Gospel Story Finder

As Eduardo’s and María’s gospel knowledge grew, so did their testimonies. When their son Osvaldo died following a traffic accident in 2001, their testimonies—coupled with powerful spiritual experiences during prayer and in the Buenos Aires Argentina Temple, where they and Osvaldo had been sealed—helped them deal with their loss.
“Perhaps some parents would have gone crazy,” Eduardo says, “but we felt a calmness that said, ‘Your son is well.’ Of course we wept. He was a good son, and we miss him. But we have been sealed in the temple, and we know where he is.”

Over the next several years, members of the branch, including my grandma and my mother (now in her teens), were sometimes taken in by the secret police for questioning about their religious practices. One time my grandmother was questioned aggressively for five hours. Her questioners told her they would put her in prison for five years if they learned she was teaching religion to her children.
She recorded, “I stayed peaceful and said, ‘If you think that I do something wrong teaching my children religion, then you can lock me up.’ They didn’t answer. From that time on they called me in repeatedly. They talked against the Church, and they tried to get us off our faith. The more they tried the more I clung to the Church, [for] the true Church was always persecuted.”
My mother wrote in her journal, “In these most difficult years, members met on Sunday in our branch president’s apartment. We couldn’t sing loud so we whispered. We didn’t want our branch president in jail. For 18 years we were gathering like that and we were dreaming of the time when we all would be able to go to the Rocky Mountains and settle in [Salt Lake City].” They had hope even though at the time families were seldom granted paperwork that would allow them to leave the country.

John Halliday’s name appears on several documents relating to the Church in Wiltshire in the middle of the nineteenth century. Born in Trowbridge in 1819, he was the oldest child of Stephen and Jane Halliday. In 1836 he emigrated to America. Sometime between 1836 and 1842 he was baptised a member of the Church.
Sometime in 1844 John was sent back to Britain as a missionary, bringing his wife, Emily, and their youngest child with him. They would remain in Britain until the spring of 1850.
Two main sources provide information on John’s activities during those years: the Millennial Star and records from Salisbury Diocese, which detail applications to register ‘dissenter’ places of worship. ‘Dissenters’ were any denomination other than the Church of England.
The following applications were made by John Halliday to register places of worship in Wiltshire: [Table 1 Inserted as image)
Steeple Ashton was something of a stronghold of the Church in the mid-nineteenth century, as shown by the number of different locations registered for worship, and several histories have been written about the village residents who converted.1 As the list also shows, meeting places were most commonly family homes, particularly in villages. Many of the early converts emigrated, so by the end of the century most of the branches had been disbanded and no purpose-built Church meetinghouses are known to have existed in Wiltshire until the twentieth century.
John Halliday made the applications to register places of worship for the Church because of the leadership role he held in the area during his missionary service. Halliday was responsible for a total membership of 350 spread across eleven congregations, in three counties.
In May 1848 Halliday reported continuing success in a letter to Orson Spencer, then president of the British LDS mission. The letter was printed in the Star:
“Indeed I have never travelled so much and preached so often with so much satisfaction since my arrival in England; and what is better, I have never felt in better spirits for the battle, either in-doors or out in the public Market-place.“2
In October of the same year, he also reported:
“Large additions have been made to the kingdom of our God. I think we have baptized since conference over 100, and the elders and officers feel ripe and ready for the harvesting.”3
The work of John Halliday and his fellow missionaries, with the associated growth in Church membership, did not go unnoticed or unopposed. Writing to Franklin D. Richards (1821–1899) in December 1847, Halliday stated, “Since I wrote last to you, the officers of the law have interfered in our behalf, and last week we had quietness again,”4 showing that opposition was serious enough for Church members to seek police protection to be able to worship as they pleased.
John Halliday was central to the mission and growth of the Church in Wiltshire in the mid-nineteenth century. He was evidently a man of faith and conviction, and was willing to put that conviction to work, to help spread the good news of the restored gospel which he and his wife and brother had embraced. He was still a young man when he died, but we can say with some certainty that a wish he expressed in May 1848 was fulfilled: “My prayer to God is, that I may continue faithful.”5

