Gospel Story Finder

Jesse W. Crosby related an experience he had one day in Nauvoo when he took a woman to see the Prophet Joseph Smith. When she complained that someone was telling untruths about her, the Prophet “offered her his method of dealing with such cases for himself. When an enemy had told a scandalous story about him, which had often been done, before he rendered judgment he paused and let his mind run back to the time and place and setting of the story to see if he had not by some unguarded word or act laid the block on which the story was built. If he found that he had done so, he said that then in his heart he then forgave his enemy, and felt thankful that he had received warning of a weakness that he had not known he possessed. Then he said to the sister that he would have her to do the same: search her memory thoroughly and see if she had not herself all unconsciously laid the foundation for the scandal that annoyed her.”
The sister “thought deeply for a few moments and then confessed that she believed that she had. Then the Prophet told her that in her heart she could forgive that brother who had risked his own good name and her friendship to give her this clearer view of herself. The sister … thanked her advisor and went away in peace.” (In “Stories from Notebook of Martha Cox, Grandmother of Fern Cox Anderson,” typescript, Church Archives.)

When Robb Thomas, a 14-year-old teacher in the Bangor Ward, Augusta Maine Stake, decided to start a genealogy club in his school, Garland Street Junior High, he got a lot more than he bargained for. The club rapidly became one of the more popular clubs in the school.
“It was hard at first, because a lot of people didn’t understand the word genealogy, and they wanted to make fun of it,” Robb said. But when the club started bringing in films and guest speakers and taking trips to the state archives, interest grew quickly.
“One of the fellows who made fun of the club to begin with eventually ended up joining,” Robb said.
Other students now share an interest in discovering their ancestry. “It’s something I didn’t have before,” said 15-year-old Mary England, a member of the club. “I discovered my great-aunt had worked on tracing a family tree, but her records were misplaced.”
“I went to my grandmother, and she talked about my great-grandparents—who they were, and where they were born. I used that as a starting point,” said Holly Sands, 15, another member of the club.
Robb worked with the student council to obtain permission for forming the club, which meant finding a supervisor, making a presentation to the student council, and convincing the council to vote in favor of his proposal. “Robbie got the ball rolling, and then we got in and pushed beside him,” Holly said. A bake sale was used to generate finances.
Robb says he’s had a lot of opportunities to explain Church beliefs because of his work with the club. “Some people in the club asked me informally to make a presentation to them about temples and why we have them,” he said. “I showed them pictures of the interior rooms and the outsides of several temples, and we talked about baptism for the dead, endowments, and why genealogy is so important. We talked about temple marriage, too.”
Robb also spends a lot of time at the public library doing research and thinks about a career in genealogy. “I get a lot of help and encouragement from people in the ward, from missionaries, and from my parents,” Robb said. “I have some relatives in Salt Lake City who have helped out, too.”
This fall, Robb starts high school at Bangor High. There’s already a genealogy club there, and you can bet he’s got plans (along with many of his friends) to be active in it.

