Gospel Story Finder

During this past summer, over 200,000 of our young people all over the world grew in faith at one of the hundreds of weeklong sessions of For the Strength of Youth, or FSY, conferences. Coming out of pandemic isolation, for many it was an act of faith in the Lord to even attend. Many of the young participants seem to follow a similar upward arc toward deeper conversion. At the end of their week, I liked to ask them, “So, how’s it been?”
They sometimes said something like this: “Well, on Monday I was so annoyed with my mother because she made me come and do this. And I didn’t know anybody. And I didn’t think it was for me. And I wouldn’t have any friends. … But now it’s Friday, and I just want to stay here. I just want to feel the Spirit in my life. I want to live like this.”

Not long ago, Jeff Pugh was driving across state to attend a session of Especially for Youth. He never made it. He was involved in a serious car accident and woke
“The first moments I remember of the whole ordeal were about a week and a half after it happened. There were unfamiliar faces in my room. I got to know these faces very well. They were the youth of the Tulsa (Oklahoma) Second Ward. The young women brought me sweets to eat. The young men came and talked to me, and one time helped push me in my wheelchair outside for a conversation.
“I am writing so that the Tulsa Second Ward youth can be recognized for their unselfish love and their Christlike example. They helped a scared and confused young man feel their love. This happening helped build my testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel and helped me realize there really are people out there like the ones you hear about in Sunday School stories. Thanks.”

I met a young man, and we became friends. For the next ten months we shared our ideas and thoughts about many things, but never religion. One day I found that my friend traveled with a Bible, so I asked him if he went to church and what the name of his church was. It was some long name—The Church of Jesus Christ of something something Saints. I wasn’t the least bit interested—it sounded like just another church to me.
My friend later told me he was going to serve the Lord for two years in another country. I figured he was going to be a pastor. When he left, I began to wonder what his church was like, and I began to search for their meeting place.
I found it a few months later, but I also found something more. As I walked through the doors of the meetinghouse, I felt a feeling impossible to describe; it was joy, peace, comfort, certainty, and happiness all in one. It was like coming home. My questions had now been answered.
The members of the church welcomed me with open arms. At first, I was reluctant to accept these welcomes because it was a little too much. I wasn’t used to so many people. They welcomed me whether they knew me or not. At the end of the meeting, a calm feeling came over me, and I heard these words in my mind: “Debbie, this is the place, and these are the people you have been searching for.”
Looking back, I see that my life in the ghetto was difficult and that a person could make it harder by making wrong choices. There was little opportunity for progression. But I wanted something worth living for. When the opportunity came to leave the ghetto with part of my family, I decided this was my chance.
Many of the girls I grew up with never left the ghetto. I could not have made it without following the desires of my heart and trusting in my Father above to lead me. I was blessed with the chance to leave the ghetto, be baptized a member of this church, gain an education, and fulfill a mission. I know Heavenly Father loves us all and is mindful of our circumstances, no matter where we are. He desires above all things that we find true happiness.

“Pizza face!”
I winced and sunk down into the bus seat, trying to disappear. The 20-minute ride home from school every day was pure torture for me. Lance and Sean always took the seat right behind me, and thought up as many names for me as they could. My face, full of acne since the fifth grade, provided them with such entertainment that they acted like I should be proud to receive so much verbal creativity.
I would run home from the bus stop, sit in the corner of my room with a blanket over my head, and cry. This experience was detrimental to a young girl’s self-esteem, but after a few months the boys moved on to some other poor soul with a visible affliction.
My self-esteem seemed to recover at the same rate my acne cleared—slowly. By high school a pimple was rare for me. On the other hand, both Lance and Sean, whom I still avoided, had acne problems of their own. They were much more withdrawn and had few friends.
“Serves them right,” I would think. “Now they’ve got exactly what they made fun of me for.” I felt inclined, even entitled, to some revenge of my own.
My chance came one day when Sean and I were alone in a large school hallway. He didn’t see me walking his way, and when I judged he was close enough for maximum damage, I said in a most disgusted way, “Pizza face!”
He winced, hung his head, and quickened his pace. As I watched him fleeing my torment, looking so alone in the huge hallway, I was astonished at what I felt. I had expected to feel triumphant. Instead I felt guilty and small.
Revenge had seemed like the clear answer for me, but standing there in the hall, I realized that revenge was empty. I felt worse than I’d ever felt in my life. I wanted to apologize. I learned my lesson that day: revenge is not the way to heal your inner injuries.

