Gospel Story Finder

During a family home evening activity, I used the Family Tree app to learn who my ancestors were and what their lives were like. I was surprised to learn that one of my ancestors had been a cavalryman who had guarded a Japanese emperor who lived long ago.

This story happened in South Korea.
Jayne took one last bite of her noodles. Mmmm. Delicious!
“Let’s play Yut Nori!” Uncle Ji-Ho said.
It was that time of year again! Her family was celebrating Chuseok, Korean Thanksgiving. Today Jayne’s family had gathered to eat lots of food and play Yut Nori together. Yut Nori was Jayne’s favorite game.
Everyone sat in a circle on the floor. Jayne looked around. What team did she want to be on? She scooted over to sit next to Uncle Ji-Ho. “I want to be on your team!” she said. “We’re going to be the big winners!”
Uncle Ji-Ho laughed. “With you on our team, we sure have a good chance!”
Jayne’s mom set the game board in the middle of the circle. Jayne helped her set out the pieces. They passed the four sticks to the team that would go first.
Jayne’s cousin Ana took the first turn. She threw the sticks into the air. The way the sticks landed showed how many spaces that team could move on the game board. All four sticks were facing down, which meant that Ana got a Yut! She got to move her team’s piece forward four spaces and got an extra turn.
But Ana was not on Jayne’s team.
Jayne folded her arms and frowned. “I was hoping she wouldn’t have a good throw,” she whispered to Uncle Ji-Ho.
“Cheer up!” Uncle Ji-Ho said. “The game just started.” He gave her an encouraging smile.
After Ana’s second turn, Jayne’s team threw the sticks. But they didn’t get to move their pieces as far as Ana’s team did.
With every turn, Jayne’s family members cheered and laughed. Jayne watched the game pieces move around the board. Everyone was having fun.
Everyone but Jayne. Her team was still losing.
Finally it was Jayne’s turn. She threw the sticks in the air, but only one landed face down. Her team’s piece moved forward only one space.
Jayne folded her arms. “I quit!” she yelled. “I wanted us to win.”
Suddenly, everyone was quiet. When she looked up, her family was staring at her. They seemed surprised that she was so angry.
Jayne’s face felt hot. She felt bad that she wasn’t happy for her family. She didn’t usually get so mad. She stood up to leave the circle.
Uncle Ji-Ho put a hand out. “You don’t have to leave,” he said. “Winning isn’t everything. Just try to have fun.”
“OK.” Jayne sat back down. She wanted to have fun like everyone else. She took a deep breath and watched her cousin Ben toss the sticks.
“Nice turn, Ben!” Uncle Ji-Ho said. He sounded happy.
Jayne looked at Uncle Ji-Ho with wide eyes. He was cheering for the other team! Maybe that was why he was having so much fun.
As the next turn began, Jayne decided to cheer for everyone on both teams. Uncle Ji-Ho was right. Winning wasn’t everything. Jesus could help her be happy for her family members even if she lost.
When it was Ana’s turn again, Jayne smiled at her. “Good luck! You’ve got this.”
From across the circle, Ana smiled back. Jayne felt warm inside. She was having more fun already!

“Who are the teachers?” I asked my friend as we were walking down the street on a Saturday morning in February 2000. We were 14 then.
“They are my friends and are here on something like a mission,” she said. We had never talked about religion before, even though we were best friends. She told me we were going to attend English classes that her friends were teaching for free. She knew I would be interested because I was going to an English high school.
When we entered the building, my eyes riveted on the pictures on the walls. Was this a church? It didn’t look like a Bulgarian Orthodox Church, the only one I had visited before. Most people consider any other church a cult. Also, when Bulgaria was under communism until 1989, religious beliefs were condemned, and many people still look at religion as something not right.
My friend asked me whether I wanted to come to church the next day. I answered yes, more out of curiosity than piety. I knew that if she was going, there wasn’t anything wrong with it.
I started going to church regularly. I wanted to know more about its teachings. I wanted to know why those young people with the name tags had left their country to come to Bulgaria and plunged themselves into the hostile religious atmosphere here. Even though I wasn’t religious at that time, something made me keep going to Church activities. I loved the friendly spirit of the missionaries and the warm smiles of the members.

