Gospel Story Finder

I had the privilege of spending four weeks in Kofu, Japan, with my good friend Yuki and her family. Having the Spirit as my guide helped me to share my beliefs with Yuki.
One day I purchased a small Church hymnbook in Japanese at the distribution center. A few days later I felt impressed to give Yuki my hymnbook. I thought about how weird this was because I had purchased the hymnbook for myself and not for her. Nevertheless, I gave her the hymnbook. I felt a little better, knowing I had done what I was prompted to do.
A while later, we were playing music downstairs, and Yuki told me she wanted to sing the hymns. I played some of the hymns on the piano while she sang in Japanese. I had a feeling of pure joy listening to my friend singing the songs I knew so well. Even though I did not know all the words to follow along, the Spirit was strong. I am very grateful I followed the promptings of the Spirit.

A missionary related an experience that illustrates one method that God has used to bring the searchers after truth into his true church. He stated that he and his companion had knocked on a door. A woman opened the door immediately, enthusiastically invited them in, and said to them, “You young men have come to my home today in answer to my prayers.

“For a long time I have been dissatisfied with the church to which I belong, feeling that it does not contain many of the doctrines that Christ taught while here upon the earth. I felt that it was not the true church that was founded originally by our Savior. I prayed earnestly and asked our Father in heaven to send somebody to me who would bring me the true gospel plan of salvation and make it possible for me to find the true church.

“After doing so, I had a dream that two young men knocked on my door and when I let them in they said to me, ‘We have come to bring you the true gospel of Jesus Christ.’ I recognize that you two young men are the same two young men I saw in my dream, and as in my dream, you announced yourselves by saying, ‘We have come to bring you the gospel of Jesus Christ.’ I know that you are the servants of our Master and that you will teach me his gospel.”

The two missionaries were surprised at the reception but happy to have the privilege of teaching this good woman the gospel. She eagerly received it and soon thereafter was a baptized member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Thus, another modern miracle in missionary work had occurred.

Our new literature teacher, Mrs. Protschka, looked into the faces of 35 eager students and said, “In this new school year I want each of you to take a turn at the beginning of class in discussing with us the book that has impressed you most in life.”
After school was over I walked home, puzzled about what book I should present. Mother and I were living in Bonn, West Germany then, and I had just begun ninth grade at a German high school. I thought maybe I would introduce Lew Wallace’s Ben-Hur. Roman history had always fascinated me. But was that really the book that had impressed me most in life?
I knew it wasn’t. I knew it was another book, the one the two young missionaries who had baptized my mother and me had given to me a few years ago—the Book of Mormon.
I was the only Latter-day Saint in school; could I dare to introduce this new scripture in my class?
“Why not?” I thought, and remembered how, by my 12th birthday, I had read this book from cover to cover, prayed about it with the faith of a child, and received a confirmation that it was holy scripture, and that the people I had read about had really existed. This knowledge helped me to enjoy life to its fullest by leading me to be at peace with God and the world around me.
When I told my mother about my idea she looked worried, yet encouraged me to do what I felt was right. The hard work began. I pondered about how I should introduce the Book of Mormon, and decided to start by explaining it like a story, beginning with Lehi and his family’s departure from Jerusalem and recounting their long journey through the desert and over the ocean. After much prayer and thought, I discovered that the right words began to flow easily into my mind. God was answering!
Patiently I awaited the day of my presentation. As it drew nearer, I noticed that the other students were presenting books like Dracula,The Godfather, and Rosemary’s Baby, books that in some way dealt with Satan and the dark side. I wondered again, should I really introduce the Book of Mormon in class? But I felt that now, more than ever, I had to do it. I wanted to be the Lord’s advocate to these people.
At last the day arrived. Usually the students wrote the titles of their books on the chalkboard at the beginning of their presentations, but since I feared that if the students saw the title first they would be less receptive I asked our teacher’s permission to save it until the end. I told her I wanted it to be a surprise.
Mother told me later how she had spent almost the entire morning of my presentation on her knees, praying that my report would go well and that the class would be receptive. And indeed her prayers helped. At the beginning, when I stood before the class and started explaining Lehi’s vision and his travel through the desert, some students wanted to make fun of it, “It’s the Bible! It’s the Bible!” But suddenly the class became quiet, and I could hear myself relating the history of the Book of Mormon smoothly and calmly, bearing testimony of its truthfulness. The Spirit of the Lord was so strong it seemed almost tangible. I spoke more words than I had ever intended to, and recall the attentive looks of the other students.
After about 20 minutes I finished my discourse, leaving my teacher and the class speechless for several minutes. Then Mrs. Protschka turned to the class and asked what they thought. They all began to speak very highly of me and expressed admiration for my courage in presenting such a religious book at school.
From that moment on, I made friends to whom I still feel very close, friends who defended me later in front of others. They even wrote and supported me years later when I served a mission in Spain.
For most of the remaining class period I was asked to talk more about the Church and my mother’s and my conversion. After class, some of the students even asked me for a copy of the Book of Mormon. One said I looked like a minister during the presentation; others remarked I spoke with the power of a prophet.

