Gospel Story Finder

Growing up, I had a lot of ambitions. I saw people my age already making money and finding success on social media. I wanted to be just like them.
When I was attending university and learning to be on my own, money became my top priority. All I cared about was qualifying for scholarships, saving up, and preparing for my future career in illustration.
Even my social media feeds were filled with messages about productivity, investing, and side hustles to help me earn some extra funds. I worried that if I didn’t take every opportunity to be smart with my money, I wouldn’t be financially secure.
I embraced this culture, thinking it would make me happy and successful. I always justified my focus on money by telling myself that one day, when I had more money, I could donate more to charities and be a better person that way.
I didn’t notice it at the time, but as my obsession with money took over my priorities, I started losing joy in my life. I became increasingly jealous, especially of those who seemed to have more than enough money.
I started to want more success on social media, in my career, and even with how other people perceived me. But it seemed like the more I chased success, the less successful I felt—and the more I was distant from Heavenly Father.
After about a year of feeling like this, I was listening to a talk by President Dallin H. Oaks, First Counselor in the First Presidency. I felt my heart sink as I heard him describe exactly what kind of person I was turning into:
“Even today some who profess Christianity are more attracted to the things of the world—the things that sustain life on earth but give no nourishment toward eternal life.”
I’d thought I could prioritize both God and money at the same time, but President Oaks’s words and this insight in Matthew 6:24 proved to be true: “No man can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other. Ye cannot serve God and mammon.”
When my mind was focused on material things, I found it harder to see the appeal of the gospel. I didn’t understand how going to church and reading the scriptures could help me with my ambitions.
While furthering education and gaining a steady income are worthy pursuits, I was prioritizing them too much. I was obsessed. I realized that I would be miserable until I learned to change my mindset.
I prayed to Heavenly Father and asked Him if He could help me start focusing on what matters most. I began by reading the scriptures. As I was studying verses that I thought I’d read countless times before, these familiar stories started catching my attention. I felt the Holy Ghost communicating with me!
One story that resonated with me was that of the rich young man. Jesus told him: “If thou wilt be perfect, go and sell that thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven: and come and follow me” (Matthew 19:21).
When I read this scripture story, I felt prompted to stop and think about how it applied to me. At first, it didn’t seem like I had anything in common with the rich young ruler—he already had his riches and wasn’t willing to part with them. I, on the other hand, wasn’t rich yet, and I thought my efforts to get more money were righteous.
But I soon realized I would struggle to give my money away, just like the rich young ruler. Especially considering I was already struggling to let go of my pursuit for more money.
I wanted to put Heavenly Father first in my life again. I decided to open my journal, write how I was feeling, and look back at my previous entries to better understand what had started my obsession.
As I did this, I became more aware of how backward my priorities had been. As I noticed in one entry, “I keep thinking about how I can profit from everything instead of thinking about how I can become better or help others.”
Eventually, by studying the scriptures, listening to the Spirit, and journaling, I began to change.
It has been amazing to feel the promise in Proverbs 3:5–6 come true in my life:
“Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.
“In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.”
I still strive to develop my talents and work hard on my education and art career. Seeking financial security to provide for ourselves and our families is a righteous desire. However, we need to be careful not to let our pursuit of success and money become more important than anything else.
These days, I don’t care whether I become famous or make a ton of money through my craft. I’ve realized that living a life where I get to love—and feel love from—Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, my family, and art is enough for me. I’m no longer easily upset by unexpected expenses or other people’s successes. Instead, I am more devoted to the gospel of Jesus Christ because it continues to save me from a life of greed, comparison, and constant discontent. And when I start to forget, the scriptures and prophets always remind me what matters most in life.
The scriptures and prophets always remind me what matters most in life.
President Russell M. Nelson taught:
“While the world insists that power, possessions, popularity, and pleasures of the flesh bring happiness, they do not! They cannot!
“The truth is that it is much more exhausting to seek happiness where you can never find it! However, when you yoke yourself to Jesus Christ and do the spiritual work required to overcome the world, He, and He alone, does have the power to lift you above the pull of this world.”
The changes the Savior has helped me make in my soul have been miraculous. I know now that success isn’t about proving how amazing I am or tying my worth to how much money I make; it’s about feeling gratitude for the opportunity to experience mortality and seeing the amazing blessings Heavenly Father has always provided me with. I know if I put Him first, everything else will fall into place.

It was a windy day in Mongolia. Nine-year-old Batbayar was walking home from the bus stop after school. He hugged his coat tighter in the wind. Luckily, it wasn’t far to his grandparents’ house, where he lived.
“Hi!” Batbayar said as he came inside.
“Welcome home,” Grandma said. “I made some khuushuur for a snack.”
“Thank you!” Batbayar reached for one of the warm, spicy meat pies.
“Wait! Don’t eat any until the missionaries get here,” Grandpa said. “They’ll be coming any minute.”
Batbayar loved it when the missionaries from Grandma and Grandpa’s church came to visit. He always learned a lot from them. But there was just one problem.
“Will they ask me to read from the Book of Mormon again?” Batbayar asked. “Reading is hard for me.”
“That’s why they’re bringing another book today,” Grandma said.
“What book?” Batbayar said.
“You’ll see,” Grandpa said.
Soon the missionaries arrived. They ate Grandma’s delicious meat pies together. Then Batbayar said, “Grandma says you brought me a book.”
“I think you’ll like this book,” Sister Heitz said. “It has lots of pictures.”
Batbayar looked at the cover. Book of Mormon Stories, it said. A picture on the cover showed people building a boat.
“I remember that story,” Batbayar said. “The man didn’t know how to build a boat. So he prayed. And God helped him.”
“That’s right,” Sister Enkhtuya said. “Will you try reading this book? Then you can pray to know that what it teaches is true.”
“I will,” Batbayar promised.
That night he read from the book with pictures. He read the story about the boat. Then he prayed. He fell asleep thinking about the man who built the boat and how God helped him.
From then on, each night Batbayar read a story. Then he prayed. And each night, he fell asleep thinking about what he read.
When the sister missionaries came again, they taught Batbayar more about Jesus Christ. Batbayar learned about prophets. He learned about God’s commandments. He kept going to church with Grandma and Grandpa. And he kept reading and praying.
One day Batbayar had something important to tell his grandparents. “When I read the stories in the book with pictures, my heart feels good,” he said. “When I pray, I feel they are true. I think I should be baptized.”
Today, Batbayar is a member of the Church. He has gotten better and better at reading. And he still reads the Book of Mormon every night!

