Gospel Story Finder

The churches, castles, and inns of thirteenth-century England are the setting for this dramatic story of Robin. Robin’s father, a great lord, was off to the wars, and his mother, a lady, was called to help care for the Queen, as there was a plague raging in the city of London. Robin is to go to a castle in the north of the land to begin serving as a page in preparation for knighthood. The plague overcomes the household staff. Robin becomes ill and is left unattended. How Robin eventually gets to his castle and how he learns there are different ways in which to serve make for exciting reading.

Here I recall an event described by a man I met at a stake conference in the Midwest more than a decade ago. The setting was a beautiful campus in central Illinois. My informant, a participant in a summer workshop, saw a crowd of young students seated on the grass in a large semicircle about 20 feet from one of the large hardwood trees that are so common and so beautiful there. They were watching something at the base of the tree. He turned aside from his walk to see what it was.

There was a handsome tree squirrel with a large, bushy tail playing around the base of the tree—now on the ground, now up and down and around the trunk. But why would that beautiful but familiar sight attract a crowd of students?

Stretched out prone on the grass nearby was an Irish setter. He was the object of the students’ interest, and, though he pretended otherwise, the squirrel was the object of his. Each time the squirrel was momentarily out of sight circling the tree or looking in another direction, the setter would quickly creep forward a few inches and then resume his apparent indifferent posture. Each minute or two he crept closer to the squirrel, and the squirrel apparently did not notice. This was the scene that held the students’ interest. They were silent and immobile, attention riveted on the drama—the probable outcome of which was becoming increasingly obvious.

Finally the setter was close enough to bound at the squirrel and catch it in his mouth. A gasp of horror arose, and the crowd of students surged forward and wrested the beautiful little animal away from the hound, but it was too late. The squirrel was dead.

Anyone in that crowd of students could have warned the squirrel at any time by waving their arms or crying out, but none had done so. They just watched while the inevitable consequence got closer and closer. No one asked “Where will this lead?” and no one wished to interfere. When the predicable outcome occurred, they rushed to the defense, but it was too late. Tearful and regretful expressions were all they could offer.

That true story is a parable of sorts. It has a lesson for things we see in our own lives, in the lives of those around us, and in the events occurring in our cities, states, and nations. In all these areas we can see threats creeping up on things we love, and we cannot afford to be indifferent or quiet. We must be ever vigilant to ask “Where will it lead?” and to sound appropriate warnings or join appropriate preventive efforts while there is still time. Often we cannot prevent the outcome, but we can remove ourselves from the crowd who, by failing to try to intervene, has complicity in the outcome.

After listening to the missionaries, Mother and I were soon baptized. But the gospel was still very puzzling to my father, and he was not baptized. However, in the months to come, Father began to notice a change in Mother. One day he said to her, “How come you’re so kind and happy and so good to me lately?”
Mother answered, “Because I have the gospel. If you want that feeling you can have it too.” And several months after that my father was also baptized.

The youth of the Slaterville Second Ward, Ogden Utah Mound Fort Stake, borrowed their fathers’ hammers and set out on an adventure that anticipated Christmas. They contracted to make Christmas tree stands in order to raise money for their youth activities.
The adult leaders were in charge of running the saw, but with an assembly line system and a quality inspector, the youth stayed organized and busy. Each person was assigned a certain number of hours to help, and no one complained as each put in his quota with the help of supportive families.
The project lasted for more than a month until the goal of 24,000 stands was completed. The young people found they enjoyed working together for their mutual benefit and learned something about responsibility. It was also a wonderful opportunity for leaders and youth to work together.

