Gospel Story Finder

The Memory Box by Mary Bahr Gramps and Gram and Zach made the memory box of photos and written accounts of things that were special to them, such as the time Zach climbed the water tower, the time Gramps taught Zach’s mom to ride a bike and she rode over his foot, and the time they watched a raccoon watch them while it ate a trayful of cookies Gram had set on the picnic table to cool. And they made the box just in time. …

Romero had been looking forward to this day for a very long time. This was the day his mother and he had planned on going to the park. But that morning his mother had been called away to help a neighbor who was very ill. When she left, she promised Romero that they would still go to the park when she returned if he would do some of the household chores while she was gone. Romero told her that he would.
After his mother left, Romero started to do the things she had asked him to do. Then his friend José came by and wanted to play. Romero remembered what his mother had asked him to do and her promise that they would go to the park if he was obedient. He told José that he couldn’t play just then because he had work to do. José went home, and Romero hurried to finish the chores. When his mother came home, she was happy to see that he had done what she had asked. Because he had, she kept her promise and together they spent the afternoon at the park.

When my family and I lived in Las Vegas, Nevada, USA, I served for a time as ward Relief Society president. I thrived on the wonderful associations I had with the good sisters in our ward. I loved planning uplifting activities, conducting Relief Society, attending meetings with ward leaders, and serving families.
I spent a significant amount of time going into homes to visit with sisters. I also ministered to mothers who were exhausted, sick, or simply overwhelmed—sisters who needed comfort, both spiritual and physical. I felt fulfilled and needed outside of my responsibilities as a young mother of six children.
Then my life suddenly changed.
My husband accepted a job promotion in another state. Within a month we packed up and left our home in sunny Las Vegas for a small rental house in cold Casper, Wyoming. The same week that we moved, I found out I was pregnant—with twins!
The night we arrived at our rental home, I became violently ill. I remember lying in bed hardly able to move while I watched my husband manage our children and unload our moving van. That was the beginning of the worst physical challenge of my life. For the next four months, I couldn’t keep a meal down and barely had enough energy to serve my family, care for our children, and—sometimes—make meals.
As my husband adjusted to his new job, I adjusted to our new town and enrolled four of our children in school. Our tiny rental home was cramped, and for several weeks we lived out of boxes. I would send our school children out the door every morning and then spend the day on the couch while my two toddlers played nearby.
One morning after the children had left for school, the doorbell rang. One of my toddlers opened the door, and there stood a sister from our new ward’s Relief Society presidency. She was holding a basket of items and had her own daughter with her. She had come to welcome me to the ward.
I was mortified.
There I was, still in my pajamas, lying on the couch with a bucket beside me. My two partially dressed toddlers were playing on the cluttered floor amidst boxes that still needed to be unpacked.
This wonderful sister came in and set her basket down on a corner of the table. Then she sat in our cluttered living room and visited with me—asking all about me and our family.
As we talked, I felt humbled. Just a month earlier, I had been in her position, visiting people and offering aid. Now the tables had turned. I was flat on my back in a messy house in desperate need of relief. I was lonely, overwhelmed, and dealing with a situation larger than my abilities. I was one of those sisters who needed help. The Lord had quickly and successfully reminded me that I needed Him and the help offered through His servants.
After she left, the sight of her welcome basket on my table gave me relief and light. During the next few weeks, I savored the contents of the basket and was grateful for our budding friendship as she visited again and again, offering help and support during those difficult months. I gained a new appreciation for the hope and relief that one sister can bring to another.
A few months later we bought a home big enough for our growing family. My difficult pregnancy ended with the birth of two beautiful children. And the kind Relief Society sister became my close friend and continues to strengthen and uplift me with her testimony and example. I often reflect on the difficult morning of her first visit and feel grateful that she fulfilled her calling.

One of the great influences in my life was to work closely for many years with Belle S. Spafford, general president of the Relief Society, surely one of the greatest women of this dispensation.

One day she told me that as a young woman she explained to her bishop that she was willing to serve but preferred a call to teach. The following week she was called as a counselor to the ward Relief Society president. “I did not relish the call,” she said. “The bishop had misunderstood.” She told him bluntly Relief Society was for old women. Except for the counsel of her husband, she would have refused the call.

Several times she asked to be released. Each time the bishop said he would pray about it.

