Gospel Story Finder

For the last few years, I knew that God was prompting me to step away from social media. I knew that breaks from social media were great for me, but I also knew that I enjoyed the community that I found there. I didn’t know how to reconcile these two things; I just knew that something had to change.
I read a book that caused me to ponder the question, “How much time on social media is the right amount to provide the benefit of the community, without all the negative influences?” For me, the answer to this question was about 20 minutes … a month. I set a goal to make this happen, and with the help of the Lord, it was easier than I thought. The thing I didn’t expect was how much this change would strengthen my relationship with my Savior. I came to better feel the love that the Savior has for me; I have come to understand more clearly the plan He has for me; and I have come to see the needs of the people around me more clearly.
I have always known that I am a child of God and that He loves me. I have felt the love of my Savior during difficult times in my life. But too often I was letting social media dictate how I saw and thought of myself. As much as I tried to convince myself that the idealistic images on social media didn’t affect me, it turns out they did. Decreasing my time on social media allowed me the mental peace and quiet that I needed to hear the Savior telling me how He felt about me. I didn’t realize how much I had missed hearing His voice until I created more space for Him to be there.
I have always believed in the plan of salvation. I know that Jesus Christ is central to that plan. But I also believe that Heavenly Father has a plan for each of us individually. Larry M. Gibson, former First Counselor in the Young Men General Presidency, taught, “I know that Heavenly Father is concerned about each of us individually and has a personal plan for us to achieve our eternal destiny.”1
I spent a lot of time scrolling to try and figure out what my purpose was. Being on social media gave me a front row seat to all the creative, wonderful things people were doing. I learned a lot from these people, but I spent a lot more time seeking than doing. Since stepping away from social media, I have felt guided to know specifically what Heavenly Father would have me do. Many of these things have been surprising and different from what I thought they would be, but they have made my life richer and more abundant.
The Savior came so that we might have life and that we might have it more abundantly (see John 10:10). I’m grateful for the nudges that the Holy Ghost gives to us to help us have a more abundant life.
The Savior saw those who escaped others’ notice. I love reading stories about Him ministering to such people and teaching them their worth. Spending too much time on social media hindered me from really seeing people in my own life, including my family. I realized that if my children weren’t feeling seen by me, then they would soon be looking to outside sources to validate their worth.
I have been amazed at the love that I have for my children as I have been more present with them. I have loved my role as a mother more this last year than ever before. I have gotten to know neighbors and have been more active in my community. My opportunities for service have increased. I thought that social media was helping me to be more aware, but in reality I wasn’t living in the moment enough to really see the needs of those around me.
Decreasing my social media use seemed like a small and simple thing, but it has allowed me to greatly increase my faith and improve my relationship with my Savior. I know that Heavenly Father loves us, has a plan for us, and has children who need to feel seen by us too.
The author lives in New York, USA.

I recently heard a missionary in the Ghana Accra Missionary Training Center share a story from his childhood. When he was about nine years old, he and a group of his friends came to the market and saw someone selling groundnuts. He and his friends were hungry. So, they decided to walk, one at a time, by the place where the man was selling groundnuts and take some while he was not looking. The missionary watched his friends, one by one, walk by the groundnuts and put some into their pockets without paying for them. When it was his turn, he heard a voice speak in his mind: “You should not do this. It is wrong.” He looked around and did not see anyone, so he walked over to the mound of groundnuts, only to hear the Spirit again say: “You should not do this. It is wrong.” He decided to not take any groundnuts; instead, he just walked away. When his friends asked him why he did not take any, he repeated what the voice had told him: it was wrong.

By choosing that day to listen to the Holy Ghost and follow the law of the Lord as a boy, he grew closer to God and became a little more like the Lord. In contrast, his friends were diminished by their unrighteous choice and distanced themselves from God. The only way to grow, draw close to God, and increase our capacity is to choose to follow Him and His laws and to repent when we have made a wrong choice.

If we do not quickly repent, one wrong choice usually leads to another, and those who walk that path gradually diminish their desire and capacity to choose the right and distance themselves from God and His power. Happily, the converse is true: one good choice often leads to another, drawing us closer to God and His power. Because the missionary chose as a boy to not take the groundnuts, it led to other good choices. As he made one good choice after another, he continued to grow through the years step by step, here little, there a little, until he was prepared to become a strong missionary.

