Gospel Story Finder

David O. McKay was also warned in youth of his future responsibilities. As a young missionary he had been homesick and dejected. Discouragement was about to overcome him when he reached a turning point in his own life. During one missionary meeting, an especially rich outpouring of the Spirit of the Lord had been evidenced. The presence of angels had been detected in the room by the mission president, and by the spirit of prophecy he testified to young Elder McKay, “Brother David, Satan hath desired to have you that he may sift you as wheat, but God is mindful of you.” Then he added, “If you will keep the faith, you will yet sit in the leading councils of the Church.”
This was all, but it came at the end of a long and vital search on the part of young David, and it was enough of a warning to the missionary in his early twenties that it was sufficient to buoy him up and help him during periods of discouragement in his life. Eventually, like the others, he was chosen as spokesman for the Lord.

About this time I was sitting in a Relief Society class when the teacher told a story of a close relative. While waiting at a stoplight, the relative had felt a distinct impression to stay where she was as the light turned green. She heeded the prompting, and almost immediately a large truck came barreling through the intersection, running a red light. Had she not heard and obeyed that voice, she and her children might have been hurt or even killed.

If you saw Deborah Freeman of Silver Spring, Maryland, your first reaction might be to try to help her. Deborah is orthopedically disabled, and her mobility is limited to a motorized cart. But with a little help, Deborah joins right in to serve others.
For a youth conference service project, Deborah’s stake picked strawberries on the Church-owned Johnson Farm near Kirtland, Ohio. As everyone disappeared into the fields for the all-day project, Deborah was right there with everyone until dirt paths grew too rough and her cart began to stick in the mud.
Fortunately, Ben Tibbets, a high school senior, and Aaron Hill, the youth chairman of the conference, saw the problem and immediately began figuring out ways they could help.
“We surprised her by pushing and lifting her motorized cart through the rough spots so she could help too,” says Ben.
“They put the bucket in my basket and threw the strawberries in it,” says Deborah. “They kept joking around. It was fun!”
Deborah wasn’t the only happy one either. “Service is one of the most fun things we have to do,” says Aaron. “It’s something you can actually do to show love for others and a love for Christ.”

It was almost Christmas, but Diego wasn’t feeling very excited. This was the first Christmas since his parents got divorced. And nothing felt the same. He and his brother, Samuel, wouldn’t even get to see Mom this Christmas.
“Everything’s different,” Diego said to Dad.
“I know.” Dad’s eyes were sad. “Sometimes things change before they get better.” He was quiet for a bit, then smiled. “Christmas will be different this year, but that doesn’t mean we won’t have some good times. We’ll still be celebrating the birth of the Savior.”
Diego nodded. It would be hard not seeing Mom, but maybe Christmas could still be good, just as Dad said. Diego wanted to help make this Christmas a happy one.
He went to his room to think. Sometimes for Christmas they did a family service project. What could they do this year?
Diego looked around his room. He saw a toy car he didn’t play with anymore. He picked it up and spun the wheels. It was still really good. Maybe he and Dad and Samuel could give some toys to kids who didn’t have any! He found a few other toys and put them in a bag with the car.
When Diego finished, he took the bag to Samuel’s room. “Can I help you clean your room?” he asked. “It’s a surprise for Dad.”
Samuel looked up from the picture he was drawing. “Sure.”
The boys worked together to clean Samuel’s room. Diego told him about the plan. They found a few toys that Samuel didn’t play with and added them to the bag.
When they were done, they carried the bag downstairs. “Dad,” Diego said, “we found some toys we don’t play with anymore. Can we give them to kids who don’t have any toys?”
Dad looked surprised and happy. “That’s a great idea! Let’s take them to the homeless shelter this afternoon.”
Visiting the shelter was fun. Diego and Samuel got to play with some of the kids while Dad talked to the grown-ups.
On the way home, Dad asked what else they could do to make this Christmas special.
“Last Christmas we made treats for our neighbors,” Diego said.
“We could do that,” said Dad. “Let’s go buy stuff to make cookies.”
Samuel thought cookies were a great idea.
The boys helped Dad shop for the ingredients at the store. At home they made the dough and cut out star and tree shapes. Diego and Samuel frosted the cookies yellow and green. Then they took little bags of cookies to their neighbors.
At the end of the day, Diego was tired but happy. He and Samuel and Dad had done things together as a family and had helped others. Dad was right. Christmas was different, but it was still good.

