Gospel Story Finder

After shopping for groceries, we drove to the pharmacy in Eureka, California—our last stop before heading home to Willow Creek, about an hour away. The pharmacy, however, was closed for lunch. While we waited, my daughter Shae asked if we could drive to Humboldt Bay.
The four of us, including my daughter Tess and her husband, Patrick, grabbed lunch, drove to the nearby bay, and stopped in the parking lot that runs parallel to the bay. That January day in 2021 was overcast and chilly. From our four-door pickup we watched a bird feeding, diving toward the bay and then rising again.
We’d been there less than five minutes and had barely begun to eat when we heard the whining of a speeding car engine. I remember thinking, “Who in their right mind is driving so fast with people all around?”
The road to the bay ran by the parking lot as it turned north. I didn’t locate the source of the engine noise until I saw a gray pickup sailing through the air toward the water. The pickup had missed the turn, sped over a sidewalk, smashed a light pole, and launched into the air. I watched the pickup sail over the shoreline and clear an old pier as it flew toward the water. It was like a scene out of a movie or TV show.
Without speaking a word, we threw open our pickup truck doors and jumped out, groceries spilling onto the parking lot asphalt. Then we ran to the water’s edge just after the pickup splashed hard into the bay. We were close enough to see that the pickup’s driver was staring blankly through the windshield.
As I watched him, I thought, “He’s not moving! He’s not going to get out of that pickup! Something is horribly wrong!”
I had a feeling that I needed to help the man, that I needed to “go and do” (1 Nephi 3:7)—now! The windows of the pickup were rolled up, so Tess and I looked in vain for a rock big enough to break the driver’s side car window. Then she and Patrick called 911 while Shae gathered up our groceries.
Growing up in Willow Creek, I had driven the curvy roads along the Trinity River every day. I had often thought about how scary it would be to go off the road and into the river. What would I do? How would I get out? I would not want to die that way, and I could not let the man in the pickup die that way.
Under normal circumstances, I would never have gone into the bay. But my only thought was, “The driver needs help, and I’m supposed to help him!”
For some reason, I had no fear. The next thing I knew, I was wading in the chilly water, still wearing my pants, shoes, and a pink sweatshirt.
I’m a big girl, and when I waded into the water, I heard someone say, “She’s going to have a heart attack!” I ignored him. After taking 10 steps, I began swimming toward the pickup, about 30 yards (27 m) away. When I reached it, the engine compartment was sinking, but the water was still below the door handle. I tried but could not open the door.
“Open the door or roll down the window!” I called to the driver. “Are you ready to get out of there?”
No response. He just stared straight out the windshield.
I kept talking until he finally turned his head toward me. He gave me a confused smile as if to say, “What are you doing here? What’s going on?”
As the pickup slowly sank, the man continued to sit motionless. My mind raced as I wondered how to open the door or the window. Suddenly and miraculously, the driver’s side window lowered—by itself! I have no idea how it came down, just as I then had no idea how to get the man out of the pickup. I thought about waiting for help, but I heard a loud gurgling sound as water rushed into the cab. I knew I couldn’t wait for help.
I quickly pulled myself up on the door, got halfway into the pickup, reached across the driver, and unbuckled his seat belt. I grabbed him and pulled with all my strength. I got him out of the window and held him up as water sucked the pickup down.
God knew our hearts, and He knew we would go and do what we could to help one of His children.
I didn’t know how deep the water was, and I couldn’t see the sunken truck. But while treading water, I kicked the truck’s hood. I tried to stand on it but kept slipping off. On one of my unsuccessful attempts to stand, I found the truck’s antenna. I held on to it as I secured a foot against a windshield wiper.
Just then another swimmer arrived. A minute later, a boater who had seen the accident maneuvered his craft to us and threw us a rope. Pushing and pulling, the three of us got safely onto the boat. Later, when I took off my pink sweatshirt, Shae pointed out that I had somehow cut my arm from my elbow to my wrist.
I feel that my family was at Humboldt Bay that day to help that man. I don’t pretend to know God’s mind, but I believe that when bad things happen, He expects us to act. I also believe that God gives us experiences and puts us in positions to bless His children. I was raised by a mother who took us swimming and taught us about water currents. We learned to respect but not fear the water. Most important, we learned to help others in need.
We were where we were supposed to be that day—in the right place, at the right time. God knew our hearts, and He knew we would go and do what we could to help one of His children.
The author lives in California.
Editors’ note: Seven months after Hiedi helped rescue Eric Floyd, the driver of the pickup truck, he died of causes unrelated to the stroke he had suffered that day in January 2021. “I wept when I found out that he had died, but I was grateful that he had a little extra time after his accident to spend with his family,” said Sister Johnston, whom witnesses called the “Lady in Pink.” On March 7, 2021, Humboldt County supervisors presented her with the Carnegie Medal for her heroism.

