Gospel Story Finder

Three weeks ago I was in New York City awaiting a flight to Europe. An employee of the airline left her place at the desk and came to where I was sitting.
“Two of my nephews have joined your Church,” she told me. “I can hardly believe the change that it’s made in their lives.” In our brief conversation I asked how her sister felt about her sons joining the Church.
“She couldn’t be happier,” she said, and explained how the family had had real reason to be worried about the young men. They were two of the wanderers that President Tanner has spoken about. “You wouldn’t believe how they’ve changed,” she said. “They’ve cut their hair and the whole bit,” as she put it.
Later, as I left to board the plane, she thanked me again and said, “I don’t know how you do it.”

A little rain didn’t dampen the spirits of the youth in the Springfield Fifth Ward, Eugene Oregon Stake, as they participated, as a ward, in Eugene’s annual Christmas parade. Taking their cues from the parade’s theme of “Home for the Holidays,” the youth called their float “Home for the Holy Days.” The youth wanted to convey a message about the true meaning of the holiday, so they created a family home evening-type scene on their float complete with children re-enacting the Nativity, a picture of the Savior, and a family reading the Christmas story from the Bible. The youth who weren’t actually on the float walked alongside singing Christmas carols.

Being prompted to go on a mission wasn’t the first time Chris asked for and received the Lord’s guidance in his life. He was 16, had just split from a skating partner, and was having a hard time. “My dad gave me a blessing, and he told me the Spirit would be with me and would comfort me,” he says.
After the blessing, Chris was prompted to read D&C 58. Verses two through seven have made a big difference in his life. “I thought they were written exactly for me,” he says. “Everything in those verses has come to pass in my life and is still coming to pass. Those verses have given me so much comfort.”
Trying to obey the counsel he received in D&C 58, Chris is serving a mission when the Lord asked him to, and he is ready to bear testimony of the Savior and the gospel in the Baltic states. He knows he will have more difficulties than toe picks and changing partners there, but he also knows that when he asks for guidance, the Lord will answer.

José Humberto González Garza, 69, a member of the Campestre Ward, serves as patriarch in the Monterrey México Roma Stake and has seen patriarchal blessings change lives. He remembers an older woman who was promised she would be able to serve in the temple. She thought it could not happen because of her age and the distance to a temple. But a temple was later built nearby, and she found joy in serving.

“I feel so satisfied doing my duty,” Brother González says. Because he is partially blind, he uses a cane to help him get around. He also uses a hearing aid. And at times he feels he can’t do as much as he used to. But, he says, “when my children ask me, ‘Are you giving blessings, Dad?’ I tell them, ‘No, I’m receiving blessings.’”

