Gospel Story Finder

I was only 20 when my bishop extended a call to me to serve in my ward Relief Society presidency. I panicked.
As soon as I was asked to serve, the adversary reminded me of my insecurities and shortcomings. He tried to convince me that I was not good enough to fulfill this assignment.
I was sure this calling was a mistake. I was pretty new in the ward, I was still figuring out my own life, I had a lot of social anxiety, and I felt completely unready to serve in such a role.
Perhaps you can relate.
That day I met with my bishop, I accepted the calling to serve in Relief Society. I was amazed at how—despite my being young, inexperienced, and terrified at times—the Savior strengthened me beyond my inadequacy. He helped me deepen my love for my sisters in the gospel and offer them support in the ways they needed.

There was, for example, the return trip from my second zone conference. We had transferred trains and were busy talking to a woman about the new temple in Freiberg when I noticed that the train had stopped in a city we shouldn’t have been in. We realized we had gotten on the wrong train and quickly jumped off. Unfortunately, the next train headed in the right direction would not pass through for another two hours, and our connection after that would be even later. Waiting in that train station, we had the chance to do some reading. “The Inconvenient Messiah,” an article by Elder Jeffrey R. Holland, then president of Brigham Young University, appeared in the Ensign we had just received, and his thoughts seemed directed straight to me:
“And so I ask you to be patient in things of the Spirit. Perhaps your life has been different from mine, but I doubt it. … My mission was not easy. …
“… All but a prophetic few must go about God’s work in very quiet, very unspectacular ways. And as you labor to know him, and to know that he knows you; as you invest your time—and inconvenience—in quiet, unassuming service, you will indeed find that ‘his angels [have] charge concerning thee: and in their hands they shall bear thee up’ (Matt. 4:6). It may not come quickly. It probably won’t come quickly, but there is purpose in the time it takes. Cherish your spiritual burdens because God will converse with you through them and will use you to do his work if you will carry them well” (Tambuli, Mar. 1989, 23; Ensign, Feb. 1984, 70).

My experience in the mission field helped me understand those words, and the Spirit bore strong, penetrating, comforting witness to me of those truths in that lonely train station.

In the early days of his mission in Great Britain, a young Elder Gordon B. Hinckley felt considerable discouragement. President Hinckley’s biographer, Sheri Dew, has written:
“After he had taken as much as he felt he could, Elder Hinckley wrote his father that he wasn’t getting anywhere with missionary work, and that he couldn’t see the point in wasting his time and his father’s money. Responding as both father and stake president, Bryant Hinckley sent a reply that was brief and to the point: ‘Dear Gordon, I have your recent letter. I have only one suggestion: forget yourself and go to work.’
“Earlier that day [Elder Hinckley] and his companion had studied the promise recorded in the Gospels: ‘For whosoever will save his life shall lose it; but whosoever shall lose his life for my sake and the gospel’s, the same shall save it’ (Mark 8:35).
“That scripture, combined with his father’s counsel, seared his soul. With the letter in hand, he went into his upstairs bedroom at 15 Wadham Road and got on his knees. As he poured out his heart to the Lord, he promised that he would try to forget himself and lose himself in the Lord’s service. Many years later [President Hinckley] indicated the significance of that series of events: ‘That July day in 1933 was my day of decision. A new light came into my life and a new joy into my heart. The fog of England seemed to lift, and I saw the sunlight. Everything good that has happened to me since then I can trace back to the decision I made that day in Preston’” (Go Forward with Faith, 64).
Elder Gordon B. Hinckley, had “decided to decide.”

One such couple sat in my office just days after the husband’s disclosure of a pornography habit that had plagued him since his youth. While listening to a Relief Society lesson based on Sister Linda S. Reeves’s April 2014 general conference address, “Protection from Pornography—a Christ-Focused Home,” the wife began to recognize in her husband’s critical behavior toward her many of the tendencies the instructor was describing. Following the lesson, she confronted her husband with the question, and he confessed the secret that he had been concealing for so long. Her already-battered self-esteem was now compounded with a burning resentment. During their first meeting with me, they struggled to see how their marriage could continue. I assured them that there was hope, gave some initial counsel, and then invited them to come back and meet with me individually.

