Gospel Story Finder

This story happened in Germany.
“There is sunshine in my soul today!” Matvii sang. His mom and brother, Tymofii, sang with him. It was dark outside the car window. But the song helped everything feel a little brighter.
It was a scary time for Matvii and his family. They were moving to Germany because their home wasn’t safe anymore. They had traveled for two days, and now they were almost there. A bishop here in Germany was driving them to a place to stay.
Matvii was glad Heavenly Father helped them get to Germany safely. But he missed Dad. He had to stay behind in their country because of a war. Matvii worried about him a lot.
The bishop parked the car outside a house. “Welcome to my home.”
Matvii grabbed his bag and followed his family inside. It was quiet. The bishop’s family must have gone to bed already.
“You can stay in Mats’s and Lore’s rooms while you’re here,” the bishop said.
“Wait,” said Mom. “They don’t have to give up their rooms for us.”
The bishop smiled. “They are happy to do it. We want you to feel comfortable.”
Mom nodded. “Thank you.”
In the morning, Matvii and Tymofii went to the kitchen for breakfast. The bishop sat at the table with a boy and girl. They didn’t look much older than Matvii.
“These are my kids Mats and Lore,” the bishop said.
“Nice to meet you,” said Tymofii.
Mats and Lore looked a little confused.
“They don’t speak your language,” the bishop said. “But I’m sure you’ll be good friends.”
Matvii frowned. How could they be friends if they couldn’t talk to each other? He felt like the sunshine he had been singing about last night was gone.
After they ate, Mats and Lore showed them a playroom. Two younger children were playing with some toys. Matvii guessed they were Mats and Lore’s younger siblings.
Mats said something. It sounded like a question, but Matvii didn’t know what he said. Mats sat down and opened a box of cards. He sorted them into piles. Then he and Lore picked up their cards. Matvii wanted to play. But he didn’t know how!
Mats laid down a card and looked at Matvii. He said something again.
Matvii wanted to cry. He didn’t want to live in Germany if he couldn’t understand anyone.
Lore said something to Mats, then ran off to the closet. She came back and set a new game on the floor.
Matvii knew this game. The wooden pieces looked like the ones he had at home. It was chess! He had played chess with Dad for hours. Matvii nodded happily. He knew how to play this one.
Lore smiled big and started setting up the pieces.
Matvii moved his pawn two squares and watched as Lore moved her knight. Then Matvii moved his bishop to Lore’s knight. He and Tymofii cheered. Lore made a frustrated sound, but she was smiling.
They played for a long time. Soon they were laughing. They didn’t understand each other’s words, but they still had fun.
Over the next few weeks, they found other games they all knew. They played football outside with other German kids. Matvii learned a few words in German too. Sometimes he made mistakes, but he kept trying.
Matvii still missed his dad and his home. But he was grateful Heavenly Father had helped him make new friends.
Illustrations by Hannah Li

Like many people I meet, my new friends at camp were not sure what to make of me at first. I was born with a genetic condition called achondroplasia (commonly known as dwarfism), and I stand only four feet, four inches (1.3 meters) tall with unusually short arms and legs. Once people get to know me, they find that I am just a regular girl and my height seems to make no more difference than my hair color. Soon my new friends and I were doing everything together.
One day at camp we all had the chance to take on the confidence course, a high ropes challenge. For this activity, each participant was strapped into a climber’s harness and had to climb halfway up a steep, notched telephone pole and then up a climbing wall featuring handholds placed randomly across its face. The whole time an instructor watched and waited on a platform high above the climber holding a safety rope attached to the climber’s harness.
For most participants, the course’s height and degree of difficulty made for an imposing obstacle. Still, most of my friends were determined to meet the challenge. In spite of my physical shortcomings, I try to do all I can to match the abilities of average-sized people, and so I decided to attempt the climb.
Before I knew it, I was suited up with climbing helmet and harness, standing at the base of the notched pole. As I began to climb, I heard encouragement from my friends below and from my instructor above. I soon discovered that no matter how hard I tried, my reach was insufficient for the spacing of the notches, which were designed for people with “normal wingspans.”
The instructor at the top watched as I struggled and, when he saw that I had stretched just as far as I was able, he pulled up on the rope a few extra inches allowing me to reach the next handhold. He then relaxed his tension, allowing me to do all of the work that I could.
After much effort I would try for the next handhold. Again I was just inches short of reaching. But because of a caring person at the top who wanted me to succeed, I was again lifted those few extra inches needed to reach the next level. It continued this way, with few exceptions, until I was at last at the top.
The instructor congratulated me, and I felt such appreciation, not only for the help he gave me but also for the fact that he let me do all that I could for myself. It was our success, not his or mine alone.
A few weeks after the camp, my family was asked to speak in sacrament meeting on the grace of God. As I studied for the talk, my mind went back to my experience on the confidence course. I was able to recognize how often in my life the Lord has acted much like that instructor, encouraging me to succeed, letting me do all I can do in the struggles of life before giving me just the amount of boost required for the task at hand.
The Apostle Paul tells us that all of us have shortcomings and that none of us have the reach needed to ascend back to our Father. “For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God” (Romans 3:23). I am grateful for Jesus Christ’s Atonement, which is the means by which we can all ascend if we continue to put forth our best efforts. I know that He cares for me and will gently lift me while allowing me the freedom to grow. After all, “it is by grace that we are saved, after all we can do” (2 Nephi 25:23).

