Gospel Story Finder

On the eve of his martyrdom, the Prophet turned to Dr. Willard Richards and said:
“If we go into the cell, will you go in with us?” The doctor answered, “Brother Joseph you did not ask me to cross the river with you—you did not ask me to come to Carthage—you did not ask me to come to jail with you—and do you think I would forsake you now? But I will tell you what I will do; if you are condemned to be hung for treason, I will be hung in your stead, and you shall go free.” Joseph said, “You cannot.” The doctor replied, “I will.”
How does one explain the depths of this love and loyalty? Joseph’s friends loved him because they knew the extent of his love for them. Nothing in Joseph’s life was more important than friendship.

“Alexis, would you like to give the opening prayer?” Sister Vigil asked.
Alexis shook her head.
“That’s all right,” Sister Vigil said. “Maybe another time.” She called on another child to say the prayer.
Alexis bit her lip. She wanted to participate in her CTR 6 class, but it was hard for her to speak in front of the teacher and the other children.
On Monday night in family home evening, Mommy gave a lesson about service. After the family talked about ways to serve each other, Mommy opened the Book of Mormon and read from Mosiah 2:17: “When ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God.”
After family home evening, Daddy asked Alexis to sit between him and Mommy.
“Sister Vigil told us that you don’t feel you can say a prayer in Primary class,” Daddy said.
Alexis nodded.
“You are a big helper in our family,” Daddy said. “If you think of saying a prayer as serving your teacher and the other children, that might help you not to be afraid.”
Alexis wanted to be able to say a prayer in class, and maybe even to give a talk in opening exercises someday.
“Do you think I could learn to say a prayer in Primary class?” she asked.
“Yes!” Mommy said. “We can help you, and you can ask Heavenly Father for His help. Then have faith that He will give you what you need.”
During the week, Alexis’s parents called on her to say family prayers and blessings on the food at mealtimes. The following Monday, Alexis gave a short lesson in family home evening about tithing. She volunteered to recite a poem in her first-grade class. Sometimes she stumbled over the words, but she never gave up.
When Alexis knelt by her bed at night, she asked Heavenly Father to help her not to be afraid to speak in front of others.
“I think I can say a prayer in Primary class today,” she told Mommy a month later as they walked into the church building.
Mommy squeezed Alexis’s hand.
After sacrament meeting, Alexis hurried to her classroom. “Could I say the prayer today?” she asked her teacher before the other children arrived.
Sister Vigil smiled. “Of course you can.”
When class started, Alexis walked to the front of the room, folded her arms, and bowed her head. She said a simple prayer and closed it in the name of Jesus Christ. “Amen,” she said.
“Amen,” the other children said.

A few years ago my brother gave me some of the mission statements that his brothers in the Hanford California Third Branch had written. Here are a few lines from those statements:
I want to lift the hands that hang down and strengthen the feeble knees.
Is anything too hard for the Lord?
I will always say, “Here am I, Lord, send me!”
At first glance, nothing seems unusual about these statements. The men of the Hanford Third Branch, however, are those who hold their services in the California state prison at Avenal. Every week, and sometimes multiple times a week, President Ralph Morrill would faithfully visit the brethren of the Hanford Third Branch. Most of society consider these men to be without hope, but not President Morrill. He inspired these men to write mission statements and to have hope for the future. He visited my brother, David, in what would be his darkest hour—the day David learned that his meek and gentle teenage son had lost his life in a senseless act of violence.
Because of President Morrill’s service, my brother, David, has transformed his life. Since David was released from prison almost three years ago, he has helped bring many of his friends to the gospel of Jesus Christ. He has earned four semesters of 4.0 grades and will graduate from the local community college this spring. I will be there to celebrate his graduation, and so will President Morrill.
President Morrill has invited many men of the Hanford Third Branch to devote their lives to preparing to enter the house of the Lord, where “the power of godliness is manifest.”

For decades, persecution of Church members was severe. Many missionaries landed in prison, including Mikael Jonsson, a native Swede. He was arrested in 1852 and was brought in chains 480 miles (770 km) to Malmö, where he was thrown in the castle prison, exhausted from hunger and privation. He was visited by a priest, who found that Elder Jonsson was an intelligent man with some education. The priest declared that he was willing to help him and even promised him further education—on the condition that he join the Lutheran faith and deny “Mormonism.” Elder Jonsson would not deny his faith, so he was deported.4

Because of his life-style, he says, “I felt condemned, and often asked God in all seriousness to help me to see what was right, and how to serve Him; telling Him I wanted to know positively, and not be deceived.” In his rough way, he felt that people living in his time were entitled to a prophet too; that it was not right “to leave them without anything but the Bible.”
He left Mexico in 1850 with a large trading company traveling to Salt Lake City. On the way, he was badly wounded by a gun accident, but managed to survive until his companions got him to the Latter-day Saint settlements near Provo, south of Salt Lake City.
In that day, the Saints were often ridiculed by travelers, but when he overheard some of his friends reading the Doctrine and Covenants and making fun of it, he thought of his prayer asking for modern revelation. He left his companions, moved in with a Latter-day Saint family, and began investigating the gospel as he recovered from his injury. “Everyone was kind and treated me with great confidence,” he remembered. “I listened to the elders preaching and soon concluded they were honest and knew it, or were deliberate liars and deceivers. I was determined, if possible, not to be fooled, therefore I commenced to watch very closely.” He was particularly impressed by the lack of bitterness that Latter-day Saints felt toward the Indians, in spite of recent battles.
When he learned about the Book of Mormon, “it seemed natural to me to believe it. I cannot remember ever questioning in my mind the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon, or that Joseph Smith was a prophet. The question was: Are the Mormons sincere, and can I be one?” When he decided that he could be, he spoke to Isaac Morley, who had been one of the first converts to the Church in Ohio.
It was 27 January 1851, wintertime, and Brother Morley “was just going out to get a load of wood with his ax under his arm.” Remarking quietly, “I have been expecting this,” Brother Morley used the ax to chop through thick ice formed over the nearby lake—and Dan became a member of the Church.

