Gospel Story Finder

I realized the importance of teaching principles after I attended a Relief Society lesson at the local branch. The lesson, taken from the manual, was on keeping our homes neat and clean. An illustration in the lesson manual showed an American home that was neatly arranged and obviously well kept. Our instructor was so unfamiliar with Western-style homes that she held the picture upside down when she showed it to the class.

Later that week, I went to Ekaette’s house and found her covered from head to toe with mud. She was beaming. Inspired by the lesson, Ekaette was cleaning her home. She had taken every single item out of the house (there wasn’t much), and she was smearing new clay mud on the walls and floor. She excitedly showed me how she had decorated the front of the house by using a darker mud along the bottom for a nice trim. It looked beautiful. Ekaette had learned the principle, then implemented it in a way that was practical for her.

With the trusting nature of a child, four-year-old Chitalu Kennedy from Lusaka, Zambia ran into the open arms of Jesus! The moment was later captured on canvas by Latter-day Saint artist Liz Lemon Swindle in a heartwarming painting entitled Worth of a Soul. Since 2008, this painting has found a place in our hearts. We see the Savior draw this young, trusting child to Him. As we look into this young child’s eyes it may really be ourselves that we see. If we allow the Spirit in, it will testify that it is really each one of us that is cradled in His arms.
Kennedy was orphaned when both parents passed passed away from undiagnosed diseases just a couple of months apart. They left behind eight cherished children, the youngest just three weeks old. The lives of Kennedy and his brothers and sisters were forever changed. The emptiness and loss robbed him of hope. That feeling would follow him for many years. His Spirit craved acceptance, love and belonging.
Two years after his parents’ passing, on a sunny day in Lusaka West, Zambia at the Mothers Without Borders Children’s Center, where Kennedy and some of his siblings were being cared for, a man portraying the Savior arrived with the artist and a photographer where an environment was created with the desire to photograph African children with the Savior so that a much-needed painting could be created.
Kennedy was then four years old. With the innocence of a child, and fully believing this man to be the Savior, he broke loose from the grip of his sister Bridget’s hand and ran toward him. He jumped into his outstretched arms. Throughout the day, Kennedy rarely left his side. Was the Spirit whispering to him that something here was familiar?
As a young orphan, Kennedy depended on others for survival. Prior to being brought to the children’s center, he and his siblings were scattered among relatives. As with most experiences in life, some of the times were good, some desperate. Throughout it all, and despite separation from each other, the siblings remain bonded together. His older brother Bwalya was ever present in his life and took on the role of father and protector even though he was only two years older than Kennedy.
Kennedy was introduced to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints when he was nine and became a baptized member at the age of eleven. Five siblings were also baptized.
As a young teenager, life became difficult for Kennedy when no funds were available for his continued housing, food and much desired education. It was at this time that BJ Warnick, Sandra Peters, and Anthony Mulenga—who had all known Kennedy since he was four—were able to take him into their care. Through their Heart to Hands Foundation, he and Bwalya were immediately adopted into their flock. While it was obvious that Kennedy needed the basics required for daily survival, what he really needed was hope and love and they had plenty of that to offer. Kennedy said while he was not officially adopted, it was even better. He now had two moms. With his new family’s help, he was able to complete grade twelve, obtain a driver’s license and complete auto mechanic school. Again, he was wrapped in the arms of his Savior, but it was through the acts of others. Kennedy remarked, “I don’t know who I would have become without the continual love of my enlarged family and friends who have dedicated so much time to me.”
It was a year ago that Kennedy made the decision to serve a mission and to become those arms of the Savior for others. His ‘better than adopted family’, his brother Bwalya and his determined Bishop Michael Simbeya in the Libala Ward helped him prepare. While at the Ghana MTC, before departing to the Kenya Nairobi mission, miracles occurred and he was able to attend the temple and take part not only in his father’s ordinance work, but also to participate in the sealing of his parents and finally his sealing to them for time and all eternity.
Now, as Elder Chitalu, in the mission office he met Sister Stacie Sturt, mission leader for Kenya Nairobi West Mission. She captured this beautiful photo of Elder Kennedy Chitalu standing in front of the picture of his much younger self, cradled in the arms of his Savior. Now he wears a name tag as a representative of Jesus Christ. It is his turn to wrap his arms around others and help bring them to Christ. He testifies: “I know and stand as a solemn witness that Jesus Christ is our Savior, and I know that His Atonement has healing power for all kinds of afflictions”.

