Gospel Story Finder

Once when my sisters and I were singing songs out of the Primary songbook, I could feel the Holy Ghost. I felt all tingly and warm. I know when we sing Church songs at home I can feel the Holy Ghost.
Kathy McCoy, age 11

One such couple, parents of a friend of mine, exemplify this principle for me. The husband worked at a steel mill in Utah. At lunch he would pull out his scriptures or a Church magazine and read. When the other workers saw this, they ridiculed him and challenged his beliefs. Whenever they did, he spoke to them with kindness and confidence. He did not allow their disrespect to make him angry or upset.
Years later one of the more vocal mockers became very ill. Before he died, he requested that this humble man speak at his funeral—which he did.
This faithful member of the Church never had much in the way of social status or wealth, but his influence extended deeply to all who knew him. He died in an industrial accident while stopping to help another worker who was stranded in the snow.
Within a year his widow had to undergo brain surgery, which has left her unable to walk. But people love coming to spend time with her because she listens. She remembers. She cares. Unable to write, she memorizes her children’s and grandchildren’s telephone numbers. She lovingly remembers birthdays and anniversaries.
Those who visit her come away feeling better about life and about themselves. They feel her love. They know she cares. She never complains but spends her days blessing the lives of others. One of her friends said this woman was one of the few people she had ever known who truly exemplifies the love and life of Jesus Christ.
This couple would have been the first to say they were not of much importance in this world. But the Lord uses a scale very different from the world’s to weigh the worth of a soul. He knows this faithful couple; He loves them. Their actions are a living witness of their strong faith in Him.

Remember Heavenly Father loves you, and things can work out for the best. When my baby brother was born, he had a paralyzed muscle under his lungs. He could not breathe right. For three years he spent months in the hospital. It was really scary. But now Reagan is OK! Keep praying!
Abbigail L., age 12, Texas, USA

Ashlie played in the backyard sprinklers with her new neighbor, Nicole. They screamed with delight, splashing each other in the cool water.
Ashlie stamped her wet footprint onto the porch. “I’m glad you moved in yesterday,” she said.
“Me too.” Nicole stamped her footprint next to Ashlie’s.
“Look, the same size!” Ashlie said.
Ashlie wanted to give Nicole something great, something for a new friend. She went inside to ask Mom about her idea.
“Can I give Nicole my Book of Mormon?”
“Don’t you think you should get to know her first?” Mom asked.
“But Mom, I do know her,” Ashlie said.
When it was time for Nicole to go home, Ashlie handed her a blue Book of Mormon. “I want you to have this. It’s a book about our church.”
“Thanks,” Nicole said.
But later that week, Nicole rang Ashlie’s doorbell and thrust the Book of Mormon at her. “My mom says I can’t have this. She says Mormons go to too much church.”
With tears puddling in her eyes, Ashlie showed Mom the Book of Mormon. “Maybe Nicole doesn’t want to be my friend anymore.”
“I’m sorry, Ashlie.” Mom hugged her tight. “Sometimes becoming friends takes time. In the Book of Mormon, a missionary named Ammon wanted to teach the people of Lamoni about Jesus Christ. But he decided to get to know them first by serving them.”
Ashlie wiped her eyes. She remembered how Ammon had helped guard the king’s sheep and prepare his horses and chariots.
“Because Ammon served King Lamoni and showed him love, he was able to share the gospel with the king and his people,” Mom said.
Ashlie smiled. “Maybe I can still be Nicole’s friend.”
“And we can pray as a family to be missionaries to Nicole’s family,” Mom added.
Over the next few months, Ashlie prayed for Nicole and got to know her better. They played at school and on the weekends, and they exchanged treats on holidays.
One Saturday after Christmas, Nicole and Ashlie were playing when Mom stuck her head into Ashlie’s room. “Nicole, your mom is here. It’s time for you to go home.” Mom motioned for Ashlie to come into the hall. “You could invite Nicole to church with us tomorrow,” she suggested.
“What if she doesn’t want to come?” Ashlie asked. “What if her mom says no?”
Mom squeezed Ashlie’s arm. “You don’t know until you ask. If she says yes, I’ll ask her mom.”
Ashlie went back into her room and started cleaning up.
“Maybe you could play at my house tomorrow,” Nicole said.
“I don’t play with friends on Sunday because we go to church and do family things,” Ashlie said. “But you could come to church with us.”
“OK!”
Ashlie walked Nicole to the door and tugged on Mom’s hand. “Nicole said yes,” she whispered.
Mom smiled and asked Nicole’s mom if Nicole and her older brother Devin could come to church.
“Well, are you sure that’s not a problem?” Nicole’s mom asked.
“We would be happy to take them,” Mom said.
Nicole’s mom smiled. “All right. What time?”
Just before it was time to leave for church the next day, Devin and Nicole came over dressed in Sunday clothes. After Primary, Nicole linked arms with Ashlie and said, “I liked the singing and lesson time the best.”
A few weeks later, Nicole came to church again. A Primary activity was announced.
“Do you want to come?” Ashlie asked.
“Yes,” Nicole said, “but I’ll have to ask my mom.”
All week Ashlie waited, but Nicole didn’t say anything about it. On Saturday morning, Mom handed Ashlie her jacket. “Go get in the van. We’re going to be late.”
“But what about Nicole?” Ashlie said. “Can I go see if she can come?”
“Sure, but hurry,” Mom said.
Nicole answered the door in her pajamas.
“Do you want to come to our Primary activity?” Ashlie asked.
“Yes. Just a minute!” Nicole shut the door, and when it finally opened again she and Devin both came out dressed and smiling.
Soon Devin started attending church with a friend he had met at the Primary activity. Nicole kept coming with Ashlie.
“Do all of you have your scriptures?” Mom asked one Sunday morning before they headed to church. Everyone said yes except for Nicole. “Would you like a Book of Mormon?” Mom asked.
Nicole nodded yes.
Ashlie was worried that Nicole would give it back, like last time.
That evening, there was a knock at the door. Devin and Nicole stood on the porch, Nicole holding her copy of the Book of Mormon.
Ashlie’s stomach flopped.
But then Devin smiled and said, “Can I have a book too? My mom says it’s OK.”
After Nicole and Devin left, Mom said, “Ashlie, you’ve been a great missionary!”
Ashlie smiled. “That’s because I got to know them first.”