One ward youth group recently participated in an exciting family history activity. With classes taught by family history consultants and help from parents and relatives, these young people were able to clear 485 ancestral names for temple ordinance work, averaging nine family names each. Arrangements were then made for them to attend a temple session and be baptized for their ancestors. Seeing the excitement and interest of the young people, parents and leaders asked to join the group at the temple to perform the endowment and sealing ordinances. They testified of increased spiritual power and feelings of unity as they shared in this temple service for their ancestors.

“Come on, Fynn. It’s time to go!” Johan said.
Fynn’s brother, Johan, was waiting impatiently at the front door. He didn’t want to be late for school.
Fynn frowned. He didn’t want to go to school. His family had just moved to a new house. It was his first year at school, and he hadn’t made any friends at school yet. He missed his old friends.
“I’m scared!” Fynn said, running to his mother. “Why do I have to go to school?”
Fynn’s mother gave him a hug. “It’s going to be OK. Let’s say a prayer,” she said. “There’s always time to pray.”
They knelt down and asked Heavenly Father to help Fynn. Then Fynn and his brother went to school. The day went a little better.
Every morning after that, Fynn knelt down and said a prayer asking Heavenly Father for help.
Slowly, things got better. Fynn made a friend, and he wasn’t scared anymore. After a while, Fynn started liking school.
One day Fynn and his brother were walking to school, and Fynn felt happy. He noticed the sun shining. He thought about all the fun things he was learning. Suddenly, he stopped walking.
“I forgot something!” he said to Johan. Fynn ran back to their house.
His mother looked worried when he ran inside.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I forgot to pray!” Fynn said. He knelt down. He wanted to thank Heavenly Father for helping him.
After ending his prayer, he gave his mom a hug. “There’s always time to pray!” he said.
Fynn smiled. His mom smiled. And as Fynn ran to catch up with his brother, he thought maybe Heavenly Father was smiling too.

Matías and Elías were so impressed with the things they were learning that they wanted to share their newfound understanding. They began talking with some neighborhood friends, the Anríquez brothers. Juan Carlos was age 12, Esteban, age 11. Juan Carlos seemed particularly interested, and he soon began to listen to the missionary discussions and attend Church meetings. Several months later he was baptized, and shortly afterward he was ordained a deacon.

I have had the frightening experience of feeling lost more than once. When I was very little, I went to Salt Lake City, Utah, with my parents. I had never seen such a big city. My mother, who thought that I was with my dad, went into a store. My dad, thinking that I was with my mother, stayed outside to wait while she shopped. But I just kept walking down the street. Before I knew it, I was half a block away and didn’t see a single familiar face or place. I didn’t know what to do. I was petrified with fear. My parents quickly realized I was gone, however, and it took them only a few minutes to find me.

