Gospel Story Finder

Sophie had hurried back to the woodland pasture to look for the cow she had somehow left behind. There is so much to learn about farming and animals in this new country, she thought, sighing. Sophie and her brother and their parents had emigrated from Germany to a farm near the base of the Ozark Mountains and everything here seemed difficult and strange.

Searching frantically for the lost animal, Sophie finally sighted it lying in the tall grass. When she got closer, she saw a gash in the cow’s flank. It didn’t look too serious, but the cow still refused to get up. She lay there rolling her eyes and mooing plaintively. Papa had once said that fear sometimes made animals and people stop trying to help themselves, and Sophie guessed this was the trouble with the cow. Still, she pleaded and patted and shoved, but the animal wouldn’t budge.

Every day in good weather, it was Sophie’s job to drive the cows here to graze, to watch and tend them, and to drive them back home again in the late afternoon. Although the animals usually stayed with the bell cow, this one must have strayed while Sophie ate her lunch or while she waded in the brook. Papa will punish me and I deserve it, thought Sophie. But oh, how I wish we were safe at home.

Safe at home! The words bounced in her head, and her heart began to thump. She had often heard the cry of a panther in the distance when she drove the herd homeward. Papa had told her that panthers sometimes lure people to them with a cry like that of a lost child. Sophie shivered. It was frightening to be out here all alone.

The girl knew that even if the cow were willing, it would be unwise to drive it home through the darkness. She called to Shep and jogged out onto the dirt wagon lane. Inside the thick tunnel of overhanging branches and hazel brush, it was already growing gloomy, and she had more than a mile to run before she would be home to ask Papa what to do.

Sophie’s golden braids flopped wildly as her bare feet kicked up puffs of dust on the road. “Oh, dear!” she exclaimed suddenly, remembering that it was market day and Papa and Willie would stay in town overnight. They were counting on her to be safely at home with Mama, who was expecting a baby.

Sophie knew she had to let Mama know what had happened. Reaching home at last, she burst into the kitchen. Mama was at the wood stove stirring something in the kettle. Breathlessly, Sophie began to tell her mother about the hurt cow. Mama’s usually bright expression changed to a look of concern. For a long moment she concentrated without speaking.

At last Mama said in a calm voice, “We must do what we must do. It will be for you and Shep to watch out for our cow and I will be fine here alone. But we must make a good plan.” She rested her arm on Sophie’s shoulder, thinking. After a while Mama raised her head and spoke with assurance. “Now, this is what you should do. First fetch a rope and make a leash for Shep so he will stay close to you. Then take a torch with you and watch over the cow until morning.”

Sophie’s heart leaped. Allnight? Alone with only Shep? But Mama was pushing her into action with more words. “Come to the shed. I will light the torch. There is no time to lose.”

Sophie was soon loping along the lane with a lighted torch in one hand, Shep’s rope in the other, a blanket roll on her back, and a bottle of turpentine for the cow’s wound in her apron pocket. There was no time to be afraid. She must be brave and Mama said she would be praying for her safety.

In the torchlight, Sophie could see the cow, quiet now in her fear. She wedged the torch in a hole of a tree stump and tied up Shep. Moving as fast as she could, she gathered wood to make four bonfires around them.

Finally, Sophie knelt beside the cow and carefully poured turpentine into the wound. The animal rolled her eyes and bawled loudly as the medicine burned into her flesh. Once or twice she tried to get up, but Sophie held her head down, patting and talking soothingly to her. At last, the cow seemed to sense that the girl was trying to help and she grew quiet. Only the involuntary flinching of her side told of her pain.

Sophie lit two of the bonfires when it was dark and then beat out the torch. Mama had said to keep it ready to relight if some animal dared come too close. The plan was to keep two fires burning all night.

Sophie spread her blanket near the cow and then petted her until the animal’s eyes closed in sleep. The hours seemed to drag, and the silence was vast and deep. Now and then, a twig snapped. Once when Shep heard a faraway lonely cry, he opened his eyes and growled deeply. Sophie felt her scalp tingle. An opossum hanging by its tail overhead startled her before it moved away. More than once she felt like crying.

