Gospel Story Finder

The crowd seemed to calm down suddenly as they focused their attention on the gymnastic arena. Everyone seemed to be watching the same girl—the one who had attracted their attention earlier in the balance beam competition. This time she was swinging on the uneven parallel bars.
The girl was Diane Ellingson, a typical-looking fifteen-year-old gymnast with a slim body, her hair in a blonde ponytail. But the crowd seemed to sense that there was more to her than her good looks.
Maybe they noticed her because of the confident way she performed 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 winning 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 smile. Even when she slipped and landed flat on her face at the end of a routine while being filmed on national television, she smiled and waved to the crowd until they applauded. In a competition on her eighteenth 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.”
Even as a child, Diane loved to have an audience. Once when she was nine or ten years old 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 just for fun.
Diane’s sister Marie laughs at the memory of Diane as a child performer. “If you ever see our family photographs, she’s always out in front. She was just always a show-off. Dad would be photographing someone else and Diane would get in the picture somehow.”
The desire to perform fit perfectly into gymnastics, another of Diane’s lifelong loves. It was hard 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 children and couldn’t afford to pay for Diane to have lessons. She went down to the gymnasium herself and told the coach that she’d do anything for them. So after practice sessions she’d clean the gymnasium—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 fourteen and a half years old, 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 victory.
After she was no longer eligible for college competition, she decided to go on a national professional tour. Diane 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 up and over the vault—just like all the other times. But this time was different. This time she turned her body just a little too far. This time when she landed, she broke her neck. The accident put her in the hospital for almost six months 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 imagine her 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 centimeters 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. 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 restless. I was really impatient with people.” Finally Diane came to a turning point.
“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 priesthood 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 serious 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 taught me to get back up so I could be a champion again.”
On the day she finally realized she would never walk again, Diane made the decision to return to school to work for her degree. She was lying on her bed with all her 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 Diane teaches a class full of seven-year-olds 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 intently 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. Just listen to her speak and you’ll hear 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 own laughter frequently interrupts her stories.
“I think telling my gymnastics stories and sharing my experiences opens up the communication between us. They soon forget that I’m in a wheelchair. When they do that, the youth can see that I’m just a regular person and we have a lot in common, even though, in a wheelchair, 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 entire time she was a gymnast, whether she was swinging high above the uneven parallel bars of just doing handstands for fun, her only fear was of being blind or paralyzed. “I had such uneasy feelings about wheelchairs that I would never talk to anybody in a wheelchair or go near a wheelchair. I would avoid people in wheelchairs. I was afraid that I’d end up in a wheelchair if I got too close to one. It was almost like having thought about it so much somehow prepared me for a wheelchair,” she says.
It was probably Diane’s unconquerable spirit that prepared her more than anything else. It’s a spirit that is evident 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 are turned down in the room as she finishes her message, and a slide show featuring Diane, the fun-lover and gymnast, lashes on the screen in time to some fast, contemporary music. When the presentation is over, young people surround her excitedly.
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 drop out of school. The third time, she made a goal to become one of the best students in her class, and the last time she was on her way to that goal.”
Diane just shrugs her shoulders 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 handle the situation,’ and the thing I have to say is, ‘Either you handle the situation 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.

Would you ever believe that the quiet, grandmotherly lady in your ward first kissed a boy on a dare? Or that the smiling, old grandpa who’s been in your ward forever once drove his car into the side of a barn because he forgot that he had to hit the brakes instead of yell “Whoa”?
It’s probably difficult to imagine that the seniors in your ward ever did such crazy things—especially when the only thing you know about them is what bench they usually sit on during sacrament meeting. But that’s not the case for the youth in the Dalton Gardens Ward, Coeur d‘Alene Idaho Stake. They know all about the lives of the ward’s elderly members. Of course, it hasn’t always been that way. It wasn’t until their ward’s “Family History Can Be Fun” night that they began to learn about the older people’s lives.
But ever since then, their hearts have been turning—not only toward their ward’s seniors, but also toward their ancestors and toward each other.
All this turning began when the Dalton Gardens Ward youth took Malachi’s prophecy to heart and became excited about family history work (see Mal. 4:5–6).
They did this by filling out pedigree charts, having classes on the importance of genealogy, visiting with their ward’s senior citizens, and organizing a ward activity in which they acted out episodes from the lives of the grandparents in their ward family.
And what’s been the outcome of all this excitement? For one thing, the ward’s generation gap has narrowed.
“Now when you go to church, you see a lot of the young people going up to the older people in the ward and saying hi and maybe walking them to class,” says Russell Isaacson, a 16-year-old priest. “Before we might have just walked by them because we didn’t really know them at all, but now we see them as our friends.”
Desiree Wallace, 15, interviewed Virginia Gjevres about her life. Desiree found out about Virginia’s first teddy bear and her longing for a dog. And she learned that while Virginia was growing up she was so accident prone that everyone called her Calamity Jane.
“I didn’t really know Sister Gjevres before I interviewed her. I had only seen her at church. But now I just have this love for her, and I want to adopt her as my grandma,” says Desiree, who doesn’t have any grandparents living nearby.
As connections were made between the youth and the elderly in the ward family, it caused some to reflect on the importance of forming eternal connections with their own ancestors.
“The grandparents just really seemed enthusiastic about us getting to know them better. They looked so happy,” says Cassie Gatten, 15. “So it made me realize that when we do genealogy work for our ancestors who have died that they’re probably really happy about that too.”
Interviewing the grandparents about their lives, writing the scripts, finding costumes, and then having rehearsals to make sure everything was just right took a lot of time. But the youth said the time spent was worth it when they saw everything and everyone come together on the night of the activity.
“Sometimes I didn’t really feel like it was worth all the time it took to put this activity together. But then when I saw the final night and the looks on the faces of the elderly as they watched incidents from their lives acted out before them and as they realized that the youth in the ward care about who they are, it all seemed worth it,” Cassie says. “It also made me want to live my life in a way so that if someone were to write a play about me when I am old I wouldn’t be embarrassed by it.”
After acting out scenes from Reny Sampert’s life, Kim Pearson, a 17-year-old Laurel, and her group sang Reny’s favorite song, “O My Father.”
“When we were singing ‘O My Father,’ Reny got tears in her eyes, and you could tell she was really touched,” Kim says.
“This activity brought us so much closer to the older people,” says Amber Isaacson, 15. “A lot of people in the ward are related, but there are families like mine who are not, so it’s just really neat to get to know them like the relatives do.”
Even though Amber and her brother Russell don’t have any relatives in the ward, in doing this activity Russell has realized how much some of the ward’s grandparents have contributed to his life.
“Talking with the elderly in our ward helped me to understand that they are actually a part of me because they helped form the Church here in Coeur d‘Alene. And just to look at it today and see how I’m involved and see the key part they have played in my life makes me grateful that I was able to get to know them better,” Russell explains.
Learning about the grandparents in the ward has also given Russell some understanding about the effects that trials can have in a person’s life.
“Talking with Frances Young and learning about the different trials she went through in her life helps me to see how things like that have made her the great person she is today,” Russell says. “It’s just interesting how different experiences can mold a person.”
Cassie says she learned a lot of new things about the people she interviewed too, even though they were her own grandparents.
“A lot of what I learned about them was a surprise to me,” she says. “But in learning about their youth, I realized where some of their characteristics came from.”
Cassie has also learned that it is only by understanding her heritage that she is able to understand herself.
“It made me really want to figure out where I came from,” she says. “We’re made up of all these people and we don’t even know what they are, so how can we know what we are?”
Whether they learned more about themselves, about their ancestors, or about the seniors in their ward, one thing is certain for the youth in the Dalton Gardens Ward—their hearts have been turned.
“Doing this brought us so much closer to the elderly,” Amber says. “The older people were excited to share their lives with the youth, and we were excited to know about their lives. Everyone wanted to do a really good job with the skits because they had become such good friends with the elderly that they wanted their skit to be the best.”
Everyone in the ward took part in the activity. The Primary children sang, the Relief Society prepared food, the youth performed, and the older members brought their heirlooms to put on display.
A few hours before the activity started, all of the heirlooms were dropped off at the church, making several large piles of mismatched items. By the time everyone arrived, just a few hours later, the piles of items from various families had been organized into an old-fashioned bedroom, kitchen, and living room. All the mismatched items had come together to form a perfect display. And this is the way the activity affected the Dalton Gardens Ward. There was a group of people—some old, some young, some related, some not—that have now come together so well that no one would know they weren’t all from the same family.