Julischka doesn’t just show her testimony—she talks about it. If friends don’t know which church she belongs to, they soon find out! “She isn’t afraid to talk about the gospel,” her dad says. “One day she came home sad because she’d had a discussion with a boy at school. He didn’t believe in Jesus.” Julischka bore her testimony to him and encouraged him to believe in Jesus Christ as the Son of God.

As John started down the hill toward home, fog mixed with smoke rolled over him in smothering waves. The frightened ten-year-old boy sat down to try to light the lantern Mr. West had loaned him to use in just such an emergency, but the dampness blew out the flame of the matches. John stood up, pulled his oilskin coat tighter about him, and tried to see ahead through the fog and darkness of the late afternoon.
Earlier that day John’s mother had sent him with a basket of food to the home of an old shepherd who lived alone about three miles northeast of Milnthorpe, England, where John lived with his family. It was the first time Mother had ever let John go on this errand alone, and he was both proud and excited. But he had stayed at Mr. West’s home too long, and when a dark cloud blacked out the sun before a soft rain started, John jumped up quickly and said goodbye to his old friend.
Mr. West offered to walk back with the boy to Milnthorpe, but John shook his head. “This is my first trip alone,” he explained, “and my mother wouldn’t let me come alone again if you had to take me home.”
Now John wished that Mr. West were with him. He imagined all kinds of strange sounds and movements in the fog that closed in thick around him. He had no idea where he was. Suddenly he came to a big iron gate that marked the end of the road, and from beyond the gate came the frightening growl of a dog.
John was almost paralyzed with fright. Then he remembered that his mother had told him that God was always near, even though he might sometimes think that he was all alone.
John dropped down on his knees and asked for help. As he did so, all his fear left; and he was not surprised a few minutes later to hear a voice call out of the mist, “Johnny, I’ve come to take you home.” It was Mr. West!
The young boy was John Taylor, who became the third president of the Church. Although he lived to be eighty years old, he never forgot the quick answer to his prayer as a frightened boy on that lonesome foggy evening.

Since childhood, I dreamed of serving a mission. As I got older, however, my perspective on life began to change, and prioritizing my family’s well-being became the most important. With the responsibility to support us, I watched my mother shouldering the care for me, my brother, and my three other younger siblings—Winyordy, Drey, and Ros—‚without the assistance of my stepfather, who had previously filled that role. It was solely her and me, with the guidance of our Heavenly Father, providing for the family. I understood that I was an essential pillar in supporting the family. Nevertheless, despite knowing the hardship it would bring her, my mother encouraged me to pursue my mission.
Throughout my life, my mother always reminded me that God always knows what is best for me. But it wasn’t until one day at work that I really listened to her. I felt like I was wasting my time there and had a strong feeling I should go on a mission. Even though friends and Church leaders had told me before to follow my heart, I hadn’t wanted to admit it. When I got home, I told my mom, “I’m going to serve a mission.”
She was excited and surprised and completely supported my decision.
I was called to serve in the Dominican Republic Santiago Mission. Incredibly, while there, I have become reacquainted with Elder Jean Louis, the first missionary who taught us the gospel. God’s timing is perfect, and when you put God first, everything else will come as a result.

I remember bearing my first testimony at age nine. We hadn’t been in our new chapel in East Garland, Utah, very long. President Heber J. Grant had dedicated it. One Sunday when we were in fast meeting, I felt the Spirit and had a feeling come over me that I should stand and bear my testimony. I stood up and had a difficult time emotionally, but I said that I knew that the Church was true. I still remember that the man who was conducting the meeting, Brother Edwin Isaacson, thanked everyone, including me, for bearing our testimonies. I knew then that the Church was true, and I know it now. I remember the feelings I had when I received my patriarchal blessing at age eleven. The patriarch in our stake, Joseph Kirkham, traveled to the various wards to give blessings. When it was announced that he would be in our ward area on a certain day, I wanted to get mine. I talked with my parents about it, then got my recommend. My patriarchal blessing meant a lot to me and has continued to do so. I’ve always taken it seriously, and throughout my life I have tried very carefully to follow the counsel that I received in it.

Illustration by Chris Wormell
During a trip to see our extended family one summer, our 12-year-old, high-mileage minivan died and coasted to a stop. We were stuck. Fortunately, we were only five miles (8 km) from the small town of Limon, Colorado, USA.
The local mechanic gave us bad news. Our transmission needed to be replaced, and we would need to wait at least five days for parts. We were short on cash but did have our tent and some camping gear, so we opted to stay in the local campground.
Hundreds of miles from family and friends, we contemplated how we might get to a store to buy the groceries we’d need to survive. We decided to look up the local branch president in hopes of finding transportation. We called President Dawson, and within half an hour we received two calls from members of the small branch’s Relief Society. We happily discovered that one family lived within a block of the campground; they came to meet us within a few hours of our call.
Over the next week, the love and care we received from that small branch on the windy plains of Colorado overwhelmed us. The family who lived close by invited us to their home for dinner that first day, and we enjoyed a great evening of conversation with the parents while our children played with their daughter. The next morning we hitched a ride with another member to go shopping for food and supplies for our stay.
The generosity of branch members continued beyond our original request. They picked us up for church on Sunday. They helped us make memories at the town’s historic train museum. Our children took shelter in their homes during a passing hailstorm. One of the members even employed my husband for a few days to help us pay for car repairs.
Every evening, members of the small branch fed us and entertained our children in their homes. Toward the end of our stay, another family took us to their ranch, where our children learned to ride horses.
When we left Limon a week later, we left with prayers of thanks for a new group of dear friends who took us in and made us feel at home in Limon.

