Gospel Story Finder

Esther F., 6, Florida, likes playing at the beach and swimming in the pool. Last month she learned about being a member missionary. She decided to give a Book of Mormon to her kindergarten teacher. After giving her teacher the Book of Mormon, she had a warm feeling in her heart.

Next Rose Marie started making swimsuits for women. They were beautiful and comfortable. They came in different sizes and fit different body types. Soon her designs were so popular that she moved to California, USA, and built a factory for her new company.

In November of 1971 Kresimir was baptized a member of the Church. He lives his religion with the same determination and gusto with which he plays basketball. Kresimir’s BYU teammates report that after his conversion he could seldom be seen without a Church book in his hands—on planes and buses, in hotel rooms, or wherever he was.
The drastic change that has taken place in Kresimir’s lifestyle since he joined the Church has prompted questions from many of his thousands of fans, and he answers them with the confidence that comes from hard study and real conviction. Answering these queries is often a real challenge, because most members of the younger generation in Yugoslavia have no background in any type of religious belief, lacking even the religious vocabulary common in such discussions.
Kresimir’s devotion to his religion prompted Tempo, a prominent sports magazine, to conclude sadly, “Kresimir’s stay in the USA has made him a religious fanatic.” His travels with the Yugoslavian national team have given Kresimir the opportunity of visiting many branches and wards of the Church in many different lands, and he never misses a chance to visit with the Saints.

My wife, Séraphine, is an amazing person. When she received her patriarchal blessing, the Lord told her through the Patriarch, “You are a teacher, a noble calling. In order for you to serve everyone, your Father has given you this teacher calling for you to serve Him. Serve Him by helping everyone, whether it be members of your own immediate family, or extended family, whether it be on your husband’s family side, or on the Church side, feed them all and support everyone so that the work of God, our Father, may go forward.”

From the time she received this blessing, she has been serving and feeding everyone. No one can enter our home and leave without eating—even something small.

I see my wife fulfilling her calling and really trying to keep it that way. If we all do our best to serve others, the work of our Father will go forward, and the world will be better because members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints are serving one another and are serving their neighbors.

