Gospel Story Finder

That’s a fine looking hole you’re digging, son,” Daddy said. “What’s it going to be?”
“A grave,” Aaron answered.
Daddy’s brow wrinkled thoughtfully. “A grave? What for?”
“A bird. Katie found it. We’re about ready for the funeral. Do you want to come?”
“I think I might,” Daddy replied.
Just then Katie marched solemnly down the walk, bearing a shoe box in her arms. Andy, Jana, and Shauna followed, carrying peach blossoms and flowers.
“Do you want to look in the box, Daddy?” Katie asked, lifting the lid.
There on a fluff of blue silk lay a robin, red breast up and feet sticking in the air.
“Poor little fellow,” Daddy said.
“Mama said he’s probably quite happy,” Katie responded.
“By the way, where is Mama?” Daddy asked.
“Coming,” Mama called. She had stopped to pick a daffodil.
Gently Katie laid the box in the hole.
“Your robin is being buried by my lizard,” Andy remarked.
“His lizard had a silent funeral, because lizards don’t make any sound,” Jana explained to her parents.
“When we have funerals for creatures, we do the same as they do,” Aaron elaborated. “That’s why we don’t preach in bird funerals, because birds don’t preach. They just sing. So now we’ll sing.”
Katie waved her arms and everyone sang, “Up, up in the sky, where the little birds fly …” After the song, Aaron carefully shoveled dirt over the box, mounding it neatly, then everyone arranged their flowers on top.
“Have a nice sleep, little bird,” Katie said. Looking up at Mama and Daddy, she added “We’ve named this place Sleepy Hollow.”
“How lovely,” Mama said.
As the family sat around the supper table that evening, the children were thoughtful.
“Mama, why did you say Katie’s robin was probably happy?” Jana asked.
“I know,” Andy spoke up, “because it doesn’t have to eat worms anymore.”
“How do you know?” Aaron asked.
“Because robins will go to heaven and worms won’t.”
“Who said so?” Aaron persisted.
“Both Mama and Daddy,” answered Andy. “When Mama found a worm in her apple, she said, ‘Ugh, the filthy thing.’ And you remember when Daddy read to us that no filthy thing would go to heaven?”
“Inherit the kingdom of heaven,” Aaron corrected.
“It means the same thing. Worms won’t get to heaven.”
“How do you know robins will?” Aaron asked.
“They will,” Katie piped up, “because robins are always cheerful. Even when it rains, they sing.”
“Daddy, will there be birds in heaven?” Aaron asked.
“I can’t quite imagine heaven without them,” Daddy answered.
“What about rabbits and squirrels?” Jana asked.
“I can only tell you what the scriptures say about it,” Daddy replied. “Usually, when we talk about the resurrection, we think of people. But the scriptures teach us that man, the earth, and all the life upon it will be resurrected, mentioning especially the beasts, the fowls of the air, and the fishes of the sea. The Savior gave His life so that everything would rise from the dead, even lizards and robins.”
“Where will everything go?” asked Aaron.
“There will be a place prepared for everything. The Bible tells us that John saw noble beasts in heaven.”
There was a thoughtful silence, then Andy spoke. “I know some noble beasts—our cow and Grandpa’s horse.”
“Woodpeckers are noble,” Katie added. “You should see the noble hole one pecked in Uncle Perry’s barn. The sparrows later built a nest in it.”
“Heavenly Father is mindful of all His creations,” Mama said. “And He knows exactly where they will go, for they are important to Him.”
“That’s what our Primary teacher said in the lesson about being kind to animals,” Jana added.
“I like to think about having pets in heaven,” Andy remarked.
Leaning contentedly back in her chair, Katie sighed. “I’m thinking what heaven must really be like. I can imagine bluebirds and pink birds and yellow and green birds all singing and baby kittens purring and flowers blooming and lots of strawberries to eat. Heaven will have families who love each other just like we do. And we can thank Jesus for what He did for us.”
“You’re right, dear,” Mama said. “And when you kneel and pray to our Father in heaven in the name of Jesus Christ, you can thank Him now and every day.”