Due to his autism, my younger son was afraid of being in large groups and meeting new people, but the ward welcomed us with open arms and did everything they could to accommodate our needs. The members set aside a special room at the back of the chapel just for my son, and they fulfilled our request to avoid making eye contact with him until he felt more at ease. Even when one of my children would disrupt sacrament meeting, we were treated with the utmost respect and kindness.
I saw my sons unfold in the warmth of the ward’s embrace. They quickly made new friends, and my sons even started to attend Primary classes on days that I was unable to attend church.
We were eventually baptized, a memory that still brings tears to my eyes. At the baptismal service, the ward members—understanding my children’s fear of crowds—tiptoed into the back of the room after the boys had been seated to avoid frightening them. Afterward, we were offered a mountain of congratulatory sweets, and the love in the room was so palpable that my sons remarked, “I want to be baptized again!”

I feel very blessed that at a young age I was taught the importance of keeping the Word of Wisdom. I committed myself to keeping that commandment. I remember a very prestigious competition in Germany, when I won the vaulting event. As I stood on the victory stand, I received a gold medal, flowers, and gifts. I couldn’t have been more pleased.
Before walking off of the stand, I noticed another individual coming forward with a silver cup, and I thought, “How great! Another prize!” But as the presenter moved closer with this cup, I noticed it was full of wine.
Turning to my German friend and competitor, I asked what it was for, and he explained that tradition calls for the champion to drink out of the cup and to pass it to the next athlete.
I told him, “Well, I don’t drink.”
He responded with: “Then just take a little sip and hand it to the next person.”
Then I explained, “No, it’s against my religion, and I can’t even take a sip.”
My friend proceeded to explain to the officials in German that I wouldn’t drink it, but for some reason they insisted I take the cup.
So I took the cup and held it high in the air for the crowd to see. And then, without taking a sip, I handed it down to the next person. I admit that amidst the laughter of the crowd I felt a bit embarrassed, but I felt proud that it was easy to say no. I believe that if we make proper decisions before we are faced with a temptation, we will find it much easier to resist that temptation.

For years, Gladys and Dionisio Aguilera of Asunción had seen LDS missionaries around town and had wondered who they were and what they were doing. “They never knocked on our door,” Gladys says, “but we wished they would.”
“I told my wife we should help them, because they were very hardworking and were sacrificing for the people of our country,” says Dionisio, an auto mechanic. “Finally, we went after them; they didn’t come after us!”
They invited two North American sister missionaries to their home—and were baptized a few weeks later, in July 1991. Within another couple of weeks, Dionisio and Gladys were the Young Men and Young Women presidents in the Anahí Branch.
“We had been married twelve years and were happy,” Gladys says. “But we always felt we were missing something. After we were baptized, we started seeing new things in our lives, things we had never seen before.” For example, they remember the awe they felt the first time they fasted—and tasted a spirit they had never known before. And they tell of a blessing that healed one of their sons.
“Now our happiness feels complete,” says Sister Aguilera. They are preparing their sons, Eduardo, 9, and David, 7, to serve missions. A new LDS meetinghouse has been built just a block from their home. “I’m not content with the testimony I had at my baptism,” she says. “I am seeing it grow every day.”

A classic account of judging by appearance was printed in a national magazine many years ago. It is a true account—one which you may have heard but which bears repeating.
A woman by the name of Mary Bartels had a home directly across the street from the entrance to a hospital clinic. Her family lived on the main floor and rented the upstairs rooms to outpatients at the clinic.
One evening a truly awful-looking old man came to the door asking if there was room for him to stay the night. He was stooped and shriveled, and his face was lopsided from swelling—red and raw. He said he’d been hunting for a room since noon but with no success. “I guess it’s my face,” he said. “I know it looks terrible, but my doctor says it could possibly improve after more treatments.” He indicated he’d be happy to sleep in the rocking chair on the porch. As she talked with him, Mary realized this little old man had an oversized heart crowded into that tiny body. Although her rooms were filled, she told him to wait in the chair and she’d find him a place to sleep.
At bedtime Mary’s husband set up a camp cot for the man. When she checked in the morning, the bed linens were neatly folded and he was out on the porch. He refused breakfast, but just before he left for his bus, he asked if he could return the next time he had a treatment. “I won’t put you out a bit,” he promised. “I can sleep fine in a chair.” Mary assured him he was welcome to come again.
In the several years he went for treatments and stayed in Mary’s home, the old man, who was a fisherman by trade, always had gifts of seafood or vegetables from his garden. Other times he sent packages in the mail.
When Mary received these thoughtful gifts, she often thought of a comment her next-door neighbor made after the disfigured, stooped old man had left Mary’s home that first morning. “Did you keep that awful-looking man last night? I turned him away. You can lose customers by putting up such people.”
Mary knew that maybe they had lost customers once or twice, but she thought, “Oh, if only they could have known him, perhaps their illnesses would have been easier to bear.”
After the man passed away, Mary was visiting with a friend who had a greenhouse. As she looked at her friend’s flowers, she noticed a beautiful golden chrysanthemum but was puzzled that it was growing in a dented, old, rusty bucket. Her friend explained, “I ran short of pots, and knowing how beautiful this one would be, I thought it wouldn’t mind starting in this old pail. It’s just for a little while, until I can put it out in the garden.”
Mary smiled as she imagined just such a scene in heaven. “Here’s an especially beautiful one,” God might have said when He came to the soul of the little old man. “He won’t mind starting in this small, misshapen body.” But that was long ago, and in God’s garden how tall this lovely soul must stand!

