Gospel Story Finder

In fact, God will do more than what is best for us. He will do what is best for us and for all of our Heavenly Father’s children. The conviction that the Lord knows more than we do and that he will answer our prayers in the way that is best for us and for all of his other children is a vital ingredient of faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. This important reality is beautifully described in an experience recorded in Elder John H. Groberg’s recent book, In the Eye of the Storm. He describes a lesson he learned as a young missionary traveling on a sailboat in the Tongan islands.
“We would always pray for protection, success, and good seas and wind to take us to our destination. Once I asked the Lord to bless us with a good tail wind so we could get to Foa quickly. As we got under way, one of the older men said, ‘Elder Groberg, you need to modify your prayers a little.’
“‘How’s that?’ I replied.
“‘You asked the Lord for a tail wind to take us rapidly to Foa. If you pray for a tail wind to Foa, what about the people who are trying to come from Foa to Pangai? They are good people, and you are praying against them. Just pray for a good wind, not a tail wind.’
“That taught me something important. Sometimes we pray for things that will benefit us but may hurt others. We may pray for a particular type of weather, or to preserve someone’s life, when that answer to our prayer may hurt someone else. That’s why we must always pray in faith, because we can’t have true, God-given faith in something that is not according to His will. If it’s according to His will, all parties will benefit. I learned to pray for a good wind and the ability to get there safely, not necessarily a tail wind” (Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1993, p. 175).

I have always been a naturally shy person around people I don’t know very well. While I am outgoing and loud around my friends and family, I clam up around others. The summer before my sophomore year, my two best friends moved out of the state.
School started, and it seemed as if Satan knew my weakness and set out to intensify it. I had a group to hang out with at school but didn’t feel included. I figured everyone noticed how often I was alone. I became insecure about my status at school.
One night before bed, I was reading in Ether 12. I love the scriptures, because I so often come across answers to my prayers. That night was no different. I read verse 27: “And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.” I had read this scripture mastery verse before but never had it been such a direct answer to my many prayers.
Tears filled my eyes. I knew that what I felt was my desire to come unto Christ. Suddenly I understood that the Lord had a plan for me. I also realized that the Lord wanted to help me make good friends. If I just had humility and faith, the Lord would help make my weakness a strength. As He said to Moroni in verse 37, “And because thou hast seen thy weakness thou shalt be made strong.”
Lately I have seen how the Lord has kept His promise. I realized that it doesn’t matter where I stand on the high school social ladder, because Heavenly Father loves me for who I am. That is the most humbling thing about it all. He has billions of children, but I know that He loves us individually, for our own unique qualities. How grateful I am for the lesson I learned that night and for all the peace and serenity that comes with knowing God lives, He loves us individually, and He wants to help His children. I love Him with all my heart.

Compared with prices in the 1980s, food and merchandise were very inexpensive. Low prices were a blessing to the Saints, yet there were a significant number who lacked even pennies to purchase their needs. Hundreds fleeing from persecution in Missouri had lost all of their possessions, and many new converts came from backgrounds of poverty. Such people were often touched by the Prophet’s kindness and generosity, as he drew upon the resources of the store in their behalf. For example, Jane Elizabeth Manning, a freeborn black convert from Wilton, Connecticut, came to Nauvoo in the late fall of 1843 with her mother, Eliza, four brothers and sisters, a brother-in-law and sister-in-law, and Jane’s small son, Sylvester. They had walked nearly 800 miles: “We lay in bushes, and in barns and outdoors, and traveled until there was a frost just like a snow, and we had to walk on that frost. … I wanted to go to Brother Joseph.”
When the family arrived in Nauvoo, the Prophet and his wife Emma hosted them in the Mansion House until they could find homes in which to live.
“When I [came to Nauvoo] I only had two things on me, no shoes nor stockings, wore them all out on the road. I had a trunk full of beautiful clothes, which I had sent around by [boat], and I was thinking of having them when I got to Nauvoo, and they stole them at St. Louis, and I did not have a rag of them. … One morning, before [Joseph] came in, I had been up to the landing and found all my clothes were gone. Well, I sat there crying. He came in and looked around. … To Sister Emma, he said, ‘go and clothe her up, go down to the store and clothe her up.’ Sister Emma did.” (“Joseph Smith, the Prophet,” Young Woman’s Journal, December 1905, pp. 551–52).

One of my distant Scandinavian relatives who was thriving financially in Denmark came with his family as converts to the Church to America and his family was directed to settle in Sanpete County. He was quite well-to-do, as I said, and he sold his lands, herds, and flocks for what he could and came without complaint. For a while he did well as far as the Church and his activities were concerned; and amazingly, even without the abundant rainfall and the water and the resources, he began to thrive again. He accumulated wealth again. He became so interested and involved in his possessions that he forgot about the purpose of his coming to America. They waited upon him as ward teachers. The bishop would call upon him and implore him to become active as he used to be, and he would promise them that in the future when he got certain things settled that he would do it. Finally he was growing old, and they came and said to him, “Now, Lars, the Lord was good to you when you were in Denmark. He has been good to you since you have come here. See all of the things that you possess. We think now, since you are growing a little older, that it would be well for you to spend some of your time in the interests of the Church. After all, you can’t take these things with you when you go.”
He stopped. He was shocked, and he said, “Vell, den, I vill not go.” But he did. And so will we. It is time today to begin the program and process of repenting!

