Gospel Story Finder

Today holds special meaning for me, and not because I am speaking at devotional. It is December 7. It is a “date that will live in infamy.”[3]
On this day, December 7, 1941, exactly 80 years ago, a dive bomber appeared out of the clouds above the island of Oahu. A swarm of 360 warplanes followed, descending on the US naval base at Pearl Harbor in a ferocious assault. The surprise attack struck a critical blow against the US Pacific fleet and drew the United States irrevocably into World War II.
Before December 7, the Navy and Army were severely undermanned. After that fateful day, “all recruit­ing records of the nation’s armed forces were shattered” as young men waited in long lines to sign up.[4]
My father, who had just turned 20 days before, was one of those young men. He and his two best friends, Phil Shumway and Grant Turley, signed up with the Army Military Air Corps to be fighter pilots.
Within a year, they would both be shot down. Grant was killed over Germany after becoming an ace pilot. Phil Shumway was shot down in the Philippine Sea but survived. He remained floating in a rubber raft without food or water for ten days before being rescued. He survived by observing seagulls land on his small rubber raft and snatching them as they landed.
Phil Shumway’s grit and determination to survive helped him through this terrible ordeal. Both Grant and Phil met their obstacles head on, no excuses, no shirking their responsibility, regardless of the sacrifice.
My father was also trained as a fighter pilot. He was shipped to North Africa and became a photo-reconnaissance pilot. He would fly a spy plane, taking pictures over enemy territory flying solo. My father had no escort and no weapons, just a camera.
After numerous missions flying over North Africa, Italy, and Austria, his plane was also shot down. My father fell in Northwest Italy, near the Leaning Tower of Pisa. He bailed out of his fiery plane, landing approximately 200 miles behind enemy lines.
Thankfully, the Italian partisan resistance forces saw his plane go down. They saw his parachute and ran to his rescue before the Germans could find him.
For the next three months, and with the help of his new-found friends, he and other Allied officers snuck past the Germans through high mountain passes and valleys to make it safely to Rome.
Sadly, many of those that helped my father and others like him eventually were captured, and many perished in concentration camps.
I was blessed to have a father that would tell me stories of real life heroes, not comic book heroes, but people who lived real lives, facing obstacles with steadfastness and determination.

When Beth and I first met, we had each taken as our guide the wisdom of man combined with a distorted version of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Although we didn't realize it at the time, doing so was something like using a GPS device that doesn't totally take into account all the conditions "on the ground," so to speak. It was a tender mercy from a loving Heavenly Father that we eventually met and fell in love, but until we were taught the restored gospel, we relied on that extremely faulty GPS provided by the world. Even though we didn't take any planned detours on our journey toward happiness, we certainly took some indirect routes toward that destination. Only after we embraced the gospel and joined the church did we trade in our telestial GPS for the celestial model. I guess I should add that I also progressively gained a better fashion sense.

Just a few weeks ago, I was working on my family history with a consultant by my side and another helper on the phone. On the computer screen before me was a problem beyond my mortal power to solve. I saw two names, sent to me by the wonders of technology, of people who might be waiting for a temple ordinance. But the trouble was that the names were different, but there was a reason to believe they might be the same person. My task was to determine what was true.

I asked my consultants to tell me. They said, “No, you must choose.” And they were completely sure I would discover the truth. The computer, with all its power and information, had left me the blessing of staring at those names on a screen, evaluating the available information, seeking other research, praying silently, and discovering what was true. As I prayed, I knew with surety what to do—just as I have in other situations when I needed to rely on heaven’s help to solve a problem.

Illustration by Katelyn Budge
I was extremely nervous to audition for my first play, so I prayed and asked to be blessed with the specific role that I wanted. As I prayed, I felt prompted to correct myself, so I added, “If not the role I want, please bless me with the role I need.”
The audition went great, but I didn’t get the part I wanted. I got a smaller role—with a singing solo. The role I’d wanted didn’t have that. I trusted God and accepted the smaller part, and I loved it! I don’t know if I would’ve discovered my passion for theater if I’d gotten the role I’d wanted.
I’m so glad I listened to that prompting. It strengthened my relationship with Heavenly Father to put myself into His hands and say that I would accept whatever part I received.
JJ J., age 17, Tennessee, USA
Likes theater and rollerblading

President Marion G. Romney tells of this incident which happened to him:
“I remember years ago when I was a bishop I had President Heber J. Grant talk to our ward. After the meeting I drove him home … Standing by me, he put his arm over my shoulder and said: ‘My boy, you always keep your eye on the President of the Church and if he ever tells you to do anything, and it is wrong, and you do it, the Lord will bless you for it.’ Then with a twinkle in his eye, he said, ‘But you don’t need to worry. The Lord will never let his mouthpiece lead the people astray.’” (Conference Report, October 1960, p. 78.)

