Gospel Story Finder

Davin E., 14, from Alberta, Canada, understands this well, and he has found that the Fulfilling My Duty to God booklet has been a great resource in his efforts. “It teaches me that I can serve others and that I can invite others to come unto Christ, and it helps me prepare for my mission,” he says.
Working with his dad on Duty to God has been an added blessing for Davin.
As he approaches each new section of the booklet, Davin sets goals regarding what he wants to learn. Then he and his father, James, discuss how he will learn about his selected topic, as well as what he can do to act on what he learns. Once he’s done that, he has the opportunity to share what he’s learned either in family home evening or at the beginning of his teachers quorum meeting on Sunday.
His father says, “My favorite goal was Davin’s desire to learn about his priesthood duty. We searched the Doctrine and Covenants together to discover the sections pertaining to the priesthood. He then read these sections and shared what he had learned with the family and in his journal. I believe that as Davin learns and applies the truths of the gospel on his own, they will become relevant to him personally.”
As for Davin, he appreciates working together with his dad. “Doing Duty to God with my dad helps me because he has more insight than I do and knows what I need to do to become a better priesthood holder,” he says.
Davin concludes, “Duty to God improves your life, and it allows you to learn things that you discover are important. I know that fulfilling my priesthood duties helps me and others in the Church. And I know that Duty to God allows me to strengthen my testimony.”

I just finished reading “A Journal Called Lucy” in the November 1981 New Era, and I would like to share with other readers my experiences in keeping a journal.
I’ve been keeping one for about three years now. I use an inexpensive notebook. That way I don’t feel too bad if I ruin a page or something. Writing my thoughts down is a good way to let out my feelings. One of the best things about keeping a journal for me, however, is illustrated by what happened last summer after I was in a car accident. I was in the hospital for a couple of months and in the Elks’ Rehabilitation Center for a few more.
Because of the head injuries I had received, I couldn’t remember things that had happened before the accident, but when I read my journals, the memories came flooding back, and it was almost as neat as going through the experiences all over again. I am so very thankful I wrote them down. Now I’m a freshman at Ricks College, and it seems like my journal is becoming the place where I go with my problems, successes, hopes, and dreams. I would encourage anyone who isn’t keeping a journal now to start one. Just get an inexpensive notebook and start writing. I know you’ll be blessed by it.
Gaylene WorthenWendell, Idaho

When I was 17 my mother found out she had breast cancer. The shock overwhelmed my family and brought me to my knees in deep prayer. I cried for almost an hour, asking God why He would let this happen and if He would heal my mom. Relief began to come a few days later when our ward members, extended family, friends, and neighbors learned of the news. They rushed to our aid. Meals were brought in, kind words and deeds were exchanged, concern and sympathy given. The love we felt from them was deep.
But even though we received so much help, I fell into a deep depression. I didn’t care what happened to me. I stopped doing things I loved. I became lazy and careless with chores, schoolwork, and my Church calling. I saw my situation and the extra responsibility placed upon me as a great burden. I felt I could do everything myself and did not need anyone’s help.
Satan worked especially hard on me, telling me that I should feel burdened, that God wanted me to be unhappy, and that I wasn’t anything special. Sadly, for a while I believed it. I couldn’t see the bright side of anything. I did not see myself as a daughter of God. Confusion blinded me, and I couldn’t see my many blessings. I couldn’t even look in the mirror. I felt pain and heartache.
Thankfully, a close friend spent a lot of time helping me, and my siblings supported me as well. I became more open with my parents, who in turn became more open with me. But still I struggled.
My mom would often comfort me when I felt down. When I felt like all hope was gone, it was nice to have someone to talk to and help me out. She would come home in between treatments and iron our clothing, prepare meals, and offer us comfort and counsel. It amazed me how she could endure such trials and yet be so selfless.
When I discussed my depression with her one day, she told me that just because I cried and admitted I needed help, it did not make me weak. She was taking care of me when I should have taken care of her.
After one of her many surgeries, my mom was in the recovery room. At the time, I couldn’t help but think I needed my own recovery room. I had no idea where to start the healing process, but I had to do something.
So I started renewing my talents and abilities as well as developing new ones. I cooked and did the laundry. I took more walks to think. I sang solos. I played the clarinet and piano more and began playing better. I read more books. I started to listen to more uplifting music. I surrounded myself with advice from Church leaders and other valuable sources. I became closer to God and my Savior through personal prayer, fasting, and scripture study.
Still I felt like my peace was fleeting. It was hard when I wanted to be at peace on some days, and instead I would feel the sadness. The mood swings became even more difficult. It seemed my journey for peace had only begun.
Then I went to the temple to do baptisms for the dead with my Young Women class. I thought about my problems while in the temple and while flipping through the pages of my scriptures. I found myself reading about the Savior in Isaiah 53:4, “Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows.”
A few minutes later, the confusion that had blinded me and caused me so much pain completely vanished. The Lord broke through the darkness and the despair of my heart and left the peace of the Spirit instead. I had a sense of clarity and happiness that I hadn’t felt for a long time. I saw how many blessings I had received and how much everyone had done for me and my family. I saw how close my family, friends, and I had become. I saw myself as a truly beautiful daughter of God.
There in the temple I found my recovery room.
Looking back on this experience, I realize that I now have more empathy and compassion for those less fortunate than I am. I know where to recover. The hardest year of my life became the best year of my life.

