Gospel Story Finder

In my last semester at BYU, one of my professors was Steve Albrecht. If students in his class were married, he asked that their spouse attend class with us.
In his class one day, he taught us a simple principle. He said, “As you leave BYU and start earning money, except for a home and education, don’t buy anything unless you can pay cash for it.”
After class that day, my wife and I talked about this principle of money management. We felt his words were inspired. We laid hold of them, and we promised to follow them.
Not long after graduation we moved to Cincinnati. Excited to be earning a salary, we rented a townhome and went shopping for a washer and dryer. At the appliance store I remember standing in front of a new, shiny, white washer-and-dryer set. They were beautiful! Of course we didn’t have the cash to pay for them. If we were going to buy them, we would have to use credit. As we stood there, Jennifer looked at me and I looked at her, and we both knew we couldn’t buy them unless we paid cash.
So, heads hanging low, we drove down to the secondhand store. There we bought a used green washer and a yellow dryer for $25 a piece. We made a pact that as soon as they stopped working, we would buy that new washer-dryer set. Wouldn’t you know it, but that old washer and dryer worked for ten years! Because we laid hold upon Professor Albrecht’s words, we have lived debt free ever since. What a tremendous blessing has come to us as a result.

I almost talked myself out of going that evening. I knew that a night of remembrance might help me cope with the loss of my mother, but I also knew that the evening would bring tears as I continued to grieve and mourn her passing.
As the hour for the night of remembrance drew near, I found myself getting ready to go despite my earlier hesitations. I had decided that being there would be good for me.
The night of remembrance, which honored several people who had recently passed away, was held by the funeral home that handled my mother’s burial arrangements. Other than the funeral home director and his family, I knew none of the people in the room. During the evening, each deceased person’s name was read, and a family representative lit a small candle in memory of that person.
After the service, I stood up to make my way to the refreshments. Those who had sat behind me had all left except for a frail lady attached to a breathing apparatus sitting beside her walker. I felt her sadness and pain. I also felt that I needed to give her a hug.
I did not know how she would feel about a stranger giving her a hug, but I followed this simple prompting. I came up to her with my arms outstretched. She reached both her arms toward me and pulled me down to her. She kissed my cheek and said, “Thank you for knowing I needed a hug. You are an angel.” We then visited for a few moments.
This experience cemented in my mind and soul the reason I needed to be there. Would someone else have given this woman a hug that evening if I had not gone? I will never know, but I do know that I was prompted to hug her, and because I did so, we were both richly blessed.

During the Second World War he served as a Company Sergeant Major (CSM) in the Durham Light Infantry (DLI). Brother Diston is remembered for his extraordinary bravery and leadership, particularly during the Battle of the Mereth Line near Wadi Zigzaou, Tunisia, on the 21st of March 1943.
During this battle, Ralph was ordered to capture a redoubt (a fortification). He led his men through intense combat, showing a complete disregard for danger and demonstrated ‘magnificent leadership’. His actions included leading assaults on enemy fortified positions, clearing trenches, and rallying his men under heavy fire. After capturing the redoubt they secured 120 Italian prisoners. His courage and determination were instrumental in the DLI’s success, and he was awarded the Distinguished Conduct Medal, with commendations from General Bernard Montgomery.

Almost 50 years ago I knew a boy, even a priest, who held the authority of the Aaronic Priesthood. As the bishop, I was his quorum president. This boy, Robert, stuttered and stammered, void of control. Self-conscious, shy, fearful of himself and all others, he had an impediment of speech which was devastating to him. Never did he fulfill an assignment; never would he look another in the eye; always would he gaze downward. Then one day, through a set of unusual circumstances, he accepted an assignment to perform the priestly responsibility to baptize another.

I sat next to him in the baptistry of the sacred Tabernacle. He was dressed in immaculate white, prepared for the ordinance he was to perform. I asked Robert how he felt. He gazed at the floor and stuttered almost incoherently that he felt terrible.

We both prayed fervently that he would be made equal to his task. Then the clerk read the words: “Nancy Ann McArthur will now be baptized by Robert Williams, a priest.” Robert left my side, stepped into the font, took little Nancy by the hand, and helped her into the water which cleanses human lives and provides a spiritual rebirth. He then gazed as though toward heaven and, with his right arm to the square, repeated the words “Nancy Ann McArthur, having been commissioned of Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.”18 Not once did he stammer. Not once did he stutter. Not once did he falter. A modern miracle had been witnessed.

In the dressing room, as I congratulated Robert, I expected to hear this same uninterrupted flow of speech. I was wrong. He gazed downward and stammered his reply of gratitude.

