Gospel Story Finder

President Harold B. Lee bore a beautiful testimony in his home ward recently and told of attending a funeral where the grown children of the deceased mother participated on the program. A daughter gave her mother’s life history. Then a son paid a tribute to his mother and closed by saying, “I would now like to tell you what the Lord said to my mother.” He read a paragraph from her patriarchal blessing. President Lee wondered how many of us have the faith to believe that the Lord does speak to us through the patriarchs.

Text messaging can also be used as a tool for good. Three students at Skyline High School Seminary in Salt Lake City, Utah, shared these examples of ways they and others have put their thumb muscles to good use.

Mitch got a text message thanking him for something he did, and it made him feel good. Sending simple, positive messages doesn’t take long, but it can brighten someone’s day.

Isabelle was so excited that she almost skipped as she and her dad walked down the hallway. Her mom had just brushed her dark hair and zipped up the long white dress Isabelle would wear for her baptism. She stopped outside the room where everyone was waiting.
“Can anyone have one of those?” she asked her dad, pointing to copies of the Book of Mormon on a small table.
“Yes. They’re for people who want to know more about our church,” Dad said.
Isabelle peeked into the room. It was full of people she loved. Her grandmother, aunts, uncles, and cousins sat near the front. Her best friend, Grace, sat with her family at the back. But Isabelle didn’t see Miss Perkins, her schoolteacher.
“Let’s go in,” Dad said. “It’s time for the meeting to start.”
“Can we wait one more minute for Miss Perkins?”
Miss Perkins was Isabelle’s favorite teacher. She loved books, and Isabelle did too.
“It was nice of you to invite her, Isabelle, but she might not come,” Dad said gently.
Isabelle sighed and nodded. She and Dad walked into the room and sat in the front row. Right before the opening hymn, Isabelle turned around to look for her teacher one last time. There she was with Grace’s family! Isabelle smiled. Miss Perkins smiled back.
After Isabelle’s baptism the bishop asked everyone to squeeze together for a photo.
“Where is Isabelle?” he asked.
Everyone looked around. No Isabelle!
Grace went to find her friend. First she looked down the hallway, but Isabelle wasn’t there. Then she looked in the foyer, but she wasn’t there either. Finally, Grace looked outside and saw Isabelle standing on the steps of the meetinghouse talking to Miss Perkins.
“Thank you for coming to my baptism,” Isabelle said.
“You’re welcome,” said Miss Perkins. “I’m sorry I had to leave so quickly. I have another appointment today.”
“That’s OK. But I wanted to give you something.” Isabelle handed her teacher a Book of Mormon that she had picked up off the table in the hallway. “I know you love to read, and this is a really good book.”
“Thank you,” Miss Perkins said.
“Will you read it?” Isabelle asked.
“Yes, I will,” Miss Perkins said. “I promise.”
Isabelle felt so happy. She smiled as she turned and saw Grace waiting for her.
“What were you doing out there?” Grace asked. “Your mom wants a group picture.”
“I went to give Miss Perkins a Book of Mormon,” Isabelle said.
Grace’s eyes widened. “Were you scared?”
“A little. But I was more afraid that she would just put it away on a shelf somewhere. So I asked her if she would read it.”
“What did she say?” Grace asked.
“She promised that she would!”
“That’s great!” Grace said.
The two girls joined the group of friends and relatives.
“I’m glad Grace found you, Isabelle!” the bishop said. Then he asked everyone to squeeze together again for the picture. Isabelle stood right in the middle of the front row.
Afterward, Isabelle’s mom leaned over to hug her. “Now you can remember your baptism day forever!” she said.
Isabelle smiled. She knew that with or without a picture, she would never forget her baptism day and how good it felt to be a missionary.