When Blanca’s husband and mother became sick and unable to care for themselves, she had to leave her job to care for them full-time. By turning to the Lord, Blanca has found strength beyond her own.
Cody Bell, photographer
Our family’s most difficult trials came when my husband became very sick. He spent four months in intensive care. Those were months of anguish! My husband was unable to care for himself when we left the hospital. At the same time, my mother suffered from Alzheimer’s disease and had to completely stay in the bed.
I had a stable job as a licensed nurse, and I took care of my husband and my mother at the same time. I became discouraged with both of them in bed. There were many nights without sleep because I would have to do everything for them. They were like two babies. With caring for them and working at the same time, I felt like I was working double. I could not take care of them as I should, so I had to leave my work.
I consider these to be the most difficult days of my life. It was difficult for me to go from being self-sufficient to empty-handed. I began to worry about finances. I didn’t know what to do to cover all our expenses. I started thinking of what I could do. I asked the Lord to help me work once again and still care for my family.
I talked with my son and he suggested that I make and sell empanadas. I was scared since I did not know how to do this, but I had something in my favor. I had attended several self-reliance courses from the Church. One of the courses I liked was the “Starting and Growing My Business” course. As I attended, I sensed what was ahead of me. The Lord sent this course to me after I asked Him for help. I asked Him for a job, and He provided me with an opportunity.
I worked until late at night to get the business started. It took a year to get it fully running. I started selling empanadas to friends and neighbors, and I began to think that I could give myself entirely to this job, so I could take care for family. We were happy when the time came to open a nice family business. Our happiness, however, was short-lived.
I started to feel sick myself. I went to the doctor and was diagnosed with breast cancer. I underwent surgery, chemotherapy, and everything else to fight the disease. When everything came down, I had to abandon my long-awaited family business. Between my treatment and care of my helpless mother and my husband, I did not have the physical capacity to run the business.
Over time, my husband’s health slowly improved, and my mother has since passed away. Now, I dedicate myself to my treatment.
I do not get tired of praying and asking the Lord for strength to continue forward. I pray to Him at all times. What my family has gone through has helped me realize that the Lord has walked with me through it all. He gives me the opportunity to rise up again. It is incredible the great amount of strength the Lord gives me.
I never ask myself, “Why me?” I have always thought there was a reason for it. I trust the Lord and accept what He sends me. He has supported me as I have passed through very difficult times, and I have been strengthened.
Blanca attended several of the Church’s self-reliance courses to help provide a living for her and her family. She is grateful for what she learned. “The Lord sent this course to me after I asked Him for help,” she said.
Twenty-three years after she and her husband, Anibal, joined the Church, Blanca says, “Since my baptism, I have felt that I am in the right place, in the true Church.”
Blanca is grateful to see her husband’s health improve. She is also grateful for the opportunity she had to care for her mother, who has since passed away.
Blanca says she could not have made it through her challenges on her own. “The Lord has walked with me through it all,” she says. “It is incredible the great amount of strength the Lord gives me.”

Lisa could hardly wait until Stephanie’s birthday party. The invitation promised fun games and tasty refreshments. Lisa carefully wrapped the stationery set she’d chosen for Stephanie and tied a purple ribbon around it.
When all the girls got to Stephanie’s house, Stephanie led them to the garage. It was decorated with crepe-paper streamers, and a brightly colored piñata hung from the rafters.
The girls took turns swinging at the piñata with a papier-mâché stick. Lisa gave the piñata a whack, but it didn’t break. When it finally broke, small candies spilled out, and everyone scrambled for them, laughing and squealing.
“We need some music,” one of the girls said.
Stephanie turned on a CD player. The music was loud, and the singer was singing some bad words. Lisa grew more and more uneasy. Finally, she couldn’t stand it any longer. “I need to go home,” she whispered to Stephanie.
Stephanie looked surprised. “What’s wrong?”
“The music is making me really uncomfortable,” Lisa said.
Stephanie looked disappointed, but Lisa knew she needed to leave. She called her mother and told her what was going on.
“I’ll be right there,” her mother said.
Lisa went to wait outside. But soon Stephanie and the other girls joined her on the front porch. “We turned off the music,” Stephanie said. “Please don’t leave.”
The rest of the girls nodded in agreement.
“None of us liked it,” Stephanie admitted. “We just didn’t have the courage to say so.”
Lisa smiled. “Let me call my mom back before she leaves to tell her I’ll be staying after all.”
Stephanie threw her arms around Lisa. “Thanks for staying. The party wouldn’t be the same without you.”
Lisa hugged her friend back. Standing up for her standards hadn’t been easy, but she was glad that she had.

