Gospel Story Finder

We were packing for a short trip to the mountains of northern New Mexico, and I was loading the last of the children and supplies into the car. My wife appeared at the door and said cheerfully, “Well, we’re all set!” As she was pulling the locked door closed, I realized I didn’t have my keys! I yelled quickly, “DON‘T SHUT THAT … door.” Too late.
In an instant I was irritated. I said to my wife, implying she was to blame, “My keys are in the house!”
Fortunately, a forgotten open window allowed us access to the house without the loss of much time, and my feelings dissipated. I “forgave” my wife for having caused me emotional pain.
Later, as I thought of the experience, I realized I had found it convenient to blame my wife because it was a way of justifying my own failure. By my hostile feelings I could make it appear that she was the guilty one and that I was a helpless victim.
The truth is that my irritation was not due to her behavior at all. It was, instead, the product of my own unwillingness to accept the responsibility of my actions, and obviously, she hadn’t needed my forgiveness—but I certainly needed hers.
The real issue was my need to repent of the feelings I had. Had she been in some kind of transgression, then the solution to the problem would have been for her to repent and me to forgive. In this case, however, only my repentance was necessary to restore us to oneness. I understood also that my repentance, my giving up of my feelings of resentment, would have been necessary whether she had been guilty of anything or not. I saw that I could not be both unrepentant (or unforgiving) and compassionate at the same time. These are two incompatible attitudes.

Mary anxiously shifted back and forth in her seat as she listened to the other children in her Primary class take turns reading from the scriptures. She hoped her turn would never come.
Mary had a learning disability called dyslexia. When she looked at letters on a page, they seemed to run around and switch places. When she read out loud, her words were slow and sometimes out of order. Often she read words that weren’t there at all.
The closer Mary’s turn came, the more scared she was. When it was finally her turn, Mary couldn’t stand it anymore.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” she said suddenly as she jumped up from her chair, sending her scriptures tumbling to the floor. Mary ran down the hallway to the bathroom. She was glad it was empty. She stood in the corner and began to cry.
A few minutes later, she heard Sister Smith call her name as she came into the bathroom. “Mary, what’s wrong?”
Mary didn’t know what to say. She was so embarrassed. None of the other children had this problem. “I can’t read!” she cried as she tucked her head into her folded arms.
“You can’t read?” Sister Smith asked, puzzled. “I’ve seen you give talks in Primary. I know you can read.”
Mary shook her head. “I memorize my talks. I practice them over and over so I don’t have to try to read them in front of people. I can’t read out loud, and when I do, I make lots of mistakes. I don’t want the other kids to laugh at me.”
“Oh, Mary, I’m sorry. I won’t call on you to read out loud until I know you’re ready,” Sister Smith said. “And I don’t believe anyone in our class will laugh at you. They are your friends.”
“Kids at school laugh at me,” Mary whispered.
Sister Smith wiped Mary’s tears away. “Come back to class. You’ll see,” she said.
They walked back to the classroom together. Mary’s friend Betsy sat in the chair next to Mary’s, smoothing the ruffled pages of Mary’s scriptures. Mary sat down, and Betsy handed her scriptures back to her.
“Who would like to read next?” Sister Smith asked.
“It’s Mary’s turn,” a boy in the class said.
Mary hesitated, but she looked around at her classmates and saw their kind smiles. Sister Smith nodded and smiled too. Mary was nervous, but she found her place and began to read.
Her words came slowly. She made some mistakes, but when she got stuck, Betsy quietly whispered the right word in Mary’s ear. Mary did not read as well as the other kids in her class, but no one laughed or made fun of her. Then it was someone else’s turn, and the lesson went on.
As they walked to the Primary room after class, Sister Smith whispered to Mary that she was proud of her. Mary was glad she didn’t have to try to hide her trouble reading anymore. “I’ll just keep practicing,” she thought. And she smiled, knowing she had good friends at church to support her along the way.

