Gospel Story Finder

How do you cope? I know a woman who is noted for her smile. Her good cheer is rarely daunted. I asked her how she managed it with all the irritations she has had in life, and she told me this: As a child she had been taking an important letter to her father, who stood just behind a barbed-wire fence. In her eagerness to get there she ran toward him and tripped, and she fell against the fence, cutting her face deeply from the forehead down through the cheek. It left a permanent scar, and the scar was mistaken for a frown and grouchiness. She said, “I couldn’t have the world think I have nothing but a frown to give, so I had to smile that frown away.”

In the Rechnoy Ward of Moscow, Russia, Galina Goncharova, who was serving as the ward historian, slipped on some ice and broke both her arms. She was taken to the hospital, where her arms were wrapped in casts. She couldn’t feed or clothe herself. She couldn’t comb her hair or even answer the phone.
When her fellow ward members learned of what had happened, they immediately responded. Priesthood holders gave her a blessing and worked with the Relief Society sisters to create a schedule to check on this good sister and attend to her needs.
Vladimir Nechiporov, the ward mission leader, said, “We remembered a talk given in general conference about a statue of Christ that was missing its hands.5 Below the statue someone had placed a plaque that read, ‘You are my hands.’ For the few weeks this good sister was incapacitated, the members of the Rechnoy Ward felt a kinship to that story. We literally became her hands.”

In September 2001, I was teaching a course on Islam and the Gospel at BYU in Provo. As was usually the case with this course, there were a handful of Muslim students enrolled. A few days after the terrorist attacks of September 11th, a meeting was called for Muslim and Middle Eastern students and others associated with them. This was, in part, to allow for the administration and concerned faculty to show support and give counsel and for students to talk about their experiences and perhaps express their concerns. I attended. At one point students were instructed to what to do if confronted by someone who showed anger or wanted to argue. They were also told what to do if they received any threats by emails, letters, phone calls, etc. After a bit of a discussion on these matters, a Muslim student raised his hand and, while grateful for the concern being shown, said essentially, “Of all places, there’s no place we would feel safer than at BYU.”

I submit that this could be the ideal towards which we strive in how we speak about and treat those of other faiths. Wouldn’t it be good if those of other faiths could have full confidence that their beliefs and practices would be respected, spoken of fairly, knowledgeably, and charitably, and that they themselves would feel safeguarded and valued among the Latter-day Saints?

When my family moved a few months after I turned 18, I found myself in a new ward and facing a challenge. Within two weeks of my moving in, almost all of the priests were made elders. I was also called to be the first assistant in the priests quorum.

In giving me this calling, the bishop explained that there were a lot of priests on the roll, but almost no one showed up. We had a lot of work to do to encourage people to attend.

“Just invite people to come,” he said.

Only one other priest came to church, a guy named Ryan, who showed up a couple times each month. I decided to go knock on doors of our less-active quorum members and invite them to our activities. I was nervous, afraid that they’d get upset at me for inviting them to church. I figured they weren’t coming because they didn’t like church. But I also figured it was good practice for my upcoming mission to try to invite, so I gritted my teeth and started calling the other priests or stopping by their houses. I invited them to firesides, to activities, to church.

What surprised me was that some actually responded and came. We eventually had a group of four priests who started coming on a regular basis. It wasn’t that they didn’t like church—they had just been waiting for an invitation to come. They were just as nervous about a new situation—attending church—as I had been.

Some activities were more successful than others. Everyone showed up for volleyball, but I struggled to get people to attend other activities.

Youth conference that year was especially rewarding as I watched some of these young men stand up and bear their testimonies. I felt like I had made a difference in their lives.

One of the differences I saw was that Ryan was attending church every week and we had become good friends.

Though some friends were openly critical of Tiffani’s investigation of the Church, Catlin was genuinely curious. When Catlin started asking questions, Tiffani simply invited her to come to church and see for herself. Catlin left the meetings that first Sunday with a copy of the Book of Mormon and an appointment to meet with the sister missionaries. Catlin’s testimony grew steadily, and soon she wanted to be baptized. On March 3, 2007, Catlin was the first of the five to be baptized and confirmed.