by Kim R. Burningham
When the teenagers of the Bountiful 29th Ward speak of their grandparents, the listener could get confused. True, they might be referring to their mother’s parents or their father’s parents, but they might also be talking about their “adopted” grandparents.
The bishopric youth committee of the ward decided to embark on what has turned out to be an exciting service project. Near the ward are two care centers where a large number of aging patients reside. Some of the patients have no family, or if they do, the family lives some distance away from the care center and is unable to visit often. It was decided that if every young person in the ward were to adopt one of the patients as a “grandparent,” the young people could provide some much-needed companionship for the lonely patients.
Youth in the ward try to visit their “grandparents” at least once a week. Sometimes they play chess with them or read to them. Often they just talk. The grandparents love to reminisce, and they are happy for the new friends. When Kim Bailey and Julie Bradford were visiting with Billy, a semiretarded patient at the care center, he looked up at them and said simply, “Do you mind if I like you?” Julie and Kim found that it was easy to be friends.
Members of the Beehive class and several of the other girls have quilted lap blankets for their grandparents. Shelley Moss took the quilt to her grandmother for a Christmas present. “When she received it we all cried, and it made the whole adopt-a-grandparent program worthwhile. Now every time I go to Della, my quilt is folded nicely on the edge of the bed.”
Kathleen Kirkham, president of the Mia Maid class, explained that “many of our class members are at the point where they don’t have to go to visit their grandparents, but they want to go.”
Tuevo Jones, a priest, said that “although it may seem a bit of a bother, I always walk out of the care center with a better feeling than when I went in.”

“You’ve gotta crack a half a cuppa nuts!” is a very familiar phrase heard in my family. It is not unusual for our mother or dad to say it, and we’re all quite used to the strange and puzzled looks we get from those visitors who have no idea what it means.
It all started a couple of years ago when my dad was out of ideas to keep us under control. Being the father of ten active and quite rambunctious children, he needed a way to discipline our behavior. Consequently, he tried several methods of punishment that didn’t work particularly well.
One of the most boring discipline remedies that I can remember was “sitting on the chair.” When we were being punished for misbehavior, we had to sit on a hard chair in a corner of our dining room for a certain time which Mom would set on the oven buzzer. What made this punishment particularly unpleasant was that the chair was right by the piano. It never failed that a big sister would plop down on the piano bench and, seeing she had a captive audience, sing and play to her heart’s content. Talk about a fate worse than death!
That form of punishment failed because Mom and Dad had to worry about us sneaking off the chair and reducing the time on the buzzer, or simply disappearing. It proved a discipline dead end.
Another time Mom tried the “write an essay” form of punishment in which we had to write about what we did and how we would never do it again. None of us had much problem coming up with a lot to write about, but for some of us the punishment disintegrated into page-long poems that began with “Roses are red,” while others developed a unique writing style in which they could snugly fit about 17 huge words on a page. Another dead end.
Unfortunately for us, Dad came up with an idea that he thought was absolutely brilliant. Dreadful was a better word for it. We have a walnut tree in our backyard. Dad had been noticing how many walnuts go uncracked every year. He decided to mix that chore with our punishment. Every time we would break a family rule we would have to crack one half cup of nuts. Half a cup of nuts became the standard unit of punishment.
Cracking nuts may sound silly, but, believe me, it’s hard work. Picture a bunch of kids sitting on a hot sidewalk cracking each walnut one by one with a brick, then picking out the meat. Filling up one-half cup takes about 45 minutes, 35 if you’re a pro.
We children weren’t exactly thrilled with the idea, but we always had an abundance of cracked walnuts around to add to breads or cookies.
It takes forever to clean the slate when you get behind in your nut cracking. Once our family was planning a vacation. Dad decided that we weren’t going until everyone had his nuts cracked. Those who didn’t have nuts to crack were encouraged to help the others. We started out being grumpy, but by the end, we were all working together and actually enjoying it! Spending that time together, just talking while we were at our nut cracking, made us closer.
As for the days when the trees are bare and walnuts are scarce, we can work off our obligation by helping a parent or doing extra chores around the farm or house at the rate of one half cup of nuts per 15 minutes. As I have grown older, I have noticed one nice side effect. Working one-on-one with a parent gives us time to talk and learn how to work.
We’ve all grown and become better people because of our Dad’s nutty idea. Over the years even Mom and Dad have had to crack a few nuts themselves. It has proven an equitable way to discipline our family. Having nuts to crack was an unpleasant task but never a punishment that would damage our self-esteem.
I have just one word of warning to any kids out there who happen to have walnut trees in their backyards—obey your parents, don’t fight, and don’t call your little brother a “stupid nerd.” Or your parents might end up a little nutty over discipline.