During my life I have had many experiences of being guided in what I should do and in being protected from injury and also from evil. The Lord’s protecting care has shielded me from the evil acts of others and has also protected me from surrendering to my own worst impulses. I enjoyed that protection one warm summer night on the streets of Chicago.

My wife, June, had attended a ward officers’ meeting. When I came to drive her home, she was accompanied by a sister we would take home on our way. She lived in the nearby Woodlawn area, which was the territory of a gang called the Blackstone Rangers.

I parked at the curb outside this sister’s apartment house and accompanied her into the lobby and up the stairs to her door. June remained in the car on 61st Street. She locked all of the doors, and I left the keys in the ignition in case she needed to drive away. We had lived on the south side of Chicago for quite a few years and were accustomed to such precautions.

Back in the lobby, and before stepping out into the street, I looked carefully in each direction. By the light of a nearby streetlight, I could see that the street was deserted except for three young men walking by. I waited until they were out of sight and then walked quickly toward our car.

As I came to the driver’s side and paused for June to unlock the door, I saw one of these young men running back toward me. He had something in his right hand, and I knew what it would be. There was no time to get into the car and drive away before he came within range.

Fortunately, as June leaned across to open the door, she glanced through the back window and saw this fellow coming around the end of the car with a gun in his hand. Wisely, she did not unlock the door. For the next two or three minutes, which seemed like an eternity, she was a horrified spectator to an event happening at her eye level, just outside the driver’s window.

The young man pushed the gun against my stomach and said, “Give me your money.” I took the wallet out of my pocket and showed him it was empty. I wasn’t even wearing a watch I could offer him because my watchband had broken earlier that day. I offered him some coins I had in my pocket, but he growled a rejection.

“Give me your car keys,” he demanded. “They are in the car,” I told him. “Tell her to open the car,” he replied. For a moment I considered the new possibilities that would present, and then refused. He was furious. He jabbed me in the stomach with his gun and said, “Do it, or I’ll kill you.”

When I refused, the young robber repeated his demands, this time emphasizing them with an angrier tone and more motion with his gun. I remember thinking that he probably wouldn’t shoot me on purpose, but if he wasn’t careful in the way he kept jabbing that gun into my stomach, he might shoot me by mistake.

“Give me your money.” “I don’t have any.” “Give me your car keys.” “They’re in the car.” “Tell her to open the car.” “I won’t do it.” “I’ll kill you if you don’t.” “I won’t do it.”

Inside the car June couldn’t hear the conversation, but she could see the action with the gun. She agonized over what she should do. Should she unlock the door? Should she honk the horn? Should she drive away? Everything she considered seemed to have the possibility of making matters worse, so she just waited and prayed. Then a peaceful feeling came over her. She felt it would be all right.