President Hinckley tells of a time he learned about having the courage to make his own decisions.
The year we enrolled in junior high school, the building could not accommodate all the students, and so our class was sent back to the elementary school. We were furious. We’d spent six years in that building, and we felt we deserved something better. The boys of the class all met after school. We decided we’d go on strike.
The next day we did not show up. But we had no place to go. We couldn’t stay home, because our mothers would ask questions. We didn’t think of going downtown to a show. We had no money for that. We didn’t think of going to the park. We were afraid we might be seen. We just wandered about and wasted the day.
The next morning, the principal, Mr. Stearns, was at the front door of the school to greet us. He told us that we could not come back to school until we brought a note from our parents. Striking, he said, was not the way to settle a problem. If we had a complaint, we could come to the principal’s office and discuss it.
I remember walking sheepishly into the house. My mother asked what was wrong. I told her. She wrote a note. It was very brief. It was the most stinging rebuke she ever gave me. It read:
“Dear Mr. Stearns,
“Please excuse Gordon’s absence yesterday. His action was simply an impulse to follow the crowd.”
I have never forgotten my mother’s note. I resolved then and there that I would never do anything on the basis of simply following the crowd. I determined then and there that I would make my own decisions on the basis of my standards and not be pushed in one direction or another by those around me. That decision has blessed my life many times.

When Jonathan K., 17, was helping to plan an upcoming high adventure activity with his Scout troop, he couldn’t get one young man out of his mind: his friend Mitchell F., a young man with spina bifida.
The group had some incredible—but physically challenging—country in mind they wanted to explore. They were planning on hiking through canyons and other wilderness areas around southern Utah.
Jonathan knew the rugged terrain they planned to visit could make it difficult for his friend to participate. However, he and the rest of his troop wanted to do all they could to allow Mitchell to join the adventure. “We wanted him to experience everything too,” Jonathan says.
As a solution, Jonathan used his Eagle Scout project to build a carrying device—the “Mitch Mobile,” as it came to be called—that would allow the young men to literally carry Mitchell throughout the journey.
There was no shortage of volunteers to help with building the Mitch Mobile. Friends and business owners from around town donated supplies to build the carrier and harness. Many people worked long hours to make sure the entire construction was safe, strong, and portable.
Of course, it was only after the carrier was completed that the true service began. After a few short trial runs around town, it was time to take the Mitch Mobile out on its true maiden voyage.
Ultimately, the high adventure outing was a huge success from start to finish. Jonathan and friends were able to carry Mitchell over every stretch of landscape and rough terrain they’d planned to see and explore. All of the young men gladly took turns wearing the harness. “I love taking him with us,” Jonathan says. They have since been on trips to many other backcountry locations.
“We’ve taken him everywhere,” Jonathan says. They’ve traversed slot canyons, cliffs, rivers, sand dunes, and steep hills. “He’s basically like a brother to me.”
As for Mitchell, he’s enjoyed the camaraderie with his friends every step of the way. He’s also enjoyed the amazing terrain they’ve visited together. One of his favorite activities was rappelling. “I’ve loved it,” Mitchell says.
The Mitch Mobile had yet another chance to shine when Mitchell’s older brother Spencer, along with Jonathan, carried Mitchell during a community parade. They marched with a large group of Latter-day Saint young men dressed as the 2,000 stripling warriors to carry the message of the gospel.
Mitchell wanted to ride in the harness rather than a wheelchair, because he thought it would be more accurate to Book of Mormon times. He loved being in the parade with so many other youth. “It was pretty powerful,” Mitchell says.
Even after all the young men have done with it so far, the Mitch Mobile is just getting started. The carrier will benefit others for years to come. The Mitch Mobile was donated to a local spina bifida organization, so while it remains stored permanently at Mitchell’s home, the carrier is also available for use by others who can benefit from it.
The lives of many people will be blessed because a small group of young men wanted to make sure one of their closest friends never had to feel left out.

