Gospel Story Finder

The famous Santiago de Compostela Cathedral in the northwest region of Spain is the supposed final resting place of the Apostle James, the brother of John. It is an impressive structure with a world-renowned organ. Over 100,000 Catholics travel to the city each year to visit the Shrine of St. James inside the cathedral.
When Elder Tyler Clair Neel and his companion, who are serving in the Spain Bilbao Mission, visited the cathedral, Elder Neel asked for permission to play the “awesome” organ. The dean of the cathedral directed him to the organist and permission was granted.
“I’m probably the first Latter-day Saint to ever play the Santiago Cathedral organ, and I played hymns of the Restoration!” Elder Neel said about the experience. In fact, Elder Neel was able to play the organ three times. And the cathedral organist enjoyed the hymns so much that Elder Neel presented him with a large-size, spiral-bound copy of the LDS hymnbook as a thank-you.
In the photo above, Elder Neel is playing the organ at the cathedral in Leon, Spain, one of his previous areas.

One sentence in my patriarchal blessing thrilled me: “You will be called to preach the gospel in the world.” I had a lifelong desire to serve a mission, and so when I heard that sentence, I felt that I would have that opportunity.
When it was time for me to serve a mission, the United States was involved in a war and only a few young men were actually allowed to serve missions. The rest were expected to serve their country in the war if they were drafted.
At that time, all prospective missionaries were interviewed by General Authorities as well as by their local Church leaders. I went through the interview process, and because of that sentence in my patriarchal blessing, I thought I would be called on a mission. I was terribly disappointed when I was notified that I was required to serve my country instead.
I often thought about that sentence in my patriarchal blessing. When and how will I be called to preach the gospel? I asked myself. Today, of course, as a General Authority, I am preaching the gospel all over the world. I can see now how that promise is being fulfilled. But when I was younger, I often wondered.

These athletes as well as other missionaries soon learn that some of the fruits of their labors are harvested later by others. Alan Astle, a BYU player, had one such experience. While tracting in England, he and his companion kept a record of every door they knocked on. “I remember one lady we tried several times was always too busy to talk to us, but I thought she was a good prospect. Right next to her name in our missionary book I wrote ‘good prospect.’ About four months later I got a letter from this lady, thanking me in countless ways for putting that comment next to her name. The new missionaries in the area saw what I had written, went to see her, and she was baptized. She’s brought about five or six others into the Church so far.”

When I was about eight years old, I lived in Jamaica. Jamaica can be very hot. I was so excited one day when my aunt invited me to go with her and my cousin to the house of a friend who had a swimming pool. A cool pool on a sunny day sounded great.
My mother said I could go but that I couldn’t swim since she didn’t know who would be there to watch us. I told her I would just put my feet in the pool to get cool.
When I got to the house, my cousin immediately jumped in the pool. Some of our other friends came over and started to swim too. Everyone kept begging me to come in the pool, and finally I gave in. It was so hot outside, and I thought my mom wouldn’t know because my aunt said she wouldn’t tell her.
I knew my aunt was wrong to keep secrets from my mother, but I played with my friends for a while in the pool anyway. I was so scared the whole time about what would happen if my mother knew I had disobeyed her. When we got home, my hair was a little wet, even though I had tried to keep it out of the water. My mom asked me if I had gone swimming, and I lied. I told her no. I felt really bad about it for a really long time, but I didn’t want to get in trouble.
A few years later, when my sister, Briélan, was seven, she was invited to go to the beach with some friends and their parents. My mom told her the same thing she had told me: go and have fun, but don’t go swimming. When my sister got to the beach, her friends’ parents told her she could go ahead and swim. They wouldn’t tell her mother, so it would be OK.
Even though my sister thought my mom would never know, she told her friends’ parents that she would not go swimming because her mother had asked her not to, and she wanted to be obedient. The grown-ups tried to convince her it was OK, but she still said no because she knew she should do what was right, and they were trying to get her to do something wrong.
My sister’s day at the beach was just as hot as mine at the pool, and she wanted to swim just as badly as I did. But my little sister became my big example when she chose to honor our parents by obeying them.
When my mom told me this story about my sister, I told her how I had lied to her. She was thankful that I finally told her the truth. She was very proud of my little sister, who had chosen to obey her, and so was I.