Following a weeklong, summer high-adventure activity in the Smoky Mountains of North Carolina with the young men of our ward, we contemplated two routes to get home: around the mountain to the east or through the mountain to the north. Those most familiar with the alternatives gladly drive an additional hour around the mountain to avoid a treacherous passage through an 11-mile, two-lane stretch of road with 318 curves, called the Tail of the Dragon. Eager for the adventure and ready to return home as expeditiously as possible, some of us elected the road least traveled.
My family had traveled this shortcut through the mountains several times before. Motorcyclists and sightseers seeking to conquer the Tail of the Dragon travel the road most often, but commuters looking to save time also use it. At the halfway point, and at the first complaint of nausea from one of the young men, we rolled the windows down and slowed down to below 30 miles per hour.
Nine miles in, we stopped at the scenic lookout to ease the motion sickness and to reassure the young men that the meandering roller coaster ride had an end in sight. Before grudgingly getting back into the caravan, we reflected on the unusually high number of off-road motorcycles (we appeared to be the only vehicle on the road with a specific destination) and the sighting of an ambulance at the entrance to the 11-mile stretch. One of the young men also observed the policeman positioned on a road we had so carefully traversed at extremely slow speeds.
When we approached the 10-mile mark, we noticed a large orange sign that read, “Road closed 1 mile ahead,” followed by a sign a half-mile later indicating “Road closed .5 miles ahead,” and then big orange barricades separating through-traffic from a bridge reconstruction site.
We stopped and stared in unbelief at the barricade. I contemplated our unavoidable return through the stomach-turning 11-mile stretch and sighed aloud, “The road is really closed?”
Then came the words from one of the youth leaders we will not soon forget, the words we would dwell on throughout our return trip, the words we would contemplate and apply in later priesthood lessons and Mutual activities: “You didn’t see that big orange sign back there that read, ‘Road closed 14 miles ahead’?”
On that hot summer day, on the meandering road with 318 curves needlessly traveled twice, we were reminded that it takes a lot longer to get home when we ignore carefully placed warning signs.

I grew up in a faithful Mormon family in the mission field, in the southern Bible belt, where there was a good deal of misinformation about Mormons, requiring strong defense. Family activities revolved around church service and driving west to visit the relatives. Serving in the church was a major commitment. Our branch stretched 60 to 80 miles in diameter, and district meetings were 100 miles away. Picking up people for church took hours. But the Lord brought us there to build His kingdom. That branch area has now become a stake of Zion.
But back to my story. Racial unrest in my high school caused me to leave for college a year early. During my first year of university I met challenges that made me want to know for myself, absolutely, the truth of the things I believed. My religion teachers encouraged the quest by assuring us that the revelations and gifts of the gospel are for all of us, not just special, privileged people. They also quoted Joseph Smith saying, "Make yourselves acquainted with men who, like Daniel, pray three times a day toward the temple."[1]
So, I began fasting frequently, and praying formally an extra time, at midday, while my roommate was in class. One midday several months into the experiment, I was again being very honest with the Lord about my need to know, and there came upon me an exceedingly sweet, powerful, full-of-love influence that seemed to enter into every molecule of my body and record indelibly there that Jesus is the Christ, that Joseph Smith and our current prophet are truly prophets of God, and that the gospel which I had been taught from youth up was true—priesthood authority, the Atonement, the Book of Mormon, the temple, the great plan of happiness—they are all true and right.
That sweet influence of light and love stayed with me for about 24 hours. Under its influence, I was filled with love and saw the world and even my fellow men differently. I was amazed that, although I felt very different, I did not appear different to others. I felt changed. Though there have been other experiences since then, that experience has remained a touchstone in my life. It did not come easily, but I know that I know. No knowledge you gain here will be of more importance than the knowledge of the truth of the gospel of Jesus Christ, and His church. Do whatever it takes to gain this knowledge.

