Gospel Story Finder

“For a long time,” says Jhon Tobar, 17, of Quito, “I let myself be carried along by my friends, and I didn’t have a good relationship with my parents. But I have learned that if you lose the trust of your parents and brothers and sisters, it’s like being alone. I just had an interview with my bishop this morning—my bishop is my dad. I can say now that I have no better friend than my own father. I love him a lot. He is my best example.”

As I drove to work through our neighborhood in Puyallup, Washington, I began to notice a young girl among a group of children waiting for the school bus.
Washington is well blessed with rainfall, and there were many cold, wet mornings when the kids would huddle together. But I could always count on her to ignore the elements and come up with a big smile and wave as I passed the bus stop.
The young girl was tall and slim and about 13 years old. She wore a mouthful of braces and I could see them glisten in the glare of my car lights.
Somehow her little effort to be friendly helped me get my day started right and became something I looked forward to.
I told my wife about the little friend I had, and how without fail she would always be there with that sweet smile and friendly wave. We didn’t know who she was, but she seemed to be an outstanding young girl.
It wasn’t very long after this that our own 13-year-old daughter, Cheryl, asked if she could go to an activity that a local church was having. She called it MIA. She was going with a neighbor girl, Vicki, and promised us that there would be parental supervision.
Cheryl began to attend MIA regularly, and after a few occasions she told us that Vicki was a Mormon. Cheryl also said Vicki was my friend from the bus stop.
Discovering that Vicki was a Mormon gave us a good feeling. I was aware of the reputation the Mormons had of being a good and family-oriented people.
A short time later Cheryl came home from school and relayed a message from Vicki. She was sending two young men over, missionaries, to tell us about her church.
“Tell Vicki that I have been waiting for 30 years to know what a Mormon is,” I told my daughter.
The elders arrived and we heard about the Book of Mormon and Joseph Smith. I will never forget when those young men bore their testimonies of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon and Joseph Smith being a true prophet of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. Over the next few weeks we began to read and were soon captivated by the new scriptures.
I finally met Vicki—she was at church our first time and was in the audience, smiling, when the three members of my family were baptized. We moved away from that part of the state soon after and have not seen Vicki since. I recently heard she is married now and has a family of her own.
Through her actions and those of the young people we have known since, my wife and I are thoroughly convinced that the greatest potential for missionary work lies in the youth of the Church. We have served as stake missionaries and have served a full-time mission in Pennsylvania, and each time have relied upon the referrals and good example the youth have supplied.
We will never forget Vicki and will be forever grateful to her.

I started backpacking with my family the summer I turned six years old. I carried a small pack that had a change of clothes in it and eight rolls of lifesavers—one for each day of the trip! That year we hiked fifty miles. We went over Sawtooth Pass, one of the most difficult passes in the Sierras. It’s 11,700 feet high. A ranger we met said I was the youngest hiker he had ever seen that far into the backcountry. He even took my picture!

