Gospel Story Finder

The crowd seemed to calm down suddenly and every person stopped talking as if on cue. They focused their attention on the floor because they recognized that same girl—the one they had noticed earlier in the balance beam competition. This time she was swinging in ever higher circles around the uneven parallel bars, but she could have been just turning somersaults and they still would have noticed.
The girl on the floor was Diane Ellingson, a typical-looking gymnast with a tiny frame and a blonde ponytail. But her looks were the only thing typical about her, and the crowd could always sense that.
Maybe they noticed her because of the saucy way she held her pirouettes during her floor routine. It could have been the spectacular twists and turns she executed when she flipped from the uneven parallel bars. It might have been her effortless leaps over the vault, but above all that, it was probably her genuine love for the crowd. They could feel it when she flashed them that one-of-a-kind smile at the end of a perfect routine.
Of course, even when her performance wasn’t quite so perfect there was still something about that infectious smile. Even when she landed in a belly flop on national television after a routine, she smiled and waved to the crowd until they applauded. In a meet on her 18th birthday she told the judges it was her birthday so they would ask the crowd to sing “Happy Birthday” to her. “I wasn’t embarrassed,” says Diane. “I would’ve let them sing it twice just for the attention.”
Her love of the audience was a carryover from childhood. Once when she was nine or ten she didn’t come home from school when she was supposed to, so her father went looking for her. He found her in the center of a circle of children, entertaining them with her tumbling tricks, not for the glory, just for fun.
Diane’s sister Marie laughs at the memory of Diane as a child performer. “If you ever see our family movies, she’s always out in front. She was just always a show-off. Dad would be taking a picture of someone else and Diane would get in the picture somehow.”
That desire to perform fit perfectly into gymnastics, another of Diane’s lifelong loves. It was tough to convince her parents that gymnastics was a good thing for her, and even then she had to do something more.
“Our family had seven kids and couldn’t afford to pay for Diane to have lessons. She went down to the gym herself and told the coach that she’d do anything for them. So after workouts she’d clean the gym—vacuuming mats, cleaning bathrooms, whatever, to pay for her lessons,” says Marie.
Diane’s love of the spotlight was quickly matched by her gymnastic ability, and the two made a championship combination. She started training when she was 14 1/2, a late start by competitive standards, but within a year she was competing against the best in the country. She was the Junior Olympic National Champion in high school, and in college she led the University of Utah’s women’s gymnastics team to their first national collegiate title.
After her eligibility for college competition was up, she decided to go on a national professional tour. It was a tour that involved Kurt Thomas and other well-known gymnasts, and Diane would get paid $5,000 just to go. She says she knew her gymnastics career was mostly over, but she just wanted to hold on to the thrill of the spotlight and the fun of the sport for as long as she could.
During training for the tour Diane was practicing a vault she’d done thousands of times. She ran toward the vault just like she had done every other time. She jumped on the springboard like all the other times and flew into the air—just like all the other times. This time was different though. This time she rotated just a little too much. This time when she landed, she broke her neck. The accident put her in the hospital for almost half a year and in a wheelchair for the rest of her life.
That was on December 15, 1981. Diane spent that Christmas and the next five months in the hospital, trying to comprehend a life without gymnastics. After so many years of loving the sport, it was difficult for Diane to adjust.
“I hated being in the hospital, and I felt like I was in prison,” says Diane. For one month of the five she was in the hospital, she was in traction and couldn’t move at all except when the nurses came in and turned her a few inches every two hours. Diane had no idea she’d be in the hospital for so long. “In fact, when I was first injured I thought for sure that in a month I’d be back on the tour and back in shape. I thought, ‘If I have enough faith and believe in God and in myself, I’ll be okay.’ And I just knew it.”
Recovery wasn’t quite so easy though, and things seemed to get worse. “I was a horrible patient,” says Diane. “In the hospital I was really miserable because I was so stir-crazy. I was really impatient with people.” Finally Diane came to a turning point.
“Near the end of my traction one day I was in the depths of despair. I just felt like I couldn’t bear it anymore,” Diane says. She asked for a blessing. She knew the power to heal her was present, “but I only wanted that to happen if it was Heavenly Father’s will. I had this blessing and I felt the greatest sense of peace. It was like I knew that no matter what happened it would be okay. If I didn’t walk away from the hospital there would be a reason for it. I knew that I had always tried my best to live the gospel and do what I was supposed to do, so if anybody was worthy to have that blessing, I was. But from that point on I was a different person. I was totally comforted.”
Ironically, one of the biggest aids to her recovery was gymnastics. “I don’t know if I could’ve gotten up again if I hadn’t had that training in gymnastics,” she says. “I had a lot of chronic injuries when I was a gymnast that I just had to deal with. It was always down, up, down, up in gymnastics and this was just one more down I had to get up from. Gymnastics to a big degree made me so I could be a champion again.”
Being a champion is what Diane is all about. Marie says, “Her attitude’s always been, ‘If you want it, go for it.’ She decided when she was young that she would never give up.” And since Diane wanted to teach before her accident, she couldn’t just give that up, no matter what the odds.
Diane made the decision to return to school to finish her degree on the day she finally realized she would never walk again. She was lying on her bed amid scrapbooks filled with souvenirs and photos of her performances. Tears dripped down her face and splashed on the scrapbook pages. “I just realized right then that things weren’t going to get any better. As I lay there crying I thought, ‘I can either give up or get on with my life’ and that’s when I decided to go back to school and get my degree.”
Now she teaches a class full of third graders who are just the right height to look her in the eye. “The kids will do anything for her,” says Marie. “They just love her.”
Her students aren’t her only fans. Diane also gives fireside talks to teenagers who listen, captivated, as she tells her story. And her message is one of hope and perseverance, without bitterness for what has happened.
Her personality hasn’t changed at all, although she doesn’t wear her hair in a ponytail anymore. Just listen to her speak and you’ll see the exuberant, happy girl who used to charm arenas full of people. Now her charm is just aimed at another audience. Her voice seems to smile at every person in the room and her ready laugh frequently interrupts her stories.
“I think telling my gymnastics stories and sharing my experiences kind of breaks the wheelchair barrier. The kids can see that I’m just a regular person and we have a lot in common, even though I look a lot different than they do,” Diane says.
Her main message is one for potential champions: don’t give up, no matter what happens. “When I was a young gymnast I met a girl, an athlete named Nancy Thies. Nancy was a member of the U.S. Olympic team and one of the finest gymnasts in the country. I have never forgotten some very important things that Nancy taught me. I remember the first thing she said was, ‘Don’t be afraid to lose. She said, ‘If you fall down and you stay down, you’re a quitter and a loser and you will never win. But if you get back up and you try one more time, it will be your turn to be the champion, so just don’t give up.’” Diane says she made a promise to herself that she would remember that advice and never give up, no matter how many times she fell.
Once she faced the hardest fall of her life, not giving up was difficult, especially because of her wheelchair. The whole time she was in gymnastics, whether she was swinging high above the uneven parallel bars or just doing handstands for fun, she was only afraid of being blind or paralyzed. “I was so paranoid of wheelchairs that I would never talk to anybody in a wheelchair or go near a wheelchair. In stores, if somebody in a wheelchair was down an aisle, I’d never go down that aisle, no way. I was paranoid that I’d end up in one if I got too close. It was almost like having thought about it so much kind of prepared me,” she says.
It was probably Diane’s indomitable spirit that prepared her more than anything else. It’s a spirit that comes through in both her funny stories and her powerfully quiet testimony about the importance of an eternal perspective and God’s love for each of his children. It’s a spirit that Diane has always had. “I’ve never met anyone, except my father, who has a stronger testimony than she does,” says Marie. “There’s no doubt in her mind that what she’s doing is right and that the Church is true. She has always been a great example.”
The lights dim when she finishes her message, and a slide show featuring Diane, the ham and gymnast, flashes on the screen in time to some upbeat music. When it’s over, young people swarm around her, enveloping her tiny frame and wheelchair with their excitement.
Diane says, “It makes me feel really good when people tell me they’re going to try harder after they’ve heard my talk. One girl came to me once and told me she’d heard me speak four different times. The first time, she decided not to commit suicide. The second time, she decided that she didn’t have to flunk out of school. The third time, she made a goal to make the honor roll, and the last time she was on her way to that goal.” Another champion in the making, thanks to Diane.
Diane just shrugs and laughs a little when someone tells her she’s wonderful. She even looks a little embarrassed, which is rare for this experienced performer. “People always think, ‘You’re so amazing, you’re so incredible,’ but I’m not. People will say, ‘If that happened to me I could never cope with it,’ and the thing I have to say is, ‘Either you cope or you die.’ You have to take whatever life gives you and deal with it, even if you might not want to. You know, if somebody dies in your family, you have to live with it. If you break your neck you have to live with it, but you just learn and that’s what’s so great about time and the healing process. You don’t have to be miraculous.”
You just have to be as willing as Diane was to get up again, so that someday it will be your turn to be the champion. For Diane, the victory is especially sweet, because she has won back what she thought she’d lost.
She is a champion again.

