Gospel Story Finder

As we are still getting to know each other here at BYUH, I thought some of you might want to hear about how Monica and I met.
I went to college, and I was a little bit younger than everyone else. I had a cousin who lived in Provo, Utah, and I spent a lot of time hanging out with her friends. They were in high school and were my age. Monica was a part of that friend group, and we somehow never overlapped or connected in any way. Monica's brother even came and spent some time with his friends at my house, and I still never met Monica.
I was home from my mission a few years later, and Monica was at my cousins' house with her friends. My cousin told Monica that I was home from my mission and that she should go on a date with me. Monica looked at Amy and said, "I don't know who that is. What are you talking about?" The rest of Monica's friends were there and remembered who I was, but Monica had never met me; I had never met her, and we had no recollection at all. So, Amy said that we needed to get together.
She arranged for us to spend time together in a group setting, and I picked Monica up for a fireside, and we spent some time together there. There is some disputing over the next events; whether I didn't call back or she didn't answer... I don't know what happened, but nothing happened for several months. Maybe her younger brother didn't pass the message on, but several months later, I woke up on the 4th of July, and I woke up and thought, I should go run the 10k in Provo. I signed up and registered for the race and went to the starting line. When I was there, I saw Monica and some of her friends. I started chatting and reconnecting with Monica.
I made a mental note that I needed to beat her in the race so that I could wait for her and talk to her afterward. At that point, we found out that we were both signed up for the same marathon a few months from then. We decided to train together, and after running about 200 miles together, we went out on an actual date. Six months later, we were engaged, and six months after that, we were married.
I am inspired by her example of faith and confidence in doing what God would have us do. I am grateful to be on this eternal journey with Monica and appreciate all the love and support she provides for this vital work that we are doing.

This story took place in Japan.
Akari helped her little sister, Miori, put out their Nativity set. She loved getting ready for Christmas.
The figure of the baby Jesus reached up from the manger with a smile on His face. Akari smiled too. It made her think about how much Jesus loved her. Many people in Japan didn’t celebrate Jesus Christ’s birth like Akari’s family did. But they still gave gifts and spent time with family around Christmas.
Dad’s phone rang. He picked it up and talked for a minute. “Thanks for the reminder,” he said. “I’ll see you on Christmas morning.” He put down the phone.
“Are you going to the service project?” Akari asked.
“That’s right,” Dad said. “I’m going to Tokyo to help give food to people without homes. Some people in our ward help out every year.”
“Can I come this time?” Akari asked.
“Sure!” Dad said. “Miori can come too.”
On Christmas morning, Akari’s family woke up early to open presents. Akari loved her gift! She was excited to play with it later.
Mom packed lunches for everyone and hugged them goodbye. Then Akari, Dad, and Miori got on the train.
When the train got to Tokyo, Dad led Akari and Miori to a park with lots of tents and people.
“These are the people we are here to serve,” Dad said. “They don’t have much, and having food for Christmas will be a blessing to them.”
A group of people set out bread rolls, noodle bowls, and desserts on tables. Akari saw some kids her age helping too.
“Are all these people from our church?” Akari asked Dad.
“Not all of them,” Dad said. “Isn’t it great how many people want to help?”
Akari, Miori, and Dad put food into boxes. Then they helped give the boxes to the people in line. “Merry Christmas,” Akari told each person.
Soon all the boxes were gone. But there were still people in line waiting for food!
Dad frowned. “I guess there isn’t enough.” He turned to the people waiting. “I’m so sorry. We’re out of food.”
Akari didn’t want those people to go without food. Was there something she could do?
“They can have my lunch,” she said.
“Good idea!” Dad said. “Let’s all share our lunches.” The other helpers nodded. They got out the lunches they’d brought for themselves. All the people in the line got some food!
Akari was a little hungry, but that was OK. The people at the park needed the food more than she did.
“I’m proud of you,” Dad said on the train ride home. “That was nice of you to share your food.”
“It’s what Jesus would do,” Akari said.
Akari felt warm and happy inside for the rest of the day. And not just because it was Christmas! She was glad she could share the Savior’s love.
What did Akari do to be like Jesus?
Illustration by Amanda Yoshida

I recently visited with a couple of students who described the reason for which they have chosen to remain at BYU–Idaho and progress toward graduation.