Tracy sat very still. She was almost five, but it was very hard to sit quietly. Today was supposed to have been a special day. Tracy and her mother had planned to go to the zoo! They had been all ready to go when the phone rang. Mother had answered and had listened for a long time before she finally said good-bye. She was crying when she turned to Tracy and said, “Honey, I need to talk to you.”
Now Tracy and Mother were visiting Sister Abbot, and Sister Abbot was crying. Tracy’s mother said, “Sister Abbot, I know how hard it must be for you. I’ll be happy to listen if you want to talk, or to help in any other way that I can.”
Sister Abbot put her arm around her three-year-old son, Jimmy, and cried harder. She hardly seemed to have heard Tracy’s mother.
Tracy watched, feeling uncomfortable. She knew that her mother was a visiting teacher and that Sister Abbot was one of the women whom she visited each month. Earlier Mother had told Tracy that Jimmy’s brother, Alan, had died that morning. Tracy knew about dying. Her cousin, Marnie, had been hit by a car last year, and she had died two weeks later. Tracy had cried and cried. Mother had told her that this life was only part of Heavenly Father’s wonderful plan. Tracy remembered that she had wanted to be with Marnie again right then, but her mother had explained that we all have to wait until the right time.
As Tracy thought about this, Sister Abbot said, “Why would God want to punish me so? First my husband, now my son.” She began to cry even harder.
Then Tracy spoke. At first no one heard her, so she spoke a little louder. “He loves me,” she said.
“What?” Sister Abbot asked, between sobs.
“He loves me,” Tracy repeated, looking at Sister Abbot.
“Who loves you, child?” Sister Abbot said, looking confused.
“Heavenly Father,” Tracy replied.
Sister Abbot looked puzzled, so Tracy tried to explain. “My cousin Marnie died last year, and Mommy told me that death isn’t forever. Heavenly Father loves me, so He let Jesus die so that we could all live again and be with Him.”
Sister Abbot still looked puzzled, so Tracy tried again. “He must love me very much to let His Son die so that we can all be together.”
Tracy looked at her mother. Her mother smiled at her with tears in her eyes. Sister Abbot had stopped crying and seemed more calm. She hugged Tracy and her mother before they went home.
The next Sunday, in testimony meeting, Sister Abbot went up to the pulpit and told everybody how grateful she was for a visit from a little girl who knew that her Heavenly Father loved her.

At the fireside, Tony shared several principles from the 4th Article of Faith, particularly emphasising the first principle, faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. He spoke about how his faith has guided him through life’s storms, drawing parallels to the biblical story of Christ calming the storm. Tony recounted personal trials, such as the complicated pregnancy and surgery of his son, Sage, and the tragic loss of his mother in a car accident in 2011. Despite these challenges, Tony’s faith remained unwavering, attributing miracles in his life to his efforts to put the Lord first.