Robbie buttoned his jacket to the top and stuck his hands deep into his pockets as he turned to leave.
“Do you have enough money for your valentines?” his mother asked.
Robbie nodded, making the coins in his left pocket jingle.
“Remember to get enough for everyone in your class,” Mother cautioned. “And don’t forget your new teacher.”
Should I get a valentine for Miss Evers? he wondered. She’s just a substitute teacher.
Robbie was choosing some valentines from the drugstore card rack when two of his school friends came in.
“Hi, Steve, Rick,” Robbie greeted them.
“Any good ones left?” Steve asked.
“Lots of them,” Robbie answered.
“Maybe I’ll just get this package,” Rick decided, picking up a cellophane bag and reading: “Forty valentines with envelopes, plus one for Teacher.”
“I wish we knew Mrs. Davis’s address,” Robbie spoke up. “I bet she’d like to get some valentines from the class.”
“I have an idea!” Steve said excitedly. “We could all put cards in the valentine box for Mrs. Davis and ask the principal to take them to her.”
“That’s a great idea,” Rick agreed. “And we don’t have to worry about giving Miss Evers a valentine.”
Robbie frowned. He didn’t like Miss Evers very much, but he wondered if she’d be hurt when no one gave her a valentine.
“I might get one for both of them,” Robbie announced.
“How come?” Rick wanted to know. “Miss Evers isn’t really our teacher and it’s no fun being in her class.”
“I know,” Robbie admitted. “And I’ll be glad when Mrs. Davis is back, but—”
“But what?” Steve interrupted.
“Well, if I were a substitute teacher, I’d feel kind of bad if all the children brought valentines for the regular teacher and nobody gave one to me,” Robbie explained. “After all, Miss Evers has been our teacher for almost two weeks now.”
“But it’s her own fault that nobody likes her!” Rick argued. “She could at least smile once in a while.”
I wish she would smile, Robbie thought. Miss Evers is strict, all right, but at least she keeps the room quiet and makes sure we do our work.
When Robbie got home, he showed his mother the valentines he had picked out.
“Your friends at school will like these,” she said. “And I’m glad you bought one for each of your teachers. I know they’ll both appreciate them.”
After supper that night, Robbie signed and addressed his valentines. On Mrs. Davis’s card he added, “Get well soon!”
He wasn’t sure what he should put on Miss Evers’s card or even if he should sign his name. Finally he wrote, “I hope you have a happy Valentine’s Day!” and then he signed his name “Guess Who.”
The next afternoon Miss Evers placed the large red and white box on a table at the front of the room and removed the top. “We’ve finished our work for the day, and now it’s time to pass out valentines,” she announced.
Robbie’s heartbeat quickened as Miss Evers began to read off the names on each valentine. “Here’s one for Mrs. Davis,” she said. “I’ll see that she gets it. And here’s another one for her!” Soon there was a little stack of cards for Mrs. Davis.
“Marcia, Steve, Johnny, …” Miss Evers called as she passed out the valentines. Everyone seemed to be getting nearly an equal number—all but Miss Evers; she didn’t have any.
“Sharon, Robbie, Miss Evers—
Suddenly she stopped passing them out. “Miss Evers?” she echoed, a surprised look on her face. “How nice!”
Everyone was quiet as she opened the envelope. Robbie watched her expectantly.
“What a lovely valentine,” she said, smiling and holding it up. “And it’s from somebody named ‘Guess Who!’”
Robbie blushed as Steve and Rick looked at him.
“This is the nicest valentine I’ve received during all the years I’ve been a substitute teacher,” Miss Evers continued. She looked at the card again. “Thank you, ‘Guess Who,’ whoever you are!”
Miss Evers smiled a beautiful smile and it seemed to Robbie as though she were smiling right at him.

The third miracle involved a series of events that allowed Ray to travel 1,532.8 kilometers to attend the temple for the first time.
Cancer required the removal of Ray’s stomach, but while recovering from massive surgery, the Gambles taught him temple preparation lessons, which he continued after leaving the hospital.
Branch President Schwalger granted permission for the missionaries to resume Ray’s lessons over the phone and at his home. The Gambles used skeins of yarn and other props to review principles like the plan of salvation.
Ray eventually received his temple recommend, and with aid from the General Temple Patron Assistance Fund he prepared to receive his endowment.
Two weeks before his scheduled temple date, the Gambles received a call from Ray. Sister Gamble recalls, “He was in the hospital and told us he just wanted to die. We found him in the emergency department having a vial of potassium administered intravenously, which is apparently quite painful. Elder Gamble gave him a blessing, which helped him tolerate the procedure.”
Once Ray was cleared for travel, the long-awaited moment finally arrived. Ray and the missionary couple set out on 30 January 2024, and the group walked into the temple the following day.
At 81 years old now, Ray was able to participate in proxy baptisms and confirmations for his male ancestors. Then he used his Melchizedek Priesthood authority, for the first time, to perform proxy confirmations on Sister Gamble for his female ancestors. “I was moved to tears when Ray placed his hands on my head,” says Sister Gamble.

Many years ago I worked for a railroad in the central offices in Denver. I was in charge of what is called head-end traffic. That was in the days when nearly everyone rode passenger trains. One morning I received a call from my counterpart in Newark, New Jersey. He said, “Train number such-and-such has arrived, but it has no baggage car. Somewhere, 300 passengers have lost their baggage, and they are mad.”

I went immediately to work to find out where it may have gone. I found it had been properly loaded and properly trained in Oakland, California. It had been moved to our railroad in Salt Lake City, been carried to Denver, down to Pueblo, put on another line, and moved to St. Louis. There it was to be handled by another railroad which would take it to Newark, New Jersey. But some thoughtless switchman in the St. Louis yards moved a small piece of steel just three inches, a switch point, then pulled the lever to uncouple the car. We discovered that a baggage car that belonged in Newark, New Jersey, was in fact in New Orleans, Louisiana—1,500 miles from its destination. Just the three-inch movement of the switch in the St. Louis yard by a careless employee had started it on the wrong track, and the distance from its true destination increased dramatically. That is the way it is with our lives. Instead of following a steady course, we are pulled by some mistaken idea in another direction. The movement away from our original destination may be ever so small, but, if continued, that very small movement becomes a great gap and we find ourselves far from where we intended to go.