Michael Flynn and son Elder Jaswant Flynn (from the Meltham Ward in the Huddersfield Stake) experienced a unique opportunity to appreciate God’s creations and to serve Heavenly Father from opposite ends of the world. At Rothera Antarctica, Michael, an instrument specialist at The University of Manchester, spent three weeks in January making airborne measurements of clouds over the Southern Ocean from a British Antarctic Survey Twin Otter aircraft.
He says Antarctica is completely different from anywhere else in the world, partly because it is so remote. It has no permanent inhabitants and has penguins rather than polar bears, and the huge floating ice shelves that are unique to Antarctica.
Of his experience in Antarctica, he says, “I am in awe of the complete white expanse and wilderness and have an appreciation of the place, a place I would go back to. Experiencing the beauty of nature and its variety in different parts of the world increases my appreciation for what Heavenly Father has created for us and strengthens my testimony in Him.”
Near the North Pole, Elder Flynn, or Vanhin Flynn as he is addressed, serves as a missionary in the Helsinki Finland Mission. He says, “I‘ve been serving in the Finland Helsinki Mission since September 2022 — I‘m so happy to be here! It got VERY cold in the winter where I served in Kemi in Northern Finland, but I guess it gave me a feel for what my dad felt at the same time in Antarctica.
“The language is very difficult, but I‘ve seen the blessing of hard work, perseverance and enduring to the end, so much, as I‘ve tried to learn and speak more. Having also served in the Swedish speaking area of Finland, therefore being assigned to learn Swedish and Finnish, I‘ve really had to develop my faith and understanding of God, as well as striving to be obedient and doing everything I can to be blessed with the gift of tongues.
“I‘ve also grown in my testimony more on my mission so far more than I did my whole life before. I‘ve already seen so many blessings of serving a mission, and even though there are many trials, so many more blessings come as we endure through them. It was interesting being basically on the other side of the world to my dad — but such a blessing that, through technology, even though we were tens of thousands of miles apart, we could still communicate.
“The blessings of being a missionary have been evident to not just me, but many family members and friends also. And they are not limited. If you can serve a mission, do! The Lord will bless you and so many others for it, family, friends, members, nonmembers — on both sides of the veil!”
Helsinki Finland Mission President Ville Kervinen, a native of Finland, provides insight into the climate and culture of Finnish people. He says they are most loyal, with Church statistics reflecting this, which helps to shape missionaries’ attitudes towards service and missionary work generally. The North is a quality of mind. He grew up in Rovaniemi, near the Arctic Circle and he and Sister Leena Kervinen, through inspiration, spent their married life there. He says,“There is a difference in attitude about life even between northern and southern Finland. All the Finns are very independent-minded, but those living in the more extreme climate and isolation of the North are even more so. They hold onto their culture more naturally, being further away from Helsinki and the cosmopolitan influences there. We have the identity of a northern person, and we are grateful for it. After our mission we will return to the North to continue serving there.”
Even though father and son were far apart, they still found a way to appreciate the gospel and to serve others.

I came to understand more fully the relationship between the “priesthood” rocket and the “opportunity to benefit from Christ’s atoning power” payload several years ago. During a weekend, I had two assignments. One was to create the first stake in a country, and the other was to interview a young man and, if all was in order, restore his priesthood and temple blessings. This 30-year-old man had joined the Church in his late teens. He served an honorable mission. But when he returned home, he lost his way, and he lost his membership in the Church. After some years, “he came to himself,”22 and with the help of loving priesthood leaders and kind members, he repented and was readmitted by baptism into the Church.

Later, he applied to have his priesthood and temple blessings restored. We set an appointment for Saturday at 10:00 a.m. at the meetinghouse. When I arrived for the earlier interviews, he was already there. He was so anxious to have the priesthood once again, he just could not wait.

During our interview, I showed him the letter explaining that President Thomas S. Monson had personally reviewed his application and authorized the interview. This otherwise stoic young man wept. I then told him that the date of our interview would have no official meaning in his life. He looked puzzled. I informed him that after I restored his blessings, his membership record would show only his original baptism, confirmation, priesthood ordination, and endowment dates. He choked up again.

I asked him to read from the Doctrine and Covenants:
“Behold, he who has repented of his sins, the same is forgiven, and I, the Lord, remember them no more.
“By this ye may know if a man repenteth of his sins—behold, he will confess them and forsake them.”23

Tears filled his eyes a third time. Then I placed my hands on his head, and in the name of Jesus Christ and by the authority of the Melchizedek Priesthood, and with the authorization of the President of the Church, I restored his priesthood and temple blessings.

The joy that came over us was profound. He knew he was once again authorized to hold and exercise the priesthood of God. He knew that his temple blessings were again fully operative. He had a bounce in his step and a radiant light about him. I was so proud of him, and I sensed how proud Heavenly Father was of him too.

Thereafter, the stake was organized. The meetings were well attended by enthusiastic, faithful Saints, and a wonderful stake presidency was sustained. However, for me, the historic occasion of organizing this first stake in a country was overshadowed by the joy I felt in restoring the blessings to this young man.

