Gospel Story Finder

I was nervous. I had been to Blythedale Children’s Hospital on a few previous occasions, and my youngest brother, Taylor, had been a patient there. But I was still nervous. Participating in a Young Women service project at the hospital was a new experience. The children at Blythedale are all preparing for or recovering from major surgeries. Many children there have cerebral palsy or other disabilities. I was worried about what to do, what to say, and how to act in these unfamiliar circumstances.
I first noticed Libby because she was the last to finish her “paper pizza,” the craft project we were doing with the children. All the other children had finished their projects. But not Libby. Her jet-black hair hung down over her face as she focused intently on her work. She sat in a wheelchair, hovering over her pizza and arranging the pieces to her liking.
“Can I help glue those pieces on?” I asked.
“Nope,” she replied matter-of-factly. “I can do it.”
My Young Women leaders were crinkling up newspapers and packing other supplies, but Libby continued to work, unrushed. I realized that Libby would need some help to finish, but she seemed intent on doing her project herself. I noticed that Libby didn’t have enough “confetti cheese” for her creation, so I searched under the tables to find more. I even had to pick through the newspapers that were in a large garbage can, but we finally found enough and Libby put the final touches on her masterpiece.
After placing the pizza neatly in her lap, Libby maneuvered her wheelchair around to join the “singing circle,” and I followed. We sat side by side, singing silly songs with all the other kids. Libby frequently reached over and clasped her arms tightly around my neck, bringing me close to her face. This display of affection surprised me, but I responded by placing my arm around her small neck and smiling. Libby didn’t sing many of the songs, but she seemed happy to sit with me, listening as I sang.
As I sat with her, I realized that Libby reminded me of my youngest sister, Lyndsey—especially her hands. Libby’s tiny hands had long, thin fingers, and her fingernails were all cracked and broken, obviously from being bitten.
“You know what, Libby?” I said. “You look a lot like my sister Lyndsey, who’s around your age. In fact, your hands look exactly like hers. She bites her nails just like you do!”
Libby looked up at me, biting her lip. Then she asked me an unforgettable question.
“Did your sister have to have her legs cut off, too?”
I froze. It felt like my heart ceased to pump for just a second. Lyndsey’s legs were strong; they climbed trees and rode bikes, jumped on beds and turned cartwheels. They ran barefoot through the grass in summer and skied down steep slopes of snow in the winter. But how could I say that to Libby?
Libby gazed at me calmly, waiting for an answer. I mumbled some response which she accepted and then moved on. After I answered her, I realized that Libby, like most people, wanted someone who could understand.
Singing time came to an end. Libby asked me to help her pull her braces over her knees, all traces of independence vanishing as the question was asked. As I pulled the rubbery braces over her feeble knees, she reached her slender arms around my neck and grasped me tightly in one last hug. Then she turned her wheelchair and pushed herself determinedly down the hall.
I watched Libby until she disappeared into her hospital room. I wanted to reach out and do something more for her, but I realized I had done all I could do that night. Our brief friendship is still special to me. On my trip to Blythedale I learned something I’ll never forget. We are two totally different people—different races, different lifestyles, and different challenges—yet we felt a love for each other.
I was only a 14-year-old girl, but I think I may have succeeded in making a connection with Libby, simply because I was willing to try. I hope she thinks so too.

Marusia Lawrence, longtime member of Aylesbury Ward lives in a small community on the outskirts of her town.
In 2018, she made a house-to-house collection hoping to raise enough funds to purchase a silent soldier (also known as ‘Unknown Tommy’, see https://rbli.shop/products/unknown-tommy), a black silhouette of a soldier armed with a rifle, which would be displayed permanently in the village. To her delight, these efforts raised enough money for two silent soldiers for the special 100 Year Centenary Remembrance Sunday in 2018.
For 2019, she organised a Remembrance Service for November of that year. She felt strongly that there should be a formal start prior to the two-minute silence and asked fellow Church friend—Richard Godivala—to play the “Last Post” on his trumpet, dramatically setting the scene for the rest of the programme.
All neighbours attending were able to sincerely reflect on a reading of “In Flanders Field” by John McCrae (Canadian poet, soldier, and physician, who died in 1918 in France) and then a reading of “For The Fallen,” written by Englishman Laurence Binyon in 1914.
The service finished by singing the national anthem. Afterwards attendees socialised and talked of their thanks for peace in Europe since 1945, sharing beverages and biscuits at local venue, Cooper’s Barn. Marusia said these quotes made by World War II soldiers truly resonated at this Remembrance Service:
“For your tomorrow they gave their today.”
“Attitude, gratitude and service before self brings happiness and fulfilment in life”
“Brave soldiers laid down their lives for everyone to bring peace into the world.”