“There is enough food for only one more day,” the captain said. “Would you like to eat it all or divide it into smaller portions to last three days?”
The company agreed to divide the food. Louisa’s stomach growled as she and her family accepted their tiny portions. As a member of the Martin Handcart Company, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had enough to eat.
That night, the company gathered around the fire to sing. “And should we die before our journey’s through, happy day! All is well!”*
Louisa’s sister Elizabeth wiped away a tear.
“Are you worried about Mother?” Louisa whispered.
Elizabeth tried to smile. “A little. But remember Mother’s blessing?”
Louisa nodded. “Yes. It comforts me too.”
Mother had been sick before leaving England, and Father had helped carry her onto the ship. Mother had been given a blessing that promised she would live to see her children reach Zion. Though she improved during the sea voyage, pulling a handcart through the early winter snow and surviving on such little food had weakened her again. Every day she grew worse.
Staring into the dying fire, Louisa tried not to think about the snowy graves that had been dug for so many of her friends along the trail. Instead she thought about Mother’s blessing and the warm feeling of assurance she had felt. Mother, Father, and all six of her siblings—even the two-year-old twins—would make it to Zion safely. Louisa was sure of it!
The next morning, as they plodded through the snow, Louisa’s mother began to stumble.
“Go on without me,” she called to Louisa’s father. “I can’t go any further!”
“You have to keep trying,” Elizabeth pleaded.
It was no use—Mother’s strength was gone. She kissed each family member good-bye. Then she hobbled over to a boulder, sat down, and cried.
“The company can’t wait for us,” Louisa’s father said, his eyes filled with sadness.
Louisa tried to keep her voice steady. “Elizabeth, will you help Father take care of the others?”
Elizabeth’s eyes grew wide. “Louisa—”
“We can’t all stay here, and we can’t leave Mother alone to die,” Louisa insisted. “I’ll stay here. Don’t worry.” She tried to sound brave. “Heavenly Father will help us.”
As the weary company struggled past, tugging their sagging handcarts, Louisa sat next to Mother and watched them disappear over the ridge. Soon Louisa and her mother were alone, listening to the howling wind. Louisa’s skin prickled at the thought of howling wolves.
“I’ll be right back, Mother,” Louisa said. She walked down the trail a short distance and knelt in the snow. “Please, Heavenly Father, wilt Thou protect us from the devouring wolves? Wilt Thou grant Mother the strength to continue so we can reach camp tonight?”
Louisa remained on her knees, waiting. She thought of camp, its welcoming bonfire and loving family members huddled around it. She thought of Zion, still hundreds of miles away.
Even though the chilling wind blew, she felt a warm spot growing in her heart. Yes. Heavenly Father would answer her prayer.
Louisa hopped onto her sore feet and started back up the trail, but something lay in her path. She blinked in surprise. She squinted and crouched down for a better look.
There, in the middle of the road, was a perfectly made pie.
“Oh my goodness,” Louisa cried. “Manna from heaven!” Laughing, she snatched it up. It looked and smelled delicious, like the pies Mother used to make back home in England.
“Mother, I’ve found something!” Louisa called.
“What is it?”
Louisa’s eyes glittered above her rosy cheeks as she placed the pie in Mother’s hands.
She gasped. “Louisa, where did you get this?”
“I prayed for you, and Heavenly Father sent me a pie. I found it on the road.”
Tearfully, Louisa’s mother thanked Heavenly Father for the miraculous gift. She ate the pie and rested awhile.
“I’m feeling much better,” Mother finally said, pulling herself onto her feet. “The Lord doesn’t want us to give up, and I won’t—not ever again.”
Louisa grinned. “Let’s catch up with the others. We can still make it to camp tonight.”
After darkness fell, they met Louisa’s father coming back to look for them. He rejoiced that Mother had regained her strength.
For the rest of the journey, whenever Louisa’s mother felt like quitting, she remembered the gift of the pie and offered a prayer of thanks instead.
Louisa and her family prayed with gratitude all the way to the Salt Lake Valley, where they arrived together safely on November 30, 1856. Mother’s blessing was fulfilled, just as Louisa had always known it would be.

A few years ago my back started hurting. I was kind of worried, so I went to see our family chiropractor. He took some X-rays, saw something weird going on, and recommended me to a specialist.
I was right. There was something wrong. The specialist told me I have a condition called ankylosing spondylitis. It’s a form of arthritis where your spinal joints get inflamed and your spine tries to fuse itself together.
My prescription was to exercise and stretch four or five days a week for about 20 to 30 minutes. If I don’t, my back starts to hurt again. Ankylosing spondylitis can also lead to other serious health problems.
Someday I may have to treat my condition with drugs, but for now, I stretch every day. I also go to the gym several times a week. Recently, I went for a checkup. The doctor told me that because I was diligent with stretching, my spine is in a lot better shape than many people my age.
I’m thankful for my body despite its limitations. I try not to focus on my health problems and just use my body the best I can. A few months ago, I found out that the lead singer of one of my favorite rock bands also has ankylosing spondylitis. Rather than complain, he said a lot of the great things in his life have come from struggling.
I try to remember the fact that Jesus Christ suffered every pain for us. He knows the mental and physical pain of any condition, including ankylosing spondylitis. He is the most equipped to help us, and He has helped me be grateful for my body and its abilities.
Samuel M., 21, Utah, USA

I’ve spent quite a bit of time as a visitor at the Utah State Prison. Some of my best friends are there. I like to go there because every time I go, I learn something. I learn about personal pride. I learn something about performance. I learn something about people.
One day, when I was talking with the warden at the prison, I asked, “How many prisoners do you have here in the prison who might be classified as ‘impossible’?” I knew that the prison was overcrowded—over 800 prisoners in a facility large enough for only 600, and I knew also that there were a lot who were really problems. I remember one day being in the yard with some of them and seeing a tattoo across the chest of one man that said “A Born Loser,” and he was out to prove it. So I was impressed when the warden said that, of all the prisoners at the Utah State Prison, there was only one whom he would classify as being really impossible or incorrigible.
I asked him to tell me about the man. He said that that prisoner has to remain in his cell 23 hours and 40 minutes every day. He cannot be with anyone else. He isn’t insane; he’s just hardened. “We can’t give him any freedom,” the warden told me. “His meals are served in his cell through iron bars. He has toilet facilities and a bed, and that is where he stays all but about 20 minutes of the day, when he is taken out for a shower. The last time he was allowed to be with other prisoners he put a knife through another inmate. He would do this today if he were allowed any freedom.”
No personal pride. No worthy performance. No patience. The only thing he is accomplishing in his life is being number one—number one in impossibility, in incorrigibility.

