Gospel Story Finder

When I was dating, I saw many scenarios where the worth of others was based on appearance. It made me sad to see how some of my friends went on fewer dates than those who seemed to fit the world’s beauty standards. And, unfortunately, in my own quest for an eternal companion, I also had my own checklist of traits—including physical ones—that I was looking for in a future husband.
Eventually, I did find someone to marry in the temple. And in the beginning, I thought we had a wonderful marriage. But I started noticing that my husband would boast to others about how he had married the prettiest girl in the room, and yet he couldn’t ever seem to say anything nice about my appearance privately. He always commented if my weight changed and told me how to do my hair and how to dress.
A few months after I had our first child, my husband unexpectedly said he wanted a divorce. I hadn’t even known something was wrong. Despite my best efforts, he couldn’t be persuaded to work on saving our marriage, and I was left a single mother.
Later, I discovered he had been involved with another woman while we were still married, and I was astounded to find that she looked just like me but was a few years younger and didn’t have any of the changes that came with carrying and delivering a baby. I began wondering why I wasn’t good enough and focusing on my physical flaws.
As I pondered the meaning of true beauty, I found a quote that contrasted with the world’s view of the matter: “Amid ‘all of the deception’ that may initially occur in dating—including always looking our best—we should remember that appearance and style ‘are essentially unessential.’”1
This helped me understand that seeing each other’s spirits, or what’s on the inside, is what is truly important in finding a spouse and is the key to loving others and ourselves. As disciples of Jesus Christ, we should be focusing on strength of character and on our identities as divine spirits.
My divorce hurt me a lot, but it also gave me a chance to reevaluate the meaning of true beauty and divine worth. If you are struggling to recognize your divine worth or that of others, consider the following tips, which helped me reframe my perspective.

G. K. Chesterton in an essay entitled “A Piece of Chalk” wrote of going into the countryside in the south of England to draw with his colored chalks—only to find, ruefully, that he was missing the color white. Being too far from a store to remedy the situation, he felt his expedition ruined until he suddenly realized that the rock upon which he sat was, in fact, white chalk. (In Robert K. Thomas, ed., The Joy of Reading, Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1978, pp. 35–40).
There, in a Sussex meadow, he was “sitting on an immense warehouse of white chalk.” For him to think he had no chalk was like a chemist in the middle of the ocean looking for salt water to perform experiments or someone in the vast Sahara searching for sand to fill an hour glass. Many times the solutions to our problems await only our discovery that we already have the key to the answer. The need is for us to learn to use it effectively.

My sister-in-law, Danica, and I came to Hawaii seven years ago and stayed on an organic farm near Haleiwa. We were elated to spend a few days in the salty air, the picturesque mountains, and the warm ocean.

On the first night of our trip, we barely slept. Yes, there was excitement and jet lag to consider, but as two gals from the mainland, we did not fully understand the implications of our accommodations. No air conditioning, no pesticides, no bug nets, and port-a-potties meant that Danica and I were a bug's dream come true. Throughout the night, we woke up to the sound and sensation of bugs crawling across our bodies. Yep, it was as gross as you think it was.

Heavenly Father is all-powerful, and under the right circumstances, He could have removed the bugs from our cabin. However, I knew praying for the bugs to simply vanish was not a realistic or even a responsible request. We could, however, ask not to feel or hear the bugs crawling on our bodies that night. We were granted a miracle; we didn’t feel or hear the bugs, and we could rest. Now, we still woke up with bugs on our bodies, but we didn’t feel them! So, miracle.

After my parents were divorced, it was a hard time in my life. Going to church usually made me feel better, but it hurt me to hear talks on families because I didn’t believe I had one.
My mother was less active and remarried. My father was an atheist and lived with another woman. Both of them had children with their new partners, and I felt like a weight—an error—as if I didn’t count for anything.
So I began to pray, read the scriptures, meditate, and tried to keep going to church. But I couldn’t help but wonder: What would I do in the next life without my family sealed in the temple?
The answers didn’t come right away, but they did come. I looked up the definition of family and read scripture verses on the subject, and I started seeing the brighter side of things. Instead of thinking that I didn’t have a family, I learned that I could help bring God’s children into the Church as a missionary. I learned to exercise patience and to be a light. I tried to better myself. I also realized that without a family like mine, I may not have developed the faith that I have, and I wouldn’t value the law of chastity and the plan of salvation as I do now.
I’ve come to understand that I do have a family, and I am thankful for my new and larger family. It has been hard, but I don’t worry about what will happen to my family after death. I trust in God, and He knows why we aren’t sealed. He knows how much I love them and what’s best for me. We can’t understand everything, so it’s important to have faith in God to sustain us and help us know that everything will turn out OK.

