Gospel Story Finder

I recall a conference where the patriarch was very old. While his ordination would remain in force, it was time that he be excused from giving blessings.
The stake president recommended a man with much leadership experience. However, I did not get the feeling that he should be the patriarch.
I knew that the First Presidency had said to stake presidents: “Because a man has filled with credit a presiding office and has attained a good age is no reason why he should or should not make a good patriarch. … [He should be one who has] developed within [him] the spirit of the patriarchs; in fact, this should be [his] leading characteristic, and [he] should be [a man] of wisdom, possessed of the gift and spirit of blessing as well.”
As the evening meeting was about to begin, an older man came partway down the aisle and, unable to find a seat, went to the back of the chapel. He was not quite as well dressed as most of the others and obviously had spent much time out-of-doors.
I whispered to the stake president, “Who is that man?”
Sensing what was on my mind, he said, “Oh, I don’t think he could be our patriarch. He lives at the far edge of an outlying ward and has never held any leadership in a bishopric or high council.”
He was invited to give the opening prayer, and he had said but a few words when that confirmation came, as it does by revelation, “This is the patriarch.”
As I recall, he had six sons and one daughter. The youngest was then serving a mission, as had his older brothers, who were married and scattered about the country, all serving faithfully in the Church.
“What about your daughter?” I asked.
“Oh,” he said, “you have met her. She is the wife of a counselor in the stake presidency.”
I thought, “A patriarch—this man is a patriarch indeed!”
Before the general session, I met the aging patriarch in the foyer and said, “We are going to give you some help today.”
He said, “Oh, thank you! I would appreciate that very, very much.”
I said, “Let me give you the name of the new patriarch; then you and I and the stake president will be the only ones who know.”
When I named the man, he was startled and said, “Isn’t that interesting! I saw him among the people, coming into the building, and said to myself, ‘Wouldn’t he make a wonderful patriarch?’” It was an inspiring confirmation from the old patriarch.

When President Nelson was asked to perform heart surgery on Elder Spencer W. Kimball, who was then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, he had to exercise faith. The surgery was very risky; Elder Kimball’s heart was weak, and he was old. But President Nelson placed his trust in God and received a blessing from the First Presidency that promised him “that all would go well, and that [he] need not fear for [his] own inadequacies, for [he] had been raised up by the Lord to perform this operation.” The surgery went flawlessly, and President Nelson received a special witness that the person he had just operated on would become the prophet one day—which, about a year later, he did.4
President Nelson performed heart surgery on Elder Spencer W. Kimball.

Rebecca Scanlan, a Laurel, and her older sister, Ruth-Ann, have always enjoyed Christmases that are something close to the ideal. The only thing missing from their picture-perfect holidays might have been a light dusting of snow, since they rarely see any at their Woodstock, Georgia, home.
“I remember that at Christmas we’d listen to my dad tell the Christmas story. We’d eat dinner by candlelight and talk about our blessings. At Christmas I remember that I always felt loved,” says Rebecca.
But since Ruth-Ann and Rebecca’s dad, Fred, is on the board of advisers for a volunteer group that works with abused and battered children, they knew all too well that for many kids, Christmas holds no happy memories, no exciting anticipation. They had heard their dad tell stories of children who had never received a gift or a happy greeting at Christmas, children whose only Christmas wish was for harmony at home. It was a wish that hardly ever came true.
So the girls and their family put their heads together to think of ways to give these children the kind of Christmas they had never known. They decided a Christmas party would not only be a lot of fun but also a great Laurel project. The first time the family hosted the party, Ruth-Ann was in charge. The most important aspect of the party would be a spiritual message about the birth of the Savior. The party would also include food, games, and presents.
It was a tall order, but Ruth-Ann felt confident she could do it. Soon she had help from the missionaries, who had permission to tell the Christmas story and re-enact the Nativity with the children. Her dad dusted off his Santa outfit, ward members baked cookies and provided other goodies, and the youth in her ward dressed up as elves and reindeer to run games and other fun activities.
Presents, however, were another matter. With such a large group of children—many of whom had never had a real Christmas present—Ruth-Ann wanted to get nice gifts for everyone. So she contacted community groups, local businesses, neighbors, and friends to tell them what she had in mind.
What happened next surprised everyone. Gifts and money to buy gifts started to pour into the Scanlan home. When all was said and done, each child got exactly what he or she wanted from Santa Claus.
The community and ward had such a great time helping with Ruth-Ann’s project, she decided to do it again the next year. Now, younger sister Rebecca is a Laurel, and she spends the holiday season coordinating elves and reindeer, cookie bakers and present wrappers. It’s an overwhelming job at what is already a very busy time of year.
“I feel like I have been so blessed. I just want to give these children a little taste of what we have in our home,” says Rebecca.

