Gospel Story Finder

Max’s family visited the temple grounds every week. He always brought his video game with him. Otherwise it would be too boring to just walk around. On the way home, Max’s sisters joked and giggled beside him in the car, but he didn’t hear them. He was too focused on his game.
When they all got home, Max walked inside. He was so proud of himself. He didn’t even have to look up to make it to the living room. So much gaming must have made his brain bigger.
“Max, how did you like the temple?” Mom asked. He didn’t answer.
“Max!” she said a little louder. He jumped. He hadn’t seen her sit down next to him.
“Did you like the temple?” Mom asked again.
“It was nice,” he said. His eyes moved back to the game.
“Did you feel anything special?” she asked.
Max sighed and paused the game. Couldn’t she see he was busy?
“I don’t know, Mom. I guess it was all pretty special,” he said with a grin.
Mom didn’t smile back. “Max, I’m a little worried. It seems like you’re playing that thing more and more.”
“Mom, I’m fine,” Max said. “I’m just having fun. I can stop anytime.”
“Oh, really?” Mom said. Now she was smiling. “How about you stop playing your games for a week? And maybe when we go to the temple you’ll be surprised.”
A whole week! What would he do? He worried about giving up his games, but he loved Mom and thought he could give it a try.
Max sighed. “OK. I’ll do it.”
Mom gave Max a big hug. Max looked at his game and frowned. What had he gotten himself into?
The first two days were the worst because all he could think about was his game. He was so bored that even cleaning sounded good. So he did all his chores, and since he had more time before dinner, he did his sisters’ chores too.
After dinner, Max helped with the dishes. Then he thought of something else to do.
“Hey, Dad, wanna play catch?”
Dad smiled. “I’d love to! It’s been too long. Grab your mitt.”
Max went to bed feeling happy. He usually played video games until he fell asleep, but tonight he didn’t even want to. He thought of what he was going to do tomorrow. It seemed like he had so much more time now.
The week raced by. Max spent time with his family, helped his sisters, read the scriptures, and even started learning how to crochet! He had to admit that using his time differently felt pretty good.
Soon the day of the temple trip came. Max had totally forgotten what Mom had said about a surprise. He was just excited to spend time with his family.
The sun was setting as Max’s family walked around the temple grounds. The sky was red, orange, and yellow. Max felt something special as he watched the light shine on the temple windows. This is what it must feel like to live with Heavenly Father, he thought.
Max knew he was feeling the Spirit. He thought about how serving and spending time with other people made him feel happier than always playing his games did. He felt closer to Heavenly Father too.
Mom walked up beside him. “What are you thinking?”
Max looked up at the Angel Moroni glowing gold in the sunset. “That this is even better than video games.”
Mom wrapped her arm around his shoulders. “Surprise,” she said.
Max just smiled.

I learned the power of simple faith in prayer and in the Holy Ghost when our children were small. Our oldest son was not yet baptized. His parents, Primary teachers, and priesthood servants had tried to help him feel and recognize the Spirit and know how to receive His help.
One afternoon my wife had taken him to the home of a woman who was teaching him to read. Our plan was that I was to pick him up on my way home from work.
His lesson ended earlier than we had expected. He felt confident that he knew the way home. So he started to walk. He said afterward that he had complete confidence and liked the idea of being alone on the trip. After he had gone about half a mile (0.8 km), it started to grow dark. He began to sense that he was still very far from home.
He can still remember that the lights of the cars as they streamed past him were blurred by his tears. He felt like a little child, not the confident boy who had begun to walk home alone. He realized that he needed help. Then something came to his memory. He knew he was supposed to pray. And so he left the road and headed toward some trees he could barely see in the darkness. He found a place to kneel down.
Through the bushes he could hear voices coming toward him. Two young people had heard him crying. As they approached, they said, “Can we help you?” Through his tears he told them he was lost and that he wanted to go home. They asked if he knew his home phone number or address. He didn’t. They asked if he knew his name. He did know that. They led him to the nearby place where they lived. They found our family name in a phone book.
When I got the phone call, I rushed to the rescue, grateful that kind people had been placed along his way home. And I have been ever grateful he was taught to pray with faith that help would come when he was lost. That faith has led him to safety and brought him more rescuers more times than he can count.