A tender, sweet story about receiving peace from the scriptures appeared in the January 1991 Ensign, submitted by Sister Carole Seegmiller. Using a few excerpts, I quote from her article: “Dad decided that our family should begin an intensive study of the scriptures to help my brother Bruce prepare for his mission. Dad’s goal was to read the entire Book of Mormon before Bruce left, tape-recording our voices as we went along. … We would take turns reading a chapter [each]. …
“The family finished the Book of Mormon a few months later, … so Dad decided we should read and record the four Gospels from the New Testament. I complained this time, telling Dad that I didn’t see the point: we could buy audiotapes of professionals reading the scriptures—and they sounded a lot better than we did. Still Dad persisted. ‘Carole, one day these tapes will be a great blessing to us.’ …
“I began to enjoy these times together with the family. I especially liked to hear Dad share his personal insights about a passage. Soon I began to sense the peace that comes through studying the scriptures. We finished reading the four Gospels shortly before Bruce left for the Missionary Training Center. …
“After Bruce left, I noticed how comforting the tapes were to Dad. He often listened to them, partly just to hear Bruce’s voice, I thought, since they had been very close. Sometimes at night Dad would fall asleep listening, and I would smile to myself as I heard the familiar click-click-click of the recorder that had run to tape’s end. …
“When Bruce had been gone for more than a year, Dad died quietly of a heart attack. … All of our family members … gathered except Bruce, who had determined to finish his mission.
“That evening, after [the funeral], I was feeling low. I went upstairs to Dad’s room and dejectedly sat down at his desk. I noticed his well-used tape recorder lying nearby; inside was one of our tapes of the New Testament, which Dad must have listened to the night before he died. I began rewinding the tape, stopping it at random, hoping to find solace in hearing the gentle resonance of Dad’s voice. … I sat upright as my father spoke from the tape:
“‘Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.’ …
“I listened to that passage over and over; the words reached out and wrapped a comforting arm around me. …
“Peace did come to us that night. … Since then, I have tasted the sweet peace of the New Testament time and time again. To me, that is its greatest message” (“Our Family’s Tape-recorded New Testament,” Ensign, Jan. 1991, p. 27).

In 1931 Amelia married George Palmer Putnam, a publisher who had interviewed her before her flight across the Atlantic. And in April of 1932 Amelia was eager to try another major flight. She had flown over one thousand hours in the preceding two years, but she wanted a new challenge. She decided to fly the Atlantic Ocean alone, in spite of the warnings of her friends and family.
On May 20, 1932, she climbed into her Lockheed Vega and took off from Harbor Grace, Newfoundland. The flight was torture. Heavy rain and fog enveloped the plane. Then ice began to form on the wings. Raw gasoline, leaking from a broken gauge, flooded the floor and made sickening fumes. Amelia began to fear that fire might break out at any time. Suddenly, the plane began to dive. The ice had weighted the wings too heavily. Amelia tried everything she’d learned from her past flying experience, and, finally, one hundred feet above the Atlantic, she pulled the plane up.
Hour after hour the plane droned on. Then a patch of green appeared. Ireland! Amelia had made the flight in fourteen hours and fifty-six minutes, becoming the first woman to fly solo across the Atlantic.
Before returning to America, she was entertained by European royalty. King George V and Queen Mary of England, Belgium’s King Albert, and dignitaries from several other nations decorated her.
America welcomed her home with more honors. She received the Distinguished Flying Cross from Congress and the National Geographic’s premier gold medal. Cheering crowds greeted her everywhere she went.

My dear brethren, these past few days I have taken a stroll down memory lane. I went back forty-seven years ago in my memory to this sacred building where, as a deacon, members of my quorum and I rode the bus from Midvale to attend general conference. In those days during the war years of World War II, we could arrive here at ten minutes to the hour and still have a seat. I remember the feelings we had in those years, as the Brethren didn’t enter the pulpit area from the rear; they would walk up the aisles. I recall one Sunday that as we stood outside, a big, tall brother entered through the little gate on the east of Temple Square. It was President George Albert Smith, then serving as President of the Quorum of the Twelve. He walked up to us and visited with us and patted us on the shoulder. I have never forgotten the feelings I had when an Apostle of the Lord took the time to talk to four deacons in from the farm.

Illustrations by Katie McDee
The grass is thirsty, Mom! It’s all yellow.
I know. It hasn’t rained in a long time.
Ready? We don’t want to be late for church!
Next week is fast Sunday. Please fast and pray for rain.
I want to pray for rain!
Missy prayed for rain every day.
The next Sunday …
I’m ready for church!
Why do you have your umbrella?
I think it will rain.
It doesn’t look like it.
But I know Heavenly Father heard my prayers.
That’s called faith!
Sometimes answers don’t come right away. Now we need to wait and trust God.
Days later …
It’s raining! Heavenly Father answered my prayers.