I dreaded testimony meeting each fast Sunday. Time seemed to go so slowly, especially on those sticky, hot summer days when people would rather lean back and wait for somebody else to do the talking. The waiting always made me squirm in my seat. Sometimes I’d watch the big wall clock to see how long it took until someone finally went to the pulpit to bear testimony.
Most of the time, though, so many people wanted to bear their testimonies that the meeting went five or ten minutes over the usual time. Some of them would start crying in the middle of their testimony, and that made me uncomfortable.
But the worst part was Molly Prentiss. She had been bearing her testimony almost every month for two years. She always used fancy words and went back to her seat with a contented smile on her face.
One day I had a great idea: I wrote up a testimony that even a returned missionary would be proud of and practiced it for days until I had it memorized. I even practiced how I’d walk to the pulpit. I hadn’t ever born my testimony before, but how hard could it be? I’d just walk up, deliver my brilliant speech, then go back to my seat as the whole ward smiled in approval. Yes—that would show Molly Prentiss, all right.
On fast Sunday, before we left for church, I stood in front of the full-length mirror and practiced one last time. Wow! Even I was impressed! For once even my braids stayed neatly in place.
I decided I’d save the best for last and give my performance right at the end of the meeting. What I didn’t count on was how nervous I would get in such a short amount of time. When the moment came, I tried to boldly walk up the aisle, but my confidence had just about disappeared.
It was when I was nearly to the pulpit that Sister Johnson and I noticed each other for the first time. Both of us had thought we were the only one headed for the front. I knew that I should let her go first, but I also knew that I would never make it back up that aisle if I had to sit down. Sister Johnson took matters into her own hands and with an understanding smile waved me on and sat in an empty seat on the front row.
When I stepped up to the pulpit, I was suddenly filled with panic. It seemed that there were a thousand people at church that day and that they were all staring at me! I opened my mouth, only to discover that I had forgotten the wonderful speech I had prepared. I couldn’t remember one word of it. I closed my mouth and squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, hoping I could find the words better that way. When that didn’t work, I opened my eyes again, and there was Sister Johnson down on the front row, smiling encouragingly.
That was when the most embarrassing thing happened. I felt tears pricking at my eyes. And try as I might to hold them back, they burst out and flooded down my cheeks. There was only one thing I could do. I turned and stumbled back down the aisle to where my family was sitting. Mama put a comforting arm around my shoulders, and I heard Sister Johnson saying something about how her testimony affects her the same way sometimes. But that did not make me feel better. I vowed then and there that I would never try to bear my testimony again for the rest of my life.
I was surprised that when church was over, no one from my Primary class teased me about what had happened. Molly Prentiss gave me a sympathetic look.
The next few weeks were busy ones. School started again, and then my eighth birthday came along almost before I realized it. After my baptism and confirmation, a few things began to change. I started getting up a little earlier each morning to read the Book of Mormon before I went to school. That was hard because I hate getting up in the morning, but I was determined to make it all the way through that book.
I also started fasting each month on fast Sunday. There aren’t many things I like to do more than eat, so I forgot sometimes; but even so, I started noticing a difference in how I felt about testimony meeting.
I began paying more attention to what each speaker was saying, and that made the meeting a lot more interesting. I found out that Sister Johnson had joined the Church when she was twenty-six years old. I thought she’d been a member all her life! And I loved it when Brother Badger bore his testimony. He had exciting stories to tell about his life and about miracles he had witnessed.
I finished the Book of Mormon early the next summer. There were great stories and teachings in it, and I was happy that I’d reached my goal. But Moroni had written in the last chapter that if you read the Book of Mormon and want to know if it’s true, you should ponder it in your heart and pray to Heavenly Father about it. He promised that if you do that with faith in Jesus Christ and with a sincere heart, the Holy Ghost will help you know that it’s true. I decided to try it out for myself.
The rest of that week I prayed every morning and night. Sometimes I even said a quick prayer in my mind when I was at school, but I never saw a vision or even heard a voice that told me the Book of Mormon was true. I felt like giving up, but I really wanted to know, so I just kept on praying.
The next fast Sunday, I fasted to know if the Book of Mormon was true. I spent a lot of time on my knees, and I reread some of my favorite parts. It was amazing how seldom I thought about food.
Testimony meeting was going along great that day. I was even happy for Molly Prentiss when she went up and bore her testimony. Then Brother Badger went to the front to speak. His quiet voice trembled as he spoke of his great love for the scriptures and how he knew of the truth of the gospel.
As he spoke, a strange feeling started in a little spot in my chest. It got warmer and bigger until my whole body was filled with glowing, tingly warmth. When he finished, that warmth seemed to make me want to go right to the pulpit. As I stood to bear my testimony, a few words came right from my soul: “I know that the Book of Mormon is true. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”