Antelope—prancing, fleetfooted, swift.
Sparrowhawk—hovering, waiting to dive with lightning-like speed.
Trout—swimming, a streak of light in the water.
Hummingbird—a blur of motion. The fastest of all living things. A distant humming sound; here, gone, vanished. The sudden flash of iridescent color only a memory.
All of the fastest creatures were represented in the waving line of boys who stood waiting for the race to start.
Piubi held his magic talisman in his hand, his heart beating hard with excitement. He believed his magic was the strongest of any boy’s in the race. In the small leather bag clutched in his hand and in another one hung from his neck were the feathers of a hummingbird.
“The hummingbird is the fastest of all living things,” the shaman (healer) had told him. “If you carry its feathers, you will ride as though on the wings of a hummingbird.”
Piubi wasn’t just relying on the hummingbird’s magic, for during the summer he had run whenever he could with the other boys his age and sometimes alone. Before now—before the hummingbird’s magic—the other boys had always beaten him in a race.
“You will ride on the wings of a hummingbird,” whispered Piubi, remembering the shaman’s words. He felt lighter and faster than he had ever felt before.
An elbow dug into piubi’s ribs as the anxious boys moved back to straighten the line. The race was about to begin.
The crowd cheered as Chief Washakie stepped forward. He was chief of the Shoshone tribe. Tall and muscular, he was dressed in full ceremonial costume—a headdress of eagle feathers and a suit of white elk skin. Behind Chief Washakie stood old Morogonia, who was second only to the chief in importance. Morogonia had been honored for his craftsmanship as a bow maker. Piubi had heard that his bows had been traded for as many as ten fast horses!
Morogonia held the prize for the race in his arms. Wrapped in a covering of mountain goatskin were a dozen arrows and one of Morogonia’s finest bows.
Piubi searched the crowd. It looked as though the entire village had come out for the race. In a group with other women, Piubi saw his mother; and with a group of warriors, he saw his father. Piubi imagined the pride they would feel when he won the race.
The shaman walked in front of the crowd, chanting. He held up a sacred bundle to the four directions in turn, honoring the Great Spirit. Then he stepped back, and Chief Washakie raised his staff into the air. Tension rippled through the line of boys. The crowd was silent as the boys bent over into starting positions. When the staff dropped to the ground, the line jumped forward. Piubi’s feet flew over the earth.
Piubi was running with the leading group of boys. Shoulders bumping, arms pumping, hearts pounding, they flew over the first hill and on down toward the Snake River. The river was silver and bright in the morning sunlight.
The runners wound along the twisting shore of the river. Water birds exploded up off the river in front of them. Deer feeding near the water raised their heads and then vanished into the willow thickets.
The runners were now in a long weaving line. Sometimes one runner would take the lead only to be passed by several others seconds later. Piubi was still with the front runners. He was running faster than he ever remembered. His lungs were burning, and he reached up and touched the bag of hummingbird feathers.
Piubi was the first to reach the midpoint marker, and he started running even faster to widen the distance between himself and the other racers. The sun was bright and hot in the sky. His legs began to ache, and sweat streamed down his face.
The runners were now scattered across the prairie, moving back toward the river. Then they started back along the shoreline. One runner passed Piubi and then another. Piubi’s mouth was dry. He longed to stop and drink the cool water, but he saw that he was falling behind. Now there were more boys in front of him than there were behind him.
They started up a hill, and the climb was tortuous. Piubi’s legs were numb with pain. The sweat from his head burned his eyes. He reached up and touched the bag that dangled around his neck to help him run faster, but it took all his energy and determination just to keep going. Every movement was painful.
The runners were now onto the flat that led to the village. Piubi fell further back as the first runners crossed the finish line. Piubi could hear the crowd cheering. The sound was distant and seemed dreamlike. Another runner passed him. Piubi managed to turn and look back. I’m in last place! He felt like turning around and running in the other direction.
Piubi didn’t look up as he crossed the finish line. He slipped quickly through the crowd and walked away from the village. Last place! How can I face my family and friends? he wondered.
When Piubi reached a small ridge overlooking the village and the river, the wind was blowing lightly. He watched bright billowing clouds change their shapes against a deep blue sky. And high above those clouds he saw a lone eagle soaring on the wind. Its wings were motionless.
Piubi sat on the hill, feeling his pain. Last place!
In the distance he could hear the crowd still cheering the winners. The pain he felt inside was growing more intense. I will have no place inthe village as the slowest runner, he agonized. Then he took the bag of feathers and threw it down the hill. It caught on a sagebrush branch. Not even the magic of the hummingbird is strong enough to help me, he thought.
Then just below the crest of the hill, Piubi saw someone coming slowly toward him. It was old Morogonia. What can he want with me? Piubi wondered.
The old man had picked up the boy’s discarded feather bag and had opened it. Approaching Piubi, he took a small brilliant feather from the bag and held it up to the sunlight. A wide smile wrinkled his face as he put the feather back into the bag and then sat down next to Piubi. “You must have dropped this,” Morogonia said as he handed the bag to Piubi.
Piubi took the bag and looked at it. “It didn’t help me,” he muttered. Old Morogonia turned and watched the sky and the land for a short time. He breathed deeply, tasting the air. His eyes followed the course of the river and then scanned the horizon. They mirrored the pleasure he found in what he was seeing. Finally the old man pointed a finger at the sky.
Piubi saw a small dark speck. It was the eagle, still soaring above the clouds. Then old Morogoni spoke: “The eagle is a noble bird. He can fly higher than any other bird and he is a fierce warrior. But he cannot swim. In the water, even the smallest trout is better than the eagle. There is a place best adapted for every living thing. The eagle can fly, the fish can swim, the horse can run. Everything has its place. It is the same with people. Not everyone can be the fastest runner.”
“But what place is there for the slowest runner?” Piubi pouted.
Old Morogonia looked at him and smiled. “I was the slowest runner, too, when I ran my race,” he said. “It would be a good thing to ride on the wings of a hummingbird, but it would be a better thing to ride on your own wings.” The old man stood up. “If you will come to my tepee in the morning, I will teach you how to make a fine bow.”
It was an opportunity that Piubi hadn’t dreamed possible. To have Morogonia, the finest bow maker in all the shoshone tribe, teach him to make a bow was a great honor! It was even better than riding on the wings of a hummingbird.
Piubi smiled. “I’ll be there,” he promised.

