Gospel Story Finder

In 1970 my mother was diagnosed with a chronic illness that was shutting down the arteries that fed her brain. She was a particularly bright, elegant, and engaging woman with sparkling eyes. But over the next 13 years, her condition declined. It was like losing a good friend piece by piece.
Dad stepped in to become her primary caregiver. At first he made small sacrifices to make her comfortable and cheerful. He prepared her meals, sang her songs, and held her hand. As time went on, however, caring for my mother became more difficult and more physical. It must have been trying for Dad.
As Mother’s condition worsened, my dad’s own health became a concern. I was there when his doctor told him that Mother needed full-time care in a skilled nursing facility. He would likely die if he continued to give the level of care she required, and then she would have no one to take care of her.
For the last 13 months of my mother’s life, Dad visited her in the nursing facility every day that he was not away on a Church assignment. She didn’t recognize him, but that made no difference to him. He spoke with her as though everything was all right. I would see him return from visiting a stake conference in some far-off place. He would be exhausted. But the first thing he would do when he arrived was go see Mother, to bring what cheer he could.
My father could not have taken better care of my mother. I learned much about sacrifice from watching him take care of her.

Ellie loved hugs. Hugs from Dad. Hugs from Grandma and Grandpa. Hugs from Mom. Hugs made her feel warm. And safe. And happy.
That’s why Ellie hugged Mom during church. She loved sitting on Mom’s lap. Mom always held her close.
Then sacrament meeting ended. It was time for Primary. Ellie loved Primary. She was a big girl now. Three years old! She even had her own scriptures!
But today Ellie just wanted to keep hugging Mom forever.
Mom carried Ellie down the hall. In the Primary room, Mom sat Ellie down on a chair.
“Can I go with you?” Ellie said.
“No,” Mom said. Her voice was kind. “You need to be in your class,” she said. “And I need to be in my class.”
Mom kissed Ellie’s cheek. Then she walked out the door.
Ellie felt tears rolling down her cheeks.
She thought about Mom holding her. Mom always held her when they read the Book of Mormon. They usually read with the family. But sometimes Ellie and Mom read by themselves.
Ellie picked up her Book of Mormon. Inside was a picture of Jesus.
Ellie closed the book and hugged it. She felt like she was hugging Jesus. She felt warm. And safe. And happy. It was the best hug ever!

Sikeli Vuli laughs as he tries unsuccessfully to remember how many times he’s fallen in the river. Until not too long ago, an accidental swim was a fairly regular occurrence for those living in the small village of Navatuyaba, near Suva, Fiji.
That’s because if you needed to go to the city, school, or local store, you would have to cross the river that snakes slowly by the village, take a long walk to the nearest bridge (about two hours), or pay hard-earned and scarce cash for a bus ride.
“I have to cross the river many times a day,” says Sikeli, 13. “My friends live across the river.”
Crossing the river was by far the easiest choice, even if it meant using an unstable raft made of a few long bamboo poles lashed together. And if there were more than a couple of people waiting, it was faster to hold your schoolbooks and school uniform above your head and swim across in clothes that could get wet, because you’d probably fall off the raft anyway.
At least, that’s the way it was before the Church waded in and helped the members put a paddle to the problem. The Church provided a boat. You’d think it was an airplane, though, by the way the members’ spirits have been lifted.
“We’re grateful for the boat,” says Litiana Delai, 12. “It’s so much easier to get to the other side.”
The Navatuyaba Branch’s boat is only one of many projects the Nausori Fiji Stake has undertaken to help the youth and other Church members. Finding a job in the area is nearly impossible for teens. Even for their parents it’s hard. That makes for a difficult situation, and the members, like most in the area, struggle to support themselves.
So why are the members so happy?
Because they know the Lord loves them.
“We know Heavenly Father cares about us because the Church is helping so much to meet our needs,” says Makereta Elder, 14.
Stake leaders have felt inspired to begin a number of programs to help support the members, and the youth are a big part of making these programs work. Apart from the boat, there’s a greenhouse, a group of new welfare farms, and even some livestock. And the youth in Navatuyaba love helping.
One sound you don’t hear much in Navatuyaba is the low rumble of industrial farm equipment. That’s changing now that the tractor owned and operated by the stake is being kept in the village.
The 17 youth in the branch are grateful for the tractor. Without it, the Navatuyaba members would have to find a way to till two acres (0.8 ha) manually. But the tractor doesn’t do all the farm work. The members all work together planting, weeding, and harvesting crops such as taro and tapioca.
“We all help on the farm,” says Kuli Qaravanua, 15. “The youth weed and plant or bring refreshments when the adults are working.”
“I like working on the farm,” says Maca Baikeirewa, 14. “It helps my family in many ways.”
The blessings of the farm aren’t just about having food to eat. The youth are learning a lot about growing food and working hard.
“I think that working on the farm has brought the youth of our branch together,” says Tulia Tinaimolikula, 18. “It has helped us learn about each other.”
But, as Kuli says, “the tractor and farm especially help us have peace of mind. I don’t have to worry about what I will have to eat tomorrow.”
As enjoyable as working together on the crops is, it’s not nearly as much fun for the youth as helping with the pigs and chickens.
The branch started out with 120 chicks, 64 chickens, and four pigs but will be expanding the chicken coop. The animals will be split between the branch and stake members. Some will be sold, some will be eaten, but they’re as much entertainment as anything else.
The chicks are cute and feeding the pigs can be fun, but the youth have learned by experience how difficult it can be to catch a pig that doesn’t want to be caught.
When the topic of the Church welfare program comes up in some countries, many youth tune it out because they don’t think it has much to do with them. For the youth of Navatuyaba, Church welfare is changing their lives through pigs and tractors, chickens and farming.
Even the boat is more than just a way to get safely across the river. By charging a few cents per passenger, the branch can pay Litiana’s family to maintain the boat. She and her siblings take shifts answering the whistle from the other side of the river whenever someone needs a ride.
“It has blessed my family,” Litiana says, smiling. “It helps us afford school supplies and food. And we pay tithing on what we earn.”