Even though John’s eyes were still closed, he knew by the feel of the sun’s sudden warmth on his face that someone had opened his bedroom curtains. Squinting, he saw his mother cranking open the window to let a pine-scented breeze fill his room. Looking to the bed across from his, John saw that Rob had been up for a long time. His bed was already made, and the clothes, laid out the night before, were gone.
John’s attention shifted back to his mother. Standing sideways and looking at the huge blue spruce near the window, Mama looked different. She was wearing a shirt that John had not seen her wear for a long time. But what was really different about her was that she was bigger.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” she said with a smile.
John did not jump up and ask about breakfast as he usually did. Instead, he lay there very still and serious. Although pretty certain that he knew the answer already, John asked, “Mama, are you going to have another baby?”
Mama smiled again and walked over to John’s bed. Sitting down beside him, she ran her fingers through his curly hair. “Yes, Johnny. You will get a new little baby brother or sister sometime in October. Won’t that be fun?”
John did not think that it would be fun. He looked at his brother’s bed. He thought of his sisters’ two beds down the hall. He was not going to give up his bed for a new baby. There was not enough room. “Where is he going to sleep?” he asked.
“Oh, he or she will sleep in Mama and Daddy’s room for a little while,” his mother answered. “And Daddy has been talking about making a new bedroom for you and Rob in the basement. Would you like that?”
John answered, “Maybe.” But the bed was not the real problem.
While John dressed, his mother fixed breakfast. When he arrived at the table, she had spread out six plates and was spooning fluffy yellow scrambled eggs onto them. Daddy’s and Mama’s plates held the most. Then Mama dished up the rest of the eggs equally. As John watched her, he said, “If we have a new baby, there won’t be enough breakfast for everybody.”
“Sure there will,” laughed his mother. “I’ll just add another egg. Of course, by that time, I’ll have to add extra eggs because you and Rob are getting so big.”
“I’m big today,” said John. So his mother put some jam on an extra piece of toast for him. John ate his toast and jam, but he knew that a big-enough breakfast was not the real problem.
After breakfast, John said, “I need you to read me a story.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t read to you now,” said Mama. “It’s time to give the baby her bath. Maybe I can read to you after lunch.”
While Mama was dressing Rebekah, John said, “I need you to get my blocks out of the top of my closet.”
“I’m still taking care of the baby,” said Mama. “Can you find something else to do?”
“There’s nothing to do,” mumbled John. “You spend all of your time with Rebekah. When we get a new baby, it will be even worse.”
Mama said, “It seems like that sometimes, doesn’t it, Johnny. But I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. As soon as I’ve washed the breakfast dishes, I’ll take you all to the park.”
An hour later, John, Mama, Rob, Jenny, and Rebekah were all at the park. John and Rob went exploring in the trees and rocks that were on one side of the park. Jenny played in the sand with Rebekah. Mama read her book for a little while.
Then Jenny and Rebekah wanted to swing. Mama strapped Rebekah inside a little baby’s swing and pushed her with little baby pushes. Mama pushed Jenny in a big swing with big pushes. From the branch of the tree he had climbed, John listened to their laughter, then climbed down and ran to the swings. Soon Rob followed him, and for a while Mama went down the row of swings, pushing Rob, then John, then Jenny, then Rebekah.
Finally Mama laughed and said, “I’m sorry, kids, but I’m just too tired to push anymore.” She took Rebekah out of the baby swing and put her back in the sandbox. Rob and Jenny went to play on the slippery slide.
After John’s swing had come to a stop, he trudged over to where his mother was sitting on their picnic quilt, reading her book. “If you have another baby, I guess you’ll be too tired to swing me anymore, won’t you?”
“Well,” said his mother, “I might get tired faster, but I will always swing you, if you want me to. Of course, you’re six now and know how to pump yourself as high as I can push you. But if you want me to, I will push you until I’m ninety-six and you’re seventy-two, and then I’ll just be too old and you’ll have to get one of your grandchildren to do it.”
Mama went back to reading her book, and John laughed as he thought about Mama being ninety-six and himself seventy-two and sitting in a swing. But even though he laughed, he knew that he still hadn’t solved the real problem.
After lunch, Mama passed out candy bars for them to eat as they walked home. John noticed that there were six candy bars in a box, and he figured that that was just right for a mama and a daddy and two boys and two girls. If a new baby came, he wondered, who would not get a candy bar? Maybe they would have to buy a whole new box for just one silly little baby. But John didn’t say anything because he knew that even candy bars were not the real problem.
After Mama put Rebekah down for her nap, she read Where the Wild Things Are to the bigger children. It was John’s favorite book, but today he hardly listened to the story. He was noticing that Jenny was sitting on Mama’s lap and that he and Rob were on either side of her. That way everyone could see the pictures. When Rebekah was old enough to go without naps and wanted to hear stories, where was she going to sit? There were already too many babies in John’s family. Why did his mother need another one? But again John did not ask the question—there was a bigger question that needed to be answered.
After story time, Jenny and Mama lay on Mama’s bed for a nap. Rob went to a friend’s house. John sat on the top step of the front porch and thought.
A little while later, John heard his mother moving around in the house. She usually got up and did some housework after Jenny fell asleep. But this afternoon Mama came outside and sat by him and put her arm around him. John didn’t look at her because he didn’t want her to see that there were drops of water on his face.
“John,” Mama asked quietly, “is something bothering you?”
“No,” he said. But he knew that Mama would notice that his voice sounded funny.
Mama scooped John up onto her lap. “Are you worried about the new baby, Johnny?”
“No,” he said again. “Not exactly. It’s just that everything is even now. We have three boys, counting Dad, and three girls, counting you, and it’s all even. Another baby will make more boys or more girls.” But John knew that he still had not told Mama the real problem.
“Well,” said Mama, “maybe we will have another baby in a couple of years to make things even. Or maybe you’ll decide when the new baby gets here that it doesn’t really matter if things are even.”
John thought for a minute, then decided to tell Mama the real problem. “You know,” he began, “I bet Rebekah will miss being the one you love the most.”
“Whatever do you mean by that, Johnny?” Mama asked. She looked as serious as John was.
“Well, when Rob was born, you loved him the best. Then I came along, and you loved me the best. When Jenny was born, you loved her best and me second best. And now that you have Rebekah, you love her the best, Jenny second best, me third best, and Rob fourth best. When you have another baby, you won’t love Rebekah the best anymore.” Then a lot of tears came into John’s eyes at once. “But, Mama, Jenny came to our family so fast that I don’t even remember when you loved me the best. I was too little to notice. And now I won’t ever get that chance again!”
John’s mother rocked him on her lap a little until he had settled down. Then she put her hand on his cheek, very gently, and wiped away some tears. She said, “Oh, my little Johnny, you haven’t really been worried about scrambled eggs and swing rides and candy bars at all, have you? You’ve been worried about love.”
John nodded, and Mama gave him a big hug. She said, “You know, honey, love isn’t like scrambled eggs that you dish out and when they’re gone, they’re gone. Love grows and gets bigger the more people there are inside it, like”—she thought a second—“like a special balloon that never pops but just gets bigger and bigger the more air you put into it.”
That night Mama told the children to get their pajamas on but not go to bed yet, because they were all going to do something later. Then, when it got very dark out, Mama and Daddy led them to the treehouse. It wasn’t in a tree anymore, but they still called it that.
When everyone was inside, Mama opened a box and gave everyone a big white candle. John could barely see the outline of Mama’s face as she handed him his candle.
Suddenly John could see Mama’s face very well. Daddy had struck a match and was lighting his candle. He said, “In the beginning, I got my light—my love—from my mama and daddy. Then I met your mama, who had her own light. And when we put them together, we had more light and more love than either of us ever had separately.” Daddy had touched his candle to Mama’s, and the treehouse looked much brighter.
“And then,” Daddy continued, “we shared our love with Rob and John and Jenny and Rebekah. And each time we shared our love, our world grew brighter and happier.” Each time Daddy said a name, he or Mama lit that child’s candle. “Do you see how bright this room is now?”
Then Mama said, “Johnny, look at my candle. Is my flame any smaller because I helped you and Jenny light yours?”
John understood and smiled all over his face—and inside too. “No, it sure isn’t.”
“Then,” said Mama, “what is a new baby going to do for our family?”
“Make it even brighter and happier,” laughed John.
“That’s right,” said Mama. “There will be times when we have to share more of our time and our room, and even more of our scrambled eggs and candy bars than we might want to. But when we share our love, it only gets better.”

