Gospel Story Finder

When 14-year-old Ken Welty of Centerville, Utah, learned that people in Africa needed food desperately, he decided to raise money for seeds to send to Africa.
First, Ken handed out fliers explaining what he was doing and which seeds needed to be purchased. After checking with seed companies about growing requirements, Ken assembled and sent seed packets for tomatoes, cucumbers, green beans, corn, and other foods to contacts in Mali and Botswana.
The project was a real eye-opener for Ken. “My mom and dad have jobs, and they bring home the food for us to eat,” Ken explains. “It was weird to think that there are people over in Africa who are a lot older than me, but because of my service project I am helping them feed themselves.”

Blessed also with the gift of prophecy, he influenced the lives of many. On one occasion, he returned from a three-month trip to another island and saw preparations for a fiafia (celebration) in progress to celebrate the marriage of a young man and a young woman. As he interviewed the young woman, he suddenly told her, without any other explanation, that if she married the young man, she would soon be saddened.
Opapo and Toai were not spared personal trials. Eleven of their fourteen children died before adulthood. However, through it all they seemed to increase in humility, prayerfulness, and industry. Opapo reserved 5:00 A.M. and 5:00 P.M. for prayer, but frequently prayed at other times as well. And he always provided, not only for his own family, but also for others, especially widows and the fatherless.

In the midst of this heartache, I decided to enroll at BYU. I was soon balancing full-time studies, a part-time job teaching at the MTC, and the responsibilities of raising my child as a single father. My days began well before sunrise, with me taking Aubrey to a babysitter on my way to teach at the MTC. From there I would rush to classes on campus and afterward pick up my daughter and head home, where the evenings were filled with studying and caring for Aubrey. Now you have to understand that I had had no experience with babies prior to Aubrey’s birth. I was the youngest in my family and had no practical knowledge of how to care for a child.

During finals week, life as a single father reached a breaking point that I never saw coming. Aubrey, now a one-year-old, suddenly became extremely ill. Pneumonia hit her hard, and before I knew it she was in the hospital lying in an oxygen tent. Seeing her so small and fragile under that tent—laboring for every breath, her little face pale and struggling—broke me in ways I didn’t know were possible.

I was already juggling a full load of classes, working part-time, and trying to be the kind of dad Aubrey needed and deserved. But in that moment none of it felt like it was enough. I couldn’t shake the guilt—this overwhelming sense that her illness was my fault. Maybe I hadn’t fed her the right foods, or maybe I had been too distracted by homework and exams to notice earlier signs of sickness. Surely, taking her to the babysitter’s home so early in the freezing morning air did not help. I kept asking myself, “How could I have let this happen?”

For days the hospital room became my world. I tried to keep up with my studies, scribbling notes and reading textbooks while I sat on a chair next to Aubrey’s bed. But, honestly, none of it mattered anymore. My daughter was all that mattered. I prayed like I had never prayed before—raw, pleading prayers that the Lord would make up for all the ways I was falling short as a dad.

Through it all I began to realize something profound. Even though I felt inadequate, I wasn’t alone. The Lord was there, sustaining me in ways I could not fully understand at the time. Nurses and doctors appeared like angels, offering care and compassion. Professors gave me extensions without hesitation. And, somehow, Aubrey started to recover, her little body fighting back with more resilience than I thought possible. Eventually she was released from the hospital, and we were able to return home.

Those few weeks taught me a lesson I’ll never forget. Christ’s grace isn’t about us being perfect. It’s about trusting in and relying on Him when you’re at your lowest and letting His strength carry you through. I wasn’t the perfect dad, but I didn’t need to be. Christ’s strength was enough for both of us. Miraculously He had healed Aubrey, and simultaneously He had rescued me.