When Mom read Grandma’s letter, my twin brother, Bryce, and I looked at each other and cringed. “How can Grandma take care of a garden?” I asked, reaching for my milk.
“Grandma has always had a garden, Peg,” Mom answered, smiling and pushing the plate of cookies toward us.
“But before, Grandpa was there to do the hard work,” Bryce pointed out. “Since he died, Grandma’s been alone. She shouldn’t be out working in the garden.”
“But Grandma loves having a garden,” Mom said. “I don’t think anybody could talk her out of it.”
“Then we ought to help her,” I said. “Bryce and I could help. We help Dad in the garden all the time. We could do the hard stuff that Grandma shouldn’t do.”
“She lives a long way from us—almost seven hundred miles. We can’t drive there every time she needs help.”
“So what are we going to do?” Bryce asked. “We can’t just let her do it alone.”
Mom thought for a long time. “You can remember her in your prayers. Maybe Heavenly Father will send someone over to help her when she needs it most. That’s probably all we can do right now. We’ll visit her this summer. You can help then.”
“But that will be after most of the hard work.”
Bryce and I couldn’t stop worrying about Grandma. The summer before, we had spent three weeks with her and Grandpa and had worked with him in the garden. We knew how hard it was to hoe weeds, keep the ditches clean, and water every week. The sun had burned down, making the sweat pour down our faces. We didn’t think it was fair for Grandma to have to do all that hard work herself. When we said our prayers, we always remembered her and her garden, but we still felt there was something else we ought to do. We just weren’t sure what it was.
The next Saturday Mom sent us to the store for some milk. On our way home, we passed Sister Rogers working in her yard. She was on her hands and knees, digging in her flower bed. She greeted us with her usual big smile. “Out running errands?”
We nodded. “Isn’t it too hot for you to be out working, Sister Rogers?” Bryce asked.
“It is warm, but someone has to do the work. Since Brother Rogers had his operation, he hasn’t been able to do much. In a month or so, he should be well enough to help some. But right now there’s work to do, and I’m the only one who can do it.”
Bryce and I started home. “I don’t think she’s the only one who can do that work,” Bryce muttered. “Maybe we should help her out.”
A few minutes later we were back at the Rogers’s place. “We came to help,” I announced. “What can we do?”
Sister Rogers was surprised. “I haven’t ever had young people stop by to help out. What would you like to do?”
“Anything you need. You tell us what to do, and we’ll get it done.”
Usually working in a garden or a yard is hard, boring work, but that Saturday Bryce and I had the best time. The sun was hot, and the sweat ran down our faces and into our eyes, and our backs ached after we’d pulled the weeds from the flower beds. I wore a blister on my hand, and Bryce ended up with two when we hoed the vegetable garden. But there was something fun about working with Sister Rogers.
It was late afternoon when we finally quit. She tried to pay us each five dollars. “No way!” I told her. “We didn’t do this for money. Taking money would ruin everything. We just wanted to help you out.”
Before she let us go, though, she fixed a huge pitcher of ice-cold lemonade and put a pile of soft, chewy brownies on a plate for us. We rested and feasted on the goodies.
“This reminds me of working with our grandma,” I told her. “She always gave us a treat after we worked in her garden.”
Sister Rogers laughed—a happy, fun laugh. “Did your Grandma ever feed you brownies?”
“No, but she makes the best molasses cookies I’ve ever tasted,” Bryce said. “After we worked, she gave us all the molasses cookies we could eat.”
“Well, Bryce, if you and your sister come back another time, I’ll have a plate of molasses cookies. I don’t know if they’ll be as good as your grandma’s, but I have some grandkids who think they’re good enough to put into a person’s mouth.”
For the next three weeks Bryce and I stopped by the Rogers’s place often. Sometimes the only thing Sister Rogers had for us to do was carry the trash out to the curb, but we still checked on her. We kept her flower bed and garden weeded, mowed the lawn, and helped trim the shrubs along the front of the house. And we found out that she made molasses cookies almost as good as Grandma’s.
“I don’t know what we would have done without your help this summer,” Brother Rogers said one afternoon as we were getting ready to leave. He had hobbled out into the front yard and sat in a lawn chair. “After my operation, I told Sister Rogers that we ought to just forget the garden and yard this year.” He shook his head and smiled. “She wouldn’t hear of it.”
“Usually we’re not crazy about working in the yard and stuff,” Bryce admitted, shrugging, “but this reminds us of working for our grandma.”
That evening as we were finishing dinner, Mom announced, “A letter came from Grandma today.”
“What did she say?” I asked, excited.
“How’s her garden?” Bryce wanted to know.
Mom smiled. “I think your prayers have been answered.”
“How?” I questioned.
“An LDS family down the street from her knew that she needed help, so they decided to make that a family project. At least once a week they go there and lend her a hand.”
Bryce looked across the table at me and grinned. “Maybe we prayed that family over to Grandma’s garden.”
“You could be right,” Mom said, nodding. “And I think that maybe someone someplace else has been praying for their Grandpa and Grandma Rogers. They probably prayed the two of you over to the Rogers’s garden—and you didn’t even know it.”
“Is that how Heavenly Father works?” I asked.
Mom smiled. “When he has work to do, he may use people like the two of you to do it. Even though you wanted to go help Grandma, you couldn’t go there, so Heavenly Father sent someone closer by. Maybe the Rogers’s grandkids would have loved to help them but couldn’t, so Heavenly Father sent the two of you. Doesn’t it make you feel good to know that you could be his answer to a prayer?”
Bryce and I thought about that. “Well, Peg,” Bryce said with a grin, “we’d better get to bed early tonight so that maybe we can help someone else tomorrow.”

When my children Mark and Carolyn were six and seven years old, respectively, they met a neighborhood playmate, Dana. Dana became a great friend, and through that childhood friendship, Dana and her mother became interested in the Church. Dana began attending Church services and Primary on a regular basis. Shortly after she was eight years of age, she was baptized. To this day, that friendship has strongly endured because its foundation in gospel principles was secure. There is nothing that provides a surer basis for true friendship than sharing the gospel truths with others.