Just the same, I was a father trying to raise daughters on my own. I sought to create one-on-one time with both of them to strengthen our relationships. Yet how could I help them prepare to be women? I soon found there were more resources than I imagined:
Family members. I thank the Lord for a sister-in-law and a daughter-in-law who lived nearby and came to my rescue. They attended maturation meetings with my daughters. They helped my daughters get ready for dances. Most of all, they listened. They shared my daughters’ hopes, fears, longings, and desires. They helped them transition from child to adolescent to adult with a different understanding of that process than I could provide, never having experienced it in the same way.
Neighbors. Good neighbors watched my daughter with their daughter after school until I got home from the office. Other neighbors took my children to school when I had early meetings. One neighbor with a lawn-care business had his crew mow my lawn regularly for free so I could spend more time with my family.
Ministering brothers and Church leaders. My ministering brothers coordinated with the ward council, and it seemed that everyone in the ward, especially Primary and Young Women leaders, went out of their way to help my girls. I learned that one of the great things about the Relief Society is that they offer, well, relief. Once, a group of them cleaned my whole house, top to bottom. And at Young Women activities, someone always made sure my daughters felt included.
Not everyone will experience this same level of support. But I’ve learned that until we let others know the gaps we see our children experience without a mother, those individuals may not understand how they can help.
Honoring Fathers
“Some men are single fathers, foster fathers, or stepfathers. Many of them strive mightily and do their very best in an often difficult role. We honor those who do all that can be done in love, patience, and self-sacrifice to meet individual and family needs.”
Elder D. Todd Christofferson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, “Fathers,” Liahona, May 2016, 95.
Elder Baxter said: “Single parents, I testify that as you do your very best in the most difficult of human challenges, heaven will smile upon you. Truly you are not alone. Let the redemptive, loving power of Jesus Christ brighten your life now and fill you with the hope of eternal promise. Take courage. Have faith and hope. Consider the present with fortitude and look to the future with confidence.”4
Like anyone going through challenges, single fathers may feel overwhelmed. I know I did at times. But I also know there’s a lot of hope and a lot of help for single fathers in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

On a Sunday morning a few years ago, Donald Pinnell, now president of the Amarillo Texas Stake, was attending church in his branch in Tucumcari when suddenly someone brought him the alarming news, “Brother Pinnell, your home is on fire!”
President Pinnell quickly found his two sons, ages twelve and sixteen, and headed toward his ranch. His first thoughts were of his wife who had stayed home that day recuperating from recent surgery. He had no word about her until the driver of a returning fire truck stopped along the way to tell him she was safe.
Brother and Sister Pinnell had just built their dream home, a Spanish-style house on their ranch fifty miles out in the country. It was a very nice home and a source of great pleasure to their family.
As he and his boys approached the top of the terrain, they could see in the distance the smoke coming from their burning home. Donald Pinnell said of that moment, “We could tell that our home was completely engulfed in flames; and I just stopped the car at the top of the hill for a few minutes. I said to my sons, ‘Now look, you can spend all your life storing up treasures of the earth, and you can sit on a hill and watch them go up in flames, or you can store up the right kind of treasures and take them with you through eternity.’”
The right kind of treasures are our families and those divine attributes and qualities of character that are taught and learned in gospel-centered homes.
May we make the necessary individual and family course corrections which will put the Lord and our families first and fill our homes with these eternal treasures, I pray in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

One morning I said our family prayer. I asked that we could show Heavenly Father how kind we could be that day. Later I got upset with my brother and was sent to my room to calm down. When my mom came to talk to me, I told her I remembered what I had said in my prayer that morning and that I didn’t feel upset with my brother anymore. She said the Holy Ghost was helping me remember those words about being kind. I was able to make better choices the rest of the day. I’m grateful for prayer and for the Holy Ghost.
Maren E., age 5, Utah, USA

As a bishop of young single adults, I came to realize that nothing smells worse than the stench of the effects of pornography. Even though some of you think pornography is something you can hide, your obvious lack of affection and calloused inability to be sensitive to the needs of others “smells” at home, at school, at work, on a date, and in church! My solemn message to those of you who are facing this challenge is encompassed in a short and pointed story.