Veronica’s story, Madrid, Spain
When Veronica (pictured below) was 17, her twin sister died in her arms. Three years after her sister’s death, on her own and struggling through life, Veronica started going for walks to work out her feelings of sadness. She had always believed in God, so one day while she was walking, she prayed, “Lord, why are you doing all of this to me?”
At that moment, she looked up at an LDS Church building she had always passed by. Really seeing it for the first time, she became curious; she went inside and introduced herself to two sister missionaries, who taught her later that week.
Veronica says that after the first lesson, “I stood up and told them, ‘You’re all crazy,’ and I left.” She didn’t want any of it, but eventually she began to reconsider.
“I think it was the first time I prayed so much. I felt like God was telling me, ‘I am sending you this opportunity so that you can get to know me better. Don’t you want it?’”
She decided she did want it. Despite losing her home and her job because of the gospel, she was baptized. Even though her life continued to be difficult sometimes, she trusted in the Lord. “Before I knew about the Church, I would cry or get mad if I didn’t know how I was going to pay my rent. But now I know that the Lord will provide.”
Veronica’s patriarchal blessing told her that she was to serve a mission, but she didn’t have any skirts or any way to buy them. A member of the Seventy and his wife were passing through the area and heard about her need; the wife had felt inspired to pack extra skirts for the trip, and she gave many of them to Veronica. She also encouraged Veronica to attend institute. When Veronica’s bishop started an institute program for their area, she began attending regularly.
Institute has given her peace and happiness. “I think what I like the most about institute is that during the week, we have a lot of different tasks to do. We have Sundays to renew our covenants with Heavenly Father. But on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, what do we have? I am grateful that we have institute at least once during the week because it is a way to remember Jesus Christ. Institute is one way He’s helping me progress.”
And Veronica did serve a mission. In October 2016 she left to serve in the Chile Osorno Mission.
She says, “I know that I’m here today because of Him. I know that He has prepared a plan perfect for each one of us. He will give us opportunities throughout our lives. I can feel His love every day, even though sometimes I say, ‘Father, why is this happening to me?’ But before I go to sleep, He responds, ‘This is happening because of this. Now go to sleep.’ And I love Him, too. Maybe I had to go through everything I went through to come to feel so much love for Him.”

Mollie Sorensen of Napa, California, remembers seeking the gift of charity. One day she and her teenage son had a serious argument. Upset by her behavior, Sister Sorensen pleaded with Heavenly Father for help in controlling her temper. Under the pressure of a similar moment, she knew she would probably lose control again.

After praying and meditating for several hours, she says, “an answer came into my mind. I finally understood that if I were to strive to have a greater endowment of spiritual power in my life, on a day-to-day basis, the inclination to hurt would leave … even in moments of stress.”

Since then, as Mollie maintains a program of spiritual enrichment, she is able to enjoy love, peace, and the other fruits of the Spirit she desires (Ensign, September 1989, 30).

I experienced the powerful good that a senior missionary couple can do firsthand when I lived in Louisiana, USA. Soon after being called to serve on the New Orleans Louisiana Stake high council, I was assigned to support the Port Sulphur Branch. There were only a few active priesthood brothers in the branch. Most teaching and leadership positions were filled by women whose husbands were not members. Occasionally, senior missionaries or stake leaders were assigned to the branch, but they had limited success in reaching these part-member families.
Then a senior couple from Wyoming, USA, was assigned to support the branch. They had been farmers for many years and had worked in a local cheese factory near their home. Because of their background and life experience, they related easily to many people in Port Sulphur who worked in the oil industry. The senior couple spent a great deal of time building relationships with and ministering to the part-member families in the branch. Because of their service and love, during their time in Port Sulphur the branch was uniquely strengthened and blessed through their faithful service. Several men from these part-member families joined the Church, strengthening the elders quorum and the branch.

Here is an example from my own experience of how our attitudes change when we move from being hard-hearted (or walking in darkness) to being brokenhearted (or walking in the light). When we moved to Utah from New Mexico and bought a pine siding house, we didn’t know that it would drink gallons of stain. Every year! I neglected it the first year. But by the second year the need for care was obvious, and I set out to complete the task in the month of July. I figured that if I began July first, scraping off the paint that was peeling, I could apply the rejuvenating, absorbent stain and be finished by July thirty-first. On August twenty-eighth I was finishing the last wall. It was a hot day—I was feeling martyred and had tripled my frustration level by occasionally getting the dark brown stain on the two yards of light buff brick at the bottom of the wood. I would break out the solvent-soaked rags from my rub-it-off-quick kit, wipe off the bricks, and then go back to rolling on the stain. Out of the corner of my eye I saw our station wagon come around the corner and remembered that my wife had taken our preschooler to the mall for a new outfit.

I knew two things about my daughter. First, she would come home wearing whatever they had purchased. Second, she would promptly show me. In that moment, I had a feeling consistent with living in the light. It was not necessarily a feeling born of rationality, although some of you would think that any rational person would have acted on this feeling. But the feeling and thought was a moral one and consisted of the idea that I ought to lean the roller against the wood and walk so that I would be standing between the five-gallon bucket of stain and my soon-to-be-coming-around-the-corner daughter. That is exactly what a person walking in the light would have done. But I did a very Lemuel-like thing. I resisted the light within me. Immediately, my thoughts and feelings changed. The first thought was one that would get me off the hook for any future doom that might occur. The thought was, “I sure hope Karen has the sense to keep Cammie from running over here.” I also remember muttering to myself, “If I have one more interruption today . . .” Here comes Cammie around the corner. Now, remember, I am now living in darkness. The problem I am about to have is not a matter of IQ but of honesty—or should I say dishonesty. I am not being true to the light within me.