“What’re you doing with my ball?” Rodney Sims growled at me as I stood under the huge sycamore tree at the park, admiring the new football I’d found on the grass. He stomped toward me, his face red and sweaty from playing ball in the sun.
I nodded at my friend Frank. “We were just riding past on our bikes and spotted it lying here. I figured somebody lost it.”
“Well, I left it here,” Rodney barked, snatching the ball from my hands and tucking it under his arm. “It isn’t lost, and I don’t need anybody ripping it off, either.”
“I wasn’t trying to steal it,” I said, climbing back onto my bike. “It sure is a nice ball, though. If it were mine, I’d write my name on it so I wouldn’t lose it.”
“Hey, kid, you want to buy it?” Rodney’s tone was suddenly friendly. Surprised, I turned to face him. “I have another one.” He nodded at the guys who were still playing football. “If you like this one, I’ll sell it to you.”
I laid my bike down again and took the ball, a red and gold San Francisco 49ers ball. It fit my hand perfectly. I had seen some just like it at the Sports Haven, a big sporting goods store downtown. The 49ers were my favorite pro football team, and I had wanted a ball like this one, but it cost ten dollars.
“I like it,” I said, gripping the ball tightly, cocking my arm and pretending to throw a pass. I shook my head and handed it back to Rodney. “But I don’t have ten dollars.”
Rodney studied the ball as he rolled it in his hands. “I’ll sell it to you for five.”
“Five dollars?”
“I have my other ball, and I’m a Dallas Cowboys fan, anyway.”
My mind began to race. I had four dollars at home in my drawer, and I could borrow a dollar from my little sister, Stephanie. I licked my lips and grabbed the ball again, searching for flaws. There were none.
“I’d have to go home for the money,” I explained, picking up my bike. “It’ll take me fifteen or twenty minutes.”
“I’ll be here. But the price is five dollars. And no refunds or returns.”
I sped home so fast that Frank had a hard time keeping up with me. Stephanie agreed to lend me a dollar until my next allowance. I snatched the other four dollars from my drawer.
“You’d better think about this,” Frank warned as I crashed out the front door and leaped for my bike. He was still straddling his bike in the driveway.
“What do you mean, think about it? I’ll never get another deal like this! Five dollars, Frank, for a ten dollar ball! And if I bought it at the Sports Haven, I’d have to pay tax too. I can’t pass this up.”
“Something’s fishy, Joshua,” he cautioned me again. “Has Rodney ever been nice to you?” I thought a moment and shook my head. “So why’s he suddenly doing you this great big favor?”
“He has an extra football and he doesn’t like the 49ers. I’m just helping him out,” I answered defensively.
“Something has to be wrong with the ball. Maybe it has a slow leak. Have you thought of that?”
“I checked the ball out really well, Frank. It’s brand new. Nothing’s wrong with it.”
“I wouldn’t buy it if I were you, Joshua.”
I stared at my friend. “You’re just jealous because he’s not selling it to you. I’m getting that ball before Rodney changes his mind.”
Rodney was waiting for me under the sycamore tree with one of his buddies. The others had left. He had the new 49ers ball and another one that was a bit scuffed up. I held the money out, and Rodney snatched it. As soon as he was sure it was all there, he handed me the football. “You just bought yourself a ball, kid.” He laughed and slapped his friend on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s head out of here.”
Holding the ball, I watched the two run off. They were smirking as they glanced over their shoulders in my direction. An uneasiness stirred inside me. I thought of Frank’s warning. Maybe there was something wrong with the ball. I tossed it around a bit. It felt good. I squeezed it to see if it was losing air. It seemed firm enough. If there was anything wrong with the ball, I sure couldn’t tell what it was.
For the next two days, my friends and I played with my 49ers ball. It was everybody’s favorite. It didn’t have a slow leak, either. It was brand new, just like it looked. I kidded Frank about being worried and asked him if he wished he had come up with the five dollars. He shook his head, but I still figured he was jealous.
One afternoon as I sat on the front steps, tossing my ball in the air and catching it, he rode up on his bike, looking serious. “I found out something about your ball,” he said.
I grinned. “Are you still worried about this ball, Frank?”
Frank didn’t smile. “My brother Derek runs around with one of Rodney’s friends. According to him, Rodney ripped that ball off.”
“What do you mean ‘ripped it off’?”
“Rodney stole it from the Sports Haven. A couple of his friends covered for him, but he was the one who sneaked it out of the store. That’s why he wanted to sell it.”
It felt as if Frank had punched me in the stomach. I looked at the football. “Maybe this isn’t the same ball,” I argued, feeling myself get angry.