When I was young, I questioned the existence of God because of my arrogance and doubts about my self-worth. I desired worldly praise at school, at work, and even at church. I belittled those closest to me because the lower I pushed them, the higher I would see myself.
I ruined relationships with my pride. I put my love of the world before the love that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ had for me and the love that I should have had for Them. This all caused so much grief and heartache.
As I got older and experienced some challenges, I realized I was seeking the glories of the world because I thought they defined my worth. I wasn’t aware of what truly gave me value—my divine identity.
After realizing I was seeking the things of the world, I eventually decided to turn toward Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. I sought to know more about Their love for me and who I truly was.
As I studied the scriptures, I was able to deepen my faith in the blessings we can gain when we understand our identity. I love the story of Moses speaking with God on a mountaintop. In just a few verses, God calls Moses His son three times (see Moses 1:4–7). Shortly after this experience, Moses is tempted by Satan and is able to use his knowledge of his divine identity to resist him (see Moses 1:12–24).
Like Moses, I’ve been strengthened by the knowledge that I am a son of God. Because of this knowledge, I’ve been able to keep an eternal perspective and focus on what really matters. And as I’ve studied further, I’ve realized just how personally Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ know us.

“It can’t be done. It won’t work.” That’s what everyone said. But when 17-year-old Tanya Fisher took a courageous stand against an embarrassing “eyesore” in her community of Laramie, Wyoming, she made it work.
A huge retaining wall (100 feet long and 22 feet high) covered with graffiti stood at the intersection of two of the busiest streets in the city. Many efforts had been made by the city council to eradicate the graffiti. They had tried painting over it with white wash. But that encouraged youthful street artists to write on it again. Then the city council spent lots of money to have large streetlights installed hoping to deter the activity. All that did was give the artists more light to work by. It seemed to be a losing battle.
One day Tanya and her mother were chatting at the kitchen table when Tanya came up with the idea to paint a giant mural on that embarrassing retaining wall. She thought it would be a great project for the student council of Laramie High School. An ambitious idea was born that day, but to bring it to full maturity took a lot of time and energy.
Tanya fought opposition everywhere, especially with her peers. They said it wouldn’t work, that graffiti would cover the drawings immediately. But Tanya didn’t give up. During the summer of 1988 Tanya visited Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, with her family. She contacted the Anti-Graffiti Network there and gathered more information. She took pictures of a wall that had been partially painted with a mural. Interestingly enough, there was graffiti all over the unpainted part of the wall. But the mural was left untouched. This gave her hope.
After much research Tanya’s first step was to present her idea to the student council at Laramie High School. It took a written proposal and some tall talking, but she finally won their support. The second step was to get the city council’s approval. Surprisingly, she was met with enthusiasm by both the council and the mayor, and the project took hold in the summer of 1989. It had taken more than a year to get to this point.
Ryan Fulton, a counselor at Laramie High School who became the sponsor of the project, said of Tanya, “That girl ramrodded the project and spent her time researching possibilities from other walls in other cities. She wasn’t afraid to present her ideas to the city council. That’s something for a high school student.”
The theme of the mural represents the three educational institutions of the community: Laramie High School, Wyoming Technical Institute, and the University of Wyoming. It was decided that there would be no advertising involved and neither the names of the schools nor the artists would appear anywhere in the drawings. Logos of the institutions are depicted in a kind of “new wave” art according to Tanya.
With about a dozen students from the high school and another dozen from the tech school, Tanya launched her project. John Kearnes, a Wyoming Tech student, was very helpful in the design and drawing of the mural.
Tanya had already met many challenges, but as the project began she found there were many more ahead. While the paint was still wet, rain washed away the first base coat. Hail ruined the surface in places another time. Tanya described the problems with the size of the wall. “There are 29 sections, only four where you can really stand. To get to the rest of it, we had to tie ropes around our waists and hang down the wall while we put in the measurements, did the sketching and the painting.” Over 600 man-hours were spent on this project. And Tanya personally contributed 87 hours. She also used this as her Young Women values project in the Laramie First Ward, Laramie Wyoming Stake.
Tanya’s mother Darlene Fisher, says, “Months have gone by and the wall is still fine. The whole city is proud of it. My husband (Monte Fisher) and I overhear people talking about the wall, and they don’t know we’re the parents of the girl who spearheaded the project. It makes us feel so good.”
What about upkeep on this huge project? The senior class of Laramie High School has formed a committee from the student council to provide maintenance on the wall. And the city council donates the paint.
Tanya said, “Everyone said it can’t work. But I said ‘Yes it can. If it can work in Boston and Chicago, it can work in a small town like Laramie.’” And it did! One young, determined girl, with a sense of community commitment, proved it.

