Gospel Story Finder

My own faith had its beginnings following a time of sorrow.
My father and mother were sheep farmers in New Zealand. They enjoyed their life. As a young married couple, they were blessed with three little girls. The youngest of these was named Ann. One day while they were on holiday together at a lake, 17-month-old Ann toddled off. After minutes of desperate searching, she was found lifeless in the water.
This nightmare caused unspeakable sorrow. Dad wrote years later that some of the laughter went out of their lives forever. It also caused a yearning for answers to life’s most important questions: What will become of our precious Ann? Will we ever see her again? How can our family ever be happy again?
Some years after this tragedy, two young missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints came to our farm. They began teaching the truths found in the Book of Mormon and the Bible. These truths include the assurance that Ann now lives in the spirit world. Because of the Resurrection of Jesus Christ, she too will be resurrected. They taught that the Church of Jesus Christ has once again been restored on earth with a living prophet and twelve Apostles. And they taught the unique and remarkable doctrine that families can be bound together forever by the same priesthood authority Jesus Christ gave His chief Apostle, Peter.
Mum instantly recognized truth and received a witness of the Spirit. Dad, however, wrestled for the next year between doubts and spiritual nudges. Also, he was reluctant to change his way of life. One morning following a sleepless night, while pacing the floor, he turned to Mum and said, “I will be baptized today or never.”
Mum told the missionaries what had happened, and they immediately recognized the flicker of faith in my father that would now be either lit or extinguished.
That very morning our family traveled to the nearest beach. Unaware of what was happening, we children had a picnic on the sand dunes while Elders Boyd Green and Gary Sheffield led my parents into the ocean and baptized them. In a further act of faith, Dad privately committed to the Lord that come what may, he would be true all his life to the promises he was making.
One year later a temple was dedicated in Hamilton, New Zealand. Shortly thereafter our family, with someone representing Ann, knelt around the altar in that sacred house of the Lord. There, by the authority of the priesthood, we were united as an eternal family in a simple and beautiful ordinance. This brought great peace and joy.
Many years later Dad told me that if not for Ann’s tragic death, he would never have been humble enough to accept the restored gospel. Yet the Spirit of the Lord instilled hope that what the missionaries taught was true. My parents’ faith continued to grow until they each burned with the fire of testimony that quietly and humbly guided their every decision in life.
I will always be thankful for my parents’ example to future generations. It is impossible to measure the number of lives forever changed because of their acts of faith in response to profound sorrow.

“When I was about ten or eleven years old, I was involved with Primary. My teacher, Sister Zundell, was a very special person. She always taught us so effectively about the Savior. Many times while she was teaching, a little tear would trickle down her cheek, and it always impressed me that she had such tender emotions about the Savior. She taught us about His life and His teachings, which had a profound effect upon me. I can’t tell you the words or the stories that she told us; but just the way she did it, with the tears that would come, had a great effect upon me and the others in the class.

One day Grandpa’s best friend, Carlos Sanchez, wiggled his bushy eyebrows and said, “Well, Hitty, I’ve got one today that will stump you! Riddle me this: How can you hatch a chicken from a boiled egg?”
Mehitabel frowned as she thought. Suddenly she smiled at Mr. Sanchez. “I know! If you grow a patch of boiled peas, then scatter them around the boiled egg, the chicken will come out of the shell to eat the peas.”
The listeners clapped their hands and nodded their heads. Mehitabel had given a very clever answer.
Grandpa slapped his knee and chortled, “That Mehitabel! You just can’t beat her!”
After Mehitabel ate the ice-cream cone Grandpa’s friends had bought her, she went off with her jump rope. She always tried to go ten times around the duck pond without a miss.

“The last year that he lived, he took me into the living room and showed me a picture that had appeared in the Church News. The picture showed him and Grandma and their eleven children with their spouses in front of the Salt Lake Temple. They had all gone through a temple session together for my grandparent’s fiftieth wedding anniversary. Before the session had begun, a temple worker had introduced my grandfather to the rest of the people who were there. This had been the happiest day of Grandpa’s life. Seeing how happy it made him to have everyone together in the temple helped me to see how important temple work is.