For both students, the gospel was never a part of their growing-up years. They [both] describe that being here initially felt odd as they struggled to feel a sense of belonging.

When the first student left to return home to work and save money, he realized the difference in the spirit he felt at BYU–Idaho, and he chose to return.

When the second student returned after Thanksgiving, he recognized the difference in the spirit he felt here and decided to stay because he wanted more of the Spirit in his life. Today both students are working toward temple recommends.

We encourage those of you who have a large reservation of names to share them so that members of your extended family or ward and stake can help you in completing that work. You can do this by distributing temple cards to ward and stake members willing to help or by using the FamilySearch computer system to submit the names directly to the temple. This latter option is something Cindy Blevins of Casper, Wyoming, has been doing for years.
Sister Blevins was baptized as a teenager and has been the only member of her family to join the Church. She has completed a vast amount of genealogical work. But there are far too many names for her and her immediate family to complete. Consequently, Sister Blevins has submitted the names to the temple, which, she reports, are often completed in a matter of weeks, usually at one of the two temples closest to her home. She says she likes to think that friends and neighbors in her own ward and stake may be among those helping to complete the work for her ancestors. She appreciates their doing so.

In the state of Utah it is not unusual to have towns named after people in the Book of Mormon. I heard of a tourist couple who were driving through Utah and commenting on the unusual names of the towns. As they saw Nephi on the map, the wife said, “Do you suppose that is Nep-hi?” Her husband responded, “Perhaps Nephy.” They decided to stop for lunch, and when the waitress brought their check, she asked if she could do anything else to help them. The gentleman said, “Tell us how to pronounce the name of this place.” The waitress responded, “Burger King.”

When she was just 16 years old, Silvia Henriquez Allred, recently called as first counselor in the Relief Society general presidency, gained a love for Relief Society.
“Shortly after she was baptized, my mother was called as the Relief Society president in our branch in El Salvador,” Sister Allred explains. “She was overwhelmed, but my sister and I [who were also recent converts] told her, ‘It will be OK. The Lord will help you.’ And He did.”
As Sister Allred served as the Relief Society secretary alongside her mother, she was impressed by the opportunities that Relief Society offered in leadership, education, homemaking skills, and service—opportunities Sister Allred says are available “to every woman who embraces the gospel of Jesus Christ.”

After I quit drugs, I went way overboard with alcohol, and can honestly say I was a high school alcoholic. When I decided I wanted to quit, I couldn’t, on my own. I didn’t care enough about myself to do what I knew I needed to do.
Then I became close friends with a good, active LDS girl. She couldn’t understand what I was going through, but she did know I was honestly trying to get out of the hole I was in. It hurt her when I slipped back. I finally quit drinking because I knew it hurt her, and I knew I wouldn’t lie to her.
Keeping my morals straight was so hard under my weakened condition that I avoided any social contacts with girls except as good friends like this one.

I am grateful today for a Church member who got outside himself and talked to a stranger. The stranger was my great-great-grandfather Orville Sutherland Cox, who was relocating from Ohio to Missouri. My ancestor was not well acquainted with the restored gospel of Jesus Christ when he met Brother Sylvester Hulet on a dusty road just outside Far West, Missouri, in 1838. Brother Hulet patiently listened as Mr. Cox harshly criticized the Church based solely on rumors to which he had been exposed. Rather than bristling and walking away, Brother Hulet invited my ancestor to walk with him into the city and witness, firsthand, the industry and goodness of the Mormons. My ancestor was impressed and quickly recognized the false nature of his previous impressions. Learning that Mr. Cox was a newcomer and had no place to stay, Brother Hulet kindly opened his home to this stranger for an extended period. For me this adds much personal meaning to the Savior’s declaration “I was a stranger, and ye took me in” (Matthew 25:35).

