Gospel Story Finder

This story happened in the Philippines.
“Mano po! Hello!” Arkin said to Grandma when he got home. He greeted her by bowing and pressing the back of her hand to his forehead.
Grandma smiled. “Your dad is waiting for you with the fish. Hurry and go help him!”
Arkin’s dad was a construction worker. He worked very hard to earn money for their family. But they didn’t have much. And sometimes Dad couldn’t find work. When that happened, Arkin helped him sell homemade tinapa (smoked fish).
Arkin and Dad put the packs of tinapa in a basket and carried it outside.
“Thank you for helping me,” said Dad. “I hope we sell enough to pay for a ride to church this week.”
Arkin’s family lived in a small village near rice fields and a fishpond. It was just him, Dad, Grandma, and his older sister. They were far away from the chapel. To get to church, they had to pay to ride a tricycle (a motorcycle with a sidecar). If they didn’t have the money, they had to walk for two hours.
“I have faith that Heavenly Father will help us,” Arkin said. “Let’s go!”
First they went to their neighbor Aling Nena’s house. She always bought tinapa from them.
“Good afternoon!” Arkin said.
Aling Nena opened the gate for them. “Oh, my two favorite people are here!” she said with a smile. She gave Dad some money, and he gave her two packs of tinapa.
“Thank you for buying from us!” Arkin said. “It really means a lot.”
Arkin and Dad walked back out to the street.
“Tinapa! Tinapa! Delicious tinapa!” Arkin called. More people bought fish from them.
It was hot outside, but Arkin didn’t mind. He and Dad sang “Count Your Blessings” as they walked. Every day was a blessing for them!
They kept singing and selling. Arkin almost didn’t notice that their basket was empty.
“Look, Dad! We sold all the fish!” Arkin said.
Dad smiled. “Yes, it’s a blessing.”
Arkin was glad they had sold so much tinapa. It would help pay some of their bills, and there was enough for a ride to church on Sunday!
But tomorrow was Saturday, and that was when they helped clean the church. So early the next morning, Arkin and Dad woke up to start the long walk to the church building. They always walked to save money for Sunday.
“Aren’t you tired of cleaning your church every Saturday?” asked Grandma before they left.
Dad put his hand on Grandma’s shoulder. “Cleaning the church is one way we serve the Lord.”
Arkin nodded. “We get blessings for cleaning the church. Heavenly Father helps our tinapa sell out so we can buy food!”
While they walked, Arkin and Dad sang more hymns. Then they worked hard to clean the church. Arkin wiped the dust from all the windows and chairs. Dad swept and mopped the floor.
When they were done, the bishop shared pandesal (sweet rolls) with everyone who helped. Arkin ate his snack with a big smile. It would be a long walk home, but his heart felt joyful and thankful. When they came back to church tomorrow, the building would be clean for everyone to enjoy and remember Jesus Christ. He was happy he could help.
Illustration by Margarida Esteves

In 1945, Cynthia Mallory obtained a summer job at a tourist lodge in southern Utah as a way to earn enough money to help her through her third year of college. Several of her fellow workers, also college students, were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. When they invited her to join a weekly discussion group to talk about religion, Cynthia, who was not a member of the Church, accepted because she had let her spiritual life give way to other interests during her years away from home. The group was small, led by a seminary teacher working for the summer as a tour bus driver.
She listened to the discussions and was fascinated by them but had no thought of changing religions—until they discussed the Holy Ghost. Cynthia walked to a grassy open space near the lodge, where she determined to test the promise made to her that if she would pray to the Father in the name of Jesus Christ to know the truth, she would be answered through the power of the Holy Ghost. It was dark, but the lights from the lodge made her feel safe as she knelt in the shadows to pray. Even before she finished asking the question, a light seemed to be turned on within her. The answer came clearly: what she had heard about Jesus Christ was true!
The direction of Cynthia’s life changed in that moment. She knew what to do: she would be baptized. She was exhilarated to realize that, guided by an unseen hand, she had made her first independent decision. Sensing the Savior’s approval and love, she resolved to keep his commandments.
Today, Cynthia remains devoted to the Lord and his gospel. Her testimony, strengthened by the Holy Ghost, is an ever increasing source of joy.

