Gospel Story Finder

When I reflect on the race of life, I remember another race, even from childhood days. Perhaps a shared experience from this period will assist in formulating answers to these significant and universally asked questions.
When I was about ten, my boyfriends and I would take pocketknives in hand and from the soft wood of a willow tree fashion small toy boats. With a triangular-shaped cotton sail in place, each would launch his crude craft in a race down the relatively turbulent waters of the Provo River. We would run along the river’s bank and watch the tiny vessels sometimes bobbing violently in the swift current and at other times sailing serenely as the water deepened.
During such a race, we noted that one boat led all the rest toward the appointed finish line. Suddenly, the current carried it too close to a large whirlpool, and the boat heaved to its side and capsized. Around and around it was carried, unable to make its way back into the main current. At last it came to rest at the end of the pool, amid the flotsam and jetsam which surrounded it, held fast by the fingerlike tentacles of the grasping green moss.
The toy boats of childhood had no keel for stability, no rudder to provide direction, and no source of power. Like the hitchhiker, their destination was “ANYWHERE,” but inevitably downstream.
We have been provided divine attributes to guide our destiny. We entered mortality not to float with the moving currents of life, but with the power to think, to reason, and to achieve.
Our Heavenly Father did not launch us on our eternal journey without providing the means whereby we could receive from Him God-given guidance to ensure our safe return at the end of life’s great race. Yes, I speak of prayer. I speak, too, of the whisperings from that still, small voice within each of us; and I do not overlook the holy scriptures, written by mariners who successfully sailed the seas we too must cross.
Individual effort will be required of us. What can we do to prepare? How can we assure a safe voyage?
First, we must visualize our objective. What is our purpose? The Prophet Joseph Smith counseled: “Happiness is the object and design of our existence; and will be the end thereof, if we pursue the path that leads to it; and this path is virtue, uprightness, faithfulness, holiness, and keeping all the commandments of God.” (Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, pp. 255–56.) In this one sentence we are provided not only a well-defined goal, but also the way we might achieve it.
Second, we must make continuous effort. Have you noticed that many of the most cherished of God’s dealings with His children have been when they were engaged in a proper activity? The visit of the Master to His disciples on the way to Emmaus, the good Samaritan on the road to Jericho, even Nephi on his return to Jerusalem, and Father Lehi en route to the precious land of promise. Let us not overlook Joseph Smith on the way to Carthage, and Brigham Young on the vast plains to the valley home of the Saints.
Third, we must not detour from our determined course. In our journey we will encounter forks and turnings in the road. There will be the inevitable trials of our faith and the temptations of our times. We simply cannot afford the luxury of a detour, for certain detours lead to destruction and spiritual death. Let us avoid the moral quicksands that threaten on every side, the whirlpools of sin, and the crosscurrents of uninspired philosophies. That clever pied piper called Lucifer still plays his lilting melody and attracts the unsuspecting away from the safety of their chosen pathway, away from the counsel of loving parents, away from the security of God’s teachings. His tune is ever so old, his words ever so sweet. His prize is everlasting. He seeks not the refuse of humanity but the very elect of God. King David listened, then followed, then fell. But then so did Cain in an earlier era, and Judas Iscariot in a later one.
Fourth, to gain the prize we must be willing to pay the price. The apprentice does not become the master craftsman until he has qualified. The lawyer does not practice until he has passed the bar. The doctor does not attend our needs until internship has been completed.
You are the fellow that has to decide
Whether you’ll do it or toss it aside. …
Whether you’ll try for the goal that’s afar
Or just be contented to stay where you are.
Edgar A. Guest, “You,” The Light of Faith, Chicago: Reilly and Lee, 1926, p. 133.
Let us remember how Saul the persecutor became Paul the proselyter, how Simon, the fisherman, became Peter, the apostle of spiritual power. And let us be mindful that before Easter there had to be a cross.
Our example in the race of life could well be our elder brother, even the Lord. As a small boy, he provided a watchword: “Wist ye not that I must be about my Father’s business?” (Luke 2:49.) As a grown man he taught by example compassion, love, obedience, sacrifice, and devotion. To you and to me his summons is still the same: “Come, follow me.”
One who listened and who followed was the Mormon missionary Randall Ellsworth, about whom you may have read in your daily newspaper or watched on the television set in your home.
Six months ago, while serving in Guatemala as a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Randall Ellsworth survived the devastating earthquake which hurled a beam down on his back, paralyzed his legs, and severely damaged his kidneys.
After receiving emergency medical treatment, Randall was flown to a large hospital near his home in Rockville, Maryland. While confined there, a television newscaster conducted with Randall an interview which I witnessed through the miracle of television. The reporter asked, “Can you walk?” The answer, “Not yet, but I will.” “Do you think you will be able to complete your mission?” Came the reply, “Others think not, but I will.”
With microphone in hand, the reporter continued: “I understand you have received a special letter containing a get-well message from none other than the president of the United States.” “Yes,” replied Randall, “I am very grateful to President Ford for his thoughtfulness; but I received another letter, not from the president of my country, but from the president of my church—The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints—even President Spencer W. Kimball. This I cherish. With him praying for me, and the prayers of my family, my friends, and my missionary companions, I will return to Guatemala. The Lord wanted me to preach the gospel there for two years, and that’s what I intend to do.”
I turned to my wife and commented, “He surely must not know the extent of his injuries. Our official medical reports would not permit us to expect such a return to Guatemala.”
How grateful am I that the day of faith and the age of miracles are not past history but continue with us even now.
The newspapers and the television cameras directed their attention to more immediate news as the days turned to weeks and the weeks to months. The words of Rudyard Kipling described Randall Ellsworth’s situation:
The tumult and the shouting dies;
The Captains and the Kings depart:
Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,
An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!
Rudyard Kipling’s Verse, Garden City, New York: Doubleday, 1946, p. 327.
And God did not forget him who possessed an humble and a contrite heart, even Elder Randall Ellsworth. Little by little the feeling in his legs began to return. In his own words, Randall described the recovery: “The thing I did was always to keep busy, always pushing myself. In the hospital I asked to do therapy twice a day instead of just once. I wanted to walk again on my own.”
When the Missionary Committee evaluated the amazing medical progress Randall Ellsworth had made, word was sent to him that his return to Guatemala was authorized. Said he, “At first I was so happy I didn’t know what to do. Then I went into my bedroom and I started to cry. Then I dropped to my knees and thanked my Heavenly Father.”
Two months ago Randall Ellsworth walked aboard the plane that carried him back to the mission to which he was called and back to the people whom he loved. Behind he left a trail of skeptics, a host of doubters, but also hundreds amazed at the power of God, the miracle of faith, and the reward of determination. Ahead lay honest, God-fearing, and earnestly seeking sons and daughters of our Heavenly Father. They shall hear His word. They shall learn His truth. They shall accept His ordinances. A modern-day Paul, who too overcame his “thorn in the flesh,” has returned to teach them the truth, to lead them to life eternal.
Like Randall Ellsworth, may each of us know where he is going, be willing to make the continuous effort required to get there, avoid any detour, and be ready to pay the often very high price of faith and determination to win life’s race. Then, as mortality ends, we shall hear the plaudit from our Eternal Judge, “Well done, thou good and faithful servant: thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy lord.” (Matt. 25:21.)
Each will then have completed his journey, not to a nebulous “ANYWHERE,” but to his heavenly home—even eternal life in the celestial kingdom of God.
May such be our goal and our reward is my prayer, in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

