Gospel Story Finder

Like Andrew Mello, Andrew Hovey, age 19, received a copy of Preach My Gospel during his high school years, but it wasn’t until he was a university freshman that he came to appreciate it. Through the influence of a returned-missionary roommate and a mission-preparation class, Andrew began to prepare for his mission more actively than he ever had before. His prayers became more intimate and meaningful, his scripture study became more directed, and his plans for his mission became more real, he says. Moreover, he started using Preach My Gospel to direct his efforts.
Since then, Andrew has developed a system for marking and color coding his scriptures to coincide with principles he has studied in Preach My Gospel as well as for recording thoughts and impressions he receives during his study. But he’s quick to acknowledge that the point is not to have a prescriptive way of marking or color coding or note taking. Rather, “you can personalize your study method in a way that fits you best,” he says. “That’s what’s great about the gospel. We’re all different, but the gospel fits all of us.
“It’s the same with Preach My Gospel. It teaches basic doctrines in broad ways so that you can use it as a guide. We can use it the way we need to for our own learning or to reach someone else.”

As a young stake president, I met many of the General Authorities when they came to speak at our stake conference. What a wonderful experience! President Hugh B. Brown came to one of our stake conferences just a week before he was called and sustained as a member of the Council of the Twelve. We enjoyed his warm spirit and his good humor. As I helped him put his coat on and walked out to his car with him, I said, “Elder Brown, do you have any personal advice for me?”
His answer was, “Yes. Follow the Brethren.” He did not choose to elaborate or explain, but he left that powerful message: Have the simple faith to follow the Brethren.

Suddenly Mark had an idea. He remembered the note his Primary teacher gave him to thank him for giving a talk in Primary last week. Her note made him feel warm and happy inside.
“I know!” Mark said. “Let’s write thank-you notes for our project this year.”
“How many would we write?” Caleb asked.
“We could all write one note a day,” Mark said.
“Let’s see.” Dad put down his fork. “Ellen’s birthday is in 23 days. If we each write one note a day from now until then, that would be … 115 notes!”
Caleb did some math in his head. “That’s 120 happy people! Because the five of us will be really happy after writing all those notes too.”
For the next 23 days, Mark and his family tried hard to notice helpful things people did for them. The first week, they wrote thank-you notes to their grandparents and school and Primary teachers.
The second week, Mark wrote to his friends, his coach, and the garbage collector. Caleb wrote to the bishop, the bus driver, the people at his favorite bakery, and the school janitor. Abby wrote to her doctor and the grocery store clerk who gave her a sticker.
One afternoon, Abby stared at her paper. “This is getting hard,” she said. “I don’t know anybody else!”
“It’s fun!” Mark said. “There are so many people to thank.”
The last week, Mark wrote to his dentist and his piano teacher.
Caleb wrote to his coach, a playground teacher who helped him when he got hurt, the librarian, and the road workers fixing holes in the street.
Abby wrote to cousins and to Mom, Dad, Mark, and Caleb.
On November 23, the family wrote thank-you notes to Ellen. Abby looked at the sky. “I said thank you to baby Ellen for helping me so much.”
“How has she helped you?” asked Mom.
“She showed me how many people do nice things,” Abby said.
“This is my favorite Ellen Project so far!” Mark bounced on his toes. “It makes me want to help people more, even if I never get a thank-you note.”

A young woman playing a game on her phone. The rest of the story: This sister combats her social anxiety by quietly playing games on her phone. In fact, she is better able to reverently listen and receive the speakers’ messages because her anxiety is focused elsewhere.

I had just moved into a new house, and I felt really shy about going to a new school. When I arrived at school, I saw an older girl picking on a little girl about my age because she walked differently. I ran over and said, “Stop picking on her!”
The older girl said, “Leave me alone!” and I said, “No, you leave her alone!”
The unkind girl ran away. The other girl and I are still friends.

Early in my assignment as a bishop I was approached by a ward member who came to make a suggestion. “The ward is too mechanical,” he said. “You have done much to organize and staff the auxiliaries, but you seem to be too busy to care about individuals.” I was shocked. It had never occurred to me that, in our anxiety to staff the ward auxiliaries, the bishopric was conveying the message that we were too busy to be helpful to our members. The kindly given information was discussed at length during the bishopric meetings that followed, and it proved most useful.

April 11 I got angry feelings when my girl friend said she liked some other boy better than me. Then I gave her one of my best marbles, and she let me sit by her. I gave her another of my best marbles, and she said she likes me best. My dad said, “That’s using your marbles.”

He especially remembers one top-of-the-world moment on a peak high in a remote canyon. The granite walls were so buffeted by a tree-toppling wind that day that he had to lie flat to avoid being blown away like a leaf. A golden eagle came floating down onto the highest point on the peak, sorting out the changing, punishing wind with his wings, and somehow keeping an even keel. He stood there a moment looking regally around at the whole world lying beneath his talons as if inspecting his kingdom. “He only touched down for a few seconds, and then he simply opened his wings and turned them back into the wind. He shot up and out of sight like a rocket without ever flapping a wing.”
No one but Kent can say how many hours of sleep or basketball games or TV shows that experience was worth to him, but he isn’t complaining.