At this point I did what hard-hearted people often do instead of act. I talked. “Cammie, look out, stay back, don’t . . . !” I quickly rushed over and, still holding the stain roller away from her, was able to deftly push her away from a collision course with the stain bucket. I pushed her down. Her knee hit the only sprinkler head within about twenty feet. I asked (feigning concern), “Are you all right?” Real compassionate. I sent her in the house after being semi-relieved that though she had gotten a grass stain on her new slacks, she had not torn them. I sighed to myself about how hard life can sometimes be. A few minutes later I came to my senses. That is, I returned to the light—which is to say, I softened my heart. I then saw my role in creating and maintaining a problem. In fact, as Terry Warner has pointed out, for the hard-hearted, the very way I saw the problem was the problem. The way I saw was an expression of the condition of my heart. What I saw and felt was what hard-hearted people see and feel. I was blind to the reminder from the Lord that

if your eye be single to my glory, your whole bodies shall be filled with light, and there shall be no darkness in you; and that body which is filled with light comprehendeth all things. [D&C 88:67]

In my hard-hearted moment I didn’t comprehend anything, not even the joy of a little girl wanting to share a joyful moment with her father.

I was born into the family of Mr. and Mrs. Gabriel Mamody Oyegwa of Ojantelle in Apa local government of Benue state. I usually attended the Methodist church but because of my zeal for Jesus Christ, I would often fellowship with numerous churches. However, there were some encounters that led me to decide not to take my children to church anymore. For a year we were home praying on our own. I told God that I wouldn’t go to any church until He showed me the one I should go to. I didn’t know how He would show me but that’s how I felt.
One day, I was coming from a neighboring household and saw two young men that were nicely dressed, clean and had tags on their shirts talking to my daughter Habiba and her friend. I shouted to them from a distance and asked them “What have I done to you that you gave them a Bible and you didn’t give me one or speak with me?” These two elders were Elder Ohenhe and Elder Okoko from the Nigeria Enugu Mission. They joyfully told me “Mama, we are here because of you”.
They took their time teaching me and never seemed to mind the uncomfortable state of my house. They asked me to pray about what they shared and left a Book of Mormon with me. I was instructed to read the introduction, which I did with much eagerness. I had two questions that I wanted to know the answers to. The first had to do with my ancestors and the second was about marriage. The answers they gave me brought me hope.
Before they came back again, I took the time to speak with my children who were all as eager as I was to hear more. All except one. He told me “Mummy, never open that Book of Mormon or else you will die”.
I asked him why he thought that. He told me that the leaders of other churches had told him it was an evil book and that the day that someone opens that book, they will die. I reminded him what we had decided before about staying at home and not going to church for a year. I suggested to him that perhaps the missionaries coming to us now is an answer to prayer.
He did not agree and did not want to see the missionaries. I then told him that I had read the Book of Mormon. He was shocked and still didn’t want anything to do with the missionaries or the Church. The other children and I kept praying for him with the love the missionaries showed us by helping us with our domestic work, not minding if we are poor nor rich. One day, his younger brother said to him, “Brother, let’s read this book and die for mummy”.
I told them that they wouldn’t die because I didn’t die. They decided to read it privately. Now, that son is fully prepared for a mission. He loved the missionaries more than I did and would go proselyting with them and served as a district clerk. My family has all been baptized.
Introducing the gospel to my father was important to me. He attended another church and was an elder in that church but had been denied baptism because he was married three times. My mother was the first wife. He visited us and I told him about the missionaries. He did not think there could be truth anywhere else but in his Methodist church. As he learned more about the Church, he decided to be baptized. He had been sick off and on for a while. After he was baptized, he felt better and went home.
My hope was that he would stay strong in the Church. Every Sunday he would sit with the Book of Mormon and sing hymns. He especially liked hymns 44 and 45— “Beautiful Zion, Built Above” and “Lead Me into Life Eternal.” Some of his family members deserted him because of the truth that he embraced. They said that I took him from the family church. He told them that God brought the Church to him for his sake. He was given a blessing by President Albert Mutariswa, of the Nigeria Enugu Mission.
A branch was established in Ojantell and my father gave his own house to be used for the Church and there were many baptisms because of that. Before his death, he said that the Church would have access to his house for meetings until they no longer needed it. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints gave him a befitting burial. I plan to go to the temple and do the baptism for my mom and seal them together with his children.
My goal is to share the gospel with the help of the missionaries all over the Apa and Aguati local government area. The love the missionaries showed us made such a difference in our family. We were able to accept this truth for ourselves. I know that the Book of Mormon is another testament of Jesus Christ. God loves us and so we ought to love others by doing the needful, especially teaching about the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. I know God will perfect what He started. I know that this testimony is true, and the love of the restored gospel binds us with all brethren all over the world.

President Joseph F. Smith explained how this pattern of revelation occurred in his life: “As a boy … I would frequently … ask the Lord to show me some marvelous thing, in order that I might receive a testimony. But the Lord withheld marvels from me, and showed me the truth, line upon line, … until He made me to know the truth from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet, and until doubt and fear had been absolutely purged from me. He did not have to send an angel from the heavens to do this, nor did He have to speak with the trump of an archangel. By the whisperings of the still small voice of the spirit of the living God, He gave to me the testimony I possess. And by this principle and power He will give to all the children of men a knowledge of the truth that will stay with them, and it will make them to know the truth, as God knows it, and to do the will of the Father as Christ does it. And no amount of marvelous manifestations will ever accomplish this” (in Conference Report, Apr. 1900, 40–41).

Well, I have 101 things I could say and should say about families. I read something once about what Abraham Lincoln’s step-mother did for him. She felt she “must not wait.”

She was sometimes called Sally, a widow with three children. Perhaps life had been a little harsh and she would have welcomed a change for the better, the easier, if it came. She thought she saw it come when a man, a widower from her past, returned with a proposal of marriage in his nice suit of clothes and talk of a prosperous farm. The prospects of a better life grew, and she understood him to mention servants and to be a man of substance. She accepted and crossed the river with him to view her new possessions: A farm grown up to wild blackberry vines and sumac, a floorless, windowless hut, the only servants were two thinly clad barefoot children, the father of whom had borrowed the suit and the boots that he had gone a-courting in. Her first thought was the obvious one: go back home. But she looked at the children, especially the younger, a boy whose melancholy gaze met hers. For a moment she looked while a great spirit subdued the passions of the flesh and then, rolling up her sleeves, she quietly spoke immortal words which ought to be engraven on every parent or teacher’s heart: “I’ll stay for the sake of this boy.”