Those who serve as stake presidents do not seek the office they hold. All are humbled and some are overwhelmed when they are called. As I called a stake president in Europe who had been a member of the Church only about 10 years, he gasped, “Oh no, no, not me. I cannot do it.” Fortunately, his wonderful wife, who was at his side, put her arms around him and said, “Honey, you can do it. I know you can.” She was right, and he served very well.

His testimony also became independent. Although he had been brought up in the Church, Jo had gone through a less-active stage earlier in life. He drifted in with the wrong crowd and did some things he regretted. Gradually, through the influence of missionaries, and to keep his mum happy, he returned to the Church.
“It was while I was in the hospital that I decided to find out for sure whether the Church is true,” he says. “I had plenty of opportunity to fast and pray in there as my visits lengthened into months.” (His spine began curving, needing replacement with bones from his ribs.)
At the end of his first fast, the Aylesbury Ward bishop came to visit Jo and offered to take him for a ride. “We entered a beautiful woodland area,” Jo recalls. “As we drove slowly through it, I was reminded of Joseph Smith’s first vision. I had the strongest impression of God’s hand in all that beauty. The feeling also came clearly—this is the Savior’s church, and I should go on a mission.”
Jo’s testimony never wavered after that.

Music in Church meetings and classes should facilitate a spirit of worship, revelation, and testimony. For sacrament meetings, the bishopric or branch presidency is responsible to select or approve music. They ensure that the music, the words, and the musical instruments are sacred and dignified and will promote worship and revelation. Music becomes a performance when it brings attention to itself. Years ago, I was responsible for the music in a meeting where a special musical number was a performance. It was a disappointment. The spirit of worship was diminished.

For centuries, righteous women have been stepping forward to join the cause of Christ. Many of you have only recently been baptized; your covenants are fresh in your hearts, your sacrifices still tender. As I think about you, I am reminded of Priscilla Staines from Wiltshire, England. Nineteen-year-old Priscilla joined the Church in 1843. Alone. She had to steal away in the night to be baptized, because of the persecutions of her neighbors and the displeasure of her family. She wrote: “We waited until midnight … and then repaired to a stream of water a quarter of a mile away. Here we found the water … frozen over, and the elder had to chop a hole in the ice large enough for the purpose of baptism. … None but God and his angels, and the few witnesses who stood on the bank with us, heard my covenant; but in the solemnity of that midnight hour it seemed as though all nature were listening, and the recording angel writing our words in the book of the Lord.”
When young Priscilla, our British convert of 1843, crossed the Atlantic, she was befriended by a woman the age of her mother. This older sister also felt the fire of covenants she had made. When they docked at the wharf in Nauvoo, she was by Priscilla’s side. Together, bold and believing, they joined with the Saints of God.
Holiness prompts the words “Here am I; send me.” When Priscilla Staines made her midnight covenant in those icy waters, she stepped forward into a new life, clothes nearly frozen yet heart warmed with joy. “There was no turning back,” she said. “I … set out for the reward of everlasting life, trusting in God.”

A Scout council was accustomed to arranging its summer camp schedule so that the Scouts were moving to the camp on one Sabbath and returning home from camp on the next Sabbath. Latter-day Saint youth were being deprived of religious activities for two successive Sundays. A friendly suggestion to the council authorities brought about a change, so that the camp period ran from Friday to Friday. The Sunday in between was planned so that there were religious services offered for the boys who were in the camp.

