Gospel Story Finder

“Remember the time you stopped the airplane on the runway?” I asked. Grandfather’s eyes lit up and so I continued to go back with him to a day when I was 14 years old. Grandmother had decided that she and Grandpa would take me to Salt Lake City for April conference to celebrate my birthday. She had called for airplane reservations, but as usual, she was late. As we arrived at the airport, I panicked to see our plane starting its takeoff. Although she was tiny in size, Grandmother never had a minute’s hesitation about giving Grandfather orders. This time was no different. She turned to him and ordered, “Ed, get out there and stop that plane!”
I couldn’t believe what was happening. Grandfather knew it would do no good to argue, so he just muttered a few words under his breath and crawled out of the car. He opened the large silver gate leading to the runway, and the next thing I knew, he was running alongside the plane waving his arms.
As we boarded the plane, my face was red with embarrassment, but Grandmother just ushered us to our places in her usual matter-of-fact way. As I recalled the episode with Grandfather, I started laughing, and although he couldn’t speak or laugh, his eyes spilled merriment. Once again we were sharing.

The fact that Apii is alive is part of the reason her family joined the Church. When she was eight, she was desperately ill with asthma. Missionaries gave her a blessing, and she was healed literally moments later. “I was really weak,” says Apii. “I hadn’t been able to eat or drink. As soon as the missionaries said amen I was all right. I opened my eyes and asked for something to drink. Everybody sort of laughed they were so relieved.”

“I always turn to my dad for good advice. He’s so easy to talk to.”
This remark seemed to be repeated again and again by one child after another during our discussion together.
A recently married daughter said, “I always vowed I wouldn’t marry anyone who wasn’t just like my dad. And I’m so lucky—I found a man just like him.”
“Dad has always been understanding. Once I was driving a borrowed car and became involved in a wreck. I was devastated and in tears when Dad arrived. He patiently helped me through that crisis, and I’ll never forget that experience.”
“When he tries to sing a song and doesn’t know the words, he makes up new ones. It’s really fun to sit next to him when he’s singing—it’s like listening to a foreign language.”
“Dad’s a tease and loves to tickle! When our family was in the mission field, Dad would tease the missionaries a lot.
“Speaking of the mission field, Dad used to tell the elders not to ‘tiptoe through the tulips,’ but to get the job done. At one zone conference during Christmastime, our whole family was on the program. Dad wore an orange hat and we sang and danced to ‘Tiptoe Through the Tulips.’”

I should like to conclude by relating one recent experience which had an impact on hundreds. It occurred at the cultural celebration for the Kansas City Temple, just five months ago. As with so much that happens in our lives, at the time it seemed to be just another experience where everything worked out. However, as I learned of the circumstances associated with the cultural celebration the evening before the temple was dedicated, I realized that the performance that night was not ordinary. Rather, it was quite remarkable.
As with all cultural events held in conjunction with temple dedications, the youth in the Kansas City Missouri Temple District had rehearsed the performance in separate groups in their own areas. The plan was that they would meet all together in the large rented municipal center on the Saturday morning of the performance so that they could learn when and where to enter, where they were to stand, how much space should be between them and the person next to them, how to exit the main floor, and so forth—many details which they would have to grasp during the day as those in charge put the various scenes together so that the final performance would be polished and professional.
There was just one major problem that day. The entire production was dependent on prerecorded segments that would be shown on the large screen known as a Jumbotron. These recorded segments were critical to the entire production. They not only tied it all together, but each televised segment would introduce the next performance. The video segments provided the framework on which the entire production depended. And the Jumbotron was not working.
Technicians worked frantically to solve the problem while the youth waited, hundreds of them, losing precious rehearsal time. The situation began to look impossible.
The writer and director of the celebration, Susan Cooper, later explained: “As we moved from plan A to B to Z, we knew that it wasn’t working. … As we were looking at the schedule, we knew that it was going to be beyond us, but we knew that we had one of the greatest strengths on the floor below—3,000 youth. We needed to go down and tell [them] what was happening and draw upon their faith.”3
Just an hour before the audience would begin to enter the center, 3,000 youth knelt on the floor and prayed together. They prayed that those working on the Jumbotron would be inspired to know what to do to repair it; they asked their Heavenly Father to make up for what they themselves could not do because of the shortage of time.
Said one who wrote about it afterward, “It was a prayer the youth will never forget, not because the floor was hard, but because the Spirit melted their bones.”4
It was not long before one of the technicians came to tell them that the problem had been discovered and corrected. He attributed the solution to luck, but all those youth knew better.
When we entered the municipal center that evening, we had no idea of the difficulties of the day. Only later did we learn of them. What we witnessed, however, was a beautiful, polished performance—one of the best I have seen. The youth radiated a glorious, powerful spirit which was felt by all who were present. They seemed to know just where to enter, where to stand, and how to interact with all the other performers around them. When I learned that their rehearsals had been cut short and that many of the numbers had not been rehearsed by the entire group, I was astonished. No one would have known. The Lord had indeed made up the difference.