“Please give these dish towels to Suzi,” Grandma said. She handed Nika a stack of towels. “She can put them in the box with the other kitchen things.”
“Great-grandmother sure had a lot of nice things,” Nika said, fingering the dish towels with the embroidered edges before handing them to Suzi. “The whole house is like a treasure chest.”
“Yes, it is,” Grandma said. She reached into a cupboard and brought out some beautiful dishes.
“What will you do with all of these wonderful treasures now that Great-grandmother has died?” Nika asked. “Can we keep them?”
“We’ll divide them among family members and give the rest to charity,” Grandma said. She began wiping dust off the dishes.
“Look what I found,” Uncle Mike said, laying a large book on the table. “It’s an old photo album. And look at this, Nika,” he said. He carefully turned the brown pages. “Here’s a photo of your great-great-grandmother when she was about your age.”
Nika looked closely at the black-and-white photo of the smiling little girl. She was wearing button-up boots, her hair was in long ringlets, and she was holding a china doll in her arms.
“Look at that!” Nika said, pointing excitedly. “She’s missing a tooth, just like me!” Nika stuck her tongue through the gap in her teeth.
“So she is,” Uncle Mike said. “And you both have the same freckly nose.” He smiled and carefully closed the album.
“Grandma,” Nika said, folding some cloth napkins, “are family pictures the treasure you want to keep?”
Grandma looked up from dusting. “I’m grateful to get the photos and family records. I want to organize them and make copies to share. They are important to me because they strengthen the thing I treasure even more.”
“What’s that?” Nika asked.
“This.” Grandma waved her hand to indicate the whole room.
“The house?” Nika was puzzled.
“No. Look again,” Grandma said. “What do you see in this room?”
Nika looked around. She saw her relatives everywhere, all working together.
“Family,” Nika said at last. “That’s what you treasure most, isn’t it?”
“Exactly,” Grandma said. “That’s the only thing that can last forever.”
“Were Great-grandma and Great-grandpa married in the temple?” Nika asked.
“Yes. They did their part to make sure our family is sealed together,” Grandma said.
“Do you know what treasure I’d like?” Nika asked.
“What?”
“I’d like you to tell me more stories about that girl with the missing tooth in the photo.”
“Oh, I have lots of stories to tell you,” Grandma said. “The question is, will you have time to hear them all?”
“I will,” Nika declared. “Even if it takes forever!”

Travis Hildebrand, 14, of the Etna Ward, Medford Oregon Stake, is one of the fastest milers in his area. He’s so fast, in fact, that in a regional meet sponsored by the Hershey Chocolate Company, he won a position and expenses to compete in a national meet in Hershey, Pennsylvania.

Travis’s parents wanted to support him at the national meet, but Pennsylvania was many miles and dollars away. That’s where a lot of hard family work and some community contributions came in. They were able to make the trip, and they stayed with a generous family in the Hershey area. Travis placed fourth in the meet, which featured some of the best runners in the country.

When Travis isn’t running, he’s studying to maintain his 4.0 GPA, working on becoming an Eagle Scout, and serving in his teachers quorum.

“One. Two. Three. Pull!” The pullers jerk the handles surrounding the walrus skin blanket outward, sending 17-year-old Karmy McKay soaring high into the air. The spotter yells to the pullers and tugs the blanket to guide them to where Karmy will come down. She wobbles a bit, but manages to land on both feet. She grins, gamely ready to try the blanket toss again. Tourists applaud their approval.
Entertaining tourists is just one facet of Karmy’s day. Like many Latter-day Saint teens, her schedule is busy. She has a summer job, attends church meetings, helps around the house, works out, spends time with her friends, and plans her future. But Karmy does all this in a small, predominantly Inupiat Eskimo village north of the Arctic Circle.
Karmy and her brother, Kris, 16, are the only Mormon teens for hundreds of miles. There are 15 members in the Kotzebue Branch, and seven are members of the McKay family.
Rising early, Karmy pedals down the main dirt road to work at the village’s hotel, waving to everyone she meets. “That’s one of the things I like about living here,” says Karmy, who wears a kuspuk, a colorful print cotton parka, over her clothes. “You know everybody.”
Most summer days in Kotzebue are overcast and gray. The village is almost an island on a narrow neck of land surrounded by water, and is only 200 miles away from Russia. There is no movie house or swimming pool for Karmy and her family to go to. The teen center—with a TV and video games, several small playgrounds, and a ball field—does provide additional options for summer activities.
Mainly, though, kids provide their own entertainment. When they have free time, Karmy, Kris, and the other McKay children (Mindy, 11, Levi, 9, and Logan, 8), like to ride their bikes over the dirt roads. There are no mountains or trees here, just rolling tundra, covered with tiny low-lying plants. There are wildflowers of every hue. A constant breeze helps dissipate the clouds of mosquitoes and no-see-ums, a gnat with a particularly nasty bite.
Karmy, of Canadian-Yugoslavian descent, likes the small community. “Everyone here is friendly,” she says. “I’ve had opportunities I couldn’t have had anywhere else. Here, you can be involved in everything.”
That is, everything that’s “virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy.” Valedictorian of her graduating class, she was also the president of student government and was involved with Future Homemakers of America, the National Honor Society, and Alaska State Battle of the Books. She played basketball and volleyball, ran cross-country, took Russian classes, completed home-study seminary, and earned her Young Women Recognition.
“In some ways I’ve missed out,” Karmy says about the lack of LDS youth. “I would have liked to have gone to Church activities with a lot of kids. I went to a youth conference in Utah once and that was neat. Here, standards are low. Kids drink, smoke, and tell dirty jokes. I have different values.”
Occasionally a “debate” will come up about the Church. Some people have bad feelings about Mormons. “I try to stay calm and politely correct them,” she says. Her own friends have, in Karmy’s words, “grown to respect my values. I think respect builds up over time.”
Along the shore, boats of various color gently sway with the dark water. The raucous calls of ravens disturb the stillness.
Less than a block away from the beach is the Kotzebue chapel, where Karmy and her family have spent many hours. Constructed in 1981, it replaced the old chapel, a building the McKays eventually bought and remodeled into their home.
It is in these two places where Karmy has developed a close, personal relationship with her Heavenly Father. The smallness of the branch has provided her ample opportunity to give talks and prayers. Through personal prayer, and church and seminary attendance, the gospel has become essential to her.
“Three. Two. One. Blastoff!” Kimber Gabryszak was thrust back into her seat as the space shuttle simulator took off. As mission specialist on this flight, she later “repaired” the Hubble telescope.
The space camp in Huntsville, Alabama, sponsored by the National Aeronautics and Space Administration, is for students in the seventh through ninth grades. The camp is a long way from Kimber’s home on the banks of the Yentna River in Alaska. Kimber, 14, lives in a two-story wooden lodge, the Yentna River Station, built by her father and mother. The lodge is only 70 air miles from Anchorage, but there are no roads to be found here—only trees, water, moose, and bear. Visitors come by boat, plane, or snow machine—depending on the season and the height of the river. That’s why the Gabryszaks don’t leave their bush paradise very often. Kimber, who has lived here since she was 15 months old, manages to get to Willow, the closest “town,” about every two months. She visits with friends and goes to the movies.
So why and how did Kimber get in a space simulator? Kimber wants to be an astronaut. The oldest of six children, she is mostly self-taught through the state’s home-study curriculum. When the chance to go to space camp came, she worked hard, saving money and soliciting sponsors. “I needed to see if I really want to be an astronaut,” she says. “I love science. I want to work on a space station.” One of her prized possessions is the light blue space uniform she brought back from camp.
In Alaska, Kimber’s typical day starts at 7:30 A.M., with the family’s animals. “If they don’t eat, we don’t eat,” she says. So the 17 chickens, ten chicks, two cats, four dogs, goldfish, guinea pig, and goat are tended to. After breakfast, there is firewood to split, snow to shovel, the lodge to clean, and younger children to look after. When Kimber begins home-study seminary, her day will begin 90 minutes earlier.
At night, the Gabryszaks have prayer and scripture reading. They just finished the Book of Mormon and have started it again. On Sundays, the family gathers for a meeting where they sing hymns, accompanied by Kimber on the recorder. She’ll read and study her own lesson, and then help her two younger sisters and brother with Primary lessons.
One of the highlights of her summer is going to girls’ camp with members of the Wasilla Stake. “Sometimes it’s hard not to be part of a class,” she adds. “I went to seminary in town one morning. It was neat. Everyone was friends and they were doing neat things with the scriptures. Here, there’s no one my age to do that with.”
For now, Kimber is content to write to friends she’s met along the way. She has pen pals as far away as the British Isles, and writes regularly to a Jewish boy she met at space camp. He’s interested in the Young Men and Young Women programs, and often asks questions about the Church in his letters. Kimber also sent a Book of Mormon to another friend in Wyoming.
Life is good for Kimber. She is surrounded by a family she loves and by the great Alaskan outdoors. Although college, a mission, and temple marriage—and her dream of becoming an astronaut—may eventually pull her away, at the Yentna River Station, Kimber has already learned the most important thing of all: “I love Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father. They take care of me.”
Alaska has spectacular sunsets, trees and brush in a rich variety of greens, flowers of every hue, and, in winter, snow that turns into a fairyland. It also has Karmy and Kimber, two young women who have proven that wherever you are, you’re never alone.