Last Christmas season, I focused on reading the Christmas stories in the scriptures and sharing them with others. One night while babysitting my four-year-old cousin, Boedi, I asked her why Christmas is so special. She started to talk about Santa and presents. I explained to her that Christmas is especially important because of Jesus.
I showed Boedi a little advent calendar on the wall that had a cartoon picture of the Christmas story on it. She noticed that the picture of baby Jesus seemed to glow, and I explained to her that Jesus is very special. I told her that He came to earth to die for us so that one day we can live with Him. We watched videos and looked at pictures of Him.
I prayed that night that I could remember the spirit I felt and that Boedi would remember the things I taught her.
A couple of weeks later, our family got together for Christmas Eve. After we played games, opened presents, and watched the Church video “The Christ Child,” Boedi went to the table to color. I watched as she showed our two-year-old cousin, Jerett, her drawing of baby Jesus in a manger, with Mary and Joseph. My favorite detail was the glow she put around the baby. She explained to Jerett that He glowed because He was so special.
Boedi had remembered what I had taught her. It warmed my heart to see her share the story with others, just as I had.
I know the importance of sharing the stories of Christ with those around me, both young and old. I now have an even stronger testimony of how special Christ truly is.

I was new to our neighborhood, so I was excited when a boy named Ken* came over to play. One day we rode our bikes past a silver car that had silver hubcaps on the wheels. Ken said to me, “Hey, Spencer, steal one of those hubcaps.”
“I’m not going to do that!” I said. I didn’t want to break one of Heavenly Father’s commandments. Ken decided to steal it himself.
I didn’t feel good about what Ken had done, so I told my mom. After talking with her, I told Ken that he should return the hubcap he stole, and that I didn’t want to play with him if he kept it. I was really happy when Ken took the hubcap back.

I am convinced that rain is a blessing—and especially so after a recent missionary experience.
One afternoon while working in our area, my companion, Elder Ntege, and I suddenly found ourselves in a heavy rainstorm. While standing under our umbrella, discussing how quickly the storm might pass, we felt several times the Spirit whisper instructions for us to continue walking—and with a strong prompting that there were people waiting for us along the way. After a short distance we saw a young mother protecting herself against the rain in an unfinished house. We approached her. Upon seeing us enter, she was amazed to see two young men dressed in white shirts and ties walking in such a heavy rain. We presented a short message—one that we usually share about the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ—and we bore our testimonies strongly. She said to us, “I am happy to meet you in this rain. Your testimony is strong, and I want to learn more together with my family.” The next day we went to her house and met with her large family of eight people who are now being taught the gospel and who continue to progress in their knowledge of Jesus Christ.
“Then shall we know, if we follow on to know the Lord: his going forth is prepared as the morning; and he shall come unto us as the rain” (Hosea 6:3).