In 1974, when I was just 17 years old I was called as the seminary teacher in the Maipú Branch in Santiago, Chile. In the beginning, I had 16 students.
The branch boundaries covered a lot of territory in those days, and some of the students had to travel long distances to come to seminary. I had to walk 25 blocks to get to the old, unheated house where we met. But I was very excited about my calling, and that old house seemed to me the most beautiful place in the world. As we started our course in Church history, everything seemed to be going smoothly and enthusiasm was high.
Then autumn came. As the temperature dropped, participation dropped, too. A reactivation campaign was set up to motivate the students to keep coming. The effort succeeded for a time. But as winter followed fall and it became increasingly colder and more difficult for the students to attend, fewer and fewer attended regularly.
After a time, there were only three. It was a disappointment. I did lack teaching experience, but I had faith and a testimony, and I continued to prepare for each lesson with zeal and dedication. As I walked to class each day, I prayed almost every step of the way, feeling very close to my Father in Heaven. By the time I arrived at the classroom, I was filled with the Spirit and felt as happy as if many students were there.
At other times, I lacked confidence and wondered if I should go on. One such occasion was during a district meeting when a roll call of seminary students was taken for each branch. When the name of the Maipú Branch was called, only two of us reported present: one student and myself. Everyone laughed! It felt like a slap in the face, and I wanted to ask our leaders to let us stop holding the class. However, the sweet influence of the Spirit soon came over me and urged me to continue. I determined to endure to the end.
When seminary graduation ceremonies were held, three participants from the Maipú Branch were awarded certificates of achievement. Only one of them, Pedro Baillón, was in attendance to receive his certificate. But it didn’t matter. By then I understood that there was a deeper purpose in my service, and I knew that the year held great meaning for me, as it did for Pedro.
I have never forgotten Pedro Baillón. Nor have I ever forgotten one of the most spiritual periods of my life.

My father was called on a mission and left mother at home with seven young children, and the eighth was born four months after he arrived in the field. There came into our home a spirit of missionary work that never left it, for which I am deeply grateful.

I remember so well, after the chores were done, sitting around the kitchen table as mother read letters from father. It seemed as though it was halfway around the world as she mentioned the towns where he was laboring; but it was only Cedar Rapids, Iowa; Chicago and Springfield, Illinois; and other towns in the great Midwest.

Two of my sisters, widows—one the mother of ten, and the other the mother of eight—after sending their children on missions, talked to their bishops about going on missions themselves.
I well remember the day they called me on the telephone and said, “Guess what? We’ve received our missionary calls.”
I said, “What missionary calls?”
They replied, “Don’t you know?”
I said, “No, I hadn’t heard.”
They responded, “Yes, we’re both going to your old field of labor in England.”
The mission president assigned them to work as companions—twenty months without a transfer. I think that is some kind of a record.

My father’s family later grew to eleven children. All eleven of us have now had the joy of filling missions. The last one recently returned from filling a mission with her husband in San Diego.
To you young men and some of you older brethren, I again emphasize: you are needed in the Lord’s service—missionary service—today.

One ward, for example, had a young man in a wheelchair who went to all the basketball games of his teachers quorum. He cheered them the whole season, at the end of which his father asked the teachers quorum advisor if he would consider a chess tournament so his son could take a more active part with his friends.

Not only did the young men of that ward have a chess tournament, they began what became a stake chess tournament that included the young women and all the Aaronic Priesthood and introduced many young people to each other who otherwise would not have met.

When I was a young boy, we had no running water in our homes and no electricity. I can remember clearly when electricity first came to Bunkerville. I also remember my father and me taking horses and a big water wagon up to a spring in the mountains and bringing back drinking water to fill our man-made cistern. We would have to clean out the cistern before putting the fresh water into it. When we needed drinking water, we pumped it out by hand and carried it into the house in buckets.