A freshman in college! I could hardly believe the excitement I felt at being on my own, at being free to make my own choices and be my own person. I quickly found out there was much more to university life than just going to school. I became immersed in the fun activities of college life, and many, many nights I stayed up past the moon.
Saturday nights in particular were a problem because everyone knew there were no classes the next day. My previous 100 percent attendance at church became a thing of the past. I got so little sleep before my 9:00 A.M. Sunday meeting that crawling out of bed seemed physically impossible. On mornings when I was able to drag my limp body to the church doors—late, of course—even the hard, wooden benches seemed to invite me to stretch out and sleep.
Needless to say, I wasn’t getting much out of the meetings. Finally one Sunday I realized I hadn’t been to church for two weeks in a row. My conscience bothered me. Maybe that’s why I began reading in the Old Testament. If I couldn’t get to my church meetings, maybe I could at least learn something on my own.
Then I noticed a scripture I had highlighted during some previous reading. The words seemed to almost grab me and shake me.
“I have taught thee in the way of wisdom; I have led thee in right paths.
“Take fast hold of instruction; … for she is thy life.
“Enter not into the path of the wicked, and go not in the way of evil men” (Prov. 4:11, 13–14).
It was as if my Heavenly Father were saying, “You should know better!” All my life, loving parents, teachers, and leaders had taught me “the way of wisdom.” I had been led “in right paths.” I ought to have had enough understanding to know how to do what is right, to remember the Sabbath day and keep it holy.
For the first time since I’d been at school, I realized the awesome responsibility I held for my own spirituality. It wasn’t up to my parents or other adults to keep me from the “path of the wicked.” I had to do it myself.
I guess I’m still something of a night owl. And I probably could do better at making sure I’m 100 percent prepared for the Sabbath. But since the day I read that scripture, I’ve learned that I’d better get some sleep on Saturday night if I want to be sharp on Sunday. It has become a priority in my life.

During the last half of my college years, I worked as a producer for my university’s radio show. It was a fun job with tons of creative freedom, but there were also a lot of rules. My general job description was producing radio content; though this might seem self-explanatory, the details of the job were documented in an exhaustive, multipage document. It included rules about email etiquette, interview prep, audio cuts, and all kinds of things I had never heard of.
It was daunting at first as I tried to remember all the details. But I came to appreciate that list—it helped me be a better producer. It wasn’t a restrictive list that kept me from using my creativity; instead, it helped me turn my ideas into a real, finished product. It was a set of guidelines, created by people who knew the job much better than I did.

On February 27, 2010, at 3:34 a.m., an earthquake of magnitude 8.8 on the moment magnitude scale violently shook much of Chile, causing panic, fear, and concern in millions of people.
A few days later, I was assigned to preside over a stake conference at a location close to the epicenter of this great quake. I wondered if the earthquake and the continuing aftershocks would affect attendance at the conference. I was surprised when attendance at each session of the conference was greater than it had ever been at previous conferences.
Apparently, the earthquake reminded stake members, at least temporarily, about the importance of getting close to God, sanctifying the Sabbath, and attending meetings. Several weeks later I telephoned the stake president. I asked if attendance at Church meetings was still high. He replied that as the number and magnitude of the aftershocks declined, so did attendance at church.