Ida Jensen walked into Marion Romney’s life when his father hired her to teach at Ricks Academy. She didn’t see Marion that first day she went to the Romney home—he was sitting in another room, sick with the flu. But he certainly noticed her: “I saw her with her golden hair and her smiling face. I have never seen any girl since that time that I cared about.” (Church News, 15 Dec. 1973, p. 5.) They were married six years later—on 12 September 1924 in the Salt Lake Temple—after his mission and more schooling for both of them. She was the valedictorian of her graduating class at BYU.
“My wife has been a support and guidance all through my life,” President Romney said before her death, “and when I have been discouraged, she has made me feel that she had the confidence that I could succeed, and so I have kept going.” (Church News, 15 July 1972, p. 7.)
Although money was scarce during those first years of marriage, they continued their courtship, frequently spending the evening at the Salt Lake Theater. Sometimes, however, they couldn’t afford to buy two tickets together, and they seldom had money for bus fare.
“We laugh a lot together,” Sister Romney said in 1975. “He’s my dessert in life.” (New Era, June 1975, p. 19.)
The Romneys’ courtship lasted throughout their fifty-five years of marriage. A few days after her death in 1979, he said: “When Ida died, something went out of me.” At the graveside service, he told Elder James E. Faust: “Be good to your wife. Take her with you everywhere you can.” (Tambuli, June 1973.)
As a young couple, Marion and Ida had endured great heartache. Their first two children died in infancy. But faith softened their sorrow—and a promise, given in a blessing when Marion became a General Authority, gave them reassurance: “Blessed are you because of your faith in my work. Behold, you have had many afflictions … nevertheless I will bless you and your family, yea, your little ones, and the day cometh that they will believe and know the truth and be one with you in the Church.” (As quoted in Ensign, Nov. 1972, p. 27.)
They were blessed with two other sons, Richard J. now of Winters, California, and George J. of Salt Lake City, and they have eight grandchildren and nine great-grandchildren. George’s wife, Joanne, speaks of her father-in-law as “a kind and loving man who always treats me like a daughter.”
Sister Romney tells of the fun times they have had together. For years President Romney would put on a Santa Claus beard every Christmas and hand out presents. And since Ida didn’t want Christmas to end, they always had the grandchildren come back on New Year’s Day for more presents. Each year they would rig up a “fishpond” where the children would pull strings and find prizes tied to the end. Grandpa Romney, on his hands and knees, did the tying.
The Romneys shared their love of the scriptures with their boys. On one occasion, when Elder Romney and one of his young sons were reading alternate verses in the Book of Mormon, he heard the child’s voice breaking and assumed he had a cold. After a while the boy asked his dad if he ever cried when he read the Book of Mormon.
“Yes, Son,” he answered. “Sometimes the Spirit of the Lord so witnesses to my soul that the Book of Mormon is true that I do cry.”
“Well,” the boy said, “that is what happened to me tonight.”
“I know not all of [your children] will respond like that,” he later said in general conference, “but I know that some of them will, and I tell you this book was given to us of God to read and to live by, and it will hold us as close to the Spirit of the Lord as anything I know. Won’t you please read it?” (In Conference Report, Apr. 1949, p. 41.)
Over the years, Brother and Sister Romney often had family home evening with their son George and his family, who lived only a few doors away. “We’d read scriptures together,” says Joanne. “You always learned something when you were in his presence and having a gospel discussion.”
Indeed, President Romney had much to share with his family and with the Church because of his own struggles to know and trust the Lord’s will. “During the early years of our married life,” he once said, “my wife and I intensely desired what we considered to be a particular blessing. We set about through fasting and prayer to obtain it. … But though we fasted often and prayed fervently, the years rolled by without bringing us the desired answer to our prayers. Finally, we concluded that we had not fully understood somehow—that we were concentrating our faith and prayers upon receiving the particular thing, which by predetermination we had set our hearts upon. … We had to learn to be as earnest in praying ‘if it be Thy will,’ as we were when presenting our personal desires and appeals. We have no need to fear that our well-being will not be served by such an attitude.” (Address delivered at Salt Lake Institute of Religion, 18 Oct. 1974, pp. 8–9.)