As part of my "summer of fun” canoeing I was blessed to take part in the N? Pali Challenge, which is a 37-mile canoe race down the N? Pali Coast of Kauai. The race consists of six women and six men. The two crews are changed every 30 minutes. To change the crews, you jump off the escort boat in the water in seat order and wait for the canoe to come “pick you up.” When you reach the canoe, the person in your seat hops out and you climb in. The race takes roughly six hours, meaning roughly six water changes. When you hop out, the escort boat comes to pick everyone up and you get a little rest until you do it all over again. If this sounds both awful and amazing, you are right!

For each water change we had a plan for how we were going to get off the escort boat, huddle together in the water, get into our canoe, and the pace we would set for the next 30 minutes. Well, you know what they say about the best laid plans! One water change we were grouped together and a wave came at the last minute and split our group, so half of us ended up on the wrong side of the canoe.

At another water change we hulied shortly after getting in the boat and I thought, so much for plans… now we are losing time and have to do the hard work of flipping the boat back over, bailing it, and getting back in. I remember thinking, this is hard, and I float pretty good. I wonder if anyone will notice if I just take off towards land. But as an answer to my prayers, the men’s crew leaped off the escort boat to help us, cutting their break short. Hats and sunglasses were lost, we all ended up with bruises and sunburnt, and it was amazing.

Even though we had a solid plan for what do to in most situations, some of the situations we encountered we couldn’t have ever planned for. Like in life, even the most well thought out plans can go out the window in the most marvelous of ways.

In the 1929 Rose Bowl football game a player named Roy Riegels recovered a fumble and ran almost the length of the field in the wrong direction toward the opposing team's goal line. He was ultimately tackled and brought down by one of his own team, preventing his making a touchdown for the other team. Somehow Roy Riegels had lost his sense of direction in a moment of stress. His mistake cost his team the victory. Roy Riegels was a great football player. He lived to be eighty-four, but after his one Rose Bowl mistake he was ever afterward remembered as the man who ran the wrong way.

One of the experiences that she remembers with great affection is that of her grandson: “In the Scouts I had the opportunity to help my grandson who was teased a lot at school because of his weight. I was always trying to talk to him and get him to open up to me.

“With so many negative comments and the mistreatment that he received from his classmates, he didn’t want to be part of the Scouts anymore. I was always looking out for him, and I advised him that despite everything bad that people can say to you or how bad people can try to make you feel, it is you who has to know who you are and what you are worth. The boy continued in the Scouts and still remembers with great love how his grandmother supported him in one of the most difficult moments of his childhood.”