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to try to read a restaurant menu when you’re blind? How about going through a buffet line in a wheelchair? Joel Williams of the Carrollwood Second Ward did, and decided to do something about it for his Eagle Scout project.
He arranged a special day when teams would visit restaurants in the Tampa, Florida, area, and use a checklist to see how disability-friendly they were. He’d already gotten permission from the participating restaurant managers, of course.
Before the teams went out, however, he set up an “Insight Cafe” in the meetinghouse and assigned each team member a disability with which they would attempt to enjoy a restaurant meal.
When the project was complete, Joel compiled a “Guide to Dining Accessibility,” which is available to the public. It lists restaurants and the handicaps they can accommodate. This was one Eagle project that not only helped the community, but gave tremendous insight to those who participated.

One day in my dance class, my teacher told us that we would have to wear bikinis for our costumes in an upcoming performance. I felt very bad inside. My mother and Primary teachers have taught me that Heavenly Father likes us to dress modestly. I asked my dance teacher if I could wear something else instead. She told me that I had to dress like the other girls or I could not be in the dance.
I looked down at my CTR ring that I always wear to remind me to choose the right. I knew what I had to do. I told my teacher that if I had to wear the bikini, I would not be able to be in the dance. She got angry and told me that I couldn’t drop out now because they would have to redo all the formations. I said I was sorry but I had to do what Jesus would want me to do.
It was a very hard decision to make, but I felt good afterward. When I told my mom about it later, she was very proud of me. She talked to the director of my dance studio and they decided that the costumes could be changed. I am very happy that I chose the right.

When these five deacons heard how President Russell M. Nelson climbs stairs two at a time1, they decided to start jogging stairs at their school’s bleachers. Can you figure out how many stair flights each deacon could do that first Saturday morning?
Clues:
Jian did six more flights of stairs than Mason.
Garret did two more flights than Jian.
Mason did half as many flights as Hector.
No two friends did the same number of flights.
# of Flights of Stairs
2
4
6
8
10
Garret
Hector
Jian
Mason
Sam
Garret, 10; Hector, 4; Jian, 8; Mason, 2; Sam, 6

Earlier in the week, we had been together in Kinshasa for an amazing young adult meeting, which filled every room in the stake center and overflowed into a large outdoor seating area. The questions were excellent and the teaching so inspired. I was sitting off to one side when—during the second hour of the meeting—Elder Bednar came over and quietly whispered for me to go into one of the other rooms where young adults were watching by broadcast, and ask if anyone had a question they would like to ask Elder Bednar. I entered one of the rooms where they were reverently watching, and as I began to ask if anyone had a question, they pointed to a bishop who was walking up to me and who then handed me half a dozen pages of questions he had already collected from all the rooms. I was astonished and asked why he did that (knowing no one had told him to do so). He simply said he knew we would be coming and felt it was the right thing to do. The Lord is in charge and through His Spirit clearly orchestrated all aspects of that extraordinary experience with thousands of excited young adults so anxious to see and learn from an Apostle of the Lord.

A friend of mine was recently released as the bishop of his ward. A few days later, knowing I had also served as a bishop, he asked to speak to me.
“Is it normal to feel what I’m feeling?” he asked.
“What are you feeling?”
“Disconnected, I guess. I have been involved in so many people’s lives, and now all of a sudden, it’s over. Will I ever feel so involved again?”
His question took me back to the time of my own release. I remembered having similar feelings. I missed being deeply involved in helping people draw nearer to the Savior and to their Father in Heaven. I missed encouraging them to seek and follow the inspiration of the Holy Ghost. Serving as a bishop had been a wonderful blessing, and now it was gone.
But was it really? As a little time passed, I realized that the blessing of giving service never disappears. It is an abiding opportunity. As disciples of Jesus Christ, aren’t we always to remember Him? (see D&C 20:77, 79). Aren’t we always to help others draw nearer to the Savior and to their Father in Heaven? Aren’t we always to help others, especially our spouses and families, seek and follow the inspiration of the Holy Ghost?
As my friend and I talked, we both realized that service doesn’t end when we are released from a calling, whatever that calling may be. For the followers of Christ, service never ends. Soon we receive a new calling, and we begin again as we all move forward together.