“Rodney stole a 49ers ball the same afternoon you bought it from him. This is the one, all right.”
“Well, I didn’t steal it,” I snapped at Frank. “I paid for it, so it isn’t my problem. And I didn’t know it was stolen when I bought it from Rodney. He’s the thief, not me.”
Frank shrugged and turned away. “I just figured you ought to know.”
I was angry at him for telling me about Rodney’s stealing, because I liked that ball and I wanted to keep it. “Are you going to tell anybody?” I shouted after him. He turned back and stared at me. Slowly he shook his head.
After he left, I put the ball away. When Stephanie asked me to play catch, I said no. I kept telling myself that the ball was mine, fair and square, and that I hadn’t done anything wrong. But I still didn’t feel good about having it. I didn’t even want to play with it anymore. And I sure didn’t want to tell Mom and Dad what Frank had said. They hadn’t been happy about my borrowing the dollar from Stephanie in the first place, but they’d only suggested I pray about it and left it up to me.
The next day I went looking for Rodney. He was riding his bike over in the school parking lot with a couple of his buddies. Walking up to him, I handed him the football. “I want my five dollars back!”
He looked at the ball and then at me. “I told you—no refunds and no returns. Besides, I’ve already spent most of the money. And,” he added, nodding down at the ball, “it doesn’t even look new, anymore.”
“You stole this ball,” I hissed.
The grin disappeared from his face. Jumping off his bike and letting it clatter to the pavement, he grabbed the front of my shirt and jerked me toward him. “Who told you that?”
“There are guys who know,” I rasped. “And I don’t want a stolen ball.”
“Don’t you go blabbing around that I stole that ball, kid, or you’re going to be in a bunch of trouble. Nobody can prove that I stole it. Besides, it’s your ball. You paid for it.”
“I don’t want it now.”
“That’s your problem. If you don’t want it, go throw it in the trash.” He gave me a hard shove, climbed onto his bike, and rode off with his friends.
My feet dragged as I left the parking lot, carrying the football that until yesterday had been such a prize. Now it was a cold, hard reminder of dishonesty. I saw the garbage dumpster in the corner of the parking lot. I considered throwing the ball away. But I couldn’t. I’d paid five dollars for it, and I still owed Stephanie a dollar. I couldn’t just get rid of it.
I tried telling myself that I hadn’t done anything wrong. I hadn’t known the ball was stolen when I bought it. I hadn’t been the one to take it. I had tried to give it back to Rodney. What else was I supposed to do? Was I supposed to lose my five dollars because Rodney had done something wrong?
I shook my head. All my excuses wouldn’t make the sick, guilty feeling go away. I thought of the Sports Haven. I had always liked going there and looking around. Now every time I even passed by, I thought of the stolen football. And even though I hadn’t been the one to steal it, the Sports Haven was still missing a ball. And I had it. I knew what Dad and Mom would say, and I knew I wouldn’t feel good again until I did it.
I walked home, climbed onto my bike, and rode downtown. It was tough walking into the Sports Haven. I asked for the manager, Mr. Turley. One of the clerks took me to his office in the back of the store.
“Well, hello, Joshua,” Mr. Turley greeted me as I stepped into the office. “How can I help you?”
I set the football in the middle of his desk and stared at it. “This ball was stolen from the Sports Haven,” I announced quietly. “I didn’t steal it, though,” I quickly added. I told him the whole story.
“So it’s not my ball,” I finally ended. “You might not want it, either, because it’s been used and I wrote my name on it in black marker.”
Mr. Turley leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. For a long time he thought without saying anything. Finally he leaned forward and took the ball from his desk and rolled it around in his hands. “Joshua, first of all, I want you to know that I’m happy that you had the courage to come in. I don’t expect that that was very easy.” I shook my head without looking at him. “It’s not always easy to be completely honest. In this case, it cost you five dollars. And you weren’t even the one who stole the ball. But being honest is more important than this football or the money you spent to buy it.”
Mr. Turley smiled at me. “I’m going to try to make being honest this time a little easier for you. You’ve already paid five dollars. I have some work around here that you could do to earn the other five. Then the ball would be yours.”
“You mean I could keep it?”
Mr. Turley smiled. “You just be here tomorrow morning.” Grinning, I turned and started for the door, the sick, guilty feeling gone. “Hey, Joshua,” Mr. Turley called out. I turned. He laughed and tossed me the ball. “You’d better take that with you, or someone might walk off with it.”