Grandpa has a red truck. He hauls lots of things in his truck. On Monday, Grandpa hauls hay for the cows. On Tuesday, Grandpa drives 5 pigs to the fair. On Wednesday, Grandpa hauls orange pumpkins on a dusty road. On Thursday, Grandpa takes 2 dogs to the vet. On Friday, Grandpa hauls firewood through a muddy field. On Saturday, Grandpa’s truck is very dirty. Kade and Karlie help Grandpa wash his truck. Kade sweeps the back with a broom. Karlie sprays the truck with a hose. Kade wipes the windows with a rag. Karlie scrubs the tires with a scrub brush. On Sunday, Grandpa takes Kade and Karlie to church in his clean red truck.

One afternoon while my mom was reading the Church News, I saw a picture of a child who looked sick. I asked my mom why he looked that way. My mom told me that it was a picture of a child in Ethiopia, and that he did not have enough to eat. He was starving. I asked my mom if we could go to the grocery store and buy some food for him. My mom explained that children who are starving need to eat special food that we could not buy at the grocery store. But she told me that we could give money to the bishop at church, and he would make sure that it would help people in need, including the children in Ethiopia. I ran to my room and brought back a bag full of money from my piggy bank.
When we arrived at church on Sunday, my mom took me to get a tithing envelope. Together my mom and I filled out the donation slip. We listed the amount of money I had brought in the “humanitarian aid” line of the donation slip. I couldn’t wait to give my envelope to the bishop. It made me feel good to share what I have with others.

Gabriel loved learning about Jesus. He loved hearing stories from the scriptures. His family read the scriptures together every night.
One rainy night they snuggled together in their warm home. Papa said a prayer. Then Mama read stories from the Book of Mormon. Gabriel tried to listen very carefully. Mama read about Jesus talking to children.
“Mama, the children were with Jesus?” Gabriel asked.
“That’s right,” she said. “And He blessed each of them and prayed for them.”
Gabriel felt a new feeling inside. He did not know what it was. He felt warm even though it was chilly outside. He smiled big.
Gabriel wanted to share this special feeling. “I feel so happy and warm!” he said. He was so happy that he almost felt like crying!
“That special feeling is the Holy Ghost,” Papa told him. “He gives you a warm feeling to help you know that the scriptures are true.”
Mama smiled and hugged Gabriel. “That feeling tells you that Jesus loves you.”
“Jesus blesses me,” Gabriel said. “Just like the children in the Book of Mormon! He sent the Holy Ghost to me!”
He couldn’t stop smiling. “I know the scriptures are true,” he thought. “The Holy Ghost told me!”

When I was twenty, I went into the army. In basic training, I was exposed to many things I had been warned against. I was very grateful for the teachings I had received at home and in Primary. They were a lifesaver for me. I saw some of the young men who changed their way of life in the army and chose to not follow God’s teachings. After basic training, one of these young men talked to me privately. He was sobbing because he had picked up a lot of bad habits, and now he had to go home and he didn’t want to face his parents. I was grateful that I had been prepared to face those challenges and had remained faithful to the truths that I had been taught.

During the time of the Korean War, a young man, Rhee Ho Nam, was pressed into a helping role by an American military unit involved in court martials. At the time, being dislocated from his regular way of life looked like a tragedy. Ho Nam, however, made the best of his challenges as did Joseph in ancient Egypt. He developed English as a second language. He carefully observed the things the American soldiers did, especially an LDS lieutenant who was “different” from his fellow soldiers and much admired by Ho Nam. They discussed things often. One day the lieutenant asked Ho Nam what the purpose of life was. Rhee Ho Nam could not answer, saying only that philosophers had struggled in vain with that question for centuries. Thereupon, the officer took out a plain sheet of paper and drew an outline of the plan of salvation. At that very moment, the Lord bore testimony through the power of his Spirit to Rhee Ho Nam’s heart that what the American had told him was true. Ho Nam studied, then joined the Church, keeping that piece of paper for years as a treasured reminder of that special moment.