If you were to ask me if I believed in honesty, I would be a little bit offended. I would feel that you ought to know I believed in honesty. But let me tell you what I did a little while ago.

As our family was driving from Arizona, we stopped at a service station, and while the car was being serviced one of the children said, “Could we have some soda pop?” So, I went over to the vending machine. I put in one dime and I got out one bottle. I put in another dime and I got out another bottle. I put in a third dime and I got a third bottle. But then the gadget didn’t lock, and I got the fourth bottle out free. In all, I got four bottles for thirty cents. And as I was going over to the car to make the delivery, I thought, “They charge too much for this stuff anyway.” However, I have a little mental night watchman on duty up here in my brain someplace who started to make a fuss, and he said, “Look, Sterling, if you’re going to be a crook, you had better get more than ten cents out of it.”

I don’t know just what I would have done if soda water had cost a quarter, but I went back and put the other dime into the machine. Now, how can anyone tell whether or not I believe in honesty? By what I say about it, or by what I do while I am over at the vending machine where no one can see me except myself? Or, how are you going to tell whether or not I believe the gospel is true? By what I say in testimony meeting, or by the way I carry out my church assignments?

The youth of the Brea Second Ward, Fullerton California Stake, had an unusual opportunity. They helped a member of their ward celebrate her 99th birthday! Because Sister Polly Hall is unable to leave her nursing home to attend church, two priests from the ward visit her every Sunday to administer the sacrament.
Through their service, the priests have become friends with Sister Hall, and decided they would give her a birthday party.
Sister Hall was pleased to be the guest of honor at the party, which included games, dancing, music, and presents.
“I just love the youth of the Church,” says Sister Hall. “My testimony is strengthened each week when the boys come to visit me with the sacrament.”

When I was 16, my seemingly healthy, vigorous 41-year-old father dropped dead while water skiing. As you can imagine, this was a shocking event in my life and caused me much anguish. Why did this happen? This event was cause for considerable reflection and much prayer as I struggled to set my own course. A few months later, standing on the newly grown grass over his grave at the Ogden, Utah, cemetery, I decided several important matters:
One, that I would always keep the Word of Wisdom.
Two, that I would serve a mission.
Three, that I would always make him proud that I was his son.
Four, that I would strive to be successful as he was.
Five, that I would always be active in the Church.
Six, that I would marry someone in the temple as fine as my mother.
These were simple yet life-defining decisions. They were as indelible as the words carved on my father’s headstone, for my resolve was, in effect, carved in stone—unalterable and resolute. I had “decided to decide.”

Mango season had arrived in Retalhuleu, Guatemala. The heavy costal rains had ended, and the heat of the dry season settled over the Guatemalan pueblo. My missionary companion, Sister Coronado, and I didn’t mind the rising temperatures—at least not too much—because during the heat of the day we would gaze overhead at the mangos ripening in the sun. We loved mangos. We practically lived on them. Our generous investigators and members would fill our backpacks with them, and when it was too hot to eat anything else, Sister Coronado and I would feast on them and laugh at each other as the juice dribbled down our chins.
Hermana Coronado and I were good friends. As we walked around our area each day we would talk about everything. One of Hermana Coronado’s favorite topics was what I call “everyday miracles.” As our time together progressed, Hermana Coronado taught me to recognize these little miracles. Things like meeting someone who was feeling lonely, or running into an investigator that we hadn’t been able to contact were often miraculous blessings.
One day Sister Coronado and I were disappointed to find that a family we had an appointment with wasn’t home. Just outside the family’s home, we spotted the most beautiful mangos we had ever seen. This tree was loaded with what promised to be perfect fruit. We found ourselves drawn towards the makeshift family store that was propped up against the base of the tree.
“¿Hay Maria?” From the counter of the deserted store we called out the traditional Guatemalan greeting.
“Si, ahorita vengo,” a teenage girl replied that she would be right with us.
We asked the smiling girl if we could buy two of the mangos, but she explained that they had sold the entire crop of mangos to a company from the capital city, so they were only allowed to eat those mangos that fell from the tree naturally. We must have looked terribly disappointed because she apologized profusely that there weren’t any mangos lying on the ground. She assured us she wouldn’t charge us for the mangos if we came back another day when more had fallen from the tree.
“Oh, it’s okay,” we sighed and began to turn away. The girl watched as we pulled out our weekly planners and decided what to do next. Then all three of us heard a big thump from behind the store.
“Wait!” the girl called out and ran around the back. She came back with two beautiful, ripe mangos. They had fallen together and were still connected at the stem. We wondered if Heavenly Father had sent us a thank-you note in the form of two mangos to let us know our work was appreciated. It was a small thing, but that day in the Guatemalan heat, recovering from the disappointment of not being able to teach the family we had an appointment with, it was a small miracle.
Sister Coronado gave me an invaluable gift—the ability to recognize the hand of God in my life.

