Gospel Story Finder

At times the need for mercy can be found close to home and in simple settings. We have a four-year-old grandson named Jeffrey. One day his fifteen-year-old brother, Alan, had just completed, on the family computer, a most difficult and rather ingenious design of an entire city. When Alan slipped out of the room for just a moment, little Jeffrey approached the computer and accidentally erased the program. Upon his return, Alan was furious when he observed what his brother had done. Sensing that his doom was at hand, Jeffrey raised his finger and, pointing it toward Alan, declared from his heart and soul, “Remember, Alan, Jesus said, ‘Don’t hurt little boys.’” Alan began to laugh; anger subsided; mercy prevailed.

On a warm and breezy day in August, Alyssa and Hayden R. from Layton, Utah, enjoyed an afternoon on the Church Plaza. The plaza is right next to Temple Square. It connects many of the buildings in the area, including the Church Office Building, the Church Administration Building, and the Joseph Smith Memorial Building. The plaza has flowers, fountains, and peaceful walkways for visitors to enjoy. Let’s join Alyssa, age 9, and Hayden, age 7, as they enjoy the sights of the plaza.
Sister Andrea Augenstein is a service missionary who gives garden tours on the plaza. She pointed out many different kinds of plants and flowers.
Hayden and Alyssa walk along the reflecting pool. The water in the reflecting pool is calm, and can bring peace to visitors.

My bishop challenged our ward to index 100,000 names, but our ward did 150,000 names! I indexed 2,518 names! I have loved this experience and look forward to attending the temple when I am 12 to participate in temple baptisms.
Chloe A., age 10, Arizona, USA

Top of the list of great experiences the young men had that year were the temple trips they took to both the London and Preston temples. Michael Stanley recalls how there was even a special spirit during the three-hour journey. “It is always fun to go together in a minibus. I think it has really helped to build unity within the youth.”

How did you get started in this activity? My dad is a licensed falconer, and one day he took me with him to trap a wild red-tailed hawk. It was so incredible. I’ve been hooked on falconry ever since.

In addition to protecting scriptures, Emma helped with the translation of the Book of Mormon. She was Joseph’s first scribe—carefully writing down verses we use today. She sewed a pouch for a seer stone Joseph sometimes used to translate.

Brother Mamin’ny Aina Rakotoarisoa had been hoping to serve a mission since his early childhood, but during his teen years, his desire lessened as he believed he was not worthy to be called. But when a member friend invited him to join a missionary preparation class, it changed everything.1 Despite many challenges, and with help from his bishop, he finally made it. Now, recently released from his two-year, full-time mission, he is planning to marry in the temple.

When Hurricane Irma hit the Caribbean in September 2017, it caused widespread destruction to several islands. A Church member from the United States who wanted to help reached out to my husband, who was then serving as a stake president in Puerto Rico.
“I have a large boat that I’m going to bring to Puerto Rico so I can take food and supplies to the island of Tortuga,” he said. “I need your help gathering supplies.”
In response, we began gathering donations of food, clothing, and other items from Church members and others in Puerto Rico. We sent two boatloads to Tortuga and were preparing to send a third boatload of supplies, which we had gathered at the stake center for distribution. That’s when we learned that another storm, Hurricane Maria, was headed straight for Puerto Rico.
When Hurricane Maria made landfall, it devastated our island, killing thousands of people. For several days afterward, we couldn’t leave our neighborhood because of fallen trees, debris, and other destruction. At the stake center, however, we had a supply of food, water, clothes, and personal items—everything we needed for a natural disaster. We had gathered those things to help others, but they ended up blessing us instead.
The hurricane caused blackouts and knocked out the internet and cell phone service. While Puerto Rican authorities worked to respond, we had supplies that provided immediate help to many people.
When my husband could finally leave our home, he felt impressed to visit certain members of our stake. He found two sisters whose homes had been destroyed and who had lost everything.
“We can help you,” he said. “We have what you need. The stake center is full of supplies.”
As Church members and members of other faiths contacted my husband for help, we began receiving monetary gift cards from Church members in the United States that we distributed to the needy. The Church also mobilized humanitarian resources such as food, water, and other supplies to our island. For months, these donations enabled us to help countless Puerto Ricans.
As we worked to help our neighbors after Hurricane Irma, the Lord prepared a way for us to help ourselves after Hurricane Maria. As the Savior taught, “Give, and it shall be given unto you” (Luke 6:38).

Our five dear children play the piano, thanks to the motivation of my wife! When the teacher arrived at our home, our son Adrián would run and hide in order to skip his lesson. But one day something marvelous occurred! He began to love music so much that he continued practicing on his own.