The Korean War was soon over, but Ho Nam’s life in the Church had just begun. While in his thirties, Rhee Ho Nam became the first stake president of the first stake of the Church on the mainland of Asia. He is now serving with distinction as a mission president in Pusan, Korea, as an outstanding leader among his people. With special conviction, President Rhee teaches his missionaries and members to look with hope beyond what is to what may be! Sometimes within seeming tragedy there is opportunity!

I grew up in Northern California with a brother who is just a year older than me. We got along the way brothers do except for one major disturbing difference between us: he is a genius. He really is. He grew up to become a Ph.D. physicist. He has helped build scientific devices that are today doing experiments on the planet Mars, but even as a child, he was brilliant and curious.

One day, when we were about 12 and 13, he came home from a used bookstore very excited about a dusty old book he had found. I wasn’t all that excited about dusty old books until he explained, “This is a ‘Formulary.”

I had no reaction.

“I was flipping through the index, and there is a formula in here for rocket fuel.”

“Ok?”

“Steve, I’ve got all this stuff. We can make a rocket.”

So, he had me. We went off and measured and stirred the ingredients together, but the final step was to use a mortar and pestle to grind the chemicals into a perfectly fine powder so the blended chemicals would react with each other when we lit it on fire. We didn’t have a mortar or a pestle. We were 12, and it’s not like we were going to ask our parents for help—building explosives.

Incidentally, there were warnings in the book about how volatile, and how toxic, and how these combinations of chemicals needed ventilation… all written for lesser mortals. We had this.

So, he took the powder to the back porch and pounded it with a brick and with a hammer but could never get the right consistency for it to actually burn. We would try to light some of it, and it would just smolder and sputter, so I gave up and walked away.

But Mark was a genius. It occurred to him that all of those ingredients were water-soluble. If he dissolved them together, the chemical molecules would become perfectly inter-mixed. He got a glass mason jar and filled it halfway full with water, stirred in the powder, and put it on a shelf in our room, reasoning that in a few days the water would evaporate away, and he would be left with a perfectly blended pellet of rocket fuel.

A few nights later, I was slumped on a couch in our family room watching Star Trek on television. My parents were not home. I was pretty absorbed in the program. The lights were off. The Klingons were threatening somehow, and Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock were engaging the dilithium crystals or whatever. I was vaguely aware that Mark had stepped into the room and fallen into a chair near the door and was watching, too. The Enterprise was taking enemy fire, losing its shields. I was concerned.

Suddenly, a tremendous sound erupted from the kitchen for which I could find no explanation in the natural world. It was a deep menacing, rumble. My muddled teenage mind wondered for a moment, “Really? Klingons?—but in our kitchen?” I jumped up and ran toward the noise, crashing into Mark as we tried to squeeze through the doorway together. As I rushed into the kitchen, I was astonished at what was going on.

The sound was deafening. I could see nothing but dense smoke. I followed the sound, and there was a brilliant red column of flame over the stove, blasting upward out of a steel soup can. It was like a welding torch that had already burned a hole through the stove’s steel cooking-exhaust hood and was working on the ceiling.

I gasped, “What is that?”

Mark knocked me out of the way, grabbing the edge of the glowing can with a pair of pliers, and then he ran and flung it through the front door onto the lawn where it blasted and smoked and spun and sputtered like Chinese New Year.

I was slack jawed. “What was that?”

“That,” he said, “was… rocket fuel.”

“Rocket fuel?!!! Are you nuts? You put rocket fuel on a hot stove?”

Now, remember, my brother’s a genius, right? In the most condescending way, he said, “Don’t be ridiculous. It was perfectly safe. The water in the jar wasn’t evaporating, so, I decided to boil some of it off.”

“On a stove?”

“Yes. It should have been safe. The boiling of the water won’t let it get hotter than 212 degrees–you should know this. Everything was under control, but it boiled dry… and got too hot. Now, dad’s going to kill us.”

He was a genius.

Stuff like rocket fuel is pretty exciting. It is powerful—it can push us into space—but it requires judgment because it also has the power to destroy our homes, our lives, and everything that matters to us.