Tommy had noisy feet. When he came into the house from outside, his feet went clomp, clomp, clomp. Then baby sister woke up, opened her big blue eyes, and started to cry.
“Oh, Tommy,” sighed Mother, “now see what you’ve done. You woke up sister again. Why can’t you walk quietly?”
When Daddy was watching his favorite television program, he grumbled, “Tommy, can’t you walk quietly? I can’t hear a thing!”
When Tommy walked up the steps to the chapel door, his feet went clompety-clompety, clomp, clomp!
Then Mother would say, “Sh-h-h, Tommy. Sh-h-h!”
When he walked down the chapel aisle, Daddy would whisper, “Quietly, Tommy. Quietly.”
Tommy didn’t want to walk clompety-clompety, clomp, clomp.
He didn’t want to wake up his baby sister.
He didn’t want to make it hard for his father to hear his favorite television program.
He didn’t want to make a noise in Heavenly Father’s house.
Tommy didn’t want to disturb people with his clompy feet.
He really wanted to walk quietly. So one day after everyone had been saying, “Sh-h-h, Tommy! Sh-h-h!” Tommy said to himself, “I’m going to try very hard to walk quietly. I’m going to try to keep my feet from going clompety-clompety, clomp, clomp.”
And Tommy did try. He tried hard. He began to listen very carefully to his feet.
When Tommy came in from outside, his feet went clomp on the floor. Then Tommy said to himself, “I must walk quietly. I must not wake up baby sister.” And right then his feet did exactly what he told them to do.
When Tommy went into the chapel, his feet started up the steps with a big clomp. But then Tommy said to himself, “I must walk quietly when I enter Heavenly Father’s house.” And his feet did exactly what he told them to do.
Tommy kept trying to walk quietly. Instead of going clompety-clompety, clomp, clomp, his feet went clomp, clomp. Then they just went clomp. And one day they didn’t go clomp at all.
Tommy’s feet came in from outside so quietly that when Mother saw him standing by her in the kitchen, she said in surprise, “Tommy, I didn’t hear you come in. You must have pussycat feet!”
Daddy was watching his favorite television program that night when Tommy came in and sat down in his own small chair. Suddenly Daddy looked up and said, “Tommy, I didn’t hear you come in. You must have cushions on your shoes!”
One day Tommy’s Sunday School teacher said, “My, some of you children have noisy feet today. Your feet went clompety-clompety, clomp, clomp up the stairs and clomp, clomp, clomp down the hall and clomp into our classroom. We should all walk quietly in our Heavenly Father’s house.
“Tommy, you have very quiet feet. Would you please show the other boys and girls how to walk quietly?”
Tommy smiled a big happy smile, and as softly as a pussycat he showed the boys and girls how to walk quietly.
And after that Tommy never had any more trouble with noisy feet.

Home teaching requires energy. I remember times when I was so exhausted from the demands of difficult days in the surgical operating room (in addition to duties relating to family needs and to Church responsibilities) that the prospects of spending evening hours in home teaching were not always anticipated eagerly. Almost without exception, however, I can say that I returned home more invigorated and happy than when I left. I often told Sister Nelson that rewards for a home teacher were not remote; they were immediate, at least for me.

Adriana bounced the ball to Selene. Boing! Selene caught the ball and bounced the ball back. Thud! Adriana didn’t catch the ball. Selene called Adriana a mean name. Adriana looked sad. “Please don’t say that,” Adriana said. “It hurts my feelings.” Adriana bounced the ball to Selene. “I’m sorry I called you a mean name,” Selene said. Selene bounced the ball back to Adriana. “I’m glad we can play ball together!” Selene said.

Some of those involved in the project were able to submit names for family members who had researched names but had not submitted them for temple work. For Amanda Gardner of the Pioneer Ward, researching names helped draw her closer to family members. She helped her grandparents, Allen and Helga Willie, submit names they had been researching for 30 years. Her other grandfather, Sterling Gardner, helped her friend research names. Amanda says, “One of my good friends had no names to submit, so she came to my grandpa and he helped her find about 175 names. At first she was like, ‘Oh, they’re just names on paper.’ But I realized they’re not just names on paper; they’re family members.”