I’m pretty much an average Latter-day Saint girl. I go to church and activities weekly and have been in my class presidency. I am very outgoing when it comes to talking about the Church and have many conversations about the Church with friends. I don’t use drugs, alcohol, or tobacco. I don’t watch R-rated movies, and I never swear. Most of the guidance that I have been given by my parents and leaders I take to heart and apply to my life.
But there was one area where I knew I could use a lot of improvement. Although I wasn’t extreme in my choice of clothing, and my dresses always had sleeves, I knew that there was still something that I should change—the length of my shorts and skirts. But I didn’t really want to change because my legs are one of my best features.
The first time that I started to see how the way you dress can affect people was during a two-week church program that had a dress code: knee-length skirts and shorts. So, in other words, no shorts at all for me. Since nothing I owned was long enough, I wore pants the whole time. During those two weeks, I was able to meet two young men who were my age. We spent a lot of time talking and developed a close bond. Occasionally we would see girls in the community wearing tank tops and shorts that barely covered them. For the first time in my life, I realized the effect that women can have on men. My friends talked about how they didn’t want to see girls wearing short shorts and skirts, but sometimes it was hard to avoid.
After two weeks were over, I had the opportunity to drive to a lake for a week’s vacation. I went home, packed my clothes, and was off. I found that after being so modest for two weeks, all my shorts and skirts seemed to have shrunk! For the first couple of days I wore the few pair of longer shorts that I had, but slowly I fell right back into my old habits.
Only a couple of Sundays had passed when I walked into a Young Women class that would start a change that will last forever. The lesson was on dressing modestly, and I don’t think that the lesson was all that different than the ones I had heard before. But because of my experience a few weeks earlier, I was finally ready to hear it. After I got home from church, I went to my room and decided I needed to get rid of a lot of my clothes. I told my parents about the lesson that we had just had and that I had decided to make a change.
Later that night my dad came and told me he was proud of me. He then told me that he would like to buy me a couple of dresses so that I could have some knee-length dresses for church. I told him that would be great.
The next night, I had a big surprise waiting for me in my bedroom when I got home. Lying on top of my bed were several different modest items of clothing my parents had purchased for me. I then tried them all on to see if the length was long enough and if they met my parents’ approval. The next step was to go through all my clothes and discard everything that was too short. It was hard for me to part with my favorite skirts and the shorts I loved so much, but I did. You will now never see me in anything that is shorter than my kneecap. I was also surprised to see what I could find in the stores. Now I just have to look a little bit harder, but modest things will show up.
I have never felt better about myself. I love being able to walk into church or go to the temple to do baptisms knowing that I am a child of God and feeling that I am representing Him in the way that He would want me to through the clothes that I wear.

The Young Women of the Orem Aspen Fifth Ward, Orem Utah Aspen Stake, chose to forego their traditional Christmas party and donate the money earned at a bake sale to the general missionary fund. In conjunction with this activity, each girl wrote her testimony and placed it in a Book of Mormon to be used for distribution in the mission field. The girls felt this was an especially worthwhile project and enjoyed participating.

Bev Akre: “My father is a wonderful man, but he’s not a member of the Church. I have been so involved in planning this conference that it’s taken me from home quite often, and my dad objected. I fasted and prayed about it and then went to him and said, ‘Dad, would you rather have me so involved with the Church or with something else not so worthwhile?’ I know if I just love him, he’ll come to love the gospel. One thing I have learned from this conference is that the Lord will help you make your decisions, help you along the way.”

