Gospel Story Finder

On a trip to the Orient it was my privilege to attend a sacrament meeting of the Naha Branch on the island of Okinawa. I was so impressed with the quality of the sacrament service and the reverence and dignity exhibited by the Aaronic Priesthood that when I was called to speak I asked one of the young men to join me at the pulpit. I asked him, “How do you feel knowing you hold the priesthood of God?” Not tall enough to see over the pulpit, he raised on his toes so he could see the congregation, then with deep emotion responded: “It’s the greatest honor of my life!”

In the hospital one day I was wheeled out of the operating room by an attendant who stumbled, and there issued from his angry lips vicious cursing with a combination of the names of the Savior. Even half-conscious, I recoiled and implored: “Please! Please! That is my Lord whose names you revile.”
There was a deathly silence; then a subdued voice whispered, “I am sorry.” He had forgotten for the moment that the Lord had forcefully commanded all his people, “Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain; for the Lord will not hold him guiltless that taketh his name in vain” (Ex. 20:7).

In June of 1829, Oliver Cowdery, David Whitmer, Martin Harris, and Joseph Smith went into the woods near the Whitmer home in Fayette, New York, and began to pray for the privilege of viewing the golden plates. Martin Harris soon removed himself from the group, feeling unworthy. He moved to another area in the woods to offer prayer. Later on, Joseph Smith found him praying. They offered prayer together and then saw the same vision of Moroni that Joseph had just experienced with Oliver Cowdery and David Whitmer. They also heard the voice of God testifying of the truthfulness of the translation of the Book of Mormon and commanding them to bear record of what they had seen and heard.

I provide full-time care for my mum, who is blind. I have coeliac disease, so I have to be very careful what I eat. During the pandemic, I had to stand in all the queues for the shops, and I would do this alone as we were encouraged to do.
One week, I was exhausted but still needed to do some things for my mum. This week, I felt that she needed to come with me and help a little bit. I was really concerned about it, as she has a bad back. I didn’t think it would be able to withstand all the standing around I was doing.
My mum said, “It will be fine, we shall say our prayers and it will be okay!”
So off we went, the first time my mum had been to the shops during lockdown. To our surprise, there wasn’t a single queue anywhere. We got into every place we had to go with no problems. Even at the tills, the queues were very quick.
It was a miracle that day. I’ve not forgotten it.
It never happened again, only on this day. Jesus does know each of us and what we need.

Let me tell you about this old set that my mom and dad gave me when I turned 17. I had read the Book of Mormon before, but this time it was different. Perhaps I was more in tune with the Spirit, maybe I had studied more diligently and prayed more fervently. I wanted to know for myself if the Book of Mormon was true. On this day I had come to the part in Alma, chapter 32, about faith. [Alma 32] As I finished that chapter, I experienced a feeling which I recognized as a witness from the Holy Ghost—I knew the Book of Mormon was true. I wanted to tell the whole world what I knew and how I felt, but I was alone. So with tears of joy streaming down my face, I wrote on the margin all the way around on each side the feelings in my heart at that moment. I made a big red star up in the corner and wrote, “May 31st, 7:30 A.M. This I know, written as if to me.” Then I wrote on the other margin, “I have received a confirmation. I know the Book of Mormon is true.” On the other side I wrote, “One month ago today I began fasting each Tuesday for a more sure knowledge. This I know.”

I grew up in Nicaragua. When I was little, I did everything with my older brother. We walked to school together. We went to the store together. We had all sorts of adventures in our backyard. We were happy.
Then, when I was nine, something very sad happened. My brother died in an earthquake. At first it didn’t feel real that he was gone. I used to imagine that he would knock on our front door. He would tell us he had just been away somewhere. I used to stare at the door, wishing for it to happen. I wanted so much to see him again.
Over time, it got a little easier. I still missed my brother, but I was able to feel happy again.
Back then, I wasn’t a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. But when I grew up, I learned about the Church and got baptized. One day I was washing my dishes. It was Easter time. I was thinking of the Resurrection and thought of my brother.
Suddenly a good feeling came over me. I remembered the daydream I had about my brother. I realized that it wasn’t silly at all! It came from the Holy Ghost, to comfort me and guide me. Someday my brother really will be resurrected. And I really will see him again.

