is struggling with his faith because of some things he saw on the internet.
“If you can find something better than the gospel of Jesus Christ or that makes you happier than the gospel, then go after it,” I told him. “But I know from experience that there is nothing better or that makes us happier than the gospel of Jesus Christ.”
I told him that some people say God does not exist and that the gospel is not true, but they don’t earnestly seek the truth. And there are others like the father of King Lamoni, who was so eager to know God that he prayed, “Wilt thou make thyself known unto me, and I will give away all my sins to know thee” (see Alma 22:17–18).
Loving and not judging are vital when helping someone who struggles with difficult questions of faith. My family member said he wasn’t going to attend church anymore, but he didn’t stop attending. I think he kept attending because we share a close relationship, and he feels that I understand his doubts.

I moved from Samoa to the United States last summer. I didn’t want to leave my island and my friends. Going to a new high school made me very nervous. In spite of being new, I tried out for the girls’ basketball team. I made it! I love basketball! As you’re running down that court, everyone is counting on you to make that basket. When you make it, a feeling of happiness comes to you, and if you don’t make it—well, that is a whole different story!
Anyway, I was on the team and couldn’t go to seminary because I had practice every day after school, and I had seminary after school as well. I missed seminary for the whole second quarter and forgot all about it.
One day my mom asked me about it. I told her that everything was OK. But she knew what was going on. My seminary teacher had sent her a letter. She told me: “Fono, you know that what you are doing is wrong. I’m just going to advise you, but it is your decision. Remember, your decision can give you happiness, and it can also put you into a lot of misery.”
I thought about this for several weeks and came to my final decision. I decided to quit basketball and go to seminary. I knew that if I chose basketball over seminary it would be pretty sad and embarrassing at seminary graduation. I didn’t want to watch others graduate when I couldn’t. Maybe that was the misery my mom was talking about. I decided that I should get my priorities straight. Even though I love basketball so much, first things first. I am hoping to make the basketball team next year. As I plan my schedule, I am making sure that I won’t have to drop seminary again in order to practice.
Right now I’m back in seminary. I have a great teacher, a fun class, and I’m very proud of myself for making the right decision. This experience reminds me of a scripture found in Matthew 6:33 [Matt. 6:33]: “But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.”

What could be better than spending a Saturday morning in the rain and mud, sorting garbage and stacking cement blocks? Youth in the Fredonia Branch, Jamestown New York Stake, can’t think of a thing. When rain started to fall the Saturday the youth were scheduled to do cleanup work at the Elm Flats Preserve, workers at the Chataqua Watershed Conservancy fully expected the group to cancel out on their service project.
But, as one of the leaders said, “Mormons don’t melt,” and the youth and their leaders went to work, cleaning junk, wood, and other debris from the area. They worked so hard and so fast that by lunchtime they were finished.
Their hair and their clothes may have been a little damp, but their spirits weren’t. They spent the afternoon hiking through the preserve and are looking forward to their next visit.

I was seven years old, and I didn’t know how to swim, so my mom enrolled me in afternoon swimming lessons with my friend Angie. At the end of each lesson, our teacher would take us out into the center of the pool to practice our strokes. We were always safe in the middle since our teacher supported us under our stomachs and we wore “bubbles” on our backs.
One day Angie and I didn’t have our bubbles on, so we clung to the side of the pool. Angie decided she wanted to try to swim across the corner to the adjacent wall, about four feet (1.2 m) away. I was hesitant at first, but then she dared me. So even though I was scared, I took in as much air as I could and plunged under the water, hoping to reach the other side. Instead of floating with ease as I had done before with my back bubble, I began to sink. I was in a state of panic. I knew I was going to drown. Then I remembered what my teacher had told me a few weeks earlier: “If you lose control while swimming, just stretch one of your arms straight up out of the water, and someone will come help you.”
With this thought in mind, I stretched my arm in the direction I thought was up. I didn’t feel any air. I stretched my arm in every direction, never finding the top. Just then my head bumped against the side of the pool. Angie was there waiting for me. I guess she hadn’t realized I was “drowning.”