Four years ago I spoke in this setting about couples serving full-time missions. My prayer was that “the Holy Ghost [would] touch hearts, and somewhere a spouse … [would] quietly nudge his or her companion, and a moment of truth [—a moment of decision—would] occur.” One sister later wrote me about that experience. She said, “We were sitting in the comfort of our family room enjoying conference on television. … As you spoke, my heart was touched so deeply. I looked over at my husband, and he looked at me. That moment changed my life forever.”

My parents experienced a similar “nevertheless” situation in 1975 when Zion’s Securities, HRI’s predecessor organization, decided to grant long-term leases on property in Laie to senior faculty members to build homes. There were several requirements, one of which was that construction had to begin within the year. My parents had $3,000 in the bank, no credit, no collateral, and no construction experience. Many in the community counseled them not to try to build a home. One seasoned contractor even told my parents that they should give up the lot to someone else who had the money and knowledge to build a home. Faced with valid and daunting reasons why it made no sense to embark on this house building project, they were fortified by a very powerful feeling that building a home would be a great blessing to our family, now and in the future, and not just because of the financial security it would provide.

So despite those valid objections, they shouted “nevertheless” and moved forward. They borrowed enough money from family members to get the walls and roof up and financed the remaining work with a series of home improvement loans. They gratefully accepted the help of over one hundred members of the community who volunteered their time to assist in the construction. Soon, the home was finished, and we celebrated with a large lu‘au.

My mom wrote 100 thank you notes. The April Fool’s Edition of the Ke Alaka‘i jokingly awarded our house the “Carthage Jail Memorial award for the most historically remarkable contribution to community architecture.” After my dad retired from BYU–Hawaii, we purchased the house and now live in the home that faith built. I can testify that our house has been and will continue to be a great blessing to all our family, for within its walls, we found faith, testimony, love, acceptance, and peace.

Kristin Campbell of Salt Lake City had no idea she was preparing herself for a lifetime of service when she decided to take a sign language class for her Laurel project. She just wanted to learn for her own enjoyment. But as she practiced with deaf students she began to feel a change of heart.

“For some deaf people, our hearing world is like a different planet where no one speaks their language,” Kristin says. “Working with them, my heart changed from selfishness to really wanting to be able to communicate with others.”

“When I said hi to a deaf student in the hall through sign language for the first time, he got really excited! He started signing fast!” says Kristin. “The look on Bryan’s face was worth any sacrifice. I could tell it helped his self-esteem to know that a hearing person would care enough to learn how to communicate with him.”

Kristin had previously been afraid of Bryan because he attended special classes and sat with an interpreter at lunch. But once she learned how to communicate with him, they developed a unique friendship.

They talked about classes and school. “It’s really hard to communicate names so I never did get his last name,” said Kristin. “We did have Jesus in common, though.”

Gabe King, 15, of Jeffersonville, Indiana, wasn’t exactly looking for a service project. But when he found out about his neighbor’s misfortune, he couldn’t help but act.

While working in his orchard, the neighbor fell out of a tree. He was hurt badly enough that picking the apples himself was impossible. If the apples weren’t picked, he wouldn’t be able to make a living. Gabe organized a group of about ten young women and men to join him in an apple-picking party. They chose a cool day in October and picked all day long to bring in the man’s crop.

“He was very grateful and really happy,” Gabe explains. “He would have lost a lot of money had we not picked his apples. It was a great feeling to know how much it meant to him.”

If you saw Deborah Freeman of Silver Spring, Maryland, your first reaction might be to try to help her. Deborah is orthopedically disabled, and her mobility is limited to a motorized cart. But with a little help, Deborah joins right in to serve others.

For a youth conference service project, Deborah’s stake picked strawberries on the Church-owned Johnson Farm near Kirtland, Ohio. As everyone disappeared into the fields for the all-day project, Deborah was right there with everyone until dirt paths grew too rough and her cart began to stick in the mud.

Fortunately, Ben Tibbets, a high school senior, and Aaron Hill, the youth chairman of the conference, saw the problem and immediately began figuring out ways they could help.

“We surprised her by pushing and lifting her motorized cart through the rough spots so she could help too,” says Ben.

“They put the bucket in my basket and threw the strawberries in it,” says Deborah. “They kept joking around. It was fun!”

Deborah wasn’t the only happy one either. “Service is one of the most fun things we have to do,” says Aaron. “It’s something you can actually do to show love for others and a love for Christ.”

Nathan Skene of Salt Lake City didn’t always know how happy service could make him. The summer after graduation from high school, Nathan really didn’t want to go to youth conference. He would be the oldest there. All his friends were gone, and it didn’t look like it was going to be that much fun. But he went anyway.

The theme for the youth conference was MASH—Modern Army Serving Heaven. His “platoon” was chosen to spend time with a group of mentally handicapped students. The students chose a partner; then each pair took a walk together.

“Terry chose me,” Nathan explains. “Being close to him and seeing what kind of spirit he had opened my eyes to how much I love people and how much I enjoy serving others.”