With the expansion of the Church in Europe, there are countries where the Church has been for no more than 15 years. During our visit in 2005, I spoke with a mission president serving in his homeland of Russia who had been a member for only seven years. He told me, “The same month I was baptized I was called as a branch president.” Did he feel overwhelmed at times? Absolutely! Did he try to implement the full range of Church programs? Fortunately not! How did he grow so strong in such a small congregation in such a short time? He explained, “I knew with all my soul the Church was true. The doctrine of the gospel filled my mind and my heart. As we joined the Church, we felt part of a family. We felt warmth, trust, and love. We were only few, but we all tried to follow the Savior.”
The members supported each other, they did the best they could, and they knew the Church was true. It was not the organization that had attracted him but the light of the gospel, and this light strengthened those good members.

During the Great Depression, Harold B. Lee, serving then as a stake president, was asked by the Brethren to find an answer to the oppressive poverty, sorrow, and hunger that were so widespread across the world at that time. He struggled to find a solution and took the matter to the Lord and asked, “What kind of an organization will we have … to do this?”

And “it was as though the Lord had said [to him]: ‘Look, son. You don’t need any other organization. I have given you the greatest organization there is on the face of the earth. Nothing is greater than the priesthood organization. All in the world you need to do is to put the priesthood to work. That’s all.’”

Our guinea pig was Christy. When Christy was two years old, a little girl in our town was kidnapped. Trying to be wise parents, we spent a lot of time role-playing with Christy what she should do if approached by a stranger. We even showed her pictures of the kidnapped girl and reminded Christy what had happened in the case.

Our efforts had mixed results. Christy was never kidnapped, but she was also unable to sleep alone for three months.

As the years passed, my parents stopped practicing their religion, and I became an atheist. I thought it beneath me to believe in God.
One day when I was 17, I was sitting alone, looking out the window. For some reason, I suddenly began to believe in God again. At the time I was not interested in religion, but there came into my heart a conviction that God did actually exist.
A week later my family moved to Clermont-Ferrand in central France. I began asking myself some difficult questions: What is Jesus like? What is my relationship to Him? One afternoon some young men gave me a paper that read: “Who is Jesus? Come to the Christian pub to discuss this question with other young people.” I told the young men that I had been asking myself that very question. I said I would stop by soon.
The next day I decided to go to the Christian pub. But as I walked up to it, I couldn’t bring myself to enter. In the days that followed, I went back several times, but for some reason I was afraid to go inside.
My inability to enter the pub left me feeling sad. I didn’t know what to do. But after I came home from one of my uncompleted trips, the thought came to me that Jesus Christ organized His Church almost 2,000 years ago; therefore that Church must exist today. As soon as the idea entered my mind, the doorbell rang. I opened the door and saw two missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints standing there. I was surprised—not by their sudden appearance at my door, but by my reaction. I felt as though I had been waiting for them.
Because my room was in disorder, I felt embarrassed to have the missionaries come in, so I asked where they held meetings. The following Sunday I attended church at the address they gave me. What I learned of Jesus Christ and of my relationship to Him felt right. I was soon baptized. I have always believed the Spirit converted me to the gospel before the missionaries ever contacted me.

Another time—it was the Sunday before Thanksgiving, about 1943—I went to priesthood meeting. There was a large framed board. It had the pictures of all the young men serving in the military. Priests who had been at the sacrament table a few months earlier were now in the war. Each week it would be updated. Those who were killed in action had a gold star by their picture; those who had been wounded, a red star; and those missing in action, a white star. Every week, as a 12-year-old deacon, I checked to see who had been killed or wounded.

In quorum meeting that morning, the member of the bishopric said: “This Thursday is Thanksgiving. We ought to all have family prayer in our homes.” Then he said, “Let’s put on the blackboard the things we are grateful for.” We did, and he said, “Include these things in your Thanksgiving prayer.” I got sick to my stomach, as we never had a prayer or blessing.

That night at 6:30 we went to sacrament meeting. At the end of the meeting, the bishop stood up and was very tender. He told about the young men from our ward who had been killed and wounded. He talked about our liberty, our freedom, our flag, and this great country, and our blessings. Then he said, “I’d hope every single family would kneel and have family prayer on Thanksgiving Day and thank God for His blessings.”

My heart ached. I thought, How can we have family prayer? I wanted to be obedient. I hardly slept all Sunday night. I wanted to have a prayer for Thanksgiving. I even thought I would say it if someone asked me, but I was too shy to volunteer. I worried all day Monday, and all day Tuesday, and Wednesday at school.