Last summer Scott and 17 other members of his stake went on a three-day handcart trek. The first day they pushed their carts 26 miles. The second day turkeys were turned loose. The members of the companies were blindfolded and told to catch them. Scott caught the turkey for his group.
On the last day of his trip each one went out by himself.
“That gave me a chance to think,” Scott said. “I had a lot to think about—about reaching goals, about what kind of member of the Church I was. I needed to take everything further. I needed to take what I was further. I realized the only thing stopping me was myself.”

Our family was sealed in April in the Hong Kong Temple. We had been waiting to come to the temple for two years. There are five people in my family: my mother, my father, my elder sister (12), me (11) and my younger brother (2). We prayed to God and it was a very beautiful experience. At first, we were afraid how we could go but everything was all right. We arrived safely. When we reached the patron housing, we could not believe that we were there in front of the temple because we had been trying to make it for many years.
My little brother and I, who were too young to enter the temple, stayed in the patron house except for the one day we went for the sealing. My sister went to do baptisms every day for our family and for others. She really felt the Spirit. I sat in the waiting room and read scriptures. I really felt the Spirit too. I like that place. In the patron housing I could feel the Spirit. When we woke up in the patron housing, we could clearly see the temple outside the window. It was very wonderful.
When I went to the temple to be sealed with my family, it was very nice to see them all dressed in white. It was like they were not my mother, father, sister and brother but like angels who had come to visit me. My parents were in the sealing room and a sister came and told us it was time to be sealed so we followed her to the sealing room. They opened the doors and we saw the altar and they asked us to kneel there and put one hand on the altar and we all held our other hands, we made a chain and they sealed us by a prayer.
When we were sealed, we were all crying. They stood us in front of a mirror and showed us the generations of our family in the future then they turned us around and showed us our ancestors who had gone before. In the sealing room it felt like Heavenly Father was present.
Being sealed in the temple means that we will live together in eternal life. When I looked in the mirror behind us, I felt like our ancestors were there with us. When we left the temple, we really felt like Jesus Christ was with us, like our partner.

When one asks people about their Christmas traditions, most respond with a description of how they celebrate it by having family gatherings, giving gifts (including money), eating traditional meals or comfort foods of the season, putting up decorations, etc. I remember one year when I was a child, I told my father that that Christmas had been the best one in my life. He asked why I had said that. My foolish response was, “Because I have received so many great toys that my friends will envy me.” He did not respond with words, but my father’s wise lesson was given the following years. That was the last Christmas I received that many toys and no more expensive gifts did I get thereafter. The lesson remains with me, as over time I’ve come to realize that prominently absent in my thoughts and in my foolish response was the mention of our Savior and Redeemer’s birth, His life, and His mission.

Shortly after my baptism, the branch president called me and said, “Sister Gamanga, the Spirit has directed me to call you to be the Relief Society president.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I said. “I don’t know how to read, I don’t know how to write, and you want to call me? What is the meaning of that?”

He explained that I would invite the women to church, talk to them, and help them. “With God, I can do it,” I said.

Since that day, so many things have happened in my life. I started reading only two-letter words, then three-letter words. I then moved from three-letter words to four-letter words, then five to six-letter words. This has helped me teach in Relief Society.

If there is something I don’t understand, I ask for help. My problem is spelling. I don’t know how to pronounce some spellings, but I get help so I can understand. When I’m teaching, I ask one of the Relief Society sisters to help with any words I don’t know. That is the way I teach in class. Each time I ask for help, I learn more.

