Gospel Story Finder

Our son-in-law Jeff recalls that through some of his teenage years, there were times he saw the commandments of God as restrictive, and he was like the kite that would cut its string at every opportunity. At that point in his life, obedience was a challenge. He would obey at times largely out of duty to his family or when motivated by fear of punishment. He says he didn't feel a love for the Savior--that he did not really know Him. Fortunately, through the influence of those around him, including his parents and a Young Men adviser, he was obedient enough that the Spirit could touch him with some understanding and desire to do good. Line upon line, he slowly progressed and became converted to the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Jeff remembers: "Looking back 30 years later, I can see that I have been caught up in a virtuous cycle of obeying and receiving light and knowledge, which causes me to want to obey more. I see in my own life the truth that President Dieter F. Uchtdorf taught: 'We come to see obedience not as a punishment but as a liberating path to our divine destiny. And gradually, the corruption, dust, and limitations of this earth begin to fall away. Eventually, the priceless, eternal spirit of the heavenly being within us is revealed, and a radiance of goodness becomes our nature.'"[18]

Merry Christmas, Grandma and Grandpa, my two favorite missionaries!
Love,
Abby
Eight-year-old Abby was underlining the word love when her brother, Zac, marched into the living room. “What are you doing?” he asked, peering over her shoulder.
“Finishing my Christmas card for Grandma and Grandpa. Are you done with yours?” Abby looked up at six-year-old Zac as he dropped a fistful of crayons onto the table.
Zac shook his head. “I don’t really want to make a card for them.”
“Why not?” Abby asked, surprised.
Zac shrugged. “I don’t know. It was strange not having them here for Thanksgiving. I missed Grandpa’s great stories about the turkey hunts he used to go on with his dad. And it didn’t seem the same without Grandma serving her secret-recipe pumpkin pie.”
Abby nodded. “It’s been three months since Grandpa and Grandma left on their mission. We’ve never gone that long without seeing them. I miss them too.”
“I always thought that if people loved you, they wouldn’t want to leave you.”
Abby glanced around the living room at the four red knit stockings hung on the mantelpiece, the garland strung around the kitchen doorway, and the colored lights blinking brightly on the Christmas tree. Suddenly her gaze became fixed on the nativity scene placed on a small wooden table in the corner of the room.
“Come with me,” Abby said, gently tugging Zac’s sleeve. She led him over to the small table. “Isn’t this beautiful?”
“Sure,” Zac said with a puzzled look on his face.
Abby carefully picked up two shepherd figures and three small white sheep from the manger scene. She set them on the floor beside her. “Zac, what if an angel hadn’t appeared to the shepherds, telling them Jesus was born?”
“Abby,” Zac said, upset, “the manger doesn’t look right without the shepherds and the sheep.”
“I know,” Abby said softly. “Help me put these back in place.”
She pressed the two shepherds into his hands. “The shepherds knew about Jesus because someone told them. But, Zac,” she added as he placed the shepherds close to the manger, “there are a lot of people who don’t know about Jesus.”
Zac ran his fingers over the top of the stable. “And Grandma and Grandpa are going to find some and teach them about Him.”
“That’s right. Think what a special Christmas this will be for the families Grandma and Grandpa are teaching the gospel to.”
“I still miss them,” Zac said, almost in a whisper.
“Me too,” Abby agreed.
Zac scooped up his crayons. “See you later,” he said.
“Where are you going?” Abby asked.
“I want to make my Christmas card for Grandma and Grandpa.”
“Show it to me when you’re finished, OK?” Abby called as her brother disappeared around the corner. Her gaze returned to the nativity scene. She smiled and gently touched the small star above the manger. “Merry Christmas, Grandma and Grandpa.”

"I grew up in a big city, in Los Angeles, which gave me the opportunity to meet early on people from different walks of life. I had interactions and connections with people that helped me learn about their lives as they learned about my life.

"I had an experience at a bus stop where I was running late to work. And, in my frustration, I turned around and I noticed an older lady who was going about digging in the trash. Her hair was very damp; she was missing a lot of teeth, but she smiled at me. It made me forget that I was running late.

"Who is going to help her? Who is willing to give her something to make her have a better day? I don’t know. But in that moment, it made me realize that’s me. I know I’ve been in different phases of my life where I’ve needed help and I’ve prayed for someone to offer something in my life, mostly love or a sense of belonging. And that made me think about Jesus Christ and how He loves me and how He does give me a sense of belonging. That motivated me to offer her my apple.