James Setterberg was also part of the first generation of missionaries to use Preach My Gospel. When he arrived in the Texas Houston East Mission in 2005, his fellow missionaries had been using the resource for several months. But because of the example of a local priesthood leader, Elder Setterberg realized that the tool’s usefulness wasn’t limited to the missionaries.
“In one area, we missionaries lived in the home of a stake president and his family. Every morning, they got up for scripture study, which included going through the various chapters of Preach My Gospel. That’s when I realized that this book really is for everyone,” he says.
It was a lesson he brought home with him. “Before my mission, I had never really set specific goals for my life; I guess I didn’t want to overshoot things,” he admits. “But because of the emphasis on goal setting from my mission president and chapter 8 of Preach My Gospel, that began to change.”
Weekly planning and goal-setting sessions for two years formed a habit that James has retained since his return home. He has, for example, set and worked toward educational and spiritual goals. He says, “I’ve come to realize that without setting goals, you can’t really tell where you are in life, progression-wise. But when you do set and work toward goals, you stretch yourself and become a better person. I have Preach My Gospel to thank for learning that.”

That same year the community seemed to rejoice with our family when my mother gave birth to her only son after four daughters. My dad was an only son, and now he had someone to carry on his name. Within months it was obvious that Tommy was severely handicapped. A force that was just the opposite of my outside world started to be felt inside. There seemed to develop a new dimension of love, tenderness, compassion. I watched my mother and dad make adjustments in lifestyle to lovingly care for a child who in his five-and-one-half years never learned to sit or speak but who warmed an entire room with his smile. The whole town seemed more gentle, interested, concerned. My outside fears were diminished. I felt securely attached because my mother and brother were there. My parents were home at night. Our home seemed more warm, full. There was a different power. It seemed to grow from the inside. It felt more permanent, unlike the temporary power I felt with my friends. It was calm and peaceful—the power of goodness, the power of love.

I have always been greatly impressed by the experience that Elder Orson F. Whitney had. He was a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, and he related this in one of our conferences. I would like to read it to you. He said:
“Many years ago a learned man, a member of the Roman Catholic Church, came to Utah and spoke from the stand of the Salt Lake Tabernacle. I became well-acquainted with him, and we conversed freely and frankly. A great scholar, with perhaps a dozen languages at his tongue’s end, he seemed to know all about theology, law, literature, science and philosophy. One day he said to me: ‘You Mormons are all ignoramuses. You don’t even know the strength of your own position. It is so strong that there is only one other tenable in the whole Christian world, and that is the position of the Catholic Church. The issue is between Catholicism and Mormonism. If we are right, you are wrong; if you are right, we are wrong; and that’s all there is to it. The Protestants haven’t a leg to stand on. For, if we are wrong, they are wrong with us, since they were a part of us and went out from us; while if we are right, they are apostates whom we cut off long ago. If we have the apostolic succession from St. Peter, as we claim, there is no need of Joseph Smith and Mormonism; but if we have not that succession, then such a man as Joseph Smith was necessary, and Mormonism’s attitude is the only consistent one. It is either the perpetuation of the gospel from ancient times, or the restoration of the gospel in latter days.’” (LeGrand Richards, A Marvelous Work and a Wonder [Deseret Book Co., 1950], pp. 3–4.)

Another man attended a stake leadership meeting where the congregation was challenged to double their fast offerings; they were promised that their incomes would increase if they would do so. As this brother reported,
“I went home and discussed this promise with my wife. We were already paying a lot of fast offerings. We were willing to double the amount but did not want to do it for a selfish purpose. After prayer and consideration we decided to double our fast offerings. Not long after this, unexpected opportunities started coming to me in my work. After one year my income had significantly increased! We felt this was truly a blessing from the Lord—the fulfillment of a promise given to us by one of his servants.”

Frédéric, a research biologist from Sandy, Utah, was born in France but his roots are in India. In 1854 his great-great-grandfather, Arokium (he had no last name and his name has become the family surname), left his village of Thanjavur in Tamil Nadu and sailed from Chennai with his parents to Mauritius. His father was an indentured servant contracted to work in the sugar cane fields there.