READER 2: One 18-year-old boy stood on the deck of a troop ship out in the Pacific.
READER 1: He didn’t really want to be there.
READER 2: He really wanted to be on a baseball diamond. For almost all of his 18 years, he had wanted to be on a baseball diamond, and five major league scouts were considering him.
READER 1: Then Uncle Sam called. Suddenly he didn’t have a bat in his hand.
READER 4: He had a rifle, and he was on a troop ship.
READER 2: The water was almost like glass. The ship lay there still and calm.
READER 4: Three thousand men were crowded onto the bow of the ship singing “Abide with Me.”
READER 2: Then the chaplain started speaking:
READER 3: Now, men, I’m not going to kid you tonight. You’ve been training for what you’re going to do for the last year, and you know full well what’s before you. All our statistics tell us that a lot of you aren’t going to make it. About half of you will lay your lives down in this attack. What I’m saying, men, is that half of you will be standing before your Maker tomorrow morning before 8 o’clock. Are you ready?
READER 1: And the boy Paul, who wanted most of all to be a big league baseball star, suddenly wanted very much to know the answers to certain questions: Does God really live? Why am I out here? Does he care about me?
READER 2: The whistle went off at 5 o’clock in the morning, and he was assigned to the seventh wave.
READER 4: The first six waves didn’t even get ashore. They were completely blown out of the water.
READER 5: By then the tide was in, and I had to wade ashore in water clear up to my chest. I had to push through the dead bodies of my friends. I was asking a lot of questions. Why’s that wonderful 19-year-old kid lying face down in the water there? Why? Finally I was pulled ashore and I got about 10 feet on the beach where I dug a small—a mighty small—hole. There I took off my helmet and started to ask the Lord why? “Why, Lord? Why should I be out here? Do you live? Are you real? Is Jesus Christ really a Savior? Is Joseph Smith a prophet?” And then it came, that sweet, inner commitment and verification. It was Spirit touching spirit, saying in a solid voice: “It is so.” A testimony was born because I asked with real intent to know. I really wanted to know. “Are you there, Lord? Will you tell me?” And he did.
(Music: 20 second organ interlude “Abide with Me”)

I telephoned a man last week. He is retired. He has served as a mission president, and he and his wife are now serving as missionaries. I asked him if they would be willing to go to preside over a new temple. He broke down with emotion. He was overcome. He could not talk. He and his wife will leave their children and grandchildren for another long period to serve the Lord in another capacity. Will they miss their grandchildren? Of course they will. But they will go, and they will serve faithfully.

While the whole Bennion family is special, each of the children stands out with his or her own unique talents and personality. One time when Kiera was three years old, her parents took her to see her cousins perform in a band in which they played violins. That night at home, Kiera walked in with her mother’s high heel shoe tucked under her chin and a screwdriver in her hand, pretending to play the shoe like a violin. Now she takes lessons on a real violin and on a piano, but it’s easy to see that her love for music started long ago.

Before the temple near their home was dedicated, Olivia invited her grandma to come with her to the temple open house.
I’m happy you came with us to the open house, Grandma.
Thank you for inviting me. I’ve been a little lonely since Grandpa passed away.
I miss him too.
Mom told me that when she and Dad come to the temple, they wear white clothes.
That’s right.
When you turn 12, you’ll get to come here and do baptisms for the dead.
I’m so excited!
Sealings will be performed in this room. Stand in front of this mirror and look at the mirror across the room. What do you see?
It’s as if we go on and on forever.
Just like our family, right? We’ll even see Grandpa again someday.
You’re right. If we keep the commandments, we can be with Grandpa and all of our family because we’ve been sealed in the temple.
Olivia and Grandma followed the tour guide into the temple’s celestial room.
I like how it feels in here. I feel happy.
I do too.
I love the temple, Grandma. Someday, when I’m older, I’ll come back and be married here. I’m happy that our whole family can be together forever—even Grandpa.
That’s right. I’m very thankful for the temple, for the open house, and for you.