Another friend, a girl in his ward, stopped by after school to read to him. Although they had not been particularly close before his accident, now she was willing to give her time to help him. He often felt ashamed because he knew that if their roles had been reversed, he would not have been there reading to her.
What if she had been burned and was in thehospital? This horrible thought kept rushing through my mind. Would I be found at her bedside? I don’t think I was a bad young man. I had a job to earn money for my car and my clothes. What made me cry inside was that I knew I wouldn’t have been there with her. And yet such a great personal service she was giving to me! I could never tell her what I felt inside, so to pay her back I made this one great commitment: when I got out of the hospital, when I could walk, when I could see, when I could do things, I would try to give of myself through service to other people as she had done to me.
When I got out of the hospital and tried to find people who had problems and tried to help them, I got away from my own problems and stopped dwelling on myself and wallowing in self-pity. I started learning that great lesson—what is on the inside really is most important. Beauty comes from within, not from without.

A few weeks ago, I was hurried and frazzled, with too many to-dos on my list. I had hoped to go to the temple that day but felt I was just too busy. As soon as that thought of being too busy for temple service crossed my mind, it awakened me to what I most needed to do. I left my office to walk over to the Salt Lake Temple, wondering when I was going to recapture the time I was losing. Thankfully, the Lord is patient and merciful and taught me a beautiful lesson that day.
As I sat down in the session room, a young sister leaned over and reverently whispered, “I’m really nervous. This is only my second time in the temple. Could you please help me?” How could she ever have known that those words were exactly what I needed to hear? She didn’t know, but Heavenly Father knew. He had observed my greatest need. I needed to serve. He prompted this humble young sister to serve me by inviting me to serve her. I assure you that I was the one who benefited most.

The kind of tasks given to the girls and young men were calculated to give them not only a sense of responsibility but a feeling of self-confidence. Among the Saints no distinction was made between the mistress of a house and a servant girl working for her. The girl ate with the family, prayed with them, played with them. The kind of tasks they were assigned unquestionably gave them a feeling of accomplishment. I mentioned Mamie Woolley earlier. In 1889 her father bought a home in Kanab and took Mamie with him to Salt Lake City to select furniture. They shipped it to Salina, Sevier County, the end of the railroad line, and then freighted it from there—an eight-day trip. There were two big wagon loads of it, both stacked high. Mamie drove one wagon and her father the other. They camped out every night and slept on the ground. Mamie hitched and unhitched the teams, curried the horses, and fed and watered her own team. Obviously, this was not the stereotype of “woman’s work.” Girls were asked to do what had to be done and what they were resourceful and courageous and skilled enough to do.

When I was in high school, I got offended about some of the Church doctrine. It eventually led me to become less active. I attended some activities at another church, but my joy was not full. It was as if there was something missing.
It took me time to find what was missing, but one day after I prayed, I opened my eyes and saw the Book of Mormon on my table. I was about to go to sleep when a thought came to me: “I was born a Mormon. How come I haven’t finished reading the Book of Mormon?” So that day I decided I would finish reading the Book of Mormon.
After many years of searching, I finally found the missing piece of that happiness.
Elder Jayme Promise, Philippines Quezon City Mission