Last year the missionaries knocked on their door and were invited to come inside. After the missionaries taught the family, Mother decided that she wanted to join the Church, and knew that it would help her teach the gospel to her family. Father decided that he needed to obey the Word of Wisdom so that he could be baptized too. Both parents were baptized on July 10, 1991. About a week later, Loli was baptized by her father. The Primary children sang at her baptism. A few weeks after that, Pili decided that she was ready to be baptized too. She knew that it was important for her family to become an eternal family. When Pili was confirmed, she could feel the Holy Spirit in her heart.

A similar experience occurred as I was pursuing my career in business. I was offered an excellent job opportunity, but it would have likely required me to work on Sunday. I had committed not to work on the Sabbath day. Ultimately, I had to turn down the offer. I could not compromise my commitment to keep the Sabbath day holy. As with my college commitment, I was later blessed with many other business opportunities that did not require me to compromise and that allowed me to devote Sundays to the worship of the Lord.

“I am seventeen, and I will answer with my personal experience. I love modeling and upon receiving an invitation to model for a well-known store, I was overwhelmed with excitement. I went to the store and found the outfits I was to model already chosen for me. They were not within Church standards and so my decision was very hard to make. The job was important to me and I did not want to say anything that would hurt my chances in any way. After a lot of serious thought and prayer, I told them I could not model something that I myself would not wear. They thanked me for being honest and let me choose other outfits that met my standards. This was a testimony-strengthening experience, teaching me that by standing up for my standards I can never lose because I am continually blessed.”
Marsha McAdams, Age 18Hampton, Virginia

Having living prophets in our day is a sign of God’s love for His children. Elder Jeffrey R. Holland, one of our current prophets, seers, and revelators, touched my heart in a very special way at a time when I was in desperate need of comfort. After I received this overwhelming calling to become an apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ, Elder Holland was the first person to call me. I immediately recognized his distinct, powerful voice on the other end of the line and felt of his and God’s love for me. I recognized Elder Holland’s voice as the voice of one of the Savior’s servants, and it provided me great comfort and confidence in an overwhelming moment.

For a long time the Baum family—Brandon (12), Amanda (9), Laura Lee (7), James (3), and their parents, Terry and Karla—had been working on their goal of going to the temple to be sealed. It wasn’t an easy goal, but something happened that made them realize just how important that goal was.
Sister Baum was going to have twins, and the family was eagerly awaiting their birth. But when the tiny boys were born, they weren’t very strong. One died right after birth, and the doctors and family didn’t expect two-pound James to live either. A priesthood blessing, however, and lots of prayers helped him survive.
Although it was a sad and difficult time for the family, when they learned that they could have their little brother who had died sealed to them forever, their goal to go to the temple grew stronger.

Let me illustrate. I recently attended an LDS testimony meeting for the women inmates at the Utah State Prison—women separated from their families and from society by serious crimes and serious struggles. One of them said, “When I was a little girl, I often bore my testimony in Church. In my innocent little sing-song voice I would say, ‘I love my mom and dad. I know the Church is true. My Heavenly Father loves me. Jesus suffered for my sins.’
But today, behind these bars, I am saying those same words with new eyes and a new heart. Now I understand what the words really mean. I know the Church is true. My Heavenly Father loves me. Jesus suffered for my sins.” She was discovering the simplicity on the other side of complexity.

Two years ago, I asked the young adults of the Manchester Coordinating Council, “What events would you like to plan throughout 2024?” I was moved that their ideas focused on the temple and on leading the youth. In 2024, they organised four successful, Christ-centred, temple-focused events: two “Flood the Temple” events with up to 500 young adults at the Preston Temple, some making their own covenants; a youth “Flood the Temple” event where 40 young adults led 280 youth to the baptistry; and a weekend where 20 young adults led a missionary preparation experience for 50 young men and women. I vividly recall visiting the baptistry and seeing a young man baptising a young woman, two young women witnessing, a young adult man recording, and young people waiting for their turn. Tears filled my eyes at the sight. Reflecting on these moments fills me with joy for the strength and covenant focus of the Rising Generation.

This terror of performing would follow me into adulthood. When I was still in the early years of my public accounting career and had two small children at home, I was called as the Relief Society pianist.