"We started interacting, and I couldn’t help but want to offer her my whole lunch. I would have offered her everything if I had even more. I’ll never have everything that I wish I could have to offer someone. But that is why Jesus Christ is the great Mediator, because He can. He can offer and duplicate what I can’t by infinity.

"When I think about Jesus Christ and how He fed the five thousand or the four thousand, it wasn’t about loaves and bread. Of course, feeding them provided a very temporary nourishment. But when you read carefully behind that, it really is about His mercy. It really is about His grace. It really is about His love.

"Those people, those individuals that He would help that were considered the outcasts, the people who were marginalized—which in today’s world might be the refugee, the immigrant—sometimes we see people different because of their skin color, because they’re from a different religion.

"Because of these experiences that I’ve had and as I realized what God has done for me, how could I not want to help someone out of the love and the mercy and the grace that God has for me?" [5]

I vividly remember rappelling with a group of young women. I was first in the group to go. As I stepped backwards off the cliff, I began to fall without control. Gratefully, the rope jerked and my too-rapid descent was stopped. As I dangled halfway down the jagged rock face, I prayed fervently for whomever or whatever was keeping me from dropping onto the rocks.

Later, I learned that the anchor bolt had not been securely set, and as I stepped off the edge, the person belaying me was jerked on his back and pulled towards the edge of the cliff. Somehow, he wedged his feet against some rocks. Stabilized in that position, he was able to laboriously lower me, hand over hand, with the rope. Although I couldn’t see him, I knew he was working with all his strength to save me. Another friend was at the bottom of the cliff, prepared to catch me if the rope ceased to hold. As I came within reach, he caught my harness and lowered me to the ground.

When I was 21 months old, I was diagnosed with bronchial asthma. Thankfully, my mom is a registered nurse and she takes good care of me. It gets really bad during the winter, and I missed a lot of school. When I entered the third grade, my mom prayed for me and my dad gave me a priesthood blessing. On the last day of school, I was awarded a Perfect Attendance Award. Heavenly Father really answers prayers.

In one area where more than 300 homes burned, the residents honored the firemen and the missionaries. One resident said, “These missionaries worked longer and harder than anyone else.” Then the missionaries sang, “Because I Have Been Given Much,” (Hymns, no. 219). After the song, the missionaries and residents hugged one another with tears in their eyes.
Said one elder, “We showed others that though we are young, the gospel guides our lives whether we are teaching the gospel or digging out the remains of a home.”

“The decision I made to go on a mission was the greatest one I made in my life,” says BYU’s star player, Mike Smith. “I made my decision to serve a mission many years ago. I made the decision before other pressures could influence me.”
And the pressure did come. Mike was considered to be one of the best players to come out of any California high school and many large universities wanted him. Mike chose BYU, and in his first year, he was a starting player 27 of 31 games. But id didn’t bother him at all to leave his sports career behind for a couple of years.
There were those who didn’t understand, however. One man in particular, a long-time fan of Mike’s from his hometown, couldn’t understand why Mike would run the risk of sacrificing his career to serve a mission. Mike wrote his non-Latter-day Saint friend a letter from the mission field in which he bore his testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel, the Book of Mormon, and the prophet of the Church. Mike also told him he felt it was a privilege rather than a sacrifice to serve. His friend was so affected by mike’s testimony that he took the letter to a local Catholic priest, who happened to be interested in Mike’s basketball career too. The priest, in turn, read the letter in mass every day for a week, saying it was an example of a youth who was doing all he could to serve the Lord.
“Nothing that happens on the basketball court can compare with experiences in the mission field,” Mike explains. “The feelings you experience on the basketball court are so limited, so temporary. You can make a game-winning shot and the fans love you, but the next play you might accidentally bounce the ball off your foot and that great feeling is gone. But the feelings that you have in the mission field, where the Spirit touches your heart, you’ll never forget.”

Moses Mahlangu, of Soweto, South Africa, patiently but persistently waited sixteen years for baptism. When he speaks of his long wait, Brother Mahlangu compares himself to Cornelius, who he says was “very good in waiting to receive the word of God or to be a member of the Church until the angels came and told him what to do.” (See Acts 10:1–7.) Today, at age sixty-seven, Moses is a groundskeeper at the Johannesburg South Africa Temple, which he regularly attends.