The nearest LDS chapel to the mission home was less than five minutes from the mission home. Mostly we attended Sacrament Meetings at one of the four chapels in the immediate area around Tampa. However, at least five times I felt prompted to attend Sacrament Meeting in some far away place as much as 200 miles away. In each instance we were greeted by one of the Elders or Sisters assigned to that ward with the familiar words, "President Munson, I have been praying that you would attend here today!" I would meet privately with that missionary and find that there was some serious situation requiring my immediate attention.

Early in the year 1884 the beautiful Mormon temple in Logan, Utah, was almost ready to be dedicated. …
While the temple was being built, Bishop Henry Ballard, who had worked on the temple from its beginning, prayed earnestly that in some way he would receive names of ancestors who had lived in far-off England.
On the day before the dedication of the temple and while several of Bishop Ballards’s daughters were playing … two strange men suddenly approached!!!
One of the men gave the oldest girl a folded newspaper saying …
“Give this to your father and to no one else, go quickly and don’t lose it.”
The girl hurried to take the paper …
… to her father.
It was the Newberry Weekly News, printed in his hometown in England just three days before. One full page was filled with birth and death dates of people buried in the Newberry Cemetery.
The temple president said, “Bishop Ballard you are authorized to do work for these people, you received the record through messengers of the Lord.”

Several years ago I heard about a good brother who described his attitude as President David O. McKay gave the concluding talk of general conference. It was a sultry afternoon, and this was the fifth session he had attended. He was sitting in the balcony, and his mind had a serious wandering problem. He noticed a man sitting in the middle section who had fallen asleep with his head tilted back and his mouth open. It occurred to him that if he were in the roof of the Tabernacle, he could drop a spit wad through one of the vent holes right into the mouth of that sleeping man. What a glorious thought!

Following the meeting, he overheard two men talking about their feelings during President McKay’s talk. They were visibly moved by what they had heard. He thought to himself, These two brethren were having a marvelous spiritual experience, and what was I doing? Thinking about dropping spit wads from the ceiling!