When I was in seventh grade I decided to participate in a running competition against the other middle schools. What I didn’t know was that the area we were running in was hilly, and so running would be a lot harder than I was used to.
When I was a little over halfway through the race, I slowed to a walk and just decided that I couldn’t do it. Tears came, and I felt weak and embarrassed.
As I was about to stop and sit down, two eighth-grade girls from my school caught up to me and started encouraging me to keep going. I reluctantly started to slowly jog with them, with one on each side of me. My whole body was aching, but I kept on going. When we were finally in sight of the finish line, my youngest sister came to run with me too.
When we crossed the finish line, I was relieved. I received a ribbon for seventh place, and I felt embarrassed since there were only seven girls who ran. But now it reminds me of how I completed something that seemed so impossible.

Another challenge to Craig’s humility might be the role he has played in the Hill Cumorah Pageant for the past several years. As Moroni, he is not on the stage very long. But when he is, there are just Craig and his father (playing Mormon) on that huge stage. And finally, there is just Craig/Moroni, carrying the gold plates upward from level to level and into the darkness beyond the spotlights. It’s an important moment.
“How do you like being in the pageant with your father?” I wanted to know.
“It’s super; it’s just great. I can’t often look him in the eye while we are on stage because I am supposed to be looking toward the audience. But when I do look him in the eye, the emotion is there and it’s hard to hold back. He’s saying that tomorrow will be the last battle of the Nephites and they’ll be destroyed. And when my father says that, I feel it. It’s like it’s real. And then I have to go and do my part as best I can.
“I wasn’t very confident with the part at first. I was very nervous. But after four rehearsals, and getting my lines and actions down, everything just worked out from there. Now it’s great. I can go up there and think about the audience and try my hardest to share my testimony—Moroni’s testimony—with them.”

Now let’s look at two people who followed the Savior’s example of shining light. Recently my friend Kevin was seated next to a business executive at dinner. He worried what to talk about for two hours. Following a prompting, Kevin asked, “Tell me about your family. Where do they come from?”

The gentleman knew little about his heritage, so Kevin pulled out his phone, saying, “I have an app that connects people to their families. Let’s see what we can find.”

After a lengthy discussion, Kevin’s new friend asked, “Why is family so important to your church?”

Kevin answered simply, “We believe that we continue to live after we die. If we identify our ancestors and take their names to a sacred place called a temple, we can perform marriage ordinances that will keep our families together even after death.”

Kevin started with something he and his new friend had in common. He then found a way to witness of the Savior’s light and love.

The second story is about Ella, a collegiate basketball player. Her example began when she received her mission call while away at school. She chose to open her call in front of her team. They knew almost nothing about the Church of Jesus Christ and didn’t understand Ella’s desire to serve. She prayed repeatedly to know how to explain her mission call in a way that her teammates might feel the Spirit. Her answer?
“I made a PowerPoint,” Ella said, “because I’m just that cool.” She told them about the potential of serving in one of 400-plus missions and possibly learning a language. She highlighted the thousands of missionaries already serving. Ella ended with a picture of the Savior and this brief testimony: “Basketball is one of the most important things in my life. I moved across the country and left my family to play for this coach and with this team. The only two things that are more important to me than basketball are my faith and my family.”

As Vanessa has learned more and more, she has been able to help her younger sisters and brother learn. They have each progressed faster in their music because they’ve had the help of an older sister. In a family of performers, everything doesn’t go perfectly smooth. Practice time can get a little heated. Everyone has his own opinion about how things should be done. But all differences fade away on stage. They all get into the spirit of the performance and enjoy sharing what they do with appreciative audiences.