A true story from the USA.
Water swirled around Scott’s legs as he stepped into the baptismal font. His older brother Sandy was already standing in the water. He smiled and took Scott’s hand.
Scott smiled back and looked up at the people watching. There was Dad. He looked so happy! And there was Mom. She waved at him. She was also wearing white baptismal clothes. Scott’s other brother Gerrie was going to baptize her.
When Mom had told Scott she would get baptized on the same day as him, he had been so excited. Mom hadn’t grown up going to church like Scott had. She had started going to church after she met Dad.
Scott always knew Mom loved Jesus Christ, and she came to church with them almost every week. The missionaries had come to their house a lot too. But it had taken years before Mom felt ready to be baptized. He was so happy they could share this special day together!
It was Mom who had taught him about baptism and confirmation when he turned eight.
“You’ll make a very important promise to Heavenly Father to always follow Him and Jesus Christ,” she had said. “In return, you’ll always have the Holy Ghost with you.”
And now it was time to be baptized! Scott plugged his nose when Sandy dipped him all the way under the water. When Scott came back up, he blinked water from his eyes and grinned. He felt so clean! There was a warm feeling in his heart as he stepped out of the font.
After he changed into dry clothes, Scott sat down and watched Gerrie baptize Mom. She looked so happy as she went into the water and came back out. She looked right at Scott and gave him a big smile.
The next day at church, they were both confirmed as members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Scott closed his eyes as Dad and other priesthood holders put their hands on his head. They blessed him with the gift of the Holy Ghost. Then he listened reverently as Mom was confirmed. He felt warm, happy, and safe. Scott knew he was feeling the Holy Ghost.
Afterward they sat back down to listen to the speakers. Then Scott heard a sniffle. He looked over in surprise to see a tear slide down Mom’s cheek.
Scott frowned. “Are you OK, Mom?” he whispered. “Why are you sad?”
Mom wiped her cheek and smiled. “I’m not sad,” she whispered back. She put an arm around Scott and squeezed. “Sometimes people cry when they’re happy. And I’m so happy right now.”
Scott squeezed back. “Me too.”
Illustrations by Raquel Martin

Pioneers help my testimony of Jesus Christ to grow because of their sacrifices to follow Him. I have an ancestor named Lars Larson who listened to the missionaries and chose to follow Jesus Christ even though his parents were angry about it. They told him that if he was baptized, they would not let him live there and they would not help him at all. His testimony was so strong that he left his family to follow the Savior and be baptized. He was later called as a missionary to where his family lived. He went to their house, and when his mother answered the door, she quickly closed it on him. But he caught the door before it closed all the way and simply said, “Mother, I just want you to know that I have found the truth.” This testimony wasn’t easy to have—it meant that he lost a lot—but following the Savior was so important to him that it was worth the sacrifice.

Jon trudged through the back door. He dropped his backpack and slumped onto a chair.
“I’m not going to school anymore,” he said to Mom. “I don’t know all my ABCs. I don’t know all the numbers in the math book. I don’t know everything. It’s too hard.”
Mom sat down next to Jon and put her arm around him. “It sounds like you had a tough first day of school,” she said.
“I’m not going back,” Jon said, sniffling a little. “I am just going to stay home and help you take care of baby Ella.”
“You are a good helper,” Mom said as she reached down to pick up Ella, who had crawled over to them. “You are patient and gentle with your sister. You are good at helping wash the car. You can rinse the dishes and pick up your toys and tie your shoes. You can do hard things.”
“Those things aren’t hard to do,” Jon said.
“Do you remember when you were learning to tie your shoes?” Mom asked.
“Yes, that was hard,” Jon said. “The laces kept getting tangled in my fingers.”
“It was hard, but you just kept working at it and soon you could do it by yourself,” Mom said.
Jon shrugged. “Well, I wish I could be like Ella. She doesn’t have to do anything hard.”
“Ella is learning too,” Mom said. “Look how she likes to practice walking to you.”
Jon smiled as Ella toddled toward him and grabbed his fingers. “She’s a little wobbly,” he said.
Ella took two steps holding tightly to Jon’s hand. Then Jon wiggled his fingers out of her grip, and she sat down on the floor.
“When I let go she falls down,” Jon said.
“That’s right,” Mom said. “But she keeps getting back up. She wants to do hard things like you.”
“Did I have a hard time learning to walk?” Jon asked.
“Yes, but you didn’t give up,” Mom said. “You just kept trying, and now look at you—you can walk and run and skip and hop and climb trees.”
Jon hopped all the way around the kitchen table. Then he stopped, sat down, and put his face in his hands.
“But school is really hard,” he said. “Do you think I can learn all my letters and all my numbers and everything?”
“Yes!” Mom said. “School is a good place to learn. You’re not supposed to know everything already. By the end of the year I think you will be surprised at all the hard things you can do.”
“Really? You think I can do it?”
“What do you think?” Mom asked.
Jon grabbed his little sister’s hand and pulled her up to stand. “I think I can do hard things.”