I remember one evening driving straight from work to visit one of the sisters I ministered to. It had been a rough day, and I wasn’t feeling particularly well. I felt like I had nothing left to give and didn’t feel entirely charitable. I felt to say a little prayer with faith in my heart as I drove that this sister would somehow be blessed with what she needed despite my lack. As my companion and I talked with this sister about her family, her busy life, and what we could do to help, I felt the Lord’s love pour into me. I felt of His love for her, for her family, and for me.

We played with her little children as we visited. And I left that night feeling like a different person. I knew I had energy and strength given to me. I knew I had felt a bit of heaven in that home. We all felt lifted by His love.

I found joy in loving this sister and in bringing her the Savior’s relief. Our experiences leading up to ministering aren’t always convenient or joyful. Just like anything that is important, there are usually some hurdles. But when you do minister, you don’t regret being His hands and ears. You don’t regret bringing His love and relief.

While we were growing up in a small community, my father saw the need for my brother and me to learn the principle of work. As a result, he put us to work on a small farm on the edge of town where he had been raised. He ran the local newspaper, so he could not spend much time with us except early in the morning and in the evening. That was quite a responsibility for two young teenagers, and sometimes we made mistakes.
Our small farm was surrounded by other farms, and one of the farmers went in to see my father one day to tell him the things he thought we were doing wrong. My father listened to him carefully and then said, “Jim, you don’t understand. You see, I’m raising boys and not cows.” After my father’s death, Jim told us his story. How grateful I was for a father who decided to raise boys, and not cows. In spite of the mistakes, we learned how to work on that little farm, and I guess, although they didn’t say it in so many words, we always knew we were more important to Mother and Father than the cows or, for that matter, anything else.

When seminary began in Greece a few years ago, there were only five students. They meet three mornings a week, with some joining via online video conferencing. They also meet on Wednesday afternoons for seminary, followed by an activity. They have drawn close to each other and become a light to their friends, who notice their example. When their friends ask questions, the youth bring them to seminary and Mutual activities.

On a later visit to Cimezile, Richard and I found Brother Nqunqa very ill. We blessed and passed the sacrament—but not until after he had risen and dressed himself, insisting that he had to have his jacket and tie on to show proper reverence for the sacrament. He wept as he told us that he knew Richard and I would come that Sunday and that the Spirit had witnessed to him all would be well. Before we left, Richard and I blessed Brother Nqunqa through the power of the priesthood.
The next day, I went to Brother Nqunqa’s home to see how he was feeling. His wife, Judith, assured me he had been completely healed—he was down in the fields, attending to his plowing.

For many young people, the high school years can be difficult. The pressure to fit in with the crowd—coupled with school, sports, and the struggle to find an identity—can create situations that make it hard to live life in harmony with gospel standards. I was certainly no exception. There were many times when I questioned both my ability to live righteously and my strength to overcome temptation. I watched a close friend, who was a Church member, fall to temptation. I saw him continually make poor decisions until he dropped out of school and began to refuse my aid and advice. As I saw most of my friends surrender themselves to Satan’s will, and as I felt a separation growing between us, I feared I would be the next to fall.
I began to realize, however, that whenever I was faced with a difficult decision, I had already made the choice. I knew what was right, and I had already decided that I was going to serve a mission.
Ever since I was young, I have been eagerly looking forward to serving a mission, and I don’t want to do anything to put that in jeopardy. This desire and goal to serve has been a tremendous blessing in my life. I think it has truly separated me from my friends in high school. This sense of purpose has helped me in all of my decisions. I have not even served a full-time mission yet, but already I can feel the blessings that I am receiving because of my choices.

