Gospel Story Finder

I had an experience in the mission field that is very memorable to me. A man came to me after Church—he was twice my age, a very unhappy person—and told me that he had committed a grave sin before he joined the Church, that his wife would not forgive him, would not divorce him, and constantly reminded him that he was a worthless person. He said, “I’ve come to think of myself as she thinks I am. How can I be whole again and pure of heart, clean in my thoughts?” I said, “What have you tried to do for this problem?” He said, “I’ve fought it. I’ve fought it.” I told him there must be a better way than to fight sin. We knelt in prayer together, and afterwards I gave him a book to read—As a Man Thinketh in His Heart, So Is He—and then I put my arm around him, gave him a firm handclasp, and told him that he could overcome his problem. And then by inspiration or coincidence I said to him, “How would you like to prepare the Lord’s supper for Sunday School?” (He was a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood.) He said, “Do you think I’m worthy to do this?” I said, “No, I don’t think any of us really are. But I think Jesus would be pleased if you would render him this service.” And so he proceeded to set the Lord’s table each Sunday morning. After about six weeks I met him coming up the aisle before Sunday School. I put out my hand to reassure him. He put his hand behind his back and said nothing. I said, “Have I offended you?” He said, “Oh, no. I’ve just washed my hands with soap and hot water, and I can’t shake hands with you or any man until I’ve set the Lord’s table.” That’s the most beautiful reverence I’ve seen in that simple act of setting the Lord’s table. I was so pleased. In another six weeks he came to me after church again and said, “I’m a new man.”
Then I asked him to give a talk in church on some principle of the gospel of Christ that he really believed in and why. I kept thinking about the Savior. Well, serving the Savior in a simple way and thinking about him during the week, this man became a new creature. It was beautiful. And I realized that I’d never used the Savior in my own life in the same way. I don’t mind telling you that I did after that. I had the wonderful thrill of overcoming what I thought was a weakness in me by thinking of the Savior and making him the center of my prayers and my life.

One important teacher was my neighbor, Mrs. Carey. I was a young boy when World War II was raging, and every day after school she taught me about the war and the countries that were involved in it.
Mrs. Carey took me through the war day by day—in Europe, city by city; in the Pacific, island by island—explaining what was happening. In the process, I learned about history and geography. My interest in other countries was sparked during the hours I spent in her home.

Last summer I met Sister Yvette Bugingo, who at age 11 fled from place to place after her father was killed and three of her brothers went missing in a war-torn part of the world. Yvette and the remaining family members eventually lived for six and a half years as refugees in a neighboring country until they were able to move to a permanent home, where they were blessed by a caring couple who helped with transportation, schools, and other things. She said they “were basically an answer to our prayers.” Her beautiful mother and adorable little sister are with us tonight, singing in the choir. I have wondered many times since meeting these wonderful women, “What if their story were my story?”

Illustrations by Jennifer Tolman
Dear Journal, Jarom wrote as he sat at the kitchen table, I’m getting really excited about going on a mission. Did you know I can now go when I turn 18? That’s only eight years away! I can’t wait!
Jarom kept writing about how much he looked forward to his mission. His younger sister Taran was also writing in her journal. Kelcey, Ben, and Alyssa drew pictures in their journals instead. They were still too young to write.
I used to be kind of nervous about the idea of leaving home to go on a mission, Jarom wrote. But now I know better. A mission is going to be great. I wonder where I’ll go.
He kept writing about his future mission. Every Sunday his whole family wrote in their journals for 15 minutes as part of Family MTC—their family’s own “missionary training center.”
They’d already done their 15 minutes of personal scripture study. Jarom knew that was important too, even if it wasn’t always easy. Sometimes the scriptures confused him. But he kept doing his very best. And Mom and Dad could always answer questions when he got really stuck.
Journal time, though, was always one of his favorite activities. He especially liked when they shared journal entries with each other.
“OK,” Dad said. “Time’s up. Ready for class time?”
Everybody cheered. Class time was fun. They each picked favorite articles from the Friend to teach the rest of the family. Jarom chose a baseball story he found—he loved baseball, after all. And his younger brother, Ben, couldn’t wait to tell about a boy who tried building the biggest block tower in the universe. Everybody had something to share.
The 15 minutes zoomed by with favorite stories. That meant only one thing was left.
“It’s time for family devotional,” Mom said.
Jarom grinned. Family devotional usually meant watching Church videos on the computer. The whole family loved those videos. They sometimes couldn’t decide which videos to watch for the 15 minutes. There were so many to choose from.
“Can we watch the one about the scorpion again?” Jarom asked before they even made it to the computer. “Please?” The video about the scorpion showed how Elder Patrick Kearon of the Seventy learned to obey his parents and avoid dangerous things.
“We just watched that last week,” Dad said with a laugh.
“I know, but it’s awesome!”
“I want to watch ‘The Coat,’” Kelcey said.
In no time at all, it seemed, Family MTC was over for another week. And yes, they’d gotten to watch Jarom’s favorite video again. Sooo awesome, Jarom wrote really fast in his journal.
Then it was time to get ready for church. Jarom grabbed his scriptures and headed for the door.
He remembered a couple months ago when they started Family MTC. At the time he didn’t really know what to think of it. Would it feel like one more hour of church? Sometimes three hours felt like a long time already.
But he was surprised by how much he loved Family MTC. Going on a mission was one of his big goals in life. He knew what he had to do to be ready. Learning as a family made it that much more fun.
Besides, if it meant he got to watch the scorpion video a few more times along the way, well that was just fine by Jarom.