Elder Spori’s labors extended as far as Joppa, Damascus, and Jerusalem. It was here in the land of Palestine that he discovered how miracles can come about through small means.
By local law all Christians had to be out of the city of Haifa before the gates were locked at dusk. But Elder Spori was working in that city with an investigator who was ill at the time. The young Mormon elder hated to leave until he was sure his friend was better. That evening, with the investigator getting better, Jacob made plans to leave the city. He knew the gates were locked and that getting caught meant going to jail. As he walked along the city’s shore, pondering what to do, he watched the fishing boats coming into port. He noticed some men preparing the nets for the next day’s work and had the feeling he should help them. He stepped up and began working; no one seemed to notice him. When the work was finally done the men rolled up the nets, got into the small boat and prepared to set sail. Without a word Elder Spori also got into the boat. Before long they were on the sea. The next day the boat landed at Cairo, and Elder Spori jumped from the boat, went into the city, and resumed preaching the gospel.

In family rooms Brigham Young University football fans paced the floors and smashed their fists against the nearest walls. In department stores they threw their hands into the air and muttered. In apartments they roared like wounded animals. In plush living rooms some sank into their easy chairs and calmly waited for the kill.
Fifty thousand TV sets eyed them coldly. Deluxe console models showed the brilliant red and gold of Arizona State linebackers blowing through the blue and white of BYU in an explosive blitz. Ancient models with snowstorms and horizontal lines revealed a wave of black and white rushing in upon retreating quarterback Gary Sheide, who saw that his wide receiver was covered. Plastic portables flickered as the relentless wave descended and the quarterback disappeared.
One hundred thousand BYU fans groaned. A stadium full of spectators in Tempe, Arizona, sprang—screaming—to their feet. Some in the crowd clapped their hands against their heads. Others clenched their teeth and closed their eyes that bleak November afternoon.
The play had begun late in the game with BYU deep in its own territory and the score BYU Cougars 14, Arizona State Sun Devils 18. Now it would be third down and a day’s journey to the line of scrimmage.
Suddenly the groaning stopped. Hands dropped. Fists unclenched. And mouths plopped open. Bellows of pain burst into shouts of unbelieving joy. True, Gary Sheide was on the ground under a surf of Sun Devils, but the football was in the air. A split second later, running back Jeff Blanc gathered it in for the first down, and BYU was on its way to a touchdown and a victory that kept alive its hopes for a 1974 Western Athletic Conference championship.
It was an impossible pass. There was no time to get rid of the ball and no way to see the receiver over the onrushing wall of bodies. Cougar football coach LaVell Edwards was later to refer to the play as one of the pivotal moments of the season, but it was the sort of thing the young quarterback from Antioch, California, did as a matter of course.

As I think of home teaching, I am reminded of a man by the name of Johann Denndorfer from Debrecen, Hungary. He had been converted to the Church years before in Germany, and now, following World War II, he found himself virtually a prisoner in his own land of Hungary. How he longed for contact with the Church. Then his home teachers visited. Brother Walter Krause and his companion went from the northeastern portion of Germany all the way to Hungary to fulfill their home teaching assignment. Before they left from their homes in Germany, Brother Krause had said to his companion, “Would you like to go home teaching with me this week?”
His companion asked, “When will we leave?”
Brother Krause’s response: “Tomorrow.”
Then came the question, “When will we come back?”
Brother Krause did not hesitate; he said, “Oh, in about a week.”
And away they went to visit Brother Denndorfer and others. Brother Denndorfer had not had home teachers since before the war. Now, when he saw the servants of the Lord, he was overwhelmed. He did not shake hands with them; rather, he went to his bedroom and took from a secret hiding place his tithing that he had saved for years. This tithing he gave to his home teachers, and then he said, “Now I can shake your hands.”