Like many people who pursue unusual careers, Shawn was concerned at one time with the question of whether or not his career would conflict with his feelings about the Church.
“After I had been in college three years, I wanted to rodeo for a while, and I was worried about the apparent contrast of ideals in my two worlds—the Church and the rodeo. I worried and prayed about it and spent time thinking it over. Then I realized the right answer for me was very simple. I knew the Church was true, and as long as I did the right thing and lived my religion, I couldn’t be doing wrong. I was then at peace with myself, and the Church has turned out to be one of my biggest assets on the rodeo circuit. I have been the subject of a lot of publicity because I am different. Writers casually mention that I am a Mormon cowboy and then go on to explain some of our beliefs. There are a lot of good Catholics and Methodists and other religions represented on the circuit, but their religions never seem to be mentioned.”

For most of his early life, the only sports Stanley Moleni played were rugby and basketball. But before his junior year of high school, after his family had moved from New Zealand to Hawaii, Stanley discovered American football. “I fell in love with it,” he says. It didn’t hurt that he was naturally good at it, too.
Coaches were impressed with his size. Stanley is 1.88 meters tall, and at the time he was a relatively lean 91 kilograms.
“I was still learning, but by my senior year I started catching on. I was still only 93 kilograms, and I was missing a lot of plays. I really didn’t know how to play the game that well,” he says.
That didn’t stop college coaches from showing interest in him—especially after he bulked up to 113 kilograms. After a lot of thought, he signed a letter of intent to play football for Brigham Young University. But instead of enrolling in school immediately after high school graduation in 1994, Stanley moved to Utah and worked to save money for a mission.
“My whole life I was planning on a mission,” says Stanley, now known as Elder Moleni as he serves in the California Ventura Mission. “Nothing was going to stop me from coming on a mission.”
And that included the glamour of playing college football.
Says Elder Moleni: “One of our investigators said that he really admired us because he knew we really believed in what we were teaching. When he said he admired me for coming on a mission and leaving my scholarship behind, it felt really good.”
Now Elder Moleni is concentrating on the work at hand. Soon enough, he’ll be a college student and football player.
“I’ll be behind physically. I know that,” he says about football. “But I see a parallel between my not knowing how to play football and missionary work. Through hard work and sacrifice I became better at football. And through hard work and faith in the Lord, I’m having a successful mission.”

A little while later, another of Candace’s relatives, her great-great-aunt, Lorna Call Alder, was lying in the darkness of her family’s home, not sure what would happen next. Angered at the U.S. government, Pancho Villa was headed straight for the town of Dublan, threatening to kill any and all Americans he found. And although the colonists had been living in Mexico for many years, they had remained loyal to the United States. The entire town was in grave danger. The people of Dublan made preparations to flee, should it be necessary, and then waited for the bishop, who happened to be Lorna’s father, to instruct them.

Lorna remembered and recorded exactly what her father told the people. “Calmly and without wavering he said, ‘Go to your homes, pray to your Heavenly Father for protection, turn out your lights, and go to sleep. The Lord will be with you this night.’”

With a great deal of faith, the Saints did exactly as they were told. At about three in the morning Villa’s army reached the north end of town. Villa stopped his army and looked out over Dublan. Much to his astonishment, he saw what appeared to be the campfires of a large army. Frightened, Villa led his men in another direction, avoiding the town completely.

No one knows for sure what Villa saw that night. Some people think that it might have been a prairie brush fire reflected in the windows of the homes in town, which could have looked like the campfires of an army. Others believe that heavenly beings protected the town that night. But no matter what he saw, the people in the town then and now believe it was a miracle.

Don’t be like the man who suddenly came into some money and decided to realize a lifelong ambition to be a conductor. So he bought an orchestra. The first day he was standing on the podium, obviously in seventh heaven, while his players were casting knowing glances at each other, wondering if it was worth the money to play under a conductor who knew so little about music. They began dropping a note here and there. He didn’t notice. They began leaving out whole parts of the piece—melody here, harmony there. He didn’t notice. Finally, the timpani player became so enraged at the obvious lack of qualification that he suddenly played a fusillade of loud bangs with hard sticks in the middle of a very quiet section. The conductor, finally shaken out of his reverie, dropped his arms to his side, glared at the orchestra with great menace in his eyes, and thundered, “All right! Who did that?”