As a young missionary I was assigned as a district president to administer the affairs of the Church and preach the gospel in a group of fifteen small, scattered islands. We traveled almost exclusively by sailboat and learned to rely not only on the winds and the currents of the usually friendly seas, but especially on the love of our Father in heaven, as we sailed week after week and month after month from island to island to island. It was a glorious time, full of the normal challenges of seasickness, becalmings, strange languages, foods, and customs. But mostly it was a time of spiritual closeness to our Father in heaven, whose love and goodness so far overshadowed any temporary pain or problems as to make the latter shrink into obscurity.
On one occasion we received word that a missionary was very ill on a somewhat distant island. The weather was threatening but, feeling responsible, and after prayer, we left to investigate the situation. Extra heavy seas slowed our progress, and it was late afternoon before we arrived. The missionary was indeed very ill. Fervent prayer was followed by administration, during which the impression came very strongly to get him back to the hospital on the main island, and to do it now!
The weather had deteriorated to the point of a small gale. The seas were heavy, the clouds were thick, the wind was fierce, the hour was late, and the sun was sinking rapidly, betokening a long black night ahead. But the impression was strong—“Get back now”—and one learns to obey the all-important promptings of the Spirit.
There was much concern expressed and much talk about the darkness, the storm, and the formidable reef with its extremely narrow opening to the harbor we were attempting to gain. Some found reason to stay behind; but soon eight persons, including an ill missionary, a very experienced captain, and a somewhat concerned district president, boarded the boat and the spiritually prompted voyage to home base began.
No sooner had we made our commitment to the open seas than the intensity of the storm seemed to increase sevenfold. The small gale now became a major storm. As the sun sank below the horizon, bringing with it darkness and gloom, so also did my spirit seem to sink into the darkness of doubt and apprehension. The thick clouds and driving rain increased the blackness of our already dark universe—no stars, no moon, no rest—only turmoil of sea and body and mind and spirit. And as we toiled on through that fearsome night, I found my spirit communing with the spirit of the father of an afflicted child in the New Testament, as he exclaimed, “Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief.” (Mark 9:24.) And He did, and He does, and He will. That I know.
As we rolled and tossed closer and closer to the reef, all eyes searched for the light that marked the opening—the only entry to our home. Where was it? The blackness of the night seemed to increase; the fierceness of the raging elements seemed to know no bounds. The rain slashed at our faces and tore at our eyes—eyes vainly searching for that life-giving light.
Then I heard the chilling sound of the waves crashing and chewing against the reef! It was close—too close. Where was that light? Unless we hit the opening exactly, we would be smashed against the reef and ripped and torn by that thousand-toothed monster. It seemed that all the elements were savagely bent on our total destruction. Our eyes strained against the blackness, but we could not see the light.
Some began to whimper, others to moan and cry, and one or two even to scream in hysteria. At the height of this panic, when many were pleading to turn to the left or to the right, when the tumultuous elements all but forced us to abandon life and hope, I looked at the captain—and there I saw the face of calmness, the ageless face of wisdom and experience, as his eyes penetrated the darkness ahead. Quietly his weather-roughened lips parted, and without moving his fixed gaze and just perceptibly shifting the wheel, he breathed those life-giving words, “Ko e Maama e” (“There is the light!”).
I could not see the light, but the captain could see it. And I knew he could see it. Those eyes long experienced in ocean travel were not fooled by the madness of the storm nor were they influenced by the pleadings of those of lesser experience to turn to the left or to the right. And so with one last great swell we were hurtled through the opening and into calmer waters.
The roaring of the reef was now behind us. Its infamous plan of destruction had been foiled. We were in the protected harbor. We were home. Then and only then did we see through the darkness that one small light—exactly where the captain had said it was. Had we waited until we ourselves could see the light we would have been dashed to pieces, shredded on the reef of unbelief. But trusting in those experienced eyes, we lived.
As I think back, I thank the Lord for that wonderful Polynesian captain who saved my life and the life of the sick missionary I was charged with. I am eternally grateful for his experience (much of which, I am sure, was not pleasant). I am grateful for his wisdom, for his eyes, for his not yielding to the fury of the moment, but steadfastly holding the true course to safety.
I felt at the time that he was more than himself—he was more than the sum total of all of his experience. In some marvelous way at that moment of desperate need, he drew upon a power and a strength from generations of faithful, seagoing people that only those who know Polynesians well can begin to understand. My admiration and love for him and all other faithful descendants of father Lehi knows no bounds.

Sammy liked to memorize scriptures. He couldn’t read yet, but he already knew six articles of faith and many verses from the Book of Mormon and Bible. Mom wrote a scripture on a card and drew a picture on the back to help Sammy remember. Sammy knew scriptures about the Savior, gratitude, service, the stripling soldiers, and Nephi. He felt good inside because he was learning the scriptures.
One Sunday before Primary opening exercises, Sammy waited reverently on the CTR 5 bench beside his teacher, Sister Taylor. He folded his arms and listened to the music. Then he heard Sister Hunter, the Primary president, talking to Sister Taylor.
“I just found out that the boy who was going to give the scripture is sick today,” Sister Hunter said. “I’m going to see if an older child can read a scripture for us on short notice.”
Sammy quickly thought about all the scriptures he knew. “I can give a scripture today,” he told Sister Hunter.
“That would be great, Sammy,” Sister Hunter said. “Can Sister Taylor help you find and read a scripture?”
“I don’t need any help,” Sammy said.
Sister Hunter and Sister Taylor looked surprised. “Are you sure?” Sister Taylor asked.
“I have lots of scriptures memorized,” Sammy said. “I just learned a scripture about King Benjamin. I could say that one.”
“OK,” Sister Hunter said. “Will you please come sit up front?”
Sammy felt his heart beat faster as he walked to the front of the room and sat down. He was a little nervous, but he was confident he could say the scripture.
After singing “Book of Mormon Stories,” Sister Hunter said that Sammy would give the scripture.
Sammy walked to the pulpit and stood on the step stool. He took a deep breath and then spoke into the microphone: “Mosiah 2:17. When ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God.”
Sammy stepped down and went back to his seat, smiling the whole way. A warm feeling came over him. He was grateful that he had helped Sister Hunter in Primary. And he was grateful that even though he couldn’t read, he could still learn the scriptures.