I was flying cross-country with my family and playing cards with my ten year-old daughter, who was sitting next to me.

I said, “Alexandrea, you need to turn your cards and hold them up closer to your face so I can’t see them.”

She scowled and fired back, “Just don’t look!”

Any questions? If I am going too fast, just raise your hand. Didn’t President Uchtdorf tell us in a recent conference talk, “Stop it!” (“The Merciful Obtain Mercy,” Ensign, May 2012, 75)?

Yes, Jesus said, “He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone,” and, yes, we can hate the sin and love the sinner. But let us not forget what Jesus emphatically told the woman as she departed: “Go, and sin no more” (John 8:11). That’s right—don’t look at pornography any more. Stop it now. End of discussion!

A Young Women teacher had a blind girl in her class whose participation was limited because she could not study in the usual way. The teacher would go to the girl’s home and read out loud while the girl translated her Personal Progress book into braille. The work took two years. The teacher also encouraged the other girls in the class to help. Under her direction, they went to the blind girl’s home and read to her from the manual until it was translated into braille.
The Master’s touch through that teacher reached out and blessed not only this girl but many others who are blind, because the braille translation was made available at the general offices of the Young Women organization.

I decided that it was important to my growth to fast again soon, and not wait for a whole month. This time I fasted and prayed about a decision I was having difficulty making. The pros and cons of the major alternatives seemed nearly equal, and I had been puzzling about it for several weeks. After fasting and praying about it, I suddenly knew what to do, and there was never another moment of wondering if it was the best choice.

When I was in seventh grade I decided to participate in a running competition against the other middle schools. What I didn’t know was that the area we were running in was hilly, and so running would be a lot harder than I was used to.
When I was a little over halfway through the race, I slowed to a walk and just decided that I couldn’t do it. Tears came, and I felt weak and embarrassed.
As I was about to stop and sit down, two eighth-grade girls from my school caught up to me and started encouraging me to keep going. I reluctantly started to slowly jog with them, with one on each side of me. My whole body was aching, but I kept on going. When we were finally in sight of the finish line, my youngest sister came to run with me too.
When we crossed the finish line, I was relieved. I received a ribbon for seventh place, and I felt embarrassed since there were only seven girls who ran. But now it reminds me of how I completed something that seemed so impossible.