I was born into a Latter-day Saint family and grew up following the Church standards as outlined in the pamphlet For the Strength of Youth. I didn’t drink, smoke, or swear; I dressed modestly, and I tried to keep the Sabbath day holy. This made me something of an oddity in my small New England town.
Though I did have a few friends who had similar standards, I had many more friends who did not. In my high school I was frequently teased about my standards and the fact that I was a Mormon. I was also the only person in my high school who could boast of living on a dairy farm, which didn’t add to my popularity. I was known as “the good Mormon farm girl,” wholesome to the core.
When I was 16 I had the opportunity to go to Ecuador for the summer as an exchange student. I looked forward to this opportunity to live in an exotic location, but some of my excitement was reserved for meeting new people who wouldn’t know I was a Mormon. I decided that it wasn’t necessary for the people of Ecuador to know that I was LDS. I could still live the standards—but quietly and unobtrusively.
In Ecuador I attended an orientation with other exchange students from all over the United States. I quickly made friends, some that I would see almost every day that summer because we were staying with host families in the same city. Others I saw throughout the summer at parties and field trips. It felt wonderfully liberating to meet people who didn’t know my family’s entire history. They didn’t know I was a farm girl or that I was Miss Squeaky-clean. For the first time in my life I felt popular and accepted.
After orientation I met my host family. The very first thing we did, before I even unpacked, was to walk to a liquor store. My host sisters informed me that they were giving a big party that night in honor of my arrival, and they wanted me to pick out the booze. They were surprised to learn that I didn’t drink and pressured me about it. I finally had to admit that I was Mormon.
My stay in Ecuador marked the beginning of the most intense test of living Church standards I had ever faced. I was frequently pressured to drink alcohol. I met several handsome, fun young men who were anxious to get to know me a little too well. The other exchange students quickly learned that I was a Mormon, and they had quite a bit to say about it, much of it negative. One girl, who was known for her partying, teased me frequently about my moral standards. She suggested that I thought I was better than others because of these standards.
Though I never seriously considered abandoning my standards, I did begin to question why I was making these choices. I felt like it wasn’t good enough anymore to say, “Because of my religion, I don’t do such-and-such” or “That’s how I was raised.” I knew I needed a testimony of my standards if I was going to continue to uphold them. I wanted a stronger testimony of the restored Church.
I started reading the Book of Mormon on my own for the first time, and I finished it in 13 days. The Spirit testified to me that the powerful testimonies of those ancient prophets were true. I was filled with joy and gratitude that I had the privilege of being a member of Christ’s Church. This precipitated a complete change in my attitude toward Church standards. My newfound testimony of the Book of Mormon gave power and substance to my beliefs. I felt proud of my standards, and it became easier to live them.
Nothing had really changed as far as how I lived, but my feelings were different. Nothing about me had outwardly changed, and yet I was a new person. I even noticed that my new friends responded to this change in me, perhaps without realizing it. They seemed to have greater respect for me.
One day I was alone with the girl who had been making fun of me in front of the other exchange students. She confided that she wished she had been raised to have the same standards I had. She said she wished she had never had a drink and had never been unchaste. She was not the only one to tell me that.
When I was a senior in high school, a good friend who had gone on to college was visiting at Christmas break. She told me that she wished she had been taught my standards as a child because it would have been much easier to keep from getting into trouble. She told me to hold on to my standards no matter what because they would keep me safe.
A couple of years later when I was in college a girl I had known in Ecuador came to visit. She told me she wished she had been raised a Mormon because then she might have avoided the burdensome sins she’d committed. I felt very sad for my classmates, and on both occasions I cried with them over the pain they’d suffered. They’d had to learn the hard way that “while you are free to choose for yourself, you are not free to choose the consequences of your actions” (For the Strength of Youth [2001], 4.)
At first it surprised me a little to think that other teens were envious of my standards. Hadn’t so many of them made fun of me in high school? Didn’t teens want fewer restrictions instead of more? However, it soon began to make sense. My standards did keep me safe, and everyone wants to feel safe. Living the standards as outlined in For the Strength of Youth had spared me a great deal of pain. Also, more importantly, because I was exercising faith by living those standards and reading the Book of Mormon, I was worthy of the companionship of the Holy Ghost. It was through the Holy Ghost that I was able to obtain one of my most valued possessions: my testimony of the Book of Mormon and the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.

There is a boy at school who found out I don’t swear. The day he found out, he made a game out of trying to get me to say bad words. But I didn’t swear the whole day at all. Today, it’s still kind of a game—and I’m winning! He’ll say something to try to get me to swear, but I’ll say something funny back and everybody will laugh. He’s not offended, and I’m not swearing. It works for everybody.
Eden S., age 11, New South Wales, Australia

