Gospel Story Finder

[The boat captain sits near the boat. The narrator enters.]
Narrator: In the spring of 1831, groups of Church members traveled by boat from New York to Ohio. Lucy Mack Smith, the mother of the prophet Joseph Smith, led one of the groups.
[Lucy Mack Smith leads the Church members onstage.]
Lucy Mack Smith: Brothers and sisters, we have set out just as Father Lehi did to travel to a land that the Lord will show unto us if we are faithful. I want you all to lift your hearts to God in prayer continually that we may be prospered.
[They all get on the boat with the captain.]
Narrator: Lucy’s group traveled safely on the Erie Canal. But when they got to Lake Erie, the harbor was frozen!
[Sheets of “ice” block the boat.]
Captain (pointing to the ice): When will this ice melt? We can’t sail until it has melted.
Church member 1: We’ll never make it to Ohio!
[The townspeople enter and see the Church members.]
Church member 2: Look! Maybe those people can help us find a place to stay until the ice melts.
Townsperson 1: Good day. Who are all of you?
Church member 1 (speaking quietly, to Lucy Mack Smith): Don’t tell them who we are. Some people treat us badly because of our beliefs.
Lucy Mack Smith: I am Lucy Mack Smith, and we are members of the true Church of Jesus Christ restored to the earth.
Townsperson 2 (calling from below the boat): I have a question for you. Is the Book of Mormon true?
Lucy Mack Smith: That book was brought forth by the power of God and translated by the same power. It is true!
[Lucy Mack Smith continues talking silently and gesturing to the townspeople.]
Church member 1: Will we ever have a comfortable home again?
Church member 2: Not if we’re stuck here on this frozen harbor.
Lucy Mack Smith: Friends, let us trust God. He will provide.
Lucy Mack Smith (turning to the Saints on the boat): Brothers and sisters, if you will all raise your desires to heaven that the ice will let us through, as sure as the Lord lives it shall be done.
[Lucy Mack Smith and the Church members pray together.]
Narrator: Just then a noise like thunder was heard.
[Kids playing the part of the ice stamp their feet loudly and pull the two “sheets” of ice offstage.]
Church member 1: Look! The ice is breaking!
Captain: Everyone to your post. Let’s get this boat moving!
Lucy Mack Smith: Soon we’ll be with the Saints in Ohio!
[The Saints cheer, and the boat starts moving forward.]
Narrator: After the boat sailed through, the ice closed again, and other boats had to wait. But Lucy and her boat sailed across Lake Erie and reached Ohio safely a few days later.

Listen to the words of a beautiful woman who gained this awareness as she struggled with her own self-worth and understanding of who she was:
As a convert, the hymn “God Loved Us, So He Sent His Son” was sung at the very first sacrament meeting I attended as a brand-new member of the Church. For the first 18 years of my life I struggled with my worth and with who I was and what my importance was to anyone. I had been told I was the ugliest girl in my school, and I carried that label with me for many years. As I took the missionary discussions, I learned enough of the gospel plan to know it was true and right. At my first sacrament meeting when the third verse of that hymn was sung, I knew in that moment for the first time who I really was and what my importance was. That moment changed everything for me. Nothing on the outside changed, but everything on the inside did. I was part of His plan, His offering. And I hold a place within His Heart. [Personal communication]

Seven-year-old Joseph was sick for only two weeks, but the terrible fever caused an infection in the bone between the knee and ankle of his left leg. The skin there swelled tight, and for over two weeks Joseph suffered terrible pain in his leg. Twelve-year-old Hyrum showed great love for his little brother. He sat beside Joseph almost day and night, pressing the swollen leg in his hands, trying to help Joseph endure the pain.

Twice the doctor tried to drain the infection and reduce the swelling, but it didn’t work. Finally he told Joseph’s parents that the leg ought to be removed before the infection spread to the rest of Joseph’s body. But Joseph’s mother insisted that they try again to save the leg.

Dr. Nathan Smith, who knew more about this disease than any other doctor in the United States at that time, was one of the doctors who treated Joseph. He agreed to try one more time to cut out only the infection. Before he began to operate, he wanted to tie Joseph to the bed and to give him some liquor to dull the pain. Joseph refused both helps. “No,” exclaimed Joseph, “I will not touch one particle of liquor, neither will I be tied down. … I will have my father sit on the bed and hold me in his arms.”* He also wanted his mother to leave the room so that she wouldn’t have to see him suffer. The surgery was extremely painful. When Dr. Smith broke off the infected part of the bone, Joseph screamed.