“Dad,” Ashley said to her father as she snuggled up to him on the couch and watched her favorite cartoon show, “Adam says you don’t like cartoons.”
“I like watching cartoons when I’m with you,” Dad told her.
“Then you do like cartoons?” the six-year-old girl asked.
“No, not really,” he confessed. “But sometimes you do things you don’t really like, because it makes someone you love happy.”
Ashley was happy with Dad’s explanation. She snuggled up closer, and they continued to watch cartoons.
Early the next morning, Ashley said to Adam, “Do you know why Dad watches cartoons even though he doesn’t like them? Because he loves me.”
“So does Chester!” joked Adam, holding his pet gerbil in front of Ashley’s face. “Here—give him a kiss!”
Ashley screamed, running to her mother’s arms.
“Stop teasing your sister,” Mom scolded Adam. “You know that she’s afraid of Chester.”
“Aw, he won’t hurt her,” Adam griped. “He’s as tame as a pussycat.”
“Speaking of pussycats,” Mom warned, “you had better watch out that Scratchy doesn’t get him. You left Chester’s cage door open—again.”
“Aw, that old cat couldn’t catch a cold.”
“Just remember to put Chester back into his cage—and make sure the door is closed.”
“OK.”
Later in the day, Adam burst into the living room as Ashley helped Mom dust the furniture.
“Guess what, Ashley? Dad loves me, too. He’s taking me to a soccer game. And he loves soccer, so we’ll really have a great time!”
Ashley kissed her father good-bye and frowned at her brother as they hooted and hollered out the front door on their way to the soccer game.
“That’s enough dusting,” Mom said. “I’m going to the basement to do the laundry. Why don’t you go to your room and play?”
Ashley slowly crept past Adam’s room, hoping she wouldn’t run into Chester on the loose. Her brother was becoming forgetful again. Three times last week he’d left Chester’s cage door open. And three times he had had to rescue his gerbil from Scratchy.
As she peeked into Adam’s room, she saw Scratchy pawing behind Chester’s cage. The old cat’s back was all hunched up. His hair was standing on end.
“What’s the matter, Scratchy?” Ashley asked. But the cat ignored her.
Ashley peeked behind the gerbil’s cage, then jumped back and screamed. It was Chester. He was out of his cage again. She shouted for her mother. But with the washer running, her mother couldn’t hear her cries.
Scratchy’s sharp claws were getting closer and closer to Chester. Chester was shaking and squeaking. Ashley didn’t know what to do.
“Shoo, shoo,” she said, chasing Scratchy out of her brother’s room.
Now she was alone with the gerbil in Adam’s room. Ashley leaned over the cage to look again. Chester was still there. Still shaking. Still squeaking.
Ashley was frightened. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes tightly, and reached behind the cage.
“I can’t do this!” she cried, pulling her hand back. “I just can’t stand the thought of touching Chester.”
Then she remembered her father’s words: “Sometimes you do things you don’t really like, because it makes someone you love happy.”
Adam would be happy if Chester were inside his cage, Ashley thought, and not inside Scratchy.
Once again she took a long, deep breath, closed her eyes tightly, and reached behind the cage. She felt Chester’s warm, soft body. But instead of pulling her hand back, she grasped the frightened gerbil and gently put him into his cage, slamming the door shut behind him.
Shaking a little, she lay on her brother’s bed and gave a big sigh of relief.
Moments, later, she heard her father and brother quarreling. That was a fast soccer game, she thought.
“Why are you in my room?” Adam demanded as he charged into his room.
Without waiting for an answer, Adam turned to Chester’s cage and turned to Dad, who was standing in the doorway. “See, Dad, we missed the soccer game for nothing. I didn’t forget to close the door to Chester’s cage.”
“Yes, you did!” Ashley exclaimed. “I put Chester back in his cage, and I closed the door!”
“But I thought you were afraid of Chester. I thought you didn’t like him.”
“I am afraid of him. And I don’t like him. But”—she looked her brother in the eye and smiled—“I do love you, Adam.”