My family moved a lot while I was growing up. Adjusting to new places was difficult, but by my freshman year of high school, I loved where we lived. Everything changed, though, when my grandpa passed away and my parents decided to move closer to my grandma. I dreaded moving again. I’d worked hard to get involved at school and make friends.
I became resentful and argued with my parents about moving. My parents encouraged me to pray about it. I tried but didn’t receive any answers. Despite my frustration, I decided to pray one more time. Before I could start, I heard a clear voice in my mind say, “Rachel, you aren’t getting an answer because you don’t want one.” I was stunned. After a moment, I began to pray differently. I poured out my heart to Heavenly Father and asked what He needed me to do.
The feeling I received was that my family needed to move. After humbling myself and accepting what Heavenly Father wanted, I felt at peace. It wasn’t always easy, but I knew we were where the Lord needed us to be. This experience helped me draw closer to my Savior and to move closer to becoming the person He needs me to be.
Rachel H., Washington, USA

In 1898, Inez Knight and Jennie Brimhall were the first two single women called as sister missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Shortly after arriving on their missions to England, the two women went to preach in Oldham, a small manufacturing town near Liverpool.
Inez Knight and Jennie Brimhall prayed for help in their missionary service in England.
Right: photograph courtesy of Jennifer Whatcott Hooton
The two sisters, their mission president, and other missionaries gathered one evening. “They formed a circle on a busy street corner, offered a prayer, and sang hymns until a large crowd formed around them.” Their efforts were so successful that the mission president “announced that a special meeting would be held the following day, and he invited everyone to come and hear preaching from ‘real live Mormon women.’”

When Stevenson, a Scottish writer who had gone to the South Seas in 1888 for his health (he had been sickly even as a child), decided to live in Apia, Samoa, he built a large house and called it Vailima (Five Rivers). Stevenson learned the ways and the language of the Samoans, and they built a road to Vailima that expressed their feeling for him—“The Road of the Loving Heart.” The Samoans often traveled on it to visit with their dear friend, to listen to him read, or to join him in family prayers.

A short time after returning from his mission, Elder Alvarado stopped by the local Church distribution center in Puerto Rico to pick up a few items. The employee who assisted him was Cari Lu Rios, a fellow Ponce resident. They knew each other vaguely from past Church activities.
The young returned missionary was immediately smitten. “When I looked into her eyes, I knew she would be my wife.”
The feeling was not mutual, said Sister Alvarado, laughing—at least not initially.
But they had fun with one another. Soon they were spending most of their time together and realized they had become a couple. They married in the Washington D.C. Temple six days before Christmas in 1992.

I would like to share with you how I saw this in my own life.
[S3 UP] This is a picture of our family. It was taken the day our youngest son Samuel was sealed to us. He is now 6. He came into our lives in an extraordinary way. His birth parents were students here. Like each of you, they are talented, intelligent, dedicated and have testimonies of the gospel. [S3 DOWN]
They were not married. When they became aware they were expecting a baby—who would not have the opportunity to be sealed to his parents—they were courageous and had the faith to go to their bishop and apply the Atonement. Because of their willingness to let God prevail, not only were their lives transformed, but our family was as well.
An ocean away, Elder Walker and I were raising our four children in Arizona. We were happy with our lives. We experienced our own set of challenges and setbacks, but we were doing our best to follow Christ and teach our children to love the Savior. There came a time when both Jake and I had a clear and powerful impression that our family was not complete. Despite my physical inability to have another child, this thought kept returning. We prayed that a way would be made possible and that we would recognize the chance to expand our family when it arose. We exercised faith and waited on the Lord for many years before our prayers were answered. When Sam’s biological parents selected us to be their baby’s adoptive parents, I immediately felt a rush of the Spirit confirming that this was the child meant to complete our family.
To experience the transformative power of the Savior in our lives, hope must be evident. This involves fully surrendering ourselves to Him and placing our faith in His love and mercy. Obeying His commandments allows the Holy Ghost to guide us and bring peace and comfort into our lives. Despite the contrasting circumstances that connected Elder Walker and me with Sam’s birth parents, we all shared the aspiration to allow God to shape our lives. By exercising and embracing the Atonement, something beautiful emerged from even the most challenging and painful situation.
Along with having hope, we need to embrace the Atonement. Its healing power can cleanse and restore, allowing us to start anew. The difficult experiences we go through can be the source of our most profound blessings. They offer us opportunities to mature, acquire knowledge, and enhance our character—drawing us nearer to God and to our divine nature.4 Both of Sam’s birth parents have been sealed in the temple to kind and loving spouses and have children. They have both completed their educations and are now alumni of this great university. And Sam is sealed to an eternal family and gets to partake of the blessings of that covenant.