May I tell you another goal that I set when I was still a youngster.
I had heard all of my life about the Word of Wisdom and the blessings that could come into my life through living it. I had seen people chewing tobacco, and it was repulsive to me. I had seen men waste much time in “rolling their own” cigarettes. They would buy a sack of “Bull Durham” tobacco or some other brand and then some papers, and then they would stop numerous times in a day to fill the paper with tobacco and then roll it and then bend over the little end of it and then smoke it. It seemed foolish to me and seemed such a waste of time and energy. Later when the practice became more sophisticated, they bought their cigarettes readymade. I remember how repulsive it was to me when women began to smoke.
I remember as a boy going to the Fourth of July celebration on the streets of my little town and seeing some of the men as they took part in the horse racing as participator or as gambler, betting on the horses, and I noted that many of them had cigarettes in their lips and bottles in their pockets and some were ugly drunk and with their bleary eyes and coarse talk and cursing.
It took a little time to match the ponies and arrange the races, and almost invariably during this time there would be someone call out, “Fight! Fight!” and all the men and boys would gravitate to the fight area which was attended with blows and blood and curses and hatreds.
Again I was nauseated to think that men would so disgrace themselves, and again I made up my mind that while I would drink the pink lemonade on the Fourth of July and watch the horses run, that I never would drink liquor or swear or curse as did many of these fellows of this little town.
And I remember that without being pressured by anyone, I made up my mind while still a little boy that I would never break the Word of Wisdom. I knew where it was written and I knew in a general way what the Lord had said, and I knew that when the Lord said it, it was pleasing unto him for men to abstain from all these destructive elements and that the thing I wanted to do was to please my Heavenly Father. And so I made up my mind firmly and solidly that I would never touch those harmful things. Having made up my mind fully and unequivocably, I found it not too difficult to keep the promise to myself and to my Heavenly Father.
I remember once in later years when I was district governor of the Rotary Clubs of Arizona that I went to Nice, France, to the international convention. As a part of that celebration there was a sumptuous banquet for the district governors, and the large building was set for an elegant meal. When we came to our places, I noted that at every place there were seven goblets, along with numerous items of silverware and dishes; and everything was the best that Europe could furnish.
As the meal got underway, an army of waiters came to wait on us, seven waiters at each place, and they poured wine and liquor. Seven glass goblets were filled at every plate. The drinks were colorful. I was a long way from home; I knew many of the district governors; they knew me. But they probably did not know my religion nor of my stand on the Word of Wisdom. At any rate, the evil one seemed to whisper to me, “This is your chance. You are thousands of miles from home. There is no one here to watch you. No one will ever know if you drink the contents of those goblets. This is your chance!” And then a sweeter spirit seemed to whisper, “You have a covenant with yourself; you promised yourself you would never do it; and with your Heavenly Father you made a covenant, and you have gone these years without breaking it, and you would be stupid to break this covenant after all these years.” Suffice it to say that when I got up from the table an hour later, the seven goblets were still full of colorful material that had been poured into them but never touched an hour earlier.

The basketball arcs through the air and whips through the net. A timeout is called. Before play starts again, the cheering intensifies. As it morphs into words, however, it becomes clear the crowd isn’t cheering for the team. “We love Brittany! We love Brittany!” bounces around the gym as a quiet girl on the sideline starts to blush.
Brittany Crockett is this year’s honorary cheerleader at Syracuse High School in northern Utah. As the other cheerleaders roll through a line of backflips and handsprings, she speeds to the center of the court, closes her eyes, and does a 360 in her wheelchair.
Brittany has muscular dystrophy. And her experience as a cheerleader is proof of just how powerful kindness and determination can be.
When Brittany was only one year old, she was diagnosed with muscular dystrophy, a disease that slowly weakens the muscles until they don’t work correctly. Doctors told her parents she wouldn’t live another year. Fourteen years later, doctors again told her the same thing. But Brittany does try to beat the odds in just about everything.
“One time when I was little and I had more strength, I tried to stand up. I was so mad. I said to myself, ‘I am going to beat this and that’s that!’” she says.
With that kind of determination, trying out for the cheerleading squad didn’t seem too tough. After all, Brittany is pretty much like everyone else her age, except for a few things, like her new high-powered wheelchair. Her friends talk about it like it’s a brand new car.
Another difference is that when Brittany misses school because of her health, she would rather be in class than at home. And while some teens her age might obsess over fashion, she doesn’t even know her own shoe size, a consequence of being physically unable to put them on. Because the disease weakens all of her muscles, she can’t perform some simple things we take for granted, like being able to cough without the aid of a machine.
Brittany first became excited about cheerleading in junior high. It looked to her like something she could handle. As high school started, she didn’t forget that feeling.
“She constantly mentioned it. Over and over again I would hear, ‘I wish I could do that,’” her mom says. “And then one day, she said, ‘I want to do it.’” And with that conviction, her parents started asking around to see what that would take.
At first, the school district said no, over concern for Brittany’s health and safety. “We just kind of accepted it and moved on,” Brittany says. She planned to ask again the following year, but then, a surprise phone call let her know she wouldn’t have to wait.
“We had heard this girl with muscular dystrophy wanted to be a cheerleader,” says Kaitlyn Glauser. Though nervous about being told no herself, she recruited the help of another friend and fellow cheerleader, Elleny Swanson. Then the two of them did what cheerleaders are taught to do—rally support.
They generated an explosion of excitement from administrators and students alike. The district reconsidered and said with so many people urging her on, they approved. But the biggest shock came when they broke the news to Brittany.
“I just wasn’t ready for it,” Brittany says. She had nearly forgotten about her wish while Kaitlyn and Elleny had been asking for permission. “We wanted to make her dream come true,” Elleny says.
And as her dream came true, some of the school’s dreams did, too. With Brittany on the sidelines, the football team went from two wins and 11 losses the previous year, to qualifying for the state semifinals the next year. Believe it or not, the team won every game Brittany cheered for and lost every one she couldn’t attend.
“The cheerleaders started calling me their lucky charm. I’d get calls, ‘You’ve got to come! You’ve got to come so we can win!’” Brittany says.
It would be fine if the story ended there, but don’t forget that those who give service often feel the most served in return.
At games, the student body chants for Brittany as loud as they cheer for the team—if not louder. Her contagious happiness and “feisty side” create a lot of incentive for the squad members to become better individuals.
Brittany, on the other hand, is humble when talking about her own contributions. “All I’ve done is just be on the squad. I feel like I need to give them something.” The girls will tell you otherwise.
“She does so much for the squad. It makes us better people because Brittany is there. We love having her with us,” Elleny says. Their focus on helping one another has helped get rid of any high school “drama” between the girls. “We’re all very best friends,” Elleny says.
“I don’t think we really knew how big this was going to be,” Kaitlyn admits.
These youth learned a little more about what the Savior meant when He taught, “For whosoever will save his life shall lose it; but whosoever shall lose his life for my sake and the gospel’s, the same shall save it” (Mark 8:35).
“Bringing Brittany on the squad had an impact on our whole school, not just our squad—and not just Brittany’s life,” Elleny says. “It was so cool to see how a community could come together because of one girl. That’s when you realize what it’s all about. It’s all about giving back.”
And all this happened because two young women, and then a group of high school teens, gave up thinking about themselves by going out of their way to include someone else. That’s the kind of high school history we all want to be a part of.