Along with the fervent prayers that I offered in preparation for those meetings, I also reviewed the suggestions provided in Ministering Resources on LDS.org, particularly in the resource for supporting the spouses of pornography users, where I read the following: “Express your love and concern for her individually, as well as for her spouse. Clarify that she is not responsible for her spouse’s pornography use or poor behavior and is not expected to endure abusive behavior.”

As I met with this sister, I heeded this counsel and added to it the assurance that her husband’s actions were not about her at all, not about something that she had or had not done, but were instead about his own internal conflict. I watched a wave of relief and consolation come over her as she grasped these words and felt the Spirit’s confirmation that they were indeed true. At the end of the interview, she asked if I would give her a priesthood blessing. I realized that I was the only one to whom she could turn for such a blessing, as she preferred to keep her situation private from family and friends.

To help with the healing process, I invited the husband to attend a local Latter-day Saint addiction-recovery group, and I encouraged his wife to attend the corresponding group for spouses and family members. She told me of the comfort she felt from meeting with other sisters who understood what she was suffering and the hope that it gave her to see couples who had waded through the same trial and had managed to emerge from it together.

Several months have now passed since my first meeting with this couple, and my love and concern for them have grown as a result of our numerous interactions. While I recognize that their continuing path will not be without setbacks, it is a joy for me to learn of each additional month that the husband has kept himself free from lust and pornography and to see his wife’s increase in self-worth and confidence, which is readily apparent.

In recent interviews with them, the anguish and tears from our early meetings have been replaced with frequent smiles and even laughter. But perhaps the greatest outcome has been hope—hope that not only can their marriage continue but also that it even has the potential to become something beautiful and exalting.

You may not know the impact your life and example may have on a little child. I recently received a note from a friend who manages a day-care center in a local high school. Attending that high school are several young men and young women who are members of the Church. She shared with me this experience: “As I walk through the halls with the little children, it is nice to see how many lockers have pictures of Jesus or of temples taped to the inside of the doors. One of the children saw a picture of Jesus on the inside of a [young woman’s] opened locker door and said, ‘Look, Jesus is at our school!’ The student was moved to tears as she bent down and gave the child a hug. I thanked the young woman for the good example she was to those around her. It is uplifting to know that there are so many youth that are trying to stand for truth and righteousness and do their part in inviting the Spirit into their lives, even though it is difficult at times with all the noise and harshness in the world around them. We have some wonderful youth in the Church.”

They might, however, have been less impressed had they ventured out of the heart of the city into the residential area. For all of its bustle, the little city of 20,000 Saints and gentiles was still a country town. Neat brick or plastered adobe houses set well back in fenced lots lined the streets. Each lot included space for a garden, fruit trees, shrubs, chicken houses, and a barn for a horse and buggy and, in many cases, a cow. Loose livestock wandering the city streets was a chronic nuisance; in the midst of April conference that year, a cow was found prostrate on North Temple Street in the 18th Ward area. After two days, the Deseret News editor reported that “the cow … has gone the way of all cows, at last, but did not go quite far enough to please the good people of that immediate neighborhood. The present state of weather will soon render the carrion a disagreeable source of annoyance and complaint.” (DN, April 10.)

No one seemed to take the matter of bovine intruders too seriously until a cow lumbered in at the front door of a local restaurant and became stuck between the tables, unable to move forward and unwilling to move backward. At this point, the city council passed an ordinance declaring that after June 7, 1880, all cows found running at large would be impounded by the city. (DN, June 4.)

Eventually, this solved the problem, though for a time indignant cow owners simply kept their animals penned until the marshall had made his rounds at night, then turned them loose to forage at will. (DN, June 11.)

