Gospel Story Finder

When I visit places I’ve never seen before, I try to find a small Nativity scene that reminds Rosana and me of the Savior. I’m building quite a collection.
While contemplating those humble Nativity scenes, my wife and I once pondered, “What is it that truly matters most in our lives?” The answer, of course, is the Savior, His gospel, and our family. To remind us of our Heavenly Father’s love for us and that it is through the Savior that the promise of eternal families becomes possible, before Christmas a few years ago we placed all our Nativities on two big shelves in our home—and left them up rather than put them away after the Christmas holidays. That tradition helps us keep the spirit of Christmas in our home year-round.
Every day as we look at those Nativity scenes, they gently remind us of the Savior’s central role in our lives. They remind us that peace on earth now (see Luke 2:14) and eternal happiness in the next world depend on the Savior and on honoring the covenants we have made with Him. And they remind us “that he came into the world, even Jesus, to be crucified for the world, and to bear the sins of the world, and to sanctify the world, and to cleanse it from all unrighteousness;
“That through him all might be saved whom the Father had put into his power and made by him” (Doctrine and Covenants 76:41–42).

The covenant path led Enoch to accept a call to serve as a missionary in England, and his testimony, as well as his piano playing skills, became tools in the service of the Lord. In addition to teaching the gospel, Enoch frequently found himself being invited to play the piano in church meetings in the various areas where he served. He continued to hone both his musical skills and his knowledge of the gospel while serving.

He was thriving in his service when he received word that his beloved father had passed away. He was heartbroken and struggled with his loss, but now secure in his understanding of, faith in, and trust in God’s plan, he was able to bear his grief and loss. He credits his ability to finish his mission to the strength he developed, and to the relationship he established, with his Savior after struggling with his faith in those earlier years.

Brother Carlstrom, in his daily journal, narrates the contentment he reveled in one evening: “We made camp. Some of us wanted to sleep on the beach, but after a while we were forced to higher ground by the unusually high tide. … The day’s end caught most of us watching the beauty of the coast as wild fowl flew … before us. As the sun sank … , it filled the sky with all shades of reds and oranges, with slight traces of pink. … It was replaced by the moon, almost full, as it came over the mountains in back of us, painting the ocean’s surface with flickering light. It was soon joined by other heavenly bodies and God’s handiwork was displayed before us. We had just received our compensation for an afternoon of hard, uphill riding, and we all were thankful.”

Like most parents-to-be, we anxiously awaited the birth of our first baby. We acquired clothing and furniture and chose two names—one for a boy and one for a girl.
We also chose a special song to sing to our baby throughout the pregnancy. The song we selected was “My Heavenly Father Loves Me” (Children’s Songbook, 228–29). We sang these words often, imagining how wonderful it would be to have a baby in our family:
Whenever I hear the song of a bird
Or look at the blue, blue sky,
Whenever I feel the rain on my face
Or the wind as it rushes by,
Whenever I touch a velvet rose
Or walk by our lilac tree,
I’m glad that I live in this beautiful world
Heav’nly Father created for me.
One morning my wife awoke covered with little red spots. We went to the doctor and learned that those little red spots were rubella. The doctor also gave us the disturbing news that since my wife was in the first trimester of her pregnancy, our baby ran a serious risk of being born deaf, blind, or disabled in other ways.
That night we paid special attention to the second verse of our song:
He gave me my eyes that I might see
The color of butterfly wings.
He gave me my ears that I might hear
The magical sound of things.
He gave me my life, my mind, my heart:
I thank him rev’rently
For all his creations, of which I’m a part.
Yes, I know Heav’nly Father loves me.
We thought about the future and everything that could happen. It was a time of much prayer and fasting to accept the will of our Heavenly Father. We had faith that the Lord would be with us, no matter what happened.
Our daughter, Alice, was born one month early. After her birth an endless array of tests began to determine the effects of the rubella. When nothing was found, someone spoke of a miracle. We, without a doubt, believe it was.
Alice is now seven years old, and she loves to sing her favorite song, “My Heavenly Father Loves Me.” We are eternally grateful, but we are also aware that difficult situations don’t always turn out this well and that trials are part of our mortal probation. But we have learned that if we trust Him we have nothing to fear, for as the song teaches, “I know Heav’nly Father loves me.”

