Gospel Story Finder

“I think the Lord has a special purpose for us, and that’s why we are growing so fast,” says President Soulé. “We have learned that when we obey, the Lord will tell us what to do. We feel his love, and we will do his will.
Once I was at a business meeting, and I didn’t drink. One of our potential clients said, ‘If you don’t drink, we won’t do business with you.’ I thought a minute, and then I said to him, ‘Maybe I don’t want to do business with someone who thinks that what is in my glass is more important than what I can do.’ I thought he was angry, but the next day he called me and said they wanted to do business only with me because I wasn’t afraid to stand up for what I believed. When we know what is right, we should do it, no matter what.”

I joined the Church as a convert in 1976, just a few days after my ninth birthday. I was baptized on the same day as my parents. Together my mom, dad, younger sister and I made the transition from being non-attending Presbyterians to active members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. And what a transition it was! Sundays, in the 1970s, consisted of at least two trips to the church-one for Sunday school and one for Sacrament meeting. And Primary was held after school on a weekday! While I am sure I learned quickly, I still remember feeling awkward when I didn't know the answers even to the easy questions in Primary. It was not until I had children of my own that I realized how much gospel learning could take place in the first eight or nine years of a child's life.

Perhaps due to my late start, I've often felt somewhat less spiritually mature than many of my LDS peers. Nevertheless, like David of the Old Testament, I had experiences in my youth that to me, particularly in hindsight, have allowed me to believe in a loving Heavenly Father who knows me personally.

I am certain that if each of us thinks carefully enough, we can recall an experience in which we felt--even knew--that Father in Heaven was cognizant of us as an individual.

One of the more powerful such experiences of my youth occurred in late August or early September of 1985, just a few days before I was to begin my freshman year at BYU. I had worked hard to fit my schedule together--you know how tricky it can be to get into each of the classes you need at the times you need them. Having completed this tedious task, I don't know why I was still perusing the course schedule. Nevertheless I still vividly remember sitting at the kitchen table in my parents' home, flipping through the pages, when my eyes landed on the bold-type word "Chinese"--the catalog heading for the Chinese courses offered that semester. At that moment I experienced a feeling quite unlike anything I'd ever experienced. It was almost as if I'd been shocked by some unseen electrical source--not a painful shock, but clearly some sort of physical feeling. Not simply an idea or brainstorm or a thought popping into my head. I knew--I knew--at that very instant that I must study Chinese.

Prior to this profound impression to study Chinese, I had only a small handful of remote recollections of even hearing references to China. The first was a memory of a radio news broadcast announcing the death of Mao Zedong, leader of the People's Republic of China. That would have been in September of 1976, when I was eight years old. I remember a high school classmate writing a report on Genghis Khan, whose progeny overthrew the Chinese empire in the 12th century. And finally, I remember overhearing a friend of another classmate talking about a trip to China he and his brother planned to make after they graduated. That's it. So this crazy compelling feeling to study Chinese was really "out of the blue."

Lacking confidence, I made my way to the office of Professor Gary Williams, then chair of the Department of Asian and Near Eastern Languages at BYU. Professor Williams was patient with my naïve inquiries and encouraged me to sign up for Chinese 101.

My life has been richly blessed because of my decision to follow the promptings I felt to take that first Chinese class. I was better prepared to serve the Lord in Taiwan, where I was called as a missionary a year after taking that first Chinese class--to serve under Mission President Gary Williams, coincidentally! Upon completing my mission I taught Mandarin in the MTC. And there are many other experiences that resulted from that decision to register for Chinese 101. I would not likely be a professor of Chinese at BYU-Idaho today had I not followed that initial impression.

In hindsight, I recognize that it was my belief and my faith that a loving Heavenly Father had spoken to me that gave me the courage to follow the inspiration to begin studying Chinese. But from where did that feeling come? And why was it so powerful to cause me to take such seemingly baseless action?

I know, unequivocally, that the experience I had that impelled me to begin my study of Chinese nearly twenty-five years ago, was Heavenly Father informing me, through the power of the Holy Ghost, of a path I could choose that would bring many blessings into my life. Having followed that powerful prompting and made that decision, and personally experiencing its consequences, I have come to know with certainty that we are children of a loving Heavenly Father; that he communicates with us, that our life on Earth has purpose, and that these principles I have discussed today are true.