Seeing 30 homes built from your own designs is quite satisfying, but when you are only 18 years old, it’s an outstanding accomplishment. Robert McArthur has had his own home designing business in the Salt Lake City area and has also worked for several builders and contractors even before his graduation from high school.
His love of home designing began early in his life—he was about 15 when he started sketching designs. While a senior at Bountiful High School (Bountiful, Utah), Robert won first place in architectural drawing in the State of Utah. This entitled him to a trip in the summer of 1975 to Washington, D.C., where he competed on a national level in architectural drawing. He took second place, with a gold medal in the skills contest. In 1975 he designed a home for the 1975 Parade of Homes in Salt Lake City, competing with professional builders and designers. The judges awarded him a trophy for second-best design in the show. In 1976 he designed a home for the 1976 Parade of Homes and again won second-best design and also the coveted award for “Best Home in the Home Show” (awarded by public vote).
Following graduation from high school he was awarded a full six-year scholarship from the Home Builders Association of Greater Salt Lake. But Robert decided it was time for more important things at that age—he decided he would complete a full-time mission, so he declined the scholarship.
Elder Robert McArthur is presently serving a mission in the Washington Seattle (Spanish-speaking) Mission. When he returns from his mission, he will have 30 homes, a challenging future career, and a very happy family waiting for him.

There are those of us who have laid away our little ones in the grave, and we had that responsibility. A little daughter was born to us over in Holland while I was president of the mission there, and we kept her until she was three and a half years old. My wife has said time and time again that she knew the angels brought that spirit to her because she felt their presence, and yet we laid her away in the grave. If we had to feel that that was the end, we would have given anything in this world to have her back again. And then we come to this great knowledge that we have in the restoration of the gospel, that she will be ours in the eternal world and we will have the joy of seeing her grow up without sin, unto salvation. Sometimes I have thought that probably some of these choice spirits did not need the experience here in mortality like other children, and that is why the Lord has seen fit to call them home.

A new girl moved into my ward when I was just starting fifth grade. Her name was Gilly (short for Gillian).
Gilly was in my Primary class. But she stopped coming to church for a while. One Sunday I called and told her that the other girls in my class and I missed her and hoped to see her at church again. And we did see her at church again!
Now I go to middle school and sit by Gilly in health class, along with two other girls from our Primary class. I really enjoy being a missionary now and a friend. I like helping people feel happy and fit in. I want people to feel the Spirit and the same warm happiness that I feel at church.

Charlie G. Busler, Meridian, Mississippi—The time of decision comes in all our lives, the time when we must develop our own testimonies. It’s something that no one can do for us. We can be taught the gospel, but eventually we are forced to find out for ourselves. The time of decision came for me when I entered college. It was a frightening experience to find myself questioning many ideas I had been taught. This feeling caused me to begin to study the scriptures, to pray, and to fast. Suddenly, like the breaking of dawn, I had a burning conviction of Jesus Christ? his mission, and his church.
It is my testimony that Jesus Christ is really the divine head of this church, that he is leading us through troubled times, and that we should remain close to him.