In January of 2007 I was home during Christmas break, and I was lonely. Then on the first Tuesday of the year, one of my friends from school who is not a Latter-day Saint called me and invited me to go to a botanical garden near our home in Arcadia, California. We were there for most of the day amongst beautiful flowers and trees with ponds, geese, and peacocks. After a while we got tired and decided to sit underneath a huge weeping willow to rest.
It was a sunny day, but you could hardly see daylight underneath the tree except for one small pillar of light that shone on the two of us. That place was so peaceful, and it reminded me of something.
“Do you know what this reminds me of?” I said. “This reminds me of Joseph Smith, when he went to the grove to pray about which religion was true.” She knew I was a member of the Church, so she sort of laughed. “No, I’m dead serious,” I continued. “There’s this sort of beauty to this place that fills me with a spirit of peace.”
We sat there in silence for about a minute or so. The whole time she had this look like she was debating whether or not to say something. Finally she asked, “How do you know? I mean, how do you know what you believe is true?”
This kind of caught me off guard, because she had asked me before what I believed but not how I knew it was true. I explained that I knew because I had prayed to know for myself. I had wanted to know if what I had studied and believed was true. So I had gone before the Lord with an open heart and mind and asked. Then I had been overcome by this feeling of happiness, as if no evil in the world could ever touch me. And all of those things that stress me out in life didn’t matter because the Lord was with me.
Before I knew it, she was in tears. She then said, “You don’t know how badly I want to believe in something, but everything I’ve ever believed in just disappointed me. How can I believe in something that isn’t tangible?”
At first I honestly didn’t know how to answer her. We let the question hang there for a moment as I thought of what to say.
“Faith,” I then said, “is so hard to develop and so easy to lose. Faith can only strengthen us, but we must have an open heart and mind to acquire it. It may be far-fetched, but I have never gone wrong with faith, and I know that’s how it’ll always be.”
With that, we just sat in silence, enjoying the peaceful feeling of the Spirit.

