Gospel Story Finder

President Kefeni Tesfaye Anbesse, second counselor in the Addis Ababa District presidency of the Church, his wife, Helina Tsega Tesema, and their three children, were grateful to be able to watch two general conference sessions live in their apartment. They invited friends to also tune to Belageru TV to hear the words of prophets, seers, and revelators over two days in April.

Monte Schofield had always planned to serve a mission but when the time came in 1971, it was a difficult decision. “It was the time of the Viet Nam War and that had to be a factor in the life of a young man from the US,” he recalls. Learning he would not be drafted for military service unlike other young adults he knew, Brother Schofield heeded the prophet’s call for every young man to serve a mission.
Brother Schofield was called to serve in the Philippines Mission from 1971 to 1973, which then covered the entire archipelago. He was assigned to Quezon City (Cubao area), Angeles, Bacolod, Los Ba?os/Calamba, Caloocan (Malabon and Navotas area), and Davao City. “I developed a great love of the gospel, my Savior, and the Filipino people,” recalls Elder Schofield of his pioneer proselyting days.

When one of our daughters was about three years old, she did something that always delighted her parents. When we called her name, she would usually answer by saying, “Here me is.” This childish reply was among the sweetest things her parents heard. But when she was grown, we expected her to use appropriate language when she spoke, and of course she did. As the Apostle Paul said, “When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things” (1 Cor. 13:11).

When I was in the 10th grade, I had a similar problem. I saw a group of people I thought were pretty interesting and decided I wanted to be friends with them. I began talking to them and spending time with them. I ignored the warnings of my friends and parents to stay away from this particular group.
Soon I began dressing like them, listening to the same music, going to the same places. Gradually my attitude began to change, my language became increasingly vulgar, and I made choices I would never have considered a few years earlier. I lost many of my old friends, my parents no longer trusted me, and I lost my good reputation. At the time, I pretended I was happy.
The time came when I realized I wasn’t happy at all. I had gained everything I thought was important and lost everything that really was: my family relationships, my true friends, my reputation, my self-respect, and my faith in God. I had choked on a chicken bone.
It has taken a long time to repair the damage done by that chicken bone. I still struggle with its influence at times. I realize now that my parents’ and friends’ warnings were given to me out of love. They weren’t trying to restrict me; they were trying to help me.

“I had a chance for a job at the beginning of the summer,” said one of the girls sitting on the grass at the main camp. She paused as the squeals from the canoe races drifted up from the waterfront. “I told them that if I couldn’t come to camp, I didn’t want the job. That’s what it means to me.”
Had it been worth it, you might be tempted to ask, and the answer, not from one voice but from 620, is a resounding yes!

A mission doesn’t have to end when you’re released by the stake president. The Sounds of Zion from Utah State University have proven that. An estimated 2,000 referrals resulted from their musical tour through Mexico.
The group has been affiliated with the LDS institute in Logan since 1959. The chorus attempts to further missionary work and serve others through music. “It gives returned missionaries the opportunity to keep sharing the gospel,” says Wayne Murri, a returned missionary from Mexico.
Each of the 48 members must spend from six to ten hours in practice each week. For some even more time is required.
Terri Thackeray, head accompanist, spends an extra few hours each week learning the music. Along with a full load of credits at the university, she has found time to make many of the chorus uniforms for the past four years.
The group has received invitations to entertain on a variety of occasions, performing sacred, patriotic, classical, and popular music.
“You put as much enthusiasm into your singing as I put into my preaching,” commented Elder LeGrand Richards after a performance.
Since the first group tour in 1962, an annual tour has become traditional. Previous tours have included the United States, parts of Canada, and most of Mexico. These tours are financed by variety shows, contributions, and various group projects.
Last year’s annual tour took the Sounds of Zion to Mexico. In 14 days they gave 27 performances, with an estimated combined audience of 30,000. A 35-minute TV program in Mexico City enabled the chorus to perform for several million. After each performance the chorus members spent a few minutes answering questions about the Church.
This summer the Sounds of Zion will travel abroad to nine European countries. Bern, Munich, Brussels, Zurich, London, Manchester, and Frankfurt are among the major cities on the tour.