Otto leaped out of bed. “It’s St. Leonhardi’s Day!” he shouted to his sister. But Martha had already gone downstairs.
The kitchen stove provided a comforting warmth as Otto ran into the room. Martha was brushing her hair.
“When can we leave for the village?” he asked.
“Very soon,” answered his mother.
This was Otto’s favorite holiday. All week long he and his family had been busy preparing for this autumn festival held each November 6 in many villages of southern Germany. As patron saint of the peasants, St. Leonhardi is said to have once bestowed his blessings on the farmers, stables, and animals, especially the workhorses.
In Otto’s village a long procession of men on horseback or in horse-drawn carriages or wagons would wind its way up a long hill to an old church. There the horses and carriages would be blessed and sprinkled with holy water. This part of the celebration was called St. Leonhardi’s Ride.
As long as he could remember, Otto had ridden with his family in their farm wagon. Everyone took great pride in decorating their horses, carriages, or wagons. Garlands of flowers adorned the carriages and also hung around the necks of the groomed horses. The braided manes and tails of the animals were trimmed with ribbons. Otto had stood on a bench to brush their two large workhorses. He then helped Father polish the harnesses and scrub the wagon. Martha and her mother had woven beautiful Alpine meadow flowers into garlands.
At last it was almost time to go. Otto’s father brought the wagon out from the barn, but only Hans was hitched to it.
“Father, are you leaving Greta home?” Otto asked in surprise. Of the two horses, Greta was Otto’s favorite. She was so gentle that Otto often rode her bareback in the fields.
“Go see,” laughed his father.
Otto ran into the barn and saw Greta still tied to a stall. A garland of flowers was around her neck and a new saddle blanket was across her back.
“Greta looks beautiful,” said Otto. “But why are you going to ride her?”
“I’m not,” answered his father. “But I thought you might like to!”
Otto was stunned. His dream of riding alone in the St. Leonhardi procession was finally coming true!
“Thank you, Father,” said Otto proudly. “May I go by Karl’s house and see if he is ready? We’ll catch up with you.”
“Yes,” answered Father, “but hurry.”
Karl had his own small horse with a beautiful saddle, and he was starting to leave his yard when Otto rode up.
“You’re not riding that old thing are you?” Karl asked derisively.
“Of course I am,” snapped Otto. “This festival honors workhorses, not fancy riding horses.”
“Ha! But my horse can work too,” bragged Karl.
The boys had ridden only a short distance when they came upon a wagon that had slipped off the road. Two wheels were lodged in a ditch that was muddy from recent rains. A young man was trying to get his old horse to pull the wagon back onto the road, and an elderly priest was behind the wagon trying to push.
“Can you help us?” asked the young man.
“I’m afraid not,” answered Karl quickly. “Our horses have been groomed and we don’t want to get them muddy.” With that he rode off swiftly toward the village.
Otto could see a beautiful garland of flowers inside the wagon. They must also be going to the festival, he thought. “My horse can get you out,” he offered.
With the help of the young man and some rope from his wagon, Greta started to pull. Slowly she dug in with her strong forefeet and then her hindquarters gave her the power to move forward. As she lowered her head, the garland of flowers around her neck slipped off. Otto watched as the wagon wheels rolled over it. Another pull and the wagon was back on the road.
The old priest patted Greta. “You were kind to help us, and I’m sorry about the flowers and the mud all over your horse,” he said gently.
“That’s OK,” said Otto, trying hard not to sound disappointed.
By the time Otto reached the village, the narrow streets were crowded with horses, carriages, and farm wagons. The master of ceremonies and the burgermeister (mayor) were directing everyone into a parade-like formation. Otto and Greta were pushed in behind a beautiful carriage. The driver was handsomely dressed and wore a felt top hat trimmed with a green ribbon.
“Hey, Otto,” whispered Karl. “Greta’s a mess! You can’t be in the procession.”
Otto turned to see Karl riding up behind him. “Well, I’m in it and I’m not taking Greta out,” said Otto.
Just then the church bells chimed. It was nine o’clock and the procession began.
The master of ceremonies and the burgermeister led, followed by the town band stepping along smartly to its own music. The clopping of all the horse hooves harmonized with the music. Behind the band came the many festively decorated horses, carriages, and wagons. The women looked beautiful in their holiday costumes and their big braided buns clasped by silver hairpins. Many of the men wore rich brown dress coats and felt hats.
The procession marched over the bridge and up the steep slope to the small chapel high above the Isar River. At the top of the hill Otto could see the flower-decorated platform where several priests stood. He stared in amazement, for the guest of honor was the old priest whose wagon had been in the ditch!
As the procession slowly passed the platform, all were blessed and sprinkled with holy water. But as Otto and Greta approached the platform, the old priest held up his hand in a halting motion. The entire procession stopped! Everyone wondered why, since this had never happened before.
The old priest leaned over and picked up a beautiful garland of flowers that had been draped over his chair. Otto recognized it as the same wreath that had been in the young man’s wagon. Then the priest stepped off the platform and walked directly to Otto and Greta. Otto could feel his heart pounding. And all around him he could hear voices whispering.
The priest reached up and slipped the garland of flowers over Greta’s neck. “Bless you both,” he said gently and walked back to the platform.
The procession continued and then slowly started back down the steep hill leading to the market center, where the people all were to gather to eat and visit with one another. Later the young men would stage a contest in whipcracking, an ancient and highly respected art in Bavaria.
This year, however, the attention did not center on the whipcracking contest, for the people crowded around Otto and Greta to ask questions:
“Why did the priest come to you?”
“What did he say?”
“Why did he give your horse the flowers from his chair?”
“Why is your horse spattered with mud?”
Otto tried to answer all the questions and at the same time look around. But there was one person he could not find. Karl was nowhere to be seen!