As the father of seven sons, I have always wanted them to love, honor, and respect their mother. As the older ones have gone through their teen years and beyond, it has been gratifying to watch them do special things for their mother.
My wife, Nicki, loves flowers. Over the years, it has not been uncommon for one of the boys to bring his mother a special bouquet of a dozen roses. These floral gifts haven’t necessarily come on Mother’s Day, her birthday, or some other special occasion, although they have come then too. More often than not, these timely gifts come spontaneously and unexpectedly just to say, “Thanks, Mom, for everything you do and for putting up with me.”
Such was the case when Jarom, our mission-bound son, surprised his mother. Over the years Jarom had found words and gestures of love and appreciation difficult to come by. He was a big, handsome, muscular young man who could bench-press 300 pounds but still struggled to refine the delicate art of telling his mother he loved her.
Of course, Nicki knew Jarom loved her, and she had accepted the fact that he would probably communicate his love and appreciation to her in other ways not associated with flowers, cards, or even spoken words.
But one afternoon he walked into the house and handed her a bouquet of yellow long-stemmed roses. Somewhat taken aback, Nicki caught her breath and exclaimed, “Jarom, how beautiful!” She instinctively breathed in their rich fragrance. “I love them. One dozen yellow roses!”
Jarom shrugged sheepishly and shook his head. “Actually, there are only 11,” he confessed. He cleared his throat and smiled bashfully. “I gave one of them away.”
He paused and then explained. “I picked up the roses and was on my way home when I passed this girl from our neighborhood. She was about nine or ten, just kind of dragging down the sidewalk, looking really sad.” He shrugged and grinned. “So I figured, why not. I stopped, took a rose from your bouquet and handed it to her. I told her to have a great day.”
“What did she do?” Nicki asked, curious.
Jarom laughed. “Well, she wasn’t sad anymore.” He took a deep breath and added, “So that’s why you’ve only got 11 roses.”
Nicki smiled for a moment and tried to picture in her mind that girl walking down the street, discouraged and perhaps crushed by some adolescent tragedy. In the midst of her sorrow she looks up and sees this big, handsome neighbor approach her with a single yellow rose, perhaps the first she has ever received in her life. He smiles at her, hands her the rose, and tells her to have a great day. She is probably flattered beyond words, and suddenly her gray day is brightened by the unexpected light from Jarom’s yellow rose.

As a boy, Russell’s parents taught him that family should always come first. In the evenings he would play games, read, or sing with his parents and siblings.

“Those are all things you have to give up if you want to go on a mission,” agrees Eric Peatross, who was just called to the England Leeds Mission. Eric has many scholarship offers that won’t wait for him to come back in two years. He’s also leaving behind a job he loves, as well as his band. He says, “It involves a lot of prayer. You really have to know the gospel is true before you can turn all of those things down.” A testimony won’t come all at once, Eric says. His didn’t. He says his testimony, and his determination to go on a mission, came to him bit by bit as he did the things he knew he should be doing to be obedient. In other words, he prepared.
The conference was added preparation for Eric. “These two days have been like spiritual boot camp,” he says.
“It all comes down to your personal worthiness,” says Eric. Being worthy and obedient means you qualify for the companionship of the Spirit. All the young men were interviewed by their bishops before they went to the conference. The interview gave them a good idea of the things they need to be doing to be worthy to go to the temple and ready to go on a mission.

Another friend served an outstanding mission, followed by rigorous academic training. He hoped to have a family. His trial of faith: feelings of same-sex attraction. He wrote me recently: “I am promised in my patriarchal blessing that I will have my own family someday. Whether that will occur in this life or the next, I do not know. But what I do know is that I don’t want to do anything that will jeopardize the blessings God has promised both me and my future posterity. … Living [the law of chastity] is a challenge, but did we not come to earth to confront challenges and to show God our love and respect for Him by keeping His commandments? I am blessed with good health, the gospel, a loving family, and loyal friends. I am grateful for my many blessings.”

May I share with you tonight, brethren, a letter which I received some time ago, written by a husband who strayed far from the priesthood path of service and duty. It typifies the plea of too many of our brethren. He wrote:
“Dear President Monson:
“I had so much and now have so little. I am unhappy and feel as though I am failing in everything. The gospel has never left my heart, even though it has left my life. I ask for your prayers.
“Please don’t forget those of us who are out here—the lost Latter-day Saints. I know where the Church is, but sometimes I think I need someone else to show me the way, encourage me, take away my fear, and bear testimony to me.”