I’ve always found it difficult to adjust to new situations. That’s why I was nervous to leave Primary and start Young Women. At first the schedule was strange to me. Young Women was a totally different environment—no singing time, no sharing time. We also had Mutual during the week.
I just wanted to fit in and feel comfortable, so I gave my new schedule a chance. I prayed a lot, and I began to adjust to the new routine and bond with the other young women.
As the weeks went by, I started to realize why I was in the Young Women program. I was learning more about the gospel, I was getting more opportunities to have a little goodness each week, and I was able to go to the temple and feel the Lord’s Spirit in His house.
Now I am very thankful for Young Women. I’m happy I gave this change a chance and that my Heavenly Father helped me do so.
Bethany W., Florida, USA

“We have seen the greatest thing on earth, the love of Christ, light up the face of a lonely, elderly woman as the Young Women brought her dinner and sang to her,” says Teri Gibbs. “We have seen that love lift a frustrated mother’s heart as the Young Women baby-sat her children so she could enjoy a night out. It is through this that I have grown closer to Heavenly Father and to other youth in the Church. We strive to be more like Christ.”

Matti and Kirsti Salmi exemplify this combination of faith with Finnish resolve. They live in the west coast city of Kemi, at the northern tip of the Gulf of Bothnia, less than one hundred kilometers below the Arctic Circle. In 1988, the Salmis became the first Finnish couple to serve a mission in their own land.

Kirsti had joined the Church in 1973 in Kuopio, after the missionaries taught her the gospel that “sounded familiar and true, especially after reading the Book of Mormon.” Matti was forty-eight when, in 1978, the elders brought “an undeniably strong spirit with them.” And he too was baptized. The two met in the summer of 1981 at the Swiss Temple.

“How glad we were for our proselyting mission call,” says Matti. “Within the first week of our mission, we met and taught our first people to be converted. By the end of the month they were baptized; then came another and another.”

“Even when people weren’t baptized,” adds Kirsti, “we never felt we taught in vain. On the other side, when some things are clearer, many of those will accept.”

Their work brought three young converts in Savonlinna, the beautiful site of the nation’s annual opera festivals. The city’s setting is dramatic, on a large archipelago in the middle of the largest of Finland’s 180,000 lakes. “We so enjoyed our work in that lovely setting,” says Brother Salmi. “The members there are devoted to the gospel and freely helped us share it.”

According to the Salmis, “teaching eternal principles together and sharing love for others deepened and strengthened our marriage more than anything we could think of.”

Mensah was born in 1924 to Fanti parents from Winneba, Ghana, and was born with severe bodily defects. An inspiration to all who knew him, he was encouraged by his family to convert to Christianity and led a remarkable life dedicated to God. In high school, he was the school chaplain and later obtained a PhD in theology through correspondence from the University of California in the USA. He went on to become an international evangelist with the Seventh-day Adventist Church.