At age 14, young Ezra T. took over management of the family’s dairy herd while his father was away on a three-year mission. He remembers sitting around the kitchen table, listening to his mother read the letters his father sent home. Reminiscing about listening to those letters, he said, “There came into that home a spirit of missionary work that never left it, and later seven sons, all of them, went on missions, to their blessing and the blessing of their posterity” (Glasgow Scotland Area Conference, June 21, 1976).

In July 2022, Stephanie and I returned home from Manchester, England, after serving as mission leaders. We love the United Kingdom and its people and its culture. As mission leaders, we interviewed missionaries every six weeks, and during one of these interview sessions, I met with a wonderful sister missionary. Our relationship over the previous few months had deteriorated to the point that there was a lack of trust between us. Unfortunately, the early part of our interview together intensified these feelings of mistrust. I was very direct with her, and she was very direct with me. We spent most of the interview defending our own points of view. The frustration of this interview was clearly reflected in my countenance and with my words.
In the middle of our conversation, this good sister missionary requested a priesthood blessing from me. The request came at a heated point of the interview.
I thought to myself, “You must be joking. You are asking me for a blessing now? This makes no sense.”
Unfortunately, I not only thought these words but also expressed them out loud.
The interview concluded, and I went to explain to Stephanie what had just transpired.
Stephanie said, “No, you didn’t just do that, did you?”
It was obvious that I had made a terrible mistake. I found an empty room at the church building and knelt to pray to my Heavenly Father in the name of Jesus Christ.
The words spoken to me through the Holy Ghost were clear: “Peter, Peter, she is not yours. She is mine. Love her like I would love her.”
I responded, “Yea, Lord, You shared this with me once before. Please help me.”
Again I received the reply: “Peter, Peter, she is not yours. She is mine. Love her like I would love her.”
I arose, found this good sister, and apologized for my lack of understanding and for my lack of showing love for her. We spoke again, and this time I spent more time listening to understand and to ascertain her needs. Once we came to understand each other, I asked if she still wanted the blessing. I invited Stephanie into the room and gave a priesthood blessing. I do not recall the words spoken, but each of us felt an increased love from God and for each other. Angels ministered to each of us in that room at that most sacred moment.

Most doctors would be stunned to see Maria Turman at the encampment. As a matter of fact, they would be surprised to see her alive and smiling at all. Just a few short weeks ago, they were sure she was dying of brain cancer.
“I could barely stand the thought of what she would have to endure through whatever time she had left,” said her mother. “So we went home and called everyone we knew and asked them to pray for her. People of every faith joined us in prayer, and her name was in many of the temples.”
People fasted for her. People prayed for her. And they supported her in other ways too—like those who stood by her in the hospital, and the friend who told her that if she had to shave off her beautiful hair, he would shave his head too and, who knows, maybe they’d start a fad.
After a grueling two weeks of treatment and testing, her doctor came to her in total shock. “There’s been a miracle,” he said. “This girl does not have brain cancer. She does have another disease, but it is not fatal.”
Through all this Maria and everyone involved developed an incredible amount of faith—faith in the power of prayer, faith in the power of the priesthood from which blessings came that said she would be restored, and faith in the power and love of Heavenly Father.
Maria adds a sparkling, pure white to the rainbow.

Nearly a year ago, in Pasadena, California, Sister Janice Burgoyne was dying of cancer. She had shared generously of herself and was dearly loved. Her Relief Society sisters were bringing her meals, cleaning her house, caring for her two young sons, helping her husband plan a funeral. It was hard for Janice to receive so much help, knowing that her sisters would find that piece of old toast behind the couch. She worried her sisters would know more than her heart. But because her sisters knew her heart, it didn’t matter. They provided car pools, tutored homework, played her piano, changed bedding. And they did it day after day after day, without complaint, with boundless charity. Such sharing forever changed those sisters. Before she died, Janice turned to a Relief Society sister and asked with gratitude and awe, “How does anyone die without Relief Society?”