Nathan’s bad attitude dissolved. And now he sees things a little differently. “My most important goal is to gain a Christlike love for everyone,” he says.

So even though there are hungry children in the world today and homeless people on the streets, don’t get discouraged about helping. Just decide what you can do—and then act. You can make a difference. And even better than that, “when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God” (Mosiah 2:17).

When 14-year-old Ken Welty of Centerville, Utah, learned that people in Africa needed food desperately, he decided to raise money for seeds to send to Africa.

First, Ken handed out fliers explaining what he was doing and which seeds needed to be purchased. After checking with seed companies about growing requirements, Ken assembled and sent seed packets for tomatoes, cucumbers, green beans, corn, and other foods to contacts in Mali and Botswana.

The project was a real eye-opener for Ken. “My mom and dad have jobs, and they bring home the food for us to eat,” Ken explains. “It was weird to think that there are people over in Africa who are a lot older than me, but because of my service project I am helping them feed themselves.”

For some kids one night a week of Mutual is enough, but not for Claudine Miller of Sandy, Utah. Besides going to her own Mutual night on Wednesday, Claudine also volunteered to help with her region’s handicapped Mutual every Thursday night.

One of Claudine’s most memorable times with the girls was on “Cinderella Night,” she says. The Mutual girls dressed up in fancy dresses and learned how to put on makeup and fingernail polish. “It really helped them feel pretty,” says Claudine.

Another great experience came when Claudine helped the handicapped Mutual do baptisms for the dead in the Jordan River Temple. “It was really neat,” she said. “The Spirit was so strong!”

Her service project ended up lasting two years, but the time flew by for Claudine. “It made my testimony grow so much to feel their spirit and hear them say thank you and express their love for me,” she says. “When I serve I feel like I’m doing it for Christ, and it makes me feel really good.”

Shannon Welty of Centerville, Utah, is saving the lives of African children—with puppets.

“When little children get sick with diarrhea and vomiting, the parents don’t know it’s dangerous to restrict water,” Shannon explains. “Because their children are discharging liquid they think they have had too much moisture, so they stop giving them food and water. The children end up dying from dehydration.”

Instead of waiting for some international committee to help, Shannon organized a service project to teach African villagers how to treat sick children. She persuaded people in her hometown to donate materials, enlisted elementary school students as volunteers, and spent many hours preparing 13 puppet kits.

The puppets will be used to tell a story about a little boy who is sick with dehydration and how to treat him. Contacts in Mali, Botswana, Zimbabwe, and Burkina Faso will receive and translate the kits.

“I couldn’t have imagined I’d be saving lives by making puppets,” Shannon says. “People were asking how I felt saving someone’s life and that’s when it hit me. Service is really Christlike because he saved everyone.”