Kylie stepped onto the big yellow school bus, trying not to look right at Marsha, the bus driver. Marsha always gave Kylie a look that made her feel like a bug under someone’s shoes.
“Sit down and be quiet!” Marsha barked over her loudspeaker. Kylie slipped into a seat next to her best friend, Tanisha.
“Is she ever in a good mood?” Tanisha whispered to Kylie.
“I don’t know why she’s so mean,” Kylie whispered back.
Just then, Marsha yelled, “Boy in the blue shirt! Turn around and face forward!”
Kylie and Tanisha looked at each other and frowned. They used to tell each other jokes on the bus ride, but now they were afraid to—Marsha might yell at them.
On the way home, Marsha yelled at a girl for talking too loud. Kylie didn’t say a word. When she got home, she sat down and put her head in her hands.
“Is something wrong?” Mom asked.
“I don’t know why our bus driver is so mean,” Kylie said. “Why does she hate everyone?”
“Maybe she feels sad,” Mom said. “Maybe she needs a friend.”
Kylie hadn’t thought of that, but it made sense. Anyone could become grumpy without friends.
Then Kylie had an idea. She got out some paper and folded a card. On the front she drew some flowers and wrote, “To Marsha.” On the inside of the card, she wrote: Dear Marsha, My name is Kylie. I have one sister and one brother. I like to draw. Thanks for driving the bus for us! Love, Kylie.
Kylie was nervous on the ride home the next day. Her hands shook as she pulled out the card. At her stop, Kylie handed Marsha the card, then ran out the door.
Kylie thought about it for the rest of the day. She wondered if Marsha would be angry about the card.
The next morning Kylie walked to the bus on jelly legs. She thought Marsha might yell at her. But when she looked up, Marsha gave her a big smile—something Kylie had never seen on her face before.
And then—even stranger—Marsha handed Kylie something. It was a postcard!
Kylie read the postcard on the bus ride to school.
Dear Kylie, Thank you so much for the card! No one has ever been so kind before. It sounds like you have a nice family. I don’t have a family, but I do have three cats I rescued from the shelter. Thanks for thinking of me! Love, Marsha.
Marsha didn’t say an angry word the entire ride.
“What’s that?” Tanisha asked, pointing to the postcard.
Kylie grinned. “A letter from my new friend!”

William leaned his rake against the side of the house and plopped down on the grass. Raking the leaves was hard work, but he and his sisters, Chloé and Amelia, were finally done. Way up above the Alps mountains he could see a plane fly by. He wondered where it was going.
William loved his little town near the French-Swiss border. People from all over the world visited here. He thought about the places he wanted to go, the people he could meet, and the adventures he might have someday.
He was startled out of his daydream by whistling and the crunch, crunch, crunch of footsteps in the yard next door.
“Pat must be getting ready to rake his leaves,” William thought. “I’m sure glad we’re done with ours.”
“But if raking leaves was hard for three people, it must be really hard for one!” William thought. Pat’s wife, Pam, had just had surgery, so Pat would have to rake his leaves by himself.
Mum always said, “When we’re helping, we’re happy!” and William thought that probably meant helping Pat, even though they were already tired from raking their own leaves.
William looked over at Chloé and Amelia, who were building tiny twig houses in the grass. “Should we go help Pat?” he asked. “We can help him finish pretty fast.”
Chloé and Amelia agreed and followed William.
“Want some help?” Amelia asked as they walked around the bushes into Pat’s yard.
“I sure would! But you kids have been raking all afternoon. I bet you’re tired.”
“That’s OK,” William said. “We want to help. After all, when we’re helping, we’re happy!”
As they worked, Pat told the kids fun stories from his life. Pat was from India, but he had lived all over Asia and Africa.
After the leaves were bagged, William looked over and noticed the apples scattered around the two tall apple trees in Pat’s yard. Their work wasn’t quite done yet. William stooped down and started gathering apples. He sorted the rotten ones from the good ones as he went along. Chloé and Amelia ran over to put the apples in piles.
Pat rolled his old green wheelbarrow out from the shed. “Let’s put the rotten ones in here. Then you can take the good ones home with you.”
“That’s OK, Pat. We don’t need to take your apples,” William said.
“I want to give them to you,” Pat said. “After all, when I’m giving, I’m happy!”
That night during dinner, the children told Mum and Dad how much fun they’d had helping Pat and hearing his stories.
Suddenly William had an idea. “I know what we can do with the apples he gave us!” He jumped up and grabbed a copy of the Liahona from the bookshelf. “I think Pat and Pam would really like this,” William said, turning to a recipe for apple cake. “And like Pat said today, when we’re giving, we’re happy!”
“Let’s make a cake for our other neighbors too!” Chloé said.
William grinned. He thought about all the people he could meet and the exciting stories he could hear. And all that through just a bit of kindness. And a bit of cake.

