Gospel Story Finder

When Cathy Gurley was young, she had a dream. More than anything else, she wanted to be Miss Rosewood, queen of her school. Her goal was to be someone that the other students at the school would look to as an example. So she practiced dancing and singing, talents she thought would help her win the contest.
When she was a senior in high school, Cathy was voted Miss Rosewood in the town of Goldsboro, North Carolina. Then she started winning other contests, like the district FHA Sweetheart, and queen of the Wayne County Fireman’s Pageant, and eventually Miss North Carolina Teen Hemisphere.
But on her way to those recognitions, Cathy became a real winner when she developed another talent. It wouldn’t help her win a contest, but it helped her win friends and lift the spirits of people who needed help. Cathy learned how to care about other people.
“I really enjoy helping people,” said Cathy. “When I smile, I like to see them smile back. And so many people need someone to help them.”
Cathy has been helping people—the elderly, the retarded, the handicapped. She’s spent hundreds of hours visiting her friends at rest homes, singing at dances for retarded people, visiting at a center for severely retarded people, adopting a grandparent, helping her mother teach a Sunday School class for the retarded, and being a friend to people who are too often friendless. Cathy’s mom gave her encouragement along the way and helped organize many of the parties where Cathy performed.
“My older brother Bobby is retarded, so it’s natural that I’d associate with other retarded children,” said Cathy. “I couldn’t ask for a better brother. He’s seven years older than I am, and I was born on his birthday. He’s always said that I was his birthday present. We’ve been very close.”
Cathy would go to parties for her brother Bobby and his friends and sing for them. “I’ve always wanted to be an entertainer, so it was fun for me. They don’t care how bad you sing. They appreciate even small things. The rest of us need to be more like they are.”
Cathy’s mother worked in rest homes when Cathy was little and sometimes had to work on holidays like Thanksgiving and Christmas. “I wanted her to understand why I couldn’t be at home, so I’d bring her to the rest homes with me on those holidays,” said Sister Gurley.
“She’d leave me and go talk to the people. Cathy has never been afraid of a retarded or elderly or handicapped person, maybe because she was brought up around them.”
Growing up with her brother also helped Cathy develop sensitivity to others. Her mother said, “I’d come home from work tired, and Bobby would say he wanted to go meet his friends. I’d tell him I was just too tired and couldn’t get him dressed. Then Cathy would say, ‘If I dress him and get him ready to go, would you take him?’
“Christ told us we need to become like little children. So many of these people have that sweetness like little children. They never hold a grudge or lash out at people,” added Sister Gurley.
Cathy has also spent many hours helping at rest homes. “I guess because I was so close to my grandparents and my mother is a nurse, it was easy for me to volunteer my time,” said Cathy. “My Aunt Mamie worked as a recreation specialist at a rest home when I was 11, so she’d ask me and my cousin to go over there and help. We’d spend the whole day. We’d play bingo with the people. I’d help roll them in their wheelchairs out into the middle of the halls for supper, deliver the mail, read to them if they needed it, and just talk.”
Eventually, Cathy “adopted” a grandfather, a friend of her grandmother.
“My grandfather died when I was very young, so my grandmother started dating Waldo,” said Cathy. “They’d come out to my house to visit, and I enjoyed his friendship. When my grandmother died, he sort of got out of circulation and didn’t have any companionship. My grandmother had more or less taken care of him and fixed him supper each day. So Waldo and I kept in touch, and I decided to adopt him. I’d call and see how he was doing, stop by to see him, visit him on holidays, and take him treats. Now he’s in a rest home, and we keep in close touch.”
Cathy has helped with a Sunday School class for the handicapped, too, held in her home after regular church meetings. The first hour of the class the students learn about the scriptures, and the second hour they do crafts. Cathy often makes cookies or cupcakes for them. She also found time to organize a drill team for grade school girls.
Cathy has always found time to accomplish her goals. She has helped with political campaigns and even served as a page in her state legislature. She attended seminary for four years. (“It really helped me gain a testimony,” said Cathy.) She took modeling classes for several years, and her teacher encouraged her to enter the Miss Teen North Carolina Hemisphere competition.
“I won the state competition, so I competed in the nationals, which were held in Philadelphia and included the western hemisphere—Guam, Canada, the U.S., and the Bahamas,” Cathy said.
“I learned that it wasn’t that important to be beautiful. I just wanted to put on my jeans and be myself, but for 24 hours a day I was there fixing my hair and putting on lipstick, and I’m just not used to doing that much. You couldn’t go out of your door unless you were all dressed up, and that’s just not for me.
“I really enjoyed entertaining others for the competition, though, and it helped me develop a talent I didn’t think I had. I’d always taken ballet, but I realized I needed another talent to win the state competition. I told my mom, ‘I’ve got to sing!’ She smiled and said, ‘You can’t sing.’ And I said, ‘Well, I’m just going to have to learn.’ So I took lessons and practiced, and I won the contest. I realize now that I can sing and not be embarrassed. I met some nice people in the pageant, too.”
She also realized that she was an example to a lot of her friends. “Lots of times at high school I wouldn’t go to parties because I knew there would be drinking. Everybody would go, and I would sit home. It wasn’t always easy, but it was the right thing.
“Then some of my friends would tell me things like ‘I really don’t enjoy drinking, and I don’t know why I do. I wish I had the courage to say no.’ They’d see me and realize that they didn’t have to drink. It’s important to do what you know is right.”
In the Gurley’s front room, Cathy’s trophies are displayed. She’s won awards for most valuable cheerleader, most valuable model at her modeling school, FHA Sweetheart, and first-place in beauty, talent, modeling, and most photogenic for North Carolina Teen Hemisphere.
But she doesn’t need a trophy for the things that are most important to her. She carries those qualities around with her every day.
The Savior said, “A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another” (John 13:34).
That’s another goal that Cathy’s working toward.

We found that so often in the mission field. Here a short time ago a young man returned from down in Argentina. (I knew him and his people back in Washington, D.C.) And I said, “Craig, did you feel like it was a waste of time to be in the mission field, that you ought to have been home getting your education, and getting ready to settle down?”
“Oh,” he said, “Bishop [I’m still a bishop], if the Brethren want to make me happy, just let them put me on the plane tomorrow and send me back to the Argentine.” And they had kept him over six months—that’s when we were keeping them for two and a half years—so he had been there for three years. He hadn’t yet been home to greet his parents and his best girl that he left behind, and yet he said, “If they want to make me happy, just let them load me on the plane and send me back to the Argentine.”

