Gospel Story Finder

At his Blue and Gold Banquet for Cub Scouts, David, a Bear Scout, learned a valuable lesson. He was happy when he won a table centerpiece from the banquet, complete with a gold star that had a number one written on it. But another boy at the banquet took David’s star when he lost his own. The other boy’s father made him give it back. “I was really mad at first,” David says. But then he realized, “It wasn’t worth fighting over.” David set an example by giving the other Cub Scout the star since he wanted it so badly.

Because my wife and I knew of no schools in Madrid, Spain, that were run by members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and because we wanted our children to receive a religious education, we registered them in a school sponsored by another religion. Because our children were the only members of our Church attending this school, we hoped they wouldn’t become targets of religious discrimination.
One day in October 1999, our son, age 16 at the time, brought us an invitation from school to attend a lecture and discussion titled “Religious Sects: Mormonism.” The lecture was to be given by a prestigious authority known for having devoted a good part of his life to the study of religions, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in particular.
Fearing that an inaccurate impression of our beliefs might be given, I got in touch with our stake president and informed him of the meeting. He took note of the date and place and asked me to speak with the Church’s Public Affairs Department to see if a representative could attend and answer any questions that might arise.
When the date arrived, my wife, my son, and I went to the school. The hall where the lecture was held seated 500. Once we had taken our seats, our eyes sought any other Church members who might be in the large crowd that was filling the room. Soon we discovered Brother Quirce of Public Affairs. He gave us a friendly wave from the other side of the room.
The meeting started, and the director of instruction introduced the speaker, heaping praise upon him and giving a detailed accounting of the universities where he had obtained his degrees, both academic and ecclesiastical. The speaker began his talk by briefly summarizing the history of Christianity from the time of Jesus Christ and His Apostles until the year 1830, when the world first began to hear of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, organized in America.
The speaker was not too severe in his appraisal of our faith. It was obvious he had read many of our books because he frequently quoted verses from the Book of Mormon and the Doctrine and Covenants. He also read extensively from the Prophet Joseph Smith’s account of the First Vision. It appeared he intended to lead his listeners to the conclusion that if Mormonism were indeed a sect, as he believed, it was not one of the more dangerous ones.
I took notes of all the things I thought to be in error, such as when he said that Mormons were not Christians and that Joseph Smith had copied the Book of Mormon from an old American novel. The lecture was quite detailed and ended after more than 90 minutes, at which time the hall erupted into resounding applause.
When the applause was over and the discussion began, the first person to get to his feet was Brother Quirce, who introduced himself as a member of the Church. He explained how Joseph Smith had obtained the golden plates and what his contribution had been as the Prophet of the Restoration.
As I listened to Brother Quirce, I suddenly felt the need to get up also and clarify certain concepts so that everyone present might know the truth about our doctrine and our beliefs.
When I told my family I wanted to speak, my son was frightened and said, “No, Dad, please. Don’t say anything, because everybody here knows me, and I could have problems with my teachers.” I thought it cowardly for me to let Brother Quirce be the only one to speak, but I didn’t want my son to have problems, so for the moment I remained silent. As time passed, however, I could feel the increasing insistence of the Spirit.
I again told my family what I was feeling, and my son continued to express his opposition to my getting up. Finally, no longer able to resist the influence of the Spirit, I slowly got up and made my way around the rear of the auditorium to join Brother Quirce. A murmur of surprise arose from the crowd: “It’s another Mormon.”
As Brother Quirce concluded his remarks, I put my hand in my pocket to draw out the notes I had taken, but to my surprise my pockets were empty. I had left the notes at my seat. At just that moment it was my turn to take the floor.
I didn’t know where to begin. Everything I had intended to say disappeared from my mind. I began by saying that I had been a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for 26 years and that I knew it is the only true Church on the earth, that Jesus Christ had restored it through the Prophet Joseph Smith, that Jesus is the Son of God—our Savior and Redeemer.
I don’t remember how long I talked or all the words I said. I just remember that the silence was overwhelming and that I could feel the gaze of 500 pairs of eyes upon me. When I was finished, I thanked those present for giving me an opportunity to express my beliefs and turned and left the hall. I was at peace, but my legs were shaking.
When the meeting was over and I was able to rejoin my family, my son came up to me and said, “Dad, you did the right thing. You bore a beautiful testimony, and you spoke with power and authority. Dad, I’m proud of you!”
My son knew he might have problems at school because of what I had done, but it was more important to him to know his father has a testimony he is willing to stand up for.

Fifteen-year-old Daniel Hunt has a hard time hanging on to a hairbrush. A few years ago when his older brother Lamar went on a mission to Mexico, Lamar “borrowed” Daniel’s new brush—for two years. When he returned, Daniel happened to have a new brush again. This time Lamar “borrowed” it when he went away to college.
“Now it’s turned into a joke,” says Daniel. “When Lamar comes home he’ll say, ‘Oh look! Daniel got me a new brush.’ It’s pretty funny. Lamar can always make me laugh.”

