Gospel Story Finder

Every morning my brother and I share the job of emptying the dishwasher. One morning while my brother was busy, I unloaded the entire dishwasher by myself. He was surprised and grateful that I did his job for him. The next morning my brother put away my pile of clean laundry while he was putting his away. I decided to keep the circle of service going and did his dishes job again. We are continuing to serve each other.
Andrew S., age 7, California

During the final years of his life, President Benson’s once-powerful physical body steadily weakened. At first, he met with the Saints at general conferences when he could, waving to the congregation from his wheelchair. Later, his health prevented him from attending general conference. At home, in his apartment across from the Church Office Building, he still visited with General Authorities who came to express their love and also to consult with him on matters of concern. His beloved Flora passed away on 14 August 1992, after a loving companionship of sixty-six years.

President Benson’s forceful personality likewise mellowed and softened with age, observed a close associate. “Although many people grow grouchy and demanding with advanced age and infirmity, President Benson grew even sweeter and more grateful for the things others did for him.” To the end of his life, this prophet exemplified the sweet fruits of the gospel of Christ.

But again, can we pray when we hardly have the heart for it? Lorenzo Snow leaves us the glimpse that after he was, as he felt, stillborn into the Church, nothing really significant happened in and after his baptism and confirmation. He kept praying for life, for the witness of the Spirit. It didn’t come. Feeling that the heavens were as brass over him, he nevertheless went to an accustomed place for prayer. He had no sooner opened his lips than the Spirit descended upon him. He describes it as being like the rustling of silken robes. There descended upon him a Spirit that was more tangible in its effect upon every part of his body than the surrounding water in baptism. He was filled, having prayed when he didn’t feel like praying (see Biography and Family Records of Lorenzo Snow, comp. Eliza R. Snow, Salt Lake City: Deseret News, 1884, pp. 7–8).

I am extremely grateful for these glorious truths—what we call the Father’s plan of salvation, His plan of mercy, or His great plan of happiness. Learning these important truths has helped me know my true identity and the great blessings of exaltation and eternal life God has prepared for us. The prophet Nephi taught us the way: “Wherefore, … feast upon the words of Christ; for behold, the words of Christ will tell you all things what ye should do.” He added, “If ye will enter in by the way, and receive the Holy Ghost, it will show unto you all things what ye should do.” Today I would like to share how the words of Christ and the Holy Ghost helped me find these important peace-giving truths in my teenage years.

Just like Nephi stated in the opening verse of the book of 1 Nephi, I was also “born of goodly parents.” I grew up in Nagano, Japan, in a home where honesty, diligence, and humility were strongly encouraged and conformity to the old customs was strictly followed. My father was a very religious man. I watched him praying in front of the Shinto and Buddhist altars every morning and every night. Even though I had no idea whom he was praying to and what he was praying for, I believed some sort of unseen power or God would be “mighty to save” or help us if we prayed sincerely.

Like other teenagers, I experienced many hardships. I struggled, thinking that life was unfair and had lots of ups and downs. I felt lost, not having a sense of direction in my life. Life seemed so fleeting because it would end when I died. Life without knowing the plan of salvation was confusing.

Not long after I started to learn English in junior high school, all the students in our school received a copy of the New Testament. Though we had barely begun our study of English, our teacher told us we should study English by reading it. I opened it and reviewed its contents. The words in the New Testament were extremely difficult for me. The words in Japanese were equally difficult. However, I was drawn to a list of statements and questions of the soul that had been included just before the biblical text in this Gideon Bible—questions about feeling lonely, lacking confidence, being confused, facing life’s trials, and so on. Each item on the list was followed by a reference to verses and pages in the New Testament. I was especially drawn to the statement “When you are weary.” The reference led me to open Matthew 11:28–30, in which Jesus said to His disciples:
“Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.
“Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls.
“For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”
This was the first time I remember reading the words of Jesus Christ. Though I did not understand all the words He said, His words comforted me, lifted my soul, and gave me hope. The more I read His words, the more I felt like I should try the virtue of His words. I had never felt like I felt that day. I felt I was loved. I felt that Jesus Christ was someone I knew.
As I continued studying, I felt as though He were speaking directly to me when He said, “Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled.”
His words filled my heart, even though I could not describe my feelings well at that time. Although Jesus Christ lived many centuries ago in a land unfamiliar to me, I thought I could trust His words with all my heart. I hoped someday in the future I might learn more about Jesus Christ.
That someday came only a few years later. I met very dedicated, young, full-time missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. And I soon met a small group of kind and joyful Latter-day Saints striving to follow Jesus Christ. Despite it taking me a while to fully trust them, I came to see in the restored gospel what I yearned for when I studied the New Testament—the words of Jesus Christ and the hope and peace that come from them.