Most missionary couples serve much more routinely than that, employing their leadership experience in wards and branches, but the point is that there are all kinds of needs in this work, and there is a resolute missionary tradition of responding to the call to serve at every age and in every circumstance. I learned from a mission president recently that one of his young sister missionaries, nearing the end of her very faithful and successful mission, said through her tears that she must return home immediately. When he inquired as to the problem, she told him money had become so difficult for her family that to continue her support, the family had rented their home and were using the rental proceeds to pay her mission expenses. For living accommodations, they had moved into a storage locker. For water, they used a neighbor’s outdoor tap and hose; and for a bathroom they went to a nearby gasoline station. This family, in which the father had recently passed away, was so proud of their missionary and so independent in spirit that they had managed to keep this recent turn of events from most of their friends and virtually all of their Church leaders.

When this situation was discovered, the family was restored to their home immediately. Long-term solutions to their economic circumstances were put in place, and the complete amount of remaining missionary support for their missionary daughter was secured overnight. With her tears dried and fears allayed, this faithful, hardworking young sister finished her mission triumphantly and was recently married in the temple to a wonderful young man.

When Christian was 19, he decided to go to America, to Zion. He had saved enough money over the years working in the Hotvedtvien Cabinet Shop for the passage. In the spring of 1887, a tall, handsome Christian Monson said goodbye to his foster parents, the two people who several years before had saved him from a lonely death.
“How can I thank you?” he said, standing on the Oslo dock, holding a large canvas bag full of sturdy new clothes and gifts they had given him for the journey.
“Love is its own reward, Christian,” Sister Hotvedtvien said. A tear fell and hung on her smile, then fell again. Christian turned to hide his own tears and walked up the ramp to the ship.
“Write to us,” he heard her shout. He turned, looked one more time, and saw her standing tall, strong, and noble next to her husband. He felt as if he were leaving an important part of himself standing there. He loved them as much as he loved his own parents, but he knew the step he was taking was right and he took it.

A few years ago, I was working in a country and city I had never been to before. Everything in my environment was new and foreign. I got lost on my way to church, driving through pouring rain on what was the wrong side of the road for me, and ended up getting to the church house as the congregation was singing the closing hymn. What I heard coming from the building as I stepped out of the car into the rain were the voices of the congregation singing “We Thank Thee O God for a Prophet.” Suddenly this congregation became dear to me. We were no longer strangers, but sisters and brothers in Christ. Hymn singing has the power—if we all allow it—to unify people of faith all around the world!

Many years ago, I traveled on a small plane with a newly certified pilot at the controls. At the end of our flight, we were cleared to land. But as we neared the ground, I heard an alarm in the cockpit warn the pilot to “pull up.” The pilot looked to the more experienced copilot, who pointed in a downward direction, away from the runway, and said, “Now!”

Our plane rapidly moved to the left and down, then climbed back to an appropriate altitude, reentered the landing pattern, and arrived safely at our destination. We later learned that another aircraft had been cleared for takeoff. Had we followed the instructions of the alarm, we would have veered into, rather than away from, the oncoming plane. This experience taught me two important lessons: First, at critical moments in our lives, we will hear multiple voices competing for our attention. And second, it is vital that we listen to the right ones.

It’s Saturday! You’ve been looking forward to today all week long. You and some friends have big plans to go mountain biking. However, despite the sunny forecast that had been predicted, it’s raining buckets outside. What do you do?

Contact your friends and see if they’d be up for something different. They now want to go roller-skating, but you’ve never tried that before. It sounds kind of boring. What do you do?

You head to the roller rink, and skating is actually kind of fun. You’re about to go home when your cell phone buzzes. Your ward needs help with a last-minute service project to help a family moving to the area. Can you come?

You’d rather not. Normally you like service projects, but your plans were already thrown out of whack today. You turn down the offer and head home.

