Gospel Story Finder

I was inspired by general conference. While listening to the instruction from our leaders to serve others, trust Christ, and hold steadfastly to the iron rod, I felt the Holy Ghost testify to me that this gospel is true and that we can obtain eternal life by keeping the commandments and following the word of God. I have set goals to be of more service in my community and to strengthen my testimony through daily prayer and scripture study. I know that I am a daughter of Heavenly Father. He lives and loves me forever and always.
Madelyn B., age 16, Delaware, USA

Many years ago my husband, Ken, and I moved to Provo, Utah, so he could attend Brigham Young University. Before our move, Ken had traveled there, bought a mobile home, and arranged for water, gas, and electricity to be turned on when we moved in.
We arrived in Provo on a cold December night. All our belongings were packed in the back of a rental truck. We were tired and tense from the long trip. Six months pregnant, I was feeling the effects of cleaning, packing, and traveling. Shawna, our 15-month-old daughter, was tired and crying.
As we opened the door to our home, a blast of cold air greeted us. The electricity and water had been turned on, but for some reason the gas had not. Too exhausted to do anything else, we put a mattress on the floor and plugged in an electric blanket to keep us warm. We tried to sleep with our daughter between us, but she cried most of the night. When morning came we were almost as tired as when we had gone to bed.
After we unloaded the truck, Ken left to return it, check with the gas company, and arrange for a phone to be installed. I dressed Shawna in her snowsuit. Then I placed her in her highchair to play with a few toys while I started to unpack the boxes.
When I unpacked our electric frying pan, I decided to heat water in it to wash out the cupboards. As I turned on the kitchen sink, the faucet came off and water shot up into the air. I tried to turn off the water valve under the sink but could not get it to turn. Frantically, I searched for the water shutoff valve for the house. By the time I found it, the kitchen and living room were flooded.
As I desperately started moving boxes out of the water, Shawna sensed panic and began to scream. Carrying her with one of my arms, I continued trying to lift boxes with the other arm.
At that moment I started into premature labor. Now I was truly panicked. I didn’t know anyone in the neighborhood, and I didn’t have a phone to call for help. Desperately I prayed, “Heavenly Father, please help me!”
I’ll never forget the knock that came at the door minutes later. The woman standing there was shivering, with soapsuds up to her elbows. She introduced herself as Amalia Van Tassel, the branch Relief Society president, and told me the Spirit had sent her.
I would later learn that Amalia had been standing at her sink washing dishes when she felt prompted to check on the new family who had just moved in. Sensing that it was urgent, she called to her oldest daughter to watch her other children and, without even stopping to dry her hands or grab her coat, ran to my door.
Amalia had me lie down, comforted Shawna, cleaned up all she could, and invited our family to dinner. She brought light, safety, and comfort into that dark December day. Rest stopped my premature labor, Ken fixed the sink, the gas man turned the gas on, and portable electric heaters dried the soaked carpet.
I have always been grateful to Heavenly Father for answering my prayer that day and for the loving Relief Society president who quickly followed the promptings of the Holy Spirit.

In the past two or three weeks, I have greeted most of my grandchildren, and I have shaken their hands and looked into their eyes and have said, “Keep the faith, my child. It’s true.” Almost invariably there has come the response, “I will, Grandpa, I will.”
Their words, “Yes, Grandpa, I will,” have caused me to reflect. My greatest desire is to continue faithful as an example to my family. I trust that one day the response will be, “Yes, Grandpa, I have.”

Stephanie Kinderman, 15, of Wilmington, Delaware, has earned an unusual kind of recognition. Her mother, Deborah, writes:
“Three years ago her dad left. We are divorced now. At the time, Stephanie was the oldest of six children and only 12 years old herself. During this last three years, she has cared for her younger brothers and sisters while I have had to be gone to school or work. She has accepted this responsibility without complaint, recognizing the necessity due to our financial situation. Often she has had to sacrifice social events and activities for the welfare of the family. She is very talented at the piano, but her studies were interrupted and her opportunities limited because of our circumstances.
“Stephanie is a beautiful, talented girl and mature beyond her years. She has displayed leadership in her family equal to any organization president. Many of the things that could have come to her in life, she has sacrificed for our family. She will never receive a certificate or award for what she has done, but her achievements are surely equal to any of those who do. She attends seminary, is a member of the Band Front at school, plays Church basketball, and participates in all of her Mutual activities, but above all, her greatest accomplishment is what she has done for her family.”