This kind of unrehearsed missionary work comes naturally to Miyako. Another time, she told a friend that she often prayed to Heavenly Father. The friend asked questions, and Miyako taught her how to pray.

Melissa remembers, “On the night of the tragedy, I saw the most beautiful sunset I had ever seen. I just knew that Heavenly Father was showing his love for us, telling us that everything would be okay.”

His older brother, James, started carrying him over his shoulder. They would make a game of it, and people never knew how serious it really was. Stephen would start home from school, and after half a block James would come along, scoop him up, and run on. Stephen would holler, and often the pair would beat the other kids to the house.

In 1992, while serving as bishop of our ward in the Philippines, my father had a heart attack. He was rushed to the hospital from his office. When news came that he was in intensive care, my family was in great shock. Fear gripped our hearts. My father’s chances of survival were only marginal. My mother wept and asked all of us to pray.
I lost track of time after that—so many memories came flashing back. With tears on my face, I knelt to pray. My heart was so heavy, and my chest was ready to burst. I wanted to shout to ease the pain and remove the fear gripping me that day. Instead I simply prayed, “Please save my father.” It was a sincere prayer, meant to be heard.
That night I was allowed into the intensive-care unit. My father had slipped into a coma, and my mother and my siblings and I had to brace ourselves for the worst. It was a painful experience for our family. The future looked bleak and uncertain. As I silently bade him good-bye, I remembered our first family home evening. We had watched a Church film, Families Are Forever.
Before I went to bed that night, my earthly father silently returned to his Heavenly Father.
My father’s death, when I was 22, marked the beginning of hundreds of changes in my life. In his absence I learned that I had strengths I was unaware of. I’ve done more with my life than I otherwise might have because change and growth were thrust upon me.
When Heavenly Father didn’t grant my prayer, it never occurred to me that He hadn’t heard me. I know He was listening. He knew exactly what I was going through. He knew exactly what our family needed at the time, and that was what He gave us—strength to overcome the challenges of life, strength to face reality. He taught us how to face our trials with faith.
More than 15 years have passed since that painful day. I am still learning, and I am still growing in the gospel. I now have my own family, and I am so happy that we are sealed in the temple. I never take my eyes off the road my father marked for us.
Through the Atonement and Resurrection of Jesus Christ, I know that someday our family will be together again. I still have a long journey to go, but I’m happy to think that I will see my father at the end of that journey.