Not too many battles later my squad got the assignment to go out and find the enemy position and their ammunition and supply dump—an assignment that was frequently given to an infantry squadron. We used to rotate this and we took turns. This required an all-night skirmish. We were to go out and spend one complete day and night and come back the next morning. We went out and finally got behind their lines and secured their position and ammunition dump, plotted it on our map, and started back. But our battle line had changed, and the enemy now occupied the area where we had been the day before. They had pushed our forces back a quarter of a mile in a counterattack. So we came around a hill into a valley, thinking it was held by our side, but the enemy now held both hills, and we were in a valley right between them. By the time we discovered it, they had annihilated one or two of our squad, and the rest of us took cover in a deep shell hole right in the center.
It was late afternoon when we found ourselves in this particular position. We knew we had to be out of there by nightfall because they’d just squeeze us out, the fighting being what it was in that sector. So we sat there, 11 of us, plotting what we’d do and how we’d do it. We were still 350 to 400 yards from our lines. In fact, we could even hear our fellows yell when they saw our plight, but it was too late. So we kept calling back over to them that we were going to make a dash for it, but we’d let them know just as soon as we could decide, and as we sat there surveying our situation, we decided that right at dusk we would go as a team, realizing that some wouldn’t make it. But it was the only way to get some of us out of it. There’s a long inventory-taking episode, let me tell you, as you sit there waiting.
We decided that we’d go at 6:15 because it would be just dark enough that we would be less of a target but light enough that we could make our way. We called over to our fellows to give us as much cover as they could with fire power, that the 11 men they would see scampering would be us, and to protect us with all they had. They called back that that’s what they’d do. We stripped our rifles down because we couldn’t take them with us, and got rid of all the heavy weights: there was the ammunition, the pouches, the grenades. We disassembled them as much as we could so that the enemy wouldn’t get any value from them. Then we sat there meditating and talking, and the others asked if I would kneel and lead them in prayer. And then we promised certain things we’d do for each other in terms of family welfare and all the rest if one made it and the other didn’t. I always carried my blessing with me, and I remember looking at it at 6:05, and I opened it up and studied it again, and it said, in essence, “Paul, you will live to see certain things come to pass if you’re willing.” There wasn’t a human way out of the situation we were in. You’d have to have been there to appreciate what I’m trying to tell you.
Well, the zero minute came, and we shook hands, and you never saw 11 men scamper like that before. I wished I’d had the track coach there. I think I set a new world record as I made my way to the American line. Three or four of the others didn’t get above the surface of the ground; they were cut down with machine guns. One of my good friends was almost cut in two with a burst, and as I stopped to try to help, I could see it was hopeless, and so l started on. It had been raining hard, and it was slippery, dirty, muddy, and so cold, and you’d fall as many times as you’d take a step almost, trying to get some traction. I’d move this way and that way, and I could tell I had a sniper with a machine gun right on me because the dirt and the mud behind me would just kick right up, move right around me, and then I’d move this way and then he’d pick me up again and move back. I was going with all I had. By then it was everybody for himself, and as I scampered within 50 yards of our hole, the sniper got a direct beam on me, and the first burst caught me in the right heel. It took my combat boot right off, just made me barefooted that quick without touching me physically, and it spun me around, and I went down on my knee. As I went down another machine gun burst came across my back and ripped the belt and the canteen and the ammunition pouch right off my back without touching me. As I got up to run, another burst hit me right in the back of the helmet, and it hit in the steel part, ricocheted enough to where it came up over my head, and split the helmet in two, but it didn’t touch me. Then I lunged forward again, and another burst caught me in the loose part of the shoulders where I could take off both my shirt sleeves without removing my coat, and then one more lunge and I fell over the line, into the arms of one of the dirtiest sergeants you ever saw. He’d watched the whole encounter, and he said, “Paul, you sure are lucky.” He said, “Follow me,” and I crawled back up, and I was the only one of the 11 who had even made it the first 100 yards.
Lucky? Oh, you call it what you want. I’d had verification after verification. A thousand such incidents happened to me in two years of combat experience. I only relate these things because I feel that young people everywhere, in and out of the Church, need to commence a serious investigation of their own souls and status in this life, because they are at a time when they can prepare.

I remember as a youth walking with my mother up the dusty road to the bishop’s house in a day when we often paid tithing from our animals and produce. As we walked, I said, “Why do we take the eggs to the bishop?” She answered, “Because they are tithing eggs and the bishop receives the tithing for Heavenly Father.” My mother then recounted how each evening when the eggs were brought in, the first one went into a small basket and the next nine went into a large basket. I first learned the law of tithing from my beloved mother.

I honestly believe that when the scriptures say, “Remember, remember” (Helaman 5:12), they mean that we should not just remember Jesus Christ or remember that we once felt His Light. We must feel His Light now and feel it again and again. That is what one young man, Eric, discovered when he first read the Book of Mormon.

After moving to a new place and starting high school, Eric struggled in his classes and found it hard to fit in. He also began to wonder if he had a testimony.

“I began to seriously read the Book of Mormon for the first time in my life,” Eric said. “I read and prayed every day.”

When Eric prayed and asked Heavenly Father if the Book of Mormon is true, he was sure he was going to get an answer, but nothing happened.

Sometime later, while walking through the woods behind his house, Eric asked again. This time, he had an impression, as if Heavenly Father asked him, “Eric, what has happened in your life since you started reading the Book of Mormon and praying every day?”

Eric thought about how he had made good friends and was doing better in school. Without realizing it, the Book of Mormon had brought light and power into his life.

Then it happened.

“I didn’t hear a voice,” Eric said, “but the Spirit filled my heart as these words came to my mind: ‘Of course, it’s true!’ An overwhelming feeling of peace, joy, and assurance came over me. I knew I had finally found my answer.”2

At the time he joined the Church, Luis Soto lived at the same boardinghouse as Richard Spichiger, a student of auto mechanics who was a descendant of Swiss immigrants. Richard was very impressed by his neighbor’s manner and conduct. His favorable opinion opened the way for the full-time missionaries—who also lived in the boardinghouse—to teach him the discussions. After Richard was baptized, he accepted a call to the Chile Osorno Mission, where he, in turn, baptized dozens of people.