After reading “Kenny’s Christmas” in the December 2005 Friend, I felt sad that some children don’t get any toys for Christmas. I asked my mom if I could use the money I had been saving to buy a toy for a child who wouldn’t have any presents to open on Christmas morning.
We went to the store, and I bought some toys to put in the big box the store had to collect presents for children who wouldn’t get any. I felt really good that I had helped a child have a good Christmas, and I know that I followed Jesus Christ’s example.

It was early on Sunday when Dad called the family together.
“Where’s Mom?” six-year-old Katie said.
“I took Mom to the airport this morning,” Dad answered. “Grandpa called to tell us Grandma is very sick. Mom has gone to help them.”
“Is Grandma going to die?” Melanie worried.
“Mom will call us after she talks to the doctor,” Dad explained. “Meanwhile, there is something we can do.”
“We can pray for Grandma,” Katie said.
“Exactly right,” Dad said. “And we can fast for Grandma today, too. Let’s begin our fast with a prayer.”
The family knelt together, and Katie prayed, “Heavenly Father, please bless Grandma. Bless Grandpa, too, so he won’t worry too much. And help Mama to come home soon. We are fasting for them.”
Everyone felt peaceful as they prepared for church.
At home later, the family looked at photo albums and talked about Grandma. When it was time to end their fast, they knelt and prayed again.
Mom phoned as the children were getting ready for bed. “Grandma is going to be fine,” she said. “I’ll stay to help Grandpa for a few days while Grandma rests.”
After talking to Mom, the family gathered for family prayer. Dad said, “Tell me what you learned today.”
“Heavenly Father answered our prayers,” Rachel said.
“That’s true,” Dad agreed. “He always answers our prayers. Sometimes the answer is yes, as it was today.”
“Sometimes it’s no,” Melanie added, “like when I prayed for my team to win and we lost.”
“That’s right,” Dad said. “And sometimes the answer is not yet—just wait and be patient. But He always answers our prayers in the way that is best for us. Did you learn anything else?”
Katie said, “I felt close to Heavenly Father.”
Natalie added, “Fasting wasn’t as hard as usual. I didn’t feel hungry!”
“Fasting helps us learn to control our bodies and to develop faith,” Dad said. “When we are baptized, we promise Heavenly Father we will bear one another’s burdens. We kept that covenant as we fasted and prayed for Grandma.”
Family prayer was a prayer of gratitude—for Grandma feeling better, for Mom coming home, and for their baptismal covenant.

The group pushed on to another of George Washington’s famous camps on the banks of the Delaware River. Instead of tramping through deep snow with cold feet like the Revolutionary soldiers, this modern group welcomed the cool water of the river. Each teen was armed with an inflated tube, and they settled down to float the river.
“Tubing was fun,” said Jan Taylor of the Doylestown Pennsylvania Ward, “because you didn’t have to do anything in particular and you could talk to people. Everyone was together, and we were going so slow there was nothing else to do besides talk.”
The floaters were a little deceived about the speed of the river. They thought that it would be an easy matter to just paddle over to the bank. But when the floaters reached the point where they were supposed to get out, some people found they were caught in the current and being swept down river. They were in no real danger, but they were passing by the easiest places to get up the bank.
At this point, Tim Bothell, 19, a chaperon from the Smerna Branch of the Wilmington Delaware Stake, went to the rescue. He swam out into the current and caught errant floaters who were not strong enough to get themselves out of the river. Again and again he reached out and helped someone get into the shallow water where they could wade out.
Another group of boys brought up the rear in the river to keep an eye out for trouble. They made sure that everyone had made it down safely. Both Tim and the rear guard did these things without being asked. They were watching out for each other. They were helping each other have a good time. For these three days, strangers were closing the distance and becoming friends.