Dad did not come home on Wednesday until early in the morning. Thursday we all got up. There were five boys and two sisters. We skipped breakfast so we would have a real appetite for Thanksgiving dinner. To work up an appetite, we went to a nearby field and dug a hole six feet deep and six feet wide. We made a trench to it as a hideout. I remember with every shovelful of dirt, I thought, Please, Heavenly Father, let us have a prayer.

Finally at 2:30, my mother called us to come and eat. We cleaned up and sat at the table. Somehow Mom had managed to have a turkey with all the trimmings. She put all the food on the table, including the turkey. I thought my heart would burst. Time was running out. I looked at my father, then my mother. I thought, Please, now, someone, anyone, please can’t we have a prayer. I was almost panicky; then all of a sudden everyone started to eat. I had worked hard all morning and afternoon to work up an appetite, but I wasn’t hungry. I didn’t want to eat. I wanted to pray more than anything else in this world, and it was too late.

Beloved youth, be grateful for parents who have prayer and read the scriptures. Prize family home evening. Be grateful for those who teach and train you.

Winter is a cold time of year in the Russia Moscow Mission. To a missionary this sometimes seems true of not only the weather but also the people. They become introverted. Everybody seems to be rushing home after work. People are ill, the roads are terribly slick, and the cold ruthlessly bites every exposed piece of skin. Smiles are rare.
My companion and I found ourselves in these conditions during the winter of 2005. We wanted to cheer people up by sharing our message of faith, hope, and love, but nobody wanted to listen. And to be honest, my mood wasn’t all that great. I couldn’t help but feel discouraged. Day after day we walked the cold streets in search of people to teach, freezing our feet to the bone. In spite of the discouraging circumstances, we didn’t want to give up. Christmas was getting close, and we wanted to help people feel the Christmas spirit. But how?
One evening as we were on the train returning home, a small group of musicians walked into the railcar. They played wonderfully, but to my surprise, their performance didn’t have an effect on anybody. Maybe a person or two gave them some pocket change, but the rest just stared out the frosty windows. I felt bad for the performers and gave them a few coins.
Soon we arrived at the station near our apartment and ran home. As soon as I closed the apartment door, the phone rang. I picked it up and recognized the voice of our district leader. That day we were supposed to have thought of ideas for celebrating the Christmas season as missionaries. I had totally forgotten, but I didn’t want him to know that. Straining for an idea, I remembered the group of musicians and suggested that our district could sing Christmas hymns on the trains. I could accompany them on the violin. To my surprise and perhaps dismay, our district leader loved the idea. We decided on a day. “What was I thinking!” I said to myself, remembering that three of the missionaries in our district were tone-deaf.
The day came, and the missionaries met on the platform. The sun had set long ago, and it was terribly cold. My feet were already numb. We rehearsed for about five minutes until the train crept slowly up to the platform. We gladly entered its open doors, getting out of the cold wind and snow. I took my violin out of its case and silently prayed that God would touch the hearts of the listeners.
As we boarded the train, most of the people didn’t pay any attention to us. My fingers hadn’t warmed up yet, so when I started to play, the tone of the violin sounded very simple but very piercing. Suddenly the mood in the railcar changed. It was almost as if something could be felt in the air. The passengers seemed to hold their breath. The other missionaries joined with me, singing the words to “Silent Night”:
Silent night! Holy night!
All is calm, all is bright
Round yon virgin mother and Child.
Holy Infant, so tender and mild,
Sleep in heavenly peace;
Sleep in heavenly peace.1
While I played and the other missionaries sang, nobody in the railcar spoke a single word. When we finished the hymn, I looked around at people’s faces. Everybody was looking attentively at us. Tears were flowing down the cheeks of several women. It was silent for a minute as nobody wanted to interrupt the moment. Finally a man standing in the back of the railcar exclaimed, “They are Saints, genuine Saints!” Everyone began to applaud.
As we walked down the aisle, many people wanted to give us money. When we didn’t accept it, they became all the more surprised. I heard somebody saying under his breath, “This just doesn’t happen.” One man even tried to give us a thousand rubles and was shocked when we refused the money. Instead, we offered him a pass-along card, which he gladly took. Soon other passengers began asking for pass-along cards. They also asked about the Church and us. It seemed like wherever we looked, our eyes were met with smiling faces and warm greetings. At the end of the railcar, we wished the passengers a merry Christmas and waved good-bye to our new friends.
On the other side of the door, we looked at each other in disbelief. “What just happened?” we asked. Then, with twice as much energy, we entered the next door. At first the passengers didn’t pay any attention to us, but after we performed the hymn, they had the same miraculous reaction. For the rest of the evening, we made our way through the railcars, experiencing the same thing in each one. Never before had I seen such acceptance and love.
Returning home that night, I realized that I had experienced a miracle wrought by music, a message about the Savior, and the spirit of Christmas. Even in the coldest times of our lives, we can be comforted by the Lord’s presence. How blessed I was to have seen how drastically people can change under the influence of the Spirit. I will always remember that evening and treasure it in my heart. May the Spirit forever work such miracles!