Jane was happy. Today was the big race. Jane had practiced for the race with her brother Ben every day.
“I'm so excited!” Jane said.
Ben did not look excited.
“What’s wrong? Are you nervous?” Jane asked Ben.
“Yes,” Ben said. “Can Dad run for me?”
“This race is only for children,” Mom said.
“I will cheer for you,” Dad said.
Jane put her arm around Ben.
“This will be fun,” Jane said. “You will do great.”
Jane and Ben got in the car. Mom and Dad drove them to the race.
Jane and Ben stood at the starting line. Jane was excited. Her heart beat fast.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
“On your mark. Get set. Go!”
Jane started running. Many children ran. It felt good to run fast.
Jane looked for Ben. She could not see him. He was in last place.
“Come on, Ben!” Jane said. “You can do it!”
Jane ran back to Ben. Jane held Ben’s hand. Jane and Ben ran together.
Jane was slower now, but she was happy. She loved to help Ben.
Jane and Ben finished the race together.
“Thank you,” Ben said. “You ran slow for me.”
“That is OK,” Jane said. “We are still winners!”

I have permission to tell you the story of a young man who grew up in our community. He was not a member of the Church. He and his parents were active in another faith.

He recalls that when he was growing up, some of his LDS associates belittled him, made him feel out of place, and poked fun at him.

He came to literally hate this Church and its people. He saw no good in any of them.

Then his father lost his employment and had to move. In the new location, at the age of 17, he was able to enroll in college. There, for the first time in his life, he felt the warmth of friends, one of whom, named Richard, asked him to join a club of which he was president. He writes: “For the first time in my life someone wanted me around. I didn’t know how to react, but thankfully I joined. … It was a feeling that I loved, the feeling of having a friend. I had prayed for one my whole life. And now after 17 years of waiting, God answered that prayer.”

At the age of 19 he found himself as a tent partner with Richard during their summer employment. He noticed Richard reading a book every night. He asked what he was reading. He was told that he was reading the Book of Mormon. He adds: “I quickly changed the subject and went to bed. After all, that is the book that ruined my childhood. I tried forgetting about it, but a week went by and I couldn’t sleep. Why was he reading it every night? I soon couldn’t stand the unanswered questions in my head. So one night I asked him what was so important in that book. What was in it? He handed me the book. I quickly stated that I never wanted to touch the book. I just wanted to know what was in there. He started to read where he had stopped. He read about Jesus and about an appearance in the Americas. I was shocked. I didn’t think that the Mormons believed in Jesus.”

Richard asked him to sing in a stake conference choir with him. The day came and the conference started. “Elder Gary J. Coleman from the First Quorum of the Seventy was the guest speaker. I found out during the conference that he also [was a convert]. At the end Richard proceeded to pull me by the arm up to talk to him. I finally agreed, and as I was approaching him he turned and smiled at me. I introduced myself and said that I wasn’t a member and that I had just come to sing in the choir. He smiled and said he was happy that I was there and stated that the music was great. I asked him how he knew the Church was true. He told me a short version of his testimony and asked if I had read the Book of Mormon. I said no. He promised me that the first time I read it, I would feel the Spirit.”

On a subsequent occasion this young man and his friend were traveling. Richard handed him a Book of Mormon and asked that he read it aloud. He did so, and suddenly the inspiration of the Holy Spirit touched him.

Time passed and his faith increased. He agreed to be baptized. His parents opposed him, but he went forward and was baptized a member of this Church.

His testimony continues to strengthen. Only a few weeks ago he was married to a beautiful Latter-day Saint girl for time and eternity in the Salt Lake Temple. Elder Gary J. Coleman performed his sealing.

I think of two women, once the closest of friends. The one, through an accident of which she was innocent, became in effect a party to the death of a child of the other. It is difficult to say which of those women suffered the most over the death of that child. The one who was not the mother, but who was involved in the accident that led to the fatality, has grieved and wept these many years, not only for the child who was lost and for her part in the tragic situation, but perhaps even more over the unforgiving spirit of the mother who lost the child. It is understandable why the bereft mother, mourning over the loss of her baby, felt bitter. But long since there should have been a realization on her part that her friend was innocent, that she too has wept, and that there should have been an outpouring of love toward her rather than recrimination. An absence of charity has cankered the soul of that woman, destroyed her happiness, brought only misery to her days and sorrow to her nights.