When William later hurt his back lifting a quarter beef, he took a laborer’s job in the dockyards at the same pay. Harbor activities intrigued him, and he carefully noticed the daily comings and goings of the many ships using the docks. One day he heard that a British naval vessel, the His Majesty’s Ship Eurotas, soon would sail for the South Pacific, and he immediately formulated a plan for reaching Zion. He enlisted in the British navy and joined the Eurotas’ crew as a butcher, hoping one day to go ashore in California and travel from there to Utah.
But once the “old twenty-eight gun sailing frigate, converted into a screw propellor ship” cleared port, his immigration hopes vanished. At a surprise meeting the commanding officer opened secret orders and announced to the crew: “My men, we are going to the Crimea, the seat of war!”
Because the ship operated with but half a crew, William soon learned various sailing skills. As he later wrote: “I not only had my work to perform as a butcher, but after it was done, I then had to assist the gunners’ crew in whatever they were doing. The gunners are almost invariably excellent seamen … I was therefore under very practical men and learned to do considerable sailor’s work which I have always found useful to me even in Utah.”
Lisbon, Portugal. Gibraltar. Algiers. Malta. Constantinople, Turkey. At each stop William went ashore to obtain meat for the crew. And all along the way they received “dreadful” war reports from the Crimea.
After cruising off the Crimean peninsula, the Eurotas docked near Sebastopol [Sevastopol], a city from which British and allied troops had driven Russian units at terrible cost to both sides. To William’s great joy he found that among the thousands of British servicemen camped in the area were enough Latter-day Saints for a “field church” (Church meetings conducted at the place where an army is camped rather than a church building) to be established. He eagerly participated.

This goal has helped me feel closer to Heavenly Father and Jesus. Whenever I draw a temple, I feel the Spirit. I know that temples are houses of God. Recently, I’ve been able to go inside the Payson Utah Temple and others. I feel the Spirit so strongly when I do temple baptisms.
Whenever I see a temple, it helps me to be stronger in choosing the right.

When I was pregnant with my youngest child, Margaret Blackburn served as our ward Relief Society president. We knew each other only from the little time we shared during meetings at church.
After I delivered my baby, women brought meals that first week, including Margaret, who was older and frail. I was grateful because I had no energy or desire to plan a meal, cook, or shop for ingredients—let alone all three.
After that first week, Margaret continued to bring meals. Whether they were home-cooked meals or leftovers from a ward activity, it didn’t matter to me. It was almost as if she knew that more than I needed someone to hold my baby or clean my home, I needed the blessing of not having to think about what was for dinner.
A short while later, Margaret was released from her calling because of failing health. I didn’t know it at the time, but she had been diagnosed with terminal cancer.
Once I learned of her diagnosis, I knew what I needed to do. I needed to serve her—not because I owed it to her or needed to repay her kindness. Rather, because of her service to me, I had grown to love her.
Margaret had taught me that through service, we truly become connected. When I thought of this incredible woman, my heart ached to think of her pushing a vacuum or sweeping her kitchen floor. So, each week I began visiting her and cleaning her home.
One day while driving home afterward, I became overwhelmed with gratitude that Heavenly Father had orchestrated these charitable opportunities. If Margaret had not served me so diligently, I probably would not have been comfortable making regular visits to her home. I came to cherish that time with her! God knew that by sending her to me in my time of need, the path would be paved for me to serve her in her time of need.
My eyes filled with tears as I realized how perfectly these inspirations and service opportunities had forever linked us.

In the summer before my junior year I got news of an LDS 11th-grader moving into our area. I was ecstatic. She was an answer to prayer. It’s amazing how much we have in common and how well we get along. Together with another senior, we made up the three LDS girls at my high school. With three boys, that made six Latter-day Saints among 950 students. While the school year was stressful for all of us, we were always there to support each other. We stuck together through bad times and great times.

Just two months ago, two temple-recommend-holding married couples, with three full-time missionary children and five other children between them, took off in a small airplane for a short flight. I am confident they prayed for safety before the flight and prayed fervently when their aircraft encountered serious mechanical problems before crashing. None survived. What about them?