Andrew sat on the front porch step. He could see everyone who went around the corner. He took a bite out of his toast with grape jelly on it. He was very careful not to get his new shirt and pants dirty.
A milk truck stopped in front of Andrew’s house. The milkman jumped out and rushed up the sidewalk. He carried a wire basket filled with bottles of milk.
“Where are you going in such a hurry, Mr. Jones?” Andrew called to him.
The milkman put two bottles of milk on Andrew’s porch. “I have lots of milk to deliver this morning,” he said. He hurried back to his truck and drove around the corner.
Doctor Smith walked quickly down the sidewalk. She carried a black bag in one hand. She was huffing and puffing.
Andrew called, “Where are you going, Doctor Smith?”
Doctor Smith stopped and smiled at Andrew. “I’m on my way to the hospital. I have many people to take care of today.” She hurried around the corner, pushing her glasses up farther on her nose.
Mr. Wilson dashed past Andrew’s house. He carried lots of books.
Andrew called to him, “Where are you going, Mr. Wilson?”
Mr. Wilson stopped. His chest went up and down like a big balloon. “I’m on my way to school. I have many children to teach today.” He put his head down and hurried on around the corner.
Andrew’s father rushed out of the house. He stopped to smile at Andrew. “Anybody interesting going around the corner this morning?”
“Everyone sure is in a big hurry today,” Andrew told him. “Are you in a hurry, too, Daddy?”
Andrew’s father smiled. “Yes, I don’t want to be late to work.”
Andrew’s mother ran out of the house. “Wait, honey—you forgot your lunch,” she shouted to Andrew’s father.
Andrew’s father took the bag, waved good-bye to Andrew, and walked swiftly around the corner.
It seems like everyone is going somewhere today, Andrew thought. He sat and watched some more and was still very careful not to get his new shirt and pants dirty. He watched two girls running down the sidewalk.
Andrew shouted to them, “Where are you going so fast?”
One girl yelled to Andrew. “We’re meeting our friends on the school playground.” They waved to Andrew as they raced around the corner.
Andrew sat and watched the corner some more. After a long while, the letter carrier pushed his mail cart slowly up the sidewalk. He stopped to mop his wet face with his big blue handkerchief. “Good morning, Andrew,” he said. “My, you look extra happy today.”
“Today I am going somewhere, too,” Andrew told him.
“Yes, I know.” The letter carrier put two letters in the mailbox on Andrew’s porch, then pushed his cart back down the walk and around the corner.
Andrew sat and watched the corner the rest of the morning, but everyone who was going somewhere had already gone by.
Andrew’s mother called him in to eat lunch. He was very careful not to spill any of it on his new shirt and pants. “Is it time to go now?” he asked when he finished.
Mother smiled. “Yes, it’s time for us to go now.”
Andrew raced down the sidewalk then waited for his mother. Today was his turn to go around the corner. “Today I am going somewhere, too!” Andrew shouted happily. “I’m going to kindergarten!” Then he and his mother disappeared around the corner.

Character is revealed under pressure. Let me illustrate. A few years ago, Elder Gordon B. Hinckley related this inspiring story:

“I talked with a young man recently returned from the war. He too had walked the jungle patrols, his heart pounding with fear. But reluctantly he admitted that the greatest fear he had was the fear of ridicule.

“The men of his company laughed at him, taunted him, plastered him with a nickname that troubled him. They told him the things they reveled in. Then on one occasion when the going was rough, he faced them and quietly said, ‘Look, I know you think I’m a square. I don’t consider myself any better than any of the rest of you. … But I grew up in a different way. I grew up in a religious home and a religious town. I went to church on Sundays. We prayed together as a family. I was taught to stay away from these things. It’s just that I believe differently. With me it’s a matter of religion, and it’s kind of a way of respecting my mother and my dad. All of you together might force me toward a compromising situation, but that wouldn’t change me, and you wouldn’t feel right after you’d done it.’

“One by one they turned silently away. But during the next few days each came to ask his pardon, and from his example others gained the strength and the will to change their own lives. He taught the gospel to two of them and brought them into the church.” (Church News, 29 Apr. 1972, p. 14.)

Sometimes what we must give up is not a possession but a cherished dream. Growing up in Taiwan, I had always dreamed of going to school in England. After receiving a university degree and studying in the United States, I returned home and made arrangements to continue my studies in England. At this same time I received a calling in the Relief Society. At first I planned to accept the calling for a short time—just until I left for England. Then after much consideration, I decided to postpone my studies abroad for a year.
It was during this year when I was “sacrificing” my studies in England that an amazing blessing came into my life. One day as I was walking by a bulletin board at church, I saw a notice that the Church’s Translation Department was seeking to hire a Chinese language supervisor. I felt the Holy Ghost prod me to apply, but I hesitated. The year was almost up, and it was time for me to go to England. But the Spirit encouraged me, and I applied and was hired. For me, working as a language supervisor for the Church is not just a job. It is a great privilege and blessing. But I could never have received this blessing if I had not been willing to give up my dream of studying in England.

Second, the wolf of their own imperfections will test them. One woman told me through her tears how her husband’s constant criticism finally destroyed not only their marriage but her entire sense of self-worth. He first complained about her cooking and housecleaning, and then about how she used her time, how she talked, looked, and reasoned. Eventually she felt utterly inept and dysfunctional. My heart ached for her, and for him.
Contrast her with a young woman who had little self-confidence when she first married. Then her husband found so much to praise in her that she gradually began to believe she was a good person and that her opinions mattered. His belief in her rekindled her innate self-worth.