On the day of her husband’s second departure to England, Vilate Kimball was so weak, trembling so severely with ague, that she could do nothing more than weakly shake hands with her husband when he came in tears to say good-bye. Their little David was less than four weeks old then, and only one child, four-year-old Heber Parley, was well enough to carry water for the ailing family. In the hours after her husband’s leaving, Vilate lost all strength and had to be assisted back to the confinement of her bed.

Mary Ann Young and her children were equally ill when Brigham left on the same mission, and their financial situation was equally precarious. One heartrending description describes her crossing the Mississippi River in the bitter of winter, thinly clad and shivering with cold, clutching her infant daughter as she went, going to the tithing office in Nauvoo to ask for a few potatoes. Then, still suffering with fever, she made her way with the baby back across the forbidding river, never to write a word to her husband about such difficulties.

I didn’t know what to do. President Benson said that we should all read the Book of Mormon, but it isn’t that easy. My mom and dad think that since I’m only five years old, I’m too young to have a Book of Mormon of my own. Since I don’t have my own Book of Mormon, I needed to borrow one.
The first thing I did was look for my father’s Book of Mormon. I was climbing on a chair to get it from the top shelf, when Dad came into the room.
“What are you doing, Melissa?” he asked.
“I want to read the Book of Mormon.”
Dad got his book and sat down in a chair with me on his lap and showed me the picture of Nephi stretching out his hand, and the one with Abinadi standing before King Noah, and even the one of Jesus coming down from heaven. Then he closed the book, gave me a hug, and lifted me off his lap.
“But I want to read it,” I said.
He opened his Book of Mormon to one of the front pages. “See this yellow spot?” he asked.
“Yes?”
“That’s mustard from your last hot dog. See this brown smudge on page two hundred twenty-nine?”
I nodded.
“Chocolate from your hot-fudge sundae.”
“Oh.”
“See these last two pages that won’t come apart, even when I shake them?”
“Yes.”
“Peanut butter and jelly.”
Dad put his Book of Mormon back on the shelf and walked away. I decided that I would have to borrow someone else’s.
I went up to my brother’s room. It’s full of all kinds of things, but I rummaged around until I found his Book of Mormon in the bottom drawer of his dresser. It’s a small one with tiny print and a real leather cover, and it has his name written in gold on the front. Ryan says that he’s saving it to take on his mission. I was just opening it when he came into the room. When he saw me, his eyes went wide. He rushed over and grabbed it from my hand.
“But I want to read it,” I said.
“Leave it alone!” he shouted, flipping it open. “Look at this!”
“It looks like a crayon mark,” I said.
He turned to another place. “And this!”
“It looks like someone accidentally tore the page,” I said.
He closed the book and put it back in his dresser drawer. I slipped quietly from the room.
I went to my own bedroom and huddled in a corner. After a while my nine-year-old sister came in. “What’s wrong, Melissa?” Gina asked me.
“I want to read the Book of Mormon.”
Gina smiled and patted my head. “You can read mine,” she said. I watched her look around the room until she found her Book of Mormon hidden under a pile of blankets. “Here,” she said, handing it to me. It was a big one, with large print.
“Thank you,” I said. I sat down on my bed and opened it. I looked at the words really hard, but I still couldn’t read them. I squinted at the page. I turned the book upside down. I lay on my back and lifted the book above me in the air, but it was no use. No matter what I did, I couldn’t read the Book of Mormon like the prophet told us to. I closed it and put it beside my pillow. Maybe the prophet hadn’t meant for five-year-olds to read it.
That night my mother came up to my room to tuck me into bed. She leaned over and kissed me and pulled the covers up to my chin. Then she looked around the room for my bedtime storybook. The one she is reading to me now is called Katie Curtis in Katmandu, and it’s about a little girl who travels all over the world. Mom looked in the toy box and under the bed, and while she was still searching, I remembered Gina’s Book of Mormon.
“What about this book, Mom?” I asked.
She picked it up. She looked at me, then at the book, then back at me again. “Is this what you want?”
“Yes,” I said.
She opened it to the first page. “I, Nephi, having been born of goodly parents, …” she began.
It was better than Katie Curtis any day.