Elder Prince Nwubani wasn’t sure if he wanted to serve a mission at all. His bishop had told him that if he did go, his father would die a happy man. So he went, expecting to be sent close to home as many missionaries from West Africa were. But Elder Nwubani was called to the Michigan Detroit Mission in the United States. This was on the other side of the world from where he had grown up, in Abuja Nigeria.
At the end of one particular week, the elders had nothing to show for their efforts. Nothing but zeros on their missionary planners. After dinner one evening, Elder Nwubani’s companion looked at him across the table and asked, “Elder, do you believe in the power of prayer?”
He was surprised by the question but answered that yes, he did believe.
“Then do you believe that if we pray hard enough right now, that we will receive a new investigator to teach this evening?” his companion asked.
Now this was a different story. After the difficult week that they had just experienced, without anyone interested in their message despite their hard work, a new investigator seemed like a long shot. But as he considered the question, it came to his mind that he should answer yes. So, the companions prayed together to find that one person whom they could teach.
As they left that evening, Elder Nwubani’s companion suggested that they use their bikes instead of taking their car. This seemed very strange. They rarely used their bikes, and it was freezing outside. He reluctantly agreed to go on bike, even though he didn’t ride well, and this was not the kind of weather a kid from Africa was used to.
As they travelled on their bikes, Elder Nwubani fell behind his companion who was a much better cyclist. As he struggled to keep up, he did not notice a large patch of black ice on the road. He hit the ice and slid out of control, falling from his bike. The pain in his knee was intense and he struggled to get up. His companion rushed back and said, “you are really hurt, we need to go back to the apartment.”
Again, something told Elder Nwubani that they needed to continue, even though it would be a real struggle for him. “I’ll be fine, Elder. We need to keep going,” he told his companion. They stopped at a nearby gas station to assess the damage.
“Hey elders, you never came back” they heard from a man pumping gas.
Surprised to hear this the missionaries went to talk to the man. “When I was 17 years old, I met with the missionaries and they promised to come back and teach me”, he said. “And you never came back”.
The man was well into his 40s, so it was definitely not Elder Nwubani and his companion whom the man had met, but nevertheless, they made arrangements to meet with the man. They had their new investigator.
Although it seemed impossible that this humble prayer offered by the missionaries could be answered, the Lord provided a way to reward his faithful servants. To this day, Prince Nwubani’s testimony of prayer has never wavered.

In a recent Sunday Relief Society meeting, I listened to a young mother share part of her journey of conversion. She had grown up in the Church, with parents who taught her the gospel. She attended Primary, Young Women, and seminary. She loved to learn and discover truths. Her constant quest was to know why. Elder Russell M. Nelson has said, “The Lord can only teach an inquiring mind.”4 And this young woman was teachable.

After high school she attended a university, was sealed in the temple to a returned missionary, and was blessed with beautiful children.

With the spirit of inquiry, this mother continued to ask questions. But as the questions grew harder, so did the answers. And sometimes there were no answers—or no answers that brought peace. Eventually, as she sought to find answers, more and more questions arose, and she began to question some of the very foundations of her faith.

During this confusing time, some of those around her said, “Just lean on my faith.” But she thought, “I can’t. You don’t understand; you’re not grappling with these issues.” She explained, “I was willing to extend courtesy to those without doubts if they would extend courtesy to me.” And many did.

She said, “My parents knew my heart and allowed me space. They chose to love me while I was trying to figure it out for myself.” Likewise, this young mother’s bishop often met with her and spoke of his confidence in her.

Ward members also did not hesitate to give love, and she felt included. Her ward was not a place to put on a perfect face; it was a place of nurture.

“It was interesting,” she remembers. “During this time I felt a real connection to my grandparents who had died. They were pulling for me and urging me to keep trying. I felt they were saying, ‘Focus on what you know.’”

In spite of her substantial support system, she became less active. She said, “I did not separate myself from the Church because of bad behavior, spiritual apathy, looking for an excuse not to live the commandments, or searching for an easy out. I felt I needed the answer to the question ‘What do I really believe?’”