“Jessie,” Mother called, “are you OK? You’ve been in the bathroom for a long time.”
“I’m getting my family home evening lesson ready,” Jessie called back.
“In the bathroom?”
“I can’t part the Red Sea in the living room,” Jessie replied.
“That’s true,” said Mother.
Jessie had a little water in the bathtub. She put in several drops of red food coloring, just for effect. Her father had carefully installed a rotating fan on a shelf above the tub for her, and if she stopped the fan from moving back and forth, turned it on high, and used only a little water in the tub, she could part the Red Sea.
But this only solved part of her problem. She couldn’t turn the fan off to drown Pharaoh and the Egyptians while she was still getting Moses and the Israelites to the other side of the bathtub. And how was she going to get Pharaoh into the sea to begin with? There was also the cloud that separated the Israelites and the Egyptians. She could use cotton for that, but someone else would have to hold up the cloud.
David came into the bathroom to comb his hair. “David,” asked Jessie, “would you turn this fan off and on for me when I ask you to?”
“If it won’t mess up my hair,” said David.
“It won’t, I promise.”
Just then their sister Ruth came into the bathroom to get some nail polish. “Playing in the water I see, David,” Ruth teased.
“Be quiet,” said David. “I’m helping Jessie part the Red Sea.”
“Ruth,” said Jessie, “I need you to get the Egyptians into the Red Sea so that David can drown them.”
“Clever!” Ruth exclaimed, picking up the small figures. “They’re plastic cowboys and horses dressed up in Egyptian capes.”
Jessie’s little brother, Jared, came into the bathroom to see what was going on. He picked up the cotton. “Soft,” he said.
“Jared,” Jessie asked, “Can you hold that cotton cloud right here to protect the Israelites?”
“Me water,” said Jared leaning over the bathtub and swishing the water with one hand and swinging the cloud with the other.
Dad came into the bathroom to brush his teeth. “Well, it looks like we’re having a meeting in here,” he said.
“We’re parting the Red Sea,” said Ruth.
“Tonight’s lesson?” asked Dad. “So that’s why you wanted the fan set up in here, Jessie.”
“Yes,” Jessie replied. “Will you please help me get Moses through the Red Sea? I can’t move all these Israelites by myself.”
“The robes on these army men of yours look great,” said Dad. “They make good Israelites.”
“Thanks, Dad,” said Jessie.
Mother poked her head into the room. “What on earth is going on in here?”
“Oh, Mom,” Jessie answered, “we’re ready for my part of the family-home-evening lesson. Will you sit on the clothes hamper and watch? We need a watcher.”
“I’d love to,” said Mom.
“Ready, begin,” announced Jessie.
David turned the fan on. The Red Sea parted. Jessie and Dad led the Israelites through the bathtub. Jared held the cotton cloud and swished his hands in the red water. Ruth rode the caped Egyptians into the tub on their horses. David turned off the fan, and the Egyptian soldiers and Pharaoh drowned. Mom clapped and cheered.
“Whew,” said Jessie, wiping her forehead, “that was quite a job.”
“A great family effort,” said Dad.
“Jessie, I’ve made your favorite red sugar cookies,” Mom said, “in honor of your parting the Red Sea.”
“Boy, I’m luckier than Moses,” said Jessie.
“Why’s that?” asked Dad.
“I’ll bet Moses didn’t get red sugar cookies after he parted the Red Sea.”