Tom and Joan (names have been changed) had both lost their spouses. Tom’s wife had passed away from cancer, and Joan’s husband, because of addiction, had left for other relationships. Tom and Joan met at a singles conference and were looking forward to marriage.
Each of them had children, age 15 and under. Their families had been on several outings together, and both Tom and Joan could see potential problems in blending the families. They came to counseling for some ideas on how to communicate in healthy ways to navigate this new chapter of their lives.
I suggested they review the message on family councils by President M. Russell Ballard, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. “Children desperately need parents willing to listen to them,” he taught, “and the family council can provide a time during which family members can learn to understand and love one another.”1
For their family councils, they decided on the following agenda:
Define the problem.
Brainstorm solutions.
Choose a plan.
Put it into action.
Evaluate the success of the plan the next week and renegotiate the plan if necessary.
In addition to counseling together as a family, Tom and Joan learned that when relationship stress is high, there can be a need to learn how to improve one-on-one communication as well.
Tom and Joan learned several techniques that helped them improve their communication and their relationships with their children.
The parents stood together in finding solutions to problems with the children.
If a child had difficulty completing their daily tasks, one of the parents would spend time with them, discussing the day while they worked to complete the tasks.
They spent time each week deepening their relationship with every child.
They established ahead of time that they would take time-outs when the “emotional” brain (yelling) took over from the “rational,” solution-focused brain (discussion).
Whenever there was a power struggle between parent and child, the parent, when impressed to do so, withdrew and came back later to brainstorm a new solution.
As the family did their best to approach challenging relationship issues in faithful, healthy ways—communicating about their challenges and working through them together—Tom and Joan recognized important growth in their children as well as themselves.

Elder Matthew Fairbanks has spent his entire mission on Palau. He knows everybody on the island, it seems. And they all know him. He’s the Scoutmaster. With the mission president’s permission, he and his fellow missionaries teach some classes at the local schools. And he’s one of the few foreigners who has learned to speak Palauan, the native tongue of the island, where Japanese and English are also spoken.

Through their association with the schools, Elder Fairbanks and his companion, Elder Tirinteata Ratieta, a native of Markei Island in the Republic of Kiribati, became aware of the acute need for books. Elder Fairbanks wrote home to his family in the Bountiful 42nd Ward, Bountiful Utah Mueller Park Stake, and explained the situation. And that’s where Jon Fairbanks, Matt’s 14-year-old brother, got the idea for a wonderful Eagle Scout service project.

“Matt’s an Eagle Scout too,” Jon explained, “and he knew I needed a service project. He explained that some of the books they were using in the schools dated back to World War II. I thought it sounded like a good project to help them get some newer ones.”

Jon started looking for sources. “The principal of an elementary school lives in our ward, so I talked to him first. He gave me all of the old English, math, and spelling books on one wall of a storage room. Then I went to other schools, and at one they showed me two rooms full of math, English, and library books. I sorted through them and handpicked books for the project. Some of them were samples companies had sent to sell teachers on their products. Those books were brand-new.”

It wasn’t long before Jon had gathered more than 1,000 books. The other Scouts in his troop helped him sort them and stamp them: “Jon Fairbanks, Eagle Scout Project, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, ‘The Mormons.’”

Then the project hit its first—and only—snag. Books weigh a lot. And 1,000 books … well, they weighed 700 pounds. And Palau isn’t exactly right on Main Street. The cost of mailing the books would be prohibitive.

“But there is an airport in Koror, so we thought maybe the Air Force or the National Guard could arrange to get them there,” Jon said. “No such luck. Then I tried calling the commercial airlines.”

Finally Brother Rex Ballou, operations manager for Cargo Development Group, a wholly owned subsidiary of Continental Airlines, helped Jon work out a plan. The books were packaged about 40 pounds to a box, and Jon delivered them to the airport. All of the boxes were stamped with a notice that this was an Eagle Scout project. They were to fly on a space-available basis from Salt Lake City to San Francisco to Hawaii to Guam to Palau. Surprisingly, they arrived in Koror in less than two weeks.

In a letter home, Matt wrote:

“Last Friday morning, Palau Branch President Jay J. VanderWall drove up with 15 boxes full of badly needed books for the Palau schools. The people at Air Micronesia (Continental) were surprised to see so many boxes come with absolutely no charge. One man even asked if the Mormons were starting their own school. When we took the books to Meyuns Elementary School, the principal was just amazed. She was so delighted that someone would help out her school, especially with the real lack of funds they suffer. I know that it has touched many hearts to see a church that really works for the good of the people. It also touches my own heart to know that my family so actively supports their missionary. This mission is a family mission for us. I am just the one out in Palau!”

Some time later, a letter to Jon from Hilaria Lakobong, the school principal, summarized her feelings about his service project:

“It’s a great blessing for us, such a tiny island situated in Micronesia, a dot hard to find on a map. Boy! Surely we all felt proud to have the selections of tons and tons of books. We would like to express sincere thanks. Your brother has provided us, the teachers, with a lot of ideas, materials, and even his humble love. Very thoughtful. And we’re glad to thank you but please forgive our late reply. We’ve been busy setting up the classrooms with books to read!”