That one encounter altered the entire course of my great-great-grandfather’s life and the lives of his descendants. I am a grateful recipient of Brother Sylvester Hulet’s kind fellowshipping that day so long ago. After some time Orville Cox was baptized, and the two men eventually migrated to Utah and remained faithful Latter-day Saints and best friends to the end of their lives. It is only fitting that Orville Sutherland Cox and Sylvester Hulet, who met as strangers on a road in Missouri, are buried next to each other in the pioneer cemetery in Fairview, Utah. What if Brother Hulet would have avoided my ancestor that day? It is quite possible that we would not be having this conversation 175 years later!

Young men in Uganda start playing soccer as small boys, using tightly bound branches for a ball. Ever since he was very young, Dennis had a gift for the sport, and his high school gave him a scholarship to play for their team. After he completed high school, a professional team offered him pay, room, and board. It was a dream come true, but Dennis knew this would likely interfere with his plans to go on a mission later in the year.
Dennis
Photograph by Cindy Smith
Dennis’s desire to do what his Heavenly Father wanted him to do was so strong that he did not even want to be tempted to remain on the team when the time would arrive for him to serve a mission. Many people questioned his choice, but Dennis is certain he made the right decision—for himself and others. “My two little brothers and my little sister were just baptized,” he says. “I never thought my sister would hear the gospel. When I see God doing miracles in my family, it gives me a bright hope for my future.”

The pair of old skates had hung on the basement wall for as long as I could remember. When my brother Duncan told me they were Dad’s, I couldn’t believe him.
“You mean Dad?” I asked. “Our father. He skates?” Duncan nodded.
Dad just wasn’t the athletic type. On Saturdays, while the other kids’ fathers played ball or dressed in Argyle sweaters and went off to golf, my dad returned his overdue library books. Most fathers went fishing or dug in a garden in their spare hours; my dad read about the Roman Empire and the last days of Pompeii.
He loved books. He knew the date of every battle in British history. He knew how to conjugate French verbs and could mentally add up my math problems in seconds. He was a hero to the neighborhood kids when they needed help with their Latin or physics, but all his gray matter did little good when we needed an outfielder on Saturday mornings.
When the first signs of winter came to Ottawa, Canada, I waited anxiously for Dow’s Lake to freeze over. My brothers, sisters, and I would go down into the basement and drag out skates, scarves, and gloves in anticipation of the first skate of the season.
When I awoke one winter morning there were frosty patterns on the windowpane and a tingle in the air. I knew instinctively that the first day of skating had arrived. But I was not at all prepared for the announcement made at the breakfast table.
“I’m going skating with you kids this morning,” my father said.
“But Dad,” said my sister Eleanor, thinking quickly, “I thought you had to return library books. You have an overdue notice on your desk.”
“Figure eights,” he said, ignoring her remark. “I’m going to show you kids how to do the best figure eights this side of Lake Placid.” With that he stood up and headed for the basement.
We all looked at one another nervously. I thought of our friends and what they would say when they saw Dad dressed in a dark business suit out there on the ice. Dad always wore a suit and tie even on picnics.
When he appeared with his tube skates polished and thrown jauntily over his shoulder, I breathed a little easier. He had found an old rain coat that covered his suit. He did, however, have on ugly red ear muffs and a bowler hat.
We met Duncan’s friend Arnie halfway there. Arnie’s favorite subject was his father’s great athletic prowess. To hear him talk, you’d think his dad was Joe Montana, Michael Jordan, and Arnold Schwarzenegger rolled up into one man. He was telling us how his father had played for the Montreal Canadians (a claim never proven), when he caught sight of my dad’s skates. “You mean your dad’s going skating?” he snickered to Duncan.
“Yeah,” Dunc nervously answered. “Going to show us some figure eights.”
“Hope you brought along a stretcher,” Arnie needled.
Dad was walking several paces ahead of us, whistling nonchalantly. Dunc, loyal but worried, just stared straight ahead.
When we arrived at the lake most of our friends were already there. While Arnie spread the news of my father’s intentions, Dad quietly put on his skates, leaning on one of the high snow banks around the edge of the ice. Within a minute he was ready.
Dunc diverted the attention of his friends so they wouldn’t see the disaster about to happen. My ankles were always a little weak so I wobbled as I started out on the ice. Just then a figure glided by me, taking long smooth strides. I admired the ease and grace with which he moved. With shock I recognized the rain coat and red ear muffs. It was Dad! His hands were clasped tightly behind him, head down in top Olympic racing style. He glided over the ice so smoothly you could hardly hear the cut of his skates on the ice.
Dunc was racing behind him, trying to keep up. My sisters were screaming from the sidelines, “Look at Dad! Look at Dad!”
We all held our breath as suddenly he began to go into the long, graceful circles of a figure eight. Our friends applauded as Dad modestly demonstrated his technique.
Later, when we walked home, a soft snow began to fall. Our friends were trailing behind. One yelled at Dad, “Hey, Mr. Johnson, you want to play for our hockey team?”
Dunc walked beside him, trying to keep up. “Hey Dad,” he said hesitatingly. “Do you want to try the ski jump tomorrow?”
Arnie came up to Dunc, panting from the exertion of the skate. Arnie nudged my brother and chortled, “You should have seen my dad skate at the Olympics.”
Dunc rolled his eyes.