Lisa loved to dance. Twice a week she went to Mrs. Joulé’s ballet school for lessons. But no matter how she worked, Lisa felt she would never be as good as Susan or Jody, the class leaders. The proof was in the mirrors that covered one whole wall of the huge ballet practice room.
Oh, those knees! thought Lisa as she stared at her reflection. Why do they have to stick out when everyone else’s are straight? Lisa worried because her toes didn’t point as gracefully or her legs kick as high as the rest of the girls’. She also believed that she was the only one who ever fell down while doing turns across the room. Lisa wanted to be in the first line, where all the best dancers were, instead of the second or third line. If she became good enough, Mrs. Joulé would move her up, but that seemed impossible.
One afternoon when Lisa reached into her bag for her pink ballet slippers, they weren’t there. She had left them at home. “Mrs. Joulé,” she called, “may I borrow a pair of slippers, size 3C?”
“Of course,” her teacher replied, and she brought in a big cardboard box full of slippers that she kept for such emergencies. Each pair was folded neatly and held together with a rubber band.
After sorting through a few pairs with Mrs. Joulé, Lisa found a nearly new pair of pink slippers that were held on with satin ribbons instead of strips of elastic as her own were. They were exactly her size! “How about these?” she asked.
“Fine,” Mrs. Joulé responded, adding, “I remember these shoes. They belonged to Eileen Webster, who’s with a big ballet company now. I’m proud to say she’s one of their best dancers.”
Lisa slipped the shoes on and tied the smooth satin ribbons around her ankles. How comfortable they were. In fact, Eileen Webster’s shoes felt wonderfully special. And so did Lisa. She daydreamed about being a great ballerina until someone shook her shoulder. “It’s time for class,” Susan said.
That afternoon Lisa danced better than usual. She did every step the very best that she could. She wanted to be another Eileen Webster, and the shoes were helping her. The mirrors reflected a new Lisa. Mrs. Joulé even called on her to demonstrate a particular step. For once, Susan and Jody were following her, and Lisa was careful not to make any mistakes.
After class Lisa went up to Mrs. Joulé and asked, “If I give you my old shoes, do you think I could keep this pair?”
“If you’d like,” replied Mrs. Joulé. “Do they feel all right?”
“They’re perfect!” said Lisa.
The next time she went to class, Lisa exchanged her own worn slippers for Eileen Webster’s almost new ones. As time passed, she started coming early so that she could practice before class. Sometimes she stayed later with Susan and Jody to work on different kinds of turns. And she was soon moved to the front line. She was also the first student to do two turns in place instead of just one.
“That was really good!” Susan said sincerely.
“Thanks,” said Lisa. She couldn’t tell Susan that it was the shoes that made her dance so well. That had to be a secret. There wasn’t another pair like them. They helped her leap higher, land more softly, arch her feet more gracefully, and twirl like a top.
As recital time drew near, Lisa’s class met more often to rehearse their dances. Lisa noticed that her shoes were showing signs of wear. The once-smooth leather looked wrinkled, and the soft pink color was not so pink anymore. The ribbons came unstitched and were resewed again and again. But because the shoes were so important to Lisa, Mrs. Joulé did not insist that she get new ones for the recital. “Clean them up the best you can,” she said.
Shortly before the show was to start on the first night, Lisa was practicing her solo when she felt the bare floor against her foot. The sole of one of her shoes had torn, leaving a big hole! She had to find Mrs. Joulé.
“Oh, dear,” sighed Mrs. Joulé. “It’s a good thing I brought the box of extra shoes. You certainly can’t wear these. Not only do they look terrible, but this torn one is dangerous. Lisa, these shoes are worn-out.”
“Mrs. Joulé,” cried Lisa, her eyes wide with panic, “I have to wear them! Oh, please try to fix them. I’ll never be able to dance without them!”
Lisa’s stomach felt queasy. Without those slippers, I’ll dance like the old Lisa. I’ll make mistakes and embarrass everybody. She shivered at the thoughts going through her head.
“All right, Lisa,” said Mrs. Joulé. “I’ll see what can be done. Now go get dressed. I’ll bring your shoes to you.”
Lisa went to the dressing room. Nervously she touched her hair that was pulled into a tight bun at the back of her head. Where, she wondered, is Mrs. Joulé? She did several fast turns to see if her hair would stay in place. It was fine. What’s keeping Mrs. Joulé? Her classmates were chatting and helping each other with their costumes and makeup. Lisa slipped into her white tutu and checked the hall for her teacher.
“Relax, Lisa,” said Susan. “She’ll be here.”
A few minutes before show time Mrs. Joulé hurried down the corridor. “Here are your shoes, Lisa,” she said breathlessly. “Now hurry! You girls are on first.”
Lisa put the slippers on quickly. “Oh, thank you,” she said, and gave her teacher a hug. “Everything will be fine now.”
Lisa hurried into line between Susan and Jody, and one by one they danced out onto the brightly lit stage as the audience clapped.
The whole show went smoothly. Lisa’s class received extra applause for some of the harder steps they did. When they danced the “Waltz of the Flowers,” the audience oohed and aahed at the fluffy white costumes with the colorful, flowing scarves, and they applauded loudly after each girl’s solo. Lisa had never danced better. She knew her family was proud of her!
When it was all over, Lisa and her parents went to say good night to Mrs. Joulé.
“Thank you again for fixing my shoes,” said Lisa. “I couldn’t have done it without them.”
“But you did,” said Mrs. Joulé as she held up Eileen Webster’s tattered shoes. “I couldn’t tell you before because you were so sure it was the shoes that made you dance well. Now you see it wasn’t the shoes at all. It was your own hard work, and you made me very proud tonight.”
Lisa stared at Eileen Webster’s worn-out shoes.
Mrs. Joulé continued. “You may keep her shoes if you like, but please, from now on, wear your own. I sewed ribbons on them for you.”
Lisa pulled the ballet slippers out of her bag and saw her initials printed on the inside of each one. They’re the very ones I exchanged for those of a ballet star! she marveled to herself.
“Did you hear that?” she said to her mother as they walked to the car. “It wasn’t the shoes. It was me all the time, and I didn’t even know it! Just wait until tomorrow night. I’ll do even better!” And she waltzed all the way across the parking lot.