It’s nice having one whole coach to yourself, especially if he’s your dad. It provides services you couldn’t expect from ordinary coaches. For example, Dene was really shaken when he had a kick blocked in one game. Brother Garner took him back out on the field after the game, while the stands were still emptying, and had him kick ball after ball from the same spot. He hit 48 before he missed one. Brother Garner then explained that it wasn’t his fault if a kick was blocked occasionally, and Dene went away with his confidence restored.

But Brother Garner didn’t leave it at that. He did something positive to help overcome the problem. He built a ten-foot-high barrier for Dene to kick over. As a result, Dene has learned to chip PATs or short field goals so high that Goliath would have a hard time blocking them.

Watoy paused under the colorful Filipino flag outside his school before heading inside.
“Good morning, class,” his teacher said. “It’s time for our morning prayer.”
All around, Watoy’s friends each touched their foreheads, chests, and shoulders to form the shape of a cross. Then they recited the prayer they always said at the beginning of class. As usual, Watoy didn’t join them. Instead, he closed his eyes, bowed his head, and said his own silent prayer. He prayed about different things each time, the way he was taught to pray at home and in Primary.
When he finished and looked up, he saw that his teacher was watching him with a confused expression on her face.
“May I talk to you after school?” she said.
Watoy swallowed and nodded. Was he in trouble?
When classes had ended for the day, Watoy’s teacher walked over to him.
“I see that you never cross yourself or recite our morning prayer,” she said. “Will you please tell me why?”
Watoy breathed a sigh of relief. His teacher wasn’t upset, just curious! He thought about how to answer.
“Well,” he began, “in my church, when we pray, we talk to Heavenly Father about many different things. And the cross reminds us of when Jesus died. But Jesus is not dead. He lives!”
His teacher thought about this for a moment and then nodded slowly.
“Thank you for sharing this with me,” she said.
As Watoy walked to football practice, he felt warm and good inside. He liked teaching others about Jesus Christ.

In 1990 we were living in the small town of Sale, in Victoria, Australia. We were happily busy with family, Church, and work commitments. On a beautiful summer Saturday just before Christmas, we decided to visit some parks and a favorite beach. After enjoying a wonderful day playing as a family, we packed everyone into the car and headed home. While driving, I momentarily fell asleep and caused a head-on car accident. After some moments of recovery, I looked around the vehicle. My wife, Maxine, had a badly broken leg and was struggling to breathe. She had a broken sternum. Our three daughters were in shock but thankfully appeared to be OK. I had some minor injuries. But our five-month-old son was unresponsive.
Amid the stress and confusion of that accident scene, our eldest daughter, 11-year-old Kate, said with urgency, “Dad, you need to give Jarom a blessing.” After some struggle, my daughters and I managed to get out of the car. Maxine couldn’t be moved. Carefully I picked Jarom up; then, while lying on the ground on my back, I gently placed him on my chest and gave him a priesthood blessing. By the time the ambulance arrived about 40 minutes later, Jarom was conscious.
That night I left three family members in the hospital and took a hushed taxi ride home with two of my daughters. Through the long night, I pled with Heavenly Father that my family and those injured in the other vehicle would recover. Mercifully, my prayers and fervently offered prayers by many others were answered. All were healed over time, a great blessing and tender mercy.
Yet I continued to have deep feelings of guilt and remorse for causing such a terrible accident. I would wake during the night and relive the horrific events. I struggled for years to forgive myself and to find peace. Then, as a priesthood leader, while assisting others to repent and helping them to feel the compassion, mercy, and love of the Savior, I realized that He could heal me.
The Savior’s healing and redeeming power applies to accidental mistakes, poor decisions, challenges, and trials of every kind—as well as to our sins. As I turned to Him, my feelings of guilt and remorse were gradually replaced with peace and rest.