When I decided to become a full tithe payer, I felt hesitant about telling my husband. He handles the finances, and I knew he would not welcome the addition of another expense when we were trying to get out of debt. I decided to fast and pray to prepare for the discussion.
When the time felt right, I approached him prepared to give a speech about the commandment and blessings of tithing. Instead, when I opened my mouth I started telling him how much I loved him and how the gospel had helped me see what a wonderful man he was. I told him everything that made me proud to be his wife, and I said that even if he never joined the Church, I would always love him.
My husband rarely cries, so when I saw him tearing up I knew he was deeply touched. He admitted he had been worried he might lose me because, with my life in order, I wouldn’t need him anymore. He had been feeling worthless as a husband because he felt he wasn’t supporting me enough.
I had been so involved with my own happiness I hadn’t realized that my husband had been feeling left out. My Heavenly Father had guided me to discuss what my husband needed most.
When the time did eventually come to discuss tithing, my husband agreed that I could pay it if I could figure out how to eliminate another bill. I didn’t know how I would do it, but I resolved that January 1995 would mark the beginning of my tithe. On New Year’s Day, I noticed several chicken pox on my four-year-old as I helped her undress after church.
Because my daughter couldn’t go to day care, I called a coworker on the graveyard shift and asked if we could switch shifts so I could stay home during the day. When I received my paycheck two weeks later, I realized that the amount I needed for tithing was the amount I would have paid a baby-sitter. As expected, my two-year-old broke out in chicken pox two weeks later, but I was again able to switch shifts with someone. I realized this was Heavenly Father’s way of telling me I would be able to find a way to pay my tithing, and I have been able to do so ever since.

He served a full-time mission in the Texas South Mission. His testimony was further strengthened during his mission when he met a minister of another religion who told the young missionary that the only people who were to go to heaven were the members of his small church in Texas.
“I couldn’t imagine our Heavenly Father being that unkind to the rest of us. That night as I prayed to my Heavenly Father, He bore witness to my spirit that His plan and His love were for everyone. I knew then our message to the world was true.”

by Ann Romick
Rick Hilder of the San Lorenzo California First Ward has loved sports for as long as he can remember, and someday he hopes to make them his life’s work. Meanwhile, the 16-year-old sophomore from Arroyo High School not only participates in baseball, football, basketball, and wrestling, but spends a good deal of his spare time coaching a group of younger boys. It was because of his willingness to share his time and talents that he got a part-time job with the Oakland Raiders.
A few years ago, Rick’s younger brother asked Rick if he would come and help to organize and coach some of the kids at his school. Rick was delighted and immediately formed a neighborhood team. The activity was so successful that they completed two winning seasons.
The father of one of the team members was impressed with Rick’s work and dedication and suggested that Rick meet one of his neighbors, George Jones, the assistant equipment manager for the Oakland Raiders. They discussed his interest in sports. George offered Rick a chance to be his assistant.
The work itself is rather ordinary, even in the somewhat awesome world of professional sports, but once in a while, Rick’s job turns into a real treat.
“There are times when I feel like I’m working out with the team,” he says. “I keep the balls dried off, and sometimes they have me go out onto the field and catch the balls or shag field goal attempts when the team is practicing. The players are super guys and treat me very well and are friendly. They encourage me to stick to my goals.”
Rick particularly likes talking with Todd Christensen and Marc Wilson. “We talk a lot about the Church,” he says, “and about my plans for a mission and my desire to one day play football for BYU.”
At his school, Rick is an all-around athlete. He is a double-duty football player, taking a defensive tackle position as well as playing center for the offensive team. He was voted the most valuable player of the year last season. He also wrestles and plays baseball.