I had been living for a few months in Kinshasa, the capital of the Democratic Republic of Congo, when the branch Relief Society president asked if she could come visiting teaching. I realize now that she waited so long to visit so I could have time to learn a little French. At that time our family was the only North American family in the branch. Some of the women spoke French, but the majority spoke Lingala, a tribal language. Although I tried not to feel alienated, I felt very different from the sisters in my branch.
The Relief Society president was a widow with two sons. She was always smiling a beautiful, big smile. When she arrived to visit me, she came accompanied by the Spirit of the Lord.
After greeting me, she asked me to get my English Bible. She spoke very slowly so I would understand her message. We read in her French Bible, and then in my English one, Ephesians 2:19: “Now therefore ye are no more strangers and foreigners, but fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God.”
I smiled as I read the verse she had chosen. My Relief Society president understood the struggles I was experiencing.
As she prepared to leave, this sweet sister presented me with a gift of 10 eggs. I knew it was a sacrifice for her. I felt guilty accepting the eggs and tried to decline the gift. But her eyes told me they were given in love.
I accepted the eggs, and we basked in the love that she had brought. It filled the house and made everything seem brighter. After a prayer with her, I watched her leave the yard, her petite and gracious form wrapped in African cloth. I no longer felt a stranger, but at home with the Saints of God.

“I was only 12 years old when you and your companion taught me the gospel in Taranto, Italy. The year was 1975.” My mind raced as I tried to recall the writer. “You are probably asking yourself if you baptized me. No, you didn’t, because my mother and father refused permission.” The writer went on to explain how painful and embarrassing it was for him and his brother to stop the missionaries on the steps of their apartment building as we were going to ask his parents for permission to baptize him. He recounted how he kept coming to church for a while but eventually stopped because he could not be baptized. “But I kept the teachings in my heart and never betrayed the principles I was taught,” he wrote.
I served in the Italy Rome Mission from 1975 to 1977, and Taranto was my first city. But I could not recall the story that was unfolding in this e-mail. The writer explained that when he was 22 years old he was called into compulsory military service in northern Italy. There he suffered a spiritual crisis that caused him to pray for the first time as an adult. He received an answer to his prayers, and because of this, he sought out the missionaries in that area. He found them at a fast-food restaurant and told them he wanted to be baptized. “Nothing like that ever happened to me on my mission,” I thought. Those elders must have been shocked.
He was baptized and later married in the temple at Friedrichsdorf, Germany. He now had three children, had moved to Canada several years ago, and was an active member of the Church.

After months of logistical planning and bike training, 30 young men, young women, and leaders in the Crossroads and Beech Grove Wards from Indianapolis, Indiana, got on bikes and pedaled from their chapel to the Louisville Kentucky Temple. But this was not just a little Saturday morning ride. The bike trip extended over two days and covered 155 miles (249 km). It was an experience these youth will never forget.
Along the way were devotionals, occasional police escorts, campouts, firesides, overcoming steep hills and illnesses. When they finally arrived, the temple opened an hour early so the youth could have an extra hour to do baptisms; many of the youth doing family names they had brought with them.

I am a product of ministering from almost forty years ago. I had been baptized when I was nine years old, but my family had become less active during my twelfth year and so I drifted away. I started going to a different local church with my friend, who was my next-door neighbor. Over the next few years, life went on and after I married, I was contacted by my assigned Visiting Teachers. They called faithfully each month and over time set the foundation for Home Teachers to be assigned to our family. During those visits we never discussed the fact that I was not attending church; and my husband who knew very little about the Church and was not really interested in religion, didn’t feel pressured or uncomfortable accepting them into our home. We felt only genuine concern and friendship coming from them during their visits.
What struck us most was the kindness and joyful spirit that our Home and Visiting Teachers brought into our home. We developed a close relationship with one of our Home Teachers, who never ceased to offer his assistance when needed—inviting us into his home and in time, inviting me to a conference where Elder Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018), then of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, spoke.
During that conference it was as if Elder Monson knew what was in my heart and that he was speaking directly to me that day. I left with a strong desire to return to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and to become once again a part of His fold. A few months later, after the missionary discussions, my son was baptized, and we started to attend Church.