Augustina Constantie Doorson was born on July 1, 1863, on the Sarah Plantation in the district of Coronie, west of Paramaribo, in the country currently known as Suriname. She was born the day slavery was officially abolished in the country that was then known as Dutch Guiana, located in the northeast part of South America. Augustina’s mother, Molly Doorson, and Molly’s sister, Eva Doorson, were slaves on that plantation. Life for the slaves was hard and did not change for 10 years after slavery was abolished because the government had to repay each plantation owner for each person freed. The family eventually moved to Paramaribo, a larger town in Dutch Guiana, to find work.
Augustina, Molly, and Eva were ancestors of Imro Wehl, who lives in Suriname. Imro, a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, is an enthusiast of family history and spends hours finding names to add to his family tree. He started to have dreams of his great-grandmother, Augustina, who appeared to be asking for help. He remembered that his mother, Sieglien Wehl-Biezen, had also dreamed of her mother, Augustina, years before requesting her to free her but didn’t understand what the dream meant. Imro realized he was the answer to his great-grandmother’s plea for help. As a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, through the sealing power of the temple covenants for the dead, he could help her find the peace she had been waiting to receive.
Imro worked for years, gathering names of family members to add to his family tree. He strongly felt he was receiving help from ancestors on the other side of the veil. He received impressions that helped him eventually find over 90 individuals. Imro said it felt like miracles were happening repeatedly as he continued to find additional family members. Surprisingly, he even felt impressed to include the names of Augustina, Sieglien, Molly, and Eva’s former slave master, Edmund Desse, and his family. Imro said this showed him how deeply Augustina had forgiven him despite the suffering her family endured.
In September 2024, Imro and the Paramaribo Suriname District planned a 10-day temple trip to the Belém Brazil Temple. Over 20 members flew from their home country to Brazil with the names of family members ready to have their temple work done. They worked in the temple every day, all day long, except Sunday and Monday, to complete their work. They started with baptisms for the dead and finished by invoking the power of the sealing of couples to one another and the sealing of the sons and daughters to their parents. Imro enlisted the help of his fellow district members to complete the temple work for his family. Even the temple workers stayed late, after 10:00 p.m. at night, to help Imro and the group complete his work.
Sister Lusanne Libretto, a member of the group traveling to Brazil, had an unforgettable experience at the temple. She recalls, “This was my most profound moment since I joined the Church.”
Early in the morning on September 13, 2024, the group attended the temple to do baptisms for their ancestors. Lusanne was given five names to be baptized for. She sat quietly in the chapel, waiting for her husband to change his clothes while the rest of the group entered the baptistry. As she waited, she felt strangely restless, as if she was being urged to go inside and start the baptisms immediately. She said, “I literally felt that I was being pushed forward. I passed the entire group, and to the surprise of my fellow brothers and sisters, I was helped first. They wondered why I was in such a rush to pass them to the first row, and rightly so. Once I started the baptisms, the first name I was given was that of Eva Doorson [Imro Wehl’s great-aunt].”
Later that evening, when Lusanne returned for another ordinance session, she received Eva Doorson’s name again. She was amazed and felt a strong bond with the deceased woman as if Eva had chosen Lusanne to help her.
At the end of another ordinance session, Lusanne said, “I was tired, but a temple worker handed me one more name to complete in addition to the five I had already done. To my surprise, it was Eva Doorson again. With tears in my eyes, I knew with certainty that she wanted and had chosen me to do all her work at the temple. I never asked for her name, but I kept getting it pressed into my hands. Even though I was exhausted, I felt grateful that I had listened to the gentle promptings of the Spirit.”
On September 21, 2024, Imro, Lusanne, and others from the Paramaribo Suriname District returned home with gratitude for the opportunity to attend the temple and for their shared memories. Imro witnessed ordinances completed for over 90 family members, including his great-grandmother, Augustina, his grandmother, Molly, his mother, Sieglien, and his great-aunt, Eva, as well as his father, brother, and son. It was a deeply emotional experience that strengthened his bond with his family, both past and present. In his testimony, Imro said, “The best time we can spend here on earth is in the temple with our Heavenly Father.”