Perhaps you have had an experience like the one I had when I was 11 years old. I had a friend whom I admired because she seemed to know so much. One day she offered me a cigarette. She told me she would help me learn to smoke, and she pressured me with words like “It won’t hurt—just this once.” I didn’t want to offend her, but I had decided when I was very young that I would never smoke. This decision made it easier to say no. Show you know by obeying the Word of Wisdom.

One woman who stopped attending church at a young age shared the following experience of how her family continued loving her. In her large LDS family, missions were celebrated in a visible way. Photographs of all the missionaries in the family adorned her grandmother’s living room wall. It was “the epicenter of our family’s universe,” she said. She knew she would never serve a mission, and she felt that no matter what good she did in the world, she would never earn a place on her grandmother’s wall.
At age 30 she decided to serve in the United States Peace Corps. She journeyed to Madagascar and devoted all her energy to serving there. Partway through her experience, she learned that her grandmother had included her photo on the wall. When the Peace Corps term ended, grandmother and granddaughter embraced and shed tears. “Service is service,” her grandmother explained. Whether or not we have a missionary wall in our homes, there are still plenty of ways we can show all our family members they are loved and valued.

The organ music was solemn and low, and a reverent hush fell over the congregation as the pallbearers entered carrying the simple pine box. A few garden flowers had been lovingly placed on top, and nestled among them was an old mandolin, its worn but polished surface gleaming dully in the dim light. The flickering candles made the large room seem gloomier, although sunlight seeped in here and there between the rough-hewn logs.
The organ seemed out of place in this rugged wilderness. There were few luxuries in this early western settlement, and the small organ, brought all the way across the plains on a wagon, was highly treasured.
Amanda watched little puffs of dust rise from the floor as the pallbearers walked slowly down the isle.
“The coffin is so small,” she whispered to her mother.
“Your great-grandfather may not have been very tall in stature, but he was a giant in spirit,” Mother whispered back.
Amanda nodded, and bitter tears stung her dark brown eyes. Grandpa’s death was hard for her to understand. He had been lighthearted, always spreading laughter wherever he went. And music. How he loved music!
“Manda, the world would be a sad and sorry place without music,” he had said to her often. “It’s helped me more times than I can recollect, both before and after I left Denmark.”
“Tell me a story about Denmark, Grandpa. Please?” she used to plead.
“All right, but you know you’ve heard them all before.” His eyes would twinkle as the tale would unfold. “When I was a young lad in Alborg, my family tended sheep in the fields surrounding the town. The country was lush and green in the daytime, but at night everything was veiled in shadows. I had the evening watch alone. Sometimes the sheep were restless, so I always took along my old mandolin. I’d sing a quiet song, and it would settle them down. It would ease my mind a bit too. Tending sheep can be mighty lonely. My mandolin has always been a comfort to me, Manda. I’m glad you have learned to play it. Someday I want you to have it.”
A sharp nudge from her older brother brought Amanda back to the present. Bishop Madsen stepped up to the tall box that served as a pulpit and announced the opening song and prayer. Then Amanda’s mind wandered again as the service began. She could see herself bumping around in the back of the covered wagon, gazing wistfully behind them as the trial disappeared into dust. She’d missed her home and the friends she’d left behind. Grandpa hadn’t seemed to, though. He’d sat in front, constantly looking ahead.
“Let’s sing a song,” he’d suggest. Amanda would be the first to join in.
Come, come, ye Saints, no toil nor labor fear;
But with joy wend your way.
Though hard to you this journey may appear,
Grace shall be as your day …
Their voices had been carried by the warm Nebraska wind, and soon all the settlers in their company had raised their voices to sing along.
The most precious moments had been at night around the campfire. The wagons had been pulled together into a circle, and the moon had loomed large in the prairie sky, softly shining on tired, sunbaked faces.
The trek to Utah was long and hard, Amanda thought. Grandpa had made it then. Why did he have to die now?
The bishop had finished speaking, and he turned toward Amanda.
“Amanda, we all know how much you and your great-grandfather loved to sing together. Do you think you could come up here and sing one of his favorite songs for us?”
Amanda froze in her seat. I could never sing without Grandpa, she thought. Then she looked at the mandolin lying among the flowers. It had helped Grandpa while he tended sheep. Maybe it would help her now.
She rose slowly and walked over to the casket. Her hands trembled as she lifted the mandolin from its bed of flowers. Several people in the crowd nodded encouragement. Amanda cleared her throat, placed her fingers on the strings, and began: “Come, come, ye Saints, …”
The song went beautifully until she came to the last verse. Tears welled up in her eyes, and her voice started to quaver.
Bishop Madsen stepped quickly to Amanda’s side, beckoning the congregation to join in. Instantly the little log church was filled with music.
And should we die before our journey’s through,
Happy day! all is well!
We then are free from toil and sorrow, too;
With the just we shall dwell! …
Amanda sat down, still holding the mandolin. Mother put her arm around Amanda’s shoulder and said, “Grandpa’s mandolin can become as much a part of you as it was a part of him. Take good care of it.”
Amanda smiled. It was already a great comfort to her.