After the martyrdom of the prophet, the Lord took the Church to a new frontier almost as immediately as he had introduced the Restoration itself. A new prophet was called, with a new voice and different gifts. And just like in Kirtland, the Saints were again asked to leave behind what had only just become familiar and comfortable. Newly constructed homes, meetinghouses and businesses would soon be left abandoned. I marvel at the words of pioneer sister Bathsheba Smith who described what she left behind in Nauvoo: My last act in that precious spot was to tidy the rooms, sweep up the floor, set the broom in its accustomed place behind the door. And then with the emotions in my heart . . . I gently closed the door and faced the unknown future.

Adam couldn’t wait for the school bus to come. His family was driving him crazy. His little brother, Aaron, constantly bugged him to play. Mom said, “You’re lucky to have a little brother who loves you, Adam. Some children don’t have anybody at all.”
Phooey!
His baby sister always wanted him to pick her up and hold her. Mom said he had the magic touch and that no one could make her smile like he could.
Phooey!
His Mom fussed over him as he left for school and even kissed him good-bye every morning on the front porch, where all the kids waiting for the school bus could see!
Phooey!
He couldn’t wait to get to school and have fun with his friends.
He climbed on the bus and looked for his best friend, Daryl. Daryl got on at the stop before and always saved him a seat. But today Daryl was sitting by Priscilla! Adam had to sit by a big kid he didn’t know.
When he was getting off the bus, he caught his new, red jacket on the door handle and tore the sleeve. “Oh, no!” he groaned—he’d had the jacket for only two days. Mom was going to be upset!
He’d brought two cookies for his teacher, Mrs. Magelby, but when he walked into the room, a substitute teacher was there. Discouraged, he shoved the cookies back into his backpack.
At lunchtime, he waved to his friend Carrie across the cafeteria. But she didn’t wave back. He hoped she just hadn’t seen him. Then he dropped his cake and stepped on it. Yuck!
Things continued to go badly. He was picked next to last for the soccer team during gym. Then his socks wouldn’t stay up.
On the way home it rained.
What an awful day! Adam thought to himself as he trudged up the walk to his house. Nothing has gone right. Nobody likes me. He wanted to cry.
He sighed a big sigh and opened the door.
It smelled steamy and delicious when he walked into the house. All right! he thought. It’s a chili day! Mom liked to make chili when it was rainy and cold outside.
“Hi, Adam!” Aaron came bounding down the hall and threw his arms around his brother. “Want to see the neat tent I made on the bunk beds?”
“Hi, honey, I’m glad you’re home,” Mom called. She kissed him and ruffled his hair as he walked into the kitchen. This time it felt nice, not embarrassing.
His baby sister smiled happily and wriggled with joy when he picked her up.
“Come play with me, Adam,” said Aaron, dancing circles around his brother.
Adam started to feel warm inside.
“All right, just for a little while. Hey, Aaron, I have something for you.” Adam pulled the cookies out of his backpack.
“Wow, are those for me? Thanks, Adam—you’re the greatest!”
“You’re lucky to have a big brother who loves you, Aaron,” Mom said. “Some children don’t have anybody at all.”
The two brothers looked at each other and tried not to laugh. Mom said that at least a hundred times a day. But suddenly Adam did feel lucky—blessed, really. All the things that had happened at school didn’t seem so awful anymore. It was good to be home.

