Gospel Story Finder

The New Era is a great comfort to me. I am a convert to the Church, and I have learned many wonderful things this past year just by reading this great magazine! I go to a Catholic school, and I have to take a course in religion. In this class I was assigned to give an oral report from a magazine or book on “My Personal Happiness.” I chose the article “The Business of Being” in the July 1983 issue of the New Era. Elder Cuthbert really knows the meaning of maturity. When I gave that report, I know that the Spirit was with me. He helped me to touch the hearts of many in my class, and I am grateful for that. By the way, I got an A!
Linda VillaromanSan Francisco, California

Here is a story about my friend Mariam who woke up one morning feeling all tingly and excited, but she didn’t know why. Then she remembered. It was the day of the Easter fete.
She jumped off the straw mattress, put on her school dress and thongs, helped her mother carry firewood to the three stones where they cooked, and tidied up the case (adobe house with a thatched roof). Then she rolled up her pagne (colorful cloth wraparound skirt), tucked it under her arm, reminded her mother to come for them at two thirty, and walked to school with her brother Hervé.
Finally they arrived at school. “There’s Zié and Eric and Souleymane and Loukou,” said Hervé.
At last it was time for the mothers and fathers to come. When they were all sitting and waiting, they heard singing and the schoolchildren came marching in. Then they sang another song, did their drill, and marched away still singing.
After that the dancers came on the stage. They sang an African song which went like this:
Belé belé, bedio, belé belé.
Belé belé, bedio. …
This was the dance that Mariam was in. The girls brought their pagnes for costumes to dance in.
After this skits were performed by the other grades. The skit Hervé liked best was “The Teacher and His Students.” It was very funny because the teacher was smaller than his five boy students.
After the fete was over everyone talked and had something to drink and then went home. As Mariam and Hervé walked home, they talked about what a good day it had been.

Years later I made a new friend while in an airport in Lagos, Nigeria. We became acquainted as he checked my passport. I asked him about his religious beliefs, and he expressed strong faith in God. I shared the joy and vibrancy of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ and asked if he would like to learn more from the missionaries. He said yes, was taught, and was baptized. A year or two later, as I walked through the airport in Liberia, I heard a voice call out my name. I turned, and that same young man approached with a big smile. We joyfully embraced, and he let me know that he was active in the Church and working with the missionaries to teach his girlfriend.
Now, I do not know whether my atheist friend ever read the Book of Mormon or joined the Church. My second friend did. For both of them, my responsibility—my opportunity—was the same: hold up the gospel light—to love, share, and invite each of them in a normal, natural way.

The doctors said she wouldn’t live, but Iris JoAnn Alvarado is thriving. Her faith, and the faith of her family, has preserved her life many times. When her mother was about to give birth to JoAnnie, the stake patriarch came to their home. He felt impressed to give Sister Alvarado a blessing. She didn’t understand then why she needed a blessing, but she did after JoAnnie was born. The baby weighed only a little more than four pounds, and the doctors discovered that throughout the pregnancy she had not received much oxygen and that the last three months she had probably not received enough nourishment. The Alvarados were told that she would die and that if she didn’t, she would have severe brain damage from the lack of oxygen.
But JoAnnie’s family prayed for her, and their prayers were answered. She lived. At four months she was standing; at eight months she could walk. When she started talking, it was in short sentences, and the words were very clear—there was obviously nothing wrong with her brain. Today, at 10 years of age, she continues to excel, getting straight A’s in all her school classes.

Youth of the Greeley Colorado Stake learned to appreciate simple things, like the shade of the cottonwood trees near the Platte River, as they pushed and pulled handcarts along a rocky six-mile stretch of the original Mormon/Oregon Trail last summer.
These teens tolerated stickers in their socks and temperatures above 100 degrees Fahrenheit (36 Celsius) as they crossed the same Wyoming plains many of their pioneer ancestors did 150 years ago.
When the day ended and the group reached its camping site, one young man remarked, “As we climbed the hill with the ruts, the sweat dripped off my face onto the grooved ground, and I was humbled to think of those who had passed this way so long ago, their sweat pouring out on the same hot, dusty rocks.”