In the end, one story kept coming back to me—a story that has been imprinted on my memory for many, many years. It isn’t about farming, animals, nuclear engineering, or pigeons. It is as you might have guessed—about aviation. I call it “The Story of the Lightbulb.”
On a dark December night 36 years ago, a Lockheed 1011 jumbo jet crashed into the Florida Everglades, killing over 100 people. This terrible accident was one of the deadliest crashes in the history of the United States.
A curious thing about this accident is that all vital parts and systems of the airplane were functioning perfectly—the plane could have easily landed safely at its destination in Miami, only 20 miles (32km) away.
During the final approach, however, the crew noticed that one green light had failed to illuminate—a light that indicates whether or not the nose landing gear has extended successfully. The pilots discontinued the approach, set the aircraft into a circling holding pattern over the pitch-black Everglades, and turned their attention toward investigating the problem.
They became so preoccupied with their search that they failed to realize the plane was gradually descending closer and closer toward the dark swamp below. By the time someone noticed what was happening, it was too late to avoid the disaster.
After the accident, investigators tried to determine the cause. The landing gear had indeed lowered properly. The plane was in perfect mechanical condition. Everything was working properly—all except one thing: a single burned-out lightbulb. That tiny bulb—worth about 20 cents—started the chain of events that ultimately led to the tragic death of over 100 people.
Of course, the malfunctioning lightbulb didn’t cause the accident; it happened because the crew placed its focus on something that seemed to matter at the moment while losing sight of what mattered most.

My testimony today is one of gratitude.
At a family gathering a few nights ago, we discussed the fact that today is the anniversary of our mother’s birth.
I thought that night how much the generations owe each other, how much we learn from each other, how we should love and appreciate each other. One of mother’s grandsons said he had watched with wonderment as his tiny daughter paged through her storybook, moistening her first finger to turn the pages as she had seen her daddy do as he read his books. Actually, she was moistening the finger on her left hand and turning the pages with the finger on her right hand! But that only served to emphasize both the power of example and the fact that she, like all the rest of us, is yet learning.
As I observed two of our lovely grown daughters that night an incident from the past came to mind that forms the burden of my brief message today. I still think of it with a tendency to tears. Another little girl had joined our family and was of course much loved. Occasionally I had called her older sister “Princess,” but had thought about that, and, since the second young lady was equally deserving of royal treatment, had concluded that it would be well for her to share the title, if it were used at all.
So one day I called to her, “Come on, Princess. Let’s go to the store for mother.” She seemed not to hear. “Honey,” her mother said, “daddy is calling you.”
“Oh,” she answered, with a quiet sadness that hurt my heart, “he doesn’t mean me.”
In memory I can still see the resignation on her innocent child face and hear it in her voice, when she thought that her father didn’t mean her.