The first week was a disaster. I lurched through some prelude music from the back of the Children’s Songbook (chosen for its simplicity) and then practiced a little deep breathing to calm down during the announcements. Then it was go time. I began playing the first chords of the opening song, but before I could make it through the intro, I plunked a sour note, and, unsurprisingly, my hands rapidly retreated from the keys. Panicked for a measure or two, I desperately tried to get back into the groove. As usual, the chorister led everyone through all of the verses. The longer they sang, the worse I played, until I was reduced to picking out just the melody line for the last verse.

This little episode played out like an old rerun each week until, fatefully, someone in the presidency asked if I would like a key to the church so I could practice. I politely declined, explaining that I actually had a piano at home. I was released within the month.

To this day, even when I am home alone practicing in complete solitude, I cannot play “Sweet Hour of Prayer” (Hymns, no. 142)—the simplest of hymns—without stopping, unless I have the unlikely good fortune to get through it with no mistakes. For this reason I try not to call attention to my piano training (cat’s out of the bag now, I guess). I am so paralyzed by my mistakes that I am of no practical use at the piano.

To you comes a second question: “Whom shall I marry?” May I make personal application of this question? At a dance for the freshman class at the University of Utah, I was dancing with a girl from West High School when a young lady from East High School danced by with her partner. Her name was Frances Johnson; I didn’t know it at the time. I just took one look and decided that there was a young lady I wanted to meet. But she danced away, and I didn’t see her for three more months. Then one day, while waiting for the old streetcar at Thirteenth East and Second South Street in Salt Lake City, I looked and couldn’t believe my eyes. Here was the young lady whom I had seen dancing across the floor, and she was standing with another young lady and a young man whom I remembered from grade school days. Unfortunately, I couldn’t remember his name. I had a decision to make, and I thought to myself: “This decision requires courage. What should I do?” I found in my heart an appreciation of that phrase, “When the time for decision arrives, the time for preparation is past.”
I squared my shoulders and plunged toward my opportunity. I walked up to that young man and said, “Hello, my old friend from grade school days,” and then he said to me, “I can’t quite remember your name.” I told him my name, and he told me his name. Then he introduced me to the girl who later became my wife. That day I made a little note in my student directory to call on Frances Beverly Johnson, and I did. That decision was one of the most important decisions that I have ever made. Young people who are at that particular time in their lives have the responsibility to make similar decisions. They have the important responsibility to choose whom to marry—not only whom to date.

Recently I was in the temple with others to witness a marriage. In the company was a couple who had been pleading with Heavenly Father to help resolve a particular family problem—in spite of their prayers, the condition was not resolved as they had hoped. I noticed this couple stealing away to a quiet room in the temple, where I sensed they laid their trials again before the Lord. They were not bitter. They only wanted to endure whatever the Lord would have them endure. The Lord himself set the example as we recall the events in Gethsemane that caused him to utter, “Nevertheless not as I will, but as thou wilt” (Matthew 26:39).

Years ago when Sister Nelson and I had several teenaged daughters, we took our family on a vacation far away from telephones and boyfriends. We went on a raft trip down the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon. As we started our journey, we had no idea how dangerous this trip could be.
The first day was beautiful. But on the second day, when we approached Horn Creek rapids and saw that precipitous drop ahead, I was terrified. Floating on a rubber raft, our precious family was about to plunge over a waterfall! Instinctively I put one arm around my wife and the other around our youngest daughter. To protect them, I tried to hold them close to me. But as we reached the precipice, the bended raft became a giant sling and shot me into the air. I landed into the roiling rapids of the river. I had a hard time coming up. Each time I tried to find air, I hit the underside of the raft. My family couldn’t see me, but I could hear them shouting, “Daddy! Where’s Daddy?”
I finally found the side of the raft and rose to the surface. The family pulled my nearly drowned body out of the water. We were thankful to be safely reunited.
The next several days were pleasant and delightful. Then came the last day, when we were to go over Lava Falls, known as the most dangerous drop of the journey. When I saw what was ahead, I immediately asked to beach the raft and hold an emergency family council meeting, knowing that if we were to survive this experience, we needed to plan carefully. I reasoned with our family: “No matter what happens, the rubber raft will remain on top of the water. If we cling with all our might to ropes secured to the raft, we can make it. Even if the raft should capsize, we will be all right if we hang tightly to the ropes.”
I turned to our little seven-year-old daughter and said, “All of the others will cling to a rope. But you will need to hold on to your daddy. Sit behind me. Put your arms around me and hold me tightly while I hold the rope.”
That we did. We crossed those steep, rough rapids—hanging on for dear life—and all of us made it safely.