When the surgery was finally over, Joseph was sent to visit his Uncle Jesse Smith at a seaside town, Salem, Massachusetts, to help him recover. But though both his life and leg were spared, for three years he walked with crutches, and for the rest of his life—especially when he was tired—he walked with a slight limp.

Children provide some of the best examples of how to administer Christ’s love. After spending a long, hot day at an amusement park with my three nieces (ages six, ten, and eleven), my brother, my husband, and I found ourselves in line for a much-anticipated water ride. As the kids were most excited about this ride—and we did not want to disappoint—we all hopped into the end of the line for what was projected to be a ninety-minute wait.

After fifteen minutes of attempting to keep ourselves and the kids entertained, it was clear that we had lost their attention and that they were bored. Instead of turning to complaining, the kids instinctively turned their attention to the other people in line. It did not take long for my three nieces to make friends with three teenagers who were standing in line right in front of us. Soon all six of them were laughing, talking, and joking together. Even after what had turned into more than two hours of standing in line, the kids never complained because they were focused on someone else.

Without having spent time talking with the teens, we would never have learned that the woman accompanying them was not their mother. The teenagers were with their aunt, who had taken the kids away for a weekend after their mother’s funeral. All three teenagers were now learning what it was like to be orphans.

Gratefully, that day three little girls in a long line at an amusement park showed me how to truly minister to and uplift those around me. How many people who are figuratively in line next to you have “hands [that] hang down” or “feeble knees” that need strengthening? You never know what hardships or difficulties others are experiencing, and you never know the impact your interactions will have on them. Turning your focus to other people can have a healing effect that helps lift burdens and mend broken hearts. But sometimes doing good requires taking off your headphones, putting down your smartphone, and interacting with a huge smile.

This brief statement has been with me for many years. When I was 15 years old, I found it in the first issue of the Liahona to ever come into my hands. The name of the article was “Please Bless Kathy” (see Tambuli, September 1990, 44). I still remember that article well because of the role it played in my conversion to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
When I was in high school, three of my friends and I were expelled from school for a week. At that time I had a friend named Isabel, whom I had long considered one of my best friends. But now she had become my worst enemy and the person I held responsible for all the problems Mukuy, Janet, Juana, and I were having. It all started when Isabel spread some rumors behind our backs. She criticized us and made comments about me and my friends.
Because of her betrayal and our response to it, we were always arguing and fighting. The teachers in our school in Lerdo de Tejada, México, had to call us to order repeatedly. Things got so bad we were eventually punished with a five-day expulsion.
During those five days, I couldn’t stop thinking about how Isabel had treated us and how she had brought this upon us. As I thought about how much she had hurt me, I felt great anger and resentment against her.
One afternoon I decided to go to my friend Rosi’s house. Rosi had recently been baptized into a church I knew as the Mormon Church. For some time now, she had been inviting me over to talk about the things she believed in. She had even read to me out of a book she called the Book of Mormon.
This time Rosi invited me to attend church with her, and I felt a genuine interest in learning more. She gave me a copy of the Liahona (Spanish), and I promised her I would take time to read it.
But I didn’t read the magazine until some days later. My mind was too occupied with my resentment toward Isabel. When at last I began, I thumbed through the pages and found an article that caught my attention. The article was about a girl my own age who had gone through something similar to what I was going through with Isabel. She had experienced the same feelings of hatred and bitterness. The only difference between that girl and me was that I was sure I wouldn’t be able to do what she did. I believed I would never be able to stop feeling the way I felt toward Isabel. I believed I would never be able to forgive her. And there was no way I would ever be able to pray for my enemy as the author of that article had.
I kept thinking about the article in the Liahona. Finding a story about something so similar to my own experience seemed strange to me. It never entered my mind to put into practice the idea of praying for my enemy. It might have worked for that girl, but I was sure it wouldn’t work for me. My feelings wouldn’t change.
The next Sunday I went to church with Rosi. I had almost succeeded in not thinking about the article anymore. But as I listened to the sacrament meeting talks, I started to think about it more intensely. For the rest of the day I found it impossible to stop thinking about it. Pray for your enemies, echoed in my mind.
That Sunday night, without even thinking about it, I started to pray. I prayed just as the girl in the article had—just as Jesus taught in the Sermon on the Mount. I prayed for Isabel, and with each word I uttered, I felt my heart beat louder and I couldn’t stop the tears.
When I finished my prayer, I was surprised at what I had done. But I also felt sure that when I saw Isabel the next day, I would still hate her and wouldn’t be able to remember what I had prayed for that night. My feelings wouldn’t have changed.
When I went back to school on Monday, my friends were waiting for me at the front door so we could plan our revenge. We had to do something to hurt Isabel and make her feel as bad as she had made us feel. She had to be taught a lesson.
But when I saw Isabel that morning, I no longer saw an enemy. I no longer saw a person I hated. Instead I saw my old friend. And I saw myself praying the night before. With tears in my eyes I wondered, How can I think about hurting her when last night I was asking God to bless her? And then I realized I was the one who had been taught a lesson. I had learned for myself the wisdom of the counsel to pray for our enemies.
Isabel and I became friends again as we had been before. My Heavenly Father answered my prayer and helped me change the bitterness and hatred in my heart. He helped me transform those feelings into feelings of love.
This experience has always been very special to me; it is the way the gospel of Jesus Christ came into my life.