“Remember to keep your eyes on your own paper,” Ms. Mori said.
Nathan stared at his test. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his friend Jason flip open his math test and start writing. Nathan sighed.
“Something wrong?” Ms. Mori asked.
“No, ma’am,” Nathan said quietly. But that wasn’t totally true. Unlike Jason, Nathan couldn’t stand math. He didn’t hate all schoolwork—someday he wanted to paint like Da Vinci or write like Shakespeare. In those subjects, there was usually more than one right answer to a question. But in math, there was only one correct answer. Just one! And Nathan never seemed to get it.
“Psst!” Jason whispered. He flicked a crumpled paper under Nathan’s chair. At first Nathan thought Jason was teasing him. But then Jason grinned and tapped his test, and Nathan knew what was on the paper—the answers!
He looked up. Ms. Mori’s back was turned. Now was the perfect time to grab the paper! This could be one math test he didn’t fail.
Nathan stretched to snatch the paper off the floor …
To cheat or not to cheat—that is the question, Nathan thought, borrowing a line from Shakespeare. As soon as he asked the question, he knew the answer. Nathan kicked the answers back under Jason’s desk. He had already decided to never cheat, no matter how tempting it was.
At the end of class, Nathan still didn’t like math. But he was glad he chose the right, even though he probably didn’t do well on the test. Maybe Jason could help him study for the next one.
Just like math, Nathan thought, when it comes to choosing whether to cheat, there’s only one right answer. He was glad he’d passed.

Marion Romney indeed knew what it meant to sacrifice—and to work hard. In Mexico he helped his father produce all the family’s food. In California he stayed out of school for a year to learn carpentry and earn money for the family. When they moved to a farm in Idaho, Marion began every school year late and finished early so he could help with the harvesting and planting. When the family moved to Salt Lake City so his father could finish his degree at the University of Utah, Marion again stayed out of school a year and worked to help support the family. He worked full time throughout his college and law school years. And he always paid a full tithing, even during the winter of 1917, when the combined incomes of the families of Marion’s father and his brother Gaskell totalled less than $80.00 a month. It was young Marion’s job—a chilly task because he had no warm clothes—to take the $8 tithing to the bishop.

The time had come. I was finally in college! I thought I’d be able to handle anything that life had to offer.
I had just moved into my college dorm, and the excitement of the first few days had died down. I sat on my bed, contemplating my future. I wasn’t excited or happy, like I thought I should be. I was scared and homesick, even though my family wasn’t very far away.
Just then my roommate, Liz, called over to me.
“Tam,” she said, “can we talk?”
“Sure,” I replied.
“Have you ever felt like no one is there for you? Like you know God is there and everything, but you don’t feel him comforting you?”
I couldn’t believe it. Liz was feeling the exact same way I was. We discussed it for a few minutes and then decided to look in our scriptures for some comforting passages. Liz read from the Doctrine and Covenants:
“But behold, verily, verily, I say unto you that mine eyes are upon you. I am in your midst and ye cannot see me; But the day soon cometh that ye shall see me, and know that I am; for the veil of darkness shall soon be rent” (D&C 38:7–8).
Never before had I felt the Spirit so strongly. I knew at that moment that I was not alone. I knew that the Lord was aware of me, and that he was there for me. I knew that, although I was still unsure of my future, I wouldn’t have to face it alone.

He and his wife, Amy, met in Poland where they were serving missions. After they married, they moved back to Poland when Elder Schwartz received a Fulbright Scholarship, which enabled him to study there with a future judge of the Polish Constitutional Tribunal.
During that time, he was excited to teach with the missionaries as he had during his mission. On returning from a meeting with the missionaries, Amy reminded him that he is a husband and father who now fulfills new roles, and that together they needed to think differently. Instead of going out with the missionaries, they invited missionaries and their friends to join them at home. As they shared the gospel in their home, they experienced more happiness and missionary success in one year than they had in both their missions combined. Elder Schwartz says he learned the wisdom of listening to a much wiser companion when doing the Lord’s work.