Much like Angela and Annette, Marco Dauphin is eager to spread the gospel by sharing it with anyone who will listen. Marco is pretty much like any young man his age, with a passion for basketball and a quick, easy smile. But there is something a little different about him, too. He is a leader, introducing his friends and family to things he thinks are good and uplifting. He knows how to include everyone and make them feel at home. When he first met the missionaries a few years ago, he immediately knew they had something special—something he wanted to have, too.
“I remember learning from the missionaries about the Second Coming,” he says. “I loved it.”
Soon he was ready for baptism, and so was his younger brother, Derek. Younger sister Sandra soon followed, and baby sister, Tina, was still too young (she has since been baptized). But Marco’s older sister, Rosenelle, wasn’t so sure that joining the Church was a good idea.
“I was strong in my belief that the Church was not true,” says Rosenelle.
But at Marco’s urging, Rosenelle continued to meet with the missionaries, never committing to baptism, but never completely rejecting the idea either.
“I never gave up,” says Marco. “I knew it would happen.”
And it did. While reading the Book of Mormon one afternoon, Rosenelle read about Alma the Younger. Soon she was thinking about her own life and the direction it was taking. She prayed for a long time that day and started to have some feelings that she couldn’t quite describe.
“Marco told me it was the Spirit,” says Rosenelle. “I knew he was right. I became converted and was baptized. I haven’t ever regretted it.”
The Dauphins’ mother, who is single, isn’t a member of the Church, and she often has to be at work on Monday evenings. So Marco and Rosenelle hold family night, complete with a game, songs, prayers, and a lesson. Sometimes the full-time missionaries are invited. It’s a challenge to coordinate their efforts, but all the Dauphins say it’s worth it.
“Joining the Church was a real relief for us,” says Marco. “When we have the Spirit in our home, we feel closer together. We just feel better.”

So Granny told it. “Once upon a time there was a very good little boy. His daddy took him in the car to see his granny. When they got to Granny’s house. Daddy stopped the car in the driveway. He smoothed Jeff’s hair and tucked Jeff’s shirttail in. ‘Be a good boy,’ Daddy said.
“Jeff climbed out of the car and waved good-bye to Daddy. Then Jeff rang Granny’s doorbell.
“When Granny opened the door, she pretended that she didn’t know him. ‘Good morning,’ Granny said. ‘Are you selling something? I don’t think I need anything today.’
“Jeff began to giggle. ‘Don’t you need a good little boy?’
“Granny made her face look surprised. ‘How did you know? That’s the only thing that I need.’
“Jeff laughed out loud. ‘I’m just what you need!’ he said.”

The girls in the Holladay Stake First Ward in Utah, USA, know their activity day plans are much more fun when more girls are involved. That’s why they made a special effort to get every girl in their neighborhood to come to the activities. The group was praying for more members when they realized that there were many girls nearby they could invite to attend. With the help of their leaders, they decided to reach out to their friends from school and in their neighborhood.
At first the girls were nervous to knock on doors and talk to others, but their leaders encouraged them and let them do all the talking. Soon they had many new friends! When they started their project, only four girls were coming regularly. Now the group has more than 20 girls who participate every week!

Shortly after applying to officers’ candidate school in 1942, President Faust was summoned before a board of inquiry. Nearly all of the questions the board asked him centered on his standards and beliefs. Did he smoke? Did he drink? Did he pray? Though fearful of giving offense, President Faust answered each question without equivocation. Then he was asked whether the moral code should be relaxed during times of war.
“I recognized that here was a chance perhaps to make some points and look broad-minded,” he said. “I suspected that the men who were asking me this question did not live by the standards that I had been taught. The thought flashed through my mind that perhaps I could say that I had my own beliefs, but I did not wish to impose them on others. But there seemed to flash before my mind the faces of the many people to whom I had taught the law of chastity as a missionary. In the end I simply said, ‘I do not believe there is a double standard of morality.’”
To his surprise, he passed the inquiry and was selected for officers’ candidate school.

Early in January 2022, I applied to work for a company in Japan. During the six months of waiting to hear back from them, I learned to trust in God’s timing. I finally got to the point where I could say to God, “If this is meant to happen, please let it happen. But if it isn’t, I will be OK. Either way, I will follow Thy lead.”