I recall just a few years ago seeing a drama enacted at the Salt Lake Airport. On this particular day, I got off an airplane and walked into the terminal. It was immediately obvious that a missionary was coming home because the airport was full of conspicuous-looking missionary friends and missionary relatives.

I tried to pick out the immediate family members. There was a father who did not look particularly comfortable in an awkward-fitting and slightly out-of-fashion suit. He seemed to be a man of the soil, with a suntan and large, work-scarred hands. His white shirt was a little frayed and was probably never worn except on Sunday.

There was a mother who was quite thin, looking as if she had worked very hard in her life. She had in her hand a handkerchief—and I think it must have been a linen handkerchief once but now it looked like tissue paper. It was nearly shredded from the anticipation only the mother of a returning missionary could know.

Two or three younger brothers and sisters were running around, largely oblivious to the scene that was unfolding.

I walked past them all and started for the front of the terminal. Then I thought to myself, “This is one of the special human dramas in our lives. Wait and enjoy it.” So I stopped. I moved to the back of the crowd to watch. The passengers were starting to come off the plane.

I found myself wondering as to who would be first to breakaway from the welcoming group. A look at the mother’s handkerchief convinced me that she would probably be the one.

As I sat there, I saw the returning missionary start to come down the stairs from the airplane. I knew he was the one by the squeals of excitement from the crowd. He looked like Captain Moroni, clean and handsome and straight and tall. Undoubtedly he had known the sacrifice this mission had meant to his father and mother, and it had made him exactly the missionary he appeared to be. He had his hair trimmed for the trip home, his suit was worn but clean, his slightly tattered raincoat was still protecting him from the chill his mother had so often warned him about.

He came to the bottom of the steps and started out toward the airport building and then, sure enough, somebody couldn’t wait any longer. It wasn’t the mother, and it wasn’t any of the children, or even the girlfriend standing nearby. It was father. That big, slightly awkward, quiet and bronzed giant of a man pushed his way past an airline attendant and ran out and swept his son into his arms.

The missionary was probably 6?2? or so, but this big father grabbed him, lifted him off the ground, and held him for a long, long time. He just held him and said nothing. The boy dropped his briefcase, put both arms around his dad, and they just held each other very tightly. It seemed like all eternity stood still, and for a precious moment the Salt Lake City Airport was the center of the entire universe. It was as if all the world had gone silent out of respect for such a sacred moment.

And then I thought of God the Eternal Father watching his son go out to serve, to sacrifice when he didn’t have to do it, paying his own expenses, so to speak, costing everything he had saved all his life to give. At that precious moment, it was not too difficult to imagine that Father speaking with some emotion to those who could hear, “This is my Beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.” And it was also possible to imagine that triumphant returning son, saying, “It is finished. Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit.”

Even in my limited imagination, I can see that reunion in the heavens. And I pray for one like it for you and for me. I pray for reconciliation and for forgiveness, for mercy, and for the Christian growth and Christian character we must develop if we are to enjoy such a moment fully.

A few winters ago, my sister Mallory and I went across the street into the woods to find a Christmas tree. Later, the whole family would return to cut it down and we would decorate it in family home evening. After a little while, we finally found a good tree. We were heading back to the house to tell my dad when we realized that we couldn’t recognize anything. It was getting dark and that made me a little queasy, because in our area coyotes come out at night.
I told Mallory I thought we should say a prayer, and she agreed. We stopped and asked Heavenly Father to help us get safely home before it became too dark. After our prayer we started walking again. Only minutes later we saw a light and began running toward it. Soon we came to a clearing and saw our house. Later that night when I was snuggled in my bed, I said an extra prayer in my heart thanking Heavenly Father for our safe return home and for the power of prayer.Maddie Muse, age 10Gladewater, Texas

One night a family watched a terrible storm from their home near a beach. Huge waves crashed against the shore, breaking apart the family’s wooden boat dock. The next morning the family found pieces of the dock along the shoreline. But their boat was floating unharmed in the water. It was held in place by a strong anchor. The anchor had kept the boat from crashing into the shore and being destroyed.