Ten-year-old David took a piece of bread from the sacrament tray and placed it in his mouth. He nudged the white-haired gentleman next to him and whispered, “Brother Graham, the bread is here.”
Brother Graham raised his head, opened his eyes, and smiled warmly at David as he took the sacrament. Then he passed the tray on, bowed his head, and closed his eyes again.
David tried to keep his mind on some of his favorite stories about Jesus as the bread and water were passed. But he couldn’t help wondering why Brother Graham always fell asleep during the sacrament, when he seemed wide awake during all the rest of the meeting. I guess being old is like that, he thought. You can fall asleep anywhere at anytime. That’s how Grandpa Owen is, but he’s a lot older than Brother Graham.
The last time he’d seen Grandpa Owen, he was sitting in a reclining chair with his feet propped up. Even though it was June, he’d had a fire in the wood stove and a blanket across his legs. While the family visited with each other, Grandpa dozed off. When he woke up, you could tell that he’d been sleeping because his eyes looked like he was trying to focus them.
When the water was passed, David decided to pay close attention to Brother Graham’s eyes when he opened them. They were clear and alert as he opened them to take the sacrament. And he smiled so warmly at David that he was sure that the older man hadn’t just woke up. Then what is he doing? David wondered.
When his family had moved to Smithfield the previous July, David had felt sad. Before, for years he had stopped by Grandpa’s every day after school. He’d spent a lot of his summers taking walks with Grandpa around the neighborhood, listening to him tell about how things were in the “olden days.”
When Grandpa couldn’t walk anymore, David had pushed his wheelchair. When even that became too tiring for Grandpa, David read to him. But since his Dad had been transferred and they’d had to move, David couldn’t do any of that anymore. He just swung idly in the hammock in the backyard.
“You look like a strong boy,” a deep voice had called out to him one afternoon through a knothole in the back fence. “Do you want a job mowing my lawn?”
“Who, me?” David sat up, startled. “Yes, I guess so.”
“Be at my front door in five minutes if you want the job.”
“Mom,” he yelled as he ran in the kitchen door, “I have a job!”
“Great! Doing what?”
“Mowing the lawn next door! But I have to be at his front door in five minutes if I want the job. Probably three minutes by now. Is it OK?”
“All right. But if you take the job, do the best work you can.”
David was out of breath when he rang the doorbell. “I’m Brother Graham,” the man who answered the door told him. “What’s your name, young fellow?”
“David Andersen,” he replied, taking the out-stretched hand.
“I’m glad to meet you, David. I’ve met your parents at church and have been meaning to get over to your house to meet you for several weeks now, but I’ve been in bed with a summer cold. Meanwhile my yard has grown shabby. I’m mighty glad to have someone take over the mowing for me. The pay’s modest, but I’ll try to be good company for you. Is five dollars enough?”
“That’s great!” David answered.
“Let’s go out back, and I’ll show you the shed where the lawn mower is so that you can get started.”
“Shall I start now?” David asked.
“Go ahead. I’ll sit over there on that bench under the tree and watch, if you don’t mind.”
David pulled out the mower, checked its fuel tank, and started it up. He mowed around the edge of the entire backyard. It made a neat rectangle. Then he moved the mower inside the first rectangle and made a smaller rectangle inside, making sure that the mower blade overlapped the first swath so that none of the grass would be missed. Just the way Grandpa Owen taught me, he thought.
“I can tell you’ve mowed lawns before,” Brother Graham praised him when he finished the backyard. “I think you’ll do just fine. When you finish the front yard, let me know and I’ll give you your pay.”
When David finished mowing, he surveyed his work. It looked great, except for the edges. He remembered what his mother had said: “If you take the job, do the best work you can.” When he took the mower back to the shed, he looked around for a trimmer. All he saw were hand clippers hanging on the wall. Thinking, It will go faster if I use our trimmer, he ran home and poked his head inside the kitchen door. “Mom, is it OK if I use our trimmer on Brother Graham’s yard? He doesn’t have one.”
“That’s fine,” she called from the laundry room.
He grabbed the trimmer and the long extension cord from its hook in the garage and headed back next door. Brother Graham was sitting under the tree, sipping lemonade. There was a second glassful on the table, and five silver dollars.
“I thought you’d be thirsty,” Brother Graham said, nodding towards the glass.
“I am,” David said. “But I want to trim the edges first. Do you have someplace where I can plug in this extension cord?”
“There’s an outlet next to the back door, and another one by the front door. I’ll go find another dollar for you. I didn’t realize I was going to get such fine service.”
David shook his head, “The trimming is on the house.”
After he finished the trimming, he and Brother Graham visited while they sipped their lemonade. Brother Graham reminded David of Grandpa Owen. David was happy when Brother Graham asked him to mow the lawn every Thursday—and to visit any time!
The next Sunday he invited Brother Graham to sit with his family. After that it became a tradition. Every week Brother Graham sat next to David, and every week, David had to nudge him before he took the sacrament bread and water.
It was Thursday, lawn-mowing day, before David next went to Brother Graham’s. His family had taken a few days to visit Grandpa Owen. When they’d arrived, he hadn’t recognized any of them. David thought, almost angrily, Why doesn’t Grandpa know me?
Brother Graham noticed David’s quiet mood when he came to collect his pay after mowing and trimming the lawn. Motioning for David to sit on the sofa, he handed the boy a cold glass of lemonade, then sat down himself.
Pictures of several families hung on the wall. On top of the piano was a picture of a young woman. It was an old-fashioned picture, so David guessed that it must be Sister Graham.
“That’s my wife, Martha,” Brother Graham said. Pointing to each of the family pictures, he named his children and grandchildren. “That’s my family, David. The older I get, the more I realize that all that matters in this life is a man’s family and the other people he grows to love—like his neighbors!” He winked at David.
David smiled.
“So there is a smile behind that sober face today, after all. Is something troubling you, Davy, my boy?”
Tears welled up unbidden in David’s eyes. “That’s what Grandpa Owen calls me. At least, that’s what he used to call me.” He told Brother Graham all about his grandpa and about how he didn’t even recognize David any more. “It just isn’t fair!”
Brother Graham sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. His lips were drawn tight. “I know what you mean, David,” he said after a few moments. Opening his eyes, he leaned toward David. “Martha didn’t know me, either, just before she died. It hurt a lot. Then one day I read a story in the New Testament that changed how I felt about it.
“You see, just after Jesus was crucified, two of His disciples were walking down a road, talking, and a stranger joined them. He asked them why they were so sad. They told him about Jesus and how He had been crucified. They told him how discouraged they were. They had believed that Jesus would free Israel from the Romans. They couldn’t believe that He had let Himself be crucified. They told the stranger that some of the women who were friends of Jesus had gone to His tomb and found it empty. They didn’t know what it meant.
“Then the stranger taught them from the scriptures why it was necessary for Jesus to suffer the things He had, and about the Resurrection.
“By then, they had reached their destination, and they asked the stranger to stay and eat with them. Then, when the stranger took bread and broke it and blessed it and gave it to them, they gasped in astonishment. The stranger was no stranger at all—it was Jesus! How could He have walked with them so long without their recognizing him? they asked each other. ‘Did not our heart burn within us … while he opened to us the scriptures?’*
“Then Martha’s not knowing me didn’t seem so hard. I just became even more thankful that because of our Savior and His Atonement and Resurrection, someday Martha and I will be together again. Her mind will be clear again, and just as the two disciples of Jesus Christ once again recognized, or “knew” Him, she will know me then—probably better than she ever did in this life. Your grandpa will know you, too, David. It will be one of the sweetest reunions in heaven, I’m sure.”
David wiped the tears from his eyes. He knew what the disciples meant when they said their hearts burned. “Thank you, Brother Graham. That helps me a lot.”
After a few minutes of silence David asked, “Brother Graham, may I ask you something?”
“Go ahead, David. Ask me anything.”
“It’s about church. Why do you always close your eyes while they pass the sacrament? At first I thought you were asleep. But I soon figured out that you weren’t.”
“I’m thinking about that story I told you, about the disciples of Jesus not knowing who He was. I try to remember what I’ve done during the week that would make it hard for me to recognize Him. Then I ask for forgiveness for the mistakes I’ve made and for help to do better in the coming week. I really want to know the Savior the first time I see Him face-to-face, David. I believe that He gave us the sacrament to help prepare us for that day.”
“That’s what I’ll think about, too, from now on—and that someday Grandpa Owen will know me again.”
Mr. Graham smiled. “I’m sure that he will.”