This advice has been true for Susan and me. The friends we made in college are among the fondest, dearest gifts of our BYU education. Susan was particularly good—and intentional—about cultivating friendships when she was a student.

When I started college, I did not know anyone. I was a little scared and lonely. So I set a goal to sit by new people for each meal and learn their names and something about them. I did this day after day until I knew every person in my group. I became friends with them. And they are dear friends still.

It also helped her dating I must say. Sister Tanner learned the ageless truth that to make friends you must be a friend. Or as Proverbs puts it: “A man that hath friends must show himself friendly…” [2] Likewise, Jesus taught that to find our life we must lose our lives. [3] As you forget yourself and reach out to others, you will find new friends and a much richer life here.

An example of our two emotional extremes occurred two years ago. As part of an outing, a group of Latter-day Saint Boy Scouts entered an abandoned mine in the mountains not far from here. Somehow, young Joshua Dennis was separated from the group and became lost in the mine. Anyone who has ever lost something valuable will remember that terrible feeling. The pain is most extreme when we have lost a loved one. Joshua’s family and friends feared their loss might be permanent.

Search efforts were organized. For days, many good people dropped everything they were doing to search for the one who was lost. Many shared the pain of his loss. Then, miraculously, he was found. Prayers were answered, and the mercy of a loving Heavenly Father was manifest in the happiness of family and friends reunited with the one who was lost. The pain of loss turned to the overwhelming joy of reunion. (See "Hidden Treasure," Ensign, Aug. 1991, pp. 30–35.)

I carried this faith into the first years of my life as a college student at the University of California at Santa Barbara. About that time, however, a philosophy class opened challenges and raised issues about the very existence of God. About this same time, I faced the decision of whether to take a leave of absence from college to serve a mission. To add to the dilemma the Korean War commenced with its disquieting influence on my generation. I wrestled with the issue of God, not exactly doubting, but thinking more deeply about it. I loved the Church, but being somewhat analytical developed a list of doctrinal and policy issues and concerns to which I wanted to find answers. For me the list was somewhat lengthy and formidable.

What carried the day on the question of leaving college to serve a mission was probably a feeling of trust in my parents' and my grandparents' viewpoint on the existence of God and Jesus Christ together with a feeling that there was good and evil in the world and the Church was a source of light, goodness, and truth. I was drawn somehow to that feeling of goodness, not then knowing its source, but despite my decision to serve I wanted to know more and I wanted to find answers to my concerns. Reading the Book of Mormon gave me enough assurance to go on, but it also made me realize how much I didn't know and gave me a thirst to want to know more, much more. If I am right some of you may have had somewhat similar experiences to mine.

I entered my first assignment in northern Montana with enthusiasm, but also full of desire to know more. I read everything about the gospel I could get my hands on, and especially the scriptures which I read over and over until my eyes were sore. Over the next couple of months, I found answers to virtually all of my questions, enough so that I felt complete assurance that there were answers to all of my fundamental questions. We never in this life get to know everything, but I knew enough and had enough experience by then that my testimony had become firm. It has never left me, even though I still have things I would like to more fully understand. I felt sorry for my first companion who had to put up with all of my probing and searching. The result of this early experience was personally helpful and powerful. Study and reasoning had confirmed the feelings of the heart that caused me to volunteer for missionary service.

I always thought my relatives had already traced our family history back to the beginning of time. So in the October 2011 general conference when Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles invited youth to work on family history in order to take names to the temple, I didn’t think I would have much success in finding names. But something in his talk made me want to try, and I sat down at the computer to figure out how to find my ancestors.
Within 15 minutes, I found someone. His name was Stephen Barker, and he was the youngest member of his family. All of his temple ordinances had been performed except one—he was the only child who hadn’t been sealed to his parents. Suddenly I thought, “What if that were me? What if I were the only child not sealed to my family and I had waited hundreds of years for the opportunity?” I gave his name to my parents so they could go to the temple and do the work for him. I have never felt the Spirit so strongly, and that is when I knew I needed to keep doing family history.