President Brigham Young recalled:
“Over [the] kitchen was situated the room in which the Prophet received revelations and in which he instructed his brethren [the School of the Prophets]. The brethren came to that place for hundreds of miles to attend school in a little room probably no larger than eleven by fourteen [feet—about 3.3 by 4.2 meters]. When they assembled together in this room after breakfast, the first thing they did was to light their pipes, and, while smoking, talk about the great things of the kingdom, and spit all over the room, and as soon as the pipe was out of their mouths a large chew of tobacco would then be taken. Often when the Prophet entered the room to give the school instructions he would find himself in a cloud of tobacco smoke. This, and the complaints of his wife at having to clean so filthy a floor, made the Prophet think upon the matter, and he inquired of the Lord relating to the conduct of the Elders in using tobacco, and the revelation known as the Word of Wisdom was the result of his inquiry” (Brigham Young, in Journal of Discourses, 12:158).
Brother Zebedee Coltrin adds the following information to this story: “When the Word of Wisdom [D&C 89] was first presented by the Prophet Joseph … there were twenty out of the twenty-one who used tobacco and they all immediately threw their tobacco and pipes into the fire” (minutes, Salt Lake City School of Prophets, 3 October 1883, page 56).

When Jane was a tiny baby, she had a soft pink blanket. When she became old enough to sit in a playpen, she kept her pink blanket with her. And when Jane grew old enough to have a big bed, she took her “bata” with her to bed. Something happened to Jane’s blanket; it became smaller and smaller and had holes in it. Finally there wasn’t even one thread of the blanket left, but by then Jane didn’t need her blanket anymore.

Some years ago a fire erupted in the middle of the night and completely destroyed a family’s home. A neighbor came by to console a seven-year-old, not knowing that he was about to be taught a great principle. “Johnny, it’s sure too bad your home burned down.” Johnny thought a moment and then said, “Oh, that’s where you’re mistaken, Mr. Brown. That was not our home; that was just our house. We still have our home, we just don’t have any place to put it right now.”

The first meeting I attended was a fast and testimony meeting. I came late, and as I walked into the chapel, a young woman was crying and talking about how the gospel helped her with her problems. After listening to her and to some of the other members, I realized that all of them had problems. They weren’t perfect, and they knew it. But I could also see they had something strong inside them. Their faith in God was helping them. With that kind of faith, I thought, maybe I could overcome my problems, too.

A significant moment in my personal journey to Jesus Christ can be traced to an invitation given by President Henry B. Eyring where he invited the audience to act.
He said, “I bless you that every day, if you will ask in prayer to be shown where the hand of God intervened in your life that day, I bless you that you will see that. It will be made manifest to you. That you will see that He is leading and guiding and lifting you, and that He knows you”. 1
This invitation, to consciously document the hand of the Lord in our lives every day, resonated with me.
I accepted the invitation and purchased a new pastel blue notebook that would become a precious personal record, capturing moments when I saw the hand of the Lord in my life. Little did I know how pivotal this little blue pastel notepad would prove, in my continuing journey to seek Jesus Christ.
In recollecting times where I have acknowledged the hand of the Lord in my life, I was reminded of a time when I was eleven years old. I had an accident that punctured my spleen. This required hospitalisation and, in advance of the operation, going without food and drink for what seemed like an eternity. I particularly remember being in a large room, feeling vulnerable and alone in the early hours of the morning. I silently prayed for help to ease my anxiety and discomfort. Within a very short period of time, a nurse came and offered me an ice cube wrapped within a cotton bandage to suck on. The relief and refreshment felt like a luxurious feast. More importantly, however, I recognised and acknowledged the hand of the Lord.
A scripture in Psalms was fulfilled in that hospital bed. That night “I sought the Lord, and he heard me, and delivered me from all my fears”.2 Though this may seem trivial, my attempt to ask and exercise faith was answered. And I had not only felt physical relief, but I also felt that He knew me.
Without relaying every experience I have documented in my pastel blue notepad, a consistent pattern has emerged. As I ask and believe, I will receive3 and in acknowledging Him, my relationship to Him is strengthened. This pattern has guided and continues to guide me through illness, trials, despair, and pain.
The 2022 For the Strength of Youth theme4 perfectly describes this pattern. My wife, Ailsa, and I had the privilege of being part of the Manchester Scotland session of FSY in 2022. We witnessed this pattern playing out in the lives of many participants. One young woman brought many difficult questions to FSY, with no expectation that they would all be answered. She recounted in joyful tears that, during this Christ-focused event, every one of her questions had been answered. She knew that He knew her. This young woman has recently been called to serve Him in the Frankfurt Germany Mission.
The Apostle Peter invited us to “be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you.”5
I invite you to document the hand of the Lord in your life, starting retrospectively as far as you can remember. Continue daily to recognise, acknowledge, and receive the reach of the Master of healing, the Bright and Morning Star, He that is in all things, above all things, through all things, and round about all things.6
I love Him, I adore Him, I depend on Him, because I can recollect numerous times where I had a personal confirmation that He knows me and loves me.