I testify that when Robert acted in the authority of the Aaronic Priesthood, he spoke with power, with conviction, and with heavenly help.

A couple of years ago my family and I moved. The first few weeks that I attended church and Mutual, I felt alone. But I prayed every day that I would be able to make new friends and feel a part of my new ward. Little by little I have come to love and appreciate this ward. I had to be the one to initiate friendships. I had to start the conversation. I had to fully participate in classes and listen to what others said. With Heavenly Father’s help, I now have close friendships with people I never pictured being friends with.
Leah V., 16, Colorado, USA

Ten years later, in the spring of 1969, I received a call to serve a full-time mission for the Church in the Japan Okinawa Mission. Most of my friends would have been delighted with a call to such a mysterious and exotic place, but not me. I was stunned, and inside I was deeply disappointed. In high school I had concluded that I had absolutely no foreign language skills. I had studied Spanish for two years with little or no success. I decided that I would be delighted to serve a mission as long as I did not have to learn a foreign language. A call to Japan for me seemed devoid of inspiration. I was heartsick!

However, over the six weeks before I entered the Mission Home in Salt Lake City, I tried hard to adjust my feelings and prepare for a mission to Japan. But in all honesty, as I entered the Mission Home on June 14, I was still a reluctant servant. Three days later I left Salt Lake City with a group of new missionaries and traveled to Laie, Hawaii, to study Japanese for two months at what was then called the Church College of Hawaii. From the moment I exited the airplane in Honolulu, I was homesick and deeply discouraged by what seemed to be an absolutely impossible task.

That first evening each of us missionaries was handed an 81-page booklet containing the six missionary discussions in Japanese. We were informed that our task over the next two months was to memorize all six discussions. What our teachers failed to tell us was that so far no one had been able to accomplish the task. Nonetheless, it was perfectly clear to me that it was impossible. I struggled along on the verge of tears most of the time. I wanted so badly to go into the mission president’s office and have him tell me that a terrible mistake had been made and that I had been reassigned to the Hawaii English-speaking mission. But there was no such luck. From morning to evening I struggled, becoming more and more discouraged with the passing of each day. The only thing that kept me from giving up and going home was the thought that my parents would be bitterly disappointed if I quit.

One Saturday, our preparation day in the Language Training Mission, I was reading my scriptures. I had just started the New Testament and was reading in the book of Matthew. I had read several chapters that morning and then suddenly realized that the mail had probably arrived. Since mail from family and friends was the one thing that seemed to lift my spirits, I decided to walk down to the mission office and see if anything had come for me. I was delighted to discover that I had a letter from home! As I looked at the envelope more closely, I was immediately alarmed. The letter was from my father. My father never wrote to me, and a letter from him invariably meant that something was wrong. With dread building in my soul, I took the letter back to my cubicle, opened it, and read it.

Just as I had suspected, the news was not good. My father, ever so briefly, explained that my mother was quite sick and had been taken to the hospital for surgery. He indicated that the prognosis was not good but that he would let me know more as soon as he was able to discuss the situation with the doctors. As I recall now, he didn’t even tell me in the most general way what my mother’s problem was.

My father had been assigned to Germany in December of the previous year, and I had not seen my family in more than six months. I had no idea how to place a phone call, and certainly my father had no idea how to contact me by phone. I would have to wait for his next letter. I was truly overwhelmed. I remember kneeling by my bed to pray. At first no words would come out of my mouth. I felt betrayed and abandoned. Then the words came slowly. With a measure of pain and disappointment, I reminded the Lord that I was trying to be His missionary and that the whole mission proposition had not been easy at all. I was frustrated and discouraged before, but now with the uncertainty of my mother’s situation I was angry and devastated. It all seemed so unfair and unreasonable that I could have made such an incredible commitment to Him and now He was failing me. Between my tears I told the Lord that I was very unhappy with the way He was handling the whole situation. I also told Him that I had had all I could bear and that I was fully ready to call it quits and go home. I don’t remember how long I went on, but I finally wiped away the tears and laid down on my bed.

Eventually I picked up my Bible again and began reading. In some miraculous fashion, just before I went to check the mail, I had finished reading Matthew 9. So when I resumed my reading, I started with chapter 10. In short order I reached verse 37, where I read these words:

He that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of me: and he that loveth son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me.
And he that taketh not his cross, and followeth after me, is not worthy of me.
He that findeth his life shall lose it: and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it. [Matthew 10:37–39]

In the words of Joseph Smith, “Never did any passage of scripture come with more power to the heart of man than this did at this time to mine” (Joseph Smith—History 1:12). I was completely stunned. I knew, beyond any capacity on my part to doubt, that the ancient Apostle Matthew had recorded those words so that a young, struggling, latter-day missionary would finally be able to get his soul in order. Every ounce of my self-pity and personal uncertainty was swallowed up in the absolute knowledge that I had to make a choice, and that choice might very well be between my mother and my Savior.