Having virtually no quantitative skills, I was seldom if ever able to help our children with math and scientific subjects. One day our high school daughter Nancy asked me for “a little help” regarding a Supreme Court case, Fletcher v. Peck. I was so eager to help after so many times of not being able to help. At last a chance to unload! Out came what I knew about Fletcher v. Peck. Finally my frustrated daughter said, “Dad, I need only a little help!” I was meeting my own needs rather than giving her “a little help.”

A few years ago, I created a video to go along with the Light the World Christmas campaign that received over 2.5 million views. I thought, “Should I put a scripture at the end? Or give people a challenge to be baptized? Is it my duty to dedicate my YouTube channel to missionary work?”
I really wrestled with that last question. I’m able to reach more people right now than the early missionaries and early pioneers could have even dreamed of! So I went to the temple with this question, ready and willing for whatever answer I would get.
And the answer that came was, “Do your ministering, and do your calling.”
I realized that Jesus Christ didn’t need me to baptize every one of my subscribers. He needed me to focus on serving the people around me.

Litter—On the Church’s day of service, Nate collected five bags full of trash—and two hubcaps. His dream career? To be a recycling scientist.

I once knew a man who has since passed on but who insisted on making all of the decisions for his wife and children. They could not buy a pair of shoes without him. They could not take a piano lesson. They could not serve in the Church without his consent. I have since witnessed the outcome of that attitude, and that outcome is not good.

Elder Christofferson was called in 1998 as a member of the Presidency of the Seventy, where he served until his call to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. He says that when he first received his new calling from President Thomas S. Monson, it initially “seemed impossible.”
“The responsibility seems overwhelming as I contemplate it. But I have had wonderful tutors as I have worked in the Quorum of the Seventy and with members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles over the last 15 years. And I have the additional reassurance of knowing that the Lord has always sustained me. In every crisis, in every transition, in every need I’ve ever had, He’s been accessible through prayer. I have trusted in Him and have not been disappointed. Surely His promises are still in place. I know that He’ll give me the help I need here too.”

And now, speaking of prayer, I touch on another matter. Last April, I spoke to the regional representatives of the Church, as I have done for a number of years on each occasion when they have come for general conference. These are training meetings where the regional representatives get information that they may carry with them across the Church. There is nothing secret or hidden about what is done there.
However, recently I heard that someone had secured a copy of my talk, looking upon that as a singular accomplishment, as if it had been given in a secret and sinister manner, designed to keep it from the world. This is nonsense.
I am therefore on this occasion going to take the liberty of rereading that portion of the talk which pertains to a matter over which some few women of the Church appear to be greatly exercised. I give it to all, in this forum, because of the activities of a few who evidently are seeking to lead others in the paths which they are following. I speak of those who advocate the offering of prayers to our Mother in Heaven. I quote from that earlier address:
That is the end of the quotation from the talk I gave earlier, to which I may add that none of us can add to or diminish the glory of her of whom we have no revealed knowledge.

As the tears wet her nightgown, she remembered once when she saw the Prophet cry. It had happened the year before, when Mary Ann’s family was returning from England. Many converts came with them on the boat, and they were anxious to see Joseph Smith.

“I’ll know him immediately,” one man said. Others agreed that they, too, would be able to pick him out, even in a multitude.

Mary Ann told the converts how noble and grand the Prophet looked on his horse at the head of the Nauvoo Legion. She told them how she had watched him preach to the people in the Kirtland Temple, and to the Indians in the grove at Nauvoo.

Mary Ann still remembered how the steamboat pushed through large, floating blocks of ice on the Mississippi River as it approached the city of Nauvoo. At the landing there was a large group of people waiting to welcome the company of travelers. Right away, Mary Ann noticed the Prophet. He came on the boat, into their cabin, and embraced Parley Pratt. Then he welcomed each family member in turn.

The Prophet was a very big man. Six foot, her father had said. Mary Ann’s head came just above his belt buckle, but he leaned over so he could look into her eyes and shake her hand. Then he sat down and took her little brother on his knees.