When Janice found herself feeling guilty and frustrated at her inability to meet the expectations she had placed on herself and those she felt others placed on her, she sought Heavenly Father’s help. “Gradually as I drew closer to him,” she said, “I realized how superficial many of my expectations had been, and that I simply did not need to be perfect in every talent and every area that others excelled in. Drawing closer to him led me to an uncluttered perception of what was expected of me and an awareness of my intrinsic worth and potential as his daughter. My frustrations dissipated into a feeling of peace and harmony.”

It was February 12 and much too cold to play outside. It was so cold that Tommy had gone past wishing for snow to wondering if it would ever come.
Tommy’s teacher, Miss Peters, had declared Friday afternoon craft time. Soon the students’ desks were covered with red, pink, and white construction paper and white paste. Most were working on valentines for their moms, dads, grandparents, and friends. Some were even making cards for their brothers and sisters.
Tommy wasn’t making a valentine for his mother. And he didn’t have any brothers or sisters. His best friend, Mike, probably wouldn’t get too choked up about receiving a valentine from him. But Tommy’s valentine was very, very special, and he was taking great care in making it.
First, he painstakingly cut out a large red heart. He frowned because it was a little uneven, then decided that was OK since it was so big. He chewed on his bottom lip as he struggled to get some crinkly paper on just right. It went all around the edges of the big valentine. When he was finished, he was proud to see that his valentine looked just right.
Just then, Jimmy walked past Tommy’s desk, looked at the valentine, and shouted, “Hey! It’s a mushy valentine! Tommy’s making a mushy valentine!”
Most of the class turned and craned their necks to get a peek at Tommy’s valentine. He wished a hole would open up and swallow him and his card. Then he wished one would open up and swallow Jimmy.
Jimmy leaned over the valentine, as if trying to see it better. “Is it for a girl friend?” He asked in a syrupy-sweet voice. There were giggles from the girls and outright laughs from the guys.
“No,” Tommy almost shouted, “it isn’t. Leave me alone, Jimmy.”
But Jimmy was having fun. “Ah, come on—who is it for?”
“Jimmy, stop that teasing right now and return to your desk.” Miss Peters scolded. A hush fell over the room as she came down the aisle. “I believe you should be working at your own desk.”
Unabashed, Jimmy sat down at his desk with a smirk on his face.
Miss Peters turned to Tommy, and said, “That really is a lovely valentine, Tommy. Is it for your mother?”
Tommy almost lied and said yes, but he knew that that would be wrong. “No, ma’am.”
“Oh. Well, I bet it’s for someone very special,”
Tommy nodded, then quickly looked down when someone made kissing noises.
“Class!” Miss Peters said sharply. There was silence. “Well, Tommy, I’m sure whoever it’s for will love it.”
“Thanks,” he mumbled.
She looked sharply at the rest of the class. “Do we want to work on valentines or math?” Twenty-six heads quickly bent back over pink and red construction paper.
Tommy didn’t feel like working on his special valentine anymore. He cleaned up the scraps of construction paper that had fallen from his desk, put his glue and scissors on the tray inside his desk, and stared for a moment at his valentine. Then he quickly hid it in his backpack. It was a silly old lopsided heart, anyway.
When the bell rang, he went miserably and silently to get his coat, trying to ignore the kissing sounds and giggles that came his way.
His feet felt like lead as he started toward the care center. What does Jimmy know, anyway? he asked himself. All the kids are just mean. Tommy kicked a rock. He paused at the intersection of Brook and Eastside. He wanted to go home, but his mother and Mrs. Elderberry were expecting him.
He paused when he got to the care center and thought again of the valentine he had made. Oh well, Mrs. Elderberry won’t be expecting a valentine, anyway. Racing up the steps, he dashed through the front door.
After he checked in with his mother, who was working the late shift, he waved hello to Mrs. Smith and shadowboxed with Mr. Barnes. Tommy had a lot of friends there. When his mother had to work late, he came and ate supper with her, then spent the rest of the evening listening to stories told by Mrs. Thompson and old Frank, or playing checkers with Mr. Barnes. He usually got a lot of help with his homework, too.
Yes, he had a lot of friends here, but Mrs. Elderberry was very, very special. Tommy knocked on her door.
The gray-haired lady’s face lit up when she saw him. “Come in, Thomas, come in.” She motioned toward a blue chair near the curtained window. “Please sit down.”
He waited until she had sat down—Mrs. Elderberry was big on politeness—then, after dropping his backpack on the floor, happily snuggled into the comfortable velvet chair that had come from her home. “It’s going to snow tonight,” he announced.
She looked out the window and up at the heavy, grayish-white clouds that hung overhead. “Why, I believe you are right.” She smiled. “How was school today, Thomas?”
“Fine,” he answered with a shrug. Immediately he felt all tied up inside. Mrs. Elderberry was the one he told everything to. She was the one who knew all his secrets, even the one about when he had accidently let his pet snake loose in the apartment and managed to find it only seconds before his mother had walked in the door.
Mrs. Elderberry was also the one he could talk to about his father dying and how sad it still made him feel. He couldn’t talk to his mother about it because she always started crying, and that just made him feel worse. So he talked to Mrs. Elderberry, who listened and never ever told him that he was too big to cry. But he couldn’t tell Mrs. Elderberry about the teasing that had led to a crumpled valentine.
They drank cocoa, played checkers, and talked about the possibility of snow. The room was warm and the cocoa was hot and Tommy was happy. He told Mrs. Elderberry about the football game his uncle had taken him to, and she told him a funny story about old Mrs. Lipton losing her teeth again. He was glad that she had heard from her daughter, but upset along with her because it had been three weeks since she had heard from her son. Before Tommy knew it, two hours had passed and the dinner gong was sounding.
“After you finish your homework, come back, and we’ll watch TV,” she told him as he picked up his backpack.
“Sure.” Tommy hurried out into the hallway. His stomach was suddenly telling him just how hungry he was.
Outside Mrs. Elderberry’s room, he paused. The valentine was giving him a guilty conscience. He pulled it out of his backpack and stared thoughtfully at it. Slowly he walked back to her door and slipped the valentine underneath it.
He was her friend and she was his friend, and that was all that mattered.