I teetered only for a brief moment and then fell weeping back onto my knees. I pleaded for forgiveness. I had accepted His invitation to serve but had held back most of my heart. I knew then that anything less than my whole soul, fully committed to Him and His work, was not good enough. With a resolve that I had never experienced before, I promised Him that I would be different than I had been, that I would give everything that He required, even whatever mortal time I had left with my mother.

Instantly my grief and disappointment were gone. There was no longer any heaviness or uncertainty in my heart. In an instant I had committed all I had, and He had in return cleansed my soul of every burden and filled my heart with a sublime peace. I was His, and without any reservation I knew He was my Savior and Master. I had finally “put [my] hand to the plough” (Luke 9:62), and never once since that day have I looked back!

I am grateful to say that my mother is still alive today, and I have been richly blessed with a long and meaningful relationship with this beautiful and wise woman. But I am here today to tell you, if she had died in 1969, it would not have changed my commitment to Christ. Just as I found out that summer day in 1969, I still know today that He is first and foremost in my life, He is my Savior and Master, and He has never forgotten me!

One day Zoltán Szücs of Szeged, Hungary, surprised his kayaking coach by telling him that he wouldn’t be going to Germany for a competition.
“It was on the same day as my baptism, so I said no,” Zoltán said.
At age 17, Zoltán had won many competitions in kayaking. It’s a popular sport in Hungary, and Zoltán was good—good enough that becoming a professional was a real possibility. Beyond deciding to miss just one competition, Zoltán would soon give up kayaking entirely. He had something better to do.
Kayaking had been good for Zoltán. Over the years working with his coach, he had learned self-control, obedience, and hard work. Zoltán had also learned to avoid substances and habits that would hurt his performance. It wasn’t an easy life; it was lonely, and going pro would take up more time. Pros practice 12 hours a day and have to compete on Sunday.
“Kayaking took most of my time,” Zoltán says. “I was fanatical. Because of that, I left a lot of things out of my life.”
That’s why Zoltán decided that he couldn’t devote himself to both the gospel and kayaking. In 2004 he told his coach he wasn’t going to kayak anymore.
Earlier that year the missionaries started teaching Zoltán’s mom. He didn’t take part in the lessons. He grudgingly accepted his mom’s invitation to her baptism. But his heart was touched by what he felt once he entered the church building. Szücs agreed to meet with the missionaries, partly because he could identify with them.
“Missionaries were interesting to me because they were normal people but lived a higher standard,” he says.
Because of the higher standard that Zoltán was already living as a kayaker, he readily accepted the teachings of the gospel as valuable. He was baptized two months later.
At first he thought he could continue kayaking but not do competitions on Sundays. But because he’s the type of person who, once committed to an activity or course, wants to do well at it, he chose to give up kayaking entirely.
He tried once to kayak as a hobby after his baptism. When he did, his coach asked him to help teach others and organize trips since he wouldn’t compete. But he didn’t want to make commitments to kayaking—or any other activity—that could get in the way of his discipleship.
So Zoltán hung up his paddle and dedicated himself to Church service in a decision reminiscent of one President Howard W. Hunter (1907–95) made when he got married. President Hunter was an accomplished musician who played dozens of instruments. In the evenings he had been playing in an orchestra, but the lifestyles of those he associated with conflicted with gospel standards. So President Hunter put his instruments away and brought them out only occasionally for family sing-alongs.1
Zoltán misses kayaking, but he realized that his love for kayaking was strong enough to compete with, and possibly overcome, his love for the Lord if he stayed too close to the sport.
“The Church became my life,” Zoltán says. “Knowing that kayaking couldn’t be a living if I wanted to be active and that it would be just a hobby, it became easy to give up. Instead, I wanted to make Heavenly Father my focus.”
Zoltán began to study the gospel with the same intensity he brings to any pursuit. He set a goal to serve a mission. He wanted to stay in his country and teach others.
He served in Hungary and now works as a high school English teacher. He continues to set his priorities on the gospel. “There are things we need to give up because they get in the way of God,” he says. “It’s easy to give up the bad once we know we should. Often we don’t realize when we should give up something good for something better. We think that because it’s not bad, we can hold onto it and still follow God’s plan.” But Zoltán knows that we must give up the good if it keeps us from following God’s plan for us.
Zoltán Szücs, of Szeged, Hungary, gave up kayaking to have more time for the gospel.
Above: photograph © Thinkstock; below: photograph by Adam C. Olson

I remember the occasion more than 70 years ago when, as a missionary, I was speaking in an open-air meeting in Hyde Park, London. As I was presenting my message, a heckler interrupted to say, “Why don’t you stay with the doctrine of the Bible which says in John, ‘God is a Spirit’?”