I went to FSY with the intention of trying to strengthen my testimony. I wanted to gain a strong testimony of the Church and the gospel. I have been going to this church for a very long time with my family, ever since I was a little kid, and there have definitely been times where I did question if this was truly the right church. Was is just like every other church or was it different?
Attending FSY was one of the best decisions I had ever made. It felt amazing to be surrounded with people who have the same standards and goals as me. I felt the Spirit so strong during every single one of the Natarajans’ workshops. I had the greatest feeling of comfort and peace every second I was there.
During Elder Bednar’s visit, in the middle of the Q&A session, a strong feeling came over me and I heard a voice say, “This is the true Church” over and over again. My eyes were filled with tears and I had never felt so strong about the gospel before. I was filled with assurance and comfort that this is the true Church.
I did get what I was looking for at FSY. I got my answer about the Church and I really do know that this is the true Church and that the Book of Mormon is the true word of God. I can feel it each time I read the Book of Mormon. I love this gospel and I am truly blessed to have it in my life.

The author lives in Utah, USA.
Photographs by Getty Images
I had just finished breakfast when my stake president called to tell me that my mission application had been denied. My heart sank as he told me why—I needed to lose a certain amount of weight before I would be able to serve. As he explained to me what I would need to do in order to resubmit my papers, the only thing I wanted to do was climb into my bed and hide.
After the shock wore off, I called my dad at work and explained what had happened. He paused and then asked, “Well, what are you going to do?” Would I give up? Let go of my dream to serve a mission? No.
“I’m going to go for it,” I replied. “I’m going to try to lose the weight.”
Within a week, I had a solid plan of action. I learned as much as I could about nutrition and exercise and, after setting some goals, I was ready to get started. I felt so much love and support from my Heavenly Father. I knew that I was doing the right thing and that He would help me every step of the way.
As I worked hard every day, I began to see progress! It was exciting to notice the physical effects of diet and exercise, but what surprised me most was the spiritual health I was gaining. I became more confident and self-aware as I developed into the person Heavenly Father wanted me to be.
I realized that as my spiritual health increased, it actually became easier for me to improve my physical health. The sacrament was so important in helping me stay focused on my goals. It became a sacred time of reflection for me as I thought about my Savior and how much He had helped me on this journey. I knew that He would stay by my side no matter what.
Prayer also made a big difference. There were so many times when I was running on the treadmill and would just start crying because I was so tired and my lungs hurt and I just wanted to go on a mission. I would say a prayer because I knew that someone in the mission field needed me, and I knew that I needed help to get there. After every workout, I thanked Heavenly Father for giving me the strength to go on.
The gospel teaches us that our bodies and our spirits are one, but until this experience, I had never thought about how directly the health of my body could affect the health of my spirit. As I thought about my body as a temple, this connection between body and spirit began to make more sense. I knew that one reason we keep the temple so clean and beautiful is because it helps the Spirit to be there. So it makes sense that as I began to eat healthy and exercise more, I began to feel the Spirit even more.
I also noticed that I felt more energized and more willing to talk to and serve the people around me. I could feel the Spirit guide me as I put my trust in the Lord, and I discovered that I could turn to Him for help with any trial or hardship I might face.
Photograph courtesy of Jillian Pierson
After months of hard work, I finally received my mission call! I was so excited I could hardly wait. And when I entered the Missionary Training Center, I felt prepared both physically and spiritually.
I feel so blessed to have had the opportunity to learn how to take care of both my body and my spirit. Working toward a meaningful goal gave me the motivation I needed to become a better version of myself. I learned that if I rely on the Lord as I try to accomplish my goals, He will help me every step of the way.