Figuratively, all of us need to transform ourselves into modern Captain Moronis in order to win the wars against evil. I know a very faithful young deacon who transformed himself into a modern Captain Moroni. Inasmuch as he has sought to follow the counsel of his parents and Church leaders, his faith and determination have been tested every day, even at his young age. He told me one day he was surprised by a very difficult and uncomfortable situation—his friends were accessing pornographic images on their cell phones. In that exact moment, this young man had to decide what was most important—his popularity or his righteousness. In the few seconds that followed, he was filled with courage and told his friends that what they were doing was not right. Moreover, he told them that they should stop what they were doing or they would become slaves to it. Most of his classmates ridiculed his counsel, saying that it was a part of life and that there was nothing wrong with it. However, there was one among them who listened to the counsel of that young man and decided to stop what he was doing.

This deacon’s example had a positive influence on at least one of his classmates. Undoubtedly, he and his friend faced mockery and persecution because of that decision. On the other hand, they had followed the admonition of Alma to his people when he said, “Come ye out from the wicked, and be ye separate, and touch not their unclean things.”

As our personal conversions become more firm our need to repent over seemingly small things becomes more intense. You will remember a tender story told by President James E. Faust:

"As a small boy on the farm...I remember my grandmother...cooking our delicious meals on a hot woodstove. When the wood box next to the stove became empty, Grandmother would silently pick up the box, go out to refill it from the pile of cedar wood outside, and bring the heavily laden box back into the house."

President Faust's voice then filled with emotion as he continued:

"I was so insensitive...I sat there and let my beloved grandmother refill the kitchen wood box. I feel ashamed of myself and have regretted my [sin of] omission for all of my life. I hope someday to ask for her forgiveness."[22]

President Faust's emotional duress even many years after the event deepens our understanding of our need to repent over all thoughts, actions, words or deeds which oppose the will of God. Our conversion process continues over our lives until we have become perfect even as Christ is perfect.