A Home-Concealed Woman. The title in the book catalog drew my eye again and again—A Home-Concealed Woman. Was it the story of my life? I checked the book out of the library. It was a diary kept by a woman living in the southern United States in the early 1900s. It was a warm and cozy record of her busy life as she bore and reared a large family, loved her husband, entertained friends, and cared for her aging parents. She was a kindred spirit, a good woman, hard-working, kind, observant of the beauties of nature. Her writings were similar to some of my own—filled with joy at her children’s small accomplishments, worry over teeth and earaches, delight at the first blossoms of spring. But she called herself a “home-concealed woman.” She had an obvious talent for writing but never much time to develop it. The physical circle of her life was small—hardly extending to the nearest village.
Did I see myself as a “home-concealed woman”? I wondered. Yes, I am a stay-at-home woman; but do the walls and roof of my home take on the aspects of a bushel basket over the candle of my personal light?
In the twenty-five years that I have been married, the place of woman in society has been the subject of much debate and confusion. As a young college graduate, I was refused a teaching job because I was pregnant—a strictly enforced district policy. In those days pregnant women and most other women, whether they had children or not, were expected by society to be concealed in their homes! A few years later, stay-at-home women were ridiculed in the popular press. Housework was supposed to be beneath the dignity and attention of the up-and-coming woman. (They forgot that it still had to be done by someone whether she, or he, was up-and-coming or not.) And a few years after that, there seemed to be no choice left. Nearly every woman I know now must work either full- or part-time—either outside or inside her home. For many, it is an economic necessity.
Does working outside the home release a woman from concealment? Maybe, if she is on television. But most often the women I know who work must maintain a carefully controlled schedule and limit their activities severely in order to do their jobs and care for their homes and families. They seem to be concealed within a tight world bounded by the realities of time and energy.
I still wondered what it was about the word concealed that had caught my attention. Did it have something to do with the fact that often when I meet new people they ask a few polite questions about our children and then turn with obvious interest to discussions of my husband’s work and hobbies? Yes, at times like that I do feel concealed and want to cry, “Look again! There is a person here—not just the wife of someone and the mother of someone else, but an individual with her own interests and talents. I read books, I have opinions, sometimes I am even witty—take a chance; get to know ME!” To those who know me well and with whom I am not shy, I am not a “concealed” person.
If my home is not a bushel basket over my light, then what is it? Is it a room—and I a candle set upon the mantel to give light to that room and to all who come within my circle of illumination? Perhaps the word concealed appealed to a bit of unfortunate pride within me—a desire to be a city on a hill, rather than just a candle in a room. I’m afraid that might have something to do with it.
And yet I know that the Lord has given me a light and that it is just the right light for the room in which I dwell—my home, family, neighborhood, and ward. I know that the work I have to do is important and that no one else can illuminate the space around me. I feel sure, most of the time, that the Lord approves the priorities I have set and the way I am tending my own little light. I also know that it takes all my best efforts, talents, and energy to keep that light glowing. And I know that I am part of the city set upon a hill, as is every other member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
There can be only a very few people in the world at a time who have such bright candles that they light up whole cities, or the whole world. Brigham Young was one of those people, and we often credit him with moving the Church to the West and settling Utah and other states. But he did not actually do any of that by himself. To be sure, he did provide inspiration and guidance, but it was the thousands of people with little candles who actually plowed the ground, built the cabins and temples, baked the bread, washed the clothes, built the towns, composed the songs, wrote the stories, taught the children, harvested the crops, and did all the other work that went into settling the West. Without all those little lights, Brigham Young’s dream never could have become a reality.
President Joseph F. Smith said, “After all, to do well those things which God ordained to be the common lot of man-kind, is the truest greatness. To be a successful father or a successful mother is greater than to be a successful general or a successful statesman” (Gospel Doctrine, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1939, page 285).
I know all these things, but sometimes I still feel “concealed,” and I think it is not the adulation of the world that would change that feeling. I remember the time when, as the young mother of four very small children and the wife of a very busy husband, I felt not just concealed, but buried by my home. I vividly remember standing at the ironing board in a room cluttered with toys and children, watching general conference on television. As President Harold B. Lee spoke, he seemed to be talking directly to me, and the Spirit entered my heart that day to remind me that I was a daughter of God and beloved of Him. Tears splashed on the iron as I felt His love surround me—a feeling I had forgotten.
Later I realized that I had become too busy with my little family for scripture study and going to the temple. Most of my time at church was spent in the hall with fussy babies, rather than worshiping. I had thought that reading the scriptures years earlier as a missionary would carry me through the rest of my life. I felt “concealed”—cut off from the Lord, but I was not. He was there, but I had failed to look up and see Him and receive His help and blessing. Now I know that no matter how small and insignificant my life may appear to the world, it doesn’t matter—as long as I am not concealed from the Lord.
So am I a “home-concealed woman”? No, I am a woman lighting a room, which is my home—sharing my light with others who come into my circle of illumination. Does my home and the work I do there conceal my talents? Does it keep me from reaching my potential? Not unless I choose to let that happen. Being a homemaker, mother, and wife is no more concealing of the real me than being a teacher, factory worker, nurse, or lawyer could be.
No, I am not a “home-concealed woman.” I am a “home-enhanced woman,” a “home-challenged woman.” But, most important, I am a loved daughter of Heavenly Father, who never loses sight of me.

Around this time, Tyreece’s relationship with his parents was difficult, and he acknowledges his part in the problem. “I was like, talking back, disrespectful and all that, and my parents threatened to kick me out because they couldn’t handle me.”
When Tyreece returned home from his first lesson with the missionaries, he found all his belongings strewn about. “That’s how bad my parents wanted to get rid of me,” he says. But he thought about the pamphlet the missionaries had just given him about the gospel of Jesus Christ; and remembered the invitation they had extended to him: to go home and pray to Heavenly Father. Instead of reacting to the circumstances, Tyreece says, “I just ignored it all and I just did a prayer.”
He immediately felt the Holy Spirit. The feeling came with a sense of clarity, even at such an unsettling time for him. He stayed with a friend for a few days, then decided to reach out to the missionaries, to explain his home situation and ask for advice. Within five minutes, the missionaries found him board with a family in their ward. It was then that Tyreece knew in his heart that Heavenly Father is real, and that he could put all his trust and faith in Him.