Another missionary told of hearing about the gospel in France. The missionaries were not fluent in his language, but he knew that what they were telling him was important, so he studied English in order to better understand them. After hearing the discussions, he had difficulty breaking some of his bad habits. The missionaries told him to ask the Lord for help. One night he was having extreme difficulty and, remembering their advice, went to his bedroom to pray for help. An hour or two later he heard a knock at his door. The missionaries were standing there, drenched from having walked five kilometers in a heavy rainstorm. “Why are you here?” he asked them. “We were asleep,” they said, “and woke up feeling you needed us.” He paused at this point in his talk and looked out over the audience as if looking for someone. Then he said, in a voice trembling with love and gratitude, “I want you to meet my missionaries.” They both lived near the MTC, and he had invited them to hear him speak at our meeting. He spoke of his mission as a privilege.

I remember another mother. Some years ago I was called to the home of a woman who was in an iron lung. She needed medical attention, and there was no way she could come to the doctor’s office or to the hospital. She had spent every waking moment in this respirator for many years. She was dependent upon this iron lung for the breath of life that she could stay out of it for only a minute or so without assistance. During my visit in this home, I observed three children of this mother who conversed with her while she was in the iron lung. One came and said, “Mommy, may I have permission to go over to Mary’s house and play for an hour?” The second child came over and said, “Mommy, will you help me with my arithmetic?” The third child was too small to look directly at her mother’s face as it was exposed from this large tank. She caught her mother’s eye only through a mirror overhead and said, “Mommy, may I have a cookie?” Tears came to my eyes because I realized that here was a body that was just as handicapped as a body can be, and yet the reality of the spirit of this mother in directing the lives and the spirits of her children was one of the most impressive things I have ever seen.

In the article "Tommy and the Gumball Machine," Jean Ashby tells the story of her son, Tommy. Her little boy was following her into a store and was allowed a penny to get a gumball out of a machine. His mother continued into the store to get a cart, and the automatic door closed behind her. When Tommy struggled to turn the handle on the gumball machine, he became distressed. His mother noticed, but couldn't get back through the automatic doors. She indicated that he should take a step towards her, so the doors would open, but he clung to the gumball machine, afraid he wouldn't get his treasured gumball if he stepped away from it.[2]
It seems like some of us are like Tommy by the gumball machine. We feel that God has deprived us of something we really want, when he might actually ask us to step away from it for a time so that he can reward us with it at a later time.
When I was at Ricks College, I worked part-time and lived at home so that I could save money to go on a study abroad at the Jerusalem Center in Israel. I worked for years to save up enough money to go on this trip, depriving myself of a lot of things and opportunities that I would otherwise have enjoyed. Finally, the time came...I was accepted to the program and ready to go. Unfortunately, the first Gulf War began on the day we were to have left, in January 1991. I was devastated. I had looked forward to this for years, and now it felt like all of my hard work was for nothing. But things took an interesting turn. Although going to Israel was my main goal, I also had dreams of traveling through Europe and seeing many of the famous cultural sights of the world. As weeks passed by, they said that I could attend Fall semester in Israel, which was less expensive and left me with enough money to also go to Europe on a tour with the Humanities department at Ricks College. Like Tommy by the gumball machine, it had seemed like I was being deprived of something I really wanted, when later I got that plus so much more.