Eighteen-year-old Amber Romney has a philosophy about her life. She got it from a children’s book she read when she was 11. The book is a familiar one, The Little Engine That Could. Amber, who is deaf, can relate to the little engine who had to tell herself over and over again, “I think I can, I think I can” as she pulled the big train up the mountain.
“In my life, my hill is my hearing impairment,” says Amber, of Mesa, Arizona. “The little engine is my strong will.”
With that attitude, Amber is able to face her daily challenges.
Amber’s positive attitude and desire to succeed have helped her to accomplish many things since a severe illness took her hearing when she was only 15 months old.
She’s learned to read lips and use sign language to communicate. Most importantly she has learned to never give up. With the help of her family, friends, and especially Heavenly Father, Amber has learned to overcome her disability and excel at many things.
“Everyone has their ups and downs,” Amber says, using her mother, Stephanie, as an interpreter. “I try to have as many ups as I can.”
Meeting people and making new friends is sometimes difficult. “I think maybe some people are intimidated because they think that they can’t talk to me,” she says. “Sometimes I have to make the first approach.”
Even if someone can’t sign to Amber, she can usually read lips. It’s a talent she says she’s continually getting better at.
She can speak to others because of years of speech therapy. She says that after the first few conversations people have with her, they usually get used to the way she talks. Then it gets easier.
Her dad, Bill, who serves as bishop of the Harmony Park Ward, Mesa Kimball Stake, says he also notices how Amber likes it if people try to sign to her. “She’s almost complimented by that,” he says, “and she always loves the opportunity to teach them or help them to sign.”
Now, thanks to Amber, most of her friends and her two younger sisters and brother know at least basic sign language, and some have even taken it as a class at school.
Amanda Lloyd, 17, who is in Amber’s ward and has been friends with her since they were both three years old, says Amber has taught her a lot about signing. “It’s not like I learned it all at once,” she says. “But since we’ve hung out so much I’ve learned it as I’ve gone.”
This year Mesa High School offered a sign language class for the first time. The class filled up immediately. Amanda says a lot of those students were people who wanted to learn to sign so they could communicate with Amber. “She’s such a sweet person,” says Amanda. “Everybody really admires her.”
Amber does something that most people probably wouldn’t think she could do. She’s a cheerleader. She made the team when she was 14 and has been cheering ever since.
Two years later she wrote an essay about being a cheerleader and won third place in a national writing contest sponsored by Gallaudet University in Washington, D.C. Deaf students from around the country were asked to write about their biggest challenge.
Amber titled her paper “A Silent Cheer.” In the essay, she shared her feelings about becoming a cheerleader. “I just went for what I wanted, despite the fact that I am deaf,” she wrote. “I couldn’t hear the music or the cheers, but with other people’s help I could do it.”
Now she’s cheered for four years and no one even notices that she doesn’t hear the music, the beat, or the other girls’ voices. “She’s got great peripheral vision,” explains her mother. That, combined with lots of practice, makes for near-perfect performances.
Amber continues to rely on her positive attitude and strong will as she gets involved in other activities.
She has also participated on the varsity swim team for four years. She’s involved in National Honor Society, Mayor’s Youth Committee, Spirit Club, and Junior Optimist Club, and she served as Girls’ State delegate last summer.
Even though she’s busy, she’s never too busy to be active in Church activities, and she loves her Young Women class.
“She does what everyone else does, plus more,” says her friend Amanda. “People are always so amazed with her that she’s come so far in her life and has done some really hard things that others wouldn’t dream of doing. She’s an awesome example to me and to everyone else.”
Amber is quick to point out that her accomplishments are the result of blessings in her life. “I know that Heavenly Father is responsible for my successes,” she says. “I couldn’t get by without His help.”
Still there are times when Amber gets discouraged. It’s then that she reflects upon her blessings to restore her positive attitude. “I just think about what Heavenly Father has done for me, how much my family loves me, how much my friends help me. And I read my patriarchal blessing, and that lifts my spirit,” she says.
“I think my hearing impairment has helped me have a stronger testimony of the gospel and to appreciate life more and more each day,” she says.
With her positive attitude and great faith, Amber continues to overcome the obstacles and, like the little engine that successfully reaches the top of the mountain, she realizes, “I know I can. I know I can.”

Betsy Lee, 15, Beavercreek Ward, Dayton Stake, Fairborn, Ohio—During our family night one time, my father was giving us a lesson about what it means to be popular, famous, or great. For each of the three categories, we named people we thought had the right characteristics to be classified therein. While the rest of the family was naming off the people they thought were great in the different ages throughout history, my three-year-old sister hit upon the answer Dad was looking for. She said that Jesus is the greatest person ever to have lived upon the face of the earth.