I should like to give you another example. One of our most respected community-minded citizens began to act as though his feelings had been hurt and to stay away from socials where, in the past, he had gone and taken a most active part. People started accusing him of being a sorehead, a poor sport, antisocial, etc., and even evaded him whenever possible. Later, a medical diagnosis showed he was suffering from a brain tumor, which had been the cause of his lack of interest in activities that he had previously attended and even sponsored.

Some years ago one of my high school friends visited me. We talked over old times. Unfortunately he had chosen a life of moral transgression. At one point he broke out in tears and exclaimed, almost like a broken record, "I want to be clean, I want to be clean, I want to be clean." To his credit he eventually changed his life to conform to the moral standards he knew to be correct. Like my friend, I believe there is an innate desire in every man and woman to be morally clean--oh, there may be some moments of rationalization, or expressions that yield to the peer pressure and fashions of the day, but in the quiet, reflective moments of life, when one ponders who he really is and what he really wants to become, there emerges a God-given desire to be clean, to be holy, to be right with that very being who created him and planted within him the creative powers.

On Monday morning, Jonathan sat between Rob and Braden as the bus bumped along toward school. His friends were being really funny that morning, and Jonathan was laughing so hard that his sides ached.
Suddenly Rob joked about something that wasn’t very nice. Braden broke into hysterics and answered with another joke that was even worse. Then he threw in some bad language.
Jonathan squirmed. The bad language and jokes were happening a lot lately. He glanced at Sara, who was sitting across the aisle. She was the only other member of the Church in sixth grade. She looked back at him, her bright brown eyes wide. Jonathan looked away. Sara probably thought he talked that way, too. He looked up and saw the bus driver staring directly at him in the rearview mirror. She shook her head and mouthed the word no.
Jonathan looked down. His stomach churned like it did when he was about to throw up.
The bus pulled into the school yard, and children started to pile out. Jonathan was thankful for the fresh air that rushed in. As they stood in the aisle, Braden pushed from behind and laughed. Usually Jonathan would have pushed back or poked Rob in front of him. But not today. He didn’t feel like laughing or pushing. When he and his friends got to the front of the bus, the driver frowned and pointed for them to sit down.
“Busted!” one boy said as he walked past.
After everyone else got off, the bus driver set the air brakes with a loud spisshhh and turned around. No one said anything funny. No one laughed.
“I didn’t care for the way you were talking,” the bus driver said. “Would you talk that way in front of your mothers?”
The boys squirmed. None of them answered.
By the time the bus driver let them go, they had missed most of the free time before school.
“I hope she doesn’t call my mom,” Rob said.
“I don’t care if she calls mine,” Braden said. “My mom doesn’t care.”
Jonathan thought about his mom. What if she heard the way his friends talked? She would feel so sad. What if she thought he talked that way, too? He shuddered. It was bad enough that Sara and the bus driver thought so.
Jonathan sighed as he walked into his classroom. What a rotten way to start the day.