Then, for the first time, I saw the possibility of help. From behind the robber, a city bus approached. It stopped about 20 feet away. A passenger stepped off and scurried away. The driver looked directly at me, but I could see that he was not going to offer any assistance.

While this was happening behind the young robber, out of his view, he became nervous and distracted. His gun wavered from my stomach until its barrel pointed slightly to my left. My arm was already partly raised, and with a quick motion I could seize the gun and struggle with him without the likelihood of being shot. I was taller and heavier than this young man, and at that time of my life was somewhat athletic. I had no doubt that I could prevail in a quick wrestling match if I could get his gun out of the contest.

Just as I was about to make my move, I had a unique experience. I did not see anything or hear anything, but I knew something. I knew what would happen if I grabbed that gun. We would struggle, and I would turn the gun into that young man’s chest. It would fire, and he would die. I also understood that I must not have the blood of that young man on my conscience for the rest of my life.

I relaxed, and as the bus pulled away I followed an impulse to put my right hand on his shoulder and give him a lecture. June and I had some teenage children at that time, and giving lectures came naturally.

“Look here,” I said. “This isn’t right. What you’re doing just isn’t right. The next car might be a policeman, and you could get killed or sent to jail for this.”

With the gun back in my stomach, the young robber replied to my lecture by going through his demands for the third time. But this time his voice was subdued. When he offered the final threat to kill me, he didn’t sound persuasive. When I refused again, he hesitated for a moment and then stuck the gun in his pocket and ran away. June unlocked the door, and we drove off, uttering a prayer of thanks. We had experienced the kind of miraculous protection illustrated in the Bible stories I had read as a boy.

I have often pondered the significance of that event in relation to the responsibilities that came later in my life. Less than a year after that August night, I was chosen as president of Brigham Young University. Almost 14 years after that experience, I received my present calling.

Recently my granddaughter Jennifer was invited to go with several of her school friends to a dinner and a movie. The girls all agreed on the movie they were going to see, and Jennifer was comfortable attending. However, the girl who left dinner to buy the movie tickets for the group returned with tickets to a different movie than was planned! She said, “It is a great show, and it’s R-rated.”

Jennifer, caught by surprise, couldn’t believe the situation had changed so quickly. But fortunately she had made up her mind before she ever found herself in this position that she would not watch R-rated movies. She was able to stand firm and say to her friends, “I can’t go see an R-rated movie. My parents would not approve.” To which the girls replied, “Oh, come on! Your parents will never know!” Confronted with this, Jennifer went on to say, “Well, actually it doesn’t matter whether my parents will know. I just don’t go to R-rated movies!”

Her friends were upset and tried to get her to relent. They told her she was ruining everything. When she would not give in, they threw the ticket and change in her face and deserted her for the R-rated movie. It wound up being a lonely night full of rejection from her friends. But it was a great moment for Jennifer and our family. She gained confidence, self-worth, and spiritual power.

Sometimes a lower-paying job near home leads to a part-time job during the school year. One student decided against a high-paying out-of-state construction job to stay home and work in a service station. His friend took the construction job, and although at the end of the summer he was financially better off than the station attendant, he couldn’t find a part-time job when he returned home for school. By the end of the year, the station attendant who had earned less per hour during the summer had made more than the construction worker had. He also learned enough about auto mechanics to take good care of his own car.

When my family and I started attending The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I felt in my heart that my mom had guided us there.
Mom had died unexpectedly on Christmas Day two years before. She was an incredibly faithful and humble follower of Jesus Christ, but she had never learned about the restored gospel. After 11 months of learning about the Church, my husband, Navid, my daughter, Katie, and I were baptized on Christmas Day. What had once been a day of sadness because of my mother’s passing would now be a day of happiness for our family because of our new life in the gospel.
Many people attended our baptism. I was shocked to see over 100 people there at 10:00 a.m. on Christmas morning! We couldn’t have felt more loved.

