Gospel Story Finder

At the heart of their celebrating, however, is the remembrance of Jesus Christ, and Finnish members use the season, like mission president Mel Luthy and his family, to live even more fully His teachings. On Christmas Eve in Finland, families often visit the graves of loved ones and leave lighted candles in the snow. An elderly sister, a widow, wished to travel from Helsinki to Porvoo so that she could visit her husband’s grave. She had, however, no means of transportation. The Luthys volunteered to share their holiday with her by driving her to the distant cemetery. It turned out to be a magical night—candles glowed and light danced. All was calm. All was bright.
Christmas had come to Finland!

Diego trudged up the hill on his way home from school. Recess was usually the best part of the day. But all week it had been terrible! No one wanted to play football with him, so he just walked around the playground by himself until the bell rang.
“Mom, I’m home!” Diego yelled as he slid through the door and sat down in the kitchen.
“How was school?” Mom asked.
“Not so good.” Diego grabbed an apple. “No one wanted to play with me at recess.” He could feel tears coming, so he squeezed his eyes shut.
“It’s hard feeling lonely or left out,” Mom said. She put her hand on Diego’s shoulder. “Maybe you could say a prayer for help.”
Diego rubbed his eyes. “Thanks, Mom,” he said and ran to his room. Did Heavenly Father really care whether he had friends to play with at recess? Diego knelt down and prayed that he could find a friend. When he finished, he felt a little better, but he still had no idea what to do.
After school the next day, the doorbell rang. Diego ran to answer the door. There was a new boy in the neighborhood standing there. Diego had seen him on the playground today.
“Hi, I’m Ruben,” he said. “Do you want to play at my house?”
Diego grinned. A friend to play with? It was an answer to his prayer!
They walked over to Ruben’s house and sat down on the couch. Ruben’s older brother was playing a video game. Diego didn’t know what to think at first. The game was really violent and had gross pictures, but Ruben and his brother seemed to like it. “Get him!” Ruben shouted as they watched.
Diego felt his stomach squirm, and he stared down at his feet. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be watching video games like this one.
But what could he do?
He didn’t want his new friend to think he was too boring to play exciting video games. Would Ruben think he was weird if he spoke up?
He looked around the room and tried to think of other things they could do.
Diego took a deep breath. “Hey, umm … can you show me the rest of your house? Or maybe we can play upstairs?” he said.
Ruben looked at Diego for a second. Diego bit his lip. Would Ruben say he didn’t want to play anymore?
Then Ruben’s eyes lit up. “Wait, do you like cars? I have the fastest cars. Want to race them?”
Diego smiled and nodded. He followed Ruben upstairs. The heavy feeling lifted—he felt like he was floating up the stairs! He was glad he had a new friend, and he was glad he hadn’t watched something bad.
“The red car is mine,” Ruben said, “but you can use the blue one or the green one. Which one do you want?”
Diego reached for the green car—his favorite color. This was an easy choice to make.

Many of these experiences would not have been as powerful had it not been for the background and history of the people and places provided by our guides, Yosie and Dov. They stayed with us wherever we went, and after three weeks our impact on them seemed to be equally as important. Yosie said, “When you sing, I am at peace.”

Dov became our translator in concerts, and at first, he only repeated what Dr. Woodward said. However, by the end of our tour, he was taking almost 20 minutes telling our audiences about the Mormons. He explained that we don’t drink coffee, tea, or alcohol. He talked about Joseph Smith and the gospel. He was bearing testimony without knowing it! His last words to us were, “I am a Jew and will always be Jewish, but there is a light about you that I don’t quite understand.” As he reads and studies the Book of Mormon, we pray he will come to understand more about that light.

Meagan Hansen (15) remembered the first time her family took him walking at the track. “There is a chain that prevents people from driving cars onto the track. My Dad asked Fernando, ‘How do you get over that?’ ‘I jump,’ he answered. Dad gave him a look, and Fernando said, ‘Seriously.’ So we wheeled him up to the chain and waited to see what he would do. He just lifted the chain up and rolled under it.”

Conner Hansen (8) said, “Sometimes I think my problems are really bad, but when I look at Fernando’s problems, I don’t complain.”

The Hansens add, “No matter what comes up, we don’t miss walking with Fernando. He’s amazing! He helps us keep an eternal perspective. It’s the best thing we do each month.”

Fernando works hard every single day to improve. “I always believed I would get better. I just take it one day at a time.”

“In time he will get better,” Talmage Hansen (11) declared. “He believes it, and so do I.”

Having so many friends in the ward who love and help him, and knowing that he is an invaluable influence in their lives, has helped Fernando continue trying. His strong spirit and testimony have spiritually strengthened those who have helped him strengthen his physical body.

Fernando may have to wait to serve a full-time mission, but he is touching the lives of the Primary children in his ward right now by his example of faith, patience, and trust in the Lord. And they are touching his with their patience, love, and service. “I hope that the children know that they really can help others,” he said.

