Gospel Story Finder

It hasn’t been easy planning my time as a student. But I drew a timetable to plan my weekly activities, which involves classes, morning devotionals with my roommates, personal scripture study, institute classes, and others. I also place them on a scale in order of importance. Planning my activities helped me overcome procrastination.
Daniel A., 19, Edo, Nigeria

An observant young man noted, “There are some missionary approaches that I’ve noticed don’t work, and some that I’ve noticed do work, and one that doesn’t work is saying, ‘This is what you believe, and it’s wrong.’ I did that a few times and wrecked some good chances. But now my younger brother and sister are taking a couple of Jewish friends to Primary with them, with the permission of their friends’ mother. So far they haven’t asked much about the Church, but we think that if we just don’t jump on them and try to push too hard that maybe they will come around.”

One way we cultivate righteous thoughts is by keeping in mind our purpose in mortality. For example, one woman found that she felt discouraged, particularly when she compared her life with the lives of others who had more wealth and material possessions than she had.

But she decided to control her thoughts, and she made an effort to focus on the kind of person she wanted to become instead of being concerned about the things she did not have. She prayerfully studied the scriptures, concentrating on the Savior’s life and on making her life more like his.

As she did this, she became more sensitive to the needs of those around her. She found that her testimony and her family became more precious to her. She began to admire Christlike character in others more than she had admired worldly wealth. Her new outlook on life helped her feel much happier.

I have been on my mission for nine months and have had many great companions from all different countries, but my favorite companion is the New Era. I look forward to getting shifted to other flats, because each has New Eras that I have not read before.
Your magazine has made me see my mission in a different way. And I am sure all my future investigators thank you too. It is a choice magazine!
Elder David Michel MorrisonNew Zealand Christchurch Mission

I welcome all of the new General Authorities. I rejoice in the calls of Elder Oaks and Elder Nelson to the Council of Twelve Apostles. Brother Nelson has touched my heart deeper than any other man. He has held my heart in his hands and has cut into it and sewn in eight bypasses. He and the Lord literally gave me a new heart. And that heart is full of love for him and for Brother Oaks and for all of you.

Years later while serving as a bishop, this same friend found himself alone again in his ward meetinghouse. After turning out the lights in the chapel, he lingered for a moment as the moonlight shone through the windows onto the pulpit.
The familiar sense of peace again washed over him, and he sat down near the front of the chapel and reflected on the myriad sacred moments he had experienced in that setting—the many times he had observed the priests breaking the bread at the sacrament table, the occasions when he had felt the Holy Spirit accompanying him as he delivered a ward conference address, the baptismal services he had conducted, the beautiful choir numbers he had heard, and the numerous testimonies from ward members that had touched him so deeply. Seated alone in that dark chapel, he felt overcome by the collective impact of these experiences on his life and on the lives of his ward members, and he bowed his head in profound gratitude.

The late Elder Richard L. Evans had a caring mentor, Elder James E. Talmage, who had him rewrite certain pieces for Church publication dozens of times. Irritating though the rewriting must have been, Elder Evans was grateful for such tutoring, and all of his readers—and later on thousands who listened to his radio broadcasts of The Spoken Word—were also grateful. Even though he has passed away, his inspirational thoughts continue to be broadcast in Missouri, where they are one of the most popular programs in the state. (See Wall Street Journal, Feb. 15, 1997.)

Because of the honing and shaping that occurred in the life of that young man, he was permitted to bless the lives of many people.

Buffalo-Child-Long-Lance, a Blackfoot Indian Chief, told of his tribe trailing a band of five hundred horses led by the great stallion for ten days. At dawn on the eleventh day, on a plateau between the Rockies and Cascades, the Indian braves finally drove the herd into a log corral they had built between two sides of a rocky gulch.

After a day of futile attempts to rope the imprisoned stallion and near-fatal injuries to four braves, Indians carrying firebrands forced the horse into a corner against the rocks and partitioned off that part of the corral with a seven-foot fence. When they returned the next morning, they were amazed to find he had cleared the high fence, rammed through the heavy log corral, and vanished.

The Indians believed the wild stallion was supernatural, and after his escape, they called him the Ghost Horse of the Prairies. They claimed they often saw him standing on a butte, his majestic body silhouetted against the moon, his silvery mane and tail shining in the moonlight with a phosphorescent glow—a truly ghostly effect.