I immediately felt peace. My stress and anxiety were still there, but they felt a lot easier to handle because I knew He had a plan for me and would help me along my journey.

President Nelson counseled us to seek and expect miracles6 in our lives. While waiting to hear about the job in Japan, I learned to do just that.

I stopped calling things “coincidences” and “tender mercies.” I started calling them what they really are: miracles. Our God is a god of miracles (see 2 Nephi 27:23), and we should give Him credit for all the miracles in our lives.

I have now been here in Japan for a few months, working at a job I love. I am still seeing God’s miracles in my life—big and small.

Most teachers never realize the full impact of their teaching. I am certain a special Primary teacher never anticipated that the way she taught would impress me so much that many years later I would emulate her teaching technique in a boardroom in New York City. She was very skilled in holding our attention by the use of visual aids. A flannel board, which she used in her presentations, was popular in those days.
Now fast-forward with me to a critical time in my professional career. In 1962 I accepted a position in New York as the controller of a large retail firm. One of my new responsibilities was to make a budget presentation to the board of directors. Weeks before the presentation, I was called into the office of the president of the firm and told how demanding the board of directors was on the person who presented the budget. I was warned to make a presentation that would captivate the board and guarantee support for our proposed budget. I left his office feeling overwhelmed and burdened with self-doubt.
The next day I visited the boardroom, looked around, and tried to find a way that I could make the presentation effective. As I sat in the boardroom, I observed a large piece of flannel that covered the better part of the wall. I’m sure it had been placed there for its acoustic value. As I looked at the large piece of flannel, I thought of my Primary teacher and the use of the flannel board. I sent to Salt Lake for some flannel-backed paper. When it arrived, I prepared three different projections of the budget on that paper. As the budget presentation was made and the discussion followed, I could pull off one budget projection and replace it with another as appropriate. The members of the board were fascinated with my presentation using the flannel board technique. Each time I would present one of our second options and tell the board the consequences, they would immediately go back to the first budget projection, the one we really wanted to have approved. The presentation seemed to be very effective, and when it was over, I was complimented, thanks to my Primary teacher. I don’t know if the presentation was the reason or not, but the following week I was called into the president’s office and informed that the board of directors had approved my promotion from the management level to the officer level.

Recently I was in a department store trying on shoes. Four young men were looking at what they labeled missionary shoes. It was evident at least two of the young men had received mission calls and were there to find shoes suitable for missionary service. I was surprised by a barrage of crude terms with a few profanities which seemed to routinely roll off their tongues. When they noticed there was someone else nearby, I heard one say, “Hey, guys, we better clean up our language,” as he motioned with his head in my direction.

President Hinckley has said: “Conversation is the substance of friendly social activity. It can be happy. It can be light. It can be earnest. It can be funny. But it must not be salty, or uncouth, or foul if one is in sincerity a believer in Christ” (Teachings of Gordon B. Hinckley [1997], 494). Profanity and priesthood are not compatible. Neither is profanity compatible with missionary service. Profane and crude terms, if part of our conversation, need to be eliminated from our vocabularies. Conversation is one of the windows to our souls.

When elevated to the rank of inspector, he was called in by Chief J. Edgar Hoover.
“Find John Dillinger. Stay on him. Go anywhere the trail takes you and capture him alive, if you can, but protect yourself.”
Directing a special squad of agents, Sam’s investigation zeroed in on Dillinger. A telephone tip reported that Dillinger was thinking of going to one of two Chicago movies the next night. All avenues of escape from both theaters were blocked off by federal agents the following night as they awaited Dillinger’s exit. Sam directed East Chicago and Indiana agents as well as city policemen in the ambush. Walking from the Biograph Theater on July 22, Dillinger spotted the agents and reached for his automatic. The agents opened fire. Dillinger fell.