A few years ago, we decided to bottle peaches for our grandpa for Christmas. We knew that he liked simple gifts and loved peaches. Mom helped us boil the peaches, peel them, and put them in jars. It was so much fun to bottle the peaches and learn something new. On Christmas, we went to our grandpa’s house and were excited to carry in the big box of peaches. He was so happy when he unwrapped the box and saw all of the peaches inside. He told us how proud he was of us for learning how to bottle peaches. Now we give him Christmas peaches every year.

Perhaps you will recognize yourself and recall your memories of youth as I share with you, with the permission of my wife, an experience I had when I was a young man in school and there was this young lady who caused a strange feeling within me. I cannot recall exactly how she looked or what kind of character she really had, but there she was. Just being in the same room with her made me so nervous and so helpless that I could hardly speak and hardly breathe for fear of making a fool of myself. My feelings for her were so tender that I could hardly avoid thinking of her. It seemed that in everything that I was doing, she was in my thoughts. What could I do to please her? Or even to save her life in giving my blood? What a wonderful way from our Heavenly Father—to be allowed to experience in the age of our tender youth the purity and strength of what divine love is made of!

After a year of experiencing these feelings and not being able to endure her presence and not even being able to speak to her out of nervousness, I was finally courageous enough at Christmastime to write her a very brief letter. As these were times of starvation in Germany and goodies were hard to come by, I saved the special treats I received for Christmas, overcoming my own craving for them in order to keep them as a present or a gift to her if she would answer my letter. But she never did! After three weeks of waiting in vain, I found myself back with my feet on the ground, and I devoured all the goodies in one quick action and brushed off the feelings for her that I had. It is interesting to note that as I found myself with my feet on the ground without this tender feeling, the desire and willingness to sacrifice or to go the extra mile for her sake also vanished. I often think that it was good that she did not write back so the way could be preserved for me to find my faithful, wonderful companion who is with me today.