I opened my Bible to the verse he had quoted and read to him the entire verse:

“God is a Spirit: and they that worship him must worship him in spirit and in truth” (John 4:24).

I said, “Of course God is a spirit, and so are you in the combination of spirit and body that makes of you a living being, and so am I.”

Each of us is a dual being of spiritual entity and physical entity. All know of the reality of death when the body dies, and each of us also knows that the spirit lives on as an individual entity and that at some time, under the divine plan made possible by the sacrifice of the Son of God, there will be a reunion of spirit and body. Jesus’s declaration that God is a spirit no more denies that He has a body than does the statement that I am a spirit while also having a body.

I do not equate my body with His in its refinement, in its capacity, in its beauty and radiance. His is eternal. Mine is mortal. But that only increases my reverence for Him. I worship Him “in spirit and in truth.”

Because of physical health problems, when I was about a year into my mission, I had to go home for a little bit. But before I left, one of the other sisters told me, “Be home for Christmas. This is your home.”

I made that a goal. I knew the mission field was where God wanted me to be, and I really wanted to do what He asked, feel the joy I’d felt before, and spend my Christmas experiencing miracles as a missionary.

I returned to my original assignment in the first week of December. God helped me jump back into the work, and it was such a good Christmas season. It was service-oriented and Christ-centered, just how it’s supposed to be. Sometimes we get caught up in the material aspects of Christmas, but that’s not the point. The point is that Jesus Christ was born for us, lived for us, and died for us because He loves us.

I loved having Him be the center of my life during my mission because it helped me feel closer to Him, and I got to share that gift with other people too. We were teaching a woman who really wanted her family to come over for Christmas because she hadn’t seen them in a while. We cleaned up her house, set up her Christmas tree, and watched the Church video “The Christ Child” with her.

Later she told us, “I got to have Christmas because of you sisters. I wouldn’t have had my family over if you hadn’t helped me.” It really touched my heart. I was so grateful that God let me experience that.

In the future, I want to make my Christmases more about Christ and be more involved in Light the World. That’s how we can be more like Him: by serving more and being outward-focused.

Mary M., from Colorado, USA; served in the Arizona Mesa Mission

My dad and I started early, loading the woodcutting equipment into the truck well before sunrise and pulling out of the driveway just as the stars began to fade. As we snacked on toast and fruit drinks, we sang Scout songs and laughed at silly things I had done as a child. But as the first rays of sunlight splashed across the pristine Arizona sky, our talk turned to my mission—just two weeks away—and to the realization that this would be our last chance to spend time together like this for two years.
The sun left the horizon as we pulled off the main road and ascended into aspens and pines. An hour later we reached our destination: a small clearing at the top of a cliff overlooking a valley camouflaged in the yellows, reds, and greens of fall.
As I climbed out of the truck and peered over the cliff, my thoughts turned to my mission. Would I see such sights there? Would anything be similar so far from home? The knot that had formed in my stomach the day I opened my call tightened.
My dad quietly stepped up behind me and dropped one of his well-worn hands onto my shoulder.
“Are you ready?” he asked. I knew he was talking about cutting wood, but I instantly thought of my mission. Was I ready? Would I be able to learn Spanish? Would I love the people? Was my testimony strong enough?
The questions gathered around my heart like a great weight, threatening to crush my spirit. And then the memory of the greatest lesson my father had ever taught me leapt into my mind.
Over the years, the memory of that hike and what my father had done for me had faded. But as I stared into the valley that last morning before leaving on my mission, it came rushing back.
In that moment, I saw that my father had shown me an incredible example of how the Savior works. He lets us live our lives and make our own decisions. He lets the weight of the world gather on our shoulders as we face choices and circumstances that test our faith and dedication. And then, when we can go no further, He reaches out with His strong arm and lifts our packs so we can continue on.
Staring into the valley now, I no longer feared the long journey ahead or the trials I would face on my mission or at any other time in my life. I knew that the Lord would always be close behind and that, when I had done all I could, He would reach out and lift my pack.