The seminary students in the Phoenix Park Ward of the Dublin Ireland Stake were a little worried. Their stake president and their bishop had approached them about something new. Would they be the first seminary class in all of Ireland to try meeting every day—early every day?
Elaine O’Farrell, age 15, remembers her first reaction: “I thought, if we see each other every day, we’ll get on each other’s nerves.” And there was that other obvious worry. Pamela Fagan, age 15, explains, “No way would they get me out of bed that early.” Farris Bukhatwa, age 17, and Louise Byrne, age 17, lived the farthest distance away. It was not going to be easy.
But not everyone was worried. Jenna Gallagher, age 15, was a little bit excited about the idea. “I had heard about early-morning seminary in other countries,” she says. “I always dreamed of going to seminary that way. I was really pleased that we were going to do it. I knew if I made a sacrifice, the Lord would bless me.”
Then things started to work out. Farris was able to use the family car in the mornings and could pick up Louise. Pamela agreed to get up extra early so she could leave on time with her brother Derek. Elaine changed her mind and said she liked seeing these people every morning. Jenna was happy just to be in seminary. Brett Crowther, age 18, and his brother Brandt, age 16, the mission president’s sons, were thrilled to be with other Church youth every day. And best of all, their teacher, Rosemary Richmond, was terrific.
All students in Ireland are required to take religion class. Even though they go to early-morning seminary, these Latter-day Saint students are not excused from their school religion requirement. But their study of the scriptures has paid off. Louise explains, “Franciscan friars visited our school. When they were asking questions, they would point to me and put their fingers to their lips as if to say, ‘Shhh, don’t answer the questions.’ They knew I could answer them.”
Elaine tells a similar story about religion class. “If my teacher asked what a word means, like covenant, I would answer,” she says. “He knew I would know the answer no matter what he asked.”
Derek Fagan, age 17, has excelled in both school and seminary, and he credits an experience he had just before he received his patriarchal blessing: “We had been talking about patriarchal blessings in seminary. I prayed and asked if I should get mine. Our stake did not have a patriarch at that time, but three days later, our new patriarch was called. I felt it was my answer. That’s when I decided for myself that the Church is true and that I would try harder to do well and choose the right. My patriarchal blessing was amazing. I carry it with me everywhere. Since early-morning seminary started, everything has been clearer. Even in school, I learn very quickly now.”
Derek became the first seminary student in Ireland to memorize all the scripture mastery scriptures. As an extra challenge, he memorized the account of the First Vision as found in Joseph Smith—History.
Brandt Crowther remembers an experience he had a few months after he and his family arrived in Ireland: “I had prayed almost every night of my life, but one night, I prayed with sincerity and asked the Lord what He wanted me to do here in Ireland. I needed to know in my heart that the Church is true. I found out that God does live and He loves me. I gained an understanding of what He wanted me to do. Since then, I’ve been happy being here. I’ve loved it. I’m closer to the Savior now.”
Brandt explains some of the things the Lord told him he needed to do: “I needed to read the scriptures every day and pray every night and keep the commandments. That night the Spirit was with me. I didn’t want to go to bed.”
Seminary class often helped Farris find answers: “I received a testimony of prayer and of tithing. I would pray about things I really needed to find out about—and then it would click in seminary. I would understand things better. What is it like when the Spirit gives you an answer? You’re calm, and you understand things. You’re not nervous. You know it’s true. You feel it in your heart.”
The students in this seminary class enjoy being together. And now every weekday morning isn’t enough. They get together every Saturday night, too.
It all started when Louise’s mother told Brett that Louise’s friends always ask her to go to the pub with them on Saturdays, but she never goes. “We decided to get the whole class together and go out and have some fun,” says Brett. “We’ve been getting together every Saturday night. It’s good fun.”
What do they do? The first week they went to the cinema, but that quickly became too expensive. So they started going to each other’s houses to play games or watch videos or just talk and talk and talk. Elaine explains, “We used to have nothing to talk about; now we don’t have enough time to talk.”
For Louise, having something else to do on Saturdays has strengthened her resolve to stay strong in the Church. “It’s a reason for me not to go with my friends from work every weekend,” she explains. “Sometimes I used to go along. I didn’t do anything I shouldn’t, but just being there didn’t feel good. It eventually wears out your spirit. I got so tired of trying to speak up for myself. But when I go with the seminary class, I can just be me. I feel accepted.”
And most of all, “Saturday nights are fun,” says Pamela. “My other friends’ standards are completely different from mine. I feel much better going to the seminary activity. We have great fun.”
Derek adds, “Early-morning seminary and our activities on Saturday evenings have brought us closer, and we’re better friends. I’ve gotten a lot closer to everyone in the class, even Pamela, my sister. I wouldn’t even consider going out and getting drunk and breaking the Word of Wisdom.”
Most of all, this year of seminary has taught these students the meaning of faith. Their teacher, Rosemary Richmond, helps them learn from Church history about the faith of the early prophets and members. Her husband, Brendan, suffers from an extremely rare and damaging lung disorder and is confined to a wheelchair. Although she has the constant worry of her husband’s care and health, she is eager to prepare lessons and have the seminary class come each morning.
“Members here are very faithful, especially Rosemary, with all the trials she’s been through,” Louise says. “It makes you realize how lucky you are. In seminary we read about the Prophet Joseph Smith and the pioneers. Joseph Smith is a great man. I love him. The testimony he had never faltered. Can you imagine living back in those days? The pioneers had to walk halfway across North America just to practice what they believed. I want that sort of faith because I love the Church.”
Louise is developing that kind of faith. Every day she stands up for her beliefs. And with her small group of valiant seminary friends, she doesn’t have to stand alone. None of them do. They have found a way to strengthen each other. And that has made all the difference.