In 1982, we moved to Hemel Hempstead (Hertfordshire). The meetings were now consolidated, and I stayed for the whole three hours. I was called as the elders quorum president. An elderly missionary couple were assigned to visit my home, and for the first time Rajinder said a prayer and felt the Spirit. I subsequently baptised her. We were later sealed in the London England Temple with our children.

Elder and Sister Edwards settled in Las Vegas, Nevada, where he practiced law. During that time, another life-defining event occurred. During Sister Edwards’s seventh and final pregnancy, she became quite ill and couldn’t eat. After a family fast and priesthood blessing, she improved. But halfway through the pregnancy she took a sudden turn for the worse, and the doctor told them to expect the baby by morning. That night was filled with fervent prayers by the anxious couple. Their daughter was later born at full term.

“Twenty-one years later, on the eve of that daughter’s wedding,” Elder Edwards recounts, “we learned that each of our older children had found a quiet place and had also poured out his or her heart to the Lord that night.” It was a powerful lesson of a family united in faith.

My first Sunday in church was in early 1995. All my life I had spent weekends in stadiums and gymnasiums. I love sports! I was even studying sports. But in January 1995 I came in contact with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The sister missionaries invited me to attend church, and I went.
It was a fast and testimony meeting. I sat on a massive wooden pew, one sister missionary to my right, the other to my left. But I encountered only unfamiliar faces, unfamiliar music, unfamiliar proceedings, and unfamiliar words. I had never partaken of the sacrament before and was preoccupied with finding out the appropriate conduct. I felt very uncomfortable. I said to myself, “It will be over at some point, and then I will get out of here and never come back.” But the meeting concluded with the announcement that all should remain in the chapel for a lesson by the mission president, President Charles W. Dahlquist II, who now serves as Young Men general president. So most people, including the sister missionaries, remained seated, and I could not simply sneak out inconspicuously, as I had planned. Since I did not have the courage to tell the missionaries how awful I was feeling, I decided to endure.
President Dahlquist stood in front. He began by asking what we would do with a good book we had just read. My answer was, “Read it again, recommend it to others, or give it as a gift.”
He spoke about the Book of Mormon, then about a few other subjects. But something peculiar happened. I suddenly knew that everything he said was true. I knew that he knew more things that were true as well. I knew that I wanted to know what he knew. I knew that I wanted to have in my life what he had as an anchor in his life. It is hard to find words to describe this experience. I simply knew that he knew.
I looked around stealthily to see if anybody had noticed anything unusual, for I had the impression that something wonderful had happened.
Because of his lesson I attended church again—and again. My baptism was on March 2, 1996, approximately one year after this experience. Today I have five wonderful children and a wonderful, eternal husband.
I recall often and with gratitude this lesson.
Barbara Hopf, Stade Branch, Hamburg Germany Stake

Elder Ballard: I remember a time when one of our daughters came home and I had a dialogue with her. I don’t remember the subject, but afterward she went up to her room. Later Sister Ballard came to me and lovingly said, “I don’t think you realize the impact of what you said to her. You’ve hurt her feelings.”
I said, “I did? How did I do that?” I didn’t have a clue, so Sister Ballard explained.
I went upstairs and sat down with my little girl. She was on her bed, crying. We had another family council. I asked her to forgive me. It was a great moment for us, and it was all done as we counseled together.

What if some of our traditions don’t have a place in the restored gospel of Jesus Christ? Letting go of them may require the emotional support and nurture of another, as it did for me.

When I was born, my parents planted a magnolia tree in the backyard so there would be magnolias at my wedding ceremony, held in the Protestant church of my forefathers. But on the day of my marriage, there were no parents at my side and no magnolias, for as a one-year convert to the Church, I had traveled to Salt Lake City, Utah, to receive my temple endowment and be sealed to David, my fiancé.

When I left Louisiana and neared Utah, a feeling of homelessness swept over me. Before the wedding, I would be staying with David’s step-grandmother, who was lovingly known as Aunt Carol.

Here I was, a stranger to Utah, going to stay in a stranger’s house before being sealed—for eternity—to a family I barely knew. (Good thing I loved and trusted my future husband and the Lord!)

As I stood at the front door of Aunt Carol’s house, I wanted to shrink away. The door opened—I stood there like a scared rabbit—and Aunt Carol, without a word, reached out and took me into her arms. She, who had no children of her own, knew—her nurturing heart knew—that I needed a place to belong. Oh, the comfort and sweetness of that moment! My fear melted, and there came to me a sense of being anchored to a spiritually safe place.