Born in 2007, Ishamel was healthy growing up until age nine. One day he returned home from school and reported to his mother that his eyes were itching. The next morning his eyes were swollen, and he was taken to the hospital, where he went through surgery but never regained his sight.
Ishmael had to leave his primary school and got enrolled at a school for the blind in Sierra Leone. It was a difficult time for him and his family because he had to leave his parents to stay at the school’s boarding home. He eventually adjusted to his new environment and began learning how to use braille. Despite his visual impairment, Ishmael has a deep passion for education and a strong desire to always be learning something new.
He accepted an invitation extended to him by Sister Ramatu Kanneh, the bishop’s wife, to attend seminary and Succeed in School (SIS) classes in September 2024. The first day he came, he was met with a warm, welcoming reception from the teacher and the other students. In no time he became close friends with Alfred Kargbeni, who walks him to and from class every day.
To ensure he could fully participate and retain the information covered, he uses an audio recorder to capture the lessons, which he then listens to intently once back home. There, he would carefully transcribe the recorded content using a braille writing instrument. Regrettably, Brother Ishmael’s recorder eventually malfunctioned, leaving him without a means to document the lessons. Nevertheless, he remained dedicated, finding solace in the caring interactions with his fellow classmates.
After one seminary class Ishmael said, “I have made up my mind that this is really the Church of Jesus Christ”. He was then introduced to the missionaries by Alfred, and after obtaining permission from his parents, he was baptized on January 4, 2025. As he continued attending SIS and seminary classes, he developed the desire to read the scriptures, especially the Book of Mormon, so he started inquiring about the possibility of getting a braille copy.
We (the Seminaries and Institutes employees) told his story in one of our SIS meetings, and our colleagues in Utah got him a copy of the Book of Mormon in braille. We were all surprised at the huge size of the book when it arrived. In the suitcase was also a brand-new recorder. You can imagine Ishmael’s joy when we handed him the braille Book of Mormon and the recorder.
Brother Ishmael expressed his gratitude and love for the things he is learning. “SIS has helped me deepen my love for reading and solving math problems,” he says. “I am now more confident in managing my schoolwork. I am also growing spiritually through the things I am learning in seminary.”
Ishmael’s parents are currently taking the missionary lessons as he has been using every opportunity to share with them the things he is learning.

Years ago President Monson attended a stake conference in Star Valley, Wyoming, USA, with the assignment to reorganize the stake presidency. But he did more than fulfill that duty. He touched the lives of all who attended with a simple gesture of love as he released the stake president, E. Francis Winters, who had served for 23 years.
The day of the stake conference, the members filled the building. It seemed as if each one was saying “a silent thank-you to this noble leader,” who obviously had done his duty with whole-souled devotion. As President Monson stood to speak, he stated how long President Winters had presided in the stake and had been “a perpetual pillar of strength to everyone in the valley.” Then he was prompted to do something he has not done before or since. He asked everyone who had been touched by President Winters’s life to stand. The outcome was electrifying. Every person in the audience rose to his or her feet.
President Monson told the congregation, many of whose eyes were filled with tears, “This vast throng reflects not only individual feelings but also the gratitude of God for a life well lived.”10