The first assignment in my sophomore English class was to bring “a signature item” the following Wednesday. “A what?” the class chorused. “A signature item,” the teacher explained, “is something that represents who you are.”
Uh oh, I thought. Something deep—what if I don’t know who I am?
Within my heart lay a desire to live a life that would matter. I wanted to make a positive impact and to know that my life was not lived in vain. Something within me told me that this was possible but did not say how. My confidence was lacking, and I was unsure how I, of all people, could do it.
Since I was originally from Utah, people often asked me if I was a Mormon. Each time, I would answer in a different way: “I don’t know.” “I was baptized, but I don’t go to church.” “No, but I should be.”
For some reason, I felt a responsibility to God to be a Mormon. But it didn’t make sense because I didn’t quite believe in God. At times, I would look out at the starry night and feel strangely alone, yet not alone. The universe filled me with a sense of longing and inexplicable familiarity. When I overheard people talk of how many wonderful blessings they had received from God, I listened with stoic nonchalance. Yet I had wonderful dreams, dreams of courage and honor.
My oldest sister, Lark, was the only active member of the Church in our family. When she moved to Seattle, Washington, with her new husband, Tim, they invited me to attend church with them in the ward they would be moving into, a half hour’s drive away. It was something she wanted me to do, and I somehow knew it was something I was supposed to do. So I decided to go.
With my life fluctuating and with the decision of who I would become hovering before me, I plunged into high school. I recognized that I had a slate wiped almost completely clean. The teachers didn’t know me. Neither did most of the students. The opportunity was excellent for me to redefine who I was, both to others and to myself. I had mixed emotions about popularity, but thought I might have an outside chance at it if I played my cards with precision. This was when the signature item was assigned.
Needless to say, I had not come up with a signature item on Monday. Nor had I come up with anything before going to the weekly Tuesday night youth activity in my sister’s ward. She made some suggestions on the way to the meetinghouse, but none of them satisfied me.
The events of the combined activity had been kept secret, so it was with curiosity that I viewed the cultural hall after my arrival. My first glance revealed tables that appeared to be set for dinner. A second look revealed that there was no food on the tables. Instead of plates containing physical food, there were copies of the Book of Mormon containing spiritual food; instead of eating utensils, there were writing utensils; and instead of napkins, there were sheets of paper. As I took a seat, my attention was captured by this riddle that had been set before me.
Two missionaries were the central speakers. Each bore his testimony of how he came to learn that the Book of Mormon was, indeed, the word of God.
When they turned our attention to a video which told the story of Christ’s visit to the righteous Nephites and Lamanites after his resurrection, an incredible feeling came over me. The way Nephi described the situation then is also an apt description of how I felt: “And it was not a harsh voice, neither was it a loud voice; nevertheless, and notwithstanding it being a small voice it did pierce them … to the center, insomuch that there was no part of their frame that it did not cause to quake; yea, it did pierce them to the very soul, and did cause their hearts to burn” (3 Ne. 11:3). Pure knowledge of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon entered my soul that night, leaving a mark that would affect me eternally.
As Lark and Tim drove me home, I mentally went through my homework checklist. First period, algebra, done. Second period … Sixth period, English, signature item—uh, oh. What could I take?
In a still, small voice, the Spirit whispered, “The Book of Mormon.” I instantly recognized that it was not my physical ears that had heard this statement. This was the first time I had felt the Spirit with such distinction and clarity.
“Cool!” I stated with outright enthusiasm.
“What?” Lark said as she looked over her shoulder.
In awe, I explained, “I think the Book of Mormon should be my signature item.”
A smile spread quickly across her face, and she said, “Oh, that sounds great, but it will be really hard.”
That realization dampened my enthusiasm considerably. There goes my clean slate, I thought ruefully. Would I be giving up popularity and the chance of making friends in my high school life? Sensing my hesitation, Lark suggested that I pray about it before going to bed. The idea appealed to me, so I agreed. I thanked her for taking me home and went inside my house.
I placed the Book of Mormon with my school books. Then kneeling, I prayed, “Dear Heavenly Father, are you sure this is what you want me to do?” The answer I felt was an immediate yes, accompanied by the assurance of the Spirit. “Will you help me?” I asked. Another strong positive feeling calmed my nerves. Reassured, I went to sleep.
As my sixth-period English class approached, I grew more uncertain. The teacher gave instructions to the class. We were to state our name, what our signature item was, and why it was our signature item. The first two requirements I had down pat, but for some reason, I hadn’t thought about the third. I knew what my signature item was; I didn’t know why it was my signature item.
When the call for volunteers was made, one girl from the front row stood up and shared her signature item. Then the girl next to her stood up and took her turn. A pattern started developing in the order of volunteers. The third person on the front row stood to share her item. After that, the pattern was set. To the class, it was probably just an amusing way of alleviating the uncertainty and pressures of being called to the front of the room. But it meant that I would be the final person to share his signature item.
When my turn came, I slowly walked to the front of the room. I hadn’t written a speech or even made a mental outline of what I would say. I began with, “My name is Derek Tucker, and this is my signature item. It is the Book of Mormon.” From that time until I finished speaking, I felt the Spirit guiding my words. To this day I am not really sure what I said.
After I finished, I braced myself for a verbal assault. But to my amazement and gratitude, there was silence. What truly took me by surprise, however, were the facial expressions of the students. About one-third of the class had tears in their eyes. Others had stoic expressions. And still others were nervously looking away. Though not everyone may have felt comfortable about the subject, there seemed to be an atmosphere of respect.
I turned to walk back to my seat when suddenly my attention was turned to the teacher, whose face was streaming with tears. She whispered in a choked up voice, “That’s a strong testament.” I was stunned; time slowed as the statement penetrated my heart. I said, “Thank you,” and then walked back to my desk.
The Book of Mormon was now emblazoned upon my formerly clean slate, never to be erased. I had put my trust in the Lord, and he had helped me. I now knew who I was—a precious son of Heavenly Father. And I knew that by being his servant my life would have meaning and value.