On another occasion we saw charity build a Zion community. In the mission field, one of our missionaries softened many hearts. His prize possession given to him from his father before he left on his mission was a superb yellow camera. It went missing. And because of some obvious clues, he was sure that it had been stolen from him by his companion. But the Elder at fault would not admit it, and it was creating a contentious spirit, not conducive to missionary work. Finally the owner of the yellow camera said to President Tanner, “I would like my companion to have the camera. I think he needs it much more than I do. Let’s move on as if none of this has happened.” His benevolent response was “not easily provoked,” the opposite of angry, harsh or mean, spreading a blanket of charity over and smothering the fire that had ignited. Can we at this university forgive wrongs that may unfairly be put upon us?

The lake’s water stays at an almost constant temperature of 51º F (11º C); that’s pretty brisk for swimming—downright cold for a baptism. But it was in Lake Titicaca that Roberto Carlos Condori Pachuri, 16, was baptized last year. Sometimes the village doesn’t have enough water to fill the font at the meetinghouse in El Alto, Bolivia, so they go to the lake. Roberto Carlos remembers his baptism well, but it’s not because of the water. It’s because of the warm spirit he felt when he became a member of the Church.
Roberto Carlos was introduced to the Church by his friend José Luís Mamani Kari, 15. “I came to seminary,” says Roberto Carlos. “It was the first time I entered a Church building, and I was a little scared.” But he quickly found out he was welcome. In fact, usually 15 of the 30 or so youth who attend seminary each week are not Church members. Youth from the Batallas Branch, Titicaca Bolivia District, attend seminary on Thursday evenings and study at home during the week.
Roberto Carlos wanted to attend seminary for all these reasons. “I liked the things I was learning, and I have lots of friends here,” he says. “We play soccer or volleyball after class.” It was at seminary and in meeting with the elders that he learned about ancient prophets, a living prophet today, and Christ’s visit to the Americas. It was through learning the truths of the gospel that Roberto Carlos joined the Church.
President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) had a motto to remind us of our duties as member missionaries: “Do it!” He promised that as we testified of the Restoration we would be blessed. José Luís knows this is true.
“It felt good,” says José Luís, to see Roberto Carlos accept the gospel. “I wanted to share my testimony, so I did.”

