Gospel Story Finder

My eldest son was always a healthy, obedient, and focused child in the ways of the Lord. When the time came to serve a mission, he was prepared. I remember him saying that he had always planned to be a missionary and we, as his parents, were happy and grateful. He was always a loving child and had a wonderful sense of humor that charmed everyone who knew him.
A year and a half after serving an honorable mission, he was attending college with defined goals for his life, preparing for a profession, meeting an eternal companion, and starting a family. I was the happiest and most peaceful mother to have such a focused, loved, and cherished son.
On May 2, 2022, while I was working from home, I received news that would forever change my life and that of my family. My eldest son had drowned at a beach. It couldn’t be true! Did I hear wrong? Was it a joke? No, it was real. For a moment, I felt like I was falling into an endless abyss. Then the thought came to me that my son was already on the other side of the veil.
I went to my room and knelt and prayed to Heavenly Father like never before. I didn’t ask why. I didn’t complain. I simply asked for strength. I did it with so much faith and certainty that from that moment, everything passed in slow motion.
I cried for my beloved son, but at the same time, I felt that everything would be okay. I felt calm. I thought of the temple, the covenants I made there with my husband, and the promises given to my family.
From that moment, I had the strength to comfort my younger son, be a loving companion to my devastated husband, and I fully, and without any doubt, believe that families can be eternal. I understood that my son had moved to the other side of the veil, but he continued to be and still is my beloved son. I felt and recognized that his time on earth had ended, but that one day I could embrace him again and we would be together forever.

Jason’s 13-year-old brother, Alex, has autism. That means he has a difficult time dealing with changes and interacting with others. “He’s smart, but he thinks slowly,” Jason explains. “He’s gentle and softhearted. He usually gives smiles and hugs.” But he can also get upset, so Jason has learned how to calm him down, and when to get help from an adult. He has also helped Alex learn to say “sorry” or “excuse me,” because sometimes he will eat too fast and burp, or bump into people without meaning to.

I can attest to the truth of President Snow’s statement. Relief Society has always been comprised of those who put others first and self last. I remember that when I was a small boy during the Depression, my mother was the secretary-treasurer of the ward Relief Society. Back then dues were paid to assist those in need. Mother was not really a bookkeeper, so Dad would help her. The individual contributions were never so much as a dollar, but rather would be a quarter, a dime, a nickel, a few pennies.

I learned many lessons from my mother. I must have been a very active boy, for Mother was always telling me, “Slow down, Tommy, slow down. You’re on the verge of Saint Vitus’ dance!” You know, I never did know what Saint Vitus’ dance was. All I knew was that Mother said I was on the verge of it—and the way she spoke the words, I assumed it was a drastic ailment.

Since we lived just a block or two from the railroad tracks, frequently men, unemployed, without funds for food, would leave the train and come to our house for something to eat. Such men were always polite. They offered to do some work for the food. Indelibly imprinted on my mind is the picture of a gaunt and hungry man standing at our kitchen door, hat in hand, pleading for food. Mother would welcome such a visitor and would direct him to the kitchen sink to wash up while she prepared food for him to eat. She never skimped on quality or quantity; the visitor ate exactly the same lunch as did my father. As he wolfed down the food, Mother took the opportunity to counsel him to return to his home and his family. When he left the table, he had been nourished physically and spiritually. These men never failed to say thank you. Tears in their eyes revealed ever so silently the gratitude of their hearts.

Just before my ordination to the office of a deacon in the Aaronic Priesthood, an important event transpired in our family. Early one evening Dad received a telephone call. At the conclusion of the call, he privately visited with my mother. She immediately began to tidy up the house, a sure sign we were going to have visitors. In a short while three well-dressed gentlemen knocked at our front door. Before we could tell who the callers were, mother whisked us to the rear of the house and shut the doors to the living room. After a few minutes of discussion with the men, Dad came and asked Mother to join them in the living room. Mom’s departure allowed me the opportunity to go into the kitchen and sit on the floor with my ear next to the living room door to hear what was being said in the next room. It was soon apparent that my dad was receiving a call to serve as the bishop of our ward. What a shock to a prospective deacon!