I have a friend like that. We used to get into fights about who was right, but as we grew older I realized that doesn’t do any good. I just try to be an example to her.
Stacie Stuart, 17Dalton, Pennsylvania

And now, several months later, they were following the White Rim Trail in Canyonlands National Park in southern Utah, where the Colorado River and the wind have carved a canyon full of sandstone miracles.
They set up camp Friday afternoon at Dead Horse Point and began exploring on foot and bike. They walked the observation trail that winds around the edge of the canyon, overlooking a sheer drop of 300 million years. They saw an unbelievable panorama of sandstone filigreed with peaks, spires, ridges, and wrinkles. The whole broad chasm was a huge river of colored shadows, with the great brown and green Colorado winding through at the bottom.
The enthusiasm of the quorum had long since overtaken the rest of the ward, and there were more adults than priests on the trip. It was a great opportunity for a father to explain some of the wonders of nature to his son.
“Do you know why they call that the Green River, son?” asked one father, leaning over the edge of the observation wall and looking at the river far below.
“That’s the Colorado, Dad,” his son answered.
After awhile the group started drifting back, lured by the aroma of steaks sizzling on the campfire grill. The four-man cooking crew went about its work with the efficiency of old pros, using one fork and several convenient sticks for their tools.
“What do you mean, hot?” a young Navajo asked, reaching for a foil-wrapped, baked potato while his cooking partner licked burnt fingers.
The steaks cooked quickly, and what steaks! They eclipsed the paper plates and hung over the edges. Tender, juicy, and savory, they soon disappeared. Everyone said, “I can’t eat all that,” and then did.
Approaching the table one young man asked, “Do we have to use manners?” But no one stopped licking his fingers long enough to answer.
Later there was time for some fun and games, including an impromptu Olympics that featured long jumping from a sandstone boulder to the soft sand below. In the middle of it all, a huge moon came up and became an audience of one. The Indian youth pointed at it and said softly in Navajo, “Ooljee!” And everyone echoed still more softly, “Ooljee.”
An asthmatic bugle dribbled taps from somewhere in the darkness, announcing bedtime. Before climbing into their sleeping bags, the whole party got together for prayer. The priests quorum group leader called on one of the adults to pray, but before he could begin, a young man slipped to his side and whispered, “Pray for R.G.; he’s not feeling well.” It was done.
Stars seem to be made to lie awake under, but wind in pine boughs is the sleepiest of sounds, and soon most were unaware of the crackling red fire by which a few hungry young men were still roasting marshmallows.
At 4:30 the cooks were up, frying ham and scrambling eggs, long before the sun even hit the mountaintops. Before long an uproar followed as hibernating cyclists were turned out, and a frowsy-headed crew was soon attacking breakfast.
About halfway through the ham the bugler woke up. A sleepy reveille crawled from his tent and lay dying on the ground.
“What’d we bring you for?” someone asked.
Someone began singing a lively version of “Onward Christian Soldiers,” but trailed off under a barrage of glares.
Before sunup, breakfast was finished, and the cycles were gassed up and lined up in their assigned order, two abreast. On the handlebars of each cycle hung a helmet. Everything was ready.
The group formed a huge circle, and Kent Keller, the group leader, spoke with a suppressed smile.
“I guess you’re all wondering why I called you here …”
Safety rules were reviewed, last minute instructions issued, and the group knelt in prayer. Then it was to the cycles and away.
Along the rim of the chasm they went—sometimes over a thin layer of sandstone undercut with thin air—to a spot where the road gave up all inhibitions and dropped down the face of the all-but-sheer stone wall in a series of razor-sharp switchbacks hanging nonchalantly onto the edge of nothing. It was the first of many such roads. The priests zigzagged down as slick as slalom racers. The adults zigzagged down too, but some of them looked more sick than slick.
But the view made up for the nervous stomachs. The group stopped about halfway down just to look for a while.
“What do you think, Dad?”
A strong arm tightened around the young man’s shoulder. “I think it’s great, son.”
And then it was ride, ride, ride, through and over awesome desert valleys, passes, and peaks, on a road that sometimes degenerated into a trail and sometimes into an exercise in imagination. The riders often found themselves standing up more than they were sitting in order to absorb the jolts. But every bump and hill was an invitation to jump, and some young men were airborne so much they should have been licensed pilots.
They paused at the edge of the last plateau above the Colorado to make some minor repairs and adjustments on their bikes. All had been trained in bike maintenance and had received instructions in riding safety.
“Who’s got the chain lube?”
“Can I use your spoke wrench?”
Then over country steep, bumpy, and rugged, dotted with huge sandstone monoliths balanced on thin stone columns and fringed far away with pale mountains and colored mesas. Once the group went down a wash to the shore of the river, a road rough enough to test the most expert cyclist. They cut willows by the river for the wiener roast later on. Several million climbs, dips, and jumps later, they ate lunch on the wide stone ledge overlooking Monument Valley.
They built a wiener-roasting fire with the wood they had brought with them. One of the adults whittled kindling from the end of one of the huge, squat stove lengths.
“That’s not necessary, Brother Rasmussen,” one of the priests said kindly. “We’ve already got enough sticks, and you’ll never get that thing sharp enough anyway.”
Soon there was a roaring fire, just right for cremating wieners, and everyone did.
More roads, more bumps, more ruts, more breathtaking climbs and heart-stopping descents, more ravines to go around, more hours, and the group found itself down to the level of the Colorado again. By now the faces of the riders were a grimy, mottled brown. The young men were beginning to feel the wear and tear of the long ride, and some of the older men were past feeling it; and it wasn’t over yet. Ahead lay the ascent from the river back up to the top of the canyon.
It was done down dirt roads and up dizzy climbs, and finally down the home stretch through a pouring rain, and back into camp wet, muddy, tired, and happy, with 105 miles of hard biking under their belts. Had the rain come ten minutes earlier it could have made the climb out of the canyon very difficult, perhaps impossible. As it was, the four-wheeled vehicles had to grunt hard to make it.
In camp the bikes were loaded back into their trailers and the long haul back to Orem began. And in every car, jeep, and pickup, accompanied by the hypnotic squeak of windshield wipers, they all talked about the same thing. “Where shall we go next time?”