About this time she read a book of the writings of Mother Teresa, who had shared similar feelings. In a 1953 letter, Mother Teresa wrote: “Please pray specially for me that I may not spoil His work and that Our Lord may show Himself—for there is such terrible darkness within me, as if everything was dead. It has been like this more or less from the time I started ‘the work.’ Ask Our Lord to give me courage.”

Archbishop Périer responded: “God guides you, dear Mother; you are not so much in the dark as you think. The path to be followed may not always be clear at once. Pray for light; do not decide too quickly, listen to what others have to say, consider their reasons. You will always find something to help you. … Guided by faith, by prayer, and by reason with a right intention, you have enough.”5

My friend thought if Mother Teresa could live her religion without all the answers and without a feeling of clarity in all things, maybe she could too. She could take one simple step forward in faith—and then another. She could focus on the truths she did believe and let those truths fill her mind and heart.

As she reflected back, she said, “My testimony had become like a pile of ashes. It had all burned down. All that remained was Jesus Christ.” She continued, “But He does not leave you when you have questions. When anyone tries to keep the commandments, the door is wide open. Prayer and scripture study became incredibly important.”

Her first step to rebuild her faith was to start with basic gospel truths. She bought a Primary songbook and began reading the words of the songs. They were treasures to her. She prayed for faith to lift the heaviness she felt.

She learned that when she came up against a statement that caused her to doubt, she “could stop, look at the whole picture, and make the gospel personal.” She said, “I would ask, ‘Is this the right path for me and my family?’ Sometimes I would ask myself, ‘What do I want for my children?’ I realized I want them to have temple marriages. That’s when belief came back to my heart.”

Though she had questions about how the Book of Mormon came to be, she could not deny the truths she knew in the Book of Mormon. She had focused on studying the New Testament to better understand the Savior. “But eventually,” she said, “I found myself back in the Book of Mormon because I loved what I felt when reading about Jesus Christ and His Atonement.”

She concluded, “You have to have your own spiritual experiences with the truths in that book,” and she was having them. She explained, “I read in Mosiah and felt completely directed: ‘Believe in God; believe that he is, and that he created all things … ; believe that he has all wisdom, and all power, both in heaven and in earth; believe that man doth not comprehend all the things which the Lord can comprehend.’7”

About this time a call came to serve as Primary pianist. “It was safe,” she said. “I wanted to have my children in Primary, and now I could be with them. And I wasn’t ready to teach yet.” As she served, she continued to feel from those around her the invitation “Come; we want you, whatever stage you are at, and we will meet you there. Give us whatever you have to offer.”

Playing the Primary songs, she often thought to herself, “Here are truths I love. I can still bear testimony. I will just say those things that I know and trust. It may not be a perfect offering of knowledge, but it will be my offering. What I focus on expands inside of me. It is beautiful to get back to the essence of the gospel and feel clarity.”

On that Sunday morning, as I listened to this young sister share the story of her journey, I was reminded that “it is upon the rock of our Redeemer” that we all must build our foundation.8 I was also reminded of the counsel of Elder Jeffrey R. Holland: “Hold fast to what you already know and stand strong until additional knowledge comes.”9

Today was Thursday, the day I was going to my friend Stephen’s house after school. Because I am in kindergarten and go to school in the morning, we were going to go somewhere special for lunch first and then go to his house to play.
After we played a game, Stephen’s mother asked if I’d like to play some video games. I love to play video games!
Then I remembered that I was not allowed to play them until Friday. I told her so, and I felt good inside. She was impressed because I had been honest. She told my mom about it when she came to pick me up. Mom was happy that I had been honest and not played the video games. She called me a “Choose the Right” warrior.

It was a sweltering August day in Kenya as eight-year-old Iniko swiftly pedaled his bike down the dusty path toward the old train depot. He smiled as he reached into the pocket of his shorts to make sure his two shiny shillings were still there. He jingled them joyfully, then placed his hand back on the bike handle. Just enough for a cold soda on a hot day! He’d worked hard on the farm with his father today. He’d definitely earned both the money and the break.
He could almost feel the cold, fizzy bubbles tickling his throat. Do I feel more like grape or strawberry today? he wondered as he leaned forward and pedaled faster, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
Iniko came up over a small hill and down toward the shanty depot just as a little girl walked away from the soda machine, head hanging. She sat on the bench next to the machine and hid her face in her hands. She’s young, Iniko thought. She looked about the same age as his six-year-old sister, Tandie.
Iniko laid his bike on the ground and jogged toward the machine, still thinking about those tickly bubbles going down his throat. As he reached the machine, he heard a sob escape the little girl.
“What’s your name?” Iniko asked. She looked up, trembling with sobs, but said nothing. Iniko wondered what she was doing there all alone. Didn’t she have a big brother or somebody to help her? Perhaps she had come to get a soda as well.
“Did you want to get a drink?” he asked, eyeing the machine anxiously. She reached out a tiny hand and pointed to the bottom of the machine. Iniko got down on his hands and knees and looked underneath. Sure enough, two shiny shillings had fallen underneath the soda machine, beyond reach. Iniko’s arm was too big to reach under, and an attempt to retrieve the coins with a slender branch proved unsuccessful as well.
Iniko turned and looked at the girl again. Her eyes were hopeful, and the tears were just starting to dry on her round, rosy cheeks. She surely reminded him of Tandie.
“I can’t get it,” he said. Crestfallen, she scooted herself off the bench and began to walk away.
Iniko tried his best to turn his back on the little girl and forget about her. Just put the money in the machine and enjoy your hard-earned treat, he told himself. You’re not responsible for her. You don’t even know her. But it was no use. The words of his Primary teacher just last Sunday echoed inside his head: “We must have charity to be like Jesus Christ. Jesus tells us in the scriptures that serving others is the best way to show Him that we love Him.” Iniko loved Him. And he knew what he must do.
“Wait!” he shouted and ran after the little girl. He took her hand, and pressed the two shiny shillings into it. “They’re for you.”
The little girl smiled, revealing a missing tooth on her bottom jaw.
She sure is cute, Iniko thought. That was worth it just for the smile.
The little girl ran toward the soda machine and, having purchased her prize, skipped away down the path.
Iniko was still thirsty as he mounted his bike and began pedaling slowly up the hill. But somehow, the soda didn’t seem to matter so much anymore. He thought of Tandie and smiled as he rolled along the dusty road toward home.