We once had a Persian cat named Arthur. One day our nine-year-old daughter asked, “Dad, do you think Arthur knows he’s a cat?”
I answered, “Well, I don’t really think Arthur knows he’s a cat. All he knows for sure is that it is very nice when you live with someone who will love you and feed you and keep you warm.”
Actually, I know quite a few people who think that very same thing—their highest hope is just to have someone love them and feed them and keep them warm. To them, as to Arthur, that’s what it means to be “satisfied.”

The year A.D. 1306 was one of the darkest in Scotland’s long and often gloomy history. Edward I of England, aptly named “The Hammer of the Scots,” invaded Scotland at the head of a powerful army. Soon the streets of Scotland’s cities echoed to the clash and clatter of mailed English soldiery. Noble and prominent families were imprisoned and tortured. Many were killed. The king of the Scots, Robert the Bruce, Lord of Kerrick, fled to his seigniory in the rough hills north of the English border. There he sought refuge in a cave, alone save for a solitary watcher in the heather charged with raising a warning should English troops appear.

Bruce was disconsolate, his spirit broken, his mood black and bitter. Many members of his family were imprisoned. Others had been hanged or drawn and quartered. The land and its people groaned under Edward’s iron heel.

As he lay on his bed of heather in the gloomy recesses of the cave, Bruce’s courage nearly failed him. What could he do, in the face of such terrible odds, to free his country from tyranny? Perhaps he should just give up, accept the inevitable, and fulfill his ambition to go as a humble pilgrim to the Holy Land.

Bruce’s eyes fastened on a spider clinging precariously to a stone high in the mouth of the cave. He watched, first with idle curiosity and then with increasing interest, as the tiny beast attempted to swing on its gossamer strand to another perch several feet away. Six times the spider tried and failed. Finally, on the seventh attempt, it succeeded. Bruce vowed that if a lowly spider could persevere, the king of the Scots could do no less. He fought on, with increasing power, finally ridding Scotland of her enemies at the Battle of Bannockburn in A.D. 1314 (see Ronald McNair Scott, Robert the Bruce, King of Scots [Edinburgh: Canongate Publishing Ltd., 1982], p. 95).

Bishop Gérald Caussé spoke about three men who lived in a village in Africa. When it was time for a district conference, they walked for two weeks through muddy roads to get to the meeting! They brought tithing from people in their village to give to Church leaders. They stayed for a week so that they could take the sacrament before heading home again, carrying boxes of copies of the Book of Mormon on their heads to bring to their village. What sacrifices are we willing to make to live the gospel?

In 2004 Sheri Dew published a book titled No One Can Take Your Place. She was signing books at Deseret Book in Rexburg. I went down to the store, purchased the book, and stood in line for her to sign the book. As I was waiting in line, I became more and more nervous and almost left the line. As I approached her table, I remember being really nervous. I didn’t say a whole lot, because, you know, this is Sheri Dew, my all-time hero, and what could I say to her that she hasn’t heard a million times from other women? I remember my face turning red as I handed her the book. She signed the book with a little message. I said “thank you” and went to my car. Once out to my car, I read the message:

To Renee, with love and complete confidence in you!
Sheri Dew

How did she know that was what I needed to hear? That brief message helped me to start to focus on who I was, not who I thought I was. I started focusing on who I really am. I started praying to know what I was supposed to be doing with my life, and who Heavenly Father needed me to become. I started reading my scriptures with intent, praying for understanding, and studying conference talks. I started to put real energy into those things I had been doing all along, but now with more purpose. I will let you in on a little secret: if you ask Heavenly Father how to become a better person, He will help you.

