Gospel Story Finder

President Joseph F. Smith became an ardent defender of the faith on his first mission. On his second, he learned the importance of avoiding contention and proffering peace. In 1896 he described to his son Hyrum an incident that occurred during his mission to England in the early 1860s. “I was speaking, and I said that ‘the authority of the Apostles of today was the same as that held by the Apostles of Christ’s day, and that the word of the modern Apostles was as good as the word of the ancient Apostles.’ Somebody in the audience cried out ‘blasphemy!’ This was too much for my boyish temper to bear.”

The spirited young missionary argued fiercely with his opponent and “stirred up the emissaries of his Satanic Majesty until they were red-hot.” President Smith described learning “a good lesson” from his outburst. “Thereafter I moderated my fervor—became more diplomatic in the presence of a mixed crowd, and avoided showing any temper when reviled. In fact I learned to be reviled without reviling back again, to take an insult without retorting, except in meekness and gentlemanly candor.” He summarized, “I always tried to make my hearers feel that I and my associates were peacemakers, and lovers of peace and good will, that our mission was to pave, and not destroy, to build up and not tear down.”15

“Hi, my name is Robbie. I’m a senior in high school. Last night I had the inspiration that I need to write in a journal, so that’s what I’ll do. I kinda have already, but I’m hit-and-miss on random pieces of paper.”
This was the first official entry in Robbie S.’s journal. “It just kind of started like that,” Robbie says, “and then it started to transform, and I started to figure out why I needed to keep a journal.”
Robbie explains that he used to think keeping a journal was just for posterity, but then as he read in the scriptures each day and actually wrote down the impressions and ideas that came to him as he read, an important discovery came to him: “When I started to read my scriptures and write in my journal at the same time, I figured out that’s one way you receive revelation.”
Since ninth grade, Robbie had been consistently reading from the scriptures, but it was after turning to the “Pray and Study the Scriptures” section in Fulfilling My Duty to God: For Aaronic Priesthood Holders that he decided to transform his scripture reading into scripture study. He set a goal to read from the Book of Mormon every day and write in a journal about what he had read and about his day. Robbie liked how he could set his own goals in Duty to God. He says it was more personal and he felt like he was doing more than just checking off boxes to earn an award. “I really like that Duty to God is something you do your whole life,” he adds.
“As I studied the scriptures and wrote things in my journal afterward, I would look down at what I had written and say, ‘That is not me who wrote that.’ It was personal inspiration given directly to me from God. I have received answers to prayers and counsel for my life on things that I need to do better. I had no idea revelation worked that way.”

On 28 October 1985 Elder Thomas S. Monson of the Quorum of the Twelve held a conference for the Saints in the Snederflers’ apartment in Prague, attended by 56 people. “I thought the floor of our apartment was not going to be able to hold us all!” laughs Sister Snederfler. “But it was a wonderful meeting.”

“Elder Monson dedicated our apartment and the entire building for the gathering of the Saints in Prague and Czechoslovakia,” says Brother Snederfler. “It was a marvelous spiritual experience from which all present received new strength and dedication to build up and expand the kingdom of God.” At that time, Elder Monson also ordained Jirí a high priest. “I felt the presence of the Holy Spirit and another command from God to serve better and with gladness in my heart.”

I have also always remembered his mission stories. Even though he was married and had a child, Grandpa was called to serve as a missionary in Mexico City—just as the Mexican Revolution broke out. One time, federal soldiers accused him and his companion of being spies and threatened to shoot them on the spot. Remembering the story of Abinadi, Grandpa said, “You can’t kill us because we haven’t delivered our message yet. Take us to the president.” He and his companion were taken to the presidential palace, where they gave the president a Book of Mormon and taught him for two hours. The president discovered that my grandpa was from his hometown and asked, “Do you know Francisco González?” Grandpa replied, “Yes, he’s my father.” The president said, “He was my teacher when I was a little boy! Now that I know who you are, is there anything I can do to help you in your work?” The missionaries asked for a letter with the presidential seal and signature, stating that they had permission to preach. The president gladly gave them the letter, and they were able to continue their missionary work.

In my early childhood I lost both my parents. Aunt Gu Ma, a single sister of my father, kept my brother and me together. She brought us up in a little farming village where she grew vegetables for a living. Every morning she would carry the produce to the market in two big baskets, one on each end of a long pole resting on her shoulders. She then would bring home rice and meat purchased with the proceeds of her vegetable sales.
Aunt Gu Ma was a wonderful person. Although she had no formal education, she had a noble philosophy of life. She instilled in us correct principles, stern self-reliance, and an appreciation for the value of hard work. We are forever grateful for her love and sacrifice in our behalf.

