Gospel Story Finder

Lorenzo Snow was a great early missionary. He had been a member of the Church for less than a year when he set out on his first mission in 1837. He tells about his first experiences preaching the gospel in the following words:
“I … traveled about thirty miles [48 kilometers], and just as the sun was setting I made my first call for a night’s lodging, as a ‘Mormon’ Elder, and was refused; then another, and so on, until the eighth call, when I was admitted to a night’s lodging—going to bed supperless, and leaving in the morning, minus a breakfast.
“The first meeting I held was in the neighborhood of my uncle, by the name of Goddard, near the county seat of Medina County, Ohio. The people were notified and a respectable congregation assembled. It was a sore trial to face that audience in the capacity of a preacher, but I believed and felt an assurance that a Spirit of inspiration would prompt and give me utterance. … [It did, for] I baptized and confirmed into the Church my uncle, aunt and several of my cousins” (quoted in Eliza R. Snow Smith, Biography and Family Record of Lorenzo Snow [1884], 16).

When President Kimball was called to the Council of the Twelve, he accepted his call with humble tears. He wondered if he was worthy of such a great calling. After he hung up the telephone, it was Camilla who assured him, “You can do it, Spencer. You can do it.” Camilla is a perfect example of being one with her companion. When asked about her health, her reply was “When he is well, I’m well.”

In Papua New Guinea’s capital city of Port Moresby, more than 600 youth attended FSY in the large Sir John Guise arena. Attendees came from both urban neighborhoods and isolated villages, but their cultural differences were easily set aside as they shared their testimonies of Jesus Christ and became brothers and sisters in the gospel.

In 1485, Richard III was on the English throne. It was a time of instability, and Richard had to defend his crown more than once. But he was an experienced military veteran, a bold and shrewd warrior who had an army of between 8,000 and 10,000 men.
That same year, a pretender to the English throne, Henry Tudor, Earl of Richmond, challenged and confronted Richard in a place that gave the battle its name: Bosworth Field. Henry, unlike Richard, had little combat experience, and his forces numbered only 5,000. But at his side he had good advisers—noblemen who had taken part in similar battles, including some against Richard. The morning of the battle arrived, and everything suggested that Richard would be victorious.
A famous dramatic legend summarizes the events of August 22, 1485. That morning, King Richard and his men prepared to face Henry’s army. The winner of the battle would be the ruler of England. Shortly before the battle, Richard sent a groom to see if his favorite horse was ready.
“Shoe him quickly,” the groom ordered the blacksmith. “The king wishes to ride at the head of his troops.”
The blacksmith answered that he would have to wait. “I’ve shoed the king’s whole army the last few days,” he said, “and now I’ve got to go get more iron.”
The impatient groom said he couldn’t wait. “The king’s enemies are advancing right now, and we must meet them on the field,” he said. “Make do with what you have.”
As ordered, the blacksmith did the best he could, making four horseshoes from a bar of iron. After hammering out the shoes, he nailed three of them on the horse. When attempting to fasten the fourth shoe, however, he realized he did not have enough nails.
“I need one or two more nails, and it will take some time to hammer them out,” he told the groom.
The groom, however, could wait no longer. “I hear the trumpets now,” he declared. “Can’t you just use what you’ve got?”
The blacksmith replied that he would do his best but that he couldn’t guarantee that the fourth horseshoe would hold.
“Just nail it on,” the groom ordered. “And hurry, or King Richard will be angry with us both.”
The battle soon commenced. To rally his men, Richard rode up and down the field, fighting and urging them with the call, “Press forward! Press forward!”
As Richard looked across the field, however, he saw some of his men falling back. Fearing that his other soldiers might also begin retreating, he galloped toward the broken line to spur them on. But before Richard could reach them, his horse stumbled and fell, throwing the king to the ground. One of the horse’s shoes, just as the blacksmith feared, had flown off during the king’s desperate gallop.
Richard jumped from the ground as his horse rose and galloped off. As Henry’s army advanced, Richard waved his sword high in the air, shouting, “A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!”
But it was too late. By then, Richard’s men were fleeing in fear of Henry’s advancing army, and the battle was lost. Since that time people have uttered the proverb:
For want of a nail, a shoe was lost,
For want of a shoe, a horse was lost,
For want of a horse, a battle was lost,
For want of a battle, a kingdom was lost,
And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.1

This past year I have needed and wanted to feel the love of the Lord more deeply, to receive personal revelation, to better understand my temple covenants, and to have my burdens lightened. As I have prayed specifically for these blessings, I have felt the Spirit directing me to go to the temple and listen more closely to each word of the blessings pronounced upon me. I testify that as I have listened more intently and tried to exercise my faith, the Lord has been merciful to me and has helped make my burdens light. He has helped me to feel great peace about prayers that have not yet been answered. We bind the Lord to keep His promises when we keep our covenants and exercise our faith.5 Come to the temple, dear sisters, and claim your blessings!