A number of years ago, I attended my 20-year high school reunion. I hadn’t seen many of my former classmates since graduation day, and I was excited for the opportunity to see them again. Some of these classmates surprised me; a few who were formerly well-behaved youth had since gotten into trouble or seemed to have otherwise changed for the worse. A few others who used to have lower standards were now active Church members, and I could see that the power of the Atonement had been at work in their lives.
However, I noted with interest that the majority of my former classmates were on the same path they had been following in high school. The decisions they had made so many years ago had largely determined where they were today. Many who had been good, righteous teenagers were now righteous adults. And many who had started down the wrong path so long ago were still on that course.
As a teenager, you are faced with decisions every day that can influence the course of your life and will decide what kind of person you will become. You cannot see exactly where your future will lead, but you can ensure your future happiness by making righteous decisions now. Here are some guidelines that will help you when making important decisions. They will help get you on the path of righteousness and make sure you don’t wander.
Several years ago, I was in the market for a van. My wife and I had nine children, and we needed a larger vehicle. One day, I saw a big 12-passenger van for sale. I contacted the owner, who let me take it for a test drive. I was worried about the height of the van, so I decided to drive it home to see if it would fit in our garage.
I eyeballed the van and the garage door, and it looked like the van was too tall. I got a tape measure and measured the van, then the garage door. Sure enough, the van was too tall. But I wanted the van so badly; I wanted it to fit! So I called my wife out and said, “Come out and watch this. I’m going to try to pull the van into the garage and see if I can make it.” Luckily, before I actually tried to pull the van in, I thought, Wait a minute, I know I can’t make it! I realized that I had two reliable standards already. When I looked at the van, I could see it was too tall. And when I measured the door and the van, I could see the van wouldn’t fit. Yet I was almost willing to risk damage to the van and the garage by trying to drive it in. My personal desires almost kept me from trusting the standards.
When you have difficult choices to make, use your parents, your leaders, words of the prophets, and the scriptures as standards to see if your decisions fit, so to speak. The For the Strength of Youth pamphlet is another terrific resource. There’s no need to spend a lot of time worrying about many of the choices you’re faced with, because the answers are right there in that little pamphlet. It contains very specific guidelines for music, media, dress, and so forth. Follow the standards it contains. Don’t be like those who think, “If I look at this standard from a different angle, maybe my unrighteous decision will fit.”
You will find joy as you make choices that help you follow the Savior. Everything our Heavenly Father does is calculated to bring us joy and happiness. “Adam fell that men might be; and men are, that they might have joy” (2 Nephi 2:25). On the other hand, Satan’s devices always lead to misery. But he tries to disguise this fact. He tells us, “Commit this sin and it will make you happy.” But it’s a lie. Sin always leads to misery. Remember Alma’s words to Corianton: “Wickedness never was happiness” (Alma 41:10).
Mormon’s counsel in Moroni 7 is very wise. In verses 16 and 17 he says: “Wherefore, I show unto you the way to judge; for every thing which inviteth to do good, and to persuade to believe in Christ, is sent forth by the power and gift of Christ; wherefore ye may know with a perfect knowledge it is of God.
“But whatsoever thing persuadeth men to do evil, and believe not in Christ, and deny him, and serve not God, then ye may know with a perfect knowledge it is of the devil.”
When you are faced with an important decision, be sure that your choice will lead you nearer to Christ.
It is important that you come to understand how the Holy Ghost works in your life. Learn to recognize and understand the Spirit’s gentle promptings, and have the courage to always follow them. When you are faced with a hard decision, following the Holy Ghost can make all the difference.
I remember once, while on a break from high school, a friend and I decided to go hiking through the slot canyons in southern Utah. We drove for several hours to our destination and then hiked to a nice campsite by the river and spent the night.
When we got up in the morning, all my excitement for our hiking trip was gone. Instead, I had a feeling that we ought to return home. For more than two hours this feeling kept bothering me; then suddenly, it went away. I felt so relieved because, frankly, I was afraid to share my feelings with my friend. We’d spent so many hours driving and hiking to our campsite and planned to spend several more days hiking and camping. I was afraid of what my friend would think of me if I said, “I think we ought to go home.”
After lunch, my friend left the campsite to be alone for a few minutes. When he returned, he said, “I think we’d better go home.”
“I do, too,” I said. We cut our trip short and went home.
Today I still think about that experience. I didn’t listen to the Spirit—or at least I didn’t act on the promptings I felt—and the Spirit left me. I am grateful that my friend had the courage to listen and follow.
You also have the Holy Ghost to give you direction. You know what is right. You can feel it. You know when you’re not supposed to watch a certain movie or play a particular video game. You may be tempted to ignore or go against the promptings of the Spirit because you are afraid of how others will react to your decision. Be courageous and do what you know is right.
As a teenager, you face challenging decisions on a regular basis. The choices you make now will shape your character and help to determine the person you will be years from now. Don’t wait until you’re an adult to figure out how to recognize the Spirit; learn now. The Lord will be generous in providing you with opportunities to feel what is right. If you learn to recognize and follow the Spirit, your life will be blessed forever, and you will receive the guidance you need in making important choices.

Everyone knew the house—the one on the corner across from the school, the one you avoided, the one you feared. Any careless child straying from the pavement in front of that house would get a rough and sudden rebuke from the old man who lived there: “Get off of my lawn!”
Some of the young men in the Hillcrest First Ward, Logan Utah East Stake, knew that house well. It belonged to Brother Jacobsen, a less-active member of the ward. After they moved on from elementary school, the boys no longer had to pass by his house every day. But they weren’t done with that house yet.
One day the deacons quorum adviser for these boys challenged the quorum president to select a service project—one that would require a long-term commitment from the quorum.
“We had prayed and fasted about it as a presidency,” says David Shirk, 18, who was deacons quorum president at the time. “One afternoon as we drove by that certain house, I just kind of had that thought pop into my head about who we could serve. And I thought, ‘It would be cool if we could mow a lawn or something.’”
As David and his father drove by the same area later, the thought struck David again, and he told his father about it. “My dad said, ‘That was the Spirit working,’” says David. “And he said, ‘Well, how about Brother Jacobsen here?’ And he pointed to the house.”
Brother Jacobsen had recently had some health problems, so the boys in the quorum decided to help him by mowing his lawn. But asking him wasn’t easy.
“We were pretty scared,” says Michael Althouse, now 18, one of the quorum members. “We had walked past his house every day on the way to school since we were young. The only time we saw him was when he was telling us to stay off his lawn. We never saw him other than in that context, yelling at us. So we were always scared to touch his lawn, and now we were going to be asking to mow it!”
When his wife answered the door, the boys felt some relief, but then they heard a gruff voice call from within, “Who’s at the door?” The fear returned. Though Brother Jacobsen was hesitant, his wife was willing to let them mow the lawn, so they made an appointment.
During the first few visits that summer, the boys still felt a little tension, but they soon felt more and more comfortable. Of course, going home laden with Sister Jacobsen’s homemade brownies or cookies didn’t hurt. After a time even Brother Jacobsen began warming to them, coming out to talk to them about his experiences in World War II or about his favorite hobby: remote-controlled model airplanes.
Eventually Brother Jacobsen asked the boys to do various other chores, all the while telling them stories from his life or talking about his interests. After the next summer the appointments became less regular, though they continued to visit and help where needed. They felt that they had made a friend rather than just performing a service project.
Then Sister Jacobsen died. She had been diagnosed with cancer not long before, and Brother Jacobsen had started worrying that he wouldn’t see her again, because they had never been sealed in the temple. He had just recently begun to reach out to his home teachers and other members of the ward, and he later began attending church for the first time since he was a boy.
Soon after Sister Jacobsen died, Brother Jacobsen was placed in an assisted living center, but he still attended the same ward, and the young men of the Aaronic Priesthood still played their part in helping him where they could.
“When he was at church, we always tried to talk to him,” says Jacob Harrison, 18. “He would recognize us at church and say hello to us. We were asked by the bishop to go to the center and teach him out of Preach My Gospel every Sunday. Two of us would go every week.”
On these visits the boys also learned some new things about Brother Jacobsen. “They had an organ down there at the center,” says Kody Klaassen, 17, “so he would play the organ for us every time. He had once owned a music shop, so he did that kind of stuff.”
“When he was young, he used to write and record a lot of music,” says Jared Larsen, 17. “He could play any instrument. It was pretty cool. I didn’t know that about him until later on when we’d go down to the center and he’d play for us.”
Brother Jacobsen even started serving others by sharing his musical talent at other rest homes for a couple of hours a week. But most importantly, he rekindled his testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ, received the Melchizedek Priesthood, and eventually went to the temple to receive sacred ordinances and be sealed to his wife for eternity.
As the young men prepare for missions and a lifetime of priesthood service, they know that small things, such as overcoming fear or performing simple service, can lead to something great. Their experiences have also taught them a number of other important lessons.
David says he now has a better understanding of the priesthood. “It’s God’s power. We have to use it righteously. And when we hold the right priesthood keys, He has entitled us to revelation for our responsibilities. I also realized the importance of service and sustaining our priesthood leaders. Without the quorum’s support, this would never have succeeded.”
Through Brother Jacobsen, Michael saw the power of the Atonement. “You could tell that he was making an effort to make a change. And then when we started seeing him at church, there really was a big change. He seemed to have a different light or countenance about him. I think that was when I first started to understand the power and effect of the Atonement and the way it can change a life.”
“I gained a greater testimony of service and how much it can affect somebody,” says Kody. “It was really neat to see how he opened up to us through service. I don’t think any of us really knew the effect that it had on him. When I was mowing his lawn, I never thought he would be sealed to his wife. It was cool to see him gradually open up through our just doing service and the power the Spirit had then.”
“We could see that week after week we were having an effect,” says Jacob. “Our leaders kept saying, ‘When you serve your fellowmen, you serve God’ [see Mosiah 2:17]. This showed me what service can do, because Brother Jacobsen started becoming my friend.”
Jared agrees. “Becoming friends with a man you first know as the scary guy that wants you to get off his lawn and yells at you to leave—you know, there’s always a friend in someone. It just takes time to become that friend.”
Less than a year after fulfilling his goal of being sealed to his wife, Brother Jacobsen died. The boys were asked to be pallbearers at his funeral, saying goodbye to their friend with one final act of service.