By October of 1838, all-out war seemed inevitable between Mormon and non-Mormon forces confronting each other over these issues. After being driven from several of the counties in the western part of that state and under the presumption they had been invited to discuss ways of defusing the volatile situation that had developed, five leaders of the Church, including the Prophet Joseph, marching under a flag of truce, approached the camp of the Missouri militia near the small settlement of Far West, located in Caldwell County.

As it turned out, the flag of truce was meaningless, and the Church leaders were immediately put in chains and placed under heavy guard. The morning after this arrest, two more Latter-day Saint leaders, including the Prophet’s brother Hyrum, were taken prisoner, making a total of seven in captivity.

Injustice swiftly moved forward toward potential tragedy when a military “court” convened by officers of that militia ordered that Joseph Smith and the six other prisoners all be taken to the public square at Far West and summarily shot. To his eternal credit, Brigadier General Alexander Doniphan, an officer in the Missouri forces, boldly and courageously refused to carry out the inhumane, unjustifiable order. In a daring stand that could have brought him his own court-martial, he cried out against the commanding officer:

It is cold-blooded murder. I will not obey your order. . . . And if you execute these men, I will hold you responsible before an earthly tribunal, so help me God.

In showing such courage and integrity, Doniphan not only saved the lives of these seven men but endeared himself forever to Latter-day Saints in every generation.

Their execution averted, these seven Church leaders were marched on foot from Far West to Independence, then from Independence to Richmond. Parley P. Pratt was remanded to nearby Daviess County for trial there, and the other six prisoners, including Joseph and Hyrum, were sent to Liberty, the county seat of neighboring Clay County, to await trial there the next spring. They arrived in Liberty on December 1, 1838, just as winter was coming on.

The jail, one of the few and certainly one of the more forbidding of such structures in that region, was considered escape proof, and it probably was. It had two stories. The top or main floor was accessible to the outside world only by a single small, heavy door. In the middle of that floor was a trapdoor through which prisoners were then lowered into the lower floor or dungeon. The outside walls of the prison were of rough-hewn limestone two feet thick, with inside walls of 12-inch oak logs. These two walls were separated by a 12-inch space filled with loose rock. Combined, these walls made a formidable, virtually impenetrable barrier four feet thick.

In the dungeon the floor-to-ceiling height was barely six feet, and inasmuch as some of the men, including the Prophet Joseph, were over six feet tall, this meant that when standing they were constantly in a stooped position, and when lying it was mostly upon the rough, bare stones of the prison floor covered here and there by a bit of loose, dirty straw or an occasional dirty straw mat.

The food given to the prisoners was coarse and sometimes contaminated, so filthy that one of them said they “could not eat it until [they] were driven to it by hunger.” On as many as four occasions they had poison administered to them in their food, making them so violently ill that for days they alternated between vomiting and a kind of delirium, not really caring whether they lived or died. In the Prophet Joseph’s letters, he spoke of the jail being a

hell, surrounded with demons . . . where we are compelled to hear nothing but blasphemous oaths, and witness a scene of blasphemy, and drunkenness and hypocrisy, and debaucheries of every description.

“We have . . . not blankets sufficient to keep us warm,” he said, “and when we have a fire, we are obliged to have almost a constant smoke.” “Our souls have been bowed down” and “my nerve trembles from long confinement.” “Pen, or tongue, or angels,” Joseph wrote, could not adequately describe “the malice of hell” that he suffered there. And all of this occurred during what, by some accounts, was considered then the coldest winter on record in the state of Missouri.