So when the Columbia Maryland Stake ad hoc youth committee got together to plan a service project, as the stake Young Men president I was pleased when they decided to try to place the New Era with every young person in the stake.
We organized a pledge drive to solicit contributions of $2.00, $4.00, and $8.00 (an annual subscription is $8.00), making sure to explain what the funds would be used for. Then we contacted ward magazine representatives and used information from the Church Magazines heads of households list to target prospective subscribers.
Based on that information, we allocated a quota of pledges to each ward or branch, based on population. The largest ward was asked to raise enough to pay for 25 subscriptions; the smallest branch was asked to raise enough to pay for three.
There wasn’t a lot of hoopla, although we announced our activity and asked stake members for their support. We coordinated with bishops and branch presidents to make sure we wouldn’t ruffle anyone’s feathers. The bishops also helped us determine which families would have the greatest need for the magazines.
We were able to provide 67 households with subscriptions to the New Era, and we feel this has done a lot to benefit the youth in our stake.

One morning Grace’s mom woke her up early.
“I have a surprise for you,” Mom said. “I want to show you something special.”
“Where are we going?” Grace asked Mom.
“We are going to see the temple,” Mom said.
Grace and Mom drove for a long time. Grace sang, “I Love to See the Temple.” She was happy.
Mom stopped the car. Grace got out and held Mom’s hand.
They walked onto the temple grounds. Grace saw flowers and trees. Everything was green and bright. Grace showed Mom a pink flower.
When Grace got close to the temple, she looked up, up, up. The temple was very tall. The sun was shining. Grace touched the white stone. She sat on a bench by a big tree. She was happy.
They walked all around the temple.
“I want to show you something else,” Mom said.
Grace held Mom’s hand, and they walked into the visitors’ center.
Grace felt good inside. It was nice there. The long ride had been worth it.
Grace looked up and saw the biggest statue she had ever seen. She stood very still and looked for a very long time. She saw feet, robes, and hands. When she saw the statue’s face, she smiled. She was happy.
“Do you know who that is?” Mom asked.
“It’s Jesus,” Grace whispered.
Grace held her arms out as far as she could, just like the statue. “He wants to give me a hug.”
Mom hugged Grace. “You are right. Jesus loves you!”