Hurrying from her car, Carole gripped her shoulders. The unexpected snowstorm had caught her wearing only a sweater for protection, and she dashed to feel the warmth of the old cottage. She shook the snow from her hair as she stood shivering on the porch, waiting for the door to open.
Carole’s great-aunt Naomi Sweet, nicknamed “Sweetie,” peered out the door into the cold.
“Why, Carole! Oh you dear thing, come now, get yourself out of the storm,” she said.
Carole quickly walked into the warm front room. Boughs of pine and blue spruce curled along the entryway, and a string of gingerbread men dangled from a red ribbon, ready to be cut down and taken home by visitors. Carole smiled and drank in the fragrant smell of cinnamon and ginger, spices that always reminded her of Sweetie’s home.
“My stars, it’s been ages since you’ve been to see me,” said Sweetie. “Oh, and I’ll bet you’re starving! Lucky thing I baked gingersnaps today—I nearly spent the day trimming the tree instead, but today was just the right day to stay in the kitchen and bake.”
Carole sat in the old rocker and snuggled deep into the afghan lying across its back. She felt warm and secure. She had needed to escape, and this was the best cure she could imagine. College had been difficult for her, and although she had originally planned to spend the holidays working to earn more money for school, she decided to come home.
Sweetie set a tall glass of milk and a plate of cookies beside Carole. “You remember we used to always make gingersnaps together?” Sweetie chuckled.
Carole remembered. She had always loved coming to Sweetie’s house, making gingersnaps, drinking lemonade on the porch, planting daffodils, and going on picnics in the meadow. She had missed Sweetie while she was away at college.
“Carole, I didn’t expect you back so soon,” said Sweetie. “I didn’t think you’d get to come home for Christmas this year. Land’s sake, I didn’t get a chance to get your gift yet!”
Carole had been so pressured at school that she decided to come home despite the expense. The very thought of staying away at Christmastime seemed so ridiculous now that she found it difficult to imagine why she had planned to do so in the first place.
Although Carole enjoyed school, there were some disturbing aspects of it. Her courses were intellectually stimulating, but she was required to deal with sacred texts in ways she never had before. Some of her professors discussed the Bible as being nothing more than Hebrew mythology—fairy stories. The professors were so intelligent and knew so much about such vast amounts of information, that Carole could never hold her own in any debate about religion versus history.
Regardless of her strong and intelligent stand in defense of the sacred texts, her professors always ended up winning the discussion, and she would leave class with feelings of confusion. If the Bible was a myth, she reasoned, maybe the Book of Mormon was too. Maybe Joseph Smith was a modern myth. Carole couldn’t be certain about what she felt. But she did know one thing for sure: she no longer felt a closeness with Heavenly Father.
“I just thought of the perfect gift for you, Carole!” said Sweetie, interrupting Carole’s thoughts. “’Course you’ll have to fetch it yourself—my legs not being what they used to be. You just get yourself up to the attic, and you’ll find it in the mahogany trunk. I know you’ll catch on to what it is when you look. Now, it’s not much, but you understand.”
Carole hadn’t come with the intention of getting a gift, but she climbed the stairs to the attic. As she went up, she reflected on her failing testimony. It was as if she felt guilty for being in Sweetie’s home because of her uncertainty about the gospel. She wondered if Sweetie knew of her doubts and questions.
The attic door whistled as she opened it. She felt for the small lamp that she knew was towards the right of the room. An old spinning wheel hung on the north wall, its spindle dull and tarnished. Beneath it stood an oak rolltop desk covered with a sprinkling of dust. Boxes were piled neatly along the south wall. Carole remembered helping Sweetie organize her attic clutter into those boxes.
Carole walked past the old furniture and crates and sat down on a stool beside the old mahogany trunk under the window. Gently, she unlatched the lock and lifted the lid, releasing a musty odor of wood and paper.
She picked up an old straw hat with a large yellow ribbon tied around it. Sweetie used to wear the hat when they picnicked in the sun. Beneath it was a bouquet of paper flowers that Carole had made in grade school on May Day. She laughed remembering how proud she had been of the sorry bunch of flowers. A packet of letters was tied with red string. Carole gently set the bundle aside.
Next she spotted a small navy velvet box. This must have been what Sweetie wanted her to have. Carole opened the box and saw the delicate amethyst and pearl ring that she had so often admired on Sweetie’s finger. Sweetie had worn it every day until it began to hurt her fingers. Carole had always wanted the ring, and she had often asked Sweetie if she could have it, but Sweetie always said she would save it for a special day. Carole closed the box and put it into her pocket.
Though she had found what she was looking for, Carole continued to look through the trunk, finding an old orange scarf. It had been Carole’s first attempt at knitting, and she had surprised Sweetie with it on her birthday. As Carole reached to examine her work more closely, something fell from within the scarf. She withdrew her hand for a moment, then grasped a well-worn Book of Mormon. On the cover was printed, “NAOMI STEWART SWEET.” Carole opened the book to the inside cover and read,
“To Sweetie,
“This is a copy of the book I was telling you about. I hope you’ll read it even though you think it’s all fairy tales and wishes. Daddy says that you should read it and then pray to Heavenly Father and ask him if it’s true.
“I’ve already read it with my family, and even though I don’t understand everything, I know I can understand more each time I read it. I think the stories have good messages, and I love the prophets that wrote them. I also love Jesus, and I want to be like him. I love you, and I want you to know Jesus like I know him.
“With love from Carole.”
Carole clutched the book and looked out the window at fluffy snowflakes falling in glistening crescents along the corners of the windowpanes. How could it be that she had known Jesus so much more when she was only eleven years old? Where had her love of the Savior gone? She again thumbed through the book and looked at its color-streaked pages. Sweetie had read it and read it countless times. It was not age that made the book look like an antique, but its use. Carole had brought Sweetie the gospel message, and now she felt she was letting her down by wavering in her own testimony.
Carole began reading the marked verses and the notes written in the margins. One verse marked in yellow caught her eye, “O … the foolishness of men! When they are learned they think they are wise, and they hearken not unto the counsel of God, … wherefore, their wisdom is foolishness and it profiteth them not” (2 Ne. 9:28).
Images of her professors and their accusations of the irrational nature of religion and of the Church flashed through her mind. Yet she felt triumphant that she had been defending what she knew deep inside was right. She continued to read, “But to be learned is good if they hearken unto the counsels of God” (2 Ne. 9:29).
Carole felt a flicker of hope. She was doing something good by learning at college. She just needed to keep up her study of the gospel. All at once, her guilt fled, and she realized she had a lot of work to do to get her testimony to the height it had been during her Primary days. For the first time in months, she felt happy.
Carole quickly put everything back into the trunk and came down the stairs. Sweetie was waiting with eager anticipation.
“Well, do you like it? Did you find the ring? I was sure you’d want it,” she smiled.
“Oh, Sweetie, thank you. Thank you for the best present anyone has ever given me!”
As Carole hugged Sweetie, she smelled cinnamon and ginger, and she smiled as a new feeling of hope grew inside of her.
“Come on, Sweetie,” she said. “You’ve got a tree that needs trimming.”

We have been given all that we need to be successful in these assignments that come. I remember one of these opportunities while serving in the Cannery. I was standing by a conveyor belt watching it go by with dizzying results. One of the workers came up and informed me that a women from my ward had passed out and would I please go and check on her. When I arrived, they were loading her in an ambulance to take her to the hospital. They said she had been out for about thirty minutes. I asked if she had been given a blessing, they said no, but there was a Catholic Priest who had come with a friend, and that he had given her the last rites, but that no one had given her a blessing. I followed her to the hospital and with her husband, we gave her a blessing. It amazed me that with all of the faithful priesthood brethren there, no one had thought to give her a blessing. President Packer said we live far below our privileges. We need to be bolder in using the amazing spiritual gifts each of us are endowed with.