Another present-day member of a stake presidency said to me, “My wife had much to do with this call which has now come to us. When we were dating, I was inactive in the Church. I gained the courage one night to ask her if she would marry me. To this proposal she didn’t say yes and she didn’t say no. She said, ‘Where?’ I spent the next number of months squaring myself around so I could take her to the temple. She had made her plans, and I loved her enough to rechart my course to coincide with hers. I knew what I had to do and where I had to go if I wanted to travel at her side.”

As all of you are aware, last fall a terrible storm hit Central America. For six days and nights, Hurricane Mitch locked in over that area and particularly over Honduras. The winds blew ferociously, and the rains fell without letup. Rivers swelled and took with them houses that had been built along their banks. More than 200 bridges were washed out in Honduras, destroying means of travel. The soil from the highlands washed towards the sea in a deluge of filthy mud. Houses were filled to the tops of the windows. Yards and streets were filled. People fled in terror, leaving all behind them.
One of our bishops secured a big truck and went about gathering his people, taking them to higher ground. When the truck could no longer get through, he somehow secured a boat. He was looking after his flock.
I went down there to see what had happened and to give comfort, where possible. I beheld a miracle. I witnessed in operation the simple and marvelously effective organization of this Church.
Every member of this Church has a bishop or a branch president. I have only commendation for other relief efforts which came in from across the world. But I have unending admiration for the wonderful manner in which the Church operated. The bishops appealed to their stake presidents, who appealed to the Area Presidency, who appealed to headquarters here in Salt Lake City. Within hours great quantities of basic foodstuffs, medicine, and clothing were on their way from our storehouses.
A warehouse was rented in San Pedro Sula in the area of the greatest damage. It was the bishops who marshaled their people to work shifts in the warehouse putting into plastic bags enough food to take care of a family for a week, clothing to put on their backs, medicine to safeguard them against disease. Every bishop knew his own people. He, with his Relief Society president, knew their needs. These were not faceless strangers working as employees of government. They were friends, each a member of a ward family small enough that they knew one another’s needs. There was no argument, no greedy grasping for food and clothing. Everything was orderly. It was systematic. It was friendly. It was motivated by love and concern, and it was done quickly to meet an immediate need. It was the gospel at work in a quiet and magnificent manner.
The waters finally subsided, but mud was left in a thick and ugly coating on everything. Nothing became more valuable than shovels and wheelbarrows. And together, again under the direction of the bishops, the mud was cleaned from the houses.
We visited a meetinghouse on a Saturday. There were many people there, with a bishop, a loving father to his flock, giving direction. The pews, which had been floating in the water, were taken out and carefully cleaned. Mud was scraped from the walls and the floors. Then the mops came out and the polishing cloths, and before nightfall that Saturday evening, the building had been made ready for worship services on the Sabbath.
I stand in humble gratitude and respect and admiration for the bishops of this Church. In the most dire of circumstances, I watched them in La Lima, Honduras. I spoke with them, shook their hands, loved them. How thankful I am for these men who, without regard for their own comfort, give of their time, of their wisdom, of their inspiration in presiding over our wards throughout the world. They receive no compensation other than the love of their people. There is no rest for them on the Sabbath nor very much at other times. They are the ones closest to the people, best acquainted with their needs and circumstances.

The first part of August 2002 I reached a major milestone in my life. I was passing from middle age to old age with my 80th birthday. To celebrate it I decided to take my children and grandchildren on a tour of Logan, Utah, my hometown, to share with them the impact this city has had on my life.
I designated nine stops in Logan that I wanted my family to see. With each stop I selected a scripture to teach a lesson on the importance that particular location had in my life.
We ended the tour later in the evening at the old Logan Ninth Ward building. We had arranged for a room there in which the family could gather. There was a presentation on my life, including pictures starting with my grandparents, parents, and on through my early life. Then there were pictures of my marriage and of the blessings of children, followed by a collage of pictures of the events we have enjoyed together as a family.
On Sunday morning we attended church in the Ninth Ward chapel. This building was constructed under the supervision of my father while he served as bishop. He was the bishop for 18 years. I had the opportunity that morning to bear my testimony of the blessings of the gospel in my life.
We then drove to our home in Salt Lake City. However, before letting the family enjoy a delicious birthday dinner prepared by my wife, I quizzed them on what they had learned. I again bore witness to the divinity of the gospel of Jesus Christ.