He sorrowed over his loss of a newborn child and was given permission to care for a neighbor’s child during the day, then return the baby to her mother at night. An older sister of the baby, Margarette McIntire, later reported:

“One evening he did not come [home] with [the child] at the usual time, and mother went down to the Mansion to see what was the matter, and there sat the Prophet with the baby wrapped up in a little silk quilt. He was trotting it on his knee, and singing to it to get it quiet before starting out.” (Ensign, Jan. 1971, pp. 36–37.)

For a long time, something else puzzled me. Forty-six years ago I was a 37-year-old seminary supervisor. My Church calling was as an assistant teacher in a class in the Lindon Ward.
To my great surprise, I was called to meet with President David O. McKay. He took both of my hands in his and called me to be one of the General Authorities, an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
A few days later, I came to Salt Lake City to meet with the First Presidency to be set apart as one of the General Authorities of the Church. This was the first time I had met with the First Presidency—President David O. McKay and his counselors, President Hugh B. Brown and President Henry D. Moyle.
President McKay explained that one of the responsibilities of an Assistant to the Twelve was to stand with the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles as a special witness and to bear testimony that Jesus is the Christ. What he said next overwhelmed me: “Before we proceed to set you apart, I ask you to bear your testimony to us. We want to know if you have that witness.”
I did the best I could. I bore my testimony the same as I might have in a fast and testimony meeting in my ward. To my surprise, the Brethren of the Presidency seemed pleased and proceeded to confer the office upon me.
That puzzled me greatly, for I had supposed that someone called to such an office would have an unusual, different, and greatly enlarged testimony and spiritual power.
It puzzled me for a long time until finally I could see that I already had what was required: an abiding testimony in my heart of the Restoration of the fulness of the gospel through the Prophet Joseph Smith, that we have a Heavenly Father, and that Jesus Christ is our Redeemer. I may not have known all about it, but I did have a testimony, and I was willing to learn.

I remember my dear father when he was about the age that I am now. He lived in a home where there was a rock wall on the grounds. It was a low wall, and when the weather was warm, he would go and sit on his wall. It seemed to me he sat there for hours, thinking, meditating, pondering things that he would say and write, for he was a very gifted speaker and writer. He read much, even into his very old age. He never ceased growing. Life was for him a great adventure in thinking.

Something else he did to help her out: Gus and his dad took Sister Miller to receive her patriarchal blessing.
“When we went for my blessing, Jack (Gus’s dad) took us in his car, the hot rod (a Chevy Nova). We laughed all the way down there. Gus was in the backseat laughing, and my face hurt from laughing,” Sister Miller remembers. “When I had my blessing, Jack and Gus were as quiet as church mice. After all that laughing we did on our way down, it was pretty quiet on the trip back. That is very memorable. We always have a good time, the three of us.”