When the sun was directly overhead, Red Fawn spread her lunch of frybread, venison, and some berries she had picked. The spot she selected was a flat boulder, warmed by the sun. She had tied fishing lines to the lower branches of the willow trees growing close to the water. When the boughs began to shake violently, she would know a fish was on the line.
Red Fawn stiffened suddenly as she heard metal strike rock. Horses! she thought, and shod ones, so they are not Indian ponies! She swept her food into a rock crevice and darted away into the willow trees to hide. The Indian girl hugged the ground and watched a small group of white men dismount and lead their horses to the river to drink. One man, an old Indian, remained on his horse, hands tied behind his back. Red Fawn muffled a gasp as the horse turned toward her. The captive was Lone Tree, her father’s uncle!
Lone Tree was an elder of her tribe, a wise, honest, and highly respected brave. The men are not soldiers or settlers. Why have they taken him and bound him like a criminal? she wondered. Red Fawn winced as Lone Tree was pushed from his horse and sent sprawling. The old Indian struggled to a sitting position, his face impassive. There was laughter as the leader teased the Indian with water, then splashed it to the ground.
Red Fawn felt like weeping. How could these renegades have so little respect for Lone Tree’s dignity and gray braids? The girl watched as the men cooked and ate their supper and then relaxed around the fire. No food was offered to Lone Tree.
Suddenly Red Fawn sensed a change in him. The Indian had not moved, but his muscles had tensed; and his eyes glowed like live coals as he stared at the boulder where she had started to eat. Red Fawn looked and saw two crushed berries and a few telltale crumbs she had not swept away! Lone Tree’s eyes darted to the dangling fishing lines, then searched among the willows.
Red Fawn did not dare move, but she signaled with the chirp of a brown thrush. A slight smile rippled across the weathered face of Lone Tree. Friendly eyes were watching, although he did not know who it was. He was not alone. There was hope.
He would not feel so optimistic if he knew it was only me, Red Fawn thought sadly, wishing her brothers were with her. How can I free Lone Tree from six armed men? All she had were her skinning knife and strips of rawhide line. The situation seemed hopeless.
The leader of the men got up and approached the bound Indian. He dangled a cut thong with a gleaming gold nugget attached that Lone Tree always wore around his neck. He shouted harsh questions that Lone Tree answered truthfully, as he had many times before.
The men had attacked and taken him prisoner three days ago when he had approached their camp in friendship. He told them again, “I do not know where the nugget of yellow metal came from. My father wore it, and his father before him. It was theirs and now it is mine, until it passes on to my eldest son.”
“He’s still lying!” another man shouted, lunging toward the helpless man. “There’s got to be more nuggets where this one came from. Probably a whole mountain of the stuff. Beat the truth out of him!”
A younger man, who had done the cooking, stepped forward and pulled the angry man back. “You won’t get truth from this man by beating him nor by starving or thirsting him to death either. And if you kill him, we’ll never find the lode. So don’t touch him again!” he threatened. “I intend to get my share of that gold. The stuff has no value to these Indians, so I’ll see that he’s given food and water until he decides to talk. He will, sooner or later, when he sees that he can’t return to his kin until he gives us the information.”
“So it’s only the yellow metal they want,” Red Fawn whispered, relieved to know that Lone Tree had not innocently broken some law of the white man. If he had done no wrong and was not being taken to the soldiers, then she would break no law by freeing him—if she could. She considered the thought of showing herself and leading the captors to a stream where she had seen tiny flakes of the yellow stuff in the sand. But, instinctively, she realized that it would not be enough to satisfy their greed or gain Lone Tree’s freedom. It would only give them another hostage and possibly seal Lone Tree’s fate unless he lied and pretended to know where many gold nuggets were. She did not want to cause Lone Tree to lie.
Red Fawn’s cramped muscles cried out for relief, but she stayed motionless as the men quarreled and finally agreed to set up camp for the night. At dark Lone Tree was tied to a stake with his back toward her hiding place. The other men slept close to the fire, but their leader, to Red Fawn’s despair, spread his bedroll close to the old man.
The girl waited until the restless men sank into deep sleep before inching her way backward to a clearing where the hobbled horses were grazing. She cut them free and used Lone Tree’s pony to quietly herd them away from the camp. At a safe distance, she flicked slapping branches to send them loping northward.
The weakened Lone Tree had not dozed off. Certain that his unknown rescuer would come, he waited patiently. A small hand touched his shoulder, then his numbed hands were cut free. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw Red Fawn’s face in the flickering firelight. He had assumed that the reassuring signal had come not from this slip of a girl but from some young brave out hunting alone.
Standing before Red Fawn on trembling legs that threatened to buckle, the old brave was ashamed of his weakness and stiffened joints. He tried not to lean too heavily on his young rescuer as they slipped toward the hidden pony, but he could never have made the short distance alone. His hands and feet were tortured, and felt as though pierced by many hot needles when the blood returned to them.
“Stretch your muscles and be ready to ride fast when I return,” Red Fawn whispered, turning back.
Lone Tree feared for her safety and was curious about her determination to return to the white man’s camp, but he kept silent. She has done the impossible by rescuing me alone, he thought. Still, I wonder what it is that she feels she must do. Whatever it is, I will trust her and wait.
Red Fawn soon raced back, flung herself up behind Lone Tree, and sent the spotted pony into a gallop. They were well on their way when they heard angry shouts and gunshots from the camp. “Indians! Indians!” the thrashing leader bellowed, when the wad of dry grass was removed from his mouth and the rawhide loops cut from his wrists and ankles.
“You have nothing of ours. We have nothing of yours,” Red Fawn shouted back, dangling the broken thong with its swinging yellow nugget that she had removed from the leader’s saddlebag.
A look of awe was on Lone Tree’s face, as Red Fawn placed in his wrinkled hand the necklace passed down from his father and from his father’s father.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She is a champion again.