Following in their dad’s fleet footsteps, David and Stuart Deacon are two of the top runners in England. And they both hope to run in the Olympics someday.
The goal is not too farfetched. David, a recently returned missionary, currently in police training, ran the 100 meters in the U.K. open championships with the top runners in the nation.
Stuart will have to wait a bit longer, though. He has clocked exceptional times in the 1,500 meters but has put his running career on hold to serve in the Belgium Brussels Mission.
“I feel that keeping the Word of Wisdom has been one of the major factors to our success in athletics,” says David.
Stuart agrees, and said, after winning numerous events at the Church All British Championships, “I was still recovering from mumps, and I’m convinced that because of obedience to the Word of Wisdom, my body was able to respond well to the priesthood blessing I received.”

For many, the seeking requires sacrifice. “After my conversion, I had to wait half a year to be baptized,” recalls Olga Kovárová of Czechoslovakia. “Because we had no baptismal font, we needed to wait until summer when we could be in the woods and not be noticed.” When they reached the reservoir on the night of the baptism, they saw many fishermen. “We waited, and the time dragged on,” she said. Finally, a brother suggested that they pray and ask Heavenly Father for help. “This was my first miracle with a priesthood prayer. Within a few minutes of our quiet prayer, most of the fishermen left the river’s edge. … You can imagine my feelings of joy as I came up out of the water.” Olga was the first young woman convert in Czechoslovakia in almost forty years. When she was confirmed, she was told that through her, “many people would come to the Church.”

Many years ago, when I worked in the printing and ­publishing business, I had the opportunity to address a business convention in Dallas, Texas, a city known as the City of Churches. After the convention, I took a casual sightseeing tour by bus around the city’s suburbs. As we would pass the beautiful churches, our driver would comment, “On the left, you see the Methodist church”, or “There on the right, is the Catholic cathedral.”

As we passed a beautiful red brick building situated upon a hill, the driver exclaimed, “That building is where the Mormons meet.” A lady’s voice from the rear of the bus called out, “Driver, can you tell us something about the Mormons?” The driver pulled the bus over to the side of the road, turned around in his seat, and replied, “Lady, all I know about the Mormons is that they meet in that red brick building. Is there anyone on this bus who knows anything about the Mormons?”

I gazed at the expression on each person’s face for some sign of recognition, some desire to comment. I found nothing— not a sign. Then I realized for the first time the truth of the statement "When the time for decision arrives, the time for preparation is past." For the next fifteen minutes, I had the privilege of giving, as Peter declared, "a reason of the hope that is in you" (1 Peter 3:15). Since that time, I have developed a greater appreciation for the matter of proper preparation. You will recall the truth from the Doctrine and Covenants: "If ye are prepared, ye shall not fear" (D&C 38:30).