One unforgettable day in the fall of 1856, a group of some 500 Latter-day Saint pioneers were steadily pulling their handcarts toward Zion, when they found themselves surrounded by buffalo. At first, the Saints viewed the buffalo as a blessing; they needed to add to their meat supply. But the large animals thundered through the ranks of the pioneers scattering their possessions and stampeding their cattle. Without the necessary firearms, the Saints were able to kill only two buffalo.
The battle between pioneer and buffalo was described in the diary of Joseph Benson Elder, a 21-year-old, who saw the event, but was too far away from the handcart company at the time to be of any help.
Joseph had been traveling with the company for only a short time. It had been earlier that year, just two day after he had been ordained to the Melchizedek Priesthood, and a year after his baptism, that he had decided to help the Saints who were gathering to Zion, and to join them himself.
Through the summer of 1856, Joseph and several other young Latter-day Saint men were occupied with the hard and dangerous task of herding cattle, mules, horses, and oxen to meet the various emigrating groups who were making their way across America’s plains to Zion. It wasn’t until mid-August that Joseph Elder was assigned to the handcart group that was already on the way to Winter Quarters from Iowa City, where the emigrants from European mission fields had gotten off the train. Led by Captain James G. Willie, the company had waited for more than a month in Iowa City for their handcarts to be finished. Some of the leaders of the Church Emigration organization wondered if it wasn’t too late in the year for another group to head to Utah, but enthusiasm was high and they decided to go ahead.
On Saturday, August 17th, Joseph Elder wrote in his diary:
“We organized ourselves for the march to Salt Lake City, more than [1,600 kilometers] away. It was quite an interesting sight to see the carts roll out in their several divisions and to see the people in such good faith. Although the Plains had never been crossed by handcarts, they believed they could accomplish it.”
Joseph was assigned to drive one of the extra supply wagons and to help with the livestock that was taken along for food. The entire company included, by his estimate, “about 450 people, with about 120 handcarts and six supply wagons.” They were divided into groups of tens and hundreds.
As they left the area of Florence, Nebraska, or the Winter Quarters camp, there were three other handcart companies ahead of them on the trail, and the Martin Handcart Company was just a few days behind them. These 1856 companies were the first to try to cross the plains with only handcarts and tents. When the Willie Company left Winter Quarters, the three earliest groups were still four weeks away from Salt Lake City. No one had yet proven that a large group of men, women, and children, including the aged and sick, could walk to Zion. But they wanted to try, even if it was late in the year.
But as time passed, the pioneers faced serious problems. The handcarts for the Willie and Martin companies had been hastily made and breakdowns were frequent. Stopping for repairs meant that food supplies had to last longer, and that the pioneers would be traveling through the mountains later in the season.
Even though Joseph Elder was diligent in his assignment to hunt buffalo for the handcart company, the animals were not always available, and all provisions became scarce. Cattle and some oxen had been lost to the stampeding buffalo. Flour had to be rationed, and there was little other food left. Some of the Saints began to weaken with hunger. The company relied heavily on the promises they had that Church leaders in Salt Lake City would be sending supply wagons to meet them.
By September 26 the first three handcart companies reached the Salt Lake Valley, but the Willie Company was still far behind in mountainous country. Joseph Elder records that they reached Fort Laramie, Wyoming, about October 1. Every day from Fort Laramie on they were climbing higher into the mountains. On the day that they traveled twenty-five kilometers without water, they also gave out the last of their flour. They were still hundreds of kilometers from Salt Lake City with no word yet on when help might be coming with more food.
A major setback for the handcart company was an unusually early and heavy winter snow storm. The pioneers tried to shelter themselves from the storm, but their tents were useless in such bad weather. “It was very bad, because the people were weak, having been on small rations of food,” wrote Joseph. But, as the storm passed, a great shout arose from the camp. They caught sight of a wagon. Two men from Salt Lake City were bringing word that teams of horses and wagons and provisions were onto their way. “It was glorious news,” wrote Joseph, but news alone did not feed the hundred of hungry Saints or keep them warm in this hour of critical need.
“The next morning when we got up, the pioneers were hungry and cold. To rush them into the snow would be certain death to a great many of them, for we had not yet met the relief wagons, only the one wagon which passed us and went on the Martin Company.”
Joseph recorded in his diary that Captain Willie then decided to take Joseph with him to go in search of the relief wagons. The company would make a camp and try to shelter themselves as best they could. Each pioneer had been allowed a maximum of only eight kilograms of clothing and bedding to keep the handcart light. In the severe cold, it wasn’t enough. Many Saints were literally freezing.
“We started ahead in search of our brethren,” wrote Joseph, and they rode on old and tired mules for [eighteen kilometers] with the snow and bitter wind blowing in their faces all day. The next day they found a guidepost where they were directed to their rescuers, who had been delayed in the storm. “Great was their joy in seeing us for they had been searching for us for a long time.”
It was another day and a half of difficult traveling until Captain Willie and Joseph Elder could lead the rescuers back to the camp to help. They found the cold had taken a terrible toll.
Joseph recorded: “That was an awful day. Many can never forget the scenes they witnessed that day. Men, women and children weakened by cold and hunger, weeping, crying, and some even dying by the roadside. … Oh how my heart did quake and shudder at the awful scenes which surrounded me. The next morning we buried nine, all in one deep grave.”
The fate of the Willie Handcart Company would be remembered as one of the saddest trials of all those endured by Mormon pioneers. But with fresh supplies of food and clothing, the health of the group gradually improved and even the weather got better. “We continued a steady march and at last to our great joy we arrived at Great Salt Lake City on November 9, 1856.” But our of the 450 Saints who had started the trek, sixty-seven died along the way.
Just two weeks after the group’s arrival, Joseph heard Church President Brigham Young issue a call for volunteers to go out and help the 600 members of the Martin Handcart Company still in the mountains in deep snow.
Joseph left that day with the other volunteers.
In the mountains the snow was almost three meters deep, and the wagons couldn’t get through. The volunteers had to carry the supplies on their backs to the handcart company. With the others, Joseph helped set up a camp to prepare the members of the company for the final effort to reach Salt Lake City.
Finally, all the handcart pioneers were safely gathered to Zion, where they went about the business of starting new lives.
Joseph found employment teaching school and driving a carriage for Brigham Young. He soon met Margaret Joiner, a lovely young English convert who had come to Utah with a wagon train of pioneers. In time they were married and became the parents of seven children, only two of whom lived to adulthood. Joseph served a short mission in Illinois, and, in 1878, at the age of forty-three, he served a mission to Europe.
Joseph Benson Elder lived a long life filled with Church service, in which he found much satisfaction.