I had to do a school project about how I can make the world a better and more beautiful place. I couldn’t come up with an idea, but then I felt the Spirit and thought of an idea. Sharing the gospel would make the world a better place. I drew a poster showing a family being taught by the missionaries. Jesus wants us to share the gospel with everyone before He comes again. When we share the gospel, we prepare the world for Jesus to come.

“Look, the baby is blind. It doesn’t have any eyes!” Incredulously the nurses crowded around to see the newborn infant just beginning to pink up after his journey into this world. Yes, it was true. The baby was blind. There were no eyes where blue eyes belonged. The mother, a beautiful nurse, and the father, a medical student, would have to be told. How would they react?

No, our Father doesn’t promise us immunity from trouble, and so it was with the mother and the blind baby. That child was accepted with love, cared for with kindness, and I was fortunate enough to be present in the fast meeting in which the child was blessed. Both parents stood and thanked God for his trust and confidence in them that they should be allowed to care for such a special child. Because the mother was a nurse and the father a medical student, they could perhaps provide better care for that little child of God. I have watched that couple grow. They are more empathetic, more concerned, more Christlike because of their response to a heartrending problem.

That title comes from an experience that I had something over 30 years ago. I was assigned with then-Elder Thomas S. Monson to organize Servicemen's Stake Europe for the military servicemen in all of Europe. We met at Berchtesgaden, Germany, a resort high in the Bavarian Alps. Originally it was a headquarters built by Adolf Hitler in an incomparably beautiful place. High on a pinnacle, close to the other buildings, was an observation building that was called the Eagle's Nest.

When we had finished calling the leaders, we went to a downstairs room to ordain and set apart the stake presidency.

The room puzzled me. There was something about the size of it and the shape of it and the location of it that seemed a bit unusual. So I asked about it. I was told that room had been built under orders from Adolf Hitler. It stood on the spot and was a duplication in size of a cabin that had once stood there. Here he had gone in the early days of his wanderings. It was there he wrote Mein Kampf, which you German scholars would interpret as My Battle. That book caused the death of ten million people. Seldom has there been on this earth anyone who has duplicated in personality and purpose the adversary quite as much as did Adolf Hitler. I thought that we had come full circle where that had taken place on that site, and now we were gathered there to organize a stake of Zion.

After we had finished setting apart and completing that organization in Germany, we were assigned to go to Berlin to a stake conference. We needed to get from Berchtesgaden high in the Alps down to Munich to the airport.

Captain Bernie Fisher, a member of the Church who was a Congressional Medal of Honor winner in the Vietnam War, drove us down. He was stationed there. He drove us, my wife and myself and his family, down to Munich.

When we got to Munich it was foggy, and we got lost. We could not find the airport. We could not find anyone who spoke English. Finally, there was a policeman. Brother Fisher's boy, who I think was about a third grader, had learned enough German to ask him where the airport was. So the scripture was fulfilled that a little child should lead them.

We got to the airport in ample time for our plane, which as I recall left at about 10:00 in the morning, but it was fogged in. We sat there listening to the announcements for nearly 12 hours. They kept saying they thought the fog would clear. It did not clear.

That night near 10:00, two missionary elders came to the airport. We knew then that the planes would not fly. They told us there was a train leaving Munich for Berlin at midnight. They took us to the mission home. My wife rummaged through the kitchen, found some canned soup, and made us a quick supper. The elders took us to the train station, bought our tickets, and saw us aboard the train which would take from about midnight until about 10:00 the next morning to arrive in Berlin.

As the train was pulling out, one young elder said, "Do you have any German money?" I shook my head, no. He said, "You better have some," and, running along side, pulled from his pocket a twenty-mark note. He handed that to me.

At that time the Iron Curtain was very "iron." The train stopped at Hof on the border between West Germany and East Germany, and they changed crews. All of the West German crew members got off the train, and the East German Communist crew got on the train. Then it set out across East Germany toward Berlin.

They had just begun to issue five-year passports. I had a new passport--a five-year passport. We went to have my wife's passport renewed. They sent it back saying that the three-year passports were honored as a five-year passport, that she still had more than two years left on her passport.

About two o'clock in the morning, a conductor, a military-type soldier, came and asked for our tickets, and then, noting that we were not German, he asked for our passports. I always hate to give up my passport. I do not like to give up my passport, especially in unfriendly places. But he took them. I almost never dislike anybody, but I made an exception for him! He was a surly, burly, ugly man.

We spoke no German. In the car, the compartment, there were six of us--my wife and a German sitting to the side of her and then almost knee to knee in a bench facing us were three other Germans. We had all been conversing a little. When he came in, all was silent.