He is also a caring brother. On the day the Friend magazine interviewed Nolan, he and his brothers were enjoying lunch from a local fast-food restaurant. The younger boys all received toys with their meals except for Austin, Nolan’s three-year-old brother. When Austin told his mother that he wanted a toy, too, Nolan immediately tossed his toy over to his brother, saying, “Here, you can have mine.”

A few years ago, President Nelson came to my homeland in Puerto Rico. This was a great blessing. I had always wanted to see him. And I wanted the chance to meet him face to face. My mom said it would be hard because a lot of people would be in the meeting. I still had faith, and I prayed a lot to be able to meet him.
During his talk, I wrote him a quick letter. I had hope and faith that I would be able to give him my letter. After the talks ended, I tried to walk closer. He saw my little brother and came over to him with a big smile. Then he shook my hand! He told me, “You will be a great missionary.” I will always remember his words.

One summer I spent time in a foreign country working with children with special needs. When I first met the children, I was incredibly nervous. I did not speak their language, but I trusted that the Spirit would guide me in my interactions. As I got to know each child, I realized that language is not a barrier to love. I played, laughed, and did crafts with the children and could not help but feel complete love for them. I glimpsed the love that Heavenly Father has for His children, and the joy that filled my heart defied description.

When my grandpa became sick, I travelled to Antsirabe to be with him. The missionaries visited his home several times. Grandpa and I were not members of the Church, but he liked visiting with the missionaries. One night, they gave grandpa a blessing, and after a family home evening, they handed us the Book of Mormon.
“Please read this book and ask God if it is true,” they said.
When I returned to Sarodroa, I didn’t want to read the Book of Mormon because I thought it was not true. Then, one day I became so sick that I was stuck in my house for several days. As I looked for something to do, I found the Book of Mormon and started to read.
Later, I returned to Antsirabe and met the missionaries. They taught me more about the Book of Mormon and about the Prophet Joseph Smith. I told them that we didn’t need prophets and that there was no prophet today. The missionaries asked me to pray to God and ask if there is a prophet now. They promised that God would answer me. I prayed and felt that what the missionaries said was true.
I wanted to attend church, but I had no money for the bus. I talked to my friend, Razafindravaonasolo, and she said we could ride my bike. We rode two hours one way from Sarodroa to Antsirabe every Sunday. When I would get tired of pedaling, I would ride on the back and she would start pedaling. Then when she got tired, we would switch places again.
Eventually, Razafindravaonasolo’s family and I joined the Church. We attended church in Antsirabe until a branch opened in Sarodroa. We were so happy when we could attend church in our own village!
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.