At the age of nine I was exposed to pornography online. I hadn’t gone looking for what I saw. But because I believed I wasn’t important, I thought that if I told my parents, they would be ashamed of me. This slowly led me down a path of addiction.
When I was 10 years old, I got onto social media, which gave me more ways to find pornography. At the same time, I started to compare my life with the “perfect” lives I saw on social media. I saw posts of people on vacation or hanging out with friends when I wasn’t invited. I saw people with these “perfect” bodies, and I didn’t think mine was good enough. With this cycle of self-loathing and addiction, my life spiraled quickly. At 14 years old, I planned to take my own life.
On a day I felt like my life was falling apart, my parents found out about my trials and guided me toward the Savior and His Atonement. It was a turning point in my life. I met with my bishop, and he and my dad gave me a blessing. It was the first time in six years I had felt the Spirit. It felt tangible.
It’s taken time and effort, but because of my Savior, Jesus Christ, I’ve been able to repent and grow stronger as a person. I’ve seen beautiful miracles in my life that are a direct result of the saving power of Christ’s Atonement.
I now spend my time as a public speaker, traveling the country and speaking to youth groups, schools, and communities about the harmful effects of social media and pornography. I teach about the importance of mental health and the need for suicide prevention. I’ve built a platform on social media that I can use for good. I just graduated high school. I’ve built two businesses and strong relationships with those I love. Most importantly, I’ve found God again. I have a sure testimony of God the Father, His Son, Jesus Christ, and Their power and influence.
None of this has happened because I have extra special talents or unusual abilities. Through the Atonement of Jesus Christ, I’ve been able to repent, overcome challenges, and find peace and healing. If you think you’re too far gone, my answer to you is that you’re wrong. I was willing to surrender to the redeeming power of Jesus Christ. You can too.

I remember as a deacon watching the priests as they would officiate at the sacrament table. One priest by the name of Barry had a lovely voice and would read the sacrament prayers with clear diction—as though he were competing in a speech contest. The other members of the ward, particularly the older sisters, would compliment him on his “golden voice.” I think he became a bit proud. Jack, another priest in the ward, was hearing impaired, which caused his speech to be unnatural in its sound. We deacons would twitter at times when Jack would bless the emblems. How we dared to do so is beyond me, for Jack had hands like a bear and could have crushed any one of us.

On one occasion Barry, with the beautiful voice, and Jack, with the awkward delivery, were assigned together at the sacrament table. The hymn was sung; the two priests broke the bread. Barry knelt to pray, and we closed our eyes. But nothing happened. Soon we deacons opened our eyes to see what was causing the delay. I shall ever remember the picture of Barry frantically searching the table for the little white card on which were printed the sacrament prayers. It was nowhere to be found. What to do? Barry’s face turned pink and then crimson as the congregation began to look in his direction.

Then Jack, with that bearlike hand, reached up and gently tugged Barry back onto the bench. He himself then knelt on the little footstool and began to pray: “O God, the Eternal Father, we ask thee in the name of thy Son, Jesus Christ, to bless and sanctify this bread to the souls of all those who partake of it. …” He continued the prayer, and the bread was passed. Jack also blessed the water, and it was passed. What respect we deacons gained that day for Jack who, though handicapped in speech, had memorized the sacred prayers! Barry, too, had a new appreciation for Jack. A lasting bond of friendship had been established.

I learned a lot of lessons from my grandparents. My grandpas worked hard and taught me to do the same. They also taught me lessons in charity. I can't tell you how many times grandpa Taylor would hand me two hot sacks and tell me to fill them with chicken and rolls from the buffet and then he would say, "Come with me." As we walked out of the café with chicken, rolls, pies and whatever else we could grab (usually a gallon of milk, a dozen eggs and a loaf of bread), I never had to ask where we were going. We would get in the van and end up at an unknown house to drop off the food. I didn't know who these people were but he knew they needed help and he blessed a lot of lives. Over the years, I have heard stories of generosity about my grandparents and not just meals they provided but missions and educations they funded, Eagle Scout projects they pushed through, jobs they provided, and the lives they touched without anyone ever knowing about it. What a legacy to live up to.

At one point in my life, I had a highly paid job with great responsibility and recognition. One day my wife said, “You are so busy in your work. You should pray and think about whether you should find a new job that would make you more available to serve the Lord.” We prayed and received a confirmation by the Spirit that I should change jobs. But I was still a little resistant. When I prayed about it, I told the Lord the name of the only company I would consider working for if I quit my job.
Three weeks later, I contacted a recruiting agency and had an interview. In the end, the person said one of his clients had just requested a new director. It was the company I had mentioned in my prayer. It’s a small company that has such openings only every 10 years or so. It was a miracle.
I jokingly told my wife, “I have good news and bad news. The good news is I’m going to be hired by that company. The bad news is I think the Lord has something in store for me.”
I signed on with that company on a Friday. On Saturday I was called as the stake president.
My wife and I placed greater value on the promptings of the Spirit and serving God than in material blessings or our intellectual satisfaction or social recognition. We sought the Lord’s will and received spiritual confirmation that everything would be all right. That was one of the greatest experiences in my life.