The day after returning from his mission, Ben Jansen remembered a promise made to his last companion. Rummaging through his wallet, he found the scribbled number and dialed.
“Hello, is this Sue Hopkins?” he asked after she answered.
“This is Susan Hopkins.”
“I’m Ben Jansen.”
After a long pause, she asked, “Should that be important to me?”
“Until yesterday I was Elder Wallace’s companion.”
“You were David’s companion?” she squealed with delight. “How is he?”
“Just fine. He asked me to call and say hello, except he said your name was Sue.”
“Since he’s been gone, I’ve decided I like Susan better. How long were you with him?”
“Six months four days and eight and a half hours.”
“So you must have gotten really close to him.”
“Oh yes, he was a wonderful companion. So neat and clean. We painted the kitchen four times while I was with him—couldn’t get the right shade at first.”
“Did he tell you about me?” she asked.
“You like catsup on your scrambled egg sandwiches.”
“He told you that?” she asked.
“We were discussing odd eating habits. He couldn’t understand the way I ate.”
“Oh,” she said politely. “Why? Do you eat funny?”
“I had a few stomach problems while I was with him and ate a lot of yogurt. I was afraid of getting an ulcer.”
After a long pause, she asked, “Didn’t you get along as companions?”
“Oh, did I give you that impression?” Ben chuckled. “We got along just fine. Oh sure, there were problems at first, but with the help of our mission president, we worked them out.”
“What problems?” she timidly asked.
“Nothing really. I grew to love the guy.”
She gave a sigh of relief. “That makes two of us. After he’s released, we plan on getting married.”
“You can be proud of him. He’s a wonderful missionary.”
“I know.”
“One thing you should know—he snores like crazy.”
“Very bad?” she asked uneasily.
“Unbelievable. It shook the entire apartment, but I adjusted to it.”
“You did?” she asked, her voice betraying her concern. “How?”
“I slept on the porch. Of course, in the winter it was cold, but they say it’s healthy.”
After another long pause, she asked, “What else did he say about me?”
“He talked about how you two were a team, and how you’d bake bread and raise a garden and sew his clothes and raise chickens and milk cows and work as an auto mechanic and a secretary while he finished college.”
“Oh,” she said, clearing her throat. “Of all the companions you had, how would you rate David?”
“For cleanliness,” he said emphatically, “I’d rate him the very highest.”
“But as far as being able to get along with others, how would you rate him?”
Seconds slipped by as he desperately tried to find a diplomatic answer.
“Hello?” she said. “Are you still there?”
“Just thinking.”
“Was it that bad living with him?” she asked.
“No, really. It was fine.”
“Would you have wanted to spend more time with him?”
“Gee,” he stammered, “I learned so much from him. I don’t think I could have learned another thing.”
“Please, will you tell me the problems you had with him?” she pleaded.
Suddenly his fight for diplomacy was lost. “Have you ever painted a stupid kitchen four times in six months?” he exploded. “Other elders played basketball on diversion days, but not us. No, we went to paint stores and compared color swatches!”
He realized his sudden outburst had stunned her, and he felt rotten. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me. I love him like a brother, and I wish you both every happiness. Good-bye.”
“Don’t hang up! I have more questions.”
“I’ve been unfair to him. We had good times, too. It was just a little personality conflict, but I’m sure you’ll get along with him just fine. One word of advice though—decide on the color of your apartment before you marry him.”
“Can you come over to my dorm so we can talk?” she asked.
It was an hour’s drive from his home to her dorm. When she answered the door, he had a hard time recognizing her from David’s description. Instead of a timid clinging vine, he was met by a confident, athletic-looking girl. They said their hellos and sat down on the couch in the dorm living room.
“You’re a lot different than I pictured you,” he said.
“How did you picture me?”
“Shy and dependent, always leaning on David for protection. But you don’t look like a leaner to me.”
Her warm smile made him feel very comfortable.
“I was only 17 when I met David my first semester here. Being from a small farming community, I guess I was scared, and he helped me so much. He even helped me pick classes to take.”
“Like what?”
“Just before he left, he had me taking typing, auto repair, and midwifery. He wanted me to learn practical skills to bring in money after we were married and he was in college.”
“Auto repair?” Ben asked. “Could you look at my car? It’s got a little pinging sound.”
“I didn’t take any more courses like that after he left,” she said. “I switched to physical education. I’m on the swim team.”
“You look like a swimmer—very sleek, like you’d slide through the water easily.”
“Do you play sports?” she asked.
“Football. I’m going out in the fall.”
“You look like a football player—very powerful, like you’d slide through the other team easily.”
Ben returned her smile and realized he was out of practice at flirting.
“Tell me about the problems you had with David,” she asked.
“You must think we were at each other’s throats, but missionary work is too important to let personality conflicts slow it down. Actually we hardly argued at all. I just learned to adjust. I’m sure the experience will make me a better husband. In fact, every potential husband should have a chance to live with him for a while to learn to adjust.”
“Give me an example,” she asked.
He gave her an embarrassed look and said, “You’ll think it’s such a little thing.”
“If it was important to you, I’d like to hear about it.”
“Well, one time I made a special dessert, a plum pudding. It took half our diversion day, but it turned out great.”
“I’d like to get your recipe,” she said.
“David just wolfed it down, didn’t say a word, and then left the table for me to clean up.”
“And that made you feel unappreciated, right?”
“He could’ve said something,” Ben grumbled. He noticed the worry on her face and added, “But I’m sure he’ll compliment you on your cooking. You’re probably a very good cook.”
“I don’t know how to make plum pudding,” she confessed.
“Take my advice—don’t bother to learn.”
“What else did he say about me?”
“He kept saying he was the sunshine of your life, like in the song, and how much you needed him. It sounds nice, but to tell you the truth, it’s not my ideal. I want my wife to be a partner.”
“Oh, I agree,” she said quickly.
They found themselves looking at each other with a puzzled expression.
“Did you have someone waiting for you during your mission?” she asked.
“Yes, she’s married now.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Have you dated much while David’s been gone?” he asked as innocently as he could.