Barbara Ann rode her tricycle up and down the sidewalk. When she saw the bus, she pedaled hard to beat it to the corner. The bus driver waved.
Barbara Ann thought it must be fun to ride a bus with all its interesting people.
One day a pretty lady got off the bus. Her arms were full of packages. One package dropped. Barbara Ann quickly picked it up.
“Thank you,” the lady said. “Can you put it on top of my other packages?” She stooped so Barbara Ann could reach. Barbara Ann and the lady smiled at each other.
One day a mother and baby got off the bus. The baby whimpered. “There, there,” the mother said. “We’ll soon have lunch and a good nap. Then you’ll feel better.”
Sometimes an old man with a cane got off the bus. Once a little boy ran to meet him. “Hi, Gramps!” he called. The man smiled and held out his arms.
Every day a nurse in a white uniform waited on the corner. I’d like to be a nurse when I grow up, Barbara Ann thought, or maybe a doctor.
One day Mother said, “How would you like to ride the bus downtown with me?”
“Oh boy!” cried Barbara Ann.
Barbara Ann and her mother waited at the bus stop. Barbara Ann hopped first on one foot and then on the other, she was so excited.
“Well, hello, young lady,” the bus driver said. “How are you today?”
“I’m fine, thank you,” said Barbara Ann politely.
Mother put some money in the fare box.
Barbara Ann looked around. There was a man reading a paper. A lady was knitting something with pretty blue yarn. Another lady kept falling asleep. Her head would nod and then suddenly snap back. She opened her eyes wide as if she were trying to stretch them so they wouldn’t keep closing.
A boy carrying a guitar got on the bus and the door went WHOOSH!
Two ladies, their arms full of books, got off by the library. The bus door WHOOSHED them good-bye.
Barbara Ann smiled at everyone. Some of the passengers smiled back. But some of them just sank into a seat without glancing at anyone else. Barbara Ann liked the smiling people best. But maybe the others are tired or have a headache, she decided. Sometimes Mother doesn’t smile when she has a headache. She looked up at her mother. Mother smiled.
The knitting lady stood up and pulled the cord and the bus stopped at the corner. She hurried off the bus. The door went WHOOSH!
Soon lots of people were getting off. And every time the door went WHOOSH!
Mother took Barbara Ann’s hand and pulled the cord. “This is where we get off,” she said.
Mother bought thread and a zipper in one store. In another store she bought some stationery and a pretty pink candle. Then they went to Daddy’s office.
“Hello, Barbara Ann,” said Miss Harris, Daddy’s secretary. “I haven’t seen you for a long time.”
“We rode the bus,” said Barbara Ann.
“You did! Did you like the bus ride?”
Barbara Ann nodded. “Did you know the doors go WHOOSH?”
Miss Harris smiled. “I can’t say I’ve ever noticed. But now that you mention it, you’re right. They do go WHOOSH!”
Daddy came out of his office.
“We rode the bus,” Barbara Ann told Daddy.
“And how did you like it?”
“It was fun,” Barbara Ann replied. “Did you know bus doors go WHOOSH?”
Daddy laughed. “I’ve never really paid any attention to their sound. But I do believe you’re right.”
“We rode the bus today,” Barbara Ann told her brother Bart and her sister Laura that evening. “Did you know bus doors go WHOOSH?”
Bart poked her in the ribs and made her giggle. “WHOOSH!” he said. “WHOOSH! WHOOSH! WHOOSH!”
“There’s so much noise on the school bus that I never noticed,” said Laura.
Barbara Ann smiled. She had learned something no one else seemed to know about. She knew busses were fun. And she knew their doors didn’t bang—they WHOOSHED!

Mike* started gambling when he was still in high school—only a few dollars here and there. By the time he was in college he had graduated to all-night poker games. As a young adult, Mike joined the Church but returned to his old habits. And later, when he was married with two children, his problem with gambling had only grown.
He mortgaged the family’s New England home, lost his children’s college funds, and couldn’t even pay the utility bills because he used all his family’s money to pay gambling debts. Along with his compulsive gambling came compulsive lying to cover up his habit and his debts. Mike’s gambling problem eventually led to divorce and the loss of his children’s trust.
Mike’s case is an extreme one, but not uncommon. His children, Kristen and Amber, now 21 and 18, know the devastating effects of gambling—and lying to cover up the problem—on a family. “It’s a plague,” says Kristen. “Stay away from it like you would the plague.”
Although their dad is now seeking help at Gamblers Anonymous, the years of heartache his gambling caused are difficult to forget. “It’s even hard to trust him now,” Amber says.

Dad made each of us kids feel special. He would look after each of us and talk to us like an equal. He loved us unconditionally and would forgive easily if we said we were sorry. He did his best to make sure that each of us was happy, and he made it clear that he wanted the best for us. I loved him so much.
When I was in sixth grade my dad died in a car accident. My family and I were totally devastated. There was a big hole in our family. I was totally lost. Dad was the one I leaned on, the one I went to if I was having problems. I felt that he had no right to leave me. Instead of seeking help, I let the anger and hurt stay. I finally decided it was God’s fault. I stopped reading my scriptures and saying prayers. I only went to church because Mom wanted me to. I tried to stay far away from my Heavenly Father.
Then I had my first year of girls’ camp. Mom made me go, and I had fun. I liked meeting new friends, but I still didn’t really read my scriptures. On the last night we had a testimony meeting. I felt something I hadn’t in a long time—the Spirit. I admired the girls who got up and bore their testimonies, but I stayed seated because I thought I didn’t have one. All of a sudden I felt like I had to get up. It took a while, but I did get up. I opened my mouth wondering what to say, because I didn’t know that the Church was true or anything like that. So I started like the other girls did. I said I was glad for girls’ camp, which was true. Then I found myself saying that I knew Jesus died for me and that my Heavenly Father loved me and that the Church was true. And the most amazing thing was that I knew what I was saying was absolutely true.
I was filled with a remarkable peace that I hadn’t felt in a long time. Then I realized that all the things I loved about my dad were attributes of Christ and that my dad was trying to show me not just how much he loved me but how much Jesus and Heavenly Father loved me. I was so grateful for that. Because of this experience I can really say that this is the true Church, that I have a Heavenly Father who loves me more than I could ever imagine, and that Jesus loves me and died for me. I also know that I will see my dad again because of the Atonement and Resurrection.