When Sophie lighted the last two fires, she prayed they would burn until dawn. What if they don’t? she wondered, then pushed the thought away. She dared not think about it.

At last it began to grow light! Sophie let out a sigh of relief. The long nightwatch was over and all would be well. Now she could kick dirt over the dying embers and untie Shep. She looked toward the cow and was surprised to see the animal struggling to her feet! The wound was beginning to heal already. The cow put out her big, rough tongue and licked Sophie’s hand.

Sophie breathed a prayer of thanks, then gave the cow a hug and said, “Come on, love. It’s home at last for you and me!”

A lot of my friends and classmates who are not members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints would often ask me about the Church. After a while, I got tired of answering the same questions over and over, so I came up with a solution.
I love to make internet videos to entertain people. I do music videos, informational videos, and parodies. One day when I was thinking about what I would do for my next video, I decided to make a video that answered questions about the Church.
I grabbed my camera. Then, without writing down what I was going to say but remembering important scriptures I wanted to mention, I made the video. I had no idea what would happen. I just felt prompted to make the video. “And I was led by the Spirit, not knowing beforehand the things which I should do” (1 Nephi 4:6).
Without worrying how my friends, classmates, and relatives—members of the Church or not—might respond, I uploaded it.
A few weeks after uploading the video, I started receiving feedback on my social media accounts. People I didn’t even know began commenting and thanking me for my video. Because of my video, one person even began taking the missionary discussions. Later, that person decided to get baptized.
Since I made the video, people I know who are not members of the Church seem to like me just the same—maybe even more. Several of them have even quit criticizing the Church. Others have stopped asking the same questions about the Church because now they have answers.

President N. Eldon Tanner related the following experience:
“A young man came to me not long ago and said, ‘I made an agreement with a man that requires me to make certain payments each year. I am in arrears, and I can’t make those payments, for if I do, it is going to cause me to lose my home. What shall I do?’
“I looked at him and said, ‘Keep your agreement.’
“‘Even if it costs me my home?’
“I said, ‘I am not talking about your home. I am talking about your agreement; and I think your wife would rather have a husband who would keep his word, meet his obligations, keep his pledges or his covenants, and have to rent a home than to have a home with a husband who will not keep his covenants and his pledges.’”

There is also a great value that can come to the early riser. Years ago my wife and I were driving with President and Sister Marion G. Romney. Along the way, President Romney shared some of his personal experiences when he was first called to serve as a General Authority in 1941. He felt he needed some advice, so he went to Elder Harold B. Lee, a new member of the Quorum of the Twelve. He asked him how to be a successful General Authority. Elder Lee answered, “Go to bed early and get up early. If you do, your body and mind will become rested, and then, in the quiet of those early morning hours, you will receive more flashes of inspiration and insight than at any other time of the day.”
President Romney said to me, “From that day on, I put that counsel into practice, and I know it works. Whenever I have a serious problem, or some assignment of a creative nature with which I hope to receive the influence of the Spirit, I always receive more assistance in the early morning hours than at any other time of the day.”

One of the first families that made an impression on me were longtime members in the branch I attended near my home in Malaysia. When they saw me at church each Sunday, they greeted me with big smiles on their faces. They also guided me through the classes and showed me where to go and even picked me up and drove me to church at times. Eventually they started inviting me to have dinner over at their place too. This family really embraced the gospel in their lives, and they showed their devotion to Jesus Christ through genuine care and love for me. Because of their ministering, we became close friends, and I felt so much more unified with the branch and like we were one big family.