A few years ago, I applied for a job at a local zoo, thinking it would be a great adventure. I got the job and decided to take it even though it meant I would have to work every Sunday. Because of that decision, it had been several months since I had attended church or had any contact with ward members. I hadn’t completely gone off the path of righteousness; I wasn’t drinking or playing with drugs like some of my friends at work, and my morals were okay. Still, deep down, I wasn’t really happy and I didn’t feel close to Heavenly Father.
Sometimes after work, I did kneel down to pray, but my prayers seemed hollow and far from the things in my heart. In addition, my grades were slipping, and I was difficult to get along with. My friends at the zoo seemed to like me, but they wanted me to participate with them in things I knew were wrong.
In the midst of my problems my mother told me one Sunday afternoon that my old choir teacher had been sustained as the Young Women president. As a shy young child I had been scared of her loud booming voice and outspoken ways.
The next week, the phone calls began. The new Young Women president was like a recruiter for the army. She called me for every activity my class was having and for every service project they did. After several weeks of excuses, I finally agreed to go out to dinner with my class. As we drove to the restaurant, the girls in my class talked about boys and the coming school year. Our leader often joined in their conversation. I rode along with them in silence.
As I watched their happy faces I felt a pain, the kind of pain you feel when you are missing out on something really great. By the time the activity was over and we were back at my house, I was close to tears. Those girls had something in their lives that I wanted. They knew who they were and where they were going. They were close to Heavenly Father. I knew he heard their prayers. My leader seemed to know what I was feeling and reminded me I was always welcome back at church and she would always be there for me.
That night I knelt by my bed and poured out my soul to my Father in Heaven—something I hadn’t done in a long time. I realized how much I had missed him and how, little by little, the distance between us had grown because of the choices I had made. More than anything I wanted another chance. I wanted to fill the emptiness within my soul. I wanted to find the kind of friends who lasted forever. I wanted to come back to church.
After that one Young Women activity, I realized that there were people who cared about me; I saw the way to come back. It wasn’t easy, but the gospel has enriched my life and given me hope beyond all things. The best thing I ever did was to come back to the Church.

The second example occurred more recently, in the United States.
I was in a hurry to make a close plane connection in a large city, so I was somewhat concerned at the large number of people and their slow movement down the crowded hall. I moved in and out as best I could without jostling others.
I noticed a fairly concentrated group up ahead. There seemed to be some reason for the slowdown since I could see open spaces farther ahead. As I came to the slowed group I could see a young lady slowly making her way forward with braces and canes. She was terribly crippled but doing the best she could. Most people, as they saw the situation, slowed down and patiently let her go at her own speed.
Just ahead of me, two big, strong, brown-skinned young men had just had their rapid pace slowed and could see the reason why. One turned to the other and in his native tongue said, “Ta’ahine faikehe eni ‘Oku totonu ke puna ia ki tu’a ka ta o!” which roughly interpreted is: “What a crazy girl. She ought to be thrown out so we could move!”
I knew of no Tongans living in this area of the United States. Hawaii, California, and Utah, yes, but here? Since I had served a mission in Tonga, I quickly replied to the two young men, “Oua na’a mo lau’i ae ta’ahine oku si’i heke, he taha, ko hono fo’ui,” which is more or less: “You shouldn’t speak bad about the poor girl. After all, it’s not her fault.”
They whirled around to see who on earth spoke to them. They had a combination of embarrassment and disbelief on their faces. All they saw was a typical American man in a business suit, carrying a briefcase, and scolding them with his eyes.
They just sort of disappeared down the next opening with mutterings of disbelief and dismay, “How did he know? Who was that? We better watch what we say, etc.”
I have often thought that the statistical chances of those circumstances occurring as they did—with the relatively small number of Tongans in the United States, the even smaller number in that large city, and the even smaller number of white people who could speak Tongan—were so small as to be almost nonexistent.

But the mob never returned. Len soon married a woman named Mary Pugh in 1920, and they moved to Birmingham, a large city in central Alabama. Mary’s uncle, a Baptist pastor, predicted that she would join the Church before the year was over.
Mary read the Book of Mormon and gained a testimony of its truth. It took a little longer than predicted, but after five years of marriage she decided to join the Church. On September 15, 1925, the Hopes went with two missionaries to a secluded spring near Birmingham. Mary was baptized without incident, finally becoming a Latter-day Saint, like her husband.4
“I couldn’t be anything better,” she told her uncle, “and I can see no better church.”