As a boy, David O. McKay was one of the youngest players on his baseball team. They played their rivals on a holiday—American Independence Day—so the grandstand was packed.
During the game, one of David’s teammates was injured.
David: Hey, are you OK?
Coach: He’ll be fine, but you’ll take his place at bat.
David was excited and nervous. The score was tied. When it was his turn to bat, the crowd cheered. But David soon had two strikes. One more strike would put him out.
Umpire: Strike two!
The pitcher stormed toward David and picked up a baseball bat.
Pitcher: That was strike three. Get out of here, kid, or I’ll hurt you!
The field went silent. David stayed calm.
David: The umpire called only two strikes. Go back to your pitcher’s mound and try to get me out; you still have one more chance!
The pitcher saw the determination on David’s face and returned to the pitcher’s mound. David’s bat smacked the ball, and he ran to second base. The next batter sent David to home plate; it was the deciding run of the game.
Even though the crowd cheered David for his winning run, he knew they were also cheering for his courage in standing up to a bully.

Fifty years ago, I knew a young man—even a priest—who held the authority of the Aaronic Priesthood. As the bishop, I was his quorum president. Robert stuttered and stammered, void of control. Self-conscious, shy, fearful of himself and all others, this impediment was devastating to him. Never did he fulfill an assignment; never would he look another in the eye; always he would gaze downward. Then one day, through a set of unusual circumstances, he accepted an assignment to perform the priestly responsibility to baptize another.

I sat next to Robert in the baptistry of the Salt Lake Tabernacle. He was dressed in immaculate white, prepared for the ordinance he was to perform. I leaned over and asked him how he felt. He gazed at the floor and stuttered almost uncontrollably that he felt terrible, terrible.

We both prayed fervently that he would be made equal to his task. Suddenly the clerk said, “Nancy Ann McArthur will now be baptized by Robert Williams, a priest.”

Robert left my side, stepped into the font, took little Nancy by the hand and helped her into that water which cleanses human lives and provides a spiritual rebirth. He spoke the words, “Nancy Ann McArthur, having been commissioned of Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.” Not once did he stutter! Not once did he falter! A modern miracle had been witnessed. Robert then performed the baptismal ordinance for two or three other children in the same fashion.

In the dressing room, as I congratulated Robert, I expected to hear this same uninterrupted flow of speech. I was wrong. He gazed downward and stammered his reply of gratitude.

To each of you brethren this evening, I testify that when Robert acted in the authority of the Aaronic Priesthood, he spoke with power, with conviction, and with heavenly help.

Several years ago, my son Jack and I had the opportunity to play the Old Course at St. Andrews in Scotland, where the game of golf began. It was simply amazing! Upon my return I tried to convey to others the magnitude of the experience. But I couldn’t. Photos, videos, and my best descriptions were totally inadequate. I finally realized the only way for someone to know the grandeur of St. Andrews is to experience it—to see the vast fairways, breathe the air, feel the wind in their face, and hit a few errant shots into the cavernous bunkers and burly gorse bushes, which we did with great efficiency.

I think of Levi Savage, a member of the Willie handcart company. After expressing his concern that the handcart company was leaving too late in the season, Levi nonetheless supported the decision of the captain and the other Saints. He assumed leadership for 100 persons in the company, and worked tirelessly to aid them. In the difficult river crossings, he was often the first in the water and the last one out. A fellow traveler said of him: "No man worked harder than he to alleviate the suffering which he had foreseen."[4]