A brilliant and highly educated young woman spoke in Berchtesgaden, Germany, to a conference of American military personnel who were members of the Church. I was there and heard her. She was a major in the army, a medical doctor, a highly respected specialist in her field. She said:
“More than anything else in the world, I wanted to serve God. But try as I might, I could not find him. The miracle of it all is that he found me. One Saturday afternoon in September 1969 I was at home in Berkeley, California, and heard my doorbell ring. There were two young men there, dressed in suits, with white shirts and ties. Their hair was neatly combed. I was so impressed with them that I said: ‘I don’t know what you’re selling, but I’ll buy it.’ One of the young men said: ‘We aren’t selling anything. We’re missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and we would like to talk with you.’ I invited them to come in, and they spoke about their faith.
“This was the beginning of my testimony. I am thankful beyond words for the privilege and honor of being a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The joy and peace this glad gospel has brought to my heart is heaven on earth. My testimony of this work is the most precious thing in my life, a gift from my Heavenly Father, for which I will be eternally thankful.”

The Secuya family live in a mountainous part of Cebu, with the parents working as farm caretakers to support their brood of five. On weekends, the entire household puts on formal clothes and shoes and start trekking . . . up to twelve kilometers to reach the Busay 2nd Ward meetinghouse of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“It’s important we go to church every Sunday, because we learn a lot listening to the words of Jesus Christ,” shares Richelle Secuya. Together with her other siblings and parents, Richelle walks through upland paths and then takes off her footwear to ford through streams, after which she and her family wait for a public utility vehicle that brings them to church.
As they attend sacrament meeting, the Secuyas feel a different kind of fulfillment. “We know that Heavenly Father is happy when we are at church, which is His House,” Richelle’s brother Ryle smiles.
Still, the family knows the challenges of keeping the Lord’s command to renew their baptismal covenants as they keep the Sabbath day holy. “I remember our worst experience,” recalls Mitzi Secuya, the siblings’ mother, “we had to walk three to four hours, which we did for a month.”
At one point, the long trek became almost unbearable for her children. “There were times when they would say they were tired from walking and walking,” she admits, “but we still continued because our Sunday would not be complete if we went to church without them.”
The winding ways Sister Secuya and her family traverse reflect her journey in bringing her family to walk the covenant path together. At first, Sister Secuya was the only Church member in the family, but she had become less active.
Then, one day, she saw the full- time missionaries. “I’m a member of the Church, come please,” Mitzi excitedly called them out. The missionaries set an appointment with the family, and invited them to hear about the gospel of Jesus Christ.
At first, Richard Secuya wasn’t that receptive to the missionaries, but as he thought of his wife and children, he became more responsive to the promptings of the Spirit. The entire family became members of the Church, and were sealed for time and all eternity in the temple.
“I know the Lord will not forsake us if we come to Him,” Brother Secuya testifies, “and it is truly wonderful that we are now members of the Church. He really is mindful of us.”

There was one time when I found a card that proved to be particularly meaningful for me. I was having a very difficult time and had been praying for help quite a bit. It was during this time that I found a card from my dad. The card read, “We’re praying for you, Justin. Keep up the good work. Love, Dad.” It gave me a taste of home that I missed, and the encouragement from my dad helped me to keep working hard.
As I thought about how grateful I was to my dad, I realized that my Father in Heaven had also had a hand in sending me this message. It had come at the perfect time, when I needed it most. I was then reminded of the talk by Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles from the April 2005 general conference about the tender mercies of the Lord and how God leaves us little reminders throughout our lives to tell us that He loves us (see “The Tender Mercies of the Lord,” Ensign, May 2005, 99). These “business cards” from Him brighten our smiles and strengthen our faith.

Nine-year-old David O. McKay sat cross-legged on the floor in front of a warm fire in the front room of the McKay home in Huntsville, Utah. Sitting next to him on a handwoven rug was his seven-year-old brother, Thomas, and his sisters, Jennette, four, and Annie, two. The children were thrilled to have their father home for the first evening in over two years.
David McKay, after whom David O. had been named, had just returned from serving a mission in Scotland—the land of his birth—and the children were anxious to hear of their father’s adventures in that far-off land. This was the first time that little Annie had even seen her father, because she had been born ten days after he left for his mission. However, she quickly made friends with this gentle, bearded man, and they developed a special relationship.
As David told the children about Scotland, describing the music of the bagpipes, the fields of heather, the castles, and the thousands of sheep dotting the hillsides, one of the children asked him if he had seen any miracles while he was on his mission. David’s eyes met those of his wife, Jennette, and he replied as he put his arm around her, “Your mother is the greatest miracle that I have ever seen on this earth.” The McKay children remembered those words the rest of their lives, and they were taught by their father to love their mother and to appreciate the many things that she did for them each day.