This is a story of a young girl, living in New York, who before age three lost her father when his boat sank on a large lake. She, her mother, older brother, and younger sister moved to a new city in another state to live with her aunt and uncle. Sometime after the family arrived, missionaries and members of a newly organized religion came to their town with the glorious news of the Restoration of the gospel. They told a remarkable story of an angel delivering an ancient record to a young man named Joseph Smith, a record he had translated by the power of God. Two of the visitors, Oliver Cowdery and John Whitmer, had actually seen the engraved metal pages of the ancient record with their own eyes, and Whitmer witnessed he had held the golden plates in his own hands. This record had been recently published, and Brother Whitmer brought the book with him. The name of the book, of course, was the Book of Mormon.
When 12-year-old Mary heard the missionaries speak about the book, she had a special feeling in her heart. Even though the Book of Mormon was thick with many pages, Mary yearned to read it. When Brother Whitmer departed, he gave one precious copy of the book to Brother Isaac Morley, who was a friend of Mary’s uncle and a local leader in the new church.
Mary later recorded: “I went to [Brother Morley’s] house … and asked to see the Book; [he] put it in my hand, [and] as I looked at it, I felt such a desire to read it, that I could not refrain from asking him to let me take it home and read it. … He said … he had hardly had time to read a chapter in it himself, and but few of the brethren had even seen it, but I plead so earnestly for it, he finally said, ‘child, if you will bring this book home before breakfast tomorrow morning, you may take it.’”
Mary ran home and was so captured by the book that she stayed up nearly all night reading it. The next morning, when she returned the book, Brother Morley said, “I guess you did not read much in it” and “I don’t believe you can tell me one word of it.” Mary stood up straight and repeated from memory the first verse of the Book of Mormon. She then told him the story of the prophet Nephi. Mary later wrote, “He gazed at me in surprise, and said, ‘child, take this book home and finish it, I can wait.’”
A short time later, Mary finished reading the book and was the first person in her town to read the entire book. She knew it was true and that it came from Heavenly Father. As she looked to the book, she looked to the Lord.
One month later a special visitor came to her house. Here is what Mary wrote about her memorable encounter that day: “When [Joseph Smith] saw me he looked at me so earnestly. … After a moment or two he … gave me a great blessing … and made me a present of the book, and said he would give Brother Morley another [copy]. … We all felt that he was a man of God, for he spoke with power, and as one having authority.”
This young girl, Mary Elizabeth Rollins, saw many other miracles in her life and always kept her testimony of the Book of Mormon. This story has special meaning to me because she is my fourth-great-aunt. Through Mary’s example, along with other experiences in my life, I have learned that one is never too young to seek and receive a personal testimony of the Book of Mormon.

“When I was six, I had an experience that is very important to me. I’m afraid that I didn’t come out of it as a hero—exactly the opposite. Most of the time we’re not heroes. We are learning, progressing, correcting our mistakes. This incident really taught me about the consequences of dishonesty. In Germany at that time, if teachers wanted to send information to parents, they sent home a letter. Such a letter was always sent in a blue envelope, and so it was nicknamed the ‘blue letter.’ A blue letter always contained bad news! I must have done something wrong at school, because I got a blue letter. I put it in my backpack, and when I got home, my mother asked, ‘What’s wrong with you?’
“I lied. ‘Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.’
“She said, ‘Well, I see by the tip of your nose that something’s wrong.’
“That made me angry and very defensive, so after lunch I went into the living room and opened up my backpack and put everything on the desk. I must have been careless, because the blue letter fell out. My mother immediately saw it and asked, ‘What’s that?’ I tried to grab the envelope and hide it, but Mother had already picked it up and was opening it.
“I will never forget the feelings of pain that came over me while she was reading that letter. To make a mistake is one thing, but it isn’t a really grave mistake if you admit it, ask for forgiveness, and make a commitment not to do it again. But to try to hide a mistake, hoping that nobody will find out, that’s a serious mistake.
“And so the lie caused me much more sorrow than the original mistake. I can’t even remember what was in that blue letter, but I still recall, in vivid detail, the awfulness of lying to my mother.

This is the best hiding spot!
What’s that?
I don’t know. Let’s open it!
Wow!
It’s like a hidden treasure!
Free candy!
But I think it belongs to someone.
We should return it.
Yeah. I bet it’s from the snack stand.
We found this under the bleachers. Is it yours?
Yes! A few days ago, someone broke in and stole all our candy.
Thanks for being honest and bringing it back!
Do you think this is how superheroes feel?
I don’t know. But I want to feel like this all the time.
Yeah. It’s even better than candy.