“Hey, Mike,” Chris said in a loud whisper. “Good thing Mr. Morton didn’t call on you!”
“Yeah,” another boy said. “Mike would never have known the answer.”
“You’ve got that right,” Chris replied. “The only thing small about Mike is his brain!”
Behind me, Mike tried to laugh. I peeked over my shoulder. His face was bright red. Mr. Morton kept writing on the board as if he hadn’t heard a thing.
This was my first week in seventh grade, and the boys picking on Mike were probably two years older than me. Mike was taller than all of us, and he wouldn’t want my help anyway, I reasoned. But as the teasing continued, I thought I was going to cry.
After school, I kept thinking of all the mean things the boys had said. “If I were Mike, I wouldn’t come to school at all,” I decided. I felt sad for the way he had tried to joke with the bullies, only to have them make fun of whatever he said. “If I were older, I would have known what to say to them,” I thought.
Then I remembered a family home evening about how missionaries depend on the Holy Ghost to help them know how to teach people. Dad said if we read the scriptures and invite the Holy Ghost to help us, we can know what to say and do too—even at school.
The next morning, I read my scriptures and prayed. “Heavenly Father,” I said, “I feel so sad for Mike. Please help me to know how I can help him.”
One of the scriptures I read said that when we help other people, we’re actually helping Jesus Christ (see Mosiah 2:17). “I wouldn’t be too scared to talk to the bullies if they were picking on the Savior,” I thought.
I wrote that scripture on a note card and put it in my notebook. I read it often during the day, but I still didn’t know how I could stop the teasing.
Then one afternoon, as I left math class, my answer came. The Holy Ghost whispered, “Mike needs to know you care about him, and the bullies need to know you don’t like what’s going on.” My hands felt clammy. My legs started to shake. I bit my lip and said a silent prayer.
A minute later in the hall, I heard Chris yell a mean comment to Mike. I took a deep breath. “Hey, Chris,” I said, “If you can’t say something nice, just be quiet.”
Chris gave me a mean look. “Boy, that sounded silly,” I told myself. But the bullies didn’t say anything else to Mike.
The next day, the boys were back to their regular teasing—until another seventh grader interrupted them. “Come on, guys,” David said. And the teasing stopped.
Another day, it was a ninth-grade girl who stopped the bullies. “That’s not nice, Chris,” Rhoda said. Mike gave her a grateful smile.
I’d like to say that was the end of the teasing. It wasn’t. But the bullies seemed to make mean jokes less often. Other students stood up for Mike too. I knew that the Holy Ghost had given me courage to do what I needed to do to help stop the bullies.

“Thanks, Bishop Rowley. We’ll be glad to help.” Brother Hulet, our deacons quorum adviser, took the clipboard from the bishop’s hand and announced, “I have a sign-up list for volunteers at the Church farm. I’m sure the Lord would be pleased if all of us would help out this coming week.”
“What kind of help?” I asked warily. This Church farm idea didn’t sound like it would be very fun.
“Our only assignment this week is moving sprinkler pipe.”
My thoughts returned to volunteering at the Church farm. “Well, I—I don’t think I can come,” I stammered. “I have to go to my own job every morning.”
“That’s no problem,” assured Brother Hulet. “We always go to the Church farm in the afternoons.” Brother Hulet passed around the sign-up list. “When each one of you was ordained to the priesthood, you were given the power to act in the name of God. And when we serve Him by serving others, we are acting in His name. Besides, with all of us helping, the work won’t seem hard at all.”
The list was passed to me. I couldn’t believe that, so far, everyone had signed up to go every day this week. Didn’t they know how miserable this was going to be? I felt a great weight of righteous peer pressure exerted on me. Grudgingly, I signed up and passed it on.
Monday afternoon, I sat in my room recuperating from the morning’s work when I heard Brother Hulet honking his horn outside. I hesitated for a moment before changing back into my smelly, damp work clothes.
We soon pulled into the Church farm. Everyone but me raced toward the field. I lagged behind, head down, kicking rocks, when I was surprised by a hand on my shoulder. “Thanks for coming with us,” Brother Hulet encouraged. “I know you worked hard this morning.” We walked together in silence for a few moments. Then he ran ahead to organize the group.
I watched him and thought about what he had said to me. I had worked hard that morning. I was tired and smelly, and I wanted to go home. But what about Brother Hulet? He had worked hard that morning too. So had all the guys, for that matter. So why did they seem happy to be here?
I caught up to the others, and we began our work. At first, I tried to cheer myself up by thinking of the noble sacrifice I was making. But soon my self-absorbed thoughts ended, and I noticed how quickly we were moving with everyone helping. We laughed and talked, and suddenly I realized I was actually having fun! In a few short hours we had completed our assignment.
As we rode home, I realized that what I thought was going to be an unbearable sacrifice seemed small. In fact, with everyone helping, it seemed like no sacrifice at all.
Brother Hulet stopped his station wagon in front of my house and looked back at me. “Thanks for your help today. Your hard work made it easy for the rest of us.” He smiled and winked.
I grinned back. “Thanks, but all of us helping together was what made it easy.” I climbed out of the car and closed the door.
Brother Hulet put the car in gear and began to pull away. “See you tomorrow, then?” he called through the open window.
“Sure. See you tomorrow,” I said.