It was July 1915, and the world was at war. But the struggles on the battlefield could not have been more emotion-shearing than the confrontation storming in our English home.
It had been a tempestuous session; my father had hurled malicious arguments at me since 9:00 in the evening, and it was now past midnight. I had dreaded the interview, but father was a mariner, and his ship was leaving soon. In those days no one knew exactly when a boat would return. Not only were schedules less exact and more subject to nature’s unpredictable furies, but now the waters swarmed with submarines. Torpedoes hunted merchants, soldiers, and passengers with equal vindictiveness.
All the missionaries in Europe were being called home on a ship departing on November 26. All emigrants had to leave that day, too, or wait until World War I ended. I wanted to be on that boat. I wanted to travel on that boat in the company and protection of the priesthood.
Knowing that father had been bitter against the Church for the last 15 years had given me a good idea that I would need divine help in obtaining his permission to separate myself from my family. Not sure when he would land in an English port again, I had known it would be necessary to speak to him before morning. Now for hours he had been bellowing reasons why he deemed my action irrational. But I had prayed long and hard for the Lord’s aid in softening my earthly father’s heart.
A tassel of his gray hair toppled over the furrows of his forehead. He had stopped his pacing before the fireplace, only momentarily, to announce his decision: “All right, you may go to America. But remember, I have seen much of that country, and I do not like it. I shall never live there. Your mother will stay with me, and you will never see either of us again.”
What I had thought would be a moment of relief filled my soul with agony. Those words, “You will never see your mother again,” had done what three hours of argumentation had failed to do. Every device had been used to make me change my mind, and now the final dagger stabbed deep, twisting in my heart. Leaving my mother would stretch my cord of faith into a fragile thread.
The bond was solid between Mother and me. Our mutual love of the gospel of Jesus Christ had drawn us close. But Father was the head of his home, and logic argued with him that his prediction would probably come true.
Then, somehow, words said years before fought their way into my mind, surmounting despair and reinforcing my faith. With a surge of courage I squared my shoulders and looked deep into my father’s eyes. “It may not be so, Father,” I said. “It was a few years ago, but the mission president told Mother that if she were faithful, she would gather to Zion. I believe that promise. All the obstacles will be removed.”
My father’s face registered astonishment, disbelief, and anger.
His hands clenched and unclenched. The outburst left me limp and numb.
I looked across the room at Mother. She was living every emotional vibration but knew better than to interfere. It was enough. I had my father’s word, and he would not break it.
I decided I had better go to bed and let things calm down until Dad left in the morning. There would be plenty of time to get ready for my journey after he had gone to sea.
Two weeks later my mother and I sat in a small compartment of a train headed to the docks. My married sister had come to bid me farewell. Looking at her for what I was sure would be the last time, I realized the love she had for me. Tears tumbled down her cheeks, though she had kept up her English reserve until then. We were not a demonstrative family, but now I thought, If I had known you loved me so much, it would have been even harder to leave.
My sister had arranged for the Baptist minister to talk to me in her home, and he warned of the sinking of the Lusitania in May of that year, which rushed 1,189 people into eternity. But I was filled with the spirit of gathering prevalent among the Saints in that day, and I had faith in the priesthood. My commitment had been made.
Mother and I reached Liverpool in the total darkness of a blackout. A guide escorted us through a maze of unlighted streets. Finally we could make out what seemed to be an immense wall in front of us. We were told it was the ship. Boarding procedure followed blackout restrictions, too, and we entered the ship in darkness.
The guide wanted to rush me in and Mother away. I turned to Mom, wrapping her in a tight hug with my arms, and said, “Don’t grieve. The Lord said it will be a land of Zion to us if we pay our tithing. And you know I pay my tithing.”
“Yes, my dear, I am sure of that,” she said. “God bless you.” She kissed me and disappeared into the shadows of the crowd.
February’s white snow piled powderpuffs on the fence posts and frosted the windows of homes in the Utah village in which I now resided. It had been seven months since I left Liverpool. Perhaps Lucifer had heard my parting words about tithing and decided to mock me. The lack of prospects for work dulled the beauty of the winter day. I was homesick, disappointed, and lonely.
The postman crunched up the sidewalk and slid an envelope through the slot in the door. It was a letter from my mother. She, too, was struggling. My brother stared death in the face every day in the trenches of France; Father’s location on the ocean was unknown, except perhaps to a periscope prowling icy waters. And she wasn’t worrying alone, she said. Neighbors worried, too. Everything was secret and suspense clouded the atmosphere.
My patriarchal blessing appointment was scheduled that afternoon, and I should have been busy preparing myself for it. But even through my fasting and prayer, my concerns about my family floated to the surface of my mind. I wished my family could join me to hear the patriarch’s words! I dropped the letter from my hands as I sobbed, releasing tears I had stored inside since the day I had last seen England.
I dropped to my knees by my bed and uttered the most sincere, heartrending prayer of my 19-year life. I told Heavenly Father I was sorry to be so weak, but that he knew how homesick I was, how disappointed to be out of work, how concerned about my family.
I said that if he could see fit to give me two promises in my patriarchal blessing, then I could be brave enough to endure anything the future held. I pleaded that my family and friends might someday come to this country and that I would someday be married in the temple.
I left the house and walked a block to the patriarch’s home. I spoke to no one and saw no one. But my Father knew of my prayer. That good patriarch came in from working in his fields and invited me to dinner. The food fortified me, and I was able to restrain my tears. We went to a private place, with his granddaughter along to act as scribe.
He described glorious promises, many of them. Then I heard, as it were, my own words, the ones I had spoken to my Father about one hour before: “Your loved ones from whom you have been parted—the Lord will bless and protect them, and many of them will follow you to the fold of the Good Shepherd and bask in the life-giving light of the gospel of their Redeemer. With them you will sing the songs of Zion and have much joy in their society. You shall have the privilege of going to the house of the Lord to receive a worthy helpmate and companion to be with you for time and all eternity.”
The patriarch continued outlining the blessings the Lord planned for me if I lived worthily. While he did, quiet tears trickled down my face. Heaven was in my heart.
When the patriarch had finished, I thanked him, tried to dry my face, and rushed home. I walked into my room, picked up my pen and wrote, “It’s all right now, Mother; Heavenly Father will protect George and Father. And you will come to Zion. Our Heavenly Father has said it. Be brave until we meet again. Much love, Mary.”
Many prayers in my life have been answered just as rapidly as the one concerning my patriarchal blessing, but time has not dimmed that miracle to me. I felt power, exultation, and gratitude; it seemed that my Father in heaven had come down and answered my requests in my own words through the patriarch. The promises all came true after many trials. Through the difficult times, the blessing fortified me. We are finer for the things we learn through the ups and downs of life, but the joy always outweighs the pain. Through my patriarchal blessing, I learned the happiness of compliance with the divine instruction given in Proverbs 3:5–6 [Prov. 3:5–6]:
“Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.
“In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.”