One night she was seriously injured in an automobile accident. After some time in the hospital, she was recovering at home. A terrible laceration on her face became infected. The worried doctor told her, “We can’t touch this surgically; it’s too close to the main nerve in your face.”

That Sunday night, as the doctor left the Spafford home, the bishop, returning from a late meeting, saw the lights on and stopped in.

Sister Spafford later told me, “In that pathetic condition I tearfully said, ‘Bishop, now will you release me?’”

Again he said, “I will pray about it.”

When the answer came, it was, “Sister Spafford, I still can’t get the feeling that you should be released from Relief Society.”

Belle S. Spafford served for 46 years in the Relief Society, nearly 30 as general president. She was an influence for good in the Church and was respected by women leaders worldwide.

At a meeting of the World Council of Women in Suriname, citing age and failing health, she submitted a letter of resignation as an officer. She showed me their letter of refusal—they needed her wisdom, her strength of character.

She often spoke of being tested in her calling. Perhaps the greatest test came when, as a young woman, she learned to respect the power and authority inherent in the priesthood and that an ordinary man serving as bishop can receive direction from the Lord in calling members to serve.

The group pushed on to another of George Washington’s famous camps on the banks of the Delaware River. Instead of tramping through deep snow with cold feet like the Revolutionary soldiers, this modern group welcomed the cool water of the river. Each teen was armed with an inflated tube, and they settled down to float the river.
“Tubing was fun,” said Jan Taylor of the Doylestown Pennsylvania Ward, “because you didn’t have to do anything in particular and you could talk to people. Everyone was together, and we were going so slow there was nothing else to do besides talk.”
The floaters were a little deceived about the speed of the river. They thought that it would be an easy matter to just paddle over to the bank. But when the floaters reached the point where they were supposed to get out, some people found they were caught in the current and being swept down river. They were in no real danger, but they were passing by the easiest places to get up the bank.
At this point, Tim Bothell, 19, a chaperon from the Smerna Branch of the Wilmington Delaware Stake, went to the rescue. He swam out into the current and caught errant floaters who were not strong enough to get themselves out of the river. Again and again he reached out and helped someone get into the shallow water where they could wade out.
Another group of boys brought up the rear in the river to keep an eye out for trouble. They made sure that everyone had made it down safely. Both Tim and the rear guard did these things without being asked. They were watching out for each other. They were helping each other have a good time. For these three days, strangers were closing the distance and becoming friends.

They never told us any of this in the Missionary Training Center,” was all I could think of as I followed my companion down a dismal Düsseldorf side street, shuffling my frozen feet through the dirty snow as I went.
Less than a week before, I had left the Missionary Training Center after two intense but glorious months filled with grammar and vocabulary, discussions and scriptures, and a growing recognition of the workings of the Spirit. Still ringing in my ears were countless stories from teachers and General Authorities of the immeasurable joy that awaited me in the mission field and of the way lives would change because of the message I carried.
As I tracted that day I felt betrayed. The only changed life I could see was my own: changed from the comfort of Arizona sunshine to the misery of a German winter and from the freedom of my pre-mission existence to a life-style of exhausting physical work and infinite restrictions.
I wondered where all the joy could be as we climbed endless staircases to talk to people who didn’t want to talk to us. I wondered too, how the truth could possibly make a difference in the lives of those who shut their doors before hearing a complete sentence. Most of all I wondered where the promised Spirit was: the Spirit that softened the hearts of men like Alma and Saul, that guided missionaries like Ammon and Aaron to proclaim the right words to the right people, and that gave messengers like Abinadi and Samuel the Lamanite the strength of conviction and love for the people to carry on despite all persecution and rejection.
I felt no love for the people, no joy in the work, and no Spirit to comfort or inspire me. All I felt was an unfamiliar bitterness, and an aloneness I never knew existed.
As I trudged along, fighting back tears, I turned my thoughts to home, hoping to ease my desperation for even a second. In that frustrated, confused moment, a single picture unfolded in my mind. I saw my parents kneeling at their bedside, heads bowed and brows furrowed in prayer. Their words were for me. “Dear Father, bless our daughter. Keep her from discouragement and lead her in thy paths.”
As that picture faded, a hundred others tumbled one after the other into its place—pictures of six brothers and a sister; of relatives, friends, and ward members all bowed in prayer for me. I glanced at my watch and realized that it was early morning at home and that those earnest prayers were being said right then. And I knew, with undeniable clarity, that they were being answered right then as a feeling of love and warmth dissolved every negative emotion from my soul. I sensed a powerful, glowing triangle, linking home and heaven and me.
I knew then, with a witness that comes only from the Spirit I had sought, that I was a part of a work not my own, but that of a wise and loving Father who sent his Son to show me the way. “I am the vine, ye are the branches: He that abideth in me, and I in him, the same bringeth forth much fruit: for without me ye can do nothing” (John 15:5).
Snow still falls and doors still shut, but weekly letters bring a renewed assurance as I read “You are in our prayers,” for I know that each of those prayers ascends to the Source of all love and distills daily upon every servant in His vineyard.