When Elder Richard G. Scott was young, his father was not a member of the Church. His mother was a member, but she didn’t go to church very often. When Richard turned eight years old, he didn’t get baptized. Then his Grandma Whittle came to visit.
Grandma Whittle was a very good example. She helped Richard and his brothers learn how important it is to be baptized and go to church. Soon Richard and his older brother were baptized.

“Hey, Shelly!” Shelly looked up from tying her running shoes to see Rosa waving from the starting line. “Come on,” Rosa called out. “Today we’re going to beat our best time!”
Shelly grinned. Rosa said that every practice.
Shelly liked two things about her new middle school. The first thing was being on the track team. When she ran, she felt light inside, like she didn’t need to worry about anything.
The second thing she liked was that nobody here knew that her parents had just gotten divorced.
Shelly gave her shoelace one last tug and took off to join the other girls on the relay team. Ouch! She winced as her toes jammed into the end of her running shoes. How was she going to tell Dad she needed new shoes again?
After the race, Shelly, Rosa, Becca, and Tiana were celebrating their new best relay time. “I told you we were going to do it today!” Rosa said.
Shelly laughed. She handed the baton to their track teacher and bent to loosen her laces.
“Good work, girls,” Mrs. Edwards said. “You work really well together. Don’t forget to pay your track fee tomorrow.”
Shelly’s smile faded. She had totally forgotten about that!
On the bus ride home, all Shelly could think about was the shoes and track fee. She didn’t want to give Mom one more thing to worry about. And the last time she had called to ask Dad for extra money, he had sounded annoyed. Lately it seemed like there was no one who could give her the help she needed.
When she got home, Shelly went straight to her room. At dinner her brothers and sisters talked and joked, but she just pushed her food around her plate.
After dinner Mom helped Shelly clear the table. “I’m meeting with Bishop Parker tonight,” Mom said. “Would you like to come and get a priesthood blessing?”
Shelly nodded. She really missed the blessings Dad used to give her when she was worried or sick.
A little later, as Bishop Parker gave her a blessing, Shelly felt something deep inside her relax. “Shelly, your dad isn’t in your home to help you now,” he said in the blessing. “But your Heavenly Father is always there. I bless you that you will be able to talk to Him just as you would to your dad, and Heavenly Father will always help you.”
Shelly felt lighter than she had for a long time. She had a warm feeling inside that told her the bishop’s words were true. Heavenly Father loved her and would listen to her. With His help, maybe she could even have the courage to talk to her parents.
On the way home, she told Mom about the shoes and the track fee. That night she knelt and asked Heavenly Father to help her have the courage to talk to her dad. She prayed about it again on the bus to school the next morning. By the time she got home from school, she felt brave enough to call her dad. This time he didn’t seem impatient or annoyed when she told him what she needed. Her prayers had been answered.
A few weeks later, Shelly laced up her new running shoes and ran to join Rosa and the other girls. It felt good to know she had a great team supporting her. She didn’t need to run her race alone.

Melissa got her first credit card when she went away to college. Her parents, who helped her apply for the card, told her it was for emergency use only. At first, Melissa followed that advice closely, usually consulting her parents before she made any purchases on the card.
“At first, I didn’t use my card all that much,” she says. “The problem was, my parents didn’t really explain how credit worked. In fact, I saw my mom use her credit card all the time to buy things at the store. She never thought to tell me that she only bought things she knew she could pay for in full every month when the bill came.”
Married while she was still in college, Melissa and her husband soon longed for the comfortable lifestyle they had enjoyed at home with their parents.
“We felt that we deserved most of the things we purchased with our credit card. We never stopped to consider if we could afford it.”
Soon Melissa and her husband were charging necessities like groceries and gas for the car on credit cards because all their available cash was used up paying the minimum balance on several credit cards. Finally things were so bad that Melissa sought help from her parents.
“It was really embarrassing to have to go to my dad and tell him what we had done. We were really lucky that my dad was in a position to help us.”
But even with help and new knowledge about how credit works, it hasn’t been an easy road, says Melissa. In addition to having to check in with her dad for several months after he bailed them out, paying the loan back to her father has meant several years of a very restrictive budget. But Melissa says the sacrifice has been worth it.
“I felt like I was in prison before. Now, even though I don’t have as much money to spend, I feel a real sense of freedom. Getting out of debt is worth whatever it takes.”

Prophets have charge for the whole earth, not just for members of the Church. I can report from my own experience how personally and devotedly the First Presidency takes that charge. As needs grow, the First Presidency has charged us to increase our humanitarian outreach in a significant way. They are interested in the largest trends and the smallest details.
Recently, we brought to them one of the protective medical gowns that Beehive Clothing sewed for hospitals to use during the pandemic. As a medical doctor, President Russell M. Nelson was highly interested. He didn’t want to just see it. He wanted to try it on—check the cuffs and the length and the way it tied in the back. He told us later, with emotion in his voice, “When you meet with people on your assignments, thank them for their fasting, their offerings, and their ministering in the name of the Lord.”

I marvel at the account of the coming forth of the Book of Mormon. Joseph Smith’s prophetic call was to bring forth this great publication. It was in the year of 1823, at the age of 17, that he was shown the hidden records by the angel Moroni. After several visitations over the next four years, Joseph Smith was allowed to remove the sacred record that had rested at the Hill Cumorah near Palmyra, New York.

When Joseph went to the hill on the 22nd day of September 1827, the angel instructed him in matters pertaining to his sacred duty. At last the time arrived for the delivery of the plates and the Urim and Thummim and the breastplate to the Prophet Joseph Smith. He finally had them in his possession. The Prophet commenced the translation very slowly and methodically. He needed a scribe. In February of 1828 Martin Harris went to his home. Martin had been impressed with the stories he had heard about the Prophet having the gold plates. He acted as scribe from the 12th of April 1828 until he finally convinced the Prophet that he be allowed to take the record and show it to a few people to convince them that the work he was doing was important.