I had been a member of the Church for only one month when I paid my first full tithe. I was the only member in my family, and tithing was difficult for my family to understand. My mother discouraged me from paying tithing and wanted me to give her the money instead.
One day before work, I realized that there was no food in the refrigerator and I’d have to buy something to eat. I didn’t have any money with me, so I asked my mom to lend me money for lunch. She refused and said I didn’t have money because I had paid my tithing.
I went to get my Book of Mormon and told her that this book would give me my nourishment for the day—spiritual nourishment. I opened it in front of my mother and found 100 pesos (enough to buy some lunch) tucked inside. It was a miracle—I hadn’t put that money in my scriptures. I learned a great lesson: although challenges and temptations are everywhere, I will always be blessed as I pay a full tithe and keep the commandments.
Montserrat L., Federal District, Mexico

One woman felt she had little or no light in her life. Her husband spent three days of each week traveling out of town because of his work. This left her home alone to manage their house and two small children. She was just nineteen when they were married. She had almost no experience in caring for young children, and certainly felt no confidence in handling her own. She often found their demands and the pressing household duties overwhelming. In her frustration, she grew increasingly harsh with them until her abusive behavior became frightening, even to herself. Feeling alone, ashamed, and inadequate, she was often in the depths of despair. What light did the gospel offer to her?
She and her husband considered themselves good members of the Church. But what difference did that make when the children were crying, the laundry piled higher and higher, the letter from her mother remained unanswered, and the dress she was to make this week for her husband’s company party lay unfinished on the sewing machine? All these frustrations spoke so loudly the discouragement of the present. They made the blessings of the gospel seem very far away.
Fortunately, there were those who helped her learn to apply the principles of the gospel in solving many of her problems. Her visiting teachers, responding to her anxiety over her children, brought a special toy for each child. They had carefully selected playthings that an adult could use with a child in a delightful but problem-solving way. They took time to show the mother how to relate to her children through activity. She was surprised to find how happy and responsive the children were. They began to look forward to a playtime association with their mother. She realized that she was providing for their needs through play, and that they were becoming more relaxed with her.
Because of the relationship they were establishing through their activities together, the children were more willing to do as their mother asked—to pick up their clothes, put their toys away, and take their naps. This, in turn, helped her have more time to organize her other responsibilities. She learned to be considerate of her children and sensitive to their concerns. She has continued giving the children this special attention each day. Love in this home is now more than a concept; it is the way they respond to each other’s needs.

Our brother serves in the U.S. Air Force on a flight crew that occasionally transports wounded soldiers from war zones to a military hospital in Germany. We learned of a charity organization that collects needed items for wounded soldiers at this hospital and in the medical units in Afghanistan. The handmade items in greatest demand are comfort pillows, and the charity tries to give one to each patient.
We decided to involve our community in our project, so we posted requests for donated fabric and stuffing. The response was amazing! We received several large bags of fabric and stuffing, including a bag of Christmas fabric. During November we sewed 30 Christmas stockings that were sent to a field hospital in Afghanistan just in time for Christmas. Over the next three months, we made 50 comfort pillows and sent them to the hospital in Germany. It felt so good to use our sewing skills to give something back to those men and women.
Mickell and Jodi H., Utah, USA