Overland travel was rarely exciting. Days were long and tiring. The landscape of the plains was generally dull, unless an unusual rock formation or a buffalo herd came into view. Once, while traveling along the bank of the North Platte River, Jane’s company was startled when a herd of buffalo charged at them. The company drew their wagons and cattle together while some men shouted and cracked whips at the stampede. Just before trampling the company, the herd divided down the middle, with some buffalo moving to the right while others moved to the left. In the end no one was harmed.3

The peace that you want takes time. It won’t happen overnight. My mother died about five years ago of cancer. It isn’t easy to lose someone we love. I only wish that I had communicated with my dad and my brothers and sisters and told them how I felt. Instead I tried to hide my feelings. Because of my stubbornness, it only got worse when my dad remarried and we moved to a new town. I was heartbroken because all my memories of my mom weren’t around anymore. I blamed my Heavenly Father for doing this to me and making my life miserable.
I now feel peace within because I decided to let go of all my past hurts and look toward the future. Yes, I still have my days when I wonder why, but Heavenly Father has the whole eternal perspective of life, and we only have a narrow view.
I hope that you will keep communications with your family open. Let them know how you’re feeling.
Please stay close to your Heavenly Father. He loves all of us, and he will comfort you when you’re really down. I can testify to that.
Mary Beth Bentley, 18Danville, California

On a vacation, I was traveling by ship down the Volga River in Russia, far from any LDS chapel. That Sunday I had planned to read the Book of Mormon alone in my cabin.
My plans changed when I found out the ship was leased for summer tours to a Latter-day Saint family. With permission from their Church leaders, they had scheduled a worship service for LDS passengers, including several Russian Latter-day Saints traveling on the ship. I was asked to bless the sacrament. I wondered if I would bless the sacrament alone and if I would be the only teenager there. I hoped not.
Later that morning when I entered the music salon where the meeting would be held, my anxious heart quieted as I saw other young men in ties and young women in dresses. I looked around for something resembling a sacrament table. To my right, I noticed that a white tablecloth from the dining hall had been spread over the piano bench. The bread and water trays sat on the white linen. The brother who had asked me to bless the sacrament introduced me to a young man.
“This is Sergei,” he said. “He will bless with you.”
Sergei, from Moscow, had just completed his service in the militia. He had met two missionaries in the subway. That eventually led to his baptism.
“Dobray Dien!” I said, practicing what little Russian I had learned.
“Dobray Dien,” he responded with a chuckle.
“Minyah Savoot, William,” I said, introducing myself.
“Minyah Savoot, Sergei.”
“Do you speak English?” I asked.
“A little.”
He pulled out a sheet of paper—tattered from use—and unfolded it. It contained LDS religious terms with their definitions. He pointed to the word sacrament as if to communicate our role in the worship service. I nodded. He next pointed to the word bread and then to himself.
“Me?” he asked.
Then he pointed to the word water and then pointed to me, I understood. He would bless the bread. I would bless the water.
“Da,” I said in Russian, agreeing with his plan.
The music began, and a young man, Vladimir, led the congregation in “Come, Come, Ye Saints.” The curtains of the room had been drawn aside, and through the windows we saw a panoramic view of Russia’s countryside.
Sergei’s copy of the Book of Mormon was well used. He thumbed through its pages for the sacrament prayer.
We stood and broke the homemade Russian sourdough bread. I could hear the congregation singing “I Stand All Amazed,” half singing in Russian and the other half in English. No one had hymnbooks, so we sang from memory. I was impressed to hear the combination of Russian and English as if our voices were creating a new language.
When the hymn ended, I knelt with Sergei. As we knelt on the floor, I could feel a slight rocking of the ship. The congregation bowed their heads. Sergei began saying the prayer in Russian.
I felt the Spirit of God enter my heart and burn through my chest. Here we were, Sergei and I, on a ship far from our homes and families, two people from different continents and speaking different languages—but feeling the same Spirit. I understood the words he spoke, clearly and peacefully. I felt solemnity fill my mind.
After wiping a few tears from my eyes, I stood with Sergei. We passed the bread trays to three young priesthood holders, who then passed the bread to the congregation.
A few minutes later, I blessed the water in English, saying the prayer with more conviction than ever before. I felt as if I were actually speaking to the Lord. My heart swelled with joy as I said amen and stood to serve the water trays.
That day, Sergei and I had come together to do the Lord’s work. We had blessed the emblems Christ instituted just before his death and sacrifice. Sergei had spoken Russian. I had spoken English. But for all of us who were present, the language spoken was the Spirit.