In 1862, six-year-old Clara Leonard lived in the town of Farmington, Utah, where more than 150 pioneer families had settled. There were log homes, rock homes, and adobe homes. They had a schoolhouse, a courthouse, and a mill for grinding wheat. But they did not have a church house. They needed a place to sing and pray.
Sometimes they held church meetings in one of the homes, but there wasn’t enough room for everyone.
Sometimes they held church meetings in the schoolhouse, but it wasn’t big enough, either.
Sometimes they held church meetings in the upper room of the adobe courthouse, but the county officials decided it could no longer be used for religious meetings.
They needed a place to sing and pray.
A lovely place, right on Main Street, was chosen as the site to build their chapel. It was next to Brother Haight’s house and hotel and across the street from Brother Penrose’s house. It would be a wonderful place for a chapel. But the church members had no money to buy building materials.
Everyone in town donated all they could to the building fund. Clara and her family worked hard to earn some extra money to give to Bishop Hess. But after all the money was counted, the building fund had only twelve dollars. They needed much more to build a beautiful place to sing and pray.
The people held a prayer meeting. They knelt and asked the Lord what to do. They had done all they could, and now they needed His help. They had faith that the Lord would know what was best.
A few days later there was a huge storm. It rained and rained. There was mud everywhere. The wind blew very hard, and some trees fell down. Clara had to stay inside all day long.
The next morning, when the storm was over, the men from the town found a rockslide about three blocks from the church lot. Tons of large rocks had slid down from the mountain. Not far from the rockslide was a place where lots of sand and gravel had washed down from the mountain, too.
There was enough rock to build a chapel! The sand and gravel could be used to make the mortar to hold the rocks together. They knew the Lord had heard their prayers and blessed them. They soon would have a place to sing and pray!
Everyone in town helped build the chapel. Some of the men hauled the rocks with ox teams. Some of the men laid the rocks to make the walls. Others worked as carpenters on the inside of the chapel, while still others made benches and tables. Even the children helped by carrying drinking water or serving food prepared by the Relief Society sisters. The chapel was 40 feet wide and 60 feet long. The stone walls were three feet thick.
As they worked, they were able to raise the rest of the money needed to complete their chapel. After two years of construction, the building was finally finished. On 9 January 1864, President Brigham Young and Elder Wilford Woodruff of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles came to Farmington to dedicate the building. Even though there was a thick blanket of snow on the ground, it was a day of jubilee and rejoicing. After the dedication, the town’s brass band played, and everyone celebrated.
At last they had a place to meet. Clara loved to go to church. She felt a sweet spirit of reverence there and found joy in hearing her leaders teach the gospel of Jesus Christ. The sacrament was passed—the bread on silver trays and the water in a tall silver cup with handles on both sides. A piano was donated, and later they got an organ. It was a wonderful place to sing and pray!

Romaine, 17, and his teammates on the top A-1 basketball team from the church college are well known nationally in New Zealand. The school had won the national schoolboy basketball championship five years in a row—until last year. Romaine doesn’t like to talk about it, but that year the team came in third. They had the painful experience of having to come back to school and explain the loss. They didn’t want to go through that again. The team was determined to regain the top spot. And they did.

The A-1 boys’ and the girls’ basketball teams both took first in the national basketball tournaments held last August.

“Playing in the tournaments,” says Romaine, “we really stood out because we were Mormons. Other teams used to think we were funny because we didn’t use foul language, but still we could make them laugh.” Because they are known as the team to beat, other teams are always up for their games against church college. “Everyone has their best games against us.”

I have a 12-year-old brother named Carson, and he knows how to save his money. He pays tithing on everything he earns, and the rest goes straight to savings. Our family had been planning on leaving for a vacation at the end of January, and Carson had saved every dime for a year.
At the time the tsunami hit Indonesia last December, we watched the news night after night and saw the death toll mount. We prayed for the people who were suffering. It was hard for us to imagine the damage done by the tsunami when we have never experienced that kind of disaster, but my brother, Carson, brought a lesson about this tragedy close to home.
The Sunday after the tsunami, our bishop said that extra fast offerings for the Asian countries would be greatly appreciated. As soon as we got home from church that day, Carson ran to his room and got the money that he had been saving so carefully. He had saved over $200! He came downstairs, grabbed a tithing slip, and began filling it out. My mom saw what was happening and broke down in tears. Soon the whole family surrounded our 12-year-old brother to watch him give away every nickel of his vacation money to fast offerings. Carson showed us all that the Lord comes first.