“Beat you to the gift shop!” Andrea said, running as fast as a cheetah past her older brother, Michael.
They were exploring the zoo with their parents. It was one of their favorite places, but for different reasons. Michael was fascinated by reptiles, like lizards, snakes, and crocodiles. Andrea was amazed by colorful birds, like parrots and toucans. She especially loved flamingos because pink was her favorite color.
As they got close to the shop, Michael put on a burst of speed, like a gazelle. He got to the shop first and held the door open.
“You’re as slow as a sloth!” he said with a smile.
“But fierce as a lion,” Andrea growled as they walked inside.
Michael knew exactly what he wanted to buy. He went straight to the reptile area and picked up a book called Awesome Facts about Alligators. With the money he had earned this summer, he would have just enough to buy it. He was about to head to the cashier when Andrea called his name. She was in a section that looked like a giant princess party.
“Come here!” Andrea said, excited as a chimpanzee. “I want to show you something!”
Michael shook his head. “No way. I’d rather stay with the reptiles.”
“Please? Just for a second. I need your help.”
With a sigh, Michael walked across the aisle. He felt like a goldfish out of water surrounded by the fluffy feather boas and sparkly jewelry.
“That’s what I want to buy,” Andrea said, pointing to a book on a high shelf out of her reach. “Can you get it down for me?”
Michael stretched tall like a giraffe and grabbed the book. It was full of stickers of people in fancy ballroom costumes.
“Why do you want that?” he asked. “It doesn’t have anything to do with the zoo.”
Andrea flipped open the book. “It has a page with animals. See? Unicorns!”
Michael rolled his eyes. Of course his sister would pick the one book at the zoo with the pretend animals in it. Then he noticed the price. “Do you even have enough money?”
When Andrea saw the price tag, her eyes got wide like an owl, and her smile disappeared.
“Sorry, sis,” Michael said. “Maybe you can find something that costs less.”
“But this is the only thing I wanted,” Andrea said. “Oh well.” She handed the book to Michael so he could put it back. Then she tried to smile again. “What did you find?”
Michael looked at the two books in his hands. Then he made a decision. “Nothing,” he said. “That is, nothing I need right now. Wait here for a second.”
Quick as a rabbit, Michael returned his book to the reptile section. When he got back to Andrea, he handed her the sticker book she wanted, along with some of his money.
“Here. Now you should have enough to buy it.”
Andrea looked as confused as a chameleon on a rainbow. “But why would you spend your money on that?”
“Because it’s important to you,” Michael said. “We might be as different as a python and a peacock, but that’s OK. God still wants us to show love to each other.”
Andrea gave him a big bear hug. “Thank you so much! You can use the stickers whenever you want!”
“Well, they’re not really my style,” Michael said. “But it might be fun!”
Then they walked to the cashier together, as happy as two frogs in a pond!

One family created a learning experience while displaying their Nativity figures. The figures of Mary and Joseph were placed near the stable. The figures of the shepherds and sheep were placed nearby. But the figures of the wise men and camels were situated across the room. As Christmas Eve approached, they moved the figures of the wise men closer and closer to the stable scene. On Christmas Eve, the figure of the baby Jesus was placed in the manger and the shepherds were moved close around the stable. The wise men were moved close by.

Years ago, I arrived home from work and was startled to see white paint splattered everywhere—on the ground, the garage door, and our red-brick house. I inspected the scene more closely and discovered the paint was still wet. A trail of paint led toward the backyard, and so I followed it. There, I found my five-year-old son with a paintbrush in his hand, chasing our dog. Our beautiful black Labrador was splattered almost half white!
“What are you doing?” I asked in an animated voice.
My son stopped, looked at me, looked at the dog, looked at the paintbrush dripping with paint, and said, “I just want him to look like the black-spotted dogs in the movie—you know, the one with 101 Dalmatians.”
I loved our dog. I thought he was perfect, but that day my son had a different idea.