In my own lifetime I have been a witness to the miracle of the restored gospel. When I was a young girl my family moved to São Paulo, Brazil, where my father had been called to preside over the Brazilian Mission. It was an exciting time for me and a great place to grow up. A favorite game for my brothers and me was to dress up and pretend to be missionaries. We spent hours scribbling our own missionary pamphlets and “preaching” and “transferring” all over the yard. For five years the nightly conversations around our dinner table centered on missionary work, and I listened intently to stories of faith told by missionaries. Even at that age I knew I was part of a great work.
There were only about 3,000 members of the Church in Brazil when we arrived there. I remember being in a very small Primary with a few other children, singing the same five songs every week, as those were the only ones translated into Portuguese. Two of my favorite songs were “A Luz Divina,” or “The Light Divine” (Hymns, no. 305), and something about a bunny in the middle of the woods (see “The Little Rabbit,” Children’s Friend, June 1955, 257).
In many ways our experience was similar to the early pioneers. We had no hymnbooks or pictures or lesson manuals sent from the headquarters of the Church. Everything that was needed to teach the gospel in Portuguese was written and printed in our mission home. All of us, even the children, were pressed into service to help assemble mission newsletters and lessons. No one shipped the Church to us. The prophet did not send us stake presidents or bishops. He did not send Relief Society presidents or youth programs. The Church in Brazil was made from the same material that the pioneers started with. The material to build the Church was in the people.
During our years in Brazil, we saw great growth come to the Church. Thousands became Latter-day Saints. Soon the mission was divided, districts and branches were organized, and new chapels were built. The new members were enthusiastic, and they grew in faith and became more experienced in the manner of the gospel.
A lot of years passed, and then last year I returned to Brazil to attend the rededication of the São Paulo temple. At that time I learned that there were 187 stakes in Brazil. There are now 26 missions, 4 temples, and almost 1 million members. Imagine my surprise when I walked into a stadium filled with over 60,000 members who had gathered to hear President Gordon B. Hinckley and celebrate the temple dedication. To me it was a miracle to see thousands of youth dancing and singing together. As I watched that joyful celebration, I kept saying to myself, “This is amazing! This is a miracle! How did this miracle happen?”
I marveled all that night at what I had seen. Then, the next morning at the temple dedication, I had a reunion with my Primary teacher, Sister Gloria Silveira. That was when I knew how the miracle had come about. As a new convert with no prior Church experience, Sister Silveira had come to Primary prepared to share her simple testimony and teach me the Articles of Faith in Portuguese. She and her husband, Humberto, are still faithful. They have served in many Church callings over the years, and they are still serving. When I saw Sister Silveira, I realized that the Church in Brazil had grown because of her and thousands like her. She and Brother Silveira represent people everywhere who have faith in the Lord Jesus Christ and His gospel. They have grown in knowledge and skill, and they have served in the Church (see D&C 88:80). They have shared the gospel with friends (see D&C 30:5). They work in the temple (see D&C 138:48). They taught their five children correct principles (see D&C 68:28). Of their 43 descendants, 15 have served full-time missions. Their grandchildren are now marrying in the temple, and their great-grandchildren are the fourth generation of Silveiras who are part of the marvelous work that was started by Joseph Smith. Because of them, faith has increased in the earth. They are an example of the miracle the Lord spoke about when He said that His gospel would be proclaimed by the weak and the simple (see D&C 1:23) and that by small and simple means great things are brought to pass (see 1 Nephi 16:29).

One time, early in the morning after Mama and I had spent the night with him and Grandma, Grandpa and I went to buy a morning newspaper because the funnies are the best thing to read before breakfast. On the way, he found a big broken branch that made a good walking stick. He pretended to hobble with it, then did a silly hop, skip, and jump. We had more fun than anything!
When we got home, Grandma took one look at Grandpa’s stick and said, “You get that dirty old thing out of the house!” Grandpa just laughed. He lifted her off the floor and swung her around.
“Put me down!” she screeched, but she was laughing too.
Grandpa kissed her before we went into the living room to read the funnies to each other.
That’s the way it used to be.