Natasha was awakened by the bird’s singing. When she opened her eyes, the room was full of light. Outside, a sparrow sat on the little board Dad had put up as a feeder for birds. The sparrow spread its feathers and cleaned them, singing, “Chik-chirik-chik!” as if to say, “Don’t you see what a beautiful morning it is? How warm the sun is!”
Natasha felt happy, as if it were a holiday. Then she saw her new white dress with pink ruffles and smiled. Of course! It is a special day! It’s Sunday, and we are going to Church, she thought.
Natasha’s parents had recently been baptized, and next year she would turn eight and could be baptized herself. She loved going to church. Everybody there was friendly. She had already learned how to read the hymns and had memorized her favorites. She loved to sing them with Mom or when she was home alone.
Today Mom’s friend Valya was going to be baptized. That was why Mom had made the beautiful new dress for Natasha. “We will all congratulate Valya, and you will give her flowers. It is going to be a real celebration!” Mom had said when they purchased some beautiful blooms the day before. She was as excited as if the flowers were for her.
The door slowly opened, and Mom looked into the room. “You are not asleep?” she asked quietly.
“A bird woke me up!” Natasha said and laughed.
“What a beautiful day!” Mom turned to Natasha. “What shall we do now?”
“Let’s pray!” Natasha said happily, rolling out of bed.
They knelt, and Mom prayed out loud, Natasha silently repeating every word after her. Mom thanked Heavenly Father for the beautiful morning, for His love, and for the scriptures, and she asked for protection for Dad, who was out of town on business.
After they prayed, they read the scriptures together. Then, while Natasha washed up, Mom made hot chocolate. They never hurried on Sunday mornings. From their first Sunday as members, they had followed a plan Mom had thought of to make Sundays special: “Let’s all wake up a little early, enjoy slowly getting ready, then walk to church. We need no more than twenty minutes to get there.” Natasha always liked the walks to and from church. It was a time to talk about their blessings and the gospel.
Now, standing in front of the mirror, Natasha looked at herself in the beautiful dress and white knee-high socks with pink bows that were a present from Dad. Her shoes matched the pink borders on her dress. Everything looked perfect. “I look like I’m ready to go to a ball,” she giggled as she twirled around.
Mom handed her the flowers for Valya, and Natasha looked like a girl on a postcard. It was the prettiest dress she had had for a long time. Mom was also in a pretty white blouse and a full skirt. What a perfect day this would be!
They left their apartment, and while Mom was locking the door, Natasha saw her friend Sveta on the stairs, a new kitten in her hands.
“Oh, he’s so cute!” exclaimed Natasha.
“Do you want to see him jump?” Sveta asked. “Watch!” She quickly set the kitten down and dragged a scrap of material with a string tied to it in front of the kitten. “This is his ‘mouse.’”
The kitten jumped up and started hilariously chasing the ‘mouse.’ Sveta barely had time to pull it away from him. All of a sudden the ‘mouse’ was on Natasha’s dress. The kitten jumped up to get it, but he couldn’t hold on, so he slid down one of Natasha’s white socks and scrunched it up.
Sveta laughed happily, and so did Natasha. But as Natasha pulled up her sock, all the laughter stopped. There was a big run in it!
Natasha looked at Mom with tears in her eyes. Sveta mumbled an apology, then quickly picked up the kitten and took off down the stairs.
“Please don’t be sad because of such a little thing,” Mom said as she unlocked the door. “We’ll find something just as good for you to wear.” She quickly found another pair of white socks in Natasha’s drawer. “These will look fine with your dress.”
Natasha quickly changed, and they left again.
“It rained a little during the night,” Mom said, pointing to the small puddles on the pavement. She took a deep breath. “The air smells good, don’t you agree?”
Natasha also took a deep breath, and agreed. The beautiful day put her back in a good mood.
By the time they got to the corner, Natasha was singing. Then a young man on a motorcycle sped by, hitting a muddy puddle in front of them and splashing it on her face and dress. She heard her mom say, “Don’t open your eyes, Natasha, until I wipe them off for you.”
When Natasha opened her eyes and saw muddy water dripping off her dress, she didn’t want to believe it, so she closed her eyes again. “Why, Mom? Why? We prayed and we read the scriptures and we wanted this to be a perfect day for Valya’s baptism. Why is everything going wrong? Doesn’t Heavenly Father love us?”
Mom quickly put her finger up to Natasha’s lips. “Please don’t think that.” She knelt beside her daughter. “Prayer is not like money that you pay at the store and right then get something for yourself. Sometimes we don’t know why things happen, but usually we can use what happens to us to learn how to be more like our Heavenly Father.”
“It’s his fault!” Natasha angrily looked in the direction the motorcyclist had gone.
“I hope that he didn’t do it on purpose. Look—the puddle is very small. Who would have known that it is deep? Either way, we need to forgive him and go on. If we hurry home and change, we won’t be late to the meeting.” She smiled and took Natasha’s hand, and they ran home.
Mom had to change into another skirt and blouse too. Natasha put on a blue dress with small white flowers and plain blue socks.
Mom gently rinsed off the bouquet of flowers in the shower: “Look—the flowers got even prettier!” Mom smiled happily, as if the accident were a blessing.
Natasha also smiled and thought how great it was that she has such a good and kind mom. They ran to the trolley and made it to the meeting on time.
As they started to sing the first hymn, Natasha forgot all her problems. In front of her sat a thin, pale girl named Oksana, who was often ill. Natasha knew that Oksana’s life was hard. She lived with a little brother, who was also often sick, and their elderly grandma. Mom had given them a lot of her and Natasha’s clothes and, when she could afford it, bought them groceries too.
Natasha saw that Oksana’s dress was very old. It had been worn out in the sun so much that the designs on the shoulders had all faded away, and next to the collar was a carefully sewn-on patch. Natasha looked at her own dress. Even though she wasn’t wearing her new dress, she was very well-dressed compared to Oksana. Suddenly Natasha felt uncomfortable and her cheeks became hot. She thought of how ungrateful she had been for all the clothes she had. And she knew that she would have felt really uncomfortable around Oksana, who had so little, if she’d worn her new, white dress.
After sacrament meeting, Natasha quietly whispered to Mom, “Do you remember when you sewed my white dress, you said there would be enough material left for another one? Could we make a dress for Oksana?”
“Good thinking.” Mom quietly kissed Natasha’s cheek. “There’s even some pink ribbon left, but we will talk about it at home, OK?”
Natasha couldn’t answer. Her throat got all tight and her chest got really warm, so she could only nod.
For Primary, all the children went into another room with Sister Melikovná. They had a lesson, then sang hymns, drew, and learned a poem for family home evening.
After church was the baptismal service for Valya. Mom gave a talk about being grateful for the Church and the blessing it was in her life. Natasha realized that she didn’t need to be wearing a beautiful dress in order for a baptismal service to be perfect. She only needed to have a happy and grateful heart.

After she was no longer eligible for college competition, she decided to go on a national professional tour. Diane knew her gymnastics career was mostly over, but she just wanted to hold on to the thrill of the spotlight and the fun of the sport for as long as she could.

During training for the tour Diane was practicing a vault she’d done thousands of times. She ran toward the vault just like she had done every other time. She jumped on the springboard like all the other times and flew up and over the vault—just like all the other times. But this time was different. This time she turned her body just a little too far. This time when she landed, she broke her neck. The accident put her in the hospital for almost six months and in a wheelchair for the rest of her life.