Katrina was excited. Every student in her school class had been assigned to give an oral report on one of the fifty United States, and hers was to be on Utah—the very state she wanted! She had moved from Utah only a few months before, and no one in her new school class knew much about the state where, until now, she had lived all of her life. Many of the children knew that pioneers had settled the west, but no one seemed to know what made the Mormon pioneers special, for Katrina was the only one in her class who was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
She worked hard preparing her report. Her teacher, Mrs. McBride, whom Katrina liked very much, had given her permission to use a slide projector, and Katrina and her mother spent hours going through the family slides, choosing the best ones to show the class.
Katrina read books and checked maps to make sure that her information was accurate and interesting. She carefully wrote out what she wanted to say and practiced it over and over again in front of her mom and dad, in front of her brother and sisters, in front of the mirror—even in front of her pet birds. When the day came to give the report, she was more than ready.
The class liked the report. They were fascinated by the picture of the giant red sandstone arches standing starkly against the blue sky. They oohed and aahed over the pictures of a mountain lake by a meadow of wildflowers and of the beautiful Salt Lake City Temple lit up at night. They laughed when Katrina told them that the explorer who discovered the Great Salt Lake thought that he had reached the ocean because the water tasted so salty. They were surprised to learn that the inventor of television was from Utah. And they were fascinated when Katrina showed them a jar containing two giant crickets floating in alcohol and told them the story of how the seagulls had saved the pioneers’ crops from the horrible cricket invasion. Everyone clapped as Katrina sat down.
“An excellent job, Katrina,” Mrs. McBride told her after class as the children left for the day. “You really worked hard.” Katrina felt her face flush with pleasure. “I’m sure we all learned a great deal,” Mrs. McBride went on, sincerely. Then she grinned and winked. “Why, I never imagined there were so many wonderful things in a state where a lot of the people believe in a man who said an angel gave him a book made out of gold!”
Katrina’s heart nearly stopped. She looked carefully at her teacher. Mrs. McBride loved to joke and make the class laugh. Katrina was sure that that’s what she was doing now—just joking. She would never hurt someone’s feelings on purpose.
But Katrina felt like a rock had just dropped on her stomach. How could someone speak like that of Joseph Smith and the angel Moroni and the Book of Mormon, things she loved and felt were sacred? She wasn’t exactly angry. She knew that Mrs. McBride didn’t understand about the Church. She guessed that the thought of an angel giving a gold book to a man could sound pretty silly if you didn’t know the whole story and if you didn’t have the Holy Ghost whispering to you that it was true. But Katrina knew that it was true, and it wasn’t a joking matter.
But what should she do? Thoughts flashed through her mind as quick as lightning. She knew that often when people are teasing and you’re feeling embarrassed, it’s best to just laugh along with them. But she couldn’t laugh at this. Still, if she spoke up, how could she tell Mrs. McBride what was really true? She didn’t know how to teach the gospel. What if her teacher thought she was silly or even stupid? Katrina had been doing well in her class. She didn’t want to risk losing Mrs. McBride’s good opinion of her. Maybe I should just stay quiet and let it pass, she thought. Maybe I can just pretend it never happened.
Katrina knew that she couldn’t do that. In the middle of all the mixed-up thoughts tumbling about in her mind, one thought suddenly appeared, bright, clear, and steady. She remembered a talk given by one of the Young Women in her branch about the meaning of the Young Women’s motto, and she could almost hear the girl saying the words: “We will ‘stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places.’”* Katrina wasn’t in the Young Women’s program yet, but she knew that the motto applied to her, too. And “all times” and “all places” included that very moment in her classroom.
Only a few seconds had passed since Mrs. McBride had tried to be funny, but it seemed to Katrina that she had been trying to figure out what to do for hours. “Mrs. McBride,” she began, taking a deep breath, “I didn’t say very much in my report about the Mormon church—except that it was the Mormon pioneers who settled Utah—because I didn’t think that a school report was the best place to talk about it. And I guess that if you’ve only heard a little bit about the Church, some things might seem strange enough to laugh about.”
Katrina paused and swallowed hard. “But I need you to know that I’m a member of the Mormon church. The real name is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. ‘Mormon’ is just kind of a nickname because we believe in the Book of Mormon—that’s a book of scripture translated by Joseph Smith from that gold book you mentioned. It’s a true book. I know it. It tells about Jesus Christ like the Bible does. And it isn’t strange for Joseph Smith to have seen an angel, because he was a prophet like Moses and Abraham. The Church teaches the gospel of Jesus Christ just like He did Himself when He was on the earth. I’m glad to be a member, because I love Him.”
Katrina looked up hopefully at her teacher. She didn’t know what Mrs. McBride would think of what she had said, but a warm peaceful feeling flowed through her, and she knew that she had done the right thing.
The teasing twinkle in Mrs. McBride’s eyes had disappeared, but she didn’t look angry at all. She stooped so that she could look right into Katrina’s eyes, and she spoke softly. “Katrina, I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings. I was trying to be funny, but I shouldn’t have spoken lightly about a serious subject that I didn’t know much about. I can tell that your church means an awfully lot to you. It must be pretty special to give you the courage to do what you just did. I think I’d like to ask you some questions about it sometime.”
“I’d like that, too, Mrs. McBride,” Katrina said with a smile.