It was many years before I could conscientiously feel gratitude to my father for some of the lessons he taught me. I still remember the summer day when a group of us young people living in Spring Coulee had planned to meet our friends in Cardston for a picnic. My heart was set on it; it seemed most desirable. Just before it was time to leave, Father said, “Hugh, I want you to go bring in the cows from the east slope.” That was several miles away, and obviously I could not attend the party and obey my father. Although I was inwardly angry and resentful, I knew what I had to do. As I rode out toward the east slope I philosophically confided to my horse, “Sometimes the bitter cup is our portion when the sweeter cup may have been detrimental.” Similar lessons throughout my lifetime have served to emphasize that not only our earthly fathers but our Heavenly Father might reprove betimes with sharpness (see D&C 121:43) for our eternal welfare.

She thinks all children should remember that when you have problems, you can always turn to your Heavenly Father in prayer. Sometimes it takes patience. Her brother Jérôme had worked very hard and saved money to buy a bicycle. When it was stolen out of the Roth’s garage, he prayed every day that he would get his bike back. After three months of praying every day, he felt impressed to go play in an area where he’d never gone before. He found his bike there. Samantha knows that Heavenly Father helped her brother find his bike. She knows He helped her find her brother Semjon. And she knows that although He doesn’t always answer prayers the way we want Him to, He does listen and answer everyone’s prayers.

“Wow!” Ana said. “Look at all the stars.” Everyone in Ana’s family looked up from the campfire. It seemed like there were millions of stars in the dark sky.
“Just think,” Mom said, “each of those stars is one of Heavenly Father’s creations.”
“Let’s each name one of our favorite things that Heavenly Father has created for us,” Dad suggested.
“I know,” Daniel said quickly. “I like those huge waves we saw at the ocean last year.”
Ana didn’t know what to choose. She thought about the warm sun, the bright moon, and sweet-smelling flowers. Then she remembered how much she loved all kinds of soft, furry animals. “Animals!” she said.
Ana started to shiver, so Dad wrapped a blanket around her. “After Heavenly Father created all these beautiful things for His children, He saw that they were good,” Dad said.
Ana had a warm, happy feeling inside. She pulled the blanket up to her chin and looked back up at the stars. “Thank you, Heavenly Father,” she whispered.

This story happened in Germany.
“There is sunshine in my soul today!” Matvii sang. His mom and brother, Tymofii, sang with him. It was dark outside the car window. But the song helped everything feel a little brighter.
It was a scary time for Matvii and his family. They were moving to Germany because their home wasn’t safe anymore. They had traveled for two days, and now they were almost there. A bishop here in Germany was driving them to a place to stay.
Matvii was glad Heavenly Father helped them get to Germany safely. But he missed Dad. He had to stay behind in their country because of a war. Matvii worried about him a lot.
The bishop parked the car outside a house. “Welcome to my home.”
Matvii grabbed his bag and followed his family inside. It was quiet. The bishop’s family must have gone to bed already.
“You can stay in Mats’s and Lore’s rooms while you’re here,” the bishop said.
“Wait,” said Mom. “They don’t have to give up their rooms for us.”
The bishop smiled. “They are happy to do it. We want you to feel comfortable.”
Mom nodded. “Thank you.”
In the morning, Matvii and Tymofii went to the kitchen for breakfast. The bishop sat at the table with a boy and girl. They didn’t look much older than Matvii.
“These are my kids Mats and Lore,” the bishop said.
“Nice to meet you,” said Tymofii.
Mats and Lore looked a little confused.
“They don’t speak your language,” the bishop said. “But I’m sure you’ll be good friends.”
Matvii frowned. How could they be friends if they couldn’t talk to each other? He felt like the sunshine he had been singing about last night was gone.
After they ate, Mats and Lore showed them a playroom. Two younger children were playing with some toys. Matvii guessed they were Mats and Lore’s younger siblings.
Mats said something. It sounded like a question, but Matvii didn’t know what he said. Mats sat down and opened a box of cards. He sorted them into piles. Then he and Lore picked up their cards. Matvii wanted to play. But he didn’t know how!
Mats laid down a card and looked at Matvii. He said something again.
Matvii wanted to cry. He didn’t want to live in Germany if he couldn’t understand anyone.
Lore said something to Mats, then ran off to the closet. She came back and set a new game on the floor.
Matvii knew this game. The wooden pieces looked like the ones he had at home. It was chess! He had played chess with Dad for hours. Matvii nodded happily. He knew how to play this one.
Lore smiled big and started setting up the pieces.
Matvii moved his pawn two squares and watched as Lore moved her knight. Then Matvii moved his bishop to Lore’s knight. He and Tymofii cheered. Lore made a frustrated sound, but she was smiling.
They played for a long time. Soon they were laughing. They didn’t understand each other’s words, but they still had fun.
Over the next few weeks, they found other games they all knew. They played football outside with other German kids. Matvii learned a few words in German too. Sometimes he made mistakes, but he kept trying.
Matvii still missed his dad and his home. But he was grateful Heavenly Father had helped him make new friends.
Illustrations by Hannah Li