I was 57, newly divorced, with little work experience outside the home, and desperately in need of a job. I had raised four children, and here I was alone after 32 years of marriage with a bit of college behind me and great trepidation in front of me to have to find a job at my age.
I sat waiting to interview for a position as a scheduling and productions specialist with the county library district, all the while thinking I must be out of my mind to believe I was qualified for such a position. I had just convinced myself to get up and leave when the secretary suddenly said they were ready for me in the conference room. I felt sick but straightened up, said a silent prayer, and stepped forward.
Two articulate and professional people told me that experience in certain areas was vital for this position and began to ask me about my experience. This job required a person who could make arrangements for large conferences, including announcements, invitations, catering, and cleanup. Did I have the experience needed? I was thinking I didn’t when my mind suddenly captured an image of a stake Relief Society conference. I had been a counselor in the stake Relief Society presidency. From that experience I had learned how to organize large gatherings and shop for bulk food for large groups. I could honestly say I had experience doing exactly what was required.
The interviewers continued: “Are you proficient on the computer? You will be corresponding with patrons and will be required to keep a schedule of conference room use.” All I could think of was how grateful I was to all the people who had taught me to use the computer so I could create the ward bulletin and calendar and write the stake newsletter. Yes, I was proficient on the computer.
“You will be expected to develop programs and provide classes for the public. Would you be able to teach classes to children and adults?” they asked. All those homemaking and Cub Scout crafts I had done sprang to mind. I explained that I had taught classes to children and adults my entire adult life. I knew I was creative and artistic and felt sure I could come up with interesting programs for children and adults.
I was thrilled when I got the position. I loved the work and tried to do as I would in a Church calling: magnify my work, go the extra mile, and not whine about overtime. I developed computer classes in English and recruited a young student to teach the classes in Spanish. I taught arts and crafts classes and hosted numerous authors and prominent speakers. I decorated the library for every holiday and displayed related books.
One day someone called me at work, claiming to be from the governor’s office and wanting to know if I would be interested in a position as the governor’s assistant. I laughingly asked, “Who is this?” He explained that the call was legitimate and invited me to come the next day for an interview. I went with a sinking feeling that it could be a joke. It wasn’t. The interview went well, and I was hired on the spot.
In my new job I used the skills I had gained from years of speaking in church. The governor could not attend all the events to which he was invited; therefore, his staff members were expected to speak in his place. All those talks in church and from serving in leadership positions had given me the experience I needed to speak in public alongside senators, local and national dignitaries, and celebrities. I served as the governor’s assistant for seven years until we both retired.
Where would I have been without the wide range of experience I had received while serving in Church callings? All that I have learned as a servant of the Lord in His Church has given me a life rich with blessings. Not only was I helping others while serving, but I was also growing by leaps and bounds. I am deeply grateful for the gospel and have a solid testimony of the value of service in the Church.

Then she put the old flatiron on the stove, drew a chair close to mine, and told me about temple work—how important it is to be able to go to the temple and participate in the sacred ordinances performed there. She also expressed her fervent hope that someday her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren would have the opportunity to enjoy these priceless blessings.
These sweet memories about the spirit of temple work were a blessing in our farm home, our little rural ward of three hundred, and the old Oneida Stake. These memories have returned as I have performed the marriage of each of our children and grandchildren—my mother’s grandchildren and great-grandchildren—under the influence of the Spirit in the house of the Lord.

I tend to think I’m exempt from Christ’s divine help when I’m having a hard time. I sometimes think that He, a sinless and perfect Savior, could never understand what it’s like to struggle.
I remember especially feeling this way as a missionary. It took a big struggle for me to realize that Christ knows what it’s like to have a hard time.
I thought I was at the peak of my mission—I was training a new missionary, preparing for a baptism, and getting the hang of the whole missionary thing. I felt so happy.
But I didn’t recognize the stress and anxiety building up inside me.
I was lying down to sleep one night when I began spiraling into the second panic attack I’d ever had in my entire life—the first having occurred nine years previously. Nine years!
Why, after only a small period of anxiety as a child, was it suddenly resurfacing now?
I stubbornly tried to continue my mission as normal, thinking I could fix my own problems.
While I wrestled with my mental health, someone shared with me an insight they had while reading about the Savior’s experience in Gethsemane.
Jesus said, “My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death.” And then the Savior prayed, “O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me: nevertheless not as I will, but as thou wilt” (Matthew 26:38–39).
Have you ever felt the heaviness of your own sorrow? Have you ever asked God, “Is there another way?”
In perfect willingness, perfect obedience, and perfect love, our Redeemer accepted the will of the Father. He was perfect because He was sinless, but He still felt pain, sorrow, and loneliness.
After all, He descended below all things—so He could lift us up.
Realizing that Jesus Christ perfectly understood what I was feeling as I struggled with anxiety, I finally allowed Him to help me carry my burdens.
My anxiety didn’t suddenly go away. I still had hard days. But being close to Christ gave me enduring joy anyway because I knew He was right there with me, saying, “I know. I know perfectly how you feel.”
During this experience, Christ became my closest confidant.