While my friend and I were riding scooters around the neighborhood, he accidentally tripped over a rock, fell off his scooter, and landed on his back. Luckily we were by another friend’s house, so I helped my hurt friend over there and rang the doorbell. Steven came to the door and said, “What’s wrong, William?”
“Well, Michael here fell off his scooter and landed on his back,” I answered. I asked if his mom was home and he said yes. So I took Michael inside.
Steven’s mom looked at his back. She said that it was only a bruise. In five minutes he felt much better. I know that Jesus would help His friends too.

Growing up, I was often exposed to alcohol, tea, and coffee, mostly when I would spend time with my extended family. My immediate family and I are the only members of the Church among my relatives, and sometimes it felt disheartening and isolating when others would look down on my beliefs. But I knew God was real, I had faith in His restored gospel and in my baptismal covenants, and I knew He wanted me to make good decisions.
When I moved to London, England, in my early twenties, I began working at an international bank. Everyone lived off tea and coffee to get them through the workday on our fast-moving trade floor. On my second day of work, my manager made me a cup of tea. I thanked her but explained that I don’t drink tea—she quickly offered me coffee instead.
I knew she was just being kind, but I was determined to keep my standards. Although I felt a little awkward, I explained in greater detail why I don’t drink tea or coffee, and I was able to share some of my beliefs with her, including the Word of Wisdom.
That was a great experience, but similar situations didn’t always go as well.
As time went on, being surrounded by the normalcy of others drinking alcohol made it difficult for me to keep my standards. Going to pubs with clients and coworkers was a regular circumstance I would find myself in. I grew tired of having to explain myself when I turned down a drink, and sometimes I just wanted to fit in.
But beyond wanting to fit in, I wanted to be an example of a disciple of Jesus Christ, so I learned a few ways to help me resist temptation:
I prayed for strength each morning to make good decisions.
I often listened to conference talks or hymns on my way to work.
I kept my favorite scripture taped to my bathroom mirror to read each day: “Yea, I know that I am nothing; as to my strength I am weak; therefore I will not boast of myself, but I will boast of my God, for in his strength I can do all things” (Alma 26:12).
I enlisted the help of my closest coworkers, asking them to support me when others would offer me “just one drink.” They could tell when I was feeling uncomfortable and would kindly jump in and order me a “sparkling water on the rocks” to help me avoid feeling awkward during these gatherings.
I worked with many other religious individuals who had similar morals. There were a few practicing Muslims whom I bonded with, and we often sat together during work functions so we could have strength in numbers. Surrounding myself with like-minded people who respected my standards helped me immensely (see Ecclesiastes 4:9–10).
I strove to focus on my baptismal covenant to “always remember Him” (see Doctrine and Covenants 20:77, 79), which helped me feel the Spirit more abundantly. I had promised to follow God and be a disciple of Christ, and seeking to always remember the Savior helped me keep an eternal and infinite perspective in the most finite moments of temptation.
But what has helped me most in resisting temptation is knowing that the Lord has a higher purpose for keeping all of His commandments, including the Word of Wisdom. And I know that remaining true to the commandments has always blessed my life in so many ways. (See Doctrine and Covenants 82:10.)
I’ve realized that the Word of Wisdom is more than just going without alcohol and other strong substances. Heavenly Father gave us this commandment to help us maintain good health and practice self-mastery, to protect us from potentially crippling addictions and other consequences, and to allow us to find greater wisdom and knowledge (see Doctrine and Covenants 89).
I’ve seen that when we demonstrate obedience to the simple things the Lord asks of us, our capacity and desire to keep all of His commandments grows, and we can learn to overcome even greater temptations and challenges (see 2 Nephi 28:30).
I know that Heavenly Father loves me and that through His strength and the Savior’s, I can overcome peer pressure and temptation. I always remember Alma 7:11–12, which explains how the Savior understands all we face—pains, afflictions, and even temptations. He knows how “to succor his people according to their infirmities.”
As I have relied on Jesus Christ to help me in my weaknesses, I have felt His strength enter my life, and I more fully see that He truly does understand us. And when we are faced with temptation, He is ready to help us see the bigger picture and choose well. All we need to do is turn to Him.
You can submit your own article, ideas, or feedback at liahona.ChurchofJesusChrist.org. We can’t wait to hear from you!