At another baptism, a young girl of 14, with tears in her eyes, hugs the sister missionary who has taught her the gospel. Even though this missionary had to leave her home thousands of miles away to serve a mission, she feels it has been worth it.
Two missionary stories with the same emotion and the same sacrifice. It may be surprising to learn they took place 150 years and an ocean apart. The first missionary was Elder Addison Pratt, who in 1844 baptized the first members of the Church in the Pacific not far from Tahiti. The second missionary was Sister Barbara Nauta, a native Tahitian who left her island home to serve a mission in Canada in 1993.
For as long as the Church has been organized, missionaries have sacrificed to take the gospel to places like Tahiti. In Tahiti, missionary work now has come full circle. Today, young islanders are leaving their homes and serving missions on other islands as well as around the world.
A little more than 150 years ago, the first missionaries ever called to serve in an organized non-English-speaking mission started their missions in what is now French Polynesia, the most well-known island of which is Tahiti. Their mission calls came from the Prophet Joseph Smith himself.
Getting to Tahiti and the surrounding islands was no easy matter. It took almost a year of traveling. Those first missionaries—Addison Pratt, Benjamin F. Grouard, Noah Rogers, and Knowlton F. Hanks—literally had to sail around the world to get there. They traveled on land from Nauvoo, Illinois, to the East Coast of the United States to find a whaling ship going to the Pacific. They then sailed across the Atlantic, where Elder Hanks, suffering from ill health, died and was buried at sea. They rounded the Cape of Good Hope, crossed the Indian Ocean, passed the islands of Southeast Asia, and landed first at the island of Tubuai, just south of Tahiti, nearly a year after they had left Nauvoo. They found the islanders eager to welcome them. Elder Pratt was immediately popular because, years earlier, as a sailor, he had visited Hawaii and learned a little of the Hawaiian language. The people of Tubuai could understand him.
Within a few years, there were hundreds of members of the Church on several islands, including Tahiti.
Eight years later, the government asked the missionaries to leave. For 40 or so years, the mission was closed, but a core of Church members stayed faithful. Then, when the mission was reopened, the Church in the islands began a hundred years of growth. It started slowly but picked up speed. Today, with four stakes, Tahiti and its neighboring islands have a temple, dozens of chapels, and scores of young people serving missions and many more preparing to serve as soon as they are old enough.
Just like those missionaries 150 years ago, young Tahitians look to the Lord to guide them as they serve. For example, Sister Barbara Nauta, who grew up in Tahiti, served in the Canada Toronto Mission. She said investigators in Canada were amazed that she had left her warm Pacific island to learn another language (Barbara, who speaks French and Tahitian, had to learn English) and endure cold and snow. They asked her why. “I told them the Lord sent me here,” she says.

I fell prey to that devilish stratagem early in my professional career, as a management consultant. The prestigious Boston firm for which I worked paid well and entrusted me with leadership opportunities beyond my expectations. I became confident to the point of arrogance. Though I served faithfully in the Church, pride in my professional accomplishments led to a significant deficit of humility.

Providentially, I learned the hard way what Solomon taught: “Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall.” [iv] When the professional promotions slowed in Massachusetts, I decided to move home to Utah and open a Salt Lake City office of the consulting firm. I quickly discovered that I had overestimated my abilities and underestimated the challenge of selling high-priced consulting services to Utah’s independent and thrifty entrepreneurs. Before long, I had given up on a Salt Lake City office of the consulting firm. I was grateful just to be getting project assignments in distant cities.

In the meantime, my father had been called as an Apostle. Rather than becoming a high-profile person myself, I felt lost in his shadow. Gradually, disappointment and declining confidence began to show up in my hair. Before long I had lost all of it, from head to toe, leading friends to ask worriedly about my physical health. Having planned to become a “big wheel” in Utah, I instead found myself wanting to disappear.

At the time, I felt like a victim of cruel circumstances. Yet, in my pride, I had actually set myself up for an inevitable emotional fall. I had succumbed to worldly temptation without realizing it. In hindsight, I recognize that my striving for professional success was largely selfish. I had rationalized my self-serving behavior as motivated by desires to benefit my family and the Church. I thought that I could simultaneously bless other people while also fulfilling my personal ambitions.

Not realizing these spiritual faults at the time, I began to feel angry toward heaven, which seemed to be the source of my disappointment and despair. In self-pity, and ignoring my unrighteous motives, I wondered why the law of the harvest wasn’t working for me. It seemed that I was being treated unfairly.

Fortunately, Sister Eyring and other loved ones stood by me. Through wise words and kind deeds, they helped me see the need to repent of my pride and seek the healing balm of the Atonement and the ministry of the Holy Ghost. I increased my study of the scriptures. And, at Sister Eyring’s inspired suggestion, I began to keep a personal journal. In time, I began to qualify for Heaven’s blessings, which took a different but far better form than I had imagined.

The elders’ first meeting with Chea was quite accidental. Looking for another family, they happened to knock on his door. Chea was the only family member who spoke English. In the course of their conversation, he told them that he loved Jesus, wanted to find a church, and made them promise to take him to church the next Sunday. Elder Gooch recalls, “I was very impressed with Chea. He was extremely mature and seemed like a 25-year-old in an 11-year-old body.” Chea’s parents told the elders that their son visited several Christian churches on his own, but “didn’t feel right in any of them.” After hearing the discussions and attending sacrament meeting, Chea knew he had found what he was looking for. “The people are so nice. I feel I belong. As I learn the scriptures and read the Book of Mormon, I can feel Heavenly Father’s love for me.” Chea loves to sing and adds, “The music makes me very happy.” Although his parents have taken the missionary lessons, attend church often, and fully support Chea, they have not joined.