On a Friday when our workbook pages were due, a friend of mine asked for the answers on one section. At first I said sure. But after thinking about it, I didn’t want to get a “lunch bench,” one of the consequences at my school. When I told my friend it wasn’t the right thing to do, I felt a strong feeling inside. Later that day my teacher announced that if anyone copied answers they would get a lunch bench, and so would the person who let them copy. I felt so relieved. I realized the strong feeling was the Holy Ghost. I know the Holy Ghost helps us choose right from wrong.

Recently, in Holland, the mission president was stricken with a massive heart attack and lay near death’s door for a while. Though he was an American foreigner, so to speak, he belonged to the household of God, and literally thousands of people in Holland and other lands, and the Apostles of the Lord, knelt and prayed for his life—if it was the will of God that he should live. Think of it—and it happens hundreds of times every day upon this earth. He belonged to the family of God; he felt their fasting and prayers and love. And what about his wife? She belonged as she had never known possible. I was there. I was a witness, and there were so many calls from those who belong to the household of God that she actually became weary.
As the president improved and I left, my heart was so full. Yes, for the preservation of his life, but also for the privilege of belonging to the church of Jesus Christ, here upon the earth.

As a young teenager, life became difficult for Kennedy when no funds were available for his continued housing, food and much desired education. It was at this time that BJ Warnick, Sandra Peters, and Anthony Mulenga—who had all known Kennedy since he was four—were able to take him into their care. Through their Heart to Hands Foundation, he and Bwalya were immediately adopted into their flock. While it was obvious that Kennedy needed the basics required for daily survival, what he really needed was hope and love and they had plenty of that to offer. Kennedy said while he was not officially adopted, it was even better. He now had two moms. With his new family’s help, he was able to complete grade twelve, obtain a driver’s license and complete auto mechanic school. Again, he was wrapped in the arms of his Savior, but it was through the acts of others. Kennedy remarked, “I don’t know who I would have become without the continual love of my enlarged family and friends who have dedicated so much time to me.”

They also talk about another ingredient in their recipe for a happy home—family home evening. But that wasn’t always the case. “I remember when our family home evenings were mostly very long lessons,” says Christoffer, 18, with a playful glance in his mother’s direction.

“Sometimes I would get bored and fall asleep,” adds Andreas, who was only about five at that time. “But then I’d wake up, and there would be refreshments.”

Brother Ronndahl explains that when the children were quite young, Sister Ronndahl would regularly prepare lessons that were over an hour long. The lessons were difficult for the young children to sit through. Now the Ronndahls have eight children, ranging in age from 8 to 23 years old—the oldest, Rebecka, has served a full-time mission and is now attending college in the United States.

Brother and Sister Ronndahl decided to change their approach to family home evening. “We gathered the family together and said, ‘Hey, what do you like to do?’” says Sister Ronndahl. The parents weren’t too surprised to learn that the kids liked the food, the games, and singing hymns—they even liked the idea of a lesson, if it were only shorter. Brother Ronndahl sums it up well when he says the right ingredients were there but maybe not in the right amounts. “We discovered we should focus on the fun side of things too,” he says.

Sister Ronndahl decided to make an extra-nice dinner so Monday would start out as a special night. Then for family home evening they added a healthy measure of games and singing. They also shortened the lessons to about 10 minutes. The mixture worked well. “The children started to look forward to Monday nights,” says Kristina. “Everybody loved it.”

Now that the children are older, the lessons have lengthened and deepened. Rosanna, 20, says, “We actually can do very good lessons nowadays. We love to discuss the gospel and other things. It’s fun because we have so many opinions and ideas. Now it is more interesting because we’re talking about things that we want to talk about.” But the music, games, and refreshments are still part of the recipe.

“My favorite things are the refreshments and games,” says Josefin, 12.

“Refreshments and games of course,” echoes Christoffer.

“I think the songs and music are the best,” says Rosanna.

“The lessons,” Isabelle chimes in meekly. Her brothers and sisters immediately offer Isabelle some good-natured teasing. “No, really,” she adds earnestly.

“I think the whole family home evening is my favorite,” says Andreas. “The lesson, songs, games, refreshments—all of them together make it very fun. If we had a family home evening without a lesson or games or songs, it would feel like something was missing.”

“I love it when Brynolf and I don’t have to do anything for family home evening,” says Sister Ronndahl. “We can just sit aside, and the children lead and they have the lesson and they have the refreshments. They do everything. That’s my favorite.”