I was at my friend’s house, and he wanted us to ride our bikes to the church. One of our family rules is that if we go somewhere other than where we told our parents we would be, we have to call and let them know.
I told my friend that I needed to call my mom, and he told me not to. He didn’t want to wait, and he said, “Let’s just go.”
I said I needed to call my mom first, and then he started calling me names and being mean to me. I didn’t go with him. I went home instead, even though I felt left out. I knew that I was supposed to obey my mom.

I also have been greatly influenced in my study and use of the scriptures by President Harold B. Lee (1899–1973). During my initial missionary training in Salt Lake City in 1971, approximately 300 elders and sisters were blessed to receive instruction from President Lee in the assembly room of the Salt Lake Temple. To be taught by one of the Lord’s special witnesses and a member of the First Presidency in such a sacred setting was a most memorable experience for me.
The format for the instruction was quite simple: President Lee invited us to ask questions about any and all gospel topics. I will never forget what I felt as I watched President Lee answer every single question from the scriptures! I knew I would never have the command of the scriptures that he did, but then and there in the Salt Lake Temple I resolved to study and use the scriptures in my teaching and follow the example of President Lee. And that commitment as a new and inexperienced 19-year-old missionary has blessed my life in ways that cannot be counted or adequately described.

Just a few days after Joseph’s talk with Carlos in the woodlot, Alvin lay desperately ill. At the sound of a door opening, Joseph’s glance flew in the direction of the sleeping room where his oldest brother had lain for three days in pain and distress. “How is he, Mother?” he inquired anxiously as Lucy emerged from the sickroom.
“Not good, Joseph. Not good at all.” She pushed back a wisp of hair from her pale face and studied the strings of herbs hanging from the rafters as though to find a remedy that would heal her beloved firstborn. “The doctors have tried everything they know. But nothing helps, Joseph. Nothing!” She shook her head hopelessly, and for a moment hid her face in her apron. When she looked up, an ashen calm had settled over her. “Alvin has called for each of you to come to his bedside.” Her voice trailed away to a whisper. “He wants to say good-bye.”
Joseph thought he couldn’t bear to see Alvin so white and still. Alvin, whom they all looked to, whose great strong arms had felled huge trees and had gently lifted Baby Lucy high up to the rafters. Now his eyes burned feverishly, and his tired voice rose and fell in a last farewell to each loved one.
He asked Hyrum to see that the new house was finished for their parents and admonished Sophronia to take care of them in their old age. He talked to each one in turn—Sam and William, then Catherine and Carlos. Each brother and sister listened with tear-filled eyes and heavy heart.
Then, calling Joseph to his bedside, Alvin leaned forward. “My time is short, Joseph. Be a good boy and do everything in your power to obtain the record.” His voice became stronger, urgent. “Be faithful to every instruction and keep every commandment given you.” There were a few more words and then Alvin, sinking back upon the pillow, asked for Baby Lucy, his little playmate sister.
“Oh, Amby, Amby!” she cried again and again, her wet cheek against his and her tiny arms wrapped tightly around his neck as though to rouse his once-strong body.
But as quietly as a clock stops ticking, Alvin’s great heart stopped beating. Outside a star fell and the night was darker than before.
Everyone in the neighborhood grieved over Alvin’s death. “A noble young man,” they said. And in the family there was an emptiness that didn’t ease.
Joseph shivered in the December wind as he helped pile earth and straw against the foundations of their log house to keep out the winter blasts. Less than three months had passed since Joseph’s visit with the angel Moroni, but the world about him had changed from burnished leaf to barren bough, and soon a cold whiteness would cover the ground.
His world had changed too. Where before he had felt vibrantly alive, every sense sharpened and intensified, there was now an actual physical ache as though part of him had been amputated. If I had lost my leg long ago, it couldn’t hurt worse, he thought numbly.
Then one evening Father Smith ignored the tightening in his throat. “Maybe we should talk about it—about Alvin,” he said gently. “He was taken from us in the bloom of youth, but the Lord was good when he sent Alvin to our family.” He dabbed the moisture from his eyes. “Life does take up after trial and tribulation.”
“Alvin was the one who started the new house,” Sam began.
“He told me to be a good girl and to help Mother and Father,” added Catherine.
Joseph didn’t know if it were proper to tell about the time he and Alvin were in a crowd watching two Irishmen fight. He remembered that when one was about to gouge out the other’s eyes, Alvin took him by his collar and breeches and threw him over the ring. But aloud, he only said: “Alvin stood for the right. He was the strongest and bravest of all.”
Winter melted into spring. It was time to mend the fences and stone walls that marked the boundaries of the Smith farm. In the grinding labor of plowing, sowing, and cultivating, there was no time for Joseph to rest. But there was time for pondering the things the angel had taught him. He would resolve with every fiber of his being to become worthy of such a trust.
Joseph still longed to share his thoughts with Alvin. But gradually he discovered that though his yearning need to talk with him didn’t diminish, his grief subsided. As the shoots of pale green pushed up through the black earth, Joseph took comfort in a new closeness to God and his creations. Never had the violets seemed so velvety, the leaves so tender, the birdsongs so poignant. Laboring with his hands day after day, he felt himself growing in strength and power. And always there was the awareness of the high hill and the records and the angel Moroni. Four years seemed forever. Even one September to another was a lifetime.