While I was growing up, reading the scriptures was not emphasized in our small branch, and very few young people could afford their own sets of scriptures. I tried to read the Book of Mormon but never seemed to get past 1 Nephi. I knew I would have to read more someday, but the real motivation didn’t come until my mission.
Two weeks after I arrived in the mission field, my companion announced that we were scheduled to meet with a family to present a discussion. I was new, so I told my companion he would have to do the talking and I would provide moral support.
That evening we met in a humble home crowded with a family and their friends. I found a chair almost out of sight behind a big pot-bellied stove. My companion presented the lesson, and I was pleased and proud of the clarity of his message and the apparent acceptance of the group. We received permission to meet again the following week.
When we arrived for our next visit, I noticed a newcomer—a large man dressed in a suit. He was introduced to us as the family’s minister, and he said he wanted to hear what we were telling the members of his congregation. His appearance intimidated me, so I quickly found my chair behind the stove.
My companion again began the discussion. This time, however, he was constantly interrupted by the minister, who challenged every point my companion made and tried to refute it with other scriptures. I was not able to contribute anything. When my companion finally finished, the minister stood and condemned us, saying that we were preaching the doctrine of the devil and that we should go back to Utah and ask the Lord to forgive us for deceiving these people.
I was shaken and confused. That night I slept little, but I made a clear, firm resolution. I had to find out if what I was teaching was the truth—for if it was not, I knew I could not spend two years doing work I did not really believe in.
The next day I began to earnestly read the Book of Mormon for the first time. I read every day, every chance I could get. For the first time, I got past 1 Nephi. I was engrossed in the story, in the trials of the Nephites and their wars with the Lamanites. I learned about Jacob, Enos, King Benjamin, Ammon, Alma, Mosiah, and other great prophets in the first half of the book.
Then I began reading the latter part of the book of Alma. I immersed myself in the discourse of Alma to his son Corianton. Then I read Alma’s discussion of the Atonement. I had never read anything so clear. It penetrated my mind and heart. It was as though the Spirit opened my mind to matters beyond my understanding. The laws of justice and mercy became clear, and I knew then, more than ever, that Jesus Christ was indeed the Redeemer of the world.
As I completed the Book of Mormon, I knew that the gospel of Jesus Christ that I was preaching was true, and I was proud to be a missionary for the Lord. The testimony I gained through the Book of Mormon has been a bulwark in my life ever since.

I was told once of a young man who for many years was more or less the brunt of every joke in his school. He had some disadvantages, and it was easy for his peers to tease him. Later in his life he moved away. He eventually joined the army and had some successful experiences there in getting an education and generally stepping away from his past. Above all, as many in the military do, he discovered the beauty and majesty of the Church and became active and happy in it.

Then, after several years, he returned to the town of his youth. Most of his generation had moved on but not all. Apparently, when he returned quite successful and quite reborn, the same old mind-set that had existed before was still there, waiting for his return. To the people in his hometown, he was still just old “so-and-so”—you remember the guy who had the problem, the idiosyncrasy, the quirky nature, and did such and such. And wasn’t it all just hilarious?

Little by little this man’s Pauline effort to leave that which was behind and grasp the prize that God had laid before him was gradually diminished until he died about the way he had lived in his youth. He came full circle: again inactive and unhappy and the brunt of a new generation of jokes. Yet he had had that one bright, beautiful midlife moment when he had been able to rise above his past and truly see who he was and what he could become. Too bad, too sad that he was again to be surrounded by a whole batch of Lot’s wives, those who thought his past was more interesting than his future. They managed to rip out of his grasp that for which Christ had grasped him. And he died sad, though through little fault of his own.