For instance, one of the hardest rules to follow is to get up in the morning when your mission president directs. Many young men think the best time to sleep is in the morning. I’m grateful to my obedient senior companion, Elder William Grant Bangerter, who would set the alarm clock to get up early. When the alarm went off, it would jangle my nerves. In the winter it was dark, damp, and cold, and we never had any hot water for bathing or showering. He would cheerfully shower in that cold water; I would start to shiver as soon as he got out of the shower. I could not do anything but follow his example, but I have to confess that I was not quite as cheerful because my teeth were chattering.

When Monika Fullmer served in a Relief Society presidency in Germany, she became acquainted with Anne, a less-active sister. (The name has been changed.) Anne’s visiting teachers encouraged her to come to church, but she was hesitant to come back after being away so long. The sisters finally convinced her that she would be welcomed with open arms.
At first, Anne sat in the back of the meetinghouse. But gradually, as the women in the ward drew her in, she became comfortable. The Relief Society presidency soon felt impressed that they should request that Anne be called as Relief Society music leader. Even though she knew very little about music, Anne accepted the assignment. With the support of the sisters in Relief Society, Anne learned to fulfill her calling, then accepted other leadership positions in the ward. In time, Anne’s husband was baptized, and her family was sealed in the temple.
“Whenever I think of sisterhood, I think of Anne,” says Sister Fullmer. “The Relief Society sisters’ love and acceptance made her feel welcome—and then needed.”

Sister Ballard: Our seven children have been wonderful to raise, but we’ve had worries and concerns, and we’ve had to go through the normal anxieties and problems. This is why we needed family councils—and why we had lots of discussions and prayers. For example, when my husband was called to serve as mission president in Toronto, Canada, some of the children were not happy about moving there.
Elder Ballard: They cried all the way to Toronto. They cried for two months after we were there.
Sister Ballard: Yes, but they were good sports. It was harder for the ones in high school, but we discussed their feelings in many family councils. In time, they realized it was a wonderful opportunity.

A famous doctor once visited a dejected and despondent old woman. He found that she was alone and separated from the world but that she also had a beautiful greenhouse where she raised African violets. The doctor gave the woman a prescription. She was to subscribe to her church’s newsletter, and whenever there was a baptism, marriage, sickness, or death, she was to send an African violet. Following the doctor’s instructions, the old woman gave away hundreds of potted plants. At her death the newspaper headline read, “The Queen of African Violets Passes Away and Is Mourned by Thousands.” What turned this dejected old woman into someone loved by so many? It was giving to others, not keeping for herself.

It was a bitterly cold February night. The ice was so thick on the Mississippi River it had turned to a solid mass, a blue-white highway. With the river frozen solid, there was no traffic that night, no river barges, no ferrys, no boats of any kind. Thick ice made it possible to walk out on the water, solid enough, perhaps, to walk all the way to the far bank.
The city of Nauvoo was dark, but four people shivering on shore were about to test the ice. Would the ice be strong enough to support them? Was it possible to drive a team of horses pulling a wagon across?
Kayla Walker followed in her father Kay’s footsteps as he approached the river. Their friend, Tim McCormick, also moved out onto the ice. But even though she was excited to make the crossing, she was a little scared. Their guide, Jerry McLeod, had already warned them both that if they felt the ice crack beneath their feet to spread out their arms to catch themselves from falling in completely. Kayla said, “He told us to try to stay above the ice. If you fall below, the current will carry you under the ice, and they wouldn’t be able to get you. That was sort of scary.”
Kayla stepped out on the ice. Exactly 150 years ago that month, the first pioneers to leave Nauvoo crossed on the ice of the Mississippi to the other side, leaving behind their beloved and beautiful city with the white temple shining on the hill. Kayla was reenacting that night with her father and a friend. (Any unauthorized activity on the river ice is prohibited.)
“I was wearing three pairs of pants, a turtleneck, and a sweater. Then I had on a big ski coat, a hat, a scarf, and gloves. I had on two pairs of boot socks and hiking boots, and I was still cold. It was, like, minus-20 degrees. That’s why the ice was so thick. It was frozen 18 inches down. I could see cracks in it, but all you could see was more ice because it was so thick.
“It was dark. It was slippery, but we kept a steady pace. There was snow on top of the ice, so we did have some traction. We hit some slick spots where it was hard for me to keep up. I just didn’t want to stop. I wanted to get across. It took us 18 1/2 minutes.
“Brother McLeod’s wife met us on the other side in her van and drove us back home. I was very glad to get in that van with the heater on high and hot chocolate waiting. It was neat to think about my ancestors doing the same thing. Only they did it with long dresses and their children and some people who were sick. They did that, with no questions asked, because they believed in the Church. What a strong testimony they had. I think I would have gone hesitantly. I would have been asking, Why can’t I just wait? Just doing what they did so long ago was a big testimony builder.”