Morning RecessMandy, Mandy, trick or treat. How many treats did Mandy eat? One, two, three, four …
… eight, nine, ten, eleven—out!Ha ha! Mandy’s a klutz. My turn.
… four, five, six—out!Ouch!
Lunch RecessMandy, when I fell, why didn’t you laugh at me?I almost did, but I remembered that Jesus wants me to be kind.
Why should you care what He wants?Because of what He did for me.
What was that?Let’s share desserts and talk about it.

I grew up in Monterrey, Mexico, in the state of Nuevo León. My parents were faithful Latter-day Saints, and I can’t remember a single time when we failed to attend church. When I was five or six years old, my father owned an old dump truck that he used to haul construction materials and garden soil. Each Sunday my sisters and I climbed up into the bed of that truck while my father and mother climbed into the cab. Then we drove to the home of my cousins, where their family climbed up to join us. Next we picked up the Gonzales family, then the Solanos family, and so on. By the time we arrived at the chapel, the dump truck was filled not with soil, but with Saints.
Some people who lived nearby thought it was most entertaining to watch more than 20 men, women, and children in white shirts and ties or Sunday dresses come pouring out of a dusty dump truck. Neighbors came outside each Sunday just to enjoy the spectacle. They laughed at us, but we weren’t a bit embarrassed. We were happy to be going to church. We repeated that performance twice each Sunday all through the 1960s.
When the truck wasn’t available, my family walked. Even if it was raining or cold or sizzling hot, we walked just the same, though it took at least an hour going and an hour coming back. And in those days there were Church services in the morning and the afternoon. We always attended both.
When I returned to Monterrey after many years, every one of my fellow dump truck passengers was still active in the Church. That experience united us and made us strong. I still attend all my meetings. How can I do less now than I did then?

One time just before Easter, my Primary teacher brought a large box to class. We were only eight, and we were very curious to see its contents. When class was over, the teacher reached into the box and gave each of us a tiny Easter basket filled with jelly beans and candy eggs. In my eyes, the beautiful basket was also filled with love. This same kind teacher gave me an angel figurine when I graduated from seminary. I still get a warm feeling whenever I see that little angel inside my china closet. It represented to me the hugs that I so desperately needed but seldom received.

The youth of the Idaho Falls Idaho Eagle Rock Stake (left and below) shared their talents and their testimonies as they performed a musical called One Life to celebrate the Prophet Joseph Smith’s birth and life. The musical was so successful that they performed it multiple times for audiences in Idaho.
Krista Klingler, 14, who participated in the ensemble, said, “Doing this play was one of the best experiences of my life. It showed me how great a man Joseph Smith truly was. I am still amazed that at 14 years old he acted upon the principles Heavenly Father revealed to him. From birth to death he lived a remarkable life.”

“When I came back from my mission, I wasn’t having much success in running. I quit the team in January. I thought it just wasn’t worth the time. But I couldn’t feel good about that decision because I had this nagging feeling that I hadn’t really reached my potential. I hadn’t really developed my talent to the fullest. Finally I realized that I couldn’t quit until I had given it my all.

“My philosophy of life is that you try to take advantage of all the opportunities that come, because if you don’t, they’re going to be gone. It’s very hard for me to sit back and watch things pass by. Every day that ticks off there are certain things that you have the potential to accomplish, and if you don’t that’s too bad.

“The thing in life that motivates me the most is the need to reach my full potential with the talents and capacities that God has given me. It was frustrating sometimes, but it was mostly a question of not being able to quit until I knew what my potential was.”