That was on December 15, 1981. Diane spent that Christmas and the next five months in the hospital, trying to imagine her life without gymnastics. After so many years of loving the sport, it was difficult for Diane to adjust.

“I hated being in the hospital, and I felt like I was in prison,” says Diane. For one month of the five she was in the hospital, she was in traction and couldn’t move at all except when the nurses came in and turned her a few centimeters every two hours. Diane had no idea she’d be in the hospital for so long. “In fact, when I was first injured I thought for sure that in a month I’d be back on the tour. I thought, ‘If I have enough faith and believe in God and in myself, I’ll be okay.’ And I just knew it.”

Recovery wasn’t quite so easy though, and things seemed to get worse. “I was a horrible patient,” says Diane. “In the hospital I was really miserable because I was so restless. I was really impatient with people.” Finally Diane came to a turning point.

“One day I was in the depths of despair. I just felt like I couldn’t bear it anymore,” Diane says. She asked for a priesthood blessing. She knew the power to heal her was present, “but I only wanted that to happen if it was Heavenly Father’s will. I had this blessing and I felt the greatest sense of peace. It was like I knew that no matter what happened it would be okay. If I didn’t walk away from the hospital there would be a reason for it. I knew that I had always tried my best to live the gospel and do what I was supposed to do, so if anybody was worthy to have that blessing, I was. But from that point on I was a different person. I was totally comforted.”

Ironically, one of the biggest aids to her recovery was gymnastics. “I don’t know if I could’ve gotten up again if I hadn’t had that training in gymnastics,” she says. “I had a lot of serious injuries when I was a gymnast that I just had to deal with. It was always down, up, down, up in gymnastics and this was just one more down I had to get up from. Gymnastics taught me to get back up so I could be a champion again.”

On the day she finally realized she would never walk again, Diane made the decision to return to school to work for her degree. She was lying on her bed with all her scrapbooks filled with souvenirs and photos of her performances. Tears dripped down her face and splashed on the scrapbook pages. “I just realized right then that things weren’t going to get any better. As I lay there crying I thought, ‘I can either give up or get on with my life’ and that’s when I decided to go back to school and get my degree.”

Now Diane teaches a class full of seven-year-olds who are just the right height to look her in the eye. “The kids will do anything for her,” says Marie. “They just love her.”

Her students aren’t her only fans. Diane also gives fireside talks to teenagers who listen intently as she tells her story. And her message is one of hope and perseverance, without bitterness for what has happened.

Her personality hasn’t changed at all. Just listen to her speak and you’ll hear the exuberant, happy girl who used to charm arenas full of people. Now her charm is just aimed at another audience. Her voice seems to smile at every person in the room and her own laughter frequently interrupts her stories.

“I think telling my gymnastics stories and sharing my experiences opens up the communication between us. They soon forget that I’m in a wheelchair. When they do that, the youth can see that I’m just a regular person and we have a lot in common, even though, in a wheelchair, I look a lot different than they do,” Diane says.

Her main message is one for potential champions: don’t give up, no matter what happens. “When I was a young gymnast I met a girl, an athlete named Nancy Thies. Nancy was a member of the U.S. Olympic team and one of the finest gymnasts in the country. I have never forgotten some very important things that Nancy taught me. I remember the first thing she said was, ‘Don’t be afraid to lose.’ She said, ‘If you fall down and you stay down, you’re a quitter and a loser and you will never win. But if you get back up and you try one more time, it will be your turn to be the champion, so just don’t give up.’” Diane says she made a promise to herself that she would remember that advice and never give up, no matter how many times she fell.

Once she faced the hardest fall of her life, not giving up was difficult, especially because of her wheelchair. The entire time she was a gymnast, whether she was swinging high above the uneven parallel bars of just doing handstands for fun, her only fear was of being blind or paralyzed. “I had such uneasy feelings about wheelchairs that I would never talk to anybody in a wheelchair or go near a wheelchair. I would avoid people in wheelchairs. I was afraid that I’d end up in a wheelchair if I got too close to one. It was almost like having thought about it so much somehow prepared me for a wheelchair,” she says.

It was probably Diane’s unconquerable spirit that prepared her more than anything else. It’s a spirit that is evident in both her funny stories and her powerfully quiet testimony about the importance of an eternal perspective and God’s love for each of his children. It’s a spirit that Diane has always had. “I’ve never met anyone, except my father, who has a stronger testimony than she does,” says Marie. “There’s no doubt in her mind that what she’s doing is right and that the Church is true. She has always been a great example.”

The lights are turned down in the room as she finishes her message, and a slide show featuring Diane, the fun-lover and gymnast, lashes on the screen in time to some fast, contemporary music. When the presentation is over, young people surround her excitedly.

Diane says, “It makes me feel really good when people tell me they’re going to try harder after they’ve heard my talk. One girl came to me once and told me she’d heard me speak four different times. The first time, she decided not to commit suicide. The second time, she decided that she didn’t have to drop out of school. The third time, she made a goal to become one of the best students in her class, and the last time she was on her way to that goal.”