My name is Dumazedier Kabasele, and I live in Kinshasa, Democratic Republic of the Congo. I am married to a wonderful wife, Choudelle Kazadi, and we are the parents of two beautiful sons named Bryan and Khalis Kabasele.
I am a returned missionary who served in the French-speaking Democratic Republic of the Congo Lubumbashi Mission. The missionary manual Preach my Gospel inspired me to learn English because it would be a blessing for me, my family, and the Church. I did not realize how much this blessing would affect my life. My decision to learn English during my mission was supported by my mission president and his wife, Philip and Joy McMullin. I studied English two hours each day and this helped me to continue to gain more knowledge.
I got my first degree (an MD degree) in general medicine in my home country of DR Congo. Interested in learning more about the brain, I conducted further university studies in Bangalore, India, to expand my knowledge through a post-graduation fellowship in neurology and electrophysiology.
I first heard about the BYU-Pathway Worldwide program when I was in India. Most Church members were enrolled in this program. I was surprised that the Church offered the program in other countries but not my home country of DR Congo. But I could not join BYU-Pathway at that time due to my intense graduate studies, but my prayer was that the program could one day be offered in my home country and that I could join and learn more about it.
In 2019, the program was approved, and I was among the first generation of students in Kinshasa to be enrolled. The beginning was difficult for me, because I had a full-time job and lived in a different area from the meeting location. But I had the support of my family and my friend Patrick Kalambayi. We both walked a long distance to attend the meetings and returned home late. Sometimes we didn’t have electricity. We were looking for places with electricity to charge our computer.
At one point, the government authorities shut down internet due to some political issues. My friend and I went to the local UN agency for help, telling them we had to send our school assignments and we needed connection to the internet to do our homework. I have a testimony that Heavenly Father puts people in our path to support and help us in times of adversity, such as electricity and internet access shortages.
After completing PathwayConnect, I decided to enroll in the public health program at Brigham Young University-Idaho. I completed a certification in public health planning and implementation, health method evaluation and epidemiology. I have learned to support the world in disease prevention and developed a pandemic health program. I was very happy to support my country during the COVID-19 breakout in Kinshasa. People were amazing. I learned more skills about how to control this disease in my community.
The BYU-Pathway Worldwide program helped me to understand that we must be faithful and improve our skills to establish the kingdom of our Savior on the earth. This program increased my knowledge of the Savior and motivated me to gain more skills and to become more faithful.
Instead of dwelling on difficulties and struggle, I have learned to trust the Lord and to pursue my education at famous universities across the world. Today I am proud to say that I earned three university degrees: one from my country, one from India, and one from the United States. As a result, I have increased my income, my faith in Jesus Christ, and my skills in the field of public health.
The skills that I learned during my journey have helped me to build a health nongovernmental organization and work in mental health awareness in the DRC. My recent experience, when I was applying for a new job as a public health specialist at the Center for Disease Control in DRC, the human resources team was surprised that I have an American degree and I live in Congo, and it was easy for them to verify this from my diploma.
The hiring process was interesting and each step I went through, I learned to be ready due to the PathwayConnect program, preparing my CV and cover letter, enjoying the interview, and showing people my unique qualifications. I am grateful to my Heavenly Father for the opportunity He gave me to join the team of the Center for Disease Control in DRC to prevent, detect and control disease in my country.
As an African, we are blessed to have an American degree, serve our community, and strengthen the Church in our local area. BYU-Pathway Worldwide blesses my life, my family, and my country in this specific time. The program helped me to understand the principle of working hard quietly and to let your success be your noise.
Whatever level you are in life and whether you have a degree or not, please join the program and work hard, the Lord knows your effort and will assist you to gain a new degree and develop more skills and the world will pay you based on your education and skills.