One young man wrote this of his experience in exercising this power:
“At one time I attended a ward which had almost no Melchizedek Priesthood holders in it. But it was not in any way dulled in spirituality. On the contrary, many of its members witnessed the greatest display of priesthood power they had ever known.
“The power was centered in the priests. For the first time in their lives they were called upon to perform all the duties of the priests and administer to the needs of their fellow ward members. They were seriously called to home teach—not just to be a yawning appendage to an elder making a social call but to bless their brothers and sisters.
“Previous to this time I had been with four of these priests in a different situation. … They drove away every seminary teacher after two or three months. They spread havoc over the countryside on Scouting trips. But when they were needed—when they were trusted with a vital mission—they were among those who shone the most brilliantly in priesthood service.
“The secret was that the bishop called upon his Aaronic Priesthood to rise to the stature of men to whom angels might well appear; and they rose to that stature, administering relief to those who might be in want and strengthening those who needed strengthening. Not only were the other ward members built up but so were the members of the quorum themselves. A great unity spread throughout the ward and every member began to have a taste of what it is for a people to be of one mind and one heart. There was nothing inexplicable in all of this; it was just the proper exercise of the Aaronic Priesthood.”

During my senior year of high school, I moved from Green Bay, Wisconsin, to Prior Lake, Minnesota, which was a challenging transition. I found myself in a situation akin to a teenage drama, complete with bullies and a loss of confidence. My faith in the Church was wavering, and doubts about my ability to serve a mission were growing. I'm grateful that a missionary in my local ward mentioned how amazing the teachers were at Ricks College and how fun it was to associate with students who shared similar values. That information alone prompted me to apply.

On the first day at Ricks College, I met Triston Morgan and Nick Graham. Unaware of my recent high school struggles, lack of self-confidence, and wavering testimony, they extended a simple, Christlike gesture. They included me and became my friends.

We were rough around the edges to be sure. To an outsider, our dorm might not have seemed like the best place to gain a testimony. However, I observed their scripture study and regular church attendance. We had discussions about the gospel. Seeing their plans for a mission inspired me to deepen my own testimony and commitment. Within a few months of arriving in Rexburg, I found myself in my dorm room, on my knees, praying to know if the Book of Mormon was true. One year later, I was serving a mission in Ecuador. Their kindness, love, friendship, and positive example played a crucial role in my life, and for that, I'm so grateful.

A true story from Germany.
“Nobody understands me!” Gabriela shouted as she slammed her bedroom door. Today had been a hard day. Someone at school had made fun of her. And when Gabriela came home, she was grumpy and got in trouble with Mutti (Mom).
Gabriela flopped onto her bed and started to cry. Tears ran down her cheeks, and her chest felt tight with anger. She didn’t like feeling this way.
She remembered learning in Primary that she could pray to Heavenly Father whenever she needed help. She wanted to say a prayer to help her feel better, but she was too upset to focus. She closed her eyes and took some deep breaths. What could she do to calm down?
After a few seconds, a thought came to her mind.
Think of things you are grateful for.
She opened her eyes and looked around her room. There was a picture on the wall of Mutti and Vati (Dad). Gabriela loved her family, even when she was frustrated with them.
“I’m grateful for my parents,” she said.
Then she thought about her cousins Gwendolyn, Lydia, and Thomas. They always shared their toys with her and made her laugh. She loved playing with them.
“I’m grateful for my cousins,” Gabriela said.
Then she looked out her window.
The sun was setting, and the sky was filled with beautiful colors—orange, red, yellow, and pink.
“I’m grateful for sunsets,” Gabriela said.
And then she thought of more things. She was grateful for the lunch she ate at school today. She was grateful for her friends. She was grateful for the apartment she lived in.
It was fun thinking of things to be grateful for! Gabriela had never realized how many good things were in her life.
She knew that the Holy Ghost had given her the idea to think of her blessings. Her heart was peaceful now. She felt ready to pray.
“Dear Heavenly Father,” she said. “I’m sorry that I was angry at Mutti. Thank Thee for helping me feel calm and happy again. Thank Thee for sending the Holy Ghost to remind me of my blessings. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
She walked out of her room. Mutti and Vati were in the kitchen making dinner. She gave Mutti a hug.
“I’m sorry for getting mad at you,” Gabriela said.
“That’s OK,” Mutti said. “Thank you for apologizing.”
They sat around the dinner table and blessed the food. Then Gabriela had an idea!
“Let’s go around the table and each say something we’re grateful for,” she said.
Vati smiled. “That’s a good idea!”
“I’m grateful for soap,” Mutti said.
Vati thought for a second.
“Pizza,” he said. They all giggled.
Then it was Gabriela’s turn. She already knew what she wanted to say.
“I’m grateful for prayer.”
Illustrations by Simini Blocker