Christmas was almost here. Amalie was excited. Soon she could unwrap the presents under the tree!
At family home evening it was Mom’s turn to give the lesson.
“Why do we give presents at Christmas?” Mom asked.
“Because it’s Jesus’s birthday!” Amalie said.
“Then shouldn’t we give a present to Him?” Mom said.
Dad helped Amalie’s brother Noah read a scripture. It said that when we serve other people, we are serving God (see Mosiah 2:17).
“Is serving others giving a gift to Jesus?” Mom said.
Noah nodded.
“What else is a gift for Jesus?”
“Keeping the commandments,” Amalie said.
“Being nice,” Noah said.
“Great ideas!” Mom said. “Now let’s play a game. I’ll say a gift someone gave to Jesus. Tell me if you know who it was. Here we go. This person gave out Christmas cards at the care center.”
Noah raised his hand. “Amalie did that!”
“This person went home teaching.”
“That’s Daddy,” Amalie said.
Soon they had named lots of gifts they had already given to the Savior.
“We can give gifts every day,” Mom said.
The next morning it was time to clean the house. “Oh no,” Amalie groaned. But then she remembered. Serving others is a gift! If she helped Mom, it was the same as helping Jesus. She found a cloth and wiped the counters until they sparkled.
The next day Amalie earned some money.
“Your tithing is eight cents,” Mom said.
Amalie remembered again. Tithing is a commandment, so paying it is a gift. She put eight cents in her tithing jar.
Later that week Amalie helped pick up pillows. Her baby brother had thrown them off the couch. “Another present for Jesus,” she said.
On Christmas Eve, Mom and Dad told Amalie they were proud of her. “You’ve been giving gifts to Jesus all week long,” Dad said. “That’s like having a little bit of Christmas every day.”

One Missouri ward reports: “The bishopric and elders quorum presidency fasted and prayed to know the names of men whom they should activate and invite to a meeting the following Sunday. That week they each invited a man to a meeting the next Sunday. Four of six brethren came to a special meeting. During this meeting the bishop asked for comments. One brother stated that on the previous Sunday (at the same time their names were being considered) he felt a great desire to straighten out his life, and made a commitment to go to church that day. Another brother said that on the previous Sunday he, too, had felt a similar desire to straighten out his life. He had not been to church for forty years, but he made a commitment to attend. A third brother sought the bishop out after the meeting and pledged himself to full activity.”
Within that stake thirty inactive families were selected, with sixteen immediate, positive results.

We are fortunate to have received the gift of the Messiah in our lives, His example, courage, firmness, and perseverance transform us into the people we should become, however there are women who have found Jesus Christ in an extraordinary way and have felt His love and protection. One of these women is Ramona Rosario, who was introduced to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in 1981 in the municipality of Constanza, Dominican Republic, one of the most beautiful places in the Caribbean.
She tells us that when she was only eighteen years old, she lived through one of the most desperate times where she had a clear sense of the meaning of life. This experience would affirm her testimony of the Lord Jesus Christ and help her to listen with humility to the missionaries when they taught her some months later.
Because of a great drought, the Dominican Republic experienced very difficult times of water shortages, forcing a majority of the population to move to rivers and canals to obtain supplies of this precious liquid. Ramona Rosario was one of those people affected by the shortages.
She tells us that while walking on one of the many days that she was forced to carry cans and gallons on her shoulders on the banks of the Yaqué del Norte River, she had to be careful where she walked because they had extracted sand with heavy equipment creating holes that later disappeared in the murky waters of the river. This made it impossible to detect the dangerous holes that constantly threatened the needy people in the environment, both adults and children.
Even though she never thought she would be one of the victims of these fearsome holes, one Wednesday morning in November 1981, she fell into one of the holes that made whirlpool movements, and she could not get out. She began to feel a terror that threatened to rip out her life. She remembers that in that moment of agony, she prayed and cried out to the Lord Jesus Christ with all the energy she had left, asking him for an opportunity, and begging for His help while the water choked her more and more.
With the little strength she had left, she continued to strive against the muddy walls of the hole; her tears were mixed with the brown water until, in a last attempt, a friend who was desperately looking for her stood next to the hole. She was able to hold onto her friend’s foot, which made her friend slip and fall, causing her to shout for someone to come to help and pull her out of the hole “of the evil one,” as she described it.
It has been more than 30 years since this experience. Ramona expresses and testifies that the hand of the Lord preserved her life. Two of her children served missions in South America, baptizing dozens of people in Chile and Nicaragua who are members and leaders in the Church today. Truly when we cry out with all our hearts to the Lord, He answers our prayers.
Ramona expresses: “We do not have to wait for a desperate moment to pray to our Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, but every occasion is an opportunity to pray to the Lord for strength and for gratitude for all the blessings we receive.”

