Gospel Story Finder

I love this story of two young men who had been schooled in a monastery. One morning as they sought adventure, they passed a cathedral. The more righteous of the two remembered that they had not prayed that morning and said, “How can [we] hope for [God’s] blessing upon the day?”
The less righteous one responded, “My friend, I have prayed so much during the last two months … that I feel that I have [somewhat] over-prayed myself.”
“How can a man have too much religion?” asked the first. “It is the one thing that availeth. A man is but a beast as he lives from day to day, eating and drinking, breathing and sleeping. It is only when he raises himself, and concerns himself with the immortal spirit within him, that he becomes in [very] truth a man. Bethink ye how sad a thing it would be that the blood of the Redeemer should be spilled to no purpose” (Works of A. Conan Doyle [New York: Cosmopolitan Book Corporation, 1988], pp. 58–59; italics added).

“Remember the time you stopped the airplane on the runway?” I asked. Grandfather’s eyes lit up and so I continued to go back with him to a day when I was 14 years old. Grandmother had decided that she and Grandpa would take me to Salt Lake City for April conference to celebrate my birthday. She had called for airplane reservations, but as usual, she was late. As we arrived at the airport, I panicked to see our plane starting its takeoff. Although she was tiny in size, Grandmother never had a minute’s hesitation about giving Grandfather orders. This time was no different. She turned to him and ordered, “Ed, get out there and stop that plane!”
I couldn’t believe what was happening. Grandfather knew it would do no good to argue, so he just muttered a few words under his breath and crawled out of the car. He opened the large silver gate leading to the runway, and the next thing I knew, he was running alongside the plane waving his arms.
As we boarded the plane, my face was red with embarrassment, but Grandmother just ushered us to our places in her usual matter-of-fact way. As I recalled the episode with Grandfather, I started laughing, and although he couldn’t speak or laugh, his eyes spilled merriment. Once again we were sharing.

Your best friend invites you to hang out this Friday, but you have a Church dance that night. Instead of just rejecting his invitation, you invite him to the dance!

When we were called as the Session Directing Couple (SDC) for FSY NaCoLayan (Naic, Bacoor, Balayan), we entered the experience with prayerful hearts and a deep desire to learn.
Speaking with other former SDCs, we discovered that every FSY, whether carefully organized or faced with unforeseen challenges, carried the same beautiful outcome: lives were changed, testimonies were deepened, and faith in Jesus Christ was strengthened.
As we began our own FSY session, we immediately witnessed the diversity among the youth and leaders.
For us as leaders, FSY was both a test of faith and an accelerator of blessings.
Like the youth, we were refined by witnessing our weakness and seeing that we cannot do this calling only relying in our own strength. We were taught daily to rely more completely on the Spirit, to lead with love, to forgive quickly, and to trust that the Lord magnifies humble offerings.
As we dedicated our time and efforts, we witnessed miracles far greater than anything we could have orchestrated ourselves.
In the end, the evidence of the Savior’s work was unmistakable: youth returned home with a renewed understanding of who they are as sons and daughters of Heavenly Parents, a stronger desire to keep their covenants, and a deeper love for Jesus Christ. Leaders, too, returned home changed more committed to serving, more reliant on the Lord, and more aware of the quiet but undeniable miracles that occur when we gather in His name.
We are eternally grateful for the privilege of being a part of FSY NaCoLayan and for the sacred experiences we were blessed to witness.

The rest of his family has been a big support as well. At one MMA tournament, Felipe saw his family in the bleachers. “All of them were there cheering my name. I was speechless.” He adds, “I am extremely grateful for my father and mother, who showed me the right path.”

Praying and realizing that I am a son of God gave me the courage to explain my feelings to my parents, but they didn’t quite understand. They thought I was rebellious and too immature to make the decision to be baptized. They were embarrassed that their son was following this strange religion rather than their traditions. I knew who I was and what I wanted, but I also wanted to honor my parents and hoped they would honor my religion.
I explained my situation to the sister missionaries. They had an idea—they could come talk to my parents so that they would feel better about this religion. I told them I was afraid my parents wouldn’t want to talk to them. Then one of the sisters suggested that we fast together.
When I didn’t eat breakfast, my mom was worried. “Why didn’t you eat?” she asked. I explained that I was fasting, and that made her even more concerned.
“First you are going to this no-man’s land of religion, and now you are not eating. I’m worried. I’m shocked! I’m going to call those missionaries.”
She did call the sisters, and somehow they got themselves invited to our house for dinner!
We had a great time. The missionaries taught my parents the hymn “I Am a Child of God” (Hymns, no. 301), and we sang it together. My father loved that. After dinner with the sisters, neither of my parents was worried about me going to church. And I felt I was able to honor them by living the gospel because it really encompassed everything they had taught me. I thought if I loved them long enough and treated them kind enough, eventually they would understand. It took 35 years after my baptism, but my mother was baptized and went through the temple just a few years ago!