One reader, Lynna Shin, now a student at BYU, faced the same dilemma about dealing with her family, who are not members, and attending Church meetings. She wrote, “My parents needed to know I was still their daughter. My spending so much time with church families made them feel they were ‘not good enough.’ I began suggesting Sunday activities like a drive into the mountains or a walk as an alternative to shopping malls, amusement parks, or movie theaters. Sometimes it worked, but not always. But I still spend time with my family because this is what the Lord asks of us. Trying to avoid my family for fear I was becoming a ‘bad’ Latter-day Saint only estranged me from my parents, making it harder for me to share with them the joy of the gospel.”
Lynna also suggested reading Mark 2:27, where Jesus teaches that the Sabbath day is for our benefit. We do not have a list of dos and don’ts like the ancient Jews had for observing the Sabbath. Instead we feel it is a day to worship and be with loved ones.

When Spencer was four months old, I took him to our local hospital for an appointment. As I unloaded him from the car, I saw two people exiting the hospital. In disbelief, I realized it was William and his mother.
“William!” I called out when we got closer, my heart pounding.
“Hi!” He ambled across the parking lot, a wide grin lighting up his face. He thrust out his hand and grasped mine in an enthusiastic handshake.
“How are you?” I asked him.
“Violin,” he said, the excitement shining in his eyes.
Violin. He remembered me too. “Yes,” I choked out through a teary laugh, “I played the violin.”
As we spoke, my heart rose in prayer for the tender mercies of a loving Father in Heaven who knew how much I had wished to meet William again. I am grateful that God saw me—a struggling young mother overwhelmed with my son’s health problems and worried for his future—and gave me an experience that reminded me that He is aware of us.

I have always loved the story of the son of King Louis XVI of France because he had an unshakable knowledge of his identity. As a young man, he was kidnapped by evil men who had dethroned his father, the king. These men knew that if they could destroy him morally, he would not be heir to the throne. For six months they subjected him to every vile thing life had to offer, and yet he never yielded under pressure. This puzzled his captors, and after doing everything they could think of, they asked him why he had such great moral strength. His reply was simple. He said, “I cannot do what you ask, for I was born to be a king.”

“Kurt is a Down syndrome Scout who also has coordination problems,” says a priesthood leader. “He went with our Scout troop on a hike of about thirty kilometers. After sixteen kilometers, he lost his walking rhythm. But with his dad in front of him and his Scoutmaster behind him, he walked every step. We waited hours for him to finish.

“When Kurt and his helpers finally appeared, a spontaneous cheer went up, and Kurt proudly ran the last part, crying, and saying, ‘I did it, I did it! They are cheering for me! They thing I’m good!’ Everyone had tears in their eyes. We will never forget that lesson.”