Diane just shrugs her shoulders and laughs a little when someone tells her she’s wonderful. She even looks a little embarrassed, which is rare for this experienced performer. “People always think, ‘You’re so amazing, you’re so incredible,’ but I’m not. People will say, ‘If that happened to me I could never handle the situation,’ and the thing I have to say is, ‘Either you handle the situation or you die.’ You have to take whatever life gives you and deal with it, even if you might not want to. You know, if somebody dies in your family, you have to live with it. If you break your neck you have to live with it, but you just learn and that’s what’s so great about time and the healing process. You don’t have to be miraculous.”

You just have to be as willing as Diane was to get up again, so that someday it will be your turn to be the champion. For Diane, the victory is especially sweet, because she has won back what she thought she’d lost.

She is a champion again.

Here’s one example. Afton B., a Beehive president, and her presidency thought and prayed about their class members’ needs. They felt they should help them learn more about how to share the gospel, so they looked in the “missionary work” section of the Mutual activities website (lds.org/youth/activities). The activity “mini mission” caught their attention (see lds.org/go/mini10NE). They decided to go for it: live like missionaries for a week.

After inviting the deacons to join, Afton and her presidency paired people into companionships. Afton made handouts with some guidelines: go to bed and wake up earlier, study the scriptures and Preach My Gospel, and pray morning and night.

“Normally, I just read my scriptures at night, but I started reading them in the morning also,” Bryson C. said. “It really made a big difference in my day.”

The youth were “called to serve” in their ward. The presidency assigned each companionship to teach a family and set up appointments. They also created a basic lesson plan for the “missionaries” to build on.

This kind of teaching was a new experience, but they learned a lot. “We taught a family with little kids,” said Lindsey G. “We’d prepared a lesson, but we felt prompted to do something different to help the kids learn better. I guess sometimes even missionaries have prepared something and the Lord has them do something else.”

“I learned the Lord is on my side,” William W. said. “He’s there to help me.”

The Beehive presidency took the lead, listened to the Spirit, and assisted their fellow young women and young men. The success they had is what happens when quorum and class presidencies take the lead.

Sister Winder A friend of mine in Salt Lake City is suffering from a debilitating disease. She rides in a wheelchair and drives a car especially equipped so that she can do her visiting teaching. She will pick up her companion, then drive to the home of a sister. The sister will come out of her house and sit in the car while my friend does her visiting teaching. She is such a bright and loving spirit that neighbors will often come and visit around the car.

Sometimes I get upset about my disabilities, but I try not to show this. Usually I’m a happy person, and I just don’t show my frustrations to others.
When I was a teenager, however, there was a time when I was depressed.
I didn’t want to go to church. I asked God, “Why am I this way? Why can’t you make me better? Why don’t I have good relationships with others?” These questions discouraged me and made me feel really sad, and I didn’t know how I could change my situation, so I thought that maybe ending my life was the answer.
But then I thought about my mother and how she would react. I thought that she would probably feel really sorry and feel that she did something wrong or did not do enough to help me. That’s when I decided that I was going to live and keep going.
In the end, I feel that I’m a pretty happy person.

Cambodia has gone through many tragic civil wars. I was born right after the conflicts ended. Life was difficult and food was scarce as my parents struggled to raise eight children. At times, I wondered what my future could possibly hold under such conditions.
In1998, my life changed when I joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I was baptized one year before finishing high school. Lacking the financial means to attend college, I chose to serve a full-time mission. While serving, my spiritual eyes were opened. I came to understand God’s eternal plan for His children and how I could prepare to establish an eternal family of my own.
The spiritual truths of the restored gospel allowed me to know that one day I would marry in the temple and be sealed to my wife and children forever. I pictured us going to church together, singing hymns together, studying the gospel together, and one day sending my children on missions and then seeing them start their own families sealed in holy temples. What a beautiful vision I had for our family. I hope everyone has this kind of vision.
My dream began to be fulfilled in 2005, when I was sealed to a lovely woman in the Hong Kong China Temple. Since then, the eternal path has become clearer. The Lord has blessed us with five energetic sons.