The crowd seemed to calm down suddenly and every person stopped talking as if on cue. They focused their attention on the floor because they recognized that same girl—the one they had noticed earlier in the balance beam competition. This time she was swinging in ever higher circles around the uneven parallel bars, but she could have been just turning somersaults and they still would have noticed.
The girl on the floor was Diane Ellingson, a typical-looking gymnast with a tiny frame and a blonde ponytail. But her looks were the only thing typical about her, and the crowd could always sense that.
Maybe they noticed her because of the saucy way she held her pirouettes during her floor routine. It could have been the spectacular twists and turns she executed when she flipped from the uneven parallel bars. It might have been her effortless leaps over the vault, but above all that, it was probably her genuine love for the crowd. They could feel it when she flashed them that one-of-a-kind smile at the end of a perfect routine.
Of course, even when her performance wasn’t quite so perfect there was still something about that infectious smile. Even when she landed in a belly flop on national television after a routine, she smiled and waved to the crowd until they applauded. In a meet on her 18th birthday she told the judges it was her birthday so they would ask the crowd to sing “Happy Birthday” to her. “I wasn’t embarrassed,” says Diane. “I would’ve let them sing it twice just for the attention.”
Her love of the audience was a carryover from childhood. Once when she was nine or ten she didn’t come home from school when she was supposed to, so her father went looking for her. He found her in the center of a circle of children, entertaining them with her tumbling tricks, not for the glory, just for fun.
Diane’s sister Marie laughs at the memory of Diane as a child performer. “If you ever see our family movies, she’s always out in front. She was just always a show-off. Dad would be taking a picture of someone else and Diane would get in the picture somehow.”
That desire to perform fit perfectly into gymnastics, another of Diane’s lifelong loves. It was tough to convince her parents that gymnastics was a good thing for her, and even then she had to do something more.
“Our family had seven kids and couldn’t afford to pay for Diane to have lessons. She went down to the gym herself and told the coach that she’d do anything for them. So after workouts she’d clean the gym—vacuuming mats, cleaning bathrooms, whatever, to pay for her lessons,” says Marie.
Diane’s love of the spotlight was quickly matched by her gymnastic ability, and the two made a championship combination. She started training when she was 14 1/2, a late start by competitive standards, but within a year she was competing against the best in the country. She was the Junior Olympic National Champion in high school, and in college she led the University of Utah’s women’s gymnastics team to their first national collegiate title.
After her eligibility for college competition was up, she decided to go on a national professional tour. It was a tour that involved Kurt Thomas and other well-known gymnasts, and Diane would get paid $5,000 just to go. She says she 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 into the air—just like all the other times. This time was different though. This time she rotated just a little too much. This time when she landed, she broke her neck. The accident put her in the hospital for almost half a year 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 comprehend a 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 inches 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 and back in shape. 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 stir-crazy. I was really impatient with people.” Finally Diane came to a turning point.
“Near the end of my traction 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 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 chronic 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 to a big degree made me so I could be a champion again.”
Being a champion is what Diane is all about. Marie says, “Her attitude’s always been, ‘If you want it, go for it.’ She decided when she was young that she would never give up.” And since Diane wanted to teach before her accident, she couldn’t just give that up, no matter what the odds.
Diane made the decision to return to school to finish her degree on the day she finally realized she would never walk again. She was lying on her bed amid 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 she teaches a class full of third graders 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, captivated, 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, although she doesn’t wear her hair in a ponytail anymore. Just listen to her speak and you’ll see 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 ready laugh frequently interrupts her stories.
“I think telling my gymnastics stories and sharing my experiences kind of breaks the wheelchair barrier. The kids can see that I’m just a regular person and we have a lot in common, even though 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 whole time she was in gymnastics, whether she was swinging high above the uneven parallel bars or just doing handstands for fun, she was only afraid of being blind or paralyzed. “I was so paranoid of wheelchairs that I would never talk to anybody in a wheelchair or go near a wheelchair. In stores, if somebody in a wheelchair was down an aisle, I’d never go down that aisle, no way. I was paranoid that I’d end up in one if I got too close. It was almost like having thought about it so much kind of prepared me,” she says.
It was probably Diane’s indomitable spirit that prepared her more than anything else. It’s a spirit that comes through 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 dim when she finishes her message, and a slide show featuring Diane, the ham and gymnast, flashes on the screen in time to some upbeat music. When it’s over, young people swarm around her, enveloping her tiny frame and wheelchair with their excitement.
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 flunk out of school. The third time, she made a goal to make the honor roll, and the last time she was on her way to that goal.” Another champion in the making, thanks to Diane.
Diane just shrugs 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 cope with it,’ and the thing I have to say is, ‘Either you cope 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.

The Savior’s words were written for us. It’s OK if we’re weak, as long as we don’t stay weak, as long as we do something about it. Katie is a young woman who did just that. Let me share her story with you.
“All my life I have wanted to be good, but I got to the point where I wondered, ‘How can anyone really know if the Church is true?’ I took Moroni’s challenge and for five months prayed and read my scriptures every day. One night I sat on my bed almost in tears, giving up. I decided to pray. I said, ‘Heavenly Father, help me to please just know you are there. I’ve done what Thou hast asked according to the Church and I just really need to know.’ Immediately I felt like someone had wrapped their arms around me. I didn’t hear a loud voice or see an angel, but I felt Heavenly Father telling me, ‘Sweet Katie, you’ve known all along.’ It was like a kind and loving father comforting his little girl” (letter).
One of the main functions of the Holy Ghost is to testify of truth. The Spirit testified to Katie that the gospel is true. Katie had paid the price. As the Savior said, she went to her home, studied His words, and prayed—for five whole months. Katie is developing her talent for spirituality. She can use this gift to govern her life.

I was in Arizona a few years ago, and the president of a stake told me about one of his boys having been called to go on a mission. The boy went to the patriarch before he left, and the patriarch gave him a blessing. He told the boy that he should be satisfied with the assignment he would receive. And he said, “You shall see floods to the right of you and floods to the left of you, and your life will be protected and preserved.” He was assigned to the East Central States Mission, and while he was serving there, there was a major flood. This missionary was marooned in Louisville, Kentucky, in a house from which he had to be rescued in a boat, and he lived to see floods to the right of him and floods to the left of him. I ask you, how could the patriarch have known that when he gave that blessing, except by the inspiration of the Almighty?