When I was a young girl, my family had a huge furnace in the living room, which made heat by burning coal. Every day one of us had the responsibility of going out to the coal shed behind our house and bringing back a bucket of coal. Then the small bits of coal were poured into one end of the furnace. Throughout the day the bits of coal slowly fed the fire.
Our coal shed held about five tons of coal, and, depending on how cold the weather was, we’d use a ton or a ton and a half every month in the winter. Anytime our coal shed became low, we knew that it was time to call the coal man to deliver more.
One year, however, we did not have enough money to pay for coal, so we didn’t order any. The weather had not yet gotten very cold, and we decided that we could keep warm by wearing our coats around the house during the day and by sleeping under a lot of blankets at night. I still remember how odd it seemed to be able to see our breath inside the house as we talked to one another.
Wearing our coats in the house worked well until the weather suddenly turned really cold. One morning, when we were wondering what we should do, we heard a familiar sound. The coal truck was coming down our street. Everyone looked out the window as it pulled into our yard and began filling up our shed with rich, dark coal.
My mother quickly ran outside to explain that she had not ordered any coal and could not afford the fuel that the man was shoveling into our little shed.
The man just smiled and said, “I know,” and continued to fill our shed with five tons of coal—enough to last the rest of the winter. Then he drove away without saying another word.
Fast offerings had paid for the coal that day. Even now, whenever I see a bit of coal, I remember that others had fasted so that we might be warm that winter.

“Mom!” The high-pitched wail made me wince.
What now? I wondered. The children had gone to bed, and I was going about my evening activities. My husband was at a late meeting.
I went upstairs, bracing myself for what I thought was another argument between siblings, and found my youngest child, Michaella, with red-rimmed eyes. “My ear hurts, Mom.”
Oh, no, I thought. Why does this always happen at night? I couldn’t justify the expense of an emergency-room visit for an ear infection, so I used all the home remedies I knew and tucked her in. “Try to sleep now,” I said. “I’ll call the doctor as soon as her office opens in the morning.”
Downstairs again, I felt anxious and could not concentrate. I went to the kitchen and halfheartedly began to wipe the counters. Then with a sudden motion I threw down the cloth. I headed back upstairs to check on Michaella, moving softly in case she was asleep. I stopped halfway up. Through the open door at the top of the stairs, I could hear sobs.
I could not take it. I couldn’t just stand by, helpless, while my child suffered. I sank down on the stairs, tears running down my face. I prayed. I pleaded. I trembled as I told the Lord I would do everything I could to help my daughter and then I would leave the rest up to Him. After taking a few deep breaths, I climbed the rest of the stairs, sat on my daughter’s bed, and smoothed her damp hair.
“It hurts bad, Mom.” The usual dimple in her cheek wasn’t there. Her face was pale. Fatigue and pain had made dark smudges under her eyes.
I decided I would not wait until my husband returned; I would risk looking like an overanxious, overprotective, and overreacting mother. “I’m going to call our home teacher, OK?”
Michaella nodded.
I made the call, feeling somewhat awkward. When I asked our home teacher if he would give Michaella a blessing, his answer was, “Of course.” A short while later he arrived, smiling, as if driving out late at night was his favorite thing to do.
While he performed the blessing I felt hope lighten my heavy heart. I thanked him as he left, then put Michaella to bed again. She was asleep within minutes.
The next morning she seemed so much better, I was tempted to skip calling the pediatrician. But I had promised the Lord I would do everything I could.
Later that morning, I watched the doctor closely. She peered through her scope into Michaella’s ear and said, “You didn’t get much sleep last night, did you?” It wasn’t really a question; it was a statement.
“She slept straight through the night,” I said.
I took a mental photograph of the doctor’s astonished face.
I knew then that we had had our own little miracle. No seas were parted, no lepers cleansed, no dead raised. It had simply been a night of peace, without pain, for a little girl.
For me, it was enough.