You recall the Prophet Joseph Smith’s experience with darkness and light in the Sacred Grove. President Lorenzo Snow (1814–1901) wrote of an experience of his own:

“Some two or three weeks after I was baptized … I began to reflect upon the fact that I had not obtained a knowledge of the truth of the work … , and I began to feel very uneasy. I laid aside my books, left the house, and wandered around through the fields under the oppressive influence of a gloomy, disconsolate spirit, while an indescribable cloud of darkness seemed to envelop me. I had been accustomed, at the close of the day, to retire for secret prayer, to a grove a short distance from my lodgings, but at this time I felt no inclination to do so. The spirit of prayer had departed and the heavens seemed like brass over my head. At length, realizing that the usual time had come for secret prayer, I concluded I would not forego my evening service, and, as a matter of formality, knelt as I was in the habit of doing, and in my accustomed retired place, but not feeling as I was wont to feel.

“I had no sooner opened my lips in an effort to pray, than I heard a sound, just above my head, like the rustling of silken robes, and immediately the Spirit of God descended upon me, completely enveloping my whole person, filling me, from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet, and O, the joy and happiness I felt! No language can describe the almost instantaneous transition from a dense cloud of mental and spiritual darkness into a refulgence of light and knowledge, as it was at that time imparted to my understanding. I then received a perfect knowledge that God lives, that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and of the restoration of the holy Priesthood, and the fulness of the Gospel. …

“… That night, as I retired to rest, the same wonderful manifestations were repeated, and continued to be for several successive nights. The sweet remembrance of those glorious experiences, from that time to the present, bring them fresh before me, imparting an inspiring influence which pervades my whole being, and I trust will to the close of my earthly existence.”

A small group of sisters brought their sewing machines along and started a patchwork and quilting group to run at the same time as the knitters.
Throughout this year they have been knitting baby blankets and clothes for the “Baby Basics” charity in Northampton, which the Kettering Ward supports as a local donation centre. Tiny baby hats for Kettering General Hospital’s baby unit were also made and delivered. The patchworkers have completed several quilts, including some special small sized quilts that are given to sick children in a local hospice to wrap their teddy bear in while they receive chemotherapy treatment.

When I joined the Church, I didn’t fully understand the deep significance of the law of tithing. However, I knew and trusted you, Elder Dan Hawkley, and I made a promise to you to pay tithing. I could tell you were anxious that I should keep that promise.
In 1964 there was only one mission in Japan, the Northern Far East Mission. A few months after you taught me, you were transferred to a place far away from my small branch. As you left by express train, these were your parting words: “Dear Brother Hotta, pay your tithing and keep the Sabbath day holy.”
I could not forget the challenge I had been given. However, to be honest, I must admit that I was anxious to buy a beautiful and glittering Japanese Bible like the one you had. I wanted it to help me remember what I had been taught, as well as to remember the elder who had helped to teach me. But it was too expensive for me to buy one.
I reasoned that if I didn’t pay my tithing, I could obtain the Bible. Satan spoke in a whisper: “Buy it. It’s your money. Don’t worry.”
But, dear elder, I couldn’t forget your challenge. I knew it had come through the power of the holy priesthood and the Holy Spirit. I didn’t buy that Bible. I paid my tithing instead. And because I overcame that challenge, I came to really understand the meaning of tithing as a covenant between the Lord and myself.
A few months later, the postman visited us. He left a gift parcel for me. It was the size of a cake box. I opened the package and removed the Japanese Bible, beautiful and glittering, that you had sent me as a wonderful gift. I cried for joy at your deep love. Then I saw your note written on an inside page of the book:
“Dear Brother Hotta, hope you had a Merry Christmas. The work is really going well here in Gunma. Study hard. You can become an elder real soon now. Do me a favor and try to get to the temple in Hawaii. Isn’t the gospel wonderful? Love, Elder Dan Hawkley.”
Ever since that time, I have always paid my tithing. I have also been to the temple with my companion. And part of the reason I have been able to do so is because of the challenges and promises you made to me as a representative of the Lord.