Of particular value to me personally was the chance to visit the Temple. I recognize that it can be difficult for some to visit the temple when struggling with depression or other conditions that make it difficult to feel the spirit, and I have felt that, but at other times, the House of the Lord has been a true refuge to me and a place where the Lord could heal my heart, gradually, over time. It is the sort of place where we can not only get a glimpse of what is ahead of us, but also, in the Lord’s time, a broad view of the expanse of eternity, however short lived that can sometimes be. I have seen miracles in the temple that have let me know the Lord was there and cared for me at times when I most needed to know those two things. I believe that attending the temple when we can is a way of showing faith that can, when the Lord is ready, produce miracles. And this brings me to a last and important point that I want to make. While we all go through trials and we all face darkness, there are sometimes trials that need special care. It was in the Temple that I first got confirmation that one of the helps for me would be medication that could help me through the physical elements attached to my spiritual and emotional trials. I was very reluctant to approach that kind of help. I knew that darkness was something I would meet in my life, but I thought real faith should get me through it without other help. Even when the Lord confirmed to me in the temple that it would help, it was difficult for me to accept, though without that confirmation it would perhaps never have happened. Afterwards, this was more difficult because I didn’t find the medication that would help me the first time. Everyone is a bit different. Some of you may have difficulties thinking of talking to a counselor or even talking to a bishop about such things. There are many resources available for us in this time that have not been available in all times to combat some of the afflictions we might have to endure. Not all of them are for everyone. For some, only a good friend is needed to talk to, or a bishop, for others counselors or medication can help. As a good bishop once told me, whatever leads us towards the light is right. Let the Lord lead you where he will.

I didn’t notice her at first. She was merely a part of the sea of people milling about the reception hall. Then she stepped forward and, struggling for the right English words, pointed to her heart and said, “When you sing, you have a love.”

I looked into her red, tear-swollen eyes and smiled the warmest “Thank you” I could muster. I couldn’t speak. My heart was in my throat.

Looking around the hall, I could see that the other members of the BYU A Cappella Choir were having similar experiences. We were at Kibbutz Chatzerim in the middle of Israel’s Negev Desert. The love of the gospel of Jesus Christ expressed through song had bridged the gap of culture, language, and religion to touch the hearts of these people. It was our first concert in Israel and the beginning of a tour that, through music, would take the message of the Restoration to thousands of Jewish people.

When President Oaks gave this talk in 2007, I immediately identified with his message, as I had had an epiphany on this topic about nine years earlier around midnight in my laundry room. I had recently had our sixth child and was feeling very inadequate, with a messy house, a career placed on the back burner, and so much left to do. As I was sorting socks and feeling overwhelmed with my lengthy, undone to-do list, I thought to myself that I could stay up all night and I still wouldn’t finish my to-do list. And then the thought burst into my mind: maybe there was nothing wrong with me; maybe there was something wrong with my list. I stopped sorting socks and went to bed praying that God would help me decide what I should accomplish each day “for good.”

Well, that was the last day I sorted my kids’ socks. I determined that their sorting their own socks was a great life skill and that it was just fine to wear two different socks. I changed my to-do list to an accomplishment list to focus on my priorities. I also started creating a new list: my selected neglect list. This list contains good stuff, not the prioritized best stuff; it contains items that I have consciously chosen to neglect for now. In choosing my priorities, I have pondered on President Oaks’s advice to base our priorities on gospel principles and strengthening our families, not on socks.