“What does my church believe?” Andrea stammered.
“Yeah.” Jane urged. “You have to believe something—maybe something different.”
“Well, um … we believe in Heavenly Father and … and …”
“I guessed that much. Most churches believe in God,” said Jane. “But what does your church believe that makes you different from other churches?”
Andrea could feel a hot blush rise in her face. What can I say? she wondered.
Just then Jane’s mother called, “Andrea, you need to hurry home to help your mother. She just phoned and said something about taking your brother somewhere.”
“Oh! I forgot! Sorry, Jane—I have to run. See you tomorrow.” As she thanked Jane’s mom and hurried toward home, Jane’s questions kept popping into Andrea’s mind. She felt ashamed at not knowing what to say. I’ve been a member all my life. I should know what the Church believes.
After school the next day, Andrea slipped out of her chair and out the door. If I hurry, Jane won’t catch up to me and ask me again, she thought. But she wasn’t fast enough.
“Andrea, wait for me,” Jane yelled down the hall to her. “I just need to get my library book.”
As they started toward home, Andrea kept her head down and stared at the sidewalk as if expecting it to jump up at her. She could only manage to nod or shake her head whenever Jane said something. Finally Jane bent down and looked up at her friend’s face. “Are you OK?”
“Yes. I’m fine. I just don’t feel like talking. Anyway, here’s your house. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon—you’re still coming over for our usual Saturday pizza-after-chores get-together, aren’t you?”
“Of course—I haven’t missed yet, have I?”
Andrea hardly heard Jane’s reply. What do Latter-day Saints believe? she asked herself as she continued down the street. From her parents and in Primary, she had learned about temples, prophets, the Book of Mormon, the celestial kingdom, Jesus, Heavenly Father, and lots more. But how could she explain all that to Jane? It had taken her whole life to learn these things.
That night, as she and her father did dishes, she asked, “Dad, what does our Church believe?”
“Well, Andrea, we believe a lot of things. For starters, we believe in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. We believe that families can be together forever. We believe in Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon.”
“But that’s not all, is it?”
“No, of course not. I guess that if we went into detail, we could write several books about what we believe. Why do you ask?”
“Yesterday Jane asked me what our church believes, and I didn’t know what to say. I’m ten years old. I’ve been baptized, and I still don’t know what to say.” Andrea’s voice choked up, and tears started to pool in the corners of her eyes.
Dad put down the dishcloth, sat at the kitchen table, and gestured for her to sit next to him. “Andrea, you know what we believe. You’ve just forgotten that you do. Remember when you were preparing to be baptized? What did you do?”
“Well, I read the Book of Mormon, and I tried to repent of my sins, and I memorized the Articles of Faith.”
“Right. And what do the Articles of Faith tell us?”
A smile spread slowly across Andrea’s face. “They tell us what we believe! I do know!”
“Sure you do. The Articles of Faith can be very valuable tools in helping us and other people understand what we believe.”
When Andrea and Dad had finished the dishes, they sat and opened their scriptures to the Pearl of Great Price. On the last two pages, they found the Articles of Faith and read them one by one. Or rather, Dad read while Andrea recited them from memory. She was happy that she had been reviewing them for her Gospel in Action award and could remember them all.
Below the thirteenth article, Andrea saw the name Joseph Smith. “When did he write these?” she asked.
“Well, a man named John Wentworth, who was the editor of an Illinois newspaper, wanted to know how the Church was started and what members believed. Joseph Smith told him in a letter, which became known as the “Wentworth Letter.” The principles mentioned in that letter later became the Articles of Faith. They don’t go into a lot of detail about all the things that we believe, but they list many basic truths of the gospel.”
“I’m glad that we have the Articles of Faith! Now I know what I can say to Jane. Thanks, Dad.”
The next day Andrea was eager for Jane to come. Before her friend had hung up her coat, the words were tumbling from Andrea’s mouth. “Remember what you asked me Thursday at your house—about what my Church believes?”
“Oh, yeah. I remember. We didn’t get very far, did we?”
“I can tell you now.” Andrea began reciting the Articles of Faith.
“Wow! You really know a lot about your church. I think that’s great. How do you know all that?”
“I’ve been learning at home and at church all my life, but”—she grinned at her friend—“I had a little help from a newspaper man.” Then she told Jane about the Wentworth Letter and about how Joseph Smith’s reply had become the Articles of Faith.
“I can’t believe you memorized them all,” Jane said. “That’s a lot to remember!”
“It’s not that hard when it’s what you believe.”
Jane sat quietly for a minute. “Andrea, could you tell me more about what you believe? I don’t really understand everything you said, but I’d like to.”
“Sure. Let’s start with the first article of faith.” Andrea spent the rest of the pizza-making time explaining some of the Articles of Faith. While they feasted on their favorite—a concoction with ham, pineapple, and just a sprinkling of chopped tomato and green pepper—she explained more. When Jane left for home, Andrea offered, “If you want to know more, you can come to church with me.”
“Oh, I’d like that a lot. I can’t tomorrow, but I’ll ask my mom about next Sunday and let you know.”
That night, Andrea told her father all about it.
“Andrea, the Prophet Joseph Smith would be happy that what he wrote to John Wentworth helped you to share the gospel. Remember to thank the Lord tonight for him and the great work he did.”
And Andrea did just that.

The day I played tennis for the first time was also the day I vowed never to set foot on a tennis court again.
My friend had offered to teach me how to play, and I thought it sounded like fun. I’d seen him and some other friends play before, and it didn’t look that hard.
I was right: tennis wasn’t hard—it was impossible. From the get-go, my hold on the racket felt awkward, I didn’t know how to stand, and I kept hitting the ball either too hard or too soft—that is, on the rare occasions when I actually hit the ball.
My friend tried teaching me some techniques, but no matter what I did, I wasn’t improving. On top of that, the sun was scorching hot, and I was sweating in my poor outfit choice of a gray shirt and thick black pants. An hour into it, I couldn’t handle it anymore.
“I can’t do this.” I told my friend as I sunk down onto the court. “I am the least athletic person in the world!”
He came and sat by me. “It’s OK,” he said. “We don’t have to keep going. But you can hardly beat yourself up because you aren’t Serena Williams your first day on the court. You’re just learning.”
We went home, but I thought about that day a lot after that. My friend was right—I was just learning. He had been patient with me, so why couldn’t I be patient with myself? Eventually, I broke my vow and decided to try tennis again. Guess what? I even hit a few balls over the net! So I kept at it. Now it’s one of my favorite hobbies!
We aren’t perfect. We sometimes feel scared, embarrassed, or unsure. Conditions around us can make things harder, like the hot sun did when I tried to learn tennis. In fact, with everything going on in life, it can sometimes seem impossible to just get along with ourselves.