Number five on President McKay's list: "he will have no interest in how you earned your living, but were you honest in your dealings." There is so much I could say about honesty, fairness, and avoiding sharp practices. I will leave that for another day. When I think of honesty, I think of my friend Oscar Wegner, now deceased. Let me tell you a story about him:

When I was with Brother Wegner, I always felt that I was in the presence of an elect man, one the Lord loved. At his funeral, his son Hart recounted his father's experience:

During World War II, the Wegner family was living in Breslau, East Germany, actually Silesia, at the time. They were members of the church. The Soviet armies were rapidly approaching and Brother Wegner made the decision to leave, which was an inspired decision. Many members of the church did not leave and they were subsequently destroyed along with their homes. He was the chief financial officer of a corporation. The money of the corporation and the food ration cards for its employees stayed behind in the safe when they fled, simply because it was not his to take! When the very structure of our nation crumbled, it was plain for everyone to see in late January 1945 that Germany would not survive. My father, (reports his son) made a house payment on the day before we fled, never to return, simply because the payment was due."

After finally getting to West Germany, having escaped East Germany under the most trying of circumstances, (Hart recounts an incredible tale of escape) he applied for immigration to America. Their names were placed on a long list. His son further recounts that when their names reached the top and they could have the long awaited immigration visas, his father, at 57 years of age, accepted a call to serve a mission. His sense of honesty would not allow him to ask for an early release, which he surely would have received. He had promised to serve the Lord for two years and two years the Lord should have. Oscar Wegner is what I think of when I think of honesty and integrity. Would I do the same? Would you?

Faith in the Lord Jesus Christ includes trusting him completely. A young sister who was struggling with cancer expressed this faith to Elder M. Russell Ballard of the Quorum of the Twelve. “I am not afraid to die,” she said. “I would like to live. There are things I would still like to accomplish in this life, but I know that Jesus is my Savior. During these past few years He has become my best friend. I trust Him. Whatever He wants for me, I am prepared.”

Elder Ballard gave her a blessing but left the matter with Heavenly Father, as she had requested. She died soon after, “with the peace of the Lord attending her and her faithful family” (Ensign, May 1996, 81).

Suddenly Mark had an idea. He remembered the note his Primary teacher gave him to thank him for giving a talk in Primary last week. Her note made him feel warm and happy inside.
“I know!” Mark said. “Let’s write thank-you notes for our project this year.”
“How many would we write?” Caleb asked.
“We could all write one note a day,” Mark said.
“Let’s see.” Dad put down his fork. “Ellen’s birthday is in 23 days. If we each write one note a day from now until then, that would be … 115 notes!”
Caleb did some math in his head. “That’s 120 happy people! Because the five of us will be really happy after writing all those notes too.”
For the next 23 days, Mark and his family tried hard to notice helpful things people did for them. The first week, they wrote thank-you notes to their grandparents and school and Primary teachers.
The second week, Mark wrote to his friends, his coach, and the garbage collector. Caleb wrote to the bishop, the bus driver, the people at his favorite bakery, and the school janitor. Abby wrote to her doctor and the grocery store clerk who gave her a sticker.
One afternoon, Abby stared at her paper. “This is getting hard,” she said. “I don’t know anybody else!”
“It’s fun!” Mark said. “There are so many people to thank.”
The last week, Mark wrote to his dentist and his piano teacher.
Caleb wrote to his coach, a playground teacher who helped him when he got hurt, the librarian, and the road workers fixing holes in the street.
Abby wrote to cousins and to Mom, Dad, Mark, and Caleb.
On November 23, the family wrote thank-you notes to Ellen. Abby looked at the sky. “I said thank you to baby Ellen for helping me so much.”
“How has she helped you?” asked Mom.
“She showed me how many people do nice things,” Abby said.
“This is my favorite Ellen Project so far!” Mark bounced on his toes. “It makes me want to help people more, even if I never get a thank-you note.”