Permission was finally granted to him on the 14th day of June. Of course we know that that part of the record was lost. Joseph was soundly rebuked and warned against yielding to temptation. The records were taken from him for a season to give him time to repent. It was a bitter lesson for the young prophet, but it was necessary to prepare him for the great responsibility that was ahead of him. Sometime during the fall of the year 1828, the record was back in his hands, but once again he needed a scribe. It was on the 5th day of April 1829 that a young schoolteacher named Oliver Cowdery went to the home of the Prophet and inquired about his work. On the 7th day of April, Oliver Cowdery started acting as scribe to the Prophet. As the history records, the Prophet and Oliver Cowdery spent long hours together dictating the translation without reference to any books, papers, or manuscripts. After they would take a break, the Prophet would return and resume the dictation where the previous segment had ended.

As we examine the record, it is clear that Joseph Smith could not be the author of the Book of Mormon. The marvel of the whole translation was the rapidity with which the Book of Mormon was translated. It required only 85 days from the seventh day of April—the date Oliver Cowdery commenced acting as scribe—until the end of June, when the complete text was finished and ready to turn over to the printer.

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 fourteen and a half years old, 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 victory.
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.

I served a mission for the Lord in the Wisconsin Milwaukee Mission, and my first area was in the heart of Milwaukee. Living in a city like Milwaukee was a new experience for me. I spent a handful of years leading up to my mission living in the smaller town of Pleasant Grove, Utah. One of my first experiences with public transportation occurred within the first few weeks of my mission. I was with my trainer traveling on a city bus. We had done a lot of walking one day and decided to finish off the late afternoon riding the city bus. I remember I was tired and still a little overwhelmed with the whole mission experience. We did not have a lot of success contacting people that day, and I remember sitting down exhausted and spent on that cramped city bus.

Soon after we settled in, the person in front of us turned around and started talking to my companion and me. At first we were very hopeful and excited that someone actually wanted to talk to us. We let him know we were missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and that we taught people about Jesus Christ.

It soon became apparent that this individual was not looking for sincere conversation; instead, he was looking to pick an argument. Also, instead of engaging my trainer, he started to engage me with conversation. After a few rounds of questioning, he asked me directly "How many books are in the Bible?" I felt this question was not that relevant to anything-plus I didn't know the number-so I tried brushing him off, but without success. He became fixed on this question and started asking it in a louder voice. He could tell that I did not have the answer and was going in for the attack.

Other people on the bus started paying attention to the conversation and it started turning into a public display. He asked again, "How many books are in the Bible?" and added "How can you teach about Christ if you don't even know the Bible?" I started singing the seminary song in my head-Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, and Numbers-and counting at the same time. I learned I can't sing a song in my head and count at the same time because I kept losing count early in the Old Testament. I started to feel nervous because I was representing the Lord, and the attention on the bus was drawn towards me. I was concerned that I wasn't being a good elder or a good servant and that people would walk away believing that Latter-day Saint missionaries didn't know the Bible. I looked to my trainer for help but this man would not let my companion answer the question. He could sense the "greenie" target on me and was honing in on it. I vividly remember him pointing his finger at me saying, "I am talking to you, not him." Also, my trainer gave me a look suggesting I could handle this.

I remember praying that this conversation would end and that the man would turn around. As I did so, I remember being prompted to bear my testimony of who the Bible testifies of: Jesus Christ. I explained that I did not know how many books are in the Bible; however, I know what is in the Bible. I testified of Jehovah in the Old Testament and of Jesus Christ in the New Testament and that they are one, our Savior. I remember feeling the Spirit and the power of the Lord as I bore my testimony. And something powerful happened: the man stopped. He let go of the issue and turned around without challenging my testimony. It was apparent he wasn't interested in further sincere dialogue. I said a silent prayer the entire way home and expressed thanks to the powers above for help. And when I got back to my apartment, guess what I immediately did? I pulled out my scriptures and counted how many books were in the Bible. There are 66 just in case you find yourself in a similar situation. I remember thinking that if the only thing you know about the Bible is the number of books it has, you don't deeply understand and are missing out on so many of its teachings.

Because Shellee is always trying, people are drawn to her. For example, in ninth grade Shellee wanted to be a cheerleader. When it came time for tryout practices, she went but struggled trying to understand all the instructions. Luckily, her bubbly personality and eagerness to learn won her the admiration of the other girls and one varsity cheerleader in particular.
Michelle Shoell, then a junior, took Shellee home with her every night that week to practice with her. Shellee could do the moves; she just needed help combining the moves with the words. “She is one of the most sparkling people I’ve ever met,” Michelle says, “and I wanted to see her make it.”
Before the final tryouts, Michelle even told the coach, “I don’t really care if I make it as long as Shellee does.” Both girls made the squad.