One Saturday afternoon I received a phone call from the father of a family I home taught. “I was wondering if you could watch our kids while Cindy and I go visit her grandma,” Brother Stevens asked (names have been changed). “She hasn’t been doing well, and we think this might be our last chance to see her.”
I assured Brother Stevens I would be glad to help. “That’s great!” he said. “And if you could, it would be nice if you could straighten up around the house, since today is our anniversary.”
When I arrived, Brother and Sister Stevens left me with some microwavable noodles and a list of chores to do around the house. Then they drove off. I had a strong impression that I should do more than just watch their children. This was a difficult day for them, and I wanted to make it a bit better. I decided to do all the chores on the list and more, including washing the dishes and mowing and edging the lawn.
Obviously, I couldn’t do all of that and take care of their three kids in just three hours, so I thought I should call some members of my priests quorum. There was just one problem: I wasn’t exactly friends with the guys in my quorum. We got along all right, but aside from the Church, we didn’t have a lot in common. We went to different schools, and I rarely saw them outside of Church functions. I felt awkward calling them for something like this.
I called the Young Men president and asked if he could get some of the guys together to help. He kindly replied that he was simply an adviser and explained that I should call Peter, the first assistant to the bishop, who had the calling to help me in my priesthood responsibility. That was exactly what I was afraid he would say.
Nervous and with a little hesitation, I called Peter and asked if he could come over. “Sure,” he said. “I’ve got Scott and Kevin here, and I’ll bring them over too.”
Together, we mowed and edged the lawn, did the dishes, and straightened up the house. Brother and Sister Stevens came home just as we were finishing.
That experience taught me that priesthood quorums are united by faith in Jesus Christ and in service, regardless of differences in interests, personalities, or backgrounds.

People still mix them up, though. Just last year, one of Nathan’s friends from the basketball team saw Brad from a distance and thought Nathan had gotten into an accident. He called later to make sure Nathan was OK. Nathan just laughed and said, “I’m fine, but now you’ve met my twin brother.”

It has been my privilege during the past six months to meet with leaders of countries and with representatives of governments. Those with whom I’ve met feel kindly toward the Church and our members, and they have been cooperative and accommodating. There remain, however, areas of the world where our influence is limited and where we are not allowed to share the gospel freely. As did President Spencer W. Kimball over 32 years ago, I urge you to pray for the opening of those areas, that we might share with them the joy of the gospel. As we prayed then in response to President Kimball’s pleadings, we saw miracles unfold as country after country, formerly closed to the Church, was opened. Such will transpire again as we pray with faith.

Joel stopped by Brandon’s house on the way home from school. Brandon had been diagnosed with cancer a year ago, and now he had home school because his treatments made him weak. Brandon also had to stop playing on their baseball team. School and baseball practice just weren’t the same without him.
Brandon’s mom answered the door. “Thank you for coming, Joel,” she said. “Some of Brandon’s friends don’t visit anymore. I think they feel uncomfortable.”
Joel looked down at his feet. He hadn’t visited Brandon for a few weeks. Then he ducked into Brandon’s room.
Brandon’s face brightened when he saw Joel. “Thanks for coming,” he said.
“No problem,” Joel said. “How are you feeling?”
“Not too bad. The chemotherapy makes me tired, but the worst thing is having to wear this hat all the time.” Brandon pulled off his baseball cap to reveal his bald head.
“Did the chemotherapy do that?” Joel asked.
Brandon nodded.
“That’s rough.”
Brandon rubbed his head. “Actually, it’s pretty smooth.”
Joel grinned. Brandon had a great sense of humor. He’d even kept it through his sickness and all the hard treatments.
Joel stayed until he could tell Brandon was getting tired. As he walked home, Joel thought about how he could help his friend feel better. He took off his baseball cap and looked at it. He remembered how excited he and Brandon had been when they’d gotten their team hats. Now Brandon wore his all the time to cover his head.
Joel had an idea. He smiled as he hurried home to share it with his mom.
“Are you sure?” Mom asked when Joel told her his plan.
Joel nodded. “That way Brandon won’t feel so alone,” he said. “I need to talk with the rest of the team.”
The next day Joel and his teammates went to Brandon’s house.
When they walked into Brandon’s room, Joel could tell it had been a bad day for his friend. Brandon’s freckles stood out on his pale face.
“Guess what?” Joel asked.
Brandon gave a tired smile. “I’m not really in the mood for guessing games today.”
“We’re getting our heads shaved.”
Brandon stared at the boys. “Why?”
“We thought it’d be cool,” Joel said. “And teammates stick together.”
On Saturday the team gathered at Brandon’s house. Brandon’s dad set a stool in the front yard. Joel was first in line. He grinned nervously as Brandon’s dad shaved off hunks of hair.
“All done,” Brandon’s dad said. “Next!”
All the boys on the baseball team had their heads shaved.
“It feels a little funny,” Todd said, rubbing his head.
Everyone laughed.
“You guys are the best,” Brandon said. He was smiling too, even though he had tears in his eyes.
Joel punched Brandon lightly on the shoulder. “Well, you’re our best pitcher,” he said. “We hope you’re back soon, helping us win!”