Albany Ward
The Albany Ward Primary of the Denham Springs Louisiana Stake went to the Baton Rouge Temple for a Primary activity. The children learned why the temple is a sacred place and listened reverently to a message from a member of the temple presidency. They enjoyed singing “I Love to See the Temple” and walking around the temple grounds.

My children munched their popcorn excitedly as I told them a story about something that had happened to me when I was young.
“I was sitting on the school bus as Jerry came down the aisle looking for the kid who had turned in his friend for vandalizing the school. One by one Jerry grabbed each kid and tried to force a confession. I was scared—really scared—because I was the one he was looking for! I looked to see if I could jump out the window, but I couldn’t. Jerry was getting closer.”
Every one of my children stopped eating their popcorn.
“Jerry grabbed a skinny kid with glasses,” I continued. “‘You finked, didn’t you?’ he demanded.
“‘No, I didn’t,’ the kid insisted.
“But Jerry didn’t believe him. ‘You are going to get it!’ he yelled, and the skinny kid started to cry. What should I do? I was off the hook, but here was an innocent kid facing a beating for something I had done.”
By now my children were feeling a bit of the same anxiety I had felt.
“I prayed for help,” I told my children, “and the thought came, ‘What would Jesus do?’ I stood up and yelled, ‘Leave him alone! He didn’t do it—I did!’”
My children sat with their mouths open, waiting to hear what had happened to me—their dad—not to some television character.

After a get-acquainted dinner with all of the mission presidents and their wives, Lee and I, with our wives, went to my hotel room for a visit. Our conversation, of course, centered on missionary work. Lee explained what had happened to his missionaries since President Hinckley asked us to raise the bar on qualifications for missionary service. He reported a decided improvement in the preparation of the missionaries arriving in the mission field. The conversation led us to recall an experience Lee and I had while he was attending high school.
Lee was a member of his high school track team—he both sprinted and high-jumped. During the 1968 Summer Olympic Games held in Mexico City, the world became enamored with a little-known high jumper named Dick Fosbury. He had experimented with a new high-jumping technique that involved sprinting diagonally toward the bar, then curving and leaping backward over the bar. It came to be called the Fosbury flop.
Like many others, Lee was intrigued by this new technique, but until the new school year started, he didn’t have a place to practice it. I came home one evening to find him practicing the Fosbury flop in our basement. He had set up two makeshift standards by stacking chairs, and he was jumping over a broomstick set on the chairs, using a sofa to cushion his landing. It was very clear to me that the sofa would not hold up under such treatment, so I called a halt to his indoor high-jumping. Instead, I invited him to go with me to a sporting goods store, where we purchased some foam padding to use for landing and high-jumping standards so he could move the activity out of doors.
After experimenting with the Fosbury flop, Lee decided to return to the western-roll technique that he had used previously. Still, through the end of the summer into the fall, he practiced high-jumping for many hours in our backyard.
One evening as I returned home from work, I found Lee practicing his jumping. I asked, “How high is the bar?”
He said, “Five feet, eight inches.”
“Why that height?”
He answered, “You must clear that height to qualify for the state track meet.”
“How are you doing?” I asked.
“I can clear it every time. I haven’t missed.”
My reply: “Let’s raise the bar and see how well you do then.”
He replied, “Then I might miss.”
I queried, “If you don’t raise the bar, how will you ever know your potential?”
So we started moving the bar up to five feet, ten inches; then to six feet; and so on, as he sought to improve. Lee became a better high jumper because he was not content with just clearing the minimum standard. He learned that even if it meant missing, he wanted to keep raising the bar to become the best high jumper he was capable of becoming.