Illustrations by Ben Simonsen
Wally wanted to sit still in sacrament meeting. He did. Really. But it was hard.
He wiggled.
He squirmed.
He bounced.
Mommy put her hand on Wally’s shoulder. “This is Heavenly Father’s house,” she whispered. “We need to be reverent.”
Wally sat still. For a minute. Then he wiggled again. How could he beat the wiggles?
Wally looked at Robby. Robby was his little brother. Robby was two years old.
Robby had the wiggles too. When you are two, the wiggles are even worse.
Wally whispered, “Robby, let’s look at your book.” It was a picture book. It was about Jesus.
Wally opened the book. Robby saw a picture of Jesus. Robby smiled.
“Jesus,” Robby said.
Wally nodded. “Let’s think about Jesus,” he whispered.
Robby was quiet. And Wally’s wiggles went away.

My family went on a sailing trip and didn’t see land for over three weeks. After the first two weeks, we were hit by a crazy storm. Our sails broke in the wind, and waves crashed onto the deck, completely submerging the front of the boat. On top of all that, we were almost out of drinking water—so if we survived the storm, we still had that to worry about.
My family crammed down into the only dry part of the boat and prayed for almost an hour. I didn’t know if we’d survive the night, but I knew that, no matter what, I would be with my family because we were sealed together.
When we finished the prayer, we saw that the wind had settled down and the waves had stopped. Soon after, it started pouring rain, which is extremely rare in that part of the ocean. We used a tarp to fill our tanks and miraculously got enough water to finish the trip.
That experience showed me how powerful prayer can be and how much Heavenly Father cares about us. When I think back on that storm, I know the gospel is true and real.

It happens to everyone: You hurry to an appointment and find yourself waiting, with time to spare. The Mia Maids of the American Fork 15th Ward, American Fork North Stake [Utah], decided to make that time productive. While they’re waiting, they tie quilts.
Every month they have a personal progress interview with their adviser, and before and after their interviews, they tie light-weight quilts on a frame set up in the adviser’s living room. Ward members donate the materials. When the quilts are finished, they are given to the residents of a local rest home. Actually delivering the quilts is the best part, according to the girls. The residents are very appreciative—so much so, in fact, that the girls have decided to continue the project indefinitely.

President Russell M. Nelson embodies all of these qualities. He is a man who always has time for others. He is meek and kind. Recently I was invited to join with the First Presidency and one of the apostles, along with one or two others, to meet with the ambassador from Rwanda. Mistakenly, the meeting appeared on my calendar for Friday, but when I arrived, I found that it should have been Thursday. I had not read the invitation correctly and missed the meeting. I felt absolutely sick in the stomach for disappointing our prophet, and I wondered how I could possibly face him. My feeble attempt to apologize was met with absolute kindness. He responded to my apology by indicating that I shouldn’t worry about missing the meeting. He said he completely understood how such a mistake could happen.

Several weeks after we broke up, I returned to school late one spring afternoon. I searched through the mess in my locker and soon found what I was looking for. The little black paperback was slightly dog-eared but still readable. Maybe it would answer some of my questions. I glanced around to make sure no one saw me carrying an LDS book, tucked it inside my jacket, and went home.
When I got home I hurried upstairs with my secret bundle and hid it in my desk drawer. I knew my parents wouldn’t approve of me reading Mormon “propaganda.”
Two weeks passed before I had a chance to be alone with the book. When I had the opportunity, I took the book out of my desk, stretched out on my bed, and started to read.
I opened the book, A Marvelous Work and a Wonder, and skimmed its pages. A section about the Joseph Smith story caught my eye, so I read it carefully. As I read the story of Joseph Smith’s vision, I knew that it was true. I also knew that if his story was true, then the church he founded must also be true.
A little later I agreed to take the missionary discussions, and I rapidly gained a testimony of the principles of the gospel. After the discussions, I knew that I should join the Church, and after much fasting, praying, and soul searching, I was baptized. Liz was there. She cried.
A little more than a year after I was baptized, Liz and I again visited the temple, this time to be married for time and all eternity. That was 13 years ago. Today, and every day, as I watch our family blossom and grow, I’m grateful for the strong testimony of that cute little Mormon girl. I’m thankful that she was courageous enough to refuse to compromise on an issue that meant eternal happiness for her, and eventually, for me too.