When Arlene Carter goes to a school dance, the question posed by admiring boys tends to be, “May I sit this one out?” It’s not that Arlene doesn’t like dancing or music—she’s usually within ear range of her eight-track tape system at home—and she’s not worried about guys stepping on her toes. But three years ago Arlene, her mother, and two others were in a car that plunged off an overpass onto a railroad track below. Arlene’s back was broken in more than 20 places; her mother was killed.
After the accident Arlene really got the chance to test her lifelong philosophy—change what you can; learn to live happily with what you can’t. She spent the next 16 weeks in a Salt Lake City hospital. For the first four she was strapped in a Stryker frame. (“They’re like ironing boards. They’d turn me over every two hours. I couldn’t see anything but the ceiling or the floor. I used to hate vacuuming, but while I was between those boards, I’d have done anything to be able to vacuum.”) Rehabilitation took another 12 weeks.
She wondered if she would ever see her old friends and the familiar countryside of her hometown, Nephi, Utah. She also had some serious doubts.
“After the accident I felt I hadn’t deserved it. I hadn’t done anything wrong. I felt that if Heavenly Father loved me, he wouldn’t let something like this happen. It wasn’t fair.”
Arlene told her father she was paralyzed before the doctors told her. When the doctors finally told her she would never walk again, she just lay there and cried.
“Finally there was nothing I could do but turn to my Heavenly Father the way I’d been taught since I was in Primary. I prayed and knew that He did love me and I would receive blessings if I’d heed his counsel.”
Arlene is in a wheelchair now, and, of course, it’s natural that she misses the dancing, running, and mobility she had before her accident. But now she can “pop wheelies.” She didn’t learn this from a finishing school, but Arlene can rear up “hi-ho Silver” style, spin her wheelchair around, and rock back and forth. “I can sit like this for hours, and I’ve never fallen over yet!”
Everyone who knows or meets Arlene realizes that she’s a girl who keeps her wheels turning—literally. Last year she was student body president of Juab High School, and she didn’t believe in sitting down on the job.
After serving as vice-president of the school, she launched a campaign for the presidency with posters that read, “Vote for Arlene. She’ll get things rolling” and “Arlene will ‘wheelie’ be a great president.”
Before the accident, stairs were the only way into the school, but a special ramp was built for her. “Just coming down the ramp was exciting because of the brick wall at the end. You could always tell where I’d been; I was the only one who left tracks.” She could get around to most places except her English class because it was upstairs. Instead, she and Chaucer had to do it alone.
Arlene was also the yearbook editor, and the Nebonian met each of its deadlines—no easy task for anyone in publishing. She wrote features for the school paper and was voted Best Citizen by the faculty. She was the second attendant to Miss Juab, the school’s queen. Arlene didn’t believe in just spinning her wheels—she really got things rolling at Juab.
With all her extra-curricular activities and despite having missed so much school, she kept up with her classes and graduated with a 3.94 gpa. When she missed a month of school for further training with leg braces, Arlene came bouncing back to get the highest grade in her algebra class. She took a physics class and couldn’t help but note, “The ratio was great—5 1/2 boys to each girl.”
Being in a wheelchair doesn’t hold Arlene back. She dates a lot of different boys and enjoys parties and long talks with her friends. And they let her know she’s something pretty special too.
On her birthday her friends decorated her wheelchair with crepe paper and a big “Happy Birthday” sign on the back. Once she drove a group of fellow student body officers to a district workshop in a car with hand controls. While in Moab, Utah, for the meetings, she and others also went on a river run.
Arlene makes her own clothes on her sewing machine and even creates her own patterns. To sew, she puts the foot pedal behind her back and presses on it. She cuts fabric on the family’s round kitchen table. By wheeling around it, she is able to reach all sections of the material. When the corduroy comes off the table, Arlene is likely to replace it with a double batch of chocolate chip cookies. She’s been known to come home, sneak in a baking session, and rush off to a basketball game before her dad reaches home and the chock-full cookie jar.
“There’s never a dull moment with her around,” says her grandmother who lives with Arlene and her father. And you’d know that if you walked into Arlene’s room. “No Minors” warns a sign—but Arlene is just kidding. The posters, mini-garden of plants, and knick-knacks, including campaign memorabilia, are gifts from friends. The room is a four-wall collage of important people, places, ideas, and goals in her life. It also reflects Arlene and her I’m-ready-and-willing-if-you-are out-look on about everything.
But there is also another side of Arlene—she has a deeply sincere and reverent attitude for the gospel and the gift of life itself.
“I went to a Laurel standards night recently, and some of the girls wouldn’t even sit by their mothers. It made me feel so bad; I would have given anything to have had my mother there so I could talk to her. But I really do know that problems make us grow and become better people. I try to be happy with what I have instead of being unhappy about what I don’t have.”
Being asked to speak before Church and civic groups has made her somewhat of an orator. Arlene has spoken everywhere from a girls’ camp in the mountains to the Utah State Prison. She’s modest about it, but everyone knows that she draws big crowds and has given as many as four or five talks in a day. Some wards have had to put up every chair in the building when she comes.
“I often tell people to appreciate simple things. What most people think are their rights, I think are privileges—like sitting up, taking baths, or walking.” She always shares her testimony of the gospel with others and considers this “one of the greatest things in my life.
“Everyone should gain a testimony. People who don’t have one don’t know what they’re missing. I’d like to lend mine out for test drives.”
In her ward Arlene taught a Sunday School class of four-year-olds, which was an exercise in itself. “They were lots of fun. Sometimes I taught the three-year-olds too. The only thing I worried about was when they would push me down the hall. They were not tall enough to see around the wheelchair.” But she never crashed.
When she is home many of Nephi’s missionaries stop to visit her just before they enter the Missionary Home. Her faith reminds them of what is most meaningful in life. They may be looking down at Arlene in her chair, but in their hearts and esteem they look up to her.
This fall Arlene entered college. She was offered several scholarships and decided to study at BYU. She’d like to become a rehabilitation counselor. “A lot of people come into a hospital and tell patients to cheer up, but they don’t know what it’s like. I’ve been there. I think I can help others in the same circumstances or people with other problems.”
Even with her physics studies and understanding Newton’s laws of gravity, Arlene knows life in a wheelchair doesn’t need to be an uphill battle—especially with a loving family, stick-with-you friends, and a deep faith in a caring Father in heaven. Knowing her own limitations she says, “I don’t think people have any reason to feel sorry for me.” She realizes she’s not the only one confronted by obstacles. Recently she wrote this poem:
Prisoners
We are all in a prison,
Some for a lifetime, some for a day.
Some are there for what they do—
Some for what they say.
Some prisons have bars and locks,
But in comparison, just a few.
The ones most common aren’t tangible.
Think, what imprisons you?
Yet there is one I know quite well
Who is captive to a chair with wheels
But she holds her prison keys in hand,
Because freedom is the way one feels.
After all, it takes a special kind of courage to attend a high school dance in a wheelchair the first night after you’ve been released from the hospital.