Consider, for example, the case of one Latter-day Saint couple I worked with, John and Susan.
Several years after they were married, John began to drink. Susan, because of her love for him, tried everything she could think of to make him stop. She would hide his liquor or his wallet and try to keep him away from drinking friends. Repeatedly when he came home drunk she explained away his unusual behavior to others. She would call his boss and make excuses: “John has a touch of the flu. I’m afraid he can’t come to work today.” She also began lying to the children, saying, “Dad’s just having trouble at work and is under a lot of pressure.”
The children soon realized what was going on. Because of the pressure at home they stopped bringing friends over, and they protected their father by hiding his behavior or making excuses for his behavior.
Susan was also ashamed to go to the bishop. How could she possibly tell him that John was drinking?
This story, or one similar to it, is re-enacted over and over. And a surprising number of people may get involved. The bishop may begin to provide meals and clothing when family resources are depleted. Friends at work may try to make it seem that his work is getting done or assume extra responsibilities so that men like John won’t lose their jobs. Employers may ignore shoddy performance or give the person repeated chances because they feel it would be unchristian to fire him: “What would happen to his family if I did?”
These behaviors usually prove to be destructive. They shield a person from the consequences of his behavior and make it convenient for him to continue drinking.
One of the first steps in helping families like John and Susan’s is to reach Susan and the others involved and help them eliminate those elements of their supportive behavior that make the problem worse. They have to learn how to exercise “tough love,” which I define as doing what has to be done even though it hurts, or not doing something for others that they should do for themselves.
“Tough love” isn’t always easy. It isn’t easy to break the silence and confront a loved one in a firm spirit of love and helpfulness. It can be extremely painful for a woman to leave her husband all night in the chair where he passed out, and to make him clean up after himself in the morning. It’s hard for children to say to their friends, “Mom’s drunk,” instead of making excuses for her.
And it’s hard to always be sure of yourself when you’re dealing with someone who has become an expert at shifting responsibility to others. As a matter of survival, drinkers become expert manipulators. John, for example, manipulated Susan into believing that it was her fault that he drank.
She was hurt inwardly and became more and more resentful—until she learned what he was actually doing. When it was impressed upon her that one person can’t make another become a problem drinker, she began to take control of her feelings and was thus able to avoid manipulation and the bitterness that sometimes follows such manipulation.
Consider the rejection John felt when he attended a Church activity and a couple nearby got up and moved because they could smell liquor on his breath. This doesn’t always happen, of course; but when it does happen, the hurt felt by a person like John can be intense. He needs to be helped, not ignored.
John’s experience was much different, however. When John finally acknowledged that he needed help and was admitted to a local drug and alcohol treatment center, only his wife visited him. Ward members did not fast and pray for his recovery. He was not given a special priesthood blessing. And when returned from the center, he found that people around him were apprehensive, uncertain, and doubted that he could stay sober.

Some years ago I coached a high school basketball team through a rather unusual season. The season began with a number of disappointing losses. Some of the fans and townspeople didn’t make a secret of their unhappiness over the team’s failures. There was considerable public comment, and it was a challenging time for the players. Several of them finally became discouraged and withdrew from the team. Those who remained didn’t lose faith in themselves or in their coach. The rough going seemed to be an incentive for them to try even harder.
At midseason the team began to win their games. They qualified for the district tournament and surprised everyone there by winning a place in the state play-offs. To the amazement of everyone, they went on to win the state championship—the first ever to be won by their school!
Following the celebration and the awarding of trophies after the championship game, I drove several of the team members back to our city. There was silence during much of the ride as we each reflected on the incredible outcome of our season’s efforts. Finally one of the young men spoke. “Coach,” he said, “I think we were supposed to win tonight.”
I was curious to know what had prompted this conclusion. “Why do you think we were supposed to win?” I asked.
His response was simple and direct—and I will never forget its impact: “Because we paid the price.”