In the fall of 1994, Lamont and Janice McDowell Gingerich bid good-bye to their children, left their home in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and headed for the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah. There they spent two weeks involved in “the most delightful, spiritually uplifting, and yet physically tiring training and activities sessions,” Sister Gingerich reports.
On 15 September, the Gingeriches headed for Guam. After a brief orientation, they continued on to Ebeye, a small island in the Kwajalein atoll. The island is about one kilometer long and about 110 meters wide. It is home to approximately 13,000 people.
“As a missionary couple, we helped with as many of the administrative and other duties as possible, thereby allowing the younger missionaries maximum time for proselyting activities,” Elder Gingerich says.
But the Gingeriches did more than that. Twice a week, they volunteered at the island hospital. Their work did not go unnoticed. In fact, after the members had waited almost a year, the mayor of the community finally granted permission for a meetinghouse to be built—primarily because of the Gingeriches’ community service work. Initially the community leader had been concerned about the perception that the only thing Church members wanted was to baptize people, but when he saw the missionaries volunteer their time, he realized that they truly cared about the community and local people.
“Couple missionaries also enjoy great success in helping less-active members come back to church,” Elder Gingerich observes. “The only problem this mission has with missionary couples is that there aren’t nearly enough of them to go around!”

Joel wheeled his new red bicycle expertly into the driveway, lowered its kickstand with his heel, and bounded into the kitchen. “Is Willie hungry yet, Mom?” he asked. “Do you think it’s time to feed him again?”
His mother, who was scraping carrots, nodded. “Yes, he’s been calling for his supper,” she answered.
Joel reached gently for the small box on top of the water heater in the laundry room. It was faintly warm to the touch, just about the right temperature for a baby bird. He lifted the top off the box. Willie, still quite featherless, crouched in one corner of his paper-napkin nest. But when the lid was lifted, the young bird craned his thin neck and was suddenly all mouth.
“You look like you’re hungry enough to eat a whole sack full of worms!” Joel said with a smile. Willie was important to Joel, because the boy lived with his parents at Crest View, a new apartment complex where the tenants were not permitted to keep a dog or a cat for a pet. But there was no restriction about keeping birds, and when Joel had rescued Willie from the front lawn several days ago, his first thought was, Now I have a pet!
“You know, Mom,” Joel confided as he spread newspapers on the kitchen floor, “I think I love Willie just about more than anything in the world.”
“More than your new bike?” Mom asked in amazement.
Joel frowned. “Well … that’s different. Everybody’s got a bike. But nobody else in Crest View has a baby sparrow that he rescued all by himself!” Willie had tumbled from his mother’s nest high on the corner light pole, and Joel had carried him home to the apartment in his hands.
From a cardboard carton, Joel took some grubs and worms and put them on the newspapers. Then, with a pair of tweezers, he carefully dropped these morsels into Willie’s gaping mouth. “I think Willie’s forgotten he’s an orphan, Mom. And when he gets bigger, we can buy a birdcage for him and I can keep him forever.”
“Forever is an awfully long time, Joel,” his mother replied quietly.
Joel glanced at her, puzzled by her thoughtful tone. “Do you mean I can’t keep Willie?” Joel asked.
“Willie is a wild creature, son,” Mom explained. “In a little while, he’ll want to be out-of-doors, to be free.”
But Joel lowered his eyes and set his jaw. No, he vowed silently, Willie is my pet, and I’m going to keep him forever!
As the summer days passed, Willie quickly acquired tail feathers and some soft gray down on his naked breast. It soon became obvious that his cardboard home was too cramped for him to live in much longer.
“We’ve just got to buy Willie a cage Mom,” Joel declared at last.
The supper dishes clinked in the sink, and his mother turned toward her son with a little smile. “I think Willie really wants to be free, Joel,” she reminded him softly.
“But, Mom, Willie doesn’t even know how to fly!” Joel protested. “Something might happen to him, something terrible!” The thought of it made Joel’s eyes sting.
He looked fondly at Willie. But something had changed, he had to admit. Willie’s eyes seemed dull. His feathers were droopy. He refused to chirp anymore. His appetite had waned. “Are you sure it would be all right if we let him go?” Joel asked at last.
It would really be easier if Mom would just order me to turn Willieloose, Joel thought. Then I wouldn’t have to decide what to do myself.
But Mom only smiled again and looked out the kitchen window at Joel’s bicycle. “Do you remember how you learned to ride your bike?” she asked.
Joel pondered a moment. What a silly question! “Well … I just tried!” he exclaimed indignantly. How well he could remember the first time he rode alone down Butler’s Hill—the wind tore at his hair, pressed the breath back in his throat. The thrill of that day rushed back to him. It was just like having wings, he realized. It was just like flying!
Without another word, Joel lifted the sparrow’s box down from its familiar place on the water heater and carried it out in front of the apartment. With tender fingers he lifted Willie from his napkin nest. The young bird hopped curiously across Joel’s open palm.
Joel held Willie a few inches above the grass. The bird tottered, spread his wings in vain, and plopped awkwardly onto the lawn. “You have to try,” Joel encouraged him. “You have to try, Willie.”
The next time, Willie spread his wings and landed gracefully several feet away. Then Joel picked Willie up again, lifted him high, and gave him a gentle boost into the evening air. The little bird sailed away, over the vacant lot across the street and out to the golden haze of wild clover at the edge of the road. “Good-bye, Willie,” Joel called softly. “Good-bye!”
Joel closed up the empty nest and returned to the kitchen where Mom was waiting. From the open window they could both hear Willie’s chirp grow fainter and fainter in the distance. Joel smiled to himself as he remembered that first ride down Butler’s Hill.
Suddenly he felt happy.
“Now Willie has wings, too,” he murmured.