I was called as a member of the Seventy in 1977. Since then I have had the privilege of visiting hundreds of stakes. After one priesthood leadership meeting in Taylorsville, Utah, a large man approached me and whispered that his brother had been killed during World War II and that he hated Japanese people. Following the stake conference, however, this same man approached me with tears in his eyes. Crying for joy, he gave me a hug because I had shared my conversion story and my love for Americans and it had touched him.

Razafindravaonasolo’s father was called as the branch president. One day he met with me and encouraged me to prepare for a mission. I didn’t think I could serve, but he reassured me that I could. I accepted the call to serve in the Madagascar Antananarivo Mission. I am married now and I have two kids. I am grateful for my family, and I have had more experiences than I can share that have helped me know that this Church is true.
After joining the Church, Rakotomalala (right) served in the Madagascar Antananarivo Mission, and Razafindravaonasolo (left) served in the Democratic Republic of the Congo Kinshasa Mission.

To make sure that answer holds true, I testify today that supporting the rising generation in a time of unusual challenges and temptations is an essential responsibility given to parents and bishoprics by Heavenly Father. Let me illustrate the importance of a bishopric with a personal experience.
When I was a deacon, my family moved to a new home in a different ward. I was beginning junior high school, so I also attended a new school. There was a marvelous group of young men in the deacons quorum. Most of their parents were active members. My mother was completely active; my father was exceptional in every way but was not an active member.
The second counselor in the bishopric, Brother Dean Eyre, was a devoted leader. When I was still adjusting to the new ward, a father-son event was announced for Bear Lake—about 40 miles (65 km) away. I did not think I would attend without my father. But Brother Eyre issued a special invitation for me to go with him. He spoke highly and respectfully of my father and stressed the significance of my opportunity to be with the other members of the deacons quorum. So I decided to go with Brother Eyre, and I had a wonderful experience.
Brother Eyre was a marvelous example of Christlike love in fulfilling the bishopric’s responsibility to support parents in watching over and nurturing the youth. He gave me an excellent start in this new ward and was a mentor to me.
A few months before I left for a mission in 1960, Brother Eyre passed away from cancer at age 39. He left a wife and their five children, all younger than age 16. His oldest sons, Richard and Chris Eyre, have assured me that in the absence of their father, bishoprics supported and watched out for them and their younger brothers and sister with Christlike love, for which I am grateful.

Why me? Why now? I had just gotten back from competing in a major horse show held in California and was at the height of my hunter-jumper equestrian riding abilities. I was busy with school, piano lessons, and Beehives. I was doing everything I had been taught to do, and I thought that my life was about as perfect as life can ever get. Then it changed.
I was now in a hospital bed, too sick to even open my eyes. I had been diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukemia. My illness came just four years after my mom died from a similar cancer. I was on heavy chemotherapy to get rid of the cancer, and the doctors were saying that I would have to undergo chemotherapy for two and a half years to make sure that all the cancer was gone. I couldn’t understand why me and why now.
I soon learned that being diagnosed with cancer was not the only challenge I would face. One of the drugs used to treat leukemia is a steroid given at extremely high doses. It is very effective at killing the leukemia cells, but there is a small risk that it can result in avascular necrosis (a condition in which bones die near the joints), particularly in teenage girls. My doctors thought that, at 12 years old, I was too young for that to happen. However, within one month of my starting chemotherapy, the steroids ended up destroying most of my major joints and parts of my spine. I was living in constant pain. Four months after I was diagnosed with leukemia, I had my first hip surgery to begin trying to repair the damage done by the steroids and to lessen the pain. The surgery did not go as well as I had hoped, and my orthopedic surgeon told me that I would probably never ride a horse again. All of a sudden, the future I had planned was gone.
I was a good student, and I really enjoyed school. Now I couldn’t go to school or even out in public because the chemotherapy had destroyed my immune system. Instead, I stayed home with my stepmother. At this point I thought things were pretty bad, but they got worse.
Six months after my hip surgery, I had to have another hip surgery because the first one hadn’t worked. I was in a wheelchair because it hurt too much to walk. I was absolutely sure that I wasn’t going to ride horses again, and now I was worried if I would even be able to walk again. Living life sick, in constant pain, and confined to a wheelchair didn’t sound like a lot of fun to me.
I was praying to my Heavenly Father, and I know many other people were praying for me also. Through all of my trials, I prayed that I would be healed, that my joints would recover, and that I wouldn’t have to go through the rest of chemotherapy. I felt that my prayers weren’t being answered because I still had to go to Primary Children’s Medical Center in Salt Lake City every week for more chemotherapy. I still hurt. And I was still stuck in a wheelchair. At one point, I started to think that my parents were crazy for believing in a God who wouldn’t even listen to a poor little sick girl.
Years before, I had gone through a similar trial of my faith when I prayed for my mom to get better. She was on oxygen all the time and was too weak to even walk around the house. I prayed and hoped and prayed some more that she would miraculously be healed. However, she wasn’t. After she died, I learned that we can pray for what we want all that we want to, but we need to pray for the right things—praying that the Lord’s will be done—to have our prayers answered.
Remembering this lesson, I changed my prayers from “Please heal me” to “Heavenly Father, I would really like to be done with these trials, but I will accept Thy will.” As soon as I changed my prayers, I found that I was able to handle the chemotherapy more easily, and I had a better attitude. That was just the beginning of the blessings and the answers to my prayers and questions.
My dad and grandfather gave me many priesthood blessings. Whenever I had to go in for surgery, I would ask for a blessing. The blessings helped me and my family feel calm about the procedure. One time I had a high fever, and we had to go to the hospital. I received a blessing from my dad and a neighbor before we left. By the time we pulled up at the emergency room door, my fever was gone, and I didn’t have to stay the night in the hospital. I know that priesthood power is a gift from a loving Heavenly Father.
One moment that will always stand out in my mind was the day I came home from the hospital after I was diagnosed with leukemia. The young women and Relief Society sisters had moved my stuff from the basement into a room on the main floor so I would be closer to my parents and wouldn’t have to use the stairs. They had cleaned and decorated the room to make a great place for me to live while I was sick. My family was the recipient of many other service projects. In the beginning, it was hard for me to accept service. When people would do service for me, it would make me feel like I couldn’t do anything for myself. However, I soon learned that it was OK to ask for help. When I started feeling better, I began looking for opportunities to serve other people more. Now I try to serve as much as I can. I get a good feeling when I serve other people. I have come to realize that by letting other people serve me, I allow them the same good feelings.
I have learned to think more about the future and my choices because I was so close to death. At school, I heard girls complaining about how they were having a “bad hair day.” As I was sitting there in my hot pink wheelchair with a wig on my head, I would think, “Well at least you have hair!” Girls would also complain about their feet hurting from walking around in high heels. I would think to myself, “At least you can walk.” Now I try to focus more on the big picture instead of the small things I used to worry about.
Over the past few years I have learned many other things through the blessings of having leukemia and the complications from chemotherapy. I have become closer to my Heavenly Father. My testimony has grown. And I have learned what is truly important. I have learned to appreciate all of the small things that people do for me. I am now in remission, in less pain, and gradually getting back some of the use of my joints. As I continue to heal, the blessings and learning experiences keep coming.
So why me? Why now? I don’t ask those questions anymore because I grew spiritually during my trials. I have discovered who I really am because the Lord loved me enough to let me experience adversity and the blessings that can come with it.
Note: Elizabeth is in remission and recently passed her third anniversary of being off chemotherapy. Her joints are healing, and she is no longer in a wheelchair. While there is still a risk for a relapse, Elizabeth doesn’t think about it. Instead, as a freshman in college, she is focused on studying for tests and practicing the oboe and English horn.