A raindrop splattered suddenly on the page, smearing the street name and apartment house number. The remaining hurriedly written lines in the tracting book translated as “check the Yugoslavian lady in the first apartment on the right.” Well, I thought, a quick introduction at the door will do, minus the Book of Mormon explanation. She probably won’t be interested anyway. This day has really been cold and drab, like the rain seeping through my trench coat.
My new companion’s reluctance made it my turn once again to give the missionary introduction. I was too tired and cold and impatient to offer him any words of encouragement. As we approached the apartment-house entrance, I shifted the knapsack from one shoulder to the other. The two German copies of the Book of Mormon in the bottom of the knapsack, which my companion had placed there that morning against my recommendation, were weighing on my back.
My personal reluctance to speak about the Book of Mormon in our initial meetings with people and to carry German copies of the book was based on a rationalization: we didn’t have a translation of the Book of Mormon which the majority of Yugoslavian workers temporarily living in Germany could read. The native tongue for most of these Yugoslavian workers was Serbocroatian. How could they gain for themselves a testimony of something they couldn’t understand? How could they “receive these things,” as is admonished by Moroni, if the pages appeared to them as undecipherable? True, some could read German, but the majority were not comfortable with that language.
Even so, my companion and I walked up the steps to the apartment house. As we turned to knock on the door, we noticed a lady making her way up a winding cement staircase from the basement, her arms around a large tub of freshly hand-laundered clothes. The calluses on her gnarled hands contrasted sharply with the fair complexion of her face and her jet-black hair which was pulled back neatly under a brightly colored scarf.
I stepped away slowly from the apartment door and spoke to her. After acknowledging that we were missionaries, I remarked halfheartedly that we could come back later since the hour was so late. Yet, she invited us in to her apartment.
We went in, and I quickly gave a shortened version of the first discussion, talking about Joseph Smith, the First Vision, and the Book of Mormon. I followed with a testimony of the truthfulness of what I had just said and then asked if she would like to know more, expecting of course that she would say no and ask us to leave. Instead, she asked whether we had a copy of the Book of Mormon she could look at. My companion quickly took out one of the German copies from the knapsack which had been poking me in the back all day. He wryly smiled, as if to say, “I told you so!”
I extended the book toward her and asked if she read German. She said no. I began to pull the book away, explaining that we unfortunately didn’t have a copy she could read and understand. She persisted in having me give her the copy, however, and so I did. Her rough fingers gently flipped through the introductory pages containing the pictures of Joseph Smith, Moroni, and the civilizations of ancient America. She asked various questions about the pictures and then concluded by requesting that we leave the book with her for a few days. She said that she had a friend who spoke German and that she would like to show it to this friend.
My mind immediately recalled a similar incident in which the “friend” turned out to be a leader in a local sect which was very unsympathetic to our cause. I finally agreed, however, to let her keep the book. We didn’t set a specific time to come back. I said simply that we would come back in a few days.
We departed, and my companion remarked that the encounter had been very successful. He said he felt confident that we really had a golden contact. I mumbled a skeptical “sure,” still very doubtful.
A few days later it was my companion’s turn to plan the day’s activities. He suggested that we go back to the Yugoslavian lady with whom we had placed the German copy of the Book of Mormon. I agreed, but was still convinced that we would be unsuccessful. We found her home, and I proceeded to ask her how her experience had been in showing the Book of Mormon to her friend. She said that her friend had been unavailable over the past few days, but that she herself had looked through the book and studied the pictures and had even prayed about the truthfulness of the book as I had told her Moroni had admonished readers to do. She then said that she felt the book was the true word of God.
I was dumbfounded by her statement. After so many rejections I was a little uncertain about her sincerity. I inquired again about her ability to read German. She repeated that she couldn’t read German but that she had pondered upon our previous discussion and had prayed. My initial reaction was one of mistrust. How, I thought, could she have a testimony of a book she can’t even read!
In the meantime, my companion had recognized that she really did know the Book of Mormon to be true and became excited by the prospect. He encouraged me to teach her more. I began back at the beginning with the discussion of Joseph Smith and the First Vision, still somewhat suspicious of the situation. We finished that meeting and went back for others. After a few weeks of learning, the lady was baptized. In time she did receive a copy of the Book of Mormon which she could read and understand for herself.
After she had first affirmed that she knew the Book of Mormon to be true, I noticed a marked difference in her interest and ability to learn gospel principles, compared with other investigators we had taught before. She seemed almost like a little child, wide-eyed and anxious to savor everything we had to say. She was not like other investigators, intent on critiquing our every word in order to prove or disprove the truthfulness of our message. Her knowledge of the Book of Mormon and the gospel grew by leaps and bounds, unlike anyone I had worked with before. She seemed to be exactly the person Moroni had in mind when he spoke of those who “receive these things” (Moro. 10:4) and have the truth manifested unto them, and yet she had not “read these things.” (Moro. 10:3; italics added.)