The three teens in the Garlock family of the Bountiful 37th Ward, Bountiful Utah North Stake, received bronze Congressional Awards. This award is presented to a teen who excels in areas of service, personal development, and physical fitness.
Annie, 16, is a Laurel who loves to play soccer. She is on her school’s varsity team and recently played on the Utah State Select Team.
Brian, 15, serves as teachers quorum president. He earned his Eagle Scout Award and plays on the high school soccer team.
John, 14, also an Eagle Scout has traveled all over the western United States playing soccer with his championship team. He also was a member of the Utah State Select Team.

Papa made me a little wooden box with a hinged lid for my birthday that October when I was seven. It was to hold my precious things to take with me, he said. I packed it and repacked it many times, trying to find the best way to get the most in; but I never could get it to hold everything I wanted to take.
Papa and Mama were busy getting the wagon ready to go, and my friend Eileen was watching me pack the box for the last time.
“Where do you think the best place is for the chickens?” Mama asked.
“Chickens?” Papa said. “We’re not taking any chickens.”
“Of course we are. Three or four of the best layers and Caroline’s rooster, so we can raise some chicks in the spring and maybe a couple of hens to eat along the way.”
Papa sighed. When Mama had that sound in her voice, he knew it was no use to argue.
“I guess we can put them in a crate and tie it to the side behind the washtubs. You’d better put chicken feed on your list.”
“I already did.”
“I think I’ve figured out how to load the stove so we can cook on it while we’re traveling,” Papa told her.
“That’ll come in handy. Will we have plenty of water?”
“Four barrels: two in front and two behind. That should be enough to get us through the driest places.”
I carefully placed the soft leather Bible in one end of my box. Pressed between its pages were beautiful red leaves I had gathered from the autumn trees. I’d tied a string round and round both ways so they wouldn’t fall out. I dropped the seeds in next, in the little crack that was left behind the book: two red beans and four watermelon seeds and then the long strand of tiny glass beads I had strung myself. Sister Johnson had given them to me in a slim bottle with a cork one day when Mama was visiting her. While they talked, I had picked up the beads one at a time with the thin needle and slipped them along the thread, choosing the colors to suit me as I went.
I tried to fold the doll quilt small enough to fit into the box, but it was no use. I handed it to Eileen instead and indicated it was to be hers.
“For keeps?” she asked, and I nodded my head.
She rubbed it against her cheek. I’d made it by sewing together scraps from the new baby clothes, and I knew I could stitch another after we’d moved.
“Will the doll fit?” she wanted to know, and I answered by placing Henrietta on the soft bed I’d made with her folded flannel nightie. Henrietta was a beautiful painted-eye doll with china head, hands, and feet, and a stuffed cloth body. Some girls had shut-eye dolls, but I wouldn’t have traded because I loved Henrietta.
“What about those?” Eileen asked, pointing to the rest of my treasures beside her on the step.
I shook my head and handed them to her one by one—an old hat and pair of shoes I used to play dress-up, some more doll clothes, a worn-out Mother Goose book. When I came to the bag of marbles, I dumped them out, selected five or six of my favorites, and pushed them into the folds of the doll dresses in the box. The rest I returned to the bag and gave to Eileen.
After she ran off home with her hands full, I noticed again the pain in my head. It had started two or three days before as a tender spot behind my right ear and now was a sore and throbbing lump. I went inside to talk to Heavenly Father and ask Him to make it better.
By morning I was burning up with fever and crying with pain. Mama took one look at the spot I pointed to and said, “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? We’ll have to get you to a doctor fast!”
The doctor decided just as quickly that he should lance the boil, and before long he had drained it.
“There, doesn’t that feel better?” the doctor asked.
I tried to say it sure did, but he couldn’t understand my mumble.
“Can’t this child talk?” he asked Mama.
“Not too good,” she said.
He took a look in my mouth and said, “Why, she’s tongue-tied! This should have been taken care of a long time ago. It’s a very simple procedure.”
He explained to me that my tongue was fastened down on the bottom where it should not be. All he had to do was cut it loose a little, and then I’d be able to talk like everyone else. I couldn’t believe it.
For a few minutes life was wonderful. The pain was gone in my head and the doctor could help me talk. When we get to our home in New Mexico, I’ll be talking like everyone else, I dreamed. I can go to school with Ed and, best of all, no one will tease me.
I did not know yet that it would take lots of pain and effort before I could talk and years of hard work before we had a place of our own.
The doctor asked Mama when would be a good time for the operation, and she said, “You’d better do it now; we’re leaving tomorrow.”
(To be continued.)