Such a family was Oskar and Albertina Andersson, who became members of the Church in 1915. After World War II, Oskar, Albertina, and seven of their children who had married members made the heart-rending decision to sell all they owned and “travel to Zion.” From 1949 to 1950, 29 members of the Andersson family left Sweden. Oskar and Albertina left their home, three children, and four grandchildren, whom they would never see again. They arrived in a desert and a city where the people spoke a language they did not understand. But for these faithful members, being close to the temple was more important than anything else.
Members of the Andersson family have since served as missionaries and Church leaders in all parts of the world, including as an Area President in Africa and a temple president in Sweden.

When Kevin was 16 years old, his parents went through a divorce. Around the same time, he discontinued the use of his epilepsy medication, which had helped stabilize his mood. Without knowing that he had a bipolar disorder, he began experiencing paranoia, debilitating mania, and severe depression. Medications did not seem to help. It reached a point that he felt so tired of everything, he decided to end his life without letting others know of his intentions.
Kevin recounts the day he attempted to take his life: “I was crying. I was just so tired, so emotionally drained. I was just looking at people, wanting someone, anyone, to say, ‘Are you OK?’ As much as I wanted that, I was hearing these voices [in my head] saying, ‘You have to die.’ … The whole time begging myself not to [go through with it], but the voices were too strong, I just couldn’t fight them.”1
Tragically, no one noticed his distress. Convinced that no one cared for him, he made the attempt—but miraculously survived.
Can we feel at least some of his overwhelming distress and desperate, silent cry for help?

This story happened in Bolivia.
Papi clapped his hands at the end of family home evening. “I have an idea for a family goal,” he said. “Let’s read the Book of Mormon together every day.”
Sami’s older brothers, Andrés and Juan, nodded with big smiles at the idea.
“OK!” said Andrés.
Sami was excited too. But then he remembered something. He raised his hand. “I don’t know how to read. How will I help?”
Juan shrugged. “You can just listen.”
Sami’s brothers already knew how to read. But Sami was only five. He hadn’t learned to read yet.
“But I want to help too!” Sami said with a frown.
Mamá gave Sami a hug. “And you will,” she said. “There is always a way to do what God has commanded us.”
The next night, Sami’s family gathered to read the Book of Mormon. They all brought their own scriptures, except Sami. Mamá gave him a picture book of Book of Mormon stories.
“You can’t read words yet. But you can read pictures,” she said with a smile.
Sami held the book close. Now he could read with his family too!
They all took turns reading. Sami looked at the pictures that showed the story. When it was his turn, he told the others what he saw in the pictures. He told as many details as he could.
As the days passed, Sami wanted to read more and more. Mamá taught him what sound each letter made. Then she showed him how to sound out words. Months later, Sami didn’t need the picture book as much. Instead, he read the last word of every verse his family read. Mamá read the word first, and Sami said it back.
At first, they read slowly. Getting to the end of each chapter took a long time. Andrés and Juan groaned when it was Sami’s turn. But they still read as a family.
Little by little, Sami read more. He read one word of a verse, then two words, then three. Then he started reading a whole verse!
Near the end of their goal, Sami could read a few verses by himself. His reading had gotten much better. His love for the Book of Mormon had grown too.
At last, Sami’s family finished the Book of Mormon. It had taken two years! Now Sami was seven years old, and he had learned to read very well.
“Congratulations!” Papi said. “We did it!”
Sami cheered with his family. He had helped them finish the Book of Mormon!
Juan gave Sami a big hug. “What will be your goal for the next two years?”
Sami smiled. He stood tall and said, “I will read the Book of Mormon again!”
What helped Sami read the scriptures?
Illustrations by Melissa Manwill Kashiwagi

When Cassie fell in love with Albert, she worried about falling into the same negative communication patterns she had seen in her first marriage. So they took a marriage class together, where they learned to:
Practice listening skills.
Honestly share feelings.
Cooperate, not compete.
Agree to disagree when needed.
Discuss money management.
“Building a successful marriage takes practice, but we love each other enough to make it work,” Cassie said.