When I was a young boy, during the aftermath of World War II, Germany was broken and in ruins. Many people were hungry, sick, and dying. I remember well the humanitarian shipments of food and clothing that came from the Church in Salt Lake City. To this day, I can still remember the smell of the clothing, and I can still taste the sweetness of the canned peaches.
There were some who joined the Church because of the goods they received at that time. Some members looked down on these new converts. They even called them an offensive name: Büchsen Mormonen, or “Canned-Food Mormons.” They resented these new members because they believed that once their temporal needs had been met, they would fall away.
While some did leave, many stayed—they came to church, tasted the sweetness of the gospel, and felt the tender embrace of caring brothers and sisters. They discovered “home.” And now, three and four generations later, many families trace their Church membership back to these converts.

Old Mom had one superior: Fred, the superintendent of the herd. Only he could punish her offenses.
One day a drifter wandered into the circus lot. For days he teased Old Mom. Bellowing with rage and thrashing her trunk, she tried to warn him. But he wouldn’t quit. One day his abuse was too much. Old Mom snatched him in her trunk and threw him against a wall. Then she seized a nearby bull hook (commonly used to punish disobedient elephants), handed it to Fred, and began to “talk” into his ear, pleading like a naughty child. She wrapped her trunk softly around his body, and Fred slowly dropped the bull hook. Perhaps Old Mom believed that she had talked him out of a spanking, but the truth was that Fred had seen the bully teasing his elephant all week. He ordered the man from the circus grounds and warned him to never return. Fred was Old Mom’s protector as well as her punisher.

Andrew pulled out a pen and opened his journal. Today, I am coming home from my mission, he wrote.
He smiled and looked out the train window. He had spent the last two years in Denmark, the country where he was born. It was also where his family was baptized. They moved to Utah, USA, when he was a teenager. And soon he would be with them!
Andrew turned the page and kept writing. He liked to write. He also liked learning about Church history. He had read all he could about Joseph Smith. He even memorized all the important dates in Joseph Smith’s life.
Soon Andrew was home with his family. Every day he helped them work on the farm. He plowed. He planted. But he wanted to do more. He wanted to read and write and travel.
So Andrew prayed. He thought a lot about what he should do. Then he had an idea! He started to translate some of Joseph Smith’s history into Danish.
And that was just the start. Andrew kept writing, reading, and translating. He started working for the Church as a historian. He went to different places in the United States. He gathered stories and important papers.
One day, Church leaders asked Andrew to do something even more exciting. They asked him to go to different countries. He would write stories about the Church members he met. Andrew could not wait!
Andrew said goodbye to his family. Then, with his passport in hand, Andrew was off! He traveled by ship. He traveled by train. Sometimes he traveled by carriage or even by horse or camel.
Wherever he went, Andrew talked to Church members about their lives. He talked to them about their faith. He wrote their stories down so other people could read them. To Andrew, everyone’s story was important.
When Andrew came home from his trip, he put the stories into a book. He taught others about writing things down and keeping them in a safe place.
Andrew was happy doing the work he loved. But sometimes he wondered if he was really making a difference. He decided to pray about it.
“Heavenly Father, why haven’t I been asked to do more important things?” A clear answer came to Andrew’s mind. God has inspired you to do the work you have done.
Andrew smiled. He knew he was doing what God wanted him to do. And he would not stop!
Andrew saved the stories of more than 15,000 people. We can follow his example by writing down our own family stories. Everyone’s story is important—including yours!

As it turned out, I did marry. I was thirty-four, and my husband was thirty-seven. We wanted to begin our family quickly, but children did not come easily. We told Heavenly Father that if he would give us a child, we would dedicate that child to his service. When I was thirty-seven, our first child, a daughter, was born. We asked our Heavenly Father for another child and again promised that we would consecrate this child to his will. When I was almost forty, we had a son. We asked for more children but did not receive them.
Emily is now almost ten and Danny is seven, and we are trying to raise them in fulfillment of the promises that we have made. Like Latter-day Saint parents everywhere, we acknowledge that God has given us our children, and we are trying to help them learn to love and serve him.

Although the path to eternal marriage has been just as straight for Vynohradars’kyi Ward members Petr and Adalina Mikhailenko, the road has been much longer. The Mikhailenkos were among the first families to join the Church in Ukraine, having been baptized in 1993—just two years after the first branch was established in Kyiv.
Despite this, distance from a temple and other factors kept the couple from being sealed for many years. Undeterred, they remained committed to each other and to their dream of an eternal marriage.
“I waited patiently for the temple,” Brother Mikhailenko says. “There was never a thought to leave the Church. The path has always been clear.”
After President Thomas S. Monson dedicated the temple in August 2010, the couple’s eagerness to be sealed couldn’t be contained. “We came so early on the day we were to be sealed that the temple was not open yet,” Sister Mikhailenko says.
The couple wasn’t alone. Many fellow ward members came to the temple that day as well, excited to share in the Mikhailenkos’ joy.
“The sealing was wonderful,” Sister Mikhailenko says. “There was a feeling like you never really loved your spouse like you love him at that moment.”
The feeling of love has persisted since that day. “There is an absolute difference in our relationship,” Brother Mikhailenko says. “We have been married for a long time, but there is now a different feeling. We want to do more for each other, and we do it with more love.”