In discussing religion with my friends, I’ve often heard criticisms that Mormons aren’t Christians. It’s baffled me that anyone could make a claim that a church bearing the name “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints” isn’t a Christian religion. Growing up, I was always told that our religion was based on Jesus Christ, so it seemed natural to consider myself a Christian. But because of the discussions with my friends, I’ve realized more fully what it truly means to be a Christian; it’s more than just a self-proclamation. I’ve needed to gain knowledge of the reality of the Savior before I could sincerely explain to my friends how I know that I truly am a Christian.
The Book of Mormon has been critical in helping me realize that Christ is the foundation of our doctrine. It is filled with prophecies of Christ and the necessity for His Atonement. As the keystone of our religion, the Book of Mormon helps me explain why I believe in Christ and helps me define what it means to be a Christian as I follow Christ.
Through this journey, I’ve come to a knowledge that Jesus Christ is my Savior and that everything we do as members of the LDS Church directs us to Him. Jesus Christ is our gospel, and we are Christians.

Years ago, when our children were teenagers, we purchased a ski boat. A little while after we bought the boat, my two sons and I decided to venture out in it just before sunset. Out on the water, the motor suddenly spluttered for a few seconds and then cut out. The fuel gage stated we still had a quarter tank, but a quick investigation revealed that we had in fact run out of fuel. We made contact with our family onshore who arranged for a rescue party to come to our aid. We had been let down by a faulty fuel gage.
Unlike the faulty fuel gage, the old ship Zion will never let us down. Remaining on the old ship Zion, or active in and staying true to the gospel, will result in increased faith, happiness and growth.

Playing sports in high school helped him become friends with the woman he would one day marry, __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ Terry, or “Pat.” She was a cheerleader.

Trent Oelkers, a priest from the Medicine Lake Ward, took time to ponder while he waited outside the temple for his sister to receive her endowments before her mission. “When I’m near it, I think about spiritual things more than I regularly would,” he says.
Before the temple was built in Minnesota, the youth had to take an eight-hour bus ride to Chicago to perform baptisms for the dead. “The temple finishes the three-fold mission of the Church here in Minnesota,” Trent says. “It probably means more missionary work in the end. A lot of people are more missionary focused now.” He also agrees that getting married in the temple is on the top of the priority list for most of the youth.

It was the same with the Haraga family, who came to the Hamilton Temple in April 2024. The parents received their endowment and were sealed to each other, and their daughter, Barbara, was sealed to them. Brother Haraga was also sealed to his deceased parents.
Brother Haraga was the first in his family to embrace the restored gospel when he was baptized in 2011. His wife and daughters joined him in 2015.
The Haraga family’s greatest desire was to attend the temple together to become an eternal family. Their dream became a reality in April 2024 when they entered the Hamilton Temple to be endowed and sealed. Faith in Jesus Christ led them to receive ordinances and make covenants in the house of the Lord.

Sister Thelma Bonham deJong, of Provo, Utah, once endured a difficult time when her husband was dying of cancer and her own health was failing. “Only the good Lord knows the weight of the burdens I carried for months,” she said. “Always with a prayer in my heart, I pleaded with Him to give me the courage to face my problems in a valiant manner and with dedication give my best to the end. Without His constant help, I could never have given devoted service to my beloved husband in the long months of his illness. God hears and answers prayers.”