“Not up to now, but …”
“Yes?”
“Maybe I should, just in case.”
“Oh, but I wouldn’t want you to date just anyone. You know how returned missionaries are on this campus. No sir, for David’s sake, I’d better take you out a few times—just until he gets back, of course.”
“That’d be nice,” she purred.
And so they dated. Their common interests in sports led them to go skiing and play racquetball and swim and go dancing. And that was just on their first date.
It didn’t take more than a month before he realized he was in trouble. The social standing of a returned missionary who goes home and falls in love with his companion’s girl is just above that of a snake—except snakes are held in much higher regard among missionaries.
The night before David returned, they took a long walk.
“I guess I won’t be seeing you much after tomorrow,” he said.
“Maybe not.”
“He’s a lucky guy.”
“You’ve been a real friend to me,” she said.
“Susan, I’ve never told you how I feel about you. I promised myself that until David got back and you decided about him, I’d just be a friend. The last thing I wanted to do was take his girl away from him.”
“I can’t be transferred like the title to a car. You can’t take me away from him, can you? It’s a decision I make myself, but I owe him a certain loyalty, at least until tomorrow.”
The plan for David’s return was that his family and Susan would meet him at the airport. Unfortunately, three hours before the plane was to arrive, his family called her to say they had all come down with the flu. They asked if Ben and Susan could pick him up.
The plane was on time. As David came into the terminal from the plane, he saw them, rushed forward, and was buried in their hugs.
As they left the airport, David suggested they drop by Temple Square. They walked around for an hour and then decided to have something to eat at the coffee shop of the Hotel Utah.
“Hey, Elder Jansen,” David said, giving the waitress the menu after they’d ordered, “this is just like old times, isn’t it—us eating together again?”
“Yes,” Ben said, wondering if he should order some yogurt.
“Ben and I had some great times as companions, Sue.”
“Her name is Susan,” Ben said.
“He worked hard when he was with me. I made sure about that.”
“I always worked hard,” Ben added, anxious that Susan not think he had been lazy on his mission.
“Yeah, but you let down once in a while,” David said, grinning smugly.
“When?” Ben challenged.
“When I suggested we paint the living room.”
Ben took a long drink of water before he trusted himself to speak again.
“I never complained, elder. I even held my tongue when you said you developed an allergy to washing dishes.”
“Please,” Susan said, “don’t argue.”
“We’re not arguing,” Ben said. “We’re discussing; that’s all. While I was with him on my mission, we concentrated on working together, but there were always a couple of things I wanted to discuss, and now we can. I just want to say one thing, David. I slaved all day making you a nice plum pudding and what thanks did I get?”
“Plum pudding?” David asked. “What plum pudding?”
“Oh yeah, and I suppose you forgot the nice lemon sauce on top of it too?”
“David,” Susan suggested, “I think you should thank Ben for his pudding.”
“I don’t remember any pudding.”
Ben realized his face was beet red. Susan placed her hand on David’s shoulder and pleaded, “I’m sure it was a wonderful pudding. What harm is there in thanking him?”
“It must not have been that great if I can’t remember it, right?”
Susan turned next to Ben. “Aren’t you forgetting something? You haven’t thanked David for all he did for you. I bet he must’ve cooked some yummy dishes for you.”
“That’s just it,” Ben grumbled, “he never cooked anything. He said he was allergic to the kitchen. I cooked everything, I washed everything, and what thanks do I get?”
Susan nervously wiped her forehead and sighed, “Good grief! I feel like a marriage counselor. Look, let’s just drop the subject of puddings, okay?”
At that point the soup and crackers arrived. They all were relieved to be able to concentrate on the food. Once Ben looked up to see David grabbing half a dozen crackers and crumbling them into his soup, leaving one cracker for Susan and himself to share.
He didn’t even look up as David slurped his soup.
After the meal was over, they walked around the lobby of the hotel.
“Sue, you really deserve an award for waiting for me,” David said, looking at a five hundred dollar necklace in one of the hotel shops, then moving on.
“Her name is Susan.”
“Typing up all my notes and sending cookies once a month.”
“Cookies?” Ben asked. “What cookies? I never saw any cookies while I was with you.”
“Oh, well …” David stammered.
“You held out on cookies?” Ben asked, shocked and disappointed.
“Well, I …”
“Is that what kept coming in those packages? When did you eat ’em?”
“Well, I may have nibbled on one or two in the morning while you were in the shower.”
“How could you hold out on cookies?” Ben asked.
“I didn’t want you to get cavities,” David lamely explained.
“Well, what about your cavities?”
“I was raised in an area with natural fluoride. I don’t get cavities.”
Ben looked forlornly at Susan and muttered quietly, “He ate cookies without me. That’s the lowest thing a companion can do.”
“No, it isn’t,” David said. “We talked about that once after a zone conference, and we decided the lowest thing an elder can do is go home and fall in love with his companion’s girl.”
Ben started to cough. When he could finally speak again, he looked at Susan and said, “He ate your cookies without giving me a single one.”
“Look, if you want,” she said, “I’ll make some just for you.”
“I hardly think that’d be appropriate,” David objected.
“Why not?” Susan asked.
“It’s not right for a girl who’s engaged to bake cookies for another guy.”
Susan touched David’s hand gently. “I think we need to talk about that some more.”
David pursed his lips thoughtfully and gave in. “Okay, one batch of cookies.”
“That’s not what we need to talk about,” Susan said.
“We’ll talk about cookies later,” David said. “Right now I want you to remember back two years when we were here for supper. It was the night before I entered the mission home. Remember, my neighbor, the one who used to work here, gave us a tour of one of the bridal suites because he knew we were planning on marriage after my mission. Do you remember that, Sue?”
“Her name is Susan,” Ben glumly said.
Before Susan could object, David was at the desk making arrangements for the manager to show them the bridal suite.
On the way up in the elevator, Ben stood close to her on one side, with David next to her on the other side.
“Planning a wedding, huh?” the manager asked.
“Sure are,” David grinned.
The confused manager looked at the three of them and asked, “Which one is the groom?”