Two years later, Paul was called to be home-study seminary president. His new responsibilities were going smoothly until one day when Sister Yockstel asked to talk to him after class. She gave him a list of seminary-age youth who weren’t enrolled in seminary and instructed him to get with the rest of the presidency and contact everyone on the list.
“I’ve never done anything like this before,” Paul said weakly. “There are a lot of people on this list.”
“Yes. And every last one of them is missing the gospel in their lives. Seminary or some other contact with the Church could really help them. Remember how much staying close to the Lord has helped you,” Sister Yockstel replied.
After dividing the list with the rest of the presidency, the task didn’t seem so ominous. Audrey volunteered to print up letters to everyone on her computer, and one day after class they spent a few minutes addressing, stuffing, sealing, and stamping envelopes. The next week, it was time to make telephone calls.
“Amy Richards,” Paul read on his list after calling two others. “Well, here goes.” He gulped, dialed the number, and waited.
“Hello.”
“Hello, is Amy Richards there?”
“This is Amy.”
“Hi, Amy. This is Paul Oasman,” he began mechanically. “I’m seminary president at church. How are you?”
“Fine. Church? What church?”
“The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We sent you a letter. Did you get it?”
“I don’t know. I think I got something. I didn’t read it. Church of what?”
“Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The Mormons. Did you … did you ever go there?”
“I think we used to go to some church when I was little. That must be what it was. They told us about Jesus and prophets and we sang a song about popcorn on the apricot tree.”
“Yeah. That’s right. So would you like to come to seminary sometime?”
“Seminary?”
“Yeah. It’s for youth our age and we study the scriptures.”
“The scriptures?”
“Like the Bible and the Book of Mormon.”
“Well … I don’t think so. I’m really busy with my job and keeping my grades up. I want to go to college, and this is the only way I can go. But thank you for calling me.”
“Well, let me know if you need anything.” He gave her his number and they hung up shortly.
The phone calls weren’t really that bad, Paul reported to Sister Yockstel the next week. On a whim, he called Amy and the other two people on his list again a couple of months later to invite them to the Harvest Ball at the stake center, and again to invite them to the ward Christmas social. Each time Amy said something about being too busy, but they did spend a few minutes talking before hanging up. When he invited Amy to come to the Sweetheart Dance in February with him and a couple of his friends and she declined again, she asked him, “Why don’t you ever give up on me, Paul?”
“I don’t know. I had a friend Joshua who never gave up on me. Do you think I should give up on you?”
“Well, no, I guess not. But I never come.”
“Maybe you’ll come sometime.”
“Maybe,” Amy sighed. “I’m just really busy. Hey, I gotta go so I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
Amy did finally come to the youth barbecue in the spring and joined in the volleyball game. Paul went to talk to her when she stepped out to get some punch.
“See, didn’t I tell you? It’s a great activity!”
“Yeah, it’s pretty fun! Everyone’s really nice and everything.”
“Well, you’ll have to come to these things more often.” Paul glanced sidewise at her.
Amy lowered her eyes. “Yeah, maybe, but I don’t need to get too involved with you guys. I’m just going to leave in the fall to go to college.”
“But, hey. It’s not the people that are the most important part here. It’s the Church—the gospel.”
Amy was silent. Paul began to blush.
She finally spoke. “I know that’s what you’ve been getting at. I’ve told you, I’m not a religious person. And why should you care whether I am or not?”
“The Church is true, Amy. It’s not just something you like if it’s convenient. It’s true and it’s real. Christ really exists, and he really wants you to return to him!” Paul’s face was turning a bright embarrassed red, but he plunged on as Amy replied to his boldness.
“How can anyone know that?”
“You can pray about it. God will tell you himself.”
Amy squirmed. “Well, thanks. I’m just so busy getting ready for college. I know that doesn’t change the reality of it all, but I don’t want to have to think about the Church right now. I’m really not good enough to be into religion anyway. I better get back to the game.” She got up and left.
During the summer, Amy came to church with Paul six times and read the Book of Mormon occasionally. It made sense, and she felt good about it when she prayed like Paul asked her to, but the good feelings scared her, especially since her parents weren’t interested in getting involved in the Church. “They just want you there to raise their numbers. They don’t really care about you,” her father told her. “After we moved here we went to church for two months and nobody really spoke to us. And nobody called when we quit coming.”
College started for Amy at the end of August. Dorm life was really exciting. It didn’t take Amy and her roommate Letitia long to discover that they could make new friends very easily by sitting downstairs in the lobby. Someone was bound to come up and introduce himself.
One evening during the first week, Amy was studying her Spanish when a tall blond boy in a sports coat seated himself on the couch across from her. “What are you reading?” he inquired.