Matt and Margaret (all names have been changed) turned off the television following the concluding session of general conference. The messages had been inspiring, and they had enjoyed the positive atmosphere that had permeated their home that weekend.
Nobody could have been more disappointed than Matt and Margaret were when, less than 24 hours later, they were having a heated argument over whether to save an unexpected bonus Matt had received at work or spend it on school clothes for the older kids. The debate was not resolved, and Matt and Margaret each moved on to other tasks feeling misunderstood.
To create a lasting, happy marriage, couples must learn how to resolve conflicts so that each individual feels understood and decisions are made that involve acceptable compromise.
Scriptures and words of prophets and apostles provide ample cautions about contention. In 3 Nephi we read, “He that hath the spirit of contention is not of me, but is of the devil, who is the father of contention” (3 Nephi 11:29). Elder M. Russell Ballard of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught that Satan “works to drive a wedge of disharmony between a father and a mother. He entices children to be disobedient to their parents. … Satan knows that the surest and most effective way to disrupt the Lord’s work is to diminish the effectiveness of the family and the sanctity of the home.”1
Differences of opinion, habit, or background are inevitable, but we have ample resources to help us know how to cope. Doctrine and instruction taught in Sunday worship and Church publications can help and can be supplemented with quality professional information as needed. Couples can learn methods for dealing with conflict. Inspiration can lead to changing hearts that soften each spouse from the inside.
President Thomas S. Monson cautioned: “Some of our greatest opportunities to demonstrate our love will be within the walls of our own homes. Love should be the very heart of family life, and yet sometimes it is not. There can be too much impatience, too much arguing, too many fights, too many tears.”2
When troubles persist and become destructive to family life, there can be more serious causes of conflict, including immaturity, selfishness, desire to win power struggles, and pride. President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) taught, “I have long felt that the greatest factor in a happy marriage is an anxious concern for the comfort and well-being of one’s companion. In most cases selfishness is the leading factor that causes argument, separation, divorce, and broken hearts.”3
Elder Marvin J. Ashton (1915–94) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles also commented: “When one considers the bad feeling and the unpleasantness caused by contention, it is well to ask, ‘Why do I participate?’ …
“… It is important to recognize that we choose our behavior. At the root of this issue is the age-old problem of pride.”4
Whatever the cause, we need to learn new skills and soften our hearts when problems persist.
There are many causes of conflict, ranging from superficial personal biases to deeper ingrained communication styles. In addition to overcoming selfishness and immaturity, couples will face other common causes of conflict including such factors as the following:
Newlyweds learning to adjust to one another’s styles
Natural differences between men and women
Edginess prompted by exhaustion
Different opinions on how to best raise children or manage finances
Children learning to use agency
Different likes and dislikes
Overreactions to stress
Lack of understanding or skill in resolving conflict
Many marital or family conflicts arise because of uncontrolled anger. If we’re not careful, we can follow an angry incident with constant thinking about how we were wronged. The longer we ruminate the more reasons we can generate to justify our perspective. This brooding can prevent us from calming down, and when a second wave of anger emerges before the first is resolved, hormonal reactions can lead to additional outbursts.
For example, in a counseling session, Marilyn described how frustrating it had been to lie in bed after she and her husband had yelled at each other. “I knew I was in the right,” she said. “I knew he was going to flip on the light and apologize, but he never did. The more I thought about it, the madder I got. When I heard him start to snore, I couldn’t stand it—I jumped out of bed and yelled at him some more and then went downstairs. Can you believe that he still didn’t apologize?” Marilyn’s experience is a good example of how not to deal with angry feelings.
Habits, even short-term ones, can seem hard to break. But spouses can learn skills to help. Here are some useful practices:
Challenge thoughts quickly. In our example, Marilyn could have said to herself, “It seems like I’m right, but I’m blowing it out of proportion. My relationship with my husband matters more to me than what we’re arguing about.”
Allow your emotions to calm before you try tackling a problem. Wait out the chemical reaction that may be taking place.
Find a distraction. Choose to think about something else or take a walk.
Write down your thoughts. For some, this helps to increase self-awareness.
Let it out in productive ways. Yelling about your feelings won’t help you “get it out of your system.” The more you vent in an angry manner, the more intense your feelings will become.
Listen to calming music or read uplifting literature.
Start over. Catch yourself in the beginning of a disagreement. Research has shown that the first three to five minutes of a conversation lays the foundation for what is likely to follow. Say, “This is going in a bad direction. Let’s start over.”
Strengthening Marriage, an LDS Family Services’ manual, recommends three steps for resolving conflict: (1) expressing views, (2) exploring concerns, and (3) selecting mutually satisfying solutions.5 These steps are based on a communication and sharing model that is cooperative and addresses the issues of all concerned.
Each individual shares views in an honest but non-attacking manner. Sometimes thoughtful reflection resolves the problem as it becomes clear the disagreement was merely a misunderstanding. For example, a wife who thinks her husband is selfishly insisting that she attend a high school basketball game with him instead of going out to dinner for a date, might come to understand that he is less interested in basketball than in showing attention to a player who has stopped attending his Sunday School class.
Couples explore concerns at a deeper level. The focus is on understanding and accepting one another’s concerns. Continuing the basketball example, the wife, while understanding her husband’s concern for the student, might believe that he is developing a pattern of always putting the needs of others before those of the marriage. In this case, a more thoughtful discussion must be held in which each expresses feelings in a sensitive manner and opposition gives way to cooperation.
Couples brainstorm and decide on mutually satisfying solutions. The focus is on what each individual can do to address the concerns rather than on what their spouse can do. Such negotiation can test maturity and patience but, over time, lead to a belief that there is safety in expressing feelings and confidence that each person’s desires will be addressed. Our couple may agree to spend one Friday night together at a basketball game, one Friday night in which the husband attends the game alone, and two Friday nights doing couple activities. It is not as important how the couple chooses to spend Friday night as it is that the quality of the decision-making process is satisfying to both.
Wonderful blessings flow from resolving conflicts in an atmosphere of love. These include security; personal growth, which leads to inner peace; increased faith; enhanced character; and personal righteousness.
When conflicts are resolved, new patterns can take their place. The door then opens for spouses to express positive thoughts and demonstrate support. Sister Jean B. Bingham, Relief Society General President, said: “Words have surprising power, both to build up and to tear down. We can all probably remember negative words that brought us low and other words spoken with love that made our spirits soar. Choosing to say only that which is positive about—and to—others lifts and strengthens those around us and helps others follow in the Savior’s way.”6
Couples who have made long-term progress in resolving conflict reap desirable rewards. A husband of a previously troubled relationship said, “It’s hard for me to look back on how it used to be and believe that it was real. How could I have treated my wife the way I did? I’m grateful for the Spirit getting my attention and for the patience my wife has shown to me.”
Overcoming conflict takes conscious effort and follow-through. The very next thing you say or do can start more positive communication patterns in your marriage. You too can reap the fruits of the Spirit as experienced by the Nephites: “There was no contention in the land, because of the love of God which did dwell in the hearts of the people.
“And there were no envyings, nor strifes, nor tumults … ; and surely there could not be a happier people” (4 Nephi 1:15–16).