Sophie didn’t feel good as she sat down for breakfast on Sunday morning.
Sophie, I’m sorry. You are too sick to go to church today.
Sophie started to cry.
But I want to go to Primary.
Maybe we can do something special at home.
Sophie was sad. She went to her room and covered her face with her blanket. Then she got an idea.
Maybe we can have pretend Primary at home today.
As Sophie’s brothers got ready for church, Sophie put on her own Sunday clothes. She also dressed her dolls and stuffed animals in pretty dresses so they could come to pretend Primary too.
After the rest of the family left for church, Sophie and Mom made the living room into a pretend Primary room. Sophie taped pictures of Jesus to the wall and got the Children’s Songbook from the bookshelf. She also got out crayons and scriptures.
Sophie sat on the couch with her dolls and stuffed animals. Mom said an opening prayer. Then Sophie and Mom sang “I Am a Child of God” and “I Love to See the Temple.”
Sophie was happy during pretend Primary. Even her dolls and stuffed animals sat still.
After pretend Primary was over, Mom laid Sophie in her bed for a nap.
Thanks for doing a pretend Primary with me. But I can’t wait to go to real Primary next week!

1. Notice that Rachel describes specifics from before the priesthood blessing; this will be important to show the contrast of the healing after the blessing.
“When I was young, I had an expander (an orthodontic appliance) in the top of my mouth. One day I developed an infection and my gums swelled up around it. I was in terrible pain, and neither the dentist nor the orthodontist knew what was wrong or how to fix it. All they could do while they tried to figure it out was to give me pain medicine. I stayed home sick from school and spent most of the time sleeping. Every time the medicine wore off, I woke up in pain and cried until the next dose of medicine kicked in.1
2. If you were speaking with nonmembers, you’d want to tell a little more about what priesthood and home teacher mean.
“My mom asked my dad (a priesthood holder) to call one of our home teachers.2 He came over and helped my father give me a healing blessing. After the blessing, the pain never woke me up from sleep again. The swelling went down and I was able to stop taking the pain medicine. When I went back to the dentist, he was astonished and still couldn’t understand what had been wrong or how it healed. He was a member of our stake, so my mom told him I’d had a priesthood blessing, and then he understood why I was better.3
3. She shares how she was healed by priesthood power. Notice how she explains that her recovery puzzled the dentist. This demonstrates that her healing was a result of the blessing and a gift from our Heavenly Father.
“Ever since that experience, I’ve had a strong testimony of the true power of the priesthood. Whenever my testimony gets a little shaky, I can look back on this experience and remember what a real miracle it was. I know the Lord loves me and that it was His power that made me better.”4
4. She concludes her story by sharing a simple but powerful testimony.
Rachel M., Utah, USA

I went to an FSY conference at a hotel right after the pandemic restrictions ended. Many youth were visibly affected by the pandemic and dealing with spiritual and mental issues. It seemed we were facing one of the greatest spiritual battles I’ve ever lived through. I had never felt so devastated.
Early in the week when I entered the room we were staying in, some boys were talking and laughing about some things that negatively affected me. I thought, “This isn’t right.” I felt I should ask them to speak more quietly. However, when I tried to speak up, they mocked me and threw socks at me.
In that moment, I took a deep breath and asked myself, “What would the Savior do?” After reflecting, I picked up a sock that had been thrown at me, returned it, and said, “Look, this isn’t right. Please speak more quietly. Maybe let’s do something else.”
If someone else feels offended or bullied like I did, I would say, “Think celestial.” President Russell M. Nelson has invited us to be peacemakers. Being a peacemaker is essential, especially in difficult times.
This experience taught me about the importance of compassion and loving my neighbor. Tthat lesson will remain in my heart.

On November 7, 1843, Joseph recorded that: “Mr. [Joseph M.] Cole moved the tables back into the hall, when [Willard] Richards and [William W.] Phelps called to report that the noise in the school disturbed them in the progress of writing the History. I gave orders that Cole must look out for another place, as the history must continue, and not be disturbed, as there were but few subjects that I have felt a greater anxiety about than my history, which has been a very difficult task, on account of the death of my best clerks, and the apostasy of others” (History of the Church, 6:66).