Tate lay awake in the darkness, blinking back tears. He had prayed for help, but it seemed like a heavy black cloud hung over him, shutting out the Spirit.
What if I never forget that awful TV show? he worried.
A few days ago, he had finished his homework early and flipped on the TV. But he hadn’t expected to see something like that on the screen. Tate was so shocked that he forgot to turn off the television as quickly as he should have.
It was an accident. He hadn’t meant to watch a scene like that, but now he couldn’t forget it. Sometimes it popped into his head in the middle of school, at the dinner table—even during church. At times like that, he was glad Mom and Dad couldn’t read his mind. Tate’s parents had taught him not to look at pictures of people without clothes on. He knew that they also expected him to avoid violent TV shows, movies, and video games.
“Now I know why,” Tate mumbled to himself.
Tate got out of bed and onto his knees again. What could he do?
“Heavenly Father,” Tate whispered. “Please help me stop thinking about what I saw.” He wiped away the tears that had been forming in his eyes and listened. His heart beat faster. He thought he felt the Holy Ghost prompting him, but it wasn’t the answer he wanted.
He needed to tell his parents.
“Why?” Tate wondered. He would feel like a baby going into his parents’ room in the middle of the night. And to tell them? He felt embarrassed and sick all over again.
Then a clear thought came into his mind: Heavenly Father wanted him to be happy. Heavenly Father wanted him to feel the Spirit again, to think about good things, and to be honest with his family. He especially wanted Tate to become a worthy Aaronic Priesthood holder when he turned 12 in a few months. Tate realized that if he held on to what he had seen and kept it a secret, he would stay unhappy about it.
Tate knew he needed help—and the Holy Ghost had just told him where to find it.
Tate looked at the digital clock’s glowing numbers beside his bed. It was nearly 1:00 in the morning. He stood up and headed into the dark hallway toward his parents’ room. Swallowing nervously, he tapped on their door.
“Mom? Dad?”
“Tate, is that you?” came Mom’s sleepy voice.
“Is something wrong?” Dad asked.
“Yeah,” Tate said. “Can we talk? And can I maybe get a blessing?”
Dad clicked on his bedside lamp and invited Tate inside. For the first time in days, Tate felt warmth, hope, and light.

Tyler M., 3, Illinois, likes listening to Primary music. By listening to songs, he has learned the Articles of Faith and the names of the latter-day prophets. He looks forward to learning even more music.

I believe that many members of the Choctaw Nation who lived during the early 1800s have accepted the temple work completed in their behalf. As I participated in baptisms for the dead one Saturday morning, I felt their gratitude. During one particular temple session, I was asked to speak to the members of a Logan ward. While we sat together in the temple’s chapel, I told them the story behind the names they carried that night. I remember that temple session as one of the most sacred I ever attended.
I recall feeling a vivid sense of light and joy at one particular point in the session. I thought of my son’s dream. My friends and neighbors were now giving the “bread of life” to those who had asked for it. I again felt that those whose work we were performing, though unseen, were grateful for the opportunity to accept the gospel. Though they had once walked the “Trail of Tears,” now they could walk the straight and narrow path of joy that leads to eternal life.

I was having a hard time feeling like I fit in. My family had recently moved to the East Coast from California after living there for the first 15 years of my life. The ward we moved to had a good-sized youth group, but this was the first time that I would be the “new kid.” I figured that since I had been friendly with the new people in our ward back in California, this new youth group would be the same way with me. It was a lot tougher than I had imagined. The worst part was going to a new school. I worried about who I would sit with at lunch. Maybe I’d see someone from church, but then again, I didn’t want to barge in on someone else’s lunch table, especially since I didn’t know if they would want me there to begin with.
The first day of school seemed to drag on forever. I kept feeling as though everyone was staring at me. Then the lunch bell rang. As I slowly entered into the lunch room, I prayed to Heavenly Father to help me find someone I knew. I glanced around to see if I could recognize anyone. No one. So I made my way to a table on the far side of the lunch room and ate my lunch.
Later that day during my math period, there was a familiar face. I had seen David at seminary that morning. At the beginning of class he and a couple of people around him asked to see my schedule. He discovered that we both had the same lunch period.
“Hey where were you at lunch today?”
“I was there. I ate on the far side of the room,” I responded.
He thought for a second trying to remember seeing me. Then he said, “Well, tomorrow come and sit with me at lunch.”
I’m grateful for a loving Heavenly Father, who knows each of our needs individually and who answers each of our prayers. I’m so grateful for someone who was willing to extend a hand of friendship. Something as simple as an invitation can make all the difference in the world.