As I entered the rest home, my thoughts were not really on grandma, even though she was dying. I loved her, and it made me sad to realize she would soon be leaving, but she had been waiting so long to be with grandpa again that it seemed like her dying would be a blessing, a long-awaited reward for her faithfulness. My own mind longed for such assurance of what the future would hold. I was wrestling with an important decision and was filled with confusion; I found myself pleading with the Lord for peace of mind. That’s why I was so surprised when such a feeling of calmness came over me when I walked into grandma’s room. She was weeping. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and told me softly that as she looked back at her life, she was overcome with the blessings the Lord had given her. Her quiet reflection and gratitude totally removed me from my earthly worries. I hardly realized I was standing there, listening to her in the darkness. She was radiant, thin and dying, but glowing.
Any unappreciative thought I’d ever had about her was erased from my mind, and I was so humbled that I can’t find words to explain it. Why don’t those times stay with us forever? I put my unwrinkled hand over her wrinkled one and held it. I asked her what she was thinking. She said something I’ve often felt but could never quite express. She shook her head and said, “Oh, dear, if you knew all I think about.” Then she told me I looked different. I told her it was because I had no eye makeup on and she probably couldn’t recognize me. But she hadn’t even looked at me. She’d been looking out the window and then she said, “No, you are different than when you came in. You’re seeing your future laid out in front of you, and you wonder what will happen to you.” Tears came to my eyes. She was right. “Don’t be impatient, my dear. The Lord has many good things in store for you, and he loves you very much. But you are impatient like me. You want to tell the Lord when you’re ready and when you’re not.”
Then she smiled. “I have been a trial to my Lord all my life because of my impatience, and now I see my life closing, and I realize he still loves me—he loves me.” When she had finished, tears fell down her cheeks. I wasn’t crying outwardly, but when I saw her tears, mine came, too. At that moment we were sharing something together as children of God, not as an old lady and her granddaughter. That is how I will remember Grandma Windsor, and when my time comes to join her, I hope she will be proud of me.
I walked down the rest home steps with one more testimony that there really is one greater than ourselves, and that he loves me far more than I can even imagine. He has blessed me so much! Knowing that, I can’t be anything less than my best. When I fail, I punish myself. He is a God of abounding love, not hate or resentment. I do so many things wrong, and yet he still loves me. Looking at grandma’s face that day, I could see that love. I could see wisdom, humility, and peace—an overwhelming peace. I wish I could have written on stone plates that would last forever the feeling I had then.

To illustrate this further, I share the true account of a family with five sons who moved from Los Angeles, California, USA, to a small community some years ago. The two oldest sons began playing high school sports and associating with friends, leaders, and coaches—many of whom were faithful members of the Church. These relationships helped lead to the baptism of Fernando, the oldest, and his next younger brother.
Fernando later moved away from home, where he continued his education and played college football. He married his high school sweetheart, Bayley, in the temple. As Fernando and Bayley finished their schooling, they eagerly anticipated the birth of their first child—a baby girl. But during the process of their families helping to move Fernando and Bayley back home, Bayley and her sister were driving on the freeway and were in a tragic accident involving many vehicles. Bayley and her unborn daughter lost their lives.
Yet as deep as was Fernando’s pain, as well as that of Bayley’s parents and siblings, so too was the depth of contrasting peace and comfort that distilled upon them almost immediately. The Holy Ghost in His role as Comforter truly sustained Fernando through this incomprehensible affliction. The Spirit communicated an abiding peace that led Fernando to an attitude of forgiveness and love toward everyone involved in the tragic crash.
Bayley’s parents called her brother who was serving as a missionary at the time of the accident. He described in a letter his feelings upon hearing the difficult news of his beloved sister: “It was amazing to hear your voices so calm in the midst of a tempest. I did not know what to say. … All I could think of is my sister may not be there when I come home. … I was comforted by your infallible testimonies of the Savior and His plan. The same sweet spirit that brings me to the verge of tears as I study and teach filled my heart. I was then comforted and reminded of the things that I know.”