“That’s funny!” David roared. “Sue, he thinks Ben’d marry you. No, I’m the groom, and Ben here is just an old missionary companion.”
The manager let them into the vacant suite.
“Will you look at that?” David said, looking at the walls. “Sue, look, they’ve painted the room since we looked at it two years ago.”
“It was painted last spring,” the manager explained.
“What’s the name of the color?” David asked.
“I’m not sure,” the manager said.
“It could be honey butter … but it might be toasted coconut too,” David said.
“Nobody’s ever asked about the color before,” the manager said.
“Hey, Sue, what do you think if, after our honeymoon, we paint our bedroom this same color?”
“Oh, no,” Ben moaned, shaking his head.
“Of course, we’d want to get it the same exact shade.”
“You poor girl,” Ben said, patting her on the back.
“Hey, this’d be a super time to make it official, to announce our engagement,” David said cheerfully.
“David,” Ben said, “you’ve only been home from your mission for an hour. Wouldn’t you like to go home and at least unpack before you get engaged? You need to get to know her again.”
“Sue and I know each other.”
“If you knew her, you wouldn’t call her Sue.”
“Sue, Susan, what’s the difference?”
“David,” Susan said gently, “you’re not the sunshine of my life anymore in the way you used to be.”
“I’m not? Who is?”
“Me.”
“Boy, talk about conceited.”
“With you I was always little Sue, the shy girl you helped sign up for auto repair and typing. But I’ve grown up and overcome my fears. I can’t go back to being Sue again.”
“You’re not my little Sue?”
“I’m afraid not.”
David whipped out his handkerchief and energetically blew his nose. “Excuse me,” he blurted out, “I’ll be waiting in the car. I need some time to think.” Then he rushed out of the room.
“Well, that’s it,” Susan said, shrugging her shoulders. “Two years to the day, and now it’s over.”
“You waited for him. You sent him cookies. Nobody could’ve done any better.”
“I’d like to close up the room and get back to the desk,” the manager announced.
“Susan,” Ben said, wiping away a tear from her cheek, “I told you I wouldn’t say anything until you made up your mind, and now you have.”
The manager looked at his watch. “I really must get back.”
“Could we see the view of the temple from the window?” Ben asked, trying to set the stage.
Reluctantly the manager opened the drapes. “I love you, Susan. Let’s get married in the temple and reserve the room for a month from now.”
Susan sat down quickly on the couch. “I’ve heard of people being fast on the rebound after breaking up, but this is ridiculous.”
“Will you marry me?” Ben asked.
“What about the other one?” the confused manager asked, “the one who said he was going to marry her?”
“The reservation will be just for her and me,” Ben said.
“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Susan said, shaking her head. “Give me a little time to think.”
Down at the car, David sat and brooded as they traveled along the interstate. Finally he said, “Sue, I have something to say. I know you waited for me, but I don’t think this is going to work out. I think we should break up. Now I know this is a shock for you, but I’m sure it’s for the best.”
“Okay, David,” she said, “if that’s what you think.”
David spent several minutes consoling her for losing him.
Finally Ben interrupted. “I have a little something to say too. After you left, I asked her to marry me.”
“You asked Sue to marry you?” David gasped.
“In the five minutes I was waiting in the car?”
“That’s right,” Ben said.
There was a long pause. Finally David snapped, “You’re just trying to get back at me because of the cookies, aren’t you?”
“That’s not it. I love her.” Nobody spoke for five minutes.
“Are you going to marry him, Sue?”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“Don’t do it, Sue! Look, I lived with him for six months, and the most sickening sight I ever saw on my mission was watching him use dental floss. And his dirty socks—he just throws ’em on the floor and expects me to pick ’em up.”
“But at least he knows me the way I am now,” Susan said.
“So you might end up marrying him?”
“Yes, David, I might.”
“This is the lowest thing a companion can do!” David said, turning to accuse Ben.
Another five minutes of silence.
“Well, let me tell you something!” David barked. “While I was waiting in the car, I had a chance to remember back. And you know what?”
“What?”
“THE PLUM PUDDING WAS AWFUL!”
They rode several more miles in silence. Finally David turned to Sue and said, “It’s not too early to begin thinking about the color for your kitchen.”
“I made up my mind!” Susan cried out.
“All right!” Ben shouted. “I’ll make the hotel reservation as soon as I get home, and we’ll need to get temple recommends.”
“Rats!” David complained.
“I’m going to do what I always wanted to do, and that’s go to BYU in Hawaii next semester. It’ll give me time to decide about marriage. Besides, I may never get another chance to go there. Ben, will you take me home first?”
They all sat in silence until they reached her dorm.
“I’ll write every day,” Ben said, as she entered the dorm.
“I will too,” David added.
Then Ben continued south to David’s house.
“You ought to have Sue look at your motor to see what that funny noise is,” David suggested.
“I already asked. She says she doesn’t know anything.”
“Are you going to college?” David asked, breaking the silence again.
“Yeah.”
“Living at home?”
“No, I decided to live in Provo. It’s an off-campus apartment.”
“Any vacancies in your apartment?” David asked.
“One,” Ben said, biting off the word.
“One vacancy,” David said. “Mind if I move in next semester?”
“I don’t think it would work out,” Ben said glumly.
“There are laws against discrimination,” David said.
“It’s not discrimination! I just don’t think it would work out!”
Two minutes of silence.
“Why not?”
“Because I love Susan and so do you. That’s why.”
A minute of silence.
“Well, then we have something in common, don’t we?”
“We don’t have anything in common!” Ben roared.
Another minute of silence.
“Well, what about the time we fasted and prayed for the Sorenson couple? And what about the Johnson family we taught and baptized? We have that in common, don’t we?”
Ben remembered back to the times they had shared which were spiritual, when they had felt the influence of the Holy Ghost. That influence had united them in spite of their individual differences.
Several minutes later, Ben quietly said, “All right, you can move in.”
“Thanks.”
“On one condition. If you mention, even mention painting a room, you’re out. Do you understand that?”
“Clear as a bell,” David said.
After letting David out at his home, Ben drove back to Provo. On his way, he stopped by a grocery store to pick up some yogurt. He wondered if he’d be using it on a regular basis now.