People came to these conferences from long distances, by automobile, bus, train, airplane, and by boat. Many sacrifices were made that they might enjoy the conference. One sister wrote, from whom we quote:
“The last session is so special. President Kimball said goodbye to the people. He waved his hand, and the congregation sang ‘Till We Meet Again.’ My companion and I were hugging each other in tears.
“I’m so blessed to be a member of the Church.”

The night before our oldest son left for his mission, we put together “the family slide show”—the best and funniest pictures of our family for 20 years. At the end of the show, we knelt in prayer together. There were plenty of tears and hugs that night. No more curtain climbers or rug rats—just imperfect young men and young women, and their imperfect parents, who felt an honest love for each other. And those feelings have kept growing.

I remember an example of this that occurred over the Christmas holidays one year when we had the grandchildren on an outing with us. In order to have a real togetherness experience, we had arranged for a van to travel together. In the van were Grandpa and Grandma and my son and his three older children. My son’s wife had stayed at home with the younger members of the family. I was taking my turn at the wheel, and my wife was seated next to me acting as our navigator. From the back end of the van, I heard Audrey, the eldest child, counseling with her father. She was saying, “Dad, one of our goals this year was to finish the Book of Mormon in our family study. This is the last day of the year. Why don’t we complete it now so that we will be on schedule?”

What a special experience it was to listen to my son and his three children, each taking turns reading aloud the final chapters of Moroni and completing their goal of reading the entire Book of Mormon. Remember, it was a young woman who made this suggestion, not one of the parents.

About a month into the school year, I was sitting in my drama class listening to two young women talk about a new kid in the class. I could see that many students were talking to him. At first I thought nothing of it, but then I had the feeling that I should go over and talk to him. So I sat down next to him and said hello. I found out he was a fellow skateboarder.
We clicked from the beginning, and it didn’t take long before we were skateboarding every day after school. He has now become one of my best friends. He even came to seminary once and was able to learn a little more about the Church. I’m glad that Heavenly Father prompted me to simply go over and say hi. I know that Heavenly Father cares about me and will prompt me in little things like that.

For Dima Ivanov of Vladivostok, Russia, the invitation to participate in the “discipleship experiment” came at a hectic time. Brother Ivanov had recently left his job to begin his own business, and because he had so many work-related responsibilities to consider, he wondered if he would have difficulty keeping discipleship at the forefront of his thoughts.
Still, he agreed to participate, and since discipleship meant to him “obeying and following the direction or advice of a teacher,” he delved into the Sermon on the Mount, found in Matthew 5 and 3 Nephi 12.
What Brother Ivanov found as he studied the characteristics of that sermon, he said, were his own weaknesses. But knowing that the Savior had promised that those who humble themselves would have weak things made strong (see Ether 12:27), Brother Ivanov turned to Him, seeking opportunities to grow.
“I felt the Savior closer to me,” reported Brother Ivanov. “I learned that He is the greatest Teacher, and I learned ways I could become more like Him. As I studied about the nature of discipleship, I learned that we can find some new way to be like the Savior every time we study His life. And then we continue to learn it by following His example. We have to practice what we learn.”
He said his understanding of discipleship changed over the week. “Following the Savior is not just studying gospel principles or obeying His commandments,” he explained. Wherever we are or whatever we are doing, we can have the “real desire to follow His example and to have the intention to become like Him.”

In talking one day with her young daughter Elaine, Jean Shaw shared a personal insight. Jean told Elaine that she would not discover that “your faith is your own” until her parents died. Years later, when her mother passed away, Elaine recalled those words. Even in her grief, she realized she did indeed have her own faith in the Lord. Through believing the truth as it was taught her, receiving the ordinances of the gospel, and striving to keep her covenants, she had nourished her faith in the Savior. Her faith had grown gradually until now it could guide, comfort, and sustain her in the absence of her parents.