Jake could hear his little brother and sister arguing in the other room.
“Give it back! It’s mine!” Jared shouted.
“No! I had it first!” Lily argued back.
This sounds like a job for Super Jake! thought Jake.
In his superhero cape, Jake ran down the hall. He saw Jared and Lily arguing over a new toy truck. Jake leaped onto the couch. He raised his arms straight into the air.
“Super Jake says no fighting!”
He jumped off the couch, pushed Jared, and grabbed the truck from Lily. He held it up high so they couldn’t reach it. Super Jake had stopped the fight! He had saved the day! He was a hero.
So why were Jared and Lily crying?
“What’s going on?” Dad said as he came into the room.
“Jake pushed me!” Jared said.
“And he took the truck!” Lily said.
Dad frowned. “Jake, is this true?”
“I’m Super Jake,” he said. “I had to stop the fighting.”
“So you were being a hero?”
“Yep! And heroes do whatever it takes to stop the fighting.”
“Hmm,” said Dad. He patted the couch for Jake to sit down. “You know that superheroes on TV and in movies aren’t real,” he said. “They’re just pretend.”
Jake looked at his cape and nodded. “Yeah. But I like to play like I’m a superhero.”
“I know, and nothing is wrong with that,” Dad said. “But let me tell you about a real hero. He is the greatest hero ever. He has saved everyone.”
Jake’s eyes grew wide. “What powers does he have?”
“Well, he could walk on water, stop storms, and heal people who were sick.”
Jake’s mouth fell open. “Really? I bet he beat up a lot of bad guys!”
“Actually, he never hurt people. He taught them to be kind. He showed them how to love and help each other.”
That didn’t sound like any of Jake’s favorite superheroes. But he did sound familiar.
“Dad,” Jake asked, “are you talking about Jesus?”
Dad smiled. “Yes. Jesus Christ is my hero. He saved us all from sin if we repent. He set a perfect example for us to follow. And because of Him, we will all live again after we die.”
“I knew that’s who you were talking about!” Jake said. “I’ve heard some of those stories about Jesus before!”
“And those stories are true,” Dad said. “Jesus Christ is real. He’s not a made-up character. He lives! He is kind to everyone, and He wants us to follow His example.”
“So I can be like Jesus if I’m kind to other people?” Jake asked.
“That’s right! And I know you have what it takes to be a real hero!” Dad said as he ruffled Jake’s hair.
Jake smiled. He knew what he needed to do. He went to Jared and Lily.
“I’m sorry for pushing you,” he told Jared. “And I’m sorry for taking the truck,” he told Lily. “Maybe we can all share it.” They sat in a triangle and pushed the truck back and forth to each other.
Jake couldn’t stop smiling. Super Jake saves the day! he thought. And this time, he felt like a real hero.

Following my release from my first mission in 1923, I returned home to Whitney, Idaho, on Christmas Eve. It was a joyful reunion with my ten brothers and sisters, and especially with my father and mother.
Father and Mother always made it a practice to hang the stockings, one on each chair, for the children and to place their limited gifts on or under or near each chair. They took me into their confidence that Christmas Eve. We stayed up all during the night. In fact, we didn’t retire at all. We filled the stockings after going to the granary and elsewhere on the farm to get the presents which had been secretly hidden. This took a good part of the night. The rest we spent in visiting together, with Father and Mother telling me of the progress made by each of the children while I was away, and with me reporting to them and responding to their questions regarding my wonderful mission to the British Isles. My love for my parents had never been quite so great before as it was that night.
It was a happy morning. I could not hold back the tears as I watched with pride the reactions of my six brothers and four sisters and the loving expressions of my noble parents as they watched their posterity partake of the Christmas spirit and as they felt of the unity which prevailed in our family circle.
(December 1988, p. 21.)

At a recent encampment planned and directed by stake and ward priesthood leaders, I asked a young man how he felt about his leaders. He responded: “I’ve always been scared around stake presidents and bishops. For some reason I always feel like I’m getting interviewed. But living in camp with them has helped me make friends with them. Next time I have an interview we’ll have memories to talk about.”