Marcus Robb, 15, Perth. For Marcus, seminary and the scriptures were the key to educational freedom. When he was diagnosed with dyslexia a few years ago, he was four years behind in his reading level. Fortunately, that’s when he began seminary, where his teacher emphasized the scriptures. “I decided I’d read them,” he says simply. He began waking at 4:50 each morning to read for 40 minutes. It was tough at first. But now, after one year, he’s reading on a level with his peers.

On my mission, I was in a car accident that left me with back pain and memory loss. Once I returned home, I enrolled in school, but I struggled. I couldn’t remember simple things, and I couldn’t carry more than a notebook and a pen in my backpack because of the pain.
I was angry. I had spent 18 months serving God and giving Him my all. Why wouldn’t He heal me? Where was He?
As the intense pain continued, I began to feel that I couldn’t turn to God. I began to doubt that He would—or even could—help me. And if He couldn’t help me, then I thought scripture study and temple attendance wouldn’t help either. I turned away from God because life was too hard, and I couldn’t see a way out.
On one particularly difficult day, I had failed another test after studying for hours, and the pain in my back was worse than it had ever been. I stepped outside, sat down, and cried.
A few minutes later, a girl came up to me and smiled. She handed me a note that read, “‘Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself’ [Matthew 6:34]. Heavenly Father is watching over you. I asked Him to. He loves you.”
The Spirit washed over me. I hadn’t felt God’s love for me in a long time. But the girl who handed me the note sparked feelings in my soul, brought me back to the beginning of my faith, and reminded me of my many prior experiences with the Spirit.
I began to turn to Heavenly Father more often in prayer. Even if I couldn’t see the end of my pain, I asked Him to ease my pain or to give me the strength to simply make it through the day. I concentrated more on scripture study and temple attendance.
Though my memory and my pain aren’t fully healed, I have learned to stay close to the Lord. Even when I cannot see all of what lies ahead, I know He is there. I can look forward to the future with faith in Him.

One day I was preparing to give a talk in sacrament meeting. I was studying the article “The Atonement of Jesus Christ” by Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles in the March 2008 Liahona. In his article, Elder Holland relates a dream Elder Orson F. Whitney (1855–1931) had in which he saw the Savior in the Garden of Gethsemane. Elder Whitney described the pain and suffering he saw the Savior bear. Then he wrote:
“Presently He arose and walked to where [the] Apostles were kneeling—fast asleep! He shook them gently, awoke them, and in a tone of tender reproach, untinctured by the least show of anger or scolding, asked them if they could not watch with Him one hour. …
“Returning to His place, He prayed again and then went back and found them again sleeping. Again He awoke them, admonished them, and returned and prayed as before. Three times this happened.”1
As I read this, the spirit of revelation entered my mind. In that instant, I realized that the way I could “watch with Him one hour” was in the way I approached sacrament meeting each Sunday. Since then, I have learned that this is an hour in which we can pray to our Heavenly Father in a more meaningful way. Prayer is fundamental at all times, but the Spirit present in that hour of the sacrament is an opportunity to elevate ourselves closer to Heavenly Father and our Savior, Jesus Christ. When we focus our thoughts on the Lord, it is, in a way, accompanying Him at the moment of the agony He endured when taking upon Himself our sins. It is a time to acknowledge the pain He suffered for us.
Sacrament meeting means everything to me. For me it is the hour of infinite salvation. It has become a sacred time in which I remember and commit in prayer and in spirit to honor my covenants and to follow the perfect example of my Savior. I know that He lives and loves me. I know that it is only through His sacrifice and His precious blood that was spilt that we can all be saved. I know this is true because as I have worked at “watching with Him,” my understanding has been enlightened, my life has been blessed, and my vision of eternal life in His presence has been deepened.