I was tired. Desiree, Jenny, and I were worn out from a day of teaching a disease prevention program in Uganda, Africa. Our hosts, the Mayeku family, had a lively bunch of five lovable children. We came home to their warm welcome after walking home from the taxi stop.
We started right away with the nightly chores of peeling potatoes, rolling out dough, squeezing passion fruit for juice, and setting the table. Everything there seemed to take a long time, and dinner was no exception. The charcoal stove, dull knives, and manual labor all contributed to the four hours it took before dinner was on the table.
After dinner we washed the dishes, and by then it was 11 o’clock. I was exhausted and ready for bed. But it was Monday, and Rebecca, the oldest child, had prepared a lesson for family home evening. I watched this beautiful family gather around their humble kitchen table to listen. I knew that the Mayeku family was even more drained than I was. They worked so hard to be an obedient, educated, and loving family, and it reminded me of how blessed I was to stay with a family who did so much with the little they had. The Spirit changed my unthankful heart as we all sang “The Spirit of God” (Hymns, no. 2). I was overwhelmed by the family’s desire to serve and love the Lord. Rebecca’s lesson was on God’s creations and how He blesses us with what we need, but the greatest lesson I learned that night was the lesson of gratitude.

As Sister Simpson and I walked along lower Queen Street in Auckland, New Zealand, the other day, we came to a particular place not far from the wharf. There we paused for a few moments as I related to her the incident that took place at that very spot during my first mission.

I could still see in my mind’s eye a very old Maori couple who stood at the curb with thousands of others waving farewell to the Maori Battalion as they marched down to their troop transport and off to war.

The old couple became very excited as one young soldier glanced their way with a big smile. From their Maori conversation, it became apparent that this was their great-grandson going off to war.

His would be an atomic war with sophisticated equipment capable of killing by the thousands—so unlike the Maori wars of the late 1800s that the old Maori had participated in as a young tribal warrior.

Soon the boy was gone from view, and it was then that the old man turned to his wife and said (perhaps a little cynically), “Ka tahi kua pakeha tatou,” which in effect means, “So now we are civilized.”

I first discovered the Liahona when I joined the Church several years ago. In the beginning I didn’t think much of it, but as time went by it became one of the most wonderful things in my life and a key to my success. It strengthened my testimony of the restored gospel and helped me stay strong in the Church. Because of this strength, I was able to resist temptations and set a good example for a co-worker, who was eventually baptized and confirmed.
It is so wonderful to study and share the Liahona. It will help me for the rest of my life. I’m so thankful to receive the messages from the Lord’s prophet and apostles every month. The Liahona is sweeter to me than honey and more valuable than gold.
Aldemir Guanacoma Ave, Bolivia

Ever heard of a do-it-yourself musical? The Young Men and Young Women of the Kinston North Carolina Stake have. To help celebrate the sesquicentennial year, they organized, wrote, directed, and performed their own musical drama. First a youth drama specialist was called from each ward and branch in the stake, with a ward adult specialist to assist. Two workshops were held on the stake level to teach how to develop the production. Then each ward and branch selected a different time period of Church history, researched it, and wrote a script for that period. The stake drama specialist tied all the ward scripts together with narrative and musical interludes, and the musical was born! Every youth in the stake who wanted to participate either appeared on stage or helped backstage. Even moms and dads helped, and all had a terrific time.

My best friend, Julie, is not a member of the Church. She is very religious, however, and has the ability to draw people to her. Almost all the LDS students in my school care for her very much and would love to see her come into the Church. Because they care for her, people often get into discussions with her and try to teach her what we believe.
There are some boys my age who talk to Julie a great deal about the Church. They know how wonderful she is and what a great asset the gospel would be for her in her life. One day when we were in junior high, Julie and I met after a class to go to lunch. She told me she had had another Church discussion and that she had been watching these boys and noticing how they behaved and treated other people. She saw how particularly mean they were to another boy in our grade who was less fortunate than the rest of us. And then she said something that I have never forgotten: “They tell me wonderful things about what Mormons believe, but they sure don’t act that way.”
Every time I think about this I cry inside. That day I learned better than ever what it means to be an example. I better understand what Alma meant when he was talking to his son Corianton and said, “When they saw your conduct they would not believe in my words” (Alma 39:11). People are watching us. It is so important to live the way we know we should.