Are you shutting out of your life the peace and security you so much desire? Thousands of people are doing so because they are so filled with worries, doubts, and concerns. Many people are filled with fears about what will become of them as they grow older. I met a lovely lady in her 80s working in the temple. The spirit of peace and tranquillity radiated from her. She was so busy helping others that she had little concern for herself. Her needs were not great, and as she said, “The Lord is taking care of my needs.”

In the frame home (left) and its kitchen (right), family prayers and Bible study were a regular part of life. Son William remembered, “Father used to carry his spectacles in his vest pocket, and when we boys saw him feel for his ‘specs,’ we knew that was a signal to get ready for prayer, and if we did not notice it mother would say, … ‘get ready for prayers.’ After the prayer we had a song.”

Cassidy sat on the living room floor examining all the items in her emergency backpack—granola bars, hard candy, canned tuna and crackers, a coloring book and crayons, a flashlight with batteries, a small travel game, a whistle, an emergency blanket, paper and a pencil, and other small things.
“Mom, is today an emergency day?” five-year-old Cassidy called out. “I want to use my backpack!” Cassidy and her family had gotten the emergency backpacks for Christmas from an aunt and uncle.
“No, not today,” Mom answered. “I know there are a lot of neat things you would like to use out of your backpack, but if we have an emergency you’ll be glad you’ve kept them all together.” Mom stood at the doorway. “Come on, let’s put all the backpacks on the top shelf in the hall closet. Then we’ll know where to find them in an emergency.”
Cassidy began putting things back inside her backpack. “I want to have an emergency so I can use my stuff,” she said.
Mom sat down on the floor to help Cassidy put the items back. “Do you remember hearing about the people whose homes were destroyed by a big wave called a tsunami?”
“Yes,” Cassidy answered, looking concerned.
“That was an emergency,” Mom explained as she zipped up Cassidy’s backpack. “It’s a situation that happens quickly when people are not expecting it.”
“Emergencies are bad things, aren’t they?” Cassidy asked.
“They can be very serious,” Mom replied. “But when bad things happen it can give us comfort to have something prepared—something we can grab quickly if we need to.”
“Like our backpacks?” Cassidy asked eagerly.
“Exactly,” Mom said. “You don’t need to wish for an emergency though. Let’s plan an emergency day drill. We’ll pretend there is an emergency and that we can only use the snacks and things we have in our backpacks. When we are done, we can replace the things we’ve used and plan another emergency day drill to keep us on our toes.”
“Yes!” Cassidy shouted. “That sounds fun!”
“The Lord promises us that if we are prepared we shall not fear,” Mom said.
“We should tell the rest of the family about our idea,” Cassidy said.
“Good idea. We’ll talk about it tonight at family home evening,” Mom said.
That evening just before dinner, Cassidy was reading a book in the living room. Her brother and sisters were finishing their homework in the basement. The lights flickered a few times, and then the electricity went out. The winter sky was already dark, and for a few moments it was impossible to see anything.
“Mom!” Cassidy yelled.
Mom answered from the kitchen in a calm voice, “It’s OK. Just stay where you are. I’ll come get you.”
Cassidy blinked her eyes several times to adjust to the darkness. Then her mother reached out and took her hand.
“There you are!” Mom said. “Now we need some light.”
“There’s a flashlight in my emergency backpack!” Cassidy said excitedly.
They walked carefully through the dark house toward the hall closet.
“Who turned out the lights?” Cassidy’s older brother, Adison, shouted.
“It’s dark down here!” her sister Olivia called.
“We’ll get a light for you!” Cassidy said as she held tightly to Mom’s hand.
When they reached the closet, Mom pulled down Cassidy’s backpack and got out the flashlight. “That’s better,” Mom said. She quickly pulled down everyone’s backpack, and Cassidy got out the flashlights so that everyone would have their own light.
Dad came in through the door to the garage. “Boy, it sure was dark out there. It took me a while to find the door,” he said. “Were you scared?” he asked Cassidy.
“Yes, but I knew where my flashlight was, so that made me feel better,” she answered.
Looking out the window, they saw that the electricity was out all over the neighborhood, and a thick fog had rolled in.
The family gathered in the living room with their emergency backpacks and everyone chatted excitedly. Dad searched his backpack for his emergency radio and began to listen for a weather report. After a few minutes he announced, “Well, it doesn’t appear to be a winter storm. Hopefully, the power will be back on by morning. Your mom and I have decided that we will use this opportunity to have an emergency drill. You each can use only the things you have in your backpacks. Use them wisely, just in case the power is out for longer than we expect. Now that we are all here, we will start family home evening with a prayer of thanks that we were prepared for this minor emergency.”
Cassidy pulled a granola bar out of her backpack. She leaned over to Mom and said, “It turned out to be an emergency day after all.”