My wife’s father, Leslie James Anderson, grew up in the small town of Manti, Utah. In 1919 when Les was only 14 years old, Sanpete County built a road up Manti Canyon using what was then a common method of detonating black blasting powder to remove difficult rocks and sharp canyon walls that could not be subdued any other way. Late that summer, Les, his cousin and best friend, Lyle Anderson, and two other friends decided to go up that new canyon road to fish and camp overnight at the Corduroy Reservoir. These young, adventuresome boys loaded their camping gear in a one-horse buggy and started up the canyon as a foursome, without any adult supervisors.

As you can imagine, these boys were about as happy as Tom Sawyer to be on an overnighter on their own. I can imagine them now, cheerfully and playfully making their way up the canyon road, anticipating all the fun and adventure that awaited them. On the way, the boys found along the side of the road a supply of the explosive black powder that had been left behind by the road builders. Les and his cousin, Lyle, were intrigued and excited by this discovery and instantly imagined the fun they could have with the powder that night around the campfire. They eagerly filled their pockets and a hat with as much black powder as they could hold.

Later on that afternoon when they arrived at the camp, they turned their horse loose to return home to Manti, knowing the horse would be needed at home and that on their return they could pull the little buggy down hill by themselves. After pitching their camp and building a campfire, the boys thought they’d have some fun. At about 9 o’clock that evening, Les and Lyle started throwing some of the black powder into the fire and watching it explode with a bang. But with one of these explosions, a spark landed in the hat filled with powder and ignited it. It exploded and then ignited the powder in their pockets. In an instant, the air was filled with piercing screams, and the boys’ clothing was a mass of flames. The two boys in the tent rushed out to help Les and Lyle, but they couldn’t put out the flames until the clothing was almost entirely burned off, and Les and Lyle were covered with deep burns. The other boys wrapped quilts around Les and Lyle and placed them as gently as possible in the buggy and then started pulling the buggy down the canyon in the dark.

All the way down the canyon, the two badly burnt boys kept calling for water. In fact, at one point Les could hear water running in the creek close to the road. The buggy was going quite slowly at that moment, so Les rolled himself out of the buggy and into the water. Les said later that he thought this saved his life as the cool water eased the pain of his burns.

Les’ cousin and best friend, Lyle, was not as fortunate; he stayed in the buggy near death as they returned down the rocky road to Manti, finally arriving home at about 11:00 p.m. Despite a constant vigil of medical attention throughout the night, the next morning Lyle died.

It took Les two years to recuperate, including one full year of missed school. When I met him at age fifty-three, although his face was scar-free, he still had deep scars from his feet all the way up his back and along his arms. Thanks to the fasting and prayers of the good people of Manti and his own sheer will, he healed well enough to embrace the responsibilities of adulthood and live a full life. He served his country in World War II as a Bombardment Squadron Commander in Italy, rising to the rank of colonel in the Army Air Corps. He returned safely after the war, was eventually elected Mayor of Manti, and served faithfully in the Manti South Ward bishopric. The fruit of his faithfulness is manifest today in a large and faithful posterity.

I have been the recipient of countless acts of service. It seems more so since my husband passed away. Our home teacher, brother Lauvaki, came by almost every day. He answered my questions, counseled me, and gave me whatever support I needed at the time. He was always calm, thoughtful and kind. Sister Connie Lo was the gatekeeper-asking people to come back later when I would be more prepared to see them, always ready to help without wanting any recognition. We had so much food brought to our house I asked my daughter to tell the Relief Society compassionate service leader to let the sisters who signed up for meals know that we didn't need any more food. She told my daughter that the sign up list had not been passed around yet! I can never repay the kindness received from so many people, but I can do to others what was done to me. So many others helped me and I cannot name them all. Liam and Veronica, students from New Zealand and Taiwan, came by once a month and still come to give me a spiritual message. Many students and our former missionaries come by to help me with the yard work and whatever I need help with.