Last year my stake took the youth to Martin’s Cove. Each participant was to trek in the name of either a rescuer or a handcart pioneer. Part of our preparation was to learn as much as we could about their experience. Our goal was to “walk in their footsteps.” Through my research I discovered that two of my great-grandfather’s brothers had been involved in this pioneer tragedy. Moses Cluff, who had just returned from a mission to England, joined the Hodgett Wagon Company that accompanied the Willie and Martin Handcart Companies. His younger brother, Harvey Cluff, who was only 20 years old, was one of the “valley boys” who formed the first wave of rescuers to meet up with the stranded pioneers. As I learned about their experiences, one interesting detail stood out. Harvey’s history reads:
[The] raging blizzard from the north compelled the relief party to seek shelter some miles down the river where the growth of willows was dense enough to break the force of the wind and afford shelter to animals and some protection to the camp. While encamped in this retired spot, three miles from the road, Harvey was called upon by the captain to take a sign board to the road, in case there were any who might pass along the road and thereby miss the camp. . . . In a few hours after the board was up, two men, Captain Willie and his companion, rode horseback into camp. . . . These two men, without bedding, could not have survived through the night, had they not been directed to the relief camp by the sign board.
Harvey’s obedience and willingness to make the appropriate sacrifice of self not only saved Captain Willie and his companion but facilitated the rescue of all those who were stranded along the trail.

“Look, [Mom] !” [Becky] said. “There are [two] [birds] in the grocery store.” “Yes,” [Mom] said. “There are [two] [birds] . [I] wonder how they got inside the store.” [Becky] helped [Mom] put [apples] in the [cart] while she looked at the [birds] . Then [Becky] helped [Mom] put [bananas] in the [cart] as she kept her [eyes] on the [birds] . When [Becky] put the [oranges] in the [cart] , she [saw] the [birds] take flight. She watched as the [birds] flew back [and] forth. “The [birds] are tired,” [Becky] said. “How [can] we help them?” Then she remembered a story she had heard about a [bird] that got lost in the [tabernacle] . People tried opening all the [doors] [and] chasing the [bird] out with a [net] . But the [bird] would [not] fly out any of the [doors] . Finally, a man named John said a [prayer] . Heavenly Father answered John’s [prayer] [and] helped him know what [to] do. “Turn off all the [lights] ,” John said. “[And] close all the [doors] except [one].” Then the [bird] flew out the [door] . [Becky] ran [to] a woman who worked at the store [and] told her about the [bird] in the [tabernacle] . “Thank [you],” the woman said. “What a good idea.” [Becky] smiled. [Becky] was glad she could help Heavenly Father’s [birds] [too] .

Still, with all the other pressures I had, Christmas that year found me in anything but a joyous mood. That Christmas Eve, I sat alone near the Christmas tree in my living room trying in vain to put together a train set for my little boy. I could see the heavy snow falling outside, and suddenly a terrible aching filled my heart. I felt alone. I thought I had been doing better, but tonight, with my husband halfway around the world, my burdens overwhelmed me. Seeing Grandma slipping away, caring for the little ones, putting up with the weather, feeding the furnace, struggling with the train—it all seemed more than I could bear. I bowed my head and tearfully cast my burdens on the Lord.
As I knelt there, I heard a knock at my door. It was late, and I wondered who on earth it could be. I opened the door to find three of my Sunday School boys standing there, covered with snow. They had been sledding and had seen my light and decided to stop in to wish me a Merry Christmas. I invited them in and filled them up with hot chocolate and pie.
Soon they had the train set together, and we finished wrapping the Christmas presents. Everything looked beautiful. Each boy hugged me, thanked me for being such a good teacher and friend, and wished me Merry Christmas before they left. I stood watching them go under the streetlights. Suddenly my burdens felt lighter, and that night I knelt to thank Heavenly Father for sending them to me.