Elder Anderson and I scanned the backs of two apartment buildings for empty windows. Over the balconies clothes hung down from drying poles. The balcony railings were draped with futon, colorful floor mattresses and quilts. Some women whacked them with bamboo. Again no luck. Only 10:30 and already we were depressed.
“Well, today is the day,” my companion said. “I’m sure we’ll find one.”
We were sure, but today was also Friday and new missionaries arrived tomorrow. There were so many that the mission had to open three new branches, one here in Yao-shi. We had to find an apartment for them today.
Elder Anderson indicated a small fruit stand. “Elder Tice. I’ll treat you. You’re thinking too much.” He had silvery blue eyes and blond-brown freckles and hair, contrasting sharply with my darker skin and black hair.
“You’re right. Let’s precelebrate with apple pears, and after we find a place today, I’ll treat you at Mr. Donuts: Bavarian cream and raspberry.”
“Now you’re talking! Doughnuts are great for my blisters!”
We chose the thin-skinned, light yellow nashi that crunched when bitten and ran with juice. Among the old wooden houses we found a small park. Eating on the streets was impolite, but a park was more acceptable.
Four preschoolers stopped playing and gawked at the foreigners. Their mothers told them not to stare and tried to turn them. “Ii desu yo” (That’s okay), we assured them. Then, with powerful hands and wrists, Elder Anderson tore two nashi into halves and gave them to the startled children.
We introduced ourselves. “Tice Choro to moshimasu” (My name is Elder Tice).
“Anderson Choro desu” (I’m Elder Anderson).
I gave Elder Anderson my Sofuto Tacchi tissues to wipe his hands. A few women giggled. We handed them our name cards, wrote their addresses, then left after an episode of furious bowing.
Around the bend Elder Anderson said, “Every day from 8:30 in the morning to 9:00 at night! Who’d have thought it would take so long?”
“Two-and-a-half weeks. We’ll have the missionaries return to this neighborhood after they’re settled. Wish we could work here.”
“Yeah. I love this city.”
Toward evening we reached the main road again where the houses thinned and the road became a highway. “Well, Elder Tice, we’re back. What do we do now?”
The signs across the street were steeped in dusk. A few cars slipped past.
“It doesn’t look like this leads into town.” I paused. “It’s 7:00.” He nodded. “Two hours before our train.” He didn’t move, then nodded again. I had to do something.
A series of rice fields began where the houses ended. The stalks were large, and evening darkened the fields. A rich green luster lingered around the tassels. “Shall we try another prayer?” I suggested.
“Yes, I think we should.”
I pointed to an alley a few buildings down. Except for one small grocer, all businesses along the thoroughfare were closed. “Let’s go there. It looks private enough.” We crossed the street and slipped into the alleyway. “Elder Anderson, would you offer the prayer?”
“Elder Tice, I’d be delighted.” We faced each other and bowed our heads.
“Our kind and gracious Heavenly Father, thou knowest we have need of thee. Thou hast sent us here where the gospel has not been taught before. Many times we have asked thee to help us find an apartment. We need thy help. The people of this city need thy help. In no other way can we find the apartment tonight. Please guide us. We ask thee for this aid in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
We felt buoyant. We put our right hands out palms downward, mine under Elder Anderson’s, then flung them upward with a hearty “Yoshi!” (All right!)
I said, “There’s a real estate agent several blocks away. We passed him earlier, but the office was closed.” We set off jogging.
The street was no longer empty. People were chatting in front of their homes, enjoying the cooling evening. We reached the real estate office, but it was still closed. I banged on the door. On one side a narrow passage ran between the building and adjacent wooden houses. About 30 feet away, a lanky, middle-aged man putted a golf ball into a cup. He missed one stroke and the ball rolled toward us.
I hustled over to pick it up, then handed him the ball. “Arigato” (Thanks), he said. He must have thought I was Japanese, for when I replied, “Do itashimashite” (You’re welcome), his eyes went wide. They went even wider when Elder Anderson came up.
“Hee. Gaijin desu ka?” the man asked. Gaijin was the popular abbreviation for gaikokujin, people from an outside country. We nodded.
We asked him if he knew who owned the real estate business.
“That’s my office,” he said, pointing an index finger at his nose. “Today is my day off.”
“We’re glad we found you,” Elder Anderson said.
The real estate agent stepped back in surprise. He dropped his golf ball. “You speak Japanese too?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Hee. Both of you speak so well. Are you Americans?”
“We’re from California,” I replied.
“Ah, California. Warm sun and oranges. I will visit San Francisco some day.” He went around to the front and unlocked the door. “Please come in.” Then he pulled up some chairs, took a bottle of Karupisu, a sour milk drink, from the compact refrigerator, and turned three glasses on a towel right side up. He poured some concentrate into each glass and added cold water. “I’m sorry I don’t have any sake” (rice wine).
“That’s fine. We don’t drink sake or any alcohol,” I said.
“That’s good! Me—I drink too much and my face turns bright red.” He brought the glasses to us. “Such fine young men,” he commented. “Shall we introduce ourselves? Mochida Ryusuke desu” (I’m Ryusuke Mochida).
“Hajimemashite, Mochida-san. Tice Choro desu” (How do you do, Mr. Mochida. I’m Elder Tice).
“Hajimemashite. Anderson Choro desu (How do you do. I’m Elder Anderson). We’re missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
We shook hands vigorously. “Perhaps you can help us,” I started. “We need an apartment for four male missionaries. At least two six-jo rooms, a 4.5-jo kitchen, a bath, and a flush toilet.” A jo was the size of one straw floor mat.
“Yoshi. Large apartments, but I have a few. Let me bring some blueprints. I have a new one with two eight-jo rooms—750,000 yen deposit and 35,000 yen monthly rent. Very good price.” He moved toward his desk.
“That’s the problem. We’re allowed a maximum of 500,000 yen deposit and 28,000 yen rent.”
He looked back at us. “Impossible. Not around Osaka. Even old places that size go to 600,000 yen.” He sat down at his desk and shook his head. “You can’t go any higher?”
“The mission home establishes a standard for all apartments we rent.”
“We’ve been looking in Yao-shi for more than two weeks,” Elder Anderson said. We looked at Mochida-san expectantly.
“Saa. Well, I can call a friend who has the largest agency in Yao. If he doesn’t have one, then there isn’t one.” He picked up the phone and dialed. “Moshi moshi (hello). Okusan desu ka? (Is this Mrs. ?) Ryusuke desu. (I’m Ryusuke.) Ee. Imasu ka? Hai.” (Yes. Is he in? Yes.) He looked up. “He’s at home—“but was cut off. “Hai. Yes, it’s business. Ano, two Americans are here. They’re looking for an apartment: six-jo—two rooms, kitchen, bath, flush toilet. Yes, I do, but price is a problem. Deposit—500,000, rent—28,000 … You do—But they speak Japanese … Oh? … Well, you speak to them. Don’t worry.” He motioned for me to hurry. “He has a place, but he doesn’t want to rent it to you.” He handed me the receiver.
“Moshi moshi” (hello), was all I could think to say.
“Moshi moshi. You speak Japanese?” It was more a doubt than a question.
“Some. I’ve been in Japan one year and nine months.”
“You speak quite well. Did you study Japanese long in America?”
“No. Two months in Hawaii and the rest here.”
“Which school do you attend?”
“I don’t attend school. I’m a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ—”
“A Christian church, huh? Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you. Let me talk to Ryusuke-san now.”
I looked up, bewildered. “He wants to talk to you.” Mochida-san took the receiver. “Moshi moshi. Ee. Why don’t you—It won’t hurt to see them … Have you ever met any? Well? … I’ll take them there. Just say hello.” He hung up and shrugged. “He’s really very friendly. Well, shall we go?”
The blue-tiled office was new, with the front nearly all glass. Mochida-san hopped out of his Nissan, and we pulled ourselves from the cramped back seats. Our friend opened the door slightly. “Gomen kudasai. Mairimashita yo” (Excuse me).
“Dozo, dozo, ohairi kudasai” (Please come right in). A slender woman in a scarlet and blue cotton kimono appeared from a side curtain, carrying a tray of teacups and a teapot. She put the tray down and shuffled toward us, stopping before the genkan, or entryway. Mochida-san opened the door wide.
After she again invited us in, we stepped from the genkan up to the floor into slippers provided, leaving our shoes behind. A solidly built man about five feet, six inches tall hurried in through the back door. He scowled. Elder Anderson and I bowed and introduced ourselves.
Our host returned the bow quickly. “Seki Nijiro desu” (I’m Nijiro Seki). His wife smiled graciously, then bowed slowly. He looked at Elder Anderson. “Do you speak Japanese too?”
“Yes, I speak Japanese. I’ve been in Japan only one year so I don’t speak as well as Elder Tice.”
“You’re wearing suits. I wouldn’t have talked to you if you had come in with long hair and jeans.”
“We all wear suits and keep our hair short. It’s a mission rule,” Elder Anderson said.
“Well, sit down. We might as well talk.” He and his wife settled in the chairs; we and Mochida-san sat on the sofa.
I began. “Every day for two-and-a-half weeks we’ve been looking for an apartment. We need to find one by tomorrow. Do—”
“My apartment building is in a quiet neighborhood. It’s for newlyweds. They take care of their apartments. Four young students—”
“Missionaries,” I prompted.
“Ee to … missionaries … I can’t rent to single men. Their rooms get cluttered because their mothers aren’t around to clean after them. Newlyweds are more conscientious.”
“Our mission rules make us clean our apartments,” I said. “Every morning from 8:00 to 8:30. We also have inspections.”
“I see. But you’ll still have ashes and cigarette butts all over. Young men—”
“Oh, we don’t smoke.”
Seki-san sputtered. Mochida-san stared at me in amazement.
“That’s right,” Elder Anderson said. “In our church we have a commandment not to smoke. It’s very healthy.”
Both men nodded. Seki-san’s wife took advantage of the silence to pour some tea.
I stammered, “Excuse me, but is that ocha?” (tea).
“No. It’s mugicha.” Mugicha was made from barley kernels roasted black. It was often served in summer.
“Yokatta!” (Good!) we said in relief. I explained, “We don’t drink anything made from cha leaves. We don’t drink coffee either. It’s part of our health laws.”
The wife finished pouring. “That’s very strict. But don’t worry. This is mugicha.” She placed the teacups before us. The drink was so hot I couldn’t keep my fingers on the sides.
“Green tea is good for you.” Evidently Seki-san had recovered. “Still, young men are not responsible enough. No telling what time you’d get in. We can’t have you disturbing others at midnight. I’m sorry.”
Elder Anderson responded, “The mission has a nightly curfew at 9:30, and all missionaries are to be in bed at 10:30.”
“We have to be up by 6:30,” I volunteered.
“Maa (Oh!). Is that so?” Seki-san shifted about in his chair uncomfortably. “I simply cannot rent to you. All the other families would be newlyweds. You’d be coming and going all day. The radio would be on. You’d disturb others.” He stood up unexpectedly and raised his voice. “The husbands would be away and only the okusan (wives) would be home it wouldn’t be seemly! I can’t allow immoral behavior! Okusan and unmarried men! And what about young women? Who’s to stop them? No telling what—”
“Now wait a minute!” I exclaimed.
Elder Anderson leaped up. “We’re missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints! Do you know what that means?”
Seki-san drew in his cheeks and his wife poured him some mugicha. He raised the teacup and slurped noisily before sitting down.
I leaned forward and looked at him intently. “When we enter the Church, we make some crucial promises to God. One of them we call the law of chastity. We stay chaste before marriage and remain faithful after marriage. Missionaries especially try to live all the commandments. We believe they’re from God. They bring us joy and make us honorable, respected people. We also promise not to date during the years we work as missionaries. In our mission no one but missionaries is allowed in our apartments.” I had spent most of my steam and was feeling guilty. I looked down. “Except of course for landlords … I’m very sorry we got upset.”
Seki-san waved his hand. “No, no. That’s all right. We shall be friends.”
Elder Anderson started speaking eagerly. “I think we’d make good renters. We have a Japanese and gospel study program every morning. We leave for the day at 10:30, coming back only at mealtimes. We aren’t supposed to listen to popular music, and since most of us don’t like classical music, it’s pretty quiet.” He grinned broadly. He had an infectious, good-natured smile.
“Saa, saa (Come now). Let’s have some sake.”
His wife started to stand, but Mochida-san, who had been quiet till now, broke in. “They don’t drink sake, either.”
“Well, biru then.” Beer is extremely popular in Japan.
“Oh, they don’t drink biru, either. No alcohol.” He was enjoying himself immensely. He patted us both on the back. “Fine fellows. Maybe I should stop drinking.”
“You? The day you stop drinking I stop drinking.” Seki-san laughed.
“Well, I can always cut back.”
“You should. At least I don’t have to worry about cases of empty biru bottles stacked before the door.” He stopped and stood up. “Shall we look at the blueprints?”
“You mean?”—I had trouble believing what I heard. I blinked hard to hold back tears. “Thank you so much.” I took out a handkerchief, and wiped my eyes.
“Ii to mo (That’s all right). I would be honored to rent to you. It would be a pleasure.”
Elder Anderson stood to shake hands with Seki-san. “We’re very grateful.” Then we started to cry. I finally lent my companion the handkerchief.
When we left half an hour later to catch our train, just before we climbed into Mochida-san’s car, Elder Anderson began to hum our favorite jingle, “Ohayo, Mr. Donuts …”