Several years ago, as this Conference Center was being built and nearing completion, I entered this sacred building on the balcony level in a hard hat and safety glasses, ready to vacuum the carpet that my husband was helping to install. Where the rostrum now stands was a front-end loader moving dirt, and the dust in this building was thick. When it settled, it did so on the new carpet. My part was to vacuum. And so I vacuumed and vacuumed and vacuumed. After three days my little vacuum burned up!

The afternoon before the first general conference in this beautiful building, my husband called me. He was about to install the last piece of carpet—under this historic pulpit.
He asked, “What scripture should I write on the back of this carpet?”
And I said, “Mosiah 18:9: ‘Stand as [a witness] of God at all times and in all things, and in all places.’”

Years ago when I was vacuuming this carpet—trying to act well my small part—I didn’t realize that I would one day stand with my feet on the carpet under this pulpit.

A few days ago, I enjoyed the challenging experience of speaking to a large group of younger teenagers. Thereafter, I received a special letter from a wonderful mother who, with her husband, a bishop, had accompanied their fourteen-year-old son, with some of his friends, to the meeting. These are the last few words of her letter:
“Please accept my thanks. … You spoke seriously to a group of youth who are used to being told how wonderful they are. They are wonderful, but they needed to do some heavy thinking for a change. You helped them do that. Thank you!”
I was pleased that the meeting had encouraged some serious thinking and consideration among at least some of those present. We referred, as we began, to the aimless habit some of us have of channel-hopping or dial-switching as we sit in front of a television set or radio, and suggested that in preparation, I had done a similar kind of searching through my memory and notes. I was seeking to select, out of many observations and experiences and thoughts, a few that might make a difference to those who were seriously listening and might thereafter think about what they had heard. I would like to do the same with you in these few moments this evening.

Consider parents struggling under the pressure of providing all that a growing family requires. Can you not see them being less firm in pressing their children to attend Church activities when they really can’t afford the costs? When we press them too hard, we infer that they aren’t good enough providers. If you understand the human ego at all, you will know parents will withdraw from activity rather than say they can’t afford the cost.

Can you see a seventeen-year-old boy overhearing his mother on the phone saying: “Yes, yes, I know. We will try to make a partial payment next month. I know we did, but we just didn’t have it. We’ve had some medical expenses. Yes, I understand that. We just have not been able to do it. Oh, please, don’t do that. If you take it, it will be impossible for my husband to get to work. Please, can’t you give us a little more time?”

Question: Will that boy sign up for an expensive youth camp or conference, no matter how desperately he wants to go? Will he attend regularly if every activity requires “just a few dollars”? The money he can supposedly earn to pay his own way may have more pressing uses.

You may say we can provide for him. Careful about that human ego! Remember, we have already been teaching him and his parents to be independent, thrifty, and self-reliant.

Question: Will that boy go on a mission? I have known young men who have thought to disqualify themselves rather than to put what they feel is an impossible financial burden upon the family with perhaps the mother leaving younger children to find work to support him on his mission.

Now funds which have been spent on these things may be salted away for missions. Can you not see that this saving commitment can have a very protective moral and spiritual influence upon a young man, in some ways more powerful than one more exciting youth activity? It can indeed be a “saving” commitment.

I was invited to go to a popular singer’s concert. The problem was that it was on a Sunday. Though I really wanted to go, my parents were happy with my response. I said, “Too bad it’s not on a Saturday.” I didn’t go to the concert, and I’m glad I kept the Sabbath day holy.

Many years ago I was planning to spend Christmas Eve with my family, and I was apprehensive about it. I had recently joined the Church, and my family was critical of my new religion. The situation worsened when I gave my mother a ride to my grandmother’s house. My mother had been drinking heavily, and I felt tempted to snap at her. The excitement I usually felt during the holiday season was replaced with despair. Silently, I prayed for help.
I tuned the car radio to the popular music station I usually listened to, hoping that would lift my spirits. But then I felt impressed to turn off the radio and sing Christmas hymns. I did so, and my mother—though surprised—seemed calmer. She even joined in singing some of the carols.
My mood changed immediately, and I was reminded of the true meaning of Christmas. When I thought of how the Savior unselfishly gave His life for us, my own problems seemed small and manageable. I realized that I had many blessings in my life and many reasons to rejoice. I felt assured that the Holy Ghost was with me, and I was confident that I could respond peacefully to any criticism I received about the Church.
Singing didn’t take away my problems, but it enabled me to approach my troubles with a positive attitude—and that made all the difference.
Kimberley Hirschi, California, USA

In 2007, the United States was in the middle of an economic downturn. Because of this recession, some of my business clients were filing for bankruptcy and shutting down their businesses. This was hurting my business. As I sought to provide for my family and to help my clients, I was seeking guidance from Heavenly Father on what I should do. I wasn’t getting a clear answer and I didn’t know what to do. One morning as I was praying and reflecting upon this problem, I picked up the Book of Mormon and began to read. As I read this wonderful book, I felt ideas come to my mind on what I could do to help my clients and my business. It was a clear answer to my prayers.