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Do. Not. Cry.
This was the pep talk I recently gave myself the day before my 30th birthday. (It was a melodramatic day, to say the least.) But crying about my birthday is not out of the ordinary for me. I’ve never been a fan of growing up.
(And, in case you’re wondering, my pep talk didn’t work.)
Shocking, really.
I would turn 30, and the world would keep spinning.
So why did I feel like it was about to end?
Well for one, I struggle with anxiety. So there’s that. But I always felt like turning 30 would seal the door to my youth forever. I felt like I hadn’t accomplished enough during my 20s. And after facing challenges during that decade, I was scared of the new responsibilities and trials heading my way (possibly motherhood, a worsening chronic illness, and who knows what else).
As my anxious thoughts spiraled, I said a prayer asking God for comfort, and I started to ponder my past decade of life as a young adult.
What had I accomplished? What had I learned? How had I changed?
And that’s when I focused in on the most important thought that came to mind:
“How did I deepen my relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ during this time?”
This changed my perspective.
Being a 20-something-year-old can be a very confusing, heartbreaking, and just plain hard time. Many seem to be thinking the same thing: “I have no idea what I’m doing.”
My early 20s consisted of an ebb and flow of feelings of aimlessness, fear, loneliness, and sometimes even a sense of abandonment from Heavenly Father when my life wasn’t going the way I thought it would.
When I was 24, I felt like I was in the darkest season of my life. But words from Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf struck my soul and triggered the start of a deep change in me.
At a worldwide devotional for young adults, he said:
“When I was your age, I had no idea where my life would take me. I definitely didn’t see any dots connecting in front of me.
“But I did trust God. I listened to the advice of loving family and wise friends, and I took small steps of faith, believing that if I did the best I could in the moment, God would take care of the big picture.
“He did. …
“In Proverbs, we find this great promise: ‘Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.
“In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths’ [Proverbs 3:5–6].
“I don’t believe there is a question mark at the end of that verse. No, I think there should be an exclamation point!”1
After hearing Elder Uchtdorf’s words at 24, I committed to using this time of life to trust in the Lord.
And, six years later, on the day before I turned 30, I was hit with the profound truth that, despite the melodrama (and the actual, difficult drama) this is what young adulthood has been for me:
Sacred.
We can make young adulthood one of the most sacred seasons of our journey in mortality. It’s a time for discovery, deepening faith, true conversion, and realizing our divine identity and potential.
I can see that as I made choices to seek Jesus Christ and to keep choosing faith (especially when it was difficult), this season helped me start to understand what He has done for me—and continues to do for me.
It’s the season where I’ve had to take responsibility for my testimony.
It’s the season where I received my endowment, cherished my temple covenants, and witnessed the power that comes from attending the temple.
It’s been a season of facing questions and wrestling with Heavenly Father to find answers (even if that answer is to trust Him).
It’s a season where I may not have always recognized the Savior and Heavenly Father in my life but later saw that They were always with me.
It’s been a season of learning that the grace of Jesus Christ can always make up for my sins and imperfections as I turn to Him in humility and sincere repentance (see Ether 12:27).
It’s a season of unknowns and learning to “press forward with a steadfastness in Christ, having a perfect brightness of hope” (2 Nephi 31:20).
Yes, young adulthood is filled with hardships. I faced stressful college courses, struggles in my career path, the heart-wrenching pains of dating, family difficulties, and other challenges that could have filled up an “end-of-the-world”–themed bingo card.
But I’ve learned that it was these hard moments that gave me an opportunity to cling to truth, choose faith, and seek the healing and enabling power of Jesus Christ—all things that ultimately made this a beautifully sacred time of life. This season is about allowing Him and Heavenly Father to refine us and help us start building the masterpiece of a life we desire.
That doesn’t sound so bad.
With our focus on Jesus Christ, we can make young adulthood—and every year beyond—a sacred space full of hope, triumph, and true joy.
That is what it’s been for me.

In the Philippines, Latter-day Saint women were concerned about the high rates of malnutrition in their communities and how it was affecting their own families. They learned more about the most common causes of malnutrition and its devastating lifelong effects. Ward and stake Relief Societies hosted nutritional screenings in Church buildings for member families and their neighbors and then taught parents about good nutrition. They referred those in need to local medical and community services that would provide treatment.
The impact of these women came as they worked for the good of the families in their communities.