I have hesitated for a long time, but now I feel I must write to thank you for the wonderful articles in Der Stern (German). One of the articles (“Temples and Work Therein,” Elder David B. Haight, October 1990 general conference) led me to have one of the most beautiful experiences of my life.
I was baptized in February 1991 and received a copy of the January 1991 issue containing the conference report. After reading Elder Haight’s talk, I decided I would be baptized for my deceased mother as soon as I could go to the temple. Later, my mother appeared to me by my bed and told me she would accept her baptism.
I will be eternally grateful to my Heavenly Father for a spiritual experience I shall never forget—an experience that came through reading the magazine.
Erika GiesenGluckstadt Ward, Neumunster Germany Stake

When I was young, I had an experience that helped me relate to the blind man described in John 9.
I was 11 years old when the “works of God were made manifest” in me. In the fifth grade, I developed warts on my hands. Both hands were covered with the ugly virus sufficiently enough to earn me the nickname “warthog” among my classmates. Needless to say, it affected my self-esteem and social life.
When my family moved from Utah to Idaho the following summer, I dreaded the thought of going to a new school. In my old class, I took plenty of teasing, but I also had two good friends who stood by me. This new place offered no such assurance.
I began to search for ways to rid myself of my burden. With my mother’s help, we tried over-the-counter remedies and even some home remedies, but the warts remained. Money was limited, so seeing the doctor for such a nonemergency was out of the question. I began feeling like there would be no end to this malady.
Towards the end of summer, it occurred to me to ask Heavenly Father for help. My family had been active in the Church for about two years, and I had been taught about the power of fasting accompanied by prayer, but I had never before taken the opportunity to do this.
Over two weeks I fasted every few days. I remember how hard it was to pass up my mom’s homemade cherry pie, but I believed the outcome of my fast would be equal to my faith and sacrifice. I prayed earnestly in our backyard, where I could speak aloud and not be interrupted. At the end of the two-week period, my warts were gone. Every one of them had shrunk away.
When school started a couple of weeks later, I felt a new confidence. This confidence came, in part, from having healed hands that I did not have to hide, but more so from an internal seed that had sprouted to life.
I had gained personal knowledge of a great truth—that I was a daughter of Heavenly Father, the true and living God. I knew that He loved me and that He heard and answered my prayers. Just as the man in the scriptures, the works of God had been made manifest in me, on a physical and a spiritual level.