Laura was looking out the window when Sister Warren asked, “Laura, can you guess from the clues I’ve just given whom we will learn about in our lesson today?”
Rob started to laugh. “Perfect little Laura wasn’t listening!” he teased in a sing-song voice.
Laura could feel her face getting hot. She whirled around, hissing in Rob’s face, “Even when you listen, you never know any answers!”
Sister Warren stepped between them, repeated the clues, and went on with the lesson. Laura and Rob continued to glance angrily at each other.
When Primary was over, Sister Warren asked Laura and Rob to stay for a moment. They stood nervously in front of her chair, expecting her to lecture them. Instead, she picked up her scriptures and turned the pages. When she came to the one she wanted, she wrote “Mosiah 27:3–4” on two small pieces of paper and handed one to each of them, saying, “During King Mosiah’s reign, a strict command was given to all the Church members. Will you find out what it was? Then I’d like you to read it aloud together as part of our class’s Sharing Time presentation next week.”
The opening song in sacrament meeting had not finished before Laura found the scripture. She read it carefully. The parts she understood best were: “There should be an equality among all men” and “every man should esteem his neighbor as himself.”
Laura thought about Rob. She had been unkind. Sometimes she thought that she was a better person than Rob because she usually knew the right answers. Then she remembered that Rob loved to play kickball and was much better at it than she was. She jumped back every time the ball came her way. Laura wondered if there was anything about Rob that was like her.
Rob didn’t remember about the scripture until he was getting ready for church the next Sunday. He found the paper in his pocket. With anticipation, he turned the pages of his Book of Mormon. “Every man should esteem his neighbor as himself.” Instantly he knew that making fun of Laura had been wrong. He felt bad when he remembered how embarrassed she had looked.
When Rob and Laura arrived at Primary, smiled at each other. Sister Warren began Sharing Time by saying, “Did you know that more than five billion people live in this world right now? Did you know that every single one of them is different? And, of course, you know that Heavenly Father created each person and loves everyone.
“When we treat each other with respect, honor, and love, we are showing reverence for Heavenly Father. We must be courteous and kind to every person, even those who seem to be very different from us.”
Then Sister Warren asked her class to pass two question cards to each person so that they could play “We Are Different.” When the game was over, Sister Warren asked Laura and Rob to read the scripture in Mosiah to the Primary. Then Sister Warren said, “Some of you may have noticed how courteous Laura and Rob were as they helped you play this game. Their example helps us see how treating all people with respect is a good way to show reverence for Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.”