After the death of his own father two years ago, Frédéric began to wonder about his family history. “We could trace all our family in Mauritius, but the connection to India was lost,” he explained. “I was curious about this great-great-grandfather Arokium, whose first name became my last name, so I asked my aunt for his picture. I had tears in my eyes when I saw it. I took a copy to the National Archives [in Mauritius] to find out where he came from.” That is where Arokium’s quest began.

More than 150 years after his ancestors left, Frédéric returned to India to find out more about them. “Being in Chennai,” he said, “is very emotional for me. This is where all my ancestors boarded ships at different times to come over to a strange land. I believe that it was heart-rending to leave, but they kept moving forward with hope in their hearts. They have sacrificed a lot for us to be where we are today.”

He added, “It is important to know their story to better appreciate my life now and understand the amazing legacy they left to me: courage, hope, hard work, hospitality, strong family values and faith in God.”

Frédéric wants to help others find their Indian roots. For this reason, he has created the Indian Diaspora Genealogy Group on Facebook.

His message to Saints in India is to get a temple recommend; start talking to family members and gather names, old photos and stories; get in touch with a family history consultant; download the FamilySearch app and create an account; enter your ancestors’ names and get their temple work done.

After the fireside in Chennai, Frédéric talked excitedly with a young woman from the audience. It appears that they have ancestors from the same village in Tamil Nadu. Perhaps her research can help him find another generation of family. They exchanged contact information.

“This is a labor of love,” Frédéric said. “After all they have done for me, this is the least I can do for them.”

While we were expecting our ninth child, an examination revealed that I had cancer. The doctors could not determine the source or extent without endangering the baby, and she wasn’t old enough to survive birth. But they did know the cancer was spreading. So we were asked to decide whether the doctors should operate despite the risk, or if they should wait until the baby had developed more fully.
To me there seemed to be no answer. I wanted to live and to rear our eight children. But I also felt protective of the child I was carrying. We struggled for several weeks, giving the baby more time to mature, prayerfully seeking to know the will of the Lord. Our answer came when, after much prayer and fasting, Dan said to me, “Barbara, it will be all right. I have scheduled surgery.”
Because of priesthood power, he could do more than make that difficult decision. He called our home teacher, a neighbor who had had his own struggle with cancer, and my brother. In the name of Jesus Christ, my husband, assisted by those men, blessed me and our baby that what was done would be best for both of us.
Dan again wrote me a letter the night before surgery: “These past days have been filled with more anxiety and soul searching for me than any time in my life. … As we have passed through swells of faith and depths of fear, I have experiences a purging I didn’t know I needed. The priesthood blessings you have received are from the Lord. Tonight as we sat in your hospital room, I was aware of your struggle between fear and faith. I experienced it myself for many hours after I returned home. Just now I have received, with burning assurance, the Lord’s seal upon the blessings you have received. … [The doctors], as instruments in the hands of our Father in Heaven, will do what is needed to perform His work.”
The surgery was successful. Our healthy daughter, now fifteen years old, was born seven weeks later.

When I was 15, I decided to get my patriarchal blessing. It was something I had wanted to do for a while, but I was nervous. Many of my friends told me it was one of the most spiritual things to ever happen to them. I wanted to make sure I did all I could to make it as special as possible.
When I asked my patriarch how I should prepare, I expected something huge, like "Go to the temple every day" or "Read the whole Book of Mormon this week." Instead, he suggested I might fast the morning of my blessing. I didn’t totally understand the impact it would have, but I did as he asked, and as a result, my patriarchal blessing was a monumentally spiritual experience for me.
This experience taught me that fasting includes sincerely praying while sacrificing meals to express gratitude to God and bring Him closer to you. When I fasted that morning, I prayed that my heart would be open to the words of my blessing. I felt the Spirit so strongly as a result, and that made my experience very meaningful.
Lincoln S., 16, Arizona, USA