Elder Craig Zwick and I shared a precious moment in Fortaleza, Brazil, where we were privileged to bless a special seven-year-old boy who was dying of leukemia. His names—Jared Ammon—tell you much about his parents and family. Accompanied by a thoughtful mission and stake president, there was scarcely room for the four of us to stand beside the bed in the tiny room where Jared Ammon’s faithful 14-year-old sister held him in her arms. His stomach was so severely swollen. When the stake president lifted the oxygen mask to ask if he would like a blessing, Jared said, “Yes, please.” It was a privilege to bless him and to call him to serve beyond the veil. Tears flowed, for the Spirit was strong. The oxygen mask was then lifted again, and Jared Ammon was asked if there was anything else we could do for him. Jared meekly requested that we sing for him “I Am a Child of God” (Hymns, no. 301). Weepingly, we responded to a submissive Jared Ammon’s last request, and two hours later he was released from this life.

Before emplaning the next day, we went to the viewing at the chapel. His wonderful parents were full of faith, composed, and reverently “willing to submit” (Mosiah 3:19). The sister who held Jared plans to serve a mission later on this side of the veil while Jared serves on the other.

As soon as Rodney left, I felt sick inside. I hadn’t exactly promised to help him and Bryce take Mr. Archuleta’s apricots. I had just said that I knew Mr. Archuleta and wouldn’t be afraid to talk to him. Of course, I knew Rodney and Bryce wanted me to get Mr. Archuleta’s attention away from his trees so that they could slip over his back fence and steal some of his giant orange apricots.
I had been in Cedar Fork only two weeks. The thing that had worried me most about moving here from Logan was leaving my friends and going to a place where no one knew me. School was starting soon, and I’d dreaded going to fourth grade not knowing anyone.
Mom had told me that things would work out, but I wasn’t so sure. I wanted to just go back to Logan. Then Rodney stopped by my second day in Cedar Fork and invited me to play baseball with him and his friend Bryce.
After that, I was with Rodney and Bryce a lot. We played ball at the park, built a clubhouse in Bryce’s backyard, walked to Bond’s Market for ice-cream bars, and rode our bikes out to Juniper Hill, where we hunted for horned toads and lizards. I didn’t worry anymore about going to school, because I would be with them.
Then they decided they wanted some of Mr. Archuleta’s apricots.
“We won’t get caught.” Rodney grinned at me. “We’ve taken stuff out of his orchard and garden before.”
“Yeah,” Bryce joined in. “Last year, before you came, his cherry trees were loaded, and we took all we wanted. He almost caught us a couple of times, but we were too smart for him.”
I thought about the things Mom and Dad had taught me about being honest. “But isn’t that stealing?”
Rodney and Bryce glanced at each other, their smiles drooping a little. Then Rodney shook his head. “We’re just sort of borrowing. He has plenty.”
“Besides,” Bryce added, “lots more than we take fall off the tree, and he has to throw them away. We’re just getting them before they fall and get ruined. We don’t like things to go to waste.” He laughed, and Rodney joined in. I smiled but felt sick inside.
Mr. Archuleta had been one of the first people to come over and welcome us to Cedar Fork. Now I was going to return his friendship by stealing from him.
I watched Rodney and Bryce ride away. They said that they’d be back after lunch to get the apricots. I shuffled uneasily up my front walk and into the kitchen, where Mom was fixing sandwiches.
“Well, Joel, you look like you lost your best friend. What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” I mumbled. There was no way that I could explain to Mom what I was planning to do.
“Well, wash up and sit down. These sandwiches are almost ready.”
Mom tried to get me to talk during lunch, but I just silently nibbled on the corner of my sandwich. “Do you have any chores for me?” I finally asked her hopefully.
She looked across the table at me and raised her eyebrows. Usually I was trying to get out of work. “You cut the grass and raked it yesterday afternoon, didn’t you?”
I nodded.
“And you cleaned your room?”
I nodded again.
“And you took the trash out today.”
“Don’t you have anything else? I’ll do it.”
“You could clear the table and do these few dishes,” Mom said.
“Don’t you have something that will take more time than that?”
Mom laughed. “Are you feeling all right?”
I nodded.
“Why don’t you just enjoy the afternoon today. Aren’t Rodney and Bryce coming over again?”
I looked down at my half-eaten sandwich and nodded.
“Why don’t you play with them, and then if you still want to do a little work, I’ll find something.”
I dragged out to the front lawn, knowing that Rodney and Bryce were going to show up any minute. If I didn’t think of something quick, I’d soon be stealing Mr. Archuleta’s apricots.
I liked Mr. Archuleta. But I liked Rodney and Bryce, too, and wanted to be their friend. Except for sneaking things from Mr. Archuleta, they seemed to be pretty good guys. I didn’t want them getting upset with me. Then I thought of all the times Mom and Dad had talked to me about being honest. I had made up my mind a long time ago that I would never steal, but now. …