I thought about you a lot on Christmas Day. I imagined you and your mom and dad around the Christmas tree, opening presents and later eating turkey and pumpkin pie. Our Christmas in Paraguay was very different, and I thought you might like to hear about it.
We had decided to visit the Ugarte family for Christmas. They live 80 kilometers (50 miles) through the jungle, in a little village called Itakyry. There is a small chapel there, where we could spend the night. In the Ugarte family are a grandmother, a mother and father, and eleven children. Their house has only two rooms and two beds, so we couldn’t stay with them. We packed some small gifts in the back of the car and left early in the morning of the day before Christmas. Two young elders went with us.
In Itakyry, Sister Ugarte was very sad. It was the day before Christmas, and she had no presents to give her children. It took all their money and time just to provide the essential things that such a large family needed. Nothing was left for gifts or even a special treat for Christmas dinner.
All that morning she worked. She washed clothes in the stream and spread them on the bushes to dry. She tended the garden and cooked black beans and rice for their midday meal. After they ate, she rocked the baby and mended clothes. As she worked, she prayed, “Heavenly Father, please send our good friends, the missionaries, here for Christmas. I know it is a long way for them to come, but it would make this day special. Please, Heavenly Father.”
We didn’t know that she wanted us to come. The Spirit just told us that it would be good if we did. A bridge was washed away, so we had to walk the last few miles through the jungle. My goodness, how happy the Ugarte family was when they saw us coming through the trees!
That night we had a very special family home evening in the little wood chapel. The beautiful story of the birth of Christ was told, and testimonies were shared. Then for a long time we sat, watching the silent tropical stars and singing the sacred hymns of Christmas.
The Ugarte children didn’t understand when Grandpa tried to act like Santa Claus the next morning. They did enjoy the simple gifts we passed out, though. There was a small doll for each little girl, sweet-smelling soap for the older girls, and windup toys for the boys. Grandpa had to show the boys how to wind them up, because they had never seen toys like that before.
We missed our own dear grandchildren, but this Christmas in Paraguay was a very special one for us. The best gifts that we can give or receive at Christmastime are love and service.

When my friend and I were caught stealing, we both knew what big trouble we were in. I also knew that what I had tried to take was worth practically nothing, but I had still broken one of the Ten Commandments. Nobody could know how ashamed and sorry I was. I had the longest prayer with my Heavenly Father that I have ever had. When I went to see my bishop, I picked up the February 1996 copy of the New Era with the Mormonad about repentance. The funny thing is that of all the times I have looked through the magazine, I never noticed the Mormonad until then. When I saw it I just cried. This whole experience has taught me the true importance of repentance.
Name WithheldCalifornia