The first time I experienced the power of the Book of Mormon in the life of a convert, I was serving as a missionary in France. My British companion and I spent much of our time knocking on doors—with few results. One afternoon a distinguished, middle-aged lady opened her door. She had little time for us that day, but we left a Book of Mormon and made an appointment to return two days later. When we returned to her apartment and the door opened, I felt a powerful spiritual feeling. She was eager to see us. She had been reading the book and had experienced the powerful feelings of the Holy Ghost. She spoke of her joy and peace. She was prepared for whatever course we as the Lord’s servants would invite her to take.
It was in the cold of February. Our city had no chapel, so we installed a portable baptismal font in an old wooden barn. The steam from the warm water filled the air. The humble members of the branch surrounded the portable font as this sister climbed up the stairs and then down into the water to be baptized a member of the Church.
The peace expressed by this wonderful sister echoed the words of Parley P. Pratt (1807–57) as he spoke about his first encounter with the Book of Mormon: “As I read, the spirit of the Lord was upon me, and I knew and comprehended that the book was true, as plainly and manifestly as a man comprehends and knows that he exists.”

But one time, I found out that the scriptures really can be a lot like my life! It all happened when we went on a family reunion backpack trip.
I carried my own big backpack and sleeping bag, and I didn’t complain. After all, it was only supposed to be four miles (6.5 km) to the lake. I could make it, no problem.
The hike wasn’t too hard, but I was glad to stop for a rest after two miles (3 km). Then we saw the first trailhead sign. It said that the lake was still six miles (9.5 km) away. My dad didn’t have to tell me that the trail was really twice as long as we first thought. I already figured that out. He did need to remind us to make our water last longer.
My dad’s advice was important but hard to follow. The afternoon sun felt hot, and we hardly had any shade on the trail. It seemed like we were never going to reach the lake.
The grown-ups stayed in the back with the youngest kids, and the older cousins went on ahead. I stayed with three cousins my age, and we ended up somewhere in between.
When we couldn’t see anyone ahead or behind us anymore, we started to get nervous. Our backpacks felt heavy, and our water bottles were empty. How much farther did we have to go?
Finally, we got so worried and tired that we decided to stop and pray.
After the prayer, we picked up our backpacks and trudged on.
Just a little while later we heard hoofbeats coming up the trail. We waited and saw a man on a horse riding toward us.
He stopped and gave us some water. He explained that our older cousins had hurried to the lake with a water filter to start pumping water to bring back to us. The man heard about how we needed water and had agreed to help. “Do any of you need help with your backpacks?” he asked.
I looked at my cousins, and they smiled back at me. We actually felt pretty good!
“You better go on and help the others,” we said to the man. “We’re fine.”
And it was true! The rest of the way to the lake it felt like angels were lifting our packs and pushing us along. When I told my parents about it later, Dad beamed and Mom got tears in her eyes.

Here is an example. I know of a young man, a refugee here in Utah, who was teased for being different, including sometimes speaking his native language. He was persecuted by a gang of privileged youth until he retaliated in a way that caused him to be jailed for over 70 days while being considered for deportation. I don’t know what provoked this group of youth, many of them Latter-day Saints like you, but I can see the effect of their meanness, a tragic experience and expense to one of the children of God. Small actions of unkindness can have devastating consequences.

We live in a time when many want to avoid the responsibility for their acts. When I was a young lawyer, I was appointed by the judges to defend persons who were charged with infractions of the law. One time I was assigned to represent a young man. As we approached the bench, the venerable old federal judge looked down at both of us and asked, “Which one of you is the accused?” From these experiences, I learned that some individuals did not think they were responsible or guilty in any way even though they had violated a law. They felt they were not to be blamed. They had abdicated their consciences. They may have committed the wrongful act, but they felt it was really their parents’ fault because they were not properly taught, or it was society’s fault because they were never given a chance in life. So often they had some reason or excuse for blaming their actions on someone or something else rather than accepting the responsibility for their own actions. They did not act for themselves but were acted upon.

The next year I faced a great trial in my life: my parents separated. Thankfully, I had the Church during that difficult time and the support of excellent teachers, leaders, and friends. At about that same time, after being ordained a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood, I baptized my 11-year-old sister.

When he was imprisoned in Liberty Jail during that hard winter of 1838–1839, without a fire or proper food, Joseph heard lurid stories about how his people had been driven and massacred and the women ravaged. He pleaded with the Lord:
“O God, where art thou? And where is the pavilion that covereth thy hiding place?
“How long shall thy hand be stayed … ?” (D&C 121:1–2.)
It was a prayer of complaint. But when the Lord answered him, he said unto him:
“Thou art not yet as Job; thy friends do not contend against thee, neither charge thee with transgression, as they did Job.” (D&C 121:10.)
He reminded him that the Son of Man had descended below them all: “Art thou greater than he?” Joseph Smith did not complain again.

Naomi Hug, 10, is the same age as her ward. On her ward’s 10th anniversary, she gave her first talk in sacrament meeting. She was surprised that she felt like crying! “The Spirit was so strong, I couldn’t say how much I felt it,” she wrote in her journal. She told ward members, “I’m thankful to have been born in the Church. I feel like I’m in a good place.”