Joseph Smith, however, remained a big concern. I couldn’t believe he was a prophet of God, and every time someone taught about him I wanted to shout, “That’s not true!” But I couldn’t utter it. When I was asked to share my testimony, I repeated words I had heard others speak.
Though I did not believe Joseph Smith was a prophet of God, I did believe some of the Church’s teachings and enjoyed attending church—except for the first Sunday of the month. Over and over I would hear the members bearing testimony that Joseph Smith was a prophet. It irritated me. I eventually became so angry that I didn’t want to attend church. I made up excuses not to attend, but Papa wouldn’t allow any of his children to be left at home on Sundays.
I was about 14 years old when Papa enrolled me in seminary. That really bothered me. I wasn’t interested, and I felt forced to attend. The first meeting, I purposely arrived late. But to my surprise, no one was at the chapel except Brother Cedillo, the custodian. He turned out to be my seminary teacher.
When the other students arrived, Brother Cedillo asked if any of us had read the Book of Mormon. Nobody answered. He opened the book and asked us to read with him, beginning at 1 Nephi 1:1. I do not remember what else my teacher said that day, but I do remember the powerful testimony he bore of the Book of Mormon. I was touched in my heart, and as I walked home I felt happy. I couldn’t understand why.
That night I resolved to read the Book of Mormon. I started reading after dinner, with a prayer that I could understand. I kept reading till midnight. As I read, I imagined the characters in the Book of Mormon acting out the scenes as if I were watching television. I didn’t understand some of the words, but as I read of the sufferings the prophets in the Book of Mormon endured for testifying of the truth, tears rolled down my cheeks. I had been angry at members of the Church for doing the same thing the prophets had done! I pictured myself as one of those who had persecuted the prophets—and realized how ungrateful I had been.
I continued reading the next day and into the night. I couldn’t sleep until I finished reading the Book of Mormon. When I finally closed the book, I knelt and asked God for forgiveness. In my prayer, I testified that I knew the Book of Mormon was true. And I knew that if the Book of Mormon was true, then Joseph Smith was a prophet of God, because he translated the book. As I said “amen,” my face was wet with tears. I felt at peace and filled with joy.
The experience helped me later when I served a full-time mission in the Philippines Cebu Mission. It helped me understand better my investigators’ concerns about Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon. Today my heart still fills with gratitude for the great blessings God has given me and my family.

“By hearing a story,” answered his father. “Listen. Many years ago, in the direction from which the sun awakens each day, there lived a people here in Africa called the Mazumbas.”
Bhutto stopped rocking on his heels and sat down. He did not want to miss a word of his father’s story.
“The Mazumbas were greater hunters than others because the tips of their arrows were sharper and finer than any man could make.”
“How did they make the arrow tips?” asked Bhutto.
“They did not make them,” said Bhutto’s father. “They found them in a secret cave. And because the Mazumbas had such sharp arrow tips, no animal could stand against them.”
“Not even lions?” Bhutto asked.
“Not even lions,” said his father.
“Not even elephants?” Bhutto tried again.
“Not even elephants,” answered his father. “Not even the Great Beasts of the plains.”
Bhutto looked puzzled. “What are the Great Beasts of the plains?”
“The Great Beasts were the hardest of all the animals to slay. They had the eyes of an eagle, the ears of a giraffe, and the swiftness of a gazelle. But even so, the Great Beasts could not hide from the Mazumbas.
“One day, one of the Mazumbas was hunting when he came across the tracks of a Great Beast. For many hours he followed the tracks through grasslands, over hills, and down ravines until they led to the entrance of the secret cave.”
“Where the Mazumbas found their arrow tips,” Bhutto remembered.
“That’s right,” said his father.
“And was the Great Beast inside?”
“Yes, he was. And when the hunter saw the Great Beast, he put an arrow to his bow.”
“Did he kill the Beast?” Bhutto asked excitedly.
“Not right away,” answered his father, “because the Great Beast began to speak.”
Bhutto frowned. “Animals cannot speak.”
“That is true,” Bhutto’s father answered. “But the Great Beasts were not like other animals.”
“What did the Great Beast say?”
“He said, ‘Please do not kill me, great hunter of the Mazumbas. Your people have killed all the Great Beasts except me.’
“But the hunter just laughed and said, ‘If you did not want to be caught, you should not have come into our secret cave.’ And with that, the hunter let the arrow fly.”
Bhutto watched his father string the bow he was making. “Is that the end of your story?” he sadly asked.
“Not quite, Bhutto,” said his father. “When the Beast fell to the earth, a stone rolled from his mouth—a sharp stone, sharper than any a man could make.”
“Then, it was the Great Beasts that made the arrow tips!” Bhutto cried.
“Yes. The Great Beasts went to the secret cave to chew on stones and sharpen their teeth. The arrow tips were what they left behind.”
“But the hunter—he killed the last Beast!”
“Yes, and because of that, the Mazumbas soon used up the last of the very sharp arrow tips. No longer were they the great hunters they had once been.”