Ellie trudged along after her younger sister, her skirts bouncing against her ankles, baby John in her arms. He felt as heavy as a full water bucket, and Ellie was hot. She pushed her bonnet off her head and watched enviously as her sister played with the Petersen girls. Mary was five and too small to carry a baby.
She turned to look at Mama. Something was wrong! Mama sat hunched over on the wagon seat, her hands clenching the reins.
“Mama?” Ellie called, holding the baby close as she ran back. “Mama, are you all right?”
Mama straightened slowly. Her face was pale, and her eyes looked wide. “I’m fine, Ellie. Are you looking after your sister?”
“I am, Mama. She’s right up ahead.” Ellie reached up and touched her mother’s clammy hand. “You’re ill, Mama. Let me drive the wagon.”
“You’re too young. Tending Mary and John is plenty for you. I’ll be fine.” Mama flicked the reins to keep the oxen moving, and Ellie backed away.
Mama won’t let me do anything but tend children, Ellie thought. I’m old enough. Well, … maybe not. The oxen take a strong arm. But Mama isn’t strong right now, either. Ellie hurried back to where her brother and the other boys were herding the extra oxen. “Harry, Mama’s sick. Can you drive the wagon?”
Harry gave his stick to another boy and ran ahead. Ellie ran after him and settled the baby in a corner of the wagon, then made a bed for Mama. “You rest now, Mama. Evening stop will be soon.”
Mama smiled. “I think I will sleep a little, Ellie, but you wake me when we stop. I’ll need to fix supper.”
Ellie kissed her mother’s cheek. It was hot and dry. She worried as she climbed down with the baby. Mama needed rest—lots of it. Ellie would handle the evening chores on her own.
Mary and the Petersen girls skipped alongside the wagon, laughing and chattering. Mama needed quiet, so Ellie sent them to gather buffalo chips for the fire. There was still a basketful in the wagon, but she didn’t want to be caught short.
“Don’t go too far, now—only up to that rise.” Ellie pointed, and the girls scampered off. Baby John had fallen asleep in her arms, so Ellie laid him next to Mama and carefully poured a cup of water.
Her mind worked as she gently sponged Mama’s face. Papa had gone ahead with some other men to hunt and wouldn’t be back for a day or two. Brother Cooper, the company captain, had said that they might reach another creek tonight. If they did, would he call a wash day? Mama needed to rest in one spot. If they stopped for a wash day, maybe it would be enough time for Mama to get well.
Shouts interrupted Ellie’s thoughts. Harry stopped the wagon, then started, then stopped again. Ellie peered ahead—trees! They really had reached a creek! “Time for evening camp,” she said to Mama, but Mama and John slept on.
Ellie waved to the girls. They returned, laden with wide, flat buffalo chips, and dumped them where Ellie pointed.
Ellie lifted the heavy oaken bucket and followed Harry and the oxen down to the creek. Her arms ached by the time she got the water back to the wagon, but Ellie was too busy to think about it. She started the fire, then mixed the biscuits. After giving her mother a few sips of water and sponging her face again, she put a pot of beans on the fire. Then Ellie cut up a piece of dried meat and put it into a kettle with some wild onions and water. The broth would strengthen her mother, and she’d thicken the rest for stew tomorrow.
When the fire had died down and was glowing bright with hot coals, Ellie put the biscuits on to bake. She stirred the beans again as she glanced around at the camp. What else? What else would Mama be doing? She couldn’t sweep out the wagon without disturbing Mama, but she got the bedrolls down and laid them out beside the wagon. Then she went to look for the Petersens.
“Sister Petersen,” Ellie asked politely, “have you heard if we’re going to have a washing day tomorrow? Or should I try to do some tonight?”
Sister Petersen smiled. “Helping out, are we? Well, Brother Cooper says that we’ll stay here the day, so tell your mama not to worry about any washing tonight.”
“Thank you, Sister Petersen. But Mama has a fever, so I’m doing it.”
“A fever? I’ll come over.” Sister Petersen bustled back with Ellie to check on Mama. On the way, she offered, “Do you need any help, girl? I’ll fix—”
“No, thank you, Sister Petersen. Dinner’s fixed and the beds are ready. Harry took care of the oxen, and I’m going to do some mending tonight. We’re doing fine.”
Sister Petersen looked Ellie up and down intently. Then she nodded and climbed up to Mama.
Ellie listened to their murmuring voices as she dished up beans and biscuits for Harry and Mary. Then she ladled some broth into a cup and headed for the wagon, just as Sister Petersen climbed down. She nodded again at Ellie as she left.
Ellie took the broth and a spoon up for Mama. Her skin was still hot, but her eyes weren’t so blank. “Here, Mama.” Ellie spooned the warm liquid into Mama’s mouth. “This will help.”
Mama took a few sips, then smiled wanly. “I’m sorry, Ellie, that I can’t do much.”
“That’s all right, Mama. Everything’s set for tonight.”
Mama nodded. “Sister Petersen told me. You’re a good girl. But tomorrow, I—”
“No, Mama,” Ellie said firmly. “I can take care of things tomorrow. You need to rest while we’re stopped.”
“But that’s so much for you, Ellie,” Mama protested.
Ellie was silent as she fed Mama the rest of the broth. Then she wiped her mother’s face gently and said, “You taught me well, Mama. I can do it, even the washing. I’m old enough.”
Mama closed her eyes and smiled. “You’re a good girl.”
Ellie quietly climbed down from the wagon and looked at the children eating and at the bedrolls. “I’m old enough,” she repeated, then got herself some supper and went to join the others.