Illustration by Red Hansen
While teaching and serving many wonderful people in the Texas Fort Worth Mission, I often reflected on my blessed life. I marveled particularly at seven of my experiences, which I consider to be miracles.
First, I survived my early life, which started out in the humblest of circumstances. I was born on the dirt floor of my mother’s hut in Dessie, Ethiopia. Mom was the only relative I ever knew, and she built our eight-foot (2.4 m) dome-shaped hut by herself, using sticks and mud that she covered with grass and leaves. Our community had no running water and no restroom facilities. Illness and death ran rampant in our kebele, or neighborhood. Food was very hard to find and impossible for us to purchase. My mother and I never knew a day without hunger.
When I was four, my mother became deathly ill. With her last bit of effort, we trudged to a hospital, where my beloved, weary mom died. The hospital staff saved me from life in the streets and death by starvation by arranging for me to live in an orphanage in the city of Addis Ababa, Ethiopia’s capital.
The second miracle came as my life changed dramatically. In this orphanage I lived in a clean building, slept in a real bed, and ate all the food I wanted. Other orphans had also experienced the loss of a loved one, and they taught me how to deal with the loss of my mother. In the evenings we gathered to sing songs in English and pray in Amharic, our mother tongue. We prayed for each other and asked God to bless us to be adopted into “nice, kind, loving homes.” Both the music and the prayers impacted my life in a huge way. I never quit praying.
Third, I was introduced to the missionaries and the Church when I was eight. I was invited to see the dedication of the first LDS Church building in Ethiopia on Sunday, November 30, 2003. At the dedication I felt the powerful influence of the Holy Spirit, and the missionaries in attendance radiated joy, happiness, and that same powerful spirit. I remember thinking that I wanted to be just like them. But I had no idea how I could ever reach this goal.
The fourth miracle came soon after. A family in the United States adopted me. My new father picked me up from the orphanage and took me home. We started the process of becoming acquainted, and I began to settle into my new environment.
Numerous challenges surfaced immediately upon my arrival. Everywhere I went people laughed at my English. My limited education caused problems in school. I prayed for help, and then I worked harder and smarter to close the knowledge gap, especially with English. Once again Heavenly Father answered my prayers. Two years later I proudly skipped a grade.
Then my home life fell apart. Prayers to the Lord, high personal goals, and a deep desire to succeed carried me through that extremely tough time. Finally, with a social worker’s help, my father and I agreed to terminate the adoption. This was a time for prayer, patience, faith, and help from Heavenly Father.
Now 15 years old, I went to live with a foster family for about a year. That was when the fifth miracle came. While sleigh riding with two friends, I met an LDS family with two nice daughters. During the ride home, one of the daughters spoke up, saying, “I think the Lord wants us to adopt Ephrem Smith.” Remarkably, the other three members of the family had also received the same inspiration. The father worked with the Department of Social Services, and soon I moved to my new home. From the very beginning my amazing new father gave me agency. For example, he explained that their family goes to church on Sundays. He allowed me to choose to join them or stay home; he said that they still would love me if I chose not to attend church. I chose to attend church, and I have since made many other righteous decisions.
Miracle six came as I received a testimony of the gospel. One Sunday I sat in sacrament meeting singing “I Stand All Amazed” (Hymns, no. 193). Huge tears began running down my cheeks as I received a personal testimony that Jesus is the Christ and that the Church is His Church.
Finally, nine years later, I knew how to become like those missionaries! The missionary age was now 18, but my adoption had not yet been finalized. I waited seven long months until my adoption was completed. Finally, my missionary papers could be submitted. Four days later I received my mission call. In just one week the Lord blessed me with final adoption papers and a mission call. I treasure both papers exceedingly! They are my seventh miracle. Yes, indeed, it took many miracles along the way from that mud hut in Ethiopia to my treasured mission.