My great-grandfather Henry Ballard joined the Church in February 1849 in Thatcham, England, as a 17-year-old. To pay for his voyage to America, Henry contracted his services for two years to a company owned in part by Lorenzo and Erastus Snow. He was hired to drive a herd of sheep west to the Salt Lake Valley. Henry described his entrance into the valley in the following words:

“In October as I drove the sheep down little mountain and through the mouth of Emigration Canyon, I first beheld the Salt Lake Valley. While I rejoiced in viewing the ‘Promised Land,’ I lived in fear that someone might see me. I hid myself behind bushes all day until after dark for the rags I had on did not cover my body and I was ashamed to be thus exposed. After dark I crossed over the field to a house where a light was shining … and timidly knocked on the door. Fortunately, a man answered the door and the candle light did not expose me to the view of the other members of his household. I begged for clothes to cover my naked body so that I might continue my journey and locate my parents. I was given some clothing and the next day continued my journey and arrived in Salt Lake City 16th October, 1852, feeling very thankful to God that I had reached my future home in safety.”7

Not since I left France in 1965 had I personally known another missionary called to serve there, until Sister Marian Ream departed from our ward for Paris in the winter of 1978. I wrote her letters of encouragement, and she responded with postcards telling me of the progress of the mission.
The following summer I was startled to find enclosed with her letter a picture of me and a junior companion taken in Versailles in 1964. Where had she found this picture?
“Dear Gladys,” her letter read, “A strange thing happened last week. We were at the Desmurs home to talk with them and get some copies of the Book of Mormon they had for us. When they found out I had always been a member of the Church, Sister Desmurs stood on a chair in her front room and got this picture down. She pointed to the missionary on the right and asked me if I knew her. I looked for a minute and said, ‘I’m not sure, but I think it’s Sister Farmer who lives in my ward in Provo, Utah.’ The whole family was very excited to think I might have identified this missionary. Sister Desmurs had tears in her eyes. She said it was because of the testimony of this sister that she had joined the Church. She had asked countless missionaries since if they could identify and help locate her.”
Sister Ream went on to describe the family to me. The father, now second counselor in the ward bishopric, had joined the Church several months after his wife’s baptism. The entire family of seven was active and very helpful to the missionaries.

Illustration by Joel Castillo
I was introduced to the Church by my aunt and uncle, who live near my home. I was only seven years old at the time, and I loved going to church to be with the other children. My parents were not members, but they did not mind that I went to church every Sunday with my aunt and uncle. My parents said that it was much better for me to be involved with a church that taught of Jesus Christ than to be out in the streets getting into trouble.
The missionaries came often to our home to teach us. My parents loved the discussions, but they did not want to embrace the gospel. They said that they were not ready because entering the waters of baptism is a serious commitment. The missionaries continued to come to our home, but they always left disappointed with the answers my parents gave. I knew, however, that one day they would be baptized.
When I turned eight, I was ready to make the baptismal covenant. My mom asked me if that was what I really wanted. She told me that once I was baptized, I could not change my mind and that baptism would change my entire life. I said that being baptized was something I had dreamed about since I first started going to Primary.
After I was baptized and confirmed, I continued to go to church, but my parents rarely came to our Primary activities. It was painful for me to see all the other children with their parents. But I hoped that one day they would be baptized and we would be sealed in the temple, and my greatest dream would become a reality.
When I was a teenager, the missionaries continued to teach my parents, but they still did not want to be baptized. However, they would occasionally come to church, which gave me a little hope. I still dreamed that my parents would join the Church, but I began to think that it would never come to pass in this life.
Then one beautiful Sunday morning when I was 17, my mother again went to church with me. On our way home she told me something that I can still hear in my thoughts and in my heart. She said that she had decided to be baptized. I was shocked! After waiting for so long, I wondered if this was real. In May 2010, my mother entered the waters of baptism. It was such a happy day.
After the baptism I looked at my father and said, “You’re the only one left now.” He responded that it would not be soon because he didn’t feel the desire to be baptized. I was again sad—part of my dream had come true, but the rest seemed far away. Although it was hard, I was certain that things would change. To my great happiness, my prayers were again answered two months later when my father entered the waters of baptism. It was the greatest joy of my life. I felt as though the heavens were singing.
After my parents joined the Church, I realized that another part of my dream had come true but that we needed to be sealed for eternity in the house of the Lord. My parents told me they didn’t feel ready, that they didn’t have enough money for the long trip to the Recife Brazil Temple, and that they didn’t have anyone to watch our home while we were gone. I was sad, but I kept praying for that blessing, knowing that the Lord would answer my prayers.
In time my mother began to feel a strong desire to go to the temple, even though my father continued to put it off. After many conversations with the bishop, they both decided to go. I felt so much joy I could barely contain it!
In September 2011, my mother, my father, and I went to the temple for the first time in our lives. I was sealed to my parents the next day, and I can truly say that, after 11 years of waiting, it was the best day of my life.
I am very grateful to Heavenly Father for everything He has given to me, especially for answering my prayers and fulfilling my greatest dream: the dream of seeing my whole family in the house of the Lord.