When Caitlin was six years old, she asked her dance teacher if she could wear a more modest costume for the dance recital. When her teacher said no, Caitlin knew what she had to do. She told her teacher she would have to drop out because she had to do what Jesus would want her to do. Caitlin said, “It was a very hard decision to make, but I felt good afterward.”4 We respect our bodies by dressing modestly. We show we know how to keep the commandments and follow the Savior.

When I was 16 years old, my oldest brother, Ivan, who was 22 at that time, came home one day and shared some news with the family. He had decided to get baptized in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Our parents looked at him somewhat skeptically, and I remember not completely understanding what was going on. A year or so later, he gave us more surprising news: he had decided to serve as a missionary of the Church, which meant that we were not going to see him for two years. My parents were not thrilled with this news; however, I saw in him a clear determination that increased my admiration for him and the decision he had made.
Months later, while Ivan was serving his mission, I had the opportunity to plan a vacation with some schoolmates. We wanted to celebrate the end of our high school years and spend a few days at the beach.
I wrote a letter to my missionary brother, mentioning my summer vacation plans. He wrote back that the town he was serving in was on the way to my destination. I decided it would be a good idea to stop by and visit him. It was not until later that I learned that missionaries are not supposed to be visited by family.
I made all the arrangements. I remember sitting on the bus thinking of all the fun Ivan and I would have together on this beautiful sunny day. We would have breakfast, chat, play in the sand, sunbathe—what a great time we were going to have!
As the bus arrived at the terminal, I saw Ivan standing next to another young man, both in white shirts and ties. I got off the bus, we hugged each other, and he introduced his companion. Without wasting another minute, I told my brother my plans for the day, but little did I know what Ivan had scheduled. He looked at me, smiled, and said, “Sure! However, we need to do some errands first. Would you come with us?” I agreed, thinking that we would have enough time to enjoy the beach afterward.
That day, for more than 10 hours, I walked through the streets of that town with my brother and his companion. I smiled at people all day. I greeted people I had never seen in my life. We talked to everyone, knocked on the doors of strangers, and visited people my brother and his companion were teaching.
During one such visit, my brother and his companion were teaching about Jesus Christ and the plan of salvation. Suddenly, Ivan paused and looked at me. To my surprise, he politely asked me to share my opinion about what was being taught. The room fell silent, and all eyes were on me. With some difficulty, I finally found the words and shared my feelings about the Savior. I did not know if what I shared was right or wrong. My brother never corrected me; to the contrary, he thanked me for sharing my thoughts and feelings.
During those hours together, my brother and his companion did not spend a single minute teaching a lesson exclusively to me, yet I gained more knowledge than in all my previous conversations with him. I witnessed how countenances were changed as people received spiritual light in their lives. I saw how some of them found hope in the messages, and I learned how to serve others and forget about myself and my own desires. I was doing what the Savior taught: “If any man will come after me, let him deny himself.”3
Looking back, I realize that my faith grew that day because my brother gave me the opportunity to put it in action. I exercised it as we read from the scriptures, looked for people to teach, bore testimony, served others, and so on. We never got around to sunbathing that day, but my heart was bathed in light from heaven. I did not see even one small grain of sand at the beach, but I felt my faith grow like a small grain of mustard seed.4 I did not spend the sunny day as a tourist, but I gained wonderful experiences, and without realizing it, I was a missionary—without even being a member of the Church!
I am grateful for my brother Ivan, who not only shared the gospel with me but also indirectly invited me to live it and recognize my weaknesses. He helped me to accept the invitation of the Master: “Come, follow me”6—to walk as the Savior walked, seek as the Savior sought, and love as the Savior loves us. Months later, after my missionary experience, I decided to get baptized and to serve my own mission.