The room was abuzz with energy. Nearly 500 priests and Laurels from eight stakes in the Dallas, Texas, area had gathered together for a dating conference. Enough excitement bounced around the room to fuel a small country for a month or two.
For example, one part of the dating conference included a dance. Yet once the music started playing, you could hardly hear the tunes above the constant chatting as the youth continued getting to know one another.
The whole conference was jam-packed with instruction on wholesome dating practices in accordance with Church teachings.
They had a musical skit about dating. Youth speakers spoke about dating from male and female perspectives. The conference also featured Brad Wilcox, a member of the Sunday School general board, who spoke about how young men and young women can form proper and appropriate bonds. He emphasized that the dating experience should be fun and should leave lasting, happy memories.
Sophia B., a Laurel who attended, said, “Sometimes we think we’re missing out, but hearing Brother Wilcox’s message helped me realize it’s really not worth the emotional pain of turning from our standards.”
This was the third annual dating conference for youth in the Dallas area. The youth and leaders who plan these conferences hope to combat troubling trends and ideas surrounding dating among teenagers today. One trend at many high schools these days is the tendency to date one person exclusively.
Jacob C., a priest, explained, “The world sees dating as having a boyfriend or girlfriend and being together all the time. When talking about dating with my friends at school, I usually have to translate what it means to me.”
For the Strength of Youth teaches, “Avoid going on frequent dates with the same person” ([2011], 4).
Throughout the conference, youth were able to surround themselves with good friends who follow the same dating standards. They met youth from surrounding areas, received great instructions on dating, and had a fun time all in one setting.

My second example comes from my own experience along my own Jericho Road. In about my tenth year, as Christmas approached, I yearned as only a boy can yearn for an electric toy train. I didn’t want the less expensive wind-up model train; rather, I wanted one that operated through the miracle of electricity. Economically, those years were very difficult, yet Mother and Dad, through some sacrifice, I am sure, presented to me on Christmas morning a beautiful electric train.
For hours I ran the train, watching the engine first pull its rail cars forward, then push them backward around the track. Mother entered the living room and said to me that she had purchased a wind-up train for Mrs. Hansen’s son Mark, who lived down the lane. I asked if I could see the train. The engine was short and blocky—not long and sleek like the expensive model I had received. However, I did take notice of an oil tanker car that was part of his inexpensive set. My train had no such car, and I began to feel pangs of envy. I put up such a fuss that Mother finally gave in to my pleadings and handed me the oil tanker car. She said, “If you need it more than Mark, you take it.” I put it with my train set and felt pleased with the result.
Mother and I took the remaining cars and the engine down to Mark Hansen, who was a year or two older than I. He had never anticipated such a gift and was thrilled beyond words. He wound the key in his engine, and was overjoyed as it pulled the little train around the track. Mother wisely asked, “What do you think of Mark’s train, Tommy?” I felt a keen sense of guilt and became very much aware of my selfishness. I said to Mother, “Wait just a moment—I’ll be right back.”
As swiftly as my legs could carry me, I ran to our home, picked up the oil tanker car, plus an additional car of my own, ran back down the lane to the Hansen home, and said joyfully to Mark, “We forgot to bring two cars that belong to your train.” Mark coupled the two extra cars to his train. I watched the engine make its labored way around the track and felt a supreme joy difficult to describe and impossible to forget.
Some remember Mother for the little poems she would make up and recite, others for the music she played, songs sung, favors given, or stories told; but I remember best that day we together traveled homeward along our Jericho Road and, like the good Samaritan, found a cherished opportunity to help.

I was working the night shift at the hospital when I first heard about the gospel. Some of the workers began discussing religion one night, and of course each one thought his church was true, although each believed in different doctrines. I knew they couldn’t all be right, but I said I didn’t think it mattered which church you belonged to, as long as you believed in God and Christ.
I had been active in a protestant faith for fifteen years and tried to live all the teachings of the Bible as I understood them. One day our minister said that God did not reveal himself through prophets anymore, but only through scripture. When he said that, the Spirit spoke to me so loudly that it almost seemed as if others could hear it too and said, “That’s not true.” I didn’t know what that meant, so I didn’t mention it to anyone.
Then, in our hospital conversation, one brave nurse dared to say that the Mormon Church was true because it had a prophet at the head to guide it. “A prophet in this day and age?” I thought disdainfully, and I let her know I didn’t believe it.
“I can prove it,” she said. And she brought me a book to read—the Book of Mormon. I was amazed at what I read, and as I continued I felt a burning in my bosom just as I had when I read the Bible. When I read Moroni’s exhortation to ask God the Eternal Father if the book was true, I decided I would do just that. I never really thought that the Lord cared enough about me to let me know. I just asked because I believed in God and Jesus.
That night in a dream the Bible and the golden plates were brought before my face. The plates were shining so bright they were like the sun. I began to understand in my dream that both were true, but that the plates were more true and more pure. When I awoke it was with a testimony. Then the nurse gave me the Doctrine and Covenants to read, and when I had finished it, I knew I wanted to be a member of the church that had received so many truths in this dispensation.
I attended a Latter-day Saint service, not knowing how I would be received as a black woman in a church that was, for all I knew, all white. I went only because I knew it was true. But everyone was very friendly, warm, and loving.
I took the six missionary discussions from two lovely lady missionaries, but then my husband wouldn’t let me be baptized because he couldn’t understand the changes in my life. Now I was torn inside, knowing where Christ’s true church was, and not being able to join it. About eight months later I decided I would not attend my former church anymore. I would fast and pray and contribute to the Latter-day Saint church, even if I was never baptized.
After about a year, on a fast Sunday, my husband told me he would approve my baptism. That day and the day of my baptism were two of the happiest days of my life. I’ll always be grateful for the nurse who gave me a Book of Mormon. She started me on the path to eternal life, and I know that if I am faithful and endure to the end, I will have a place in His kingdom.