Ten years after the death of my father, as if guided by the Spirit, Mother left Nago amid the opposition of friends and relatives and moved to Naha, the capital of Okinawa. A few years later, about 1967, the missionaries knocked on our door. At that time our house was isolated and surrounded by sugarcane fields and a graveyard. The road to the house was in poor condition, and few people ever called on us. The missionaries were Elder Jackson and Elder Fuchigami, a second-generation Japanese-American from Hawaii. The missionaries asked, “May we speak with you about God?” Mother had been concerned about her sons’ education and thought we might learn something good from the missionaries, so she invited the elders in and said, “Please teach my children about God.”

Mother found peace as she learned about the gospel. She was impressed that the missionaries paid their own way and that Elder Jackson was serving a mission, even though he had lost his parents in an automobile accident when he was younger and had struggled along with an older sister. As she listened to the missionaries, Mother shed tears for the first time since my father’s death. She felt the Lord’s love and the Spirit through the discussions. She knew that this was the church our family had been searching for.

To set an example for her sons, Mother was baptized first. She was touched by the missionaries’ message and by their loving, kind behavior. She began to think that the greatest education she could give her children would be for us to learn the gospel and become missionaries. Mother always told the missionaries, “There are eight boys in our family. Please come to our house and teach the gospel to them. When they are all converted, there will be eight more priesthood holders at church. And they may be missionaries in the future.”

The thought of going from England to the United States was exciting, and performing in a Church-themed musical would be fantastic! I quickly signed up for the trip, not thinking about the cost.
I started saving my money, but I knew it was going to be difficult. I was at a new job, which had been amazing for work experience but didn’t pay well, and I was really struggling for money.
One afternoon I was looking at my bills. As I calculated everything I owed, I thought back to the previous Sunday. We’d had a lesson about paying tithing and the blessings that would come. During the lesson I’d been thinking about how I hadn’t yet paid my tithing that month. I realized that if I paid my tithing, my bank account would be emptied.
I wouldn’t have time to earn enough money to go on the trip or have any spending money while there. But I knew I had to pay my tithing.
The next Sunday, I filled out the tithing slip and gave it to my bishop. I wondered what I was going to do about the money I’d need for this trip, but I told myself that if I showed my faithfulness, everything would work out for the best. I hoped that meant I could find a way to go on the trip.
Not 10 minutes after I gave my tithing envelope to the bishop, a woman in my ward came up to me and handed me another envelope. “Just something to wish you luck on your trip. Have a good time!” she said. I’d been in the ward for only six months and didn’t know her very well, but I did know that she had 10 children and led a very busy life.
When I got home, I opened the envelope to find U.S. money. I immediately called her up and told her I couldn’t accept the money she had given me. She stopped me short. “Beth, this is something I felt really prompted to do. I really want to do this and help you out with your trip. I really want you to be able to have a good time.”
I sat at the desk in my room, absolutely stunned. I couldn’t believe what had just happened. As I stared at the money, I started wondering about the currency conversion. I had paid my tithing in British pounds, and she had given me U.S. dollars. I quickly looked on the Internet to see the conversion rates. As I typed in the amount of dollars I had just been given, I stared in shock at the screen. It was the exact amount that I had paid in tithing, plus 10 pence. I couldn’t believe my eyes!
Now I was back to my starting balance. I was so grateful to the Lord. With that, I would have just enough money to go on my trip, although I wouldn’t be able to go on any outings or buy anything, including food.
The next morning, a friend of mine called me out of the blue and told me about a job. It would last for one week and the hours were terrible, but it paid really well—enough to provide money for food and other activities while on my trip.
Even though it wasn’t easy for me to give up the last of my money for tithing, I knew that the money wasn’t mine—it was the Lord’s. I know that tithing can really bless lives when it is paid faithfully, and I saw this in my own life.