There is a power in goodness that is often learned in families. There is a void when it is lacking. I know one family that left what they described as “the good life” in a desire to do good. They agreed on a noble purpose that would take them to the Philippines for a year. The mother of this family reported, “We were flabbergasted it was so hard.” Without the normal routine and conveniences of home, she said, “We were just the same old ornery people.” Then they set a new routine—exercise at 5:30 a.m., 6:30 scripture study, then breakfast and school. Each afternoon they visited orphanages to play with the children.
Gradually the family started to notice a change—new levels of patience, gratitude, and respect. They started to talk to each other—to really talk and to really listen. The mother stated, “I will never forget the learning that took place for me and my family the day they brought a five-month-old baby into the orphanage whose tongue had been cut and an eye poked out.” When they learned the mother, a beggar, had injured her own child, it gave a new dimension to the social studies lesson they had discussed at home. A new level of compassion started to develop—greater reverence for the sanctity of life. This family put their “trust in that Spirit which leadeth to do good” (D&C 11:12), and gradually they started to experience the power to become changed.

As I was coming home this afternoon, I saw a bride and groom coming out of that pretty little church on Spring Street. I thought, “That could well be one of my own children soon: beautiful, strong, happy, and in love—but marrying for only “until death do us part.” As I did. The thought made me feel wistful—it would be so beautiful to look forward to being forever with the one you love. I would like my children to be married in the temple, even though the Spring Street church is charming and a thousand miles closer to home.
By the time I got to the driveway my mind had turned to more daily thoughts: “Tomorrow is Sunday. I wish my love would even just go to church with us, to say nothing of going to the celestial kingdom. I hope he won’t be annoyed about using the car and the money for gas to drive the kids to the stake dance tonight, where I will sit alone and wait for them while he goes bowling.”
Our three teenagers were eating egg sandwiches and drinking lemonade on the deck and invited me to join them. They had been teasing Beth about her crush on a boy who had grown tall and handsome over the summer. He is a very nice person, but he is not at all interested in the Church. This was a perfect excuse for me to talk about those things which I had on my mind right then.
Our children have always chosen friends we felt we could trust, and I told them I was proud of them for that. But I also told them, “It is possible to find a lifetime love even while you’re a teenager, so it is important to date members of the Church.”
Melody said, “Well, Mom, I’m quite sure the Church is true, but I’m not really into it. So why should I date just members?”
“The gospel and the way of life it teaches will be more important to you than you realize now,” I told her. “It is important for your earthly happiness as well as your eternal happiness to marry someone who cares about the things you care about. Can you believe that life-style can ruin a relationship with someone you live with? You know how hard it is to get along with Beth just sharing a room, and you already have the same beliefs!”
They both laughed and told about the agreement they had finally come to this morning about tolerating each other’s noise and clutter. (Let’s hope it works!)
Then I said, “I know you each will marry people who we will be proud to take into the family. However, because of the painfulness of an interfaith marriage, it is important to date people who share your values. Becoming seriously involved with someone who would not go to church with you, much less the temple, could lead to temptations, lowering your standards, and interfaith marriages.”
Billy saw the pained look on Beth’s face, and turned to me and asked, “Why couldn’t we marry out of the Church, like you did?” (Ouch!) “And we could each believe whatever we want?”
I felt surprised by the question. After all, Billy has lived with this dilemma all his life. He used to wait to ask his questions about religion until his father wasn’t around. He did not like to hear that annoyed sigh when a gospel topic came up.
I chose not to remind him of these things. So I said, “The most important reason for marrying a Church member is so you both can love and be loved for who you truly are. Isn’t that better than loving someone in spite of who they are? When you marry a member you will be able to love and admire each other and respect the beliefs that are so much a part of you. Otherwise you have to make too many compromises. Have you noticed how hard it is to work out acceptable compromises here about how much time, energy, and money we should be giving to Church activities? Once one begins compromising it gets easier to slip about reading scriptures, going to meetings, paying tithing, even praying.”
They all agreed that the families they know who are all active members do seem to be more strongly founded in the gospel, support each other in activities, and help each other with challenges.
“Yes, a person’s belief is a person’s way of life, values, and understanding,” I pointed out. “Every decision is based on your belief. A marriage should begin with at least a common base for problem solving and goal setting.”
“Hey! I know what to do!” Beth said, brightening. “Marry them; then convert them!”
“Hey, yourself! That’s unfair!” I answered quickly. “Like I said, you have to marry someone for who he is, accepting each other; not planning to change him. Anyway, the only person you really can change is yourself. Besides, very few who marry nonmembers ever get to the temple with them. Some go inactive and lose the blessings of the gospel, many get divorced, and some remain somewhat active, at a price.”
Billy had turned away and been so quiet that I asked him what he was thinking about.
“Dad,” he answered slowly. “He’s been a good sport for us. I know Church things bother him, but he’s never said anything bad about it. I wonder what it’s like for him to be living with us, having us go off without him to meetings and activities and, well, you know.”
Oh, how I knew! “He has been a good sport,” I agreed. “And as sad as we are about not having him with us at church, he is sad that we are not with him at those times. And along with his feelings of sadness or annoyance, how do you think he feels about our loyalty? Could you imagine how scary it must be for a nonmember to worry whether the people he loves might love the Lord, His Church or His people more than they love him? So while the nonmember is sad, annoyed, and worried, the member is yearning and praying for him to join the Church.”
Melody said, “Yeah, but—,” which made the rest of us chuckle and join in our family chant of, “yeah, but; yehbut!”
“But we do have to be realistic, Mom. It’s not like there are even any kids in seminary with us. We will be dating nonmembers unless we move to Utah or somewhere out there. So what would you suggest if one of us does fall in love with a nonmember?”
I did have to be realistic; out here there are very few LDS people to date, and they are scattered. So I answered what I had been thinking over for months.
“I would hope that by then you would have realized your beliefs were important to you. You should plan to go to all your meetings during your courtship and invite them to activities and meetings. Also, if there is talk of marriage between you, ask them seriously to take the discussions.”
Melody looked annoyed and said, “Oh, Mom, that would scare them off!”
Beth suggested, “Maybe we could just cool the activities and meetings while we’re getting to know one another.”
I felt like she hadn’t really understood; then I remembered that people have to hear things at least three times before they remember and understand. “It would be important to continue your normal way of life during courtship so that anyone you’re going to marry gets to really know you and how you want to live. It would not be fair for you to drop it now to keep the peace, then plan to pick it up later. That’s like changing the rules in the middle of the game.
“Besides,” I reflected, “you may not be able to get yourself back to Church activity, for many reasons.”
“I have heard of people getting too busy or living too far away, or even just getting out of the habit of going to church,” said Bill. “I guess if staying active meant giving a rude surprise to someone you love, you’d probably decide not to do it.”
“Yes, then blame them for the sadness you’d feel about not going, like Sister Z.,” said Melody, who was friends with this inactive, part-member family.
Beth said thoughtfully, “Isn’t there some way to keep your love and your activity? What did you do, Mom?”
Bill’s face flushed and he looked a little sad as he blurted, “Why doesn’t he—?”
I interrupted because I did not want to feel emotional. “Dad doesn’t talk about religion, and it has to be between him and Heavenly Father. Just keep praying and loving. But to get back to your choosing someone—”
Beth interrupted this time. “What would you do if one of us was going to marry a nonmember?” “I would ask you a lot of questions and ask you to talk with each other about your life-style, hopes, and compromises before you married. Would you pray together? Could you plan to remain active in the Church and magnify callings? Could visiting teachers, home teachers, and missionaries be welcome in your home? Could beliefs be openly discussed? What would you have to do to accommodate his beliefs? What would you do about religion for the future children? You would probably think I was too nosey, so I would ask our home teachers and the branch president to help you with these things. I might even ask Dad to help; he knows the other point of view! And, if worse came to worse, I’d consider talking to your intended.”
“Boy, you’d sure make a big deal of it!” exclaimed Melody, sounding exasperated.
“Of course,” I replied. “It is necessary to plan how to make each other happy while being true to yourselves. After all that, if you still went through with the marriage, I would remember how Dad has blessed my life and I would be happy for your happiness. I promise, too, that I would stand back and try to be a good mother-in-law like both of your grandmothers are. You know I will always pray for your happiness and for the happiness of those you love. Each of you has the potential of bringing joy to someone’s life; you deserve the best.”
While we were speaking, Dad drove in. Billy went to greet him. I gave Beth a quick hug as she and Melody went to get a piece of cake and some lemonade for their father. When I caught his eye, I blew him a welcoming kiss, and waited.