I had never felt so miserable in my life. I loved eating juicy orange apricots, but somehow I knew that the plumpest, sweetest apricot off Mr. Archuleta’s tree would taste bitter if it were stolen. I tried to tell myself that I wasn’t actually going to steal the apricots. Bryce and Rodney would do that. I wouldn’t eat any of them, either. I could tell Rodney and Bryce that I didn’t like apricots or that I didn’t feel hungry. But those were just more lies.
Finally I decided to run away from my problem. I’d go to the park and stay all afternoon. That way I wouldn’t have to face Rodney and Bryce, and I wouldn’t have to steal from Mr. Archuleta.
Pushing myself up from the grass, I headed down the walk, wanting to get away before Bryce and Rodney came.
I didn’t get fifty feet, though, before Bryce called to me. “Hey, Joel, where are you headed?”
I stopped and turned. He was jogging down the walk toward me. “Did you think we’d ditched you?”
I gulped and shrugged.
“Rodney’ll be here in just a second. He had to do a couple of chores at home first.” Bryce pulled a plastic bag out of his back pocket and held it up. “I’m all ready. All you’ll have to do is keep Mr. Archuleta busy, and Rodney and I will do the rest.”
I knew I should have said something, but I couldn’t. I just swallowed hard and followed Bryce down the street.
Rodney showed up a few minutes later. We were soon across the street from Mr. Archuleta’s place. He was working in the flower beds along the side of his house. From there he had a perfect view of his apricot trees in the backyard. As long as he was working there, Rodney and Bryce couldn’t slip unseen into his backyard.
“All right, Joel,” Rodney whispered, “you start talking to him. We’ll go around and slip over his back fence. If you keep him talking, he won’t see anything.”
“What am I going to say to him? I mean, how can I keep talking that long?”
Rodney rolled his eyes. “All you have to do is ask him about his flowers and yard. He loves to talk about stuff like that.”
I looked away. Reaching down I picked up a pebble and tossed it into the street.
“You’re not chickening out on us are you?” Bryce accused, suddenly serious.
This was it. My two best friends in Cedar Fork were going to walk away, and I’d be alone again. I didn’t want to lose them, but I just couldn’t steal from Mr. Archuleta!
“I can’t do it,” I rasped, staring across the street at Mr. Archuleta.
“Why not?” Bryce demanded. I could tell he was angry.
“Because it’s stealing.”
“Come on, Rodney, let’s go.”
When I looked up, they were walking down the street. For a moment I wanted to call to them, tell them to come back, that I would go ahead and talk to Mr. Archuleta. But I didn’t. I just watched them disappear into Rodney’s yard.
“Hello, Mr. Archuleta,” I called out as I walked up his driveway and wandered over to where he was working.
He stopped digging in the dirt, turned, and smiled at me. “Why, hello, Joel.” He set his digging fork down, pushed his straw hat back, and wiped his brow with a white handkerchief. “What’s up?”
I shrugged. “I was just passing by and saw you out here working. Do you need some help? I don’t have much else to do.”
“Where are the two buddies you’ve been running around with?”
I took a deep breath. “They had some other things to do. I can give you a hand if you need some help.”
Mr. Archuleta thought for a moment. “There is one thing you could do, Joel. It’s a bit messy, but it’d sure help me out.”
“I’ve been messy before.”
“My apricots are coming on. A bunch of them have fallen on the ground. If I leave them, they just get stepped on or turn rotten and make an even worse mess. If you don’t mind, you could grab that bucket on the back steps and pick up all the fruit that’s dropped on the ground.”
I was glad to help out. As I worked picking up the soft and bruised fruit, I thought how much better I felt doing something kind for Mr. Archuleta instead of stealing from him.
When I’d finished and dumped the last bucketful into the garbage barrel, Mr. Archuleta thanked me and handed me a paper sack. “Now, Joel, do you see that one low branch that’s loaded with apricots? Why don’t you pick yourself a sackful. Those are some of the best apricots I’ve grown. I think you’ll like them.”
“Thanks, Mr. Archuleta! I love apricots.”
A few minutes later I jogged down the street with my freshly picked apricots.
“Hey, what’s in the sack?”
I turned. I was in front of Rodney’s place. He and Bryce were sitting under the willow tree in his front yard.
“Apricots,” I said, smiling and holding up the bulging bag. “Want some?”
“You got some of Mr. Archuleta’s apricots?” Rodney asked, standing up.
I nodded.
“You did it all by yourself?”
I nodded again.
“I told you he wasn’t chicken.” Rodney laughed and slapped me on the shoulder as I opened the sack and let them reach in. They each chomped down hungrily.
“But I didn’t steal them.”
Rodney and Bryce stopped chewing and stared at me.
“He let me pick them. I don’t like stealing things.”
“You just walked into his yard, and he let you pick a whole sackful of his best apricots?” Bryce didn’t believe me.
“I did some work for him, and then he let me pick the apricots.”
Bryce stared at me and took another bite. “They’re good apricots.”
Rodney nodded with his mouth full.
“And they taste better this way,” I said.
“What way?” Rodney wanted to know.
“When they’re not stolen.”
Rodney thought a moment, then nodded. “Do you think Mr. Archuleta would let us work for apricots too?”
“He probably would—we can ask him tomorrow.” I took an apricot for myself.
Bryce grabbed another apricot. “Rodney and I were just headed for the park to play ball. You want to come?”
I nodded, happy that we were still friends—the right kind of friends.