The most important teachers I’ve had in my life have been women. When I was young, my father died, and my mother became very ill when she was studying at a university. My grandmother was like another mother to me, even after my mother got better. Both of them taught me about the gospel, service, and family responsibilities. My faith in the Lord came almost entirely from them.
My wife June was also a wonderful companion and teacher for me. After June died, I married my wife Kristen. She has had a great influence in my life.
I will always be grateful for the faithful examples and teachings of these women.

I was baptized on December 5, 1993, in the city of Minsk. At that time, it was the only city in Belarus with a branch of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I attended worship services there, but I lived in Borisov, 40 miles (70 km) away. I was 17 years old, and there was sharp opposition in my family. But because of the trials I had at that time, my faith and testimony of the truth were strengthened. I was even fortunate enough to go to the temple twice in Freiberg, Germany, to perform baptisms for the dead. I impatiently awaited the time when I could receive my endowment.
In 1996 I began dating my future husband. Igor gladly accepted the news of the Restoration and was baptized on February 23, 1997. On March 1 we were married. Having a strong testimony of temple work, I wanted more than anything to go to the temple as soon as possible.
In September 1997, we moved to St. Petersburg, Russia, where Igor studied at the university. Our daughter Nelly was born there. Even after Igor had been a member for a year and a year had passed since our marriage, we still couldn’t go to the temple because we didn’t have visas and couldn’t get exit papers.
When Nelly was six months old, I became pregnant. It seemed to me we were in a hopeless situation. Igor couldn’t find steady work because he didn’t have a visa. He was holding down three jobs, but it wasn’t enough money for us to live on. Igor’s parents helped by sending money and food from time to time, but I was practically in despair because of our financial struggles. I felt even worse because we couldn’t go to the temple. In August 1998, after the exchange rate rose sharply, we decided to return to Belarus.
Our second daughter, Yelyena, was born in Minsk on January 6, 1999. Igor had a steady job now, but we still didn’t have enough money to go to the temple. Gradually we saved, however, and at the end of August 2000, we took the children to Germany. Igor has relatives in Kaiserslautern, and we stayed with them.
Early on the morning of September 2, we began our journey to the temple in Frankfurt. Although the trip was very tiring and included two transfers, we were full of enthusiasm and joy. We are grateful to all the temple workers, the temple president, and also the sisters who watched our daughters while we went through the endowment session. That was an unforgettable day! It is difficult to put into words the feelings we experienced there, but they were very good.
After the endowment session, we went into the sealing room, where Yelyena was already crying (it was her nap time). I hardly heard any of the sealing ceremony because of the crying, but we were very happy anyway. That was the most wonderful trip of our lives because we were in the house of the Lord.
We even managed to return to the temple. In February 2001 a group of members from Minsk went to Freiberg. I wanted to participate in the ordinance of sealings for the dead, since I had heard so little during our own sealing. I was grateful when Igor and I were invited to participate.
We now have a son, Robert, and as a family we attend the Minsk Second Branch (or, as it is known in Belarus, the Second Religious Community of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Minsk). And while we have overcome several difficulties, we now have new ones. I am very grateful for all of these trials. No matter what happens to us on this journey, Heavenly Father wants only good for us. No one else can help us in our most difficult hour. If we reject Him because of some difficulties, it would be like throwing away a life preserver because it did not keep us from falling into the river.
The burden is easy and the yoke light when we are with the Lord. He will not give us trials we cannot bear.

