Gospel Story Finder

Dad made each of us kids feel special. He loved us and would forgive easily. 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. Dad was the one I leaned on, the one I went to if I was having problems. 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 went to church only because Mom wanted me to. I tried to stay far away from my Heavenly Father.
Then I went to Young Women camp for the first time. I liked meeting new friends, but I still didn’t 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. I opened my mouth, wondering what to say. So I said I was glad for Young Women camp. Then I found myself saying that I knew Jesus Christ died for me and that my Heavenly Father loved me and that the Church was true.
I was filled with a remarkable peace. Thanks to this experience I can say that I know I will see my dad again because of the Savior’s Atonement and Resurrection.

My sister Rylee is allergic to nuts. If she eats any, they can make her stop breathing. One night we ate some salt water taffy, not knowing that some of the pieces had nuts in them. Rylee’s mouth started burning. Mom gave her some medicine, but it didn’t help. Next, Rylee’s throat started to burn, and she couldn’t swallow. Then her chest started to burn. It soon became hard for her to breathe.
Dad was out of town, so he wasn’t around to give her a blessing. Mom decided to call 911. The operator told her to stay on the phone until the paramedics arrived.
My sisters Kelsey and Haley and I were really worried about Rylee. We knelt on the kitchen floor and said a prayer asking Heavenly Father not to let Rylee die. Soon the paramedics arrived, but Rylee was already doing better. Mom was really surprised at her recovery.
Later, after everyone had left, we told Mom about our prayer and asked if she thought it had helped. She told us that it was probably the reason why Rylee was all right. I am grateful that Heavenly Father hears and answers prayers.Mason Cate, age 4, with help from his familyLayton, Utah

2. Invite the bishop to come to some of your youth activities. I can remember going on a campout when I was a bishop and falling asleep in the back of the bus. Somewhere there is a picture of me asleep with my mouth open and a wild flower placed inside. My own sons were part of the practical joke. We all grew closer together when the youth enjoyed some relaxing time with me. If the bishop knows how much you want him to be with you, he will try to find time to be part of your special activities.

I worked at Disney Interactive Studios for about 13 years as an artist and producer, and one day when I pushed the elevator button to go up to work, I felt that I wasn’t supposed to be there. Well, I put that thought on a mental shelf and continued to work. How could I leave a stable and desired career? How could I leave the good people I loved and had worked with for the last decade or so?

But it pressed upon me, and I knew this feeling wasn’t going to go away. I tried to put together a plan so I had something in place before leaving, but no matter how I tried, it didn’t materialize. So I left without a job or opportunity in place. I cried and had many deep, heartfelt discussions with my Heavenly Father during this time.

What I learned was the plan was not to have a plan. I learned who I was minus any title, career, or status. Though painful as this change was, it was an invaluable space for me to learn about me and my relationship with my Heavenly Father. Just two months after I left, that studio that I thought was stable shut down out of the blue and without warning.

Throughout my experience in leaving Disney, I pondered and searched this quote from President Spencer W. Kimball: “Security is not born of inexhaustible wealth but of unquenchable faith.”1 Our true security and peace is born of faith in Jesus Christ. That faith in Christ is a choice we can make. I’m grateful He let me choose Him.

To the west of our home was our garden plot. Part of the garden was in potatoes. One day my father said to my sister and me, “There are more potatoes than we can use. If you would like to sell some, you may do so.” My sister Alice and I dug some up and hauled them down to a hotel and sold them. When we showed the money to our father, he asked what we were going to do with it. We said we would divide it before buying some things we wanted. Then he questioned, “What about your tithing?” He said, “The Lord had been good to us. We planted and cultivated and harvested, but the earth is the Lord’s. He sent the moisture and the sunshine. One-tenth we always give back to the Lord for his part.” My father made no requirement; he merely explained it so convincingly that we felt it an honor and privilege to pay tithing.