My physical disability has made my life difficult and sometimes discouraging. My early teen years were especially trying because I encountered some unpleasant prejudices. In May 1989, when I was 13 years old, a high school in our town rejected my application simply because of my physical handicap, which confines me to a wheelchair. Then, in my first year of secondary school, one of my teachers gave me a disappointing grade. I felt it was because of my physical disability.
At the time I didn’t know how to accept these kinds of unpleasant events in my life, nor did I know how to thank Heavenly Father for the lessons they teach me. But through prayer and scripture study, I have discovered that I can be grateful even with these afflictions and, at the same time, be good to those people who reject and discourage me.
As I read the words of the Apostle Paul in 2 Corinthians 12:7–10, I found that he compared his own adversity to “the messenger of Satan to buffet” him. He prayed that the Lord would remove his affliction, but instead he was told, “My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.”
Over the years, I have felt my Savior’s encouragement; it has made me realize His great sufficiency over my physical weakness.
On 27 March 1993 I graduated from high school with an honorable mention. Our mayor offered me a job at the city hall. While working, I was able to finish my career course in journalism.
Dealing with my physical disability and afflictions will never be easy. But I know that through my faith and determination and the Lord’s inspiration I may be able to say, like the Apostle Paul, “When I am weak, then am I strong” (2 Cor. 12:10).

Olá! My name is Alice, and I try to SHINE MY LIGHT by SHOWING GRATITUDE!
I live in Brazil with my parents and sister and brother. My sister Julia and I play the piano for sacrament meeting in our ward.
One Sunday, a man named Brother Stahlke gave us a present. He said it was a gift to thank us for the music we played on Sundays. When we opened the box, we found a special kind of flute inside! I put the flute together and started playing. I was enchanted by the sound.
Soon I started playing hymns on the flute. I wanted to do something to thank Brother Stahlke for the gift. So I practiced the hymn “How Great the Wisdom and the Love” (Hymns, no. 195). I asked my dad to take me to Brother Stahlke’s house so I could show him that his gift helped me discover a new talent.
When I played for Brother Stahlke, he was very happy and emotional. He told me that he had a dream about this hymn the night before! I felt the love of God for him and for me.
When we show gratitude, the Lord blesses us with happy feelings from the Holy Ghost.

I am reminded of an experience I had with a fine old Christian gentleman—a great Constitutional lawyer—named John D. Miller during an evening he spent in our home in Washington, D.C. After an hour of visiting in the living room, Sister Benson and the daughters who had been preparing the dinner announced that it was ready. We went into the dining room, and the children started preparing chairs for family prayer. And so I said to Judge Miller, “Judge, it’s customary in our home to have family prayer, daily devotion, morning and evening. Would you care to join us?” He said, “Yes, I would.” Then he watched the children to see what they did, and then knelt at his chair. We called on our oldest daughter, who was then probably eight or nine years of age, to lead the prayer. She is now the mother of five children, the wife of a stake president. Barbara offered a sweet, lovely prayer, and then she added, “And Heavenly Father, bless Judge Miller that he will enjoy his visit with us and return safely to his hotel.” That was all.

We drove the judge down to his hotel. Nothing was said of the incident.

About six months later this man was host to some 25 or 30 industrial, business, labor, and agricultural leaders at his winter home in Florida. After the dinner they were seated in the large living room talking about problems facing the nation, and as often happens-more often I think than we realize—the subject turned to things of the spirit—to religion. And then John D. Miller, this fine Christian gentleman, not a member of the Church, told of this little incident that had happened in our home—this simple thing of family prayer. And he said, “Gentlemen, I went to my hotel that night feeling that I had not fully measured up as a father. We had never had devotion in our home with my children.” And then he went on to tell of the power he felt must be in the lives of children reared in a home where there is spirituality.

We take it for granted as Latter-day Saints. I presume we don’t think it’s anything particularly special.