Perhaps I can place in clearer perspective all that I have said about the oath and covenant of the priesthood by relating a story based on a true experience.

The son of a very wealthy man was called to serve a full-time mission. He entered the mission field and began his work. At first things went well; however, as he met rejections and as other challenges of finding and teaching surfaced, the young man’s faith wavered.

Mission associates gave encouragement, but it did not seem to help. One day the young man announced to the mission president that he was abandoning his call; he was returning home. The mission president did all within his power to dissuade the missionary. It was to no avail.

When word of the missionary’s decision reached the father, he obtained permission to visit his son in the mission field. In one of many tense conversations, the father said, “My son, I have lived for the day when you would serve a full-time mission. I did so because I love you and I love God. And I know that there is no work more essential than that of teaching truth to the peoples of the world.”

Somewhat sobered by his father’s words, the son meekly replied, “Dad, I didn’t realize that a mission meant so much to you.”

“It means everything to me,” the father declared. Then he added with some emotion, “All my life I have worked and saved with one person in mind: you. And my one goal has been to provide you a decent inheritance.”

“But Dad,” the son interjected, “the work is difficult and I don’t enjoy …”

The father didn’t allow him to finish his sentence. Instead he asked, “How can I trust my businesses to your care if you cannot prove yourself by serving the Lord for two short years?”

There was an awkward pause as the son pondered the father’s question and studied his anxious countenance.

Then with measured words, the father promised, “My son, my only heir, if you will be faithful in this calling and prove yourself worthy in every respect, all that I possess will be yours.”

Noticeably touched by these earnest pleadings, the son rose to his feet, embraced his father, and sobbed, “I will stay.”

The son did stay in the mission field; he did serve faithfully from that day forward. And yes, in due time, he received from his father the promised inheritance, even all that his father had to share.

Moving from his hometown hadn’t been easy for Charlie. After Dad had been offered a better job, the family decided to move. Charlie’s seven-year-old brother, Justin, didn’t mind the move. Justin made friends wherever he went.
But going into a new sixth-grade class in the middle of the school year was hard for Charlie. Most of the kids had known each other since kindergarten. No one seemed interested in getting to know him. So Charlie was excited when Ryan and a couple other guys in his class asked him to go to the mall with them after school. They were going to look for some equipment for baseball season, which was only two weeks away.
As the boys walked into a sports equipment store, Charlie pulled a catcher’s mitt from the wall and tried it on.
“That’s a cool mitt,” Ryan said.
“I know,” Charlie said. “Too bad I don’t have any money.”
“Just stick it in your backpack,” Ryan said. “Nobody’s watching.”
“What? You just want me to take it?” Charlie asked.
“They overcharge for everything in this store,” Ryan said. “We probably pay too much for a lot of things.”
Charlie wanted that mitt. Baseball season started soon, and he needed a new catcher’s mitt. A lump formed in his throat. He knew he shouldn’t take the mitt.
“Go ahead. Take it,” Ryan said.
“Not right now,” Charlie said. “Maybe later.”
Charlie hung the glove back on the wall and turned around. The boys were laughing.
“Baseball season is coming up,” Ryan reminded Charlie as they left the store. “You’re going to need a glove soon.”
Charlie couldn’t concentrate on his homework that evening. He still wanted that mitt. He started to wonder if Ryan was right. At dinner, Mom and Dad noticed something was wrong.
“How are things at school, Charlie?” Dad asked.
“I got 100 percent on my spelling test,” Justin said.
“That’s great,” Dad said.
“How about you, Charlie?” Mom asked. “How’s that essay coming along?”
“I’m almost done,” Charlie muttered. “I’ll go finish it now.”
Charlie’s teacher had assigned him to write an essay about freedom. Charlie pulled out his notebook, picked up his pen, and began reading from his textbook. “Freedom has two parts—agency and responsibility.”
Charlie had learned about agency at church, but he never really thought about it being connected with freedom. He started thinking about the catcher’s mitt. He knew he shouldn’t take it. He decided he wouldn’t—no matter what the other guys thought.
The next day at school, Charlie told Ryan he wasn’t going to take the catcher’s mitt.
“What’s the big deal?” Ryan asked. “They’ve got hundreds of them.”
“Stealing is wrong, even if the store has a lot,” Charlie said.
Ryan laughed as Charlie walked away.
That night, Charlie told his parents how he had been tempted to take the mitt.
“What stopped you?” Dad asked.
“I just knew it wasn’t honest,” Charlie said. “I knew it would be the wrong choice.”
Dad placed his hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “We’re proud of you,” he said.
Even though Charlie still hadn’t made any good friends in his new class yet, he felt happy as he lay in bed that night. With baseball season just around the corner, he knew he would have a chance to make some new friends.