Let me tell you about some individuals who have truly learned and applied these concepts in their own lives. Melanie Hall and Marty Tidwell were typical BYU students. Like you, they were extremely busy with their studies and their jobs. But they both found time to take the initiative to get involved. Among other things they were involved with Special Olympics, field trips with the American Fork Training School, and BYU Management Society community clean-up projects. Melanie was from Durango, Colorado; and Marty was from Prineville, Oregon. Melanie’s uncle was Marty’s home ward bishop in Oregon. So one year Melanie’s aunt invited her to their home for Christmas, and she arranged for Melanie to ride to Oregon with Marty. Thus, Melanie tells me their first “date” was prearranged by her aunt and was 14 hours long! They eventually fell in love and married, and after graduation they worked for a while in Portland, Oregon, and then moved to Singapore, where they work today.

Several years ago a woman in their ward, Leearne DiMichiel, was trying to adopt a baby girl from an orphanage in Cambodia, and she asked Melanie to accompany her there to help clear up some medical issues with the baby. Before leaving, they made baby quilts and collected toys and clothes for the children at the orphanage. But once there they met two little boys who changed their lives forever.

One was 18-month-old Ratana, who was very near death. He had both AIDS and tuberculosis, and at the time they saw him, he was nothing more than skin and bones. He was lying on a towel he had just vomited on, and he was naked except for a dirty cloth tied around his waist as a diaper. When Melanie and Leearne tried to get close to him, he would cover his mouth with his bony hands, whimper, and turn away from them as if to say, “You mustn’t look at me. I’m too sad.” They sensed that he knew something was wrong with him, and he seemed embarrassed for anyone to pay any attention to him. The other baby, Han, was four months old and weighed only four and a half pounds. When Melanie asked the ladies working at the orphanage what was wrong with Han, they repeatedly said, “No mama, no papa, not enough milk.” With that response, the two women knew what they had to do. They agreed to pay for private care for both Ratana and Han. Immediately both boys were cleaned up and taken care of. Melanie tells me:

It was such a moving thing to watch Ratana take it all in. He went from being a child left in the corner with nothing to a child who was getting the attention he deserved. He was calm and serene as the ladies fixed him up. He had a peaceful, relieved look on his face.

Less than a week after the two women returned home, Ratana died—but since the day that they’d found him he had been dressed, fed, cared for, and loved. What a blessing to him and to them that they had taken the initiative to become involved. Because of this experience, Melanie, Leearne, and others sponsored other critically ill babies. They even hired an artist to paint murals of nature scenes and Disney characters on the walls of the orphanage.

Now what about Han? Well, Melanie and Leearne introduced him to Sister White, the wife of the mission president. She agreed to visit Han frequently and serve as a surrogate grandmother. He responded well to the love and attention and was eventually adopted by a family in Hawaii.

This was only the beginning. Over the years, as they continued their efforts with fund-raisers and baby showers for these children, word seemed to spread magically and many other individuals and organizations became involved. The work continues today. Three years ago the Tidwells adopted an 11-year-old Cambodian girl themselves. With her adoption, Melanie and Marty needed to redirect their focus to their new daughter. Even though she is not as involved today with the Cambodian efforts, Melanie continues helping in other areas.

One summer my family went on a vacation to southern China, where we rode all-terrain vehicles (ATVs) through a rainforest. When we arrived at the ATV camp, we were surprised when guides gave us full-body protective suits with massive helmets and goggles. It seemed a bit much for amateur riders on such a hot, humid day, but we wore the gear anyway.
After receiving riding instructions, we took off and eventually reached the summit of our journey. There we stopped to drink water and wipe the sweat from our faces.
Our guide then explained that going down would be trickier. We would need to stay close together and form an ATV train, with each ATV touching the vehicle in front and behind to stabilize the group.
As we began to descend, we called to one another to coordinate our descent. We slowly separated, however, leaving a gap between my vehicle and the ATV ridden by my dad and little sister, Vivi. Suddenly Vivi and my dad were thrown off their vehicle! My dad jumped on top of Vivi just in time to protect her from the ATV rolling over her.
We were incredibly relieved when we saw my dad and Vivi stand up and brush the dirt off their pants. Thanks to the protective gear they wore, my dad sustained only minor injuries. Vivi was terrified but uninjured. When we regrouped, the guide reminded us in a firm voice that we had to keep our ATVs connected if we didn’t want to tumble down the hill again.

The next few days were very long for Sarah. She did everything that she could think of to make the time go faster. One morning, when she was returning from taking a basket of scones to Mrs. Root, who was sick, she saw Elder Kimball on the path to town. She ran the rest of the way home to tell her family. In a short time, they were back in town, ready for a meeting. This time so many people had gathered that they met outside. Elder Kimball stood on a stone wall and preached to the people, and it was just as before. Sarah felt the Holy Ghost tell her that he spoke the truth.

Sarah and her parents were baptized that night. What a good feeling it was to know that they were all members of Christ’s true church. She felt clean and right.