I used to attend a school where it was hard to be a Latter-day Saint. The LDS students were a minority, and not many of the other students shared our standards. It seemed especially frustrating for me because my parents divorced during my first year of high school.
My family was divided. We fought all the time. My parents couldn’t say anything kind about each other, and they discouraged me from attending church. Our home was full of conflict.
During that time, life was pretty confusing for me. I guess that’s when I really discovered the scriptures. My family wasn’t supportive of my scripture reading. Even my mother used to tell me it was a waste of time. But in the Book of Mormon I found someone else who had to deal with family problems—and reading of his experiences gave me strength to deal with my own.
Nephi’s father, Lehi, often had to counsel Nephi’s older brothers, Laman and Lemuel, “because of [their] stiffneckedness … ; for behold they did murmur in many things against their father” (1 Ne. 2:11).
“And it came to pass that Laman was angry with me, and also with my father,” wrote Nephi; “and also was Lemuel, for he hearkened unto the words of Laman. Wherefore Laman and Lemuel did speak many hard words unto us, their younger brothers, and they did smite us even with a rod” (1 Ne. 3:28).
I tried to set a good example for my family. I went to church, attended Mutual, and prayed regularly. I even invited my mom to get active in the Church again.
Nephi also tried to set a good example and encouraged his brothers to return to the Lord: “And now I, Nephi, … spake unto them, saying, … Behold ye are mine elder brethren, and how is it that ye are so hard in your hearts, and so blind in your minds, that ye have need that I, your younger brother, should speak unto you, yea, and set an example for you?
“How is it that ye have not hearkened unto the word of the Lord?” (1 Ne. 7:8–9).
Sometimes, in private, I cried. Sometimes I prayed for my family. Always I felt lonely.
Again, I knew Nephi had experienced similar feelings: “Behold, Laman and Lemuel would not hearken unto my words; and being grieved because of the hardness of their hearts I cried unto the Lord for them” (1 Ne. 2:18).
When I was sad, I knew Nephi had known sadness. When I was discouraged, I knew Nephi had known discouragement. When I was lonely, I knew Nephi had known loneliness.
No, my story doesn’t have a nice, neat ending. I wish I could say we all lived “happily ever after,” but that hasn’t happened yet. My home is still unhappy. But Heavenly Father has given me the scriptures, and I know He understands exactly what it is like for me at home. Although the conflict hasn’t stopped, at least I have found comfort and peace and ways to cope.
Nephi said: “I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them” (1 Ne. 3:7).
Just as Nephi knew the Lord would help him accomplish anything he was commanded to do, I know Heavenly Father will continue to strengthen and support me as I struggle to deal with a troubled earthly home. The scriptures are my lifeline to my heavenly home.

Trying to be a good example at all times is important to Aubrey, because “people are watching us all the time,” she says. “They notice that we have different standards from theirs. A boy in my biology class would always refer to me as ‘the Mormon.’ Then one time he said, ‘Aubrey, you’re always so happy all the time. It’s different.’ In band I’m nicknamed the ‘Mormon baritone’ because I’m the only Church member in my section. The others sometimes stop cussing when I’m with them, and sometimes they stop because I ask them to. But people are watching you all the time.”

Jaanus Silla was in his last year in high school in Harjumaa, Estonia, when he started thinking seriously about religion.
Although he lived in a country that frowned upon worship, Jaanus still knew a few things. His mother, a divorcee, had taught him to believe in God. Sometimes, when he was younger, they had attended a Christian church at Christmas, after trimming their tree with candles and waiting for Jôuluvana, the Estonian Santa Claus.
Recently, while trying to decide about his future, Jaanus had even prayed for the first time. He remembered the prayer, short but sincere:
“Father in Heaven, if you exist, then help me.”
He finished high school and went to work in a photo studio, developing film and studying photography while his search for spiritual truth continued. Meanwhile, the tremor of political change had begun to softly shake Estonian life. People began to question the government openly for the first time.
One evening Jaanus and some friends carried the Estonian flag, fluttering over their shoulders, on the way to a patriotic song party. Enraged police saw the flag and chased them down. When they caught them, the police grabbed the flag and ripped it, but Jaanus and his friends were only reprimanded. This treatment by the police was a big change for the better.
“There is a special feeling in Estonia,” Jaanus later explained in an excited voice to his mother. “People are patriotic. We all feel this new warmth and happiness.”