Church attendance for my folks was very infrequent, but every Sunday Mom prodded me out the door. After she buttoned me into a crisp, ironed, white shirt, she lounged about while my dad watched TV.
That second Sunday of September should have been no different from any other. The first counselor in the bishopric had just finished the announcements as I slipped in the door. I noticed my usual seat on the front row was already occupied, and the only spot left was in the middle of the second row. I tried to wiggle past Tom Bennington’s long legs, but he pinned me against the pew. As I struggled harder to get past, we both giggled quietly. Suddenly a dark hand rested on Tom’s shoulder. That’s when I noticed him, the man sitting in the third row.
He was old, judging by the wrinkles lining his face and the amount of white in his hair. However, his eyes were what froze my levity—a deep blue that bored right into me. A cold chill ran through my body. Tom straightened up as if shocked by electricity. Quickly freeing myself, I sat down.
When the opening song started, I slouched as usual. I hated singing of any kind, but as the congregation sang the first few words the hairs on the back of my neck bristled. From behind, the stranger’s deep, resonant voice intoned the first verse of the song. I was hypnotized by that voice. Many men croaked off key, but he hit every note with a bass clarity that was beautiful. Then, as the second verse began, a rough, sunburned hand reached past my shoulder with a hymnal turned to the proper page. Out of surprise I took the book and mumbled through the song.
“I’d like to take care of one piece of business at this time,” the first counselor announced following the invocation. “Brother Carswell, would you please stand?”
I heard a rustling noise directly behind me and saw those rough hands grip the back of my seat.
“We have extended a call to Brother Merle Carswell to be our Scoutmaster, and he has accepted. All those who can sustain Brother Carswell in this calling signify by the uplifted hand. Any opposed by the same sign. Thank you.”
What? I thought to myself. This man? Our Scoutmaster? Bishop, you’ve got to be kidding! That’s a young man’s job.
Early the following Thursday while shuffling down the sidewalk delivering newspapers, I spotted Brother Carswell walking briskly in my direction.
“Good morning,” he said in a voice that garnered instant attention.
It was disgusting how some people could be so cheerful at 5:30 in the morning.
“You walk like a man heading for the gallows.”
I had been staring at my feet but glanced at him to answer. “Yeah, sort of.”
“Let me guess. It’s the widow lady at the end of the street.”
“How’d you know?” I shot back, startled.
“I heard her scold you yesterday morning.”
“Oh. I’d sure like to know what her problem is. It’s like that every day. I just can’t do anything right.”
So why was I suddenly baring my burdens to a complete stranger? What was it about this man that prodded me to open up? He was old. He was all wrinkled and harsh looking. His eyes pierced through body and soul like Superman’s X-ray vision, yet, there was something, an invisible feeling of … I didn’t know what.
“Let’s walk,” he suggested, turning around. “You know anything about her?”
“No, except she hates kids and can’t seem to get along with grownups either.”
“Husband died about 11 years ago. Hasn’t had much contact with her children. Feels sort of, well, abandoned. Just kind of bitter at the hand dealt her.”
“That’s no reason to take it out on me.”
“Oh, you’re not the only one to catch her wrath, just the handiest this time of day.”
Brother Carswell stopped in front of a house several doors down from Mrs. Webster’s. Pulling out a well-worn pocket knife, he cut off a beautiful rose bud.
“Gee!” I whispered in panic, looking up at the house, fully expecting the owner to come flying out, shotgun in hand. “You’re gonna get us in—”
“Nah. Burt won’t mind. We go way back. Now, take this,” Brother Carswell replied with a chuckle. “Remember, you can drag a mule to water, but just out of orneriness it isn’t going to drink unless you sweeten the pond. Why don’t you slip this in her newspaper?”
Brother Carswell trimmed off the thorns and placed the rose in my hand. Without further comment he strolled away whistling a merry tune. I couldn’t believe it. This man snips off a flower, tells me to give it to one of the crankiest people in town, and walks away—in the opposite direction. The whole idea seemed so stupid that I was about to chuck the flower into the thick bushes surrounding her yard.
“Oh, why not?” I snorted to myself and tucked it carefully under the rubber band as I laid the paper on the brick ledge next to her door, just where she demanded.
That afternoon, as I rode my skateboard down the street, I saw Mrs. Webster standing on the front porch. I could tell she was gunning for me, and there was no way to ignore that screeching voice calling my name.
Everything in my being prompted me to keep going, but I slipped off the board with a stop that flipped it into my hands. Taking a deep breath, I shuffled toward her.
“My, my, you seem quite good at riding that, that thing. What do you call it?”
“A skateboard.”
“Oh, yes, a skateboard. It’s terribly hot today. Would you like some lemonade?”
One minute I hated everything about this house. Now I was sitting in the cool shade of its porch sipping fresh lemonade and munching the best cookies ever. The most puzzling thing was the fact that this grouchy woman and I were amiably talking about nothing really important. But we were talking. Soon I was fixing her stubborn lawnmower.
Brother Carswell was a rarity at 67. His wisdom and the way he taught precepts were remarkable. My first lesson had been to never give up on people just because they were different or seemingly unapproachable. With simple kindness people can open the lines of communication and begin to understand the “hand” others have been dealt.
Mrs. Webster really was a sweet lady. And I didn’t mind putting the paper on the window ledge. Arthritis made it difficult for her to bend over. Maybe that’s why I spent a lot of time weeding her flower garden and mowing the grass. Then it could have been the pay—the best cookies, cakes, and pies ever. And the friendship.

My father was never raised in any religion, and my mother’s family became less active when my mother was young. But one day my mother felt like she was missing something, so she decided to go back to the church she had grown up in, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My sisters and I went with her. But my father didn’t like our attending church, and it tested my parents’ relationship like never before.
I was baptized when I was eight, and I learned how families can be together forever. Every year on my birthday, I blew out the candles secretly wishing for my father to be baptized. I prayed that my dad’s heart would be softened. After many years, the missionaries were eventually able to eat dinner with us. But the gospel was never brought up.
Then one summer my father came with me on a Young Men camping trip. Though he wasn’t a member, my dad was put in charge of a fireside! I was scared, but everyone helped by participating in the fireside. Then my friend bore his testimony of prayer. He shared a time my father had helped my friend’s little brother and had been an answer to his prayer. For the first time ever, I saw my dad cry. He felt the Spirit.
After that trip, my father wanted to learn more about the gospel with a new enthusiasm, and one morning he announced that he wanted to be baptized. We couldn’t believe it!
My father’s baptism was one of the best days of my life. The chapel was packed with everyone who came to support my dad, and I practiced the baptismal prayer a few hundred times because I was so excited. I was able to baptize my dad, and I can’t even describe the overwhelming emotions I felt as I embraced my father in the baptismal font.
The next year my family and I were sealed in the temple. After the sealing, we stood in a circle—as an eternal family—hugging each other with tears of joy running down our faces.
From this experience I learned that anything is possible. Don’t give up. I am going to try my absolute best to be worthy to be sealed in the temple with my future family.