It was on a summer day early in the morning. I was standing near the window. The curtains obstructed me from two little creatures out on the lawn. One was a large bird and the other a little bird, obviously just out of the nest. I saw the larger bird hop out on the lawn, then thump his feet and cock his head. He drew a big fat worm out of the lawn and came hopping back. The little bird opened its bill wide, but the big bird swallowed the worm.

Then I saw the big bird fly up into a tree. He pecked at the bark for a little while and came back with a big bug in his mouth. The little bird opened his beak wide, but the big bird swallowed the bug. There was squawking in protest.

The big bird flew away, and I didn’t see it again, but I watched the little bird. After a while, the little bird hopped out on the lawn, thumped its feet, cocked its head, and pulled a big worm out of the lawn.

God bless the good people who teach our children and our youth, I humbly pray, in Jesus’ name. Amen.Elder Howard W. HunterOf the Council of the Twelve

Time after time, in meetings or by myself, my soul has been filled with joy at what I have experienced. One sacred occasion occurred during and after a high council hearing to consider a recommendation to rebaptize a brother who had been excommunicated. I was in the stake presidency then. During the hearing, we listened to the man bear testimony and express his desire to be rebaptized. I understood his longing to come back, and my soul was filled with joy to hear of his faithfulness in making his situation right. When he finished, he was excused from the room, and the court deliberated briefly, deciding to recommend rebaptism. The stake president asked me to inform the brother of the decision.

I went through the side door into the waiting room where he was seated alone, anxiously awaiting the decision. I took him by the hand as he stood and said, “My dear brother, the decision of the court is that you be rebaptized.” He fell into my arms, and we wept. How can I describe the joy that filled our souls as we benefitted from the loving influence of the Spirit?

There are so many who are not—or feel they are not—understood. Recently our family visited with a dear friend, Sister Louise Lake, who has lived her gracious, sharing life in a wheelchair for more than a quarter of a century.

Perhaps because our 12-year-old son was with us, Sister Lake told us of another 12-year-old with whom she became acquainted in a rehabilitation center in New York where she was working. The boy had been blind and for most of his 12 years had lived a sad existence, thought to be uneducable, incapable of learning. Then he was given a chance, thank the Lord, and a marvelous spirit and fine mind were discovered. He told his friend that he had thought all his life that being blind was the worst thing that could happen to one—until he met Campy. Campy was Roy Campanella, great athlete, who at the height of his career was rendered physically helpless in an automobile accident. The blind boy said he had decided after meeting Campy that his condition was worse than not being able to see. “But there is something even worse than that,” he said. He talked of feeling his way down the hall at the hospital, hearing the scuff of feet as people passed him by. “There is something worse than being blind or crippled, and that is to have people not understand you,” he said. “I guess they think that because I am blind I can’t hear or speak either.”

1849–1919
“I esteem it a great privilege to … help in the [spreading] of the gospel.”
She lived in Norway. She was a widow, and she raised two sons.
She learned the gospel from a shoemaker. When he repaired her shoes, he put a Church pamphlet in each one. She was baptized in the sea.
She served a mission in Scandinavia. Her son John became an Apostle.
Anna C. Widtsoe letter, Salt Lake City, Utah, to Joseph F. Smith, June 6, 1903, Church History Library, Salt Lake City, Utah, USA.

At one such time, I sought Heavenly Father’s counsel through constant and heartfelt prayer for more than a year to find the solution to a difficult situation. I knew logically that Heavenly Father answers all sincere prayers. Yet I reached such desperation one day that I attended the temple with one question: “Heavenly Father, do You really care?”
I was sitting near the back of the Logan Utah Temple waiting room when, to my surprise, entering the room that day was the temple president, Vaughn J. Featherstone, a close family friend. He stood at the front of the congregation and welcomed all of us. When he noticed me among the temple patrons, he stopped speaking, looked me in the eyes, and then said, “Brother Brough, it is good to see you in the temple today.”
I will never forget the feeling of that simple moment. It was as if—in that greeting—Heavenly Father was stretching forth His hand and saying, “Here am I.”
Heavenly Father really does care and listen to and answer every child’s prayer.15 As one of His children, I know the answer to my prayers came in the Lord’s time. And through that experience, I understood more than ever that we are children of God and that He has sent us here so that we can feel His presence now and return to live with Him someday.