After math, Mr. Price said, “Everyone take out a piece of blank paper and fold it four times. We are going to make some new friends.” Jonathan knew what that meant. They were going to learn new vocabulary words. He folded and unfolded his paper and got ready to write a new word on each of the sixteen little squares. Then they would play bingo with the new words. He liked his teacher’s way of introducing new words by playing fun games with them. Mr. Price said that each time you learned a new word, it was like making a new friend.
A new friend! An idea began to grow in Jonathan’s head. As the class practiced their new words, the idea grew stronger. He would make a new best friend who liked good words and didn’t use bad words. But who?
At lunchtime Jonathan looked around. There were a lot of kids in his school. Surely he could find one new friend. He looked at a table where a bunch of kids from his sixth-grade band class sat. Most of them liked bad jokes, though. That wouldn’t help.
He looked across the cafeteria at some kids from another classroom. They were really nice guys, and he’d never heard any of them use bad language. But every seat at their table was taken. No one there would be looking for a new friend.
Finally he saw Sara sitting with her friends. She did not use bad words, and neither did her friends. But he couldn’t sit with them. They were all girls.
Sara stood up and carried her empty tray toward the kitchen. Jonathan stopped her. “Hey, that wasn’t me swearing on the bus.”
“I didn’t think it was,” Sara said. “But I wondered.”
“Well, I just want you to know I don’t talk like that. Actually, I’m looking for a new best friend who doesn’t talk like that either. Rob and Braden are still my friends, but when I’m with them I get blamed for what they say.”
“Who is your new best friend going to be?”
Jonathan looked around the cafeteria. Kids were everywhere—eating, talking, and laughing. “I don’t know,” he said.
That night he sat on the side of his bed and told Mom about his problem. As he talked, another good idea came into his head. “Heavenly Father knows who my new best friend is,” he said. “I’ll ask Him.”
Jonathan knelt by his bed and said his prayers, talking to Heavenly Father about his problem just like he had talked to his mom. Every night that week he asked Heavenly Father if there was a nice boy in sixth grade who could be his new best friend. Each day at school he searched and wondered who it could be. It seemed as if everyone had all the friends they needed.
On Monday after math, Mr. Price said, “Everyone get ready to make some new friends.” He wrote ten words on the board and gave several definitions for each word. “Choose someone in the class to discuss the words with,” he said. “You must each use every word in five different sentences. The first team to use all ten words is the winner.”
Rob picked Braden, and they started talking really fast, intent on winning the prize. Jonathan looked around. He had no idea who to pick. He noticed that a boy named Dale was looking around also. The two had never really spoken, but they both needed a partner, so they smiled and sat down together.
“The first word is keen,” Jonathan said. “My hockey skates are very keen.”
“So are mine,” Dale replied, “but I’m not too keen on the gash I got from another player’s skate after I fell on the ice.”
“I didn’t know you played hockey,” Jonathan said. “I’m guessing that someone was keen to get to the puck ahead of you.”
Dale nodded. “You obviously have a keen mind. It was a keen battle, but my team won.” He held up a bandaged left hand. “But the wind was keen that night, and my hand ached all the way home from the rink.”
Jonathan laughed out loud. This was fun. Then he realized that he had never heard Dale use a bad word.
“Your story has given me keen pleasure,” he said.
Dale gave him the kind of smile a friend gives a friend. “That’s keen,” he said. “Really keen.”
Rob and Braden finished first and won the contest, but Jonathan knew that he had won something much better.