“Mom, my coat’s gone!” Brad said. It was time to go home from church, but Brad couldn’t find his coat on the rack.
“Are you sure that’s where you hung it up?” Mom asked.
“Yes. It was right here.” Brad’s coat was bright blue and red. It was hard to miss.
“Maybe it got moved. Let’s look around the building,” Dad said.
Mom, Dad, and Brad split up to check different rooms. They looked in the lost-and-found box, in the chapel, in Brad’s classroom, in the Primary room, and on every coat rack. They even looked in the bathrooms, but they didn’t find the coat.
“Somebody probably took it by accident. I’m sure they’ll return it next week as soon as they realize it isn’t theirs,” Dad said.
“In the meantime, you can wear your old coat,” Mom said.
Brad frowned. He didn’t like his old coat. It was thin, faded, and too small for him. He loved how his new red-and-blue coat made him look like a superhero.
Someone probably saw how cool my coat is and stole it, Brad thought. How could that happen at church? Everyone there was supposed to be honest. Brad wouldn’t let that robber get away with it. He had a plan. Next Sunday, he would watch carefully to see who was wearing his coat. Then he would snatch it back and yell, “Stop, thief!” They would be sorry they ever took it.
Brad could hardly wait for Sunday to carry out his plan. But the next Sunday was too warm for coats, and so was the next Sunday.
The Sunday after that, Brad looked around suspiciously at all the boys in Primary, wondering who stole his coat. Was it that tall boy? Or maybe it was a girl. He felt like he couldn’t trust anyone. Brad didn’t like that feeling.
After church Brad hurried around the building, watching families put on their coats. But he didn’t see his coat anywhere. He even checked the lost-and-found box again … but no coat. Where could it be?
On the way home, Brad thought of a new plan. He would pray. He knew Heavenly Father could find lost things. That night Brad prayed and said, “Heavenly Father, please tell me who took my coat. I want it back.”
Brad waited for the robber’s name or face to come to mind. But instead he started thinking about his friend Carl. Brad usually sat by Carl in Primary. They joked and laughed together a lot. But Carl hadn’t been to church in a few weeks. Brad missed him.
What if Carl had taken his coat? Maybe Carl was afraid to come to church now because he thought Brad wouldn’t be his friend anymore. Brad wanted Carl to come to church again. If Carl had taken his coat, Brad decided, he wouldn’t yell at him. He would forgive him.
Brad climbed into bed, feeling better.
The next Sunday in Primary, Carl wasn’t there, but a new boy was. He was wearing a red-and-blue-striped tie.
“Cool tie,” Brad said, sitting by the new boy. “It makes you look like a superhero.”
The boy smiled.
Brad smiled too. He wasn’t looking for robbers anymore. He was looking for friends.

Years ago, President Joseph Fielding Smith, then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, attended a stake conference where a relatively new stake president had been called. A man repeatedly came up to President Smith and asked him for counsel concerning a personal matter. Finally, President Smith said he would see the man, provided the new stake president could be there. As the man unfolded his situation, the stake president was prompted with what the person needed to do. Yet President Smith listened to the brother and surprised everyone by saying, “I have no counsel for you.” The man was surprised, and he left. After he had gone, President Smith turned to the stake president and said, “I knew how to counsel that man, but I was also prompted to know that he would go against the counsel. So rather than condemn him for going against the counsel of the priesthood, I told him nothing.”