“Christy, this is for you,” her teacher, Mrs. Devin, said. She handed Christy an envelope.
“Thanks,” said Christy. She tore open the envelope and read the note inside.
Congratulations! You are one of six students chosen by your classmates to receive an Outstanding Citizen award for the fifth grade. Please answer the questions below and submit them to the office by the end of the day for our judges to review.
Christy gave the envelope a squeeze of excitement. She could hardly wait to show her friends!
“Guess what!” she told Gabriella at lunch. “I might get an award.”
“That’s great!” said Gabriella.
“I just have to answer all of these questions first,” said Christy. “But I feel like I’m running out of interesting things to write about. This one says, ‘How have you made a difference in your community?’ I’m having a hard time thinking of anything.”
“You could probably just write something you think would be good to do,” said Gabriella. “It’s not that big of a deal. They just want to know what kind of person you are.”
Christy didn’t feel great about making something up. But maybe she could write something that she could plan to do in the future. She tapped her pencil on the page while she thought.
Then she remembered a sign she’d noticed at the public library: “Looking for tutors for beginning readers.” She liked helping her younger siblings read. It could be fun to help other kids too. She hadn’t signed up to help yet … but she wanted to! She wrote down, “Volunteering at the library to help kids learn to read.”
Christy looked at what she’d written. She felt a little lump in her throat and tried to swallow it down. But the uncomfortable feeling just seemed to get worse as she walked to the office and turned in her answers.
As Christy walked home from school, her footsteps felt heavy. By dinnertime she didn’t feel like eating.
“You OK, honey?” asked Mom.
Christy let out a big sigh. “Not really.”
“Want to talk about it?” asked Dad.
Christy explained what she’d done. “I haven’t felt good inside since.” She folded her arms and slid down in her chair.
“I’m glad you told us.” Mom squeezed Christy’s hand. “That’s the first step in making things right.”
“And I know what the next step is,” Christy said with a smile. Just thinking about what she would do made her feel a little better.
That night as she prayed, she told Heavenly Father she was sorry that she hadn’t been honest. She knew He would help her repent and make things right.
The next morning, Christy walked to the school office. She swung open the door and stepped inside …
Help finish the story!
What did Christy do next? Write and tell us what you think happened. See the back cover to find out how to send us your ending.

The ten members of the Toowoomba seminary invited their teacher and their parents to participate with them in baptisms for the dead. Since the Sydney Australia Temple is 1,100 kilometers (682 miles) away from Toowoomba, it is a rare opportunity for the youth to do temple work. After a 12-hour bus ride, despite sore muscles and weariness, the youth were eager to begin. Four days and four baptismal sessions later, the class had completed 981 baptisms for the dead.
Johanne Mutzelburg, the seminary class president, said, “This experience of being together as a class for four days brought us all closer together as a group.”
Johanne loves seminary. “I think it’s great to have friends in the gospel,” she says.

But one of the most valuable lessons I’ve learned from falling off of things was actually one that I learned from repeatedly falling off of my own foot.
Let me explain.
I spent years in ballet classes learning leaps, turns, stretches, and steps. But there was one thing that I just could not get, no matter how much I practiced: pirouettes. I had failed so many times to turn around in a full circle while balancing on my toes on one foot that I was convinced I just could not do it.
Then one day my teacher explained a valuable principle to the class. Whenever we would fall down in the middle of a pirouette, she would usually offer advice such as “Turn your head faster” or “Bring your other foot to your knee faster.” But this time she asked me, “Where are you falling?”
I was surprised. I thought it was pretty obvious. I was falling down.
My teacher asked again, “Which direction are you falling? Are you falling forward? backward? to the side?”
I said I usually fell forward.
“Then you’re probably looking down,” she explained. “Look up, and try again.”
I did as she said, but this time I fell backward.
“That’s good,” she said, smiling. “Just a little too much oomph the other way. Try again.”
I spun again, this time looking up, focusing in front of me so that I could keep my head centered over the rest of my body.
“Nicely done!” my teacher said when I successfully completed the turn.
She then gathered the rest of the class and explained to us why she had asked me where I was falling.
She said that our heads are actually very heavy, and they direct where we will go. She stood on one foot, looked down at the ground, and started to fall forward. Then she tried it again with her head tilted back, and she started to fall backward.
“So,” she said, “pay attention to where you’re falling. It has a lot to do with where your head is.”