The decision to stick with running was soon vindicated, because 1976 was pure magic. In one of the great Cinderella stories in the annals of sports, Henry exploded from a 9:25 weakling to an 8:23.99 star, top American, and tenth-place finisher in the Olympics, with the second fastest time ever by an American, missing the record by seven-tenths of a second. He literally came from nowhere to stun the American sports scene.

His goal for 1976 had been to run an 8:55 and qualify for the NCAA meet. At the beginning of the year it seemed like an ambitious goal indeed, but as the year progressed it began looking more and more possible. In an almost magical progression, his times dropped every week. Improvements that should have taken months, came in days. He not only qualified for the NCAA meet, but astounded everyone there by finishing a strong second with a time of 8:27, which qualified him for the Olympic trials.

Never except in his wildest dreams had Henry even thought about going to the Olympics, but now it was a possibility. Still, he felt his chances were only about 50–50. He would be competing with real names in the sport. He proved himself again, however, by finishing second in the trials. He was on his way to Montreal. At the Olympics he again surprised everyone by reaching the finals, the only American to do so, and the second youngest finalist in that event in the history of the games. His eventual tenth-place finish was a triumph for a 22-year-old in a sport where runners reach their peak at around age 30. And this 22-year-old had been an “also ran” to “also rans” less than a year earlier!

An interesting blessing and challenge about a lay church is that we have to be patient with each other and ourselves as we learn and grow in our callings. When a difficult and sensitive situation—one that involved several ward members—came up in my calling, I handled it the best I knew how and moved on, believing the difficult experience was behind me.
I was wrong. Not everyone in our ward agreed about how the incident should have been handled, and it became a point of great discussion. Some agreed with what I had done. Others thought I’d made a significant blunder. I felt bad, but since I had done my best, I tried not to worry too much about it.
When I was released a short time later, however, it came as a tremendous blow. I knew that callings in the Church are only temporary, of course, but because of the timing, I felt as though my leaders were blaming or punishing me for what had happened.
The scrutiny seemed more intense than ever, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to face anyone in the ward right away. So the week following my release, I stayed home from church. I did so again the next week—and the next. The longer I stayed away, the more difficult it seemed to return.
After some time, I started thinking about what had happened. I realized that even though this was a painful situation, it wasn’t worth putting my covenants on the line. Was the Church true or wasn’t it?
Maybe I had handled the situation in my calling appropriately; maybe I hadn’t. The truth is all of us are learning, and all of us make mistakes.
As painful as it was to admit, maybe who was right or wrong didn’t really matter in the grand scheme. What would matter, though, was whether I kept my covenants. It would matter—both to my family and me—if I was attending church, renewing my covenants in sacrament meeting, and continuing to serve. And it would matter how I responded to priesthood authority.
I returned to church. A short time later I received another calling. That calling—and callings since—required that I serve with some of the people who had criticized my actions. That has been difficult. But I am glad I haven’t let their comments stop me from enjoying the blessings of Church activity.

The Twelve Days of Christmas Mystery in Tustin, California, was perplexing many of the townspeople. Ten widows in town opened their doors for 11 nights straight to find gifts left on their doorsteps—but the gift-givers had vanished.
Soon the widows were calling their friends to try to solve the mystery. Who was leaving all the goodies? But nobody knew anything about the presents, except that they kept coming. First it was a “partridge in a pear tree” attached to a can of pears. The next evening it was “two turtle doves” nestled in a braided wreath attached to a jar of jelly. Then “three French hens” made of calico, covering a can of chicken, arrived. And the presents kept coming.
On the 12th night the widows were greeted by the sweet sound of Christmas carols outside their windows—and the mystery was solved! The Young Women of the Tustin Third Ward, Orange California Stake, had been playing pixie for the widows with some delivery help from the Scouts in the ward. The girls presented the widows with final gifts of large poinsettias and handmade drums filled with homemade cookies, and left understanding the mystery of the Christmas spirit a little bit better.