In junior high school, pitching quarters was the game that dominated the perimeter of the schoolyard, always out of view of adults. However, our fetish with this game eventually found its way into the classroom. As soon as the teacher turned his or her back, our quarters would fly toward the wall, and the person with the quarter closest to the wall won, taking everyone else’s quarter. This game became very detrimental not only to our studies but also to our relationships. Friends were pitted against friends, and fights occasionally broke out. I remember people who lost several days’ lunch money in a matter of a minute. Five or six bad tosses and you were one broke eighth grader.
In high school, quarters became merely small change. Our attention was drawn to larger sums of money with bigger wagers, usually around big-ticket sporting events. Every week there seemed to be a big game, and betting circles were frequently established. Obviously, the more people there were contributing to a pot, the greater a winner’s takings would be. I remember one student who kept a notebook with the particular bets, the odds, and the individuals involved. Between and sometimes during classes he would approach you, asking if you would like to bet.
Unfortunately, the gambling scene pervaded other high school activities and went beyond school boundaries. While traveling with my baseball team, both on the bus and in the hotel rooms, card games took over much of our spare time. I recall watching a card game where two teammates had $120 on the line, with the luck of a particular card deciding the fate of the game. Someone won that day, but I don’t remember who. What I do remember is the chaos, the screaming and vulgar language, the laughing at someone else’s expense. Most importantly, I remember feeling void of the Spirit. It’s a dirty, ugly feeling.
Near my home was a hotel we often went to that had an arcade, a bowling alley, and a good restaurant. I spent many fun times bowling with my brothers and our friends. To get to the bowling alley, we had to go through the hotel’s casino. There is a distinct image in my mind to this day of the smell of cigarette and cigar smoke and the dropping of coins into the metal basins from the slot machines. The image of countless people sitting in the same place for hours playing cards or pulling levers on slot machines seems to be a constant reminder to me of the shallow habit of gambling.
One day a friend of mine, while leaving the bowling alley, tried his luck at a game of chance they called “Megabucks.” The winnings were well over a million dollars. You had to play several dollars at a time to have a chance at winning. Of course, he lost, and he kept on losing. Within five minutes he lost $60, and the only thing he had to show for it was his contribution to the grand total that would eventually go to someone else. My friend lost $60, yet I gained a greater distaste for the gambling habit and a greater resolve to keep the Lord’s commandments. Like other occasions in my life, this became a defining moment that strengthened my resolve to put my occasional past blemishes behind me and turn to the Lord with full purpose of heart.
Through a loving Heavenly Father and the guidance of exemplary parents who avoided the practice of gambling, I was able to put my lapses with games of chance behind me. Far too many friends and acquaintances didn’t stop at pitching quarters or playing cards. Gambling and the other bad habits it leads to are overtaking far too many of Heavenly Father’s children. With an unresolved determination to avoid it, you can become a victim very quickly. Gratefully, two years before I became “legal” in the eyes of the state of Nevada, I was “about my Father’s business” preaching the gospel in the Washington D.C. South Mission.
You may need courageous fortitude as the world thrusts the acquisition of riches and the madness of materialism upon you before you’ve even graduated from school. Understanding true doctrine and living by the principles taught in the scriptures and by living prophets will strengthen you. With this strength, you can refuse and conquer any behavior offensive to the Spirit.

ELDER BENNETT: Because our goals shape our priorities, and our priorities determine our actions, and what we become, we must change our goals if they are not leading us to eternal life and to what we want to become. When I was 12, I had a goal to be a dentist in Hollywood. Twenty years later, Shelley and I were living in Hollywood, with an orthodontic office in Beverly Hills, California. Goal accomplished, right?
Well, we realized that our greatest desires, eternal life and exaltation, and our highest priorities—obeying our Heavenly Father and following Jesus Christ and His prophets—were at risk because of worldly values and all the material distractions that the world claimed would make us happy and fulfilled.
We realized that our greatest desires and highest priorities in eternity must also be our greatest desires and highest priorities now.Thus, Heavenly Father's plan for our family required us to move. We prayed for and were eventually blessed with another opportunity that was more ideal for our family.

Years ago when my second daughter, Nelah, was in kindergarten, she was given a stencil to work with at school. She used this stencil to make me a sign. She brought the sign home and proudly presented it to me. The sign says, "Kynda is lfbut."
I was initially confused. Was she trying to say that I had a fluffy bum? While I was racking my brain trying to figure out what Nelah could mean by this, she said, with a huge smile on her face, "See, Mom. It says 'Kynda is beautiful.'" Aaah, yes, I see it now. "Beautiful" is a difficult word to spell. My five-year-old Nelah had sounded it out and spelled the word phonetically for me. When she ran out of room at the end of the line, she finished the word in the empty space at the beginning of the line, hence "lfbut." During this interaction with Nelah, there was no part of me that was worried for Nelah's spelling ability. I wasn't thinking, "Oh no! Nelah spelled 'beautiful' wrong! Now she's not going to graduate from high school or go to college!" No! Although she did not spell "beautiful" correctly, she was completely developmentally appropriate for her age. She was exactly where she was supposed to be at that time! I knew that eventually Nelah would learn how to spell "beautiful" correctly--and she has. Heavenly Father feels the same way about us! When we make mistakes, I don't think he is saying, "Well, Kynda has really messed up now. I don't think she is going to be able to endure to the end and return back to me." No! I bet He is thinking that you and I are exactly where we need to be at this point in our development: we are learning, and we are on the path to perfection. True heroes take baby steps.