As time passed, I went into surgery for fusions of the broken vertebrae. The incisions finally healed, and I began therapy each day to see how much of a return of the nerve function we could hope to accomplish. At first there was no response, and I was shocked to see how shrunken my arms had become. All the muscles I had built up through heavy farm work were gone, and we were starting all over again.
Many discouraging, fruitless sessions followed. Then one day, as I was watching the therapist work on the small bicep that remained, I saw a twitch! This was the first sign of life in my arm in fifteen weeks! We began to work on this twitch, and in a week it became a twitch to the second power. This little improvement became a source of hope. I honestly feel that this was a result of the administration by the priesthood, because by all rights I should have remained totally paralyzed for the remainder of my life.

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

A few years ago I had the assignment of supervising several students who were completing internships in New York City. Included among the interns were photographers, graphic designers, illustrators, and studio artists. They were working with some very prestigious individuals in their respective fields—individuals of considerable influence and notoriety. Part of my responsibility was to follow up with each of the internship providers and see how our BYU interns were performing. It is sometimes tempting for the interns to try to fit in and do the kind of work that is frequently seen in the world, and they are counseled to be true to their culture and upbringing and to “be just who you are and you’ll stand out and be noticed.”

As I contacted the various mentors, I received almost the same response: “They are so refreshing. They are so culturally solid. We love having these BYU interns. Send us more.” I recall one very important and highly respected photographer—one who we felt had given us a gift by accepting a BYU intern—thanking me for sending the intern and saying, “He is so non–New York. He is so refreshing. He has changed us.” He said it three times: “He has changed us.” He then added, “And we think we’ve changed him a little as well.”

When we finally arrived at the São Paulo Temple thanks to one last ride from a friend we made on the train, the temple lodging was closed. Resigned but happy, we made ourselves comfortable on a couple of benches outside the temple. There it was, just as beautiful as we had dreamed it would be. It was now midnight, and we cried as we hugged, tired and wet from the falling rain. We didn’t feel the dampness, the hunger, or the cold, just an indescribable sense of happiness for being so close to the house of the Lord. We had been obedient, and there was our reward.

While we were basking in that moment, someone tapped me on the shoulder. It was one of my former mission companions, who had been sealed in the temple that day and was returning from dinner with his wife. He let us stay in their apartment that night, and the next day he was a witness to our sealing, performed by the temple president himself. How beautiful it was to see my wife in the celestial room, all dressed in white.

With a loan from my missionary friend and help from the temple president, we made the return trip in less than five days, without any delays—and with only $20 dollars to begin a life with my wife, Maria Ondina, as my eternal companion.