In one memorable incident, a sister missionary called with allergic reaction symptoms. She had eaten mussels and was experiencing throat itching and nausea. As they talked, her symptoms escalated.
“Her tongue and face were swelling, she could hardly swallow, was drooling, coughing and developed a rash,” Sister Warwood remembers. She coordinated care, managing four phones at the same time—with the missionary, her leaders, transportation, and the urgent care centre—so they would be prepared to treat her on arrival.
“The urgent care answered right away,” she marvels, “no eternal ‘on hold’, as usual.” The missionary received immediate treatment. “Everything went so smoothly,” Sister Warwood reflects. The Lord’s hand was undeniable in this event.

A few days ago I attended the funeral of a lifelong friend, Ralph Poulsen. He was a righteous man of accomplishment and integrity, yet he had to endure the pain and sorrow inflicted upon him by the consequences of a cruel disease. His dear wife, Joyce, suffered also as she was by his side through his agony and pain. As the days and years of suffering went on, she arrived at a time when she felt she could not handle another day. She had done all she could for him. Now a strength beyond her own was needed. In the depth of her sorrow, she pleaded more fervently to God for His help. With the morning came a blessed peace that filled her whole soul—a peace that has continued with her to this day.

During my high school years, I played football and had a good friend named Ryan. I frequently offered him rides home from practice. Early one morning in February of 2003, my senior year, I was at school getting help from my math teacher. A girl walked in the door and announced the death of my friend Ryan. I was astonished and almost didn’t believe the words I had just heard. A good friend of mine, whom I had just talked to a week before, was now dead.
I made the decision to miss school the next week and attend the funeral services. Upon arriving, I noticed that the building was very beautiful and bore the logo of the church to which it belonged—The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The moment I walked in the door, I felt something different: a sense of peace, joy, and happiness—feelings that are not typically experienced at a funeral. As the services progressed, I noticed a new vocabulary, one that I had never before heard. The words gospel and Atonement entered into my mind for the first time. It was something new and unheard-of but, oddly enough, familiar. I listened attentively as Ryan’s mom spoke, and tears came to my eyes. Something was telling me that this “plan of salvation,” which she was speaking about, was true. I felt that the people in this chapel had something in their lives that I did not, and for some reason, I felt a desire to get it.
Now, I was not completely oblivious to Mormons. I grew up in Mesa, Arizona, where members of the Church come in great abundance. I knew two things for sure: first, many of my friends were members of the Church, and second, Church members believed in something called the Book of Mormon. I had a newfound desire to get my hands on this book and to find out what this religion was all about.
In March of 2003, one of my good friends, Bret, invited me to help with his Eagle Scout project. After school the next day we drove in his truck with another friend of ours, Camden, to where the project would be. Inspired by the Spirit, Bret directed Camden to a Book of Mormon situated in a holder in the passenger-side door. He told him to open to a verse he had recently read in the Book of Alma. My interest was sparked, and for the first time, I saw the book I wanted so very badly. However, I was too scared to say anything right then. Upon returning that evening, I worked up the confidence to ask Bret for the book. He happily gave it to me and told me to read it. That night I read nine chapters. From the moment I picked up the book, I fell in love with its message.
The next evening, I was sitting in Bret’s living room with his family and two young men dressed in dark suits, both of whom were named “Elder.” I learned these were missionaries for Bret’s church. We watched Finding Faith in Christ. I will admit that I cried during the movie and loved every bit of the lesson. I decided to continue investigating and to come to church. I eventually finished the lessons and accepted everything the elders taught me about being a member of the Church of Jesus Christ.
One night as I was kneeling in prayer after reading a portion of the Book of Mormon, I specifically asked if what I was learning was true. Overwhelming feelings of peace and joy came into my heart. I was feeling the Spirit, and it was answering my prayers. After that time, I knew without a doubt that the Book of Mormon was true. I felt it in my heart and had the knowledge given to me in my mind.
With this new knowledge, I knew what my next step would be. I was baptized on May 3, 2003. The following day, I was confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I will always remember my baptism, the Spirit I felt, and the covenants I made with my Heavenly Father.
My first year as a member of the Church was a long and difficult one, but also full of rewards. Being the only member in your family isn’t the easiest thing, and I also received much persecution from old friends. In May of 2004, I received the Melchizedek Priesthood and a call to serve in the Virginia Richmond Mission, speaking Spanish. I left my nonmember family in July of 2004, not knowing exactly what I was getting myself into or just what it was that I was leaving behind.
During the beginning months of my mission, I heard many things from many friends about the progress of my parents in the Church. They had been attending church off and on and had allowed the missionaries to come by every so often. I was always excited to hear news. Then one Saturday morning my mission president told me he had just spoken with my stake president about my parents. My parents had decided to join the Church. The gospel had now changed their lives for the better, just as it had mine only two years before.
I am so grateful for my Savior Jesus Christ and for the opportunity I had to serve Him as a missionary. I now understand more fully the plan of salvation. I know that this is the gospel and Church of Jesus Christ. Upon returning from my mission in July of 2006 I was overjoyed to enter the Mesa temple with my parents, where we were sealed as a family for time and all eternity. It’s a day I could hardly have imagined just a few years earlier.