With this unique capability and emphasis on the worth of souls in the sight of God also comes the opportunity for confusion. We live in a materialistic world. Some become confused and seek identity through riches or the accolades of men. The Savior makes it very clear in his teachings that it is not possible to realize the identity of which I speak through such means. In Luke 18:18–25 we read:
“And a certain ruler asked him, saying, Good Master, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?
“And Jesus said unto him, …
“Thou knowest the commandments, Do not commit adultery, Do not kill, Do not steal, Do not bear false witness, Honour thy father and thy mother.
“And he said, all these have I kept from my youth up.
“Now when Jesus heard these things, he said unto him, Yet lackest thou one thing: sell all that thou hast, and distribute unto the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven: and come, follow me.
“And when he heard this, he was very sorrowful: for he was very rich.
“And when Jesus saw that he was very sorrowful, he said, How hardly shall they that have riches enter into the kingdom of God.
“For it is easier for a camel to go through a needle’s eye, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God.”
It was not that the man was rich but that he coveted his riches and would not share his wealth with the poor.
Another example is also recorded in Luke:
“And he spake a parable unto them, saying, The ground of a certain rich man brought forth plentifully:
“And he thought within himself, saying, What shall I do, because I have no room where to bestow my fruits?
“And he said, This will I do: I will pull down my barns, and build greater; and there will I bestow all my fruits and my goods.
“And I will say to my soul, Soul, thou hast much goods laid up for many years; take thine ease, eat, drink, and be merry.
“But God said unto him, Thou fool, this night thy soul shall be required of thee: then whose shall those things be, which thou hast provided?
“So is he that layeth up treasure for himself, and is not rich toward God.” (Luke 12:16–21.)
Contrast these with the story of a sixteen-year-old priest who answered the telephone one day to hear the voice of a popular disc jockey on a local radio station. He was asked a question and when he answered it correctly was informed he had won an expensive sports car. It seemed like a dream come true for a teenage boy. A loving bishop was concerned about what such a car might do to the boy, thinking it might draw him away from all we hold dear. He asked him about his feelings. The bishop could hardly believe his ears when the young man indicated he was not going to take the car but would accept a cash award instead. He said, “Now my mission is paid for.” What an outstanding example of proper balance in an attitude toward worldly wealth or recognition and Christlike values.

You have observed in your own life and in the lives of others the miracle of happiness coming from growing holiness, becoming more like the Savior. In recent weeks, I have been at the bedside of people who could face death with full faith in the Savior and with happy countenances.
One was a man surrounded by his family. He and his wife were chatting quietly as my son and I entered. I had known them for many years. I had seen the Atonement of Jesus Christ work in their lives and in the lives of their family members.
They had together chosen to end medical efforts to prolong his life. There was a quiet feeling as he spoke to us. He smiled as he expressed gratitude for the gospel and its purifying effects on him and the family he loved. He spoke of his happy years of service in the temple. At this man’s request, my son anointed his head with consecrated oil. I sealed the anointing. As I did, I had a clear impression to tell him that he would soon see his Savior, face-to-face.
I promised him that he would feel happiness, love, and the Savior’s approval. He smiled warmly as we left. His last words to me were “Tell Kathy I love her.” My wife, Kathleen, over many years had encouraged generations of his family to accept the Savior’s invitation to come unto Him, make and keep sacred covenants, and so qualify for the happiness that comes as a result of that greater holiness.
He died hours later. Within weeks of his passing, his widow brought a gift to my wife and me. She smiled as we talked. She said pleasantly, “I expected that I would feel sad and lonely. I feel so happy. Do you think that’s all right?”
Knowing how much she loved her husband and how both of them had come to know, love, and serve the Lord, I told her that her feelings of happiness were a promised gift because she had, by her faithful service, been made more holy. Her holiness had qualified her for that happiness.

I recall the time I approached baptism, when I was eight years of age. My mother talked with me about repentance and about the meaning of baptism; and then, on a Saturday in September of 1935, she took me on a streetcar to the Tabernacle baptistry which, until recently, was here in this building. At the time it was not as customary as it is now for fathers to baptize their children, since the ordinance was generally performed on a Saturday morning or afternoon, and many fathers were working at their daily professions or trades. I dressed in white and was baptized. I remember that day as though it were yesterday and the happiness I felt at having had this ordinance performed.

Over the years and particularly during the time I served as a bishop, I witnessed many other baptisms in the Tabernacle font. Each was a special and inspiring occasion, and each served to remind me of my own baptism.

Let me share with you my own experience with respect to race issues. As I indicated, I grew up in Logan, Utah, which at the time had very little racial diversity. My initial interaction with Blacks was through athletic competitions and Boys Nation.

In the summer of 1957, when I was almost seventeen years old, I was elected from Utah Boys State to be one of the two senators to attend Boys Nation in Washington, DC.28 Our accommodations were at the University of Maryland at College Park. At breakfast on the first morning, suddenly most of the young men from the South stood on their chairs and sang the song “Dixie.” I did not have a clue what was going on, but I could see that the one African American from the Northeast was visibly uncomfortable. This concerted action seemed very inappropriate, but I did not understand all the implications. One of the reasons I was surprised is because in my home, kindness and fairness for all Heavenly Father’s children were emphasized, particularly by my mother.