Now I think I’ll skip over some of my missionary experiences. This one might interest you. While I was laboring as a district president in Amsterdam on my first mission, my companion and I were invited to the home of one of the Saints. She wanted to invite her neighbor in and wanted us to come and teach her the gospel. When we arrived, the neighbor was there, but she had brought her minister along with her to make sure that we told her the right things. Well, the minister and I had a little difference of opinion on the subject of priesthood and right there he challenged me to a debate in his church. In those days we were not advised not to debate, and so I accepted the challenge–I was young and had plenty of fight in me.

When we arrived at his church a week from Saturday night, the church was full; all of his people were there, and all of our people. How our people had found out about it I do not know. I had not told them. I think he had spread the word around, thinking to show us up. But at any rate, he stood up and said, “Inasmuch as Mister Richards is a guest in our church we’ll accord him the privilege of opening the debate, and we’ll each talk for twenty minutes and continue as long as it’s mutually agreeable.” He asked, “Is that agreeable to you, Mister Richards?”

And I said, “Very much.” I did not tell him that I would have given him the shirt off my back for the privilege of opening that debate, and he had just handed it to me on a silver platter. I did not know whether the Lord had anything to do with that or not, but I thought he did.

I stood up and said, “The last time I talked to my friend, we had a difference of opinion in regard to the principle of the priesthood. I’ve come tonight prepared to discuss that subject, but I do not propose to start with that subject.” This is a device that has helped me in my work: I said, “If you were going to build a house, you wouldn’t try to put the roof on it before you got the foundation in, would you? Because if the foundation were faulty the house would tumble anyway so what good would the house be? I propose to open this debate tonight by laying the foundation of the gospel of Jesus Christ, and I choose for my text the sixth chapter of Hebrews, where Paul said,
Therefore leaving the principles of the doctrine of Christ, let us go on unto perfection; not laying again the foundation of repentance from dead works, and of faith toward God,
Of the doctrine of baptisms, and of laying on of hands, and of resurrection of the dead, and of eternal judgment. [Hebrews 6:1–2]
I hurried over faith and repentance; I assumed that they believed that. I preached baptism by immersion for the remission of sins until everybody in the audience was giving me accord. Then it came to the laying on of hands for the gift of the Holy Ghost, and they did not believe that. They thought the Holy Ghost just came, like the breezes that blow from the heavens.

I reminded them that when the apostles at Jerusalem heard that Samaria had accepted the word of God through the preaching of Philip they sent Peter and John. When these apostles arrived, they prayed for the people, then laid their hands upon them, and the people received the Holy Ghost. When Simon the sorcerer saw that the Holy Ghost was conveyed by the laying on of the apostles’ hands, he offered them money, saying, “Give me also this power, that on whomsoever I lay hands, he may receive the Holy Ghost.” And Peter said, “Thy money perish with thee, because thou hast thought that the gifts of God may be purchased with money” (see Acts 8:14–20). Then I gave two or three other references on laying on of hands and I sat down.

The minister stood up. He never mentioned a word I had said. He started expounding on a few of the bad things that our enemies had said against us and then said, in the most courteous manner, “Now, if Mister Richards will enlighten us on these matters I’m sure this audience will be most appreciative.”

I was on my feet just like that. (My companion later asked how I could think so fast; I responded, “What have you been praying for all week long?”) I stood up and said, “In the days of the Savior his enemies tried to trick him with cunning and craftiness. I don’t suppose there’s anyone here today who’d like to see us resort to those old tactics. If I understand a debate, it’s a presentation and answering of arguments. Has this man answered any of my arguments?” All shook their heads negatively. “All right, my friend,” I said, “you may have your twenty minutes over again.”

He would not do it. I knew he could not. His wife, who was in the audience, stood up and said, “What Mister Richards is asking is fair. You ought to answer him.” And even then he would not do it.

I said to my companions, “Stand up. Give me my coat and hat.” (It was winter.) “One more chance,” I announced. “I am willing to remain here till ten o’clock tomorrow morning, when I have to be in my own church, provided this debate can go forward on the basis that you have set up. If not, I am going to leave and ask my companion to leave and ask our people to leave, and I shall leave it with you to settle with your people for what has happened here today.” And still he would not do it. So we all walked out on him. I met him on the street time and time again after that and he would duck his head so that he would not have to speak to me. Well, that is one of my little experiences there.

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.