The spiritual richness of our meetings seems to have little to do with the buildings or country in which we meet. Many years ago we went to Manaus, Brazil, a city far upstream on the Amazon River, surrounded by jungle, to meet with the missionaries and the handful of Saints who were then in that area. We met in a very humble home with no glass panes in the windows. The weather was excessively hot. The children sat on the floor. The mission president, President Helio da Rocha Camargo, conducted the meeting and called on a faithful brother to give the opening prayer. The humble man responded, “I will be happy to pray, but may I also bear my testimony?” A sister was asked to lead the singing. She responded, “I would love to lead the singing, but please let me also bear my testimony.”

And so it was all through the meeting with those who participated in any way. All felt impelled to bear their profound witness of the Savior and his mission and of the restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ. All who were there reached deep down in their souls to their spiritual taproots, remembering the Savior’s words that “where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.” This they did more as heirs to the kingdom of God than as Brazilian members of the Church.

A few of you may have heard of Arturo Toscanini. For those of you who aren’t familiar with him, he was one of the most respected orchestra conductors of the early 20th century. He was known for having an extraordinary ear for music and eventually became the conductor of the New York Philharmonic Orchestra, a position he held for nearly 20 years. He was also the producer for the orchestra’s weekly radio broadcasts, which were heard all over the world.
One day he received a short letter in the mail, written on a crumbled piece of brown paper. It was from a shepherd who lived alone in a remote mountain area in the state of Wyoming in the Western United States, with his sheep.
The letter said:
“Mr. Conductor: I have only two possessions in this world—a radio and an old violin. The batteries in my radio are getting low and will soon die. I have no way to replace them. My violin is so out of tune, I can’t use it. Please help me. Next Sunday when you begin your concert, could you please play a perfect ‘A’ so I can tune the ‘A’ string on my violin? Once the ‘A’ string is tuned, I will then be able to tune my other strings. That way, when my radio dies, I’ll at least be able to play my violin.”
At the beginning of his next nationwide radio concert from Carnegie Hall, a famous auditorium where some of our BYU–Hawaii students performed last year, Toscanini announced: “For a dear friend and listener in the mountains of Wyoming, the orchestra will now play a perfect ‘A.’” Then the musicians all joined together in sounding that one note. [1]
That lonely shepherd only needed that perfect ‘A’, just a little help to get his violin back in tune; he could go on from there.

“Please. Please. Please.”
“No. And stop following me around.”
“But I want to come with you,” she continued to beg in her six-year-old voice.
“Knock it off, Linzie. Just once I’d like to go somewhere without you coming with me.” I could feel the anger in my voice rising. I was so tired of her being my tagalong. Everywhere I went she had to come too or else she would throw the biggest tantrum. She knew that even the slightest whimper would get her anything she wanted. This time was no exception.
“Where are you going, Bree?” my mom called from the kitchen, where she was making dinner.
“I have to go to the store to get some paper for school. I’ll be gone only 10 minutes.”
“Well then you can take Linzie with you.”
“Yea! Yea! Yea!” The tears immediately ceased when Linzie realized her victory.
“Mom, she’s such a pain. Why do I always have to take her with me?”
“Because she’s your sister, that’s why.” I should have expected that one.
“Fine. Whatever. Hurry up, and get your shoes on, Linzie.” I knew I was acting like a brat, but I had hours of homework to do.
“Okay, let’s go,” Linzie said angelically.
During the drive to the store, I turned up the radio so I wouldn’t have to talk to my sister. We both stared straight forward. The store was busy, and the lines were long. All I could think about was all the homework that awaited me, and how I was going to be up past midnight finishing it. The ride home started off as solemn as the ride to the store. I was determined to let Linzie know how annoyed I was.
“Bree, Bree,” she said timidly.
“What, Linzie?” I didn’t bother turning down the radio.
“You know why I always want to go with you everywhere?”
Her sincerity caught my attention. “No, why?”
She sat quiet for a moment before responding. “Because—because I’m gonna miss you a lot because you’re going to college soon.”
I looked at her. She was staring at me with her beautiful blue eyes. I really didn’t know what to say. “I’ll miss you too. A lot. I’ll still get to come home sometimes, though.”
“Will we be able to do stuff when you come home?”
“Of course, silly girl.”
“Good,” she said as we rounded the corner onto our street.
That was all that was said, but that day I learned a huge lesson about the importance of developing a lasting relationship with my sisters and brother—even when they’re young. It reminded me of the scripture in Mosiah 3:19: “Becometh as a child, submissive, meek, humble, patient, full of love, willing to submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon him.”
I don’t think Linzie knew the huge impact her innocent comment had on me. Now I try to be more tolerant of the things that my younger siblings do, because when I’m gone, I will miss them.

Mía was excited. It was her first time at church! The missionaries told her family about this church. They decided to come.
Mía looked around. She saw a white cloth on a table. Something was under it.
“What’s under that cloth?” Mía asked one of the missionaries.
Sister Hanson smiled. “It’s the sacrament.”
Sacrament. That was a big word. Mía had heard the missionaries telling Mommy and Daddy about it. But she wasn’t sure what it was.
Everyone sang a song. Two men lifted the white cloth. Trays of bread were under it! Mía watched them break the bread into pieces.
After the song a man said a prayer. Other men passed the bread to everyone.
“The bread helps us remember Jesus’s body,” Sister García whispered.
Mía took a piece of bread. She pictured Jesus standing in front of her.
Then there was another prayer. The men passed trays with tiny cups of water.
“The water helps us remember Jesus’s blood,” Sister García whispered. “He died for us because He loves us.”
Mía took a cup of water. She thought about how much Jesus loved her. She felt like He was giving her a big hug.
Later Sister Hanson gave Mía a little picture of Jesus. “We eat the bread and drink the water to remember Jesus and promise to follow Him.” She smiled. “What did you think of the sacrament?”
Mía looked at the picture of Jesus. She remembered the warm feeling she had. She smiled. “It was great! I love Jesus.”