Ashley counted the days as her fingers ran across her braille calendar. Only five more days until her eighth birthday!
“Five days is too soon!” Ashley said to herself. “How can I ever do it?”
Like most children, Ashley looked forward to her birthday each year. She loved the excitement of birthday parties, cake, ice cream, and, of course, gifts. But even the thought of gifts wasn’t enough to make her want her birthday to come this year. I’ll never be able to do it—never! she thought with despair. I’m too afraid.
Ashley was born blind. She had never seen even the ordinary things that other people take for granted, like grass, flowers, and trees, houses, schools, and buses. She had never even seen her family. But she had felt their faces often, and in her mind she knew what they were like. Mom was beautiful and Dad was strong and handsome. Her brother Jake was always smiling. Josh was more serious but was always kind.
All her life Ashley had to work hard to do things that were easy for others, like walk from one room to another without bumping into walls or furniture. Getting herself dressed and her hair combed each morning was a job in itself. Each day was filled with new things to learn.
With the help of her family, though, Ashley had learned to be very independent. She tried to face each day with a smile, and she met each task as a challenge to be mastered.
But the thought of going into water even a few inches deep terrified her. She took showers, never baths, because bathtub water scared her. Thoughts of dangling her feet in a stream or a swimming pool sent her into a panic. So although she wanted with all her heart to become a member of the Church, the idea of getting baptized was almost more than she could bear.
“Five more days, just five more days,” Ashley said again. She knew that her parents wouldn’t make her be baptized until she had overcome her fear, but she didn’t know how to do that. How can I ever go into water that deep, let alone be put under it? She started to shake just thinking about it.
She heard her mother come into her room and felt loving arms go around her and hold her tight. After a few minutes, Mom said, “Thinking about being baptized again?”
Ashley nodded. “My birthday is only five days away, and I really do want to be baptized, but I get so scared just thinking about it!”
“I’m sorry this is hard for you,” Mom said. “Do you think talking to Bishop Felix would help?”
Ashley remembered how worried she had been about her baptismal interview, but the bishop had made her feel at ease and had even made her laugh. Maybe he could help her. “Do you think I could talk to him tonight? I don’t have much time left.”
“We’ll see what we can do.” Mom gave Ashley a reassuring squeeze.
As Dad went with her into the meetinghouse that evening, she felt nervous. “Here’s the bishop’s office,” Dad said. “Would you like me to come in with you?”
“Yes, please.”
Soon she heard Bishop Felix say, “Hello, Ashley. Come right in. It’s nice to see you.”
Just by hearing his voice, Ashley knew that she had made the right decision. After a short prayer by Dad, Ashley started to explain her problem. Afterward the office was quiet for a few minutes. She knew Bishop Felix was thinking.
“Ashley,” he finally said, “I’m glad that you came to me with this problem. I know that you understand the importance of being baptized and that you have a strong desire to be baptized. And I can understand your fear of water, even the baptismal water. It’s wonderful that you and your parents have discussed the problem and prayed about it. That’s the first step, and you have taken it. Prayer is a powerful tool, but sometimes it, too, needs strengthening. I’m sure you know what fasting is,” he said.
Ashley nodded. “It’s going without food and water.”
“That’s right. But when we fast, we should fast for a specific purpose or blessing. And we should let Heavenly Father know what that purpose is. Fasting with prayer is a very powerful tool.”
“Do you think it would help me?” Ashley asked hopefully.
“I’m sure it will.”
“The whole family will fast and pray with you,” Dad said, squeezing her hand.
“I’d like to fast and pray with you, too,” Bishop Felix offered.
Ashley had faith in prayer, so if fasting strengthened prayer, she knew it would work. “Thank you,” she answered. “With everyone’s help, I’ll try it.”
As she and Dad left the church, Ashley felt good inside, almost peaceful. She knew getting baptized would still be a hard thing to do, but her faith was strong.
All the rest of the week, Ashley was prayerful about her baptism, and it wasn’t quite so frightening. She and her parents planned a short program, with both Bishop Felix and Dad speaking before the service. Afterward they would have birthday cake and ice cream for refreshments at home. Mom had already made Ashley a beautiful white dress to wear.
Soon it was the day before her birthday. After a light supper, her family began their fast with a prayer that she might overcome her fear of the water, at least while she was being baptized. And that night as Ashley knelt to pray by her bed, she felt very humble. She still feared the water, yet she knew deep down that Heavenly Father loved her and would help her.
“Happy Birthday!” Ashley woke to the family singing.
She could tell by the sounds of their voices that they were all smiling. They knelt by her bed for their morning family prayer. Mom said the prayer and asked Heavenly Father to be with their family that day as they fasted and prayed for Ashley and for her to have the courage and strength to enter into the waters of baptism. As Ashley said “Amen,” her stomach growled.
Instead of reading the scriptures around the breakfast table, the family sat in the living room. As they read, Ashley heard another stomach growling. It made her feel good to know that her family loved her enough to fast for her.
All day long Ashley’s stomach begged for food. She hadn’t realized before how hard fasting could be. But when thoughts of hamburgers, french fries, and pepperoni pizzas kept popping into her head, she pushed them out with a short prayer. With each prayer, Ashley felt stronger.
Finally it was time to leave for the church. Fear started to creep into Ashley’s heart. “Dad and Mom, could we say another prayer before we leave?”
The family knelt on the floor in a circle, holding hands. “Dear Heavenly Father,” Ashley started softly. “I’m thankful for this special day and for my family. Please help me so that I won’t be afraid to be baptized.”
As Dad guided Ashley down the baptismal font steps, she could feel the water covering her feet. Then it was up to her knees. She had never been in water this deep before, but she wasn’t afraid. The water was up to her waist when they stood in the middle of the font, yet she felt no fear. She listened to Dad and concentrated on the words as he spoke the baptismal prayer. Then he laid her gently into the warm water.
Instead of fear and panic, she felt peace. As Dad lifted her out of the water, her heart was bursting with joy, She had been baptized! She knew that fasting and prayer had helped her overcome her fear.
What a wonderful birthday gift from Heavenly Father! she thought. It’s the very best gift I could have received!