But there is a great support system, including trainers, leaders, and your companion. Sister Singleton says, “One time I was really discouraged from a lesson, and things kind of piled up. But I talked to my companion, and we went on a little walk. That’s what helped me—to talk about it, cry a little bit. Focusing on the work and having a positive attitude—that helps so much.”

Long years ago, when I served as a bishop, I learned that Mary Watson, a member of my ward, was a patient in the county hospital. When I went to visit her, I discovered her in a large room with so many beds that it was difficult to single her out. As I identified her bed and approached her, I said, “Hello, Mary.”
She replied, “Hello, Bishop.”
I noticed that a patient in the bed next to Mary Watson covered her face with the bedsheet.
I gave Mary a blessing, shook her hand, and said good-bye, but I could not leave her side. It was as though an unseen hand were resting on my shoulder, and I felt within my soul that I was hearing these words: “Go over to the next bed, where the little lady covered her face when you came in.” I did so. I have learned in my life never to postpone responding to a prompting.
I gently tapped the other patient on her shoulder and carefully pulled back the sheet that had covered her face. Lo and behold, she, too, was a member of my ward. I had not known she was a patient there. Her name was Kathleen McKee. When her eyes met mine, she exclaimed through her tears, “Oh, Bishop, when you entered that door, I felt you had come to see me and bless me in response to my prayers. I was rejoicing inside to think that you knew I was here. When you stopped at the other bed, my heart sank, and I knew that you had not come to see me.”
I said to Kathleen McKee: “It does not matter that I didn’t know that you were here. It is important, however, that our Heavenly Father knew and that you had prayed for a priesthood blessing. It was He who prompted me to come to you now.”
A blessing was given, a prayer was answered. I bestowed a kiss on her forehead and left the hospital with gratitude in my heart for the promptings of the Spirit. It was the last time I saw Kathleen McKee alive.

The Young Women of the Vladivostok Russia District had to work around tight school schedules to have their first-ever Young Women conference. The girls learned some crafts at the conference, but more importantly, they learned how to let their light shine and of the power of gratitude and prayer.
When the girls had some free time during the conference, they didn’t use it to finish their cross-stitching or other projects; they wrote a song about how much they enjoyed the conference and about what they had learned there. They performed the song for their leaders at the end of the conference. The Vladivostok Young Women are looking forward to sharing more time and strength in the future and to sharing their light with others.

Illustration by Carolyn Vibbert
I was left half-blind when a truck knocked me off my bike. A little over four years later, during the Christmas season in 2011, I felt prompted to ask a brother I had known in a previous ward for a priesthood blessing. I saw this brother only from time to time, so I didn’t understand why I should ask him. I knew there were other worthy priesthood holders I could ask instead.
In the weeks that followed, the feeling that I needed a blessing became stronger. I was serving as a temple worker in the Frankfurt Germany Temple, so I decided to ask one of the brethren there for a blessing.
After I made this decision, the brother I had been impressed to ask entered the temple. I immediately knew this wasn’t a coincidence—Heavenly Father wanted me to ask this brother specifically. I worked up my courage and asked to talk with him after his session. He agreed.
Later, I explained that I didn’t know why, but I felt I needed a blessing from him. He said he would be happy to help. He invited another brother into the room and then began giving me a blessing. As he finished, I was confused. The blessing was nice, but there was nothing particularly special about it.
Then I opened my eyes.
When I opened my eyes, I could see the whole room almost clearly. I couldn’t believe it! I asked the brother if he knew why he was the one who needed to give me this blessing. His response humbled me.
“I don’t think this blessing was only for you,” he said. “It was for me too. I’m giving my niece a blessing tomorrow because she is getting baptized. Our family is not active in the Church, and she is the first family member to be baptized in almost 20 years. Many in our family will attend the baptism, and I wasn’t sure my faith was strong enough to give the blessing. Now I know I can do it.”
In the days that followed, my vision improved enough that I no longer needed my white cane. I wrapped it and gave it as a Christmas gift to this brother along with a letter. “I know this is not the staff of Moses,” I wrote, “but I hope it reminds you of the priesthood power that you hold.”
Heavenly Father loves us and delights to bless us. This blessing at Christmas not only restored my sight but also gave a humble priesthood holder confidence in his priesthood service.

It was only recently that Frisbee moved across the sometimes-thin line that separates toys from sporting goods, leaving behind the Yo-Yo, the pogo stick, and Super Balls. It used to be that Frisbee was about as competitive as two kids on the ends of a teeter-totter. That was before they started the annual worldwide Frisbee championship and the competition for the Julius Nachazel Memorial Trophy. Nachazel is a somewhat shadowy figure who reportedly showed up at a Frisbee tournament, chased an errant toss in the woods, and was never seen again!

When I was baptized, I felt very happy to take this great step, knowing that by being baptized and confirmed I was following Jesus.
Sary Del Mar R., age 8, Calle del Cauca, Colombia

In Primary, being obedient meant being quiet and listening to the lesson. My mother was my Primary teacher and always brought a picture of Jesus Christ. She taught us to be reverent, to stop playing and making noise, and to think of the Savior.