In the Church-produced movie called The Windows of Heaven, the reality of faith as the moving force behind the payment of tithing is emphasized. Depicted in the film is the great financial dilemma faced by the Church during President Lorenzo Snow’s administration. The Church was deeply in debt, and there was no sign of relief. While seeking a solution, President Snow had several proposals presented to him, all of which involved a plan for seeking contributions from Church members. Feeling that the proposals were all unsatisfactory, he followed the promptings of the Spirit and journeyed to one of the hardest-pressed communities in the Church, St. George, Utah, which was experiencing its worst drought in thirty-five years.
Through inspiration, President Snow appealed to these desperate people to show their faith through the payment of tithing. By complying with his appeal, the windows of heaven (Mal. 3:10) were opened, literally, and the people were blessed.

Last time you tried that backward shot, the ball ended up in the tree.
Your turn to get the ladder, Matt.
Dad, how can I be a missionary with Franco like Mandy is with Audrey? I don’t know what to say.
Franco knows you’re his friend, right?
Yeah. And I try to be a good example.
Sounds like you’re doing the right things.
I know! I could invite him to our next Primary activity!
Good idea. And if he says no, you’ll still be friends, right?
Of course!
Hey, I just thought of a new shot I want to try.
Good thing the ladder is still out.

My boyhood home in California was located relatively close to large orchards of apricots, cherries, peaches, pears, and other delicious fruits. We also lived near fields of cucumbers, tomatoes, and a variety of vegetables.
As a boy I always looked forward to canning season. I did not like scrubbing the canning jars or working in our hot kitchen. But I did like working with my mom and dad. And I loved eating my work! I am sure I ate more fruit than ever made it into any of our canning jars.
My memories of time spent in the kitchen with Mom and Dad are stirred every time I see a bottle of home-canned cherries or peaches. The basic lessons I learned about temporal self-reliance and provident living while picking and canning produce have blessed me throughout my life. Interestingly, simple and ordinary experiences often provide the most important learning opportunities we ever have.