Twelve-year-old Caternia sat on the floor of the small, cluttered attic, rummaging through the old chest. The big, tattered coffer and its treasured contents had belonged to her great-great-uncle, Ephram Gage. The sweet, musty smell that floated out of the wooden box only added to the wonder and mystery of its contents. As soft, filtered light seeped through a small attic window, it washed across each object she touched.
Next week was Caternia’s turn to give the lesson in family home evening, and she wanted to do something different about families. “Maybe there’s something in Great-Great-Uncle Gage’s old wooden chest that might be of some help,” her father had suggested. The idea intrigued Caternia, so she’d climbed the steep stairway to the attic.
This wasn’t the first time she’d been there. In fact, it had become her secret place, where she could pray and think and read in private. Her parents had said that everyone should have such a place where they could go to pray and think things out.
Caternia shared a bedroom with her little sister, Ebony. It seemed like every time she tried to be alone, Ebony’s pet hamster, Bartholomew, would get loose, and Ebony always recruited two or three friends to assist in the hunt. By the time Bartholomew was back in his cage, the room was in total chaos—rummaged drawers, scattered school papers, and beds that looked more turbulent than her father’s just-plowed field!
After every successful capture, a victory party was held—in Caternia and Ebony’s bedroom, of course. The festivities were loud enough to out-noise, Caternia was sure, all the other sounds made since Adam, stacked together. Caternia had learned to seek refuge in the small, quiet attic.
The problem that had been most recently weighing on her mind was the big test coming up in her math class. In order to remain on the dance team at school, she had to maintain a grade of C or better. That wasn’t difficult in her other subjects, but math was especially hard for her. Her parents had helped her all they could, and so had her instructor at school, but she just wasn’t able to grasp it. If she scored well on this test, however, she would get a C for the term and be able to continue on the dance team. If she failed …
Two days earlier, one of her friends had found the test with the answers in their teacher’s desk drawer during recess and had copied it. She offered to give it to Caternia. Caternia knew that cheating was wrong, but she stood to lose her place on the team if she didn’t do well on the test.
As she sat now in the attic, mulling over what she should do, she withdrew an old World War I boot from the trunk. She pushed a fingernail into a crack and scraped out a trace of dirt, which floated like dust through the gilded light. “Dirt,” she uttered out loud. “Maybe it’s from the trenches where so many died.”
But not Uncle Gage. Somehow he had survived the bullets and the barbed wire and the gas. He had made the right moves. Dropped to the ground at the right time. “And prayed constantly,” she remembered her father having once told her, “that God would be mindful of him in his darkest hour. That he might be worthy of a loving Father’s saving grace in his time of greatest need.”
Replacing the shoe, she picked up a compass. It was old, like everything else in the chest, and scratched. But it still worked. It probably had helped Uncle Gage find his way when the smoke and fear of war clouded his judgment. Just like the gospel of Jesus Christ helps me find the way, she thought.
Her eyes faltered as guilt crept across her heart, stealing away her peace like clouds hiding the sun from the land. “But I just have to pass that test,” she protested out loud. “I just have to! I just …”
Her voice trailed suddenly as she pulled out a large tintype of a great castle. The photograph was faded and yellowed, but the castle’s walls were strong and appeared impenetrable. Like the gospel, she deduced, that fortifies one against any assault by the adversary if we keep the commandments.
“But I always do,” she defended herself aloud. “Well, almost always. Surely one wrong isn’t going to outweigh all the right I’ve done. Besides, everybody makes mistakes. I’ll repent after the test. Heavenly Father will understand.” But how much harder would her repentance be, she speculated, when she knew beforehand that what she was going to do was wrong?
As she started to replace the tintype in the chest, her eyes fell upon a hole in the bottom of one of the castle’s great walls. It was a small hole, but it went clear through the wall, and it was big enough for an enemy to slip through and do his dark work.
Caternia sat back against a large vertical timber and gazed at the picture. That’s all that the adversary needs to penetrate our spiritual walls, she reflected. Just one small hole. Just one small sin.
Her eyes lifted to the haze of light that seeped through the little window. Tears oozed down her cheeks. “Forgive me, Heavenly Father,” her lips trembled. “Please forgive me.” Her gaze returned to the old tintype. She stared at it for some time, then closed her eyes in prayer.
An hour later, she descended from the attic. She held the tintype close to her.
“Did you find something you can use in next week’s family home evening?” her mother asked.
Caternia nodded, wiping residual tears from her cheek. “Yes, I did,” she got out. “This old picture. I found it in Uncle Gage’s—”
“Is everything all right, honey?” her mother interrupted when she saw her daughter’s tear-red eyes.
“Yes, Mama. And I’m going to make sure it stays that way, no matter what!”
The following day at school, she told the girl who had offered to share the test questions with her that she had chosen not to cheat. Caternia explained why and encouraged her friend to do the same.
For the next few days, she studied diligently. It wasn’t easy, but she had committed to do all she could do, then ask Father in Heaven for His help. The day after the test, one of her friends saw her crying by her locker.
“Did you fail the math test?”
“No.” Caternia smiled. “I got a B-.”
“Then why are you crying?”
“Because I’m so happy!”
Following family home evening the next Monday, Caternia went to the attic to return the tintype to Uncle Gage’s chest. As she placed it atop the other contents, she gazed one last time at it in the amber glow of an old lamp. She again promised herself and Heavenly Father that she would work each day to keep her spiritual walls strong. She gently ran a finger across the castle’s walls and remembered with warmth the special feeling that had filled her halfway through the test—a feeling that told her in a quiet, whispered way that Someone was with her. She closed the lid of the trunk, leaned back against the timber, and expressed her gratitude to a loving Heavenly Father for helping her in her hour of need.