As we read, understand, and follow the handbooks, they become a blessing to those we serve.9 A policy change outlined in Handbook 2, for example, helped a bishop bless and strengthen one father who thought he would be unable to ordain his 12-year-old son to the Aaronic Priesthood.
Chapter 20 states, “Bishops and stake presidents have discretion to allow priesthood holders who are not fully temple worthy to perform or participate in some ordinances and blessings,” including baptisms and Aaronic Priesthood ordinations.10 Without a temple recommend, this father thought he would be unable to ordain his son. But his bishop, “as guided by the Spirit,”11 granted permission following an interview.
“That experience became a turning point in his life,” his current bishop noted. “It was part of the process of his becoming temple worthy, of being sealed with his wife in the temple, and of having their children sealed to them.”

When I was a boy growing up in Denmark, my friends and I liked to play tag. But one day we grew tired of playing the same old game, so we sat down and tried to think of something new and exciting to do.
“Let’s go to the harbor,” one friend suggested. “We can look at the boats and watch the fishermen.”
We all liked that idea, so we hopped on our bikes. Sure enough, there was a lot more action there! Sailors washed their boats while other fishermen cleaned and sold fish. Until the fish were sold, they were kept alive in well boxes—floating crates with small holes to allow water to flow in and out. The boxes bobbed between the boats and bumped into each other as the waves rushed in.
It wasn’t long before we were bored of just watching.
“Let’s play tag,” a friend suggested.
“Again?” another boy groaned.
My friend pointed to the well boxes with a sly grin. “Out there.”
Soon we were all leaping from box to box, which was much more exciting than playing tag at home. The slippery boxes jostled with each incoming wave. One time I fell off and landed with a splash. Sputtering seawater, I pulled myself back onto a crate and leaped onto another one. My foot broke right through it! Fish nibbled at my toes. It tickled, and I shrieked in laughter.
“Hey, you boys!” a gruff voice called. I looked up to see an angry fisherman coming toward us. “Get away from those well boxes before you break them. If you don’t get out of here, I’ll tell your parents!”
We scrambled back to shore, took off our wet socks and tied them to our bicycle handlebars, and took off. Our clothes dried in the wind as we pedaled home.
My clothes may have dried, but the smell of fish gave me away. When I walked in the door, Mother took one sniff and asked what had happened.
“I went to the harbor with my friends. I was playing on a well box, and I slipped and fell in the water,” I admitted.
To my surprise, Mother’s eyes filled with tears. “Jens, you must never play there again. Think of what could have happened! You could have been hurt or even drowned.” She hugged me tight. “I would be so sad, Jens. What would I do without you? You must promise never to play there again.” I gave Mother my word.
But a few weeks later, my friends came over and invited me to go with them to the harbor. Remembering the fun we’d had last time, I got on my bike and followed them. I forgot all about the promise I had made to my mother.
“You’re it!” A friend tagged me and jumped onto a bobbing well box.
I was about to chase him when suddenly I saw my mother’s face, just as if she were right in front of me, her eyes filled with tears. My heart stopped. I had broken my promise!
“I have to go home now,” I called to my friends.
“What?” one of them whined. “Why? We just got here.”
“I have to go home,” I repeated, climbing onto my bike.
My friends complained and tried to coax me into staying, but I wouldn’t listen. One by one, they all headed for home, too.
I put my bike away as quietly as possible and went to my room. I felt sick with shame that I had gone where I had promised Mother I would not go.
After a while Mother came into my room. “I can tell something is bothering you, Jens. What’s wrong?”
Lowering my head, I said quietly, “I went to the harbor with my friends today. I forgot that I had promised you I wouldn’t. But as soon as I got there, I remembered. I came right home. So did my friends. Mother, I’m sorry I forgot!”
When I looked up, Mother was beaming. “Jens! I’m so happy you remembered. Because you did, you set an example for your friends and none of you were hurt.”
A while later she brought me a glass of milk and a piece of freshly baked cake. Mother made the best cake in the whole world. I was grateful for the warm treat—but more grateful for the warmth of remembering to do right.

Recently I dedicated a beautiful little chapel, and at that time I was told that in order to pay the balance of the ward’s share of the construction cost ($5,000), the bishop had asked all members to limit Christmas presents to small children and to donate the amount thus saved to the building fund. The members responded beautifully, considering this an opportunity to receive a blessing rather than as a sacrifice, and at the dedicatory service many bore witness to this effect.