When I was 16, I didn’t get along with my twin brother at all. We fought about everything. One day he humiliated me at school with an intensely critical and personal attack in front of a group of friends. His actions and hurtful words left me devastated in a way my teenage self could not bear. Even when our parents confronted him about the incident, he never said he was sorry. For years I held onto the pain.
He was still on his mission when I received my own mission call. I was preparing to enter the temple and began to reflect on my life to find where I needed to change to feel prepared to go to the temple. I realized that even though I didn’t often think about what my brother did, I still needed to forgive him.
My brother had hurt me more than anyone else, and I knew it wasn’t going to be easy to forgive him. So I prayed for help from Heavenly Father.
With His help, I decided to start writing my brother regularly on his mission. Before that, I’m sorry to admit, I hardly wrote him at all. Then I sent him a package. When I left on my mission, he came with my parents to the missionary training center and gave me a hug. He even wrote me a few times.
I know that even though it may take time, with Heavenly Father’s help, we can let the past remain in the past.

In the book Daughters in My Kingdom, we read about Sister Hedwig Biereichel, a woman in Germany who suffered much sorrow and deprivation during World War II. Because of her love and charitable nature, and even in her own great need, she willingly shared her food with starving prisoners of war. Later, when asked how she was able to “keep a testimony during all [those] trials,” she replied in effect, “I didn’t keep a testimony through those times—the testimony kept me.”

From the time I was a small boy in Lima, Perú, I had an inclination to seek the things of God. In my childhood, I faithfully attended my family’s church. I spent part of my youth singing in the church choir.
But when I was 17 years old, as I was praying in church, a feeling of uncertainty came into my mind. A particular point of doctrine caused me to wonder if I was in the right place.
That very night, I looked through much of the New Testament. I also went to see a neighbor who was a member of another church, and together we read from the Bible and found answers to some of the doctrinal questions that had begun troubling me.
It wasn’t hard for me to see that I had been on the wrong road. But it wasn’t easy to find the truth. I attended various religious meetings. I read several articles that discussed God, but none of them aroused any great interest in me. Meanwhile I continued to read the New Testament. I was very interested in finding out about the sheep “not of this fold” that Jesus mentioned in John 10:16.
For almost a year I identified myself as a Christian but did not affiliate with any specific denomination. I was studying at a technology center, and religion was a frequent topic of conversation. One day I overheard a discussion between a young Latter-day Saint and a member of another church. The assurance in the Latter-day Saint’s voice and the power of his words made an impression on me. The only thing I had heard about Mormons was that they were a group of cowboys. I didn’t know any Mormons well, and there was no LDS Church building nearby.
About that time I was waiting in a doctor’s office, and I noticed that the young lady seated next to me had opened a book with a blue cover. The book’s text was written in columns like the Bible. I was curious to know if it was the Bible, but I also wanted to get back to the comic book I had been reading.
I directed my eyes to the blue book and read a word at the top of the page: Alma. I made an effort to remember that name from my Bible reading, then went back to my comic book. But the blue book continued to attract me, and once again I directed my eyes to that mysterious book.
When the young lady noticed my interest, I asked if the book was the Bible. She answered no and asked me what church I belonged to. I told her none, because I didn’t know which one was true.
That night I couldn’t stop thinking about that strange book. I didn’t know its name, because the young lady had said only that it belonged to the Mormon Church. I told my friend Ghersi about it, and he offered to get me a copy. Several weeks went by, and then one afternoon he handed me a book without a cover and with worn pages. All he said was, “Here’s the book.”
That afternoon I opened the book and read the testimony of Joseph Smith. I felt that it was what I had wanted to know; the feeling became stronger when I read about the visit of the angel Moroni. Unable to contain my excitement, I arose from my chair and shouted, “This is what I was looking for! Here is the truth!” I read the first chapters of 1 Nephi very slowly. I felt that I understood them as I had never understood a book before.
Despite my efforts, I couldn’t locate an LDS meetinghouse. Ghersi offered to help, but I never did find the address of the building closest to where I lived. In the meantime, he loaned me some pamphlets that he had.
Finally, while walking not far from my house, I saw a building under construction. The sign read, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” I recognized the name from the pamphlets.
Months later, when construction was finished, my sister Haydee and I went together to that building. Two missionaries greeted us, and I told them about my experience with the Book of Mormon and my desire to be a member of the Church.
During the discussions, I told the missionaries of my concern about the sheep of the other fold. They asked me to read of the Savior’s visit to the Americas—particularly His words in 3 Nephi 15:16–21—and I knew I had found my answer at last. Two weeks after finishing the missionary discussions, my sister and I were baptized into the Church I had sought for so long.
I then prepared myself to be a missionary, and one year later I received a call to serve full time in the Perú Lima North Mission. The testimony I bore on my mission was that what I had received was not revealed to me by “flesh and blood” but by “my Father which is in heaven” (Matt. 16:17).
Today, many years later, I long to share my testimony with the world, because I know this is the Lord’s true Church. He has blessed me and my wife with a temple marriage and with three beautiful children. We are all happily serving in His Church. My gratitude to the Lord will never equal His mercy to me.