During the pandemic, Newport Gwent ward offered a ray of light to their community by supporting three local charities and hundreds of people’s lives.
Bishop James Hayes offered support to the ‘Helping Caring Team’ (HCT) a local charity who collect food donations from various local shops and restaurants and then deliver packages to the homeless and vulnerable of Newport. Soon HCT were asking if they would be able to utilise the church building for collection and packing of the food packages.
The ward also supports Sesame Counselling Services: a charity who specialise in providing discounted counselling services. Sesame Counselling was unable to use their regular meeting place so a member asked the Bishop if they could help, Bishop Hayes arranged a visit to the chapel to showcase their space. The head of the board of trustees was heard to say, “Isn’t there a restful atmosphere here,” “It’s peaceful here” and “There’s a nice atmosphere here, a feeling of safety.”
The final group it supports is the Gwent Family History Society. The group were looking for somewhere to meet, someone suggested asking the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Gwent Family History use the computers and run a zoom link from the building which is recorded and shared on their social media pages. There have been many blessings that have come to both the Newport Gwent Ward and to the charities. Bishop Hayes remarked, “In some ways it is missionary work like you have never known it.” The groups even promote the Word of Wisdom notes Bishop Hayes because “the groups have asked us what they are able to provide on the premises for their clients and we explain the Word of Wisdom to them and why we believe it is important, they then accept our belief and subconsciously they explain it to their patrons, allowing more people to become aware of our beliefs without us having to proselyte to them.” Elder Hyrum Little stated, “Watching the joyous faces of those who are selflessly giving of their time and talents, gives me a greater sense of joy through my own service and it increases my desires to magnify my own mission efforts.” Elder Samuel Jaccod commented, “Whenever service is done to anyone who is in need, the service is not just a blessing to their lives but blesses those who are helping them too. Finding true happiness in your life will come as you strive to increase the joy in the lives of those around you.” Both Elder Little and Elder Jaccod have been able to witness the blessings that have been brought to those who use the chapel, but also to the members and missionaries of the Newport Ward through the selfless, compassionate and loving service of those who have come to use the chapel.