October, 1977. With the postlude organ music filling the Salt Lake Tabernacle on Temple Square, Elder Yoshihiko Kikuchi, newly sustained as a member of the First Quorum of the Seventy, stood near an entrance greeting acquaintances. One of them, a stake president from Japan, introduced a friend of his, R. Gordon Porter, a stake president in Salt Lake City.
“President Porter,” said Elder Kikuchi, “didn’t you serve a mission to Japan?”
“Well, yes, I did,” replied President Porter, wondering how Elder Kikuchi knew.
They were still shaking hands, Elder Kikuchi staring closely at President Porter. “You confirmed me a member of the Church.”
Incredulous, President Porter thought back to his time in Japan. “It had been almost twenty years,” he later said, “but as we shook hands I could suddenly remember that home in Hokkaido, and I could see that young gakusei [student] standing at the door as my senior companion, Delmont Law, talked with him.”
This meeting, across two decades and thousands of miles, is an apt symbol of how the gospel has affected the life of Yoshihiko Kikuchi, taking him from one unexpected transition to another. Through all those changes, he has remained both faithful and humble.
Elder Kikuchi’s background hardly made him a likely candidate for conversion to the Church. Born in 1941, he was raised in the rural “snow country” of Hokkaido, Japan’s northernmost island. Latter-day Saint missionaries had left Japan more than a decade before his birth, finding little success in a country steeped in tradition. During the 1930s, as Japan grew increasingly militaristic and anti-American, the last traces of Church organization virtually vanished.
Then, five months after Yoshihiko was born, Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, was bombed. And shortly before the end of the war, Yoshihiko’s father—serving in the Japanese military—died in an American bombing raid over Japan. Not many would have expected a boy in Yoshihiko’s situation ever to join an “American” church.
“I was prejudiced toward Americans because of my father’s death,” says Elder Kikuchi. “When I answered the door that day (in 1958) and saw two Americans—all bundled up in their hats and overcoats—I naturally told them, ‘No, thank you.’”
Even meeting the elders when he did would not normally have been a possibility because Yoshihiko should have been in school. But he was recuperating from an illness. A hardworking boy, he had been going to school at night and rising at 4 A.M. to work so he could help his mother support the family. This rigorous schedule completely exhausted him, and he collapsed one day on the job. After his release from the hospital, he was staying with his uncle, and was home alone when Elder Law and Elder Porter knocked on the door.
Just as Yoshihiko would have normally been elsewhere that day—either in school or at work—the elders normally would have been taking the day off because it was their preparation day. But they had not found many investigators in recent weeks, and were out going door-to-door because Elder Law had felt inspired to do so.
Elder Law persisted when Yoshihiko declined to talk to them, saying he and Elder Porter had an important message that would only take a few minutes. “My health crisis had put me in a position of seeking God,” Elder Kikuchi reminisces, “and I decided to let them come in. They told me the Joseph Smith story. I was very impressed.”
“Yoshihiko struck me as an exceptional young man,” says Brother Law, who now lives in Mapleton, Utah. “I knew he was ready for the gospel.”
“I’m grateful the elders went the extra mile,” Elder Kikuchi comments. Today, his appreciation for the work of the missionaries is often expressed. “I want to tell American Saints how much I appreciate my testimony,” he says. “I especially want the older brothers and sisters to know that I deeply appreciate the legacy—and heritage—they have preserved. I have met members of the Church in Bend, Oregon; Salmon, Idaho; Tooele, Utah; and many other places. These wonderful people live ‘common’ lives, attending church each week faithfully. They may wonder if they are really contributing to the kingdom of God. I want to assure them that they are. They are faithful individuals who raise their righteous sons and daughters and send them on missions. I want them to know they are doing a marvelous, marvelous work for the Lord.”
After his own contact with the missionaries, Elder Kikuchi turned out to be a “golden investigator,” eagerly receiving lessons and even coming to the meetinghouse when he did not have an appointment. In the spring of 1958, just a few weeks after meeting the elders, he was baptized by Elder Law. The date was April 6—the anniversary of the organization of the Church.
Three years later Yoshihiko himself was a missionary. While serving on the Japanese island of Kyushu, he had an experience which proved to be pivotal in his life. Elder Gordon B. Hinckley, then a member of the Council of the Twelve, visited Japan and spoke at a missionary zone conference. Yoshihiko was the only Japanese elder present.
“We had a testimony meeting, and I was the last one to bear my testimony,” Elder Kikuchi relates. “I stood and began to speak in Japanese. Suddenly, a very warm spirit came over me and, without knowing what I was saying, I started speaking in English. I didn’t know what I said. But I remember the beautiful feeling I felt.”
After he went back to his seat, Elder Hinckley stood and pronounced a special blessing on Elder Kikuchi. From that time he took an active interest in learning English, believing it would be important in the future in his work in the kingdom. He carried a transistor radio with him often, imitating the voices he heard over the United States Armed Services radio network. “Without the help of the Lord, 1 couldn’t have learned it. I thank him for helping me,” he says.

“One day two missionaries got into my taxi,” says Garry Guanilo of Peru. “They asked me if I knew that families could be eternal. That question really had an impact on me. And they spoke to me about the Prophet Joseph Smith. I went home and told my wife, María, about it. We invited the missionaries to our home. During the first lesson, they sang ‘Families Can Be Together Forever’ ” (Hymns, no. 300).
María adds, “Since our baptism, we are progressing in many ways. It’s like a staircase—we keep climbing higher and higher, and less important things are dropping out of our lives.”
Garry continues, “I want to marry my wife for eternity in the temple and to have our daughters sealed to us. We had no idea this world existed!”—Garry and María Guanilo, Peru