On a typical shopping day, you might see Valerie and Julia’s mom in the grocery store, pushing a cart loaded with twenty loaves of bread or fourteen gallons of milk. But she’s not buying food for the next ward party—she’s just doing the usual shopping for her family!
There are twenty people in the Mackey family. Valerie and Julia (both 9) became sisters nearly five years ago when their parents married in the Arizona Temple. Valerie’s mom, Eileen, had six children, and Julia’s dad, Jim, had nine. Later, the family was blessed with three more boys—Jimmy (3), Adam (1 1/2), and newborn Samuel.
Needless to say, the Mackey household is a lively one. All the children live at home except Stacy, the oldest, who’s on a mission in Brazil. There’s always someone bringing friends home or running off to athletic practice, a job, or another activity. In spite of the different schedules, the family usually manages to eat dinner together. Every day Julia and Valerie set the long table with eighteen place settings, then clear it when dinner is through.
The two sisters love to do things together, like jump on one of the two trampolines in their backyard, and race through a field near their home. They also like to swing on their swing set and to ride their bikes. The warm Arizona weather lets them play outside almost all year round.
They share a room with Shirley (6) and Jimmy (3). Sometimes they curl up on the top bunk and read together. They like reading books from their school library, and they especially like it when Mom reads to them from a book of children’s Bible stories.
The busiest day of the week at the Mackey house is “Terrible Tuesday.” That’s when Julia and Valerie help fold and bag the newspapers their brothers deliver. It’s also when they take piano lessons, along with Jill (14), Joseph (14), Orrin (12), and Trevor (11). The two girls have been playing for nearly two years, and they like it.
“They practice every morning and don’t ever complain,” their mom says. Another thing they do each morning is read scriptures at 5:30 with the rest of the family—at least, with all those who can read.
Julia and Valerie aren’t just sisters—they’re good friends. At home they’re almost always together. “Their personalities blend well,” Mom says. Valerie is the more “motherly” of the two. She’s been changing diapers since she was four years old and likes to help take care of her little brothers. When she grows up, she’d like to take care of other people’s children as well. She also likes to sing, and she even makes up some of her own songs.
Julia is dramatic and full of energy. She has an excellent memory—Mom says she can hear a song once or twice and have it learned. She loves animals and likes to take care of Belle, the dog that she and Valerie own.
So what’s the best thing about having such a big family? Julia and Valerie’s sister Mandy (16), says, “You’re never alone.” There’s always someone around to tease, play basketball with, or just talk to. And the worst thing? “You’re never alone,” Mandy says with a laugh. After all, with five kids sharing one bedroom, four in another, four in another, and two in still another (Adam sleeps in Mom and Dad’s room), privacy is hard to find.
But Valerie and Julia wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sarah watched everyone gathered around her baby sister, Hannah. The baby was wearing the lacy white dress that Grandma had made. It was so long that when Sarah first saw it, she thought it must be for her. But no, like everything else, it was for the baby.
The doorbell rang. Sarah’s face brightened when she saw Aunt Karen at the door. But then she saw the gift her aunt was holding.
“Another present for the baby,” Sarah thought. She slumped down on the sofa.
When Mom and Dad first told her there was going to be a new baby in the family, Sarah was excited. When Dad took her to the hospital to see her new baby sister, she was thrilled.
But now Sarah wasn’t so excited. Whenever she wanted Mom to help her with something, Mom was taking care of the baby. Everyone wanted to see the baby and hold the baby.
Sarah frowned. It wasn’t fair. No one noticed her anymore. Now Aunt Karen was talking to the baby in a silly, babyish voice.
“She doesn’t know what you’re saying,” Sarah muttered.
“You were sitting so quietly that I didn’t even see you,” Aunt Karen said.
“I always have to be quiet, or I’ll wake up the baby,” Sarah complained.
Aunt Karen sat down by Sarah. “It’s not always easy being the big sister, is it?”
Sarah shook her head.
Aunt Karen handed Sarah the present she was holding. “I brought something for you.”
Sarah’s eyes opened wide. “For me?” she asked.
“It sure is,” Aunt Karen said.
Sarah pulled the ribbons off the package, tore off the paper, and lifted the lid off the box. Inside she found a hair bow, a coloring book, and a pink shirt with glittery letters.
“What does it say?” Sarah asked, holding up the shirt.
“It says, ‘I’m the big sister,’” Aunt Karen said. “I have one for Hannah that says, ‘I’m the baby sister.’”
Sarah gave Aunt Karen a big hug. “Thank you,” she said. “You’re the best aunt.”
“I’m also a pretty good big sister,” Aunt Karen said.
“What do you mean?” Sarah asked.
“When I was about your age, my mom had a baby,” Aunt Karen explained. “And do you know who that baby was?”
Sarah shook her head.
“Your mom.”
“Really?” Sarah said.
“It’s true,” Aunt Karen said. “Most of the time I liked being a big sister, but sometimes I felt like the baby was getting all the attention, and I didn’t like that.”
“I feel that way too,” Sarah admitted. She picked up her new hair bow and coloring book. “All the other presents are for Hannah.”
“That’s not true,” Aunt Karen said. “Your mom and dad gave you a great present.”
Sarah was puzzled. “What did they give me?”
“They gave you a baby sister,” Aunt Karen said. “My baby sister was the best gift I ever had, until I got a wonderful niece.”
Sarah giggled. “I’m not just a wonderful niece,” she said. “I’m also a pretty good big sister.”