“I want to give Mom something special for Mother’s Day, Josh.” Ten-year-old Sarah, perched on the porch swing, glanced up at her older brother. “You always do.”
Josh sat down on the swing next to his sister and said, “Your gifts are fine. Mine are different because I have a job and can afford to buy her a present. But that doesn’t make them any better than the ones you make for her. You know how much she likes them.”
Josh is right, Sarah thought. Mom does enjoy the crafts I gave her. Still, the jewelry box she’d made this year with Popsicle sticks wasn’t the same as the beautiful rose-colored vase Josh had bought for Mom. That’s why Sarah had decided to do something else, as well as give her the handmade gift.
“Can you keep a secret?” She glanced across the backyard. Other than their three-year-old brother, Nicholas, who was making a roadway in the sandbox, the yard was still.
Josh bent closer to Sarah. “What is it?”
“I’m singing in sacrament meeting tomorrow,” Sarah whispered.
“Doesn’t the Primary always sing in sacrament meeting on Mother’s Day?”
“This is different.” Sarah whispered again. “I’m singing a duet with Lucy Hernandez.”
“A duet with Lucy?” Josh was impressed. “She’s practically a professional!”
“Sister Fields—she’s our new Primary chorister—asked for volunteers last month. I thought it would be something I could do for Mom. Just from me.”
“She’ll love it, Sarah,” Josh said with a warm smile.
“Thanks. I’ve been practicing in my room every chance I get, when Mom’s not around to hear me. And I’ve been helping Nick too.”
“You mean Nick’s going to sing with the Primary?” Josh stared at Sarah. “He won’t even sit through Sharing Time without Mom next to him. How did you talk Mr. Shy Guy into singing?”
“I gave him some extra help with the songs. He’s a fast learner.”
“He has a good teacher, Sarah.”
The next morning Sarah made her announcement as they parked in the church lot. “I’ll be singing with Lucy,” she was saying as she unbuckled her seat belt. “All the Primary classes will sing the first two songs together. For the last song, ‘Families Can Be Together Forever,’ Lucy and I will sing the second verse. Just the two of us.”
“Sarah, that’s wonderful,” Mom said, swinging the car door open. “What a special Mother’s Day this will be!”
Sitting in sacrament meeting, Sarah squirmed a bit as the speakers told about their mothers. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t concentrate.
Finally Sister Fields stepped to the front of the chapel, signaling the children to come forward.
Sarah guided Nicholas to the front row, placing him between two older children. “You’ll do great, Nick,” she whispered. Weaving through several other Primary children, she found her way next to Lucy, who was adjusting the microphone.
Sarah’s heart hammered with excitement as the pianist played the introductory notes for the first song. She was very pleased with how clear her voice sounded as they sang the first song.
As they began the second song, Sarah thought she heard soft crying. She glanced around the large group of children. It looked like everyone was singing. Then she saw Nicholas. He was sitting in a seat usually reserved for speakers, mostly hidden from her behind standing classmates. Tears dripped down his face as he stared at the floor.
As the pianist played the prelude music for “Families Can Be Together Forever,” Sarah edged over to him and dropped to her knees. “What’s the matter, Nick?”
“I want Mommy.”
“Why don’t you sing this song first,” Sarah asked, “then I’ll take you to Mom.”
Nicholas shook his head vigorously while the other Primary children loudly sang, “I have a family here on earth. They are so good to me.”
“Listen, Nick, I’ll take you to Mom as soon as we’re through with this song.”
Nicholas’ chin creased and quivered as he shook his head a second time. He grabbed Sarah’s hand and begged, “Don’t go.”
As the other children sang, “Families can be together forever Through Heavenly Father’s plan,” Sarah looked up at Lucy Hernandez, singing confidently but obviously looking for Sarah.
“I always want to be with my own family,” the Primary choir sang on.
“Please stay here, Sarah,” Nicholas was pleading just as Sarah’s eyes met Lucy’s.
As the other children finished the first verse—“And the Lord has shown me how I can. The Lord has shown me how I can”—Sarah motioned to Lucy with her hand, signaling her to sing alone. Lucy turned, nodding first at Sarah, then to Sister Fields.
Still on her knees, her arm around Nicholas, Sarah quietly listened to Lucy’s clear, beautiful voice. “While I am in my early years, I’ll prepare most carefully.”
Nicholas’s tears subsided, but he continued to cling to his sister while Lucy finished the song: “The Lord has shown me how I can.”
Sarah led Nicholas to where their mother and Josh were sitting and slid into the pew herself so that Brother Pazooki could give the closing prayer. Afterward, still fighting tears, she was surprised to see that her mother’s eyes were also teary. She was even more surprised when her Mother told her, “I’m so proud of you, Sarah!”
“But I didn’t get to sing the duet for you.”
“I know. But when I couldn’t see Nick, I could guess what happened—he needed you with him, didn’t he?”
Sarah nodded, still puzzled.
“You’ve made this a very special Mother’s Day,” Mom continued. “Would you sing that song for me at home? You see, you really lived the words of that song, and I can’t think of a better Mother’s Day present you could give me.”