If I were a young deacon all over again, I would pass the sacrament like it was one of the most important things I had to do all week. My every act and my appearance would be in a strict harmony with the dignity and honor of the position entrusted to me by the Savior.
The gathering of fast offerings would take on a rich, new meaning, and I would remind myself as I approached each home that I was the bishop’s personal representative, that poor and needy people would be blessed more abundantly as a result of my efforts to participate in what James described as “pure religion and undefiled.” (See James 1:27.)
If I were a young teacher or priest again, I would strive to really be an asset to my home teaching companion. I would try harder to cement friendships with the members we visit. I would attempt to lift people like the Savior did. My responsibility toward the sacrament would be regarded as a rich, spiritual experience, never to be taken lightly. To participate in a sacred ordinance with anything but our highest respect and best effort is a disservice to the people of the ward and a betrayal of the true Spirit of Christ.

A modern example of the “coin in the fish” happened while Brigham Young and Heber C. Kimball travelled by stagecoach through Indiana and Ohio on their way to missions in England. They began their journey with $13.50 and did not expect to be able to travel far with the stagecoach, but at every stopping place, when Brigham Young went to his trunk, he miraculously found the money needed to pay their fare to the next stopping place.4 On arrival, they had paid out over $87. As recorded in a First Presidency journal of 1860: “[Brigham Young] had gone to his trunk, and to his great surprise had found some [money] there, and to this day he did [not] know [how] it came there except by some unseen agent from the Heavenly world to forward the Promulgation of the Gospel.”5

My class at school had a nativity play, and I played the piano for the whole programme. I taught everyone to sing “O Holy Night.”

In preparation for my first trip to the temple, my mother and experienced Relief Society sisters helped me select the items I would need, including beautiful ceremonial clothing. But the most important preparation came even before knowing what to wear. After interviewing me to determine if I was worthy, my bishop explained the covenants I would make. His careful explanation gave me the chance to think about and be prepared to make those covenants.
When the day came, I participated with a feeling of gratitude and peace. Even though I did not understand the full significance of the covenants I made, I did know that I was bound to God through those covenants and was promised blessings I could scarcely comprehend if I kept them. Since that first experience, I have been continually assured that keeping the covenants we make with God allows us to draw upon the Savior’s power, which strengthens us in our inevitable trials, provides protection from the adversary’s influence, and prepares us for eternal glory.

Dinner at the Ferland’s was always a glorious affair—plates heaped with home-grown tomatoes, beans, and pickled beets, with lamb and potatoes browned together until the meat was tender and the vegetables sweet. In the wood-burning oven, an apple pie simmered. The room spoke of families and of love.
It was at such a dinner that father called his wife and children near. Christine noticed a happy mischief in his eyes, a spark of something that for too long had been distant.
“We have to make your mother happy,” he said, looking each teenager firmly in the eye. He let them guess what he was planning to do.
After a minute he said, “Whatever it takes, we’re going to the temple.”
Of course, saying and doing are two different things. But even when he wasn’t attending his meetings, Jean-Claude Ferland had never thought of himself as anything less than a Latter-day Saint. He was still friendly with people from the branch, still in contact with home teachers, still “active” in his heart. So when he decided to be involved, he gave full dedication.
Sunday meetings were not considered optional. Service projects, branch parties, cottage meetings, whatever was asked, the Ferlands would gladly participate. Callings were willingly accepted, instructions from the branch president explicitly heeded. Even tithing, which had been a struggle in the past, was now a privilege. Once, when it was paid twice by mistake, mother and father decided to “let the Lord keep it.”
Time passed quickly. In August 1986, interviews were held and recommends were signed. The dream was coming true.
Christine can see it still, every time she closes her eyes—the Washington D. C. Temple, its white spires bright against the woods. Inside, everything is calm and bright. People smile and share a great peace.
In a sacred room, maman and papa, dressed in white, kneel at the altar. Christine, Clément, and Marie Claude, also in white, kneel beside them. Hands are placed on hands, children and parents sealed. By the power of the priesthood they are given the promises of eternity.

I’ve been a member of the Church for a year now. I can remember when I first entered the Church, everyone was shaking my hand, welcoming me. I was so nervous, I didn’t want to say a word for fear that I might say something dumb or offend the other person. I didn’t have any confidence in myself, and I was very uneasy. I think the best way to handle this is to tell the person that you are afraid of saying something wrong. I’m sure they will understand and will try to help you as much as they can.
John Ortega, 17Geigertown, Pennsylvania