My mother didn’t get mad at me very often. She was a very patient and loving woman. But one day when I arrived home after school, she was particularly upset. You see, school had been out since the middle of the afternoon, and it was after 7:00 P.M. when I finally got home! She was very worried about me because she did not know where I was.
It wasn’t until I arrived home that I realized that I had forgotten to tell her where I was going. I quickly explained that after school I had walked the four or five blocks to the newspaper office downtown to ask for a job as a newspaper boy. I had seen other boys about my age, eight or nine years old, standing on street corners, selling newspapers, and that’s what I wanted to do. That very day they assigned me a street corner, and I was so excited to start selling newspapers that I completely forgot about how worried my mother would be. Mother forgave me, but I knew that I wouldn’t again make the mistake of not telling her where I was!

Now I have had many witnesses in my life of the reality of Jesus Christ as our Lord and Savior. I will share only one in conclusion. In December 1987, about two weeks before Christmas, I was asked by the federal agency where I worked to go to Israel on government business. I had been to Israel many times before, but never at the Christmas season. Unfortunately it was not a peaceful time in the Holy Land, as the first Palestinian intifada had begun—the revolt of the local Arab population against Israeli rule. There were riots in the West Bank, the streets of Old Jerusalem were deserted, and the shops were boarded up. There was political tension in the air, and, to make matters worse, a cold rain drizzled most of the week. The whole city bore a dreary aspect. Fearful of violence, the tourists stayed away in droves that year. Yet as I walked through Jerusalem, peace filled my heart to know that this was the city Christ loved so much; to know that this was the very place of His eternal sacrifice; to know that on these stone streets the Redeemer of all mankind had walked.

I returned to the United States late on a Friday evening, only six days before Christmas. When the Sabbath dawned two days later, my alarm woke me to the music of “O Holy Night,” and I heard these words:

The King of kings lay thus in lowly manger,
In all our trials born to be our friend.
[“Cantique de Nol” (“O Holy Night”), Placide Cappeau and Adolphe Adam, 1847]

The music and message pierced me deeply, and tears flowed as I contemplated the glorious sacrifice and perfect life of the Redeemer of Israel—He who was born to be the friend of the lowly and the hope of the meek. I thought of my experience in Jerusalem, and love flooded through my whole being for Him who had come to earth and taken upon Himself the burdens of us all. I was overwhelmed to think that He might regard me as a friend. I have never forgotten the tender feelings of that early Sunday morning—as pure a witness as I ever received.

“Did you say your prayer tonight?”
Every night, Jesse’s older brother Ben came into Jesse’s room and asked him that same question.
Jesse could put on his pajamas and brush his teeth without help. He was proud that he could get ready for bed all by himself. But every night he forgot to pray until Ben reminded him. It made Jesse so mad. How was he supposed to feel good about praying when his brother made it a chore?
“No,” Jesse grumbled. “I haven’t said it yet.”
“Remember, you’re supposed to pray every day so Heavenly Father knows you always remember Him,” Ben said.
“I know!” Jesse said.
“Ben must think he is so smart because he is two years older than me,” Jesse thought as he knelt beside his bed. “In two years I’ll remember my prayers every day too, and Ben won’t be able to bug me anymore.”
Jesse said a prayer and then scrambled back into bed. How could he remember to say his prayers? He was tired of Ben reminding him every night.
Then Jesse had an idea. What if he prayed for a reminder? He whispered a quick prayer: “Heavenly Father, please help me remember to say my prayers tomorrow night.”
Feeling much better, he turned over and fell asleep.
The next night, Jesse put on his pajamas and brushed his teeth like he always did. Then, as he climbed into bed, he suddenly remembered he hadn’t prayed yet. He leaped up and knelt next to his bed. He thanked Heavenly Father for reminding him to pray and asked Him to continue helping him every day.
Just as Jesse was getting back into bed, Ben came into his room.
“Did you say your prayers tonight?” Ben asked.
“Yes!” Jesse said with a smile. “Heavenly Father helped me remember!”
“Good job, little brother,” Ben said. “I knew you could do it.”
Jesse felt warm and happy. And he was excited to say his prayers the next day.