There have been times when my wife and I have felt like sheepherders corralling our children for prayer or scripture study. But other times we have felt a sweet spirit that comes as we have truly shepherded and cared for our little flock. If we aren’t careful, we can easily miss these shepherding moments.

One such moment came while I was tucking our children into their beds. One of my sons asked, “Dad, what tempts you?”
I was startled by the question.
He then said, “We have been talking about what tempts us, and we wondered what things tempt you.”
I knew this would be a perfect time to teach them, but I was exhausted from a long day of work. I didn’t feel like having a deep conversation with two boys at such a late hour, especially on a school night.
However, into my mind came the story of the Savior at the well. Even after walking 30 miles (48 km) or more, He took time to teach the woman of Samaria (see John 4). I decided that this might be one of those “well” moments, so I sat down and asked them if they thought it was a sin to be tempted. There was a long pause, and then we began to talk and listen to each other. I taught them about the Savior’s encounter with Satan (see Matthew 4) and bore my testimony of the blessings that come from resisting temptation.
It was one of those special moments as a parent. We got to bed a little later than usual, but the joy I experienced was well worth any sacrifice of sleep.

Life was still difficult, so much so that I left home for a brief time to give myself moments of reflection. I went to a friend’s house outside of Abidjan. One day around 6 am, a voice said to me: “Get up quickly and join your children in Abidjan”.
When I arrived, my children taught me that they should be baptized at The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, whose missionaries had previously taught my children, but to whom I paid little attention because I was not attracted to religions. I was therefore invited to attend the baptism of my children at the Quatre Etages Ward.
Bishop Etian’s speech had a positive impact on me. It was the story of the “King with the Severed Finger” told by Muslim folk wisdom. A king had a finger cut off during the hunt and imprisoned his advisor who told him to let Allah (God) prevail in all things. Sometime later the king and his retinue were captured in the bush by cannibals who did not want him because of his disability. He was therefore the only one released and his life spared. He ran to deliver his servant, apologizing profusely. The latter replied that God is never wrong and that everything works together for our good. He said, “If you hadn’t put me in jail, I would be with you, captured, devoured by the cannibals, and probably dead today.”
From that moment on, I made a firm resolution to take my life and that of my children totally into my own hands by being baptized. From then on, I decided to forgive my husband for the wrongs I had suffered. My husband is still not in our home, but I have a more brotherly and kinder relationship with him through the power of forgiveness. I undertook income-generating activities that have allowed me to provide for my family and especially to ensure the schooling of my children for more than 15 years. Today, two of my daughters are starting careers as teachers in public schools. My last son has just been admitted to the university for which I am looking for ways to finance the courses. They make me proud. I have been able to go to the Accra Ghana Temple where I was endowed and sealed to my deceased parents.
I hope one day to be able to remarry in the temple to have an eternal marriage. The lessons I draw from my life is that everything works together for the good of one who believes in God.

A historic example of commitment to be strong and immovable for all ages was portrayed by a British Olympian who competed in the 1924 Olympics in Paris, France.

Eric Liddell was the son of a Scottish missionary to China and a devoutly religious man. He infuriated the British leadership of the Olympics by refusing, even under enormous pressure, to run in a preliminary 100-meter race held on Sunday. Ultimately he was victorious in the 400-meter race. Liddell’s example of refusing to run on Sunday was particularly inspiring.

Depictions and memorials in his honor have referred to the inspirational words from Isaiah, “But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.”