I must mention Elder and Sister Dummar. Aside from my children, they were also a lifeline to me. They are senior missionaries serving at Polynesian Cultural Center and live in our downstairs apartment. After the death of my husband, there were many nights when I could not sleep. Whenever I walked down the steps to the bottom of the house, Elder Dummar would be there waiting to see if I needed anything. He would hear my footsteps and come out to check. We took walks around Laie at 2 or 3 a.m. and Elder Dummar and I would talk about my husband Bill, about the gospel and we would laugh or I would cry. My daughter Jessica told me: Mom, you've got to stop walking at night with Elder Dummar, people will start to talk! But they helped me so much during those early awful days after my husband's sudden death.

The Christmas of 1953 was one I shall long remember. A telephone call came from the teacher of a Sunday School class in one of the more affluent wards on the east bench of Salt Lake City. She asked if there were any poor living in our ward—persons who needed help at Christmas time. I responded that there were no poor people who had not been provided the necessities of life, but perhaps an experience could be had which would benefit her class members as well as a particular family whom I had in mind.
I was thinking of a certain family in our ward. Henry, his wife, and children had come from Germany. They lived in modest circumstances. All during the war Henry and his mother had prayed that he would never have to take human life. Strangely enough, Henry served four years during the war, three of which were spent on the Russian Front. His assignment? Ambulance driver. Their prayer was answered.
As the teacher and I made the plans for the Christmas activity, I suggested that if each girl or boy could bring to the family on the appointed night a gift that meant a great deal to him or to her personally, then each would have a Christmas that would long be remembered.
That evening the parking lot of the ward contained one Chrysler, one Cadillac, and two Oldsmobiles. Such an array of wealth had never before graced that parking area. The cars were left at the chapel. We walked to the home singing carols along the way.
At the family home between Fourth and Fifth South on Second West, the Christmas spirit truly entered each heart. One girl handed to one of the family’s daughters a lovely doll that she had had from her girlhood. She showed the tiny girl how to caress the doll and to hold it ever so tenderly in her arms.
One of the boys handed to a small boy his baseball glove carrying the Lou Gehrig signature. He then explained to the young German brother how to catch a baseball. Such was the case with each gift.
We returned to the ward, there to have the traditional donuts and apple cider. Almost in unison the young boys and girls spoke out: “This has been the greatest experience of our lives.”
I thought of the second verse of “O Little Town of Bethlehem”:
How silently, how silently,
The wondrous gift is given!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of his heaven.
No ear may hear his coming;
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive him, still
The dear Christ enters in.
As we left the chapel that night, all of us who had participated in making Christmas come alive reflected upon the words of the Master:
“Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” (Matt. 25:40.)

After my father had been on his mission about eighteen months, he had great concern that he would not be able to send his wife a present for her birthday. He was very sad about this and somewhat homesick. How he wished he had something to send home for this special occasion.
This is how my father told the story:
“I prayed earnestly that the way would be opened for me to be able to send a birthday present to my wife. As I fasted, I would especially mention this desire in my prayers.
“At that time we were tracting in a sparsely settled section on top of rolling hills in the Cumberland Mountains. The houses were scattered about two miles apart, and there was little travel in the area. The people living there were very poor.
“One day we were walking along a wagon road where it looked as if there had been almost no travel for months. As I looked down, there on the ground was a beautiful breastpin. It was pinned on a card as if it had just come from the manufacturer. It didn’t seem likely that anyone in that neighborhood could have afforded such an expensive-looking pin. When my companion saw it, he said, ‘This is the answer to your prayer.’
“We inquired at every home we visited during the next few days to see if the pin belonged to any of the people there, but no one knew of it. After we had determined that no one around had lost it, I secured a box and mailed the pin to my wife for her birthday.
“She, of course, was surprised to receive such a beautiful present and wondered how I had been able to afford it. She wore it until I returned home, and when I told her that I had received the pin in answer to prayer, she stopped wearing it for fear she might lose it.”
The pin is still in our family and reminds us of my father’s missionary experiences. It is one of our most treasured possessions.