Diane’s love of the spotlight was quickly matched by her gymnastic ability, and the two made a championship combination. She started training when she was 14 1/2, a late start by competitive standards, but within a year she was competing against the best in the country. She was the Junior Olympic National Champion in high school, and in college she led the University of Utah’s women’s gymnastics team to their first national collegiate title.

After her eligibility for college competition was up, she decided to go on a national professional tour. It was a tour that involved Kurt Thomas and other well-known gymnasts, and Diane would get paid $5,000 just to go. She says she knew her gymnastics career was mostly over, but she just wanted to hold on to the thrill of the spotlight and the fun of the sport for as long as she could.

During training for the tour Diane was practicing a vault she’d done thousands of times. She ran toward the vault just like she had done every other time. She jumped on the springboard like all the other times and flew into the air—just like all the other times. This time was different though. This time she rotated just a little too much. This time when she landed, she broke her neck. The accident put her in the hospital for almost half a year and in a wheelchair for the rest of her life.

That was on December 15, 1981. Diane spent that Christmas and the next five months in the hospital, trying to comprehend a life without gymnastics. After so many years of loving the sport, it was difficult for Diane to adjust.

“I hated being in the hospital, and I felt like I was in prison,” says Diane. For one month of the five she was in the hospital, she was in traction and couldn’t move at all except when the nurses came in and turned her a few inches every two hours. Diane had no idea she’d be in the hospital for so long. “In fact, when I was first injured I thought for sure that in a month I’d be back on the tour and back in shape. I thought, ‘If I have enough faith and believe in God and in myself, I’ll be okay.’ And I just knew it.”

Recovery wasn’t quite so easy though, and things seemed to get worse. “I was a horrible patient,” says Diane. “In the hospital I was really miserable because I was so stir-crazy. I was really impatient with people.” Finally Diane came to a turning point.

“Near the end of my traction one day I was in the depths of despair. I just felt like I couldn’t bear it anymore,” Diane says. She asked for a blessing. She knew the power to heal her was present, “but I only wanted that to happen if it was Heavenly Father’s will. I had this blessing and I felt the greatest sense of peace. It was like I knew that no matter what happened it would be okay. If I didn’t walk away from the hospital there would be a reason for it. I knew that I had always tried my best to live the gospel and do what I was supposed to do, so if anybody was worthy to have that blessing, I was. But from that point on I was a different person. I was totally comforted.”

Ironically, one of the biggest aids to her recovery was gymnastics. “I don’t know if I could’ve gotten up again if I hadn’t had that training in gymnastics,” she says. “I had a lot of chronic injuries when I was a gymnast that I just had to deal with. It was always down, up, down, up in gymnastics and this was just one more down I had to get up from. Gymnastics to a big degree made me so I could be a champion again.”

Being a champion is what Diane is all about. Marie says, “Her attitude’s always been, ‘If you want it, go for it.’ She decided when she was young that she would never give up.” And since Diane wanted to teach before her accident, she couldn’t just give that up, no matter what the odds.

Diane made the decision to return to school to finish her degree on the day she finally realized she would never walk again. She was lying on her bed amid scrapbooks filled with souvenirs and photos of her performances. Tears dripped down her face and splashed on the scrapbook pages. “I just realized right then that things weren’t going to get any better. As I lay there crying I thought, ‘I can either give up or get on with my life’ and that’s when I decided to go back to school and get my degree.”

Now she teaches a class full of third graders who are just the right height to look her in the eye. “The kids will do anything for her,” says Marie. “They just love her.”

Her students aren’t her only fans. Diane also gives fireside talks to teenagers who listen, captivated, as she tells her story. And her message is one of hope and perseverance, without bitterness for what has happened.

Her personality hasn’t changed at all, although she doesn’t wear her hair in a ponytail anymore. Just listen to her speak and you’ll see the exuberant, happy girl who used to charm arenas full of people. Now her charm is just aimed at another audience. Her voice seems to smile at every person in the room and her ready laugh frequently interrupts her stories.

“I think telling my gymnastics stories and sharing my experiences kind of breaks the wheelchair barrier. The kids can see that I’m just a regular person and we have a lot in common, even though I look a lot different than they do,” Diane says.

Her main message is one for potential champions: don’t give up, no matter what happens. “When I was a young gymnast I met a girl, an athlete named Nancy Thies. Nancy was a member of the U.S. Olympic team and one of the finest gymnasts in the country. I have never forgotten some very important things that Nancy taught me. I remember the first thing she said was, ‘Don’t be afraid to lose. She said, ‘If you fall down and you stay down, you’re a quitter and a loser and you will never win. But if you get back up and you try one more time, it will be your turn to be the champion, so just don’t give up.’” Diane says she made a promise to herself that she would remember that advice and never give up, no matter how many times she fell.

Once she faced the hardest fall of her life, not giving up was difficult, especially because of her wheelchair. The whole time she was in gymnastics, whether she was swinging high above the uneven parallel bars or just doing handstands for fun, she was only afraid of being blind or paralyzed. “I was so paranoid of wheelchairs that I would never talk to anybody in a wheelchair or go near a wheelchair. In stores, if somebody in a wheelchair was down an aisle, I’d never go down that aisle, no way. I was paranoid that I’d end up in one if I got too close. It was almost like having thought about it so much kind of prepared me,” she says.