David ran down the sandy path holding the small sand grouse carefully in his hands. “Bird,” he whispered, “it’s all right. I’ll take care of you.”
The boy had found the sand grouse on the desert. Its wing was broken and the feathers fanned out when he let go of it, so he held it close to his chest with both hands.
David lived alone in a cave under the edge of a rock. Before he was old enough to remember him, his father had left. David often thought about his father, imagining him as a tall, strong man who would protect his son from the wolves, bring him food and firewood, and hold him close in the night when it was dark and when frightening sounds came from outside the cave.
David tried not to think about his mother. She hadn’t been gone as long, and her memory was still too close to his heart to remember without pain.
It was getting dark, and the tall palms stood out black against the red desert sky. David, alone with the sand grouse, could feel its tiny heart beating rapidly against his hands. He scraped up some cold ashes and bits of straw into a pillow on which to lay the hurt bird so that the softness came up and around and held its wing.
“Lie still now, bird,” he said. “I’ll fix your wing for you.”
David found a stick and some leather strips he’d been saving in a pouch. Every time he found a piece of wool or a strip of leather blowing on the desert, he’d carefully save it and tuck it into his pouch. Sometimes these bits and pieces were useful in unexpected ways.
As he wrapped a tiny piece of leather around the stick and the bird’s wing, he thought, Maybe this sand grouse can be mine, and I can be his. We can belong to each other.
After David finished wrapping the bird’s wing, he dropped some water into its open mouth. Its helpless eyes gazed at the boy as he worked.
Gently David put the bird down onto the soft straw pillow. He tied one end of a leather thong around the bird’s leg and the other end to his own wrist. Now, he thought, if it flutters about in the night or tries to fly, I can keep it from hurting itself.
David lay down on the dirt floor of the cave, curled up on his side so that he could see the bird. The sand grouse stared at him. David smiled and said, “Good night. I love you.”
During the night David awoke to a chattering noise. At first he couldn’t tell what it was. Then the string on his wrist tugged and pulled. The bird was silhouetted against the mouth of the cave, and there looked to be hundreds of birds outside. They were perching on the cactus, flying and darting about, and walking in the sand. David had never seen so many birds at once! The thong on his wrist tightened as his bird limped along, trying to reach the others.
The great flock of birds chattered and teased. They seemed to say, “Come along. Hurry and come with us.”
Walking over to the mouth of the cave, David called, “Sand grouse, you can’t go. You can’t fly yet.” Then the boy shivered at the cold and dampness in the cave. Every bird on the desert must be here! he thought. What does it mean?
David held the sand grouse close as he stepped out into the starlit night. At first all he could see were the birds circling and swooping. Then he saw a great light in the sky that was attracting the birds, and David knew where they were going. Suddenly he wanted to go with them.
David followed the birds over rocks and hills, down gullies and crevices, and on over the wind-whipped sand. Then their chattering stopped and all David could hear was the sound of his own feet and the beating, whirring wings.
David began to have a warm feeling inside that seemed to come from the lighted sky. He was hurrying to keep the birds in sight when, suddenly, he bumped into something and stopped.
“Say, there,” came a man’s deep voice. “What’s this?”
“Oh, sir, I’m sorry,” David said, looking up at the tall, smiling man before him. He wore a shepherd’s robe and held a wooden staff. A curly, dark beard went up close to the man’s kind eyes, and he was carrying a lamb.
“That’s all right, boy,” the shepherd said. “What’s that you have there? A sand grouse, is it?”
“Yes, sir, I found it on the ground with its wing broken. After I bound the wing with a thong, the bird’s friends came and wanted it to go with them. But I don’t know why we’re following them.”
“Come, walk with me,” the shepherd invited the boy. “I’ll tell you about this night.”
So David and the shepherd walked together on the desert under the bright light of that holy night, led by the birds. The shepherd told David he’d been watching the sheep when an angel came.
“An angel?” David asked in wonderment.
“Yes, an angel, who told us that a king had been born in the city of David.”
“A king?” David questioned, even more astonished.
“A king of all the world,” the shepherd replied. “I’m taking this lamb as a present for that kingly Baby.”
“A baby king,” David said, still hardly believing. “I’d like to give him something, too, but I have nothing to give.”
“That’s what I thought, but I did have this lamb,” said the shepherd.
“And I have only —” David stopped. Then he continued in a quieter voice. “I have only this sand grouse. It belongs to me and I belong to him.”
David thought about the sand grouse as he and the shepherd walked together until they came to a stable in the little town.
“The King wouldn’t be born here in a stable,” David said, “with hay all around Him and animals close by.”
“Yes,” the shepherd said, “the angel told us we would find Him in a manger.”
The great flock of birds that had been flying ahead of David and the shepherd settled in the trees near the stable.
They found the Babe lying in a bed of hay. As the shepherd stepped forward and put the lamb down beside Him, the mother smiled. Holding his friend, the sand grouse, David felt himself pulled forward by her smile.
The bird’s eyes had become black and shiny. David untied the thong from its wing. The sand grouse hopped a little, ruffled up its feathers, and moved both wings without any trouble. David untied the thong from his wrist and laid it aside.
The bird fluttered closer to the Baby and stood there. Its eyes shone, and it turned its head from side to side, looking first at the boy and then at the sleeping child.
“Good-bye, sand grouse,” David said. “Good-bye, my friend.”
He turned to where the shepherd was waiting for him at the edge of the heavenly light. As they went out into the dark streets of the city together, the shepherd put his hand gently on David’s shoulder. “It’s wonderful to think we have seen the King of the world,” he said.
“Yes,” David answered, although he felt happy and sad at the same time. When he thought of the Baby, a happiness ran through him, but when he thought of being all alone again, there was a hollow, hurting ache in his chest.
The shepherd said, “Your sand grouse seemed to feel as though it belonged there. Its wing was fine, and it looked happy.”
“I think it was proud to be standing next to the baby King,” David said, “and I’m glad. But it was the only thing I had of my own, and now I’m alone again.”
“Then come with me,” the shepherd suggested. “I’m alone, too, except for my sheep.”
David could hardly believe his ears. “You mean, I could go with you? Live with you?”
“And belong to me. Yes, and I would belong to you, David,” the shepherd said. “Do you need to go back to the cave for anything?”
“All I had was the sand grouse and I gave that to the King,” David answered. He was quiet for a moment. Then looking up into the kind eyes of the shepherd, he said, “And it was the best thing I’ve ever done.”