Eric couldn’t stop grinning as he walked off the soccer field, the field where his team had just won the league championship. Eric was hot and tired but he knew he had played his best.
As he picked up his bike, he thought of his dad’s familiar words: “Not much of what is important in life comes easily,” his father said. “Our effort puts a shine in things—such a shine sometimes that they glow for years and years in our hearts.”
“This game will definitely glow for years!” Eric thought.
“Hey, Eric!” a voice called from behind him. He turned around and grinned at his teammate, Clay. “Where are you going?” Clay asked. “The victory party is at the coach’s house.”
“I can’t go,” Eric said. “I promised Davy I’d come over right after the game. I was going to spend the rest of the day and evening with him.”
Clay looked upset. “How much fun can you have with someone who’s sick all the time, and can’t even leave the house? We just won the championship, Eric. Isn’t that worth something?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Coach said a reporter is coming to the party. He’s going to take our pictures and interview us. We’re going to be in the newspaper!”
Eric’s eyes widened. “Really?” Clay’s excitement was contagious. “I guess I could just see Davy later tonight,” he said.
“You can’t,” Clay said. “Don’t forget the coach said if we won the game he would take us on an overnight campout to Big Bear Falls. Well, the campout is tonight. You don’t want to miss out on that, do you?”
“No way!” Eric said.
“Davy’s just a sick kid with nowhere to go and nothing to do, except ruin somebody else’s fun,” Clay said, spinning a soccer ball on his finger. “Come on, Eric. It’s time to celebrate!”
Eric eyed the spinning soccer ball. The more he looked at it the more his mind began to spin, and he got caught up in the moment. “OK, let’s go!” he said. He jumped on his bike and headed across the field toward the rest of his team.
During the reporter’s interview, Eric looked at the clock in the coach’s living room. It was three o’clock. He had promised Davy he would be to his house by one. He knew Davy would be disappointed. He always looked forward to Eric’s visits with excitement. But because of school, homework, soccer practice, and family and church activities, it was hard for Eric to spend a lot of time with Davy. But today Eric was going to spend the whole afternoon and evening, and Davy had been marking off the days on the calendar for weeks.
The reporter asked each boy how it felt to be part of a winning team. When Eric’s turn came, he didn’t answer. He was thinking of the time he and his father were hiking in the Big Bear Mountains. They had come to a three-way fork in the trail and had to decide which path to follow. “Like most things in life, Eric,” his dad said, “it comes down to choices. It’s getting late, so …”
Eric studied the three paths. One was overgrown and hard to see in the evening shadows. It looked jungly and mysterious. The second was straight, narrow, and clearly defined, but uninteresting. The third trail was wide and curving with room to wander.
“What will it be?” Eric’s dad asked.
“The wide one, I guess,” he said. “There are lots of turns so it will be more exciting, not knowing what’s ahead.”
They started down the path, but 20 minutes later it ended at the edge of a cliff. Below them in the distance they could make out the small lake where their family had set up camp. Shadows crept across the woodlands below and the sun had sunk behind the mountains.
“Now which path, Eric?” his dad asked.
“How about the jungly one?” Eric suggested. “It looked cool.”
They made their way back to the original path, then started down the dark, overgrown trail.
After a few minutes, though, the path was lost in the tangles of underbrush. “What do you think we should do now?” Eric’s dad asked. “It’s getting dark and we’re no closer to camp than we were two hours ago.”
Eric pulled a thorn from his shirt and rubbed a scratch on his arm. “I guess we better get back to the path we were on in the first place.”
His dad nodded, and the two started back. They finally set their feet back on the original path and faced the trails at the triple fork. It was dark now, but the stars lit up the final path. “What do you say we take that third trail, Eric?”
Eric glanced around uneasily at the darkening woods and took hold of his father’s hand. “Yes,” he said. “I can see the path clearly because it’s straight, and it’s narrow so we won’t wander off it.”
As they made their way through the night, Eric’s dad spoke up. “The Savior said that we should always take the straight and narrow path for the very reasons you pointed out. We can clearly see our way and won’t stray from the path unless we choose to. This path is like the iron rod in Lehi’s dream, isn’t it? Straight and true. And look,” he said, pointing toward the stars. “They light the path, like the prophets we have to guide us back to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.”
They paused on a small knoll above the lake, and looking down they could see a glowing light in the darkness where Eric’s mother had started dinner over the campfire. “Kind of looks like the tree of life in Lehi’s dream, don’t you think?” his dad asked. “A welcome sight to any weary, faithful traveler on the road of life. And just like the food your mom is preparing, the Lord has filled His living tree of life with sustenance to nourish our spirits and lift us up in our darkest hours.”
Eric squeezed his father’s hand, and his eyes filled with warm tears.
“What are you crying for, Eric?” Clay laughed. Eric looked around and suddenly realized he was still in the coach’s living room surrounded by his teammates.
The reporter quickly wrote on his notepad and said, “It’s his way of saying what it feels like to be part of a winning team.”
“What it is,” Eric said, “is my knowing that I want to be a part of another winning team, as well.”
The boys looked confused. “Another winning team?” one of them blurted. “What team is that?”
Eric whispered something to the coach, waved good-bye, and left the room.
“What did he say, Coach?” Clay asked.
Their coach smiled. “He told me the name of the other team he wanted to be a part of—the Lord’s team. And he said to be a part of it, he needed to be somewhere else. Any of you boys know where that is?”
“Davy’s place, I think,” Clay said slowly.
The coach’s smile deepened.
Two weeks later, Davy passed away quietly in his sleep.
A few weeks after that, Eric and his father were hiking in the Big Bear Mountains. When they reached that familiar triple fork in the trail, Eric paused and studied the straight, narrow path. He took his dad’s hand and they stood quietly for a few moments.
“Which path do you want to take, Eric?” his dad asked.
“The straight and narrow one, Dad,” he said.
“You’re sure?” his father asked, smiling.
“It’s one thing I am sure about,” Eric smiled back. “It is the right way.”
“If we stay within the lines that God has marked, he will protect us, and we can arrive safely at our destination.”Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, “The Straight and Narrow Way,” Ensign, Nov. 1990, 64.

During the difficult year of 2021, the number of refugees and asylum seekers seeking a better life increased. Thankfully, the Oasis Cardiff centre stepped in to help them integrate with our communities and provide them with the necessities that were not otherwise easily available to them.
For most of us, there is much to look forward to over November and December, but for others it is a time of despair and going without. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Cardiff wanted to try and change this and make a difference.
During this time, members of the Cardiff Stake, with the help of local communities around the stake and a donation from LDS Charities, gathered toiletries and teddy bears for approximately 150 people to help them enjoy the festive season more than they might otherwise have done.
The willingness of volunteers from local communities to help was amazing. Several shopping trips were required to acquire items, including over 350 packs of nappies. Many members, including full-time missionaries and youth, came together to pack 150 toiletry packs for the refugees. Even the South Wales Police helped by providing a large van to transport the nappies and toiletries collected.
The packs were donated to refuges on December 10—the response was phenomenal. Volunteers were very grateful to be able to give to people in need.
Jacci Peach from Oasis Cardiff said, “The generous donation of nappies and toiletries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints have so far been given to 95 families and individuals. Additionally, 51 children aged up to 8 have also received a teddy. Most of these children would not have received anything for Christmas. In fact, most would’ve had no toys at home at all.
“What seems like a little thing to so many can mean the world to an asylum seeker. Being able to stay clean is a simple ‘luxury’ that ensures dignity and some sense of normality. Thank you so much for your kind donations, they are much appreciated!”