Another side benefit of choir was that it became a way to include some young people who either were having trouble with their church activity or were not members but just wanted to spend time with their Mormon friends. One particularly good example is Kevin Wood, now Elder Wood serving in Belgium on a mission. “I had slipped away slowly from church. Many other things in my life went downhill. I had fallen into the pit very gradually, and so when I got to the bottom, I didn’t even realize how deep and dark it really was until after I had gotten back out.”
Cathy Baradine had been working away from home at a summer camp. When she returned home, she was surprised when she was told that Kevin wasn’t attending church anymore. The ward had just started the youth choir. She didn’t hesitate. She called Kevin and told him she was coming to pick him up in half an hour for choir practice.
Kevin says he was bewildered enough to say yes. He now says that at the time he hated singing, especially songs with gospel themes. But he went. “I don’t remember whether the time passed quickly, or how I felt during the practice,” said Kevin. “It was as we were walking out that I remarked how I felt so much lighter. I may have even had a smile on my face. All my problems and concerns, although they hadn’t disappeared, had left my mind for a moment.” Kevin returned to church and choir practice the next Sunday and the next and the next.

At an encampment in Finland, the Scouts decided I should know how to sauna. Finns heat their saunas to 170 or 180 degrees. President Olli Roto, the stake president who was teaching me, along with the Scouts, who were experts, made a small bundle of birch branches. When we really began to perspire, he took the bundle of birch leaves and swatted me all over my back, chest, and legs, and said, “That brings the blood to the surface.” I said, “It works.” Then we ran down and dove into the Baltic Sea, then went back into the sauna. It’s amazing what we learn when we’re working with youth.

The first recorded glimpse of a celebration is written on Christmas 1843 by the Prophet Joseph Smith. The entry marks a new outlook among Mormons toward the day:
“This morning, about one o’clock, I was aroused by an English sister, Lettice Rushton, … accompanied by three of her sons, with their wives, and her two daughters, with their husbands, and several of their neighbors, singing, ‘Mortals, Awake With Angels Join,’ which caused a thrill of pleasure to run through my soul. All of my family and boarders arose to hear the serenade, and I felt to thank my Heavenly Father for their visit, and blessed them in the name of the Lord. They also visited my brother Hyrum, who was awakened from his sleep. He arose and went out of doors. He shook hands with and blessed each one of them in the name of the Lord, and said that at first he thought a cohort of angels had come to visit him, it was such heavenly music to him.”
Later in the day the Prophet wrote the following took place:
“A large party supped at my house, and spent the evening in music, dancing, etc. in a most cheerful and friendly manner.”

Jill stood up, gathering her things together. One memory flashed swiftly across her mind. It was the hot summer of her tenth year. She had been bike racing with Martin up the hill to her house. Everything was going fine until her front tire hit a patch of gravel that caused her to skid out of control. Martin brought his bike to a screeching halt and helped Jill untangle herself from her bicycle. Jill remembered she had bumped her nose and skinned both her knees. Martin helped her limp home and then left. As her mother carefully applied Band-Aids to the torn knees, Jill told her that Martin was glad she fell because she had been winning. Her mother tried to explain that she was sure that that wasn’t true, but Jill insisted, pointing out that he had even left her alone. About a half an hour later, Martin showed up at their doorstep. He had brought Jill’s bicycle back and put it in the garage. He asked if Jill could come outside for a minute. Jill remembered walking out with a cool expression of complete disdain. She was completely surprised when Martin presented her with a “victory scoop” of strawberry ice cream. She had been winning, he had explained, so he bought her an ice cream cone with his allowance.

“A soldier is often in a poor environment. It is unfortunate, but the worst of mankind seems to reveal itself during war. And maybe this is the reason returned servicemen don’t feel equal to returned missionaries. Missionaries are in a situation to see the most beautiful and uplifting parts of mankind; military people see the opposite. This naturally created a state of inequity in my mind; I didn’t feel as good as if I had been serving on a mission. And, of course, I wasn’t treated the same as a returned missionary. But the most important difference to me was that difference inside of me.
“For the first while it was natural for me to be hostile and suspect that people were not sincere because this is what I had been conditioned to expect. But finally I had to get hold of myself and say, ‘Look, these people are trying to help you, and they want to be your friends.’ It took me a while to realize this, but when I did, the change started happening to me, and I began to come around,” said Warren Mallen, a Vietnam veteran.