During the final phases of World War II, I turned eighteen and was ordained an elder one week before I departed for active duty with the navy. A member of my ward bishopric was at the train station to bid me farewell. Just before train time, he placed two books into my hands. One was a popular satire in which I took interest. The other was entitled The Missionary Handbook.

I laughed and commented, “I’m not going on a mission.”

He answered, “Take it anyway—it may come in handy.”

It did. In basic training the company commander instructed us concerning how we might best pack our clothing in a large sea bag. He advised: “If you have some hard, rectangular object you can place in the bottom, your clothes will stay more firm.”

I suddenly remembered just the right rectangular object—The Missionary Handbook. Thus it served for sixteen weeks.

The night before our Christmas leave, our thoughts were, as always, on home. The quarters were quiet. Suddenly I became aware that my buddy in the adjoining bunk, a Mormon boy, Leland Merrill, was moaning in pain. I asked, “What’s the matter, Merrill?”

He replied, “I’m sick. I’m really sick!”

I advised him to go to the base dispensary, but he knowingly answered that such a course would prevent him from being home for Christmas.

The hours lengthened. His groans grew louder. Suddenly he whispered, “Monson, Monson, aren’t you an elder?” I acknowledged this to be so, whereupon he asked, “Give me a blessing.”

Suddenly I became very much aware that I had never given a blessing, I had never received such a blessing, and I had never witnessed a blessing being given. My prayer to God was a plea for help. The answer came: “Look in the bottom of the sea bag.” Thus, at two o’clock in the morning I spilled the contents of the bag on the deck, took the book to the night light, and read how one blesses the sick. With about seventy curious sailors looking on, I gave the shakiest blessing I’ve ever given. Before I could stow my gear, Leland Merrill was sleeping like a child.

The next morning Merrill smilingly turned to me and said, “Monson, I’m glad you hold the priesthood.” His gladness was surpassed only by my joy.

“When the missionaries were teaching me, I knew right away that it was true. I didn’t have any doubt. My dad got baptized; then I got baptized the next Saturday,” said Stephanie Rawlins. “I enjoy being in the church I know is true. Friends I have who aren’t members can’t talk the same way. They don’t understand. With my friends in the Church I can open up; I can talk about things that are really important.”

In France, military service is obligatory. My 20-year-old younger brother, Loïc, decided to go to reserve officers’ school to become a lieutenant. At the end of his schooling, there was a swearing-in ceremony for new officers. Each in turn is to recite the regimental slogan. Then he is to drink a glass of champagne containing a rose—consuming both. This tradition started with Napoléon Bonaparte, and no officer since then had failed to participate.
Loïc told the colonel that his religious principles did not allow him to drink alcohol. An icy silence followed Loïc’s request for an exemption. The colonel stood up. Instead of forcing Loïc to drink the champagne, he congratulated him for keeping his principles despite the pressure, saying he was proud to welcome this man of integrity into his regiment. They replaced the champagne, and Loïc participated in the swearing-in ceremony.
Pierre Anthian, France

I was born in 1986. Soon after birth, I was diagnosed with cerebral palsy secondary to congenital hydrocephalus. Hydrocephalus, called “water on the brain,” is a condition in which an individual has either too much or too little cerebrospinal fluid. In my now 28 years of life I have had more than 50 surgical procedures for these conditions.
Nevertheless, the Lord has richly blessed me. One of my first doctors counseled my parents, “Take him home and simply love him. He will never be anything more than a limp noodle on the sofa.” Thankfully, my parents didn’t listen. Throughout my life, they have encouraged me to do and accomplish many things. They never treated me any differently than they did my siblings. Thanks to them, in spite of my disability, I lead the fullest life that I can.