During a visit to a juvenile detention home some months ago, my attention was drawn to three young girls who were visiting with each other just prior to our religious service. They appeared to be ten to twelve years of age. I found later they were being detained for a few days to see if some problems could be resolved. As I was waiting to participate with them and others in the services, they seemed to be involved in serious conversation. “What could they be talking about?” I wondered to myself. My curiosity prompted me to step closer to them for a chance to catch a few of their words. I was moved when I heard one of the girls raise this question to her friends: “I wonder if someone will come today who will want to take me home. It would be fun to live with someone who wants me.”
Here was a ten-year-old who wasn’t wanted. Her parents had given the impression to those in charge that they were pleased when she was confined, because they were then free from putting up with her. What a pleasure it was later to learn she had been placed by licensed social services agents of the Church in a new home, adopted, loved, and was receiving parental direction. Loving foster parents are now helping her find her way in the warmth of family unity and oneness.

In addition to temples, surely another holy place on earth ought to be our homes. The feelings of holiness in my home prepared me for feelings of holiness in the temple. Before I went on my first mission to Brazil, my mother lovingly hand made a piece of temple clothing for me to wear when I went to the temple. It is now old and frayed, but it is a special, sacred symbol of Mother’s love for that which is holy.

I had made the commitment to date only members of the Church when I was 12. But when I turned 16, the members I knew didn’t start calling. In fact, no boys started calling. I went through high school wishing for dates and not getting any. I didn’t even get asked to the prom. So when Mark told me he liked me and wanted to go out, I jumped at the chance. But Mark wasn’t a member of the Church. I rationalized breaking my promise, though, because he was the only boy who would ask me out.
Mark seemed perfect in almost every way. He was three years older than me and shared a house with two roommates. He was very cute, fun, and full of ambition. Mark was my dream come true, a singer and dancer working on a music career.
Mark lavished me with compliments, and he introduced me to his friends and family, who were all welcoming and fun. We started to see each other every day. I had explained my standards to Mark, and he said he understood and respected them—at least at first.
But after a while he started to push me to do more with him physically. I resisted but gradually started to give in. I liked him, and the feelings he stirred in me were very strong. We weren’t doing anything too bad, I rationalized.
I started staying out late at his house, and we would always have fun. But then when I would get home, I wouldn’t feel as good. There was something nagging me in the back of my mind, and it kept tugging at my spirit. I was uncomfortable with how physical I was getting with Mark. And though I tried to rationalize, I couldn’t hide from that feeling.
I decided I had to break up with Mark. I talked to him, and he listened to me, telling me I should do whatever I was comfortable with. He did, however, beg me to stay his friend. I agreed.
I thought things were resolved. But they weren’t. After a week hanging out as friends, we started kissing and my problems all started again. I tried to keep myself occupied with other friends, but Mark made me feel wanted and special.
Then Todd asked me to go on a date with him. He was a returned missionary I had met at a student ward. He took me to dinner and then to the local fun center. I have never had so much fun at an amusement park in my life. By the time the place closed, neither of us wanted the date to end, so he took me to get ice cream.
Todd was great. We talked and laughed the entire date. He had me back home by 11:30 and asked if we could go on another date sometime. I felt wonderful. I couldn’t believe how I felt compared to how I felt after a date with Mark. After the date with Todd I felt happy and good about myself. After a date with Mark I felt depressed.
My date with Todd made me realize I hadn’t been feeling the Spirit when I was with Mark. I didn’t expect to have great spiritual experiences while dating, but I had wanted to have the Spirit there to prompt me. I noticed that, because of what we were doing, the Holy Ghost left whenever I would go see Mark. Having a good time with Todd made me realize how much I yearned to feel the Spirit always.
So I again broke up with Mark. It wasn’t easy, but I did immediately feel as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I was used to spending lots of time with Mark, and I still liked him. But I knew I had made the right decision. I wanted to have the Holy Ghost’s presence when I dated, and I was willing to do whatever it took to keep that influence in my life.
Even though I was able to feel the Spirit more often, my life wasn’t suddenly perfect, and the dates didn’t start pouring in. I left for college out of state, and Todd and I were not able to go out any more. And the dates haven’t picked up much at college. But I have been able to feel the Holy Ghost more often, and I am no longer fighting my conscience. That is a wonderful feeling worth the sacrifice.
I have found there is an entirely different spirit when you follow the commandments and date “only those who have high standards, who respect your standards, and in whose company you can maintain the standards of the gospel of Jesus Christ” (For the Strength of Youth, 7). I still have many good friends who are not members of the Church, but I have realized I only want to date people who have the same beliefs and standards that I do. After all, dating is already so complicated. Why add to the confusion?