Dr. D. Elden Beck stood confidently before his biology students. In one hand he held a live rattlesnake.
He felt fortunate in having a job—a good teaching position—at a time when the effects of a devastating depression were being felt across the country. He was aware that once again the people of the small southern Utah communities were responding as they usually did during hard times, with determination and stubborn endurance.
Dixie Junior College, the pride of St. George, kept her doors open even though some students, to stay in school, paid their tuition with farm produce.
Dr. Beck was not a native of southern Utah, and neither he nor his family had been involved with the seemingly endless task of subduing the arid desert. Perhaps that was why he was able to see the country not merely as a place to overcome and endure but a place of breathtaking beauty. Like the natural coral, turquoise, and silver of a precious piece of Indian jewelry, the vermilion sands and blue sky dazzled him. A part of the world that had resisted discovery now seemed to him an endless frontier for study, an endless source of wonder.
The snake squirmed and struggled. Dr. Beck prepared to demonstrate to his students how a rattler is “milked” of its lethal venom, an act he had performed many times before. As he attempted to move the snake from one hand to the other, it suddenly lurched and slashed its fangs across his thumb. He reeled back in pain and instantly released the snake. It fell to the floor with a dull thud and lay still. The class was stunned. The rattlesnake slowly revived, and by gracefully throwing loops of its body forward, it began to move across the classroom floor. With shouts and screams, students clamored upon desks and chairs. To everyone’s amazement, it was Dr. Beck who tried to calm them. He gently captured the snake and stashed it away in the classroom snake pit. Then he firmly dismissed the students from the room. Supporting his swelling hand, he walked the two blocks from the college to the St. George Hospital only to find no rattlesnake serum was available.
Dr. McGregor eventually located serum in Cedar City, some 50 miles away, and it was agreed that someone would try to deliver it by car as soon as possible.
Hours passed, and the pain and swelling not only increased but began slowly moving up his arm closer to the elbow. Florence, Elden’s wife, kept a nervous vigil.
Late that night an old bootlegger arrived with the serum. Then Dr. McGregor faced the dilemma of how much of the serum to inject, for the vial was very large. After much concern, the doctor inserted the needle in Elden Beck’s arm and administered it all.
My grandfather, Dr. D. Elden Beck, lived!
The following year Dr. McGregor delivered, in the St. George hospital, the Beck’s baby daughter, Janet Ruth, my mother.