Stanley was a 19-year-old investigator in Hong Kong. He was excited about the gospel and wanted to be baptized until his friends criticized the Church. He met with the missionaries. They testified that God cared enough about him to answer his prayer. They invited him to kneel and ask Heavenly Father if the teachings were true. First one companion and then the other offered a short prayer. Then Stanley prayed. When he finished his humble prayer, they asked him, “Stanley, how do you feel?” He slowly raised his head and in almost a whisper replied, “Baptism, baptism.”

The same allegiance to tradition that makes missionary proselyting difficult also demands ingenuity in doing member-missionary work. About fourteen years ago, in Premia de Mar, a small suburb of Barcelona, Mari Carmen Clavet and Carol B. Rivero began holding home Relief Society. No branch existed in the town. The majority of the twenty-five women who attended were not members of the Church, but they still seemed to enjoy the prayerfully selected lessons prepared each week.

When four baptisms resulted from the Premia sisterhood, missionaries were sent to the small town and established the Premia de Mar Branch, although there were no priesthood holders at the time. For several years missionaries served as branch presidents, until a returned missionary, Javier Garriga—once a Primary student of Sister Rivero—moved to Premia de Mar. He now serves as branch president.

Another question often asked is, When death from war occurs, what of the promised blessings of the patriarch upon that person’s head? Why are his blessings not permitted to be realized? I think now of a distraught father and mother who had just received that ominous and tersely worded telegram from the government, informing them of the death of their son. They came seeking an interview to see if some light and understanding could be given to ease their aching hearts and to bolster their faith. Just home from a mission for the Church, he’d been inducted into military service. Before leaving, he had received a patriarchal blessing in which he was promised that he would have a posterity of sons and daughters. Had the patriarch’s words been inspired? Why did this promise fail? asked the parents, since to their knowledge their son had lived worthy of every blessing promised to the faithful.

Akin to this is another incident of a sister who had filled a mission and had contracted tuberculosis. Shortly after she returned home, she passed away. I was asked to speak at her funeral service. She had received a patriarchal blessing in which she had been promised that she would be a mother in Israel. The family said that certainly no one had lived a more saintly life than had she. I spoke of this, as it troubled me. The patriarch of the stake spoke at the funeral also. He said, “When a patriarch pronounces an inspired blessing, such a blessing encompasses the whole of life, not just this phase we call mortality.”

A letter written by my father, Haydn Morgan (1926–2010), to Sister Joyce Clarke, reads:
“October 2001.
“This month is special to me, since it’s 40 years ago that I took the 76 bus from the market in Swansea to Brynmill. As I sat upstairs while the bus waited a while, I noticed that Elena Neale got on; at the next stop it was your turn; further on Margaret Berry joined the bus. When I got off at St Gabriel’s church, I was delighted when the three of you alighted as well. It was such a joy to see you and eagerly ask after your families. I do not think you remembered this man accosting you, but how much I remembered you all from those few short meetings attended in that scruffy little hall in Manselton, two years earlier.
“It was mentioned that you were on your way to a Relief Society meeting with a missionary couple living in the next street. When you got there you told the Bronsons of our meeting, with the result that some weeks later they called, and we were in touch with the Church again.
“I believe that like Saul we all have our own Damascus Road (See Acts 9), maybe not with a blinding light, etc. Mine was two years earlier. During that time, I knew that the Church was true, and I yearned to be part of it, but lacked the courage. You three lovely ladies were my Ananias, who opened my eyes, changing my life and that of my loved ones. In these past 40 years, we have had some wonderful experiences, often great challenges, but never any regrets.
“I shall be eternally grateful for that wonderful bus ride with its meeting and later friendship and associations.”
Haydn Morgan and his wife, Joy, were baptised in the spring of 1962.
(Edited for punctuation.)