Phan Phon and his wife make sure they teach the gospel to their grandchildren. The gospel of Jesus Christ helped their family move forward after the tragedy of losing their home in a fire.
When Phan’s home caught on fire, he could only save his three grandchildren. Everything else burned to the ground. Phan was angry at the neighbor who caused the fire. When his anger spread to his family and neighbors, Phan knew he needed to forgive.
Leslie Nilsson, photographer
The first time I heard the explosion, I asked my wife, “What is that sound?”
She said, “Maybe the neighbor is burning something.”
Then I heard a second explosion. Someone next door told me, “There’s a house burning behind your house!”
We went to get some water, but we couldn’t put the fire out. The fire spread to my house. I ran in the house to get my three grandchildren. Smoke was coming through the windows, but I didn’t think about anything besides my grandchildren. They are the most important thing to me. I left everything else inside.
We got out and all we could do was watch the house burn. Firefighters did not arrive in time because the road to our house was too small. My house was old, and it burned quickly. I stood with my wife and grandchildren and watched it burn.
After the house burned down, I felt hopeless. I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t know what to do to find a new place to live. The day after the fire, we knelt to pray and asked the Lord to show us the way and bless us to be able to find a new home. I was weeping while praying to the Lord, but I trusted that He would help me.
At first, I was mad at the neighbor who caused the fire. I wanted him to pay for what had happened. My family and the neighbors affected by the fire were also mad and wanted to send a letter to the government to make the person who caused the fire legally responsible for what happened. They asked me to sign the letter, but I didn’t want to.
I realized that my neighbor was poor like me. He didn’t intend to start the fire. If I made him pay, he would be in trouble, and I would still feel hatred. I remembered the word of the Lord that we should love our neighbor. I felt that I should forgive.
When I decided to forgive, I felt peace.
I told everyone affected by the fire that I wanted to forgive. Except for one family, everyone decided to do the same thing. They wouldn’t make him accountable for what happened.
My neighbor was happy I forgave him. My family is more happy too. When I see this, I am also happy.
Members and neighbors contributed what they could to help my family. I received a lot of rice and shared it with others. They asked me why I give when I’m in a bad situation. I tell them when I serve others, I serve the Lord. I want to give to Him because He made many miracles happen in my life. We have a beautiful home, better than the one that burned down.
Phan’s anger toward the neighbor who caused the fire was replaced with peace when he remembered the word of the Lord. Phan is grateful for the guidance he receives from the scriptures.
As his home burned down, Phan could only think about his grandchildren. Phan loves his family. “They are the most important thing to me,” he says.

Another way we partner with God is by letting our light shine. Eighteen years ago, while I was serving as a bishop, a woman visited our ward for a Sunday worship. After the service, I invited her to meet in my office. During our discussion, a Primary child walked into my office, greeted the visitor, and gave me her tithing envelope, after which I proceeded to shake her hand and thank her. These few seconds with this faithful Primary child touched the visitor, and she began to ask questions about tithing and other doctrines of the Church. She later joined the Church and today serves as a stake Relief Society president—all because a Primary child was living the gospel.

Reach out. I am grateful for the organization of the Church because there are people in the ward or branch who are responsible to minister to each one of us. We are not alone. If you are in need, humbly reach out. Speak up and let others know a way that they can help. So many struggles are not public knowledge and not shared, so it might be hard for others to know how to help you if you don’t tell them. One example is that we had a few unexpected treatment appointments come up, and we had not yet arranged childcare. I asked a few friends to have my youngest daughter over for playdates to help ease the burden on Grandma, who was primarily caring for her. They were so kind and willing but would not have known I needed that help if I did not ask.

We were greatly blessed in our effort to obtain visas into Salalah in Dhofar. (See illustration 7.) Our request for visas made months before in the United States had been politely but firmly refused; Dhofar was disputed territory between Oman and Yemen and not a safe place for tourists. When we reached Muscat, Oman, we called on the Minister of Information, a young man, fluent in English, and explained that we had come all the way from America to see the big trees at Salalah because we had an ancient book that reported a Semite family’s building a ship, perhaps from those trees, to sail to America where their descendants became the American Indians. He was astonished.

“Salalah is my home and there are large trees there, but I have never heard this story.” He agreed to give us passes into the war zone if we would bring letters of introduction from the U.S. Embassy in Muscat. We acquired the desired letter of introduction. Because of the tense military situation, we were asked to fly down one day and return the next. We were naturally disappointed to have only 24 hours in Salalah, but we agreed cheerfully. We discovered later that on the day before our arrival at Muscat, the commander of the rebel forces had surrendered to the Sultan of Oman, ending 13 years of hostilities. Thus, two days after our arrival in Oman, the Minister of Information was willing to issue a pass into the war zone.

At the end of January 1831, Joseph and Emma Smith traveled to Ohio from New York in a horse-drawn sleigh. It was very cold, and Emma was expecting a baby. They arrived safely in front of Newel K. Whitney’s store in Kirtland during the first part of February. As they stopped, the prophet sprang from the sleigh, entered the store, and approached Brother Whitney, whom he had never met before. “Newel K. Whitney!” he declared, extending his hand to shake. “Thou art the man.” “You have the advantage of me,” replied Brother Whitney. “I could not call you by name as you have me.” “I am Joseph the Prophet. You prayed me here, now what do you want of me?” Joseph then explained that while he was still in New York he had seen Brother Whitney in a vision, praying for him to come to Kirtland. With great joy, the Whitneys made room in their home for the Smiths until they could find another place to live.