When I was about seven or eight years old, my mother directed the ward road show. Early one Saturday morning, my sisters and I were at the meetinghouse with her for a rehearsal. Most of the youth were dressed in what was considered fashionable back then: torn jeans, cutoff shorts, and ragged tie-dyed T-shirts. My mother realized she needed some tape from the library and left for a minute. When she returned, she was glowing.
“Guess who I just saw in the hall?” she said excitedly. “President Kimball!” A hush fell over the room.
“He and his wife are here to speak at a mission conference. He said he would gladly meet with any of you!”
I was so excited! I was going to meet the prophet! I looked around, expecting to see a room full of eager young men and women. But, instead, most of the youth hung their heads.
“What’s the matter?” my mom asked.
One young woman in short cutoffs spoke up, “I don’t think the prophet would approve of these shorts I’m wearing. I’m embarrassed to meet him.”
“I don’t think I’m dressed appropriately to shake the hand of a prophet,” said a young man dressed in ragged jeans and a tattered tank top.
I couldn’t believe they would pass up this opportunity! I couldn’t wait to meet President Kimball, and I rushed into the hall, along with my sisters and my mother.
I still remember how his soft, weathered hand felt as it embraced my small handshake, and the kindly twinkle in his eye as he bent low to meet me. I felt warm inside knowing that this man was a prophet on the earth. My tender young testimony was strengthened as I found him to be as good and warm as I imagined he would be.
Until I was a teenager myself, I didn’t understand why those young women and men would not go to meet President Kimball. As I got older and made my own choices about clothing, I thought a lot about the youth in my mom’s road show. They were good kids. They were active in the Church. The impression they gave with the clothing they wore simply didn’t reflect who they were inside, and they knew it. Because of that one choice, they missed out on a great opportunity.