Some years ago a lovely young woman, Jami Palmer, then 12 years of age, was wheeled into my office by her parents. She had been diagnosed with cancer. Surgery would be required. The treatments would be many and the time of recovery long. It was a solemn moment as we visited. Father requested me to join him in blessing his crestfallen daughter who had just had her dreams, her hopes, her plans placed on hold. All of us were weeping. The priesthood blessing was provided.

I have maintained contact with Jami and her family. The years have flown by. She has rendered unlimited service to others through being a spokesperson for the Make-A-Wish Foundation, which blesses youth afflicted with life-threatening diseases. Jami has grown into a beautiful young woman. She is now a student at Brigham Young University. She is healthy. She has been through the refiner’s fire and has had her life prolonged. She gives thanks to all who aided her through these difficult years and especially to her Heavenly Father for her very life today.

A turning point in Jami’s life came early in her treatment for cancer. She and the youth in her ward had planned a hike to Timpanogos Cave. You who have made that hike know the way is steep, and it seems to take forever to reach the cave. Sadly Jami said to her friends, “I won’t be able to make the hike with you.”

“Why not?” they asked.

Jami replied, “I can’t walk.”

There was a silent moment, and then one replied, “Jami, if you can’t walk, then we’ll carry you.” And they did—up and back!

Rayleigh, Essex, England—
I was talking to a new employee working in my office, and I don’t know how we got around to it, but I mentioned I was Mormon. He appeared very interested, because he said he had recently visited another church and had found nothing there, but that he was looking for a church that made sense.
A young adult convention (conference) was coming up on Saturday, so I invited him along to that, and we had some good fun. He met a lot of new friends. I let him introduce himself, and he really participated. The next day, he came to our regular church meetings. It was fast Sunday, and we all came in to testimony meeting together.
Three times during the meeting he got up and walked out into the corridor. I saw him pacing up and down, still listening intently. Then, about ten minutes from the end of the meeting, he got up and bore his testimony! He said the Spirit had borne witness to him and told him the Church is true.
He came up to me after the meeting and asked if I could arrange to have the missionaries teach him. He’s having that done now. I’d only known him for a few days, but I was impressed to see how the Spirit could guide him. Just by fellowshipping him a little, we had helped him find the truth. This experience has taught me that member missionary work is important, even the basic things like just mentioning you’re Mormon.

I chose a place in the hills on the moors called Saddleworth Dovestones, where I would not be disturbed. I took my lunch, scriptures, and my journal and headed out, climbing to the top to offer the desires of my heart to my Father in Heaven. As I prayed, I listened very carefully for an answer, maybe a peaceful feeling or a burning in my bosom, but I felt nothing.
As I walked back, I noticed a series of rocks on the ground carefully placed to spell out the words “Truth Will Prevail.” “Curious,” I thought, but nothing more. However, when I told my mother, she said simply, “That’s your answer.”

When Raimundo Carvalho was 18, his father died. His father had earned a living washing clothes for other families. Now that meager income was gone.
“I was the oldest child, the only son, with four younger sisters. So, I needed to help my mother provide for the family,” he remembers. “We faced a lot of challenges and we were really poor.”
Raimundo learned to make shoes. Soon, however, it became apparent that he couldn’t keep up on his studies and work enough to provide the help his mother needed. “Taking care of the family came first,” he says. “I was able to finish my classes that year and that was it.”
In his heart, he knew he would come back to school again. But when and how?
He continued to work, and the family survived.
“Then I met and married this beautiful woman,” he says, smiling at his wife, Eréroythe. “And we built a family of our own. Today we have three children and three grandchildren.”
Eró, as his wife is known, encouraged Raimundo to go back to school. “But because of my responsibilities as a husband and a father,” Raimundo says, “I knew I couldn’t pursue the education I wanted at that time. I didn’t abandon my dream—I just put it on pause. It became something I would do in the future.”
What he could do, he found, was to encourage his wife and children in their education.
“The scriptures teach us that the glory of God is intelligence,1” he says. “They also say we should bring up our children in light and truth2 and that we should seek learning by study and faith.3 These principles became standards for our family.”
Today, Raimundo is 62. And that dream he put on pause? It’s finally coming true. He recently graduated from high school. What’s more, he’s preparing to enter college. “I have to take a challenging test to get in,” he says. “But I want people, old and young, to see that they can set a goal and achieve it.”