After I finished high school in California, I went to the University of Utah. I joined a fraternity, which is a kind of club for college students. Some of my fellow fraternity members kept Heavenly Father’s commandments. Others did not. It was clear to me that the ones who kept the commandments were the ones who were going to have happy lives. I knew that I, too, needed to keep the commandments if I wanted to be happy.
After my first year of college, I went on a mission to Peru. I met lots of wonderful people who were happy even though they had very few things that money can buy. They had great joy in the gospel and in the love of their families.
When I returned to the University of Utah after my mission, I began to date Kathy Kipp. Her father was a good man but not a member of the Church, and her parents were divorced. Kathy and her sister faithfully attended Primary together as young girls. Sometimes Kathy’s father wanted the family to do things on Sunday that were not appropriate on the Sabbath Day. Kathy knew that she needed to obey her father, but she went to church when she could.
When we began dating, I learned how strongly Kathy felt about keeping the Sabbath Day holy. Because of her devotion, our family has always tried hard to make Sunday a special day. We don’t watch TV on Sunday or go to sporting events. We listen to sacred music, write letters, and spend lots of time talking together. Our younger children liked to read stories from the Friend and from scripture readers. As a result, we have enjoyed a spirit of peace in our home on the Sabbath.
Heavenly Father loves all children and wants them to be happy. He designed the gospel to make us happy. One of my pioneer ancestors, William Clayton, wrote the hymn “Come, Come, Ye Saints” (Hymns, no. 30). He wrote it when the Saints had been driven out of their beautiful city of Nauvoo and were looking for safety. The chorus of that song reminds us that when we do what is right, “all is well.” That does not mean we will not have any problems. But when we follow our Heavenly Father’s plan of happiness, all will eventually be well.

The peace that you want takes time. It won’t happen overnight. My mother died about five years ago of cancer. It isn’t easy to lose someone we love. I only wish that I had communicated with my dad and my brothers and sisters and told them how I felt. Instead I tried to hide it. Because of my stubbornness, it only got worse when my dad remarried and we moved to a new town. I was heartbroken because all my memories of my mom weren’t around anymore. I blamed my Heavenly Father for doing this to me and making my life miserable.
My first year of high school I had no mom, and then I had to make new friends in a new school. I now feel peace within because I decided to let go of all my past hurts and look toward the future. Yes, I still have my days when I wonder why, but Heavenly Father has the whole eternal perspective of life, and we only have a narrow view.
I hope that you will keep communications with your family open. Let them know how you’re feeling.
Please stay close to your Heavenly Father. He loves all of us, and he will comfort you when you’re really down. I can testify to that.
Mary Beth Bentley, 18Danville, California

Illustrations by Elise Black
The front door closed behind Thomas with a swoosh and a click as he hurried to check the family calendar.
“I was right!” he called loudly. “It is my turn to teach the lesson in family home evening.”
Mom’s eyes widened. “Honey, I’m so sorry we didn’t plan your lesson last night! I thought it was my turn to teach.”
Thomas shook his head. “Don’t worry, Mom. I know what to do.” Normally she helped him prepare the day before. But he was 10 years old now. He could plan a lesson by himself.
Mom smiled and raised an eyebrow. “You’re sure? You don’t need any help?”
“Yup, I’ve got this.”
Later that night Thomas pulled out his copy of the Friend. He opened it to an article he’d read called “The Ten Commandments Teach Me to Love God and His Children” (Sept. 2012). As Thomas read it out loud to his family, he noticed Mom looking very proud of him.
After the lesson it was time for the activity on the next page. Thomas had already cut out the labels that read, “Honoring God,” “Respecting Parents and Family,” and “Respecting Others.”
As part of the activity, they took turns sharing examples of how they’d kept commandments the past week.
“I said my prayers last night,” said his big sister Ella.
“What group do we think that falls in?” asked Thomas. After discussing, they picked “Honoring God.”
After the lesson Ella served some tasty cookies she’d baked. Then they delivered some of the extras to friends.
Thomas felt so happy he could help out. That was one of his favorite family home evenings ever!