It was probably Diane’s indomitable spirit that prepared her more than anything else. It’s a spirit that comes through in both her funny stories and her powerfully quiet testimony about the importance of an eternal perspective and God’s love for each of his children. It’s a spirit that Diane has always had. “I’ve never met anyone, except my father, who has a stronger testimony than she does,” says Marie. “There’s no doubt in her mind that what she’s doing is right and that the Church is true. She has always been a great example.”

The lights dim when she finishes her message, and a slide show featuring Diane, the ham and gymnast, flashes on the screen in time to some upbeat music. When it’s over, young people swarm around her, enveloping her tiny frame and wheelchair with their excitement.

Diane says, “It makes me feel really good when people tell me they’re going to try harder after they’ve heard my talk. One girl came to me once and told me she’d heard me speak four different times. The first time, she decided not to commit suicide. The second time, she decided that she didn’t have to flunk out of school. The third time, she made a goal to make the honor roll, and the last time she was on her way to that goal.” Another champion in the making, thanks to Diane.

Diane just shrugs and laughs a little when someone tells her she’s wonderful. She even looks a little embarrassed, which is rare for this experienced performer. “People always think, ‘You’re so amazing, you’re so incredible,’ but I’m not. People will say, ‘If that happened to me I could never cope with it,’ and the thing I have to say is, ‘Either you cope or you die.’ You have to take whatever life gives you and deal with it, even if you might not want to. You know, if somebody dies in your family, you have to live with it. If you break your neck you have to live with it, but you just learn and that’s what’s so great about time and the healing process. You don’t have to be miraculous.”

You just have to be as willing as Diane was to get up again, so that someday it will be your turn to be the champion. For Diane, the victory is especially sweet, because she has won back what she thought she’d lost.

She is a champion again.

Shayne R. Squires, a deacon in the Wapello First Ward, Blackfoot Idaho Stake, was looking for a very special Eagle project. He found it when he decided to organize a blood drive.
First, Shayne contacted the Red Cross. He and his Scout troop helped distribute posters and announcements of the drive to businesses throughout town. He arranged with his aunt to find nurses aides to help and recruited 35 women to help call previous blood donors. He asked each Scout in his troop to help him find two additional donors each. He also arranged for some men to help unload and set up the equipment.
The two-day drive was very successful with hundreds of pints of blood added to that stored for emergencies.
Shayne received his Eagle Scout award and is serving in his ward as deacons quorum president.

Some time ago, we were in the kingdom of Tonga. A family home evening, with music and spoken word, was arranged by President Muti in his stake center. The home evening was in honor of His Majesty King Tupou the Fourth, the reigning monarch of Tonga. The king, his daughter, and granddaughters graciously attended, as did many of the nobles and diplomatic representatives in Tonga. Our members put on a superb program of song and verse. One of the king’s granddaughters sang a little solo entitled “How Much I Love My Grandfather.” Elder John Sonnenberg and I were invited to respond briefly, which we were pleased to do.
After the program was over, the king ignored the usual royal protocol and came over to graciously greet us and our wives as an expression of appreciation for the performance of his subjects who are members of the Church. Social protocol is observed in many places, but the expression of kindness is universally appropriate.

Back home in Mendon, Brigham and his brother Joseph left in late November or early December, to walk through mud and snow and cold and wind, to preach the gospel. They found many people receptive to their message.
As soon as spring came, Brigham went alone preaching to and converting people. He went to Loughborough, Canada, where he and his brother had taught earlier. Brigham joined a group of converts and guided them some 960 kilometers to Kirtland. Then he walked back to Mendon.

Aurelia stood on the bank of the Mississippi River and looked back across it. Never before in her eleven-and-a-half years had she been west of the wide river, and now here she was in Iowa.
She shivered in the February cold and tucked one hand into her coat. With the other, she held George’s hand. He was only six and was her responsibility. Ellen, thirteen, and nine-year-old Catherine walked ahead with seven-year-old Howard; little Lucy rode in the wagon with Mama, who was still very sick. But Aurelia and George stood and looked back across the river to Nauvoo.
Aurelia murmured, “Farewell, Nauvoo,” and turned with George to face the west. It would be a long journey to the Rockies, but she had her family and the true gospel. She was ready.