When I had been on my mission in Germany about a year, I was assigned to work with a brand new missionary named Elder Keeler, who had just arrived fresh from converting, so he thought, all the flight attendants on the plane from New York to Frankfurt. Within a few days of his arrival, I was called to a meeting in another city and had to leave him to work in our city with another inexperienced missionary, whose companion went with me. I returned late that night.
The next morning I asked him how his day had gone. He broke into an enthusiastic smile and said he had found a family who would surely join the Church. In our mission, it was rare to see anyone join the Church, let alone a whole family. I asked for more details, but in his excitement he had forgotten to write down either the name or the address. All he could remember was that the family lived on the top floor of a big apartment house. “Oh, that’s great,” I thought to myself as I contemplated all those flights of stairs.
He also explained that he knew so little German that he had exchanged but a few words with the woman who answered the door. But he did think she wanted us to come back—and he wanted to go find her and have me talk to her that very minute.
I explained that the people who don’t slam the door in our faces do not necessarily intend to join the Church. But off we went to find her, mostly to humor him. He couldn’t remember the right street, either, so we picked a likely spot and began climbing up and down those endless polished staircases.
After a frustrating hour, I decided I had to level with him. Based on my many months of experience, I said, it was simply not worth our time to try any longer to find her. I had developed a tolerance for the realities of missionary work and simply knew more than he did about it. His eyes filled with tears and his lower lip began to tremble. “Elder Hafen,” he said, “I came on my mission to find the honest in heart. The Spirit told me that that woman will someday be a member of the Church.” So I decided to teach him a lesson. I raced him up one staircase after another until he was ready to drop, and so was I. “Elder Keeler,” I asked, “had enough?” “No,” he said. “We’ve got to find her.” I began to smolder. I decided to work him until he begged to stop—then maybe he would get the message.
Finally, at the top of a long flight of stairs, we found the apartment. She came to the door. He thrashed my ribs with his elbow and whispered loudly, “That’s her, Elder. That’s the one. Talk to her!”
So I did.
Not long ago, my wife and I were with this woman’s family in the Frankfurt Germany Temple, where the father, now a temple sealer, performed the marriage for their youngest child and her husband. It was a sacred moment for all of us. Earlier he had been a bishop, and the mother was a Relief Society president. Three of their four children have served missions. All four have married in the temple. They are raising righteous families and contributing their strength to the wards where they live. Their lives reflect the fruits that grow from 40 years of living the gospel.
That experience is a lesson I can never forget about the limitations of skepticism and the tolerance for ambiguity that comes with learning and experience. I hope that I will never be so aware of “reality” that I am unresponsive to the whisperings of heaven.

Among those who were in dire circumstances on the plains was my wife’s great-grandmother. She was part of the Hunt wagon company.
Today, my wife’s gravesite in the Salt Lake City Cemetery looks down at the gravesite of her great-grandmother, Mary Penfold Goble, who died in the arms of her daughter as she was entering this valley on December 11, 1856. She was buried the next day. She had lost three of her children on that long journey. The feet of a surviving daughter were terribly frozen.

When I was six years old, my family went on a trip to a river. The water was very cold because it came from the mountains in Chile. After playing in the river for a while, I wanted to warm up.
The sun was shining on some nearby rocks. So I put my back against one rock and my feet on the other to sunbathe.
The rocks were covered in slippery moss that made me slowly slide down. It happened so slowly that I didn’t realize I was slipping.
But then I got stuck! My knees were pressed against my chest. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. And I was still slipping! Every second my knees were pushing harder against my chest. My eyes were looking at the sky, and all the light was fading.
Then I saw the face of my brother. He took my hand and pulled me up. I wasn’t stuck anymore! I could breathe and see the light again.

He recalls one young family he contacted. “I baptized the wife and worked with the husband in the Scouting program,” he says. “I wrote in my journal that I felt someday the husband would join the Church.”
Twenty years later Elder Winkel received a telephone call from two sister missionaries in Amarillo, Texas. They had met the couple, who had immigrated to the United States and now had five children. The wife was no longer active, they said, but she remembered the name “Elder Winkel,” and one of the sister missionaries had tracked him down. “They wanted me to call this couple and bear my testimony to them after they heard the first discussion, and I did that,” says Elder Winkel. “We were all thrilled to have a reunion over the telephone.” A few weeks later he flew to Amarillo and baptized the husband and children.

Bishop David Day of Aylesbury Ward in the Watford Stake decided that 2021’s Mothering Sunday needed to be different and certainly needed to reflect the technical journey on which most members have been during COVID restrictions.
Every year, the Aylesbury Ward has given all sisters a small gift on Mothering Sunday, hoping that they would understand how much they are appreciated. Sometimes it has been a flower, and sometimes chocolate. Last year everyone received an Easter egg.
As COVID-19 has caused many ward meetings to go online and delivering a physical gift in person would go against the spirit of current government advice, the Bishopric turned to a digital gift for the first time.
The primary children and youth in the ward were asked to send the bishopric a video explaining why they loved their mothers, or why mothers were amazing. This was done without their mothers being aware—the children enjoyed recording each other with their dads’ phones!
Bishop Day then edited the videos and used them to prepare a short video presentation, which included quotes from Church leaders. At the end of the ward’s Zoom sacrament meeting, he asked the sisters to check their email inbox for the link to the video.
Many sisters immediately reported back to him, expressing their joy at receiving this video, which included loving messages. It was a fabulous surprise from their children.