I remember my last year as a student at BYU. I roomed with three fine young men. We were all returned missionaries—eager, confident, waiting to see what the test of life would bring for us. We were filled with all of those good things that young returned missionaries aspire to. Many years later it is interesting to see where those roommates are and what has happened to them. The wife of one roommate was killed in an automobile accident; he was left with nine children. Another roommate—by a strange, accidental slip of the knife in surgery in a routine operation—lingered between life and death for months, bordering on being permanently incapacitated and crippled. The third roommate, probably the most talented and the one with the greatest potential, somehow began to move away from the faith of his fathers, became disaffected with the Church, left the Church, and separated himself from his wife and his children. He lives a life of regret, I believe. So we cannot anticipate always what the race will bring us.

I began seminary in 2017 in our Pare Ward of the Arue Tahiti Stake. I was in 9th grade in school at the time, and I was eager to be part of this youth group.
During my first year, I woke up before 5 am every weekday to get to seminary on time. I did my readings, and I was very attentive in class. I realized seminary contributed to deepening my relationship with God. Without Him, I would not have been able to successfully pass my school’s National Certificate Exam at the end of year 9.

Eagle Scout Allen E. Wyatt, president of the teachers quorum in his Ohio ward, brought honor to the youth of the Church when he won the Dan Beard Council speech contest and then went on to win the area contest held in Columbus, Ohio. Next came the east-central region run-off where he placed fourth and received an all-expense paid trip to Washington, D.C. In Washington Allen attended a congressional breakfast with congressmen and senators and observed the national finals of the contest at the national Scout office.
Allen is active in the Church and since his conversion four years ago has been instrumental in bringing his family into the Church. Among other honors, Allen was a winner in the Optimists Speech Contest and the PTA poster contest in Hamilton, Ohio.

I read this wonderful story about an experience President Howard W. Hunter (1907–1995) had in a small store in California. He paid the clerk 10 pennies for 10 pieces of liquorice. Upon counting the pieces later on, he realised that he had ended up with 11 pieces instead of the 10 that he paid for. While he could have overlooked the error—after all, it was just a penny, and who would know the difference—he didn’t think twice and went back to the store. He explained the problem to the clerk, apologised and paid for the extra piece of liquorice, much to the surprise of the clerk3.

I was once invited to speak at graduation services at a university. The university president had wanted President Gordon B. Hinckley to be invited but found that he was unavailable. So by default I got the invitation. I was then a junior member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
The person who invited me to speak became anxious as she learned more about my obligations as an Apostle. She called me on the phone and said that she now understood that my duty was to be a witness of Jesus Christ.
In very firm tones she told me that I could not do that when I spoke there. She explained that the university respected people of all religious beliefs, including those who denied the existence of a God. She repeated, “You cannot fulfill your duty here.”
I hung up the phone with serious questions in my mind. Should I tell the university that I would not keep my agreement to speak? It was only two weeks before the event. My appearance there had been announced. What effect would my failing to keep my agreement have on the good name of the Church?
I prayed to know what God would have me do. The answer came in a surprising way to me. I realized that the examples of Nephi, Abinadi, Alma, Amulek, and the sons of Mosiah applied to what I was. They were bold witnesses of Jesus Christ in the face of deadly peril.
So the only choice to be made was how to prepare. I dug into everything I could learn about the university. As the day of the talk grew closer, my anxiety rose and my prayers intensified.
In a miracle like the Red Sea parting, I found a news article. That university had been honored for doing what the Church has learned to do in our humanitarian efforts across the world. And so in my talk I described what we and they had done to lift people in great need. I said that I knew that Jesus Christ was the source of the blessings that had come into the lives of those we and they had served.
After the meeting the audience rose to applaud, which seemed a little unusual to me. I was amazed but still a little anxious. I remembered what happened to Abinadi. Only Alma had accepted his witness. But that night, at a large formal dinner, I heard the university president say that in my talk he heard the words of God.