Feike jumped from the edge of the canal onto the deck of the boat where his family lived. His wooden shoes clunked loudly as he raced toward the white cabin at the back of the boat.
“Today is the day,” the 12-year-old boy thought excitedly. “Today Father will give the missionaries his answer.”
Latter-day Saint missionaries had begun preaching in the Netherlands a few years earlier, in the 1860s. Feike had seen them and brought them home, hoping they would teach him English. He soon learned, however, that the elders had greater things to teach him and his family.
At the door of the small cabin, Feike removed his wooden shoes, turning them upside down to keep out water. His classroom at school was larger than the small cabin that was his home, but Feike loved the tiny kitchen with its wood-burning stove. His parents and younger brothers and sisters slept on wall beds that folded up behind the cupboard doors at the back of the kitchen. Feike, the oldest, slept in the storage compartment at the front of the boat.
He slipped into the living room and sat down quietly. Elder Swensen was speaking, carefully reviewing the teachings he and Elder Lofgren had shared on so many winter nights in this very room. Feike had felt the warmth of the Spirit each time and wanted to be baptized right away. He thought his mother did, too, because she spoke often of going to the temple. But Father would not commit to something unless he knew he could do it, and so he wouldn’t be baptized until he was sure he could keep his baptismal promises. Today was the day Father would tell the missionaries his decision. Feike had been praying so sincerely for weeks that he was certain his father’s answer would be yes.
“Brother Wolthuis,” Elder Lofgren said to Father, “I feel you know the gospel is true.”
Father, looking at the floor, nodded his head.
“Are you willing to be baptized?” Elder Lofgren asked. “Can you make the necessary sacrifices?”
The room was silent. Even Feike’s younger brothers and sisters didn’t wiggle. Everyone stared at Father. Slowly he raised his weatherworn face.
“Yes, I know The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is true. I will be baptized.”
Feike beamed. Heavenly Father had heard his prayers. Mother was smiling through the tears streaming down her cheeks.
“We will be ready to sail to America within the month,” Father promised.
“Sail to America?” Feike blurted out.
“Yes, Feike,” Father said. “Church leaders have asked all the Saints to come to Salt Lake City.” He paused. “Uncle Geert has agreed to buy our boat.”
“But the boat was to become mine one day! I was to become the skipper!” Feike desperately reminded his father.
“I know. I have not forgotten my promise,” Father said. “Uncle Geert has agreed to keep you on as his hired man if you choose not to go to America. Then when you are old enough, he will sell the boat to you.”
Anger washed over Feike’s whole body, erasing all the joy he’d felt about his father’s baptism.
“I thought this Church was true,” Feike exploded, “but to choose between the Church and your country, your relatives, and your boat—it is too much to ask!”
Feike stormed to his small room in the bow of the boat. Out of habit he banged on the side of the boat with a small hammer to signal he’d made it without falling overboard. Tonight he pounded again and again.
A long time passed as Feike lay on his mattress. He thought of the mules pulling the boat through the canals of the Dutch provinces. He thought of the small grocery boats that pulled up alongside their boat so Mother could do her shopping. But mostly Feike thought of the wind filling the tall sails of their boat as they crossed the open waters of the sea. One day he would sail on open waters as the skipper … if he said good-bye to his family when they went to America.
Just then he heard a knock at his door.
“Come in,” Feike mumbled.
His father sat on the end of the bed. “I’m sorry, Feike. I thought you understood that if we were baptized we would go to America.”
“I knew others were going, but I didn’t think you would ever leave the boat. I thought you loved being a skipper.”
Father’s eyes filled with tears. “I do—more than you’ll ever know.”
“What will you do in America?”
“I don’t know. Sailing has been my life. But the Lord has called His people to Salt Lake City, and your mother and I have decided to go.”
“But to give up my dream of being skipper—to leave the boat?”
“It is a difficult decision that only you can make,” his father agreed. “A couple of nights ago as I struggled with the same questions, I found a scripture that helped me. When Jesus called James and John, they were fishermen. But the Bible says that ‘they immediately left the ship … and followed him’ (Matt. 4:22).”
The skipper and his son sat in silence for a long time. Feike looked into his father’s clear blue eyes. He sensed his father’s faith and courage, and he knew what he needed to do. Finally he spoke.
“Can we take the boat out once more before we sail to America together?”
The skipper pulled his son into a hug.
“Yes, I’d like that very much.”

In the mid-1960s, missionaries working in the Magdalena section of Lima, Peru, enjoyed stopping at Teresa Gai’s small store for a cold drink and cheerful chat. The little bodega occupied less than 75 square meters, and the shelves on its walls were stocked with a limited variety of canned and packaged foods. To its owner, the visits of the gregarious missionaries brought back memories of happier times.

Before World War II, Teresa’s family had enjoyed a comfortable living in their native Italy. For a year, Teresa had been the equivalent of today’s Miss Italy. But the government confiscated the family’s properties, and they were forced to flee their beloved homeland. Teresa eventually found her way to Peru, where she was married and bore a son. In time, Teresa’s husband passed away, and her only son married and left home.

Teresa busied herself by operating her bodega, with its modest two-room apartment in the rear, from early morning until late in the evening seven days a week. She welcomed the opportunity to befriend and offer moral support to the missionaries, who were far from their homes. And the missionaries welcomed the opportunity to share their gospel message with Teresa.

As the missionaries began to teach Teresa, she felt the spirit of their message. But she was troubled about whether she could keep the Sabbath day holy. Sunday, after all, was a big day for her little bodega. The missionaries encouraged her to attend church with them, but she resisted, not wanting to commit to closing her business on Sunday. After much thought, she promised, “I will go to church with you next Sunday.”

A few days later, much to her distress, Teresa realized she had promised to close her bodega and go to church the day before New Year’s—her biggest, most profitable business day of the year! She had already planned to close on New Year’s Day, which meant her store would be closed for two profitable days, only to open on Tuesday, her least productive day of the week.

She wondered how she could get out of her commitment, but to Teresa Gai, a promise was a promise. She closed the store and went to church with the missionaries. She enjoyed the services but couldn’t help thinking about the people going elsewhere to buy food for their New Year’s Eve gatherings.

Sunday afternoon and evening, from her little apartment in the rear, she could hear her customers knocking on the steel roll-down door over the front of her store. It was hard to ignore them. People depended on her. Would they understand? Would they ever come back to her bodega? With no income for two days, where would she find the money to restock her shelves that week?

With considerable apprehension, Teresa opened her bodega Tuesday morning. To her amazement, she had sold more goods and taken in more money by the end of the day than she had on any other single day since opening her store. She felt strongly that the Lord had blessed her because she had kept his day holy. Teresa never again opened her bodega on Sunday.

Partway through a worn notebook of Teresa’s daily sales, a heavy line is drawn across the page. Daily totals after the line show a significant increase.