Second only to the importance of being eternal companions is being an earthly parent. Fathers and mothers need to consider their roles in this great responsibility. My children taught me a great lesson many years ago. Our family had moved from California to New York, where I had accepted a position with a new company. We began the process of finding a new home by looking in communities closest to the city. Gradually, however, we moved farther away from the city to find a home in a neighborhood that suited our needs. We found a beautiful home some distance from New York City. It was a one-story house nestled in the lovely deep woods of Connecticut. The final test before purchasing the home was for me to ride the commuter train into New York and check the time and see how long the commute would take. I made the trip and returned quite discouraged. The trip was one and one-half hours each way. I walked into our motel room where our family was waiting for me and presented to my children a choice.
“You can have either this house or a father,” I said. Much to my surprise they responded, “We will take the house. You are never around much anyway.” I was devastated. What my children were telling me was true. I needed to repent fast. My children needed a father who was home more. Eventually we reached a compromise and bought a home closer to the city, with a much shorter commute. I changed my work habits to allow me to have more time with my family.

Besides being a cast member, Julie Ashton (10) was a pageant guide. Each night before the show began, some cast members, dressed in their costumes, welcomed people to the pageant and handed out programs. She even learned a few greetings in Spanish and was able to visit with Spanish-speaking members of the audience.
One of the scenes Julie especially liked was the one in which Jesus Christ teaches the multitude and performs miracles like raising the sick and the dead. “I loved the song they played, and I loved seeing Jesus smile. It gave me a good feeling inside.”
Her very favorite part of the pageant was the finale. All the cast members went on stage or out on the grass and sang “I Know He Lives!” while Matt Hale, as the Savior, was lifted by wires 40? (12.2 m) above the ground. “I liked that best,” Julie said, “because you were bearing your testimony to the audience. It let them know that you know that He lives. I know He lives because I’ve prayed about it and got a really special feeling in my heart. I know it’s true.”

Ethan gazed at the colorful video game covers that lined the shelves. His parents said he could pick one game for a birthday present, and there were so many to choose from! Ethan’s eyes jumped from a car racing game to an adventure game to a dance game. Finally, he picked up the racing game and took it to his dad.
“Did you find one you like?” Dad asked.
“I think I want this racing game,” Ethan said.
“Looks fun,” Dad said. “What is it rated?”
Ethan turned the cover over. He knew he could only play games with certain ratings. When he first got his computer, his parents talked to him about the importance of following their family’s rule about video game ratings. Ethan knew that a lot of games had bad stuff in them, and he wanted to be obedient.
Ethan found the rating on the cover and showed Dad. “It’s rated for everyone,” he said.
“Great,” Dad said. “Let’s go pay for it. Happy birthday, Ethan!”
“Thanks, Dad!” Ethan grinned, excited to get home and try out his new game.
A few days later, Ethan went to his friend Chase’s house to play. He and Chase were in the same Primary class, and they played together a lot. Ethan took along his new video game.
“Hi, Ethan,” Chase said when he answered the door. “Come on in. I got a new video game we can play!”
“I did too!” Ethan said, holding out his game.
The boys settled in front of the computer, and Chase put in his game. The title flashed across the screen, and so did the rating. Ethan froze. It was a rating that he wasn’t allowed to play.
Chase eagerly navigated through the menus with his controller and started the game. Ethan didn’t see anything bad yet. He clicked his own controller to move his character in the game. It was fun, but the longer he played, the more uncomfortable he felt. He still hadn’t seen anything bad, but he wanted to follow his family’s rule.
“Hey, Chase, I’m not allowed to play games with this rating,” Ethan spoke up.
“Oh, it’s OK,” Chase said. “There isn’t anything bad in it.”
“Are you sure?” Ethan asked.
“Yeah,” Chase said. “My family plays it. I think it was given the wrong rating.”
Just then, Chase’s mom stuck her head into the room. “Hi, boys,” she said. “Is everything OK?”
Ethan swallowed hard. “Hi, Sister Murphy,” he said. “It’s just that I’m not allowed to play video games with this rating.”
“I told him there wasn’t anything bad in it,” Chase said.
Chase’s mom waved her hand. “Don’t worry, Ethan,” she said. “I know a lot of the games with that rating aren’t good, but I’m sure your mom would let you play this one.” She smiled and then left the room.
Chase continued playing, but Ethan put down his controller. “Chase, how about we play the racing game I brought?” Ethan asked.
Chase shrugged and kept staring at the screen. “Nah, I’d rather play this.”
Ethan quietly got up and went to Chase’s room, where he found some toy racing cars to play with. They weren’t as fun as his video game, but Ethan felt good knowing he was following his family’s rule.