“When Elder [David A.] and Sister [Susan] Bednar were married, they consistently had family prayer, scripture study, and family home evening with their three sons. Sometimes things did not go well, and Elder and Sister Bednar wondered if their efforts were worthwhile. Now and then during scripture study there were outbursts such as, ‘He’s touching me!’ ‘Make him stop looking at me!’ and ‘Mom, he’s breathing my air!’ Family prayers were sometimes interrupted with giggling and poking. And family home evening lessons were not always calm with three active, noisy boys.
“But they kept trying.” 1
Participating in family home evening is not always convenient or easy. But if you keep trying, like Elder and Sister Bednar, you and your family will be blessed.

Elder Luis Alberto Ferrizo, a Regional Representative in Flores, Uruguay, knows how important it is to have wise leaders. For years, he has been involved in local and national politics. Now the people of Flores are looking to him for wise leadership. In Uruguay’s last election, Elder Ferrizo was chosen to represent the Flores district as a national congressman.
Elder Ferrizo began his community service as a party delegate in 1966. He was elected to the Flores Departmental Council in 1971, was chosen as a national delegate and ran for Flores deputy mayor in 1985, and was elected congressman in 1989. He has worked in other areas of the community as well. In athletics, he served on local sports committees and was president of the Penarol Soccer Club for fifteen years. In education, he served on the parents’ committee at his children’s school, first as secretary and then as president. In business, he operates his own auctioning service.

Sherry Blanpied, a 13-year-old from the Richardson Second Ward, had no intention of waiting for “someday, when I’m good enough,” to display her dramatic talents. She performed a monologue right after winning first place with the same piece in a school competition held earlier that day.