Camping is not my thing.
Which is why everyone who knew me was surprised when I, along with a good friend, signed up for a weekend camping trip to Colorado, USA, with a bunch of strangers for no reason other than that I wanted to get out of my comfort zone and feel a little more adventurous.
It was about 3 a.m. the first night when it started pouring rain. I stared up at the paper-thin walls of my tent, mentally begging them to keep me dry and sincerely regretting my decision to come. I spent the rest of the trip enjoying the views but mostly trying not to embarrass myself; I was less outdoorsy than most of the people I was traveling with, and I worried constantly that I would look incompetent.
On the final night of the trip, my friend and I ventured outside to try to enjoy the nature that we’d traveled so far to see. As we stood outside our tent, my friend surprised me with her astronomy knowledge, pointing out Taurus, the Pleiades, and Cassiopeia, tracing her finger along the sky as she told me stories about the clusters of stars. It was a beautiful, peaceful moment.
The longer we stood there, heads tipped back, the more I forgot about my own discomfort. Looking up at the vast, starry sky was humbling. For probably the first time during that trip, I was able to fully appreciate something beautiful instead of worrying about myself and getting caught up in my own silly pride.
I felt the difference between these two feelings on that camping trip. For the majority of the trip, I was self-absorbed, worried about how I looked and smelled and how comfortable I was. But there was a brief moment, during that evening under the stars, when I was able to look outside myself and realize that there is so much more to living in this miraculously beautiful world than what I was experiencing.
That night, I learned to look up when I wanted to stop thinking about myself, and that’s proven to be a pretty effective antidote to pride. As the famed Christian writer C. S. Lewis explained: “In God you come up against something which is in every respect immeasurably superior to yourself. … As long as you are proud you cannot know God. A proud man is always looking down on things and people: and, of course, as long as you are looking down, you cannot see something that is above you.”3
That trip didn’t change my mind about camping—it’s still not my thing. But I’m grateful that I learned an important lesson about “walk[ing] humbly” (Doctrine and Covenants 11:12) that night, because it taught me something that I not only needed on that trip but will need for the rest of my life. It’s normal to struggle with pride—it’s an inherent part of our mortal experience. But acknowledging it in ourselves and working to overcome it by seeking humility can bring us closer to Christ and help us live happier lives.

It was storming outside, and the only sound in the cabin was Father’s voice quietly explaining why he had given flour to those who had come by during the day. There was much sickness in the little community and a mixture of flour and water seemed to be the best possible medicine.
Patiently Father reminded the children that they had been especially blessed because none of them had had the strange “winter sickness.” Even though the crops had failed in the fall, it had been possible for him to trade flour for the wagons he made for his neighbors or for pioneers going through Fillmore on their way to the west coast.
Early that morning Mother said, “Please don’t give away any more flour, Father. There’s only enough left for a little bread for our own children.”
Before Father could answer, a knock came at the door. A neighbor stood outside. He said he needed some flour for his sick wife.
Even the youngest child was touched by the look of gratitude on the neighbor’s face when Father filled a cup with flour, gave it to him, and said, “Be of good faith; the Lord will provide.”
A few minutes later another knock was heard and when Father opened the door, a young man hurried in. The family knew Father could not refuse help when the worried young father said, “Oh, Brother Carling, my baby is dying! I must have some flour.”
After the young man left with the flour, Mother started to cry. Father gently put his arm around her and suggested that the family kneel with him in prayer. A feeling of peace and hope came into the little cabin as Father expressed thanks for health, for warmth, and for safety on such a cold November day. Then he prayed that in some way it might be possible for them and their neighbors to get food, especially some flour.
After the prayer, Father suggested that Mother try to scrape together enough flour from the box to make a little gravy. To her surprise there was plenty for that and some flour was still left over.
While the family was eating, another knock was heard at the door. The man standing outside said he needed the services of a good wagonmaker and had been told Father might be able to help. “I have twenty tons of flour here,” he said. “I wonder if I could trade flour for wagons!”