While serving as mission president, I had the pleasure of meeting personally with each of our young missionaries every six weeks. During the one-on-one meeting, it was common for missionaries to seek guidance on how to improve the effectiveness of their companionships.

On one occasion, a missionary came into his personal interview and sat down. I could tell from his body language that something was weighing heavily on his mind. I asked, “Elder, what would you like to discuss today?” He went on to describe some of the challenges he was having with his companion and how it was affecting their ability to do missionary work. With tears in his eyes, he looked at me and asked, “President, what should I do?”

In that instance, I honestly didn’t know how to respond. After a brief moment, I asked him if it was OK for us to kneel together in prayer for guidance from the Spirit. He agreed, and we knelt together and prayed for inspiration.

After the prayer, we continued kneeling for a short time and then sat in our chairs facing each other. I asked if we could read a scripture together. As we opened our scriptures, I paused and told him, “Elder, as we read this scripture, please ask yourself the following question: If I live these attributes, will it improve my companionship and our missionary work?”

Then we opened Moroni 7:45 and read out loud: “And charity suffereth long, and is kind, and envieth not, and is not puffed up, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil, and rejoiceth not in iniquity but rejoiceth in the truth, beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.”

The elder then looked at me with tears in his eyes and said, “Yes, President, but that is hard to do.” I agreed and reminded him that he is a son of God with divine potential to do it together with the Lord.

Then we briefly discussed the parable of the slope taught by Elder Clark G. Gilbert of the Seventy, which reminded us that we need to start where we are and, together with the Lord, move forward and upward in a positive direction. I could tell that he was still feeling a bit overwhelmed with the next steps, so I asked him to describe his understanding of the scripture “by small and simple things are great things brought to pass.” He went on to describe the concept that by doing small and simple things, great things can happen. I asked him to take a minute and identify two small and simple things he could do to be kind to his companion.

After a few moments, he shared his thoughts. Then I asked him to take a minute and identify two small and simple things he could do to be patient with his companion. He almost immediately shared his two thoughts. It was clear that he had already been pondering this before our meeting. I invited him to take those few items to God in prayer and to ask for confirmation, direction, and inspiration on how to execute his plan with real intent. He agreed. As we concluded, I asked him to provide a brief update in his weekly letter.

As the next few weeks went by, I could see in his weekly letters that things were improving. Not only could I see that improvement in his weekly letters, but I could also see it in the weekly letters of his companion. During our next in-person interview, I saw a night-and-day difference in his countenance and spirit. I asked him, “So, Elder, is it true that ‘charity never faileth?’” He responded with a big smile, “Yes, and by small and simple things are great things brought to pass.”

A few weeks ago, I was visiting with an elder in the mission field. During our interview, I inquired, “Is your father a member of the Church?”
He said, “No.”
“Is your mother a member of the Church?” he was asked.
He responded with a smile, “Just barely.”
I said, “Did your father want you to go on a mission?”
He answered, “No.”
“Did your mother want you to go on a mission?”
“She really didn’t care whether I went or not.”
“Who influenced you most in your decision to go?”
Without hesitation he said, “I did. I’ve always wanted to go, and I knew I could make a success of it.”
I looked into this young man’s eyes and said, “From what I hear and what I feel of your spirit, you will succeed.” He is a determined individual, one who months ago might have said, “My dad doesn’t care. My mother doesn’t care. Why should I care?” This wonderful missionary knows the importance of going forward and has the courage to continue in the paths that lead to happiness. He admitted to me that he once was lost, but now he definitely knows where he is going and how to get there.