The message I am sharing with you today is that the gospel protects us and that the gospel principle of repentance has the ability to restore us if we have committed a sin. Recently I received a letter written by a young lady who went on a long, dark journey, a journey that ultimately led her into moral transgression. Her story is important because she is going through the anguish of full repentance and now is beginning to feel the joy that honest repentance can bring. She has asked that her personal experience be shared with you in the hope that there might be one who can be helped and not take that same journey. She writes (excerpts from a letter):
“It began when I left my home to go to college. Until that time, under the righteous guardianship of my parents, I had not indulged in the loose morals of my friends and acquaintances.
“Probably the first dent in the armor of faith which my parents had built up around me was the realization that some ‘good returned missionaries’ were not always so good and really did indulge in necking and petting episodes. I began to think that a certain amount of physical relations were natural and included them in the closer relationships I had with young men.
“Satan is insidious. He leads a person away from the righteous way of living and little by little tempts them into greater and greater wrongs.
“The months passed, and I fell further and further from the truth. I moved in with a friend who was inactive in the Church and who also had loose morals and drank and smoked. With her I visited bars and nightclubs I never would have gone into on my own initiative.
“Next, I stopped attending Church meetings and even stopped praying. I found that my whole life had changed. I was always depressed. My grades dropped to an all-time low. I couldn’t get along with my roommates. Everything, everything, was wrong.
“I found myself totally rejecting the Church and all its teachings. I knew in the depths of my soul that I was afraid. I was truly a ‘ship without a rudder.’
“I found myself searching everywhere for some semblance of security and stability. My parents were physically a long way away. But even at long distance they sensed some of my inner conflict and were worried.
“I finally met a young man, also inactive, with whom I thought I was in love. By then it was easy for me to convince myself that making love was all right as long as I truly felt that I loved the man. So I made love and desecrated the temple of my body. I became pregnant. When I realized my condition, I went to the young man and told him of my problem. He wanted nothing to do with me or my baby. He did say he would pay for an abortion, however, if I so desired.
“At first I rejected the very idea of abortion, but as I thought about it, I began to rationalize. It took me a couple of weeks to talk myself into making an appointment and having the abortion done.
“Shortly thereafter I had the good fortune to meet and marry a young man of extremely high caliber. He was not active in the Church, but he was and is morally a fine, honest, upstanding man. Ever since that time, I have been working and living toward the goal of becoming active in the Church and of once again attaining a position of righteousness in our Heavenly Father’s kingdom.
“A few months ago I realized I must go to the bishop of my ward and confess the terrible things I had done. I did so knowing that my sins were grievous before the Lord, that I faced possible disfellowshipment or even excommunication. I also knew that the time had come to put myself and my life into the Lord’s hands, that I might be able to cleanse my sins and stand spotless before Him on the judgment day.
“I made an appointment one Sunday afternoon with the bishop. He took time out of his busy schedule to hear of my terrible transgressions. Oh, how I prayed to my Heavenly Father before my interview. The bishop was kindly. He asked that I would have the courage to tell him everything; that I would not hold anything back. As I tried to touch lightly on my transgressions and go on, I couldn’t! A horrible tightening in my throat and chest made it impossible for me to go on. I suddenly knew it was the answer to my prayers. The Spirit of our Father in heaven was with me demanding complete confession. I bear witness that I felt the Spirit constraining me to tell the whole truth!
“It isn’t easy to admit past sins even to ourselves. I found that it was as hard for me to admit the exact nature of my sins to myself as it was to admit them to the bishop. I didn’t want to think about them.
“After my confession the bishop commended me on taking the first step toward returning to my Heavenly Father and outlined additional steps to prepare me for the day when I would realize that I had truly been forgiven. He emphasized that he, himself, could not forgive me. That was the Lord’s decision. He helped me to understand that I could be forgiven, that my Heavenly Father loves me, that I could gain an awareness of my future goals and not constantly condemn myself all of my life, thus halting my eternal progression. He asked me to read the Miracle of Forgiveness by President Spencer W. Kimball. It helped a great deal in making me aware of the process of forgiveness. We had several appointments, the bishop and I, so that he could help me to see my course toward reestablishing myself in good standing in the Church.
“Following my interview with the bishop, I found myself alternating between depression in which I wondered if I would ever be forgiven and becoming lax in doing the things I should be doing. I have learned that ‘to change’ isn’t easy. It takes time. One must learn to ‘try’ and ‘try again.’
“Now I find myself growing ever closer to the Lord—more positive. I know if I continue to work and to grow, my Father in heaven will forgive me, but most importantly, I will also forgive myself. The important thing is that I must persevere in doing what I know to be right.
“If my experiences sound familiar, I beg you from the very depth of my heart to please pause and take stock of your life. Do not be misled by the superficial moral codes of our day. They are Satan’s most persuasive tools. They have no eternal significance. It is Satan who will entice us away from the joyous richness awaiting us in the eternal family circle.
“You are sons and daughters of our Heavenly Father. Stay true to your birthright. Do not bring into your lives the miseries and anguish of soul that I brought into mine. Refrain from doing things that will make you eternally sorry. Prepare yourselves in righteousness to do the things in life that will make you eternally happy.”
The true story we have shared is a testimony by a young lady who is coming back from the depths of depression to make a new life for herself.

A few years ago, my mother was diagnosed with a terminal illness. Knowing that she would pass through great agony and that death would inevitably take her, I arranged a trip to the sacred Church sites in upstate New York—just the two of us. It was my way to create some one-on-one time and to say good-bye. At one point, as we were driving together toward the Sacred Grove, I reached out and took her hand. I told her how much I loved her and how grateful I was for all that she had given me, all she meant to me. I told her how sorry I was for the little things that I had done along the way that had caused her disappointment or pain. I will never forget what she said. She squeezed my hand and, her eyes glowing, said, “Oh, Doug, you don’t understand, do you? I forgave you those things before you ever did them.”

Oh, the love of a parent for her imperfect child! I testify that our Father’s love is like that—except it is even more complete. He is your Father. Regardless of where you have been or where you are now, He wants you, as His child, to learn and to grow from your experiences—even from the mistakes that He knew you would make. He wants you to properly put them behind you through the miraculous gift of the Atonement. He wants you to experience joy in your progress toward Him. And He wants you to complete that difficult but infinitely rewarding journey, safely and successfully.

The second story comes from Amanda Smith, a pioneer who traveled from Kirtland to Missouri. While at Haun's Mill, mobs attacked the Saints settled there, and Amanda Smith's husband and one of her sons were killed. Her youngest son, Alma, was wounded by the gunfire, and his entire hip joint had been shot away. His mother did not know what to do; all around her were only dead or dying men and lamenting women.