At Young Women camp in the mountains of California, girls and leaders waited for dinner in an A-frame lodge. As we waited, some girls noticed something under a table. A hummingbird had somehow flown into the lodge, couldn’t find its way out, and finally collapsed on the floor. They asked me to help.
The bird looked near death, its beak wrapped with cobwebs and its feathers askew. I gently put it into a cup and carried it outside. I hoped it would recover on its own but realistically expected it to go the way of all nature. However, as I tipped the cup to gently deposit the hummingbird onto the ground, in mid-slide the hummingbird grasped the rim of the cup with its tiny talons. I held the cup upright, the bird perched on the rim, its eyes closed. Now what?
One leader, seeing the bird, mixed a solution of sugar and water and brought it to me. First I gently brushed the cobwebs from the needle-sharp beak. The bird didn’t flinch. Then I dipped a finger in the sugar water and held a drop to the tip of the beak. The drop disappeared, even though the bird didn’t move. Perhaps the liquid seeped into the beak? I dipped my finger again and held it to the bird’s beak. This time a tiny tongue, thinner than a hair, licked my fingertip.
For 10 or 15 minutes, the hummingbird drank one drop after another. By then, several other leaders had gathered around me, and I offered them a try at feeding it.
Suddenly the bird opened its eyes, and its ruffled feathers fell instantly into place. After drinking a couple more drops, it started its wings, warmed them for a second, and flew straight up. It hesitated a moment above us, and then shot away.
We stood there, stunned. And then, as suddenly as the bird had flown away, the spiritual lessons came:
Often, as we reach out to the less active, our efforts don’t seem to make a difference. But the love we offer does slip into the cracks—like the nectar into the unmoving beak of the hummingbird—providing spiritual nutrition that one day may produce results.
At times we can’t go further on our own; we need a kind, caring hand up.
Sometimes people get tangled in the cobwebs of sin or addiction and need the help of a friend or priesthood leader and the Savior’s assistance to get free.
We need regular spiritual nutrition in order to endure, else we run out of spiritual strength and fall victim to evil influences.
The hummingbird kept hanging on. Literally. Hanging on made all the difference. At times, we must simply endure in faith as we deal with the painful and sometimes horrible challenges of life.
The New Testament says that the Master is aware of even the sparrow’s fall (see Matthew 10:29–31). I now know He is also aware of a hummingbird’s fall. And He is aware of you.

My dad took my sister, Cathy, and me to a daddy-daughter campout. We had lots of fun. At night we listened to stories and sang songs around a big bonfire. We roasted marshmallows and ate s’mores before going to bed. Cathy and I woke up in the middle of the night because there was a big rainstorm. I said a prayer that our tent would not blow down like it had at our last campout. When I woke up in the morning, the tent was still standing. I thanked Heavenly Father.Susan D., age 7, Virginia