In different callings where I held priesthood keys as a judge in Israel, particularly as a bishop, I witnessed the cleansing, sanctifying power of the Holy Ghost. One experience, the elements of which represent others, truly stands out.

On a Sunday morning a young man in his early twenties came to see me, his bishop. During the week he and his girlfriend had allowed their emotions and passions to exceed the bounds the Lord had established.

I listened prayerfully. We read scriptures together, along with words of the latter-day prophets. I gave him a few reading assignments, placed appropriate restrictions on his Church privileges, set up future appointments, and then knelt with him in prayer.

With each subsequent interview he reported on his reading, especially from the Book of Mormon, and the anguish in his countenance and demeanor was replaced by faith in God and in His Son, by hope and optimism, by firm resolve, and by a change in his heart. Gradually he grew spiritually. Following the appropriate passage of time, and as directed by the Spirit, I lifted the restrictions placed on him and authorized him to partake of the sacrament. As I sat on the stand in sacrament meeting, my eyes were drawn to him when first the bread and then the water reached his row. I witnessed sanctifying light, peace, and forgiveness.

The Savior’s words to Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery following their partaking of the sacrament came into my mind: “Behold, your sins are forgiven you; you are clean before me; therefore, lift up your heads and rejoice” (D&C 110:5). Like Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery, this young man received a remission of his sins by fire and the Holy Ghost (see 2 Nephi 31:17; D&C 19:31).

After completing one of these rounds in a more than usually successful way, I remember heading home in a very happy and grateful mood for the success the Lord has blessed us with. The sea was rough; but we weren’t concerned for we felt we were in the hands of the Lord. As we got close to our home island, the rough weather became more severe, the wind became stronger and the waves higher. Suddenly we found ourselves in the midst of a regular tropical squall which, though of short duration, was very dangerous. I felt, “Well, we will get through this all right. After all we have done and the success the Lord has blessed us with, we shouldn’t worry about this.”

But the storm increased in intensity, and suddenly with the emergence of two huge waves, the captain shouted those fateful words to the six of us aboard, “Abandon ship!” One can hear a lot of phrases in this life, but there are few as fearsome as those spoken by a captain in the midst of giant waves and inconceivable turmoil of elements.

We did what we had to do and dove in as the gargantuan waves thundered down on our frail little craft, leaving it broken and listless and the six of us sprawled on the surface of the boiling sea struggling for our lives. Now, I know missionaries are not supposed to swim, but sometimes one doesn’t have a choice. We struggled against huge odds to make the nearest shore, which was a small island we had just passed. I remember thinking that this really shouldn’t be. We shouldn’t be going through this. But we were, and all my thinking or wondering didn’t do much good—only swimming and exerting all the energy and effort I had helped.

After swimming for about an hour, we finally made it to the shore, exhausted but alive and gratefully so. Just to feel firm ground under our feet was a great blessing. How much more I appreciated life and solid ground than I had before. Just to be in that boiling sea and realize how tenuous life is, how quickly this earth life could come to an end, made a great impression on me. Sometimes we literally have to travel over rough waters in order to appreciate some of the fundamental blessings we have—like life itself, for instance. We probably don’t begin to understand or appreciate life as we should until we sense the closeness death has to all of us. As we sense these things, we can more clearly comprehend that there is a reason for our being here.

The storm passed rather rapidly, but we were still stranded for several days before we got things together and were able to make our way home over much friendlier seas.

This whole experience gave me a new outlook and appreciation for life. As I look back now, there was much more than our own strength involved in that horrendous task of getting to shore, but it still took all we could do. In a similar manner, even though it will take all the effort we can put forth to fulfill our missions here, there will still be much more than our own efforts involved in accomplishing them.