“Time for family prayer,” Dad called.
I quickly finished brushing my teeth. As I hurried down the hallway, I almost fell over a ball of orange fur that dashed between my legs.
“Mac!” I yelled, startled. “Why do you always do that?”
But Macaroni, our big tabby cat, ignored my protests and hurried on to my parents’ bedroom.
Mom laughed. “Mac beat you again.”
“Mac the prayer cat,” murmured my little sister as she scratched behind his ears. “He never misses family prayer.”
“Why do you think he likes family prayer so much?” Dad asked.
“Because he knows he’ll get his ears scratched?” I suggested.
“I think he can feel the love in the room,” Mom replied seriously.
My brother giggled. “Sometimes Mac rubs his head on my bare feet when I’m kneeling, and it tickles.”
“Should we keep him out of the room when we pray?” Dad said. “Is he too distracting?”
“No!” we all said together.
“This is family prayer and he’s a part of our family,” I pointed out. “He’s welcome to come, even if he does almost trip me every night.”
We later learned that Mac was a prayer cat in more ways than one. I discovered this one afternoon when I couldn’t find my list of spelling words. I needed it to study for a big test the next day, but it wasn’t in my backpack or with my schoolbooks. I was frantic. I came out from looking under my bed and saw Mac watching me.
“What do you want?” I said irritably. “It’s not time for family prayer. Go away, you silly cat.”
Mac just sat staring at me. As I looked at him, I remembered that I hadn’t prayed.
“Well, maybe you’re right,” I admitted. “This is probably the perfect time for a prayer.”
I knelt by my bed and asked Heavenly Father to help me find my spelling list. When I finished, I felt Mac brushing his head against my arm. I sat down and scratched behind his ears. Then I remembered! On the way home from school I had taken my list out to practice the spelling words with my friend. Quickly I felt in my coat pocket and found the list.
“Thanks, Mac,” I said. “Thanks for reminding me that any time is a good time for prayer.” Then I knelt again and thanked Heavenly Father for helping me.
A few weeks later, Mac suddenly went missing. He didn’t come back the next day, or the next. We were terribly worried, but we knew just what to do. Dad and my brother put up posters and talked to the neighbors. Mom notified the animal shelter. And all of us prayed.
After three days, Mac came home. He was thin and dirty, but safe. We were all grateful.
That night, when family prayer was called, I was happy to stand aside and let Mac precede me down the hall to the bedroom.
“Mac the prayer cat,” my sister said, scratching his head. “At night he reminds us to have family prayer.”
“And during the day he reminds us to pray anytime we need help,” I added.
“Even when he’s gone he reminds us to pray for him to come back,” my brother said.
“And now that he’s back,” Mom said, “he reminds us that prayers are heard and answered.”
“Can you tell how glad we are to have you in our family, Mac?” Dad asked.
In answer, Mac curled up in the middle of our family circle and purred.

Years ago while serving as a mission president, I received a phone call from the parents of one of our beloved missionaries informing me about the death of his sister. I remember, in the tenderness of that moment, that missionary and I discussed God’s marvelous plan of salvation for His children and how this knowledge would comfort him.

Although he was stunned and saddened by that adversity, this missionary—through his tears and with faith in God—rejoiced in his sister’s life. He expressed unwavering confidence in the tender mercies of the Lord. Resolutely, he told me that he would continue to serve his mission with all faith and diligence in order to be worthy of the promises that God had for him and his family. In this time of need, that faithful missionary turned his heart to God, placed all of his trust in Him, and renewed his commitment to serve the Lord with faith and with all diligence.

From South America we received word of a woman who, when approached by missionaries to accept baptism, said, “You don’t want me. I am nothing.” But the missionaries persisted. She accepted the gospel, and it brought hope and love to her life; it brought learning and growth and progress. In time she became a Relief Society president, and through her devoted concern she could give that same hope and love to others.

For a number of years it was my opportunity to serve as a member of the Missionary Executive Committee and to profit from the leadership of President Spencer W. Kimball, who was chairman of the committee. On one occasion I remember having read the detail on a particular missionary candidate, and President Kimball indicated that the young man would go, I believe, to London, England. Then he said, “No. That is not correct. Send the young man to the Denmark Copenhagen Mission.”

I looked on the form and noticed that I had overlooked reading a very important statement from the stake president. I said, “President Kimball, have you ever seen this particular form before?”