Elder Lawrence described a friend who decided to pray for the gift of charity. He related her experience: “She wrote: ‘I have been praying specifically for an increase of charity for several months. … Gradually my perception of others has changed. … I have begun to not just love the people around me but to enjoy them. Before, I may have kept my distance, but now I am genuinely interested in everyone.’”2

Not long ago, a friend recounted to me an experience he had while serving as a mission president. He had undergone a surgery that required several weeks of recuperation. During his recovery, he devoted time to searching the scriptures. One afternoon as he pondered the Savior’s words in the 27th chapter of 3 Nephi, he drifted off to sleep. He subsequently related:
“I fell into a dream in which I was given a vivid, panoramic view of my life. I was shown my sins, poor choices, the times … I had treated people with impatience, plus the omissions of good things I should have said or done. … [A] comprehensive … [review of] my life was shown to me in just a few minutes, but it seemed much longer. I awoke, startled, and … instantly dropped to my knees beside the bed and began to pray, to plead for forgiveness, pouring out the feelings of my heart like I had never done previously.
“Prior to the dream, I didn’t know that I [had] such great need to repent. My faults and weaknesses suddenly became so plainly clear to me that the gap between the person I was and the holiness and goodness of God seemed [like] millions of miles. In my prayer that late afternoon, I expressed my deepest gratitude to Heavenly Father and to the Savior with my whole heart for what They had done for me and for the relationships I treasured with my wife and children. While on my knees I also felt God’s love and mercy that was so palpable, despite my feeling so unworthy. …
“I can say I haven’t been the same since that day. … My heart changed. … What followed is that I developed more empathy toward others, with a greater capacity to love, coupled with a sense of urgency to preach the gospel. … I could relate to the messages of faith, hope, and the gift of repentance found in the Book of Mormon [as] never before.”19
It is important to recognize that this good man’s vivid revelation of his sins and shortcomings did not discourage him or lead him to despair. Yes, he felt shock and remorse. He felt keenly his need to repent. He had been humbled, yet he felt gratitude, peace, and hope—real hope—because of Jesus Christ, “the living bread which came down from heaven.”20
My friend spoke of the gap he perceived in his dream between his life and the holiness of God. Holiness is the right word. To eat the flesh and drink the blood of Christ means to pursue holiness. God commands, “Be ye holy; for I am holy.”21

On that November day in 1972 when I got on the bus to go to school, I had no idea this day was going to be one of the most important in my life.
I was 13 and an ordinary student. I mainly tried to have a good time at school, and I had many friends who were like I was. Óscar Italia was not like the other boys. He really did study and, as a result, was on the honor roll. But I didn’t know him well. He was a quiet fellow.
When I entered the classroom that day, he was wearing a button on his lapel that read, “I Care. What about You?” At that time the Church in our area had a program to help members share the gospel. They wore this button so when people asked about it, they could explain about family home evening and the family.
I asked Óscar, “What’s that?” He explained that he had been baptized three months before and was the only Latter-day Saint in his family.
During the breaks that day he noticed my interest and explained the plan of salvation, and he gave me a copy of the Book of Mormon. He read me the promise in Moroni 10:3–5 and told me that if I prayed, I would feel a burning in my heart that would confirm to me that the Book of Mormon was true. Óscar was a great member missionary, and I believed him.
The next morning, while my mother was doing her shopping at the neighborhood market, I decided to read the Book of Mormon. When I was almost finished with the first page, I had a desire to pray. I went to my room and knelt beside my bed. I had never prayed before, but I remembered I had to ask God in the name of Christ. I asked if the Book of Mormon was true, and I asked God to tell me if He existed. I expected to feel what my classmate had testified I would feel. After some minutes I heard my mother coming home and was afraid she would find me praying, so I stood up and got ready for school.
As I rode to school a real battle of ideas was going on in my head. “Is it true or not? Nothing happened,” I thought. I had a lot of doubts.
I can’t explain why, but no sooner had I stepped from the bus onto the sidewalk at school than the doubts disappeared, and I knew it was true. It was extremely simple.
Óscar came up to speak with me at the classroom door. I said, “I will be a member of your church.” He couldn’t believe it. A friend of mine was listening, and he told my other friends what was happening. Soon they were all around me, asking me why I was going to change religions. They told me I was crazy. I couldn’t answer their questions and started to cry. They finally went away, and I was left alone with Óscar. Suddenly I had an overwhelming feeling of joy. I had never felt anything like it before. It was the burning my friend had said I would feel, and it came as a confirmation of the decision I had made.
The next day Óscar brought me a button, and we wore them proudly.