My usual spot in ninth-grade seminary was in the back row, where I could talk and joke around with my friend. I had only signed up for seminary because there was an open space in my schedule. Seminary was offered during the school day where I lived, and a school counselor suggested I take it since I’m a Latter-day Saint. I knew the teacher’s name, but that was about all I had learned from class.
Then my friend was gone one day, so I ran into a problem: I had no one to joke with. How would I pass the time? In a panic, I went with the only other option—I listened. It was the first time I paid any attention to the teacher.
As I look back, I don’t remember a word he said that day, but I do remember being captivated. My friend was back the next day, but instead of joking around, I listened and was again pulled in.
I eventually moved from the back of the room and sat on the front row, where I could pay better attention. Not a class went by in which I didn’t feel a strong interest in the lesson or in the students who were sharing their testimonies.
I enjoyed seminary so much that I signed up for it again the next year. I had been baptized at eight years old but had never really gone to church. But something changed one day in December right before the Christmas break. The teacher invited us to come to the front of the room and say what gift we would give Christ that year.
“No one will do this,” I thought. But, to my surprise, one by one the students walked to the front of the class. Some shed tears, others shared goals they had set, and some told stories. I couldn’t believe it.
Time was ticking. I was the only one who hadn’t gone. Before I knew it, I was on my feet. I had no idea what I was going to say. Then, with a shaky voice, I said, “This year for Christ’s birthday, I’m going to start going to church.”
From that day forward, I started going to church as my gift to the Savior. The ironic part was that I was the one who received the gift. Going back to church changed my life, and it all started the day I stopped talking long enough to listen and allow the Spirit to touch my heart.
The Spirit still speaks to me. All I have to do is stop to listen—and then follow.

Another time—it was the Sunday before Thanksgiving, about 1943—I went to priesthood meeting. There was a large framed board. It had the pictures of all the young men serving in the military. Priests who had been at the sacrament table a few months earlier were now in the war. Each week it would be updated. Those who were killed in action had a gold star by their picture; those who had been wounded, a red star; and those missing in action, a white star. Every week, as a 12-year-old deacon, I checked to see who had been killed or wounded.

In quorum meeting that morning, the member of the bishopric said: “This Thursday is Thanksgiving. We ought to all have family prayer in our homes.” Then he said, “Let’s put on the blackboard the things we are grateful for.” We did, and he said, “Include these things in your Thanksgiving prayer.” I got sick to my stomach, as we never had a prayer or blessing.

That night at 6:30 we went to sacrament meeting. At the end of the meeting, the bishop stood up and was very tender. He told about the young men from our ward who had been killed and wounded. He talked about our liberty, our freedom, our flag, and this great country, and our blessings. Then he said, “I’d hope every single family would kneel and have family prayer on Thanksgiving Day and thank God for His blessings.”

My heart ached. I thought, How can we have family prayer? I wanted to be obedient. I hardly slept all Sunday night. I wanted to have a prayer for Thanksgiving. I even thought I would say it if someone asked me, but I was too shy to volunteer. I worried all day Monday, and all day Tuesday, and Wednesday at school.

Dad did not come home on Wednesday until early in the morning. Thursday we all got up. There were five boys and two sisters. We skipped breakfast so we would have a real appetite for Thanksgiving dinner. To work up an appetite, we went to a nearby field and dug a hole six feet deep and six feet wide. We made a trench to it as a hideout. I remember with every shovelful of dirt, I thought, Please, Heavenly Father, let us have a prayer.

Finally at 2:30, my mother called us to come and eat. We cleaned up and sat at the table. Somehow Mom had managed to have a turkey with all the trimmings. She put all the food on the table, including the turkey. I thought my heart would burst. Time was running out. I looked at my father, then my mother. I thought, Please, now, someone, anyone, please can’t we have a prayer. I was almost panicky; then all of a sudden everyone started to eat. I had worked hard all morning and afternoon to work up an appetite, but I wasn’t hungry. I didn’t want to eat. I wanted to pray more than anything else in this world, and it was too late.

Beloved youth, be grateful for parents who have prayer and read the scriptures. Prize family home evening. Be grateful for those who teach and train you.