The prophets counsel us to study the scriptures daily. So I decided to read my scriptures every night, remembering my Sunday School teachers who assured me I would feel closer to Heavenly Father if I did. Sadly, the only thing I found myself closer to was sleep! I was following the guidance of the prophets and still not feeling this “closeness” or really learning anything. I decided it was one of those things that come with age, like a fondness for liver and spinach. So I was content to continue with my nightly readings, convinced that one day all of the promised blessings would surface.
Finally, after continuing this ritual for several months, something did happen. It wasn’t a revelation, but a realization. I was reading the words on the page, but I wasn’t thinking about them. I was preoccupied with other things. The prophets don’t tell us to glance at or skim the scriptures; they tell us to study them. I guess I thought by having my scriptures open, I might learn something via some sixth sense.
I have continued my habit, but I’ve added a new twist. Now I think about what I read. I can’t believe all the time I’ve worried about problems when the answers were on the pages in front of me. There are so many beautiful stories and messages in the scriptures.
Now that I’ve finally learned to appreciate and gain knowledge from the scriptures, does that mean I’m finally getting old? Nah, I still don’t like liver and spinach.

A few years ago my rugby team participated in a weeklong tournament. This meant seven days away from home, parents, and Church leaders. Because we attend a Church school, everyone on my team was a member of the Church. Almost every evening that week, the other teams in our hotel would party in their rooms with loud music, dancing, drinking, smoking, and screaming harsh words at each other. Our team gathered in a room for our tradition of scripture study and evening devotionals. It felt good to do the right thing without being instructed by our parents. After the other teams observed us with surprise, we gained their respect. They were silent when they knew we were having evening devotionals. They seemed to be interested in what we were doing, and some even joined with us to read the scriptures and pray together.
We didn’t win the tournament that week, but we won in another way. We were able to shine our light, and through our examples, change hearts and minds.
Elisara E., 20, Samoa

About 15 miles north of Elko, Nevada, is a stretch of highway dotted with signs warning motorists not to pick up hitchhikers because of a prison facility nearby. To four college students traveling from Provo, Utah, to San Francisco, these signs were a bit unsettling. My roommates and I were certainly glad to cruise by them on our way to California’s Bay Area for Thanksgiving weekend. We didn’t think twice about the signs until four days later on our way back to Provo. It was then that our car suddenly stopped precisely 10 yards north of one of those ominous blue signs.
Our first instincts were to flag down another car and ask for a ride back to Elko. But images of escaped convicts kept us locked inside the car. It was four in the afternoon, it was snowing, and it would definitely be dark and very cold within the hour. We needed help fast but were too afraid to even get out of the car. We offered a short prayer, and 30 minutes later a man driving a snowplow stopped and radioed the police for us. A young officer piled us into his car, called a tow truck, and dropped us off at a motel in Elko.
We soon got over our fears and realized how blessed we were to get off the highway unharmed and be in a safe, warm motel room. Our only problem now was getting back to Provo. Each of us dialed home collect, expecting that our parents would wire money for bus tickets or a rental car. We were surprised when each set of parents immediately offered to drive to Elko and get us.
Even for the closest set of parents, this meant a three-hour drive to Elko and a four-hour drive back to Provo. It meant disrupting work schedules and finding baby-sitters for the other children. Eventually we decided that it would be best for Jenni’s mom and grandpa to drive down to get us. Relieved, we went to bed and expected to see Jenni’s mom by noon the next day.
Things didn’t go quite as planned. Overnight the snow storm had worsened, and the roads were terrible. Despite leaving Salt Lake City at 10:00 A.M., Jenni’s mom didn’t get to us until four that afternoon. The roads back were equally icy, and a typically four-hour drive took six hours. Still, Jenni’s mom and grandpa never uttered a word of complaint during the entire drive home. They were only happy to help and grateful that we would be home soon.
Unfortunately, our earthly parents are not always at the other end of the line when we call. Many parents cannot or will not answer their children’s cries. As I rode home from Elko in the safe confines of a warm van, I realized just how much my parents love me. Even more, I knew that my Heavenly Father would always help me. He does so without complaint, for He is happy just to know that I am on my way home and will soon be safe in His arms.