I have always enjoyed nature and the outdoors. I grew up in Boise, Idaho, and one of my favorite things to do when I was out of school in the summer was to go to my aunt’s ranch. There I herded cows, rode horses, swam in the canal, and often slept in the haystack under the stars.
Oh, how I admired the boys and girls who lived on ranches and farms! They had opportunities that those of us who were raised in the city never had.
However, within a half mile of where I lived in Boise was a river that ran through the city. There was a wooded area there that I loved to go to after school or on Saturdays. My dog was my pal, and we went there together and sailed boats or made whistles out of willows. We watched the beavers make dams and the fish swim in the water. We watched the birds build nests and hatch their young.
As I grew older, I joined the local Boy Scout troop and enjoyed hiking and camping in the summertime with my friends. Many of these boys were in Primary with me. My mother was Primary president, and my younger sister, Dorothy, and I were regular attenders.
My father, however, was not a member of the Church, and when I had my eighth birthday, I was not baptized.
I did have a testimony, though. I knew that God lived. My mother had taught me to pray and to thank Heavenly Father for all the things that I enjoyed. I often thanked him for the beauty of the earth and for the wonderful times that I had at the ranch and by the river and with the Scouts. I also learned to ask him for the things that I wanted or needed.
I went to all the Church meetings and activities, but it wasn’t until I was twelve that I really missed not being baptized. By that time, all my friends had been ordained deacons. Because I wasn’t an official member of the Church, I wasn’t able to do many of the things that they did. Passing the sacrament and building a fire to warm up the meetinghouse were only two of the responsibilities that I watched my friends do without me.
So my sister and I began coaxing our father to allow us to be baptized. We also prayed that he might say yes. We were overjoyed when he finally gave his consent, and I was baptized when I was thirteen years old. A whole new world opened up to me as I learned the responsibilities of being a member of the Church and holding the priesthood.
I’m grateful for the influence of the Church in those early years and for my mother’s teachings. Even though I wasn’t baptized until later than many children, I knew that God loved me and listened to me.

In the summer after I graduated from high school, I left for China to teach English to young children in a boarding school. It was the first time I would be so far away from home.
As I first started teaching, all I could think about was missing my family. I was ready to leave my current adventure and go back to my comfort zone. Then, through prayer and scripture study, I started to gain a deeper appreciation for the gospel. I became more grateful for my family and for the Lord’s blessings in my life. I began to realize how much Heavenly Father loved me.
Suddenly my problems weren’t as big. I didn’t miss my family as much, and I wanted more than ever to see the students as Christ sees them. I began to realize what Christ said about children being pure of heart. They loved me, even with all my faults.
As I loved them with all of my heart, teaching became a little easier. I began to see all of their talents and wonderful qualities. My patience level was higher. For the first time I realized what they and I must mean to my Heavenly Father. I had more love for my students than I had even thought possible. I gained a deeper love for my family and all those around me. Loving the students made it easy to understand what they needed me to teach them, and my love for them made me a better person.

Throughout my life I have received priesthood blessings to help me as I worked toward my goals of education and service. While serving in my calling at the prison I received a blessing that opened my eyes of understanding about our relationship with our Heavenly Father, the respect He has for our righteous goals, and the deep love He has for each one of us. I don’t usually share personal blessings, but I feel that this blessing was meant to be shared.

On the day that I received this blessing, the stake presidency of the sponsoring stake at the prison was visiting our meetings. All of the women who wanted blessings had received them. I was then asked by a member of the stake presidency if I would like a priesthood blessing. At the beginning of the blessing the counselor giving the blessing thanked me for my service. Then he paused and said the following: “The Lord desires your success. He desires your success in all aspects of your life—in your profession, in your education, in your family, in your relationships. The Lord desires your success.”

It empowers me when I realize that the Lord desires my success. It motivates me to engage my mind in education and righteous activities, to be a better person, to set righteous goals, to be a good friend, to consecrate my learning, and to go forward with faith.

A young missionary who transferred from a teaching assignment to a service assignment struggled with some personal challenges that left him needing Christ’s healing power. Consecrated service brought that power into his life. He said, “I felt that when I was struggling, I could feel Christ lifting me up. There is something special about seeing Him bless people through a food pantry, in the temple, and through His gospel.”

This elder began to feel deeper joy, and his newfound enthusiasm blessed him and his entire family. The Spirit entered their home more abundantly, they attended the temple together more regularly, and Christ became a greater focus in their family. This missionary believes that Christ saved his life and blessed his family through service.