That’s the second time Steve has looked in the door. I move the carpet cleaning machine a bit more quickly. I rationalize that no one will know if this corner isn’t soaped quite as thoroughly as the rest of the room.
It’s only my second day cleaning apartments on my own at my new carpet cleaning job, and I haven’t quite got the hang of running power vacuums yet. I know that everyone else has been finished for at least 20 minutes. They are waiting to return to our office where we can take a break. I’m eager to make a good impression and prove I can keep up with the crew.
The large vacuum scuttles across the floor as I move the wand back and forth. The mist of diluted soap that sprays out as I squeeze the lever on the handle now only sparsely covers the floor.
I see a shadow on the wall and turn around. It’s Gary this time.
“You almost done?”
“Yeah, there’s just this room left. Give me five minutes.”
He nods, and I carefully move the machine around the bed and allow my mind to wander. I run down a mental checklist of things I need to do when I get home. I have homework to finish for my Book of Mormon class tomorrow. I think about what my teacher said yesterday. It was something I’ve never thought about before. He said that most people usually think of Laman and Lemuel only as evil men who caused all sorts of problems for Nephi. But a part of the story we often overlook is that Laman and Lemuel did return to Jerusalem and they did help build the ship. In fact, they ended up doing almost everything the Lord commanded. The biggest difference between them and Nephi was that Nephi obeyed God willingly. Laman and Lemuel obeyed reluctantly out of fear.
I stop the carpet cleaning machine and look down at the chocolate-colored carpet uneasily, feeling the truth of my teacher’s statement that too often we are more like Laman and Lemuel than we would like to believe. Slowly, I move the vacuum back to the door and begin cleaning the room again, this time crossing the room in slow, thorough sweeps.
Completely cleaning that carpet was just a little thing, but it represented a much bigger one—my renewed commitment to maintain complete integrity in all my dealings, including on the job.

In a 1929 American football game held in Pasadena, California, a player named Roy Riegels recovered a fumble and ran almost the length of the field toward the wrong goal line. He was tackled and brought down by one of his own teammates, thus preventing a score for the other team. He had lost his sense of direction in a moment of stress. His mistake cost his team a victory. He was a great player, but ever afterward he was remembered as the man who ran the wrong way.

This past general conference, my wife and I looked at each other and said, “What are we doing for conference? Who are we inviting over?” In our YSA ward, we’d gotten used to gathering with other young adults to listen to the messages from our prophet and other Church leaders. We also both come from larger families, so now that it was just us, it felt odd not to watch conference surrounded by people.
But we decided not to have anyone over for conference. And honestly, breaking from our routine helped us listen more closely to the messages and focus more on how we could develop our relationship with the Savior.

Nine-year-old Shelby gave the opening prayer in family home evening. “Shelby,” Mother said, “I think you are almost done with one of the Faith in God activities. You said the closing prayer for family home evening just a few weeks ago. Now you need to share your feelings about how prayer protects us and helps us stay close to Heavenly Father and the Savior.”
Shelby left the room and returned with her journal. She read how a few days earlier she had prayed in the backseat of the family car for help when the car would not start. Almost immediately a neighbor had arrived to help fix the problem. Shelby remembered to pray because she had been thinking about the Faith in God activity.
Like children all over the world, Shelby found that Faith in God is more than a program. It is a way to build faith as you practice living the gospel of Jesus Christ.