I was born to A Latter-day Saint Family and baptized at age eight; I faithfully attended church and seminary. But although the gospel had always been a part of my life, I wasn’t truly converted.
As a seminary student, I had developed good habits of scripture study that served me well for several years. But I could never bring myself to get really serious about prayer. In my youth I had made many mistakes, which made praying seem painful and hard.
I went off to college, and when I was 21, my father died unexpectedly in an accident. In my bitterness, I stopped reading the scriptures.
Years passed. I married in the temple and bore three children while my husband struggled through law school. Because I was without the sustenance of scripture study and deep, sincere prayer, the trials and frustrations of this period left me open to the adversary. My feelings became tainted with anger and a sense of failure.
Then my husband graduated and found a job that took us to another state. I had lived in many parts of the United States, but this move left me feeling terribly out of place. Our new ward was in a fairly wealthy area. My husband and I had a lot of school debt and very few possessions. We drove an old car, our clothes were outdated, and our furniture was secondhand and mismatched. The disparity was painfully obvious to me.
It wasn’t that I coveted what others had. I simply couldn’t imagine that they could see me as a worthwhile person when I had so little.
As the months passed, I had great difficulty making friends in the ward. I had been fairly comfortable in our wards in college, but now I felt intimidated and isolated from the friends and family who valued me.
A very long year and a half passed. I felt more insecure and unaccepted than I had felt since being a teenager in junior high school. I gave up even trying to fit in.
Then a ward member named Julie, a sister whom I greatly admired, began reaching out to me. She was 10 years older than I, a woman of great faith, and respected by everyone. I couldn’t believe she really wanted to get to know me, but I was lonely enough to accept her invitation to go jogging with her and some of her friends each morning at a nearby track.
Every day, Julie arrived having just finished morning prayer and scripture study. She was always filled with enthusiasm about the gospel, the scriptures, and the insights that came to her as she read. Running with her was like going to a devotional or a seminary class. And she seemed genuinely interested in me; she listened without judgment to my frustrations and fears.
I found Julie’s enthusiasm irresistible. Following her example, I became dedicated to a program of regular, serious scripture study for the first time in seven years.
I began to feel the Spirit in my life on a daily basis, and I found that I was able to follow the Spirit in fulfilling my calling as a Beehive adviser. I also realized that even though I’d been physically present in the programs and meetings, I had been spiritually inactive for many years.
Then one day, I walked into church a little late. Julie was leading the music, as she did every week. I looked up at her face. Her smile was wonderful, radiant, somehow filled with light. She looked directly at me, and I was overcome with an overpowering sensation of warmth and peace and joy. I was surprised. I knew I was feeling the Spirit very strongly, but I didn’t understand what the feeling meant.
I pondered throughout Sunday School and sacrament meeting, all the time cherishing this feeling of great peace and joy. By the end of the meeting, I understood the reason for this witness. I realized that Julie, being filled with the Spirit, actively sought to convey the love of the Savior to the congregation by the light of her countenance (see Alma 5:14, 19).
And then, into my mind came the whispered words that changed my life: “You must learn to be like that.” I was stunned. Suddenly my perspective shifted. I was to learn to smile like that and to convey the love and kindness to others that Julie had extended to me. For the first time, I understood that if I had the love of Christ in my countenance, no one would care what my clothes looked like, or my car, or my house.
My life was very different after that. The next month I walked into homemaking meeting, where I had always felt hopelessly out of place; I looked around at the room full of faces as if for the first time. It seemed that everyone there was either my friend already or needed a friend. I saw no condescension or condemnation in anyone. Nor was I looking for it. I was looking outward for what I could give.
After that, I continued to mature in terms of my motivation and expectations. As I felt more and more of the Spirit in my life, I desired to have the strength and faith to do anything the Lord might ask.
About this time, I attended a fireside where Julie spoke; she talked a lot about prayer. I took her counsel to heart and decided to start praying morning and night with real sincerity. I got up earlier than before, scheduled 15 or 20 minutes just for prayer, and treated it as an appointment with the most important person in my life. I found that I could get answers and guidance in a way I never had before.
I began to study the Atonement intensively. And I studied the doctrine of the change of heart and the meaning of being born again. As I studied, I developed a profound reverence for the Savior, for the power of his atonement, and for its efficacy in saving me from all of my failings and weaknesses.
One day I read Mosiah 5:7–8: “Ye shall be called the children of Christ … ; for ye say that your hearts are changed through faith on his name; therefore, ye are born of him and have become his sons and his daughters.
“And under this head ye are made free, and there is no other head whereby ye can be made free.”
Now I understood the words made free. I was being released from so many personal fears, inadequacies, and negative feelings that it seemed as if tangible shackles were falling from my hands and feet. My posture changed as I began to see myself as a person who had every reason to stand tall. My children asked why I was smiling so much. My husband asked why we didn’t quarrel anymore. My mother and brothers simply asked, “What happened?”
I spent three years in that ward where I had initially felt so uncomfortable. My last 18 months were a wonderful, fulfilling time. Sometimes I faced difficult trials, but I also felt an assurance that the Lord was mindful of me and that the painful experiences were for my growth.
By the time I left that ward, I not only felt loved, I also felt trusted and honored by the members there. I had had many humbling, spiritual experiences as well as opportunities to serve, to speak, and to teach. The ward had become a cherished family.
Julie remains a dear friend. Her gift for radiating light continues to touch my life and the lives of many others. Her example showed me how to reach for the Savior, the source of the light. And this has given me the means to lift and love and comfort many people. I believe that if I continue to progress, someday I, too, will be filled with his love and receive his image in my countenance.