We all experience tragedy during which we need the reassurance of the Spirit. I felt it one day as I stood with my father in a hospital. We watched my mother take a few shallow breaths—and then no more. As we looked on her face, she was smiling as the pain left. After a few silent moments, my father spoke first. He said, “A little girl has gone home.”
He said it softly. He seemed to be at peace. He was reporting something he knew was true. He quietly began to gather Mother’s personal things. He went out into the hospital hallway to thank each of the nurses and doctors who had ministered to her for days.
My father had the companionship of the Holy Ghost at that moment to feel, to know, and to do what he did that day. He had received the promise, as many have: “That they may have his Spirit to be with them” (D&C 20:79).

When Jim returned from his mission, I was privileged to join his family at the airport to welcome him. As I drove to the airport, I reviewed our friendship and Jim’s growth and maturation. I speculated about his appearance and his demeanor.
He was the last person to emerge from the jetway, which caused extra anxiety for his waiting family. Finally, he appeared—taller than I remembered, and thinner. His naturally curly hair was darker and was cut so short that there was no curl. He wore the missionary uniform: dark suit, white shirt, dark tie, black “mailman” shoes. The suit was very worn and looked like it could stand on its own and still hold the shape of Jim’s body. He was bent a little from the weight of his carry-on luggage.
When he saw us, he smiled a little, then dropped his head as he walked the last few feet of the walkway. When he raised his head again, his eyes were red and he was weeping. He dropped his bags and embraced his mother in a tight hug and cried openly as he kissed her, then held her in his arms for a full minute more. He released her to repeat this exchange with his brother, sister, and his father.
It is a rare privilege to observe such an exchange of pure love among people. I thought, this is how it must be to return to our heavenly parents after completing our earthly missions. What a sweet experience to return, knowing you’ve served faithfully.
Jim then turned to me, and without hesitation, embraced me in a bear hug. As we parted, we both wiped tears from our eyes. And he said, “Thanks for being here.”
I spent another two hours with Jim that morning before we had to head in different directions. During that time, I watched him start a conversation with the man next to him while waiting for his luggage. Within 15 minutes, he had given the man a Book of Mormon and a pamphlet and had parted as a friend. I saw him spend a few private tender moments with his younger brother and sister as he sensed their need and focused on them individually. He gave half of his lunch to his little brother, when the ten-year-old complained of being hungry still.
Jim related a few mission experiences: of singing a duet in church with his companion, of a Sunday when he had 17 investigators at church on the same day, and of the mission farewell the night before. He had been amazed that so many of the missionaries had wanted to gather to say good-bye to him. Jim wept again as he expressed his concern for a companion who had recently lost his dad to a sudden, unexpected death. Here was compassion, love, humility, confidence, and power. Sitting before me, in his grayed shirt, wrinkled tie, and well-worn coat, was someone who had been seemingly magically transformed. His smile was the only trace of the shy, quiet boy who hesitated to pray in front of someone.

It was really hot one day and my family wanted to go swimming. We like to ride bikes to the swimming pool because it’s more fun than driving in the car. The only problem is that it’s a lot of work getting the bikes down and ready to go. Mom was busy getting all the swimming things ready, so I told her I would help by getting the bicycles ready. I even set up the bicycle trailer for my little brother all by myself. When Mom came out she couldn’t believe I had done everything by myself. It felt good to go the extra mile like Jesus said to do. And we were all able to go swimming sooner too.