Amy looked up and smiled. “Spanish,” she answered.
“Ahhh. Fun. I study French myself. You must be a freshman.”
“Because I’m studying Spanish?”
“No, because we’ve never met. My name is Rod. And you are?”
“Amy.”
“Hi, Amy. Do you know about the big rally with Dr. Reality tomorrow night? I’m on the publicity committee.”
“No. Who’s Dr. Reality?”
“The main thing Dr. Reality does is give some very, very good study tips. Just wonderful.” Rod shook his head and smiled.
Amy shrugged. “Sounds good. Where is it?”
Rod gave her directions and added, somewhat condescendingly, “I must warn you, his lead-in is about how God doesn’t exist and how prayers before tests don’t help, but his study tips will.”
Amy suddenly felt like she’d been sucked into something. “How much of that does he say?” she asked guardedly.
“Quite a bit. It’s sponsored by the Free-Thinking Student Association. But you don’t have to be an atheist or anything. The study tips are good for everyone. So, what religion are you? I could see you getting nervous when I talked about God not existing, so I assume you must believe in one.”
“Oh, I’m not a very religious person,” Amy faltered. “I was baptized a Mormon when I was little, and I’ve gone there a few times, but I’m not really into that sort of thing.”
Rod leaned back and put his hands behind his head. “Oh, good! A Mormon!”
“What? I didn’t say I was a good Mormon.”
Rod chuckled. “Mormons are so funny. They have so much faith.”
Amy was confused. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Look out there. Do you see God? Do you really have any concrete evidence that he exists?”
Amy suddenly found her tongue. “Why do you care whether or not I believe in a God I can’t see?”
“Oh, I don’t care,” Rod assured her. “Believe what you want.”
I’ve got to get out of here, Amy thought. “I just remembered some stuff I need to do upstairs.” She got up and left quickly.
As she went up the stairs she felt the warm calmness of love from her Heavenly Father enfolding her. It was a feeling she knew she could not be imagining.
When she rounded the corner into her hall she came face to face with a girl with glasses and long, dark hair. Amy smiled on reflex.
“Hi, you’re not Amy, are you? I’m looking for Amy Richards,” the girl said.
“That’s me.”
The girl twisted her hands back and forth nervously. “Well, my name’s Sophie Petrowsky and I just thought I’d come by and say hi because I hear we go to the same church.”
Not another one! Amy stiffened. “The only church I’ve gone to at all is the Mormon church and I don’t go there very much. I just got invited to become an atheist.” She laughed ruefully, not wanting to hurt Sophie’s feelings. “It’s been a long day.”
Sophie relaxed a little. “Yes, it has,” she agreed. “Well, the Mormon church is where I go, and I thought—How did you get invited to become an atheist?”
Amy explained to her about Rod and what he’d said. Sophie nodded. “That sounds like Rod. I lived here last year and got to talk to him. He’s really smart, and he can be nice, but he’s a little overbearing. There are a lot of kids around here who just want to argue and cause trouble. And of course you’ll get all kinds of invitations to join different student organizations.”
“Why does everyone care so much about gaining converts around here?” Amy asked bluntly.
Sophie thought for a minute. “Well, we do like new faces in our groups. We like to make new friends. But in the Church there’s more to it than that.” Sophie twisted her hands again. “We have a message that we want to share with you and with everyone, and it’s because we love you,” she said softly. “This guy named Paul called the Latter-day Saint Institute about you a couple days ago.”
Amy closed her eyes, then shook her head and smiled. “Paul, you idiot,” she whispered. “What did he say?”
“Oh, he said you were really neat and that you’d been studying the Church a little. Mostly he wanted to make sure that you’d have a friend here, and that you’d know we were here for you. I can tell you about the institute program and when church is and everything if you’d like. We have a really good singles’ group.”
“I don’t have a way to get there.”
“Oh, that’s okay. The institute’s just right down the street, and I can get you a ride to church. I don’t have a car either, but Sister Newell said she’d take us this week.”
“Us?”
“I asked her first to make sure she’d have room. We’d like you to come, but if you don’t want to …”
Amy thought for a minute. “I want to,” she said decisively. “At least once for Paul.”
Five years later, two young men in suits stood at Mark and Letitia Stoon’s front door. They wanted to come in and share a message about Christ, they said. “No, I don’t think so,” Mark began, but Letitia, who had come to see who was at the door, stopped him. “Wait, are you the people with the Book of Mormon?”
The young man smiled. “Yes, we are,” one of them answered.
“I have a friend, Amy Richards. She was my roommate at college for a couple of years. She gave me one of those before she left to be a missionary in Mexico.”
“Really? That’s great. Did you read it?”
“I read some of it. I thought it was interesting. Amy always seemed to care about it. And she still writes to me. She’s a good friend.”
“Do you mind if we come in and talk about it with you a little bit?”
“Not at all,” Letitia smiled. “Come on in.”