I was introduced to the Church through the examples of Latter-day Saint students at my high school in Tucson, Arizona. They were a small minority, only 4 members out of my class of 400, but I noticed how different they were—and that impressed me.
The Latter-day Saint youth I knew were normal teens in many ways: they played sports and were involved in student government, music, and other activities. But to me, the thing that set them apart from everyone else was their quiet confidence. They seemed to know where they were going and what they wanted out of life. They used clean language and didn’t drink. I didn’t swear, drink, or smoke either, but I felt like I lacked the direction and confidence they had.
I was also impressed by their dedication. I was amazed that not only did LDS youth attend church every Sunday, but they also attended early-morning seminary every weekday before school. They dressed modestly and were respectful. One of my friends often talked about serving a mission. I was impressed that he wanted to give up two years of his life to do something so unselfish.
I was so impressed with my member friends that when high school ended, I thought to myself: “Someday I want to find out more about the Mormon faith.”

I love hearing the variety of voices and accents of youth who sent in recordings. Knowing their voices would be heard around the world, many readers worked very hard to get their recordings just right. Some, like Thomas from New Zealand (who read 3 Nephi 20) or José from Peru (who read 3 Nephi 23), practiced for hours or days before recording. A group of 10 youth from South Korea faced the challenge of English not being their first language. Their solution was to work together, each recording a few verses at a time and stitching them together into what became 2 Nephi 28 and 29.

I once attended a meeting with President Joseph Fielding Smith. Someone asked President Smith about a letter that was then being circulated by an apostate who claimed that the Church had lost the priesthood because certain words had not been used when it was conferred. President Smith said, “Before we talk about his claim, let me tell you a little about the man himself.” He then described the character of the man and concluded, “And so you see, that man is a liar pure and simple—well, maybe not so pure.”

In Papua New Guinea’s capital city of Port Moresby, more than 600 youth attended FSY in the large Sir John Guise arena. Attendees came from both urban neighborhoods and isolated villages, but their cultural differences were easily set aside as they shared their testimonies of Jesus Christ and became brothers and sisters in the gospel.

Opposition isn’t necessarily bad. I believe that opposition strengthens us too. When I visited the Huntington Botanical Gardens in San Marino, California, USA, I noticed that huge fans in the exhibit simulated the constant trade winds that strengthen tropical trees to withstand potential hurricanes. The Lord sends us or allows daily “trade winds” in the form of problems and resistance in order to strengthen our roots and make us more flexible. Such challenges are actually a gift.

Russell carefully packed his two pencils and his notebook in his schoolbag. He combed his hair and checked to make sure his clothes looked nice. After giving his mom a hug good-bye, he ran to the bus stop. He felt like he would burst if the bus didn’t come soon. He was excited to start school for the first time.
Every year, Russell had watched his older brothers and sisters walk to the bus stop, where they got on the bus for school. He wanted to ride the bus with them. Even more, he wanted to learn the things they did. He wanted to learn more about dinosaurs. He wanted to know how trains worked. He wanted to learn to read. He just knew he was going to like school.
Russell’s teacher, Mrs. Wilson, smiled when he walked into the classroom. She showed Russell where his desk was. She also showed him where to hang his schoolbag.
“Maybe we’ll learn about dinosaurs first,” Russell thought.
“Welcome to school,” Mrs. Wilson said. “We’re going to introduce ourselves and tell something about ourselves.”
Russell frowned. “Well, we should get to know everyone,” he thought. “Maybe we’ll learn about dinosaurs afterward.”
When it was Russell’s turn to introduce himself, he said, “I’m Russell. I am excited to learn everything—especially about trains and dinosaurs.”
“That’s great, Russell,” Mrs. Wilson said. Russell smiled. He was sure they’d be learning about trains and dinosaurs soon.
But they didn’t. They ate a snack and played with blocks shaped like circles, triangles, and squares.
“Mrs. Wilson, when are we going to learn about dinosaurs and trains?” Russell asked.
“Not right now, Russell,” she said. “Now it’s time to read a story.”
“Is it about dinosaurs?”
“No, Russell.”
After the story they learned about the alphabet. Then it was time to go home.
Russell was mad.
He frowned out the window on the bus. He ran home from the bus stop and stormed through the front door. He ran into his room and buried his head in a blanket.
Mom came in and put her hand on Russell’s head. “How was your first day?” she asked.
“Terrible. I’m never going to learn anything, and I’m not going back. All we did today was play with blocks and read stories.”
“Well, Russell, it’s just your first day,” Mom said.
Russell sat up and looked at Mom. “I want to learn about dinosaurs and trains and reading—now.”
Mom sat next to Russell on the bed. “You can’t learn everything at once. Learning takes time. And the more you learn now, the more you’ll be able to learn later.”
“What do you mean?” Russell asked.
“Well, you need to learn the alphabet before you can learn to read. And you need to learn to read before you can read about the things you’re interested in,” she said.
Russell thought about it. Maybe there were other things to learn about than only dinosaurs and trains. “Well, I guess I’ll try school again tomorrow,” he said.
Mom smiled at him.
“But, Mom, do you think we could get a book from the library about dinosaurs?”
“I definitely think we can do that.”