A few years after her marriage to a fine young man in the temple, when they were concentrating on the activities of young married life and raising a family, one day a letter came from “Box B.” (In those days a letter from “Box B” in Salt Lake City was invariably a mission call.)
To their surprise they were called as a family to go to one of the far continents of the world to help open the land for missionary work. They served faithfully and well, and after several years they returned to their home, to set about again the responsibilities of raising their family.
Then this little woman focused in on a Monday morning. It could perhaps be called a blue washday Monday. There had been some irritation and a disagreement. Then some biting words between husband and wife. Interestingly enough, she couldn’t remember how it all started or what it was over. “But,” she said, “nothing would do but that I follow him to the gate, and as he walked up the street on his way to work I just had to call that last biting, spiteful remark after him.”
Then, as the tears began to flow, she told me of an accident that took place that day, and he never returned. “For fifty years,” she sobbed, “I’ve lived in hell knowing that the last words he heard from my lips were that biting, spiteful remark.”
This was the message to her young home teacher. She pressed it upon me with the responsibility never to forget it. I have profited greatly from it. I have come to know since that time that a couple can live together without one cross word ever passing between them.

Several years ago I went to Arches National Park with my wife; our daughter, Evelin; and a family friend. One of the most famous arches there is called Delicate Arch. We decided to walk about 1.5 miles (2 km), climbing the mountain in order to reach the arch.
We started off on our pathway with great enthusiasm, but after walking a short stretch, the others needed to rest. Because of my desire to get there, I decided to continue on alone. Without paying attention to the path I ought to take, I followed a man in front of me who seemed to be moving forward with great surety. The pathway became more and more difficult, and I had to jump from one rock to another. Because of the difficulty, I was sure the women in my group would never make it. Suddenly I saw Delicate Arch, but to my great surprise, I saw that it was in an area inaccessible to me.
With great frustration, I decided to go back. I waited impatiently until we met up again. My immediate question was “Did you reach Delicate Arch?” They happily told me that they had. They explained that they had followed the signs showing the way, and with care and effort, they had reached their destination.
Unfortunately, I had taken the wrong way. What a great lesson I learned that day!

The Brethren gathered in that meeting listened with anticipation, for a number of vacancies among the General Authorities were to be filled at the approaching conference. The First Presidency called a new member of the Quorum of the Twelve, Elder Boyd K. Packer, and then Joseph heard, to his amazement, his own name. The Lord had called him to serve as an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve. He looked up with surprise and wondered if he had heard correctly. All the Brethren were looking at him—the men whom he had felt it an honor to serve—and realized that he was now to be numbered with them. “Nothing was further from my mind,” he said later.

One day my friend gave me a lollipop. It was my favorite flavor, and I really wanted to eat it. I was starting to unwrap it when my little brother, Steven, saw me and asked me for it. I thought about it for a minute, and then I gave it to him.
Although I wanted the lollipop, I felt very happy when my brother said, “Thanks, Leaney,” and gave me a big hug. When I do something good, I feel very happy. I know that Jesus Christ wants me to be like Him.

That same witness came early in my life on two Sundays, one in Albuquerque, New Mexico, and the other in Boston, Massachusetts. In each case I was present on the day that a stake was organized from a district. Seemingly ordinary men whom I knew well were called as stake presidents. I raised my hand on those days as you did today and had a witness come to me that God had called His servants and that I would be blessed by their service and for sustaining them. I have now felt that same miracle countless times across the Church.
I saw in the days and months that followed their being sustained that those stake presidents were lifted up to their callings.

About two years ago my son and I watched a nationally televised basketball game. The BYU Cougars had just won the Western Athletic Conference championship and were being congratulated by sports broadcasters. As they talked with different members of the team, a sophomore by the name of Devin Durrant was interviewed about his plans for the coming year. My son, who was ten at the time and very sports minded, watched intently as Devin told of his decision to fill a mission first and play basketball later. At that moment I was thankful for a young man who knew the importance of making such decisions before the moment to decide. Like the engineer, he knew what to do when the time came. My son and I saw a young man who had set goals, made decisions, and been true to those decisions.