I’m very happy with my name, Janetta Ann McBride. Brigham Young gave me that name and blessed me when I was a baby. He was one of the elders who visited at my parents’ home in Church Town, England, where I was born on Christmas Eve in 1839. It isn’t everyone who can claim that a prophet gave them a name and a blessing.
My father was originally from Scotland. He came to England for work. There he met my mother and married her. They joined the Church just a few years later.
When I was six years old, my family moved to Island of Bute, Scotland. I at-tended the School of Industry, where I learned how to sew and keep house. I graduated when I was eleven years old. That’s when most children began working to help their family with expenses.
I, too, would have gone straight to work, except I got sick. Instead, I was sent to live with my grandmother by the seashore. It was thought that the sea air would be good for my health. It must have been, because I got well. But Grandmother had a serious accident one day and died. By that time, my family had moved back to England, and I moved there to live with them.
At the age of fourteen, I was apprenticed to a dressmaker and learned how to make beautiful dresses. I worked for her for two years. Then my family made the decision to move to America. Times were hard in England. Jobs and food were both scarce. Also a call had gone out from the Church for the Saints to gather to Zion.
At age sixteen, I was the oldest of the children in our family. Heber had just turned thirteen. Ether was eight, Peter six, and Margaret was still a baby, not quite two years old. We loved the Lord with all our hearts. We had been commanded to gather to Zion, and so we began our journey, one step at a time. Little did we know what would face us on the journey ahead. I think, though, that even if we had known, we still would have gone.
The Church had a special fund at that time that loaned money to members for travel to Salt Lake City, Utah. In 1856, however, there wasn’t much money in it. To cut expenses, it was decided that my family, along with many others, would travel across the plains by handcart. The journey from Liverpool, England, to Salt Lake City would then only cost about forty-five dollars per person—much less than the cost of using wagons and ox teams to cross the plains.
But first we had to sail to America!
I was excited when my family packed up their belongings and headed for Liverpool. It was a great seaport, teeming with ships of every kind. I loved watching the ships being loaded and unloaded with every kind of article you could imagine. Spices from India scented the air. Passenger ships were a hive of activity as their holds were loaded with food and water. There was so much to see!
Our ship was the Horizon, a good ship. We had fine weather all the way across the Atlantic, except for a few days when it was so foggy that we couldn’t even get candles to burn! On June 30, 1856, we safely landed in Boston, Massachusetts. We were thrilled to be in the land where the gospel had been restored!
I don’t think any of us had any idea how big America really was. When we landed in Boston, we didn’t realize that our long journey was just beginning, rather than nearing its end.
From Boston, we traveled to Iowa City, Iowa, by railroad. The new railroad saved us weeks of traveling by wagon. The cattle cars were crowded, but we endured the journey well. The train stopped in Buffalo, New York, on the Fourth of July. We could only watch the people celebrate. How I wanted to join them!
Finally we arrived in Iowa City. From the train station, we walked three miles in rain and mud to the place where we were to meet the Church’s agent in charge of organizing the trek. We had been assured that everything would be ready for us when we arrived, but it wasn’t. The handcarts hadn’t even been built! We camped and worked at preparing for the journey until all was ready.
Eventually the handcarts were obtained, and our family was assigned to Captain Edward Martin’s company. Near the end of July 1856, we cheerfully began our journey to Zion. Our family had three carts when we started out. Each cart could carry about 120 pounds of baggage, 100 pounds of flour, cooking utensils, and additional food. There were 576 people in our company. I’d never been with so many members of the Church!
Pulling the handcarts wasn’t bad at first. But many of them broke down because they were built of green wood. We pulled those carts three hundred miles to Florence, Nebraska. The last members of our company, and the Willie company, arrived there on August 22. As soon as we arrived, there was some disagreement as to whether we should continue on. Some said that it was too late in the year. They felt that we should set up a winter camp in Florence and wait until spring to travel to Salt Lake City. But most of the Saints were for starting immediately. After much discussion, it was decided to continue on. We were anxious to finish our long journey. About a thousand miles remained ahead of us, but we had already come so many miles that another thousand seemed like a short trip. We didn’t know that the worst part of our journey was still ahead.