Ahhh, the warm, comforting smell of bread baking has spread to the homes of several Laurels of the Patuxent Ward, Suitland Maryland Stake. The girls are involved in a service project that helps fulfill a value project for their Young Womanhood Recognition. In order to learn the skill of baking bread and to serve the ward members, they have been taking turns providing homemade loaves of bread for the sacrament.
Each girl takes a turn that lasts for six weeks. This time provides ample experience in improving her bread-making skills. The ward members noticed the change from commercially produced bread, as their bishop announced the service project to the congregation. Bishop Scott Shumway said the practice loaves were a delicious addition to their family dinners.
The homemade bread, blessed and served each week, has made the girls more aware of roles they can play in providing this service to the members.
“It was a time to appreciate the sacrament more. Also, I’ve had lessons about supporting the priesthood, and making the bread for the weekly service seemed like a really good way to do that. It made me happy to make it,” said Bethany Shumway, the bishop’s daughter.
Also, Megan Prettyman felt their bread enhanced her appreciation of the ordinance. “It seemed to make it more personal since I had spent three hours the day before making the bread. I thought about the sacrament all during that time, not just during the meeting.”
Meagan Boswell was impressed with the ward members’ reactions. “People thanked us for taking the time and said how it made them think more about the sacrament that week. It was nice to have something to share with the whole ward.”

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 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.

Larry loved to jump and run races and ride his bike and climb trees. So when it came time for Primary, he had a hard time sitting still. Every time he sat down in his chair, he felt like standing right back up. He tapped his toes on the floor. He squirmed in his seat. He tugged on his lip.
Sister Valencia showed their class a picture of Jesus and told them some of the special names for Him. “We call Him our Exemplar,” she said. “It’s a big word, but it means someone who’s a good example. What are some ways Jesus was a good example?”
“He was nice to people who were mean to Him!” Chloe said.
“He chose the right!” Philippe said.
“He was a good friend,” Chad said.
“You’re all right,” Sister Valencia said. “Jesus loved His enemies, He always stood up for what’s right, and He was a wonderful friend. So if we want to be like Jesus—“
“—we should be a good friend!” Larry said.
Sister Valencia nodded. “Exactly. Jesus was a good example to everyone because He was a friend to everyone. He wants us to be friends to everyone too.”
At the end of the lesson, the class lined up at the door to walk into sharing time. When they got into the Primary room, another boy was already in the seat where Larry usually sat. Larry knew the boy’s name was Brennan and that he had something called autism. Larry wasn’t sure what that meant, but he knew Brennan had a hard time sitting still and shouted things out when they were supposed to be reverent and sometimes cried loudly. Brennan’s mom usually came in to sit with him. Larry didn’t know Brennan well yet.
Larry slumped down in the chair next to Brennan, feeling a little grumpy that he had to sit in a different seat. Then, when sharing time started, Larry felt his wiggles coming on. He kicked the chair in front of him. Clack! Then he heard another loud clack. Brennan had kicked the chair in front of him too!
Brennan’s mom softly asked Brennan to be quiet.
Larry bounced up and down on his chair. Brennan bounced too. Larry looked at Brennan and sighed loudly. Brennan sighed louder. Why was Brennan copying everything he was doing?
Larry made a mean face at Brennan and leaned away. Brennan copied him, twisting his mouth into an ugly frown. Larry looked at him in surprise. Is that what Larry’s face looked like? He didn’t like seeing such a mean face glaring at him like that. He didn’t like it at all!
Suddenly Larry remembered what Sister Valencia had said about Jesus being an example and a friend. Jesus wouldn’t make a mean face at Brennan, Larry thought. Jesus would help Brennan. Larry decided to give it a try.
He stopped kicking the chair—and Brennan stopped kicking too. He folded his arms—and Brennan folded his arms too. He turned his head and faced the teacher—and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Brennan face the front too. Larry grinned.
During singing time Larry sang with his best voice and heard Brennan singing loud too. Brennan’s mom smiled at Larry with a smile that lit up her whole face. Larry felt warm inside. He could be like Jesus!—an example and a friend.