But, in a strange way, Joseph Ott’s missionary work in this life was not yet over.
In 1908, a woman named Maria Strauch made regular visits to the Dresden cemetery to tend a relative’s grave.
On one of these visits, Maria saw what appeared to be a light shining on one of the tombstones. She was curious and decided to investigate. Approaching the tombstone, she discovered that it marked the grave of a missionary named Joseph Ott.
Maria wondered about what she had seen. What did it mean? Who was this man? Why had her attention been directed to his tombstone? The answer came to her that she must learn more about the church named on the stone.
The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints had few members in Germany at the beginning of the century. However, careful inquiry soon led Maria Strauch to the local branch of the Church. She accepted the gospel message gladly and was baptized. A year later her husband Herman joined her, and eventually many of their thirteen children were baptized.
Since that time, Maria’s descendants have contributed to the growth of the Church in Germany. For example, one of her sons, Herman Karl Strauch, served a mission in his homeland in the 1920s. The gospel light has burned brightly in the Strauch family through two wars and the division of Germany into two nations.

One month after her baptism, Barbara first started thinking about attending the temple while she was at a family home evening lesson at the center. After the lesson, she started asking questions.
“Having friends who understood what the temple meant for them helped me understand what the temple might mean for me. As they explained to me about the temple, I felt the Holy Spirit,” Barbara recalls. “I realized that all the places I’d been thinking about getting married—a nice church or the beach—couldn’t even be compared to the temple. From that moment the temple was no longer just a building. It was something I wanted to look forward to and a place to one day enter with my future husband.”

Born in Pennsylvania, USA, in 1798, Rebecca Swain was the youngest of 10 children.2 When she was about nine, her family moved to Niagara, near the United States–Canada border. They were close enough to Fort Niagra that they could hear the gunfire when the fort was attacked during the War of 1812. Even as a young girl Rebecca showed her fearlessness. Once, while traveling alone through the woods, she met a bear face-to-face on the trail. Having a parasol in her hand, she opened and closed it several times in the bear’s face, and it ran away.3

Beehives in the Montgomery Alabama Stake started a “new era” in 1988. They participated in a Beehive conference based on the New Era magazine and articles that appear regularly.
The stake president opened the conference with an introduction to the New Era. The Beehives and their leaders talked about New Era articles, especially one about youth in the Caribbean, because the girls recently sent food and clothing to Puerto Rico. Later, each Beehive received a Mormonad and a special edition of the New Era.
The conference was held over a weekend and gave the Beehives a chance to get to know each other and learn more about the gospel. A feedback session was held at the end of the conference that was modeled after the letters to the editor in the New Era. The session included reactions to the conference and ideas for future Beehive activities. With a start like this, they’ll have a “new era” all year.

The young men of the Canoga Park Third Ward had a problem before starting their basketball season. Their uniforms were old and ragged. Instead of buying new ones, they decided to custom-tailor their own. The team members did the shopping and selected the material. They organized the sewing crews and used an old pair of bermuda shorts and a jersey as patterns. Each uniform was altered to fit the range of sizes on the team.
With the fluorescent colors in the flowered print and matching jersey, the team had high visibility on the floor. The team also discovered that the more funny comments made about their uniforms by opposing teams, the harder they played. Several of the girls wanted to join in the fun, so a cheerleading squad was organized with the girls making their own uniforms. The ward was caught up in the spirit of camaraderie and showed up for the games to lend support.
The team made it through stake play undefeated and went on to regionals.