When Wilford Woodruff first met the Prophet in April 1834 at Kirtland, he wrote:
I saw him out in the field with his brother Hyrum: he had on a very old hat. . . . I was introduced to him, and he invited me home with him.
I accepted the invitation, and I watched him pretty closely, to see what I could learn. He remarked, while passing to his house, that this was the first hour he had spent in recreation for a long time.
Shortly after we arrived at his house, he went into an adjoining room, and brought out a wolf-skin, and said, “Brother Woodruff, I want you to help me to tan this.” So I pulled off my coat, went to work and helped him, and felt honoured in so doing. He was about going up with the brethren to redeem Zion, and he wanted this wolf-skin to put upon his waggon seat, as he had no buffalo robe. . . . Well, we tanned it, and used it. . . . This was my first introduction to the Prophet Joseph Smith. . . . I rejoiced to behold his face and to hear his voice. I was fully satisfied that Joseph was a Prophet. [Journal of Discourses, 7:101; also Millennial Star 53 (1891): 627–28]).

Brother Woodruff had reason later on to expand that first impression. After long association with the Prophet, he wrote: “I have felt to rejoice exceedingly in what I saw of brother Joseph, for in his public and private career he carried with him the Spirit of the Almighty, and he manifested a greatness of soul which I had never seen in any other man” (Journal of Discourses, 7:101).