As a child in my hometown, I heard bells saying goodbye to the old year.
At that time, for me, the passage of time was not very important, but as the years went by, it was inevitable that my mind would travel through the 12 months that had passed and everything that had been done or not done, what has been suffered and what has been enjoyed.
Today, I am more aware of time, that we are its stewards, thus. the beginning of a new year and its commemoration acquires greater relevance for me.

He enjoys water activities and often goes swimming with his family. For one vacation, they traveled to Cape Cod, Massachusetts. “We played on the beach and looked for seashells,” Shawn says. “My cousin found a really cool empty snail shell.” His favorite part? “Whale watching! We saw the second largest animal in the world, the finback whale. It was only 30 feet away from the boat.”

During the years 1830 and 1831, Joseph continued to receive revelations, the more important of which he reduced to writing. By the fall of 1831, he felt that these, together with earlier recorded revelations, were of sufficient number to justify publication in book form. With that purpose in view, Joseph called a conference of the priesthood members to meet at Hiram, Ohio, November 1 and 2, 1831. To that conference, he presented the motion that his collection of revelations be accepted as scripture and published under the title, Book of Commandments. It is not clear from the records of these proceedings how extensive a study was made by the group of these collected writings. Some study was made, as the minutes indicate criticism by certain members present. Part of this criticism is found in a revelation received on that occasion by Joseph Smith, while in the presence of the assembled group. (And here it may be pertinent to say, most of the revelations received by Joseph Smith were received during the light of day and in the presence of other people. He did not retire alone to dark corners or the cover of night for his contacts with the Almighty but prayed in the presence of his followers who both saw and heard him. The answer received was spoken to them by the Prophet or dictated by him to his clerk while they listened.) The revelation received on this occasion now appears in the book of the Doctrine and Covenants as Section One. In verse 24we read:

“Behold, I am God and have spoken it; these commandments are of me, and were given unto my servants in their weakness, after the manner of their language, that they might come to understanding.” [D&C 1:24]

The word of the Lord is in the language of the prophet. If the prophet’s language is faulty and if he is subject in his speech to the grammatical errors common to most of us, we may expect grammatical mistakes in the written revelation until they are discovered and corrected. The mistakes are not the mistakes of God. In all of the revelations received by men from God, as portrayed in the Bible, this human element is present. The poet clothes the message of God in beautiful verses, the psalmist sets it to music, while the writer of prose stamps it indelibly with his own style. Thus the writings of Moses, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Micah, Amos, and Habakkuk are different in style and perfection of expression, but all are the word of God spoken through prophets in their language that mankind might come to understanding.

The person who discovers in the scriptures, ancient or modern, mistakes in grammar must beware lest the finding leads him to undermine the sure word of God and result in a loss of his own faith.

A couple of years ago my little brother passed away. My heart shattered like glass, and I felt so hopeless. When I found this scripture, it brought me comfort and peace. I know that when I place Christ in the center of my life, He will strengthen me. Over the years, I have seen His hand in my life and know that He is there for me every step of the way.
Chantel L., 17, Idaho, USA

My family suffered in silence regarding my brother’s struggles for a long time. We endured self-imposed shame for years. Addiction was taboo, so we didn’t talk about it. We thought drug addiction wasn’t supposed to affect families who were doing their best to live the gospel and follow Jesus Christ. We were so afraid of what people would think if they found out. My parents constantly blamed themselves for my brother’s decisions, I would hide what was happening from my friends, and we would dodge all questions about my brother. Little did we know that not talking about it made our circumstances more painful than they already were.
Now I face my brother’s addiction differently. And that’s the key word: face. For so many years, I turned away from it and hid it from everyone else, but now I face it head-on with my family. We seek support and we try to support others. As the years have gone by, we’ve discovered that addiction affects many families in many different forms—and there’s no need to feel ashamed or to hide. It needs to be talked about, and those who have been hurt by it, whether they be loved ones or those who struggle themselves, need less judgment and more support, compassion, understanding, and love. No one should have to suffer alone.