Richard, 13, loves to get an open shot and seems to have a knack for eluding defenders and being in the right place when a decisive pass is made. Of course, part of the knack comes from practice. Lots of practice.
Go to the elementary school behind his house in Simi Valley, California, and chances are you’ll find Richard playing in a game or dribbling the ball through the grass with his older brother John, 15. That is, unless he’s busy with a Church project. Richard is the deacons quorum president, and his conviction of his calling keeps him constantly on the phone dialing reminders of activities and responsibilities to his friends and fellow priesthood holders. (He’s in the Simi Valley Third Ward, Simi Valley California Stake.) With Church duties, as with sports, Richard knows it’s necessary to spend time to do a good job.
Richard isn’t the only family member involved with soccer. Besides John, Susan, 10, and David, 7, will rush to the fireplace mantel to show their trophies when the sport is mentioned. And when any of the children play in a game, the whole family goes to watch. That means nine passengers in the station wagon, but it also provides a private cheering section on the sidelines.
The Penrods’ interest in soccer is increasingly typical of American families, including those in the Church. Soccer, long a favorite sport throughout the rest of the world, is finally storming into popularity in the U.S., with youth leagues organized in every state. Many stake athletic programs now include ward soccer teams.
Richard’s father, a junior college professor, says, “We were looking for a game we could get the whole family involved in, without risk of a lot of injuries and without having to buy lots of equipment. This seemed ideal.”
Brother Penrod was right. Soccer is a relatively safe sport, with emphasis on ball handling and finesse, not on body contact. A small player can often outmaneuver and outshoot larger opponents. Rules are uncomplicated, and soccer can be played almost anywhere, just by marking boundaries on the ground. Modified versions of the game can even be played indoors.
Out on the field, Richard makes the game look simple. He feints, counterfeints, and passes. He sees an opening and sprints for it, waving his hand to let fellow players know he’s in the clear. On defense he shouts instructions and directs traffic as though he’s been playing all his life—which is just about the truth. His expertise, along with his scholarship in school, have qualified him for two trips abroad with soccer teams—one to Glenrothes, Scotland, another to Den Haag, Holland. While there, Richard lived with families and attended school, as well as playing exhibition soccer.
Of course, there have been embarrassing times, too. Like slipping and falling in the mud, or getting clobbered with a lopsided score, or losing every game during the season when Dad was the head coach. But some of that has to be expected.
How Richard plays in a particular match is determined by two things: which position he’s playing (he plays three), and which team he’s playing for at the time (he plays on four). On the ward team the ages vary significantly. So do the skill levels. But there, playing is mostly for fun. On the all-star team or in league competition, games are closely contested, and each move makes a difference.
Richard and John will talk for hours about their favorite sport. John plays forward, an offensive position that puts him on the front line of attack. Richard usually plays halfback, the midfield position, which challenges him by requiring both offensive and defensive skills. However, Richard has also played forward, as well as fullback (the last defender between the ball and the goalie).
They disagree about which is the ideal position to play. John says forwards have the most enjoyable job on the field because they go where they want. “It’s kind of like playing hide-and-seek with the defense,” he says. But he also notes that forwards often take the blame for missed goals. Richard counters that halfbacks have the fun of playing at both ends of the field, which, though it demands endurance, allows them power to control the tempo of the game.
John says fullbacks get the most rest, that their main task is to steal the ball and relay it to the opposite end of the field. Richard notes, however, that the defense is often outnumbered, and the fullback’s role is vital in preventing goals. Both agree, however, that the goalie may have the roughest assignment. He’s expected to analyze each shot-on-goal correctly and position himself properly to block or deflect it, often diving face down on the turf in the effort.
The two young men also discuss dreams, like playing on a professional or Olympic team, or even more immediate wishes, like attending a soccer clinic at BYU.
At a home evening recently, Richard brought out a scrapbook he keeps; it’s full of his souvenirs. He passed it around the family circle, describing photos he took himself and clippings from newspapers. The rest of the family joined in with other stories, laughter, and warmth. It was clear that they were all involved in learning lessons through their Church activity and through sports. They were learning about brotherhood by working together; they were learning to plan their time to be able to do things they enjoy and still meet school, Church, and household responsibilities; they were learning about family love, caring, and sharing; and they were learning about fixing goals for themselves. It was clear that they’re involved with soccer—and with each other—for more than just the kicks.

I recall a story of a Latter-day Saint boy in military service. He was the only Latter-day Saint in his barracks, and he soon wearied of the jibes of his associates. One day when the going was particularly rough, he finally agreed to go into town with the crowd. But as they entered the town, there came before his mind’s eye a picture. He saw the kitchen of his home. It was supper time. There was his family, kneeling at the kitchen chairs—his father, mother, two sisters, and a small brother. The little brother was praying, and he was asking our Heavenly Father to look after his brother in the military.
That mental picture did it. The young man turned away from the crowd. The prayer of that little brother, of that family, brought clarity of mind and courage to that Latter-day Saint youth.