Staff meeting in the Louisiana Baton Rouge Mission offices had just ended when the phone rang. Elder Olson, who was working in New Orleans, sounded near panic. His junior companion, Elder Freeman, had been run over by an 18-wheel truck and was on his way to the hospital. Unable to contact his zone leaders, Elder Olson was calling his mission president to find out what to do.
I reassured him that within two hours my wife and I would join him. When we got to the hospital, we were greeted by Sister Margaret Simmons, who worked as a nurse in the facility. She described the damage Elder Freeman had sustained. His pelvis was broken in two places and cracked in a third. He had a ruptured spleen, cracked and broken ribs, a broken hip, and a massive blood clot lodged in the intestinal area, along with many lesser injuries.
More than an hour passed before Elder Freeman was wheeled out of surgery into the intensive care unit. “I’ve done all I can,” the doctor said. “If he can make it 24 hours, he might have a chance to live, but there is little hope of that.”
A bone specialist arrived to put Elder Freeman in traction. When he was finished, I pulled him aside to ask for information I would need in making a full report to Salt Lake City. The specialist told me the breaks were clean, as if the bones had been snapped in half. Proper healing would take time—intensive care for a week, traction for eight weeks, six months to a year of waiting and analysis be fore a decision could be made about whether or not he would ever walk again.
I asked for permission to visit my young missionary and give him a priesthood blessing. Permission was granted, and I joined five concerned elders in a circle around him. His companion anointed him, and I pronounced the blessing, feeling inspired that he would heal and live. As we lifted out hands from his head, he roused and looked up at me. “I don’t have to go home, do I, President Lemmon?” he said. What faith! I replied simply, “You haven’t finished your mission yet.”
As we left the room, I noticed the doctors standing nearby. They had a look of puzzlement on their faces; it was, perhaps, the first time they had seen the power of God’s priesthood at work. Sister Simmons pulled me aside and said they had all watched intently and listened silently as the blessing was performed.
On the third day in the hospital, Elder Freeman was released from intensive care, beating the odds by five days. The next few weeks he spent entangled in traction equipment designed to pull his bones back to their normal positions. Even though in extreme discomfort, he used his time to memorize the missionary discussions, to teach hospital employees about the gospel, and to share his testimony of the Restoration with them. Everyone knew who he was, even the hospital president.
During the sixth week following the accident, Elder Freeman was released from the hospital and came to serve on the mission office staff in Baton Rouge. When we pulled into the driveway, he got out of the car and, using crutches, walked into my office. Again he had beaten the doctor’s prediction—this time by close to nine months—though he had lost so much weight he even had to put a triple combination under his belt to help hold his pants up!
After one month’s service in the office, Elder Freeman asked to be reassigned. I sent him to Baker, Louisiana, as a district leader. Shortly after his arrival there, he used his crutches for the last time. Elder Freeman finished his mission in Hammond, Louisiana, serving as a zone leader. When he walked or ran, it was with a slight limp, but he enjoyed a normal range of activities. He returned home and married his high school sweetheart. They now have two children.
Elder Matthew Freeman is a living example of the power of the priesthood and a walking example of the power of faith. I thank the Lord for the priesthood, and I thank him for fine young men like Elder Freeman, who serve with all their might, mind, and strength.