At that time in my life, I didn’t think I would ever understand why Jen would risk failing a test just so she could feel better about herself. I never admitted cheating to Mr. Harrison or to my parents. In fact, I forgot about the incident completely until three years later, when I found myself being taught by the Mormon missionaries. I remembered Jen, who I knew was a Latter-day Saint, risking so much to repent, and I finally understood. Though she may never know it, her example three years earlier helped me to understand the importance of integrity.
As I read the scripture in Matthew 7:16 [Matt. 7:16]: “Ye shall know them by their fruits,” I thought of Jen and all the other members of the Church who had set good examples for me. That’s when I decided to join The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Shane never did ask me out on a date or even talk to me again. But as I went into the waters of baptism, I really did feel like the happiest girl in the world.

I telephoned a man last week. He is retired. He has served as a mission president, and he and his wife are now serving as missionaries. I asked him if they would be willing to go to preside over a new temple. He broke down with emotion. He was overcome. He could not talk. He and his wife will leave their children and grandchildren for another long period to serve the Lord in another capacity. Will they miss their grandchildren? Of course they will. But they will go, and they will serve faithfully.

During this time, letters arrived in camp from Sam Brannan, who was now sailing for California on the Brooklyn. Among the letters was the contract promising a safe exodus for the Saints in exchange for land in the West. Brigham read the contract carefully with the apostles. If they did not sign it, Sam’s letters suggested, the president of the United States could order the Saints to disarm and cease gathering together.6

Brigham was unconvinced. As wary as he was of the government, he had already decided to try working with it rather than against it. Shortly before leaving Nauvoo, in fact, he had instructed Jesse Little, the new presiding elder in the eastern states, to lobby for the Church and accept any honorable offer from the federal government to assist the Saints’ exodus. Brigham and the apostles quickly perceived that the contract was nothing more than an elaborate scheme designed to favor the men who had drafted it. Rather than sign the agreement, the apostles decided to trust in God and look to Him for protection.7

In October 1848, Phineas Young visited the Cowdery family at their home in Elkhorn, Wisconsin, Brother Woods said. He escorted Oliver, his wife, and their only surviving child of six children to Kanesville, Iowa, to attend the local conference of the Church. There, Oliver addressed the gathering of nearly 2,000 people and requested membership in the Church. In subsequent weeks, he was received back into full fellowship and was rebaptized on November 12, 1848.

Gustavo, the Soareses’ oldest child, remembers the night when, as a boy, he disobeyed his parents and slipped away to check out an annual celebration in their São Paulo neighborhood known as Festa Junina.

“I was in the middle of a large crowd having a good time when I heard an announcer call me up to the front,” he says. “That’s when I saw my dad.”

His parents had been worried sick, but rather than scold Gustavo, Ulisses hugged him tight.

“We had a serious conversation about me getting lost, but my parents treated me with respect,” Gustavo recalls. “I felt protected, and I knew that they really loved me.”

Heartwarming is the example of the mother in America who prayed for her son’s well-being as the ship on which he served sailed into the bloody cauldron known as the Pacific theater of war. Each morning she would arise from kneeling in prayer and serve as a volunteer on those production lines which became lifelines to men in battle. Could it be that a mother’s own handiwork might somehow directly affect the life of a loved one? All who knew her and her family cherished the actual account of her sailor son, Elgin Staples, whose ship went down off Guadalcanal. Staples was swept over the side; but he survived, thanks to a life belt that proved, on later examination, to have been inspected, packed, and stamped back home in Akron, Ohio, by his own mother!