I was having a bad day. I had to go to my baseball game, but my tooth was loose and hurting. I had left part of my baseball uniform at home. And I was tired. I didn’t really want to play baseball that day. But I went to the game anyway because I had to give a hat back to one of my teammates.
I sat on the bleachers instead of joining my team. My coach noticed me sitting sadly on the bench. He encouraged me to come play because the team needed me. He showed me that he cared about me, just like Jesus noticed those who were sad and needed support.
Then, one of my teammates came and stood next to me. He smiled at me and asked me when I had gotten there. He was excited to see me and wanted me to come play. This teammate was also like Jesus because he cared about me. He showed me what a good friend does when someone is having a bad day. I was really glad my coach and teammate took the time to make me feel better, and I ended up playing in the baseball game!
I have a bookmark that says, “One act of kindness won’t change the world, but it may change one person’s world.” My coach and teammate changed my world that Saturday afternoon by choosing to be kind. I know it’s important to be like Jesus and show love and kindness to everyone we meet. Heavenly Father cares about each one of us and loves us. Each of us is important to Him, so He sends kind people to show us His love.

On that first Sunday of the member-missionary class, our teacher asked us to commit to the Lord to give away one copy of the Book of Mormon during the next week and each following week. Even though I was still fearful at the time, I did accept the challenge. By the middle of the week it was clear to me whom I should share a copy with.
We had hired an older man to do some work for us. From his very first day, I felt he was an honest man of good character. On the morning of his last day with us, I prayed to Heavenly Father and received a confirmation that this individual should receive a copy of the Book of Mormon. I also prayed for guidance from the Holy Ghost on how to approach the man—and for the confidence I needed to talk to him about the book. I prepared a Book of Mormon with my testimony and anxiously awaited our visit.
That evening, when he finished working, I invited the man to sit down, offered him a glass of water, and asked, “Has anyone ever told you why Mormons are called ‘Mormons’?” (This was an approach we had learned in the member-missionary class.)
When he said no, I asked, “Would you be offended if I offered to tell you?”
“No, go right ahead,” he answered.
After a friendly fifteen-minute talk about the Book of Mormon, I offered him my prepared copy and asked if he would read it. I promised him that if he read it prayerfully he would know, as I did, that it is true. He said he would do it. We then parted, still friends. He wasn’t offended, and I didn’t feel that I had been aggressive.

In the jungles of Indonesia dwells a tiny member of the deer family called a mouse deer. Its Indonesian name is Kancil (CAN-chill). Because it is so tiny—no higher than two or three feet—and because it provides a delicious snack for such jungle inhabitants as the tiger, crocodile, or panther, it has to rely on its intelligence to outsmart these large predators in order to survive.
One afternoon while ambling down a jungle trail to the river Ciliwong (CHEE-lee-wong) to quench her thirst, Kancil overheard two crocodiles talking quietly together.
“Wait here, my darling,” Buaya (crocodile) whispered with clacking jaws. “When Kancil comes down to drink, I’ll grab her and we’ll share a tender snack. Just wait and see how I trick her.”
Buaya’s girl friend floated on the Ciliwong, her beady eyes and nostrils barely above the water. She was terribly hungry and could hardly wait for her snack.
Buaya waddled up onto the shore, tucked his feet under him, and hid his long tale-telling snout with the razor-sharp teeth underneath a pile of rotting leaves. He was sure he looked like a fallen tree trunk.
No sooner was he settled than Kancil stepped daintily into view, her large eyes rolling from left to right, her short tail trembling nervously.
Buaya’s mouth watered, and he worked even harder at looking like an uprooted tree.
“Oh, my!” Kancil called out loud. “That tree must have fallen down during the night. It wasn’t here yesterday!”
“Let’s see now …” Kancil said, pondering. “If you really are a dead tree, turn around. But if you are a crocodile, lie still!”
At her first words Buaya started to move, then he realized his mistake. Too late! Kancil quickly retreated into the jungle, while Buaya’s girl friend laughed. “Fooled by a dumb mouse deer,” she sneered. “I’m going to find myself another boyfriend!” She dived into the river and Buaya never saw her again.