Our family has six children, who sometimes tease one another that they are the favourite child. Each has different reasons for being preferred. Our love for each of our children is pure and fulfilling and complete. We could not love any one of them any more than another—with each child’s birth came the most beautiful expansion of our love. I most relate to my Heavenly Father’s love for me through the love that I feel for my children.
As they each rehearse their claims to be the most loved child, you might have thought that our family had never had an untidy bedroom. The sense of blemishes in the relationship between parent and child is diminished with a focus on love.
At some point, perhaps because I can see that we are heading toward an inevitable family riot, I’ll say something like, “OK, you have worn me down, but I am not going to announce it; you know which one of you is my favourite.” My goal is that each one of the six feels victorious and all-out war is avoided—at least until next time!

I was reminded of this when my wife and I visited the Frederiksborg castle in the town of Hillerød north of Copenhagen, Denmark, together with some fellow members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints visiting from abroad.
We started our tour of the castle with our friends by first going to the prayer room to see the original Carl Bloch paintings. After pointing out the paintings, I went on to the neighbouring rooms to continue the tour of the castle. However, nobody followed me, so I went back to find the others.
When I came back to the prayer room, I found our friends still looking at the paintings, being deeply moved by what they saw. I realised to my own embarrassment that I had come to show our friends some beautiful paintings almost like a tourist guide, but they had stopped and taken the time and effort to see beyond what Carl Bloch had painted so beautifully on copper. Thus, they saw the life and teachings of Jesus Christ and they were moved by the messages of our Saviour.
After joining our friends again, we had a memorable time together looking at each of the 23 paintings separately, and talking about each event in His life and the messages we can learn. We started with the painting depicting the visit of the angel to Mary, telling her “Fear not Mary: for thou hast found favour with God. And, behold, thou shalt conceive a son, and shalt call his name Jesus. He shall be called the Son of the Highest: and the Lord God shall give unto him the throne of his father David”.
After some time, we ended with the last painting depicting the resurrected Jesus Christ. This picture is a reminder for me of what Jesus Christ accomplished for all of us. This is summarised so well by Nephi in his joyous message: “I glory in plainness; I glory in truth; I glory in my Jesus, for he hath redeemed my soul from hell”.
The experience in the Frederiksborg castle in front of the Carl Bloch paintings, which I have seen many times, was an important reminder to me. We can look at paintings of Jesus Christ, or we can read stories of Jesus Christ, but we need to take the time and effort to contemplate the messages of His teachings and relate them to our life. This way we will better be able to “learn more about His Atonement, His love, His mercy, His doctrine, and His restored gospel of healing and progression” and find the answers to our questions and problems.

I remember fondly our entire family’s great joy when two of our children received their calls to serve as full-time missionaries. Excitement and anticipation filled our hearts as they each opened their special letter from the prophet of God. Our daughter Jenessa was called to the Michigan Detroit Mission, and our son, Christian, was called to the Russia Moscow South Mission. What humbling and thrilling experiences, all at the same time!