One evening as I was taxiing my plane full of passengers to the runway, I had a feeling that something was wrong with the aircraft steering system. To confirm my spiritual impression, I pulled off the taxiway and did a few 360-degree turns. Nothing seemed out of order.
I wondered, “Should I take off and get the passengers to their destination on time, or should I return to the gate?” I knew returning would create a long delay. Taxiway runs are one way; I would have to wait for ground control to create a space for me to taxi against the traffic flow. Then we would have to wait for the maintenance crew to check out the plane. The delays could cause problems for the airline and for the passengers who had people to meet and connections to make. I also wondered how the maintenance department would react to my report that the plane had a problem when I had nothing to go on except a strong feeling.
As captain of the aircraft, I was responsible for our safety, so I decided to follow my impression and return.
When we arrived at the gate, I told the mechanic that I felt something was wrong with the plane but that I didn’t know what the trouble was. He did not believe there was a problem.
“It was probably just the wet taxiway,” he said. “You may have been slipping on the asphalt.” He agreed, nevertheless, to look at the steering gear on the nose wheel. After checking it, he asked me to off-load the passengers so he could take the plane for a test ride.
When he returned 30 minutes later, he was very concerned. During the test ride, he had heard an intermittent grinding sound. When he applied the brakes as he was turning around to return to the gate, he lost control of the plane and nearly ran off the taxiway.
A close inspection revealed that the brakes had undergone improper maintenance the previous evening. Had I landed the plane after our flight, the brakes would have failed, and I would have lost control of the plane.
I received another aircraft to pilot, and I safely delivered my passengers to their destination three hours late.
I am glad I listened to the whisperings of the Spirit. I know that the Spirit will direct us if we seek the Lord’s guidance and listen to the promptings that come.

The crowd seemed to calm down suddenly and every person stopped talking as if on cue. They focused their attention on the floor because they recognized that same girl—the one they had noticed earlier in the balance beam competition. This time she was swinging in ever higher circles around the uneven parallel bars, but she could have been just turning somersaults and they still would have noticed.
The girl on the floor was Diane Ellingson, a typical-looking gymnast with a tiny frame and a blonde ponytail. But her looks were the only thing typical about her, and the crowd could always sense that.
Maybe they noticed her because of the saucy way she held her pirouettes during her floor routine. It could have been the spectacular twists and turns she executed when she flipped from the uneven parallel bars. It might have been her effortless leaps over the vault, but above all that, it was probably her genuine love for the crowd. They could feel it when she flashed them that one-of-a-kind smile at the end of a perfect routine.
Of course, even when her performance wasn’t quite so perfect there was still something about that infectious smile. Even when she landed in a belly flop on national television after a routine, she smiled and waved to the crowd until they applauded. In a meet on her 18th birthday she told the judges it was her birthday so they would ask the crowd to sing “Happy Birthday” to her. “I wasn’t embarrassed,” says Diane. “I would’ve let them sing it twice just for the attention.”
Her love of the audience was a carryover from childhood. Once when she was nine or ten she didn’t come home from school when she was supposed to, so her father went looking for her. He found her in the center of a circle of children, entertaining them with her tumbling tricks, not for the glory, just for fun.
Diane’s sister Marie laughs at the memory of Diane as a child performer. “If you ever see our family movies, she’s always out in front. She was just always a show-off. Dad would be taking a picture of someone else and Diane would get in the picture somehow.”
That desire to perform fit perfectly into gymnastics, another of Diane’s lifelong loves. It was tough to convince her parents that gymnastics was a good thing for her, and even then she had to do something more.
“Our family had seven kids and couldn’t afford to pay for Diane to have lessons. She went down to the gym herself and told the coach that she’d do anything for them. So after workouts she’d clean the gym—vacuuming mats, cleaning bathrooms, whatever, to pay for her lessons,” says Marie.
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.

I have been upset for so long about how much “cooler” my friends are. I know they’re more in style than I am. But one day I was looking through some old Mormonads and I found “Be Your Own Kind of Beautiful” (July 1986). I thought for a moment then realized I don’t have to be like them to be beautiful or cool. I can be a neat person anyway, in my own special way.
Rebecca Terese WarthenSão Paulo, Brazil

Let’s compare John’s experiences with those of a Latter-day Saint teenager named David.
In open defiance and rebellion against his father, David stole the family car. Succumbing to the excitement of high speed, he failed to negotiate a turn, rolled the car several times, and was critically injured. Fortunately, those who were riding with him received only minor injuries.
The family and ward members fasted and prayed for David’s recovery. He was given a special blessing by his home teachers and was visited often in the hospital. Even the other young men in the accident and their parents visited and expressed hope for his recovery. Although David was left somewhat crippled and scarred, he recovered and everyone thanked the Lord for preserving his life.