Kristen paced back and forth across the room. In the past fifteen minutes she had tried on five different tops and three pairs of shorts. Still, she couldn’t decide what to wear. Today everything had to be just right. She wanted to make sure that nothing, even her clothes, would cause her to lose one of the races.
“Kristen!” her mom shouted. “If you don’t hurry, we’re going to miss the ward party.”
“I’ll be right down,” Kristen called. Quickly she put on her most comfortable outfit, then reached into the closet and grabbed her running shoes.
“Mom,” said Kristen as she entered the kitchen, “what do athletes usually eat just before a big race?”
“Honey, to tell you the truth, I don’t really know. Why do you ask?”
“You know that Brother Reda always has the races right after everyone eats.”
“That’s true.” Kristen’s mom laughed. “But I don’t think that you need to worry about it. You always do well in races. Try to calm down, and let’s just go and have a good time.” “Calm down!” declared Kristen. “How can I? Anthony Nelson will be there bragging about how great he is. He thinks that he’s better than everyone.”
“Well, if we don’t hurry, he won’t have any competition at all.”
When Kristen arrived at the picnic, Anthony was the first to greet her. “You should see the prizes Brother Reda has in the trunk of his car,” he said. “I saw them when he was getting out some folding chairs.”
“And I suppose you think that you’ll be going home with one of those prizes,” teased Kristen.
“One!” Anthony exclaimed. “I just hope that someone will help me carry all the prizes that I win to the car.”
After Kristen had finished drinking her lemonade, she heard Brother Reda announce, “We’re going to start the races! The first one will be a straight run from this starting line to that streamer stretched between those two trees over there. This race is for all ten-to-twelve-year-olds.”
“That’s us,” called Anthony. “Come on, Kristen. I wouldn’t want you to miss this. You’re the one I want to beat.”
Kristen was too nervous to say anything. She glanced around to see who else was running and noticed Matt Powers sitting against a tree. He looked sad as he watched the other kids line up for the race. Kristen remembered how bad she had felt last summer when Matt was in a car accident and lost his left leg. It had taken him a long time to learn how to walk with his artificial leg.
“Everyone get lined up,” ordered Brother Reda. “On your mark, get set, GO!”
Kristen started slowly, and Anthony pulled out in front of her. But she quickly picked up speed as she concentrated on the finish line. The next thing she knew, she was breaking through the streamer. She had won!
“You’re faster than I thought,” Anthony said as he tried to catch his breath. “Congratulations, but watch out! I’m going to beat you in the next race.”
“You weren’t so bad yourself,” Kristen said with a smile, a little surprised at how nice he was being. I wonder if I could handle losing that well.
A few races for the younger children were run next. However, Kristen was too busy looking for a partner for the three-legged race to watch them.
Suddenly Anthony ran up to her. “I have my partner for the three-legged race,” he gloated. “I bet no one will beat Joshua Ellis and me!” Kristen searched the crowd around her, looking for a partner. Her eyes stopped on Matt Powers, who was still sitting on the sidelines.
I must be crazy to even consider him, Kristen thought as she approached Matt. “Hey, Matt, do you want to be in the three-legged race? I need a partner.”
“Me?” asked Matt. He looked puzzled. “Is that a joke?”
“Of course not. I know that we can do it if you’re willing to give it a try,” said Kristen.
“I’m willing if you’re willing.” Matt carefully got up and hurried over to her. He had been rather quiet lately, but now he seemed as lively as he had been before the accident. Kristen tied their inside legs together, and they hobbled up to the starting line.
When everyone was ready, Brother Reda yelled, “Go!”
Kristen and Matt held on tightly to each other as they lumbered down the field. She was surprised at how well Matt could run. At the halfway point, Anthony and Joshua were side-by-side with Kristen and Matt. Then Matt lost his balance, and the two toppled over. “Hurry and get up. We might still be able to make it!” urged Matt as he pulled Kristen to her feet.
A few moments later they fell again. By this time, more teams were catching up and beginning to pass them; Kristen tugged at Matt. “Come on! We may not be first, but let’s not be last!”
As they neared the finish, Kristen could hear Anthony cheering them on. He and Joshua had already finished—first, of course. Kristen and Matt fell forward just as they crossed the finish line. They glanced at each other. Dirt covered both their faces. They started laughing, and soon everyone was laughing with them.
Kristen smiled at Anthony. “It’s my turn to congratulate you,” she said. Then she turned to Matt and winked. Losing’s not that bad, she thought. In fact, it can be a lot of fun.