We all knew President Spencer W. Kimball as a man of love. He thought of love as a way to overcome even unknown offenses. Such an incident occurred with one of his neighbors who would go out and talk to President Kimball whenever he saw him in the yard. Until one day the neighbor’s wife said, “You mustn’t do that. The only time President Kimball is alone is when he is in the yard, and then you go over and impose yourself upon him.” After that the neighbor stayed in and just watched President Kimball through the window. A few weeks passed before President Kimball rang the neighbor’s doorbell and handed him a casserole. “What’s this for?” the neighbor asked. “I don’t know,” replied President Kimball. “I’ve come to make amends for whatever I’ve done to offend you. You never come and talk to me anymore, so I decided I must have done something wrong.”

Krishna Carpenter was selected as a member of the NJCAA All-American volleyball team. Kris, who plays on the Ricks College team, was surprised and pleased by the selection. The Ricks volleyball team captured both the district and regional championships. They went on to place sixth in national competition. Kris received all-conference and all-regional honors, but the highlight was being named to the first team All-American squad. She was one of only eight to be so honored in the nation.
Kris, originally from Burley, Idaho, participated in both basketball and volleyball in high school. But when she started her freshman year at Ricks, she concentrated on volleyball and has been very successful.
Kris has been encouraged in athletics by her older brothers, and her younger sister may be following in her footsteps. Kris enjoys tutoring special education students and plans to make that her major in college.

Caleb rolled over in bed and sighed. He thought about his favorite online game. That castle I built yesterday was awesome—if I ever get the chance to finish it! But I can’t keep playing when everyone’s using bad words. Maybe Henry and their other friends were playing online together right now.
Just then Mom knocked on his door and saw Caleb still in bed. “Why aren’t you getting ready for church?”
“I don’t want to go,” Caleb said. He turned and stared at the wall.
“Are you still thinking about the message board yesterday? I talked to Henry’s mom like you asked.”
“But it didn’t even make a difference.”
“I’m sorry about the game,” Mom said. “For now, can you get ready so we’re not late?”
“I’m tired of feeling different!” said Caleb. “I just want to do what my friends are doing. They’re not going to church today.”
Mom nodded. “Sometimes choosing the right is lonely, but that’s one reason we go to church.”
“To feel lonely?”
“No, to feel the Holy Ghost. When we feel lonely, the Holy Ghost can comfort us.”
Caleb didn’t say anything. But why am I the only one who has to make good choices? he thought. No one else stopped playing when they saw the bad words.
“Can we talk about this more after church?” Mom asked.
“OK.” Caleb slowly got dressed and grabbed his scriptures.
During sacrament meeting, Mom asked Caleb how he was feeling.
“Bored. I want to go home.”
Mom put her arm around Caleb. “Are you listening to the talks? This is a good one.”
Caleb looked up. Bishop Marsh was talking about commandments. Caleb started listening. After a while, a peaceful feeling started to push out his grumpy feelings. He kept listening. The feeling grew stronger until it seemed to fill him all the way up.
“How are you feeling now?” Mom whispered.
“Pretty good.”
In Primary they talked about how the Holy Ghost can guide and direct us. When Caleb came home, he felt like everything would be OK. He was actually glad he’d gone to church.
On Wednesday, Caleb was doing his homework in the kitchen. Mom came and sat by him.
“By the way,” she said, “Henry’s mom found out who was using the bad words and asked him to stop. It turns out some other kids were uncomfortable too. She started monitoring the message board, and everyone’s using better language.”
Caleb nodded and twirled his pencil. “Well, Henry and I decided we were getting too addicted to the game, so we’re taking a break. It’s nice to not always be thinking about it. But I’m glad the guys are using good language.”
“Sounds like you helped your friends make better choices,” Mom said. “Remember how you said you felt different from your friends? Well, there’s something that does make you different, but in a good way. Do you know what it is?”
Caleb thought. “I have the gift of the Holy Ghost?”
“That’s right,” Mom said. “The Holy Ghost helps you notice and avoid things that can hurt your spirit. I think He also prompted you to have me talk to Henry’s mom. Sometimes you’ll be the only one making a good choice. But when you follow the Holy Ghost, you’ll be happier in the long run.”
Caleb smiled. He did like having the Holy Ghost with him—even if it meant being different.