In tournament golf competition, there is a rule that a contestant must be disqualified if he signs an incorrect scorecard or turns his card in without signing it. A famous golfer named Gary Player did that once and was eliminated from a prestigious tournament. He was asked if someone in the scoring tent couldn’t have reminded him to sign his name on the score card.
“My friend,” Player replied, “there are responsibilities in life. You cannot shove your responsibilities onto the shoulders of someone else. This was my responsibility. I failed to do it, so I must suffer the consequences.”

Later as a missionary in Argentina, I observed a married couple in one of my areas who were filled with the love of Christ. Every time I saw the two of them together, they radiated goodness. I could sense how much they cared not only for each other but also for seemingly everyone they met. I felt their sincerity toward me each time we talked. I wanted to spend more time in their presence because of the love of Christ that exuded from them.

Examples like these two couples have blessed my life. They have helped me see how I can strengthen my own future marriage and family.

Volleyball season came. We knew we were the best team in the stake. For two years we had been knocking on the door, and this was our year. We had the veteran “senior” boys. We had the height; we had the talent. And we even had a mascot—Billie. We even let Billie play. Just hitting the ball was a major achievement, but everyone clapped and encouraged him, so Billie really felt that he was making a contribution.
Being at each game was more important than ever to him. During the regular season, Billie might have cost the team a few points, or even one game in a series, but everyone recognized the sparkle in his eye when he played and we all felt good because of our sacrifice.
Finally the stake championship came. It was the same rivalry that had been there for the last two years. This time we would win. We had beaten them during the regular season, and we would beat them in the championship. Perhaps as an extra precaution someone “forgot” to tell Billie about the game.
Saturday afternoon at game time some of our players were overconfident and had run down to the store for some pop. The first game started without them, but the second string was good enough. Then in came the bishop with Billie. Both teams were well coached. The game was close, but we lost. We couldn’t afford to hold back. We had to have the next game if we were to win two out of three.
Billie had been at the coach’s side the whole first game. “Now? Should I go in now? Do you want me to play now?” His persistence was distracting. The coach spoke firmly but kindly, “Go sit down; I’ll tell you when, Billie.”
At the end of the first game, Billie couldn’t wait any longer. Scores didn’t mean anything. The only thing that was important was playing. The coach looked at Billie; for a long minute he agonized. He had always played all the boys. Would he change the rules now? Was the principle more important than the game?
This was a unique group of boys. Just weeks before, the coach had told us that sometime in his life every coach should get a chance to work with a group like ours. He felt that we could understand principles. There wasn’t any choice; he had to let Billie play.
The other team served—right to Billie. Another serve—to Billie; and another. Again and again the serve was to Billie. The other coach called time-out; he was talking to his server. Another serve—right to Billie. The score was 11 to 0; no service had been returned. Finally a service went into the net, but it was too late. The final score was 15 to 6. It was our year to win, and we lost.
The other team walked off the court with heads lowered. We were fighting back tears. We didn’t understand. We went outside, and the coach tried to talk. “I thought I knew what was right.” Even he was fighting for composure. “I believe it’s important for everyone to play. I’ve always let everyone play. I hope I’m doing what’s right.” The bishop was there with Billie. He looked as if he wanted to talk but didn’t know what to say. Finally Billie broke in and said, “Well, we won another one!”
Something happened after that. The bishop gave a lesson in priesthood meeting on winning. He said something about an inactive father going to the temple because his handicapped son was loved by our quorum. He said that was winning. Somebody said if Billie could play volleyball he could come to priesthood meeting. All of a sudden Billie was really part of us. We’d invested a volleyball championship in him, and he was important to us.

What truly converted me to the gospel was the Book of Mormon. I read some verses from it. Then one day I decided to follow Moroni’s promise to “ask God … if these things are not true; and … he will manifest the truth of it unto you” (Moroni 10:4). So I said a prayer and started reading the very first verse in the Book of Mormon. When I read it, the Holy Ghost witnessed to me in a wonderful way that the Book of Mormon truly is the word of God.