Every man and woman in this Church knows something of the price paid by our forebears for their faith. I have been reminded of this whenever I read the narrative of Mary Goble Pay, my wife’s grandmother. I think I would like to share a few words from that story of a 13-year-old girl. She tells of her childhood in Brighton, that delightful city on the south coast of England, where the soft, green hills of Sussex roll down to the sea.
It was there that her family was baptized. Their conversion came naturally because the Spirit whispered in their hearts that it was true. But there were critical relatives and neighbors and even mobs to deride and inflame others against them. It took courage, that rare quality described as moral courage, to stand up and be counted, to be baptized and recognized as a Mormon.
The family traveled to Liverpool, where with some 900 others they boarded the sailing vessel Horizon.
As the wind caught the sails, they sang, “Farewell, My Native Land, Farewell.” After six weeks at sea—to cover the distance covered today by a jet plane in six hours—they landed at Boston and then traveled by steam train to Iowa City for fitting out.
There they purchased two yoke of oxen, one yoke of cows, a wagon, and a tent. They were assigned to travel with and assist one of the handcart companies.
Here in Iowa City also occurred their first tragedy. Their youngest child, less than two years of age, suffering from exposure, died and was buried in a grave never again visited by a member of the family.
Now let me give you the very words of this 13-year-old girl as I share a few lines from her story:
“We traveled from 15 to 25 miles [25 to 40 km] a day … until we got to the Platte River. … We caught up with the hand cart companies that day. We watched them cross the river. There were great lumps of ice floating down the river. It was bitter cold. … We went back to the camp and went to prayers, [and] … sang ‘Come, Come, Ye Saints No Toil Nor Labor Fear.’ I wondered what made my mother cry [that night]. … The next morning my little sister was born. It was the 23rd of September. We named her Edith. She lived six weeks and died. … [She] was buried at the last crossing of [the] Sweetwater.
“[We ran into heavy snow. I became lost in the snow.] My feet and legs were frozen. [The men] rubbed me with snow. They put my feet in a bucket of water. The pain was terrible. …
“When we arrived at Devils Gate it was bitter cold. We left lots of our things there. … My brother James … was as well as he ever was when he went to bed [that night]. In the morning he was dead. …
“My feet were frozen[;] also my brother Edwin and my sister Caroline had their feet frozen. It was nothing but snow [snow everywhere and the bitter Wyoming wind]. We could not drive the pegs in our tents. … We did not know what would become of us. [Then] one night a man came to our camp and told us … Brigham Young had sent men and teams to help us. … We sang songs, some danced and some cried. …
“My mother had never got well. … She died between the little and big mountains. … She was 43 years old. …
“We arrived in Salt Lake City nine o’clock at night the 11th of December 1856. Three out of four that were living were frozen. My mother was dead in the wagon. …
“Early next morning … Brigham Young … came. … When he saw our condition, our feet frozen and our mother dead, tears rolled down his cheeks. …
“The doctor amputated my toes … [while] the sisters were dressing my mother for her grave. … When my feet were fixed they [carried] … us in to see our mother for the last time. Oh how did we stand it. That afternoon she was buried. …
“[I have thought often of my mother’s words before we left England.] ‘Polly, I want to go to Zion while my children are small, so they can be raised in the Gospel of Christ for I know this is the true church.’”

Although the hurricane was frightening when they were in the middle of it, most of the youth of Charleston learned something unique about themselves. They discovered that material possessions didn’t mean as much as they thought. Christina said, “When my dad went out to see if our house was still there, I thought, ‘It doesn’t matter because I know my whole family is all right.’ We would be glad if the house was okay, but if it wasn’t, we were still okay.”

About this same time we had a neighbor who dominated and sometimes abused his wife. He roared like a lion, and she cowered like a lamb. When they walked to church, she always walked a few steps behind him. That made my mother mad. She was a strong woman who would not accept such domination, and she was angry to see another woman abused in that way. I think of her reaction whenever I see men misusing their authority to gratify their pride or exercise control or compulsion upon their wives in any degree of unrighteousness (see D&C 121:37).

One of the guidelines in For the Strength of Youth states: “Through your dress and appearance, you can show the Lord that you know how precious your body is. You can show that you are a disciple of Jesus Christ.”

After studying these words, one young woman realized that perhaps some of her clothes were not completely modest. Through prayer and study of the scriptures, she was reminded that she was a disciple of Jesus Christ and that, as His representative, she needed to make some changes. She didn’t want to have anything in her wardrobe that was a temptation, so she went through her closet and drawers and got rid of anything that wasn’t modest. She said, “I would be smart if I didn’t even try on anything in stores that I knew I shouldn’t wear. Why be tempted?” That firm resolve showed the Lord that she respected her body, and she drove down a deep stake for modesty.

Another young woman in the class recognized that her choices in clothing were affecting the way her little sister was dressing. A line in For the Strength of Youth states: “Your dress and grooming send messages about you to others and influence the way you and others act.” She decided to make some changes in her clothing, realizing that she had a responsibility to be a good example to her little sister. She drove her stake down more deeply and influenced her sister’s clothing choices.

One evening in my youth, my mother sat with me at the foot of her bed and spoke fervently of the importance of living the Word of Wisdom. “I know from the experiences of others, from years ago,” she said, “the loss of spirituality and sensitivity that comes from not following the Word of Wisdom.” She looked right into my eyes, and I felt her words penetrate my heart: “Promise me, Ronnie, today [she called me Ronnie], that you will always live the Word of Wisdom.” I solemnly made that promise to her, and I have held to it all these years.