“Well, well, Brother Parley, you have returned, bringing your sheaves with you.” He hugged little Parley and Nathan, and the tears filled his clear blue eyes and streamed down his cheeks. Mary Ann had discovered that grown folk sometimes cry when they’re filled with joy, so she knew it was just his happiness spilling over.

Mary Ann recalled how Father had teased the Prophet when he saw the tears.

“Brother Smith, if you feel so bad about our coming home, I guess we’ll have to go back again.”

After that, everyone laughed, the Prophet most of all. Then he said, “Brother Parley, bring your folks up to my house.” Mary Ann remembered how as they walked up the hill with the Prophet, she had tried to match her step with his.

This old house didn’t look so old anymore once the youth of the Milwaukee Wisconsin Stake finished with it. As a matter of fact, the youth renovated three unkempt and vandalized homes in Milwaukee’s inner city as part of what some say was the best youth conference ever.

“I found out that the Golden Rule really was enforced there,” said Synthia Ridenour, 16. “You slap somebody with paint, and you get it back.” But she and about 150 of her friends learned much more than that. When Synthia accidentally came across the family members who lived in the house saying prayers of thanks, she knew why she was there.

“I know from this project that service brings great happiness,” said Eric Wagner, 16, in the testimony meeting that was held at the end of the weekend-long conference. There had been dances, workshops, and a barbecue, but everyone agreed that the best part was re-doing the houses, and helping the families who lived inside.

I knew before the race started that it would be tough—a four-mile cross-country trek through the sandhills. There were plenty of ups and downs, and several places where your feet sank into the sandy soil and slowed you to a walk.
I knew it would be hard, because I’d helped my dad mark out the trail two days before. He’s the gym teacher at my school. It’s his job each fall to choose and mark out the route for the divisional cross-country races.
“I want it tough, David, but fair,” he said to me as we tied up small blue ribbons to mark the route. “There’ll be good runners as well as some who race just to get an afternoon off school. I want the course tough enough to challenge the serious runners.” He grinned at me and said, “You wouldn’t want it too easy, would you?”
I grinned back and shook my head. This was the first year I could be in the race. Each year I’d heard Dad talk about it, and I’d heard the older kids at school say it was really tough. I was eager to compete in it.
I’m in fine form, I thought. I’d been practicing for six weeks, and my legs and lungs felt ready. In gym class I easily beat the other boys at two miles, but we’d never run the whole four miles. That, plus all the hills, might make a difference. And, of course, kids from five other schools would be in the race too. I’d heard rumors that one of the other schools had a really good runner in my division.
When we lined up for the first race of the meet, I knew who it was. His classmates called him Mike, and urged him on. I was determined to beat him, even though he was a good six inches taller than me. That meant his legs were a lot longer—I’d probably have to take four strides to cover the same distance he did in three!
The route began with a really steep hill with stunted oak trees scattered over it. “Why did you put the start here?” I’d asked Dad when we set it up. “Do you want to scare everybody at the start?”
“That’s the idea!” He grinned, then explained that the actual reason was to make the runners spread out instead of bunching together. “They’re less likely to bump into each other that way.”
Now, racing up Heartbreak Hill, I saw what he meant. Everyone was soon walking, including me! At the top I resumed running. Only one runner—Mike—was ahead of me as I followed the course-marking ribbons down the other side. I didn’t try to catch him. This side was much shorter, but steeper, so I was careful to keep my legs under control.
At the bottom, the trail flattened out and wound through poplar trees. Then it took a sharp right turn through an open wire gate before twisting alongside a creek for half a mile or so. By the time we turned away from the creek, Mike was about a hundred yards ahead, going at a steady lope. The rest of the runners were so far behind that I couldn’t see anyone else.
We were more than halfway there, and I was beginning to wonder if I’d be able to catch Mike. My legs were straining on “automatic,” but his long legs seemed to carry him effortlessly up the hills. Even the sandy places didn’t slow him down much.
My breath was getting ragged. I thought about walking for a while, but I didn’t want to let Mike increase the distance between us. My classmates were counting on my winning, and even Dad had hinted that it would be nice to see my name on the trophy. I forced myself to keep running.
Then Mike suddenly slowed and turned his head from side to side as if he were lost. He’s right where the trail branches, I thought. He can’t tell which way to go.
The trail was marked to turn right, but he turned left and picked up speed again.
I’ll catch him! was my first thought. Then, Why didn’t he follow the ribbon?
In a moment I was up to where he’d turned off. There was no ribbon visible, though I’d seen Dad put one there. I took a few strides in the right direction, and there it was, fallen to the ground, and half hidden by grass.
He’ll soon figure out that he’s wrong, I thought and took a couple more strides. But it was almost as if I could hear Dad’s voice: “Winning is important, but it’s not the most important.”
I stopped running. “Mike!” I called loudly. “You’re going the wrong way.”
“Is this a trick?” he shouted, turning back.
“No trick,” I called. “See? Here’s the ribbon.” I held it up and tied it to a branch for the later runners to see.
I waited for Mike to pass me, and when he was a hundred yards ahead again, I started running. Even so, I figured I’d gained a small advantage, since I’d had a short rest and hadn’t gone quite as far. My breathing was easier, and slowly I managed to lessen the distance between us.
Mike went up and over the last hill. In the distance I heard a cheer as the crowd sighted him. I topped the hill and saw that he wasn’t more than fifty feet ahead.
I’m going to catch him, I thought. He was almost staggering, and I urged my legs to move faster.
The gap closed. Mike glanced back, saw me coming, and made one last effort. With two feet to spare, he crossed the finish line ahead of me.
I walked around slowly to catch my breath. Dad was standing near the finish line, recording names as later runners crossed, and he gave me a thumbs-up signal. I knew that he didn’t mind that my name wouldn’t be on the trophy—but it sure would have been nice.
When I saw Mike recovering, I went over to congratulate him. “Good race,” I said, “but just wait till next year!”
He gave me a funny look. “Why’d you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Call me back to the trail. And then give me a head start.”
I shrugged. “It was only fair,” I said. “You were ahead, and the ribbon had fallen, but I knew where to go.”
“But you’d have beaten me.”
“It wouldn’t have been right,” I said. “Not that way. You’d have done the same thing.”
“I don’t know, really,” Mike said, his smile uncertain. “What I know for sure is that I hope I would have.”
“What I know,” Dad said, coming up to us, “is that you’re both winners in my book!”