OK, I have a plan for the test. Margo will copy Heitor’s answers. Then I’ll copy Margo’s. Julia will copy mine.
That’s cheating!
So? Mr. Costa is a bad teacher.
I won’t do that.
But you sit by Heitor! He’s the smartest kid in class. If you don’t help us, we’ll all fail!
I’m just going to study and do my best.
A few days later …
Oh no. I almost failed! And I studied so hard.
But I know I did the right thing. I earned this grade on my own. I think Jesus is proud of me.
Illustrations by Katie McDee

As soon as I heard this year’s theme was “Ask of God,” I thought there was no way I would receive an answer. I believed I was completely hopeless, so why even waste my time? However a small voice of hope whispered to me, saying, maybe this is it. This could be my chance to seek and receive the answers I’ve been looking for. So with a bit of hope built up inside of me I began to ask of God.
I asked Him how I could be happy even with the extremely unfortunate circumstances of my life, and why would anyone even expect me to be happy?
It took me a few months before I realized I had received my answer, but it wasn’t exactly the answer I had been expecting when I first started to pray about it.
I was waiting for my prayers to be answered by having my life somehow magically become possible to live happily, but instead something better happened. A seed of faith in the gospel had been planted within my heart.
As that seed grew and my testimony became stronger, I felt peace, I felt hope, I felt my Savior’s love. And that’s when I received my answer.
I realized that “the joy we feel has little to do with the circumstances of our lives and everything to do with the focus of our lives.”1
Although the problems and circumstances in my life didn’t change, the focus of my life did.
I began to start being involved in the Church and focusing my life on the gospel again. And that’s when I felt and still feel true happiness, even with my struggles.
Getting through each day has never been easier now that I rely on God and invite the Spirit to be with me. I didn’t just get an answer to my prayers; I now have a strong testimony. I now have day-to-day support, I now see God’s love more than ever, and above all I get to experience pure joy in life.
Ashley B., Texas, USA

Tom and Joan (names have been changed) had both lost their spouses. Tom’s wife had passed away from cancer, and Joan’s husband, because of addiction, had left for other relationships. Tom and Joan met at a singles conference and were looking forward to marriage.
Each of them had children, age 15 and under. Their families had been on several outings together, and both Tom and Joan could see potential problems in blending the families. They came to counseling for some ideas on how to communicate in healthy ways to navigate this new chapter of their lives.
I suggested they review the message on family councils by President M. Russell Ballard, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. “Children desperately need parents willing to listen to them,” he taught, “and the family council can provide a time during which family members can learn to understand and love one another.”1
For their family councils, they decided on the following agenda:
Define the problem.
Brainstorm solutions.
Choose a plan.
Put it into action.
Evaluate the success of the plan the next week and renegotiate the plan if necessary.
In addition to counseling together as a family, Tom and Joan learned that when relationship stress is high, there can be a need to learn how to improve one-on-one communication as well.
Tom and Joan learned several techniques that helped them improve their communication and their relationships with their children.
The parents stood together in finding solutions to problems with the children.
If a child had difficulty completing their daily tasks, one of the parents would spend time with them, discussing the day while they worked to complete the tasks.
They spent time each week deepening their relationship with every child.
They established ahead of time that they would take time-outs when the “emotional” brain (yelling) took over from the “rational,” solution-focused brain (discussion).
Whenever there was a power struggle between parent and child, the parent, when impressed to do so, withdrew and came back later to brainstorm a new solution.
As the family did their best to approach challenging relationship issues in faithful, healthy ways—communicating about their challenges and working through them together—Tom and Joan recognized important growth in their children as well as themselves.