As the years passed, I finally reached the sixth grade in that school.

My friends were essentially the same through all of those years. People didn’t move much in those days. One of my friends was Lynn. That wasn’t his real name, but that’s what I’ll call him. He was always in trouble. Lynn seemed to have a hard time concentrating on what was going on, particularly when spring came and things looked better outside than they did in.

Miss Spooner, our teacher, seemed to have it in for Lynn. One day at about eleven o’clock, Lynn disturbed the class, and Miss Spooner told him to go shut himself in the closet until she let him out. Lynn obediently went to the closet and closed the door behind him. When the bell rang at twelve o’clock, Lynn came out chewing the last bite of Miss Spooner’s lunch. We couldn’t help laughing—all but Miss Spooner, and that made matters worse. Lynn went on clowning throughout his life. He never learned until it was too late that life is a serious thing in which serious choices are to be made with much of care and prayer.

When I turned 15 years old, I received a learner’s permit, which allowed me to drive a car if one of my parents was with me. When my father asked if I would like to go for a drive, I was thrilled.
He drove a few miles to the outskirts of town to a long, straight, two-lane road that few people used—I should note, likely the only place he would have felt safe. He pulled over on the shoulder of the road, and we switched seats. He gave me some coaching and then told me, “Ease out onto the road and just drive until I tell you to stop.”
I followed his orders exactly. But after about 60 seconds, he said, “Son, pull the car over. You’re making me nauseous. You are swerving all over the road.” He asked, “What are you looking at?”
With some exasperation, I said, “I’m looking at the road.”
Then he said this: “I’m watching your eyes, and you are looking only at what is right in front of the hood of the car. If you look only at what is directly in front of you, you will never drive straight.” Then he emphasized, “Look down the road. That will help you drive straight.”
As a 15-year-old, I thought that was a good driving lesson. I have since realized that that was a great life lesson as well. Focusing on the things that are most important—especially those things “down the road,” those eternal things—is a key to maneuvering through this life.

Elder Gérald Caussé (France): In our family we have decided that Christmas is not just about having fun together, but it is also about focusing on Christ and serving others. About 10 years ago we formed a choir of family members. We went to hospitals and retirement homes and sang Christmas songs. At first it was a small group. We had babies in our arms and in strollers. But now these babies have grown up, and they are seasoned choristers. We have a 44-person choir sharing not only traditional French carols but also Church hymns, and we find great success. After singing, the children go and distribute to the sick or elderly little presents we have prepared as a family. We try to have time with each person, talking about the true meaning of Christmas and also listening to him or her. Everyone always has a lot to share.
Our visits are special occasions to remember what we know about being a Christian and bearing the name of Christ. Christmas is a good reminder of how we need to behave during the whole year.

“At a distant conference, my plane brought me to the city many hours early. The stake president met me at the airport and took me to his home. Having important work to do, he excused himself and returned to his work. With the freedom of the house, I spread my papers on the kitchen table and began my work. His wife was upstairs sewing. In mid-afternoon, there came an abrupt entry through the front door and a little fellow came running in, surprised to see me. We became friends; then he ran through the rooms calling, ‘Mother.’ She answered from upstairs, ‘What is it, darling?’ and his answer was, ‘Oh, nothing.’ He went out to play.
“A little later another boy came in the front door calling, ‘Mother, Mother.’ He put his school books on the table and explored the house until the reassuring answer came from upstairs again, ‘Here I am, darling,’ and the second one was satisfied and said, ‘Okay,’ and went to play. Another half hour and the door opened again and a young teenager moved in, dropped her books, and called, ‘Mother.’ And the answer from upstairs, ‘Yes, darling,’ seemed to satisfy and the young girl began practicing her music lesson.
“Still another voice later called, ‘Mother,’ as she unloaded her high school books. And again the sweet answer, ‘I am up here sewing, darling,’ seemed to reassure her. She tripped up the stairs to tell her mother the happenings of the day. Home! Mother! Security! Just to know Mother was home. All was well.” (Faith Precedes the Miracle, pp. 117–18.)

My friend Rachel Driggs has a book without any words or pictures. It looks like a real book on the outside, but on the inside the pages are empty. I laughed when she showed it to me the first time. I told her that even I could read a book like that, and I’m only five.
The other day Rachel showed me her book again. Now there are pictures of Rachel and her sister and brothers, and she has written something about them under their pictures. She also wrote about her vacation and school, and she even wrote about me!
Rachel is only six, so she does what you call dictating to her mother; then her mom writes it down and Rachel copies it into her book. Sometimes instead of writing she will draw pictures. She drew one of a birthday party she went to.
Rachel told me her book is called a personal journal—personal means that it’s yours and no one else should write in it unless they ask you. She said that our prophet, President Spencer W. Kimball, has asked everyone to keep a journal so we can leave our histories for others. Rachel’s brothers, who are ten and twelve, and her sister, who is sixteen, keep journals too.
Rachel’s mother does genealogy work. That’s where you learn about relatives and other people who have lived on earth. Rachel’s mom said if those people had all kept personal journals we could learn a lot more about them.
At first I thought Rachel’s empty book was kind of silly, but not anymore. Now it’s like a storybook all about her. I told my mom I want a journal, too, so I can write a storybook about me. She said she was glad that I wanted one and that it would be a treasured possession one day. Mom is even going to take dictation from me.
Hey! Why don’t you ask for a book with empty pages in it? I’ll bet you have a lot to write about too.

For years, I never understood the Savior’s power. But when life got tougher as a teenager, I tried praying more sincerely. To my surprise, I found Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father waiting for me all along.

As I drew closer to God, I was able to feel His grace and mercy despite my personal inadequacies. I understand now that He knows my name. He knows my strengths and potential better than anyone—especially myself.