I didn’t think I would ever be able to have a chance to serve a mission, with my disabilities and challenges, but my patriarchal blessing tells me that I would serve as a missionary, so I prayed for guidance from my Heavenly Father to answer my prayers and fulfil my righteous desires to serve the Lord.
Because my ward Relief Society president heard about service missions, spoke with my mother, and helped me to complete my mission papers, I started my service mission on the 4th of January 2021. Now serving a mission, I find some days are hard, but Heavenly Father strengthens me in so many ways when I need it. I have grown so much, and I know I am in His hands.
Heavenly Father always makes a way to achieve His work. One of these ways is making available to all His sons and daughters the privilege to serve Him, by providing the opportunity to be a service missionary. One of my favourite scriptures is Ether 12:27. I have a supportive family who help me with some of my assignments. I volunteer at a foodbank two days a week. I also volunteer with the Church’s Records Operations Centre on a few projects. One of these is BillionGraves—I have spent a lot of time transcribing headstones on its website and going to my local graveyard and taking photos of headstones.
Some people I have met at the graveyard can be unhelpful, but then there are those who ask questions, and to whom it’s a joy to speak. It does not deter me from doing this work; I find it calms me and brings me happiness knowing I am serving those on both sides of the veil, as the prophet has asked us to do.
I have met some people who have been interested and puzzled why a young man would do what I do. I spend most of my time cleaning the headstones, so that I can read them and take photos, or hacking my way through overgrown grass and weeds. One time I found a small headstone beside a big tree near a footpath, that had been lost in the undergrowth, and completely hidden from view. I cleaned it up and removed the holly bush, other weeds and grass that were hiding it. It was a grave of a five-week-old baby boy, Tony Hamilton, lost from view and forgotten. Now, since I cleared it, someone has mowed around the tree and the grave, so hopefully he will not be lost again.
It is usually only the people who come to see family graves that keep them tidy—it would not get done otherwise. I have a lot of conversations about BillionGraves and the work I am doing, and online resources and websites for family history. There is one man who wants to know more about it, so I may have started something.
These are peoples’ last resting places, and we need to have respect for them. I have transcribed over 40,000 names from photos of headstones on the website, including over 3,000 names from over 2,000 headstones for which I have taken the photos and put on the website. A few ward members have family buried in this graveyard, as well of some of my ancestors from the 1700s and 1800s. As I find names related to members in the ward, I take and print photos of them. collect them in a file and give them to the members. I hadn’t come across any names I knew for the first few weeks I started doing it, then at the end of one day when at home as I was going through the photos on my laptop, some names came up on my screen (about six or seven) that I was sure I didn’t take that day, but they were there. All I can say is the people whose names were on the headstones wanted to be found, hopefully to have their temple work done and belong to eternal families.
I am so happy that I can be part of this great work building family chains. I liked the message on one headstone, “Precious memories always in our hearts”. Yes, we should always keep them in our hearts so that they are not lost, not forgotten.

I recently read the account of a man who, just after the passing of his wife, opened her dresser drawer and found there an item of clothing she had purchased when they visited the eastern part of the United States nine years earlier. She had not worn it but was saving it for a special occasion. Now, of course, that occasion would never come.
In relating the experience to a friend, the husband said, “Don’t save something only for a special occasion. Every day in your life is a special occasion.”
That friend later said those words changed her life. They helped her to cease putting off the things most important to her. Said she: “Now I spend more time with my family. I use crystal glasses every day. I’ll wear new clothes to go to the supermarket if I feel like it. The words ‘someday’ and ‘one day’ are fading from my vocabulary. Now I take the time to call my relatives and closest friends. I’ve called old friends to make peace over past quarrels. I tell my family members how much I love them. I try not to delay or postpone anything that could bring laughter and joy into our lives. And each morning, I say to myself that this could be a special day. Each day, each hour, each minute is special.”

One of my favorite “cry out during the night children’s stories” is about a four-year-old boy who came during the middle of the night to his parents’ bedroom, sobbing and crying. His mother put her arms around him to give comfort, saying, “What happened?”
He said, “I fell out of bed.”
She asked, “Why did you fall out of bed?”
And he cried, “Because I wasn’t in far enough.”
It has been my experience that most people who fall out of the Church do so because they were not in far enough.

Once when I was five or six years old I woke up in the middle of the night. I was having an asthma attack and I couldn’t breathe at all! My mom said she would have to take me to the emergency room, and I was terrified. While she was getting our coats, I called out, “Heavenly Father, please help me!” When my mom came back to my room, I was lying on my bed, breathing slowly. We went to the emergency room where I had a treatment. I missed a day of school, but soon I felt as well as if nothing had happened. I know that Heavenly Father listened to me and answered my prayer.Marissa E., age 10, California