At the time of my birth, the clouds of war had overshadowed Europe and were sweeping across the English Channel to the British coastline. My father, like thousands of other men of his generation, was required to report for active military service. My elder brother and I were shielded from the turmoil and fear that surrounded us by a mother who compensated for the absence of our father, involving us in a variety of activities. From this I learned that when fathers are absent, mothers can be the recipients of compensatory blessings. I have fond memories of those days and recall her speaking of her beloved companion as she received letters from him, without my fully understanding who he was or what he was doing.
My first recollection of meeting my father occurred when I was five years old. A telegram was delivered to our home. My mother stood with the gold-colored envelope in her hand, making no attempt to open it. I did not realize then as I do now the reason why, and the message it could have contained. Eventually, and with great difficulty, she fumbled with the flap of the envelope. This seemed to take a long time. Even when the telegram was opened and Mother read its contents, there was no immediate response. Finally, raising the telegram high above her head, my mother joyfully exclaimed, “Dad’s coming home! Dad’s coming home!”
My father’s parents lived in the adjoining house. Mother, holding the telegram high in the air and with a skipping step, set out in the direction of my grandparents’ home, shouting, “Dad’s coming home! Dad’s coming home!” My brother, following close behind, shouted, “Dad’s coming home! Dad’s coming home!” I brought up the rear, also shouting, “Dad’s coming home! Dad’s coming home! Who’s Dad?”
The next morning when I awoke, there was a man sitting on the edge of my bed holding a leather soccer ball from Italy. He asked if my brother and I would like to play soccer with him. Cautiously I agreed, and we went to an area of grassland near our home, where we played together. This was the beginning of my father’s continuing influence in my life. I wanted to spend every moment that I could in his company.
We lived, like many others in those war-torn years, in humble circumstances. Our home was modestly furnished. Dad had many skills and used them to beautify the home. He raised the Anderson air-raid shelter located in our garden to ground level and made it his workshop. He spent many hours there repairing shoes and making items of furniture for the home. I would wander into this workshop and watch him. Just to be in his presence was a thrill for me. He invited me to help him by passing a hammer, a screwdriver, or some other tool. I was convinced that my help was necessary and that without me he would not be able to complete his task. He used a variety of pieces of wood, obtained from different sources and considered by others to be unsuitable for any practical use, and from them created items of great beauty and worth for our family. As he worked he played a game with me, inviting me to determine what he was making. I was seldom able to do so until the components were completed and the object assembled. Then I would declare with great excitement, “It’s a bookcase!” or “a table!” and wonder at his ability to create so much from so little.
As I look back and reflect upon those wonderful memories, I realize that my contribution was not necessary for my father to complete the work he was engaged in. I was the beneficiary, as through these experiences I came to know him and to love him.

I can’t refrain from telling you one other thing about that visit with my brother in Washington. He was to take a B-25 bomber to Texas to pick up something and return to Washington the next day. I went with him. That was the only time we flew together.

Many years later I was honored by Weber State University, where we both had graduated. He had been a student body officer during his college days. Because I would be in South America, he agreed to attend the banquet and accept the award in my behalf.

In his acceptance speech he told this story—part of which is true. He said that in Texas we were lined up side by side on the runway ready to take off. He radioed to me and said, “See you upstairs—if you think you can make it!”

Then he told them that after I became a General Authority of the Church, once in a while I would check on his behavior and add, “See you upstairs—if you think you can make it!”

Well, Leon made it. He is now where I hope one day to be.

We establish the Church in the hearts of our brothers and sisters when we minister properly. One day, while serving as the Lubumbashi Stake president, the Spirit of the Lord prompted me to give a ring to a friend from the Lubumbashi Second Ward. I had these promptings all day long, and I finally resolved to call him as I arrived at work. Here is what happened: “He shouted, ‘President, I am surprised that you call me at this very moment! I have just had a discussion with a Protestant pastor who appeared to be convincing me! Your phone call has fortified me. This is a proof that we are in the true Church of the Lord.’ I answered him: ‘My brother, we are members of the Church of the Lord; it is his Church, we need to stand fast in spite of all hardships we may be experiencing in life. We are from the Church of the Lord, no one can separate us from His love, and no one can change that’.”
This phone call helped my brother to stand firm with an increasing faith in the Lord, since he had only been a member of the Church for two years.

About a year ago, I visited with a mother of young children who decided to take a proactive approach to inoculating her children against the many negative influences they were being exposed to online and at school. She chooses a topic each week, often one that has generated a lot of discussion online, and she initiates meaningful discussions during the week when her children can ask questions and she can make sure they’re getting a balanced and fair perspective on the often-difficult issues. She is making her home a safe place to raise questions and have meaningful gospel instruction.