In anguish of spirit, she prayed, "Oh my Heavenly Father, what shall I do? Thou seest my poor wounded boy and knowest my inexperience. Oh, Heavenly Father, direct me what to do!"

Then a voice spoke to her and directed her to take ashes from the fire, make a lye and put it directly into the wound. She was then directed to make a slippery-elm poultice for the wound "as distinctly as though a physician had been standing by speaking to me."

Pouring balsam into the wound, Amanda asked her son, "Alma, my child, you believe that the Lord made your hip?" "Yes, mother." "Well, the Lord can make something there in the place of your hip, don't you believe he can, Alma?" "Do you think that the Lord can, mother?" inquired the child, in his simplicity. "Yes, my son," I replied, "he has showed it all to me in a vision."

After five weeks, Alma was miraculously recovered - a living testament of the power of God to heal; and of the power of the Holy Ghost to teach a grieving but determined mother how to care for her child.[28]

“Are they here yet?” Tanner called. He had run all the way home from the park.
“Not yet,” Mom said. “But they’ll be here soon.”
Tanner’s grandma and grandpa were coming to visit. He couldn’t wait to see them! Papa always made Tanner laugh. Nana always made him a yummy treat.
Tanner ran to his room. He found his new green racecar.
“I’m going to show this to Nana and Papa,” he told Mom.
“That’s a great idea,” she said.
Vroom! Tanner raced his car back to his room.
Mom came in. “Nana hasn’t been sleeping very well lately,” she told Tanner. “Can you help by being super quiet for her at night?”
“Sure!” Tanner wanted to help. Sometimes he had a hard time sleeping too. A while ago Mom and Dad gave Tanner a special CD. It had nice, soft music on it. It helped Tanner fall asleep at night.
Knock, knock, knock! Tanner jumped up. Nana and Papa were here! He ran to the door and pulled it open. Papa hugged Tanner. Nana hugged him even tighter. They played racecars. Then they colored. Tanner had fun all day.
Soon it was bedtime. Papa read a story. Nana sang a song. Then Tanner went to his room to say a prayer. He told Heavenly Father about Nana. Tanner asked Him to help her sleep better. After his prayer, he looked up and saw his CD player.
Tanner knew what to do. He got his special CD and went to find Nana.
He held out the CD.
“Here, Nana. This music helps me sleep sometimes. Maybe it will help you too.”
“Thank you!” Nana said. She smiled big. “I know this will help.”
Nana gave Tanner a hug. He went back to his room. He was happy he had shared.

It must have been the feeling of rhythm and strength in my stride that comforted me as I ran along the beach of Puget Sound. Troy, my big retriever, caught my sense of abandon and bounded first ahead, then back, stopping to investigate a shell or seaweed along his way. Out of breath now, I threw a stick out into the swells past the breaking waves and stopped to watch Troy leap after it. I threw the stick again and again as I continued down the beach. Each time Troy would find it in the waves and bring it to me with an expectant look. Finally the sun made work of the game, and I flopped down on the sand.
“Stay away from me,” I warned as the big dog shook salt water all over me. I grabbed his wet head and held it tightly. “You’re still my friend, old boy, even if I don’t spend much time with you anymore either,” I said half to him and half to myself. I needed to sort things out. My interview with Bishop Jenkins the day before had turned my recent vague uneasiness into a knot in my stomach.
“I feel like being able to dance is a gift from God, a talent I must express. I can’t explain it, but I cannot ignore it,” I told the bishop. “I really do want to come to church, but my practices for Young Entertainers are all day Sunday.”
“And you felt that a chance to tour and perform all summer was worth the price of your church meetings,” Bishop Jenkins guessed.
“Yes, I was so sure it was right,” I answered, “and that my dancing is more important. I love the energy on stage. I feel special and important. But, bishop, I feel confused.”
I sat back and tried to organize my fragmented thoughts. “I am compromising so much for my dancing. I feel engulfed in it. I’m too busy for old friends and my family. My new friends in the group think my faith is narrow-minded and naive. Their dancing is their religion. I don’t know what to do. To be a Young Entertainer is a dream come true. Do we dream our dreams and then let them go before they can be realized?”
Bishop Jenkins paused thoughtfully. “Let me share an idea from a talk by Elder Boyd K. Packer,” he finally said.
“‘There are many who struggle and climb and finally reach the top of the ladder, only to find that it is leaning against the wrong wall’” (Ensign, Aug. 1976, p. 61).
Thinking about it now, he didn’t really answer my question, but certainly the part about the person climbing the ladder applied to me.
“Heavenly Father, am I climbing the wrong wall?” I asked silently. “Is that why my life is so out of balance?”
Stirring from my introspection, I looked around for Troy but saw no sign of him. I stood up and searched up and down the beach. Still no dog. Shading my eyes from the glare on the water I thought I saw Troy’s head bob, then disappear under the water. Yes, there it was again. I dashed down to the chilling waves and dove in. The cold water took my breath away, but my concern was for my obviously drowning dog.
As I neared him, he was so exhausted his head barely broke the surface as he struggled. “What is holding onto him?” I swam almost to him. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Troy’s jaws were tightly clenched on a bulb of seaweed! It was evidently still attached to the rocks below the water. He was paddling back and forth trying to free it and bring it to shore. I grabbed his jaws and forced him off the bulb. I half dragged him to shore and we both plopped down totally spent, gasping for breath.
My thoughts were tumbling. Why would Troy hold on to that seaweed until he nearly drowned? Why didn’t he let go and swim to shore if he was in danger?
Suddenly I stopped. How like my own struggle. My dog was working so hard to get something, he didn’t realize the danger he was in. My situation began to appear much clearer. I had been so caught up with my dancing that I hadn’t realized that I was in danger of losing the other things that mattered in my life.
With this revelation came a new agony—what to do. Could I put my ladder against the right wall, keep balance in my life, and still participate in the dance group, or did I need to “let go” and swim for safety now. Mentally tallying the list of compromises I needed to make for the dance group, I determined that my answer was to let it go. A sense of peace and comfort helped soothe the wrenching feeling in my heart and helped me to realize that it was the right decision.
“I can still dream my dreams,” I told Troy, “and perform and prepare so that my climb up the ladder will be on the right wall. Come on, Troy, let’s go home.”