My testimony of Him and His role in my life has evolved over the years. When I was young, my seminary teacher, Richard Chidester, quoted from the 13th verse of the 46th Section of the Doctrine and Covenants as he was preparing to bear his testimony of Jesus Christ.

He read from verse 13:
“To some it is given by the Holy Ghost to know that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and that he was crucified for the sins of the world.” [D&C 46:13]

He then bore his testimony that he was one of those to whom it was given by the Holy Ghost to know that Jesus Christ is the Son of God.

I remember sitting there in a classroom in the innocence and honesty of youth saying to myself “I don’t know that”.

He then made me feel better by reading verse 14 in that same Section:
“To others it is given to believe on their words, that they also might have eternal life if they continue faithful.” [D&C 46:14]

That gave me some comfort and for years thereafter I viewed my seminary teacher as, what I called, a “Verse 13 guy”—one who knew for himself through the Holy Ghost. At the same time I viewed myself as a “Verse 14 guy”—one who believed on his words.

Over the years as I have come to recognize how the Holy Ghost communicates with my spirit---and how my spirit communicates with my body, I have learned to recognize certain feelings and impressions as coming to me directly from the Holy Ghost. With that uniquely personal insight, the time did come when I became a Verse 13 guy. When it was given to me by the Holy Ghost to know that Jesus Christ is the Son of God.

Later in life when I was called as an Area Seventy I read in the 107th Section of the Doctrine and Covenants that the Seventy are called to be “especial witnesses” of the name of Christ. I was comforted by the reality that I could fulfill that assignment with authenticity. I already knew and could honestly testify of my personal witness.

At age 15, The First Presidency called him on a mission and sent him to these islands. What a remarkable thing to be called as a missionary at 15 years of age about the same age as his Uncle Joseph was when he went into the grove to pray.

He had to work his way over here. There was no missionary fund like we have today. It wasn't easy. He didn't have parents to pay his way; they were both gone. So he worked and raised the money necessary to finally come here to these islands. His mission president, President Hammond, gave him a remarkable blessing and sent him off to Maui. Here in these islands, he served faithfully for three years.

One of the experiences that Joseph F. Smith had here was almost losing his life through becoming so very, very sick. How appreciative are those connected to the Smith family for the loving tender care of an Hawaiian mother who took Joseph F. Smith in and cared for him. Ma Manuhii, known as his Hawaiian mother, took care of him and nursed him back to health. In these islands he gained a deep and abiding and powerful testimony. I think he knew from his childhood that his uncle was a prophet. I think when he heard Joseph teach the gospel, even as a five year old, it penetrated his soul. I also believe that his service on these islands crystallized his testimony in his mind and in the very core of his heart.

President Díaz truly understands those difficulties. Baptized at age 17, he was the only member of his family to join the Church. “What got me through was my branch president,” he explains. “He spent hours with me; he always had time for me.” That important contact helped young Jacinto Díaz decide to serve a mission. He left despite the opposition of his parents. By the time he returned two years later, his mother and 11 other family members had joined the Church.

The boy you are encouraging may seem too timid to be a powerful priesthood servant. Another one of my sons was so shy as a little boy that he wouldn’t walk into a store and talk to a clerk. He was too afraid. I worried as I prayed over his priesthood future. I thought of him in the mission field—that didn’t sound promising. I was led to a scripture in Proverbs: “The wicked flee when no man pursueth: but the righteous are bold as a lion.”
I carved “Bold as a Lion” on his board, beneath an image of a large lion’s head roaring. On his mission and in the years that followed, he fulfilled the hope in my carving. My once-shy son preached the gospel with great conviction and faced dangers with bravery. He was magnified in his responsibilities to represent the Lord.
That can happen for the young man you are leading. You need to build his faith that the Lord can transform him into a servant braver than the timid boy you now see.