As a boy, I loved to run. When I was eleven years old, I won an Oregon state cross-country race and I vowed to become a national champion before I graduated from high school. Full of boldness, determined to be better than anyone else, I began a training routine that was to last for years. Every day I ran from five to sixteen kilometers. I loved training. Neither mud, rain, sweat, nor pain were to keep me from my goal. “You only get out of it what you put into it” became my motto.
I began to look ahead to running in the Junior Olympics. My plan was to prepare to race in the 1985 competition, when I would be fourteen years old, and again in 1987, when I would be sixteen. I calculated that these would be in my best years and I would be in my top running condition. What I didn’t calculate was that by 1985 I would grow from a skinny, lightweight boy, to a taller and heavier young man. My whole system had to catch up with the added dimensions of my growing body. My knees ached constantly; my feet and hips almost cried out in pain as I ran; and it was all I could do to win a state championship by a fraction of a second. I knew 1985 wasn’t the year to enter the Junior Olympics, but I would have two years to prepare myself for the 1987 event.
By the spring of 1987 I was running well. I was undefeated in the 1,500-meter run and praised by a local newspaper as the fastest high school freshman in the state of Oregon. My aches and pains had gone. I felt good and I knew I was ready for the Junior Olympics.
Meanwhile, three teammates and I had been invited to participate in a prestigious regional track meet. Full of confidence and in high spirits, we got into the team van with our coach for the ride to the meet.
As we drove onto the main highway, I noticed how congested the traffic was and subconsciously fastened my seat belt. We were all laughing and joking when I casually looked up and noticed a speeding car coming our way. Completely out of control, it began swerving back and forth in our traffic lane, barely avoiding several cars ahead. Stunned into silence, we helplessly watched the car head straight for us.
I awoke to the sounds of screaming sirens, two-way radios crackling, and shouting policemen. We had been hit head-on by a car driven by a wanted man in a stolen car who was being pursued by police in a high-speed chase. My teammate and good friend, Lenny, who was in the seat behind me without his seat belt on, had been thrown across my seat. I had been propelled forward and pinned under the weight of his unconscious body and my doubled-up seat.
I managed to move just enough to see out of the window. The other car looked like a crumpled piece of paper. Two ambulances drove in beside our crushed van, and I was quickly, but very carefully, lifted out of our wrecked vehicle. “I think this one has a broken back!” I heard one ambulance man say as he looked at me with pity and concern.
As miracles go, my back wasn’t broken—just my nose! However, serious back strain, several pulled muscles, and joint displacement prevented me from walking for a few days and kept me from running normally for several months. This had not been in my plan. I became discouraged as my training schedule for being in top condition was once again interrupted.
I continued to train, both with the high school team and with a running club my brothers and sisters and I belong to. As I watched my ten-year-old brother, Tyler, run, I began to feel more frustration and irritation. He ran strong and well. He could keep up with several of the high school runners and was getting better every week. As much as I loved him, I resented how easy it all seemed for him.
I watched Tyler win in a state track and field championship, defeating his nearest competition by 500 meters. A crowd of excited supporters gathered around him as I stood back. An incredible sense of pride built up inside me, and as Tyler looked past all the well-wishers, seeking my approval, the feeling of love was so intense between us that I felt we were the only two in the noisy stadium. As I sensed his deep need for my approval my resentment of his success totally left me. At that moment, I vowed that my little brother would go to the national championships prepared with all the knowledge I could share and with the assurance of my support.
We ran together after that. I talked about form and strategy, how to pass other runners and maintain a lead. We ran up hills to build his endurance, sprinted on the track to build his speed, and made up all sorts of exercises to improve his reflexes. We talked about racing as we did chores around the house, as we ate breakfast, as we drove into town, and as we watched sports news on television. We ran in pouring rain and sweltering heat.
Tyler and I both placed first in our age categories in the Northwest Regional Championships, and that gave us the chance to compete in the national championships. Because of the accident and the interruption of my training, I thought I might only place in the top twenty-five runners. My race was first, and I was twenty-first out of 300 and gained a national ranking.
Satisfied and happy with my performance, I then turned my attention to Tyler. I had already taken him through the cross-country course, showing him how to approach and hurdle a deep ditch, when to stride out, where to save his strength, what to avoid, and how to stay mentally tough. He wa ready! As we looked for his starting place among the other 265 runners on the starting line, I felt as nervous as when I had lined up for my own race. Tyler was tense, and I just kept assuring him that he was the best. I could sense his apprehension as if it were my own. How I wished I could transform his pain to joy! “Be tough, Tyler. Just remember, no one is better than you. No one can beat you,” I said. My arm slipped around his slumping shoulder, and I felt like I was deserting a desperate man when I walked away and noticed the tears in his eyes.
I watched him run a perfect race as I ran from place to place on the course to cheer him on, hoping he could feel my support reaching out to him. Could he hear? Could he sense my strength reaching out to him? He came toward the last stretch of the race in second place. “Keep going, Tyler!” I yelled. “Use your arms! Breathe deeply!” If he could just feel what I felt for him in that crowd of 5,000 wildly screaming spectators.
He was turning the corner for the last 100 meters—a part of the course we had run over and over together as we planned this moment. “Now Tyler! Give it all you’ve got left! Come on!” I pleaded. My voice choked as I thrilled at the sight of my little brother, a picture of perfect health, striding down the homestretch to a spectacular finish to become the national champion I had planned to be.
My pride in him told me that I had won something too. I realized I had given part of myself away to help Tyler succeed, and it created a feeling within me far richer and more powerful than I could have ever imagined. As an exhausted Tyler broke away from the crowd and came to me, he gasped out the words which taught me the lesson of my life.
“Jason, I felt terrible—but I could hear you cheering the whole way, over the noise of all the people, and I knew I could win. I knew I had to win!”
What other lessons would this little champion learn from me—good or bad?
What about all our other brothers and sisters in the family of men. What messages do they hear above the crowd? Just as Tyler could hear and respond to that call to win, how many others need that voice in the crowd? How often do we get caught up in our own plans and fail to call out our encouragement, fail to cheer others on to victory?
As Tyler and I embraced, I truly knew the meaning of the words, “He that loveth his brother abideth in the light, and there is none occasion of stumbling in him” (1 Jn. 2:10).