Sybil heaved a sigh of relief as she tucked her youngest brother between the clean homespun sheets and kissed him good night. As the oldest of eight children, she worked hard helping her mother care for the little ones. Usually she enjoyed getting them ready for bed, but tonight Sybil was bored. She paced back and forth before the open door of their home in Fredericksburg, New York.
“What’s the matter, Sybil?” her father asked, looking up from his work at his cluttered desk. “You seem restless.”
“I don’t know, Father,” she answered truthfully, “I just have a feeling … I want to do something—something important for a change.”
Her father smiled. “Spring fever,” he consoled her. “You’re a young girl, and you’re impatient. That’s understandable. And as for doing something important, why don’t you go help your mother with the mending?”
“I don’t want to do mending. I’m always doing mending. And besides, Father, I’m not a young girl. Mother was already married to you at fifteen, and I’m sixteen!”
Colonel Ludington smiled again sympathetically and turned back to his work. When Sybil was in one of her headstrong moods, it was hard for her to patiently do ordinary, but needed, tasks.
Suddenly they were both startled by the sound of pounding hooves in the cool spring night. Seconds later an exhausted messenger burst through the door, dripping with perspiration and barely able to stand. Sybil could see his lathered horse tethered outside.
“The British!” the man gasped. “They’re raiding Danbury! They’re burning the town and sacking our supply center. The Continentals can’t hold out. You’ve got to muster your militia, Colonel, and drive the British back!”
Colonel Ludington leaped to his feet. Rural New York was sparsely settled in 1777, and his volunteer militiamen were scattered in farms and villages over a wide area. Someone would have to rouse the men and tell them to meet at the Ludington home prepared to defend their young country against the British. But who could go? This messenger and his horse were too tired to go any farther, Colonel Ludington knew, and he himself had to remain to organize the men as they gathered there.
“Father, I’m going to go,” Sybil spoke up determinedly.
The messenger looked at her in surprise as her father sputtered, “Y-You? I won’t allow it! It’s late, and the roads are narrow and dangerous.”
Sybil’s eyes flashed as she grabbed her coat and declared, “I can do it, Father. Star is a good horse, and I know the way. My country needs me.”
There was little time for argument. Colonel Ludington looked hard at his oldest child and said softly, “All right, Sybil”—she was halfway to the barn to saddle Star before he could finish the sentence—“but be careful!”
Grabbing a stick to pound on the doors of the sleeping soldiers, she was off. The night was dark, and a chilly breeze whipped through her hair as she and Star sped on their desperate mission. As the girl passed each militiaman’s house, she pounded on the door with her stick and shouted, “Wake up! The British are burning Danbury! Go to the colonel’s prepared to fight!”
Sybil stayed only long enough at each house to insure that the militiaman was awake. Then she was gone.
She rode to Carmel, past Mahopac Falls, over the treacherous rocky path to Kent Cliffs. At times the moon’s faint light was obscured by drifting clouds, and the path was plunged into eerie darkness. Once Star tripped on an outcropping of rock and fell to his knees, but Sybil clung to the saddle and urged him up and onward through the night. Finally a very weary Sybil reached the last tiny settlement, Stormville, and rapped with her stick on the doors there.
Her job was finished.
Star was limping as they returned to the brightly lit Ludington home, and Sybil was slumped in the saddle with fatigue. The courageous ride had taken hours. The first gauzy rays of the sun were just visible over the horizon as she groomed the exhausted horse and brought it fresh water and feed.
“You did a fine job, Star,” she praised him before she went into the house.
Most of the volunteer militiamen were already there, and the small parlor was strewn with muskets and horns and flasks of gunpowder. Sybil caught her father’s eye, and the room became silent.
“This young woman,” Colonel Ludington said, his eyes shining with pride, “has proven herself a patriot!”
The soldiers stood in a silent tribute to the courage and gallantry Sybil had shown by calling them out in the dead of the night.
Colonel Ludington’s forces were able to join General Wooster at Ridgefield, a town near Danbury, in time to drive the British back to their ships in Long Island Sound. Sybil’s “spring fever” had brought success to the Continental Army. A statue of her astride Star stands by Gleneida Lake in Carmel, New York, not far from the very path she rode on that desperate night over two hundred years ago.

As we stood in the beautiful temple baptistry, one of these guests asked an intriguing question. He said something like this: “In our tribal traditions, our ancestors are so important to us—how is it that you connect your families together through the generations?” It was a beautiful teaching moment as we then shared how in a gift of love and service, many faithful members of the Church perform vital ordinances, such as baptisms, on behalf of loved ones who have died. We then took him to the sealing room where we showed him the altar where families are united for the eternities and had him look into the mirrors which face one another—symbolic of the eternal links made between past and future generations.
This good man had many follow up questions and left the temple deeply affected by what he had seen and felt. He eagerly took a copy of the My Family booklet so he could collect names and stories of his own ancestors. With great sincerity he expressed gratitude for being in the temple and left with a new understanding of God’s plan for eternal families and the importance of sacred temples in that plan.