Fellow volunteer Tamarua Richmond agreed. “To have done it with friends was even better. It was a great atmosphere. We all had our part to play and I’m glad we did it.”

When I was dating, I was seeking an eternal companion who would be a noble father. Since I grew up without that example in my childhood, it was harder for me to know all the characteristics that a noble earthly father should have. I was disappointed that my patriarchal blessing did not give more detailed direction about the person Heavenly Father wanted me to marry. It said only that I should seek someone who could take me to the temple. But even this seemingly simple instruction was challenged. Although I had some positive dating experiences, I often worried that either such a man did not truly exist or I was meant to suffer endless trials of the heart.
Despite my experience-driven anxiety, I continued to pray for a husband who would be a righteous father for my children, who would love them and stay present in their lives. Like my faithful mother, I knew that no matter what happened, I would be able to lean on my Eternal Father for support.
To my surprise and delight, my prayers were answered on Heavenly Father’s perfect timetable. It is healing for me to observe my husband’s loving example of what a father should be. I’m grateful he follows the examples set by prophets and apostles and that he chooses to cherish and love me unselfishly. His example as a loving husband also blesses our children. My heart is full of gratitude for his faithfulness through trials, his example of hard work, his worthiness to exercise the priesthood, and the pure, unwavering love he demonstrates as a young father.

By December 1827 there had been several attempts to steal the plates, so Joseph decided to move with Emma to the home of her parents in Harmony Township, Pennsylvania.

When Joseph and Emma arrived, Joseph allowed Isaac Hale, Emma’s father, to heft the plates in a box. Isaac later stated, “I was allowed to feel the weight of the box, and they gave me to understand, that the book of plates was then in the box.” Yet he was unconvinced and dissatisfied with the situation. He told Joseph to either show him the plates or remove them from his house. Joseph hid the plates in the nearby woods until he and Emma moved into their own home on the Hale property.