Ellie remembered the story Grandma told her when she gave them to her.
Once there were two turtles. One turtle had somehow gotten flipped over. Try as it might, it couldn’t flip itself back over. The other turtle noticed that something was wrong. Using its nose, it flipped the first turtle over so it could stand on its feet again.

Often we mark the span of our lives by events that leave imprints on our minds and hearts. There are many such events in my life, one of which happened in 1989 when I heard a timeless sermon by President Ezra Taft Benson, “Beware of Pride.” In the introduction it was noted that this topic had been weighing heavily on President Benson’s soul for some time.
I have felt a similar burden during the past months. The promptings of the Holy Spirit have urged me to add my voice as another witness to President Benson’s message delivered 21 years ago.

I think that the New Era is a wonderful blessing. Every month I read each story the first week and can’t wait for the next magazine to come. In almost every issue there is an entry about a missionary experience. I used to be afraid of being asked about the Church, but after reading these entries, I’ve felt a lot more comfortable. My cousin asked me recently about the afterlife. She was afraid that after this life, there was nothing left. I was so happy telling her about what I knew. It wasn’t a perfect explanation, but I know that if I keep talking to her, she’ll get the desire to ask some missionaries about it. I’m so glad the Lord gave me that experience.
Kylee H., Utah

I’ve never seen squirrels busier
Than they were today,
Scrounging winter groceries
To hoard and hide away.
And flocks of geese, majestic
In autumn V formation,
Honked, were specks, then vanished
Toward a southern destination.
Mother, noting squirrels and geese
And dried leaves blown about,
Baked a loaf of tender bread
And locked the chill winds out.

Actively participating in the activities in Fulfilling My Duty to God requires your whole heart, dedication, strength, and more than anything, faith. Duty to God is truly inspired.
As a young man, you can learn marvelous things that you can apply throughout the rest of your life by completing the goals in Duty to God: spiritual, temporal, physical, and much more.
I can say that it’s well worth the effort to dedicate yourself to completing these goals. I have learned to be a better man, I’ve grown in my testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ, and I have better prepared myself to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood. It’s gratifying to know that I will be able to be a good example to my future children one day because I have accomplished this wonderful, significant goal.
Jonathan Argüello, Venezuela

All of us love Dickens’s immortal A Christmas Carol. It is the story of the rich and selfish Ebenezer Scrooge, who is mean and unmerciful in his treatment of his employee, Bob Cratchit. And then in the night of Christmas Eve, Scrooge’s deceased partner, Jacob Marley, comes to visit him with visions of Christmas past, of Christmas present, and of Christmas future. This terrifying experience so shocks Scrooge that when he realizes that it was a dream, he is happy and changes his entire life. He reaches out to the Cratchit family. The story is a portrayal of the Spirit of Christ, which can turn men’s lives completely around. It is a story of selfishness being replaced by generosity. It is a story of unconcern being replaced by deep concern. It is a story of hate being replaced by love. It is a story of sweet benediction when the little crippled child, Tiny Tim, calls out, “God bless us every one.”

One hundred eighty years ago, Joseph Smith, Oliver Cowdery, and a handful of others gathered together to organize The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. By all accounts it was a simple but spiritual meeting. Joseph records that following the sacrament, “the Holy Ghost was poured out upon us to a very great degree—some prophesied, whilst we all praised the Lord, and rejoiced exceedingly.”1
The events of this day went unnoticed by the world; they were not accompanied by headlines or heralds. Nevertheless, how the heavens must have rejoiced and glorified God—for on that day, the Church of Jesus Christ returned to earth!

Near my home in the north woods of upper Michigan, there once stood an old turn-of-the-century home. For years it had been abandoned, its black, weather-beaten frame cracking with age and crawling with snaky tendrils of ancient vines that wrapped and coiled themselves across the windows and around the doors. Various out-buildings were scattered here and there, but they were barely distinguishable beneath the creeping tangle of brush and brier. The house towered three stories high and cast a forbidding shadow on the bleached and withered ground. This shadow had spread throughout the community and entered the fearful heart of every child around.

When I entered the ninth grade, however, I decided it was time to get over being frightened of the old place. I wondered if perhaps I couldn’t use it for a party. Now, being the only Latter-day Saint in my high school, I had heard and tolerated some pretty cruel things. I figured I could stand up to jokes and criticism for not smoking and drinking, but what I couldn’t take was hearing over and over again about how Mormons just didn’t know how to really have fun at parties. Because of that, my bishop (who was also my dad and a biology professor at the nearby university) came up with an idea to prove my friends wrong. On Halloween night he would temporarily move into the local neighborhood haunted house. But by then—thanks to the efforts of my dad, brother, and missionaries—it would be transformed into a terrifying realm of horror and fright. According to plan I invited about 20 of my closest nonmember friends. Since all of them lived in town, about six miles away, I assumed none of them had ever heard of the old Sutinen home. I assumed correctly.