At night, the sky is dark and Queens Road, which leads into Suva, Fiji, is lit only by the headlights of approaching cars. Sometimes, the road seems to melt into the shadows, and it is difficult to see what lies ahead. Then, just around a bend, a beautiful radiance appears on the hill above the road, like a heavenly apparition. The warm glow of Suva, Fiji’s Temple of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints draws the traveler’s gaze upward and beckons all to ascend out of the darkness and into the light.
Members of the Sigatoka Branch were delighted to attend the Suva Fiji Temple that morning in August 2022. For members of the Church, the temple is a sacred place of worship, a place of peace and revelation; a place to feel closer to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. It is where sacred ordinances are performed and families are united—not just until death parts them, but for eternity.
In February 2022, Sister Basilisa Nadreke Lotawa was asked by the Sigatoka Branch President (a lay church leader) to serve as a temple and family history specialist. Basilisa’s job was to urge her congregation to lift their spiritual eyes to the light of the temple and to prepare themselves for temple worship. She also had to learn how to do genealogical research then teach her fellow Saints how to identify their deceased ancestors in order to participate by proxy, temple ordinances on their behalf.
Basilisa, a young mother of three, shook her head and laughed. “I knew nothing about doing family history—nothing . . . and I’m too young to do it.” Still, wanting to serve the Lord, she sought the help of an experienced genealogist and was soon able to assist her branch members. With a new conviction and passion for family history, Basilisa expressed: “I am so blessed and honoured to participate in this glorious work. It has been marvelous, tremendous! I have seen miracles and wonders. The Lord provided a way for me to do the work and to help my branch.”
With young children in tow, Basilisa spent many hours at the computer in her chapel helping others to extend the branches of their family trees. She invited them—adults and youth—to find five deceased family members who needed proxy baptisms. Branch members caught her enthusiasm and found two hundred ancestors!
At 2:00 am on the 27th of August 2022, members of the Sigatoka Branch boarded a bus to Suva temple. The early start didn’t dampen their spirits. Their excitement was palpable as they arrived on the temple grounds—they were ready to participate in ordinances on behalf of their ancestors, and other ordinances for themselves.
It was an especially joyful day for Maritiano Ratumeli, the Sigatoka Branch President. He, his wife and their two sons were united in the temple as an eternal family, by the authority that the scriptures call, the “sealing power.” President Ratumeli, teary eyed, said: “It is so amazing to say that I am one of those blessed to be sealed in the temple. I didn’t expect . . . that the branch would be with me, but the Lord planned for them to witness this. My goal is to inspire others to come. I’m feeling good and blessed that my family can be together forever.” Other branch members marveled as they “felt the Spirit” and “felt their family members there.”
As for Basilisa, there is no doubt that her love for the temple and family history work—even at this busy stage of her life, will continue to bless her. She said: “I feel the same joy doing this [work] that I felt when I served my mission.” She and her branch now keep their eyes fixed firmly on the holy temple.

Carlene feels a special appreciation for the Prophet Joseph Smith. When she was invited to go on a trip to Nauvoo with her mom, grandma, and great-aunt, Carlene did everything she could to prepare. She enjoyed reading about Church history. She even named her pet lambs Joseph and Emma!
Carlene helped pay for the expenses of the trip by baking and selling her delicious bread. Every week she made about 10 loaves. She also sold her dollhouse. Finally she had enough money to pay for her own plane ticket.
In Nauvoo, one of Carlene’s favorite experiences was attending the plays and pageants the missionaries put on. She dreams of being a performing missionary one day.
doing math with her dad
drawing and painting pictures of horses
playing kickball
eating sloppy joes
helping her brother learn how to read
going to Primary and reading the Book of Mormon
Carlene with her favorite rooster.
Carlene’s aunt made her a pioneer outfit to wear in Nauvoo.
For her ward fashion show, Carlene sewed this modest skirt.

I have a lifelong friend whose teenage tampering with pornography evolved into a deadly addiction, and for years it has ruled him and ravaged his marriage. Frankly, I had lost hope that he would ever really change.

And then, a year ago, a remarkable sequence of events began to unfold. He began to study the scriptures for the first time since his mission. The word of God pierced his heart, and he knew he had to repent—which involved heart-wrenching confessions and subsequent excommunication. Now he is working his way back by immersing himself in the gospel as never before.

He wrote me this recently:

It was when I began to study the gospel that I realized I had been under Satan’s power for years. When I finally got on my knees, pleaded for help to change, and surrendered my sins to the Lord, my world turned upside down. This past year has been a crash course in the ways of God and His Son. It has been the most difficult but wonderful year of my life. I wish I could tell everyone who is in a situation like I was to not be afraid to surrender to the Lord. They will find joy like never before in His Atonement. They will feel the Father wrap His arms around them. They will discover there is power in the gospel to really change.