I’ve loved baseball my entire life. Toward the end of high school, I was recruited to play for a college in Texas, USA. I wanted to serve a mission but felt that this opportunity was too good to pass up and that a mission would need to wait a year.
On a weekend visit to the college, I woke up early Sunday morning with a strong prompting that I needed to attend my home ward three hours away. I did so, and one of the sacrament meeting speakers that afternoon talked about personal revelation. I felt these words were meant for me. Then in Sunday School we discussed the importance of serving a mission, and the Spirit testified to me that I should defer my scholarship because if I went to college now, I’d never serve a mission. I went directly to tell my bishop, “I need to serve a mission, and I need to go now.”
At home I emailed the baseball coach, sharing my testimony and my desire to be a missionary. Minutes later, he called me and said, “I’ve never seen a young man put God first like this. You have earned my respect today. You go serve. I’ll have a spot for you on the team when you return.”
Peace filled me, and I knew that Heavenly Father was helping me. I have a testimony of the blessings that come when we put the Lord first and choose Him over the world—and baseball.

While living in the East some years ago, I read of an experience that took place on the floor of the United States Senate. As I recall, a debate was taking place. The leader of the debate in one party was Senator Hubert Humphrey of Minnesota. The floor leader for the other party was Senator Margaret Chase Smith of Maine. As time went on, it was clear that Senator Humphrey’s party would win.
On the morning of the vote, Senator Humphrey went out to his garden and cut some red roses. When Margaret Chase Smith arrived at her desk on the senate floor that morning, there was the bouquet of roses. This, of course, did not change Senator Smith’s mind concerning the issues, but it was a gesture of respect and appreciation.

As the branch in Soweto grew stronger and larger, branches were started in other townships using the same model. Khumbulani Mdletshe was a young man living in the KwaMashu township near Durban. When he joined the Church in 1980, he brought with him suspicions of white people common to almost all young black men in South Africa at that time. But his experiences worshipping in an integrated branch changed his perspective.
In 1982, Khumbulani and several other young men in his branch were invited to attend a young single adult conference. His branch president, a white brother named John Mountford, wanted the young men to look their best, though few of them had nice clothing. He emptied his closet, distributing suits to the young men, who wore them to the conference. The next Sunday, President Mountford wore the suit he had loaned to Khumbulani. “I could not imagine a white person wearing the same clothes that have been worn by me,” Khumbulani recalled, “but there he was. He began to help me see white people differently than I’ve ever seen them before.”
Now an Area Seventy, Elder Mdletshe observed, “We all needed these lived experiences that caused us to change.”

To make matters worse, in July 1866, a serious cholera epidemic reached England from the continent of Europe. London was hardest hit. Fifty-six hundred people died there in a matter of days.
The sight of hundreds of abandoned children roaming the streets, their parents having been victims of the epidemic, helped Thomas John Barnardo decide to establish homes for children who had no one to care for them and no place to live.

Gabriel loved learning about Jesus. He loved hearing stories from the scriptures. His family read the scriptures together every night.
One rainy night they snuggled together in their warm home. Papa said a prayer. Then Mama read stories from the Book of Mormon. Gabriel tried to listen very carefully. Mama read about Jesus talking to children.
“Mama, the children were with Jesus?” Gabriel asked.
“That’s right,” she said. “And He blessed each of them and prayed for them.”
Gabriel felt a new feeling inside. He did not know what it was. He felt warm even though it was chilly outside. He smiled big.
Gabriel wanted to share this special feeling. “I feel so happy and warm!” he said. He was so happy that he almost felt like crying!
“That special feeling is the Holy Ghost,” Papa told him. “He gives you a warm feeling to help you know that the scriptures are true.”
Mama smiled and hugged Gabriel. “That feeling tells you that Jesus loves you.”
“Jesus blesses me,” Gabriel said. “Just like the children in the Book of Mormon! He sent the Holy Ghost to me!”
He couldn’t stop smiling. “I know the scriptures are true,” he thought. “The Holy Ghost told me!”