Dr. D. Elden Beck stood confidently before his biology students. In one hand he held a live rattlesnake.
He felt fortunate in having a job—a good teaching position—at a time when the effects of a devastating depression were being felt across the country. He was aware that once again the people of the small southern Utah communities were responding as they usually did during hard times, with determination and stubborn endurance.
Dixie Junior College, the pride of St. George, kept her doors open even though some students, to stay in school, paid their tuition with farm produce.
Dr. Beck was not a native of southern Utah, and neither he nor his family had been involved with the seemingly endless task of subduing the arid desert. Perhaps that was why he was able to see the country not merely as a place to overcome and endure but a place of breathtaking beauty. Like the natural coral, turquoise, and silver of a precious piece of Indian jewelry, the vermilion sands and blue sky dazzled him. A part of the world that had resisted discovery now seemed to him an endless frontier for study, an endless source of wonder.
The snake squirmed and struggled. Dr. Beck prepared to demonstrate to his students how a rattler is “milked” of its lethal venom, an act he had performed many times before. As he attempted to move the snake from one hand to the other, it suddenly lurched and slashed its fangs across his thumb. He reeled back in pain and instantly released the snake. It fell to the floor with a dull thud and lay still. The class was stunned. The rattlesnake slowly revived, and by gracefully throwing loops of its body forward, it began to move across the classroom floor. With shouts and screams, students clamored upon desks and chairs. To everyone’s amazement, it was Dr. Beck who tried to calm them. He gently captured the snake and stashed it away in the classroom snake pit. Then he firmly dismissed the students from the room. Supporting his swelling hand, he walked the two blocks from the college to the St. George Hospital only to find no rattlesnake serum was available.
Dr. McGregor eventually located serum in Cedar City, some 50 miles away, and it was agreed that someone would try to deliver it by car as soon as possible.
Hours passed, and the pain and swelling not only increased but began slowly moving up his arm closer to the elbow. Florence, Elden’s wife, kept a nervous vigil.
Late that night an old bootlegger arrived with the serum. Then Dr. McGregor faced the dilemma of how much of the serum to inject, for the vial was very large. After much concern, the doctor inserted the needle in Elden Beck’s arm and administered it all.
My grandfather, Dr. D. Elden Beck, lived!
The following year Dr. McGregor delivered, in the St. George hospital, the Beck’s baby daughter, Janet Ruth, my mother.