I am conscious, my brethren and sisters, that concluding this meeting will be President Kimball. Prior to the meeting I told him that I had three talks of varying lengths prepared. During the singing I received a note from him asking that I use the longest version.
I was reminded of an experience we had in Colorado when we were reorganizing a stake. The meeting was nearly over, there were about ten minutes left, and neither of us had spoken. The stake president announced me. President Kimball leaned over and said, “Please, you take all of the time.”
I bore a one-minute testimony and returned to my seat. As the stake president was announcing President Kimball, I noticed him writing a note. As he stood, he handed it to me. On it were five words, “Obedience is better than sacrifice.” And so, obediently, I proceed.

Fan Hsieh was born 23 August 1922 in Tayeh, China, an isolated farming community. He did not begin formal education until he was ten years old. After four years in a private school, he enrolled in a Catholic school, began to learn about Jesus Christ, and was baptized a Catholic. “I saw the example of many good Catholic missionaries,” he says, “and I thought maybe China needed more of them to teach the people about Jesus Christ. I decided to become a priest.”

It is entirely possible that 99 percent of the population of the United States dreads the jolting buzz of the alarm clock. But piano lessons make the alarm obsolete. For example, just the other morning while sleeping as soundly as Cinderella in a feather bed, my conscience began mumbling: “5:00 A.M. … piano lesson … self-discipline … out of bed … 5:00 A.M.”
“Quiet!” I yelled.
Hearing my own voice woke me. Since I was awake anyway, I decided to get out of bed and practice. I perched myself on the piano bench. First came the scales. C major. One-two-three-four—up and down the piano endlessly. The repetition tended to hypnotize me; my head dropped.
At breakfast, over strawberries and muffins, my little brother complained that he had been awakened at 5:00 A.M. by a C major scale. My mother told me she didn’t mind if I practiced, as long as I didn’t wake the family and then quit. I explained that I had merely dozed off in the middle of a scale. At this point my father added a gem of advice: “JoAnn,” he said, “discipline yourself to eat right and be in bed before 9:00, and you will be alert and awake at the piano.” I quickly ate another strawberry.

Elise wanted to dress up. She put on Dad’s shoes and a fake red nose.
I’m a funny clown.
Elise ran back to her room. She put on a yellow construction hat and grabbed a plastic hammer.
Elise hammered the floor before she ran back to her room.
I’m a strong builder.
Elise put on a glittery purple and silver gown and twirled out of her room.
Elise liked being a princess. She stayed dressed in her gown for the rest of the day.
I’m a beautiful princess.
At bedtime Elise changed into her favorite green pajamas. She walked out of her room and sat on Mom’s lap.
Who are you?
I am Elise. I am a child of God.

My dad announced a “pet peeve” night. During family home evening, each member of the family writes down things that other members of the family do that bother him without mentioning any names. Dad reads them out loud. We all try to stop doing the things that bother other members of the family. We had so much fun with it, we have a “pet peeve” night about three times a year.
Mitch Alley, 15Spokane, Washington

Perhaps a real-life situation will help. It’s Friday night; you’re 17, and life is beautiful. You’ve promised Karen’s father you’ll have her home by midnight, and now it’s 15 to 12. You don’t want to go home. But for some reason, maybe because you promised, you decide to go. You discover that not only does Karen’s father trust you more, but you trust yourself. The promise is more important than the extra half hour.

When I was a deacon, my family moved to a new home in a different ward. I was beginning junior high school, so I also attended a new school. There was a marvelous group of young men in the deacons quorum. Most of their parents were active members. My mother was completely active; my father was exceptional in every way but was not an active member.
The second counselor in the bishopric, Brother Dean Eyre, was a devoted leader. When I was still adjusting to the new ward, a father-son event was announced for Bear Lake—about 40 miles (65 km) away. I did not think I would attend without my father. But Brother Eyre issued a special invitation for me to go with him. He spoke highly and respectfully of my father and stressed the significance of my opportunity to be with the other members of the deacons quorum. So I decided to go with Brother Eyre, and I had a wonderful experience.
Brother Eyre was a marvelous example of Christlike love in fulfilling the bishopric’s responsibility to support parents in watching over and nurturing the youth. He gave me an excellent start in this new ward and was a mentor to me.