On a beautiful summer morning, our family attended the Special Olympics to watch our son Scott participate. The Special Olympics are held each year to allow people with disabilities to enjoy friendly competition. We observed that as the runners were taking their positions for the 50-yard dash, they were being encouraged by special friends affectionately known as huggers. Seconds before the start of the race, these huggers took their places at the race’s finish line. It didn’t matter who crossed the finish line first. What did matter was that every runner completed the race and that every runner received a congratulatory hug. Both the courageous runners and the caring huggers taught important principles of truth.

Years before my military experience, I served a mission in the British Isles. I always had planned to serve, but the decision became more challenging when I met this beautiful girl in college! Sound familiar to anyone here?! We dated. We fell in love. We even discussed the possibility of eventual marriage. But I had a mission to fulfill; and, to her everlasting credit, she agreed that was what I should do. But it wasn’t easy, and other young men in our university ward made no effort to conceal their delight that I was going to be away for a couple of years.
Nevertheless, I went. My heart was very sad as I bade her goodbye. In my day, there was no MTC. Instead, newly called missionaries would attend a one-week orientation in what was then called the Mission Home, which was located on North State Street in Salt Lake City. I entered the Mission Home with a desire to serve but with a heavy heart. Then, a miracle happened that changed my life!
On the very first morning there, Sister Richards, the wife of the Mission Home president, arose to address us. I shall never forget her words! “Now, you missionaries,” she declared, “I want to talk to you about those girls at home.” She had my undivided attention! Then, she spoke another one of those sentences that deserves heart-engraving: “Do you think—do you really think—that if you go out and serve the Lord with all your heart for two years that He will let you down in the most important decision you will ever make in your life?” In that moment, dear brothers and sisters, the Holy Spirit filled my soul from top to toe! I felt as if I was the only other person in the room! Of course, I thought! She was not promising that a particular girl would be waiting, only that when the season for marriage came the Lord would help me and the right girl to find each other. The burden was lifted! But that witness came only after the trial of faith!
From that moment, I left the matter in the Lord’s hands. I really tried to be a good and faithful missionary. She dated and participated fully in school and institute activities. We wrote weekly. The weeks turned to months. Then a year. A year and a half. Still, we were writing. And when the day of return finally arrived, there she was with my parents and siblings as I stepped off the plane. The next evening, I proposed. And here she is today, my beautiful eternal companion, Pat, as we are now in our 62nd year of marriage! Of course, not all pre-mission romances turn out as did ours; and not every missionary’s sacrifice involves romance. But that isn’t the point! The point is that when we don’t shrink and move forward along our own customized path of discipleship, the Lord’s reassuring witness inevitably follows in due course.

I can think back to one Christmas in which our family budget was extremely tight. We were supporting one of my brothers on his mission to Chicago, and that required us to skimp on nonessential items. The only gift-wrapped item I got that year was a fleece blanket. Nothing extravagant, just a plain blanket. I tried to talk it up to my friends at school and make it seem like it was a really great gift, but there was no use. It couldn’t compare to a video game console.
Since then, that blanket has come to symbolize much more to me. That gift was one of warmth. Yes, it warmed me on those few cold Arizona nights, but it also warmed me with love. My parents gave me more: they gave me fun family traditions, a firm sense of belonging, and a knowledge that true gifts are ones of service, love, and sacrifice. My parents sacrificed their money for my brother’s mission, but they never sacrificed their love for me, our family, and everyone around them as they served that year.
I wish I could go back to the school cafeteria table when my friends asked, “What did you get for Christmas?” I wish I could have answered them proudly: “I got a blanket, a blanket that warms me with the true love of the most wonderful time of year.”

It is July 1984. The men’s gymnastics all-around competition of the Los Angeles Olympics is in its final round. Li Ning, the Chinese gymnast, has just completed a near-perfect routine on the horizontal bar with a score of 9.85 out of 10. That means the next—and final—competitor, a young American from Los Angeles, must score even higher to win the gold medal.
Peter Vidmar quietly rubs chalk on his hands, takes a deep breath, and walks onto the mat. He thinks of the World Cup meet in Zagreb, Yugoslavia, where Li Ning beat him in the horizontal bar and the all-around. Then he thinks of the first time he, Peter, ever received a perfect score of 10. The event was the horizontal bar. And at the meet, in Saarbrücken, West Germany, he won four gold medals.
Another deep breath. There’s not time now to think of the past. Nothing to think of but the routine. Concentrate! He signals his readiness to the officials.
Back uprise, free hip circle, California hop, front Stalder, into a giant swing. The fluid, nonstop circling revolves around the wooden bar. Hecht half turn, straddle regrasp, immediate flyaway with half turn regress, kip change, another giant swing to build momentum. Drop to a dislocate, hit an immediate giant, now the straddle front flip and recatch. There’s electricity in the audience! Kip change, giant, pirouette, another giant. Don’t slip on the Stalder! Two more giants now, nice and big and easy. A smooth arch into a half-in, half-out layout. Come on, Peter! Stick the landing!
His feet plant deep in the cushioning mat and momentum almost topples him forward. But he stands firm, then stretches his arms out wide. A smile as big as the world stretches across his face. And the crowd—the crowd goes crazy! “Vidmar! Vidmar! Vidmar!” the fans are shouting. The score is posted: 9.9! Vidmar wins the gold medal for the USA!