Sierra Leone was a sad place during my teenage years, but it was my home. For much of my life, my small West African country was torn by a civil war. The war affected everything. My family and I were constantly on the run, trying to escape the rebel soldiers. It was terrifying every time the rebels came through a city. Someone would see their torches approaching in the night, warn the others, and we would all run for the bush, grabbing whatever we could along the way.
About seven years after the war began, the rebels came to our city. My whole family was running to escape, but my parents, who were just a few steps behind me, were shot and killed. I was so sad to lose them, but I had to keep moving.
My brother, sister, and I moved to a safer place, and for a short while we were all right, but the rebels eventually hit that town, too. This time we didn’t have time to run away. My brother was taken and later killed. My sister and I were lined up outside with all the other women. The rebel soldiers were chopping limbs off of all the women in the line. We were all so frightened. Everyone was crying and praying—even people who had never believed in God before. I was not a member of the Church at the time, but I believed in God and prayed that His will would be done and hoped that He would find a way to save me.
My dear sister, who was several places ahead of me in line, had both of her legs cut off. But as the rebels reached the woman in front of me, our army came rushing in and the rebels ran away. I know that I was not better than the people who were in front of me or behind me, but I thanked God that I had been spared and prayed that I might understand His plan for me.
I moved to another village to live with a friend. As I was telling my story to my friend and some of her neighbors, one neighbor said, “Mariama, we don’t have anything to offer you except an invitation to church tomorrow. That’s where we find safety. That’s where we find hope.” I loved God already and needed comfort in my life, so I decided to go.
My first Sunday in that LDS branch is a day I will never forget. I learned of hope. You could just see that there was hope in those people, and I was drawn to them. I was given the Book of Mormon and started reading right away. I remember hearing in church about how families could be together again after death and then reading in Alma 11 where Alma teaches about how our bodies will be made perfect again in the Resurrection. I felt the Spirit so strong as I thought of my family. I knew that the Church was true and that we could be together forever—each of us well and whole.
There were no missionaries in Sierra Leone at that time, so I took the lessons from my branch president and was baptized soon after. We were blessed in our town, because the Church sent food and humanitarian kits for the members of the Church and others. The food kept us all alive. Everyone was so grateful even to receive a small bag of rice or beans. I received a blanket and a hygiene kit that included a toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, soap, a comb, and a washcloth.
Not long after, the rebels hit again. They burned down the house I was living in, and as I was running to escape the flames, I took time to save only two things—my scriptures and my hygiene kit. We had to live on the run for a while after that, and I used my hygiene kit to help those around me. I would squeeze out one pinch of toothpaste for each person, or we would go to the river and carefully pass my bar of soap from person to person. The kit was so precious to us. The blanket, too, was invaluable. It sheltered us for many days until I used it to wrap an old woman who had died and had nothing to be buried in.
Eventually, I went back to my town and my branch. It was then that I decided I wanted to serve a mission. This was a difficult decision for me, because I had nothing and would be leaving behind people I loved. As I was trying to decide, I read D&C 84:81 and 88, which say, “Therefore, take ye no thought for the morrow, for what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink, or wherewithal ye shall be clothed … for I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up.” I knew the Lord would care for me, so I turned in my mission papers and was called to the Utah Salt Lake City Temple Square Mission.
I arrived in Utah with practically nothing, but I insisted on bringing my hygiene kit, because it meant so much to me. One day, my companion and I were taking a tour of the Humanitarian Center in Salt Lake, and I recognized a blanket that had the Relief Society logo embroidered on it, just like the one I’d had in Sierra Leone. I looked around and saw hygiene kits like mine and familiar bags of beans and rice, and I began cry.
“This is where they came from!” I thought to myself. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I remembered what these things sitting in stacks in the Humanitarian Center in Salt Lake meant to my friends and to me in Sierra Leone. I was so grateful to the Lord for preserving me, for bringing the gospel into my life, and for allowing me to serve a mission. I knew that His angels truly had been round about me, to bear me up.

Getting in the “in crowd” was like trying to thread the eye of a needle with a cob of corn. It felt impossible! I had tried out for cheerleading, the drill team, the school chorus group, and the art club—I failed at all of them. I really cared about how other people perceived me, so I continued my quest for popularity and decided to join a club my school calls the “Mice Squad.”
Mice Squad is for girls, and Rat Squad is for boys. Together they make up the Pep Club. They attend the games and cheer from the stands, giving the cheerleaders a boost to get the audience excited. All the “who’s who” in the popular world of my high school were in this club.
On the way to the first meeting, my heart raced. This was it. This was my chance to be among the elite, the faces that everyone knew. And it didn’t even require singing or physical exertion. All it took to be in was school spirit, and I had plenty of that. I knew that beyond the door were all the popular faces, and I was about to become one of them.
Smiling, I pushed open the door only to see surprised looks when I walked in. Sarah [name has been changed], who was pretty popular, was leading the meeting. I didn’t know her very well, although during our sophomore year my father sometimes drove us to seminary together. I was glad to see her, as there were no other LDS girls in the room.
First Sarah shared with us how fun Mice Squad was going to be. As she talked, I became more delighted that I could be involved. I could just see myself at football games cheering, painting my face, and having fun with my peers.
After talking about the games, Sarah gave me an uncomfortable look and began talking about the parties. The first party was the initiation. She told us where and when it would be held. And then, to my horror, she explained that we had to drink alcohol to be in the Mice Squad. With this “requirement” so clearly stated, I sat there in shock.
I knew I had a choice. I felt impressed that I would have to leave them, or the Holy Ghost would leave me. A darkened feeling started in, but I waited to see if anyone else would leave. Then Sarah looked straight into my eyes and said, “If anyone reports us, we’ll come after you.” Immediately, I left the room alone, but the Spirit was still with me. I knew I was saying goodbye to my dreams of popularity.
It took me a long time after that meeting to realize that I had value, even though I was invisible to most of my peers. I realized that while I had chosen the “out crowd,” it was the right crowd. I knew the only opinions that truly mattered were my own and Heavenly Father’s. And I knew we were both smiling at my decision.
Now, after marrying in the temple and having three children, I still sometimes look through my autographed high school memory book. I always smile when I read the short note that says, “Thanks for being a girl with good works and for sticking up for what you believe in. Don’t let anyone sway you.”
Perhaps I wasn’t so invisible after all.

Attending sacrament meeting for the first time was strange for Cesar. It wasn’t anything like the meetings he was accustomed to.
“There was a man carrying the sacrament trays. He was very busy fixing the microphone and saying hello to everyone. There were so many people there that I wondered if they would all fit in the church! It seemed funny that the man fixing the microphone was the bishop.
“It was also a change to be in church for three hours; that seemed like a long time. I still remember that first Sunday School class. We talked about the birth of Jesus Christ, and I asked a lot of questions. After class, Betty’s brother, Isaac, helped me find the missionaries. I didn’t go to priesthood meeting that day; instead, I had my first discussion with the missionaries.”

The Utah Valley Ranger soccer team is succeeding at something that’s difficult to do in the sports world. The Rangers are a top team, but they don’t play on Sundays. The team is made up of 17 deacons, only two of whom are from the same ward. The players train hard and arrange friendly games with out-of-state teams. Last year, the Rangers were Utah’s state champions. The boys travel for their games sometimes, but they set a goal to keep the Sabbath holy and be in church on Sundays.