Three weeks ago, I stepped into Yesterday. In that moment, I rediscovered Today. And it is about Today that I wish to speak.
A Church assignment had carried me across the vast reaches of the Pacific to the land of Vietnam. For me, this was more than a flight over an ocean. It was a step back in time. More than 40 years ago, I had served on the battlefields of that land as an infantry officer. Etched in my mind over those intervening decades were memories of that place, its people, and my comrades in arms with whom I had served. Jacob once wrote, “Our lives passed away like … unto us a dream” (Jacob 7:26). So it had been for me. And now I was returning from my hall of memories to that place of memory after a near half-century. My Church business concluded, I determined to once again visit those fields of desperate struggle. Accompanied by my dear wife, I made the pilgrimage.
I am not quite sure what I expected to find after so many years. What I did find was most unexpected. Instead of a war-ravaged people, I found a youthful, vibrant population. Instead of a countryside pockmarked by shell fire, I found peaceful, verdant fields. Even the jungle growth was new. I guess that I had half expected to find Yesterday, but what I found was Today and the promise of a bright Tomorrow. I was reminded that “weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning” (Psalm 30:5).

Like Bishop Caussé, I lived in a small branch of the Church during a good part of my teen years, and I was often asked to fulfill assignments and callings that would normally have been done by adults. For example, those of us in the youth program often took the lead in helping organize and run our activities and special events. We wrote plays, formed a singing group to entertain at branch activities, and were full participants in every meeting. I was called to be the branch music leader and led the singing in sacrament meeting each week. It was a great experience as a 16-year-old to stand in front of everyone in the branch each Sunday and lead them in singing the hymns. I felt needed and knew I had something to contribute. People depended on me to be there, and I loved feeling useful. That experience helped build my testimony of Jesus Christ, and just as it did for Bishop Caussé, it anchored my life in gospel service.

It was prom night for my high school in Idaho. I was excited to go with a group of seven of my Latter-day Saint friends. For this special occasion, we went to dinner at a Thai restaurant. We ate our delicious meals and were getting ready to pay when our server told us our meals had already been paid for. We told him there must have been some mistake because we hadn’t paid yet. But the server pointed out the window and said a woman in the group of people outside had paid for our meals.
Imagine our shock at the news that a stranger had paid for our dinner. Eager to give our thanks, we rushed out to talk to this kind woman. The people outside wouldn’t tell us who paid for our dinners, but they did say that a woman in their group had done it because the four girls in our group were dressed modestly.
The young men were very appreciative to this unknown lady, so they sang a song to the group in return for her kindness. Her generosity made our evening especially memorable.
It is not easy to find a modest dress in today’s stores, but with some altering all of us we were able to meet proper dress standards. That night I learned that people really do notice what you wear and that you never know who may be watching.

Illustration by Tracy Walker
I was 14 years old when I experienced my first Christmas without snow. My family had just moved from the mountains of Utah to Texas, USA. To me, Texas felt too flat and hot. It was hard to feel the Christmas spirit when I had no friends at my new school and especially when there was no snow on the ground. I felt like I didn’t fit in anywhere, so I often felt lonely and sad.
Despite my gloom, Christmas was only a week away, and I was depending on our Christmas family traditions to lift my spirits. The fun activities my family did together in past years always made me feel so happy. Traditions were a big part of how we celebrated Christmas, so I thought I had nothing to worry about. They were called traditions for a reason, so I knew they had to be kept.
The days leading up to Christmas crawled by slowly. We hadn’t done anything together as a family yet to celebrate, so I was feeling pretty defeated. When Christmas Eve finally arrived, I waited all day for something to happen—anything that would show me that our cherished family traditions could still be kept in our new home. I’m sure I could have spurred these treasured traditions on my own, but I didn’t want to. In a way, I was looking for a sign to show me that the Christmas spirit was still alive.
Day faded to night and I grew more and more upset. Tears welled up in my eyes as my family gathered together to say our evening prayers. My entire home felt cold and empty, even with all of us living inside it. Suddenly, my dad pierced the silence with one question.
“Would anyone like to receive a priesthood blessing?”
My heart skipped a beat. I had worried so much about whether or not we would be putting up Christmas lights or baking holiday cookies that I had forgotten about one very special tradition we did every Christmas Eve—we all received a priesthood blessing. Receiving a blessing from my dad in the past always gave me peace, but not everybody in my family enjoyed receiving one. Sometimes my siblings and my mom would say they didn’t feel like they needed one. I didn’t want to get my hopes up again if everyone else was going to turn it down.
But this time was different. My mom stood up and sat down on the chair my dad had brought out for us.
“I would like one,” she said softly.
We were all very surprised, but my dad didn’t even hesitate. He placed his hands on my mom’s head and began to speak. I could sense how tuned in my dad was to my mom’s feelings and personal struggles. He spoke words of comfort and peace to her during this time of change.
I suddenly felt a burning sensation within my chest—almost like someone had lit a match inside of me. I knew I was feeling the Holy Ghost, even though the burning in my chest wasn’t the way I had always felt the Spirit before. It was like Heavenly Father was speaking directly to me, and it wasn’t even my priesthood blessing!
As my father quietly said “amen” and I opened my tear-filled eyes, I realized that my whole family was crying. We had all heard the Spirit speak to us in a tender and loving way that everything was going to be OK. My mom and dad hugged, and I felt like the raincloud that had been hanging over my head for so long had finally given way to sunshine.
We may not have kept every tradition that year, but we always remembered how it felt to witness the power of God flow through my dad’s priesthood blessing. I will always remember how it changed my feelings of sadness to peace and joy. I also learned a valuable lesson about the power of the priesthood. When everything around you seems to be going the wrong way, a priesthood blessing can remind you of the Lord’s watchful and loving presence in your life.