One hot summer day, Reesey and Cheyenne invited Zara over to play. Mum made a snack. The girls sat at the table to eat.
Mum sliced mangoes from their mango tree. She put apple slices and grapes on a plate. Reesey looked at the delicious food. She remembered to say a prayer before eating her snack. She asked Zara, “Do you pray at your house?”
“What’s that?” Zara asked.
“Like this,” said Cheyenne. She folded her arms and bowed her head. She asked a blessing on the food. When she was done, she said, “See? Like that. Easy!”
“We don’t do that at our house. We just eat,” said Zara.
Reesey had never thought about not praying. “Mum,” she said, “can we stop saying prayers?”
Mum smiled as she carried cups of ice water to the table. “We like thanking Heavenly Father for what He has given us. We’re going to keep saying prayers. But it’s OK if other people don’t.”
Reesey knew Mum was right. She was happy when her family prayed. Maybe praying would make Zara happy too. “You could try it,” she said to Zara. “Prayers are good.”
“I like it when we pray,” said Cheyenne.“It makes me feel like a smile all over me inside.”
Zara smiled. “Maybe I will,” she said and ate a slice of mango.
Reesey and Cheyenne were happy they could tell their friend about praying. They all finished their snacks and ran back outside to play.

I know a young man who was thrilled to be selected for an all-star basketball team to play in a tournament in another state. The first evening at the hotel, the other roommates decided to watch pornographic movies. This boy left the room and walked the city by himself well into the night until the movies were over. I am sure it was embarrassing, lonely, and challenging. But that is courage; that is manhood in its truest sense. And I say, “Behold a man!”—an 18-year-old boy turned man. I know hundreds of young men who have withstood ridicule and embarrassment to turn down drugs, alcohol, and sex in order to turn to serve one another, provide a righteous example, or defend the principles of righteousness. All young men must face the wiles of Satan. It is impossible to escape this fight. But it is always possible to come out victorious. Yes, a true man is strong enough to withstand the wiles of Satan.

We went to church in Port Harcourt from Omoku, our hometown. It was about two-hour drive. We did this every Sunday until sometime in 2001 when the Port Harcourt West Stake Presidency authorized me and family to stay back and worship in Omoku under the supervision of the Rumueme Ward. We reactivated some members of the Church who resided in our town and surrounding towns, two of whom were old schoolmates at the university. We started worshipping in my one-room apartment and later moved into a three-rooms flat in the city center where, on the 9th of January 2005, the Church was officially organized with me as the first branch president and my wife as first counsellor in the Relief Society. We had 36 members of our branch.