Shortly after I began attending a ward, the counselor in the bishopric asked to visit with me after Sunday School. He said, “Sister Nyland, we’d like to call you to serve in the nursery.” I began to laugh, assuming he was kidding, and said, “Really, what would you like me to do?” He was a little taken aback by my laughter, but said, “Really, we’d like you to serve in the nursery.” I immediately sobered and said I’d be happy to do that. Now, to tell you the truth, I wasn’t happy to do that. I liked children in the abstract, but the reality of twenty-five toddlers was a bit much. I was quite comfortable teaching college students, because they were quiet, they hung on my every word (in case it showed up on an exam), and they never chased each other around the room or crawled under their desks. The best words to describe my first day the in the nursery were shell shock. I have never felt more unprepared, unskilled, and ill suited for a calling in my life.

I was smart enough to know that the nature of two-year-olds wasn’t going to change much, so if I was going to survive this calling, I was the one who would need to change. I made that call a matter of prayer night and day, and each Sunday for six weeks the nursery was, frankly, a nightmare. Then on the seventh Sunday, when I walked into the nursery, it was like a switch had been flipped. I absolutely loved it! I loved the children; I had fun playing with and teaching them; I didn’t even mind sitting on the floor. From that day until I was released, the nursery was one of the favorite callings I’d ever had. I was so grateful for that change of heart.

President Russell M. Nelson, President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles
“Music has always been an important part of our family activities, especially at Christmastime. One night preceding each Christmas, our extended family—brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, cousins (and our parents before they passed away)—crowd into our living room for the children to stage their annual Christmas pageant. We read the scriptural accounts of the Lord’s birth from the second chapter of Luke and from the Book of Mormon. Then we sing carols, accompanied by pianists and other instrumentalists. Of course, we sing the whimsical ditties about Santa and many more. We get warmed up on those numbers. Then we sing our favorites about the Savior. By the time we sing our closing song, “Silent Night,” we truly feel the real spirit of Christmas.
“Just as the Savior’s mother pondered sacred things in her heart, so some of our deepest feelings of reverence and gratitude are unspoken and unsung. Some are felt only deeply within. They are so sacred that speaking openly of them would seem in some way to desecrate them. I’m sure we all feel that way when we sing and ponder the birth, the mission, and the atonement of the Lord Jesus Christ.”3

My great-grandfather was the last native te reo M?ori speaker in my family. I used to watch videos of him and listen to him speak the language of our people, wishing I could understand him. Even though he was only a few generations older than me, I didn’t have that connection to our heritage.
I served a mission in the Philippines, and I loved it. I loved the language, the people—everything. And because I spent time trying to connect with the people I was serving and teaching, I became immersed in their culture.
As wonderful as that opportunity was, I realized that I’d never tried to connect with my own culture and people in the same way. Although I had helped to gather Israel on my mission, I realized there were important ways for me to help gather Israel at home too, especially within my own family.
His dream resonated with me. I felt prompted to learn about my ancestors and connect with them like I never had before.
I had just entered medical school when I decided to learn the language of my people. So on top of my busy schedule, I took night classes to learn M?ori.
When the classes first began, I felt alone and uncertain about moving forward. But the more I talked to my classmates, the more I realized that many had also felt prompted to connect with their heritage by learning M?ori.
Over time, learning M?ori truly began to feel like a spiritual experience. I was beginning to understand the promise that Elijah would “turn the heart of the fathers to the children, and the heart of the children to their fathers” (Malachi 4:6). My ancestors were becoming more real to me.
Learning the language also opened doors in my everyday life. I found that speaking M?ori helped me better connect with the people for whom I was providing medical care. I helped establish M?ori classes at my university and discovered that many other medical students were also interested in learning to help them provide better care.
Although the language is becoming increasingly less common, being able to communicate with those who are native M?ori speakers has helped me minister to specific populations. I’ve witnessed how my native patients feel especially heard and seen when we can speak their language together. These experiences have really shown me what it means to minister to the one.