He’s a rather handsome young man, with blue eyes and a quick smile. Seated at his electronic keyboard Ryan Moody makes a few adjustments, then his fingers easily move into the introduction of a song. The music sounds as good as anything you hear on the radio, but it’s new. He says, “This is a song I wrote.” Then he begins to sing. Just listening, the song takes you out of yourself. The sound is rich and full, but personal as well. After a moment you can’t resist taking a hard look at Ryan. The music introduces another part of Ryan. It seems to free his spirit from the chair his body must stay in. The music reveals something about him that your eye doesn’t always see.
Born with spina bifida, or a hole in his spine, Ryan has spent nearly his entire eighteen years in a wheelchair. At first, doctors feared he might be mentally retarded, but Ryan was a pleasant, lively child who has grown into an intelligent, talented young man, a young man with some special talents for music and for people.
Once when Ryan was giving a talk at an elementary school, one student asked him how it feels to be handicapped. Ryan answered by asking, “Well, how does it feel to be human?” What Ryan couldn’t say in that particular situation was that the Church has really helped him. “I think a lot of disabled people get preoccupied thinking, ‘I can’t do this, and my life is just going to be a waste.’ Isn’t it 1 Samuel 16:7 that says the Lord looks not on the outer appearance, but on the heart? That’s rather important to me.” [1 Sam. 16:7]
Ryan started learning about music when he was two years old. His parents put a set of stereo headphones on him and, instead of pulling them off, he was fascinated. He started piano lessons at seven years old, but like most people, he didn’t like to practice. As he learned to play, he and his mother discovered his talent. “I never did like the endings of pieces of music in books. I would just start making up new endings.” Several years later they discovered that Ryan had perfect pitch. Then he started writing music and performing on a variety of keyboard instruments. He has won numerous awards for his musical talent—composing, performing, and singing. He was voted the most talented student in his ninth-grade class.
Ryan doesn’t regard his wheelchair as a hindrance but as a help. “I get around a lot quicker this way.” He commends his friends for helping him not feel any different. “My friends don’t let me think about it at all. They always forget that I’m in a wheelchair because they’ll go over a grassy area or something that is hard for me to get over, and they’ll say, ‘Come on, Ryan. Oh, we forgot about your wheelchair!’”
Just like most teenage boys, Ryan likes girls. And girls like him. His dad teases him about how much time he spends on the phone talking to young ladies, and his mother says that when he goes to stake dances, he dances every dance. He’s become quite creative at moving his wheelchair in rhythm to the music. “I’m still practicing the slow dances,” he says.
About going out with girls, Ryan says, “Sometimes it’s difficult because girls seem to like me, but dating me is different from what they are used to. They don’t want to keep away from me, but they do because they don’t always know how to behave around someone in a wheelchair. When I do go out with a girl, it’s really great because the girl just helps me get in the van I travel in and off we go.” Ryan has some advice for girls when a boy in a wheelchair asks for a date. “Ask yourself, ‘Is he a nice person?’ and then make your decision based on that. If he is a nice person and you really like him, then just forget about everything else.”
Music has helped Ryan reach out to others and set a good example. He teaches keyboard and composition classes in a special summer school program. One friend was very discouraged and turned to Ryan for advice. He told her to go home and tune the radio to a classical music station instead of the usual hard rock she listened to. “She followed my advice,” Ryan said. “The next day she thanked me and said she didn’t feel one bit discouraged.”
As Ryan was participating in a school quartet, he found that the song selected for the group to sing had lyrics he objected to. Ryan talked to the teacher about changing the words, but the teacher became angry. Ryan was hurt by the teacher’s reaction. After school, the teacher asked to speak to him and apologized for getting upset. “She said that what I had done took courage,” said Ryan. “She said she admired me for standing up for what I believed in and that she was willing to resolve the problem because she really wanted me in the quartet.”
Ryan Moody is a priest in the Tigard Oregon Second Ward. He serves as first assistant in his priests quorum and as a home teacher. He enjoys helping the bishop with the less-active members of the priests quorum and plays the organ for church. The bishop says, “Ryan seems to know how to unite the different groups in our ward.”
Last year, Ryan received his patriarchal blessing, which promised him in part that he would be able to influence the lives of youth wherever they may be and convince them of the blessings the Lord has in store for them and the opportunities that are theirs. Ryan’s greatest wish is to serve a mission, although his physical condition will not allow it. “I can’t believe that others with the opportunity to serve a mission will not go,” said Ryan. “It’s the thing I would like to do more than anything.”