“That line marks the day I was baptized,” Teresa said years later through tears. She was especially grateful for her testimony of the restored gospel and the many spiritual blessings that enriched her life after she joined the Church.

Following her baptism, Sister Gai immediately plunged into Church activity with her characteristic enthusiasm and willingly accepted callings to serve. In the gospel she found great joy, which she radiated and which buoyed the spirits of those around her, including the missionaries who served in her section of Lima. Considering all the treats she gave the missionaries, it is a wonder she stayed in business.

In 1986 Sister Gai attended the dedication of the Lima Peru Temple. The temple gave her one last opportunity to give unselfishly to others. Sister Gai, then nearly 80 years old, gratefully accepted a calling to be a worker in the beautiful new temple.

One of the most touching stories Nana Esi Ninsin VIII shared was about a young girl named Mary Mensah in the village, who was inspired by the queen’s example and started her own informal church group, called the Children’s Church. With no resources or formal training, the girl gathered friends and neighbors to pray, sing, and study scripture. After the children’s church service, Mary, their leader, uses their offering of one cedi each to prepare food for them, saying, “They don’t have access to their offering in the mother church.”

When Nana Esi Ninsin VIII learned of her efforts, she welcomed the girl into her fold, integrating her group into the larger church community, the Ekunfi Ekrawfo Group of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. “She had a good spirit,” Nana said. “And now she’s part of our training and outreach.”

This act of inclusion not only validated the girl’s leadership but also reinforced Nana Ninsin’s belief that spiritual growth and community development are inextricably linked.

Latter-day Saint Alma Richards made the 1912 Olympic team.
A high jumper, Alma Richards was part of the 1912 track and field Olympic team that competed in Stockholm, Sweden. During the competition, others were eliminated one by one until only Alma and one other remained.
“As Alma prepared to jump, his mind raced. There he was, representing his country at the greatest athletic competition in the world. Yet he felt weak, as if the whole world were resting on his shoulders. He thought of Utah, his family, and his hometown. He thought of BYU and the Saints. Bowing his head, he silently asked God to give him strength. ‘If it is right that I should win,’ he prayed, ‘I will do my best to set a good example all the days of my life.’”
Drawing upon strength from the Lord, Alma jumped and cleared the high bar. When his remaining competitor failed, Alma won the gold medal.
Later, a friend “teased him about praying before his winning jump. ‘I wish you wouldn’t laugh,’ Alma quietly responded. ‘I prayed to the Lord to give me strength to go over that bar, and I went over.’”

Tom Perry learned early to plan time to be with his family. When they moved to the eastern United States, they decided to buy a home closer to work rather than the “dream home” they’d found earlier because his traveling time to and from work would have been excessive. Later he turned down an attractive job offer because the firm couldn’t guarantee him his Saturdays off—the day of the week he devoted to his family.

By inspiration, a bishopric calls a young couple to serve in the ward nursery. At first, the husband sits in the corner, detached and distant. Gradually, he begins smiling with the children. Later, the couple expresses gratitude. Earlier, they say, the wife wanted children; the husband did not. Now, serving has changed and united them. It has also brought the joy of children into their marriage and home.

I paused and prayed, asking Heavenly Father for direction. As soon as I had said amen, an answer came to me clearly. I suddenly recalled a story an old fisherman had told me. He had been fishing in this same area during a bad storm and couldn’t get to shore. As he waited out the storm, he noticed a pattern in the incoming waves. After three great big waves washed in, a short period of calm followed—long enough for him to enter the inlet.

I had fished many times in this area but had never noticed a wave pattern. Nevertheless, I brought the boat to the front of the inlet, where we waited and watched as three big waves came in. Sure enough, a sudden calm followed. I glided the boat forward over the smooth water of the inner bay and brought Dr. Hoffman safely to shore. He hurried to the ill woman while I waited in the boat, thankful Heavenly Father had answered my prayer.

When the doctor returned about an hour later, he declared, “We saved her life!”

Relieved by the news and the improving weather, I piloted the boat home without incident.

I bear witness that when we need help, we should pray. I know that Heavenly Father will answer.

I was about nine years old when two foreign missionaries first visited my family in the Philippines. I was impressed with their grooming and friendliness, but I couldn’t understand a word they said. They taught in English, and only Mama and Papa understood them, because both were schoolteachers.
I still recall the day Mama threw down the Book of Mormon and refused to read any more. She had heard some lies about the Church and was upset that Papa was allowing the missionaries to teach us.
Papa just picked up the book and calmly said, “Open your heart and listen to the teachings. This book is true. Read this, and you’ll know it is true.”
I don’t know exactly what happened, but six months later I was surprised when Mama announced we were going to be baptized. I knew little of the Church, and I didn’t want another baptism. But I couldn’t resist my parents’ will, so I was baptized.
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.

Through obedience we build spiritual strength that sustains us during times of adversity. My friend and counselor Joy F. Evans tells of such a time in her life. She had four young children and was expecting her fifth child. The much-anticipated day of birth arrived—about six weeks early. They had expected to have “a” baby, but they had twins instead—Michael and Amy, premature and very small.

They had already lost one child earlier, and Joy, being a nurse, felt certain those babies were also going to die. She was even afraid that her own lack of faith would contribute to their dying, and she wanted desperately for them to live!

In her words, “I think it was the first time I couldn’t say ‘Thy will be done.’ I just couldn’t say it.”

When her husband went home the second day after the babies’ birth, he prayed, not for the babies, but for his wife, their mother. Then a sweet assurance came to her that everything was all right: whatever happened was the Lord’s will. The babies did die, one after two days, and the other after three; but Joy still had her feeling of peace. She could draw from the wonderful reservoir of strength she had developed by keeping the commandments through the years.

Having the babies dressed appropriately for burial was very important to their mother, but they were so tiny that clothes could not be found small enough to fit them. When the Relief Society president came after the second baby died, she sensed Joy’s disappointment in not being able to dress the babies as she would like. The president went home and sewed busily that night. When she came back the next morning, the day of the graveside service, she had a darling little white suit for Michael and a dainty little white dress for Amy.

Peace can come to both the giver and the receiver as we follow the promptings of the Spirit to serve one another.