The crowd seemed to calm down suddenly as they focused their attention on the gymnastic arena. Everyone seemed to be watching the same girl—the one who had attracted their attention earlier in the balance beam competition. This time she was swinging on the uneven parallel bars.
The girl was Diane Ellingson, a typical-looking fifteen-year-old gymnast with a slim body, her hair in a blonde ponytail. But the crowd seemed to sense that there was more to her than her good looks.
Maybe they noticed her because of the confident way she performed 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 winning 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 smile. Even when she slipped and landed flat on her face at the end of a routine while being filmed on national television, she smiled and waved to the crowd until they applauded. In a competition on her eighteenth 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.”
Even as a child, Diane loved to have an audience. Once when she was nine or ten years old 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 just for fun.
Diane’s sister Marie laughs at the memory of Diane as a child performer. “If you ever see our family photographs, she’s always out in front. She was just always a show-off. Dad would be photographing someone else and Diane would get in the picture somehow.”
The desire to perform fit perfectly into gymnastics, another of Diane’s lifelong loves. It was hard 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 children and couldn’t afford to pay for Diane to have lessons. She went down to the gymnasium herself and told the coach that she’d do anything for them. So after practice sessions she’d clean the gymnasium—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 fourteen and a half years old, 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 victory.
After she was no longer eligible for college competition, she decided to go on a national professional tour. Diane 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 up and over the vault—just like all the other times. But this time was different. This time she turned her body just a little too far. This time when she landed, she broke her neck. The accident put her in the hospital for almost six months 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 imagine her 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 centimeters 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. 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 restless. I was really impatient with people.” Finally Diane came to a turning point.
“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 priesthood 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 serious 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 taught me to get back up so I could be a champion again.”
On the day she finally realized she would never walk again, Diane made the decision to return to school to work for her degree. She was lying on her bed with all her 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 Diane teaches a class full of seven-year-olds 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 intently 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. Just listen to her speak and you’ll hear 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 own laughter frequently interrupts her stories.
“I think telling my gymnastics stories and sharing my experiences opens up the communication between us. They soon forget that I’m in a wheelchair. When they do that, the youth can see that I’m just a regular person and we have a lot in common, even though, in a wheelchair, 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 entire time she was a gymnast, whether she was swinging high above the uneven parallel bars of just doing handstands for fun, her only fear was of being blind or paralyzed. “I had such uneasy feelings about wheelchairs that I would never talk to anybody in a wheelchair or go near a wheelchair. I would avoid people in wheelchairs. I was afraid that I’d end up in a wheelchair if I got too close to one. It was almost like having thought about it so much somehow prepared me for a wheelchair,” she says.
It was probably Diane’s unconquerable spirit that prepared her more than anything else. It’s a spirit that is evident 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 are turned down in the room as she finishes her message, and a slide show featuring Diane, the fun-lover and gymnast, lashes on the screen in time to some fast, contemporary music. When the presentation is over, young people surround her excitedly.
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 drop out of school. The third time, she made a goal to become one of the best students in her class, and the last time she was on her way to that goal.”
Diane just shrugs her shoulders 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 handle the situation,’ and the thing I have to say is, ‘Either you handle the situation 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 was born in Australia and lived in the community of Byron Bay, located on the eastern seacoast. I remember the great ships that used to sail up the coast of Australia. Very often they would come into port at Byron Bay. During storms, though, the ships would have to sail out to sea again to avoid getting smashed against the rocky beaches or wooden piers.
When I was about seven or eight years old, I had an experience that had a tremendous impact on me. My father came rushing into the house very late one night. Outside, there was a blinding rainstorm, and a very large ship was struggling to get out to the open sea. Its crew members had been celebrating in town and had delayed returning to the ship to prepare it properly for sailing. As a result, it didn’t have enough steam to sail out of port and away from danger.
My parents bundled my brother, sister, and me up in our oilskin coats, and we went down to the harbor to watch the crew frantically trying to sail to safety. The sea was rough. The waves were high. Hundreds of townspeople awakened from their sleep and gathered on the shore to watch and pray that the ship would get away.
I remember that there were many lights on the ship as it tossed on the waves. We knew that dozens of crew members were in the hold, shoveling coal into the engine’s furnaces, trying to get up enough steam to sail to safety. It was an awesome and frightening sight to a little boy.
Suddenly a cheer burst from the crowd. The ship was clear of the pier, and we watched as her bow turned seaward. It looked as though she would make it to the open sea. She went for a short distance. Then, because she didn’t have sufficient steam, she lost the struggle. The waves beat too heavily against her, and that great ship swung around, raced straight up onto the beach, and crashed against the rocks. She never sailed again.
I’ve never forgotten that night. It’s as vivid in my memory today as it was when it happened so many years ago. I believe that I am a General Authority today because of the lesson I learned that night—to prepare myself so that I can head in the proper direction with sufficient strength.
When storms come and waves beat against us, we’ll be dashed against the rocks if we don’t have sufficient faith in the Lord, in the gospel, and in our own abilities. We need to learn the gospel and to learn to love the Lord. Then we will have all the steam we need, and we will know the right course to sail in this life.

When I was in fifth grade, I wasn’t what you would call “popular.” I was just known as a smart kid. I had a talent for cartooning, so one day I started drawing pictures of kids at school. I showed some people my drawings, and I was instantly popular. This was a dream come true! I couldn’t wait until lunch to draw more pictures. Then I remembered that I had promised to watch over the younger children on the playground during lunch break. But I still wanted to hang out with my new cool friends. What could I do? I prayed to Heavenly Father to ask. The answer didn’t come until lunchtime. I was eating and was about to choose to stay with my friends when I had a feeling that I should go do my job. I knew that the Holy Ghost had given me my answer. I watched over the children and knew in my heart that I had made the right choice.