He once gave an order that no one could enter the munition lab wearing military boots or spurs, for fear that a spark struck by the iron might cause an explosion. A guard was stationed at the door to enforce the order.
One day José appeared wearing both boots and spurs. The guard stopped him. “You cannot pass, my general,” he said.
“I was the one who gave the order,” answered José, “so I can change it.”
“True,” replied the guard, “but up to now the order stands. You cannot go in.”
The next day José came back but again the guard refused to let him enter the lab wearing his boots and spurs. José left and later returned wearing a pair of sandals.
In a few minutes the guard was summoned to the general’s office. José de San Martín put out his hand in greeting and said, “I have brought you here to congratulate you. It is always good to know a man who obeys orders.”

My tutorial in the influence of faithful women continued in a small branch of the Church in Albuquerque, New Mexico. I watched the branch president’s wife, the district president’s wife, and the Relief Society president warm the heart of every newcomer and convert. The Sunday I left Albuquerque, after two years observing the influence of sisters there, the first stake was created. Now the Lord has placed a temple there.

“Come on, Jodi! It’s only one soccer match! God isn’t going to hate you for playing just this once on Sunday.”
“That’s right,” thought Jodi Allen, a seventeen-year-old from Sandy, Utah, and the best goalkeeper on her championship soccer team. “It is only one soccer match.” But to play in it would break a personal promise she’d made to Heavenly Father years before.
But how could she explain that to the teammates who were pressuring her to play? As a team, they had worked hard all season, winning the Utah state championship and traveling to the regional tournament in San Francisco, California, to compete against other winning teams from throughout the western United States. They had successfully played a couple of tournament matches and now had the opportunity to play a team that had beaten them the previous year. Jodi’s team wanted revenge, and a win for the team would place them in the regional finals.
But the game was scheduled for Sunday.
“Oh Jodi! Who do you think you are? Some of us are members of the Church too, and we’re playing on Sunday. Do you think you’re better than we are?”
So there was never a question about playing on Sunday—not even in this tournament. But making her teammates understand was another story.
“Look,” she tried to explain, “if I don’t play on Sunday, I’ll disappoint my team, and I feel bad about that. But if I do play on Sunday, I’ll disappoint so many more. I’ll disappoint myself, because I’d be breaking a promise. I’d disappoint my parents, who know how important that promise is to me. I’d disappoint my cousins, who don’t play on Sunday because of my example, and I’d disappoint my seminary teachers, who have taught me better. But most important of all, I’d disappoint God. I just can’t do that.”
It was a great explanation, but it didn’t do Jodi much good. All Saturday night the team tried to convince her to play. They made fun of her. They called her every name they could think of. Finally, at about midnight, Jodi telephoned home in tears. It wasn’t that she was tempted to give in. It’s just that she felt so alone.
Her parents listened. Her parents understood. Both her mother and father got on the telephone and had a prayer with her. After they hung up, they called an old friend in the San Francisco area and asked her to give Jodi some support.
The next morning Jodi got up and got dressed—in a dress, which she wore as she stood on the sidelines watching her team play. The final score was one-to-one. After the game, many of her teammates apologized for being so critical of her.
The team took third place overall in the tournament, which was better than they’d ever done before. Jodi thought this would be a highlight on which to end her soccer career.

In January of 1975, on a dark, rainy night in Tasmania, a 7,300-ton barge smashed into two piers of the Tasman Bridge, which connects Hobart, Tasmania, with its eastern suburbs across the bay. Three spans of the bridge collapsed. An Australian family by the name of Ling were driving across the bridge when suddenly the bridge lights went out. Just then a speeding car passed them and disappeared before their very eyes. Murray Ling “slammed on his brakes and skidded to a stop, one yard from the edge of a black void” (Stephen Johnson, “Over the Edge!” Reader’s Digest, Nov. 1977, p. 128).
Murray got his family out of the car and then began warning oncoming traffic of the disaster ahead. As he frantically waved his arms, to his horror, a car “swerved around him and plummeted into the abyss” (p. 128). A second car barely stopped in time, but a third car showed no sign of slowing down and crashed into the Lings’ car at the edge of the bridge.
Suddenly a loaded bus headed toward Murray, ignoring his waving arms. In desperation, risking his very life, he “ran alongside the driver’s window. ‘There’s a span missing,’ he yelled” (p. 129). The bus swerved just in time and came to a halt against the railing. Dozens of lives had been saved.