I hated being the new kid in school, yet there I was, new for the third time in less than a year.
I dreaded going to my seventh-grade class that first day. Who would talk to me? Would I be able to find my locker, and if I could, would I remember the combination? Would the other kids in P.E. make fun of my skinny white legs? What subjects were they studying? Who would I eat lunch with? Who would I walk home with?
I was scared to death.
That morning, I invented all kinds of excuses to get Mom to let me stay home from school for one more day.
“C’mon, Mom, I don’t even know where the school is. What if I get lost on the way and you never see me again?”
That didn’t faze her.
“Besides, I think I might have the flu. You don’t want to embarrass me by making me go to school sick, do you? I’ll probably throw up right in the middle of English class, and for the rest of my life, all the kids at school will remember me as the kid who threw up in Miss Van Horn’s class.”
That got a smile out of her, but she still didn’t give in. She handed me my lunch, wished me a good day, and pushed me out the door.
The first day wasn’t so bad. I found the school, I didn’t throw up, and my teachers didn’t ask me any questions I couldn’t answer. And I even made a friend. At least, I thought I had.
Craig, a popular kid in my homeroom, befriended me. He helped me find my classes, ate lunch with me, introduced me to some of his friends, and even asked me to stick around after school to shoot some baskets.
I figured Craig and I were going to be great friends, so I hung around him all the time. But one day in the second week at my new school, some of his friends pulled me aside at lunch and said, “Hey, why do you keep hanging around Craig?”
“Cause we’re friends,” I answered.
They laughed. “Friends?” smirked one. “He hates you hanging around him all the time at school. Why don’t you just leave him alone?”
Their words stunned me, and I struggled to keep a smile on my face as they walked away laughing. I decided, then and there, I’d stay away from Craig. If he wanted to be my friend, I’d welcome him, but I wasn’t going to be pushy.
Everyone wants to be liked and to have friends, but some people are so desperate to make friends that they’ll do almost anything. My shadowing Craig, for example, was out of character for me, but at the time I really needed a friend and I didn’t have the confidence that I would make friends by being my normal self.
As a high school teacher, I’ve seen students completely change themselves in hopes of winning friends.
Lora, a sophomore, was new in my school, and she had everything going for her. She was pretty, smart, athletic, and personable. Unfortunately, it was her first experience in a new school, and she had difficulty adjusting. She had never known what it was like to be new, to be a stranger, to be without friends.
In her desperation to make friends, Lora latched onto the first kids who showed an interest in her. Those kids were, in my estimation, less than desirable. They lived for the weekends when they could “party hardy.”
They welcomed Lora with open arms, and so she was sharing the shallow existence of those whose only happiness is found in alcohol, drugs, or immorality. Lora continued to be pleasant and active in my class, but she had changed. Her sparkling countenance was gone, and her academic motivation was fading.
It’s important to have friends, but friends and popularity aren’t worth self-destruction. One Church leader said it well when he advised youth to, “Seek not to be well known; seek, instead, to be worth knowing.”
It’s not difficult to get to know people if you involve yourself in school activities, talk to people, and act friendly. But sometimes the hard part comes in making real friends out of people you get to know. If, however, you’re “worth knowing,” you’ll have little trouble turning acquaintances into friends.
So then, how can you be worth knowing?
First, be interested in others. Martin H. Durrant, my former bishop and stake president, lifts my spirit every time I meet him. He always asks me about myself, my family, my job, or my hobby. His questions are sincere, and I know, without a doubt, that he’s genuinely interested.
But it’s not always easy to talk about other people’s interests. For example, a friend and I were finishing graduate school at about the same time. Every time we met he’d tell me in great detail about his research project and how it was going. In all the time we were working together, he never once asked me about my work and study. He didn’t seem like a real friend because he didn’t seem interested in what I was doing.
Once you learn to talk to others about their interests, practice being cheerful. Having a smile on your face forces you to be in a good mood. No one enjoys being around a grump or someone who looks like they’re carrying the world’s problems on their shoulders.
In addition to being cheerful, it’s also important to be a good listener. Sometimes when my wife has a problem or is struggling with a decision, she’ll talk to me about it. My first impulse is to stop listening, tell her what I would do, and advise her to do likewise.
It took me a while to learn that she didn’t want my advice; she wanted my willing ear. The next time a friend tells you about a problem, bite your tongue the minute you’re tempted to dispense advice. Let them say all they have to say; then give advice only if they ask for it.
And, finally, be a good influence on others. When I was a sophomore in high school, some of my friends started drinking and smoking. They knew I didn’t drink or smoke, but they began to pressure me to join their parties anyway. The more they pressured me, the more uncomfortable I felt, until finally I stopped hanging around them. I figured that if they were really my friends, they wouldn’t push me to do things I didn’t want to do. Real friends would never ask you to do something you shouldn’t.
Really, this friendly advice is basically what you’d do if you followed the Savior’s advice to “love one another.” If you really work at loving those around you, and show that love, you’ll be the kind of friend everybody wants.
It’s never easy being the new kid on the block, and making friends and breaking into social groups can be tough. Here are a few ideas you might want to consider.
Give yourself some time. If you’ve just moved to a new town, or changed to a new school, it will take a while to establish friendships. Don’t worry if you have to spend some time alone for the first few months. Take advantage of this time by participating in family activities, developing your talents, and learning about your new surroundings.
Don’t be afraid to make the first move. You can’t always wait for people to introduce themselves to you. Remember, they might be as apprehensive approaching the “new” person as you are talking to them.
Stay away from people who drag you down. If your friends force you to choose between them and doing what you know is right, it’s time to look for new friends. Pray for guidance when you are making new friends, and make a commitment to yourself to maintain your integrity.
Get involved. In addition to getting to know the kids in your ward or branch through Mutual activities, try joining a club at school, going out for a sports team, volunteering to decorate for a dance, or trying out for a play. These types of activities often involve teamwork, so it’s a good way to really get to know people who share your interests.
Be worth knowing. Think about the kind of person you would like to be friends with. Write down some of the qualities that person would have, and then work to cultivate those traits in yourself.