This summer, my wife, Kalleen, and I were changing planes in Amsterdam where, many years earlier, I was a new missionary. After I had spent months struggling to learn Dutch, our KLM flight was landing, and the captain made an incoherent announcement over the PA system. After a moment of silence, my companion mumbled, “I think that was Dutch.” We glanced up, reading each other’s thoughts: All was lost.
But all was not lost. As I marveled over the leaps of faith we had then taken as we walked through this airport on our way to the miracles that would rain down upon us as missionaries, I was abruptly brought back to the present by a living, breathing missionary who was boarding a plane home. He introduced himself and asked, “President Lund, what do I do now? What do I do to remain strong?”
Well, this is the same question that is on the minds of our youth when they leave FSY conferences, youth camps, and temple trips and anytime they feel the powers of heaven: “How can loving God turn into lasting discipleship?”
I felt an upwelling of love for this clear-eyed missionary serving the last hours of his mission, and in that momentary stillness of the Spirit, I heard my voice crack as I said simply, “You don’t have to wear the badge to bear His name.”
I wanted to put my hands on his shoulders and say, “Here’s what you do. You go home, and you just be this. You are so good you almost glow in the dark. Your mission discipline and sacrifices have made you a magnificent son of God. Keep doing at home what has worked so powerfully for you here. You have learned to pray and to whom you pray and the language of prayer. You have studied His words and come to love the Savior by trying to be like Him. You have loved Heavenly Father like He loved His Father, served others like He served others, and lived the commandments like He lived them—and when you didn’t, you have repented. Your discipleship isn’t just a slogan on a T-shirt—it has become a part of your life purposefully lived for others. So you go home, and you do that. Be that. Carry this spiritual momentum into the rest of your life.”

When I was younger, my ward had a talent show. My mom and I were performing clogging (a type of dance). I practiced a lot with my mom until it was perfect.
On the night of the talent show, when it was our turn to dance, I realized that I had stage fright. I did not want to perform, so I ran toward the Primary room.
My mom eventually found me sitting near the door, shaking. She saw that I was scared and asked if we should say a prayer. I agreed.
When we got to the stage, I was scared, but I knew God could help me. My mom and I then did our dance proudly. I know Jesus will help us when needed.

The last thing I remember before the four-wheeler flipped was being so scared that I couldn’t even scream. I closed my eyes and felt my body being dragged across the ground. When the four-wheeler landed on top of me, it knocked me out. Somehow my friend Kurt, who was also injured, lifted it off me.
When I woke, I tasted blood and dirt in my mouth. I was dizzy and lying on the side of a ditch. At first I didn’t feel any pain, but soon I began to hurt every time I breathed. After Kurt helped me take off my helmet, my left arm, which was bent out of shape, started to hurt too. I had a big lump on my head, and when I looked at my left leg, I saw a huge cut. My leg was bleeding, and it soon swelled to twice its normal size.
Then I got scared—not of dying but of thinking I might never be able to play soccer again.
Both of my parents are from Argentina. Everyone in my family knows soccer. I grew up playing it and watching it, especially with my dad. When Argentina won the World Cup in 2022, it was the best day ever!
Playing soccer has taught me that if I do my best, I can do things I didn’t think I could do. That applies to school too, like with tests. Tests can be tough, but if I study and work hard, I know I’ll do OK.
I’ve also learned that I’m more frustrated if I play badly than if my team loses. Even if we lose, I’m still happy if I played well.
Right after the accident, my sister Nicole showed up with her friend on another four-wheeler, and two boys who saw us crash quickly drove up on their four-wheelers.
“My dad’s a nurse!” one boy said. While he called his dad for help, Nicole and her friend hurried back to our camp to get my dad.
That morning, nurse Mike Staheli had planned to head home from a weekend campout with some friends. But they felt prompted to stay one more day. I’m thankful they did.
While Mike gave me first aid and checked my vital signs, someone called for an ambulance. Mike feared that I had broken my arm and femur, cracked several ribs, and that I was bleeding internally.
Mike said the ambulance from a nearby town would likely arrive first, but my condition was serious enough that I should be airlifted to Primary Children’s Hospital in Salt Lake City, Utah. A medevac helicopter was also called for.
When my dad and his friend Hector saw me, they knew I needed a priesthood blessing. My dad asked me, “Do you have faith in the power of the priesthood? Do you have faith that the Lord can help you and heal you?”
“I do have faith, Papá,” I told him. But at the same time, I wondered, “What if I don’t have enough faith?”
My dad anointed me, and Hector blessed me. As soon as the blessing began, my breathing slowed, I calmed down, and I felt warmth even though it was cold outside. I knew then that I did have enough faith and that I was going to be fine either way.
When the ambulance arrived, paramedics cut off my favorite soccer shirt and checked my vital signs. They had stabilized. The helicopter arrived a few minutes later.
When the helicopter landed at the hospital, I was rushed inside. Nurses and doctors began examining me and doing lots of tests, including an MRI. My dad and I expected the worst, and so did they.
But they found nothing! No broken bones, no internal bleeding, no sign of concussion. My leg still hurt a lot, though.
“This is a miracle!” a nurse told me. Later, one doctor said, “OK, Alan, looks like you can go home tonight.”
I was like, “Really?”
Because I still had a hard time walking, I stayed in the hospital overnight. I left the next morning with only a brace on my left wrist. A few weeks later, I was training again for soccer.