Photograph by Hillary Holbrook
Inside the locker room, you could hear the fans cheering. The Iowa, USA, women’s high school varsity basketball championship game was about to begin. The team in black jerseys—who’d clawed their way into the finals—were ready.
Sixteen girls listened attentively to an inspiring pump-up speech from team manager Hailey B., 16.
It may seem odd for the manager to give the pep talk, but it’s not unusual for Hailey. When she talks, players listen. They know she’s eager for them to win.
There’s another reason Hailey is cheering for everyone. It has to do with her standards.
Hailey had already completed one season with the freshman team and was eager to earn a starting spot on the junior varsity (JV) team. But as she prepared, she ran into a problem.
The coaches held preseason games on Sundays that “were essentially the tryouts for the team,” Hailey said. But she’d promised herself and her Father in Heaven that she’d keep the Sabbath holy. “So I missed 10 games,” she said. “The coaches never really saw me play.”
She made the team, but it became clear she’d spend most of the season on the bench. Instead of becoming discouraged, she chose to encourage her teammates.
“Hailey never complained,” said her Young Women president, Jami. “Instead she became the team’s biggest cheerleader. Everyone knew she’d be there cheering, and they’d talk about what a support she was. She could have become bitter, but instead she just kept smiling.”
Hailey’s JV coach, Jon, agreed. He said no one has “a bigger heart or a greater love for the game” and that “selfless players like Hailey are critical to a team’s success.” Before one game, he said, she made signs for each player and coach using paper plates, a paper flag, and candy. “She’s always taking time for others,” he said.
Somehow, despite a busy schedule, Hailey squeezes in time for what’s important. Her alarm buzzes at 5:15 every morning to get ready for 5:45 seminary. “It’s a matter of priorities,” she said. “Scripture reading and prayer help me all day. They help me look at other people at school and remember that they’re children of God.” The same holds true for her teammates, she said; “they’re daughters of the same Heavenly Father as me.”
Despite bouncing between seminary, school, practices, games, and family time, Hailey keeps her priorities focused on her family and the gospel.
Photograph by Hillary Holbrook
“Our family loves spending time together,” she said. “We enjoy vacationing and camping every summer.” Hailey is especially fond of trips that include fishing and horseback riding. And when it’s not basketball season, she plays lacrosse, babysits, and fine-tunes her math skills. Her strength comes from the fundamentals—prayer, scripture study, Sabbath day observance, and keeping the commandments.
“Any athlete knows about training rules,” she said. “If you want to do well, you practice every day. The same is true with the gospel. If you want to stay strong, stick to the basics.”
You could also say that Hailey specializes in assists.
“When I’m feeling down, she always finds a way to cheer me up,” said her sister, Kelsey, 11. “She’s the best sister I could ask for.”
Hailey also assists those who are curious about the gospel. She remembers a bus ride when her teammates asked questions about the Church. She was thrilled to answer.
“I explained what a temple is and what we do there. I explained what a missionary is. I explained that following the standards in For Strength of Youth leads to blessings.”
One of those blessings came when the varsity coach pulled her aside.
Photograph by Shelby Stites
“He asked if, in addition to being on the JV team, I’d serve as a manager for the varsity team,” Hailey said, a smile lighting her face. Her mom, Kathy, said, “We feel that was a blessing she received for keeping the Sabbath holy.”
As team manager, Hailey not only attended games and practices (except on Sundays) but also kept records, like the minutes per game of each player. The position was a recognition of her desire to help the team any way she could.
By the end of the season, the team’s record was 20-3. Critics hadn’t expected them to perform so well, but the team had dedicated the season to two players who’d recently lost a parent to cancer. That inspired them to give extra effort. Now they were playing for the top spot in the state. But they were also playing for each other.
In her pregame speech, Hailey told them, “We’ve worked hard for this the entire season, and now it’s our chance to prove we can be champions.” Then they stormed the court as the crowd roared.
Hailey compared her experience with the team to what it’s like when members of a family obey God’s commandments. In basketball, she said, even though players have individual talents, victory depends on working together.
“It’s the same in a family,” she said. “Individually you have to find what you’re good at and build your own testimony, but when you bring all these pieces together—reading the scriptures together, going to church together, spending time together—you’re a stronger family. You push for your ultimate goal over time—to gain celestial glory and be together forever.”
This basketball season, Hailey scored points on many levels by living her standards. She gained peace in her heart for doing what she knew was right, something more important than making layups or firing off a 3-point buzzer-beater. She strengthened her family and set a good example for them. Plus, she won admiration and respect from teammates and coaches.
Oh, and by the way, Hailey’s team won the state title, 46-42.
The author lives in Iowa, USA.