At 7:00 the party began at my house; and after about an hour of games, pizza, and root beer, I suggested we visit a poor old man named Toivo. I explained he lived alone but always had treats ready for any trick-or-treater who dared venture down the lonely, overgrown trail that led to his home. My suggestion was enthusiastically received until they saw Mr. Sutinen’s home. Even I, who knew my dad waited within, felt a shiver of fear creep along my spine, like a spider on a web of nerves. We approached cautiously toward where the house loomed up, outlined starkly against the moonlit sky. To add to the eerie effect, a single light flickered from behind the drawn curtains. Ghostly wisps of fog clawed at our legs, and branches whipped wickedly against our faces. We were considering bravely marching on, when shrill laughter split the tomblike quiet. Some of the group turned, running wildly for home, while the rest huddled near and bombarded me with questions. “Are you sure this is the right house?” “How long have you known this man?” “Are you positive he’s harmless?” and finally, “If this is a joke, you’re gonna be sorry!”

Reassuring them that everything was fine, I boldly knocked upon the blistered door. Like something out of a horror movie, the door slowly creaked open, and I gazed into the red-rimmed eyes of a madman. With a start I realized this white-haired maniac was my father!

“Trick-or-treat,” my friends whispered as Toivo Sutinen ushered us into his parlor. This room was dimly lit by two flickering candles perched on large polished skulls. Nice touch, Dad, I thought as I gazed at the skulls, the cobwebs, and the coffin set back in a corner.

“Wall now, ain’t dis a surprise. Ten purdy gerls cum ta visit ol’ me,” muttered Mr. Sutinen in a slurred drawl. “Ah was jist gunna eat ma supper. Join me, hey?”

Carol, the Good Samaritan of our group, slapped “old” Toivo on the shoulder and heartily agreed. The rest warily glanced around. And Mary, still hovering near the door, asked the question on everyone’s mind. “Uh, Mr. Sutinen, what were you planning to eat?”

“Why, ma favorite,” happily responded Mr. Sutinen, “barbecued bat wings!”

Too late we noticed the dozens of murky specimen bottles crowding the counters and shelves of the kitchen.

“Unless, of course,” finished Mr. Sutinen, whacking something near him, “you want ta wait until Mabel here thaws out.”

Looking up, we saw a row of frozen cats hanging stiffly from the rafters!

This, of course, made sense when one remembered my dad was a professor of biology and used such things in his labs. But to my friends it was a ghastly spectacle and required a hasty exit by the nearest door—which was locked! Mary promptly began to cry, and several others looked like they wanted to. I begged my friends to stay and humor this crazy old man a little while longer, and they agreed.

“Wall, ah kin see yer not hungry,” cheerfully said the old man, picking up one of the candle skulls. “Why don’t ah take you on a tour of ma home?”

Happily accepting any excuse to leave the kitchen and its occupants, we followed Toivo Sutinen up the rickety, wooden steps and into a narrow hall.

“First room on the left here was ma dear Mildred’s” explained Toivo opening the door wide and allowing us to enter.

Except for a dusty end table on which lay a bloodstained knife, everything in this room was covered with enormous sheets. Avoiding eye contact with the knife, we halfheartedly listened to Mr. Sutinen reminisce about his dear departed wife. Uncomfortably we began to realize he was talking about Mildred as if she were still alive.

“Yep, ma heart was near broke, couldn’t stand it no more. So went out late one night and brought ma Mildred back home.”

With a flourish, Mr. Sutinen pulled back the bed sheet. And there, in all her skeletal beauty, lay the former “Mrs. Sutinen”!

That was too much; my dad had gone too far! Screaming frantically we ran from the bedroom and down the stairs. We must have triggered something because as we ran ghosts in Victorian dress swooped past, bats squeaked, and howls echoed through the empty corridors. The door was now wide open, but as we bounded down the steep steps, something huge and hairy jumped out from behind a nearby tree.

I don’t remember much after that except a lot of screaming and running. Within minutes we were safely back in the security of my home, breathlessly reliving each terrifying moment. My mother insisted I tell my friends the truth, but it took some doing to convince them crazy Toivo was not only my father but the “minister” of my church.

Later, when my dad, brother, and the missionaries returned, everyone wanted to ask them questions. I’m not sure that much gospel doctrine got discussed that night, but all in all the experience had a positive effect on my friends. Two of them later joined the Church and four others seriously considered it. The greatest result, however, was that from then on there wasn’t a single Church activity that wasn’t attended by as many nonmembers as members.