At times, the Lord needs a little help to assist some as to the validity of this truth. I recall when I served as chairman of the Church Missionary Committee that I received a telephone call from a member of the presidency of the Missionary Training Center at Provo, Utah. He advised that a particular young man called to a Spanish-speaking mission was having difficulty applying himself to his language study and had declared, “I never can learn Spanish!” The leader asked, “What do you recommend we do?”

I thought for a moment, then suggested, “Place him tomorrow as an observer in a class of missionaries struggling to learn Japanese, and then advise me of his reaction.”

My caller responded within 24 hours with the report, “The missionary was only in the Japanese language class one-half day when he called me and excitedly said, ‘Place me back in the Spanish class! I know I can learn that language.’” And he did.

Robert Wood. Robby frowned as he read his name. All his friends called him Robby. His whole name looked strange and uncomfortable on the bright yellow Primary birthday calendar. It didn’t seem to belong with the names of the other kids. He wasn’t like them. He had been to church only about three times in his whole life. He wouldn’t have come today except his new teacher, Sister Jensen, had sent him a special invitation and offered him a ride.
Robby liked singing the songs. Sharing time was interesting, too. When his class was excused, he followed the other children to their classroom. They were ahead of Sister Jensen. She seems old to be a Primary teacher, Robby thought as she stopped to talk briefly to someone in the hallway.
Robby chose a seat at the very back of the room, but when he started to sit down, a boy kicked his chair out from under him. An ugly word popped out of Robby’s mouth. He was immediately sorry, and he blushed a deep red when he saw Sister Jensen standing in the doorway. She must have seen the whole thing.
The girls raised their hands and pointed at Robby. The boys snickered. Robby wanted to run home. But Sister Jensen closed the door and smiled at him. Then, turning to the girls, she said, “I just love to see so many volunteers for the prayer.” The girls put their hands down quickly, but Sister Jensen still assigned two of them to give prayers.
During class, Robby watched Sister Jensen. She smiled a lot. She made Robby feel he was just as important as the other children.
After class, Sister Jensen hugged the children as they left. When it was Robby’s turn, she quietly shut the door. Robby was alone with Sister Jensen, and he knew why. She was going to scold him for saying that angry word. Well, at least she hadn’t embarrassed him by doing it in front of everybody.
“I’m so glad you came today, Robert,” Sister Jensen said with a smile.
Robby looked down and traced on the floor with his shoe.
When he didn’t answer, Sister Jensen continued, “I know you’re embarrassed about what you said. If someone kicked a chair and made me fall, I would be pretty upset, too.”
“They wouldn’t do it to you,” Robby said. “They just do it to me because I’m not a church kid.”
Sister Jensen looked thoughtful as she bent to gather some of her things. When she straightened up, she was wearing her big smile again. “Sit down a minute, Robert,” she said, pointing to a chair.
Robby sat quietly while Sister Jensen pulled up a chair beside him.
“Do you like our bishop?” she asked.
Robby thought for a minute. He remembered the time the bishop came to his house when his mother was sick and couldn’t care for the family. After that, some ladies came by to help take care of his mother and his family. The bishop seemed really nice. “Yeah, I think he’s nice,” Robby said.
“Well, believe it or not, I used to be his Primary teacher,” Sister Jensen explained.
“Oh.” Robby nodded. “I guess you could have been; you are old.” Robby blushed when he realized what he’d said.
Sister Jensen laughed heartily. “That’s true! He was a sweet little boy, just like you. You and he have a lot in common—his parents never brought him to church, either. I used to pick him up all the time. He even sat with me in sacrament meeting.
“When he was about your age,” Sister Jensen continued, “he decided to make choices that would help him the rest of his life. He had a little problem with angry words, and he decided that when he became upset, he’d say ‘How exasperating!’ I told him that was a good start but he also needed to fill his mind with good things. That way only good things would come out of his mouth.”
Robby traced on the floor with his other shoe. “Well, maybe when I’m a grown-up, I can do that, too,” he told her.
“But now’s the time to make important choices that will bless you throughout your life, including your choice of words.”
“How can words bless me?”
“When you are careful with the words you choose to say, you show others you care enough about them not to offend them. Choosing good words helps you gain more friends, and you’re also not offending your Heavenly Father. Besides, when you have good words inside, good actions often follow.”
Robby nodded that he understood, and he helped Sister Jensen gather up the rest of her teaching materials.
The next Sunday, Sister Jensen picked Robby up in time for sacrament meeting. The bishop was conducting, and he seemed to be having a difficult time with some of the announcements. Finally he put down the paper he was reading, smiled at the ward members, and exclaimed, “How exasperating!”
Robby giggled as Sister Jensen nudged his arm. He leaned over and whispered, “That’s what I’m going to say when I’m mad, too.”
“Good for you, Robby,” Sister Jensen said with a wink.
Later, in the Primary room, Robby again noticed his name on the yellow birthday board. “That’s funny,” he said.
“What’s that?” Sister Jensen asked.
“Last week my name seemed different.”
Sister Jensen looked puzzled. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“Well, last week my name looked out of place up there by the names of the church kids. But today it looks like it belongs.”
Sister Jensen put her arm around Robby, and he noticed tears in her eyes. “That’s because you do belong here,” she said.