“Oh, Sally Bush, what a treasure trembled in the balance that day,” wrote one whose mother was a neighbor of the boy. And Sally Bush didn’t know, when she looked at that melancholy face of ten years, that her stepson would someday save this nation, heal a generational breech, and become the immortal Abraham Lincoln. She uttered what should be engraven on every parent or teacher’s heart, “I’ll stay for the sake of this boy.”

Now I want to share an experience from Bishop Harry Brown. Bishop Brown is probably one of the longest serving bishops on campus. He served at the time when my husband was the stake president and so we became very close friends. Bishop and Sister Brown were people with big hearts. The students loved them so much that it was very difficult when he was released after five years as a campus bishop. Anyway, a year or so after Bishop Brown was released, he took his family to Utah on a business trip. Upon arrival he called one of his former ward members to let him know they were in town and would like to make arrangements to meet him. Bishop then went out to get some food and upon his return to the hotel room, he opened the door and there were 29 people in his hotel room. This student called another student and then the phone tree started and they all came to see their beloved bishop. Next April they are meeting in St. George and the students will come from all over to this reunion with the Browns. What a wonderful feeling of Ohana and the potential for networking for this group of students.

There once was a little girl named Misha who “wore” freckles. She didn’t wear them because she liked them, but because they happened to come with the rest of her face.
She tried washing them off. She tried covering them with her mom’s skin-color makeup. She tried wearing big glasses, low hats, and high collars. But nothing would remove her freckles or even hide them.
Her mother said, “Don’t worry about them.” Her dad said, “I think they’re cute.” And her grandpa said, “Your freckles are my favorite thing about you.” Of course, he had freckles too.
None of Misha’s friends had freckles. Rhoda wore glasses and had big, beautiful, black eyes. Lauren wore ribbons in her curly, fuzzy hair and could stand on her hands for a twenty-five count. Jennifer wore striped shoelaces and was very short.
One afternoon the girls were sitting on the ground in Lauren’s backyard, playing archeologists. While they were looking for arrowheads and potsherds in the sand, Jennifer announced, “I have a new secret. Look.” She showed them a piece of paper.
“What is it?” Lauren asked as she stopped digging and looked up.
“A secret wishing spell. I copied it from a book about tricks and things.” All four girls leaned close together, squinting at the writing on the crumpled piece of paper.
Wishing Spell
Put your pajama top on backward.
Let a caterpillar walk up and down your leg until you get goose bumps.
Jump over a gray hair three times.
Put your pajama top on frontward.
Turn off the light.
If you do these things fast enough, you will hear the Wish Genie ring a bell. He will grant your wish.
“Aw, I don’t believe it,” scoffed Rhoda. “You can’t really think that thing is real.”
“All that stuff is just pretend,” chimed in Lauren.
“Let me see it,” said Misha. She tried to keep her voice from sounding excited.
Jennifer gave the paper to Misha. “What are you going to wish for?” she asked.
“I don’t want to tell you,” answered Misha, “but I’ll tell you if it works.” With the paper squeezed tightly in her hand, Misha ran home. What if it works? she couldn’t help thinking. What if a genie comes and zaps my freckles?
All afternoon Misha scrambled and searched through leaves and bushes. Finally, under a rock, she found a yellow caterpillar with black stripes. With a sigh of relief, she scooped it into a jar and put the jar under her bed.
Then she went looking for Grandpa and found him reading the newspaper. His hair was gray from ear to ear. “Grandpa, may I please have one of your gray hairs?”
He stopped reading and looked at her. “Do you mind if I ask you what for?” He was always polite.
“I’m sorry, but it’s a secret right now. Maybe I’ll tell you later.” He squeezed his eyes and twisted his mouth and pulled out a gray hair. “Thanks, Grandpa,” said Misha. She ran upstairs and put that under her bed too.
That evening, Misha felt nervous and excited. For once, she didn’t argue with her mother about bedtime. She ran upstairs, slipped inside her room, and closed the door.
She quickly changed into her pajamas, being careful to put the top on backwards. Then she placed the caterpillar and gray hair carefully in the middle of the floor. She went over the steps again to be sure she could remember: Get goose bumps from the caterpillar, jump over the gray hair three times, put her pajama top on frontward, turn off the light, and listen for the genie to ring the bell. She was ready.
Misha carefully put the caterpillar on her foot, and it began to crawl slowly up her leg—creepy-crawly, ickly-tickly. Goose bumps popped out all over her! She put the caterpillar back in the jar and jumped once, twice, three times over the gray hair. She quickly pulled the pajama top off and put it back on frontward. She flicked off the light switch, and flung herself into bed as the room went dark. Finished!
Silence. Silence and darkness. She strained her ears, listening for the ringing of a bell. The beating of her heart thudded in her ears. Her head began to hurt from listening so hard. But there was no ringing, no tinkling, no buzzing—no bell.
Gradually the thudding grew quieter as her heart slowed down. She could hear dishes rattling downstairs as her mother washed them. Daddy was listening to the news on the television. But in her room, all was quiet.
Her eyes were used to the dark now, and she could see the shape of her bed. The moon was just a sliver between her curtains. She looked around. There was no Wish Genie granting magic wishes, and there never would be. Not tonight, not ever.
Tears began to trickle down her cheeks as she slipped between the sheets on her bed. She put her head on the pillow and began to cry hard.
There was a tap-tap on the door, and then Grandpa’s voice. “Do you mind if I come in?” He was always polite.
As Grandpa sat on the bed, Misha sat up and put her arms around him and began to cry even harder. When she finally stopped, Grandpa turned on the night lamp. He was very quiet as she told him the whole story.
“Granddaughter,” he said slowly, “everyone in the whole world would like to change something about himself or herself. A magic make-over is not the way to be happy. Happiness comes from accepting yourself the way you are—the way God chose to make you—with the things you like—and with the things you don’t like so much.
“Think about your friends. Do you like them just because of the way they look?”
Misha thought about Rhoda with her glasses, and Jennifer with her short legs, and Lauren with her fuzzy hair. The way they looked really didn’t matter at all. She liked them just the way they were.
Grandpa said, “You know something else? Your freckles are part of what makes you the special, one-of-a-kind person you are. You wouldn’t be you without them. Besides”—he grinned—“I have a special reason for liking those pretty little freckles. They make me feel that you belong to me, and I love you very much.”
Misha felt better than she had in a long time. She hugged her grandpa tight. “I love you, too,” she said.
She snuggled back down between the sheets as Grandpa kissed her good night. She closed her eyes and smiled a great, big, freckle-dotted smile.