One day I was talking to a friend, who is not a member of our church, and we almost got to the point where we started putting each other’s churches down, but I didn’t want it to get to that point, so I just bore my testimony and stopped. A few weeks later I got some pamphlets and magazines in the mail from her. I could have kept them so that I would know what some writers think about our church, but I didn’t. This experience made me want to be more prepared when things like this happen.Alexandria M., 15, Oregon

Celebrating Christ’s life during the Christmas season brings both families and friends closer together. Jennifer Adams, of Pleasanton, California, discovered this when she went away to school.
She and her roommates knew they would spend most of the time leading up to Christmas away from their families. But they didn’t want to miss out on the traditions and special experiences of home, so they started some of their own.
They took a long candle, decorated it with numbers from 1 to 25, and placed it in the center of the living room. Every night they lit the candle and let it burn down one number.
While the candle burned, they sang traditional Christmas hymns and shared stories of service and giving. Some nights, they bore testimony of the Savior and talked about what Christmas meant to them.
It only took 15 minutes a night and made for a meaningful holiday season. It became a tradition Jennifer will one day incorporate in her own home. It also brought the roommates closer together and created a feeling of having a family even while they were away at college.

“I was strong in my belief that the Church was not true,” says Rosenelle.
But at Marco’s urging, Rosenelle continued to meet with the missionaries, never committing to baptism, but never completely rejecting the idea either.
“I never gave up,” says Marco. “I knew it would happen.”
And it did. While reading the Book of Mormon one afternoon, Rosenelle read about Alma the Younger. Soon she was thinking about her own life and the direction it was taking. She prayed for a long time that day and started to have some feelings that she couldn’t quite describe.
“Marco told me it was the Spirit,” says Rosenelle. “I knew he was right. I became converted and was baptized. I haven’t ever regretted it.”