I am forever grateful for this sacred ordinance. My parents died when I was relatively young. My father was a construction worker, and my mother was a stay-at-home mom. They endured many hardships, and both had lived a good life, but they never had a chance to be taught the restored gospel during their mortal life. Just before I left for my mission, I managed to complete my four-generation family history and brought their names with me to the missionary training center. On a crisp fall morning in October 1989, I was baptized for my parents and ancestors at the Provo Utah Temple. My heart was full on that beautiful morning. I felt the tender mercy of our Heavenly Father who, in His grand plan of salvation, provided us a way to redeem our deceased ancestors. As President Wilford Woodruff stated: “There is hardly any principle the Lord has revealed that I have rejoiced more in than in the redemption of our dead; that we will have our fathers, our mothers, our wives and our children with us in the family organization, in the morning of the first resurrection and in the Celestial Kingdom. These are grand principles. They are worth every sacrifice.”6 What a glorious doctrine!

In June 1991, my wife, Alla; our son, Alex; and I moved from Belarus in the former Soviet Union to Denmark. My work as an anesthesiologist made me particularly eager to improve my English, so I enrolled in an English class taught by two sister missionaries serving in the Denmark Copenhagen Mission of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
I found myself wanting to learn more than English. I had learned about Jesus Christ only after the Soviet government lifted the ban against religion during that remarkable period of Soviet history called glasnost. I was uncomfortable, however, with the rites of the predominant church and so had not pursued the matter further.
The missionaries were different. Their friendliness seemed to warm my heart, and when they taught us that “men are, that they might have joy” (2 Ne. 2:25), I was thrilled to the marrow of my bones. I could remember only two times in my life when I had felt joy—the day I married Alla and the day Alex was born. Now I could actually see joy radiating from the faces of the missionaries as they taught the gospel.
The other missionaries and the members Alla and I met reinforced our first impressions. “If such wonderful people are members of this church,” I told Alla, “then this is the true Church!”
Alla and I were baptized in August 1991. We felt that warm feeling in our hearts that accompanies receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost. It had a cleansing effect upon our bodies and our souls, and we thought we couldn’t be happier. But we were wrong. It was only the beginning. At every Church meeting, the feelings we had at our baptism returned. We have become more calm, patient, and kind. We are trying to follow the perfect example of Jesus Christ, even though it is sometimes quite difficult.

Some years ago a lovely young woman, Jami Palmer, then 12 years of age, was wheeled into my office by her parents. She had been diagnosed with cancer. Surgery would be required. The treatments would be many and the time of recovery long. It was a solemn moment as we visited. Father requested me to join him in blessing his crestfallen daughter who had just had her dreams, her hopes, her plans placed on hold. All of us were weeping. The priesthood blessing was provided.

I have maintained contact with Jami and her family. The years have flown by. She has rendered unlimited service to others through being a spokesperson for the Make-A-Wish Foundation, which blesses youth afflicted with life-threatening diseases. Jami has grown into a beautiful young woman. She is now a student at Brigham Young University. She is healthy. She has been through the refiner’s fire and has had her life prolonged. She gives thanks to all who aided her through these difficult years and especially to her Heavenly Father for her very life today.

A turning point in Jami’s life came early in her treatment for cancer. She and the youth in her ward had planned a hike to Timpanogos Cave. You who have made that hike know the way is steep, and it seems to take forever to reach the cave. Sadly Jami said to her friends, “I won’t be able to make the hike with you.”

“Why not?” they asked.

Jami replied, “I can’t walk.”

There was a silent moment, and then one replied, “Jami, if you can’t walk, then we’ll carry you.” And they did—up and back!

The third wolf is the excessive individualism that has spawned today’s contractual attitudes. A seven-year old girl came home from school crying, “Mom, don’t I belong to you? Our teacher said today that nobody belongs to anybody—children don’t belong to parents, husbands don’t belong to wives. I am yours, aren’t I, Mom?” Her mother held her close and whispered, “Of course you’re mine—and I’m yours, too.” Surely marriage partners must respect one another’s individual identity, and family members are neither slaves nor inanimate objects. But this teacher’s fear, shared today by many, is that the bonds of kinship and marriage are not valuable ties that bind but are, instead, sheer bondage. Ours is the age of the (decline) of belonging.

There is one more story about Milutin Milankovitch that gives him hero status in my life and directly addresses the topic of time. I stated that it took Milankovitch thirty years of his life to produce his mathematical proofs. Early in this process he was confident that his theory was correct. All he needed was time to make the necessary calculations. Then, to his dismay, World War I broke out. The invading army captured him and took him to a fortress. He spent the next six months in confinement as a prisoner of war.

Of the day he was put into prison, he later recalled:
The heavy iron door was closed behind me. The massive rusty lock gave a rumbling moan when the key was turned. . . . I adjusted to my new situation by switching off my brain and staring apathetically into the air. After a while I happened to glance at my suitcase. . . . My brain began to function again. I jumped up, and opened the suitcase. . . . In it I had stored the papers on my cosmic problem. . . . I leafed through the writings, . . . pulled my faithful fountain pen out of my pocket, and began to write and count. . . . As I looked around my room after midnight, I needed some time before I realized where I was. The little room seemed like the nightquarters on my trip through the universe.

Milankovitch was focused on his goals and his life purpose. He knew what he was about. He despaired only momentarily before awakening himself. He chose not to waste his time, so to speak. He turned his circumstance around and seemingly relished the six months he spent in confinement as a prisoner of war.