To illustrate this principle, President Hunter told the following story.

As a young man, Brother Vern Crowley said he learned something of the crucial lesson the Prophet Joseph had taught the early Saints in Nauvoo when he told them to “love others, even our enemies as well as friends.” This is a good lesson for each of us.

After his father became ill, Vern Crowley took responsibility for running the family wrecking yard although he was only fifteen years of age. Some customers occasionally took unfair advantage of the young man, and parts were disappearing from the lot overnight. Vern was angry and vowed to catch someone and make an example of him. Vengeance would be his.

Just after his father had started to recover from his illness, Vern was making his rounds of the yard one night at closing time. It was nearly dark. In a distant corner of the property, he caught sight of someone carrying a large piece of machinery toward the back fence. He ran like a champion athlete and caught the young thief. His first thought was to take out his frustrations with his fists, and then drag the boy to the front office and call the police. His heart was full of anger and vengeance. He had caught his thief, and he intended to get his just dues.

Out of nowhere, Vern’s father came along, put his weak and infirm hand on his son’s shoulder, and said, “I see you’re a bit upset, Vern. Can I handle this?” He then walked over to the young would-be thief and put his arm around his shoulder, looked him in the eye for a moment, and said, “Son, tell me, why are you doing this? Why were you trying to steal that transmission?” Then Mr. Crowley started walking toward the office with his arm around the boy, asking questions about the young man’s car problems as they walked. By the time they had arrived at the office, the father said, “Well, I think your clutch is gone and that’s causing your problem.”

In the meantime, Vern was fuming. “Who cares about his clutch?” he thought. “Let’s call the police and get this over with.” But his father just kept talking. “Vern, get him a clutch. Get him a throwout bearing, too. And get him a pressure plate. That should take care of it.” The father handed all of the parts to the young man who had attempted robbery and said, “Take these. And here’s the transmission, too. You don’t have to steal, young man. Just ask for it. There’s a way out of every problem. People are willing to help.”

Brother Vern Crowley said he learned an everlasting lesson in love that day. The young man came back to the lot often. Voluntarily, month by month, he paid for all of the parts Vic Crowley had given him, including the transmission. During those visits, he asked Vern why his dad was the way he was and why he did what he did. Vern told him something of their Latter-day Saint beliefs and how much his father loved the Lord and loved people. Eventually the would-be thief was baptized. Vern later said, “It’s hard now to describe the feelings I had and what I went through in that experience. I, too, was young. I had caught my crook. I was going to extract the utmost penalty. But my father taught me a different way.”

A different way? A better way? A higher way? A more excellent way? Oh, how the world could benefit from such a magnificent lesson.[10]

There are some who have difficulty forgiving themselves and who dwell on all of their perceived shortcomings. I quite like the account of a religious leader who went to the side of a woman who lay dying, attempting to comfort her—but to no avail. “I am lost,” she said. “I’ve ruined my life and every life around me. There is no hope for me.”

The man noticed a framed picture of a lovely girl on the dresser. “Who is this?” he asked.

The woman brightened. “She is my daughter, the one beautiful thing in my life.”

“And would you help her if she were in trouble or had made a mistake? Would you forgive her? Would you still love her?”

“Of course I would!” cried the woman. “I would do anything for her. Why do you ask such a question?”

“Because I want you to know,” said the man, “that figuratively speaking, Heavenly Father has a picture of you on His dresser. He loves you and will help you. Call upon Him.”

A hidden wedge to her happiness had been removed.