A good man had been given the assignment in his ward of arranging the Boy Scout banquet. He had worked hard, made his choices, and carried them through. The tables were set, the food was in the pot, and the hour was drawing nigh.
His wife came over early to check things out. Everything seemed in order, but it looked mighty colorless to her trained eye. She turned to him and said, “Okay, Honey, but what are you going to use for the centerpieces?”
Surprised, he looked at the stark setting and considered the matter gravely for a moment. Then, in the full agency of his manhood, he replied, “Butter—squares of butter!”
Now that is what you might call freedom of choice—agency. And that’s what we’re going to talk about for a few minutes, agency and accountability. I must add that should we happen to choose butter for the centerpiece, we can’t expect compliments on the decor. We have our free agency, but we also have to accept the consequences of our choices. It isn’t so serious in centerpieces, but in matters of life, and of life after death, it is critical.

Since the time of our baptism in 2001, my husband and I had many conversations about traveling to the temple with our family to be sealed together for eternity. However, our plans came to a halt when he was diagnosed with liver disease and passed away before we could go.
I was heartbroken, but my desire for our family to be sealed for eternity grew even stronger after my husband’s death. As a widowed mother of four children, however, I knew it would not be easy to raise the money needed to take my family from Cambodia to the Hong Kong China Temple—roughly 1,000 miles (1,600 km) away.
Despite our meager income, my children and I knew that we needed to get to the temple so we could be sealed as a family for eternity. I continued to work hard doing laundry at a hotel while my children worked odd jobs. We slowly began to save a little money for our trip, but we soon realized that we might never be able to save enough.
Because we knew an eternal family was more valuable than anything we could have on earth, we decided to sell the only thing of value that we owned—my late husband’s motorbike. After we sold it for a significant amount of money, our hearts rejoiced to know that we would soon be able to be sealed to our beloved father and husband.
But our happiness was short-lived. One week after selling the motorbike, we returned from church to find that our home had been burglarized. When we discovered that the money from the sale of the motorbike was gone, we were grief stricken. For months after the break-in, we continued to pray that we could find a way to go to the temple.
After several months our prayers were answered when we were told that we could receive help from the Church’s General Temple Patron Assistance Fund.* My children and I rejoiced at the news and soon made our hoped-for trip to the temple.
Thanks to the generosity of other Latter-day Saints, we are now an eternal family.
*The General Temple Patron Assistance Fund was created to give financial assistance to Church members who otherwise could not afford to attend the temple.

We all have heroes, particularly when we are young. I was born and grew up in Princeton, New Jersey, in the United States. The most famous sports teams near where we lived were headquartered in New York City. It was the home of three professional baseball teams in those faraway days: the Brooklyn Dodgers, the New York Giants, and the New York Yankees. Philadelphia was even closer to our home and was the home of the Athletics and the Phillies baseball teams. There were many potential baseball heroes for me on those teams.
Joe DiMaggio, who played for the New York Yankees, became my baseball hero. When my brothers and my friends played baseball on the school grounds next to our house, I tried to swing the bat the way I thought Joe DiMaggio did it. That was before the days of television (this is ancient history), so I only had pictures from newspapers to use to copy his swing.
When I was growing up, my father drove me to Yankee Stadium. That was the only time I saw Joe DiMaggio play. As if I am still there, in my mind I can see him swing the bat and see the white baseball fly straight into the stands at center field.
Now, my baseball skills never came close to those of my childhood hero. But the few times I hit a baseball well, I copied the level of his powerful swing as closely as I could.