Growing up, I wasn’t that religious. I knew the basics of Christianity, but I always had more questions than faith and didn’t really think much of it. But I had always heard my devout, religious aunt repeat Matthew 22:14:
“For many are called, but few are chosen.”
“Chosen for what?” I would think.
I never understood what this verse truly meant, and I never bothered to ask her. I started to assume this verse of scripture meant that God must have a list of His favorite children who would fill up the seats of heaven—His chosen few.
I didn’t believe I was one of those favorites.
The older I got and the more I looked around at the way others lived, it seemed that no matter what I did in my life, whether good things or bad things, I would be insignificant if I wasn’t one of His “chosen.”
I didn’t even know how to reach that status!
Knowing this, I started to believe that I would never amount to much in God’s eyes. I wouldn’t inherit His blessings or promises because I wasn’t born a favorite.
These thoughts often filled me with anxiety. I desperately wished to learn more about what it meant to become one of God’s chosen people and what it took to receive His blessings.
One day, I was scrolling social media when I came across an advertisement for Come, Follow Me. When I clicked on the ad, I found a way to connect with missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My willingness to find answers and hope for my life led me to agree to meet with them.
Through their lessons and many prayers, I learned so much about the gospel of Jesus Christ, my purpose in life, and, most importantly, the perfect love Heavenly Father has for me—His divine child.
I was baptized and felt so much joy and understanding spilling into my life. But I still didn’t quite feel the reassurance I was longing for. My anxious thoughts prior to joining the Church had lessened, but I still didn’t know if I was one of God’s chosen few who would inherit all that He has. I wasn’t sure what more I could do to become one of those special people.
That all changed a few months later when I was watching general conference. I was hopeful I would find some answers to questions that still felt unsettling when Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles began to speak. I was shocked when I heard him mention the very same verse that had left me puzzled throughout my life.
I was suddenly struck with hope.
Elder Bednar explained that “[Heavenly Father] does not limit ‘the chosen’ to a restricted few. Instead, our hearts, our desires, our honoring of sacred gospel covenants and ordinances, our obedience to the commandments, and, most importantly, the Savior’s redeeming grace and mercy determine whether we are counted as one of God’s chosen.”1
And in that moment, I knew—I am chosen.
Elder Bednar’s words gave me a deep feeling of gratitude that overwhelmed me. I felt more blessed than ever to have found The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
God doesn’t have favorites—He loves all His children with perfect love—but being chosen means we also choose Him too.
We are chosen because we choose to let Him prevail in our lives above everything else.
We are chosen because we choose to let Him prevail in our lives above everything else.
Elder Bednar inspired me to faithfully stay on the covenant path as I endure to the end. I also felt inspired by President Russell M. Nelson’s message to prioritize my relationship with Heavenly Father and to strive to forsake and overcome the world2 so that I can return to Him!

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.

When I was 11, I helped my ward build a new Church building. The members helped build them in those days—pounding nails, painting walls, and doing all sorts of things.
President David O. McKay was the ninth President of the Church and served from 1951 until 1970.
When I heard that President David O. McKay (1873–1970) would dedicate the building, I really wanted to be there. My parents said that I could go. I went early and sat on the front row.
I remember seeing President McKay up close. I saw the way he stood, how he talked to people, how he treated people. He had bright blue eyes and white hair. He looked like a prophet. When I heard him speak and say the dedicatory prayer, I knew in my heart that this was God’s prophet.
I had a powerful spiritual impression from Heavenly Father: “This is My prophet.” Heavenly Father was telling me through the Holy Ghost that President McKay was His prophet.
Once I knew that President McKay was God’s prophet, I knew that the Church was true and that Joseph Smith was a prophet. I knew that the Book of Mormon and the Restoration of the gospel were true. I also knew that all the prophets, from Joseph Smith to David O. McKay, were God’s prophets too.
Now every time a new prophet is called, I’ve had that same confirmation come from Heavenly Father: “This is My prophet.” It all started when I was a boy.