Fifty-one years ago I heard William J. Critchlow Jr., then president of the South Ogden Stake who would later become an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve, speak to the brethren of the general priesthood session of conference and retell a story concerning trust, honor, and duty. May I share the story with you. Its simple lesson applies to us today, as it did then.
“[Young] Rupert stood by the side of the road watching an unusual number of people hurry past. At length he recognized a friend. ‘Where are all of you going in such a hurry?’ he asked.
“The friend paused. ‘Haven’t you heard?’ he said.
“‘I’ve heard nothing,’ Rupert answered.
“‘Well,’ continued [the] friend, ‘the King has lost his royal emerald! Yesterday he attended a wedding of the nobility and wore the emerald on the slender golden chain around his neck. In some way the emerald became loosened from the chain. Everyone is searching, for the King has offered a reward … to the one who finds it. Come, we must hurry.’
“‘But I cannot go without asking Grandmother,’ faltered Rupert.
“‘Then I cannot wait. I want to find the emerald,’ replied his friend.
“Rupert hurried back to the cabin at the edge of the woods to seek his grandmother’s permission. ‘If I could find it we could leave this hut with its dampness and buy a piece of land up on the hillside,’ he pleaded with Grandmother.
“But his grandmother shook her head. ‘What would the sheep do?’ she asked. ‘Already they are restless in the pen, waiting to be taken to the pasture, and please do not forget to take them to water when the sun shines high in the heavens.’
“Sorrowfully, Rupert took the sheep to the pasture, and at noon he led them to the brook in the woods. There he sat on a large stone by the stream. ‘If I could only have had a chance to look for the King’s emerald!’ he thought. Turning his head to gaze down at the sandy bottom of the brook, suddenly he stared into the water. What was it? It could not be! He leaped into the water, and his gripping fingers held something that was green with a slender bit of gold chain [that had been broken]. ‘The King’s emerald!’ he shouted. ‘It must have been flung from the chain when the King [astride his horse galloped across the bridge spanning the stream and the current carried] it here.’
“With shining eyes Rupert ran to his grandmother’s hut to tell her of his great find. ‘Bless you, my boy,’ she said, ‘but you never would have found it if you had not been doing your duty, herding the sheep.’ And Rupert knew that this was the truth.” (In Conference Report, Oct. 1955, 86; paragraphing, capitalization, and punctuation altered.)
The lesson to be learned from this story is found in the familiar couplet: “Do [your] duty; that is best; Leave unto [the] Lord the rest!” (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, “The Legend Beautiful,” in The Complete Poetical Works of Longfellow [1893], 258).

When I was 33 years old, my husband died of a brain tumor. Suddenly I was a single parent raising our three children alone. It was a challenging time in my life, but the Lord’s counsel that “all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good” (D&C 122:7) gave me the courage to go on.

I was raised in a family that made family home evening a priority. In order to make it home in time on Mondays, we would go straight home from school without making plans to be with friends. Personal tasks, such as homework, were completed following family home evening. There really was nothing that took precedence over this special time for our family to be together.
Family home evening made an impact on us growing up not only because of the priority we placed on it but also because we worked together to make it happen. We rotated who would give the lesson, who would prepare the refreshments, and who would say the opening and closing prayers. We didn’t just listen to lessons but also had opportunities to be instructors. As a result, I was blessed to obtain a knowledge and testimony of the gospel and to have strengthened family ties.
Because family home evening has become a habit in my life, I look forward to the blessings it will bring when I have a family of my own.
Chieko Kobe, Japan

Kendrick Pozen, 15, of Birmingham, England, was awarded the English School Cycling Award Gold Medal by the mayor. He and his friends cycled 400 miles in nine days through the mountains of Wales. They battled bad weather and wind on the trip. Kendrick also enjoys running for his school’s cross-country team. In addition, he enjoys studying about computers and chemistry.