Even in an emergency it pays to be careful. One time several of my friends and I decided to take a short vacation in the Tetons. We had not realized that with several people and all their luggage in the car, we would not get the gas mileage we had expected. Consequently, we ran out of gasoline in a mountainous area some distance from any town. Our only hope of getting gas before nightfall was to get help from a passing motorist. So we set about to flag down a car. Two men finally stopped for us, local boys who seemed harmless enough. Nevertheless, several of us went along to find a service station, because we felt there was safety in numbers. Well, the men were harmless enough, but the bottle of liquor they brought out soon after we were on our way was not. They drank during the whole 20 miles or so that we traveled to find gasoline, and by the time we arrived, they were quite drunk. We could have been in a terrible accident. Going back we waited and watched at the station until a family came by that was known to the station proprietor, and he asked them if they would give us a ride back to our car. Those few extra precautions made our return trip much more pleasant.

Josie yawned as she slowed her jog to a walk. Today was the big race! She had been looking forward to this day for months. But instead of feeling excited during warm-ups, Josie felt tired.
“How’s it going?” her older sister, Christine, asked. She sat down with Josie on the grass so they could stretch their legs.
“I’m really tired today,” Josie said, reaching for her toes.
She had been sick and had to miss several days of school. So last night she stayed up late catching up on her schoolwork.
“I hope I don’t let our team down,” Josie said.
“Just do the best you can,” Christine said. “Looks like we’re about to start!”
The girls jogged over to join their teammates. As they lined up with the other runners, Josie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She knew her team was counting on her to run fast, as she usually did. The race time from the top five runners on their team would determine whether their team went on to the finals. She barely had time to get in position when the gun sounded to start the race. Bang! The runners pushed off the starting line and sprinted forward.
Josie pumped her arms and lengthened her steps. She knew she needed to get ahead in the beginning if she wanted to be a top finisher. At first Josie could keep up with the other lead runners. But when she tried to run faster, she couldn’t.
Josie breathed harder. She just couldn’t get her legs to move any faster. The runners behind her started passing her. Usually Josie was the one doing the passing! Maybe I should just give up, she thought.
Josie looked down at the ground as she heard another runner pass her. “Keep going, Josie!” the runner said as she ran by. Josie looked up. Then she smiled. It was one of her teammates.
“You can do it!” another teammate said as she ran past. One by one as Josie’s teammates passed her, they encouraged her to keep running.
Josie felt a surge of determination. Maybe she wouldn’t be in the top five, but she could still finish the race. She focused on her steps and didn’t stop until she finally crossed the finish line.
“I’m sorry if I … didn’t help us … qualify for the next race,” she said between big breaths.
“Our team did qualify!” Josie’s coach said as she ran over to the girls. Everyone on the team cheered, and Christine threw her arms around Josie in a big hug.
That night as Josie knelt to pray, she thought about how her teammates had helped her. Their words gave her strength to keep going when she wanted to quit.
Josie looked up at the picture of Jesus hanging above her bed. Jesus does the same thing for us, she thought. She smiled as she imagined the Savior cheering her on. “Keep going, Josie! I am here to help you.”
Josie thanked Heavenly Father for His help in running the race of life. She felt like she could do anything with Jesus cheering her on!

When I was in sixth grade, I hadn’t missed a spelling word all year long. If I kept getting perfect scores, I would receive an award for spelling at the end of the year.
Our teacher, Mr. Caldwell, let us grade each other’s papers. One day as we passed our spelling tests back to each other, I saw that mine said “100%” at the top. But then I noticed I had actually misspelled a word! I had practiced spelling that word correctly many times before. But this time I had spelled it wrong, and the person who graded my paper hadn’t noticed.
“Well,” Mr. Caldwell said, “I see you got 100% again! You’ll get the spelling award for sure!”
I was tempted to stay quiet. But my parents had taught me to be honest. And I knew Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ would want me to be honest.
So I said, “Mr. Caldwell, you need to look at number 23.”
“Oh, you did miss one word,” he said. “That’s too bad.”
A few minutes later, Mr. Caldwell said, “I’d like to talk with you for a minute.” He left someone else in charge and took me outside.
“Timmy,” he said, “thank you for being honest. An award is nice, but honesty will bless your entire life.”
And it has. That’s why I encourage you to be honest in everything you do and say.