“Sharon, wait up!” I called. “You’re walking too fast.”
“Hurry up!” she snapped.
“Why do we always argue on Sunday mornings?” I thought as I struggled to keep up with my older sister on the way to church.
When I walked into Primary, Sister Rawlins was playing the piano. I listened to the soft music and thought about the words to the Primary songs. Soon my bad feelings had disappeared. I continued to feel better through Sunday School and sacrament meeting.
As Sharon and I walked home after church, we chatted cheerfully about our friends and what we had learned. I couldn’t help but notice how different our walk home was from our walk to church. We were on the same streets, and we were the same girls—but our attitudes had changed.
“Why do we argue on the way to church but not on the way home?” I wondered.
Next Sunday started the same as always. The clock radio woke us up with a popular song. We sang to the music and danced as we got ready for church.
I went into the bathroom, and before long I heard pounding on the door.
“Hurry up, Clara!” Sharon yelled impatiently. “I still need to take a shower!”
Sour feelings grew inside me. I frowned into the mirror as I brushed my hair. “She knows how long it takes to get ready for church,” I thought. “Why can’t she just get up a few minutes earlier?” Sharon and I walked to church in total silence.
In my Primary class that day, Sister Rios asked, “What are some ways we can keep the Sabbath day holy?”
I said by going to church. Rebecca said by reading the scriptures. James said by not going to the store on Sunday.
Sister Rios read from Doctrine and Covenants 59:9: “That thou mayest more fully keep thyself unspotted from the world, thou shalt go to the house of prayer and offer up thy sacraments upon my holy day.” She explained that when we keep the Sabbath day holy, it helps us stay in tune with the Holy Ghost.
When I thought about arguing with Sharon earlier in the day, I realized that probably wasn’t keeping the Sabbath day holy. I wanted to change, but how?
As Sharon and I walked home after church, I talked about the scripture Sister Rios had read. The phrase “unspotted from the world” stuck in my head. Then an idea began forming in my mind.
“Do you think listening to the radio while we get ready for church makes us feel like arguing?” I asked Sharon.
“Maybe,” she said. “Next Sunday, let’s not listen to the radio and see what happens,” she suggested.
The next week we tried our experiment. Instead of setting the radio to wake us up with popular music, we set the alarm to wake us with a buzzing sound instead. We dressed quickly and without arguing. We were even ready on time.
We felt happy as we walked to the church. The morning sun shone through the windows in the Primary room. I sat down with my class and listened to the music with a peaceful feeling in my heart.
This was going to be a good Sunday.

“I was excited for my 12th birthday,” says McKell C., 12. “My family had plans to go to the temple that day. But the morning before, my mom woke me.”
“Get up!” Mom said in a frantic voice. “We have to get up!”
“Mom told me there was a fire coming, that we needed to pack our things and get out,” McKell says. “We evacuate a lot. We thought we’d be coming back soon, so no one really packed anything. But the Holy Ghost definitely knew that we weren’t. He prompted me to grab some of my special stuff. We stayed at my grandparents’ cabin that night.
“The next day, we still went to the temple. I was really excited. I have always wanted to go to the temple. That day, everyone was on their phones texting each other to know what was happening and to make sure people got out alive. There was a lot of stress.
“Right as we walked in the temple, my dad got a text from someone saying, ‘Sorry, we just drove by your house and it’s gone.’
“The Holy Ghost definitely helped me that day. I had a happy, relieved feeling in the temple. My cousin baptized me, and when I came out of the baptismal font, my jumpsuit was super heavy, but I actually felt really light. I forgot about how my house had burned down.
“Today, if something bad happens, I know that when I go into the temple, it’s easier for me to move forward. It strengthens me every time.”

My wife and I love this scripture so much that she painted it on a wall in our living room, below a beautiful white porcelain Christus. They are a constant reminder for us to live Christ-centered lives.
On one occasion, we were at the visitors’ center on Temple Square with our grandchildren. Two-year-old Ashley was tired and wanted to leave. Sister Mask asked her if she wanted to see a big Jesus like the one on our wall. She asked, “Is He as big as me?”
“Even bigger,” Sister Mask replied. When that tiny, little girl looked up at the majestic Christus, she ran and stood at the feet and gazed up reverently for several minutes. When her father indicated it was time to go, she said, “No, no, Daddy. He loves me and wants to give me hugs!”