Some may be skeptical about this man’s transformation, believing that “once addicted, always addicted.” But that is not true. The gospel has the power to cleanse and make new, because the word “is quick and powerful,” it “divide[s] asunder all the cunning . . . of the devil,” and it “lead[s] the man of Christ” home (Helaman 3:29). The Atonement is real. My friend is evidence of that. His great change is the change that comes with conversion.

For many young people, the high school years can be difficult. The pressure to fit in with the crowd—coupled with school, sports, and the struggle to find an identity—can create situations that make it hard to live life in harmony with gospel standards. I was certainly no exception. There were many times when I questioned both my ability to live righteously and my strength to overcome temptation. I watched a close friend, who was a Church member, fall to temptation. I saw him continually make poor decisions until he dropped out of school and began to refuse my aid and advice. As I saw most of my friends surrender themselves to Satan’s will, and as I felt a separation growing between us, I feared I would be the next to fall.

I began to realize, however, that whenever I was faced with a difficult decision, I had already made the choice. I knew what was right, and I had already decided that I was going to serve a mission.

Ever since I was young, I have been eagerly looking forward to serving a mission, and I don’t want to do anything to put that in jeopardy. This desire and goal to serve has been a tremendous blessing in my life. I think it has truly separated me from my friends in high school. This sense of purpose has helped me in all of my decisions. I have not even served a full-time mission yet, but already I can feel the blessings that I am receiving because of my choices.

I played baseball, which I liked very much, and I played every day. Because I was very small, the mitts were too large. At that time in Mexico, we didn’t have small gloves, only big ones, so I used a big one. My middle finger is short now because I broke it many times playing baseball. I would just put a bandage around it and keep playing. My coach said, “When Horacio catches that ball, it never falls. It may be that the ball will knock Horacio down, but Horacio never drops the ball.” I played shortstop, catcher, and pitcher. I think that I was a good pitcher, because I had one game with no runs and no hits. I also played American football, but I had problems because I was so thin. I was hit very hard many times.
Even so, I realized then that nothing was impossible to do, if I wanted to do it. I think that I learned that lesson from my mother. She was a very special person. She worked in advertising in Mexico when only a few women worked for companies.
My grandfather was a military general during the Mexican Revolution. He was a very, very hard man, but he loved me. He taught me love for my country and for my flag. Every September we celebrated Mexican Independence Day at my grandparents’ home. We had a big dinner on September 15, then went to the parade on September 16.
I remember staying at my grandparents’ big house. They ate five meals a day. For breakfast, they had only hot chocolate and bread. Lunch was about eleven o’clock, and it included bread, meat, and beans. Dinner was at two or three o’clock in the afternoon. Supper was not until eleven at night. Children did not stay up for it.
Children in Mexico were taught to be respectful toward adults. I remember that at a reunion, children could attend only if they were invited. If a child wanted to talk, he had to ask permission.
The Lord preserved me in my years on the earth. When I was two, I had amoebas in my stomach. These microscopic animals in my stomach made holes in my intestines. The doctors said that I didn’t have a chance to live, but I got well and was all right.
Another time, my uncle, who was only three years older than I was, put me in a baby carriage and took me for a walk around the house. In front of the house was a road, and on the other side of the road was an irrigation canal. When he took me across the road, the carriage slid into the canal. It was empty at that time, but my uncle couldn’t get us out. My mother felt concern for me and began to call me. Then she looked for me in the house but couldn’t find me. She felt prompted to look on the road and in the canal. She found us and got us out of the canal just before the water started to come through the canal. Had she not listened to the Spirit, my uncle and I would have drowned.
We must realize that God lives and, as our Father, loves us. He doesn’t want us to suffer any harm. I testify that our Teacher, our Shepherd, is Christ, our best Friend, who clears up all our doubts. He heals our wounds and turns our pain into sweet experiences.

In the following months, I prepared myself for baptism on Oct. 8, 2022. From that day on I took the name of Christ upon me. The next day, I received the gift of the Holy Ghost, and I became a full member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. One week later, I received the Aaronic Priesthood, another important moment in my life. In December, I went to the temple for the first time with Ellie in Miami and performed baptisms for the dead. That same weekend I received my patriarchal blessing. In January, I received the Melchizedek Priesthood. And in February, I went to the temple in Orlando with my oldest daughter, Mayra, and it felt like I was in heaven. The experiences during this period of my life were like being on a rollercoaster as I went from conversion to baptism, to priesthood, then the patriarchal blessing and finally entering the temple, all in a year’s time. I received all these ordinances in a relatively short period of time making it a very powerful, emotional, and spiritual experience.