A true story from Peru.
Spencer held Papá’s hand as they walked through the grass. His older sisters walked ahead, gathering rocks and twigs.
“Papá, why do we use things from outside for the Nativity?” Spencer asked.
Papá picked up a piece of moss. “This is something families have done here for a long time. We gather things Heavenly Father has given us in nature to make a place for baby Jesus. It helps us remember that He was born in a humble place.”
Spencer looked at the moss in Papá’s hand. It wasn’t fancy, but it was soft.
When they got home, they gathered around the wooden table in the living room. Papá placed a small clay Mary and Joseph on the table. Now they would use what they found outside to make the stable and the manger. Then, on Christmas Eve they’d add the baby Jesus to the Nativity scene.
Spencer watched as his sisters worked. They added colorful flowers and wove branches into a little fence. They made it look so nice.
Spencer carefully placed some moss on one side of the stable and added a few rocks. But when he looked at what he had made, it didn’t seem as good as what his sisters made. His path looked crooked. His moss wasn’t smooth.
He sighed. “My part doesn’t look very nice,” he said quietly.
Mamá put an arm around him. “Why do you think that?”
“It doesn’t look as good as theirs.”
Papá moved to sit beside him. “Spencer, do you know why we make this Nativity?”
Spencer shook his head.
“To help us feel close to Jesus,” Papá said. “The Savior is the most special part of Christmas. He doesn’t need fancy gifts—just our love and our best efforts.”
Spencer nodded. He looked at his little pile of rocks and moss again. Maybe it wasn’t perfect, but he had done his best.
Over the next few days, they gathered by the table to light a candle and sing Christmas songs. Spencer liked how the manger for baby Jesus stayed empty. It reminded him that they were waiting for something special—just like the shepherds and Wise Men did.
Finally, Christmas Eve came. Mom handed Spencer the tiny clay baby Jesus, and he placed it carefully in the manger.
As Spencer looked at the Nativity, he didn’t worry about how perfect it looked. He thought about Jesus Christ.
Spencer smiled. This year, he had given something to Jesus by doing his best, even when it wasn’t perfect. And he wanted to keep giving—by being kind, loving others, and trying to be more like Him.

The closer Christmas got, the heavier my heart became. In November, neither my husband nor I had regular work. I paid for rent, electricity, and the telephone out of my decreased earnings, and my husband paid the car payment from his diminished wages. The remaining money was barely enough to get us by. December brought more work and a return to normal, but we wouldn’t be paid until January. Under these circumstances, even a holiday dinner was out of the question.
“Everything will be all right,” I told myself. That summer my husband had picked a lot of raspberries, and we had made jam. We would have pancakes and jam and would make our own gifts. But when our three daughters (ages 6, 8, and 14) began happily decorating with garlands they had made, all the while talking about what their parents might give them for Christmas, I was sick at heart.
One evening my visiting teachers came by for an unexpected visit. I have no brothers and sisters of my own, so the Relief Society sisters in my branch—particularly my visiting teachers—have truly become my sisters. That night they shared an interesting lesson, then began to visit about the upcoming holiday. I assured them that everything was fine but said that it would be a rather “poor” Christmas for us. They assured me that they would be praying for our family.
One day when my husband came to pick me up from work, he said that everyone at home was impatiently awaiting my arrival. A sister from our branch had dropped off some boxes. When we opened them, they contained all the delicacies of the season: fruit, cookies, candy, other groceries, decorations, and lovingly wrapped gifts. My eyes filled with tears of gratitude. And that wasn’t the end. The family of one of my visiting teachers surprised us on Christmas morning with a box of gifts.
In the end our “poor” Christmas was a particularly joyful one. Our home was filled with not only the spirit of Christmas but also the warmth and love of my visiting teachers and other members of our branch. I came to understand that the Lord truly does meet our needs most often through other people—particularly those He has assigned and inspired to watch over and care for us.

When I was 13, my mother became very sick. She was diagnosed with a serious cancer in its last stage and was given six months to live. My father didn’t want us children to know, so I didn’t find out how sick she was until she had only a month left to live.
I wasn’t old enough to understand what was happening, and I hesitated to visit her in the hospital. My bishop encouraged me to bring her the sacrament, but I didn’t want to. I thought that she would come home soon. But my bishop persisted because he knew she didn’t have much time left.
When I finally went, my bishop blessed the sacrament, and I passed it to my mother. She was so sick that she didn’t talk much. But she told me, “Do not let go of the iron rod” (see 1 Nephi 8:19–20, 24, 30).
My mother soon passed away, but I remembered her parting words to me. Following her advice has blessed my life.

Jimmy’s refusal. One evening when Jimmy went with friends to a party, “a girl came up and offered me alcohol,” he says. “I said no and didn’t pay any attention to her, but she kept offering it to me. And it wasn’t just alcohol—there were invitations to do other things. I didn’t agree to any of it, and I pulled away from the group. Some of the kids said I was antisocial, but I knew I couldn’t stay there. Every time I have a trial like this and overcome it, I become stronger.”