Kinsey watched through the car window as soggy brown hills zoomed past. Patches of snow clung to the ground. Tiny green leaves dotted the barren trees, not quite ready for spring.
“Why does the drive to Grandma’s house take so long?” Kinsey complained.
“Just a few more minutes,” Dad said.
“Why don’t you play a game?” Mom suggested.
“I already played the alphabet game and the license-plate game,” Kinsey said. “I colored pictures in my notebook and made paper animals. I’m bored!”
Kinsey pressed her nose against the car window. She glanced at her little brother, Taylor, asleep in his car seat. Even though she was bored, Kinsey was too excited to sleep. She hadn’t seen Grandma in so long. Grandma would have new books for her to read. They would gather at Aunt Michelle’s house for a family dinner with all the cousins. Most of all, Kinsey looked forward to a whole weekend of spending time with Grandma.
“Oh! It’s already started,” Mom said as she turned on the radio.
A clear, calm voice came from the speakers. Kinsey sat a little taller. She closed her eyes and tried to think. Where had she heard that voice before? Suddenly, she remembered.
“I know that voice!” she said with a smile. “It’s the prophet!”
Kinsey loved the prophet’s voice. It was strong and peaceful and kind. When the prophet spoke, it felt as if he were talking right to her. She listened closely to his words.
The prophet announced new temples being built in faraway parts of the world. Kinsey thought about all the people who would now be closer to a beautiful temple.
The prophet talked about missionaries. Kinsey remembered the letters they wrote in Primary for an older couple from their ward serving a mission in Slovenia.
The prophet talked about being kind to others. Kinsey thought about how she had been trying hard to be kind to her brother, even when he grabbed her toys or scribbled with her markers.
Finally, the prophet talked about families. Kinsey thought about how much she loved visiting her family at general conference time.
“We’re here!” Dad announced.
Kinsey looked out the window. How did they get to Grandma’s so fast?
“Let’s hurry inside so we don’t miss any more of conference,” Mom said.
Kinsey ran up the steps and rang the doorbell to Grandma’s house. The drive hadn’t been boring after all!

I remember when I went to a daddy-daughter date with him. We sang a song together, and everyone there square danced. He was the life of the party. I was so proud. Then there was the time I was going on a pioneer trek with handcarts for a week. He gave me a blessing that I would have strength enough to do it. I got sick, but not so sick that I couldn’t finish. Again I was glad my dad held the priesthood.

We were a family that always went to church. Every year we went to tithing settlement to meet with the bishop and declare our full tithing. We’ve always had a testimony of tithing from this story that my father told:
When he was a young boy, his father was very ill and had to be in the hospital for a year, leaving my grandmother with ten children and very little income. That fall, Grandma reached up into the sugar bowl, where she kept the tithing money, and handed it to my father and told him to hurry over to the bishop and pay the tithing so that she wouldn’t be tempted to spend it.
My father said, “Mother, we don’t have any other money. Winter’s coming on. What are we going to live on?”
Grandma told him, “We have to pay our tithing.”
My father took the money over to the bishop.
The next day there were two bushels of peaches on their front porch. They never knew where the fruit came from. And that night a windstorm came up, and the wind blew down a lot of Brother Stringham’s peaches. He lived right behind us, and he told Grandma, “If you and your children want to come over, you can have all the peaches that are on the ground.” Those peaches were a good part of my father’s family’s food for that next winter.