I read the Book of Mormon and the Bible with new eyes and a new heart. One morning I came across a passage that once again penetrated my defences.
“But I say unto you, O man, whosoever [suffer that the beggar putteth up his petition to him in vain] the same hath great cause to repent; and except he repenteth of that which he hath done he perisheth forever, and hath no interest in the kingdom of God.” (Mosiah 4:16-18)
This spoke to the fact that I was ignoring a beggar who lived on the street on the way to college. I would cross the road to avoid her petition. I told myself it was her fault she was in that position. Suddenly I was convicted as having “no interest in the kingdom of God.” I was determined to change.
A couple of days later, I was confronted in the street by a rough-looking man who asked me for £2.68 - the cost, apparently, of the local night shelter. For a moment, I felt hard-hearted, but then remembered my resolve – I gave him the money, and continued.
Almost immediately, my being was overtaken by a warmth that spread from the centre out through my arms and legs. Again, it was real and profound. I understood from the missionaries that this experience was a confirmation from the Holy Spirit. But of what, exactly? I felt that it was not a reward for being charitable, but a witness that I had read the word of God (in the Book of Mormon) and applied it in my life. I had repented, and that was pleasing to Him.

One evening here at BYU-Hawaii, I came home from school and prayed about becoming a presenter in one of the organizations on campus, Students in Free Enterprise also known as SIFE. Earlier, they handed out a part to memorize, and after that prayer, I did so. That small and simple decision has played an enormous role in my life to opening the views and opportunities that came to pass. I was able to participate in service projects for an elementary school and environmental sustainability efforts. [slide 38] We also compiled a presentation to present first regionally, and upon winning, nationally. We placed top 10 the past 2 years amongst over 100 colleges!

If you had asked me in high school if I would be doing such a thing in college, my answer would have been a definite, "NO!" However, I am so grateful for the opportunities that this campus offers to students. They are all around us, we need to make the decision and "act, not be acted upon!" (2 Nephi 2:14). This situation has led me to run for Student Body President. This also led to an internship, and eventually a job offer.

I know that many times we may feel that there isn't an activity on campus that is the right fit. I once thought that my purpose was to go to class, learn, get my degree and leave on to the next chapter of life. I know that in my life, because of one simple prayer, and action upon that prayer, I was able to learn more about service, leadership, and the many opportunities that are offered on this campus that will bless anybody with work, church callings, and families. I encourage you to get involved as well. I learned that many times we do not know what the Lord has in store for us. The Lord knows our full potential, and if we let Him, He will lead us in achieving it.

Going to MIA is no longer an interstate situation for Church members in Aiken, South Carolina.
The 23 youths of the Aiken Branch, Columbia South Carolina Stake, are no longer traveling to Augusta, Georgia, for their weekly Aaronic Priesthood MIA meeting.
To celebrate their new meeting place closer to home, the group held an opening social to initiate their building as classroom, cultural hall, and chapel for all future meetings.
The youth enjoyed games and food, as well as joining in for a dance.

When I read the article “Darrell, His Mission, and Me” (May 1993), it made me do a lot of thinking. My brother left to go on his mission to North Carolina on July 28. I’ve never really gotten along with him because we’re five years apart. But I started writing him letters, and I feel a lot better about our relationship because he knows a lot more about my feelings. I’m really grateful for the article.
Becky BeldenColumbia, Tennessee