Association with other LDS students offers a vital support system. Harvard University sophomore Mary Carol Jones located three other LDS students when she arrived on campus her first year. The four of them came up with a creative way to support each other. Each morning they rolled out of bed early enough to spend an hour jogging through campus before classes. Not only did they exercise physically, but spiritually too. They took with them their scripture mastery cards from seminary and memorized them together, reciting in between breaths.

I recall a simple incident that occurred in our family years ago. My husband and I were away from home, and our oldest son was babysitting the other children. We received a call from a concerned neighbor alerting us that a firetruck was at our house. We raced home and found that our 10-year-old son had been playing in the backyard next to a six-acre field of tall, dry grass. He was trying to see if he could start a fire with sparks.

Obviously, he did! By the time we arrived, the small fire had been extinguished by the fire department, the firemen had lectured our son, and the neighbors were beginning to disperse. Our son was embarrassed, frightened, tearful, and knew he was surely in trouble.

We all went into the house. Our son was so afraid that, even though the situation was serious, all we could do was wrap our arms around this sweet boy and reassure him of our love and our relief that he wasn’t hurt.

Dear Miss A,Just a note to say hello and let you know of my love. I hope all is well.Love,Miss Antaloop
Julia folded up the note, then, in red marker, wrote, “Miss A,” in an extravagant, cursive style that didn’t resemble her own handwriting.
The bell rang, and the second grade classroom exploded in a frenzy of activity—backpacks zipped, desks slammed, and children noisily exited the room. Julia set the envelope on her teacher’s desk without being noticed and left with her classmates. She was determined that Miss Allen, or Miss A, as her second grade students called her, would have no clues about the mysterious Miss Antaloop.
A month earlier, Julia had overheard Miss A telling another teacher that she had nowhere to go for the upcoming Christmas holiday. Julia could not imagine a Christmas without family.
“I heard Miss A say she had nowhere to go for Christmas,” Julia told her mom after school. “Why doesn’t she go home to her family?”
“Julia, Miss Allen told me once that she was an only child, and I know that both of her parents have passed away. She probably doesn’t have any family to go to.”
Julia’s face twisted into a frown. “That’s so sad! Why, Miss A is the nicest, most wonderful teacher ever!” She paused, thinking. “Hey—can we be her family?”
“She is a very special teacher,” Mom agreed. “I’ve invited her to come to dinner before, when David was in her class. I also invited her to his mission farewell, but she didn’t come.”
That night Julia wrote her first letter to Miss A from the make-believe Miss Antaloop. Most of the students loved Miss A. But Julia wanted to find a way to show her that she was loved as a friend, not just as a teacher who might be forgotten. So she made up the character of Miss Antaloop. Julia wasn’t sure of Miss Antaloop’s age or background, but she knew that Miss Antaloop loved adventure and loved Miss A. The second letter established England as Miss Antaloop’s home.
Dear Miss A,I’ve heard all about you and what an incredible teacher you are. I was hoping we could be pen pals and friends. I’ve been in Italy, painting, and just moved to London to design jewelry for the Queen of England. You are pretty and a great teacher.Love,Miss AntaloopP.S. I’ve enclosed one of my latest jewelry designs. I hope you like it.
Julia carefully wrapped a bracelet she’d sculpted out of tinfoil in some tissues and placed it in a brown paper bag with the letter. The next morning she arrived at school early. She tiptoed into the main office, placed the brown sack in Miss Allen’s mailbox, and then ran out before she could be spotted.
Later that day, Miss A was wearing the silver foil bracelet.
“Hey, Miss A, where’d you get that silver thing?” Tommy asked.
“Why, it’s a bracelet all the way from England,” Miss A said with a big smile. Julia looked up from her spelling book with a start.
“Who gave it to you? Is it from a kid?”
Miss A put her finger to her lips, signaling Tommy to use his quiet voice.
“Is it from a kid?” Tommy repeated in a fierce whisper.
Julia swallowed.
Miss A’s blue eyes sparkled. “It’s from a special friend,” she said. Since the first delivery, Julia had noticed her little gifts and letters appearing on Miss A’s bookshelf.
On the day before school was to close for the Christmas break, Miss A let the children share their holiday plans. Phillip was going sledding. Andrea was going to California to visit her grandparents. Tommy planned to eat all of the candy in his stocking in one day.
“What are you going to do, Miss A?” Andrea asked.
“I am going to spend my holiday at home.”
“Why don’t you come to my house?” Julia asked.
“And then come over to mine!” Phillip echoed. Suddenly the classroom broke out in a chorus of second-graders begging their teacher to join them for Christmas.
“You’re all very sweet,” said Miss A, “but you have your families to celebrate with and, as you’ve just told me, many activities planned. I’ll be right here by my desk at the first of January, waiting to see you and hear about all of your fun.”
The bell rang. As Julia walked slowly out of the room, Miss A said, “Good-bye, Julia. Merry Christmas!”
Julia’s house buzzed with Christmas preparations over the next few days.
While Julia helped wrap presents and bake food, she kept thinking of Miss A’s face as the different students described their holiday activities with their families. She had smiled, but her blue eyes had looked empty with loneliness. Julia decided to do something about it.
“David, David,” Julia whispered as she knocked on her brother’s bedroom door.
The door swung open, and David looked down at his little sister. “Hey, Jules, what’s up? Are you being a Christmas elf?”
“No,” Julia said. “I need help.”
David crouched down to look Julia in the face. “OK, Jules, what’s up?”
“I need you to help me—it’s very important. I want to deliver this to Miss A.” She held up a large white box. “Dad said you could take me.”
“What is it, Jules? I thought you already gave her a Christmas present.”
“I did, but this is a special present.”
David lifted the box lid to see the nativity scene that Julia had made with salt dough in Primary last year, nestled in tissue paper. Last year Julia had been so proud of it that she insisted that it be displayed in the living room.
“Your nativity set? But you love this.”
“I know.” Julia lovingly touched the Baby Jesus in the manger. “But I think Miss A feels lonely. I think she forgot that Jesus loves her.”
David smiled at the misshapen dough figures. “OK,” he said, picking up the box in one arm and Julia in the other. “Then let’s go, little elf.”
The car cut through the snowy, dark streets and stopped at a brown apartment building.
“I guess this is it.”
“Are you sure?”
“This is the address in the phone book,” David said. Julia looked doubtfully at the long staircase and dark windows.
“Jules, do you want me to do it?”
Julia’s face relaxed into a smile. “Will you?”
“Hand it over,” David laughed.
Julia straightened the bow so that “Merry Christmas from England! Love, Miss Antaloop” was visible. “Be careful, and run fast so she doesn’t see you,” she whispered.
Julia quickly changed into a Sunday dress and came down for the annual Christmas Eve family home evening. The family had just settled in the living room, when the doorbell rang. “Who could that be on Christmas Eve?” Mom wondered aloud. Dad went to answer the door and returned, followed by Miss A.
“Miss A!” Julia ran up to her teacher.
“Miss Allen, what a wonderful surprise!” Mom said. “Come in.”
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said. “But I received a very special present this evening, and I had to come thank the person who gave it to me.”
“What … but … how did you know, Miss A?” Julia asked, embarrassed she’d been discovered.
Miss A smiled. “Julia, you must tell Miss Antaloop thank you for bringing some light into my Christmas.” She hugged Julia. “I had just sat down to watch a Christmas special on television, when the doorbell rang. I was surprised to find a present there and to open it and find such a beautiful reminder of the reason for Christmas!” Miss A’s eyes sparkled.
“Miss Allen, why don’t you take off your coat and stay. We’re going to have a little Christmas program, then dinner,” Mom said.
“Yes, please stay!” Julia begged.
“Come on, Miss A,” David chimed in.
“Well,” Miss A said. She looked around at the faces looking back at her with hopeful, welcoming expressions on them. Suddenly she did not want to return to her empty apartment. “OK—I will.”
“Hurray!” Julia cried.
“I’ll have to stay if I want to catch Miss Antaloop,” she whispered to Julia with a wink.
Julia smiled. She knew that Christmas wasn’t about make-believe friends. It was about love.