Years ago our youngest child had a serious bone tumor in his lower back. When he was taken to the hospital for surgery, I overheard the doctors in the hallway talking about his condition. They said it was likely that nothing could be done to save our boy’s life.
When I went back in my son’s room, I tried to encourage him. I assured him that he was receiving the finest medical care. He said, “Daddy, I’m not counting on the doctors. I’m counting on my blessing. You laid your hands on my head, and you blessed me. And I have faith that the blessing will be fulfilled.”
My son was healed. His life is an example of the power of a priesthood blessing. One of the lessons I’ve learned through my Church service is that our Father in Heaven loves little children. He loves to bless them, and He often blesses them through His priesthood servants.

When you want to do a stakewide service project but your stake covers a 75-mile area, what’s a ward to do? The Auburn California Stake solved the problem recently with their “Day of Impact.”
Each ward and branch chose a local project that would be completed on the same day. Afterwards, they met at a centrally located park for a barbecue, games, and story swapping. They talked about things like how they painted bleachers at a high school, built a concession booth by the football field at another high school, and weeded and cleaned yards and cemeteries. They also repaired broken headstones. They sanded and painted picnic tables at an elementary school and even restored a historical landmark—an old caboose.
Later, at a stake fireside, everyone was able to catch a glimpse of their work via video—leaders had filmed each project. Even though they had spent the day working apart, they felt a spirit of pulling together.

Personal revelation is the profound blessing received following baptism when we are “sanctified by the reception of the Holy Ghost.” I can remember a special spiritual revelation when I was 15 years old. My precious brother was seeking guidance from the Lord as to how to respond to our dear father, who did not want my brother to serve a mission. I prayed with sincere intent too and received personal revelation of the truthfulness of the gospel.

Personal revelation is based on spiritual truths received from the Holy Ghost. The Holy Ghost is the revealer and testifier of all truth, especially that of the Savior. Without the Holy Ghost, we could not really know that Jesus is the Christ. His seminal role is to bear witness of the Father and the Son and Their titles and Their glory.
The Holy Ghost can influence everyone in a powerful way. This influence will not be constant unless one is baptized and receives the gift of the Holy Ghost. The Holy Ghost serves also as a cleansing agent in the process of repentance and forgiveness.
The Spirit communicates in marvelous ways. The Lord used this beautiful description:
“I will tell you in your mind and in your heart, by the Holy Ghost, which shall come upon you and which shall dwell in your heart.
“Now, behold, this is the spirit of revelation.”
Although its impact can be incredibly powerful, it most often comes quietly as a still, small voice. The scriptures include many examples of how the Spirit influences our minds, including speaking peace to our minds, occupying our minds, enlightening our minds, and even sending a voice to our minds.
Some principles that prepare us to receive revelation include:
Praying for spiritual guidance. Reverently and humbly we need to seek and ask and be patient and submissive.
Preparing for inspiration. This requires that we be in harmony with the Lord’s teachings and in compliance with His commandments.
Partaking of the sacrament worthily. When we do this, we witness and covenant with God that we take upon ourselves the name of His holy Son and that we remember Him and keep His commandments.
These principles prepare us to receive, recognize, and follow the prompting and guidance of the Holy Ghost. This includes the “peaceable things … which bringeth joy [and] … life eternal.”
Our spiritual preparation is greatly enhanced when we regularly study the scriptures and truths of the gospel and ponder in our minds the guidance we seek. But remember to be patient and trust in the Lord’s timing. Guidance is given by an omniscient Lord when He “deliberately chooses to school us.”
The Holy Ghost will also provide revelation in our callings and assignments. In my experience, significant spiritual guidance most often comes when we are trying to bless others in fulfilling our responsibilities.
I can remember as a young bishop receiving a desperate call from a married couple a short time before I was to catch an airplane for a business engagement. I pled with the Lord before their arrival to know how I could bless them. It was revealed to me the nature of the problem and the response I should give. That revelatory guidance allowed me to fulfill the sacred responsibilities of my calling as bishop despite very limited availability of time. Bishops all over the world also share these same kinds of experiences with me. As a stake president, I not only received important revelation but also received personal correction that was necessary to accomplish the Lord’s purposes.
I assure you that revelatory guidance can be received by each of us as we humbly labor in the Lord’s vineyard. Most of our guidance comes from the Holy Ghost. Sometimes and for some purposes, it comes directly from the Lord. I personally testify that this is true. Guidance for the Church, as a whole, comes to the President and prophet of the Church.
We, as modern Apostles, have had the privilege of working and traveling with our current prophet, President Nelson. I paraphrase what Wilford Woodruff said about the Prophet Joseph Smith; it is equally true of President Nelson. I have seen “the workings of the Spirit of God with him, and the revelations of Jesus Christ unto him and the fulfillment of those revelations.”
My humble plea today is that each of us will seek continuing revelation to guide our lives and follow the Spirit as we worship God the Father in the name of our Savior, Jesus Christ, of whom I bear witness in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.