My husband is deaf. Marrying him has been a blessing in my life. But I struggled when we first started dating because I began to see the many challenges he faces in his everyday life, such as discrimination in the workplace, misunderstanding among family members, and mistreatment by others for something that is just a small part of who he is.
Seeing him struggle with things that most people don’t even have to think twice about was hard, but I realized that being raised by parents who are deaf had given me a greater ability to understand him. Over time, I started to gain awareness of what things I could do to empower and educate others, as well as what I could do differently to make my husband’s life a little easier. After all, it is our covenant and our opportunity to “comfort those that stand in need of comfort” (Mosiah 18:9).
This is my husband, Michael, signing to me on the day of our wedding.
Photograph by Mallory Mecham
Through my experiences, I have truly come to believe that our trials give us the strength and knowledge needed to bless those God will lead us to. My experiences with my parents and with the gospel both contributed to my ability to see my husband’s situation with a broader perspective. And I have seen him grow stronger through the things he is learning.

Recently I met an intelligent young man with great potential. He was undecided about a mission. He has decided not to attend a university now. In his free time he only does what he likes to do. He doesn’t work because he doesn’t have to, and it would take time from pleasure. He passed seminary classes without much thought of personally applying the knowledge gained. I noted: “You are making choices today that appear to give you what you want: an easy life, abundant enjoyment, and not much sacrifice. You can do that for a while, yet every decision you make narrows your future. You are eliminating possibilities and options. There will come a time, and it won’t be too distant, when you are going to spend the rest of your life doing things you don’t want to do, in places you don’t want to be, because you have not prepared yourself. You are not taking advantage of your opportunities.”
I mentioned how everything I treasure today began to mature in the mission field. Missionary service is not something we do for ourselves, yet great growth and preparation for the future are gained from a mission. Missionaries focus outside of themselves on other people. They draw close to the Lord and really learn His teachings. They find individuals who are interested in the message but not sure of its worth. Missionaries try with every capacity—prayer, fasting, and testifying—to help individuals embrace the truth. A mission teaches one to be led by the Spirit, to understand our purpose for being on earth and how to accomplish it. I gave him a blessing. As he left, I prayed earnestly that the Lord would help him choose the right priorities. Otherwise, he will fail in life’s purpose.

With that kind of community spirit, it was no surprise when the Roberts Idaho Stake youth decided to forego their annual Church-sponsored harvest ball and organize a quilting bee with quilts going to war-ravaged Kosovo. But this was no ordinary stake youth project. The 350 quilters filling the adjacent school and church parking lots on September 14, 1999, included youth and adults from the Terreton Baptist Community Youth Group, the Catholic Church, the Lady Lions Club, and everyone else who wanted to come.
In addition to making 51 beautiful quilts, the participants were introduced to the Church humanitarian program with a film. “I wanted to tell the families in the film to come to my house,” said 15-year-old Kayla Smuin.
Kali Albertson, 15, agreed. “I was so happy to be able to help. It made me realize how lucky I am.”
The spirit of unity felt by everyone that evening will long be remembered. As one participant from the small town put it, “I wish we could do more things like this for the community.”

Over spring break, I got to talk with my sister who is serving her mission in the Idaho Idaho Falls Mission. I told her that track was about to start and how excited I was. I told her how badly I wanted to beat the school record for the 1600-meter and 800-meter races.
“I probably won’t be able to. The record time is pretty fast,” I told my sister. The school record did seem impossible. I started thinking about the one girl I had never been able to beat. Maybe trying to keep up with her or even beating her would be a better goal.
My sister did not answer right away, but she seemed to be smiling through the phone. “I know I’m a missionary,” she said. “So you might expect me to give you some kind of a challenge, but I really want you to try something. I want you to try to read your scriptures and pray every day. And if you do, God will bless you to do your best.”
“I’ll try,” I said. I had not really been reading my scriptures every night, and I wasn’t quite sure if, or how, reading would help me run.
The next few nights I read, prayed, and went to bed without really thinking about it. One night as I was brushing my teeth, I thought, “I’m not really getting anything out of reading the scriptures.” Then I remembered President Russell M. Nelson’s invitation to read the whole Book of Mormon and mark all references to Jesus Christ (see “Sisters’ Participation in the Gathering of Israel,” Oct. 2018 general conference [Ensign or Liahona, Nov. 2018, 69–70]). So I started to mark the references to Christ as I read. I began to get more out of reading and to truly ponder the scriptures.
After 15 consecutive days of reading and praying every night, I had my first track meet. And I was super nervous. My first race was the 4x800-meter run. I was the anchor runner. When I started running the last leg, my team was in 7th place out of 10 teams. We finished in 3rd place. Had I gotten faster?
While I was waiting for the mile, I watched all the other races and prayed that I would do well. When we walked to the starting line, my heart was beating so fast I thought it would jump out of my chest. I prayed again and felt peace. We were all lined up, and I had a flashback from all the mile races I had run in the year before. I would be in first place the whole race, unsure if my pace was fast enough to beat the record. Then on the final stretch, I would get discouraged when a certain girl from another school would sprint ahead of me and take first place. So I decided to try to do that myself this time.
As the gun went off, I went straight behind the girl from the year before. We were in first and second place. My coach was at the 200-meter mark, and she told me my time and encouraged me. I wanted to run up ahead, but I knew that she would pass me on the last stretch if I did. She kept looking back at me like she was afraid of me.
On the last lap, I could hear the girl who was in third place trying to pass both of us. So I bolted. I ran as fast as I could. There were so many people cheering—my parents, teammates, and friends’ parents.
When I passed the finish line, the first thing that came to my mind was, “Did I do it?” Then I turned and saw everyone else finish. Then I looked toward the girl I hadn’t been able to beat before. Her eyes were big when she said, “Man, you got so much faster.” I had won!
I was so happy. I couldn’t believe I had actually done it! Then I realized that I hadn’t done it alone. I said a quick prayer to thank Heavenly Father. Taking my sister’s challenge helped me to be better at studying the scriptures. And I had a better relationship with Heavenly Father. I had also been able to get faster and smarter about my running. Heavenly Father listens to our prayers. And if we do our part and have faith, He will answer them.
The author lives in Missouri, USA.