Like many people, I have struggled for much of my life to recognize my self-worth. I have fought weight problems for many years, which have contributed to my negative feelings. Even though I have lost weight and lead a healthy lifestyle now, occasionally I still find myself fighting off those negative thoughts and feelings.
One morning I felt particularly low and was wondering how to make the situation better. I began to pray and ask for Heavenly Father’s help to overcome these feelings of inadequacy. As I prayed, the following scripture came to my mind: “If ye have no hope ye must needs be in despair; and despair cometh because of iniquity” (Moroni 10:22).
Iniquity seemed to be such a serious word, so much so that at first I discounted the thought because I could think of nothing that I had done seriously wrong. However, the thought persisted, so I prayed, as instructed also by Moroni, for Heavenly Father to show me my weakness that I might be made strong (see Ether 12:27).
I found myself remembering three incidents during the previous two days when I had not shown patience with my children. I had put my own moods and needs in front of theirs and had not been sensitive to their feelings. I felt bad and resolved to do better. I apologized to my children and prayed for forgiveness. As soon as I prayed, my feelings of inadequacy were lifted and I was able to feel the peace that had eluded me.
As though a light switch turned on in my mind, I finally understood a simple concept that somehow I had missed all these years. When I have unresolved sin in my life, even if it is small, I give Satan power to influence me. He knows my weaknesses, and he knows what words will “stir me up” and “lead me to destruction” (see D&C 10:22). When it comes right down to it, I don’t hate myself, but Satan does hate me and will use every tactic available to turn me away from the light.
However, when I repent, I rely on the power of Jesus Christ. Because He knows perfectly how to succor me in my weakness (see Alma 7:11–12), His power lifts me up and makes me strong in ways that I can’t be on my own.
Likewise, I will do my best to repent and obey the commandments so the “power of Christ may rest upon me” and I can be filled with peace and love.