“Hurry up, Jared, or we’ll be late for church,” Mother called from the bottom of the stairs. Rushing down the stairs and out the front door, Jared suddenly remembered that he needed his scriptures for Primary. Rather than taking the time to go back upstairs, he grabbed a set from the living room bookshelf.
On the way to church, he flipped through the Bible to find his favorite scripture about baptism. He wanted to share it in Primary opening exercises. He was surprised to find that the scripture he was looking for was already underlined in red and that there was a date written in the margin. “What happened on 2 July 1982?” he asked, reading the date.
“Let me think,” Mother said. “That was about the time Samuel turned eight. Why, I believe that was when he was baptized.”
Samuel was Jared’s big brother. He had recently married and moved to another state to go to college. Even though Samuel lived far away, Jared loved him very much and still felt close to him.
Jared turned to the first page of the Bible and saw Samuel’s full name printed in a child’s scrawl. Jared realized this must be the set of scriptures his brother had used when he was in Primary. And Samuel must have had the same favorite scripture about baptism that Jared had now. That made Jared feel even closer to Samuel. Turning back to Matthew 3:16–17 [Matt. 3:16–17], Jared carefully wrote his own baptism date in the margin next to Samuel’s.
Jared happily carried his brother’s scriptures to his Primary class. When the teacher asked the students to open their scriptures to Doctrine and Covenants 4 [D&C 4], he discovered there was a bookmark there. It was old and worn around the edges.
Jared turned it sideways so he could read the words written on it: “Every young man should serve a mission.” He thought about Samuel’s mission to Mexico and about how Samuel had begun saving money for a mission while he was still in Primary. Jared wondered if Samuel had started his mission fund when he got this bookmark.
After Primary, Jared carried Samuel’s scriptures to sacrament meeting. When one of the speakers read Doctrine and Covenants 131:2 [D&C 131:2], Jared was not surprised to open Samuel’s scriptures and see that the verse was already underlined. He also found a card there on which Samuel had written five reasons he wanted to get married in the temple. Jared thought about his brother’s recent temple marriage. Samuel must have started planning to get married in the temple when he was my age!
When Jared got home from church, he wrote a letter to Samuel:
Dear Samuel,
Thanks for letting me borrow your scriptures today. I hope you don’t mind that I wrote my baptism date in the margin next to yours. I’ve always wanted to be just like you when I grow up, and now I know how I can start. I want you to know I am going to save some money each week for my mission. And after my mission, I want to get married in the temple. Thanks for being a good example to me your whole life.
Love, Jared

As a young boy growing up in an active Latter-day Saint family, Ken G. had never had much trouble keeping his standards high. But when he started high school, things became harder and Ken sometimes felt isolated from the good influence of his family—especially at school.
“My high school friends were all really close to me even though they were not members of the Church,” Ken says. “We still had a strong connection. The problem was they started doing things that did not follow the standards of our Church.”
At home Ken never had a problem choosing the right, but he says that when he got to school and his family was no longer around to help guide him, he started making wrong choices. “I admit I did things that were not in line with the standards of the Church, so in seminary I always felt like I was the one being talked about in the lesson.”
That’s when Ken realized he wanted to make a change, but he didn’t feel strong enough to do it on his own. “So I made a resolution to pray for God to give me the strength and the courage to say no to my friends when they did bad things,” he explains. “And I feel that God answered my prayers. It became easier for me to say no whenever my friends asked me to do something wrong or tempted me. I already had the knowledge and knew what was right and wrong. But then, through prayer, I felt like I had the power and the gift to say no and to do what was right.”
Ken says the most important thing he learned from this experience is that “prayer is a sign of your humility, because you admit to yourself that you are weak and that only God can help you become strong” (see D&C 112:10).

“Please, Mom and Dad, bear me your testimonies,” I sobbed.
It was late Christmas Eve, and my mother and father had just retired after fulfilling their duties as Santa’s helpers. I was home from college for the holidays. I hoped the festivities would make me forget the gloom that filled my soul and that I would be able to feel a bit of peace. But even now, on the edge of my parents’ bed, I felt as if the empty feelings would never go away.
It started in the summer vacation. I made friends with a newly baptized girl stationed at the same military base as my parents. Soon after we met, she began sharing her concerns about anti-Mormon literature she was receiving from people where she worked. As summer dragged on, my testimony seemed to be evaporating. As I wrestled to answer her questions, I became spiritually exhausted.
“What if the Church isn’t true?” The thought plagued me. Nothing seemed to have any purpose if it was not true. Why bother to serve others? Why keep the commandments? What was there to be happy about?
Yet two things kept me hanging on. If the Church was not true, then the Book of Mormon would have to be false. I could not imagine giving up my favorite scriptures, stories, and prophets from its pages.
Second, I had received my patriarchal blessing when I was 13. I had come to appreciate the inspiration and love it represented. If I denied the Church’s truthfulness, I would have to discard my blessing.
As I returned to my room that Christmas Eve, I knelt and pled with my Heavenly Father. “Please, I have struggled now for months. I need to know if the Church is true.”
Quietly, as I knelt there in the darkness, a line from my patriarchal blessing filled my mind. “Have the courage and the determination to prepare yourself through study and through prayer.” Study and prayer! Somehow I had forgotten to continually strengthen my testimony as I had fought to save my friend’s.
The next morning, though it was Christmas, I slept in. Anxious to be on with the festivities, my two-year-old brother came to wake me. Sensing from my swollen eyes that something was wrong, he began to sing: “I am a child of God, and he has sent me here.” Then he stopped. “Lisa, sing ‘Child God’ too.”
I sang what I could through my sobbing. “Yes, I am a child of God! He has heard my prayer!” my heart shouted.
That Christmas, Heavenly Father gave me the gift of how to know again that the Church was true and the remembrance of his love for me. Now each Christmas I thank my Father in Heaven, not only for “peace on earth” as the words to the carol go, but also for peace in my heart.

You can also talk with your parents. They may be able to help you decide if the best approach is to discuss this as a family, talk with your brothers and sister by yourself (either as a group or one-on-one), or perhaps to start by writing a note. In one family, sisters kept teasing a brother who was overweight. Finally he turned to his parents. “After that,” he recalls, “whenever we were together and my sisters would say something mean to me, my dad would help by changing the subject.” Eventually, the jokes stopped.