I had learned of the Mormon church through a friend of mine, and when I was 13 years old I was baptized. One of the main reasons I was attracted to the Church was the love and concern I felt from the members of my ward.
I had become quite close to a family in my ward—the Fishers. I was their babysitter. They were my friends, and I grew to love them very much. I loved to babysit for them, and they accepted me for the person I was. I knew they cared about me, and I felt secure when I was with them.
To make a long story short, in the next few months I ran away from home twice. The Fishers went to Social Services and requested that I come live with them. I was surprised but thrilled! After several court trials, I was placed in their home as a foster child. I was 14 years old.
That was eight years ago. As I look back over the years, there are many memories. But perhaps the greatest memory I have is being legally adopted and going to the St. George Temple to be sealed to my parents. My whole family was present, grandparents and all, and it was a peaceful, beautiful, and glorious day.
My parents have worked very hard with me. They encouraged me to go back to school, and I graduated from Brigham Young University. It was a great day, and my parents helped me to make it possible.
There are so many other things my parents have done for me, I could never name them all. However, the most important thing they did was to take me into their home and to love me. My parents helped me to learn to love others. They taught me about the gospel. They answered my questions. They had faith. And they were and still are my examples. My parents gave me the opportunity to have a family and to experience the security of belonging.
When I first went to my foster home I was bitter and felt sorry for myself. I often asked myself, why me? It all seemed so unfair. Fortunately, I have since learned that the experiences I had during my first 14 years of life were meant to be. Those experiences have made me into the person I am today. Those experiences were to teach me. Yes, I had to learn to have compassion for others who may be hurting. I have promised myself to never forget how it hurts to be lonely and frightened.
There is no doubt in my mind that my parents were to be mine. My patriarchal blessing tells me so. We just all came together in a different way. I want to repay my parents for their love, help, and understanding, and I know I can do this by living a good life, helping others, and remaining faithful to the gospel. This is what they would want me to do. I know because it is what they have done in their lives.

For Kip Twitchell, a book of remembrance and a journal are a natural part of his life. In fact, for a group of seminary students attending Bonneville High School in Ogden, Utah, the whole concept of family histories has become an exciting project that they think about and work on often.
It all started when the seminary students invited a guest speaker to address an assembly of the seminary classes at Bonneville High School. While chauffeuring their speaker to and from the meeting, they began relating stories about their ancestors. The students became interested in doing something about their family histories when their guest challenged them to consider how the experiences of their ancestors have affected them individually. They reread copies of family histories, interviewed members of their families, sorted through and identified old photographs, and updated their own journals. They found that learning about their families helped them understand their own talents and attitudes.

Liola Christine Nau Hingano grew up in the Church, and she often saw the missionaries serving in her community. “I wanted to serve a mission myself,” she says. However, serving would not be easy.
Shortly after Liola submitted her mission papers, she became very sick. The doctors discovered she had a tumor and had to perform surgery to remove it. While she was in the hospital, Liola received her mission call—to serve in Tonga. She had two months to recover before starting her mission, but it was a difficult time for Liola because her parents thought a mission would be too hard on her and didn’t want her to go.
“But I believed that because the Lord had called me, I would be OK, so I decided to go,” she says. “When I entered the missionary training center, the mission president gave me a blessing and said that as I served the Lord, I would be as healthy as any missionary.
“My first mission area was very hard. We walked for miles each day just to get to the area where we were working. We carried our scriptures with us, and the sun was hot. But I knew I would be fine because I had received a priesthood blessing that said so. And I was. I never had trouble because of my previous illness.
“I am very grateful I had the courage to go on a mission and not turn back. It has made such a difference in who I am today—and in my testimony. I have faith in our Savior and Heavenly Father.”