As Sister Rasband and I had the privilege of presiding over the New York New York North Mission several years ago, I marveled as the missionaries arrived in New York City.
As I interviewed them on their first day in the mission, I had a profound sense of gratitude for each missionary. I felt that their call to our mission was divinely designed for them and for me as their mission president.
After finishing our mission assignment, I was called by President Gordon B. Hinckley to serve as a Seventy in the Church. Part of my early training as a new General Authority included an opportunity to sit with members of the Twelve as they assigned missionaries to serve in one of the 300-plus missions of this great Church.
With the encouragement and permission of President Henry B. Eyring, I would like to relate to you an experience, very special to me, which I had with him several years ago when he was a member of the Quorum of the Twelve. Each Apostle holds the keys of the kingdom and exercises them at the direction and assignment of the President of the Church. Elder Eyring was assigning missionaries to their fields of labor, and as part of my training, I was invited to observe.
I joined Elder Eyring early one morning in a room where several large computer screens had been prepared for the session. There was also a staff member from the Missionary Department who had been assigned to assist us that day.
First, we knelt together in prayer. I remember Elder Eyring using very sincere words, asking the Lord to bless him to know “perfectly” where the missionaries should be assigned. The word “perfectly” said much about the faith that Elder Eyring exhibited that day.
As the process began, a picture of the missionary to be assigned would come up on one of the computer screens. As each picture appeared, to me it was as if the missionary were in the room with us. Elder Eyring would then greet the missionary with his kind and endearing voice: “Good morning, Elder Reier or Sister Yang. How are you today?”
He told me that in his own mind he liked to think of where the missionaries would conclude their mission. This would aid him to know where they were to be assigned. Elder Eyring would then study the comments from the bishops and stake presidents, medical notes, and other issues relating to each missionary.
He then referred to another screen which displayed areas and missions across the world. Finally, as he was prompted by the Spirit, he would assign the missionary to his or her field of labor.
From others of the Twelve, I have learned that this general method is typical each week as Apostles of the Lord assign scores of missionaries to serve throughout the world.
Having served as a missionary in my own country in the Eastern States Mission a number of years ago, I was deeply moved by this experience. Also, having served as a mission president, I was grateful for a further witness in my heart that the missionaries I had received in New York City were sent to me by revelation.
After assigning a few missionaries, Elder Eyring turned to me as he pondered one particular missionary and said, “So, Brother Rasband, where do you think this missionary should go?” I was startled! I quietly suggested to Elder Eyring that I did not know and that I did not know I could know! He looked at me directly and simply said, “Brother Rasband, pay closer attention and you too can know!” With that, I pulled my chair a little closer to Elder Eyring and the computer screen, and I did pay much closer attention!
A couple of other times as the process moved along, Elder Eyring would turn to me and say, “Well, Brother Rasband, where do you feel this missionary should go?” I would name a particular mission, and Elder Eyring would look at me thoughtfully and say, “No, that’s not it!” He would then continue to assign the missionaries where he had felt prompted.
As we were nearing the completion of that assignment meeting, a picture of a certain missionary appeared on the screen. I had the strongest prompting, the strongest of the morning, that the missionary we had before us was to be assigned to Japan. I did not know that Elder Eyring was going to ask me on this one, but amazingly he did. I rather tentatively and humbly said to him, “Japan?” Elder Eyring responded immediately, “Yes, let’s go there.” And up on the computer screen the missions of Japan appeared. I instantly knew that the missionary was to go to the Japan Sapporo Mission.
Elder Eyring did not ask me the exact name of the mission, but he did assign that missionary to the Japan Sapporo Mission.
Privately in my heart I was deeply touched and sincerely grateful to the Lord for allowing me to experience the prompting to know where that missionary should go.
At the end of the meeting Elder Eyring bore his witness to me of the love of the Savior, which He has for each missionary assigned to go out into the world and preach the restored gospel. He said that it is by the great love of the Savior that His servants know where these wonderful young men and women, senior missionaries, and senior couple missionaries are to serve. I had a further witness that morning that every missionary called in this Church, and assigned or reassigned to a particular mission, is called by revelation from the Lord God Almighty through one of these, His servants.

One particular example of true love left a permanent impression in my mind. I once came across a general conference talk by Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin (1917–2008) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles where he spoke on charity, or the “pure love of Christ” (Moroni 7:47).

Elder Wirthlin began by quoting Jesus’s teaching that the greatest commandment is to love God and to love our neighbor (see Matthew 22:37–40). Of course, I’d heard this scriptural account many times before. And always, for me, that level of Christlike love had seemed somehow beyond reach. How could I, plain old me, ever love as purely or as effectively as the Savior? It felt like an impossible goal.

But then Elder Wirthlin described an elderly couple who’d been married for many years. The wife grew unable to care for herself fully, including being able to paint her fingernails.

So the husband decided to paint them for her, simply because it made her smile. “That is an example of the pure love of Christ,” Elder Wirthlin declared.2

And with that brief example, something clicked in my brain. Painting fingernails? Not raising Lazarus from the dead or healing the blind, but a quiet act of kindness? That’sconsidered the pure love of Christ? Well … gee, I could do that!

Elder Wirthlin continued, adding further clarity. “Sometimes the greatest love is not found in the dramatic scenes that poets and writers immortalize. Often, the greatest manifestations of love are the simple acts of kindness and caring we extend to those we meet along the path of life.”3

My mind latched on as this idea took hold. I could perform those acts of kindness. What’s more, I knew for certain I’d been the recipient of countless such acts my whole life. True love isn’t glamorous or glittery. It’s quiet yet powerful. And available to all.