President Wilford Woodruff recounted the difficulties of early missionary work:
“In my early missions, when preaching in the Southern States—Arkansas, Tennessee, and Kentucky—I have waded swamps and rivers and have walked seventy miles or more without eating. In those days we counted it a blessing to go into a place where there was a Latter-day Saint. I went once 150 miles to see one; and when I got there he had apostatized, and tried to kill me. Then, after travelling seventy-two miles without food, I sat down to eat my meal with a Missouri mobocrat, and he damning and cursing me all the time. … In those days we might travel hundreds and hundreds of miles and you could not find a Latter-day Saint.”

Some years ago when I was working in a different organization, our personnel director, a devout Catholic, came into my office with his secretary, Darlene. I could readily see that Darlene was not there of her own free will and would rather be elsewhere. The personnel director’s greeting words to me were, “Will you please tell Darlene that Mormons are Christian. I have been arguing with her for over half an hour, and I cannot convince her of that fact. She needs to hear it from you.”
My first concern was, have I done something in my own life that would cause Darlene to question my faith in and loyalty to the Savior? But then I quickly recognized that her doubts were not directed to me personally.
After inviting them to sit down, I asked Darlene why she thought we were not Christians. Her answer was that her minister had told her so. I asked her if she knew the official name of the Church. She did not. She knew the Church only by the name of Mormon. I explained the name to be The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and then asked if it did not seem like a rather odd name for a church that supposedly was not Christian. I next asked my Catholic friend if he would explain from our many hours of discussions on airplanes, in hotels, at dinners, and during other private occasions some of the things he had learned about us as they related to Christ, His teachings, and our beliefs. He explained them with perhaps more credibility than I could have done.
Darlene’s response was that her minister had told her that we did not believe in the Bible, which we had replaced with the Book of Mormon. I replied by sharing the eighth article of faith: “We believe the Bible to be the word of God as far as it is translated correctly; we also believe the Book of Mormon to be the word of God.”
I then explained that the Book of Mormon was further scripture complementing the Bible and providing another witness of Christ. It expounds and clarifies many of Christ’s most sacred and important teachings. Her response was, “My minister says the Book of Mormon cannot contain the teachings of Christ because there could be no more revelations after the death of the Apostles; thus, no more scripture after the Bible.” My query to her was, “At a time of such rapid change in a turbulent and troubled world, with so many perplexing problems, wouldn’t it make you wonder why a loving Father would cease to communicate with His children, whom He loved enough that He sacrificed His Only Begotten Son for them?” The discussion continued for the next 15 to 20 minutes, with my attempting to explain our literal interpretation of the Atonement, the Resurrection, and other important doctrines of the Savior. I ended with the strongest testimony I could give of a loving Father and a willing Son.
At the conclusion of our discussion her response was the same: “My minister has spoken, and that is the way it is.” And that is the way the matter was left, leaving me both disappointed and somewhat bothered by the misunderstanding.
Over the years I have pondered this experience with my friend Darlene, bothered by its conclusion. However, I have since concluded that viewpoints based on misunderstandings and fallacious teachings should not trouble me, except as I have a responsibility to attempt to clarify such misconceptions. The real issue is not how others define us but how the Savior defines us. So the question is, how does He personally view each and every one of us?

Let me tell you the story of Laurie, a young BYU student who finally gathered the courage to visit the campus health center. She was always exhausted. Some days she couldn’t get out of bed at all. And she was having chest pain, shortness of breath and other physical symptoms of panic.
To her deep dismay, Laurie was diagnosed with depression and anxiety. The doctor gave her a comprehensive treatment plan and a prescription for medication. But as soon as Laurie got back to her apartment, she flushed the pills down the toilet. “I was embarrassed,” she told me. “I felt like this was a weakness that I could will myself out of.”
Laurie went on to have many difficult years—denying her symptoms and suffering in silence.
It wasn’t until her third child was born that she finally decided to do something about it. She reached out for help and started to feel better.