Willow Run*, by Patricia Reilly Giff. When Meggie’s family moves so her father can work at a factory during World War II, Meggie has to leave behind her grandfather and the beautiful ocean. Meggie wonders if the barren land and cramped apartment are worth helping the war effort she hears so much about. Read about Meggie’s wish to have her brother return safely from the war and have her family together again.

A native of Hawaii, Elder Komatsu joined the army’s counterintelligence corps in the Pacific and Japan during World War II. After the war he returned to Japan where he met, baptized, and married his wife, the former Judy Fujitani. The Komatsus have four children.
Two days after their marriage the Komatsus attended their new branch for the first time, and there, with out prior notice, he was called as branch president. He later served on the Honolulu Hawaii Stake high council and as president of the Northern Far East Mission. He has also had the privilege of performing ordinances in the Hawaii Temple.

Many months passed; this man of strong determination to duty had completed his mission and was about to return to his home:

“On the morning when I left Chatburn many were in tears, thinking they should see my face no more. When I left them, my feelings were such as I cannot describe. As I walked down the street I was followed by numbers; the doors were crowded by the inmates of the houses to bid me farewell, who could only give vent to their grief in sobs. … While contemplating this scene I was constrained to take off my hat, for I felt as if the place was holy ground. The Spirit of the Lord rested down upon me and I was constrained to bless that whole region of country. … My heart was like unto theirs, and I thought my head was a fountain of tears, for I wept for several miles after I bid them adieu” (in Life of Heber C. Kimball, p. 187).

Brothers and sisters, this is Sammy Ho Ching, seven months old, watching general conference on television in his home last April.
As time approached to sustain President Russell M. Nelson and the other General Authorities, Sammy’s arms were busy holding his bottle. So he did the next best thing.
Sammy gives entirely new meaning to the concept of voting with your feet.

One attempt I remember well. About eighty men, women, and children escaped in a small boat. Within two days, we reached international waters, but the boat’s engine failed. We drifted for fifteen days. We ran out of food and drinking water and just lay motionless on the boat’s deck awaiting death.
Finally we heard the noise of a ship’s engine. We waved for help. It was a ship from Europe. After giving us food and water, they towed our boat back to Vung-Tau harbor and the North Vietnamese. We wept openly. Many men, unable to accept such a fate, jumped into the sea and sank beneath the waves. The police imprisoned us. Luckily, I spent only a few months in jail.

One night Braden was sitting in his bedroom playing a game. He thought he heard someone crying, but who could that be? Braden kept playing with his game. Then he heard the crying again. Something told him that he should go downstairs, and that maybe he could help. He got up and went downstairs.
His mom was sitting on the sofa, crying. What would make his mother feel better? He began cleaning up the living room. Then he put some ice in a cup for her. She was expecting a baby and liked ice.
His mother hugged him. She told him that she was feeling sick and lonely because Dad was out of town on business. She had asked Heavenly Father to please send someone to help her. Braden told her about the feeling that he should come downstairs. His mother told him that the feeling was the Holy Ghost, and that by following the Holy Ghost he had been an answer to her prayer.

Neill F. Marriott’s daughter encourages her family to pray after the family’s young son is lost.