His parents were not sure either. Lucy and Joseph Sr. both came from Christian families and believed in the Bible and Jesus Christ. Lucy attended church meetings and often brought her children with her. She had been seeking the true church of Jesus Christ since the death of her sister many years earlier.
Once, after falling gravely ill sometime before Joseph’s birth, she had feared that she would die before finding the truth. She sensed a dark and lonely chasm between her and the Savior, and she knew she was unprepared for the next life.
Lying awake all night, she prayed to God, promising Him that if He let her live, she would find the Church of Jesus Christ. As she prayed, the voice of the Lord spoke to her, assuring her that if she would seek, she would find. She had visited more churches since then, but she had still not found the right one. Yet even when it felt like the Savior’s Church was no longer on the earth, she kept searching, trusting that going to church was better than not.18

On Saturday morning just before conference began, our home was buzzing with our Saturday routine, when our television was suddenly filled with the scenes and sounds of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir at the opening of general conference. We gathered our two young sons and kept them in “pause mode” long enough for the opening prayer. Then when President Uchtdorf came to the pulpit to begin the solemn assembly, the atmosphere changed in our home. The four of us knelt in front of the television, the Spirit filling our home. I felt momentarily embarrassed that we were present for this sacred moment casually dressed in a room made chaotic with the morning playtime. And yet, as we stood in turn to raise our hands in sustaining support, my heart filled with utter joy. Finally we stood as a family, even the toddler raising his right arm, and there was a sense of holiness that one usually feels in the temple. We stood together witnessing what the Spirit confirmed was right.
Moments later, the whirlwind of children began again and we had to turn the volume up to hear the speakers, but that brief moment of peace remained in our home and hearts.
Christina N., Utah, USA

In April 2019, I decided to visit a friend. He is someone my family appreciates, and we really wanted to spend time with him and his wife. While there, he decided to give me a tour of Brigham Young University to get to know the university. As we reached the climax of the tour, arriving at the university museum, I was captivated by the exhibition they had by Brian Kershisnik, especially the piece She Will Find What is Lost. I spent hours staring at the piece, in genuine amazement at what it meant.
In 1992, I began the search for the fourth generation of my family as requested by the prophet, and my effort did not stop until I found the first member of my family to arrive on the island.
Sister Yngrid Cepeda, temple and family history consultant for the San Gerónimo Stake shared the following from the stake indexing day: “Today I had a beautiful experience with my dear friend Sister Marte from the Enriquillo Ward. She didn’t know anything about her father’s relatives, and she only had the names of her grandparents. She had not had the work done for her grandfather, and we decided to print the card. As we entered the website, we saw a suggested record that was a death certificate of an aunt about whom I knew nothing. We continued researching and found a baptism certificate for her grandparents, where we found her parents (her great-grandparents). Next, we found five more children of this couple. All of this in less than 20 minutes. Thanks to someone’s indexing these records, Sister Marte has more than eight family name cards including those of her grandfather and of her great-grandparents. The spirit of Elijah manifested itself in such a clear and precise way. Tell me if this is a coincidence or is it the work of the spirit of Elijah that helps the living and the dead to meet again?”
Brother Elian González from Mirador Ward, recently returned from his mission, made it his goal to attend the temple with his girlfriend every Saturday: “Regular temple attendance has filled my life with countless blessings. Returning from a full-time mission, I was very concerned about how I could constantly keep myself in a holy place. As I try to have the Holy Ghost present in my home and become holy, I have made it a goal to attend the temple as regularly as possible, each week. By going to the temple, I do not escape from problems, but rather I find solutions for them. I do not hide from the world, but rather I find the spiritual forces to conquer the world and its desires. As I consistently attend the temple, I receive guidance from Heavenly Father and divine comfort from the Savior. As I perform temple work, I have seen the promise fulfilled to become a savior on Mount Zion. I was blessed to do the ordinances for my father, and I have felt peace and immense love knowing that, thanks to temple ordinances, families can be eternal. I testify that temples give us hope and peace, I know that they are the house of the Lord and that in temples we can be instruments in his hands to help gather Israel on the other side of the veil.
“As for me, I have truly found what was lost; I have found the strong women of my family, who were an active part in the struggle for national independence (1844) and who were avant-garde in wearing pants at a time when it was not usual.
“Finding them at this time in my life makes me feel more comfortable with myself and helps me understand that who I am is a precious legacy of valuable women who will now be valuable women in the gospel of the Lord.”