The conversation took place, and I knew what he was saying. He was denying her passport. He said, "Drei Jahren!" And I said, "Five Jarhen!" He went away and came back two or three times. Finally, not knowing what to do, I had a bit of inspiration and produced that twenty-mark note. He looked at it, he took the note, and handed us our passports.

The next morning when we arrived in Berlin, a member of the Church, who was the head of the Central Intelligence Agency for the United States in Berlin, met us at the train. I rather lightly told him of our experience. He was very sober, very suddenly. I said, "What's the matter?"

He said, "I don't know how to explain your getting here. East Germany right now is the one country in the world that refuses to honor the three-year passport. To them, your wife's passport was not valid."

I said, "Well, what could they have done?"

He answered, "Put you off the train."

I said, "They wouldn't put us off the train, would they?"

He said, "Not us, her!"

I could see myself having someone try to put my wife off the train at about two o'clock in the morning somewhere in East Germany. I am not sure I would know what to do. I am glad that passed.

I did not learn until afterwards how dangerous it was and what the circumstances were, particularly for my wife. I care a good deal more about her than I do for me. That intelligence officer convinced us that we had been in very serious danger. Those whose passports they would not accept were arrested and detained.

All of this comes to this point: the elder who handed me the twenty-mark note was David A. Bednar, a young elder serving in the then-South German Mission, who sits here on the stand as president of BYU-Idaho.

So, why was it that this young elder from San Leandro, California, handed me the twenty-mark note? If you understand that and understand what life is about, you will understand really all you need to know about life as members of the Church. You will understand how our lives are really not our own. They are governed--if we will and if we live as we should live--then we will be taken care of.

I do not think he knew the consequences of what he was doing. That twenty-mark note was worth six dollars, and six dollars to an elder is quite a bit! Perhaps he hoped to get it back from the mission president. But at any rate, it happened.

As you go through life, you will find that these things happen when you are living as you ought to live.

This story happened in the USA.
Eight . . . nine . . . ten!
Izzy carefully put the 10th egg in her basket. Grandpa paid her one penny per egg. Since there were 10 eggs, Izzy would get 10 cents today.
The chickens fluttered and clucked as Izzy tossed them their food. She was careful to keep her Sunday skirt clean. The chickens had to be fed every day, even on Sunday. And the eggs had to be gathered.
“Thanks for the eggs, hens!” Izzy said. “And thanks for the 10 cents!”
Izzy looked at the beautiful eggs in her basket. Grandpa wouldn’t need all 10. He would give most of them to Izzy’s family. But he liked to have an egg for his breakfast. She skipped across the yard and into Grandpa’s kitchen.
“Special delivery!” Izzy called.
“Thanks!” Grandpa smiled. “I feel so happy when you bring me an egg.”
Izzy handed him the biggest egg from the basket. “I love you, Grandpa,” she said.
Grandpa tapped the egg on the edge of a hot frying pan and cracked it open. The golden egg yolk sizzled in the pan.
“Now get your 10 pennies from my jar.” Grandpa gave Izzy a hug. “Then I’ll see you at church!”
Izzy ran home with the other nine eggs in her basket and 10 shiny pennies jingling in her pocket.
When she went to Primary, Izzy still had her pennies with her. She put her hand in her pocket to hold them while she listened to the lesson.
“Tithing is when we give one-tenth of what we earn back to Heavenly Father,” Sister Ayala said. “So if you have 10 cents, you give one cent as tithing.”
Izzy’s face felt hot. Give one of her pennies? She couldn’t! She held her money tighter.
“Why does God need our money?” asked Izzy’s friend Jaime. “He doesn’t even use money.”
Sister Ayala smiled. “But God knows it takes money to pay for things like this beautiful church building,” she said. “He asks us to pay tithing so we can meet the Church’s needs. But more importantly, He wants to bless us. If we pay our tithing, God promises us blessings from heaven.”
Izzy felt the pennies in her pocket and thought about Grandpa’s egg.
The eggs were from his chickens, but he kept only one for himself. It made Grandpa so happy to get an egg every morning that Izzy wanted to give him the very best one. Besides, she loved Grandpa more than eggs. That was the most important thing.
“So,” Izzy said slowly, “we give Heavenly Father back a little of what He gives us. Because we want to show Him we love Him.”
“Exactly.” Sister Ayala handed each child a tithing envelope.
Izzy took out her 10 shiny pennies and counted them in her lap.
Eight . . . nine . . . ten.
Feeling warm all over, Izzy took the shiniest penny and slipped it into her envelope to give to Heavenly Father. “Thanks for the pennies,” she whispered. “And thanks for the blessings from heaven.”
Illustrations by Alyssa Petersen