Now was the time. My companion and I felt it, and we knew what we had to do. I looked at our friends and spoke with all the faith I had. “We have talked for a few weeks now about the gospel of Jesus Christ,” I said, “and now we want to know if you will be baptized?” The silence hung there for a moment. We had all felt the Spirit that night.
She looked at us, this charming mother and her only child, her 30-year-old daughter. “Yes,” she said, “I suppose I know that I must.” Her daughter nodded her assent as well. We had the commitment. The plans were made. We had a little over two weeks to set up everything. And that was the biggest problem.
Oh, we could baptize, all right. The Hungarian government allowed us that now—not like back in January, when it became angry about our trying to use a hotel swimming pool. No, we had permission to baptize now. We had permission to preach openly and to wear our name tags. The only thing we lacked now was a font. And a place to put it.
We still had no meetinghouse in Hungary. Our tiny branch of about ten members from Budapest, a city of two and a half million people, met every Sunday in the bedroom of our small apartment overlooking the Danube River and the Communist Party building. It was cozy. But when we began sitting on overturned trash cans because we lacked seats, we knew it was time to find a real church house with a baptismal font.
Our mission president continually told us to work toward our goals with faith, and the Lord wouldn’t let us down. It had worked before. This time, though, we had no idea how the Lord could help us reach our goal of baptizing this mother and daughter. As the weather began to turn colder, the outdoor pool we had used before was covered and drained. The hotel pool we had tried to use back in January was off limits, and the Danube was flowing dangerously fast—too fast for the mother, now 60 years old. Time was short, and we were out of ideas.
My companion and I did the only thing we could think of. We prayed, and we prayed hard. But as the baptismal date approached, no solution was in sight.
Two weeks before they were to be baptized, the Lord sent his first miracle. The Church bought a large house in the hills of Buda, large enough for church meetings. Now we had the building, but we still had no font.
Talking with the mother and her daughter was like seeing the glow of a newborn child—we felt renewed in spirit with every visit. We knew they had a deep love for, and faith in, Jesus Christ. We told them of our problem finding a font. They replied that they knew the Lord would provide a way for them to be baptized on the day we had set. “We Hungarians keep our commitments,” said the daughter. “God will keep his.”
Two days before the baptism, we received a call from our mission president. “Good morning, elders,” he said.
“It isn’t a very good morning here, president,” I replied. I was beginning to think the Lord had let us down.
“I cannot agree with you,” he said. “I know it is a wonderful morning. I am coming to see you. And I am bringing your font.”
It was true. When the president arrived, in the back of his car was a portable font, found in a basement somewhere in Germany and rushed to Budapest. It took two days to transport it, two hours to set it up, and 15 hours to fill it with water. But it was a font.
Our friends were elated, but not surprised. “We had faith,” the mother said.
The water in the font was very cold and was colored a light rose from the rust in the house’s aging pipes. No one seemed to notice. We had no electricity in the building yet, so we lit candles. Our hymns were played on a cassette player using batteries, which eventually grew weak and stopped working. So we sang “Praise God from Whom All Blessings Flow” and “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God,” hymns we all knew. Some sang in Hungarian; we sang in English. It all sounded like one tongue to me.
After the baptism, we confirmed them members of the Church and blessed them with the gift of the Holy Ghost. They sat on a rickety chair with a white sheet draped over it. The rest of us sat on the stairs. It was a moment none of us will ever forget.
That night the Lord proved to us again that any seed can grow in any soil when it is watered by faith and receives his light.

I’ll never forget one high school football game against a rival school. I played the wingback position, and my assignment was to either block the linebacker or try to get open so the quarterback could throw me the ball. The reason I remember this particular game so well is because the fellow on the other side of the line—the man I was supposed to block—was a giant.

I wasn’t exactly the tallest athlete in the world. But I think this other guy may have been. I remember looking up at him, thinking he probably weighed as much as two of me. Keep in mind, when I played we didn’t have the protective gear that players have today. My helmet was made of leather, and it didn’t have a face guard.

The more I thought about it, the more I came to a sobering realization: if I ever let him catch me, I could be cheering for my team the rest of the season from a hospital bed.

Lucky for me, I was fast. And for the better part of the first half, I managed to avoid him.

Except for one play.

Our quarterback dropped back to pass. I was open. He threw the ball, and it sailed toward me.

The only problem was that I could hear a lumbering gallop behind me. In a moment of clarity, I thought that if I caught the ball there was a distinct possibility I could be eating my meals through a tube. But the ball was heading for me, and my team was depending on me. So I reached out, and—at the last instant—I looked up.

And there he was.

I remember the ball hitting my hands. I remember struggling to hang on to it. I remember the sound of the ball falling to the turf. After that, I’m not exactly sure what happened, because the giant hit me so hard I wasn’t sure what planet I was on. One thing I did remember was a deep voice coming from behind a dark haze: “Serves you right for being on the wrong team.”

William McKinley Oswald was my high school football coach. He was a great coach and had a profound influence on my life. But I think he could have learned his method of motivating players from an army drill sergeant.

That day, during his halftime speech, Coach Oswald reminded the whole team about the pass I had dropped. Then he pointed right at me and said, “How could you do that?”

He wasn’t speaking with his inside voice.

“I want to know what made you drop that pass.”

I stammered for a moment and then finally decided to tell the truth. “I took my eye off the ball,” I said.

The coach looked at me and said, “That’s right; you took your eye off the ball. Don’t ever do that again. That kind of mistake loses ball games.”

I respected Coach Oswald, and in spite of how terrible I felt, I made up my mind to do what Coach said. I vowed to never take my eye off the ball again, even if it meant getting pounded to Mongolia by the giant on the other side of the line.

We headed back onto the field and started the second half. It was a close game, and even though my team had played well, we were behind by four points late in the fourth quarter.

The quarterback called my number on the next play. I went out again, and again I was open. The ball headed toward me. But this time, the giant was in front of me and in perfect position to intercept the pass.

He reached up, but the ball sailed through his hands. I jumped high, never taking my eye off the ball, stabbed at it, and pulled it down for the game-winning touchdown.

I don’t remember much about the celebration after, but I do remember the look on Coach Oswald’s face.

“Way to keep your eye on the ball,” he said.

I think I smiled for a week.