“No,” he replied.

“Look at what the stake president has written,” I continued. “‘The grandfather of this missionary candidate is an immigrant from the land of Denmark. He is our stake patriarch. The missionary candidate was promised in his patriarchal blessing that if he lived true and faithful he would return to the land of his forebears, that he might preach the gospel in that particular land.’”

President Kimball nodded his approval and said, “The Lord’s will has been made known today.”

Some have thought it important to give a gift to the Savior at Christmastime. President Kimball relates one such gift he received that was earmarked for the Savior. I’d like to quote somewhat from his remarks.
“In one of the stakes of Zion lives a family who also believes in a birthday for Jesus. … They gave me a crisp fifty dollar bill [and] said, ‘Today is the Lord’s birthday. We always give gifts to our family members on their birthdays. We should like to give a gift to the Saviour. Will you please place this money where it will please the Redeemer most?’
“Two days later, Sister Kimball and I were on our way to Europe for a six-month’s tour of all the missions. As we made hasty and extensive preparations, we kept thinking about the birthday gift entrusted to us, and then the thought came to us that perhaps in Europe we would find the most appreciative recipient.
“For months we toured the missions, held meetings with the missionaries and Saints, and met many wonderful folks. There were numerous opportunities to present the gift, for the majority of the Saints over there could use extra funds. But we waited. Toward the end of the mission tour, we met a little woman in Germany. She was a widow; or was she? For she had been alone with her family of children for ten years. Whether her husband was deceased or not, she did not know. A victim of World War II, he had disappeared and no word had ever come from him. It was said that he was behind the Iron Curtain. The little folks who were but children when he was taken away were now near grown, and the son was a full-time missionary among his German people.
“It was nearing the time of the temple dedication at Bern, Switzerland. I said to this good woman, ‘Are you going to the temple dedication?’ I saw the disappointment in her eyes as she said how she would like to go, but how impossible it was because of lack of finances. ‘Here is the place for the gift’ was the thought which rooted itself in my mind. I quietly checked with the mission president as to her worthiness and the appropriateness of her going to the temple; and then I gave to him half of the gift, which he assured me would pay the actual bus transportation to Bern and return.
“A few weeks later we were in southern France. … We were one hour late for our meeting at Nice. It was a hot night. The building was filled to capacity. A woman sat at the piano, entertaining this large crowd until our arrival. For one hour she had played. I was embarrassed for our delay and so grateful to her for what she had done to hold the group and entertain them that I inquired concerning her. Her husband, a professor, had died not long ago and the widow was making a meager living through her musical talents. She was a rather recent convert. Her mission president and the elder assured me that she was worthy and deserving so I left with her mission president to be given to her the other half of the Saviour’s gift.
“We completed our mission tours … and finally returned to Bern for the dedication service of the Swiss Temple. The prophet of the Lord, President David O. McKay, was present with three of the apostles. After the glorious dedication meetings were over, the regular temple services were conducted in the various languages. As I assisted the French Saints in their session, I was conscious of the little musician; and she literally beamed as she was enjoying the Saviour’s birthday gift. She had used it to pay for her transportation to the temple. Her eyes shone with a new luster; her step was lighter; she radiated joy and peace as she came through the temple with new light, new hope. And I whispered to myself, ‘Thank the Lord for good folks who remember the Redeemer on his birthday.’”4

As my siblings and I started high school, my dad could see the busy schedules of our teenage lives begin to crowd out precious family time. So he required my sisters and me to be home between five and seven o’clock for dinner every night. At first this was hard, but as we honored his wishes, something beautiful happened.

Every evening we came home to each other from school, work, and activities. We learned how to prepare dinner. We ate and talked together every night and then read the scriptures together. I still remember the spirit I felt as my mother and father testified of true gospel principles. There was a spirit of love and acceptance there that allowed us to express ourselves and discuss difficult topics. And when our parents needed to teach us something, it came naturally during scripture discussions, with love and testimony. We argued less among each other and became best friends.

Although I was involved in many things during my high school years, this memory stands out most in my mind: my family time together around the dinner table. All the other rewarding experiences I had during those years were silver, and this was gold.

Those dinner hours we spent together had a huge impact on the way I dealt with challenges and how I felt about life and myself. I knew that no matter what happened outside our home, I had a family who cared about me.