“Conner, it’s time to get up,” Mom said, gently shaking him.
Conner moved slowly at first. Then he remembered.
“Today’s Sunday!” he shouted as he jumped out of bed. He raced to put on his Sunday clothes and hurried down to breakfast.
What is he doing today that is so special? Mom wondered.
Conner did have something special to do. He had waited all week for Sunday to come.
Last week in his Primary class, Sister Plummer had said, “When I was about 10, I discovered something that helped me be more reverent. If you would like to know my secret, listen for the words always remember in sacrament meeting next week, and then always remember what comes after those words.”
Conner had decided he would listen. He wanted to know Sister Plummer’s secret.
At church, he heard Bishop Sheppard say, “Remember to come to the ward party.” Conner knew that wasn’t Sister Plummer’s “always remember.”
He listened as the congregation began to sing the sacrament hymn. He wondered if Sister Plummer’s special words might be in the hymn. He pointed at each word in the hymnbook and found himself singing along. But he didn’t find the special words.
Conner bowed his head and listened carefully as one of the priests said the sacrament prayer. Toward the end of the prayer, he heard “always remember.” He knew Sister Plummer’s secret! He knew who he was always to remember. But can I “always remember” Jesus? he wondered.
Conner folded his arms and sat reverently. When a deacon stumbled as he passed the sacrament, Conner wanted to poke his little sister and say, “Sara, did you see that?”
But he didn’t because he remembered.
After the sacrament, the first speaker was Sister Swanson. She smiled a lot and was easy to listen to. He had no trouble remembering while she was speaking.
“Good morning, brothers and sisters!” Brother Swanson said. He was a big man with a jolly voice. But the words Brother Swanson spoke were almost as large as he was. Conner didn’t understand everything he said and soon lost interest. His fingers began to fumble around in his pockets. He found a rubber band and started to twist it. Suddenly he remembered. The rubber band went back into his pocket, and he looked up at Brother Swanson and listened for words he knew.
A girl in front of Conner was chewing gum and blew a little bubble. It made a tiny pop. Conner watched as she began blowing another. It grew bigger and bigger and bigger.
Then Conner remembered. When the big bubble popped, he didn’t see the girl’s face covered in pink gum. So he didn’t laugh like some people around him did.
Not long after the bubbles, the Johnsons’ baby rolled under the bench and pulled playfully at Conner’s leg.
Conner wanted to play with her, but he stopped himself just in time. He had remembered.
“Sorry, Conner,” Sister Johnson whispered as she struggled to get the wiggly baby girl back on the bench.
Conner didn’t hear or see them leave the chapel. His big blue eyes were watching Brother Swanson’s eyes fill with tears. His ears were hearing the speaker’s voice soften to a near whisper as he spoke of his love for the Savior. Conner felt warm and tingly inside.
After the meeting, Mom said, “Conner, you were so reverent today. How did you do it?”
Conner smiled. “Every time I thought about something else, I always remembered Someone.”
“Who did you always remember?” Mom asked.
“I always remembered Jesus,” Conner said, “and it felt good!”