In the fall of 1911, Alma Richards returned to Brigham Young University with the goal of going to the 1912 Olympic Games in Stockholm, Sweden. Alma was a twenty-one-year-old high jumper from Parowan, a small town in southern Utah. Before going to BYU the previous year, he had known next to nothing about the Olympics. Then his coach told him he had a shot at competing in the games.
“If you will train consistently for a year and a half,” he said, “you will make the team.”1
At first, Alma thought his coach was joking. He was naturally athletic, but he was taller and heavier than most high jumpers. And he did not have much experience or training in the sport. Rather than scissor kicking or rolling his body horizontally over the high jump bar, as most jumpers did, he would launch himself awkwardly into the air, curling up in a ball as he flew.
But he put his coach’s words to the test. He trained regularly and began excelling in local athletic competitions.2
His desire to excel in his sport led him to keep the Word of Wisdom at a time when the principle was encouraged but not strictly required in the Church. In abstaining from alcohol and tobacco, he trusted the Lord’s promise that those who followed the Word of Wisdom would “run and not be weary” and “walk and not faint.”3
In the spring of 1912, his coach told Alma that he was ready for the Olympic tryouts. “You are one of the fifteen best high jumpers in the world,” he said, “and one of the seven best in the United States.”
Alma Richards stands in the Stockholm stadium at the 1912 Olympic Games.
Alma Richards’s eyes hurt as he peered at the high jump bar. It was the third day of the 1912 Olympics. The sun over Stockholm’s new brown-brick stadium was unbearably bright, irritating an eye infection that had plagued Alma for weeks. When he was not jumping, he wore an old, droopy hat to shade his eyes. But now that his turn had come again, he stepped to the side of the field and tossed his hat into the grass.4
As Alma prepared to jump, his mind raced. There he was, representing his country at the greatest athletic competition in the world. Yet he felt weak, as if the whole world were resting on his shoulders. He thought of Utah, his family, and his hometown. He thought of BYU and the Saints. Bowing his head, he silently asked God to give him strength. “If it is right that I should win,” he prayed, “I will do my best to set a good example all the days of my life.”5
Raising his head, he felt his weakness slip away. He threw his shoulders back, walked up to the starting line, and crouched into position. He then skipped forward in a burst of energy and leapt into the air, tucking his knees beneath his chin. His body barreled forward and sailed over the bar with inches to spare.
After returning from the 1912 Olympic Games in Stockholm, Sweden, Alma Richards was honored in a parade.
On the sidelines, Hans Liesche suddenly looked nervous as he warmed up for his jump. Alma ran in circles to keep his legs limber. If Hans cleared the bar, as Alma was sure he would, the bar would be raised even higher, and Alma would have to jump again.
When Hans launched into his first jump, he fell on the bar and sent it crashing to the ground. Frustrated, he returned to the field and made a second jump. Once again, he knocked the bar off its pegs.
Alma could see that his competitor was losing composure. Just as Hans squared up for his final attempt, a pistol fired nearby, signaling the start of a race. Hans waited for the runners to cross the finish line and then prepared to jump. Before he could, though, a band began playing, and he refused to start. Finally, after nine minutes, an official prodded him to hurry along. With nothing left to do but jump, Hans bounded forward and threw himself into the air.
Once again, he failed to clear the bar.6
Joy washed over Alma. The competition was over. He had won the gold medal and set an Olympic record. Hans came over and heartily congratulated him. Others soon joined in the praise. “You have put Utah on the map,” one man said.
James Sullivan, an official on the American Olympic team, was especially impressed with Alma’s coolness under pressure and wholesome lifestyle. “I wish we had a hundred clean fellows like you on our team,” he said.7
Within days, newspapers across the United States praised Alma’s victory, crediting his success in part to his religion. “They call the winner of the great jump ‘the Mormon giant,’ and he deserves the title,” one reporter wrote. “He is a self-made athlete, and his winning of world renown comes after years of endeavor and a determination inherited from the men who established the Mormon religion and made the desert blossom.”8
One of Alma’s friends, meanwhile, teased him about praying before his winning jump. “I wish you wouldn’t laugh,” Alma quietly responded. “I prayed to the Lord to give me strength to go over that bar, and I went over.”9