That commitment served me well when I was in my youth and in later years when I was in business circles where substances flowed freely. I made a decision in advance to follow God’s laws, and I never had to revisit it. The Lord has said, “I, the Lord, am bound when ye do what I say; but when ye do not what I say, ye have no promise.”6 What is He saying to those who abide by the Word of Wisdom? That we will have the promise of health, strength, wisdom, knowledge, and angels to protect us.7

Jan. 26, 1854 A woman came from River Street, Boston, after me to go and see a sick man. … I went. He said he had faith. I administered to him and got him up.

Jan. 27, 1854 I went again (took my bottle of oil). After performing the Ordinance, he got up, walked around the house. I told him to come to South Boston on Sunday and be baptized, expecting him to take a cab.

Jan. 29, 1854 My friend Brother Joseph Bull of the Steamship Niagara was a welcome visitor with me every time they made port (in East Boston pier). The ship was in Saturday night. I gave Brother Bull an invite to the meeting. We were expecting to see a cab, but to our surprise the man came afoot with a bundle of clothes. We then went to the Bay near the Asylum. The ice cracked and opened wide enough (scarce) to perform the ordinance and the water was deep enough above the second layer of ice, and I baptized George H. Pay. Brother Bull confirmed him; then Brother Bull gave us a good discourse.

Luis Quispe, of La Paz, Bolivia, may have sight in only one eye, but he has a clear vision of his goal to be self-reliant and provide for his family. Though he faces economic challenges and health problems, Luis is confident in his future. He does everything he can to help himself while acknowledging his dependence on his Father in Heaven. “I have learned that nothing is impossible when you have our Father’s help,” he says.
For the past eight years, this 46-year-old father of six has alternated work and study to gain a degree in agronomy. Luis’s years of study involved traveling about 60 miles (97 km) from his small town of Achacachi to attend the Universidad Mayor de San Andres. Despite this sacrifice, Luis completed his education successfully and is now focused on his next goal of obtaining his own farm.
Luis is a good example of self-reliance in temporal things, such as work, welfare, and food storage. But the principle of self-reliance is as much spiritual as it is temporal. Elder Robert D. Hales of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles has defined self-reliance as “taking responsibility for our own spiritual and temporal welfare and for those whom Heavenly Father has entrusted to our care.”1
Luis Quispe has seen his perseverance and trust in the Lord result in temporal blessings of work, a college degree, and a stronger family. In turn, those temporal gains have strengthened his faith. He follows the admonition of President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985): “No true Latter-day Saint, while physically or emotionally able, will voluntarily shift the burden of his own or his family’s well-being to someone else. So long as he can, under the inspiration of the Lord and with his own labors, he will supply himself and his family with the spiritual and temporal necessities of life.”4

My father, Conrad Jeppsen, served as a bishop for twenty-two years. He was also a great teacher, and he taught me many things. He taught me the principle of honesty. For example, I remember jumping up and down with joy when I found a dollar bill on the floor of a store. In those days, a dollar was really something. I would be wealthy! I grabbed it and said, “Look what I found!”
Dad said, “Is it yours?”
I said, “No, it isn’t mine.”
“If it isn’t yours, let’s take it to the clerk. Somebody will come back for it.”
I took the dollar to the clerk and learned a lesson. Since then, whenever I’ve found things, Father’s question has come to my mind: “Is it yours?”

The family finally arrived at the refugee camp in Batdambang, but because it was located in Cambodia, Brother Thach requested that they be transferred to safer refuge at Panat Nikom, Thailand, where they arrived in May, two months after leaving Vietnam. From Thailand, they relocated to the United States where Minhdan Thach was baptized. She now serves as a Relief Society counselor in the Taylorsville 40th (Vietnamese) Branch, Taylorsville Utah Central Stake. Brother Thach, second counselor in the branch elders quorum presidency, is now an electronic test technician with a national engineering and research company with a manufacturing plant and offices in Utah.

I used to think I had to fix all my weaknesses at the same time.
When I was serving as a missionary, I really struggled with this mindset. I spoke with my mission president about my feelings.
He reminded me of a truth I’ll never forget. We read Ether 12:27 together: “I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.”
This scripture helped me understand that I can change. I decided to start with just one thing and give the Lord time to change my weaknesses into strengths.