When I was a young boy, my father owned a hardware store in our small town. Later he formed a partnership with two other men, and together they expanded the business.
One day I decided I needed a pocketknife. I went to the store and found the case where the knives were kept. I picked out the knife I wanted and put it in my pocket. While I was still standing by the knife cabinet, my father came up to me and asked what I was doing.
I explained to him that I needed a knife and had selected one from the store case. He very kindly and patiently explained to me that the knife did not belong just to him. Two-thirds of the knife belonged to his partners. Therefore he told me that I must put it back, because it was not his to give nor mine to take.
This lesson in honesty made a real impression on me. I have always appreciated my father’s taking the time to teach me right from wrong. Because he respected the rights of others and was honest in his dealings, his life was a constant example to me.

Over the years I had become comfortable with the idea that the Lord had given me my quota of trials; I thought my life would be spent caring for my children with their special needs. I did not resent this idea and even felt great peace and joy as I looked to my future. We had accepted the challenges and disabilities of both our sons, along with raising our two beautiful daughters. We even felt the strong desire to add to our family by adopting three more children with special needs. Each time we entered the adoption process, we experienced miracles as we were guided through each step of the way. There have been tremendous challenges but also tremendous blessings.

One winter day, I was walking the school grounds with my friends Alice and Trevor when we came across a sign that read: “Cups of tea now available.” Excitedly, Trevor offered to buy us each a cup of tea. “No, thank you,” I said.
Trevor offered me tea each day, and I continued to decline. Finally, he asked me why I wouldn’t drink the tea. I told him about the Word of Wisdom, hoping that he would understand. But he just turned it into a big joke. He tried to get me to break the Word of Wisdom.
“It’s not like you’re taking drugs,” he said. “A cup of tea is harmless!”
The next week, he and his friends started teasing me even worse. I tried to hold my head high, though it wasn’t easy.
Over time, they felt bad for their actions and stopped teasing me. One day, my teacher told me: “You have always been an example of your faith and religion. I am proud of you.”
I am proud of myself too. It isn’t always easy, but I know I’ll be blessed for standing up for my standards.
Nicolé M., West Midlands, United Kingdom

In the April 2019 general conference, a story was shared about a group of students watching a dog while socializing in the park. This dog was captivated by a busy squirrel who was unaware that the dog was slowly closing in. The students pointed it out to one another and sat by and watched. After all it wasn’t their dog. Minutes later, to their horror, the dog had sprung forward and grabbed the poor squirrel between his teeth. The students rushed to save the squirrel, but they were too late. Disturbed by the experience, they all wished they had made the choice to act sooner.1