Carter walked into the kitchen with his friend Devin and opened the fridge. He pulled out two sodas and looked around. Where was Mom? Normally she was home when he got back from school. But her car wasn’t in the garage.
He handed a soda to Devin.
“Thanks,” Devin said. “I’m so mad about the science project. Only one week to finish the whole thing!”
Carter took a sip. “I know! It’s not fair!” The project their teacher had assigned that afternoon was going to take forever.
Devin said, “Now we probably can’t go on our bike ride on Saturday.”
Suddenly a swear word jumped out of Carter’s mouth. He hadn’t even thought to say it.
Devin looked surprised, but not upset. They’d both started swearing at school during recess a few weeks ago. But they’d never used bad words in their homes before.
“My thoughts exactly,” Devin said. Then he added a swear word of his own. They laughed.
Carter glanced around the empty kitchen. Mom wasn’t home, and Dad was still at work. It felt … kind of exciting to say that word in his own kitchen. But he also felt uneasy for some reason.
“It’s messed up,” Devin said. “He should’ve given us a month.”
“Totally,” Carter said. He took another drink of his soda. He drank too quickly and the carbonation burned down his throat. “And you know what else?”
This time Carter strung together a sentence with three swear words in it that made Devin laugh so hard he almost spilled his soda. Carter laughed with him.
“What!?”
Carter felt like a bolt of lightning cut through him as he heard Mom’s voice. He turned and saw her standing in the doorway to the garage. He hadn’t heard the door open.
Mom’s face showed how much his words had hurt her. Carter felt awful inside. He wanted to crawl inside a deep, deep hole.
“Uh, I gotta go.” Devin grabbed his backpack and hurried out the front door.
“Carter,” Mom finally said. She wasn’t yelling. He almost wished she were—that would be better than the disappointment in her voice. “We’ll talk about this later.”
She set her bags on the table and walked upstairs. Carter cringed. She was too upset to talk.
Carter finished his soda quickly and went out to the backyard. He plopped down on a lawn chair.
A few weeks ago he had decided it wasn’t that big a deal to use bad words once in a while—as long as he didn’t say them at home or at church. But only a few minutes ago that swear word had popped out before he’d even thought about it.
Carter already knew what he wanted to say to Mom. He wanted to tell her he was sorry and ask for her forgiveness.
Swearing wasn’t worth it, Carter decided. Not at home, and not at school. Not if it made him feel like this. Not if it upset Mom that way.
He prayed to Heavenly Father and asked for forgiveness. Carter promised right then and there. He was done swearing. Not ever again.
He felt a little tug of peace in his heart as soon as he made that choice. That was the Holy Ghost, he realized, telling him he was making the right decision.