“ZOOM! ZOOM!” Bobby flew into the room with his arms outstretched, almost knocking the lamp over.
“Please be careful, Bobby,” his mother reminded him.
“I’m not Bobby, I’m a jet plane flying around the world.”
“Well then, Jet Plane, please fly carefully so you don’t crash,” Mother suggested.
Bobby flew out of the back door, zooming loudly.
A few minutes later, Mother was putting a casserole into the oven when she almost tripped over Bobby. He was crawling on the floor, growling and snapping his teeth.
“My goodness, Jet Plane, you startled me. What’s the matter, did you crash?” Mother asked.
“I’m not a jet plane, anymore. I’m an alligator and I’m looking for people to eat. CRUNCH! CRUNCH! You might taste good.”
“Oh, no, Alligator,” Mother said, picking up her broom and sweeping the “alligator” into the living room. “I’m too tough and mean to eat.” She heard the make-believe alligator crunch and grrrr his way across the room.
“Sue, please come and set the table,” Mother called.
Bobby, dwarfed by Daddy’s hat and shirt and stumbling in Daddy’s enormous shoes, came into the kitchen with Sue.
“Where’s the paper?” he asked in a deep voice.
“Alligators don’t read papers, do they?” Mother asked.
“I’m not an alligator. I’m Daddy.” Bobby said, sitting back in Daddy’s chair, with the newspaper completely covering him.
“Daddy, would you ask everyone to come and eat,” Mother said a few minutes later. When Bobby didn’t answer, she looked behind the newspaper. There was Daddy’s hat, shirt, and shoes on the chair but no Bobby.
As Father came in from the backyard Mother went looking for Bobby. She found him out on the sidewalk on his hands and knees, barking at the cars.
“Please come in and eat, Bobby,” Mother said.
“I’m not Bobby. Can’t you see I’m a mean dog scaring the robbers away?”
“Well, Doggie, come on in and eat,” Mother said.
Bobby barked and romped to the table. Sitting on his “hind legs” and panting, he started lapping up his soup.
“Now, just a minute. We don’t allow dogs at the table, Mother,” Father said. “Please take the dog out back and give him some dog food to eat.”
“But I’m not a dog anymore,” Bobby wailed.
“Well, I’m afraid we don’t allow alligators and jet planes at the table, either,” said Mother.
“I’m not a jet plane or an alligator now.”
“Then who are you?”
“I’m Bobby.”
“Oh, Bobby,” Mother said, giving him a big hug, “We’re so glad to see you! There have been too many strange things and people around here today. And I’ve missed my Bobby.”
Bobby began to laugh. “It’s fun to be a jet plane and a dog and an alligator,” he said. “But I like best being just your Bobby.”

Amy bounced up and down in her seat.
“What are you so excited about?” Mom asked, smiling at her from the front of the car.
“It’s England Day!” Amy squealed. Mrs. Harvey’s second-grade class had been learning about countries around the world. Amy had already learned to do the Mexican hat dance and sing a song in Japanese. Today her class was having a special party with lots of English food.
“Your ancestors joined the Church in England,” Mom reminded her. “They were very brave and stood up for what they believed in.”
“Today I’ll pretend to be just like them. It’ll be fun!” Amy said happily.
When she reached her classroom, Amy stared in awe. The school chairs were arranged in a circle around a table filled with warm crumpets, lemon custard, and raspberry jam. There was even a bowl of English toffee! Amy couldn’t wait for the party to start.
But then Amy noticed something. At the back of the table, a small, blue teapot was labeled TEA. Amy felt a knot form in her stomach.
Mrs. Harvey clapped her hands for the children to settle down. “Class, take a seat!” she sang out. “Today we’re having a very special party—a tea party! In England, people drink tea and eat crumpets as a snack. Who can tell me what a crumpet is?”
Amy’s classmates eagerly raised their hands, and one explained that a crumpet is a small cake. But Amy just sat in her seat feeling sick. Tea! She knew that tea and coffee were bad for her body. A commandment in the Word of Wisdom said not to drink them. The knot in her stomach kept growing. If she refused, what would her teacher and classmates think?
Then Amy thought of a better question. What would Jesus think? What would her ancestors think? Amy remembered Mom saying her ancestors were brave people who stood up for what they believed in. They followed Jesus Christ. They had been baptized in England, the same way Amy had been baptized. She still remembered that warm, clean feeling from her baptism, and how she always wanted to choose the right.
Slowly the knot loosened, and she knew what she had to do.
When Mrs. Harvey came to pour her some tea, Amy put her hand over the cup. “No, thank you,” she said. “I don’t drink tea. May I have a glass of water instead?”
“Of course you may,” Mrs. Harvey said, and she continued down the row.
As Amy drank her water and ate a crumpet dripping with jam, she felt warm inside. She had obeyed the Word of Wisdom, and—like her ancestors—she had been brave and stood up for what she believed.