Watch out for Apii’s feet!
With one well-placed kick, she could knock you over.

But Apii’s feet are only dangerous when she’s competing. In everyday life, Tereapii Rota, 16, of Tokorua, New Zealand, is a bright girl who serves her school as the representative to the board of trustees. But in her free time, she and her brother are trained by their father in the fine art of defense. She is so good at it that she won the junior women’s national championship in Tae Kwon Do. She was surprised by her success since it was the first time she had seriously competed.

Apii is the oldest of six children, and she and her ten-year-old brother are the most serious about training with their father. They belong to a sports club, but Apii often trains with the boys because there aren’t many women good enough to challenge her.
Although Apii is good at a rather unusual sport, her best friends are the other Laurels in her ward. “The four of us Laurels are very close. We do everything together. It’s good to have great friends,” says Apii. “We have heaps of laughs. We don’t see everything as real serious.”
Laughing a little at life has made it easier for Apii and her friends to resist the temptations that come to 16-year-olds. “I suppose the hardest thing about being 16,” says Apii, “is saying no to other people. Someone asks you to a birthday party or on a trip. Mom and Dad know what’s likely to happen. So you just have to say no. Then these people try to talk you into it. You still have to say no.” But Apii and her friends have so much fun without doing anything against the standards of the Church that it is easier for them to resist being talked into going to parties they know they shouldn’t go to.
The fact that Apii is alive is part of the reason her family joined the Church. When she was eight, she was desperately ill with asthma. Missionaries gave her a blessing, and she was healed literally moments later. “I was really weak,” says Apii. “I hadn’t been able to eat or drink. As soon as the missionaries said amen I was all right. I opened my eyes and asked for something to drink. Everybody sort of laughed they were so relieved.”
Apii has plans to go to university and study business.
In the meantime, watch out for Apii’s flying feet.

The prophets’ lives encourage us to draw close to our families at Christmastime. President Joseph F. Smith remembered one Christmas as a young father when he had no money—not even a penny—to buy gifts for his children. Just before Christmas he left his home and walked down the street, looking at all the wonderful things in the shop windows but knowing that he could buy none of them. Near despair he found a private place and “wept like a child” to relieve his aching heart. But, drying his eyes, he went home and played with his children all day, “grateful and happy only for them.”4 Despite his inability to provide a material Christmas for his children, he had nevertheless given them the greatest gifts any father could—his love and his time.

Stephen Smyth, a 16-year-old priest in the Londonderry Branch, Scotland Glasgow Mission, recently finished second in the “Superyouth” athletic competition open to all schools in Ireland. Stephen competed in six events—high jump, swimming, 100-meter race, 1,500-meter race, basketball, and overall fitness.
Preparing himself by an hour of intensive road work and general fitness training each morning before seminary (of which he’s president), Stephen was able to rank nationally over 100 other young men from across the country who competed in the section for 16- and 17-year-olds.
“My parents have been a great influence for good in my life,” said Stephen. “They’ve always set the standard and been the perfect example for me.”
Stephen is preparing to serve a mission and is looking forward to attending BYU eventually. He is currently assistant branch clerk, assistant to the president of the priests quorum, and branch music director.
To celebrate his success, the Young Men of his branch held a fireside at which he was the guest of honor. In addition, the members of the Londonderry Branch presented him with a copy of a one-volume history of the Church.

You may ask, “How do we seek personal revelation?” Paul counseled the Saints to rely on the Spirit rather than the wisdom of the world. To obtain that Spirit, we begin with prayer. President Lorenzo Snow had studied the gospel for several years before joining the Church. But he did not receive a witness until two or three weeks after his baptism when he retired in secret prayer. “The Spirit of God descended upon me,” he said. “O, the joy and happiness I felt, [for] I then received a perfect knowledge that God lives, that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and of the restoration of the holy Priesthood, and the fulness of the Gospel.”