The only time I remember having my honor questioned was during an examination in high school. I believe the examination was in economics. The teacher had a habit of standing at the back of the room watching the students during examinations. I was writing vigorously when the lead of my pencil broke. I asked my neighbor across the aisle to let me borrow his pocketknife. As he handed me the knife, the teacher came down the aisle and said, “Hand in your paper, and you’ll not be permitted to play in the basketball game tonight.” I was a forward on the team. I explained that I was asking for his knife so I could sharpen my pencil, but no explanation would satisfy him.
I went home after school by horseback rather discouraged that evening and told my father what had happened. He felt sure I was honest. I knew I was.
I was out milking the cows when a telephone call came from the coach saying that I should come over to the gymnasium that evening, that the teacher would see me and he hoped I would have an opportunity to play. I was reluctant to go, but with father’s encouragement, I went to the gym and met the teacher. He asked me if I would confess my dishonesty, to which I replied, “I have not been dishonest. There is nothing to confess.” He did reluctantly permit me to play. I went into the game with very little spirit and we lost. Though I bear no ill will toward my teacher (he was only doing what he thought was right), I did learn from the incident how important it was that I keep my name and my father’s name above reproach. I have tried to do that all my life.

Receiving my mission call to the Philippines Cebu Mission was a momentous occasion in my life. I had been preparing for quite some time, and I was ready to serve. Entering the missionary training center was a great experience. It struck me that the first thing that they do there is give you a name tag. But this is no ordinary name tag—it has two names. One is the missionary’s name and the other is the name of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Putting on that name tag was the start of a new understanding for me of what it really meant to be a representative of Jesus Christ.

When my husband and I lost our first baby, doctors told us I would never have children. I was devastated. I grieved and looked for answers. My husband also grieved. We prayed and knew how important it was to be an eternal family. Eventually, we were sealed in the Los Angeles California Temple.
I was still trying to understand why this loss had happened when I remembered my patriarchal blessing. I started to read my blessing and found a part I had completely forgotten about. It said I would be blessed with sons and daughters. I thought that there had to be something wrong with what the doctors had told me. I went to the doctor and was told again that I was not going to be able to have a baby.
About five years after we lost our first baby, we decided to try in vitro fertilization. At the first appointment, a pregnancy test showed positive. I couldn’t believe it. They ran more tests and confirmed that I was already pregnant. Nine months later, we welcomed our daughter into our family. Now, I am a mom to four incredible kids.