“We started talking after the funeral,” says David Nordquist. “We were sad, of course, but we knew where he was. We knew that he was happy and that we should try to remember that. We tried to think of a way to honor him. We wanted to do something special in his memory.”
They tossed around some ideas, but nothing seemed quite right until the topic of scripture mastery came up.
“Our ward had never won the stake scripture mastery competition,” says Matthew. “We knew that Brother Cunningham wouldn’t care if we won, but he would be proud of us if we really buckled down and learned the scriptures for the year. All of them.”
And so they began to train for the big stake scripture mastery event. They soon discovered that their goal of learning all the scriptures not only made them feel good about honoring the memory of their teacher but also made them feel good about themselves.
“There was really a good feeling in our class,” says James. “We were working toward the same thing, and it was a goal that really invited the Spirit.”
As the school year wore on, it became clear that learning all 25 scriptures with the speed and precision required for the stake scripture mastery competition was going to prove more difficult than the students thought. But they pressed on, and by the time the spring scripture mastery competition rolled around, a team of four students—Matthew Glanfield, David and Dee Nordquist, and Aaron Medwin—was pumped up and ready to go.
Their preparation was really down to the wire, with a few team members losing a little sleep the night before in an effort to really be ready. “I think we all felt that it didn’t really matter if we won,” says Dee. “We just wanted to do our best. We wanted this to be special.”
Of course the stake competition was just for fun, and Matthew and Dee were right; it didn’t really matter who took first place. But all that preparation paid off. When the final score was announced, the team from Welland came out on top.
It was a thrill to win. But the best feeling was knowing that the scriptures were really theirs, that they had total command of all 25 and could find them, quote them, and explain them.
“I know we all thought a lot about Brother Cunningham and what he had taught us after we won,” says Matthew. “I think my favorite scripture that year was Doctrine and Covenants 88:123–24. It talks about loving others and working hard. He really did all those things in his life and motivated us to do the same in seminary and other areas of our life.”

A historic example of commitment to be strong and immovable for all ages was portrayed by a British Olympian who competed in the 1924 Olympics in Paris, France.

Eric Liddell was the son of a Scottish missionary to China and a devoutly religious man. He infuriated the British leadership of the Olympics by refusing, even under enormous pressure, to run in a preliminary 100-meter race held on Sunday. Ultimately he was victorious in the 400-meter race. Liddell’s example of refusing to run on Sunday was particularly inspiring.

Depictions and memorials in his honor have referred to the inspirational words from Isaiah, “But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.”24

Liddell’s admirable conduct was very influential in our youngest son’s decision to not participate in Sunday sports and, more importantly, to separate himself from unrighteous and worldly conduct. He used the quote from Isaiah for his yearbook contribution. Eric Liddell left a powerful example of determination and commitment to principle.